without whelming or spoiling [en la desabysmant l'abysmer en l'abysme sans l'abysmer], which abyss is the bottomless bottom of things, the way of the wanderers, without road or path," &c.
In this gallimaufry of absurdities it is difficult to catch the allusion to the mystical love of God, which absorbs all thought, feeling, envy, and leaves the soul absolutely devoid of personal existence, the body quite without desire or sensation. This longed-for death-in-life is the bottomless bottom of things, and we comprehend that a thought so unthinkable could not well be conveyed in precise and reasoned language. We remember that such mystical speculation, couched in clear and logical terms (as in the writings of Master Eckhart) becomes merely Negation, or, at most, Agnosticism. And we are inclined to set aside Briçonnet as a worthy dreamer, not quite sure of that he dreams. But, on a more careful reading, we begin to wonder if this involved and intricate style he not merely a means to set the suspicious off the scent of heresy and treason. "Blow with your breath often upon the fire divine," writes Margaret to him, "set alight the wood that is still green." And he replies: "The true fire which since long has been lodged in your heart, in that of the King and Madame, by grace the greatest and most abundant that I can conceive, I know not if this fire has been covered and slackened, I will not say put out, for God in his goodness has not yet abandoned you. But ask you each in your heart if you have let the fire burn up according to the given grace. I fear you have procrastinated; I fear you have deferred. . . . But I will pray Him to light such a fire in your hearts, to wound them and pierce with such unbearable love, that from you three may issue
