love. You take Minna like an axe to hew me down. Have mercy!"
"Why do you say these things, my friend, when you know that they are
useless?" she replied, with a look which grew in the end so soft that
Wilfrid ceased to behold her eyes, but saw in their place a fluid
light, the
shimmer of which was like the last vibrations of an Italian
song.
"Ah! no man dies of anguish!" he murmured.
"You are suffering?" she said in a voice whose intonations produced
upon his heart the same effect as that of her look. "Would I could
help you!"
"Love me as I love you."
"Poor Minna!" she replied.
"Why am I unarmed!" exclaimed Wilfrid,
violently.
"You are out of temper," said Seraphita, smiling. "Come, have I not
spoken to you like those Parisian women whose loves you tell of?"
Wilfrid sat down, crossed his arms, and looked
gloomily at Seraphita.
"I
forgive you," he said; "for you know not what you do."
"You mistake," she replied; "every woman from the days of Eve does
good and evil knowingly."
"I believe it"; he said.
"I am sure of it, Wilfrid. Our
instinct is
precisely that which makes
us perfect. What you men learn, we feel."
"Why, then, do you not feel how much I love you?"
"Because you do not love me."
"Good God!"
"If you did, would you
complain of your own sufferings?"
"You are terrible to-night, Seraphita. You are a demon."
"No, but I am
gifted with the
faculty of comprehending, and it is
awful. Wilfrid, sorrow is a lamp which illumines life."
"Why did you
ascend the Falberg?"
"Minna will tell you. I am too weary to talk. You must talk to me,--
you who know so much, who have
learned all things and forgotten
nothing; you who have passed through every social test. Talk to me,
amuse me, I am listening."
"What can I tell you that you do not know? Besides, the request is
ironical. You allow yourself no
intercourse with social life; you
trample on its conventions, its laws, its customs, sentiments, and
sciences; you reduce them all to the proportions such things take when
viewed by you beyond this universe."
"Therefore you see, my friend, that I am not a woman. You do wrong to
love me. What! am I to leave the
ethereal regions of my pretended
strength, make myself
humbly small, cringe like the
haplessfemale of
all
species, that you may lift me up? and then, when I,
helpless and
broken, ask you for help, when I need your arm, you will
repulse me!
No, we can never come to terms."
"You are more maliciously
unkind to-night than I have ever known you."
"Unkind!" she said, with a look which seemed to blend all feelings
into one
celestialemotion, "no, I am ill, I suffer, that is all.
Leave me, my friend; it is your manly right. We women should ever
please you,
entertain you, be gay in your presence and have no whims
save those that amuse you. Come, what shall I do for you, friend?
Shall I sing, shall I dance, though
weariness deprives me of the use
of voice and limbs?--Ah! gentlemen, be we on our deathbeds, we yet
must smile to please you; you call that,
methinks, your right. Poor
women! I pity them. Tell me, you who
abandon them when they grow old,
is it because they have neither hearts nor souls? Wilfrid, I am a
hundred years old; leave me! leave me! go to Minna!"
"Oh, my
eternal love!"
"Do you know the meaning of
eternity? Be silent, Wilfrid. You desire
me, but you do not love me. Tell me, do I not seem to you like those
coquettish Parisian women?"
"Certainly I no longer find you the pure
celestialmaiden I first saw
in the church of Jarvis."
At these words Seraphita passed her hands across her brow, and when
she removed them Wilfrid was amazed at the saintly expression that
overspread her face.
"You are right, my friend," she said; "I do wrong
whenever I set my
feet upon your earth."