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1— Elle souffre et ne veut pas me le dire, pensa le vieillard ; elle se meurt comme une fleur frappée par un rayon de soleil trop vif. Et il pleura, le vieil homme. II. SÉRAPHÎTA. Pendant la soirée, David rentra dans le salon. — Je sais qui vous m’annoncez, lui dit Séraphîta d’une voix endormie. Wilfrid peut entrer. En entendant ces mots, un homme se présenta soudain, et vint s’asseoir auprès d’elle. — Ma chère Séraphîta, souffrez-vous ? Je vous trouve plus pâle que de coutume. Elle se tourna lentement vers lui, après avoir chassé ses cheveux en arrière comme une jolie femme qui, accablée par la migraine, n’a plus la force de se plaindre. — J’ai fait, dit-elle, la folie de traverser le Fiord avec Minna ; nous avons monté sur le Falberg.
2— Vous vouliez donc vous tuer ? dit-il avec l’effroi d’un amant. — N’ayez pas peur, bon Wilfrid, j’ai eu bien soin de votre Minna. Wilfrid frappa violemment de sa main la table, se leva, fit quelques pas vers la porte en laissant échapper une exclamation pleine de douleur, puis il revint et voulut exprimer une plainte. — Pourquoi ce tapage, si vous croyez que je souffre ? dit Séraphîta. — Pardon, grâce ! répondit-il en s’agenouillant. Parlez-moi durement, exigez de moi tout ce que vos cruelles fantaisies de femme vous feront imaginer de plus cruel à supporter ; mais, ma bien-aimée, ne mettez pas en doute mon amour. Vous prenez Minna comme une hache, et m’en frappez à coups redoublés. Grâce ! — Pourquoi me dire de telles paroles, mon ami, quand vous les savez inutiles ? répondit-elle en lui jetant des regards qui finissaient par devenir si doux que Wilfrid ne voyait plus les yeux de Séraphîta, mais une fluide lumière dont les tremblements ressemblaient aux dernières vibrations d’un chant plein de mollesse italienne.
3— Ah ! l’on ne meurt pas d’angoisse, dit-il. — Vous souffrez ? reprit-elle d’une voix dont les émanations produisaient au cœur de cet homme un effet semblable à celui des regards. Que puis-je pour vous ? — Aimez-moi comme je vous aime. — Pauvre Minna ! répondit-elle. — Je n’apporte jamais d’armes, cria Wilfrid. — Vous êtes d’une humeur massacrante, fit en souriant Séraphîta. N’ai-je pas bien dit ces mots comme ces Parisiennes de qui vous me racontez les amours ? Wilfrid s’assit, se croisa les bras, et contempla Séraphîta d’un air sombre. — Je vous pardonne, dit-il, car vous ne savez ce que vous faites. — Oh ! reprit-elle, une femme, depuis Ève, a toujours fait sciemment le bien et le mal. — Je le crois, dit-il. — J’en suis sûre, Wilfrid. Notre instinct est précisément ce qui nous rend si parfaites. Ce que vous apprenez, vous autres, nous le sentons, nous.
The source text as printed, transcribed diplomatically. Where the source language uses a non-Latin script that reaches us only through a Victorian romanisation, this layer is labelled transliteration, because that is what we hold.
1‘“Why these tears?’’ she asked. ‘Yon are no longer a boy, Wilfrid. Come back to me, I insist.—You are vexed with me, when it is I who should be angry. You see I am not well, and you compel me by some foolish doubts to think and speak, or participate in whims and ideas that fatigue me. If you at all understood my nature, you would SERAPHITA — 837 have given me some music; you would have soothed my weariness; but you love me for your own sake, not for myself.’’ . The storm which raged in Wilfrid’s soul was stilled by these words; he came back slowly to contemplate the bewitching creature who reclined under his eyes, softly pillowed, her head resting on her hand, and her elbow in an insinuating attitude. ‘*You fancy I do not like you,’’ she wenton. ‘‘You are mistaken. Listen, Wilfrid. You are beginning to know a great deal, and you have suffered much. Allow me to explain your thoughts. You wanted to take my hand.” She sat up, and her graceful movement seemed to shed gleams of light.
2‘Does not a girl who allows a man to take her hand make a promise, and ought she not to keep it? You know full well that I can never be yours. ‘T'wo feelings rule the love that attracts the women of this earth: either they devote themselves to suffering creatures, degraded and guilty, whom they desire to comfort, to raise, to redeem; or they give themselves wholly to superior beings, sublime and strong, whom they are fain to worship and understand— by whom they are too often crushed. You have been degraded, but you have purified yourself in the fires of repentance, and you now are great; I feel myself too small to be your equal, and I am too religious to humble myself to any power but that of the Most High. Your life, my friend, may thus be stated; we are in the North, among the clouds, where abstractions are familiar to our minds.”’ ‘“‘Seraphita, you kill me when you talk so,’’ he replied. ‘it is always torture to me to see you thus apply the monstrous science which strips all human things of the proper88 BALZAC’S WORKS re ties they derive from time, space, form, when you regard them mathematically under some ultimate simplest expression, as geometry does with bodies, abstracting dimensions from substance.’’ ‘‘Well, Wilfrid, I submit.—Look at this bearskin rug which my poor David has spread. What do you think of it?’ **T like it very well’ ‘*You did not know I had that Doucha Greka ?”’
3It was a sort of pelisse made of cashmere lined with black fox-skin; the name means ‘‘warm to the soul.”’ ? ‘‘Do you suppose,’’ said she, ‘‘that any sovereign in any court possesses a fur wrap to match it?” ‘‘It is worthy of her who wears it!’’ ‘‘And whom you think very beautiful ?”’ ‘‘Human words are inapplicable to her; she must be addressed heart to heart.’’ ‘*Wilfrid, it is kind of you to soothe my griefs with such sweet words—which you have spoken to others.” ‘*Good-by.”’ “Stay. 1 love you truly, and Minna, too, believe me, . but to me you two are one being. Thus combined you are as a brother, or, if you will, a sister to me. Marry each other, let me see you happy before quitting forever this sphere of trial and sorrow. Dear me! the most ordinary women have made their lovers obey their will. They have said ‘Be silent!’ and their lovers were mute. They have said ‘Die!’ and men have died. They have said ‘Love me from afar!’ the lovers have remained at a distance like courtiers in the presence of a king. They have said ‘Go, marry!’ and the men have married. Now, | want you to be happy, and you refuse. Have I then no power ?—Well, SERAPHITA Be Wilfrid—come close to me.—Yes, I should be sorry to see you married to Minna; but when you see me no more, then. promise me to make her your wife; Heaven intends you for each other.’’
Our translation, period-faithful. Citable as our translation, never as the source.
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