_The Answer_
_Naples_
It is not necessary for me to assure my St. Julian, that I really felt
those sentiments of filial sorrow which he ascribes to me. Never did any
son sustain the loss of so indulgent a father. I have nothing by which
to remember him, but acts of goodness and favour; not one hour of
peevishness, not one instance of severity. Over all my youthful follies
he cast the veil of kindness. All my imaginary wants received a prompt
supply. Every promise of spirit and sensibility I was supposed to
discover, was cherished with an anxious and unremitting care.
But such as he was to me, he was, in a less degree, to all his
domestics, and all his dependents. You can scarcely imagine what a
moving picture my palace--and must I call it mine? presented, upon my
first arrival. The old steward, and the grey-headed lacqueys endeavoured
to assume a look of complacency, but their recent grief appeared through
their unpractised hypocrisy. "Health to our young master! Long life,"
cried they, with a broken and tremulous accent, "to the marquis of
Pescara!" You will readily believe, that I made haste to free them from
their restraint, and to assure them that the more they lamented my ever
honoured father, the more they would endear themselves to me. Their
looks thanked me, they clasped their hands with delight, and were
silent.
The next morning as soon as I appeared, I perceived, as I passed along,
a whole crowd of people plainly, but decently habited, in the hall.
"Who are they?" said I. "I endeavoured to keep them off," said the old
steward, "but they would not be hindered. They said they were sure that
the young marquis would not bely the bounty of their old master, upon
which they had so long depended for the conveniences and comfort of
life." "And they shall not be kept off," said I; and advancing towards
them, I endeavoured to convince them, that, however unworthy of his
succession, I would endeavour to keep alive the spirit of their
benefactor, and would leave them as little reason as possible to regret
his loss. Oh! my St. Julian, who but must mourn so excellent a parent,
so amiable, so incomparable a man!
But you talked to me of the flattering change in my situation. And shall
I confess to you the truth? I find nothing in it that flatters, nothing
that pleases me. I am told my revenues are more extensive. But what is
that to me? They were before sufficiently ample, and I had but to wish
at any time, in order to have them increased. But I am removed to the
metropolis of the kingdom, to the city in which the court of my master
resides, to the seat of elegance and pleasure. And yet, amidst all that
it offers, I sigh for the rural haunts of Palermo, its pleasant hills,
its fruitful vales, its simplicity and innocence. I sit down to a more
sumptuous table, I am surrounded with a more numerous train of servants
and dependents. But this comes not home to the heart of your Rinaldo.
I look in vain through all the circle for an equal and a friend. It is
true, when I repair to the levee of my prince, I behold many equals; but
they are strangers to me, their faces are dressed in studied smiles,
they appear all suppleness, complaisance and courtliness. A countenance,
fraught with art, and that carries nothing of the soul in it, is
uninteresting, and even forbidding in my eye.
Oh! how long shall I be separated from my St. Julian? I am almost angry
with you for apologizing for your kind monitions and generous advice. If
my breast glows with any noble sentiments, it is to your friendship I
ascribe them. If I have avoided any of the rocks upon which heedless
youth is apt to split, yours is all the honour, though mine be the
advantage. More than one instance do I recollect with unfeigned
gratitude, in which I had passed the threshold of error, in which I had
already set my foot upon the edge of the precipice, and was reclaimed by
your care. But what temptations could the simple Palermo offer, compared
with the rich, the luxurious, and dissipated court of Naples?
And upon this scene I am cast without a friend. My honoured father
indeed could not have been my companion, but his advice might have been
useful to me in a thousand instances. My St. Julian is at a distance
that my heart yearns to think of. Volcanos burn, and cataracts roar
between us. With caution then will I endeavour to tread the giddy
circle. Since I must, however unprepared, be my own master, I will
endeavour to be collected, sober, and determined.
One expedient I have thought of, which I hope will be of service to me
in the new scene upon which I am to enter. I will think how my friend
would have acted, I will think that his eye is upon me, and I will make
it a law to myself to confess all my faults and follies to you. As you
have indulged me with your correspondence, you will allow me, I doubt
not, in this liberty, and will favour me from time to time with those
honest and unbiassed remarks upon my conduct, which it is consonant with
your character to make.