How happy I am that I am gone! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart
of man! To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love
so dearly, and yet to feel happy! I know you will forgive me. Have not
other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head
like mine? Poor Leonora! and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault,
that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable
entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And
yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions? Did I not
feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of nature, which, though
but little mirthful in reality, so often amused us? Did I not—but
oh! what is man, that he dares so to accuse himself? My dear friend I
promise you I will improve; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit,
continue to ruminate on every petty vexation which fortune may dispense;
I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be for me the past.
No doubt you are right, my best of friends, there would be far less
suffering amongst mankind, if men—and God knows why they are so
fashioned—did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling
the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with
equanimity. Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to
her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the earliest
information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find that she is very far
from being the disagreeable person our friends allege her to be. She is
a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of hearts. I explained to her my
mother's wrongs with regard to that part of her portion which has
been withheld from her. She told me the motives and reasons of her own
conduct, and the terms on which she is willing to give up the whole,
and to do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot write further upon
this subject at present; only assure my mother that all will go on well.
And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling affair, that
misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than
even malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less
frequent occurrence.
In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude in this terrestrial
paradise is a genial balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with
its bounteous promises my oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every
bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a
butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole
existence in it.
The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an
inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late Count M to lay
out a garden on one of the sloping hills which here intersect each other
with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The
garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first
entrance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but
by a man who wished to give himself up here to the enjoyment of his own
sensitive heart. Many a tear have I already shed to the memory of its
departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to ruins, but
was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the
place. The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days,
and he will lose nothing thereby.