Italian Letters, vols 1,2 | Page 6

vulgar familiarity of her
manners, and the undisguised libidinousness of her conversation, I
must own, disgusted me. Though I do not pretend to be devoid of the
passions incident to my age, I was not at all pleased with the addresses
of this female. As my companions were more active in the choice of an
associate, it may perhaps be only candid to own, that she was not the
most pleasing in the circle. The consciousness of the eyes of the whole
party embarrassed me. And the aukward attempts I made to detach
myself from my enamorata, as they proved unsuccessful, so they served
to excite a general smile. San Severino however presently perceived my
situation, and observing that I was by no means satisfied with my
fortune, he with the utmost politeness broke away from the company,
and attended me home.
How is it my dear friend that vice, whose property it should seem to be,
to hesitate and to tremble, should be able to assume this air of
confidence and composure? How is it that innocence, that surely should
always triumph, is thus liable to all the confusion and perplexity of
guilt? Why is virtue chosen, but because she is the parent of honour,
because she enables a man to look in the face the aspersions of calumny,
and to remain firm and undejected, amidst whatever fortune has of
adverse and capricious? And are these advantages merely imaginary?
Are composure and self-approbation common to the upright and the
wicked? Or do those who are most hardened, really possess the
superiority; and can conscious guilt bid defiance to shame, while
rectitude is continually liable to hide her head in confusion?

Letter VI
The Same to the Same
Naples You will recollect, my St. Julian, that I promised to confess to
you my faults and my follies, and to take you for the umpire and

director of my conduct. Perhaps I have done wrong. Perhaps, though
unconscious of error, I am some how or other misled, and need your
faithful hand to lead me back again to the road of integrity.
Why is it that I feel a reluctance to state to you the whole of my
conduct? It is a sensation to which I have hitherto been a stranger, and
in spite of me, it obliges me to mistrust myself. But I have discovered
the reason. It is, that educated in solitude, and immured in the walls of
a college, we had not learned to make allowances for the situations and
the passions of mankind. You and I, my dear count, have long agreed,
that the morality of priests is to be distrusted: that it is too often
founded upon sinister views and private interest: that it has none of that
comprehension of thought, that manly enthusiasm, which is
characteristic of the genuine moral philosopher. What have penances
and pilgrimages, what have beads and crosses, vows made in
opposition to every instinct of nature, and an obedience subversive of
the original independency of the human mind, to do with virtue?
Thus far, my amiable friend, you advanced, but yet I am afraid you
have not advanced far enough. I am told there is an honesty and an
honour, that preserves a man's character free from impeachment, which
is perfectly separate from that sublime goodness that you and I have
always admired. But to this sentiment I am by no means reconciled. To
speak more immediately to the subject I intended.
What can be more justifiable, or reasonable, than a conformity to the
original propensities of our nature? It is true, these propensities may by
an undue cultivation be so much increased, as to be productive of the
most extensive mischief. The man who, for the sake of indulging his
corporeal appetites, neglects every valuable pursuit, and every
important avocation, cannot be too warmly censured. But it is no less
true, that the passion of the sexes for each other, exists in the most
innocent and uncorrupted heart. Can it then be reasonable to condemn
such a moderate indulgence of this passion, as interrupts no
employment, and impedes no pursuit? This indulgence, in the present
civilized state of society, requires no infringement of order, no
depravation of character. The legislators of every country, whose

wisdom may surely be considered as somewhat greater than that of its
priests, have judiciously overlooked this imagined irregularity, and
amongst all the penalties which they have ambitiously, and too often
without either sentiment or humanity, heaped together against the
offences of society, have suffered this to pass unnoticed. Why should
we be more harsh and rigorous than they? It is inconsistent with all
logic and all candour, to argue against the use of any thing from its
abuse. Of what mischief can the moderate gratification of