Lost History – Stendhal’s flawed theory of desire

In the summer of 1818, the French novelist Stendhal visited the 500-ft deep salt mines outside Salzburg, accompanied by a beautiful brown-eyed Italian woman called Madame Gherardi. Upon arriving in the city, they made the acquaintance of a charismatic Bavarian officer, he was invited to join their budding tour group and quickly fell deeply in love with Stendhal’s enchanting companion. 

Stendhal, who had known Madame G long enough to recognise her failings as well as her favours, became fascinated by their new German friend’s infatuation. As they explored the mines, the writer watched the soldier become increasingly enamoured with Madame G. It was discernible that the young man’s critical faculties were being progressively blinded by the lady’s appealing charms, an emotional occurrence that confused Stendhal. 

One example Stendhal cites is of the young man complimenting the beauty of Madame G’s hand. She had, in fact, an unsightly set of scars across her hand caused by a childhood case of smallpox. It was like a kind of madness; a suspension of reason.

Bewildered by the incident, Stendhal asked himself how he could best explain and illustrate this matter. As he searched for an answer, he turned and saw Madame G standing in the sun with a glittering hornbeam branch between her fingers. 

It had been deposited for some weeks in a mass of salt and shone like a chandelier in a Parisian ballroom. The answer suddenly struck him. The crystal-covered branch was the metaphor. 

A dull and unattractive arm of wood had been transformed into an iridescent item worthy of attention and adoration. It was from this experience that Stendhal extrapolated his concept of “crystallisation” – his explanation of the psychological process and significance of falling in love. 

He excitedly elucidated this new idea to Madame G, who was strangely surprised to learn of the urbane Bavarain’s infatuation: 

“The effect produced on this young man by the nobility of your Italian features and those eyes of which he has never seen the like is precisely similar to the effect of crystallization upon that little branch of hornbeam you hold in your hand and which you think so pretty. Stripped of its leaves by the winter it was certainly anything but dazzling until the crystallization of the salt covered its black twigs with such a multitude of shining diamonds that only here and there can one still see the twigs as they really are.”

In his book, On Love, written several years later, Stendhal sought to clarify this romantic premise with a different metaphor, using a journey out of Bologna to Rome to represent the inner voyage from a place of complete indifference to a state of pure love. 

The trip proceeds as follows. Departing Bologna means leaving behind a site of insouciance. You then progress through four stages of unintended affection until you arrive at the divine destination, Rome. Stage one is admiration – when you marvel at the qualities of the loved one. Stage two is acknowledgement – the point when a person acknowledges the pleasantness of gaining the loved one’s interest. Stage three is hope – a dangerous time of dreams when you envision the joy of gaining equal love from the loved one. 

The last stage and natural conclusion of the previous three phases is delight – when one delights in overestimating the excellence and beauty of the person whose love you hope to gain. 

He even sketched a diagram-doodle of this psychic journey: Stendhal’s attempt to investigate this common phenomenon remains influential. It directly motivated the 70s psychologist, Dorothy Tennov, to expound her notion of limerence – an involuntary state of mind of intense desire. 

Stendhal’s theory certainly rings true in some respects, but it is clearly lacking in others. He wrote (rather obliquely): “What I call ‘crystallization’ is the operation of the mind that draws from all that presents itself the discovery that the loved object has some new perfections,” and argued, “one no longer sees their lover as they really are, but as it suits one to see them.“

If he bases this assertion on the example of the officer complimenting Madame G’s scarred hand, then I would suggest that the man was probably just flirting. Love does not necessarily blind us to the disadvantages and vices of others; it compels us to accept them, to embrace a person’s worst because their best is so inspiring.

There have been numerous attempts to conclusively theorise about the source, course and significance of love by many capable poets, philosophers and other creative thinkers. WH Auden described the experience of love at first sight as a “vision of eros” and believed, like Plato, that in those moments, people recall a purity of beauty that they once knew and have forgotten over time. 

Goethe leafed through his musical lexicon to find a term that sums up the spiritual aim of intimate feelings. He settled on the word “cantilena” which traditionally means “the part carrying the melody in a compositional work” but in his poetic usage signifies “the eternalising and fulfilment of passionate love.” 

People like Auden, Stendhal and Goethe will always be around to make these kinds of assumptions about the origins and objectives of romantic passion. 

However, the ultimate truth behind the most mesmerising feeling our species can experience remains a mystery. So diverse, complex and intense can the sentiment be that scientists, psychologists and artists are forced to continually expand and retract their inadequate definitions.

 It is perhaps the most ineffable of all human sensations. Whatever it is, Stendhal’s beguiling theory seems to miss some essential nuances.