The reason for the recognition of spiritual love from the moment of its inception as something supernatural and divine, is obvious. The heart of man was filled with an emotion hitherto unknown, an emotion which pointed direct to heaven. The soul, the core of profound Christian consciousness, had received a new, glad content, rousing a feeling of such intensity that it could only be compared to the religious ecstasy of the mystic; man divined that it was the mother of new and great things--was it not fitting to regard it as divine and proclaim it the supreme value? The troubadours had known it. Bernart of Ventadour had sung:
I stand in my lady's sight In deep devotion; Approach her with folded hands In sweet emotion; Dumbly adoring her, Humbly imploring her.
I would approach thee on my knees, Lowly and meek, I would fare far o'er lands and seas Thy ruth to seek.
And come to thee--a slave to his lord-- I'd pay thee homage with eyes that mourn, Until thy mercy I'd implored, Heedless of laughter, heedless of scorn.
Raimon of Miraval had said, "I am no lover, I am a worshipper," and Cavalcanti:
My lady's virtue has my blindness riven, A secret sighing thrills my humbled heart: When favoured with a sight of her thou art, Thy soul will spread its wings and soar to heaven.
God called the women close to Him, Because he saw all good in them.
The God of righteousness endowed So well thy body and thy mind That His own radiancy grew blind. And many a soul that has not bowed To Him for years in sin enmeshed, Is by thy grace and charm refreshed.
The beauty of the adored was divine. Bernart of Ventadour wrote:
Her glorious beauty sheds a brilliant ray On darkest night and dims the brightest day.
God has created her without a blemish Of His own beauty.
The beauty which is God Himself He poured into a single being.
Wherefore I tell you, and my words are true, From heaven came her beauty, rare and tender, Her loveliness was wrought in Paradise, Men's dazzled eyes can scarce support her splendour.
When I behold her beauty rare, I'm so confused and startled by her worth, I ween I am no longer on this earth.
A canzone which has been attributed to Cavalcanti, Cino da Pistoia and Dante, reads as follows: