e my trouble comes, unless it is caused by my desire. Perchance
my desire is my disease, but I find so much joy in it that the suffering
it causes me is grateful, and there is so much contentment in my pain
that it is sweet to suffer so. Nurse Thessala, now tell me true, is not
this a deceitful ill, to charm and torment me both at once? I do not see
how I can tell whether this is a disease or not. Nurse, tell me now its
name, nature, and character. But understand well that I have no desire
to be cured of it, for my distress is very dear to me." Thessala, who
was very wise about love and its symptoms knows full well from what she
hears that it is love which is tormenting her; the tender, endearing
terms she uses are certain proof that she is in love, for all other
woes are hard to bear, except that alone which comes from love; but love
transforms its bitterness into sweetness and joy, then often transforms
them back again. The nurse, who was expert in this matter, thus replies
to her: "Have no fear, for I will tell you at once the name of your
malady. You told me, I believe, that the pain which you feel seems
rather to be joy and health: now of such a nature is love-sickness,
for in it, too, there is joy and bliss. You are in love, then, as I can
prove to you, for I find no pleasure in any malady save only in love.
All other sickness is always bad and horrible, but love is sweet and
peaceable. You are in love; of that I am sure, nor do I see any wrong in
that. But I shall consider it very wrong, if through some childish
folly you conceal from me your heart." "Nurse, there is no need of
your speaking so. But first I must be sure and certain that under no
circumstances will you speak of it to any living soul." "My lady, surely
the winds will speak of it before I do without your leave, and I will
give you my word so to favour your desires that you may safely trust in
having your joy fulfilled through my services." "In that case, Nurse,
I shall be cured. But the emperor is giving me in marriage, wherefore
I grieve and am sorrowful; for he who has won my heart is the nephew of
him whom I must take. And though he may find joy in me, yet is my joy
forever lost, and no respite is possible. I would rather be torn limb
from limb than that men should speak of us as they speak of the loves of
Iseut and Tristan, of so many unseemly stories are told that I should
be ashamed to mention them. I could never bring myself to lead the
life th