And yet, so wayward is my fate, those very objects which might be expected to awaken the sincerest penitence and regret, now only serve to give new strength to the passion that devours me, and to make my flame surmount every obstacle that can oppose its progress. Yes, Matilda, thou must be mine. Heaven and earth cannot now overturn the irrevocable decree. It has been the incessant object of my attention to throw in those artful baits which might best divert the current of her soul. I have assiduously inflamed her resentment to the highest pitch, and I flatter myself that I have made some progress towards the concluding stroke.
There is no situation in which we stand in greater need of sympathy and consolation, than in those moments of forlornness and desertion to which the poor Matilda imagines herself reduced. At these times my friendship has been most unwearied in its exertions. I have answered sigh with sigh, and mingled my tears with those of the lovely mourner. Believe me, Ferdinand, this has not been entirely affectation and hypocrisy. There is a vein of sensibility in the human heart, that will not permit us to behold an artless and an innocent distress, at least when surrounded with all the charms of beauty, without feeling our souls involuntarily dilated, and our eyes unexpectedly swimming in tears.
But I have another source of disquietude which is unaccompanied with any alleviating circumstances. A letter from the count de St. Julian to his Matilda has just been conveyed to my hands. It is filled with the most affecting and tender complaints of her silence that can possibly be imagined. He has too exalted a notion of the fair charmer to attribute this to lightness and inconstancy. His inventive fancy conjures up a thousand horrid phantoms, and surrounds the mistress of his soul with I know not what imaginary calamities. But that passage of the whole epistle that overwhelms me most, is one, in which, in spite of all the anguish of his mind, in spite of appearances, he expresses the most unsuspecting confidence in his false and treacherous friend. He still recommends me to his Matilda as her best protector and surest guardian. Ah, my St. Julian, how didst thou deserve to be cursed with an associate, hollow and deceitful as Rinaldo?
Yes, marquis, in spite of all the arguments you have alledged to me upon the subject, I still regard my first and youthful friend, as the most exalted and the foremost of human beings. You may talk of pride, vanity, and stoicism, the heart that listens to the imputation feels its sophistry. It is not vanity, for his virtuous actions are rather studiously hid from observation, than ostentatiously displayed. Is it pride? It is a pride that constitutes the truest dignity. It is a pride worthy of heroes and of gods. What analogy does it bear with the pride of avarice, and the pride of rank; how is it similar to the haughty meanness of patronage, and the insatiable cravings of ambition?
But I must not indulge to reflexions like these. It is to no purpose for the disinterested tenderness, the unstoical affection of my St. Julian to start up in array before me. Hence remorse, and all her kindred passions! I am cruel, obdurate, and unrelenting. Yes, most amiable of men, you might as well address your cries to the senseless rocks. You might as well hope with your eloquent and soft complainings to persuade the crocodile that was ready to devour you. I have passed the Rubicon. I have taken the irrevocable step. It is too late, ah, much too late to retreat!
Letter XIV
The Marquis of San Severino to the Marquis of Pescara
Naples
Joy, uninterrupted, immortal joy to my dear Rinaldo. May all your days be winged with triumph, and all your nights be rapture. Believe me, I feel the sincerest congratulation upon the desired event of your long expected marriage. My lord, you have completed an action that deserves to be recorded in eternal brass. Why should politics be confined to the negotiations of ambassadors, and the cabinets of princes? I have often revolved the question, and by all that is sacred I can see no reason for it. Is it natural that the unanimating and phlegmatic transactions of a court should engage a more unwearied attention, awaken a brighter invention, or incite a more arduous pursuit than those of love? When beauty solicits the appetite, when the most ravishing tenderness and susceptibility attract the affections, it is then that the heart is most distracted and regardless, and the head least fertile in artifice and stratagem.
My joy is the more sincere, as I was compelled repeatedly to doubt of your perseverance. What sense was there in that boyish remorse, and those idle self-reproaches, in which you frequently employed yourself? No, Rinaldo, a man ought never to enter upon an heroical and arduous undertaking without being perfectly composed, and absolutely sure of himself. What a pitiful figure would my friend have made, had he stopped in the midway, and let go the angelic prize when it was already within his grasp? If it had not been for my repeated exhortations, if I had not watched over you like your guardian genius, would you have been now flushed with success, and crowned with unfading laurel?