The Art of Seduction

Who could be better suited than André Maurois to set forth the art of seduction, treating in it the fundamental principles and the delicate ascents?

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Seduction has two meanings: that one thing should incline toward another, or fall upon it; and it is the ensnaring of a creature powerless to resist. In this second sense the seducer of the eighteenth century appeared as a reckless, dangerous lover who toyed with innocent girls and trifled with pure ones — the likes of Casanova and Valmont. As for the twentieth century, now that woman has awakened until she has all but put an end to criminal beguilement, we whisper to one another in admiration of that attractive seducer who cuts his way from conquest to conquest, and of that bewitching seductress whom it is impossible to withstand. It may be a matter of pleasure and amusement to trace the principles of this art, whether in its heroes or in its heroines.

The Seducer

Power has captivated the crushing majority of tender hearts for ages upon ages. And power takes many shapes: the football player excels among sportsmen, the musician among musicians. So too every man who distinguishes himself in his profession has his generous share of attraction. The politician, the banker, the surgeon, the orator, the novelist, the journalist, the actor, and the tennis champion are all matchless charmers. But if we ask which of this company carries off the promised renown, the answer lies with the kind of women and the kind of age we have in mind.

For the day of wars, the conquering general, the commander-in-chief, and the record-breaking aviator stand at the top of the ladder. For the day of revolution and turmoil, the nationalist champion, the popular actor, and the tyrant are the lovers sought after. And for the day of peace and social stability, authority belongs to money, to lineage, and to polished society — to the poet, the painter, the author, at whose feet women fling themselves. Byron, Chateaubriand, Musset, Liszt, and Wagner were among the great masters of seduction all their lives long. And what do you say of Anatole France, in his sixty-eighth year, when a woman took her own life for his sake?!

As for the women's side, the seducer must possess the bodily qualities that agree with their taste. The mannish woman turns away from strength and softens before weakness. George Sand's love, in truth, fastened only on men younger than herself, dogged by sickness and infirmity. And the women of 1950, having won their material independence and taken up physical exercise, are seldom won by brute strength, such as Tarzan's muscles, and are often drawn — in no idle spirit — to slimness and frailty. Feminine taste in America, especially on the screen, runs more to the gay, roving man than to the thrifty man or the one patiently in earnest at his work, for the relief he brings to a soul weary of the ordinary life of matter.

Yet however women differ and ages diverge, boldness remains a first and constant quality in a man's power to allure. Woman is drawn to the man who occupies himself with her; while the man hardly makes the pursuit of her and the winning of her an essential point of his life. And in that crisis of contention between a woman's desire for her own sake and a man's absorption in the material demands of his life comes the turn of the professional seducer, who knows how to answer the female's imperious need. Once a man has carried off the title of "Don Juan," the beauties fling themselves before him; and after having been the chooser, he becomes the chosen. Byron, whose fame in allurement had reached the very sky, wished to tempt the wife of a friend of his; and that other lady never forgave him his lapse to the end of her days!

The Seductress: and beauty — two inseparable qualities — yet not always. History points to many women whose star blazed while their appearance never rose above the ordinary in comeliness. But they were mistresses of charm. And what is charm? It is a compound of coquetry (Coquetterie) and naturalness (Naturel). It is an amplitude of feeling, just as grace is an amplitude of movement. It is what troubles the mind and soothes it at one and the same time. And since shyness prevails in most men despite their bold appearance, they will never venture at all unless they sense some encouragement to boldness and adventure. But beware of the brazen woman, for her attraction is soon snuffed out. Charm in a woman is nothing else than her remaining a riddle in a man's soul, and a sweeping longing that is hard to attain!

A man is commonly drawn to the woman who admires him and amuses him. And he clings to the one who beguiles him, listens to him, and diverts him. The seductress must therefore possess the spirit of gaiety and diversion more than that of disquieting and preoccupying the mind. Some have excelled by mere silence, like Madame Récamier. Byron said: "I want a woman intelligent enough to admire me, not one whose intelligence demands that I admire her!" Byron's phrase is most often the unspoken speech of men, even if they do not declare it. The enchantress must praise her man with a subtle hint at something that has escaped him, not with long and open homage.

And the Vamp, who flourished in the first quarter of this century, was no more than a "volunteer" in allurement, answering the call of instinct and heaping up men as lovers just as Don Juan gathered his mistresses from among women. From her arose the idea of the hunted man with a huntress woman at his heels, like Marlene Dietrich in "The Blue Angel." The man of 1950, however, prefers the woman who seduces him in spite of herself, as she appears on the screen: beautiful, delicate, reticent — the likes of Greta Garbo, Michèle Morgan, and Alida Valli in "The Third Man." In truth she draws men at first sight without meaning to, because her appearance lets show what lies hidden in her depths: a happy, delicious fancy brimming with unclouded hopes.

How is seduction to be won?

Seduction springs from natural appearances: a woman born with dazzling beauty, or with a sound taste that turns plainness into loveliness — a way of dressing the hair, a hat that alters the shape of the face, a well-made gown that does the figure justice, or dancing and sport that bestow gracefulness. As for charm, whoever keeps close to nature in her gentleness and stillness will attain it; while whoever cleaves to harshness and severity, or to spite, or to any artificial posture, drives away from himself those who might have loved him. I have known men advanced in years, elderly men indeed, such as Lyautey and Valéry, who kept a mighty charm because they remained true to their own nature, and glory had no power to deform their inborn simplicity. Hence every man or woman who grows skilled in an art, or refines his soul to the savor of poetry or of music, gains for himself a magical faculty. For the spirit of geniuses steals into the character of those who understand them well, and the lofty feelings that create art give substance to the inner depths of those who admire it. There is the music of Beethoven, Mozart, and Wagner — how many a couple it has brought together! As has the writing of Stendhal, Proust, and Baudelaire. And how well the saying suits us women: "The most delightful company is that of a cultivated woman without pretension."

Seduction and Marriage:

Marriage sets two questions before us: can the seducer, or the seductress who charms without meaning to, keep faith? And must one of the two spouses go on charming the other if it lies within his power?

There is no gainsaying that the man or woman who by their mere presence stir admiration in all who see them are exposed to the utmost temptations. To ward them off they are compelled to restrain themselves before the necessity of fidelity to a single person for life. But if their marriage is truly a happy one, there is no hardship in keeping faith, for they measure the price of what they would lose against the paltriness of what they would gain. The seducer knows that he can obtain any woman except her whom a rare and deep love guards. Yes, he has the power to wreck many a home — but never one of the worthy ones.

The feeling of security within married life sometimes kills the ember of desire and longing. Some men are so made as to seek what is forbidden them and spurn what is set before them. They call for quick wit and skill. Bernard Shaw said: "What makes marriage succeed is contriving to join the greatest number of flirtations with the greatest number of favorable occasions for them." But the wife who is her husband's seductress, who calls upon her art to keep an unequal balance between the scales of desire and modesty, between courtesy and candor — she is the wise, the adroit, the faithful wife.