_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_
_Cosenza_
Is it possible you can put an unfavourable construction upon my silence?
You are not to be informed that it was nothing more than the simplest
dictates of modesty and decency required. I cannot believe, that if I
had offended against those dictates, it would not have sunk me a little
in your esteem. Your sex indeed is indulged with a large and extensive
licence. But in ours, my dear friend, propriety and decorum cannot be
too assiduously preserved. Our reputation is at the disposal of every
calumniator. The minutest offence can cast a shade upon it. A long and
uninterrupted course of the most spotless virtue can never restore it to
its first unsullied brightness. Many and various indeed are the steps by
which it may be tarnished, short of the sacrifice of chastity, and the
total dereliction of character.
There is no test of gentleness and integrity of heart more obvious,
than the discharge of the filial duties. A truly mild and susceptible
disposition will sympathize in the concerns of a parent with the most
ardent affection, will be melted by his sufferings into the tenderest
sorrow. The child whose heart feels not with peculiar anguish the
distresses of him, from whom he derived his existence, to whom he owes
the most important obligations, and with whom he has been in habits
of unbounded confidence from earliest infancy, must be of a character
harsh, savage, and detestable. How can he be expected to melt over the
tale of a stranger? How can his hand be open to relief and munificence?
How can he discharge aright the offices of a family, and the duties of a
citizen?
Recollect, my friend, never had any child a parent more gentle and
affectionate than mine. I was all his care and all his pride. He knew no
happiness but that of gratifying my desires, and outrunning my wishes.
He was my all. I have for several years, and even before I was able
properly to understand her value, lost a tender mother. In my surviving
parent then all my attachments centered. He was my protector and my
guide, he was my friend and my companion. All other connexions were
momentary and superficial. And till I knew my St. Julian, my warmest
affections never strayed from my father's roof.
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 nobility 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
noble 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 associates,
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 _maître
d'hôtel_ 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.