Volume I Part 39 (2/2)

1889

GOULD,--Just after I wrote you last night, soan to whiffle quite soundlessly round as,--reht so that insectsto the book of Laotse, obtain longer life and res so heavily that I kneas a bat,--for no bird could fly so silently; and I turned up the gas again,--full There it was!--very large,--circling round and round the ceiling so swiftly that I felt dizzy trying to turn to keep it in sight,--and as noiselessly as its own shadow above it I could not tell which was the shadow and which the life,--until both cae, and ely twisted ears

All at once I re

We were at Grand Anse,--friend Arnoux and I,--supping in a little rooarden full of banana-trees, to the black beach of the sea; and the great Voice thundered so we could scarcely hear ourselves speak; and the candle in the verrine fluttered like soan to circle, with never a sound Arnoux exclaiarde cette sacree bete--ah--c'est drole!_” By the look of his face I knew _drole_ meant ”weird” He struck it doith his napkin and it disappeared; but a ain he hit it and drove it away; but it always cahed;--and Pierre, the host, tickling my ear with his beard, cried out,--”_C'est ta maitresse a Saint-Pierre--elle est morte,--elle vient te chercher_” And I looked so serious that Arnoux burst into a laugh as loud as the surf outside

Nohen I saw that bat, I thought it eird,”--_drole_ as the other I even found ht be Clemence, about whose death I received news in my last letter

I did not think for a moment it was Gould Only some very poor simple soul would avail itself of so humble a vehicle for apparition Then it looked soda it could be Clemence,--the best kind of old souls, Clemence!--My _blanchisseuse_ It was not easy to catch the bat without hurting it I argued that if it was anybody I knew it could not be afraid of me It sat on the mirror It went under the table It flattened under the trunk and feigned death Then I caught it inits teeth in o,--and it squeaked and chippered like a ghost I was alh to hurt it; but I tried to caress its head, which felt soft and nice But it showed all its teeth and looked too ugly, and there was a musky smell of hell about it--so that I knew, if it were anybody, the place with a capital ”P” where it cao

With love to you, LAFCADIO HEARN

TO GEORGE M GOULD

1889

MY MOST DEAR GOULD,--I a how eous equatorial country where I shall not see you any more;--also it seems to me perfectly and inexplainably atrocious to know that some day or other there will be no Gould at 119 S 17th St That I should cease to make a shadow some day seems quite natural, because Hearn is only a bubble anyhow (”the earth hath bubbles”),--but you, hating ,--you have no right ever to die at all And I can't help doubting whether you will You have almost made me believe what you do not believe yourself,--that there are souls I haven't any, I know; but I think you have,--so electrical and lus always Are you really--what I see of you--only an envelope of soht want you to pass down some day southward,--over the blue zone and the volcanic peaks like a little wind,--and flutter through the palh old roots to the bones of ress; but I had to murder the ”Mother of God” Anyhow the simile would have had a Catholic idolatrousness about it, so that I don't regret it--I send a clipping I found in the trunk, to h: the ”Femmes Arabes” of Dr Perron furnished me the facts--Mrs

Gould moveth or reposeth in serenity,--Jakey fulfilleth with beconity the duties devolved upon hi of ”Quaker City;” but as the smoke spires up, the spiritual-sensualism of ”Ruth” becometh manifest

There has been some rain almost worthy of the tropics,--and much darkness And I can understand better why the ancients of Yucatan, accustoht (about which you Northerners know nothing), put no fire into their hell, but darkness only, as woe enough for tropical souls to bear!

I hope you are having a glorious, joyous journeying, and rely yours, HEARN

TO ----

1889

I am very sorry your trip was a chilly and rainy one As for et South soet back to the tropics I aain--I ht A great, warher than ainto the garden,--and everywhere, even on the steps, haoing to Europe never to come back And you were there, too, all in black silk--sheathed in it; you were also going away sos ready Everybody was saying nice things: one did not seem to hear,--really one never hears voices in dreams,--but one feels the words, tones and all, as if they passed unspoken--just the soul or will of them only--out of one brain into another I can't remember what anybody said precisely: what I recollect best is the sensation that everybody was going, and that I was to stay all alone in the place, or anywhere I pleased; and it was getting dark

Then I woke up, and said: ”Well, I really : but interpreted by the contrary, as is a custo away somewhere,--which I don't yet know

Always and in all things yours, LAFCADIO HEARN

P S Oh!--you spoke about Philadelphia Is it possible you have never seen it? Is it possible you have never seen Fairmount Park?

Believe me, then, that it is the most beautiful place of the whole civilized world on any sunny, tepid suarden by coht or ten broad But the size is nothing It is the beauty of the woods and their vistas, the long drives by the river, the glihtful terraces, the knolls coarden and lawn spaces, the shadowed alleys where 100,000 people make scarcely any more sound than a swarht (When you go to see it, be sure to choose a sunny, _wares file by, each with a pair of lovers in it

Everybody in the park see love to somebody Love is so ht and calm and perfume--that you feel as if drenched with it, permeated by it, mesmerized And if you are all alone, you will look about you once in a while, wondering that soot that I a to a stupid man, like myself

L H