My Ten Years' Imprisonment [35]
by degrees a civilisation without slavery became apparent, a state of society believed to be utterly impracticable by the ancient philosophers. A review of history from the appearance of Christ to the present age, would finally demonstrate that the religion he established had invariably been found adapted to all possible grades in civilised society. For this reason, the assertion that the gospel was no longer in accordance with the continued progress of civilisation, could not for a moment be maintained."
I wrote in as small characters as I could, and at great length, but I could not embrace all which I had ready prepared upon the subject. I re-examined the whole carefully. There was not one revengeful, injurious, or even repulsive word. Benevolence, toleration, and forbearance, were the only weapons I employed against ridicule and sarcasm of every kind; they were also employed after mature deliberation, and dictated from the heart.
I despatched the letter, and in no little anxiety waited the arrival of the next morning, in hopes of a speedy reply.
Tremerello came, and observed; "The gentleman, sir, was not able to write, but entreats of you to continue the joke."
"The joke!" I exclaimed. "No, he could not have said that! you must have mistaken him."
Tremerello shrugged up his shoulders: "I suppose I must, if you say so."
"But did it really seem as if he had said a joke?"
"As plainly as I now hear the sound of St. Mark's clock;" (the Campanone was just then heard.) I drank my coffee and was silent.
"But tell me; did he read the whole of the letter?"
"I think he did; for he laughed like a madman, and then squeezing your letter into a ball, he began to throw it about, till reminding him that he must not forget to destroy it, he did so immediately."
"That is very well."
I then put my coffee cup into Tremerello's hands, observing that it was plain the coffee had been made by the Siora Bettina.
"What! is it so bad?"
"Quite vile!"
"Well! I made it myself; and I can assure you that I made it strong; there were no dregs."
"True; it may be, my mouth is out of taste."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
I walked about the whole morning in a rage. "What an abandoned wretch is this Julian! what, call my letter a joke! play at ball with it, reply not a single line! But all your infidels are alike! They dare not stand the test of argument; they know their weakness, and try to turn it off with a jest. Full of vanity and boasting, they venture not to examine even themselves. They philosophers, indeed! worthy disciples of Democritus; who DID nothing but laugh, and WAS nothing but a buffoon. I am rightly served, however, for beginning a correspondence like this; and still more for writing a second time."
At dinner, Tremerello took up my wine, poured it into a flask, and put it into his pocket, observing: "I see that you are in want of paper;" and he gave me some. He retired, and the moment I cast my eye on the paper, I felt tempted to sit down and write to Julian a sharp lecture on his intolerable turpitude and presumption, and so take leave of him. But again, I repented of my own violence, and uncharitableness, and finally resolved to write another letter in a better spirit as I had done before.
I did so, and despatched it without delay. The next morning I received a few lines, simply expressive of the writer's thanks; but without a single jest, or the least invitation to continue the correspondence. Such a billet displeased me; nevertheless I determined to persevere. Six long letters were the result, for each of which I received a few laconic lines of thanks, with some declamation against his enemies, followed by a joke on the abuse he had heaped upon them, asserting that it was extremely natural the strong should oppress the weak, and regretting that he was not in the list of the former. He then related some of his love affairs, and observed that they exercised no little sway over his disturbed imagination.
In reply to my last on the subject of Christianity, he said he
I wrote in as small characters as I could, and at great length, but I could not embrace all which I had ready prepared upon the subject. I re-examined the whole carefully. There was not one revengeful, injurious, or even repulsive word. Benevolence, toleration, and forbearance, were the only weapons I employed against ridicule and sarcasm of every kind; they were also employed after mature deliberation, and dictated from the heart.
I despatched the letter, and in no little anxiety waited the arrival of the next morning, in hopes of a speedy reply.
Tremerello came, and observed; "The gentleman, sir, was not able to write, but entreats of you to continue the joke."
"The joke!" I exclaimed. "No, he could not have said that! you must have mistaken him."
Tremerello shrugged up his shoulders: "I suppose I must, if you say so."
"But did it really seem as if he had said a joke?"
"As plainly as I now hear the sound of St. Mark's clock;" (the Campanone was just then heard.) I drank my coffee and was silent.
"But tell me; did he read the whole of the letter?"
"I think he did; for he laughed like a madman, and then squeezing your letter into a ball, he began to throw it about, till reminding him that he must not forget to destroy it, he did so immediately."
"That is very well."
I then put my coffee cup into Tremerello's hands, observing that it was plain the coffee had been made by the Siora Bettina.
"What! is it so bad?"
"Quite vile!"
"Well! I made it myself; and I can assure you that I made it strong; there were no dregs."
"True; it may be, my mouth is out of taste."
CHAPTER XXXIX.
I walked about the whole morning in a rage. "What an abandoned wretch is this Julian! what, call my letter a joke! play at ball with it, reply not a single line! But all your infidels are alike! They dare not stand the test of argument; they know their weakness, and try to turn it off with a jest. Full of vanity and boasting, they venture not to examine even themselves. They philosophers, indeed! worthy disciples of Democritus; who DID nothing but laugh, and WAS nothing but a buffoon. I am rightly served, however, for beginning a correspondence like this; and still more for writing a second time."
At dinner, Tremerello took up my wine, poured it into a flask, and put it into his pocket, observing: "I see that you are in want of paper;" and he gave me some. He retired, and the moment I cast my eye on the paper, I felt tempted to sit down and write to Julian a sharp lecture on his intolerable turpitude and presumption, and so take leave of him. But again, I repented of my own violence, and uncharitableness, and finally resolved to write another letter in a better spirit as I had done before.
I did so, and despatched it without delay. The next morning I received a few lines, simply expressive of the writer's thanks; but without a single jest, or the least invitation to continue the correspondence. Such a billet displeased me; nevertheless I determined to persevere. Six long letters were the result, for each of which I received a few laconic lines of thanks, with some declamation against his enemies, followed by a joke on the abuse he had heaped upon them, asserting that it was extremely natural the strong should oppress the weak, and regretting that he was not in the list of the former. He then related some of his love affairs, and observed that they exercised no little sway over his disturbed imagination.
In reply to my last on the subject of Christianity, he said he