Corinne to Lord Nelville.

Jan. 15, 1795.

“Did your letter, my lord, concern only me, I should not have attempted the task of self-justification:  my character is so easy to know, that he who might not be able to comprehend it by himself, would derive little aid in his scrutiny by any explanation that I could give him on the subject.  The virtuous reserve of the English women, and the graceful art of the French, take my word for it, often serve to conceal one half of what is passing in their souls:  that which you are pleased to distinguish in me by the name of magic, is nothing but a sort of transparency of mind, which allows its different sentiments and opposing thoughts to be seen without labouring to harmonize them; for that harmony, when it exists, is almost always assumed—­most genuine characters being by nature inconsequent—­but it is not of myself I wish to speak, it is of that unfortunate nation you so cruelly attack.  Can it be my affection for my friends which has inspired you with this bitter malevolence?  You know me too well to be jealous of me; indeed I have not the vanity to believe that a sentiment of this description could have sufficient power to transport you to such a degree of injustice.  You repeat the opinion of every other foreigner upon the Italian character, when drawn from first impressions; but it requires deeper penetration, and a more patient scrutiny, to be able to form a correct judgment upon this country, which at different epochs has been so great.  Whence comes it that this nation, under the Romans, has attained the highest military character in the world? that it has been the most jealous of its liberties, in the republics of the middle ages, and in the sixteenth century, the most illustrious in literature, and the arts and sciences?  Has she not pursued glory under every form?  And if now, alas! she can boast of none, why do you not rather accuse her political situation, since in other circumstances she has shown herself different?

“I know not whether I deceive myself; but the wrongs of the Italians inspire me with no other sentiment than pity for their lot.  Foreigners have in every age conquered and torn asunder this beautiful country, the perpetual object of their ambition; and yet foreigners bitterly reproach this nation, with the wrongs of a conquered and dismembered country?  Europe is indebted to the Italians for the arts and sciences, and shall Europe, turning their own benefits against them, dispute with her benefactors the only species of renown which can distinguish a nation without either military strength or political liberty?