There is something irresistibly pleasing in the conversation of a fine
woman: even though her tongue be silent, the eloquence of her eyes
teaches wisdom. The mind sympathizes with the regularity of the object
in view, and struck with external grace, vibrates into respondent
harmony.
Whether love be natural or no, it contributes to the happiness of every
society into which it is introduced. All our pleasures are short, and
can only charm at intervals: love is a method of protracting our
greatest pleasure; and surely that gamester, who plays the greatest
stake to the best advantage, will at the end of life, rise victorious.
This was the opinion of Vanini, who affirmed that, “every hour was lost
which was not spent in love.” His accusers were unable to comprehend his
meaning, end the poor advocate for love was burned in flames, alas! no
way metaphorical. But whatever advantages the individual may reap from
this passion, society will certainly be refined and improved by its
introduction; all laws, calculated to discourage it, tend to embrute the
species and weaken the state. Though it cannot plant morals in the human
breast, it cultivates them when there: pity, generosity, and honour,
receive a brighter polish from its assistance; and a single amour is
sufficient entirely to brush off the clown.
But it is an exotic of the most delicate constitution; it requires the
greatest art to introduce it into a state, and the smallest
discouragement is sufficient to repress it again. Let us only consider
with what ease it was formerly extinguished in Rome, and with what
difficulty it was lately revived in Europe: it seemed to sleep for ages,
and at last fought its way through tilts, tournaments, dragons, and all
the dreams of chivalry. The rest of the world, are, and have ever been,
utter strangers to its delights and advantages. In other countries, as
men find themselves stronger than women, they lay a claim to rigorous
superiority: this is natural, and love which gives up this natural
advantage, must certainly be the effect of art. An art, calculated to
lengthen out our happier moments, and add new graces to society.
Those countries where it is rejected, are obliged to have recourse to
art to stifle so natural a projection, and those nations where it is
cultivated, only make nearer advances to nature. The same efforts, that
are used in some places to suppress pity and other natural passions, may
have been employed to extinguish love. No nation, however unpolished, is
remarkable for innocence, that has not been famous for passion; it has
flourished in the coldest, as well as the warmest regions. Even in the
sultry wilds of southern America, the lover is not satisfied with
possessing his mistress’s person, without having her mind.
In all my Enna’s beauties blest,
Amidst profusion still to pine;
For though she gives me up her breast,
Its panting tenant is not mine.
The effects of love are too violent to be the result of an artful
passion. Nor is it in the power of fashion, to force the constitution
into those changes, which we every day observe. Several have died of it.
Few lovers are unacquainted with the fate of the two Italian lovers, Da
Corsin and Julia Bellamano, who, after a long separation, expired with
pleasure in each other’s arms. Such instances are too strong
confirmations of the reality of the passion, and serve to shew that
suppressing it, is but opposing the natural dictates of the heart.
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