hout spiritualism
becomes utter degradation. It is another matter that some people
touched by Circe's wand may find contentment in their degradation. It
seems a sad thing and very strange that I, a man of the Hellenic type,
should write thus. Scepticism even here steps in, and in regard to
Hellenism I begin to have my doubts whether life be possible with
those worn-out forms; and as I am always sincere, I write what I
think.

30 April.

Yesterday I received a letter from my aunt. It was sent after me from
Rome and dated two weeks back. I cannot understand why they kept it so
long at Casa Osoria. My aunt was sure I had gone to Corfu, but thought
I might have returned by this, and writes thus:--

"We have been expecting to hear from you for some time, and are
looking out with great longing for a letter. I, an old woman, am too
deeply rooted in the soil to be easily shaken, but it tells upon
Aniela. She evidently expected to hear from you, and when no letter
came either from Vienna or Rome, I saw she felt uneasy. Then came your
father's death. I said then, in her presence, that you could not think
now of anything but your loss; by and by you would shake off your
trouble and return to your old life. I saw at once that my words
comforted her. But afterwards, when week passed after week and you did
not send us a single line, she grew very troubled, mostly about your
health, but I fancy because she thought you had forgotten her. I, too,
began to feel uneasy, and wrote 'poste restante' to Corfu, as we had
agreed. Not getting any reply, I am sending another letter to your
house at Rome, because the thought that you may be ill makes us all
very unhappy. Write, if only a few lines; and, Leon, dear, pull
yourself together, shake off that apathy, and be yourself again.
I will be quite open with you. In addition to Aniela's troubles,
somebody has told her mother that you are known everywhere for your
love affairs. Fancy my indignation! Celina was so put out that she
repeated it to her daughter, and now the one has continual headaches,
and the other, poor child, looks so pale and listless that it makes
my heart bleed. And she is such a dear girl, and as good as gold. She
tries to look cheerful so as not to grieve her mother; but I am not so
easily deceived, and feel deeply for her. My dearest boy, I did not
say much to you at Rome, because I respected your affliction; but a
sorrow like that is sent by God, and we have to submit