_The Same to the Same_
_Naples_
Since I wrote last to my dear count, I have been somewhat more in
public, and have engaged a little in the societies of this city. You can
scarcely imagine, my friend, how different the young gentlemen of Naples
are from my former associates in the university. You would hardly
suppose them of the same species. In Palermo, almost every man was cold,
uncivil and inattentive; and seemed to have no other purpose in view
than his own pleasure and accommodation. At Naples they are all good
nature and friendship. Your wishes, before you have time to express
them, are forestalled by the politeness of your companions, and each
seems to prefer the convenience and happiness of another to his own.
With one young nobleman I am particularly pleased, and have chosen him
from the rest as my most intimate associate. It is the marquis of San
Severino. I shall endeavour by his friendship, as well as I can, to
make up to myself the loss of my St. Julian, of whose society I am
irremediably deprived. He does not indeed possess your abilities, he
has not the same masculine understanding, and the same delightful
imagination. But he supplies the place of these by an uninterrupted flow
of good humour. All his passions seem to be disinterested, and it would
do violence to every sentiment of his heart to be the author of a
moment's pain to another.
Do not however imagine, my dear count, that my partiality to this
amiable young nobleman renders me insensible to the defects of his
character. Though his temper be all sweetness and gentleness, his views
are not the most extensive. He considers much more the present ease of
those about him, than their future happiness. He has not harshness, he
has not firmness enough in his character, shall I call it? to refuse
almost any request, however injudicious. He is therefore often led into
improper situations, and his reputation frequently suffers in a manner
that I am persuaded his heart does not deserve.
The person of San Severino is tall, elegant and graceful. His manners
are singularly polite, and uniformly unembarassed. His voice is
melodious, and he is eminently endowed by nature with the gift of
eloquence. A person of your penetration will therefore readily imagine,
that his society is courted by the fair. His propensity to the tender
passion appears to have been very great, and he of consequence lays
himself out in a gallantry that I can by no means approve.
Such, my dear count, appears to me to be the genuine and impartial
character of my new friend. His good nature, his benevolence, and the
pliableness of his disposition may surely be allowed to compensate for
many defects. He can indeed by no means supply the place of my St.
Julian. I cannot look up to him as a guide, and I believe I shall never
be weak enough to ask his advice in the conduct of my life.
But do not imagine, my dear lord, that I shall be in much danger of
being misled by him into criminal irregularities. I feel a firmness of
resolution, and an ardour in the cause of virtue, that will, I trust,
be abundantly sufficient to set these poor temptations at defiance.
The world, before I entered it, appeared to me more formidable than it
really is. I had filled it with the bugbears of a wild imagination.
I had supposed that mankind made it their business to prey upon each
other. Pardon me, my amiable friend, if I take the liberty to say, that
my St. Julian was more suspicious than he needed to have been, when he
supposed that Naples could deprive me of the simplicity and innocence
that grew up in my breast under his fostering hand at Palermo.