The Anatomy of Melancholy

So Seneca lived with his Paulina, Abraham with Sarah, Orpheus with Eurydice, Arria with Paetus, Artemisia with Mausolus; and Rubenius Celer, who insisted on having it engraved on his tomb that he had lived with Ennea, his dear wife, for forty-three years and eight months, and they had never quarrelled. No pleasure in this world compares with it: it is “the highest good of mortal life”—

“Venus, giver of life, delight of men and gods”—“for in a woman there lies something greater and more powerful than all other human pleasures,” as one writer holds. There is something in a woman beyond all human delight: a magnetic force, an enchanting quality, a hidden and powerful impulse.

The husband rules her as head, but she in turn commands his heart. He is her servant; she is his only joy and contentment. No happiness equals it, no love is so great as this between husband and wife, no comfort like “a delightful wife”—a sweet wife:

All love is great, but greater for an openly acknowledged spouse.

When their love at the end is as fresh as it was at the beginning,

And she, beloved, grows old with her beloved husband,

As Homer presents Paris kissing Helen after they had been married ten years, declaring that he loved her as dearly as in the first hour of their betrothal.

And when they cherish one another in old age, speaking as the poet did to his wife,

Wife, let us live as we have lived, and die, Keeping the name we took in the bridal chamber. Let no day bring such change as we grow older That I am no longer young to you, nor you a girl to me.

Dear wife, let us live in love and die together, In all the goodwill we have shared till now. Let no day change or alter our affections, But let us still be young to one another.

Such should married love be: always the same. As they are one flesh, so they should be of one mind, as in an aristocratic government, sharing one accord; like Geryon, “growing together into one,” having one heart in two bodies, wishing and refusing the same things.

A good wife, according to Plutarch, should be like a mirror reflecting her husband’s face and feelings. If he is cheerful, she should be merry; if he laughs, she should smile; if he looks sad, she should share his sorrow and bear part of it with him. In this way they should continue in mutual love for one another.

And no old age will draw me away from love of you, Though I become a Tithonus or a Nestor.

No age will part my love from you, sweet wife, Though I live as long as Nestor or Tithonus.

And she in turn should say to him, as the bride greeted the bridegroom in ancient Rome: “Where you are Gaius, I am always Gaia.” Remain Gaius, and I will be Gaia.