Fetching
One moment.
Fetching
One moment.
1» Je voudrais avoir des ailes, Wilfrid, pour t’en couvrir, avoir de la force à te donner pour te faire entrer par avance dans le monde où les plus pures joies du plus pur attachement qu’on éprouve sur cette terre feraient une ombre dans le jour qui vient incessamment éclairer et réjouir les cœurs. » Pardonne à une âme amie, de t’avoir présenté en un mot le tableau de tes fautes, dans la charitable intention d’endormir les douleurs aiguës de tes remords. Entends les concerts du pardon ! Rafraîchis ton âme en respirant l’aurore qui se lèvera pour toi par delà les ténèbres de la mort. Oui, ta vie à toi, est par delà ! » Que mes paroles revêtent les brillantes formes des rêves, qu’elles se parent d’images, flamboient et descendent sur toi. Monte, monte au point où tous les hommes se voient distinctement, quoique pressés et petits comme des grains de sable au bord des mers. L’humanité s’est déroulée comme un simple ruban ; regarde les diverses nuances de cette fleur des jardins célestes ? vois-tu ceux auxquels manque l’intelligence, ceux qui commencent à s’en colorer, ceux qui sont éprouvés, ceux qui sont dans l’amour, ceux qui sont dans la sagesse et qui aspirent au monde de lumière ?
2» Comprends-tu par cette pensée visible la destinée de l’humanité ? d’où elle vient, où elle va ? Persiste en ta voie ! En atteignant au but de ton voyage, tu entendras sonner les clairons de la toute-puissance, retentir les cris de la victoire, et des accords dont un seul ferait trembler la terre, mais qui se perdent dans un monde sans orient et sans occident. » Comprends-tu, pauvre cher éprouvé, que, sans les engourdissements, sans les voiles du sommeil, de tels spectacles emporteraient et déchireraient ton intelligence, comme le vent des tempêtes emporte et déchire une faible toile, et raviraient pour toujours à un homme sa raison ? comprends-tu que l’âme seule, élevée à sa toute-puissance, résiste à peine, dans le rêve, aux dévorantes communications de l’Esprit ?
3» Vole encore à travers les sphères brillantes et lumineuses, admire, cours. En volant ainsi, tu te reposes, tu marches sans fatigue. Comme tous les hommes, tu voudrais être toujours ainsi plongé dans ces sphères de parfums, de lumière où tu vas, léger de tout ton corps évanoui, où tu parles par la pensée ! Cours, vole, jouis un moment des ailes que tu conquerras, quand l’amour sera si complet en toi que tu n’auras plus de sens, que tu seras tout intelligence et tout amour ! Plus haut tu montes et moins tu conçois les abîmes ! il n’existe point de précipices dans les cieux. Vois celui qui te parle, celui qui te soutient au-dessus de ce monde où sont les abîmes. Vois, contemple-moi encore un moment, car tu ne me verras plus qu’imparfaitement, comme tu me vois à la clarté du pâle soleil de la terre. »
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.
1At this moment the visitor, more exhausted than he had ever been before, dropped into a chair and looked about him for some minutes, like a man aroused from sleep. Pastor Becker and his daughter, accustomed no doubt to their guest’s eccentricity, went on with their occupations. The room was decorated with a collection of Norwegian insects and shells. These curiosities, ingeniously arranged on the background of yellow pinewood with which the wall was wainscoted, formed a colored ornamentation to which tobacco smoke had imparted a soberer tone. At the further end, opposite the door, was an enormous wrought-iron stove, carefully rubbed by the maidservant till it shone like polished steel. 46 BALZAQ’S WORKS
2Pastor Becker was seated in a large armchair, covered with worsted work, near the stove and in front of a table, his feet in a foot-muff, while he read from a folio supported on other books to form a sort of desk. On his right stood a beer-jug and a glass; on his left a smoky lamp fed with fish oil. The minister was a man of about sixty years; his face of the type so often painted by Rembrandt: the small, keen eyes set in circles of fine wrinkles under thick grizzled brows; white hair falling in two silky locks from beneath a black velvet cap; a broad, bald forehead, and the shape of face which a heavy chin made almost square, and, added to this, the self-possessed calm that betrays to the observer some conscious power—the sovereignty conferred by wealth, by the judicial authority of the burgomaster, by the conviction of Art, or the stolid tenacity of happy ignorance. The handsome old man, whose substantial build revealed sound health, was wrapped in a dressing-gown of rough cloth with no ornament but the binding. He gravely held a long meerschaum pipe in his mouth, blowing off the tobacco smoke at regular intervals, and watching its fantastic spirals with a speculative eye, while endeavoring, no doubt, to assimilate and digest by meditation the ideas of the author whose works he was studying.
3On the other side of the stove, near the door that led into the kitchen, Minna was dimly visible through the fog of smoke, to which she seemed to be inured. In front of her, on a small table, were the various implements of a needlewoman; a pile of towels and stockings to be mended, and a lamp like that which shone on the white pages of the book in which her father seemed to be absorbed. Her fresh, young face, delicately pure in outline, harmonized with the innocence that shone on her white-brow and in her . Wrens SERAPHITA 47 bright eyes. She sat forward on her chair, leaning a little toward the light to see the better, unconsciously showing the grace of her figure. She was already dressed for the evening in a white calico wrapper; a plain, cambric cap, with no ornament but its frill, covered her hair. Though lost in some secret meditation, she counted without mistake the threads in the towel, or the stitches in her stocking. Thus she presented the most complete and typical image of woman born to earthly duties, whose eye might pierce the clouds of the sanctuary, while a mind at once humble and charitable kept her on the level of man. Wilfrid, from his armchair between the two tables, contemplated the harmonious picture with a sort of rapture; the clouds of smoke were not out of keeping.
Our translation, period-faithful. Citable as our translation, never as the source.
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