The British Press; or, Morning Literary Advertiser.
London, England, 1803-03-01 00:00:00

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cnrely rest. Take heed, Leonce, God wishes to be
our first friend, our only master ; and an entire sub-
mission to his will is the only means of remaining
unenslaved by any other yoke."—" Leonce," added
she, with an agitated voice, " Leonce ! fain would
I bear with me the idea that you are to be happy ;
but much do I fear, that you have not taken the
road to happiness. If I could but prevail upon you
to bring up our child in the principles that I have
been taught—but, alas ! the poor child ; who knows
that he can live any time ? Ere long, perhaps,
and he will he an angel in the bosom of God."—
Here she suddenly stopt short, as if startled at some
idea that shot. through her mind ; and she eagerly
called for her confessor. Leonce imagined her
anxiety arose from having too long continued to
suckle her child. He went to her confessor, and
said to him: " Sir, you have been the cause of
much mischief to us ; endeavour to repair it as far
as lies in your power; relieve Matilda's mind from
all intrusion of remorse "—" 1 shall do my duty,"
replied the confessor, as he entered Matilda's cham-
ber. This confessor is a man ;tali:iced at the same
time by fanaticism and by cunning: convinced
himself of the truth of the opinion he professes, yet
resorting to all the art which perfidy itself could
exert, in order to impress that cenvilaion upon the
mind of others—sternly unmoved by every thing
that would disgust or discohcert him, but ever ac-
tive to follow up whatever success he may obtain—
stamping, in tine, with a perseverance which no-
thing can st ear out, that religious dignity which
boasts of humiliations, and which places its pride in
sufferings and mortifications.
He remained for several hours shut up with Ma-
tilda ; and whets Leonce rentrned to her, she :y-
-reared more firm and serene, without manifesting
any anxiety to speak with him alone. During the
whole of the night which preceded her death, the
yoeng and beautiful Matilda courageously sub-
mitted to all those ceremonies with which the ca-
tholics are wont to besiege the dying. I had with-
drawn into a corner of the room, behind the ser-
vants, who listened on their knees to the prayers
usually read over the dyieg. I perceived, in a
mirror, the bed of Matilda, and I observed her
confessor, frequently presenting the cross before her
dying lips. At this sight 1 felt an agitation within
me, which all the efforts my will could exert were
unable to subdue—" It is right," said I to myself,
" thus to draw round our last moments such a
gloomy apparatus r to surpass in frightfulness the
terrors of death itself, and to strike with so many
terrific ideas the imaginations of those who are yield-
ing their last breath ? The sacrifice is scarcely so
much to be dreaded as the preparations ! Were it
not better to let the end of man come on like the
close of day, and make the sleep of death resemble,
as far as may be, the sleep of life?—Sure I am, at
least, that he who dies regretted by all he loves,
must he anxious to g:2t rid of all this funeral pomp.
Aff&tion accomranies bins till his last throve' : he
deposits his memory in the hearts of those who sur-
vive him, while the tears of his friends solicit and
call down upon him the benevolent regard of hea-
ven ; but the unfortunate, who is left to die unat-
tended, may perhaps be desirous to have his death
itttested,by some striking solemnity, that the minis-
ters of God should chaunt armed him those s
impressing prayers, which bespeak the sympathies
of heaven with the sufferings of humanity, and that
the most awful mystery of nature, death, should not
be accomplished, without the accompaniments cf
pity and of terror.
Lconcc remained daring the whole of the night at
the foot of Matilda's bed, wholly absorbed in the
deep impressions by which his soul was overwhelm-
ed. Ile has since told me, that while he observed
a woman so young and so beautirul thus•resign her-
self to death with calmness so unruffled. he could
riot but ask himself why, under the pains that assail
tte heart, we were so desirous to live, since death
could cause so little dread even amidst all the enjoy-
s nents that minister in life to the most splendid pros-
perity ? do true is it, that in the most happy condi-
tion man alwaya feels a secret dineust at. existence,
which consoles our regret for tot:, ing at our end,
however short may have been the journey.
You are well acquainted with the powerful ex-
pression which charaelerizes the phi,iognomy of
Leonce, but particularly the singular charm and
energy with which it depicts the majesty of grief.
He had passed the night in one and the same atti-
tude, standing up erect and motionless—his hair
hung loose anol disordered, and at that moment his
beauty had something in it truly striking. Matilda,
who for a long time had her eyes closed, then hap-
pened to open them, and the first obje& that caught
her sight was [tome. "Good Cod!" she exclaim-
ed, " is it my husband, or a messenger from heaven
that I behold!" She had scarcely uttered these
words, when to the blanc paleness that overspread
her face a vivid red succeeded : she called. her con-
fessor, and spoke to him for sonic minutes in a low
tone of voice. I could only gather a few words of
his answer, viz. " Ycs, madam, you may bid a last
farewel to M. de Mondoville ; but alter that you
should remain alone with us." " Leonce," said
then Matilda, as she pressed her husband's hand
between both her own, " Leonce," she repeated
again, with a look that mingled in it at once both
the shades of death and the liveliest sentiments that
can animate life, " I hare always loved you, let this
be the only recolleaion that you cherish of me. Has
not Jesus Christ himself said, that to three who have
loved ms-b, vvueh shall be forgrvos ? Do net slight
my memory, do not, without trembling awe, tram- '
ple on the tomb of the woman who loved but you
alone upon earth." Leonce niched into tears, and
rushed towards Matilda. In a few minutes after,
the confessor drew near the bed, and said to Leonce,
" Retire, Sir, Mad. de Mondoville has now only to
think of prayer, and of the dread concerns of eter-
nity." Leonce rose up with indignation. Matilda
foresaw tbat-he was going to burst into expressions
of anger, and hastened to say to him,. " Leonce, it
is my last, it is my greatest sacrifice ; but it must
be so!" Leonce, overwhelmed by this order, with-
drew, and his eyes beheld Matilda no more. She
erpired an hour after.
From that moment 'Leonce never onse %tinted his
son, whose health is in a most perilous state ; and 1
pm pretty well convinced that he has no notion of
him at the present moment ; but at the same
time, T make no doubt, but that if his son were bet-
ter, he would set out immediately to rejoin Delphme.
He has not as vet mentioned her name to me ; but
this morning, as we were standing together at the
window, the moment the day began to dawn, he
said L'‘rnr, " itentark, my frientt, see how the sun
rises (,n the side of Switzerland ; all his rays diet

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