I gaze on a bevy of damsels, I’m gazing and gazing incessant, The fairest of all I’ll be choosing, And yet as to choice I’m uncertain; For one has the brightest of bright eyes, Another girl’s cheeks are more rosy, A third one’s lips are the riper, The fourth has a heart far more tender. There isn’t a single maid lacking A something that captures my senses. There isn’t one there I’d say “no” to, Oh, would I might kiss the whole bevy! W. F. H. Even an ecclesiastic such as Æneas Silvius Piccolomini, when wishing to describe how beautiful and fascinating a young girl was, writes that “no one could see her without being seized at once with a desire to kiss her.” So as not to shock my readers, I may mention that he wrote this before he was made Pope and assumed the name of Pius II. It ought now to be taken as proved that women--beautiful women--and kisses are of a piece. It is at the same time nature’s ordinance, and we find it verified in all countries and in all ages. Odin himself says, you know, in Hávamál, where he instructs mortals in the wisdom of life: Ships are for voyages, And shields for ward, Sword-blades to smite, And maids to kiss. W. F. H. And the Greeks sing: “Wine belongs to chestnuts, honey to nuts, and kisses morning and night to young maids.” I am inclined to assume that women also agree with this view; certainly I have no positive enunciation to support my assumption, but I am able to quote a German proverb which most assuredly points in this direction: “_Ich kann das Küssen nicht leiden_,” _sagte das Mädchen_, “_wenn ich nicht dabei bin_” (“I cannot bear kissing,” said the maiden, “when I am not taking any part in it.”) Now if, in spite of all I have quoted, some rigid moralist or other will persist that kissing young maids is always a “bad” habit, and if, peradventure, a still sterner moralist will maintain it is a sin into the bargain, I should reply that, in any case, it is one of those sorts of sin that are venial. The Pope himself will not refuse his absolution, say the Italians, and they certainly ought to understand things in Rome. “Kiss me,” runs an Italian folk-song, “the Pope will forgive you; kiss me and I will kiss you, and the Pope will forgive us both.” O bella figlia, o bella garzona, Baciate me, chè il Papa vi perdona; Baciate me, chè io bacerò vui, Chè il Papa ci perdona tutti e dui. If the Pope is so complaisant then, to be sure, a subordinate servant of the Church such as Aarestrup’s Father Hugo may well say: Child, a kiss is but a trifle, If it’s only long and sweet. W. F. H. III AFFECTIONATE KISSES Seigneur, tu m’as donné les baisers de ma mère, Je te bénis, Seigneur! F. E. ADAM. I bless thee, O Lord, for having given me my mother’s kisses. CHAPTER III AFFECTIONATE KISSES