Value for Thursday of Week 42 in the season of Assessing

Amore

Amore is so strongly on our minds that most people think it is a synonym for Love. It is one part of one kind of love.

We look at each other, and we smile that smile, like a secret we share. We both know we’ve found what the whole world is searching for. [attributed to J.M. Storm]
The first time you caught my eye, it was not love at first sight. Instead, a quiet curiosity was planted in my chest, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you sank beneath my bones, and nurtured this deep-seated familiarity into a love so fierce that I would question if I had ever been in love before. [source unknown]
The most beautiful thing you could ever experience is finding someone who wants your all, even if your all is a mess. [source unknown]
I want you to be the one I stay in bed with on Sunday morning, and never want to leave. [source unknown]

This begins with a season, which for want of a better word we might as well call September. / It begins with a forest, where the woodchucks woo and leaves wax green and vines entwine like lovers. / Try to see it, not with your eyes for they are wise, but see it with your ears: The cool, green breathing of the leaves. / And hear it with the inside of your hand, the soundless sound of shadows flicking light. / Celebrate sensation! Recall that secret place, that special place where once, just once / In your crowded, sunlit lifetime you hid away in shadows from the tyranny of time; / That spot beside the clover, where someone’s hand held your hand, / And love was sweeter than the berries or the honey or the stinging taste of mint. [from “The Fantasticks“]

People need to love. It, too, relieves life’s tensions and strengthens us to press on. Perhaps that is because it satisfies the biological imperative to reproduce. The person who experiences amore is likely to say “who cares.”

“Experiencing romantic love is an important part of individual development.” “. . . biological anthropologist Helen Fisher studied 166 societies and found evidence of romantic love—the kind that leaves one breathless and euphoric—in 147 of them.”

Amore appears to have an evolutionary basis. “Romantic and maternal love are highly rewarding experiences. Both are linked to the perpetuation of the species and therefore have a closely linked biological function of crucial evolutionary importance.” “. . . romantic love is one of the three primary brain systems that evolved in avian and mammalian species to direct reproduction.” “During evolutionary history, protection from danger by a stronger/wiser figure was essential for the survival of infants and young children. To ensure sufficient care/protection, selection pressures produced an innate system—the attachment system—that motivates vulnerable individuals to seek close physical and emotional proximity to their primary caregivers, especially when they are distressed . . .”

“. . . romantic relationships are characterized by distinct patterns of interaction, yet also are associated with other close relationships.” “A meaningful relationship with a significant other may bring companionship, friendship, love, security, and happiness to an individual’s life. It also may bring health benefits.” “. . . love’s reaction inside the brain models our basic needs for well-being”. “. . . presentation of a love stimulus can prime love-relevant networks and enhance subsequent performance on conceptually related mentalizing tasks.”

“Falling in love is associated with increased energy, narrowing of mental focus, sometimes sweaty palms, light-headedness, racing heart, and a lot of positive feelings . . .” At least ten factors can be associated with romantic love. Contrary to popular belief, at least some people can regulate the powerful feelings of amore.

Romantic love in men is a popular subject. “There are six love styles which are primary including Eros (passionate romantic love), Ludus (playful) and Storge (friendly) and secondary love consisting of Mania (obsessive), Pragma (practical realistic) and Agape (altruistic). Our results pointed out that low testosterone concentrations are associated with higher score for Eros, Ludus, Pragma, Mania love style.”

“‘Love hurts’”. It is bound up in attachments and expectations, which are easily – usually – disappointed. It can lead to unhealthy behaviors. Yet many of us seem to be unable to do without it. Like Woody Allen’s character, we need the eggs.

Real

True Narratives

Michel Delon, ed., The Libertine: The Art of Love in Eighteenth-Century France (Abbeville Press, 2013): a sumptuous illustrated book “displaying the dazzling breadth and depth of the 18^th-century obsession with pleasures of the flesh.”

Technical and Analytical Readings

Photographs

Documentary and Educational Films

Imaginary

Fictional Narratives

In this passage, Hugo describes the spark of amore arising in Marius, toward Cosette.

When Marius passed near her, he could not see her eyes, which were constantly lowered. He saw only her long chestnut lashes, permeated with shadow and modesty. This did not prevent the beautiful child from smiling as she listened to what the white-haired old man was saying to her, and nothing could be more fascinating than that fresh smile, combined with those drooping eyes. For a moment, Marius thought that she was another daughter of the same man, a sister of the former, no doubt. But when the invariable habit of his stroll brought him, for the second time, near the bench, and he had examined her attentively, he recognized her as the same. In six months the little girl had become a young maiden; that was all. Nothing is more frequent than this phenomenon. There is a moment when girls blossom out in the twinkling of an eye, and become roses all at once. One left them children but yesterday; today, one finds them disquieting to the feelings. This child had not only grown, she had become idealized. As three days in April suffice to cover certain trees with flowers, six months had sufficed to clothe her with beauty. Her April had arrived. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume III – Marius; Book Sixth – The Conjunction of Two Stars, Chapter II, “Lux Facta Est”.]

Then this occurs:

One day, the air was warm, the Luxembourg was inundated with light and shade, the sky was as pure as though the angels had washed it that morning, the sparrows were giving vent to little twitters in the depths of the chestnut-trees. Marius had thrown open his whole soul to nature, he was not thinking of anything, he simply lived and breathed, he passed near the bench, the young girl raised her eyes to him, the two glances met. What was there in the young girl's glance on this occasion? Marius could not have told. There was nothing and there was everything. It was a strange flash. She dropped her eyes, and he pursued his way. What he had just seen was no longer the ingenuous and simple eye of a child; it was a mysterious gulf which had half opened, then abruptly closed again. There comes a day when the young girl glances in this manner. Woe to him who chances to be there! That first gaze of a soul which does not, as yet, know itself, is like the dawn in the sky. It is the awakening of something radiant and strange. Nothing can give any idea of the dangerous charm of that unexpected gleam, which flashes suddenly and vaguely forth from adorable shadows, and which is composed of all the innocence of the present, and of all the passion of the future. It is a sort of undecided tenderness which reveals itself by chance, and which waits. It is a snare which the innocent maiden sets unknown to herself, and in which she captures hearts without either wishing or knowing it. It is a virgin looking like a woman. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume III – Marius; Book Sixth – The Conjunction of Two Stars, Chapter III, “Effect of the Spring”.]

Then later, this:

Isolation, detachment, from everything, pride, independence, the taste of nature, the absence of daily and material activity, the life within himself, the secret conflicts of chastity, a benevolent ecstasy towards all creation, had prepared Marius for this possession which is called passion. His worship of his father had gradually become a religion, and, like all religions, it had retreated to the depths of his soul. Something was required in the foreground. Love came. A full month elapsed, during which Marius went every day to the Luxembourg. When the hour arrived, nothing could hold him back.--"He is on duty," said Courfeyrac. Marius lived in a state of delight. It is certain that the young girl did look at him. He had finally grown bold, and approached the bench. Still, he did not pass in front of it any more, in obedience to the instinct of timidity and to the instinct of prudence common to lovers. He considered it better not to attract "the attention of the father." He combined his stations behind the trees and the pedestals of the statues with a profound diplomacy, so that he might be seen as much as possible by the young girl and as little as possible by the old gentleman. Sometimes, he remained motionless by the half-hour together in the shade of a Leonidas or a Spartacus, holding in his hand a book, above which his eyes, gently raised, sought the beautiful girl, and she, on her side, turned her charming profile towards him with a vague smile. While conversing in the most natural and tranquil manner in the world with the white-haired man, she bent upon Marius all the reveries of a virginal and passionate eye. Ancient and time-honored manouvre which Eve understood from the very first day of the world, and which every woman understands from the very first day of her life! her mouth replied to one, and her glance replied to another. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume III – Marius; Book Sixth – The Conjunction of Two Stars, Chapter VII, “Adventures of the Letter U Delivered Over to Conjectures”.]

Much later, after they meet, it is like this:

Marius was conscious of a barrier, Cosette's innocence; and Cosette of a support, Marius' loyalty. The first kiss had also been the last. Marius, since that time, had not gone further than to touch Cosette's hand, or her kerchief, or a lock of her hair, with his lips. For him, Cosette was a perfume and not a woman. He inhaled her. She refused nothing, and he asked nothing. Cosette was happy, and Marius was satisfied. They lived in this ecstatic state which can be described as the dazzling of one soul by another soul. It was the ineffable first embrace of two maiden souls in the ideal. Two swans meeting on the Jungfrau. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume IV – Saint-Denis; Book Eighth – Enchantments and Desolations, Chapter I, “Full Light”.]

Then, near the end of the novel:

Cosette and Marius beheld each other once more. What that interview was like we decline to say. There are things which one must not attempt to depict; the sun is one of them. [Victor Hugo, Les Misérables (1862), Volume V – Jean Valjean; Book Fifth – Grandson and Grandfather, Chapter IV, “Mademoiselle Gillenormand Ends By No Longer Thinking It a Bad Thing That M. Fauchelevent Should Have Entered With Something Under His Arm”.]

Novels and stories:

Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera: A Novel (Everyman's Library, 1997).
Glenway Wescott, The Pilgrim Hawk: A Love Story (NYRB Classics, 2001).
Open the links for young people’s books about romantic “love”.

Poetry

I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale.
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start --
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more

[John Clare, “First Love”]

Other poems: