In his increasing oppression and confusion of mind, surrounded by
hostility, mockery, and unbelief, the face of Ivan Becker appeared to
Christian like a beautiful vision. Suddenly he knew that in some sense
he had been waiting for Becker and counting on him.
He was heavily burdened, and it seemed to him that Becker was the one
human being who could ease that burden. At times he was near despair.
But whenever he thought of the words and the voice of Becker and those
hours of the beginning of his present path--hours between darkness and
dawn--his faith would return.
To him Becker’s word was the word of man, and Becker’s eye the eye of
the race; and the man himself one upon whom one could cast all one’s
own burdens and fetters and obstacles.
That vision grew clearer and clearer. Becker became a figure with an
abyss in his breast, an inverted heaven, in which the tormenting and
the heavy things of the world could be cast, and in which they became
invisible.
He sent a telegram to Prince Wiguniewski requesting Becker’s present
address. The reply informed him that, in all likelihood, Becker was in
Geneva.
Christian made all preparations to go to Switzerland.