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Seraphita-Part5_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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love. The higher thy flight the less canst thou see the abysses. There

are none in heaven. Look at the friend who speaks to thee; she who



holds thee above this earth in which are all abysses. Look, behold,

contemplate me yet a moment longer, for never again wilt thou see me,



save imperfectly as the pale twilight of this world may show me to

thee."



Seraphita stood erect, her head with floating hair inclining gently

forward, in that aerial attitude which great painters give to



messengers from heaven; the folds of her raiment fell with the same

unspeakable grace which holds an artist--the man who translates all



things into sentiment--before the exquisitewell-known lines of

Polyhymnia's veil. Then she stretched forth her hand. Wilfrid rose.



When he looked at Seraphita she was lying on the bear's-skin, her head

resting on her hand, her face calm, her eyes brilliant. Wilfrid gazed



at her silently; but his face betrayed a deferential fear in its

almost timid expression.



"Yes, dear," he said at last, as though he were answering some

question; "we are separated by worlds. I resign myself; I can only



adore you. But what will become of me, poor and alone!"

"Wilfrid, you have Minna."



He shook his head.

"Do not be so disdainful; woman understands all things through love;



what she does not understand she feels; what she does not feel she

sees; when she neither sees, nor feels, nor understands, this angel of



earth divines to protect you, and hides her protection beneath the

grace of love."



"Seraphita, am I worthy to belong to a woman?"

"Ah, now," she said, smiling, "you are suddenly very modest; is it a



snare? A woman is always so touched to see her weakness glorified.

Well, come and take tea with me the day after to-morrow evening; good



Monsieur Becker will be here, and Minna, the purest and most artless

creature I have known on earth. Leave me now, my friend; I need to



make long prayers and expiate my sins."

"You, can you commit sin?"



"Poor friend! if we abuse our power, is not that the sin of pride? I

have been very proud to-day. Now leave me, till to-morrow."



"Till to-morrow," said Wilfrid faintly, casting a long glance at the

being of whom he desired to carry with him an ineffaceable memory.



Though he wished to go far away, he was held, as it were, outside the

house for some moments, watching the light which shone from all the



windows of the Swedish dwelling.

"What is the matter with me?" he asked himself. "No, she is not a mere



creature, but a whole creation. Of her world, even through veils and

clouds, I have caught echoes like the memory of sufferings healed,



like the dazzling vertigo of dreams in which we hear the plaints of

generations mingling with the harmonies of some higher sphere where



all is Light and all is Love. Am I awake? Do I still sleep? Are these

the eyes before which the luminous space retreated further and further



indefinitely while the eyes followed it? The night is cold, yet my

head is on fire. I will go to the parsonage. With the pastor and his



daughter I shall recover the balance of my mind."

But still he did not leave the spot whence his eyes could plunge into



Seraphita's salon. The mysterious creature seemed to him the radiating

centre of a luminouscircle which formed an atmosphere about her wider



than that of other beings; whoever entered it felt the compelling

influence of, as it were, a vortex of dazzling light and all consuming



thoughts. Forced to struggle against this inexplicable power, Wilfrid

only prevailed after strong efforts; but when he reached and passed



the inclosing wall of the courtyard, he regained his freedom of will,

walked rapidly towards the parsonage, and was soon beneath the high



wooden arch which formed a sort of peristyle to Monsieur Becker's

dwelling. He opened the first door, against which the wind had driven



the snow, and knocked on the inner one, saying:--

"Will you let me spend the evening with you, Monsieur Becker?"



"Yes," cried two voices, mingling their intonations.

Entering the parlor, Wilfrid returned by degrees to real life. He



bowed affectionately to Minna, shook hands with Monsieur Becker, and

looked about at the picture of a home which calmed the convulsions of






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