e to be born and grow, therefore it must be to their
advantage; whereas it only harms them more, just as he who approaches
and draws close beside the fire burns himself more than he who holds
aloof. Their love waxes and grows anon; but each is abashed before the
other, and so much is hidden and concealed that no flame or smoke arises
from the coals beneath the ashes. The heat is no less on this account,
but rather is better sustained beneath the ashes than above. Both of
them are in great torment; for, in order that none may perceive their
trouble, they are forced to deceive people by a feigned bearing; but at
night comes the bitter moan, which each one makes within his breast. Of
Alexander I will tell you first how he complains and vents his grief.
Love presents before his mind her for whom he is in such distress; it is
she who has filched his heart away, and grants him no rest upon his bed,
because, forsooth, he delights to recall the beauty and the grace of her
who, he has no hope, will ever bring him any joy. "I may as well hold
myself a madman." he exclaims. "A madman? Truly, I am beside myself,
when I dare not speak what I have in mind; for it would speedily fare
worse with me (if I held my peace). I have engaged my thoughts in a mad
emprise. But is it not better to keep my thoughts to myself than to be
called a fool? My wish will never then be known. Shall I then conceal
the cause of my distress, and not dare to seek aid and healing for my
wound? He is mad who feels himself afflicted, and seeks not what will
bring him health, if perchance he may find it anywhere; but many a one
seeks his welfare by striving for his heart's desire, who pursues only
that which brings him woe instead. And why should one ask for advice,
who does not expect to gain his health? He would only exert himself
in vain. I feel my own illness to be so grievous that I shall never be
healed by any medicine or draught, by any herb or root. For some ills
there is no remedy, and mine lies so deep within that it is beyond the
reach of medicine. Is there no help, then? Methinks I have lied. When
first I felt this malady, if I had dared to make mention of it. I might
have spoken with a physician who could have completely cured me. But I
like not to discuss such matters; I think he would pay me no heed and
would not consent to accept a fee. No wonder, then, if I am terrified;
for I am very ill, yet I do not know what disease this is which has me
in its