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What he had just learned his spouse must also know, so he proceeded with her education: "Consola, what do you call your damned country?" "What should I call it? Just what you taught me: Felifinas!" "I'll throw a chair at you, you ! Yesterday you pronounced it even better in the modern style, but now it's proper to pronounce it like an ancient: Feli, I mean, Filipinas!"
Put on your blue bodice with the white spots, my little Feli... Oh, but... oh, but...! Oh, the Whitsuntide bells already! God the bells already... the Whitsun bells... the bells.... I remember him very well, although he was not long with us. Indeed I think that I shall never forget him, and yet he stayed such a short time....
And yet we feel something of that agonizing uncertainty which forced from the aged Abbe Jean the bitter cry, "Féli, Féli, my brother!" Jan. 1897.
Temperament and early education are among the principal determinants of character; and certainly when we contrast Féli with his brother Jean, who presumably received the same home-training, we see how largely he was the creature of temperament. Jean was by nature the "good boy," tractable and docile; Féli, the unmanageable, the lawless, the violent.
"Remember that I'm no ancient! What are you thinking about?" "Never mind! Say Filipinas!" "I don't want to. I'm no ancient baggage, scarcely thirty years old!" she replied, rolling up her sleeves and preparing herself for the fray. "Say it, you , or I'll throw this chair at you!" Consolacion saw the movement, reflected, then began to stammer with heavy breaths, "Feli-, Fele-, File " Pum! Crack!
When dangerously ill in 1827, he exclaimed, on being told that it was a fine night, "For my peace, God grant that it may be my last." The prayer was not heard, for, as he felt on his recovery, God had a great work for him to do. How that work was done we have just seen. Féli de Lamennais, who would have been buried as a Christian in 1827, was buried as an infidel in 1854.
She put herself in contrast with this boy, and her heart sank below the sources of tears into a dry place, like the valley of bones. "Will you turn towards Casa Feli towards the house now," she said presently. The boat swung round, and instantly the boy began to sing. "Yes, I can do it to-night," she thought. His happy singing entered like iron into her soul.
While Jean was dutifully learning his lessons to order, Féli, the obstreperous, imprisoned in the library, was feeding his tender mind with Diderot, Montaigne, Pascal, Voltaire, Rousseau, and similar diet, and at twelve exhibited such infidel tendencies as made it prudent to defer his first Communion for some ten years.
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