Delphi Complete Works of William Godwin 1st ed. (2022), page 247
part #1 of Delphi Classics Series
Such was the separation between Julian and his supposed father; and the heart of Cloudesley ached for what might happen in the period of his absence. But the separation seemed to him indispensible; and the rigid integrity of Borromeo he regarded as his best security against any cardinal and deadly evil. He could not bear that his charge should be watched over, during this brief suspension of his own superintendence, by any eye less pure and circumspect than that of his friend.
Cloudesley and Julian were both at the same period removed to a new scene. Cloudesley departed upon an expedition of nearly seven hundred leagues. He had quitted the British isles twenty years before, and never revisited them during that period. Julian removed to the house of Borromeo five miles from Florence.
The change however to the feelings of Julian was incomparably the greater of the two. From infancy he had basked in the lap of undulgence, and experienced an almost uninterrupted succession of gay and cheerful sensations. The house of Borromeo was of that melancholy sort, so difficult to imagine in the midst of the genial and splendid scenes of Italy. It was rambling, and squalid, and dark. The apartments were numerous; the furniture mean and slender. The windows were narrow, and imperfectly lighted the rooms and the staircase. The edifice itself formed two sides of a quadrangle; the other two being shut in with a bank of earth. The area of the court was paved with small flint-stones. The entrance was by a gate under an archway of stone, which had been constructed for the accommodation of carriages, but which was now rarely frequented. The whole had a striking air of desolation and neglect, and was calculated to communicate a feeling of sadness and discouragement to the heart of the stranger who entered under its battlements.
The only fixed inhabitants of this building were Borromeo and three or four servants. As he had passed his best days among the despots and slaves of Algiers, he had scarcely the idea of any other intercourse in use between man and man, except that of absolute command on the one hand, and instant submission on the other. With Cloudesley indeed and two or three select companions he relaxed; he was narrative, and even after a coarse and boisterous manner facetious. But that was the exception; the other was the rule. He had no practice in the scenes of childhood and youth; he had had no experience of them since he was a child himself; and he had almost forgotten that that was ever the case. The sweet intercourse between human beings arrived at maturity on the one hand, and those who are still in their nonage on the other, the delicious emotions that arise between the parent and his offspring, and their mutual endearments, were things of which he had no conception. He required of young persons, if he ever came into communication with them to be wise, or, if they had no stock of that commodity in their stores, to put off their follies, and take their rules of action from the wisdom of their elders.
What a situation was that of Julian under the roof of this Italian! he, the whole of whose life had been passed amidst smiles and sport, who had constantly associated with young persons as gay as himself, or, when he came into communication with his elders, who found them treating him with deference, and shewing by a thousand mute and inexplicable tokens, that they thought themselves honoured in providing for his pleasure! Such was the result of his peculiar situation, Cloudesley and Eudocia having the secret feeling that they were entertaining under their roof a being of a superior sphere, and who was destined one day to break out with a splendour that was truly his own.
Before Cloudesley set off for Ireland, he had deemed it necessary to make a disclosure of his most cherished secret to Borromeo. He had never yet imparted it to a human creature. This was a painful alternative; but upon mature deliberation he judged it indispensible to adopt it. We are told that, a century or two ago, it was frequently the practice with persons of property to make their wills in due form, preparatory to their setting out upon a journey of a hundred or a hundred and fifty miles from their provincial residence for London. Cloudesley was going two thousand miles. He purposed to be absent only for a short time. But how many dangers might beset him by land and sea during his route! He was leaving Julian in a land of strangers. He deemed it therefore incumbent on him to communicate the knowledge of what he was to a second individual, that, in case of any accident to one, there might still be a survivor that possessed it. It had always been in the keeping of two; and, now that Eudocia was no more, Cloudesley thought proper to constitute Borromeo her successor.
He had imagined that by so doing he should give to his friend an additional motive to the punctual discharge of his trust. But in this he found himself mistaken. Cloudesley believed that he had the fortune of his ward in his hands. He persuaded himself that he had only to put forth his full strength, in order to the entire removal of any resistance to the claims of the stripling. He was as sure as he was of his own existence, that justice would finally prevail, and that his charge would be restored to the rights of his ancestors. Not so Borromeo. He looked at the question with a mind unprepossessed; at the same time that he viewed all human affairs through the medium of his misanthropical creed. He saw the adversary in possession of the title and estate, abetted by his personal friends, and the friends of his family; while Julian was a stranger to the British dominions, and with very slender means at his command. He felt certain, that he would be regarded as an interloper and am impostor, and that no other alternative remained to him, but either to live and die the reputed son of Cloudesley, or to spend his days with that most miserable of all characters, a discredited pretender.
Julian came under the roof of Borromeo with every disposition to conduct himself in the most inoffensive manner, and to accommodate his own humours to those of his host. He comforted himself that it was likely to be only for a very short time that this would be required of him; and he thought within his own heart that he owed a much greater sacrifice than this to the will of his only surviving parent.
But his was not the age of patience and long-suffering; and there are cases where it is much easier to make good resolutions, than to persevere in reducing them to practice. He found the house of Borromeo a much more intolerable residence than he had figured it to himself. His host was a man of the most saturnine habits, perpetually in the frown. Borromeo however thought he did much for the accommodation of Julian; he gave him his choice what apartment in the house he would call his own; he ordered his cook to enquire of the youth what he would choose to have for his meals, and at what hours they should be served. This was a sacrifice that Borromeo would have made in such a case to no consideration, but his desire to fulfil the expectations of Cloudesley. His manners however were stiff and morose. And, what was worse, there was in his opinion an insurmountable barrier between a youth in his teens, and a man between forty and fifty. On the present occasion he did what he could. But the concessions he made were in his own apprehension unnatural and unjust. He believed that a young person should approach a man of sense and experience, as an individual deeply imbued with the religion of the ancients would have approached an oracle. He could form no conception that it was any part of the business of one advanced in the vale of years to entertain the young, to lead them on by insensible endearments in the path of virtue, and to endeavour by means of kindness and affection to obtain their confidence. The divinity that represented moral truth, was in his apprehension stern; and the temple in which she was worshipped severe, and destitute of ornament.
CHAPTER IV
IN THIS SITUATION Julian’s natural resource was in Francesco. He resolved to shew himself conformable and docile in the house of Borromeo; but he conceived that he had a right to choose his own companions when he was out of that house. Francesco was a familiar with whom Cloudesley had been pleased that he should associate; and, now that Julian resided in the gloomy abode of his temporary protector, he felt that a cheerful circle of friends was more than ever necessary to him.
Francesco was a much worse man than Cloudesley had understood him to be. His situation in life was considerably changed, since the time when Julian began to be acquainted with him. The princess Violante, sister by marriage to the grand duke, had died in 1731, when Julian was twelve years of age; and, after that event, Bernardino had by no means figured in so brilliant a way in the first circles of Florence, as he had done before. Bernardino survived his patroness seven years; and his death had been a circumstance changing the career of his nephew for the worse, and throwing him upon a new sphere of society.
Among the most intimate of the present associates of Francesco, was Federigo count of Camaldoli. He might seem to stand for an exception to the idea that Francesco was fallen upon a less reputable set of acquaintance. The person of Federigo was among the most faultless. He was somewhat above the middle stature. He had a broad and capacious forehead; his eyes and hair were black; his nose was formed with peculiar delicacy; and his limbs seemed as if moulded by the Graces. There was a native nobility in his appearance, which struck every beholder. His carriage was easy and unaffected; and his presence of mind never deserted him. He stood as disengaged and unembarrassed when addressing himself to persons of the highest rank, as before the poorest clown. He seemed formed for woman’s love. He shone particularly in the airy motions and elegant attitudes of a consummate dancer. And his horsemanship had never been equalled in that part of Italy. He managed the most fiery steed, and appeared to make of that noble animal his plaything, mounting and dismounting, and displaying every variety of attitude, so as to impress the spectator with a feeling, as if he and the quadruped he bestrode, had a magnetic sympathy, and were moved by an impulse that at the same instant acted on both. But that which distinguished him more than all the rest of his qualities, was courage. Danger was a conception that had no power to disturb the clearness of his thoughts, at the same time that the activity of his spirit shot forth on all sides at once. He discovered by the quick glance of his eye every symptom of impending mischief; and the strength of his arm, and the play of his limbs were such as to subdue every thing that opposed him.
Julian was instantly captivated with the attractions of Federigo, and felt that he had never before seen so perfect an example of the idea we may suppose to have been conceived by the Creator of the world, when he resolved to produce that crown of all his productions, man. Federigo indeed had not studied, or perhaps had not been adapted by nature for, those extraordinary effusions of composition and poetry, which Julian had witnessed in Bernardino and Francesco. But to the dazzled eye of his new acquaintance he appeared to possess qualities of a loftier and freer nature, with which these artificial and elaborate trainings could not assimilate. Your impression was, that he had started forth complete and entire into the world, even as Minerva sprang from the head of Jove. No shackles could come near him; he had never bowed the neck to the direction of a master. Whatever he exhibited appeared to be the unfolding of something laid up in the germ of his existence; his perfections disclosing themselves in endless succession, even as one occasion or another called them into act.
Julian remarked with an inquisitive spirit the qualities of his two friends. He was yet on the threshold of manhood; and, at this period of human life, it may naturally be expected that we should revise our judgments, and regard the present day as furnishing a commentary on the day that preceded. One of the most extraordinary persons it had fallen to Julian’s lot to encounter, while yet a boy, was Bernardino Perfetti, the laureated poet of the capitol. It was unavoidable that he should feel his active attachments more strongly called forth by the nephew of Bernardino, a youth by only a few years older than himself, and who appeared likely to tread in the steps of the favourite of Violante. They walked together, and poured out the effusions of their juvenile imaginations, full, unadulterated, and genuine, into each other’s ears. Julian resolved that he would be Pylades, and Francesco should be his Orestes, that he would be Pirithous, and Francesco should be his Theseus.
But, when Camaldoli became known to him, the boy then felt that he had gained a new standard of excellence, and was persuaded that this man rather than Francesco was the friend his soul was compelled to elect. In the qualities that seemed to him to constitute the nobility of man Camaldoli was infinitely the superior. Francesco was the creature of artificial society, formed to shine in a court, to present himself before a crowded audience, to awaken their emotions, and extort their applause. But Camaldoli was the man of all ages and all times. He would have been distinguished among savages, among the feudal followers of Charlemagne, or among the crusaders, as well as in the wars of Camillus and Scipio, or in the heroic games of Olympia. He needed no artificial state of society to be prepared for the reception and the display of his accomplishments. Francesco was like some metaphysical theorists, to whose discoveries, we are told, we cannot render an entire justice, till we have previously qualified ourselves by a noviciate of years. He was a plant that would not thrive but in a congenial climate. While, in whatever sphere Camaldoli had been dropped, in the east or the west, the north or the south, he would have been found at home. His qualities appealed to the unvitiated mind and the genuine tastes of natural man.
But there was another point in which Camaldoli had still more evidently the advantage of Francesco. Julian regretted to find in the latter, features of character which he could well have wished him to be without. Francesco did not in all respects improve upon more intimate acquaintance. It has already been seen that he had within him a vein of licentiousness and profligacy. He had tried upon Julian the sophistries of vice; and, though the English youth did not for this abjure his society, yet certain it is that he approved, and that he liked him the less. But Camaldoli had a native nobleness of soul, from which no adversity and no trials could divide him. The first election of his heart was excellence, genuine moral excellence; and ‘whatever there was that was honest, and just, and lovely, and pure,’ he no sooner saw these things, than he felt his soul irresistibly drawn out towards them. Under all these circumstances it was inevitable, that Camaldoli should to a certain degree supplant Francesco in the affections of Julian.
Such were the two most considerable persons in whose society Julian now spent his days; and he thought himself the most fortunate of human beings, that his lot had fallen to him with these choice associates. There were other young persons, their comrades, whose various qualifications diversified the pleasures of which he partook. It is easy to imagine how these scenes contrasted themselves with the gloomy abode of Borromeo.
Count Camaldoli for the present resided in one of the most magnificent palaces that Florence had to boast. The furniture was splendid, the pictures, and the statues. His entertainments were characterised with every thing that could enchant the sense. Julian was engaged in a perpetual series of pleasures. He forgot the uncouth and repulsive authority of Borromeo; he even forgot for a time the merits and claims of his reputed father. He forgot the road to the podere of him under whose eye and direction Cloudesley had placed him during his expedition; he absented himself for whole days, and at length did not make his appearance for several nights together.
In the midst of one of these estrangements Borromeo met him accidentally in the streets of Florence. Julian started at the sight: the recollection of all the offences he had committed against the duty he owed to his earliest friend rushed upon him at once.
Borromeo motioned to the young man to follow him, and led him to one of the most retired walks of a spacious inclosure in the midst of the city. They two were alone. Borromeo began in a severe style.
Young man, said he, I have undertaken a commission, and must execute it. You I hold for nothing. You have been brought up in habits of the most pernicious indulgence; and I am not now to learn to what ends such habits, acquired on the threshold of life, ultimately lead. But I owe an account to your father; I have engaged in a business; and I must see that he is not baffled, and I am not dishonoured. Your conduct exceeds my expectation. I judged you a novice; and I find you a veteran.
I require, sir, that you should return with me to my home. I shall not suffer you henceforth out of my sight, or at least without a keeper. I require you instantly and without recall to break off from the worthless connections you have formed. You are a boy, and know nothing of human life and human character. But I have acquainted myself with the pursuits of these persons, and find that they are worthless men and villains, who have forfeited all claim to the good opinion of their kind, are thrust out from honourable society, have trampled on all laws human and divine, and will finally expiate their crimes by the axe or the wheel. Have done with them therefore, now and for ever! If you resist my command, I shall apply to the authorities of Florence, and the prisons of the city shall be put in requisition to subdue your rebellion.
Julian was astounded by the fierceness and torrent of this invective. His presence of mind was annihilated; he submitted like a lamb to the beck of his present overseer, and, leaving the walls of Florence, repaired with Borromeo to the squalid and gloomy mansion which owned that person for its master. How could a youth of eighteen act otherwise?
The harshness of his guide was a little softened by the quiet and unresisting submission of Julian. The youth however was no sooner shut up in the solicitude of his own apartment, than a different train of ideas rushed tumultuously upon him. He who had never been subjected to the arbitrariness of control, now received the mandate of a man, against whose manners his very soul revolted. Should he yield to be a slave? Should he suffer himself to be locked up, as a novice-monk at the mandate of his reverence the abbot? Should he at once be cut off from the intercourse of those who were dearest to his heart? If he submitted, should he not make himself a party to the aspersions which Borromeo had heaped upon them? He knew them to be gay, to be innocent, to be meritorious. Borromeo had plainly done nothing more, than string together all the foulest names that the language of modern Europe would afford, and cast them, without distinction, and without the shadow of reason, upon Federigo, Francesco, and their associates. No; he was bound to shew by his conduct, how much he scorned, and how utterly he rejected such imputations. If Borromeo had observed any moderation in his despotism, if he had told Julian that he must not spend whole days with his friends, that he must not withdraw himself whole nights, that would have been different, that might have been entitled to some consideration.
