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Updated: June 5, 2025
The manager of that "little theatre" is enchanted with le Sexe faible. But so was Carvalho, which did not prevent him ... You know the rest. Of course every one blames me for letting my play be given in such a joint. But since the others do not want that play and since I insist that it shall be presented to make a few sous for the Bouilhet heirs, I am forced to pass that over.
Yet it must not be supposed that Sir William Devereux was an ungallant man. On the contrary, never did the /beau sexe/ have a humbler or more devoted servant. As nothing in his estimation was less becoming to a wise man than matrimony, so nothing was more ornamental than flirtation.
She also copied the epitaph, which begins: "Witty above her sexe, but that's not all, Wise to Salvation was good Mistress Hall." But I am going too fast, for this was Monday morning, and we have not yet accounted for all of Sunday. The only Shakespeare relic which they visited that day was the site of his house, New Place, close to the hotel.
Private adoration is to be addressed to it in the persons of worthy individual representatives, who may be either living or dead, but must in all cases be women; for women, being the sexe aimant, represent the best attribute of humanity, that which ought to regulate all human life, nor can Humanity possibly be symbolized in any form but that of a woman.
"I leave you to guess how my lady's taste for the broad-side of the story, and poor Sir Charles's vindication of himself, in regard to his estimation of 'le beau sexe, amused all who heard it; as for me, I had to leave the room, half-choked with suppressed laughter.
The baroness turned on her heel and looked at him with her contemptuous smile again. "Oh," she said carelessly, "she was probably in a difficulty, which solved itself after the letter was posted. Or she was afraid of something, and found that her fears were unnecessary. That is all, no doubt." There is, it appears, an esprit de sexe which prevents women from giving each other away.
Come now, I have, first of all, too much vanity and next, too much faith in you. You don't tell me how your play is getting on at the Odeon. Speaking of plays, I am going again to expose myself to insults of the populace and the penny-a-liners. The manager of the Cluny Theatre, to whom I took le Sexe faible, has written me an admiring letter and is disposed to put on that play in October.
I am sure we have had enough abuse in our own country, without travelling all the way to Paris for it; and yet the first paper I take up in the reading saloon of the hotel, contains a paragraph headed Le Beau Sexe en Angleterre. The paragraph is violent. The writer wants to know what demon possesses the Englishwomen at this moment. I might have been sure it was translated from an English paper.
I suspected a degree of laxity in his code of morals, there was something so cold and BLASE in his tone whenever he alluded to what he called "le beau sexe;" but he was too gentlemanlike to intrude topics I did not invite, and as he was really intelligent and really fond of intellectual subjects of discourse, he and I always found enough to talk about, without seeking themes in the mire.
But perhaps you are blaze betimes of the beau sexe." "Yet your lordship's devotion to it is, perhaps, as great now as ever?" "Mine? no, not as ever. To different ages different degrees. At your age I wooed; at mine I purchase the better plan of the two: it does not take up half so much time." "Your marriage, I think, Lord Lilburne, was not blessed with children.
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