The Struggle.
BALSAMO STOOD before her, his heart swelling with mournful thoughts, for the violent ones had vanished.
The scene which had just taken place between himself and Althotas had led him to reflect on the nothingness of all human affairs, and had chased anger from his heart. He remembered the practice of the Greek philosopher who repeated the entire alphabet before listening to the voice of that black divinity, the counselor of Achilles. After a moment of mute and cold contemplation before the couch on which Lorenza was lying:
“I am sad,” said he to himself, “but resolved, and I can look my situation full in the face. Lorenza hates me; Lorenza has threatened to betray me, and has betrayed me. My secret is no longer my own; I have given it into this woman’s power, and she casts it to the winds. I am like the fox who has withdrawn from the steel-trap only the bone of his leg, but who has left behind his flesh and his skin, so that the huntsman can say on the morrow, ‘The fox has been taken here; I shall know him, again, living or dead.’
“And this dreadful misfortune which Althotas cannot comprehend, and which therefore I have not even mentioned to him — this misfortune which destroys all my hopes in this country — and consequently in this world, of which France is the soul, I owe to the creature sleeping before me — to this beautiful statue, with her entrancing smile. To this tempting angel I owe dishonor and ruin, and shall owe to her captivity, exile, and death.
“Therefore,” continued he, becoming more animated, “the sum of evil has exceeded that of good, and Lorenza is dangerous. Oh! serpent, with thy graceful folds which nevertheless strangle, with thy golden throat which is nevertheless full of venom — sleep on, for when thou awakest I shall be obliged to kill thee!”
And with a gloomy smile Balsamo slowly approached the young woman, whose languid eyes were turned toward him as he approached, as the sunflower and volubilis open to the first rays of the rising sun.
“Oh!” said Balsamo, and yet I must forever close those eyes which now beam so tenderly on me, those beautiful eyes which are filled with lightning when they no longer sparkle with love.”
Lorenza smiled sweetly, and, smiling, she displayed the double row of her pearly teeth.
“But if I kill her who hates me,” said Balsamo, wringing his hands, “I shall also kill her who loves me.”
And his heart was filled with the deepest grief, strangely mingled with a vague desire.
“No, no,” murmured he; “I have sworn in vain; I have threatened in vain; no, I shall never have the courage to kill her. She shall live, but she shall live without being awakened. She shall live this factitious life, which is happiness for her, while the other is despair. Would that I could make her happy! What matters to me the rest? — she shall only have one existence, the one I create, the one during which she loves me, that which she lives at this moment.”
And he returned Lorenza’s tender look by a look as tender as her own, placing his hand as he did so gently on her head. Lorenza, who seemed to read Balsamo’s thoughts as if they were an open book, gave a long sigh, rose gradually with the graceful languor of sleep, and placed her two white arms upon Balsamo’s shoulders, who felt her perfumed breath upon his cheek.
“Oh! no, no!” exclaimed Balsamo, passing his hand over his burning forehead and his dazzled eyes; “no, this intoxicating life will make me mad; and, with this siren, glory, power, immortality, will all vanish from my thoughts. No, no; she must awake. I must do it.
“Oh!” continued he, “if I awake her, the struggle will begin again. If I awake her, she will kill herself, or she will kill me, or force me to destroy her. Oh, what an abyss!
“Yes, this woman’s destiny is written; it stands before me in letters of fire — love! death! — Lorenza, Lorenza! thou art doomed to love and to die! Lorenza, Lorenza! I hold thy life and thy love in my hands!”
Instead of a reply, the enchantress rose, advanced toward Balsamo, fell at his feet, and gazed into his eyes with a tender smile. Then she took one of his hands and placed it on her heart.
“Death!” said she in a low voice which whispered from her lips, brilliant as coral when it issues from the caverns of the deep; “death, but love!”
“Oh!” said Balsamo, “it is too much; I have struggled as long as a human being could struggle. Demon, or angel of futurity, whichever thou art! thou must be content. I have long enough sacrificed all the generous passions in my heart to egotism and pride. Oh! no, no — I have no right thus to rebel against the only human feeling which still remains lurking in my heart. I love this woman, I love her, and this passionate love injures her more than the most terrible hatred could do. This love kills her! Oh, coward! oh, ferocious fool that I am! I cannot even compromise with my desires. What! when I breathe my last sigh; when I prepare to appear before God — I, the deceiver, the false prophet — when I throw off my mantle of hypocrisy and artifice before the Sovereign Judge — shall I have not one generous action to confess, not the recollection of a single happiness to console me in the midst of my eternal suffering?
“Oh! no, no, Lorenza; I know that in loving thee I lose the future; I know that my revealing angel will wing its flight to Heaven if I thus change your entire existence and overturn the natural laws of your being. But, Lorenza, you wish it, do you not?”
“My beloved!” she sighed.
“Then you accept the factitious instead of the real life?”
“I ask for it on my knees — I pray for it — I implore it. This life is love and happiness.”
“And will it suffice; for you when you are my wife, for I love you passionately?”
“Oh! I know it, I can read your heart.”
“You will never regret your wings, poor dove; for know, that you will never again roam through radiant space for me to seek the ray of light Jehovah once deigned to bestow upon his prophets. When I would know the future, when I would command men, alas! alas! the voice will not reply. I have had in thee the beloved woman and the helping spirit, I shall only have one of the two now; and yet—”
“Ah! you doubt, you doubt,” cried Lorenza; “I see doubt like a dark stain upon your heart.”
“You will always love me, Lorenza?”
“Always! always!”
Balsamo passed his hand over his forehead.
“Well! it shall be so,” said he.
And raising Lorenza, he folded her in his arms and pressed a kiss upon her forehead — the seal of his promise to love and cherish her till death.