ue, you struggle with enthusiasm, but you cannot live in true
devoted love."

The son rose indignantly from his seat, and walked hastily up and down
the saloon, then he seized his father's hand, looked at him earnestly,
and said: "Enthusiasm? with this word then, with this vague sound you
have satisfied yourself, and responded to my sorrowing spirit. This is
it exactly what the world desires, what the despairing one means whose
heart is dead. Is it not so, the martyrs and heroes of the christian
church were merely enthusiasts then?--and those who joyfully shed their
blood and endured martyrdom for Him, to whom they could not offer too
great a sacrifice of love and suffering, were fanatics too, because
they were deficient in understanding and composure? All these miracles
of love are merely the crude wanderings of delirious passion, which
those celestial spirits have contemplated from on high, not with
emotion and joy, but only with compassionate smiles, and those who
expired in ecstasy are immediately greeted with grave looks and
admonishing reproof! Oh, rather than discipline my throbbing heart to
such presumption and vile incredulity, I would tear it palpitating from
my breast, trample it under foot and throw it to the dogs for food."

"We will drop the subject," said the father, half angry, half moved,
while he took a large book from the mantel-piece.

"I blame not your sentiments, far be it from me to censure what is
sacred, but you do not know what it is, you have yet to learn that
greatness and truth lie only on the verge, on the transition-point of
this feeling; as we have beheld them in their ecstasy, we must draw
back with timidity and reverence; but should the lying spirit entice us
in our spiritual revellings to higher enthusiasm and visions, we sink
under mental voluptuousness, and delusive images, fearful fancies take
prisoners soul and heart, love dies within us; and you will be obliged
to go through this sad probation, my son, and God knows if the issue
does not leave you a seared, an empty heart, or perhaps a hypocrite,
for thy path through life will not be smooth and easy."

With these words, the Lord of Beauvais sat down to read, his son took
his hand and said in a gentle tone, "No, no, my father, let us go on
with this subject, which once for all occupies my whole life. Is it
possible that this reading, this reasoning of Plato can interest you at
this moment? Am I permitted to feel as you do, am I