This wonderful power of language must have been felt by most people who read Madame Sand's first books, "Valentine" and "Indiana": in "Spiridion" it is greater, I think, than ever; and for those who are not afraid of the matter of the novel, the manner will be found most delightful.The author's intention, I presume, is to describe, in a parable, her notions of the downfall of the Catholic church; and, indeed, of the whole Christian scheme: she places her hero in a monastery in Italy, where, among the characters about him, and the events which occur, the particular tenets of Madame Dudevant's doctrine are not inaptly laid down.Innocent, faithful, tender-hearted, a young monk, by name Angel, finds himself, when he has pronounced his vows, an object of aversion and hatred to the godly men whose lives he so much respects, and whose love he would make any sacrifice to win.After enduring much, he flings himself at the feet of his confessor, and begs for his sympathy and counsel; but the confessor spurns him away, and accuses him, fiercely, of some unknown and terrible crime--bids him never return to the confessional until contrition has touched his heart, and the stains which sully his spirit are, by sincere repentance, washed away.
"Thus speaking," says Angel, "Father Hegesippus tore away his robe, which I was holding in my supplicating hands.In a sort of wildness I still grasped it tighter; he pushed me fiercely from him, and I fell with my face towards the ground.He quitted me, closing violently after him the door of the sacristy, in which this scene had passed.I was left alone in the darkness.Either from the violence of my fall, or the excess of my grief, a vein had burst in my throat, and a haemorrhage ensued.I had not the force to rise; I felt my senses rapidly sinking, and, presently, I lay stretched on the pavement, unconscious, and bathed in my blood."[Now the wonderful part of the story begins.]
"I know not how much time I passed in this way.As I came to myself I felt an agreeable coolness.It seemed as if some harmonious air was playing round about me, stirring gently in my hair, and drying the drops of perspiration on my brow.It seemed to approach, and then again to withdraw, breathing now softly and sweetly in the distance, and now returning, as if to give me strength and courage to rise.
"I would not, however, do so as yet; for I felt myself, as I lay, under the influence of a pleasure quite new to me; and listened, in a kind of peaceful aberration, to the gentle murmurs of the summer wind, as it breathed on me through the closed window-blinds above me.Then I fancied I heard a voice that spoke to me from the end of the sacristy: it whispered so low that I could not catch the words.I remained motionless, and gave it my whole attention.At last I heard, distinctly, the following sentence:--'Spirit of Truth, raise up these victims of ignorance and imposture.' 'Father Hegesippus,' said I, in a weak voice, 'is that you who are returning to me?' But no one answered.I lifted myself on my hands and knees, I listened again, but I heard nothing.I got up completely, and looked about me: I had fallen so near to the only door in this little room, that none, after the departure of the confessor, could have entered it without passing over me; besides, the door was shut, and only opened from the inside by a strong lock of the ancient shape.I touched it, and assured myself that it was closed.I was seized with terror, and, for some moments, did not dare to move.Leaning against the door, I looked round, and endeavored to see into the gloom in which the angles of the room were enveloped.A pale light, which came from an upper window, half closed, was seen to be trembling in the midst of the apartment.The wind beat the shutter to and fro, and enlarged or diminished the space through which the light issued.The objects which were in this half light--the praying-desk, surmounted by its skull--a few books lying on the benches--a surplice hanging against the wall--seemed to move with the shadow of the foliage that the air agitated behind the window.When I thought I was alone, I felt ashamed of my former timidity; I made the sign of the cross, and was about to move forward in order to open the shutter altogether, but a deep sigh came from the praying-desk, and kept me nailed to my place.And yet I saw the desk distinctly enough to be sure that no person was near it.Then I had an idea which gave me courage.
Some person, I thought, is behind the shutter, and has been saying his prayers outside without thinking of me.But who would be so bold as to express such wishes and utter such a prayer as I had just heard?
"Curiosity, the only passion and amusement permitted in a cloister, now entirely possessed me, and I advanced towards the window.But I had not made a step when a black shadow, as it seemed to me, detaching itself from the praying-desk, traversed the room, directing itself towards the window, and passed swiftly by me.The movement was so rapid that I had not time to avoid what seemed a body advancing towards me, and my fright was so great that Ithought I should faint a second time.But I felt nothing, and, as if the shadow had passed through me, I saw it suddenly disappear to my left.
