Letter XVI. Matilda della Colonna to the Count de St. Julian, Cosenza

Is it possible you can put an unfavorable 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 license. 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 offense 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 connections 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 favorable 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 inquire 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.

END OF VOLUME I Italian Letters