ble tendency to vice, and the wicked lusts of the
world.... I desire to pass in haste, and with averted face, by the
fearful abysses of human nature whence the germs of those tendencies
spring, which might take root and flourish in the heart of the
unfortunate youth without his being further to blame than in that
he had a hot blood, only too congenial a soil for the luxuriant
poison-plant.... I dare not go further; you feel the terrible nature of
the strife which tears the heart of the unhappy youth. Heaven and hell
are drawn up in battle array; and it is this mortal combat imprisoned
within him which gives rise to phenomena on the surface in utter
discord with everything else conditioned by mortal nature, and capable
of no interpretation whatever. How, then, if the glowing power of
imagination of this man (who in youth imbibed the germ of those
eccentricities from his mother's mental state) should subsequently, at
a time when Sin, bereft of all her adornments, accuses herself, in all
her repulsive nakedness, for the hellish deceptions of the past, lead
him, driven by the pain and remorse of his repentance, to take refuge
in the mysticism of some religious _cultus_, coming to meet him with
hymns of victory and perfume of incense? How when then, out of the most
hidden depths, the voice of some dark spirit within should become
audible, saying: 'It was but mortal blindness which led you to believe
that there was dissension in your heart. The veil has fallen, and you
perceive that sin is the stigma of your heavenly nature, of your
supernatural calling, wherewith the Eternal has marked the chosen one.
It was only when you set yourself to offer resistance to sinful
impulse, to contend with the Eternal Power, that you were abandoned in
your blindness and degeneracy. The purified fires of hell shine in the
glories of the Saints.' And thus does this terrible hypermysticism
impart to the lost one a consolation which completes the ruin of the
rotten walls of the edifice of his existence; just as it is when the
madman derives comfort and enjoyment from his madness, that his
recovery is known to be hopeless."

"Oh, please go no further," cried Sylvester. "You hurried, with averted
face, past an abyss which you avoided looking into; but to me it seems
as if you were leading us along upon narrow, slippery paths, where
terrible and threatening gulfs yawn at us on either side. What you last
said reminded me of the horrible mysticism of