"Oh, Seraphita, be my star! stay where you can ever bless me with that
clear light!"
As he spoke, he stretched forth his hand to take that of the young
girl, but she
withdrew it, neither disdainfully nor in anger. Wilfrid
rose
abruptly and walked to the window that she might not see the
tears that rose to his eyes.
"Why do you weep?" she said. "You are not a child, Wilfrid. Come back
to me. I wish it. You are annoyed if I show just
displeasure. You see
that I am fatigued and ill, yet you force me to think and speak, and
listen to persuasions and ideas that weary me. If you had any real
perception of my nature, you would have made some music, you would
have lulled my feelings--but no, you love me for yourself and not for
myself."
The storm which convulsed the young man's heart calmed down at these
words. He slowly approached her, letting his eyes take in the
seductive creature who lay exhausted before him, her head resting in
her hand and her elbow on the couch.
"You think that I do not love you," she resumed. "You are mistaken.
Listen to me, Wilfrid. You are
beginning to know much; you have
suffered much. Let me explain your thoughts to you. You wished to take
my hand just now"; she rose to a sitting
posture, and her graceful
motions seemed to emit light. "When a young girl allows her hand to be
taken it is as though she made a promise, is it not? and ought she not
to
fulfil it? You well know that I cannot be yours. Two
sentiments
divide and
inspire the love of all the women of the earth. Either they
devote themselves to
suffering, degraded, and
criminal beings whom
they desire to
console,
uplift,
redeem; or they give themselves to
superior men,
sublime and strong, whom they adore and seek to
comprehend, and by whom they are often annihilated. You have been
degraded, though now you are purified by the fires of
repentance, and
to-day you are once more noble; but I know myself too
feeble to be
your equal, and too religious to bow before any power but that On
High. I may refer thus to your life, my friend, for we are in the
North, among the clouds, where all things are
abstractions."
"You stab me, Seraphita, when you speak like this. It wounds me to
hear you apply the
dreadful knowledge with which you strip from all
things human the properties that time and space and form have given
them, and consider them mathematically in the
abstract, as geometry
treats substances from which it extracts solidity."
"Well, I will respect your wishes, Wilfrid. Let the subject drop. Tell
me what you think of this bearskin rug which my poor David has spread
out."
"It is very handsome."
"Did you ever see me wear this 'doucha greka'?"
She
pointed to a pelisse made of cashmere and lined with the skin of
the black fox,--the name she gave it signifying "warm to the soul."
"Do you believe that any
sovereign has a fur that can equal it?" she
asked.
"It is
worthy of her who wears it."
"And whom you think beautiful?"
"Human words do not apply to her. Heart to heart is the only language
I can use."
"Wilfrid, you are kind to
soothe my griefs with such sweet words--
which you have said to others."
"Farewell!"
"Stay. I love both you and Minna, believe me. To me you two are as one
being. United thus you can be my brother or, if you will, my sister.
Marry her; let me see you both happy before I leave this world of
trial and of pain. My God! the simplest of women
obtain what they ask
of a lover; they
whisper 'Hush!' and he is silent; 'Die' and he dies;
'Love me afar' and he stays at a distance, like courtiers before a
king! All I desire is to see you happy, and you refuse me! Am I then
powerless?--Wilfrid, listen, come nearer to me. Yes, I should grieve
to see you marry Minna but--when I am here no longer, then--promise me
to marry her; heaven destined you for each other."
"I listen to you with
fascination, Seraphita. Your words are
incomprehensible, but they charm me. What is it you mean to say?"
"You are right; I forget to be foolish,--to be the poor creature whose
weaknesses
gratify you. I
torment you, Wilfrid. You came to these
Northern lands for rest, you, worn-out by the
impetuous struggle of
genius unrecognized, you, weary with the patient toils of science,
you, who well-nigh dyed your hands in crime and wore the fetters of
human justice--"
Wilfrid dropped
speechless on the
carpet. Seraphita breathed
softly on
his
forehead, and in a moment he fell asleep at her feet.
"Sleep! rest!" she said, rising.
She passed her hands over Wilfrid's brow; then the following sentences
escaped her lips, one by one,--all different in tone and
accent, but
all melodious, full of a Goodness that seemed to emanate from her head
in vaporous waves, like the gleams the
goddess chastely lays upon
Endymion sleeping.
"I cannot show myself such as I am to thee, dear Wilfrid,--to thee who
art strong.
"The hour is come; the hour when the effulgent lights of the future
cast their reflections
backward on the soul; the hour when the soul
awakes into freedom.
"Now am I permitted to tell thee how I love thee. Dost thou not see
the nature of my love, a love without self-interest; a
sentiment full
of thee, thee only; a love which follows thee into the future to light
that future for thee--for it is the one True Light. Canst thou now
conceive with what ardor I would have thee leave this life which
weighs thee down, and behold thee nearer than thou art to that world
where Love is never-failing? Can it be aught but
suffering to love for
one life only? Hast thou not felt a
thirst for the
eternal love? Dost
thou not feel the bliss to which a creature rises when, with twin-
soul, it loves the Being who betrays not love, Him before whom we
kneel in adoration?
"Would I had wings to cover thee, Wilfrid; power to give thee strength
to enter now into that world where all the purest joys of purest
earthly attachments are but shadows in the Light that shines,
unceasing, to illumine and
rejoice all hearts.
"Forgive a friendly soul for showing thee the picture of thy sins, in
the
charitable hope of soothing the sharp pangs of thy
remorse. Listen
to the pardoning choir;
refresh thy soul in the dawn now rising for
thee beyond the night of death. Yes, thy life, thy true life is there!
"May my words now reach thee clothed in the
glorious forms of dreams;
may they deck themselves with images glowing and
radiant as they hover
round you. Rise, rise, to the
height where men can see themselves
distinctly, pressed together though they be like grains of sand upon a
sea-shore. Humanity rolls out like a many-colored
ribbon. See the
diverse shades of that flower of the
celestial gardens. Behold the
beings who lack
intelligence, those who begin to receive it, those who
have passed through trials, those who love, those who follow wisdom
and
aspire to the regions of Light!
"Canst thou
comprehend, through this thought made
visible, the destiny
of
humanity?--
whence it came, whither to goeth? Continue
steadfast in
the Path. Reaching the end of thy journey thou shalt hear the clarions
of omnipotence sounding the cries of
victory in chords of which a
single one would shake the earth, but which are lost in the spaces of
a world that hath neither east nor west.
"Canst thou
comprehend, my poor
beloved Tried-one, that unless the
torpor and the veils of sleep had wrapped thee, such sights would rend
and bear away thy mind as the whirlwinds rend and carry into space the
feeble sails, depriving thee forever of thy reason? Dost thou
understand that the Soul itself, raised to its
utmost power can
scarcely
endure in dreams the burning communications of the Spirit?
"Speed thy way through the
luminousspheres; behold, admire, hasten!
Flying thus thou canst pause or advance without
weariness. Like other
men, thou wouldst fain be
plunged forever in these
spheres of light
and
perfume where now thou art, free of thy swooning body, and where
thy thought alone has
utterance. Fly! enjoy for a
fleeting moment the
wings thou shalt surely win when Love has grown so perfect in thee
that thou hast no senses left; when thy whole being is all mind, all