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Read Ebook: The Fever of Life by Hume Fergus
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Ebook has 2753 lines and 92265 words, and 56 pages
Translator: Anthony C. Middleton
LETTERS TO EUGENIA;
OR,
A PRESERVATIVE AGAINST RELIGIOUS PREJUDICES.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, BY ANTHONY C. MIDDLETON, M. D.
BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY JOSIAH P. MENDUM, AT THE OFFICE OF THE BOSTON INVESTIGATOR. 1857.
NAIGEON'S PREFACE.
However this may be, we have spared no pains to re?stablish the text in all its purity; and we venture to say, that, with the exception of four or five passages, which we found corrupted in all the manuscripts that we had an opportunity to collate, and which we have amended to the best of our ability, the edition of these letters that we now offer to the reader will probably conform almost exactly with the original manuscript of the author.
"Time effaces the comments of opinion, but it confirms the judgments of nature."--CICERO.
"Si j'ai raison, qu'importe ? qui je suis?"
It is a verse of Corneille, whose application is exceedingly appropriate, and which should be upon the frontispiece of all books of this nature.
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Of the excellence of the LETTERS TO EUGENIA, nothing need here be said. The work speaks for itself, and abounds in that eloquence peculiar to its author, and overflows with kindly sentiments of humanity, benevolence and virtue. Like d'Holbach's other works, it is distinguished by an ardent love of liberty, and an invincible hatred of despotism; by an unanswerable logic, by deep thought, and by profound ideas. The tyrant and the priest are both displayed in their true colors; but while the author shows himself inexorable as fate towards oppressive hierarchies and false ideas, he is tender as an infant to the unfortunate, to those overburdened with unreasonable impositions, to those who need consolation and guidance, and to those searching after truth. Addressed, as the LETTERS were, to a lady suffering from religious falsehoods and terrors, the object of the writer is set forth in the motto from Lucretius which he placed on the title page, and which may thus be expressed in English:--
"Reason's pure light I seek to give the mind, And from Religion's fetter. This is instructive, Miss Pethram. Do they teach epigram in the schools of Dunedin?"
"And why not? Do you think Oxford and Cambridge monopolise the learning of nations? We also in Dunedin," concluded Kaituna proudly, "have an university."
"To teach the young idea how to shoot--delightful."
"But I thought there was no game to shoot," said Tommy wickedly.
Mrs. Valpy reproved the trio for their frivolous conversation.
"You are all talking sad nonsense."
"To be published as an essay, and ticketed 'The New Pocahontas.'"
"Perhaps," replied the essayist evasively, "for you are a kind of nineteenth century Pocahontas. You belong to the children of Nature."
"Yes, I do," said Kaituna, quickly; "and I'm proud of it. My father went out to New Zealand a long time ago, and there married my mother, who was the daughter of a Maori mother. My grandmother was the child of a chief--a real Pocahontas."
"Not quite; Pocahontas was a chieftainess in her own right."
"And died at Wapping, didn't she?" said Mrs. Valpy, placidly. "Of course the dark races always give way to the superiority of the white."
Kaituna looked indignantly at this fat, flabby woman, who spoke so contemptuously of her Maori ancestors, who were certainly superior to Mrs. Valpy from a physical point of view, and very probably her equal mentally in some ways. It was no use, however, arguing with Mrs. Valpy over such a nice point, as she was firmly intrenched behind her insular egotism, and would not have understood the drift of the argument, with the exception that she was a white, and therefore greatly superior to a black. Toby saw the indignant flash in her eyes, and hastened to divert the chance of trouble by saying the first thing that came into his mind.
"Is your mother in England, Miss Pethram?"
"My mother is dead."
"Oh! I beg--I beg your pardon," said Toby, flustering a little at his awkwardness: "I mean your father."
"My father," replied Kaituna, cheerfully. "Oh, he is out in New Zealand again. You know, we lived out there until a year ago. Then my father, by the death of his elder brother, became Sir Rupert Pethram, so he brought me home. We always call England home in the Colonies. He had to go out again about business; so he left me in Mrs. Valpy's charge."
"Delighted to have you, my dear," murmured the old lady, blinking her eyes in the sunshine like an owl. "You see, Mr. Clendon, we are near neighbours of Sir Rupert's down in Berkshire."
"Oh!" said Clendon, raising himself on his elbow with a look of curiosity in his eyes, "that is my county. May I ask what particular part you inhabit?"
"Near Henley."
"Why, I lived near there also."
"What," cried Tommy, with great surprise, "can it be that you are a relative of Mr. Clendon, the Vicar of Deswarth?"
"Only his son."
"The young man who would not become a curate?"
"It didn't suit me," said Toby, apologetically; "I'm far too gay for a curate. It's a mistake putting a square peg into a round hole, you know; and I make a much better pressman than a preacher."
"It is a curious thing we never met you, Mr. Clendon," observed Mrs. Valpy, heavily; "but we have only been at 'The Terraces' for two years."
"Oh, and I've been away from the parental roof for five or six years. I do not wonder at never meeting you, but how strange we should meet here. Coincidences occur in real life as well as in novels, I see."
"Mr. Maxwell told me he met a man in London the other day whom he had last seen in Japan," said Kaituna, smiling.
"Maxwell is a wandering Jew--an engineering Cain."
"Hush! hush!" said Mrs. Valpy, shocked like a good church-woman, at any reference to the Bible in light conversation. "Mr. Maxwell is a very estimable young man."
"I called him Cain in a figurative sense only," replied Toby, coolly; "but if you object to that name, let us call him Ulysses."
"Among the sirens," finished Kaituna, mischievously.
Tommy caught the allusion, and laughed rudely. Confident in her own superiority regarding beauty, she was scornful of the attempts of the so-called sirens to secure the best-looking man in the place, so took a great delight in drawing into her own net any masculine fish that was likely to be angled for by any other girl. She called it fun, the world called it flirtation, and her enemies called it coquetry; and Toby Clendon, although not her enemy, possibly agreed with the appropriateness of the term. But then he was her lover; and lovers are discontented if they don't get the object of their affections all to themselves.
"The sirens!" repeated Miss Valpy, scornfully. "What, with voices like geese? What humbug! Let us take Archie Maxwell Ulysses away from the sirens, Kaituna."
"No, no, don't do that!" said Kaituna with a sudden rush of colour; "it's a shame."
"What! depriving them of their big fish? Not at all. It's greedy of them to be so selfish. I'll call him. Mr. Maxwell!"
"It's very chilly here," said Kaituna, rising to her feet. "Mr. Clendon, my shawl, please. Thank you I'm going inside."
"Because of Mr. Maxwell?" asked Miss Valpy, maliciously.
Maxwell having extricated himself from the company of the sirens, who looked after their late captive with vengeful eyes, saw Kaituna depart, and hesitated between following her or obeying the invitation of Miss Valpy. His heart said "Go there," the voice of Tommy said "Come here," and the unfortunate young man hesitated which to obey. The lady saw his hesitation, and, purposely to vex Mr. Clendon, settled the question at once.
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