Possessed | Page 7

with the
crowd. I hobble my skirts, wear summer furs, powder my nose, wave
my hair (permanently or not) according to the commands of fashion,
but I hate myself for doing it. I am a woman!"
I am a woman and most women are liars--so are most men--but there is
more excuse for women because centuries of oppression have made us
afraid to tell the truth. I try to be original by speaking the truth--part of
it, at least--in this diary.
On one page I find this:
"The truth is that women love pursuit and are easily reconciled to
capture. Why else do they deck themselves out in finery, perfume
themselves, bejewel themselves, flaunt their charms (including
decolleté charms and alluring bathing suit charms) in every possible
way? I do this myself--why? I have a supple figure and I dance without
corsets, or rather with only a band to hold up my stockings. I wear low
cut evening gowns, the most captivating I can afford. I love to flirt. I
could not live without admiration, and other women are the same. They
all have something that they are vain about--eyes, nose, mouth, voice,

teeth, hair, complexion, hands, feet, figure--something that they are
vain about. And what is vanity but a consciousness of power to attract
men and make other women envious? There are only two efforts that
the human race take seriously (after they have fed themselves): the
effort of women to attract men, the effort of men to capture women."
* * * * *
Wednesday.
In searching back through the years for the cause of this disaster that
has brought me to the point where a woman's reason is overthrown, I
see that I was always selfish, absorbed in my own problems and
vanities, my own disappointments, grievances, emotions. It was what I
could get out of life, not what I could give, that concerned me. I was
vain of my good looks. I craved admiration.
Once I wrote in my diary:
"I often stand before my mirror at night before I go to bed and admire
my own sombre beauty. I let my hair fall in a black cloud over my
shoulders, then I braid it slowly with bare arms lifted in graceful poses.
I sway my hips like Carmen, I thrust red flowers into my bosom. I
move my head languidly, letting my white teeth gleam between red lips.
I study my profile with a hand glass, getting the double reflection. I
smile and beckon with my eyes. Yes, I am a beautiful
woman--primeval, elemental--I was made for love."
Again I wrote, showing that I half understood the perils that beset me:
"Women are moths, they love to play with fire. They are irresistibly
driven--like poor little birds that dash themselves against a
lighthouse--towards the burning excitements connected with the
allurement of men. They live for admiration. The besetting sin of all
women is vanity; vanity is a woman's consciousness of her power over
men."
And again:

"It is almost impossible for a fascinating woman not to flirt a
little--sometimes. For example, she passes a man on the street, a
distinguished looking man. She does not know him, but their eyes have
met in a certain way and she feels that he is attracted by her. She has on
a pretty dress with a bunch of violets. She wonders whether this man
has turned back to look at her--she is sure he has--she longs to look
back. No matter how much culture and breeding she has, she longs to
look back!"
No wonder that, with such thoughts and inclinations, I was always
more or less under temptation with men, who were drawn to me, I
suppose, just as I was drawn to them. And I tried to excuse myself in
the old way, as here:
"It is certain that some women have strong emotional desires, whereas
other women have none at all or scarcely any. This fact has an evident
bearing upon the question of women's morality. Some women must be
judged more leniently than others. I have wondered if there are similar
differences in men. I doubt it!"
Of course I had agitating experiences with men because I half invited
them. It seemed as if I could not help it. As I said to myself, I was a
moth, I wanted to play with fire.
On the next page I find this:
"Seraphine disapproves of my attitude towards men. She gave me a
great talking to last night and said things I would not take from anyone
else. Dear old Seraphine, she is so fine and kind! She says there is
nothing in my physical makeup that compels me to be a flirt. I can act
more discreetly if I wish to. It is my mental attitude