Italian Letters Part 5

Do not however imagine, that in the moment of my sincerest sorrow, I scarcely for one hour forget you. My sentiments have ever been the same.

They are the dictates of an upright and uncorrupted heart, and I do not blush to own them.

Undissipated in an extensive circle of acquaintance, untaught by the prejudices of my education to look with a favourable eye upon the majority of the young n.o.bility of the present age, I saw you with a heart unexperienced and unworn with the knowledge and corruptions of the world. I saw you in your character totally different from the young persons of your own rank. And the differences I discovered, were all of them such, as recommended you to my esteem. My unguarded heart had received impressions, even before the voice of my father had given a sanction to my inclinations, that would not easily have been effaced.

When he gave me to you, he gave you a willing hand. Your birth is n.o.ble and ancient as my own. Fortune has no charms for me. I have no attachment to the brilliant circle, and the gaiety of public life. My disposition, naturally grave and thoughtful, demands but few a.s.sociates, beside those whose hearts are in some degree in unison with my own. I had rather live in a narrow circle united with a man, distinguished by feeling, virtue, and truth, than be the ornament of courts, and the envy of kingdoms.

Previous to my closing this letter, I sent to enquire of the _maitre d'hotel_ of the villa of the marquis, in what forwardness were his preparations for the intended visit of his master. He informs me that they will be finished in two days at farthest. I suppose it will not be long from that time, before his lordship will set out from Naples. You of course are inseparable from him.

END OF VOLUME I _Italian Letters_

VOLUME II

Letter I

_The Marquis of Pescara to the Marquis of San Severino_

_Cosenza_

My dear lord,

I need not tell you that this place is celebrated for one of the most beautiful spots of the habitable globe. Every thing now flourishes.

Nature puts on her gayest colours, and displays all her charms. The walks among the more cultivated scenes of my own grounds, and amidst the wilder objects of this favoured region are inexpressibly agreeable. The society of my pensive and sentimental friend is particularly congenial with the scenery around me. Do not imagine that I am so devoid of taste as not to derive exquisite pleasure from these sources. Yet believe me, there are times in which I regret the vivacity of your conversation, and the amus.e.m.e.nts of Naples.

Is this, my dear Ferdinand, an argument of a corrupted taste, or an argument of sound and valuable improvement? Much may be said on both sides. Of the mind justly polished, without verging to the squeamish and effeminate, nature exhibits the most delightful sources of enjoyment. He that turns aside from the simplicity of her compositions with disgust, for the sake of the over curious and laboured entertainments of which art is the inventor, may justly be p.r.o.nounced unreasonably nice, and ridiculously fastidious.

But then on the other hand, the finest taste is of all others the most easily offended. The mind most delicate and refined, requires the greatest variety of pleasures. So much for logic. Let me tell you, however, be it wisdom or be it folly, I owe it entirely to you. It is a revolution in my humour, to which I was totally a stranger when I left Palermo.

I have not yet seen this rich and celebrated heiress of whom you told me so much. It is several years since I remember to have been in company where she was, and it is more than probable that I should not even know her. If however I were to give full credit to the rhapsodies of my good friend the count, whose description of her, by the way, has something in it of romantic and dignified, which pleases me better than yours, as luscious as it is, I should imagine her a perfect angel, beautiful as Venus, chaste as Diana, majestic as the mother of the G.o.ds, and enchanting as the graces. I know not why, but since I have studied the persons of the fair under your tuition, I have felt the most impatient desire to be acquainted with this _nonpareil_.

No person however has yet been admitted into the sanctuary of the G.o.ddess, except the person destined by the late duke to be her husband.

He himself has seen her but for a second time. It should seem, that as many ceremonies were necessary in approaching her, as in being presented to his holiness; and that she were as invisible as the emperor of Ispahan. I am however differently affected by the perpetual conversations of St. Julian upon the subject, than I am apt to think you would be. You would probably first laugh at his extravagance, and then be fatigued to death with his perseverance. For my part, I am agreeably entertained with the romance of his sentiments, and highly charmed with their disinterestedness and their virtue.

Yes, my dear marquis, you may talk as you please of the wildness and impracticability of the sentiments of my amiable solitaire, they are at least in the highest degree amusing and beautiful. There is a voice in every breast, whose feelings have not yet been entirely warped by selfishness, responsive to them. It is in vain that the man of gaiety and pleasure p.r.o.nounces them impracticable, the generous heart gives the lie to his a.s.sertions. He must be under the power of the poorest and most despicable prejudices, who would reduce all human characters to a level, who would deny the reality of all those virtues that the world has idolized through revolving ages. Nothing can be disputed with less plausibility, than that there are in the world certain n.o.ble and elevated spirits, that rise above the vulgar notions and the narrow conduct of the bulk of mankind, that soar to the sublimest heights of rect.i.tude, and from time to time realize those virtues, of which the interested and illiberal deny the possibility.

I can no more doubt, than I do of the truth of these apothegms, that the count de St. Julian is one of these honourable characters. He treads without the airy circle of dissipation. He is invulnerable to the temptations of folly; he is unshaken by the examples of profligacy.

They are such characters as his that were formed to rescue mankind from slavery, to prop the pillars of a declining state, and to arrest Astraea in her re-ascent to heaven. They are such characters whose virtues surprize astonished mortals, and avert the vengeance of offended heaven.

Matilda della Colonna is, at least in the apprehension of her admirer, a character quite as singular in her own s.e.x as his can possibly appear to me. They were made for each other. She is the only adequate reward that can be bestowed upon his exalted virtues. Oh, my Ferdinand, there must be a happiness reserved for such as these, which must make all other felicity comparatively weak and despicable. It is the accord of the purest sentiments. It is the union of guiltless souls. Its nature is totally different from that of the casual encounter of the s.e.xes, or the prudent conjunctions in which the heart has no share. In the considerations upon which it is founded, corporeal fitnesses occupy but a narrow and subordinate rank, personal advantages and interest are admitted for no share. It is the sympathy of hearts, it is the most exalted species of social intercourse.

Letter II

_The Count de St. Julian to Signor Hippolito Borelli_

_Cosenza_

My dear Hippolito,

I have already acquainted you as they occurred, with those circ.u.mstances, which have introduced so incredible an alteration in my prospects and my fortune. From being an outcast of the world, a young man without protectors, a n.o.bleman without property, a lover despairing ever to possess the object of his vows, I am become the most favoured of mortals, the happiest of mankind. There is no character that I envy, there is no situation for which I would exchange my own. My felicity is of the colour of my mind; my prospects are those, for the fruition of which heaven created me. What have I done to deserve so singular a blessing? Is it possible that no wayward fate, no unforeseen and tremendous disaster should come between me and my happiness?

My Matilda is the most amiable of women. Every day she improves upon me. Every day I discover new attractions in this inexhaustible mine of excellence. Never was a character so simple, artless and undisguised.

Never was a heart so full of every tender sensibility. How does her filial sorrow adorn, and exalt her? How ravishing is that beauty, that is embellished with melancholy, and impearled with tears?

Even when I suffer most from the unrivalled delicacy of her sentiments, I cannot but admire. Ah, cruel Matilda, and will not one banishment satisfy the inflexibility of thy temper, will not all my past sufferings suffice to glut thy severity? Is it still necessary that the happiness of months must be sacrificed to the inexorable laws of decorum? Must I seek in distant climes a mitigation of my fate? Yes, too amiable tyrant, thou shalt be obeyed. It will be less punishment to be separated from thee by mountains crowned with snow, by impa.s.sable gulphs, by boundless oceans, than to reside in the same city, or even under the same roof, and not be permitted to see those ravishing beauties, to hear that sweet expressive voice.

You know, my dear Hippolito, the unspeakable obligations I have received from my amiable friend, the marquis of Pescara. Though these obligations can never be fully discharged, yet I am happy to have met with an opportunity of demonstrating the grat.i.tude that will ever burn in my heart. My Rinaldo even rates the service I have undertaken to perform for him beyond its true value. Would it were in my power to serve him as greatly, as essentially as I wish!

The estate of the house of Pescara in Castile is very considerable.

Though it has been in the possession of the n.o.ble ancestors of my friend for near two centuries, yet, by the most singular fortune, there has lately arisen a claimant to more than one half of it. His pleas, though dest.i.tute of the smallest plausibility, are rendered formidable by the possession he is said to have of the patronage and favour of the first minister. In a word, it is become absolutely necessary for his lordship in person, or some friend upon whose integrity and discretion he can place the firmest dependence, to solicit his cause in the court of Madrid. The marquis himself is much disinclined to the voyage, and though he had too much delicacy in his own temper, and attachment to my interest, to propose it himself, I can perceive that he is not a little pleased at my having voluntarily undertaken it.

My disposition is by nature that of an insatiable curiosity. I was not born to be confined within the narrow limits of one island, or one petty kingdom. My heart is large and capacious. It rises above local prejudices; it forms to itself a philosophy equally suited to all the climates of the earth; it embraces the whole human race. The majority of my countrymen entertain the most violent aversion for the Spanish nation. For my own part I can perceive in them many venerable and excellent qualities. Their friendship is inviolable, their politeness and hospitality of the most disinterested nature. Their honour is unimpeached, and their veracity without example. Even from those traits in their character, that appear the most absurd, or that are too often productive of the most fatal consequences, I expect to derive amus.e.m.e.nt and instruction. I doubt not, however pure be my flame for Matilda, that the dissipation and variety of which this voyage will be productive, will be friendly to my ease. I shall acquire wisdom and experience. I shall be better prepared to fill up that most arduous of all characters, the respectable and virtuous father of a family.

In spite however of all these considerations, with which I endeavour to console myself in the chagrin that preys upon my mind, the approaching separation cannot but be in the utmost degree painful to me. In spite of the momentary fort.i.tude, that tells me that any distance is better than the being placed within the reach of the mistress of my soul without being once permitted to see her, I cannot help revolving with the most poignant melancholy, the various and infinitely diversified objects that shall shortly divide us. Repeatedly have I surveyed with the extremest anguish the chart of those seas that I am destined to pa.s.s. I have measured for the twentieth time the course that is usually held in this voyage. Every additional league appears to me a new barrier between me and my wishes, that I fear to be able to surmount a second time.

And is it possible that I can leave my Matilda without a guardian to protect her from unforeseen distress, without a monitor to whisper to her in every future scene the constancy of her St. Julian? No, my Hippolito, the objection would be insuperable. But thanks, eternal thanks to propitious heaven! I have a friend in whom I can confide as my own soul, whose happiness is dearer to me than my own. Yes, my Rinaldo, whatever may be my destiny, in whatever scenes I may be hereafter placed, I will recollect that my Matilda is under thy protection, and be satisfied. I will recollect the obligations you have already conferred upon me, and I will not hesitate to add to them that, which is greater than them all.

Letter III

_The Count de St. Julian to the Marquis of Pescara_

_Naples_

Best of friends,

Every thing is now prepared for my voyage. The ship will weigh anchor in two days at farthest. This will be the last letter you will receive from me before I bid adieu to Italy.

I have not yet shaken off the melancholy with which the affecting leave I took of the amiable Matilda impressed me. Never will the recollection be effaced from my memory. It was then, my Rinaldo, that she laid aside that delicate reserve, that lovely timidity, which she had hitherto exhibited. It was then that she poured forth, without restraint, all the ravishing tenderness of her nature. How affecting were those tears? How heart-rending the sighs that heaved her throbbing bosom? When will those tender exclamations cease to vibrate in my ear? When will those piercing cries give over their task, the torturing this constant breast? You, my friend, were witness to the scene, and though a mere spectator, I am mistaken if it did not greatly affect you.

Hear me, my Rinaldo, and let my words sink deep into your bosom. Into your hands I commit the most precious jewel that was ever intrusted to the custody of a friend. You are the arbiter of my fate. More, much more than my life is in your disposal. If you should betray me, you will commit a crime, that laughs to scorn the frivolity of all former baseness. You will inflict upon me a torture, in comparison of which all the laborious punishments that tyrants have invented, are couches of luxury, are beds of roses.

Forgive me, my friend, the paroxysm of a lover's rage. I should deserve all the punishments it would be in your power to inflict, if I harboured the remotest suspicion of your fidelity. No, I swear by all that is sacred, it is my richest treasure, it is my choicest consolation.

Wherever I am, I will bear it about with me. In every reverse of fortune I will regard it as the surest pledge of my felicity. Mountains shall be hurled from their eternal bases, lofty cities shall be crumbled into dust, but my Rinaldo shall never be false.

It is this consideration that can only support me. The trials I undergo are too great for the most perfect fort.i.tude. I quit a treasure that the globe in its inexhausted variety never equalled. I retire to a distance, where months may intervene ere the only intelligence that can give pleasure to my heart, shall reach me. I shall count however with the most unshaken security upon my future happiness. Walls of bra.s.s, and bars of iron could not give me that a.s.sured peace.