_Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian_
_Cosenza_
I begin this letter without having yet received any news from you since
you quitted the port of Naples. The time however that was requisite for
that purpose is already more than expired. Oh, my friend, if before
the commencement of this detested voyage, the dangers that attended it
appeared to me in so horrid colours, how think you that I support
them now? My imagination sickens, my poor heart is distracted at the
recollection of them. Why would you encounter so many unnecessary
perils? Why would you fly to so remote a climate? Many a friend could
have promoted equally well the interests of the marquis of Pescara, but
few lives are so valuable as thine. Many a friend could have solicited
this business in the court of Madrid, but believe me, there are few
that can boast that they possessed the heart of a Matilda. Simple and
sincere, I do not give myself away by halves. With a heart full of
tenderness and sensibility, I am affected more, much more than the
generality of my sex, with circumstances favourable or adverse. Ah
cruel, cruel St. Julian, was it for a lover to turn a deaf ear to the
intreaties of a mistress, that lived not but to honour his virtues, and
to sympathize in his felicity? Did I not for you lay aside that triple
delicacy and reserve, in which I prided myself? Were not my sighs and
tears visible and undisguised? Did not my cries pierce the lofty dome of
my paternal mansion, and move all hearts but yours?
They tell me, my St. Julian, that I am busy to torment myself, that I
invent a thousand imaginary misfortunes. And is this to torment myself
to address my friend in these poor lines? Is this to deceive myself with
unreal evils? Even while Matilda cherishes the fond idea of pouring
out her complaints before him, my St. Julian may be a lifeless corse.
Perhaps he now lies neglected and unburied in the beds of the ocean.
Perhaps he has fallen a prey to barbarous men, more deaf and merciless
than the warring elements. Distracting ideas! And does this head live to
conceive them? Is this hand dull and insensible enough to write them?
Believe me, my friend, my heart is tender and will easily break. It was
not formed to sustain a series of trials. It was not formed to encounter
a variety of distress. Oh, fly then, hasten to my arms. All those ideas
of form and decency, all the artificial decorums of society that I once
cherished, are dissolved before the darker reflections, the apprehensive
anxieties that your present situation has awakened. Yes, my St. Julian,
come to my arms. The moment you appear to claim me I am yours. Adieu to
the management of my sex. From this moment I commit all my concerns
to your direction. From this moment, your word shall be to me an
irrevocable law, which without reasoning, and without refinement, I will
implicitly obey.
* * * * *
I have received your letter. The pleasure it affords me is exquisite in
proportion to my preceding anguish. From the confession of the bravest
of men it now appears that my apprehensions were not wholly unfounded.
And yet upon reviewing what I have written, I almost blush for my
weakness. But it shall not be effaced. Disguise is little becoming
between lovers at so immense a distance. No, my friend, you shall know
all the interest you possess in my heart. I will at least afford you
that consolation amidst the pangs of absence. May heaven be propitious
in what yet remains before you! I will even weary it with my prayers.
May it return you to my arms safe and unhurt, and no other calamity
shall wring from me a murmur, or a sigh!
One thing however it is necessary I should correct. I do not mean to
accuse you for the voyage you have undertaken, however it may distress
me. In my calmer moments I feel for the motives of it the warmest
approbation. It was the act of disinterested friendship. Every prejudice
of the heart pleaded against it. Love, that passion which reigns without
a rival in your breast, forbad the compliance. It was a virtue worthy
of you. There needed but this to convince me that you were infinitely
superior to the whole race of your fellow mortals.