The cure of love melancholy by work, diet, medicine, fasting and other means

Although some dispute whether love melancholy can be cured, because it is such an irresistible and violent passion—for, as you know,

Easy is the descent to Avernus; But to turn back and escape to the air above— That is the labour, that is the task.

The passage down to hell is easy; But once you are there, returning is no easy matter.

yet unquestionably, if treated in time, it can be relieved and improved by many good remedies. Avicenna, book 3, fen, chapters 23 and 24, sets out seven concise methods by which this malady may be eased, altered and expelled. Savonarola gives nine principal observations; Jason Pratensis prescribes eight rules, besides medicines, for taming this passion; Laurentius gives two main precepts. Arnoldus, Valleriola, Montaltus, Hildesheim, Langius and others offer different instructions, yet all tend towards the same purpose.

I shall briefly summarize their substance—for I light my candle from their torches—and expand upon it as occasion offers and seems best to me, following my own method. The first rule for this stubborn, unbridled passion concerns exercise and diet. There is an old and familiar saying: “Without Ceres and Bacchus, Venus grows cold.” Just as an idle, sedentary life and abundant food are major causes, so their opposites—work, a light and sparing diet, and constant occupation—are the best and most usual means of prevention.

Take away idleness, and Cupid’s arts are ruined; His torches lie despised and without light.

Take idleness away, and Cupid’s arts Are put to flight; his torches give no light.

Minerva, Diana, Vesta and the nine Muses never fell in love, because they were never idle.

In vain, flatteries, have you approached them; In vain, wanton tricks, have you come to them; In vain, pleasures, will you besiege them; In vain, temptations and shameless advances, Sighs and kisses and whispers, And whoever bewitches lovers’ disordered hearts, Drunk with seductive poisons.

In vain are all your flatteries, In vain are all your knaveries, Delights, deceits and shameless tricks, Sighs, kisses and conspiracies, And every art employed To bewitch a lover’s heart.

It is useless to assail those who are busy. Savonarola’s third rule is “to be occupied in many important affairs,” and this is also Avicenna’s precept in chapter 24:

Love yields to business: keep busy, and you will be safe.

Be continually occupied and, as Guianerius directs, with matters of great importance if possible. Magninus adds: “Never be idle except during the hours of sleep.”

And unless you call for a book and a light before dawn, Unless you direct your mind to study And honourable pursuits, you will be wretchedly Tormented by envy or love.

For if you do not apply yourself to books, Intent on study by candlelight, Occupied with some honourable pursuit, Envy or love will torment you.

There is no better medicine than to be always occupied and earnestly absorbed.

Why does this plague, choosing luxurious homes, Enter humble households less often, While ordinary people keep their feelings sound?

Why, you ask, are poor people often free, While luxurious homes are always troubled?

Because poor people eat coarse food, work hard, and go with wool next to their skin and with little clothing. “Poverty has nothing with which to feed its love.” Guianerius therefore prescribes that his patient wear haircloth next to his skin, go barefoot and barelegged in cold weather, and whip himself now and then, as monks do—but above all, fast. Not on sweet wine, mutton and broth, as many of those gluttons do, however much they put on Lenten faces and whatever they pretend, but abstaining from every kind of food.

Fasting is a sufficient remedy by itself. For, as Jason Pratensis maintains, the bodies of people who eat plentifully and live at ease “are full of evil spirits and devils, of devilish thoughts; there is no better medicine for them than fasting.” Hildesheim, in his second collection, adds to hunger “frequent baths, much exercise and sweating,” but prescribes hunger and fasting before all the rest. Indeed, our Saviour’s pronouncement is that “this kind of devil is cast out only by fasting and prayer”; hence the Church Fathers’ extravagant praise of fasting.

“As hunger,” says Ambrose, “is a friend to virginity, so it is an enemy to lust; but a full stomach overthrows chastity and fosters every kind of temptation.” If your horse is too spirited, Jerome advises taking away some of his fodder. By this means those Pauls, Hilaries, Anthonies and famous hermits subdued the lusts of the flesh. By this means Hilarion made his ass—as he called his own body—stop kicking, as Jerome relates in his life, when the devil tempted him to such a foul offence.

By this means the Indian Brahmans kept themselves chaste: they lay on the ground covered with skins, as the Redshanks do on heather, and ate sparingly of a single dish. Guianerius would have all young men follow this practice. If that fails, Gordonius would have them thoroughly whipped or, to cool their ardour, kept in prison and fed on bread and water until they acknowledge their error and change their minds.

If imprisonment and hunger do not subdue them, then, according to Crates of Thebes, “time must wear it out; if time fails, the last refuge is a noose.” But, you will say, this is spoken in jest. Fasting, however, must certainly be continued; and just as they must abstain from the foods mentioned earlier that stimulate sexual desire or provoke lust, so they must follow the opposite diet.