Italian Letters, vols 1,2 | Page 9

the Marquis of Pescara_
Palermo My dear lord,
Avocations of no agreeable kind, and with which it probably will not
be long before you are sufficiently acquainted, have of late entirely
engrossed me. You will readily believe, that they were concerns of no
small importance, that hindered me from a proper acknowledgment and
attention to the communications of my friend. But I will dismiss my
own affairs for the present, and make a few of the observations to
which you invite me upon the contents of your letters.
Alas! my Rinaldo is so entirely changed since we used to wander
together among the groves and vallies, and along the banks of that
stream which I now see from my window, that I scarcely know him for
the same. Where is that simplicity, where that undisguised attachment
to virtue and integrity, where that unaccommodating system of moral
truth, that used to live in the bosom of my friend? All the lines of his
character seem to suffer an incessant decay. Shall I fear that the time is
hastening when that sublime and generous spirit shall no longer be
distinguished from the San Severinos, the men of gaiety and pleasure of
the age? And can I look back upon this alteration, and apprehensions
thus excited, and say, "all this has taken place in six poor months?"
Do not imagine, my dear lord, that I am that severe monitor, that rigid
censor, that would give up his friend for every fault, that knows not
how to make any allowance for the heedless levity of youth. I can

readily suppose a man with the purest heart and most untainted
principles, drawn aside into temporary error. Occasion, opportunity,
example, an accidental dissipation of mind are inlets to vice, against
which perhaps it is not in humanity to be always guarded.
Confidence, my dear friend, unsuspicious confidence, is the first source
of error. In favour of the presumptuous man, who wantonly incurs
danger and braves temptation, heaven will not interest itself. There can
be no mistake more destitute of foundation, than that which supposes
man exempt from frailty.
Had not my Rinaldo, trusting too much to his own strength, laid
himself open to dangerous associates, he would now have contemplated
those actions he has been taught to excuse, with disgust and horror. His
own heart would never have taught him that commodious morality he
has been induced to patronize. But he feared them not. He felt, as he
assured me, that firmness of resolution, and ardour of virtue, that might
set these temptations at defiance. Be ingenuous, my friend. Look back,
and acknowledge your mistake. Look back, and acknowledge, that to
the purest and most blameless mind indiscriminate communications are
dangerous.
I had much rather my dear marquis had once deviated from that line of
conduct he had marked out to himself, than that he had undertaken to
defend the deviation, and exerted himself to unlearn principles that did
him honour. You profess to believe that indulgences of this sort are
unavoidable, and the temptations to them irresistible. And is man then
reduced to a par with the brutes? Is there a single passion of the soul,
that does not then cease to be blameless, when it is no longer directed
and restrained by the dictates of reason? A thousand considerations of
health, of interest, of character, respecting ourselves; and of benefit and
inconvenience to society, will be taken into the estimate by the wise
and the good man.
But these considerations are superseded by that which cannot be
counteracted. And does not the reciprocal power of motives depend
upon the strength and vivacity with which they are exhibited to the
mind? The presence of a superior would at any time restrain us from an

unbecoming action. The sense of a decided interest, the apprehension
of a certain, and very considerable detriment, would deprive the most
flattering temptation of all its blandishments. And are not this sense and
this apprehension in a great degree in the power of every man?
Tell me, my friend; Shall that action which in a woman is the utter
extinction of all honour, be in a man entirely faultless and innocent?
But the world is not quite so unjust. Such a conduct even in our sex
tends to the diminution of character, is considered in the circle of the
venerable and the virtuous as a subject of shame and concealment, and
if persisted in, causes a person universally to be considered, as alike
unfit for every arduous pursuit, and every sublime undertaking.
Is it possible indeed, that the society of persons in the lowest state of
profligacy, can be desirable for a man of family, for one who pretends
to honour and integrity? Is it possible that they should not have some
tendency