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Student Companion to Accompany Fundamentals of Biochemistry Wiley Akif Uzman, Jerry Johnson, Wiliam Widger, Joseph Eichberg, Donald Voet, Judith G. Voet, Charlotte W. Pratt Year: 2012 Language: english File: PDF, 18.93 MB Your tags: 0 / 0

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The Right to Speak: Working with the Voice Methuen Drama Patsy Rodenburg Year: 1992 Language: english File: PDF, 3.17 MB Your tags: 0 / 0

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Use Spiritual Lures

Everyone  has doubts and insecurities —about their body,  their self-worth, their sexuality. If  your seduction appeals exclusively to the  physical, you will stir up these doubts and  make your targets self-conscious. Instead, lure  them out of their insecurities by making them focus  on something sublime and spiritual: a religious  experience, a lofty work of art, the occult. Play up  your divine qualities; affect an air of discontent with  worldly things; speak of the stars, destiny, the hidden  threads that unite you and the object of the seduction.  Lost in a spiritual mist, the target will feel  light and uninhibited. Deepen the effect of  your seduction by making its sexual culmination  seem like the spiritual  union of two souls.



 Ah! always to be able to freely love the one whom one loves! To spend my life at your feet like our last days together. To protect you against imaginary satyrs so that I can be the only one to throw you on this bed of moss. . . . We’ll find each other again in Lesbos, and when dusk falls, we’ll go deep in the woods to lose the paths leading to this century. I want to imagine us in this enchanted island of immortals. I picture it as being so beautiful. Come, I’ll describe for you those delicate female couples, and far from the cities and the din, we’ll forget everything but the Ethics of Beauty.

—NATALIE BARNEY, LETTER TO LIANE DE POUGY, QUOTED IN JEAN CHALON, PORTRAIT OF A SEDUCTRESS: THE WORLD OF NATALIE BARNEY, TRANSLATED BY CAROL BARKO

 

 

Terrible Natalie, who used to ravage the land of love. Formidable Natalie, feared by husbands since no one could resist her seductiveness. And one could see how women would abandon their husbands, homes, children, to follow this Circe of Lesbos. • Circe’s method was to concoct magic potions. Natalie preferred writing poems; she always knew how to blend the physical and the spiritual.

—JEAN CHALON, PORTRAIT OF A SEDUCTRESS. THE WORLD OF NATALIE BARNEY, TRANSLATED BY CAROL BARKO




Object of Worship ; 

Liane de Pougy was the reigning courtesan of 1890s Paris. Slender and androgynous, she was a novelty, and the wealthiest men in Europe vied to possess her. By late in the decade, however, she had grown tired of it all. “What a sterile life,” she wrote a friend. “Always the same routine: the Bois, the races, fittings; and to end an insipid day: dinner!” What wearied the courtesan most was the constant attention of her male admirers, who sought to monopolize her physical charms.

One spring day in 1899, Liane was riding in an open carriage through the Bois de Boulogne. As usual, men tipped their hats at her as she passed by. But one of these admirers caught her by surprise: a young woman with long blond hair, who gave her an intense, worshipful stare. Liane smiled at the woman, who smiled and bowed in return.

A few days later Liane began to receive cards and flowers from a twenty-three-year-old American named Natalie Barney, who identified herself as the blond admirer in the Bois de Boulogne, and asked for a rendezvous. Liane invited Natalie to visit, but to amuse herself she decided to play a little joke: a friend would take her place, lounging on her bed in the dark boudoir, while Liane would hide behind a screen. Natalie arrived at the appointed hour. She wore the costume of a Florentine page and carried a bouquet of flowers. Kneeling before the bed, she began to praise the courtesan, comparing her to a Fra Angelico painting. All too soon, she heard someone laugh—and standing up she realized the joke that had been played on her. She blushed and made for the door. When Liane hurried out from behind the screen, Natalie chastised her: the courtesan had the face of an angel, but apparently not the spirit. Contrite, Liane whispered, “Come back tomorrow morning. I’ll be alone.”

The young American showed up the next day, wearing the same outfit. She was witty and spirited; Liane relaxed in her presence, and invited her to stay for the courtesan’s morning ritual—the elaborate makeup, clothes, and jewelry she put on before heading out into the world. Watching reverently, Natalie remarked that she worshiped beauty, and that Liane was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. Playing the part of the page, she followed Liane to the carriage, opened the door for her with a bow, and accompanied her on her habitual ride through the Bois de Boulogne. Once inside the park, Natalie knelt on the floor, out of sight of the passing gentlemen who tipped their hats to Liane. She recited poems she had written in Liane’s honor, and she told the courtesan she considered it a mission to rescue her from the seamy career into which she had fallen.

That evening Natalie took her to the theater to see Sarah Bernhardt play Hamlet. During the intermission, she told Liane that she identified with Hamlet—his hunger for the sublime, his hatred of tyranny—which, for her, was the tyranny of men over women. Over the next few days Liane received a steady flow of flowers from Natalie, and telegrams with little poems in her honor. Slowly the worshipful words and looks became more physical, with the occasional touch, then a caress, even a kiss—and a kiss that felt different from any in Liane’s experience. One morning, with Natalie in attendance, Liane prepared to take a bath. As she slipped out of her nightgown, Natalie suddenly flung herself at her friend’s feet, kissing her ankles. The courtesan freed herself and hurried into the bath, only for Natalie to throw off her clothes and join her. Within a few days, all Paris knew that Liane de Pougy had a new lover: Natalie Barney.

Liane made no effort to disguise her new affair, publishing a novel, Idylle Saphique, detailing every aspect of Natalie’s seduction. She had never had an affair with a woman before, and she described her involvement with Natalie as something like a mystical experience. Even at the end of her long life, she remembered the affair as by far her most intense.

Renée Vivien was a young Englishwoman who had come to Paris to write poetry and flee the marriage that her father was trying to arrange for her. Renée was obsessed with death; she also felt there was something wrong with her, experiencing moments of intense self-loathing. In 1900, Renée met Natalie at the theater. Something about the American’s kind eyes melted Renée’s normal reserve, and she began sending poems to Natalie, who responded with poems of her own. They soon became friends. Renée confessed that she had had an intense friendship with another woman, but that it remained platonic—the thought of physical involvement repulsed her. Natalie told her about the ancient Greek poet Sappho, who celebrated love between women as the only love that is innocent and pure. One night Renée, inspired by their discussions, invited Natalie to her apartment, which she had transformed into a kind of chapel. The room was filled with candles and with white lilies, the flowers she associated with Natalie. That night the two women became lovers. They soon moved in together, but when Renée realized that Natalie could not be faithful to her, her love turned into hatred. She broke off the relationship, moved out, and vowed to never see her again.

There once lived in the town of Gafsa, in Barbary, a very rich man who had numerous children, among them a lovely and graceful young daughter called Alibech. She was not herself a Christian, but there were many Christians in the town, and one day, having on occasion heard them extol the Christian faith and the service of God, she asked one of them for his opinion on the best and easiest way for a person to “serve God,” as they put it. He answered her by saying that the ones who served God best were those who put the greatest distance between themselves and earthly goods, as happened in the case of people who had gone to live in the remoter parts of the Sahara. · She said no more about it to anyone, but next morning, being a very simple-natured creature of fourteen or thereabouts, Alibech set out all alone, in secret, and made her way toward the desert, prompted by nothing more logical than a strong adolescent impulse. A few days later, exhausted from fatigue and hunger, she arrived in the heart of the wilderness, where, catching sight of a small hut in the distance, she stumbled toward it, and in the doorway she found a holy man, who was astonished to see her in those parts and asked her what she was doing there. She told him that she had been inspired by God, and that she was trying, not only to serve Him, but also to find someone who could teach her how she should go about it. On observing how young and exceedingly pretty she was, the good man was afraid to take her under his wing lest the devil should catch him unawares. So he praised her for her good intentions, and having given her a quantity of herb roots, wild apples, and dates to eat, and some water to drink, he said to her: • “My daughter, not very far from here there is a holy man who is much more capable than I of teaching you what you want to know. Go along to him. ” And he sent her upon her way. · When she came to this second man, she was told precisely the same thing, and so she went on until she arrived at the cell of a young hermit, a very devout and kindly fellow called Rustico, to whom she put the same inquiry as she had addressed to the others. Being anxious to prove to himself that he possessed a will of iron, he did not, like the others, send her away or direct her elsewhere, but kept her with him in his cell, in a corner of which, when night descended, he prepared a makeshift bed out of palm leaves, upon which he invited her to lie down and rest. · Once he had taken this step, very little time elapsed before temptation went to war against his willpower, and after the first few assaults, finding himself outmaneuvered on all fronts, he laid down his arms and surrendered. Casting aside pious thoughts, prayers, and penitential exercises, he began to concentrate his mental faculties upon the youth and beauty of the girl, and to devise suitable ways and means for approaching her in such a fashion that she should not think it lewd of him to make the sort of proposal he had in mind. By putting certain questions to her, he soon discovered that she had never been intimate with the opposite sex and was every bit as innocent as she seemed; and he therefore thought of a possible way to persuade her, with the pretext of serving God, to grant his desires. He began by delivering a long speech in which he showed her how powerful an enemy the devil was to the Lord God, and followed this up by impressing upon her that of all the ways of serving God, the one that He most appreciated consisted in putting the devil back in Hell, to which the Almighty had consigned him in the first place. · The girl asked him how this was done, and Rustico replied: • “You will soon find out, but just do whatever you see me doing for the present. ” And so saying, he began to divest himself of the few clothes he was wearing, leaving himself completely naked. The girl followed his example, and he sank to his knees as though he were about to pray, getting her to kneel directly opposite. • In this posture, the girl’s beauty was displayed to Rustico in all its glory, and his longings blazed more fiercely than ever, bringing about the resurrection of the flesh. Alibech stared at this in amazement and said: · “Rustico, what is that I see sticking out in front of you, which I do not possess?” • “Oh, my daughter,” said Rustico, “this is the devil I was telling you about. Do you see what he’s doing? He‘s hurting me so much that I can hardly endure it. ” • “Oh, praise be to God,” said the girl, “I can see that I am better off than you are, for I have no such devil to contend with. ” • “You’re right there,” said Rustico. “But you have something else instead, that I haven’t. ” • “Oh?” said Alibech. “And what’s that? ” • “You have Hell,” said Rustico. “And I honestly believe that God has sent you here for the salvation of my soul, because if this devil continues to plague the life out of me, and if you are prepared to take sufficient pity upon me to let me put him back into Hell, you will be giving me marvelous relief, as well as rendering incalculable service and pleasure to God, which is what you say you came here for in the first place.” • “Oh, Father,” replied the girl in all innocence, “if I really do have Hell, let’s do as you suggest just as soon as you are ready. ”• “God bless you, my daughter,” said Rustico. “Let’s go and put him back, and then perhaps he’ll leave me alone. ” · At which point he conveyed the girl to one of their beds, where he instructed her in the art of incarcerating that accursed fiend. • Never having put a single devil into Hell before, the girl found the first experience a little painful, and she said to Rustico: • “This devil must certainly be a bad lot, Father, and a true enemy of God, for as well as plaguing mankind, he even hurts Hell when he‘s driven back inside it.”• “Daughter,” said Rustico, “it will not always be like that.” And in order to ensure that it wouldn’t, before moving from the bed they put him back half a dozen times, curbing his arrogance to such good effect that he was positively glad to keep still for the rest of the day. • During the next few days, however, the devil’s pride frequently reared its head again, and the girl, ever ready to obey the call to duty and bring him under control, happened to develop a taste for the sport, and began saying to Rustico: •“I can certainly see what those worthy men in Gafsa meant when they said that serving God was so agreeable. I don’t honestly recall ever having done anything that gave me so much pleasure and satisfaction as I get from putting the devil back in Hell. To my way of thinking, anyone who devotes his energies to anything but the service of God is a complete blockhead.” • . . . And so, young ladies, if you stand in need of God’s grace, see that you learn to put the devil back in Hell, for it is greatly to His liking and pleasurable to the parties concerned, and a great deal of good can arise and flow in the process.

—GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, THE DECAMERON, TRANSLATED BY G. H. MCWILLIAM

 

Over the next few months Natalie sent her letters and poems, and showed up at her new home—all to no avail. Renée would have nothing to do with her. One evening at the opera, though, Natalie sat down beside her and gave her a poem she had written in her honor. She expressed her regrets for the past, and also a simple request: the two women should go on a pilgrimage to the Greek island of Lesbos, Sappho’s home. Only there could they purify themselves and their relationship. Renée could not resist.  On the island they retraced the poetess’s steps, imagining they were transported back into the pagan, innocent days of ancient Greece. For Renée, Natalie had become Sappho herself. When they finally returned to Paris, Renée wrote her, “My blond Siren, I don’t want you to become like those who dwell on earth.... I want you to stay yourself, for this is the way you cast your spell over me.” Their affair lasted until Renée’s death, in 1909.

 

 

Interpretation. Liane de Pougy and Renée Vivien both suffered a similar oppression: they were self-absorbed, hyperaware of themselves. The source of this habit in Liane was men’s constant attention to her body. She could never escape their looks, which plagued her with a feeling of heaviness. Renée, meanwhile, thought too much about her own problems—her repression of her lesbianism, her mortality. She felt consumed with self-hatred.

Natalie Barney, on the other hand, was buoyant, lighthearted, absorbed in the world around her. Her seductions—and by the end of her life they numbered well into the hundreds—all had a similar quality: she took the victim outside herself, directing her attention toward beauty, poetry, the innocence of Sapphic love. She invited her women to participate in a kind of cult in which they would worship these sublimities. To heighten the cultlike feeling, she involved them in little rituals: they would call each other by new names, send each other poems in daily telegrams, wear costumes, make pilgrimages to holy sites. Two things would inevitably happen: the women would start to direct some of the worshipful feelings they were experiencing toward Natalie, who seemed as lofty and beautiful as the things she held up to be adored; and, pleasantly diverted into this spiritualized realm, they would also lose any heaviness they had felt about their bodies, their selves, their identities. Their repression of their sexuality would melt away. By the time Natalie kissed or caressed them, it would feel like something innocent, pure, as if they had returned to the Garden of Eden before the fall.

Religion is the great balm of existence because it takes us outside ourselves, connects us to something larger. As we contemplate the object of worship (God, nature), our burdens are lifted away. It is wonderful to feel raised up from the earth, to experience that kind of lightness. No matter how progressive the times, many of us feel uncomfortable with our bodies, our animal drives. A seducer who focuses too much attention on the physical will stir up self-consciousness, and a residue of disgust. So focus attention on something else. Invite the other person to worship something beautiful in the world. It could be nature, a work of art, even God (or gods—paganism never goes out of fashion); people are dying to believe in something. Add some rituals. If you can make yourself seem to resemble the thing you are worshiping—you are natural, aesthetic, noble, and sublime—your targets will transfer their worship to you. Religion and  spirituality are full of sexual undertones that can be brought to the surface once you have made your targets lose their self-awareness. From spiritual ecstasy to sexual ecstasy is but one small step.

Come back to take me, quickly, and lead me far away. Purify me with a great fire of divine love, none of the animal kind. You are all soul when you want to be, when you feel it, take me far away from my body.

—LIANE DE POUGY




Keys to Seduction 

Religion is the most seductive system that mankind has created. Death is our greatest fear, and religion offers us the illusion that we are immortal, that something about us will live on. The idea that we are an infinitesimal part of a vast and indifferent universe is terrifying; religion humanizes this universe, makes us feel important and loved. We are not animals governed by uncontrollable drives, animals that die for no apparent reason, but creatures made in the image of a supreme being. We too can be sublime, rational, and good. Anything that feeds a desire or a wished-for illusion is seductive, and nothing can match religion in this arena.

Pleasure is the bait that you use to lure a person into your web. But no matter how clever a seducer you are, in the back of your targets’ mind they are aware of the endgame, the physical conclusion toward which you are heading. You may think your target is unrepressed and hungry for pleasure, but almost all of us are plagued by an underlying unease with our animal nature. Unless you deal with this unease, your seduction, even when successful in the short term, will be superficial and temporary. Instead, like Natalie Barney, try to capture your target’s soul, to build the foundation of a deep and lasting seduction. Lure the victim deep into your web with spirituality, making physical pleasure seem sublime and transcendent. Spirituality will disguise your manipulations, suggesting that your relationship is timeless, and creating a space for ecstasy in the victim’s mind. Remember that seduction is a mental process, and nothing is more mentally intoxicating than religion, spirituality, and the occult.

In Gustave Flaubert’s novel Madame Bovary, Rodolphe Boulanger visits the country doctor Bovary and finds himself interested in the doctor’s beautiful wife, Emma. Boulanger “was brutal and shrewd. He was something of a connoisseur: there had been many women in his life.” He senses that Emma is bored. A few weeks later he manages to run into her at a county fair, where he gets her alone. He affects an air of sadness and gloom: “Many’s the time I’ve passed a cemetery in the moonlight and asked myself if I wouldn’t be better off lying there with the rest.... ” He mentions his bad reputation; he deserves it, he says, but is it his fault? “Do you really not know that there exist souls that are ceaselessly in torment?” Several  times he takes Emma’s hand, but she politely withdraws it. He talks of love, the magnetic force that draws two people together. Perhaps it has roots in some earlier existence, some previous incarnation of their souls. “Take us, for example. Why should we have met? How did it happen? It can only be that something in our particular inclinations made us come closer and closer across the distance that separated us, the way two rivers flow together.” He takes her hand again and this time she lets him hold it. After the fair, he avoids her for a few weeks, then suddenly shows up, claiming that he tried to stay away but that fate, destiny, has pulled him back. He takes Emma riding. When he finally makes his move, in the woods, she seems frightened and rejects his advances. “You must have some mistaken idea,” he protests. “I have you in my heart like a Madonna on a pedestal.... I beseech you: be my friend, my sister, my angel!” Under the spell of his words, she lets him hold her and lead her deeper into the woods, where she succumbs.

Rodolphe’s strategy is threefold. First he talks of sadness, melancholy, discontent, talk that makes him seem nobler than other people, as if life’s common material pursuits could not satisfy him. Next he talks of destiny, the magnetic attraction of two souls. This makes his interest in Emma seem not so much a momentary impulse as something timeless, linked to the movement of the stars. Finally he talks of angels, the elevated and the sublime. By placing everything on the spiritual plane, he distracts Emma from the physical, makes her feel giddy, and packs a seduction that could have taken months into a matter of a few encounters.

The references Rodolphe uses might seem clichéd by today’s standards, but the strategy itself will never grow old. Simply adapt it to the occult fads of the day. Affect a spiritual air by displaying a discontent with the banalities of life. It is not money or sex or success that moves you; your drives are never so base. No, something much deeper motivates you. Whatever this is, keep it vague, letting the target imagine your hidden depths. The stars, astrology, fate, are always appealing; create the sense that destiny has brought you and your target together. That will make your seduction feel more natural. In a world where too much is controlled and manufactured, the sense that fate, necessity, or some higher power is guiding your relationship is doubly seductive. If you want to weave religious motifs into your seduction, it is always best to choose some distant, exotic religion with a slightly pagan air. It is easy to move from pagan spirituality to pagan earthiness. Timing counts: once you have stirred your targets’ souls, move quickly to the physical, making sexuality seem merely an extension of the spiritual vibrations you are experiencing. In other words, employ the spiritual strategy as close to the time for your bold move as possible.

The spiritual is not exclusively the religious or the occult. It is anything that will add a sublime, timeless quality to your seduction. In the modern world, culture and art have in some ways taken the place of religion. There are two ways to use art in your seduction: first, create it yourself, in the target’s honor. Natalie Barney wrote poems, and barraged her targets with  them. Half of Picasso’s appeal to many women was the hope that he would immortalize them in his paintings—for Ars longa, vita brevis (Art is long, life is short), as they used to say in Rome. Even if your love is a passing fancy, by capturing it in a work of art you give it a seductive illusion of eternity. The second way to use art is to make it ennoble the affair, giving your seduction an elevated edge. Natalie Barney took her targets to the theater, to the opera, to museums, to places full of history and atmosphere. In such places your souls can vibrate to the same spiritual wavelength. Of course you should avoid works of art that are earthy or vulgar, calling attention to your intentions. The play, movie, or book can be contemporary, even a little raw, as long as it contains a noble message and is tied to some just cause. Even a political movement can be spiritually uplifting. Remember to tailor your spiritual lures to the target. If the target is earthy and cynical, paganism or art will be more productive than the occult or religious piety.

The Russian mystic Rasputin was revered for his saintliness and his healing powers. Women in particular were fascinated with Rasputin and would visit him in his St. Petersburg apartment for spiritual guidance. He would talk to them of the simple goodness of the Russian peasantry, God’s forgiveness, and other lofty matters. But after a few minutes of this, he would inject a comment or two that were of a much different nature—something about the woman’s beauty, her lips that were so inviting, the desires she could inspire in a man. He would talk of different kinds of love—love of God, love between friends, love between a man and a woman—but mix them all up as if they were one. Then as he returned to discussing spiritual matters, he would suddenly take the woman’s hand, or whisper into her ear. All this would have an intoxicating effect—women would find themselves dragged into a kind of maelstrom, both spiritually uplifted and sexually excited. Hundreds of women succumbed during these spiritual visits, for he would also tell them that they could not repent until they had sinned, and who better to sin with than Rasputin.

Rasputin understood the intimate connection between the sexual and the spiritual. Spirituality, the love of God, is a sublimated version of sexual love. The language of the religious mystics of the Middle Ages is full of erotic images; the contemplation of God and of the sublime can offer a kind of mental orgasm. There is no more seductive brew than the combination of the spiritual and the sexual, the high and the low. When you talk of spiritual matters, then, let your looks and physical presence hint of sexuality at the same time. Make the harmony of the universe and union with God seem to confuse with physical harmony and the union between two people. If you can make the endgame of your seduction appear as a spiritual experience, you will heighten the physical pleasure and create a seduction with a deep and lasting effect.

Symbol: The Stars in the sky. Objects of worship for centuries,  and symbols of the sublime and divine. In contemplating  them, we are momentarily distracted from everything  mundane and mortal. We feel lightness. Lift your targets’  minds up to the stars and they will not  notice what is happening here  on earth.






Reversal 

Letting your targets feel that your affection is neither temporary nor superficial will often make them fall deeper under your spell. In some, though, it can arouse an anxiety: the fear of commitment, of a claustrophobic relationship with no exits. Never let your spiritual lures seem to be leading in that direction, then. To focus attention on the distant future may implicitly constrict their freedom; you should be seducing them, not offering to marry them. What you want is to make them lose themselves in the moment, experiencing the timeless depth of your feelings in the present tense. Religious ecstasy is about intensity, not temporal extensity.

Giovanni Casanova used many spiritual lures in his seductions—the occult, anything that would inspire lofty sentiments. For the time that he was involved with a woman, she would feel that he would do anything for her, that he was not just using her only to abandon her. But she also knew that when it became convenient to end the affair, he would cry, give her a magnificent gift, then quietly leave. This was just what many young women wanted—a temporary diversion from marriage or an oppressive family. Sometimes pleasure is best when we know it is fleeting.




the Charmer

Charm is seduction without sex. Charmers are consummate manipulators,  masking their cleverness by creating a mood of pleasure and comfort. Their  method is simple: they deflect attention from themselves and focus it on their  target. They understand your spirit, feel your pain, adapt to your moods.  In the presence of a Charmer you feel better about yourself. Charmers  do not argue or fight, complain, or pester—what could be more seductive?  By drawing you in with their indulgence they make  you dependent on them, and their power grows. Learn to  cast the Charmer’s spell by aiming at people’s  primary weaknesses: vanity and  self-esteem.






The Art of Charm 

Sexuality is extremely disruptive. The insecurities and emotions it stirs up can often cut short a relationship that would otherwise be deeper and longer lasting. The Charmer’s solution is to fulfill the aspects of sexuality that are so alluring and addictive—the focused attention, the boosted self-esteem, the pleasurable wooing, the understanding (real or illusory)—but subtract the sex itself. It’s not that the Charmer represses or discourages sexuality; lurking beneath the surface of any attempt at charm is a sexual tease, a possibility. Charm cannot exist without a hint of sexual tension. It cannot be maintained, however, unless sex is kept at bay or in the background.

Birds are taken with pipes that imitate their own voices, and men with those sayings that are most agreeable to their own opinions.

—SAMUEL BUTLER

 

 

Go with the bough, you’ll bend it; \ Use brute force, it’ll snap. \ Go with the current: that’s how to swim across rivers—\ Fighting upstream’s no good. \ Go easy with lions or tigers if you aim to tame them; \ The bull gets inured to the plough by slow degrees ...\ So, yield if she shows resistance: \ That way you’ll win in the end. Just be sure to play \ The part she allots you. Censure the things she censures, \ Endorse her endorsements, echo her every word, \ Pro or con, and laugh whenever she laughs; remember, \ If she weeps, to weep too: take your cue \ From her every expression. Suppose she’s playing a board game, \ Then throw the dice carelessly, move \ Your pieces all wrong.... \ Don’t jib at a slavish task like holding \ Her mirror: slavish or not, such attentions please. ...

—OVID, THE ART OF LOVE, TRANSLATED BY PETER GREEN

 

The word “charm” comes from the Latin carmen,a song, but also an incantation tied to the casting of a magical spell. The Charmer implicitly grasps this history, casting a spell by giving people something that holds their attention, that fascinates them. And the secret to capturing people’s attention, while lowering their powers of reason, is to strike at the things they have the least control over: their ego, their vanity and their self-esteem. As Benjamin Disraeli said, “Talk to a man about himself and he will listen for hours.” The strategy can never be obvious; subtlety is the Charmer’s great skill. If the target is to be kept from seeing through the Charmer’s efforts, and from growing suspicious, maybe even tiring of the attention, a light touch is essential. The Charmer is like a beam of light that doesn’t play directly on a target but throws a pleasantly diffused glow over it.

Charm can be applied to a group as well as to an individual: a leader can charm the public. The dynamic is similar. The following are the laws of charm, culled from the stories of the most successful charmers in history.

 

 

Make your target the center of attention. Charmers fade into the background; their targets become the subject of their interest. To be a Charmer you have to learn to listen and observe. Let your targets talk, revealing themselves in the process. As you find out more about them—their strengths, and more important their weaknesses—you can individualize your attention, appealing to their specific desires and needs, tailoring your flatteries to their insecurities. By adapting to their spirit and empathizing with their woes, you can make them feel bigger and better, validating their sense of self-worth. Make them the star of the show and they will become  addicted to you and grow dependent on you. On a mass level, make gestures of self-sacrifice (no matter how fake) to show the public that you share their pain and are working in their interest, self-interest being the public form of egotism.

Disraeli was asked to dinner, and came in green velvet trousers, with a canary waistcoat, buckle shoes, and lace cuffs. His appearance at first proved disquieting, but on leaving the table the guests remarked to each other that the wittiest talker at the luncheon-party was the man in the yellow waistcoat. Benjamin had made great advances in social conversation since the days of Murray’s dinners. Faithful to his method, he noted the stages: “Do not talk too much at present; do not try to talk. But whenever you speak, speak with self-possession. Speak in a subdued tone, and always look at the person whom you are addressing. Before one can engage in general conversation with any effect, there is a certain acquaintance with trifling but amusing subjects which must be first attained. You will soon pick up sufficient by listening and observing. Never argue. In society nothing must be discussed; give only results. If any person differ from you, bow and turn the conversation. In society never think; always be on the watch, or you will miss many opportunities and say many disagreeable things. Talk to women, talk to women as much as you can. This is the best school. This is the way to gain fluency,because you need not care what you say, and had better not be sensible. They, too, will rally you on many points, and as they are women you will not be offended. Nothing is of so much importance and of so much use to a young man entering life as to be well criticised by women. ”

—ANDRÉ MAUROIS, DISRAELI, TRANSLATED BY HAMISH MILES

 

Be a source of pleasure. No one wants to hear about your problems and troubles. Listen to your targets’ complaints, but more important, distract them from their problems by giving them pleasure. (Do this often enough and they will fall under your spell.) Being lighthearted and fun is always more charming than being serious and critical. An energetic presence is likewise more charming than lethargy, which hints at boredom, an enormous social taboo; and elegance and style will usually win out over vulgarity, since most people like to associate themselves with whatever they think elevated and cultured. In politics, provide illusion and myth rather than reality. Instead of asking people to sacrifice for the greater good, talk of grand moral issues. An appeal that makes people feel good will translate into votes and power.

 

 

Bring antagonism into harmony. The court is a cauldron of resentment and envy, where the sourness of a single brooding Cassius can quickly turn into a conspiracy. The Charmer knows how to smooth out conflict. Never stir up antagonisms that will prove immune to your charm; in the face of those who are aggressive, retreat, let them have their little victories. Yielding and indulgence will charm the fight out of any potential enemies. Never criticize people overtly—that will make them insecure, and resistant to change. Plant ideas, insinuate suggestions. Charmed by your diplomatic skills, people will not notice your growing power.

 

 

Lull your victims into ease and comfort. Charm is like the hypnotist’s trick with the swinging watch: the more relaxed the target, the easier it is to bend him or her to your will. The key to making your victims feel comfortable is to mirror them, adapt to their moods. People are narcissists—they are drawn to those most similar to themselves. Seem to share their values and tastes, to understand their spirit, and they will fall under your spell. This works particularly well if you are an outsider: showing that you share the values of your adopted group or country (you have learned their language, you prefer their customs, etc.) is immensely charming, since for you this preference is a choice, not a question of birth. Never pester or be overly persistent—these uncharming qualities will disrupt the relaxation you need to cast your spell.

Show calm and self-possession in the face of adversity. Adversity and setbacks actually provide the perfect setting for charm. Showing a calm, unruffled exterior in the face of unpleasantness puts people at ease. You seem patient, as if waiting for destiny to deal you a better card—or as if you were confident you could charm the Fates themselves. Never show anger, ill temper, or vengefulness, all disruptive emotions that will make people defensive. In the politics of large groups, welcome adversity as a chance to show the charming qualities of magnanimity and poise. Let others get flustered and upset—the contrast will redound to your favor. Never whine, never complain, never try to justify yourself.

You know what charm is: a way of getting the answer yes without having asked any clear question.

—ALBERT CAMUS

 

 

A speech that carries its audience along with it and is applauded is often less suggestive simply because it is clear that it sets out to be persuasive. People talking together influence each other in close proximity by means of the tone of voice they adopt and the way they look at each other and not only by the kind of language they use. We are right to call a good conversationalist a charmer in the magical sense of the word.

—GUSTAVE TARDE, L’OPINION ET LA FOULE, QUOTED IN SERGE MOSCOVICI, THE ACE OF THE CROWD

 


Make yourself useful. If done subtly, your ability to enhance the lives of others will be devilishly seductive. Your social skills will prove important here: creating a wide network of allies will give you the power to link people up with each other, which will make them feel that by knowing you they can make their lives easier. This is something no one can resist. Follow-through is key: so many people will charm by promising a person great things—a better job, a new contact, a big favor—but if they do not follow through they make enemies instead of friends. Anyone can make a promise; what sets you apart, and makes you charming, is your ability to come through in the end, following up your promise with a definite action. Conversely, if someone does you a favor, show your gratitude concretely In a world of bluff and smoke, real action and true helpfulness are perhaps the ultimate charm.




 Examples of Charmers 

1. In the early 1870s, Queen Victoria of England had reached a low point in her life. Her beloved husband, Prince Albert, had died in 1861, leaving her more than grief stricken. In all of her decisions she had relied on his advice; she was too uneducated and inexperienced to do otherwise, or so everyone made her feel. In fact, with Albert’s death, political discussions and policy issues had come to bore her to tears. Now Victoria gradually withdrew from the public eye. As a result, the monarchy became less popular and therefore less powerful.

In 1874, the Conservative Party came to power, and its leader, the seventy-year-old Benjamin Disraeli, became prime minister. The protocol of his accession to his seat demanded that he come to the palace for a private meeting with the queen, who was fifty-five at the time. Two more unlikely associates could not be imagined: Disraeli, who was Jewish by birth, had dark skin and exotic features by English standards; as a young man he had been a dandy, his dress bordering on the flamboyant, and he had written popular novels that were romantic or even Gothic in style. The queen, on the other hand, was dour and stubborn, formal in manner and simple in  taste. To please her, Disraeli was advised, he should curb his natural elegance; but he disregarded what everyone had told him and appeared before her as a gallant prince, falling to one knee, taking her hand, and kissing it, saying, “I plight my troth to the kindest of mistresses.” Disraeli pledged that his work now was to realize Victoria’s dreams. He praised her qualities so fulsomely that she blushed; yet strangely enough, she did not find him comical or offensive, but came out of the encounter smiling. Perhaps she should give this strange man a chance, she thought, and she waited to see what he would do next.

Wax, a substance naturally hard and brittle, can be made soft by the application of a little warmth, so that it will take any shape you please. In the same way, by being polite and friendly, you can make people pliable and obliging, even though they are apt to be crabbed and malevolent. Hence politeness is to human nature what warmth is to wax.

—ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER, COUNSELS AND MAXIMS, TRANSLATED BY T. BAILEY SAUNDERS

 

 

Never explain. Never complain.

—BENJAMIN DISRAELI

 

Victoria soon began receiving reports from Disraeli—on parliamentary debates, policy issues, and so forth—that were unlike anything other ministers had written. Addressing her as the “Faery Queen,” and giving the monarchy’s various enemies all kinds of villainous code names, he filled his notes with gossip. In a note about a new cabinet member, Disraeli wrote, “He is more than six feet four inches in stature; like St. Peter’s at Rome no one is at first aware of his dimensions. But he has the sagacity of the elephant as well as its form.” The minister’s blithe, informal spirit bordered on disrespect, but the queen was enchanted. She read his reports voraciously, and almost without her realizing it, her interest in politics was rekindled.

At the start of their relationship, Disraeli sent the queen all of his novels as a gift. She in return presented him with the one book she had written, Journal of Our Life in the Highlands. From then on he would toss out in his letters and conversations with her the phrase, “We authors.” The queen would beam with pride. She would overhear him praising her to others—her ideas, common sense, and feminine instincts, he said, made her the equal of Elizabeth I. He rarely disagreed with her. At meetings with other ministers, he would suddenly turn and ask her for advice. In 1875, when Disraeli managed to finagle the purchase of the Suez Canal from the debt-ridden khedive of Egypt, he presented his accomplishment to the queen as if it were a realization of her own ideas about expanding the British Empire. She did not realize the cause, but her confidence was growing by leaps and bounds.

Victoria once sent flowers to her prime minister. He later returned the favor, sending primroses, a flower so ordinary that some recipients might have been insulted; but his gift came with a note: “Of all the flowers, the one that retains its beauty longest, is sweet primrose.” Disraeli was enveloping Victoria in a fantasy atmosphere in which everything was a metaphor, and the simplicity of the flower of course symbolized the queen—and also the relationship between the two leaders. Victoria fell for the bait; primroses were soon her favorite flower. In fact everything Disraeli did now met with her approval. She allowed him to sit in her presence, an unheard-of privilege. The two began to exchange valentines every February. The queen would ask people what Disraeli had said at a party; when he paid a little too much attention to Empress Augusta of Germany, she grew jealous. The courtiers wondered what had happened to the stubborn, formal woman they had known—she was acting like an infatuated girl.

In 1876, Disraeli steered through Parliament a bill declaring Queen Victoria a “Queen-Empress.” The queen was beside herself with joy. Out of gratitude and certainly love, she elevated this Jewish dandy and novelist to the peerage, making him Earl of Beaconsfield, the realization of a lifelong dream.

 

Disraeli knew how deceptive appearances can be: people were always judging him by his face and by his clothes, and he had learned never to do the same to them. So he was not deceived by Queen Victoria’s dour, sober exterior. Beneath it, he sensed, was a woman who yearned for a man to appeal to her feminine side, a woman who was affectionate, warm, even sexual. The extent to which this side of Victoria had been repressed merely revealed the strength of the feelings he would stir once he melted her reserve.

Disraeli’s approach was to appeal to two aspects of Victoria’s personality that other people had squashed: her confidence and her sexuality. He was a master at flattering a person’s ego. As one English princess remarked, “When I left the dining room after sitting next to Mr. Gladstone, I thought he was the cleverest man in England. But after sitting next to Mr. Disraeli, I thought I was the cleverest woman in England.” Disraeli worked his magic with a delicate touch, insinuating an atmosphere of amusement and relaxation, particularly in relation to politics. Once the queen’s guard was down, he made that mood a little warmer, a little more suggestive, subtly sexual—though of course without overt flirtation. Disraeli made Victoria feel desirable as a woman and gifted as a monarch. How could she resist? How could she deny him anything?

Our personalities are often molded by how we are treated: if a parent or spouse is defensive or argumentative in dealing with us, we tend to respond the same way. Never mistake people’s exterior characteristics for reality, for the character they show on the surface may be merely a reflection of the people with whom they have been most in contact, or a front disguising its own opposite. A gruff exterior may hide a person dying for warmth; a repressed, sober-looking type may actually be struggling to conceal uncontrollable emotions. That is the key to charm—feeding what has been repressed or denied.

By indulging the queen, by making himself a source of pleasure, Disraeli was able to soften a woman who had grown hard and cantankerous. Indulgence is a powerful tool of seduction: it is hard to be angry or defensive with someone who seems to agree with your opinions and tastes. Charmers may appear to be weaker than their targets but in the end they are the more powerful side because they have stolen the ability to resist.

 

 

2. In 1971, the American financier and Democratic Party power-player Averell Harriman saw his life drawing to a close. He was seventy-nine, his wife of many years, Marie, had just died, and with the Democrats out  of office his political career seemed over. Feeling old and depressed, he resigned himself to spending his last years with his grandchildren in quiet retirement.

A few months after Marie’s death, Harriman was talked into attending a Washington party. There he met an old friend, Pamela Churchill, whom he had known during World War II, in London, where he had been sent as a personal envoy of President Franklin D. Roosevelt. She was twenty-one at the time, and was the wife of Winston Churchill’s son Randolph. There had certainly been more beautiful women in the city, but none had been more pleasant to be around: she was so attentive, listening to his problems, befriending his daughter (they were the same age), and calming him whenever he saw her. Marie had remained in the States, and Randolph was in the army, so while bombs rained on London Averell and Pamela had begun an affair. And in the many years since the war, she had kept in touch with him: he knew about the breakup of her marriage, and about her endless series of affairs with Europe’s wealthiest playboys. Yet he had not seen her since his return to America, and to his wife. What a strange coincidence to run into her at this particular moment in his life.

At the party Pamela pulled Harriman out of his shell, laughing at his jokes and getting him to talk about London in the glory days of the war. He felt his old power returning—it was as if he were charming her. A few days later she dropped in on him at one of his weekend homes. Harriman was one of the wealthiest men in the world, but was no lavish spender; he and Marie had lived a Spartan life. Pamela made no comment, but when she invited him to her own home, he could not help but notice the brightness and vibrancy of her life—flowers everywhere, beautiful linens on the bed, wonderful meals (she seemed to know all of his favorite foods). He had heard of her reputation as a courtesan and understood the lure of his wealth, yet being around her was invigorating, and eight weeks after that party, he married her.

Pamela did not stop there. She persuaded her husband to donate the art that Marie had collected to the National Gallery. She got him to part with some of his money—a trust fund for her son Winston, new houses, constant redecorations. Her approach was subtle and patient; she made him somehow feel good about giving her what she wanted. Within a few years, hardly any traces of Marie remained in their life. Harriman spent less time with his children and grandchildren. He seemed to be going through a second youth.

In Washington, politicians and their wives viewed Pamela with suspicion. They saw through her, and were immune to her charm, or so they thought. Yet they always came to the frequent parties she hosted, justifying themselves with the thought that powerful people would be there. Everything at these parties was calibrated to create a relaxed, intimate atmosphere. No one felt ignored: the least important people would find themselves talking to Pamela, opening up to that attentive look of hers. She made them feel powerful and respected. Afterward she would send them a  personal note or gift, often referring to something they had mentioned in conversation. The wives who had called her a courtesan and worse slowly changed their minds. The men found her not only beguiling but useful—her worldwide contacts were invaluable. She could put them in touch with exactly the right person without them even having to ask. The Harrimans’ parties soon evolved into fundraising events for the Democratic Party. Put at their ease, feeling elevated by the aristocratic atmosphere Pamela created and the sense of importance she gave them, visitors would empty their wallets without realizing quite why. This, of course, was exactly what all the men in her life had done.

In 1986, Averell Harriman died. By then Pamela was powerful and wealthy enough that she no longer needed a man. In 1993, she was named the U.S. ambassador to France, and easily transferred her personal and social charm into the world of political diplomacy. She was still working when she died, in 1997.

 

We often recognize Charmers as such; we sense their cleverness. (Surely Harriman must have realized that his meeting with Pamela Churchill in 1971 was no coincidence.) Nevertheless, we fall under their spell. The reason is simple: the feeling that Charmers provide is so rare as to be worth the price we pay.

The world is full of self-absorbed people. In their presence, we know that everything in our relationship with them is directed toward themselves—their insecurities, their neediness, their hunger for attention. That reinforces our own egocentric tendencies; we protectively close ourselves up. It is a syndrome that only makes us the more helpless with Charmers. First, they don’t talk much about themselves, which heightens their mystery and disguises their limitations. Second, they seem to be interested in us, and their interest is so delightfully focused that we relax and open up to them. Finally Charmers are pleasant to be around. They have none of most people’s ugly qualities—nagging, complaining, self-assertion. They seem to know what pleases. Theirs is a diffused warmth; union without sex. (You may think a geisha is sexual as well as charming; her power, however, lies not in the sexual favors she provides but in her rare self-effacing attentiveness.) Inevitably, we become addicted, and dependent. And dependence is the source of the Charmer’s power.

People who are physically beautiful, and who play on their beauty to create a sexually charged presence, have little power in the end; the bloom of youth fades, there is always someone younger and more beautiful, and in any case people tire of beauty without social grace. But they never tire of feeling their self-worth validated. Learn the power you can wield by making the other person feel like the star. The key is to diffuse your sexual presence: create a vaguer, more beguiling sense of excitement through a generalized flirtation, a socialized sexuality that is constant, addictive, and never totally satisfied.

3. In December of 1936, Chiang Kai-shek, leader of the Chinese Nationalists, was captured by a group of his own soldiers who were angry with his policies: instead of fighting the Japanese, who had just invaded China, he was continuing his civil war against the Communist armies of Mao Zedong. The soldiers saw no threat in Mao—Chiang had almost annihilated the Communists. In fact, they believed he should join forces with Mao against the common enemy—it was the only patriotic thing to do. The soldiers thought by capturing him they could compel Chiang to change his mind, but he was a stubborn man. Since Chiang was the main impediment to a unified war against the Japanese, the soldiers contemplated having him executed, or turned over to the Communists.

As Chiang lay in prison, he could only imagine the worst. Several days later he received a visit from Zhou Enlai—a former friend and now a leading Communist. Politely and respectfully, Zhou argued for a united front: Communists and Nationalists against the Japanese. Chiang could not begin to hear such talk; he hated the Communists with a passion, and became hopelessly emotional. To sign an agreement with the Communists in these circumstances, he yelled, would be humiliating, and would lose me all honor among my own army. It’s out of the question. Kill me if you must.

Zhou listened, smiled, said barely a word. As Chiang’s rant ended he told the Nationalist general that a concern for honor was something he understood, but that the honorable thing for them to do was actually to forget their differences and fight the invader. Chiang could lead both armies. Finally, Zhou said that under no circumstances would he allow his fellow Communists, or anyone for that matter, to execute such a great man as Chiang Kai-shek. The Nationalist leader was stunned and moved.

The next day, Chiang was escorted out of prison by Communist guards, transferred to one of his own army’s planes, and sent back to his own headquarters. Apparently Zhou had executed this policy on his own, for when word of it reached the other Communist leaders, they were outraged: Zhou should have forced Chiang to fight the Japanese, or else should have ordered his execution—to release him without concessions was the height of pusillanimity, and Zhou would pay. Zhou said nothing and waited. A few months later, Chiang signed an agreement to halt the civil war and join with the Communists against the Japanese. He seemed to have come to his decision on his own, and his army respected it—they could not doubt his motives.

Working together, the Nationalists and the Communists expelled the Japanese from China. But the Communists, whom Chiang had previously almost destroyed, took advantage of this period of collaboration to regain strength. Once the Japanese had left, they turned on the Nationalists, who, in 1949, were forced to evacuate mainland China for the island of Formosa, now Taiwan.

Now Mao paid a visit to the Soviet Union. China was in terrible shape and in desperate need of assistance, but Stalin was wary of the Chinese, and lectured Mao about the many mistakes he had made. Mao argued back.  Stalin decided to teach the young upstart a lesson; he would give China nothing. Tempers rose. Mao sent urgently for Zhou Enlai who arrived the next day and went right to work.

In the long negotiating sessions, Zhou made a show of enjoying his hosts’ vodka. He never argued, and in fact agreed that the Chinese had made many mistakes, had much to learn from the more experienced Soviets: “Comrade Stalin,” he said, “we are the first large Asian country to join the socialist camp under your guidance.” Zhou had come prepared with all kinds of neatly drawn diagrams and charts, knowing the Russians loved such things. Stalin warmed up to him. The negotiations proceeded, and a few days after Zhou’s arrival, the two parties signed a treaty of mutual aid—a treaty far more useful to the Chinese than to the Soviets.

In 1959, China was again in deep trouble. Mao’s Great Leap Forward, an attempt to spark an overnight industrial revolution in China, had been a devastating failure. The people were angry: they were starving while Beijing bureaucrats lived well. Many Beijing officials, Zhou among them, returned to their native towns to try to bring order. Most of them managed by bribes—by promising all kinds of favors—but Zhou proceeded differently: he visited his ancestral graveyard, where generations of his family were buried, and ordered that the tombstones be removed and the coffins buried deeper. Now the land could be farmed for food. In Confucian terms (and Zhou was an obedient Confucian), this was sacrilege, but everyone knew what it meant: Zhou was willing to suffer personally Everyone had to sacrifice, even the leaders. His gesture had immense symbolic impact.

When Zhou died, in 1976, an unofficial and unorganized outpouring of public grief caught the government by surprise. They could not understand how a man who had worked behind the scenes, and had shunned the adoration of the masses, could have won such affection.

 

The capture of Chiang Kai-shek was a turning point in the civil war. To execute him might have been disastrous: it had been Chiang who had held the Nationalist army together, and without him it could have broken up into factions, allowing the Japanese to overrun the country. To force him to sign an agreement would have not helped either: he would have lost face before his army, would never have honored the agreement, and would have done everything he could to avenge his humiliation. Zhou knew that to execute or compel a captive will only embolden your enemy and will have repercussions you cannot control. Charm, on the other hand, is a manipulative weapon that disguises its own manipulativeness, letting you gain a victory without stirring the desire for revenge.

Zhou worked on Chiang perfectly, paying him respect, playing the inferior, letting him pass from the fear of execution to the relief of unexpected release. The general was allowed to leave with his dignity intact. Zhou knew all this would soften him up, planting the seed of the idea that perhaps the Communists were not so bad after all, and that he could change  his mind about them without looking weak, particularly if he did so independently rather than while he was in prison. Zhou applied the same philosophy to every situation: play the inferior, unthreatening and humble. What will this matter if in the end you get what you want: time to recover from a civil war, a treaty, the good will of the masses.

Time is the greatest weapon you have. Patiently keep in mind a long-term goal and neither person nor army can resist you. And charm is the best way of playing for time, of widening your options in any situation. Through charm you can seduce your enemy into backing off, giving you the psychological space to plot an effective counterstrategy. The key is to make other people emotional while you remain detached. They may feel grateful, happy, moved, arrogant—it doesn’t matter, as long as they feel. An emotional person is a distracted person. Give them what they want, appeal to their self-interest, make them feel superior to you. When a baby has grabbed a sharp knife, do not try to grab it back; instead, stay calm, offer candy, and the baby will drop the knife to pick up the tempting morsel you offer.

 

 

4. In 1761, Empress Elizabeth of Russia died, and her nephew ascended to the throne as Czar Peter III. Peter had always been a little boy at heart—he played with toy soldiers long past the appropriate age—and now, as czar, he could finally do whatever he pleased and the world be damned. Peter concluded a treaty with Frederick the Great that was highly favorable to the foreign ruler (Peter adored Frederick, and particularly the disciplined way his Prussian soldiers marched). This was a practical debacle, but in matters of emotion and etiquette, Peter was even more offensive: he refused to properly mourn his aunt the empress, resuming his war games and parties a few days after the funeral. What a contrast he was to his wife, Catherine. She was respectful during the funeral, was still wearing black months later, and could be seen at all hours beside Elizabeth’s tomb, praying and crying. She was not even Russian, but a German princess who had come east to marry Peter in 1745 without speaking a word of the language. Even the lowest peasant knew that Catherine had converted to the Russian Orthodox Church, and had learned to speak Russian with incredible speed, and beautifully. At heart, they thought, she was more Russian than all of those fops in the court.

During these difficult months, while Peter offended almost everyone in the country, Catherine discreetly kept a lover, Gregory Orlov, a lieutenant in the guards. It was through Orlov that word spread of her piety, her patriotism, her worthiness for rule; how much better to follow such a woman than to serve Peter. Late into the night, Catherine and Orlov would talk, and he would tell her the army was behind her and would urge her to stage a coup. She would listen attentively, but would always reply that this was not the time for such things. Orlov wondered to himself: perhaps she was too gentle and passive for such a great step.

Peter’s regime was repressive, and the arrests and executions piled up. He also grew more abusive toward his wife, threatening to divorce her and marry his mistress. One drunken evening, driven to distraction by Catherine’s silence and his inability to provoke her, he ordered her arrest. The news spread fast, and Orlov hurried to warn Catherine that she would be imprisoned or executed unless she acted fast. This time Catherine did not argue; she put on her simplest mourning gown, left her hair half undone, followed Orlov to a waiting carriage, and rushed to the army barracks. Here the soldiers fell to the ground, kissing the hem of her dress—they had heard so much about her but had never seen her in person, and she seemed to them like a statue of the Madonna come to life. They gave her an army uniform, marveling at how beautiful she looked in men’s clothes, and set off under Orlov’s command for the Winter Palace. The procession grew as it passed through the streets of St. Petersburg. Everyone applauded Catherine, everyone felt that Peter should be dethroned. Soon priests arrived to give Catherine their blessing, making the people even more excited. And through it all, she was silent and dignified, as if all were in the hands of fate.

When news reached Peter of this peaceful rebellion, he grew hysterical, and agreed to abdicate that very night. Catherine became empress without a single battle or even a single gunshot.

 

As a child, Catherine was intelligent and spirited. Since her mother had wanted a daughter who was obedient rather than dazzling, and who would therefore make a better match, the child was subjected to a constant barrage of criticism, against which she developed a defense: she learned to seem to defer to other people totally as a way to neutralize their aggression. If she was patient and did not force the issue, instead of attacking her they would fall under her spell.

When Catherine came to Russia—at the age of sixteen, without a friend or ally in the country—she applied the skills she had learned in dealing with her difficult mother. In the face of all the court monsters—the imposing Empress Elizabeth, her own infantile husband, the endless schemers and betrayers—she curtseyed, deferred, waited, and charmed. She had long wanted to rule as empress, and knew how hopeless her husband was. But what good would it do to seize power violently, laying a claim that some would certainly see as illegitimate, and then have to worry endlessly that she would be dethroned in turn? No, the moment had to be ripe, and she had to make the people carry her into power. It was a feminine style of revolution: by being passive and patient, Catherine suggested that she had no interest in power. The effect was soothing—charming.

There will always be difficult people for us to face—the chronically insecure, the hopelessly stubborn, the hysterical complainers. Your ability to disarm these people will prove an invaluable skill. You do have to be careful, though: if you are passive they will run all over you; if assertive you will make their monstrous qualities worse. Seduction and charm are the most effective counterweapons. Outwardly, be gracious. Adapt to their every  mood. Enter their spirit. Inwardly, calculate and wait: your surrender is a strategy, not a way of life. When the time comes, and it inevitably will, the tables will turn. Their aggression will land them in trouble, and that will put you in a position to rescue them, regaining superiority. (You could also decide that you had had enough, and consign them to oblivion.) Your charm has prevented them from foreseeing this or growing suspicious. A whole revolution can be enacted without a single act of violence, simply by waiting for the apple to ripen and fall.

Symbol: The Mirror. Your spirit holds a mirror up  to others. When they see you they see themselves:  their values, their tastes, even their flaws. Their  lifelong love affair with their own image is comfortable and  hypnotic; so feed it. No one ever sees what is behind the mirror.






Dangers 

There are those who are immune to a Charmer; particularly cynics, and confident types who do not need validation. These people tend to view Charmers as slippery and deceitful, and they can make problems for you. The solution is to do what most Charmers do by nature: befriend and charm as many people as possible. Secure your power through numbers and you will not have to worry about the few you cannot seduce. Catherine the Great’s kindness to everyone she met created a vast amount of good will that paid off later. Also, it is sometimes charming to reveal a strategic flaw. There is one person you dislike? Confess it openly, do not try to charm such an enemy, and people will think you more human, less slippery. Disraeli had such a scapegoat with his great nemesis, William Gladstone.

The dangers of political charm are harder to handle: your conciliatory, shifting, flexible approach to politics will make enemies out of everyone who is a rigid believer in a cause. Social seducers such as Bill Clinton and Henry Kissinger could often win over the most hardened opponent with their personal charm, but they could not be everywhere at once. Many members of the English Parliament thought Disraeli a shifty conniver; in person his engaging manner could dispel such feelings, but he could not address the entire Parliament one-on-one. In difficult times, when people yearn for something substantial and firm, the political charmer may be in danger.

As Catherine the Great proved, timing is everything. Charmers must know when to hibernate and when the times are ripe for their persuasive powers. Known for their flexibility, they should sometimes be flexible enough to act inflexibly Zhou Enlai, the consummate chameleon, could play the hard-core Communist when it suited him. Never become the slave to your own powers of charm; keep it under control, something you can turn off and on at will.




8

Create Temptation

Lure the target deep into your seduction by creating the  proper temptation: a glimpse of the pleasures to come. As  the serpent tempted Eve with the promise of forbidden  knowledge, you must awaken a desire in your targets  that they cannot control. Find that weakness  of theirs, that fantasy that has yet to be realized,  and hint that you can lead them toward  it. It could be wealth, it could be adventure, it  could be forbidden and guilty pleasures; the  key is to keep it vague. Dangle the prize before  their eyes, postponing satisfaction, and let their  minds do the rest. The future seems ripe with possibility.  Stimulate a curiosity stronger than the doubts  and anxieties that go with it, and they will follow you.



 For these two crimes Tantalus was punished with the ruin of his kingdom and, after his death by Zeus’s own hand, with eternal torment in the company of Ixion, Sisyphus, Tityus, the Danaids, and others. Now he hangs, perennially consumed by thirst and hunger, from the bough of a fruit tree which leans over a marshy lake. Its waves lap against his waist, and sometimes reach his chin, yet whenever he bends down to drink, they slip away, and nothing remains but the black mud at his feet; or, if he ever succeeds in scooping up a handful of water, it slips through his fingers before he can do more than wet his cracked lips, leaving him thirstier than ever. The tree is laden with pears, shining apples, sweet figs, ripe olives and pomegranates, which dangle against his shoulders; but whenever he reaches for the luscious fruit, a gust of wind whirls them out of his reach.

—ROBEBT GRAVES, THE GREEK MYTHS,VOLUME 2




The Tantalizing Object 

Some time in the 1880s, a gentleman named Don Juan de Todellas was wandering through a park in Madrid when he saw a woman in her early twenties getting out of a coach, followed by a two-year-old child and a nursemaid. The young woman was elegantly dressed, but what took Don Juan’s breath away was her resemblance to a woman he had known nearly three years before. Surely she could not be the same person. The woman he had known, Cristeta Moreruela, was a showgirl in a second-rate theater. She had been an orphan and was quite poor—her circumstances could not have changed that much. He moved closer: the same beautiful face. And then he heard her voice. He was so shocked that he had to sit down: it was indeed the same woman.

Don Juan was an incorrigible seducer, whose conquests were innumerable and of every variety. But he remembered his affair with Cristeta quite clearly, because she had been so young—the most charming girl he had ever met. He had seen her in the theater, had courted her assiduously, and had managed to persuade her to take a trip with him to a seaside town. Although they had separate rooms, nothing could stop Don Juan: he made up a story about business troubles, gained her sympathy, and in a tender moment took advantage of her weakness. A few days later he left her, on the pretext that he had to attend to business. He believed he would never see her again. Feeling a little guilty—a rare occurrence with him—he sent her 5,000 pesetas, pretending he would eventually rejoin her. Instead he went to Paris. He had only recently returned to Madrid.

As he sat and remembered all this, an idea troubled him: the child. Could the boy possibly be his? If not, she must have married almost immediately after their affair. How could she do such a thing? She was obviously wealthy now. Who could her husband be? Did he know her past? Mixed with his confusion was intense desire. She was so young and beautiful. Why had he given her up so easily? Somehow, even if she was married, he had to get her back.

Don Juan began to frequent the park every day. He saw her a few more times; their eyes met, but she pretended not to notice him. Tracing the nursemaid during one of her errands, he struck up a conversation with her, and asked her about her mistress’s husband. She told him the man’s name was Senor Martínez, and that he was away on an extended business trip; she also told him where Cristeta now lived. Don Juan gave her a note to give to  her mistress. Then he strolled by Cristeta’s house—a beautiful palace. His worst suspicions were confirmed: she had married for money.

Don Juan: Arminta, listen to the truth—for are not women friends of truth? I am a nobleman, heir to the ancient family of the Tenorios, the conquerors of Seville. After the king, my father is the most powerful and considered man at court.... By chance I happened on this road and saw you. Love sometimes behaves in a manner that surprises even himself . . . •Arminta: I don’t know if what you’re saying is truth or lying rhetoric. I am married to Batricio, everybody knows it. How can the marriage be annulled, even if he abandons me? • Don Juan: When the marriage is not consummated, whether by malice or deceit, it can be annulled.... • Arminta: You are right. But, God help me, won’t you desert me the moment you have separated me from my husband? . . . • Don Juan: Arminta, light of my eyes, tomorrow your beautiful feet will slip into polished silver slippers with buttons of the purest gold. And your alabaster throat will be imprisoned in beautiful necklaces; on your fingers, rings set with amethysts will shine like stars, and from your ears will dangle oriental pearls. • Arminta: I am yours.

—TIRSO DE MOLINA. THE PLAYBOY OF SEVILLE, TRANSLATED BY ADRIENNE M. SCHIZZANO AND OSCAR MANDEL, IN MANDEL, ED., THE THEATRE OFDON JUAN

 

Cristeta refused to see him. He persisted, sending more notes. Finally, to avoid a scene, she agreed to meet him, just once, in the park. He prepared for the meeting carefully: seducing her again would be a delicate operation. But when he saw her coming toward him, in her beautiful clothes, his emotions, and his lust, got the better of him. She could only belong to him, never to another man, he told her. Cristeta took offense at this; obviously her present circumstances prevented even one more meeting. Still, beneath her coolness he could sense strong emotions. He begged to see her again, but she left without promising anything. He sent her more letters, meanwhile wracking his brains trying to piece it all together: Who was this Senor Martínez? Why would he marry a showgirl? How could Cristeta be wrested away from him?

Finally Cristeta agreed to meet Don Juan one more time, in the theater, where he dared not risk a scandal. They took a box, where they could talk. She reassured him the child was not his. She said he only wanted her now because she belonged to another, because he could not have her. No, he said, he had changed; he would do anything to get her back. Disconcertingly, at moments her eyes seemed to be flirting with him. But then she seemed to be about to cry, and rested her head on his shoulder—only to get up immediately, as if realizing this was a mistake. This was their last meeting, she said, and quickly fled. Don Juan was beside himself. She was playing with him; she was a coquette. He had only been claiming to have changed, but perhaps it was true: no woman had ever treated him this way before. He would never have allowed it.

For the next few nights Don Juan slept poorly. All he could think about was Cristeta. He had nightmares about killing her husband, about growing old and being alone. It was all too much. He had to leave town. He sent her a goodbye note, and to his amazement, she replied: she wanted to see him, she had something to tell him. By now he was too weak to resist. As she had requested, he met her on a bridge, at night. This time she made no effort to control herself: yes, she still loved Don Juan, and was ready to run away with him. But he should come to her house tomorrow, in broad daylight, and take her away. There could be no secrecy.

Beside himself with joy, Don Juan agreed to her demands. The next day he showed up at her palace at the appointed hour, and asked for Senora Martínez. There was no one there by that name, said the woman at the door. Don Juan insisted: her name is Cristeta. Ah, Cristeta, the woman said: she lives in the back, with the other tenants. Confused, Don Juan went to the back of the palace. There he thought he saw her son, playing in the street in dirty clothes. But no, he said to himself, it must be some other child. He came to Cristeta’s door, and instead of her servant, Cristeta herself opened it. He entered. It was the room of a poor person. Hanging on improvised racks, however, were Cristeta’s elegant clothes. As if in a dream, he sat down, dumbfounded, and listened as Cristeta revealed the truth.

 Now the serpent was more subtle than any other wild creature that the LORD GOD had made. He said to the woman, “Did God say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree of the garden’?” And the woman said to the serpent, ”We may eat of the fruit of the trees of the garden; but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’ “ But the serpent said to the woman, ”You will not die. For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.” So when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, and he ate.

—GENESIS 3:1, OLD TESTAMENT

 

 

Thou strong seducer, Opportunity.

—JOHN DRYDEN

 

 

As he listened, Masetto experienced such a longing to go and stay with these nuns that his whole body tingled with excitement, for it was clear from what he had heard that he should be able to achieve what he had in mind. Realizing, however, that he would get nowhere by revealing his intentions to Nuto, he replied: • ”How right you were to come away from the [nunnery]! What sort of a life can any man lead when he’s surrounded by a lot of women? He might as well be living with a pack of devils. Why, six times out of seven they don’t even know their own minds.” • But when they had finished talking, Masetto began to consider what steps he ought to take so that he could go and stay with them. Knowing himself to be perfectly capable of carrying out the duties mentioned by Nuto, he had no worries about losing the job on that particular score, but he was afraid lest he should be turned down because of his youth and his unusually attractive appearance. And so, having rejected a number of other possible expedients, he eventually thought to himself: “The convent is a long way off, and there’s nobody there who knows me. If I can pretend to be dumb, they‘ll take me on for sure. ” Clinging firmly to this conjecture, he therefore dressed himself in pauper’s rags and slung an ax over his shoulder, and without telling anyone where he was going, he set out for the convent. On his arrival, he wandered into the courtyard, where as luck would have it he came across the steward, and with the aid of gestures such as dumb people use, he conveyed the impression that he was begging for something to eat, in return for which he would attend to any wood-chopping that needed to be done. • The steward gladly provided him with something to eat, after which he presented him with a pile of logs that Nuto had been unable to chop.... Now, when the steward had discovered what an excellent gardener he was, he gestured to Masetto, asking him whether he would like to stay there, and the latter made signs to indicate that he was willing to do whatever the steward wanted. . . . • Now, one day, when Masetto happened to be taking a rest after a spell of strenuous work, he was approached by two very young nuns who were out walking in the garden. Since he gave them the impression that he was asleep, they began to stare at him, and the bolder of the two said to her companion: • “If I could be sure that you would keep it a secret, I would tell you about an idea that has often crossed my mind, and one that might well work out to our mutual benefit. ” • “Do tell me,” replied the other. “You can be quite certain that I shan’t talk about it to anyone.” • The bold one began to speak more plainly. • “I wonder,” she said, “whether you have ever considered what a strict life we have to lead, and how the only men who ever dare set foot in this place are the steward, who is elderly, and this dumb gardener of ours. Yet I have often heard it said, by several of the ladies who have come to visit us, that all other pleasures in the world are mere trifles by comparison with the one experienced by a woman when she goes with a man. I have thus been thinking, since I have nobody else to hand, that I would like to discover with the aid of this dumb fellow whether they are telling the truth. As it happens, there couldn’t be a better man for the purpose, because even if he wanted to let the cat out of the bag, he wouldn’t be able to. He wouldn’t even know how to explain, for you can see for yourself what a mentally retarded, dim-witted hulk of a youth the fellow is. I would be glad to know what you think of the idea. ” • “Dear me!” said the other. “Don’t you realize that we have promised God to preserve our virginity?” • “Pah!” she said. “We are constantly making Him promises that we never keep! What does it matter if we fail to keep this one? He can always find other girls to preserve their virginity for Hi.” • ... Before the time came for them to leave, they had each made repeated trials of the dumb fellow’s riding ability, and later on, when they were busily swapping tales about it all, they agreed that it was every bit as pleasant an experience as they had been led to believe, indeed more so. And from then on, whenever the opportunity arose, they whiled away many a pleasant hour in the dumb fellow’s arms. • One day, however, a companion of theirs happened to look out from the window of her cell, saw the goings-on, and drew the attention of two others to what was afoot. Having talked the matter over between themselves, they at first decided to report the pair to the abbess. But then they changed their minds, and by common agreement with the other two, they took up shares in Masetto’s holding. And because of various indiscretions, these five were subsequently joined by the remaining three, one after the other. • Finally, the abbess, who was still unaware of all this, was taking a stroll one very hot day in the garden, all by herself, when she came across Masetto stretched out fast asleep in the shade of an almond tree. Too much riding by night had left him with very little strength for the day’s labors, and so there he lay, with his clothes ruffled up in front by the wind, leaving him all exposed. Finding herself alone, the lady stood with her eyes riveted to this spectacle, and she was seized by the same craving to which her young charges had already succumbed. So, having roused Masetto, she led him away to her room, where she kept him for several days, thus provoking bitter complaints from the nuns over the fact that the handyman had suspended work in the garden. Before sending him back to his own quarters, she repeatedly savored the one pleasure for which she had always reserved her most fierce disapproval, and from then on she demanded regular supplementary allocations, amounting to considerably more than her fair share.

—GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO, THE DECAMERON, TRANSLATED BY G. H. Mc WILLIAM

 

She was not married, she had no child. Months after he had left her, she had realized that she had been the victim of a consummate seducer. She still loved Don Juan, but she was determined to turn the tables. Finding out through a mutual friend that he had returned to Madrid, she took the five thousand pesetas he had sent her and bought expensive clothes. She borrowed a neighbor’s child, asked the neighbor’s cousin to play the child’s nursemaid, and rented a coach—all to create an elaborate fantasy that existed only in his mind. Cristeta did not even have to lie: she never actually said she was married or had a child. She knew that being unable to have her would make him want her more than ever. It was the only way to seduce a man like him.

Overwhelmed by the lengths she had gone to, and by the emotions she had so skillfully stirred in him, Don Juan forgave Cristeta and offered to marry her. To his surprise, and perhaps to his relief, she politely declined. The moment they married, she said, his eyes would wander elsewhere. Only if they stayed as they were could she maintain the upper hand. Don Juan had no choice but to agree.

 

 

Interpretation. Cristeta and Don Juan are characters in the novel Dulce y Sabrosa (Sweet and Savory, 1891), by the Spanish writer Jacinto Octavio Picón. Most of Picón’s work deals with male seducers and their feminine victims, a subject he studied and knew much about. Abandoned by Don Juan, and reflecting on his nature, Cristeta decided to kill two birds with one stone: she would get revenge and get him back. But how could she lure such a man? The fruit once tasted, he no longer wanted it. What came easily to him, or fell into his arms, held no allure for him. What would tempt Don Juan into desiring Cristeta again, into pursuing her, was the sense that she was already taken, that she was forbidden fruit. That was his weakness—that was why he pursued virgins and married women, women he was not supposed to have. To a man, she reasoned, the grass always seems greener somewhere else. She would make herself that distant, alluring object, just out of reach, tantalizing him, stirring up emotions he could not control. He knew how charming and desirable she had once been to him. The idea of possessing her again, and the pleasure he imagined it would bring, were too much for him: he swallowed the bait.

Temptation is a twofold process. First you are coquettish, flirtatious; you stimulate a desire by promising pleasure and distraction from daily life. At the same time, you make it clear to your targets that they cannot have you, at least not right away. You are establishing a barrier, some kind of tension.

In days gone by such barriers were easy to create, by taking advantage of preexisting social obstacles—of class, race, marriage, religion. Today the barriers have to be more psychological: your heart is taken by someone else; you are really not interested in the target; some secret holds you back; the timing is bad; you are not good enough for the other person; the other  person is not good enough for you; and so on. Conversely, you can choose someone who has a built-in barrier: they are taken, they are not meant to want you. These barriers are more subtle than the social or religious variety, but they are barriers nevertheless, and the psychology remains the same. People are perversely excited by what they cannot or should not have. Create this inner conflict—there is excitement and interest, but you are unavailable—and you will have them grasping like Tantalus for water. And as with Don Juan and Cristeta, the more you make your targets pursue you, the more they imagine that it is they who are the aggressors. Your seduction is perfectly disguised.

The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.

—OSCAR WILDF






Keys to Seduction 

Most of the time, people struggle to maintain security and a sense of balance in their lives. If they were always uprooting themselves in pursuit of every new person or fantasy that passed them by, they could not survive the daily grind. They usually win the struggle, but it does not come easy. The world is full of temptation. They read about people who have more than they do, about adventures others are having, about people who have found wealth and happiness. The security that they strive for, and that they seem to have in their lives, is actually an illusion. It covers up a constant tension.

As a seducer, you can never mistake people’s appearance for reality. You know that their fight to keep order in their lives is exhausting, and that they are gnawed by doubts and regrets. It is hard to be good and virtuous, always having to repress the strongest desires. With that knowledge in mind, seduction is easier. What people want is not temptation; temptation happens every day. What people want is to give into temptation, to yield. That is the only way to get rid of the tension in their lives. It costs much more to resist temptation than to surrender.

Your task, then, is to create a temptation that is stronger than the daily variety. It has to be focused on them, aimed at them as individuals—at their weakness. Understand: everyone has a principal weakness, from which others stem. Find that childhood insecurity, that lack in their life, and you hold the key to tempting them. Their weakness may be greed, vanity, boredom, some deeply repressed desire, a hunger for forbidden fruit. They signal it in little details that elude their conscious control: their style of clothing, an offhand comment. Their past, and particularly their past romances, will be littered with clues. Give them a potent temptation, tailored to their weakness, and you can make the hope of pleasure that you stir in them figure more prominently than the doubts and anxieties that accompany it.

In 1621, King Philip III of Spain desperately wanted to forge an alliance  with England by marrying his daughter to the son of the English king, James I. James seemed open to the idea, but he stalled for time. Spain’s ambassador to the English court, a man called Gondomar, was given the task of advancing Philip’s plan. He set his sights on the king’s favorite, the Duke (former Earl) of Buckingham.

Gondomar knew the duke’s main weakness: vanity. Buckingham hungered for the glory and adventure that would add to his fame; he was bored with his limited tasks, and he pouted and whined about this. The ambassador first flattered him profusely—the duke was the ablest man in the country and it was a shame he was given so little to do. Then, he began to whisper to him of a great adventure. The duke, as Gondomar knew, was in favor of the match with the Spanish princess, but these damned marriage negotiations with King James were taking so long, and getting nowhere. What if the duke were to accompany the king’s son, his good friend Prince Charles, to Spain? Of course, this would have to be done in secret, without guards or escorts, for the English government and its ministers would never sanction such a trip. But that would make it all the more dangerous and romantic. Once in Madrid, the prince could throw himself at Princess Maria’s feet, declare his undying love, and carry her back to England in triumph. What a chivalrous deed it would be and all for love. The duke would get all the credit and it would make his name famous for centuries.

The duke fell for the idea, and convinced Charles to go along; after much arguing, they also convinced a reluctant King James. The trip was a near disaster (Charles would have had to convert to Catholicism to win Maria), and the marriage never happened, but Gondomar had done his job. He did not bribe the duke with offers of money or power—he aimed at the childlike part of him that never grew up. A child has little power to resist. It wants everything, now, and rarely thinks of the consequences. A child lies lurking in everyone—a pleasure that was denied them, a desire that was repressed. Hit at that point, tempt them with the proper toy (adventure, money, fun), and they will slough off their normal adult reasonableness. Recognize their weakness by whatever childlike behavior they reveal in daily life—it is the tip of the iceberg.

Napoleon Bonaparte was appointed the supreme general of the French army in 1796. His commission was to defeat the Austrian forces that had taken over northern Italy. The obstacles were immense: Napoleon was only twenty-six at the time; the generals below him were envious of his position and doubtful of his abilities. His soldiers were tired, underfed, underpaid, and grumpy. How could he motivate this group to fight the highly experienced Austrian army? As he prepared to cross the Alps into Italy, Napoleon gave a speech to his troops that may have been the turning point in his career, and in his life: “Soldiers, you are half starved and half naked. The government owes you much, but can do nothing for you. Your patience, your courage, do you honor, but give you no glory. . . . I will lead you into the most fertile plains of the world. There you will find flourishing cities, teeming provinces. There you will reap honor, glory, and wealth.” The  speech had a powerful effect. Days later these same soldiers, after a rough climb over the mountains, gazed down on the Piedmont valley. Napoleon’s words echoed in their ears, and a ragged, grumbling gang became an inspired army that would sweep across northern Italy in pursuit of the Austrians.

Napoleon’s use of temptation had two elements: behind you is a grim past; ahead of you is a future of wealth and glory, if you follow me. Integral to the temptation strategy is a clear demonstration that the target has nothing to lose and everything to gain. The present offers little hope, the future can be full of pleasure and excitement. Remember to keep the future gains vague, though, and somewhat out of reach. Be too specific and you will disappoint; make the promise too close at hand, and you will not be able to postpone satisfaction long enough to get what you want.

The barriers and tensions in temptation are there to stop people from giving in too easily and too superficially. You want them to struggle, to resist, to be anxious. Queen Victoria surely fell in love with her prime minister, Benjamin Disraeli, but there were barriers of religion (he was a dark-skinned Jew), class (she, of course, was a queen), social taste (she was a paragon of virtue, he a notorious dandy). The relationship was never consummated, but what deliciousness those barriers gave to their daily encounters, which were full of constant flirtation.

Many such social barriers are gone today, so they have to be manufactured—it is the only way to put spice into seduction. Taboos of any kind are a source of tension, and they are psychological now, not religious. You are looking for some repression, some secret desire that will make your victim squirm uncomfortably if you hit upon it, but will tempt them all the more. Search in their past; whatever they seem to fear or flee from might hold the key. It could be a yearning for a mother or father figure, or a latent homosexual desire. Perhaps you can satisfy that desire by presenting yourself as a masculine woman or a feminine man. For others you play the Lolita, or the daddy—someone they are not supposed to have, the dark side of their personality. Keep the connection vague—you want them to reach for something elusive, something that comes out of their own mind.

In London in 1769, Casanova met a young woman named Charpillon. She was much younger than he, as beautiful a woman as he had ever known, and with a reputation for destroying men. In one of their first encounters she told him straight out that he would fall for her and she would ruin him. To everyone’s disbelief, Casanova pursued her. In each encounter she hinted she might give in—perhaps the next time, if he was nice to her. She inflamed his curiosity—what pleasure she would yield; he would be the first, he would tame her. “The venom of desire penetrated my whole being so completely,” he later wrote, “that had she so wished it, she could have despoiled me of everything I possessed. I would have beggared myself for one little kiss.” This “affair” indeed proved his ruin; she humiliated him. Charpillon had rightly gauged that Casanova’s primary weakness was his  need for conquest, to overcome challenge, to taste what no other man had tasted. Beneath this was a kind of masochism, a pleasure in the pain a woman could give him. Playing the impossible woman, enticing and then frustrating him, she offered the ultimate temptation. What will often do the trick is to give the target the sense that you are a challenge, a prize to be won. In possessing you they will get what no other has had. They may even get pain; but pain is close to pleasure, and offers its own temptations.

In the Old Testament we read that “David arose from his couch and was walking upon the roof of the king’s house . . . [and] he saw from the roof a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful.” The woman was Bathsheba. David summoned her, seduced her (supposedly), then proceeded to get rid of her husband, Uriah, in battle. In fact, however, it was Bathsheba who had seduced David. She bathed on her roof at an hour when she knew he would be standing on his balcony. After tempting a man she knew had a weakness for women, she played the coquette, forcing him to come after her. This is the opportunity strategy: give someone weak the chance to have what they lust after by merely placing yourself within their reach, as if by accident. Temptation is often a matter of timing, of crossing the path of the weak at the right moment, giving them the opportunity to surrender.

Bathsheba used her entire body as a lure, but it is often more effective to use only a part of the body, creating a fetishlike effect. Madame Récamier would let you glimpse her body beneath the sheer dresses she wore, but only briefly, when she took off her overgarment to dance. Men would leave that evening dreaming of what little they had seen. Empress Josephine made a point of baring her beautiful arms in public. Give the target only a part of you to fantasize about, thereby creating a constant temptation in their mind.

Symbol: The Apple in the Garden  of Eden. The fruit looks deeply  inviting, and you are not supposed to  eat of it; it is forbidden. But that is precisely  why you think of it day and night.  You see it but cannot have it. And the  only way to get rid of this temptation  is to yield and taste  the fruit.






Reversal 

The reverse of temptation is security or satisfaction, and both are fatal to seduction. If you cannot tempt someone out of their habitual comfort, you cannot seduce them. If you satisfy the desire you have awakened, the seduction is over. There is no reversal to temptation. Although some stages can be passed over, no seduction can proceed without some form of temptation, so it is always better to plan it carefully, tailoring it to the weakness and childishness in your particular target.

Phase Two

Lead Astray—Creating Pleasure and Confusion

Your victims are sufficiently intrigued and their desire for you is growing, but their attachment is weak and at any moment they could decide to turn back The goal in this phase is to lead your victims so far astray—keeping them emotional and confused, giving them pleasure but making them want more—that retreat is no longer possible. Springing on them a pleasant surprise will make them see you as delightfully unpredictable, but will also keep them off balance (9: Keep them in suspense—what comes next?). The artful use of soft and pleasant words will intoxicate them and stimulate fantasies (10: Use the demonic power of words to sow confusion). Aesthetic touches and pleasant little rituals will titillate their senses, distract their minds (11: Pay attention to detail).

 

Your greatest danger in this phase is the mere hint of routine or familiarity. You need to maintain some mystery, to keep a little distance so that in your absence your victims become obsessed with you (12: Poeticize your presence). They may realize they are falling for you, but they must never suspect how much of this has come from your manipulations. A well-timed display of your weakness, of how emotional you have become under their influence will help cover your tracks (13: Disarm through strategic weakness and vulnerability). To excite your victims and make them highly emotional, you must give them the feeling that they are actually living some of the fantasies you have stirred in their imagination (14: Confuse desire and reality). By giving them only a part of the fantasy, you will keep them coming back for more. Focusing your attention on them so that the rest of the world fades away, even taking them on a trip, will lead them far astray (15: Isolate your victim). There is no turning back.






13

Disarm Through Strategic Weakness and Vulnerability

Too much maneuvering  on your part may raise  suspicion. The best way to cover your tracks  is to make the other person feel superior and  stronger. If you seem to be weak, vulnerable, enthralled  by the other person, and unable to control yourself, you will  make your actions look more natural, less calculated. Physical  weakness—tears, bashfulness, paleness—will help create the effect.  To further win trust, exchange honesty for virtue: establish  your “sincerity” by confessing some sin on your part—it doesn’t  have to be real. Sincerity is more important than goodness. Play  the victim, then transform your target’s sympathy into love.



The weak ones do have a power over us. The clear, forceful ones I can do without. I am weak and indecisive by nature myself, and a woman who is quiet and withdrawn and follows the wishes of a man even to the point of letting herself be used has much the greater appeal. A man can shape and mold her as he wishes, and becomes fonder of her all the while.

—MURASAKI SHIKIBU, THE TALE OF GENJI, TRANSLATED BY EDWARD G. SEIDENSTICKER

 

 

Hera, daughter of Cronus and Rhea, having been born on the island of Samos or, some say, at Argos, was brought up in Arcadia by Temenus, son of Pelasgus. The Seasons were her nurses. After banishing their father Cronus, Hera’s twin brother Zeus sought her out at Cnossus in Crete or, some say, on Mount Thornax (now