"These phenomena are within us, not without us," Wilfrid went on."The being whom we call Seraphita seems to me one of those rare and terrible spirits to whom power is given to bind men, to crush nature, to enter into participation of the occult power of God.The course of her enchantments over me began on that first day, when silence as to her was imposed upon me against my will.Each time that I have wished to question you it seemed as though I were about to reveal a secret of which I ought to be the incorruptible guardian.Whenever I have tried to speak, a burning seal has been laid upon my lips, and I myself have become the involuntary minister of these mysteries.You see me here to-night, for the hundredth time, bruised, defeated, broken, after leaving the hallucinating sphere which surrounds that young girl, so gentle, so fragile to both of you, but to me the cruellest of magicians! Yes, to me she is like a sorcerer holding in her right hand the invisible wand that moves the globe, and in her left the thunderbolt that rends asunder all things at her will.No longer can Ilook upon her brow; the light of it is insupportable.I skirt the borders of the abyss of madness too closely to be longer silent.Imust speak.I seize this moment, when courage comes to me, to resist the power which drags me onward without inquiring whether or not Ihave the force to follow.Who is she? Did you know her young? What of her birth? Had she father and mother, or was she born of the conjunction of ice and sun? She burns and yet she freeze; she shows herself and then withdraws; she attracts me and repulses me; she brings me life, she gives me death; I love her and yet I hate her! Icannot live thus; let me be wholly in heaven or in hell!"Holding his refilled pipe in one hand, and in the other the cover which he forgot to replace, Monsieur Becker listened to Wilfrid with a mysterious expression on his face, looking occasionally at his daughter, who seemed to understand the man's language as in harmony with the strange being who inspired it.Wilfrid was splendid to behold at this moment,--like Hamlet listening to the ghost of his father as it rises for him alone in the midst of the living.
"This is certainly the language of a man in love," said the good pastor, innocently.
"In love!" cried Wilfrid, "yes, to common minds.But, dear Monsieur Becker, no words can express the frenzy which draws me to the feet of that unearthly being.""Then you do love her?" said Minna, in a tone of reproach.
"Mademoiselle, I feel such extraordinary agitation when I see her, and such deep sadness when I see her no more, that in any other man what Ifeel would be called love.But that sentiment draws those who feel it ardently together, whereas between her and me a great gulf lies, whose icy coldness penetrates my very being in her presence; though the feeling dies away when I see her no longer.I leave her in despair; Ireturn to her with ardor,--like men of science who seek a secret from Nature only to be baffled, or like the painter who would fain put life upon his canvas and strives with all the resources of his art in the vain attempt.""Monsieur, all that you say is true," replied the young girl, artlessly.
"How can you know, Minna?" asked the old pastor.
"Ah! my father, had you been with us this morning on the summit of the Falberg, had you seen him praying, you would not ask me that question.
You would say, like Monsieur Wilfrid, that he saw his Seraphita for the first time in our temple, 'It is the Spirit of Prayer.'"These words were followed by a moment's silence.
"Ah, truly!" said Wilfrid, "she has nothing in common with the creatures who grovel upon this earth.""On the Falberg!" said the old pastor, "how could you get there?""I do not know," replied Minna; "the way is like a dream to me, of which no more than a memory remains.Perhaps I should hardly believe that I had been there were it not for this tangible proof."She drew the flower from her bosom and showed it to them.All three gazed at the pretty saxifrage, which was still fresh, and now shone in the light of the two lamps like a third luminary.
"This is indeed supernatural," said the old man, astounded at the sight of a flower blooming in winter.
"A mystery!" cried Wilfrid, intoxicated with its perfume.
"The flower makes me giddy," said Minna; "I fancy I still hear that voice,--the music of thought; that I still see the light of that look, which is Love.""I implore you, my dear Monsieur Becker, tell me the history of Seraphita,--enigmatical human flower,--whose image is before us in this mysterious bloom.""My dear friend," said the old man, emitting a puff of smoke, "to explain the birth of that being it is absolutely necessary that Idisperse the clouds which envelop the most obscure of Christian doctrines.It is not easy to make myself clear when speaking of that incomprehensible revelation,--the last effulgence of faith that has shone upon our lump of mud.Do you know Swedenborg?""By name only,--of him, of his books, and his religion I know nothing.""Then I must relate to you the whole chronicle of Swedenborg."
