You urge me to visit Heraclea. I can assure you that there is not in the wide range of thought a prospect that would afford me a tithe of the pleasure; but I am ashamed to acknowledge that I feel within me the old leaven of instinctive dislike for the members of the corps, from nationality. For personally, as you are aware, I have no acquaintance with them. From this cause I am so doubtful of self control within that I cannot with sincerity venture the experiment of voluntary association with them, even under Heraclean auspices. My feelings, as a Frenchman, are still instinctively patriotic, notwithstanding the reproof administered in every sentence of your letter. I am well aware of all you would urge in favor of the trial, and my reason sanctions with desire all you could say; and it is with humiliation that I am candidly obliged to avow myself unfit for an association with the German members of the corps, although they have received the prestige of Heraclean adoption. If my disposition would allow me to enact the part of affectionate sympathy, the treacherous disguise of hypocrisy would not shield me from Manatitlan auramentation, with whom I would fain hold myself, in sincerity, worthy, to the extent of my freedom from instinctive disability. However much you may regret my lack of the noble qualities, which allow your unbiased passions the privilege of repose, I am certain that your native Gallic infusion of clannish prejudice, will, even with your new light, appreciate the honesty of my motives. To merit the esteem of the Manatitlans, I will use every possible means for the subjugation of my sectional prejudices; having already been obliged to acknowledge to myself, from the revolting impression still retained of the commune massacres of Paris, that with the murderous spirit in train, we should scarcely have shown as merciful a record as the Germans, if we had been victorious. With better generals as players, in the deadly game of war, the weak movements of our imbeciles were forestalled and checkmated. This causes a furious undercurrent for reprisal, especially as the war was precipitated by a tyrant without the provisionary tact to foresee and provide for the tottering destiny of his throne. Of course, the disastrous results of war reflect from the ruler to the subjects, alike in imbecility and determined intelligence. Our soldiers were driven like sheep to the slaughter. In fact, there was no real cause for the war on either side, and great reason why it should have been firmly opposed on the part of the French people, who have in the game enacted the part of pawns and are paying the penalty. The victorious can afford the dole of generosity to the defeated. This retrospective glance I offer as a specimen of my instinctive forbearance, and until I feel the sincerity of my self-control, I must avoid temptation likely to arouse hatred and revenge, the chief constituents of patriotism. With sincere gratitude for the happiness I have enjoyed from your intuition, you can rest assured of its strong impression in reciprocation.
H. Baudois.
N. B. Since the above conclusion of my letter, I have visited and opened a tumulus raised over the remains of a Roman woman. The inscription engraved upon a stone covered by the mound, had been rendered nearly illegible from detrition, but we were enabled to decipher, with an approach to certainty, the following detached words: Cor. * * * *, * * * Augusta * *. Ib uxor
* * * * * * *. Allissuis. * * *. The distaff was an emblem used for the commemoration of industrious habits when graved in an upright position, but when trailed from a spun thread, it indicated a gad-about reputation. Don Pedro will write you a particular description of our joint labors. I will now stay my still overburdened pen, to give my thoughts maturity for better expression. H. B.
As Mr. Welson read M. Baudois’s letter aloud with a slow, clear, and distinct accentuation, it was intelligible to all, and elicited warm encomiums, with a strong desire to listen to the reading of Don Pedro Garcia’s, which we transcribe.
Buenos Ayres.
Querido Don Guillermo,—Since we received your letters describing your marvelous adventures (which we believed, because we could not doubt the truthful sincerity of your affection), we have been in a constant flutter of joyous exhilaration, which has served to clear the murky atmosphere of our household from its time-honored odors and rites of instinctive religion. While bestirring ourselves for the relief of our bodies with the labors of purification for domestic entertainment, we (M. Baudois is now a member of our family) have employed our thoughts in trying to anticipate the effect of your revelation in stemming the tide of ritual selfishness. Also in measuring the extent of opposition and consternation it will cause among the ceremonial adherents of sects congregating for the worship of self-preservation while preying upon each other. We have already felt a foreboding of its practical effect, in demonstration, from our family incubus, Padre Molinero. By depriving sects of their material heaven and hell,—upon which in positive and negative entrance fee priestcraft has issued policies of insurance for the soul of instinct from time out of date,—you will lay an eternal embargo upon their selfish schemes of praying premiums. Indeed, in sanguine forecast we can now see the gasping flutterings of saving grace in its last ritualistic struggles for salvation from inevitable oblivion, giving place to the glorious effulgence of an affectionate immortality. As you can well imagine, I have but little to say in extenuation for my past infatuation, other than that my reason and reverence halted with the dullness of indifference, causing me to accept forms, from the fact that my veneration could find no hopeful resting place. We can now scarcely endure the reflection, that through life we have remained so dull of apprehension, as not to have discovered from self-intuition, that purity and goodness could alone fulfill the indications of Creative intention for the assurance, in life, of an affectionate immortality. From the moment I read your letter I became subject to an awakening translation from self, and in relief from the dread incubus, become overjoyed with the prospect of affording aid to others. That you may more fully realize the effect of the transition, it was quickly discovered by the watchful expectancy of your chiquita favorites Lovieta and Lavoca, who were waiting for the confections of love they knew you would not fail to send for their affectionate regalement. When the rays of gladness began to dawn in my face, they interrupted my reading by nestling their arms about my neck, while they whispered, as if fearful of disturbing the joyful emotions, “O father, how happy you look, there must be something good for us,—do let us kiss you and then read it for we long to hear what Querido Don Guillermo has written to make you look so alegre.” With this appeal, seconded by an affectionate assault, I commenced from the beginning of your letter,—but half unfolded to my own view,—and as I read explained to their wondering comprehension the marvelous transitions of your experience. With the introduction of Correliana my reading became interjectional from the staccato inflection of kisses telegraphed to her goodness, with the exclamations, “How beautiful,” “Marvilloso!” “Oh, if”—but the wish remained unfinished in voiceful expression, yet the conscious flush of momentary sadness plainly interpreted the burden of their thoughts in hopeful appeal. These emotions, advocated in truthful sincerity the sway of goodness, during the infantile period, if unprejudiced by deleterious example,—when my unfortunates have retained its impression so perfectly, notwithstanding their exposure to its adverse influence. With the ready perception of such youthful neophytes the Manatitlans’ demonstration of exampled direction in purity and goodness must succeed with our race. For older appreciation, how could its truthful impression be more clearly defined for the comprehension of common sense, or more agreeable to loving veneration directed to the Supreme Source of all good, than through the attractive avenue of infantile perception? Practical, or exampled purity and goodness in attainment, are in substance, to my understanding, the length and breadth of Manatitlan “theology,” if I may be permitted to use a word so devoid of intrinsic meaning, for the expression of the highest possible conceptions of realized achievement. I feel certain that I have not misconstrued the Manatitlan “Code” from the enthusiastic approval of the above named theologists known to your loving sympathy.
How the sectaries will dispose of the Manatitlan method of perfecting their children in loving affection cannot be solved by anticipation. But my household has been “blessed” with a partial solution of the Catholic method that will be adopted, by a demonstrative denunciation of you and your Manatitlan exemplars as infernal innovators, by your old “friend” Padre Molinero. Forgetting in his wrathful displeasure that anathemas were vicarious oaths in fiendish transposition for priestly cursing, he dispensed them freely for the final disposal of all innovators, and in personal designation included those that I hold most dear in my affectionate esteem. With a self-control, that made me feel for a moment exultant, in view of my former frailties of temper, I coolly reminded him of the formulistic rites established by society for association; assuring him that I should sustain the sanctuary privileges, and stable rights of my roof, recognized by civilized humanity, against the intrusion of any and all persons refusing to hold themselves amenable to the unobtrusive rules of instinctive propriety. This admonition so enraged him, that his malignant intolerance burst forth in demoniacal ebullition, heedless of my direct hints that he was overstepping the limits of patient endurance. But as he continued to inveigh, I with authority withheld his further speech, with a determination that overawed him, and then, while directing his way to the outer gates, stated in plain terms my desire to hear him express a determination to absent himself from my house henceforth and forever. This final ultimatum, after years of undisputed sway, caused his former expression of vengeful hate to appear, in comparison, like the mild gleams of summer electricity, in contrast with the fierce flashes uttered with the deep mutterings of the full charged thunder cloud. Indeed, when the portera discharged him with her absolution, his visage became visibly expanded with a toadish expression of ire, and his throat with a sack constriction resembling the cobra’s when about to strike for venomed injection. Failing in speech to intimidate, he had recourse to the fierce ritually crossings of excommunication, which formerly caused kings and emperors to tremble with instinctive fear. This impotent effort must have summoned to my face a contemptuous expression, for Teudschen, the portera, made a significant gesture of questioning inquiry with her foot, as he passed over the threshold, which I negatived with a decisive shake of the head, else, I should now have to bear the stigma of sanctioning an act of celerity she was desirous of communicating to Padre Molinero to expedite his exit. Instead of denying her impulsive intention of rendering pedal acceleration to the padre’s outward movement, when I reproved her for the meditated unfeminine act, which in consummation would have given rise to great scandal, she innocently asked, “what else could a woman do when there was no broom handy?” Then she continued, in extenuation, “If men come into the houses of good peoples, dressed like women in petticoats, and don’t behave properly, as they ought, it’s right that they should be served by a woman as a man would treat them if he dared!” This Hibernic style of pleading, with its touch upon the mild nature and lack of decision in my exercise of authority, at once dispelled my ill humor; and I questioned her, whether as a good Lutheran she was familiar with the text that taught the returns that were to be made for despiteful treatment? After a little thoughtful hesitation, she said, “I don’t exactly remember, but I believe they were kicked out of the house.” This answer closed my catechismal interview, but however remote its orthodoxy was from the inculcation of the text, its validity was loyal in the sound doctrinal expression of instinct. For the humorous method of Teudschen’s style of speaking, with the broken wabbling tones of her voice, in variation from Low Dutch guttural to the harsh grating rasp of High German, I will refer you to your memory of the gratification you derived from conversing with her. Leaving the patio with my feelings of anger unruffled by Teudschen’s patriotic simplicity, which had long been aggravated by Padre Molinero’s French sympathies, I returned falteringly to the salon, fearing that the mother of my children might view the expulsion of her confessor as an unpardonable sin; still I could not help congratulating myself upon the manner in which I had rid my household of the traitorous fomenter of misrule and family discord. Entering her apartment fully prepared to meet her scornful and defiant glances, ill masked under the disguise of indifference, I was startled out of my assumed composure by the unexpected greeting of tearful eyes, and soft pleading glances bespeaking self-deprecation. These premonitions of repentant affection brought back, with the loving glow of gladness, the happy impressions of our early wedded life when I was all sufficient as a confessor without the aid of priest or mother-in-law. Determined to make good the step I had taken for freeing my family from the prying curiosity and dictation of droning priests, I met her advances with affectionate warmth; but after listening to her expressions of revived sympathy, I with conscious power, never before realized, asked her if she was willing to seek another priestly adviser; if she still considered it necessary to bar her husband from his affectionate privilege? Feeling a sympathetic tremor in full assent with my wishes, as she silently embraced me, I expressed, with endearments, the hope that I had proved myself worthy of her love and confidence, except from occasional displays of temper provoked by the influence that had caused her estrangement. An answering sob, with its regretful pressure, confirming the favorable advantage of the moment, I questioned whether her unbiased perception had ever discovered in me a willful deficiency, or one of indifference, that I could correct for enhancing her present happiness, or advancing her preparation for a future state. If I had been so unfortunate or neglectful in my intention, with her affectionate reciprocation, I would make it my constant text for amendment. In vain she tried to give expression in words to the welling revival of loving emotions, but, although in voiceful effort she failed, her lips with truthful impression absolved me. Blinded with repentant tears she indicated her desire to be left alone; obedient to the unexpressed wish I left her.