“Adolph is right,” he answered. “Women are badly made. A woman is not an object of art, but of use. Look at her hips—how they exceed the falling line of the shoulders, crush the short legs and destroy all proportion by their excessive width. This defect requires concealment by some drapery, [p269] and should prohibit the exhibition of the nude. On the other hand the strength of the body, which in a woman lies in her hips, a man carries in his shoulders. Atlas bears the weight of the world upon his neck. Get up, Adolph, and show us your back.” [Illustration] His friend was smoking, but he quietly laid down his cigarette, and took off his shirt. Alphonse looked at him for an instant, admiring him with the enjoyment of an artist, a smile on his lips. “You can put that fellow,” he said, “into the ideal oval of the egg upon which Greek sculpture has inscribed the hermaphrodite, and you will see whether his shoulders destroy the classic lines of sexless beauty.” I have often heard these æsthetic truths expressed by other trapeze artists more coarsely and with less appreciation of art. [p270] [Illustration] After an interval of some centuries, the life of the gymnasium has revived the customs which astonish modern readers in the _Banquet_. This surprise is unworthy of philosophers. It is logical that throughout all ages the same causes should produce the same effects. The woman of antiquity remained in the gynæceum, and she was rarely seen by the outer world. Woman is banished from modern gymnasiums by her natural destination of wife, mother, and nurse. The Greek youth became enamoured of the _ephebe_ in the gymnasium, where they appeared nude and beautiful. Modern gymnasts admire their fellow-workers in their [p271] dangerous performances with equal enthusiasm. And it would show little knowledge of human nature if we inquire how the admiration for beauty becomes transformed into the wish to possess it, that is, into love. [Illustration] [p272] [Illustration] I write the word without fear of any misunderstanding. [Illustration] We are now contemplating simple, healthy men who pass [p273] their lives in performing very hard work, and who are freed from sensual temptation by physical fatigue. As a rule, [p274] therefore, the passions of gymnasts are purely sentimental and platonic; you will find in them first of all the great element of all love—the protection of the weak by the strong. There is, in fact, in every pair of acrobats, a male and a female, the “hero” or bearer, the “man underneath” who supports the weight of the whole “act,” to whom the “man above” confides his life. The latter is the younger, the most supple and graceful of the two. He receives the larger share of the applause, the most enthusiastic “bravos.” His existence depends upon the self-sacrifice and affection of the man who upholds him.