The most virtuous women have something within them, something

Hear the words of Honoré de Balzac, who with piercing insight into the hidden chambers of the human soul declared: “The most virtuous women have something within them, something that is never chaste.” At first these words strike like a riddle, for how can virtue and unchastity dwell together? Yet Balzac, master of human observation, reminds us that beneath the appearance of restraint and order, there lies in every woman—and indeed in every soul—a spark of passion, desire, and unyielding force that no social code can entirely contain.

The origin of this saying lies in Balzac’s La Comédie Humaine, his monumental attempt to portray all facets of society in 19th-century France. He saw that life was never as simple as moral codes proclaimed. The women held up as paragons of virtue—dutiful wives, pious daughters, noble mothers—were still beings of flesh and spirit, carrying within them dreams, temptations, and longings that defied the narrow cages of custom. Their virtue might govern their actions, but their inner fire reminded him that humanity is never purely one thing, but a union of opposites.

History offers us many who embodied this paradox. Consider Queen Elizabeth I of England, hailed as the Virgin Queen, a figure of restraint and political calculation. To her people, she was the image of virtue, denying marriage so as not to divide her realm. Yet within her burned a passion for power, for majesty, for recognition. She adorned herself in splendor, spoke with fierce wit, and held men like Robert Dudley in bonds of affection both dangerous and unspoken. Though she appeared chaste to the world, her very being was charged with energies that belied the mask of purity.

The deeper meaning of Balzac’s words is this: virtue is not the absence of desire, but the mastery of it. The virtuous woman is not one who has no passion, but one who carries it with dignity, shaping it into strength. What is “never chaste” within her is not corruption but the eternal reminder that she is human—alive, feeling, desiring, capable of fire as well as restraint. To deny this inner flame would be to deny her humanity; to acknowledge it is to understand that virtue is not perfection, but balance.

The lesson is clear: beware of seeing people only in absolutes. To call someone purely virtuous or purely sinful is to blind oneself to the truth. Every woman, every man, carries within them both purity and passion, discipline and temptation. The greatness of character lies not in erasing one side, but in harmonizing both. The virtue that does not know temptation is shallow; the virtue that has faced it and chosen wisely is deep, enduring, and real.

To the youth, I say: do not despise your desires, but learn to shape them. To women, I say: do not be burdened by the demand for impossible perfection; strength is found not in denying your inner fire, but in mastering it. To men, I say: respect the paradox within women—do not mistake restraint for emptiness, nor passion for weakness. Both are signs of humanity, both worthy of reverence.

Practical action lies before us: cultivate honesty with yourself about what lies within. Do not wear masks of purity that deny your humanity, but live with integrity that acknowledges both your fire and your discipline. In relationships, honor not only the outer image of virtue, but also the hidden depths that give it strength. And in society, let us celebrate women not only as symbols of chastity, but as full beings whose richness of character flows from the union of restraint and desire.

Thus Balzac’s words endure across the ages: “The most virtuous women have something within them, something that is never chaste.” It is not a condemnation, but a revelation—that the truest virtue is forged not in emptiness, but in fullness; not in denial of passion, but in its wise and noble command. Let this truth be passed down: humanity is complex, and in that complexity lies its deepest beauty.