The Best Works of Balzac. Оноре де Бальзак

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       "And yet, no; you are the angel-woman; there will always be a

       greater charm in the expression of your feelings, more harmony in

       your voice, more grace in your smile, more purity in your looks

       than in mine. Let me feel that you are the creature of a higher

       sphere than that I live in; it will be your pride to have

       descended from it; mine, that I should have deserved you; and you

       will not perhaps have fallen too far by coming down to me in my

       poverty and misery. Nay, if a woman's most glorious refuge is in a

       heart that is wholly her own, you will always reign supreme in

       mine. Not a thought, not a deed, shall ever pollute this heart,

       this glorious sanctuary, so long as you vouchsafe to dwell in it

       —and will you not dwell in it for ever? Did you not enchant me by

       the words, 'Now and for ever?' Nunc et semper! And I have written these words of our ritual below your portrait—words worthy of you, as they are of God. He is nunc et semper, as my love is. "Never, no, never, can I exhaust that which is immense, infinite, unbounded—and such is the feeling I have for you; I have imagined its immeasurable extent, as we measure space by the dimensions of one of its parts. I have had ineffable joys, whole hours filled with delicious meditation, as I have recalled a single gesture or the tone of a word of yours. Thus there will be memories of which the magnitude will overpower me, if the reminiscence of a sweet and friendly interview is enough to make me shed tears of joy, to move and thrill my soul, and to be an inexhaustible wellspring of gladness. Love is the life of angels! "I can never, I believe, exhaust my joy in seeing you. This rapture, the least fervid of any, though it never can last long enough, has made me apprehend the eternal contemplation in which seraphs and spirits abide in the presence of God; nothing can be more natural, if from His essence there emanates a light as fruitful of new emotions as that of your eyes is, of your imposing brow, and your beautiful countenance—the image of your soul. Then, the soul, our second self, whose pure form can never perish, makes our love immortal. I would there were some other language than that I use to express to you the ever-new ecstasy of my love; but since there is one of our own creating, since our looks are living speech, must we not meet face to face to read in each other's eyes those questions and answers from the heart, that are so living, so penetrating, that one evening you could say to me, 'Be silent!' when I was not speaking. Do you remember it, dear life? "When I am away from you in the darkness of absence, am I not reduced to use human words, too feeble to express heavenly feelings? But words at any rate represent the marks these feelings leave in my soul, just as the word God imperfectly sums up the notions we form of that mysterious First Cause. But, in spite of the subtleties and infinite variety of language, I have no words that can express to you the exquisite union by which my life is merged into yours whenever I think of you. "And with what word can I conclude when I cease writing to you, and yet do not part from you? What can farewell mean, unless in death? But is death a farewell? Would not my spirit be then more closely one with yours? Ah! my first and last thought; formerly I offered you my heart and life on my knees; now what fresh blossoms of feelings can I discover in my soul that I have not already given you? It would be a gift of a part of what is wholly yours. "Are you my future? How deeply I regret the past! I would I could have back all the years that are ours no more, and give them to you to reign over, as you do over my present life. What indeed was that time when I knew you not? It would be a void but that I was so wretched."

      FRAGMENT

      "Beloved angel, how delightful last evening was! How full of

       riches your dear heart is! And is your love endless, like mine?

       Each word brought me fresh joy, and each look made it deeper. The

       placid expression of your countenance gave our thoughts a

       limitless horizon. It was all as infinite as the sky, and as bland

       as its blue. The refinement of your adored features repeated

       itself by some inexplicable magic in your pretty movements and

       your least gestures. I knew that you were all graciousness, all

       love, but I did not know how variously graceful you could be.

       Everything combined to urge me to tender solicitation, to make me

       ask the first kiss that a woman always refuses, no doubt that it

       may be snatched from her. You, dear soul of my life, will never

       guess beforehand what you may grant to my love, and will yield

       perhaps without knowing it! You are utterly true, and obey your

       heart alone.