But these thoughts must be banished from my heart for ever. Wretched as I am, I am not permitted the consolation of penitence, I am not free to accuse and torment myself. No, that step has been taken which can never be repealed. The marquis of Pescara was my husband, and whatever were his true character, I will not crush his memory and his fame. I have, I fear, unadvisedly entered into connexions, and entailed upon myself duties. But these connexions shall now be sacred; these duties shall be discharged to the minutest tittle. Oh, poor and unprotected orphan, thou art cast upon the world without a friend! But thou shalt never want the assiduity of a mother. Thou, at least, are guileless and innocent. Thou shalt be my only companion. To watch over thee shall be the sole amusement that Matilda will henceforth indulge herself. That thou wilt remind me of my errors, that I shall trace in thee gradually as thy years advance, the features of him to whom my unfortunate life owed all its colour, will but make thee a more proper companion, an object more congenial to the sorrows of my soul.
Letter XVIII
_The Count de St. Julian to the Marchioness of Pescara
Cerenzo_
Madam,
You may possibly before this letter comes to your hands have learned an event that very nearly interests both you and me. If you have not, it is not in my power at this time to collect together the circumstances, and reduce them to the form of a narration. The design of my present letter is of a very different kind. Shall I call that a design, which is the consequence of an impulse urging me forward, without the consent of my will, and without time for deliberation?
I write this letter with a hand dyed with the blood of your husband. Let not the idea startle you. Matilda is advanced too far to be frightened with bugbears. What, shall a mind inured to fickleness and levity, a mind that deserted, without reason and without remorse, the most constant of lovers, and that recked not the consequences, shall such a mind be terrified at the sight of the purple blood, or be moved from its horrid tranquility by all the tragedies that an universe can furnish?
Matilda, I have slain your husband, and I glory in the deed. I will answer it in the face of day. I will defy that man to come forward, and when he views the goary, lifeless corse, say to me with a tone of firmness and conviction, "Thou hast done wrong."
And now I have but one business more with life. It is to arraign the fair and traiterous author of all my misfortunes. Start not at the black catalogue. Flinch not from the detail of infernal mischief. The mind that knows how to perpetrate an action, should know how to hear the story of it repeated, and to answer it in all its circumstances.
Matilda, I loved you. Alas, this is to say little! All my thoughts had you for their centre. I was your slave. With you I could encounter tenfold calamity, and call it happiness. Banished from you, the world was a colourless and confused chaos. One moment of displeasure, one interval of ambiguous silence crouded my imagination with every frantic apprehension. One smile, one word of soft and soothing composition, fell upon my soul like odoriferous balm, was a dulcet and harmonious sound, that soothed my anguish into peace, that turned the tempest within me to that still and lifeless calm, where not a breath disturbs the vast serene.