“If, or as soon as, they fail in achieving the gratification of their sensual desires, their ‘love’ immediately turns to hate.  The idea of devotion or self-sacrifice for the good of the beloved person, as distinct from one’s own, is absolutely unknown.  ’Love is irresistible,’ they say, and, in obedience to its commands, they set down to reckon how they can satisfy themselves, at no matter what cost to the objects of their passion.”

How different this unaffectionate “love” from the love of which our poets sing!  Shakspere knew that absorbing affection is an ingredient of love:  Beatrice loves Benedick “with an enraged affection,” which is “past the infinite of the night.”  Rosalind does not know how many fathom deep she is in love:  “It cannot he sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.”  Dr. Abel has truly said that

“affection is love tested and purified in the fire of the intellect.  It appears when, after the veil of fancy has dropped, a beloved one is seen in the natural beauty with various human limitations, and is still found worthy of the warmest regards.  It comes slowly, but it endures; gives more than it takes and has a tinge of tender gratitude for a thousand kind actions and for the bestowal of enduring happiness.  According to English ideas, a deep affection, through whose clear mirror the gold of the old love shimmers visibly, should be the fulfilment of marriage.”

Of romantic love affection obviously could not become an ingredient till minds were cultured, women esteemed, men made altruistic, and opportunities were given for youths and maidens to become acquainted with each other’s minds and characters before marriage; as Dr. Abel says, affection “comes slowly—­but it endures.”  The love of which affection forms an ingredient can never change to hatred, can never have any murderous impulses, as Schure and Goethe believed.  It survives time and sensual charms, as Shakspere knew: 

     Love is not love
     Which alters when it alteration finds.

* * * * *

     Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
     Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
     Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
     But bears it out ev’n to the edge of doom:—­

     If this be error, and upon me proved;
     I never writ nor no man ever loved.

XIII.  MENTAL PURITY

Romantic love has worked two astounding miracles.  We have seen how, with the aid of five of its ingredients—­sympathy, adoration, gallantry, self-sacrifice, and affection—­it has overthrown the Goliath of selfishness.  We shall now see how it has overcome another formidable foe of civilization—­sensualism—­by means of two other modern ingredients, one of which I will call mental purity (to distinguish it from bodily purity or chastity) and the other esthetic admiration of personal beauty.