CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF - - 
 
 ^-J^ A- Mgry A. Wynne 
 and 
 John H. Wynne 
 Cornell ^98,. 1922 
 
DATE DUE 
 
 phintcd IN U.S.A. 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027350432 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PQ 2431.C7 1858 
 
 Corinne: 
 
 3 1924 027 350 432 
 
CO HINNE; 
 
 on, 
 
 ITALY. 
 
 "Udrallo il bol paese,- 
 
 Ch* Apennin parte, e '1 mar circonda e I'Alpe." 
 
 PJlTItARCn. 
 
 MADAME DE STAEL. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY ISABEL HILL; 
 
 METRICAL VERSIONS OF THE ODES BY L. E. LANDON. 
 
 — •--' — :.^^'^(^rkmh 
 
 NEW YORK: *-*t^~ T 
 
 *M. (^ 
 
 DEEBY & JitCKSOlSr, 
 
 TASSAU STREET. 
 
 No. 119 NASSAU STREET. / $: 
 

 fi('ii-/:z^^ 
 
 
 7a 
 
 n 
 
^mnalatnt'a ^rrfati. 
 
 Whatever defects may exist in my attempt at ren- 
 dering " Corinne" into English, be it remembered, that 
 we have many words for one meaning — in French there 
 are several significations for the same word. Repetition, 
 an elegance in French, is a barbarism in English. Thus 
 I had to contend with a tautology almost unmanage- 
 able, and even a reiteration of the same sentiinents. 
 Sentences, harmonious in French, lost all agreeable 
 cadence, until entirely reconstructed. Madame de Stael's 
 ^ffuse manner obliged me also to transpose pretty 
 freely. I found, in so doing, many self-contradictions, 
 some of which I could not efface. Her boldness of 
 condensation, too, and love of vague, mysterious sub- 
 limity, often left me in doubt as to what might be 
 hidden beneath the dazzling veil of her eloquence. It 
 may appear profanation to have altered a syllable ; but, 
 having been accustomed to consult the taste of my own 
 country, I could not outrage it by being more literal. 
 I have taken the liberty of making British, peasants 
 and children speak their native idiom, and have added 
 
6 CORINNEj OE, ITALY. 
 
 sacrificed his tastes to those of others ; but this generosity alone, 
 far from proving a total forgetfulness of self, may often be 
 attributed to a degree of melancholy, which renders a man care- 
 less of his own doom. The indifferent considered this mood 
 extremely graceful; but those who loved him felt that he em- 
 ployed himself for the happiness of others, like a man who hoped 
 for none; and they almost repined at receiving felicity from one 
 on whom they could never bestow it. His natural disposition 
 was versatile, sensitive, and impassioned; uniting all the qualities 
 which could excite himself or others ; but misfortune and repent- 
 ance had rendered him timid, and he thought to disarm, by 
 exacting nothing from fate. He trusted to find, in a firm 
 adherence to his duties, and a renouncement of all enjoyments, a 
 security against the sorrows which had distracted him. Nothing 
 in the world seemed worth the risk of these pangs ; but while we 
 are still capable of feeling them, to what kind of life can we fly 
 for shelter ? 
 
 Lord Nevil flattered himself that he should quit Scotland 
 without regret, as he had remained there without pleasure ; but 
 the dangerous dreams of imaginative minds are not thus fulfilled ; 
 he was sensible of the ties which bound him to the scene of his 
 miseries, the home of his father. There were rooms he could not 
 approach without a shudder, and yet, when he had resolved to fly 
 them, he felt more alone than ever. A barren dearth seized on 
 his heart; he could no longer weep; no more recall those little 
 local associations which had so deeply melted him ; his recollec- 
 tions had less of life ; they belonged not to the things that sur- 
 rounded him. He did not think the less of those he mourned, 
 but it became more difficult to conjure back their presence. 
 Sometimes, too, he reproached himself for abandoning the place 
 where his father. had dwelt. "Who knows," would he sigh, "if 
 the shades of the dead follow the objects of their affection ? They 
 may not be permitted to wander beyond the spots where their 
 ashes repose ! Perhaps, at this moment, is my father deploring 
 my absence, powerless to recall me. Alas ! may not a host of 
 wild events have persuaded him that I have betrayed his tender- 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 7 
 
 ness, turned rebel to my country, to his will, and all that la sacred 
 on earth ?" 
 
 These remembrances occasioned him such insupportable despair, 
 that, far from daring to confide them to any one, he dreaded t^, 
 sound their depths himself; so easy is it, out of our own reflect 
 tions, to create irreparable evils ! 
 
 It costs added pain to leave one's country, when one must cross 
 the sea. There is such solemnity in a pilgrimage, the first steps 
 of which are on the ocean. It seems as if a gulf were opening 
 behind you, and your return becoming impossible ; besides, the 
 sight of the main always profoundly impresses us, as the image 
 of that infinitude which perpetually attracts the soul, and in 
 which thought ever feels herself lost. Oswald, leaning near the 
 helm, his eyes fixed on the waves, appeared perfectly calm. Pride 
 and diffidence generally prevented his betraying his emotions even 
 before his friends ; but sad feelings struggled within. He thought 
 on the time when that spectacle animated his youth with a desire 
 to buffet the tides, and measure his strength with theirs. 
 
 "Why," he bitterly mused, "why thus constantly yield to 
 meditation ? There is such rapture in active life ! in those violent 
 exercises that make us feel the energy of existence ! then death 
 itself may appear glorious ; at least it is sudden, and not preceded 
 by decay; but that death which finds us without being bravely 
 sought — that gloomy death which steals from you, in a night, all 
 you held dear, which mocks your regrets, repulses your embrace, 
 and pitilessly oaposes to your desire the eternal laws of time and 
 nature — thit peath inspires a kind of contempt for human des- 
 tiny, for the powerlessness of grief, and all the vain efforts that 
 wreck themselves against necessity." 
 
 Such were the torturing sentiments which characterized the 
 wretchedness of his state. The vivacity of youth was united with 
 the thoughts of another age ; such as might well have occupied 
 the mind of his father in his last hours ; but Oswald tinted the 
 melancholy contemplations of age with the ardor of five-and-twenty. 
 He was weary of everything ; yet, nevertheless, lamented his lost 
 content, as if its visions Still lingered. 
 
8 CORINNE; OR, ITALY, 
 
 This inconsistency, entirely at variance with the will of nature 
 (which has placed the conclusion and the gradation of things in 
 their rightful course), disordered the depths of his soul; but his 
 jjKoanners were ever sweet and harmonious ; nay, his grief, far from 
 injuring his temper, taught him a still greater degree of consider- 
 ation and gentleness for others. 
 
 Twice or thrice in the voyage from Harwich to Emden the sea 
 threatened stormily. Nevil directed the sailors, reassured the 
 passengers; and while, toiling himself, he for a moment took the 
 pilot's place, there was a vigour and address in what he did, 
 which could not be regarded as the simple effect of personal 
 strength and activity, for mind pervaded it all. 
 
 When they were about to part, all on board crowded round him 
 to take leave, thanking him for a thousand good offices, which he 
 had forgotten : soBietimes it was a child that he had nursed so 
 long; more frequently, some old man whose steps he had sup- 
 ported while the wind rocked the vessel. Such an absence of 
 personal feeling was scarcely ever known. His voyage had passed 
 without his having .devoted a moment to himself; he gave up 
 his time to others, in melancholy benevolence. And now the 
 whole crew cried, with one voice, " God bless you, my Lord ! we 
 wish you better." 
 
 Yet Oswald had not once complained ; and the persons of a 
 higher class, who had crossed with him, said not a word on this 
 subject; but the common people, in whom their superiors rarely 
 confide, are wont to detect the truth without the aid of words • 
 they pity you when you suffer, though ignorant of the cause ; and 
 their spontaneous sympathy is unmixed with eitttfer censure or 
 advice. 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Teavellinq, say what we will, is one of the saddest pleasures 
 in life. If you ever feel at ease in a strange place, it is because 
 you have begun to make it your home ; but to traverse unkaown 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 9 
 
 lands, to hear a language which you hardly compri jxi . look 
 on faces unconnected with either your past or '■ tare, this is 
 solitude without repose or dignity; for the hurry t arrive where 
 no one awaits you, that agitation whose sole cauf ■ is curiosity; 
 lessens you in your own esteem, while, ere new objects can be- 
 come old, they have bound you by some sweet link' of sentiment 
 and habit. 
 
 Oswald felt his despondency redoubled in oroEsing Germany to 
 reach Italy, obliged by war to avoid France and its frontiers, as 
 well as the troops, who rendered the roads impassable. This 
 necessity for attending to detail, and taking, almost every instant, 
 a new resolution, was utterly insufferable. His health, instead of 
 improving, often obliged him to stop, while he longed to arrive at 
 some other place, or at least to fly from where he was. He took 
 the least possible care of his constitution; accusing himself as 
 culpable, with but too great severity. If he wished still to livCj 
 it was but for the defence of his country. 
 
 "My native land," would he sigh — "has it not a parental. right 
 over me ? but I want power to serve it usefully. I must iiot offer 
 it the feeble existence which I drag towards the sun, to beg of 
 him some principle of life, that may struggle against my woes. 
 None but a father could receive me thus, and love me the more, 
 the more I was deserted by nature and by fate." 
 
 He bad flattered himself that a continual change of external 
 objects would somewhat divert his fancy from its usual routine; 
 but he could not, at first, realize this effect. It were better, after 
 any great loss, to familiarize ourselves afresh with all that had 
 surrounded us, accustom ourselves to the old familiar faces, to 
 the house in which we had lived, and the daily duties which we 
 ought to resume; each of these efforts jars fearfully on the heart; 
 but nothing multiplies them like an absence. 
 
 Oswald's only pleasure was exploring the Tyrol, on a horse 
 which he had brought from Scotland, and who climbed the hills 
 at a gallop. The astonished peasants began by shrieking with 
 fright, as they saw him borne along the precipice's edge, and 
 ended by clapping their hands in admiration of his dexterity, 
 
10 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 grace, and courage. He loved the sense of danger. It reconciled 
 him for the instant with that life which he thus seemed to regain, 
 and which it would have been easy to lose. 
 
 ^ 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 At Inspruok, where he stayed for some time, in the house of a 
 banker, Oswald was much interested by the history of Count 
 d'Erfeuil, a French emigrant, who had sustained the total loss of 
 an immense fortune with perfect serenity. By his musical talents 
 he had maintained himself and an aged uncle, over whom he 
 watched till the good man's death, constantly refusing the pecu- 
 niary aid which had been pressed on him. He had displayed the 
 most brilliant valor — that of Prance — during the war, and an 
 unchangeable gayety in the midst of reverses. He was anxious 
 to visit Rome, that he might find a relative, whose heir he ex- 
 pected to become ; and wished for a companion, or rather a friend, 
 with whom to make the journey agreeably. 
 
 Lord Nevil's saddest recollections were attached to France; yet 
 he was exempt from the prejudices which divided the two nations. 
 One Frenchman had been his intimate friend, in whom he had 
 found a union of the most estimable qualities. He therefore 
 offered, through the narrator of Count d'Erfeuil's story, to take this 
 noble and unfortunate young man with him to Italy. The banker 
 in an hour informed him that his proposal was gratefully accepted. 
 Oswald rejoiced in rendering this service to another, though it 
 cost him much to resign his seclusion ; and his reserve suffered 
 greatly at the prospect of finding himself thus thrown on the 
 society of a man he did not know. 
 
 He shortly received a visit of thanks from the Count, who 
 possessed an elegant manner, ready politeness, and good taste; 
 from the first appearing perfectly at bis ease. Every one, on 
 seeing him, wondered at what he had undergone; for he bore his 
 Ipt witU a courage approaching to forgetfulness. There wag a 
 
corinne; or, italy. 11 
 
 liveliness in his conversation truly admirable, while he spoke of 
 his own misfortunes; though less so, it must be owned, when ex- 
 tended to other subjects. 
 
 "I am greatly obliged to your Lordship," said he, "for trans- 
 porting me from Germany, of which I am tired to death." — 
 "And yet," replied Nevil, "you are universally beloved and 
 respected here." — " I have friends, indeed, whom I shall sincerely 
 regret; for in this country one meets none but the best of people ; 
 only I don't know a word of German ; and you will confess that 
 it were a long and tedious task to learn it. Since I had the ill- 
 luck to lose my uncle, I have not known what to do with my leisure ; 
 while I had to attend on him, that filled up my time ; but now 
 the four-and-twenty hours hang heavily on my hands." — " The 
 delicacy of your conduct towards your kinsman, Count," said 
 Nevil, "has impressed me with the deepest regard for you." — "I 
 did no more than my duty. Poor man ! he had lavished his 
 favors on my childhood. I could never have left him, had he 
 lived to be a hundred; but 'tis well for him that he's gone ; 'twere 
 well for me to be with him," he added, laughing, " for I've little 
 to hope in this world. I did my best, during the war, to get 
 killed ; but since fate would spare me, I must live on as I may." 
 — "I shall congratulate myself on coming hither," answered 
 Nevil, "should you do well in Eome; and if " — " Oh, Hea- 
 ven !" interrupted d'Erfeuil, "I do well enough everywhere; 
 while we are young and cheerful, all things find their level. ,'Tis 
 neither from books nor from meditation that I have acquired my 
 philosophy, but from being used to the world and its mishaps ; 
 nay, you see, my Lord, I have some reason for trusting to chance, 
 since I owe to it the opportunity of travelling with you." The 
 Count then agreed on the hour for setting forth next day, and, 
 with a graceful bow, departed. After the mere interchange of 
 civilities with which their journey commenced, Oswald remained 
 silent for some hours; but perceiving that this fatigued his fel- 
 low-traveller, he asked him if he anticipated much pleasure in 
 their Italian tour. "Ob," replied the Count, "1 know what to 
 expect, and don't look forward to the least amuseipent;. A friend 
 
12 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 of mine passed six months there, and tells me that there is not a 
 French province without a better theatre, and more agreeable . 
 society than Kome; but in that ancient capital of the world I 
 shall be sure to find some of my countrymen to chat with ; and 
 that is all I require." — "Then you have not been tempted to 
 learn Italian 1" — " No, that was never included in the plan of my 
 studies," he answered, with so serious an air, that one might have 
 thought him expressing a resolution founded on the gravest 
 motives. "The fact is," he continued, "that I like no people 
 but the English and the French. Men must be proud, like you, 
 or wits, like ourselves; all the rest is mere imitation." Oswald 
 said nothing. A few moments afterwards the Count renewed the 
 conversation by sallies of vivacity and humor, in which he played 
 on words most, ingeniously; but neither what he saw of what he 
 felt was his theme. His discourse sprang not from within, nor 
 from without ; but, steering clear alike of reflection and imagina- 
 tion, found its subjects in t he superficial traits of society. He 
 named twenty persons in France and England, inquiring if Lord 
 Nevil knew them ; and relating as many pointed anecdotes, as if, 
 in bis opinion, the only language for a man of taste was the gossip 
 of good company. Nevil pondered for some time on this singular 
 combination of courage and frivolity, this contempt of misfortune, 
 . which would have been so heroic if it had cost more effort, instead 
 i of springing from the same source which rendered him incapable 
 : of deep affections. "An Englishman," thought he, "would have 
 been overwhelmed by similar circumstances. Whence does this 
 Frenchman derive his fortitude, yet pliancy of character? Does 
 he rightly understand the art of living ? I deem myself his 
 superior, yet am I not ill and wretched ? Does his trifling course 
 accord better than mine with the fleetness of life? Must one fly 
 from thought as from a foe, instead of yielding all the soul to 
 its power?" In vain he thought to clear these doubts; he could 
 call no aid from his own intellectual region, whose best qualities 
 were even more ungovernable than its defects. 
 
 The Count gave none of his attention to Italy, and rendered it 
 slniost impossible for Oswald to be entertained by it. D'Erfeuil 
 
COKINNB; OR, ITALY. 13 
 
 turned from his friend's admiration of a fine country, and sense 
 of its picturesque charm ; our invalid listened as oft as he could 
 to the sound of the winds, or the murmur of the waves ; the voice 
 of nature did more for his mind than sketches of coteries held at 
 the foot of the Alps, among ruins, or on the banks of the sea. 
 His own grief would have been less an obstacle to the pleasure h'e 
 might have tasted than was the mirth of d'Erfeuil. The regrets 
 of a feeling heart may harmonize with a contemplation of nature 
 and an enjoyment of the fine arts; but frivolity, under whatever 
 form it appears, deprives attention of its power, thought of its 
 originality, and sentiment of its depth. One strange effect of the 
 Count's levity, was its inspiring Nevil with diffidence in all their 
 affairs together. 
 
 'The most reasoning characters are often the easiest abashed. 
 The giddy embarrass and overawe the contemplative; and the 
 being who calls himself happy appears wiser than he who suffers. 
 D'Erfeuil was every way mild, obliging, and free; serious only 
 in his self-love, and wortjiy to be liked as much as he could like 
 another; that is, as a good companion in pleasure and in peril, 
 but one who knew not how to participate in pain. He wearied 
 of Oswald's melancholy ; and, as well from the goodness of his 
 heart as from taste, he strove to dissipate it. " What would you 
 have ?" he often said. " Are you not young, rich, and well, if 
 you choose ? you are but fancy-sick. I have lost all, and know 
 not what will become of me; yet I enjoy life as if I possessed 
 every earthly blessing." ^- " Your courage is as rare as it is 
 honorable," replied Nevil ; " but the reverses you have known 
 wound less than do the sorrows of the heart." — " The sorrows of 
 the heart ! ay, true, they must be the worst of all ; but still you 
 must console yourself; for a sensible man ought to banish from 
 his mind whatever can be of no service to himself or others. Are 
 we not placed here below to be useful first, and consequently 
 happy ? My_ dear Nevil, let us hold by that faith." 
 
 All this was rational enough, in the usual sense of the word ; 
 for d'Erfeuil was, in most respects, a clear-headed man. The 
 impassioned are far more liable to weakness, than the fickle ; but, 
 2 » 
 
14 COEINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 instead of his mode of thinkiDg securing the confidence of Nevil, 
 he would fain have assured the Count that he was the happiest 
 of human beings, to escape the infliction of his attempts at comfort. 
 Nevertheless, d'Erfeuil became strongly attached to Lord Nevil. 
 His resignation and simplicity, his modesty and pride, created 
 respect irresistibly. The Count was perplexed by Oswald's ex- 
 ternal composure, and taxed his memory for all the grave maxims, 
 which in childhood he had heard from his old relations, in order 
 to try their effect upon his friend ; and, astonished at failing to 
 vanquish his apparent coldness, he ask«d himself, "Am I not 
 good-natured, frank, brave, and popular in society ? What do I 
 want, then, to make an impression on this man ? May there not 
 be some misunderstanding between us, arising, perhaps, from his 
 not sufficiently understanding French ?" 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 An unforeseen circumstance much increased the sensations of 
 difference which d'Erfeuil felt towards his travelling companion. 
 Lord Nevil's state of health obliged him to stop some days at 
 Ancona. Mount and main conspired to beautify its site ; and 
 the crowd of Greeks, orientally seated at work before the shops, 
 the varied costumes of the Levant, to be met with in the streets, 
 give the town an original and interesting air. Civilization tends 
 to render all men alike, in appearance if not in reality ; yet fancy 
 may find pleasure in characteristic national distinctions. 
 
 Men only resemble each other when sophisticated by sordid or 
 fashionable life ; whatever is natural admits of variety. There is 
 a slight gratification, at least for the eyes, in that diversity of 
 dress, which seems to promise us experience in equally novel 
 ways of feeling and of judgement. The Greek, Catholic, and 
 Jewish forms of worship exist peaceably together in Ancona. 
 Their ceremonies are strongly contrasted ; but the same sigh of 
 distress, the same petition for support, ascends to Heaven from all. 
 
 • 
 
corinne; oe, italy. \hj(j-i^ 
 
 The Catholic church stands on a height that overlooks the 
 main, the lash of whose tides frequently blends with the chant of 
 the priests. Within, the edifice is loaded by ornaments of indif- 
 ferent taste ; but, pausing beneath the portico, the soul delights 
 to recall its purest of emotions — religion — while gazing at that 
 superb spectacle, the sea, on which man never left his trace. He 
 may plough the earth, and cut his way through mountains, or 
 contract rivers into canals, for the transport of his merchandise ; 
 but if his fleets for a moment furrow the ocean, its waves as 
 instantly efface this slight mark of servitude, and it again appears 
 such as it was on the first day of its creation.* 
 
 Lord Nevil had decided to start for Rome on the morrow, when 
 he heard, during the night, a terrific cry from the streets, and 
 hastening from his hotel to learn the cause, beheld a conflagration 
 which, beginning at the port, spread from house to house towards 
 the top of the town. The flames were reflected afar off in the 
 sea J the wind, increasing their violence, agitated their images on 
 the waves, which mirrored in a thousand shapes the blood-red 
 features of a lurid fire. The inhabitants, having no en^ne in 
 good repair, (1) hurriedly bore forth what succor they could ; 
 elbove their shouts was heard a clank of chains, as the slaves from 
 the galleys toiled to save the city which served them for a prison. 
 The various people of the Levant, whom commerce had drawn to 
 Ancona, betrayed their dread by the stupor of their looks. The 
 merchants, at sight of their blazing stores, lost all presence of 
 
 * Lord Byron translated this paragraph in the fourth canto of Childe 
 Harold, but without acknowledging whence the ideas were borrowed : — 
 
 "Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! 
 Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
 Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 
 Stops with the shore; — upon the wat'ry plain 
 The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 
 A shadow of man's ravage. * * 
 
 ***** 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — 
 Such aa creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now." 
 
 See stanzas 179 and 182. — Tr. 
 
16 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 mind. Trembling for fortune as much as for life, the generality 
 of men were scared from that zealous enthusiasm which suggests 
 resources in emergency. 
 
 The shouts of sailors have ever something dreary in their sound; 
 fear now rendered them still more appalling. The mariners of the 
 Adriatic were clad in peculiar red and brown hoods, from which 
 peeped their animated Italian faces, under every expression of 
 dismay. The natives, lying on the earth, covered their heads 
 with their cloaks, as if nothing remained for them to do but to 
 exclude the sight of their calamity. Keckless fury and blind 
 submission reigned alternately, but no one evinced that coolness 
 which redoubles our means and our strength. 
 
 Oswald remembered that there were two English vessels in the 
 harbor ; the pumps of both were in perfect order ; he ran to the 
 Captain's house, and put oflF with him in a boat, to fetch them. 
 Those who witnessed this exclaimed to him, "Ah, you foreigners 
 do well to leave our unhappy town I" — "We shall soon return/' 
 said Oswald. They did not believe him, till he came back, and 
 placed one of the pumps in front of the house nearest to the port, 
 the other before that which blazed in the centre of the street. 
 Count d'Erfeuil exposed his life with gay and careless daring. 
 The English sailors and Lord Nevil's servants came to his aid, for 
 the populace remained motionless, scarcely understanding what 
 these strangers meant to do, and without the slightest faith in 
 their success. The bells rung from all sides; the priests formed 
 processions; weeping females threw themselves before their 
 sculptured saints; but no one thought on the natural powers 
 which God has given man for his own defence. Nevertheless, 
 
 when they perceived the fortunate effects of Oswald's activity 
 
 the flames extinguished, and their homes preserved — rapture suc- 
 ceeded astonishment; they pressed around him, and kissed his 
 hand with such ardent eagerness, that he was obliged by feigned 
 displeasure to drive them from him, lest they should impede the 
 rapid succession of necessary orders for saving the town. Every 
 one ranked himself beneath Oswald's command ; for, in trivial as 
 in great events, where danger is, firmness will find its rightful 
 
COEINNEJ OE, ITALY. 17 
 
 station ; and while men strongly fear, they cease to feel jealousy. 
 Amid the general tumult, Nevil now distinguished shrieks more 
 horrible than aught he, had previously heard, as if from the other 
 extremity of the town. He inquired their source; and was told 
 that they proceeded from the Jews' quarter. The officer of police 
 was accustomed to close its gates every evening; the fire gained 
 on it, and the occupants could not escape. Oswald shuddered at 
 the thought, and bade them instantly open the barriers ; but the 
 wom«n, who heard him, flung themselves at his feet, exclaiming, 
 "Ob, our good angel! you must be aware that it is certainly 
 on their account we have endured this visitation ; it is they who 
 bring us ill fortune ; and if you set them free, all the water of the 
 ocean will never quench these flames." They entreated him to 
 let the Jews be burnt with as much persuasive eloquence as if 
 they had been petitioning for an act of mercy. Not that they 
 were by nature cruel, but that their superstitious fancies were 
 forcibly struck by a great disaster. Oswald with difS.culty con- 
 tained his indignation at hearing a prayer so revolting. He sent 
 four English sailors, with hatchets, to cut down the gate which 
 confined these helpless men, who instantly spread themselves 
 about the -town, rushing to their merchandise, through the flames, 
 with that greediness of wealth, which impresses us so painfully, 
 when it drives men to brave even death ; as if human beings, in 
 thc-^present state of society, had nothing to do with the simple 
 gift of life. There was now but one house, at the upper part of 
 the town, where the fire mocked all efforts to subdue it. So little 
 interest had been shown in this abode, that the sailors, believing 
 .it vacant, had carried their pumps towards the port. Oswald 
 himself, stunned by the calls for aid around him, had almost dis- 
 regarded it. The conflagration had not been early communicated 
 to this place, but it had made great progress there. He demanded , 
 so earnestly what the dwelling was, that at last a man informed 
 him — the hospital for maniacs ! Overwhelmed by these tidings, 
 he looked in vain for his assistants, or Count d'Erfeuil ; as vainly 
 did he call on the inhabitants; they Vere employed in taking care 
 of their property, and deemed it ridiculous to risk their lives for 
 2* 
 
18 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 the sake of men who were all incurably mad. " It will be no 
 one's fault if they die, but a blessing to themselves and families," 
 was the general opinion; but while they expressed it, Oswald 
 strode rapidly towards the building, and even those who blamed 
 involuntarily followed him. On reaching the house, he saw, at 
 the only window not surrounded by flame, the unconscious crea- 
 tures, looking on, with that heart-rending laughter which proves 
 either an ignorance of all life's sad realities, or such deep-seated 
 despair as disarms death's most frightful aspect of its power. 
 An indefinite chill seized him at this sight. In the severest 
 "period of his own distress he had felt as if his reason were 
 deserting him ; and, since then, never looked on insanity without 
 the most painful sympathy. He secured a ladder which he found 
 near, placed it against the wall, ascended through the flames, and 
 entered by its window, the room where the unfortunate lunatics 
 were assembled. Their derangement was sufficiently harmless to 
 justify their freedom within doors ; only one was chained. For- 
 tunately the floor was not consumed, and Oswald's appearance in 
 the midst of these degraded beings had all the effect of enchant- 
 ment; at first, they obeyed him without resistance. He bade 
 them descend before him, one after the other, by the ladder, which 
 might in a few seconds be destroyed. The first of them complied 
 in silence, so entirely had Oswald's looks and tones subdued 
 him. Another, heedless of the danger in which the least delay 
 must involve Oswald and himself, was inclined to rebel; the 
 people, alive to all the horrors of the -situation, called on Lord 
 Nevil to come down, and leave the senseless wretches to escape 
 as they could ; but their deliverer would listen to nothing that 
 could defeat his generous enterprise. Of the six patients found 
 in the hospital, five were already safe. The only one remaining 
 , was the youth who had been fettered to the wall. Oswald 
 loosened his irons, and bade him take the same course as his 
 companions ; but, on feeling himself at liberty, after two years of 
 bondage, he sprung about the room with frantic delight, which, 
 however, gave place to fury, when Oswald desired him to get out 
 of the window. But finding persuasion fruitless, and seeing that 
 
CORINKEJ OR, ITALY. 19 
 
 the fatal element was fast extending its ravages, he clasped the 
 struggling maniac in his arms; and, while the smoke prevented 
 his seeing where to step, leaped from the last bars of the ladder, 
 giving the rescued man, who still contended with his benefactor, 
 into the hands of persons whom he charged to guard him care- 
 fully. 
 
 Oswald, with his locks disordered, and his countenance sweetly, 
 yet proudly animated by the perils he had braved, struck the 
 gazing crowd with an almost fanatical admiration ; the women, 
 particularly, expressed themselves in that fanciful language, the 
 universal gift of Italy, which often lends a dignity to the address 
 of her humblest children. They cast themselves on their knees 
 before him, crying — " Assuredly, thou art St. Michael, the patron 
 of Ancona. Show us thy wings, yet do not fly, save to the top 
 of our cathedral, where all may see and pray to thee I" — r " My 
 child is ill; oh, cure him !" said one. — "Where," added another, 
 " is my husband, who has been absent so many years 1 tell me !" 
 Oswald was longing to escape, when d'Erfeuil, joining him, pressed 
 his hand. " Dear Nevil \" he began, " could you share nothing 
 with your friend ? 'twas cruel to keep all the glory to yourself." 
 — " Help me from this place !" returned Oswald, in a low voice. 
 A moment's darkness favoured their flight, and both hastened in 
 search e? post-horses. Sweet as was the first sense of the good 
 he had just efiected, with whom could he partake it, now that his 
 best friand was no more ? So wretched is the orphan that felicity 
 and c&re alike remind him of his heart's solitude. What substi- 
 tute has life for the afiection born with us ? for that mental in- 
 tercourse, that kindred sympathy, that friendship, formed by 
 Heaven to exist but between parent and child ? We may love 
 again ; but the happiness of confiding the whole soul to another 
 — that we can never regain. 
 
20 CORINNEJOE, ITALY. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Oswald sped to Rome, over the marches of Ancona, and the 
 Papal State, without remarking or interesting himself in any- 
 thing. Besides its melancholy, his disposition had a natural in- 
 dolence, from which it could only be roused by some strong pas- 
 sion. His taste was not yet developed; he had lived but in 
 England and France;* in the latter, society is everything; in 
 the former, political interests nearly absorb all others. His mind, 
 concentrated in his griefs, could not yet solace itself in the won- 
 ders of nature, or the works of art. 
 
 D'Erfeuil, running through every town, with the Guide-Book 
 in his hand, had the double pleasure of making away with his 
 time, and of assuring himself that there was nothing to see worthy 
 the praise of any one who had been in Prance. This nil admirari 
 of his discouraged Oswald, who was also somewhat prepossessed 
 against Italy and Italians. He could not yet penetrate the mys- 
 tery of the people or their country — a mystery that must be 
 solved rather by imagination than by that spirit of judgment 
 which an English education particularly matures. 
 
 The Italians are more remarkable for what they have been, and 
 might be, than for what they are. The wastes that surround Rome, 
 as if the earth, fatigued by glory, disdained to become productive, 
 are but uncultivated and neglected lands to the utilitarian. Os- 
 wald, accustomed from his childhood to a love of order and public 
 prosperity, received, at first, an unfavorable impression in crossing 
 such abandoned plains as approaches to the former queen of cities. 
 Looking on it with the eye of an enlightened patriot, he censured 
 the idle inhabitants and their rulers. 
 
 The Count d'Erfeuil regarded it as a man of the world ; and 
 thus the one from reason, and the other from levity, remained 
 dead to the effect which the Campagna produces on a mind filled 
 
 * This alludes to a previous tour; in his present one, Oswald has not 
 upproached Fi-auce. His longest stay was in Germany. Te. 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 21 /^&' 
 
 by a regretful memory of those natural beauties and splendid mis- 
 fortunes, which invest this country with an indescribable charm. 
 The Count uttered the most comic lamentations over the envi- 
 rons of Rome. "What!" said he, "no villas? no equipages? 
 nothing to announce the neighborhood of a great- city? Good 
 God, how dull !" The same pride with which the natives of 
 the coast had pointed out the sea, and the Neapolitans showed 
 their Vesuvius, now transported the postilions, who exclaimed, 
 "Look ! that is the cupola of St. Peter's." — " One might take it 
 for the dome of the Invalides !" cried d'Erfeuil. This comparison, 
 rather national than just, destroyed the sensation which Oswald 
 might have received, in first beholding that magnificent wonder 
 of man's creation. 
 
 They entered Rome, neither on a fair day, nor a lovely night, 
 but on a dark and misty evening, which dimmed and confused 
 every object before them. They crossed the Tiber without ob- 
 serving it; passed through the Porto del Popolo, which led them 
 at once to the Corso, the largest street of modern Rome, but that 
 which possesses the least originality of feature, as being the one 
 which most resembles those of other European towns. 
 
 The streets were crowded; puppet-shows and mountebanks 
 formed groups round the base of Antoninus's pillar. Oswald's 
 attention was caught by these objects, and the name of Rome for- 
 gotten. He felt that deep isolation which presses on the heart, 
 when we enter a foreign scene, and look on a multitude to whom 
 our existence is unknown, and who have not one interest in com- 
 mon with us. These reflections, so saddening to all men, are 
 doubly so to the English, who are accustomed to live among 
 themselves, and find it difficult to blend with the manners of other 
 lands. In Rome, that vast caravansary, all is foreign, even the 
 Romans, who seem to live there, not like its possessors, but like 
 pilgrims who repose among its ruins. (2) Oppressed by laboring 
 thoughts, Oswald shut himself in his room, instead of exploring 
 the city; little dreaming that the country he had entered beneath 
 such a sense of dejection would soon become th^ mine of so many 
 new ideas and enjoyments. 
 
22 CORINNEJOE, ITALT. 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 COECNNE AT THE CAPITOL. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Oswald awoke in Rome. The dazzliDg sun of Italy met his 
 first gaze, and his soul was penetrated with sensations of love and 
 gratitude for that heaven, which seemed to smile on him in these 
 glorious beams. He heard the bells of numerous churches ring- 
 ing, discharges of cannon from various distances, as if announcing 
 some high solemnity. He inquired the cause, and was informed 
 that the most celebrated female was about that morning to be 
 crowned at the capitol — Corinne, the poet and improvisatrice, 
 one^oT the loveliest women of Eome. He asked some questions 
 respecting this ceremony, hallowed by the names of Petrarch and 
 of Tasso ; every reply he received warmly excited his curiosity. 
 
 There can be nothing more hostile to the habits and opinions of 
 an Englishman, than any great publicity given to the career of a 
 woman. But the enthusiasm with which all imaginative talents 
 inspire the Italians, infects, at least for" the time, even strangers, 
 who forget prejudice itself among people so lively iu the expres 
 sion of their sentiments. 
 
 The common populace of Eome discuss their statues, pictures, 
 monuments, and antiquities, with much taste ; and literary merit, 
 carried to a certwn height, becomes with them a national interest. 
 
 On going forth into the public resorts, Oswald found that the 
 streets, through which Corinne was to pass, had been adorned 
 for her reception. The herd, who generally throng but the path 
 of fortune or of power, were almost in a tumult of eagerness to 
 look on one whose soul was her only distinction. In the present 
 state of the Italians, the glory of the fine arts is all their fate 
 allows them; and they appreciate genius of that order with a 
 vivacity which might raise up a host of great men, if applause 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 23 
 
 could suffice to produce them — if a hardy life, strong interest, 
 and an independent station were not the food required to nourish 
 thought. 
 
 Oswald walked the streets of Kome, awaiting the arrival of 
 Corinne ; he heard her named every instant ; every one related 
 some new trait, proving that she united all the talents most capti- 
 vating to the fancy. One asserted that her voice was the most 
 touching in Italy; another, that, in tragic acting, she had ho peer; 
 a third, that she danced like a nymph, and drew with equal grace 
 and invention — all said that no one had ever written or extempo- 
 rized verses so sweet, and that, in daily conversation, she displayed 
 alternately an ease and an eloquence which fascinated all who heard 
 her. They disputed as to which part of Italy had given her birth ; 
 some earnestly contending that she must be a Roman, or she could 
 not speak the language with such purity. Her family name was 
 unknown. Her first work, which had appeared five years since, 
 bore but that of Corinne. No one could tell where she had lived, 
 nor what she had been before that period ; and she was now nearly 
 six-and-twenty. Such mystery and publicity, united in the fate 
 of a female of whom every one spoke, yet whose real name no one 
 knew, appeared to Nevil as among the wonders of the land he 
 came to see. He would have judged such a woman very severely 
 in England ; but he applied not her social etiquettes to Italy ; and 
 the crowning of Corinne awoke in his breast the same sensation 
 which he would have felt on reading an adventure of Ariosto's. 
 
 A burst of exquisite melody preceded the approach of the tri- 
 umphal procession. How thrilling is each event that is heralded 
 by music ! A great number of Koman nobles, and not a few fo- 
 reigners, came first. "Behold her retinue of admirers !" said one. 
 — "Yes," replied another; "she receives a whole world's homage, 
 but accords her preference to none. She is rich, independent; 
 it is even believed, from her noble air, that she is a lady of high 
 birth, who wishes to remain unknown." — "A divinity veiled in 
 clouds," concluded a third. Oswald looked on the man who spoke 
 thus ; everything betokened him a person of the humblest class ; 
 but the natives of the South converse as naturally in poetic 
 
2-1 /■2n I CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 phrases, as if they imbibed them with the air, or were inspired 
 by the sun. 
 
 At last four spotless steeds appeared in the midst of the crowd, 
 drawing an antiquely-shaped car, besides which walked a maiden 
 band in snowy vestments. • Wherever Corinne passed, perfumes 
 were thrown upon the air; the windows, decked with flowers and 
 scarlet hangings, were peopled by gazers, who shouted, " Long 
 live Corinne ! Glory to beauty and to genius !" 
 
 This emotion was general ; but, to partake it, one must lay 
 aside English reserve and French raillery ; Nevil could not yield 
 to the spirit of the scene, till he beheld Corinne. 
 
 Attired like Domeniohino's Sibyl, an Indian shawl was twined 
 among her lustrous black curls, a blue drapery fell over her robe 
 of virgin white, and her whole costume was picturesque, without 
 suflSciently varying from modern usage to appear tainted by affec- 
 tation. Her attitude was noble and modest ; it might, indeed, be 
 perceived that she was content to be admired ; yet a timid air 
 blended with her joy, and seemed to ask pardon for her triumph. 
 The expression of her features, her eyes, her smile, created a 
 solicitude in her favor, and made Lord Nevil her friend even be- 
 fore any more ardent sentiment subdued him. Her arms were 
 transcendently beautiful ; her figure tall, and, as we frequently 
 see among the Grecian statues, rather robust — energetically cha- 
 racteristic of youth and happiness. There was something inspired 
 in her air ; yet the very manner in which she bowed her thanks 
 for the applause she received, betrayed a natural disposition 
 sweetly contrasting the pomp of her extraordinary situation. She 
 gave you at the same instant the idea of a priestess of Apollo 
 advancing towards his temple, and of a woman born to fulfil the 
 usual duties of life with perfect simplicity — in truth, her every 
 gesture elicited not more wondering cdnjecture, than it conciliated 
 sympathy and affection. The nearer she approached the Capitol, 
 so fruitful in classic associations, the more these admiring tributes 
 increased ; tli' r.intures of the Romans, the clearness of their sky, 
 and, above all, ix.iinne herself, took electric effect on Oswald. 
 He had often, in liis own land, seen statesmen drawn in triumnh 
 
CORINNE; oh, ITALY. 25 
 
 by the people, but this was the first time that he had ever wit- 
 nessed the tender of such honors to a woman illustrious only in 
 mind. Her car of victory cost no fellow-mortal's tear ; nor ter- 
 ror, nor regret could check his admiration for those fairest gifts of 
 nature — creative fancy, sensibility, and reason. These new ideas 
 so intensely occupied him, that he noticed none of the long-famed 
 spots over which Corinne proceeded. At the foot of the steps 
 leading to the capitol, the car stopped, and all her friends rushed 
 to offer their hands ; she took that of Prince Castel Eorte, the 
 nobleman most esteemed in Home for bis talents and character. 
 Every one approved her choice. She ascended to the capitol, 
 whose imposing majesty seemed graciously to welcome the light 
 footsteps of woman. The instruments sounded with fresh vigor, 
 the cannon shook the air, and the all-conquering Sibyl entered 
 the palace prepared for her reception. 
 
 In the centre of the hall stood the senator who was to crown 
 Corinne, surrounded by his brothers in office ; on one side, all 
 the cardinals and most distinguished ladies of Kome ; on the 
 other, the members of the Academy ; while the opposite extremity 
 was filled by some portion of the multitude who had followed 
 Corinne. The chair destined for her was placed a step lower 
 
 - than that of the senator. Ere seating herself in presence of that 
 august assembly, she complied with the custom of bending one 
 knee to the earth ; the gentle digflity of this action filled Oswald's 
 eyes with tears, to his own surprise ; but, in the midst of all this 
 success, it seemed as if the looks of Corinne^ imploxfid,. the protec- 
 tion of a friend, with which no woman_^however supexior, can 
 dispense j'andEe'tEoughtTiow delicious it were to be the stay of 
 her, whose sensitiveness alone could render such a prop necessary. 
 As soon as Corinne was seated, the Koman poets recited the odes 
 and sonnets composed for this occasion; all praised her to the 
 highest; but in styles that described her no more than they 
 would have done any other woman of genius. The same mytho- 
 logical images and allusions must have been addressed to such 
 beings from the days of Sappho to our own. Already Nevil dis- 
 3 
 
26\A*-^\ corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 liked this kind of incense for her; he fancied that he conld that 
 moment have drawn a truer, a more finished portrait; sucb, 
 indeed, as could have belonged to no one but Corinne. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 Prince Castel Forte now took up the discourse, in a manner 
 which riveted the attention of his audience. He was a man of 
 fifty, with a measured address and commanding carriage. The 
 assurance which Nevil had received, that he was but the friend 
 of Corinne, enabled him to listen with unqualified delight to 
 what, without such safeguard, he could not, even thus early, have 
 heard, save with a confused sense of jealousy. 
 
 The Prince read some pages of unpretending prose, singu- 
 larly fitted, notwithstanding, to display the spirit of Corinne. He 
 pointed out the particular merit of her works as partly derived 
 from her profound study of foreign literature, teaching her to 
 unite the graphic descriptions of the South, with that observant 
 knowledge of the human heart which appears the inheritance of 
 those whose country offers fewer objects of external beauty. He 
 lauded her graceful gayety, that, free from ironical satire, seemed 
 to spring but from the freshness of her fancy. He strove to 
 speak of her tenderness; but it was easily to be seen that per- 
 sonal regret mingled with this theme. He touched on the diffi- 
 culty for a woman so endowed to meet, in real life, with any 
 object resembling the ideal image clad in the hues of her own 
 heart ; then contented himself by depicting the impassioned feel- 
 ings which kindled her poetry — her art of seizing on the most 
 touching charms of nature, the deepest emotions of the soul. He 
 complimented the originality of her expression, which, arising 
 from her own peculiar turn of thought, constituted an involuntary 
 spell, untarnished by the slightest cloud of mannerism: He 
 spoke of her eloquence as of a resistless power, which must 
 transport most those who possessed the best sense and the truest 
 
COBINNE; or, ITALY. 27 
 
 susceptibility. "Corinno," said he, "is doubtless more celebrated 
 than any other of our countrywomen; and yet it is only her 
 friends who can describe her: The qualities of the soul, if real, 
 always require to be guessed ; fame, as well as obscurity, might 
 prevent their detection, if some congenial sympathy came not to 
 our aid." He dilated on her talent as an improvisatrice, as distinct 
 from everything which had been known by that name in Italy. 
 " It is not only attributable," he continued, " to the fertility of her 
 mind, but to her deep enthusiasm for all generous sentiments; 
 she cannot pronounce a word that recalls them, but that inex- 
 haustible source of thought overflows at her lips in strains ever 
 pure and harmonious; her poetry is intellectual music, such as 
 alone can embody the fleeting jind delicate reveries of the heart." 
 He extolled the conversation of Corinne, as one who had tasted 
 all its delights. "There," he said, "is united all that is natural, 
 fanciful, just, sublime, powerful, and sweet, to vary the mental 
 banquet every instant ; it is what Petrarch termed — 
 
 II parlar che nell' anima si sente' — 
 
 a language which is felt to the heart's core, and must possess much 
 of the vaunted Oriental magic which has been given by the 
 ancients to Cleopatra. The scenes I have visited with her, the 
 lays we have heard together, the pictures she has shown me, the 
 books she has taught me to enjoy, compose my universe. In all 
 these is some spark of her life ; and were I forced to dwell afar 
 from her, I would, at least, surround myself with them, though 
 certain to seek in vain for her radiant traces amongst them, when 
 once she had departed." 
 
 "Yes!" he cried, as his glance accidentally fell upon Oswald; 
 "look on Corinne, if you may pass your days with her — if that 
 twofold existence can be long secured to you; but behold her 
 not, if you must be condemned to leave her. Vainly would you 
 seek, however long you might survive, the creative spirit which 
 multiplied in partaking all your thoughts and feelings; you would 
 never find it more !" 
 
 Oswald shuddered at these words; hia eyes were fixed on 
 
2^ l*^^ CORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 Corlnne, who listened with an agitation self-love cannot produce; 
 it belongs only to humility and to gratitude. Castel Forte re- 
 sumed the address, which a momentary weakness had suspended. 
 He spoke of Corinne as a painter and a musician ; of her de- 
 clamation and her dancing. "In all these exertions," he said, 
 "she is still herself — confined to no one mode, nor rule — but 
 expressing, in various languages, the enchantments of Art and 
 Imagination. I cannot flatter myself on having faithfully repre- 
 sented one of whom it is impossible to form an idea till she her- 
 self is known ; but her presence is left to Rome, as among the 
 chief blessings beneath its brilliant sky. Corinne is the link that 
 binds her friends to each other. She is the motive, the interest 
 of -our lives; we rely on her worth, pride in her genius, and say 
 to the sons of other lands, ' Look on the personation of our own 
 fair Italy. She is what we might be, if freed from the ignorance, 
 envy, discord, and sloth, to which fate has reduced us.' We 
 love to contemplate her, as a rare production of our climate, and 
 our fine arts; a relic of the past, a prophetess of the future; and 
 when strangers, pitiless of the faults born of our misfortunes, 
 insult the country whence have arisen the planets that illumed 
 all Europe, still we but gay to them, 'Look upon Corinne.' Yes; 
 we will follow in her track, and be such men as she is a woman ; 
 if, indeed, men can, like women, make worlds in their own hearts; 
 if our moral temperaments, necessarily dependent on social obli- 
 gations and exterior circumstances, could, like hers, owe all their 
 light to the glorious touch of poesy !" 
 
 The instant the Prince ceased to speak, was followed by an 
 unanimous outbreak of admiration, even from the leaders of the 
 State, although the discourse had ended by an indirect censure on 
 the present situation of Italy; so true it is, that there men prac- 
 tise a degree of liberality, which, though it extends not to any 
 improvement of their institutions, readily pardons superior minds 
 for a mild dissfent from existing prejudices. Castel Forte was a 
 man of high repute in Rome. He spoke with a sagacity remark- 
 able among a people usually wiser in actions than in words. He 
 had not, in the affairs of life, that ability which often distin- 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 29 
 
 guishes an Italian ; but he shrunk not from the fatigue of think- 
 ing, as his happy countrymen were wont to do ; trusting to arrive 
 at all truths by intuition, even as their soil bears fruit, unaided, 
 save by the favor of heaven. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 CoRiNNE rose, as the Prince finished his oration. She thanked 
 him by an inclination of the head, which diffidently betrayed her 
 sense of having been praised in a strain after her own heart. It 
 was the custom for a poet, crowned at the capitol, to extemporize 
 or recite in verse, ere receiving the destined bays. Corinne sent 
 for her chosen instrument, the lyre, more antique in form, and 
 simpler in sound, than the harp ; while tuning it, she was op- 
 pressed by so violent a tremor, that her voice trembled as she 
 asked what theme she was to attempt. "The glory and welfare 
 of Italy !" cried all near her. '^Ah, yes !" she exclaimed, al- 
 ready sustained by her own talents; "the glory and welfare of 
 Italy!" Then, animated by her love of country, she breathed 
 forth thoughts to which prose or another language can do bnt 
 imperfect justice. 
 
 CHANT OF COKINNE AT THE CAPITOI.* 
 
 Ckadle of Letters ! Mistress of the World 1 
 Soil of the Sun ! Italia ! I salute thee ! 
 How oft the human race have worn thy yoke, 
 The vessels of thine arms, thine arts, thy sky ! 
 
 Olympus for Ausonia once was left. 
 And by a god. Of such a land are born 
 Dreams of the golden time, for there man looks 
 Too happy to suppose him criminal. 
 
 * For the translation of this Ode, the proprietor of the Standard 
 Novels is indebted to the pen of Miss L. E. Landon. 
 3* 
 
30 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 By genius Borne subdued the world, then reign'd 
 A queen by liberty. The Roman mind 
 Set its own stamp upon the universe ; 
 And, when barbarian hordes whelm'd Italy, 
 Then darkness was entire upon the earth. 
 
 Italia reappear'd, and with her rose 
 Treasures divine, brought by the wandering Greeks ; 
 To her were then reveal'd the laws of Heaven. 
 Her daring children made discovery 
 Of a new hemisphere : Queen still, she held 
 Thought's sceptre ; but that laurel'd sceptre made 
 TJograteful subjects. 
 
 Imagination gave her back the world 
 Which she had lost. Painters and poets shaped 
 Earth and Olympus, and a heaven and hell. 
 Her animating fire, by Genius kept, 
 Far better guarded than the Pagan god's. 
 Found not in Europe a Prometheus 
 To bear it from her. 
 
 And wherefore am I at the capitol ? 
 TVhy should my lowly brow receive the crown 
 Which Petrarch wore ? which yet suspended hangs 
 Where Tasso's funeral cypress mournful waves : 
 Why ? oh, my countrymen ! but that you love 
 Glory so well that you repay its search 
 Almost like its success. 
 
 Now, if you love that glory which too oft 
 Chooses its victims from its vanquishers, 
 Those which itself has orown'd ; think, and be proud 
 Of days which saw the perish'd Arts reborn. 
 Tour Dante ! Homer of the Christian age, 
 The sacred poet of Faith's mysteries — 
 Hero of thought — whose gloomy genius plunged 
 In Styx, and pierced to hell ; and whose deep soul 
 Was like the abyss it fathom'd. 
 
 Italia ! as she was in days of power 
 Revived in Dante : such a spirit stirr'd 
 In old republics : bard and warrior too. 
 He lit the fire of action 'mid the dead, 
 
corinne; or, italt. 31 
 
 Till e'en his shadows had more vigorous life 
 Than real existence; still were they pursued 
 By earthly ijiemories ; passions without aim 
 Gnaw'd at their heart, still fever'd by the past; 
 Yet less irrevocable seem'd that past, 
 Than their eternal future. 
 
 Methinks that Dante, banish'd his own soil, 
 Bore to imagined worlds Ms actual grief, 
 Ever his shades inquire the things of life, 
 And ask'd the poet of his native land ; 
 And from his exile did he paint a hell. 
 In his eyes Florence set her stamp on all; 
 The ancient dead seem'd Tuscans like himself: 
 Not that his power was bounded, but his strength ; 
 And his great mind forced all the universe 
 Within the cirde of its thought. 
 
 A mystic chain of circles and of spheres 
 Led him from Hell to Purgatory ; thence 
 From Purgatory into Paradise : 
 Faithful historian of his glorious dream. 
 He fills with light the regions most obscure ; 
 The world created in his triple song 
 Is brilliant, and complete, and animate. 
 Like a new planet seen within the sky. 
 
 All upon earth doth change to poetry 
 Beneath his voice: the objects, the ideas. 
 The laws, and all the strange phenomena. 
 Seem like a new Olympus with new gods — 
 Fancy's mythology — which disappears 
 Like Pagan creeds at sight of Paradise, 
 That sea of light, radiant with shining stars, 
 And love, and virtue. 
 
 The magic words of our most noble bard 
 Are like the prism of the universe ; — 
 Her marvels there reflect themselves, divide, 
 And recreate her wonders ; sounds paint hues. 
 And colors melt in harmony. The rhyme — 
 Sounding or strange, and rapid or ptolong'd — 
 
;-;2 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 That charm of genius, triumph of high art ; 
 Poetry's divination, which reveals 
 All nature's secrets, such as influence 
 The heart of man. 
 
 From this great ivork did Dante hope the end 
 Of his long exile : and he call'd on Fame 
 To be his mediator ; but he died 
 Too soon to reap the laurels of his land. 
 Thus wastes the transitory life of man 
 In adverse fortunes ; and it glory wins, 
 If some chance tide, more happy, floats to shores 
 The grave is in the port ; and destiny, 
 In thousand shapes, heralds the close of life 
 By a return of happiness. 
 
 Thus the ill-fated Tasso, whom your praise, 
 O Romans ! 'mid his wrongs, could yet console — 
 The beautiful, the chivalric, the brave. 
 Dreaming the deeds, feeling the love he sung — 
 With awe and gratitude approached your walls. 
 As did his heroes to Jerusalem. 
 They named the day to crown him ; but its eve 
 Death bade him to his feast, the terrible ! 
 The Heaven is jealous of the earth ; and calls 
 Its favorites from the stormy waves of time. 
 
 'T was in an age more happy and more free 
 Than Tasso's, that, like Dante, Petrarch sang: 
 Brave poet of Italian liberty. 
 Elsewhere they know him only by Ms love: 
 Here memories more severe, aye, consecrate 
 His sacred name ; his country could inspire 
 E'en more than Laura. 
 
 His vigils gave antiquity new life ; 
 Imagination was no obstacle 
 To his deep studies ; that creative power 
 Conquer'd the future, and reveal'd the past. 
 He proved how knowledge lends invention aid; 
 And more original his genius seem'd, 
 When, like the powers eternal, it could be 
 Present In every time. 
 
OR, ITALY. S3 
 
 Our laughing climate, and our air serene 
 Inspired our Ariosto : after war, 
 Our many long and cruel wars, he came 
 Like to a rainbow ; varied and as bright 
 As that glad messenger of summer hours. 
 His light, sweet gayety is like nature's smile, 
 And not the irony of man. 
 
 Kaffaele, Galileo, Angelo, 
 Pergolese ; you ! intrepid voyagers, 
 Greedy of other lands, though Nature never 
 Could yield ye one more lovely than your own ; 
 Come ye, and to our poets join your fame: 
 Artists, and sages, and philosophers, 
 Ye are, like them, the children of a sun 
 Which kindles valor, concentrates the mind, 
 ^Pevelops fancy, each one in its turn ; 
 Which lulls content, and seems to promise all, 
 Or make us all forget. 
 
 Know ye the land where orange-trees are blooming 
 Where all heaven's rays are fertile, and with love ? 
 Have you inhaled these perfumes, luxury 1 
 In air already so fragrant and so soft ? 
 Now, answer, strangers ; Nature, in your home. 
 Is she as generous or as beautiful ? 
 
 Not only with vine-leaves and ears of corn 
 Is nature dress'd, but 'neath the feet of man. 
 As at a sovereign's feet, she scatters flowers 
 And sweet and useless plants, which, born to please, 
 Disdain to serve. 
 
 Here pleasures delicate, by nature nurst — 
 Felt by a people who deserve to feel ; — 
 The simplest food suffices for their wants. 
 What though her fountains flow with purple wine 
 From the abundant soil, they drink them not ! 
 They love their sky, their arts, their monuments ; 
 Their land, the ancient, and yet bright with spring; 
 Brilliant society ; refined delight : 
 Coarse pleasures, fitting to a savage race, 
 Suit not with them. 
 
34 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 y.. Here the sensation blends tfith tgejdea ; 
 
 ' Life ever draws from the same fonntain-head ; 
 
 The soul, like air, expands o'er earth and heaven. 
 
 Here Genius feels at ease ; its reveries 
 
 Are here so gentle ; its unrest is soothed : 
 
 For one lost aim a thousand dreams are given, 
 
 And nature cherishes, if man oppress ; 
 
 A gentle hand consoles, and binds the wound : 
 
 E'en for the griefs that haunt the stricken heart, 
 
 Is comfort here : by admiration fiU'd, 
 
 For God, all goodness ; taught to penetrate 
 
 The secret of his love ; not thy brief days — 
 
 Mysterious heralds of eternity — 
 
 But in the fertile and majestic breast 
 
 Of the immortal universe ! 
 
 Corinne was interrupted for some moments by impetuous ap- 
 plause. Oswald alone joined not in the noisy transport around 
 him. He had bowed his head on his hand, when Gorinne said— 
 
 " E'en for the sorrows of the stricken heart 
 Is comfort here :" 
 
 he had not raised it since. Corinne observed him ; and from his 
 features, the color of his hair, his dress, his height — indeed, from 
 his whole appearance — recognised him as English. She was struck 
 by the mourning which he wore, and his melancholy countenance. 
 His gaze, then fixed upon herself, seemed gently to reproach her : 
 she entered into his thoughts, and felt a wish to sympathize with 
 him, by speaking of happiness with less reliance, and consecrating 
 some few verses to Death in the midst of a festival. With this 
 intention, she again took up her lyre ; a few prolonged and touch- 
 ing tones silenced the assemblage, while thus she continued : — 
 
 Yet there are griefs which our consoling sky 
 May not efface ; but where will grief convey 
 Noble and soft impressions to the soul, 
 As it does here 1 
 
 Elsewhere the living cannot find them space 
 For all their hurrying paths, and ardent hopes ; 
 And deserts, ruins, vacant palaces, 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 35 
 
 Leave a vast vacancy to shadows ; — Rome, 
 Is she not now the country of the tomb 2 
 
 The Coliseum, and the obelisks — 
 
 The wonders brought from Egypt and from Greece 
 
 From the extremity of time, here met, 
 From Komulus to Leo — all are here. 
 Greatness attracting greatness, that one place 
 Might gamer all that man could screen from time ; 
 All consecrate to funeral monuments. 
 Our idle life is scarcely here perceived : 
 The silence of the living to the dead 
 Is homage : they endure, but we decay. 
 
 The dead alone are faonor'd, and alone 
 Recorded still ; — our destinies obscure 
 Contrast the glories of our ancestors ; 
 Our present life leaves but the past entire, 
 And deep the quiet around memory : 
 Our trophies are the work of those no more: 
 Genius itself ranks 'mid th' illnstrious dead. 
 
 It is Rome's secret charm to reconcile 
 Imagination with our long last sleep. 
 We are resign'd ourselves, and suffer less 
 For those we love. The people of the South 
 Faint closing life in hues less terrible 
 Than do the gloomy nations of the North : 
 The sun, like glory, even warms the grave. 
 
 The chill, the solitude of sepulchres 
 'Neath our fair sky, beside our funeral urns 
 So numerous, less haunt the frighted soul. 
 We deem they wait for us, yon shadowy crowd : 
 And from our silent city's loneliness 
 Down to the subterranean one below 
 It is a gentle passage. 
 
 The edge of grief is blunted thus, and turu'd 
 Not by a harden'd heart, a wither'd soul. 
 But by a yet more perfect harmony — 
 An air more fragrant — blending with our life. 
 We yield ourselves to Nature with less fear — 
 Nature whose great Creator said of old — 
 
36 COEINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 "The lilies of the vale, lo I they toil not, 
 And neither do they epin : 
 Yet the great Solomon, in all his glory, 
 Was not arrayed like one of these." 
 
 Oswald was so enchanted by these stanzas, that he testified his 
 transport with a vehemence unequalled by the Bomans them- 
 selves ; in sooth, it was to him, rather than to her countrymen, 
 that the second improvisation of Corinne had been addressed. 
 The generality of Italians read poetry with a kind of monotonous 
 chant, that destroys all effect. (3) In vain the words vary, the 
 impression is ever the same ; because the accent is unchanged j 
 but Corinne recited with a mobility of tone which increased the 
 charm of its sustained harmony. It was like listening to different 
 airs, all played on the same celestial organ. 
 
 A language so stately and sonorous, breathed by so gentle and 
 affecting a voice, awakened a very novel sensation in the mind of 
 Oswald. The natural beauties of the English tongue are all 
 melancholy ; tinted by clouds, and tuned by lashing waves ; but 
 Italian, among sounds, may be compared to scarlet among colors; 
 its words ring like clarions of victory, and glow with all the bliss 
 a delicious clime can shower on human hearts. When, therefore, 
 Italian is spoken by a faltering tongue, its splendor melts, its con- 
 centrated force causes an agitation resistless as unforeseen. The 
 intents of nature seem defeated, her bounties useless or repulsed ; 
 and the expression of sorrow in the midst of enjoyment, surprises, 
 touches us more deeply, than would despair itself, if sung in those 
 northern languages, which it seems to have inspired. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The senator took the crown of bays and myrtle he was to place 
 on the brow of Corinne. She removed the shawl which had bound 
 the ebon curls that now fell about her shoulders, and advanced with 
 an air of pleased thankfulness, which she strove not to dissemble. 
 
CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 37 
 
 Again she knelt; but not in trepidation, as at first. She had just 
 spoken, had filled her soul with godlike images ; enthusiasm had sur- 
 mounted timidity ; she was no longer the shrinking maid, but the in- 
 spired vestal who exultingly devoted herself to the worship of Genius. 
 
 When the chaplet was set upon her head, the musicians sent 
 forth one of those triumphant airs which so powerfully exalt the 
 soul. The clash of cymbals, and the flourish of trumpets, over- 
 whelmed Corinne afresh; her eyes filled, she sunk on a seat, and 
 covered her face. Oswald rushed from the crowd, and made a 
 few steps towards her, but an uncontrollable embarrassment kept 
 him silent. Corinne, taking care that he should not detect her, 
 looked on him for some time ; and when Prince Castel Forte took 
 her hand to lead her from the capitol, she yielded in abstraction, 
 frequently turning, on various pretexts, to gaze again on Oswald. 
 He followed her; and as she descended the steps, one of these 
 gestures displaced her crown, which Oswald hastily raised, and 
 presenting it, said in Italian. a few words, implying that humble 
 mortals lay at the fee^ of their deities the crowns they dare not 
 place upon their brows.(4) What was his astonishment when 
 Corinne thanked him in English, with that insular accent which 
 can scarce ever be acquired on the Continent; he remained 
 motionless, till, feeling himself almost faint, he leaned against 
 one of the basaltic lions that stand at the foot of the staircase. 
 Corinne gazed on him again, forcibly struck by his emotion ; but 
 they led her to her car, and the whole crowd had disappeared, 
 long ere Oswald recovered his presence of mind. Till now, he 
 had been enchanted as with a most attractive foreigner; but that 
 English intonation had brought back all the recollections of his 
 country, and, as it were, naturalized in his heart the charms of 
 Corinne. Was she English ? Had she not passed many years 
 of her life in England ? He could not guess ; but it was impos- 
 sible that study alone could have taught her to speak thus. She 
 must have lived in the same country with himself. 
 
 Who could tell, but that their families might have been related? 
 perhaps he had even seen her in his childhood. There is often 
 in the heart some innate image of the beings we are to love 
 4 
 
38 \ \ OORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 that lends to our first sight of them almost an air of recognition. 
 Oswald had believed the Italians, though impassioned, too vacil- 
 lating for deep or constant aflFection. Already had the words of 
 Corinnc given him a totally distinct view of their character. What 
 then must he feel should he thus at once revive the remembrance 
 of his home, and receive a new-born life, for future enjoyment, 
 without being weaned from the past ? In the midst of these reve- 
 ries he found himself on the bridge of St. Angelo, which leads to 
 the castle of that name^ or rather to Adrian's tomb, which has been 
 converted into a fortress. The silence of the scene, the pale waves 
 of the Tiber, the moonbeams that lit up the statues, till they ap- 
 peared like pallid phantoms, steadfastly watching the current of 
 time, by which they could be influenced no more; all these objects 
 recalled him to his habitual train of thought ; he laid his hand on 
 his breast, and felt the portrait of his father, which he always 
 wore ; he drew it forth, and gazed on it, while the cause of the 
 felicity he had just enjoyed but too strongly reminded him of all 
 that long since had tempted his rebellion against his parent. 
 
 "Ever haunting memory !" he cried, with revived remorse, "too 
 wronged and too forgiving friend ! could I have believed myself 
 capable of feeling so much pleasure thus soon after thy loss ? but it 
 is not thine indulgent spirit which rebukes me ; thou wouldst have 
 me happy in spite of my faults ; or may I not mistake thy man- 
 dates now uttered from above, I, who misunderstood them while 
 thou wert yet on earth ?" 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 CORINNB. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Count d'Brfeuil had been present at the capitol, and called 
 the next day on LordNevil, saying, "My dear Oswald, would you 
 like me to take you to Corinne's this evening ?" — "How?" inter- 
 
CORINrTE; OR, ITALY. 39 
 
 rupted Oswald, eagerly, " do you know her ?" — " Not I ; but so 
 famous a person is always gratified by a desire to see her ; and I 
 wrote this morning for her permission to visit her house to-night, 
 with you." — "I could have wished," replied Oswald, blushing, 
 " that you had not named me thus without my consent."—" You 
 should rather.thank me for having spared you so many tedious 
 formalities; Instead of going to an ambassador, who would have 
 led you to a cardinal, ■who might have taken you to a lady, who, 
 perhaps, could have introduced you to Corinne, I shall present 
 you, you will present me, and we shall both be very well received." 
 — " I am less confident than you ; and, doubtless, it is but rational 
 , to conclude that so hasty a request must have displeased her." — 
 " Not at all, I assure you, she is too sensible a girl, as her polite 
 reply may prove." — " Has she then answered you ? What had 
 you said, my dear Count V — " Ah ! ' my dear Count,' is it 1" 
 laughed d'Erfeuil, " you melt apace, now you know that she has 
 answered me ; but I like you too well not to forgive all that. I 
 humbly confess, then, that my note spoke more of myself than 
 of you, and that hers gives your lordship's name precedence j but 
 then, you know, I 'm never jealous of my friends." — "Nay," re- 
 turned Nejil, " it is not in vanity to expect that either of us can 
 render ourselves agreeable to her. All I seek is sometimes to 
 enjoy the society of so wondrous a being. This evening, then, 
 since you have so arranged it." — " You will go with me ?" — 
 " Why, yes," rejoined Nevil, in visible confusion. — " Why, then, 
 all this regrel; at what I 've done ? though 'tis but just to leave 
 you the honour of being more reserved than I, always provided 
 that you lose nothing by it. She 's really a delightful person, 
 this Corinne ! with a vast deal of ease and cleverness. I could 
 not very well make out what she talked of, but, I'll wager you, 
 she speaks French ; we can decide that to-night. She leads a 
 strange life. Young, free, and wealthy, yet no one kasws whe- 
 ther she has any lovers or no. It seems plain that at present she 
 favors no one ; that she should never have met, in this country, 
 with a man worthy of her, don't astonish me in the least." 
 D'Erfeuil ran on some time, in this kind of chat, without any 
 interruption from Oswald. He said nothing which could exactly 
 
40 . CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 
 
 be'called coarse, yet his light matter-of-fact manner, on a topic so 
 interesting, clashed with the delicacy of his companion. There 
 is a refinement which even wit and knowledge of the world cannot 
 teach their votaries, who often wound the heart, without violating 
 perfect politeness. Lord Nevil was much disturbed during the 
 day in thinking over the visit of the evening ; but he did hia 
 utmost to banish his disquieting presentiments, and strove to 
 persuade himself that he might indulge a pleasing idea, without 
 permitting it to decide his fate. False hope ! the heart can 
 receive no bliss from that which it knows must prove evanescent. 
 Accompanied by the Count, he arrived at the house of Corinne, 
 which was situated a little beyond the castle of St. Angelo, com- 
 manding a view of the Tiber. Its interior was ornamented with 
 the most perfect elegance. The hall embellished by casts of the 
 Niobe, Laocoon, Venus de Medicis, and dying Gladiator; while 
 in the sitting-room usually occupied by Corinne, he found but 
 books, musical instruments, and simple furniture, arranged for 
 the easy conversation of a domestic circle. Corinne was not there 
 when he entered ; and, while waiting for her, he anxiously ex- 
 plored the apartment, remarking in its every detail a happy com- 
 bination of the best French, Italian, and English attributes; a 
 taste for society, a love of letters, and a zeal for the fine arts. 
 Corinne at last appeared ; though ever picturesque, she was attired 
 without the least research. She wore some antique cameos in 
 her hair, and round her throat a band of coral. Natural and 
 familiar as she was among her friends, they still recognised the 
 divinity of the capitol. She bowed first to Count d'Erfeuil, 
 though looking at his friend; then, as if repenting this insin- 
 cerity, advanced towards Oswald, and twice repeated "Lord 
 Nevil !" as if that name was associated in her mind with some 
 affecting reminiscence. At last she said a few words in Italian 
 on his obliging restoration of her crown. Oswald endeavored to 
 express his admiration, and gently complained of her no longer 
 addressing him in English. " Am I a greater stranger than I 
 was yesterday ?" he said. — " Certainly not," she replied ; " but 
 when one has been accustomed for many years of one's life to speak 
 two or three different languages, one chooses that which will best 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 41 
 
 express what one desires to say." — " Surely," he cried, " English 
 is your native tongue — that which you speak to your friends." — 
 '' I am an Italian," interrupted Corinne. " Forgive me, my Lord ! 
 but I think I perceive in you the national importance which so 
 often characterizes your countrymen. Here we are more lowly, 
 neither self-complacent, like the French, nor proud of ourselves, 
 like the English. A little indulgence suffices us from strangers ; 
 and we have the great fault of wanting, as individuals, that 
 dignity which we are not allowed as a people ; but when you know 
 us, you may find some traces of our ancient greatness, such as, 
 though few and half effaced, might be restored by happier times. 
 I shall now and then speak to you in English, but Italian is more 
 dear to me. I have suffered much," she added, sighing, " that I 
 might live in Italy." D'Erfeuil here gallantly upbraided her for 
 conversing in languge^ of which he was entirely ignorant. " In 
 mercy, fair Corinne," he said, " speak French ; you are truly 
 worthy to do so." She smiled at this compliment, and granted 
 its request, with ease, with purity, but with an English accent. 
 Nevil and the Count were equally astonished ; but the latter, who 
 believed that he might say what he pleased, provided he did so 
 with a grace, imagining that impoliteness dwelt not in matter but 
 in manner, put the direct question to Corinne, on the reason of 
 this singularity. She seemed at first somewhat uneasy, beneath 
 this sudden interrogation ; . then recovering herself, said, " It 
 seems, monsieur, that I must have learned French of an English 
 person." He renewed his attack with earnest gayety. Corinne 
 became more confused, and at last said, gravely, "During the 
 four years that I lived in Kome, monsieur, none even of the 
 friends most interested in me have ever inquired into my fate ; 
 they understood, from the first, that it was painful for me to speak 
 of it." This check silenced the Count ; but Corinne feared that 
 she had hurt him ; and, as he seemed so intimate with Lord Nevil, 
 she dreaded still more, without confessing it to herself, that ho 
 might speak unfavorably of her to his companion, and therefore 
 took sufficient pains in atoning to him. The Prince Castel Forta 
 now arrived, with many of their mutual acquaintance, men of 
 4* 
 
42 coeinne; or, Italy. 
 
 lively and amiable minds, of kind and courteous manners, so easily 
 animated by the conversation of others, so capable of appreciating 
 all that deserved approval, that they made the best listeners pos- 
 sible. The Italians are usually too indolent to display in society, 
 or often in any way, the wit they really possess. The generality 
 of them cultivate not, even in seclusion, the intellectual faculties 
 of their natures ; but they revel in the mental delights which find 
 them without any trouble of their own. Corinne had all a 
 Frenchwoman's sense of the ridiculous, and evinced it with all the 
 fancy of an Italian ; but she mingled in botli such sweetness of 
 temper that nothing appeared preconcerted or hostile — for, in 
 most things, it is coldness which o£fends; while vivacity, on the 
 contrary, has almost invariably an air of good-nature. Oswald 
 found in Corinne a grace which he had never before met. 
 
 A terrible event of his life was associated with recollections of 
 a very lovely and gifted Frenchwoman ; but Corinne in no way 
 resembled her. Every creature's best seemed united in the con- 
 versation he now partook. Ingeniously and rapidly as she twined 
 its flowers, nothing was frivolous, nothing incomplete ; such was 
 her depth of feeling, and knowledge of the world, that he felt 
 borne away, and lost in wonder, at qualities bo contrasted. He 
 asked himself, if it was from an all-embracing sensibility, or from 
 a forgetfulness of each mood, as a new one succeeded, that she 
 fled, almost in the same instant, " from grave to gay, from lively 
 to severe," from learning that might have instructed men, to the 
 coquetry of a woman who amused herself with making conquests: 
 yet, in this very coquetry, there was such perfect nobleness, that 
 it exacted as much respect as the most scrupulous reserve. The 
 Prince Castel Forte, and all her other guests, paid her the most 
 assiduous and delicate attention. The habitual homage with 
 which they surrounded her gave the air of a fgte to every day of 
 her life. She was happy in being beloved, just as one is happy 
 to breathe in a gentle clime, to hear harmonious sounds and 
 receive, in fact, none but agreeable impressions. Her lively and 
 fluctuating countenance betrayed each emotion of her heart ■ but 
 the deep and serious sentiment of love was not yet painted there. 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 43 
 
 Oswald gazed on her in silence; his presence animated and 
 inspired her with a wish to please. Nevertheless, she sometimes 
 checked herself, in the midst of her most brilliant sallies, aston- 
 ished at his external composure, and doubting whether ie might 
 not secretly blame her, or if his English notions could permit him 
 to approve such success in a woman. He was, however, too 
 fascinated to remember his former opinions on the obscurity 
 which best becomes a female ; but he asked himself,- who could 
 ever become dear to her ? What single object could ever concen- 
 trate BO many rays, or take captive a spirit gifted with such 
 glorious wings ? In truth, he was alike dazzled and distressed : 
 nay, though, as she took leave, she politely invited him to visit 
 her again, a whole day elapsed without his going to her house, 
 restrained by a species of terror at the feeling which excited him. 
 Sometimes he compared it with the fatal error of his early youth ; 
 but instantly rejected such comparison. Then it was by treache- 
 rous arts he had been subdued ; and who could doubt the truth, 
 the honor of Corinne ? Were her spells those of poetry or of 
 magic ? Was she a Sappho or an^A,jmida ? It was impossible 
 to decide. Yet it was evident^^hat not soeiei^Jut Heaven itself, 
 had formed this extraordinarybeing, wEose mind was as inimi- 
 table as her character was unfeigned. ) " Oh, my father !" he 
 sighed, " had you known Corinne, what would you have thought 
 of her?" „-v ■' ■ ' ■'>' 
 
 CHAPTEE II. " u 
 
 The Count d'Erfeuil called on Lord Nevil, as usual, next 
 morning j and, censuring him for not having visited Corinne the 
 4)]^ceding night, said gaily, " You would have been delighted if 
 you had. — "And why ?" asked his friend. — " Because yesterday 
 gave me the most satisfactory assurance that you have extremely 
 interested her." — " Still this levity ? Do you not know that I 
 neither can nor will endure it ?" — " What you call levity is rather 
 the readiness of my observation : have I the less reason, because 
 
44 COKINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 my reason is active ? You were formed to grace those blest patri- 
 archal days when man had five centuries to live ; but I warn you 
 that we have retrenched four of them at least." — " Be it so ! And 
 what may you have discovered by these quickly matured observa- 
 tions of yours?" — "That Corinne is in love with you. Last 
 evening when I went to her house, I was well enough received, 
 of course ; but her eyes were fixed on the door, to look whether 
 you followed me. She attempted to speak of something else ; but, 
 as she happens to be a mighty natural young person, she pre- 
 sently, in all simplicity, asked why you were not with me? — I 
 said because you would not come, and that you were a gloomy, 
 eccentric animal : I'll spare you whatever I might have further 
 said in your praise. ' He is pensive,' remarked Corinne ; doubt- 
 less he has lost some one who was dear to him : for whom is he 
 mourning?' — 'His father, madame, though it is more than a 
 year since his death ; and, as the law of nature obliges us to sur- 
 vive our relations, I conclude that some more private cause exists 
 for his long and settled melancholy.' — ' Oh/ exclaimed she, ' I 
 am far from thinking that griefs apparently the same act alike on 
 all. The father of your friend, and your friend himself, were 
 not, perhaps, men Qf-*h§ common order. I am greatly inclined 
 to think so.' Heryoiee\as so sweet, dear Oswald, as she utter- 
 ed these words !" — " And are these all your proofs of her interest 
 in me ?" — " Why truly, with half of them I should make sure of 
 being beloved ; but since you will have better, you shall. I kept 
 the strongest to come last. The Prince Castel Forte related the 
 whole of your adventure at Ancona, without knowing that it was 
 of you he spoke. He told the story with xnuob fire, as far as I 
 could judge, thanks to the two Italian lessons I have taken ; but 
 there are so many French words in all foreign languages, that one 
 understands them, without the fatigue of learning. Besides, Co- 
 rinne's face explained what I should not else have comprehended. 
 'T was so easy to read the agitation of her heart : she would 
 scarcely breathe, for fear of losing a single word ; when she in- 
 quired if the name of this Englishman was known, her anxiety 
 was such, that I could very well estimate the dread she suffered, 
 
coeinne; or, italt. 45 
 
 lest any other name than yours should be pronounced in reply. 
 Castel Eorte confessed his ignorance; and Corinne, turning eagerly 
 to me, cried, 'Am I not right, monsieur ? was it not Lord Nevil?' 
 — ' Yes, madame,' said I, and then she melted into tears. She 
 had not wept during the history : what was there in the name of 
 its hero more affecting than the recital itself !" — " She wept ?" 
 repeated Oswald. " Ah, why was I not there 1" then instantly 
 checking himself, he cast down his eyes, and his manly face ex- 
 pressed the most delicate timidity. He hurriedly resumed the 
 topic, lest d'Erfeuil should impair his sacred joy by one comment. 
 " If the adventure at Ancona be worth the telling, its honor belongs 
 to you, also, my dear Count." — " They certainly did speak of a 
 most engaging Frenchman, who was with you, my Lord," rejoined 
 d'Erfeuil, laughing ; " but no one, save myself, paid any atten- 
 tion to that parenthesis. The lovely Corinne prefers you, doubt- 
 less believing that you would prove more faithful than I — this 
 may not be the case — you may even cost her more pains than I 
 should have done ; but your very romantic women love trouble, 
 therefore you will suit her exactly." Nevil smarted beneath each 
 word ; but what could he say ? D'Erfeuil never argued j nay, he 
 could not even listen with sufficient attention to alter his opinions : 
 once uttered, he cared no more about them, and the best plan was 
 to forget them, if possible, as quickly as he did himself. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 That evening Oswald reached the house of Corinne with en- 
 tirely new sensations. He fancied that he might be expected. 
 How entrancing that first beam of intelligence between one's self 
 and the being we adore ! ere memory contends the heart with 
 hope, ere the eloquence of words has sought to depict our feelings. 
 There is, in these first hours of love, some indefinite and myste- 
 rious charm, more fleeting, but more heavenly than even happi. 
 uess itself. 
 
46 W\ CORINNEJ OE, ITALY. 
 
 Oswald found Corinne alone; this abashed him much. He 
 could have gazed on her in the midst of her friends j but would 
 fain have been in some way convinced of her preference, ere thus 
 suddenly engaged in an interview which might chill her manner 
 towards him; and, in that expeotation, his own address became 
 cold from very embarrassment. Whether she detected this, or 
 that similar feelings made her desire to remove his restraint, she 
 speedily inquired if he had yet seen any of the antiquities of 
 Rome. " No." — " Then, how were you employed yesterday ?" 
 she asked, with a smile. " I passed the day at home. Since 1 
 came hither, I have seen but you, madame, or remained alone." 
 She wished to speak of his conduct at Ancona, and began : " I 
 learned last night — " here she paused, and then said, "but I 
 will talk of that when our party has joined us." Lord Nevil had 
 a dignity which intimidated Corinne; besides, she feared, in 
 alluding to his noble behaviour, that she should betray too much 
 emotion, and trusted to feel less before witnesses. Oswald 
 was deeply touched by this reserve, and by the frankness with 
 which she, unconsciously, disclosed its motive ; but_lhe_ more 
 oppressed he became^the less could he expMn himself. He 
 hastily rose, and went to the window ; then remembering that this 
 action must be unintelligible to Corinne, he returned to his seat, 
 without speaking; and, though she had more confidence than 
 himself, his diffidence proved so contagious, that, to cover her ab- 
 straction, she ran her fingers over her harp and struck a few un- 
 connected chords ; these melodious sounds, though they increased 
 the emotion of Oswald, lent him a slight degree of firmness. He 
 dared to look on her; and who could do so, without being struck 
 by the divine inspiration inthroned in her eyes ? Reassured by 
 the mildness which veiled their splendor, he might have spoken, 
 had not Prince Castel Forte that instant entered the room. It 
 was not without a pang that he beheld Nevil (Sle-d-tite with Co- 
 rinne; but he was accustomed to conceal his sensations ; and that 
 habit, which an Italian often unites with the most vehement pas- 
 sions, in him was rather the result of lassitude and natural gentle- 
 ness. He had resigned the hope of being the first object of Co- 
 
corinne; or, italt. 47 
 
 rinne's regard; he was no longer young. He had just the wit, 
 taste, and fancy, which varies, without disturbing one's existence; 
 and' felt it so needful for his life to pass every evening with 
 Corinne, that, had she married, he would have conjured her hus- 
 band to let him continue this routine ; on which condition it would 
 not have cost him much regret to see her united with another. 
 The heart's disappointments are not, in Italy, aggravated by those 
 of vanity. You meet some men jealous enough to stab their rivals, 
 others sufficiently modest to accept the second place in the esteem 
 of a woman whose company they enjoy; but you seldom find those 
 who, rather than appear rejected, deny themselves the pleasure of 
 keeping up a blameless intimacy. The dominion of society over 
 self-love is scarcely known in the land. The Count d'Erfeuil and 
 Corinne's wonted guests having assembled, the conversation turned 
 on the talent for improvisation, which she had so gloriously dis- 
 played at the capitol ; and she was asked what she thought of it 
 herself. "It is so rare a thing," said Castel Porte, "to find a 
 person at once susceptible of enthusiasm, and capable of analysis ; 
 endowed as an artist, yet gifted with so much self-knowledge, that 
 we ought to implore her revelation of her own secret." — " The 
 faculty of extemporizing," returned Corinne, " is not more extra- 
 ordinary in southern tongues, than senatorial eloquence or lively 
 repartee in other languages. I should even say that, unfortunately, 
 it is easier for us to breathe impromptu verse than to speak well in 
 prose, from which poetry difiers so widely, that the first stanza, 
 by their mere expressions, remove the poet from the sphere of 
 his auditors, and thus command attention. It is not only to the 
 sweetness of Italian, but to the emphatic vibration of its syllables, 
 that we should attribute the influence of poetry amongst us. Ita- 
 lian has a musical charm, which conf«;s^ delight by the veryWund 
 of its words, almost independent of ideas, though nearly all Wose 
 worW are~Sd"'graphic, that they paint their own significations on 
 the mind ; you feel that but in the midst of the arts, and beneath 
 a beauteous sky, could a language so melodious and highly colored, 
 have had birth. It is, therefore, easier in Italy than anywhere 
 else to mislead by speeches, unaided by depth or novelty rf thought. 
 
48 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 ■Poetry, like all the fine arts, captivates the senses as much as the 
 mind. Nevertheless, I venture to assert, that I never act the im- 
 provisatrice, unless beneath some real feeling, or some image which 
 I believe original. Uicgejhat I_reljjess^aa ojth^^^ be- 
 
 witchin£_tongue ; on which, indeed, one may prelude at random, 
 and bestow a "vivid pleasure, solely by the charm of rythm and 
 of harmony." — " You think, then," said one of her friends, " that 
 this genius for spontaneous verse does injury to our literature ? I 
 thought so too, till I heard you, who have entirely reversed my 
 decision." — "I have said," returned Corinne, " that from this 
 facility and abundance must result a vast quantity of indifferent 
 poeme ; but I rejoice that such fruitfulness should exist in Italy, 
 as I do to see our plains covered with a thousand superfluous pro- 
 ductions. I pride in this bounty of Heaven. Above all, I love 
 to find improvisatores among the common people ; it shows that 
 imagination of theirs which is hidden in all other circumstances, 
 and only develops itself amongst us. It gives a poetic air to the 
 humblest ranks 6f society, and spares us from the disgust we cannot 
 help feeling, against what is vulgar in all classes. When our Sici- 
 lians, while rowing the traveller in their barks, lend their graceful 
 dialect to an endearing welcome, or sing him a kind and long fare- 
 well, one might dream that the pure sea-breeze acted on man as 
 on an Eolian harp ; and that the one, like the other, echoed but 
 the voice of nature. Another reason why I set this value on our 
 talent for improvisation is, that it appears one which could not 
 possibly survive among a community disposed to ridicule. Poets, 
 who risk this perilous enterprise, require all the good-humor of a 
 country in which men love to amuse themselves, without criticizing 
 what amuses them. A single sneer would suffice to banish the pre- 
 sence of mind necessary for rapid and uninterrupted composition. 
 Your heroes must warm with you, and their plaudits must be your 
 inspiration." — "But, madame," said Oswald, who, till now, had 
 gazed in silence on Corinne, " to which class of your poems do you 
 give the preference — those that are the works of reflection, or such 
 as were instantaneously inspired ?" — " My Lord," replied Corinne, 
 with a look of gentle deference, " I will make you my judge j but 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 49 
 
 if you bid me examine my own heart, I should say that improvi- 
 sation is, to me, like animated converse. I do not confine myself 
 to such or such subjects, but yield to whatever produces that de- 
 gree of interest in my hearers which most infects myself; and it 
 is to my friends that I owe the greater portion of my talent in this 
 lime. Sometimes, while they speak on the noble questions that 
 involve the moral condition of man — the aim and end of his du- 
 ties here — mine impassioned excitement carries me beyond my- 
 self; teaches me to find in nature, and mine own heart, such 
 daring truths, and forcible expressions, as solitary meditation could 
 never have engendered. Mine enthusiasm, then, seems superna- 
 tural : a spirit speaks within me far greater than mine own ; it 
 often happens that I abandon the mpasure of verse to explain my 
 thoughts in prose. Sometimes I quote the most applicable pas- 
 sages from the poets of other lands. Those divine apostrophes are 
 mine, while my soul is filled by their import. Sometimes my lyre, 
 by a simple national air, may complete the effect which flies from 
 the control of words. In truth, I feel myself a poet, less when a' 
 happy choice of rhymes, of syllables, of figures, may dazzle my 
 auditors, than when my spirit soars disdainful of all selfish base- 
 ness; when godlike deeds appear most easy to me, 'tis then my 
 verse is at its best. I am, indeed, a poet while I admire or hate, 
 not by my personal feelings, nor in mine own cause, but for the 
 sake of human dignity, and the glory of the world !" Corinne, 
 DOW perceiving how far she had been borOe away, blushed, and, 
 turning to Lord Nevil, said : " You see I cannot touch on any of 
 the themes that affect me, without that kind of thrill which is the 
 source of ideal beauty in the arts, of religion in the recluse, gene- 
 rosity in heroes, and disinterestedness among men. Pardon me, 
 my Lord ; such a woman little resembles those of your country." 
 — "Who can resemble you?" replied Oswald; "and who shall 
 make laws for a being sq peculiar?" 
 
 The Count d'Erfeuil was actually spell-bound; without under- 
 standing all she said, her gestures, voice, and manner, charmed 
 him. It was the first time that any, save French graces, had 
 moved him thus. But, to say truth, tjifi_jin f ularity of Corinne 
 5 
 
50 /q^ corinne; or, italy. 
 
 aided andsanctioned his judgment ; so that he might raye of her 
 without relinquishing his convenient habit of being guided by the 
 opinion of others. As they left the house together, he said to 
 his friend : " Confess, now, dear Oswald, that I have some merit 
 in not paying my court to so delightful a person." — "But," re- 
 plied Nevil, " they say that she is difficult to please." — " They 
 say, but I don't believe it. A single woman, who leads the life 
 of an artist, can't be difficult to please." Nevil's feelings were 
 wounded by this remark ; but whether d'Erfeuil saw it not, or 
 was resolved to follow the bent of his own inclinations, he con- 
 tinued, " Not but, if I could believe in any woman's virtue, I 
 should trust hers above all. She has certainly a thousand times 
 more ardor than were required in your country, or even in mine, 
 to create doubts of a lady's cruelty ; yet she is a creature of such 
 superior tact and information, that the ordinary rules for judging 
 her sex cannot be applied to her. Would you believe it ? I find 
 her manners imposing; they overawe me in spite of her careless 
 aflFability. I wished yesterday, merely out of gratitude for her 
 interest in you, to hazard a few words on my own account ; such 
 as make what way they can; if they are listened to, so much the 
 better; if not, why that may be luckier still; but Corinne looked 
 on me coldly, and I was altogether disconcerted. Is it not absurd 
 to feel out of countenance before an Italian, a poet, an — every- 
 thing that ought to put a man at his ease ?" — " Her name is 
 unknown," replied Nevil, " but her behavior assures us that she 
 is highly born." — " Nay, 'tis only the fashion of romance to con- 
 ceal one's nobility; — in real life, people tell everything that can 
 do themselves credit, and even a little more than the truth." — 
 "Yes, in some societies, where they think but of the eflFect pro- 
 duced on others ; but here, where life is more domestic, here there 
 raay be secrets, which only he who marries Corinne should seek 
 to fathom."—" Marry Corinne !" replied d'Erfeuil, laughing vehe- 
 mently, "such a notion never entered my head. My dear Nevil, 
 if you will commit extravagances, let them be such as are not 
 irreparable. In marriage, one should consult nothing but conve- 
 nience and decorum. You think me frivolous; nevertheless, I'll 
 
cobinne; or, italy. 51 
 
 bet you that my conduct shall be more rational than your own." 
 — "I don't doubt it," returned Nevil, without another word; 
 for how could he tell the Count that there is often much selfish- 
 ness in frivolity ? or that vanity never leads a man towards the 
 error of sacrificing himself for another ? Triflers are very capable 
 of cleverly directing their own affairs ; for, in all that may be 
 called the science of policy, in private as in public life, men 
 oftener succeed by the absence of certain qualities than by any 
 which they possess. 
 
 A deficiency of enthusiasm, opinions, and sensibility, is a nega- 
 tive treasure, on which, with but slight abilities; rank and fortune 
 may easily be acquired or maintained. The jests of d'Erfeuil had 
 pained Lord Nevil much ; he condemned them, but still they 
 haunted him most importunately. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 KOME. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 The next fortnight Oswald devoted exclusively to the society 
 of Corinne. He never left his house but to visit her. He saw, 
 he sought no more ; and, without speaking of his love, he made 
 her sensible of it every hour in the day. She was accustomed to 
 the lively and flattering tributes of the Italians ; but the lordly 
 deportment and apparent coldness of Oswald, through which his 
 tenderness of heart so often brQke, in spite of himself, exercised 
 a far greater power o'er her imagination. He never related a 
 generous deed or a tale of misfortune, but his eyes filled, though 
 he always strove to hide this weakness. It was long since she 
 had felt such respect as that which he awakened. No genius, 
 however distinguished, could have astonished her; but elevation 
 
52 
 
 of character acted deeply on her mind. Oswald added to this an 
 elegance which pervaded the most trivial actions of his life, and 
 contrasted strongly with the negligent familiarity of the Roman 
 nobles. Although some of his tastes were uncongenial to her 
 own, their mutual understanding was wonderful. They read each 
 other's hearts in the lightest alteration of countenance. Habitu- 
 ated to the most tempestuous demonstrations of passion, this proud 
 retiring attachment, continually proved, though never confessed, 
 shed a new interest over her life. She felt as if surrounded by a 
 purer, sweeter atmosphere ; and every moment brought with it a 
 sense of happiness in which she revelled, without seeking to 
 define. 
 
 One morning Prince Castel Forte came to her, evidently dis- 
 pirited. She asked the cause. "This Scot," sighed he, "is wean- 
 ing your aflfection from us, and who knows but he may even carry 
 you far hence ?" Corinne was mute for some moments, and then 
 replied, " I protest to you he has never said he loves me." — " You 
 know it, nevertheless ; he speaks to you by his Me, and ;Jis yerj, 
 silence is but an artful plan .to attract your noticel What, indeed, 
 can any one say'to'you that you have not already heard? What 
 kind of praise have you not been offered ? But there is some- 
 thing veiled and reined in about the character of Lord Nevil, 
 which will never permit you to judge it wholly as you do ours. 
 You are the most easily known__person in the wprldj but it is 
 just because you voluntarily show jourself as you are, that reserve 
 and mystery both please and govern you. The unknown, be it 
 what it may, has a greater ascendency over you, than all the pro- 
 fessions which could be tendered by man." Corinne smiled. 
 "You think then, dear Prince," she said, "that my heart is un- 
 grateful, and my fancy capricious ? I believe, however, that Lord 
 Nevil evinces qualities too remarkable for me to flatter myself as 
 their discoverer." — "I allow," rejoined Castel Forte, "that he is 
 high-minded, intelligent, even sensitive, and melancholy above 
 allj'^t I am much dec eived if his pu rsuits have the least affinity 
 with, yours.. You cannot perceive this, so thoroughly is he 
 influenced by your presence ; but your empire would not last were 
 
OR, ITALY. 53 
 
 he absent from you. Obstacles would fatigue a mind warped by 
 the griefs he has undergone, by discouragements which must have 
 impaired the energy of his resolutions; besides, you know what 
 slaves are the generality of English to the manners and habits of 
 their country." These words recalled to the mind of Corinne the 
 pd£ful_eveiQts_of her_earlx.jears. She sighed, and spoke not; 
 but in the evening she again beheld her lover, and all that 
 remained as the effect of the Prince's counsel was a desire so to 
 enamour Nevil of the varied beauties with which Italy is blest, 
 that he would make it his home for life. With this design she 
 wrote him the following letter. The free life led at Eome excused 
 her, and, much as she might be reproached with a too rash degree 
 of candor, she well knew how to preserve a modest dignity, even 
 in her most independent proceedings. *— ^ -' ■ ^ "■ .' 
 
 "to loed nevil. 
 
 "Dec. 15, 1794. 
 
 " I know not, my Lord, if you will think me too self-confident, . 
 or if you can do justice to my motives. I heard you say that you 
 had not yet explored Borne, that you knew nothing either of the 
 chefs-d' oe.wvres of our fine arts, or the antique ruins that teach us 
 history by imagination and sentiment. I conceive the idea of 
 daring to propose myself as your gui5e^through the mazes of 
 long-gone years. Doubtless Rome can boast of manyinen^whose 
 profound erudition might be far more useful; but if I succeed in 
 endearing to you an abode towards which I have always felt so 
 imperiously drawn, your own studies will complete what my im- 
 perfect sketches may be^n. 
 
 " Many foreigners come hither, as they go to London or Paris, 
 seeking but the dissipation of a great city; and if it were not 
 treason to confess themselves weary of Rome, I believe the greatest 
 part of them would do so. But it is equally true, that here may 
 be found a. charm of which none could ever sate. Will you par- 
 don me, my Lord, for wishing that this charm may be known to 
 you ? It is true that you must forget all the political relations 
 of the world ; but when they are not linked with our sacred duties, 
 5* 
 
64 CORINIiE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 they do but] freeze, thft ieartX It is necessary also to renounce 
 what is elseTrhSre called the pleasures of society ; but do they not 
 too frequently wither up the mind ? One tastes in Rome a life at 
 once secluded and enlivened, which liberally matures in our breasts 
 whatever Heaven hath planted there. 
 
 " Once more, my Lord, pardon this love for my country, which 
 makes me long to know it beloved by a man like yourself; and 
 do not judge wit4,English severit/the pledges of good-will that 
 an Italian believes it Thief right to bestow, without losing anything 
 in her own eyes or in yours. " Corinne." 
 
 In vain would Oswald have concealed from himself his ecstasy 
 at receiving this letter ; it opened to him glimpses of a future 
 all peace and joy, enthusiasm, love and wisdom; — all that is 
 most divine in the soul of man seemed blended in the enchanting 
 project of exploring Home with Corinne. He considered — he 
 hesitated no more ; but instantly started for her house, and, on 
 his way, looked up to heaven, basking in its rays, for life was j[0_ 
 Ifinger a burden. Eegret and fear were lost behind the golden 
 clouds of hope; his heart so long oppressed with sadness, throbbed 
 and bounded with delight ; he knew that such a state could not 
 last ; but even his sense of its fleetness lent this fever of felicity 
 but a more active force. 
 
 " You are come !" cried Corinne, as he entered. "Ah, thank 
 you !" She oifered her hand : he pressed it to his lips, with 
 a tenderness unqualified by that afflicting tremor which so 
 often mingled with his happiness, and embittered the presence of 
 those he loved the most. An intimacy had commenced between 
 them since they had last parted, established by the letter of Co- 
 rinne ; both were content, and felt towards one another the sweetest 
 gratitude. "This morning, then," said Corinne, "I will show 
 you the Pantheon and St. Peter's. I trusted," she added, smi- 
 lingly, " that you would not refuse to make the tour of Rome with 
 me ; so my horses are ready. I expected you — you arc here — ^all 
 is well — let us go." — "Wondrous creature !" exclaimed Oswald. 
 " Who then are you ? Whence do you derive charms so con« 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. v 55 
 
 trasted, that each might well exclude the others ? — feeling gayety, 
 depth, wilduess, modesty ! Art thou an illusion ? an unearthly 
 blessing for those who meet thee ? — Ah ! if I have but power 
 to do you any service," she answered, " believe not that I will ever 
 renounce it." — "Take heed," replied he, seizing her hand with 
 emotion ; "be careful of what benefit you confer on me. For 
 two .years an iron grasp has pressed upoa my heart. {_If I feel 
 some_relief_while breathing your sweet air, what will become of 
 Hjjg^j^hen thrown back on mine own fate? ^What shall I be 
 then 1" — " Let us leave that to tim6and_ehance," interrupted Co- 
 rinne : " They will decide whether the impression of an hour shall 
 }ast beyond its day. If our souls commune, our mutual affection 
 will not be fugitive : be that as it may, let us admire together all 
 that can elevate our minds ; we shall thus, at least, secure some 
 happy moments." So saying, she descended. Nevil followed 
 her, astonished at her reply : it seemed that she admitted the 
 possibility of a momentary liking for him, yet he fancied that he 
 perceived a /fickleness in ^er man^er^fwhich piqued him even to 
 pain ; and CorinneT'asii she guessed this, said, when they were 
 Heated in her carriage, " I do not think the heart is so consti- 
 tuted that it must either feel no love at all, or the most unconquer- 
 able passion. There are early symptoms which may vanish before 
 self-examination. We flatter, we deceive ourselves ; and the 
 very enthusiasm of which we are susceptible, if it renders the 
 enchantment more rapid, may also bring the reaction more 
 promptly." — "You have reflected much upon this sentiment, 
 madame," observed Oswald, with bitterness. Corinne blushed, 
 and was silent for some moments, then said, with a striking union 
 of frankness and dignity, " I suppose no woman of heart ever 
 reached the age of twenty-gix without having known the illusions 
 of love ; but if never "^d"have been happy, never to have met an 
 object worthy of-her full affection, is a claim on sympathy, I have 
 a right to yours." The words, the accent of Corinne, somewhat 
 dispersed the clouds that gathered over Nevil's thoughts ; yet he 
 said to himself: " She is a most seducing creature, but — an Italians 
 This is not a shrinking, innocent heajt, even to itself unknown 
 
56 corinne; ob, italt. 
 
 such as, I doubt not, beats in the bosom of the English girl to 
 whom my father destined me." 
 
 Lucy Edgarmond was. the daughter of his parent's best friend ; 
 but too young, when he left England, for him to marry her, or 
 even foresee what she might one day become.* 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Oswald and Corinne went first to the Pantheon, now called 
 Santa Maria of the Rotunda. Throughout Italy the Catholic hath 
 been the Pagan's heir; but this is the only antique temple in Rome 
 which has been preserved entire ; the only one wherein we may 
 behold, unimpaired, the architecture of the ancients, and the pe- 
 culiar character of their worship. 
 
 Here they paused to admire the portico and its supporting co- 
 lumns. Corinne bade Oswald to observe that this building was 
 constructed in such a manner as made it appear much larger than 
 it was. " St. Peter's," she said, " produces an opposite effect : you 
 will, at first, think it less vast than it is in reality. The deception, 
 so favorable to the Pantheon, proceeds, it is conceived, from the 
 great space between the pillars, and from the air playing so freely 
 within ; but still more from the absence of ornament, with which 
 St. Peter's is overcharged. Even thus did antique poetry design 
 but the massive features of a theme, leaving the reader's fancy to 
 supply the detail : in all affairs we moderns say and do too much. 
 This fane was consecrated by Agrippa, the favourite of Augustus, 
 to his friend, or rather, his master, who, however, had the humi- 
 lity to refuse this dedication ; and Agrippa was reduced to the ne- 
 cessity of devoting it to all the gods of Olympus, and of substitut- 
 ing their power for that of one earthly idol. On the top of the 
 
 * In the original, Lncile Edgermond ; but as neither of these names are 
 English, and the latter capable of a very ignoble pronunciation, I have 
 taken the liberty to alter both. — Tr. 
 
CORINNEj OR, ITALY. 57 
 
 Pantheon stood a oar, in which were placed the statues of Augustus 
 and Agrippa. On each side of the portico similar eflGgies were 
 displayed, in other attitudes; and over the front of the temple is 
 still legible : " Consecrated by Agrippa." Augustus gave his name 
 to the age in which he lived, by rendering it an era in the pro- 
 gress of human intellect. Erom the che/s-d'ceuvres of his ootem- 
 poraries emanated the rays that formed a circling halo round his 
 brow. He knew how to honor men of letters in his own day ; 
 and posterity, therefore, honors him. Let us enter the temple : 
 it is said that the light which streams in from above was considered 
 the emblem of a divinity superior to the highest divinities. The 
 heathens ever loved symbolical images; our language, indeed, 
 seems to accord better with religion, than with common parlance. 
 The rain often falls on the marbles of this court, but the sunshine 
 succeeds to efface it. What a serene, yet festal air is here ! ,^he 
 PaaangjdsJfied life, as -tbe^ Christians saaeti^dsatfe j su2fe.,i?-.&6 
 distinction between _the_ two faiths ^but Catholicism here is far 
 iess"^Ioomy than in the north, as you will observe when we visit 
 St. Peter's. In the sanctuary of the Pantheon the busts of our 
 most celebrated artists decorate the niches once filled by ideal 
 gods. Since the empire of the Caesars, we have scarce ever boasted 
 any political independence ; consequently, you will find no states- 
 men, no heroes here. Genius constitutes our only fame ; but do 
 you not think, my Lord, that a people, who thus revere the talents 
 still left amongst them, must deserve a nobler destiny?" — "I be- 
 lieve," replied Oswald, " that nations generally deserve their own 
 fates, be they what they will." — " That is severe ! but, perhaps, by 
 living in Italy, your heart may soften towards the fair land which 
 nature has adorned like a victim for sacrifice. At least remember, 
 that the dearest hope the lovers of glory cherish is that of obtain- 
 ing a place here. I have already chosen mine," she added, point- 
 ing to a niche still vacant. " Oswald, who knows but you may 
 one day return to this spot, when my bust — " . " Hold I" inter- 
 rupted he ; " can you, resplendent in youth and beauty, talk thus 
 to one whom misfortune even now is bending towards the grave ?" 
 — "Ah!" exclaimed Corinne, "the storm may in a moment dash 
 
58 
 
 OR, ITALY. 
 
 down flowers that yet shall raise their heads again. Oswald, dear 
 Oswald ! why are you not happy ?" — " Never ask me," he replied ; 
 " you have your secrets, and I mine : let us respect our mutual 
 silence. You know not what I should suffer, if forced to relate 
 my distresses." Corinne said no more; but her steps, as she left 
 the temple, became slow, and her looks more pensive. 
 
 She paused beneath the portico. "There," she said, "stood a 
 porphyry urn of great beauty, now removed to St. John Lateran ; 
 it contained the ashes of Agrippa, which were deposited at the foot of 
 the statue he had erected to himself. The ancients lavished such 
 art on sweetening the idea of destruction, that they succeeded in 
 banishing all its most dreary and alarming traits. There was such 
 magnificence in their tombs, that the contrast between the nothing- 
 ness of death and the splendors of life was less felt. It is certain, 
 too, that the hope of another world was far less vivid amongst them 
 than it is with Christians. They were obliged to contest with 
 death, the principal which we fearlessly confide to the bosom of 
 our eternal Father." 
 
 Oswald sighed, and spoka not; melancholy ideas have many 
 charms, when we are not deeply miserable ; but while grief, in 
 all its cruelty, reigns over the breast, we cannot hear, without a 
 shudder, words which, of old, excited but reveries not more sad 
 than soothing. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In going to St. Peter's, they crossed the bridge of St. Angelo 
 on foot. " It was here," said Oswald, " that, on my way from the 
 Capitol, I, for the first time, mused long on Corinne." — " I do not 
 flatter myself," she rejoined, " that I owe a friend to my corona- 
 tion ; yet, in toiling for celebrity, I have ever wished that it might 
 make me beloved ; were it not useless, at least to a I'womaajSjWith- 
 out such expectation ?" — " Let us stay here awhile,'^sSd Oswald. 
 " Can bygone centuries afford me one remembrance equal to that 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 59 
 
 of the day on which I beheld you first?" — "I may err," answered 
 Corinno, " but I think gerson_s_bB.fi9me_ most endeared to_5acli other 
 while participating in the admiration of works which speak to the 
 soul by their true grandeur. Those of Rome are neither cold nor 
 mute ; conceived as they were by genius, and hallowed by me- 
 morable events. Nay, perhaps, Oswald, one could not better learn 
 to love a man like yourself than by enjoying with him the noble 
 beauties of the universe." — " But I," returned Oswald, " while 
 gazing listening beside you, need the presence of no other won- 
 der." Corinne thanked _ him by a gracious smile. Pausing be- 
 fore the castle of St. Angelo, she pursued : "This is one of the 
 most original exteriors among all our edifices : the tomb of Adri- 
 an, fortified by the Grotbs, bearing a double character from its suc- 
 cessive uses. Built for the dead, an impenetrable circle inclosed 
 it ; yet the living have added more hostile defences, which con- 
 trast strongly with the silent and noble inutility of a funeral mo- 
 nument. You see, at the top, the bronze figure of an angel with 
 a naked sword ; (5) within are prisons, famed for ingenious tor- 
 ture. All the epochs of Roman history, from the days of Adrian 
 to our own, are associated with this site. Belisarius defended it 
 against the Gothg; and, with a barbarism scarce inferior to their 
 own, hurled on them the beauteous statues that adorned the inte- 
 rior. Crescentius, Arnault de Brescia, and Nicolas Rienzi, (6) 
 tliose friends of Roman liberty, who so. oft mistook her memories 
 for her hopes, long defied their foes from this imperial tomb. I 
 love each stone connected with so many glorious feats. I applaud 
 the master of the world's luxurious taste — a magnificent tomb. 
 There is something great in the man who, while possessing all 
 the pomps and pleasures of the world, fears not to employ his mind 
 so long in preparations for his death. Moral ideas and disinter- 
 ested sentiments must fill the soul that, in any way, outsteps the 
 boundaries of life. Thus far ought the pillars in front of St. Peter's 
 to extend ; such was the superb plan of Michael Angelo, which 
 he trusted his survivors would complete; but the men of our days 
 think not of posterity. When once enthusiasm has been turned into 
 ridicule, all is defeated, except wealth and power." — " It is for 
 
60 CORINNEJ ORj ITALY. 
 
 you to regenerate it," cried Nevil. " Who ever experienced such 
 happiness as I now taste ? Rome shown me by you ! interpreted 
 by imagination and genius ! What a world, when animated by 
 sentiment, without which the world itself were but a desert 1(7) 
 Ah, Corinne ! what is to follow these the sweetest days that my 
 fate and heart e'er granted me ?" — " All sincere affections come 
 direct from Heaven," she answered, meekly. " Why, Oswald, 
 should it not protect what it inspires ? It is for Heaven to dispose 
 of us both." 
 
 At last they beheld St. Peter's; the greatest edifice ever erected 
 by man ; even the Egyptian Pyramids are its inferiors in height. 
 "Perhaps," said Oorinne, "I ought to have shown you the 
 grandest of our temples last; but that is not my system. It 
 appears to me that, to perfect a sense of the fine arts, one should 
 begin by contemplating the objects which awaken the deepest and 
 most lively admiration. This, once felt, reveals a new sphere of 
 thought, and renders us capable of loving and judging whatever 
 may, even in an humbler quality, revive the first impression we 
 received. All cautious and mystified attempts at producing a 
 [strong effect are against my taste.\^We do not arrive at the^guh- 
 lime by degrees, for infinite distances separate it even from the 
 beautiful." """ 
 
 ; Oswald felt the most extraordinary sensations when standing 
 in front of St. Peter's. Itjiras the first time the effort of man 
 had affected him like a marvel of nature. It is the only^work of 
 art on the face of the globe that possesses the same species of majes- 
 ty which characterizes those of creation. Corinne enjoyed his as- 
 tonishment. " I have selected," she said, " a day when the sun is 
 in all his splendor ; still reserving for you a yet more holy rapture, 
 that of beholding St. Peter's by moonlight ; but I wished you first 
 to be present at this most brilliant spectacle — the genius of man 
 bedecked in the magnificence of nature." 
 
 The square of St. Peter's is surrounded by pillars, which appear 
 light from a distance, but massive as you draw nearer; the sloping 
 ascent towards the porch adds to the effect produced. An obelisk, 
 of eighty feet in height, which looks scarce raised above the earth, 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 61 
 
 in presence of the cupola, stands in the centre. The mere form 
 of an obelisk is pleasing to the fancy; it loses itself in air, as if 
 guiding the thoughts of man towards heaven. This was brought 
 from Egypt to adorn the baths of Caligula, and afterwards re- 
 moved by Sextus V. to the foot of St. Peter's, beside which this 
 contemporary of many ages creates not one sentiment of awe. 
 Man feels himself so perishable that he bows before the presence 
 of immutability. At some distance, on each side of the obelisk, 
 are two fountains, whose waters, perpetually gushing upwards, 
 fall again in abundant cascades. Their murmurs, such as we are 
 wont to hear in wild and rural scenes, lend a strange charm to 
 this spot, yet one that harmonizes with the stilling influence of 
 that august cathedral. Painting and sculpture, whether repre 
 senting the human form, or other natural objects, awaken clear 
 and intelligible images ; but a perfect piece of architecture kindles 
 that aimless reverie, which bears the soul we know not whither. 
 The ripple of water well accords with this vague deep sense ; it is 
 uniform, as the edifice is regular. " Eternal motion and eternal 
 rest, seem here united, defying even time, who has no more 
 sullied the source of those pure springs than shaken the base of 
 that commanding temple. These sheaves of liquid Silver dash 
 themselves into spray so fine, that on sunny days the light will 
 form them into little rainbows, tinted with all the iris hues of the 
 prisjn. " Stop here a moment," said Corinne to Nevil, who was 
 already beneath the portico; "pause, ere you unveil the sanctuary; 
 does not your heart throb as you approach it, as if anticipating 
 some solemn event?" She raised the curtain, and held it back 
 for Nevil to pass, with such a grace that his first look was on her, 
 and for some seconds he could observe nothing else ; yet he 
 entered the interior, and soon, beneath its immense arches, was 
 filled by a piety so profound that love alone no longer sufficed to 
 occupy his breast. He walked slowly beside Corinne ; both were 
 mute ; there everything commands silence ; for the least sound is 
 re-echoed so far, that no discourse seems worthy to be thus re- 
 peated, in such an almost eternal abode. Even prayer, the accent 
 of distress, springing from whatever feeble voice, reverberates 
 
62 OORINNE; OE, ITALY. 
 
 deeply through its vastnoss ; and when we hear, from far, tho 
 trembling steps of age on the fair marble, watered by so many 
 tears, man becomes imposing from the very infirmities that sub- 
 ject his divine spirit to so much of woe; and we feel that Chris- 
 tianity, the creed of suffering, contains the true secret which 
 should direct our pilgrimage on earth. Corinne broke on the 
 meditations of Oswald, saying, " You must have remarked that 
 the Gothic churches of England and Germany have a far more 
 gloomy character than this, j^iorihera Catholicism has in it 
 something mystic; ours speaks to the imagination-fey-eiteini 
 objects. Michael Angelo, on beholding this dome from the Pan- 
 theon, exclaimed, ' I have built it in the air !' — indeed, St. Peter's 
 is as a temple based upon a church; its interior weds the ancient 
 and modern faiths in the mind ; I frequently wander hither to 
 regain the composure my spirit sometimes loses. The sight of 
 such a building is like a ceaseless, changeless melody, here await- 
 ing to console all who seek it; and, among our national claims 
 to glory, let me rank the courage, patience, and disinterestedness 
 of the chiefs of our church, who have, for so many years, devoted 
 such treasures to the completion of an edifice which its founders 
 could not expect to enjoy. (8) It is rendering a service to the 
 moral public, bestowing on a nation a monument emblematic of 
 such noble and generous desires." — "Yes," replied Oswald, "here 
 art is grand, and genius inventive; but how is the real dignity of 
 man sustained ? How weak are the generality of Italian govern- 
 ments, yet how do they enslave." — "Other nations," interrupted 
 Corinne, " have borne the yoke, like ourselves, and without like 
 power to conceive a better fate, 
 
 ' Servi siam si, ma servi ognor frementi.' 
 
 ' We are slaves, indeed, but forever chafing beneath our bonds,' 
 said Alfieri, the boldest of our modern writers. With such soul 
 for the fine arts, may not our character one day equal our genius? 
 But look at these statues on the tombs, these mosaics — laborious 
 and faithful copies from the che/s-d' ceuvres of our great masters. 
 I never examine St. Peter's in detail, because I amgrieved to 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 63 
 
 lind that its multiplied adornments somewhat impair the beauty 
 of^the whole. _ Yet well -may the best works of human hands 
 seem superfluous here. This is a world of itself; a refuge from 
 both heat and cold ; it hath a season of its own, perennial spring, 
 which the atmosphere wUhtJ.vft, can never affect. A subterranean 
 church is built beneatli)^|! p^s, and many foreign princes, are 
 buried there — ChristinS, who abdicated her realm; the Stuarts, 
 whose dynasty was overthrown. Kome, so long an asylum for 
 the-'SMte, is she not herself dethroned? Her aspect consoles 
 sovferei^s despoiled like her. Yes, cities fall, whole empires 
 disappear, and man becomes unworthy of his name. Stand here, 
 Nevil ! near the altar, beneath the centre of the domo, you per- 
 ceive, through these iron gratings, the church of the dead, which 
 lies beneath our feet, and, on raising your eyes, they can scarcely 
 pierce to the summit of this arch ; do you not feel as if a huge 
 abyss was opening over your head ? Everything which extends 
 beyond a certain proportion must causo that limited creature, man, 
 uncontrollable dismay. What we know is as inexplicable as the 
 unknown ; we have so reconciled ourselves to habitual darkness, 
 that any new mystery alarms and confounds us. 
 
 " The whole church is embellished by antique marbles, who 
 know more than we do of vanished centuries. There is the 
 statue of Jupiter converted into St. Peter, by the glory which 
 has been set upon its head. The general expression of the place 
 perfectly characterizes a mixture of obscure dogmas and sumptu- 
 ous ceremonies ; a mine of sad ideas, but such as may be soothingly 
 applied ; severe doctrines, capable of mild interpretation : Chris- 
 tian theology and Pagan images; in- fact, the most admirable union 
 of all the majestic splendors which man can give to his worship 
 of the Divinity. Tombs decked by the arts can scarcely repre- 
 sent death as a formidable enemy : we do not, indeed, like the 
 ancients, carve sports and dances on the sarcophagus: but. thought 
 is diverted from the bier by works that tell of immortality even 
 from the altar of death. Thus animated, we feel not that freezing \> 
 silence which constantly watches over a^northern sepulchre." — 
 "Tt is doubtless the purpose with us," said Oswald, '' to surround 
 
64 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 death with appropriate gloom : ere we were enlightened by Chris- 
 tianity, such was our mythologic bias. Ossian called around the 
 tomb funereal chants, such as here you would fain forget. I know 
 not if I should wish that your fair sky may so far change my 
 mood." 
 
 "Yet think not," said Corinne, "that we are either fickle or 
 frivolous ; we have too little vanity : indolence may yield our lives 
 some intervals of oblivion, but they can neither sate nor wither 
 up the heart 5 unfortunately we are often scared from this repose 
 by passions more terrible than those of habitually active minds." 
 They were now at the door. " One more glance !" said Nevil. 
 " See how insignificant is man in the presence of devotion, while 
 we shrink even before its material emblem : behold what duration 
 man can give to his achievements, while his own date is so brief 
 that he soon survives but in his fame. This temple is an image 
 of infinitude; there are no bounds for the sentiments to which it 
 gives birth; the hosts of past and future years it suggests for 
 speculation. On leaving it we seem quitting a world of heavenly 
 thought for one of common interests; exchanging religion and 
 eternity for the trivial pursuits of time." 
 
 Corinne pointed out the bas-reliefs, from Ovid's Metamorphoses, 
 on the doors. "We shame not," she said, "in the pagan trophies 
 which art has hallowed. The wonders of genius always awaken 
 holy feelings in the soul, and we pay homage to Christianity in 
 tribute of all the best works that other faiths have inspired." 
 Oswald smiled at this explanation. "Believe me, my Lord," 
 continued Corinne, " there is much sincerity among people of 
 lively fancy. To-morrow, if you like, I will take you to the 
 Capitol, and I trust I have many such days in store for you; 
 but — when they are over — must you depart?" She checked 
 herself, fearing that she had said too much. " No, Corinne," cried 
 Oswald, " I cannot renounce this gleam of bliss, which my guar- 
 dian angel seems to shower on me from above." 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 65 
 
 CHAPTER~lf. 
 
 The next day Oswald and Corinne set forth with more codS- 
 dence and calmness. They were friends, and began to say we.) 
 Ah, how affecting is that we, pronounced by love ! What a timid, 
 yet ardent confession does it breathe. " We go to the Capitol, 
 then?" said Corinne. — "Yes, we will!" replied Oswald, and his 
 voice told all in those simple words; so full of gentle tenderness 
 was his accent. " From the top of the Capitol, such as it is now," 
 said Corinne, "we can clearly' see the Seven Hills; we will go 
 over them all in succession ; there is not one but teems with his- 
 torical recollections." They took what was formerly called the 
 sacred or triumphant road. — " Your car passed this way," said 
 Oswald. " It did," answered Corinne : " such venerable dust 
 might have wondered at my presumption ; but since the Roman 
 republic, so many a guilty track hath been imprinted on this road, 
 that the respect it once demanded is decreased." She led him 
 to the stairs of the pres(^t" Capitol; the entrance to the original 
 one was by the Forum. *•-! ■firish," she said, " that these steps 
 were the same which Scipio ascended ; when, repulsing calumny 
 by glorious deeds, he went to offer thanks in the temple for the 
 victories he had won ; but the new staircase and Capitol were 
 built on the ruins of the old, to receive the peaceful magistrate 
 who now monopolizes the high sounding title of Eoman senator, 
 which once extorted reverence from the whole universe. We have 
 but names here now. Yet their classic euphony always creates a 
 thrill of mingled pleasure and regret. I asked a poor woman, 
 whom I met the other day, where she lived. ' On the Tarpeian 
 Rock,' she answered. These words, stripped as they are of all 
 that once attached to them, still exert some power over the fancy." 
 They stopped to observe the two basaltic lions at the foot of the 
 stairs. (9) They came from Egypt, whose sculptors much more 
 faithfully transmitted the forms of animals than that of man. 
 The physiognomy of these lions has all the stern tranquillity, the 
 strength in repose, which we find described by Dante. 
 6* 
 
66 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 "A Guisa di leon — quando si posa." 
 Not far from thenoe is a mutilated Roman statue, which the 
 moderns have placed there, unconscious that they thus display a 
 Striking symbol of Rome as it is. This figure has neither head 
 nor feet ; but the trunk and drapery that remain have still the 
 beauty of antiquity. At the top of the stairs are two colossal 
 statues, thought to represent Castor and Pollux; then come the 
 trophies of Marius ; then the two columns which served to mea- 
 sure the Roman empire ; lastly the statue of Marcus Aurelius, 
 calm and beautiful amid contending memories. Thus the heroic 
 age is personated by these colossal shapes, the republic by the 
 lions, the civil wars by Marius, and the imperial day by Aurelius. 
 
 To the right and left of the modern Capitol two churches have 
 been erected, on the ruins of temples to Jupiter Feretrius and 
 Capitolinus. In front of the vestibule is a fountain, over which 
 the geniuses of the Tiber and the Nile are represented as presi- 
 ding, as does the she-wolf of Romulus. The name of the Tiber 
 is never pronounced like that of an inglorious stream; it is a 
 proud pleasure for a Roman but to say, " Come to the Tiber's 
 banks ! Let us cross the Tiber 1" In breathing such words he 
 seems to invoke the spirit of history, and reanimate the dead. 
 
 Going to the Capitol by the way of the Forum, you find, to 
 your right, the Mamertine prisons, constructed by Ancus Martins 
 for ordinary criminals; but excavated by Servius Tullius into far 
 more cruel dungeons for state culprits; as if they merit not most 
 mercy, who err from a zealous fidelity to what they believe their 
 duty. Jugurtha, and the friends of Catiline, perished in these 
 cells ; it is even said that St. Peter and St. Paul were confined 
 there. On the other side of the Capitol is the Tarpeian Rock, at 
 the foot of which now stands the Hospital of Consolation, as if 
 the severe spirit of antiquity, and the sweet one of Christianity, 
 defying time, here met, as visibly to the eye as to the mind. 
 When Oswald and Corinne had gained the top of the Capitol, 
 she showed him the Seven Hills, and the city, bounded first by 
 Mount Palatinus, then by the walls of Servius Tullius, which in- 
 close the hills, and by those of Aurelian, which still surround the 
 
R , I T A L Y. 67 
 
 greatest part of Eome. Corinne repeated versea of TibuUus and 
 Propertius, that glorify the weak commencement of what became 
 the mistress of the world. (10) Mount Palatinus once contained 
 all Rome; but soon did the imperial palace fill the space that 
 had sufficed for a nation. A poet of Nero's day made this 
 epigram : — 
 
 "Roma domus fiet. Veios migrate, Quirites; 
 Si non et Veioa ocoupat ista domus." 
 
 ' Eome will soon be but one house. Go to Veios, citizens ! if 
 you can be sore that this house will not include even Veios itself.' 
 The Seven Hills are far less lofty now than ,when they deserved 
 the title of steep mountains; modern Eome being forty feet 
 higher than its predecessor, and the valleys which separated them 
 almost filled up by ruins ; but what is still more strange, two heaps 
 of shattered vases have formed new bills, Cestario and Testacio. 
 Thus, in time, the very refuse of civilization levels the rock with 
 the plain, efiacing, in the moral as in the material world, all the 
 pleasing inequalities of nature. 
 
 Three other hills, Janiculum, Vaticanus, and Mario, not com- 
 prised in the famous seven,- give so picturesque an air to Eome, 
 and afibrd such magnificent views from her interior, as perhaps 
 no other city can command. There is so remarkable a mixture 
 of ruins and new buildings, of fair fields and desert wastes, that 
 one may contemplate Eome on all sides, and ever find fresh beau- 
 ties. 
 
 Oswald could not weary of feasting his gaze from the elevated 
 point to which Corinne had led him. The study of history can 
 never act on us like the sight of that scene itself. The eye 
 reigns all powerfully over the soul. He now believed in the old 
 Eomans, as if he had lived amongst them. Mental recollections 
 are acquired by reading; those of imagination are born of more 
 immediate impressions, such as give life to thought, and seem to 
 render us the witnesses of what we learn. Doubtless we are 
 annoyed by the modern dwellings which intrude on these wrecks, 
 yet a portico beside some humble roof, columns between which 
 
68 
 
 the little windows of a church peep out, or a tomb that serves for 
 the abode of a rustic family, sg_blendsjhe ^randjwitt,ihe.siinple, 
 and aifords us so many agreeable discoveries, as to keep up con- 
 tinual interest. Everything is commonplace and prosaic in the 
 generality of European towns ; and Rome, more frequently than 
 any other, presents the sad aspect of misery and degradation ; but 
 all at once some broken column, or half-effaced bas-relief, or a 
 few stones, bound together by indestructible cement, will remind 
 youfthat there is in man an eternal power^ divine spark, which 
 he ought never to weary ot tanning in his own breast, and relu- 
 ming in those of others. The Forum, whose narrow inclosure has 
 been the scene of so many wondrous events, is a striking proof of 
 man's moral greatness. When in the latter days of Rome, the 
 world was subjected to inglorious rulers, centuries passed from 
 which history could scarce extract a single feat. This Forum, the 
 heart of a circumscribed town, whose natives fought around it 
 against the invaders of its territories — this Forum, by the recollec- 
 tions it retraces, has been the theme of genius in every age. 
 Eternal honors to the brave and free, who thus vanquish even 
 the hearts of posterity ! 
 
 Corinne observed to Nevil that there were but few vegtiges left 
 of the republic, or of the regal day which preceded it. The aque- 
 ducts and subterranean canals are the only luxuries remaining, 
 while of aught more useful we have but a few tombs and brick 
 temples. Not till aft«r the fall of Sicily did the Romans adopt 
 the use of marble ; but it is enough to survey the spots on which 
 great actions have been performed ; we experience that indefinite 
 emotion to which we may attribute tbe pions zeal of pilgrims. 
 Celebrated countries of all kinds, even when despoiled of their 
 great men and great works, exert a power over the imagination. 
 That which would once have attracted the eye exists no more; but 
 the charm of memory still survives. 
 
 The Forum now retains no trace of that famed tribunal whence 
 the_peoplewerernled by the force o f eloquen ce. There still 
 exist three pillars of "aT temple to Jupiter Tonans, raised by 
 Augustus, because a thunderbolt had fallen near him there, witb- 
 
CORINNB; OR, ITALY. 69 
 
 out injury. There is, too, the triumphal arch erected by the 
 Senate to requite the exploits of Septimus Severus. The names 
 of his two sons, Caracalla and Geta, were inscribed on its front ; 
 but as Caracalla assassinated his brother, his name was erased; 
 some marks of the letters are yet visible. Farther oif is a tem- 
 ple to Faustina, a monument of the weakness of Marcus Aurelius. 
 A temple to Venus, which, in the republican era, was consecrated 
 to Pallas, and, at a little distance, the relics of another, dedicated 
 to the sun and moon, by the emperor Adrian, wbo was so jealous 
 of the Greek architect Apollodorus, that he put him to death 
 for censuring its proportion. On the other side are seen the 
 remains of buildings devoted to higher and purer aims. The 
 columns of one believed to be that of Jupiter Stator, forbidding 
 the Komans ever to fly before their enemies — the last pillar of 
 the temple to Jupiter Gustos, placed, it is said, near the gulf into 
 which Curtius threw himself — and some belonging either to the 
 Temple of Concord or to that of Victory. Perhaps this resistless 
 people confounded the two ideas, believing that they could only 
 attain true.peace by subduing the universe. At the extremity of 
 Mount Palatinus stands an arch celebrating Titus's conquest at 
 Jerusalem. It is asserted that no Jews will ever pass beneath 
 it; and the little path they take to avoid it is pointed out. We will 
 hope, for the credit of the Jews, that this anecdote is true ; such 
 enduring recollections well become the long-sufi"ering. Not far 
 from hence is the arch of Constantine, embellished by some bas- 
 reliefs, taken from the Forum, in the time of Trajan, by the 
 Christians, who resolved thus to deck the monument of the Founder 
 of Peace. The arts, at this period, were already on the wane, 
 and thefts from the past deified new achievements. 
 
 The triumphal gates still seen in Rome perpetuated, as much 
 as man could do, the respect paid to glory. There were places 
 for musicians at their summits; so that the hero, as he passed, 
 might be intoxicated at once by melody and praise, tasting, at 
 the same moment, all that can exalt the spirit. 
 
 In front of these arches are the ruins of the Temple to Peace 
 built by Vespasian. It was so adorned by bronze and. gold 
 
70 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 within, that when it was consumed by fire, streams of fused metal 
 ran even to the Forum. Finally, the Coliseum, loveliest ruin of 
 Koma ! terminates the circle in which all the epochs of history 
 seem collected for comparison. Those stones, now bereft of 
 marble and of gilding, once formed the arena in which the gladi- 
 ators contended with ferocious beasts. Thus were the Romans 
 amused and duped, by strong excitements, while their natural 
 feelings were denied due power. There were two entrances to 
 the Coliseum; the one devoted to the conquerors, the other that 
 through which they carried the dead. " Sana vivaria, sandapi- 
 laria." Strange scorn of humanity ! to decide beforehand the 
 life or death of man, for mere pastime. Titus, the best of em- 
 perors, dedicated the Coliseum to the Roman people ; and its very 
 ruins bear so admirable a stamp of genius, that one is tempted to 
 deceive one's self on the nature of true greatness, and grant to 
 the triumphs of art the praise which is due but to spectacles that 
 tell of generous institutions. Oswald's enthusiasm equalled not 
 that of Corinne, while beholding these four galleries, rising one 
 above the other, in proud decay, inspiring at once respect and 
 tenderness : he saw but the luxury of rulers, the blood of slaves, 
 and was almost prejudiced against the arts, for thus lavishing 
 their gifts, indiiferent as to the purposes to which they were 
 applied. Corinne attempted to combat this mood. " Do not," 
 she said, " let your principles of justice interfere with a contem- 
 plation like this. I have told you that these objects would rather 
 remind you of Italian taste and elegance than of Roman virtue ; 
 but do you not trace some moral grandeur in the gigantic splen- 
 dor that succeeded it ? The very degradation of the Roman is 
 imposing; while mourning for liberty they strewed theearth with 
 wonders; and ideal beauty sought to solace man for the real 
 dignity he had lost. Lookjoa jhese immen se baths, open to all 
 ^who wished to taste of fti;i ental voluptuou sness; these circles 
 wherein elephants once battled with tigers; these aqueducts, 
 which could instantaneously convert the areas into lakes, where 
 galleys raced in their turn, or crocodiles filled the space just 
 occupied by lions. Such was the luxury of the Romans, when 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 71 
 
 luxury was their pride. These ob/lisks, brought from Egypt, 
 torn from the African's shade to /decorate the sepulchres of 
 Romans ! Can all this be consirfered useless, as the pomp of 
 Asiatic despots? No, you behold! the genius of Eome, the victor 
 of the world, attired by the artsi^ There is something superhu- 
 man and poetical in this magmficence, which makes one forget 
 both its origin and its aim." i— I -i 
 
 The eloquence of Corinnele xcited witb opt convinoingy Oswald. 
 /pes ought J, moral sentiment in all thin g s. aD5"the __magio._g f art ^ 
 could never satisfy him without it. 1 Gorinne now recollected 
 that, in this same arena, the persecuted Christians had fallen vic- 
 tims to their constancy; she pointed out the altars erected to their 
 ashes, and the path towards the cross which the penitents trod 
 beneath the ruins of mundane greatness ; she asked him if the 
 dust of martyrs said nothing to his heart. " Yes," he cried, 
 " deeply do I revere the power of soul and will over distress and 
 deatl& ^a sacrifice, be it what it ma y, is more_ a;i'itinj]«j mnra-nnm- 
 
 ddable 
 
 Jendable than all the efforts of g enius^X Exalted imagination 
 rSay workiriiracles ; but it is only when we immolate self to prin- 
 ciple that we are truly virtuous. Then alone does a celestial 
 power subdue the mortal in our breasts." These pure and noble 
 words disturbed Corinne : she gazed on Nevil, then cast down her 
 eyes ; and though at the same time he took her hand, and pressed 
 it to his heart, she trembled to think thatfsuch a man might de- 
 Yot^ him self or others to despair, in his adherence to ffie'opiriions 
 ^ties of whic h be might makecho ioeA^ " 
 
 t-p^ CHAPTER V. 
 
 Corinne and Nevil employed two days in wandering over the 
 Seven Hills. The Romans formerly held a fgte in their honor : 
 it is one of Rome's original beauties to be thus embraced, and 
 patriotism naturally loved to celebrate such a peculiarity. Oswald 
 and Corinne having already viewed the Capitoline Hill, recom- 
 
72 CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 menced their course at Mount Falatinus. The palace of the 
 Caesars, called the Golden Palace, once occupied it entirely. 
 Augustus, Tiberius, Caligula, and Nero, built its four sides : a 
 heap of stones, overgrown with shrubs, is all that now remains. 
 Nature reclaimed her empire over the works of man ; and her fair 
 flowers atone for the fall of a palace. In the regal and republican 
 eras, grandly as towered their public buildings, private houses 
 were extremely small and simple. Cicero, Hortensius, and the 
 Grachii, dwelt on this eminence, which hardly suflEiced, in the de- 
 cline of Rome, for the abode of a single man. In the latter ages 
 the nation was but a nameless mass, designated solely by the eras 
 of its masters. The laurels of war and that of the arts cultivated 
 by peace, which were planted at the gate of Augustus, have both 
 disappeared. Some of Livia's baths are left. You are shown the 
 places wherein were set the precious stones, then lavished on 
 walls or ceilings, and paintings of which the colors are still fresh : 
 their delicacy rendering this yet more surprising. If it be true 
 that Livia caused the death of Augustus, it was in one of these 
 chambers that the outrage must have been conceived. How often 
 may his gaze have been arrested by these pictures, whose tasteful 
 garlands still survive ? The master of the world betrayed in his 
 nearest affections ! what thought his old age of life and its vain 
 pomps? Did he reflect on his glory, or its victims? Hoped he 
 or feared a future world ? Might not the last thought, which re- 
 veals all to man, stray back to these halls, the scenes of his past 
 power? (11) 
 
 Mount Aventinus affords more traces of Home's early day than 
 any of its sister hills. Exactly facing the palace constructed by 
 Tiberius is seen a wreck of the temple to Liberty, built by the 
 father of the Grachii ; and at the foot of this ascent stood that 
 dedicated to the Fortune of Men, by Serviiis Tullius, to thank 
 the gods that, though born a slave, he had become a king. With- 
 out the walls of Rome another edifice rose to the Fortune of 
 woman, commemorating the influence exerted by Venturia over 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 Opposite to Mount Aventinus is Mount Janiculum, on which 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 73 
 
 Porsenna marshalled his army. It was in front of this hill that 
 Horatius Cooles cut awaj? the bridge, which led to Rome : its 
 foundations still exist. On the banks of the stream was built a 
 brick arch, simple as the action it recalled was great. In the 
 midst of the Tiber floated an island formed of the wheat, sheaves 
 gathered from the fields of Tarquin ; the Eomans forbearing to 
 use them, in the belief that they were charged with evil fate. It 
 would be difficult, in our own day, to call down on any treasure a 
 curse of sufficient efficacy to scare men from its participation. 
 
 On Mount Aventinus were temples both to patrician and ple- 
 beian chastity : at the foot of thie hill the Temple of Vesta still 
 remains, almost entire, though the inundations of the Tiber have 
 often threatened to destroy it. Not far thence are vestiges of a 
 prison for debt, QThere the well-known instance of filia l piety is, 
 Knifl to hnfr nnnirnjj]^h"rr7tf>r', '^'Ifrlin find hfr cnrnpntiinTi'"! were 
 confined by Porsenna, and swam across the river to rejoin the 
 Romans. Mount Aventinus indemnifies the mind for all the 
 painful recollections the other hills awake ; and its aspect is as 
 beauteous as its memories are sweet. The banks at its foot were 
 called the Lovely Strand (^pulchrum littus). Thither the orators 
 of Rome walked from the Forum : there Caesar and Pompey met 
 like simple citizens, and sought to conciliat ef Cicero, whosfi- inde- 
 p endent eloquence was pX gX'ie-weighjUihan even the power fif their 
 irmip'i?'- Poetry also has embellished this spot : it was there that 
 Virgil placed the cave of Cacus ; and Rome, so great in history, is 
 still greater by the heroic fictions with which her fabulous origin 
 has been decked. In returning from Mount Aventinus, you see 
 the house of Nicolas Rienzi, who vainly strove to restore the spirit 
 of antiquity in modern days. 
 
 Mount Coelius is remarkable for the remains of a pretorian en- 
 campment, and that of the foreign troops : on the ruins of the 
 latter was found an inscription : " To the Holy Genius of the 
 Foreign Camp." Holy, indeed, to those whose power it sustained I 
 What is left of these barracks proves that they were built like 
 cloisters ; or, rather, that cloisters were formed after their model. 
 
 Esquilinus was called the "Poet's Hill;" Maecenas, Horace, 
 7 
 
74 corinne; oe, itait. 
 
 Propertius, and Tibullus having all houses there. Near this are 
 the ruins of the baths of Trajan and Titus. It is believed that 
 Eaphael copied his arabesques from the frescoes of the latter : 
 here, too, was the Laocoon discovered. The freshness of water is 
 so acceptable in fervid climes, that their natives love to collect all 
 that can pamper the senses in the chambers where they bathe. 
 Thus, by the light of lamps, did the Romans gaze on the che/s- 
 d'ceuvres of painting and sculpture ; for it appears from the con- 
 struction of these buildings that day never entered them : they 
 were sheltered from the noontide rays, so piercing here as fully to 
 deserve the title of Apollo's darts. Yet the extreme precautions 
 taken by the ancients might induce a supposition that the climate 
 was more burning then than now. In the baths of Caracalla were 
 the Farnese Hercules, the Flora, and the group of Circe. Near 
 Ostia, in the baths of Nero, was found the Apollo Belvidere. Can 
 we look on that noble figure and conceive Nero destitute of all 
 generous sentiments ? 
 
 The baths and circusses are the only places of public amuse- 
 ment that have left their vestige. Though the ruins of Marcellus's 
 theatre still exist, Pliny relates that three hundred and sixty 
 marble pillars, and three thousand statues, were placed in a the- 
 atre incapable of lasting many days. The Romans, however, 
 soon built with a solidity that defied the earthquake's shock : too 
 soon they wasted like pains on edifices which they destroyed 
 themselves when the fetes held in them were concluded; thus, in 
 every sense sported they with time. They had not the Grecian's 
 mania for dramatic representations : the fine arts then flourished 
 at Rome only in the works of Greece ; and Roman grandeur con- 
 sisted rather in colossal architecture than in efforts of imagination. 
 The gigantic wonders thus produced bore a very dignified stamp, 
 no longer of liberty, but that of power still. The districts de- 
 voted to the public baths were called provinces, and united all the 
 varied establishments to be found in a whole country. The great 
 circus so nearly touched the imperial palace, that Nero, from his 
 window, could give a signal for the commencement of the games. 
 This circus was large enough to contain three hundred thousand 
 
COBllVNJfi; OB, ITALY. 75 
 
 people. Almost the whole nation might be amused at the same 
 moment; and these immense festivals might be considered as po- 
 pular institutions, which assembled for mere pleasure those who 
 formerly united for glory. Mounts Quirinalis and Viminalis are 
 so near each other that it is not easy to distinguish them apart. 
 There stood the houses of Sallust and of Pompey. There, too, in 
 the present day, does the pope resideJjZ jQne cannot take a single 
 step in Rome, without contrasting its present and its past. But 
 one learns to view the events of one's own time the more calmly 
 for noting the eternal fluctuations that mark the history of man ; 
 and one feels ashamed to repine, in the presence, as it were, of so 
 many centuries, who have all overthrown the achievements of 
 their predecessors. Around, and on the Seven Hills, are seen a 
 multitude of spires and obelisks, the columns of Trajan and of 
 Antoninus, the tower of Conti, whence, it is said, Nero overlooked 
 the conflagration of Eome, and the dome of St. Peter's lording it 
 over the highest. The air seems peopled by these heaven-aspiring 
 fanes, as if an aerial city soared majestic above that of the earth. 
 In re-entering Home, Corinne led Oswald beneath the portico of 
 the tender and suffering Octaviaj they then crossed the road 
 along which the infamous Tullia drove over the body of her fa- 
 ther : they beheld, in the distance, the temple raised by Agrip- 
 pina in honor of Claudius, whom she had caused to be poisoned ; 
 finally, they passed the tomb of Augustus, the inclosure around 
 which now serves as an arena for animal combats. 
 
 "I have led you rapidly," said Corinne, "over a few foot- 
 prints of ancient history; but you can appreciate the pleasure which 
 may be found in researches at once sage and poetic, addressing 
 the fancy as well as the reason. There are many distinguished 
 men in Rome whose sole occupation is that of discovering new 
 links between our ruins and our history." " I know no study 
 which could interest me more," replied Nevil, " if I felt my mind 
 sufficiently composed for it. Such erudition is far more animated 
 than that we acquire from books : we seem to revive what we un- 
 veil ; and the past appears to rise from the dust which concealed 
 it." " Doubtless," said Corinne, this passion for antiquity is no 
 
76 CORINNEJOE, ITALY. 
 
 idle prejudice. We live in an age when self-interest seems the 
 ruling principle of all men; what sympathy, what enthusiasm, 
 can ever be its result ? Is it not sweeter to dream over the days 
 of self-devotion and heroic sacrifice, which might once have ex- 
 isted, nay, of which the earth still bears such honorable traces ?" 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 s^a^ 
 
 (iU 
 
 CoRiNNE secretly flattered herself that she haf captivated the 
 heart of Oswald ; yet knowing his severe reserve^ dared not fully 
 betray the interest he inspired, prompt as she ■v|'as by nature to 
 confess her feelings. Perhaps she even thoughtjthat while speak- 
 ing on subjects foreign to their love, the veryy oice)might disclose 
 their mutual affection ; |a silent a vowal be exp ressed in their looks,, 
 or in that v eiled and melancholy language which so deeply pene- 
 t rates the soul. \ 
 
 One morning, while she was preparing to continue their re- 
 searches, she received from him an almost ceremonious note, 
 saying that indisposition would confine him to his house for some 
 days. A sad disquietude seized the heart of Corinne : at first, she 
 feared that he was dangerously ill; but Count d'Erfeuil, who 
 called in the evening, informed her that it was but one of those 
 nervous attacks to which Nevil was so subject, and during which 
 he would converse with nobody. " He won't even see me .'" added 
 the count. The words displeased Corinne; but she took care 
 to hide her anger from its object, as he alone could bring her 
 tidings of his friend. She therefore continued to question him, 
 trusting that a person so giddy, at least in appearance, would tell 
 her all he knew. But whether he wished to hide, beneath an air 
 of mystery, the fact that Nevil had confided nothing, or whether 
 he believed it more honourable to thwart her wishes than to grant 
 them, he met her ardent curiosity by imperturbable silence. She, 
 who had always gained such an ascendency over those with whom 
 
'' CORINNl!; OR, ITALY. 77 
 
 sheCTok^, could not understand why her p^sjjasivejjlQjjers should 
 fail with him. She did not know that sejfjove is the most in- 
 flgsible quality in the world. Where was then her resource for 
 learning whaf"paise3'tn"tFe heart of Oswald ? Should she write 
 to him? A letter requires such caution; and the loveliest attri- 
 bute of her nature was its impulsive sincerity. Three days passed, 
 and still he came not. She suffered the most cruel agitation. 
 " What have I done," she thought, " to dissever him from me ? 
 I have not committed the error so formidable in England, so par- 
 donable in Italy ; I never told him that I loved. Even if he 
 guesses it, why should he esteem me the less 1" Oswald avoided 
 Corinne merely because he but too strongly felt the power of her 
 charms. Although he had not given his word to marry Lucy 
 Edgarmond, he knew that such had been h is father's wish, and 
 desired to conform with it. Corinne was not known by her real 
 name : she had for many years led a life far too independent for 
 him to hope that a union with her would have obtained the ap- 
 probation of his parent, and he felt that it was not by such a step 
 he could expiate his early offences. He purposed to leave Rome, 
 and write Corinne an explanation of the motives which enforced 
 such resolution ; but not feeling strength for this, he limited his 
 exertions to a forbearance from visiting her; and this sacrifice 
 soon appeared the most painful of the two. 
 
 Corinne was struck by the idea that she should see him no more; 
 that he would fly without bidding her adieu. She expected every 
 instant to hear of his departure ; and terror so aggravated her sen- 
 sations, that the vulture talons of passion seized at once on her 
 heart; and its peace, its liberty, crouched beneath them. Unable 
 to rest in the house where Oswald came not, she wandered in the 
 gardens of Rome, hoping to meet him ; she had at least some 
 chance of seeing him, and best supported the hours during which 
 she trusted to this expectation. 
 
 "THer ardent fancy, the source of hei^alentj) was unhappily 
 blended with such natural feeling, th/t it now constituted her 
 wretchedness^ The evening of thefM(rth day's absence the moon 
 shone clearly over Rome, which, ift the silence of night, looks 
 
78 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 lovely, as if it were inhabited but by the spirits of the great. 
 Gorinne, on her way from the house of a female friend, left her 
 carriage, and, oppressed with grief, seated herself beside the fount 
 of Trevi, whose abundant cascade falls in the centre of Rome, and 
 seems the life of that tranquil scene. Whenever its flow is sus- 
 pended, all appears stagnation. In other cities it is the roll of 
 carriages that the ear requires ; in Eome it is the murmur of this 
 immense fountain, which seems the indispensable accompaniment 
 of the dreamy life led there. Its water is so pure, that it has for 
 many ages been named the Virgin Spring. The form of Gorinne 
 was now reflected on its surface. Oswald, who had paused there 
 at the same moment, beheld the enchanting countenance of his 
 / love thus mirrored in the wave : at first, it affected him so strangely 
 that he believed himself gazing on herphantom, as his imagina- 
 tion had often conjured up that of his Cfet"he £? he leaned forward, 
 in order to see it more plainly, and his own features appeared 
 beside those of Gorinne. She recognised them, shrieked, rushed 
 towards him and seized his arm, as if she feared he would again 
 escape ; but scarcely had she yielded to thjg too impetuous im- 
 pulse, ere, remembering the character of Lord Nevil, she blushed, 
 her hand dropped, and with the other she covered her face to hide 
 her tears. 
 
 "Gorinne! dear Gorinne!" he cried, "has then my absence 
 pained you 1" — " Yes," she replied, " you must have known it 
 would. Why then inflict such pangs on me ? Have I deserved 
 to suffer thus for you 1" — " No, no," he answered ; " but if I 
 cannot deem myself free — if my heart be filled by regret and 
 fear, why should I involve you in its tortures ? Why ?" — " It is 
 too late to ask," interrupted Gorinne ; " grief is already in my 
 jjjreast; "bear with me!" — "Grief!" repeated Oswald; "in the 
 -Anidst of so brilliant a career, withsp lively a genias !" — "Hold," 
 she said, " you knoB_Jsenot. /Of a ll m y faculties, th e nigst 
 pcjworful is that oF^suffering/) Lwasformed for hapj)inessxjny_ 
 nature is confiding ^(1 animated ; /out^sorrow excites-jae_tQ _a_ 
 degree that threatens m y rea.son^ njiy, mv life.? Be careful of 
 me ! My gay versatility serves me but in appearance : withia 
 
CORINNEJOE, ITALY. 79 
 
 my soul is an abyss of despair, which I can only avoid by pre- 
 serving myself from love." Corinne spoke with an expression 
 which vividly affected Oswald. " I will come to you to-morrow, 
 rely on it, Corinne," he said. " Swear it !" she exclaimed, with 
 an eagerness which she strove in vain to disguise. " I do," he 
 answered, and departed. 7 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 THE TOMBS, CHURCHES, AND PALACES. 
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The next day Oswald and Corinne met in great embarrassment. 
 be could no lon^rer depend on t^ he_I ove she had jng^ed. He 
 was dissatisfied with himself, and felt his own weakness rebel 
 against the tyranny of his sentiments. Both sought to avoid the 
 subject of their mutual affection. "To-day," said Corinne, "I 
 proposed a somewhat solemn excursion, but one which will be sure 
 to interest you ; let us visit the last asylums of those who lived 
 among the edifices we have seen in ruins." — " You have guessed 
 what would most suit my present disposition," said Oswald, in so 
 sad a tone, that she dared not speak again for some moments ; 
 then gaining courage from her desire to soothe and entertain him, 
 she added : " You know, my Lord, that among the ancients, far 
 from the sight of tombs discouraging the living, they were placed 
 in the high road, to kindle emulation ; the young were thus con- 
 stantly reminded of the illustrious dead, who seemed silently to 
 bid them imitate their glories." — " Ah I" sighed Oswald, " how I 
 envy those whose regrets are unstained by remorse." — " Talk ^ou 
 of remorse ?" she cried ; " then it is but one virtue the more, the 
 scruples of a heart whose exalted delicacy — " He interrupted 
 her. " Corinne ! Corinne ! do not approach that theme ; in your 
 
80 ^ ^1*^ oorinne; or, ita jY. 
 
 blest land gloomy thoughts are exhaled by the brightness of hea- 
 ven; but with/us/grief buries itself in the depths of the'feoul, and 
 shatters its strength forever." — "You do me injustice," she 
 replied. "I have told you that, capable as I am of enjoyment, I 
 should suffer more than you, if — " she paused, and changed the 
 subject ; continuing, " My only wish, my Lord, is to divert your 
 mind for awhile. I ask no more." The meekness of this -reply 
 touched Oswald's heart; and, as he marked the melancholy 
 beauty of those eyes, usually so full of fire, he reproached himself 
 with having thus depressed a spirit so framed for sweet and joy- 
 ous impressions ; he would fain have restored them ; but Corinne's 
 uncertainty of his intentions, as to his stay or departure, entirely 
 disordered her accustomed serenity. — ^ t^^/VKx''^^^^^*^^^CJ\^ 
 
 She led him through the gates to the old Appian Way, whose 
 tiaces are marked in the heart of the country by ruins on the 
 right and left, for many miles beyond the walls. The Eomans 
 did not permit the dead to be buried within the city. None but 
 the emperors were there interred, except one citizen named Pub- 
 lius Biblius, who was thus recompensed for his humble virtues ; 
 such as, indeed, his contemporaries were most inclined to honor. 
 To reach the Appian Way you leave Eome by the gate of St. 
 Sebastian, formerly called the Capena Gate. The first tomhs you 
 then find, Cicero assures us, are those of Metellus, of Scipio, and 
 Servilius. The tomb of the Scipio family was found here, and 
 afterwards removed to the Vatican. It is almost sacrilege to dis- 
 place sueh ashes. Imagination is more nearly allied to morality 
 than is believed, and ought not to be offended. Among so many 
 tombs names must be strewn at random; there is no way of 
 deciding to which such or such title belongs; but this very uncer- 
 tainty prevents our looking on any of them with indifference. It 
 was in such that the peasants made their homes ; for the Romans 
 consecrated quite space enough to the urns of their illustrious 
 fellow-citizens. They had not that principle of utility which, for 
 the sake of cultivating a few feet of ground the more, lays waste 
 the vast domain of feeling and of thought. At some distance 
 from the Appian Way is a temple raised by the republic to 
 
corinne; or, italy. 81 
 
 Honor and to Virtue ; another to the god who caused the return 
 of Hannibal. There, too, is the fountain of Egeria; where in 
 solitude Numa conversed with Conscience, the divinity of the 
 good. No monument of guilt invades the repose of these great 
 beings ; the earth around is sacred to the memory of worth. The 
 noblest thoughts may reign there undisturbed. The aspect of 
 the country near Rome is remarkably peculiar; it is but a desert, 
 as boasting neither trees nor houses ; but the ground is covered 
 with wild shrubs ceaselessly renewed by energetic vegetation. 
 The parasitic tribes creep round the tombs, and decorate the 
 ruins, as if in honor of their dead. Proud nature, conscious that 
 no Cincinnatus now guides the plough that furrows her breast, 
 there repulses the care of man, and produces plants which she 
 permits not to serve the living. These uncultivated plains may, 
 indeed, displease those who speculate on the earth's capacity for 
 supplying human wants ; but the pensive mind, more occupied by 
 thoughts of death than of life, loves to contemplate the Campagna, 
 on which present time has imprinted no trace ; it cherishes the dead, 
 and fondly covers them with useless flowers,, that bask beneath 
 the sun, but never aspire above the ashes which they appear tc 
 caress. Oswald admitted that in such a scene a calm might be 
 regained that could be enjoyed nowhere beside. The soul is 
 there less wodnded by images of sorrow ; it seems to partake, with 
 those now no more, the charm of that air, that sunlight, and that 
 verdure. Corinne drew some hope from observing the effect thus 
 taken on him; she wished not to efface the just regret owed to 
 the loss of his father; but regret itself is capable of sweets, with 
 which we should try to familiarize those who have tasted but its 
 bitterness, for that is the only blessing we can confer on them. 
 
 " Let us rest," said Corinne, " before this tomb, which remains 
 almost entire : it is not that of a celebrated man, but of a young 
 girl, Cecilia Metella, to whom her father raised it." — " Happy 
 the children," sighed Oswald, " who die on the bosom that gave ' 
 them life : for them even death must lose its sting." — " Ay," 
 replied Corinne, with emotion, " happy those who are not orphans. 
 But look ! arms are sculptured here : the daughters of heroes had a 
 
82 COEINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 right to bear the trophies of their sires : fair union of innocence 
 and valor ! There is an elegy, by Propertius, which, better than 
 any other writing of antiquity, describes the dignity of woman 
 among the Romans; a dignity more pure and more commanding 
 than even that which she enjoyed during the age of chivalry. 
 Cornelia, dying in her youth, addresses to her husband a consola 
 tory farewell, whose every word breathes her tender respect for 
 all that is sacred in the ties of nature. The noble pride of a 
 blameless life is well depicted in the majestic Latin ; in poetry 
 august and severe as the masters of the world. ' Yes,' says Cor- 
 nelia, ' no stain has sullied my career, from the hour when 
 Hymen's torch was kindled, even to that which lights my funeral 
 pyre. I have lived spotless between two flames.'(12) What an 
 admirable expression ! what a sublime image ! How enviable 
 the woman who preserves this perfect unity in her fate, and car- 
 ries but one remembrance to the grave ! That were enough for" 
 one life.'' As she ceased, her eyes filled with tears. A cruel 
 suspicion seized the heart of Oswald. " Corinne," he cried, " has 
 your delicate mind aught with which to reproach you? If I 
 could offer you myself, should I not have rivals in the past? 
 Could I pride in my choice ? Might not jealousy disturb my 
 delight ?" — "I am free," replied Corinne, " and love you as I 
 
 - never loved before. What would you have ? Must I confess, that, 
 ire I knew you, I might have deceived myself as to the interest with 
 which others inspired me ? Is there no divinity in man's heart for 
 the errors which, beneath such illusions, might have been commit- 
 ted ?" A modest glow overspread her face. Oswald shuddered, 
 but was silent. There was such timid penitence in the looks of 
 Corinne, that he could not rigorously judge one whom a ray from 
 heaven seemed descending to absolve. He pressed her hand to his 
 heart, and knelt before her, without uttering a promise, indeed, 
 but with a glance of love which left her all to hope. " Let us 
 
 . form no plan for years to comej .'^he said : " the happiest hours 
 of life are those benevolently granted us by chance : it is not 
 here, in the midst of tombs, that we should trust much to the 
 future." — "No," cried Nevil; "I believe in no future that can 
 part us : four days of absence have but too well convinced me that 
 
CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 83 
 
 . Corinne made no reply, but religiously 
 hoarded theae precious words in her heart ; she always feared, in 
 prolonging a conversation on the only subject of her thoughts, 
 lest Oswald should declare his intentions before a longer habit 
 of being with her rendered separation impossible. She often de- j 
 signedly directed his attention to exterior objects, like the sultana 
 in the Arabian tales, who sought by a thousand varied stories to , 
 ^pti rate her beloved^^ nd defer his decision of her fate, till certain 
 tEaTher wit must prove victorious. _ » 
 
 CHAPTEB, II. 
 
 Not far from the Appian Way is seen the Columbarium, where 
 slaves are buried with their lords; where the same tomb contains 
 all who dwelt beneath the protection of one master or mistress. 
 The women devoted to the care of Livia's beauty, who contended 
 with time for the preservation of her charms, are placed in small 
 urns beside her. The noble and ignoble there repose in equal 
 silence. At a little distance is the field wherein vestals, unfaith- 
 ful to their vows were interred alive; a singular example of 
 fanaticism in a religion naturally so tolerant, 
 
 " I shall not take you to the catacombs," said Corinne, " though, 
 by a strange chance, they lie beneath the Appian Way, tombs 
 upon tombs ! But that asylum of persecuted Christians is so 
 gloomy and terrible, that I cannot resolve to revisit it, It has 
 not the touching melancholy which one breathes in open wilds ; 
 it is a dungeon near a sepulchre — the tortures of existence beside 
 the horrors of death. Doubtless one must admire men who, by 
 the mere force of enthusiasm, could support that subterranean 
 life — forever banished from the sun; but the soul is too ill at 
 ease in such a scene to be benefited by it. Man is a part of crea- 
 tion, and finds his own moral harmony in that of the universe ; in 
 the habitual order of fate, violent exceptions may astonish, but 
 they create too much terror to be of service. Let us rather seek 
 the pyramid of Cestius, around which all Protestants who die 
 
84 CORINNEJOE, ITALY. 
 
 here find charitable graves." — "Yes," returned Oswald, "many 
 a countryman of mine is amongst them. Let us go there ; in one 
 sense at least, perhaps, I shall never leave you." Corinne's hand 
 trembled on his arm. He continued, "Yet I am much better 
 since I have known you." Her countenance resumed its wonted 
 air of tender joy. 
 
 Cestius presided over the Roman sports. His name is not 
 found in history, but rendered famous by his tomb. The massive 
 pyramid that inclosed him defends his death from the oblivion 
 which has utterly effaced his life. Aurelian, fearing that this 
 pyramid would be used but as a fortress from whence to attack 
 the city, had it surrounded by walls which still exist, not as use- 
 less ruins, but as the actual boundaries of modern Kome. It is 
 said that pyramids were formed in imitation of the flames that 
 rose from funeral pyres. Certainly their mysterious shape attracts 
 the eye, and gives a picturesque character to all the views of 
 which they constitute a part. 
 
 In front of this pyramid is Mount Testacio, beneath which are 
 several cool grottoes, where fgtes are held in the summer. If, at 
 a distance, the revellers see pines and cypresses shading their 
 smiling land and recalling a solemn consciousness of death, this 
 contrast produces the same effect with the lines which Horace has 
 written in the midst of verses teeming with earthly enjoyment : 
 
 " Moritttre Delli, 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Linqnenda tellus, et domns, et placens 
 Uxor." 
 
 ' Dellius, remember thou must die — leaving the world, thy home, 
 and gentle wife.' The ancients acknowledged this in their very 
 voluptuousness ; even love and festivity reminded them of it, and 
 joy seemed heightened by a sense of its brevity. 
 
 Oswald and Corinne returned by the side of the Tiber; formerly 
 covered with vessels, and banked by palaces. Of yore, even its 
 inundations were regarded as omens. It was then the prophetic, 
 the tutelar divinity of Eome,(13) It may now be said to flow 
 among phantoms, so livid is its hue — so deep its loneliness. The 
 
oorinne; or, italt. 85 
 
 finest statues and other works of art were thrown into the Tiber, 
 and are hidden beneath its tides. Who knows but that, in search 
 of them, the river may at last be driven from its bed ? But, while 
 we muse on eflFort-s of human genius that lie, perhaps, beneath 
 us, and that some eye, more piercing than our own, may yet see 
 through these waves, we feel that awe which, in Rome, is con- 
 stantly reviving in various forms, and giving the mind companions 
 in those physical objects which are elsewhere dumb. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Raphael said that modern Rome was almost entirely built 
 from the ruins of the ancient city ; Pliny had talked of the " eter- 
 nal walls," which are still seen amid the works of latter times. 
 Nearly all the buildings bear the stamp of history, teaching you 
 to compare the physiognomies of different ages. From the days 
 of the Etruscans — a people senior to the Romans themselves, re- 
 sembling the Egyptians in the solidity and eccentricity of their de- 
 signs — down to the.time of Bernini, an artist, as guilty of mannerism 
 as were the Italian poets of the seventeenth century, one may trace 
 the progress of the hiiman mind, in the characters of the arts, the 
 buildings, and ruins. The Middle Ages and the brilliant day of the 
 De Medici, reappearing in their works, it is but to study the past 
 in the present, to penetrate the secrets of all time. It is believed 
 that Rome had formerly a mystic name, known but to few. The 
 city has still spells, into which we require initiation. It is not 
 simply an assemblage of dwellings; it is a chronicle of the world, 
 represented by figurative emblems. Corinne agreed with Nevil, 
 that they would now explore modern Rome, reserving for another 
 opportunity its admirable collection of pictures and statues. Per. 
 haps, without confessing it to herself, she wished to defer these 
 sights as long as possible : for who has ever left Rome, without 
 looking on the Apollo Belvidere and the paintings of Raphael ? 
 This security, weak as it was, that Qgwald would not yet depart, 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 86 
 
 was everything to her. Whore is their pride ? some may ask, who 
 
 would retain those they love by any other motive than that of 
 
 affection. I know not— but,Vihemore_weJove^_theless we rely 
 
 ,on our own po we^; and, whateveTbe the cause whicTsecures uS 
 
 "the pr'es^'iice of the object dear to us, it is accepted with gratitude. 
 
 There is often much yanity in a certain species of pride ; and if 
 
 I women, as generally admired as Corinne, have one real advantage, 
 
 it is the right to exult rather in what they feel than in what they 
 
 inspire. 
 
 Corinne and Nevil recommenced their excursions, by visiting 
 the most remarkable among the numerous churches of Rome. 
 They are all adorned by magnificent antiquities; but these festal 
 ornaments, torn from pagan temples, have here a strange, wild 
 effectS^Grranite and porphyry pillars are so plentiful, that they 
 are lavished as if almost valueless. At St. John Lateran, famed 
 for the councils that have been held in it, so great is ihe quantity 
 of marble columns, that many of them are covered with cement, 
 to form pilasters; thus indifferent has this profusion of riches 
 rendered its possessors. Some of these pillars belonged to the 
 Tomb of Adrian, others to the Capitol; some still bear the forms 
 of the geese which preserved the Eomans ; others have Gothic 
 and even Arabesque embellishments. The urn of Agrippa con- 
 tains the ashes of a pope. The dead of one generation give place 
 to the dead of another, and tombs here as often change their oc- 
 cupants as the abodes of the living. Near St. John Lateran are 
 the holy stairs, brought, it is said, from Jerusalem, and which no 
 one ascends but on his knees; as Claudius, and even Caesar, 
 mounted those which led to the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. 
 Beside St. John's is the front where Constantino is supposed to 
 have been baptized. In the centre of this ground is an obelisk, 
 perhaps the most ancient work of art in the world — contemporary 
 with the Trojan war — so respected, even by the barbarous Cam- 
 byses, that he put a -stop to the conflagration of a city in its ho- 
 nor; and, for its sake, a king pledged the life of his only son. 
 The Romans brought it from the heart of Egypt by miracle. They 
 turned the Nile from his course that it might be found, and car- 
 
coeinne; oa, Italy. 87 
 
 ried to the sea. This obelisk is still covered' with hieroglyphics, 
 which have kept their, secret for' centuries, and defy the sages of 
 to-day to decipher signs that might reveal the annals of India and 
 of Egypt — the antiquities of antiquity ! The wondrous charm of 
 Rome consists not only in the real beauty of her monuments, but 
 in the interest they excite; the material for thinking they sug- 
 gest ; the speculations which grow, every day, the stronger from 
 each C3W study. 
 
 One of the most singular churches in Rome is St. Paul's : its 
 exterior is that of an ill-built barn ; yet it is bedecked within by 
 eighty pillars of such exquisite material and proportion, that they 
 are believed to have been transported from an Athenian temple, 
 described by Pausanias. If Cicero said, in his day, " we are sur- 
 rounded by vestiges of history," what would he say now ? Co- 
 lumns, statues, and pictures are so prodigally crowded in the 
 churches of modern Rome, that, in St. Agnes' s, bas-reliefs, turned 
 face downwards, serve to pave a staircase, no one troubling him- 
 self to ascertain what they might represent. How astonishing a 
 spectacle were ancient Rome, had its treasures been left where 
 they were found ! The immortal city, nearly as it was of yore, 
 were still before us : but could the men of our day dare to enter 
 it ? The palaces of the Roman lords are vast in the extreme, and 
 often display much architectural grace; but their interiors are 
 rarely arranged by good taste. They have none of those ele- 
 gant apartments invented elsewhere for the perfect enjoyment 
 of social life. Superb galleries, hung with the chefs-d' osuvre of 
 the tenth Leo's age are abandoned to the gaze of strangers, by 
 their lazy proprietors, who retire to their own obscure little 
 chambers, dead to the pomp of their ancestors, as were they to the 
 austere virtues of the Roman republic. The country-houses give 
 one a still greater idea of solitude, and of their owners' careless- 
 ness amid the loveliest scenes of nature. One walks immense 
 gardens, doubting if they have a master; the grass grows in 
 every path, yet in these very alleys are the trees cut into shapes^ 
 after the fantastic mode that once reigned in Prance. Strange 
 inconsistency ! this neglect of essentials, and affectation in what 
 
88 CORINNEJOK, ITALT. 
 
 is useless ! Most Italian towns, indeed, surprise us with this 
 mania, in a people who have constantly beneath their eyes such 
 models of noble simplicity. They prefer glitter to convonienee ; 
 and in every way betray the advantages and disadvantages of not 
 habitually mixing with society. Their luxury is rather that of 
 fancy than of comfort. Isolated among themselves, they dread 
 not that spirit of ridicule, which, in truth, seldom penetrates the 
 interior of Eoman abodes. Contrasting this with what they 
 appear from without, dne might say that they were rather built 
 to dazzle the peasantry than for the reception of friends. 
 
 After having shown Oswald the churches and the palaces, Co- 
 rinne led him to the Villa Melini, whose lonely garden is orna. 
 mentsd solely by majestic trees. From thence is seen afar the 
 chain of the Apennines, tinted by the tran.fparent air, against 
 which their outlines are defined most picturesquely. Oswald and 
 Corinne rested for some time, to taste the charms of heaven and 
 the tranquillity of nature. No one who has not dwelt in south- 
 ern climes can form an idea of this stirless silence, unbroken by 
 the lightest zephyr. The tenderest blades of herbage remain per- 
 fectly motionless ; even the animals partake this noontide lassi- 
 tude. You hear no hum of insects, no chirp of grasshoppers, no 
 song of birds ; nothing is agitated, all sleeps, till storm or passion 
 waken that natural vehemence which impetuously rushes from 
 this profound repose. The Roman garden possesses a great 
 number of evergreens, that, during winter, add to the illusion 
 which the mild air creates. The tufted tops of pines, so close 
 to each other that they form a kind of plain in the air, have a 
 charming effect from any eminence ; trees of inferior stature are 
 sheltered by this verdant arch. Only two palms are to be found 
 in the Monks' Gardens : one is on a height ; it may be seen from 
 some distance always with pleasure. In returning towards the 
 city, this image of a meridian more burning than that of Italy 
 awakens a host of agreeable sensations. 
 
 "Do you not find," said Corinne, "that nature here gives 
 birth to reveries elsewhere unknown ? She is as intimate with 
 the heart of man as if the Creator made her the interpretress 
 
COaiNNE; OR, ITALY. 89 
 
 between his creatures and himself." — " I feel all this," replied 
 Oswald ; 'f yet it may be but your melting influence which ren- 
 ders Kie so isusceptible. fe"ou reveal to me,.eiaQtions, which.jexteti,o)i 
 objects may c r. egie. I liveTbut in~m ^h t !tti4 - ; y g lTlTaverfiv ivfid mv 
 ^agiilatron.\ But the magic of the universe, which you teach me 
 to appfmate, will never o§^:v}e aught lovelier than your looks, 
 more touching than yonr'^ic^' — " May the feeling I kindle in 
 your breast to-day," saia Connne, " last as longas my life ; or, at 
 least, ^ay my life last no longer than your love ?\ They finished 
 their tour of Home by the V ilia isorghese. Inno Eoman palace 
 or garden are the splendors of nature and art collected so taste- 
 fully. Every kind of tree, superb waterfalls, with an incredible 
 blending of statues, vases, and sarcophagi, here reanimate the 
 mythology of the land. Naiads recline beside the streams . 
 nymphs start from thickets worthy of such guests. Tombs 
 repose beneath Elysian shades; Esoulapius stands in the centre 
 of an island; Venus appears gliding from a bower. Ovid and 
 Virgil might wander here, and believe themselves still in the 
 Augustan age. The great works of sculpture, which grace this 
 scene, give it a charm forever new. Through its trees may be 
 descried the city, St. Peter's, the Campagna, and those long 
 arcades, ruins of aqueducts, which formerly conducted many a 
 mountain stream into old Kome. There is everything that can 
 mingle purity with pleasure, and promise perfect happiness : but 
 if you ask why this delicious spot is not inhabited, you will be 
 told, that the caitiva aria, or bad air, prevents its being occupied 
 in summer. This enemy, each year, besieges Rome more and 
 more closely — its most charming abodes are deserted perforce. 
 Doubtless the want of trees is one cause; and therefore did the 
 Romans dedicate their woods to goddesses, that they might be 
 respected by the people : yet have numberless forests been felled 
 in our own times. What can now be so sanctified that avarice 
 will forbear its devastation ? This malaria is the scourge of 
 Rome, and often threatens its whole population; yet, perhaps, it 
 adds to the effect produced by the lovely gardens to be found 
 within the boundaries. Its malignant power is betrayed by no 
 8* 
 
 V,__ 
 
90 CORINNE; OB, ITALY. 
 
 external siga : you respire an air that seems pure ; the earth is 
 fertile; a delicious freshness atones iu the evening for the heat of 
 
 the day; and all thigis deat^! 
 
 "I love such/invisibledanger," Baid Oswald, " vei]ed_as it is 
 in delight. ~ ir dSfffi/ as fBelieve, be but a call to happier life, 
 why should not the perfume of flowers, the shade of fine trees, 
 and the breath of eve be charged to remind us of our fate ? Of 
 course, government ought, in every way, to watch over human 
 life ; but nature has secrets which imagination only can penetrate ; 
 and I easily conceive that neither natives nor foreigners find any-, 
 thing to disgust them in the perils which belong to the sweetest 
 seasons of the year." 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 ON ITALIAN CHARACTER AND MANNERS. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Oswald's irresolution, augmented by misfortunes, taught him 
 to fear every irrevocable engagement. He dared not ask Corinne 
 her name or story, though his love for her grew each day more 
 strong; he could not look on her without emotion; hardly, iu 
 the midst of society, quit her side for an instant ; she said not a 
 word he did not feel, nor expressed a sentiment, sad or gay, that 
 was not reflected in his face. Yet, loving, admiring her as he 
 did, he forgot not ^ow little such a wife would accord with 
 Englighjiabitst how mUuh shfi diflefe'd from tEe^ttea LTs'StEer 
 formed of the woman it would become him to marry; all he said 
 to Gorinne was restrained by the disquiet these reflections caused 
 him.N^She perceived this but too plainly; yet so much would it 
 have cost her to break with him, that she lent herself to whatever 
 could prevent a decisive explanation ; and, never possessing much 
 forethought, revelled in the present, such as it was,»not dreaming 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 91 
 
 of the inevitable future] She entirely secluded herself from the 
 world in this devotion to him ; but, at last, hurt by his silence on 
 their prospects, she resolved to accept a pressing invitation to a 
 ball. Nothing is more common, ia Rome, than for persons to 
 leave and return to society by fits; there is so little gossip in 
 Italy, that people do what they like, without»comment, at least 
 without obstacle, in aifairs either of love or ambition. Foreignersn 
 are as safe as natives in this rendezvous of Europeans. When 
 Nevil learned that Corinne was going to a ball, he was out of 
 humor ; for some time he had fancied that he -detected in her a 
 melancholy sympathetic with his own ; yet suddenly she appeared 
 to think of nothing but dancing (in which she so much excelled), 
 and the eclat of a fgte. Corinne was not frivolous ; but, feeling 
 every da y more subj jufid— bgU am. she wished to comb atits forcer^ 
 
 Gie'kn'ew by experience that reflection and forbearance have less 
 power over impassioned characters than dissipation ; and she 
 thought that, if unable to triumph over herself as she ought, the 
 next best step were to do as she could. When Nevil censured 
 her intentions, she replied, "I want to ascertain whether what 
 formerly pleased can still amuse me, or whether my regard for 
 you is to absorb every other interest of my life." — "You would 
 fain cease to love me," he said. " Not so," she replied ; "butjt 
 is only in (domestic lif e\featjt_can be agreeable to feel one^ self 
 lojiifid-aieE -by a fuagle afFection.^ ^o'meTwIiVneed m?_wit and, ^ ^ 
 jJOn^ ofMeT ileTniave i 
 ge asl love vou.'ib-^ ^^u will noM 
 _then '/"cried O^wald.- 
 
 genms to i 
 
 ,-tkej 
 
 sacrificeV 
 
 vour (glorvjto 
 
 wiiat importan ee 
 Since we are not des- 
 
 were it to you,'V she replied, " if I did ? 
 tined for each other, I must not forever destroy the kind of hap- 
 piness with whicml ought to content myselfj^^ Lord Nevil said 
 nothing ; eoncious\ that he could not now speak without explain- 
 ing his ^sigm^j_a2jd, in truth, hewasjgnoraEjLflfLthem himself. 
 He sighe( , and reliEtannyloIIowed Corinne to the ball. It was 
 the first til le, since hi^loss, that he had gone to such an assembly. 
 Its tumult so oppressed him that he remained for some period in 
 a, hall b^siie the dancing-room, with his head reclined upon his 
 
92 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 hand ; not even wishing to see Corinne dance. All music, even 
 if its occasion he a gay one, renders us pensive. The Count 
 d'Erfeuil arrived, enchanted with the crowd and amusements, 
 which once more reminded him of France. " I've done my best," 
 he said, "to interest myself in their vaunted ruins, but I see 
 nothing in them; 'tis a mere prejudice, this fuss about rubbish 
 covered with briers ! I shall speak my mind when I return to 
 France ; for it is high time that the farce should be ended. There 
 is not a single building of to-day in good repair, that is not worth 
 all these trunks of pillars, and mouldy bas-reliefs, which can only 
 be admired through the spectacles of pedantry. A rapture which 
 one must purchase by study cannot be very vivid in itself. One 
 needs not spoil one's complexion over musty books, to appreciate 
 the sights of Paris." 
 
 Lord Nevil was silent, and d'Erfeuil questioned him on his 
 opinion of Rome. "A ball is not the place for serious con- 
 versation," said Oswald ; " and you know that I can afford yon no 
 other." — " Mighty fine," replied the Count. " I own I am gayer 
 than you ; but who can say that I am not wiser too ? Trust me, 
 there is much philosophy in taking the world as it goes." — " Per- 
 haps you are right," answered Oswald; " but, as you are wha t 
 youarebynalure^_a£dnot_byj;efle(^ ofjiving 
 
 can belon g to noj)ae_but JoHJselfi' 
 
 D'Erfeuil now heard the name of Corinne from the ball-room, 
 and went to learn what was doing there. Nevil followed him to 
 the door, and saw "the handsome Neapolitan Prince Amalfi 
 soliciting her to dance the Tarantula with him. All her friends 
 joined in this request. She waited for no" importunity, but pro- 
 mised with a readiness which astonished d'Erfeuil, accustomed as 
 he was to the refusals with which it is the fashion to precede con- 
 sent. Clnltstly these airs are unknowrA there, every one is simple 
 enough to believe that he cannot better please society than by 
 promptly fulfilling whatever i( requires. Corinne would have 
 introduced this natu ral manner , if she had not found it there. 
 y- The dress she had assumed was light and elegant. Her locks 
 4^ere confined by a silken fillet, and her eyes expressed an anima- 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 93 
 
 tion which rendered her more attractive than ever. Oswald was > 
 uneasy J displeased with his own subjection to charms whose ex- 
 istence he was inclined to deplore, as, far from wishing to gratify 
 him, it was almost in order to escape from his power that Corinne 
 shone forth thus enohantingly j yet, who could resist her seducing 
 grace ? Even in scorn she would have been still triumphant j but 
 scorn was not in her disposition. She perceived her lover; and" 
 blushed, as she bestowed on him one of her sweetest smiles. The 
 Prince Amalfi accompanied himself with castanets. Corinne 
 saluted the assembly with both hands; then, turning, took the 
 tambourine, which her partner presented to her,- and she beat 
 time as she danced. Her gestures displayed < fhat ^asy upinn of 
 modesty and voluptuousaess \such as must have so awed the In- 
 dianswEerTtEe Bayardferes— poets of the dance — depicted the 
 various passions by cbaracteristio attitudes. Corinne__was so well 
 acquainted with antique painting and sculpture, that her positions 
 were so many'stiidies for the votaries. of .art Now she held her 
 tambouriiie"aEove Iier head ; sometimes advanced it with one hand, 
 while the other ran over its little bells with a dexterous rapidity 
 that brought to mind the girls of Herculaneum. (14) This was 
 nQtFrench dancing, remarkableJor_the.idjfficulty--afJta.ateps.f-it 
 was a movement more allied to fancy and to sentiment. The air 
 towEicli~she danced, pleased alternately by its softness and its 
 precision. Corinne as tlioroughljQnfected the spectatorsV ith 
 her own sensations as she did while extemporizing poetry, playing^ 
 on her lyre, or designing an expressive grnHprtaKvery t )iii,n g- jiaa.'3-. 
 language for her. The musicians, in gazing on "her, felt all the 
 genius ot their art; and every witness of this magic was electrified 
 by impassioned joy, transported into an ideal world, there to 
 dream of bliss unknown below. 
 
 There is a part of the Neapolitan dance where the heroine 
 kneels, while the hero marches round her, like a conqueror. How 
 dignified looked Corinne at that moment ! What a sovereign^ 
 she was on her knees ! and when she rose, clashing her airy tam- 
 bourine, she appeared animated by such enthusiasm of youthful 
 beauty, that one might have thought she needed no life but her 
 
94 ' COEINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 own to make her happy. Alas, it was not thus ! though Oswald 
 feared it, and sighed^'aiif her every success separated her^irther 
 
 Jrom hm> When tEe Prince, lii his turnTnelTto UorTnne, she, 
 if possible, surpassed herself. Twice or thrice she fled round him, 
 her sandalled feet skimming the floor with the speed of lightning ; 
 and when shaking her tamhourine above his head with, one hand, 
 
 ' she signed with the other for him to rise, every man present was 
 tempted to prostrate himself before her, except Lord Nevil, who 
 drew back some paces, and d'Erfeuil, who made a step or two 
 forwards, in order to compliment Corinne. The Italians gave way 
 to what they feltji_without one fear of making them selves rem ark- 
 abje. r -They were not like men so accustomedTo society, and the 
 sel^io¥6 which it excites, as to think on the effect they might 
 produce; they are never to be turned from their pleasures by 
 vanity, nor from their purposes by applause. 
 
 Corinne, charmed with the result of her attempt, thanked her 
 friends with amiable simplicity. She was satisfied, and permitted 
 her content to be seen, with childlike candor ; her greatest desire 
 was to get through the crowd to the door, against vyhieh Oswald 
 was leaning. She reached it at last, and paused for him to speak. 
 " Corinne," he said, endeavoring to conceal both his delight and 
 his distress, " you have extorted universal homage : but is 
 there, among all your adorers,, one brave, one tmsty friend ; one 
 
 , protector for life ? or can^neclamors of flattery si tffice a soul like 
 yours l**y. , 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The press of company prevented Corinne's reply : they were 
 going to supper; and each cavaliir servinte hastened to seat 
 himself beside his lady. A fair stranger arrived and found no 
 room; yet not a man, save Oswald and d'Erfeuil, rose to offer her 
 his place. Not that the Romans were either rude or selfish ; but 
 they believed that their honor depended on their never quitting 
 
COaiNNE; OR, ITALY. 95 
 
 their post of duty. Some, unable to gain seats, leaned behind 
 their mistresses' chairs, ready to obey the slightest sign. The 
 females spoke but to their lovers : strangers wandered in vain 
 around a circle where no one had a word to spare them ; for Italian 
 women are ignorant of that coquetry which renders a love affair 
 nothing more than the triumph of self-conceit j they wish to please 
 no eyes save those that are dear to them. Tbe-fliiiliJ§Jieyia; 
 misled b efore the heart. The most abrupt commencements are 
 often followed by sincere devotion, and even by lasting constancy. 
 Infidelity isjnore censured in man than in woman. Three or 
 four men, beneath different titles, may foflow the same beauty, 
 who takes them with her everywhere, sometimes without troubling 
 herself to name them to the master of the house which receives 
 the party. One is the favorite ; another aspires to be so ; a third 
 calls himself the sufferer (ilpatitd) ; though disdained, he is , 
 permitted to be of use ; all the rivals live peaceably together. It 
 is only among the common people that you still hear of the stiletto ; 
 but the whole country presents a wild mixture of simpleness and 
 ofvice^fcsimulation"M^r{ruthJ good-nature and revenge, strength 
 and weakness J justifying the remark, that the best of these quali- 
 ties may be found among those who will do nothing for vanity j 
 the worst among such as will do anything for interest; whether 
 the interest of love, of avarice, or ambition. Distinctions of rank 
 are generally disregarded ia Italy. It is not from stoicism, but 
 from heedless familiarity, that men are here insensible to aristo. 
 cratic prejudices; constituting themselves judges of no one, they 
 admit everybody. After supper they sat down to play ; some -of 
 the women at hazard, others chose silent whist ; and not a word 
 was now uttered in the apartment, so noisy just before. The 
 people of the south often run thus quickly from the extreme of 
 agitation to that of repose ; it is one of the peculiarities of their 
 character, that indolence is succeeded by activity : indeed, in all 
 respects they are the last men on whose merits or defects we 
 ought to decide at first sight; so contrasted are the qualities they 
 unite ; the creatures all prudence to-day may be all audacity to- 
 
96 COKINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 morrow. They are often apathetic, from just having made, or 
 preparing to make, some great exertion. In fact, they waste not 
 one energy of their minds on society, but hoard them till called 
 forth by strong events. At this assembly many persons lost 
 enormous sums, without the slightest change of countenance ; yet 
 the same beings could not have related a trivial anecdote without 
 the most lively and expressive gesticulation. But when the pas- 
 sions have attained a certain degree of violence, they shrink from 
 sight and veil themselves in silence. 
 
 Nevil could not surmount the bitter feelings this ball engen- 
 dered ; he believed that the Italians had weaned his love fi?rai him 
 at least for a time. He was very wretched ; yet his pri(j[e pre- 
 vented his evincing aught beyond a contempt for the trib^^ offered 
 her. When asked to play he refused, as did Corinne, who beck- 
 oned him to sit beside her ; he feared to compromise her name by 
 passing a whole evening alone with her before the eyes of the 
 world. "Be at ease on that head," she replied; "no one thinks 
 about us. Here no established etiquette exacts respect ; a kindly 
 politeness is all that is required ; no one wishes to annoy or to be 
 annoyed. 'Ti§. true that we have not here what_in__EnglaildJs 
 called liberty ; but our social independence isjig^st-" — " That 
 is," said Oswald, 'fthat n o reverence is paid to ap pearances^' — "At 
 least, here is no bypocris^' she answered. — " Rochefoucault says ; 
 'The least among ihe defects of a woman of gallantry is that of 
 being one;' but whatever be the faults of Italian women, deceit 
 does not conceal them ; and if marriage vows are not held sufficiept- 
 ly sacred, they are broken by mutual consent." — " It is not sincerity 
 that causes this kind of frankness," replied Oswald, " but indif- 
 ference to public opinion. I brought hither an introduction to a 
 princess, and gave it to the servant I bad hired here, who said to 
 me : 'Ah, sir, just now, this will do no service, the princess sees 
 no one; she is innamordta.' Thus was the fact of a lady's being 
 in love proclaimed like any other domestic affair. Nor is this 
 publicity excused by fidelity to one passion : many attachments 
 succeed each other, ■ all equally known. Women have so little 
 mystery in these ties, that they speak of them with less embar> 
 
cobinne; or, italt. / ^"^97 
 
 rassment than our brides could talk of their husbands. It^isnot 
 easyjtO-Jieliewe- ttatjinj deep or refined affection can exist with 
 this shameless fickleness. Though nothing is thought of but love, 
 here can be no romance : adventures are so rapid, and so open, 
 "tEat nothing is left to be developed ; and, justly to describe the 
 general method of arranging these things, one ought to begin and 
 end in the first chapter. Corinne, pardon me if I give you pain. 
 Tou are an Italian; that should ^sarm me : but one reason why 
 you are thus incomparablftis, tha ^you uni te t he bes^ ch aracteris- 
 tics of OTir differen t .oations^ ttl know MtJs^erg^yQu were educated,, 
 ^oTjiJU UfJUaiuly "rajmot^haye-f ass^3^aU your lijejiere f perhaps, 
 it was inBnglajwt. Ah, if so, how could you leave that sanctuary 
 of all that is modest, for a land where not only virtue, but love itself 
 is so little un'derstood ! It may be breathed in the air, but does it 
 reach the heart ? The poetry, here, in which love plays so great a 
 part, is full of brilliant pictures, indeed ; but where will you find 
 the melancholy tenderness of our bards ? What have you to com- 
 pare with the parting of Jaffier and Belvidera, with Eomeo and 
 Juliet, or with the lines in Thomson's Spring, depicting the hap- 
 piness of wedded life ? Is there any such life in Italy ? and, without 
 homefelt felicity, how can love exist ? Is not happiness the aim of 
 the heart, as pleasure is that of the senses ? Would not all young 
 and lovely women be alike to us, did not mentaljliialitifis, decide 
 our preference ? What then, do these qualities teach us to crave ? 
 an fntercourse of thought and feeling, permanent and undivided ! 
 This is what we mean by man'iage. Illegitimate love, when, un- 
 happily, it does occur among us, is still but the reflex of marriage. 
 The same comfort is sought abroad which cannot be found at home ; 
 and even infidelity in England is more moral than Italian matri- 
 mony." ~ ~"~ 
 
 This severity so afflicted Corinne that she rose, her eyes filled 
 with tears, and hurried home. Oswald was in despair at having 
 offended her; but the irritation this ball had dealt him, found a 
 channel in the censure ho had just pronounced. He followed her; 
 but she would not see him. Next morning he made another at- 
 tempt; but her door was still closed. This was out of character 
 
98 corinne; oe, italy. 
 
 in Corinne ; but she wa§ so dismayed by his opinion of her conn 
 trywomen, that she resolved, if possible, to conceal her affection 
 from him forever. Oswald, on his part, was confirmed by this 
 unusual condwjt in the discontent that unlucky f@te had engen- 
 dered ; he was excited to struggle against the sentiment whose 
 empire he dreaded. His principles were strict. 
 
 Corinne's manners sometimes evinced a too universal wish to 
 please; her conduct and carriage were noble and reserved; but 
 her opinions were over-indulgent. In fact, though dazzled and 
 enervated, something still combatted his weakness. Such a state 
 often embitters our language ; we are displeased with ourselves 
 and others ; we suffer so much, that we long to brave the worst 
 at once, and, by open war, ascertain which of our two formidable 
 emotions is to triumph. It was in this mood that he wrote to 
 Corinne. He knew his letter was angry and unbecoming; yet^. 
 coafusion-Gf-impuIagsurged him to send it. He was so miserable 
 in his present situation, that he longed, at any price, for some 
 change ; and was reckless how his doubts were answered, so that 
 they came to a termination. A rumor brought him by Count 
 d'Erfeuil, though he believed it not, contributed, perhaps, to 
 render his style still more unkind. It was said that Corinne was 
 about to marry Prince Amalfi. Oswald well knew that she did 
 not love this man, and ought to have been sure that the report 
 sprung merely from her having danced with him ; but he per- 
 suaded himself that she had received Amalfi when denied to him ; 
 therefore, though too proud to confess his personal jealousy, he 
 vented it on the people in whose favor he knew her to be so 
 ^repossessed. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "to corinne. 
 
 "January 24, 1795. 
 " You refuse to see me ; you are offended by my last conversa- 
 tion, and, no doubt, intend henceforth to admit none but your 
 
OORINNE; OR, ITALY. 99 
 
 countrymen, and thus expiate your recent deviatiop from that rule. 
 Yet, far from repenting the sincerity with which I spoke to you, 
 whom,, perhaps chimerically, I would fain consider an English- 
 woman, I will dare to say, still more plainly, that you can preserve 
 neither your own dignity nor your own peace, by choosing a hus- 
 band from your present society. I know not one Italian who de- 
 serves you ; not one who could honor you by his alliance, whatever 
 were the tiUe he had to bestow. / The men are far less estima ble 
 hei e than the w omen, to whose errorsthe j add worse of theicown. 
 Would you persuade me that these sons of the South, who so care- 
 fully avoid all trouble, and live but for enjoyment, can be capable 
 of love ? Did you not, last month, see at the Opera a man who had 
 not eight days before lost a wife he was said to adore ? The me- 
 mory of the dead, the thought of death itself, is here, as much as 
 possible, thrown aside. Funeral ceremonies are performed by 
 the priests, as the duties of love are fulfilled by cavali4res servdntes. 
 Custom has prescribed all rites beforehand : regret and enthusi- 
 asm are nothing. But what, above all, must bejestructive to 
 love, is the fact that(v our men cannot be respected t women give 
 them no credit for submission, becaus^theyjeinni1rhe«i..originally 
 Tgceakya sd destitute of all serious employ ment. /It is requi^te, for 
 the perfection of natural and social order, that men should pro- 
 tect, and women be protected; but by guardians adoring the 
 weakness they defend, and worshipping the gentle divinity which, 
 like' the Penates of the ancients, calls down good fortune on the 
 house. Here one might almost say that woman is the sultan, and_ 
 men her seraglio ; it is they who have most/iliancy andjoftaeas. 
 An Italian proverb says : ' Who knows not buW to feign, knows 
 not how to live.' Is not that a feminine maxi^g ? but where you 
 have neither military glory nor free institutions, how should men 
 acquire strength and majesty of mind ? Their wit degenerates into 
 a kind of cleverness, with which they play the game of life like a 
 match at chess, wherein success is everything. All that remains 
 of their love for antiquity consists in exaggerated expressions and 
 external grandeur; but, beside this baseless greatness, you often 
 find the most vulgar tastes, the most miserably neglected homes 
 
-.100 ' OORINNE: or, ITALY. 
 
 / '. ' . 
 
 Is this, then, Corinne, the country you prefer ? Is ifaj ^oisterona 
 
 applaus£iso essential to you, that every other kind of destiny 
 would seem dull, compared with these re-echoing hrdvos? Who 
 could hope to make you happy, in tearing you from this tumult ? 
 You are an incomprehensible person jraegp in feelmgj_sngerfcial^ 
 in taste ; independent by. pride of soul, ensSved by a desire for 
 
 d^sipation j/capable of loving but one , yet requiring th e^oticg^ 
 \ all the worla!!\ You are a sorceress, who alternately disturb and 
 reassure ^e ; who, when most sublime, can at once descend from 
 the region where you reign alone, to lose yourself among the herd. 
 Corinne, Corinne ! in loving you, it is impossible to avoid fearing 
 and doubting too. " Oswald." 
 
 Indignant as Corinne felt at Nevil's antipathy to her country, 
 she was relieved by guessing that the fite, and her refusal to 
 speak with him, had ruffled his temper. She hesitated, or believed 
 herself hesitating, for some time, as to the line of conduct she ought 
 to pursue. Love made her sigh for his presence : yet she could 
 not brook his supposing that she wished to be his wife ; though in 
 fortune, at least, his equal, and no way beneath him in name, if 
 she deigned to reveal it. The uncontrolled life she had chosen, 
 might have given her some aversion to marriage ; and, certainly, 
 had not her attachment blinded her to all the pangs she must en- 
 dure in espousing an Englishman, and renouncing Italy, she would 
 have repulsed such an idea with' disdain. A woman may forget 
 her pride in all that concerns the heart : but when worldly inte- 
 rest appears the obstacle to inclination ; when the person beloved 
 can be accused of sacrificing himself in his union, she^an no 
 longer abandon herself to her feelings before him. Corinne, how- 
 ever, unable to break with her lover, trusted that she still might 
 meet him, yet conceal her affection. It was in this belief that she 
 determined on replying only to his accusations of the Italians, 
 and reasoning on them as if interested by no other subjeo^Per- 
 haps the best way in which such a woman can regain her coldness 
 and her dignity, is that of /^tr enching herself in the fo rt ress of 
 her mental superiori^^^ ^. ^ ^ \~\\ 
 
101 
 
 "to lokd nbvil. 
 
 "Jan. 25, 1795. 
 
 "If your letter concerned no one but me, my, Lord, I should 
 not attempt to justify myself. My character is so easily known, 
 that he who cannot comprehend it intuitively, would not be en- 
 lightened by any explanation I could give. The virtuous reserve 
 of Englishwomen, and the more artful graces of the French, often 
 conceal one half of what passes in their bosoms ; and what you 
 are pleased to call magic in me, is nothing but an unconstrained 
 disposition, which permits/ my varyin g, m y inconsistent thou ghts 
 t o be hea rd,^ithout my taking the pains of bringing them into 
 tune. Such harmony is nearly always factitious j for most 
 genuine characters are heedlessly confiding. But it is not of my- 
 self that I would speak to you ; it is of the unfortunate nation 
 which you attack so cruelly. Can my regard for my friends have 
 instilled this bitter malignity ? You know me too well to be 
 jealous of them : nor have I the vanity to suppose that any such 
 sentiment has rendered you thus unjust. You say but what all 
 foreigners say of the Italians, what must strike every one at first ; 
 but you should look deeper ere you thus sentence a people once so 
 great. Whence came it that, in the Roman day, they were the 
 most military in the world ; during the republics of the Middle 
 Ages, the most tenacious of their freedom ; and, in the sixteenth 
 century, the most illustrious for literature, science, and the arts ? 
 Has not Italy pursued fame in every shape ? If it be lost to her 
 now, blame her political situation ; since, in other circumstances, 
 she showed herself so unlike all she is. I may be wrong, but 
 the faults of the Italians only enhance my pity for their fate. 
 Strangers, from time to time, have conquered and distracted this 
 fair land, the object of their perpetual ambition; yet strangers 
 forever reproach her natives with the defects inevitable to a van- 
 quished race. 
 
 " Europe owes her learning, her accomplishments, to the Ita- 
 lians j and, having turned their own gifts against them, would 
 gladly deny them the only glory left to a people deprived of mar- 
 tial power and public liberty. It is true that governments form 
 9* 
 
102 c'orinne; oe, italt. 
 
 the characters of nations ; and, in Italy herself, you wll find re- 
 markable distinctions between the inhabitants of different states. 
 The Piedmontese, w'ho.'once formed a small national corps, have 
 a more warlike spirit'than the rest. The Florentines, who have 
 mostly possessed* either freedom or liberal rulers, are well-edu- 
 cated and well-manndred. The Venetians and tbe Genoese evince 
 a capacity for politics, because they have a republican aristocracy. 
 The Milanese are more sincere, thanks to their long intercourse 
 with northern nations. The Neapolitans are prompt to rebel, 
 having for ages lived beneath an imperfect government, but still 
 one of their own. The Eoman nobles have nothing to do, either 
 diplomatic or military, and may well remain idly ignorant ; but 
 the ecclesiastics, whose career is definite, have faculties far more 
 developed ; and, as the papal law observes no distinction of birth, 
 but is ptorely elective in its ordinance of the clergy, the result is, 
 a species of liberality, not in ideas, but in habits, which ren- 
 ders tKome the most agreeable abode for those who have neither 
 power nor emulation for sustaining a part in the world. The 
 people of the South are more easily modified by existing insti- 
 tutions than those of the North. This clime induces a languor 
 favorable to resignation, and nature offers enough to console 
 man for the advantages society denies. Undoubtedly, there is 
 much corruption in Italy : its civilization is far from refinement. 
 There is a savage wilderness beneath Italian cunning; it is that 
 of a hunter lying in wait for his prey. Indolent people easily 
 become sly and shifting; their natural gentleness serves to hide 
 even a fit of rage ; for it is by our habitual manner that an acci- 
 dental change of feeling may be best concealed. Yet Ita- 
 lians have both truth and constancy in their private connections. 
 Interest may sway them, but not pride. Here is no ceremony, 
 no fashion ; none of the little everyday tricks for creating a sen- 
 sation. The usual sources of artifice and of envy exist not here. 
 Foes and rivals are deceived by those who consider themselves at 
 war with them ; but, while in peace, they act with honesty and 
 candor. This is the very cause of your compMnt. Our women 
 hear of nothing but love ; they live in anjitmMpJieE&.of seductioa 
 
/ "-^ORINNK; or, ITALY. 103 
 
 a njl dangerous e g.am^x>X'^*' '^^^i' fraDkne|s lends an innocence 
 to gallantry itself. They have no fear of ridicule : many are so 
 ignorant that they ca«Hot even write, and'eonfess it without scruple. 
 /They engage a PagliettoXo answer letters for them, which he does 
 on paper large enough for a petition ; but among the better classes 
 you see professors from the academies in thieir black scarfs, giving 
 lessons publicly. If you are inclined to laugh at them, they ask 
 ■you: 'Is there any harm in understanding Greek, or living by 
 our own exertions ? How can you deride so matter-of-course a 
 proceeding V Dare I, my Lord, touch on a more delicate 
 subject? — the reason why our men so seldom display a military 
 spirit. . They readily expose their livesibr love or hate : in such 
 causes, the wounds given and received neither astonish nor alarm 
 their witnesses. Fearless of death, when natural' passions com- 
 mand them to defy it, they still, I must confess, value life, above 
 the political interests which slightly affect those who can scarcely 
 , be said to have a country. Chivalrous honor has little influence 
 \ over a people among whom the opinions that nourish it are dead ; 
 \ naturally enough, ^ su ch a disorganization of pub lic afFa,ir s^ 
 \ women gai n a ffleat ascende noyVpeiliaps too much so for them to 
 respect oradmire their lovers, who, nevertheless, treat them with 
 the most delicate devotion. Domestic virtue constitutes the 
 welfare and the pride of Englishwomen ; but on no land, where 
 love dispenses with its sacred bonds, is the happiness of women 
 watched over as in Italy. If our men cannot make a moral code 
 for immorality, they are at least just and generous in their par- 
 ticipation of cares and duties. They consider themselves more 
 culpable than their mistresses when they break their chains : they 
 know that women make the heaviest sacrifice ; and believe that, 
 before the tribunal of the heart^the greatest criminals are those 
 who have done most wrong. ^Men err from selfishness ,; women.. 
 becailse they are weakN Whei-e society is at once vigorous and 
 iotrupt, thai IS, most naerciless to the faults that are followed by 
 the worst misfortunes, women of course are used with more seve- 
 rity ; but where we have no established etiquettes, natural charity 
 has a greater power. Spite all that has been said of Italian 
 
104 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 perfidy, I will assert that there is as much real good-nature here 
 as in any other country of the wt)rld ; and that, slandered as it is 
 by strangers, they will nowhere meet with a kinder reception. 
 Italians are reproached as flatterers ; it is with no premeditated 
 plan, but in mere eagerness to please, that they lavish expres- 
 sions of affection, not often belied by their conduct. Would they 
 be ever-faithful friends, if called on to prove so in danger or ad- 
 versity? — A very small number, I allow, might be capable of 
 such friendship ; but it is not to Italy alone that this2lj|Mvation 
 is applicable. I have previously admitted their ^rientM indo- 
 lence. Yet the very women, who appear like so flranjToeauties 
 of a harem, may surprise you by traits of generosity or of 
 revenge : as for the men, give them but an object, and, in six 
 months, you might find that they would have learned and under- 
 stood whatever was required of them; but, while they are 
 untaught, why should females be instructed? An Italian girl 
 would soon become worthy of an intelligent husband, provided 
 that she loved him ; but in a country where all great interests are 
 suppressed, a careless repose is more noble than a vain agitation 
 about trifles. Literature itself must languish, where thoughts are 
 not renewed by vigorous and varied action. Yet in what land 
 have arts and letters been more worshipped? History shows 
 us, that the popes, princes, and people have at all times done 
 homage to distinguished painters, sculptors, poets, and other 
 writers. (15) This zeal was, I own, my Lord, one of the first 
 motives which attached me to this country. I did not find 
 here those seared imaginations, that discouraging spirit, nor that 
 despotic mediocrity, which, elsewhere, can so soon stifle innate 
 ability. Here a felicitous phrase takes fire, as it were, among its 
 auditors. As genius is the gift which ranks highest among us, 
 it inevitably excites much envy. Peregolese was assassinated : 
 Giorgione wore a cuirass, when obliged to piint in any public 
 place; but the violent jealousy to which taleut gives birth here, 
 is such as in other realms is created by power; it seeks not 
 to depreciate the object it can hate, or even kill, from the very 
 fanaticism of admiration. Finally, when we see so much life in 
 
OpBINNE; OR, ITALY. 105 
 
 a circle so contracted, in the midst of so many obstacles and op- 
 pressions, we can hardly forbear from a vivid solicitude for those 
 Vfho respire with such avidity the little air that fancy breathes 
 through the boundaries which confine them. These are so limit- 
 ed, that men of our day can rarely acquire the pride and firm- 
 ness which mark those of freer and more military states. I will 
 even confess, if you desire . it, my Lord, that such a national 
 character must inspire a woman with more enthusiasm ; but is it 
 not possible that a man may be brave, honorable, nay, unite 
 all the attributes which can teach us to love, without possessing 
 those that might promise us content ? 
 
 " CORINNE." 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 This letter revived all Oswald's remorse at having even thought 
 of detaching himself from his love. The commanding intellectual 
 mildness of its reproof affected him deeply. /A superiority so 
 yast, so reaL yet so sim ple, appeared to him out_of aU^ordinary, 
 ;ule!\ He was never insensible that this was not the tender crea- 
 ture his fancy had chosen for the partner of his life : .all he re- 
 membered of Lucy Edgarmond, at twelve years of age, better asr 
 corded with that ideal. ("But who could be compared with Corinne :* 
 She was a miracle formed by nature, in his behaTf, he dared be- 
 lieve; since he might flatter himself that he was dear to her 
 Tet what would be his prospects if he declared his inclination to 
 make her his wife ? Such, he thought, would he his decision j 
 yet the idea that her past life had not been entirely irreproachable, 
 and that such a union would assuredly have been condemned by 
 his father, again overwhelmed him with painful anxiety. He was 
 not so subdued by grief as he had been ere he met Corinne ; but 
 he no longer felt the calm which may accompany repentance, 
 when a whole life is devoted to expiate our faults. Formerly, he 
 did not fear yielding to his saddest memories, but now he dreaded 
 
106 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 the meditations which revealed to him the secrets of his heart. 
 He was preparing to seek Corinne, to thank her for her letter, 
 and obtain pardon for his own, when his apartment was suddenly 
 entered by Mr. Edgarmond, the young Lucy's near relation. 
 
 This gentleman had lived chiefly on his estate in Wales ; he 
 possessed just the principles and the prejudice that serve to keep 
 things as they are ; and this is an advantage where things are as 
 well arranged as human reason permits. In such a case, the par- 
 tisans of established order, even though stubbornly bigoted to 
 their own ways of thinking, deserve to be regarded as rational 
 and enlightened men 
 
 Lord Nevil shuddered as this name was announced. All the 
 past seemed to rise before him in an instant ; and his next idea 
 was, that Lady Edgarmond, the mother of Lucy, had charged her 
 kinsman with reproaches. This thought restored his self-command ; 
 he received his countryman with excessive coldness ; though not 
 a single aim of the good man's journey concerned our hero. He 
 was travelling for his health, exercising himself in the chase, and 
 drinking " Success to King George and old England !" He was 
 one of the best fellows in the world, with more wit and education 
 than would have been supposed ; ultra-English, even on points 
 where it would have been advisable to be less so ; keeping up, in 
 all countries, the habit of his own, and avoiding their natives, not 
 from contempt, but a reluctance to speak in foreign tongues, and 
 a timidity which, at the age of fifty, rendered him extremely shy 
 of new acquaintance. 
 
 "I am delighted to see you," he said to Nevil. "I go to 
 Naples in a fortnight : shall I find you there ? I wish I may ! 
 having but little time to stay in Italy, as my regiment embarks 
 shortly." " Your regiment !" repeated Oswald, coloring, not that 
 he had forgotten that, having a year's leave of absence, his pre- 
 sence would not be so soon required ; but he blushed to think 
 that Corinne might banish even duty from his mind. " Your 
 corps," continued Mr. Edgarmond, " will leave you more leisure 
 for the quiet necessary to restore your strength. Just before I 
 left England, I saw a little cousin of mine in whom you are in- 
 
COUINNE; or, ITALY. 107 
 
 terested : she is a charming girl ! and, by the time you return, next 
 Tear, I don't doubt that she will be the finest woman in England." 
 Nevil was silent, ^nd Mr. Edgarmond too. For some time after 
 this, they addresseiZ each other very laconically, though with kind 
 politeness, and the guest rose to depart; but, turning from the 
 door, said, abruptly, " Apropos, my Lord, you can do me a favor. 
 I am told that you know the celebrated Corinne ; and, though 1 
 generally shrink from foreigners, I am really curious to see her." 
 " I will ask her permission to take you to her house, then," re- 
 plied Oswald. " Do, I beg : let me see her, some day when shs 
 extemporises, dances, and sings." " Corinne," returned Nevil) 
 " does not thus display her accomplishments before strangers : she 
 is every way your equal and mine." " Forgive my mistake," cried 
 his friend ; " but as she is merely called Corinne, and, at six-and- 
 twenty, lives unprotected by any one of her family, I thought that 
 she subsisted by her talents, and might gladly seize any oppor- 
 tunity of making them known." " Her fortune is independent," 
 replied Oswald, hastily; "her mind still more so." Mr. Edgar- 
 mond regretted that he had mentioned her, seeing that the topic 
 interested Lord Nevil. 
 
 No people on earth deal more considerately with true affections 
 than do the English. He departed ; Oswald remained alone, ex- 
 claiming to himself : " I ought to marry Corinne ! I must secure 
 her against future misinterpretation. I will ofiFer her the little I 
 can, rank and name, in return for the felicity which she alone can 
 grant me." In this mood, full of hope and love, he hastened to 
 her house : yet, by a natural impulse of diffidence, began by re- 
 assuring himself with conversation on indifferent themes : among 
 them was the request of Mr. Edgarmond. She was evidently dis- 
 composed by that name, and, in a trembling voice, refused his 
 visit. Oswald was greatly astonished. " I should have thought 
 that with you, who receive so much company," he said, " the title 
 of my friend would be no motive for exclusion." — "Do not be 
 offended , my Lord," she said ; " believe me, I must have power- 
 ful reasons for denying any wish of yours." — " Will you tell me 
 those reasons ?" he asked. "Impossible!" she answered. "Be 
 
108 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 it so, then," he articulated. The vehemence of his feelings 
 checked his speech ; he would have Teft her, hut Corinne, through 
 her tears, exclaimed in English : " For God's sake stay, if you 
 would not break my heart !" 
 
 These words and accents thrilled Nevil to the soul; he reseated 
 himself at some distance from her, leaning his head against an 
 alabaster vase, and murmuring : " Cruel woman ! you see I love 
 you, and am twenty times a day ready to offer you my hand; yet 
 you will not tell me who you are, Corinne ! Tell me now !" — 
 " Oswald," she sighed, " you know not how you pain me : were 
 I rash enough to obey, you would cease to love me" — " Great 
 God!" he cried, "what have you to reveal ?" — "Nothing that 
 renders me unworthy of you : but do not exact it. Some day, per- 
 haps, when you love me better — if — ah ! I know not what I say 
 — you shall know all, but do not abandon me unheard. Promise 
 it in the name of your now sainted father I" 
 
 " Name him not I" raved Oswald. " Know you if he would 
 unite or part us ? If you believe he would consent, say so, and I 
 shall surmount this anguish. I will one day tell you the sad story 
 of my life ; but now, behold the state to which you have reduced 
 me!" 
 
 Cold dews stood on his pale brow; his trembling lips could 
 utter no more. Corinne seated herself beside him ; and, holding 
 his hands in hers tenderly, recalled him to himself. " My dear 
 Oswald ?" she said, ask Mr. Edgarmond if he was ever in North- 
 umberland ; or, at least, if he has been there only within the last 
 five years : if so, you may bring him hither." Oswald gazed fixedly 
 on her ; she cast down her eyes in silence. " I will do what you 
 desire," he said, and departed. Secluded in his chamber, he ex. 
 hausted his conjectures on the secrets of Corinne. It appeared 
 evident that she had passed some time in England, and that her 
 family name must be known there ! but what was her motive for 
 concealment, and why had she left his country ? He was convinced 
 that no stain could attach to her life ; but he feared that a com- 
 bination of circumstances might have made her seem blamable 
 in the eyes of others. He was armed against the disapprobai- 
 
Oi6eINNEj or, ITALY. 109 
 
 tion of every country save EDglaDd.J BThe memory of his fa iJtuaL„ 
 Was so entwined wit h that of his native land, that each s entiment 
 strengthened the other. Oswald Jearned from Edgarmond that 
 He~liaJ vlrilLbd Northumberland for the first time u, year ago; and 
 therefore promised to introduce him at Corinne's that evening. 
 He was the first to arrive there, in order to warn her against the 
 misconceptions of his friend, and beg her, by a cold reserve of 
 manner, to show him how much he was deceived. 
 
 " If you permit me," she observed, " I would rather treat him 
 as I do every one else. If he wishes to hear the improvisatrice, 
 he shall ; I will show myself to him such as I am ; for I think 
 he will as easily perceive my rightful pride through this simple 
 conduct, as if I behaved with an aflFected constraint." — " You are 
 right, Corinne," said Oswald: "how wrong were he who would 
 attempt to change you from your admirable self !" The rest of 
 the party now joined them. Nevil placed himself near his love, 
 with an added air of deference, rather to command that of others 
 than to satisfy himself; he had soon the jt)y of finding this effort 
 needless. She captivated Edgarmond, not only by hei charms 
 and conversation, but by inspiring that esteem which -sterling 
 characters, however contrasted, naturally feel for each other ; and 
 when he ventured on asking her to extemporise for him, he 
 aspired to this honor with the most revering earnestness. She 
 consented without delay ; for she knew how to give her favors a 
 value beyond that of difficult attainment. She was anxious to 
 please the countryman of Nevil — a man whose report of her ought 
 to have some weight — but these thoughts occasioned her so sud- 
 den a tremor, that she knew not how to begin. Oswald, grieved 
 that she should not shine her best before an Englishman, turned 
 away his eyes, in obvious embarrassment; and Corinne, thinking 
 of no one but himself, lost all her presence of mind ; nor ideas, 
 nor even words, were at her call ; and, suddenly giving up the 
 attempt, she said to Mr. Edgarmond, " Forgive me, sir ; fear robs 
 me of all power. ' Tis the first time, my friends know, that I was 
 ever thus beside myself; but," she added, with a sigh, " it may 
 not be the last." 
 10 
 
110 COKINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 Till now, Oswald had seen her genius trixiniph over her affec- 
 tions ; but now feeling had entirely subdued her mind ; |yet_so^ 
 identifie d was he with her ( g lorV, that he suffered beneath this 
 f'ailur'ej' instead ofBnjo^^^^^erEEu57Eoweverrffiat sEe would 
 excel on a futiire interviewmth his friend, he gave himself up to 
 the sweet pledge of his own power which he had just received; 
 and the image of his beloved reigned more securely in lis heart 
 than ever. 
 
 BOOK VII. 
 
 ITALIAN LITEKATURB. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Lord Nevil was very desirous that Mr. Edgarmond slionld 
 partaie the conversation of Corinne, which far surpassed her im- 
 provised verses. On the following day, the same party assembled 
 at her house ; and, to elicit her remarks, he turn«d the discourse 
 on Italian literature, provoking her natural vivacity by affirming 
 that England" could boast a greater number of true poets than 
 Italy. "In the first place," said Corinne, "foreigners usually 
 know none but our first-rate poets : Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, 
 Guarini, Tasso, and Metastasio ; but we have many others, such 
 as Chiabrera, Guidi, Pilicaja, and Parini, without reckoning San- 
 nazer Polijtian, who wrote in Latin. All their verses are harmo- 
 niously colored ; all more or less knew how to introduce the won- 
 ders of nature and art into their verbal pictures. Doubtless they 
 want the melancholy grandeur oiyour bards, and their knowledge 
 of the human heart ; but does not this kind of superiority become 
 the philosopher better than the poet ? The brilliant melo% of 
 our language is rather adapted to describe external objects than 
 abstract meditation; it is more competent to depict fury than 
 sadness ; for reflection calls for metaphysical expressions ; while 
 
corinne; or, Italy. Ill 
 
 revenge excites the fancy, aBd banishes the thought of grief. 
 Cesarotti has translated Ossian in the most elegant manner : but 
 in reading him, we feel that his words are in themselves too joyous 
 for the gloomy ideas they would recall ; we yield to the charm of 
 our soft phrases, as to the murmur of waves or the tints of flowers. 
 What more would you exact of poetry ? If you ask the nightin- 
 gale the meaning of his song, he can explain but by recommencing 
 it ; we can only appreciate its music by giving way to the impres- 
 sion it makes on us. Our measured lines, with rapid termina- 
 tions, composed of two brief syllables, glide along as their name 
 (^Sdruccioli) denotes, sometimes imitating the light steps of a 
 dance; sometimes, with graver tone, realizing the tumult of a 
 tempest, or the clask_of arms. Our poetry is a wonder of imagi- 
 nation : you ought not in it to seek for every species of pleasure." 
 — "I admit," returned Nevil, "that you account as well as pos- 
 sible for the beauties and defects of your national poetry; but 
 when these faults, without these graces, are found in prose, how 
 can you defend it ? what is but vague in the one becomes un- 
 meaning in the other. The crowd of common ideas, that your 
 poets embellish by melody and by figures, is served up ^coldS in 
 your prose, with the most fatiguing pertinacity. The (gf^test 
 portion of your present prose writers use a language' so declama- 
 tory, so diffuse, so abounding in superlatives, that one would think 
 they all dealt out the same accepted phrases by word of command, 
 or by a kind of convention. Their style is a tissue, a piece of 
 mosaic. They possess in its highest degree the art of inflating an 
 idea, or frothing up a sentiment ; one is tempted to ask them a 
 similar question to that put by the negress to the Frenchwoman, 
 in the days of hoop-petticoats, ' Pray, Madam, is all that yourself T 
 Now, how much is real beneath this pomp of words, which one true 
 expression might dissipate like an idle dream?" — " You forget," 
 interrupted Corinne, " first Machiavel and Boccaccio, then Gravina, 
 Filangieri, and even, in our own days, Cesarotti, Yerri, Bettinelli, 
 and many others, who knew both how to write and how to 
 think. (16) I agree with you, that, for the last century or two, 
 unhappy circumstances having deprived Italy of her independence, 
 
112 oorinne; or, italy. 
 
 all zeal for truth has been so lost, that it is often impossible to 
 speak it in any way. The result is, a habit of resting content 
 with words, and never daring to approach a thought. Authors, 
 too sure that they can effect no change in the state of things, write 
 but to show their wit — the surest way of soon concluding with no 
 wit at all ; for it is only by directing our efforts to a nobly useful 
 aim that we can augment our stock of ideas. When writers can do 
 nothing for the welfare of their country; when, indeed, their means 
 constitute their end ; from leading to no better, they double in a 
 thousand windings, without advancing one step. The Italians 
 are afraid of new ideas, rather because they are indolent than 
 from literary servility. By natpre they have much originality ; 
 but they give themselves no time to reflect. Their eloquence, so 
 vivid in conversation, chills as they work; besides this, the 
 Southerns feel hampered by prose, and can only express them- 
 selves fully in verse. It is not thus with French literature," 
 added Corinne to d'Erfeuil : " your prose writers are often more 
 poetical than your versifiers." — " That is a truth established by 
 classic authorities," replied the Count. " Bossuet, La Bruy&e, 
 Montesquieu, and Buffon can never be surpassed; especially the 
 first two, who belonged to the age of Louis XIV. ; they are per- 
 fect models for all to imitate who can ; — a hint as important to 
 foreigners as to ourselves." — "I can hardly think," returned 
 Corinne, " that it were desirable for distinct countries to lose their 
 peculiarities ; and I dare to tell you, Count, that, in your own 
 land, the national orthodoxy which opposes all felicitous innova- 
 tions must render your literature very barren, genius is esse n- 
 tially, creative ^ it bears _the_ciaEaeter ^^ Jhe iudlvidjial- -who 
 g Msesses itT)^ Nature, who permits no two leaves to be exactly 
 alike, has given a still greater diversity to human minds. Imi- 
 tation, then, is a double murder; for it deprives both copy and 
 original of their primitive existence."— "Would you wish us " 
 asked d'Erfeuil, " to admit such Gothic barbarisms as Young's 
 'Night Thoughts,' or the Spanish and Italian Concetti? What 
 would become of our tasteful and elegant style after such a mix- 
 ture ?" The Prince Castel Forte now remarked : « I think that 
 
corinne; or, Italy. 113 
 
 we all are in want of each other's aid. The literature of every 
 country offers a new sphere of ideas to those familiar with it. 
 Charles V. said : ' The man who understands four languages is 
 worth four men.' What that great Genius applied to politics is 
 as true in the state of letters. Most foreigners understand 
 French ; their views, therefore, are more extended than those of 
 Frenchmen, who know no language but their own. Why do they 
 • not oftener learn other tongues? They would preserve what dis- 
 tinguishes themselves, and might acquire some things in which 
 they still are wanting." ' 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 " You will confess, at least," replied the Count, " that there is 
 one department in which we have nothing to learn from any one. 
 Our theatre is decidedly the first in Europe. I cannot suppose 
 that the English themselves would think of placing their Shak- 
 speare above us." — "Pardon me, they do think of it," answered 
 Mr. Edgarmond; and, having said this, resumed his previous 
 silence. " Oh !" exclaimed the Count, with civil contempt ; " let 
 every man think as he pleases ; but I persist in believing that, 
 without presumption, we may call ourselves the highest of all 
 dramatic artists. As for the Italians, if I may speak frankly, 
 they are in doubt whether there is such an art in the world. Mu- 
 sic is everything with them ; the piece nothing : if a second act 
 possesses a better scena than the first, they begin with that; nay, 
 they will play portions of different operas on the same night, and 
 between them an act from some prose comedy, containing nothing 
 but moral sentences, such as our ancestors turned over to the use 
 of other countries, as worn too threadbare for their own. Your 
 famed musicians do what they will with your poets. One won't 
 sing a certain air, unless the word Felicitd, be introduced; the 
 tenor demands his Toniba ; a third can't shake unless it be upon 
 Catene. The poor poet must do his best to harmonize these varied 
 10* 
 
114 corinne; ohl, italt. 
 
 tastes with his dramatic situations. Nor is this the worst : some 
 of them will not deign to walk on the stage; they must appear 
 surrounded by clouds, or descend from the top of a palace stair- 
 case, in order to give their entrance due effect. Let an air be 
 sung in ever so tender or so furious a passage, the actor must 
 needs bow his thanks for the applause it draws down. In Semi- 
 ramis, the other night, the spectre of Ninus paid his respects to the 
 pit with an obsequiousness quite neutralizing the awe his costume 
 should have created. In Italy, the theatre is looked on merely as 
 a rendezvous, where you need listen to nothing but the songs and 
 the ballet. I may well say they listen to the ballet, for they are 
 never quiet till after its commencement ; in itself it is the chef- 
 d'oeuvre of bad taste ; I know not what there is to amuse in your 
 ballet beyond its absurdity. I have seen Gengis Khan, clothed 
 in ermine and magnanimity, give up his crown to the child of his 
 conquered rival, and lift him into the air upon his foot, a new way 
 of raising a monarch to the throne ; I have seen the self-devotion 
 of Curtius, in three acts, full of divertissements. The hero, dressed 
 like an Arcadian shepherd, had a long dance with his mistress, 
 ere he mounted a real horse upon the stage, and threw himself 
 into a fiery gulf, lined with orange satin and gold paper. ' In fact 
 I have seen an abridgement of the Roman history, turned into 
 ballots, from Romulus down to Csesar." — "All that is very true," 
 mildly replied the Prince of Castel Forte ; " but yon speak only of 
 our Opera, which is in no country considered the dramatic thea- 
 tre." — " Oh, it is still worse when they represent tragedies, or dra- 
 mas not included under the head of those with happy catastrophes ; 
 they crowd more horrors into five acts than human imagination 
 ever conceived. In one of these pieces a lover kills his mistress' 
 brother, and burns her brains before the audience. The fourth' act 
 is occupied by the funeral, and ere the fifth begins, the lover, with 
 the utmost composure, gives out the next night's harlequinade ; 
 then resumes his character, in order to end the play by shooting 
 himself. The tragedians are perfect counterparts of the cold ex- 
 aggerations in which they perform, committing ' the greatest atro- 
 
oorinnb; or, italy. 115 
 
 cities with the most exemplary indifiFerenee. If an actor becomes 
 impassioned, he is called a preacher, so much more emotion is be- 
 trayed in the pulpit than on the stage ; and it is lucky that these 
 heroes are so peacefully pathetic, since as there is nothing inte- 
 resting in your plays, the more fuss they made, the more ridicu- 
 lous they would become : it were well if they were divertingly so ; 
 but it is all too monotonous to laugh at. Italy has neither tragedy 
 nor comedy ; the only drama truly her own is the harlequinade. 
 A thievish, cowardly glutton ; an amorous or avaricious old dupe 
 of a guardian, are the materials. You will own that such inven- 
 tions cost no very great efforts, and that the ' Tartuffe' and the 
 ' Misanthrope' called for some exertion of genius." This attack 
 displeased the Italians, though they laughed at it. In conversa- 
 tion the Count preferred displaying his wit to his good-humor. 
 Natural benevolence prompted his actions, but self-love his words. 
 Castel Forte and others longed to refute his accusations, but they 
 thought the cause would be better defended by Corinne ; and as 
 they rarely sought to shine themselves, they were content, after 
 citing such names as Maffei, Metastasio, Goldoni, Alfieri, and 
 Monti, with begging her to answer Monsieur d'Erfeuil. Co- 
 rinne agreed with him that the Italians had no national theatre ; 
 but she sought to prove that circumstances, and not want of talent, 
 had caused this deficiency. " Comedy," she said, ttas depending 
 on observation of manners ^n_onlY exist in a country accu stomed 
 .to a ^ r§§iVaMed population. Italy is anim ated by violen t pnggmna 
 or ge minate enjo yments^^ ueh passions give birth to crimes that 
 co^touDd an snades of character. But that ideal comedy, which 
 suits all times, all countries, was invented here. Harlequin, pan- 
 taloon, and clown are to be found in every piece of that description. 
 Everywhere they have rather masks than faces; that is, they wear 
 the physiognomy of their class, and not of individuals. Doubtless 
 our modern authors found these parts all made to their hands, 
 like the pawns of a chess-board; but these fantastic creations, 
 which, from one end of Europe to the other, still amuse not only 
 children, but men whom fancy renders childish, surely give the 
 Italians some claim on the art of comedy. Observation of the 
 
116 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 human heart is an inexhaustible source of literature ; but nations 
 rather romantic than reflective yield themselves more readily to 
 the delirium of joy than to philosophic satire. Something of sad- 
 ness lurks beneath the pleasantry founded on a knowledge of man- 
 kind : the most truly inoffensive gayety is that which is purely 
 imaginative. Not that Italians do not shrewdly study those with 
 whom they are concerned. They detect the most private thoughts, 
 as subtly as others ; but they are not wont to make a literary use 
 of the acuteness which marks their conduct. Perhaps they are re- 
 luctant to generalize and to publish their discoveries. Prudence 
 may forbid their wasting on mere plays what may serve to guide 
 their behavior, or converting into witty fictions that which they 
 find so useful in real life. Nevertheless, Machiavel, who has made 
 known all the secrets of criminal policy, may serve to show of what 
 terrible sagacity the Italian mind is capable. Goldoni, who lived 
 in Venice, where society is at its best, introduced more observation 
 into his work than is commonly found. Yet his numerous comedies 
 want variety both of character and situation. They seem modelled, 
 not on life, but on the generality of theatrical pieces, (irony is 
 T^nt. t.Tif. t.rnp ^|TaTOPfq^ nf Ttnliop ^^^ jt is Ariosto, and not Mo- 
 lifere, who can amuse us here. Gozzi, the rival of Goldoni, had 
 much more irregular originality. He gave himself up freely to 
 his genius ; nj^gling buffoonery with magic, imitating nothing in 
 nature, but dealing with those fairy chimeras that bear the mind 
 beyond the boundaries of this world. He had a prodigious suc- 
 cess in his day, and perhaps is the best specimen of Italian comic 
 fancy ; but, to ascertain what our tragedy and comedy might be- 
 come, they must be allowed a theatre, and a company. A host of 
 small towns dissipate the few resources that might be collected. 
 That division of states, usually so favorable to public welfare, is 
 destructive of it here. We want a centre of light and power, to 
 pierce the mists of surrounding prejudice. The authority of a go- 
 vernment would be a blessing, if it contended with the ignorance 
 of men, isolated among themselves, in separate provinces, and, 
 by awakening emulation, gave life to a people now content with a 
 dream." 
 
COKINNE; OE, ITALY. 117 
 
 These and other discussions were spiritedly put forth by 
 Corinne ; she equally understood the art of that light and rapid 
 style, which insists on nothing; in her wish to please, adopting 
 each by turns, though frequently abandoning herself to the talent 
 which had rendered her so celebrated as an improvisatrice. 
 Often did she call on Castel Forte to support her opinions by 
 his own j but she spoke so weU, that all her auditors listened with 
 delight, and could not have endured an interruption. Mr. Ed- 
 garmond, above all, could never have wearied of seeing and hearing 
 her: he hardly dared explain to himself the admiration she ex- 
 cited; and whispered some words of praise, trusting that she 
 would understand, without obliging him to repeat them. He 
 felt, however, so anxious to hear her sentiments on tragedy, that, 
 in spite of his timidity, he risked the question. " Madame," he 
 said, " it appears to me that tragedies are what your literature 
 wants most. I think that yours come less near an equality with 
 our own, than children do to men; for childish sensibility, if light, 
 is genuine; while your serious dramas are so stilted and unna- 
 tural, that they stifle all emotion. Am I not right, my Lord ?" 
 he added, turning his eyes towards Nevil, with an appeal for 
 assistance, and astonished at himself for having dared to say so 
 much before so large a party. — " I think just as you do," returned 
 Oswald : " Metastasio, whom they vaunt as the bard of love, gives 
 that passion the same coloring in all countries and situations. 
 His songs, indeed, abound with grace, harmony, and lyric beauty, 
 especially when detached from the dramas to which they belong ; 
 but it is impossible for us, whose Shakspeare is indisputably the 
 poet who has most profoundly fathomed the depths of human 
 passions, to bear with the fond pairs who fill nearly all the scenes 
 of Metastasio, and, whether called Achilles or Thyrsis, Brutus or 
 Corilas, all sing in the same strain, the martyrdom they endure, 
 and depict, as a species of insipid idiotoy, the most stormy im- 
 pulse that can wreck the heart of man. It is with real respect 
 for Alfieri that I venture a few comments on his works, their aim 
 is so noble ! The sentiments of the author so well accord with 
 the life of the man, that his tragedies ought always to be praised 
 
118 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 as so many great actions, even though they may be criticized in a 
 literary sense. It strikes me, that some of them have a monotony 
 in their vigor, as Metastasio's have in their sweetness. Alfieri 
 gives us such a profusion of energy and worth, or such an exag- 
 geration of vi6lence and guilt, that it is impossible to recognize*- 
 one human being among his heroes. Men are never either so 
 vile or so generous as he describes them. The object is to contrast 
 vice with virtue ; but these contrasts lack the gradations of truth. 
 If tyrants were obliged to put up with half he makes their victims 
 say to their faces, one would really feel tempted to pity them. 
 In the tragedy of ' Octavia,' this outrage of probability is most' 
 apparent. Seneca lectures Nero, as if the one were the bravest, 
 and the other the most patient of men. The master of the world 
 allows himself to be insulted, and put in a rage, scene after scene, 
 as if it were not in his own power to end all this by a single 
 word. It is certain, that, in these continual dialogues, Seneca 
 utters maxims which one might pride to hear in a harangue or 
 read in a dissertation; but is this the way to give an idea of 
 tyranny ? — instead of investing it with terror, to set it up as a 
 block against which to tilt with wordy weapons ! Had Shaks- 
 peare represented Nero surrounded by trembling slaves, who 
 scarce dared answer the most indifferent question, himself vainly 
 endeavoring to appear at ease, and Seneca at his side, composing 
 the Apology for Agrippina's murder, would not our horror have 
 been a thousand times more great ? and, for one reflection made 
 by the author, would not millions have arisen, in the spectator's 
 mind, from the silent rhetoric of so true a picture?" Oswald 
 might have spoken much longer ere Corinne would have inter- 
 rupted him, so fascinated was she by the sound of his voice, and 
 the turn of his expressions. Scarce could she remove her gaze 
 from his countenance, even when he ceased to speak ; then, as 
 her friends eagerly asked what she thought of Italian tragedy, she 
 answered by addressing herself to Nevil. — « My lord, I so entirely 
 agree with you, that it is not as a disputant I reply ; but to make 
 some exceptions to your, perhaps, too general rules. It is true 
 that Metastasio is rather a lyric than a dramatic poet; and that 
 
UOUljyiNJSJ OK, ITALY. 119 
 
 he depicts Jove rather as one of the fine arts th^at embellish life, 
 than as the secret source of our deepest joys and sorrows. 
 Although our poetry has been chiefly devoted to love, I will 
 hazard the assertion that we have more truth and power in our 
 
 , portraitures of every other passion. For amatory* themes, a kind 
 of conventional style has been formed amongst us j and poets are 
 inspired by what they have read, not by their own feelings. Love 
 as it is in Italy, bears not the slightest resemblance to love such 
 as our authors describe. 
 
 "I know but one romance, the 'Eiammetta' of Boccaccio, in 
 which the passion is attired in its truly national colors. Italian 
 loye is a deep and rapid impression, more frequently betrayed by 
 the silent ardor of our deeds, than by ingenious and highly wrought 
 language. Our literature, in general, bears but a faint stamp of 
 cur manners. We are too humbly modest to found tragedies on 
 our own history, or fill them with our own emotions. (17) Alfieri, 
 
 ^by a singular chance, was transplanted from antiquity into mo- 
 dern times. He was born for action ; yet permitted but to write : 
 his style resented this restraint. He wished by a literary road to 
 reao^ a political goal ; a noble one, bul; such as spoils all wofks of 
 fancy. He was impatient of living among learned writers and 
 enlightened readers, who, nevertheless, oared for nothing serious; 
 but amused themselves with madrigals and nouvellettes. Alfieri 
 sought to give his tragedies a more austere character. He re- 
 trenched everything that could interfere with the interest of his 
 dialogue ; as if determined to make his countrymen do penance 
 for their natural vivacity. Yet he was much admired : because 
 he was truly great, and because the inhabitants of Eome applaud 
 all praise bestowed on the ancient Eomans, as if it belonged to 
 themselves. They are amateurs of virtue, as of the pictures their 
 galleries possess ; but Alfieri has not created anything that may 
 be called the Italian drama; that is, a school of tragedy, in which 
 a merit peculiar to Italy may be found. He has not even charac- 
 terized the manners of the times and countries he selected. His 
 ' Pazzi,' ' Virginia,' and ' Philip II.' are replete with powerful and 
 elevated thought ; but you everywhere find the impress of Alfieri, 
 
120 corinne; oe, Italy. 
 
 not that of the scene nor of the period assumed. Widely as ho 
 differs from all French authors in most respects, he resembles 
 them in the habit of painting every subject he touches with the 
 hues of his own mind." At this allusion, d'Erfeuil observed : " It 
 would be impossible for us to brook on our stage either the insig- 
 nificance of the Grecians, or the monstrosities of Shakspeare. 
 The French have too much taste. Our drama stands alone for 
 elegance and delicacy : to introduce anything foreign, were to 
 plunge us into barbarism." — " You would as soon think of sur- 
 rounding France with the great wall of China I" said Corinne, 
 smiling : " yet the rare beauties of your tragic authors wordd be 
 better developed, if you would sometimes permit others besides 
 Frenchmen to appear in their scenes. But we, poor Italians, 
 would lose much, by confining ourselves to rules that must confer 
 on us less honor than constraint. The national chtiracter ought 
 to form the national theatre. We love the fine arts, music, 
 scenery, even pantomime; all, in fact, that strikes our senses. 
 How, then, can a drama, of which eloquence is the best charm, 
 contept us ? In vain did Alfieri strive to reduce us to this ; he 
 himself felt that his system was too rigorous. (18) His ' Saul,' 
 Maffei's ' Merope,' Monti's ' Aristodemus,' above all, the poetry of 
 Dante (though he never wrote a tragedy), seem to give the best 
 notion of what the dramatic art might become here. In ' Merope' 
 the action is simple, but the language glorious j why should such 
 style be interdicted in our plays ? Verse becomes so magnificent 
 in Italian, that we ought to be the last people to renounce its 
 beauty. Alfieri, who, when he pleased, could excel in every way, 
 has in his ' Saul' made superb use of lyric poetry; and, indeed, 
 music itself might there be very happily introduced ; not to in- 
 terrupt the dialogue, but to calm the fury of the king, by the harp 
 of David. We possess such delicious music, as may well inebriate 
 all mental power; we ought, therefore, instead of separating, to 
 unite these attributes ; not by making our heroes sing, which de- 
 stroys their dignity, but by choruses, like those of the ancients, 
 connected by natural links with the main situation, as often hap- 
 pens in real life. Far from rendering the Italian drama less 
 
corinne; or, italt. 121 
 
 imaginative, I think we ought in every way to increase the 
 illusive pleasure of the audience. Our lively taste for music, 
 ballet and spectacle, is a proof of powerful fancy, and a ne- 
 cessity, to interest ourselves incessantly, even in thus sporting 
 with serious images, instead of rendering them more severe 
 than they need be, as did Alfieri. We think it our duty to 
 applaud whatever is grave and majestfc, but soon return to 
 our natural tastes; and are satisfied with any tragedy, so it 
 be embellished by that variety which the English and Span- 
 iards so highly appreciate. Monti's 'Aristodemus' partakes the 
 terrible pathos of Dante; and has surely a just title to our 
 pride. Dante, so versatile a master-spirit, possessed a tragic 
 genius, which would have produced a grand effect, if he could 
 have adapted it to the stage : he knew how to set before the eye 
 whatever passed in the soul ; he made us not only feel but look 
 upon despair. Had he written plays, they must have affected 
 young and old, the many as well as the few. Dramatic literature 
 must be in some way popular; a whole nation constitute its judges." 
 — " Since the time of Dante," said Oswald, " Italy has played a 
 great political part — ^ere it can boast a national tragic school, great 
 events must call forth, in real life, the emotions whi3h become the 
 stage. Of all literary chefs-d'auvres, a tragedy most thoroughly 
 belongs to a whole people : the author's genius is matured by the 
 public spirit of his audience ; by the government and manners of 
 his country; by all, in fact, which recurs each day to the mind, 
 forming the moral being, even as the air we breathe invigorates 
 our physical life. The Spaniards, whom you resemble in climate 
 and in creed, have nevertheless, far more dramatic talent. Their 
 pieces are drawn from their history, their chivalry, and religious 
 faith ; they are original and animated. Their success in this way 
 may restore them to their former fame as a nation ; but how can 
 we found in Italy a style of tragedy which she has never pos- 
 sessed?" — "I have better hopes, my Lord," returned Gorinne, 
 " from the soaring spirits that are among us, though unfavored as 
 yet by circumstances ; but what we most need is histrionic ability. 
 Affected language induces false declamation ; yet there is no tongue 
 11 
 
122 
 
 COEINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 in which a great actor could evince more potency than in our 
 own ; for melodious sounds lend an added charm to just accentu- 
 ation, without robbing it of its force." — " If you would convince 
 us of this," interrupted Caatel Forte, ■" do so, by giving us 'the 
 Vinexpressible pleasure of seeing you in tragedy j you surely con- 
 r sider your foreign friends worthy of Tntnessing the talent which 
 ^ you monopolize in Italy ; and in which (as your own soul is pe- 
 culiarly expressed in it) you can have no superi ia_en earth." 
 
 Corinne secretly desired'^o per form before O swa|d^and thus 
 appear to the best advantage; but she coulS not consent without 
 his approval : her looks requested it. He understood them ; and? 
 ambitious that she should charm Mr. Edgarmond in a manner 
 which her yesterday's timidity had prevented, he joined his soli- 
 citations to those of her other guests. She hesitated no longer. 
 — " Well, then," she said to Castel Forte, " we vrill, if yon please, 
 accomplish a long-formed scheme of mine, that of playing my 
 translation of ' Eomeo and Juliet.' " — " What !" exclaimed Ed- 
 garmond, " Do you understand English and love Shakspeare ?" — 
 "As a friend," she replied. — "And you will play Juliet in Italian ? 
 and I shall hear you ? and you, too, dear Nevil ! How happy you 
 will be !" Then, instantly repenting his indiscretion, he blushed. 
 The blush of delicacy and kindness is at all ages interesting. — 
 " How happy we shall be," he added with embarrassment, " if we 
 may be. present at such a mental banquet !" 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 All was arranged in a few days ; parts distributed, the night 
 
 fixed on, and the palace of a relative of Prince Castel Forte 
 
 devoted to the representation. Oswald felt at once disquiet 
 
 and delight ; (he enjoye d jinrinnp'g s a c aess, by anj icipation ; bflj. 
 
 e ven thus grew jealous, beforehand, of no one man in partiou- 
 
 "MTEutof ^the public, wh o woul d witnes s an excellence~or whicir 
 u- ft,u .... :e !. „ - 1 I I ! _. i ■ .1 ' ^ I II . . ''L^ 
 
 he felt as it he alone had a right to be aware.N »le would "have 
 
COKI 
 
 NNE; O 
 
 a, ITALY. 
 
 12& 
 
 had Corinne reserv e her ch arms for him, and appe ar to others aa 
 iJDglishwoman. t Jblowever aistia^ 
 
 tmiia as a n JUpglistiwo man. j However aistinp;ui anad_a.jiiajiL may 
 b e, he rarely feels unqualified pleasure in th e snperigrity. of a wg^. 
 _Tnai;i. If he does not love her, his self-esteem takes offence; if 
 he does, his heart is oppressed by it. Beside Corinne, Oswald 
 was rather intoxicated than happy: the admiration she excited 
 increased his passion, without giving stability to his intents. She 
 was a phenomenon every day new ; bu^^e very wonder she in- 
 spirsd Rp.fiTned to lessen his hopes of domestic tranquliliiy. ^ iSEe" 
 was, notwithstanding, so gentle, so easy to live witbpthSt she 
 might have been beloved for her lowliest attributes, independent 
 of all others ; yet it was by these others that she had become re- 
 markable. JT^nrd Nfivil, wt^Vi nl1 hiT nidTnntigri, thought himself 
 beneatb -be g. and doubted the dajiation of their attachment.V jfIn 
 vaiu di d s^ ^ e iTi^lcfi hfirsslf his^ la yel the conqueror was too much 
 
 in awe of h is captive queen to enjoy his realm in peace. } Some 
 hours before the performance, Nevil led her to the house of the 
 Princess, where the theatre had been fitted up. The sun shone 
 beautifully; and at one of the staircase windows, which com- 
 manded a view of Rome and the Campagna, he paused a moment, 
 saying : " Behold, how heaven itself lights you to victory !" — 
 " It is to you, who point out its favor, that I owe such protection, 
 then," she replied. "Tell me," he added, " do the pure emotions I 
 kindled by the^ sweetness of nature suffice to please youT" Remem- 
 ber, this is a very different air from that you will respire in the 
 
 -"Oswald," 
 cause jjou hear jU 
 tha t it may touch m y heart f Tf I dig^j ay any tal eflt, is it not my 
 love for y p" t'^"'- inspires TTie ? Poetry, rpHjrmn^ all fint.hnsinst.in 
 f gelings, a reja ^"'•"'"ny Tf?"^^ patnTq ; and while g^zing -m— thrr- 
 
 azure sk y, while y iplrlinc r tn t.hp rfivprip it nTi^ntrn, T u nrlfirBfayirl 
 
 b etter than ever the sentim ents of .Tuliet, T benome \n<yrp. wnrthy- 
 ^of Romeo." — "Yes, thou art worthy of him, celestial creature !" 
 cried Nevil I "this jealous wish to be alone with thee in the uni- 
 verse, is, l\own, a weakness. Go ! receive the homage of the 
 
 tumultuous "hall which soon will re-echo your name V- 
 shelaidp'Ttf I obtain applause, will it notj 
 
 world ! but be thy love, which is more divine even than thy genius, 
 
124 coeinne; or, italy. 
 
 directed to none but me !" They parted, and Oswald took his place, 
 awaiting her appearance on the stage. In Verona, the tomb of 
 Romeo and Juliet is still shown. Shakspeare has written this play 
 with truly southern fancy; at once impassionedand vivacious ; 
 triumphant in delight ; and rushing from v^ ptoau fl] felicity to 
 despair and death. Its sudden love, we feelfliom tfie first, will 
 never be efiaced ; for the force of nature, beneath a burning clime, 
 and not habitual fickleness, gives it birth. The sun is not capri- 
 cious, though the vegetation be rapid; and Shakspeare, better 
 than any other foreign poet, knew how to seize the national cha- 
 racter of Italy— that fertility of mind which in vents a thousand 
 varied expressions for the same emotion ; that^EfiB^ f loquence 
 which borrows images from all nature, to clothetbe sensations of 
 young hearts. In Ossian, one chord constantly replies to the thrill 
 of sensibility ; but in Shakspeare nothing is cold nor same. A 
 sunbeam divided and reflected in a thousand varied ways, produces 
 endlessly multiplied tints, all telling of the light and heat from 
 whence they are derived. Thus " Romeo and Juliet," translated 
 into Italian, seems but resuming its own mother-tongue. 
 
 The first meeting of the lovers is at a ball given by the Capu- 
 lets, mortal enemies of the Montagues. Corinne was charmingly 
 attired, her tresses mixed with gems and flowers; and at first 
 sight scarce appeared herself : he^^^^however, was soon recog- 
 nised, as was her face, though now'sKnost deified by poetic fire. 
 Unanimous applause rang through the house as she appeared. 
 Her first look discovered Oswald, and rested on him, sparkling 
 with hope and love. The gazers' hearts beat with rapture and 
 with fear, as if beholding happiness too great to last on earth. 
 But was it for Corinne to realize such a presentiment ? When 
 Romeo drew near, to whisper his sense of her grace and beauty, 
 in lines so glowing in English, so magnificent in Italian, the spec- 
 tators, transported at being thus interpreted, fully entered into the 
 passion whose hasty dawn appeared more than excusable. Oswald 
 became all uneasiness ;Qhe felt as i f every man was ready t o pro- 
 claim her an an^el a mon g women, to ch allen ge him on what- be 
 felt for her, to dispute liis rights, and tear her from his arins^ A 
 
OR, ITALY. 125 
 
 dazzling cloud passed before bis eyes ; he feared that he should 
 faint, and concealed himself behind a pillar. Corinne's eyes anx- 
 iously sought him, and with so deep a tone did she pronounce — 
 
 "Too early seen unknown, and known too late!" y\ .^ j 
 
 that he trembled as if she applied these words to ttrSir personal/7 . 
 situation. He renewed his gaze on her dignified and natural ges- 
 tures/E'er c ountenance which spoke more th an wo rds could tell , V 
 t hpse my steries of the he art which must ever remam inexplicable 
 and yet forever decide our faj^. The accents, the looks, the least * 
 movements of a truly sensitive actor, reveal the depths of the 
 human breast. The ideal of the fine arts always mingles with 
 these revelations ; the harmony of verse and the charm of attitude 
 lending to passion the grace and majesty it so often wants in real 
 life — it is here seen through the medium of imagination, without 
 losing aught of its truth. 
 
 In the second act, Juliet has an interview with Romeo from a 
 balcony in her garden. Of all Corinne's ornaments, none but 
 the flowers were left; and even they were scarce visible, as the 
 theatre was faintly illumined in imitation of moonlight, and the 
 countenance of the fond Italian veiled in tender gloom. Her/roice^ 
 sounded still more sweetly than it had done amid the splenifera 
 of the f^te. Her hand, raised towards the stars, seemed invoking 
 them, as alone worthy of her confidence; and when she repeated, 
 " Oh, Romeo, Romeo 1" certain as Oswald felt that it was of him 
 she thought, he was jealous that any other name than his own 
 should be breathed by tones so delicious. She sat in front of the 
 balcony ; the actor who played Romeo was somewhat in the shade ; 
 all the glances of Corinne fell on her beloved, as she spoke those 
 entrancing lines : — 
 
 " In truth, fair Montague ! I am too fond, 
 And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light ; 
 But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true 
 Than those who have more cunning to be strange." 
 
 "Therefore — pardon me!" 
 11* 
 
126 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 At those words, " pardon me !" for loving, for letting thee know 
 it — so tender an appeal filled the eyes of Corinne, such respect 
 for her lover, such pri^e in her "fair Montague," that Oswald 
 raised his head, and/believed himself the monarch o f tbe^ ori^ 
 _sjnce he reigned over a heart inclosing all the treasures ofloye 
 
 and life.'N Corinne, perceiving the eii'ect this took on him, became 
 doubly animated by that heartfelt enthusiasm, which, of itself can 
 work such miracles ; and when, at the approach of day, Juliet 
 fancies that she hears the lark, the signal for Romeo's departure,* 
 the accents of Corinne acquired a superhuman power ; they told 
 of love, indeed, but a religious -mystery was now mingled with it; 
 recollections of heaven — a presage of returning thither — the ce- 
 lestial grief of a soul exiled on earth, and soon to be reclaimed 
 by its diviner home. Ah, how happy was Corinne, while playing 
 so noble a part before the lover of her choice ! How few lives 
 can bear a comparison with one such night ! Had Oswald him- 
 self been the Romeo, her pleasure could not have been so com- 
 plete. She would have longed to break through the greatest 
 poet's verse, and speak after her own heart ; or perhaps the diffi- 
 dence of love would have enchained her genius; truth carried 
 to such a height would have destroyed illusion ; but how sweet 
 was the consciousness of his presence, while she was influenced 
 by the exalted impulses which poetry alone can awaken,| 
 
 u s all the excitement, withottt-the-ag giiish. of reality? while the 
 aifections she portrayed were neither wholly personal nor entirely 
 abstract j fout seemed saying to her Oswald : " Behold, how eapa. 
 ble I am of loving!" It was impossible for._her,tp . be ^ perfectly 
 gt ease in tier own situation. Passion and modesty alternatdy 
 impelled and restrained her, now piquing her pride, now enforcing 
 its submission ; but thus to display her perfections without arro- 
 
 * Corinne's translation deviated widely from the original. Minor 
 points I have presumed to reconcile, but this I must leave as I find 
 though the two parting scenes in Romeo and Juliet are so dissimilar, 
 that it is difiicult to guess how they could become confused in such a 
 mind as Madame de Stael's ; or why she should have omitted all mention 
 of Tybalt's death, and Romeo's banishment. — Tk. 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 127 
 
 gance, to unite sensibility with the calm it so often disturbs j to 
 live a moment in the sweetest dreams of the heart— Jsuch wa s the 
 ^pure deligh</<o f Corinne while acting JulietV To tnis was united" 
 all her pleasure in the applause she won ; and her looks seemed 
 laying her success at the feet of him whose acceptance was worth 
 all fame, and who preferred her glory to his own. Yes, for that 
 hour, Corinne, thou wert enviable ! tasting, at the price of thy 
 repose, the eetasies for whic h, till tfi en. thou hn rtsf, Yni'^ly "'g^i^l^r 
 iintl miint hnnrrfn''^^ fft-oiror- /^oplp^y —^ U.a^a^^ iv^ N'\r^ VO^""^ 
 
 Juliet secretly becomes the wife of Komeo. Her parents com- 
 mand her to espouse another, and she obtains from a friar a 
 sleeping-draught, which gives her the appearance of death. Co- 
 rinne's trembling step and altered voice ; her looks, now wild, 
 now dejected, betrayed the struggles of love and fear; the terrible 
 image of being borne alive to the tomb of her ancestors, and the 
 brave fidelity which bade her young soul triumph over so natural 
 a dread. Once she raised her eyes to heaven, with an ardent 
 petition for that aid with which no human being can dispense; at 
 another time Oswald fancied that she spread her arms towards 
 him ; he longed to fly to her aid ; he rose in a kind of delirium, 
 then sank on his seat, recalled to himself by the surprise of those 
 around him ; but his agitation was too strong to be concealed. 
 In the fifth act, Eoraeo, believing Juliet dead, bears her from the 
 tomb. CoriiiL.e was clad in white, her black locks dishevelled, 
 her head gracefully resting on his bosom ; but with an air of 
 death so sadly true, that Oswald's heart was torn by contending 
 sensations. He could not bear to see her in another's embrace; 
 he shuddered at the sight of her inanimate beauty, and felt, like 
 Eomeo, that cruel union of despair and love, voluptuousness and 
 death, which renders this scene the most heart-rending on the 
 stage. At last, when Juliet wakes in the grave, beside which 
 her lover has just sacrificed himself, her first words beneath those 
 funeral vaults partake not of the fear they might occasion, but 
 she cries : — 
 
 " Where is my lord ? Where is my Roiiico V 
 
128 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 Nevil replied but by a groan ; and was hurried by Mr. Edgar- 
 mond out of the theatre. At the conclusion of the piece, Corinne 
 was overpowered by fatigue and excitement. Oswald was the first 
 to seek her room, where, still in the shroud of Juliet, she lay 
 half-swooning in the arms of her women. In the excess of his 
 dismay, he could no longer distinguish fiction from reality ; but, 
 throwing himself at her feet, exclaimed : — 
 
 "Eyes, look yonr last! Arms take your last emtrace I" 
 
 Corinne, whose senses still wandered, shrieked : " Great God ! 
 what say you ? Would you leave me !" — " No, no, I swear 1" he 
 cried. At that instant a crowd of admiring friends broke in upon 
 them ; she anxiously desired to hear what he had meant to say, 
 but they were not left alone together for an instant, and could 
 not speak to each other again that evening. 
 
 Never had any drama produced such an effect in Italy. The 
 Komans extolled the piece, the translation, and the actress; 
 asserting that this was the tragedy which represented them to 
 the life, and gave an added value to their language, by eloquence 
 at once inspired and natural. Corinne received all these eulo- 
 giums with gracious sweetness ; but her soul hung on these brief 
 words : " I swear 1" believing that they contained the secret of 
 her destiny. 
 
 BOOK VIII. 
 
 THE STATUES AND PICTUEES. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 After such an evening, Oswald could not close his eyes all 
 niglit. (He had never b een so near sacrificing ev erything ta 
 CorinneTj He wished _^^|;|even__to__iearn her secr^ until ho 
 haT solemnly ^nseoratedWs life ~to~her~servi^PaIl indecision 
 
corinne; oe, italy. 129 
 
 seemed banished, as he mentally composed the letter which 
 he intended to write the next morning; but this resolved and 
 happy confidence was not of lon^_duration. HisTthoughts again 
 strayedTtowards the past, reminding him that he had loved before ; 
 and though far less than he adored Corinne, nay, an object not to 
 be compared with her, he had then been hurried into rashness 
 that broke his father's heart. "How know I," he cried, "that 
 he does not once more fear his son ^ay forget his duty to his 
 native landL ) Oh thou, the best friend I can ever call mine 
 o^ I" be continued tojhe miniature of his parent, " I can no 
 longer hear thy voice, yet teach me by ^at "silent lo ok, still — 
 still s o powerful over mob how I should act, that thou mayest 
 gaze from heaven with some satisfaction on thy son. Yet, yet 
 remember the thirst for happiness which consumes humanity ; be 
 but as indulgent in thy celestial home, as late thou wert on earth. 
 I should become more worthy of thee, were my heart content; did 
 1 live with that angelic creature, had I the honor of protecting — 
 saving such a woman ! g^ve he r ?" he added, suddenly, " and 
 frqpfi what? fjifvn the life she loves : a l ife of triu mph, flattery . 
 and f reedom ?") This reflection of his own scared him as if it had 
 been spoken by the spirit of his sire. In situations like Os- 
 wald's, who has not felt that secret superstition which makes us 
 regard our thoughts and sufferings as warnings from on high? 
 Ah, what struggles beset the soul susceptible alike of passion and 
 of conscience ! He paced his chamber in cruel agitation ; some- 
 times pausing to gaze on the soft and lovely moonlight of Italy. 
 Nature's fair smile may render us resigned to everything but sus- 
 pense. Day rose on his — and when d'Erfeuil and Edgarmond 
 entered his room, so much had one night changed him, that both 
 were alarmed for his health. The Count first broke silence. " I 
 must confess," he said, "that I was charmed last evening. What 
 a pity that such capabilities should be wasted on a woman of for- 
 tune ! were Corinne but poor, free as she is, she might take to the 
 stage, and be the glory of Italy." Oswald was grieved by this 
 speech ; yet knew not how to show it ; for such was d'Erfeuil's 
 peculiarity, that one could not legitimately object to aught he 
 
130 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 said, -however great the pain and anger he awakened. It is only 
 for feeling hearts to practise reciprocal indulgence. Self-love, so 
 sensitive in its own cause, has rarely any sympathy to spare for 
 others. Mr. Edgarmond spoke of Corinne in the most pleasing 
 manner ; and Nevil replied in English, to defend this theme from 
 the uncongenial comments of d'Erfeuil, who exclaimed, " So, it 
 seems, I am one too many here ; well, I'll to the lady ; she must 
 be longing for my opinion of her Juliet. I have a few hints to 
 give her, for future improvement; they relate merely to detail, 
 but details do much towards a whole j and she is really so asto- 
 nishing a woman, that I shall neglect nothing that can bring her 
 to perfection. Indeed," he added, confidentially addressing Nevil, 
 " I must encourage her to play frequently ; it is the surest way of 
 catching some foreigner of rankA yy"nu and T, dear Oswald, are 
 too accustomed to fine girls for any one of them t<> IpaH m^ ^jn tn 
 such an absurdity \ but a German prince, now, or a Spanish 
 grandee — who knows? eh?" At these words Oswald started up, 
 beside himself; and there is no telling what might have occurred 
 had the Count guessed his impulse ; but he was so satisfied with 
 his own concluding remark, that he tripped from the room, with- 
 out a suspicion of having offended Lord Nevil ; had he dreamed 
 of such a thing, he would assuredly have remained where he was, 
 though he liked Oswald as well as he could like any one ; but his 
 undaunted valor contributed, still more than his conceit, to veil 
 his defects from himself. With so much delicacy in all affairs of 
 honor, he could not believe himself deficient in that of feeling ; 
 and having good right to consider himself brave and gentlemanly, 
 he never calculated on any deeper qualities than his own. Jfot 
 one cause of Oswald's agitation had escaped the eye of Edgar 
 mond. As soon as they were alone, he said: "My dear Nevil, 
 good-bye! I'm off for Naples." — "So soon?" exclaimed his 
 friend. " Yes, it is not good for me to stay hero ; for even at 
 
 fifty, I am not sure that I should not go mad for Corinne." 
 
 " And what then ?" — " Why t.liPTi,|^ii>>}i aw|^Tnni^ ff. x^t f;t,_^ o ij^q ^ 
 ■ in Wales j believe me, dear Qsjgald^ uione but En g lish ^iyes wil l 
 dofor Engl and. \ It is not for me to advise, and I scarce need 
 
CORINNE: or, ITALY. 
 
 131 
 
 say that I shall never allude there to what I have seen here ; but 
 Coi-iune, all-charming as she is, makes me think, with Walpole, 
 pOf^ wba tjiaaeg^nl'^ "h f .baiaaJioase^ .Now the house is every- 
 t'uiDg with us, you know, at least to our wives. Can you fancy 
 your lovely Italian remaining quietly at home, while fox-hunts or 
 debates took you abroad ? or leaving you at your wine, to make 
 tea against your rising from table ? Pear Oswald<f the domest ic 
 W(^Tth-nf nm- women you wil l never find elsewhereTj Here men 
 have nothing to do but to please the ladies ; therefore, the more 
 agreeable they find them, the better; but with us, where men 
 lead active lives, ffie women should bloom in the shadej to which 
 it were a thousand pities if Corinne were condemneefc|c_Iwould 
 place her on the English throne, not beneath my humMR ri;inf_ 
 
 My Lord ! I knew yotff mother, wEom your respected father so 
 much regretted ; just such a woman will be my young cousin ; 
 and fehat is tbe wifa T would choose, were I still o f "" gpi" *r, Via 
 beloved.^ Farewell, my dear Nevil ; do not take what I have said 
 amiss, for no one can admire Corinne more than I do ; nay, per- 
 haps, at your years, I should not be able to give up the hope of 
 winning her." He pressed his young friend's hand very cordially, 
 and left him, ere Oswald could utter a word ; but Edgarmond un- 
 derstood the cause of this silence, and, content with the grasp 
 which replied to his, was glad to conclude a conversation which 
 had cost him no slight pain. The only portion of what he had 
 said that reached the heart of Oswald, was the mention of his 
 mother, and the deep affection his father felt for her. She had 
 died ere their child was fourteen ; yet he reveringly recalled the 
 retiring virtues of her character. "Madman that I am!" he 
 cried, " I desired to know what kind of wife my father had des- 
 tined me, and /t am answered by the image of his owB?-^duim h e 
 adored, l What would 1 more, then? why deceive myself? why 
 pretend an ignorance of what he would think now, could I yet 
 consult him ?" Still, it was with terror that he thougth of return- 
 in" to Corinne, without giving her a confirmation of the senti- 
 ments he had testified. The tumult of his breast became at last 
 so uncontrollable, that it occasioned a recurrence of the distressing 
 
132 oorinne; or, italt. 
 
 accident against which he now believed his lungs secure. One 
 may imagine the frightful scene — ^his alarmed domestics calling 
 for help, as he lay silently hoping that death would end his sor- 
 row. "If I could die, once more looking on Corinne," he 
 thought, " once more called her Komeo." A few tears fell from 
 his eyes, the first that any grief, save the loss of his father, had 
 cost him since that event. He wrote a melancholy line account- 
 ing for his absence,, to Corinne. She had began the day with 
 fond delusive hopes. Believing herself loved, she was content ; 
 for she knew not very clearly what more on earth she wished. 
 A thousand circumstances blended the thought of marrying Os- 
 wald with fear ; and, as her nature was the present's slave, too 
 heedless of the future, the day which was to load her with such 
 care, rose like the purest, calmest of her life. On receiving his 
 note, how were her feelings changed ! She deemed him in great 
 danger, and instantly, on foot, crossed the then crowded Corso, 
 entering his abode before all the eyes of Rome. She had not 
 given herself time to think, but walked so radidly, that when she 
 reached his chamber she could neither speak nor breathe. He 
 comprehended all she had risked for his sake, and overrated the 
 consequences of an act which in England would have ruined a 
 woman's fame, especially if unwed : transported by generosity and 
 gratitude, he raised himself, weak as he was, pressed her to his 
 heart, and murmured, " Dear love ! leave thee ? now that thou 
 
 hast compromised thyself? — no, no ! — ^let my reparation " 
 
 She read his thought, and gently withdrawing from his arms, first, 
 ascertained that he was better than she had expected, then said 
 gravely : " You mistake, my Lord ! in coming to you I have done 
 no more than the greatest number of women in Rome would have 
 done in my place. Here, you know none but me. I heard you 
 were ill; it is my duty to nurse you. Ceremony should be 
 obeyed, indeed, when it sacrifices but one's self, yet ought to 
 yield before the higher feelings due to the grief or danger of a 
 friend. What would be the lot of a woman, if the same laws 
 which permitted her to love forbade her to indulge the resistless 
 impulse of flying to the aid of those most dear tq her ? I repeat, 
 
oorinne; or, italt. 133 
 
 my Lord, fear nothing for me ! My age and talents give me the 
 freedoms of a married female. I do not conceal from my friends 
 that I am here. I know not if they blame me for loving you, 
 but surely, as I do, they cannot blame my devotion to you now." 
 This sincere and natural reply filled Oswald's heart with most 
 contrasted emotions : touched as he was by its delicacy, he was 
 half disappointed. He would have found a pretext in her peril — 
 a necessity for terminating his own doubts, ^fe muse^ 
 pl easure on Italian liberty^ hieh prolonged tEemthus, by per- 
 mitting him so much favor, without imposing any bonds in 
 return. He wished that honor had commanded him to follow 
 inclination. These troublous thoughts caused him a severe 
 relapse. Corinne, though suffering the most intense anxiety, 
 lavished the fondest cares on his revival. Towards evening he 
 was still more oppressed ; she knelt beside his couch, supporting 
 his head upon her bosom, though far more pitiable than himself. 
 Oft as he gazed on her, did a look of rapture break through all 
 his pangs. " Corinne," he whispered, " here are some papers — 
 you shall read to me — written by my father on Death. Think 
 not," he added, as he marked her dismay, " that I believe myself 
 dying; but whenever I am ill I reperuse these consolations, and 
 seem again to hear them from his lips ; besides, my dearest, I 
 wish you to know what a man he was ; you will the better com- 
 prehend my regret, his empire over me — all that I will some day 
 confide to you." Corinne took the papers, which Oswald always 
 carried about him, and with a faltering voice began — 
 
 " Oh, ye just ! beloved of the Lord ! ye speak of death without 
 a fear; to you it is but a change of homes; and this ye leave 
 may be the least of all. Innumerable worlds that shine through 
 yon infinitude of space ! unknown communities of His creatures 
 — children ! strewn through the firmament, ranged beneath its 
 concave, let our praises rise with yours ! We know -not your 
 condition, nor your share of God's free bounty ; but in thinking 
 over life and death, the past, the future, we participate in the 
 interests of all intelligent, all sentient beings, however distant be 
 their dwelling-places. Assembled spheres ! wide-scattered fami- 
 12 
 
134 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 lies ! ye sing with us, Glory to the' Lord of heaven ! the King of 
 earth ! the Spirit of the universe ! whose will transforms sterility 
 to harvest, darkness to light, and death to life eternal. Assuredly 
 the end of the just man deserves our envy ; but few of us, or of 
 our sires before us, have looked on such a death. Where is he who 
 shall meet the eye of Omnipotence unawed ? Where is he who 
 hath loved God without once wavering ? Who served him from his 
 youth up, and, in his age, finds nothing to remember with re- 
 morse ? Where is the man, in all Iris actions moral, who has not 
 been led by flattery, or scared by slander ? So rare a model were 
 worthy of imitation ; but where exists it ? If such be amongst 
 us, how ought our respect to follow him ! Let us beg to be pre- 
 sent at his death, as at the loveliest of human spectacles. Take 
 courage, and surround the bed, whence he will rise no more ! 
 He knows it, yet is all serene : a heavenly halo seems to crown 
 his brow. He says, with the Apostle, ' I know in whom I have 
 believed ;' and this reliance, as his strength decays, lights up his 
 features still. Already he beholds his celestial home, yet unfor- 
 getful of the one he leaves. He is God's own ; but turns not 
 stoically from ties that lent a charm to his past life. His faith- 
 ful partner, by the law of nature, will be the first to follow him. 
 He dries her tears, and tells her they shall meet in heaven ! 
 even there unable to expect felicity without her. Next, he re- 
 minds her of the happy days that they have led together; not to 
 afflict the heart of such dear friend, but to increase their mutual 
 confidence in their Lord's pardoning grace. The tender love be 
 ever bore his life's companion now seeks to soften her regrets ; to 
 bid her revel in the sweet idea that their two beings grew from 
 the same stem ; and that this union may prove one defence, one 
 guarantee the more, against the terrors of that dark futurity 
 wherein God's pity is the sole refuge of our startled thoughts. 
 But how conceive the thousand feelings that pierce a constant 
 heart, when one vast solitude appears before it ? and all the in- 
 terests that have filled past years are vanishing forever ? thou, 
 who must survive this second self. Heaven lent for thy support ! 
 who was thine all, and whose looks now bid thee a sad adieu ' 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 135 
 
 thou wilt not shrink from laying thy hand upon the fainting 
 heart, whose latest pulse, after the death of words, speaks it 
 thine own. Shall we then blame you if you wish your dust 
 might mingle ? All-gracious Deity ! awaken them together. Or, 
 if but one deserves thy favoring call to number with the elect, 
 let but the other learn these blissful tidings ; read them in angel 
 light one fleeting instant, and he will sink resigned back to per- 
 petual gloom. Perhaps I err in this essay to paint the last hours 
 of such a man, who sees the advancing strides of death, and feels 
 that he must part from all he holds most dear. He struggles for 
 a momentary strength, that his last words may serve to instruct 
 his children. 'Pear not,' he says, 'to watch your sire's release, 
 to lose your oldest friend ; it is by God's ordinance he goes be- 
 fore you, from a world into which he came the first. He would 
 fain teach you courage, though he weeps to say farewell : he could 
 have wished to stay and aid you longer, by experience to have 
 led you some steps further on the way surrounded by such perils 
 for your youth ; but life has no defence against its Giver's man- 
 date. You will proceed alone in a wide world, where I shall be 
 no more. May you abundantly reap all the blessings that Provi- 
 dence has sown there ! But never forget that this world is a 
 land through which we only journey to our home. Let us hope 
 to meet again. May our Father accept the sacrifice I tender, in 
 your cause, of all my vows and tears ! Cling to religion ! Trust 
 its promises ! Love it, as the last link betwixt child and parent ; 
 betwixt life and death ! Draw near me, that I may see you still. 
 The benediction of an humble Christian rest with you all !' He 
 dies ! Angels, receive his soul, and leave us here the memory of 
 his deeds, his faith, his chastened hope.'' (19) 
 
 The emotions of Oswald and Corinne had frequently inter, 
 tupted their progress : at last they were obliged to give up the 
 attempt. She trembled lest he should harm himself by weeping, 
 unconscious that her tears flowed fast as his. "Yes," sobbed 
 Nevil; "yes, sweetest friend of my bosom, the floods of our 
 hearts have mingled ; you have mourned with me that guardian 
 saint whose last embrace yet thrills my breast, whose noble coun- 
 
136 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 tenance I still behold. Perhaps he has chosen thee for my 
 solace." — "No, no," exclaimed CoriBne; "he did not think me 
 worthy." — " What say you 1" interrupted Oswald ; and, alarmed 
 lest she had betrayed herself, she replied : " He might not 
 have thought me worthy of you." This slight change of phrase 
 dissipated his uneasiness, and he fearlessly continued speaking of 
 his father. The physicians arrived, and slightly reassured him ; 
 but absolutely forbade his attempting to converse, until his in- 
 ternal hurt was healed. Six whole days passed, during which 
 Corinne never left him. With gentle firmness she enjoined his 
 silence, yet contrived to vary the hours by reading, music, and 
 sometimes by a sportive dialogue, in which she sustained both 
 parts ; serious or gay, it was for his sake that she supported her- 
 self, veiling beneath a thousand graceful arts the solicitude which 
 consumed her ; she was never off her guard for an instant. She 
 perceived what Oswald suffered, almost before himself : the cou- 
 rage he assumed deceived her not : she did, indeed, " anticipate 
 the asking eye," while her chief endeavor was that of diverting 
 his mind, as much as possible, from the value of these tender 
 offices. If he turned pale, the rose fled from her lip, and her 
 hand trembled as she brought him a restorative : even then would 
 she smile through her tears, and press his hand to her heart, as if 
 she would fain have added her stock of life to his. At last her 
 efforts succeeded : he recovered. " Corinne," he said, as soon as 
 permitted to speak, "why has not my friend Edgarmond wit. 
 nessed your conduct ? he would have seen that you are not less 
 good than great <"t£at domestic life with you would be a perpe- 
 ^al enchan tment; that vou dilter from our women only in add inir 
 ^nrns ■t2.lirtll°\ '* ^° ^"" miT>y' ! here ends the comEat that so 
 nearly reduced me to the grave. Corinne ! you, who conceal 
 
 your own secrets, shall hear all mine, and pronounce our doom." ■ 
 
 " Our doom," she replied, " if you feel as I do, is — not to part ; 
 yet believe me, till now, at least, I have never dared to wish my- 
 self your wife : the scheme o f my ex istence is entirely disordered 
 by STp Jrwp t,lini. fivfiry davf^slave^ me more and more jp yet I 
 know not if we ought to marry." — " Corinne," he cried, " do yon 
 
137 
 
 despise me for having hesitated ? Can you attribute my delay to 
 contemptible motives ? Have you not guessed that the deep re- 
 morse to which I have been for two years a prey alone has been 
 the cause?" — "I know it," she answered. "Had I suspected 
 you of considerations foreign to those of the heart, you would not 
 have been dear to me. But life, I know, belongs not all to love j 
 habit and memory weave such nets around us that even passion 
 cannot quite destroy : broken, for a moment, they will grow again, 
 as the ivy clasps the oak. My dear Oswald ! let us give no epoch 
 of life more than it requires. At this, it is essential to me that 
 you leave me not. IThe dread of a sud den separation jncfissgtnjjj 
 pursues me.\ You are a stranger here; no ties detain you : if 
 once you go, all is over ; nothing will be left to me of you, but 
 my own grief. Nature, the arts, poetry, all that I have shared 
 with you, lately, alas 1 with you alone, will speak no longer to my 
 soul ! I never wake without trembling. I ask the fair day if it 
 has still a right to shine ; if you, the sun of my being, are near 
 me yet ? Oswald, remove this fear, and I will not look beyond 
 the present's sweet security." — " You know," replied he, " that 
 no Englishman should renounce his country : war may recall 
 me." — " Grod I" she cried, " would you prepare my mind ?" 
 Her limbs quivered, as if at the approach of the most terrific 
 danger. " If it be even so," she added, C' take me with you^— as 
 jMUT wife— your ^lave)l'j Then suddenly regaining her spirits, 
 she continued : " Oswald, you will never depart without warning 
 me ? Never ! will you ? Listen I in no country is a criminal led 
 to torture without being allowed some hours to collect his thoughts. 
 It must not be by letter : you will come yourself, to tell me, to 
 hear me, ere you fly ? How ! you hesitate to grant my prayer ?" 
 " No," returned he, " you wish it ; and I swear, if my departure 
 be necessary, I will apprise you of it, and that moment shall 
 decide our fate." She , 
 
 -> 
 
 12* 
 
138 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Corinne now carefully avoided all explanations. She wished 
 to render her lover's life as calm as possible. Their every 
 interview had tended to convince her that the disclosure of what 
 she had been, and sacrificed, was but too likely to make an unfa- 
 vorable impression ; she, therefore, sought again to interest him 
 in the still unseen wonders of Rome, and/thnsretardthe instant 
 that must clear all dou bts. ( Such a situation would be msupport- 
 able beneath any other leeiing than love, which sheds such spells 
 over every minute, that, though still desiring some indefinite 
 futurity, we receive a day as a century of joy, and pain, so full of 
 sensations and ideas is each succeeding morrow. Love is the 
 emblem of eternity : it confounds all notion of time : effaces all 
 memory of a beginning, all fear of an end : we fancy that we 
 have always possessed what we love, so difficult is it to imagine 
 how we could have lived without it. The more terrible separa- 
 tion seems, the less probable it becomes : like death, it is an evil 
 we rather name than believe, as if the inevitable were impossible. 
 Corinne, who, in her innocent artifice for varying Oswald's 
 amusements, had hitherto reserved the statues and paintings, now 
 proposed taking him to see them, as his health was sufficiently 
 re-established. — " It is shameful," she said, with a smile, " that 
 you should be still so ignorant; therefore to-morrow we will 
 commence our tour through the galleries and museums." — "As 
 you will," replied Nevilj "but, indeed, Corinne, you -want not 
 the aid of such resources to keep me with you ; on the contrary, 
 I make a sacrifice to obey you, in turning my gaze to any other 
 object, be it what it may." 
 
 They went first to the Vatican, that palace of sculpture, where 
 the human form shines deified by paganism, as are the virtues by 
 Christianity. In those silent halls are assembled gods and 
 heroes ; while beauty, in eternal sleep, looks as if dreaming of 
 herself were the sole pleasure she required. As we contemplate 
 these admirable forms and features, the design of the Divinity, 
 
CORINNEJOR, ITALY. 139 
 
 iu creating man, seems revealed by the noble person he has 
 deigned to bestow on him. The soul is elevated by hopes full of 
 chaste enthusiasm; for beauty is a portion of the universe, 
 which, beneath whatever guise presented, awakes religion in the 
 heart of man. What poetry invests a face where the most sub- 
 lime expression is fixed forever, where the grandest thoughts are 
 enshrined in images so worthy of them ! Sometimes an ancient 
 sculptor completed but one statue in his life ; that constituted his 
 history. He daily added to its perfection : if he loved or was 
 beloved ; if he derived fresh ideas from art or nature, they served 
 but to embellish the features of this idol. He translated into looks 
 all the feelings of his soul. G-rief, in the present state of society 
 so cold and oppressive, then actually ennobled its victim ; indeed, 
 to this day the being who has not suffered can never have thought 
 or felt. But the ancients dignified grief by heroic composure, a 
 sense of their own strength, developed by their public freedom. 
 The loveliest Grecian statues were mostly expressive of repose. 
 The Laocoon and the Niobe are among the few stamped by sorrow ; 
 but it is the vengeance of Heaven, and not human passion, that 
 they both recall. The moral being was so well organized of old, the 
 air circulated so freely in those manly chests, and political order 
 so harmonized with such faculties, that those times scarce ever, 
 like our own, produced discontented men. Subtle as were the 
 ideas then discovered, the arts were furnished with none but those 
 primitive affections which alone can be typified by eternal marble. 
 Hardly can a trace of melancholy be found on their statues. A 
 head of Apollo, in the Justinian palace, and one of the dying 
 Alexander, indeed, betray both thoughtfulness and pain j but they 
 belonged to the period of Grecian slavery, which banished the 
 tranquil pride that usually pervaded both their sculpture and 
 their poetry. Thought, unfed from without, preys on itself, dig- 
 ging up and analyzing its own treasures ; but it has not the creative 
 power which happiness alone can give. Even the antique sarco- 
 phagi! of the Vatican teem but with martial or joyous images ; 
 the commemoration of an active life they thought the best homage 
 they could pay the dead — nothing weakened or discouraged the 
 
140 corinne; ou, italt. 
 
 living. Emulation was the reigning principle in art as in policy ; 
 there was room for all the virtues, as for all the talents. The 
 vulgar prided in the ability to admire, and genius was worshipped 
 even by those who could not aspire to its palm. Grecian religion 
 was not, like Christianity, the solace of misery, the wealth of the 
 poor, the future of the dying : it required glory and triumph ; it 
 formed the apotheosis of man. In this perishable creed, even 
 beauty was a dogma ; artists, called on to represent base or fero- 
 cious passions, shielded the human form from degradation by blend- 
 ing it with the animal, as in the satyrs and centaurs. On the 
 contrary, when seeking to realize an unusual sublimity, they united 
 the charms of both sexes; as in the warlike Minerva, and the 
 Apollo Musagets ; felicitous propinquity of vigor and sweetness, 
 without which neither quality can attain perfection ! Corinne de- 
 layed Oswald some time before the sleeping figures that adorn 
 the tombs, in the manner most favorable to their art. She observed 
 that statues representing an action suspended at its height, an im- 
 pulse suddenly checked, create, sometimes, a painful astonishment; 
 but an attitude of complete repose offers an image that thoroughly 
 accords with the influence of southern skies. The arts there seem 
 but the peaceful spectators of nature ; and genius itself, which 
 agitates a northern breast, there appears but one harmany the 
 more. Oswald and Corinne entered the court in which the sculp- 
 tured animals are assembled with the statue of Tiberius in the 
 midst of them : this arrangement was made without premeditation ; 
 the creatures seemed to have ranged themselves around their mas- 
 ter. Another such hall contains the gloomy works of the Egypt- 
 ians, resembling mummies more that men. This people, as much 
 as possible, assimilated life with death, and lent no animation to 
 their human efiBgies ; that province of art appeared to them inac- 
 cessible. About the porticos of this museum each step presents 
 now wonders; vases, altars, ornaments of all kinds, surround the 
 Apollo, the Laocoon, and the Muses. Here may one learn to ap- 
 preciate Homer and Sophocles, attaining a knowledge of antiquity 
 that cannot be elsewhere acquired. Amid these porticos are 
 fountains, whose incessant flow gently reminds you of past hours ; 
 
coeinnb; oe, ital^. 141 
 
 it is two thousand years since the artists/ of these che/s-d'ceuvre 
 existed. But the most melancholy siglits here are the broken 
 statues, the torso of Hercules, heads se jfarated from their trunks ; 
 the foot of a Jupiter, which it is supp/sed must have belonged to 
 the largest and most symmetrical staftue ever knowiVi..,^^One sees 
 the battle-field whereoi^Time conteM ed with Glory iJ ehese mu- 
 tilated limbs attesting tEe tyrant's victory, and our own losses. 
 After leaving the Vatican, Corinne led Oswald to the colossal 
 figures on Monte Cavallo, said to be those of Castor and Pollux. 
 Each of these heroes governs a foaming steed with one hand : this 
 struggle of man with brute, like all the works of the ancients, 
 finely exemplifying the physical powers of human nature, which 
 had then a dignity it no longer possesses. Bodily exercises are 
 generally abandoned to our common people; personal vigor, in 
 the antique, appeared so intimately connected with the moral qual- 
 ities of those who lived in the heart of war, a war of single com- 
 bats, that generosity, fierceness, command, and height of stature, 
 seemed inseparable, ere intellectual religion had throned man's 
 potency in his soul. As the gods wore our shape, every attribute 
 appears symbolical : the " brawns of Hercules" suggest no recol- 
 lections of vulgar life, but of divine, almighty will, clothed in 
 supernatural grandeur. 
 
 Corinne and Oswald finished their day by visiting the studio of 
 the great Canova. The statues gained much from being seen by 
 torchlight, as the ancients must have thought, who placed them 
 in their Thermes, inaccessible to the day. A deeper shade thus 
 softens the brilliant uniformity of the marble : its pallor looks 
 more like that of life. At that time Canova had just achieved an 
 exquisite figure, intended for a tomb; it represented Grief leaning 
 on a Lion. Corinne detected a resemblance to Nevil, with which 
 the artist himself was struck. Our Englishman turned away his 
 head, to avoid this kind of attention, whispering to his beloved : 
 " Corinne, I believed myself condemned to this eternal grief ere 
 I met you, who have so changed me, that sometimes hope, and 
 always a delicious agitation, pervades the heart that ought to ba 
 devoted to regret." 
 
142 coeinne; or, it alt. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 In painting, the wealth of Rome surpasses that of the rest of 
 the world. Only one point of discussion can exist on the effect 
 which her pictures produce — does the nature of the suhjects 
 selected by Italy's great masters admit the varied originality of 
 passion which painting can express ? The difference of opinion be- 
 tween Oswald and Corinne on this point, as on others, sprung but 
 from the difference of their countries and creeds. Corinne affirmed 
 that Scripture subjects were those most favorable to the painter; 
 that sculpture was the Pagan's art, and painting the Christian's ; 
 that Michael Angelo, the painter of the Old, and Raphael, that 
 of the New Testament, must have been gifted with sensibility 
 profound as that of Shakspeare or Raoine. " Sculpture," she said, 
 "can present but a simple or energetic life to the eye, while paint- 
 ing displays the mysteries of retirement and resignation^ and makes 
 the immortal spirit speak through the fleeting colors. Historical 
 facts, or incidents drawn from the poets, are rarely picturesque. 
 One had need, in order to understand them, to keep up the custom 
 of writing the speeches of their personages on ribbons rolling from 
 their mouths. But religious pieces are instantly comprehended 
 by the whole world ; and our attention is not turned from the art, 
 in order to divine their meaning. 
 
 " The generality of modern painters are too theatrical. They 
 bear the stamp of an age in which the unity of existence and na- 
 tural way of life, familiar to Andrew Mantegne, Perugin, and 
 Leonardo da Vinci, is entirely forgotten. To this antique repose 
 they were wont to add the depth of feeling which marks Christ- 
 ianity. For this I admire the compositions of Raphael, especially 
 in his early works. All the figures tend towards the main object, 
 without being elaborately grouped to create a sensation — this ho- 
 nesty in the arts, as in all things else, characterizes true (^enius • 
 for speculations on success usually destroy enthusiasm. There is 
 a rhetoric in painting as in poetry ; and those who have it not 
 seek to veil the defect in brilliant but illusive auxiliaries rich 
 
CORINNE; OB, ITALY. 143 
 
 costume, remarkable postures, while an unpretending virgin, with 
 her infant at her breast, an old man attending the mass of Bol- 
 sena, a young one leaning on his staff, in the school of Athens, 
 or Saint Cecilia raising her eyes to heaven, by the mere force of 
 expression, act most powerfully on the mind. These natural 
 beauties grow on us each day, while of works done for effect our 
 first sight is always the most strikiDg."(20) Corinne fortified 
 these reflections by another — it was the impossibility of our sym- 
 pathizing with the mythology of the Grreeks and Komans, or in- 
 venting on their ground. " We may imitate them by study," she 
 said ; " but the wings of genius cannot be restrained to flights for 
 which learning and memory are so indispensable, and whefein it 
 can but copy books or statues. Now, in pictures alluding to our 
 own history- and faith, the painter is personally inspired; feeling 
 what he depicts, retracing what he has seen, he draws from the 
 life. Portraitures of piety are mental blessings that no others 
 could replace ; as they assure us that the artist's genius was ani- 
 mated by the holy zeal which alone can support us against the 
 disgusts of life and the injustice of man.'' 
 
 Oswald could not, in all respects, agree with her ; he was almost 
 scandalized at seeing that Michael Angelo had attempted to repre- 
 sent the Deity himself in mortal shape ; he did not think that we 
 should dare embody Him ; and could scarcely call up one thought 
 sufficiently ethereal thus to ascend towards the Supreme Being, 
 though he felt that images of this kind, in painting, always leave 
 us much to desire. He believed, with Corinne, that religious 
 meditation is the most heartfelt sentiment we can experience, and 
 that which supplies a painter with the grandest physiognomical 
 mysteries ; but as religion represses all movements of the heart 
 to which she has not given birth, the faces of saints and martyrs 
 cannot be much varied. Humility, so lovely in the sight of 
 Heaven, weakens the energy of earthly passion, and necessarily 
 monotonizes the generality of scriptural subjects. When the ter- 
 rible Angelo dealt with them, he almost changed their spirit, giv- 
 ing to his prophets that formidable air more suitable to heathen 
 gods than to saints. Oft, too, like Dante, he mixed Pagan attri- 
 
144 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 bntes with those of Christianity. One of the most affecting truths 
 in its early establishment is the lowly station of the apostles wlio 
 preached it, the slavery of the Jews, so long depositaries of the 
 promise that announced the Saviour. This contrast between in- 
 significance of means and greatness of result is morally beautiful. 
 Yet in painting, where means alone can be displayed, Christian 
 subjects must needs prove less attractive than those derived from 
 the times of heroic fable. Of all arts, none save music can be 
 purely religious. Painting cannot be content with an expression 
 indefinite as that of sound. It is true that a happy combination 
 of colors, and of clair-ohscure, is harmony to the eye ; but as it 
 shows us life, it should give forth life's strong and varied pas- 
 sions. Undoubtedly, such passages of history ought to be selected 
 as are too well known to be unintelligible : facts must flash on us 
 from canvas, for all the pleasures the fine arts bestow are thus 
 immediate; but with this equality provided, historical pictures 
 have the advantage of diversified situation and sentiments. Nevil 
 asserted, too, that a preference should be given to scenes from 
 tragedies, or the most touching poetic fictions, so that all the 
 pleasures of imagination might thus unite. Corinne contended 
 against this opinion, seducing as it was ; convinc-ed that the en- 
 croachment of one art upon another would be mutually injurious. 
 For sculpture loses by attempting the groups that belong to 
 painting; painting, by aspiring to dramatic animation. The arts 
 are limited, not in their powers but in their means. Genius seeks 
 not to vanquish the fitness of things which its glory consists in 
 > guessing. " You, my dear Oswald," said Corinne, " love not the 
 [ arts for themselves, but as they accord with your own feelings ; 
 -you are moved merely when they remind you of your heart's 
 afflictions. Music and poetry better suit such a disposition than 
 those which speak to the eye, however ideally; they can but 
 please or interest us while our minds are calm and our fancy is 
 free. We need not the gayety which society confers in order to 
 enjoy them, but the composure born of soft and radiant climes. 
 We ought, in the arts that represent exterior objects, to feel the 
 universal harmony of nature, which, while we are distressed, we 
 have not within ourselves." — " I know not," answered Oswald 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 145 
 
 " if I have sought food for my sorrows in the arts, but at least I 
 am sure that I cannot endure their reminding me of physical 
 suffering. My strongest objection against Scripture pictures is 
 the pain I feel in looking on blood and tortures, however exalted 
 the faith of their victims. Philoctetus is, perhaps, the only tragic 
 subject in which such agonies can be admitted; but with how 
 much of poetry are his cruel pangs invested ! They are caused 
 by the darts of Hercules ; and surely the son of Esculapius can 
 cure them. His wounds are so associated with the moral resent- 
 ment they stir in that pierced breast, that they can exite no 
 symptom of disgust. But the Possessed, in Raphael's ' Transfigu- 
 ration' is disagreeable and undignified. We would fain discover 
 the charm or grief, or fancy it like the melancholy of prosperity. 
 It is the ideal of human fate that ought to appear. Nothing is 
 more revolting than ensanguined gashes or muscular convulsions. 
 In such pictures we at once miss and dread to find exactitude of 
 imitation. What pleasure could such attempted fidelity bestow ? 
 it is always either more horrible or less lovely than nature her- 
 self." — " You are right, my Lord," said Corinne, " in wishing 
 that these blots should be effaced from Christian pictures; they 
 are unnecessary. Nevertheless, allow that soul-felt genius can 
 triumph over them all. Look on the death of St. Jerome, by 
 Dominichino ; that venerable frame is livid, emaciated ; but life 
 eternal fills his aspect; and the miseries of the world are here 
 collected but to melt before the hallowed rays of devotion. Yet, 
 dear Oswald, though I am not wholly of your mind, I wish to 
 show you that even in differing, we have always some analogy. 
 I have attempted a realization of your ideal in the gallery to 
 which my brothers in art have contributed^ and where I have 
 sketched a few designs myself; you shall see the advantages and 
 defects of the styles you prefer in my house at Tivoli. The 
 weather is fine ; shall we go there to-morrow ?" — " My love, can 
 you doubt my reply ?" he exclaimed. " Have I another blessing 
 in the world but you? The life I have too much freed from 
 other occupations is now filled by the felicity of seeing and of 
 hearing my Corinne !" 
 13 
 
146 , V . . » CO einne; or, italy. 
 
 >.V CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Oswald himself drove the four horses that drew them next 
 day towards Tivoli; he delighted in their rapid course, which 
 seemed to lend fresh vivacity to the sense of existence — an im- 
 pression so sweet when enjoyed beside those we love. He was 
 careful, even to fear, least the slightest accident should befell his 
 charge — that protecting air is such a link betwixt man and wo- 
 man ! Corinne, though less easily alarmed than the rest of her 
 sex, observed his solicitude with such pleasure as made her almost 
 wish she could be frightened, that she might claim the reassur- 
 ances of Oswald. What gave him so great an ascendency over 
 her, was the occasional unexpected contrasts with himself, that lent 
 a peculiar charm to his whole manner. Every one admired his 
 mind and person ; but both were particulary interesting to a 
 woman at once thus constant and versatile. Though occupied by 
 nothing but CorinnOj this same interest perpetually assumed a 
 new character : sometimes reserve predominated ; then he aban- 
 doned himself to his passion ; anon, he was perfectly amiable and 
 content ; as probably, by a gloomy bitterness, betrayed the sin- 
 cerity of his distresSii^ Agitated at heart, he strove to appear 
 serene, and left her to guess the secrets of hjf VmaniTi fi ^jc] irapt 
 her curiosit'' f"r-oT7»T- nn f^o f),]orjJ^-4T;e yery faults set off his 
 merits ; and no man, however agreeable, who was devoid of these 
 contradictions and inconsistencies, could thus have captivated 
 Corinne :ls he was subdued bv her fear of hia^ He reigned in 
 her heart by a good and by an evil power — by his own qualities, 
 and by the anxiety their ill-regulated state inspired. ] There was 
 no safetv in the happiness he bestowed.^ This, perhaps, accounts 
 for the exaltation of her love ; she might not have thus adored 
 aught she did not fear to lose. A mind of ardent yet delicate 
 sensibility may weary of all save a being whose own, forever in 
 motion, appears like a heaven, now clear and smiling, now lapped 
 in threatening clouds. Oswald, ever truly, deeply attached was 
 not the less often on the brink of abjuring the object of his ten- 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 147 
 
 derness, because long habit tmrl^PT-snarlfifl himfhs^ f, he could finJ 
 nothing; but remorse in the/too vivid feelings of his breast^ 
 
 On their way to Tivoli, they passed the ruins of Adrian's palace, 
 and the immense garden that surrounded it. Here were collected 
 the rarest productions of the realms conquered by Rome. Theire 
 are still seen the scattered stones called Egypt, India, and Asia. 
 Further oflF is the retreat where Zenobia ended her days. The 
 queen of Palmyra sustained not, in adversity, the greatness of 
 her doom : she knew neither how to die for glory, like a man ; 
 nor how, like a wbman, to die rather than betray her friend. At 
 last they beheld Tivoli, once the abode of Brutus, Augustus, 
 Maecenas, Catullus, but, above all, Horace, whose verses have 
 immortalized these scenes. Corinne's villa stood near the loud 
 cascade of Teverone. On the top of the hill, facing her garden,, 
 was the Sibyl's temple. The ancients, by building these fanes on 
 heights like this, suggested the due superiority of religion over 
 all other pursuits. They bid you " look from nature up to na- 
 ture's God," and tell of the gratitude that successive generations 
 have paid to Heaven. The landscape, seen from whatever point, 
 includes this its central ornament. Such ruins remind one not 
 of the work of man. They harmonize with the fair trees and 
 lonely torrent, that emblem of the years which have made them 
 what they are. The most beauteous land, that awoke no memory 
 of great events, were uninteresting, compared with every spot that 
 history sanctifies. What place could more appropriately have 
 been selected as the home of Corinne than that consecrated to the 
 Sibyl, a woman divinely inspired? The house was charming; 
 decked in all the elegance of modern taste, yet evidently by a 
 classic hand. You saw that its mistress understood felicity in its 
 highest signification; that which implies all that can ennoble, 
 while it excites our minds. A sighing melody now stole on Os- 
 wald's ear, as if the nodding flowers and waving shrubs thus lent 
 a voice to nature. Corinne informed him that it proceeded from 
 the Eolian harps, which she had hung in her grottos, adding 
 music to the perfume of the air. Her lover was entranced. 
 " Corinne," he cried, throwing himself at her feet, " till to-day I 
 
148 coeinne; oe, italy. 
 
 •? have censured mine own bliss beside thee ; but now I feel as if 
 the prayers of mine offended parent had won me all this favor ; 
 ^ the chaste repose I here enjoy tells me that I am pardoned. 
 Fearlessly, then, unite thy fate with mine ; £here_is no g anger 
 ^i^noW!"— " Well," she replied, " let us not disturb this peace by 
 naming Fate. Why strive to gain more than she ever grants ? 
 - Why seek for change while we are happy ?" He was hurt by 
 this reply. He thought she should have understood his readiness 
 to confide, to promise, all. This evasion, then, offended and 
 afflicted him : he appreciated not the delicacy which forbade Co- 
 rinne to profit by his weakness. Where we really love, we often 
 dread more than we desire the solemn moment that exchanges 
 hope for certainty. Oswald, however, concluded that, much as 
 she loved him, she preferred her independence, and therefore, 
 shunned an indissoluble tie. Irritated by this mistake, he fol- 
 lowed her to the gallery in frigid silence. She guessed his mood, 
 but knew his pride too well to tell him so ; yet, with a vague 
 design of soothing him, she lent even to general and indifferent 
 topics the softest tones of affection. 
 
 Her gallery was composed of historical, poetic, religious sub- 
 jects, and landscapes. None of them contained any great number 
 of figures. Crowded pictures are, doubtless, arduous tasks ; but 
 their beauties are mostly either too confused or too detailed. 
 Unity of interest, that vital principle of art, as of all things, is 
 necessarily frittered away. The first picture represented Bru- 
 tus, sitting lost in thought, at the foot of the statue of Rome, 
 while slaves bore by the dead bodies of the sons he had con- 
 demned; on the other side, their mother and sisters stood in 
 frantic despair, fortunately excused, by their sex, from that cou- 
 rage which sacrifices the affections. The situation of Brutus 
 beneath the statue of Rome tells all. But how, without explana- 
 tion, can we know that this is Brutus, or that those are his chil- 
 dren, whom he himself has sentenced ? and yet the event cannot 
 be better set forth by any painting. Rome fills its background, 
 as yet unornamented as a city, grand only as the country that 
 could inspire such heroism. "Once hear the name," said Co- 
 
corinne; or, italy. 149 
 
 rinne, "and doubtless your whole soul is given up to it; otherwise 
 might not uncertainty have converted a pleasure which ought to 
 be so plain and so easy into an abstruse enigma ? I chose the 
 subject, as recalling the most terrible deed a patriot ever dared 
 The next is Marias, taken by one of the Cimbri, who cannol 
 resolve to kill so great a man. Marius, indeed, is an imposing 
 figure ; the costume and physiognomy of the Cimbri leader ex- 
 tremely picturesque; it marks the second era of Kome, when 
 laws were no more, but when genius still exerted a vast control. 
 Next come the days in which glory led but to misfortune and 
 insult. The third picture is Belisarius, bearing his young guide, 
 who had expired while asking alms for him ; thus is the blind 
 hero recompensed by his master; and in the world he vanquished 
 hath no better office than that of carrying to the grave the sad 
 remains of yon poor boy, his only faithful friend. Since the 
 old school, I have seen no truer figure than that; the painter, 
 like the poet, has loaded him with all kinds of miseries — too 
 many, it may be, for compassion. But what tells us that it is 
 Belisarius ? what fidelity to history is exacted both of artist and 
 spectator I a fidelity, by the way, often ruinous to the beautiful. 
 In Brutus, we look on virtues that resemble crime ; in Marius on 
 fame causing but distress ; in Belisarius, on services requited by 
 the blackest persecution. Near these I have hung two pictures 
 that console the oppressed spirit by reminding it of the piety that 
 can cheer the broken heart, when all around is bondage. The 
 first is Albano's infant Christ asleep on the cross. Does not that 
 stainless, smiling face convince us that heavenly faith hath naught 
 to fear from grief or death ? The following one is Titian's Jesus 
 bending under the weight of the cross. His mother on her knees 
 before him — what a proof of reverence for the undeserved oppres- 
 sions suffered by her Divine Son ! What a look of resignation 
 is his ! yet what an air of pain, and therefore sympathy, with us ! 
 That is the best of all my pictures ; to that I turn my eyes with 
 rapture inexhaustible ; and now come my dramatic chefs-d' arnvre, 
 drawn from the works of four great poets. There is the meeting 
 of Dido and ^neas in the Elysian fields ; her indignant shade 
 13* 
 
150 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 avoids him; rejoicing to be freed from the fond heart which yet 
 would throb at his approach. The vaporous color of the phantoms 
 and the pale scenes around them, contrast the air of life in ^neas, 
 and the Sibyl who conducts him ; but in these attempts the bard's 
 description must far transcend all that the pencil reaches ; in this, 
 of the dying Clorinda, our tears are claimed by the remembered 
 lines of Tasso, where she pardons the beloved Tancred, who has 
 just dealt her the mortal wound. Painting inevitably sinks beneath 
 poetry, when devoted to themes that great authors have already 
 treated. One glance back at their words efiaces all before us. 
 Their favorite situations gain force from impassioned eloquence ; 
 whjje picturesque effect is most favored by moments of repose, 
 worthy to be indefinitely prolonged, and too perfect for the eye 
 ever to weary of their grace. Tour terrific Shakspeare, my Lord, 
 afforded the ensuing subject. The invincible Macbeth, about to 
 fight Macduff, learns that the witches have equivocated with him ; 
 that Birnam wood is coming to Dunsinane, and that his adver- 
 sary was not of woman born, but ' untimely ripped' from his dying 
 mother.* Macbeth is "subdued by his fate, not by his foe; his 
 desperate hand still grasps its glaive, certain that he must fall, 
 yet to the last, opposing human strength against the might of 
 demons. There is a world of fury and of troubled energy in 
 that countenance — but how many of the poet's beauties do we 
 lose ! Can we paint Macbeth hurried into crime by the dreams 
 of ambition, conjured up by the powers of sorcery ? How ex- 
 press a terror compatible with intrepidity ; how characterize the 
 superstition that oppresses him? the ignoble credulity, which, 
 even while he feels such scorn of life, forces on him such horror 
 
 * Madame de StaSl says : " MacbetJi apprend que I'oracle des sorciferes 
 s'est aooompli ; que le foret de Birnam parait s'avancer vers Dunsinane • 
 et qu'il se bat aveo un homme nS depuis la mort de sa mfere." 
 
 " Ludicrous perversion of the author's meaning!" The points Shak- 
 speare intended to impress were, that "the weird -women," "jugo-ling 
 fiends, who palter with us in a double sense," had promised their victim 
 success and life till events which he naturally conceived impossible but 
 which they knew would occur. — Te. 
 
OR, ITALY. 151 
 
 of death ! Doubtless the human face is the grandest of all mys- 
 teries ; yet fixed on canvas, it can hardly tell of more than one sen- 
 sation ; no struggle, no successive contrasts accessible to dramatic 
 art, can painting give, as neither time nor motion exists for her. 
 
 " Racine's Phedra forms the fourth picture. Hippolitus, in all 
 the beauty of youth and innocence, repulses the perfidious accu- 
 sations of his step-mother. The heroic Theseus still protects his 
 guilty wife, whom his conquering arms surround. Phedra's 
 visage is agitated by impulses that we freeze to look on ; and her 
 remorseless nurse encourages her in guilt. Hippolitus is here 
 even more lovely than in Racine ; more like to Meleager, as no 
 love for Aricia here seems to mingle with his tameless virtue. 
 But could Phedra have supported her falsehood in such a pre- 
 sence ? No, she must have fallen at his feet ; a vindictive woman 
 may injure him she loves in absence, but, while she looks on him, 
 that love must triumph. The poet never brings them together 
 after she has slandered him. The painter was obliged to oppose 
 them to each otljfr; but is not the distinction between the pic- 
 turesque and ^the poetical proved by the fact, that verses copied 
 from paintings are worth all th« paintings that have imitated 
 poetry ? Fancy must ever precede reason, as it does in the growth 
 of the human mind." 
 
 While Corinne spoke thus, she had frequently paused, hoping 
 that Oswald would add his remarks ; but, as she made any feeling 
 observation, he would merely sigh and turn away his head, to 
 conceal his present disposition towards sadness. Corinne, at last 
 discouraged by this silence, sat down and hid her face in her 
 hands. Oswald hastily paced the apartment, and was just about 
 to give way to his emotions, when, with a sudden check of pride, 
 he turned towards the pictures, as if expecting her to finish the 
 account of them. She had great hope in the last; and making an 
 effort to compose herself, rose, saying : " My Lord, there remain 
 but three landscapes for me to show you; two possess some inte- 
 rest. I do not like rural scenes that bear no allusion to fable or 
 history; they are insipid as the idols of our poets. I prefer 
 Salvator Rosa'8 style here, which gives you rocks, torrents, and 
 
152 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 trees, with not even the wing of a bird visible to remind you of 
 life 1 The absence of man, in the midst of nature, excites pro- 
 found reflections. What is this deserted scene, so vainly beauti- 
 ful, whose mysterious charms address but the eye of their Creator? 
 Here, on the contrary, history and poesy are happily united in a 
 landscape. (21) This represents the moment when Cincinnatus 
 is invited by the consuls to quit his plough, and take command of 
 the Eoman armies. All the luxury of the south is seen in this 
 picture — abundant vegetation, burning sky, and an universal air 
 of joy, that pervades even the aspects of the plants. See what 
 a contrast is beside it. The son of Cairbar sleep upon his father's 
 tomb. Three nights he awaited the bard, who comes to honor the 
 dead. His form is beheld afar, he descends the mountain's side. 
 On the cloud floats the shade of the chief. The land is hoary 
 with ice ; and the trees, as the rude winds war on their lifeless and 
 withered arms, strew their sear leaves to the gale, and herald the 
 course of the storm." Oswald, "till now, had cherished his resent- 
 ment ; but at the sight of this picture, the tomb of his father, the 
 mountains of Scotland rose to his view, and his eyes filled with 
 tears. Corinne took her harp, and sung one of those simple 
 Scotch ballads whose notes seem fit to be borne on the wailing 
 breeze. It was the soldier's farewell to his country and his love, 
 in which recurred that most melodious and expressive of English 
 phrases, " No more." * Corinne pronounced it so touchingly, that 
 Oswald could resist no longer ; and they wept together. "Ah, 
 Corinne !" he cried, " does then my country afiect your heart ? 
 3ould you go with me to the land peopled by my recollections ? 
 
 I Would you there be the worthy partner of my life, as you are 
 bere its enchantress ?" — " I believe I could," she answered, " for 
 
 j^ove you." — " In the name of love and piety then, have no more 
 secrets from me." — " Your will shall be obeyed, Oswald; I pro- 
 mise it on one condition, that you ask not its fulfilment before 
 the termination of our approaching religious solemnities. Is not 
 the support of Heaven more than ever necessary at the moment 
 
 * I presume the "Adieu to Lochaber," though in that it is "nae 
 mair." — Tr. 
 
CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 153 
 
 which must decide my fate ?" — " Corinne," he said, " if thy fate 
 depends on me it shall no longer be a sad one.'' — "You think 
 so," she rejoined ; " but I have no such confidence, therefore in- 
 dulge my weakness." Oswald sighed, without granting or refusing 
 the delay she asked. " Let us return to Rome now," she added. 
 " I should tell you all in this solitude; and if what I have to say 
 must drive you from me — need it be so soon ? Come, Oswald ; 
 you may revisit this scene when my ashes repose here." Melted 
 and agitated, he obeyed. On their road they scarcely spoke a 
 word, but now and then exchanged looks of affection ; yet a heavy 
 melancholy oppressed them both, as they re-entered Rome. ^ 
 
 BOOK IX. 
 
 ON THE CARNIVAL, AND ITALIAN MUSIC. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TuE last day of the carnival is the gayest in the year. The 
 Roman populace carry their i^ge for amusements to a perfect fever, 
 unexampled elsewhere. The whole town is disguised ; the very 
 gazers from its windows are masked. This begins regularly to 
 the appointed day, neither public nor private affairs interfering 
 with its indulgence. Then may one judge of the imagination 
 possessed by the herd. Italian sounds sweetly even from their 
 months. Alfieri said that he went to the market of Florence to 
 learn good Italian. Rome has the same advantage ; and, perhaps, 
 these are the only cities of which all the natives speak so well 
 that the mind is feasted at every corner of the streets. The kind 
 of gayety that shines through their harlequinades is often found 
 in the most uneducated men ; and during this festival, while ex- 
 aggeration and caricature are fair play, the most comic scenes 
 perpetually recur. Often /a grotesque gravity contrasts the usually 
 
154 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 vivacious Italian manner, as if their strange dresses conferred an 
 unnatural dignity on the wearers. Sometimes they evince so 
 surprising a knowledge of mythology, in the travesties they as- 
 sume, that one might suppose them still believers in its fictions. 
 Most frequently, however, they ridicule the various ranks of 
 society with a pleasantry truly original : the nation is now a 
 thousand times more distinguished by its sports than by its his- 
 tory .J^talian lends itself so easily to all kinds of playfulness, 
 that it"needs but a slight inflection of voice, a little difference of 
 termination, lengthening or diminishing the words, to change the 
 entire meaning of a sentence. The language comes with a pecu- 
 liar grace from the lips of childhood. The innocence of that age, 
 and the natural archness of the southern tongue, exquisitely con- 
 trast each other. (22) One may almost call it a language that 
 talks of itself, and always seems more witty than its speakeriTy 
 
 There is neither splendor nor taste in the carnival : its universal 
 tumult assimilates it in the fancy with the bacchanalian orgies ; 
 but in the fancy only ; for the Eomans are generally sober and 
 serious enough — the last days of this f^te excepted. The one 
 makes such varied and sudden discoveries in their character, as 
 have contributed to give them a reputation for cunning. Doubt- 
 less, there is a great habit of feigning among people who have 
 borne so many yokes ; but we must not always attribute their 
 rapid changes of manner to dissimulation. Inflammable imagina- 
 tion is as oft its cause. Eeasoners may readily foresee their own 
 actions ; but all that belongs to fancy is unexpected : she over- 
 leaps gradations ; a trifle may wound her, or that which ought to 
 move her most be past by with indifference; she's her own world 
 and in it ther^ is no calculating effects by causes. For instance 
 we wonder what entertainment the Eoman nobles find in driving 
 from one end of the Corso to the other for hours together, pvery 
 day in the year, yet nothing breaks in on this custom. Among 
 the masks, too, may be found wandering victims to ennui, packed 
 up in the drollest of dresses, sad harlequins, and silent clowns 
 who satisfy their carnival conscience by merely seeking to divert 
 themselves. In Eome, they have one assumption that nowhere 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 155 
 
 else exists — maskers, who, in their own persons, copy the an- 
 tique statues, and from a distance perfectly realize their beauty- 
 Many of the women are losers by renouncing this disguise. 
 Nevertheless, to behold life imitating motionless marble, however 
 gracefully, strikes one with fear. The carriages of the great and 
 gay throng the streets ; but the charm of these festivities is their 
 saturnalian confusion : all classes are mingled ; the gravest magis- 
 trates ride among the masks with almost official assiduity. All 
 the windows are decorated, and all the world out of doors : the 
 pleasure of the populace consists not in their spectacles nor their 
 feasts ; they commit no excess, but revel solely in the delight of 
 mixing freely with their betters, who, on their parts, are as di- 
 verted at finding themselves thrown among those beneath them. 
 Only the refined and delicate pleasures that spring from research 
 and education can build up barriers between different ranks. 
 Italy, as hath been said, is more distinguished by universal talent 
 than by its cultivation among the aristocracy. lJlierefore,[during_ 
 the carnival, all minds and all n ifl""°''''\^''l°^' the shouting 
 crowds, that indiscriminately shower their bonbons on the passers- 
 by, confound the whole nation pell-mell, as if no social order re- 
 mained. Corinne and Nevil arrived in the midst of this uproar : 
 at first it stunned them ; for nothing appears stranger than such 
 activity of noisy enjoyment, while the soul is pensively retired 
 within herself. They stopped in the Piazza del Popolo, to ascend 
 the amphitheatre near the obelisk, thence to overlook the horse- 
 racing : as they alighted from their calash, the Count d'Erfeuil 
 perceived them, and took Oswald aside, saying : " How can you 
 show yourself thus publicly returning from the country with Co- 
 rinne ? Tou will commit her, and then what can you do ?" " I 
 think I shall not commit her," returned he, "by showing my 
 affection ; if I do, I shall be but too happy, in the devotion of my 
 life" — "Happy!" interrupted d'Erfeuil, "don't believe it! one 
 can only be happy in becoming situations. Society, do what we 
 will, has a great influence ; and what society would disapprove 
 ought never to be attempted." " Then," replied Oswald, " our 
 own thoughts and feelings are to guide us less than the words of 
 
156 vL-^ corinne; or, italy. 
 
 others. If it were our duty thus constantly to follow the million, 
 what need has any individual with a heart or a soul ? Providence 
 might have spared us from such superfluities." — "Very philo- 
 sophical," replied the Count; " but such maxims ruin a man ; 
 and when love is over, he is left to the censure of the world. 
 Flighty as you think me, I would not risk it, on any account. 
 We may allow ourselves the little freedoms and good-natured jests 
 of independent thinkers, but in our actions such liberties become 
 serious." — "And are not love and happiness serious considera- 
 tions ?" asked Nevil. "That is nothing to the purpose : there 
 are certain established forms which you cannot brave without 
 passing for an eccentric ; for a man — in fact — you understand me 
 — unlike other men." Lord Nevil smiled, and without either 
 pain or displeasure rallied d'Erfeuil on his frivolous severity : he 
 rejoiced to feel, for the first time, that on a subject which had 
 cost him so much, the Count's advice had not the slightest power. 
 Corinne guessed what had past, but Oswald's smile restored her 
 composure; and this conversation tended but to put them both in 
 spirits for the fgte. Nevil expected to see a race like those of 
 England ; but was surprised to learn that small Barbary steeds 
 were about to make the contest of speed without riders. This is 
 a very favorite sport with the Romans. 
 
 When it was about to commence, the crowd ranged themselves 
 on each side of the street. The Place, lately so thronged, was 
 emptied in a minute : every one hurried to the stands which sur- 
 rounded the obelisks; while a multitude of black heads and eyes 
 were turned towards the barrier from which the barbs were to 
 start.. They appeared, without bridle or saddle, their backs 
 covered by bright-hued stuffs: they were led by well-dressed 
 grooms, passionately interested in their success. As the animals 
 reach the barrier, their eagerness for release is almost uncontrol- 
 lable : they rear, neigh, and paw the earth, as if impatient for the 
 glory they are about to win, without the aid or guidance of man. 
 Their prancing, and the rapturous cry of " Room, room !" as the 
 barrier falls, have a perfectly theatrical effect. The grooms are 
 all yoice and gesture, as long as their steeds remain in sight; the 
 
corinne; oe italt. 157 
 
 creatures are as jealous as mankind of one another; the sparlis 
 fly beneath their feet; their nianes float wildly on the breeze; 
 and such is their desire to reach the goal, that some have fallen 
 there dead. To look on these free things, all animated by per- 
 sonal passion, is astounding — as if one beheld Thought itself 
 flying in that fine shape. The crowd break their ranks as the 
 horses pass, and follow them in tumult. The Venetian palace 
 ends the race; then may be heard exclamations of disappointment 
 from those whose horses have been beaten ; while he whose dar- 
 ling has deserved the greatest prize throws himself on his knees 
 before the victor, thanking and recommending him to St. An- 
 thony, (23) patron of the brute creation, with an enthusiasm as 
 seriously felt as it is comically expressed. The races usually con- 
 clude the day. Then begins another kind of amusement, less 
 attractive, but equally loud. The windows are illuminated ; the 
 guards leave their posts, to share the general joy. Every one 
 carries a little torch, called moccolo, and every one tries to extin- 
 guish his neighbour's, repeating the word " ammazare" (kill), 
 with formidable vivacity. " Kill the fair princess ! let the Lord 
 Abbot be killed !" The multitude, reassured by the interdiction 
 of horses and carriages at that hour, pour forth from every quar- 
 ter : all is turmoil and clamor ; yet, as night advances, this ceases 
 by degrees ; the deepest silence succeeds. The remembrance of 
 this evening is like that of a confused vision, which, for awhile, 
 changed every dreamer's existence, and made the peopl'e forgot 
 their toil, the learned their studies, and the nobles their sloth. (24) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Oswald, since his misfortunes, had never regained suflicient 
 courage voluntarily to hear music. He dreaded those ravishing 
 sounds, so agreeable to melancholy, but which prove so truly in- 
 jurious while we are weighed down by real calamities. Music 
 revives the recollections it would appease. When Corinne sang, 
 14 
 
158 corinne; or halt. 
 
 Oswald listened to the words she pronounced ; gazed on her ex- 
 pressive features, and thought of nothing but her. Yet if, of an 
 evening, in the streets, he heard many voices united to sing the 
 sweet airs of celebrated composers, as is often the case in Italy, 
 though inclined to pause, he soon withdrew, alarmed by the strong 
 yet indefinite emotion which renewed his sorrows. But a concert 
 was about to be given at the theatre of Borne, concentrating the 
 talents of the first singers in Italy. Corinne asked Nevil to ac- 
 company her thither : he consented, hoping that ,her presence 
 would soften all the pangs he must endure. On entering her box, 
 she was immediately recognized ; and a remembrance of her coro- 
 nation, adding to the interest she usually created, all parts of the 
 house resounded with applause, and cries oif " Viva Corinne I" 
 The musicians themselves, electrified by this unanimous sensation, 
 ^sent forth strains of victory; for triumph, of whatever kind, 
 I awakens in our recollection " the pomp and circumstance of glo- 
 ' rious war." Corinne was much moved by these testimonies of 
 yfedmiring affection. The indescribable impression always made 
 ' by a human mass, simultaneously expressing the same sentiment, 
 so deeply touched her heart, that she could not restrain her tears ; 
 her bosom heaved beneath her dress ; and Oswald, with a sense of 
 pique, whispered, "You must not, Madame, be torn from such 
 success; it outvalues love, since it makes your heart beat thus;" 
 he then retired to the back of the box, without waiting for her 
 answer. \^ In one instant had he swept away all the pleasnTP ylv in}! 
 siehad owed to a reception prized most because he was its wit- 
 nssg3 
 
 Those who have not heard Italian singing can form no idea of 
 music. The fiuman voice is soft and sweel'asTEeflowera^nd 
 skies. This charm was made but for such a clime: each reflect 
 the other. The world is the work of a single thought, expressed 
 in a thousand different ways. The Italians have ever devotedly 
 loved music. Dante, in his Purgatory, meets the best singer of 
 his day, and asks him for one of his delicious airs. The entranced 
 spirits forget themselves as they hear it, until their guardian re- 
 calls them to the truth. The Christians, like the Pagans, believe 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 159 
 
 the empire of music to extend beyond the grave : of all the fine 
 arts, none act so immediately upon the soul : the others direct it 
 towards such or such idfeas : but this alone addresses the very 
 source of life, and transforms the whole being at once, humanly 
 speaking, as Divine Grace is said to change the heart. Among 
 all our presentiments of futurity, those to which melody gives 
 birth are not the least worthy of reverence. Even the mirth ex- 
 cited by buffo singing is not vulgar, but fanciful ; beneath it lie 
 poetic reveries, such as spoken wit never yet created. Music is 
 so volatile a pleasure — we are so sensible that it escapes from us' 
 even as we enjoy it — that it always leaves a tender impression on 
 the mind ; yet, when expressive of grief, it sheds gentleness even 
 over despair. The heart beats more quickly to its regular mea- 
 sure, and, reminding us of life's brevity, bids us enjoy what we 
 can : the silent void is filled ; you feel within yourself the active 
 energies that fear no obstacle from without. Music doubles our 
 computation of our own faculties, and makes us feel capable of 
 the noblest efforts ; teaches us to march towards death with enthu- 
 siasm, and is happily powerless to explain any base or artful sen- 
 timent. Music lifts from the breast the weight it so often feels 
 beneath serious affections, and which we take for the heaviness of 
 life, so habitual is its pressure : we hang on such pure sounds till 
 we seem to discover the secrets of the Eternal, and penetrate the 
 mysteries of nature : no words can explain this ; for words but 
 copy primitive sensations, as prose translators follow poetry. 
 Looks alone resemble its effect : the long look of love, that gra- 
 dually sinks into the breast, till one's eyes fall, unable to support 
 so vast a bliss, lest this ray from another's soul should con- 
 sume us. 
 
 The admirable union of two voices perfectly in tune produces 
 an ecstasy that cannot be prolonged without pain : it is a blessing 
 too great for humanity, which vibrates like an instrument broken 
 beneath too perfect a harmnnv- yjawald had remainprl perversely 
 apart from Corinne diirinp- the first; nctt of the concert^, but when 
 the duets began in low voices, accompanied by the notes of cla- 
 rionets and hautboys, purer even than their own, Corinne veiled 
 
160 oobinne; or, italy. 
 
 her face, absorbed by emotion; she wept without suffering, and 
 loved without dread ; the image of Oswald was in her bosom ; but 
 a host of thoughts wandered too far to be distinct, even to herself. 
 It is said that a prophet, in one moment, explored seven regions 
 of heaven. Whoever can thus conceive the all which an instant 
 may contain must have heard sweet music beside the object of his 
 love. Oswald felt its power; his resentment decreased; the ten- 
 derness of Corinne explained and justified everything; he drew 
 near her; she heard him breathing close by, at the most enchant- 
 ing period of this celestial harmony : it was too much ; the most 
 pathetic tragedy could not have so overwhelmed her as did the 
 sense o t/their both being equally pen etratfid by thp pamR sonnd^. 
 , at the same instant : l each fresh tone exalted the consciousness. 
 The words sung were nothing ; now and then allusions to love 
 and death induced some recollection ; but oftener did music alone 
 suggest and realize the formless "wish, as doth some pure and tran- 
 quil star, wherein we seem to see the image of all we could desire 
 on earth. "Let us go," sighed Corinne: "I feel fainting." — ■ 
 " What is it, love ?" asked Oswald, anxiously : " you are pale. 
 Come into the air with me." They went together : her strength 
 returned, as she leaned upon his arm ; and she faltered forth, 
 " Dear Oswald, I am about to leave you for eight days." — 
 "What say you ?" he cried. — "Every year," she answered, "I 
 spend Passion week in a convent, to prepare for Easter." Oswald 
 could not oppose, aware that most of the Roman ladies devoted 
 themselves to pious severities at that time, even if careless of reli- 
 gion during the rest of the year ; but he remembered that Co- 
 rinne's faithand his own were not the same : they could not pray 
 together. (' W h^ re you not my countr ywoman f^e exclaimed. 
 " Our souls have^t one country,'' she replieS"^ « True " he 
 said; "yet I cannot the less feel everything that divides us." 
 And this coming absence so dismayed him, that neither to Co 
 rinne, nor the friends who now joined them, could he speak 
 another word that evening. 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 161 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Oswald called at Corinne's house early next day, in some 
 uneasiness : her maid gave him a note, announcing her mistress's 
 retirement to the convent that morning, and that she could not 
 see him till after Grood Friday. She confessed that she had not 
 the courage to tell him the whole of this truth the night before. 
 Oswald was struck as by an unexpected blow. The house in 
 which he had always found Corinne now appeared sadly alone; 
 her harp, books, drawings, all her household gods were there, but 
 she was gone. A shudder crept through his veins; he thought 
 on the chamber of his father, and sunk upon a seat. " It may 
 be,'' he cried, " that I shall live to lose her too — that animated 
 mind, that warm heart, that form so brilliantly fresh ; the bolt 
 may strike, and the tomb of youth is mute as that of age. What 
 an illusion, then, is happiness ! Inflexible Time, who watches 
 ever o'er his prey, may tear it from us in a moment. Corinne ! 
 Corinne ! why didst thou leave me ? Thy magic alone can still 
 my memory : dazzled by the hours of rapture passed with thee — 
 but now4-I am alone. I a m again my wre tched, wr etched self !"^ 
 He called upon Corinne with a desperation disproportionate to 
 such brief absence, but attributable to the habitual anguish of his 
 heart. The maid, Theresina, heard his groans, and gratified by 
 this regret for her mistress, re-entered, saying, "My Lord, for 
 your consolation, I will even betray a secret of my lady's : I hope 
 she will forgive me. Come to her bedroom, and you shall see 
 your own portrait !" — " My portrait !" he repeated. — " Yes ; she 
 drew it from memory, and has risen, for the last week, at five in 
 the morning, to have it finished before she went to the convent." 
 The likeness was very strong, and painted with perfect grace. 
 This pledge, indeed, consoled him ; facing it was an exquisite 
 Madonna, before which Corinne had formed her orator/. This 
 " love and religion mingled," exists in Italy under circumstances 
 far more extraordinary ; for the image of Oswald was associated 
 but with the purest hopes of his adorer. 
 14* 
 
162 corinnb; or, italt. 
 
 Yet thus to place it near so divine an emblem, and to prepare 
 herself for a convent by a week of such occupation, were traits 
 that rather characterized Corinne's country than herself. Italia n^ 
 women are devout J-om_seisfijbility,,.noJ; principle ; and nothing 
 wasTiore ~tostIfe to Oswald's opinions than their manner of 
 thinking on this subject; yet how could he blame Gorinne, while 
 receiving so touching a proof of her affection ? His looks strayed 
 tenderly through this chamber, where he now stood for the first 
 time. At the head of the bed he beheld the miniature of an aged 
 man, evidently not an Italian ; two bracelets hung near it, one 
 formed by braids of black and of silver hair, the other of beauti- 
 fully fair tresses, that, by a strange chance, reminded him of 
 Lucy Edgarmond's, which he had attentively remarked three 
 yeai^ since. Oswald did not speak ; but Theresina, as if to banish 
 any jealous suspicion, told him, "that during the eleven years she 
 had lived with her lady she had always seen these bracelets, which 
 she knew contained the hair of Corinne's father, mother, and sis- 
 ter." — " Eleven years !" cries Oswald, " you were then — " he 
 checked, himself, blushing at the question he had begun, and pre- 
 cipitately left the house that he might escape further temptation. 
 HI frequently turned back to gaze on the windows, and when he 
 lost sight of them he felt all the misery of solitude. That even- 
 ing he went to an assembly, in search of something to divert his 
 thoughts ; for in grief, as joy, reverie can only be indulged by 
 those at peace with themselves ; but society was insupportable : 
 he was more than ever convinced that for him Corinne alone had 
 lent it charms, by the void which her absence rendered it now. 
 He attempted to chat with the ladies, who replied by those insipid 
 phrases, which, explaining nothing, are so convenient for those 
 who have something to conceal. He saw groups of men, who, 
 by their voices and gestures, seemed warmly discussing some im- 
 portant topic : he drew near, and found the matter of their dis- 
 course as iespicable as its manner. He mused over this causeless, 
 aimless vivacity, so frequently found in large parties ; — though 
 Italian mediocrity is a good sort of animal enough, with but little 
 jealous vanity, much regard for superior minds, and, if fatiguing 
 
CORINNE; or ITALY. 163 
 
 them by dulness, at least never wounding them by pretence. 
 Such was the society that, a few days since, Oswald had found sc 
 interesting. The slight obstacles which it opposed to his conver- 
 sation with Corinne; her anxiety.?'to be near him, as soon as 
 she had been sufficiently polite to others ; the intelligence existing 
 between them on subjects suggested by their company; her pride, 
 in speaking before him, to whom she indirectly addressed remarks, 
 he alone could fully understand. All this had varied his even- 
 ings : every part of these same halls brought back the pleasant 
 hours which had persuaded him that there might be some amuse- 
 ment even at an assembly. " Oh I" he sighed, as he left it, " here, 
 as elsewhere, she alone can give us life; let me fly rather to some 
 desert spot till she returns. I shall less sadly feel her absence, 
 where naught is near me that resembles pleasure." 
 
 ..^ 
 
 Cl^ BOOK X. 
 
 V^ PASSION WEEK. 
 
 y .^X^^ CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Oswald passed next day in the gardens of the monasteries'; 
 going first to that of the Carthusians, and paused, ere he entered, 
 to examine two Egyptian lions at a little distance from its gate. 
 There is something in their physiognomy belonging neither to 
 animals nor to man : it is as if two heathen gods had been repre- 
 sented in this shape. Chartreux is built on the ruins of Diocle- 
 tian's baths; and its church is adorned by the granite pillars 
 which were found there. The monks show this place with much 
 zeal : they belong to the world but by their interest in its ruins. 
 Their way of life presupposes either very limited minds or the 
 most exalted piety. The monotony of their routine recalls that 
 celebrated line — i 
 
 " Time o'er wrecked worlds sleeps motionless." 
 
164 c a I N N E ; 
 
 Their life seems but to be employed in contemplating death. 
 Quickness of thought, in so uniform an existence, would be the 
 cruelest of tortures. In the midst of the cloister stand two 
 cypresses, whose heavy blackness the wind can scarcely stir. 
 Near them is an almost unheard fountain, slow and chary ; — fit . 
 hour-glass for a seclusion in which time glides so noiselessly.' 
 Sometimes the moon's pale glimmer penetrates these shades — its 
 absence or return forming quite an event; and yet these monks 
 might have found all the activity of war insufficient for their 
 spirits, had they been used to it. "What an inexhaustible field 
 for conjecture we find in the combinations of human destiny ! 
 What habits are thrust on us by chance, forming each individual's 
 world and history. To know another perfectly, would cost the 
 study of a life. What, then, is meant by knowledge of mankind ? 
 Governed they may be by each other, but understood by God 
 alone. 
 
 Oswald went next to the monastery of Bonaventure, built on 
 the ruins of Nero's palace : and where so many crimes had reigned 
 remorselessly, poor friars, tormented by conscientious scruples, 
 doom themselves to fasts and stripes for the least omission of duty. 
 " Our only hope," said one, " is, that when we die, our faults will 
 not have exceeded our penances." Nevil, as he entered, stumbled 
 over a trap, and asked its purpose. " It is through that we arc 
 interred," answered one of the youngest, already a prey to the 
 bad air. The natives of the South fear death so much, that it is 
 wondrous to find there these perpetual mementoes : yet nature is 
 often fascinated by what she dreads ; and such an intoxication fills 
 the soul exclusively. The antique sarcophagus of a child serves 
 as the fountain of this institution. The boasted palm of Eome is 
 the only tree of its garden ; but the monks pay no attention to 
 external objects. Their rigorous discipline allows them no mental 
 liberty; their downcast eyes and stealthy pace show that they 
 have forgotten the use of free will, and abdicated the government 
 of self — an empire which may well be called a ' heritage of woe !' 
 This retreat, however, acted but feebly on the mind of Oswald. 
 Imagination revolts at so manifest a desire to remind it of death 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 165 
 
 in every possible way. When such remembrancers are unexpected, 
 when nature, and not man, suggests them, the impression is far 
 more salutary. Oswald grew calmer as he strayed through the 
 garden of San Giovanni et Paulo, whose brethren are subjected to 
 exercises less austere. Their dwelling lords over all the ruins of 
 old Home. What a site for such asylum ! The recluse consoles 
 himself for his nothingness, in contemplating the wrecks of ages 
 past away. Oswald walked long beneath the shady trees, so rare 
 in Italy : sometimes they intercepted his view of the city, only to 
 augment the pleasure of his next glimpse at it. All the steeples 
 now sounded the Ave Maria — 
 
 * * * " squilla de lontano 
 Che paja il giorno pianger, che si muore." — Dante. 
 
 " The bell from far mourneth the dying day." The evening prayer 
 serves to mark all time. " I will meet you an hour before, or an 
 hour after Ave Maria,'' say the Italians, so devoutly are the eras 
 of night and day distinguished. Oswald then enjoyed the spec- 
 tacle of sunset, as the luminary sank slowly amid ruins, and 
 seemed submitting to decline, even like the works of man. This 
 brought back all his wonted thoughts. The image of Corinne 
 ' appeared too promising, too hopeful, for such a moment. His 
 soul sought for its father's, in the home of heavenly spirits. This 
 animated the clouds on which he gazed, and lent them the sublime 
 aspect of his immortal friend : he trusted that his prayers at last 
 might call down some beneficent pity, resembling a good father's 
 benediction. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Oswald, in his anxiety to study the religion of the country, 
 resolved to hear some of its preachers, during Passion week. He 
 counted the days that must elapse ere his reunion with Corinne ; 
 while she was away, he eould endure no imaginative researches. 
 
166 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 He forgave his own happiness while beside herj but all that 
 charmed him then would have redoubled the pangs of his exile. 
 
 It is at night, and by half-extinguished tapers, that the preach- 
 ers, at this period, hold forth. All the women are in black, to 
 commemorate the death of Jesus : there is something very affect- 
 ing in these yearly weeds, that have been renewed for so many 
 centuries. One enters the noble churches with true emotion ; their 
 tombs prepare us for serious thought, but the preacher too often 
 dissipates all this in an instant. His pulpit is a somewhat long 
 tribunal, from one end to the other of which he walks, with a 
 strangely mechanical agitation. He fails not to start with some 
 phrase to which, at the end of the sentence, he returns like a 
 pendulum ; though, by his impassioned gestures, you would think 
 him very likely to forget it : but this is a systematic fury, " a fit 
 of regular and voluntary distraction," often seen in Italy, and in- 
 dicating none but superficial or artificial feelings. A crucifix is 
 hung in the pulpit ; the preacher takes it down, kisses, presses it 
 in his arms, and then hangs it up again, with perfect coolness, as 
 soon as the pathetic passage is got through. Another method for 
 producing effect is pulling off and putting on his cap, with incon- 
 ceivable rapidity. One of these men attacked Voltaire and Kous- 
 seau on the skepticism of the age. He threw his cap into the 
 I jmiddle of the rostrum, as the representative of Jean Jacques, and 
 then cried : " Now, philosopher of Geneva, what have you to say 
 I |against my arguments ?" He was silent for some seconds, as if ex 
 "pecting a reply; but, as the cap said nothing, he replaced it on 
 his head, and terminated the discourse by adding : " Well, since 
 I've convinced you, let us say no more about it." These uncouth 
 scenes are frequent in Rome, where real pulpit oratory is ex- 
 tremely rare. Eeligion is there respected as an all-powerful law ; 
 its ceremonies captivate the senses ; but its preachers deal less in 
 morals than in dogmas that never reach the heart. Eloquence, in 
 this, as in manyother branches of literature, is there devoted to 
 common-places, that can neither describe nor explain. A new ' 
 thought raises a kind of rebellion in minds at once so ardent and 
 so languid, that they need uniformity to calm them ; and love it 
 
coeinne; or italy. 167 
 
 for the repose it brings. There is an etiquette in these sermons, 
 bj which words take precedence of ideas ; and this order would 
 be deranged, if the preacher spoke from his own heart, or searched 
 his soul for what he ought to say. Christian philosophy, which 
 finds analogies between religion and humanity, is as little under- 
 stood in Italy, as philosophy of every other sort. To speculate on 
 religion is deemed almost as scandalous as scheminjt against it : 
 so wedded are all men to mere forms and old usages. The wor- 
 ship of the Virgin is particularly dear to southern people ; it 
 seems allied to all that is most chaste and tender in their love of 
 woman ; but every preacher treats this subject with the same ex- 
 aggerated rhetoric, unconscious that his gestures perpetually turn 
 it into ridicule. There is scarcely to be heard, from one Italian 
 pulpit, a single specimen of correct accent, or natural delivery. 
 
 Oswald fled from this most fatiguing of inflictions — that of ^,f- 
 fected vehemence — and sought the Coliseum, where a Capuchin 
 was topreach in the open air, at the foot of an altar, in the centre 
 of the inclosure which marks the road to the cross. What a theme 
 were this arena, where martyrs succeeded gladiators : but there 
 was no hope of hearing it dilated on by the poor Capuchin, who 
 knew nothing of the history of man, save in his own life. With- 
 out, however, coming there to hear his bad sermon, Oswald felt 
 interested by the objects around him. The congregation was prin- 
 cipally composed of the Camaldoline fraternity, at that time attired 
 in gray gowns that covered both head and body, leaving but two 
 little openings for the eyes, and having a most ghostly air. Their 
 unseen faces were prostrated to the earth ; they beat their breasts ; 
 and when their preacher threw himself on his knees, crying : 
 "Mercy and pity!" they followed his example. As this appeal 
 from wretchedness to compassion, from Earth to Heaven, <3choed 
 through the classic porticos, it was impossible not to experience 
 a deeply pious feeling in the soul's inmost sanctuary. Oswald 
 shuddered ; he remained standing, that he might not pretend to 
 a faith which was not his own ; yet it cost him an effort to forbear 
 from this fellowship with mortals, whoever they were, thus hum- 
 
168 corinne; or italt. 
 
 bling themselves before their God; for, does not an invocation to 
 heavenly sympathy equally become us all ? 
 
 The people were struck by his noble and foreign aspect, but not 
 displeased with his omitting to join them ; for no men on earth 
 can be more tolerant than the Romans. They are accustomed to 
 persons who come among them but as sight-seers; and, either 
 from pride or indolence, never geek to make strangers participate 
 in their opinions. It is a still more extraordinary fact, that, at this 
 period especially, there are many who take on themselves the 
 strictest punishments ; yet, while the scourge is in their hands, 
 the church-door is still open, and every stranger welcome to enter 
 as usual. They do nothing for the sake of being looked at, nor 
 are they frightened from anything because they happen to be 
 seen ; they proceed towards their own aims, or pleasures, without 
 knowing that there is such a thing as vanity, whose only aim and 
 pleasure consists in the applause of others. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Much has been said of Passion week in Rome. A number of 
 foreigners arrive during Lent, to enjoy this spectacle ; and as the 
 music at the Sixtine Chapel, and the illumination of St. Peter's, 
 are unique of their kind, they naturally attract much curiosity, 
 which is not always satisfied. The dinner served by the Pope to 
 the twelve representatives of the Apostles, whose feet he bathes, 
 must recall solemn ideas ; yet a thousand inevitable circumstances 
 often destroy their dignity. All the contributors to these customs 
 are not equally absorbed by devotion ; ceremonies so oft repeated 
 become mechanical to most of their agents; the young priests 
 hurry over the service with a dexterous activity anything but im- 
 posing. All the mysteries that should veil religion are dissipated, 
 by the attention we cannot help giving to the manner in which 
 each performs his function. The avidity of the one party for the 
 
COEINNE; OR,. ITALY. 169 
 
 meat set before them, the indifference of the other to their pray- 
 ers and genuflections, deprive the whole of its due sublimity. 
 
 The ancient costumes still worn by the ecclesiastics ill accord 
 with their modern heads. The bearded Patriarch of the Greek 
 Church is the most venerable figure left for such offices. The old 
 fashion, too, of men courteseying like women, is dangerous to de- 
 corum. The past and the present, indeed, rather jostle than har- 
 monize ; little care is taken to strike the imagination, and none to 
 prevent its being distracted. A worship so brilliantly majestic in 
 its externals is certainly well fitted to elevate the soul ; but more 
 caution should be observed, lest its ceremonies degenerate into 
 plays, in which the actors get by rote what they have to do, and 
 at what time ; when to pray, when to have done praying ; wlien to 
 kneel, and when to rise. Court rules introduced at church re- 
 strain that soaring elasticity which alone can give man hope of 
 drawing near his Maker. 
 
 The generality of foreigners observe this ; yet few Romans but 
 yearly find fresh pleasure in these sacred fites. It is a peculiarity 
 in Italian character, that versatility of taste leads not to incon- 
 stancy ; and that vivacity removes all necessity for truth ; it 
 deems everything more grand, more beautiful than reality. The 
 Italians, patient and persevering even in their amusements, let 
 imagination embellish what they possess, instead of bidding them 
 crave what they have not; and as elsewhere vanity teaches men 
 to seem fastidious, in Italy, warmth of temperament makes it a 
 pleasure to admire. 
 
 After all the Eomans had said to Nevil of their Passion week, 
 he had expected much more than he had found. He sighed for 
 the august simplicity of the English Church, and returned home 
 discontented with himself, for not having been afiected by that 
 which he ought to have felt. In such cases we fancy that the 
 soul is withered, and fear that we have lost that enthusiasm, 
 without which reason itself would serve but to disgust us with 
 life. 
 
 15 
 
170 oorinne; ob, halt 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 
 GopD Fkidat ^regtpred all the. ..religious emotions of -Loid. 
 Nevil ; he" was .about to regain Corinne — the-^veet-hapfiS-ofJasS 
 bleniied wjth_that piety7f'rom wEiSi n save the factitious 
 
 career of the world can entirely wean us. He sought the Sixtine 
 Chapel, to hear the far-famed Miserere. It was yet light enough 
 for him to see the pictures of Michael Angelo — the Day of Judg- 
 ment, treated by a genius worthy so terrible a subject. Dante 
 had infected this painter with the bad taste of representing mytho- 
 logical beings in the presence of Christ; but it is chiefly as demons 
 that he has characterized these Pagan creations. Beneath the 
 arches of the roof are seen the prophets and heathen priestesses, 
 called as witnesses by the Christians (teste David cum Sibylla); 
 a host of angels surround them. The roof is painted as if to 
 bring heaven nearer to us } but that heaven is gloomy and repul- 
 sive. Day scarcely penetrates the windows, which throw on the 
 pictures more shadows than beams. This dimness, too, enlarges 
 the already commanding figures of Michael Angelo. The fune- 
 real perfume of incense fills the aisles, and e'^ry sensation pre- 
 pares us for that deeper one which awaits the touch of music. 
 While Oswald was lost in these reflections, he beheld Corinne, 
 whom he had not expected yet to see, enter that part of the chapel 
 devoted to females, and separated by a grating from the rest. She 
 was in black ; pale with abstinence, and so tremulous, as she per- 
 ceived him, that she was obliged to support herself by the balus- 
 trade. At this moment the Miserdre commenced. Voices well 
 practised in this pure and antique chant rose from an unseen 
 gallery ; every instant rendered the chapel dar ker. The music 
 seemed to float in the air; no longer in the^^t nously^ pas- 
 sioned strains which the lovers had heard together a week since, 
 but such as seemed bidding them renounce all earthly things. 
 Corinne knelt before the grate. COswald himself wa s forgotten. 
 At such a m oment she wo uld have love d To diS^ If the separa- 
 tion of soul and body Vvere but panglcss; if an angel would bear 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 171 
 
 away thought and feeling on his wings — divine sparks, that shall 
 return to their source — death would be then the heart's spontane- 
 ous act, an ardent prayer most mercifully granted. The verses of 
 this psalm are sung alternately, and in very contrasted styles. 
 The heavenly harmony of one is answered by murmured recita- 
 tive, heavy and even harsh, like the reply of worldings to the 
 appeal of sensibility, or the realities of life defeating the vows of 
 generous souls : when the soft choir reply, hope springs again, 
 again to be frozen by that dreary sound which inspires not terror, 
 but utter discouragement; yet the last burst, most reassuring of 
 all, leaves just the stainless and exquisite sensation in the soul 
 which we would pray to be accorded when we die. The lights 
 are extinguished ; night advances ; the pictures gleam like pro- 
 phetic phantoms through the dusk ; the deepest silence reigns : 
 speech would be insupportable in this state of self-communion ; 
 every one steals slowly away, reluctant to resume the vulgar inte- 
 rests of the world. 
 
 Corinne followed the procession to St. Peter's, as yet illumined 
 but by a cross of fire : this type of grief shining alone through 
 the immense obscure, fair image of Christianity amid the shades 
 of life ! A wan light falls over the statues on the tombs. The 
 living, who throng these arches, appear but pigmies, compared 
 with the effigies of the dead. Around the cross is a space cleared, 
 where the Pope, arrayed in white, with all the cardinals behind 
 him, prostrate themselves to the earth, and remain nearly half an 
 hour profoundly mute. None hear what they request; but they 
 are old, going before us towards the tomb, whither we must follow. 
 Grant us, God ! the grace so to ennoble age, that the last days 
 of life may be the first of immortality. Corinne, too, the ypung 
 and lovely Corinne, knelt near the priests; the mild light 
 weakened not the lustre of her eyes. Oswald looked on her as 
 an entrancing picture, as well as an adored woman. Her orison 
 concluded, she rose ; her lover dared not approach, revering the 
 meditations in which he believed her still plunged ; but she came 
 to him, with all the rapture of reunion; — happiness was so shed 
 over her every action, that she received the greetings of her 
 
172 corinne; oa, italy. 
 
 friends with unwonted gayety. St. Peter's, indeed, had suddenly 
 become a public promenade, where every one made appointments 
 of business or of pleasure. Oswald was astonished^atjhisjiowgr 
 of running from one extreme 't5„55o^^'f 5 ^^^i much as he re- 
 jorcea-iffTEe"vivacity of Corinne, he felt surprised at her thus 
 instantly banishing all traces of her late emotions. He could not 
 conceive how this glorious edifice, on so solemn a day, could be 
 converted into the Ca/d of Eome, where people meet for amuse- 
 ment; and seeing Coritine encircled by admirers, to whom she 
 chatted cheerfully, as if no longer conscious where she Btood(,hg_ 
 ^felt snmfi miatrust aa tn tlie levit y of whif i li li Lb might b i " rupnblr ' 
 She read his thoughts, and hastily breaking from her party, took 
 his arm to walk the church with him, saying : " I have never 
 spoken to you of my religious sentiments ; let me do so now ; 
 perhaps I may thus disperse the clouds I see rising in your mind " 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "The difference of our creeds, my dear Oswald," continued 
 Corinne, " is the cause of the unspoken displeasure you cannot 
 prevent me from detecting. Tour faith is serious and severe, ours 
 lively and tender. It is generally believed that my church is the 
 most rigorous ; it may be so, in a country where struggles exist 
 between the two; but here we have no doctrinal dissensions. 
 England -has^experienced_many. The result is, that XTatlJioJicism 
 here has taken an indulgent character, such as it cannot have 
 where Reformation is armed against it. Our religion, like that 
 if the ancients, animates the arts,- inspires the poets, and makes 
 part of all the joys of life ; while yours, established in a country 
 where reason predominates over fancy, is stamped with a moral 
 sternness that will never be effaced. Ours calls on us in the name 
 of love ; yours in that of duty. Your principles are liberal ; our 
 dogmas bigoted ; yet our orthodox despotism has some fellowship 
 with private circumstances; and your religious liberty exacts 
 
corinne; or, italy. 173 
 
 respect for its own laws, without any exception. It is true that 
 our monastics undergo sad hardships, but they choose them freely ; 
 their state is a mysterious engagement between Grod and man. 
 Among the secular ^Catholics here, love, hope, and faith are the 
 chief virtues, all annouucing, all bestowing, peace. Far from our 
 priests forbidding us to rejoice, they tell us that we thus evince 
 our gratitude for the gifts of Heaven. They enjoin us to prac- 
 tise charity and repentance, as proofs of our respect for our faith 
 and our desire to please its Founder; but they refuse us not the 
 absolution we zealously implore ; and the errors of the heart meet 
 here a mercy elsewhere denied. Did not our Saviour tell the 
 Magdalene that much should be pardoned to the greatness of her 
 love ? As fair a sky as ours echoed these words : shall we then 
 despair of our Creator's pity ?" — " Corinne," returned Nevil, 
 " how can I combat arguments so sweet, so needful to me ? and 
 yet I must. It is not for a day I love Corinne ; to her I look for 
 a long futurity of content and virtue. fThe^ ^urest religion iaiha,t ** 
 whic h sacrifices passion to dut ^ as a continual homage to the ' 
 Supreme Being. A moral life is the best offering. We degrade 
 the Creator by attributing to him a wish that tends not towards 
 our intellectual perfection. Paternity, that godlike symbol of i I 
 faultless sway, seeks but to render its children better and happier 
 How, then, suppose that God demands of man actions that have 
 not the welfare of man for their object ? what confused notions 
 spring from the habit of attaching more importance to religious 
 ceremonies than to active worth ! You know that it is just after 
 Passion week the greatest number of murders are committed in 
 Kome. The long fast has, in more senses than one, put its vota- 
 ries in possession of funds, and they spend the treasures -of their 
 penitence in assassinations. The most disgusting criminal here 
 scruples to eat meat on Fridays ; convinced that the greatest of 
 ■ crimes were that of disobeying the ordiances of the Church : all 
 conscience is lavished on that point; as if the Divinity were like 
 one of this world's rulers, who prefers flattering submission to 
 faithful service. Is this courtier-like behavior to be substituted 
 for the respect we owe the Eternal, as the source and the recom- 
 15* 
 
174 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 pense of a forbearing and spotless life ? The external demonstra. 
 tions of Italian Catholicism excuse the soul from all interior piety. 
 The spectacle over, the feeling ends— the duty is done; no one 
 remains, as with us, long occupied by thoughts born of strict and 
 sincere self-examination." 
 
 " You are severe, my dear Oswald," said Corinne ; " this is not 
 the first time I have remarked it. jf_religion_CQaasts,,iaLJn . 
 morality, how Js U superior to jhilosophy and^ reason^ And 
 what piety could we truly feel, if our principal end was that of 
 stifling all the feelings of the heart ? The Stoics knew almost as 
 much as ourselves of austere self-denials ; but something more due 
 to Christianity is the enthusiasm which weds it with all the affec- 
 tions of the soul — the power of loving and sympathizing. It is 
 the most indulgent worship, which best favors the flight of our 
 spirits towards Heaven. What means the parable of the Prodigal 
 Son, if not, that true love of God is preferred even above the most 
 exact fulfilment of duty? He quitted the paternal roof; his 
 brother remained beneath it. He had plunged into all the pleasures 
 of the world ; his brother had never, for an instant, broken the 
 regularity of domestic life ; but the wanderer returned, all tears, 
 and his beloved father received him with rejoicing ! Ah ! doubt- 
 less, among the mysteries of nature, love is all that is left us of 
 our heavenly heritage ! Our very virtues are often too constitu- 
 tional for us always to comprehend what is right, or what is the 
 secret impulse that directs us. ' I ask my God to teach me to 
 adore him. I feel the effect of my petition by the tears I shed. 
 But, to sustain this disposition, religious exercises are more neces- 
 sary than you may think; a constant intercourse with the Divi- 
 nity ; daily habits that have no connection with the interests of 
 life, but belong solely to the invisible world. External objects 
 are of great assistance to piety. The soul would fall back upon 
 herself, if music and the arts reanimated not that poetic genius 
 which is also the genius of religion. The vulgarest man, while 
 he prays, suffers, or .trusts in Heaven, would express himself like 
 Milton, Homer, or Tasso, if education had clothed his thoughts 
 in words. There are but two distinct classes of men born those 
 
COEINNE; or ITALY. 175 
 
 who feel enthusiasm, and those who deride it ; all the rest is the 
 work of sooietyr" One class have"Ho~ words for their sentiments ; 
 the other know what they ought to say to hide the void of their 
 hearts ; but the stream flowed from the rock at the command of 
 Heaven; even so gush forth true talent, true religion, true love. 
 The pomp of our worship ; those pictures of kneeling saints, whose 
 looks express continual prayer ; those statues placed on tombs, as 
 if to awaken one day with the dead ; our churches, with their 
 lofty aisles — all seem intimately connected with devout ideas. I 
 love this splendid homage, made by man to that which promises 
 him neither fortune nor power; which neither rewards nor 
 punishes, save by the feelings it inspires ; I grow proud of my 
 kind, as I recognize something so disinterested. The magnifi- 
 cence of religion cannot be too much increased. I love this pro- 
 digality of terrestrial gifts to another world ; offerings from time 
 to eternity; sufficient for the morrow are the cares required by 
 human economy. Oh ! how I love what would be useless waste, 
 were life nothing better than a career of toil for despicable gain ! if 
 this earth be but our road to heaven, what can we do better than so 
 elevate our souls that they feel the Infinite, the Invisible, the 
 Eternal, in the midst of the limits that surround them ? Jesus 
 permitted a weak, and, perhaps, repentant woman, to steep his 
 head in precious balms, saying to those who bade her turn them 
 to more profitable use ; ' Why trouble ye the woman ? the poor ye 
 have always with ye, but me ye have not always." Alas ! what- 
 ever is good or sublime on this earth is ours but for awhile ; we 
 have it not always. Age, infirmities, and death soon sully the 
 heavenly dewdrop that only rests on flowers. Dear Oswald, let 
 us, then, blend love, religion, genius, sunshine, odors, music, 
 and poetry. There is no Atheism but cold selfish baseness. 
 Christ has said : 'When two or three are gathered together in my 
 name, I will be amongst them ;' and what, God ! is assembling 
 in thy name, if we do not so while enjoying the charms of nature, 
 therein praising and thanking thee for our life ; above all, when 
 some other heart, created by thy hands, responds entirely to oui 
 
 own 
 
 ?" 
 
176 corinne; oe italy. 
 
 So celestial an inspiration animated the countenance of Corinne, 
 that Oswald could scarce refrain from falling at her feet in that 
 august temple. He was long silent, delightedly musing over her 
 words, and reading their meaning in her looks : he could not, 
 however, abandon a cause so dear to him as that he had under- 
 taken ; therefore resumed : " Corinne, hear a few words more 
 from your friend: his heart is not scared; no, no, believe me, if 
 I require austerity of principle and action, it is because it gives 
 our feelings depth and duration ; if I look for reason in religion — 
 that is, if I reject contradictory dogmas, and human means for 
 aifecting the soul — it is because I see the Divinity in reason as in 
 enthusiasm ; if I cannot allow man to be deprived of any of his 
 faculties, it is because they are all scarce sufficient for his compre- 
 hension of the truths, revealed to him as much by mental re- 
 flection as by heartfelt instinct — the existence of a God, and the 
 immortality of the soul. To these solemn thoughts, so entwined 
 with virtue, what can be added, that, in fact, belongs to them ? 
 The poetic zeal to which you lend so many attractions, is not, I 
 dare assert, the most salutary kind of devotion ! Corinne, how 
 can it prepare us for the innumerable sacrifices th.it duty exacts ? 
 It has no revelation, save in its own impulses; while its future 
 destiny is seen but through clouds. Now we, to whom Christi- 
 anity renders it clear and positive, may deem such a sensation 
 our reward, but cannot make it our sole guide. You describe the 
 existence of the blest, not that of mortals ; a religious life b a 
 combat, not a hymn. If we were not sent here to repress our 
 own and others' evil inclinations, there would, as you say, be no 
 distinctions save between apathetic and ardent minds. But man 
 is more harsh and rugged than you think him ; rational piety and 
 imperious duty alone can check his proud excesses. Whatever 
 you may think of exterior pomp, and numerous ceremonies, 
 dearest ! the contemplation of the universe and its Author will 
 ever be the only worship which so fills the heart that self, 
 knowledge can find in it nothing either idle or absurd. The 
 dogmas that wound my reason, also chill my enthusiasm. Doubt- 
 less, the world is in itself an incomprehensible mystery, and he 
 
corinne; or, italy. 177 
 
 were most unwise who refused to believe whatever he could not 
 explain; but contradictions are always the work of man. Tho 
 secrets of God are beyond our mental powers, but not opposed to 
 them. A German philosopher has said : ' I know but two lovely 
 things in the-universe — the starry sky above our heads, and the 
 sense of duty within our hearts.' In sooth, all the wonders of 
 creation are included in these. Far from a simple religion wither- 
 ing the heart, I used to think, ere I knew you, Corinne, that 
 such alone could concentrate and perpetuate its affections. I 
 have witnessed the most austere purity of conduct from a man of 
 inexhaustible tenderness. I have seen it preserve, in age, a 
 virgin innocence which the storms of passion must else have 
 blightail. Eepentance is assuredly commendable, and I, more 
 than most men, had need rely on its efficacy ; but repeated peni- 
 tence wearies the soul ; it is a sentiment that can but once re- 
 generate us. Redemption accomplished, cannot be renewed; 
 accustomed to the attempt, we lose the strength of love ; ^for it_ 
 t fiCjuires strength of mind to love God constantly. ^ I object to 
 the splendid forms which here act so powerfully on the, fancy, 
 because I would have imagination modest and retiring, like the 
 heart : emotions extorted from it, are always less forcible than 
 those that spring spontaneously. In the Cevennes, I' heard a 
 Protestant minister preach one eve among the mountains : he 
 addressed the tombs of the Frenchmen, banished by their brothers, 
 and promised their friends that they should meet them in a better 
 world : a virtuous life, he said, would secure that blessing, jtdding, 
 'Do good to man, that God may heal the wounds within your 
 breasts !' He wondered at the inflexibility with which the creature 
 of a day dared treat his fellow-worm ; and spoke of that terrible 
 death, which all conceive, but none fully expound. In short, 
 he said naught that was not touching, true, and perfectly in 
 harmony with nature. The distant cataract, the sparkling star- 
 light, seemed expressing the same thoughts in other ways. There 
 was the magnificence of nature, the only one whose spectacles 
 offend not the unfortunate ; and this imposing simplicity affected 
 
178 corinIse; or, italt. 
 
 the soul as it was never affected by the most brilliant of cere- 
 monies." 
 
 On Easter Sunday, Oswald and Corinne went to the Place of 
 St. Peter's, to see the Pope, from the highest balcony of the church, 
 call down Heaven's blessing on the earth: as he pronounced 
 Vrhi et orhi — on the city and the world — the people knelt, ahd 
 our lovers felt all creeds alike. Eeligion links men with each 
 other, unless self-love and fanaticism render it a cause of jealousy 
 and hate. To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the 
 most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that men can 
 contract in this life. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Easter was over, yet Corinne spoke not of accomplishing her 
 promise, by confiding her history to Nevil. Hurt by this silence, 
 he one day told her that he intended paying a visit to their vaunted 
 Naples. She understood his feelings, and proposed to make the 
 journey with him ; hoping to escape the avowal he expected from 
 her, by giving him a proof of love which ought to be so satisfac- 
 tory : besides, she thought that he would not take her with him, 
 unless he designed to become hers for life. Her anxious looks 
 supplicated a favorable reply. He could not resist, though sur- 
 prised at the simplicity with which she made this offer ; yet he 
 hesitated for some time, till, seeing her bosom throb, and her eyes 
 fill, he consented, without considering the importance of such a 
 resolution. Corinne was overwhelmed with joy : at that moment 
 she implicitly relied on his fidelity. The day was fixed, and the 
 sweet perspective of travelling together banished every other idea. 
 Not an arrangement they made for this purpose but was a source 
 of pleasure. Happy mood ! in which every detail of life derives 
 a charm' from some fond hope. Too soon comes the time when 
 each hour fatigues; when each morning costs us an effort to 
 support our walking, and drag on the day to its close. As Nevil 
 
CORINNE; or ITALY. 179 
 
 left Corinne, in order to prepare everything for their departure, 
 the Count d'Erfeuil called on her, and learned her plan. " You 
 cannot think of it!" he said: "make a tour with a man who 
 has not even promised to be your husband ! what will become of 
 you if he turns deserter ?" — " I should become," replied' she, "but 
 what I must be, in any situation, ifthe ceased to love me/( the 
 most unhappy person in the world/\ — "Yes; but if you had 
 d,fljiajaothi_ng to jegmpromise jour name, jom would still remain 
 yourself."— "^Myself!" she repeated. " whe ythe best feelings of^ 
 
 ' ^my'soul Sr^e blighted,, and my heart broken ?" — " The public 
 would not guess that ; and with a little caution you might pre- 
 serve its opinion." — "And why humor that opinion, unless it 
 were to gain one merit the more in the eyes of love?" — "We 
 may cease to love," answered the Count, " but we do not cease 
 
 "lo'Eve'in need of society." — "If I could think," she exclaimed, 
 '"THat fiGe"day would come when Oswald's affections were no 
 longer mine all, I should have ceased to love already. What is 
 love, if it can calculate and provide against its own decay ? No ; 
 like devotion, it dissipates all other interests, and delights in an 
 entire sacrifice of self." — "And can a person of your mind turn 
 her brain with such nonsense ?" asked d'Erfeuil : " it is certainly 
 to the advantage of us men, that women think as you do;Abut_ 
 
 ^ou^ust not lo se your ^aq^eriority ^ it ought to be in some way 
 
 "useful.''' — " tJseful !" criea (jorinne ; " Oh ! I shall owe it enough, 
 if it teaches me the better to appreciate the tender generosity of 
 Nevil." — ll ^Nfivil ia lij^" "*>""■ "ifln," '■"j^i'if^ *^'^ nr.,-,nt ■ itv.^~- 
 will ret" --" t" ^'° cnnntry, t-qchiitjo hjs Career there^ and be rea , - 
 
 jonable at last ; you will expose vour reputation mf"^- '"ipr VJsPtly 
 by gning tn Naplea with himTi^ — " I know not his intentions," 
 she answered ; " and, perhaps, it would have been better to have 
 reflected ere I loved him ; but now — what matters one sacrifice 
 more? [Doe s not my li fp '^pp'^'H^ " ^ ^'^ love ? 7 Indeed. I feel 
 some solace in leaving myself without one resource ; there nfever 
 is any for wounded hearts, but the world may sometimes think 
 that such remains ; and I love to know that even in this respect 
 
 (my misfortune would be complete, if Nevil abandoned me.'A — 
 
180 corinne; or italt. 
 
 "And does he know how far you commit yourselffe^s^sake?"-— 
 a^ Noj LhaveJakenjgTear pg jMg, as he is butjmperfectjv acquainted^ 
 with the customs of this cju ntry, to exagge'rate the liberty it 
 permits. G ive me your word that you will say nothing to him 
 on this head. { l wish him to b e_ ever free : he cannot constitut e 
 myfelicitj_by giving up any portionja£Jua.SfflnJ His love is the 
 ^flower of myTiT e; and g eitEerhis delicacy nor his goodness 
 could reanimate it,, if once faded. [ conjure you, then, dear 
 Count, leave me to' my fate. Nothing that you know of the 
 heart's affections can suit my case : all you say is right, and very 
 applicable to ordinary persons and situations; but you innocently 
 do me great wrong in judging me by the common herd, for whom 
 there are so many maxims ready made. I enjoy, I suffer, in my 
 own way, and it is of me alone that those shonld think who seek 
 to influence my welfare." The self-love of d'Erfeuil was a little 
 stung by the futility of his advice ; and, by the mark of prefer- 
 ence shown to Nevil, he knew that he himself was not dear to 
 Corinne, and that Oswald was j yet that all this should be so 
 publicly evinced was somewhat disagreeable to him. The suc- 
 cess of any man, with any woman, is apt to displease even his 
 best friends. "I see I can do nothing here," he added; "but, 
 when my words are fulfilled, you will remember me ; meantime I 
 shall leave Rome : without jou and Nevil I should be ennuied to 
 death. I shall surely see you both again in Italy or Scotland; 
 for I have taken a fancy to travel, while waiting for better things. 
 Forgive my counsel, charming Corinne, and ever depend on my 
 devotion to you." She thanked and parted from him with regret. 
 She had known him at the same time with Oswald ; that was a 
 link she liked not to see broken;,' but she acted as she had told 
 d'Erfeuil she should do. Some anxiety still troubled Oswald's 
 joy : he would fain have obtained her secret, that he might be 
 certain they were not to be separated by any invinfcible obstacle; 
 but she declared she would explain nothing till they were at 
 Naples; and threw a, yejl oyer- what might be said of the step 
 she was taking. Oswald lent himself to this illusionTTove, in a 
 weak, uncert^n' character, depeiyes 'bj halves, reason remains 
 
COKINNBJ OR, ITALY. 181 
 
 half clear, and present emotions decide which of the two halves 
 shall become the whole. ThejoifldLoiJieiil j<tas-siiig!ilai:ly.,fix- 
 pansive and penetrating ;/yet he could only judge himself cor- 
 rectly in the paitjni s exiBtTTTjii situation appeared to him ever -Jg-> 
 eotfTusTonj Susceptible alike of rashness and remorse, of passion 
 and timidity, he was incapable of understanding his own state, 
 until events had decided the combat. When the friends of Co- 
 rinne were apprised of her plan they were greatly distressed, 
 especially Prince Castel Eorte, who resolved to follow her as soon 
 as possible. He had not the vanity to oppose her accepted lover, 
 but he could not support the frightful void left by the absence of 
 his fair friend ; he had no acquaintance whom he was not wont 
 to meet at her house ; he visited no other. rThe society she at- 
 tracted round her must be dispersed by her departure; so wr ecked 
 that i t would soon be impossible to restorelO He was little 
 accustomed to live among hia family; though extremely intelli- 
 gent, study fatigued him ; the day would have been too heavy 
 but for his morn and evening visit to Corinne. She was going ; 
 he could but guess why ; yet secretly promised himself to rejoin 
 her, not like an exacting lover, but as one ever ready to console 
 her, if unhappy, and who might have been but too sure that such 
 a time would opme. Corinne felt some melancholy in loosening 
 all the ties of habit; the life she had led in Rome was agreeable 
 to her; she was the centre rojULd which circled all its celebrated 
 artists an df^^ jof letters -^perfect fr eedoj^ had lent charms to 
 her existence : what was she to be now? if destined to be Os- 
 wald's wife, he would take her to England : how should she be 
 received there ? how restrain herself to a career so different from 
 that of her last six years ? These thoughts did but pass over her 
 mind ; love for Oswald effaced their light track. She saw him, 
 heard him, and counted the hours but by his presence or absence. 
 Who can refuse the happiness that seeks them ? Corinne, of all 
 women, was the least forethoughted; nor hope nor fear was made 
 for her ; her faith in the future was indistinct, and in this respect 
 her fancy did her as little good as harm. The morning of her 
 departure Castel Forte came to her, with tears in his eyee 
 16 
 
182 corinnb; or, italt. 
 
 " Will you return no more to Rome ?" he asked. — " My God, 
 yes !" she cried ; " we shall be back in a month." — " But, if you 
 wed Lord Nevil, you will leave Italy." — " Leave Italy I" she 
 sighed. — " Yes ; the country where we speak your language, and 
 understand you so well ; where you are so vividly admired ;' and 
 for friends, Corinne, where will you be beloved as you are here ? 
 where find the arts, the thoughts that please you ?«^p Can a sfngle 
 att achment constitute your life ?^y Do not language, customs, and 
 manners, compose that love of country which inflicts such terrible 
 grief on the exile ?" — " What say you ?" cried Corinne : " have 
 I not experienced it ? Did not that very grief decide my fate ?" 
 She looked sadly on the statues that decked her room ; then on 
 the Tiber, rolling beneath her windows; and the sky whose 
 smile seemed inviting her to stay ; but at that moment Oswald 
 crossed the bridge of St. Angelo on horseback. " Here he is !" 
 cried Corinne ; she had scarcely said the words ere he was beside 
 her. She ran before him, and both, impatient to set forth, took 
 their places in the carriage; yet Corinne paid a kind adieu to 
 Castel Forte ; but it was lost among the shouts of postilions, the 
 neighing of horses, and all the bustle of departure — sometimes 
 sad, sometimes intoxicating — just as fear or hope may be inspired 
 by the new chances of coming destiny. 
 
 BOOK XI. 
 
 NAPLES, AND THE HERMITAGE OF ST. SALVADOR. 
 
 CHAPTBE I. 
 
 Oswald was proud of bearing off his conquest; though usually 
 disturbed in his enjoyments by reflections and regrets, he felt less 
 so now : not that he was decided, but that he did not trouble him- 
 self to be so ; he yielded to the course of events, hoping to be 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 183 
 
 borne towards the haven of his -wishes. They crossed the Cam- 
 pagna d'Albano, where still is shown the supposed tomb of the 
 Horatii and Curatii. (25) They passed near the Lake of Nemi, 
 and the saored woods that surround it, where it is said Hippolitus 
 was restored to life by Diana, who permitted no horses ever to 
 enter it more, in remembrance of her young favorite's misfortune. 
 Thus, in Italy, almost at every step, history and poetry add to 
 the graces of nature, sweeten the memory of the past, and seem 
 to preserve it in eternal youth. Oswald and Corinne next tra- 
 versed the Pontine Marshes, fertile and pestilent at once, unen- 
 livened by a single habitation. Squalid-looking men put to the 
 horses, advising you to keep awake while passing through this air, 
 as sleep is ever the herald of death. Buffaloes, of the most stupid 
 ferocity, draw the plough, which imprudent cultivators sometimes 
 employ upon this fatal land; and the most brilliant sunshine 
 lights up the whole. Unwholesome swamps in the north are in- 
 dicated by their frightful aspects ; but in the most dangerous 
 countries of the south nature deceives the traveller by her serenest 
 welcome. If it be true that slumber is so perilous on these fens, 
 the drowsiness their heat produces adds still more to our sense of 
 the perfidy around us. Nevil watched constantly over Corinne. 
 When she languidly closed her eyes, or leaned her head on the 
 shoulder of Theresina, he awakened her with inexhaustible terror ; 
 and, silent as he was by nature, now found inexhaustible topics 
 for conversation, ever new, to prevent her submitting for an in- 
 stant to this murderous sleep. May we not forgive the heart of 
 woman for the despairing regret with which it clings to the days 
 when she was beloved ? when her existence was so essential to 
 that of another, that its every instant was protected by his arm ? 
 What isolation must succeed that delicious time ! Happy they 
 whom the sacred link of marriage gently leads from love to friend 
 ship, without one cruel moment having torn their hearts. 
 
 At last our voyagers arrived at Terraoina, on the coast border- 
 ing the kingdom of Naples. There the south indeed begins, and 
 receives the stranger in its full magnificence. The Campagna 
 FelicS seems separated from the rest of Europe, not only by the 
 
184 CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 
 
 sea, but by the destructive land which must be crossed to reach 
 it. It is as if nature wished to keep her loveliest secret, and 
 therefore rendered the road to it so hazardous. Not far from Ter- 
 racina is the promontory chosen by poets as the abode of Cireea, 
 behind rises Mount Anxur, where Theodoric, king of the Goths, 
 built one of his strongest castles. There are few traces of these 
 invading barbarians left, and those, being mere works of destruc- 
 tion, are confounded with the works of time. The northern 
 nations have not given Italy that warlike aspect which Germany 
 retains. It seems as if the soft earth of Ausonia could not keep 
 the fortifications and citadels that bristle through northern snows. 
 Rarely is a Gothic edifice or feudal castle to be found here. The 
 antique Bomans still reign over the memory even of their con- 
 querors. The whole of the mountain above Terracina is covered 
 with orange and lemon trees, that delicately embalm the air. 
 Nothing in our own climes resemble the effect of this perfume : 
 it is like that of some exquisite melody, exciting and inobriating 
 talent into poetry. The aloes and large-leaved cactus that abound 
 here remind one of Africa's gigantic vegetation, almost fearfully; 
 they seem belonging to a realm of tyranny and violence. Every- 
 thing is strange as another world, known but by the songs of 
 antique bards, who, in all their lays, evinced more imagination 
 than truth. As they entered Terracina, the children threw into 
 Corinne's carriage immense heaps of flowers, gathered by the way- 
 side, or on the hills, and strewn at random, so confident are they 
 in the prodigality of nature. The wagons that bring the harvest 
 from the fields are daily garlanded with roses : one sees aiid hears, 
 besides these smiling pictures, the waves that rage unlashed by 
 storms against the rocks, eternal barriers that chafe the ocean's 
 
 pride. 
 
 "E non udite ancor come risnona 
 H rooo ed alto fremito marino?" 
 
 "And hear you not still how resoiind.s 
 The hoarse and deep roar of the sea ?" 
 
 This endless motion, this aimless strength, renewed eternally, 
 whose cause and termination are alike unknown to us, draws us 
 
OORINNE; OR, ITALY. 185 
 
 to the shore whence so grand a spectacle may be seen, till we feel 
 a fearful desire to rush into its waves, and stun our thoughts amid 
 their tumultuous voices. 
 
 Towards evening all is calm. Corinne and Nevil wandered 
 slowly forth : they stepped on flowers, and scattered their sweets 
 as they pressed them. The nightingale rests on the rose-bushes, 
 and blends the purest music with the richest scents. All nature's 
 charms seem mutually attracted ; but the most entrancing and 
 inexpressible of all is the mildness of the air. In contemplating 
 a fine northern view, the climate always qualifies our pleasure. 
 Like false notes in a concert, the petty sensations of cold and 
 damp distract attention ; but in approaching Naples you breathe 
 so freely, feel such perfect ease ; with such bounteous friendship 
 does nature welcome you, that nothing impairs your delight. 
 Man's every relation, in our lands, is with society : in warm cli- 
 mates his afiiections overflow among exterior objects. It- is not 
 that the south has not its melancholy — in what scenes can human 
 destiny fail to awaken it? — but here it is unmixed with discon- 
 tent or anxiety. Elsewhere life, such as it is, suffices not the 
 faculties of man : here those faculties suffice not for a life whose 
 superabundance of sensation induce a pensive indolence, for 
 which those who feel it can scarce account. 
 
 During the night the fire-flies fill the air : one might suppose 
 that the burning earth thus let her flames escape in light : these 
 insects wanton through the trees, sometimes pitching on their 
 leaves ; and as the wind waves them, the uncertain gleam of these 
 little stars is varied in a thousand ways. The sand also contains 
 a number of small ferruginous stones, that shine through it, as if 
 earth cherished in her breast the last rays of the vivifying sun. 
 Everywhere is united a life and a repose that satisfy at once all 
 the wishes of existence. 
 
 Corinne yielded to the charm of such a night with heartfelt 
 joy. Oswald could not conceal his emotion. Often he pressed 
 her hand to his heart, then withdrew, returned, retired again, in 
 respect for her who ought to be the companion of his life. She 
 thought not of her danger : such was her esteem for him, that, 
 16* 
 
186 corinne; oh, italt. 
 
 had he demanded the gift of her entire being, she would not have 
 doubted that such prayer was but a solemn vow to make her bis 
 
 Nfife; she was glad, however, that he triumphed over himself, 
 and honored her by the sacrifice: her soul was so replete with 
 love and happiness, that she could not form another wish.^Oswald 
 
 jras far from this a<^rn • firp ^ l hv her beauty, he on ce embracedL 
 
 ■her knees with vio lenne^ and HfipmRfl to have lost all empire over 
 his passio n; but Cnrinne Innked on him with SO Bweet a fear, as 
 if confessin g his power, in entreating him not to abuse it, that 
 this h umble defence extorted more rfjerence than any other could.. 
 have do ne^ They saw reflected in the wave a torch which some 
 unknown hand bore along the beach, to a rendezvous at a neigh- 
 boring house. "He goes to his love," said Oswald ; "and for 
 me the happiness of this day will soon be over." Corinne's eyes, 
 then raised to heaven, were filled with tears. Oswald, fearing he 
 had offended her, fell at her feet, begging her to pardon the love 
 which hurried him away. She gave him her hand, proposing 
 their return together. "Oswald," she said, "you will, I am 
 assured, respect her you love ; you know that the simplest request 
 of yours would be resistless : it is you, then, who must answer 
 for me; you, who would rrfuse me for your wife, if you had ren- 
 dered me unworthy to be so." — " Well," said Oswald, " since 
 you know the cruel potency of your will over my heart, whence, 
 whence this sadness ?" — "Alas !" she replied, " I had told myself 
 that my last moments passed with you were the happiest of my 
 life; and, as I looked gratefully to heaven, I know not by what 
 chance a childish superstition came back upon my mind. The 
 moon was hid by a cloud of fatal aspect. /l ha xe always found 
 the sky eithe r paternal or angry ; and I tell yon, Osw iildj *'^'' 
 
 y^to^ tgfat-ifCSndemns our love.'Y -" Dearest." cried he, " the only 
 auguries are good or evil actions ; and have I not this evening 
 
 immolated my most ardent desires to virtue ?" " It is well," 
 
 added Corinne : " if you are not involved in this presage, it may 
 be that the stormy heaven menaces but myself." 
 
corinne; or, italy. 187 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 They arrived at Naples by day, amid its immense population 
 of animated idlers. They first crossed the Strada del Toledo, and 
 saw the Lazzaroni lying on the pavement, or crouching in the 
 wicker works that serve them for dwellings night and day"; 7tl3is 
 .^ava^e st '^tfi, ^'""'^iiig; """*^^^ "'" vilization, has a very orig inal air.-)*- 
 There are many among these men who know not even their own 
 names ; who come to confession anonymously, because they cannot 
 tell what to call the offenders. There is a subterranean grotto, 
 where thousands of Lazzaroni pass their lives, merely going at 
 noon to look on the sun, and sleeping during the rest of the day, 
 while their wives spin. In climates where food and raiment are 
 BO cheap, it requires a very active government to spread sufficient 
 national emulation ; material subsistence is so easy there that they 
 dispense with the industry requisite elsewhere for our daily bread. 
 Idleness and ignorance, combined with the volcanic air they im- 
 bibe, must produce ferocity when the passions are excited ; yet 
 these people are no worse than others; they have imagination 
 which might prove the parent of disinterested action, and lead to 
 good results, did their political and religious institutions set them 
 good examples. 
 
 The Calabrese march towards the fields they cultivate with a 
 musician at their head, to whose tunes they occasionally dance, 
 by way of variety. Every year is held, near Naples, a fgte to our 
 Lady of the Grotto, at which the girls dance to the sound of tam- 
 bourines and castanets ; and they often make it a clause in their 
 marriage contracts, that their husbands shall take them annually 
 to this fSte. There was an actor of eighty, who for sixty years 
 diverted the Neapolitans, in their national part of Polichinello. 
 What immortality does the soul deserve which has thus long em- ^ 
 ployed the body? ^e people of N aples know n o frnnd but plea - 
 snre ; yet even such taste is preferable to barren selfish negg>\It 
 is true that they love money inordinately; if you ask your way 
 in the streets, the man addressed holds out his hand as soon as he 
 
188 coeinne; ok, italt. 
 
 has pointed — they are often too lazy for words ; but their love of 
 gold is not that of the miser : they spend as they receive it. If 
 coin were introduced among savages, they would demand it in the 
 same way. What the Neapolitans want most is a sense of dignity. 
 They perform generous and benevolent actions rather from impulse 
 than principle. Their theories are worth nothing; and public 
 opinion has no influence over them ; but, if any here escape this 
 fi moral anarchy, their conduct is more admirable than might be 
 found elsewhere, since nothing in their exterior circumstances is 
 favorable to virtue. Nor laws nor manners are there to reward 
 or punish. The good are the more heroic, as they are not the 
 more sought or better considered for their pains. With some ho- 
 norable exceptions, the highest class is very like the lowest ; the 
 mind is as little cultivated in the one as in the other. Dress makes 
 the only difference. But, in the midst of all this, there is at bot- 
 tom a natural cleverness and aptitude, which shows us what such 
 a nation might become if the government devoted its powers to 
 their mental and moral improvement. As there is little education, 
 one finds more originality of character than of wit; but the dis- 
 tinguished men of this country, such as the Ahh6 Galiani and 
 Caraccioli, possessed, it is said, both pleasantry and reflection — 
 rare union, without which either pedantry or frivolity must pre- 
 vent men from knowing the true value of things. In some re- 
 spects the Neapolitans are quite uncivilized ; but their vulgarity 
 is not like that of others ; their very grossness strikes the imagi- 
 nation. We feel that the African shore is near us. There is 
 something Numidian in the wild cries we hear from all sides. 
 The brown facjg, and dresses of red or purple stnfij whose stronc 
 colors catch the eye, those ragged cloaks, draped so artistically, 
 give something picturesque to the populace, in whom, elsewhere, 
 we can but mark the steps of civilization. A certain taste for 
 ornament is here found, contrasted with a total want of all that 
 is useful. The shops are decked with fruit and flowers; some of 
 them -have a holyday look, that belongs neither to private plenty 
 nor public felicity ; but solely to vivacious fancy, which fain would 
 feast-the eye at any rate. The mild clime permits all kinds of 
 
corinne; or, ITALY. 189 
 
 laborers to work in the streets. Tailors there make clothes, and 
 cooks pastry. — these household tasks performed out of doors much 
 augment the action of the scene. Songs, dances, and noisy sports 
 accompany this spectacle. There never was a country in which 
 the difference between amusement and happiness might be more 
 clearljfelt ; yet leave the interior for the quays, look on the sea, 
 and J^estiYia aj and you forget all that you know of the natives. J 
 Oswald and Corinne reached Naples whil e the eruption still lastfi d..«»<;- 
 B y (iay it Rent forth but a b lack smoke, which might be con- 
 fo unded with the clouds ; bu t in t he evening, goine^ to the ba lcony 
 of their abode^ they r ecei ved a most unexpected shock.j A flood 
 o f fire rolled down to the seas, its flaming w aves imitating tna_ 
 rapid succession and indeta tigable movement of the ocean's bil- 
 lows. ^ t might be said that nature, though dividing nerseit into 
 different element-s, preserved some traces of her single and primi- 
 tive design. This phenomenon really makes the heart palpitate 
 We are so familiarized with the works of heaven, that we scarcely 
 notice them with any new sensation in our prosaic realms ; but the 
 wonder which the universe ought to inspire, is suddenly renewed 
 at the sight of a miracle like this; our whole being is agitated by 
 its Maker's power, from which our social connections have turned 
 our thoughts so long ; we feel that man is not the world's chief . 
 mystery ; that a strength independent of his own at once threatens 
 and protects him by a law to him unknown. Oswald and Corinne 
 promised themselves the pleasure of ascending Vesuvius, and felt- 
 an added delight in thinking of the danger they, thus should brave 
 together. • 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 There was at that time in the harbor an English ship of war, 
 where divine service was performed every Sunday. The captain 
 and other English persons then at Naples invited Lord Nevil to., 
 attend on the morrow. He promised ; but while thinking whether 
 he should take Corinne, or how she could be presented to his 
 
190 
 
 corinne; ok, it alt. 
 
 country women, he was tortured by anxiety. Ab he walked with 
 her near the port next day, and was about to advise her not to 
 go on board this vessel, a boat neared the shore, rowed by ten 
 sailors, dressed in white, wearing black velvet caps, with the Leo- 
 pard embroiderejj on them in silver. A young officer stepped on 
 shore, and entreated Corinne to let him take her to the ship, 
 calling her M^ady Nevil?*} At that name she blushed, and cast 
 down her eyMT^-QsjaaWrlJesitated a moment, then said in English, 
 " Come, my dear :" she obeyed. The sound of the waves made 
 her thoughtful, as did the silence of the well-disciplined crew, 
 who witl^ut one superfluous word or gesture, rapidly winged 
 
 L their barS over the element they had so often traversed. Corinne 
 dared not ask Nevil what she was to anticipate ; she strove to 
 guess his projects, never hitting on what, at all times, was most 
 probable wat he had none bii*^ If t- himself be borne away by 
 
 , every new occurrence^ For a moment, she imaginecTTESl he was 
 
 ^ leading her to a i^nurch of England chaplain, to make her his 
 wife J this thought alarmed more than it gratified her. She felt 
 about to leave Italy for England, where she had sufiered so much ; 
 the severity of its manners returned to her mind, and not even 
 love could triumph over her fear. How she would in other cir- 
 
 V cumstances have wondered at these fleeting ideas ! She mounted 
 the vessel's side ; it was arranged with the most careful neatness. 
 Nothing was heard from its deck but the commands of the captain. 
 
 "S ubordination and serious regularity here reigned, as emblems of 
 Ji Lerty and order ji n contrast with" iiii£ _impassionec[ 'tuE moitl!of 
 
 ^Jiaglesf Oswald eagerly watched the impression this made on 
 Cormfle, yet he was often diverted from his attention by the love 
 he bore his country. There is no second country for an English- 
 man, except a ship and the sea. Oswald ioined the Britons on 
 board to ask the news, and talk politics. (.Corinne stood hsfiidfl 
 some English females who had come to bear prayers. They were 
 sur rounded by children, be a u tituli as dw. but timid like tl jj^^ 
 Sgrs, ana noi; a worg was spoken be fore the strang-ei\l ThiT 
 was sad enough for Corinne f she lookedtOTrards fair 
 shorn, iti lively habits, and sighed. 
 
 DM 
 
 ^^estrainj 
 Naples, thought of its flowery 
 
corinne; or, italt. 
 
 191 
 
 Happily^Oswald heard her not; on the contrary, seeing her seated 
 amonafliis sistersJas it were, her dajksyel^bes cast down like 
 their ught ones,4ndnn every j tajg ^nforming yith their custa 
 he felt a thri ll of joyTTvainly doeS~air"ftTIgushman taEea tem- 
 porary pleasure among foreign scenes and people ; his heart inva- 
 riably flies back to his first impressions. If you find him sailing 
 from the antipodes, and ask whither he is going, he answers, 
 " home," if it is towards England that he steers. His vows, his 
 sentiments, at whatever distance he may be, are always turned 
 towards her.* They went below for divine service. Corinne 
 perceived that h«r first conjecture was unfounded, and that Nevil's 
 intentions were less solemn than she supposed; then she re- 
 proached herself for having feared, and again felt all the embar- 
 rassment of her situation ; (for every one pr esent be liev ed her the 
 
 wife of L ord Ne vil, and she could sa y nothing either to confirm 
 or to~aestroY this idea.\ O swald suffered as cruelly. K ucti faulis 
 as .weakness and irresolution are neaecilete eted^ytheir possessor. 
 for whom they take new names from eacn fresh circiiB 
 sometimes he tells himself that prudence, sometimes that deli- 
 cacy defers the moment of action, and prolongs his suspense 
 Oorinne, in apite nf Tipr painful th nnghts. Wii « ^^ppply itriprpgaoj 
 by all she witp fljisfj], JJothinp; sp eaks more direct ly fn ihp Rny^ 
 than divine service on board^sEpTfor which the noble simplicity 
 of the llelortBfid Oturcn seems particularly adapted. A young 
 man acted as chaplain, with a firm, sweet voice ; his face bespoke 
 a purity of soul ; he stood " severe in youthful beauty," a type of 
 the religion fit to be preached amidst the risks of war. At cer- 
 tain periods the English minister pronounced prayers, the last 
 words of which were repeated by the whole assembly; these con- 
 
 fr 
 
 * Who that has one beloved object absent for any considerable space 
 of time, can read this tribnte from a foreigner without tears of pride and 
 rapture, at the consciousness that whoever is left behind, though little 
 valued while near, gains a sad importance as part of that home, that 
 England, to which the dear one must long to return ? The natives of 
 great continents may love their birth-places as well as we do ours ; but 
 it cannofbe in the same manner. — Tk. 
 
192 
 
 CORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 fused, yet softened' tones, coming from various distances, reani- 
 mated the interest of the whole. Sailors and officers alike knell 
 to the words, " Lord, have mercy upon us I" The captain's cut- 
 lass hung by his side, suggesting the glorious union of humility 
 before God, and courage among men, which renders the devotion 
 of warriors so affecting. While all these brave fellows addressed 
 the God of Hosts, the sea was seen through the ports ; the light 
 sound of its now peaceful waves was aadible, as if to say, " Your 
 prayers are heard." The chaplain concluded with a petition 
 peculiar to English sailors : "And may God grant us the grace to 
 defend our happy constitution abroad, and to find, on our return, 
 domestic peace at home." What grandeur is contained in these 
 simple words ! The preparatory and continual study which the 
 navy demands, the life led in those warlike and floating cloisters, 
 the uniformity of their grave toils, is seldom interrupted, save by 
 danger or death. Nevertheless, sailors often behave.with extreme 
 gentleness and pity towards women and children, if thrown "on 
 their care; one is, the more touched by this, from knowing the 
 heedless coolness with which they expose their lives in battle, and 
 on the main where the presence of man seems something super- 
 natural. Nevil and Corinne were again rowed on shore ; they 
 gazed on Naples, built like an amphitheatre, thence to look on the 
 spectacle of nature. 
 
 As Corinne's foot touched the shore, she could not check a 
 
 sentiment of joy: had Oswald guessed this, he would have felt 
 
 displeased, perhaps excusably; yet such displeasure would have 
 
 been unjust, for he was passionately beloved ythoup'h_the thought 
 
 ^A/of his coun try alwavf j f"'-"°'^ nn hif.wlni'i i Ihf iiiiiiiii 'ry "f e ^pTifa 
 
 \V. talent, especially lu a J^ursj 
 
 Seep esTpa ssio n canffo t entirely sumplv.X A monoTonons^Tife. even 
 inTne bosom of contentjdismays a mindso constituted : without 
 a breeze to fill our sails(^ may always hug the shore ; but imagi- 
 nation will stray, be sen^BiJity never so faithful, at least till mis- 
 fortune slays these triflingsimpulses, and leaves ^s\but one 
 thought, one only sorrow!\ \ 
 
 aa rendered her m iserable\ Her fenoy was changeful : 
 talent, especially m AJjoiu^ur, o»:e!ile§,.a^zest for ^asi^y that the 
 
corinne; or, italy. 193 
 
 Oswald attributed the reverie of Corinne solely to the awkward 
 situation of her having been called Lady Nevil : he blamed him- 
 self for not extricating her from it, and feared that she might 
 suspect him of levity. He therefore began the long-desired ex- 
 planation, by offering to relate his own history. " I shall speak 
 first," he said, " and your confidence will follow mine ?" — " Doubt- 
 less it ought,'' replied Corinne, trembling; "you wish it — at what 
 day — what hour ? when you have spoken, I will tell all." — " How 
 sadly you are agitated I" said Oswald. "Will you always fear 
 me thus,mor ever learn to trust my heart ?^ — "It must be," she 
 
 answeredT^' I have written it, and if you insist — to-morrow " 
 
 I — " To-morrow we go to Vesuvius : you shall teach me to admire 
 it; and on our way, if I have strength... enough, I will give you 
 the story of my own doom : that shall precede yours, I am re- 
 solved." — "Well," replied Corinne, "you give me to-morrow: I 
 thank you for that one day more. Who can tell if, when I liave 
 opened my heart to you, you will remain the same ? How can I 
 help trembling beneath such doubt ?" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Our lovers commenced their route by the ruins of Pompeii. 
 Both were silent, for the decisive moment now drew nigh; and 
 the vague hope so long enjoyed, so accordant with the clime, was 
 about to give place to yet unknown reality. Pompeii is the most 
 curious ruin of antiquity. In Eome, one hardly finds any wrecks, 
 save those of public works, associated with the political changes 
 of bygone centuries. In Pompeii, you retrace the private life of 
 .the ancients. The volcano which buried it in ashes preserved it 
 from decay. No edifices, exposed to the air, could thus have 
 lasted. Pictures and bronzes keep their primal beauty, while all 
 domestic implements remain in overawing perfection. The 
 amphoras are still decked for the morrow's festival. The flour 
 that was to have been kneaded into cakes is yet there : the re- 
 17 
 
194 A;'-''^ v«-^o R I N N E ; or, italy. 
 
 mains of a female are adorned for this interrupted fite, her flesh- 
 less arm no longer filling the jewelled bracelet that yet hangs 
 about it. Nowhere else can one behold such proofs of death's 
 abrupt invasion. The track of wheels- is visible in the streets ; 
 and the stone-work of the wells bears the marks of the cords that 
 Miad worn away their edges by degrees. On the walls of the guard- 
 room are seen the ill-formed letters and rudely-sketched figures 
 which the soldiers had scrawled to beguile their time, while time 
 himself was striding to devour them. When, from the midst of 
 the cross-roads, you see all sides of the town, nearly as it existed 
 of yore, you seem to expect that some one will come from these 
 masterless dwellings: this appearance of life renders the eternal 
 silence of the place still more appalling. Most of the houses are 
 built of lava — and fresh lava destroyed them. The epochs of 
 the world are counted from fall to fall. The thoughts of human 
 beings, toiling by the light that consumed them, fills the breast 
 with melancholy. How long it is since man first lived, sufiered, 
 and died ! Where can we find the thoughts of the departed ? do 
 they still float around these ruins ? or are they gathered forever 
 to the heaven of immortality? A few scorched manuscripts, 
 which were partly unrolled at Portici, are all that is left us of 
 these victims to earthquake and volcano. But in drawing near 
 such relics we dread to breathe, lest we should scatter with their 
 dust the noble ideas perhaps impressed on it. The public build- 
 ings, even of Pompeii, which was one of the smallest Italian 
 towns, are very handsome. The splendor of the ancients seemed 
 always intended for the general good. Their private houses are 
 small, and decked but by a taste for the fine arts. Their interiors 
 possess agreeable pictures and tasteful mosaic pavements- on 
 many of them, near the door-sill, is inlet the word Salve. This 
 salutation was not surely one of simple politeness, but an invi- 
 tation to hospitality. The rooms are remarkably narrow, with no 
 windows towards the street, neariy all of them openino- into a 
 portico, or the marble court round which the rooms are constructed : 
 in its centre is a simply elegant cistern. It is evident that the 
 inhabitants lived chiefly in the open air, and even received their 
 
OORINNE; or, ITALY. 195 
 
 friends there. Nothing can give a more luxurious idea of life 
 than a climate which throws man into the bosom of nature. 
 Society must have meant something very different in such habits 
 from what it is where the cold confines men within doors. We 
 better appreciate the dialogues of Plato, while beholding the 
 porticos beneath which the ancients passed half of their day. 
 They were incessantly animated by the beauteous sky. Social 
 order, they conceived, was not the barren combination of fraud 
 and force, but a happy union of institutions that excite the facul- 
 ties, and develop the mind, making man's object the perfection 
 of himself and his fellow-creatures. Antiquity inspires insatiable 
 curiosity. The learned, employed solely on collections of names, 
 which they call history, were surely devoid of all imagination. 
 But to penetrate the past, interrogate the human heart through 
 many ages ; to seize on a fact in a word, and on the manners or 
 character of a nation in a fact ; to re-enter the most distant time, 
 in order to conceive how the earth looked in its youth, and in 
 what way men supported the life which civilization has since 
 rendered so complicated ; this were a continual effort of imagi- 
 nation, whose guesses discover secrets that study and reflection 
 cannot reveal. Such occupation was particularly attractive to 
 Nevil, who often told Corinne that, if he had not nobler interests 
 to serve in his own land, he could not endure to live away from 
 this. We should, at least, regret the glory we cannot obtain. 
 Forgetfulness alone degrades the soul, which can ever take refuge 
 in the past, when deprived of a present purpose. 
 
 Leaving Pompeii they proceeded to Portici, whose inhabitants 
 beset them with loud cries of " Come and see the mountain !" 
 thus they designate Vesuvius. Has it need of name ? It is their 
 glory, their country is celebrated as the shrine of this marvel. 
 Oswald begged Corinne to ascend in a sort of palanquin to the 
 Hermitage of St. Salvadore, which is half-way up, and the usual 
 resting-place for travellers. He rode by her side to overlook her 
 bearers; and the more his heart filled with the generous senti- 
 ments such scenes inspire, the more he adored Corinne. The 
 country at the foot of Vesuvius is the^most fertile and best culti- 
 
196 COKINNE; OE, ITALY. 
 
 vated of the kingdom most favored by Heaven in all Europe. 
 The celebrated Lacryma Christi vine flourishes beside land 
 totally devastated by lava, as if nature here made a last effort, 
 and resolved to perish in her richest array. As you ascend, you 
 turn to gaze on Naples, and on the fair land around it — the sea 
 sparkles in the sun as if strewn with jewels ; but all the splendors 
 of creation are extinguished by degrees, as you enter the region 
 of ashes and of smoke, that announces your approach to the 
 volcano. The iron waves of other years have traced their large 
 black furrows in the soil. At a certain height, birds are no longer 
 seen ; further on, plants become very scarce ; then, even insects 
 find no nourishment. At last, all life disappears ; you enter the 
 realm of death, and the slain earth's dust alone slips beneath your 
 unassured feet. 
 
 " Nfe greggi, nfe armenti 
 Guida bifolco mai, guida pastore.'' 
 
 " Never doth swain nor cowboy thither lead the flocks or herds." 
 
 A hermit lives betwixt the confines of life and death. One 
 tree, the last farewell to vegetation, stands before his door, and 
 beneath the shade of its pale foliage are travellers wont to await 
 the night ere they renew their course ; for during the day the fires 
 and lava, so fierce when the sun is set, look dark beneath his 
 splendor. This metamorphose is in itself a glorious sight, which 
 every eve renews the wonder that a continual glare might weaken. 
 The solitude of this spot gave Oswald strength to reveal his se- 
 crets ; and, wishing to encourage the confidence of Corinne, he 
 said : " You would fain read your unhappy lover to the depth of 
 his soul. Well, I will confess all. My wounds will reopen, I 
 feel it ; but in the presence oflimmutable nature Ought one to 
 fear the changes time can bring r" — r -^ 
 
OORINNE; or ITALY. 
 
 BOOK XIL 
 
 HISTORY OF LOBD NEVIL. 
 
 II CHAPTBK I. 
 
 r < 
 
 " I WAS educated in my paternal home, with a tenderness and 
 
 virtue that I admire the more, the more I know of mankind.Cl 
 have never loved any one more profoundly than I loved my 
 fathef\yet I think, had I then known as I now do, how alone 
 his dGaracter stood in the world, my affection would have been 
 still more devoted. I remember a thousand traits in his life that 
 seemed to me quite simple, because he found them so, and that 
 melt me into tears now I can appreciate their worth. Self- 
 reproach on our conduct to a dear object who is no more, gives 
 an idea of what eternal torments would be, if Divine mercy deigned 
 not to soothe our griefs. I was calmly happy with my father, but 
 wished to travel ere I entered the army. There is, in my coun- 
 try, a noble career open for eloquence; but I am even yet so timi] 
 that it would be painful for me to speak in public ; therefor^ 
 preferred a military life, and certain danger, to possible dis 
 'm y s elf-love is in all respects "inrp. snsmjifihlfi thnn fiml:jtinin 
 "Men^Jefiflme-^nts whfiBL they ^lame_me, and,pjgiiiiej when they 
 praise. I wished to visit France, where the revolution had just 
 begun, which, old as was the race of man, professed to recom- 
 mence the history of the world. My father was somewhat flre- 
 possessed against Paris, which he had seen during the last years 
 of Louis XV. ; and could hardly conceive how o6teries were to 
 change into a nation, pretence into virtue, or vanity into enthusi- 
 asm. Yet he consented to my wishes, for he feared to exact any- 
 thing, and felt embarrassed by his own authority, unless duty 
 commanded him to exert it, lest it might impair the truth, the 
 purity, of voluntary affection ; .and above all, he lived on being 
 loved. In the beginning of 1791, when I had completed my 
 17* 
 
198 corinne; or italt. 
 
 twenty-first year, he gave me six months' leave of absence; 
 and I departed to make acquaintance with the nation so near in 
 neighborhood, so contrasted in habits, to my own. Methought I 
 should never love it. /l had all the prejudices of English pride^ 
 and g ravitvT^ I feared the French raillery against all that is ten- 
 derand serious. I detested that art of repelling impulse and 
 disenchanting love. The foundation of this vaunted gayety ap- 
 peared to me a sad one, for it wounded the sentiments I most 
 cherished. I had not" then met any really great Frenchmen, 
 such as unite the noblest qualities with the most charming man- 
 ners. I was astonished at the free simplicity which reigned in 
 Parisian parties. The most important interests were discussed 
 without either frivolity or pedantry, as if the highest thoughts had 
 become the patrimony of conversation, and that the revolution of 
 the whole world would but render the society of Paris more de- 
 lightful. I found men of superior talents and education animated 
 by the desire to please, even more than the wish to be useful ; 
 seeking the suffrages of the salon after those of the senate, and 
 living in female society rather to be applauded than beloved. 
 
 " Everything in Paris is well combined with reference to ex- 
 ternal happiness. There is no restraint in the minutiae of life • 
 selfishness is at heart, but not in appearance; active interests 
 occupy you every day, without much benefit, indeed, but certainly 
 without the least tedium. A quickness of conception enables 
 men to express and comprehend by a word what would elsewhere 
 require a long explanation. An imitat ive spirit, whiqh mus t, 
 J?4??;^'.-°PP°?L''^.l .*'"''* independenc^^ves their "intercourse an 
 accordant complaisance, nowhere to be found TesTdeslJn 'Bhort 
 an "easy manner of diversifying" life and warding off reflection, 
 without discarding the charms of intellect. To all these means 
 of turning the brain, I must add their spectacles, and you will 
 have some idea of the most social city in the world. I almost 
 start at breathing its name in this hermitage,' in the midst of & 
 desert, and under impressions the extreme reverse of those which 
 active population create; but I owe you a description of that 
 place, and the effect it took upon myself. Can you believe 
 
corinne; o^ I t a l yL^5[2>V*~' ly^ 
 
 Corinne, gloomy and discouraged as yoa have known me, that I 
 permitted myself to be seduoed by this spirited whirlpool ? I was 
 pleased at having not a jnoment of ennui; it would have been 
 well if I could have deafaened my power of suffering, capable as 
 I was of love. If I ^ay judge by myself, I should say that a 
 thoughtful and sensitive being may weary of his own intensity; 
 and that which woos him from himself awhile does him a service. 
 
 ^fr lt is by raising me above myself, that yon, Corinne, have dissi- 
 Mted my natura l melancholy; it was by depr ''"'''^''!!"; tdj mil 
 value, that a woman of whom I shall have soon to speak be- 
 numbe d my internal sadness. V Yet though I was infected by 
 Tanslantastes, they would not long have detained me, had I not 
 conciliated the friendship of a man, the perfect model of French 
 character in its old loyalty, of French mind in its new cultivation. 
 I shall not, my love, tell you the real names of the persons I 
 must mention ; you will understand why, when you have heard 
 me to the end. Count Kaimond, then, was of the most illustrious 
 birth ; he inherited all the chivalrous pride of his ancestors, and 
 his reason adopted more philosophic ideas whenever they com- 
 manded a personal sacrifice; he had not mixed actively in the 
 
 . revo lution, bu t loved what was virtuous in either party. Courage 
 and gratitude on one side, zeal for liberty on the other : whatever 
 was disinterested pleased him ; the cause of all the oppressed 
 seemed just to him ; and this generosity was heightened by his 
 perfect negligence of his own life. Not that he was altogether 
 unhappy, but his mind was so contrasted with general society, 
 that the pain he had daily felt there detached him from it entirely. 
 I was so fortunate as to interest him ; he sought to vanquish my 
 natural reserve ; and, for this purpose, embellished our friendship 
 by little artifices perfectly romantic : ho knew of no obstacles to his 
 doing a great service or a slight favor : he designed to settle for 
 six months of the year in England, to be near me ; and I could 
 hardly prevent his sharing with me the whole of his possessions. 
 ' I have but a sister,' he sdd, ' married richly, so I am free to do 
 what I please with my fortune. Besides, this revolution will 
 turn out ill, and I may be killed ; let me then enjoy what I have 
 
200 
 
 in looking on it as yours.' Alas ! the noble Kaimond but too 
 well foresaw his destiny. 
 
 " When man is capable of self-knowledge, he is rarely deceived 
 as to his own fate ; and presentiment is oft but judgment in dis- 
 guise. Sincere even to imprudence, Eaimond 'wore his heart 
 upon his sleeve :' such a character was new to me; in England, 
 the treasures of the mind are not thus exposed; we have even a 
 habit of doubting those who display them ; but the expansive 
 bounty of my friend afforded me enjoyments at once ready and 
 secure. I had no suspicion of his qualities, even though I knew 
 them all at our first meeting. I-felt no timidity with him ; nay, , 
 what was better, he put me at ease with myself. Such was the 
 amiable Frenchman for whom I felt the friendship of a brother 
 in arms, which we experience but in youth, ere we acquire one 
 sentiment of rivalry — ere the unreturning wheels of time have 
 furrowed the partitions betwixt the present and the future. 
 
 " One day Count Baimond said to me : ' My sister is a widow. 
 I confess, I am not sorry for it. , I never liked the match. She 
 accepted the hand of a dying old man, when we were both of us 
 poor; for what I have has but lately been bequeathed to me. 
 Yet, at the time, I opposed this union as much as possible. I 
 would have no mercenary calculations prompt our acts, least of 
 all the most important one of life ; still, she has behaved in an ex- 
 emplary manner to the husband she never loved : that is nothing 
 in the eyes of the world. Now that she is free, she will return 
 to my abode. You will see her : she is very pleasing in the 
 main, and you English like to make discoveries; for my part, I 
 love to read all in the face at once. Yet your manner, dear Os- 
 wald, never vexes me ; but from that of my sister I feel a slight 
 restraint.' 
 
 " Madame d'Arbigny arrived; I -was presented to her. In fea- 
 tures she resembled her brother, and even i n^oicfc j but in both 
 there was a more retiring caution : her comrtefiance was very 
 agreeable, her figure all grace and faultless elegance. She said 
 not a word that was unbecoming; failed in no species of attention • 
 and, without exaggerated politeness, flattered self-love by an 
 
V-''^ OORINNE; or, ITALY. 201 
 
 f address which showed with what she was pleased, but never 
 \ committed her. / ^e expressed herself, on tender subjects, as if 
 V seeking to hide the feelings of her hearts This "so femipded me 
 'of mTO WTi Jiniirit.rYwnmfin^ that ITwas attracted by it Amethought, 
 indeed, that she too often betrayed what she pretended to conceal, 
 and that chance did not a£ford so many occasions for melting mo- 
 ments as she passed off for involuntary. This reflection, however, 
 flitted but lightly over my mind ; for what I felt beside her was 
 both novel and delightful. I had never been flattered by any 
 one. tfn TCnp ;1n.nd^wft feel both love and fn'onficTiip «^oopiy ; yof. 
 the art of insinuatin^^nrselves into ravor by SnV n g tlio ygmijjp 
 of others is little kno wa) Madame d'Arbigny hung on my every 
 word. I do not think that she guessed all I might become ; but 
 she revealed me to myself by a thousand minute observations, the 
 discernment of which amazed me. Sometimes I thought her 
 voice and language too studiously sweet ; but her resemblance to 
 the frankest of men banished these notions, and bound me to con- 
 fide in her. One day I mentioned to him the effect this likeness 
 had on me. _ He thanked me ; then, aft^er a moment'!^ paiie^ said : 
 '^"'Terour characters are not congenial.' He was silent ; but these 
 words, and many other circumstances, have since convinced me 
 that he did not wish to see his sister my wife : that she designed 
 to be so, I detected not for awhile. My days glided on without 
 a care : she was always of my opinion. If I began a subject, she 
 agreed with it, ere explained ; yet, with all this meekness, her 
 power over my actions was most despotic : she had a way of say- 
 ing, ' Surely, you intend to do so and so ;' or, ' You certainly can- 
 not think of such a step as that.' I feared that I should lose her 
 esteem by disappointing her expectations. Yet, Corinne, believe 
 me — br I thought so ere I met you — it was not love I felt. I 
 had I ever told her that I loved her, and was not sure whether 
 such a daughter-in-law would suit my father; he had not antici- 
 pated my marrying a Frenchwoman, an<4l_coul^jJa-aQihing_3Jj> 
 cut his ci ;'"°q"^-^ My silence, I believe, displeased the lady ; for 
 she had now and then fits of ill-temper — she called them low 
 spirits, and attributed them to very affecting causes, though her 
 
 ! 
 
202 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 countenance, if for a moment off her guard, wore a most irritated 
 aspect. I fancied that these little inequalities might arise from 
 our intercourse, with which I was not satisfied myself; for it does 
 one more harm to love by halves than to love with all one s 
 heart. 
 
 " Eaimond and I never spoke of his sister : it was the first con- 
 straint that subsisted between us : but Madame d'Arbigny had 
 conjured me not to make her the theme of my conversations with 
 her brother; and, seeing me astonished at this request, added : ' I 
 know not if you think with me, but I can endure no third person, 
 not even an intimate friend, to interfere with my regard for 
 another. I love the secrecy of affection.' The explanation pleased 
 me, and I obeyed. At this time a letter arrived from my father, 
 recalling me to Scotland. The half year had rolled by; France 
 was every day more disturbed ; and he deemed it unsafe for a 
 foreigner to remain there. This pained me much, though I felt 
 its justice. I longed to see him again, yet could not tear myself 
 from the Count and Madame d'Arbigny without regret. I sought 
 her instantly, showed her the letter, and, while she read it, was 
 too absorbed by sadness to mark the impression it made. I was 
 merely sensible that she said something to secure my delay ; bade 
 mfe write word that I was ill, and so tack away from my father's 
 commands. I remember that was the phrase she used. I was 
 about to reply that my departure was fi«ed for the morrow, when 
 Eaimond entered the room, and, hearing the state of the case, 
 declared, with the utmost promptitude, that I ought to obey my 
 parent without hesitation. I was struck by this rapid decision, 
 expecting to have been pressed to stay. I would have resisted 
 my own reluctance, but I did not like to have my purposed tri- 
 umph talked of as a matter of course. For a moment I misinter- 
 preted my friend : he perceived it, and took my hand, saying : 
 ' In three months I shall visit England; why, then, should I keep 
 you here? I have my reasons,' he added, in a whisper; but his 
 sister heard him, and said, hastily, that he wag right, that no 
 Englishman ought to be involved in the dangers of the revolution. ' 
 I now know it was "not to such peril that the Count alluded • but 
 he neither contradicted nor confirmed her explanation. I was 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 20(5 
 
 going, and he did not think it necessary to tell more. ' If I 
 could be useful to my native land, I should stay here,' he said ; 
 'but you see it is no longer France j the principles for which I 
 loved it are destroyed. I may regret this soil, but shall regain 
 my country when I breathe the same air with you.' 
 
 " How was I moved by this touching assurance of true friend- 
 ship ! How far above his sister ranked Count Kaimond at that 
 moment in my heart. She guessed it; and the same evening 
 appeared in quite a new character. Some guests arrived; she 
 did the honors admirably ; spoke of my departure as if it were 
 in her eyes the most uninteresting occurrence. I had previously 
 remarked, that she set a price on her preference, which prevented 
 her ever letting others witness the favor she accorded me : but 
 now this was too much. I was so hurt by her indiflference, that 
 I resolved to take leave before the party, and not remain alone 
 with her one instant. She heard me ask her brother to let me 
 see him in the morning, ere I started; and, coming to us, told 
 me aloud that she must charge me with a letter for a friend of 
 hers in England^ then added, hastily, and in a low voice, ' You 
 regret — you speak but to my brother : would you break my heart, 
 by flying thus ?' In an instant she stepped back, and reseated 
 herself among her visitants. I was agitated by her words, and 
 should have stayed as she desired, but that Baimond, taking my 
 arm, led me to his own room. -When the company had dispersed, 
 we suddenly heard strange sounds from Madame d'Arbigny's 
 apartment : he took no notice of them ; but I forced him to 
 ascertain their cause. We were told that she was very ill. I 
 would have flown to her : but the Count obstinately forbade. 
 ' Let us have no scene !' he said ; ' in these affairs, women are 
 best left to themselves.' I could not comprehend this want of 
 feeling for a sister, so contrasted with his invariable kindness to 
 me ; and I left him in an embarassment which somewhat chilled 
 my farewell. Ah ! had I known the delicacy which would fain 
 have baffled the captivations of a woman he did not believe 
 formed to make me happy, could I have foreseen the events which 
 were to sepirate us forever, my adieu would have better satisfied 
 his soul and mine own." 
 
204 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 Oswald ceased for some minutes. Corinne had listened so 
 tremblingly that she too was silent, fearful of retarding the mo- 
 ment when he would renew his narrative. — " I should have been 
 happy," he continued, "had my acquaintance with Madamo 
 d'Arbigny ended there — had I never more set foot in France. 
 But fate, or, rather perhaps my own weakness, has poisoned my 
 life forever. Yes, dearest love! even beside you. I passed a 
 year in Scotland with my father : our mutual tenderness daily 
 increased. I was admitted into the sanctuary of that heavenly 
 spirit ; and, in the friendship that united us, tasted all the con- 
 sanguine sympathies whose mysterious links belong to our whole 
 being. I received most affectionate letters from B.aimond, re- 
 counting the difficulties he found in transferring his property, so 
 as to join me ; but his perseverance in that aim was unwearied. 
 I loved him for it ; but what friend could I compare with my 
 father? The reverence I felt for him never checked my con- 
 fidence. I put my faith in his words as in those of an oracle ; 
 and the unfortunate indecision of my character was sospended 
 while he spoke. ' Heaven has formed us for a love of what is 
 venerable,' says an English author. My father knew not, could 
 not know, to what degree I loved him; and my fatal conduct 
 might well have taught him to doubt whether I loved him at all. 
 Yet he pitied me, while dying, for the grief his loss would inflict. 
 Ah, Corinne ! I draw near the recital of my woes ; lend my cou- 
 rage thy support, for in truth I need it." — " My dear friend," 
 she answered, "be it some solace that you unveil your nobly 
 sensitive heart before the being who most admires and loves you 
 in the world." Nevil proceeded : "He sent me to London on 
 business ; and I left him without one warning fear, though never 
 to see him again. He was more endearing than ever in our last 
 conversation : it is said that the souls of the just, like flowers, 
 breathe their richest balms at the approach of night. He em- 
 braced me with tears, saying, that at his age all par&igs were 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 205 
 
 Bolemn ; but I believed his life like mine : our souls understood 
 each other so well j and I was too young to think upon his age. 
 The fears and the confidence of strong affection are alike inexpli- 
 cable : he accompanied me to the door of that old hall which I 
 have since beheld desert and devastated, like my own heart. I 
 had been but a week in London, when I received the cruel letter 
 of which I remember every word : ' Yesterday, the 10th of Au- 
 gust, my brother was massacred at the Tuileries, while defending 
 his king. I am proscribed, and forced to fly, to hide from my 
 persecutors. Eaimond had taken all my fortune, with his own, 
 to settle in England. Have you yet received it ? or know you 
 whom he trusted to remit it? I had but one line from him, 
 written when the chateau was attacked, bidding me only apply to 
 you, and I should know all. If you could come hither and re- 
 move me, you might save my life. The English still travel France 
 in safety ; but I cannot obtain a passport under my own name. 
 If the sister of your hapless friend sufliciently interests you, my 
 retreat may be learned at Paris of my relation. Monsieur Mal- 
 tigues : but should you generously wish to aid me, lose not a mo- 
 ment ; for it is said that war will shortly be declared between 
 our two countries.' Imagine the effect this took on me ! my 
 friend murdered, his sister in despair, their fortune, she said, in 
 my hands, though I had not received the least tidings of it ; add 
 to these circumstances, Madame d'Arbigny's danger, and belief 
 that I could preserve her ; it was impossible to hesitate. I sent 
 a messenger to my father with her letter, and my promise to re- 
 turn in a fortnight; then set forth instantly. By the most dis- 
 tressing chance the man fell ill on the way, and my second letter, 
 from Dover, reached my father before the first. Thus he knew 
 of my flight, ere informed of its motives ; and ere the explana- 
 tion came, had taken an alarm which could not be dissipated. I 
 arrived at Paris in three days, and found that Madame d'Arbigny 
 had retired to a provincial town sixty leagues off; thither I fol- 
 lowed her. We were both much agitated at meeting; She ap- 
 peared more lovely in her distress than I had ever thought her — 
 less artificial, less restrained. We Wept together for her noble 
 18 
 
206 ooeinne; or, italt. 
 
 brother, and distracted country. I anxiously inquired as to her 
 fortune. She told me that she h d no news of it; but in a few 
 days I learned that the banker to whom Count Eaimond confided 
 it, had returned it to him ; and, what was more singular, a mer- 
 chant of the town in which we were, who told me this by chance, 
 assured me that Madame d'Arbigny never needed to have felt a 
 moment's doubt of its safety. I could not understand this ; went 
 to ask her what it meant; and found M. Maltigues, who, with 
 the readiest coolness, informed me that he had just brought from 
 Paris intelligence of the banker's return, as, not having heard of 
 him for a month, they had thought he was gone to England.* 
 She confirmed her kinsman's statements, and I believed them; 
 but, since, have recollected her pretexts for not showing me the 
 note from Eaimond, mentioned in her letter, and am now con- 
 vinced that the whole was but a stratagem to secure me. It is 
 certain that, as she was rich, no interested motives blended with 
 her scheme ; but her great fault lay in using address where love 
 alone was required, and dissimulating when candor would better 
 have served the cause of her sentimental enterprise: she loved 
 me as much as those can love, who preconcert not only their ac- 
 tions but their feelings, and conduct an af^ir of the heart with 
 the policy of a state intrigue. I formerly declared that I would 
 never marry without my father's approval ; yet I could not for- 
 bear betraying the transports her beauty and sadness excited. 
 Her plan being to make me captive at any price, she let me per- 
 ceive that she was not thoroughly resolved on repulsing my wishes. 
 As I now retrace what passed between us, I am assured that she 
 hesitated from motives quite independent of love and virtue ; nay, 
 that their apparent struggles were but her own secret delibera- 
 tions. I was constantly alone with her; and my delicacy could 
 not long resist the temptation. She imposed on me all the duties, 
 in yielding me all the rights of a husband; yet displayed more 
 remorse, perhaps, than she really felt ; and thus so bound me to 
 
 * This is the less clear for being literal. I cannot comprehend how 
 the banker's return should concern Madame d'Arbigny, if he had pre- 
 viously restored Kaimond's fortune ; nor who possessed it. Te. 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 207 
 
 her, that I would fain have taken her to England, and implored 
 my father's consent to our union ; but she refused to quit France, 
 unless as my wife. There she was wise, indeed ; but, well know- 
 ing my filial resolutions, she erred in the means she used to retain 
 me in spite mine every duty. When the war broke out, my de- 
 sire to leave France became stronger, and her obstacles to it 
 multiplied. She could obtain no passport ; and if I went alone, 
 her reputation would be, ruined ; nay, she should be doubly sus- 
 pected, for her correspondence with me. This woman, so mild, 
 so equable, in general, then gave way to a despair which perfectly 
 overwhelmed vae. She employed her wit and graces to please, 
 her grief to intimidate me. Perhaps women_a£a,wrong_in com- 
 manding^^JgarSj^enslaving hythe^stjgjjgt^qf their weakness : 
 ygtj_when they fear not to exert_^is weapjpn, it is xLearlj;, always 
 v ijitorious, a t lea,st for awhUe^^ Doubtless, love is weakened by 
 this sort of usurpation ; and the power of tears, too frequently 
 exerted, chills the imagination ; but, at that time, there were a 
 thousand excuses for them in France. Madame d'Arbigny's 
 health, too, seemed daily to decrease.: another terxibje instrument 
 of female^ tyranny is illness. Those who have not, like you, Co- 
 rinne, a just reliance on their minds, or are not, like English- 
 women, so prpudly modest that feigning is impossible, have always 
 recourse t(v'art; and the best we can then hope of them is that 
 their deceni4s^caused by a real attachment. A third party was 
 now blended with our connection,* Monsieur Maltigues. She 
 pleased him; he asked nothing better than to marry her; though 
 a speculative immorality rendered him indifferent to everything. 
 He loved intrigue as a game, even while not interested in the 
 stake ; and seconded Madame d'Arbigny's designs on me, ready 
 to desert this plot if occasion served for accomplishing his own. 
 He was a man against, whom I felt a singular repugnance; 
 though scarcely thirty, his manners and person were remarkably 
 hackneyed. In England, where we are accused of coldness, I 
 
 * The lady's professed aversion to a third party in her attachments 
 geems unaccountably reversed. — Tr. 
 
208 CORINNEj OR, ITALY. 
 
 never met anything comparable with the seriousness of hi3 
 demeanor on entering a room. I should never have taken him 
 for a Frenchman, if he had not possessed some taste and plea- 
 santry, with a love of talking very extraordinary in a man who 
 seemed sated of the world, and who carried that disposition 
 to a system. He pretended that he was born a sensitive enthu- 
 siast, but that the knowledge of mankind he owed to the revo- 
 lution had undeceived him. He perceived, lie said, that there 
 ■was nothing good on earth, save fortune, or power, or both ; and 
 thit fine qualities must give way to circumstances. He practised 
 on this theory cleverly enough ; his only mistake lay in proclaim- 
 ing it; but though he had not the national wish to please, he 
 nevertheless desired to create some sensation, and that rendered 
 him thus imprudent : he differed in these respects from Madame 
 d'Arbigny, who sought to attain her end without betraying her- 
 self, or seeking to shine, even in her errors. What was most 
 strange in these two persons is, that the ardent one could keep her 
 secret, while the insensible knew not how to hold his tongue. Such 
 as he was, Maltigues had a great ascendency over his relative ; 
 either he guessed it, or she told him all ; for even from her habit- 
 ual wariness, she required, now and then, to take breath, as it were, 
 by an indiscretion. If Maltigues looked on her severely, she was 
 always disturbed ; if he seemed discontented, she would take him 
 aside to ask the reason ; if he went away angry, she almost in- 
 stantly shut herself up to write to him. I explained this to my- 
 self from the fact of his having known her from her childhood ; 
 he had managed her affairs since she had lost all nearer ties ; but 
 the chief cause was her project, which I discovered too late, of 
 marrying him, if I left her; for at no price would she pass for a 
 deserted woman. Such a resolution might make you believe that 
 she loved me not ; yet love alone could have induced her prefer- 
 ence : but through life she could mix calculation even with pas- 
 sion, and the factitious pretences of society with her natural feel- 
 ings. She wept when she was agitated, but she could also weep 
 because that was the way to express emotion. She was happy ia_ 
 being lovedj, because she loved, but also because it did her honor 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 209 
 
 before the world. She had right impulses while left to herself, but 
 coul3"only°enjoy them when they were rendered profitable to her 
 self-love. She was a person formed for and by ' good company,' 
 and made that false use even of truth itself, which is so often found 
 in a country where j;__zeal...jML^rsdueing effectjj^j_cert^^^ 
 ments, is much stronger^than^the sentiments themselves. It was 
 "long since I had heard from my father, HiFwaf having cut off all 
 communication. At last, chance favored the arrival of a letter,* 
 in which he adjured me to return, in the name of my duty and 
 his affection ; at the same time declaring that, if I married Ma- 
 dame d'Arbigny, I should cause him the most fatal sorrow; 
 begging me, at least, to decide on nothing until I had heard his 
 advice. I replied to him instantly, giving my word of honor that 
 I would shortly do as he required. Madame d'Arbigny tried, 
 first prayers, then despondence, to detain me ; and finding these 
 fail, resorted to a fresh stratagem ; but how could I then suspect 
 it ? She came to me one morning pale and dishevelled, threw her- 
 self into my arms as if dying with terror, and besought me to pro- 
 tect her. The order, she said, was come for her arrest, as sister 
 to Count Eaimond, and I must find her some asylum from her 
 pursuers ; at this time women, indeed, were not spared, and all 
 kinds of horrors appeared probable. I took her to a merchant de- 
 voted to my interest, and hoped to save her, as only Maltigues 
 shared the secret of her retreat. In such a situation, how could 
 I avoid feeling a lively interest in her fate ? how separate myself 
 from her ? how say : < You depend on my support, and I withdraw 
 it ?' Nevertheless, my father's i mage cqn tinnally haunted me, and 
 I took many oecasionsTo^nSeat her leave for setting forth alone ; 
 but she threatened to give herself up to the assassins if I quitted 
 her, and twice, at noonday, rushed from the house in a frantic 
 state that overwhelmed me with grief and fear. I followed, vainly 
 conjuring her to return ; fortunately it happened (unless by con- 
 spiracy) that each time we were met by Maltigues, who brought 
 * Frequent unexplained chances favor subsequent letters ; indeed, the 
 correspondence henceforth seems to proceed as easily as if the countries 
 had been at peace. — Tk. 
 18* 
 
210 CORINN.E; OR, ITALY. 
 
 her back with reproaches on her rashness. Of course, Lresigncd 
 myself to stay, and wrote to my father, accounting, as well as I 
 could, for my conduct j though I blushed at being in France, amid 
 the outrages then acting there, while that country, too, was at war 
 with my own. Maltigues often rallied me on my scruples ; but, 
 clever as he was, he did not perceive the effect of iis jests, 
 which revived all the feelings he sought to extinguish. Madame 
 d'Arbigny, however, remarked this; but she had no influence 
 over her kinsman, who was often decided by caprice, if self-inte- 
 rest was absent. She relapsed into her griefs, both real and as- 
 sumed, to melt me ; and was never more attractive than while 
 fainting at my feet ; for she knew how to heighten her beauty as 
 well as her other charms, and wedded each to some emotion in 
 order to subdue me. Thus did I live, ever anxious, ever vacillat- 
 ing, trembling when I received no letter from my father, still more 
 wretched when I did ; enchained by my infatuation for Madame 
 d'Arbigny, still more dreading her violence"; for, by a strange in- 
 consistency, though the gentlest, and often the gayest of women, 
 habitually she was the most terrible person in a scene. She wished 
 to bind me both by pleasure and by fear, and thus .always trans- _ 
 formed her nature ito;;hertise. One day, in September, 1793, 
 more than a year after my coming to France, I had a brief letter 
 from my father ; but its few words were so afflicting, that I must, 
 spare myself their repetition, Corinne ; it would too much unman^^ 
 me. He was already ill, though he did not say so; his prideand 
 delicacy forbade ; but his letter breathed so much distress, both on 
 account of my absence, and of my possible marriage, that, while 
 reading it, I wondered how I could have been so long blind to the 
 misfortunes with which I was menaced. I was now, however, 
 sufficiently awakened to hesitate no more, and went to Madame 
 d'Arbigny, perfectly decided to take leave of her. She perceived 
 this, and at once retiring within herself, rose, saying : ' Before you 
 go, you ought to be informed of a secret which I blush to avow. 
 If you abandon- me, .it is not me alone you kill. The fruit of my 
 guilty love will perish with me.' Nothing can describe my sensa- 
 tions ; that new, that sacred duty, absorbed my whole soul and 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 211 
 
 made me more submissively her slave than ever. I would have mar- 
 ried her at once, but for the ruinous consequences that must have 
 befallen me, as an Englishman, in then and there giving my name 
 to the civil authorities. . I deferred our union, therefore, till we 
 could fly to England, and determined never to leave my victim 
 till then. At first, this calmed her ; but she soon renewed her 
 complaints against me, for not braving all impediments to make 
 her my wife. I should shortly have bent to her will, for I had 
 fallen into the deepest melancholy, and passed whole days alone, 
 without power to move — a prey to an idea which I never confessed 
 to myself, though its persecution was incessant. I had a forbod- 
 ing of my father's illness, which I considered a weakness unworthy 
 of belief. My reason was so bewildered by the shock my mistress 
 had dealt me, that I now combated my sense of duty as a passion ; 
 and that which I might have then thought my passion, tormented 
 me as a duty. Madame d'Arbigny was perpetually writing me 
 entreaties to visit her ; at last I weqt, but did not speak on the 
 subject which gave her such right^dver me : indeed, she now less 
 frequently alluded to it herself than I expected ; but my sufferings 
 were too great for me to remark that at the time. Once, when I 
 had kept my house for three days, writing twenty letters to my 
 father, and tearing them all, M. Maltigues, who seldom sought 
 me, came, deputed by his cousin, to tear me from my solitude. 
 Though little interested in the success of his embassy, as you will 
 discover, he entered before I had time to conceal that my face was 
 bathed in tears. ' What is the use of all this, my dear boy ?' he 
 said ; ' either leave my cousin, or marry her. The one step is as 
 good as the other, each being conclusive.' — 'There are situations in 
 life,' replied I, ' where even by sacrificing one's self, one may not 
 be able to fulfil every duty.' — ' That is, there ought to be no such 
 sacrifice,' he added. ' I know of no circumstances in which it is 
 necessary ; with a little address, one may back out of anything. 
 Management is tViRqiiRen_ of the •yforld/^ — 'I covet no such abi- 
 fity/ said TJ '"But at least would wish, in resigning" myself to un- 
 happiness, to aflBiot no one that I love.' — ' Have nothing to do, 
 then, with the intricate work they call love j it is a sickness of the 
 
212 CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 soul. 1 am attacked by it at times, like any one else ; but when 
 it so happens, I tell myself that it shall soon be over, and 
 always keep my word.' Seeking to deal, like himself, with gene- 
 ralities — for I neither could nor would confide in him — I an- 
 swered : ' Do what we will with love, we cannot banish honor and 
 virtue, that often oppose our inclination.' — 'If you mean, by 
 honor, the necessity for fighting when insulted, there can be no 
 doubt on that head; but, in other respects, what interest have 
 we in allowing ourselves to be perplexed by a thousand fasti- 
 dious chimeras ?' — ' Interest !' I repeated ; ' that is not the word 
 in question.' — ' To speak seriously,' he returned, ' there are few 
 men who have a clear view of this subject. I know they formerly 
 talked of honorable misfortunes, and glorious falls ; but now that 
 all men are persecuted, knaves as well as those by courtesy called 
 honest, the only difference is between the birds who are trapped, 
 and those who escape.' — ' I know of other distinctions,' I replied, 
 'where prosperity is despised, and misfortune honored by the 
 good.' — ' Show me the good, though,' he said, ' whose courageous 
 esteem would console you for your own destruction. On the con- 
 trary, the self-elected virtuous are those who excuse you if happy, 
 and love you if powerful. It is very fine in you, no doubt, to 
 repent thwarting a father, who ought no longer to meddle with 
 your affairs ; yet, do anything rather than linger where you may 
 lose your life in a thousand ways. For my part, whatever hap- 
 pens to me, I would, at any price, spare my friends the sight of 
 my Bufferings, and myself their long faces of condolence.' — 'In 
 my opinion,' interrupted I, ' the aim of an honest man's life is 
 not the happiness which serves only himself, but the virtue which 
 
 is useful to others.' — ' Virtue !' exclaimed Maltigues, ' virtue ' 
 
 he hesitated for a moment, then, with more decision, continued ; 
 ' that's a language for the vulgar, that even priests cannot talk 
 between themselves without laughing. There are good souls 
 whom certain harmonious words still move ; for their sakes let 
 the tune be played : all the poetry that they call conscience and 
 devotion was invented to console those who cannot get on in the 
 world, like the de profundis that is sung for the dead. The liv- 
 
oorinne; or, italy. 213 
 
 ing and the prosperous are by no means ambitious of like homage.' 
 I was so irritated that I could not help saying, haughtily, ' I shall 
 be sorry, sir, when I have a right in the house of Madame 
 d'Arbigny, if she persists in receiving a man who thinks and 
 speaks as you do.' — ' When that time comes,' he answered, ' you 
 may act as you please ; but if my cousin is led by me, she will 
 never marry a man who looks forward in such affright to his union 
 with her. I have always, as she can tell you, censured her folly, 
 and the means she has wasted on an object so little worth her 
 trouble.' At these words, which their accent rendered still more 
 insulting, I made him a sign to follow me; and, on our way, it is 
 but justice to tell you that he continued to develop his system 
 with the greatest possible coolness : he might be no more in a few 
 minutes, yet said not one serious, one feeling word. ' If I had 
 been addicted to all the absurdities of other young men,' he pur- 
 sued, ' would not what I have seen in my own country have cured 
 me ? When has your scrupulousness done you any good ? ' — ' I 
 agree with you,' said I, ' that in your country, at present, it is of 
 less utility than elsewhere; but in time, or beyond time, each 
 man has his reward.' — 'Oh, if you include Heaven in your calcu- 
 lations ' — 'And why not ? One or other of us, perhaps, will 
 
 soon know what it means.' — ' If I die,' he laughed forth, ' I am 
 sure I shall know knothing about it ; if you are killed, you won't 
 come back to enlighten me.' I now remembered that I had taken 
 no precautions for informing my father of my probable fate, or 
 making over to Madame d'Arbigny part of my fortune, on which 
 I thought she had claims. We drew near Maltigues's house, and 
 I asked leave to write two letters there : he assented. As we re- 
 sumed our route, I gave them to him, and reccommended Madame 
 d'Arbigny to him, as to a friend of hers on whom I could rely. 
 This proof of confidence touched him ; for, be it observed, to the 
 glory of honesty, that the most candid profligates are much 
 flattered if they chance to receive a mark of esteem ', our relative 
 position, too, was grave enough to have affected even him ; but as 
 he would not for worlds have had me guess this, he said jestingly, 
 though I believe prompted by deeper feelings : ' You are a good 
 
214 corinnb; oe, italy. 
 
 fellow, my dear Nevil ; I'd fain do something generous by you ; 
 it may bring me luck, as they say ; and truly generosity is so 
 babyish a quality, that it ought to be better paid in Heaven than 
 on earth. But ere I serve you, our conditions must be made 
 plain, say what I will — we fight, nevertheless.' I returned a dis- 
 dainful consent, for I thought such preface unnecessary. Maltigues 
 proceeded, in his cold, careless way : ' Madame d' Arbigny does not 
 suit you ; you are in no way congenial ; your father would be in 
 despair if you made such a match, and you would run mad at 
 having distressed him ; therefore it would be better, if I liv^ that 
 I should marry the lady; if you kill me, still better that she 
 should marry another ; for my cousin is so highly sagacious, even 
 while in love, that she never fails to provide against the chance of 
 being loved no longer. All this you will learn by her letters. I 
 bequeath them to you : here is the key of my desk. I have been 
 her intimate ever since she was born ; and you know that, mys- 
 terious as she is, she has no secrets with me — little dreaming 
 that I should ever tell ; it is true I feel no impulse hurry me on, 
 but I do not attach much importance to these things ; and I think 
 that we men may say what we like to each other about women. 
 Also, if I die, it is to her bright eyes that I shall owe such acci- 
 dent; and though I am quite ready to die for her, with a good 
 grace, I am not too obliged by the situation in which her double 
 intrigue has placed me; for the rest, it is not quite sure that you 
 will kill me.' So saying, as we were now beyond the town, he 
 drew his sword, and stood upon his guard. He had spoken with 
 singular vivacity. I was confounded by what I had heard. The 
 approach of danger, instead of agitating, animated him; and I 
 knew not whether he had betrayed the truth, or invented a false- 
 hood out of revenge. In this suspense I was very careful of his 
 life; he was not so adroit a swordsman as myself; ten times 
 might I have run him through the breast, but I contented myself 
 with slightly wounding and disarming him ; he seemed sensible 
 of this. I led him to his own house, and brought him back to 
 the conversation which our duel had interrupted. He then said : 
 ' I am vexed at having so treated my cousin ; but peril is like 
 
coeinne; or, italt. 215 
 
 wine, it gejts into one's head; yet I can now excuse myself;' it 
 rested with you to kill me, and you spared my life ; you could 
 not be happy with her, she is too cunning ; now to me that is 
 nothing ; for, charmed as I am both with her mind and person, 
 she can never do anything to my disadvantage, and we shall be 
 of service to each other when marriage makes a common interest. 
 But you are romantic, and would be her dupe, therefore I cannot 
 refuse the letters I promised you — read them, start for England, 
 and do- not worry yourself too much as to Madame d' Arbigny's 
 regrets. She will weep, because she loves you, but she will soon 
 be comforted ; she is too rational a woman to be long unhappy, 
 or, above all, to appear so. In three months she shall be Madame 
 de Maltigues.' All that he told me was proved true by her cor- 
 respondence with him. I felt convinced that her blushing con- 
 fession was a falsity, used but to force me into marriage. This 
 was the basest imposition she had practised on me. She certainly 
 loved me, for she even told Maltigues so ; yet flattered him with 
 such art, left him so much to hope, and studied to please him in 
 a character so contrasted from that she had ever worn for me, 
 that it was impossible to doubt her intention of marrying him, if 
 her union with me was prevented. Such was the woman, Corinne, 
 who had forever wrecked the peace of my heart and conscience. 
 I wrote to her ere I departed, and saw her no more. As Maltigues 
 predicted, I have since heard that she became his wife. But I was 
 far from having tasted the bitterest drop that awaited me. I 
 hoped to obtain my father's pardon ; sure that, when I told him 
 how I had been misled, he would love me the more, the more 
 pitiable I became. After above a month's journey, by night and 
 day, I crossed Germany, and arrived in England, full of confidence 
 in the inexhaustible bounty of paternal love. Corinne, I had 
 scarce landed, when a public paper informed me that my father 
 was no more. Twenty months have passed since that moment, 
 yet it is ever present, like a pursuing phantom. The letters that 
 formed the words : ' Lord Nevil has just expired,' are written in 
 flames, to which those of the volcano before us are nothing. I 
 heard that he died of grief at my absence in France ; fearing that 
 
^\§\'^ CORINNEJ Oa, ITALY. 
 
 uT should renounce my military career, that I should marry a 
 ' woman of whom he had an indifferent opinion, and settle in a 
 country at war with my own^j|gntir ely forfeiting my reputation as 
 .an En^ ifj^^r^iinj^ Corinne, Corinne ! am I not a parricide ? Tell 
 me." — "No," she cried, "no; you are only unfortunate ; your 
 generosity involved you. I respect as much as I love you ; judge 
 yourself hy my heart ; make that your conscience ! Tour grief 
 distracts you: believe one who loves you from no illusion — it is 
 because you are the best, the most affectionate of men, that I adore 
 you." — " Corinne," said Oswald, " these tributes are not due to 
 me ; though, perhaps, I am less guilty than I think ; my father 
 pardoned me before he died. I found the last address he wrote 
 me full of tenderness. A letter from me had reached him, some- 
 what to my justification ; but the evil was done ; his heart was 
 broken. When I returned to the Hall, his old servants thronged 
 round me ; 1 repulsed their consolations, and accused myself to 
 them. I knelt at his tomb, swearing, if time for atonement yet 
 were left me, /£Eat I would never m arry without his consen T\ 
 Alas ! I promised lb Ouu who was no more ; what now availed my 
 ravings ? I ought, at least, to consider them as engagements to 
 do nothing which he would have disapproved had he lived. Co- 
 rinne, dear love ! why are you thus depressed? He might com- 
 mand me to renounce a woman who owed to her own artifice the 
 power she exerted over me ; but the most ^ncere, natural, and 
 generous of her sex, for whom I feel my first true love, which 
 purifies instead of misguiding my soul, why should a heavenly 
 being wish to separate me from her ? 
 
 " On entering my father's room, I saw his cloak, his footstool, 
 and his sword still in their wonted stations, though his place was 
 vacant, and I called on him in vain. This memento of his 
 thoughts alone replied. You already know a part of it," Oswald 
 added, giving the manuscript to Corinne. " Eead what he wrote 
 on the Duty of Children to their Parents : your swe€t ^JSP^er- 
 haps, may familarize me with the words." She thus obeyed : 
 
 "Ah, how slight a cause will teach self-mistrust to a father or 
 mother in the decline of life ! They are easily taught that they 
 
OORINNE; or, ITALY. 217 
 
 are no longer wanted on earth. What use can they believe them- 
 selves to you, who no longer ask their advice ! ye live but in the 
 pre.sent ; ye are wedded to it by your passions, and all that be- 
 longs not to that present appears to you superannuated ; — ye are 
 so much occupied by your young hearts and minds, that, making 
 your own day your point of history, the eternal resemblances be- 
 tween men and their times escape your attention. The authority 
 of experience seems but a vain fiction, formed for the credulity 
 of age, as the last enjoyment of its self-love. What an error is 
 this! 
 
 " That vast theatre, the world, changes not its actors : it is 
 always man who appears there, though he varies; and as all his 
 changes depend on some great passion, whose circle hath long and 
 oft been trod, it would be strange, if in the little combinations of 
 private life, experience, the science of the past, were not the 
 plenteous source of useful instruction. Honor your fathers and 
 mothers, then ! respect them, if but for the sake of their bygone 
 reign, the time of which they were the only rulers — ^if but for the 
 years forever lost, whose reverent seal is imprinted on their brows. 
 Know your duty, presumptuous children, impatient to walk alone 
 on the path of life. They will leave you, do not fear, though so 
 tardy in yielding you place : that father, whose discourses are still 
 tainted by unwelcome severity; that mother, whose age imposes 
 on you such tedious cares. They will go, those watchful guard- 
 ians of your childhood, these zealous protectors of your youth, 
 they will depart, and you will seek in vain for better friends : 
 when they are lost, they will wear new aspects ; for time, which 
 makes the living old before our eyes, renews their youth when 
 death has torn them away. Time then lends them a might un- 
 known before : we see them in our visions of eternity, wherein 
 there is no age, as there are no gradations ; and if they have left 
 virtuous memories behind, we adorn them with a ray from heaven : 
 our thoughts follow them to the home of the elect; we see th«m 
 in scenes of felicity, and, beside the bright beams of which we 
 form their glory, the light of our own best days, our own most 
 dazzling triumphs, is extinguished. " (26) " Corinne !" cried Nevil, 
 19 
 
218 CORINNE; OR, 
 
 almost heart-broken,- ."think you it was against me he breathed 
 that eloquent complaint ?" — " No, no," she replied : " remember 
 how he loved you, and believed in your affection. I am of opinion 
 that these reflections were written long ere you committed the 
 faults with which you reproach yourself. Listen rather to these 
 thoughts on indulgence, that I find some pages later : ' We go 
 through life surrounded by snares and with unsteady steps ; our 
 senses are seduced by deceptive allurements; our imaginations 
 mislead us by a false glare ; our reason itself each day receives 
 but from experience the degree of light and confidence for that 
 day required. So many dangers for so much weakness ; so many 
 varied interests with such limited foresight and capacity; in sooth, 
 so many things unknown, and so short a life, show us the high 
 rank we should give to indulgence among the social virtues. 
 Alas ! where is the man exempt from foibles, who can look back, 
 on his life without regret and remorse ? He must be a stranger 
 to the agitations of timidity, and never can have examined his 
 own heart in the solitude of conscience. '(27) 
 
 " These," said Corinne, " are the words your father addresses 
 to you from above." — " True," sighed Oswald, " consoling angel ! 
 how you cheer me ; yet could I but have seen him for a moment, 
 ere he died — could I have said how unworthy of him I felt my- 
 self, and been believed, I should not tremble like the guiltiest of 
 mankind. I should not evince the vacillation of conduct and 
 gloom of soul which can promise happiness to no one. Courage 
 must be born of conscience ; how then should it triumph over her ? 
 Even now, as the darkness closes in, methinks I see, in yon cloud, 
 the thunderbolt that is armed against m^fc^Corinne, Corinne ! 
 _ comfort your unhap py lovewor leave me on the earth, which, per- 
 haps, will open at my cries, and let me descend to the abode of 
 death." * 
 
 * Lord Nevil does not inform us -whether he entered the army hefore 
 he visited France, or during his year's residence in Scotland, ere he re- 
 turned thither. Between his father's death and his departure for Italy, 
 he had surely as little time as health for the military duties even of a 
 mess-table. — Tk. 
 
corinne; or Italy. 219 
 
 BOOK XIII. 
 
 VESUVIUS, AND THE CAMPAGNA OF NAPLES. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Lord Netil remained long exhausted after the trying recital 
 which had thrilled him to the soul. Corinne gently strove to re- 
 vive him. The river of flame which fell from Vesuvius fearfully 
 excited his imagination. She availed herself of this, in order to 
 draw him from his own recollections, and begged him to walk with 
 her on the banks of once inflamed lava. The ground they crossed 
 glowed beneath their steps, and seemed to warm them from a spot 
 so hostile to all life. Man could not here call himself " lord of 
 the creation ;" it seemed escaping from his tyranny by suicide. 
 The torrent of fire is of a dusky hue, yet when it lights a vine, 
 or any other tree, it sends forth a clear bright blaze ; but the lava 
 itself is of that lurid tint, which might represent infernal fire ; it 
 rolls on with a crackling sound, that alarms the more from its 
 slightness — cunning seems joined with strength ; thus secretly 
 steals the tiger to his prey. This cataract, though so deliberate, 
 loses not a moment ; if it encounter a high wall, or anything that 
 opposes its progress, it heaps against the obstacle its black and 
 bituminous flood, and buries it beneath burning waves. Its course 
 is not so rapid but that men may fly before it ; but like Ti me, it 
 overtakes the old or the imprudent, who, from its silent approach, 
 think to escape without exertion. Its brightness is such that 
 earth is reflected in the sky, which appears lapped in perpetual 
 lightning; this, too, is mirrored by the sea, and all nature clothed 
 in their threefold flres. The wind is heard, and its effect per- 
 ceived, as it forms a whirlpool of flame round the gulf whence the 
 lava issues ; one trembles to guess at what is passing in the bosom 
 of the earth, whose fury shakes the ground beneath our steps. 
 The rocks about the sonyie of this flood are covered with pitch 
 
220 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 and sulphur, whose colors, indeed, might suit the home of fiends— 
 a livid green, a tawny brown, and an ensanguined red, form just 
 that dissonance to the eye of which the ear were sensible, if pierced 
 by the harsh cries of witches, conjuring down the moon from hea- 
 ven. All that is near the volcano bears so supernal an aspect, that 
 doubtless the poets thence drew their portraitures of hell. There 
 we may conceive how man was first persuaded that a power of evil 
 existed to thwart the designs of Providence. Well may one ask, 
 in such a scene, if mercy alone presides over the phenomena of cre- 
 ation ; or if some hidden principle forces natures, like her sons, 
 into ferocity? "Corinne," sighed Nevil, "is it not from hence 
 that sorrow comes ? Does the angel of death take wing from yon 
 summit? If I beheld not thy heavenly face, I should lose all 
 memory of the charms with which the Eternal has adorned the 
 earth ; yet this spectacle, frightful as it is, overawes me less than 
 conscience. All perils may be braved ; but how can the dead 
 absolve us for the wrongs we did them living ? Never, never. Ah, 
 Corinne ? what need of fires like these ? The wheel that turns 
 incessantly, the stream that tempts and flies, the stone that rolls 
 back the more we would impel it on — these are but feeble images 
 of that dread thought, the impossible, the irreparable !" A deep 
 silence now reigned around Oswald and Corinne ; their very guides 
 were far behind ; and near the crater naught was heard save the 
 hissing of its fires; suddenly, however, one sound from the city 
 reached even this region — the chime of bells, perhaps announcing 
 a death, perhaps a birth, it mattered not — most welcome was it to 
 our travellers. " Dear Oswald," said Corinne, " let us leave this 
 desert, and return to the living world. Other mountains raise us 
 hove terrestrial life, and bring us nearer Heaven, but here nature 
 seems treated as a criminal, and condemned no more to taste the 
 beneficent breath of her Creator. This is no sojourn for the good 
 — let us descend." An abundant shower fell as they sought the 
 plain, threatening each instant to extinguish their torches: the 
 Lazzaroni accompanied them with yells that might alarm any one 
 who knew not that such was their constant custom. These men 
 are sometimes agitated by a superfluity ,of life, with which they 
 
ooeinne; or, Italy. 221 
 
 know not what to do, uniting equal degrees of violence and sloth. 
 Their physiognomy, more marked than their characters, seem to 
 indicate a kind of vivacity in which tieither mind nor heart are 
 at all concerned. Oswald, uneasy lest the rain should hurt Co- 
 rinno, and lest their lights should fail, was absorbed by this indefi- 
 nite sense of her danger ; and his tenderness by degrees restored 
 that composure which had been disturbed by the confidence he had 
 made to her. They regained their carriage at the foot of the moun- 
 tain, and stopped not at the ruins of Herculaneum, which are, as 
 it were, buried afresh beneath the buildings of Portici. They ar- 
 rived at Naples near midnight, and Corinne promised Nevil, as 
 they took leave, to give him the history of her life on the morrow. 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 The next morning Corinne resolved to impose on herself the 
 effort she had promised : the intimate knowledge of Oswald's 
 character which she had acquired redoubled her inquietude. She 
 left her chamber, carrying what she had written in a trembling 
 yet determined hand. She entered the sitting-room of their hotel. 
 Oswald was there : he had just received letters from England. 
 One of them lay oa the mantel-piece : its direction caught her 
 eye, and, with inexpressible anxiety, she asked from whom it 
 came. "From Lady Edgarmond," replied Nevil "Do you cor- 
 respond with her ?" added Corinne. — " Her late lord was my 
 father's friend," he said; "and since chance has introduced the 
 subject, I will not conceal from you that they thought it might 
 one day suit me to marry the daughter, Lucy." — " Great God !" 
 cried Corinne, and sank, half fainting, on a seat. — " What means 
 this?" demanded Oswald; "Corinne, what can you fear from one 
 who loves you to idolatry ? Had my parent's dying command 
 been my union with»Miss Edgarmond, I certainly should not now 
 be free, and would have flown from your resistless spells ; but he 
 merely advised the match, writing me word that he could form 
 19* 
 
222 corinnb; or, italy. 
 
 no judgment of Lucy's character, as she was still a ctild. I have 
 seen her but once, when scarcely twelve years old. I made no 
 arrangement with her mother ; yet the indecision of my conduct, 
 I own, has sprung solely from this wish of my father's. Ere I 
 met you, I hoped for power to complete it, as a sort of expiation, 
 and to prolong, beyond his death, the empire of his will/but you 
 have triumphed over my whole being, and I now desireBtTTyour 
 pardon for«ahat must have appeared so weak and irresolute in 
 my conduct. ICorinne, we seldom entirely recover from such 
 griefs as"T"EaTC experienced : they blight our hopes, and instil a 
 painful timidity of the future. Fate bad so injured me, that even 
 while she offered the greatest of earthly blegfings I could not 
 trust her: but these doubts are over, love CI am thine forever^ 
 
 .assured that, had my fa^ hpl- ]fnf<wn tbue, 1ip wnnlrl ha-uc ntinaon ^ 
 
 such a companion for my life/y — " Hold !" wept forth Corinne : 
 <' I conjure you, speak not thus to me." — " Why," said Oswald, 
 Vwhy thus constantly oppose the pleasure I taka yln blending 
 jourimage with his ?*thus wedding the two dearest and most 
 
 - sacred feelings of my heart ?" — " You cannot," returned Corinne ; 
 
 K^too well I know you cannot." — "Just Heaven! what have you 
 to tell me, then? Give me that history of your life." — "I will; 
 but let me beg a week's delay, only a week: what I have just 
 learned obliges me to add a few particulars." — " How !" said Os- 
 wald, "what connection have you " — "Do not exact my 
 
 answer now," interrupted Corinne. " You will soon know all, 
 and that, perhaps, will be the end, the dreaded end of my felicity; 
 but ere it comes, let us explore together the Campagna of Naples, 
 with minds still accessible to the charms of nature. In these fair 
 scenes will I so celebrate the most solemn era of my life, that you 
 must cherish some memory of Corinne, such as she was, and 
 might have ever been, had she not loved you, Oswald." — " Co- 
 rinne, what mean these hints? You can have nothing to disclose 
 which ought to chill my tender admiration ; why then prolong 
 the mystery that raises barriersbetweengs-^i— - " Dear Oswald, 
 'tis my will : pardon me this /last - aA qf jrw^jj ^<""' y<"^ alone 
 J will decide for us both. I shall hear my sentence from your lips, 
 
CORINNE; OB, ITALY. 223 
 
 nnmurmuringly, even if it be cruel ; for I have on this earth nor 
 love nor duty condemning me to live when you are lost." She 
 withdrew, i^ntly repulsingjOswald, who would fain have followed 
 her. ^ ^ 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 CoEiNNE decided on giving a f§te, united as the idea was with 
 melancholy associations. She knew she must be judged as a 
 poet, as an artist, ere she could be pardoned for the sacrifice of 
 her rank, her family, her name, to her enthusiasm. Lord Nejjl \ 
 was indeed capable of appreciating genius, but, in his opinion/t^g^ I 
 relations nf s pci^J , jifR nve rnilefl all others ; and the highest ^3- \ 
 
 Jin^ nf wnman, Tia. ^of manjboo. he thoqg ht-Waa a^omplJiS^ed^ jj 
 
 not by th e exercise of intellectual £acultieflrfa *'by-t>|ifi-fii1filmnnt ! 
 of domestic dutiesl Remorse, in driving him from the false path 
 "in which. Ke naa strayed, fortified the moral principles innately 
 his. The manners and habits of England, a country where such 
 respect for law and duty exists^ held, in many respects, a strict 
 control over him. Indeed, the discouragement deep sorrows incul- 
 cate, teaches men to love that natural order which requires no 
 new resolves, no decision contrary to the circumstances marked 
 for us by fate. Oswald's love for Corinne modified his every feel- 
 ing ;^m_love_never wholl y efiaces the original character, wh ich 
 she perceiv ed through tbe"^ssiont bat ^ow In rrlf-j] mrov j(J and, 
 perhaps, his ruling charm consisted in the opposition of his cha- 
 racter to his attachment, giving added value to every pledge of 
 his love. But the hour drew nigh when the fleeting fears she had 
 constantly banished, and which had but slightly disturbed her 
 dream of joy, were to decide her fate. Her mind, formed for 
 delight, accustomed to the various moods of poetry and talent, 
 was wonder-struck at the sharp fixedness of grief; a shudder 
 thrilled her heart, such as no woman long resigned to sufiering 
 ever knew. Yet, in the midst of the most torturing fears, she 
 secretly prepared for the one more brilliant evening she might 
 
224 CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 pass with Oswald. Fancy and feeling were thus romantically 
 blended. She invited the English who were there, and some 
 Neapolitans whose society pleased her. On the day chosen for 
 this fgte, whose morrow might destroy her happiness forever, a 
 singular wildness animated her features, and lent them quite a 
 new expression. Careless eyes might have mistaken it for that 
 of joy; but her rapid and agitated movements, her looks that 
 rested nowhere, proved but too plainly to Nevil the struggle in 
 her heart. Vainly he strove to soothe her by tender protestations. 
 "You shall repeat them two days hence, if you will," she said; 
 " now these soft words but mock me." The carriages of Corinne's 
 parly arrived at the close 'of day, just as the sea-breeze refreshed 
 the air, inviting man to the contemplation of nature. They went 
 first to Virgil's tomb. It overlooks the bay of Naples; and such 
 is the magnificent repose of this spot, that one is tempted to be- 
 lieve the bard himself must have selected it. These simple words 
 from his Greorgics might have served him for epitaph : — 
 
 "Illo Virgilium me tempore dulcis alebat Parthenope." 
 "Then did the soft Parthenope receive me." 
 
 His ashes here repose, and attract universal homage — all, all that 
 man on earth can steal from death. Petrarch set a lanrel beside 
 them — like its planter, it is dead. He alone was worthy to have 
 left a lasting trace near such a grave. One feels disgust at the 
 crowd of ignoble names traced by strangers on the walls about the 
 urn ; they trouble the peace of this classic solitude. Its present 
 visitants left it in silence, musing over the images immortalized 
 by the Mantuan. Blest intercourse between the past and future ! 
 which the art of writing perpetually renews. Shadow of death, 
 what art thou ? Man's thoughts survive ; can he then be no more ? 
 Such contradiction is impossible. " Oswald," said Corinne, " these 
 impressions are strange preparatives for a f^te; yet," she added, 
 with wild sublimity, "how many fgtes are held thus near the 
 grave !" — " My life," he said, " whence all this secret dread ? 
 Confide in me; for six months have I owed you everything; per- 
 haps have shed some pleasure over your path. Who then can 
 
COBINNE; or, ITALY. 225 
 
 err so impiously against happiness as to dash down the supreme 
 bliss of soothing such a soul? it is much to feel one's self- of use 
 to the most humble mortal ; but Corinne ! to be her comfort 1 
 trust me, is a glory too delicious to renounce." — "I believe your 
 promises," she said; "yet there are moments when something 
 strauge and new seizes the heart, and hurries it thus sadly." 
 They passed through the Grotto of Pausilipo by torchlight, as 
 indeed would have been the case at noon ; for it extends nearly a 
 quarter of a league beneath the mountain; and in the centre, the 
 light of day, admitted at either extremity, is scarcely visible. In 
 this long vault the tramp of steeds and cries of their drivers 
 resound so stunningly that they deaden all thought in the brain. 
 Corinne's horses drew her carriage with astonishing rapidity ; yet 
 did she say : " Dear Nevil, hoT^lowlylwe advance ! pray hasten 
 them." — "Why thus impatient r'TlB asked; "formerly, while 
 we were together, you sought not to expedite time, but to enjoy 
 it." — " Yet now," she said, " all must be decision ; everything 
 must come to an end ; and I would hasten it, were it my death." 
 On leaving the grotto, you feel a lively sensation at regaining 
 daylight and the open country ; such a country, too ! What are 
 so often missed in Italy, fine trees, here flourish in abundance. 
 Italian earth is everywhere so spread with flowers that woods may 
 better be dispensed with" here than in most other lands. The 
 heat at Naples is so great that, even in the shade, it is impossible 
 to walk by day : but in the evening the sea and sky alike shed 
 freshness through the transparent air ; the mountains are so pic- 
 turesque that painters love to select their landscapes from a coun- 
 try whose original charm can be explained by no comparison with 
 other realms. "I lead ye," said Corinne, to those near her, 
 " through the fair scene celebrated by the name of Baiae ; we will 
 not pause there now, but gather its recollections into the moment 
 when we reach the spot which sets them all before us." It was 
 on the Cape of Micena that she had prepared her fgte; nothing 
 could be more tastefuUvarranged. Sailors, in habits of con- 
 trasted hues, and some ^£ientalisS]^om a Levantine barque then 
 in the port, danced with the peasant girls from Ischia and Prq- 
 
226 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 cida, whose costume still preserves a Grecian grace ; sweet voices 
 were heard singing from a distance; and instrumental music 
 answered from behind the rocks. It was like echo echoed by 
 sounds that lost themselves in the sea. The softness of the air 
 animated all around — even Corinne herself. She was entreated 
 to dance among the rustics ; at first, she consented with pleasure > 
 but scarcely had she begun, ere her forebodings rendered all 
 amusement odious to her, and she withdrew to the extreme verge 
 of the cape; thither Oswald followed, with others, who now 
 begged her to extemporize in this lovely scene ; her emotions 
 were such that she permitted them to lead her towards the ele- 
 vation on which they had placed her lyre, without power to 
 comprehend what they expected. 
 
 CHAPTEK IV- 
 
 Still, Corinne desired that Oswald should once more hear her, 
 as on the day at the Capitol, j) ^ the talent with which Heaven 
 had gifted her was about to be extinguished forever, she wished 
 jtelas t rays to shine on him she loved : these very fears afforded 
 her the inspiration she required. Her friends were impatient to 
 hear her. Even the common people knew her fame; and, as 
 imagination rendered them judges of poetry, they closed silently 
 round, their eager faces expressing the deepest attention. The 
 moon arose ; but the last beams of day still paled her light. From 
 the top of the small hill that, standing over the sea, forms the 
 Cape of Micena, Vesuvius is plainly seen, and the bay and isles 
 that stud its bosom. With one consent, the friends of Corinne 
 begged her to sin g the memories that sce ne re calle d. She tuned 
 her lyre, and began with a broken voice. Her look was beautiful ; 
 but one who knew her, as Oswald did, could there read the trou- 
 ble of her sonl. She strove, however, to restrain her feelingsj 
 and once fflpre, if but for awhile, to soar above her personal situa- 
 tion. 
 
OORTNNE; OB, ITALT. 227 
 
 COniNNE S CUANT IN THE VICINITY OJ? NAPLES. 
 
 Ay, Nature, History, and Poesie, 
 Kival each other's greatness ;" — here the eye 
 Sweeps mth a glance, all wonders and all time. 
 A dead volcano now, I see thy lake 
 Avernus, with the fear-inspiring waves, 
 Acheron, and Phl^geton boiling up 
 With subterranean flame ; these are the streams 
 Of that old hell ^neas visited. 
 
 Fire, the devouring Jife which first creates 
 The world which it consumes, struck terror most 
 When least its laws were known. ^ — Ah! Nature then 
 Keveal'd her secrets but to Poetry. 
 
 The town of Cuma and theisibyljs cave. 
 The temple of Apollo mark'd thirteight; 
 Here is the wood where grew the bough of gold. 
 The country of the ^neid is around ; 
 The fables genius consecrated here 
 Are memories whose traces still we seek. 
 
 A Triton has beneath these billows plunged 
 The daring Trojan, who in song defied 
 The sea divinities: still are the rocks 
 Hollow and sounding, such as Virgil told. 
 Imagination's truth is from its power: 
 Man's genius .can create when nature's felt ; 
 He copies when he deems that he invents. 
 
 Amid these masses, terrible and old. 
 Creation's witnesses, you see arise 
 A younger hill of the volcano born: 
 For here the earth is stormy as the sea, 
 But doth not, like the sea, peaceful return 
 Within its bounds: the heavy element, 
 ITpshakeu by the tremulous abyss, 
 Digs valleys, and rears mountains ; while the waves, 
 Harden'd to stone, attest the storms which rend 
 Her depths; strike now upon the earth. 
 You hear the subterranean vault resound. 
 It is as if the ground on which we dwell 
 
228 corinne; ok, Italy. 
 
 Were but a, surface ready to unclose. 
 
 f)les! how doth thy country likeness bear 
 human passions; fertile; sulphurous: 
 dangers and its pleasures both seem bom 
 Of those inflamed Tp]fia4Qes, which bestow 
 Upon the atmosphere so many charms, 
 Yet bid the thunder growl beneath our feet. 
 
 Pliny but studied nature that the more 
 He might love Italy; and call'd his land 
 The loyeliest, when all other titles fail'd. 
 He sought for science as =1 warrior seeks 
 For conquest: it was from this very cape 
 He went to watch Vesuvius through the flames: 
 Those flames consumed him. 
 
 Memory ! noble power ! thy reign is here. 
 Strange destiny, how thus, from age to age, 
 Doth man complain of that which he has lost. 
 Still do departed years, each in their turn. 
 Seem treasures of happiness gone by; 
 And while mind, joyful in its far advance. 
 Plunges amid the future, still the Soul 
 Seems to regret some other ancient home 
 To which it is drawn closer by the past. 
 
 We envy Eoman grandeur — did they not 
 Envy their fathers' brave simplicity? 
 Once thi gta^tao j ^v country they despised; 
 Its pleasferes-fiut subdued their enemies. 
 See, in the distance, Capua ! she o'ercame 
 The warrior, whose firm soul resisted Borne 
 More time than did a world. 
 
 The Romans in their turn dwelt on these plains, 
 When strength of mind but only served to feel 
 More deeply shame and grief; effeminate 
 They sank withoiit remorse. Tet Baise saw 
 The conquer'd sea give place to palaces: 
 Columns were dug from mountains rent in twain, 
 And the world's masters, now in their turn slaves, 
 Made nature subject to console thenuelye^ 
 That they were -subject too. 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 229 
 
 And Cicero on this promontory died: 
 This Gaeta we see. Ah! no regard 
 Those triumTirs paid to posterity, 
 Robbing her of the thoughts yet unoonoeived 
 Of this great man : their crime continues still ; 
 Committed against us was this offence. 
 
 Cicero 'neath the tyrant's dagger fell, 
 But Soipio, more unhappy, was exiled 
 With yet his country free. Beside this shore 
 He died; and stiU the ruins of his tomb 
 Retain the name, " Tower of my native land :" * 
 Touching allusion to the memory 
 Which haunted his great soul. 
 
 Marius found a refuge in yon marsh, ■]• 
 Near to the Scipios' home. Thus in all time 
 Have nations persecuted their great men. 
 But they enskied them after death ; J and heaven, 
 Where still the Romans deem'd they could command, 
 Received amid her planets Romulus, 
 Numa, and Csesar ; new and dazzhng stars ! 
 Mingling together in our erring gaze 
 The rays of glory and celestial light. 
 
 And not enough alone of misery. 
 The trace of crime is here. In yonder gulf behold 
 The isle of Capri, where at length old age 
 Disarm'd Tiberius; violent, yet worn; 
 Cruel, voluptuous; wearied e'en of crime, 
 He sought yet viler pleasures; as he were 
 Not low enough debased by tyranny. 
 
 * " La tour de la patrie." Patrie can scarce be rendered by a single 
 word: "native land" perhaps best expresses the ancient ^a<na. — L. E. L. 
 
 f Minturno. 
 
 J " Us sont consoles par I'apothSoae." This is the only instance in 
 which I have not given, as nearly as possible, the English word that 
 answered most exactly ; but I confess one so long as " apotheosis" fairly 
 baffled my efforts to get it into rhythm. It is curious to observe how 
 many Pagan observances were grafted on the Roman Catholic worship. 
 Canonization is but a Christian apotheosis, only the deceased turned into 
 saints instead of gods. — L. E. L. 
 20 
 
230 corinne; ok, itaxt. 
 
 And Agrippina's tomb is on these shores, 
 Facing the isle,* reared after Nero's death; 
 The murderer of his mother had prosorihed 
 Even her ashes. Long at Baise he dwelt 
 Amid the memories of his many crimes. 
 What wretches fate here brings before our eyes ! 
 Tiberius, Nero, on each other gaze. 
 
 The isles, volcano-bom amid the sea, 
 Served at their birth the crimes of the old world. 
 The sorrowing exiles on these lonely rooks. 
 Watched 'mid the waves their native land afar, 
 Seeking to catch its perfumes in the air: 
 And often, a, long exile worn away. 
 Sentence of sudden death arrived to show 
 They were remember'd by their enemies. 
 
 Earth ! all bathed with blood and tears, yet never 
 Hast thou ceased putting forth thy fruit and flowers ; 
 And hast thou then no pity for mankind? 
 Can thy maternal breast receive again 
 Their dust, and yet not throb ? L. E. L. 
 
 Here Corinne paused for some moments. All her assembled 
 hearers threw laurels and myrtle at her feet. The soft pure 
 moonlight fell on her brow, and the breeze wantoned with her 
 ringlets as if nature delighted to adorn her : she was so over- 
 powered as she looked on the enchanting scene, and on Oswald, 
 who shared this delicious eve with her, yet might not be thus 
 near forever, that tears flowed from her eyes. Even the crowd, 
 who had just applauded her so tumultuously, respected her emo- 
 tion, and mutely awaited her words, which they trusted would 
 make them participators in her feelings. She preluded for some 
 time on her lyre, then, no longer dividing her song into stanzas, 
 abandoned herself to the uninterrupted stream of verse. 
 
 Some memories of the heart, some women's manes 
 Yet ask your tears. 'Twas at this very place, 
 Massena,-)- that Cornelia kept till death 
 
 * Caprea. t The reti-eat of Pompey. 
 
•^J 
 
 OR, ITALY. 231 
 
 Her noble mourning; Agrippina too 
 Long wept Germanicus beside tliese stores. 
 At length the same assassin who deprived 
 Her of her husband found she was at last 
 Worthy to follow him. And yonder isle* 
 Saw Brutus and his Portia bid farewell. 
 
 Thus women loved of heroes have beheld 
 The object perish which they so adored. 
 Long time in vain they follow'd in their path ; 
 There came the hour when they were forced to part. 
 Portia destroy'd herself; Cornelia olasp'd 
 The sacred urn which answer'd not her cries; 
 And Agrippina, for how many years ! 
 Vainly her husband's murderer defied. 
 And wander'd here the wretched ones, like ghosts 
 On wasted shores of the eternal stream, 
 Sighing to reach the other far-off land. 
 Did they not ask in their long solitude 
 Of silence, of all nature, of the sTsy, 
 Star-shining ? — and from the deep sea, one sound, 
 One only tone of the beloved voice 
 They never more might hear. 
 
 Mysterious enthusiasm. Love! 
 The heart's supremest power ; — which doth combine 
 Within itself religion, poetry, 
 And heroism. Love, what may befall 
 When destiny has bade us separate 
 From him who has the secret of our soul; 
 Who gave us the heart's life, celestial life. 
 What may befall when absence, or when death 
 
 isolate woman on this earth?. — She pines, 
 
 he slnlis. How often have, these rocks 
 Offer'd their cold support to the forlorn! 
 Those once worn in the heart ; — those once sustain'd 
 Upon a hero's arm 
 
 Before you is Sorrento: — dwelling there 
 Was Tasso's sister, when the pilgrim came 
 
 * Nisida; 
 
232 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 Asking asylum 'gainst the prince unjust 
 
 From humble friends : long grief had almost quench'd 
 
 Eeason's clear light, but genius still was left. 
 
 Yet kept he knowledge of the things divine, 
 
 When earthly images trere all ohscured. 
 
 Thus shrinking from the desert spread around. 
 
 Doth Genius wander through the world, and finds 
 
 No likeness to itself; no echo given 
 
 By Nature; and the common crowd hut hold 
 
 As madness that desire of the rapt soul, " 
 
 Which finds not in this world enough of air — 
 
 Of high enthusiasm, or of hope. 
 
 For Destiny compels exalted minds ; — 
 
 The poet, whose imagination draws 
 
 Its power from loving and from suffering — 
 
 They are the vanish'd from another sphere. 
 
 For the Almighty goodness might not frame 
 
 All for the few — th' elect or the proscribed. 
 
 Why spoke the ancients with such awe ef Fate ? 
 
 What had this terrible Fate to do with them, 
 
 The common and the quiet, who pursue 
 
 The seasons, and still follow timidly 
 
 The beaten track of ordinary life? 
 
 But she, the priestess of the oracle, 
 
 Shook with the presence of the cruel power. 
 
 I know not what the involuntary force 
 
 ^hat plunges Genius into misery. 
 
 Genius doth catch the music of the spheres. 
 
 Which mortal ear was never meant to know. 
 
 Genius can penetrate the mysteries 
 
 Of feeling, all unknown to other hearts ; 
 
 A power hath entered in the inmost soul, 
 
 Whose presence may not be contained. 
 
 Sublime Creator of this lovely world. 
 Protect us: our exertions have no strength; 
 Our hope's a lie. Tumultuous tyranny 
 Our passions exercise, and neither leave 
 Repose nor liberty. What we may do 
 To-morrow may perhaps decide our fate. 
 We may have said but yesterday some word 
 Which may not be recalled. Still, when our mind 
 
corinne; or, italy. 233 
 
 la elevate with noblest thouglita, we feel 
 
 As on the height of some great ediiioe, 
 
 Giddiness blending all things in our sight; 
 
 But even there, woe ! terrible woe ! appears. 
 
 Not lost amid the clouds, it pierces through ; 
 
 It flings the shades asunder ; my God ! 
 
 What doth it herald to us V L. E. L. 
 
 At these words, a mortal paleness overspread her countenance; 
 her eyes closed ; and she would have fallen to the earth, had not 
 Oswald rushed to support her. .(1 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 c*?^ 
 
 Corinne revived : the afiectina interes^f Oswald's look re- 
 stored her to some composure. /The N^politans were surprised 
 at the gloomy character of her poetry, much as they admired it. 
 They thought it the Muse's task to dissipate the cares of life, and 
 not to explore their terrible secrets; but the English who were 
 present seemed deeply touched. Their own melancholyjembel- \ 
 lishe d by It alian imagination,_delighted_them7^This lovely wo- / \ 
 man, whose features seemed designed to depiot*reliclty — this child 
 of the sun, a prey to hidden grief — was like a flower, still fresh 
 and brilliant, but within whose leaves may be seen the first dark 
 impress of that withering blight which soon shall lay it low. 
 The party embarked to return : the glowing xsalm of the hour 
 made it a luxury to be upon the sea. Goethe has described, in 
 a delicious romance, the passion felt in warm climates, for the 
 water. A nymph of the flood boasts to the fisherman the charms 
 of her abode ; invites him to taste its refreshment, and, by de- 
 grees, allures him to his death. This magic of the tide resem- 
 bles that of the basilisk, which fascinates by fear. The wave 
 rising gently afar, swelling, and hurrying as it nears the shore, is 
 but a type of passion, that dawns in softness, but soon grows in- 
 vincible. Corinne put back her tresses, that she might better 
 20* 
 
234 cokinne; or, italt. 
 
 enjoy, the air: her countenance was thus more beautiful than 
 ever. The musicians, who followed in another boat, poured forth 
 enchantments that harmonized with the stars, the sea, and the 
 sweet intoxication of an Italian evening. " Oh, my heart's love !" 
 whispered Oswald, " can I ever forget this day, or ever enjoy a 
 happier ?" His eyes filled with tears.^ One of his most seduct- 
 jve attributes was this \ready yet restraine d sensibility j which so 
 oft, in spite of him, bedewed his lids : at such moments he was 
 irresistible : sometimes even in the midst of an endearing plea- 
 santry, a melting thrill stole on his mirth, and lent it a new, a 
 noble charm. "Alas !" jeturned Corinne, " I hope not for an- 
 other day like this ; but be it blest, at least, as the last such of 
 my life, if forbidden to prove the dawn of more endearing bliss." 
 
 vai2«^ 
 
 APTEB, VI. C 
 
 The weather changi^ ere they reached Naples : the heavens 
 darkened, and the coming pormjalready felt in the air, convulsed 
 the waves, as if the sea sympathized with the sky. Oswald pre- 
 ceded Corinne, that he might see the flambeaux borne the more 
 Steadily before her. As they neared the quay, he saw some 
 Lazzaroni assembled, crying " Poor creature ! he cannot save 
 himself! we must be patient." — "Of whom speak ye?" cried 
 Nevil, impetuously. — "An old man," they replied, "who was 
 bathing below there, not far from the mole ; but the storm has 
 risen : he is too weak to struggle with it." Oswald's first im- 
 pulse was to plunge into the water ; then, reflecting on the alarm 
 he should cause Corinne, when she came, he offered all the money 
 he had with him, promising to double it, for the man who would 
 swim to this unfortunate being's assistance ; but the Lazzaroni 
 all refused, saying : " It cannot be, the danger is too fearfal." 
 At that moment the old man sunk. Oswald could hesitate nc 
 longer : he threw ofi' his coat, and sprang into the sea, spite of 
 its waves, that dashed above his head : he buffeted them bravely; 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 235 
 
 seized the sufferer, who must have perished had he been a mo- 
 ment later, and brought him to the land ; but the sudden chill 
 and violent exertion so overwhelmed Lord Nevil, that he had 
 scarcely seen his charge in safety, when he fell on the earth in- 
 sensible, and so pallid, that the bystanders believed him a 
 corpse. (28) It was then that the unconscious Corinne beheld 
 the crowd, heard them cry, " He is dead," and would have drawn 
 back in terror ; when she saw one of the Englishmen who had 
 accompanied her, break eagerly through the people : she inade 
 some steps to follow him ; and the first object which met her eye 
 was a portion of Oswald's dress, lying on the bank. She seized 
 it with desperation, believing it all that was left of her love ; and 
 when she saw him, lifeless as he appeared, she threw herself on 
 his breast, in transport, and ardently pressed him to her heart : 
 with what inexpressible rapture did she detect that his still beat, 
 perhaps reanimated by her presence ! " He lives !" she cried, 
 "he lives !" and instantly regained. a strength, a courage, such as 
 his mere friends could scarcely equal. She sent for everything 
 that could revive him : and herself applied these restoratives, 
 supporting his fainting head upon her breast, and, though she 
 wept over it, forgetting nothing, losing not e Koment, nor per. 
 mitting her grief to interrupt her cares. 0::^ald'grew better, 
 but resumed not yet the use of his senses. She had him carried 
 to his hotel, and, kneeling beside him, bathed his brow with 
 stimulating perfumes, calling on him in tones of impassioned 
 tenderness that might have waked the dead. He opened his 
 eyes, and pressed her hand. For the joy of such a moment 
 might one not endure the tortures of demons ? Poor human 
 nature ! Wo guess at infinitude but by suffering ; iind not a 
 bliss in life can compensate the anguish of beholding those we 
 love expire. " Cruel, cruel !" cried Corinne ; " think what you 
 have done!" — "Pardon," he replied, in a trembling voice. "Be- 
 lieve me, dearest,tElule I thought myself dying, I trembled but 
 for thee." \ Exquisite expression of mutual love and confidence ! 
 Corinne, M her last day, could not recall those words without a 
 fondness, wnich, while it lasted, taught her to forgive him all. 
 
 .VT^ 
 
236 coeinne; or, italy. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Oswald's next impulse was to thrust his hand into his bosom 
 for his father's portrait; it was still there; but thewater^adjefli. 
 it scarcely recognizable ;__he^wa3^J)itterly afflicted^ by this Joss. 
 " My'lSodT'Mie jeriedj_" dost thou denj^me^eyen^hisjjjiage?^' 
 Corinne besought his permission to restore it : he consented, without 
 much hope ; what then wds his amaze when, on the third morning 
 she brought it to him, not only repaired, but more faithful than 
 ever ! " Yes," cried Oswald, "you have divined his features and 
 his look.XJhi i.beavenly miracle decides joii for my 1iff! !s com- 
 ganiflOi,sipoe to vou is thus revealed the memory of one who must 
 forever dispose my fate!] Here is the ring my father gave his 
 wite — the sacred bond sincerely offered by the noblest, and accepted 
 by the most constant of hearts. Let me transfer it from my hand 
 to thine, and, while thou keepest it, be no longer free. Ita^ 
 this solemn oath, not knowing to whom, but in thy soul 1/tru^ 
 that tells me all : the events of your life, if springing from yiJoN 
 self, must needs be lofty as your character. If you have been the 
 victim to an unworthy fate, thank Heaven I can repair it; there- 
 fore, my own Corinne, you owe your secrets to one whose promises 
 precede your confidence." — "Oswald," she answered, "this deli- 
 rium is the result of a mistake. I cannot accept your ring till I 
 have undeceived you. An inspiration of the heart, you think, 
 taught me your father's features : (Tonght to tell you that I have 
 seen him often."^-" Seen him I how? when? where? God ! 
 who are you, then ?" — " Here is your ring," returned Corinne, 
 in a siiothered tone. — " No," cried Oswald, after a moment's 
 pause ; " I swear never to wed another till you send back that ring. 
 Forgive the tumult you have raised within me ; confused and half- 
 forgotten thoughts afflict my mind." — " I see it," said Corinne ; 
 " and this shall end : already your accents and your words are 
 changed. Perhaps when you Lave read my history, the horrid 
 word adieu " — " No, no," cried Nevil ; " only from my death- 
 
coeinne; or, italy. 237 
 
 bed — fear not that word till then." Corinne retired, and, in a 
 few moments, Th^r^sina brought him the jpapers /which he was 
 now to read. 
 
 BOOK XIV. 
 
 HISTORY OF CORINNE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Oswald, I begin with the avowal which must determine my 
 fate. If, after reading it, you find it impossible to pardon, do not 
 finish this letter, but reject and banish me ; yet if, when you know 
 the name and destiny I have renounced, all is not broken between 
 us, what follows may then serve as my excuse. 
 
 Lord Edgarmond was mj ^ther. ^ I was born in Italy : his 
 rst wife was a Roman; and Lucy, whom they intended for your 
 bride, is my sister, by an English lady — by my father's second 
 marriage. Now, hear me ! I lost my mother ere I was ten years 
 old, and, as it was her dying wish that my education should be 
 finished ere I went to England, I was confided to an aunt at 
 Florence, with whom I lived till I was fifteen. My tastes and 
 talents were formed ere her death induced Lord Edgarmond to 
 have me with him. He lived at a small town in Northumberland, 
 which cannot, I suppose, give any idea of England; yet was all I 
 knew of it for six years. My mother, from my infancy, impressed 
 on me the misery of not living in Italy ; my aunt had often added, 
 that this fear of quitting her country had broken her heartj' My 
 good aunt herself was persuaded, too, that a Catholic would be 
 condemned to perdition for settling in a Protestant country ; and 
 though I was not infected by this fear, the thought of going to 
 England alarmed me much. 1 set forth with an inexplicable sense 
 of sadness. The woman sent for me did not understand a word 
 of Italian. I spoke it now and then to console my poor Th&esina, 
 
2B8 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 who had consented to follow me, though she wept incessantly at 
 leaving her country; but I knew that I must unlearn the habit 
 of breathing the sweet sounds so welcome even to foreigners, and, 
 for me, associated with all the recollections of my childhood. I 
 approached the north unable to comprehend the cause of my own 
 changed and sombre sensations. It was five years since I had 
 seen my father. I hardly recognized him when I reached his 
 house. Methought his countenance was very grave ; yet he re- 
 ceived me with tenderness, and told me I was extremely like my 
 mother. My half-sister, then three years of age, was brought to 
 me : her skin was fairer, her silken curls more golden than I had 
 ever seen before; we have hardly any such faces in Italy; she 
 astonished and interested me from the first; that same day I cut 
 off some of her ringlets for a bracelet, which I have preserved ever 
 since. At last my step-mother appeared, and the impression made 
 on me by her first look grew and deepened during the years I 
 passed with her. Lady Edgarmond was excluefvil^ttached to 
 her native country; and my father, whom she pverrulefl, sacrificed 
 a residence in London or Edinburgh to her wishes; She was a 
 cold, dignified, silent person, whose eyes could turn affectionately 
 on her child, but who usually wore so positive an air, that it ap- 
 peared impossible to make her understand a new idea, or even one 
 phrase to which she had not been accustomed. She met me po- 
 litely, but I soon perceived that my whole manner amazed her, 
 and that she proposed to change it, if she could. Not a word was 
 said during dinner, though some neighbors had been invited. I 
 was so tired of this silence, that, in the midst of our meal, I strove 
 to converse a little with an old gentleman who sat beside me. I 
 spoke English tolerably, as my father had taught me in child- 
 hood j'lbut happening to cite some Italian poetry, purely delicate, 
 in which there was some mention of love, my mother-in-law, who 
 knew the language slightly, stared at me, blushed, and signed for 
 tho ladies, earlier than usual, to withdraw, prepare tea, and leave 
 the men to themselves during the dessert.* I knew nothing of 
 
 * If this was Corinno's first English dinner, how did she know the 
 usual time for retiring ? — Tk. 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 
 
 239 
 
 this custom, which ' would not be believed in Venice.' — Society 
 agreeable without women ! — For a moment I thought her lady- 
 ship so displeased that she could not remain in the same room 
 with me ; but I was reassured by her motioning me to follow, 
 and never reverting to my fault during the three hours we passed 
 in the drawing-room, waiting for the gentlemen. At supper, 
 however, she told me, gently enough, ^hat it Ty as nnt. v.nnp.] in 
 England for youn^ ladies to talk^!^ above all, they must never 
 think of quoting poetry in which the name of love occurred. 
 ' Miss Edgarmond,' she added, 'J2i^ must pndpnv^r tn ffirgpti nlt- 
 t hat be]p "fi° >" Jtnly • it is to be wished that you had never known 
 such a country.' I passed the night in tears, my heart was op- 
 pressed. In the morning, I attempted to walk : there was so tre- 
 mendous(^fog that I could not see the_sjin^ which at least would 
 have reminded me of my own land; butT met my father, who 
 said to me : ' My dear chil d, it is not here as in.ItaVg j cmr wnrnfin 
 h^vp. pn nyf.^ipatinns sa ve theirtlomestic dutiesjj Your talents may 
 beguile your solitude, and you may win a husband who will pride 
 in them ; but in a country town like this, all that attracts atten- 
 tion excites envy, andgou will never marry at all if it is thought 
 that you hav^foreign mannerM Here, every one must submit 
 to the old prejudices of an obscure county. I passed twelve 
 years in Italy with your mother : their memory is very dear to 
 me. I was young then, and novelty delightful. I have now re- 
 turned to my original situation, and am quite comfortable )^^ 
 regular, p erhaps rather a m nnntnnnnn lifr, milrfn timr;, piirifi iin 
 Bcrceivect ; on e must not co mbat the habits of a place in which 
 ^ is e stabli shed ; we should be the su fferers if we did,Jo r, in a 
 sc^e like this, everything is kno wn, everything repea^S'^the™' 
 is liu luum-fui ' emirittti aB ) btrt rgfifficient for jealousy j ^nditjg bet- 
 ^r to bearjijittle^ennui than to_b«_beset_byj5ronderin^a^ejLth^ 
 every instant demand reasons for what you do.' — My dear Oswald, 
 you cair1brnni5l3ea~of"^ayanguishwhile my father spoke thus, 
 I remembered him all grace and vivacity, and I saw him stooping 
 beneath the leaden mantle which Dante invented for hell, and 
 which mediocrity throws over all who submit to her yoke. Enthusi- 
 
240 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 asm for nature and the arts seemed vanishing from my sight ; and 
 my soul, like a useless flame, consumed myself, having no longer 
 any food from without. As I was naturally mild, my step-mother 
 jhad nothing to complain of in my hehavior towards her; and for 
 ' my father, I loved him tenderly. A conversation with him was 
 ^y only remaining pleasure ; he was resigned, but he knew that 
 he was so ; while the generality of our country gentlemen drank, 
 hunted, and slept, fancying such life the wisest and best in the 
 world. Their content so perplexed me, that I asked myself if 
 my own way of thinking was not a folly, and if this solid existence, 
 which escaped grief, in avoiding thought and sentiment, was not 
 far more enviable than mine. What would such a conviction 
 have done for me ?nt mus t have taud it mn tn t^rplnrn ti" jjrijn 
 f ortun e that genius which in Itnly wtan rngir'^p'^ "g " blessing fr om 
 Heaven. \ 
 
 " Towards tBe close of autumn the pleasures of the chase fre- 
 quently kept my father from home till midnight. During his 
 absence I remained mostly in my own room, endeavoring to 
 improve myself; this displeased Lady Edgarmond. 'What good 
 will it do ?' she said ; ' will you be any th,e happier for it ?' The 
 words struck me with despair. /w'hat then is happinog°j Jju!;"1g!lj_ 
 -'if i t consist not in the development of p iir familtipR? 1Vfip|tit. m; 
 y-floE as well_kilL "'irHTP° r*'y"''"'ily is morally ?i If I must stifle 
 my mind, my soul, why preserve The miserable remains of life 
 that would but agitate me in vain ? But I was careful not to 
 ' speak thus before my mother-in-law. I had essayed it once or 
 twice, and her reply was, that women were made to manage 
 their husbands' houses, and watch over the health of their child- 
 ren ; all other accomplishments were dangerous, and the best advice 
 she cOTlld give me was to hide those I possessed. This discourse, 
 though so commonplace, was unanswerable; for enthusiasm is 
 peculiarly dependent on encouragement, and withers like a flower 
 beneath a dark or freezing sky. There is nothing easier than to 
 assume a high moral air, while condemning all the attributes of an 
 elevated spirit. Duty, the noblest destination of man, may be 
 distorted, like all other ideas, into an offensive weapon by which 
 
corinne; or, italy. 241 
 
 narrow minds silence their superiors as their foes. One would 
 think, if believing them, that duty enjoined the sacrifice of all 
 the qualities that confer distinction ; that wit were a fault, requir- 
 ing the expiation of our leading precisely the same lives with those 
 who have none ; but does duty prescribe like rules to all charac- 
 ters ? Are not great thoughts and generous feelings debts due 
 to the world, from all who are capable of paying them ? Ought 
 not every woman, like every man, to follow the bent of her own 
 talents ? Must we imitate the instinct of the bees, whose every 
 succeeding swarm copies the last, without improvement or variety ? 
 No, Oswald ; pardon the pride of your Corinne, I believeij^yself 
 intended for a different career. (Yet I feel myself r^bmissm to 
 those I love as the females then around me. /who had neither 
 jiidp mp.pt nor wishes of their own.\ If it pleased you to pass 
 your days in the heart of Scotland, I should be happy to live and 
 die with you ; but far from abjuring imagination, it would teach 
 me the better to enjoy nature, and the further the empire of my 
 mind extended, the more glory should I feel in declaring you its 
 lord. 
 
 " Lady Edgarmond was almost as importunate respecting my 
 thoughts as my actions. It sufficed not that I led the same life 
 as herself, it must be from the same motives ; for she wished all 
 the faculties she did not share to be looked on as diseases. We 
 lived pretty near the sea ; at night, the north wind whistled through 
 the long corridors of our old castle ; by day, even when we re- 
 united, it was wondrously favorable to our silence. The weather 
 was cold and damp; I could scarce ever leave the house with 
 pleasure. Nature, now, treated me with hostility, and deepened 
 my regrets of her sweetness and benevolence in Italy. With the 
 winter, we removed into the city, if so I may call a plaeeiwith- 
 out public buildings, theatre, music, or pictures. 
 
 " In the smallest Italian towns we have spectacles, improvisa- 
 tores, zeal for the fine arts, and a glorious sun ; we feel that we 
 liye — but I almost forgot it in this assembly of gossips, this de- 
 pository of disgusts, at once monotonous and varied. Births, 
 deaths, and marriages, composed the history of our society; and 
 21 
 
242 corinne; OB, Italy. 
 
 these three events here differed not the least from what they are 
 elsewhere. Figure to yourself what it must have been for me to 
 be seated at a tea-table, many hours each day after dinner^ mth 
 my step-mother's guests. These were the seven gravest womea 
 in Northumberland— tgp were old maids of fifty, timid as fifteen. 
 One lady would say^'My dear, do you think the water hot 
 
 ' enougfa to pour on tbffiTtea?' — 'My dear,' replied the other, 'I 
 think it is too soon ; the gentlemen are not ready yet.' — ' Do you 
 think they will sit late to-day, my dear ?' says a third. — ' I don't 
 
 I ^now,' answers a fourth ; ' I believe the election takes place next 
 week, so perhaps they are staying to talk over it.' — ' No,' rejoins 
 a fifth, ' I rather think they are occupied by the fox-hunt which 
 occurred last week ; there will be another on Monday ; but for all 
 that, I suppose they will come soon.' — ' Ah ! I hardly expect it,' 
 sighs the sixth; and all again is silence.* The convents I had 
 seen in Italy appeared all life to this ; and I knew not what would 
 become of me. Every quarter of an hour some voice was raised, 
 to ask an insipid question, which received a lukewarm reply; and 
 ennui fell back with redoubled weight on these poor women, who 
 
 X- must ha,ve though^ Jhrmnnlynn mn^*; iT'''""-'' ble. had not habit from 
 jnfancy instructed theg i *" ""'Inr " it-l At last the gentlemen came 
 up ; yet this long hoped for moment brought no great change. They 
 continued their conversation round the fire ; the ladies sat in tiie 
 centre of the room distributing cups of tea; and, when the hour 
 of departure arrived, each went home with her husband, ready for 
 another day^ differing from the last mer ely by its date on the 
 almanac. 11 cannot vet conceive how ^ talen^escaped a mortal 
 chill. \ There is no denying that every case has two sides; every 
 subject may be attacked or defended ; we may plead the cause of 
 life, yet much is to be said for^athjor a state thus resembling 
 it. Such was my situation. ^Ij/^Me)was a sound eitker use- 
 less or troublesome to its hearerSj^^fTSoufd not, as in London or 
 Edinburgh, enjoy the society of learnedTmeni who, with a taste 
 
 * What a flattering picture of female society, at the country-house of 
 nn intelligent English peer, not fifty years sinco ! — Tn 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 243 
 
 Mr intellectual conversation, would have appreciated that of a 
 foteigner, even if she did not quite conform with the strict 
 
 ^etiquettes of their country. I sometimes passed whole days with 
 Lady Edgarmond and her frien^sj ^ithout bearing one word tha t 
 e choed either (hough?arlfeeIingS , or beholding one expressive p^e.q- ^ 
 t ure. I InnlrrtTr" lihcfflfiflfl "^ ynnnjr rrjrls, fair, fresh, and beau- 
 t iful, but p erfectly immovable, i Strange union of c ontrast s ! All 
 ages partook of the same amusements ; they drank tea, and played 
 whist J ^'rwomen grew oldjin this routine here. Time was sure 
 not_to,jB«ss'them'5she well knew where they were to be found. 
 
 / /'An automaton yight ha yp fi1lp^i _ my placej and could have 
 aoog^^lLihatwas exptected ot me. in England, as elsewhere, the 
 
 ^verj) interestsThat do honor to humaniW worthily occupy the 
 leisure of men, whatever their retirement f jput tyhat remained for 
 womein n this isolated corner of the earth? Among the ladies 
 who visited us there were some not deficient in mind, though they 
 concealed it as a superfluity ; and towards forty this slight impulse 
 of the brain was benumbed like all the rest. Some of them I 
 suspected, must, by reflection, have matured their natural abili- 
 ties ; sometimes a look or murmured accent told of thoughts that 
 strayed from the beaten track ; but the petty opinions, all-power- 
 ful in their own little sphere, repressed these inclinations. A 
 woman was considered insane, or of doubtful virtue, if she ven- 
 tured in any way to assert herself; and, what was worse than all 
 these inconveniences, she could gain not one advantage bjthe 
 attempt. At first, ^ende avored to rouse this sleeping world. J I 
 proposed poetic readings and music, and a day was appointed for 
 this purpose ; but suddenly, one woman remembered that she had 
 been three weeks invited to sup with her aunt ; another, that she 
 was in mourning for an old cousin she had never seen, and who 
 had been dead for months ; a third, that she had some domestic 
 arrangements to make at home; all very reasonable; yet thus 
 forever were intellectual pleasures rejected; and I so often beard 
 them say, ' that cannot be done,' that, amid so many negations, 
 
 * Spelt vnsk in the original. — Tk. 
 
244 ooeinne; or, italy. 
 
 Wit to ?i»c] would have been to me the best of all. After 
 "sooie debates with myself I gave up my vain schemes, not that 
 my father forbade them, he even enjoined his wife to cease tor- 
 menting me on my studies; but her insinuations, her stolen 
 glances while I spoke, a thousand trivial hinderances, like the 
 chains the Lilliputians wove round Gulliver, rendered it impos- 
 |\6ible for me to follow my own will ; ^ I ended by doing as I saw 
 y others "do, though dying of impatience and disgiBt/^ By the time 
 "1 had passed four weary years thus, I really found, to my severe 
 distress, that my mind grew dull, and, in spite of me, was filled 
 by trifles. Where no interest is taken in science, literature, and 
 liberal pursuits, mere facts and insignificant criticisms necessarily 
 become the themes of dLsoourse ; and minds, strangers alike to 
 activity and meditation, become so limited as to render all inter- 
 course with them at once tasteless and oppressive. There was no 
 enjoyment near me save in a certain methodical regularity, whose 
 desire was that of reducing all things to its own level; a constant 
 grief to characters called by heaven to destinies of their own. 
 The ill-will I innocently excited, joined with my sense of the void 
 all around me, seemed to check even my breath. Envy is only 
 to be borne where it is excited by admiration ; but oh the misery 
 of living where jealousy itself awakens no enthusiasm ! where we 
 arc hated as if powerful, though in fact allowed less influence 
 than the obscurest of our rivals. It is impossible simply to 
 despise the opinions of the herd : they sink, in spite of us, into 
 the heart, and lie waiting the moments when^ur own superiority 
 has involved us in distress; then, then, even an apparently tem- 
 perate ' Well?' may prove the most insupportable word we can 
 hear. In vain we tell ourselves, ' such a man is unworthy to 
 judge me, such a woman is incapable of comprehending me :' the 
 human face has great power over the human heart ; and when we 
 read there a secret disapprobation, it haunts us in defiance of our 
 reason. The circle which surrounds you always hides the rest of 
 the world : the smallest object close before your eyes intercepts 
 their view of the sun. So is it with the set among whom we 
 dwell : nor Europe nor posterity can render us insensible to the 
 
CORINNEj OR, ITALY. 245 
 
 intrigues of our next door neighbor; /nd whoever would live 
 baopil v in the cultivation of _ggniusjaaJbl.toJie«AteeIa^ 
 cautious iji tha nt-^T fif hJH immfidiate mental atmosphRrB:| 
 
 " My only amusement was the(education\of my half-sister : her 
 mother did not wish her to learn music, but permitted me to teach 
 her drawing and Italian. I am persuaded that she must still re- 
 member both ; for I owe her the justice to say that she, even then, 
 evinced great intelligence. Oswald, if it was for your happiness 
 I toiled, I shall bless my efforts, even from the grave> I was now 
 nearly twenty : my father wished me to marry, and here the sad 
 fatality of my life begaij^trfLord Nevil was his intimate friend^ 
 and it was yourself of whom he thought as my husband^ Had 
 we then met and loved, our fate would have been cloudless. I 
 had heard such praises of you, that, whether from presentiment 
 or pride, I was extremely flattered with the hope of being your 
 wife. You were too young, foilQ was eighteen months your eld^T^ 
 but your love of study, they said, outstripped your age ; and "i 
 formed so sweet an idea of passing my days with such a character 
 as yours, was described, that I forgot all my prejudices against the 
 way of life usual to women in England. I knew, besides, that 
 you would settle in Edinburgh or London ; in either place I was 
 secure of finding congenial friends. I said then, as I think now, 
 that all my wretchedness sprung from my being tied to a little 
 town in the centre of a northern county. Great cities alone can 
 suit those who deviate imm hackneyed rules, if they design to 
 live in society : as life iswarie^ there, novelties are welcome; but 
 where persons are conJ.ent""Tfi1!h a monotonous routine, they love" 
 not to be disturbed by the oOoasional diversion, which only shows 
 them the tediousness of their erery-day life. I am pleased to tell 
 you, Oswald, though I had never seen you, that I looked forward 
 with real anxiety to the arrival af your father, \^o was coming 
 
 21* \ ^ Jy 
 
/•^ GOKINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 td pass a week with mine. The sentiment "had then too little 
 motive to have been aught less than, a foreboding of my future. 
 When I was presented to Lord Nevil, I desired, perhaps but too 
 ardently, to please him ; and did infinitely more than was required 
 foB. success; displaying all my talents, dancing, singing, and ex- 
 temporizing before him ; ^y Ibng imprisoned soul felt but too 
 blest in breaking from its chai^ Seven years of experience have 
 calmed me. I am more accustomed to myself. I know how to 
 wait. I have,^erctianoe, less confidence in thekindness of others, 
 less eagerness for their applause : indeed, it is possible that there 
 was then something strange about me ! We have so much fire and 
 imprudence in early youth, one faces life with such vivacity ! 
 Mind, however distinguished, cannot Bupply*the work of time; 
 and though we may speak of the world as if we knew it, we never 
 act up to our own views : there is a fever in our ideas that will not 
 let our conduct conform with our reasonings. I believe, though 
 not with certat"w<y, (that T «j'i"'^r'^:fi to T.nrj NoYil somewhat too 
 TOild ; for t,hniip;h hp ♦'•»a*f> ^me very am iablv. yet,_w hen h e le ft my 
 father, he said that, after jjji e reflecti^7'^J^^ti°°g t't his sonjeo 
 y oung j ai-tltejnarriage in que stionJ^ Oswald, what importacce do 
 you attach to this confession ? 1 might suppress it, but I will not. 
 Is it possible, however, that it will prove my condemnation ? I 
 am, I know, tamed now : and could your parent have witnessed 
 my love for you, Oswald — you were dear to him — we should 
 have been heard. My step-mother now formed a project for mar- 
 rying me to the son of her eldest brother, Mr. Maclinson, who 
 had an estate in our neighborhood. He was a man of thirty, rich, 
 handsome, highly born, and of honorable character; but so tho- 
 roughly convinced of a husband's right to govern, and a wife's 
 duty to obey, that a doubt on this subject would as much have 
 shocked him as a question of his own integrity. The rumors of 
 my eccentricity- did not alarm him. His house was so ordered, 
 the same things were every day performed there so punctually to 
 the minute, that any change was impossible. The two old aunts 
 who directed his establishment, the servants, the very horses, 
 could not to-morrow have acted differently from yesterday; nay, 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 247 
 
 the furniture which bad served three generations, would have 
 started of its own accord, had anything new approached it. The 
 effects of my arrival, therefore, might well be defined.. Habit there 
 reigned so securely, that any little liberties I might have taken 
 would but have beguiled a quarter of an hour once a week, with- 
 out being of any further consequence. Mr. Maclinson was a good 
 man, incapable of giving pain ; yet had L^poken to him of the 
 innumerable annoyances which may tormeni'an active or a feeling 
 mind, he would have merely thought that I had fee vapors, and 
 bade me mount my horse to take an airing. He desired to marry 
 me, because he knew nothing about the wishes of imaginative be- 
 ings, and(ad mired without understa nding meS had he but guessed 
 that 1 was a woman of genius, he migdt have feared that he could 
 not please me ; but no such anxiety ever entered his head. Judge 
 my repugnance against such an union. I decidedly refused. My 
 father supported me : his wife from this moment cherished the 
 deepest resentment : she was a despot at hearl^i3*ough timidity often 
 prevented her explaining her will when it was not anticipated, 
 she lost her temper; but if la aisted. after she had made the effort 
 of expressing it, she was the more unforgiving, for having been 
 thus fruitlessly drawn from her wonted ieasrje/ The whole town^ 
 was loud in my blame. ' So proper a ma'Jcn, such a fortune, so 
 estimable a man, of such a good family !' was the general cry. I 
 strove to show them why this very proper match could not suit 
 me, and sometimes made myself intelligible while speaking, but 
 when I was gone, my words left no impression : former ideas re- 
 turned ; and these old acquaintance were the more welcome from 
 having been a moment banished. One woman, much more mental 
 than the rest, though she bowed to all their external forms, took 
 me aside, when I had spoken with more than usual vivacity, and 
 said a few words to me which I can never forget : ' You give 
 yourself a great deal of trouble to no purpose, my dear \j^\i can- 
 not change' the nature of thingsTja little northern town, uncon- 
 nected with the world, uncivilizeaby arts or letters, must remain 
 what it is. If you are doomed to live here. ^ubmit chq p''f"]ly^ 
 but leave it if you can : these are your only alternatives.' This 
 
248 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 was evidently so rational, that I felt a greater respect for her than 
 for myself: with tastes like enough to my own, she knew how to 
 resign herself heneath the' lot which I found insupportable : with a 
 love of poetry, she could judge better the stubbornness of man. I 
 sought to know more of her, but in vain : her thoughts wandered 
 beyond her home, but her life was devoted to it. I even be- 
 lieve that she dreaded lest her intercourse with me should revive 
 her natural superiority; for what could she have done with it 
 there ? 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 " I MIGHT have passed my life in this deplorable situation had 
 I not lost my father. A sudden accident deprived me of my pro- 
 tector, my friend — the only being who had understood me in that 
 peopled desert. My despair was uncontrollable. I found myself 
 without one support. I had no relation save my step-mother, with 
 whom I was no more intimate now than on the day I met her 
 first. She soon renewed the suit of Mr. Maclinson j and though 
 she had no authority to command my marrying him, received no 
 one else at her house, and plainly told me that she should coun- 
 tenance no other match. Not that she much loved her kinsman ; 
 but she thought me presumptuous in refusing him, and made his 
 case her own, rather for the defence of mediocrity than from 
 family pride. Every day my state grew more odious. I felt 
 myself attacked by ^hathome-sick ye arning which renders imiel 
 Bjore terrible than death, j Imagmation is displeased by each sur- 
 rounding object — the oouhtry, climate, language, and customs : 
 life aa a whole, life in detail, each moment, each circumstance, has 
 its sting ; for one's own land inspires a thousand pleasures that 
 we guess not till they are lost. 
 
 " 'la'favella, i costiimi, 
 
 L'aria, i tronchi, il teTren,lo mura, il sassi.' 
 
 " ' Tongue, maimers, air, trees, earth, walls, every stone,* 
 
oobinne; or, italy. 249 
 
 says Melastasio. It is, indeed, a grief no more to look upon the 
 scenes of childhood :.the charm of their memory renews our youth, 
 ye't sweetens the thought of death. The tomb and cradle there 
 repose in the same shade ; while the years spent beneath stranger 
 skies seem like branches without roots. The generation which 
 preceded yours remembers not your birth j it is not the genera- 
 tion ot your sires : a host of mutual interests exist between you 
 and your countrymen, which cannot be understood by foreigners, 
 to whom you must explain everything, instead of finding the ini- 
 tiated ease that bids your thoughts flow forth secure the moment 
 you meet a compatriot. I could not remember without emotion, 
 such amiable expressions as ' Cara, Carissima.' I repeated them 
 as I w&lked alone, in imitation of the kindly welcomes so con- 
 trasted with the greetings I now received. Every day I wandered 
 into the fields. Of an evening, in Italy, I bad been wont to hear 
 rich music ; but now the cawing of rooks alone resounded beneath 
 the clouds. The fruits could scarcely ripen. I saw no vines : 
 the languid flowers succeeded each other slowly; black pines 
 covered the hills : an antique edifice, or even one fine picture, 
 would have been a relief for which I should have sought thirty miles 
 round in vain.'*' All was dull and sullen : the houses and their 
 inhabitants served but to rob solitude of its poetic horrors. There 
 was enough of commerce and of agriculture near for them to say : 
 ' You ought to be content, you want for nothing.' Stupid, super- 
 ficial judgment ! The hearth of happiness or sufiering is in our 
 own breast's secret sanctuary. At twenty-one, I had a right to 
 my mother's fortune, and whatever my father had left me. Then 
 did I first dream of returning to Italy, and devoting my life to 
 the arts. This project so inebriated me with joy, that, at first, I 
 could anticipate no objections ; yet, as my feverish hope subsided, 
 I feared to take an irreparable resolve, and thought on what my 
 acquaintance might say, to a plan which, from appearing perfectly 
 
 * Corinne should have rather lamented that she was not permitted to 
 explore the country which contains Alnwick, Hexham, Tynemouth, Holy 
 Isle and so many other scenes dear to the lovers bf antiquity, the fine 
 arts, history, and nature, ^ Tp. 
 
yZ50r~ir^ corinne; or, Italy. 
 
 easy, now seemed utterly impracticable; yet the image of a life 
 in the midst of antiquities and arts was detailed before my mind's 
 eye with so many charms, that I felt a fresh disgust at my tire- 
 some existence. My talent, which I had feared to lose, had in- 
 creased by my constant study of English literature. The depth 
 of thought and feeling which characterizes yorapoets had strength- 
 ened my mind without impairing my fancy. (I th erefore possessed 
 ttifljiil ^antages of a double frlnnatirm and tyrn mld narioflalitie O T 
 remembered the approbation paid by a few good critics in Florence 
 to my first poetical essays, and prided in the added success I 
 might obtain ; in sooth, I had great hopes of myself. And is not 
 such the first, the noblest illusion of youth ? Methought that I 
 should be mistress of the universe, th-e moment I escaped the 
 withering breath of vulgar malice ; but when I thought of flying 
 in secret, I felt awed by that opinion which swayed me much more 
 in England than in Italy ; for though I could not like the town 
 where I resided, I respected, as a whole, the country of which it 
 was a part. If my mother-in-law had deigned to take me to Lon- 
 don or Edinburgh/if she had thought of marrying me to a man 
 of mind, I shoul d never have renounced my niime, even for the 
 sake of returning to my own countryTl In fact, severe as she was, 
 I never could have found the strengtlfto alter my destiny, but for 
 a multitude of circumstances which conspired to terminate my un- 
 certainty. ThSr^ina is a Tuscan, and, though uneducated, she 
 converses in those noble and melodious phrases that lend such 
 grace to the discourse of our people. She was the only person 
 with whom I spoke my own language ; and this tie attached me 
 to her. I often found her sad, and dared not ask why, not doubt- 
 ing that she, like myself, regretted our country. I knew that I 
 should have been unable to restrain my own feelings, if excited 
 by those of another. There are griefs that are ameliorated by 
 communication ; but imaginary ills augment if confined, above all, 
 to a fellow-sufferer. A woe so sanctioned we no longer strive to 
 combat. My poor Th^r^sina suddenly became seriously ill ; and 
 hearing her groan night and day, I determined to inquire the 
 cause. Alas, she described exactly what I had felt myself. She 
 
corinne; or, italy. 251 
 
 had not reflected on the source of her pangs, and attached more 
 importance to local circumstances and particular persons j but the 
 sadness of the country, the insipidity of the town, the coldness of 
 its natives, the constraint of their habits — she felt as I did, and 
 cried incessantly : ' Oh, my native land ! shall I never see you 
 more ?' yet added, that she would not leave me, in heart-breaking 
 tones, unable to reconcile her love for me with her attachment to 
 our fair skies, and mother tongue. Nothing more afiected my 
 spirits than this reflex of my own feelings in a common mind, but 
 one that had preserved the Italian taste and character in all its 
 natural vivacity. I promised her that she should see her home 
 again. ' With you ?' she asked. I was silent : then she tore her 
 hair, again declaring that she could never leave me, though look- 
 ing ready to expire before my eyes as she said so. At last a 
 promise that I would return with her escaped me; and though 
 spoken but to soothe her, the joyous faith she gave it rendered it 
 solemnly binding. From that day she cultivated the intimacy of 
 some traders in the town, and punctually informed me when any 
 vessel sailed from the neighboring port for Genoa or Leghorn. I 
 heard her, but said nothing : she imitated my silence ; but her 
 eyes filled with tears. My health suffered daily from the climate 
 and anxiety. ^My min d requires gaye ty. I have often told you 
 gr rief would^ gm me' I struggle against it toO inU6h : to live 
 beneath sorrow^ofie'iSltist yield to it. I frequently returned to the 
 idea which ha^so occupied me since my father's death ; but I 
 loved Lucy dearly ; she was now nine years old ; for six had I 
 watched over her like a second mother. I thought, too, that, if I 
 departed jrfrivately, I should injure my own reputation, and that 
 the nam/ of my sister might thus be sullied. This apprehension, 
 for the/time, banished all my schemes. One evening, however, 
 when A was more than usually depressed, I found myself alone 
 with/Lady Edgarmond ; and, after an hour's silence, took so sud- 
 den/a distaste towards her imperturbable frigidity, that I began 
 the/ conversation by la,menting the. life I led, rather to force her 
 to /speak, than to achieve any other result ; but as I grew ani- 
 mated, I represented the possibility of my leaving England for- 
 
252 coeinne; or, italt. 
 
 ever. My mother-in-law was not at all alarmed ; but with a dry 
 indifference, which I shall never forget, replied ; ' You are of age, 
 Miss Edgarmond ; your fortune is your own ; you are the mis- 
 tress of your conduct ; but if you take any step which would dis- 
 honor you in the eyes of the world, you owe it to your family 
 to change your name, and be reported dead.' This heartless 
 scorn inspired me with such indignation, that for a while a desire 
 for vengeance, foreign to my nature, seized on my soul. That 
 impulse left me ; but the conviction that no one was interested in 
 my welfare broke every link which, till then, had bound me to 
 the house where I had seen my father. His wife certainly had 
 never pleased me, save by her tenderness for Lucy. I believe 
 that I must have conciliated her by the pains I had bestowed on 
 her child j which, perhaps, rather excited her jealousy ; for the 
 more sacrifices she imposed on her other inclinations, the more 
 .passionately she indulged the sole affection she permitted herself. 
 All that is quick and ardent in the human breast, mastered by her 
 reason in her other connections, spoke from her countenance when 
 anything concerned her daughter. At the height of my resent- 
 ment, Th6r^sina came to me, in extreme emotion, with tidings 
 that a ship had arrived from Leghorn, on board which were some 
 traders whom she knew: 'the best people in tHe world,' sTie 
 added, weeping ; ' for they are all Italians, can speak nothing but 
 Italian; in a week they sail again for Italy; and if madame is 
 
 decided ' — ' Keturn with them, my good Th&feina I" said I. 
 
 ' No, madame ; I would rather die here.' She left the room, and 
 I mused over my duty to my step-mother. It was plain that she 
 did not wish to have me with her; my influence over Lucy dis- 
 pleased her : she feared that the name I had gained there, as an 
 extraordinary person, would, one day, interfere with the establish- 
 ment of my sister : she had told me the secret of her heart, in 
 desiring me to pass for dead; and this bitter advice, which had, 
 at first, so shocked me, now appeared reasonable enough. ' Yes 
 doubtless I may pass for dead, wher^Tmyexistence is but a dis- 
 _,^wbed_sleep3 said I. « With nature, witL the sun, the artsTl 
 'shall awaken, and thp poor letters which compose my name, 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 253 
 
 graven on an idle tomb, will fill my station here as well as 1/ 
 These mental leaps towards liberty gave me not yet sufficient 
 power for a decided aim. There are moments when we trust the 
 force of our own wishes ; others, in which the habitual order of 
 things assumes a right to overrule all the sentiments of the soul. 
 I was in a state of indecision which might have lasted forever, at' 
 nothing obliged me to take an active part; but on the Sundaj 
 following my conversation with Lady Edgarmond, I heard, towards 
 evening, beneath my window, some Italians singing: they be- 
 longed to the ship from Leghorn. \ Th^r^sina had brought them 
 to give me this agre^able surprise. \ I cannot express what I felt : 
 a torrent of tears deluged my cheeksV All my reccoUections were 
 revived : nothing recalls the past lilcte music : it does more than 
 depict, it conjures it back, like som^ beloved shape, veiled in 
 mysterious melancholy. The musician^sung the delicious verseg 
 composed by Monti in his exile: — 
 
 " ' Bella Italia ! amate sponde ! 
 Pur vi torno, a riveder, 
 Trema in petto, e si confonde, . 
 L'alma oppressa dal piacer !' 
 
 " ' Beauteous Italia! beloved ever 1 
 Shall I behold thy shore again ? 
 Trembling — bewildered — my bonds I sever — 
 Pleasure oppresses my heart amd brain.' 
 
 In a kind of delirium, I felt for Italy all love can make one 
 feel — desire, enthusiasm, regret. I was no longer mistress of 
 myself; my whole soul was drawn towards my country : I yearned 
 to see it, hear it, taste its breath ; .each throb of my heart was a 
 call to my own smiling land. Were life offered to the dead, they 
 would not dash aside the stone that kept them in the tomb with 
 more impatience than I felt to rush from all the gloom around 
 me, and once more take possession of my fancy, my genius, and 
 of nature. Yet, at that moment, my sensations were too confused 
 for me to frame one settled idea. My step-mother entered my 
 room, and begged that I would order them to cease singing, as it 
 22 
 
254 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 was scandalous on the Sabbath. I insisted that they were to em- 
 bark on the morrow, and that it was six years since I had enjoyed 
 such a pleasure. She would not hear me; but said that it be- 
 hooved us, above all things, to respect the customs of the place in 
 which we lived ; then, from the window, bade her servants send 
 my poor countrymen away. They departed, singing me, as they 
 went, an adieu that pierced me to the heart. The measure of my 
 temptation was full. Th^r^ina, at all hazards, had, unknown to 
 me, made every preparation for my flight. Luey had been away 
 a week with a relative of her mother. The ashes of my father 
 did not repose in the country-house we inhabited : he had ordered 
 his tomb to be erected on his Scotch estate.* Enough : I set 
 forth without warning my step-mother, but left a letter, apprising 
 her of my plans. I started in one of those moments at which we 
 give ourselves up to destiny, ^h^n anything appears preferable to 
 ^vifed g/and insipidityAwhen youth inconsiderately trusts the 
 e, and sees it, inlEe heavens, like a bright star that promises 
 
 '-'V^^ 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " More anxious thoughts attacked me as I lost sight of the 
 English coast; but as I had not left there any strong attachment, 
 I was soon consoled, on arriving at Leghorn, and reviewing the 
 charms of Italy. I told no one my true name, f and took merely 
 that of Corinne, gliich the history of a Grecian poetess, the friend 
 of Pindar, had endeared to me.(29) My person was so changed 
 that I was secure against recognition. I had lived so retired in 
 Florence, that I had a right to anticipate my identity's remaining 
 unknown in Rome. Lady Edgarmond wrote me word of her 
 having spread the report that the physicians had prescribed a 
 
 * Did the authoress think it usual for the English to be buried in their 
 own grounds, whether consecrated or not ? — Te. 
 t Her real Christian name is never divulged even to the reader. — Ta 
 
corinne; or, italy. 
 
 255 
 
 voyage to the south for my health, and that I had di^d on my 
 passage. Her letter contained no comments. She remkted, with 
 great exactness, my whole fortune, which was considerable; but 
 wrote to me no more. Five years then elapsed ere I baheld you ; 
 during which I tasted much good fortune. My fame increased : 
 the fine arts and literature afforded me even more delieht in soli- 
 tude than in my own success, flknew not, till I m*t you, the 
 full power of sentimenyl my imagination sometimes colored and 
 discolored my illusions without giving me great uneasiness. I 
 had not yet been seized by any affection capable y«f overruling 
 me. Admiration, respect, and love had not ^c)iainl)} all the 
 faculties of my soul ; I conceived more charms than i ever found, 
 and remained superior to my own impressions. Do not insist on 
 me describing to you [Rnw t.wn mpn, ^hnsA pas sion for me is 
 too g enerally known , successiv ely occupied my life , bp*^"™ ^ i'"" -' 
 ■'^i outrage my own conviction in now reminding myself that 
 
 any one, save you, could ever have interested me : on this subject 
 I feel equal grief and repentance. I shall only tell you what you 
 have already heard from my friends. My free life so much 
 pleased me, that, after long irresolutions and painful scenes, I 
 l^ice broke the ties which the necessity of loving had made me 
 , conto^Tpnd could not resolve to render them irrevocable. A 
 e rman noble would have marrie d and takf i r*" *^" '''I mrn 
 lojintryv An Italian prince offered me a most brilliant establish- 
 ent in Rome. The first pleased and inspired me with the 
 highest esteem; but, in time, I perceived that he had few mental 
 /resources. When we were alone together, it cost me great trouble 
 to sustain a conversation, and conceal from him his own deficien- 
 cies, /ida red not display myself at my best for fear of embar- 
 rassinghim. ^ 1 foresaw that his regard for me must necessarily 
 decrease when I should cease to manage him ; and it is diflScult, 
 in such a case, to keep up one's enthusiasm :/a woman's feelin 
 , for a man any way inferior t.n herself ia rather pity than loTi^-i^ nd 
 the calculations, the reflections required by such a-state, wither 
 the celestial nature of an 'involuntary sentiment. The Italian 
 prince was all grace and fertility of mind : he participated in my 
 
 5*i 
 
256 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 'tastes, and loved my way of life; but, on an important occasion, 
 I remarked that he- wanted energy, and that, in any difficulties, I 
 should have to sustain and fortify him. There was an end of 
 love — fur women need support; and nothing chills them more 
 than the necessity of affording it. Thus was I twice undeceived, 
 not by faults or misfortunes, but by the spirit of observation, 
 which detected what imagination had concealed. I believed myself 
 destined never to love with the full power of my soul : sometimes 
 this idea pained me ; but more frequently I applauded my own 
 freedom — fearing the capability of suffering that impassioned im- 
 pulse which might threaten my happiness and my life. I always 
 reassured myself in thinking that my judgment was not easily 
 captivated, and that no man could answer jmy ideal oflmasculinel 
 mind and characterJ I hoped ever to escape the absol'tffe~power 
 of love, by perceiving some defects in those who charmed me. I 
 then knew not that there are faults which increase our passion by 
 the inquietude they cause. Oswald ! the melancholy indecision 
 which discourages you — the severity of your opinions — troubles 
 my repose, without decreasing my affection. I often think that it 
 will never make me happy ; but then it is always myself I judge, 
 and not you. And now you know my history — my flight from . 
 England — my change of name — ^ll J'llek^l^^ lmiji nsTflp(>^f I have 
 concealed nothing. Doubtless you think that fancy hath oft mis- 
 j<. led me ; but, if society bound us not by chains from which meff 
 I are free, what were there in my life which should prevent your 
 loving me ? Have I ever deceived ? have I ever wronged any 
 "^ one? has my mind been seared by vulgar interests? ^Siqcerity, 
 good-will, and pride — does God ask more from an^orpfiaft alone 
 in the world ? Happy the womenjf ho, in their early youth, meet 
 those they ought to love foreveiy}^ do I the less deserve you for 
 having known you too late?_jYet, I assure you, my Lord, and 
 you may trust my frankness ^ould I but p a.'ja my life near you.. 
 
 "* inetbiqkjyespite thn Insa nf thp grpafosh tinppjfiQc^ on,J gl/^fy 
 
 can imaginei frwoul d Tint, ha ynijy mio Perhaps such marriage 
 were to you afflacrifice^you may one day regret the fair Lucy, 
 my sister, to whoSi your father destined you. She is twelve 
 
 li 
 
CORINNE; OB ITALY. 257 
 
 years my younger ; her name is stainless as the first flower of 
 spring ; we should be obliged, in England, to revive mine, which 
 is now as that of the dead. Lucy, I know, has a pure and gentle 
 spirit; if I may judge from her childhood, s he may beco me capable 
 of understanding — loving you. /Dswald rvou are free. iW hen you 
 desire it, your ring shall be restored to you. Perhaps you wish 
 to hear, ere you decide, what I shall suffer if you leave me. I 
 know not : sometimes impetuous impulses arise within me, that 
 overrule my reason : should I be to blame, then, if they rendered 
 life insupportable ? It is equally true that I have a great faculty 
 of happiness; it interests me in everything: I converse with 
 pleasure, and revel in the minds of others— in the friendship 
 they show me — in all the wonders of art and nature, which affec- 
 tation bath not stricken dead. But would it be in my power to 
 live when I no longer saw you ? it is for you to judge, Oswald : 
 you know me better than I know myself. I am not responsible 
 for what I may experience : it is he who plants the dagger should 
 guess whether the wound is mortal ; but if it were so, I should v^ 
 forgive you. My happiness entirely depends on t hr ifFnrlinn^ yfftf^i 
 -)iave paid me for thtf last a iY mnnt^hs y I defy all your delicacy ^ 
 to blind me, were it in the least degree impaired. Eanish from 
 your mind all idea of duty. In love, I acknowledged no promises 
 no security : God alone can raise the flower which storms have 
 blighted. A tone, a look, will be enough to tell me that your 
 heart is not the same ; and I shall detest all you may offer me 
 instead of love — your love, that heavenly ray, my only glory ! 
 Be free, then, Nevil ! now — ever — even if my husband ; for, did 
 you cease to love, my death would free you from bonds that else 
 would be indissoluble. When you have read this, I would see 
 you : my impatience will bring me to your side, and I shall read 
 my fate at a glance; for grief is a rapid poison — and the heart, 
 though weak, never mistakes the signal of irrevocable destiny. 
 
 "Adieu." 
 22* 
 
258 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 BOOK XV. 
 
 THE ADIEU TO ROME, AND JOURNEY TO VENICE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was with deep emotion that Oswald read the narrative of 
 Corinne : many and varied were the confused thoughts that agi- 
 tated him. Sometimes he felt hurt by the picture she drew of an 
 English country, and despairingly exclaimed : " Such a woman 
 could never be happy in domestic life I" then he pitied what she 
 had suffered there, and could not but admire the simple frankness 
 of her recital. He was jealous of the affection she had felt ere 
 she met him ; and the more he sought to hide this from himself, 
 the more it tortured him ; but above all was he afflicted by his 
 father's part in her history. His anguish was such that, not 
 knowing what he did, he rijshed forth beneath the noonday sun, 
 when the streets of Naples. were deserted, and their inhabitants 
 all secluded in the shade. He hurried at random towards Portici : 
 the beams which fell on his brow at once excited and bewildered 
 his ideas. Corinne, meanwhile, having waited for some hours, 
 could no longer resist her desire to see him. She entered his 
 room ; he was not there : his absence at such a crisis, fearfully 
 alarmed her. She saw her papers on the table, and doubted not 
 that, after reading them, he had left her forever. Each moment's 
 attempt at patience added to her distress; she walked the chamber 
 hastily, then stopped, in fear of losing the least sound that might 
 announce his return ; at last, unable to control her anxiety, she 
 descended to inquire if any one had seen Lord Nevil go out, and 
 which way he went. The master of the inn replied : " Towards 
 Portici;" adding, "that his Lordship surely would not walk far 
 at such a dangerous period of the day." This terror, blending 
 with so many others, determined Corinne to follow him, though 
 her head was undefended from the sun. The large white pave- 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 259 
 
 ments of Naples, formed of lava, redoubling the light and heat, 
 scorched and dazzled her as she walked. She did not intend 
 going to Portici, yet advanced towards it with increasing speed, 
 meeting no one ; for even the animals now shrunk from the ardors 
 of the clime. Olouds of dust filled the air, with the slightest 
 breeze, covering the fields, and concealing all appearance of ver- 
 dant life. Every instant Corinne felt about to fallj not even a 
 treo was near to support her. Eeason reeled in this burning 
 desert : a few steps more, and she might reach the royal palace, 
 beneath whose porch she would find both shade and water j but 
 her strength failed — she could no longer see her way — her head 
 swam — a thousand flames, more vivid even than the blaze of day, 
 danced before her eyes — an unrefreshing darkness suddenly suc- 
 ceeded them — a cruel thirst con.sumed her. One of the Lazza- 
 roni, the only human creature expected to brave these fervid 
 horrors, now came up ; she prayed him to bring her a little water ; 
 but the man beholding so beautiful and elegant a woman alone, 
 on foot, at such an hour, concluded that she must be insane, and 
 ran from her in dismay. Fortunately, Oswald at this moment 
 returned : the voice of Corinne reached his ear. He hastened 
 towards her, as she was falling to the earth insensible, and btjre 
 her to the palace portico, where he called her back to life by the 
 tenderest cares. As she recognized him, her senses s*ll wandered, 
 and she wildly exclaimed : " You promised never to depart with- 
 out my consent ! I may now appear unworthy of your love ; but 
 a promise, Oswald!" — "Corinne," he cried, "the thought of 
 leaving you never entered my heart. I would only reflect on our 
 fate ; and wished to recover my spirits ere I saw you again." — 
 " Well," she said, struggling to appear calm, " you have had time, 
 during the long hours that might have cost my life ; time enough 
 — therefore speak ! tell me what you have resolved !" Oswald, 
 terrified at the accents, which betrayed her inmost feelings, knelt 
 before her, answering, " Corinne, my heart is unchanged ; what 
 have I learned that should dispel your enchantment 1 Only hear 
 me ;" and as she trembled still more violently, he added, with much 
 earnestness : " Listen fearlessly to one who cannot live, and know 
 
260 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 thou art unhappy." — "Ah," she sighed, "it is of my happiness 
 you speak J your own, then, no longer depends on me? Yet I 
 repulse not your pity ; for, at this moment, I have need of it : but 
 think you I will live for that alone?" — "No, no, we will both 
 live for love. I will return." — "Return !" interrupted Corinne, 
 " Ah, you do go, then ? What has happened ? how is all changed 
 since yesterday ' hapless wretch that I am!" — "Dearest love," 
 returned Oswald, " be composed ; and let me, if I can, explain 
 my meaning; it is better than you suppose, much better; but it 
 is necessary, nevertheless, that I should ascertain my father's 
 reasons for opposing our union seven years since : he never men- 
 tioned the subject to me ; but his most intimate surviving friend, 
 in England, must know his motives. If, as I believe, they sprung 
 from unimportant circumstances, I can pardon your desertion of 
 ypur father's land and mine; to so noble a country love may 
 attach you yet, and bid you prefer homefelt peace, with its gentle 
 and natural virtues, even to the fame of genius. I will hope 
 everything, do everything; if my father decides against thee, 
 Corinne, I will never be the husband of another, though then I 
 cannot be thine." A cold dew stood on his brow : the effort he 
 had made to speak thus cost him so much agony, that for some 
 time Corinne could think of nothing but the sad state in which 
 she beheld ^im. At last she took his hand, crying, " So, you 
 return to England without me." Oswald was silent. " Cruel !" 
 she continued: "you say nothing to contradict my fears; they 
 are just, then, though even while saying so I cannot yet believe 
 it." — " Thanks to your cares," answered Nevil, « I have regained 
 the life so nearly lost : it belongs to my country during the war. 
 If I can marry you, we part no more. I will restore you to 
 your rank in England. If this too happy lot should be forbidden 
 me, I shall return, with the peace, to Italy, stay with you long, 
 and change your fate in nothing save in giving you one faithful 
 friend the more." — ' Not change my fate !" she repeated ; " you, 
 who have become my only interest in the world ! to whom I owe 
 the intoxicating draught which gives happiness or death ? Yet 
 tell me, at least, this parting, when must it be ? How many days 
 
on, ITALY. 261 
 
 ore left me ?" — " Beloved 1" he cried, pressing her to his heart, " I 
 swear, that for three months I will not leave thee; not, perhaps, 
 even then." — " Three months !" she burst forth; "am I to live 
 so long? it is much, I did not hope so much. Come, I feel 
 better. Three months!' — what a futurity!" she added, with a 
 mixture of joy and sadness, that profoundly affected Oswald, and 
 both, in silence, entered the carriage which took them back tn 
 Naples. 
 
 CHAPTBE II. 
 
 Castel Forte awaited them at the inn. A report had been 
 circulated of their marriage : it greatly pained the Prince, yet he 
 came to assure himself of the fact; to regain, as a friend, the 
 society of his love, even if she were forever united to another. 
 The state of dejection in which he beheld her, for the first time, 
 occasioned him much uneasiness ; but he dared not question her, 
 as she seemed to avoid all conversation on this subject. There 
 ire situations in which we dread to confide in any one; a single 
 word, that we might say or hear, would suffice to dissipate the 
 illusion that supports our life. The self-deceptions of impassioned 
 sentiment have the peculiarity of humoring the heart, as we 
 , humor a friend whom we fear to afflict by the trut^ thus, un- 
 consciously, trust we our own griefs to the protection of our own 
 pity. 
 
 Next day, Corinne, who was too natural a person to attempt 
 producing an effect by her sorrows, strove to appear gay; /believ- 
 ing that the best method of retaining Oswald was to seenrstTat- 
 tractive as formerljTj She, therefore, introduced some interesting 
 topic ; but suddenly her abstraction returned, her eyes wandered ; 
 the woman who had possessed the greatest possible faculty of address 
 now hesitated in her choice of words, and sometimes used expres- 
 sions that bore not the slightest reference to what she intended 
 saying : then she would laugh at herself, though though tears ; 
 and Oswald, Overwhelmed by the wreck he had ma deJwould have 
 
 i5- 
 
 
262 
 
 corinne;~ou, italy. 
 
 sought to be alone with her, but she carefully denied him an op- 
 portunity. ' '■ - ' 
 
 " What would you learn from me ?" she said one day, when 
 for an instant, he insisted on speaking with her. " I regret my- 
 self — that is all ! I had some pride in my talents.^UL^ovedsuc- 
 • ?S^) glory. The praiseSjjgyen o f indifferen t persons, were object s 
 
 i"^niY '■mbi'^'"' ^ = """i^ T nare for nothing: and i c 18 not hap pinegs 
 that weans me from these vain pleasures, but a vast discourage - 
 
 jnent. 1 accuse not you ; it springs from myself; perhaps I may 
 yet triumph over it. Many things pass in the depths of the soul 
 that we can neither foresee nor direct; but I do you justice, 
 Oswald : I see you suffer for me. I sympathize with you, too ; 
 why should not pity bestow her gifts on us ? Alas ! they might 
 be offered to all who breathe, without proving very inapplicable." 
 Oswald, indeed, was not less wretched than Co^inne3lc_^e 
 bved her strongly : but her hi°*"''T ^ti(] ^"" ided his affect ions^ 
 
 ^is way ^^tL-tljlinJnng.') He seemed to perceive clearly mat his 
 father 'had prejudged everything for him-; and that he could 
 only wed Corinne in defiance of such warning ; yet how resign 
 her ? His uncertainty was more painful than that which he hoped 
 to terminate by a knowledge of her life. On her part,^ehad 
 
 not wished thatj h'^ ^i'^t pf -aaarri^fre fihoiild yniff tipr trt QgvfjH^ 
 SO she could have been certain that he would never leave her, she 
 would hav^Fanted no more to render her content; but she knew 
 him well enough to understand, that he could conceive no hap- 
 piness save in domestic life; and would never abjure the design 
 of marrying her, unless in ceasing to love. / His departure for 
 Engl and app e ared the signal for her death . She was aware how 
 great an influence tne manners and opinions of his country held 
 over his mind. Vainly did he talk of passing his life with her 
 in Italy ; she doubted not that, once returned to his h^e, the 
 thought of quitting it again woulite odious to him. ifehe felt 
 that she o'^ed her power to her ohari^s ; and what is thalpower 
 in absence r]) (vV h at are the tnetoeries of imagination to a man 
 encircledby all the realities of social order, thgmore imperious fropi- 
 being iounded^oo. pure and noble reason ?_jTormen ted by these 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 263 
 
 reflections, ^OTinne strove to exert some power over her fondness. 
 She tried to; speak with Castel Forte on literature and the fine 
 arts : but, if Oswald joined them, the dignity of his mien, the 
 melancholy look which seemed to ask, " Why will you renounce 
 me ?" disconcerted all he r attempts. Twenty times would she 
 have told him, that /his irresolution offended Eer/^ and that she 
 was decided to leave him ; but she saw him now lean his head 
 upon hia hand, as if bending breathless beneath his sorrows ; now 
 musing beside the sea, or raising his eyes to heaven, at the sound 
 of music; and these simple changes, whose magic wa^ known but 
 to herself, suddenly overthrew her determination. ^ look, an 
 accent, a certain grace of gesture, reveals to love the nearest 
 secrets of the soul y and, perhaps, a countenance, so apparently 
 cold as Nevil's, cm never be read, save by those to whom it is 
 dearest. Impartiality guesses nothing, judges only by what is 
 displayed. Corinne, in solitude, essayed a test which 'had suc- 
 ceeded when she had but believed that she loved. She taxed her 
 spirit of observation (which was capable of detecting the slightest 
 foibles) to represent Oswald beneath less seducing colors; but 
 there was nothing about him less than noble, simple, and affect- 
 ing. How thefl 3efeat the spell of gn(pi»rfpnt.1y Tmtnr^ l a, m'mdfj 
 Ij.is only Affectation ; which can at once awaken the heart, as- 
 tonished at eTer-having loved. Besides, yihere ^exia||;d hp.twspn 
 Oswald and Corinne a sin gular, all-pQwerfulN [ j;mnath^d Their 
 tastes were not the same ; their opinions rarely accorded ; yet in 
 the centre,^, each soul dwelt kindred mysteries, drawn from one 
 source ; la '■'sei'eret likeness, that attes ts t.hf- sijmp i^-t^^y, T.(^^j,yj,y 
 djfferentlv modified by s-yfernal rircnTTistanresA Corinne, there- 
 fore, found, to her dismay, that she had but indteased her passion, 
 by thus minutely considering Oswald anew, even in her very 
 struggle against his image. She invited Castel Forte to return 
 to Eome with them. Nevil knew she did this to avoid being 
 alone with him : he felt it sadly, but could not oppose. He was 
 no longer persuaded that what he might offer Corinne would 
 constitute her content; and this thought rendered him timid. 
 She, the while, had hoped that he would refuse the Prince's 
 
264 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 company. Their situation was no longer honest as of old; though 
 as yet without actual dissimulation, restraint already troubled a 
 regard, which for six months had daily conferred on them a bliss 
 almost unqualified. Keturning by Capua and Graeta, scenes which 
 she had so lately visited with such delight, Corinne felt that these 
 beauties vainly called on her to reflect their smile. When such a 
 sky fails to disperse the clouds of care, its laughing contrast bu-i 
 augments their gloom. 
 
 They arrived at Terracina on a deliciously refreshing eve. Co- 
 rinne withdrew after supper. Oswald went forth, and his heart, 
 like hers, led him towards the spot where they had rested on their 
 way to Naples. He beheld her kneeling before the rock on which 
 they sat ; and, as he looked on the moon, saw that she was veiled 
 by a cloud, as she had been two months since at that hour. Co- 
 rinne, at his approach, rose,jijd pointing upwards, said : " Have 
 I not reason to believe ii^msnal3ls there not some compassion 
 in that heaven ? It warned me of the future ; and to-night, you 
 see, it mourns for me. Forget not, Oswald, to remark, if such a 
 cloud passes not over the moon when I am dying." — "Corinne," 
 he cried, " have I deserved that you should kill me ? It were 
 easily done : speak thus again, and you will see hoto easily — but 
 for what crime ? Your mode of thinking lifts you above the 
 world's opinion : in your country it is not severe; and if it were, 
 your geaius could surmount it. {Whatever happens, .1 will liv e 
 jlfiflt _you; whence,J jien, this Hpgpa;r?>T If j cannot be your 
 husband, without offence to the memory of one who reign^ equally 
 with yourself in my breast — do you not love me well enough to 
 find some solace inthe tender devotion of mine every instant? 
 Have you not still ^y ring th-it •'■">-"'^ ■jH'^^j^j-J^ "Tirill re- 
 turn it, Oswald." — "Never!" — "Ah, yes; when you desire it, 
 the ring itself will tell me. An old legend says that the dia- 
 mond, more true than man, dims when the giver has betrayed 
 our trust."(30) — "Corinne," said Oswald, "dare you speak such 
 treason? your mind is lost; it no longer knows me." — "Pardon! 
 ob, pardon me ! in love like mine, the heart, Oswald, is gift«d 
 suddenly with most miraculous instincts ; and its own sufferings 
 
OR, ITALY. 265 
 
 become oracles. What portends, then, the heavy palpitation of 
 •my heart ? Ah, love, I should not fear it, if it were but my knell !" 
 She fled, precipitately, dreading to remain longer with him. 
 She could not dally with her grief, but sought to break from it; 
 yet it returned but the more violently for her repulse. The next 
 day, as they crossed the Pontine Marsh, Oswald's care of her was 
 even more scrupulous than before ; she received it with the sweet- 
 est thankfulness : but there was something in her look that said : 
 " Why will you not kt me die 1" 
 
 ^\ 
 
 >^vX\ CHAPTER III. ,, r\ 
 
 / What a desert seems Rome, in going to it from Naples ! En- 
 tering by the gate of St. John Lateran, you traverse but long, 
 
 1 solitary streets j they please afresh after a little time : but, on 
 just leaving a lively, dissipated population, it is melancholy to be 
 thrown upon one's self, even were that self at ease. Besides this, 
 Eome, towards the end of July, is a dangerous residence. The 
 malaria renders many quarters uninhabitable ; and the contagion 
 often spreads through the whole city. This year, particularly, 
 every face bore the impress of apprehension. Corinne was met 
 at her own door by a monk, who asked leave to bless her house 
 against infection : she consented ; and the priest walked through 
 the rooms, spnttkUiig holy water, and repeating Latin prayers. 
 Lord Nevil smiled at this ceremony — Corinne's heart melted over 
 it. " I find indefinable charms," she said, " in all that is reli- 
 gious, or even superstitious, while nothing hostile nor intolerant 
 blends with it. Divine aid is so needful, when our thoughts stray 
 from the common path, that the highest minds most require su- 
 perhuman care." — "Doubtless such want exists, but can it thus 
 be satisfied ?" — " I never refuse a prayer associated with my own, 
 from whomsoever it is offered me." — " You are right," said Nevil, 
 giving his purse to the old friar, who departed with benedictions 
 on them both. When the friends of Corinne heard of her return, 
 23 
 
266 CORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 they flocked to see her ; if any wondered that she was not Os- 
 wald's wife, none, at least, asked the reason : the pleasure of re- 
 gaining her diverted them from every other thought. Oorinne 
 endeavored to appear unchanged; but she could not succeed. 
 She revisited the works of art that once afforded her such vivid 
 pleasure ; but sorrow was the base of her every feeling now. At 
 the Villa Bdrghese, or the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she no longer 
 enjoyed that reverie on the instability of human blessings, which 
 lends them a still more touching character. A fixed, despondent 
 pensiveness absorbed her. Nature, who ever speaks to the heart 
 vaguely, can do nothing for.it when oppressed by real calamities. 
 Oswald and CorinM were worse than unhappy ; for actual misery 
 oft causes such emotions as relieve the laden breast ; and from 
 the storm may burst a flash pointing the onward way : but mutual 
 restraint, and fruitless efforts to escape pursuing recollections, 
 ^ade them even discontented with one anothgrTj Indeed, how 
 can we sutt'er thus, without accusing the being we love as the 
 cause ? True, a word, a look, suffices to efface our displeasure ; 
 but that look, that word, may not come when most expected, or 
 most needful. V ^othing in love ca n be premaiitaieS : it is as a 
 power divine, that thinks and feels within ns, unswayed by our 
 control. 
 
 A fever, more malignant than had been known in Rome for 
 some years, now broke out suddenly. A young woman was at- 
 tacked ; her friends and family refused to fly, and perished with 
 her. The next house experienced the same devastation. Every 
 hour a holy fraternity, veiled in white, accompanied the dead to 
 interment ; themselves appearing like the ghosts of those they 
 followed. The bodies, with their faces uncovered, are borne on 
 a kind of litter. Over their feet is thrown a pall of gold or rose- 
 colored satin ; and children often unconsciously play with the cold 
 hands of the corpse. This spectacle, at once terrific and familiar, 
 is graced but by the monotonous murmur of a psalm, in which 
 the accent of the human soul can scarce be recognized. One 
 evening, when Oswald and Corinne were alone together, and he 
 more depressed than usual by her altered manner, he heard, be- 
 
COEINNE; or, ITALY. 267 
 
 Death the windows, these dreary sounds, announcing a funeral; 
 he listened awhile in silence, and then said : 'iJPerhaps to-morrow 
 I may be seized by this same malady, against which there is no 
 defence ; you will then wish that you had said a few kind words 
 to me on the day that may be my last. Corinne, death threatens 
 us both closely. ( Are there not miseries enough^n life, that we 
 should thus mutually aug ment each otner'^ 1'^ btruck by tne 
 idea ot his danger, she now entreated him to leave Kome instant- 
 ly ; he stubbornly refused : she then proposed their going to 
 Venice ; to this he cheerfully assented : it was for her alone that 
 he had trembled. Their departure was fixed for the second day 
 from this ; but on that morning, Oswald, who had not seen Go- 
 rinne the night before, received a note, informing him that in- 
 dispensable business obliged her to visit Florence ; but that she 
 should rejoin him at Venice in a fortnight; she begged him to 
 take Ancona in his way, and gave him a seemingly' important 
 commission to execute for her there. Her style was more calm 
 and considerate than he had found it since they left Naples. 
 He believed her implicitly, and prepared for his journey; but, 
 wishing once more to behold the dwelling of Corinne ere he left 
 Eome, he went thither, found it shut up, and rapped at the door. 
 An old woman appeared,, told him that all the other servants had 
 gone with her mistress, and would not answer another word to 
 his numerous questions. He hastened to Prince Castel Forte, 
 who was as surprised as himself at Corinne's abrupt retirement. 
 Nevil, all anxiety, imagined that her agent at Tivoli must have 
 received some instructions as to her aflkirs. He mounted his 
 horse with a promptitude unusual to him, and, in extreme agita- 
 tion, rode to her country house ; its doors were open ; he entered, 
 passed some of the rooms without meeting any one, till he reached 
 that of Corinne : though darkness reigned there, he saw her on 
 her bed, with Thfo&ina alone beside her; he uttered a cry of re- 
 cognition : it recalled her to consciousness : she raised herself, 
 saying eagerly: "Do not come near me ! I forbid you! I die if 
 you do I" 
 
 Oswald felt as if his beloved were accusing him of some crime 
 
268 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 which she had all at once suspected : believing himself hated — 
 scorned — -he fell on his knees, with despairing submission which 
 suggested to Corinne the idea of profiting by this mistake, and 
 she commanded him to leave her forever, as if he had in truth, 
 been guilty. Speechless with wonder, he would have obeyed, 
 when Th^r&ina sobbed forth : " Oh, my Lord ! will you, then, 
 desert my dear lady ? She has sent every one away, and would 
 fain banish me too r for fehe has caught the infect iou s fever j^ 
 
 These words instantly explained the affectingltralagem of Co- 
 rinne; and Oswald clasped her to his heart, with a transport of 
 tenderness, such as he had never before experienced. In vain she 
 repelled him ; in vain she reproached Thdr&ina. Oswald bade the 
 good creature withdraw, and lavished his tearful kisses on the face 
 of his adored. " Now, now," he cried, " thou shalt not die with- 
 out me : if the fatal poison be in thy veins, at least, thank Heaven, 
 I breathe it in thine arms." — " Dear, cruel Oswald \" she sighed, 
 " to what tortures you condemn me ! God ! since he will not live 
 without roe, let not my better angel perish ! no, save him, save 
 him !" Here her strength was lost, and, for eight days, she re- 
 mained in the greatest danger. In the midst of her delirium, she 
 would cry : " Keep Oswald from me ! let him not come here ! never 
 tell him where I am !" "When her reason returned, she gazed on 
 him, murmuring : " Oswald ! in death as in life you are with me j 
 we shall be reunited." When she perceived how pale he was, 
 a deadly terror seized her, and she called to his aid the physicians, 
 who had given her a strong proof of devotion in never having 
 abandoned her. Oswald constantly held her burning hands in 
 his, and finished the cup of which she had drunk; in fact, with 
 such avidity did he share her perils, that she herself ceased at 
 last to combat this passionate self-sacrifice. Leaning her head 
 upon his arm, ^e resigned herself to his wil^ The beings who 
 so love that they feel the impossibility" ot living without each' 
 other, may well attain the noble and tender intimacy which puts 
 all things in common, even death itself. (31) Happily, Lord 
 Nevil did not take the disease through which he so carefully 
 nursed Corinne. She recovered ; but another malady penetrated 
 
COEINNE; or, ITALY. 269 
 
 yet deeper into her breast. The generosity of her lover, alas ! 
 redoubled the attachment she had borne him. 
 
 CHAPTEE IV- 
 
 It was agreed that Neville and Corinne should visit Venice. 
 They had relapsed into silence on their future prospects, but 
 spoke of their affection more confidingly than ever : both avoided 
 all topics that could disturb their present mutual peace. A day 
 passed with Mm was to her such enjoyment ! he seemed so to 
 revel in her conversation j he followed her every impulse ; 
 studied her slightest wish, with so sustained an interest, that it 
 appeared impossible he could bestow so much felicity without 
 himself being happy. Corinne drew assurances of safety from 
 the bliss she tasted. After some months of such habits we believe 
 them insemirable from our existence. Her agitation w^s calmed 
 again, andper natural heedlessness of ♦j^ ^i't i T""" r°'^''n"'^ Yet, 
 on the eve of quitting Kome, Slia btieame extremely melancholy : 
 this time she both hoped and feared that it was forever. The 
 night before her departure, unable to sleep, she heard a troop of 
 S^Eomans singin g in the moonlight. She could not resist her de- 
 sire to iollow them, and once more wander through that beloved 
 scene.. She dressed ; and bidding her servants keep the carriage 
 within sight of her, put on a veil, to avoid recognition, and at 
 some distance, pursued the musicians. They paused on the 
 bridge of St. Angelo, in front of Adrian's tomb : in such a spot 
 music seems, to express the vanities and splendors of the world. 
 One might fancy one beheld in the air the imperial shade won- 
 dering to find no other trace left of his power on earth except 
 a tomb. The band continued their walk, singing as they went, 
 to the silent night, when the happy ought to sleep : their pure 
 and gentle melodies seem designed to solace wakeful suffering. 
 Drawn onward by this resistless spell, Corinne, insensible to fa- 
 tigue, seemed winging her way along. They also sang before 
 23* 
 
270 corinne; ok, Italy. 
 
 Antoninus's pillar, and then at Trajan's column: they saluted 
 the ohelisk of St. John Lateran. The ideal language of music 
 worthily mates the ideal expression of works like these : enthu- 
 siasm reigns alone, while vulgar interests slumber. At last the 
 singers departed, and left Corinne near the Coliseum : she wished 
 to enter its inclosure and bid adieu to ancient Rome. 
 
 Those who have seen this place but by day cannot judge 
 of the impression it may make. The sun of Italy should shine 
 on festivals ; but the moon is the light for ruins. Sometimes, 
 through the openings of the amphitheatre, which seems towering 
 to the clouds, a portion of heaven's vault appears like a dark blue 
 curtain. The plants that cling to the broken walls all wear the 
 hues of night. The soul at once shudders and melts on finding 
 itself alone with nature. One side of this edifice is much more 
 fallen than the other; the two contemporaries make an unequal 
 struggle against time. He fells the weakest; the other still 
 resists, but soon must yield. 
 
 " Ye solemn scenes !" cried Corinne, " where, at this hour, no 
 being breathes beside me — where but the echoes of my own voice 
 answer me — how are the storms of passion calmed by nature, who 
 thus peacefully permits so many generations to glide by ! Has 
 not the universe some better end than man ? or are its marvels 
 scattered here, merel yto b e. reflected in his mind ? Oswalli ! why 
 do I love with such udolatr^ ? why live but for the feelings of a 
 day compared to the inhnlte hopes that unite us with divinity? 
 My God ! if it be true, as I believe, that we admire thee 
 the more capable we are of reflection, make my own mind my 
 refuge against my heart ! The noble being whose gentle looks I 
 can never forget is but a perishable mortal like myself. Among 
 the stars there is eternal love, alone sufficing to a boundless 
 heart." Corinne remained long in these ideas, and, at last, 
 turned slowly towards her own abode ; but, ere she re-entered it, 
 she wished to await the dawn at St. Peter's, and from its dome 
 take her last leave of all beneath. Her imagination represented 
 this edifice as it must be, when, in its turn, a wreck — the theme 
 of wonder for yet unborn ages. The columns, now erect, half 
 
CORINNE; Ok», IT ALT. V) 271 
 
 'bedded in earth ; tLe porch dilapidated, with the Egyptian obelisk 
 exnltjng over the decay of novelt ies, wroug ht for an earthly im- 
 
 mortality. From the summit of cJ^JPeter s Corinne beheld day 
 
 rise over Kome, whichjinits uncultivatea Campagna, looks like 
 the oasis of a LibyanQ^em Devastation is around it 5 but the 
 multitude of spires and cupolas, over which St. Peter's rises, give 
 a strange beauty to its aspect. This city may boast one peculiar 
 charm : we love it as an animated being : its very ruins are as 
 friends, from whom we cannot part without farewell. 
 
 Corinne addressed the Pantheon, St. Angelo's, and all the sites 
 that once renewed the pleasures of her fancy. " Adieu !" she 
 said, " land of remembrances ! scenes where life depends not on 
 events, nor on society ; where enthusiasm refreshes itself through 
 the eyes, and links the soul to each external object. I leave you, 
 to follow Oswald, not knowing to what fate he may consign me. 
 J prefer him to the independenfl o - which -h gre afforded me suc h 
 hap py days)) 1 may return to morej but for a broken heart 
 and blighted mind, ye arts and. monuments so oft invoked, while 
 I was exiled beneath bis stormj sky, ye could do nothing to 
 console !" 
 
 She wept ; yet thought not, for an instant, of letting Oswald 
 depart without her. ' Resolutions . springing from the heart we 
 often justly blame, yet hesitaje not to adopt. When passion 
 masters a superior mind, it separates our judgment from our 
 conduct, and need not cloud the one in order to overrule the 
 other. ' 
 
 Corinne's black curls and veil floating on the breeze gave her 
 so picturesque an air, that, as sKe left the church, the common 
 people recognised and followed her to her carriage with the 
 warmest testimonials of respect. She sighed again, at parting 
 from a race so ardent and so graceful in their expressions of 
 esteem. Nor was this all. She had to endure the regrets of her 
 friends They devised fStes in order to delay her departure : 
 their poetical tributes strove in a thousand ways to convince her 
 that she ought to stay ; and finally they accompanied her on horse- 
 back for twenty miles. She was extremely affected. Oswald 
 
272 
 
 CORINNE; OR', ITALY, 
 
 cast down his eyes in mnfiisioD. yeproacb inf> himself for tearing 
 hp.r frnm sfi nmeh deli ght, though he kn ew that ^ an offe r^f rejv 
 maining there would be more barbarous stillj He appearei ^^fis^ 
 in removing (Jui'lliua ITtim Kome ; yet ne was not so ; for the fear 
 of afflicting her, by setting forth alone, had more weight with him 
 than even the hope of retaining her presence. He knew not what 
 he was about to do — saw nothing beyond Venice. He had written 
 
 I. to inquire how soon his regiment would be actively employed in 
 the war, and awaited a reply. Sometimes he thought of taking 
 Corinne with him to England ; yet instantly remembered that he 
 should forever ruin her reputation by so doing, unless she were 
 his wife ; then he wished to soften the pangs of separation by a 
 private marriage ; but a moment afterwards gave up that plan 
 also. " We can keep no secrets from the dead," he cried : " and 
 what should I gain by making a mystery of a union prohibited 
 by nothing but my worship of a tomb?" His mind, so weak in 
 
 Vail that concerned his affections, was sadly agitated by contending 
 
 ' sentiments. ^Qor inne resigned Wsplf t.n tn'nij lilrft a vintim-, py- 
 nlting , amid her sorrows, in the^acrificeashe made ; while Oswald, 
 responsible fill" (he welfare" Of Snotner, DounJ himself to her daily 
 
 yby new ties, without the power of yielding to them; and unhappy 
 in his love as in his conscience, felt the presence of both but in 
 their combats with each othen^ 
 
 When the friends of Corin*fe took leave, they commended her 
 earnestly to his care ; congratulated him on the love of so eminent 
 a woman ; their every word sounding like mockery and upbraiding. 
 She felt this, and hastily concluded the trying scene ; and when, 
 after turning from time to time to salute her, they were at last 
 lost to her sight, she only said to her lover : " Oswald ! I have 
 now no one but you in the world !" How did he long to swear 
 he would be hers! But frequent disappointments teach us to 
 mistrust our own inclinations, and shrink even from the vows our 
 hearts may prompt. Corinne read his thoughts, and delicately 
 strove to fix his attention on the country through which they 
 travelled. 
 
oorinne; or Italy. 275 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 It was the beginning of September, and the weather supei* 
 ^ till they laeared the Apennines, where they felt the approach oi 
 winter. A soft air is seldom united with the pleasure of looking 
 on picturesque mountains. One evening, a terrible hurricane 
 arose : the thickest darkness closed around them ; and the horses, 
 so wild there that they are even harnessed by stratagem, set off 
 \ with inconceivable rapidity, ^ar lovers felt maoh excited by 
 Na ein^ thus hurried on togetheo "Ah !" cried Oswald, " if they 
 could bear us from all I know on earth — if they could climb these 
 hills, and dash into another life, where we should regain my father, 
 who would receive and bless us, would you not go with me, be- 
 loved?" He pressed her vehemently to his bosom. Corinne, 
 enamored as himself, replied : " Dispose of me as you will ; chain 
 me like aLgla^ to your fate : had not the slaves of other days 
 talents that soothed their masters? Such would I be to thee. 
 But, Oswald, yet respect her who thus trusts thee :\condemned 
 by all the world, she must not blush to meet thine eye?^— " No," 
 he exclaimed, " I will lose all, or all obtain. I ought, I must 
 either live thy husband, or die in stifling the transports of my 
 passion : but I will hope to be thine before the world, and glory 
 in thy tenderness. Yet tell me, I conjure thee, have I not sunk 
 in thine esteem by all these struggles ? Canst thou believe thy- 
 self less dear than ever 1" His accents were so sincere, that, for 
 awhile, they gave her back her confidence, and the purest, sweet- 
 est rapture animated them both. 
 
 BJeanwhile the horses stopped, Oswald alighted first. The 
 cold sharp wind almost made him i^jncy himself landing in 
 
 Tr!r.gloTi<1 -tti^ frnnrrUtnf •^\v Tirng nnf. \\\^ t^flj;^ Italyjwhioh bids 
 
 young breasts forget all things save love. Oswald sank back into 
 his gJoom.» Corinne, who knew the unsettled nature of his fancy, 
 but too well guessed the' cause. On the morrow they arrived at 
 our Lady of Loretto, which stands upon an eminence, from whence 
 is seen the Adriatic. While Oswald gave some orders for their 
 
274 
 
 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 journey, Corinne entered the church, where the image of the 
 Virgin is inclosed in the choir of a small chapel, adorned with 
 bas-reliefs. The marble pavement that surrounds the sanctuary- 
 is worn by pilgrim knees. Corinne, moved by these marks of 
 prayer, knelt on the stones so often pressed by the unfortunate, 
 and addressed the type of heavenly truth and sensibility. Os- 
 wald here found her bathed in tears. He did not understand 
 how a woman of her mind could bow to the practices of the igno- 
 rant. She guessed this by his looks, and said : " Dear Oswald, 
 are there not many moments when we dare not raise our hopes to 
 the Supreme Being, or breathe to him t he s orrows of our hearts ? 
 ^ Tajt|nf^f. p1p;i,jjinjir^ then, to behol gTa, womani as intereess^ ijbr our 
 
 .huma n weakness ?) She sufferedTMr^nis earth, for she livedon 
 it ; toher 1 bluim not to pray for you, when a petition to G-od 
 himself would overawe me." — "I cannot always directly suppli- 
 cate my Maker," replied Oswald. V I, too, have my intercessor : 
 
 ^the guardi an angel of children is their lalherj and siuuij mine has 
 been in heaven, I haVIS Oft fficfeived an Tinexpected solace, aid, 
 and composure, which I can but attribute to the miraculous pro- 
 tection whence I still hope to escape from my perplexities." — "I 
 comprehend you," said Corinne, "and believe there is no one 
 who has not some mysterious idea of his own destiny — one event 
 which he has always dreaded,' and which, though improbable, is 
 sure to happen. The punishment of some fault, though it be 
 impossible to trace the connection our misfortunes have with it, 
 often strikes the imagination. Q|rsuajajLchildhood_Itremb]£d-at' 
 • living; in En^landSv Well ; my inability to do so may 
 be my worst regret j and oh that point I feel there is something 
 unconquerable in my fate, against which I struggle in vain. 
 Every one conceives his life interiorly a contrast to what it seems: 
 we have a confused sense of some supernatural power, disguised 
 in the form of external circumstance, while itself alone is the 
 source of all our actions. Dear friend, minds capable of rea- 
 soning forever plunge into their own abyss, but always fail to 
 fathom it." 
 
 Oswald, as be beard her speak thus, wondered to find that, 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 276 
 
 while sh« was capable of such glowing sentiments, her judgment 
 still could hover over them, like their presiding genius. "No," 
 he frequently said to himself, "no other society on earth can 
 satisfy the man who has possessed such a companion as this." 
 
 They entered Anoona at night, as he wished not to be recog- 
 nized : in spite of his precautions, however, he was so ; and the 
 next morning all the inhabitants crowded about the house in 
 which he stayed, awaking Corinne by shouts of " Long live Lord 
 Nevil, our benefactor I" She started, rose hastily, and mingled 
 with the crowd, to hear their praises of the man she loved. Os- 
 wald, informed that the people were impatiently calling for him, 
 was at last obliged to appear. He believed Corinne still slept: 
 what was his astonishment at finding her already known and 
 cherished by the grateful multitude, who entreated her to be their 
 interpretress! Corinne's imagination — by turns her charm and 
 her defect — delighted in extraordinary adventures. She thanked 
 Lord Nevil, in the name of the people, with a grace so noble that 
 the natives were in ectasies. Speaking for them, she said : ' ^0" 
 preserved us — w e owe you our lives 1" But when she offered 
 Lim the oak and laurel crown they had entwined, an indefinite 
 timidity beset her: the enthusiastic populace prostrated them- 
 selves before him, and Corinne involuntarily bent her knee ia 
 tendering him the garland. Oswald was so overwhelmed at the 
 sight, that he could no longer support this scene; nor the public 
 homage of his beloved ; but drew her away with him. She wept, 
 and thanked the good inhabitants of Anoona, who followed them 
 with blessings, as Oswald, hiding himself in his carriage, mur- 
 mured : " Corinne at my feet ! Corinne, in whose path I ought to 
 kneel! Have I deserved this? Do you suspect me of such 
 unworthy pride ?" —^ " No, no," she said; " but I was suddenly 
 seized with the respect a woman always feels for him she loves. 
 To us, indeed, is external deference most directed; but in truth, 
 in nature, it is the woman who reveres the being capable of 
 defending her." 
 
 " Yes, I will be thy defender, to the last hour of my life I" he 
 answered. " Heaven be my witness, such a genius shall not in 
 
276 corinne; oe, italy. 
 
 vain seek a refuge in the harbor of my love !" — " Alas !" she 
 sighed, " that love is all I need ; and what promise can secure it 
 to me ? No matter. I feel that you love me now better than 
 ever: let us not trouble this return of affection." — "Eeturn !" 
 interrupted Oswald. ^ " I cannot retract the expression ; but let 
 us not seek to explain it ;" and she made a gentle sign for Nevil 
 to be silent. 
 
 CHAPTER yi. 
 
 For two days they proceeded on the shore of the Adriatic ; 
 but this sea, on the Homagnan side, has not the effect of the 
 ocean, nor even of the Mediterranean. The high road winds 
 close to its waves, and grass grows on its banks : it is not thus 
 that we would represent the mighty realm of tempests. At 
 Bimini and Cesena, you quit the classic scenes of histray : their 
 latest remembrancer is the Eubicon, which Cassar passed to be- 
 come the lord of Rome. Not far from hence is the republic of 
 St. Marino, the last weak vestige of liberty, besides the spot on 
 which was resolved the destruction of the world's chief republic. 
 By degrees, you now advance towards a country very opposite in 
 aspect to the Papal State. Bologna, Lombardy, the environs of 
 Ferrara and Rovigo, are remarkable for beauty and cultivation — 
 how unlike the poetic barrenness and decay that announce an ap- 
 proach to Rome, and tell of the terrible events that have occurred 
 there ! 
 
 You then quit what Sabran calls " black pines, the summer's 
 mourning, but the winter's bravery," and the conical cypresses 
 that remind one of obelisks, mountains, and the sea. Nature, 
 like the traveller, now parts from the southern rays. At first, 
 the oranges are found no longer in the open air — they are sue-: 
 oeeded by olives, whose pale and tender foliage might suit the 
 bowers of the Elysian fields. Further oi». »Ten the olive disap- 
 pears. 
 
corinne; or, italy. '^ 277 
 
 On entering Bologna's smiling plain, the vines garl ajjid th e 
 elms together, and the whole laud is decked as for a ^stiva^ 
 Corinne was sensible of the contrast between her present state of 
 mind and the resplendent scene she now beheld. — " Ah, Oswald !" 
 she sighed, "ought nature to spread such images of happiness 
 before two friends perhaps about to lose each other ?" — " No, 
 Corinne — never! each day I feel less able to resign thee: that 
 untiring gentleness unites the charm of habit with the love I bear 
 thee. One lives as contentedly with you asif_you_were,npt the 
 finest_genius in the world, or, rather, because you are so ; for real 
 superiority confers a perfect goodness, that makes one's peace with 
 one's self and all the world. What angry thoughts can live in 
 such a presence ?" They arrived at Ferrara, one of the saddest 
 towns in Italy, vast and deserted. The few inhabitants found 
 there, at distant intervals, loiter on slowly, as if secure of time for 
 all they have to do. It is hard to conceive this the scene of that 
 gay court sung both by Tasso and Ariosto ; yet still are shown 
 their manuscripts, with that also of the Pastor Fido. Ariosto 
 knew how to live at ease here, amid courtiers ; but the house is 
 yet to be seen wherein they dared confine Tasso as a maniac. 
 It is sad to read the various letters which he wrote, asking the 
 death it was so long ere he obtained. Tasso was so pecuHariy 
 organised, that his talent became its owner's formidable foe. \^is 
 genius dissected his own heart.\ He could not so have read tEe 
 secrets of the soul ii' iie bad IStl less sorrow. The man who has 
 not suffered, says a prophet, what does he know ? In some re- 
 spects, Corinne resembled him. She was more cheerful and more 
 versatile, but her imagination required extreme government : far 
 from assuaging any grief, it lent each pang fresh might, ^^ ^gyil 
 deajPiTTgH ti^ms el£JL.he believed her brilliant J aculties cnnid givft_ 
 k«j]- pipgr^fi 'j^apjQinesajjmr t from he r^flfeetions. \ When genius 
 is united with true leeJing, our taliibts multiply our woes. We 
 analyze, we make discoveries, and, the heart's urn of tears being 
 exhaustless, the more we think the more we feel it flow. 
 24 
 
278 corinne; or, itai,t. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 They embarked for Venice on the Brenta. At each side they 
 beheld its palaces, grand but dilapidated, like all Italian magnifi- 
 cence. They are too wildly onianjented to remind us of the an- 
 tique : Venetian architectur^etrays) a commerce with the East : 
 there is Qt hleni sV'^rrif-ik^ nt'?^\vt^^ ^ jyTor Rscn that takes the eye, 
 though it offends thejastg. The poplar, regular almost as archi- 
 tecture itself, borders the canals. The sky's bright blue sets off 
 the splendid verdure of the country, which owes its green to the 
 abundant waters. Nature seems to wear these two colors in mere 
 coquetry ; and the vague beauty of the South is found no more. 
 Venice astonishes more than it pleases at first sight : it looks a 
 city under water : and one can scarce admire the ambition which 
 disputed this space with the sea. The amphitheatre of Naples is 
 built as if to welcome it; but on the flats of Venice, steeples 
 appear, like masts, immovable in the midst of waves. In enter- 
 ing the city, one takes leave of vegetation ; one sees not even a 
 fly there : all animals are banished ; man alone remains to battle 
 with the waves. In a city whose streets are all canals, the silence 
 is profound — the dash of oars its only interruption. You cannot 
 fancy yourself in the country, for you see no trees; nor in a town, 
 for you hear no bustle ; or even on board ship, for you make no 
 
 way; but in a place which storms would convert into a prison 
 
 for there are times when you cannot leave the city, nor even your 
 own house. 
 
 Many men in Venice never went from one quarter to another 
 — never beheld St. Mark's — a horse or a tree. were actual miracles 
 to them. The black gondolas glide along like biers or cradles, 
 the last and the first beds of human kind. At night, their dark 
 color renders them invisible, and they are only traced by the re- 
 flection of the lights they carry — one might call them phantoms, 
 guided by faint stars. In this abode all is mysterious^ — the go- 
 vernment, the habits, love itself Doubtless the heart and reason 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 2(9" 
 
 find much food when they can penetrate this §;gcrecy, but strab- 
 gers always feel vxe first i mpi-fifaainn sjjpjTul arlv say 
 
 Corinne, who was a believer in preseatimeDts, and now made 
 presages of everything, said to Nevil : '-Is not the melancholy 
 that I feel on entering this place a proof that some great misfor- 
 tune will befall me here ? As she said this, she heard three 
 reports of cannon, from one of the Isles of the Lagune — she 
 started, and inquired the cause of a gondolier — "It is a woman 
 taking the veil," he said, " at one of those convents in the midst 
 of the sea. The custom here is, that the moiuent such vow is 
 uttered, the female throws the flowers she wore during the cere- 
 mony behind her, as a sign of her resigning the world, and the 
 firing you have just heard announces this event." Corinne shud- 
 dered. Oswald felt her hand grow cold in his, and saw a death- 
 like pallor overspread her face. — " My life I" he cried, " why give 
 this importance to so simple a chance ?" — " It is not simple,".^he 
 replied. V I. t oo, have thro TT"-^h'^ flnwprg nf ynnth Ijrhind mr "j 
 " How ! wEenI love thee more than ever ? when my whole soul 
 is thine?" — "The thunders of war," she continued, "elsewhere 
 devoted to victory or death, here celeirate the obscure sacrifice of 
 a maiden — an innocent employment for the arms that shake the 
 world with terror : ( ^ solemTi messa£;e from a rfisif rne d woman to 
 
 CHAPTEK VIII. 
 
 Tne power of the Venetian government, during its latter years, 
 has almost entirely consisted in the empire of habit and associa- 
 tion of ideas. It once was formidably daring, — it has become 
 lenient and timorous : hate of its past potency is easily revived, 
 and easily subdued, by the thoughts that its might is over. The 
 aristocracy woo the favour of the people, and yet by a kind of des- 
 potism, since they rather amuse than enlighten them j an agree- 
 able state enough, while the common herd are afforded no plea- 
 
280 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 sures that can brutify their minds, while the government watches 
 over its subjects like a sultan over his harem, forbidding them to 
 meddle with politics, or presume to form any judgment of exist- 
 ing authorities, but allowing them sufficient diversion, and not a 
 little glory. The spoils of Constantinople enrich the churches; 
 the standards of Cyprus and Candia float over the Piazza ; the 
 Corinthian horses delight the eye ; and the winged lion of St. 
 Mark's appears the type of fame. The situation of the city 
 rendering agriculture and the chase impossible}, nothing islefL 
 
 i,Xsnetians but dissipation^ Their dialect is soft and light as a 
 zephyr. One can hardly conceive how the people who resisted 
 the league of Cambray should speak so flexible a tongue : it is 
 charming while expressive of graceful pleasantry, but suits not 
 graver themes; verses on death, for instance, breathed in these 
 delicate and almost infantine accents, sound more like the descrip- 
 tions of poetic fable. The Venetians are the most intelligent men 
 in Italy; they think more deeply, though with less ardent fancies 
 than their southern countrymen; yet, for the most part, the 
 women, though very agreeable, have acquired a sentimentality of 
 language, which, without restraining their morals, merely lends 
 their gallantry an air of affectation. There is more vanity, as 
 there is more society, here, than in t^e rest of Italy. Where ap- 
 plause is quick and frequent, conceit calculates all debts instanta- 
 neously ; knows what success is owed, and claims its due, -without 
 giving a minute's credit. Its bills must be paid at sight. Still, 
 much originality may be found in Venice. Ladies of the highest 
 rank receive visits in the caf&s, and this strange confusion prevents 
 their salons becoming the arenas of serious self-love. There yet 
 remain here some ancient usages that evince a respect for their 
 forefathers, and a certain youth of heart which tires not of the 
 past, nor shrinks from melting recollections. The sight of the 
 city itself is always sufficient to awaken a host of memories. The 
 Piazza is crowded by blue tents, beneath which rest Turks, Greeks 
 and Armenians, who sometimes also loll carelessly in open boats, 
 with stands of flowers at their feet. St. Mark's, too, looks rather 
 like a mosque than a Christian temple ; and its vicinity gives a 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 281 
 
 true idea of the vjrientaljndolence with which life is spent here, 
 in drinking sherbet, and smoking perfumed pipes. 
 
 Men and women of quality never leave their houses, except in 
 black mantles; while the gondolas are often winged along by 
 rowers clad in white, with rose-colored sashes, as if holiday array 
 were abandoned to the vulgar, while the nobility kept up a vow 
 of perpetual mourning. In most Europeon towns, authors are 
 obliged carefully to avoid depicting the daily routine ; for our cus- 
 toms, even in luxury, are rarely poetic; but in Venice nothing 
 appears coarse; the canals, the boats, make pictures of the com- 
 monest events in life. 
 
 On the quay of the galleys you constantly encounter puppet 
 shows, mountebanks, and story-tellers; the last are worthy of re- 
 mark. It is nsualjy some episode from Tasso or Ariosto which 
 they relate in prose, to the great admiration of their hearers, who 
 sit round the speaker half clad, and motionless with curiosity ; 
 from time to time they purchase glasses of water, as wine ia 
 bought elsewhere, and this refreshment is all they take for hours, 
 so strongly are their minds interested. The narrator uses the 
 most animating gestures; his voice is raised ; he irritates him- 
 self; he grows pathetic; and yet one sees, all the while, that at 
 heart he is perfectly unmoved. One might say to, him, as did 
 Sappho to the Circean nymph, who, in perfect sobriety, was as- 
 suming fury: "Bacchante — who art not drunk-^ what wouldst 
 thou with me ?" Yet the lively pantomime of the south does not 
 appear quite artificial : it is a singular habit handed down from 
 the Komans, and springing from quickness of disposition. A 
 people so enslaved by pleasure may soon be alarmed by the 
 dream of power in which the Venetian government is veiled. 
 Never are soldiers seen there. If even a drummer appears in 
 their comedies they are all astonishment; yet a state inquisitor 
 needs but to show himself to restore order among thirty thousand 
 people, assembled for a public fgte. It were well if this influence 
 was derived from a respect for the laws; but it is fortified by 
 terror of the secret means which may still be used to preserve the 
 peace. The prisons are in the very palace of the Doge, above and 
 24* 
 
282 corinne; or, italx. 
 
 below his apartments. The Lion's Mouth, into which all denun- 
 ciations are thrown, is also here ; the hall of trial is hung with 
 black, and makes judgment appear anticipating condemnation. 
 The Bridge of Sighs leads from the palace to the state prison. In 
 passing the canal, how oft were heard the cries of " Justice ! 
 Mercy I" in voices that could be no longer recognized. When a 
 state criminal was sentenced, a, bark removed him in the night, 
 by a little gate that opens on the water : he was taken some dis- 
 tance from the city, to a part of the Lagune where fishing is pro- 
 hibited, and there drowned: thus secrecy is perpetuated, even 
 after death, not leaving the unhappy wretch a hope that his re- 
 mains may inform those who loved him that he suffered, and is no 
 more. When Lord Nevil and Corinne visited Venice, these exe- 
 cutions had not taken place for nearly a century : but sufficient 
 mystery still existed : and, though Oswald was the last man to 
 interfere with the politics of foreign lands, he felt oppressed by 
 this arbitrary power, from which there was no appeal, that seemed 
 to hang over every head in Venice. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 "You must not," said Corinne, "give way merely to the 
 gloomy impressions which these silent proceedings have created ; 
 you ought also to observe the great qualities of this senate, which 
 makes Venice a republic for nobles, and formerly inspired that 
 aristocratic energy, the result of freedom, even though concen- 
 trated in the few. You will find them severe on one another, at 
 least establishing, in their own breasts, the rights and virtues 
 that should belong to all. You will see them as paternal towards 
 their subjects as they can be, while merely considering that class 
 of men with reference to physical prosperity. You will detect a 
 great pride in the country which is their property, and an art 
 of endearing it even to the people, whom they allow so few actual 
 possessions there." 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 283 
 
 Corinne and Oswald visited the hall where the great council 
 was then assembled. It is hung with portraits of the doges ; on 
 the space which would have been occupied by that of Faliero, 
 who was beheaded as a traitor, is painted a black curtain, whereon 
 is written the date and manner of his death. The regal magni- 
 ficence of the other pictures adds to the effect of this ghastly pall. 
 There is also a representation of the Last Judgment, another of 
 the powerful emperor, Frederic Barbarossa, humbling himself to 
 the Venetian senate. It was a fine idea, thus to unite all that 
 can exalt pride upon earth, and bend it before Heaven. 
 
 They proceeded to the arsenal : before its gates are two Grecian 
 lions, brought from Athens, to become the guardians of Venetian 
 power. Motionless guardians, that defend but what they respect. 
 This repository is full of marine trophies. The famous ceremony 
 of the doge's marriage with the Adriatic, in fact, all the institu- 
 tions, here attest their gratitude to the sea : in this respect they 
 resemble the English, and Nevil strongly felt the similarity. 
 Corinne now led him to the tower called the Steeple of St. Mark's, 
 though some paces from the church. Thence is seen the whole 
 city of the waves, and the huge embankment which defends it 
 frgm inundation. The coasts of Istria and Dalmatia are in the 
 distance. " Behind the clouds, on this side, lies Greece," said 
 Corinne : " is not that thought enough to stir the heart ? There, 
 still, are men of lively, ardent characters, victims to fete ; yet 
 destined, perhaps, some day, to resuscitate the ashes of their sires. 
 It is always something for a land to have been great; its natives 
 blush at least beneath degradation ; while, in a country never con- 
 secrated to fame, the inhabitants do not even suspect that there 
 can be a nobler doom than the obscure servility bequeathed to 
 them by their fathers. Dallnatia, which was of yore occupied 
 by so warlike a race, still preserves something of the savage. Its 
 natives are so little aware of the changes wrought by fifteen 
 centuries, that they still deem the Komans 'all-powerful;' yet 
 they betray more modern knowledge, by calling the English ' the 
 heroes of the sea,' because you have so often landed in their 
 ports J but they know nothing about the rest of the world. I 
 
284 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 love all realms where, in the manners, customs, language, some- 
 thing original is left. Civilized life is so monotonous ; you know 
 its secrets in so short a time; I have already lived long enough 
 for that." — "Living with you," said Nevil, "can we ever behold 
 the end of new thoughts and sensations ?" — " God grant that such 
 may prove exhaustless !" she replied, continuing : " Let us give 
 one moment more to Dalmatia : when we descend from this height 
 we shall still see the uncertain lines which mark that land, as indis- 
 tinctly as a tender recollection in the memory of man. There 
 are improvisatores among the Dalmatians as among the savages ; 
 they were found, too, with the G-recians, and almost always exist 
 where there is much imagination, and little vanity. Natural 
 talent turns rather to epigram, in countries where a fear of ridi- 
 cule makes every man anxious to be the first who secures that 
 weapon ; but people thrown much with Nature feel a reverence 
 for her that greatly nurtures fancy. ' Caverns are sacred,' say 
 the Dalgnatians ; doubtless, thus expressing an indefinite terror of 
 the old earth's secrets. Their poetry, Southerns though they be, 
 resembles Ossian's; but there are only two ways of feeling the 
 charms of nature. Men either animate and deify them, as did 
 e ancients, beneath a thousand brilliant shapes, or, like the 
 icottisn harda, ^ifild In iLu lui'hmL'hulv^ear inspired b y the nn- 
 • known. Since I met you, Oswald, this l ast manner h^s be-st, 
 pleased me. Jj'ormerly, I had^vivj ^nimis hnpa enou gh to prefer. a 
 iearless enj o yment of smilin p ; ima{ i ;ery.V — Mit is I, then," said 
 I jevil, " who have withered the fair ideal, t-o which I~owed^ tb«i 
 ric hest pleasures ofmy life .'/ — " No, you are not in fault, but n^ y 
 own passion. Talent rec j u ires i ptern aJ-frgfirlnm^ pno>i as true la ve 
 dgstfoys." — " Ah ! if you mean that your genius may In seits 
 
 oieg^and your heart but speak for me- " He could not pro- 
 
 iEe" words promised more to his mind than he dared utter. 
 Corinne guessed this, and would not answer, lest she should dis- 
 sipate their present hopes. She felt herself beloved, andjnised;, 
 ^ ^ive where_m enJ ose all for love, she was easily pCT suaded that 
 jjRgJl nniiljj jot leave her. I At once ardent andindolentTshe 
 deemed a danger past which" was no longer mentioned. She lived 
 as many others do, who have been long menaced by the same 
 
corinne; or, italy. 285 
 
 misfortune, and think it will never happen, merely because it 
 has not done so yet. 
 
 The air of Venice, and tbe life led there, is singularly calcu- 
 lated for lulling the mind into security : the very boats, peacefully 
 rocking to and fro, induce a languid reverie ; now and then a gon- 
 dolier on the Rialto sings a stanza from Tasso; one of his fellows 
 answers him, by the next verse, from the extremity of the canal. 
 The very antique music they employ is like church psalmody, 
 and montonous enough when near ; but, on the evening breeze, 
 it floats over the waters like the last beams of the sun ; and, aided 
 by the sentiment it expresses, in such a scene, it cannot be heard 
 without a gentle pensiveness. Oswald and Corinne remained on 
 tbe canals, side by side, for hours ; often without a word ; holding 
 each other's hands, and yielding to the formless dreams inspired 
 by love and nature. 
 
 BOOK XVI. 
 
 PARTING AND ABSENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 As soon as Corinne's arrival was known in Venice, it excited 
 the greatest curiosity. When she went to a cafi in the piazza of 
 St. Mark, its galleries were crowded, for a moment's glimpse at 
 her ; and the best society sought her with eager haste. She had 
 once loved to produce this effect wherever she appearedjCand 
 naturally confessed t hat admirati on had many charm s for He^ 
 Genius inspires this thirst for fame : there is no blessing undesired 
 by those to whom Heaven gave the means of winning it. Yet in 
 her present situation she dreaded everything in opposition with 
 •the domestic habits so dear to Nevil. /Corinqe was blic 
 own welfare, in atta chino; her^plf t^ « "■«" liHfljj jther to rep ress 
 tbaiii ^" "^''''•fiiP'^'' Mea.ta.kkttt it is easy to conceive why a woman'.. 
 
y-fl!S6. 
 
 j^U^-'VORINN B; or, ITALY. 
 
 ^ ooBUgifid by li tRrpt.iirs ynj_jh^^^;|.a, ijhoul d loTeJhe tastes that 
 V d iffered from her ownX One is so often weary of one's self, that 
 a resemblance of that self would never tempt affection, which re- 
 quires a harmony of sentiment, but a contrast of character; many 
 sympathies, but not unvaried congeniality. Nevil was supremely 
 blessed with this double charm. His gentle ease and gracious 
 manner could never sate, because his liability to clouds and storms 
 kept up a constant interest. Although the depth and extent of 
 his acquirements fitted him for any life, his political opinions and 
 military bias inclined him rather to a career of arms than one of 
 letters— /the thought t hat action might be more pnetical than five n 
 .Tfirfifl if°°'P^ '^ Ho woo cuporir.!. to tho succBSS of hls own mind, 
 and spoke of it with much indifferenee-y Corinne strove to p lease 
 him by imitating this carelessness of li tpri^ y y p;l"r y \ '" ofi^ev j; (^ 
 grow m ore like the retiring females from whom E ng lish womanhood - 
 offers the best model. Yet the homage she received at Venice 
 gave Uswald none but agreeable sensations. There was so much 
 cordial good-breeding in the reception she met — the Venetians 
 expressed the pleasure her conversation afforded them with such 
 vivacity, that Oswald felt proud of being dear to one so univer- 
 sally admired Jd He wa s no longer jealous of her celeb rit y , certain 
 that she prized^ h'"* fii FaboVti it ;^ a nd his o wn Invg i'lnrm'jTl ^yl 
 every trib ute she elicited. He forgot Jijogland, and revelled in 
 the Italian needlessness of days to come. Corinne perceived this 
 change ; and her imprudent heart welcomed it, as if to last for- 
 ever. 
 
 Italian is the only tongue whose dialects are almost languages 
 of themselves. In that of each state books might be written 
 distinct from the standard Italian ; though only the Neapolitan, 
 Sicilian, and Venetian dialects have yet the honor of being ac- 
 knowledged ; and that of Venice as the most original, most grace- 
 ful of all. Corinne pronounced it charmingly ; and the manner 
 in which she sung some lively barcaroles proved that she could 
 act comedy as well as tragedy. She was pressed to take a part 
 in an opera which some of her new friends intended playing the 
 next week. /RinBe she had loved.Osyal'l) shp con^ealsd this talent 
 
CORINNEJ OK, ITALY. 
 
 287 
 
 from him, not feelin g sufficient peace of mind for its e: 
 
 rr*r*i I - r -^ III 1 1 ri-i •'! 
 
 aTofllei Liuiya, fearing that any outbreak of high spirits might be 
 followed by misfortune ; but now, with unwonted confidence, she 
 consented, as he, too, joined in the request ; and it was agreed 
 that she should perform in a piece, like most of Grozzi's, composed 
 of the most diverting fairy extravagances. (32) Truffaldin and 
 Pantaloon, in these burlesques, often jostle the greatest monarchs 
 of the earth. The marvellous furnishes them with jests, which, 
 from their very order, cannot approach to low vulgarity. The 
 Child of the Air, or Semiramis in her Youth, is a coquette, en- 
 dowed by the celestials and infernals to subjugate the world ; bred 
 in a desert, like a savage, cunning as a sorceress, and imperious 
 as a queen, she unites natural wildness with premeditated grace, 
 and a warrior's courage with the frivolity of a woman. The 
 character demands a fund of fanciful drollery, which but the 
 inspiration of the moment can bring to light. 
 
 CHAPTEK II. 
 
 Fate sometimes has its own strange, cruel sport, repulsing our 
 presuming familiarity. Oft, when we yield to hope, calculate on 
 success, and trifle with our destiny, the sable thread is blending 
 with its tissue, and the weird sisters dash down the airy fabrics 
 we have reared. 
 
 It was now Nof ember ; yet Corinne arose enchanted with her 
 prospects. For the first act she chose a very picturesque costume : 
 her hair, though dishevelled, was arranged with an evident design 
 of pleasing ; her light, fantastic garb gave her noble form a most 
 mischievously attractive air. She reached the palace where she 
 was to play. Every one but Oswald had arrived. She deferred 
 the performance as long as possible, and began to be uneasy at 
 his absence ; when she came on the stage, however, she perceived 
 him, though he sat in a remote part of the hall, and the pain of 
 having waited redoubled her joy. She was inspired by gayetj 
 
288 \>A. .?• coeinne; or, italy. 
 
 s she had been at the Capitol by enthusiasm. This drama blends 
 song with speech, and even gives opportunities for extempore 
 dialogue, of which Corit)ne availed herself to render the scene 
 more animated. She sung the huffa airs with peculiar elegance. 
 Her gestures were at once comic and dignified. She extorted 
 laughter, without ceasing to be imposing. Her talents, like her 
 part, queened it over actors and spectators, pleasantly bantering 
 both parties. Ah ! who would not have wept over such a sight, 
 could they have known that this bright armor but drew down the 
 lightning, that this triumphant mirth would soon give place to 
 bitter desolation? The applause was so continual, so judicious, 
 that ^e rapture iiT Ih r , iiiil i>ii" ' i' i ii f i Tlirr l r"nnnp wifih tlmf. l^fj i^ 
 .if flplirin^^rfftiinli pours '^ l^ti*^" "•"^^r th^ P^''*^i ^ nd bids the fiityr e 
 tippiTi nnclouded.^ Oswald had seen her represent the deepest woe, 
 at a time when h e still hope d to make her happy ; he now beheld 
 her breathing; gtai nless joy^ just as he had received tidings that 
 might prove fatal to them both. Oft did he wish to take her 
 from this scene of daring happiness, yet felt a sad pleasure in 
 once more beholding that lovely countenance bedecked in smiles. 
 At Jhe conclusion, she appeared arrayed as an Amazonian queen, 
 Kjommanding me^almost the elements, by that reliance on her 
 charms whicEHbeauty may preserve, unless she loves ; then, then, 
 no gift of nature or of fortune can reassure her spirit ; but this 
 crasjneii flict» '^lis fairy queen, miraculously blending rage with 
 wit, carelessness with ambition, and conceit with despotism, seemed 
 to rule over fate as over hearts ; and when she ascended her throne 
 she exacted the submission of her subjects with a smile, arch as 
 it was arrogant. This was, perhaps, the moment of her life, 
 from.which both grief and fear seemed furthest banished ; when 
 suddenly she saw her lover bow his face on his hands to hide his 
 tears. She trembled, and the curtain had not quite fallen, when, 
 leaving her already hated throne, she rushed into the next apart- 
 ment. Thither he followed her ; and when she marked his pale- 
 ness, she was seized with such alarm that she was forced to lean 
 against the wall for support. " Oswald," she said, " my God ! 
 what has happened?" — "I must start for England to-night," he 
 
CORINNE; or ITALY. 289 
 
 said, forgetting that he ought not thus to have exposei. her feel- 
 ings. — "No, no I" she cried, clinging to him distractedly; "you 
 cannot plunge me into such despair. How have I merited it? 
 or— or — you mean that you will take me with you?" "Let us 
 leave this cruel crowd," he said : " come with me, Corinne." 
 She followed him, not understanding aught addressed to her, an- 
 swering at random ; her gait and look so changed, that every one 
 believed her struck with sudden illness. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 When they were in the gondola, she raved : " What you have 
 made me feel is worse than death : be generous : throw me into 
 these waves, that I may lose the sense which maddens me. Os- 
 wald, be brave : I have seen you do things that required more 
 courage." — " Hold, hold !" he cried, " if you would not drive me 
 to suicide. Hear me, when we have reached your house, and 
 then pronounce our fate. In the name of Heaven be calm !" 
 There was such misery in his accents that she was silent; but 
 trembled so violently, that she could hardly walk up the stairs 
 to her apartment. There she tore off her ornaments in dismay; 
 and, as Lord Nevil saw her in this state, a few moments since so 
 brilliant, he sank upon a seat in tears. — "Am I a barbarian 1" 
 he cried. " Corinne ! Just Heavei) ! Corinne ! do you not think me 
 so?" — "No," she said, "no, I cannot. — Have you not still that 
 look which every day gives me fresh comfort ? Oswald, your presence 
 is a ray from heaven — can I then fear you? — not dare to read 
 your eyes ?mit fall before you as before m y^urdfiT fijV Oh^ Oh. 
 -t yald ! Oswa fct I" a nd she thr ew herself at Els feet in,siq)^catioti 
 "What do Fsefe," he exclaimed, raising her venemently, "would 
 you dishonor me ? Well, be it so. My regiment embarks in a 
 month. I will remain, if you betray this all-commanding grief, 
 but I shall not survive my shame." — "I ask you not to stay," 
 she said; "but what harm can I do by following you!" — "We 
 25 
 
290 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 go to the West Indies, and no oflSoer is allowed to take his wife." 
 — " Well, well, at least let me go to England with you." — "My 
 letters also tell me," answered he, "that reports concerning us are 
 already in the papers there; that your identity is suspected; and . 
 your family, excited by Lady Edgarmond, refuses to meet or own 
 you. Give me but time to reconcile them, to enforce your rights 
 with your step-mother; for if I take you thither, and leave you^ 
 ere your name be cleared, you will endure all the severe opinions 
 which I shall not be by to answer." — " Then you refuse me every- 
 thing !" she said, and sank insensible to the earth, her forehead 
 receiving a wound in the fall. Oswald shrieked at the sight. 
 Th6r6aina entered in extreme alarm, and restored her mistress to 
 animation ; but when Corinne perceived, in an opposite mirror, 
 her own pale and disfigured face — "Oswald," she sighed, "it 
 was not thus I looked the day you met me first. (l wore the 
 crown of hope and fame, now bl^n '^ "nrl ^iifi';_ars_s n my j g ow i 
 J^ yet it I S not tor you to desp ise the s tate to which v on have reduced -^ 
 •mcJ^COtherS' may — Dut you cannot — you ought to pity me for 
 loving thus — ^you must !" — " Stay," he cried, " that is too much;" 
 and signing for Th^r&ina to retire, he took Corinne in his arms, 
 saying : " Do what thou wilt with me. I must submit to the 
 decrees of Heaven. I cannot abandon thee in this distress, nor 
 lead thee to England, before I have secured thee against the insults 
 of that haughty woman. I will stay with thee. I cannot depart." 
 These words recalled Corinne to herself, yet overwhelmed her 
 with despair. She felt the necessity that weighed upon her, and 
 
 with her head reclined, rema.iiisd long silent "Dearest!" said 
 
 Oswald, " let me hear thv fcoice j I have no other support no 
 
 other guide now." — "No," replied Corinne, "you must leave 
 
 me," and a flood of tears evinced her comparative resignation 
 
 " My love," said Nevil, " I call to witness this portrait of my 
 father, and you best know whether his name is sacred to me— 
 I swear to it that my life is in thy power, if needful to thy hap- 
 piness. At my return from the islands I will see if I cannot re- 
 store thee to thy due rank in thy father's country. If I fail, I 
 will return to Italy, and live or die at thy feet." But the dan- 
 
COEINNE; OR, ITALY. 291 
 
 gers you are about to brave," she rejoined. — "Fear not, I shall 
 escape ; or if I perish, unknown as I am, my memory will sur- 
 vive in thy heart ; and when thou hearest my name, thou mayest 
 say, perhaps with tearful eyes, ' I knew him once — he loved me !' " 
 — "Ah, leave me !" she cried: "you are deceived by my appa- 
 rent calm ; to-morrow, when the sun rises, and I tell myself, ' I 
 shall see him no more,' the thought may kill me ; happy if it 
 does." — "Why, Corinne, do you fear?|iB m y solemn promise ^^fl 
 n nthing ? f!an jour heart doubt it n ' — " No^l respect — too much '^ 
 not to believe you : it would cost me more to abjure mine admira- 
 tion than my love. I look on you as an angelic being— the purest, 
 noblest, that ever shone on earth. It is not alone your grace that 
 captivates me, but the idea that so many virtues never before 
 united in one object, and that your heavenly look was only given 
 to express them all. Far be it from me, then, to doubt your 
 word. I should fly from the human face forever if Lord Nevil 
 could deceive; but absence has so many perils, aiid that dreaded 
 word adieu " — " Have I not said, never — save from my death- 
 bed ?" demanded Oswald, with such emotion that Corinne, terri- 
 fied for his health, strove to restrain her feelings, and became 
 more pitiable than before. They then began to concert means of 
 writing, and to speak on the certainty of rejoining each other. 
 A year was the term fixed. Oswald securely believed that the 
 expedition would not be longer away. Some time was left them 
 still, and Corinne trusted to regain her strength ; but when Os- 
 wald told her that the gondola would come for him at three in the 
 morning, and she saw, by her dial, that the hour was not far dis- 
 tant, she shivered as if she were approaching the stake: her 
 lover had every instant less resolution ; and,(, ^orinne , who had 
 never seen his mastery over himself t hus unm anned, was h eart- 
 brg^gn at the sight of his p;reat anguif b S ^^° >.nt,»»l^^ \.\^~ 
 
 though she must have been a thousand times the most unhappy of 
 the two. — "Listen \" she said : "when you are in London, fickle 
 gallants will tell you that love-promises bind not your honor; that 
 every Englishman has liked some Italian on his travels, and for. 
 gotten her on his return ; that a few pleasant months ought to 
 
292 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 involve neither the giver nor the receiver ; that at your age the 
 color of your whole life cannot depend upon the temporary fasci- 
 nations of a foreigner. Now this will seem right in the way of 
 the world ; but will you, who know the heart of which you made 
 yourself the lord, find excuses in these sophisms for inflicting 
 a mortal wound ? Will barbarous jests from men of the day 
 prevent your hand's trembling as it drives the poniard through 
 this breast ?" — " Hush," said Oswald : " you know it is not your 
 grief alone restrains me : but where could I find such bliss as I 
 have owed to you ? Who, in the universe, can understand me as 
 you do ? Corinne, you are the only woman who can feel or in- 
 spire true love, that harmonious intelligence of hearts and souls, 
 which I shall never enjoy except with you. You know I am not 
 fickle : I look on all things seriously ; is it then against you only 
 that I should belie my nature ?" — " No," answered Corinne ; "you 
 would not treat my fond sincerity with scorn ; it is not you, Os- 
 wald, who could remain insensible to my despair ; but to you my 
 step-mother will say all that can sully my past life. Spare me the 
 task of telling you beforehand her pitiless remarks. Far from 
 what talents I may boast disarming her, they are my greatest 
 errors in her eyes. She cannot feel their charm, she only sees 
 their danger : whatever is unlike the destiny she herself chose 
 seems useless, if not culpable. The poetry of the heart to her 
 appears but an impertinence, which usurps the right of depre- 
 ciating common sense. It is in the name of virtues I respect as 
 much as you do that she will condemn my character and fate. 
 Oswald, she will call me unworthy of you." " And how should 
 I hear that ?" interrupted he : " what virtues dare she rate above 
 your generosity, your frankness? No, heavenly creature! be 
 common minds judged by common rules; but shame befall the 
 being you have loved who does not more revere than even adore 
 you. Peerless in love and truth, Corinne ! my firmness fails ; 
 if you sustain me not, I can never fly. It is from you I must 
 receive the power to pain you." — " Well," said Corinne, "there 
 are some seconds yet ere I must recommend myself to God, and 
 beg he will enable me to hear the hour of your departure strike. 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 293 
 
 Oh, Oswald, we love each other with deep tenderness. I have 
 intrusted you with all my secrets; the facts were nothing — but 
 the most private feelings of my heart, you know them all. I 
 have not a thought that is not wedded to thee : if I write aught 
 in which my soul expands, thou art mine inspiration. I address 
 myself to thee, as I shall my latest sigh. What, then, is my 
 asylum if thou leavest me ? The arts will retrace thine image, 
 music thy voice, ((renins, yihir^ ^'imT^.Y fi nty^ ncfid my spirit. ^ 
 i s nothing; now but love, and unsEargcTwi tS th ee must perish* 
 "Oh, trod I" she aHasAf-msIUgTiereyes lo"Eeaven^ " dylgu bUl"^ 
 hear me ! Thou art not merciless to our noblest sorrows ; take 
 back my life when he has ceased to love : it will be then but suffer- . 
 ing. He carries with him all my highest, softest feelings : if he 
 permits the fire shrined in his breast to be extinguished, wherever 
 I may be, my life, too, will be quenched. Great God ! thou didst 
 not frame me to outlive my better self, and what should I become 
 in ceasing to esteem him ? He ought to love me ever — I feel-he 
 ought — my affection should command his ! Oh ! heavenly Father ! 
 death or his love I" 
 
 As she concluded this prayer she turned to Oswald, and beheld 
 him prostrated before her in strong convulsions : he repelled her 
 cares, as if his reason were entirely lost. Corinne gently pressed 
 his hand, repe£tting to him all he had said to her, assuring him 
 that she relied on his return. Her words somewhat composed 
 him ; yet the nearer the hour of separation drew, the more im- 
 possible it seemed to part. " Why," he said, " should we not 
 go to the altar and at once take our eternal oaths 1" All the 
 firmness, all the pride of Corinne, revived at these words. { Os- 
 wald had told her that a w oman's ^'^-^"'i ne before subdued him, ^ 
 b ut his Invfi bad nhilled with ev erv^^acriticg\ne made. After a 
 moment's silence, she replied : ""Ivo, you musi see your Country 
 and your friends before you adopt this resolution. I owe it now, 
 my Lord, to the pangs of parting, and I will not accept it." He 
 took her hand. "At least," he said, " I swear again my faith is 
 bound to this ring; while you preserve it, never shall another 
 attain a right over my actions ; if you at last reject me, and send 
 25* 
 
294 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 it back " — "Cease/' she interposed, " cease to talk of a fear 
 
 you never feltj I cannot be the first to break our sacred tie, and 
 almost blush to assure you of what you but too well know al- 
 ready.'' Meanwhile, the time advanced. Corinne turned pale 
 at every sound. Nevil remained in speechless grief beside her ; 
 at last a light gleamed through the window, and the black, hearse- 
 like gondola stopped before the door. Corinne uttered a scream 
 of fright, and fell into Oswald's arms, crying : "They are here — 
 adieu — leave me — all is over !" — " Oh God, oh my father !" he 
 exclaimed; "what do ye exact of me ?" He embraced and wept 
 over his beloved, who continued: "Go! it must be done — go!" 
 ^"Let me call Th^resina," he said; "I cannot leave you thus 
 alone." — "Alone !" she repeated : " shall I not be alone till you 
 return ?" — "I cannot quit this room ; it is impossible," he articu- 
 lated, with desperation. — "Well," said Corinne, "then it is I 
 must give the signal. I will open the door ; but when I have 
 done so, spare me a few short instants." — " Yes, yes," he mur- 
 mured, " let us be still together, though these cruel combats are 
 even worse than absence." Th«y now heard the boatmen calling 
 up Lord Nevil's servants ; one of whom soon tapped at the door, 
 informing him that all was ready. — "All is ready," echoed Co- 
 rinne, and knelt beside his father's portrait. Doubtless, her 
 former life then passed in review before her; she exaggerated 
 every fault, and feared herself unworthy of Divine compassion, 
 though far too wretched to exist without it. When she arose, 
 she held forth her hand to Nevil, saying : " Now I can bid you 
 farewell — a moment more, and, perhaps, I could not. May God 
 protect your steps and mine — for I must need his care !" Os- 
 wald flung himself once more into her arms, trembling and pale 
 like one prepared for torture, and left the room, where, perhaps, 
 for the last time, he had loved, and felt himself beloved, as few 
 have ever been, or ever can be. 
 
 When he disappeared, a horrid palpitation attacked Corinne ; 
 she could not breathe; everything she beheld looked unreal; 
 objects seemed vanishing from her sight; the chamber totterin<» 
 as from a shock of earthquake. For a quarter of an hour she 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. ' S95 
 
 heard the servants completing the preparations for this journey. 
 He was still near; she might yet again behold him, speak to him 
 once more ; but she would not trust herself. Oswald lay almost 
 senseless in the gondola. At last it rowed away : and at that 
 moment, Corinne fled forth to recall him ; but Th6r&ina stopped 
 her. A heavy rain was falling, and a high wind arose; the 
 house was now, indeed, shaken like a ship at sea, and Oswald 
 had to cross the Lagune in such weather! Corinne descended, 
 purposing to follow him, at least till he should land in safety ; 
 but it was so dark that not a single gondola was plying : she 
 walked, in dreadful agitation, the narrow pavement that divides 
 the houses from the water. The storm increased; she called 
 upon the boatmen, who mistook her cries for those of some poor 
 creature drowning — yet no one dared approach, the waves of 
 the grand canal had swollen so formidably. Corinne remained 
 till daybreak in this state; meanwhile the tempest ceased. 
 One of the gondoliers brought word from Oswald that he bad 
 crossed securely. That moment was almost a happy one ; and it 
 was some hours ere the unfortunate creature again felt the full 
 weight of absence, or calculated the long days which but anxiety 
 and grief might henceforth occupy. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DxiEiNQ the first part of his journey, Oswald was frequently 
 on the point of returning; but the motives for perseverance van- 
 quished this desire. We make a solemn step towards the limits 
 of Love's empire, after we have once disobeyed him — the dream 
 of his resistlessness is over. On approaching England, all Os- 
 wald's homefelt recollections returned, ^he ye as.^" ^"'^ P''°?flti 
 abroa d had no connectio n - with iny ptVifii- yra -if Jli fi jifp- A ^\n- 
 rious a pparitio n had ch armed his fancy, bu t c ould not change thg^ 
 tastes, the opinion3',~ot w nich his existe nce had been, till then j 
 composed. Jbie reg5Igeatftmseyj\a,n(l tbougii regret prevented 
 his yet feeling any delight, his thoughts began to steady from the^ 
 
29jri " f^&ORINNE; OR, ITALY. 
 
 ."^taljan intOxioationVhich had unsettled them] No sooner had 
 he landed, than his mind was struck with the ease, the order, the 
 wealth, and industry he looked on ; the habits and inclinations to 
 which he was born waked with more force than ever. 
 
 In a land where men have so much dignity, and women so 
 much virtue, where domestic peace is the basis of public welfare, 
 
 ^ (OswaLLcwrid-ba it remember Ital vi a pity herT) He saw the stamp 
 of human reason upon all things; he had lately found, in social 
 life as in state institutions, nothing but confusion, weakness, and 
 ignorance. Painting and poetry gave place in his heart to free- 
 dom and to morals; ^n3^ m uch as he lov ed Corinne, he pjently 
 blamed her for wearying of a race so wise. so^ obler\ Had he left 
 her imaginative land for one of bare frivolity, fie would have 
 pined for it still; but 30 w_he_exc^nged_the vague yearnings 
 after romantic. rapture, for pride in the truest blessings — security 
 ani ind^endence. CSe returne d to a career that suits man ^g^ 
 
 T mind — action that has an aim ! lievene mayoethe heritage of. 
 women, weak and resigned from their birth ; bu t man -ffnnlfl wjj} 
 wh at he desires : his couraqfe irritates him against his fate, unless 
 he can direct it by his willA In London, Oswald met his early 
 iriends : he heard that language so condensed in power, that it 
 seems to imply more thoughts than it explains. Again he saw 
 those serious countenances that kindle or that melt so suddenly, 
 
 , when deep affections triumph over their habit of reserve. He 
 once more tasted the pleasure of making discoveries in the human 
 heart, there by degrees revealed to the observant eyeJUHefelt 
 
 himself in his ow n land, and those -ffh" r^ax,^^ lofd j|, j^nnw nnt^by.^ 
 
 ^ow many links 't' i« pnrlpaj'ptl tn ^Tifm"] The image of Corinne 
 mingled with all these impressions ; and the more reluctant he 
 felt to leave his country, the more he wished to marry, and fix in 
 Scotland with her. He was even impatient to embark that he 
 might return the sooner; but the expedition was suspended, 
 though still liable to be ordered abroad immediately. No officer, 
 therefore, could dispose of his time even for a fortnight. Lord 
 Nevil doubly felt his separation from Corinne, having neither 
 leisure nor liberty to form or follow kny decided plan. He passed 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY 297 
 
 six weeks in London, fretted by every moment thus lost to her. 
 Finally, he resolved to beguile his impatience by a short visit to 
 Northumberland, and, by influencing Lady Edgarmond to recog- 
 nize the daughter of her late Lord, contradict the report of her 
 death, and the unfavorable insinuations of the papers : for he 
 longed to tender her the rank and respect so thoroughly her due. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 Oswald reflected with emotion that he was about to behold 
 the scene in which Corinne had passed so many years. He felt 
 embarrassed by the necessity of informing Lady Edgarmond that 
 he could not make Lucy his wife. The north of England, too, 
 reminded him of Scotland, and the memory of his father was 
 never absent from his mind. 
 
 When he reached Lady Edgarmond's estate, he was struck by 
 the good taste which pervaded its grounds; and, as the mistress 
 of the mansion was not ready to receive him, he walked awhile in 
 the park : through its foliage he beheld a youthful and elegant 
 figure reading with much attention. A beautiful fair curl, escap- 
 ing from her bonnet, told him that this was Lucy, whom three 
 years had improved from child to woman. He approached her, 
 bowed, and forgetting where he was, would have imprinted a re- 
 spectful kiss upon her hand, after the Italian mode; but the 
 young lady drew back, and, blushing as she courtesied, replied, 
 " I will inform my mother, sir, that you desire tosgfiJier." She 
 withdrew, and {Nrrilrrniniinrd twrd hj. J)he fmodest air )o f that 
 ^gelic'Taco7^^|^ucy had just entered her sixteenth "year; her 
 reaFurBTwere extremely delicate ; she had a little outgrown her 
 strength, as might be judged by her gait and mutable complexion. 
 Her blue eyes were so- downcast that her countenance owed its 
 chief attraction to these rapid changes of color, which alone be- 
 trayed her feelings. Oswald, since he had dwelt in the south, 
 had never beheld this species of expression. He reproached him- 
 
298 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 self for having accosted her with such familiarity ; and, as he fol- 
 lowed her to the castle, ^used on the perfect innocen ce of_a_giri 
 who had a fisei deft her mother, nor felt one emotion_ _Bg^r than 
 filial tenderness^ Lady Edgarmond was alone whensbe received 
 him. !EIe~had seen her twice, some years before, without any 
 particular notice; but now he observed her carefully, comparing 
 her with the descriptions of Corinne. He found them correct in 
 many respects ; yet he thought that he detected more sensibility 
 than she had done, not being accustomed, like himself, to guess 
 what such self-regulated physiognomies conceal. His first anxiety 
 was on Corinne's account, and he began the conversation by 
 praising Italy. " It is an amusing residence for men," returned 
 Lady Edgarmond; "but I should be very sorry if any woman, 
 in whom I felt an interest, could long be pleased with it." — " And 
 yet," continued Oswald, already hurt by this insinuation, "I 
 found there the most distinguished woman I ever met." — "Pro- 
 bably, as to mental attainments; but an honorable man seeks 
 other qualities in the companion of his life." — "And he would 
 find them \" he said, warmly : he might have made his meaning 
 s^lear at once, but that Luey entered, and said a few words apart 
 to her mother, who replied aloud : " No, my dear, you cannot go 
 to your cousin's to-day. Lord Nevil dines here." Lucy flushed, 
 seated herself beside her mother, and took up her embroidery, 
 , urom which she never raised her eyes, nor did shie utter a syllaBI^ 
 Nevil was almost angry : "it vi&S Iliuat probable that jjucy Knew 
 there had been some idea ef their union : he remembered all 
 Corinne had said on the probable effects of the severe education 
 Lady Edgarmond would give her daughter. In England, young 
 girls are usually more at liberty than married women : reason and 
 morality alike favor their privileges ; but Lady Edgarmond would 
 have had all females thus rigorously secluded. Oswald could not, 
 before Lucy, explain his intentions relative to Corinne ; and Lady 
 Edgarmond kept up a discourse on other subjects, with a firm 
 and simple good sense, that extorted his deference. He would 
 have combated her strict opinions, but he felt that if he used one 
 word in a different acceptation from her own, she would form an 
 
corinne; or, itaiy. 299 
 
 opinion which nothing could efface ; and he hesitated at this first 
 step, so irreparable with a person who will make no individual 
 exceptions, but judges^vgiytlijng _bjf.,fixed and_ general rules. 
 Dinner was announced ; and Lucy offered her arm to Lady Edgar- 
 mond. Oswald then first discovered that his hostess walked with 
 great difficulty. " I am suffering," she said, " from a painful, 
 perhaps a fatal ailment." Lucy, turned pale ; and her mother re- 
 sumed, with a more gentle cheerfulnessJf' My daiightftr'g atlfin- 
 t ion has once saved my life, and may preserve it long." Lucy 
 bent her head, and when she raised it, her lashes were still wet 
 with tears ; yet she dared not even take her mother's hand : all 
 had passed at the bottom of her heart; and she was only conscious 
 of a stranger's presence, from the necessity of concealing her agi- 
 tation. Oswald deeply felt ^is restraint of hers\and his mind, 
 so lately thrilled by passionate eloquencej refresned itself by con- 
 templating so chastely, simple a picture. Lucy seemed enveloped 
 in some immaculate veil, that sweetly baffled his speculations. 
 During dinner she spared her mother from all fatigue — serving 
 everything herself; ""iL^^'^'' ""^y l;fl ard her ^ ica) wSen she 
 offered to help him ; but these common-place couftesies were per- 
 formed with such enchanting grace, that he asked himself iiaw-ii; 
 was possible for such slight actions to betray so much soul. /"One 
 must have," he said to hjjnself. "eit h er the gfiniiin nf f^nrinn r j^ 
 th at surpasses all one co uld imagine, or this pure uncon sgiona 
 mystery, which leaves everv man free to s n Tir n nn wh n t r T r r T Jrt n rn 
 he prefers /^ r<C(UCAj^fig=, '^^fV^ "jjcM^ 
 
 The mother and daughter rbse from table : he would have fol- 
 lowed them; but her Ladyship adhered so scrupulously to old 
 customs, that she begged he would wait "till they sent to let him 
 know the tea was ready. He joined them in a quarter of an hour. 
 Most part of the evening passed without his having one oppor- 
 tunity of speaking to Lady Edgarmond as he designed. He was 
 about to depart for the town, purposing to return on the morrow, 
 when his hostess offered him a room in the castle. He accepted 
 it without deliberation ; but repented his readiness, on perceiving 
 that it seemed to be taken as a proof of his inclination towards 
 
300 
 
 CORINNE; OB, ITALY. 
 
 Luoy. This was but an additional motive for his renewing the 
 conversation respecting Corinne. Lady Edgarmond proposed a 
 turn in the garden. Oswald offered her his arm ; she looked at 
 mih steadfastly, and then said : " That is right : I thank you." 
 
 ■ Lucy re3ig ;"°'l ^"^ pgr pnt. t.nJ! iU>ll. IjiiI, timidly whJLUUiLJ. " Egy. 
 my Lord, walk slowly !" He started at this first private intelli- 
 gence with her : those pi tying tones were just such as he migh t 
 ii«iT7ooTjpntorl frn m ff-hftinp; above all earthly passions^. He did 
 
 "fioFthiqk his sense of such a moment any ^treason to Corinnel 
 They returned for evening prayer, at which her Ladyship always 
 assembled her household in the great hall. Most of them were 
 very infirm, having served the fathers of Lord and Lady Edgar- 
 mond. Oswald was thus reminded of his paternal home. Every 
 one knelt, except the matron, who, prevented by her lameness, 
 listened with folded hands and downcast eyes in reverent silence. 
 
 7 Lucy was on her knees b -ridn hrr pirpflt- it was her™iW)to 
 read the service ; a chapter of the Gospel, followed by a prayer 
 adapted to domestic country life, composed by the mistress of the 
 house :* its somewhat austere expressions were contrasted by the 
 soft voice that breathed them. 
 
 After blessing the king and country, the servants and the 
 kindred of this family, Lucy tremblingly added, " Grant also, 
 God ! that the young daughter of this house may live and die 
 with soul unsullied ^y a sinyle thought or feeling that conforma 
 not with her duty ; and that her mother , who must soon return to. 
 thee for ju dgment, may have some claim or pardon for her faults. , 
 in the virtues of h er only c hild." ^ 
 
 Lucy said this prayer daily; but now Oswald's presence so 
 affected her, that tears, which she strove to conceal, flowed down 
 her cheeks. He was touched with respectful tenderness, as he 
 gazed on the almost infantine face, that looked as if it still te- 
 membered having dwelt in heaven. Its beauty, thus surrounded 
 by age and decrepitude, was an image of divine commiseration. 
 
 f^^ e refl ectedojUlsr ^lopely life^ deprived of all the pleasus ea>^H 
 t he flatteries, due to her youth and charms : ^isso ulrnjltfid 
 towards her,^ The mother of Lucy, too, he found a person more 
 
corinne; oV, italy. O 301 
 
 Sfvere to herself than to others. The limits of her mind might 
 ther be attributed to the strength of her principles than to any 
 latural deficiencies : the asperity of her character was acquired 
 from repressed impulses; and, as Corinne had said, her affection 
 for her child gained force from this extreme control of all others. 
 By ten in the evening all was silent throughout the castle, and 
 Oswald left to muse over his last few hours : he owned not to 
 himself that Lucy had made an impression on his heart ; perhaps, 
 as yet, this was not the case ; bu/i n spite of the thnintind n ttrnn 
 \tvnnfi (^ffrinnn offered to his fancy, there was one class of ideas , 
 wherein Lucy might have reigne d more supremely than her sister. 
 The imag e of domestic felicity suited better with a r etreat in 
 Nort humberland than w ith a coron ation at the Capitol ; besides, 
 he remembered wjiich of these sister s tiia fat\]ar huA coUfty.^ fQf_ 
 feim : but he loved Corinne. w.ia hplnypd by her, had given-L er 
 his faith, and therefore persistp'^ i" t""" i"ntf.pt.; f)n of confidinjr thi s 
 t o Lady E rifpirininnd fip t.hfi morrow.- He fell asleep thinking of 
 Italy, but still the form of Lucy flitted lightly before him. He 
 awoke : when he slept again, the same dream returned ; at last 
 this ethereal shape seemed flying from him ; he strove to detain 
 her, and started up, as she disappeared, fearing her lost to him. 
 The day had broken, and he left his room to enjoy a morning 
 walk. 
 
 CHAPTEK VI. 
 
 The sun was just risen. Oswald supposed that no one was yet 
 stirring, till he perceived Lucy already drawing in a balcony. Her 
 hair, not yet fastened, was waving in the gale : she looked so like 
 his dream, that for a moment he started, as if he had beheld a 
 spirit; and though soon ashamed at having been so afiected by 
 such a natural circumstance, he remained for some time beneath 
 her station, but she did not perceive him. As he pursued his 
 walk, he wished more than ever for the presence that would have, 
 mTrfl thfifip hflilftgrmrri imprr'nnm 
 
 impr 
 
 26 ^ ^~ 
 
302 oorinne; or, italt. 
 
 which Corinne's e ^pninfi nmilrj tinvB solved : without her aid, it 
 took a thousand changeful forms iu bis mind's eye. He re- 
 entered the drawing-room, and found Lucy placing her morning'is 
 work in a little brown frame, facing her mother's tea-table. It 
 was a white rose, on its leafy stalk, finished to perfection. " You 
 draw, then?" he said. — "No, my Lord," she answered; "I 
 merely copy the easiest flowers I can find : there is no master 
 near us : the little I ever learned I owe to a sister who used to 
 give me lessons." She sighed. — "And what is become of her ?" 
 asked Oswald. — " She is dead ; but I shall always regret her." — 
 He found that she, too had been deceived ;* but her confession 
 of regret evinced so amiable a disposition, that he felt more 
 pleased, more affected, than before. Lucy was about to retire, 
 remembering that she was alone with Lord Nevil, when Lady 
 Edgarmond joined them. She looked on her daughter with sur- 
 prise and displeasure, and motioned her to withdraw. This first 
 informed Oswald that Lucy, had done something very extraordi- 
 nary, in remaining a few minutes with a man out of her mother's 
 presence ; and he was as much gratified as he would have been by 
 a decided mark of preference under other auspices. Lady Edgar- 
 mond took her seat, and dismissed the servant who had supported 
 her to the sofa. She was pale, and her lips trembled as she 
 offered a cup of tea to Lord Nevil. These symptoms increased 
 his own embarrassment, 'yet, animated by zeal for her he loved, 
 he began : " Lady Edgarmond, I have often in Italy seen a female 
 particularly interesting to you." — "I cannot believe it," she 
 answered, dryly : " no one there interests me." — " I should think 
 that the daughter of your husband had some claim on your affec- 
 tion." — " If the daughter of my husband be indifferent to her 
 duties and reputation, though I surely cannot wish her any ill, I 
 shall be very glad to hear no more of her." — " But," said Os- 
 wald, quickly, " if the woman your Ladyship deserts is celebrated 
 
 * A religious, mora), English gentlewoman propose a romantic false- 
 hood, so likely to wreck its theme on the dangers against which Lady 
 Edgarmond warned Corinne ! This anti-national inconsistency neutralizes 
 all the rest of Madame de Stael's intended satire. — Te. 
 
corinne; or, italy. 303 
 
 'by the world for her great and varied talents, will you forever 
 thus disdain her 1" — " Not the less, sir, for the abilities that wean 
 her from her rightful occupations. There are plenty of actresses, 
 artists, and musicians, to amuse society : in nut- rank, a woman's 
 : only becoming station is that whinh d p""'''"' ^"■'' *f ^'"' tinghaifl 
 and childrenj ." — "Madam," returned Oswald, "such talents can- 
 not exist without an elevated character and a generous heart : do 
 you censure them for extending the mind, and giving a more vast, 
 more general influence to virtue itself?" — " Virtue I" she repeated, 
 with a bitter smile; "I know not what you mean by the word, 
 so applied. The virtue of a young woman, who flies from her 
 father's home, establishes herself in Italy, leads the freest life, 
 receives all kinds of homage, to say no worse, sets an example 
 pernicious to others as to herself, abandoning her rank, her 
 
 family, her name " — "Madam," interrupted Oswald, "she 
 
 sacrificed her name to you, and to your daughter, whom she 
 feared to injure." — " She knew that she dishonored it, then," 
 replied the step-mother. — "This is too much," said Oswald, vio- 
 lently : " Corinne Edgarmond will soon be Lady Nevil, and we 
 shall then see if you blush to acknowledge the daughter of your 
 Lord. You confound with the vulgar herd a being gifted like no 
 other woman — an angel of goodness, tender and diffident at heart, 
 as she is sublime of soul. She may have had her faults, if that 
 innate superiority that could not conform with common rules be 
 one, but a single deed or word of hers might well efface them all. 
 She will more honor the man she chooses to protect her than 
 could the empress of a world." — " Be that man, then, my Lord !" 
 said Lady Edgarmond, making an effort to restrain her feelings : 
 " satirize me as narrow-minded j nothing you say can change me. 
 
 ( X understand by mora lity, an exact observ ance of ^^egta^^ljshfid 
 rules ; be yond which, tine qualities misapplied deser ve at b est but 
 pity/^^"The world would have been very sterile, my l^dy," 
 said Oswald, " had it always thought as yon do of genius and 
 eg^uSksm : human nature would have become a thing of mere 
 ■^malitfei^ But, not to continue this fruitless discussion, I will 
 ou^Sw^it you mean to acknowledge your daughter-in-law, when 
 
304 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 she is my wife?" — "Still less on that account," answered her 
 Ladyship : " I owe your father's memory my exertions to pre- 
 vent so fatal a union if I can." — "My father!" repeated Nevil, 
 always agitated by that name " Are you ignorant," she con- 
 tinued, " that he refused her, ere she had committed any actual 
 fault ? foreseeing, with the perfect sagacity that so characterized 
 him, what she would one day become ?" — "How, madam ! what 
 more know you of this?" — "Your father's letter to Lord Edgar- 
 mond on the subject," interrupted the lady, " is in the hands of 
 his old friend, Mr. Dickson. I sent it to him, when I heard of 
 your connection with this Corinne, that you might read it on your 
 return : it would not have become me to retain it." Oswald, 
 after a few moments' silence, resumed : " I ask your Ladyship but 
 for an act of justice, due to yourself, that is, to receive your hus- 
 band's daughter as she deserves." — " I shall not, in any way, my 
 Lord, contribute to your misery. If her present nameless and 
 unmatronized existence be an obstacle to your marrying her, God, 
 and your father, forbid that I should remove it !" — " Madam," he 
 exclaimed, " her misfortunes are but added chains that bind me 
 to her." — " Well," replied Lady Edgarmond, with an impetuosity 
 \o which she would not h nrr flirrn ii'iji liul^millii i own child 
 been thu s deprived of a suitable husb and,-^ ' well, render yourself 
 
 she hal 
 
 wretched, iheu ! she will be so too : sue hates this country, and 
 never will comply with its manners : this is no theatre for the 
 versatile talents you so prize, and which render her so fastidious. 
 She will carry you back to Italy : you will forswear your friends 
 and native land, for a lovely foreigner, I confess, but for one who 
 could forget you, if you wished it. Those flighty brains are 
 ever changeful : ^e^ grief s were made f ort he wo men you deem 
 go commoa-pla ee,\^ ose who live but for "their homes and~iamir 
 lies." This was, perhaps, the first time in her life that Lady 
 Edgarmond had (spoken on impulse^) it shook her weakened 
 nerves; and, as she ceasea, she sank back, half fainting. Os- 
 wald rang loudly for help. Lucy ran in alarmed, hastened to 
 revive her parent, and cast on Nevil an uneasy look, that seemed 
 to say : " Is it you who have made mamma so ill ?" He felt this 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 305 
 
 deeply, and strove to atone by attentions to Lady Edgarmond ; 
 but she repulsed him coldly, blushing to think that she had 
 seemed to pride but little in her girl, by betraying this anxiety to 
 secure her a reluctant bridegroom. She bade Lucy leave them, 
 and said calmly : " My Lord, at all events, I beg that you will 
 consider yourself free. My daughter is so young, that she is no 
 way concerned in the project formed by your father and myself; 
 but that being changed, it would be an indecorum for me to 
 receive you until she is married." Nevil bowed. — "I will con- 
 tent myself, then," he said, " with writing to you on the fate of a 
 person whom I can never desert." — " You are the master of that 
 fate,'' concluded Lady Edgarmond, in a smothered voice; and 
 Oswald departed. In riding down the avenue, he perceived, at a 
 distance, the elegant figure of young Lucy. He checked his 
 horse to look on her once more, and it appeared that she took 
 the same direction with himself. The high road passed before a 
 summer-house, at the end of the park ; he saw her enter it, and 
 went by with some reluctance, unable to discern her : he fre- 
 quently turned his head, and, at a point from which the road was 
 best commanded, observed a slight movement among the trees. 
 He stopped ; it ceased : uncertain whether he had guessed cor- 
 rectly, he proceeded, then abruptly rode back with the speed of 
 lightning, as if he had dropped something by the way; there, 
 indeed, he saw her, on the edge of the bank, and bowed respect- 
 fully : she drew down her veil, and hastily concealed herself in 
 the thicket, forgetting that she thus tacitly avowed the motive 
 which had brought her there. The poor child had never felt so 
 guilty in her life ; and far from thinking of simply returning his 
 salute, she feared that she must have lost his good opinion by 
 having been so forward. Oswald felt flattered by this blameless 
 and timorous sincerity. " No one," thought he, " could be more 
 candid than Corinne; but then, no one better knew herself or 
 others. Lucy had all to learn. Yet this charm of the day, could 
 it suffice for a life ? ^his pretty ignorance cannot endur^ and , 
 since we must penetrate the secrets of our own hearts at last, is , 
 not the ^and^ which survives such examination worth more thaa' 
 
306 ^^^(^(^ coeinnb; or, italt. L(J,(JA 
 
 that which precedes it ?" This comparison, he believed, was but 
 an amusement to his mind, which could never occupy it more 
 gravely. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Oswald proceeded to Scotland. The eEFeet of Lucy's presence, 
 the sentiment he still felt for Corinne, alike gave place to the 
 emotions that awakened at the sight of scenes where he had dwelt 
 with his father. He upbraided himself with the dissipations in 
 which he had spent the last year ; fearing that he was no longer 
 worthy to re-enter the abode he now wished he had never quitted. 
 Alas ! after the loss of life's dearest object, how can we be content 
 with ourselves, unless in perfect retirement ? We cannot mix in 
 society, without in some way neglecting our worship of the dead. 
 In vain their memory reigns in the heart's core ; we lend our- 
 selves to the activity of the living, which banishes the thought of 
 death as painful and unavailing. If solitude prolongs not our 
 regrets, life, as it is, calls back the most feeling minds, renews 
 their interests, their passions. This imperious necessity is one 
 of the sad conditions of human nature ; and although decreed by 
 Providence, that man may support the idea of death, both for 
 himself and others, yet often, in the midst of our enjoyments, we 
 feel remorse at beiag still capable of them, and seem to hear a 
 resigned, aifecting voice asking us : " Have you, whom I so loved, 
 forgotten me ?" Oswald felt not now the despair he had suflfered 
 on his first return home after his father's death, bnt a melancholy, 
 deepened by his perceiving that time had accustomed every one 
 else to the loss he still deplored. The servants no longer thought 
 it their duty to .speak of the late lord ; his place in the rank of 
 life was filled; children grow up as substitutes for their sires. 
 Oswald shut himself in his father's room, for lonely meditation. 
 'Oh, human destiny!" he sighed, "what wouldst thou have? so 
 much life perish? so many thoughts expire ? No, no, my only 
 friend hears me, yet sees my tears, is present — our immortal 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 307 
 
 spirits still commune. Oh, Grod ! be thou my guide. Those iron 
 souls, that seem immovable as nfeiture's rooks, pity not the vacilla- 
 tions and repentance of the sensitive, the conscientious, who can- 
 not take one step without the fear of straying from the right. 
 They may bid duty lead them, but duty's self would vanish from 
 their eyes, if Thau, revealedst not the truth to their hearts." 
 
 In the evening Oswald roved through the favorite walks of his 
 father. Who has not hoped, in the ardor of his prayers, that the 
 one dear shade would reappear, and miracles be wrought by the 
 force of love ? Vain trust ! beyond the tomb we can see nothing. 
 These endless uncertainties occupy not the vulgar, but the nobler 
 the mind the more inoontrollably is it involved in speculations. 
 While Oswald wandered thus absorbed, he did, indeed, behold a 
 venerable man slowly advancing towards him. Such a sight at 
 such a time and place, took a strong eflfect ; but he soon recog- 
 nized his father's friend, Mr. Dickson, and with an affection 
 which he never felt for him before. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 This gentleman in no way equalled the parent of Oswald, but 
 he was with him at his death ; and having been born in the same 
 year, he seemed to linger behind but to carry Lord Nevil some 
 tidings of his son. ' Oswald offered him his arm as they went up 
 stairs; and felt a pleasure in paying attention to age, however 
 little resembling that of his father. Mr. Dickson remembered 
 Oswald's birth, and hesitated not to speak his mind on all that 
 concerned his young friend, strongly reprimanding his connection 
 with Corinne; but his weak arguments would have gained less 
 ascendency over Oswald's mind than those of Lady Edgarmond, 
 had he not handed him the letter to which she alluded. With 
 considerable tremor he read as follows : — 
 
 " Will you forgive me, my dear friend, if I propose a change 
 of plan in the union of our families ? My son is more than a 
 
308 
 
 CORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 year younger than your eldest daughter; will it not be better, 
 therefore, that he should wait for the little Lucy ? I might eon- 
 fine myself to the subject of age; but, as I knew Miss Edgar- 
 mond's when first I named my wishes, I should deem myself 
 wanting in confidence, if I did not tell you my true reasons for 
 desiring that this marriage may not take place. We have known 
 each other for twenty years, and may speak frankly of our children, 
 especially while they are young enough to be improved by our 
 opinions. Your daughter is a charming girl, but I seem to be 
 gazing on one of those Grecian beauties, who, of old, enchanted 
 and subdued the world. Do not be offended by this comparison. 
 She can have received from you none but the purest principles; 
 (yet she certainly loves to p rodu ce an effect, and create a sensa- 
 >> . tionj) she\has more|^enius^ tban{ selt'-love :Ys uch talenta~as~TTp.ra 
 necessarily engender , 
 
 and I know no theatre 
 
 that could suffice the activity of a spirit, whose impetuous fancy, 
 and ardent feelings, break through each word she utters.' yS^e 
 would ine vitably wean mv son from England ; for .sntjh a woman 
 eoiili^ nntJ iaJtapD y here : only Italy can content her. She musi 
 have that^ee life which is guided but by fantasy^ our domestic 
 country habits must thwart her every taste. A man born in thi? 
 happy land ^u^ht to be in a ll things Englishj)and fulfil the duties 
 to which he is so fortunately called. In conntries whose political 
 institutions give men such honorable opportunities for public ac- 
 tion,nhe women should bloom in the shade 1 ^ can you expect so 
 distinguished a person as your daughter to be satisfied with such 
 a lot ? Take my advice. Marry her in Italy ; her religion and 
 manners suit that country. If my son should wed her, I am sure 
 it would be from love, for no one can be more engaging : to please 
 her, he would endeavor to introduce foreign customs into his 
 establishment, and would soon uosejusjiational characterX those 
 prejudices, if you please to call tEem so, which unite us with each 
 other, and render us a body free but indissoluble, or which can 
 only be broken up by the death of its last associate. My son 
 could not be comfortable where his wife was unhappy : he is 
 sensitive, even to weakness; and his expatriation, if I lived to 
 
corinne; or, italy. 309 
 
 see it, would render me most miserable ; ^ot merely as deprived 
 qfmy soP j but as knowine ; ^'""1 '"°'^ *" *^R c:l"''y "^ ggyy'nff ||ja 
 native landV Is it worthy a mountaineer to drag on a useless life 
 amid the pleasures of Italy ? A Soot become the cicisbeo of his 
 own wife, if not of some other man's? Neither the guide nor the 
 prop of his family ! I even rejoice that Oswald is now in France, 
 and still unknown to a lady whose empire over him would be too 
 great. I dare conjure you, my dear friend, should I die before 
 his marriage, do not let him meet your eldest daughter until 
 Lucy be of an age to fix his affections. Let him learn my wishes, 
 if requisite. 1 1 know he will respect them — the more if I should 
 then be removed from this life. \ Give all your attention, I entreat 
 you, to his union with Lucy. Child as she is, her features, look, 
 and voi ce, all ex press the most endearing modesty. She will be 
 a tru a EngflishwMaan>^ and may constitute the happiness of my 
 boy. If I do not live to witness their felicity, I shall exult over 
 it in heaven; and when we reunite there, my dear friend, our 
 prayers and benedictions will protect our children still. 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 "Nevil." 
 
 After reading this, Oswald remained silent, and left Mr. Dick- 
 son time to continue his long discourse without interruption. He 
 admired the judgment of his friend, who, nevertheless, he said, 
 was far from anticipating the reprehensible life Miss Edgarmond 
 had since led : a marriage between Oswald and herself now, he 
 added, would be an eternal insult to Lord Nevil's memory ; who, 
 it appeared, during his son's fatal residence in France, had passed 
 a whole summer at Lady Edgarmond's, solacing himself by super- 
 intending the education of his favorite Lucy. In fact without 
 either artifice or forbearance, Mr. Dickson attacked the heart of 
 Oswald through all the avenues of sensibility. Thus everything 
 conspired against the absent Corinne, who had no means, save 
 letters, for reviving from time to time, the tenderness of Oswald. 
 She had to contend with his love of country, his filial remorse, the 
 exhortation of his friends in favor of resolutions so easy to adopt. 
 
310 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 as they led him towards a budding, beauty, whose every charm 
 seemed to harmonize with the calm, chaste hopes of a domestic 
 lot. 
 
 BOOK XVII. 
 
 COEINNB IN SCOTLAND. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Corinne, meanwhile, had- settled in a villa on the Brenta : she 
 could not quit the scenes in which she had last met Oswald — 
 and also hoped that she should here receive her letters earlier than 
 at Kome. Prince Castel Forte had written, begging leave to visit 
 her ; but she refused. The friendship existing between them 
 commanded mutual confidence ; and had he striven to detach her 
 from her love — had he told her what she so often told herself — 
 that absence must decrease Nevil's attachment, one inconsiderate 
 word would have been a dagger to her heart. She wished to see 
 no one; yet it is not easy to live alone, while the soul is ardent, 
 and it-s situation unfortunate. The empIflymeatsu)£-solituda_ia:_ 
 quire peace of mind j if that be lost, forced gayety, howeveE-troa^-, 
 blesoine,"is more serviceable than meditation. If we could trace 
 \ madness to its source, we should surely find that it originated in 
 'the power of one single thought, which excluded all mental vari- 
 ety. Corinne's imagination consumed herself, unless diverted by 
 external excitement. What a life now succeeded that which she 
 had led for nearly a year, with the man of her heart's choice for- 
 ever with her, as her most appreciating eompanion, her tenderest 
 friend, and fondest lover KNow, all was barren around and gloomy 
 within herT^ The only interestmg event was tbe arrival of a let- 
 ter from Miti; and the irregularity of the post, during winter, 
 every day tormented her with expectations, often disappointed. 
 Each morning she walked on the banks of the canal, now covered 
 
COEINNE; OR, ITALY. 311 
 
 by large-leaved water-lilies, watching for the black gondola, which 
 she had learned to distinguish afar off. How did her heart beat, 
 as she perceived it ! Sometimes the messenger would answer : " No 
 letters for you, madame," and carelessly proceeded to other matters, 
 as if nothing were so simple as to have no letters ; another time 
 he would say : " Yes, madame, here are some." She ran over 
 them all with a trembling band : if the well-known characters of 
 Oswald met not her eye, the day was terrible, the night sleepless, 
 the morrow redoubled her anxiety and suspense. " Surely," she 
 thought, " he might write more frequently ;" and her next letter 
 reproached his silence. He justified himself; but his style had 
 already lost some of its tenderness : instead of expressing his own 
 solicitude, it seemed but attempting to dissipate hers. This 
 change did not escape her : day and night would she reperuse a 
 particular phrase, seeking some new interpretation on which to 
 build a few days' composure, ^his state sl m^t?T°d h°r ne];Ypg_^ 
 sjie-boonmc m^pp1'^titin1^8^ Constantly occupied by the same fear, 
 we may draw presages from everything. One day in every week 
 she went to Venice, for the purpose of receiving her letters some 
 hours earlier : this merely varied the tortures of waiting ; and in 
 a short time she conceived as great a horror for every object she 
 encountered on her way, as if they had been the spectres of her 
 own thoughts, reappearing clothed in the most dreadful aspects. 
 Once, on entering the church of St. Mark, she remembered how, 
 on her arrival in Venice, the idea had occurred to her that per- 
 haps, ere she departed, Oswald would lead her thither to call her 
 his in sight of Heaven. She gave way once more to this illusion ; 
 saw him approach the altar ; heard him vow before his Grod to 
 love her forever ; they knelt together, and she received the nup- 
 tial crown. The organ, then playing, and the lights that shone 
 through the aisle, gave life to her vision ; and for a moment she 
 felt not the cruel void of absence : but suddenly a dreary murmur 
 succeeded — she turned, and beheld a bier brought into the church. 
 She staggered ; her sight almost failed ; and from that moment 
 •Jc she felt con vinced that her love for Oswald would lea d ber but t o 
 the grave. 
 
312 O.ORINNE; or, ITALY. 
 
 &^^ 
 
 V^ 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lord Nevil was now the most unhappy and irresolute of men. 
 He must either break the heart of Corinne, or outrage the memory 
 of his father. Cruel alternative ! to escape which he called on 
 death a thousand times a day. At last, he once more resorted to 
 higJiaWtijaLpEoarasiii^tion, telling himself that he would go to 
 Venice, since he could not resolve to write Corinne the truth, and 
 make her his judge ; but then he daily expected that his regiment 
 would embark. He was free from all engagement with Lucy. He 
 ■ believed it his duty not to marry Corinne ; but in what other way 
 could he pass his life with her ? Could he desert his country ? or 
 bring her to it, and ruin her fair name forever ? He resolved to 
 hide from her the obstacles which he had encountered from her 
 step-mother, because he still hoped ultimately to surmount them. 
 Manifold causes rendered his letters brief, or filled them with 
 subjects remote from his future prospects. Any one, save Corinne, 
 would have guessed all ; but passion rendered her at once quick- 
 sighted and credulous. In such a state, we see nothing in a natu- 
 ral manner : but discover what is concealed, while blind to that 
 which should seem clearest. We cannot brook the idea of suffering 
 so "much without some extraordinary cause ; we will not confess 
 to ourselves that such despair may be produced by the simplest 
 circumstances in life. Though Oswald pitied her, and blamed 
 himself, his correspondence betrayed an irritation which it did not 
 explain ; wildly reproaching her for what he endured, as if she 
 had not been far the most unfortunate^This tone deprived her 
 of^all m astery over herself. Her mind was disordered by the 
 most fatal images : she could not believe that the being capable 
 of writing with such abrupt and heartless bitterness was the same 
 Oswald she had known so generous, so tender, She felt a resist- 
 less desire to see and speak with him once more. " Let me hear 
 him tell me," she raved, " that it is he who thus mercilessly stabs 
 her whose least pain once so strongly afflicted him ; let him say 
 so, and I submit : but some infernal power seems to inspire this 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 313 
 
 language ; it is not Oswald who writes thus to me. They have 
 slandered me to him : some treachery must be exerted, or I could 
 not be used thus." She adopted the resolution of going to Scot- 
 land, if we may so call the impulse of an imperious grief, which 
 would fain alter its present situation at all hazards. She dared 
 not write nor speak to any one on this subject, still flattering her- 
 self that some fortunate change would prevent her acting on a 
 plan, which, nevertheless, soothed her imagination, and forced her 
 to look forward^To read was now impossible: trnisin t hrillfifl 
 hf ^" ''p ;"ny """^ *1'^ nbun i a nf njitiire. induced a, j ;fiVftTiR t^" 
 redoubled her distress. T his creat ure, once so animated, now 
 "passed wtiole days i»'motionlesssilen()e. Her internal pangs wer^ 
 but betrayed by a mortal paleness : her eyes were frequently fixed « 
 upon her watch, though she knew not why she should wish one 
 hour to succeed another, since not one of them could bring her 
 aught, save restless nights and despairing days. 
 
 One evening, she was informed that a fepiale was earnestly re- 
 questing to see her : she consented ; and the woman entered her 
 presence dressed in black, and veiled, to conceal, as much as pos- 
 sible, a face deformed by the most frightful malady. Thus wronged 
 by nature, she consoled herself by collecting alms for the poor; 
 demanding them nobly, and with an affecting confidence of success. 
 Corinne gave her a large sum, entreating her prayers in return. 
 The poor being, resigned to her own fate, was astonished to behold 
 a person so lovely, young, rich, and celebrated, a prey to sorrow. 
 " My God, madame," she cried, " I would you were as calm as I !" 
 What an address from such an object to the most brilliant womMK 
 in Italy ! Alas ! (the pnwpr_nf l^iyp '« to o vast in souls like hers . | 
 Happy are they who consecrate to Heaven the sentiments no 
 earthly ties can merit. That tii3a£.was not yet come for poor Co- 
 rinne ; she still deceived herself, still sought for bliss ; she prayed, 
 indeed, but not submissively. Her peerless talents, the glory they 
 had won, gave her too great an interest in herself. It is only by 
 detaching our hearts from all the world that we can renounce the 
 thing we love. Every other sacrifice must precede this : life may 
 27 
 
314 CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 
 
 be long a desert ere the fire that made it so is quenched. At last, 
 in the midst of this sad indecision, Corinne received a letter from 
 Oswald, telling her that his regiment would embark in six weeks, 
 and that, as its colonel, he could not profit by this delay to visit 
 Venice without injuring his reputation. There was but just time 
 for Corinne to reach England, ere he must leave it, perhaps for- 
 ever. This thought decided her; she was not ignorant of her 
 own rashness ; she judged herself more severely than any one else 
 / could. Pity her, then ! What woman has a right to " cast the first 
 stone" at the unfortunate sister, who justifies not her fault, hopes 
 for no pleasure, but flies from one misfortune to another, as if 
 driven on by persecuting spirits ? Her letter to Castel Forte thus 
 concludes : " Adieu, my faithful protector ! Adieu, my friends in 
 Rome ! with whom I passed such joyous, easy days, /it isdflne 
 — ^all is o ver. Fate has s trjcknii iiii T Tdtl tin ndiiiiil ii miiiliiL 
 1 s truggle still, b "t. snnp fihiill M\ I must see him again. I 
 am not answerable for myself. A storm is in my breast such as 
 I cannot govern ; but I draw near the term at which all will cease. 
 This is the last act of my history : it will end in penitence and 
 death. Oh, wild confusion of the human heart ! Even now, 
 while I am obeying the will of passion, I see the shades of even- 
 ing in the distance, I hear a voice divine that whispers me: 
 ' Still these fond agitations, hapless wretch ! the abode of endless 
 rest awaits thee.' God ! grant me the presence of mine Os- 
 wald once more, but one last moment ! The very memory of his 
 features now is darkened by despair; but is there not something 
 heavenly in his look ? Did not the air become more pure, more 
 brilliant, as he approached ? You, my friend, have seen him with 
 me, have witnessed his kind cares, and the respect with which he 
 inspired others for the woman of his choice. How can I live 
 without him ? Pardon my ingratitude : ought I thus to requite 
 thy disinterested constancy ? But I am no longer worthy any 
 blessing ; and might pass for insane, had I not still the miserable 
 consciousness of mine own madness. Farewell, then — yes, fare- 
 well !" 
 
COEINNE: or, ITALY. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 315 
 
 How pitiable is the feeling, delicate woman, who commits a 
 great imprudence for a man whose love she knows inferior to her 
 own ! She has but herself to be her support. If she has risked 
 repose and character to do some signal service for her idol, she 
 may be envied. Sweet is the self-devotion that braves all danger 
 to save a life that is dear to us, or solace the distress which rends 
 a heart responsive to our own. But thus to travel unknown lands, 
 to arrive without being expected, to blush before the one beloved, 
 for the unasked proof thus given of his power — vpain ful degrada- 
 tion !| What would it be if we thus involved tne happiness of 
 others, and outraged our duty to more sacred bonds ? Corinne 
 was free. She sacrificed but her own peace and glory. Her con- 
 duct was irrational, indeed, but it could overcloud no destiny save 
 hers.* 
 
 On landing in England, Corinne learned from the papers that 
 Lord Nevil's departure was still delayed. She saw no society in 
 London except the family of a banker, to whom she had been 
 recommended under a false name. He was interested in her at 
 first sight, and enjoined his wife and daughter to pay her all the 
 attentions in their power. She fell dangerously ill, and, for a 
 fortnight, her new friends watched over her with the most tender 
 care. She heard that Lord Nevil was in Spotland, but must 
 shortly rejoin his regiment in London. She knew not how to 
 announce herself, as she had not written to hjm respecting her 
 intentions — indeed, Oswald had not received a letter from her 
 for three months. He mentally accused her of infidelity, as if he 
 had any right to complain. On his return to town, he went first 
 to his agents, where he hoped to find letters from Italy : there 
 were none ; and, as he was musing over this silence, he encoun- 
 
 * The Corinnes of this world care little how they pain the Castel Fortes. 
 The mere esteem of such a man would have been worth even the love of 
 twenty Oswalds. — Tb. 
 
316 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 tered Mr. Edgarmond, who asked him for news of Corinne. " I 
 hear nothing of her," he replied, irritably. — " That I can easily 
 understand," added Edgarmond : " these Italians always forget a 
 fereigner, once out of sight; one ought never to heed it; they 
 t^ would be too delightful if they united constancy with geniu sj_it_ 
 is but "fa ir that our own women should have some advantage ! " 
 He squeezed Oswald's hand as he said this, and took leave, as he 
 was just starting for Wales; but his few words had pierced their 
 
 hearer's heart "lam wrong," he said, "to wish she should 
 
 regret me, since I cannot constitute her happiness; but so soon 
 to forget! This blights the past as well as the future." 
 
 Despite his father's will, he had resolved not to see Lucy more ; 
 and even scorned himself for the impression she had made on him. 
 Condemned as he was to defeat the hopes of Corinne J he felt that, 
 ^ at least, he ought to preserve his heart's faith inviolately hers; 
 1 ^0 duty ur^re d him to forfeit that. ) He renewed his solicitations 
 in her cause, by letters to Lady Edgarmond, who did not even 
 deign to answer them : meanwhile, Mr. Dickson assured him that 
 the only way of melting her to his wishes would be — marrying 
 her daughter ; whose establishment, she feared, Corinne might 
 frustrate, if she resumed her name, and was received by her 
 family. Fate had hitherto spared her the pang of suspecting 
 Oswald's interest in her sister. Never was she herself more 
 worthy of him than now. During her illness, the candid, sim- 
 ple beings by whom she was surrounded, had given her a sincere 
 taste for English habits and manners. The few persons she saw 
 were anything but distinguished, yet possessed an estimable 
 strength, and justice of mind. Their affection for her was less 
 professing than that to which she had been accustomed, but 
 evinced with every opportunity by fresh good offices. The aus- 
 terity of Lady Edgarmond, the tedium of a small country town, 
 had cruelly misled her as to the kindness, the true nobility to be 
 found in the country she had abandoned : unluckily^ she now 
 became attached to it under such circumstances, that it would 
 have been better for her own peace had she never been untaught 
 her dislike. 
 
corinne; or, italy. 317 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The banker's family, who were forever studying how to prove 
 their friendship, pressed Corione to see Mrs. Siddons perform 
 Isabella, in the Fatal Marriage, one of the characters in which 
 that great actress best displayed her admirable genius. Corinne 
 refused for some time : at last, she remembered that Lord Nevil 
 had often compared her manner of recitation with that of Mrs. 
 Siddons : she was therefore anxious to see her, and thickly veiled, 
 went to a small box, whence she could see all, herself unseen. 
 She knew not if Oswald was in London, but feared to be recog- 
 nized by any one who might have met her in Italy. The com- 
 manding beauty and deep sensibility of the heroine so riveted 
 her attention, that, during the earliest acts, her eyes were never 
 turned from the stage. 
 
 English declamation is better calculated than any other to 
 touch the soul, especially when such fine talents give it all its 
 power and originality. It is less artificial, less conventional than 
 that of France. The impressions produced are more immediate — 
 for thus would true despair express itself; tjie plots "ami versiffea- 
 tion of English dramas too are less remote from real life, an d 
 tlipir pffipp,t, Tnf) re heart^reUdJDg. — II icquifC Srar higher genius to 
 become a great actor in France, so little liberty being left to in- 
 dividual manner, so much influence attached to general rules ; (33) 
 but in England you may risk anything, if inspired by nature. 
 The long groans that appear ridiculous if described, make those 
 shudder who hear them. Mrs. Siddons, the most nobly-mannered 
 woman who ever adorned a theatre, lost none of her dignity by pros- 
 trating herself on the earth. There is no action but may become 
 graceful, if prompted by an impulse which rises from the depths 
 of the breast, and lords it over the mind which conceives it still 
 more than over its witnesses. Various nations have their different 
 styles of tragic acting, but the expression of grief is understood 
 from one end of the world to the other; and, from the savage to 
 27* 
 
318 CORINNE; OK, ITALY. 
 
 the king, there is some similarity between all men while they 
 are really suffering. 
 
 Between the fourth and fifth acts, Corinne observed that all 
 eyes were turned towards a box, in which she beheld Lady Ed- 
 garmond and her daughter ; she could not doubt that it was Lucy, 
 much as the last seven years had embellish her form. The 
 death of a rich relation had obliged Lady Edgarmond to visit 
 London, and settle the succession of his fortune. Lucy was more 
 dressed than usual ;* and it was long since so beauteous a girl 
 Ahad been seen, even in England, where the women are so lovely. 
 3 Corinne felt a melancholy surprise : she thought it impossible for 
 Oswald to resist that countenance. On co mparin g herself with 
 ? becgister, s he was so conscious of her own in f eriority, that she 
 ) aaasrgerated (i f such exaggeration be possib le'^ the charm of tl^at 
 ' fniy nnmplpvinn, those golden curls, and innocent blue eye^ — 
 that image of life's spring ! She felt almost degraded in setting 
 her own mental acquirements in competition with gifts thus lav- 
 ished by Heaven itself. Suddenly, in an opposite box, she per- 
 ceived Lord Nevil, whose gaze was fixed on Iiucy. What a 
 moment for Corinne ! She once more beheld that face, for which 
 she had so long searched her memory every instant, as if the 
 image could be efia^ed — she beheld it again — absorbed by the 
 beauty of another. Oswald could not guess the presence of Co- 
 rinne ; but if his eye had even wandered towards her, she might, 
 from such a chance, have drawn a happy omen. 
 
 Mrs. Siddons reappeared, and Lord Nevil looked but on her. 
 Corinne breathed again, trusting that mere curiosity had drawn 
 his glance towards Lucy. The tragedy became every moment 
 more affecting; and the fair girl was bathed in tears, which she 
 strove to conceal, by retiring to the back of her box. Nevil 
 noticed this with increased interest. At last the dreadful instant 
 
 If Englishwomen ever do go into public immediately after the death 
 of a near relation, it must be in deep mourning. Corinne saw these 
 wonders very plainly, considering that Lady Edgarmond and Lucy sat 
 on the same side of the house with herself; which must have been tho 
 case, by her calling Oswald's an opposite box. — Tr. 
 
OR, ITALY. 319 
 
 came when Isabella, laughing at the fruitless eiforts of those who 
 would restrain her, stabs herself to the heart. That despairing 
 laugh is the most difficult and powerful effect which tragic acting 
 can produce; its bitter irony moves one to more than tears. How 
 terrible must be the suffering that inspires so barbarous a joy, and 
 in the sight of our own blood, feels the ferocious pleasure that 
 one might experience when taking full revenge upon some savage 
 foe. It was evident that Lucy's agitation had alarmed her 
 mother, who turned anxiously towards her. Oswald rose, as if 
 he would have flown to them ; but he soon reseated himself, ^and 
 Corinne felt some relief; yet she sighed ; " My sister Lucy, once 
 so dear to me, has a feeling heart; why should I then wish to de- 
 prive her of a blessing she may enjoy without impediment, with- 
 out any sacrifice on Oswald's part?" 
 
 When the play concluded, Corinne stayed until the parties who 
 were leaving the house had gone, that she might avoid recognition ; 
 she concealed herself near the door of her box, where she could 
 see what passed near her. As soon as Lucy came out, a crowd 
 assembled to look on her; and exclamations in praise of her beauty 
 were heard from all sides, which greatly embarrassed her ; the 
 infirm Lady Edgarmond was ill able to brave the throng, despite 
 the cares pf her child, and the politeness shown them both ; but 
 they knew no one, therefore no gentleman dared accost them. 
 Lord Nevil, seeing their situation, hastened to offer each an arm. 
 Lucy, blushing and downcast, availed herself of this attention. 
 They passed close by Corinr.e, whom Oswald little suspected of 
 witnessing a sight so painful : he was proud of thus escorting one . 
 of the handsomest girls in England through the numerous admirers 
 who followed hw steps.* 
 
 » If so scmpulous a person as Lady Edgarmond would take her 
 daughter to a theatre without male protection, she could not, fortunately, 
 have been exposed to all these annoyances. Our private boxes are few. 
 Each side has its own passage and staircase. Oswald might make his 
 way from one to the other ; but if all the individuals on one side left the 
 house as soon as the tragedy concluded, they could not, after quitting 
 their boxes, be thus seen by the parties opposite. I have vainly en- 
 deavored to clear this obscurity. — Tk. 
 
320 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OoRINNE returned to her dwelling in cruel disquiet; not know- 
 ing what steps to take, how to apprise Nevil of her arrival, fior 
 what to say in defence of her motives; for every instant lessened 
 her confidence in his love : sometimes it seemed as if the man 
 she sought to see again were some passionately beloved stranger, 
 who could not even recognize her. She sent to his house the 
 next evening, and was inlbrmed that he had gone to Lady Edgar- 
 mond's ; the same answer was brought her on the follo?idng day, 
 with tidings that her ladyship was ill, and would return to 
 Northumberland on her recovery. Corinne waited for her removal 
 ere she let Oswald know she was in England. Every evening 
 she walked by her step-mother's residence, and saw his carriage 
 at its door. An inexpressible oppression seized on her heart : 
 yet she daily persevered, and daily received the same shock. She 
 erred, however, in supposing that Oswald was there as the suitor 
 of Lucy. 
 
 As he led Lady Edgarmond to her carriage, after the play, she 
 told him that Corinne was concerned in the will of their late 
 kinsman ; and begged that he would write to Italy on the arrange- 
 ments made in the affair. As Oswald promised to call, he fancied 
 he felt the hand of Lucy tremble. Corinne's silence persuaded him 
 that he was no longer dear to her ; and the emotion of thisvoung 
 girl gave him the idea that she was interested in him. (Tethe 
 t hought no t of breaking; h is pr omise to Corinne : t hfij jng she held 
 was a pledp:e that he would ne ver marry gTinMip ryn'f>inii| -, her rt^j\. 
 £ntj( He sought her step-mother next day, merely on her account; 
 but Lady Edgarmond was so ill, and her daughter so uneasy at 
 finding herself in London without another relative near her, vrith- 
 out even knowing to what physician she should apply, that, in duty 
 to the friends of his father, Oswald felt he ought to devote his time 
 to their service. The cold, proud Lady Edgarmond had never 
 softened so much as she did now ; letting him visit her every day 
 without his having said a word that could be construed into a 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 321 
 
 proposal for her daughter, whose beauty, rank, and fortune 
 rendered her one of the first matches in England. Since her 
 appearance in public, her address had been eagerly inquired, and 
 her door besieged by the nobility; yet her mother went nowhere 
 — ^ received no one but Lord Nevil. Could he avoid feeling flat- 
 tered by this silent and delicate generosity, which trusted him 
 without conditions, without complaint? yet every time he went 
 did he fear that his presence would be interpreted into an engage- 
 ment. He would have ceased to go thither ai soon as Corinne's 
 business was settled, but that Lady Bdgarmond underwent a 
 relapse, more dangerous than her first attack ; and had she died, 
 Lucy would have had no friend beside her but himself. She had 
 never breathed a word that could assure him of her preference ; 
 yet he fancied he detected it in the light but sudden changes of 
 her cheek, the abrupt fall of her lashes, and the rapidity of her 
 breathing. He studied her young heart with tender interest ; and 
 her reserve left him always uncertain as to the nature of her senti- 
 ments. The highest eloquence of passion cannot entirely satisfy the 
 fancy ; we desire something beyond it ; and not finding that, must 
 cither cool or sate ; while the faint light which we perceive through 
 clouds, long keeps our curiosity in suspense, and seems to promise 
 a whole future of new discoveries : this expectation is never grati- 
 fied ; for when we know what all this mystery hid, its charm is 
 gone, and we awake to regret the candid impulses of a more ani- 
 mated character. How.then can we prolong the heart's enchant- 
 ment, since doubt and confidence, rapture and misery, alike 
 destroy it in the end ? These heavenly joys belong not to our 
 fate; they never cross our path, save to remind us of our immortal 
 origin and hopes. 
 
 Lady Edgarmond was better; and talked of departing, in two 
 days, for her estate in Scotland, near that of Lord Nevil, whither 
 he had purposed going before the embarkation of his regiment : 
 she anticipated his proposing to accompany her, but he said noth- 
 ing. Lucy gazed on him in silence for a moment, then hastily 
 rose, and went to the window : on some pretext Nevil shortly 
 followed her, and fancied that her lids were wet with tears : he 
 sighed, and the forgetfulness of which he had accused Corinna 
 
322 oorinne; or, italt. 
 
 returning to his memory, he asked himself whether this yonng 
 creature might not prove more capable of constant love ? He 
 wished to atone for the pain he had inflicted. At is delightful 
 to rekindle smiles on a countenance so nearly infantine^J Grief is 
 out of place, where even reflection has yet left no tfaee. There 
 was to be a review in Hyde Park on the morrow ; he therefore 
 entreated Lady Edgarmond to drive there with her daughter, and 
 afterwards permit his taking a ride with Lucy beside her carriage. 
 Miss Edgarmond had once said that she greatly wished to mount 
 a horse, and looked at her mother with appealing submission : 
 after a little deliberation, the invalid held out her wasting hand 
 to Oswald, saying : " If you request it, my Lord, I consent." 
 These words so alarmed him, that he would have abandoned his 
 own proposal; but that Lucy, with a vivacity she had never be- 
 fore betrayed, took her mother's hand, and kissed it gratefully. 
 He had not the courage to deprive an innocent being, who led so 
 lonely a life, of an amusement she so much desired. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Foe a fortnight, Corinne had endured the severest anxiety; 
 every morning she hesitated whether she should write to Oswald ; 
 every evening she had the inexpressible grief of knowing that he 
 was with Lucy. Her sufferings made her daily more timid : she 
 blushed to think that he might not approve the step she had 
 taken. "Perhaps," she often said, "all thought of Italy is 
 banished from his breast : he no longer needs in woman a gifted 
 mind or an impassioned heart ; all that can please him now is the 
 angelic beauty of sixteen, the frestand diffident soul that conse- 
 crates to him its first emotions." ttler imagi nation was so struck 
 with theadyantageaof her youngSister, tnat she was abastlST}, 
 2disd TBie'?^epreciatingTy~J ibgu4tijJ With nerselt^ ^'hough not yet 
 eight-and-twenty, she had already reached that era when women 
 sadly distrust their power to please. Her pride and jealousy con- 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 323 
 
 tending, made her defer from day to day the dreaded yet desired 
 moment of her meeting with Oswald. She learned that his regi- 
 ment would be reviewed, and resolved on beiag present. She 
 thought it probable that Lucy would be there : if so, she would 
 trust her own eyes to judge the state of Nevil's heart. At first, 
 she thought of dressing herself with care, and suddenly appearing 
 before him ; but at her toilet, her black hair, her skin slightly em- 
 browned by the Italian sun, her prominent features, all discouraged 
 her. t ghe re m embered the ethere al aspent nf hey Risj^sr ^^And, throw- 
 ing aside her rich array, assumed a black Venitian garb, covered 
 her head and figure with the mantle worn in that country, and 
 threw herself into a coach. In Hyde Park, she found groups of 
 gentlemen, attired with simple elegance, escorting their fair and 
 modest ladies. The virtues proper to each sex seemed thus to meet. 
 Scarcely was she there ere she beheld Oswald at the head of his 
 corps : its men looked up to him with confidence and devotion. 
 The uniform lent him a more imposing air than usual, and he 
 reined his charger with perfectly graceful dexterity. The band 
 played pieces of music at once proud and sweet, which seemed 
 nobly enjoying the sacrifice of life : among them, " God save the 
 King," so dear to English hearts ; and Corinne exclaimed : " Ke- 
 spected land ! which ought to be my own ! why did I ever leave 
 thee ? yWhat matters more c ^ 1p,°° "<^ p ersonal fa me , amid s n 
 muglL_tj;^merit? and what glory could equal that of being called 
 Lord Nevil's worthy wife ?" 
 
 The martial instruments recalled to her mind the perils he 
 must brave so soon. Unseen by him she gazed through her 
 tears, sighing : " Oh, may he live, though it be not for me ! My 
 God ! it is Oswald only I implore thee to preserve I" At this 
 moment Lady Edgarmond's carriage drove up. Nevil bowed 
 respectfully, and lowered the point of his sword. No one who 
 looked on Lucy but admired her : Oswald's glances pierced the 
 heart of Corinne : she knew their meaning well, for such had once 
 been bent on her. The horses he had lent to Lady Edgarmond 
 passed to and fro with exquisite speed, while the equipage of 
 Corinne was drawuJifter these flying coursers almost as slowly as 
 
324 corinne; oe, italy. 
 
 a hearse. "It was not thus," she thought, "that I approached 
 the Capitol : no; he has dashed me from my car of triumph into 
 an abyss of misery. I love him-, and the joys of life are lost. I 
 love him, and the gifts of nature fade. Pardon him, my 
 G-od ! when I am gone." Oswald was now close to her vehicle. 
 The Italian dress caught his eye, and he rode round, in hopes of 
 beholding the face of this unknown. Her heart beat violently; 
 and all her fear was that she should faint and be discovered ; but 
 she restrained her feelings ; and Lord Nevil relinquished the idea 
 which beset him. When the review was over, to avoid again 
 attracting his attention, she alighted, and retired behind the trees, 
 so as not to be observed. Oswald then went up to Lady Edgar- 
 mond, and showed her a very gentle horse, which his servants 
 had brought hither for Lucy : her mother bade him be very care- 
 ful of her. He dismounted, and, hat in hand, conversed through 
 the carriage door with so feeling an expression, that Oorinne could 
 attribute this regard for the mother to nothing less than an 
 attachment for the daughter. Lucy left the carriage : a riding 
 habit charmingly defined the elegant outline of her figure : she 
 wore a black hat with white plumes — her fair silken locks float- 
 ing airily about her smiling face. Oswald placed his hand as her 
 step : she had expected this service from a domestic, and blushed 
 at receiving it from him ; but he insisted, and at last, she set her 
 little foot in his hand, then sprung so lightly to her saddle, that 
 she seemed one of those sylphid shapes which fancy paints in 
 colors so delicate. She set off at a gallop. Oswald followed, 
 never losing sight of her : once the horse made a false step : he in 
 stantly checked it, examining the bit and bridle with the most 
 kind solicitude. Shortly afterwards the animal ran away. Oswald 
 turned pale as death, spurring his own steed to an incredible fleet- 
 ness ; in a second he overtook that of Lucy, leaped from hig seat, 
 and threw himself before her. She shuddered in her turn lest 
 she should harm him ; but with one hand he seized her rein, sup- 
 porting her with the other,(as she gently leaned against him"N 
 
 What more needed Corinne to convince her of Oswald's love 
 for Lucy ? Did she not see all the signs qf iftteyegt which for- 
 
* oorinne; or, italy. S2b 
 
 merely he lavished on herself? Nay, to her eternal despair, did 
 she not read in his eyes a more revering deference than he had 
 ever shown to her ? Twice she drew the ring from her finger, 
 and was ready to break through the crowd, that she might throw 
 it at his feet : the hope of dying in this effort encouraged her 
 resolution ; but where is the woman, even born beneath a south- 
 ern sky, who does not tremble at attracting the attention of a 
 crowd? She was returning to her coach; and as she crossed a 
 somewhat deserted walk, Oswald again noticed the black figure he 
 before had seen ; and it now made a stronger impression on him 
 than at first: he attributed his emotion to remorse, at having, 
 for the first time, felt his heart faithless to the image of Corinne ; 
 yet he resolved on starting for Scotland, as his regimen t was not 
 to embark for some time. . _ , zi clx^^GL O '^^^^ 
 
 ae time. . . e^-<^C2r> 
 
 <\ CHAPTER VII. 
 
 / Ebom this moment Oorinne's reason was affected, and her 
 Btrength decayed. She began a letter to Lord Nevil, full of 
 /bitter upbraidings, and then tore it up. " What avail reproaches ?" 
 she thought : " could love be the most pure, most generous of our 
 sentiments, if it were not involuntary ? Another face, another 
 voice, command the secret of his heart : all is said that can be 
 said." She began a new letter, depicting the monotony he would 
 I find in a union with Lucy ; essayed to prove that, without a 
 1 perfect harmony of soul and mind, no happiness could lastj but 
 Ishe destroyed this paper more hastily than the other. " If he 
 already knows not my opinions, I cannot teach him now," she 
 said; "besides, ought I to speak thus of my sister? is she so 
 greatly my inferior as I think ? and, if she be, is it for me, who, 
 like a mother, pressed her in childhood to my heart, to point out 
 her deficiencies ? no, no ! we must not thus value our own incli- 
 nations above all price. This life, full as it is of wishes, must 
 have an end ; and, even before death, meditation may wean us from 
 28 
 
326 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 its selfishness." Once more she resumed her pen, to tell but of 
 her misery; yet, in expressing it, she felt such pity for herself, 
 that her tear^ flowed over every word. " No," she said again, 
 "I cannot send this: if he resisted it, I should hate him; if he 
 yielded, how know I but it would be by a sacrifice? even after 
 which he would be haunted by the memory of another. I had 
 better see him, speak with him, and return his ring." She 
 folded it in paper, on which she only wrote, " You are free ;" 
 and, putting it in her bosom, awaited the evening ere she could 
 approach. In open day, she would have blushed before all she 
 met; and yet she sought to anticipate the moment of his visit to 
 Lady Edgarmond. At six o'clock, therefore, she set forth, 
 trembling like a condemned criminal -nh ^ so much fear those we 
 love, when once our confidence is lost.| The object of a passionate 
 affection is, in the eyes of woman, either her surest protector or 
 most dreaded master. Corinne stopped her equipage at Lord 
 Nevil's door, and in a hesitating voice asked the porter if he was 
 at hoine ; but the man replied : " My Lord set out for Scotland 
 half an hour ago, madam." This intelligence pressed heavily on 
 her heart : she had shrunk from the thought of meeting Oswald, 
 but her soul had surmounted that inexpressible emotion. The 
 effort was made : she believed herself about to hear his voice, 
 and now must take some new resolution ere she could regain it; 
 wait some days longer, and stoop to one step more. Yet, at all 
 hazards, she must see him again ; and the next day she departed 
 for Scotland. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ere quitting London, Nevil again called on his agents ; and, 
 on finding no letter from Corinne, bitterly asked himself if he 
 ought to give up the certainty of permanent domestic peace for 
 one, who, perhaps, no longer remembered him. Yet he decided 
 on writing once more to inquire the cause of this silence, and 
 assure her that, till she sent back his ring, he wquld never be the 
 
CORINNK; OR, ITALY. 'd'til 
 
 husband of another. He completed his journey in a very gloomy 
 
 mnnfl^nvinpr T.n cy almos *^ i^nnnnsniniialy^ for he had, aS yet, 
 
 scarcely heard her speak twenty words — yet, regretting Corinne, 
 and the circumstances which separated him from her ; Coy fits I 
 yielding to the innocent, beauty of th& fltn-p-imd retrap.ing the I 
 ^r'l!.i.t"f' g''P<'" "^ s ublime eloquence of the other^ Had he but « 
 known that Corinne loved him better than ever, that she had 
 quitted everything to follow him, he would never have seen Lucy 
 more j but he believed himself forgotten, and told his heart that 
 a cool manner might oft conceal deep feelings. He was deceived. 
 Impassioned spirits must betray themselves a thousand ways : 
 that which can always be controlled must needs be weak. 
 
 Another event added to his interest in Lucy. In returning to 
 his estates, he passed so near her mother's, that curiosity urged 
 him to visit it; He asked to be shown the room in which Miss 
 Edgarmond usually studied : it was filled by remembrances of 
 the time his father had passed there during his own absence in 
 France. On the spot where, a few months before his death, the 
 late Lord Nevil had given her lessons, Lucy had erected a marble 
 pedestal, on which was graven, " To the memory of my second 
 father." A book lay on the table. Oswald opened it, and found 
 a collection of his father's thoughts, who in the first page had 
 written : " To her who has solaced me in my sorrows ; the maid 
 whose angelic soul will constitute the glory and happiness of her 
 husband." With what emotion Oswald read these lines ! in 
 which the opinion of the revered dead was so warmly expressed. 
 He interpreted Lucy's silence on this subject into a delicacy 
 which feared to extort his vows by an idea of duty. " It was 
 she, then," he cried, " who softened the pangs I dealt him ; and 
 shall I desert her while her mother is dying, and she has no com- 
 forter but myself ? Ah, Corinne! brilliant and admired as thou 
 art, thou dost not, like Lucy, stand in need of one devoted friend I" 
 Alas ! she was no longer brilliant, no longer admired, wandering 
 from town to town, without overtaking the being for whom she 
 bad lost all, and whom she could not forget. She was taken ill 
 at an inn, half-way between London and Edinburgh, and, it 
 
328 coeinne; or, italy. 
 
 spite of all her efforts, unable to continue her journey. She 
 often thought, during her long nights of suffering, that if she 
 died there, none but Th^r&ina would know the name to inscribe 
 upon her tomb. What a changed fate for the woman who could 
 not leave her house in Italy without being followed by a host of 
 worshippers? "Why should one single feeling thus despoil a 
 whole life ? After a week of intense agony, she resumed her 
 route : so many painful fears mingled with the hope of seeing 
 Oswald, that her expectation was but a sad anxiety. She designed 
 to rest a few hours on her father's land, where his tomb had been 
 erected, never having been there since; indeed, she only spent 
 one month on this estate with Lord Edgarmond, the happiest 
 portion of her stay in England. These recollections inspired her 
 with a wish to revisit their scene. She knew not that her step- 
 mother was there already. Some miles from the house, perceiving 
 that a carriage had been overturned, she stopped her own, and 
 saw an old gentleman extricated from that which had broken 
 down, much alarmed by the shock. Corinne hurried to his assist- 
 ance, and offered him a share of her conveyance to the neighbor- 
 ing town : he accepted it gratefully, announcing himself as Mr. 
 Dicksoi : she remembered that Nevil had often mentioned that 
 name, and directed the conversation to the only subject which 
 interested her in life. Mr. Dickson was the most willing gossip 
 in the world ; and ignorant who his companion was, believed her 
 an English lady, with no private interest in the questions she 
 asked, therefore told her all he knew most minutely : her atten- 
 tions had conciliated him ; and, in return, he trusted that his 
 confidence might entertain her. He described how he had in- 
 formed Lord Nevil of his parent's wishes, and repeated an extract 
 from the late Lord's letter, often exclaiming : " He expressly 
 forbade Oswald's marriage with this Italian — and they cannot 
 brave his will without insulting his memory." Mr. Dickson 
 added, that Oswald loved Lucy, was beloved by her ; that her 
 mother strongly desired their union, but that this foreign engage- 
 ment prevented it. " How !" said Corinne, striving to disguise 
 her agitation : " do you think thai the sole barrier to his happi- 
 
OR, ITALY. 329 
 
 ness with Miss Edgarmond ?" — " I am sure of it," he answered, 
 delighted with her inquiries. " It is but three days since Eord 
 Nevil said to me : 'If I were free, I would marry Lucy.' — " If 
 he were free !" sighed Corinne. At that moment, the carriage 
 Stopped at the hotel to which she had promised Mr. Dickson her 
 escort. He thanked her, and begged to know where he might 
 see her again. She wrung his hand, without power to speak, and 
 left him. Late as it was, she resolved that evening to visit the 
 grave of her father. The disorder of her mind rendered this 
 Baored pilgrimage more necessary than ever. 
 
 :^KS^ 
 
 CHAPTER IXy/Y)^j^2^ 
 
 Labt Edgarmond had been two days on her estate, where, 
 that night, she had invited all her neighbors and tenants ; and 
 there was Oswald with Lucy, when Corinne arrived. She saw 
 many carriages in the avenue; and alighted on the spot where 
 her father had once treated her with such tenderness. What a 
 contrast between those days, when she had thought herself so un- 
 fortunate, and her present situation ! ^hus are we punislipd for ^ 
 our fancied woes, by real ca laTipitigs, whif-li Vint, t.nn wf.|l fonnh na. 
 what trup snTrnvy msn.nifN Coriune bade her servant ask the cause 
 of all this light and bustle. A domestic replied : " Lady Edgar- • 
 mend gives a ball to-night; which my master, Lord Nevil, has 
 opened with the heiress." Corinne shuddered; but a painful 
 curiosity prompted her to approach the place where so much 
 misery threatened her : and motioning for her people to withdraw, 
 she entered the open gates alone; the obscurity permitted her to 
 walk the park unseen. It was ten o'clock. Oswald bad been 
 Lucy's partner in those English country dances, which they re- 
 commence five or six times in the evening — the same gentleman 
 always dancing with the same lady, and the greatest gravity some- 
 times reigning over this party of plonanra ^T,iiny '^^JV'^d "gMg^^ 
 hut jBJthoat -macUau The feeling which absorbed her added to 
 '^ 28* 
 
330 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 her natural seriousness. As the whole country was inquisitive to 
 know whether she loved Oswald, the unusually observant looks she 
 
 3et, prevented her ever raising her eyes to his ; and her embarrass- 
 ent was such, that she could scarcely hear or see anything. 
 This deeply affected him a t firs t ; but as it never varied, he soon 
 began to weary a little ; ^d comp ared this long ran°;e of men 
 and women, and their mono tonous music, wit h the animate d airs 
 and graceful danc es of ItalyT^ These reflections plunged him into 
 
 ' a reverie ; and (Jorinne might yet have tasted some moments of 
 happiness could she have guessed his thoughts 3 but, like a 
 stranger on her paternal soil, alone, though so near the man she 
 had hoped to call her husband, she roved at hazard through the 
 dark walks of grounds she once might have deemed her own. 
 The earth seemed failing beneath her feet ; and the fever of de- 
 spair alone supplied her with strength : perhaps she might meet 
 Oswald in the garden, she thought, though scarce knowing what 
 she now desired. 
 
 The mansion was built on an eminence ; a river ran at its base ; 
 there were many trees on one bank; the other was formed of 
 rocks, covered with briers. Corinne drew near the water, whose 
 murmur blended with the distant music : the gay lamps were re- 
 
 / fleeted on its surface ; while the pale light of the moon alone ir- 
 radiated the wilds on the opposite ride. She thought of Hamlet, 
 in which a spectre wanders round the festal palace. One step, 
 
 sand this forsaken woman might have found eternal oblivion. 
 " To-morrow," she cried, " when he. strays here with a band of 
 joyous friends, if his triumphant steps encountered the remains 
 of her who was once so dear to him, would he not suffer something 
 like what I bear now ? would not his grief avenge me ? yet, no, 
 
 -Jio ! ^t is not vengeance I would seel^ i n death, only repose? ' 
 Silently she contemplated this stream, flowing in rapid regularity ; 
 fairjxaJiare !_better_ordered th human soul. She remembered 
 
 the day on which Nevil had saved the drowning man. " How 
 good he was then !" she wept forth, " and may be still : why 
 blame binj for my woes? he may not guess them — perhaps if he 
 could see me " She determined, in the midst of this f§te, 
 
CORINNE; ok, ITALY. 331 
 
 to demand a moment's interview with Lord Nevil ; and walked 
 towards the house, under the impulse of a newly adopted decision, 
 which succeeds to long uncertainty; but as she approached it, 
 such a treraor seized her, that she was obliged to sit down on a 
 stone bench which faced the windows. The throng of rustics, 
 assembled to look in upon the dancers, prevented her being seen. 
 Oswald, at this moment, came to a balcony, to breathe the fresh 
 evening air. Some roses that grew there reminded him of Co- 
 rinne's favorite perfume, and be started. This long entertainment 
 tired him, accustomed as he had been to her good taste and intel- 
 ligence ; and he felt that it was only in domestic life he could 
 find pleasure with such a companion as Lucy. ^11 that in the 
 least degree belonged to the world of poetry and the fine arts^ 
 
 \fa.de hi" i Tppi-fft. < in rinne.::i While he was in this mood, a fellow-\ [ 
 guest joined him, and his adorer once more heard him speak. ^ 
 LWJiatJ negplioa ble ^ensations are awakened b y thq fvoice)we l ove p^ 
 ' What a confusion of softness and of dread ! There are impres- 
 sions of such force, that our poor feeble nature is terrified at it- 
 self, while we experience them. 
 
 "Don't you think this a charming ball?" asked the gentleman. 
 — "Yes,'' returned Oswald, abstractedly, "yes, indeed!" and he 
 sighed. That sigh, that melancholy tone, thrilled Corinne's 
 heart with joy. She thought herself secure of regaining his,' of 
 again being understood by him, and rose, precipitately, to bid a 
 servant call Lord Nevil; had she obeyed her inclination, how 
 difiFerent had been the destiny of both ! But at that instant Lucy 
 came to the window; and seeing through the darkness of the 
 garden a female simply drest in white, her curiosity was kindled. 
 She leaned forward, and gazed attentively, believing that she re- 
 cognized the features of her sister, who, she thought, had been 
 for seven years dead. The terror this sight caused her was so 
 great that she fainted. Every one hastened to her aid ; Corinne 
 could find no servant to bear her message, and withdrew into 
 deeper shade, to avoid remark. 
 
 Lucy dared not disclose what had alarmed her; but as her 
 mother had, from infancy, instilled into her mind the strongest 
 
332 corinne; on, italt. 
 
 sense of devotion, she was persuaded that the image of her sister 
 had appeared, gliding before her to their father's tomb, as if to 
 reproach her for holding a fgte in that scene ere she had fulfilled 
 her sacred duty to his honored dust : as soon as she was secure 
 from observation, she left the ball. Corinne, astonished at seeing 
 her alone in the garden, imagined that Oswald would soon follow 
 her, and that perhaps he had besought a private meeting to ob- 
 tain her leave for naming his suit to her mother. This thought 
 kept her motionless; but she saw that Lucy bent her steps to- 
 wards a small grove, which she well knew must lead to Lord Ed- 
 garmond's grave; and, accusing herself of not having earliei 
 borne thither her own regrets, followed her sister at some dis- 
 tance, unseen. She soon perceived the black sarcophagus raised 
 over the remains of their parent. Filial tenderness overpowered 
 her; she supported herself against a tree. Lucy also paused, 
 and bent her head respectfully. Corinne was ready to discover 
 herself, and, in their father's name, demand her rank and her 
 betrothed; but the fair girl made a few hurried steps towards 
 the tomb, and the victim's courage failed. 
 
 There is such timidity, even in the most impetuous ferjale 
 heart, that a trifle will restrain as a trifle can excite it. Lucy 
 knelt, removed the garland which had bound her hair, and raised 
 het eyes to heaven with an angelic appeal : her face was softly 
 illumined by the moonbeams, and Corinne's heart melted with 
 the purest generosity. She contemplated the chaste and pious 
 expression of that almost childish visage, and remembered how 
 she had watched over it in infancy : her own youth was waning, 
 while Lucy had before her a long futurity, that ought not to be 
 troubled by any recollections which she might shame at confes- 
 sing, either before the world or to her own conscience. " If I 
 accost her," thought Corinne, "that soul, so peaceful now, will 
 be disturbed, perhaps, forever. I have already borne so much, that 
 I can suffer on ; but the innocent Lucy would pass, in a moment, 
 from perfect calm to the most cruel agitation. Can I, who have 
 lulled her to sleep on my bosom, hurl her into the ocean of grief?" 
 Love still combated this disinterested elevation of mind, when 
 
corinne; or, italy. 333 
 
 Lucy said aloud : " Pray for me, oh my father !" Corinne sunk 
 on her knees, and mutely besought a paternal benediction on them 
 both, with tears more stainless than those of lofe. Lucy ^dibly 
 continued : " Dear sister, intercede for me in heaven ! Friend of 
 my childhood, protect me now I" How Oorinne's bosom yearned 
 towards her, as Lucy, with added fervor, resumed ; " Pardon me, 
 father, a brief forgetfulness, caused by the sentiment yourself 
 commanded ! I am not, sure, to blame for loving him you chose 
 to be my husband. Achieve your work I Inspire him to select 
 me as the partner of his life ! I shall never be happy, save with 
 him ; but my fluttering heart shall not betray its secret. Oh, my 
 Grod ! My father, console your child ! render her worthy ■ the 
 esteem of Oswald!" — "Yes," whispered Corinne, "kind father, 
 grant her prayer, and give your other child a peaceful grave !" 
 Thus solemnly concluding the greatest effort of which her soul was 
 capable, she took from her breast the paper which contained Os- 
 wald's ring, and rapidly withdrew. She felt that in sending this, 
 without letting him know where she was, she should break all 
 their ties, and yield him to her sister. In the presence of that 
 tomb, she had been more conscious than ever of the obstacles 
 which separated them : her own father, as well as Oswald's, seemed 
 to condemn their love. Lucy appeared deserving of him ; and 
 Corinne, at least for the moment, was proud to sacrifice herself, 
 that he might live at peace with his country, his family, and his 
 own heart. The music which she heard from the house sustained 
 her firmness : she saw an old blind man, seated at the foot of a 
 tree to listen, and begged he would present her letter to one of 
 the servants ; thus she escaped the risk of Oswald's discovering 
 who had brought it; for no one could have seen her give the 
 paper, without being assured that it contained the fate of her 
 whole life. Her looks, her shaking hand, her hollow voice, be- 
 spoke one of those awful moments, when destiny overrules us, 
 and we act but as the slaves of that fatality which so long pur- 
 sued us. Corinne watched the old man, led by his faithful dog, 
 give her letter to a servant of Nevil's, who, by chance, was carry- 
 ing others into the house. All things conspired to banish hei 
 
334 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 last hope : she made a few steps towards the gate, turning her 
 head to mark the servant's entrance. When she no longer saw 
 him — rwhen she was on the high road, the lights and music lost, 
 a deathlike damp rose to her brow, a chill ran through her frame ; 
 she tottered on, but nature refused the task, and she fell sense- 
 less by the way. 
 
 BOOK XVIII. 
 
 THE SOJOURN AT FLORENCE. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Count d'Erfeuil having passed some time in Switzerland, 
 wearied of nature 'mid the Alps, as he had tired of the arts at 
 Rome, and suddenly resolved to visit England. He had heard 
 that he should find much depth of thought there, and woke one 
 morning to the conviction of that being the very thing he wished 
 to meet. This third search after pleasure had succeeded no better 
 than its predecessors, but his regard for Nevil spurred him on ; 
 and he assured himself, another morning, that friendship was the 
 greatest bliss on earth ; therefore he went to Scotland. Not seeing 
 Oswald at his home, but learning that he was gone to Lady Bd- 
 garmond's, the Count leaped on his horse to follow ; so much did 
 he believe that he longed to meet him. As he rode quickly on, 
 he saw a female extended motionless upon the road, and instantly 
 dismounted to assist her. What was his horror at recognizing, 
 through their mortal paleness, the features of Corinne ! With 
 the liveliest sympathy he helped his servant to arrange some 
 branches as a litter, intending to convey her to Lady Edgar- 
 mond's, when Thirdsina, who till now had remained in her 
 mistress's carriage, alarmed at her absence, came to the spot, 
 and, certain that no one but Lord Nevil could have reduced her 
 
OORINN^J OR, ITALY. 3S5 
 
 lady to this state, begged/fhat she might be borne to the neigh- 
 boring town. The Coaat followed her j and for eight days, during 
 which she suffered all the delirium of fever, he never left her. 
 ■j -Thus it was the frivolous man who pr oved faithful, w hile the man 
 of sentiment was breaking n er heart.^ 'Jnis contrast struck Uorinne, 
 when she recovered her senses, and she thanked d'Brfeuil with 
 great feeling : he replied by striving to console her, more capable 
 of noble actions than of serious conversation. Corinne found him 
 useful^ but could not make him her friend. She strove to recall 
 her reason, and think over what had passed ; but it was long ere 
 she could remember all she had done, and from what motive. 
 Then, perhaps, she thought her sacrifice too great ; and hoped, at 
 least, to bid Lord Nevil a last adieu, ere she left England j but 
 the day after she regained her faculties chance threw a newspaper 
 in her way, which contained the following paragraph : — 
 
 " Lady Edgarmond has lately learned that her step-daughter, 
 who she believed had died in Italy, is still enjoying great literary 
 celebrity at Rome, under the name of Corinne. Her ladyship, 
 much to her own honor, acknowledges the fair poet, and ia 
 desirous of sharing with her the fortune left by Lord Edgar- 
 mond's brother, who died in India. The marriage contract was 
 yesterday signed, between his Lordship's youngest daughter (the 
 only child of his widow) and Lord Nevil, who, on Sunday next, 
 leads Miss Lucy Edgarmond to the altar." 
 
 Unfortunately, Corinne lost not her consciousness after reading 
 this announcement ; a sudden change took place within her ; all 
 the inteirests of life were lost ; she felt like one condemned to 
 death, who had not known, till now, when her sentence would be 
 executed ; and from this moment the resignation of despair was 
 the only sensation of her breast. D'Erfeuil entered her room, 
 and, finding her even paler than while in her swoon, anxiously 
 asked her the news. She replied gravely : " I am no longer ill ; 
 to-morrow is the Sabbath : I will go to Plymouth, and embark for 
 Italy." — " I shall accompany you," he ardently returned. " I've 
 nothing to detain me here, and shall be charmed at travelling 
 with you." — " How truly good you are \" she said : " we ought 
 
836 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 not to judge from appearances." Then, after checking herself, 
 added : " I accept your guidance to the seaport, because I am not 
 sure of my own ; but, once on board, the ship will bear me on, 
 no matter in what state I may be." She signed for him to leave - 
 her, and wept long before / I ^r God^ begging him to support her 
 beneath this sorrow. Nothing was left of the impetuous Corinne. 
 The active powers of her life were all exhausted ; and this anni- 
 hilatioo, for which she could scarcely account, restored her com- 
 posure. Grief had subdued her. Sooner or later all rebellious 
 heads must bow to the same yoke. 
 
 " It is to-day !" sighed Corinne, as she woke : "it is to-day I" 
 and entered her carriage with d'Erfeuil. He questioned her, but 
 she could not reply. They passed a church : she asked his leave 
 to enter for a moment; then, kneeling before the altar, prayed 
 for Oswald and for Lucy : but when she would have risen she 
 staggered, and could not take one step without the support of Th6r^ 
 sina and the Count, who had followed her. All present made way 
 for her, with every demonstration of pity. " I look very miser- 
 able, then ?" she said : " the young and lovely, at this hour, are 
 leaving such a scene in triumph." The Count scarcely under- 
 stood these words. Kind as he was, and much as he loved 
 Corinne, he soon wearied of her sadness, and strove to draw 
 her from it, as if we had only to say we will forget all woes of 
 life, and do so. Sometimes he cried : " I told you bow it would 
 be." Strange mode of comforting; but such is the satisfaction 
 which vanity tastes at the expense of misfortune. Corinne fruit- 
 lessly strove to conceal her sufferings ; for we are ashamed of strong 
 affections in the presence of the light-minded, and bashful iu all 
 feelings that must be explained ere comprehended — those secrets 
 of the heart that can only be consoled by those who guess them. 
 Corinne was displeased with herself, as not sufficiently grateful 
 for the Count's devotion to her service ; but in his looks, his .words, 
 his accents, there were so much which wandered in search of 
 amusement, that she was often on the point of forgetting his 
 generous actions, as he did himself. It is doubtless very mag- 
 nanimous to set small price on our own good deeds, but that in- 
 
corinne; or, italt. 337 
 
 difference, so admirable in itself, may be carried to an extreme 
 which approaches an unfeeling levity. 
 
 Corinne, during her delirium, had betrayed nearly all her 
 secrets — the papers had since apprised d'Erfeuil of the rest. He 
 often wished to talk of what he called her affairs, but that word 
 alone sufficed to freeze her confidence ; and she entreated him to 
 spare her the pain of breathing Lord Nevil's name. In part- 
 ing with the Count,- Corinne knew not how to express herself; 
 for she was at once glad to anticipate being alone, and grieved to 
 lose a man who had behaved so well towards her. She strove to 
 thank him, but he begged her so naturally not to speak of it, that 
 she obeyed : charging him to inform Lady Edgarmond that she 
 refused the legacy of her uncle ; and to do so, as if she had sent 
 this message from Italy ; for she did not wish her step-mother to 
 know she had been in England. " Nor Nevil ?" asked the Count. 
 " You may tell him soon, yes, very soon ; my friends in Bome will 
 let you know when." — " Take care of your health, at least," he 
 added: "don't you know that I am uneasy about you?" — 
 " Really !" she exclaimed, smiling, " not without cause, I believe." 
 He offered her his arm to the vessel : at that moment she turned 
 towards England, the country she must never more behold, where 
 dwelt the sole object of her love and grief, and her eyes filled with 
 the first sad tears she had ever shed in d'Erfeuil's presence. 
 k! ^ L ove ly Corinne!" he said, "forget that in^rate ! t*' '"^ "^ th^ 
 friends so tenderly attached to you, and recollect your om i.a>d- 
 vantaji^es with pleasure." She withdrew her hand from him, and 
 stepped back some paces ; then blaming herself for this reproof, 
 gently returned to bid him adieu : but he, having perceived 
 nothing of what passed in her mind, got into the boat with her; 
 recommended her earnestly to the captain's care ; busied himself 
 most endearingly on all the details that could render her passage 
 agreeable : and, when rowed ashore, waved his handkerchief to 
 the ship as long as he could be seen. Corinne returned his 
 salute. Alas ! was this the friend on whose attentions she ought 
 to have been thrown? Light loves last long; they are not tied 
 29 ^ 
 
338 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 so tight that they can break. They are obscured or brought to 
 light by circumstances, while deep affections fly, never to return ; 
 and in their places leave but cureless wounds. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A FAVORABLE breeze bore Corinne to Leghorn in less than a 
 month : she suffered from fever the whole time ; and her debility 
 was such that grief of mind was confused with the pain of illness ; 
 nothing seemed now distinct. She hesitated, on landing, whether 
 she should proceed to Eome, or no ; but though her best friends 
 awaited her, she felt an insurmountable repugnance to living in 
 the scenes where she had known Oswald. She thought of that 
 • door through which he came to her twice every day; and the 
 prospect of being there without him was too dreary. She decided 
 on going to Florence ; and believing that her life could not long 
 resist her sorrows, thus intended to detach herself by degrees 
 from the world, by living alone, far from those who loved her, 
 from the city that witnessed her success, whose inhabitants would 
 strive to reanimate her mind, expect her to appear what she had 
 been, while her discouraged heart found every effort odious. In- 
 crossing fertile Tuscany, approaching flower-breathed Florence,*' 
 Corinne felt but an added sadness. How dreadful the despair 
 which such skies fail to calm ! One must feel cither love or 
 religion, in order to appreciate nature ; and she had lost the first 
 of fearthly blessings, without having yet recovered the peace 
 which piety alone can afford the unfortunate. Tuscany, a well- 
 cultivated, smiling land, strikes not the imagination as do the 
 environs of Rome and Naples. The primitive institutions of its 
 early inhabitants have been so effaced, that there scarcely remains 
 one vestige of them ; but another species of historic beauty exists 
 in their stead — cities that bear the impress of the Middle Ages. 
 At Sienna, the public square wherein the people assembled, the 
 balcony from which their magistrate harangued them, must catch 
 
corinne; or, italy. 339 
 
 the least reflecting eye, as proofs that there once flourished a 
 democratic government. It is a real pleasure to hear the Tus- 
 cans, even of the lowest classes, speak : their fanciful phras^ give 
 one an idea of that Athenian Greek, which sounded like a per- 
 petual melody. It is a strange sensation to believe one's self 
 amid a people all equally educated, all elegant ; such is the illu- 
 sion which, for a moment, the purity of their language creates. 
 
 The sight of Florence recalls its history, previous to the Medi- 
 cean sway. The palaces of its best families are built like fort- 
 resses : without, are still seen the iron rings, to which the stand- 
 ards of each party were attached. All things seem to have been 
 more arranged for the support of individual powers, than for their 
 union in a common cause. The city appears formed for civil 
 war. There are towers attached to the Hall of Justice, whence 
 the approach of the enemy could be discerned. Such were the 
 feuds between certain houses, that you find dwellings inconve- 
 niently constructed, because their lords would not let them extend 
 to the ground on which that of some foe had been pulled down. 
 Here the Pazzi conspired against the De Medici; there the 
 Guelfs assassinated the Ghibellines. The marks of struggling 
 rivalry are everywhere visible, though but in senseless stones. 
 Nothing is now left for any pretenders but an inglorious state, 
 not worth disputing. The life led in Florence has become singu- 
 larly monotonous : its natives walk every afternoon on the banks 
 of the Arno, and every evening ask one another if they have been 
 there. Corinne settled at a little distance from the town ; and 
 let Prince Castel Forte know this, in the only letter she had 
 strength to write : such was her horror of all habitual actions, 
 that even the fatigue of giving the slightest order redoubled her 
 distress. She sometimes passed her day in complete inactivity, 
 retired to her pillow, rose again, opened a book, without the 
 power to comprehend a line of it. Oft did she remain whole 
 hours at her window ; then would walk rapidly in her garden, 
 cull its flowers, and seek to deaden her senses in their perfume; 
 but the consciousness of life pursued her, like an unrelenting 
 ghost: she strove in vain to calm the devouring faculty of 
 
340 CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 
 
 thought, which no longer presented her with varied images ; hut 
 one lone idea, armed with a thousand stings, that pierced her 
 heart. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 An hour passed in St. Peter's had been wont to compose her ; 
 and Corinne hoped to find the same eflFect from visiting the 
 churches of fair Florence. She walked beneath the fine trees of 
 the river's bank, in a lovely eve of June. Roses embalmed the 
 air, and every face expressed the general felicity from which she 
 felt herself excluded ; yet she unenvyingly blessed her God for 
 his kind care of man. " I am an exception to universal order," 
 sh-e said ; " there is happiness for every one but me : this power 
 of suffering, beneath which I die, is then peculiar to myself. My 
 God ! wherefore was I selected for such a doom ? May I not say, 
 like thy Divine Son, 'Father, let this cup be taken from me?' " 
 The active air of the inhabitants astonished her : since she had 
 lost all interest in life, she knew not why others seemed occupied ; 
 and, slowly pacing the large stoned pavement of Florence, she 
 forgot where she had designed to go. At last, she found her- 
 self before the far-famed gate of brass, sculptured by Ghiberti, for 
 the front of St. John's, which stands beside the cathedral. For 
 some time she examined this stupendous work ; where, wrought 
 in bronze, the divers nations, though of minute proportions, are 
 distinctly marked by their varied physiognomies; all of which 
 express some thought of their artist. " What patience 1" cried 
 Corinne; "what respect for posterity! yet how few scrutinize 
 these doors, through which so many daily pass, in heedlessness, 
 ignorance, or disdain ! How difiScult it is to escape oblivion ! how 
 vast the power of death !" 
 
 la this cathedral was Julian de Medicis assassinated. Not far 
 thence, in the church of St. Lorenzo, is shown the marble chapel, 
 enriched with precious stones, where rise the tombs of that high 
 family, and Michael Angelo's statues of Julian and Lorenzo : the 
 
OR, ITALY. 341 
 
 latter, meditating vengeance on the murder of his brother, deserves 
 the honor of having been called "lapensie de Michel Angela 1" 
 At the feet of these figures are Aurora and Night. The awaking 
 of the one is admirable; still more so is the other's sleep. A 
 poet chose it for his theme, and concluded by saying : " Sound as , 
 is her slumber, she lives : if you believe not, wake her, she will 
 speak." Angelo, who cultivated letters (without which imagina- 
 tion of all kinds must soon decay) replied : — 
 
 " Grato m'fe il sono, e piil I'esser di sasso. 
 Mentre che il danno e la yergogna dura, 
 Non Teder, non sentlr m'fe gran veutura, 
 Per6 non mi destar, deh parla basso !" 
 
 " It is well for me to sleep, still better to be stone ; while shame 
 and injustice last: not to see, not to hear, is a great blessing j 
 therefore disturb me not ! speak low !" 
 
 This great man was the only comparatively modern sculptor 
 who neither gave the human figure the beauty of the antique nor 
 the affected air of our own day. You see the grave energy of the 
 Middle Ages — its perseverance, its passions, but no ideal beauty. 
 He was the genius of his own school; and imitated no one, not 
 even the ancients. This tomb is in the church of Santa Croce. 
 At his desire, it faces a window whence may be seen the dome 
 bnilt by Filippo Brunelleschi : as if his ashes would stir, even 
 beneath the marble, at the sight of a cupola copied from that of 
 St. Peter's. Santa Croce contains some of the most illustrious 
 dead in Europe. Galileo, persecuted by man, for having dis- 
 covered the secrets of the sky — Machiavel, who revealed the arts 
 of crime rather as an observer than an actor; yet whose lessons 
 are more available to the oppressors than the oppressed — Aretino, 
 who consecrated his days to mirth, and found nothing serious in 
 life except its end — Boccaccio, whose laughing fancy resisted the 
 united scourges of civil war and plague — a picture in honor of 
 Dante, showing that the Florentines, who permitted him to perish 
 in exile, were not the less vain of his glory, (34) with many other 
 worthy names, and some celebrated in their own day, but echoing 
 29* 
 
342 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 less forcibly from age to age, so that their sound is now almost 
 unheard. (35) This church, adorned with noble recollections, 
 rekindled the enthusiasm of Corinne, which the living had 
 repressed. The silent presence of the great revived, for a 
 moment, that emulation which once she felt for fame. She 
 stepped more steadfastly, and the high thoughts of other days 
 arose within her breast. Some young priests came slowly down 
 the aisle, chanting in subdued tones : she asked the meaning of 
 this ceremony. "We are praying for our dead," said one of 
 them. " Eight," thought Corinne ; " your dead ! well may you 
 boast them ; they are the only noble relics left ye. Ah ! why 
 then7T)swald, have you stifled all the gifts Heaven granted me, 
 with wK inTi T nnght in p ymte the sympathy of kindred mind.s? 
 
 God !" she added, sinking on her knees, " it is not in vanity 
 
 1 dare entreat thee to give me back my talents : doubtless the 
 lowly saints who lived and died for thee alone are greatest in thy 
 sight ; but there are different careers for mortals : genius, which 
 illustrates our noblest virtues, devotes itself to generous humanity 
 and truth, may trust to be received in some outer heaven." She 
 cast her eyes to earth, and, on the stone where she had knelt, 
 read this inscription : — 
 
 "Alone I rose, alone I sank, I am alone e'en here." 
 
 " Ah !" cried Corinne, " that is mine answer. "What should em- 
 bolden me to toil ? what pride can I ever feel ? who would parti- 
 cipate in my success, or interest himself in my defeats ? Oh, I 
 should need his look for my reward." Another epitaph fixed her 
 attention, that of a youth, who says; — 
 
 "Pity me not, if you can guess how many pangs the grave hath 
 spared me." 
 
 How did those words wean her from life ! amid the tumult of a 
 city, this church opened to teach mankind the best of secrets, if 
 they would learn : but no ; they passed it by, and the miracubna 
 forgetfulness of death kept all the world alive. 
 
corinne: or, italy. 343 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The spring of feeling which had consoled Corinne for a few 
 moments, led her next morning to the Grallery : she hoped to 
 recover her taste, and draw some pleasure from her former pur- 
 suits. Even the fine arts are republican in Florence. Pictures 
 and statues are shown at all hours, with the greatest ease. Well- 
 informed men, paid by the government, like public functionaries, 
 explain all these chefs-d'ceuvre. This lingering respect for talent 
 has ever pervaded Italy ; particularly Florence, where the Medicii 
 extorted pardon for their power over human actions, by the free 
 scope they left for human minds. The common people love the 
 arts, and blend this taste with their devotion, which is more regu- 
 lar in Tuscany than in any other Italian state ; but they frequently 
 confound mythologic figures with Scripture history. One of the 
 guides used to show a Minerva as Judith, and an Apollo as David ; 
 adding, when he explained a has-relief, which represented the fall 
 of Troy, that " Cassandra was a good Christian." Many days 
 may be passed in the gallery ere half its beauties are known. 
 Corinne went from one to the other, mortified at her own indif- 
 ference and abstraction. The calm dignity which shines through 
 the deep grief of Niobe, however, recalled her attention. In such 
 a case, the countenance of a living mother would doubtless be 
 more agitated ; but the ideal arts preserve beauty even in despair ; 
 and what affects us most in works of genius, is not grief's self, 
 but the soul's power o'er grief Not far from this is a head of the 
 dying Alexander. These two countenances afford rich material 
 for thought. The conqueror looks astonished and indignant at 
 not having achieved a victory even over nature. The anguish of 
 maternal love is depicted on all the traits of Niobe : she presses 
 her daughter to her heart with the most touching eagerness ; her 
 fine face bearing the stamp of that fatality which left the ancients 
 no resource, even in religion. Niobe lifts her eyes to heaven, 
 but without hope ; for the gods themselves are her enemies. 
 
 On her return home, Corinne strove to reflect on what she had 
 
her mental distraction was uncontrollable. HIow far was sh e now 
 from the powe r of improvisation ! In vain she sou°^ht tor words", 
 or wrote i)iirnP3"''''g "nvi^ '•^R*' '^'°rna. yed he r on perusal, as wou ld 
 the ravin f;° ^f '^"'''•''ini "^ Incapable of turning her thoughts from 
 her own situation, she then strove to describe it; but no longer 
 could she command those universal sentiments that find echoes in 
 all heariEk Hers were now but long unvaried wailings, like the 
 cry of the mght bird; her expressions were too impetuous, too 
 unveiledJ^ WLCY were those of misery, not nf iaXp.nt:^ To write 
 well, we require to feel truly, but not heart-breakingly. The best 
 melancholy poetry is that inspired by a kind of rapture, which 
 still tells of mental strength and enjoyment. Real grief is a foe 
 to intellectual fertility : it produces a gloomy agitation,_thatiases^ 
 Bap.tly.retun1a40.lhe, same ^oint, like the knight who, pursued by 
 an evil genius, sought a thousand roads for escape, yet always 
 found himself at the spot from whence he started. 
 
 The state of Corinne's health completed the confusion of her 
 mind. The following are a few of the reflections she wrote, 
 while making a fruitless effort to become capable of a connected 
 work. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FBAQMENTS OF COBINHe'S THOUGHTS. 
 
 My genius lives no longer : I regret 
 Its death : I own I should have loved that yet 
 My lays had waked his sympathy ; my name 
 Might Btm have reach'd him, heralded by fame. 
 
 I err'd by hoping that in his own land 
 
 The thoughts, the feelings — that our fate united — 
 The influence of habit could withstand — 
 
 Amid such scenes bve's flower must soon be blighted. 
 
OR, ITALY. 345 
 
 There is so much to say 'gainst maid like me ! 
 How futile must the only answer be ! 
 "Such was her heart — her jnind;" a poor reply 
 For hosts who know not what I was, nor why. 
 
 Tet are they wrong tqrfear super ior minJT!^ 
 The more it towers, more morally refined : 
 The more we know, the better we forgive ; 
 pyhoe'er fe els dee ply, feela for all w ho live.^v 
 
 How can two beings who confided all, 
 Whose converse was the spirit's griefs, its dangers, 
 
 And immortality, bear this swift fall, 
 Thus to each other become once more strangers ? 
 
 What a mysterious sentiment is love! 
 Nothing, if not all other ties above — 
 Vying in faith with all that martyrs feel — 
 Or — colder than the simplest friendship's zeaL 
 
 This most involuntary sense on earth. 
 Doth heaven or mortal passion give it birth? 
 What storms it raises deep within the breast! 
 Must we obey, or combat such wild guest? 
 
 Talent should be a refuge ; as when one * 
 Imprison'd to a cloister, art's true son, 
 Bequeath'd its walls such traces of his doom, 
 That genius glorified monastic gloom! 
 
 But he, though captive, suffer'd from without^ 
 His bosom was not torn by dread or doubt; 
 When grief is there, all efforts lose their force, 
 The spring of comfort's poison'd from its source. 
 
 Sometimes I view myself as one apart. 
 Impartially, and pity my own heart;. 
 Was I not mental, kind to others' pain. 
 Generous, and frank? Then why all this in vain? 
 Is the world really so vile, that charms 
 Like these but rob us of our needful arms? 
 
 * Domenichino, 
 
346 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 'Tis pitiful! Spite all my youth hath shown, 
 
 Despite my glory, I shall die unlmown ; 
 
 Nor leave one proof of what I might have been. 
 
 Had I learnt happiness, or could defy 
 This all-devouring fever — men had seen 
 
 Me contemplate them from a station high, 
 Tracking the hidden links between yon heaven 
 And human nature ; but the clue is riven. 
 How, how think freely, while each painful breath 
 But bids me feel the woe that weighs me down to death? 
 
 Oh! why would he forbear to render blest 
 A heart whose secret he alone possess'd? 
 To him — him only spoke ay inmost soul! 
 'Tis easy to leave those chance may control, 
 The common herd — but she who must admire, 
 Yet judge ere fancy kindles love's chaste fire. 
 Expansive as it is, to soul like hers. 
 There's but one object in the viniverse! 
 
 I learnt life from the poets; 'tis not thus; 
 Vainly they strive to change the truth, for us 
 Who live to wake from their soft dreams, and see 
 The barrenness of life's reality! 
 
 Remembering what I was but chafes my pride. 
 
 Why tell me I could charm, if not for love? 
 
 Why inspire confidence, to make me prove 
 But the more fearful anguish when it died? 
 Will he, in any other, meet more mind 
 Than was my own! a heart more true and kind? 
 
 n ' hiit congenial with heartlessness — 
 He will be more content in finding lest. 
 
 esaT^ 
 
 In presence of the sun, or starry spneres. 
 
 To deserve love we need but to desire — 
 For love ennobles all that it endears; 
 
 Conscious of mutual worth, we look no higher. 
 But ah, society! where each must owe 
 His fate but to factitious joy or woe — 
 Where what is said of him becomes the t«st — 
 Sow soon it hardens e'en the trifl«r'8 breast. 
 
847 
 
 Could men onoe meet, free from this false control, 
 How pure an air were breathed into the soul! 
 How would the mind, refresh'd by feelings true, 
 Teem with ideas natural and new! 
 E'en Nature's cruel; this praised face 
 
 Is fading: what avails it now 
 
 That still I pour affection's vow. 
 Without one look my prayer to grace? 
 These tear-dimm'd eyes no more express, 
 As once they might, my tenderness. 
 
 Within my bosom is a pain 
 No language ever can explain — 
 I hare no strength for task like this; 
 Love, only love, could sound the abyss. 
 
 How happy men! in honor's strife 
 They burst the chains of hated life. 
 We hope no solace from the throng; 
 
 Our torture is to bear, 
 Stirless and mute, a lone life long. 
 
 The presence of Despair. 
 Sometimes, when listing music's tone. 
 It tells of powers so late mine own, 
 Song, dance, and poesie — I start. 
 As I could fly from this sad heart. 
 To joy again; a sudden chill 
 
 Keminds me that the world would say, 
 "Back, lingering ghost! it fits thee ill 
 
 To brave the living, and the day!" 
 
 I wish I now could find a spell 
 'Gainst misery in the crowd: 'twas well 
 To miv there once, lest solitude 
 
 Should bear my thoughts too far through fate. 
 My mind grew flexible, imbued 
 
 With gay impressions; 'tis too late; 
 Features and feelings fix for aye: 
 Smiles, fancies, graces! where aie they? 
 
 Ah! if 'twere in a moment o'er, 
 fain would I taste of hope once more I 
 
348 COEINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 But all is done: life can but be 
 A burning desert now to me; 
 The drop of water, like the river, 
 Sullied with bitterness forever, 
 A single day's enjoyment is 
 Impossible, as years of bliss. 
 
 Guilty towards me as I must deem 
 
 My love — compared with other men 
 What mindless things of art they seem ! 
 
 How does he rise an angel then! — 
 E'en though his sword of flame consume 
 My life, and devastate my doom; 
 Heaven lends the one beloved Us power 
 Thus to avenge each misspent hour. 
 
 'Tis not first love that must endure; 
 
 It springs but from the dreams of youth ; 
 But if, with intellect mature. 
 We meet the mind long sought in vain. 
 
 Fancy is then subdued by truth. 
 And we have reason to complain. 
 
 "What maniacs!" the many cry, 
 "Are those for love who live or diel 
 As if, when such fraU boon is reft, 
 A thousand blessings were not left!" 
 
 Enthusiasm, though the seed 
 
 Of every high heroic deed. 
 
 Each pious sacrifice — its lot 
 
 Is scorn, from those who feel it not. 
 
 All then is folly, if they will, 
 
 Save their own selfish care 
 Of mortal life ; this nobler thrill 
 
 Is madness everywhere. 
 
 Alasl it is my worst distress 
 That he alone my thoughts could guess; 
 Too late and vainly may he find 
 That I alone CQvld V9&i hU mind. 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 349 
 
 Mine own should thus be understood; 
 
 In friendship's varying degrees 
 
 Easy, yet difficult to please : 
 With cordial hours for all the good, 
 But with affection deep and true. 
 Which but for one, for Mm I knew. 
 
 Feeling and fancy, wit and reason. 
 
 Where now such union can I find, 
 Seek the world through — save his — whose treason 
 
 'Gainst love hath slain me? Oswald's mind 
 Blends all these charms; unless I dream'd 
 He was the wonder he but seem'd. 
 How, then, to others should I speak? 
 In whom confide? what subjects seek! 
 What end, aim, interest remains ? 
 The sweetest joys, the bitterest pains, 
 Already known, what should I fear? 
 
 Or what expect? before me cast 
 A future changeless, wan, and drear, 
 
 As but the spectre of my past! 
 
 Why, why is happiness so brief? 
 
 Life's weeds so strong, its flowers so frail? 
 Is nature's natural order grief? 
 Unwonted pain soon finds relief 
 
 When its strange throes our frames assail — 
 Joy to the soul's less usual: there 
 The habitual state is this despair. 
 How mutable the world appears 
 Where nothing lasts, but pain and tears! * 
 
 Another life! another life 
 
 That is my hope! but still such force 
 Hath this we bear, that we demand 
 In heaven the same rebellious band 
 Of passions that here caused our strife. 
 The northern zealots paint the shade 
 
 Still hunting, with his hound and horse, 
 The phantom stag, through cloudy glade; 
 
 * •' Ahi! null' altro che pianto al mondo dura." — Petearch. 
 30 
 
350 corinne; or, itaIiY. 
 
 Yet dare we call such shapes unreal? 
 
 Naught here is sure save that. Distress — 
 Whose power all suffer who cam feel — 
 
 Keeps her unpitying promises! 
 
 I dream of immortality ! 
 
 No more of that which man can give; 
 
 Once in the future did I live, 
 The present seem'd too old for me.* 
 AH I now ask of Him on high, 
 Is, that jny heart may never die! 
 Father! the offering and the shrine 
 A mortal spurns; with grace diTine, 
 Deign to receive — 'tis thine! — 'tis thine! 
 I know my days will be but few; 
 
 That thought restores a sense of rest: 
 'Tis sweet to feel, as now I do. 
 
 Death draw Grief's barb from out my breast. 
 
 'Tis Superstition's sad retreat, 
 
 More than the home of pious trust; 
 
 Devotion to the blest is sweet. — 
 What gratitude to the All Just 
 Ought Oswald's wife to feel! God, she most. 
 
 And yet misfortune oft improves, 
 Corrects us, teaches us to weigh 
 Our errors with our sufferings: they 
 
 Are wedded: we repent the loves 
 
 Of earth, when salutary time 
 
 And solitude inspires love more sublime. 
 
 'Tis this I need, ere yet I can fulfil 
 A tranquil voyage to life more tranquil still : — 
 What innocence is in the thoughts of those 
 About to leave this life of passion's woes ! 
 The secret which not genius' self can share. 
 The enigma, may it be reveal'd to prayer? 
 May not some simple thought, by reverie 
 Full oft approaoh'd, disclose the mystery ? 
 
 * That idea is Dante's. 
 
coeinne; or, italt. 351 
 
 Vast aa the efforts which the soul may make 
 They weary her in vain ; she cannot take 
 This latest step ; life must be still unknown 
 Till its last hour on earth be well-nigh flown ! 
 'Tis time mine should repose ; and who will sigh — 
 'Tis still, at last, the heart that beat so high I 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 Prince Castel Forte quitted Eome, to settle near Corinne. 
 She felt most grateful' for this proof of friendship, and yet 
 ashamed that she could not requite it, even by such conversation 
 as of yore : now she was silent and abstracted ; her failing health 
 robbed her of all the strength required, even for a momentary 
 triumph over her absorbing griefs. That interest, which the 
 heart's courtesy inspires, she could still at times evince ; bifiher 
 desire to please was lost foreverT) Unhappy love freezes all our 
 affections: our own souls grow inexplicable to us. More than 
 we gained while we were happy, we lose by the reverse. That 
 added life which made us enjoy nature, lent an enchantment to 
 our intercourse with society ; but the heart's vast hope once lost, 
 existence is impoverished, and all spontaneous impulses are para- 
 lyzed. Therefore, a thousand duties command women, and men 
 still more, to respect and fear the passion they awaken, since it 
 may devastate the mind as well as the heart. 
 
 Sometimes Castel Forte might speak for several minutes to 
 Corinne without a reply, because she neither understood nor even 
 heard him. When she did, her answers|,had none of that glowing 
 animation once so remarkable ; they merely dragged on the dia- 
 logue for a few seconds, and then she relapsed into silence. Some- 
 times, as she had done at Naples, she would smile in pity over 
 her own failures. The amiable prince humored her on all her 
 favorite topics. She would thank him, by pressing his hand, and' 
 once, after a walk on the banks of the Arno, began to jest with 
 her accustomed grace : he gazed, and listened in glad surprise ; 
 
352 oorinne; oe, italy. 
 
 but she abruptly broke off, and rushed from the room in tears. 
 Oq returning, she said, gently : " Pardon me, my generous friend ; 
 I would fain make myself agreeable ; it will not be : bear with me 
 as I am." What most distressed him, was the shock her consti- 
 tution had received : no immediate danger threatened her, yet it 
 was impossible that she could live long, unless she regained some 
 vigor. If she endeavored to speak on aught that concerned the 
 soul, her wan tremor was painful to behold; and he strove to 
 divert her from this strain. He ventured to talk of Oswald, 
 and found that she took a perverse pleasure in the subject ; but 
 it left her so shaken, that he was obliged to interdict it. Castel 
 Forte was a susceptible being : but not even the most magnanimous 
 of men knows how to console the woman he has loved under the 
 pangs thus inflicted by another. Some little self-love on his side, 
 must aid her timidity, in preventing perfect confidence. Besides, 
 what would it avail ? It can only be of service to those wounds 
 which would cure themselves without it. 
 
 At this time the prince received a letter from Lord Nevil, 
 replete with professions, which would have deeply affected Co- 
 rinne : he mused for hours together on the propriety of showing 
 it to her ; but anticipating the violence of its effects on a creature 
 so feeble, he forbore. Even while he was thus deliberating, 
 another letter reached him, announcing his Lordship's departure 
 for America. Castel Forte then decided on saying nothing to 
 Corinne. Perhaps he erred: one of her greatest griefs was 
 Nevil's silence; she scarce dared own it to herself: but though 
 forever separated from him, one recollection, one regret, would 
 have been very precious to her: as it was, he gave her, she 
 thought, no opportunity of hearing his name, left her no excuse 
 for breathing it. The sorrow, of which no one speaks to us, which 
 gains no change from time, cuts deeper than reiterated blows ; the 
 good prince followed the usual maxim, which bids us do our ut- 
 most towards teaching a mourner to forget; but there is no ob- 
 livion for the imaginative: it were better to keep alive their 
 memories, weary them of their tears, exhaust their sighs, and 
 force them back upon themselves, that they may reconcentrate 
 their own powers. . 
 
CORINNE; OE, ITALY. 353 
 
 book: XIX. 
 
 OSWALD'S RETUKN TO ITALY." 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Let us now return to the events which occurred in Scotland, 
 after the sad f§te at which Corinnemade her self-sacrifice. Lord 
 Nevil's servant carried his letters to the ball-room. Oswald 
 retired to read them. He opened several which his agent had 
 sent from London, little guessing that among them was one which 
 would decide his fate ; but when he beheld the writing of Corinne, 
 and saw the ring, the words — " You are free I" — he felt at once 
 the most cruel grief and the most furious irritation. He had not 
 heard from her for two months, and now her silence was broken 
 by this laconic decision. He remembered what Lady Edgarmond 
 had said of her instability, and entered into all the step-dame's 
 feeling against her; for he still loved enough to be unjust; forget- 
 ting how long he had renounced the idea of marrying her, how 
 much Lucy had pleased him /Ke looked on >iimgp]f !>° tt.^ H"Tnn- _ 
 l e.ss victim of an inconstant womaH^ perplexity and despair beset 
 him ; but over them both towerefHy p prnii d s(;iu1l prn mpting him 
 to rise superior to his wronger. This boasted prid e rarely exists 
 ynlfiss self-love predominates over affection.T jJad J^evil now 
 valued Corinne asTnTheiFdays at Ebme and Naples, not all his 
 " wrongs supposed" could have torn her from his heart. 
 
 Lady Edgarmond detected his distress. The fatal maiady be- 
 neath which she labored increased her ardent interest in her 
 daughter. She knew the poor child's heart, and feared that she 
 had compromised her happiness forever; therefore, she seldom 
 lost sight of Nevil, but read his secrets with that discernment 
 which is deemed peculiar to ^^ex, but which belongs solely to 
 the continual observance whicp a real interest teaches us. On 
 the pretext of transferring Corinne's inheritance, she besought 
 
 30* / .nwQr.^ 
 
354 oorinne; or, italy. 
 
 Lord Nevil's company next morning, and shortly guessed that 
 he was much dissatisfied; she flattered his resentment by the 
 prospect of a noble vengeance, offering to recognize her husband's 
 daughter. This sudden change amazed him ; yet though its con- 
 dition was unexplained, he comprehended it ; and, in one of those 
 moments in which we act more quickly than we can think, de- 
 manded Lucy's hand. Her mother, scarcely able to restrain her 
 joy, so as not to say yes too hastily, consented; and he left her 
 presence, bound by an engagement, which, when he made it, 
 he had not dreamed of undertaking. While Lady Edgarmond 
 prepared Lucy to receive him, he paced the garden in violent 
 agitation, telling himself that she had merely pleased him, be- 
 cause he knew little of her, and that it was madness to found the 
 happiness of his life on the charm of a mystery that must inevi- 
 tably be dissipated. He then retraced his letters to Corinne, too 
 plainly showing his internal struggles. " She's right !" he 
 sighed : " I have not the courage fit to make her blest ; but yet 
 it should have cost her more to lose me — that cold brief line — 
 yet who knows but her tears might have fallen on it !" His own 
 burst forth in spite of him. These reveries hurried him on un- 
 consciously so far, that he was long sought in vain by the servant, 
 sent to tell him that Lady Edgarmond desired his return. As- 
 tonished at his own lack of eagerness, he obeyed. On re-entering 
 the drawing-room, he found Lucy kneeling, her head reclined on 
 the bosom of her parent, with a most touching . grace As she 
 heard his footsteps, she raised her flowing eyes, and, extending 
 her hand to him, said simply : " My Lord, I know you will not 
 separate me from my mother." This innocent manner of an- 
 nouncing her consent much interested Oswald, who, sinking on 
 his knees, besought Lady Edgarmond's permission to imprint on 
 that blushing forehead the first kiss which had ever awakened 
 more than childlike emotions in the breast /whose beauty less 
 enchanted him than did its celestial m odestY/) The days which 
 preceded that chosen for their marriage were spent in the needful 
 arrangements. Lucy spoke more than usual; but all she said 
 was BO nobly natural, that Oswald loved and approved her every 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 355 
 
 word, and va ^hfi felt a, vnid hsaidfi hfiJ Their conversation con- 
 sisted but of questions and answers ; she neither started nor pro- 
 longed any subject: all went well : but without that exhaustless 
 animation with which it is so difficult for those who have once en- 
 joyed it to dispense. Lord Nevil thought of Corinne ; but, as he 
 no longer heard her named, hoped that her image would at last 
 become merely an object of his vague regret. When Lucy learned 
 from her mother that her sister still lived in Italy, she much 
 wished to talk of he r w i th Oswald', bu t Lady Edgarmond for- 
 bade; and the giri.(Dabitnal lv submissiveb asked not the reason 
 of this prohibition. On the morning of his marriage, the hapless 
 Corinne haunted Nevil fearfully; but he addressed his father's 
 spirit, confessing that it was Ip win Ms heavenly benediction, his 
 son accomplished thus his will on earth. Reassured by those 
 meditations, he sought his bride, reproaching himself for having 
 allowed his thoughts to wander from her. A descending angel 
 could not have chosen a face more fit than hers to give mortality 
 a dream of heavenly virtue. At the altar, Lady Edgarmond was 
 even more agitated than her daughter; for all-important steps 
 alarm us the more, the greater our experience. Lucy was all 
 hope ; childhood still mingled with her youth, and blended joy 
 with love. In leaving the church she leaned timidly on Oswald's 
 arm, as if to assure herself of his protection : he looked on hei 
 tenderly, feeling, at the bottom of his heart, a foe who menaced 
 her repose, and from whom he had promised to defend her. 
 Lady Edgarmond, on their return, said to her son-in-law : " My 
 mind is easy. I have confided to you the happiness of my 
 daughter ; and have so short a time to live, that it is a comfort 
 for me to think ray place will be so well supplied." Lord Nevil 
 was much affected by these words, and anxiously mused on the 
 duties they imposed. A few days elapsed : Lucy had begun to 
 meet her husband's eye with confidence, and make her mind 
 known to him, when unlucky incidents disturbed the union 
 commenced under these favorable auspices. 
 
356 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mr. Dickson paid his respects to the young couple, apologiz- 
 ing for not having been present at their marriage. He had been 
 ill, he said, from the effects of a fall, though kindly assisted by 
 the most charming woman in the world. Oswald, at this moment, 
 was playing battledore and 'shuttlecock with Lucy, who was very 
 graceful at this exercise. Her bridegroom gazed on her, and 
 listened not to Mr. Dickson, who, at last, called to him from the 
 other end of the room. " My Lord, the fair unknown, who came 
 to my aid, had certainly heard much about you, for she asked me 
 many questions concerning your fate." — " Whom do you mean ?" 
 said Nevil, continuing his game. — "A lovely creature, my Lord, 
 although she looked changed by suffering, and could not speak of 
 you without emotion." * These words attracted Oswald's atten- 
 tion ; but Lucy, perfectly unconcerned, joined her mother, who 
 had just sent for her. Lord Nevil now asked Mr. Dickson what 
 lady it was who had thus spoken of him. " I know not," he re- 
 plied : " her accent proved her English, though I have rarely 
 found so obliging and easy a person among our countrywomen. 
 She took as much care of a poor old man like me as if she had 
 been my own child : while I was beside her, I did not feel my 
 bruises; but, my dear Oswald, have you been faithless here 
 as well as in Italy? My beauteous benefactress trembled and 
 turned pale at naming you." — " Just heaven I" exclaimed Nevjl, 
 " you said an Englishwoman ?" — " Oh yes : you know foreigners 
 never pronounce our language without a certain intonation." — 
 "And her face?" — "The most expressive I ever saw, though 
 fearfully pale and thin." This description suited not the bright 
 Corinne ; yet might she not have suffered much, if in England, 
 and unable to find the being she sought ? This dread fell sud- 
 
 * Even had not Mr. Dickson been aware of Oswald's ciroumstances, 
 such a speech before his bride would have been bad enough. It is un- 
 pardonable, as he knew so much. — Tb. 
 
corinne; oe, italy. 357 
 
 denly on Oswald, who continued his questions with extreme un- 
 easiness. Mr. Dickson replied that the lady conversed with an 
 elegance which he had never before met, that the gentlest kind- 
 ness spoke from her sad and languid eyes. " Did you notice their 
 color?" asked Oswald. — "Magnificently dark!" The catechist 
 trembled. • " From time to time," continued Mr. Dickson, " she 
 interrogated, or answered, me, and what she did say was delight- 
 ful." He would have proceeded, but Lady Nevil, with her mother, 
 rejoined them; and Oswald hastily retired, hoping soon again to 
 find Mr. Dickson alone. Struck by his sadness. Lady Edgarmond 
 sent Lucy away, that she might inquire its cause : her guest 
 simply repeated what had passed. Terrified at anticipating the 
 despair of Oswald, if he were assured that Corinne had followed 
 him to Scotland; foreseeing, too, that he would resume this topic, 
 she instructed Mr. Dickson as to what she wished said to her 
 son-in-law. Thus, the old gentleman only increased the anxiety 
 it was too late to remove. Oswald now asked his servant if all 
 the letters sent him within the last three weeks had come by 
 post.* The man " believed they had," and was leaving the room ; 
 but, turning back, addled, " I remember that, on the ball night, 
 a blind man gave me one for your Lordship. I supposed it a 
 petition for charity." — " I received none such : could you find this 
 man V — " Yes, my Lord, directly; he lives in the village." — " Go, 
 bring him to me !" said Nevil ; and, unable to wait patiently, 
 walked out to meet him at the end of the avenue. " So, my 
 friend," he said, " you brought a letter here for me, on the evening 
 of the ball : who gave it to you ?" — " My Lord, ye see I'm blind ; 
 how wad I ken ?" — "Do you think it was a femaje?" — "Ech, 
 fine that, my Lord I for I hard weel eneuch that she was vera 
 soft voiced, though I jaloused the while that she was greeting." 
 — " And what did she say to you ?" — " Oh, sir, she said, ' Gude 
 auld man, gide this to Oswald's servant,' and there stopped, but 
 syne she added, 'I mean Lord Nevil's.' " — "Ah, Corinne!" 
 
 * I wonder he had not observed that Corinne's bore no post-mark, — 
 Tb. 
 
358 corinne; oe, italt. 
 
 exclaimed Oswald, and grew so faint that he was forced to sup- 
 port himself on the poor creature's arm, who continued; "1 was 
 sitting under a tree just, and wished to do the leddy's bidding 
 diract, but could scarce raise mysel, being auld the noo : weel, 
 after giein me mair siller than I'd had for lang, she was that free she 
 lent me her hand, puir thing ! it trembled just as your Lordship's 
 does this minute." — "Enough!" sighed Nevil. "Here, my 
 good friend, as she gave you money, let me do so tooj go, and 
 pray for us both !" He withdrew. 
 
 From this moment a terrible agitation preyed on his mind : he 
 made a thousand useless inquiries, unable to conceive the possibi- 
 lity of Corinne's having been in Scotland without seeking him. 
 He formed various conjectures as to her motives ; and, in spite of 
 all his endeavors to conceal it, this affiction was evident to Lady 
 Edgarmond, nay, even to Lucy. All was constraint and silence. 
 At this time Oswald wrote first to Castel Forte. /Had Corinne 
 read tha t. Ipttpr, if, r^r,„T^ '""rli hflT' ? softened her resentme nt) 
 
 Count d'Erfeuil joined the Nevils ere the Prince's reply ar- 
 rived. He said no more of Corinne than was necessary, yet felt 
 vexed at their not perceiving that he had an important secret in 
 his power, though too discreet to betray it. His insinuations at 
 first took no effect upon Oswald ; but, when he detected that they 
 referred to Corinne, he was all curiosity. The Count having 
 brought him to this, defended his own trust pretty bravely ; at 
 last, however, his friend drew forth the whole truth. It was a 
 pleasure for d'Erfeuil to relate how grateful Corinne had felt, and 
 in what a wretched state he had found her ; he ran on, without 
 observing how he agonized Lord Nevil ; his only object was that 
 of being the hero of his own story ; when he had ceased, he was 
 much afflicted at the mischief he had done. Oswald had com- 
 manded himself till then, but suddenly became distracted with 
 regret ; accused himself as the most barbarous and ungrateful of 
 men ; raved of Corinne's devoted tenderness : her generosity at 
 the very moment when she believed him most culpable. He con- 
 trasted this with the heartless fickleness by which he had 
 requited her; incessantly repeatingthat no one ever loved him as 
 
OR, ITALY. 359 
 
 she did; and that he should in some way be ultimately punished 
 for his cruelty. He would have set forth to see her, if only for a 
 day, an hour ; but Rome and Florence were already occupied by the 
 French : his regiment was about to embark ; he could not forfeit 
 his own honor, nor break the heart of his wife /I ndeed, no fault s 
 he might now commit could repair the past ?^ they would but add to 
 the misery he had occasioned. The only hope that calmed him 
 was derived from the dangers he was about to brave. In this mood 
 he wrote again to Castel Forte, whose replies represented Corinne 
 as sad, but resigned ; his pride in her softened rather than exagge- 
 rated the truth. Oswald believed that ho ought not to torture ber 
 by his regrets, after having so wronged her by his love — and left 
 Britain with a sense of remorse which nearly rendered life insup- 
 portable. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LtrcT was afiSicted by his departure ; yet his recent gloom had 
 so increased her natural timidity, that she had never found courage 
 to confide in him her hopes of becoming a mother ; but left it for 
 Lady Edgarmond to send these tidings after him. Nevil, unable 
 to guess what passed in his wife's heart, had thought her farewell 
 cold ; compared her silent submission with the eloquence of Co- 
 rinne, and hesitated not to believe that Lucy loved hiili but feebly ; 
 yet, during his absence, scarcely could even the birth of their 
 daughter divert her mind from his perils. Another grief was 
 added to all this. D'Erfeuil spent a year in Scotland, strongly 
 persuaded that he had not revealed the secret of Corinne's sojourn 
 there; but he said so much that implied it, and found such diffi- 
 culty, when conversation flagged, in avoiding the theme most in- 
 teresting to Lady Nevil, that she at last learned the whole truth. 
 Innocent as she was, it required even less art than she possessed 
 to draw d'Erfeuil out upon a favorite subject. Lady Edgarmond 
 was too ill to be present at these conversations ; but when she ques- 
 tioned her daughter on the melancholy she detected, Lucy told 
 
360 oobinne; or, italt. 
 
 all. Her mother spoke very severely on Corinne's pursuit of Os- 
 wald. Lucy was alternately jealous of her sister, and indignant 
 against her husband, for deserting one to whom he had been so 
 dear. She could not help trembling for her own peace, with a 
 man who had thus wrecked that of another. She had ever 
 cherished a grateful recollection of her early instructress, which 
 now blended with sympathy : far from feeling flattered by Os- 
 wald's sacrifice, she was tormented by the idea that he had chosen 
 her merely because her position in the world was more advan- 
 tageous than that of Corinne. She remembered his hesitation be- 
 fore marriage, his sadness so soon after, and everything confirmed 
 the cruel belief that her husband loved her not. Lady Edgar- 
 mond might have been of great service to her daughter, had she 
 striven to calm her ; but she too intolerantly anathematized all 
 sentiments that deviated from the line of duty; nor dreamed of 
 tenderly leading a wanderer back, thinking that the only way 
 to awake conscience was by just resentment. She was mortified 
 that so lovely a woman should be so ill appreciated ; and aggra- 
 vated Lucy's fears, in order to excite her pride. Lady Nevil, 
 more gentle and enlightened than her mother, could not rigorous- 
 ly follow such advice; yet her letters to Oswald were always far 
 colder than her heart. Meanwhile he was distinguishing himself 
 nobly, exposing his life, not merely in honorable enthusiasm, but 
 in a positive love of peril. He appeared most gay when most 
 actively employed, and would blush with pleasure when the tu- 
 mult of battle commenced. At such moments a weight seemed 
 lifted from his heart, and he could breathe with ease. The popu- 
 larity he enjoyed among his fellow-soldiers animated the existence 
 it could not render happy, and almost blinded him both to the 
 past and the future. He grew accustomed to the lukewarm corre- 
 spondence of his wife, whom he did not suppose offended with him. 
 When ho remembered her, ItAras as a being worthy of his pro- 
 tection, and whose mind he ought to spare from all deeply serious 
 thoughtsil But in those splendid tropic nights, that give so grand 
 an idea of nature and its Author, the image of Corinne was often 
 with him ; yet, as both war and climate menaced his life each 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 361 
 
 hour, he excused hia lingering memory. At the approach of 
 eternity, we forgive and hope to be forgiven. He thought but 
 of the tears his death would cause her, not upon those his errors 
 had extorted. It was natural he should think most of her; they 
 had so often talked of immortality, and sounded every depth of 
 solemn feeling : he fancied that he still conversed with her, while 
 occupied by the great thoughts the spectacles of war invariably 
 suggest. It was to Corinne he spoke p solitude, although he 
 knew that she must sadly blame him. I D espite absence, distance^ 
 time, and every change, they seemed to understand each other s tilL J 
 
 At last his regiment was ordered home. The monotony of 
 shipboard pleased him less than had the stir of arms. External 
 excitement supplied some of the imaginative joys he owed to his 
 intercourse with Corinne. He had not yet attempted to live 
 calmly without her. The proofs of devotion his soldiers gave 
 him somewhat beguiled the voyage j but even that interest failed 
 on their lauding in England. 
 
 AFTER IV. 
 
 Netil had now to renew his acquaintance with his own family, 
 after four years' separation. He arrived at Lady Edgarmond's 
 castle in Northumberland. Lucy presented her child with as 
 much diffidence as if she had deemed herself guilty. (Her imap - ' 
 nationjia ^een so occupied bv her sister, durin g; thfi pfirifi^i,fff ; 
 gr m aternal fiYpentati nijis, that little Juliet displayed the dark . 
 ejcs a ndJbai nof Corinne. Her fat lier, in wild agit ation, pres 
 her to his heart.; nnf* ^'•""' *^''^- instant, li nny c ould not take un - 
 qualified '^"I't^hti 'T* ^'''' i'ffpfi^'"" foc-hi s daughter/^ The young 
 wife was now nearly twenty. Her beauty had attained a dignity 
 which inspired Nevil with respect. Lady Edgarmond was too 
 infirm to leave her bed ; yet, though this tried her temper, she 
 received her son-in-law with satisfaction ; having feared that she 
 should die in his absence, and leave her daughter alone upon the 
 31 
 
862 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 world. Oswald, so long accustomed to a military career, found 
 it very difficult to remaia nearly all day in the chamber of an 
 invalid, who received no one but himself and wife. Lucy dearly 
 loved her lord; but, believing her affection unprized, concealed 
 what she knew of his passion for Corinne, and became more 
 silent than ever. Mild as she was, her mother had so influenced 
 her, that when Oswald hinted at the added charm she would gain 
 by a little animation, she received this but as a proof that he still 
 preferred her sister, and was too hurt to profit by it : he could 
 not speak of the fine arts without occasioning her a sadness that 
 repressed his enthusiasm. Had she been better taught, she 
 would have treasured up his lightest word, that she might study 
 how to please him. Lady Edgarmond evinced a growing distaste 
 for all deviations from her habitual routine : her irritated nerves 
 shrunk from every sound. She would have reduced life to a 
 state of stagnation, as if the less to regret its loss : but, as few 
 like to confess their personal motives for certain opinions, she 
 supported hers on the general principles of exaggerated morality ; 
 and disenchanted life, by making sins of its least amusements — 
 by opposing some duty to every employment which would have 
 made to-day differ from yesterday or to-morrow. Lucy, duteous 
 as she was, had so much flexibility of mind that she would have 
 joined her husband in gently reasoning with this exacting auste- 
 rity, had she not been persuaded that it was adopted merely to 
 discountenance Oswald's Italian predilections. " You must strug- 
 gle most perseveringly," would her mother say, "against any 
 return of that dangerous infatuation." Lord Nevil had a great 
 reverence for duty; but he understood it in a wider sense than 
 that of Lady Edgarmond : tracing it to its source, he found that 
 it might perfectly accord with natural inclination, instead of re- 
 quiring perpetual combats and sacrifices. Virtue, he thought, 
 far from rendering life a torture, contributes to the duration of 
 its happiness, and may be considered as a sort of prescience 
 granted " to man alone beneath the heaven." Sometimes, in 
 explaining these ideas, he yielded to the pleasure of quoting Co- 
 rinne ; but such language always oflfended his mother-in-law. New 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 863 
 
 doctrines ever displease the old. Tkgy IJie^ to fancy that the 
 world has been losing wisdom^ instead of gaining it, since they 
 were^oung. Lucy's heart instinctively detected the echoes of 
 her sister's voice in the sentiments Oswald breathed with so much 
 ardor. She would cast down her eyes to hide this consciousness : 
 her husband, utterly unaware of it, attributed her apparent in- 
 sensibility to want of comprehension; and not knowing where to 
 seek oo'ngeniality sank into despondence. He wrote to Castel 
 Forte for news of Corinne j but the war prevented the letter's 
 arrival. His health suffered from the cold of England; and the 
 physicians assured him that his chest would be again attacked, if 
 he did not pass the winter in Italy. He told this to his wife and 
 mother, adding, that the war between France and England must 
 at present prevent his tour. " And when peace is concluded," 
 said Lady Edgarmond, " I should hope, my Lord, that you would 
 not think of returning to Italy." — "If his health depends on it," 
 ventured Lucy, "he could not do better." Oswald expressed 
 much gratitude for her kindness. Alas ! his thanks but assured 
 her of his love for another. 
 
 War ceased; and every time Oswald complained, Lucy's heari. 
 was divided between her dread of his departure for Italy, and 
 her fondness, which overrated his indisposition. He attributed 
 her doubt of the necessity for this voyage to selfishness : thus 
 each wounded the other's feelings, because neither dared confess 
 their own. All these interests were soon absorbed in the state of 
 Lady Edgarmond, who was now speechless, and could only ex- 
 press herself by tears, or by the manner in which she pressed 
 their hands. Lucy was in despair. Oswald sat up every night 
 with her. It was now December ; and these cares were highly 
 injurious to him, though they seemed much to gratify the sufferer, 
 whose faults disappeared just as her agonies Tjould have excused « 
 them. The approach of death stills all the tumults of soul from 
 which most of our errors proceed. On her last night, she joined 
 the hands of Oswald and Lucy, pressed them to her heart, and 
 raised her eyes to heaven ; no longer deploring the voice which 
 
864 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 could have added nothing to the impressiveness of that action — 
 that look. In a few seconds she expired. 
 
 Lord Nevil, who had supported himself by great effort, for her 
 sake, now became dangerously ill, and poor Lucy's distress was 
 thus redoubled. In his delirium, he often named Corinne, and 
 Italy, sighing : " Oh, for the southern sun ! it is so cold in the 
 north here : I shall never be warm again." When he recovered 
 his senses, he was surprised at finding that Lucy had prepared 
 everything for his voyage : she merely repeated the advice of his 
 physicians, adding : " If you will permit it, I shall accompany 
 you ; and our child ought not to be parted from her parents." — 
 "No, uo, we will not part," he answered; "but if this journey 
 would pain you, I renounce it." — " That will not pain me," she 
 replied. Oswald took her hand, and gazed inquiringly on her : 
 she would have explained herself; but the memory of her mo- 
 ther's advice, never to betray a sign of jealousy, reproved her, 
 and she added : " You must be sure, my Lord, that my first ob- 
 ject is the re-establishment of your health." — " You have a sister 
 in Italy," continued he. — "I know it: have you any tidings of 
 her?" — "Never, since I left for America." — "Well, my Lord, 
 we shall learn all in Italy." — "Are you then interested in her 
 still ?" — " Yes : I have not forgotten the tenderness she showed 
 my childhood." — " We ought not to forget," sighed Nevil ; and 
 both again were silent. Oswald had too much delicacy to desire 
 a renewal of his former ties with Corinne ; but he thought that 
 it would be sweet to die in Italy, after receiving her pardon and 
 adieu. He little deemed that his delirium had betrayed him, and 
 did injustice to the mind of his wife ; because it had rather shown 
 him the opinion of others than what she felt herself, he believed 
 she loved him as much as she could love, bttt(he k new nothin g 
 
 iisguised It ; 
 
 ^of her sensibility\ at present, her pride disguised it; but, had 
 she been perfectly nappy, she would have thought it improper to 
 avow a passionate affection even for her own husband ; capable 
 as she was of it, education had convinced her that it would be 
 immodest to profess this feeling ; but nothing could teach her to 
 take pleasure in speaking of anything else. 
 
corinne; or, italy. 365 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Oswald, disliking all recollections of France, crossed it very 
 hastily. Lucy evinced neither wish nor will of any kind, but left 
 it for him to decide everything. They reached the base of the 
 mountains that separate Dauphiny from Savoy, and ascended the 
 Pas des Eohelles on foot : this road is dug in the rocks ; its 
 entrance resembles a deep cavern ; it is dark throughout, even in 
 the brightest days of summer. As yet, they found no snow ; but 
 autumn, the season of decay, was herself fast fading. The road 
 was covered with dead leaves, borne to this region on the gale, 
 from the distant trees. Thus they saw the wreck of nature, 
 without beholding any promise of her revival.' The sight of the 
 mountains charmed Lord Nevil : while we live among plains, the 
 earth seems only made to bear and nourish man; but in pic- 
 turesque countries we see the impress of their Creator's power 
 and genius ; yet man is everywhere familiarized with nature : the 
 roads he frames ascend the steep, or fathom the abyss ; nothing is 
 inaccessible to him, save the great mystery of his own being. In 
 Morienne, the winter was more rigorously felt at every step : one 
 might fancy one's self wending northward, in approaching Mont 
 Cenis. Lucy, who had never travelled Before, was alarmed at 
 finding the ice render the horses' pace unsteady : she hid her 
 fears, but reproached herself for having brought her little one 
 WJth her :CflSen doubting whether the resolve to do so had been 
 purely moral, or whether the hope of growing dearer to Oswald, 
 by constantly associating her image with that of their beloved 
 chil(Jnhad not deadened her to the risks Juliet would thus incur. 
 Lu'cy was apt to perplex her mind with secret scruples of con- 
 science ; the more virtuous we are, the more this kind of fasti- 
 diousness increases : she had no resource, save in her long and 
 silent prayers, which somewhat tranquillized her spirit. The 
 landscape now took a more terrific character : the snow fell 
 heavily on ground already covered with it. They seemed enter- 
 ing the'Hell of Ice described by Dante. From the foot of tha 
 31* 
 
366 corinne; dr, italy., 
 
 precipices to the mountain-tops, all varieties were concealed. The 
 pines, now clothed in white, were mirrored in the winter like 
 spectral trees. Oswald and Lucy gazed in silence; .speech would 
 have seemed presumptuous; nature was frozen into dumbness, 
 and they were mute like her. Suddenly they perceived, on an 
 immense extent of snow, a long file of darkly clad figures carry- 
 ing a bier towards a church. These priests, the only living 
 beings who broke this desert solitude, preserved their wonted 
 pace. The thought of death lent it a gravity which not even the 
 bleakness of the air tempted them to forget. Here was the 
 mourning of nature and of man for vegetable and for human life. 
 No color was left — that black, that white, thus united, struck 
 the soul with awe. " What a sad omen I" sighed Lady Nevil. — 
 "Lucy," interrupted Oswald, "trust me, it is not for you." — 
 " Alas !" he thought, " it was not beneath such auspices I travelled 
 with Corinne. Where is she now? may not these gloomy objects 
 be but warnings of what I am to suiFer?" Lucy's nerves were 
 shaken by the terrors of her journey. This kind of fear is 
 almost unknown to an intrepid man ; and she mistook for care- 
 lessness of her, Oswald's ignorance of such alarm's possible ex- 
 istence. The common people, who have no better exercise for 
 fancy, love to exaggerate all hazards, and delight in the eflfect 
 they thus produce on their superiors. The inn-keepers, every 
 winter, tell their guests wild tales of "le Mont" as if it were an 
 immovable monster, guarding the vales that lead to the land of 
 promise. They watch the weather for formidable symptoms, and 
 beg all foreigners to avoid crossing Mont Cenis during la tour- 
 mente. This is a wind announced by a white cloud, spread like 
 a sheet in the air, and by degrees covering the whole horizon. 
 Lucy had gained all possible information, unknown to Nevil, who 
 was too much occupied by the sensation of re-entering Italy to 
 think on these reports. The possible end and aim of his pil- 
 grimage agitated his wife still more than did the journey itself, 
 and she judged everything unfavorably. In the morning of their 
 ascent, several peasants beset her with forebodings; those hired 
 to carry her up the mountain, however, assured her that thero 
 
COEINNE; or, ITALY. 367 
 
 was nothing to apprehend : she looked at Nevil, and saw that he 
 laughed at these predictions; therefore, piqued by his security, 
 she professed herself ready to depart. He knew not how much 
 this resolution cost her, but mounted a horse and followed the 
 litter which bore his wife and child. The way was easy, till they 
 were about the centre of the flat which precedes the descent, when 
 a violent hurricane arose. Drifts of snow blinded Lucy's bearers, 
 and often hid Oswald from her view. The religious men who 
 devote their lives to succor travellers on the Alps began to ring 
 their alarm-bell ; yet, though this sound proclaimed the neighbor- 
 hood of benevolent pity, its rapid and heavy repetition seemed 
 more expressive of dismay than assistance. Lucy hoped that 
 Oswald would propose passing the night at this monastery ; but, 
 as she said nothing, he thought it best to hasten on, while day- 
 light lasted. Lucy's bearers inquired, with some uneasiness, if 
 she wished them to descend. " Ye.i," she said, " since my Lord 
 does not oppose it." She erred in thus suppressing her feelings : 
 the presence of her child would have excused them ; but, while 
 we love one by whom we cannot deem ourselves beloved, each 
 instant brings its own sense of humiliation. Oswald remained 
 on horseback, though that was the least safe method of descent, 
 but he believed himself thus secure against losing sight of his 
 wife and child. From the summit, Lucy looked down on the 
 abrupt road which she would have taken for a precipice, had not 
 steeps still more perpendicular been close at hand. She pressed 
 her darling to her heart with strong emotion. Oswald observed 
 this, and, quitting his saddle, joined the men who carried her 
 litter. The graceful zeal with which he did this filled her eyes 
 with tears ; but, at that instant, the whirlwind rose so furiously 
 that her bearers fell on their knees, exclaiming : " God, pro- 
 tect us !" Lucy regained her courage ; and, raising herself, held 
 Juliet towards Lord Nevil. " Take your child, my love I" she 
 said. Oswald received it, answering: "And you too — come, I 
 can carry ye both!" — "No," she said, "only save her!" — 
 "Save!" he repeated: "is there any danger? Unhappy 
 wretches — why did you not tell us ?" — " They did," interrupted 
 
368 cokinne; or, italt. 
 
 Lucy. — " And you concealed it from me ? How have I merited 
 this cruel reserve ?" He wrapped his cloak round Juliet, and 
 cast down his eyes in deep disquietude ; but heaven most merci- 
 fully appeased the storm, and lent a ray which showed them the 
 fertile plains of Piedmont. In another hour they arrived un- 
 harmed at Novalaise, the first Italian town after crossing Mont 
 Cenis. On entering the inn, Lucy embraced her child, and re- 
 turned her fervent thanks to God. Oswald leaned pensively near 
 the fire, and, when she rose, held out his hand to her, saying : 
 " You were alarmed then, love ?" — "Yes, dear." — "Why would 
 you go on ?" — " You seemed impatient to proceed." — " Do you 
 not know that, above all things, I dread exposing you to pain or 
 danger ?" — " It is for Juliet that they are to be dreaded," she 
 replied, taking the little one on her lap to warm it, and twisting 
 round her fingers the beautiful black curls that the snow had 
 matted on that fair brow.* The mother and child formed sc 
 charming a picture, that Oswald gazed on them with tender 
 admiration ; but Lucy's silence discouraged the feeling which 
 might else have led to a mutual understanding. They arrived at 
 Turin, where the season was unusually severe. The vast apart- 
 ments of Italy were destined to receive the sun. Their freshnesa 
 in summer is most welcome; but, in the depth of winter, they 
 seem cheerless deserts ; and their possessors feel like pigmies io 
 the abode of giants. The death of Alfieri had just occasioned a 
 general mourning among his proud countrymen. Nevil no 
 longer recognized the gayety formerly so dear to him. The 
 absence of her he loved disenchanted both nature and art : he 
 sought intelligence of her, and learned that for five years she had 
 published nothing, but lived in seclusion at Florence. He re- 
 solved on going thither; not to remain, and thus violate the 
 affection ho owed to Lucy, but to tell Corinne how ignorant he 
 had been of her residence in Scotland. In crossing Lombardy, he 
 
 * Madame do Stael gave Lucy, at three years of age, hair long enouo-li 
 to make a bracelet. She was thinking of French children. The formal 
 Edgarmonds were not more likely to deviate from the English fashion 
 than to christen Nevil's daughter Juliette. — Te. 
 
corinne; or, italy. 869 
 
 sighed : " How beautiful tliis was, when all those elms were in 
 full leaf, with vines linking them together !" — " How beautiful it 
 was," thought Lucy, " while Corinne shared it with you !" A 
 humid fog, s«ch as oft arises in so well-watered H land, obscured 
 their view of the country. During the night they heard the 
 deluge of southern rain fall on, nay, through the roof, as if water 
 was pursuing them with all the avidity of fire.y. |Lucy soup'ht in 
 yain for the charm of Italy : it sPAmPil that, pvpryttiing ^rMicpj^orl^ 
 tojTfiil-it iu gluum fwsJiawaldand herselfA 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Since Lord Nevil had been in Italy, he had notspoken a word 
 of the language; it even made him ill to hear it. On the even- 
 ing of his arrival at Milan, he heard a, tap at the door, which was 
 followed by the entrance of a man, whose dark and prominent 
 face would have been expressive, if animated by natural enthu- 
 siasm : it wore an unvaryingly gracious smile, and a look that 
 strove to be poetical. He stood at the door, improvising verses 
 in praise of the group before him, but such as might have suited 
 any other husband, wife, or child, just as truly ; and S£e^iggsiafed>.^ 
 that the speaker seemed to think poetry ought to have no connec- 
 tion_wIJb- truth. Oswald "perceived that he was a Roman ; yet, 
 harmonious as were the sounds he uttered, the vehemence of his 
 declamation served but to indicate more plainly the unmean- 
 ing insipidity of all he said. Nothing could be more painful 
 for Oswald than to hear the Roman tongue thus spoken, for the 
 first time after so long an interval ; to see his dearest memories 
 travestied, and feel his melancholy renewed by an object so ridi- 
 culous. Lucy guessed all this, and would have dismissed the 
 improvisatore ; but it was impossible to make him hear her : he 
 paced the chamber all gesture and exclamation, heedless of the 
 disgust he dealt his hearers, proceeding like a machine that could 
 not stop till .after a certain moment. At last that time arrived 
 
S70 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 and Lucy paid him to depart. " Poetic language," said Oswald, 
 " is so easily parodied here, that it ought to be forbidden all save 
 those who are worthy to employ it." — "True," observed Lucy, 
 perhaps a little too pointedly : " it is very disagreeable to be re- 
 minded of what you admire, by such a burlesque as we have just 
 
 endured." "Not so," he answered; "the contrast only makes 
 
 me more deeply feel the power of genius. This same language, 
 which may be so miserably degraded, became celestial poetry from 
 the lips of Corinne — your sister ." Lucy felt overwhelmed; he 
 had not pronounced that name to her before; the addition oi your 
 sister sounded as if conveying a reproach. She was half suffo- 
 cated ; and had she given way to her tears, this moment might have 
 proved the sweetest in her life;A)ut she restraine d them, and the 
 embarrassm ent between h erself an ^ hnshanrl hpram p more painful 
 than before. JUn the next day the sun broke forth, like an exile 
 returirtngTffnis own land. The Nevils availed themselves of his 
 brightness to visit Milan cathedral, the chef-d' muvre of Gothic 
 architecture : it is built in the form of a cross — fair, melancholy 
 image in the midst of wealth. Lofty as it is, the ornaments are 
 elaborate as those lavished on some minute object of admiration. 
 What time and patience must it have cost ! This perseverance 
 towards the same aim is transmitted from age to age, and the 
 human race, stable at least in thought, can leave us proofs of this, 
 imperishable almost as thought itself. A Gothic building en- 
 genders true religion : it has been said that the popes have con- 
 secrated more wealth to the building* of modern temples than 
 devotion to the memory of old churches. The light, falling 
 through colored glass, the singular forms of the architecture, unite 
 to give a silent image of that infinite mystery which the soul for- 
 ever feels, and never comprehends. 
 
 Lord and Lady Nevil left Milan when the earth was covered 
 with snow. This is a sadder sight in Italy than elsewhere, because 
 it is unusual : the natives lament bad weather as a public calamity. 
 Oswald was vain of his favorite country, and angry that it would 
 not smile its best for Lucy. They passed through Placenta, 
 Parma, and Modena. The churches and palaces of each are too 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 371 
 
 vast, in proportion to the number and fortune of the inhabitants : 
 all seems arranged for the reception of the great, who as yet have 
 but sent some of their retinue forward. On the morning of their 
 reaching Taro, the floods were thundering from the Alps and 
 Apennines, with such frightful rapidity, that their roar scarce 
 announced them ere they came. Bridges are hardly practicable 
 over rivers that so often rise above the level of the plain. Os- 
 wald and Lucy found their course suddenly checked. All boats 
 had been washed away by the current; and they were obliged to 
 wait till the Italians, who never hurry themselves, chose to bring 
 them back. The fog confounded the water with the sky ; and 
 the whole spectacle rather resembled the descriptions of Styx 
 than the bounteous streams lent as refreshments to the burning 
 south. Lucy, trembling lest the intense cold should hurt her 
 child, bore it into a fisher's hut, in the centre of which a fire had 
 been kindled, as is done in Eussia. 
 
 " Where is your lovely Italy ?" she asked Oswald, with a smile. 
 " I know not when I shall regain her," he answered sadly. Ap- 
 proaching Parma, and all the cities on that road, they perceived 
 from afar the flat-terraced roofs that give Italy so original an 
 air. Churches and spires stand forth boldly amid these buildings ; 
 and, after seeing them, the northern-pointed roofs, so constructed 
 to permit the snow to run off, create a very unpleasant sensation. 
 Parma still preserves some fine pictures by Correggio. Oswald 
 took Lucy to a church which boasts a fresco of his La Madonna 
 della Scala : while he drew the curtain from before it, Lucy 
 raised Juliet in her armj, that she might better see the picture j 
 an d(^ chance their attitude was near ly the same with that of the^ 
 Yirgi" and Child?) Lucy had so much of the modest grace which 
 Correggio loved to paint, that Oswald looked from the ideal to 
 the real with surprise. As she noticed this her lids declined, and 
 the resemblance became still more strong. Correggio is, perhaps, 
 the only painter who knew how to give downcast eyes an expres- 
 sion affecting as that of those raised to heaven. The veil he 
 throws over such looks, far from -decreasing their thoughtful 
 ienderness, lends it the added charm of heavenly mystery. Tha 
 
372 coRiNNJs; or, italt. 
 
 Madonna is almost detached from the wall. A hreath might 
 blow its hues away; this fear gives it a melancholy interest: its 
 adorers oft return to bid such fleeting beauty a fond farewell. As 
 they left the church, Oswald said to Lucy, "A little while, and 
 that picture will be no more ! but its model is mine own forever." 
 These soft words touched her heart : she pressed his hand, about 
 to ask him if he could not trust her tenderness ; but as when he 
 spoke coldly her pride forbade complaint, so when his language 
 made her blest, she dreaded to disturb that moment's peace, in 
 an attempt to render it more durable. /Thus always she found 
 reasons fo r her silence, hoping that time,, resignation^ and gentlg- 
 ness, might bring at last the happy day which would dij^p^n'? ^" 
 apprehensionsT^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Lord Nevil's health improved, yet cruel anxiety still agitated 
 his heart. He constantly sought tidings of Corinne j but every- 
 where heard the same report : how diflferent from the strain in 
 which her name had once been breathed ! Could the man who 
 had destroyed her peace and fame forgive himself? Travellers 
 drawing near Bologna are attracted by too very high towers ; the 
 one, however, leans so oblic[uely as to create a sensation of alarm ; 
 vainly is it said to have been built so, and to have lasted thus for 
 centuries ; its aspect is irresistibly oppressive. Bologna boasts a 
 great number of highly-informed men ; but the common people 
 are disagreeable. Lucy listened for the melodious Italian, of 
 which she had been told; but the Bolognese dialect painfully 
 disappointed her. Nothing more harsh can exist in the north. 
 They arrived at the height of the Carnival, and heard, both day 
 and night, cries of joy that sounded like those of rage. A popula- 
 tion like that of the Lazzaroni, eat and sleep beneath the numerous 
 arcades that border the streets : during winter, they carry a little 
 fire in an earthen vessel. In cold weather, no nightly music is 
 
373 
 
 heard in Italy : it is replaced in Bologna by a clamor truly alarming 
 to foreigners. The manners of the populace are much more gross 
 i-n some few southern states than can be found elsewhere. In-door 
 life perfects social order: the heat that permits people to live thus 
 in public engenders many savage habits.(36) Lord' and Lady 
 Nevil could not walk forth without being assailed by beggars, the 
 scourge of Italy. As they passed the prisons, whose barred 
 windows look upon the streets, the captives demanded alms with 
 immoderate laughter. " It is not thus," said Lucy, " that our 
 people show themselves the fellow-citizens of their betters. 0, 
 Oswald ! can such a country please you ?" — " Heaven forbid," he 
 replied, " that I should ever forget my own ! but when you have 
 passed the Apennines you will hear the Tuscans — meet intellectual 
 and animated beings, who, I hope, will render you less severe." 
 
 Italians, indeed must be judged according to circumstances. 
 Sometimes the evil that has been spoken of them seems but true ; 
 at others, most unjust. All that has previously been described 
 of their governments and religion proves that much may be as- 
 serted against them generally, yet that many private virtues are 
 to be found amongst them. The individuals chance throws on 
 the acquaintance of our travellers decide their notions of the whole 
 race ; such judgment, of course, can find no basis in the public 
 spirit of the country. Oswald and Lucy visited the collections of 
 pictuTes that enrich Bologna. Among them was Domenichino's 
 /SibyT^ before which Nevil unconsciously lingered so long, that 
 fitSwife at last dared ask him, if this beauty said more to his 
 heart than Correggio's Madonna had done. He understood, and 
 was amazed at so significant an appeal : after gazing on her for some 
 time, he replied, " The Sibyl utters oracles no more : her beauty, 
 like her genius, is gone; but the angelic features I admired in 
 Oorreggio have lost none of their charms ; and the unhappy wretch 
 who so much wronged the one will never betray the other." He 
 left the place, to conceal his agitation. 
 32 
 
374 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 BOOK XX. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Oswald now, for the first time, comprehended that Lucy was 
 aware of his affection for her sister, and deemed that her coolness 
 might have sprung from secret disquietude : yet now he feared an 
 explanation as much as she had done ; and now she would have 
 told him all, had he required it ; but it would have cost him too 
 much to speak of Corinpe, just as he was about to rejoin her, 
 especially with a person whose character he so imperfectly knew. 
 They crossed the Apennines, and regained the sweet climate of 
 ' Italy. The sea-breeze, so glowing in summer, now spread a gentle 
 heat. The turf was green, the autumn hardly over, and yet the 
 spring already peeping forth. The markets teemed with oranges 
 and pomegranates. The Tuscan tongue was audible j and all 
 Oswald's dearest memories revived, though now unmixed with 
 hope. The mild air would have rendered Lucy confiding, had he 
 encouraged her. Had a Corinne been with them, she would soon 
 have learned their secrets ; but the more congenial they were, in 
 natural and national reserve, the less easy was it for them to 
 break the ice whioja kept their hearts asunder. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 As soon as they arrived in Florence, Nevil wrote to Castel 
 Forte ; and in a few minutes the Prince came to him. It was 
 some time ere either spoke ; at last Nevil asked for Corinne. " I 
 have none but sad news for you," said her friend : " she grows 
 weaker every day; sees no one but myself, and can scarce attenipi 
 
CORINNE; OR, ITALY. 375 
 
 any occupation ; yet I think she lias been calmer since we learned 
 you were in Italy; though I cannot disguise from you, that at 
 first her emotions onithat intelligence caused her a relapse of 
 fever. She has not told me her intentions, for I carefully avoid 
 your name." — "Have the goodness, Prince," said Oswald, "to 
 give her the letter I wrote you nearly five years since : it contained 
 a detail of all the circumstances that prevented my hearing of 
 her journey to Scotland before I married. When she has read 
 it, ask her to receive me. I long to justify myself with her, if 
 possible. Her esteem is essential to me, though I can no 
 longer pretend to more." — "I will obey your desires, my 
 Lord," said Castel Forte, "and wish that I may in any way 
 be of service." Lady Nevil now entered the room. ■ Oswald 
 made her known to his friend. She met him coldly. He gazed 
 on her with much attention, sighed, thought of Corinne, and took 
 leav^. Oswald followed him. " Lady Nevil is very beautiful," 
 said the Prince : " so fresh and young ! Alas ! my poor love is 
 no longer so; yet forget not,. my Lord, that she was a brilliant 
 creature when you saw her first." — " Forget !" exclaimed Os- 
 wald : " no, nor ever forgive myself." He could utter no more, 
 and for the rest of the day was gloomily silent. Lucy sought not 
 to disturb him : her forbearance was unlucky ; for he only thought : 
 " Had Corinne beheld me sad, she would have striven to console 
 me." The next morning his anxiety early led him to Castel 
 Forte. " Well !" he cried, " what says she ?" — " That she will 
 not see you," answered the Prince. — "And her motives?" — "I 
 found her yesterday, in spite of her weakness, pacing the room 
 all agitation, her paleness sometimes giving way to a vivid blush, 
 that faded as suddenly as it rose. I told her your request : after 
 some instants' silence, she said.;— if you exact from me her own 
 words: 'That man has done me too much wrong already; but 
 the foe who threw me into prison, banished and proscribed me, 
 has not yet brought my spirit quite so low as he may think. I 
 have suifered more than woman ever endured beside — alter- 
 nate fondness and indignation making thought a perpetual tor- 
 ture. Oswald should remember that I once told him it would 
 cost me more to renounce my admiration than my love. He has 
 
876 COEINNEJ OR, ITALY. 
 
 despoiled the object of my worship : he deceived me, volnntarilj 
 or otherwise — no matter : he is Dot what I believed him. He 
 sported for nearly a year with my affection ; and, when he ought 
 to have defended me, when his actions should have proved he had 
 a heart, how did he treat me ? Can he boast of having made one 
 generous sacrifice ? No I he is happy now, possessing all the ad- 
 vantages best appreciated by the world. I am dying , let him 
 leave me in peace ! ' " — " These words are very harsh," sighed Os- 
 wald. — "She is changed by suffering," admitted Castel Torte; 
 »j " yet I have often found her so charitable, that, let me own, she 
 has defended you against me." — "You think me unpardonable, 
 ^ then ?" — " If you permit me to say so. /The injuri es we may do 
 L^^^ women hurt not us in public opinion?^ The fragile idol of to-day 
 may be broken to-morrow, without finding one protector ; for that 
 very reason do I respect the sex, whose moral welfare can find its 
 safety but in our bosoms. A mortal stab is punished by the law ; 
 but breaking a tender heart is a theme for jest. I would forgive 
 murder by poniard soonest." — "Believe me," cried Nevil, "I, 
 too, have been wretched — that is my sole extenuation; but for- 
 merly she would have listened to it, now it avails me nothing; yet 
 I will write to her : I still believe, in spite of all that pints us, 
 she may yet understand me." — "I will bear your letter, my 
 Lord ; but I entreat you temper it well ; you guess not what you 
 are to her. Years can but deepen an impression, when no new 
 idea has divided its empire. "Would you know in what state she 
 is at present? A fantasy, from which my prayers could not 
 divert her, enables me to show you." He opened the door of 
 another room ; and Nevil first beheld a portrait of Corinne as she 
 appeared in Juliet, on the night, of all others, when he felt most 
 enamored of her. The confidence of happiness breathed from 
 each feature The memories of that festal time came back on 
 Oswald's heart; but as he yielded to them, the Prince took his 
 hand, drew aside a crape from another picture, and showed him 
 Corinne, painted that same year, in the black dress, such as she 
 had never abandoned since her return from England. Her lost 
 lover recollected the figure which had passed him in the Park : 
 
CORINNE; or, ITALY. 377 
 
 but above all was he struck with the total change in her appear- 
 ance. The long black lashes veiled her languid eyes, and threw 
 a shadow over the tintless cheek : beneath was written this line, 
 from the Pastor Fido : — 
 
 " A pena si pud5 dir: ' Questa fu rosa !' " 
 " Scarcely can we now say : ' This was a rose !' " 
 
 "How!" cried Lord Nevil ; "looks she like this?"— "Within 
 the last fortnight still worse," returned the Prince j and Oswald 
 rushed from him, as if distracted. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The unhappy man shut himself in his room. At the dinner 
 hour, Lucy, leading Juliet by the hand, tapped gently at his 
 door ; he opened it, saying : " Think not the worse of me, my 
 dear, for begging that I may be left to myself to-day." His 
 wife raised her child in her arms, and retired without a word. 
 He now looked at the letter he had written to Corinne, and, 
 bursting into tears exclaimed : " Shall I, then, make poor Lucy 
 wretched too ? What is my life worth, if it serves but to render 
 all who love me miserable ?" 
 
 Letter from Lord Nevil to Corinne. 
 
 " Were you not the most generous of human beings, what 
 could I say to you, who might weigh me so low by reproaches, or 
 still lower by your griefs ? I have done such ill to her I loved, 
 that I almost believe myself a monster. Am I, Corinne? I 
 suffer so much, that I cannot think myself an utter barbarian ! 
 You know, when first I met you, I was a prey to despair, that 
 nearly brought me to the grave : I sought not happiness, but 
 struggled long against your attraction ; even when it triumphed, 
 presentiments of misfortune lingered still. Sometimes I believed 
 32* 
 
878 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 you destined by my father to make me once more feel myself as 
 well bfiloved as I had been by him ; then did I fear to disobey his 
 will, in marrying a foreigner. On my return to England, this 
 sentiment prevailed, sanctioned as it was by parental authority. 
 Had he still lived, I should have felt a right to combat it; but 
 the dead cannot hear us, and the irrevocable commands of those 
 now powerless, possess a touching and a sacred force. — Once more 
 surrounded by the ties of country, I met your sister, selected for 
 me by my sire,'and well according with my wish for a regular, a 
 quiet life. My weakness makes me dread some kinds of agita- 
 tion : my mind is easily seduced by new hopes ; but my sick soul 
 shrinks from resolves that interfere with its original habits or 
 affections. Yet, Corinne, had I known you were in England, 
 that proof of tenderness would have decided me. Ah ! where- 
 fore vaunt I what I would have done ? Should we have been 
 content ? Am I capable of being so ? Could I ever have chosen 
 any one fate, without still pining after some other? When you 
 restore d my li berty, I fell into the common error, telling myself 
 that Go superior~XT?oman^night easily be estranged from me. 
 Corinne, i have WOuflflSu your heart, I know; but I thought 
 mine the only sacrifice : I deemed you would forget me. I can- 
 not deny that Lucy is worthy of a still warmer attachment than I 
 could give her; but since I learned your voyage to England, and 
 the sorrow I had dealt you, my life has been a perpetual pain. 
 I sought for death, certain that when you heard I was no more, 
 you would forgive me. Doubtless, you can oppose to this years 
 of fidelity and regret, such as my ingratitude ill merits ; yet think 
 — a thousand complicated circumstances invade the constancy of 
 man. Imagine, if possible, that I have neither given nor received 
 felicity ; that my heart has been lonely since I left you, scarce 
 daring even to commune with itself j that the mother of my child, 
 who has so many titles to my love, is a stranger to my history 
 and feelings; in truth, that my habitual sadness has reduced me 
 to the state from which your cares, Corinne once extracted me. 
 If I have returned to Italy, not for my health (you cannot sus- 
 pect me of any love for life), but to bid you farewe?!, can you 
 
corinne; oe, italy. 379 
 
 refuse to see me but once more ? I wish it, because I think that 
 it would benefit you; my own sufferings less prompt this desire. 
 What use were it that I am miserable, that a dreadful weight 
 presses upon my heart, if I came hither without obtaining pardon 
 from you? I ought to be unhappy, and am sure of being so'; 
 but I feel certain that you would be solaced, if you could think 
 upon me as your friend, and read, in Oswald's looks and accents, 
 how dear you are to the criminal whose fate is far more altered 
 than his heart. I respect the ties I have formed, and love your 
 sister ; but the human breast, wild and inconsistent as it is, can 
 reconcile that tenderness with what I feel for you. I have no- 
 thing to say for myself that can be written ; all I might explain 
 would but condemn me ; yet, if you saw me prostrate before you, 
 through all my faults and duties, you would perceive what you 
 are to me still, and that conversation would leave a balm for both. 
 Our health' is failing^: Heaven may not accord us length of days. 
 Let, then, whichever may be destined to precede the other, feel 
 regretted by the dear friend left behind. The innocent alone de- 
 serve such joy : but may it not be granted to the guilty ? Co- 
 rinne, sublime soul! you who can read all hearts, guess what I 
 cannot add, and comprehend me, as you used to do. Let me 
 but see you ; let my pallid lips touch your weak hand ! It was 
 not I alone who wrought this ruin. No ; the same sentiment 
 consumed us both : destiny struck two hearts, devoting one to 
 crime ; that one, Corinne, may not be the least pitiable." 
 
 Answer. 
 
 "If I required but to see and pardon you, I could not for an 
 instant refuse. Why is it that I do not feel resentment, although 
 the pangs you have caused me are so dreadful ?/^l^mjiaJ_stillJ^ 
 you, not to hathi Religion alone would not disarm me thus. 
 There have been moments when my reason has left me ; others, 
 far sweeter, when I hoped to die before the day could end; and 
 gome in which I have doubted even virtue : you were to me its 
 image^ere below : there was no,^jJ.6,fQii,.ejther my thoughts or 
 
380 
 
 CORINNE; OB, ITALY. 
 
 feelinga;i^jgl}eri,thfi .iag3.e.blow fi triiek b oth mv adiii^r !ltMl)_2j;^'"y 
 love/N'VtiafrWould have become of me without Heaven's help.' 
 ^"EVvryuiJog in this world was poisoned by your image : one sole 
 asylum was left, and God received me. My strength decays, but 
 not that supporting enthusiasm. I joy to think that the best aim 
 in life is to become worthy of eternity : our bliss, our bane, alike 
 tend to this purpose : ^a you were chose " t^) nprnnt. t.ho tnn Bt.rnn<> 
 hold I bad on eart^) Yet, when I saw your handwriting; learned 
 that you were but on the other side of the river, a fearful tumult 
 rose within me : incessantly was I obliged to tell myself, ' My sister 
 is his wife.' To see you again appeared felicity : I will not deny 
 that my heart, inebriated afresh, preferred these indefinite raptures 
 to an age of calm : but Providence has not abandoned me in this 
 peril. Are you not the husband of another ? What then have I 
 to say to you ? Is it for me to die in your arms ?J4What would 
 my conscience suff e r,pf I made no sacrifice ? if I permitted mysjI T 
 another ho ur with you '( 1 can. only appear before my God with 
 anything like confidence by renouncing it. This resolution may 
 appease my soul. Such happiness as I felt while you loved me 
 is not in harmony with our mortal state; it agitates us, because 
 we feel its fleetness : but 'religious meditation, that aims at self- 
 improvement, and refers every cause to duty, is a state of peace; 
 and I know not what ravages the mere sound o^your voice would 
 make on the repose I believe I have regained. Why do you tell 
 me that your health is impaired ? Alas ! I am no longer your 
 nurse ; but still, I suffer with you. May God bless and prolong 
 your days, my Lord! Be happy, but be_so through piety. A 
 secret communion with Divinity gives us in ourseIves"lEe"power 
 of confiding to a being who consoles us : it makes two friends of 
 one spirit. Do you still seek for what the world calls happiness ? 
 Where will you find more than my tenderness would have be- 
 stowed? Know you that in the deserts of the New World I 
 should have blessed my lot had yg^permitted me to follow you? 
 kLcouldbave serv ed you like a^lave^have k nelt b efore yo u as a 
 liPijvpnl^hpiricr^ hadyou but loved me truj^ ~What have yon 
 done with so much faith? you have changed it into an affliction 
 
CORINNEJ OR, ITALY. 381 
 
 peerless as itself. Outrage rne not, then, by one hope of happiness, 
 except in prayer : let our thoughjg, meet in heaven ! Yet when 
 I feel myself about to die, perhaps I will be taken somewhere 
 whence I may behold you pass. Assuredly, when my failing eyes 
 can see no more, your image will be with mo ; but might not a 
 recent review of your features render it more distinct ? Deities of 
 old were never present at the hour of death, so I forbid you mine ; 
 
 but I should like to see you perfectly when Oswald, Oswald ! 
 
 behold how weak I am, when abandoned to your recollection ! Why 
 has not Lucy sought me ? Though she is your wife, sh'e is still 
 my sister. I have some kind and even generous things to tell her. 
 And your child — I ought not to meet you ; but you are surrounded 
 by my family. Do they disown me still ? or fear ye that poor 
 little Juliet would be soared at seeing me ? Ghost as I look, I 
 yet could smile upon your daughter. Adieu, my Lord, adieu ! 
 Eemember that I might call you brother. At least you will mourn 
 for me externally, and, as a kinsman, follow my remains to Some : 
 let them be borne by the road where my car passed ; and pause 
 upon the spot where you restored my crown. Yet no, I am 
 wrong, Oswald : I could exact nothing that could afflict you, only 
 one tear, and sometimes a fond look towards the heaven where I 
 shall soon await you." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Many days elapsed ere Oswald could regain his composure : he 
 avoided the presence of his wife, and passed whole hours on the 
 banks of the river that separated him from Corinne ; often tempted 
 to plunge amid its waves, tliat they might bear his body to the 
 abode he never must enter living. Amazed as he was at Corinne's 
 wish to see her sister, he longed to gratify it ; yet how introduce 
 the subject ? He saw that Lucy was hurt by his distress, and 
 hoped that she would question him ; but she forbore, merely ex- 
 
382 corinne; or, Italy. 
 
 pressing a desire to visit Rome or Naples : he always begged a 
 brief delay, and Lucy, with cold dignity, was silent. 
 
 Oswald, at least, could secure Corinne the presence of his little 
 daughter, and secretly bade the nurse take Juliet to her. He 
 met them on their return, and asked the child how she had en- 
 joyed her visit. She replied by an Italian phrase, and with an 
 accent so resembling Corinne's that her father started. " Who 
 taught you that, dear?" he asked. — "The lady," she replied. — 
 "And how did she behave to you?" — "Oh, she kissed me, and 
 cried ; I don't know why ; but it made her worse, for she looks' very 
 ill, papa." — " Do you love her, darling ?" — " That I do. I'll go 
 to her every day. She has promised to teach me all she knows j and 
 says, that she will make me grow like Corinne : what's that, pa ? 
 the lady did not tell me." Lord Nevil could not answer : he 
 withdrew, to conceal his agitation, but bade the nurse take Juliet 
 daily to Corinne. Perhaps" he erred in disposing of his child 
 without her mother's consent; but in a few days the young pu- 
 pil's progress was astonishing : her masters for Italian and music 
 were all amazed. Nothing had ever pained Lucy more than her 
 sister's influence over Juliet's education. The child informed her 
 that, ill as the lady seemed, she took great pains with her. Lucy's 
 heart would have melted, could she have seen in all this anything 
 but a design to win Nevil back. She was divided between the 
 natural wish of being sole directress for her daughter, and self- 
 reproach at the idea of withholding her from such valuable in- 
 structions. One day Oswald came in as Juliet was practising a 
 music lesson. She held a lyre proportioned to her sizej and her 
 pretty arras fell into Corinne's own attitude so perfectly, that he 
 felt gazing on the miniature copy of a fine picture, with the added 
 grace of childish innocence. He could not speak, but sank, trem- 
 bling;, on a seat. Juliet then played the Scotch air which he had 
 heard at Tivoli, before the design from Ossian ; he listened breath- 
 lessly. Lucy, unseen, stole behind him : as Juliet ceased, her 
 father took her on his knee, and said : " The lady on the banks of 
 the Arno taught you this, did she not?" — " Yes, papa; but it 
 hurt her very much : she was so ill while she taught me, that I 
 
oorinne; or, italy. 383 
 
 begged her to leave off, but she would not. She made me pro- 
 mise to play you that tune every year, on a particular day, I be- 
 lieve it was the 17th of November." — " My God I" cried Oswald 
 bursting into tears. Lucy now stepped forward, and, taking Ju- 
 liet by the hand, said, hastily : "My Lord, it is too much to rob 
 me of my child's affection; that solace, at least, is due to my 
 misfortunes." She retired. Oswald would have followed her, but 
 was refused. At the dinner hour he was told that she had been out 
 for some time, not saying where. He was fearfully alarmed at her 
 absence; but she shortly returned, with a calm and gentle air, 
 such as he little expected. He would now have confided in her, 
 and gained her pardon by sincerity, but she replied: "Explana- 
 tion, indeed, is needful to us both ; yet, my dear Lord, permit me 
 still to defer it : you will soon know my motives for this request." 
 Her address, he perceived, was more animated than usual; and 
 every day its warmth, its interest, increased. He could not under- 
 stand this change : its cause is soon told. And that Lucy so long had 
 hidden in her heart escaped in. the brief reproach she made her 
 husband ; and, as usually happens to persons who suddenly break 
 from their habitual character^ she now ran into extremes, resolving 
 to seek Corinne, and ask her if she had determined perpetually to 
 disturb her wedded peace; but, as she arrived at her sister's door, 
 her diffidence returned; nor would she have had courage to enter, 
 had not the invalid, who saw her from a window, sent Th^r^sina to 
 entreat her. Lucy ascended to the sick chamber, and all her anger 
 vanished at sight of its occupant. The sisters embraced in tears. 
 Corinne then set an example of frankness which it was impossible 
 for Lucy not to follow. Such was that mind's ascendency over 
 every one, that, in her presence, neither dissimulation nor con- 
 straint could be preserved. Pallor and weakness cojafirmed her 
 assertion, that she had not long to live : this sad truth added 
 weight to her counsels. All Castel Eorte had told her, and all 
 she had guessed from Oswald's letters, proved that reserve and 
 coldness separated the Nevils from each other. She entered very 
 simply on this delicate subject : her perfect knowledge of the hus- 
 band's character enabled her to point out why he required to find 
 
884 corinne; or, itait. 
 
 spontaneously in those he loved the confidence which he could not 
 solicit, and to be received with cheerfulness proportioned to his 
 own susceptibility of discouragement. She described her past self 
 impartially, as if speaking of another, and showed how agreeable 
 it must be for a man to find, united with moral conduct, that de- 
 -sire to please which is often inspired by a, wish to atone for the 
 loss of virtue. " Many women," she said, " have been beloved, 
 not merely in spite of, but for the sake of their very errors ; be- 
 cause they strove to extort a pardon by being ever agreeable, and 
 having so much need of indulgence dared impose no laws on 
 others. Therefore, dear sister, pride not in your perfections; let 
 your charms consist in seeming to forget them ; fbe Corinne aij 
 Lucy in on€j ) nor let your own worth excuse to you a moment's 
 "fiEgtecTof your graces, nor" your self-respect render your manners 
 repulsive. Were your dignity ill founded, it might wound Mm 
 less ; for an over-exertion of certain rights chills the heart more 
 than do unjust pretensions. Love delights in paying more than 
 is due, where nothing is exacted." Lucy thanked her sister with 
 much tenderness for the interest thus generously evinced in her 
 welfare; and Corinne resumed: "If I were doomed to live, I 
 might not be capable of it ; but now my only selfish wish is, that 
 Oswald should find some traces of my influence in you and in his 
 child ; nor ever taste one rapture that reminds him not of Co- 
 rinne." Lady Nevil returned to her every day, and with the most 
 amiable delicacy, ^tudied torsseiable_tlie_ii^ng_BO--deai_tQ_liet 
 LordT^ His curiosity increased, as he remarked the fresh attrac- 
 tions she thus acquired: he knew that she must owe them to 
 Corinne ; yet Lucy having promised to keep the secret of their 
 meetings, no explanation occurred. The sufferer proposed yet to 
 see the wedded pair together, but not till she was assured that 
 she had but a few moments to live ; but she involved this plan in 
 so much mystery, that Lucy knew not in what manner it was to 
 be accomplished. 
 
CORINNE: or, ITALY. 385 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CoRlNNE desired to bid Nevil and Italy such a farewell as 
 might recall the days on which her genius shone with its full 
 splendor. A pardonable weakness.VLove and glory were ever 
 ble ndgd in her min dj^d, at that moiuenTWhSn her heart was 
 about to resign all earthly ties, she wished Oswald to feel, once 
 more, that it was the greatest woman of her day he had destroyed 
 — the woman who best knew how to love and think — whose bril- 
 liant success he had obscured in misery and death. 
 
 She had no longer the strength required by an improvisatrice ; 
 but in solitude, since Oswald's return, had resumed her zest for 
 writing poetry; she therefore named a day for assembling in 
 one of the galleries all who desired to hear her verses, begging 
 Lucy to bring her husband ; adding, " I feel I may demand this 
 of you now." Oswald was fearfully agitated, wondering what 
 subject she had chosen, and whether she would recite herself: 
 the bare possibility of looking on her threw him into extreme 
 confusion. The morning came, and winter frowned on it with 
 all the sternness of the north : the wind howled, the rain beat 
 violently against the windows, and by an eccentricity more fre- 
 quent in Italy than elsewhere, the thunder added a sense of dread 
 to all this gloom. Oswald could not speak : everything around 
 him increased the desolation of his soul. He entered the hall 
 with Lucy : it was immensely crowded. In an obscure recess was 
 placed a sofa, whereon Corinne was to recline, being too ill to 
 read her own verses. Dreading to show herself, changed as she 
 was, she had chosen those means of seeing Oswald unseen. As 
 soon as she knew that he was there, she veiled her face, and was 
 supported to this couch ; from time to time staying to take breath, 
 as if that short space had been a painful journey : the last steps 
 of life are ever slow and difficult. Seating herself, her eyes sought 
 Oswald, found him, and involuntarily starting up, she spread her 
 arms; but instantly fell back, turning away her face, like Dido 
 when she met .Siincas in a world which human passions should 
 33 
 
386 corinne; or, italt: 
 
 not penetrate. Castel Forte detained Lord.Nevil, who now, ut- 
 terly beside himself, would have flown to fall at her feet : the 
 Prince reminded him of the respect he owed Corinne before the 
 world.* 
 
 A young girl, dressed in white, and crowned with flowers, now 
 appeared on the stage which had been erected. Her meek and 
 peaceful face touchingly contrasting the sentiments she was about 
 to breathe ; it was Oorinne's taste, which thus mingled something 
 sweet with thoughts in themselves too dreary. Music nobly and 
 aflieoting prepared the auditors. The hapless Oswald could not 
 tear his eyes from Corinne : she was to him as an apparition that 
 haunts a night of fever : it was through his own deep sighs that 
 he heard the death-song of the swan, which the woman he had so 
 much wronged addressed to his heart. 
 
 THE LAST SONG OP COEINNB. 
 
 Take ye my solemn farewell ! 0, my friends, 
 
 Already night is darkening on my eyes ; — 
 
 But is not heaven most beautiful by night? 
 
 Thousands of stars shine in the kindling sky, 
 
 Which is an azure desert during day. 
 
 Thus do the gathering of eternal shades 
 
 Keveal innumerable thoughts, half lost 
 
 In the fuU daylight of prosperity. 
 
 But weaken'd is the voice which might instruct; 
 
 The soul retires within itself, and seeks 
 
 To gather round itself its failing fire. 
 
 From my first days of youth, my inward hope 
 Was to do honor to the Eoman name ; 
 That name at which the startled heart yet beats. 
 Ye have aUow'd me fame, generous land! 
 Ye banished not a woman from the shrine! 
 Ye do not sacrifice immortal gifts 
 To passing jealousies, Ye who still yield 
 Applause to Genius in its daring flight ; 
 Victor without the vanquished — Conqueror, 
 
 * Not a word of wl):it he ow«il his wife. — Tr. 
 
corinne; or, italy. 387 
 
 Yet without spoil ; — who, from eternity, 
 Draws riches, for all time. 
 
 Nature and Life! with what deep confidence 
 Ye did inspire me! I deem'd all grief arose 
 For what we did not feel, or think enough: 
 And that we might, even on this our earth, 
 Beforehand taste that heavenly happiness. 
 Which is — but length in our enthusiasm. 
 But constancy in love. 
 
 No, I repent it not, this generous faith; 
 No, that caused Hot" the bitter tears I 've shed, 
 Watering the dust which doth await me now. 
 I had aocomplish'd all my destiny — 
 I had been worthy all the gifts of Heaven, 
 If I had only vow'd my sounding lyre 
 To celebrate that goodness all divine, 
 Made manifest throughout the universe. 
 
 And thou, my God ! — Oh, thou wilt not reject 
 The offering of the mind; for poetry, 
 Its homage is religious, and the wings 
 Of thought but serve to draw more near to thee. 
 
 Religion has no limits, and no bonds ; — 
 The vast, the infinite, and the eternal. 
 Never from her may Genius separate. 
 Imagination from its earliest flight, 
 Past o'er the bounds of life: and the sublime 
 Is the reflection of divinity. 
 
 Alas! my God, had I loved only thee;* 
 If I had raised my head aloft in heaven — 
 From passionate affections shelter'd there, 
 I had not now been crush'd before my time — 
 Phantoms had not displaced my brilliant dreams 
 Unhappy one, if yet my genius lives, 
 I only know it by my strength of grief: 
 
 * " Had I biit served my God with half the zeal," &c. — Wolsey. 
 (Shakspeaeb.) 
 
388 corinne; or, italt. 
 
 Under the features of an enemy 
 I recognize it now. 
 
 Farewell, my birthplace ! farewell, my own land t 
 I'arewell, remembrances of infancy. 
 Farewell! Ah, what have ye to do with death? 
 And ye who in my writings may have found 
 Feelings, whose echo was within your soul. 
 Oh, friends of mine — where'er ye be — farewell! 
 /Cori nne has suffer'd much — but sufiFer'd not 
 In an unworthy cause: she has not lost 
 At least her claim on pityT 
 
 Beautiful Italy! it is in Tain 
 To promise me your loveliness; my heart 
 Is worn and wasted ; what can ye avail ? 
 Would ye revive my hopes, to~ edge my griefs ? 
 Would ye recall my happiness, and thus 
 Malie me revolt against my fate? 
 
 MeeMy I do submit myself. Ob, ye 
 Who may survive me — when the spring returns, 
 Kemember how I lo"Ved its loveliness ! 
 How oft I sung its perfume and its air. 
 I pray you sometimes to recall a line 
 From out my songs — my soul is written there: 
 But fatal Muses, love and misery, 
 Taught my best poetry. 
 
 When the designs of mighty Providence 
 Are work-'d in us, internal music marks. 
 The coming of the angel of the grave :- 
 Nor fearful, nor yet terrible he spreads 
 His white wings; and, though compass'd by night, 
 A thousand omens tell of his approach. 
 
 If the wind murmurs, then they seem to hear 
 Sis voice; and when night falls, the shadows round 
 Seem the dark foldings of his sweeping robe. 
 At noon, when life sees only the clear sky, 
 Feels only the bright sun, the fated one 
 Whom Death hath called, upon the distance marks 
 The heavy shade is so soon to shroud 
 AH nature from their eyes. 
 
corinne; oh, italy. 389 
 
 Youth, hope, emotiona of the heart — ye all 
 Are now no more. Far from me — vain regrets ; 
 If I can yet obtain some falling tears, 
 If I can yet believe myself beloved, 
 It is because I am about to die. 
 Could I recall my fleeting life — that life. 
 Soon vrould it turn upon me all its stings. 
 
 And Rome ! Rome, where my ashes will be borne 1 
 Thou who hast seen so many die, forgive. 
 If, with a trembling step, I join the shades, 
 The multitude of your illustrious dead ! 
 Forgive me for my pity of myself. * 
 Feelings, and noble thoughts, such thoughts perchance 
 Aa_l?ight have yielded fruit — expire with me. 
 /Pf all the powers of mind wMch_nature gDve. , 
 ■(E be power o f suitermg nas been the sole one.^ 
 Which I have used to its extent.. 
 
 It matters not. — I do obey. — Whate'er 
 May be the mighty mystery of death, 
 That mystery at least must give repose. 
 Te do not answer me, ye silent tombs I 
 Merciful God, thou dost not answer me! 
 I made my choice on earth, and now my heart 
 Has no asylum. Ye decide for me. 
 And such a destiny is best. L. E. L. 
 
 Thus ended, the last song of Corinne. The hall resounded 
 with deep, sad murmurs of applause. Lord Nevil could not sup- 
 port the violence of his emotion, but fell senseless to the ground. 
 Corinne, beholding him in this condition, would have flown to 
 him, but her strength failed as she attempted to rise. She was 
 borne home, and ftom that hour no hopes were entertained of 
 saving her. Lucy hastened to her, so afflicted by her husband's 
 grief, that she threw herself at her sister's feet, imploring her to 
 afimit him; but Corinne refused. "I forgive him," she said, 
 "for having broken my heart. (Men know not what they doj. 
 
 * " J'a piti^ de moi-m6me." — Cotineille. . 
 33* 
 
590 corinne; or, italy. 
 
 ^socipty persuades them that it is sport to fill a heart with rapture ^ , 
 and t hei) ^nnamn I't tn-rlespair; but God's fr fifi frrane has ^ijien 
 me ba ck composure. "^ The sig^i:^lL^swald would revive sensa- 
 tions that ill befit a death-bed\^ligjon]jral2_££^S5S^J5!f_^^'""®* 
 c lue thro pgWhis terrific labyrmth. I pardon the beingTlo 
 loved," she continued,~vrith~a failing voice; "may he be happy 
 with you 1 but when in his turn he is called on to die, then may 
 he recollect the poor Corinne. She will watch over him, if Hea- 
 ven permits ; for those never cease to love, whose love has had 
 the strength to cost them life." 
 
 Oswald stood at her door, sometimes about to enter, spite her 
 prohibition, sometimes motionless with sorrow. Lucy passed 
 from one to the other, like an angel of peace, between despair ' 
 and death. One evening Corinne appeared more easy, and the 
 parents went for a short time to their child, whom they had not 
 seen for three days. During their absence the dying woman per- 
 formed all the duties of religion ; then said to the reverend man 
 who received her last solemn confession : "Now, father, you know 
 my fate. Judge me ! I have never taken vengeance on my foes ; 
 the griefs of others never asked my sympathy in vain ; my faults 
 sprung but from passions not guilty in themselves, though human 
 pride and weakness led them to excess and error. Think you, 
 my father — you who have so much longer experience than I — 
 that God will pardon me ?" — "Tes, child, I hope so; is not your 
 I heart now wholly his ?" — "I believe it, father^ake away this 
 LE Prtrait, it is Oswald's; lay on my breast the image of Him who" 
 descended to this life -i ^- not for the powerful, nor the in-spirerTITiiit 
 for the sufferer, the dying; they need his mercy." She then 
 perceived Castel Forte, who wept beside her bed, and holding out 
 her hand to him, exclaimed : " My friend ! you only are beside 
 me now. I lived for love; yet, but for you, should die alone." 
 Her tears fell as she spoke, yet she added : " There is no help for 
 such a moment; friends can but follow us to the brink; there 
 begin thoughts too deep, too troubled, to be confided." She 
 begged they would remove her to a sofa, whence she could gaze 
 upon the sky. Lucy now came to her side; and the unhappy 
 
ooeinne; or, italy. 391 
 
 Oswald, following his wife, fell at the feet of Corinne, who would 
 have spoken to him, but her voice failed : she raised her eyes to 
 Heaven ; the moon was covered with just such a cloud as they 
 had seen on their way to Naples. Corinne pointed to it with a 
 dying hand — one sigh«— and that hand sank powerless. 
 
 Oswald fell into such distraction that Lucy trembled for his 
 life. He followed the funeral pomp to Kome ; then retired to 
 Tivoli, where he remained long, without seeing even his wife and 
 child. At last, duty and affection restored him to them ; they 
 returned to England. Lord Nevil's domestic lif^ became most 
 exemplary: but did he ever pardon his past conduct? Gould 
 the approving world console him? After the fate he had en- 
 joyed, could he content himself with common life ? I know not : 
 nor will I, on that head, either absolve or condemn him. 
 
tUi, 
 
 (1) Anoona is not much better supplied to this day. 
 
 (2) This observation is made in a letter on Borne, by M. Humboldt, 
 brother to the celebrated traveller, and Prussian minister at Borne ; a 
 gentleman whose writings and conversation alike do honor to his learning 
 and originality. 
 
 (3) An exception inust be made in favor of Monti, who reads verse as 
 well as he writes it. There can be few greater dramatic treats than to 
 hear him recite the episode of Ugolino — of ^rancesca, or the death of 
 Clorinda. 
 
 (4) Lord Nevil must have alluded to the beautiful lines of Propertius, — 
 
 "Ut caput in magnis ubi non est ponere signis; 
 Ponitur hie imos antfe corona pedes." 
 
 (5) A Frenchman commanded the castle of St. Angelo during the last 
 war ; and when summoned by the Neapolitans to surrender, replied, that 
 he would do so when the bronze angel sheathed his sword. 
 
 (6) These facts are found in " A history of the Italian Bepublios, dur- 
 ing the Middle Ages," by M. Simonde, of Geneva ; an author of profound 
 sagacity, equally conscientious and energetic. 
 
 (7) " Eine Weltz zwar bist du, o Rom ! doch ohne die Liebe Ware die 
 Welt nioht die Welt, ware denn Eom aucht nicht Rom," says Goethe, the 
 poet and Philosopher, of all our modern men of letters the most remark- 
 able for imagination. 
 
 (8) It is said that the building of St. Peter's was one of the principal 
 causes of the Reformation ; as it cost the popes so much, that they mul- 
 tiplied the sale of indulgences. 
 
 (9) Mineralogists affirm that these lions are not basaltic, because the 
 volcanic stone now so called was never found in Egypt ; but as Pliny and 
 Winckleman (the historian of the arts) both give them that name, I avail 
 myself of its primitive acceptation. 
 
 (10) Carpite nunc, tauri, de septem ooUibus herbas 
 Dum licet, hie magnse jam locus nrbis erit. 
 
 TlETJLHTS. 
 
394 NOTES. 
 
 Hoc quodcumque vides, hospes qu3,m maxima Roma est. . 
 Ante Phrygem JEaean collis et herba fait, &o. 
 
 Pbopehtius. 
 
 (11) Augustus expired at Nola, on his way to the waters of Brundu- 
 sium, which were prescribed him. He left Rome in a dying state. 
 
 (12) Viximus insignes inter utramque facem. 
 
 Peopbetius. 
 
 (13) Plin. Hist. Nat., 1, 3. Tiberis, quam libet magnorum navium ex 
 Italo mari capax, rerum in toto orbe nascentium mercator placidissimns, 
 pluribus probfe solus quam ceeteri in omnibus terris amnes, accolitur, as- 
 pioiturque villis. Nullique fiuviorum minus licet, inclusis utrinque later- 
 
 ' ibus : neo tamen ipse pugnat, quanquam creber ae subitis incrementis, et 
 nusquam magis aquis quam in ipsa urbe stagnantibus. Quin imo vates 
 intelligiturpotius ac monitur, auctu semper religiosus verius quam ssevus. 
 
 (14) The dancing of Madame Kecamier gave me the idea which I en- 
 deavored to express. This celebrated beauty, in the midst of afflictions, 
 displayed so touching a resignation, so total a forgetfalness of self, that 
 her moral qualities seem as extraordinary as her personal grace. 
 
 (15) Mr. Roscoe, author of the " History of the Medici," has since pub- 
 lished that of Leo X., which recounts the proofs of admiring esteem given 
 by the princes and. people of Italy to men of letters ; impartially adding, 
 that many of the popes have emulated this liberality. 
 
 (16) Cesarotti, Verri, and Bettinelli, three modern authors, have in- 
 stilled more thought into Italian'prose than has been bestowed on it for 
 many years. 
 
 (17) Giovanni Pindemonte has published a series of dramas founded 
 on Italian history ; a most praiseworthy enterprise. The name of Pinde- 
 monte is also ennobled by Hippolito, one of Italy's sweetest modern poets. 
 
 (18) Alfieri's posthumous works have been printed. It will be seen, 
 by the eccentric experiment which he tried on his tragedy of Abel, that 
 he himself thought his style too austere, and that the stage required en- 
 tertainments of greater fancy and variety. 
 
 (19) I have allowed myself to borrow some passages from a discourse 
 on death, which may be found in " The course of Religious Morals," by 
 M. Neoker. Another work of his, " The Importance of Religious Opin- 
 ions," had a more brilliant success, and is sometimes confused with this, 
 which appeared when public interest was distracted by political events ; 
 but I dare affirm, that " The Course of Religious Morals" is my father's 
 most eloquent production. No statesman, I believe, ever before com- 
 posed volumes for the Christian pulpit; ?jnd this kind of writing, from a 
 man who had so much to do with men, shows a knowledge of the human 
 heart, and the indulgence that knowledge inspires. It appears that, in 
 two respects, these Essays are completely original. A religious man ia 
 
NOTES. 395 
 
 usually a recluse. Men of the -world are seldom religious. Where, then, 
 shall we find united such observation of life, and such elevation of soul, 
 that looks beyond it ? I should say, fearless of finding my opinion attri- 
 buted to partiality, that this book is one of the first among those which 
 console the feeling heart, and interest the Teflective mind, on the great 
 questions which are incessantly agitating them both. 
 
 (20) From a journal called "Europe," I have derived many valuable 
 observations on painting — an inexhaustible subject for their author, M. . 
 Frederic Sohlegel, and for German reasoncrs in general. 
 
 (21) The historical pictures here described are David's Brutus, Drouet's 
 Marius, and Gerard's Belisarius. The Dido is by Rehberg, a German 
 painter ; Clorinda, in the gallery of Florence ; Macbeth, from an English 
 collection of pictures from Shakspeare : the Phedra is Guerin's ; the two 
 landscapes of Cincinnatus and Ossian are at Rome ; their artist, Mr. 
 Wallis, an Englishman. 
 
 (22) I asked a little Tuscan girl which was the prettiest, her sister or 
 herself. "Ah," she replied, " the best face is mine." 
 
 (23) An Italian postilion, beholding his horse expire, prayed for him, 
 crying, "St. Anthony, have pity on his soul!" 
 
 (24) The reader who wishes to know more of the Roman Carnival, 
 should read the charmipg description of Goethe ; a picture faithful as it 
 is animated. 
 
 (25) There is an exquisite account of the Lake Albano, in a collection 
 of poems by Madame Brunn (formerly Munter), one of the most talented 
 and imaginative women of her country. 
 
 (26) Discourse " On the duty of Children to their Parents," by M. 
 Neoker. See first note. 
 
 (27) On Indulgence. The same. 
 
 (28) Mr. Elliot saved the life of an old Neapolitan in the manner attri- 
 buted to Lord Nevil. 
 
 (29) This name must not be confused with that of Gorilla, an Italian 
 improvisatrice. The Grecian Corinna was famed for lyric poetry. Pin- 
 dar himself received lessons from her. 
 
 (30) An old tradition supports the imaginative prejudice which per- 
 suaded Corinne that the diamond could forewarn its wearer of its giver's 
 treachery. Frequent allusions are made to this legend by Spanish poets, 
 in their peculiar manner. In one of Calderon's tragedies, Ferdinand, 
 Prince of Portugal, prefers death in chains, before the crime of surrender- 
 ing to a Moorish king the Christian city which his brother, King Edward, 
 offers for his ransom. The Moor, enraged at this refusal, subjects the 
 noble youth to the basest ignominy. Ferdinand, in rejproof, reminds him 
 that mercy and generosity are the truest characteristics of supreme power. 
 He cites all that is royal in the universe-^the lion, the dolphin, the eagle, 
 amid animals ;' and seeks even among plants and stones for traits of natu- 
 ral goodness, which have been attributed to those who lord it over the 
 
396 ' NOTES. 
 
 rest. Thus he says, the diamond, :which resists the blow of steel, resolves 
 itself to dust, that it may inform its master if treason threatens him. It 
 is impossible to know whether this mode of considering all nature as con- 
 nected with the destiny and sentiments of man is mathematically correct ; 
 but it is ever pleasing to imagination ; and poetry, especially that of Spain, 
 has owed it many great beauties. Calderon is only known to me by the 
 German translation of Wihelm Schlegel ; but this author, one of his own 
 country's finest poets, has the art of transporting into his native language, 
 with the rarest perfection, the poetic graces of Spanish, English, and 
 Italian — giving a lively idea of the original, be it what it may. 
 
 Note Tr. — Had Oswald's gift been his mother's wedding-ring, that in- 
 cident would have been more affecting than so fanciful a fable. 
 
 (31) M. Dubreuil, a very skilful French physician, fell ill of a fatal 
 distemper. His popularity filled the sick room with visitants. Calling 
 to his intimate friend, M. Pfim^ja, as eminent a man as himself, he said, 
 " Send away all these people ; you know my fever is contagions ; no one 
 but yourself ought to be with me now." Happy the friend who ever 
 heard such words! Pfimfija died fifteen days after his heart's brother. 
 
 (82) Among the comic Italian authors who have described their coun- 
 try's manners, must be reckoned the Chevalier Kossi, a Boman, who 
 singularly unites observation with satire. 
 
 (33) Talma, having passed some years in London, blended the charms 
 of each country's tragic acting with admirable talent. 
 
 (34) After the death of Dante, the Florentines, ashamed of having 
 permitted him to perish far from his home, sent a deputation to the pope 
 for his remains, interred at Ilavenna. The pope refused; rightly deem- 
 ing that the land which had sheltered him in exile must have become his 
 country, and deserved not to be thus robbed of the glory that shone around 
 his tomb. 
 
 (35) Alfieri said, that it was in the church of Santa Croce he first felt 
 a love for fame. The epitaph he composed for himself and the Countess 
 d'Albanl is most simply and affectingly expressive of long and perfect 
 friendship. 
 
 (36) It was announced at Bologna that a solar eclipse would take place 
 one day at two. The people flocked to see it ; and, impatient at its delay, 
 called on it to begin, as if it were an actor, who kept them waiting. At 
 last it commenced ; but, as the cloudy weather prevented H§ producing 
 any great efi'ect, they set up the most violent hissings, angry that the 
 spectacle fell so far short of their expectations. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 K