Tap the page, move to the top or bottom edge, swipe down, or press Tab to reveal reading controls. Use the arrow keys or swipe sideways to turn pages.
Once in love, therefore, he will walk, run or ride many miles to meet her, by day or night, even in pitch darkness; endure scorching heat and cold; wait in frost, snow, rain and storms until his teeth chatter. Those northern winds and showers cannot cool or quench the flames of his love. “He is not deterred by the dead of night.” Take my word for it: he will endure hunger and thirst. “He will penetrate everything, break through everything”: love will find a way. Through thick and thin he will reach her. “Mountains seem easily traversed, rivers swimmable.” He will swim an ocean, ride post-haste over the Alps, Apennines or Pyrenees,
He is ready to pass through fire, the waves of the sea, And whirlwinds—
Even if it rains daggers point-downwards, light or dark makes no difference: “Faunus came through the darkness to the dewy cave.” For her sweet sake he will undertake Hercules’s twelve labours, endure anything and risk everything: he feels none of it.
“What shall I say,” asks Haedus, “of the great dangers they face, the single combats they undertake, how they risk their lives, creep through windows and gutters, climb over walls to reach their sweethearts”—oiling doors and hinges to prevent creaking, treading softly, swimming, wading, keeping watch and so on—“and, if surprised, leap out of windows and throw themselves headlong down, bruising or breaking their legs or arms, sometimes losing life itself?” So Calisto did for his lovely Melibea.
Hear some of their own confessions, declarations, complaints, offers, protests, wishes, brutish attempts and efforts of this kind. Hercules served Omphale, put on an apron, took up a distaff and spun. The soldier Thraso was so submissive to Thais that he resolved to do whatever she commanded: “I shall surrender myself to Thais and do what she orders.” I am at her service.
Philostratus, in a letter to his mistress: “I am ready to die, sweetheart, if that is your wish. Quench the thirst of the man your star has scorched and ruined. Springs and rivers refuse drink to no one who comes. The spring does not say, ‘You shall not drink’; the apple, ‘You shall not eat’; the beautiful meadow, ‘Do not walk in me.’ Yet you alone will not let me approach or see you. Scorned and despised, I die of grief.”
In Petronius, when his mistress Circe merely frowned at him, Polyaenus drew his sword and told her to kill him, stab him or whip him to death: he would strip naked and offer no resistance. Another will journey to Japan, “disregarding the hardships of a long voyage.” A third, if she says so, will not speak a word for twelve months: her command will be kept absolutely. A fourth will take Hercules’s club from him and, like that Centurio in the Spanish Celestina, kill ten men for his mistress Areusa at a word from her. He will slice shields in two like apples and strike men down like flies: “Choose what kind of death you want me to kill him by.”
Galeatus of Mantua went a little further. When he was almost mad with love for a beautiful girl in the city, she told him in jest to leap into the River Po if he loved her—presumably to test what he would do for her sake. He immediately jumped headlong from the bridge and drowned. Another, at Ficinum, was similarly in love. When his mistress happened to tell him to go and hang himself—intending no harm, I dare swear—he hanged himself at her door the following night.
“Money,” says Xenophon, “is a very welcome and pleasing guest; yet I would rather give it to my dear Clinias than receive it from others. I would rather serve him than command others, be his drudge than take my ease, face any danger for his sake than live in safety. For I would rather see Clinias than all the rest of the world, and lose the sight of everything else rather than of him alone. I resent night and sleep because I cannot see him, and thank the daylight and sun because they show me my Clinias. I will run into the fire for his sake; and if you merely saw him, I know you too would run with me.”
So Philostratus writes to his mistress: “Command whatever you wish: I will do it. Tell me to go to sea: I am gone at once. To take so many lashes: I am ready. To run through fire and lay down my life and soul at your feet: it is done.” So Aeolus answered Juno:
Your task, O queen, is to determine what you wish; My duty is to carry out your commands.
O queen, your task is always to command me, And I am bound to carry out your will.
And Phaedra to Hippolytus:
Call me your sister, Hippolytus, or your servant— Your servant, rather: I will bear every kind of servitude.
Call me sister or servant, as you choose; Rather, your servant: I am yours to use.
If you command me to go through deep snow, I would not shrink from climbing the frozen ridges of Pindus, Nor hesitate to pass through fire or hostile ranks, Ready to offer my breast to their swords. It is for you then to command, and for me to obey.
I shall not mind climbing straightaway To snowy hills or frozen Pindus’s peaks, Or running through fire or through an army. Only say the word, for I am always yours.
Callicratidas in Lucian bursts into this passionate speech: “O God of heaven, grant me this life for ever: to sit opposite my mistress and hear her sweet voice, to go in and out with her, to share every other occupation with her. I would work when she works and sail when she sails. Whoever hates her should hate me. If a tyrant kills her, he should kill me. If she dies, I would not live; one grave should hold us both.”
Dying, she will end my love, as I too die.
Abrocomus in Aristaenetus makes the same petition for his Delphia:
I would love to live with you, and gladly die with you.
It is the same refrain Theagenes used to his Chariclea: “If only I may enjoy your love, let me die at once.” So too Leander, for his Hero, when he begged the sea’s waves to let him reach his beloved undisturbed and kill him on the return journey: