Chapter XVI: Book IV (2)

He is not wearied by the solemn face
Of one in favour, who doth bear the port
Of governor, where he is not obeyed,
Nor by the sweetly uttered lofty praise
Of the false flatterer, who in absence short,
Views, leaders, parties, changeth undismayed.
Of the disdain displayed
By the wise secretary, of his pride
Who bears the golden key,
But little recketh he,
Nor of the league of divers chiefs allied.
Not for a moment from his flock he goes,
Because the angry blows
Of frenzied Mars on either side may sound,
Who doth such skill disclose
That e'en his followers scarce have profit found.

Within a circle small his footsteps wend
From the high mountain to the peaceful plain,
To the clear river from the fountain cold.
Nor doth he plough, in madness without end,
The heaving meadows of the ocean main,
Desiring distant countries to behold.
It doth not make him bold
To learn that close beside his village lives
The great unconquered king,
Whose weal is everything,
Yet not to see him small displeasure gives.
No ambitious busy-body he, beside
Himself, who without pride
Runs after favour, and a favourite's power,
Though never hath he dyed
His sword or lance in blood of Turk or Moor.

'Tis not for him to change or face or hue
Because the lord he serveth changeth face
Or hue, since he no lord hath to constrain
Him with mute tongue to follow and pursue--
As Clytie did her golden lover chase--
The sweet or bitter pleasure he may gain.
Nor doth he share the pain
Of fearing that an idle, careless thought
Within the thankless breast
Of his lord may at last
The memory of his loyal service blot,
And thus be his the doom of banishment;
His mien doth not present
Other than what his healthy breast doth hold;
Our ways, with falsehood blent,
Do not compete with rustic knowledge old.

Who such a life as this will hold in scorn?
Who will not say that this is life alone,
Which hath the comfort of the soul pursued?
A courtier may in loathing from it turn.
This makes its goodness unto him be known
Who hath the good desired, the ill eschewed:
Oh life of solitude,
Wherein one doth his crowded joys refine!
Oh pastoral lowliness,
Higher than loftiness
Of the most lofty and exalted line!
Oh shady woodland, flowers whose fragrance fills
The air, pellucid rills!
I for a moment brief could taste your bliss,
But that my constant ills
Soon would disturb so fair a life as this!

Song, thou dost go to where thy poverty,
To where thy wealth will all too soon be seen,
Say thou with prayerful mien
And humble, if but breath be given thee;
"Lord, pardon! he who sends me to thy side,
In thee and in his wishes doth confide."

'This, gentlemen, is Lauso's song,' said Damon on finishing it; 'which was as much extolled by Larsileo as it was well received by those who saw it at the time.'

'With reason you can say so,' replied Darinto, 'since its truth and workmanship are worthy of just praises.'

'These are the songs to my taste,' said the loveless Lenio at this moment, 'and not those which every instant come to my ears, full of a thousand simple amorous conceits, so badly arranged and involved, that I will venture to swear that there are some, which neither the hearer, however discreet he be, can comprehend, nor the composer understand. But no less wearisome are others, which entangle themselves in giving praises to Cupid, and in exaggerating his powers, his worth, his wonders and miracles, making him lord of Heaven and earth, giving him a thousand other attributes of might, dominion and lordship; and what wearies me more than those who make them, is that, when they speak of love, they mean a someone undefined, whom they call Cupid, the very meaning of whose name declares to us what he is, namely a vain and sensual appetite, worthy of all reproof.'

The loveless Lenio spoke, and indeed he was certain to end in, speaking ill of love; but as nearly all who were there knew his disposition, they did not give much heed to his reasonings, except Erastro, who said to him:

'Do you think, Lenio, by chance, that you are always speaking to a simple Erastro, who cannot contradict your opinions, or reply to your arguments? Then I wish to warn you that it will be wise for you to be silent for the present, or at least to discuss other matters than speaking ill of love, unless indeed you would have Thyrsis's and Damon's discretion and learning restoring your sight, from the blindness in which you are, and showing you clearly what they understand, and what you should understand, of love and of its affairs.'

'What will they be able to tell me that I do not know?' said Lenio, 'or what shall I be able to reply to them but what they are ignorant of?'

'This is pride, Lenio,' replied Elicio, 'and therein you show how far you go from the path of love's truth, and that you guide yourself more by the pole-star of your opinion and fancy, than by that whereby you should be guided, namely that of truth and experience.'

'Nay rather by reason of the great experience I have of its works,' replied Lenio, 'am I as opposed to it as I show, and shall show so long as my life shall last.'

'On what do you base your reasoning?' said Thyrsis.

'On what, shepherd?' answered Lenio; 'on this, that by the effects they have I know how evil is the cause that produces them.'

'What are the effects of love that you count so evil?' replied Thyrsis.

'I will tell you them, if you listen to me with attention,' said Lenio; 'but I would not have my discourse weary the ears of those who are present, since they can spend the time in different and more pleasurable converse.'

'There will be nothing that could be more so to us,' said Darinto, 'than to hear a discussion of this topic, especially between persons who will know so well how to defend their opinion: and so for my part, if these shepherds on theirs do not hinder it, I beg you, Lenio, to continue the discourse you have begun.'

'That will I do readily,' answered Lenio, 'for I think I shall show clearly therein what a strong reason compels me to follow the opinion I do follow, and to blame any other that may be opposed to mine.'

'Begin then, oh Lenio,' said Damon, 'for you will not hold it longer than my companion Thyrsis will take to explain his.'

At this moment, whilst Lenio was preparing to utter his reproofs against love, there came to the spring the venerable Aurelio, Galatea's father, with some shepherds, and with him came also Galatea and Florisa, with the three veiled shepherdesses, Rosaura, Teolinda, and Leonarda, whom he had met at the entrance of the village, and, learning from them of the gathering of shepherds there was at the spring of slates, caused to turn back at his request, the strange shepherdesses trusting that by reason of their veils they would not be recognised by anyone. All rose to receive Aurelio and the shepherdesses, these latter seating themselves by the ladies, Aurelio and the shepherds by the other shepherds. But when the ladies saw Galatea's remarkable beauty, they were so astonished that they could not keep their eyes from looking at her. Nor was Galatea less so at their beauty, especially at that of her who seemed the older. There passed between them some words of courtesy, but everything ceased when they learnt what was agreed between the discreet Thyrsis and the loveless Lenio; whereat the venerable Aurelio was infinitely rejoiced, for he desired very much to see that assembly, and to hear that discussion, and all the more when Lenio would have someone who could answer him so well; and so, without waiting further, Lenio, seating himself on the trunk of a felled elm-tree, in a voice at first low, and then full-sounding, began to speak in this wise:

LENIO. 'Already I almost guess, worthy and discreet company, how even now in your understanding you are judging me as bold and rash, since with the little intellect and less experience which the rustic life, in which I have been nurtured for some time, can promise, I am willing to hold a contest in a matter so difficult as this with the famous Thyrsis, whose nurture in famous academies, and whose profound studies, can assure naught to my pretensions save certain failure. But confident that at times the force of natural genius, adorned with some little experience, is wont to discover new paths with which one makes easy sciences acquired during long years, I wish to make bold to-day to show in public the reasons which have moved me to be such an enemy to love, that I had deserved thereby to gain the appellation of loveless; and though nothing else would have moved me to do this, save your behest, I would not excuse myself from doing it; all the more that the glory will not be slight which I have to gain hereby, though I should lose in the enterprise, since after all fame will say that I had the spirit to compete with the renowned Thyrsis. And so on this understanding, without wishing to be favoured except by the reason that I have on my side, it alone do I invoke and pray to give such strength to my words and arguments that there may appear in both of them the reason I have for being such an enemy to love as I proclaim. Love, then, as I have heard my elders say, is a desire for beauty; and this definition, amongst many others, those give it that have advanced farthest in this question. Then, if it be granted me, that love is desire for beauty, it must necessarily be granted me that such as is the beauty which is loved, will be the love with which it is loved. And because beauty is of two kinds, corporeal and incorporeal, the love which loves corporeal beauty for its ultimate goal, such a love as this cannot be good, and this is the love whose enemy I am; but as corporeal beauty is divided likewise into two parts, namely into living bodies and dead bodies, there can also be a love of corporeal beauty which may be good. The one part of corporeal beauty is shown in living bodies of men and women, and this consists in all the parts of the body being good in themselves, and all together making one perfect whole, and forming a body proportioned in limbs and in pleasantness of hue. The other beauty of the corporeal part which is not alive, consists in pictures, statues and buildings; which beauty can be loved without the love with which it is loved being blameworthy. Incorporeal beauty is divided also into two parts, the virtues and the sciences of the soul; and the love which cleaves to virtue must necessarily be good, and likewise that which cleaves to virtuous sciences and agreeable studies. Then, as these two kinds of beauty are the cause which begets love in our breasts, it follows that whether love be good or bad, depends upon loving the one or the other: but, as incorporeal beauty is viewed with the pure and clear eyes of the understanding, and corporeal beauty is regarded with the corporeal eyes, clouded and blind, in comparison with the incorporeal, and as the eyes of the body are quicker to regard the present corporeal beauty which pleases, than those of the understanding to view the absent incorporeal beauty which glorifies, it follows that mortals more usually love the fading and mortal beauty which destroys them than the rare and divine beauty which makes them better. Then from this love, or from desiring corporeal beauty, have arisen, arise, and will arise in the world desolation of cities, ruin of states, destruction of empires, and deaths of friends; and when this, as is generally the case, does not happen, what greater woes, what more grievous torments, what fire, what jealousy, what pains, what deaths, can the human understanding imagine which can be compared to those the wretched lover suffers? And the cause of this is that, as the lover's whole happiness depends upon enjoying the beauty he desires, and this beauty cannot be possessed and enjoyed fully, that inability to reach the goal which is desired, begets in him sighs, tears, complaints, and dejection. It is manifest and clear then that it is true that the beauty of which I speak, cannot be enjoyed perfectly and fully, because it is not in the power of man to enjoy completely a thing which is outside of him and not wholly his; because external things, it is well known, are always under the control of that which we call fortune or chance, and not in the power of our free-will, and so it results that where there is love there is sorrow; and he who would deny this, would likewise deny that the sun is bright and that fire burns. But that we may come the more easily to the knowledge of the bitterness that love contains, the truth I follow will be clearly seen by running over the passions of the mind. The passions of the mind, as you know best, discreet gentlemen and shepherds, are four universal ones, and no more. Immoderate desire, much joy, great fear for future miseries, great sorrow for present calamities; these passions, being, as it were, contrary winds which disturb the tranquillity of the soul, are called by a more appropriate term disturbances; and of these disturbances the first is proper to love, since love is nothing else save desire; and so desire is the beginning and origin of all our passions, from which they issue as every stream from its source. Hence it comes that every time desire for something is kindled in our hearts, straightway it moves us to follow it and seek it, and in seeking it and following it, it leads us to a thousand disordered ends. This desire it is which incites the brother to seek his beloved sister's abominable embraces, the stepmother her step-son's, and what is worst, the very father his own daughter's; this desire it is that bears our thoughts to grievous perils. Nor does it avail that we oppose it with the reason, for, though we clearly recognise our hurt, we cannot, on that account, withdraw from it; and love does not content itself with keeping us intent on one wish, but rather, as from the desire of things all the passions arise, as has already been said, so from the first desire that arises in us, a thousand others are derived; and these are in lovers no less various than infinite, and though they well-nigh always look to one goal only, yet, as the objects are various, and various the fortune of those in love with each, without any doubt desire takes various forms. There are some who, to reach the attainment of what they desire, put all their strength on one course, in which, alas, what great hardships are encountered, how often they fall, what sharp thorns torture their feet, and how often strength and breath are lost before they attain what they seek! There are some others who are possessors of the thing beloved, and neither desire nor think of aught else save to remain in that state, and, having their thoughts busied about this alone, and on this alone spending all their toil and time, are wretched amidst happiness, poor amidst wealth, and unfortunate amidst good fortune. Others who are no longer in possession of their treasure, seek to return to it, employing for the purpose a thousand prayers, a thousand promises, a thousand conditions, countless tears, and at last, busying themselves with these woes, they bring themselves to the pass of losing their life. But these torments are not seen at the entry of the first desires, for then deceitful love shows us a path whereby we may enter, in appearance broad and spacious, which afterwards gradually closes in in such a manner that no way offers itself to return or go forward; and so the wretched lovers, deceived and betrayed by a sweet and false smile, by a mere turn of the eye, by two stammered words which beget in their breasts a false and feeble hope, dash straightway to go after it, goaded by desire, and afterwards, in a short space and in a few days, finding the path of their cure closed, and the way of their pleasure obstructed, turn to bedew their faces with tears, to disturb the air with sighs, to weary the ears with woeful complaints; and the worst is, that if perchance with their tears, their sighs, and their complaints they cannot come to the goal of their desire, straightway they change their manner and seek to attain by bad means what they cannot by good. Hence arise hatreds, angers, deaths as well of friends as of enemies. For this cause it has been seen and is seen at every moment that tender and delicate women set themselves to do things so strange and rash that even to imagine them inspires terror. Therefore the holy marriage-bed is seen bathed in crimson blood, now of the sad unheeding wife, now of the incautious and careless husband. To come to the goal of this desire brother is traitor to brother, father to son, and friend to friend. It originates feuds, tramples on respect, transgresses laws, forgets duties, and seduces kinswomen. But in order that it may be clearly seen how great the misery of lovers is, it is already known that no appetite has such strength in us, nor carries us with such force to the object in view as that which is urged on by the spurs of love. Hence it comes that no happiness or contentment passes so much beyond the due bounds as that of the lover when he comes to attain any one of the things he desires; and this is evident, for what person of judgment will there be, save the lover, who will reckon his highest joy a touch of his mistress's hand, a little ring of hers, a short loving glance, and other similar things of as small account as a dispassionate understanding holds them? And not by reason of these abundant pleasures which lovers in their judgment gain, must it be said that they are happy and fortunate; for there is no contentment of theirs that does not come accompanied by innumerable displeasures and disgusts, wherewith love dilutes them and disturbs them, and never did amorous glory reach the pitch reached and attained by pain. So evil is the happiness of lovers that it draws them out of themselves, making them careless and foolish; for, as they set their whole intent and strength to maintain themselves in that pleasant state they fancy themselves to be in, they neglect everything else, whereby no small harm overtakes them, as well of property, as of honour and life. Then, in exchange for what I have said, they even make themselves slaves of a thousand pangs, and enemies of themselves. What then, when it happens that, in the midst of the course of their pleasures, the cold steel of the heavy lance of jealousy touches them? Then the sky is darkened for them, the air is disturbed, and all the elements turn against them. Then they have nothing from which to hope for contentment, since the attainment of the end they desire cannot give it them. Then appear ceaseless dread, unfailing despair, sharp suspicions, varying thoughts, care without gain, false laughter and true sorrow, with a thousand other strange and terrible sensations which consume them and affright them. All the actions of the beloved object distress them, if she looks, if she laughs, if she turns away or comes back, if she is silent, if she speaks; and in a word all the graces that moved him to love well, are the very ones which torture the jealous lover. And who does not know that if fortune does not favour with full hands the beginnings of love and with speedy diligence lead them to a sweet end, how costly to the lover are any other means the luckless one employs to attain his purpose? What tears he sheds, what sighs he scatters, how many letters he writes, how many nights he does not sleep, how many and what contrary thoughts assail him, how many suspicions distress him and fears surprise him? Is there by chance a Tantalus who feels more distress, set between the waters and the apple-tree, than that which the wretched lover feels placed between fear and hope? The services of the lover out of favour are the pitchers of Danaus's daughters, drained so fruitlessly that they never come to attain the least part of their purpose. Is there eagle that so destroys the bowels of Tityus as jealousy destroys and gnaws those of the jealous lover? Is there rock that weighs down so much the shoulders of Sisyphus as love unceasingly weighs down the thoughts of those in love? Is there wheel of Ixion that more quickly turns and torments than the quick varying fancies of irresolute lovers? Is there a Minos or Rhadamanthus who so punishes and oppresses the luckless condemned souls as love punishes and oppresses the loving breast which is subject to his unendurable power? There is not a cruel Megæra, nor raging Tisiphone, nor avenging Alecto, who so illtreat the soul in which they enclose themselves, as this fury, this desire, illtreats those hapless ones who recognise it as lord, and bow before it as vassals, who, to give some excuse for the follies they commit, say--or at least the ancient heathens said--that that instinct which incites and moves the lover to love another's life more than his own, was a god, to whom they gave the name of Cupid, and so, being constrained by his godhead, they could not fail to follow and go after what he willed. They were moved to say this, and to give the name of god to this desire by seeing the supernatural effects it produces in lovers. Without doubt it seems a supernatural thing for a lover at the same moment to be timorous and confident, to burn away from his beloved and grow cold when nearer her, to be dumb when speaking much, and speaking much when dumb. It is likewise a strange thing to follow one who shuns me, to praise one who reproaches me, to utter words to one who does not listen to me, to serve an ungrateful one, and to hope in one who never promises nor can give aught that is good. Oh bitter sweetness, oh poisonous medicine of sick lovers, oh sad joy, oh flower of love, that dost indicate no fruit, save that of tardy repentance! These are the effects of this fancied god, these are his deeds and wondrous works; and indeed it can also be seen in the picture by which they represented this vain god of theirs, how vainly they acted; they painted him as a boy, naked, winged, his eyes bandaged, with bow and arrows in his hands, to give us to understand, amongst other things, that, when a man is in love, he assumes again the character of a simple and capricious boy, who is blind in his aims, light in his thoughts, cruel in his deeds, naked and poor in the riches of the understanding. They said likewise that amongst his arrows he had two, the one of lead and the other of gold, with which he produced different effects; for the leaden one begot hatred in the breasts it touched, and the golden one increase of love in those it wounded, merely to tell us that it is rich gold that causes love, and poor lead abhorrence. And for this reason poets do not sing in vain of Atalanta vanquished by three lovely golden apples; and of fair Danae, made pregnant by the golden rain; and of pious Æneas descending to hell with the golden branch in his hand; in a word, gold and gifts are one of the strongest arrows which love has; and the one with which he subdues most hearts; quite the contrary to the one of lead, a metal low and despised, as poverty is, which rather begets hatred and abhorrence where it comes, than any kind of benevolence. But if the reasons spoken by me so far do not suffice to persuade you of the reason I have for being on bad terms with this treacherous love, which I am discussing to-day, observe its effects in some true examples from the past, and you will see, as I see, that he who does not attain to the truth I follow does not see nor has he eyes of understanding. Let us see then--what but this love is it which made righteous Lot break his chaste purpose and violate his own daughters? This it is without doubt that made the chosen David be an adulterer and a murderer; that forced the lustful Ammon to seek the infamous embraces of Tamar, his beloved sister; that placed the head of mighty Samson in the traitorous lap of Delilah, whereby he lost his strength, his people lost their protection, and at last he and many others their lives. This it was that moved Herod's tongue to promise to the dancing girl the head of the Fore-runner of Life; this makes one doubt of the salvation of the wisest and richest king of kings, and even of all mankind. This brought down the strong arms of famous Hercules, accustomed to wield the weighty club, to turn a tiny spindle and to busy themselves in feminine tasks. This made the raging and loving Medea scatter through the air the tender limbs of her little brother; this cut out the tongue of Procne, Arachne and Hippolytus, made Pasiphae infamous, destroyed Troy, and slew Ægisthus. This caused the works of new Carthage once begun to be stayed, and her first queen to pierce her chaste breast with a sharp sword. This placed in the hands of the fair and famous Sophonisba, the vial of deadly poison which ended her life. This robbed valiant Turnus of life, Tarquin of kingdom, Mark Antony of power, and his mistress of life and honour. This finally handed our Spain over to the barbarous fury of the children of Hagar, called to avenge the disordered love of the wretched Roderick. But, because I think that night will cover us with its shade before I finish bringing to your memory the examples that offer themselves to mine, of the exploits that love has performed, and is performing every day in the world, I do not wish to go on with them, nor yet with the discourse I have begun, in order to give an opportunity for the famous Thyrsis to reply to me, begging you first, gentlemen, not to be wearied by hearing a song which I composed some days ago in reproach of this my foe. If I remember rightly, it runs in this way:

No fear have I before the frost and fire,
The bow and arrows of the tyrant Love,
And so I needs must sing in his dispraise;
For who shall fear a blind boy whose desire
Varies, whose judgment doth inconstant rove,
Although he threaten wounds and sad decays?
My pleasure doth increase, his worth decays,
When I employ my tongue
To utter the true song
Which in reproach of Love himself I form,
So rich in truth, in manner, and in form,
That unto all Love's malice it reveals,
And clearly doth inform
The world of the sure hurt that Love conceals.

Love is a fire that burns the soul within,
A frost that freezes; dart that opes the breast,
Which heedeth not its cunning manifold;
A troubled sea where calm hath ne'er been seen;
Wrath's minister; enemy manifest,
In guise of friend; father of dismay cold;
Giver of scanty good and ill untold;
Caressing; full of lies;
Fierce in his tyrannies;
A traitorous Circe that transforms us all
To divers monstrous shapes fantastical
Wherefrom no power of man can us restore,
Though quickly at our call
Comes reason's light, to what we were before,

A yoke that doth the proudest neck abase;
A mark to which desires of slothful ease,
Born without reason, go as to their goal;
A treacherous net, which men of highest place
Amidst their foul and unclean sins doth seize
And doth within its subtle mesh enthrall;
A pleasing ill that tempts the senses all;
Poison in guise of pill,
Gilded, but poison still;
A bolt that burns and cleaves where it descendeth;
An angry arm that traitorously offendeth;
Headsman that dooms the thought which captive lies,
Or which itself defendeth
From the sweet charm of his false fantasies;

A hurt that doth in the beginning please,
When on an object which doth seem as fair
As the fair heavens above, the sight doth feast--
And yet the more it looks with yearning gaze,
The more the heart doth suffer everywhere,
The heart that is with anguish sore distressed--
Dumb speaker; chatterer with dumbness oppressed;
A wise man babbling folly;
Ruin that slayeth wholly;
The life which joyous harmony doth fill;
Shadow of good that is transformed to ill;
A flight that raiseth us to Heaven on high,
Only that grief may still
Live after we have fallen, and pleasure die;

A thief unseen that doth destroy us quite,
And robs us of our wealth with ruthless hand,
Carrying our souls away at every hour;
A speed that overtakes the quickest flight;
A riddle none there is to understand;
A life that always is in peril sore;
A chosen, and, withal, a chance-born war;
A truce that is but brief;
Beloved, luckless grief;
Promise that never doth to fruitage come;
Illness that makes within the soul its home;
Coward that upon evil rusheth bold;
Debtor that doth the sum
He owes, which is our due, ever withhold;

A labyrinth wherein is nestling found
A fierce wild beast that doth itself sustain
On the surrendered hearts of all mankind;
A bond wherewith the lives of all are bound;
A lord that from his steward seeks to gain
Account of deed and word, and of his mind;
Greed, unto countless varied aims inclined;
A worm that builds a house,
Wretched or beauteous,
Where for a little while it dwells and dies;
A sigh that never knows for what it sighs;
A cloud that darkens all our faculties;
A knife that wounds us--this
Is Love, him follow, if ye think it wise.'

With this song the loveless Lenio ended his reasoning, leaving some of those that were present full of wonder at both, especially the gentlemen, for it seemed to them that what Lenio had said seemed of more worth than was usual with a shepherd's intellect. And with great desire and attention they were awaiting Thyrsis's reply, all promising themselves in fancy that it would without any doubt excel Lenio's, for Thyrsis exceeded him in age and experience, and in the studies most generally pursued, and this likewise reassured them, for they desired that Lenio's loveless opinion should not prevail. It is indeed true that the hapless Teolinda, the loving Leonarda, the fair Rosaura, and even the lady who came with Darinto and his companion, clearly saw depicted in Lenio's discourse a thousand points of the course of their loves; and this was when he came to treat of tears and sighs, and of how dearly the joys of love were bought. Only the fair Galatea and the discreet Florisa did not count in this, for up till then love had not taken count of their fair rebellious breasts, and so they were eager only to hear the acuteness with which the two famous shepherds disputed, without seeing in their free will any of the effects of love they were hearing of. But Thyrsis's will being to reduce to better limits the loveless shepherds opinion, without waiting to be asked, the minds of the bystanders hanging on his lips, he set himself in front of Lenio, and with agreeable and elevated tone began to speak in this wise:

THYRSIS. 'If the acuteness of your fair intellect, loveless shepherd, did not assure me that with ease it can attain the truth, from which it finds itself so far at present, rather than put myself to the trouble of contradicting your opinion, I would leave you in it, as a punishment for your unjust words. But because those you have uttered in blame of love show me the good germs you possess by which you may be brought to a better purpose, I do not wish by my silence to leave those who hear us scandalised, love despised, and you pertinacious and vainglorious; and so, being aided by Love on whom I call, I think in a few words to show how different are his works and effects from those you have declared about him, speaking only of the love you mean, which you defined when you said that it was a desire for beauty, and likewise declared what beauty was, and a little later you closely examined all the effects which the love of which you speak produced in loving breasts, finally strengthening your views with various unhappy events caused by love. And though the definition you made of love may be the one most generally given, yet it is not so much so but that it may be contradicted; for love and desire are two different things, since not everything that is loved is desired, nor everything that is desired loved. The reasoning is clear in the case of all things that are possessed, for then it cannot be said that they are desired, but that they are loved: thus, he who has health will not say that he desires health, but that he loves it; and he who has children cannot say that he desires children, but that he loves his children; nor yet can it be said of the things that are desired that they are loved, as of the death of enemies, which is desired and not loved. And so for this reason love and desire come to be different passions of the will. The truth is that love is the father of desire, and amongst other definitions which are given of love this is one. Love is that first change which we feel caused in our mind by the appetite which moves us and draws us to itself, delighting and pleasing us; and that pleasure begets motion in the soul, which motion is called desire, and, in short, desire is a motion of the appetite in regard to what is loved, and a wish for that which is possessed, and its object is happiness. And as there are found different species of desires, and love is a species of desire which looks to and regards the happiness which is called fair, yet for a clearer definition and division of love it must be understood that it is divided into three kinds, chaste love, useful love, and delectable love. And to these three forms of love are reduced all the kinds of loving and desiring that can exist in our will: for the chaste love regards the things of Heaven, eternal and divine; the useful, the things of earth, full of joy and doomed to perish, such as wealth, powers, and lordships; the delectable, things giving delight and pleasure, as the living corporeal beauties of which you, Lenio, spoke. And each form of these loves of which I have spoken ought not to be blamed by any tongue, for the chaste love ever was, is and must be spotless, simple, pure and divine, finding rest and repose in God alone. Profitable love, being, as it is, natural, ought not to be condemned, still less the delectable, for it is more natural than the profitable. That these two forms of love are natural in us, experience shows us, for as soon as our daring first parent transgressed the divine commandment, and from lord was made a servant, and from freeman a slave, straightway he knew the misery into which he had fallen, and the poverty in which he was. And so he at once took the leaves of trees to cover him, and sweated and toiled, breaking the earth to sustain himself, and to live with the least discomfort possible; and thereafter, obeying his God therein better than in aught else, he sought to have children, and in them to perpetuate and delight the human race. And as by his disobedience death entered into him, and through him into all his descendants, so we inherit at the same time all his affections and passions, as we inherit his very nature; and as he sought to remedy his necessity and poverty, so we cannot fail to seek and desire to remedy ours. And hence springs the love we have for things useful to human life; and the more we gain of them, the more it seems to us we remedy our want. And by the same reasoning we inherit the desire of perpetuating ourselves in our children; and from this desire follows that, which we have, to enjoy living corporeal beauty, as the only true means which lead such desires to a happy end. So that this delectable love, alone and without mixture of any other accident, is worthy rather of praise than of blame. And this is the love, which you, Lenio, hold for enemy; and the cause is that you do not understand it, nor know it, for you have never seen it alone, and in its own shape, but always accompanied by pernicious, lascivious and ill-placed desires. And this is not the fault of love, which is always good, but of the accidents which come to it; as we see happening in some copious stream, that has its birth from some clear and limpid spring, which is ever supplying to it clear cool waters, and a little while after it leaves its stainless mother, its sweet and crystalline waters are changed to bitter and turbid, by reason of the many stained brooks, which join it on either side. Hence this first motion, love or desire as you would call it, cannot arise except from a good beginning; and truly among good beginnings is the knowledge of beauty, which, once recognised as such, it seems well-nigh impossible to avoid loving. And beauty has such power to move our minds, that it alone caused the ancient philosophers (blind and without the light of faith to guide them), led by natural reason, and attracted by the beauty they beheld in the starry heavens, and in the mechanism and roundness of the earth, marvelling at such harmony and beauty, to pursue investigations with the understanding, making a ladder by these second causes to reach the first cause of causes; and they recognised that there was one only beginning without beginning of all things. But that which made them wonder most and raise their thoughts, was to see the frame of man so well-ordered, so perfect and so beautiful, that they came to call him a world in little; and so it is true that in all the works made by God's steward, Nature, nothing is of such excellence, nor reveals more the greatness and wisdom of its Maker. For in the form and frame of man is summed up and enclosed the beauty which is distributed in all the other parts of it; and hence it arises that this beauty, when recognised, is loved, and as all beauty displays itself most and is most resplendent in the face, as soon as a beautiful face is seen, it summons and draws the will to love it.

'Hence it follows that as the faces of women so much excel in beauty those of men, it is they who are the more loved, served and courted by us, as the object in which dwells the beauty that is naturally more pleasing to our sight. But our Maker and Creator, seeing that it is the proper nature of our soul to be for ever in perpetual motion and desire, for it cannot find rest save in God, as in its proper centre, willed, so that it might not rush with loosened rein to desire things empty and doomed to perish, and this without taking from it the liberty of free-will, to set over its three powers an alert sentinel, who should warn it against the dangers that opposed it and the enemies that persecuted it; this was reason, which corrects and curbs our inordinate desires. And seeing likewise that human beauty must needs draw after it our passions and inclinations, while it did not seem good to Him to take away from us this desire, at least He wished to temper it and correct it, ordaining the holy yoke of matrimony, beneath which most of the natural joys and pleasures of love are lawful and fitting for man and woman. By these two remedies imposed by the divine hand comes to be tempered the excess there can be in the natural love which you, Lenio, blame, which love is of itself so good that if it were lacking in us, the world and we would end. In this very love of which I am speaking are summed up all the virtues, for love is moderation, since the lover, according to the chaste wish of the beloved object, tempers his own; it is fortitude, for the lover can endure any adversity for the love of the one who loves him; it is justice, for with it he serves her who loves well, reason itself forcing him to it; it is prudence, for love is adorned with all wisdom. But I ask you, oh Lenio, you who have said that love is the cause of the ruin of empires, of the destruction of cities, of the deaths of friends, of sacrileges committed, the deviser of treasons, the transgressor of laws--I ask you, I say, to tell me, what praiseworthy thing there is to-day in the world, however good it be, the use of which cannot be changed into evil. Let philosophy be condemned, for often it discovers our faults, and many philosophers have been wicked; let the works of the heroic poets be burned, for with their satires and verses they reprehend vices; let medicine be blamed, for men discover poisons; let eloquence be called useless, for at times it has been so arrogant that it has placed in doubt the recognised truth; let not arms be forged, for robbers and murderers use them; let not houses be built, for they can fall upon the inhabitants; let variety of victuals be prohibited, for they are wont to be a cause of illness; let no one seek to have children, for Œdipus, driven by cruellest madness, slew his father, and Orestes smote the breast of his own mother; let fire be counted evil, for it is wont to burn houses and to consume cities; let water be despised, for with it all the earth was flooded; in a word, let all elements be condemned, for they can be perversely used by some perverse persons. And in this manner every good thing can be changed to evil, and from it can proceed evil effects, if placed in the hands of those who, as irrational beings, allow themselves to be governed by the appetite, without moderation. The ancient Carthage, rival of the Roman Empire, warlike Numantia, Corinth made so fair, proud Thebes, and learned Athens, and God's city Jerusalem, which were conquered and laid desolate--are we to say therefore that love was the cause of their destruction and ruin? Hence those who are accustomed to speak ill of love, ought to speak ill of their own selves, for the gifts of love, if they are used with moderation, are worthy of perpetual praise; since in everything the mean was always praised, or the extreme was blamed, for if we embrace virtue beyond what suffices, the wise man will win the name of fool, and the just of iniquitous. It was the opinion of the ancient tragedian Chremes, that, as wine mixed with water is good, so love, when moderate, is profitable, but it is the contrary when immoderate; the generation of rational animals and brutes would be naught if it did not proceed from love, and if it were wanting on earth, the latter would be deserted and empty. The ancients believed that love was the work of the gods, given for the preservation and care of mankind. But, coming to what you, Lenio, said of the sad and strange effects which love produces in loving breasts, keeping them ever in ceaseless tears, deep sighs, despairing fancies, without ever granting them an hour of repose--let us see perchance what thing can be desired in this life the attainment of which does not cost fatigue and toil; and the more valuable a thing is, the more one must suffer and does suffer for it. For desire presupposes a lack of the desired object, and until it is gained there must needs be disturbance in our mind. If then all human desires, without wholly attaining what they desire, can be rewarded and contented with a part of it being given them, and with all this it is compatible to follow them, how strange it is that to attain what cannot satisfy nor content the desire save with itself, one should suffer, weep, fear and hope? He who desires lordships, commands, honours, and riches, since he sees that he cannot reach the highest rank he would wish, when he succeeds in settling in some good position, is partly satisfied, for the hope which fails him of not being able to ascend further, makes him stop where he can, and where best he can. All this is the contrary in love, for love has no other reward nor satisfaction save love itself, and love itself is its own true reward; and for this reason it is impossible for the lover to be content till he clearly knows that he is truly loved, being assured of this by the loving tokens which they know. And so they value highly a pleasing glance, a pledge of any sort from their beloved, a trivial smile, or word, or jest they take for truth, as signs which are assuring them of the reward they desire; and so, whenever they see tokens contrary thereto, the lover is constrained to lament and grieve, without having moderation in his sorrows, since he cannot have it in his joys, when kind fortune and gentle love grant them to him. And, as it is a task of such difficulty to bring another's will to be one with mine, and to unite two souls in a knot and bond so indissoluble that the thoughts of the two may be one and all their deeds one, it is not strange that to achieve so lofty a purpose one should suffer more than for aught else, since, after it is achieved, it satisfies and gladdens beyond all things that are desired in this life. Not always are the tears of lovers shed with cause and reason, nor their sighs scattered, for if all their tears and sighs were caused by seeing that their wish is not responded to as is due, and with the reward that is sought for, it would be necessary to consider first whither they raised their fancy, and if they exalted it higher than their merit attains, it is no wonder that, like some new Icarus, they fall consumed into the river of miseries; and for these love will not incur the blame, but their folly. With all this I do not deny, but affirm that the desire of gaining what is loved, must needs cause affliction, by reason of the want it presupposes, as I have already said at other times; but I also say that to attain it gives the greatest pleasure and happiness, like rest to the weary and health to the sick. Together with this I acknowledge that if lovers marked, as in the ancient custom, with white and black stones their sad or happy days, without any doubt the unhappy would be more; but I also recognise that the quality of one white stone alone would excel the quantity of countless black ones. And for a proof of this truth we see that lovers never repent of being lovers, nay, rather, if anyone should promise them to deliver them from love's disease, they would repel him as an enemy; for even to suffer it is pleasant to them; and therefore, oh lovers, let no fear prevent you from offering and dedicating yourselves to love what should seem to you most difficult, nor complain, nor repent, if you have raised things lowly to your height, for love makes the little equal to the sublime, the lesser to the greater; and with just resolve it tempers the various dispositions of lovers, when with pure affection they receive its grace in their hearts. Yield not to dangers, that the glory may be so great as to take away the feeling of every sorrow; and, as for the captains and emperors of old, as a reward for their toils and fatigues, triumphs were prepared according to the greatness of their victories, so for lovers are reserved a multitude of pleasures and joys; and as with the former their glorious reception made them forget all their past troubles and griefs, so with the lover, when beloved by the beloved, his dreadful dreams, his uncertain sleep, his waking nights, his restless days are turned to highest peace and happiness. Hence, Lenio, if you condemn them for their sad effects, you should acquit them for their pleasing and happy ones. And as for the interpretation you gave of Cupid's form, I am going to say that you are almost as wrong in it as in the other things you have said against love. For to picture him a boy, blind, naked, with wings and arrows, means nothing but that the lover must be a boy in not having a double character, but one pure and simple; he must be blind to every other object that might offer itself to him, save that which he has already been able to see and yield to, naked because he must have naught save what belongs to her he loves, having wings of swiftness to be ready for all that may be commanded him on her part, while he is depicted with arrows, for the wound of the loving breast must needs be deep and hidden, and that scarce may be disclosed save to the very cause that is to cure it. That love should strike with two arrows which operate in different ways, is to show us that in perfect love there must be no mean between loving and not loving at the same moment, but that the lover must love whole-heartedly without any admixture of lukewarmness. Finally, Lenio, this love it is which, if it destroyed the Trojans, made the Greeks great; if it caused the works of Carthage to cease, it caused the buildings of Rome to grow; if it took away the kingdom from Tarquin, it brought back the republic to freedom. Though I might here adduce many examples opposed to those I have adduced of the _good_ effects love causes, I do not wish to busy myself with them, since they are so well known of themselves. I only wish to ask you to be disposed to believe what I have shown and to have patience to hear a song of mine which seems as if it was composed in rivalry of yours; and if by it and by what I have said to you, you should not be willing to be brought over to love's side, and it should seem to you that you are not satisfied of the truths I have declared concerning it, if the present time permits it, or at any other you might choose and indicate, I promise you to satisfy all the replies and arguments you might wish to express in opposition to mine; and, for the present, attend to me and listen:

Come, issue from the pure and loving breast,
Sonorous voice, and let thy tones of pride
Sing of the lofty marvels done by Love,
So that the thought that freest is and best,
May be content thereby and satisfied,
Though 'tis but hearsay that the thought doth move.
Sweet Love, that canst thy lofty marvels prove,
If thou wilt, by my tongue,
Grant unto it such grace,
That glory, joy and praise,
For telling who thou art, reward my song;
For, if thou aidest me, as I surmise,
Thy worth, in rapid flight
To Heaven's height, we see with mine arise.