BARON VON F------ TO COUNT VON O-------
June 4.
The Marquis of Civitella, who is now entirely recovered from his wounds,
was last week introduced to the prince by his uncle, the cardinal, and
since then he has followed him like his shadow. Biondello cannot have
told me the truth respecting this marquis, or at any rate his account
must be greatly exaggerated. His mien is highly engaging, and his
manners irresistibly winning.
It is impossible to be out of humor with him; the first sight of him
has disarmed me. Imagine a man of the most enchanting figure, with
corresponding grace and dignity, a countenance full of thought and
genius, an expression frank and inviting; a persuasive tone of voice,
the most flowing eloquence, and a glow of youthful beauty, joined to all
the advantages of a most liberal education. He has none of that
contemptuous pride, none of that solemn starchness, which we disliked so
much in all the other nobles. His whole being is redolent of youthful
joyousness, benevolence, and warmth of feeling. His excesses must have
been much exaggerated; I never saw a more perfect picture of health. If
he is really so wholly abandoned as Biondello represents him he is a
syren whom none can resist.
Towards me he behaved with much frankness. He confessed with the most
pleasing sincerity that he was by no means on the best of terms with his
uncle, the cardinal, and that it was his own fault. But he was
seriously resolved to amend his life, and the merit would be entirely
the prince’s. At the same time he hoped through his instrumentality to
be reconciled to his uncle, as the prince’s influence with the cardinal
was unbounded. The only thing he had wanted till now was a friend and a
guide, and he trusted he should find both in the person of the prince.
The prince has now assumed the authority of a preceptor towards him, and
treats him with all the watchfulness fulness and strictness of a Mentor.
But this intimacy also gives the marquis a certain degree of influence,
of which he well knows how to avail himself. He hardly stirs from his
side; he is present at all parties where the prince is one of the
guests; for the Bucentauro alone he is fortunately as yet too young.
Wherever be appears in public with the prince he manages to draw him
away from the rest of the company by the pleasing manner in which he
engages him in conversation and arrests his attention. Nobody, they
say, has yet been able to reclaim him, and the prince will deserve to
be immortalized in an epic should he accomplish such an Herculean task.
I am much afraid, however, that the tables may be turned, and the guide
be led away by the pupil, of which, in fact, there seems to be every
prospect.
The Prince of ---d------ has taken his departure, much to the
satisfaction of us all, my master not excepted. What I predicted, my
dear O-----, has come to pass. Two characters so widely opposed must
inevitably clash together, and cannot maintain a good understanding for
any length of time. The Prince of ---d------ had not been long in
Venice before a terrible schism took place in the intellectual world,
which threatened to deprive our prince of one-half of his admirers.
Wherever he went he was crossed by this rival, who possessed exactly
the requisite amount of small cunning to avail himself of every little
advantage he gained. As he besides never scrupled to make use of any
petty manoeuvres to increase his consequence, he in a short time drew
all the weak-minded of the community on his side, and shone at the head
of a company of parasites worthy of such a leader.
[The harsh judgment which Baron F----- (both here and in some
passages of his first letter) pronounces upon this talented prince
will be found exaggerated by every one who has the good fortune to
be acquainted with him, and must be attributed to the prejudiced
views of the young observer.--Note of the Count von O------.]
The wiser course would certainly have been not to enter into competition
at all with an adversary of this description, and a few months back this
is the part which the prince would have taken. But now he has launched
too far into the stream easily to regain the shore. These trifles have,
perhaps by the circumstances in which he is placed, acquired a certain
degree of importance in his eyes, and had he even despised them his
pride would not have allowed him to retire at a moment when his yielding
would have been looked upon less as a voluntary act than as a confession
of inferiority. Added to this, an unlucky revival of forgotten
satirical speeches had taken place, and the spirit of rivalry which took
possession of his followers had affected the prince himself. In order,
therefore, to maintain that position in society which public opinion had
now assigned him, he deemed it advisable to seize every possible
opportunity of display, and of increasing the number of his admirers;
but this could only be effected by the most princely expenditure;
he was therefore eternally giving feasts, entertainments, and expensive
concerts, making costly presents, and playing high. As this strange
madness, moreover, had also infected the prince’s retinue, who are
generally much more punctilious in respect to what they deem “the honor
of the family” than their masters, the prince was obliged to assist the
zeal of his followers by his liberality. Here, then, is a whole
catalogue of ills, all irremediable consequences of a sufficiently
excusable weakness to which the prince in an unguarded moment gave way.
We have, it is true, got rid of our rival, but the harm he has done will
not so soon be remedied. The finances of the prince are exhausted; all
that he had saved by the wise economy of years is spent; and he must
hasten from Venice if he would escape plunging into debt, which till now
he has most scrupulously avoided. It is decisively settled that we
leave as soon as fresh remittances arrive.
I should not have minded all this splendor if the prince had but reaped
the least real satisfaction from it. But he was never less happy than
at present. He feels that he is not what he formerly was; he seeks to
regain his self-respect; he is dissatisfied with himself, and launches
into fresh dissipation in order to drown the recollection of the last.
One new acquaintance follows another, and each involves him more deeply.
I know not where this will end. We must away--there is no other chance
of safety--we must away from Venice.
But, my dear friend, I have not yet received a single line from you.
How am I to interpret this long and obstinate silence?