[Illustration: The crowd break their ranks as the horses pass. ]

CORINNE

OR

ITALY

BY

MME. DE STAËL

WITH INTRODUCTION BY

GEORGE SAINTSBURY

(_In Two Volumes_)

VOL. I. 

_Illustrated_

_by_

H. S. Greig

LONDON: Published by J. M. DENT and COMPANY atALDINE HOUSE in Great Eastern Street, E. C. 

MDCCCXCIV

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE CROWD BREAK THEIR RANKS AS THE HORSES PASS _Frontispiece_. 

CORINNE AT THE CAPITOL PAGE 33

CORINNE SHOWING OSWALD HER PICTURES " 235

[Illustration]

INTRODUCTION. 

In Lady Blennerhassett's enthusiastic and encyclopædic book on Madame deStael she quotes approvingly Sainte-Beuve's phrase that "with _Corinne_Madame de Stael ascended the Capitol. " I forget in which of his manydealings with an author who, as he remarks in the "Coppet-and-Weimar"_causeries_, was "an idol of his youth and one that he never renounced, "this fancy occurs. It must probably have been in one of his earlyessays; for in his later and better, Sainte-Beuve was not wont to giveway to the little flashes and crackles of conceit and epigram which manyFrenchmen and some Englishmen think to be criticism. There was, however, some excuse for this. In the first place (as one of Charles Lamb'sliteral friends would have pointed out), Madame de Stael, like herheroine, did actually "ascend the Capitol, " and received attentionsthere from an Academy. In the second, there can be no doubt that_Corinne_ in a manner fixed and settled the high literary reputationwhich she had already attained. Even by her severest critics, and evennow when whatever slight recrudescence of biographical interest may havetaken place in her, her works are little read, _Corinne_ is ranked nextto _De l'Allemagne_ as her greatest production; while as a work of form, not of matter, as literature of power, not of knowledge, it has at lasta chance of enduring when its companion is but a historicaldocument--the record of a moment that has long passed away. 

The advocates of the _milieu_ theory--the theory which will have it thatyou can explain almost the whole of any work of art by examining thecircumstances, history, and so forth of the artist--have a better chancewith _Corinne_ than with many books, though those who disagree with them(as I own that I do) may retort that this was precisely because Madamede Stael in literature has little idiosyncracy, and is a receptive, nota creative, force. The moment at which this book was composed andappeared had really many of the characteristics of crisis and climax inthe life of the author. She was bidding adieu to youth; and though hertalents, her wealth, her great reputation, and her indomitabledetermination to surround herself with admirers still made her a sort ofqueen of society, some illusions at least must have been passing fromher. The most serious of her many passions, that for Benjamin Constant, was coming, though it had not yet come, to an end. Her father, whom sheunfeignedly idolised, was not long dead. The conviction must have beenfor some time forcing itself on her, though she did not even yet give uphope, that Napoleon's resolve not to allow her presence in her stillmore idolised Paris was unconquerable. Her husband, who indeed had longbeen nothing to her, was dead also, and the fancy for replacing him withthe boy Rocca had not yet arisen. The influence of the actual chief ofher usual herd of lovers, courtiers, teachers, friends (to use whicheverterm, or combination of terms, the charitable reader pleases), A. W. Schlegel, though it never could incline her innately unpoetical andunreligious mind to either poetry or religion, drove her towardsæsthetics of one kind and another. Lastly, the immense intellectualexcitement of her visits to Weimar, Berlin, and Italy, added itsstimulus to produce a fresh intellectual ferment in her. On the purelyintellectual side the result was _De l'Allemagne_, which does notconcern us; on the side of feeling, tinged with æsthetic philosophy, ofstudy of the archaic and the picturesque illuminated by emotion--theresult was _Corinne_. 

If there had been only one difference between this and its author'searlier attempt at novel-writing, that difference would have given_Corinne_ a great advantage. _Delphine_ had been irreverently describedby Sydney Smith, when it appeared a few years earlier, as "this dismaltrash which has nearly dislocated the jaws of every critic with gaping. "The Whigs had not then taken up Madame de Stael, as they did afterwards, or it is quite certain that Mr Sydney would not have been allowed toexercise such Britannic frankness. _Corinne_ met with gentler treatmentfrom his friends, if not from himself. Sir James Mackintosh, inparticular, was full of the wildest enthusiasm about it, though headmitted that it was "full of faults so obvious as not to be worthmentioning. " It must be granted to be in more than one, or two importantpoints a very great advance on _Delphine_. One is that the easy andillegitimate source of interest which is drawn upon in the earlier bookis here quite neglected. _Delphine_ presents the eternal Frenchsituation of the "triangle;" the line of _Corinne_ is straight, and theonly question is which pair of three points it is to unite in anhonourable way. A French biographer of Madame de Stael, who is not onlyan excellent critic and an extremely clever writer, but a historian ofgreat weight and acuteness, M. Albert Sorel, has indeed admitted thatboth Léonce, the hero of _Delphine_, who will not make himself and hisbeloved happy because he has an objection to divorcing his wife, andLord Nelvil, who refuses either to seduce or to marry the woman wholoves him and whom he loves, are equal donkeys with a nationaldifference. Léonce is more of a "fool;" Lord Nelvil more of a "snob. " Itis something to find a Frenchman who will admit that any nationalcharacteristic is foolish: I could have better reciprocated M. Sorel'scandour if he had used the word "prig" instead of "snob" of Lord Nelvil. But indeed I have often suspected that Frenchmen confuse these twoengaging attributes of the Britannic nature. 

A "higher moral tone" (as the phrase goes) is not the only advantagewhich _Corinne_ possesses over its forerunner. _Delphine_ is almostavowedly autobiographical; and though Madame de Stael had the wit andthe prudence to mix and perplex her portraits and her reminiscences sothat it was nearly impossible to fit definite caps on the personages, there could be no doubt that Delphine was herself--as she at least wouldhave liked to be--drawn as close as she dared. These personalities havein the hands of the really great masters of fiction sometimes producedastonishing results; but no one probably would contend that Madame deStael was a born novelist. Although _Delphine_ has many more personagesand much more action of the purely novel kind than _Corinne_, it iscertainly not an interesting book; I think, though I have beenreproached for, to say the least, lacking fervour as a Staelite, that_Corinne_ is. 

But it is by no means unimportant that intending readers should know thesort of interest that they are to expect from this novel; and for thatpurpose it is almost imperative that they should know what kind ofperson was this novelist. A good deal of biographical pains has beenspent, as has been already more than once hinted, on Madame de Stael. She was most undoubtedly of European reputation in her day; and betweenher day and this, quite independently of the real and unquestionablevalue of her work, a high estimate of her has been kept current by thefact that her daughter was the wife of Duke Victor and the mother ofDuke Albert of Broglie, and that so a proper respect for her has been anecessary passport to favour in one of the greatest political andacademic houses of France; while another not much less potent in bothways, that of the Counts d'Haussonville, also represents her. Stillpeople, and especially English people, have so many non-literary thingsto think of, that it may not be quite unpardonable to supply thatconception of the life of Anne Louise Germaine Necker, Baroness ofStael-Holstein, which is so necessary to the understanding of _Corinne_, and which may, in possible cases, be wanting. 

She was born on the 22nd of April 1766, and was, as probably everybodyknows, the daughter of the Swiss financier, Necker, whom the FrenchRevolution first exalted to almost supreme power in France, and thencast off--fortunately for him, in a less tragical fashion than that inwhich it usually cast off its favourites. Her mother was SuzanneCurchod, the first love of Gibbon, a woman of a delicate beauty, of veryconsiderable mental and social faculties, a kind of puritanicalcoquette, but devoted to her (by all accounts not particularlyinteresting) husband. Indeed, mother and daughter are said to have beenfrom a very early period jealous of each other in relation to Necker. Germaine, as she was generally called, had, unluckily for her, inheritednothing of her mother's delicacy of form and feature; indeed, her mostrapturous admirers never dared to claim much physical beauty for her, except a pair of fine, though unfeminine, eyes. She was rather shortthan tall; her figure was square-set and heavy; her features, though notexactly ill-formed, matched her figure; her arms were massive, thoughnot ill-shaped; and she was altogether distinctly what the French call_hommasse_. Nevertheless, her great wealth, and the high position of herfather, attracted suitors, some of whom at least may not have overlookedthe intellectual ability which she began very early to display. Therewas talk of her marrying William Pitt, but either Pitt's well-known"dislike of the fair, " or some other reason, foiled the project. Afterone or two other negotiations she made a match which was not destined togood fortune, and which does not strike most observers as a verytempting one in any respect, though it carried with it some exceptionaland rather eccentric guarantees for that position at court and insociety on which Germaine was set. The King of Sweden, Gustavus, whosefamily oddity had taken, among less excusable forms, that of a platonicdevotion to Marie Antoinette, gave a sort of perpetual brevet of hisministry at Paris to the Baron de Stael-Holstein, a nobleman of littlefortune and fair family. This served, using clerical language, as his"title" to marriage with Germaine Necker. Such a marriage could not beexpected to, and did not, turn out very well; but it did not turn out asill as it might have done. Except that M. De Stael was ratherextravagant (which he probably supposed he had bought the right to be)nothing serious is alleged against him; and though more than one thingserious might be alleged against his wife, it is doubtful whether eithercontracting party thought this out of the bargain. For business reasons, chiefly, a separation was effected between the pair in 1798, but theywere nominally reconciled four years later, just before Stael's death. 

Meanwhile the Revolution broke out, and Madame de Stael, who, as she wasbound to do, had at first approved it, disapproved totally of theTerror, tried to save the Queen, and fled herself from France toEngland. Here she lived in Surrey with a questionable set of _émigrés_, made the acquaintance of Miss Burney, and in consequence of theunconventionalities of her relations, especially with M. De Narbonne, received, from English society generally, a cold shoulder, which she haspartly avenged, or tried to avenge, in _Corinne_ itself. She had alreadywritten, or was soon to write, a good deal, but nothing of the firstimportance. Then she went to Coppet, her father's place, on the Lake ofGeneva, which she was later to render so famous; and under the Directorywas enabled to resume residence in Paris, though she was more than onceunder suspicion. It was at this time that she met Benjamin Constant, thefuture brilliant orator, and author of _Adolphe_, the only man perhapswhom she ever really loved, but, unluckily, a man whom it was by nomeans good to love. For some years she oscillated contentedly enoughbetween Coppet and Paris. But the return of Bonaparte from Egypt wasunlucky for her. Her boundless ambition, which, with her love ofsociety, was her strongest passion, made her conceive the idea offascinating him, and through him ruling the world. Napoleon, to usefamiliar English, "did not see it. " When he liked women he liked thempretty and feminine; he had not the faintest idea of admitting any kindof partner in his glory; he had no literary taste; and not only didMadame de Stael herself meddle with politics, but her friend, Constant, under the Consulate, chose to give himself airs of opposition in theEnglish sense. Moreover, she still wrote, and Bonaparte disliked anddreaded everyone who wrote with any freedom. Her book, _De laLittérature_, in 1800, was taken as a covert attack on the Napoleonic_régime_; her father shortly after republished another on finance andpolitics, which was disliked; and the success of _Delphine_, in 1803, put the finishing touch to the petty hatred of any kind of rivalsuperiority which distinguished the Corsican more than any other man ofequal genius. Madame de Stael was ordered not to approach within fortyleagues of Paris, and this exile, with little softening and someexcesses of rigour, lasted till the return of the Bourbons. 

Then it was that the German and Italian journeys already mentioned (thedeath of M. Necker happening between them and recalling his daughterfrom the first) led to the writing of _Corinne_. 

A very few words before we turn to the consideration of the book, as abook and by itself, may appropriately finish all that need be said hereabout the author's life. After the publication of _Corinne_ she returnedto Germany, and completed the observation which she thought necessaryfor the companion book _De l'Allemagne_. Its publication in 1810, whenshe had foolishly kindled afresh the Emperor's jealousy by appearingwith her usual "tail" of worshippers or parasites as near Paris as shewas permitted, completed her disgrace. She was ordered back to Coppet:her book was seized and destroyed. Then Albert de Rocca, a youth oftwenty-three, who had seen some service, made his appearance at Geneva. Early in 1811, Madame de Stael, now aged forty-five, married himsecretly. She was, or thought herself, more and more persecuted byNapoleon; she feared that Rocca might be ordered off on active duty, andshe fled first to Vienna, then to St Petersburg, then to Stockholm, andso to England. Here she was received with ostentatious welcome andpraises by the Whigs; with politeness by everybody; with more or lessconcealed terror by the best people, who found her rhapsodies and herpolitical dissertations equally boring. Here too she was unlucky enoughto express the opinion that Miss Austen's books were vulgar. The fallof Napoleon brought her back to Paris; and after the vicissitudes of1814-15, enabled her to establish herself there for the short remainderof her life, with the interruption only of visits to Coppet and toItaly. She died on the 13th July 1817: her two last works, _Dix Annéesd'Exil_ and the posthumous _Considérations sur La Révolution Française_, being admittedly of considerable interest, and not despicable even bythose who do not think highly of her political talents. 

And now to _Corinne_, unhampered and perhaps a little helped by thissurvey of its author's character, career, and compositions. Theheterogeneous nature of its plan can escape no reader long; and indeedis pretty frankly confessed by its title. It is a love story doubledwith a guide-book: an eighteenth-century romance of "sensibility"blended with a transition or even nineteenth-century diatribe ofæsthetics and "culture. " If only the first of these two labels wereapplicable to it, its case would perhaps be something more gracious thanit is; for there are more unfavourable situations for cultivating theaffections, than in connection with the contemplation of the great worksof art and nature, and it is possible to imagine many more disagreeable_ciceroni_ than a lover of whichever sex. But Corinne and Nelvil (whomour contemporary translator[1] has endeavoured to acclimatise a littlemore by Anglicising his name further to Nelville), do not contentthemselves with making love in the congenial neighbourhoods of Tiber orPoestum, or in the stimulating presence of the masterpieces of modernand ancient art. A purpose, and a double purpose, it might almost besaid, animates the book. It aims at displaying "sensibility socharming"--the strange artificial eighteenth-century conception of lovewhich is neither exactly flirtation nor exactly passion, which setsconvention at defiance, but retains its own code of morality; atexhibiting the national differences, as Madame de Stael conceived them, of the English and French and Italian temperaments; and at preaching thenew cult of æsthetics whereof Lessing and Winckelmann, Goethe, andSchlegel, were in different ways and degrees the apostles. And it seemsto have been generally admitted, even by the most fervent admirers ofMadame de Stael and of _Corinne_ itself, that the first purpose has nothad quite fair play with the other two. "A little thin, " they confess ofthe story. In truth it could hardly be thinner, though the author haslaid under contribution an at least ample share of the improbabilitiesand coincidences of romance. 

Nelvil, an English-Scottish peer who has lost his father, who accuseshimself of disobedience and ingratitude to that father, and who has beengrievously jilted by a Frenchwoman, arrives in Italy in a large blackcloak, the deepest melancholy, and the company of a sprightly thoughpenniless French _émigré_, the Count d'Erfeuil. After performingprodigies of valour in a fire at Ancona, he reaches Rome just when abeautiful and mysterious poetess, the delight of Roman society, is beingcrowned on the Capitol. The only name she is known by is Corinne. Thepair are soon introduced by the mercurial Erfeuil, and promptly fall inlove with each other, Corinne seeking partly to fix her hold on Nelvil, partly to remove his Britannic contempt for Italy and the Italians, byguiding him to all the great spectacles of Rome and indeed of thecountry generally, and by explaining to him at great length what sheunderstands of the general theory of æsthetics, of Italian history, andof the contrasted character of the chief European nations. Nelvil on hisside is distracted between the influence of the beauty, genius, andevident passion of Corinne, and his English prejudices; while thesituation is further complicated by the regulation discovery thatCorinne, though born in Italy of an Italian mother, is, strictlyspeaking, his own compatriot, being the elder and lawful daughter of aBritish peer, Lord Edgermond, his father's closest friend. Nay more, hehad always been destined to wed this very girl; and it was only afterher father's second marriage with an Englishwoman that the younger andwholly English daughter, Lucile, was substituted in the paternal schemesas his destined spouse. He hears, on the other hand, how Corinne hadvisited her fatherland and her step-mother, how she had found bothintolerable, and how she had in a modified and decent degree "thrown hercap over the mill" by returning to Italy to live an independent life asa poetess, an improvisatrice, and, at least in private, an actress. 

It is not necessary to supply fuller argument of the text which follows, and of which, when the reader has got this length, he is not likely tolet the _dénoûment_ escape him. But the action of _Corinne_ gets ratherslowly under weigh; and I have known those who complained that theyfound the book hard to read because they were so long in coming to anyclear notion of "what it was all about. " Therefore so much argument ashas been given seems allowable. 

But we ought by this time to have laid sufficient foundation to make itnot rash to erect a small superstructure of critical comment on the booknow once more submitted to English readers. Of that book I own that Iwas myself a good many years ago, and for a good many years, a harsh andeven a rather unfair judge. I do not know whether years have brought methe philosophic mind, or whether the book--itself, as has been said, theoffspring of middle-aged emotions--appeals more directly to amiddle-aged than to a young judgment. To the young of its own time andthe times immediately succeeding it appealed readily enough, andscarcely Byron himself (who was not a little influenced by it) had moreto do with the Italomania of Europe in the second quarter of thiscentury than Madame de Stael. 

The faults of the novel indeed are those which impress themselves (asMackintosh, we have seen, allowed) immediately and perhaps excessively. M. Sorel observes of its companion sententiously but truly, "Si le stylede _Delphine_ semble vieilli, c'est qu'il a été jeune. " If not merelythe style but the sentiment, the whole properties and the whole stagemanagement of _Corinne_ seem out of date now, it is only because theywere up to date then. It is easy to laugh--not perhaps very easy toabstain from laughing--at the "schall" twisted in Corinne's hair, whereeven contemporaries mocked the hideous turban with which Madame de Staelchose to bedizen her not too beautiful head; at Nelvil's inky cloak; atthe putting out of the fire; at the queer stilted half-Ossianic, half-German rants put in the poetess's mouth; at the endless mingling ofgallantry and pedantry; at the hesitations of Nelvil; at the agonies ofCorinne. When French critics tell us that as they allow thegood-humoured satire on the Count d'Erfeuil to be just, we ought to dothe same in reference to the "cant Britannique" of Nelvil and of theEdgermond circle, we can only respectfully answer that we should notpresume to dispute their judgment in the first case, but that theyreally must leave us to ours in the second. As a matter of fact, Madamede Stael's goody English characters, are rather like Miss Edgeworth'snaughty French ones in _Leonora_ and elsewhere--clever generalisationsfrom a little observation and a great deal of preconceived idea, notstudies from the life. 

But this (and a great deal more that might be said if it were notsomething like petty treason in an introduction-writer thus to play thedevil's advocate against his author) matters comparatively little, andleaves enough in _Corinne_ to furnish forth a book almost great, interesting without any "almost, " and remarkable as a not very largeshelf-ful in the infinite library of modern fiction deserves remark. Forthe passion of its two chief characters, however oddly, and to usunfashionably, presented, however lacking in the commanding andperennial qualities which make us indifferent to fashion in the work ofthe greatest masters, is _real_. And it is perhaps only after a prettylong study of literature that one perceives how very little real passionbooks, even pretty good books, contain, how much of what at times seemsto us passionate in them owes its appeal to accident, mode, and thepersonal equation. Of the highest achievement of art--that which availsitself of, but subdues, personal thought and feeling in the elaborationof a perfectly live character--Madame de Stael was indeed incapable. Butin the second order--that which, availing itself of, but not subduing, the personal element, keeps enough of its veracity and lively force toenliven a composite structure of character--she has here produced verynoteworthy studies. Corinne is a very fair embodiment of the beautywhich her author would so fain have had; of the youthful ardour whichshe had once actually possessed; of the ideas and cults to which she wassincerely enough devoted; of the instruction and talent whichunquestionably distinguished her. And it is not, I think, fanciful todiscover in this heroine, with all her "Empire" artifice and convention, all her smack of the theatre and the _salon_, a certain live quiver andthrob, which, as has been already hinted, may be traced to the combinedworking in Madame de Stael's mind and heart of the excitements offoreign travel, the zest of new studies, new scenes, new company, withthe chill regret for lost or passing youth and love, and the chillieranticipation of coming old age and death. It is a commonplace ofpsychology that in shocks and contrasts of this kind the liveliestworkings of the imagination and the emotions are to be expected. If weonce establish the contact and complete the circle, and feel somethingof the actual thrill that animated the author, we shall, I think, feeldisposed to forgive Corinne many things--from the dress and attitudewhich recall that admirable frontispiece of Pickersgill's to MissAusten's _Emma_, where Harriet Smith poses in rapt attitude with"schall" or scarf complete, to that more terrible portrait of Madame deStael herself which editors with remorseless ferocity will persist inprefixing to her works, and especially to _Corinne_. We shall consent tosweep away all the _fatras_ and paraphernalia of the work, and to see inthe heroine a real woman enough--loving, not unworthy of being loved, unfortunate, and very undeserving of her ill fortune. We shall furthersee that besides other excuses for the mere guide-book detail, theenthusiasm for Italy which partly prompted it was genuine enough andvery interesting as a sign of the times--of the approach of a period ofwhat we may call popularised learning, culture, sentiment. In somerespects _Corinne_ is not merely a guide-book to Italy; it is aguide-book by prophecy to the nineteenth century. 

The minor characters are a very great deal less interesting than Corinneherself, but they are not despicable, and they set off the heroine andcarry out what story there is well enough. Nelvil of course is a thingshreddy and patchy enough. He reminds us by turns of Chateaubriand'sRené and Rousseau's Bomston, both of whom Madame de Stael of courseknew; of Mackenzie's Man of Feeling, with whom she was very probablyacquainted; but most of no special, even bookish, progenitor, but of acombination of theoretic deductions from supposed properties of man ingeneral and Englishman in particular. Of Englishmen in particular Madamede Stael knew little more than a residence (chiefly in _émigré_ society)for a short time in England, and occasional meetings elsewhere, couldteach her. Of men in general her experience had been a littleunfortunate. Her father had probity, financial skill, and, I suppose, acertain amount of talent in other directions; but while he must have hadsome domestic virtues he was a wooden pedant. Her husband hardly countedfor more in her life than her _maître d'hôtel_, and though there seemsto have been no particular harm in him, had no special talents and nospecial virtues. Her first regular lover, Narbonne, was a handsome, dignified, heartless _roué_ of the old _régime_. Her second, BenjaminConstant, was a man of genius, and capable of passionate if inconstantattachment, but also what his own generation in England called athorough "raff"--selfish, treacherous, fickle, incapable of consideringeither the happiness or the reputation of women, theatrical in his waysand language, venal, insolent, ungrateful. Schlegel, though he too hadsome touch of genius in him, was half pedant, half coxcomb, and full ofintellectual and moral faultiness. The rest of her mighty herd of malefriends and hangers-on ranged from Mathieu de Montmorency--of whom, inthe words of Medora Trevilian it may be said, that he was "only anexcellent person"--through respectable savants like Sismondi and Dumont, down to a very low level of toady and tuft-hunter. It is rathersurprising that with such models and with no supreme creative facultyshe should have been able to draw such creditable walking gentlemen asthe Frenchman Erfeuil, the Englishman Edgermond, and the ItalianCastel-Forte; and should not have produced a worse hero than Nelvil. ForNelvil, whatever faults he may have, and contemptible as his vacillatingrefusal to take the goods the gods provide him may be, is, after all, ifnot quite a live man, an excellent model of what a considerable numberof the men of his time aimed at being, and would have liked to be. He isnot a bit less life-like than Byron's usual hero for instance, whoprobably owes not a little to him. 

And so we get to a fresh virtue of _Corinne_, or rather we reach itsmain virtue by a different side. It has an immense historical value asshowing the temper, the aspirations, the ideas, and in a way the mannersof a certain time and society. A book which does this can never whollylose its interest; it must always retain that interest in a greatmeasure, for those who are able to appreciate it. And it must interestthem far more keenly, when, besides this secondary and, so to speak, historical merit, it exhibits such veracity in the portraiture ofemotion, as, whatever be its drawbacks, whatever its little temptationsto ridicule, distinguishes the hapless, and, when all is said, the nobleand pathetic figure of Corinne. 

 GEORGE SAINTSBURY. 

FOOTNOTE:

[1] I am creditor neither to praise nor to blame for this translation, which is the old English version brought out in the same year as theoriginal, but corrected by another hand for the present edition in thepretty numerous points where it was lax or unintelligent in actualrendering. In the places which I have compared, it seems to me topresent that original very fairly now; and I am by no means sure that anexcessively artificial style like that of the French Empire is not bestleft to contemporaries to reproduce. At any rate, a really good newtranslation of _Corinne_ would be a task unlikely to be achieved exceptby rather exceptional talents working in labour of love: and I cannotblame the publishers of this issue for not waiting till such atranslator appeared. 

Book i. 

OSWALD. 

[Illustration]

CORINNE. 

Chapter i. 

Oswald, Lord Nelville, Peer of Scotland, quitted Edinburgh for Italyduring the winter of 1794-5. He possessed a noble and handsome figure, an abundance of wit, an illustrious name, and an independent fortune, but his health was impaired by deeply-rooted sorrow, and his physicians, fearing that his lungs were attacked, had prescribed him the air of theSouth. Though indifferent as to the preservation of his life, hefollowed their advice. He expected, at least, to find in the diversityof objects he was about to see, something that might divert his mindfrom the melancholy that preyed upon it. The most exquisite ofgriefs--the loss of a father--was the cause of his malady; this washeightened by cruel circumstances, which, together with a remorseinspired by delicate scruples, increased his anguish, which was stillfurther aggravated by the phantoms of the imagination. Those who suffer, easily persuade themselves that they are guilty, and violent grief willextend its painful influence even to the conscience. 

At twenty-five years of age he was dissatisfied with life, his mindanticipated every thing that it could afford, and his woundedsensibility no longer enjoyed the illusions of the heart. Nobodyappeared more complacent, more devoted to his friends when he was ableto render them service; but not even the good he performed could affordhim a pleasurable sensation. 

He incessantly sacrificed his own taste to that of others; but it wasimpossible to explain, upon principles of generosity alone, this totalabnegation of every selfish feeling, most frequently to be attributed tothat species of sadness which no longer permitted him to take anyinterest in his own fate. Those indifferent to him enjoyed thisdisposition so full of benignity and charm; but those who loved himperceived that he sought the happiness of others like a man who nolonger expected any himself; and they almost experienced a pain from hisconferring a felicity for which it was impossible to make him a returnin kind. 

He was, notwithstanding, of a nature susceptible of emotion, sensibilityand passion; he combined every thing that could evoke enthusiasm inothers and in himself; but misfortune and repentance had taught him totremble at that destiny whose anger he sought to disarm by forbearing tosolicit any favour at her hands. 

He expected to find in a strict attachment to all his duties, and in arenunciation of every lively enjoyment, a security against those pangsthat tear the soul. What he had experienced struck fear into his heart;and nothing this world can afford, could, in his estimation, compensatethe risk of those sufferings; but when one is capable of feeling them, what mode of life can shelter us from their power?

Lord Nelville flattered himself that he should be able to quit Scotlandwithout regret, since he resided in it without pleasure; but theunhappy imagination of the children of sensibility is not so formed: hedid not suspect what ties attached him to those scenes which were mostpainful to him, --to the home of his father. There were in thishabitation, chambers, places, which he could not approach withoutshuddering, and, nevertheless, when he resolved to quit them, he felthimself still more solitary. His heart became dried up; he was no longerable to give vent to his sufferings in tears; he could no longer call upthose little local circumstances which affected him deeply; hisrecollections no longer possessed anything of the vivid semblance ofreal existence; they were no longer in affinity with the objects thatsurrounded him; he did not think less on him whose loss he lamented, buthe found it more difficult to recall his presence. 

Sometimes also he reproached himself for abandoning those abodes wherehis father had dwelt. "Who knows, " said he to himself, "whether theshades of the departed are allowed to pursue every where the objects oftheir affection? Perhaps it is only permitted them to wander about thespot where their ashes repose! Perhaps at this moment my father regretsme, while distance prevents my hearing his voice exerted to recall hisson. Alas! while he was living must not a concourse of strange eventshave persuaded him that I had betrayed his tenderness, that I was arebel to my country, to his paternal will, to everything that is sacredon earth?"--These recollections excited in Lord Nelville a grief soinsupportable that not only was he unable to confide it to others, buteven dreaded himself to sound it to the bottom. So easily do our ownreflections become to us an irreparable evil. 

It costs us more to quit our native country when to leave it we musttraverse the sea; all is solemn in a journey of which ocean marks thefirst steps. An abyss seems to open behind you, and to render yourreturn for ever impossible. Besides, the sublime spectacle which the seapresents must always make a deep impression on the imagination; it isthe image of that Infinity which continually attracts our thoughts, thatrun incessantly to lose themselves in it. Oswald, supporting himself onthe helm, his eyes fixed on the waves, was apparently calm, for hispride, united to his timidity, would scarcely ever permit him todiscover, even to his friends, what he felt; but he was internallyracked with the most painful emotions. 

He brought to mind the time when the sight of the sea animated his youthwith the desire of plunging into her waves, and measuring his forceagainst her's. --"Why, " said he to himself, with the most bitter regret, "why do I yield so unremittingly to reflection? How many pleasures arethere in active life, in those exercises which make us feel the energyof existence? Death itself then appears but an event, perhaps glorious, at least sudden, and not preceded by decline. But that death which comeswithout having been sought by courage, that death of darkness whichsteals from you in the night all that you hold most dear, which despisesyour lamentations, repulses your embrace, and pitilessly, opposes to youthe eternal laws of nature and of time! such a death inspires a sort ofcontempt for human destiny, for the impotence of grief, for all thosevain efforts that dash and break themselves upon the rock of necessity. "

Such were the sentiments that tormented Oswald; and what particularlycharacterised his unhappy situation, was the vivacity of youth united tothoughts of another age. He entered into those ideas which he conceivedmust have occupied his father's mind in the last moments of his life;and he carried the ardour of twenty-five into the melancholyreflections of old age. He was weary of every thing, and yet stillregretted happiness, as if her illusions were still within his grasp. This contrast, quite in hostility with the ordinance of nature, whichgives uniformity and graduation to the natural course of things, threwthe soul of Oswald into disorder; but his manners always possessedconsiderable sweetness and harmony, and his sadness, far from souringhis temper, only inspired him with more condescension and goodnesstowards others. 

Two or three times during the passage from Harwich to Empden the sea puton the appearance of approaching storm; Lord Nelville counselled thesailors, restored confidence to the passengers, and when he himselfassisted in working the ship, when he took for a moment the place of thesteersman, there was in all he did, a skill and a power which could notbe considered as merely the effect of the agility of the body, --therewas soul in all that he did. 

On his quitting the vessel all the crew crowded around Oswald to takeleave of him; they all thanked him for a thousand little services whichhe had rendered them during the voyage, and which he no longerremembered. Upon one occasion, perhaps, it was a child which hadoccupied a large share of his attention; more often an old man, whosetottering steps he had supported when the wind agitated the ship. Such ageneral attention, without any regard to rank or quality, was perhapsnever met with. During the whole day he would scarcely bestow a singlemoment upon himself: influenced alike by melancholy and benevolence, hegave his whole time to others. On leaving him the sailors said to himwith one voice, "My dear Lord, may you be more happy!" Oswald had notonce expressed the internal pain he felt; and the men of another rank, who had accompanied him in his passage, had not spoken a word to him onthat subject. But the common people, in whom their superiors rarelyconfide, accustom themselves to discover sentiments and feelings byother means than speech: they pity you when you suffer, though they areignorant of the cause of your grief, and their spontaneous pity isunmixed with either blame or advice. 

Chapter ii. 

Travelling, whatever may be said of it, is one of the saddest pleasuresof life. When you find yourself comfortable in some foreign city itbegins to feel, in some degree, like your own country; but to traverseunknown realms, to hear a language spoken which you hardly comprehend, to see human countenances which have no connection either with your pastrecollections or future prospects, is solitude and isolation, withoutdignity and without repose; for that eagerness, that haste to arrivewhere nobody expects us, that agitation, of which curiosity is the onlycause, inspires us with very little esteem for ourselves, till themoment when new objects become a little old, and create around us somesoft ties of sentiment and habit. 

The grief of Oswald was, then, redoubled in traversing Germany in orderto repair to Italy. On account of the war it was necessary to avoidFrance and its environs; it was also necessary to keep aloof from thearmies who rendered the roads impracticable. This necessity of occupyinghis mind with particulars material to the journey, of adopting, everyday, and almost every instant, some new resolution, was quiteinsupportable to Lord Nelville. His health, far from becoming better, often obliged him to stop, when he felt the strongest desire to hastento his journey's end or at least to make a start. He spat blood, andtook scarcely any care of himself; for he believed himself guilty, andbecame his own accuser with too great a degree of severity. He no longerwished for life but as it might become instrumental to the defence ofhis country. "Has not our country, " said he, "some paternal claims uponus? But we should have the power to serve it usefully: we must not offerit such a debilitated existence as I drag along to ask of the sun someprinciple of life to enable me to struggle against my miseries. None buta father would receive me to his bosom, under such circumstances, withaffection increased in proportion as I was abandoned by nature and bydestiny. "

Lord Nelville had flattered himself that the continual variety ofexternal objects would distract his imagination a little from thoseideas by which it was habitually occupied; but that circumstance was farfrom producing, at first, this happy effect. After any great misfortunewe must become familiarised anew with everything that surrounds us;accustom ourselves to the faces that we behold again, to the house inwhich we dwell, to the daily habits that we resume; each of theseefforts is a painful shock, and nothing multiplies them like a journey. 

The only pleasure of Lord Nelville was to traverse the TiroleseMountains upon a Scotch horse which he had brought with him, and whichlike the horses of that country ascended heights at a gallop: he quittedthe high road in order to proceed by the most steep paths. Theastonished peasants cried out at first with terror at beholding him thusupon the very brink of precipices, then clapped their hands inadmiration of his address, his agility, and his courage. Oswald was fondof this sensation of danger; it supports the weight of affliction, itreconciles us, for a moment, with that life which we have reconquered, and which it so easy to lose. 

Chapter iii. 

In the town of Inspruck, before entering Italy, Oswald heard a merchantat whose house he had stopped some time, relate the story of a Frenchemigré called the Count d'Erfeuil, which greatly interested him in hisfavour. This man had suffered the entire loss of a very large fortunewith the most perfect serenity; he had, by his talent for music, supported himself and an old uncle, whom he had taken care of until hisdeath; he had constantly refused to accept offers of pecuniaryassistance pressingly made to him; he had manifested the most brilliantvalour--a French valour--during the war, and the most invincible gaietyin the midst of reverses. He was desirous of going to Rome to see arelation, whose heir he was to be, and wished for a companion, or rathera friend, in order to render the journey more agreeable to both. 

The most bitter recollections of Lord Nelville were connected withFrance; nevertheless he was exempt from those prejudices which dividethe two nations; for a Frenchman had been his intimate friend, and hehad found in this friend the most admirable union of all the qualitiesof the soul. He, therefore, offered to the merchant who related to himthe story of the Count d'Erfeuil, to take this noble and unfortunateyoung man to Italy; and at the end of an hour the merchant came toinform Lord Nelville that his proposition was accepted with gratitude. Oswald was happy in being able to perform this service, but it cost himmuch to renounce his solitude; and his timidity was wounded at findinghimself, all of a sudden, in an habitual relation with a man whom he didnot know. 

The Count d'Erfeuil came to pay a visit to Lord Nelville, in order tothank him. He possessed elegant manners, an easy politeness, good taste, and appeared, from the very first introduction, perfectly at his ease. In his company one would feel astonished at all that he had suffered, for he supported his fate with a courage approaching to oblivion; andthere was in his conversation a facility truly admirable when he spokeof his own reverses; but less admirable, it must be confessed, when itextended to other subjects. 

"I owe you infinite obligation, my lord, " said the Count d'Erfeuil, "forrescuing me from this Germany, where I was perishing with _ennui_. " "Youare here, nevertheless, " replied Lord Nelville, "generally beloved andesteemed. " "I have friends here, " replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "whom Isincerely regret; for we meet in this country the best people in theworld; but I do not know a word of German, and you will agree with methat it would be too long and fatiguing a task for me to set aboutlearning it now. Since I have had the misfortune to lose my uncle I donot know what to do with my time, when I had the care of him it filledup my day, at present the twenty-four hours weigh heavily upon myhands. " "The delicacy of your conduct towards your uncle, " said LordNelville, "inspires everybody with the most profound esteem for yourcharacter, Count. " "I have only done my duty, " replied the Countd'Erfeuil; "the poor man had overwhelmed me with kindnesses during mychildhood; I should never have deserted him had he lived a hundredyears! But it is happy for him, however, that he is dead; it would be ahappy thing for me also were I to follow him, " added he, laughing; "forI have not much hope in this world. I used my best endeavours, duringthe war, to get killed; but, since fate has spared me, I must only liveas well as I can. " "I shall congratulate myself on my arrival here, "answered Lord Nelville, "if you find yourself comfortable at Rome, andif--" "Oh, _mon Dieu_, " interrupted the Count d'Erfeuil, "I shall findmyself comfortable every where: when we are young and gay every thingaccommodates itself to us. It is not from books, nor from meditation, that I have derived the philosophy which I possess, but from knowledgeof the world, and trials of misfortune; and you see, my lord, that Ihave reason to reckon upon chance, since it has procured me the honourof travelling with you. " In finishing these words the Count d'Erfeuilsaluted Lord Nelville with the best grace in the world, settled the hourof departure for the following day, and took his leave. 

The Count d'Erfeuil and Lord Nelville set out on the morrow. Oswald, after some expressions of politeness had passed between them, wasseveral hours without saying a word; but perceiving that this silencewas disagreeable to his companion, he asked him if he anticipatedpleasure from a residence in Italy: "_Mon Dieu_, " replied the Countd'Erfeuil, "I know what I have to expect from that country. I have nohope of any amusement there: a friend of mine, who had passed six monthsat Rome, has assured me there is not a province of France where one maynot find a better theatre and a more agreeable society than at Rome, butin that ancient capital of the world I shall surely find some Frenchmento chat with, and that is all I desire. " "You have not attempted tolearn Italian?" interrupted Oswald. "Not at all, " replied the Countd'Erfeuil; "that did not enter into my plan of study. " And in sayingthis he assumed such a serious air that one would have believed it was aresolution founded upon grave motives. 

"If I may speak my mind to you, " continued the Count d'Erfeuil, "as anation, I love only the English and the French, one must either be proudlike them or brilliant like us; all the rest is only imitation. " Oswaldwas silent; the Count d'Erfeuil some moments after resumed theconversation by the most lively sallies of wit and gaiety. He playedwith words and phrases in a very ingenious manner, but neither externalobjects nor intimate sentiments were the object of his discourse. Hisconversation proceeded, if it may be so expressed, neither from withoutnor within; it was neither reflective nor imaginative, and the barerelations of society were its subject. 

He repeated twenty proper names to Lord Nelville, either in France, orin England, to know if he was acquainted with them, and related uponthis occasion highly seasoned anecdotes with a most graceful turn; butone would have said, in hearing him, that the only discourse suitable toa man of taste was, to use the expression, the gossip of good company. 

Lord Nelville reflected some time on the character of Count d'Erfeuil;that singular mixture of courage and frivolity, that contempt ofmisfortune, so great if it had cost more efforts, so heroic if it didnot proceed from the same source that renders us incapable of deepaffections. "An Englishman, " said Oswald to himself, "would be weigheddown with sadness under similar circumstances. --Whence proceeds theresolution of this Frenchman? Whence proceeds also his mobility? Doesthe Count d'Erfeuil then truly understand the art of living? Is it onlymy own disordered mind that whispers to me I am superior to him? Doeshis light existence accord better than mine with the rapidity of humanlife? And must we shun reflection as an enemy, instead of giving up ourwhole soul to it?" Vainly would Oswald have cleared up those doubts; noone can escape from the intellectual region allotted him; and qualitiesare still more difficult to subdue than defects. 

The Count d'Erfeuil paid no attention to Italy, and rendered it almostimpossible for Lord Nelville to bestow a thought upon it; for heincessantly distracted him from that disposition of mind which excitesadmiration of a fine country, and gives a relish for its picturesquecharms. Oswald listened as much as he could to the noise of the wind andto the murmuring of the waves; for all the voices of nature conveyedmore gratification to his soul than he could possibly receive from thesocial conversation indulged in at the foot of the Alps, among theruins, and on the borders of the sea. 

The sadness which consumed Oswald would have opposed fewer obstacles tothe pleasure which he could have derived from Italy than the gaiety ofCount d'Erfeuil, the sorrows of a sensitive mind will blend with thecontemplation of nature and the enjoyment of the fine arts; butfrivolity, in whatever form it presents itself, deprives attention ofits force, thought of its originality, and sentiment of its profundity. One of the singular effects of this frivolity was to inspire LordNelville with a great deal of timidity in his intercourse with Countd'Erfeuil: embarrassment is nearly always on the side of him whosecharacter is the more serious. Mental levity imposes upon the mindhabitually disposed to meditation, and he who proclaims himself happy, appears wiser than he who suffers. 

The Count d'Erfeuil was mild, obliging, and easy in every thing; seriousonly in self love, and worthy of being regarded as he regarded others;that is to say, as a good companion of pleasures and of perils; but hehad no idea whatever of sharing sorrows: he was wearied to death withthe melancholy of Oswald, and, as much from goodness of heart as fromtaste, was desirous of dissipating it. 

"What is it you find wanting?" said he to him often; "are you not young, rich, and if you choose, in good health? for you are only ill becauseyou are sad. For my part I have lost my fortune, my existence: I knownot in fact what will become of me; nevertheless I enjoy life as if Ipossessed all the prosperity that earth can afford. " "You are endowedwith a courage as rare as it is honourable, " replied Lord Nelville; "butthe reverses which you have experienced are less injurious in theirconsequences than the grief which preys upon the heart. " "The griefwhich preys upon the heart, " cried the Count d'Erfeuil; "Oh! it is true, that is the most cruel of all;--but--but yet we should console ourselvesunder it; for a sensible man ought to drive away from his soul everything that can neither be useful to others nor to himself. Are we nothere below to be useful first and happy afterwards? My dear Nelville letus hold to that. "

What the Count d'Erfeuil said was reasonable, according to the generalimport of the word, for it savoured a good deal of what is usuallycalled common sense: passionate characters are much more capable offolly than cool and superficial ones; but so far was the Countd'Erfeuil's mode of feeling from exciting the confidence of LordNelville that he would gladly have convinced him he was the most happyof men in order to avoid the pain which his consolation gave him. 

However the Count became greatly attached to Lord Nelville: hisresignation and his simplicity, his modesty and his pride, inspired himwith an involuntary respect for his character. He was concerned at thecalm exterior of Oswald; he ransacked his head to bring to recollectionall the most grave sayings which, in his childhood, he had heard fromhis aged parents, in order to try their effect upon Lord Nelville; and, quite astonished at not overcoming his apparent coldness, he said tohimself: "Do I not possess courage, goodness, and openness ofdisposition? Am I not beloved in society? What is it then that I want tomake an impression upon this man? There surely must be somemisunderstanding between us which probably arises from his notunderstanding French sufficiently well. "

Chapter iv. 

An unforeseen circumstance greatly increased the sentiment of respectwhich the Count d'Erfeuil experienced already, almost without knowingit, for his travelling companion. The health of Lord Nelville hadobliged him to stop some days at Ancona. The mountains and the searender the situation of this city very fine, and the crowd of Greeks whowork in front of their shops seated in the oriental manner, thediversity of costume of the inhabitants of the Levant, whom one meets inthe streets, give it an original and interesting appearance. The art ofcivilization has a continual tendency to render all men alike inappearance and almost in reality; but the mind and the imagination takepleasure in the characteristic differences of nations: it is only byaffectation and by calculation that men resemble each other; all that isnatural is varied. The eyes then, at least, derive some little pleasurefrom diversity of costume; it seems to promise a new manner of feelingand of judging. 

The Greek, the Catholic, and the Jewish worships exist simultaneouslyand peaceably in the city of Ancona. The ceremonies of these severalreligions differ widely from each other; but in those various forms ofworship, the same sentiment lifts the soul to heaven--the same cry ofgrief, the same need of support. 

The catholic church is on the top of a mountain, which dominates thesea: the roaring of the waves is often mingled with the song of thepriests. The interior of the church is overladen with a crowd of rathertawdry ornaments; but if one stop beneath the portico of the temple, thesoul is filled with the purest sentiments of religion, heightened bythat sublime spectacle the sea, on whose bosom man has never been ableto imprint the smallest trace. The earth is tilled by him, the mountainsare cut through by his roads, and rivers shut up into canals totransport his merchandise; but if the waves are furrowed for a moment byhis vessels the billows immediately efface this slight mark ofservitude, and the sea appears again as it was the first day of thecreation. 

Lord Nelville had fixed his departure for Rome for the morrow, when heheard, during the night the most dreadful cries in the city. He hastilyquitted the inn in order to learn the cause, when he beheld a terriblefire, which proceeded from the port, and climbed from house to houseeven to the very top of the city. The flames were mirrored at a distancein the sea; the wind, which increased their fierceness, also disturbedtheir image in the surging waves, which reflected in a thousand ways thelurid traits of the conflagration. 

The inhabitants of Ancona[2], not having among them pumps in goodcondition, were obliged to carry water to extinguish the flames, whichthey did with great eagerness. Amidst the din of different cries washeard the clank of chains, from the galley slaves, who were employed insaving that city which served them for a prison. The different nationsof the Levant, which commerce draws to Ancona, expressed their fear bythe stupor which appeared in their looks. The merchants, on beholdingtheir warehouses in flames, entirely lost their presence of mind. Alarmfor the loss of fortune affects the common order of men as much as thefear of death, and does not inspire that energy of the soul, thatenthusiasm which brings resources to our aid. 

The cries of sailors have always something doleful and prolonged inthem, and were now rendered still more so by terror. The mariners on theshores of the Adriatic are clad in a red and brown hooded cloak of mostsingular appearance, and from the midst of this vestment emerged theanimated countenances of the Italians, painting fear in a thousandshapes. The inhabitants, throwing themselves down in the streets, covered their heads with their cloaks, as if nothing remained for themnow to do but to avoid seeing their disaster; others precipitatedthemselves into those flames from which they entertained no hope ofescaping. A thoughtless fury and a blind resignation appeared by turns;but nowhere was seen that cool deliberation which redoubles ourresources and our strength. 

Oswald recollected that there were two English vessels in the harbourwhich had on board pumps of the best construction: he ran to thecaptain, who accompanied him in a boat to bring away these pumps. Theinhabitants, seeing them enter the boat, exclaimed, "_Ah! strangers youdo well to quit our unhappy city_!" "We shall come back again, " saidOswald. They did not believe him. He returned however, fixed one of thepumps opposite the first house on fire, near the port, and the otherfacing that which was burning in the middle of the street. The Countd'Erfeuil exposed his life with carelessness, courage, and gaiety; theEnglish sailors, and the domestics of Lord Nelville, all came to hisaid; for the inhabitants of Ancona remained motionless, hardlycomprehending what these strangers were about, and not expecting theleast success from them. 

The bells rang in every quarter, the priests made processions, the womenlamented and prostrated themselves before the images of the saints atthe corners of the streets; but no one thought of those natural meanswhich God has given to man for his defence. However, when theinhabitants perceived the happy effect of Oswald's activity; when theysaw that the flames were being extinguished, and that their houses wouldbe saved, they passed from astonishment to enthusiasm; they throngedabout Lord Nelville, and kissed his hands with such lively eagernessthat he was obliged to appear angry in order to drive away from him allwho might obstruct the rapid succession of orders, and of effortsnecessary to save the city. Every body was arranged under his command;for, in the least as well as in the greatest circumstances, when dangerpresents itself courage assumes its proper station; as soon as men arepossessed with fear they cease to be jealous of one another. 

Oswald, however, amid the general din, distinguished some cries morehorrible than the rest, which resounded from the other extremity of thecity. He demanded whence these cries proceeded, and was informed thatthey came from the quarter which was allotted for the Jews: the officerof the police was accustomed to shut the gates of this quarter in theevening, and, the fire having reached that part of the city, the Jewshad no means of escape. 

Oswald shuddered at this idea, and demanded that the gate should beimmediately opened; but some women of the people who heard him threwthemselves at his feet, entreating him to desist. --"_You see verywell_, " said they, "_our good angel! that it is certainly on account ofthese Jews who reside here that we have suffered this fire, it is theywho bring calamity upon us, and if you set them at liberty all the waterin the sea will not extinguish the flames_. " And they besought Oswald tolet the Jews be burnt with as much eloquence and tenderness as if theywere soliciting an act of clemency. This was not the effect of naturalcruelty, but of a superstitious imagination acutely impressed by a greatmisfortune; however, Oswald could hardly contain his indignation onhearing these strange entreaties. 

He sent four English sailors with hatchets to break open the gates whichinclosed these unfortunate people, who spread themselves in an instantthrough the city, running to their merchandise with that greed ofpossession which has something very melancholy in it, when it inducesmortals to risk their lives for worldly wealth. One would say that inthe present state of society the simple blessing of life is esteemed byman of little value. 

There now remained but one house at the top of the city, which theflames surrounded in such a manner that it was impossible to extinguishthem, and more impossible to enter it. The inhabitants of Ancona hadmanifested so little concern for this house, that the English sailors, not believing it to be inhabited, had dragged their pumps towards theharbour. Oswald himself, stunned by the cries of those who surroundedhim and solicited his aid, had not paid attention to it. The fire hadextended the latest to that quarter, but had made considerable progressthere. Lord Nelville demanded so impatiently what house that was, thatat length a man informed him it was the madhouse. At this idea his wholesoul was agitated; he turned, but found none of the sailors around him;the Count d'Erfeuil was not there either, and he would vainly haveaddressed himself to the inhabitants of Ancona: they were almost alloccupied in saving their merchandise, and considered it absurd to runany risk to rescue men, of whom there was not one who was not incurablymad: "_It is a blessing from Heaven_, " said they, "_for them, and fortheir relations, that they should die in this manner; without any oneincurring a crime by their death_. "

Whilst they held such language as this around Oswald, he proceeded withthe utmost speed towards the madhouse, and the crowd, by whom he wascensured, followed him with a confused sentiment of involuntaryenthusiasm. As Oswald approached the house, he saw, at the only windowwhich was not surrounded with flames, a number of lunatics, who regardedthe progress of the fire with that horrid kind of smile which eithersupposes ignorance of all the ills of life, or so much grief at thebottom of the soul that death in no shape can terrify it. Aninexpressible shudder seized upon Oswald at this sight; he had felt inthe most dreadful moment of his despair, that his reason was on thepoint of being affected, and since that epoch, the aspect of madnessalways inspired him with the most sorrowful emotions of pity. He seizeda ladder which he found near the spot, fixed it against the wall, andentered by the window into an apartment where the unhappy people whoremained in the madhouse were assembled together. 

Their insanity was so harmless, that they were suffered to be at largein the interior of the house with the exception of one, who was chainedin this very room, where the flames already began to appear through thedoor, but had not yet consumed the floor. These miserable creatures, quite degraded by disease and suffering, were so surprised and enchantedby the appearance of Oswald among them, that they obeyed him at firstwithout resistance. He ordered them to descend before him, one afteranother, by means of the ladder, which the flames might devour in amoment. The first of these wretched people obeyed without uttering aword; the accent and the physiognomy of Lord Nelville had entirelysubdued him. A third wished to resist, without suspecting the dangerthat he incurred by each moment of delay, and without thinking of theperil to which he exposed Oswald in detaining him. The people, who feltall the horrors of his situation, cried out to Lord Nelville to return, and to let those maniacs get away how they could. But the delivererwould listen to nothing till he had achieved his generous enterprise. 

Of the six lunatics who were in the madhouse, five were already saved;there now only remained the sixth who was chained. Oswald loosened hisirons, and endeavoured to make him take the same means of escaping ashis companions had done; but it was a poor young man, whose reason wasentirely destroyed, and, finding himself at liberty, after being chainedfor two years, he darted about the room with an extravagant joy. Thisjoy rose to fury, when Oswald tried to make him go out at the window. Lord Nelville perceiving that it was impossible to prevail upon thismaniac to save himself, though the flames increased around them, seizedhim in his arms, in spite of the efforts of the unhappy wretch, whostruggled against his benefactor. He carried him off, without knowingwhere he placed his feet, so much was his sight obscured by the smoke;he leaped from nearly the middle of the ladder, and consigned thelunatic, who loaded him with curses, to some people whom he made promiseto take care of him. 

Oswald, animated by the danger he had just run, his hair dishevelled, his look so proud yet so mild, struck the crowd who beheld him withadmiration, and almost with fanaticism; the women, above all, expressedthemselves with that imagination which is an almost universal gift inItaly, and even gives a nobleness to the conversation of the commonpeople. They threw themselves on their knees before him, and cried, "_You are surely St Michael, the patron of our city; display thy wingsmost holy saint! but do not quit us: deign to ascend the steeple of thecathedral, that all the city may behold, and pray to thee_. " "_My childis sick_, " said one, "_heal him_. " "_Tell me_, " said another, "_where myhusband is, who has been absent several years_?" Oswald sought a meansof escape. The Count d'Erfeuil arrived, and said to him, pressing hishand, "My dear Nelville, we ought to share all things with our friends;it is unkind of you thus to monopolise all the danger. " "Release me fromthese people, " said Oswald to him, in a low voice. A moment of darknessfavoured their flight, and both of them went in haste to get posthorses. 

Lord Nelville experienced, at first, some pleasure from the good actionhe had just performed, but with whom could he enjoy it now that his bestfriend was no more? How unhappy is the lot of orphans! The mostfortunate events, as well as the most painful, make them feel alike thesolitude of the heart. How is it possible, in effect, ever to replacethat affection which is born with us, that intelligence, that sympathyof blood, that friendship prepared by heaven between the child and thefather? We may still, it is true, find an object of love; but one inwhom we can confide our whole soul is a happiness which can never befound again. 

FOOTNOTE:

[2] Ancona is now pretty nearly in the same predicament that it wasthen. 

Chapter v. 

Oswald pursued his journey through the Marches of Ancona, and theEcclesiastical States, without any thing attracting his observation, orexciting his interest: this was occasioned as well by the melancholyhabit of his soul, as by a certain natural indolence, from which he wasonly to be aroused by strong passions. His taste for the arts had notyet unfolded itself; he had never dwelt but in France, where society isall in all, and in London, where political interests absorb almost everyother: his imagination, concentrated in his sufferings, had not yetlearnt to take pleasure in the wonders of nature and the masterpieces ofart. 

The Count d'Erfeuil traversed every town with the "Traveller's Guide" inhis hand, and had at once the double pleasure of losing his time inseeing every thing, and of declaring, that he had seen nothing whichcould excite admiration in any person acquainted with France. The_ennui_ of Count d'Erfeuil discouraged Oswald; he, besides, entertainedprejudices against the Italians and against Italy: he did not yetpenetrate the mystery of this nation or of this country;--a mysterywhich must be comprehended by the imagination, rather than by thatfaculty of judgment which is particularly developed by an Englisheducation. 

The Italians are much more remarkable for what they have been, and forwhat they might be than for what they actually are. The deserts whichsurround the city of Rome, that land which, fatigued with glory, seemsto hold in contempt the praise of being productive, presents but anuncultivated and neglected country to him who considers it with regardto utility. Oswald, accustomed from his infancy to the love of order andpublic prosperity, received, at first, unfavourable impressions intraversing those deserted plains which announce the approach to thatcity formerly the queen of the world: he blamed the indolence of theinhabitants and that of their rulers. Lord Nelville judged of Italy asan enlightened administrator, the Count d'Erfeuil as a man of the world:thus the one from reason, and the other from levity, were not sensibleof that effect which the country about Rome produces upon theimagination, when it is impressed with the recollections, thesympathies, the natural beauties and the illustrious misfortunes whichspread over these regions an undefinable charm. 

The Count made ludicrous lamentations on the environs of Rome. "What, "said he, "no country house, no carriage, nothing that announces thevicinity of a great city? Heavens! what a melancholy prospect!" Inapproaching Rome, the postillions cried, with transport, "_See! See, there is the dome of St Peter's_!" It is thus that the Neapolitans shewmount Vesuvius, and the sea excites the same emotions of pride in theinhabitants of the coast. "One would have thought they had seen the domeof _Les Invalides_;" cried the Count d'Erfeuil. This comparison, morepatriotic than just, destroyed the impression which Oswald might havereceived on beholding this magnificent wonder of human creation. Theyentered Rome, not on a fine day--not on a fine night--but on a gloomyevening, which tarnished and confounded every object. They traversed theTiber without remarking it; they arrived at Rome by the Porta del Popolowhich conducts immediately to the Corso, to the largest street of themodern city, but to that part of Rome which possesses the leastoriginality, because it resembles more the other cities of Europe. 

Crowds were walking in the streets; the puppet shows and the charlatanswere formed in groups in the square, where stands the column ofAntoninus. All the attention of Oswald was captivated by the objectsnearest to him. The name of Rome no longer vibrated through his soul; hefelt nothing but that isolation which oppresses the heart when we entera strange city, when we behold that multitude of people to whom ourexistence is unknown, and who have no interest in common with us. Thosereflections, so sad for every man, are still more so for the English, who are accustomed to live among themselves, and who with difficultyenter into the manners of other nations. In the vast caravansary of Romeeverything is foreign, even the Romans seem to inhabit there not as thepossessors, _but like pilgrims who repose beneath the ruins_[3]. Oswald, oppressed with painful sensations, shut himself up at home, and went notout to see the city. He was very far from thinking that this country, which he entered under such sadness and dejection of spirits, would soonbecome for him a source of so many new ideas and enjoyments. 

FOOTNOTE:

[3] This reflection is taken from a letter on Rome, by M. De Humboldt, brother of the celebrated Traveller, and Prussian Minister at Rome. Itis difficult to find anywhere a man whose conversation and writingsbespeak more knowledge and ideas. 

Book ii. 

CORINNE AT THE CAPITOL. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

Oswald awoke in Rome. His first looks were saluted by the brilliancy ofan Italian sun, and his soul was penetrated with a sentiment of love andgratitude towards that Power which seemed manifested in its resplendentbeams. He heard the bells of the different churches of the city; thefiring of cannon at intervals announced some great solemnity. Hedemanded the cause of it, and was informed that that morning was to becrowned, at the Capitol, the most celebrated woman in Italy. Corinne, poetess, writer, _improvisatrice_, and one of the greatest beauties ofRome. He made some enquiries respecting this ceremony consecrated by thenames of Petrarch and of Tasso, and all the answers that he receivedstrongly excited his curiosity. 

There is certainly nothing more contrary to the habits and opinions ofan Englishman, than this great publicity given to the destiny of awoman; but even foreigners are affected, at least for a moment, withthat enthusiasm which is inspired in the Italians by all those talentsthat belong to the imagination, and they forget the prejudices of theircountry amidst a nation so warm in the expression of its feelings. Thecommon people of Rome reason with taste upon their statues, pictures, monuments and antiquities; and literary merit, carried to a certainpitch, excites in them a national interest. 

Oswald quitted his lodgings to repair to the public square, where heheard everybody speaking of the genius and talents of Corinne. Thestreets through which she was to pass had been decorated; the people, who rarely assemble together except to pay their homage to fortune orpower, were, upon this occasion, almost in a tumult to behold a femalewhose mind was her only claim to distinction. In the actual state of theItalians the field of glory is only open to them in the fine arts, andthey possess a sensibility for genius in that department, which ought togive birth to great men, if applause alone were sufficient to producethem, if the stress of vigorous life, great interests and an independentexistence were not necessary to nourish thought. 

Oswald walked the streets of Rome, waiting the arrival of Corinne. Atevery instant he heard her name accompanied with some anecdoteconcerning her, which implied the possession of all those talents thatcaptivate the imagination. One said that her voice was the most touchingin Italy; another, that nobody played tragedy like her; somebody else, that she danced like a nymph, and designed with as much taste asinvention: all said that nobody had ever written or improvised such fineverses, and that, in habitual conversation she possessed by turns, agrace and an eloquence which charmed every mind. Disputes were enteredinto as to what city of Rome had given her birth; but the Romansmaintained, warmly, that she must have been born in Rome to speakItalian in such purity as she did. No one was acquainted with her familyname. Her first work had appeared five years before, and only bore thename of Corinne; nobody knew where she had lived, nor what she had beenbefore that time: she was, however, nearly twenty-six years of age. Thismystery and publicity both at the same time, this woman of whomeverybody spoke, but whose real name was known to nobody, appeared toLord Nelville one of the wonders of the singular country he had justcome to live in. He would have judged very severely of such a woman inEngland, but he did not apply the usual etiquette of society to Italy, and the coronation of Corinne inspired him beforehand with that interestto which an adventure of Ariosto would give birth. 

Very fine and brilliant music preceded the arrival of the triumphalprocession. Any event, whatever it may be, which is announced by music, always produces emotion. A great number of Roman Lords, and someforeigners, preceded the car of Corinne. "_That is the train of heradmirers!_" said a Roman. "_Yes_, " replied the other, "_she receives theincense of everybody; but she grants nobody a decided preference: she isrich and independent; it is even believed, and certainly her appearancebespeaks it, that she is a woman of illustrious birth who desires toremain unknown_. " "_Be it as it may_, " replied a third, "_she is agoddess wrapt in a cloud_. " Oswald looked at the man who spoke thus, andevery thing about him indicated that he belonged to the most obscurerank in society; but in the south people so naturally make use ofpoetical expressions, that one would say they were inhaled with the airand inspired by the sun. 

At length way was made through the crowd for the four white horses thatdrew the car of Corinne. Corinne was seated in this car which wasconstructed upon an antique model, and young girls, dressed in white, walked on each side of her. Wherever she passed an abundance of perfumeswas thrown into the air; the windows, decorated with flowers and scarlettapestry, were crowded with spectators; every body cried, "_Long liveCorinne!_" "_Long live Genius and Beauty!_" The emotion was general butLord Nelville did not yet share it, and though he had observed in hisown mind that in order to judge of such a ceremony we must lay asidethe reserve of the English and the pleasantry of the French, he did notshare heartily in the _fête_ till at last he beheld Corinne. 

[Illustration: _Corinne at the Capitol. _]

She was dressed like the Sybil of Domenichino; an Indian shawl twistedabout her head, and her hair of the finest jet black, entwined with thisshawl; her dress was white, with blue drapery from her bosom downwards, and her costume was very picturesque, at the same time without departingso much from established modes as to savour of affectation. Her attitudeon the car was noble and modest: it was easily perceived that she waspleased with being admired, but a sense of timidity was mingled with herjoy, and seemed to ask pardon for her triumph. The expression of herphysiognomy, of her eyes, of her smile, interested all in her favour, and the first look made Lord Nelville her friend, even before thatsentiment was subdued by a warmer impression. Her arms were of dazzlingbeauty; her shape, tall, but rather full, after the manner of theGrecian statues, energetically characterised youth and happiness; andthere was something inspired in her look. One might perceive in hermanner of greeting and returning thanks for the applause which shereceived, a kind of disposition which heightened the lustre of theextraordinary situation in which she was placed. She gave at once theidea of a priestess of Apollo advancing towards the temple of the Sun, and of a woman of perfect simplicity in the common relations of life. Toconclude, in her every motion there was a charm which excited interest, curiosity, astonishment and affection. The admiration of the peopleincreased in proportion as she advanced towards the Capitol--that spotso fertile in memories. The beauty of the sky, the enthusiasm of theseRomans, and above all Corinne, electrified the imagination of Oswald. Hehad often, in his own country, seen statesmen carried in triumph by thepeople, but this was the first time he had been a witness of thehonours paid to a woman--a woman illustrious only by the gifts ofgenius. Her chariot of victory was not purchased at the cost of thetears of any human being, and no regret, no terror overshadowed thatadmiration which the highest endowments of nature, imagination, sentiment and mind, could not fail to excite. 

Oswald was so absorbed in his reflections, so occupied by novel ideas, that he did not remark the antique and celebrated places through whichthe car of Corinne passed. It was at the foot of the flight of stepswhich leads to the Capitol, that the car stopped, and at that moment allthe friends of Corinne rushed forward to offer her their hands. Shechose that of the prince Castel-Forte, the most esteemed of the Romannobility, for his intellect and for his disposition: every one approvedthe choice of Corinne, and she ascended the steps of the Capitol whoseimposing majesty seemed to receive, with kind condescension, the lightfootsteps of a woman. A new flourish of music was heard at the moment ofCorinne's arrival, the cannon resounded and the triumphant Sybil enteredthe palace prepared for her reception. 

At the lower end of the hall in which she was received were placed thesenator who was to crown her, and the conservators of the senate; on oneside all the cardinals and the most distinguished women of the country;on the other the men of letters of the academy of Rome; and at theopposite extremity the hall was occupied by a part of the immense crowdwho had followed Corinne. The chair destined for her was placed a stepbelow that of the senator. Corinne, before she seated herself in it, made a genuflection on the first step, agreeably to the etiquetterequired in this august assembly. She did it with so much nobleness andmodesty, so much gentleness and dignity, that Lord Nelville in thatmoment felt his eyes moist with tears: he was astonished at his owntenderness, but in the midst of all her pomp and triumph it seemed tohim that Corinne had implored, by her looks, the protection of afriend--that protection which no woman, however superior, can dispensewith; and how sweet, said he within himself, would it be to become thesupport of her to whom sensibility alone renders that support necessary. 

As soon as Corinne was seated the Roman poets began to read the sonnetsand odes which they had composed for the occasion. They all exalted herto the skies, but the praises which they lavishly bestowed upon her didnot draw any characteristic features of distinction between her andother women of superior talents. They were only pleasing combinations ofimages, and allusions to mythology, which might, from the days of Sapphoto those in which we live, have been addressed indiscriminately to anywoman who had rendered herself illustrious by her literary talents. 

Already Lord Nelville felt hurt at this manner of praising Corinne; hethought, in beholding her, that he could at that very instant draw aportrait of her, more true, more just, more characteristic--a portraitin fact that could only belong to Corinne. 

Chapter ii. 

The Prince Castel-Forte then rose to speak, and his observations uponthe merits of Corinne excited the attention of the whole assembly. Hewas about fifty years of age, and there was in his speech and in hisdeportment much deliberate ease and dignity. The assurances which LordNelville received from those about him, that he was only the friend ofCorinne, excited, in his lordship's mind, an interest for the portraitwhich he drew of her, unmixed with any other emotion. Without such asecurity a confused sentiment of jealousy would have already disturbedthe soul of Oswald. 

The Prince Castel-Forte read some unpretentious pages of prose whichwere particularly calculated to display the genius of Corinne. He firstpointed out the peculiar merit of her work, and said that that meritpartly consisted of her profound study of foreign literature: sheunited, in the highest degree, imagination, florid description and allthe brilliancy of the south, with that knowledge, that observation ofthe human heart, which falls to the share of those countries whereexternal objects excite less interest. 

He extolled the elegant graces and the lively disposition of Corinne--agaiety which partook of no improper levity, but proceeded solely fromthe vivacity of the mind and the freshness of the imagination. Heattempted to praise her sensibility, but it was easily perceived thatpersonal regret mingled itself with this part of his speech. He lamentedthe difficulty which a woman of her superior cast experienced of meetingwith the object of which she has formed to herself an ideal portrait--aportrait clad with every endowment the heart and mind can wish for. Hehowever took pleasure in painting the passionate sensibility which thepoetry of Corinne inspired, and the art she possessed of seizing everystriking relation between the beauties of nature and the most intimateimpressions of the soul. He exalted the originality of Corinne'sexpressions, those expressions which were the offspring of her characterand manner of feeling, without ever permitting any shade of affectationto disfigure a species of charm not only natural but involuntary. 

He spoke of her eloquence as possessing an irresistible force and energywhich must the more transport her hearers the more they possessed withinthemselves true intellectual sensibility. "Corinne, " said he, "isindubitably the most celebrated woman of our country, and neverthelessit is only her friends who can properly delineate her; for we mustalways have recourse, in some degree, to conjecture, in order todiscover the genuine qualities of the soul. They may be concealed fromour knowledge by celebrity as well as obscurity, if some sort ofsympathy does not assist us to penetrate them. " He enlarged upon hertalent for extemporisation, which did not resemble any thing of thatdescription known in Italy. "It is not only to the fecundity of her mindthat we ought to attribute it;" said he; "but to the deep emotion whichevery generous thought excites in her. She cannot pronounce a word thatrecalls such thoughts without enthusiasm, that inexhaustible source ofsentiments and of ideas animating and inspiring her. " The PrinceCastel-Forte also made his audience sensible of the beauties of a stylealways pure and harmonious. "The poetry of Corinne, " added he, "is anintellectual melody which can alone express the charm of the mostfugitive and delicate impressions. "

He praised the conversation of his heroine in a manner that easily madeit perceived he had experienced its delight. "Imagination andsimplicity, justness and elevation, strength and tenderness, areunited, " said he, "in the same person to give incessant variety to allthe pleasures of the mind: we may apply to her, this charming verse ofPetrarch:

 _Il parlar che nell' anima si sente. _[4]

and, I believe, in her will be found that grace so much boasted of, that oriental charm which the ancients attributed to Cleopatra. 

"The places I have visited with her, the music we have heard together, the pictures she has pointed out to me, the books she has made mecomprehend, compose the universe of my imagination. There is in allthese objects a spark of her life; and if I were to exist at a distancefrom her I would wish at least to be surrounded by those objects, certain as I am of finding nowhere else that trace of fire, that traceof herself in fact, which she has left in them. Yes, " continued he (andat that moment his eyes fell by chance upon Oswald), "behold Corinne; ifyou can pass your life with her, if that double existence which it is inher power to give can be assured to you for a long time; but do notbehold her if you are condemned to quit her; you will seek in vain aslong as you live that creative soul which shares and multiplies yoursentiments and your thoughts; you will never behold her like again. "

Oswald started at these words, his eyes fixed themselves upon Corinne, who heard them with an emotion that was not inspired by self-love, butwhich was allied to the most amiable and delicate feelings. The PrinceCastel-Forte was much affected for a moment, and then resumed hisspeech. He spoke of Corinne's talent for music, for painting, fordeclamation and for dancing: In all these talents, he said, she wasentirely herself, not confined to any particular manner, or to anyparticular rule, but expressing in various languages the same powers ofthe imagination, and the same witchery of the fine arts under all theirdifferent forms. 

"I do not flatter myself, " said the Prince Castel-Forte in concluding, "that I have been able to paint a lady of whom it is impossible to forman idea without having heard her; but her presence is, for us at Rome, as one of the benefits of our brilliant sky and our inspired nature. Corinne is the tie that unites her friends together; she is the movingprinciple and the interest of our life. We reckon upon her goodness; weare proud of her genius; we say to strangers, 'Behold her! She is theimage of our beautiful Italy; she is what we should be without theignorance, the envy, the discord and the indolence to which our fate hascondemned us. ' We take pleasure in contemplating her as an admirableproduction of our climate and of our fine arts, --as a scion shooting outof the past, as a prophecy of the future. When foreigners insult thiscountry, whence has issued that intelligence which has shed its lightover Europe; when they are without pity for our defects, which arise outof our misfortunes, we will say to them: 'Behold Corinne! 'Tis ourdesire to follow her footsteps; we would endeavour to become, as men, what she is as woman, if man like woman could create a world in his ownheart; and if our genius, necessarily dependent upon social relationsand external circumstances, could be kindled by the torch of poetryalone. '"

The moment the Prince Castel-Forte left off speaking unanimous applausewas heard on all sides, and though towards the conclusion of his speechhe indirectly blamed the present state of the Italians, all the noblesof the state approved of it; so true it is that we find in Italy thatsort of liberality which does not lead men to alter institutions, butwhich pardons in superior minds a tranquil opposition to existingprejudices. The reputation of Prince Castel-Forte was very great inRome. He spoke with a rare sagacity, which is a remarkable gift in anation who exhibit more intellect in their conduct than in theirconversation. He did not in his worldly concerns shew that address whichoften distinguishes the Italians, but he took delight in thought, anddid not dread the fatigue of meditation. The happy inhabitants of thesouth sometimes shrink from this fatigue, and flatter themselves thatimagination will do everything for them, as their fertile soil producesfruit without cultivation assisted only by the bounty of the sky. 

FOOTNOTE:

[4] The language which is felt in the depth of the soul. 

Chapter iii. 

Corinne arose when the Prince Castel-Forte had ceased speaking; shethanked him by an inclination of the head so dignified yet so gentle, that it expressed at once the modesty and joy so natural at havingreceived praise according to her heart's desire. It was the custom thatevery poet crowned at the Capitol should recite or extemporise somepiece of poetry, before the destined laurel was placed on his head. Corinne ordered her lyre to be brought to her--the instrument of herchoice--which greatly resembled the harp, but was however more antiquein form and more simple in its sounds. In tuning it she was seized withuncommon timidity, and it was with a trembling voice that she asked toknow the subject imposed on her. "_The glory and happiness of Italy!_"cried all around her with a unanimous voice. "Very well, " replied shealready fired with enthusiasm, already supported by her genius, "_theglory and happiness of Italy_;" and feeling herself animated by the loveof her country she commenced the most charming strains, of which prosecan give but a very imperfect idea. 

 * * * * *

_The Improvisation of Corinne, at the Capitol. _

"Italy, empire of the sun! Italy, mistress of the world! Italy, thecradle of letters, I salute thee! How often has the human race beensubjected to thee, tributary to thy arms, to thy art and to thy sky. 

"A deity quitted Olympus to take refuge in Ausonia; the aspect of thiscountry recalled the virtues of the golden age;--man appeared there toohappy to be supposed guilty. 

"Rome conquered the universe by her genius, and became sovereign byliberty. The Roman character was imprinted everywhere, and the invasionof the Barbarians, in destroying Italy obscured the whole world. 

"Italy appeared again with the divine treasures which the fugitiveGreeks brought back to her bosom; heaven revealed its laws to her; thedaring of her children discovered a new hemisphere; she again becamesovereign by the sceptre of thought, but this laurelled sceptre onlyproduced ingratitude. 

"Imagination restored to her the universe which she had lost. Thepainters and the poets created for her an earth, an Olympus, a hell, anda heaven; and her native fire, better guarded by her genius than by thePagan deity, found not in Europe a Prometheus to ravish it from her. 

"Why am I at the Capitol? Why is my humble forehead about to receive thecrown which Petrarch, has worn, and which remained suspended on thegloomy cypress that weeps over the tomb of Tasso?--Why, if you were notso enamoured of glory, my fellow-countrymen, that you recompense itsworship as much as its success?

"Well, if you so love this glory which too often chooses its victimsamong the conquerors which it has crowned, reflect with pride upon thoseages which beheld the new birth of the arts. Dante, the modern Homer, the hero of thought, the sacred poet of our religious mysteries, plungedhis genius into the Styx to land in the infernal regions, and his mindwas profound as the abyss which he has described. 

"Italy in the days of her power was wholly revived in Dante. Animated bya republican spirit, warrior as well as poet, he breathed the flame ofaction among the dead; and his shadows have a more vivid existence thanthe living here below. 

"Terrestrial remembrances pursue them still; their aimless passionsdevour one another in the heart; they are moved at the past which seemsto them less irrevocable than their eternal future. 

"One would say that Dante, banished from his country, has transportedinto imaginary regions the pangs which devoured him. His shadesincessantly demand news from the scene of mortal existence, as the poethimself eagerly enquires after his native country; and hell presentsitself to him in the form of exile. 

"All, in his eyes, are clothed in the costume of Florence. The ancientdead whom he invokes, seem to be born again as completely Tuscan ashimself. It was not that his mind was limited--it was the energy of hissoul, that embraced the whole universe within the circle of histhoughts. 

"A mystical chain of circles and of spheres conducts him from hell topurgatory, from purgatory to paradise. Faithful historian of his vision, he pours a flood of light upon the most obscure regions, and the worldwhich he creates in his triple poem is as complete, as animated and asbrilliant as a planet newly-discovered in the firmament. 

"At his voice the whole earth assumes a poetical form, its objects, ideas, laws and phenomena, seem a new Olympus of new deities; but thismythology of the imagination is annihilated, like paganism, at theaspect of paradise, of that ocean of light, sparkling with rays and withstars, with virtues and with love. 

"The magic words of our great poet are the prism of the universe; allits wonders are there reflected, divided, and recomposed; sounds imitatecolours, and colours are blended in harmony; rhyme, sonorous or bizarre, rapid or prolonged, is inspired by this poetical divination; supremebeauty of art! triumph of genius! which discovers in nature every secretin affinity with the heart of man. 

"Dante hoped from his poem the termination of his exile; he reckoned onFame as his mediator; but he died too soon to receive the palm of hiscountry. Often is the fleeting life of man worn out in adversity! and ifglory triumph, if at length he land upon a happier shore, he no soonerenters the port than the grave yawns before him, and destiny, in athousand shapes, often announces the end of life by the return ofhappiness. 

"Thus unfortunate Tasso, whom your homage, Romans, was to console forall the injustice he had suffered; Tasso, the handsome, the gentle, theheroic, dreaming of exploits, feeling the love which he sang, approachedthese walls as his heroes did those of Jerusalem--with respect andgratitude. But on the eve of the day chosen for his coronation, Deathclaimed him for its terrible festival: Heaven is jealous of earth, andrecalls her favourites from the treacherous shores of Time!

"In an age more proud and more free than that of Tasso, Petrarch was, like Dante, the valorous poet of Italian independence. In other climeshe is only known by his amours, --here, more severe recollectionsencircle his name with never-fading honour; for it is known that he wasinspired by his country more than by Laura herself. 

"He re-animated antiquity by his vigils; and, far from his imaginationraising any obstacle to the most profound studies, its creative power, in submitting the future to his will, revealed to him the secrets ofpast ages. He discovered how greatly knowledge assists invention; andhis genius was so much the more original, since, like the eternalforces, he could be present at all periods of time. 

"Ariosto derived inspiration from our serene atmosphere, and ourdelicious climate. He is the rainbow which appeared after our long wars;brilliant and many-hued, like that herald of fine weather, he seems tosport familiarly with life; his light and gentle gaiety is the smile ofnature and not the irony of man. 

"Michael Angelo, Raphael, Pergolese, Galileo, and you, intrepidtravellers, greedy of new countries, though nature could offer nothingfiner than your own, join your glory also to that of the poets. Artists, scholars, philosophers! you are, like them, the children of that sunwhich by turns developes the imagination, animates thought, excitescourage, lulls us into a happy slumber, and seems to promise everything, or cause it to be forgotten. 

"Do you know that land where the Orange-trees bloom, which the rays ofheaven make fertile with love? Have you heard those melodious soundswhich celebrate the mildness of the nights? Have you breathed thoseperfumes which are the luxury of that air, already so pure and so mild?Answer, strangers; is nature in your countries so beautiful and sobeneficent?

"In other regions, when social calamities afflict a country, the peoplemust believe themselves abandoned by the Deity; but here we ever feelthe protection of heaven; we see that he interests himself for man, thathe has deigned to treat him as a noble being. 

"It is not only with vine branches, and with ears of corn, that Natureis here adorned; she prodigally strews beneath the feet of man, as onthe birthday of a sovereign, an abundance of useless plants and flowers, which, destined to please, will not stoop to serve. 

"The most delicate pleasures nourished by nature are enjoyed by a nationworthy of them--a nation who are satisfied with the most simple dishes;who do not become intoxicated at the fountains of wine which plentyprepares for them;--a nation who love their sun, their arts, theirmonuments, their country, at once antique and in the spring of youth;--anation that stand equally aloof from the refined pleasures of luxury, asfrom the gross and sordid pleasures of a mercenary people. "

"Here sensations are confounded with ideas; life is drawn in all itsfulness from the same spring, and the soul, like the air, inhabits theconfines of earth, and of heaven. Genius is untrammelled because herereverie is sweet: its holy calm soothes the soul when perturbed, lavishes upon it a thousand illusions when it regrets a lost purpose, and when oppressed by man nature is ready to welcome it. "

"Thus is our country ever beneficent, and her succouring hand healsevery wound. Here, even the pangs of the heart receive consolation, inadmiring a God of kindness, and penetrating the secrets of his love; thepassing troubles of our ephemeral life are lost in the fertile andmajestic bosom of the immortal universe. "

Corinne was interrupted, for some moments, by a torrent of applause. Oswald alone took no share in the noisy transports that surrounded him. He had leaned his head upon his hand, when Corinne said: "_Here, eventhe pangs of the heart receive consolation_;" and had not raised itsince. Corinne remarked it, and soon, from his features, the colour ofhis hair, his costume, his lofty figure, from his whole manner in short, she knew him for an Englishman: she was struck with his mourning habit, and the melancholy pictured in his countenance. His look, at that momentfixed upon her, seemed full of gentle reproaches; she guessed thethoughts that occupied his mind, and felt the necessity of satisfyinghim, by speaking of happiness with less confidence, by consecrating someverses to death in the midst of a festival. She then resumed her lyre, with this design, and having produced silence in the assembly, by themoving and prolonged sounds which she drew from her instrument, beganthus:

"There are griefs however which our consoling sky cannot efface, but inwhat retreat can sorrow make a more sweet and more noble impression uponthe soul than here?

"In other countries hardly do the living find space sufficient for theirrapid motions and their ardent desires; here, ruins, deserts anduninhabited palaces, afford an asylum for the shades of the departed. Isnot Rome now the land of tombs?

"The Coliseum, the obelisks, all the wonders which from Egypt and fromGreece, from the extremity of ages, from Romulus to Leo X. Are assembledhere, as if grandeur attracted grandeur, and as if the same spot was toenclose all that man could secure from the ravages of time; all thesewonders are consecrated to the monuments of the dead. Our indolent lifeis scarcely perceived, the silence of the living is homage paid to thedead; they endure and we pass away. 

"They only are honoured, they are still celebrated: our obscuredestinies serve only to heighten the lustre of our ancestors: ourpresent existence leaves nothing standing but the past; it will exact notribute from future recollections! All our masterpieces are the work ofthose who are no more, and genius itself is numbered among theillustrious dead. 

"Perhaps one of the secret charms of Rome, is to reconcile theimagination with the sleep of death. Here we learn resignation, andsuffer less pangs of regret for the objects of our love. The people ofthe south picture to themselves the end of life in colours less gloomythan the inhabitants of the north. The sun, like glory, warms even thetomb. 

"The cold and isolation of the sepulchre beneath our lovely sky, by theside of so many funereal urns, have less terrors for the human mind. Webelieve a crowd of spirits is waiting for our company; and from oursolitary city to the subterranean one the transition seems easy andgentle. 

"Thus the edge of grief is taken off; not that the heart becomesindifferent, or the soul dried up; but a more perfect harmony, a moreodoriferous air, mingles with existence. We abandon ourselves to naturewith less fear--to nature, of whom the Creator has said: 'Consider thelilies of the field; they toil not neither do they spin: yet I say untoyou that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one ofthese. '"

Oswald was so ravished with these last strains, that he gave the mostlively testimonies of his admiration; and, upon this occasion, thetransports of the Italians themselves did not equal his. In fact, it wasto him more than to the Romans, that the second improvisation of Corinnewas directed. 

The greater part of the Italians have, in reading poetry, a kind ofsinging monotony, called _cantilene_, which destroys all emotion[5]. Itis in vain that the words vary--the impression remains the same; sincethe accent, more essential than even the words, hardly varies at all. But Corinne recited with a variety of tone, which did not destroy thesustained charm of the harmony;--it was like several different airsplayed on some celestial instrument. 

The tones of Corinne's voice, full of sensibility and emotion, giving, effect to the Italian language, so pompous and so sonorous, producedupon Oswald an impression entirely novel. The English prosody is uniformand veiled, its natural beauties are all of a sombre cast; its colouringhas been formed by clouds, and its modulation by the roaring of the sea;but when Italian words, brilliant as an Italian festival, resonant likethose instruments of victory, which have been compared to scarlet amongcolours; when these words, bearing the stamp of that joy which a fineclimate spreads through every heart, are pronounced in a moving voice, their lustre softened, their strength concentrated, the soul is affectedin a manner as acute as unforeseen. The intention of nature seemsbaffled, her benefits of no use, her offers rejected, and the expressionof pain, in the midst of so many enjoyments, astonishes and affects usmore deeply than the grief which is sung in those northern languageswhich it seems to inspire. 

FOOTNOTE:

[5] We must expect from this censure upon the Italian mode ofdeclamation, the celebrated Monti, who recites verses as well as hecomposes them. It is really one of the greatest dramatic pleasures thatcan be experienced, to hear him recite the Episode of Ugolin, ofFrancesca da Rimini, the Death of Clorinda, &c. 

Chapter iv. 

The Senator took the crown of myrtle and laurel which he was to place onthe head of Corinne. She removed the shawl which graced her forehead, and all her ebon hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders. She advancedwith her head bare, and her look animated by a sentiment of pleasure andgratitude which she sought not to conceal. She a second time bent herknee, to receive the crown; but she displayed less agitation and tremorthan at first; she had just spoken; she had just filled her mind withthe most noble thoughts, and enthusiasm conquered diffidence. She wasno longer a timid woman, but an inspired priestess who joyfullyconsecrated herself to the worship of genius. 

As soon as the crown was placed on the head of Corinne all theinstruments were heard in those triumphant airs which fill the soul withthe most sublime emotion. The sound of kettle-drums, and the flourish oftrumpets, inspired Corinne with new feelings--her eyes were filled withtears--she sat down a moment, and covered her face with herhandkerchief. Oswald, most sensibly affected, quitted the crowd, andadvanced to speak to her, but was withheld by an invincibleembarrassment. Corinne looked at him for some time, taking carenevertheless, that he should not observe the attention she paid him; butwhen the Prince Castel-Forte came to take her hand, in order to conducther to the car, she yielded to his politeness with an absent mind; and, while she permitted him to hand her along, turned her head severaltimes, under various pretexts, to take another view of Oswald. 

He followed her, and at the moment when she descended the stepsaccompanied by her train, she made a retrograde movement, in order tobehold him once more, when her crown fell off. Oswald hastened to pickit up; and in restoring it to her, said in Italian, that an humblemortal like himself might venture to place at the feet of a goddess thatcrown which he dared not presume to place on her head[6]. Corinnethanked Lord Nelville in English, with that pure national accent--thatpure insular accent, which has scarcely ever been successfully imitatedon the continent. What was the astonishment of Oswald in hearing her! Heremained at first immovably fixed to the spot where he was, and feelingconfused he leaned against one of the lions of basalt at the foot ofthe stairway descending from the Capitol. Corinne viewed him again, forcibly struck with the emotion he betrayed; but she was dragged awaytowards the car, and the whole crowd disappeared long before Oswald hadrecovered his strength and his presence of mind. 

Corinne, till then, had enchanted him as the most charming offoreigners--as one of the wonders of that country he had come to visit;but her English accent recalled every recollection of his nativecountry, and in a manner naturalised all the charms of Corinne. Was sheEnglish? Had she passed several years of her life in England? He waslost in conjecture; but it was impossible that study alone could havetaught her to speak thus--Corinne and Lord Nelville must have lived inthe same country. Who knows whether their families were not intimate?Perhaps even, he had seen her in his infancy! We often have in ourhearts, we know not what kind of innate image of that which we love, which may persuade us that we recognise it in an object we behold forthe first time. 

Oswald had cherished many prejudices against the Italians; he believedthem passionate, but changeable, and incapable of any deep and lastingaffection. Already the language of Corinne at the Capitol had inspiredhim with a different idea. What would be his fortune, then, if he couldat once revive the recollections of his native country, and receive byimagination a new existence, --live again for the future withoutforgetting the past!

In the midst of his reveries, Oswald found himself upon the bridge of StAngelo, which leads to the castle of the same name, or rather to thetomb of Adrian, which has been converted into a fortress. The silence ofthe place, the pale waves of the Tiber, the moon-beams which shed theirmild radiance upon the statues placed on the bridge, and gave to thosestatues the appearance of white spectres steadfastly regarding thecurrent of the waters, and the flight of time which no longer concernedthem; all these objects led him back to his habitual ideas. He put hishand upon his breast, and felt the portrait of his father which healways carried there; he untied it, contemplated the features, and themomentary happiness which he had just experienced, as well as the causeof that happiness, only recalled, with too severe a remembrance, thesentiment which had already rendered him so guilty towards his father:This reflection renewed his remorse. 

"Eternal recollection of my life!" cried he: "Friend so offended, yet sogenerous! Could I have believed that any pleasurable sensation would sosoon have found access to my heart? It is not thou, best and mostindulgent of men, --it is not thou who reproachest me with them--it wasthy wish that I should be happy, and, in spite of my errors, that isstill thy desire: but at least, may I not misconceive thy voice, if thouspeak to me from heaven, as I have misconceived it upon earth!"

FOOTNOTE:

[6] Lord Nelville seems to have alluded to this beautiful distich ofPropertius:

 "Ut caput in Magnis ubi non est ponere signis, Ponitur hîc imos ante corona pedes. "

Book iii. 

CORINNE

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

The Count d'Erfeuil was present at the ceremony of the Capitol: He camethe next day to Lord Nelville, and said to him, "My dear Oswald, shall Itake you this evening to see Corinne?" "How!" interrupted Oswald; "areyou acquainted with her, then?" "No, " replied the Count d'Erfeuil; "butso celebrated a lady is always flattered when people express a desire tosee her; and I have written to her this morning to request permission tovisit her in the evening accompanied by you. " "I could have wished, "replied Oswald blushing, "that you had not named me in this mannerwithout my consent. " "Do not be angry with me, " replied the Countd'Erfeuil, "for having spared you some tiresome formalities: Instead ofgoing to an ambassador, who would have taken you to a cardinal, whowould have conducted you to a lady, who would have introduced you toCorinne, I present you--you present me, and we shall both of us be verywell received I have no doubt. "

"I am less confident on that subject than you, " replied Lord Nelville, "and certainly not without reason. I am afraid that this forward requestmay have displeased Corinne. " "Not at all, I assure you, " said the Countd'Erfeuil; "she has too much good sense for that; and her answer isextremely polite. " "How! she has answered you, " replied Lord Nelville;"and what has she said to you, my dear Count?" "Ah, my dear Count?"said M. D'Erfeuil, laughing, "you change your note then, since you knowthat Corinne has answered me; however, _I love you, and all ispardoned_. I will confess to you then, modestly, that in my note I hadspoken of myself more than of you, and that, in her answer she seems tohave named you first, but I am never jealous of my friends. " "Indeed, "replied Lord Nelville, "I do not think that either you or I have anyreason to flatter ourselves with being agreeable to Corinne; and as tome, all that I desire is sometimes to enjoy the society of soextraordinary a lady: so adieu till this evening, since you havearranged it so. " "You will accompany me then?" said the Count d'Erfeuil. "Well, yes, I will, " answered Lord Nelville with visible embarrassment. "Why then, " continued the Count, "find fault with what I have done? Youfinish as I have begun, but however, I must allow you the honour ofbeing more reserved than I, provided you lose nothing by it. Corinne iscertainly a charming lady, she is graceful and witty; I could notcomprehend what she said very well, because she spoke Italian; but Iwould venture to lay a wager, from only seeing her, that she knowsFrench very well: however, we shall judge of that in the evening. Sheleads a very singular life; she is rich, young, and independent; yet noone can tell, to a certainty, whether she has lovers or not. It appearscertain, notwithstanding, that, at present she gives a preference to noone; indeed, " added he, "it may be the case that she has not been ableto find in this country a man worthy of her: that would not astonish meat all. "

The Count held this kind of discourse some time longer without beinginterrupted by Lord Nelville. He said nothing that was discourteous; buthe always wounded the delicate feelings of Oswald by speaking with toomuch boldness or too much levity upon what interested him. There is acertain tact that even wit and knowledge of the world will not teach; sothat, without being wanting in the most perfect politeness, we may oftenwound the heart. 

Lord Nelville was very much agitated the whole day in thinking of thevisit he was to make in the evening; but he drove away from him as muchas he could the reflections which disturbed him, and endeavoured topersuade himself that he might find pleasure in a sentiment, withoutpermitting it to decide the fate of his life. False security! for thesoul receives no pleasure from anything which it deems transient. 

Oswald and the Count arrived at Corinne's house, which was situated inthe _Quartiere di Trastevere_, a little beyond the castle of St Angelo. 

The view of the Tiber gave an additional embellishment to this house, which was ornamented, internally, with the most perfect elegance. Thesaloon was decorated with copies, in plaster, of the best statues inItaly--Niobe, Laocoon, Venus de Medicis, and the Dying Gladiator. In theapartment where Corinne received company were instruments of music, books, and furniture not more remarkable for its simplicity than for itsconvenience, being merely arranged so as to render the conversationeasy, and to draw the circle more closely together. Corinne had not yetmade her appearance when Oswald arrived; while waiting for her he walkedabout the apartment with much eager curiosity, remarking in everyparticular a happy medley of all that is most agreeable in the English, French and Italian nations; the love of literature, the taste forsociety, and a passion for the fine arts. 

Corinne at length appeared; her costume was still picturesque withoutbeing over-studied. Her hair was ornamented with antique cameos and shewore a necklace of coral: her politeness was noble and easy: inbeholding her in the familiar circle of her friends, you might discoverin her the goddess of the Capitol, notwithstanding she was perfectlysimple and natural in everything. She first saluted the Count d'Erfeuil, her eyes fixed upon Oswald; and then, as if she repented this piece offalsehood, she advanced towards the latter--and it might be remarkedthat in addressing him by the title of Lord Nelville, that name seemedto produce a singular effect upon her, and twice she repeated it with afaltering voice, as if it recalled some affecting remembrances. 

At length, in the most graceful manner, she thanked Lord Nelville, inItalian, for his obliging behaviour on the preceding day in picking upher crown. Oswald answered by expressing the admiration with which sheinspired him, and gently complained of her not speaking to him upon thisoccasion in English: "Am I more an alien to you to-day, " added he, "thanI was yesterday?" "No certainly, " replied Corinne; "but when peoplehave, like me, for several years, been in the habit of speaking two orthree different languages, they are apt to employ that which will bestconvey the sentiments they wish to express. " "Surely, " said Oswald, "English is your natural language, that which you speak to your friends, that--" "I am an Italian, " interrupted Corinne--"pardon me, my lord, butI think I discover in you that national pride which often characterisesyour countrymen. In this country we are more modest; we are neitherpleased with ourselves like the French, nor proud of ourselves like theEnglish: we only ask a little indulgence of foreigners, and as we havelong ceased to be considered a nation, we are guilty of sometimes beingwanting, as individuals, in that dignity which is not allowed us as apeople. But when you are acquainted with the Italians, you will seethat they possess in their character, some traces of ancient greatness, some rare traces which, though now effaced, may appear again in happiertimes. I will speak English to you sometimes, but not always: Italian isdear to me; for I have endured much, " added she, "to reside in Italy. "

The Count d'Erfeuil politely reproached Corinne with having entirelyforgotten him, by expressing herself in languages he did not understand. "Lovely Corinne, " said he to her, "pray talk French; indeed you areworthy of such an accomplishment. " Corinne smiled at this compliment, and began to speak French, with great purity and much facility, but withan English accent. Lord Nelville and the Count d'Erfeuil were equallyastonished, but the Count, who believed he might say anything, providedit was done with grace, and who imagined that impoliteness consisted inthe form, and not the substance, asked directly of Corinne, the reasonof this singularity. She was at first a little discomposed at thissudden interrogation; but recovering her presence of mind, she said tothe Count--"Apparently, Sir, I have learnt French of an Englishman?" Herenewed his questions smilingly, but with much earnestness. Corinne moreand more embarrassed, said to him at last, "For these four years past, Sir, since I have settled at Rome, none of my friends, none of thosewho, I am sure, are most interested on my account have questioned meconcerning my destiny; they easily perceived that it was painful to meto speak on the subject. "

Those words put an end to the questions of the Count; but Corinne wasafraid she had offended him, and as he appeared to be very intimatelyconnected with Lord Nelville, she feared still more, without askingherself the reason of such fear, that he might speak disadvantageouslyof her to his friend; and therefore she set about taking much pains toplease him. 

The Prince Castel-Forte arrived at this moment, with several Romans, friends of his and of Corinne. They were men of an amiable mind andlively disposition, very prepossessing in their appearance, and soeasily animated by the conversation of others that it was a greatpleasure to converse with them, so exquisitely did they appear to feelevery thing that was worthy of being felt. The indolence of the Italiansprevents them from displaying in company, or often in any way whatever, all the wit they possess. The greater part of them do not even cultivatein retirement, the intellectual faculties that nature has given them;but they enjoy with transport, that which comes to them without trouble. 

Corinne possessed a very gay turn of wit; she perceived the ridiculouswith the keen sense of a French woman, and coloured it with theimagination of an Italian; but in every instance it was mingled withgoodness of heart; nothing was ever seen in her, either premeditated orhostile; for, in every thing, it is coldness that offends--andimagination on the contrary, is always accompanied with good-nature. 

Oswald discovered a grace in Corinne which was entirely new to him. Onegreat and terrible circumstance of his life was connected with theremembrance of a very amiable and intelligent French woman; but Corinneresembled her in nothing--her conversation was a mixture of every kindof intellectual endowment, enthusiasm for the fine arts, and knowledgeof the world; refinement of ideas, and depth of sentiment; in short, allthe charms of a vivacious and rapid mind were observable in her, withouther thoughts ever being on that account incomplete, or her reflectionssuperficial. Oswald was at once surprised and charmed, uneasy andtransported; he was unable to comprehend how one person alone couldcombine all the qualifications of Corinne. He asked himself whether theunion of all these qualities was the effect of an inconsistent or asuperior character; whether it was by the force of universal feeling, orbecause she forgot every thing successively, that she passed thus, almost in the same instant, from melancholy to gaiety, from profundityto grace--from conversation the most astonishing, by the knowledge andthe ideas it displayed, to the coquetry of a woman who seeks to please, and desires to captivate; but there was, even in that coquetry, suchperfect nobleness that it imposed as much respect as the most severereserve. 

The Prince Castel-Forte was very much taken up with Corinne, and thesentiments of all his party were manifested towards her by attention andthe most delicate and assiduous respect; and the habitual worship withwhich they surrounded her, made every day of her life a sort offestival. Corinne felt herself happy in being thus beloved; but it wasthat sort of happiness which we feel in living in a mild climate, hearing nothing but harmonious sounds, and receiving, in short, nothingbut agreeable impressions. The serious and profound passion of love wasnot painted on her countenance, where every emotion of her soul wasexpressed by a most bright and mobile physiognomy. Oswald beheld her insilence; his presence animated Corinne, and inspired her with the desireof pleasing. However, she sometimes checked herself in those momentswhen her conversation was the most brilliant, astonished at the calmexterior of Oswald, not knowing whether he approved her or blamed hersecretly, or whether his English ideas would permit him to applaud thisdisplay of talents in a woman. 

Oswald was too much captivated by the charms of Corinne, to call tomind his old opinions upon that obscurity which became women; but he wasinquiring of himself, whether it were possible to be beloved by her;whether any man could expect to concentrate in himself so many rays oflight. In fact, he was at the same time dazzled and disturbed; andalthough, at his departure, she invited him, very politely, to come andsee her again, he suffered a whole day to pass without availing himselfof the invitation, experiencing a sort of terror from the sentiment bywhich he felt himself impelled. 

Sometimes he compared this sentiment with the fatal error of the firstmoments of his youth, but immediately banished such a comparison fromhis mind--for then it was a perfidious art that had overcome him; butwho could doubt the truth of Corinne? Was that peculiar charm shepossessed the effect of magic, or of poetical inspiration? Was she anArmida, or a Sappho? Was there any hope of captivating so lofty andbrilliant a genius! It was impossible to decide; but at least it waseasily seen, that not society, but heaven itself, could have formed thisextraordinary being, and that her mind could no more be imitated, thanher character feigned. "Oh, my father!" said Oswald, "if you had knownCorinne what would you have thought of her?"

Chapter ii. 

The Count d'Erfeuil came in the morning, according to custom, to seeLord Nelville, and reproaching him for not having been to see Corinnethe day before, said, "Had you come, you would have been very happy. ""Why so?" replied Oswald. "Because yesterday I discovered, to acertainty, that you have greatly interested her. " "Still this levity, "interrupted Lord Nelville; "know that I neither can nor will endure it. ""Do you call levity, " said the Count, "the promptitude of myobservation? Am I less in the right, because more quickly so? You weremade to live in the happy time of the Patriarchs, when the age of manwas five centuries; but mind, I give you notice that four of them atleast are lopped off in our days. " "Be it so, " answered Oswald, "andwhat discovery have you made by these rapid observations?"--"ThatCorinne loves you. Yesterday, when I arrived at her house, she receivedme very kindly, to be sure; but her eyes were fixed on the door, to seewhether you followed me. She tried for a moment to talk of somethingelse; but as she is a lady of a very ingenuous and natural disposition, she asked me, quite frankly, why you had not come with me? I blamed youvery much; I said that you were a very odd, gloomy sort of creature; butyou will excuse my relating all that I said over and above in yourpraise. "

"'He is very sad, ' said Corinne; 'he must certainly have lost some onevery dear to him. Whom is he in mourning for?' 'His father, Madam, ' saidI; 'though it is more than a year since he lost him; and as the law ofnature obliges us all to survive our parents, I imagine there is someother secret cause for so long and deep a melancholy. ' 'Oh!' repliedCorinne, 'I am very far from thinking that griefs, similar inappearance, are felt alike by all men. I am very much tempted to believethat the father of your friend, and your friend himself, are exceptionsfrom the general rule. ' Her voice was very tender, my dear Oswald, whenshe said these words. " "Are these, " replied Oswald, "your proofs of thatinterest you spoke of?" "In truth, " replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "theseare quite enough, according to my way of thinking, to convince a manthat he is beloved by a lady; but since you wish for better, you shallhave them; I have reserved the strongest for the last. PrinceCastel-Forte arrived, and related your adventure at Ancona, withoutknowing that he was speaking of you: he related it with much fire andimagination, as well as I could judge from the two lessons of Italian Ihave taken; but there are so many French words in the foreign languages, that we comprehend them, almost all, without even knowing them. Besides, the countenance of Corinne would have explained to me what I did notunderstand. One might read in it so visibly the agitation of her heart!She did not breathe, for fear of losing a single word; and when sheasked if he knew the name of this generous and intrepid Englishman, suchwas her anxiety, that it was easy to judge how much she dreaded to hearpronounced any other name than yours. 

"Prince Castel-Forte said he did not know the gentleman's name; andCorinne, turning quickly towards me, cried, 'Is it not true, Sir, thatit was Lord Nelville?' 'Yes, Madam, ' answered I, 'it was he, himself;'and Corinne then melted in tears. She had not wept during the story;what was there then more affecting in the name of the hero than in therecital itself?" "She wept!" cried Nelville, "Ah!--why was I not there?"Then, checking himself all of a sudden, he cast down his eyes, and hismanly countenance was expressive of the most delicate timidity: hehastened to resume the conversation, for fear that the Count mightdisturb his secret joy by observing it. "If the adventure of Anconadeserves to be related, " said Oswald, "'tis to you, also, my dear Count, that the honour of it belongs. " "It is true, " answered d'Erfeuil, laughing, "that they mentioned an amiable Frenchman, who was along withyou, my lord; but no one save myself paid attention to this parenthesisin the narration. The lovely Corinne prefers you; she believes you, without doubt, the more faithful of the two: perhaps she may bemistaken; you may even cause her more grief than I should; but women arefond of pain, provided it is a little romantic; so you will suit her. "

Lord Nelville suffered from every word of the Count, but what could hesay to him? He never argued; he never listened attentively enough tochange his opinion; his words, once uttered, gave him no fartherconcern, and the best way was to forget them, if possible, as soon as hehimself did. 

Chapter iii. 

Oswald arrived in the evening at Corinne's, with a sentiment entirelynew; he thought that he was expected. What enchantment there is in thatfirst gleam of intercourse with the object of our love!--beforeremembrance enters into partnership with hope--before words haveexpressed our sentiments, --before eloquence has painted what we feel, there is in these first moments, something so indefinite, a mystery ofthe imagination, more fleeting than happiness, it must be owned, butalso more celestial. 

Oswald, on entering the apartment of Corinne, felt more timid than ever. He saw that she was alone, and that circumstance almost gave him pain:he could have wished to see her longer in the midst of society; he couldhave wished to be convinced, in some manner, of her preference, insteadof finding himself all of a sudden engaged in a conversation which mightmake Corinne cool towards him, if, as was certain, he should appearembarrassed, and cold in consequence of that embarrassment. 

Whether Corinne perceived this disposition of Oswald, or whether it wasthat a similar disposition produced in her a desire to animate theconversation in order to remove restraint, she asked his Lordshipwhether he had seen any of the monuments of Rome. "No, " answered Oswald. "What did you do with yourself yesterday, then?" replied Corinnesmiling. "I passed the whole day at home, " said Oswald. "Since I havebeen at Rome, Madam, my time has been divided between solitude and you. "Corinne wished to introduce the subject of his behaviour at Ancona; shebegan by these words: "Yesterday I learnt--" then she stopped and said, "I will speak to you of that when the company comes. " There was adignity in the manners of Lord Nelville that intimidated Corinne; and, besides, she feared, lest in reminding him of his noble conduct, sheshould betray too much emotion; conceiving that emotion would be lesswhen they were no longer alone. Oswald was deeply touched with thereserve of Corinne, and the frankness with which she testified, withoutthinking, the motives of that reserve; but the more he was affected theless was he able to express what he felt. 

He arose all of a sudden, and advanced towards the window; then he feltthat Corinne would be unable to explain the meaning of this movement, and more disconcerted than ever, he returned to his place without sayinganything. There was in the conversation of Corinne more confidence thanin that of Oswald; nevertheless, she partook of the embarrassment whichhe exhibited; and in her absence of mind, seeking to recover hercountenance, she placed her fingers upon the harp which was standing byher side, and struck some chords, without connection or design. Theseharmonious sounds, by increasing the emotion of Oswald, seemed toinspire him with more boldness. He could now look at Corinne, and whobut must have been struck, in beholding her, with that divineinspiration which was painted in her eyes! Encouraged at the same momentby that mild expression which veiled the majesty of her looks, he wouldthen perhaps have spoken, but was prevented by the entrance of PrinceCastel-Forte. 

It was not without pain that he beheld Nelville _tête-à-tête_ withCorinne, but he was accustomed to dissimulate his feelings. This habit, which is often found in the Italians united with great vehemence ofsensation, was in him rather the result of indolence and of naturalgentleness. He was content not to be the first object of Corinne'saffections; he was no longer young; he possessed great intelligence, considerable taste for the arts, an imagination sufficiently animated todiversify life without disturbing it, and such a desire to pass all hisevenings with Corinne, that if she were to be married he would conjureher husband to let him come every day, to see her as usual, and uponthis condition he would not have been very unhappy at seeing her unitedto another. The grief of the heart is not found in Italy complicatedwith the sufferings of vanity, so that we find there, men eitherpassionate enough to stab their rival through jealousy, or men modestenough to take willingly the second rank in the favour of a lady whoseconversation is agreeable to them; but rarely will be found any who forfear of being thought despised, would refuse to preserve any sort ofconnection which they found pleasing. The empire of society overself-esteem is almost null in this country. 

The Count d'Erfeuil and the company that met every evening at Corinne'shouse being assembled, the conversation turned upon the talent forimprovisation which their heroine had so gloriously displayed at theCapitol, and they went so far as to ask her own opinion of it. "It issomething so rare, " said Prince Castel-Forte, "to find any one at oncesusceptible of enthusiasm and of analysis, gifted as an artist andcapable of observing herself, that we must intreat her to reveal to usthe secrets of her genius. " "The talent for improvisation, " repliedCorinne, "is not more extraordinary in the languages of the south, thanthe eloquence of the tribune, or the brilliant vivacity of conversationin other tongues. I will even say that, unfortunately it is with us moreeasy to make verses _impromptu_ than to speak well in prose. Thelanguage of poetry is so different from that of prose, that from thefirst verses the attention is commanded by the expressions themselves, which, if I may so express it, place the poet at a distance from hisauditors. It is not only to the softness of the Italian language, butmuch more to its strong and pronounced vibration of sonorous syllables, that we must attribute the empire of poetry amongst us. There is a kindof musical charm in Italian, by which the bare sound of words, almostindependently of the ideas, produces pleasure; besides, these words havealmost all something picturesque in them; they paint what they express. You feel that it is in the midst of the arts, and under an auspicioussky that this melodious, and highly-coloured language has been formed. It is therefore more easy in Italy than any where else, to seduce withwords, without profundity of thought or novelty of imagery. Poetry, likeall the fine arts, captivates the senses, as much as the intellect. Idare venture to say, however, that I have never improvised withoutfeeling myself animated by some real emotion, some idea which I believednew, therefore I hope that I have trusted less than others to ourbewitching language. It is possible, if I may say so, to prelude atrandom, and convey a lively pleasure by the charm of rhythm and ofharmony alone. "

"You believe then, " interrupted one of the friends of Corinne, "that thetalent for improvisation injures our literature; I thought so oncemyself, but hearing you, madam, has made me entirely alter thatopinion. " "I have said, " replied Corinne, "that there resulted from thisfacility, this literary abundance, a quantity of inferior poetry; but Iam as pleased with this fecundity, which exists in Italy, as I am withseeing our fields covered with a thousand superfluous products. Thisliberality of nature makes me proud. I am particularly pleased with theimprovisations of the lower classes of the people; it discovers theirimagination to us, which is concealed everywhere else, and is onlydeveloped amongst us. They give a poetical character to the lowestorders of society, and spare us the contempt which we cannot helpfeeling for every thing that is vulgar. When our Sicilians, conveyingtravellers in their vessels, so delicately and politely felicitate themin their pleasing dialect, and wish them in verse a sweet and longadieu, one would say the pure breeze of heaven and of the sea producesthe same effect upon the imagination of men as the wind on the Æolianharp, and that poetry, like the chords of that instrument, is the echoof nature. One thing makes me attach an additional value to our talentfor improvisation, and that is, that it would be almost impossible in asociety disposed to mockery. It requires the good humour of the south, or rather of those countries where people love to amuse themselveswithout taking pleasure in criticising that which affords themamusement, to encourage poets to venture on so perilous an enterprise. One jeering smile would be sufficient to destroy that presence of mindnecessary for a sudden and uninterrupted composition: your audience mustbecome animated with you, and inspire you with their applause. "

"But madam, " said Oswald at last, who till then had kept silence withouthaving for a moment ceased to behold Corinne, "to which of your poeticaltalents do you yourself give the preference? To the work of inflection, or of momentary inspiration?" "My lord, " answered Corinne, with a lookthat expressed the highest interest and the most delicate sentiment ofrespectful consideration, "it is you that I would wish to make the judgeof that; but if you ask me to examine my own thoughts upon this subject, I would say that improvisation is to me as an animated conversation. Ido not confine myself to any particular subject, I yield entirely to theimpression produced on me by the attention of my hearers, and it is tomy friends, in this instance, that I owe the greatest part of my talent. Sometimes the impassioned interest with which I am inspired by aconversation in which we have spoken of some great and noble questionthat relates to the moral existence of man, his destiny, his end, hisduties and his affections; sometimes this interest elevates me above mystrength, makes me discover in nature, in my own heart, bold truths, expressions full of life, that solitary reflection would not have givenbirth to. I then believe myself acted upon by a supernatural enthusiasm, and feel that what is speaking within me is greater than myself. Often Iquit the rhythm of poetry to express my thoughts in prose; sometimes Iquote the finest verses of the different languages I am acquainted with. These divine verses, with which my soul is penetrated, have become myown. Sometimes also I finish upon my lyre by chords, by simple andnational airs, the sentiments and thoughts which have escaped me inspeaking. In a word, I feel myself a poet, not only when a happy choiceof rhymes and harmonious syllables, or a happy combination of imagesdazzles my auditors, but when my soul is elevated to the highest degreeand looks down with contempt upon every thing that is selfish and base:in short, when a noble action appears most easy to me, it is then thatmy poetry is in its greatest perfection. I am a poet when I admire, whenI despise, when I hate, not from personal feeling, not on my ownaccount, but for the dignity of human nature and the glory of theworld. "

Corinne then perceiving how the conversation had carried her away, blushed a little, and turning towards Lord Nelville said to him, "yousee, my lord, I cannot touch upon any of those subjects that affect mewithout experiencing that sort of shock which is the source of idealbeauty in the arts, of religion in solitary minds, of generosity inheroes, and of disinterestedness among men. Pardon me, my lord, althoughsuch a woman resemble but little those whom your nation approves. " "Whocould resemble you?" replied Lord Nelville; "can we make laws for onewho is without her like?"

The Count d'Erfeuil was absolutely enchanted, notwithstanding he had notunderstood all that Corinne had said; but her gestures, the sound of hervoice, and her pronunciation, charmed him. --It was the first time thatany grace which was not French had produced an effect upon him. Butindeed the great celebrity of Corinne at Rome put him a little in theway of what he should think of her, and in his admiration of thisextraordinary lady he did not drop the good custom of letting himself beguided by the opinion of others. 

He quitted Corinne's house along with Lord Nelville, and said to him ontheir way home, "allow, my dear Oswald, that I may lay claim to somemerit for not having paid my court to so charming a lady. " "But, "observed Nelville, "it seems, according to general opinion, that she isnot easy to please in that respect. " "It is said so, " replied the Count, "but I can hardly believe it. A single woman of independent means wholeads nearly the life of an artist ought not to be so difficult tocaptivate. " Lord Nelville was wounded by this reflection. The Count, whether he did not perceive it, or whether he wished to pursue the trainof his own ideas, continued thus:

"I do not mean to say, however, that if I entertained much faith in alady's virtue, I might not as readily believe in that of Corinne as inthat of any other. She has certainly a thousand times more expression inher look, and vivacity in her arguments than would be necessary in yourcountry, or even in ours, to excite suspicion of the rigidness of alady's virtue; but she is a person of so superior a mind, such profoundknowledge, and such fine tact, that the ordinary rules by which we judgea woman cannot apply to her. In fact, would you believe it, notwithstanding the openness of her disposition, and the freedom of herconversation, she really imposes reserve upon me. It was my wish, yesterday, with all due respect to her predilection for you, to say afew words, at random, upon my own account: they were words that taketheir chance; if they are heard, well and good; if not, well and goodstill; and do you know Corinne gave me such cold looks that I was quitedisconcerted. It is, however, singular that one should feel any timidityin the company of an Italian, a poet, an artist, every thing, in short, that ought to produce quite a contrary effect. " "Her name is unknown, "observed Nelville, "but her manners would make one believe that herbirth is illustrious. " "Ah! it is in romances, " said the Count, "that wesee the finest part of a character concealed, but in real life peopleare more disposed to exhibit all that is most honourable in their life, and even a little more than all. " "Yes, " interrupted Oswald, "in somesocieties where people think of nothing but the effect they can produceupon one another; but in one whose existence is internal there may bemysteries in circumstances, as there are secrets in thought, and he onlywho would espouse Corinne might be able to know them. " "EspouseCorinne!" interrupted the Count, bursting out laughing, "truly that ideanever occurred to me! Take my advice, my dear Nelville, if you wish todo foolish things let them be such as will admit of reparation; but asfor marriage, you must always consider propriety. I appear frivolous inyour eyes, nevertheless I wager that in the conduct of life I shall bemore reasonable than you. " "I believe so too, " answered Lord Nelville, and said not another word. 

In effect, he might have told the Count d'Erfeuil that there is often agreat deal of egotism in frivolity, and that such egotism can neverbetray people into those errors of sentiment in which we alwayssacrifice our own personal considerations to those of others! Frivolouscharacters are very likely to acquire address in the pursuit of theirown interests; for in all that is called the political science ofprivate, as well as of public life, people succeed oftener by thosequalities which they have not than by those which they possess. Absenceof enthusiasm, absence of opinion, absence of sensibility, a littleunderstanding, combined with this negative treasure, and social life, that is to say, fortune and rank, may be acquired or supported wellenough. The pleasantries of the Count however pained Lord Nelville; heblamed them, but nevertheless they continually occupied his thoughts. 

Book iv. 

ROME. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

A fortnight passed away, during which Lord Nelville dedicated himselfentirely to the society of Corinne. He quitted his lodgings but to goand visit her--he saw nothing--he sought nothing but her; and, withoutever mentioning his passion, he made her sensible of it at every momentof the day. She was accustomed to the lively and flattering homage ofthe Italians; but Oswald's dignity of manners, his apparent coldness, and the sensibility which he betrayed in spite of himself, produced amore powerful effect upon her imagination. --Never did he relate agenerous action, never did he speak of a misfortune, without his eyesbeing filled with tears; but he always endeavoured to conceal hisemotion. He inspired Corinne with a sentiment of respect such as she hadnot felt for a long time before. No wit, however sparkling, could dazzleher; but she was deeply interested by elevation and dignity ofcharacter. Lord Nelville joined to these qualities, a nobleness in hisexpressions, an elegance in the least actions of his life, which formeda striking contrast to the negligence and familiarity of the greaterpart of the Roman nobility. 

Though the tastes of Oswald were in some respects different from thoseof Corinne, they mutually understood each other in a most wonderfulmanner. Nelville conjectured the impressions of Corinne with perfectsagacity, and Corinne discovered, in the slightest alteration ofNelville's countenance, what passed in his mind. Accustomed to thestormy demonstrations of passion that characterise the Italians, thistimid but proud attachment, this passion, incessantly proved, but neveravowed, spread a new charm over her existence: she felt as if encircledwith a calmer and purer atmosphere, and every instant of the dayinspired her with a sentiment of happiness which she loved to enjoywithout accounting for it. 

One morning Prince Castel-Forte visited her--he appeared sorrowful--sheasked him the cause of his sorrow. "This Scotsman, " said he to her, "isabout to deprive us of your affections; and who knows even, whether hewill not rob us of you entirely?" Corinne was silent for some moments, and then answered, "I assure you he has not even once told me that heloved me. " "You are, notwithstanding, convinced of it, " answered PrinceCastel-Forte; "his conduct is sufficiently eloquent, and even hissilence is a powerful means of interesting you. --What can languageexpress that you have not heard? What kind of praise is there that hasnot been offered you? What species of homage is there that you are notaccustomed to receive? But there is something concealed in the characterof Lord Nelville which will never allow you to know him entirely as youknow us. There is no person in the world whose character is more easythan yours to become acquainted with; but it is precisely because youshew yourself without disguise that mystery and reserve have a pleasingascendancy over you. That which is unknown, be it what it may, influences you more strongly than all the sentiments which aremanifested to you. " Corinne smiled; "You believe then, my dear Prince, "said she, "that my heart is ungrateful, and my imagination capricious. Methinks however that Lord Nelville possesses and displays qualitiessufficiently remarkable to render it impossible that I can flattermyself with having discovered them. " "He is, I agree, " answered PrinceCastel-Forte, "proud, generous and intelligent; with much sensibilitytoo, and particularly melancholy; but I am very much deceived, or thereis not the least sympathy of taste between you. You do not perceive itwhile he is under the charm of your presence, but your empire over himwould not hold if he were absent from you. Obstacles would fatigue him;his soul has contracted by the grief which he has experienced, a kind ofdiscouragement, which must destroy the energy of his resolutions; andyou know, besides, how much the English in general are enslaved to themanners and habits of their country. "

At these words Corinne was silent and sighed. Painful reflections on thefirst events of her life were retraced in her mind; but in the eveningshe saw Oswald again, more her slave than ever; and all that remained inher mind of the conversation of Prince Castel-Forte was the desire offixing Lord Nelville in Italy by making him enamoured of the beauties ofevery kind with which that country abounds. It was with this intentionthat she wrote to him the following letter. The freedom of the lifewhich is led in Rome excused this proceeding, and Corinne in particular, though she might be reproached with too much openness and enthusiasm, knew how to preserve dignity with independence, and modesty withvivacity. 

 _Corinne to Lord Nelville_. _Dec. 15th, 1794. _

"I do not know, my lord, whether you will think me too confident inmyself, or whether you will do justice to the motives which may excusethat confidence. Yesterday I heard you say that you had not yet seenRome, that you were neither acquainted with the masterpieces of our finearts, nor those ancient ruins which teach us history by imagination andsentiment, and I have conceived the idea of presuming to offer myself asyour guide in this journey through a course of centuries. 

"Without doubt, Rome could easily present a great number of scholarswhose profound erudition might be much more useful to you, but if I cansucceed in inspiring you with a love for this retreat, towards which Ihave always felt myself so imperiously attracted, your own studies willfinish the rude draft which I shall have begun. 

"Many foreigners come to Rome as they would go to London or to Paris, toseek the dissipation of a great city; and if they dared confess theywere bored at Rome, I believe the greater part would confess it; but itis equally true that here may be found a charm that never tires. Willyou pardon me, my lord, a wish that this charm were known to you. 

"It is true that here you must forget all the political interests in theworld, but when these interests are not united to sacred sentiments andduties they chill the heart. Here too you must renounce what would becalled the pleasures of society, but these pleasures almost invariablywither up the imagination. In Rome you may enjoy an existence at oncesolitary and animated, which freely develops all that Heaven hasimplanted in us. I repeat it, my lord; pardon this love of my country, which begets a desire to make it beloved by such a man as you; and donot judge, with the severity of an Englishman, those testimonies ofgood-will which an Italian hopes she may give you without sinking eitherin her own estimation or in yours. 

 CORRINE. "

In vain would Oswald have endeavoured to conceal the exquisite pleasurehe received from this letter; he caught a glimpse of a confused futureof enjoyment and happiness: imagination, love, enthusiasm, all that isdivine in the soul of man, appeared to him united with the project ofseeing Rome with Corinne. For, this time he did not reflect; this timehe set out the very instant to visit Corinne, and by the way hecontemplated the sky, he enjoyed the charm of the weather, life satlightly on him. His griefs and his fears were lost in the clouds ofhope; his heart, so long oppressed by sadness, palpitated and leapedwith joy; he feared, it is true, that so happy a disposition of mindmight not last; but the very idea that it was fleeting gave to thisfever of enjoyment more force and activity. 

"What, are you come already?" said Corinne, seeing Lord Nelville enter;"Ah, thanks!" and she stretched forth her hand. Oswald seized it, andimprinted his lips on it with the warmest tenderness; nor did he suffernow that timidity which often mingled itself with his most agreeableimpressions, and caused him sometimes to endure, in the company of thosehe loved best, the most bitter and painful feelings. The intimacy hadcommenced between Oswald and Corinne since they had parted; it was theletter of Corinne which had established it: they were satisfied witheach other, and mutually felt the most tender gratitude. 

"This morning then, " said Corinne, "I will shew you the Pantheon and StPeter's: I had, indeed, some hope, " added she smiling, "that you wouldaccept my offer to make the tour of Rome with you, so my horses areready. I have expected you; you have arrived; 'tis very well, let us setout. " "Astonishing woman!" said Oswald; "Who then, art thou? Whence hastthou derived so many opposite charms, which it would seem ought toexclude each other;--sensibility, gaiety, profound reflection, externalgrace, freedom, and modesty? Art thou an illusion? art thou somesupernatural blessing, destined to make happy the life of him who isfortunate enough to meet with thee?" "Ah!" replied Corinne, "if I haveit in my power to do you any service you must not think I will ever giveup the merit of it. " "Take care, " said Oswald, seizing Corinne's handwith emotion; "take care what service it is you are about to render me. For these two years the iron hand of affliction has closed up my heart;if your sweet presence has afforded me relief; if, while with you, Ibreathe again, what will become of me when once more abandoned to mydestiny?--What will become of me?" "Let us leave to time and to chance, "interrupted Corinne, "to decide whether this impression of a day, whichI have produced upon you, will be longer than a day in its duration. Ifthere be a mutual sympathy between our souls, our mutual affection willnot be transient. Be that as it may, let us go and admire together allthat can elevate our mind and our sentiments; we shall thus taste somemoments of happiness. "

In finishing these words Corinne went down stairs, and Nelville followedher, astonished at her answer. It seemed to him that she admitted thepossibility of a half sentiment, --a momentary attraction. In short, hethought he perceived something like levity in the manner in which shehad expressed herself, and he was hurt at it. 

He placed himself, without saying a word, in Corinne's carriage; who, guessing his thoughts, said to him, "I do not believe that the heart ofman is so formed that he must always feel either no love at all or themost invincible passion. There are beginnings of sentiment which a moreprofound examination may dissipate. We flatter and then undeceiveourselves, and even the enthusiasm of which we are susceptible, if itrenders the enchantment more rapid, may also cause coldness to succeedthe more quickly. " "You have, then, reflected deeply on the tenderpassion, " said Oswald with bitterness. Corinne blushed at this word, andwas silent for some moments; then resuming the conversation, with astriking mixture of frankness and dignity, "I do not believe, " said she, "that a woman of sensibility has ever arrived at the age of twenty-sixyears, without having known the illusion of love; but if never havingbeen happy, if never having met the object who could merit all theaffections of my heart, be any claim to interest in the bosom of man, Ihave a claim to yours. " These words, and the accent with which Corinnepronounced them, dissipated a little, the cloud which had spread overthe soul of Lord Nelville; nevertheless he said to himself: "She is themost fascinating of women, but an Italian; and hers is not that timid, innocent heart, to herself unknown, which the young English lady that myfather destined for me must possess. "

The name of this young English lady was Lucilia Edgermond, daughter tothe best friend of Lord Nelville's father; but she was too young whenOswald quitted England for him to marry her, or even foresee, withcertainty, what she would one day become. 

Chapter ii. 

Oswald and Corinne went first to the Pantheon, which is now called _StMary of the Rotunda_. In every part of Italy Catholicism has inheritedsomething of Paganism, but the Pantheon is the only ancient Temple ofRome which is preserved entire, the only one where may be remarked inits _ensemble_ the beauty of the architecture of the ancients, and theparticular character of their worship. Oswald and Corinne stopped in thesquare of the Pantheon to admire the portico of this Temple and thepillars that support it. 

Corinne made Nelville observe that the Pantheon was constructed in sucha manner as to appear greater than it was. "The church of St Peter, "said she, "will produce quite a different effect upon you; you willbelieve it at first less stupendous than it is in reality. Thisillusion, so favourable to the Pantheon, comes, as I am assured, fromthere being more space between the pillars, and the air playing freelyaround it; but principally from your not perceiving any of that detailedornament with which St Peter's is overladen. It is thus that the ancientpoets only designed large masses, and left the imagination of the hearerto fill up the intervals, and supply the developments; but we moderns inall things say too much. "

"This Temple, " continued Corinne, "was consecrated by Agrippa, thefavourite of Augustus, to his friend, or rather to his master. However, the master had the modesty to refuse the dedication of the Temple, andAgrippa was obliged to dedicate it to all the gods in Olympus, in orderto take the place of Power, the god of the earth. There was a car ofbronze on the top of the Pantheon, on which were placed the statues ofAugustus and of Agrippa. On each side of the portico these same statueswere placed in another form, and on the pediment of the Temple is stillto be read: '_Consecrated by Agrippa_. ' Augustus gave his name to theage in which he lived because he made that age an epoch of the humanmind. The masterpieces of every kind produced by his contemporaries formthe rays of glory that encircle his head. He knew how to honour the menof genius who cultivated letters, and he has found his recompense inposterity. "

"Let us enter the temple, " said Corinne. "You see it remains uncovered, almost the same as it was formerly. They say that this light, proceedingfrom the top, was the emblem of that God who was superior to all theother deities. The Pagans have always been fond of symbolic images. Itseems, in effect, that this language is more fitting than speech toreligion. The rain often falls upon this marble court, but the rays ofthe sun also enter to enlighten devotion. What serenity! What an air offestivity is remarkable in this edifice! The Pagans have deified life, and the Christians have deified death. Such is the spirit of the twoworships, but the Roman Catholic religion here, however, is less sombrethan in the northern countries. You will observe it when we visit StPeter's. Inside the sanctuary of the Pantheon are the busts of our mostcelebrated artists, they adorn the niches where were placed the gods ofthe ancients. --As, since the destruction of the empire of the Cæsars, wehave hardly ever had political independence in Italy, you do not findhere either statesmen or great commanders. It is the genius ofimagination which constitutes our own glory; but do you not think, mylord, that a people who honour talents in this manner ought to merit anobler fate?" "I am very severe towards nations, " answered Oswald; "Ialways believe that they deserve their fate let it be what it may. ""That is hard, " replied Corinne; "perhaps after a longer residence inItaly you will experience a sentiment of compassion towards this unhappycountry, which nature seems to have decorated as a victim; but, atleast, you will remember that the dearest hope of us artists, of uslovers of glory, is to obtain a place here. I have already fixed uponmine, " said she pointing to a niche still vacant. "Oswald! who knowswhether you will not come again to this same enclosure when my bustshall be placed there? Then--"

Oswald interrupted her quickly and said, "In the shining splendour ofyouth and beauty can you talk thus to one whom misfortune and sufferinghave already bent towards the grave?" "Ah!" replied Corinne, "the stormmay in a moment snap asunder those flowers that now have their headsupreared in life and bloom. Oswald, dear Oswald!" added she; "why shouldyou not be happy? Why--" "Never interrogate me, " replied Lord Nelville, "you have your secrets--I have mine, let us mutually respect eachother's silence. No--you know not what emotion I should feel were Iobliged to relate my misfortunes. " Corinne was silent, and her steps inleaving the temple were slower, and her looks more thoughtful. 

She stopped beneath the portico:--"There, " said she to Lord Nelville, "was a most beautiful urn of porphyry, now transferred to St John ofLateran; it contained the ashes of Agrippa, which were placed at thefoot of the statue that he had raised to himself. The ancients took somuch care to soften the idea of dissolution that they knew how to stripit of every thing that was doleful and repulsive. There was, besides, somuch magnificence in their tombs that the contrast was less felt betweenthe blank of death and the splendours of life. It is true that the hopeof another world being less vivid among the Pagans than amongstChristians, they endeavoured to dispute with death the futureremembrance which we place, without fear, in the bosom of the Eternal. "

Oswald sighed and was silent. Melancholy ideas have many charms when wehave not been ourselves deeply wretched, but when grief in all itsasperity has seized upon the soul, we no longer hear without shudderingcertain words which formerly only excited in us reveries more or lesspleasing. 

Chapter iii. 

On the way to St Peter's the bridge of St Angelo is passed, and Corinneand Lord Nelville crossed it on foot. "It was on this bridge, " saidOswald, "that, in returning from the Capitol, I for the first timethought deeply of you. " "I did not flatter myself, " replied Corinne, "that the coronation at the Capitol would have procured me a friend, buthowever, in the pursuit of fame it was always my endeavour to makemyself beloved. --What would fame be to woman without such a hope?" "Letus stop here a few minutes, " said Oswald. "What remembrance of past agescan produce such welcome recollections as this spot, which brings tomind the day when first I saw you. " "I know not whether I deceivemyself, " replied Corinne; "but it seems to me that we become more dearto one another in admiring together those monuments which speak to thesoul by true grandeur. The edifices of Rome are neither cold nor dumb, they have been conceived by genius, and consecrated by memorable events. Perhaps, Oswald, it is even necessary that we should be enamoured ofsuch a character as yours, in order to derive such pleasure from feelingwith you all that is noble and fine in the universe. " "Yes, " repliedLord Nelville; "but in beholding you, and listening to yourobservations, I feel no want of other wonders. " Corinne thanked him in abewitching smile. 

On their way to St Peter's they stopped before the castle of St Angelo. "There, " said Corinne, "is one of those edifices whose exterior is mostoriginal; this is the tomb of Adrian, which, changed into a fortress bythe Goths, bears the double character of its first and seconddestination. Built for the dead, an impenetrable enclosure surrounds it;and, nevertheless, the living have added something hostile to it by theexternal fortifications, which form a contrast with the silence andnoble inutility of a funereal monument. On the top is seen an angel ofbronze with a naked sword[7], and in the interior the most cruel prisonsare contrived. Every event of Roman history, from Adrian to our time, isconnected with this monument. It was here that Belisarius defendedhimself against the Goths, and, almost as barbarous as they who attackedhim, threw at his enemy the beautiful statues that adorned the interiorof the edifice[8]. Crescentius, Arnault de Brescia, Nicolas Rienzi, those friends of Roman liberty who so often mistook memories for hopes, defended themselves for a long time in this imperial tomb. I love thesestones which are connected with so many illustrious facts. I love thisluxury of the master of the world--a magnificent tomb. There issomething great in the man who, possessing every enjoyment, everyterrestrial pomp, is not dismayed from making preparations for his deatha long time before hand. Moral ideas and disinterested sentiments fillthe soul when it in a manner breaks through the boundaries of mortality. 

"It is from here that we ought to perceive St Peter's. The pillarsbefore it were to extend as far as here:--such was the superb plan ofMichael Angelo; he expected, at least, that it would be so finishedafter his death; but the men of our days no longer think of posterity. When once enthusiasm has been turned into ridicule every thing exceptmoney and power is destroyed. " "It is you who will revive thatsentiment, " cried Lord Nelville. "Who ever experienced the happiness Ienjoy? Rome shewn by you, Rome interpreted by imagination and genius, _Rome, that is a world animated by sentiment, without which the worlditself is a desert_[9]. Ah, Corinne! what will succeed to these days, more happy than my heart and my fate permit!" Corinne answered him withsweetness: "All sincere affections proceed from heaven, Oswald! Whyshould it not protect what it inspires? To that Power belongs our fate. "

At that moment St Peter's appeared to them, the greatest building thatman has ever raised; for the pyramids of Egypt themselves are inferiorto it in height. "Perhaps, " said Corinne, "I ought to have shewn you thefinest of our buildings last, but that is not my system. It is myopinion that to beget a sensibility for the fine arts, we must begin bybeholding objects that inspire a deep and lively admiration. Thissentiment once felt, reveals, if I may so express myself, a new sphereof ideas, and renders us afterwards more capable of loving, and ofjudging, what even in an inferior order recalls the first impression wehave received. All those gradations, those prudent methods, one tintafter another, to prepare for great effects, are not to my taste; wecannot arrive at the sublime by degrees; infinite distances separate iteven from that which is only beautiful. " Oswald felt an altogetherextraordinary emotion on arriving opposite St Peter's. It was the firsttime that the work of man had produced upon him the same effect as oneof the wonders of nature. This is the only work of art, now on ourearth, possessing that kind of grandeur which characterises theimmediate works of the creation. Corinne enjoyed the astonishment ofOswald. "I have chosen, " said she, "a day when the sun is in all itslustre, to shew you this edifice. I have in reserve for you a still moreexquisite, more religious pleasure, when you shall contemplate it bymoonlight: but you must first witness the most brilliant intellectualfeast--the genius of man adorned with the magnificence of nature. "

The square of St Peter is surrounded by pillars--those at a distance ofa light, and those near of a massive structure. The ground, which isupon a gentle ascent up to the portico of the church, still adds to theeffect which it produces. An obelisk, 80 feet high, stands in the middleof the square, but its height appears as nothing in presence of thecupola of St Peter's. The form of an obelisk alone has something in itthat pleases the imagination; its summit is lost in the air, and seemsto lift the mind of man to heaven. This monument, which was constructedin Egypt to adorn the baths of Caligula, and which Sixtus Quintus causedto be transported to the foot of the temple of St Peter, thiscotemporary of so many centuries, which have spent their fury upon it invain, inspires us with a sentiment of respect; man, sensible of his ownfleeting existence, cannot contemplate without emotion that whichappears to be immutable. At some distance on each side of the obeliskare two fountains, whose waters form a perpetual and abundant cascade. This murmuring of waters, which we are accustomed to hear in the opencountry, produces, in this enclosure, an entirely new sensation; butthis sensation is quite in harmony with that to which the aspect of amajestic temple gives birth. 

Painting and sculpture, imitating generally the human figure or someobject existing in nature, awaken in our soul perfectly clear andpositive ideas; but a beautiful architectural monument has not anydeterminate meaning, if it may be so expressed, so that we are seized, in contemplating it, with that kind of aimless reverie, which leads usinto a boundless ocean of thought. The sound of fountains harmoniseswith all these vague and deep impressions; it is uniform as the edificeis regular. 

 "Eternal motion, and eternal rest, "

are thus blended with each other. It is particularly in a spot like thisthat Time seems stript of his power, for he appears no more able to dryup the fountains than to shake these immovable stones. The waters, whichspout in sheaves from these fountains, are so light and cloudlike thaton a fine day the rays of the sun produce on them little rainbows, formed of the most beautiful colours. 

"Stop here a moment, " said Corinne to Lord Nelville, when they hadalready reached the portico of the church; "stop a little before youlift up the curtain which covers the door of the temple. Does not yourheart beat as you approach this sanctuary? And do not you feel at themoment of entrance all that excites expectation of a solemn event?"Corinne herself lifted up the curtain and held it to let Nelville pass;she displayed so much grace in this attitude that the first look ofOswald was to admire her as she stood, and for some moments sheengrossed his whole observation. However, he proceeded into the temple, and the impression which he received beneath these immense arches was sodeep, and so solemn, that love itself was no longer able to fill hissoul entirely. He walked slowly by the side of Corinne, both preservingsilence. Indeed here every thing seemed to command silence; the leastnoise re-echoes to such a distance that no language seems worthy ofbeing repeated in an abode which may almost be called eternal! Prayeralone, the voice of calamity, produces a powerful emotion in these vastregions; and when beneath these immense domes you hear some old mandragging his feeble steps along the polished marble, watered with somany tears, you feel that man is imposing even by the infirmity of hisnature which subjects his divine soul to so many sufferings; and thatChristianity, the worship of suffering, contains the true guide for theconduct of man upon earth. 

Corinne interrupted the reverie of Oswald, and said to him, "You haveseen Gothic churches in England and in Germany; you must have remarkedthat they have a much more gloomy effect than this church. There wassomething mysterious in the Catholicism of the northern nations; oursspeaks to the imagination by external objects. Michael Angelo said onbeholding the cupola of the Pantheon, 'I will place it in the air;' and, in effect, St Peter's is a temple built upon a church. There is someconnection between the ancient religions and Christianity, in the effectwhich the interior of this edifice produces upon the imagination. Ioften come and walk here to restore to my soul that serenity which itsometimes loses: the sight of such a monument is like continual andsustained music, which waits to do you good when you approach; andcertainly we must reckon among the claims of our nation to glory, thepatience, the courage and the disinterestedness of the heads of thechurch, who have devoted one hundred and fifty years, so much money, andso much labour, to the completion of an edifice which they who built itcould not expect to enjoy[10]. It is even a service rendered to thepublic morals to present a nation with a monument which is the emblem ofso many noble and generous ideas. " "Yes, " answered Oswald; "here thearts possess grandeur, and imagination and invention are full of genius;but how is the dignity of man himself protected here! Whatinstitutions! what feebleness in the greater part of the governments ofItaly! and, nevertheless, what subjugation in the mind!" "Othernations, " interrupted Corinne, "have borne the yoke the same as we, andhave lacked the imagination to dream of another fate. 

 'Servi siam sì, ma servi ognor frementi. '

 '_Yes! we are slaves, but slaves ever quivering with hope, _'

says Alfieri, the most bold of our modern writers. There is so much soulin our fine arts that perhaps one day our character will be equal to ourgenius. 

"Behold, " continued Corinne, "those statues placed on the tombs, thosepictures in mosaic--patient and faithful copies of the masterpieces ofour great artists. I never examine St Peter's in detail, because I donot wish to discover those multiplied beauties which disturb in somedegree the impression of the whole. But what a monument is that, wherethe masterpieces of the human mind appear superfluous ornaments! Thistemple is like a world by itself; it affords an asylum against heat andcold; it has its own peculiar season--a perpetual spring, which theexternal atmosphere can never change. A subterraneous church is builtbeneath this temple;--the popes, and several foreign potentates, areburied there: Christina after her abdication--the Stuarts since theoverthrow of their dynasty. Rome has long afforded an asylum to exilesfrom every part of the world. Is not Rome herself dethroned? Her aspectaffords consolation to kings, fallen like herself. 

 'Cadono le citta, cadono i regni, E l'uom, d'esser mortal, par che si sdegni. '

 '_Cities fall. Empires disappear, and yet man is angry at being mortal!_'

"Place yourself here, " said Corinne to Lord Nelville, "near the altarin the middle of the cupola; you will perceive through the iron grating, the church of the dead, which is beneath our feet, and lifting up youreyes, their ken will hardly reach the summit of the vault. This dome, viewing it even from below, inspires us with a sentiment of terror; weimagine that we see an abyss suspended over our head. All that is beyonda certain proportion causes man, limited creature as he is, aninvincible dread. That which we know is as inexplicable as that which isunknown, but then we are accustomed to our habitual darkness, whilst newmysteries terrify us and disturb our faculties. 

"All this church is ornamented with antique marble, and its stones knowmore than we concerning the ages that are past. There is the statue ofJupiter, which has been converted into St Peter, by adding the nimbus tothe head. The general expression of this temple perfectly characterisesthe mixture of gloomy tenets with brilliant ceremonies; a depth ofsadness in ideas, but the softness and vivacity of the south in externalapplication; severe intentions, but mild interpretations; the Christiantheology, and the images of Paganism; in a word, the most admirableunion of splendour and majesty that man can infuse into his worship ofthe deity. 

"The tombs, decorated by the wonders of the fine arts, do not presentdeath under a formidable aspect. It is not altogether like the ancients, who engraved dances and games upon their sarcophagi; but the mind isabstracted from the contemplation of a coffin by the masterpieces ofgenius. They recall immortality, even upon the altar of death; and theimagination animated by the admiration which they inspire, does notfeel, as in the north, silence and cold, the immutable guardians ofsepulchres. " "Without doubt, " said Oswald, "we wish death to besurrounded by sadness; and even before we were enlightened byChristianity our ancient mythology, our Ossian, made lamentations anddirges concomitants of the tomb. Here one wishes to forget and to enjoy. I know not whether I should be desirous of such a benefit from your finesky. " "Do not believe, however, " replied Corinne, "that our character islight, or our mind frivolous; it is only vanity that causes frivolity. Indolence may introduce some intervals of sleep, or of forgetfulnessinto our lives, but it neither wears out nor dries up the heart; andunfortunately for us we may be aroused from this state by passions moredeep, and more terrible than those of souls habitually active. "

In finishing these words, Corinne and Lord Nelville approached the doorof the church. "Another glance towards this immense sanctuary, " said sheto Nelville: "See how little man appears in presence of religion, evenwhen we are reduced to consider only its material emblem! See whatimmobility, what eternity, mortals can give to their works, whilst theythemselves pass away so rapidly, and only survive themselves by theirgenius! This temple is an image of the infinite, and there is no limitto the sentiments to which it gives birth--to the ideas which itrevives--to the immense quantity of years which it recalls to ourreflection, either of past or future ages; and on quitting its walls weseem to pass from celestial thoughts to worldly interests, from theeternity of religion to the atmosphere of time. "

When they were outside the church Corinne pointed out to Nelville Ovid'sMetamorphoses, which were represented on the gates in basso-relievo. "Weare not scandalised in Rome, " said she to him, "with the images ofPaganism when they have been consecrated by the fine arts. The wondersof genius always make a religious impression on the soul, and we make anoffering to the Christian religion of all the masterpieces which othermodes of worship have inspired. " Oswald smiled at this explanation. "Believe me, my lord, " continued Corinne, "there is much sincerity inthe sentiments of nations who possess a very lively imagination. Butto-morrow if you choose I will conduct you to the Capitol. I have, Ihope, many other walks to propose to you. When they are finished willyou go? Will you--" She stopped, fearing she had said too much. "NoCorinne, " replied Oswald; "no, I will never renounce that gleam ofhappiness which my guardian angel, perhaps, causes to shine upon me fromthe height of heaven. "

FOOTNOTES:

[7] A Frenchman in the late war, commanded the Castle of St Angelo; theNeapolitan troops summoned him to capitulate; he answered that thefortress should be surrendered when the Angel of Bronze should sheathehis sword. 

[8] These facts are to be found in the _History of the Italian Republicsof the Middle Ages_, by M. Simonde, of Geneva. This history willcertainly be considered as an authority; for we perceive, in reading it, that its author is a man of profound sagacity, as conscientious as he isenergetic in his manner of relating and describing. 

[9] "Eine Welt zwar bist du o Rom; doch ohne die Liebe, Wäre die Welt nicht die Welt, wäre denn Rom auch nicht Rom. "

These two verses are from Goëthe, the German poet, the philosopher, theman of letters, whose originality and imagination are most remarkable. 

[10] The Church of St Peter is said to be one of the chief causes of theReformation, inasmuch as it cost the Popes so much money that they hadrecourse to the multiplication of indulgences in order to build it. 

Chapter iv. 

The next day Oswald and Corinne set out with more confidence andserenity. They were friends travelling together;--they began to say_we_. Ah! how touching is that _we_ when pronounced by love! Howtimidly, yet how vividly expressed, is the declaration which itcontains! "We will go to the Capitol then, " said Corinne. "Yes, we willgo there, " replied Oswald. Simplicity was in his words--softness andtenderness in his accent. "From the height of the Capitol, such as it isnow, " said Corinne, "we can easily perceive the seven hills; we willsurvey them all, one after another; there is not one of them which doesnot preserve in it some traces of history. "

Corinne and Lord Nelville took what was formerly called the _Via Sacra_or Triumphal Way. "'Tis this way that your car passed, " said Oswald toCorinne. "Yes, " answered she; "this ancient dust might be astonished atbearing such a car; but since the Roman republic, so many criminaltraces have been imprinted on it that the sentiment of respect which itinspires is much weakened. " They then arrived at the foot of the stepsof the present Capitol. The entrance to the ancient Capitol was throughthe Forum. "I could wish, " said Corinne, "that these steps were the samethat Scipio mounted, when, repelling calumny by glory, he entered thetemple to return thanks to the gods for the victories which he hadgained. But these new steps, this new Capitol, has been built upon theruins of the old, in order to receive the peaceable magistrate who bearsin himself alone the immense title of Roman Senator, formerly an objectof respect to the whole universe. Here we have no longer any thing butnames; yet their harmony, their ancient dignity, inspire us with apleasing sensation, mingled with regret. I asked a poor woman, whom Imet the other day, where she lived? '_At the Tarpeian Rock_, ' answeredshe. This word, however stripped of the ideas which formerly attached toit, still vibrates upon the imagination. "

Oswald and Corinne stopped to contemplate the two lions of basalt at thefoot of the steps[11]. They came from Egypt. The Egyptian sculptors weremore happy in seizing the figure of animals than that of man. Theselions of the Capitol are nobly peaceful, and their physiognomy is thetrue image of tranquillity in strength. 

 "A guisa di leon, quando si posa. " DANTE. 

 "_In the manner of the lion, when he reposes. _"

Not far from these lions is a statue of Rome, mutilated, which themodern Romans have placed there, without thinking that they were thusgiving the most perfect emblem of their city as it now is. This statuehas neither head nor feet, but the body and the drapery which stillremain have something of their ancient beauty. At the top of the stepsare two colossal figures which represent as it is believed Castor andPollux; then the trophies of Marius; then two milliary columns whichserved for the admeasurement of the Roman universe; and the equestrianstatue of Marcus Aurelius, noble and calm in the midst of these severalrecollections. Thus, the whole Roman history is here emblematicallyrepresented: The heroic age by the Dioscuri; the republic by the lions;the civil wars by Marius; and the golden age of the emperors by MarcusAurelius. 

Advancing towards the modern Capitol, we see to the right and to theleft two churches, built on the ruins of the temples of the Feretrianand Capitoline Jupiter. Before the vestibule is a fountain, over whichpreside two rivers, the Nile and the Tiber, with the she-wolf ofRomulus. The name of the Tiber is not pronounced like that of ingloriousrivers; it is one of the pleasures of the Romans, to say, "_Conduct meto the borders of the Tiber; let us cross the Tiber. _" In pronouncingthese words they seem to invoke history and to re-animate the dead. Ingoing to the Capitol, by way of the Forum, we find, to the right, theMamertine prisons. --These prisons were at first constructed by AncusMartius, and were then employed for ordinary criminals. But ServiusTullius caused more horrid ones to be dug under ground for statecriminals, as if such prisoners were not those who deserve mostconsideration, since their errors might be united with sincerity. Jugurtha and the accomplices of Cataline perished in these prisons. Itis also said that St Peter and St Paul have been incarcerated in them. On the other side of the Capitol is the Tarpeian Rock, and at the footof this rock we find at the present time a hospital, called The Hospitalof Consolation. It seems that thus in Rome the severe spirit ofantiquity and the mildness of Christianity meet each other throughoutthe ages, and present themselves to our sight as well as to ourreflection. 

When Oswald and Corinne had reached the top of the tower of the Capitol, she showed him the Seven Hills; the city of Rome bounded at first byMount Palatine, then by the walls of Servius Tullius, which enclose theSeven Hills; lastly by the walls of Aurelian, which still serve as anenclosure to the greatest part of Rome. Corinne recalled to mind theverses of Tibullus and Propertius[12], who are proud of the weakbeginnings whence has sprung the mistress of the world. Mount Palatinewas in itself the whole of Rome for some time, but afterwards the palaceof the Emperors filled the space which had before sufficed for a nation. A poet, in the time of Nero, made the following epigram upon thisoccasion. [13] _Rome will soon be only a palace. Go to Veii Romans, ifthis palace does not now occupy Veii itself. _

The Seven Hills are infinitely less elevated than formerly when theydeserved the name of the Steep Mountains. Modern Rome is raised fortyfeet above the ancient city. The valleys which separated the hills arealmost filled up by time with the ruins of edifices; but what is moresingular yet, a heap of broken vases has raised two new hills;[14] andwe almost discover an image of modern times, in this progress, or ratherthis wreck of civilisation, levelling mountains with valleys, effacingin the moral as well as the physical world all those beautifulinequalities produced by nature. 

Three other hills, [15] not comprised in the seven famous ones, givesomething picturesque to the city of Rome, which perhaps is the onlycity that of itself, and in its own boundaries, offers the mostmagnificent points of observation. It presents such a remarkable mixtureof ruins, edifices, fields and deserts, that we may contemplate Rome onall sides, and always find a striking picture in the oppositeperspective. 

Oswald could never feel tired of viewing the traces of ancient Rome fromthe elevated point of the Capitol to which Corinne had conducted him. The reading of history, and the reflections which it excites, produce aless powerful effect upon the soul than those heaps of stones, thoseruins mingled with new habitations. So strongly do our eyes carryconviction to the mind, that after having beheld these ruins of Rome webelieve the history of the ancient Romans as if we had been cotemporarywith them. The recollections of the mind are acquired by study; therecollections of the imagination are born of a more immediate andintimate impression, which gives body to thought, and renders us, if Imay so express it, witnesses of what we have learnt. Undoubtedly one isvexed sometimes at those modern buildings which intrude themselves amongthe venerable spoils of antiquity. But a portico by the side of a humblecottage, pillars, between which appear the little windows of a church, atomb affording an asylum to a whole rustic family, produce anindescribable mixture of great and simple ideas, a newly-discoveredpleasure which inspires a continual interest. The greater part of ourEuropean cities have externally a common and prosaic appearance; andRome, oftener than any other, presents the melancholy aspect of miseryand degradation; but all of a sudden a broken column, a bas-reliefhalf-destroyed, stones knit together in the indestructible manner of theancient architects, remind us that there is in man an eternal power, adivine spark, which he must never cease to excite in himself and revivein others. 

This Forum, whose enclosure is so narrow in compass, and which haswitnessed so many astonishing things, is a striking proof of the moralgreatness of man. When the universe, in the latter times of Rome, wassubjected to inglorious masters, we find whole centuries, of whichhistory has scarcely preserved any events; and this Forum, this littlespace in the centre of a city, at that time very circumscribed, whoseinhabitants were fighting all around them for their territory, has itnot occupied by the memories which it recalls, the most sublime geniusesof every age! Honour then, eternal honour, to nations, courageous andfree, since they thus captivate the admiration of posterity!

Corinne observed to Lord Nelville that there were very few remains ofthe Republican age to be found at Rome. The aqueducts, the canals formedunder ground, for the distribution of water, were the only luxury of theRepublic and the kings who preceded it. They have only left us usefuledifices: tombs raised to the memory of their great men, and sometemples of brick, which still subsist. It was not until after theconquest of Sicily that the Romans for the first time made use of marblefor their monuments; but it is sufficient to behold places where greatactions have occurred, to experience an indefinable emotion. It is tothis disposition of the soul that we must attribute the religious powerof pilgrimages. Celebrated countries of every kind, even when strippedof their great men and of their monuments, preserve their effect uponthe imagination. What struck our sight no longer exists, but the charmof recollection remains. 

This Forum no longer presents us with any trace of that famous Tribune, from which the Roman people were governed by eloquence. Three pillarsremain of a temple, raised by Augustus in honour of Jupiter Tonans, whenthe thunderbolt fell at his feet without striking him, and an archwhich the senate raised to Septimus Severus in reward of his exploits. The names of his two sons, Caracalla and Geta, were inscribed on thefronton of the arch; but when Caracalla had assassinated Geta he causedhis name to be erased, and some traces of the cancelled letters arestill to be seen. At some distance is a temple to Faustina, a monumentof the blind weakness of Marcus Aurelius; a temple to Venus which, inthe time of the republic, was consecrated to Pallas--and farther on, theruins of a temple dedicated to the Sun and Moon, built by the EmperorAdrian, who was jealous of Apollodorus, the famous Grecian architect, and put him to death for having found fault with the proportions of hisedifice. 

On the other side of the square we behold the ruins of some monumentsconsecrated to nobler and purer aims. The pillars of a temple which isbelieved to have been that of Jupiter Stator, who prevented the Romansfrom ever flying before their enemies. A pillar remaining of the Templeof Jupiter Guardian, placed, we are told, not far from the abyss intowhich Curtius precipitated himself. Pillars also of a temple, raised, some say, to Concord, others to Victory. Perhaps these two ideas areconfounded by conquering nations, who probably think no real peace canexist till they have subdued the universe! At the extremity of MountPalatine is a beautiful triumphal arch, dedicated to Titus, for theconquest of Jerusalem. We are informed that the Jews who are at Romenever pass under this arch, and a little path is shewn which they taketo avoid it. It is to be wished, for the honour of the Jews, that thisanecdote may be true; long recollections suit long misfortunes. 

Not far from thence is the arch of Constantine, embellished with somebas-reliefs taken away from the forum of Trajan, by the Christians, whowished to adorn the monument consecrated to the _founder of repose_; sothey called Constantine. The arts at this epoch were already on thedecline, and they stripped the past to honour new exploits. Thesetriumphal gates, which are seen at Rome, give perpetuity as much as mancan give it, to the honours paid to glory. There was a place upon theirsummits destined for flute and trumpet players, in order that the victorwhen passing might be intoxicated at the same time by music and praise, and taste at the same moment all the most exalted emotions. 

Facing these triumphal arches are the ruins of the temple of Peace builtby Vespasian; it was so decorated with brass and with gold, internally, that when consumed by fire, the streams of burning metal that flowedfrom it extended even to the Forum. Lastly, the Coliseum, the mostbeautiful ruin of Rome, terminates this noble enclosure, which embracesall history in its compass. This superb edifice, of which only thestones remain, stript of the gold and the marble, served as anamphitheatre for the combats of the gladiators, with wild beasts. It wasthus that the Roman people were amused and deceived by strong emotions, when natural sentiments could no longer soar. The entrance to theColiseum is by two doors, one consecrated to the victors, and by theother were carried out the dead: strange contempt for the human race, which made the life or death of man dependent upon the pastime of apublic spectacle! Titus, the best of emperors, dedicated the Coliseum tothe Roman people, --and these admirable ruins bear such fine traits ofmagnificence and genius, that we are led into an illusion on the subjectof true greatness, and tempted to grant that admiration to themasterpieces of art, which is only the due of monuments consecrated togenerous institutions. 

Oswald did not indulge in that admiration which Corinne felt incontemplating these four galleries; these four edifices, rising oneupon another; this medley of pomp and barbarism, which at once inspiresrespect and compassion. He beheld in these scenes nothing but the luxuryof the master, and the blood of the slaves, and felt indignant at thearts which, regardless of their aim, lavish their gifts upon whateverobject they may be destined for. Corinne endeavoured to combat thisdisposition:--"Do not, " said she, to Lord Nelville, "carry the rigour ofyour principles of morality and justice into the contemplation of theItalian monuments; they, for the most part, recall, as I have told you, rather the splendour, the elegance of taste of ancient forms, than theglorious epoch of Roman virtue. But do you not find some traces of themoral greatness possessed by the first ages, in the gigantic luxury ofthe monuments which have succeeded them? Even the degradation of theRoman people still commands respect: the mourning of her liberty coversthe world with wonders, and the genius of ideal beauty seeks to consoleman for the true and real dignity which he has lost. Behold thoseimmense baths, open to all those who were willing to taste orientalvoluptuousness--those circuses destined for the elephants which werebrought there to combat with tigers, and those aqueducts which in amoment converted the amphitheatre into a lake, where galleys too foughtin their turn, and crocodiles appeared where lions were seenbefore:--such was the luxury of the Romans when luxury was their pride!Those obelisks which were brought from Egypt, stolen from Africanshades, in order to adorn the Roman sepulchres; that population ofstatues which formerly existed in Rome cannot be looked upon in the samelight as the useless pageantry of the Asiatic despots: it is the Romangenius which conquered the world, and to which the arts have given anexternal form. There is something supernatural in this magnificence, and its poetical splendour makes us forget its origin and its aim. "

The eloquence of Corinne excited the admiration of Oswald withoutconvincing him; he sought for some moral sentiment in all this, withoutwhich all the magic of the arts could not satisfy him. Corinne thenrecollected that in this very amphitheatre the persecuted Christiansdied victims of their perseverance, and showing Lord Nelville the altarswhich are raised in honour of their ashes, as well as the path of thecross, which is trodden by penitents, at the foot of the mostmagnificent wrecks of worldly grandeur, asked him if the ashes ofmartyrs conveyed no language to his heart? "Yes, " cried he, "I deeplyadmire the triumph of the soul and of the will over the pains of death. A sacrifice, whatever it may be, is nobler and more difficult than allthe flights of the soul and of thought. --An exalted imagination mayproduce miracles of genius, but it is only in devoting ourselves to ouropinion or to our sentiments that we are truly virtuous;--it is thenalone that a celestial power subdues the mortal man in us. "

This language, so noble and so pure, yet gave uneasiness to Corinne. Shelooked at Nelville--then cast down her eyes--and though, at that moment, he took her hand and pressed it against his heart, she shuddered at theidea that such a man could sacrifice others or himself to the worship ofopinions, of principles, or of duties, which he might have chosen. 

FOOTNOTES:

[11] Mineralogists affirm that these lions are not of basalt, becausethe volcanic stone to-day known under that name could not have existedin Egypt; but as Pliny calls the Egyptian stone out of which these lionshave been carved, basalt, and as Winckelmann, the historian of the arts, also retains this appellation, I have deemed myself justified in usingit in its primitive acceptation. 

[12] "Carpite nunc, tauri, de septem collibus herbas, Dum licet. Hic magnæ jam locus urbis erit. " TIBULLUS. 

 "Hoc quodcunque vides hospes quam maxima Roma est, Ante Phrygem Enean collis et herba fuit. " PROPERTIUS, Book IV. El. 1. 

[13] Roma domus fiet: Veios migrate, Quirites; Si non et Veios occupat ista domus. 

[14] Mounts Citorio and Testacio. 

[15] The Janicula, Mount Vaticano and Mount Mario. 

Chapter v. 

After the excursion to the Capitol and the Forum, Corinne and Nelvillespent two days in visiting the Seven Hills. The Romans formerly observeda festival in honour of them. These hills, enclosed in her bosom, areone of the original beauties of Rome; and we may easily conceive whatdelight was experienced by feelings attached to their native soil, incelebrating this singularity. 

Oswald and Corinne, having seen the Capitoline Hill the day before, began their walks by Mount Palatine; it was entirely occupied by thepalace of the Cæsars, called _the golden palace_. This hill offersnothing to our view, at present, but the ruins of that palace. The foursides of it were built by Augustus Tiberius, Caligula, and Nero; but thestones, covered with fertile plants, are all that now remain of it:Nature has there resumed her empire over the labours of man, and thebeauty of the flowers consoles us for the destruction of the palace. Theluxury of the times of the kings and of the Republic only consisted inpublic edifices; private houses were very small, and very simple. Cicero, Hortensius, and the Gracchi, dwelt upon Mount Palatine, which, at the decline of Rome, was scarcely sufficient for the abode of asingle man. In the latter ages, the nation was nothing more than ananonymous crowd, merely designated by the era of its master. We look invain here for the two laurels planted before the door of Augustus, thelaurel of war, and that of the fine arts cultivated by peace; both havedisappeared. 

There is still remaining, on Mount Palatine, some chambers of the Bathsof Livia; we are there shown the holes which contained the preciousstones that were then lavished upon ceilings, as a common ornament, andpaintings are to be seen there whose colours are yet perfectlyuntouched; the fragility of the colours adds to our astonishment atseeing them preserved, and seems to carry us back nearer to past ages. If it be true that Livia shortened the days of Augustus, it is in one ofthese rooms that the crime was conceived, and the eyes of the sovereignof the world, betrayed in his most intimate affections, were perhapsfixed upon one of those pictures whose elegant flowers still remain[16]. What, in old age, were his thoughts upon his life and his pomp? Did herecall to mind his proscriptions or his glory? Did he hope, or did hefear a world to come? Does the last thought, which reveals everything toman; does the last thought of a master of the universe still wanderbeneath these vaults?

Mount Aventine offers more traces than any other of the first periods ofthe Roman History. Exactly opposite the Palace, raised by Tiberius, wesee the ruins of the Temple of Liberty, which was built by the father ofthe Gracchi. At the foot of Mount Aventine stood the temple dedicated tothe Fortune of men by Servius Tullius, to thank the gods for havingraised him from the condition of a slave to the rank of a king. Withoutthe walls of Rome we find also the ruins of a temple, which wasconsecrated to the Fortune of women when Veturia stopped the progress ofCoriolanus. Opposite Mount Aventine is Mount Janicula, on which Porsennaplaced his army. It was opposite this Mount that Horatius Cocles causedthe bridge leading to Rome to be cut away behind him. The foundation ofthis bridge is still to be seen; there stands on the bank of the river atriumphal arch, built of brick, as simple as the action which it recallswas grand; this arch having been raised, it is said, in honour ofHoratius Cocles. In the middle of the Tiber is perceived an islandformed of sheaves of corn gathered in the fields of Tarquin, which werea long time exposed on the river because the Roman people would not takethem, believing that they should entail bad fortune on themselves by sodoing. It would be difficult in our days to cast a malediction uponriches of any sort which could prevent everybody from seizing them. 

On Mount Aventine were placed the temple of patrician, and that ofplebeian modesty. At the foot of this hill is seen the temple of Vesta, which yet remains whole, though it has been often menaced by theinundations of the Tiber. Not far from thence is the ruin of a prisonfor debt, where it is said a fine trait of filial piety was displayed, which is pretty generally known. It was also in this place that Cleliaand her companions, prisoners of Porsenna, crossed the Tiber in order torejoin the Romans. This Aventine Mount affords the soul repose after thepainful reflections which the other hills awaken, and its aspect is asbeautiful as the memories it recalls. The name of _Pulchrum Littus_, Beautiful Shore, was given to the banks of the river, which rolls at itsfoot, which was the walk of the Roman orators when they quitted theforum--it was there that Cæsar and Pompey met like private citizens, andsought to captivate Cicero whose independent eloquence was then of moreimportance to them than even the power of their armies. 

Poetry too lends its aid to embellish this retreat; Virgil has placedthe cavern of Cacus upon Mount Aventine, and the Romans, so great bytheir history, are still more so by the heroic fictions with which thebards have decorated their fabulous origin. Lastly, in returning fromthis mountain is seen the house of Nicholas Rienzi, who vainlyendeavoured to revive ancient times among the moderns, and this memento, feeble as it is, by the side of so many others, gives birth to muchreflection. Mount Cælius is remarkable because there we behold theremains of the Prætorian camp, and that of the foreign soldiers. Thisinscription has been found in the ruins of the edifice built for thereception of these soldiers:--"To the hallowed genius of foreign camps!"Hallowed indeed, for those whose power it maintained! What remains ofthese ancient barracks, enables us to judge that they were built afterthe manner of cloisters, or rather, that cloisters have been built upontheir model. 

Mount Esquiline was called the _Poets' Mount_, because Mecenas havinghis palace on this hill, Horace, Propertius and Tibullus dwelt therealso. Not far from here are the ruins of the Thermæ of Titus, and ofTrajan. It is believed that Raphael took the model of his arabesquesfrom the fresco paintings of the Thermæ of Titus. It is there, also, that was discovered the group of the Laocoon. The freshness of wateraffords such pleasure in hot countries that delight is taken inassembling together all the pomp of luxury, and every enjoyment of theimagination, in the places appropriated for bathing. It was there thatthe Romans exposed their masterpieces of painting and of sculpture. Theywere seen by the light of lamps, for it appears by the construction ofthese buildings, that daylight never entered them: they wished thus topreserve themselves from the rays of the sun, so burning in the south:the sensation they produce must certainly have been the cause of theancients calling them the darts of Apollo. It is reasonable to suppose, from observing the extreme precaution of the ancients to guard againstheat, that the climate was then more burning than it is in our days. Itis in the Thermæ of Caracalla, that were placed the Hercules Farnese, the Flora, and the group of Dirce. In the baths of Nero near Ostia wasfound the Apollo Belvedere. Is it possible to conceive that incontemplating this noble figure Nero did not feel some generousemotions?

The Thermæ and the Circuses are the only kind of buildings appropriatedto public amusements of which there remain any relics at Rome. There isno theatre except that of Marcellus whose ruins still exist. Plinyrelates that there were three hundred and sixty pillars of marble, andthree thousand statues employed in a theatre, which was only to last afew days. Sometimes the Romans raised fabrics so strong that theyresisted the shock of earthquakes; at others they took pleasure indevoting immense labour to buildings which they themselves destroyed assoon as their feasts were over; thus they sported with time in everyshape. Besides, the Romans were not like the Greeks--influenced by apassion for dramatic representations. It was by Grecian work, andGrecian artists, that the fine arts flourished at Rome, and Romangreatness expressed itself rather by the colossal magnificence ofarchitecture than by the masterpieces of the imagination. This giganticluxury, these wonders of riches, possess great and characteristicdignity, which, though not the dignity of liberty, is that of power. Themonuments appropriated for public baths, were called provinces; in themwere united all the divers productions and divers establishments which awhole country can produce. The circus (called _Circus Maximus_) of whichthe remains are still to be seen, was so near the palace of the Cæsarsthat Nero could from his windows give the signal for the games. Thecircus was large enough to contain three hundred thousand persons. Thenation almost in its entirety was amused at the same moment, and theseimmense festivals might be considered as a kind of popular institution, which united every man in the cause of pleasure as they were formerlyunited in the cause of glory. 

Mount Quirinal and Mount Viminal are so near each other that it isdifficult to distinguish them: it was here that the houses of Sallustand of Pompey, formerly stood; it is here also that the Pope has nowfixed his abode. We cannot take one step in Rome without bringing thepresent near to the past, and different periods of the past near to eachother. But we learn to reconcile ourselves to the events of our owntime, in beholding the eternal mutability of the history of man; and wefeel ashamed of letting our own lot disturb us in the presence of somany ages, which have all overthrown the work of the preceding ones. 

By the side of the Seven Hills, on their declivities or on theirsummits, are seen a multitude of steeples, and of obelisks; Trajan'scolumn, the column of Antoninus, the Tower of Conti (whence it is saidNero beheld the conflagration of Rome), and the Dome of St Peter's, whose commanding grandeur eclipses that of every other object. Itappears as if the air were peopled with all these monuments, whichextend towards Heaven, and as if an aerial city were majesticallyhovering over the terrestrial one. 

On entering Rome again Corinne made Oswald pass under the portico ofOctavia, she who loved so well, and suffered so much; then theytraversed the _Path of Infamy_, by which the infamous Tullia passed, trampling her father's corpse beneath the feet of her horses. At adistance from this spot is seen the temple raised by Agrippina in honourof Claudius whom she caused to be poisoned. And lastly we pass the tombof Augustus, whose enclosure now serves as an amphitheatre for thecombats of beasts. 

"I have caused you to run over very rapidly, " said Corinne to LordNelville, "some traces of ancient history; but you will comprehend thepleasure to be found in these researches, at once learned and poetic, which speak to the imagination as well as to the mind. There are in Romemany distinguished men whose only occupation is to discover some newrelation between history and the ruins. " "I know no study that wouldmore captivate and interest me, " replied Lord Nelville, "if I feltsufficiently at rest to give my mind to it: this species of erudition ismuch more animated than that which is acquired from books: one would saythat we make what we discover to live again, and that the pastre-appears from beneath the dust in which it has been buried. ""Undoubtedly, " said Corinne, "this passion for antiquity is not a vainprejudice. We live in an age when personal interest seems to be the onlyprinciple of all the actions of men, and what sympathy, what emotion, what enthusiasm, can ever result from such a principle? It is sweeter todream of those days of devotion, of personal sacrifice and heroism, which however, have existed, and of which the earth still bears somehonourable testimonies. "

FOOTNOTE:

[16] Augustus died at Nola, on his way to the waters of Brindisi, whichhad been prescribed him; but he left Rome in a dying state. 

Chapter vi. 

Corinne flattered herself in secret with having captivated the heart ofOswald, but as she knew his reserve and his severity, she had not daredmake known to him all the interest he had excited in her heart, thoughshe was disposed, by character, to conceal nothing that she felt. Perhaps also she believed that even in speaking on subjects foreign totheir growing passion there was a tenderness of accent in their voice, which betrayed their mutual affection, and that a secret avowal of lovewas painted in their looks, and in that melancholy and veiled languagewhich penetrates so deeply into the soul. 

One morning, when Corinne was getting ready to continue her walks withOswald, she received a note from him, somewhat ceremonious, informingher that the bad state of his health would confine him at home for somedays. A painful disquietude seized upon the heart of Corinne: she atfirst feared he might be dangerously ill, but the Count d'Erfeuil, whomshe saw at night, told her it was one of those melancholy fits to whichhe was very much subject and, during which he would not speak toanybody. --"He will not see _even me_, " said the Count d'Erfeuil, "whenhe is so. "--This _even me_ was highly displeasing to Corinne, but shewas upon her guard not to betray any symptoms of that displeasure to theonly man who might be able to give her news of Lord Nelville. Sheinterrogated him, flattering herself that a man of so much apparentlevity would tell her all he knew. But on a sudden, whether he wished toconceal from her by an air of mystery that Oswald had confided nothingto him, or whether he believed it more honourable to refuse what wasasked of him than to grant it, he opposed an invincible silence to theardent curiosity of Corinne. She who had always had an ascendency overthose with whom she conversed, could not comprehend why all her means ofpersuasion were without effect upon the Count d'Erfeuil: did she notknow that there is nothing in the world so inflexible as self-love?

What resource remained then to Corinne to know what was passing in theheart of Oswald! should she write to him? The formality it would requirewas too foreign to her open disposition. Three days glided away, duringwhich she did not see Lord Nelville, and was tormented by the most cruelagitation. --"What have I done then, " said she, "to drive him from me? Ihave not told him that I loved him. --I have not been guilty of thatcrime, so terrible in England, but so pardonable in Italy. Has heguessed it? But why should he esteem me the less for it?" Oswald hadonly absented himself from Corinne because he felt the power of hercharms becoming too strong to resist. Though he had not given his wordto espouse Lucilia Edgermond, he knew it was his father's wish that sheshould become his wife, and to that wish he desired to conform. Besides, Corinne was not known by her real name, and had, for several years, leda life much too independent. Such a marriage, Lord Nelville believedwould not have obtained the approbation of his father, and he felt thatit was not thus he could expiate the transgressions he had been guiltyof towards him. Such were his motives for removing himself from thepresence of Corinne. He had formed the project of writing to her onquitting Rome, stating the motives that condemned him to thisresolution; but as he could not find strength to do that, he contentedhimself with abstaining from visiting her, and even this sacrificebecame almost too painful to bear from the second day of his absence. 

Corinne was struck with an idea that she should never behold Oswaldagain; that he would go away without bidding her adieu. She expectedevery instant to receive the news of his departure, and this fear soincreased the agony of her feelings that she felt herself all of asudden seized by passion, that vulture beneath whose talons happinessand independence sink. Unable to endure the house that Lord Nelville nolonger visited, she frequently wandered in the gardens of Rome, hopingto meet with him. The hours so spent were the least insupportable, sincethey afforded some chance of seeing the object of her wanderings. Theardent imagination of Corinne was the source of her talents; but, unfortunately for her, it was united to her natural sensibility, whichoften rendered it extremely painful to her. 

On the evening of the fourth day of this cruel absence, the moon shonebeautifully bright, and the silence of the night gives Rome a fineeffect: it seems then to be inhabited by the shades of its illustriousancients. Corinne, returning from the house of a female friend, oppressed with grief, quitted her carriage, to sit for a few momentsnear the fountain of Trevi; before that abundant cascade, which, fallingin the midst of Rome, seems like the vital principle of this tranquilabode. When this cascade ceases to play for some days, one would saythat Rome is struck with stupor. It is the noise of carriages that weexpect to hear in other capitals; but at Rome, it is the murmuring ofthis immense fountain, which seems to be an accompaniment necessary tothe pensive life people lead there: the image of Corinne was painted inthis stream, so pure, that for several centuries past it has borne thename of the _Virgin Spring_. Oswald, who had stopped in the same place afew moments afterwards, beheld the charming features of his lovereflected in the water. He was seized with so lively an emotion, that hedid not know, at first, whether it was not his imagination whichpresented to him the shadow of Corinne, as it had so often done that ofhis father; he bent towards the fountain to observe more distinctly, when his own countenance was reflected by the side of Corinne's. Sheknew him, uttered a cry, and darting towards him rapidly, seized his armas if she were afraid he would leave her again; but hardly had sheyielded to this impetuous emotion than recollecting the character ofNelville, she blushed at having given him this lively testimony of herfeelings, and letting fall the hand which held Oswald, she covered herface with the other to conceal her tears. 

"Corinne!" said Oswald, "dear Corinne! my absence has then rendered youunhappy!" "Oh yes, " answered she, "you were sure of that! Why then painme! have I deserved to suffer at your hand?" "No, certainly, " criedNelville, "but if I do not think myself free; if I feel in my heart astorm of grief, why should I associate you with such a torture ofsentiment and dread?"--"It is too late, " interrupted Corinne, "it is toolate, grief has already seized upon my bosom--spare me. "--"Do youmention grief?" replied Oswald, "in the midst of so brilliant a career, of such renown, and possessing so lively an imagination?"--"Hold, " saidCorinne, "you do not know me; of all the faculties I possess, the mostpowerful is that of suffering. I am born for happiness, my dispositionis open, my imagination animated; but pain excites in me a certainimpetuosity, powerful enough to disturb my reason or bring me to mygrave; therefore I beseech you, spare me. My gaiety and mobility areonly superficial; but there are in my soul abysses of sadness, which Ican only escape by guarding against love. "

Corinne pronounced these words with an expression that deeply affectedOswald. --"I will come and see you to-morrow morning, " said he. "Do youswear it?" said she, with a disquietude which she vainly endeavoured toconceal. "Yes, I swear it, " cried Lord Nelville, and disappeared. 

Book v. 

THE TOMBS, THE CHURCHES, AND THE PALACES. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

The next day, Oswald and Corinne felt much embarrassed at meeting eachother. Corinne was no longer confident of the love which she inspired. Oswald was dissatisfied with himself; he knew there was a weakness inhis character which sometimes made him feel irritated at his ownsentiments as at a species of tyranny; and both endeavoured to avoidspeaking of their mutual affection. "I have to propose to-day, " saidCorinne, "rather a solemn walk; but one that will certainly prove highlyinteresting: let us go and see the tombs, let us go and see the lastasylum of those who inhabited the monuments whose ruins we havecontemplated. "--"Yes, " answered Oswald, "you have conjectured what willsuit the present disposition of my soul;" and he pronounced these wordsin so dolorous an accent, that Corinne was silent some moments, notdaring to speak to him. But the desire of affording consolation toOswald, and the lively interest she took in every thing they were to seetogether, inspired her with courage, and she said to him: "You know mylord, that, among the ancients, so far was the aspect of the tombs fromdispiriting the living, that they endeavoured to excite a new emulationby placing these tombs on the public roads, in order that by recallingto young people the remembrance of illustrious men, they might silentlyadmonish them to follow their example. " "Ah! how I envy all those, "said Oswald, "whose grief is not mingled with remorse!" "Do you talk ofremorse, " cried Corinne; "you whose only failings, if they may be socalled, are an excess of virtue, a scrupulosity of heart, an exalteddelicacy--" "Corinne, Corinne, do not approach that subject, "interrupted Oswald, "in your happy country, sombre thoughts disappearbefore the lustre of a brilliant sky; but that grief which haspenetrated to the depths of our soul, must for ever sap the foundationof our existence. " "You form an erroneous judgment of me, " repliedCorinne; "I have already told you, that though I am formed by the natureof my character, for lively enjoyment, I should suffer more exquisitelythan you if--" She did not conclude; but changed the discourse. --"Myonly desire, my lord, is to divert your attention for a moment; I hopefor nothing more. " The sweetness of this reply moved Lord Nelville, andseeing a melancholy expression in the looks of Corinne, naturally sointeresting and so full of fire, he reproached himself for havingafflicted a woman, born for the most tender and lively sensations, andendeavoured to atone for it. But the disquietude which Corinneexperienced with regard to the future intentions of Oswald, and thepossibility of his departure, entirely disturbed her accustomedserenity. 

She conducted Lord Nelville outside the gates of the city, where are tobe seen the ancient vestiges of the Appian way. These vestiges areindicated in the midst of the Campagna, by the tombs to the right and tothe left, which extend out of sight for several miles beyond the walls. The Romans would not permit their dead to be buried inside the city: theemperors alone were allowed that privilege. One private citizen, however, named Publius Bibulus, obtained this favour in reward of hisobscure virtues. --Cotemporaries are always more willing to honourvirtues of that description than any other. 

It is the gate of St Sebastian, formerly called _Capene_, that conductsto the Appian way. Cicero tells us, that the first tombs we meet afterpassing this gate, are those of the Metelli, the Scipios, and theServilii. The family tomb of the Scipios has been found in this veryspot and since transplanted to the Vatican. It is almost a sacrilege todisplace the ashes of the dead or to change the aspect of ruins. Imagination is more closely connected with morality than is generallybelieved, and should not be offended. Among so many tombs which strikeour sight, names are ascribed to some without any positive certainty;but even the emotion which this uncertainty inspires will not permit usto contemplate any of these monuments with indifference. There are somein which houses for the peasantry are built; for the Romans consecratedan extensive space and vast edifices to the funereal urns of theirfriends or their illustrious fellow-citizens. They were not influencedby that dry principle of utility which fertilized a few corners of theearth, while blasting with sterility the vast domain of sentiment and ofthought. 

At some distance from the Appian way is seen a temple, raised by therepublic to Honour and Virtue; another to the god who caused Hannibal toturn back, and also the fountain of Egeria, where Numa went to consultthe god of all good men, --conscience interrogated in solitude. It seemsthat about these tombs no traces but those of virtue have subsisted. Nomonument of the ages of crime is to be found by the side of those whererepose the illustrious dead; they are surrounded by an honourable space, where the noblest memories may preserve their reign undisturbed. 

The aspect of the country about Rome has something in it singularlyremarkable: undoubtedly it is a desert, for it contains neither treesnor habitation; but the earth is covered with wild plants which theenergy of vegetation incessantly renews. These parasitic plants glideamong the tombs, adorn the ruins, and seem only there to honour thedead. One would say, that proud Nature has rejected all the labours ofman, since Cincinnatus no longer guided the plough which furrowed herbosom. She produces plants by chance, without permitting the living tomake use of her riches. These uncultivated plains must be displeasing tothe agriculturist, to administrators, to all those who speculate uponthe earth, and who would lay it under contribution to supply the wantsof man. But pensive minds, which are occupied as much by death as bylife, take pleasure in contemplating this Roman Campagna upon which thepresent age has imprinted no trace; this land which cherishes its dead, and covers them lovingly with useless flowers, with useless plants whichcreep upon the earth, and never rise sufficiently to separate themselvesfrom the ashes which they appear to caress. 

Oswald agreed that in this spot the mind felt more calm than it possiblycould any where else; besides, here the soul does not suffer so muchfrom the images that grief presents to it; one seems still to share withthose who are no more, the charms of that air, of that sun, and of thatverdure. Corinne observed the impression that Lord Nelville received, and conceived some hopes from it: she did not flatter herself with beingable to console Oswald; she had not even wished to efface from his heartthe just regret he must feel at the loss of his father; but there is, even in this regret, something tender and harmonious, which we mustendeavour to make known to those who have hitherto only felt itsbitterness; it is the only benefit we can confer upon them. 

"Let us stop here, " said Corinne, "opposite this tomb, the only onewhich remains yet almost whole: it is not the tomb of a celebratedRoman, it is that of Cecilia Metella, a young maiden to whom her fatherhas raised this monument. " "Happy!" said Oswald, "happy are the childrenwho die in the arms of their father and receive death in the bosom ofhim who gave them life; death itself then loses its sting. " "Yes, " saidCorinne; "happy are those not doomed to the wretched lot of orphans. See, arms have been sculptured on this tomb, though it belongs to awoman: but the daughters of heroes may have their monuments adorned withthe trophies of their fathers; what a beautiful union is that ofinnocence and valour! There is an elegy of Propertius which paintsbetter than any other writing of antiquity, this dignity of woman amongthe Romans, more imposing, more pure than the worship paid to themduring the age of chivalry. Cornelia, dying in her youth, addresses toher husband the most affecting consolations and adieus, in which we feelat every word, all that is respectable and sacred in family ties. Thenoble pride of an unspotted life is painted in this majestic poetry ofthe Latins, this poetry, noble and severe as the masters of theworld[17]. '_Yes_, ' says Cornelia, '_no stain has sullied my life fromthe nuptial bed to the funeral pyre; I have lived pure between the twotorches. _' What an admirable expression" cried Corinne; "What a sublimeimage! How worthy of envy is the lot of that woman who has been able topreserve the most perfect unity in her destiny and carries but onerecollection to the grave: it is enough for a life!"

In finishing these words, the eyes of Corinne were filled with tears; acruel sentiment, a painful suspicion seized upon the heart ofOswald. --"Corinne, " cried he, "Corinne, has your delicate soul nothingto reproach itself with? If I were able to dispose of myself, if I couldoffer myself to you, should I have no rival in the past? Should I havereason to be proud of my choice? Would no cruel jealousy disturb myhappiness?"--"I am free, and I love you as I never loved man before!"answered Corinne--"What would you have more?--Must I be condemned to anavowal, that before I have known you I have been deceived by myimagination as to the interest which another excited in me? Is there notin the heart of man a divine pity for the errors which sentiment, orrather the illusion of sentiment, may have led us to commit?" Infinishing these words a modest blush covered her face. Oswald wasstartled; but remained silent. There was in Corinne's look an expressionof repentance and timidity which did not permit him to judge withrigour--a ray from heaven seemed to descend upon, and absolve her! Hetook her hand, pressed it against his heart, and knelt before her, without uttering anything, without promising anything; but contemplatedher with a look of love which gave the utmost latitude to hope. 

"Believe me, " said Corinne, to Lord Nelville--"let us form no plan forthe years to come. The most happy moments are those which a bountifulchance gives us. Is it here then, is it in the midst of the tombs thatwe should think of future days?"--"No, " cried Lord Nelville, "I canthink of no future day that would be likely to part us! these four daysof absence have taught me too well that I now no longer exist but inyou!"--Corinne made no reply to these sweet expressions; but shetreasured them religiously in her heart; she was always fearful that inprolonging the conversation upon that subject most interesting to her, she might draw from Oswald a declaration of his future intentions, before a longer acquaintance might render separation impossible. Sheoften, even designedly, turned his attention towards externalobjects--like that Sultana in the Arabian Tales, who sought by athousand different recitals to awaken the interest of him she loved, inorder to postpone the decision of her fate till her charms and her withad completed their conquest. 

FOOTNOTE:

[17] "Viximus insignes inter utramque facem. " PROPERTIUS. 

Chapter ii. 

Not far from the Appian way, Oswald and Corinne visited the_Columbarium_, where slaves are united with their masters; where areseen in the same tomb, all who lived under the protection of one man orone woman. The women of Livia, for example, they who, appointed to thecare of her beauty, struggled for its preservation against the power oftime and disputed with the years some one of her charms, are placed byher side in little urns. We fancy that we see an assemblage of theobscure dead round one of the illustrious departed, not less silent thanhis train. At a little distance from here, is perceived the field wherevestals, unfaithful to their vows, were buried alive; a singularinstance of fanaticism in a religion naturally tolerant. 

"I will not conduct you to the catacombs, " said Corinne to LordNelville, "though, by a singular chance, they are under this Appian way;tombs thus having their abode beneath tombs; but this asylum of thepersecuted Christians has something so gloomy, and so terrible in it, that I cannot find resolution to return thither. It does not inspire thesame affecting melancholy as more open situations; it is like a dungeonadjoining a sepulchre; the torment of life accompanied with the horrorsof death. Undoubtedly, we feel penetrated with admiration of men who, bythe power of enthusiasm alone, have been able to support thissubterraneous existence; separating themselves from the sun and fromnature; but the mind is so ill at ease in this abode that it isincapable of receiving any improvement. Man is a part of the creation;he must find his moral harmony in the whole system of the universe, inthe usual order of destiny, and certain violent and formidableexceptions may astonish the mind; but they are so terrifying to theimagination that the habitual disposition of the soul cannot benefit bythem. Let us rather, " continued Corinne, "go and see the pyramid ofCestius: the Protestants who die here are all buried around thispyramid, which affords them a mild, tolerant, and liberal asylum. ""Yes, " answered Oswald, "it is there that several of myfellow-countrymen have found their last retreat. Let us go thither; andthus, at least, it may happen that I shall never quit you. "--Corinneshuddered at these words, and her hand trembled as she supported herselfupon the arm of Lord Nelville--"I am better, much better, " said he, "since I have known you. "--The countenance of Corinne was lighted upanew with that sweet and tender joy which it was accustomed to express. 

Cestius presided over the Roman games. His name is not to be found inhistory; but it is rendered illustrious by his tomb. The massive pyramidwhich encloses his ashes, defends his death from that oblivion which hasentirely effaced his life. Aurelian, fearing that this pyramid might beemployed as a fortress to attack Rome, has caused it to be enclosedwithin the walls which are yet standing, not as useless ruins, but asthe actual enclosure of the modern city. It is said that the form ofthe pyramid is in imitation of the flame which ascends from a funeralpyre. It is certain that this mysterious form attracts the eye and givesa picturesque aspect to every perspective of which it forms a part. Opposite this pyramid is Mount Testaceo, under which there are extremelycool grottos where feasts are given in summer. The festivals of Rome arenot disturbed at the sight of tombs. The pines and the cypresses whichare perceived at various distances in the smiling country of Italy, arealso pregnant with solemn remembrances; and this contrast produces thesame effect as the verses of Horace, ----moriture Delli ------------------------------------------ Linquenda tellus, et domus, et placens Uxor, [18]

in the midst of poetry consecrated to every enjoyment upon earth. Theancients have always felt that the idea of death has its pleasures: itis recalled by love and by festivals, and the most lively emotion of joyseems to increase even from the idea of the shortness of life. 

Corinne and Nelville returned from the walk among the tombs, along thebanks of the Tiber. --Once it was covered with vessels and bordered withpalaces; once even its inundations were regarded as presages; it was theprophetic river, the tutelary Deity of Rome[19]. At present, one wouldsay that it rolled its tide through a land of shadows; so solitary doesit seem, so livid do its waters appear. The finest monuments of thearts, the most admirable statues have been thrown into the Tiber, andare concealed beneath its waves. Who knows whether, in order to findthem, the river will not one day be turned from its bed? But when wethink that the masterpieces of human genius are perhaps there beforeus, and that a more piercing eye would behold them through the waves--wefeel that indescribable emotion which incessantly arises at Rome, undervarious forms, and creates a society for the mind in physical objectswhich every where else are dumb. 

FOOTNOTES:

[18] Dellius thou must die--------------------- Thou must quit thy land, thy home, and thy beloved wife. 

[19] PLIN. _Hist. Natur. _ L. Iii. Tiberis . .. Quamlibet magnorum naviumex Italo mari capax, rerum in toto orbe nascentium mercatorplacidissimus, pluribus probe solus quam ceteri in omnibus terris amnesaccolitur aspiciturque villis. Nullique fluviorum minus licet, inclusisutrinque lateribus: nec tamen ipse pugnat, quamquam creber ac subitisincrementis, et nusquam magis aquis quam in ipsa urbe stagnantibus. Quinimo vates intelligitur potius ac monitor auctu semper religiosus veriusquam sævus. 

Chapter iii. 

Raphael has said that modern Rome was almost entirely built with theruins of the ancient city, and it is certain that we cannot take a stephere without being struck by some relics of antiquity. We perceive the_eternal walls_, to use the expression of Pliny, through the work of thelater centuries; the Roman edifices almost all bear a historical stamp;in them may be remarked, if we may so express it, the physiognomy ofages. From the Etruscans to our days, from that people, more ancientthan the Romans themselves, and who resembled the Egyptians by thesolidity of their works and the fantastical nature of their designs, from that people to Chevalier Bernini, an artist whose style resemblesthat of the Italian poets of the seventeenth century, we may observe thehuman mind at Rome, in the different characters of the arts, theedifices and the ruins. The middle ages, and the brilliant century ofthe Medici, re-appear before our eyes in their works, and this study ofthe past in objects present to our sight, penetrates us with the geniusof the times. It was believed that Rome had formerly a mysterious namewhich was only known to a few adepts; it seems that it is yet necessaryto be initiated into the secret of this city. It is not simply anassemblage of habitations, it is the history of the world, figured bydivers emblems and represented under various forms. 

Corinne agreed with Lord Nelville that they should go and visittogether, the edifices of modern Rome, and reserve for anotheropportunity the admirable collections of pictures and statues which itcontains. Perhaps, without accounting for it to herself, she desired toput off till the most distant day possible, those objects which peoplecannot dispense with seeing at Rome; for who has ever quitted it withouthaving contemplated the Apollo Belvedere and the pictures of Raphael?This guarantee, weak as it was, that Oswald should not leave her, pleased her imagination. Is there not an element of pride some one willask, in endeavouring to retain the object of our love by any other meansthan the real sentiment itself? I really do not know; but the more welove, the less we trust to the sentiment we inspire; and whatever may bethe cause which secures the presence of the object who is dear to us, wealways embrace it joyfully. There is often much vanity in a certainspecies of boldness, and if charms, generally admired, like those ofCorinne, possess a real advantage, it is because they permit us to placeour pride to the account of the sentiment we feel rather than to thatwhich we inspire. 

Corinne and Nelville began their observations by the most remarkable ofthe numerous churches of Rome--they are all decorated with ancientmagnificence; but something gloomy and fantastical is mingled with thatbeautiful marble and those festival ornaments which have been taken fromthe Pagan temples. Pillars of porphyry and granite were so numerous inRome that they have lavishly distributed them, scarcely considering themof any value. At St John Lateran, that church so famous for thecouncils that have been held in it, are found such a quantity of marblepillars that many of them have been covered with a cement of plaster tomake pilasters, so indifferent have they become to these riches fromtheir multitude. 

Some of these pillars were in the tomb of Adrian, others at the Capitol;these latter still bear on their capitals the figures of the geese whichsaved the Roman people. Some of these pillars support Gothic, and othersArabian ornaments. The urn of Agrippa conceals the ashes of a Pope; foreven the dead have yielded place to other dead, and the tombs havealmost as often changed their masters as the abodes of the living. 

Near St John Lateran is the holy stair-case, transported, it is said, from Jerusalem to Rome. It may only be ascended kneeling. Cæsar himself, and Claudius also, mounted on their knees the stair-case which conductedto the Temple of the Capitoline Jove. On one side of St John Lateran isthe font where it is said that Constantine was baptised. --In the middleof the square is seen an obelisk, which is perhaps the most ancientmonument in the world--an obelisk cotemporary with the Trojan war!--anobelisk which the barbarous Cambyses respected so much that in honour ofit he put a stop to the conflagration of a city!--an obelisk for which aking pledged the life of his only son!--The Romans have, miraculously, brought this pillar to Italy from the lowest part of Egypt. --They turnedthe Nile from its course in order that it might seek it, and transportit to the sea. This obelisk is still covered with hieroglyphics whichhave preserved their secret during so many ages, and which to this daydefy the most learned researches. The Indians, the Egyptians, theantiquity of antiquity, might perhaps be revealed to us by thesesigns. --The wonderful charm of Rome is not only the real beauty of itsmonuments; but the interest which it inspires by exciting thought; andthis kind of interest increases every day with each new study. 

One of the most singular churches of Rome, is that of St Paul: itsexterior is like a badly built barn, and the interior is ornamented witheighty pillars of so fine a marble and so exquisite a make, that onewould believe they belonged to an Athenian temple described byPausanias. Cicero said--_We are surrounded by the vestiges ofhistory_, --if he said so then, what shall we say now?

The pillars, the statues, the bas-reliefs of ancient Rome, are solavished in the churches of the modern city, that there is one (StAgnes) where bas-reliefs, turned, serve for the steps of a stair-case, without any one having taken the trouble to examine what theyrepresented. What an astonishing aspect would ancient Rome offer now, ifthe marble pillars and the statues had been left in the same place wherethey were found! The ancient city would still have remained standingalmost entire--but would the men of our day dare to walk in it?

The palaces of the great lords are extremely vast, of an architectureoften very fine, and always imposing: but the interior ornaments arerarely tasteful; we do not find in them even an idea of those elegantapartments which the finished enjoyments of social life have given riseto elsewhere. These vast abodes of the Roman princes are empty andsilent; the lazy inhabitants of these superb palaces retire into a fewsmall chambers unperceived, and leave strangers to survey theirmagnificent galleries where the finest pictures of the age of Leo X. Arecollected together. The great Roman lords of the present day, are asunacquainted with the pompous luxury of their ancestors, as theseancestors themselves were with the austere virtues of the Romanrepublic. The country houses convey still more the idea of thissolitude, of this indifference of the possessors in the midst of themost admirable abodes in the world. People may walk in these immensegardens without suspecting that they have a master. The grass grows inthe middle of the walks, and in these very walks are trees fantasticallycut according to the ancient taste that prevailed in France. --What asingular whimsicality is this neglect of the necessary, and affectationof the useless!--But one is often surprised at Rome, and in the greaterpart of the other cities of Italy, at the taste of the Italians forextravagant ornaments, --they who have incessantly before their eyes thenoble simplicity of the antique. They love what is brilliant, muchbetter than what is elegant and commodious. They have in every instance, the advantages and the inconveniences of not living habitually insociety. Their luxury is rather that of the imagination, than the luxuryof actual enjoyment;--isolated as they are among themselves, they cannotdread the spirit of ridicule, which seldom penetrates at Rome intodomestic secrecy; and often, in contrasting the interior with theexterior of their palaces, one would say, that the greater part of theItalian nobility arrange their dwellings more to dazzle the passers-bythan to receive their friends. 

After having surveyed the churches and the palaces, Corinne conductedOswald to the villa Mellini, a solitary garden, without any otherornament than its magnificent trees. From here is seen, at a distance, the chain of the Appenines; the transparency of the air colours thesemountains and throws them forward in the perspective, giving them a mostpicturesque appearance. Oswald and Corinne remained in this spot toenjoy the charms of the sky and the tranquillity of nature. It isimpossible to form an idea of this singular tranquillity without havinglived in Southern countries. On a hot day there is not felt the lightestbreath of wind. The feeblest blade of grass is perfectly still, and theanimals themselves partake of the indolence which the fine weatherinspires: in the middle of the day, you neither hear the hum of flies, the chirping of grasshoppers, nor the song of birds; no object fatiguesitself with useless and trifling agitation; all sleep till storm or thepassions awaken the vehemence of nature, who then rushes withimpetuosity from her profound repose. 

There are in the gardens of Rome, a great number of trees clad inperennial green, which heighten the illusion produced by the mildness ofthe climate during winter. Pines, of a particular elegance, large, tufted towards the top, and interwoven with one another, form a kind ofplain in the air, whose effect is charming when we mount sufficientlyhigh to perceive it. The lower trees are placed beneath the shelter ofthis verdant vault. Two palm trees only are found in Rome which are bothplanted in the gardens of the monks; one of them, placed upon aneminence, serves as a landmark, and a particular pleasure must always befelt in perceiving and retracing in the various perspectives of Rome, this deputy of Africa, this type of a Southern climate more burningstill than that of Italy, and which awakens so many new ideas andsensations. 

"Do you not find, " said Corinne, contemplating with Oswald the countrysurrounding them; "that nature in Italy disposes us more to reverie thanany where else?--It might be said, that she is here more in affinitywith man, and that the Creator uses her as a medium of interpretationbetween his creature and himself. " "Undoubtedly, " replied Oswald, "Ithink so; but who knows whether it may not be the deep feelings oftenderness which you excite in my heart, that render me sensible to allI see?--You reveal to me the emotions and thoughts, which externalobjects can give birth to. I existed but in my heart; you have awakenedmy imagination. But this magic of the universe, which you teach me toknow, will never present me with any thing more lovely than your look, more moving than your voice. " "May the sentiment I now inspire you with, last as long as my life, " said Corinne, "or at least, may my life neversurvive the power of inspiring it!"

Oswald and Corinne terminated their tour of Rome by the Borghese villa. Of all the Roman gardens and palaces, here the splendours of nature andthe arts, are assembled with the greatest taste and brilliancy. Here areseen trees of every kind, and magnificent fountains; an incrediblenumber of statues, vases, and antique sarcophagi, mingled with thefreshness of the youthful nature of the South. The ancient mythologyhere seems revived; the naiades are placed on the borders of rivers, thenymphs in woods worthy of them, the tombs beneath Elysian shades, andthe statue of Esculapius in the middle of an isle, while that of Venusappears to rise out of the waters: Ovid and Virgil might walk in thisenchanting spot, and still believe themselves in the Augustan age. Themasterpieces of sculpture which the palace contains, give it amagnificence ever new. At a distance, through the trees, is perceivedthe city of Rome and St Peter's, the Campagna, and those long arches, the wrecks of aqueducts, which conveyed the springs from the mountainsinto ancient Rome. Everything is there that can excite thought, delightthe imagination, and foster reverie. The most pure sensations areconfounded with the pleasures of the soul, and give an idea of perfecthappiness; but when we ask why this charming abode is not inhabited?they answer you that the malaria (_la cattiva aria_) will not permit anyone to live here during summer. 

This malaria, in a manner, lays siege to Rome; it advances every yearsome steps farther, and they are obliged to abandon the most charminghabitations to its empire: undoubtedly, the absence of trees in thecountry about the city, is one of the causes of it; and it is perhaps, on that account, that the ancient Romans consecrated the woods togoddesses, in order to make them respected by the people. At present, forests without number have been cut down;--can there indeed exist, inour days, any place so sanctified, that the avidity of man will spare itfrom the work of devastation? The malaria is the scourge of theinhabitants of Rome, and threatens the city with an entire depopulation;but perhaps it increases the effect produced by the superb gardens whichare seen within the walls of Rome. The malign influence is not felt byany external sign; you breathe an air which seems pure, and is veryagreeable; the earth is smiling and fertile; a delicious coolnessrefreshes you in the evening after the burning heat of the day; and allthis is death!

"I love, " said Oswald to Corinne, "this mysterious, invisible danger, this danger under the form of the sweetest impressions. If death beonly, what I believe it to be, a summons to a happier existence, whyshould not the perfume of flowers, the umbrage of fine trees, and therefreshing breath of the evening breeze, be the bearers of that summons?Undoubtedly, governments ought to watch in every way over thepreservation of human life; but there are secrets in nature which theimagination alone can penetrate; and I easily conceive that neither theinhabitants nor the strangers who visit it, are disgusted with Rome, bythe species of peril to which they are exposed there during the mostbeautiful seasons of the year. "

Book vi. 

THE MANNERS AND CHARACTER OF THE ITALIANS. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

The indecision of Oswald's character, increased by his misfortunes, ledhim to dread forming any irrevocable resolve. He had not even dared, inhis state of irresolution, to ask of Corinne the secret of her name anddestiny; nevertheless, his love acquired every day new strength; henever beheld her without emotion; in company he could hardly quit, evenfor an instant, the place where she was seated; she did not speak a wordthat he felt not; nor did she experience one moment's sadness or gaiety, that was not reflected in his countenance. But in the midst of hisadmiration and of his love for Corinne, he recollected how little such awoman agreed with the English manner of living; how much she differedfrom the idea which his father had formed of her whom it would be properfor him to espouse; and all that he said to Corinne partook of thetrouble and constraint which these reflections caused him. 

Corinne perceived this too well; but it would have cost her so much tobreak off with Lord Nelville, that she herself endeavoured to avoid, asmuch as he, a decisive explanation; and as she was not possessed of muchforesight she was happy with the present, such as it was, although itwas impossible for her to know what would be the issue of it. 

She had become entirely divided from the world, in order to devoteherself entirely to her passion for Oswald. But at length, so muchaffected was she at his silence with regard to the future, that sheresolved to accept an invitation for a ball to which she had beenpressingly solicited. Nothing is more common at Rome than to leavesociety and to appear in it again, alternately, just as the parties feelit agreeable to themselves: it is the country where people trouble theirminds the least with what is elsewhere called _gossip_; each one does ashe pleases, without any person enquiring about it, or at least, withoutfinding in others any obstacle either to his love or his ambition. TheRomans are as inattentive to the conduct of their fellow-countrymen, asto that of strangers, who pass and repass through their city, therendezvous of Europeans. When Lord Nelville knew that Corinne was goingto the ball, he was vexed at it. He thought he had perceived in her forsome time a melancholy disposition in sympathy with his own: all on asudden she appeared to him to be taken up with dancing, an art in whichshe excelled; and her imagination seemed fired at the approach of a_féte_. Corinne was not frivolous by character; but she felt herselfevery day more and more enslaved by her love for Oswald, and she wouldfain endeavour to weaken its force. She knew by experience, thatreflection and sacrifices have less effect upon passionate charactersthan dissipation, and she thought that reason did not consist inconquering ourselves according to rules, but by doing so how we can. 

"I must, " said she to Lord Nelville, who reproached her with herintention of going to the ball, "I must know, however, if there be onlyyou in the world who can fill the void of my life; if that which pleasedme formerly may not still have the power to amuse me; and if thesentiment you have inspired me with must absorb every other interest, every other idea. "--"You would then cease to love me?" repliedOswald. --"No;" answered Corinne, "but it is only in domestic life thatit could be pleasing to me to feel thus governed by a single affection. To me who need my talents, my mind, and my imagination, to support thelustre of that kind of life which I have adopted, it must bepainful--extremely painful to love as I love you. "--"You would notsacrifice to me then, " said Oswald to her, "this homage and thisglory. "--"Of what importance can it be to you, " said Corinne, "to knowwhether or not I would sacrifice them to you? Since we are notabsolutely destined for one another, it would not be prudent to let thathappiness with which I must be satisfied, wither for ever. "--LordNelville made no answer, because it was necessary, in expressing hissentiments, to avow also the purpose they inspired, and of this his ownheart was still in ignorance. He was silent therefore, and sighing, followed Corinne to the ball, whither he went with much reluctance. 

It was the first time since his calamity that he had seen a largeassembly; and the tumult of a _féte_ caused him such an impression ofsadness that he remained a long time in a room contiguous to thatappropriated for the ball, his head supported on his hand, not evencurious to behold Corinne dance. He listened to the festive music, whichlike every other music, produces reverie, though only intended toinspire joy. The Count d'Erfeuil arrived, quite enchanted at the sightof a ball, which produced in him some recollections of France. --"I havetried all I could, " said he to Lord Nelville, "to discover somethinginteresting in these ruins of which they talk so much, and I can reallyfind no charm in them. It must be the effect of a very great prejudiceto admire those heaps of rubbish covered with thorns. I shall speak mymind of them when I return to Paris, for it is time that this Italiandelusion should cease. There is not a monument now standing whole in anypart of Europe, that I would not sooner see than those old stumps ofpillars, those bas-reliefs, all black with time, which can only beadmired by dint of erudition. A pleasure which must be bought with somuch study, does not appear to me very lively in itself--to be charmedwith the sights of Paris, nobody need grow pale over books. " LordNelville made no reply. --The Count interrogated him afresh, as to theimpression that Rome produced on him. "In the midst of a ball, " saidOswald, "is not the most proper time for serious conversation on thissubject; and you know that I am incapable of any other. "--"Well andgood:" replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "I am more gay than you I admit; butwho knows whether I am not also the more wise of the two? Believe me, there is much philosophy in my apparent levity: it is the way we shouldtake life. "--"You are perhaps in the right, " answered Oswald, "but it isfrom nature, and not from reflection, that you acquire that way ofthinking; and that is why your manner of taking life may only suityourself. "

The Count d'Erfeuil heard the name of Corinne mentioned in the ballroom, and entered it to know what was going forward. Lord Nelvilleadvanced as far as the door, and beheld the Prince Amalfi, a Neapolitanof the most handsome figure, who besought Corinne to dance with him the_Tarantula_, a Neapolitan dance full of grace and originality. Thefriends of Corinne besought her also to comply with his request. Sheyielded to their desire without waiting to be asked frequently, whichastonished the Count d'Erfeuil, accustomed as he was to the refusalswith which it is customary to precede consenting to a request of thisnature. But in Italy, these kind of graces are unknown, and all believethey please most in society by showing an eagerness to do what is askedof them. Corinne would have invented this natural behaviour if she werenot already accustomed to it. The dress she had chosen for the ball waselegant and light; her hair was gathered up in a fillet of silk, afterthe Italian fashion; and her eyes expressed a lively pleasure, whichrendered her more seductive than ever. Oswald was disturbed at this; hewarred against himself; he was indignant at being captivated with charmswhich he ought to lament, since, far from thinking to please him, it wasto escape his empire that Corinne appeared so attractive. --But who couldresist the seductions of a grace like hers? Were she even disdainful, she would be still more omnipotent; and that certainly was not thedisposition of Corinne. She perceived Lord Nelville, and blushed, whilethere was in her eyes as she looked upon him, a most enchantingsoftness. 

The Prince d'Amalfi accompanied himself, in dancing, with castanets. Corinne before she began saluted the assembly most gracefully with bothher hands, then turning round upon her heel took the tambourine whichthe Prince Amalfi presented her with. She then began to dance, strikingthe air upon the tambourine, and there was in all her motions, anagility, a grace, a mixture of modesty and voluptuousness, which mightgive an idea of that power which the Bayadores exercise over theimagination of the Indians, when, if we may use the expression, they arealmost poets in their dance; when they express so many differentsentiments by the characteristic steps and the enchanting pictures whichthey offer to the sight. Corinne was so well acquainted with all theattitudes which the ancient painters and sculptors have represented, that by a light movement of her arms, sometimes in placing thetambourine over her head, sometimes forward, with one of her hands, whilst the other ran over the little bells with an incredible dexterity, she recalled to mind the dancers of Herculaneam[20], and gave birthsuccessively to a crowd of new ideas for painting and design. 

It was not the French style, characterised by the elegance anddifficulty of the step; it was a talent more connected with imaginationand sentiment. The character of the music was alternately expressed bythe exactitude and softness of the movements. Corinne, in dancing, conveyed to the souls of her spectators what was passing in her own. Thesame as in her improvisation, her performance on the lyre, or theefforts of her pencil, --she reduced everything to language. Themusicians, in beholding her, exerted themselves to make the genius oftheir art felt more exquisitely; a kind of passionate joy, a sensibilityof the imagination, electrified all the spectators of the magic dance, and transported them to that state of ideal existence in which we dreamof happiness that does not exist in this world. 

There is a part of this Neapolitan dance when the lady kneels, whilstthe gentleman moves round her, not as a master, but as aconqueror. --What at this moment were the charms and dignity of Corinne. How regal, even in kneeling, did she appear! And when she arose, striking her aerial cymbal, she seemed animated with that livelyenthusiasm of youth and beauty, which would create a belief that nothingwas wanting to complete her happiness. Alas! it was far otherwise; butOswald feared it, and sighed in the midst of his admiration of Corinne, as if each triumph of her genius was a degree of separation from him: atthe conclusion of the dance, the gentleman kneels in his turn, and thelady dances round him. Corinne in this part, if it were possible, surpassed herself; her step was so light, as she tripped two or threetimes round the same circle, that her buskined feet seemed to fly overthe floor with the velocity of lightning; and when she lifted up one ofher hands, shaking the tambourine, while with the other she motioned thePrince Amalfi to rise, all the male part of the company were tempted tothrow themselves on their knees too, except Oswald, who retired a fewpaces backward, and the Count d'Erfeuil, who advanced a few pacesforward to compliment Corinne. This enthusiasm of the Italians was by nomeans assumed, but was the spontaneous effect of their feelings. Theyare not sufficiently practised in society and in self-esteem to pay muchregard to the effect which their actions will produce; they never letthemselves be thwarted in their pleasures by vanity, nor turned asidefrom the object of their pursuit by applause. 

Corinne was charmed at her success, and thanked all her admirers withthe most simple grace. --The satisfaction she felt at having succeeded sowell, appeared beneath a veil of modesty; but her chief anxiety was tomake her way through the crowd, in order to reach the door against whichthe pensive Oswald was leaning. When she had reached the spot, shepaused to hear what he would say to her:--"Corinne, " said he, endeavouring to conceal his captivation as well as the pain that hefelt: "Corinne, I hope you have met with sufficient homage andsufficient applause; but in the midst of these enthusiastic admirers, have you found one certain and courageous friend--one protector forlife? Can this vain tumult of applause satisfy a heart like thine?"

FOOTNOTE:

[20] It is the dance of Mm. Recamier that gave me the idea of what Ihave attempted to describe. This woman, so celebrated for her grace andbeauty, offers in the midst of her misfortunes the example of sotouching a resignation, and of such a total oblivion of her personalinterests, that her moral qualities seem to everyone as remarkable asher accomplishments. 

Chapter ii. 

Corrine was prevented by the crowd from making any answer to LordNelville. They were going to the supper room, and each _cavaliereservente_ was hastening to seat himself by the side of his partner. Astrange lady entered when all the seats were occupied, and no gentleman, except Lord Nelville and Count d'Erfeuil, made her an offer of his. Thiswas not the effect of impoliteness or of egotism; but the idea which thegreat Roman lords entertain of honour and duty, is not to stir one step, nor be absent one moment from their ladies. Some who were unable to findseats, stood behind the chairs of their mistresses, ready to wait uponthem at the least signal. The ladies only conversed with their gallants;strangers wandered unnoticed about the circle; for the ladies in Italyare unacquainted with coquetry, nor does any vain triumph of self-loveever introduce itself into their tender attachments. They have no desireto please any other than him who possesses their affection; you cannever engage their minds before you have interested their hearts orpleased their eyes, and frequently the most sudden beginnings of passionare followed by a sincere devotion, and even a very long constancy. InItaly, infidelity is more severely condemned in man than in woman. Threeor four gentlemen, under different titles, are followers of the samelady, who leads them about with her, often without even concerningherself to mention their names to the master of the house who receivesthem. One is the favoured suitor--the other he who aspires to be so--athird is called the sufferer (_il patito_); this latter is absolutelydisdained, but nevertheless, permitted to continue his adoration; andall these rivals live peaceably together. The use of the poignard nowonly survives among the common people. There is in this country awhimsical mixture of simplicity and depravity, dissimulation and truth, sincerity and revenge, weakness and resolution, which can only beexplained by constant observation; the reason being that their goodqualities proceed from the fact that nothing is done from vanity, andtheir bad ones from the fact that they will do a great deal forinterest, whether that interest be allied to love, to ambition, or tofortune. 

Distinctions of rank have in general little effect in Italy; this is notfrom philosophy, but their facility of character and familiarity ofmanners. This accounts for the little influence of aristocraticprejudices amongst them; for as society does not pretend to judge ofanything, it embraces the opinions of all. 

After supper the company betook themselves to play. Some ladiespreferred the game of hazard, whilst others chose the silent one ofwhist; and not a word was heard pronounced in that room which so latelywas filled with noise. The inhabitants of the south often pass from thegreatest agitation to the most profound repose: another contrasted partof their character is indolence united to the most unwearied activity. In any individual instance among these people, we must beware of judgingupon a first observation, since we find in them the most oppositequalities: if at one moment they are prudent, perhaps in the next theyshow themselves the boldest of men; if they appear indolent, it is onlybecause they are reposing after some exertion, or preparing for another:their soul loses none of its force in society, but is most probablyconcentrating all its energies for decisive circumstances. 

In this Roman assembly of which Oswald and Corinne formed a part, therewere men who lost enormous sums at play, without betraying in theircountenances the slightest emotion. Had these men been relating somefacts of trifling importance, they would have exhibited the most livelyexpression and the most animated gestures; but when their passionsarrive at a certain pitch of violence, they dread the eye ofobservation, and nearly always conceal them beneath a veil of silenceand apparent apathy. 

The scene of the ball was impressed upon Lord Nelville's memory, associated with bitter resentment; for he feared that the enthusiasm ofthe Italians had, at least for a moment, robbed him of the affection ofCorinne. This rendered him very unhappy; but pride whispered him toconceal it, or discover it only by expressing contempt for the suffragesof those who had flattered the dazzling accomplishments of his mistress. He was invited by the company to make one at play, but he refused. Corinne did the same, and motioned him to come and sit down by her. Oswald expressed himself uneasy, lest he should expose Corinne toobservation by thus passing the whole evening with her in company. "Makeyourself easy on that score, " said she, "nobody will trouble their headswith us: it is the custom here for people to do as they please incompany; we have no established, ceremonious forms to lay one anotherunder an unpleasant restraint, nor do we exact any formal attention; ageneral polite disposition is all that is expected. This is not, certainly, a country where liberty exists such as you understand theterm in England; but we enjoy here a perfect independence in society. ""That is to say, " replied Oswald, "you show a complete disregard formanners. " "At least, " interrupted Corinne, "we show no hypocrisy. M. Dela Rochefoucault has said, '_coquetry is the least of a woman'sdefects_': in truth, whatever may be the faults of women in Italy, theydo not seek to hide them by dissimulation. And if the sacredness ofmarriage be not here sufficiently respected, it is at least with theconsent of both parties. "

"It is not from sincerity that this kind of frankness proceeds, " repliedOswald, "but from indifference to public opinion. When I arrived here, Ihad a letter of recommendation to a princess, which I gave to my Italianservant to deliver; he said to me, '_Sir, it will be of no use todeliver this letter now, for the princess sees nobody; she is_INAMORATA;' and this state of being _in love_, is announced with as muchindifference as any other situation incidental to our existence. Thispublicity cannot be palliated by the plea of extraordinary vehemence ofpassion; several attachments of this sort succeed each other, and are ofequal notoriety. So little are women given to mystery in this respect, that they avow their connections with less embarrassment than those ofour country would feel in speaking of their husbands. It is easy tobelieve that no profound or delicate sentiment is mixed with thissensibility of passion, divested of modesty. Hence it happens that inthis nation, where nothing is thought of but love, there is not a singleromance; because love is here so rapid and so public that it affords nointeresting developments; and to give a true picture of general mannersin this respect, it would be necessary to begin and terminate it in thefirst page. Pardon me, Corinne, " cried Lord Nelville, observing the painthat he gave her; "you are an Italian, and that thought ought to disarmme; but one of the causes of that incomparable grace which distinguishesyou, is the union of all the characteristic charms of different nations. I know not in what country you have been brought up; but it appears tome certain, that you have not passed your whole life in Italy--perhapsin England itself--Ah, Corinne! if that were so, how could you havequitted that sanctuary of modesty and delicacy, for these regions, where not only virtue, but love itself, is so badly understood? It isbreathed in the air; but does it penetrate the heart? Your poetry, inwhich love performs so principal a part, possesses considerable grace, and much imagination; it is ornamented with brilliant pictures, whosecolours are lively and voluptuous. But where will you find that tender, melancholy sentiment, which animates our poetry? What have you that canbe put in comparison with the scene between Belvidera and her husband, in OTWAY; or with that in SHAKESPEARE, between Romeo and Juliet? Butabove all, what have you to compare with those admirable lines ofTHOMSON, in his 'Spring, ' where he paints in such noble and affectingtraits, the happiness of love, when sanctioned by marriage? Have you anysuch marriage in Italy? And can love exist where there is no domesticfelicity? Is it not this happiness which the heart seeks, as possessionis the object of sensual passion? Do not all young and beautiful womenresemble each other, unless the qualities of the mind and soul determinea preference? And what desire is excited by all these qualities?Marriage. That is to say, the association of every thought, and of everysentiment. Illicit love, when unfortunately it exists amongst us, is, ifit may be so expressed, only a reflection of marriage. In suchconnections, that happiness is sought for, which the wanderer cannotfind at home; and infidelity itself is more moral in England thanmarriage in Italy. "

These words were hard: they deeply wounded the sensibility of Corinne;who, rising immediately, her eyes filled with tears, quitted the roomand returned directly home. Oswald was distracted at having offendedher; but it was the irritation of his mind, occasioned by the impressionshe made in the ball, which had betrayed itself in the remarks that hadjust escaped him. He followed her to her abode; but she refused to seehim. He called again the next morning, but in vain: her door was closedagainst him. This protracted refusal to receive Lord Nelville, was notagreeable to the disposition of Corinne; but she was painfully afflictedat the opinion he had expressed of the Italian women; and this veryopinion induced her to form a determination of concealing, for thefuture, if possible, the sentiment that preyed on her heart. 

Oswald, on his side, found, in this instance, that the behaviour ofCorinne was not consistent with her natural simplicity, and he becameconfirmed more and more in the discontent with which the ball hadinspired him; and a disposition of mind was excited from thesecircumstances, capable of struggling against the passion whose empire hedreaded. His principles were rigid, and the mystery which enveloped thepast life of her whom he loved, afflicted him intensely. The manners ofCorinne appeared to him most fascinating, but sometimes too muchanimated by the universal desire of pleasing. He discovered muchnobleness and reserve in her conversation and deportment; but she seemedto indulge in too much latitude of opinion. In fact, Oswald was acaptivated man, hurried away by the passion he felt for his accomplishedmistress, but cherishing in his breast an opponent which combated hisfeelings. Such a situation of mind is frequently attended with muchbitterness. We are dissatisfied with ourselves, and with others. Wesuffer, and feel at the same time that our suffering ought to increase, or at least terminate in a violent explanation, by which one of thosetwo sentiments that lacerate the heart must obtain a complete triumph. 

It was in such a state of mind as this that Lord Nelville wrote toCorinne. His letter was harsh and ungentlemanly. He felt this; butvarious confused emotions impelled him to send it: he was rendered sowretched by these internal conflicts, that he wished, at all hazards, for some circumstance or other to terminate them. 

A report, which had just been communicated to him by the Countd'Erfeuil, though he did not give credence to it, contributed perhaps togive more asperity to his expressions. It was noised about Rome, thatCorinne was about to marry the Prince Amalfi. Oswald knew very well thatshe did not love him, and of course concluded that the events of theball afforded the only foundation for such a report; but he wasconvinced that she had been at home to the Prince on the morning when hehimself was refused admission; and too proud to discover the slightestsentiment of jealousy, he satisfied his discontent by denigrating thenation, for which he beheld with so much pain, Corinne's predilection. 

Chapter iii. 

_Oswald's Letter to Corinne_. 

 _January 24, 1795. _

"You refuse to see me; you are offended at our conversation of the nightbefore last; and you have doubtless formed an intention to open yourdoors in future only to your own countrymen, meaning probably by thismeans, to expiate the fault you have committed in admitting to yoursociety a man of another nation. However, far from repenting mysincerity with respect to the Italians, far from regretting theobservations which I made to you, whom, deluded by phantoms, I wished toconsider as an Englishwoman, I will venture to predict more stronglystill, that you will find neither happiness nor dignity should you makechoice of a husband from that society by which you are surrounded. Iknow not the Italian worthy of you; there is not one by whose allianceyou could be honoured, let him be invested with whatever title he may. Men in Italy are much less estimable than women; for they possess thedefects of the women, in addition to their own. Will you persuade me, that these inhabitants of the South, who so pusillanimously shrink frompain, and pursue the phantom of pleasure with so much avidity, can besusceptible of love? Have you not seen (I have the fact from you) thevery last month, an Italian husband at the play, who but eight daysbefore had lost his wife, and a wife whom he pretended to love? They arehere not more eager to remove the dead from their sight than to effacethe remembrance of them from their mind. The funeral ceremonies areattended to by the priests, as the rites of love are performed by theattendant Cavaliers: ceremonial and custom supply the place of regretand enthusiasm. Lastly, and it is this that principally destroys love, the men of Italy are incapable of inspiring the women with any kind ofrespect: the latter do not feel obliged by the submission of the former, because their character is not dignified with firmness, nor their lifewith serious occupation. In order that nature and social order mayappear in all their beauty, man must be the protector, and woman theprotected; but the protector must adore that weakness which he defends, and reverence the helpless deity, who, like the household gods of theancients, brings happiness to his home. So it might almost be said, thatevery woman is a Sultan, having at her command a seraglio of men. 

The men are here distinguished by that softness and pliability ofcharacter, which properly belongs to women. An Italian proverb says:'_who knows not how to feign, knows not how to live_. ' Is not that awoman's proverb? In truth, how can the manly character be formed upontrue principles of dignity and strength, in a country which affords nomilitary career of glory, which contains no free institutions? Hence itis, that they direct their minds to all the little arts of cunning; theytreat life like a game of chess, in which success is everything. Allthat remains to them from antiquity, is something gigantic in theirexpressions and in their external magnificence; but this baselessgrandeur is frequently accompanied by all that is vulgar in taste, andmiserably negligent in domestic life. Is this, Corinne, the nation whichyou would be expected to prefer to every other? Is this the nation whoseroaring applauses are so necessary to you, that every other destinywould appear dull and congenial compared with their noisy '_bravos_?'Who could flatter himself with being able to render you happy away fromthese dear scenes of tumult? What an inconceivable character is that ofCorinne! profound in sentiment, but frivolous in taste; independent frominnate pride, yet servile from the need of distraction! She is asorceress whose spells alternately alarm and then allay the fears whichthey have created; who dazzles our view in native sublimity, and then, all of a sudden disappears from that region where she is without herlike, to lose herself in an indiscriminate crowd. Corinne, Corinne, hewho is your adorer cannot help feeling his love disturbed by fear!

 "OSWALD. "

Corinne, on reading this letter, was much incensed at the inveterateprejudices which Oswald appeared to entertain of her country. But shewas happy enough in her conjectures, to discover that she owed this tothe dissatisfaction he experienced at the _fête_, and to her refusing tosee him ever since after his final conversation on that evening; andthis reflection softened a little the painful impression which theletter produced upon her. She hesitated for some time, or at least, fancied she hesitated, as to the conduct which she should observetowards him. The tenderness she cherished for this eccentric lover, induced a wish to see him; but it was extremely painful to her that heshould imagine her to be desirous of marrying him, although theirfortunes were at least equal, and although in revealing her name, itwould be easy to show that it was by no means inferior to that of LordNelville. Nevertheless, the independence and singularity of that mode oflife which she had adopted, ought to have inspired her with adisinclination for marriage; and most assuredly she would have repulsedthe idea, had not her passion blinded her to the sufferings she wouldhave to undergo in espousing an Englishman and renouncing Italy. 

We willingly make an offering of pride upon the altar of the heart; butwhen social prosperity and worldly interests oppose obstacles in anyshape, when we can suppose that the object of our love makes any sort ofsacrifice in uniting himself to us, it is no longer possible to show himany alteration of sentiment. Corinne not being equal to a determinationto break off with Oswald, wished to persuade herself of the possibilityof seeing him in future, and yet concealing the passion which she feltfor him. It was in this intention that she came to a determination toconfine herself, in the answer she should send to his letter, merely tohis unjust accusations against the Italian nation, and to reason withhim upon this subject as if it were the only one that interested her. Perhaps the best way in which a woman of intellect can resume hercoldness and dignity, is by seeking an asylum in her own mind. 

 _Corinne to Lord Nelville_. 

 _Jan. 15, 1795. _

"Did your letter, my lord, concern only me, I should not have attemptedthe task of self-justification: my character is so easy to know, that hewho might not be able to comprehend it by himself, would derive littleaid in his scrutiny by any explanation that I could give him on thesubject. The virtuous reserve of the English women, and the graceful artof the French, take my word for it, often serve to conceal one half ofwhat is passing in their souls: that which you are pleased todistinguish in me by the name of magic, is nothing but a sort oftransparency of mind, which allows its different sentiments and opposingthoughts to be seen without labouring to harmonize them; for thatharmony, when it exists, is almost always assumed--most genuinecharacters being by nature inconsequent--but it is not of myself I wishto speak, it is of that unfortunate nation you so cruelly attack. Can itbe my affection for my friends which has inspired you with this bittermalevolence? You know me too well to be jealous of me; indeed I have notthe vanity to believe that a sentiment of this description could havesufficient power to transport you to such a degree of injustice. Yourepeat the opinion of every other foreigner upon the Italian character, when drawn from first impressions; but it requires deeper penetration, and a more patient scrutiny, to be able to form a correct judgment uponthis country, which at different epochs has been so great. Whence comesit that this nation, under the Romans, has attained the highest militarycharacter in the world? that it has been the most jealous of itsliberties, in the republics of the middle ages, and in the sixteenthcentury, the most illustrious in literature, and the arts and sciences?Has she not pursued glory under every form? And if now, alas! she canboast of none, why do you not rather accuse her political situation, since in other circumstances she has shown herself different?

"I know not whether I deceive myself; but the wrongs of the Italiansinspire me with no other sentiment than pity for their lot. Foreignershave in every age conquered and torn asunder this beautiful country, theperpetual object of their ambition; and yet foreigners bitterly reproachthis nation, with the wrongs of a conquered and dismembered country?Europe is indebted to the Italians for the arts and sciences, and shallEurope, turning their own benefits against them, dispute with herbenefactors the only species of renown which can distinguish a nationwithout either military strength or political liberty?

"It is so true that nations derive their character from the nature oftheir government, that in this same Italy, we behold a remarkabledifference of manners in the different states that compose it. ThePiedmontese, who formed a little national body, have a more martialspirit than all the rest of Italy; the Florentines, who have had thegood fortune either to enjoy their liberty, or to be governed by liberalprinces, are mild and enlightened; the Venetians and the Genoese, discover a genius for politics, because their government is a republicanAristocracy; the Milanese are remarkable for their sincerity, whichcharacter they have long since derived from the nations of the north;the Neapolitans might easily become a warlike people, because duringseveral centuries they have been united under a government, veryimperfect it is true, but yet a government of their own. The Romannobility being totally unoccupied with either military or politicalpursuits, must in consequence become indolent and uninformed; but theecclesiastics, having a career of emulation open before them, are muchmore enlightened and cultivated than the nobles, and as the papalgovernment admits of no distinction of birth, and is purely elective inthe clerical body, it begets a sort of liberality, not in ideas, but inhabits, which renders Rome a most agreeable abode for those who haveneither the prospect, nor the ambition of worldly eminence. 

"The nations of the south more easily receive the impression of theirpolitical establishment than those of the north; they possess anindolence which soon softens into resignation, and nature offers them somany enjoyments, that they are easily consoled for the loss of thosewhich society refuses them. There is certainly much depravity in Italy, and nevertheless civilisation is here in a much lower stage ofdevelopment than that of other countries. There is something almostsavage in the character of the Italians, notwithstanding theirintellectual acuteness, which too much resembles that of the hunter inthe art of surprising his prey. And indolent people easily acquire acunning character; they possess a habit of gentleness which serves them, upon occasion, to dissimulate even their wrath: it is always by ourusual manners that we succeed in concealing an unexpected situation. 

"The Italians are sincere and faithful in the private intercourse oflife. Interest and ambition exercise considerable sway among them; butpride and vanity none: the distinctions of rank produce littleimpression. They have no society, no salons, no fashions, no littledaily methods of giving effect to minute circumstances. These habitualsources of dissimulation and envy exist not among them. When theydeceive their enemies and their rivals, it is because they considerthemselves in a state of warfare with them; but in other circumstancesthey are frank and ingenuous. It is this ingenuousness alone that hasscandalised you respecting our women, who, hearing love constantlyspoken of, and surrounded by its seductions and examples, conceal nottheir sentiments, and if it may be so expressed, give even, to gallantrya character of innocence; besides, they have no ridicule to dread fromthat society in which they live. Some of them are so ignorant that theycannot write; this they publicly avow, and answer a billet by means oftheir agent (_il paglietto_) in a formal style on official paper. But tomake amends for this, among those who are well educated, you will findacademy professors who give public lessons in a black scarf; and shouldthis excite a smile, you would be answered, 'Is there any harm inknowing Greek? Is there any harm in earning one's living by one's ownexertions? Why should so simple a matter provoke your mirth?'

"But now my lord, allow me to touch upon a more delicate subject; allowme to enquire the cause why our men display so little military ardour. They expose their lives freely when impelled by love and hatred; and astab from a stiletto given or received in such a cause, excites neitherastonishment nor dread. They fear not death when natural passions bidthem brave its terrors; but often, it must be owned, they prefer life topolitical interests, which seldom affect them because they possess nonational independence. Often too, that notion of honour which descendsto us from the age of chivalry, has little power in a nation whereopinion, and society by which opinion is formed, do not exist; it is anatural consequence of this disorganisation of every public authority, that women should attain that ascendancy which they here possess overthe men, perhaps in too high a degree to respect and admire them. Nevertheless, the conduct of men towards women is full of delicacy andattention. The domestic virtues in England constitute female glory andhappiness; but if there are countries where love exists outside thesacred ties of marriage; that one among these countries where femalehappiness excites the greatest attention and care, is Italy. Here menhave invented moral duties for relations outside the bounds of moralityitself; but at least in the division of these duties, they have beenboth just and generous: they considered themselves more guilty thanwomen, when they broke the ties of love; because the latter had made thegreater sacrifice and lost more. They conceive that before the tribunalof the heart, he is the most guilty who does the most injury. Men dowrong for want of feeling; but women through weakness of character. Society, which is at once rigorous and depraved--that is to say, withoutpity for errors when they entail misfortunes, --must be very severe uponwomen; but in a country which has no society, natural goodness of hearthas freer exercise. 

"Ideas of consideration and dignity are, I agree, less powerful and evenless known in Italy than any where else: the want of society and ofpublic opinion is the cause of it: but notwithstanding all that may besaid of the perfidy of the Italians, I maintain that there is not acountry in the world where more sincerity is to be found. So far is thissincerity from being checked by vanity, that although that country beone of which foreigners speak most ill, there is no country where theymeet with a more kindly reception. The Italians are reproached withbeing too much inclined to flattery; but it must be allowed in theirfavour, that generally, they lavish their soft expressions, not fromdesign, but a real desire to please; nor can it be alleged that theseexpressions are ever falsified by their conduct. But it may be asked, would they be faithful to their friends in extraordinary circumstances, in which it might be necessary to brave for them the perils ofadversity? A very small number, I must own, would be capable of suchfriendship; but this observation will not apply to Italy alone. 

"The Italians are remarkable for that lassitude which distinguishes theeastern nations; but there are no men more active and persevering whenonce their passions are excited. These very women, too, whom you beholdas indolent as the odalisks of a seraglio, upon some occasions give moststriking proofs of attachment. There is something mysterious in thecharacter and the imagination of the Italians, in whom you will find byturns, either unexpected traits of generosity and friendship, or gloomyand formidable proofs of hatred and revenge. They have no emulation, because life to them is only a pleasant summer's dream; but give thosemen a purpose, and you will see them in six months, develop anunrivalled power of will and intelligence. It is the same with women:what ambition can they feel, to excel in education when the ignorance ofthe men renders them insensible to its value? By cultivating their mindstheir hearts would become isolated; but these very women would soonbecome worthy a man of superior mind, if such a man were the object oftheir tender affection[21]. 

"Everything here sleeps: but in a country where great interests aredead, repose and carelessness are more noble than a busy anxiety abouttrifling concerns. 

"Even literature languishes in a country where thought is not renewed bythe strong and varied action of life. --But what nation has testifiedmore admiration for literature and the fine arts than Italy? We areinformed by history, that the popes, the princes, and the people, haveat all times paid to painters, poets, and distinguished writers, themost public homage. This enthusiastic veneration of talent is I confess, my lord, one of the first motives of my attachment to this country. --Wedo not find here that _blasée_ imagination, that discouraging temper ofmind, that despotic mediocrity, which in other countries so effectuallytorment and stifle natural genius. --A happy idea, sentiment, orexpression, sets an audience on fire, if I may say so. By the same rulethat talent holds the first rank amongst us, it excites considerableenvy; Pergolese was assassinated for his _Stabat Mater_; Giorgione armedhimself with a cuirass when he was obliged to paint in public; but theviolent jealousy which talent inspires amongst us, is that which, inother nations, gives birth to power. This jealousy does not degrade itsobject; it may hate, proscribe, and kill, but it is nevertheless mingledwith the fanaticism of admiration, and encourages genius, even inpersecuting it. To conclude; when we see so much life in so confined acircle, in the midst of so many obstacles and so much subjection ofevery kind, we cannot avoid in my opinion taking the deepest interest ina people who inhale, with so much avidity, the little air which theloopholes of imagination allow to enter through the walls that confinethem. 

"That this confinement is such, I will not deny: nor that men rarelyacquire in Italy that dignity, that boldness, which distinguishes freeand military nations. --I will even admit my lord, if you choose, thatthe character of such nations is capable of inspiring women with morelove and enthusiasm. But might it not also be possible, that a noble andinterested man, cherishing the most rigid virtues, might unite in hischaracter every quality that can excite love, without possessing thosewhich promise happiness. 

 "CORINNE. "

FOOTNOTE:

[21] Mr Roscoe, author of the History of the Medici, has recentlypublished an History of Leo X. , which is truly a masterpiece in itskind, in which he relates all those marks of esteem and admiration, which the princes and the people of Italy have conferred ondistinguished men of letters; he also shows, with impartiality, that theconduct of many of the Popes has been, in this respect, very liberal. 

Chapter iv. 

Corinne's letter made Oswald a second time repent the idea he had formedof detaching himself from her. The intellectual dignity, the attractivetenderness with which she repelled the harsh allegations he had madeagainst her country, affected him deeply, and penetrated him withadmiration. A superiority, so grand, so simple, and so true, appeared tohim above all ordinary rules. He felt that Corinne was not the weak, timid woman, without an opinion on any subject beyond the sphere of herprivate duties and sentiments, which he had chosen in his imagination asa partner for life. The remembrance of Lucilia, such as he had beheldher at the age of twelve years, agreed much better with this idea;--butcould any woman be compared with Corinne? Could ordinary laws and rulesbe applied to one, who united in herself so many different qualities, cemented by genius and sensibility? Corinne was a miracle of nature, andwas it not a miracle worked in favour of Oswald, when he could flatterhimself with interesting such a woman? But her real name and conditionwere unknown to him. What would be her future projects were he to avowhis intention of uniting himself to her? All was yet in obscurity; andalthough the enthusiasm with which Corinne had inspired Oswald made himdesirous of espousing her, yet the idea that her life had not beenwholly irreproachable, and that such an union would certainly have beencondemned by his father, threw his soul into confusion, and racked himwith the most painful anxiety. 

He was not now so sunk in grief, as before his acquaintance withCorinne; but he no longer felt that sort of calm, which may evenaccompany repentance, when our whole life is devoted to the expiation ofa crime. Formerly, he was not afraid to abandon himself to hisrecollections, bitter as they were; but now he dreaded those long andprofound reveries, which would have revealed to him what was passing atthe bottom of his soul. In the meantime he prepared to visit Corinne, inorder to thank her for her letter, and obtain pardon for what he hadwritten to her, when Mr Edgermond, a relation of young Lucilia, enteredthe room. 

He was a worthy English gentleman, who had almost constantly resided inWales, where he possessed an estate. He cherished those principles andprejudices which, in every country, serve to maintain things as theyare, and which have a most beneficial tendency, when things are as wellas human reason will permit. When that is the case, such men as MrEdgermond, that is to say, the partizans of established order, thoughstrongly and even obstinately attached to their customs and to theirmanner of thinking, ought to be considered as men of rational andenlightened minds. 

Lord Nelville was startled when he heard Mr Edgermond announced; everyrecollection of the past rushed upon him at once; but as it immediatelyoccurred to his mind that Lady Edgermond, the mother of Lucilia, hadsent her relation to reproach him, and thus restrain his independence, this thought restored his firmness, and he received Mr Edgermond withgreat coldness. However, he wronged his visitor by his suspicions, forhe had not the least design in his head that regarded Nelville. Hevisited Italy for the sake of his health alone; and ever since he hadbeen in the country, he was constantly employed in hunting, and drinkingto King George and Old England. He was the most open-hearted of men, and possessed a much better informed mind than his habits would inducemany to believe. He was a downright Englishman, not only as he ought tobe, but also as one might wish he were not: following in every countrythe customs of his own, living only with Englishmen, and neverdiscoursing with foreigners; not out of contempt to them, but from asort of repugnance to foreign languages, and a timidity, which even atthe age of fifty, rendered him very diffident in forming newacquaintances. 

"I am happy to see you, " said he to Nelville, "I am going to Naples in afortnight and should be glad to see you there, for I have not long tostay in Italy; my regiment will soon embark. " "Your regiment!" repeatedLord Nelville, and blushed as if he had forgotten that he had a year'sleave of absence because his regiment was not to be employed before theexpiration of that period. He blushed at the thought that Corinne couldmake him forget even his duty. "Your regiment, " continued Mr Edgermond, "will not go upon service so soon; so stay here quietly, and regain yourhealth. I saw my young cousin before I set out--she is more charmingthan ever. I am sure by the time you return she will be the finest womanin England. " Lord Nelville said nothing--and Mr Edgermond was alsosilent. Some other words passed between them, very laconic, thoughextremely friendly, and Mr Edgermond was going, when suddenly turningback, he said, "Apropos, my lord, you can do me a kindness--they tell meyou are acquainted with the celebrated Corinne: I don't much likeforming new acquaintances, but I am quite curious to see this lady. ""Since you desire it, I will ask Corinne's permission to introduce you, "replied Oswald. "Do so, I beseech you, " said Mr Edgermond; "and contriveto let me see her some day when she improvises, or dances and sings tothe company. " "Corinne does not thus display her talents to strangers, "said Nelville; "she is your equal and mine in every respect. " "Pardon mymistake, " said Mr Edgermond, "as she is not known by another name thanthat of Corinne, and lives by herself at the age of twenty-six yearsunaccompanied by any part of her family, I thought she derived supportfrom her talents. " "Her fortune is entirely independent, " answered hislordship warmly, "and her mind is still more so. " Mr Edgermondimmediately dropped this subject, and repented at having introduced it, seeing that it interested Oswald. No men in the world have so muchdiscretion and delicate precaution in what concerns the affections, asthe English. 

Mr Edgermond went away. Lord Nelville, when alone, could not helpexclaiming with emotion, "I must espouse Corinne. I must become herprotector, in order to preserve her from obloquy. She shall have thelittle it is in my power to bestow--a rank and a name; whilst she on herpart will confer on me every earthly felicity. " It was in thisdisposition that he hastened to visit Corinne, and never did he enterher doors with sweeter sentiments of hope and love; but, swayed by hisnatural timidity, and in order to recover confidence, he began theconversation with insignificant topics, and of this number was hisrequest for permission to introduce Mr Edgermond. At this name Corinnewas visibly agitated, and with a faltering voice refused what Oswaldsolicited. All astonishment, he said to her, "I thought that in thishouse, to which so many are allowed access, the title of my friend wouldnot afford a motive of exclusion. " "Do not be offended, my lord, "replied Corinne: "Believe that I must have very powerful reasons not toconsent to your desire. " "Ands will you acquaint me with thosereasons?" replied Oswald. "Impossible!" cried Corinne; "Impossible!" "Sothen--" said Nelville, and his emotion rendered him unable to proceed. He was about to depart, when Corinne, all in tears, exclaimed inEnglish, "For God's sake do not leave me unless you wish to break myheart!"

These words, and the tone of voice in which they were uttered, deeplyaffected the soul of Oswald. He sat down again at some distance fromCorinne, supporting his head against a vase of alabaster whichembellished her apartment; then, suddenly, he said to her, "Cruel woman!you see that I love you--you see that, twenty times a day, I am ready tooffer you my hand and my heart; yet you will not inform me who you are!Tell me, Corinne, tell me the story of your past life, " repeated he, stretching his hand to her with the most moving expression ofsensibility. "Oswald!" cried Corinne; "Oswald! you do not know the painyou give me. If I were mad enough to tell you all you would no longerlove me. " "Great God!" replied he; "what have you then to reveal?""Nothing that renders me unworthy of you, " said she; "but fortuitouscircumstances, and differences between our tastes and opinions, whichexisted formerly and which no longer exist. Do not oblige me to confesswho I am. Some day, perhaps--some day, should you love mesufficiently--Ah! I know not what I say, " continued Corinne; "you shallknow all; but do not forsake me before you have heard it. Promise methat you will not, in the name of your father who is now in heaven!""Pronounce not that name, " cried Lord Nelville; "can you fathom his willrespecting us? Think you that he would consent to our union? If you do, declare it, and I shall no longer be racked with doubts and fears. Sometime or other, I will unfold to you my sad story; but behold thecondition you have now reduced me to. " In truth, his forehead wascovered with a cold sweat, his face was pale, and his trembling lipswith difficulty articulated these last words. Corinne, seated by theside of Nelville, holding his hands in hers, gently recalled him tohimself. "My dear Oswald, " said she to him; "ask Mr Edgermond if he hasever been in Northumberland; or at least if he has only been therewithin these past five years. Should he answer in the affirmative he maythen accompany you hither. " At these words Oswald looked steadfastly atCorinne, who cast down her eyes and was silent. "I shall do as youdesire me, " said Lord Nelville, and went away. 

On his return home, he exhausted conjecture upon the secrets of Corinne. It appeared evident that she had passed a considerable time in England, and that her name and family must be known there. But what could be hermotive for concealing them; and if she had been settled in England, whyhad she left it? These questions greatly disturbed the heart of Oswald. He was convinced that no stain would be found in her life; but he feareda combination of circumstances might have rendered her guilty in theeyes of others. What he most dreaded, was her being an object of Englishdisapprobation. He felt sufficiently fortified against that of everyother country; but the memory of his father was so intimately connectedwith the love of his native country, that these two sentimentsstrengthened each other. 

Oswald, having learnt of Mr Edgermond that he had been in Northumberlandfor the first time the preceding year, promised to introduce him toCorinne that evening. Oswald arrived at her house before him, and madeher acquainted with the ideas that Mr Edgermond had conceivedrespecting her, suggesting the propriety of convincing him how much hewas in error, by assuming the most cold and reserved manners. 

"If you permit me, " replied Corinne, "I will be the same to him as toeverybody else; if he desire to hear me, I will improvise before him; infact, I will appear to him as I am, not doubting that he will perceiveas much dignity of soul in this simple and natural behaviour, as if Iwere to put on an air of restraint which would only be affected. " "Yes, Corinne, " replied Oswald, "you are right. Ah! how much in the wrong ishe, who would in the least alter your admirable disposition. "

At this moment Mr Edgermond arrived with the rest of the company. At thecommencement of the evening, Lord Nelville placed himself by the side ofCorinne, and with an interest which at once became the lover and theprotector, he said every thing that could enhance her worth. The respecthe testified for her seemed to have for its object rather to win theattention of others, than to satisfy himself; but it was with the mostlively joy that he soon felt the folly of all his anxiety. Corinneentirely captivated Mr Edgermond--she not only captivated him by hergenius and her charms, but by inspiring him with that sentiment ofesteem which true characters always obtain of honest ones; and when hepresumed to express a wish to hear her upon a subject of his choice, heaspired to this favour with as much respect as eagerness. She consentedwithout for a moment waiting to be pressed, and thus manifested thatthis favour had a value independent of the difficulty of obtaining it. But she felt so lively a desire to please a countryman of Oswald's, aman who by the consideration which he merited might influence hisopinion in speaking of her, that this sentiment suddenly filled her witha timidity which was quite new to her: she wished to begin, but hertongue was suspended by the emotion she felt. Oswald was pained that shedid not dazzle his English friend with all her superiority; his eyeswere cast down, and his embarrassment was so visible, that Corinne, solely engrossed by the effect that she produced upon him, lost more andmore the presence of mind necessary for improvisation. At length, sensible of her hesitation, feeling that her words were the offspring ofmemory and not of sentiment, and that thus she was neither able to paintwhat she thought nor what she really felt, she suddenly stopped and saidto Mr Edgermond, "Pardon me Sir, if upon this occasion timidity hasdeprived me of my usual facility; it is the first time, as my friendscan testify, that I have been below myself; but perhaps, " added she, sighing, "it will not be the last. "

Oswald was deeply affected by the touching failure of Corinne. Till thenhe had always been accustomed to see imagination and genius triumph overher affections and reanimate her soul at the moment when she was mostcast down; but at this time her mind was entirely fettered by feeling, yet Oswald had so identified himself with her fame on this occasion, that he partook of the mortification of her failure, instead ofrejoicing at it. But as it appeared certain, that she would one dayshine with her natural lustre, he yielded to the tender reflections thatarose in his mind, and the image of his mistress was enthroned more thanever in his heart. 

Book vii. 

ITALIAN LITERATURE. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

Lord Nelville felt a lively desire that Mr Edgermond should enjoy theconversation of Corinne, which was more than equivalent to herimprovised verses. The following day the same company assembled at herhouse; and to elicit her sentiments, he turned the conversation uponItalian literature, and provoked her natural vivacity, by affirming thatthe English poets were much superior in energy and sensibility to thoseof which Italy could boast. 

"In the first place, " said Corinne, "strangers are for the most partacquainted only with our poets of the first rank--Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Guarini, Tasso, and Metastasio; whilst we have several others, such as Chiabrera, Guidi, Filicaja, Parini, without reckoningSannazarius, Politian, &c. , who have written in Latin, with as muchtaste as genius; and all unite in their verses the utmost beauty ofcolouring and harmony; all, with more or less talent, adorn the wondersof nature and art with the imagery of speech. Without doubt our poetscannot pretend to that profound melancholy, that knowledge of the humanheart which characterise yours; but does not this kind of superioritybelong more properly to philosophical writers than to poets? Thebrilliant melody of Italian is more suitable to the splendour ofexternal objects than to meditation; our language is better adapted topaint fury than sadness, because sentiments which arise from deepreflection demand more metaphysical expressions, whilst the desire ofvengeance animates the imagination to the exclusion of grief. Cesarottihas produced the best and most elegant translation of Ossian extant; butit seems in reading it that the words possess in themselves an air offestivity that forms a contrast with the sombre ideas of the poem. Wecannot help being charmed with our sweet expressions, --_the limpidstream, the smiling plain, the cooling shade_, the same as with themurmur of the waves, and variety of colours. What more do you expectfrom poetry? Why would you ask of the nightingale, the meaning of hersong? She can only answer you by resuming the strain, and you cannotcomprehend it without yielding to the impression which it produces. Themeasure of verse, harmonious rhymes, and those rapid terminationscomposed of two short syllables whose sounds glide in the manner thattheir name (_Sdruccioli_) indicates, sometimes imitate the light stepsof a dance; at others, more sombre tones recall the fury of the tempestand the clangour of arms. In fact, our poetry is a wonder of theimagination--we must only seek it in the various pleasures which itaffords. "

"It must be allowed, " replied Lord Nelville, "that you explain veryclearly the beauties and defects of your poetry; but how will you defendyour prose, in which those defects are to be found unaccompanied by thebeauties? That which is only loose and indefinite in poetry will becomeemptiness in prose; and the crowd of common ideas which your poetsembellish with their melody and their images, are in prose, cold anddry, while their vivacity of style renders them more fatiguing. Thelanguage of the greater part of the prose-writers of the present day isso declamatory, so diffuse, and so abundant in superlatives, that theirwork seems written to order, in hackneyed phraseology, and forconventional natures; it does not once enter into their heads that towrite well is to express one's thoughts and character. Their style is anartificial web, a kind of literary mosaic, every thing in fact that isforeign to their soul, and is made with the pen as any other mechanicalwork is with the fingers. They possess in the highest degree the secretof developing, commenting, inflating an idea, and, if I may use theexpression, of working a sentiment into a ferment. So much do they excelin this, that one would be tempted to ask these writers, what theAfrican woman asked a French lady, who wore a large pannier under a longdress:--'_Madam, is all that a part of yourself?_' In short, what realexistence is there in all this pomp of words which one true expressionwould dissipate like a vain prestige. "

"You forget, " interrupted Corinne sharply; "first, Macchiavelli andBoccacio; next Gravina, Filangieri, and in our days, Cesarotti, Verri, Bettinelli, and so many others, in short, who know how to write and tothink[22]. But I agree with you that in the latter ages, unfortunatecircumstances having deprived Italy of its independence, its people havelost all interest in truth and often even the possibility of speakingit: from this has resulted the habit of sporting with words withoutdaring to approach a single idea. As they were certain of not being ableto obtain any influence over things by their writings, they were onlyemployed to display their wit, which is a sure way to end in having nowit at all; for it is only in directing the mind towards some nobleobject that ideas are acquired. When prose writers can no longer in anyway influence the happiness of a nation--when they only write todazzle--when, in fact, the road itself is the object of their journey, they indulge in a thousand windings without advancing a step. TheItalians, it is true, fear new thoughts; but that is an effect ofindolence, and not of literary baseness. In their character, theirgaiety, and their imagination, there is much originality; andnevertheless, as they take no pains to reflect, their general ideas donot soar above mediocrity; their eloquence even, so animated when theyspeak, has no character when they write; one would say that labour ofany kind freezes their faculties; it may also be added, that the nationsof the South are fettered by prose, and that poetry alone can expresstheir real sentiments. It is not thus in French literature, " saidCorinne, addressing herself to the Count d'Erfeuil--"your prose writersare often more eloquent, and even more poetic, than your poets. "--"It istrue, " answered the Count, "your assertion can be verified by trulyclassical authorities:--Bossuet, La Bruyère, Montesquieu, and Buffon, cannot be excelled; more particularly the first two, who are of the ageof Louis the Fourteenth, in whose praise too much cannot be said, forthey are perfect models for imitation. They are models that foreignersought to be as eager to imitate as the French themselves. "--"I canhardly think it desirable, " answered Corinne, "for the whole worldentirely to lose their national colouring, as well as all originality ofsentiment and genius; and I am bold enough to tell you Count, that evenin your country, this literary orthodoxy, if I may so express myself, which is opposed to every innovation, will in time render yourliterature extremely barren. Genius is essentially creative; it bearsthe character of the individual that possesses it. Nature, who has notformed two leaves alike, has infused a still greater variety into thehuman soul; imitation is therefore a species of death, since it robseach one of his natural existence. "

"You would not wish, fair stranger, " replied the Count, "that we shouldadmit Teutonic barbarism amongst us--that we should copy Young's NightThoughts, and the _Concetti_ of the Italians and Spaniards. What wouldbecome of the taste and elegance of our French style after such amixture?" Prince Castel-Forte, who had not yet spoken, said--"It seemsto me that we all stand in need of each other: the literature of everycountry discovers to him who is acquainted with it a new sphere ofideas. It was Charles the Fifth himself who said--that _a man who knowsfour languages, is worth four men_. If that great political geniusjudged thus, in regard to the conduct of affairs, how much more true isit with respect to literature? Foreigners all study French; thus theycommand a more extended horizon than you, who do not study foreignlanguages. Why do you not more often take the trouble of learningthem?--You would thus preserve your own peculiar excellence, andsometimes discover your deficiencies. "

FOOTNOTE:

[22] Cesarotti, Verri, and Bettinelli, are three living authors who haveintroduced thought into Italian prose; it must be confessed, that thiswas not the case for a long time before. 

Chapter ii. 

"You will at least confess, " replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "that there isone part of literature in which we have nothing to learn of anycountry. --Our drama is decidedly the first in Europe; for I cannotbelieve that the English would presume to oppose their Shakespeare tous. "--"I beg your pardon, " interrupted Mr Edgermond, "they have thatpresumption. "--And after this observation he was silent. --"In that caseI have nothing to say, " continued the Count, with a smile whichexpressed a kind of civil contempt: "Each one may think as he pleases, but for my part I persist in believing that we may affirm withoutpresumption that we are the very first in dramatic art. As to theItalians, if I may speak my mind freely, they do not appear even tosuspect that there is a dramatic art in the world. --With them the musicis every thing, and the play itself nothing. Should the music of thesecond act of a piece be better than the first, they begin with thesecond act. Or, should a similar preference attach to the first acts oftwo different pieces, they will perform these two acts in the sameevening, introducing between, perhaps, an act of some comedy in prosethat contains irreproachable morality, but a moral teaching entirelycomposed of aphorisms, that even our ancestors have already cast off tothe foreigner as too old to be of any service to them. Your poets areentirely at the disposal of your famous musicians; one declares that hecannot sing without there is in his air the word _felicità_; the tenormust have _tomba_; while a third singer can only quaver upon the word_catene_. The poor bard must make these different whims agree withdramatic situation as well as he can. This is not all; there are actorswho will not appear immediately treading the boards of the stage; theymust first be seen in a cloud, or they must descend the lofty stairs ofa palace, in order to give more effect to their _entrée_. When the airis finished, whatever may be the violent or affecting situation of hischaracter, the singer must bow to the audience in acknowledgment oftheir applause. The other day, in Semiramis, after the spectre of Ninushad sung his air, the representative of this shadowy personage made inhis ghostly costume a low reverence to the pit, which greatly diminishedthe terror of the apparition. 

"They are accustomed in Italy to consider the theatre merely as a largeassembly room, where there is nothing to hear but the airs, and theballet! I am justified in saying _that they listen to nothing but theballet_; for it is only when the ballet is about to begin, that silenceis called for in the pit: and what is this ballet but a masterpiece ofbad taste? There is nothing amusing in the dancing save the comic partof it; the grotesque figures alone afford entertainment, being indeed agood specimen of caricature. I have seen Gengis-Kan in a ballet, allcovered with ermine, and full of fine sentiments; for he ceded his crownto the child of a king whom he had conquered, and lifted him up in theair upon one foot; a new mode of establishing a monarch upon his throne. I have also seen the sacrifice of Curtius formed into a ballet of threeacts, with divertisements. Curtius, in the dress of an Arcadianshepherd, danced for a considerable time with his mistress; thenmounting a real horse in the middle of the stage, he plunged into thegulf of fire, made of yellow satin and gilt paper, which looked morelike a fancy riding habit than an abyss. In fact, I have seen the wholeof Roman history from Romulus to Cæsar, compressed into a ballet. "

"What you say is true, " replied Prince Castel-Forte, mildly; "but youhave only spoken of music and dancing, which do not comprise what weunderstand by the drama of any country. " "It is much worse, " interruptedthe Count d'Erfeuil, "when tragedies are represented, or dramas that arenot termed _dramas that end happily_: they unite more horrors in thecourse of five acts, than the imagination could form a picture of. Inone piece of this kind, the lover kills the brother of his mistress inthe second act; in the third he blows out the brains of his mistressherself upon the stage; her funeral occupies the fourth; in theinterval, between the fourth and fifth acts, the actor who performs thelover comes forward, and announces to the audience with the greatesttranquillity in the world, the harlequinades which are to be performedon the following evening; he then reappears in the fifth act, to shoothimself with a pistol. The tragic actors are quite in harmony with thecoldness and extravagance of these pieces: they commit all these horrorswith the utmost calm. When a performer uses much action, they say heconducts himself like a preacher; for in truth, there is more acting inthe pulpit than on the stage. It is very fortunate that these actors areso moderate in their pathos; for as there is nothing interesting, eitherin the piece or its situations, the more noise they made about it, themore ridiculous they would appear: it might still be endurable, werethere any thing gay in this nonsense; but it is most stupidly dull andmonotonous. There is in Italy no more comedy than tragedy; and hereagain we stand foremost. The only species of comedy peculiar to Italy isharlequinade. A valet, at once a knave, a glutton, and a coward; an oldgriping, amorous dupe of a guardian, compose the whole strength of thesepieces. I hope you will allow that _Tartuffe_, and the _Misanthrope_, require a little more genius than such compositions. "

This attack of the Count d' Erfeuil was sufficiently displeasing to theItalians who were his auditors; nevertheless they laughed at it. TheCount was more desirous of showing his wit than his natural goodness ofdisposition; for though this latter quality influenced his actions, self-love guided his speech. Prince Castel-Forte and the rest of hiscountrymen present, were extremely impatient to refute the Countd'Erfeuil; but as they were little ambitious of shining in conversationand believed their cause would be more ably defended by Corinne, theybesought her to reply, contenting themselves with barely citing thecelebrated names of Maffei, Metastasio, Goldoni, Alfieri, and Monti. Corinne began by granting that the Italians had no drama; but sheundertook to prove that circumstances and not want of talent, were thecause of it. Comedy, which depends upon the observation of manners, canonly exist in a country where we live in the midst of a numerous andbrilliant society. In Italy we meet with nothing but violent passions oridle enjoyments which produce crimes of so black a hue that no shades ofcharacter can be distinguished. But ideal comedy, if it may be sotermed, that which depends upon the imagination, and may agree with alltimes and all countries, owes its invention to Italy. Harlequin, punchinello, pantaloon, &c. , have the same character in every differentpiece. In all cases they exhibit masks, and not faces: that is to say, their physiognomy is that of some particular species of character, andnot that of any individual. Undoubtedly, the modern authors ofharlequinades, finding every part ready carved out for them like the menof a chess-board, have not the merit of inventing them; but their firstinvention is due to Italy; therefore these fantastic personages, whichfrom one end of Europe to the other afford amusement to every child, andto every grown-up person whom imagination has made childlike, mustcertainly be considered as the creation of Italians: this I shouldconceive ought to give them some claim to the art of comedy. 

The observation of the human heart is an inexhaustible source ofliterature; but nations more disposed to poetry than to reflection, moreeasily surrender themselves to the intoxication of joy than tophilosophic irony. That pleasantry which is founded upon the knowledgeof mankind has something sad at bottom. It is only the gaiety of theimagination which is truly inoffensive. It is not that the Italians donot study deeply the men whom they have to do with; for none discovermore subtly their secret thoughts; but they employ this talent as aguide of conduct, and have no idea of converting it to any literarypurpose. Perhaps even they have no wish to generalise their discoveries, and publish their perceptions. There is a prudent dissimulation in theircharacter, which teaches them not to expose in comedies that whichaffords rules for private intercourse; not to reveal by the fictions ofthe mind what may be useful in circumstances of real life. 

Macchiavelli however, far from concealing anything, has exposed all thesecrets of a criminal polity; and through him we may learn of what aterrible knowledge of the human heart the Italians are capable. Butprofound observation is not the province of comedy: the leisure ofsociety, properly speaking, can alone furnish matter for the comicscene. Goldoni, who lived at Venice, where there is more society than inany other Italian city, has introduced more refinement of observationinto his pieces than is generally to be found in other authors. Nevertheless his comedies are monotonous, and we meet with the samesituations in them, because they contain so little variety of character. His numerous pieces seem formed upon the general model of dramaticworks, and not copied from real life. The true character of Italiangaiety is not satire, but imagination; not delineation of manners, butpoetical exaggeration. It is Ariosto, and not Molière, who can amuseItaly. 

Gozzi, the rival of Goldoni, has more originality in his compositions;they bear less resemblance to regular comedy. His determination wasliberally to indulge the Italian genius; to represent fairy tales, andmingle buffoonery and harlequinade with the marvels of poetry; toimitate nothing in nature, but to give free scope to the gay illusionsof fancy, to the chimeras of fairy magic, and to transport the mind byevery means beyond the boundaries of human action. He was crowned withprodigious success in his time, and perhaps there never existed anauthor more congenial to an Italian imagination; but to know withcertainty what degree of perfection Tragedy and Comedy can reach inItaly, it should possess a theatrical establishment. The multitude oflittle cities who all wish to have a theatre, lose, by dispersing them, its dramatic resources: that division in states, in general sofavourable to liberty and happiness, is hurtful to Italy. She must needsconcentrate her light and power to resist the prejudices which aredevouring her. The authority of governments often represses individualenergy. In Italy this authority would be a benefit if it struggledagainst the ignorance of separate states and of men isolated among them;if it combated by emulation that indolence so natural to the climate;and if, in a word, it gave life to the whole of this nation which now issatisfied with a dream. 

These ideas, and several others besides, were ingeniously developed byCorinne. She well understood the rapid art of light conversation, whichdoes not dogmatically insist upon any thing, and also that pleasingaddress which gives a consideration to each of the company in turn, though she often indulged in that kind of talent which rendered her acelebrated improvisatrice. Several times she intreated PrinceCastel-Forte to assist her with his opinion on the same subject; but shespoke so well herself, that all the audience were delighted in listeningto her, and would not suffer her to be interrupted. Mr Edgermond, inparticular, could scarcely satisfy himself with seeing and hearingCorinne; hardly did he dare to express the admiration she inspired himwith, and he pronounced some words of panegyric in a low tone of voicehoping she would comprehend them without obliging him to address herpersonally. He however possessed such a lively desire to know hersentiments on Tragedy, that in spite of his timidity he ventured a fewwords on that subject. 

"Madam, " said he to Corinne, "where the Italian literature appears to memost defective is in Tragedy; methinks the distance is not so greatbetween infancy and manhood, as between your Tragedies and ours; for inthe changeableness of children may be discovered true if not deepsentiments, but there is something affected and extravagant in ItalianTragedy, which destroys for me all emotion whatever. Is this not so?Lord Nelville, " continued Mr Edgermond, turning to his lordship andinviting his support by a glance, quite astonished at having foundcourage to speak in such a numerous assembly. 

"I am entirely of your opinion, " answered Oswald; "Metastasio, who isvauntingly called the poet of love, gives the same colouring to thispassion in every country and under every circumstance. His admirableairs are entitled to our applause as much from their grace and harmonyas the lyrical beauties which they contain, especially when detachedfrom the drama in which they are placed; but it is impossible for us whopossess Shakespeare, who has most deeply fathomed History and thepassions of man, to suffer those amorous couples, that divide betweenthem almost all the pieces of Metastasio alike, under the names ofAchilles, of Tircis, of Brutus, and of Corilas, singing, in a mannerthat hardly touches the surface of the soul, the grief and sufferings oflove, so as almost to reduce to imbecility the noblest passion thatanimates the human heart. It is with the most profound respect for thecharacter of Alfieri that I shall indulge in a few reflections upon hispieces. Their aim is so noble, the sentiments which the author expressesare so much in unison with his personal conduct, that his tragedies mustalways deserve praise as actions, even when they are criticised asliterary performances. But I find in the vigour of some of his tragediesas much monotony as in the tenderness of Metastasio. There is, in theplays of Alfieri, such a profusion of energy and magnanimity, or rathersuch an exaggeration of violence and crime, that it is impossible todiscover in them the true characters of men. They are never so wickednor so generous as painted by this author. The aim of most of his scenesis to place virtue and vice in contrast with each other; but theseoppositions are not according to the gradations of truth. If, duringtheir life, tyrants bore with what the oppressed are made to say totheir face in the tragedies of Alfieri, one would be almost tempted topity them. His play of Octavia is one of those where the want ofprobability is most striking. In this piece, Seneca moralisesincessantly with Nero, as if the latter were the most patient of men, and Seneca the most courageous. The master of the world permits himselfto be insulted, and his anger to be excited in every scene, for theamusement of the spectators, as if it were not in his power to end itall with a word. Certainly these continual dialogues give rise to somevery fine replies on the part of Seneca, and one would be glad to findin an harangue or in a moral work the noble thoughts which he expresses;but is this the way to give us an idea of tyranny? It is not painting itin its formidable colours, but merely making it a subject for verbalfencing. If Shakespeare had represented Nero surrounded by tremblingslaves, who hardly dared reply to the most indifferent question, himself concealing his internal agitation and endeavouring to appearcalm, with Seneca near him writing the apology for the murder ofAgrippina, would not the terror have been a thousand times greater? Andfor one reflection spoken by the author, would not a thousand begenerated in the soul of the spectators by the very silence of rhetoricand the truth of the picture?"

Oswald might have spoken much longer without receiving any interruptionfrom Corinne; so much pleasure did she receive from the sound of hisvoice and the noble elegance of his language, that she could have wishedto prolong this impression for hours together. Hardly could she removeher eyes, which were earnestly fixed upon him, even after he had ceasedto speak. She turned them reluctantly to the rest of the company, whowere impatient to hear her thoughts upon Italian tragedy, and turning toLord Nelville:--"My Lord, " said she, "it is not to combat yoursentiments that I reply, for they meet mine in almost every point: myonly intention is to offer some exceptions to your rather too generalobservations. It is true that Metastasio is rather a lyrical than adramatic poet, and that he describes love like one of the fine arts thatadorn life, not as the most important secret of our happiness and ourpain. I will venture to say, notwithstanding our language has beenconsecrated to the cause of love, that we have more profoundness andsensibility in describing any other passion than this. The practice ofmaking amorous verses has created a kind of commonplace language amongstus for that subject; so that not what he has felt, but what he has read, inspires the poet. Love, such as it exists in Italy, by no meansresembles that love which is described by our writers. It is only inBoccacio's romance of _Fiametta_, that according to the best of myrecollection, there is to be found an idea of that passion, painted intruly national colours. Our poets subtilise and exaggerate thesentiment, whilst agreeably to the real Italian character, it is a rapidand profound impression, which rather expresses itself by silent andpassionate actions than by ingenious language. In general our literatureis not characteristic of our national manners[23]. We are much toomodest, I had almost said too humble a nation to aspire to tragediestaken from our own history, and bearing the stamp of our own sentiments. 

"Alfieri, by a singular chance, was transplanted, if I may use theexpression, from ancient to modern times; he was born for action, andhis destiny only permitted him to write; this constraint appears in thestyle of his tragedies. He wished to make literature subservient to apolitical purpose; undoubtedly his object was noble, but nothingperverts the labours of the imagination so much as having a purpose. Inthis nation, where certainly, some erudite scholars and very enlightenedmen are to be met with, Alfieri was indignant at seeing literatureconsecrated to no serious end, but merely engrossed with tales, novels, and madrigals. Alfieri wished to give a more austere character to histragedy. He has stript it of all the borrowed appendages of theatricaleffect, preserving nothing but the interest of the dialogue. It appearsto have been his wish to place the natural vivacity and imagination ofthe Italians in a state of penitence; he has however been very muchadmired for his character and the energies of his soul, which were trulygreat. The inhabitants of modern Rome are particularly given to applaudthe actions and sentiments of their ancient country; as if those actionsand sentiments had any relation to them in their present state. 

They are amateurs of energy and independence, in the same manner asthey are of the fine pictures which adorn their galleries. But it is notless true that Alfieri has by no means created what may be called anItalian theatre; that is to say, tragedies of a merit peculiar to Italy. He has not even characterised the manners of those countries and thosecenturies which he has painted. His conspiracy of the Pazzi, hisVirginia, and his Philip II. , are to be admired for elevation andstrength of thought; but it is always the character of Alfieri, and notthat of peculiar nations and peculiar times, which are to be discoveredin them. Although there be no analogy between the French genius and thatof Alfieri, they resemble each other in this, that both of them givetheir own colouring to every subject of which they treat. "

The Count d' Erfeuil, hearing the French genius called in question, wasinduced to speak. "It would be impossible for us, " said he, "to tolerateupon the stage either the incongruities of the Greeks or themonstrosities of Shakespeare; the French have too pure a taste for that. Our theatre is the model of delicacy and elegance: those are itsdistinguishing characteristics, and we should plunge ourselves intobarbarism by introducing anything foreign amongst us. "

"That would be like encompassing yourselves with the great wall ofChina, " said Corinne, smiling. "There are certainly many rare beautiesin your tragic authors; and perhaps they would admit of new ones, couldyou bring yourselves to tolerate anything not exactly French on yourstage. But as for us Italians, our dramatic genius would be greatlydiminished in submitting to the fetters of those laws which we had notthe honour of inventing, and from which, consequently, we could derivenothing but their restraint. A theatre ought to be formed upon theimagination, the character, and the custom of a nation. The Italians arepassionately fond of the fine arts, of music, painting, and evenpantomime: of every thing, in short, that strikes the senses. How thencould they be satisfied with the austerity of an eloquent dialogue, astheir only theatrical pleasure?[24] Vainly has Alfieri, with all hisgenius, endeavoured to reduce them to it; he felt himself that hissystem was too rigorous. 

"The Merope of Maffei, the Saul of Alfieri, the Aristodemus of Monti, and particularly the poem of Dante, although this last author nevercomposed a tragedy, seem calculated to convey an idea of what thedramatic art might be brought to in Italy. There is in the Merope ofMaffei, a great simplicity of action, but the most brilliant poetry, adorned with the happiest images: and why should this poetry beforbidden in dramatic works? The language of poetry is so magnificent inItaly that we should be more censurable than any other nation inrenouncing its beauties. Alfieri, wishing to excel in every departmentof poetry, has, in his Saul, made a most beautiful use of the lyric; andone might with excellent effect introduce music itself into the piece, not so much to harmonise the words, as to calm the frenzy of Saul by theharp of David. So delicious is our music that it may even render usindolent as to intellectual enjoyments. Far therefore from wishing toseparate music from the drama, it should be our earnest endeavour tounite them; not in making heroes sing, which destroys all dramaticeffect, but in introducing choruses, as the ancients did, or such othermusical aid, as may naturally blend with the situations of the piece, asso often happens in real life. So far from retrenching the pleasures ofthe imagination on the Italian stage, it is my opinion, that we shouldon the contrary augment and multiply them in every possible manner. Theexquisite taste of the Italians for music, and for splendid ballets, isan indication of the power of their imagination, and manifests thenecessity of rendering even the most serious subjects interesting tothem, instead of heightening their severity as Alfieri has done. Thenation conceive it their duty to applaud what is grave and austere; butthey soon return to their natural taste; however, tragedy might becomehighly pleasing to them if it were embellished by the charm and thevariety of different kinds of poetry, and with all the divers theatricalattractions which the English and the Spaniards enjoy. 

"The Aristodemus of Monti has in it something of the terrible pathos ofDante; and surely this tragedy is very justly one of the most admired. Dante, that great master of various powers, possessed that kind oftragic genius which would have produced the most effect in Italy, if itcould in any way be adapted to the stage; for that poet knew how torepresent to the eye, what was passing at the bottom of the soul, andhis imagination could make grief seen and felt. If Dante had writtentragedies, they would have been as striking to children as to men, tothe illiterate crowd as to the polished few. Dramatic literature oughtto be popular; like some public event, the whole nation ought to judgeof it. "

"When Dante was living, " said Oswald, "the Italians performed adistinguished part in the political drama of Europe. Perhaps it wouldnow be impossible for you to have a national tragic theatre: it would benecessary for the existence of such a theatre, that great events shoulddevelop in life those sentiments which are expressed upon the stage. Ofall the masterpieces of literature, there is not one which depends somuch upon the whole people as tragedy; the spectators contribute to itas much as the author. Dramatic genius is composed of the public mind, of History, of government, of national customs, of everything, in fact, which each day blends itself with thought, and forms the moral being, asthe air which we breathe nourishes physical existence. The Spaniards, with whom you have some affinity as to climate and religion, are muchsuperior to you in dramatic genius; their pieces are filled with theirhistory, their chivalry, and their religious faith, and these piecespossess life and originality; but their success, in this respect, datesback to the epoch of their historical glory. How then could it bepossible now to establish in Italy, that which it never could boastof--a genuine tragic drama!"

"It is unfortunately possible that you may be in the right, " repliedCorinne; "however, I hope for greater things from the natural impulse ofmind in Italy, and from the individual emulation of my countrymen, evenwhen not favoured by external circumstances; but what we most want intragedy is actors. Affected words necessarily lead to false declamation;but there is no language in which an actor can display so much talent asin ours; for the melody of sound gives a new charm to truth of accent:it is a continual music which mingles with the expression of feelingwithout diminishing its vigour. " "If you wish, " interrupted PrinceCastel-Forte, "to convince the company of what you assert, it onlyremains for you to prove it: yes, allow us to enjoy the inexpressiblepleasure of seeing you perform tragedy; you must grant these foreigngentlemen the rare enjoyment of being made acquainted with a talentwhich you alone in Italy possess; or rather that you alone in the worldpossess, since the whole of your genius is impressed upon it. "

Corinne felt a secret desire to play tragedy before Lord Nelville, andby this means show herself to very great advantage; but she dared notaccede to the proposal of Prince Castel-Forte, without that approbationof Oswald, which the looks she cast upon him earnestly entreated. Heunderstood them; and as he was at the same time concerned at thattimidity which had the day before prevented the exertion of her talentfor improvisation, and ambitious that she should obtain the applause ofMr Edgermond, he joined in the solicitations of her friends. Corinnetherefore no longer hesitated. "Well, then, " said she, turning to PrinceCastel-Forte, "we will accomplish the project which I have so longformed, of playing my own translation of Romeo and Juliet, ""Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet?" cried Mr Edgermond; "you understandEnglish, then?" "Yes, " answered Corinne. "And you are fond ofShakespeare!" added Mr Edgermond. "As a friend, " replied she; "he was sowell acquainted with all the secrets of grief. " "And you will perform inItalian, " cried Mr Edgermond; "and I shall hear you! And you too, mydear Nelville. Ah, how happy you will be!" Then, repenting immediatelythis indiscreet word, he blushed: and a blush inspired by delicacy andgoodness may be interesting at all periods of life. "How happy we shallbe, " resumed he, a little embarrassed, "to be present at such arepresentation!"

FOOTNOTES:

[23] Giovanni Pindemonte, has recently published a collection of Dramas, the subjects of which are taken from Italian history, and this is a veryinteresting and praiseworthy enterprize. The name of Pindemonte is alsorendered illustrious by Hippolito Pindemonte, one of the sweetest andmost charming of the present Italian poets. 

[24] The posthumous works of Alfieri are just published, in which are tobe found many exquisite pieces; but we may conclude from a rathersingular Dramatic Essay, which he has written on the Death of Abel, thathe himself was conscious that his pieces were too austere, and that onthe stage more must be allowed to the pleasures of the imagination. 

Chapter iii. 

Every thing was arranged in a few days, the parts distributed, and theevening chosen for the performance in a palace belonging to a femalerelation of Prince Castel-Forte, and a friend of Corinne. Oswald felt amixture of uneasiness and pleasure, at the approach of this new scene oftriumph for the talents of Corinne. He enjoyed the by anticipation; buthe was also jealous in the same manner, not of any man in particular, but of that whole audience in general who were to witness the talents ofher whom he loved. He wished to be the only witness of her mentalcharms;--he wished that Corinne, timid and reserved, like an Englishwoman, should possess eloquence and genius for none but him. Howeverdistinguished a man may be, perhaps he never enjoys, without alloy, thesuperiority of a woman: if he feel an affection for her, his heart isdisturbed;--if not, his self-love is wounded. Oswald, in the presence ofCorinne, was more intoxicated than happy; and the admiration which sheinspired him with, increased his love without giving more stability tohis projects. He contemplated her as an admirable phenomenon, whichappeared to him anew every day; but even the transport and astonishmentwhich she made him feel, seemed to render the hope of a peaceful andtranquil life more distant. Corinne, however, was of the tenderest andmost easy disposition in private life; her ordinary qualities would havemade her beloved independently of her brilliant ones; but yet again, sheunited in herself too much talent, and was too dazzling in everyrespect. Lord Nelville, with all his accomplishments, did not believehimself equal to her, and this idea inspired him with fears as to theduration of their mutual affection. Vainly did Corinne by force of lovebecome his slave; the master, often uneasy about his captive queen, didnot enjoy his empire undisturbed. 

Some hours before the representation, Lord Nelville conducted Corinne tothe palace of Princess Castel-Forte, where the theatre was fitted up. The sun shone most brilliantly, and from one of the windows of thestair-case, Rome and the _Campagna_ were discovered. Oswald stoppedCorinne a moment and said, "Behold this beautiful day, it is for yoursake; it is to heighten the splendour of your fame. " "Ah, if that wereso, " answered she, "it is you who would bring me happiness; it is to youthat I should owe the protection of heaven. " "Would the pure and gentlesentiments which the beauty of nature inspires, be sufficient to makeyou happy?" replied Oswald: "there is a great distance between the airthat we breathe, the reverie which the country inspires, and that noisytheatre which is about to resound with your name. " "Oswald, " saidCorinne, "if the applause which I am about to receive, have the power toaffect me, will it not be because it is witnessed by you? And should Idisplay any talent, will it not owe its success to you, who haveanimated and inspired it? Love, poetry, and religion, all that is bornof enthusiasm, is in harmony with nature; and in beholding the azuresky, in yielding to the impression which it causes, I have a justercomprehension of the sentiments of Juliet, I am more worthy of Romeo. ""Yes, thou art worthy of him, celestial creature!" cried Lord Nelville;"'tis only a weakness of the soul, this jealousy of thy talents, thisdesire to live alone with thee in the universe. Go, receive the meed ofpublic homage, go; but let that look of love, still more divine than thygenius, be directed to me alone!" They then parted, and Lord Nelvillewent and took his seat in theatre, awaiting the pleasure of beholdingthe appearance of Corinne. 

Romeo and Juliet is an Italian subject; the scene is placed in Verona, where is still to be seen the tomb of those two lovers. Shakespeare haswritten this piece with that Southern imagination at once impassionedand pleasing; that imagination which triumphs in happiness, but which, nevertheless, passes so easily from happiness to despair, and fromdespair to death. The impressions are rapid; but one easily feels thatthese rapid impressions will be ineffaceable. It is the force of nature, and not the frivolity of the heart, which beneath an energetic climatehastens the development of the passions. The soil is not light, thoughvegetation is prompt; and Shakespeare has seized, more happily than anyother foreign writer, the national character of Italy and that fecundityof the mind which invents a thousand ways of varying the expression ofthe same sentiments--the oriental eloquence which makes use of all theimages of nature to paint what is passing in the heart. It is not as inOssian, one same tint, one uniform sound which responds constantly tothe most sensitive chords of the heart; the multiplied colours thatShakespeare employs in Romeo and Juliet, do not give a cold affectationto his style; it is the ray divided, reflected, and varied, whichproduces these colours, in which we ever feel that fire they proceedfrom. There is a life and a brilliancy in this composition whichcharacterise the country and the inhabitants. The play of Romeo andJuliet translated into Italian would only seem to return to its mothertongue. 

The first appearance of Juliet is at a ball, where Romeo Montague hasintroduced himself into the house of the Capulets, the mortal enemies ofhis family. Corinne was dressed in a charming festive habit, conformableto the costume of the times. Her hair was tastefully adorned withprecious stones and artificial flowers. Her friends did not know her onher first appearance, till her voice discovered her: her figure thenbecame familiar to them; but it was in a manner deified, and preservedonly a poetical expression. The theatre resounded with unanimousapplause upon her appearance. Her first looks discovered Oswald, andrested upon him--a spark of joy, a lively and gentle hope, was paintedin her countenance: on beholding her, every heart beat with pleasure andfear: it was felt that so much felicity could not last upon earth; wasit for Juliet, or Corinne, that this presentiment was to be verified?

When Romeo approached to address to her in a low voice, the lines, sobrilliant in English, so magnificent in the Italian translation, uponher grace and beauty, the spectators, charmed to hear their ownsentiments so finely interpreted, joined in the transport of Romeo; andthe sudden passion which the first look of Juliet kindled in his soul, appeared like reality to every eye. Oswald from this moment feltdisturbed; it appeared to him that all was near to being revealed, thatCorinne was about to be proclaimed an angel among women, that he shouldbe forced to reveal his sentiments, that his claim would be disputed andthe prize ravished from him--a kind of dazzling cloud seemed to passbefore his eyes--he feared his sight might fail him--he was ready tofaint, and retired for some moments behind a pillar. Corinne, uneasy, sought him with anxiety, and pronounced this line, "Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"

with such a tone of voice, that Oswald started as he heard it, for itseemed to him to be applied to their personal situation. 

He could never feel tired of admiring the grace of her actions, thedignity of her motions, and the expression of her countenance, in whichwas painted what language could not reveal, all those mysteries of theheart which cannot be reduced to words; but which, nevertheless, disposeof our life. The accent, the look, the least gesture of an actor, trulyinspired and influenced by genuine emotion, are a continual revelationof the human heart; and the ideal of the fine arts is always mingledwith these revelations of nature. The harmony of the verse and the charmof the attitudes, lend to passion that grace and dignity which it oftenwants in reality. Thus every sentiment of the heart, and every emotionof the soul, pass before the imagination without losing anything oftheir truth. 

In the second act, Juliet appears in the balcony to converse with Romeo. Corinne had preserved, of her former ornaments, only the flowers, andthose were soon to disappear: the theatre half-lighted to representnight, cast a milder reflection upon the countenance of Corinne. Therewas now something more melodious in her voice, than when surrounded withthe splendour of a _fête_. Her hand lifted towards the stars, seemed toinvoke the only witnesses worthy of hearing her, and when she repeated, "_Romeo! Romeo!_" although Oswald was certain that she thought of him, he felt jealous that these delicious accents should make the air resoundwith any other name than his. Oswald was seated opposite the balcony, and he who performed Romeo being a little concealed by the darkness ofthe scene, Corinne was enabled to fix her eyes upon Oswald whenpronouncing these lines:

 "In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond; And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light; But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true Than those that have more cunning to be strange. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * therefore pardon me. "

At these words--"Pardon me! Pardon me for loving; pardon me for havinglet you know it!"--There was in Corinne's look, so tender a prayer andso much respect for her lover, so much exultation in her choice, whenshe said, "Noble Romeo! Fair Montague!" that Oswald felt as proud as hewas happy. He raised his head, which tenderness had bowed down, andfancied himself the king of the world, since he reigned over a heartwhich contained all the treasures of life. 

Corinne, perceiving the effect which she produced upon Oswald, becamemore and more animated by that emotion of the heart which alone producesmiracles; and when at the approach of day, Juliet thought she heard thesong of the lark--a signal for the departure of Romeo, the accents ofCorinne possessed a supernatural charm: they described love, andnevertheless one might perceive that there was something of religiousmystery in them, some recollections of heaven, with a presage that shewas shortly to return thither; a kind of celestial melancholy, as of asoul exiled upon earth, but which was soon to be called to its divinehome. Ah! how happy was Corinne the day that she represented the part ofa noble character in a beautiful tragedy before the lover of her choice;how many years, how many lives would appear dull, compared to such aday!

If Lord Nelville could have performed, with Corinne, the part of Romeo, the pleasure which she would have tasted would not have been socomplete. She would have desired to put aside the verses of the greatestpoet in order to speak the dictates of her own heart; perhaps even hergenius would have been confined by insurmountable timidity; she wouldnot have dared to look at Oswald for fear of betraying herself, andtruth would have destroyed the charm of art; but how sweet it was toknow that he whom she loved was present when she experienced thoseexalted sentiments which poetry alone can inspire; when she felt all thecharm of tender emotions, without their real pain; when the affectionshe expressed was neither personal nor abstract; and when she seemed tosay to Lord Nelville, "See how I am able to love. "

It is impossible when the situation is our own to be satisfied withourselves: passion and timidity alternately transport and checkus--inspire us either with too much bitterness or too much submission;but to appear perfect without affectation; to unite calm to sensibility, which too frequently destroys it; in a word, to exist for a moment inthe sweetest reveries of the heart; such was the pure enjoyment ofCorinne in performing tragedy. She united to this pleasure that of allthe plaudits she received; and her look seemed to place them at the feetof Oswald, at the feet of him whose simple approval she valued more thanall her fame. Corinne was happy, at least for a moment! for a moment, atleast, she experienced at the price of her repose, those delights of thesoul which till then she had vainly wished for, and which she would everhave to regret!

Juliet in the third act becomes privately, the wife of Romeo. In thefourth, her parents wishing to force her to marry another, shedetermines to take the opiate which she receives from the hand of afriar, and which is to give her the appearance of death. All the motionsof Corinne, her disturbed gait, her altered accent, her looks, sometimesanimated and sometimes dejected, painted the cruel conflict of fear andlove, the terrible images which pursued her at the idea of beingtransported alive to the tomb of her ancestors, and the enthusiasm ofpassion, which enabled a soul, so young, to triumph over so natural aterror. Oswald felt an almost irresistible impulse to fly to her aid. Atone time she lifted her eyes towards heaven, with an ardour which deeplyexpressed that need of divine protection, from which no human being wasever free. At another time, Lord Nelville thought he saw her stretch herarms towards him to ask his assistance--he rose up in a transport ofdelirium, and then sat down immediately, brought to his senses by theastonished looks of those about him; but his emotion became so strongthat it could no longer be concealed. 

In the fifth act, Romeo, who believes Juliet dead, lifts her from thetomb before she awakes and presses her to his heart. Corinne was clad inwhite, her black hair dishevelled, and her head inclined upon Romeo witha grace, and nevertheless an appearance of death, so affecting and sogloomy, that Oswald felt himself shaken with the most oppositeimpressions. He could not bear to see Corinne in the arms of another, and he shuddered at beholding the image of her whom he loved, apparentlydeprived of life; so that in fact he felt, like Romeo, that cruelcombination of despair and love, of death and pleasure, which makes thisscene the most agonising that ever was represented on a stage. Atlength, when Juliet awakes in this tomb, at the foot of which her loverhas just immolated himself, when her first words in her coffin, beneaththese funeral vaults, are not inspired by the terror which they ought tocause, when she exclaims:

 "Where is my lord? Where is my Romeo?"

Lord Nelville replied by deep groans, and did not return to himself tillMr Edgermond conducted him out of the theatre. 

The piece being finished, Corinne felt indisposed from emotion andfatigue. Oswald entered first into her apartment, where he saw her alonewith her women, still in the costume of Juliet, and, like Juliet, almostswooning in their arms. In the excess of his trouble he could notdistinguish whether it was truth or fiction, and throwing himself atthe feet of Corinne, exclaimed, in English:

 "Eyes look your last! Arms take your last embrace. "

Corinne, still wandering, cried: "Good God! what do you say? are yougoing to leave me?"--"No;" interrupted Oswald, "I swear--" At thatinstant the crowd of Corinne's friends and admirers forced the door inorder to see her. Her eyes were fixed upon Oswald, listening withanxiety for what he was about to answer; but there was no opportunityfor further conversation between them during the whole evening, for theywere not left alone a single instant. 

Never had the performance of a tragedy produced such an effect in Italy. The Romans extolled with transport the talents of Corinne, both as therepresentative of Juliet, and the translator of the piece. They saidthat this was truly the species of tragedy which suited the Italians, which painted their manners, moved the soul by captivating theimagination, and gave effect to their beautiful language, in a stylealternately eloquent and lyrical, inspired and natural. Corinne receivedall these praises with the sweetest air imaginable; but her soulremained suspended on the words "_I swear_, "--which Oswald hadpronounced when he was prevented by the entrance of the company fromconcluding his sentence: this word might in truth contain the secret ofher destiny. 

Book viii. 

THE STATUES AND THE PICTURES. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

After the day which had passed, Oswald could not close his eyes duringthe night. He had never been so near sacrificing every thing to Corinne. He did not even desire to know her secret; or rather, before he wasacquainted with it, he wished to contract a solemn engagement, toconsecrate his life to her. For some hours uncertainty seemed banishedfrom his mind; and he took pleasure in composing, in his thoughts, theletter which he should write to her on the morrow, and which woulddecide his fate. But this confidence in happiness, this reliance uponresolution, was of no long duration. His thoughts soon reverted to thepast, he remembered that he had loved, much less, it is true, than heloved Corinne; and the object of his first choice could not be comparedto her; but nevertheless it was this sentiment which had hurried himaway to thoughtless actions, to actions which had torn the heart of hisfather. --"Ah! who knows, " cried he, "whether he would not fear equallyto-day, lest his son should forget his native country and the dutieswhich he owes it?"

"Oh thou!" said he, addressing the portrait of his father, "thou, thebest friend I shall ever have upon earth, I can no longer hear thyvoice, but teach me by that silent look which yet retains such powerover my soul, inform me what I am to do, that now at least in thycelestial abode, thou mayest be satisfied with the conduct of thy son!Forget not, however, that need of happiness which consumes mortalman--be indulgent in heaven, as thou wert upon earth! I shall becomebetter if I am allowed to taste of happiness; if I am permitted to livewith this angelic creature, to have the honour of protecting, of savingsuch a woman. --Of saving her?" continued he suddenly; "and from what?From a life of homage, of fame, and of independence!"--This reflection, which originated in himself, terrified him like an inspiration of hisfather. 

In conflicts of sentiment, who has not felt that kind of secretsuperstition which makes us take our own thoughts for presages, and oursufferings for a warning from heaven? Ah! how bitter is the strugglebetween passion and conscience, in susceptible minds!

Oswald paced his chamber under the most cruel agitation, sometimesstopping to look at the moon, which in Italy is so mild and sobeautiful. The aspect of nature inspires resignation; but it is withouteffect upon a mind racked with uncertainty. The next day arrived withoutbringing any relief to his distracted thoughts, and when the Countd'Erfeuil and Mr Edgermond came to visit him, they were uneasy as to thestate of his health, so much was he altered by the anxieties of thenight. The Count d'Erfeuil was the first who spoke. --"It must beallowed, " said he, "that yesterday's entertainment was charming. Corinneis a most admirable woman. I lost half her words, but I understoodeverything from her voice and her countenance. What a pity it is, that arich lady should be possessed of this talent! For if she were in humblercircumstances, and unrestrained as she is, she might embrace the stageas a profession; and to have an actress like her, would be the glory ofItaly. "

Oswald received a painful impression from this speech, and yet couldnot tell how to make it known. For there was that about the Count, thatone could not be angry at what he said, even though it were disagreeableto one's feelings. None but sensitive minds understand those delicateprecautions which they owe each other: self-love, so alive to everything that affects itself, hardly ever thinks of the susceptibility ofothers. 

Mr Edgermond praised Corinne in the most becoming and flattering terms. Oswald answered him in English, in order to relieve the conversationabout Corinne from the disagreeable eulogiums of the Count. "I see I amone too many here, " said the Count; "well I will pay a visit to Corinne:she will not be sorry I dare say to hear my observations upon her actingyesterday evening. I have some advice to give her, too, upon details;but these details are very essential to the effect of the whole: she isreally so astonishing a woman that one should neglect nothing to assisther in attaining perfection. --And besides, " said he, inclining towardsNelville's ear, "I wish to encourage her to play tragedy more often:'tis a certain way to get married by some foreigner of distinction whomay pass through this city. As to you and me, my dear Oswald, that ideadoes not concern us, we are too much accustomed to charming women tocommit foolish things; but who knows? a German prince, or a Spanishgrandee--" At these words Oswald rose up almost beside himself, and itis impossible to conceive what would have been the issue, if the Countd'Erfeuil had perceived his emotion; but he was so satisfied with hislast reflection, that he tripped away lightly, not in the leastsuspecting that he had offended Lord Nelville: had he known it, thoughhe loved him as much as man could love another, he would certainly haveremained. The brilliant valour of the Count, contributed still more thanhis self-love to render him blind to his defects. As he was extremelydelicate in everything that regarded honour, he did not imagine that hecould be wanting with respect to sensibility; and believing himself, notwithout reason, amiable and brave, he was pleased with his lot, and didnot suspect there was any more profound way of regarding life than hisown. 

None of the sentiments which agitated Oswald had escaped Mr Edgermond, and when the Count d'Erfeuil was gone, he said to him--"My dear Oswald, I take my leave, --I am going to Naples. "--"Why so soon?" answeredNelville. "Because it is not good for me to stay here, " continuedEdgermond; "I am fifty years of age, and nevertheless I am not sure thatCorinne would not make a fool of me. "--"And even in that case, "interrupted Oswald, "what would be the consequence?"--"Such a woman isnot formed to live in Wales, " replied Mr Edgermond; "believe me, my dearOswald, only Englishwomen are fit for England: it does not become me togive you advice, I need not assure you that I shall not mention a wordof what I have seen; but with all Corinne's accomplishments, I shouldsay, with Thomas Walpole, _of what use is all that at home_? And, youknow the _home_ is all with us, all for our women at least. Imagine toyourself your beautiful Italian alone, while you are hunting orattending your duty in Parliament; imagine her leaving you at dessert toget tea ready against you shall leave table! Dear Oswald, depend upon itour women possess those domestic virtues which are to be found nowhereelse. The men in Italy have nothing to do but to please the women;therefore the more attractive they are the better. But with us, wheremen have active pursuits, women must be satisfied with the shade. Thatit would be a great pity to condemn Corinne to such a destiny, I freelyacknowledge. I should be glad to see her upon the throne of England; butnot beneath my humble roof. My lord, I knew your mother, whose loss wasso much lamented by your worthy father: she was a lady in every respectlike my young cousin. Such is the wife, which, were I at a proper timeof life, I should choose. Adieu, my dear friend, do not be offended atwhat I have said, for nobody can be a greater admirer of Corinne than Iam, and I own to you that after all were I at your time of life, I doubtwhether I could have sufficient fortitude to renounce the hope ofbecoming agreeable to her. "--In finishing, these words, he took the handof Oswald, squeezed it cordially, and departed without receiving a wordin reply. But Mr Edgermond comprehended the cause of his silence, andsatisfied with a pressure of the hand from Oswald in answer to his own, he went away, impatient himself to finish a conversation which waspainful to him. 

Of all that he had said, only one word had penetrated the heart ofOswald, and that was the recollection of his mother, and his father'sprofound attachment to her. He had lost her when he was only fourteenyears of age, but he recollected her virtues with the most heart-feltreverence, as well as that timidity and reserve which characterisedthem. --"Fool that I am, " cried he, when alone, "I wish to know what kindof wife my father destined for me, and do I not know it, since I cancall to mind the image of my mother whom he so tenderly loved? What do Iwant more? Why deceive myself in feigning ignorance of what would be hissentiments now, were it in my power to consult his will?" It was, however, a terrible task for Oswald to return to Corinne, after what hadpassed the evening before, without saying something in confirmation ofthe sentiments which he had expressed. His agitation and his troublebecame so violent, that they affected a ruptured blood-vessel which hethought had completely healed up, but which now re-opened and began tobleed afresh. Whilst his servants, in affright, called everywhere forassistance, he secretly wished that the end of life might terminate hissufferings. --"If I could die, " said he, "after having seen Corinne oncemore, after having heard her again call me her Romeo!"--Tears rolleddown his cheeks; they were the first tears he had shed for the sake ofanother since the death of his father. 

He wrote to Corinne informing her of his accident, and some melancholywords terminated his letter. Corinne had begun this day under the mostdeceitful auspices: happy in the impression she conceived she had madeupon Oswald, believing herself beloved, she was happy; nor did busythought conjure up any reflection not in unison with what she so muchdesired. A thousand circumstances ought to have mingled considerablefear with the idea of espousing Lord Nelville; but as there was morepassion than foresight in her character, governed by the present, andnot diving into the future, this day, which was to cost her so manypangs, dawned upon her as the most pure and serene of her life. 

On receiving Oswald's note, her soul was a prey to the most cruelfeelings: she believed him in imminent danger, and set out immediatelyon foot, traversing the Corso at the hour when all the city were walkingthere, and entered the house of Oswald in face of all the first societyof Rome. She had not taken time to reflect, and had walked so fast, thatwhen she reached the chamber, she could not breathe, or utter a singleword. Lord Nelville conceived all that she had risked to come and seehim, and exaggerating the consequences of this action, which in Englandwould have entirely ruined the reputation of an unmarried woman, he feltpenetrated with generosity, love, and gratitude, and rising up, feebleas he was, he pressed Corinne to his heart, and cried:--"My dearestlove! No, I never will abandon you! After having exposed yourself on myaccount! When I ought to repair--" Corinne comprehended what he wouldsay, and as she gently disengaged herself from his arms, interrupted himthus, having first enquired how he was:--"You are deceived, my lord; incoming to see you I do nothing that most of my countrywomen would not doin my place. I knew you were ill--you are a stranger here--you knownobody but me; it is therefore my duty to take care of you. Were itotherwise, ought not established forms to yield to those real andprofound sentiments, which the danger or the grief of a friend givebirth to? What would be the fate of a woman if the rules of socialpropriety, permitting her to love, forbade that irresistible emotionwhich makes us fly to succour the object of our affection? But I repeatto you, my lord, you need not be afraid that I have compromised myselfby coming hither. My age and my talents allow me, at Rome, the sameliberty as a married woman. I do not conceal from my friends that I amcome to see you. I know not whether they blame me for loving you; butthat fact admitted, I am certain that they do not think me culpable indevoting myself entirely to you. "

On hearing these words, so natural and so sincere, Oswald experienced aconfused medley of different feelings. He was moved with the delicacy ofCorinne's answer; but he was almost vexed that his first impression wasnot just. He could have wished that she had committed some great faultin the eyes of the world, in order that this very fault, imposing uponhim the duty of marrying her, might terminate his indecision. He wasoffended at this liberty of manners in Italy, which prolonged hisanxiety by allowing him so much happiness, without annexing to it anycondition. He could have wished that honour had commanded what hedesired, and these painful thoughts produced new and dangerous effects. Corinne, notwithstanding the dreadful alarm she was in, lavished uponhim the most soothing attentions. 

Towards the evening, Oswald appeared more oppressed; and Corinne, on herknees by the side of his bed, supported his head in her arms, though shewas herself racked with more internal pain than he. This tender andaffecting care made a gleam of pleasure visible through hissufferings. --"Corinne, " said he to her, in a low voice, "read in thisvolume, which contains the thoughts of my father, his reflections ondeath. Do not think, " he continued, seeing the terror of Corinne; "thatI feel myself menaced with it. But I am never ill without reading overthese consoling reflections. I then fancy that I hear them from his ownmouth; besides, my love, I wish you to know what kind of man my fatherwas; you will the better comprehend the cause of my grief, and of hisempire over me, as well as all that I shall one day confide toyou. "--Corinne took this manuscript, which Oswald never parted from, andin a trembling voice read the following pages. 

"Oh ye just, beloved of the Lord! you can speak of death without fear;for you it is only a change of habitation, and that which you quit isperhaps the least of all! Oh numberless worlds, which in our sight fillthe boundless region of space! unknown communities of God's creatures;communities of His children, scattered throughout the firmament andranged beneath its vaults, let our praises be joined to yours! We areignorant of your condition, whether you possess the first, second, orlast share of the generosity of the Supreme Being; but in speaking ofdeath or of life, of time past or of time to come, we assimilate ourinterests with those of all intelligent and sensible beings, no matterwhere placed, or by what distance separated from us. Families ofpeoples! Families of nations! Assemblage of worlds! you say with us, Glory to the Master of the Heavens, to the King of Nature, to the God ofthe Universe! Glory and homage to Him, who by his will can convertsterility into abundance, shadow into reality, and death itself intoeternal life. 

"Undoubtedly the end of the just is a desirable death; but few amongstus, few amongst our forefathers have witnessed it. Where is the man whocould approach without fear the presence of the Eternal? Where is theman who has loved God unremittingly, who has served Him from his youth, and who, attaining an advanced age, finds in his recollections nosubject of uneasiness? Where is the man, moral in all his actions, without ever thinking of the praise and the reward of public opinion?Where is that man, so rare among the human species, who is worthy toserve as a model to all? Where is he? Where is he? Ah! if he existamongst us, let our reverence and respect surround him; and ask, youwill do wisely to ask, to be present at his death, as at the sublimestof earthly spectacles: only arm yourself with courage to follow him tothat bed, so repulsive to our feelings, from which he will never rise. He foresees it; he is certain of it; serenity reigns in his countenance, and his forehead seems encircled with a celestial aureole: he says, withthe apostle, _I know in whom I have believed_; and this confidenceanimates his countenance, even when his strength is exhausted. Healready contemplates his new country, but without forgetting that whichhe is about to quit: he gives himself up to his Creator and to his God, without forgetting those sentiments which have charmed him during hislife. 

"Is it a faithful spouse, who according to the laws of nature must bethe first of all his connections to follow him: he consoles her, hedries her tears, he appoints a meeting with her in that abode offelicity of which he can form no idea without her. He recalls to hermind those happy days which they have spent together; not to rend theheart of a tender friend, but to increase their mutual confidence in thegoodness of heaven. He also reminds the companion of his fortunes, ofthat tender love which he has ever felt for her; not to give additionalpoignancy to that grief which he wishes to assuage, but to inspire herwith the sweet idea that two lives have grown upon the same stalk; andthat by their union they will become an additional defence to each otherin that dark futurity where the pity of the Supreme God is the lastrefuge of our thoughts. Alas! is it possible to form a just conceptionof all the emotions which penetrate a loving soul at the moment when avast solitude presents itself to our eyes, at the moment when thesentiments, the interests upon which we have subsisted during so manysmiling years, are about to vanish for ever? Ah! you who are to survivethis being like unto yourself whom heaven had given you for yoursupport; that being who was every thing to you, and whose looks bid youan agonizing adieu, you will not refuse to place your hand upon anexpiring heart, in order that its last palpitation may still speak toyou when all other language has failed! And shall we blame you, faithfulpair, if you had desired that your mortal remains should be deposited inthe same resting place? Gracious God, awaken them together; or if oneof them only has merited that favour, if only one of them must join thesmall number of the elect, let the other be informed of it; let theother perceive the light of angels at the moment when the fate of thehappy shall be proclaimed, in order that he may possess one moment ofjoy before he sinks into eternal night. 

"Ah! perhaps we wander when we endeavour to describe the last days ofthe man of sensibility, of the man who beholds death advance with hastystrides, who sees it ready to separate him from all the objects of hisaffection. 

"He revives, and regains a momentary strength in order that his lastwords may serve for the instruction of his children. He says tothem--'Do not be afraid to witness the approaching end of your father, of your old friend. --It is in obedience to a law of nature that he quitsbefore you, this earth which he entered first. He teaches you courage, and nevertheless he leaves you with grief. He would certainly havewished to assist you a little longer with his experience--to walk alittle longer side by side with you through all those perils with whichyour youth is surrounded; _but life has no defence in the hour allottedfor our descent to the tomb_. You will now live alone in the midst of aworld from which I am about to disappear; may you reap in abundance thegifts which Providence has sown in it; but do not forget that this worlditself is only a transient abode, and that you are destined for anothermore permanent one. We shall perhaps see one another again; and in someother region, in the presence of my God, I shall offer for you as asacrifice, my prayers and my tears! Love then religion, which is so richin promise! love religion, the last bond of union between fathers andtheir children, between death and life!--Approach, that I may beholdyou once more! May the benediction of a servant of God light onyou!'--He dies!--O, heavenly angels, receive his soul, and leave us uponearth the remembrance of his actions, of his thoughts, and of hishopes!"[25]

The emotion of Oswald and Corinne had frequently interrupted thisreading. At length they were obliged to give it up. Corinne feared forthe effects of Oswald's grief, which vented itself in torrents of tears, and suffered the bitterest pangs at beholding him in this condition, notperceiving that she herself was as much afflicted as he. "Yes, " said he, stretching his hand to her, "dear friend of my heart, thy tears aremingled with mine. Thou lamentest with me that guardian angel, whoselast embrace I yet feel, whose noble look I yet behold; perhaps it isthou whom he has chosen for my comforter--perhaps--" "No, no, " criedCorinne; "he has not thought me worthy of it. " "What is it you say?"interrupted Oswald. Corinne was alarmed at having revealed what she somuch wished to conceal, and repeated what had escaped her, in anotherform, saying--"He would not think me worthy of it!"--This phrase, soaltered, dissipated the disquietude which the first had excited in theheart of Oswald, and he continued, undisturbed by any fears, todiscourse with Corinne concerning his father. 

The physicians arrived and dissipated somewhat the alarm of Corinne; butthey absolutely forbade Lord Nelville to speak till the rupturedblood-vessel was perfectly closed. For a period of six whole daysCorinne never quitted Oswald, and prevented him from uttering a word, gently imposing silence upon him whenever he wished to speak. She foundthe art of varying the hours by reading, music, and sometimes by aconversation of which the burden was supported by herself alone; nowserious, now playful, her animation of spirits kept up a continualinterest. All this charming and amiable attention concealed thatdisquietude which internally preyed upon her, and which it was sonecessary to conceal from Lord Nelville; though she herself did notcease one instant to be a martyr to it. She perceived almost beforeOswald himself what he suffered, nor was she deceived by the courage heexerted to conceal it; she always anticipated everything that would belikely to relieve him; only endeavouring to fix his attention as littleas possible upon her assiduous cares for him. However, when Oswaldturned pale, the colour would also abandon the lips of Corinne; and herhands trembled when stretched to his assistance; but she struggledimmediately to appear composed, and often smiled when her eyes weresuffused with tears. Sometimes she pressed the hand of Oswald againsther heart, as if she would willingly impart to him her own life. Atlength her cares succeeded, and Oswald recovered. 

"Corinne, " said he to her, as soon as he was permitted to speak: "whyhas not Mr Edgermond, my friend, witnessed the days which you have spentby my bedside? He would have seen that you are not less good thanadmirable; he would have seen that domestic life with you is a scene ofcontinual enchantment, and that you only differ from every other woman, by adding to every virtue the witchery of every charm. No, it is toomuch--this internal conflict which rends my heart, and that has justbrought me to the brink of the grave, must cease. Corinne, thou shaltknow my secrets though thou concealest from me thine--and thou shaltdecide upon our fate. "--"Our fate, " answered Corinne, "if you feel as Ido, is never to part. But will you believe me that, till now, I havenot dared even entertain a wish to be your wife. What I feel is verynew to me: my ideas of life, my projects for the future, are all upsetby this sentiment, which every day disturbs and enslaves me more andmore. But I know not whether we can, whether we ought to be united!"--"Corinne, " replied Oswald, "would you despise me for having hesitated?Would you attribute that hesitation to trifling considerations? Have younot divined that the deep and sad remorse which for two years has preyedupon me, could alone cause my indecision?"

"I have comprehended it, " replied Corinne; "had I suspected you of amotive foreign to the affections of the heart, you would not have beenhe whom I loved. But life, I know, does not entirely belong to love. Habits, recollections, and circumstances, create around us a sort ofentanglement that passion itself cannot destroy. Broken for a moment, itwill join again, and encircle our heart as the ivy twines round the oak. My dear Oswald, let us not appropriate to any epoch of our existencemore than that epoch demands. Nothing is now so absolutely necessary tomy happiness as that you should not leave me. The terror of your suddendeparture pursues me incessantly. You are a stranger in this country, and bound to it by no tie. Should you go, all my prospects wouldfade, --you would leave your poor Corinne nothing but her grief. Thisbeautiful climate, these fine arts, that poetical inspiration which Ifeel with you, and now, alas! with you alone, would for me become mute. I never awake but trembling; when I behold the god of day, I know notwhether it deceives me by its resplendent beams, ignorant as I amwhether this city still contains you within its walls--you, the star ofmy life! Oswald, remove this terror from my soul, and I will desire toknow nothing beyond the delightful security you will give me. "--"Youknow, " replied Oswald, "that an Englishman can never abandon his nativecountry, that war may recall me, that--" "Oh, God!" cried Corinne, "areyou going to prepare me for the dreadful moment?" and she trembled inevery limb, as at the approach of some terrible danger. --"Well, if it beso, take me with you as your wife--as your slave--" But, suddenlyrecovering herself, she said--"Oswald, you will not go without giving meprevious notice of your departure, will you? Hear me: in no countrywhatever, is a criminal conducted to execution without some hours beingallotted for him to collect his thoughts. It will not be by letter thatyou will announce this to me--but you will come yourself in person--youwill hear me before you go far away! And shall I be able then--What, youhesitate to grant my request?" cried Corinne. "No, " replied he, "I donot hesitate; since it is thy wish, I swear that should circumstancesrequire my departure, I will apprize thee of it beforehand, and thatmoment will decide the fate of our future lives. "--She then left theroom. 

FOOTNOTE:

[25] I have taken the liberty here to borrow some passages of theDiscourse on Death, which is to be found in the _Cours de MoraleReligieuse_, by M. Necker. This work, which appeared in times when theattention was engrossed by political events, is sometimes confoundedwith another by the same author, called _l'Importance des OpinionsReligieuses_, which has had the most brilliant success. But I dareaffirm, that the former is my father's most eloquent work. No ministerof state, I believe, before him, ever composed works for the Christianpulpit; and that which ought to characterise this kind of writing from aman who has had so much dealings with his race, is a knowledge of thehuman heart, and the indulgence which this knowledge inspires: itappears then, that considered in these two points of view, the _Cours deMorale_, is perfectly original. Religious men in general do not mix inthe world, and men of the world for the most part, are not religious:where then would it be possible to find to such a degree, knowledge oflife united to the elevation which detaches us from it? I will assertwithout being afraid that my opinion will be attributed to my feelings, that this book ranks among the first of those which console the sensiblebeing, and interest minds which reflect on the great questions that thesoul incessantly agitates within us. 

Chapter ii. 

During those days which immediately followed the illness of Oswald, Corinne carefully avoided any thing that might lead to an explanationbetween them. She wished to render life as calm as possible; but shewould not yet confide her history to him. All her remarks upon theirdifferent conversations, had only served to convince her too well of theimpression he would receive in learning who she was, and what she hadsacrificed; and nothing appeared more dreadful to her than thisimpression, which might detach him from her. 

Returning then to the amiable artifice with which she had beforeprevented Oswald from abandoning himself to passionate disquietudes, shedesired to interest his mind and his imagination anew, by the wonders ofthe fine arts which he had not yet seen, and by this means retard themoment when their fate should be cleared up and decided. Such asituation would be insupportable, governed by any other sentiment thanthat of love; but so much is it in the power of love to sweeten everyhour, to give a charm to every minute, that although it need anindefinite future, it becomes, intoxicated with the present, and isfilled every day with such a multitude of emotions and ideas that itbecomes an age of happiness or pain!

Undoubtedly it is love alone that can give an idea of eternity; itconfounds every notion of time; it effaces every idea of beginning andend; we believe that we have always loved the object of our affection;so difficult is it to conceive that we have ever been able to livewithout him. The more dreadful separation appears, the less it seemsprobable; it becomes, like death, a fear which is more spoken of thanbelieved--a future event which seems impossible, even at the very momentwe know it to be inevitable. 

Corinne, among her innocent stratagems to vary the amusements of Oswald, had still in reserve the statues and the paintings. One day therefore, when Oswald was perfectly restored, she proposed that they should gotogether to see the most beautiful specimens of painting and sculpturethat Rome contains. "It is a reproach, " said she to him, smiling, "notto be acquainted with our statues and our pictures; so to-morrow we willcommence our tour of the museums and the galleries. "--"It is your wish, "answered Nelville, "and I agree. But in truth, Corinne, you have noneed of these foreign resources to retain me; on the contrary, it is asacrifice that I make whenever I turn my eyes from you to any objectwhatever. "

They went first to the Museum of the Vatican, that palace of statueswhere the human figure is deified by Paganism, in the same manner as thesentiments of the soul are now by Christianity. Corinne directed theobservation of Lord Nelville to those silent halls, where the images ofthe gods and the heroes are assembled, and where the most perfect beautyseems to enjoy itself in eternal repose. In contemplating theseadmirable features and forms, the intentions of the Deity towards man, seems, I know not how, to be revealed by the noble figure which He hasbeen pleased to give him. The soul is uplifted by this contemplation tohopes full of enthusiasm and virtue; for beauty is one and the samethroughout the universe, and under whatever form it presents itself, italways excites a religious emotion in the heart of man. What poeticlanguage, there is in those countenances where the most sublimeexpression is for ever imprinted, --where the grandest thoughts are cladwith an image so worthy of them!

In some instances, an ancient sculptor only produced one statue duringhis life--it was his whole history. --He perfected it every day: if heloved, if he was beloved, if he received from nature or the fine artsany new impression, he adorned the features of his hero with hismemories and affections: he could thus express to outward eyes all thesentiments of his soul. The grief of our modern times, in the midst ofour cold and oppressive social conditions, contains all that is mostnoble in man; and in our days, he who has not suffered, can never havethought or felt. But there was in antiquity, something more noble thangrief--an heroic calm--the sense of conscious strength, which wascherished by free and liberal institutions. The finest Grecian statueshave hardly ever indicated anything but repose. The Laocoon and Niobeare the only ones which paint violent grief and pain; but it is thevengeance of heaven which they represent, and not any passion born inthe human heart; the moral being was of so sound an organization amongthe ancients, the air circulated so freely in their deep bosoms, and theorder politic was so much in harmony with their faculties, that troubledminds hardly ever existed then, as at the present day. This state causesthe discovery of many fine ideas, but does not furnish the arts, particularly sculpture, with those simple affections, those primitiveelements of sentiment, which can alone be expressed by eternal marble. Hardly do we find any traces of melancholy; a head of Apollo, at theJustinian palace, another of the dying Alexander, are the only ones inwhich the thoughtful and suffering dispositions of the soul areindicated; but according to all appearances they both belong to the timewhen Greece was enslaved. Since that epoch, we no longer see thatboldness, nor that tranquillity of soul, which among the ancients, hasproduced masterpieces of sculpture, and poetry composed in the samespirit. 

That thought which has nothing to nourish it from without, turns uponitself, analyses, labours, and dives into every inward sentiment; but ithas no longer that creative power which supposes happiness, and thatplenitude of strength which happiness alone can give. Even thesarcophagi, among the ancients, only recall warlike or pleasing ideas:in the multitude of those which are to be found at the museum of theVatican, are seen battles and games represented in bas-relief on thetombs. The remembrance of living activity was thought to be the finesthomage that could be rendered to the dead; nothing relaxed, nothingdiminished strength. Encouragement and emulation were the principles ofthe fine arts as well as of politics; they afforded scope for everyvirtue, and for every talent. The vulgar gloried in knowing how toadmire, and the worship of genius was served even by those who could notaspire to its rewards. 

The religion of Greece was not, like Christianity, the consolation ofmisfortune, the riches of poverty, the future hope of the dying--itsought glory and triumph;--in a manner it deified man: in thisperishable religion, beauty itself was a religious dogma. If the artistswere called to paint the base and ferocious passions, they rescued thehuman form from shame, by joining to it, as in Fauns and Centaurs, sometraits of the animal figure; and in order to give to beauty its mostsublime character, they alternately blended in their statues (as in thewarlike Minerva and in the Apollo Musagetus), the charms of bothsexes--strength and softness, softness and strength; a happy mixture oftwo opposite qualities, without which neither of the two would beperfect. 

Corinne, continuing her observations, retained Oswald some time beforethose sleeping statues which are placed on the tombs, and which displaythe art of sculpture in the most agreeable point of view. She pointedout to him, that whenever statues are supposed to represent an action, the arrested movement produces a sort of astonishment which is sometimespainful. But statues asleep, or merely in the attitude of completerepose, offer an image of eternal tranquillity which wonderfully accordswith the general effect of a southern climate upon man. The fine artsappear there to be peaceful spectators of nature, and genius, which inthe north agitates the soul of man, seems beneath a beautiful sky, onlyan added harmony. 

Oswald and Corinne passed on to the hall where are collected togetherthe sculptured images of animals and reptiles; and the statue ofTiberius is found, by chance, in the midst of this court. Thisassemblage is without design. Those statues appear to have rangedthemselves of their own accord about their master. Another hall enclosedthe dull and rigid monuments of the Egyptians; of that people whosestatues resembled mummies more than men, and who by their silent, stiff, and servile institutions, seem to have assimilated as much as possible, life to death. The Egyptians excelled much more in the art of imitatinganimals than in representing men: the dominion of the soul seems to havebeen inaccessible to them. 

After these come the porticos of the museum, where at each step is seena new masterpiece. Vases, altars, ornaments of every kind, encircle theApollo, the Laocoon, and the Muses. It is there that we learn to feelHomer and Sophocles: it is there that a knowledge of antiquity isawakened in the soul, which cannot be acquired elsewhere. It is in vainthat we trust to the reading of history to comprehend the spirit ofnations; what we see inspires us with more ideas than what we read, andexternal objects cause in us a strong emotion, which gives that livinginterest to the study of the past which we find in the observation ofcontemporary facts and events. 

In the midst of these magnificent porticos, which afford an asylum to somany wonders of art, there are fountains, which, flowing incessantly, seem to tell us how sweetly the hours glided away two thousand yearsago, when the artists who executed these masterpieces were yet alive. But the most melancholy impression which we experience at the Vatican, is in contemplating the remains of statues which are collected there:the torso of Hercules, heads separated from the trunks, and a foot ofJupiter, which indicates a greater and more perfect statue than any thatwe know. We fancy a field of battle before us, where time has foughtwith genius; and these mutilated limbs attest its victory, and ourlosses. 

After leaving the Vatican, Corinne conducted him to the Colossi of MountCavallo; these two statues represent, as it is said, Castor and Pollux. Each of the two heroes is taming with one hand a fiery steed. Thesecolossal figures, this struggle between man and the animal creation, gives, like all the works of the ancients, an admirable idea of thephysical power of human nature. But this power has something noble init, which is no longer found in modern society, where all bodilyexercises are for the most part left to the common people. It is notmerely the animal force of human nature, if I may use the expression, which is observable in these masterpieces. There seems to have been amore intimate union between the physical and moral qualities among theancients, who lived incessantly in the midst of war, and a war almost ofman to man. Strength of body and generosity of soul, dignity of featuresand boldness of character, loftiness of stature and commandingauthority, were ideas almost inseparable, before a religion, entirelyintellectual, had placed the power of man in his mind. The human figure, which was also the figure of the gods, appeared symbolical; and thenervous colossus of Hercules, as well as every other ancient statue ofthis sort, do not convey vulgar ideas of common life; but an omnipotentand divine will, which shews itself under the emblem of a supernaturalphysical force. 

Corinne and Lord Nelville finished the day with a visit to the studio ofCanova, the greatest modern sculptor. As it was late when they gotthere, they were shewn it by torch light; and statues improve much intheir effect by being seen in this manner. The ancients appear to havebeen of this opinion, since they often placed them in their Thermæ, where day could not enter. By the light of the flambeaux, the shadowsbeing more full, the uniform lustre of the marble was softened, and thestatues appeared as so many pale figures, possessing a more touchingcharacter of grace and life. There was, in the studio of Canova, anadmirable statue destined for a tomb, which represented the genius ofgrief leaning upon a lion, the emblem of strength. Corinne, incontemplating the figure of grief, thought she discovered in it someresemblance to Oswald, and the artist himself was struck with it; LordNelville turned about to avoid this kind of notice; but he said in a lowvoice to his fair companion, "Corinne, I was condemned to a fate likethat which is here represented, when I met with you; but you havechanged my existence, and sometimes hope, and always an anxiety mixedwith charm, fills that heart which was to suffer nothing but regret. "

Chapter iii. 

The masterpieces of painting were then all collected together at Rome, whose riches in this respect surpassed that of all the rest of theworld. There could exist only one disputable point as to the effectproduced by this collection, namely, whether the nature of the subjectschosen by the Italian artists, afford a scope for all the variety andall the originality of passion and character which painting can express?Oswald and Corinne were of contrary opinions in this respect; but this, like every other opposition of sentiment that existed between them, wasowing to the difference of nation, climate, and religion. Corinneaffirmed that the most favourable subjects for painting were religiousones[26]. She said that sculpture was a Pagan art, and painting aChristian one; and that in these arts were to be found, as in poetry, the distinguishing qualities of ancient and modern literature. Thepictures of Michael Angelo, the painter of the Bible, and of Raphael, the painter of the Gospel, suppose as much profound thought, as muchsensibility as are to be found in Shakespeare and Racine: sculpture canonly present a simple, energetic existence, whilst painting indicatesthe mysteries of reflection and resignation, and makes the immortal soulspeak through transient colours. Corinne maintained also that historicalor poetical facts were rarely picturesque. In order to comprehend suchsubjects, it would often be necessary to preserve the practice ofpainters of old, and write the speech of each personage in a ribbonproceeding out of the mouth. But religious subjects are instantlyunderstood by everybody, and attention is not removed from the pictureto guess what it represents. 

Corinne was of opinion that the expression of modern painters was oftentheatrical, and that it bore the stamp of their age, in which was nolonger found, as in Andrea Mantegna, Perugino, and Leonardo da Vinci, the unity and simplicity which characterised the repose of the ancients;a repose to which is joined that profundity of sentiment which is thecharacteristic of Christianity. She admired the artless composition ofRaphael's pictures, especially those in his first manner. All thefigures are directed towards one principal object, without anycontrivance on the part of the artist to group them in various attitudesin order to produce a laboured effect. Corinne said that this sincerityin the arts of the imagination, as well as in every other, is the truecharacter of genius; and that studied efforts for fame are almostalways destructive of enthusiasm. She maintained that there was rhetoricin painting as well as in poetry, and that all those who could notembody character called every accessory ornament to their aid, unitingrich costumes and remarkable attitudes to the attraction of a brilliantsubject, whilst a single Virgin holding a child in her arms, anattentive old man in the Mass of Bolsena, a man leaning on his stick inthe School of Athens, or Saint Cecilia with her eyes lifted up toheaven, produced the deepest effect by the expression of the countenancealone. These natural beauties increase every day more and more in ourestimation; but on the contrary, in pictures done for effect, the firstglance is always the most striking. 

Corinne added to these reflections an observation which strengthenedthem: which was, that the religious sentiments of the Greeks and Romans, and the disposition of their minds, being in every respect absolutelyforeign from ours, it is impossible for us to create according to theirconceptions, or to build upon their ground. They may be imitated by dintof study; but how can genius employ all its energies in a work wherememory and erudition are so necessary? It is not the same with subjectsthat belong to our own history and our own religion. Here the painterhimself may be inspired; he may feel what he paints, and paint what hehas seen. Life assists him to imagine life; but in transporting himselfto the regions of antiquity, his invention must be guided by books andstatues. To conclude, Corinne found that pictures from pious subjects, impart a comfort to the soul that nothing could replace; and that theysuppose a sacred enthusiasm in the artist which blends with genius, renovates, revives, and can alone support him against the injustice ofman and the bitterness of life. 

Oswald received, in some respects, a different impression. In the firstplace, he was scandalized to see the Deity represented as he is byMichael Angelo, in human form and feature. It was his opinion thatthought dare not give Him shape and figure, and that hardly at the verybottom of the soul could be found an idea sufficiently intellectual, sufficiently ethereal to elevate it to the Supreme Being; as to subjectstaken from the Holy Scripture, it seemed to him that the expression andthe images left much to be desired. He thought, with Corinne, thatreligious meditation is the most intimate sentiment that man canexperience; and in this respect, it is that which furnishes the painterwith the deepest mysteries of physiognomy and expression; but asreligion represses every emotion which does not proceed immediately fromthe heart, the figures of the saints and martyrs cannot admit of muchvariety. The sentiment of humility, so noble in the face of heaven, weakens the energy of terrestrial passions and necessarily givesmonotony to most religious subjects. When Michael Angelo applied histerrible genius to those subjects, he almost changed their essence bygiving to his prophets a formidable expression of power more becoming aJupiter than a Saint. He, like Dante, often avails himself of the imagesof Paganism and blends the heathen mythology with the Christianreligion. One of the most admirable circumstances attending theestablishment of Christianity, is the lowly estate of the apostles whohave preached it, and the misery and debasement of the Jewish people, solong the depositaries of the promises that announced the coming ofChrist. This contrast between the littleness of the means and thegreatness of the result, is in a moral point of view, extremely fine;but in painting, which exhibits the means alone, Christian subjects mustbe less dazzling than those taken from the heroic and fabulous ages. Among the arts, music alone can be purely religious. Painting cannot beconfined to so abstract and vague an expression as that of sound. It istrue that the happy combination of colour, and of _chiaro-oscuro_produces, if it may be so expressed, a musical effect in painting; butas the latter represents life, it should express the passions in alltheir energy and diversity. Undoubtedly it is necessary to choose amonghistorical facts, those which are sufficiently known not to requirestudy in order to comprehend them; for the effect produced by paintingought to be immediate and rapid, like every other pleasure derived fromthe fine arts; but when historical facts are as popular as religioussubjects, they have the advantage over them of the variety of situationsand sentiments which they recall. 

Lord Nelville thought also, that scenes of tragedy and the most movingpoetical fictions, ought to claim a preference in painting, in orderthat all the pleasures of the imagination and of the soul might beunited. Corinne combated this opinion, fascinating as it was. She wasconvinced that the encroachment of one art upon another was mutuallyinjurious. Sculpture loses the advantages which are peculiar to it whenit aspires to represent a group of figures as in painting; painting whenit wishes to attain dramatic expression. The arts are limited in theirmeans, though boundless in their effects. Genius seeks not to combatthat which is in the essence of things; on the contrary, its superiorityconsists in discovering it. --"As for you, my dear Oswald, " said Corinne, "you do not love the arts in themselves, but only on account of theirrelation with mind and feeling. You are only sensible to that whichrepresents the sorrows of the heart. Music and poetry agree with thisdisposition; whilst the arts which speak to the eyes, though theirsignification be ideal, only please and interest us when the soul istranquil and the imagination entirely free; nor do we require, in orderto relish them, that gaiety which society inspires, but only theserenity which beautiful weather and a fine climate diffuse over themind. We must be capable of feeling the universal harmony of nature inthose arts which represent external objects; this is impossible when thesoul is troubled, that harmony having been destroyed in us bycalamity. "--"I know not, " replied Oswald, "whether my taste in the finearts be confined to that alone which can recall the sufferings of thesoul; but I know, at least, that I cannot endure the representation ofphysical pain. My strongest objection, " continued he, "against Christiansubjects in painting, is the painful sensations excited in me by theimage of blood, wounds, and torture, notwithstanding the victims mayhave been animated by the noblest enthusiasm. Philoctetus is perhaps theonly tragical subject in which bodily ills can be admitted. But with howmany poetical circumstances are his cruel pangs surrounded? They havebeen caused by the arrows of Hercules. They will be healed by the son ofÆsculapius. In short, the wound is almost confounded with the moralresentment produced in him who is struck, and cannot excite anyimpression of disgust. But the figure of the boy possessed with a devil, in Raphael's superb picture of the Transfiguration, is a disagreeableimage, and in no way possesses the dignity of the fine arts. They mustdiscover to us the charm of grief, as well as the melancholy ofprosperity; it is the ideal part of human destiny which they shouldrepresent in each particular circumstance. Nothing torments theimagination more than bloody wounds and nervous convulsions. It isimpossible in such pictures not to seek, and at the same time dread, tofind the exactness of the imitation. What pleasure can we receive fromthat art which only consists in such an imitation; it is more horrible, or less beautiful than nature herself, the moment it only aspires toresemble her. "

"You are right, my lord, " said Corinne, "to wish that Christian subjectswere divested of painful images; they do not require them. But confess, however, that genius, and the genius of the soul, can triumph over everything. Behold that picture of the Communion of St Jerome, byDomenichino. The body of the dying saint is livid and gaunt: death hasseized upon it; but in that look is eternal life, and every earthlymisery seems produced here only to disappear before the pure lustre of areligious sentiment. However, dear Oswald, " continued Corinne, "though Iam not of your opinion in everything, I will shew you that even indiffering from one another there is some analogy of sentiment betweenus. I have endeavoured to accomplish what you desire, in the gallery ofpictures which has been furnished me by those artists who were of myacquaintance, among which are some designs of my own sketching. You willthere see the defects and the advantages of those subjects which youprefer. This gallery is at my country seat at Tivoli. The weather isfine enough to visit it. --Shall we go thither to-morrow?" As she awaitedOswald's consent, he said to her: "My love, have you any doubt of myanswer? Have I in this world, any other pleasure, any other thought, besides you? And is not my life, too free perhaps from any occupation, as from every interest, solely taken up with the happiness of seeing andhearing you?"

FOOTNOTE:

[26] In a journal entitled _Europe_, are to be found observations fullof information on subjects relating to painting: from this journal Ihave extracted many of these reflections, which have just been read; MrFrederic Schlegel is the author of it, and this writer, as well as theGerman thinkers in general, is an inexhaustible mine. 

Chapter iv. 

They set out therefore the next day for Tivoli. Oswald himself drove thefour horses that drew them; he took pleasure in their swiftness, whichseemed to increase the vivacity of thought and of existence; and such animpression is sweet by the side of the object we love. He performed theoffice of whip with the most extreme attention, for fear the slightestaccident should happen to Corinne. He felt the duties of a protectorwhich is the softest tie that binds man to woman. Corinne was not, likemost women, easily terrified by the possible dangers of a journey; butit was so sweet to remark the solicitude of Oswald, that she almostwished to be frightened, to enjoy the pleasure of, hearing him cheer andcomfort her. 

That which gave Lord Nelville, as will be seen in the sequel, so greatan ascendancy over the heart of his mistress, was the unexpectedcontrasts which gave a peculiar charm to his manners. Everybody admiredhis intellect and the gracefulness of his figure; but he must have beenparticularly interesting to one, who uniting in herself by a singularaccord, constancy and mobility, took delight in impressions, at oncevarious and faithful. Never did he think of anything but Corinne; andthis very occupation of his mind incessantly assumed differentcharacters: at one time he was governed by reserve, at another he wasopen and communicative: one moment he was perfectly calm, and another aprey to the most gloomy and bitter sensations, which proved the depth ofhis sentiments, but mingled anxiety with confidence and incessantly gavebirth to new emotions. Oswald, internally agitated, endeavoured toassume an external appearance of composure, and Corinne, occupied inconjecturing his thoughts, found in this mystery a continual interest. One would have said, that the very defects of Oswald were only made toset off his agreeable qualities. No man, however distinguished, in whosecharacter there was no contradiction, who was subject to no internalconflict, could have captivated the imagination of Corinne. She felt asort of awe of Oswald, which subjected her to him. He reigned over hersoul by a good and by an evil power; by his qualities, and by thedisquietude which these qualities, badly combined, could inspire: inshort there was no security in the happiness that Lord Nelvilleconferred, and perhaps the violence of Corinne's passion was owing tothis; perhaps she could only love, to such a degree, him whom she fearedto lose. A superior mind, a sensibility as ardent as it was delicate, might become weary of everything, except that truly extraordinary man, whose soul, constantly agitated, seemed like the sky--sometimes serene, sometimes covered with clouds. Oswald, always true, always of profoundand impassioned feelings, was nevertheless often ready to renounce theobject of his tenderness, because a long habit of mental pain made himbelieve, that only remorse and suffering could be found in the tooexquisite affections of the heart. 

Lord Nelville and Corinne, in their journey to Tivoli, passed before theruins of Adrian's palace, and the immense garden which surrounded it. That prince had collected together in this garden, the most rareproductions, the most admirable masterpieces of those countries whichwere conquered by the Romans. To this very day some scattered stones areseen there, which are called _Egypt_, _India_, and _Asia_. Farther onwas the retreat, where Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, ended her days. Shedid not support in adversity, the greatness of her destiny; she wasincapable of dying for glory like a man; or like a woman, dying ratherthan betray her friend. 

At length they discovered Tivoli, which was the abode of so manycelebrated men, of Brutus, of Augustus, of Mecenas, and of Catullus; butabove all, the abode of Horace, for it is his verse which has renderedthis retreat illustrious. The house of Corinne was built over the noisycascade of Teverone; at the top of the mountain, opposite her garden, was the temple of the Sybil. It was a beautiful idea of the ancients, toplace their temples on the summits of high places. They majesticallypresided over the surrounding country, as religious ideas over all otherthoughts. They inspired more enthusiasm for nature, by announcing theDeity from which she emanates, and the eternal gratitude of successivegenerations towards her. The landscape, from whatever point of viewconsidered, formed a picture with the temple, which was placed there asthe centre and the ornament of the whole. Ruins spread a singular charmover the _campagna_ of Italy. They do not recall, like modern edifices, the labour and the presence of man; they are confounded with nature andthe trees; they seem in harmony with the solitary torrent; they presentthe image of time, which has made them what they are. The most beautifulcountries in the world, when they bring to mind no recollection, whenthey bear the stamp of no remarkable event, are stripped of interestwhen compared with historical countries. What place in Italy could bemore suitable for the habitation of Corinne than the retreat consecratedto the sybil, to the memory of a woman, animated by divine inspiration. The house of Corinne was delightful; it was ornamented with the eleganceof modern taste, and yet discovered the charm of an imaginationenamoured of the beauties of antiquity; happiness, in the most elevatedsense of the word, seemed to reign there; a felicity which consisted inall that ennobles the soul, excites thought, and vivifies talent. 

In walking with Corinne, Oswald perceived that the wind possessed anharmonious sound, and filled the air with chords, which seemed toproceed from the waving of the flowers, and the rustling of the trees, and to give a voice to nature. Corinne told him that the wind producedthis harmony from the æolian harps, which she had placed in grottoes tofill the air with sound, as well as perfumes. In this delicious abode, Oswald was inspired with the purest sentiment. --"Hear me, " said he toCorinne; "till this moment I felt the happiness I derived from yoursociety blended with remorse; but now I say to myself, that you are sentby my father to terminate my sufferings upon this earth. It is he that Ihad offended; but it is, nevertheless, he who has obtained by hisprayers my pardon in heaven. Corinne!" cried he, throwing himself uponhis knees, "I am pardoned; I feel it in this sweet calm of innocencewhich pervades my soul. Thou canst now, without apprehension, unitethyself to me, nor fear that fate opposes our union. "--"Well, " saidCorinne, "let us continue to enjoy this peace of the heart which isgranted us. Let us not meddle with destiny: she inspires so much dreadwhen we wish to interfere with her, when we try to obtain from her morethan she will give! Since we are now happy, let us not desire a change!"

[Illustration: _Corinne showing Oswald her pictures. _]

Lord Nelville was hurt at this answer of Corinne. He conceived she oughtto comprehend that he was ready to tell her every thing, to promiseevery thing, if she would only confide to him her history; and thismanner of avoiding it gave him as much offence as apprehension; he didnot perceive that a sense of delicacy prevented Corinne from takingadvantage of his emotion, to bind him by an oath. Perhaps also, it is inthe nature of a profound and genuine passion, to dread a solemn moment, however much desired, and to tremble at exchanging hope for happinessitself. Oswald, far from judging in this manner, persuaded himself, thatalthough Corinne loved him, she wished to preserve her independence, andintentionally deferred all that might lead to an indissoluble union. This thought excited in him a painful irritation, and immediatelyassuming a cold and reserved air, he followed Corinne to her gallery ofpictures, without uttering a word. She soon divined the impression shehad produced on him, but knowing his pride, she durst not impart to himher observations; however, in showing him her pictures and discussinggeneral topics, she felt a vague hope of softening him, which gave toher voice a more moving charm, even when uttering the most indifferentwords. 

Her gallery was composed of historical pictures, paintings on poeticaland religious subjects, and landscapes. None of them was composed of avery large number of figures. That style of painting undoubtedlypresents greater difficulties, but affords less pleasure. Its beautiesare too confused, or too minute. That unity of interest, which is thevital principle of the arts, as well as anything else, is necessarilydivided and scattered. The first of the historical pictures representedBrutus, in profound meditation, seated at the foot of the statue ofRome. In the back ground, the slaves are carrying the lifeless bodies ofhis two sons, whom he had condemned to death; and on the other side ofthe picture, the mother and sisters appear plunged into an agony ofgrief: women are, happily, divested of that courage, which can triumphover the affections of the heart. The statue of Rome, placed by theside of Brutus, is a beautiful idea; it speaks eloquently. Yet how canany body know without an explanation, that it is the elder Brutus whohas just sent his sons to execution? Nevertheless, it is impossible tocharacterise this event better than it is done in this picture. At adistance the city of Rome is perceived in its ancient simplicity, without edifices or ornaments, but full of patriotic grandeur, since itcould inspire such a sacrifice. --"Undoubtedly, " said Corinne, "when Ihave named Brutus, your whole soul will become fixed to this picture;but still it would be possible to behold it without divining the subjectit represented. And does not this uncertainty, which almost alwaysexists in historical pictures, mingle the torment of an enigma with theenjoyment of the fine arts, which ought to be so easy and so clear?

"I have chosen this subject because it recalls the most terrible actionthat love of country has inspired. The companion to this picture isMarius, spared by the Cimbrian, who cannot bring himself to kill thisgreat man; the figure of Marius is imposing; the costume of the Cimbrianand the expression of his physiognomy, are very picturesque. It is thesecond epoch of Rome, when laws no longer existed, but when genius stillexercised considerable influence upon circumstances. Then comes that erawhen talents and fame were only objects of misfortune and insult. Thethird picture which you see here, represents Belisarius, carrying on hisshoulders the body of his young guide, who died while asking alms forhim. Belisarius, blind and mendicant, is thus recompensed by his master;and in the universe which he has conquered, he is employed in bearing tothe grave the remains of the poor boy who alone had not abandoned him. This figure of Belisarius is admirable; another so fine is not to befound in the modern school. The painter, with a truly poeticalimagination, has united here every species of misfortune, and perhapsthe picture is too dreadful even to awaken pity: but who tells us it isBelisarius? to indicate him it should be faithful to history: but thatfidelity would deprive the subject of all its picturesque beauty. Following these pictures which represent in Brutus, virtues approachingto crime; in Marius, glory, the cause of calamity; in Belisarius, services paid by the blackest persecutions; in short, every misery ofhuman destiny, which is recorded in the events of history, I have placedtwo pictures of the old school, which a little relieve the oppressedsoul by recalling that religion which has consoled the enslaved anddistracted universe, that religion which stirred the depths of the heartwhen all without was but oppression and silence. The first is by Albano;he has painted the infant Jesus sleeping on a cross. Behold thesweetness and calm of that countenance! What pure ideas it recalls; howit convinces the soul that celestial love has nothing to fear, eitherfrom affliction or death. The second picture is by Titian; the subjectis Christ sinking beneath the weight of the cross. His mother comes tomeet Him, and throws herself upon her knees on perceiving Him. Admirablereverence in a mother for the misfortunes and divine virtues of her son!What a look is that of our Redeemer, what a divine resignation in themidst of suffering, and in this suffering what sympathy with the heartof man! That is, doubtless, the finest of my pictures. It is thattowards which I incessantly turn my eyes, without ever being able toexhaust the emotion which it inspires. Next come the dramatic pieces, "continued Corinne, "taken from four great poets. Judge with me, my lord, of the effect which they produce. The first represents Æneas in theElysian fields, when he wishes to approach Dido. The indignant shaderetires, rejoiced that she no longer carries in her bosom that heartwhich would still beat with love at the aspect of her guilty paramour. The vapoury colour of the shades and the paleness of the surroundingscene, form a contrast with the life-like appearance of Æneas and of thesybil who conducts him. But this kind of effect is an amusement of theartist, and the description of the poet is necessarily superior toanything that painting can produce. I will say as much of this pictureof Clorinda dying, and Tancred. The utmost pathos which it can excite, is to call to our minds the beautiful lines of Tasso, when Clorindapardons her adoring enemy who has just pierced her breast. Paintingnecessarily becomes subordinate to poetry, when devoted to subjectswhich have been treated by great poets; for their words leave animpression which effaces every other; the situations which they havechosen almost ever derive their chief strength from the development ofthe passions and their eloquence, whilst the greater part of picturesqueeffects arises from a calm beauty, a simple expression, a nobleattitude, a moment of repose, worthy of being indefinitely prolongedwithout ever wearying the eye. 

"Your terrible Shakespeare, my lord, " continued Corinne, "has furnishedthe subject of the third dramatic picture--it is Macbeth, --theinvincible Macbeth--who, ready to fight Macduff, whose wife and childrenhe has put to death, learns that the oracle of the witches isaccomplished, that Birnam Wood is advancing to Dunsinane, and that he isfighting a man who was born after the death of his mother. Macbeth isconquered by fate, but not by his adversary. --He grasps the sword with adesperate hand;--he knows that he is about to die;--but wishes to trywhether human strength cannot triumph over destiny. There is certainlyin this head, a fine expression of wildness and fury--of trouble and ofenergy; but how many poetical beauties do we miss? Is it possible topaint Macbeth plunged in guilt by the spells of ambition, which offerthemselves to him under the shape of witchcraft? How can paintingexpress the terror which he feels? That terror, however, which is notinconsistent with intrepid bravery? Is it possible to characterise thatpeculiar species of superstition which oppresses him? That beliefwithout dignity, that hell-born fatality which weighs him down, hiscontempt of life, his horror of death? Undoubtedly the human countenanceis the greatest of mysteries; but the motionless physiognomy of apainting can never express more than the workings of a single sentiment. Contrasts, conflicts of the mind, events, in short, belong to thedramatic art. Painting can with difficulty render a succession ofevents: time and movement exist not for it. 

"The Phèdre of Racine has furnished the subject of the fourth picture, "said Corinne, showing it to Lord Nelville. --"Hippolitus, in all thebeauty of youth and innocence, repels the perfidious accusations of hisstep-mother; the hero, Theseus, still protects his guilty spouse, whomhe encircles with his conquering arm. There is in the countenance ofPhèdre, a trouble which freezes the soul with horror; and her nurse, without remorse, encourages her in her guilt. Hippolitus in this pictureis perhaps more beautiful than even in Racine; he resembles more theancient Meleager, because no love for Aricia disturbs the impression ofhis wild and noble virtue; but is it possible to suppose that Phèdre, inthe presence of Hippolitus, can support her falsehood? Is it possiblethat she can behold him innocent and persecuted without falling at hisfeet? An offended woman may wrong the object of her affection in hisabsence; but when she sees him, her heart is wholly absorbed in love. The poet has never put Phèdre and Hippolitus in the same scene after theformer has calumniated the latter; the painter has been obliged to do soin order to bring together, as he has done in his picture, all thebeauties of the contrast; but is not this a proof that there is such adifference between poetical and picturesque subjects that it would bebetter for the poets to write from pictures, than for the painters tocompose their works from the poets? The history of the human mind provesto us that imagination must always precede thought. "

Whilst Corinne was thus explaining her pictures to Lord Nelville, shehad stopped several times, in the hope that he would speak to her; buthis wounded soul did not betray itself by a single word; whenever sheexpressed a feeling idea he only sighed and turned his head, in orderthat she might not see how easily he was affected in his present stateof mind. Corinne, overcome by this silence, sat down and covered herface with her hands--Lord Nelville for some time walked about the roomwith a hurried step, then approaching Corinne, was about to betray hisfeelings; but the invincible pride of his nature repressed his emotion, and he returned to the pictures as if he were waiting for Corinne tofinish showing them. Corinne expected much from the effect of the lastof all; and making an effort in her turn to appear calm, she arose andsaid, "My lord, I have yet three landscapes to show you--two of them areallied to very interesting ideas. I am not fond of those rustic sceneswhich are as dull in painting as idylls, when they make no allusion tofable or to history. I am most pleased with the manner of Salvator Rosa, who represents, as you see in this picture, a rock with torrents andtrees, without a single living creature, without even a bird recallingan idea of life. The absence of man in the midst of natural scenes, excites deep reflection. What would the earth be in this state ofsolitude? A work without an aim; and yet a work so beautiful, themysterious impression of which would be addressed to the Divinity alone!

"We are come at last to the two pictures in which, according to myopinion, history and poetry are happily blended with landscape[27]. Onerepresents the moment when Cincinnatus is invited by the consuls toleave the plough, in order to take the command of the Roman armies. Inthis landscape you behold all the luxury of the South, its abundantvegetation, its burning sky, the smiling aspect of all nature, discoverable even in the plants themselves; and that other picture whichforms a contrast with this, is the son of Cairbar asleep upon the tombof his father. --For three days and three nights he has awaited thearrival of the bard who is to honour the memory of the dead. This bardis perceived at a distance descending the mountain; the shade of thefather hovers in the clouds; the country is covered with hoar frost; thetrees, though naked, are agitated by the wind, and their dead branchesand dried leaves, still follow the current of the storm. "

Till then, Oswald had been influenced by resentment at what had takenplace in the garden; but on beholding this picture, the tomb of hisfather and the mountains of Scotland appeared to his mind, and his eyeswere filled with tears. Corinne took her harp, and before this picture, began to sing one of those Scotch ballads whose simple notes seem toaccompany the noise of the wind, mournfully complaining through thevalleys. She sang the farewell of a warrior quitting his native land andhis mistress; and the word, _no more_, one of the most harmonious andtouching in the English language, was pronounced by Corinne with themost moving expression. Oswald sought not to resist his emotion, andboth yielded without restraint to their tears. --"Ah!" cried LordNelville, "does my native country speak no language to thy heart?Wouldst thou follow me into those retreats, peopled by my recollections?Wouldst thou be the worthy companion of my life, as thou art its solecharm and delight?"--"I believe so, " replied Corinne--"I believe so; forI love thee!"--"In the name of love then, no longer conceal anythingfrom me, " said Oswald. --"I consent, " interrupted Corinne; "since it isthy wish. My promise is given; I only make one condition, which is, thatthou wilt not exact it of me before the approaching epoch of ourreligious ceremonies. Will not the support of heaven be more than evernecessary to me at the moment when my fate is about to be decided?"--"Nomore, " cried Lord Nelville, "if that fate depend upon me, it is nolonger doubtful. "--"Thou thinkest so, " replied she; "I have not the sameconfidence; but, in a word, I intreat thee show that condescension to myweakness which I request. "--Oswald sighed, without either granting orrefusing the delay required. --"Let us now return to town, " said Corinne. "How can I conceal anything from thee in this solitude? And if what Ihave to relate must divide us, ought I so soon--Let us go, Oswald--thouwilt return hither again, happen what may: my ashes will find resthere. " Oswald, much affected, obeyed Corinne. He returned to the citywith her, and scarcely a word passed between them upon the road. Fromtime to time they looked at each other with an affection that saideverything; but nevertheless, a sentiment of melancholy reigned in thedepths of their souls when they arrived in the midst of Rome. 

FOOTNOTE:

[27] The historical pictures which compose the gallery of Corinne, areeither from copies or originals of the Brutus of _David_, the Maurius of_Drouet_, and the Belisarius of _Gerard_; among the other picturesmentioned, that of Dido was done by _M. Rehberg_, a German painter; thatof Clorinda, is in the gallery of Florence; that of Macbeth, is in anEnglish collection of pictures from Shakespeare; and that of Phèdre, isby _Guérin_; lastly, the two landscapes of Cincinnatus and Ossian, areat Rome, and were done by Mr Wallis, an English painter. 

Book ix. 

THE POPULAR FESTIVAL, AND MUSIC. 

Chapter i. 

It was the last day of carnival, which is the most noisy festival of theyear, when a fever of joy, a mania of amusement, unparalleled in anyother country, seized the Roman people. Everybody is disguised; hardlydoes there remain at the windows, an unmasked spectator: the scene ofgaiety commences at a given hour on a certain day, and scarcely everdoes any public or private event of the year hinder any person fromjoining the sports of the season. 

It is then that we can form a judgment of the extent of imaginationpossessed by the common people. The Italian language, even in theirmouths, is full of charm. Alfieri said that he went to the public marketat Florence to learn to speak good Italian, --Rome has the sameadvantages: and perhaps these are the only two cities in the world wherethe people speak so well that the mind may receive entertainment atevery corner of the street. 

That kind of humour which shines in the authors of harlequinades andopera-buffa, is very commonly found even among men without education. Inthese days of carnival, when extravagance and caricature are admitted, the most comic scenes take place between the masks. 

Often a burlesque gravity is contrasted with the vivacity of theItalians; and one would say that these fantastic vestments inspired adignity in the wearers, not natural to them; at other times, theymanifest such a singular knowledge of mythology in their disguises, thatwe would be inclined to believe the ancient fables still popular inRome; and more frequently they ridicule different gradations of societywith a pleasantry full of force and originality. The nation appears athousand times more distinguished in its sports than in its history. TheItalian language yields to every shade of gaiety with a facility whichonly requires a light inflection of the voice and a little difference oftermination in order to increase or diminish, ennoble or travesty, thesense of words. It is particularly graceful in the mouth ofchildren[28]. The innocence of this age and the natural malice of thelanguage, form an exquisite contrast. In truth, it may be said, that itis a language which explains itself without any aid and always appearsmore intellectual than he who speaks it. 

There is neither luxury nor good taste in the feast of carnival; a kindof universal petulance makes it resemble the bacchanals of theimagination; but in imagination only is this resemblance, for the Romansare in general very sober, and except the last day of carnival, tolerably serious. We often make sudden discoveries of every sort in thecharacter of the Italians, and this is what contributes to give them thereputation of being subtle and crafty. --There is, undoubtedly, a stronghabit of dissimulation in this country, which has supported so manydifferent yokes; but it is not to dissimulation that we must alwaysattribute the rapid transition from one manner of being to another. Aninflammable imagination is often the cause of it. The character of apeople who are only rational or witty, may be easily understood and willnot suddenly surprise us, but all that belongs to the imagination isunexpected. It leaps over intermediate barriers, it is often hurt atnothing, and frequently indifferent to that which ought most to affectit. In fact, it is a law unto itself, and we can never calculate itsimpressions from their causes. 

For example, we cannot comprehend what amusement the Roman nobility findin riding in their carriages from one end of the _corso_ to the otherfor whole hours together, as well during the carnival as on the otherdays of the year. Nothing ever diverts them from this custom. There arealso among the masks, men who saunter about with every appearance ofweariness, in the most ridiculous costume imaginable, andwho--melancholy harlequins and silent punchinellos, --do not say a wordthe whole evening, but appear, if it may be so expressed, to havesatisfied their carnival conscience by having neglected nothing to bemerry. 

We find at Rome a certain species of mask which is not seen elsewhere:masks formed after the figures of the ancient statues, and which at adistance imitate the most perfect beauty--the women often lose greatlyby removing them. But nevertheless this motionless imitation of life, these stalking wax countenances, however pretty they may be, havesomething terrifying in them. The great nobles make a tolerably granddisplay of carriages on the last days of the carnival; but the pleasureof this festival is the crowd and the confusion: it seems like a relicof the _Saturnalia_; every class in Rome is mixed together. The mostgrave magistrates ride with official dignity in the midst of the masks;every window is decorated. The whole town is in the streets: it is trulya popular festival. The pleasure of the people consists neither in theshows nor the feasts that are given them, nor the magnificence theywitness. They commit no excess either in drinking or eating: theirrecreation is to be set at liberty, and to find themselves among thenobility, who on their side are pleased at being among the people. It isespecially the refinement and delicacy of amusements as well as theperfection of education, that places a barrier between different classesof people. But in Italy this distinction of rank is not very sensible;the country is more characterised by the natural talent and imaginationof all, than by the extraordinary cultivation of the upper classes. There is therefore, pending carnival, a complete confusion of ranks, ofmanners, and of sentiments: the crowd, the cries, the wit, and thecomfits with which they inundate without distinction the carriages asthey pass along, confound every mortal together and set the nationpell-mell, as if social order no longer existed. 

Corinne and Lord Nelville, both buried in thought, arrived in the midstof this tumult. They were at first almost stunned; for nothing appearsmore singular than this activity of noisy pleasures, when the soul isentirely absorbed in itself. They stopped at the Piazza del Popolo toascend the amphitheatre near the obelisk, whence is seen the racecourse. At the moment they got out of their calash, the Count d'Erfeuilperceived them and took Oswald aside to speak to him. 

"It is not right, " said he, "to show yourself in this public manner, arriving from the country alone with Corinne; you will compromise hercharacter, then what will you do?" "I do not think, " answered Nelville, "that I compromise the character of Corinne by showing the attachmentshe inspires me with. But even were that true, I should be too happy ifthe devotion of my life--" "As to your being happy, " interrupted theCount, "I do not believe it;" people can only be happy in actingbecomingly. Society, think as you may, has much influence "upon ourhappiness, and we should never do what it disapproves. "--"We should thennever be guided by our own thoughts and our own feelings, but liveentirely for society, " replied Oswald. "If it be so, if we areconstantly to imitate one another, to what purpose was a soul and anunderstanding given to each? Providence might have spared thissuperfluity. "--"That is very well said, " replied the Count, "veryphilosophically thought; but people ruin themselves by these kind ofmaxims, and when love is gone, the censure of opinion remains. I, whoappear to possess levity, would never do any thing to draw upon me thedisapprobation of the world. We may indulge in trifling liberties, inagreeable pleasantries which announce an independent manner of thinking, provided we do not carry it into action; for when it becomes serious--""But the serious consequences are love and happiness, " answered LordNelville. --"No, no;" interrupted the Count d'Erfeuil, "that is not whatI wish to say; there are certain established rules of propriety, whichone must not brave, on pain of passing for an eccentric man, a man--infact, you understand me--for a man who is not like others. "--LordNelville smiled, and without being in the least vexed; for he was by nomeans pained with these remarks; he rallied the Count upon his frivolousseverity; he felt with secret satisfaction that for the first time, on asubject which caused him so much emotion, the Count did not possess theleast influence over him. Corinne, at a distance, conjectured what waspassing; but the smile of Nelville restored tranquillity to her heart, and this conversation of the Count d'Erfeuil, far from embarrassingOswald or his fair companion, only inspired them with a temper of mindmore in harmony with the scene before them. 

The horse-racing was about to begin. Lord Nelville expected to seeraces like those of England; but what was his surprise, when informedthat only little Barbary horses without riders were to run against eachother. This sight excites the attention of the Romans in a singularmanner. The moment it is about to commence, all the crowd arrangethemselves on each side of the way. The Piazza del Popolo, which wascovered with people, is empty in a moment. Each one ascends theamphitheatres which surround the obelisk, and innumerable multitudes ofheads and dark eyes are turned towards the barrier from which the horsesare to start. 

They arrive without bridle or saddle, with merely a rich cloth thrownover their backs, and led by extremely well-dressed grooms, who take amost passionate interest in their success. The horses are placed behindthe barrier and their ardour to clear it is extreme. At every momentthey are held back; they prance, they neigh, they clatter with theirfeet, as if they were impatient of a glory which they are about toobtain themselves without the guidance of man. This impatience of thehorses and the shouts of the grooms at the moment when the barrierfalls, produce a fine dramatic effect. The horses start, the grooms cry"Stand back! Stand back!" with inexpressible transport. They accompanythe horses with their voice and gestures till they are out of sight. Thehorses seem inspired with the same emulation as men. The pavementsparkles beneath their feet; their manes fly in the air, and theirdesire, thus left to their own efforts, of winning the prize is such, that there have been some who, on arriving at the goal, have died fromthe swiftness with which they have run. It is astonishing to see thesefreed horses thus animated with personal passions; it almost induces abelief that thought exists beneath this animal form. The crowd breaktheir ranks when the horses are gone by, and follow them in disorder. They reach the Venetian palace which serves for the goal. Never wasanything like the cries of the grooms whose horses are victors. He whohad gained the first prize, threw himself on his knees before hishorse[29], and thanked him, recommending him to the protection of StAnthony, the patron of animals, with an enthusiasm as serious as it wascomic to the spectators. 

It is generally the close of day when the races finish. Then commencesanother kind of amusement, much less picturesque, but also very noisy. The windows are illuminated. The guards abandon their post to mix in thegeneral joy[30]. Each one then takes a little torch called a _moccolo_, and they seek mutually to extinguish each other's light, repeating theword _ammazzare_ (kill) with a formidable vivacity. _Che la BellaPrincipessa sia ammazata! Che il signore abbate sia ammazata!_ (Let thefair princess be killed, let the abbot be killed!) is shouted from oneend of the street to the other. The crowd, become emboldened, because atthis hour horses and carriages are forbidden, hurl themselves in alldirections. At length there is no other pleasure than that of tumult anddisorder. In the meantime night advances, the noise ceases by degrees--aprofound silence succeeds, and there only remains of this evening theconfused idea of a dream, in which the people had forgotten for a momenttheir labour, the learned their studies, and the nobility theiridleness. 

FOOTNOTES:

[28] I asked a little Tuscan girl which was the handsomer, she or hersister? "Ah!" answered she, "_Il più bel viso è il mio_;"--Mine is themost beautiful face. 

[29] An Italian postillion, whose horse was dying, prayed for him, saying. "_O Sant' Antonio, abbiate pietà dell' anima sua_;"--O SaintAnthony, have mercy on his soul!

[30] Goëthe has a description of the carnival at Rome, which gives afaithful and animated picture of that festival. 

Chapter ii. 

Oswald, since his calamity, had not found spirits to seek the pleasureof music. He dreaded those ravishing strains so soothing to melancholy, but which inflict pain, when we are oppressed by real grief. Musicawakens those bitter recollections which we are desirous to appease. When Corinne sang, Oswald listened to the words she uttered; hecontemplated the expression of her countenance, it was she alone thatoccupied him; but if in the streets of an evening, several voices werejoined, as it frequently happens in Italy, to sing the fine airs of thegreat masters, he at first endeavoured to listen, and then retired, because the emotion it excited, at once so exquisite and so indefinite, renewed his pain. However, there was a magnificent concert to be givenin the theatre at Rome, which was to combine the talents of all the bestsingers. Corinne pressed Lord Nelville to accompany her to this concert, and he consented, expecting that his feelings would be softened andrefined by the presence of her he loved. 

On entering her box, Corinne was immediately recognised, and theremembrance of the Capitol adding to the interest which she usuallyinspired, the theatre resounded with applause. From every part of thehouse they cried, "Long live Corinne!" and the musicians themselves, electrified by this general emotion, began to play victorious strains;for men are led to associate triumph of every sort with war and battle. Corinne was intimately affected with these universal tokens ofadmiration and respect. The music, the applause, the _bravos_, and thatindefinable impression, which a multitude of people expressing onesentiment always produces, awakened those feelings which, in spite ofher efforts to conceal them, appeared in her eyes suffused with tears, and the palpitation of her heart equally visible. Oswald, jealous ofthis emotion, approached her, saying in a low voice, --"It would be apity madam to snatch you from this brilliant popularity, it is certainlyequal to love, since it produces the same effect in your heart. "--Havingspoken thus, he retired to the further end of the box without waitingfor any reply. These words produced the most cruel agitation in thebosom of Corinne, and in a moment destroyed all the pleasure shereceived from these expressions of applause, which principally gave herdelight because they were witnessed by Oswald. 

The concert began--he who has not heard Italian singing can have no ideaof music! Italian voices are so soft and sweet, that they recall at oncethe perfume of flowers, and the purity of the sky. Nature has destinedthe music for the climate: one is like a reflection of the other. Theworld is the work of one mind, expressed in a thousand different forms. The Italians, during a series of ages, have been enthusiastically fondof music. Dante, in his poem of purgatory, meets with one of the bestsingers of his age; being entreated, he sings one of his delicious airs, and the ravished spirits are lulled into oblivion of their sufferings, until recalled by their guardian angel. The Christians, as well as thepagans, have extended the empire of music beyond the grave. Of all thefine arts, it is that which produces the most immediate effect upon thesoul. The others are directed to some particular idea; but this appealsto the intimate source of our existence, and entirely changes our inmostsoul. What is said of Divine Grace, which suddenly transforms the heart, may humanly speaking be applied to the power of melody; and among thepresentiments of the life to come, those which spring from music arenot to be despised. 

Even the gaiety which the comic music of Italy is so well calculated toexcite, is not of that vulgar description which does not speak to theimagination. At the very bottom of the mirth which it excites, will befound poetical sensations and an agreeable reverie, which mere verbalpleasantry never could inspire. Music is so fleeting a pleasure, that itglides away almost at the same time we feel it, in such a manner, that amelancholy impression is mingled with the gaiety which it excites; butwhen expressive of grief, it also gives birth to a sweet sentiment. Theheart beats more quickly while listening to it, and the satisfactioncaused by the regularity of the measure, by reminding us of the brevityof time, points out the necessity of enjoying it. You no longer feel anyvoid, any silence, around you; life is filled; the blood flows quickly;you feel within you that motion which gives activity to life, and youhave no fear of the external obstacles with which it is beset. 

Music redoubles the ideas which we possess of the faculties of the soul;when listening to it we feel capable of the noblest efforts. Animated bymusic, we march to the field of death with enthusiasm. This divine artis happily incapable of expressing any base sentiment, any artifice, anyfalsehood. Calamity itself, in the language of music, is stript of itsbitterness; it neither irritates the mind nor rends the heart. Musicgently raises that weight which almost constantly oppresses the heartwhen we are formed for deep and serious affections; that weight whichsometimes becomes confounded with the very sense of our existence, sohabitual is the pain which it causes. It seems to us in listening topure and delectable sounds, that we are about to seize the secret ofthe Creator, and penetrate the mystery of life. No language can expressthis impression, for language drags along slowly behind primitiveimpressions, as prose translators behind the footsteps of poets. It isonly a look that can give some idea of it; the look of an object youlove, long fixed upon you, and penetrating by degrees so deeply intoyour heart, that you are at length obliged to cast down your eyes toescape a happiness so intense, that, like the splendour of another life, it would consume the mortal being who should presume stedfastly tocontemplate it. 

The admirable exactness of two voices perfectly in harmony produces, inthe duets of the great Italian masters, a melting delight which cannotbe prolonged without pain. It is a state of pleasure too exquisite forhuman nature; and the soul then vibrates like an instrument which a tooperfect harmony would break. Oswald had obstinately kept at a distancefrom Corinne during the first part of the concert; but when the duetbegan, with faintly-sounding voices, accompanied by wind instruments, whose sounds were more pure than the voices themselves, Corinne coveredher face with her handkerchief, entirely absorbed in emotion; she wept, but without suffering--she loved, and was undisturbed by any fear. Undoubtedly the image of Oswald was present to her heart; but this imagewas mingled with the most noble enthusiasm, and a crowd of confusedthoughts wandered over her soul: it would have been necessary to limitthese thoughts in order to render them distinct. It is said that aprophet traversed seven different regions of heaven in a minute. He whocould thus conceive all that an instant might contain, must surely havefelt the sublime power of music by the side of the object he loved. Oswald felt this power, and his resentment became gradually appeased. The feelings of Corinne explained and justified everything; he gentlyapproached her, and Corinne heard him breathing by her side in the mostenchanting passage of this celestial music. It was too much--the mostpathetic tragedy could not have excited in her heart so much sensationas this intimate sentiment of profound emotion which penetrated themboth at the same time, and which each succeeding moment, each new sound, continually exalted. The words of a song have no concern in producingthis emotion--they may indeed occasionally excite some passingreflection on love or death; but it is the indefinite charm of musicwhich blends itself with every feeling of the soul; and each one thinkshe finds in this melody, as in the pure and tranquil star of night, theimage of what he wishes for on earth. 

"Let us retire, " said Corinne; "I feel ready to faint. " "What ails you?"said Oswald, with uneasiness; "you grow pale. Come into the open airwith me; come. " They went out together. Corinne, leaning on the arm ofOswald, felt her strength revive from the consciousness of his support. They both approached a balcony, and Corinne, with profound emotion, saidto her lover, "Dear Oswald, I am about to leave you for eight days. ""What do you tell me?" interrupted he. "Every year, " replied she, "atthe approach of Holy Week, I go to pass some time in a convent, toprepare myself for the solemnity of Easter. " Oswald advanced nothing inopposition to this intention; he knew that at this epoch, the greaterpart of the Roman ladies gave themselves up to the most rigid devotion, without however on that account troubling themselves very seriouslyabout religion during the rest of the year; but he recollected thatCorinne professed a different worship to his, and that they could notpray together. "Why are you not, " cried he, "of the same religion asmyself?" Having pronounced this wish, he stopped short. "Have not ourhearts and minds the same country?" answered Corinne. "It is true, "replied Oswald; "but I do not feel less painfully all that separatesus. " They were then joined by Corinne's friends; but this eight days'absence so oppressed his heart that he did not utter a word during thewhole evening. 

Chapter iii. 

Oswald visited Corinne at an early hour, uneasy at what she had said tohim. He was received by her maid, who gave him a note from her mistressinforming him that she had entered the convent on that same morning, agreeably to the intention of which he had been apprised by her, andthat she should not be able to see him until after Good Friday. Sheowned to him that she could not find courage to make known her intentionof retiring so soon, in their conversation the evening before. This wasan unexpected stroke to Oswald. That house, which the absence of Corinnenow rendered so solitary, made the most painful impression upon hismind; he beheld her harp, her books, her drawings, all that habituallysurrounded her; but she herself was no longer there. The recollection ofhis father's house struck him--he shuddered and, unable to supporthimself, sunk into a chair. 

"In such a way as this, " cried he, "I might learn her death! That mind, so animated, that heart, throbbing with life, that dazzling form, in allthe freshness of vernal bloom, might be crushed by the thunderbolt offate, and the tomb of youth would be silent as that of age. Ah! what anillusion is happiness! What a fleeting moment stolen from inflexibleTime, ever watching for his prey! Corinne! Corinne! you must not leaveme; it was the charm of your presence which deprived me of reflection;all was confusion in my thoughts, dazzled as I was by the happy momentswhich I passed with you. Now I am alone--now I am restored to myself, and all my wounds are opened afresh. " He invoked Corinne with a kind ofdespair which could not be attributed to her short absence, but to thehabitual anguish of his heart, which Corinne alone could assuage. Corinne's maid, hearing the groans of Oswald, entered the room and, touched with the manner in which he was affected by the absence of hermistress, said to him, "My lord, let me comfort you; I hope my dear ladywill pardon me for betraying her secret. Come into my room, and youshall see your portrait. " "My portrait!" cried he. "Yes; she has paintedit from memory, " replied Theresa (that was the name of Corinne's maid);"she has risen at five o'clock in the morning this week past, in orderto finish it before she went to the convent. "

Oswald saw this portrait, which was a striking likeness and mostelegantly executed: this proof of the impression which he had made onCorinne penetrated him with the sweetest emotion. Opposite this portraitwas a charming picture, representing the Blessed Virgin--and before thispicture was the oratory of Corinne. This singular mixture of love andreligion is common to the greater part of Italian women, attended withcircumstances more extraordinary than in the apartment of Corinne; forfree and unrestrained as was her life, the remembrance of Oswald wasunited in her mind with the purest hopes and purest sentiments; but toplace thus the resemblance of a lover opposite an emblem of divinity, and to prepare for a retreat to a convent by consecrating a week topaint that resemblance, was a trait that characterised Italian women ingeneral rather than Corinne in particular. Their kind of devotionsupposes more imagination and sensibility than seriousness of mind andseventy of principles;--nothing could be more contrary to Oswald'sreligious ideas; yet how could he find fault with Corinne, at the verymoment when he received so affecting a proof of her love?

He minutely surveyed this chamber, which he now entered for the firsttime: at the head of Corinne's bed he saw the portrait of an elderlyman, whose physiognomy was not Italian; two bracelets were hanging nearthis portrait, one formed of dark and light hair twisted together; theother was of the most lovely flaxen, and what appeared a most remarkableeffect of chance, perfectly resembled that of Lucilia Edgermond, whichhe had observed very attentively three years ago on account of itsextreme beauty. Oswald contemplated these bracelets without uttering aword, for to interrogate Theresa he felt to be unworthy of him. ButTheresa, fancying she guessed Oswald's thoughts, and wishing to removefrom his mind every jealous suspicion, hastened to inform him thatduring eleven years that she had waited on Corinne, her mistress hadalways worn these bracelets, and that she knew they were composed of thehair of her father and mother, and that of her sister. "You have beeneleven years with Corinne, " said Lord Nelville; "you know then--"blushing, he suddenly checked himself, ashamed of the question he wasabout to put, and quitted the house immediately, to avoid saying anotherword. 

In going away, he turned about several times to behold the windows ofCorinne, and when he had lost sight of her habitation, he felt a sadnessnow new to him--that which springs from solitude. In the evening, hesought to dissipate his melancholy by joining a distinguished assemblyin Rome; for to find a charm in reverie, we must in our happy as well asin our clouded moments, be at peace with ourselves. 

The party he visited was soon insupportable to Lord Nelville, inasmuchas it made him feel more sensibly all the charms that Corinne coulddiffuse through society, by observing the void caused by her absence. Heessayed to converse with some ladies, who answered him in that insipidphraseology which is established to avoid the true expression of oursentiments and opinions, if those who use it have anything of this sortto conceal. He approached several groups of gentlemen who seemed bytheir voice and gesture to be discoursing upon some important subject;he heard them discussing the most trivial topic in the most commonmanner. He then sat down to contemplate at his ease, that vivacitywithout motive and without aim which is found in most numerousassemblies; nevertheless, mediocrity in Italy is by no meansdisagreeable; it has little vanity, little jealousy, and much respectfor superiority of mind; and if it fatigues with its dulness, it hardlyever offends by its pretensions. 

It was in these very assemblies, however, that Oswald had found so muchto interest him a few days before; the slight obstacle which the companyopposed to his conversation with Corinne, --the speedy opportunity whichshe took to return to him as soon as she had been sufficiently polite tothe rest of the circle, --the similarity of sentiment which existedbetween them in the observations which the company suggested, --thepleasure which Corinne took when discoursing in Oswald's presence, toaddress indirectly to him some reflection of which he alone comprehendedthe true meaning, had attached such recollections to every part of thisvery room, that Oswald had been deluded so far as to believe that therewas something amusing in these assemblies themselves. "Ah!" said he, when departing, "it was here as every where else--she was the life ofthe scene; let me rather seek the most desert spot till she return. Ishall feel her absence less bitterly when there is nothing about mebearing the resemblance of pleasure. "

Book x. 

HOLY WEEK. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

Oswald passed the following day in the gardens of some monasteries. Hewent first to that of the Carthusians, and stopped some time before heentered, to contemplate two Egyptian lions which are at a littledistance from the gate. Those lions have a remarkable expression ofstrength and repose; there is something in their physiognomy belongingneither to the animal nor the man: they seem one of the forces of natureand enable us to form a conception how the gods of the Pagan theologymight be represented under this emblem. 

The Carthusian monastery is built upon the ruins of the Thermæ ofDiocletian; and the church by the side of the monastery, is decoratedwith such of its granite columns as remained standing. The monks whoinhabit this retreat are very eager to show them, and the interest theytake in these ruins seems to be the only one they feel in this world. The mode of life observed by the Carthusians, supposes in them either avery limited mind, or the most noble and continued elevation ofreligious sentiments; this succession of days without any variety ofevent, reminds us of that celebrated line:

 Sur les mondes détruits le Temple dort immobile. 

 _The Temple sleeps motionless on the ruins of worlds_. 

The whole employment of their life serves but to contemplate death. Activity of mind, with such an uniformity of existence, would be a mostcruel torment. In the midst of the cloister grow four cypresses. Thisdark and silent tree, which is with difficulty agitated by the wind, introduces no appearance of motion into this abode. Near the cypressesis a fountain, scarcely heard, whose fall is so feeble and slow, thatone would be led to call it the clepsydra of this solitude, where timemakes so little noise. Sometimes the moon penetrates it with her palelustre, and her absence and return may be considered as an event in thismonotonous scene. 

Those men who exist thus, are nevertheless the same to whom war and allits bustle would scarcely suffice if they had been brought up to it. 

The different combinations of human destiny upon earth afford aninexhaustible source of reflection. A thousand accidents pass, and athousand habits are formed in the interior of the soul, which make everyindividual a world and the subject of a history. To know anotherperfectly, would be the task of a whole life; what is it then that weunderstand by knowing men? To govern them is practicable by humanwisdom, but to comprehend them belongs to God alone. 

From the Carthusian monastery Oswald repaired to that of St Bonaventure, built upon the ruins of the palace of Nero; there, where so many crimeshave been committed without remorse, poor monks, tormented by scruplesof conscience, impose upon themselves the most cruel punishment for theslightest fault. "_Our only hope_, " said one of these devotees, "_isthat at the hour of death our sins will not have exceeded ourpenances_. " Lord Nelville, as he entered this monastery struck his footagainst a trap, and asking the use of it--"_It leads to our place ofinterment_;" said one of the young monks, who was already struck withthe malady caused by the malaria. The inhabitants of the south beingvery much afraid of death, we are astonished to find institutions inItaly which fix the ideas upon this point; but it is natural to be fondof thoughts that inspire us with dread. There is, as it were, anintoxication of sadness, which does good to the soul by occupying itentirely. 

An ancient Sarcophagus of a young child serves for the fountain to thisconvent. The beautiful Palm-tree of which Rome boasts, is the only treeof any sort in the garden of these monks; but they pay no attention toexternal objects. Their discipline is too rigorous to allow any kind oflatitude to the mind. Their looks are cast down, their gait is slow, they make no use of their will. They have abdicated the government ofthemselves, _so fatiguing is this empire to its sad possessor_. Thisday, however, did not produce much emotion in the soul of Oswald; theimagination revolts at death, presented under all its various forms in amanner so manifestly intentional. When we unexpectedly meet this_memento mori_, when it is nature and not man that speaks to our soul, the impression we receive is much deeper. 

Oswald felt the most calm and gentle sensations when, at sunset, heentered the garden of _San Giovanni e Paolo_. The monks of thismonastery are subjected to a much less rigid discipline, and theirgarden commands a view of all the ruins of ancient Rome. From this spotis seen the Coliseum, the Forum, and all the triumphal arches, theobelisks, and the pillars which remain standing. What a fine situationfor such an asylum! The secluded monks are consoled for their ownnothingness, in contemplating the monuments raised by those who are nomore. Oswald strolled for a long time beneath the umbrageous walks ofthis garden, whose beautiful trees sometimes interrupt for a moment theview of Rome, only to redouble the emotion which is felt on beholding itagain. It was that hour of the evening, when all the bells in Rome areheard chiming the _Ave Maria_. 

 ----------------squilla di lontano Che paja il giorno pianger che si muore. DANTE. 

 ----------------_the vesper bell from far, That seems to mourn for the expiring day. _ CAREY'S TR. 

The evening prayer is used to fix the time. In Italy they say: _I willsee you an hour before, or an hour after the Ave Maria_: and thedifferent periods of the day and of the night, are thus religiouslydesignated. Oswald enjoyed the admirable spectacle of the sun whichtowards the evening descends slowly in the midst of the ruins, andappears for a moment submitted to the same destiny as the works of man. Oswald felt all his habitual thoughts revive within him. Corinne herselfwas too charming, and promised too much happiness to occupy his mind atthis moment. He sought the spirit of his father in the clouds, where theforce of imagination traced his celestial form, and made him hope toreceive from heaven some pure and beneficent breath, as the benedictionof his sainted parent. 

Chapter ii. 

The desire of studying and becoming acquainted with the Roman religion, determined Lord Nelville to seek an opportunity of hearing some of thosepreachers who make the churches of this city resound with theireloquence during Lent. He reckoned the days that were to divide him fromCorinne, and during her absence, he wished to see nothing thatappertained to the fine arts; nothing that derived its charm from theimagination. He could not support the emotion of pleasure produced bythe masterpieces of art when he was not with Corinne; he was onlyreconciled to happiness when she was the cause of it. Poetry, painting, music, all that embellishes life by vague hopes, was painful to him outof her presence. 

It is in the evening, with lights half extinguished, that the Romanpreachers deliver their sermons in Holy Week. All the women are thenclad in black, in remembrance of the death of Jesus Christ, and there issomething very moving in this anniversary mourning, which has been sooften renewed during a lapse of ages. It is therefore impossible toenter without genuine emotion those beautiful churches, where the tombsso fitly dispose the soul for prayer; but this emotion is generallydestroyed in a few moments by the preacher. 

His pulpit is a fairly long gallery, which he traverses from one end tothe other with as much agitation as regularity. He never fails to setout at the beginning of a phrase and to return at the end, like themotion of a pendulum; nevertheless he uses so much action, and hismanner is so vehement, that one would suppose him capable of forgettingeverything. But it is, to use the expression, a kind of systematic furythat animates the orator, such as is frequently to be met with in Italy, where the vivacity of external action often indicates no more than asuperficial emotion. A crucifix is suspended at the extremity of thepulpit; the preacher unties it, kisses it, presses it against his heart, and then restores it to its place with the greatest coolness, when thepathetic period is concluded. There is a means of producing effect whichthe ordinary preachers frequently have recourse to, namely, the squarecap they wear on their head, which they take off, and put on again withinconceivable rapidity. One of them imputed to Voltaire, andparticularly to Rousseau, the irreligion of the age. He threw his capinto the middle of the pulpit, charging it to represent Jean Jacques, and in this quality he harangued it, saying; "_Well, philosopher ofGeneva, what have you to object to my arguments_?" He was silent forsome minutes as if he waited for a reply--the cap made no answer: hethen put it upon his head again and finished the conversation in thesewords: "_now that you are convinced I shall say no more_. "

These whimsical scenes are often repeated among the Roman preachers; forreal talent in this department is here very scarce. Religion isrespected in Italy as an omnipotent law; it captivates the imaginationby its forms and ceremonies, but moral tenets are less attended to inthe pulpit than dogmas of faith, which do not penetrate the heart withreligious sentiments. Thus the eloquence of the pulpit, as well asseveral other branches of literature, is absolutely abandoned to commonideas, which neither paint nor express any thing. A new thought wouldcause almost a panic in those minds at once so indolent and so full ofardour that they need the calm of uniformity, which they love because itoffers repose to their thoughts. The ideas and phraseology of theirsermons are confined to a sort of etiquette. They follow almost in aregular sequence, and this order would be disturbed if the orator, speaking from himself, were to seek in his own mind what he should say. The Christian philosophy, whose aim is to discover the analogy betweenreligion and human nature, is as little known to the Italian preachersas any other kind of philosophy. To think upon matters of religion wouldscandalise them as much as to think against it; so much are theyaccustomed to move in a beaten track. 

The worship of the Blessed Virgin is particularly dear to the Italians, and to every other nation of the south; it seems in some manner unitedwith all that is most pure and tender in the affection we feel forwoman. But the same exaggerated figures of rhetoric are found in whatthe preachers say upon this subject; and it is impossible to conceivewhy their gestures do not turn all that is most serious into mockery. Hardly ever in Italy do we meet in the august function of the pulpit, with a true accent or a natural expression. 

Oswald, weary of the most tiresome of all monotony--that of affectedvehemence, went to the Coliseum, to hear the Capuchin who was to preachthere in the open air, at the foot of one of those altars which markout, within the enclosure, what is called _the Stations of the Cross_. What can offer a more noble subject of eloquence than the aspect of thismonument, of this amphitheatre, where the martyrs have succeeded to thegladiators! But nothing of this kind must be expected from the poorCapuchin, who, of the history of mankind, knows no more than that of hisown life. Nevertheless, if we could be insensible to the badness of hisdiscourse, we should feel ourselves moved by the different objects thatsurround him. The greater part of his auditors are of the confraternityof the _Camaldoli_; they are clad during their religious exercises in asort of grey robe, which entirely covers the head and the whole body, with two little holes for the eyes. It is thus that the spirits of thedead might be represented. These men, who are thus concealed beneaththeir vestments, prostrate themselves on the earth and strike theirbreasts. When the preacher throws himself on his knees crying for _mercyand pity_, the congregation throw themselves on their knees also, andrepeat this same cry, which dies away beneath the ancient porticoes ofthe Coliseum. It is impossible at this moment not to feel the mostreligious emotion; this appeal from earthly misery to celestial good, penetrates to the inmost sanctuary of the soul. Oswald started when allthe audience fell on their knees; he remained standing, not to join in aworship foreign to his own; but it was painful to him that he could notassociate publicly with mortals of any description, who prostratedthemselves before God. Alas! is there an invocation of heavenly pitythat is not equally suited to all men?

The people had been struck with the fine figure and foreign manners ofLord Nelville, but were by no means scandalized at his not kneelingdown. There are no people in the world more tolerant than the Romans;they are accustomed to visitors who come only to see and observe; andwhether by an effect of pride or of indolence, they never seek to instiltheir opinions into others. What is more extraordinary still, is, thatduring Holy Week particularly, there are many among them who inflictcorporal punishment upon themselves; and while they are performing thisflagellation, the church-doors are open, and they care not who enters. They are a people who do not trouble their heads about others; they donothing to be looked at; they refrain from nothing because they areobserved; they always proceed to their object, and seek their pleasurewithout suspecting that there is a sentiment called vanity, which has noobject, no pleasure, except the desire of being applauded. 

Chapter iii. 

The ceremonies of Holy Week at Rome have been much spoken of. Foreignerscome thither during Lent expressly to enjoy this spectacle; and as themusic of the Sixtine Chapel and the illumination of St Peter's arebeauties unique in themselves, it is natural that they should excite alively curiosity; but expectation is not equally satisfied. Theceremonies themselves, properly speaking--the dinner of the twelveApostles, served by the Pope, the washing of the feet by him, and allthe different customs of this solemn season--excite very movingrecollections; but a thousand inevitable circumstances often injure theinterest and the dignity of this spectacle. All those who assist at itare not equally devout, equally occupied with pious ideas. Theseceremonies, so often repeated, have become a sort of mechanical exercisefor most people, and the young priests despatch the service of greatfestivals with an activity and a dexterity little calculated to produceany religious effect. That indefinite, that unknown, that mysteriousimpression, which religion ought to excite, is entirely destroyed bythat species of attention which we cannot help paying to the manner inwhich each acquits himself of his functions. The avidity of some for themeats presented them, and the indifference of others in thegenuflections which they multiply and the prayers which they recite, often strip the festival of its solemnity. 

The ancient costumes which still serve for the vestments of the priests, agree badly with the modern style of treating the hair. The Greekbishop, with his long beard, has the most respectable appearance. Theancient custom also of making a reverence after the manner of women, instead of bowing as men do now, produces an impression by no meansserious. In a word, the _ensemble_ is not in harmony, and the ancient isblended with the modern without sufficient care being taken to strikethe imagination, or at least to avoid all that may distract it. Aworship, dazzling and majestic in its external forms, is certainlycalculated to fill the soul with the most elevated sentiments; but caremust be taken that the ceremonies do not degenerate into a spectacle inwhich each one plays his part--in which each one studies what he must doat such a moment; when he is to pray, when he is to finish his prayer;when to kneel down, and when to get up. The regulated ceremonies of acourt introduced into a temple of devotion, confine the free movement ofthe heart, which can alone give man the hope of drawing near to theDeity. 

These observations are pretty generally felt by foreigners, but theRomans for the most part do not grow weary of those ceremonies; andevery year they find in them new pleasure. A singular trait in thecharacter of the Italians is, that their mobility does not make theminconstant, nor does their vivacity render variety necessary to them. They are in every thing patient and persevering; their imaginationembellishes what they possess; it occupies their life instead ofrendering it uneasy; they think every thing more magnificent, moreimposing, more fine, than it really is: and whilst in other nationsvanity consists in an affectation of boredom, that of the Italians, orrather their warmth and vivacity, makes them find pleasure in thesentiment of admiration. 

Lord Nelville, from all that the Romans had said to him, expected to bemore affected by the ceremonies of Holy Week. He regretted the noble andsimple festivals of the Anglican church. He returned home with apainful impression; for nothing is more sad than not being moved by thatwhich ought to move us; we believe that our soul is become dry, we fearthat the fire of enthusiasm is extinguished in us, without which thefaculty of thinking can only serve to disgust us with life. 

Chapter iv. 

But Good Friday soon restored to Lord Nelville all those religiousemotions, the want of which he so much regretted on the preceding days. The seclusion of Corinne was about to terminate; he anticipated thehappiness of seeing her again: the sweet expectations of tenderaffection accord with piety; it is only a factious, worldly life, thatis entirely hostile to it. Oswald repaired to the Sixtine Chapel to hearthe celebrated _miserere_, so much talked of all over Europe. He arrivedthither whilst it was yet day, and beheld those celebrated paintings ofMichael Angelo, which represent the Last Judgment, with all the terriblepower of the subject and the talent which has handled it. Michael Angelowas penetrated with the study of Dante; and the painter, in imitation ofthe poet, represents mythological beings in the presence of JesusChrist; but he always makes Paganism the evil principle, and it is underthe form of demons that he characterises the heathen fables. On thevault of the chapel are represented the prophets, and the sybils calledin testimony by the Christians, Teste David cum Sibyllâ. 

A crowd of angels surround them; and this whole vault, painted thus, seems to bring us nearer to heaven, but with a gloomy and formidableaspect. Hardly does daylight penetrate the windows, which cast upon thepictures shadow rather than light. The obscurity enlarges those figures, already so imposing, which the pencil of Michael Angelo has traced; theincense, whose perfume has a somewhat funereal character, fills the airin this enclosure, and every sensation is prelusive to the most profoundof all--that which the music is to produce. 

Whilst Oswald was absorbed by the reflections which every object thatsurrounded him gave birth to, he saw Corinne, whose presence he had nothoped to behold so soon, enter the women's gallery, behind the gratingwhich separated it from that of the men. She was dressed in black, allpale with absence, and trembled so when she perceived Oswald, that shewas obliged to lean on the balustrade for support as she advanced; atthis moment the _miserere_ began. 

The voices, perfectly trained in this ancient song, proceeded from agallery at the commencement of the vault; the singers are not seen; themusic seems to hover in the air; and every instant the fall of dayrenders the chapel more gloomy. It was not that voluptuous andimpassioned music which Oswald and Corinne had heard eight days before;they were holy strains which counselled mortals to renounce everyearthly enjoyment. Corinne fell on her knees before the grating andremained plunged in the most profound meditation. Oswald himselfdisappeared from her sight. She thought that in such a moment one couldwish to die, if the separation of the soul from the body could takeplace without pain; if, on a sudden, an angel could carry away on hiswings our sentiments and our thoughts--sparks of ethereal fire, returning towards their source: death would then be, to use theexpression, only a spontaneous act of the heart, a more ardent and moreacceptable prayer. 

The _miserere_, that is to say, _have mercy on us_, is a psalm, composed of verses, which are sung alternately in a very differentmanner. A celestial music is heard by turns, and the verse following, inrecitative, is murmured in a dull and almost hoarse tone. One would say, that it is the reply of harsh and stern characters to sensitive hearts;that it is the reality of life which withers and repels the desires ofgenerous souls. When the sweet choristers resume their strain, hoperevives; but when the verse of recitative begins, a cold sensationseizes upon the hearer, not caused by terror, but by a repression ofenthusiasm. At length, the last piece, more noble and affecting than allthe others, leaves a pure and sweet impression upon the soul: may Godvouchsafe that same impression to us before we die. 

The torches are extinguished; night advances, and the figures of theprophets and the sybils appear like phantoms enveloped in twilight. Thesilence is profound; a word spoken would be insupportable in the thenstate of the soul, when all is intimate and internal; as soon as thelast sound expires, all depart slowly and without the least noise; eachone seems to dread the return to the vulgar interests of the world. 

Corinne followed the procession, which repaired to the temple of StPeter, then lighted only by an illuminated cross. This sign of grief, alone and shining in the august obscurity of this immense edifice, isthe most beautiful image of Christianity in the midst of the darkness oflife. A pale and distant light is cast on the statues which adorn thetombs. The living, who are perceived in crowds beneath these vaults, seem like pigmies, compared with the images of the dead. There is aroundthe cross, a space which it lights up, where the Pope clad in white isseen prostrate, with all the cardinals ranged behind him. They remainthere for half an hour in the most profound silence, and it isimpossible not to be moved at this spectacle. We know not the subjectof their prayers; we hear not their secret groanings; but they are old, they precede us in the journey to the tomb. When we in our turn passinto that terrible advance guard, may God by his grace so ennoble ourage, that the decline of life may be the first days of immortality!

Corinne, also, --the young and beautiful Corinne, --was kneeling behindthe train of priests, and the soft light reflected on her countenance, gave it a pale hue, without diminishing the lustre of her eyes. Oswaldcontemplated her as a beautiful picture--a being that inspiredadoration. When her prayer was concluded she arose. Lord Nelville darednot yet approach her, respecting the religious meditation in which hethought her plunged; but she came to him first with a transport ofhappiness; and this sentiment pervading all her actions, she receivedwith a most lively gaiety, all those who accosted her in St Peter's, which had become, all at once, a great public promenade, and arendezvous to discuss topics of business or pleasure. 

Oswald was astonished at this mobility which caused such oppositeimpressions to succeed each other; and though the gaiety of Corinne gavehim pleasure, he was surprised to find in her no trace of the emotionsof the day. He did not conceive how, upon so solemn, a day, they couldpermit this fine church to be converted into a Roman _café_, wherepeople met for pleasure; and beholding Corinne in the midst of hercircle, talking with so much vivacity, and not thinking on the objectsthat surrounded her, he conceived a sentiment of mistrust as to thelevity of which she might be capable. She instantly perceived it, andquitting her company abruptly, she took the arm of Oswald to walk withhim in the church, saying, "I have never held any conversation with youupon my religious sentiments--permit me to speak a little upon thatsubject now; perhaps I shall be able to dissipate those clouds which Iperceive rising in your mind. "

Chapter v. 

"The difference of our religions, my dear Oswald, " continued Corinne, "is the cause of that secret censure which you cannot conceal from me. Yours is serious and rigid--ours, cheerful and tender. It is generallybelieved that Catholicism is more rigorous than Protestantism; and thatmay be true in a country where a struggle has subsisted between the tworeligions; but we have no religious dissensions in Italy, and you haveexperienced much of them in England. The result of this difference is, that Catholicism in Italy has assumed a character of mildness andindulgence; and that to destroy it in England, the Reformation has armeditself with the greatest severity in principles and morals. Ourreligion, like that of the ancients, animates the arts, inspires thepoets, and becomes a part, if I may so express it, of all the joys ofour life; whilst yours, establishing itself in a country where reasonpredominates more than imagination, has assumed a character of moralausterity which will never leave it. Ours speaks in the name of love, and yours in the name of duty. Our principles are liberal, our dogmasare absolute; nevertheless, our despotic orthodoxy accommodates itselfto particular circumstances, and your religious liberty enforcesobedience to its laws without any exception. It is true that ourCatholicism imposes very hard penance upon those who have embraced amonastic life. This state, freely chosen, is a mysterious relationbetween man and the Deity; but the religion of laymen in Italy is anhabitual source of affecting emotions. Love, hope, and faith, are theprincipal virtues of this religion, and all these virtues announce andconfer happiness. Our priests therefore, far from forbidding at any timethe pure sentiment of joy, tell us that it expresses our gratitudetowards the Creator. What they exact of us, is an observance of thosepractices which prove our respect for our worship, and our desire toplease God, namely, charity for the unfortunate, and repentance for ourerrors. But they do not refuse absolution, when we zealously entreat it;and the attachments of the heart inspire a more indulgent pity amongstus than anywhere else. Has not Jesus Christ said of the Magdalen: _Muchshall be pardoned her, because she hath loved much_? These words wereuttered beneath a sky, beautiful as ours; this same sky implores for usthe Divine mercy. "

"Corinne!" answered Lord Nelville, "how can I combat words so sweet, andof which my heart stands so much in need? But I will do it, nevertheless, because it is not for a day that I love Corinne--I expectwith her a long futurity of happiness and virtue. The most pure religionis that which makes a continual homage to the Supreme Being, by thesacrifice of our passions and the fulfilment of our duties. A man'smorality is his worship of God; and it would be degrading the idea weform of the Creator, to suppose that He wills anything in relation withHis creature, that is not worthy of His intellectual perfection. Paternal authority, that noble image of a master sovereignly good, demands nothing of its children that does not tend to make them betteror happier. How then can we imagine that God would exact anything fromman, which has not man himself for its object? You see also whatconfusion in the understandings of your people results from thepractice of attaching more importance to religious ceremonies than tomoral duties. It is after Holy Week, you know, that the greatest numberof murders is committed at Rome. The people think, to use theexpression, that they have laid in a stock during Lent, and expend inassassination the treasures of their penitence. Criminals have beenseen, yet reeking with murder, who have scrupled to eat meat on aFriday; and gross minds, who have been persuaded that the greatest ofcrimes consists in disobeying the discipline of the church, exhausttheir consciences on this head, and conceive that the Deity, like humansovereigns, esteems submission to his power more than every othervirtue. This is to substitute the sycophancy of a courtier for therespect which the Creator inspires, as the source and reward of ascrupulous and delicate life. Catholicism in Italy, confining itself toexternal demonstrations, dispenses the soul from meditation andself-contemplation. When the spectacle is over, the emotion ceases, theduty is fulfilled, and one is not, as with us, a long time absorbed inthoughts and sentiments, which give birth to a rigid examination ofone's conduct and heart. "

"You are severe, my dear Oswald, " replied Corinne; "it is not the firsttime I have remarked it. If religion consisted only in a strictobservance of moral duties, in what would it be superior to reason andphilosophy? And what sentiments of piety could we discover, if ourprincipal aim were to stifle the feelings of the heart? The stoics wereas enlightened as we, as to the duties and the austerity of humanconduct; but that which is peculiar to Christianity is the religiousenthusiasm which blends with every affection of the soul; it is thepower of love and pity; it is the worship of sentiment and ofindulgence, so favourable to the flights of the soul towards heaven. How are we to interpret the parable of the Prodigal Son, if not thatlove, sincere love, is preferred even to the most exact discharge ofevery duty? This son had quitted his paternal abode, and his brother hadremained there; he had plunged into all the dissipation and pleasure ofthe world, and his brother had never deviated for a single moment fromthe regularity of domestic life; but he returned, full of love for hisfather and of repentance for his past follies, and his parent celebratedthis return by a festival. Ah! can it be doubted that among themysteries of our nature, to love and to love again is what remains to usof our celestial inheritance? Even our virtues are often too complicatedwith life, for us to comprehend the gradations of good, and what is thesecret sentiment that governs and leads us astray: I ask of my God toteach me to adore him, and I feel the effect of my prayers in the tearsthat I shed. But to support this disposition of the soul, religiouspractices are more necessary than you think; they are a constantcommunication with the Deity; they are daily actions, unconnected withthe interests of life and solely directed towards the invisible world. External objects are also a great help to piety; the soul falls backupon itself, if the fine arts, great monuments, and harmonic strains, donot reanimate that poetical genius, which is synonymous with religiousinspiration. 

"The most vulgar man, when he prays, when he suffers, and places hope inheaven, has at that moment something in him which he would express likeMilton, Homer, or Tasso, if education had taught him to clothe histhoughts with words. There are only two distinct classes of men in theworld; those who feel enthusiasm, and those who despise it; every otherdifference is the work of society. The former cannot find words toexpress their sentiments, and the latter know what it is necessary tosay to conceal the emptiness of their heart. But the spring that burstsfrom the rock at the voice of heaven, that spring is the true talent, the true religion, the true love. 

"The pomp of our worship; those pictures in which the kneeling saintsexpress a continual prayer in their looks; those statues placed on thetombs as if they were one day to rise with their inhabitants; thosechurches and their immense domes, have an intimate connection withreligious ideas. I like this splendid homage paid by men to that whichpromises them neither fortune nor power--to that which neither punishesnor rewards them, but by a sentiment of the heart. I then feel moreproud of my being; I recognise something disinterested in man; and wereeven religious magnificence multiplied to an extreme, I should love thatprodigality of terrestrial riches for another life, of time foreternity: enough is provided for the morrow, enough care is taken forthe economy of human affairs. How I love the useless, useless ifexistence be only a painful toil for a miserable gain! But if on thisearth we are journeying towards heaven, what can we do better than totake every means of elevating our soul, that it may feel the infinite, the invisible, and the eternal, in the midst of all the limits thatsurround us?

"Jesus Christ permitted a weak, and perhaps, repentant woman, to anointHis feet with the most precious perfumes, and repulsed those who advisedthat those perfumes should be reserved for a more profitable use. "_Lether alone_" said He, "_for I am only with you for a short time_. " Alas!all that is good and sublime upon earth is only with us for a shorttime; age, infirmity, and death, would soon dry up that drop of dewwhich falls from heaven and only rests upon the flowers. Let us then, dear Oswald, confound everything, --love, religion, genius, the sun, theperfumes, music, and poetry: atheism only consists in coldness, egotism, and baseness. Jesus Christ has said: _When two or three are gatheredtogether in my name, I will be in the midst of them. _ And what is it OGod! to be assembled in Thy name, if it be not to enjoy Thy sublimegifts, and to offer Thee our homage, to thank Thee for that existencewhich Thou hast given us; above all, to thank Thee, when a heart, alsocreated by Thee is perfectly responsive to our own?"

At this moment a celestial inspiration animated the countenance ofCorinne. Oswald could hardly refrain from falling on his knees beforeher in the midst of the temple, and was silent for a long time toindulge in the pleasure of recalling her words and retracing them stillin her looks. At last he set about replying; for he would not abandon acause that was dear to him. "Corinne, " said he, then, "indulge yourlover with a few words more. His heart is not dry; no, Corinne, believeme it is not, and if I am an advocate for austerity in principle andaction, it is because it renders sentiment more deep and permanent. If Ilove reason in religion, that is to say, if I reject contradictorydogmas and human means of producing effect upon men, it is because Iperceive the Deity in reason as well as in enthusiasm; and if I cannotbear that man should be deprived of any one of his faculties, it isbecause I conceive them all barely sufficient to comprehend truths whichreflection reveals to him, as well as the instinct of the heart, namely, the existence of God, and the immortality of the soul. What can be addedto these sublime ideas, to their union with virtue? What can we addthereto that is not beneath them? The poetical enthusiasm which givesyou so many charms, is not, I venture to assert, the most salutarydevotion. Corinne, how could we by this disposition prepare for theinnumerable sacrifices which duty exacts of us! There was no revelation, except by the flights of the soul, when human destiny, present andfuture, only revealed itself to the mind through clouds; but for us, towhom Christianity has rendered it clear and positive, feeling may be ourrecompense, but ought not to be our only guide: you describe theexistence of the blessed, not that of mortals. Religious life is acombat, not a hymn. If we were not condemned in this world to repressthe evil inclinations of others and of ourselves, there would in truthbe no distinction to be made except between cold and enthusiastic souls. But man is a harsher and more formidable creature than your heart paintshim to you; and reason in piety, and authority in duty, are a necessarycurb to the wanderings of his pride. 

"In whatever manner you may consider the external pomp and multipliedceremonies of your religion, believe me, my love, the contemplation ofthe universe and its author, will be always the chief worship; thatwhich will fill the imagination, without any thing futile or absurdbeing found in it upon investigation. Those dogmas which wound my reasonalso cool my enthusiasm. Undoubtedly the world, such as it is, is amystery which we can neither deny nor comprehend; it would therefore befoolish to refuse credence to what we are unable to explain; but thatwhich is contradictory is always of human creation. The mysteries ofheavenly origin are above the lights of the mind; but not in oppositionto them. A German philosopher[31] has said: _I know but two beautifulthings in the universe: the starry sky above our heads, and thesentiment of duty in our hearts_. In truth all the wonders of thecreation are comprised in these words. 

"So far from a simple and severe religion searing our hearts, I shouldhave thought, before I had known you, Corinne, that it was the only onewhich could concentrate and perpetuate the affections. I have seen themost pure and austere conduct unfold in a man the most inexhaustibletenderness. I have seen him preserve even to old age, a virginity ofsoul, which the passions and their criminal effects would necessarilyhave withered. Undoubtedly repentance is a fine thing, and I have moreneed than any person to believe in its efficacy; but repeated repentancefatigues the soul--this sentiment can only regenerate once. It is theredemption which is accomplished at the bottom of our soul, and thisgreat sacrifice cannot be renewed. When human weakness is accustomed toit, the power to love is lost; for power is necessary in order to love, at least with constancy. 

"I shall offer some objections of the same kind to that splendid form ofworship, which according to you, acts so powerfully upon theimagination. I believe the imagination to be modest, and retired as theheart. The emotions which are imposed on it, are less powerful thanthose born of itself. I have seen in the Cevennes, a Protestant ministerwho preached towards the evening in the heart of the mountains. Heinvoked the tombs of the French, banished and proscribed by theirbrethren, whose ashes had been assembled together in this spot. Hepromised their friends that they should meet them again in a betterworld. He said that a virtuous life secured us this happiness; he said:_do good to mankind, that God may heal in your heart the wound ofgrief_. He testified his astonishment at the inflexibility andhard-heartedness of man, the creature of a day, to his fellow manequally with himself the creature of a day, and seized upon thatterrible idea of death, which the living have conceived, but which theywill never be able to exhaust. In short, he said nothing that was notaffecting and true: his words were perfectly in harmony with nature. Thetorrent which was heard in the distance, the scintillating light of thestars, seemed to express the same thought under another form. Themagnificence of nature was there, that magnificence, which can feast thesoul without offending misfortune; and all this imposing simplicity, touched the soul more deeply than dazzling ceremonies could have done. "

On the second day after this conversation, Easter Sunday, Corinne andLord Nelville went together to the square of St Peter, at the momentwhen the Pope appears upon the most elevated balcony of the church, andasks of heaven that benediction which he is about to bestow on the land;when he pronounces these words, _urbi et orbi_ (to the city and to theworld)--all the assembled people fell on their knees, and Corinne andLord Nelville felt, by the emotion which they experienced at thismoment, that all forms of worship resemble each other. The religioussentiment intimately unites men among themselves, when self-love andfanaticism do not make it an object of jealousy and hatred. To praytogether in the same language, whatever be the form of worship, is themost pathetic bond of fraternity, of hope, and of sympathy, which mencan contract upon earth. 

FOOTNOTE:

[31] Kant. 

Chapter vi. 

Easter-Day was passed, and Corinne took no notice of the fulfilment ofher promise to confide her history to Lord Nelville. Wounded by thissilence, he said one day before her that he had heard much of thebeauty of Naples, and that he had a mind to visit it. Corinne, discovering in a moment what was passing in his soul, proposed toperform the journey with him. She flattered herself that she, should beable to postpone the confession which he required of her, by giving himthis satisfying proof of her love. And besides she thought that if heshould take her with him, it would be without doubt because he desiredto consecrate his life to her. She waited then with anxiety for what heshould say to her, and her almost suppliant looks seemed to entreat afavourable answer. Oswald could not resist; he had at first beensurprised at this offer and the simplicity with which Corinne made it, and hesitated for some time before he accepted it; but beholding theagitation of her he loved, her palpitating bosom, her eyes suffused withtears, he consented to set out with her, without reflecting upon theimportance of such a resolution. Corinne was elevated to the summit ofjoy; for at this moment her heart entirely relied on the passion ofOswald. 

The day was fixed upon, and the sweet perspective of their journeytogether made every other idea disappear. They amused themselves withsettling the details of their journey, and every one of these detailswas a source of pleasure. Happy disposition of the soul, in which allthe arrangements of life have a particular charm, from their connectionwith some hope of the heart! That moment arrives only too soon, wheneach hour of our existence is as fatiguing as its entirety, when everymorning requires an effort to support the awakening and to guide the dayto its close. 

The moment Lord Nelville left Corinne's house in order to prepare everything for their departure, the Count d'Erfeuil arrived, and learnt fromher the project which they had just determined on. --"Surely you don'tthink of such a thing!" said he, "what! travel with Lord Nelvillewithout his being your husband! without his having promised to marryyou! And what will you do if he abandon you?" "Why, " replied Corinne, "in any situation of life if he were to cease to love me, I should bethe most wretched creature in the world!" "Yes, but if you have donenothing to compromise your character, you will remain entirelyyourself. "--"Remain entirely myself, when the deepest sentiment of mylife shall be withered? when my heart shall be broken?"--"The publicwill not know it, and by a little dissimulation you would lose nothingin the general opinion. " "And why should I take pains to preserve thatopinion, " replied Corinne, "if not to gain an additional charm in theeyes of him I love?"--"We may cease to love, " answered the Count, "butwe cannot cease to live in the midst of society, and to need itsservices. "--"Ah! if I could think, " retorted Corinne, "that that daywould arrive when Oswald's affection would not be all in all to me inthis world; if I could believe it, I should already have ceased to love. What is love when it anticipates and reckons upon the moment when itshall no longer exist? If there be any thing religious in thissentiment, it is because it makes every other interest disappear, and, like devotion, takes a pleasure in the entire sacrifice of self. "

"What is that you tell me?" replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "can such anintellectual lady as you fill her head with such nonsense? It is theadvantage of us men that women think as you do--we have thus moreascendancy over you; but your superiority must not be lost, it must beserviceable to you. " "Serviceable to me?" said Corinne, "Ah! I owe itmuch, if it has enabled me to feel more acutely all that is interestingand generous in the character of Lord Nelville. "--"Lord Nelville islike other men, " said the Count; "he will return to his native country, he will pursue his profession; in short he will recover his reason, andyou would imprudently expose your reputation by going to Naples withhim. "--"I am ignorant of the intentions of Lord Nelville, " observedCorinne, "and perhaps I should have done better to have reflected moredeeply before I had let him obtain such power over my heart; but now, what signifies one more sacrifice! Does not my life depend on his love?I feel pleasure, on the contrary, in leaving myself no resource;--thereis none when the heart is wounded; nevertheless, the world may sometimesthink the contrary, and I love to reflect that even in this respect mycalamity would be complete, if Lord Nelville were to leave me!"--"Anddoes he know how you expose yourself on his account?" proceededd'Erfeuil. --"I have taken great care to conceal it from him, " answeredCorinne, "and as he is not well acquainted with the customs of thiscountry, I have a little exaggerated to him the latitude of conductwhich they allow. I must exact from you a promise, that you will neverundeceive him in this respect--I wish him to be perfectly free, he cannever make me happy by any kind of sacrifice. The sentiment whichrenders me happy is the flower of my life; were it once to decay, neither kindness nor delicacy could revive it. I conjure you then, mydear Count, not to interfere with my destiny; no opinion of yours uponthe affections of the heart can possibly apply to me. Your observationsare very prudent, very sensible, and extremely applicable to thesituations of ordinary life; but you would innocently do me a greatinjury, in attempting to judge of my character in the same manner aslarge bodies of people are judged, for whom there are maxims ready made. My sufferings, my enjoyments, and my feelings, are peculiar to myself, and whoever would influence my happiness must contemplate me alone, unconnected with the rest of the world. "

The self-love of Count d'Erfeuil was a little wounded by the inutilityof his counsels, and the decided proof of her affection for LordNelville which Corinne gave him. He knew very well that he himself wasnot beloved by her, he knew equally that Oswald was; but it wasunpleasant to him to hear this so openly avowed. There is alwayssomething in the favour which a man finds in a lady's sight, thatoffends even his best friends. --"I see that I can do nothing for you, "said the Count; "but should you become very unhappy you will think ofme; in the meantime, I am going to leave Rome, for since you and LordNelville are about to quit it, I should be too much bored in yourabsence. I shall certainly see you both again, either in Scotland orItaly; for since I can do nothing better with myself, I have acquired ataste for travelling. Forgive my having taken the liberty to counselyou, charming Corinne, and believe me ever devoted to you!"--Corinnethanked him, and separated with a sentiment of regret. Her acquaintancewith him commenced at the same time as with Oswald, and this remembranceformed a tie between them which she did not like to see broken. Sheconducted herself agreeably to what she had declared to the Count. Someuneasiness disturbed for a moment the joy with which Lord Nelville hadaccepted the project of the journey. He feared that their departure forNaples might injure Corinne, and wished to obtain her secret before theywent, in order to know with certainty whether some invincible obstacleto their union might not exist; but she declared to him that she wouldnot relate her history till they arrived at Naples, and sweetlydeceived him, as to what the public opinion would be on her conduct. Oswald yielded to the illusion. In a weak and undecided character, lovehalf deceives, reason half enlightens, and it is the present emotionthat decides which of the two halves shall be the whole. The mind ofLord Nelville was singularly expansive and penetrating; but he onlyformed a correct judgment of himself in reviewing his past conduct. Henever had but a confused idea of his present situation. Susceptible atonce of transport and remorse, of passion and timidity, those contrastsdid not permit him to know himself till the event had decided the combatthat was taking place within him. 

When the friends of Corinne, particularly Prince Castel-Forte, wereinformed of her project, they felt considerably chagrined. PrinceCastel-Forte was so much pained at it, that he resolved in a short timeto go and join her. There was certainly no vanity in thus filling up thetrain of a favoured lover; but he could not support the dreadful voidwhich he would find in the absence of Corinne. He had no acquaintancesbut the circle he met at her house; and he never entered any other. Thecompany which assembled around her would disperse when she should be nolonger there; and it would be impossible to collect together thefragments. Prince Castel-Forte was little accustomed to domestic life:though possessing a good share of intellect, he did not like the fatigueof study; the whole day therefore would have been an insufferable weightto him, if he had not come, morning and evening, to visit Corinne. Shewas about to depart--he knew not what to do; however he promised himselfin secret to approach her as a friend, who indulged in no pretensions, but who was ever at hand to offer his consolation in the moment ofmisfortune; such a friend may be sure that his hour will come. 

Corinne felt oppressed with melancholy in thus breaking all her formerconnections; she had led for some years in Rome a manner of life thatpleased her. She was the centre of attraction to every artist and toevery enlightened man. A perfect independence of ideas and habits gavemany charms to her existence: what was to become of her now? If destinedto the happiness of espousing Oswald, he would take her to England, andwhat would she be thought of there; how would she be able to confineherself to a mode of existence so different from what she had known forsix years past! But these sentiments only passed through her mind, andher passion for Oswald always obliterated every trace of them. She saw, she heard him, and only counted the hours by his absence or hispresence. Who can dispute with happiness? Who does not welcome it whenit comes? Corinne was not possessed of much foresight--neither fear norhope existed for her; her faith in the future was vague, and in thisrespect her imagination did her little good, and much harm. 

On the morning of her departure, Prince Castel-Forte visited her, andsaid with tears in his eyes: "Will you not return to Rome?" "Oh, _MonDieu_, yes!" replied she, "we shall be back in a month. "--"But if youmarry Lord Nelville you must leave Italy!" "Leave Italy!" said Corinne, with a sigh. --"This country, " continued Prince Castel-Forte, "where yourlanguage is spoken, where you are so well known, where you are so warmlyadmired, and your friends, Corinne--your friends! Where will you bebeloved as you are here? Where will you find that perfection of theimagination and the fine arts, so congenial to your soul? Is then ourwhole life composed of one sentiment? Is it not language, customs, andmanners, that compose the love of our country; that love which createsa home sickness so terrible to the exile?" "Ah, what is it you tell me, "cried Corinne, "have I not felt it? Is it not that which has decided myfate?"--She regarded mournfully her room and the statues that adornedit, then the Tiber which rolled its waves beneath her windows, and thesky whose beauty seemed to invite her to stay. But at that moment Oswaldcrossed the bridge of St Angelo on horseback, swift as lightning. "Therehe is!" cried Corinne. Hardly had she uttered these words, when he wasalready arrived, --she ran to meet him, and both impatient to set outhastened to ascend the carriage. Corinne, however, took a kind farewellof Prince Castel-Forte; but her obliging expressions were lost in themidst of the cries of postillions, the neighing of horses, and all thatbustle of departure, sometimes sad, and sometimes intoxicating, according to the fear or the hope which the new chances of destinyinspire. 

Book xi. 

NAPLES AND THE HERMITAGE OF ST SALVADOR. 

[Illustration]

Chapter i. 

Oswald was proud of carrying off his conquest; he who felt himselfalmost always disturbed in his enjoyments by reflections and regrets, for once did not experience the pangs of uncertainty. It was not that hewas decided, but he did not think about it and followed the tide ofevents hoping it would lead him to the object of his wishes. 

They traversed the district of Albano[32], where is still shown what isbelieved to be the tomb of the Horatii and the Curiatii. They passednear the lake of Nemi and the sacred woods that surround it. It is saidthat Hippolitus was resuscitated by Diana in these parts; she would notpermit horses to approach it, and by this prohibition perpetuated thememory of her young favourite's misfortune. Thus in Italy our memory isrefreshed by History and Poetry almost at every step, and the charmingsituations which recall them, soften all that is melancholy in the past, and seem to preserve an eternal youth. 

Oswald and Corinne traversed the Pontine marshes--a country at oncefertile and pestilential, --where, with all the fecundity of nature, asingle habitation is not to be found. Some sickly men change yourhorses, recommending to you not to sleep in passing the marshes; forsleep there is really the harbinger of death. The plough which someimprudent cultivators will still sometimes guide over this fatal land, is drawn by buffaloes, in appearance at once mean and ferocious, whilstthe most brilliant sun sheds its lustre on this melancholy spectacle. The marshy and unwholesome parts in the north are announced by theirrepulsive aspect; but in the more fatal countries of the south, naturepreserves a serenity, the deceitful mildness of which is an illusion totravellers. If it be true that it is very dangerous to sleep in crossingthe Pontine marshes, their invincible soporific influence in the heat ofthe day is one of those perfidious impressions which we receive fromthis spot. Lord Nelville constantly watched over Corinne. Sometimes sheleant her head on Theresa who accompanied them; sometimes she closed hereyes, overcome by the languor of the air. Oswald awakened herimmediately, with inexpressible terror; and though he was naturallytaciturn, he was now inexhaustible in subjects of conversation, alwayswell supported and always new, to prevent her from yielding to thisfatal sleep. Ah! should we not pardon the heart of a woman the cruelregret which attaches to those days when she was beloved, when herexistence was so necessary to that of another, when at every moment shewas supported and protected? What isolation must succeed this season ofdelight! How happy are they whom the sacred hand of Hymen has conductedfrom love to friendship, without one painful moment having embitteredtheir course!

Oswald and Corinne, after the anxious passage of the marshes, at lengtharrived at Terracina, on the sea coast, near the confines of the kingdomof Naples. It is there that the south truly begins; it is there that itreceives travellers in all its magnificence. Naples, _that happycountry_, is, as it were, separated from the rest of Europe by the seawhich surrounds it and by that dangerous district which must be passedin order to arrive at it. One would say that nature, wishing to secureto herself this charming abode, has designedly made all access to itperilous. At Rome we are not yet in the south; we have there a foretasteof its sweets, but its enchantment only truly begins in the territory ofNaples. Not far from Terracina is the promontory fixed upon by the poetsas the abode of Circe: and behind Terracina rises Mount Anxur, whereTheodoric, king of the Goths, had placed one of those strong castleswith which the northern warriors have covered the earth. There are fewtraces of the invasion of Italy by the barbarians; or at least, wherethose traces consist in devastation, they are confounded with theeffects of time. The northern nations have not given to Italy thatwarlike aspect which Germany has preserved. It seems that the gentlesoil of Ausonia was unable to support the fortifications and citadelswhich bristle in northern countries. Rarely is a Gothic edifice or afeudal castle to be met with here; and the monuments of the ancientRomans reign alone triumphant over Time, and the nations by whom theyhave been conquered. 

The whole mountain which dominates Terracina, is covered with orange andlemon trees, which embalm the air in a delicious manner. There isnothing in our climate that resembles the southern perfume of lemontrees in the open air; it produces on the imagination almost the sameeffect as melodious music; it gives a poetic disposition to the soul, stimulates genius, and intoxicates with the charms of nature. The aloeand the broad-leaved cactus, which are met here at every step, have apeculiar aspect, which brings to mind all that we know of the formidableproductions of Africa. These plants inspire a sort of terror: they seemto belong to a violent and despotic nature. The whole aspect of thecountry is foreign: we feel ourselves in another world, a world which isonly known by the descriptions of the ancient poets, who have at thesame time so much imagination and so much exactness in theirdescriptions. On entering Terracina, the children threw into thecarriage of Corinne an immense quantity of flowers which they gather bythe road-side or on the mountain, and which they carelessly scatterabout; such is their reliance on the prodigality of nature! The cartswhich bring home the harvest from the fields are every day ornamentedwith garlands of roses, and sometimes the children surround the cupsthey drink out of with flowers; for beneath such a sky the imaginationof the common people becomes poetical. By the side of these smilingpictures the sea, whose billows lashed the shore with fury, was seen andheard. It was not agitated by the storm; but by the rocks which stand inhabitual opposition to its waves, irritating its grandeur. 

 E non udite ancor come risuona Il roco ed alto fremito marino?

_And do you not hear still the hoarse and deep roar of the sea?_

This motion without aim, this strength without object which is renewedthroughout eternity without our being able to discover either its causeor its end, attracts us to the shore, where this grand spectacle offersitself to our sight; and we experience, as it were, a desire mingledwith terror, to approach the waves and to deaden our thoughts by theirtumult. 

Towards the evening all was calm. Corinne and Lord Nelville walked intothe country; they proceeded with a slow pace silently enjoying the scenebefore them. Each step they took crushed the flowers and extorted fromthem their delicious perfumes; the nightingales, resting on therose-bushes, willingly lent their song, so that the purest melodies wereunited to the most delicious odours; all the charms of nature mutuallyattracted each other, while the softness of the air was beyondexpression. When we contemplate a fine view in the north, the climate insome degree disturbs the pleasure which it inspires: those slightsensations of cold and humidity are like a false note in a concert, andmore or less distract your attention from what you behold; but inapproaching Naples you experience the friendly smiles of nature, soperfectly and without alloy, that nothing abates the agreeablesensations which they cause you. All the relations of man in our climateare with society. Nature, in hot countries, puts us in relation withexternal objects, and our sentiments sweetly expand. Not but that thesouth has also its melancholy. In what part of the earth does not humandestiny produce this impression? But in this melancholy there is neitherdiscontent, anxiety, nor regret. In other countries it is life, which, such as it is, does not suffice for the faculties of the soul; here thefaculties of the soul do not suffice for life, and the superabundance ofsensation inspires a dreamy indolence, which we can hardly account forwhen oppressed with it. 

During the night, flies of a shining hue fill the air; one would saythat the mountain emitted sparks of fire, and that the burning earth hadlet loose some of its flames. These insects fly through the trees, sometimes repose on the leaves, and the wind blows these minute starsabout, varying in a thousand ways their uncertain light. The sand alsocontained a great number of metallic stones, which sparkled on everyside: it was the land of fire, still preserving in its bosom the tracesof the sun, whose last rays had just warmed it. There is a life, and atthe same time, a repose, in this nature, which entirely satisfies thevarious desires of human existence. 

Corinne abandoned herself to the charms of this evening, and waspenetrated with joy; nor could Oswald conceal the emotion theyinspired--many times he pressed Corinne to his heart, many times he drewback from her, then returned, then drew back again out of respect to herwho was to be the companion of his life. Corinne felt no alarm, for suchwas her esteem for Oswald, that if he had demanded the entire surrenderof her being she would have considered that request as a solemn vow toespouse her; but she saw him triumph over himself, and this conquest wasan honour paid her; whilst her heart felt that plenitude of happiness, and of love, which does not permit us to form another desire. Oswald wasfar from being so calm: he was fired with the charms of Corinne. Once hethrew himself at her feet with violence, and seemed to have lost allempire over his passion; but Corinne regarded him with such anexpression of sweetness and fear, she made him so sensible of his powerwhile beseeching him not to abuse it, that this humble entreaty inspiredhim with more respect than any other could possibly have done. 

They then perceived in the sea, the reflection of a torch carried by theunknown hand of one who traversed the shore, repairing secretly to aneighbouring house. "He is going to see the object of his love;" saidOswald. --"Yes, " answered Corinne. "And my happiness, for to-day, isabout to end, "--resumed Oswald. At this moment the looks of Corinne werelifted towards heaven, and her eyes suffused with tears. Oswald, fearingthat he had offended her, fell on his knees to entreat her forgivenessfor that love which had overpowered him. "No, " said Corinne, stretchingforth her hand to him, and inviting him to return with her. "No, Oswald, I feel no alarm: you will respect her who loves you: you knowthat a simple request from you would be all-powerful with me; it istherefore you who must be my security--you who would for ever reject meas your bride, if you had rendered me unworthy of being so. " "Well, "answered Oswald, "since you believe in this cruel empire of your willupon my heart, Corinne, whence arises your sadness?"--"Alas!" repliedshe, "I was saying to myself, that the moments which I have just passedwith you were the happiest of my life, and as I turned my eyes ingratitude to heaven, I know not by what chance, a superstition of mychildhood revived in my heart. The moon which I contemplated was coveredwith a cloud, and the aspect of that cloud was fatal. I have alwaysfound in the sky a countenance sometimes paternal and sometimes angry;and I tell you, Oswald, heaven has to-night condemned our love. "--"Mydear, " answered Lord Nelville, "the only omens of the life of man, arehis good or evil actions; and have I not this very evening, immolated mymost ardent desires on the altar of virtue?"--"Well, so much the betterif you are not included in this presage, " replied Corinne; "it may bethat this angry sky has only threatened me. "

FOOTNOTE:

[32] There is a charming description of the Lake of Albano, in acollection of poems by Madame Brunn, _née_ Münter, whose talent andimagination give her a first rank among the women of her country. 

Chapter ii. 

They arrived at Naples by day, in the midst of that immense population, at once so animated and so indolent. They first traversed the ViaToledo, and saw the Lazzaroni lying on the pavement, or in osier basketswhich serve them for lodging, day and night. There is somethingextremely original in this state of savage existence, mingled withcivilization. There are some among these men who do not even know theirown name, and who go to confess anonymous sins; not being able to tellwho it is that has committed them. There is a subterranean grotto atNaples where thousands of Lazzaroni pass their lives, only going out atnoon to see the sun, and sleeping the rest of the day, whilst theirwives spin. In climates where food and raiment are so easy of attainmentit requires a very independent and active government to give sufficientemulation to a nation; for it is so easy for the people merely tosubsist at Naples, that they can dispense with that industry which isnecessary to procure a livelihood elsewhere. Laziness and ignorancecombined with the volcanic air which is breathed in this spot, ought toproduce ferocity when the passions are excited; but this people is notworse than any other. They possess imagination, which might become theprinciple of disinterested actions and give them a bias for virtue, iftheir religious and political institutions were good. 

Calabrians are seen marching in a body to cultivate the earth with afiddler at their head, and dancing from time to time, to rest themselvesfrom walking. There is every year, near Naples, a festival consecratedto the _madonna of the grotto_, at which the girls dance to the sound ofthe tambourine and the castanets, and it is not uncommon for a conditionto be inserted in the marriage contract, that the husband shall take hiswife every year to this festival. There is on the stage at Naples, aperformer eighty years old, who for sixty years has entertained theNeapolitans in their comic, national character of Polichinello. Can weimagine what the immortality of the soul may be to a man who thusemploys his long life? The people of Naples have no other idea ofhappiness than pleasure; but the love of pleasure is still better thana barren egotism. 

It is true that no people in the world are more fond of money than theNeapolitans: if you ask a man of the people in the street to show youyour way, he stretches out his hand after having made you a sign, forthey are more indolent in speech than in action; but their avidity formoney is not methodical nor studied; they spend it as soon as they getit. They use money as savages would if it were introduced among them. But what this nation is most wanting in, is the sentiment of dignity. They perform generous and benevolent actions from a good heart ratherthan from principle; for their theory in every respect is good fornothing, and public opinion in this country has no force. But when menor women escape this moral anarchy their conduct is more remarkable initself and more worthy of admiration than any where else, since there isnothing in external circumstances favourable to virtue. It is bornentirely in the soul. Laws and manners neither reward nor punish it. Hewho is virtuous is so much the more heroic for not being on that accounteither more considered or more sought after. 

With some honourable exceptions the higher classes pretty nearlyresemble the lower: the mind of the one is seldom more cultivated thanthat of the other, and the practice of society is the only externaldifference between them. But in the midst of this ignorance there issuch a natural intelligence in all ranks that it is impossible toforesee what a nation like this might become if all the energies ofgovernment were directed to the advancement of knowledge and morality. As there is little education at Naples, we find there, at present, moreoriginality of character than of mind. But the remarkable men of thiscountry, it is said, such as the Abbé Galiani, Caraccioli, &c. , possessed the highest sense of humour, joined to the most profoundreflection, --rare powers of the mind!--an union without which eitherpedantry or frivolity would hinder us from knowing the true value ofthings. 

The Neapolitan people, in some respects, are not civilized at all; buttheir vulgarity does not at all resemble that of other nations. Theirvery rudeness interests the imagination. The African coast which bordersthe sea on the other side is almost perceptible; there is somethingNumidian in the savage cries which are heard in every part of the city. Those swarthy faces, those vestments formed of a few pieces of red orviolet stuff whose deep colours attract the eye, even those very rags inwhich this artistic people drape themselves with grace, give to thepopulace a picturesque appearance, whilst in other countries theyexhibit nothing but the miseries of civilization. A certain taste forfinery and decoration is often found in Naples accompanied with anabsolute lack of necessaries and conveniences. The shops are agreeablyornamented with flowers and fruit. Some have a festive appearance thathas no relation to plenty nor to public felicity, but only to a livelyimagination; they seek before every thing to please the eye. Themildness of the climate permits mechanics of every class to work in thestreets. The tailors are seen making clothes, and the victuallersproviding their repasts, and these domestic occupations going on out ofdoors, multiply action in a thousand ways. Singing, dancing, and noisysports, are very suitable to this spectacle; and there is no countrywhere we feel more clearly the difference between amusement andhappiness. At length we quit the interior of the city, and arrive at thequays, whence we have a view of the sea and of Mount Vesuvius, andforget then all that we know of man. 

Oswald and Corinne arrived at Naples, whilst the eruption of MountVesuvius yet lasted. By day nothing was seen but the black smoke whichmixed with the clouds; but viewing it in the evening from the balcony oftheir abode it excited an entirely unexpected emotion. A river of firedescends towards the sea, and its burning waves, like the billows of thesea, express the rapid succession of continual and untiring motion. Onewould say that when nature transforms herself into various elements shenevertheless preserves some traces of a single and primal thought. Thephenomenon of Vesuvius deeply impresses us. We are commonly sofamiliarised with external objects that we hardly perceive theirexistence; we scarcely ever feel a new emotion in the midst of ourprosaic countries, but that astonishment which the universe ought tocause, is suddenly evoked at the aspect of an unknown wonder ofcreation: our whole being is shaken by this power of nature, in whosesocial combinations we have been so long absorbed; we feel that thegreatest mysteries in this world do not all consist in man, and that heis threatened or protected by a force independent of himself, inobedience to laws which he cannot penetrate. Oswald and Corinne proposedto ascend Mount Vesuvius, and the peril of this enterprise gave anadditional charm to a project which they were to execute together. 

Chapter iii. 

There was at that time in the port of Naples, an English man-of-war inwhich divine service was performed every Sunday. The captain, and allthe English who were at Naples, invited Lord Nelville to come thefollowing day; he consented without thinking at first whether he shouldtake Corinne with him, and how he should present her to hisfellow-countrymen. He was tormented by this disquietude the whole night. As he was walking with Corinne, on the following morning near the portand was about to advise her not to go on board, they saw an Englishlong-boat rowed by ten sailors, clad in white, and wearing black velvetcaps, on which was embroidered silver leopards. A young officer landedfrom it, and accosting Corinne by the name of Lady Nelville, begged tohave the honour of conducting her to the ship. At the name of LadyNelville Corinne was embarrassed--she blushed and cast down her eyes. Oswald appeared to hesitate a moment: then suddenly taking her hand, hesaid to her in English, --"Come, my dear, "--and she followed him. 

The noise of the waves and the silence of the sailors, who neither movednor spoke but in pursuance of their duty, and who rapidly conducted thebark over that sea which they had so often traversed, gave birth toreverie. Besides, Corinne dared not question Lord Nelville on what hadjust passed. She sought to conjecture his purpose, not thinking (whichis however the more probable) that he had none, and that he yielded toeach new circumstance. One moment she imagined that he was conductingher to divine service in order to espouse her, and this idea caused herat the time more fear than happiness: it appeared to her that she wasgoing to quit Italy and return to England, where she had suffered somuch. The severity of manners and customs in that country returned toher mind, and love itself could not entirely triumph over the bitternessof her recollections. But how astonished will she be in othercircumstances at those thoughts, fleeting as they were! how she willabjure them!

Corinne ascended the ship, the interior of which presented a picture ofthe most studied cleanliness and order. Nothing was heard but the voiceof the captain, which was prolonged and repeated from one end to theother by command and obedience. The subordination, regularity, silence, and serious deportment so remarkable on this ship, formed a system ofsocial order rigid and free, in contrast with the city of Naples, sovolatile, so passionate, and tumultuous. Oswald was occupied withCorinne and the impressions she received; but his attention wassometimes diverted from her by the pleasure he felt in finding himselfin his native country. And indeed are not ships and the open sea asecond country to an Englishman? Oswald walked the deck with the Englishon board to learn the news from England, and to discuss the politics oftheir country; during which time Corinne was with some English ladieswho had come from Naples to attend divine worship. They were surroundedby their children, as beautiful as the day, but timid as their mothers;and not a word was spoken before a new acquaintance. This constraint, this silence, rendered Corinne very sad; she turned her eyes towardsbeautiful Naples, towards its flowery shores, its animated existence, and sighed. Fortunately for her Oswald did not perceive it; on thecontrary, beholding her seated among English women, her dark eyelidscast down like their fair ones, and conforming in every respect to theirmanners, he felt a sensation of joy. In vain does an Englishman findpleasure in foreign manners; his heart always reverts to the firstimpressions of his life. If you ask Englishmen sailing at the extremityof the world whither they are going, they will answer you, _home_, ifthey are returning to England. Their wishes and their sentiments arealways turned towards their native country, at whatever distance theymay be from it. 

They descended between decks to hear divine service, and Corinne soonperceived that her idea was without foundation, that Lord Nelville hadnot formed the solemn project she had at first supposed. She thenreproached herself with having feared such an event, and theembarrassment of her present situation revived in her bosom; for all thecompany believed her to be the wife of Lord Nelville, and she had notthe courage to say a word that might either destroy or confirm thisidea. Oswald suffered as cruelly as she did; but in the midst of athousand rare qualities, there was much weakness and irresolution in hischaracter. These defects are unperceived by their possessor, and assumein his eyes a new form under every circumstance; he conceives italternately to be prudence, sensibility, or delicacy, which defers themoment of adopting a resolution and prolongs a state of indecision;hardly ever does he feel that it is the same character which attachesthis kind of inconvenience to every circumstance. 

Corinne, however, notwithstanding the painful thoughts that occupiedher, received a deep impression from the spectacle which she witnessed. Nothing, in truth, speaks more to the soul than divine service performedon board a ship; and the noble simplicity of the reformed worship seemsparticularly adapted to the sentiments which are then felt. A young manperformed the functions of chaplain; he preached with a mild but firmvoice, and his figure bespoke the rigid principles of a pure soul amidstthe ardour of youth. That severity carries with it an idea of force, very suitable to a religion preached among the perils of war. At statedmoments, the English minister delivered prayers, the last words of whichall the assembly repeated with him. These confused but mild voicesproceeding from various distances kept alive interest and emotion. Thesailors, the officers, and the captain, knelt down several times, particularly at these words, "_Lord, have mercy upon us!_" The sword ofthe captain, which dragged on the deck whilst he was kneeling, called tomind that noble union of humility before God and intrepidity before man, which renders the devotion of warriors so affecting; and whilst thesebrave people besought the God of armies, the sea was seen through theport-holes, and sometimes the murmuring of the waves, at that momenttranquil, seemed to say, "_your prayers are heard_. " The chaplainfinished, the service by a prayer, peculiar to the English sailors. "_May God_, " say they, "_give us grace to defend our happy Constitutionfrom without, and to find on our return domestic happiness at home!_"How many fine sentiments are united in these simple words! The long andcontinued study which the navy requires and the austere life led in aship, make it a military cloister in the midst of the waves; and theregularity of the most serious occupations is there only interrupted byperils and death. The sailors, in spite of their rough, hardy manners, often express themselves with much gentleness, and show a particulartenderness to women and children when they meet them on board. We arethe more touched with these sentiments, because we know with whatcoolness they expose themselves to those terrible dangers of war and thesea, in the midst of which the presence of man has something of thesupernatural. 

Corinne and Lord Nelville returned to the boat which was to bring themashore; they beheld the city of Naples, built in the form of anamphitheatre, as if to take part more commodiously in the festival ofnature; and Corinne, in setting her foot again upon Italian ground, could not refrain from feeling a sentiment of joy. If Nelville hadsuspected this sentiment he would have been hurt at it, and perhaps withreason; yet he would have been unjust towards Corinne, who loved himpassionately in spite of the painful impression caused by theremembrance of a country where cruel circumstances had rendered her sounhappy. Her imagination was lively; there was in her heart a greatcapacity for love; but talent, especially in a woman, begets adisposition to weariness, a want of something to divert the attention, which the most profound passion cannot make entirely disappear. The ideaof a monotonous life, even in the midst of happiness, makes a mind whichstands in need of variety, to shudder with fear. It is only when thereis little wind in the sails, that we can keep close to shore; but theimagination roves at large, although affection be constant; it is so, atleast, till the moment when misfortune makes every inconsistencydisappear, and leaves but one thought and one grief in the mind. 

Oswald attributed the reverie of Corinne solely to the embarrassmentinto which she had been thrown by hearing herself called Lady Nelville;and reproaching himself for not having released her from thatembarrassment he feared she might suspect him of levity. He begantherefore in order to arrive at the long-desired explanation by offeringto relate to her his own history. "I will speak first, " said he, "andyour confidence will follow mine. " "Yes, undoubtedly it must, " answeredCorinne, trembling; "but tell me at what day--at what hour? When youhave spoken, I will tell you all. "--"How agitated you are, " answeredOswald; "what then, will you ever feel that fear of your friend, thatmistrust of his heart?" "No, " continued Corinne; "it is decided; I havecommitted it all to writing, and if you choose, to-morrow--""To-morrow, " said Lord Nelville, "we are to go together to Vesuvius; Iwish to contemplate with you this astonishing wonder, to learn from youhow to admire it; and in this very journey, if I have the strength, Iwill make you acquainted with the particulars of my past life. My heartis determined; thus my confidence will open the way to yours. " "So yougive me to-morrow, " replied Corinne; "I thank you for this one day. Ah!who knows whether you will be the same for me when I have opened my soulto you? And how can I feel such a doubt without shuddering?"

Chapter iv. 

The ruins of Pompei are near to Mount Vesuvius, and Corinne and LordNeville began their excursion with these ruins. They were both silent;for the moment approached which was to decide their fate, and that vaguehope they had so long enjoyed, and which accords so well with theindolence and reverie that the climate of Italy inspires, was to bereplaced by a positive destiny. They visited Pompei together, the mostcurious ruin of antiquity. At Rome, seldom any thing is found but theremains of public monuments, and these monuments only retrace thepolitical history of past ages; but at Pompei it is the private life ofthe ancients which offers itself to the view, such as it was. TheVolcano, which has covered this city with ashes, has preserved it fromthe destroying hand of Time. Edifices, exposed to the air, never couldhave remained so perfect; but this hidden relic of antiquity was foundentire. The paintings and bronzes were still in their pristine beauty;and every thing connected with domestic life is fearfully preserved. Theamphoræ are yet prepared for the festival of the following day; theflour which was to be kneaded is still to be seen; the remains of awoman, are still decorated with those ornaments which she wore on theholiday that the Volcano disturbed, and her calcined arms no longer fillthe bracelets of precious stones which still surround them. Nowhere isto be seen so striking an image of the sudden interruption of life. Thetraces of the wheels are visible in the streets, and the stones on thebrink of the wells bear the mark of the cord which has graduallyfurrowed them. On the walls of a guardhouse are still to be seen thosemisshapen characters, those figures rudely sketched, which the soldierstraced to pass away the time, while Time was hastily advancing toswallow them up. 

When we place ourselves in the midst of the crossroads from which thecity that remains standing almost entire is seen on all sides, it seemsto us as if we were waiting for somebody, as if the master were coming;and even the appearance of life which this abode offers makes us feelmore sadly its eternal silence. It is with petrified lava that thegreater part of these houses are built, which are now swallowed up byother lava. Thus ruins are heaped upon ruins, and tombs upon tombs. Thishistory of the world, where the epochs are counted from ruin to ruin, this picture of human life, which is only lighted up by the Volcanoesthat have consumed it, fill the heart with a profound melancholy. Howlong man has existed! How long he has suffered and died! Where can wefind his sentiments and his thoughts? Is the air that we breathe inthese ruins impregnated with them, or are they for ever deposited inheaven where reigns immortality? Some burnt leaves of manuscripts, whichhave been found at Herculaneum, and Pompei, and which scholars atPortici are employed to decipher, are all that remain to give usinformation of those unhappy victims, whom the Volcano, thatthunder-bolt of earth, has destroyed. But in passing near those ashes, which art has succeeded in reanimating, we are afraid to breathe lest abreath should carry away that dust where noble ideas are perhaps stillimprinted. 

The public edifices in the city itself of Pompei, which was one of theleast important of Italy, are yet tolerably fine. The luxury of theancients had almost ever some object of public interest for its aim. Their private houses are very small, and we do not see in them anystudied magnificence, though we may remark a lively taste for the finearts in their possessors. Almost the whole interior is adorned with themost agreeable paintings and mosaic pavements ingeniously worked. Onmany of these pavements is written the word _Salve_. This word is placedon the threshold of the door, and must not be simply considered as apolite expression, but as an invocation of hospitality. The rooms aresingularly narrow, and badly lighted; the windows do not look on thestreet, but on a portico inside the house, as well as a marble courtwhich it surrounds. In the midst of this court is a cistern, simplyornamented. It is evident from this kind of habitation that the ancientslived almost entirely in the open air, and that it was there theyreceived their friends. Nothing gives us a more sweet and voluptuousidea of existence than this climate, which intimately unites man withnature; we should suppose that the character of their conversation andtheir society, ought, with such habits, to be different from those of acountry where the rigour of the cold forces the inhabitants to shutthemselves up in their houses. We understand better the Dialogues ofPlato in contemplating those porches under which the ancients walkedduring one half of the day. They were incessantly animated by thespectacle of a beautiful sky: social order, according to theirconceptions, was not the dry combination of calculation and force, but ahappy assemblage of institutions, which stimulated the faculties, unfolded the soul, and directed man to the perfection of himself and hisequals. 

Antiquity inspires an insatiable curiosity. Those men of erudition whoare occupied only in forming a collection of names which they callhistory, are certainly divested of all imagination. But to penetrate theremotest periods of the past, to interrogate the human heart through theintervening gloom of ages, to seize a fact by the help of a word, and bythe aid of that fact to discover the character and manners of a nation;in effect, to go back to the remotest time, to figure to ourselves howthe earth in its first youth appeared to the eyes of man, and in whatmanner the human race then supported the gift of existence whichcivilization has now rendered so complicated, is a continual effort ofthe imagination, which divines and discovers the finest secrets thatreflection and study can reveal to us. This occupation of the mindOswald found most fascinating, and often repeated to Corinne that if hehad not been taken up with the noblest interests in his own country, hecould only have found life supportable in those parts where themonuments of history supply the place of present existence. We must atleast regret glory when it is no longer possible to obtain it. It isforgetfulness alone that debases the soul; but it may find an asylum inthe past, when barren circumstances deprive actions of their aim. 

On leaving Pompei and returning to Portici, Corinne and Lord Nelvillewere surrounded by the inhabitants, who cried to them loudly to come andsee _the mountain_; so they call _Vesuvius_. Is it necessary to name it?It is the glory of the Neapolitans and the object of their patrioticfeelings; their country is distinguished by this phenomenon. Oswald hadCorinne carried in a kind of palanquin as far as the hermitage of StSalvador, which is half way up the mountain, and where travellers reposebefore they undertake to climb the summit. He rode by her side to watchthose who carried her, and the more his heart was filled with thegenerous thoughts that nature and history inspire, the more he adoredCorinne. 

At the foot of Vesuvius the country is the most fertile and bestcultivated that can be found in the kingdom of Naples, that is to say, in the country of Europe most favoured of heaven. The celebrated vine, whose wine is called _Lacryma Christi_, grows in this spot, and by theside of lands which have been laid waste by the lava. One would say thatnature has made a last effort in this spot, so near the Volcano, and hasdecked herself in her richest attire before her death. In proportion aswe ascend the mountain, we discover on turning round, Naples, and thebeautiful country that surrounds it. The rays of the sun make the seasparkle like precious stones; but all the splendour of the creation isextinguished by degrees as we approach the land of ashes and smoke whichannounces the vicinity of the Volcano. The ferruginous lava of precedingyears has traced in the earth deep and sable furrows, and all aroundthem is barren. At a certain height not a bird is seen to fly, atanother, plants become very scarce, then even the insects find nothingto subsist on in the arid soil. At length every living thing disappears;you enter the empire of death, and the pulverised ashes alone rollbeneath your uncertain feet. 

 Nè griggi nè armenti Guida bifolco, mai guida pastore

_Neither flocks nor herds does the husbandman or the shepherd ever guideto this spot. _

Here dwells a hermit on the confines of life and death. A tree, thelast farewell of vegetation, grows before his door: and it is beneaththe shadow of its pale foliage that travellers are accustomed to waitthe approach of night, to continue their route; for during the day, thefires of Vesuvius are only perceived like a cloud of smoke, and thelava, so bright and burning in the night, appears black before the beamsof the sun. This metamorphosis itself is a fine spectacle, which renewsevery evening that astonishment which the continuity of the same aspectmight weaken. The impression of this spot and its profound solitude, gave Lord Nelville more resolution to reveal the secrets of his soul;and desiring to excite the confidence of Corinne, he said to her withthe most lively emotion:--"You wish to read the inmost soul of yourunhappy friend; well, I will tell you all: I feel my wounds are about tobleed afresh; but ought we, in this desolate scene of nature, to dreadso much those sufferings which Time brings in its course?"

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