OR. Yes; but we perceive the ardour of a lover much better through
respect than through jealousy.

CL. It is my opinion that he who is attached to us, loves us the more
that he shows himself jealous?

OR. Fie, Climene, do not call lovers those men whose love is like
hatred, and who, instead of showing their respect and their ardour, give
themselves no thought save how to become wearisome; whose minds, being
ever prompted by some gloomy passion, seek to make a crime out of the
slightest actions, are too blind to believe them innocent, and demand an
explanation for a glance; who, if we seem a little sad, at once complain
that their presence is the cause of it, and when the least joy sparkles
in our eyes, will have their rivals to be at the bottom of it; who, in
short, assuming a right because they are greatly in love, never speak to
us save to pick a quarrel, dare to forbid anyone to approach us, and
become the tyrants of their very conquerors. As for me, I want lovers to
be respectful; their submission is a sure proof of our sway.

CL. Fie, do not call those men true lovers who are never violent in
their passion; those lukewarm gallants, whose tranquil hearts already
think everything quite sure, have no fear of losing us, and
overweeningly suffer their love to slumber day by day, are on good terms
with their rivals, and leave a free field for their perseverance. So
sedate a love incites my anger; to be without jealousy is to love
coldly. I would that a lover, in order to prove his flame, should have
his mind shaken by eternal suspicions, and, by sudden outbursts, show
clearly the value he sets upon her to whose hand he aspires. Then his
restlessness is applauded; and, if he sometimes treats us a little
roughly, the pleasure of seeing him, penitent at our feet, to excuse