in the movement of the sun and in its oneness. Let the blind men cry
out as they like; I boast with Socrates, although I am not as wise as
he was, that I know of naught save love; and I intend to attempt the
formulation of some of its precepts, in order to spare married people
the trouble of cudgeling their brains; they would soon reach the limit
of their wit.

Now all the preceding observations may be resolved into a single
proposition, which may be considered either the first or last term in
this secret theory of love, whose statement would end by wearying us,
if we did not bring it to a prompt conclusion. This principle is
contained in the following formula:

LVII.
Between two beings susceptible of love, the duration of passion is in
proportion to the original resistance of the woman, or to the
obstacles which the accidents of social life put in the way of your
happiness.

If you have desired your object only for one day, your love perhaps
will not last more than three nights. Where must we seek for the
causes of this law? I do not know. If you cast your eyes around you,
you will find abundant proof of this rule; in the vegetable world the
plants which take the longest time to grow are those which promise to
have the longest life; in the moral order of things the works produced
yesterday die to-morrow; in the physical world the womb which
infringes the laws of gestation bears dead fruit. In everything, a
work which is permanent has been brooded over by time for a long
period. A long future requires a long past. If love is a child,
passion is a man. This general law, which all men obey, to which all
beings and all sentiments must submit, is precisely that which every
marriage infringes, as we have plainly shown. This principle has given
rise to the love tales of the Middle Ages; the Amadises, the
Lancelots, the Tristans of ballad literature, whose constancy may
justly be called fabulous, are allegories of the national mythology
which our imitation of Greek literature nipped in the bud. These
fascinating characters, outlined by the imagination of the
troubadours, set their seal and sanction upon this truth.

LVIII.
We do not attach ourselves permanently to any possessions, excepting
in proportion to the trouble, toil and longing which they have cost
us.

All our meditations have revealed to us about the basis of the
primordial law of love