Then, perhaps, she thought her sacrifice too great; and
hoped, at least, to bid L ord N evil a last adieu, ere she left
E ngland; but the day after she regained her faculties
chance threw a newspaper in her way, which contained
the following paragraph :--
" L ady E dgarmond has lately learnt that her stepdaughter,
who she believed had died in I taly, is still enj oying great
literary celebrity at R ome, under the name of Corinne.
hoped, at least, to bid L ord N evil a last adieu, ere she left
E ngland; but the day after she regained her faculties
chance threw a newspaper in her way, which contained
the following paragraph :--
" L ady E dgarmond has lately learnt that her stepdaughter,
who she believed had died in I taly, is still enj oying great
literary celebrity at R ome, under the name of Corinne.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
she was no longer brilliant, no
longer admired, wandering from town to town, without
overtak ing the being for whom she had lost all, and whom
she could not forget. S he was tak en ill at an inn half way
between L ondon and E dinburgh, and, in spite of all her
efforts, unable to continue her j ourney. S he often thought,
during her long nights of suffering, that if she died there,
none but Theresina would k now the name to inscribe upon
her tomb. W hat a changed fate for the woman who could
not leave her house in I
taly without being followed by a
host of worshippers? W hy should one single feeling thus
despoil a whole life? A fter a week of intense agony, she
resumed her route: so many painful fears mingled with
the hope of seeing O swald, that her ex pectation was but a
sad anx iety. S he designed to rest a few hours on her
father' s land, where his tomb had been erected, never
having been there since; indeed, she only spent one month
on this estate with L ord E dgarmond, the happiest portion
of her stay in E ngland. These recollections inspired her
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? corinne; or italy. 327
with a wish to revisit their scene. S he k new not that her
stepmother was there already. S ome miles from the
house, perceiving that a carriage had been overturned, she
stopped her own, and saw an old gentleman ex tricated from
that which had brok en down, much alarmed by the shock .
Corinne hurried to his assistance, and offered him a share
of her conveyance to the neighbouring town: he accepted
it gratefully, announcing himself as Mr. Dick son: she re-
membered that N evil had often mentioned that name, and
directed the conversation to the only subj ect which inter-
ested her in life. Mr. Dick son was the most willing gossip
in the world; and ignorant who his companion was, be-
lieved her an E nglish lady, with no private interest in the
q uestions she ask ed, therefore told her all he k new most
minutely: her attentions had conciliated him; and, in return,
he trusted that his confidence might entertain her. H e
described how he had informed L ord N evil of his parent' s
wishes, and repeated an ex tract from the late lord' s letter,
often ex claiming, " H e ex pressly forbade O swald' s mar-
riage with this I talian, -- and they cannot brave his will
without insulting his memory. " Mr. Dick son added, that
O swald loved L ucy, was beloved by her; that her mother
strongly desired their union, but that this foreign engage-
ment prevented it. " H ow! " said Corinne, striving to
disguise her agitation: " do you think that the sole barrier
to his happiness with Miss E dgarmond ? " -- " I am sure
of it," he answered, delighted with her enq uiries. " I t is
butthreedayssinceL ordN evilsaidtome,' I fI were
free, I would marry L ucy. ' " -- " I f he were free! " sighed
Corinne. A t that moment the carriage stopped at the
hotel to which she had promised Mr. Dick son her escort.
H e thank ed her, and begged to k now where he might see
her again. S he wrung his hand, without power to speak ,
and left him. L ate as it was, she resolved that evening to
visit the grave of her father. The disorder of her mind
rendered this sacred pilgrimage more necessary than ever.
y 4>
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? 328 corinne; or italy.
CH A PTE R I X .
L ady E dgarmond had been two days on her estate, where,
that night, she had invited all her neighbours and tenants;
and there was O swald with L ucy, when Corinne arrived.
S he saw many carriages in the avenue; and alighted on
the spot where her father had once treated her with such
tenderness. W hat a contrast between those days, when
she had thought herself so unfortunate, and her present
situation! Thus are we punished for our fancied woes, by
real calamities, which but too well teach us what true
sorrow means. Corinne bade her servant ask the cause of
all this light and bustle. A domestic replied, " L ady E d-
garmond gives a ball to-night; which my master, L ord
N evil, has opened with the heiress. " Corinne shuddered;
but a painful curiosity prompted her to approach the place
where so much misery threatened her; and motioning for
her people to withdraw, she entered the open gates alone:
the obscurity permitted her to walk the park unseen. I t
was ten o' clock . O swald had been L ucy' s partner in those
E nglish country dances, which they recommence five or six
times in the evening, -- the same gentleman always dancing
with the same lady, and the greatest gravity sometimes
reigning over this party of pleasure. L ucy danced nobly,
but without vivacity. The feeling which absorbed her
added to her natural seriousness: as the whole county
was inq uisitive to k now whether she loved O swald, the
unusually observant look s she met prevented her ever
raising her eyes to his; and her embarrassment was such,
that she could scarcely hear or see any thing. This deeply
affected him at first; but as it never varied, he soon began
to weary a little; and compared this long range of men and
women, and their monotonous music, with the animated
airs and graceful dances of I taly. These reflections plunged
him into a reverie; and Corinne might yet have tasted
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 329
some moments of happiness could she have guessed his
thoughts; but, lik e a stranger on her paternal soil, alow,
though so near the man she had hoped to call her husband,
she roved at hazard through the dark walk s of grounds she
once might have deemed her own. The earth seemed fail-
ing beneath her feet; and the fever of despair alone sup-
plied her with strength: perhaps she might meet O swald
in the garden, she thought, though scarce k nowing what
she now desired.
The mansion was built on an eminence; a river ran at
its base; there were many trees on one bank ; the other was
formed of rock s, covered with briars. Corinne drew near
the water, whose murmur blended with the distant music:
the gay lamps were reflected on its surface ; while the pale
light of the moon alone irradiated the wilds on the oppo-
site side. S he thought of H amlet, in which a spectre
wanders round the festal palace. O ne step, and this for-
sak en woman might have found eternal oblivion. " To-
morrow," she cried, " when he strays here with a band of
j oyous friends, if his triumphant steps encountered the
remains of her who was once so dear to him, would he not
suffer something lik e what I
grief avenge me? yet, no, no!
seek in death, only repose. "
bear now? would not his
it is not vengeance I would
S ilently she contemplated this
stream, flowing in rapid regularity: fair nature! better
ordered than the human soul. S he remembered the day
on which N evil had saved the drowning man. " H ow
good he was then ! " she wept forth, " and may be still:
why blame him for my woes? he may not guess them --
perhaps if he could see me " S he determined, in the
midst of this fete, to demand a moment' s interview with
L ord N evil; and walk ed towards the house, under the
impulse of a newly adopted decision, which succeeds to
long uncertainty; but, as she approached it, such a tremor
seized her, that she was obliged to sit down on a stone
bench which faced the windows. The throng of rustics,
assembled to look in upon the dancers, prevented her being
seen. O swald, at this moment, came to a balcony, to
breathe the fresh evening air. S ome roses that grew there
reminded him of Corinne' s favourite perfume, and he
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? 330 corinne; or italy.
started. This long entertainment tired him, accustomed as
he had been to her good taste and intelligence; and he felt
that it was only in domestic life he could find pleasure
with such a companion as L ucy. A ll that in the least
degree belonged to the world of poetry and the fine arts
bade him regret Corinne. W hile he was in this mood, a
fellow-guest j oined him, and his adorer once more heard
him speak . W hat inex plicable sensations are awak er. ed
by the voice we love! W hat a confusion of softness
and of dread! There are impressions of such force, that
our poor feeble nature is terrified at itself, while we ex pe-
rience them.
" Don' t you think this a charming ball? " ask ed the
gentleman. -- " Y es," returned O swald,abstractedly, " yes,
indeed ! " and he sighed. That sigh, that melancholy tone,
thrilled Corinne' s heart with j oy. S he thought herself
secure of regaining his, of again being understood by
him, and rose, precipitately, to bid a servant call L ord
N evil: had she obeyed her inclination, how different had
been the destiny of both! B ut at that instant L ucy
came to the window; and seeing through the dark ness of
the garden a female simply drest in white, her curiosity
was k indled. S he leant forward, and gazed attentively,
believing that she recognised the features of her sister,
who, she thought, had been for seven years dead. The
terror this sight caused her was so great that she fainted.
E very one hastened to her aid: Corinne could find no
servant to bear her message, and withdrew into deeper
shade, to avoid remark .
L ucy dared not disclose what had alarmed her; but as
her mother had, from infancy, instilled into her mind the
strongest sense of devotion, she was persuaded that the
image of her sister had appeared, gliding before her to
their father' s tomb, as if to reproach her for holding a fete
in that scene ere she had fulfilled her sacred duty to his
honoured dust: as soon as she was secure from observation,
she left the ball. Corinne, astonished at seeing her alone
in the garden, imagined that O swald soon would follow her,
and that perhaps he had besought a private meeting to ob-
tain her leave for naming his suit to her mother. This
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? corinne; O R 1TA L T. 331
thought k ept her motionless; but she saw that L ucy bent
her steps towards a small grove, which, she well k new, must
lead to L ord E dgarmond' s grave; and, accusing herself of
not having earlier borne thither her own regrets, followed
her sister at some distance, unseen. S he soon perceived
the black sarcophagus raised over the remains of their pa-
rent. F ilial tenderness overpowered her: she supported
herself against a tree. L ucy also paused, and bent her
head respectfully. Corinne was ready to discover herself,
and, in their father' s name, demand her rank and her be-
trothed ; . but the fair girl made a few hurried steps towards
the tomb, and the victim' s courage failed.
There is such timidity, even in the most impetuous
female heart, that a trifle will restrain as a trifle can ex cite
it. L ucy k nelt, removed the garland which had bound her
hair, and raised her eyes to heaven with an angelic appeal:
her face was softly illumined by the moonbeams, and Co-
rinne' s heart melted with the purest generosity. S he con-
templated the chaste and pious ex pression of that almost
childish visage, and remembered how she had watched over
it in infancy: her own youth was waning, while L ucy had
before her a long futurity, that ought not to be troubled by
any recollections which she might shame at confessing,
either before the world or to her own conscience. " I f I
accost her," thought Corinne, " that soul, so peaceful now,
will be disturbed, perhaps, for ever. I have already borne
so much, that I can suffer on; but the innocent L ucy
would pass, in a moment, from perfect calm to the most
cruel agitation. Can I , who have lulled her to sleep on my
bosom, hurl her into the ocean of grief? " L ove still com-
bated this disinterested elevation of mind, when L ucy said
aloud, " Pray for me, oh my father! " Corinne sunk on
her k nees, and mutely besought a paternal benediction on
them both, with tears more stainless than those of love.
L ucy audibly continued, " Dear sister, intercede for me in
heaven! F riend of my childhood, protect me now! "
H ow Corinne' s bosom yearned towards her, as L ucy,
with added fervour, resumed,-- " Pardon me, father, a
brief forgetfulness, caused by the sentiment yourself com-
manded! I am not, sure, to blame for loving him you
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? 332 corinne; or I taly.
chose to be my husband. A chieve your work ! I nspire him
to select me as the partner of his life! I shall never be
happy, save with him; but my fluttering heart shall not
betray its secret. O h, my God! My father, console your
child! render her worthy the esteem of O swald ! " -- " Y es,"
whispered Corinne, " k ind father, grant her prayer, and
give your other child a peaceful grave! " Thus solemnly
concluding the greatest effort of which her soul was capable,
she took from her breast the paper which contained O s-
wald' s ring, and rapidly withdrew. S he felt that in
sending this, without letting him k now where she was, she
should break all their ties, and yield him to her sister. I n
the presence of that tomb, she had been more conscious
than ever of the obstacles which separated them: her own
father, as well as O swald' s, seemed to condemn their love.
L ucy appeared deserving of him; and Corinne, at least for
the moment, was proud to sacrifice herself, that he might
live at peace with his country, his family, and his own
heart. The music which she heard from the house sus-
tained her firmness: she saw an old blind man, seated at
the foot of a tree to listen, and begged he would present
her letter to one of the servants; thus she escaped the risk
of O swald' s discovering who had brought it; for no one
could have seen her give the paper, without being assured
that it contained the fate of her whole life. H er look s, her
shak ing hand, her hollow voice, bespok e one of those awful
moments, when destiny over-rules us, and we act but as the
slaves of that fatality which so long pursued us. Corinne
watched the old man, led by his faithful dog, give her
letter to a servant of N evil' s, who, by chance, was carrying
others into the house. A ll things conspired to banish her
last hope :she made a few steps towards the gate, turning
her head to mark the servant' s entrance. W hen she no
longer saw him -- when she was on the high road, the
lights and music lost, a deathlik e damp rose to her brow,
a chill ran through her frame; she tottered on, but nature
refused the task , and she fell senseless by the way.
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? corinne; or italy.
BOOKXVIII.
TH E S O J O UR N A TF L O R E N CE .
CH A PTE R I .
Count d' E rfeuil having passed some time in S witzer-
land, wearied of nature ' mid the A lps, as he had tired of
the arts at R ome, and suddenly resolved to visit E ngland.
H e had heard that he should find much depth of thought
there, and wok e one morning to the conviction of that
being the very thing he wished to meet. This third
search after pleasure had succeeded no better than its pre-
decessors, but his regard for N evil spurred him on ; and he
assured himself, another morning, that friendship was the
greatest bliss on earth; therefore he went to S cotland.
N et seeing O swald at his home, but learning that he was
gone to L ady E dgarmond' s, the Count leaped on his horse
to follow; so much did he believe that he longed to meet
him. A sherodeq uick lyon,hesawafemaleex tended
motionless upon the road, and instantly dismounted to
assist her. W hat was his horror at recognising, through
their mortal paleness, the features of Corinne! W ith the
liveliest sympathy he helped his servant to arrange some
branches as a litter, intending to convey her to L ady E d-
garmond' s, when The' resina, who till now had remained in
her mistress' s carriage, alarmed at her absence, came to
the spot, and, certain that no one but L ord N evil could
have reduced her lady to this state, begged that she might
be borne to the neighbouring town. The Count followed
her; and for eight days, during which she suffered all the
delirium of fever, he never left her. Thus it was the fri-
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? 334 corinne; or italy
volous man who proved faithful, while the man of senti-
ment was break ing her heart. This contrast struck Co-
rinne, when she recovered her senses, and she thank ed
d' E rfeuil with great feeling: he replied by striving to
console her, more capable of noble actions than of serious
conversation. Corinne found him useful, but could not
mak e him her friend. S he strove to recall her reason, and
think over what had passed; but it was long ere she
could remember all she had done, and from what motive.
Then, perhaps, she thought her sacrifice too great; and
hoped, at least, to bid L ord N evil a last adieu, ere she left
E ngland; but the day after she regained her faculties
chance threw a newspaper in her way, which contained
the following paragraph :--
" L ady E dgarmond has lately learnt that her stepdaughter,
who she believed had died in I taly, is still enj oying great
literary celebrity at R ome, under the name of Corinne.
H er L adyship, much to her own honour, ack nowledges the
fair poet, and is desirous of sharing with her the fortune
left by L ord E dgarmond' s brother, who died in I ndia.
The marriage contract was yesterday signed, between his
L ordship' s youngest daughter (the only child of his widow)
and L ord N evil, who, on S unday nex t, leads Miss L ucy
E dgarmond to the altar. "
Unfortunately Corinne lost not her consciousness after
reading this announcement; a sudden change took place
within her; all the interests of life were lost; she felt lik e
one condemned to death, who had not k nown, till now,
when her sentence would be ex ecuted; and from this
moment the resignation of despair was the only sensation
of her breast. D' E rfeuil entered her room, and, finding
her even paler than while in her swoon, anx iously ask ed
her the news. S he replied gravely, " I am no longer ill;
to-morrow is the S abbath; I will go to Plymouth, and
embark for I taly. " -- " I shall accompany you,"
returned. " I ' ve nothing to detain me here, and shall be
he ardently
charmed at travelling with you. " -- " H ow truly good you
are! " she said: " we ought not to j udge from appear-
ances. " Then, after check ing herself, added, " I accept
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? corinne; or italy. 335
your guidance to the seaport, because I am not sure of
my own; but, once on board, the ship will bear me on,
no matter in what state I may be. " S he signed for him
to leave her, and wept long before her God, begging him
to support her beneath this sorrow. N othing was left of
the impetuous Corinne. The active powers of her life
were all ex hausted; and this annihilation, for which she
could scarcely account, restored her composure. Grief
had subdued her. S ooner or later all rebellious heads
must bow to the same yok e.
" I tisto-day! " sighedCorinne,asshewok e:" itis
to-day! " and entered her carriage with d' E rfeuil. H e
q uestioned her, but she could not reply. They passed a
church: she ask ed his leave to enter for a moment; then,
k neeling before the altar, prayed for O swald and for L ucy:
but when she would have risen she staggered, and could
not tak e onp step without the support of Theresina and
the Count, who had followed her. A ll present made way
for her, with every demonstration of pity. " I look very
miserable, then? " she said: " the young and lovely, at
this hour, are leaving such a scene in triumph. " The Count
scarcely understood these words. K ind as he was, and
much as he loved Corinne, he soon wearied of her sadness,
and strove to draw her from it, as if we had only to say
we will forget all the woes of life, and do so. S ometimes
he cried, " I
of comforting;
tastes at the ex
told you how it would be. " S trange mode
but such is the satisfaction which vanity
pense of misfortune. Corinne fruitlessly
strove to conceal her sufferings; for we are ashamed of
strong affections in the presence of the light-minded, and
bashful in all feelings that must be ex plained ere compre-
hended-- those secrets of the heart that can only be con-
soled by those who guess them. Corinne was displeased
with herself, as not sufficiently grateful for the Count' s
devotion to her service; but in his look s, his words, his
accents, there was so much which wandered in search of
amusement, that she was often on the point of forgetting
his generous actions, as he did himself. I t is doubtless
V ery magnanimous to set small price on our own good
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? 336 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
deeds, but that indifference, so admirable in itself, may be
carried to an ex treme which approaches an unfeeling levity.
Corinne, during her delirium, had betrayed nearly all
her secrets -- the papers had since apprised d' E rfeuil of the
rest. H e often wished to talk of what he called her
" affairs,"
fidence;
breathing L
but that word alone sufficed to freeze her con-
and she entreated him to spare her the pain of
ord N evil' s name. I n parting with the
Count, Corinne k new not how to ex press herself; for she
was at once glad to anticipate being alone, and grieved to
lose a man who had behaved so well towards her. S he
strove to thank him, but he begged her so naturally not to
speak of it, that she obeyed; charging him to inform L ady
E dgarmond that she refused the legacy of her uncle; and
to do so, as if she had sent this message from I taly; for
she did not wish her stepmother to k now she had been in
E ngland. " N orN evil? " ask edtheCount. " Y oumay
tell him soon, yes, very soon;
let you k now when. " -- "
least," he added: " don'
my friends in R ome will
Tak e care of your health, at
t you k now that I am uneasy
aboutyou? " -- " R eally! " sheex claimedsmiling. -- " N ot
without cause, I believe. " H e offered her his arm to the
vessel: at that moment she turned towards E ngland, the
country she must never more behold, where dwelt the sole
obj ect of her love and grief, and her eyes filled with the
first sad tears she had ever shed in d' E rfeuil' s presence.
" L ovely Corinne ! " he said, ' ' forget that ingrate!
of the friends so tenderly attached to you, and recollect
your own advantages with pleasure. " S he withdrew her
hand from him, and stepped back some paces; then blam-
ing herself for this reproof, gently returned to bid him
adieu: but he, having perceived nothing of what passed
in her mind, got into the boat with her; recommended her
earnestly to the captain' s care; busied himself most en-
dearingly on all the details that could render her passage
agreeable; and, when rowed ashore, waved his handk er-
chief to the ship as long as he could be seen. Corinne
returned his salute. A las! was this the friend on whose
attentions she ought to have been thrown? L ight loves
last long: they are not tied so tight that they can break .
think
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? CO R I N N E ; O B H A L T. 337
They are obscured or brought to light by circumstances,
while deep affections fly, never to return; and in their
places leave but cureless wounds.
CH A PTE R I I .
A favourable breeze bore Corinne to L eghorn in less
than a month: she suffered from fever the whole time;
and her debility was such that grief of mind was confused
with the pain of illness; nothing seemed now distinct.
S he hesitated, on landing, whether she should proceed to
R ome, or no; but though her best friends awaited her,
she felt an insurmountable repugnance to living in the
scenes where she had k nown O swald. S he thought of
that door through which he came to her twice every day;
and the prospect of being there without him was too
dreary. S he decided on going to F lorence; and believing
that her life could not long resist her sorrows, thus in-
tended to detach herself by degrees from the world, by
living alone, far from those who loved her, from the city
that witnessed her success, whose inhabitants would strive
to re-animate her mind, ex pect her to appear what she had
been, while her discouraged heart found every effort odious.
I n crossing fertile Tuscany, approaching flower-breathed
F lorence, Corinne felt but an added sadness. H ow dread-
ful the despair which such sk ies fail to calm! O ne must
feel either love or religion, in order to appreciate nature;
and she had lost the first of earthly blessings, without
having yet recovered the peace which piety alone can
afford the unfortunate. Tuscany, a well-cultivated, smiling
land, strik es not the imagination as do the environs of
R ome and N aples. The primitive institutions of its early
inhabitants have been so effaced, that there scarcely re-
mains one vestige of them; but another species of historic
beauty ex ists in their stead, -- cities that bear the impress
of the middle ages. A t S ienna, the public sq uare wherein
the people assembled, the balcony from which their magistrate
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? 338 oorinne; or italy.
harangued them must catch the least reflecting eye, as proofs
that there once flourished a democratic government. I t
is a real pleasure to hear the Tuscans, even of the lowest
classes, speak : their fanciful phrases give one an idea of that
A thenian Greek , which sounded lik e a perpetual melody.
I t is a strange sensation to believe one' s self amid a people
all eq ually educated, all elegant; such is the illusion which,
for a moment, the purity of their language creates.
The sight of F lorence recalls its history, previous to the
Medicean sway. The palaces of its best families are built
lik e fortresses: without are still seen the iron rings, to
which the standards of each party were attached. A ll
things seem to have been more arranged for the support
of individual powers, than for their union in a common
cause. The city appears formed for civil war. There are
towers attached to the H all of J ustice, whence the approach
of the enemy could be discerned. S uch were the feuds
between certain houses, that you find dwellings incon-
veniently constructed, because their lords would not let
them ex tend to the ground on which that of some foe had
been pulled down. H ere the Pazzi conspired against the
De' Medici; there the Guelfs assassinated the Ghibellines.
The mark s of struggling rivalry are every where visible,
though but in senseless stones. N othing is now left for
any pretenders but an inglorious state, not worth dis-
puting. The life led in F lorence has become singularly
monotonous: its natives walk every afternoon on the bank s
of the A rno, and every evening ask one another if they
have been there. Corinne settled at a little distance from
the town; and let Prince Castel F orte k now this, in the
only letter she had strength to write: such was her horror
of all habitual actions, that even the fatigue of giving the
slightest order redoubled her distress. S he sometimes
passed her day in complete inactivity, retired to her pillow,
rose again, opened a book , without the power to compre-
hend a line of it. O ft did she remain whole hours at her
window ; then would walk rapidly in her garden, cull its
flowers, and seek to deaden her senses in their perfume;
but the consciousness of life pursued her, lik e an unrelent-
ing ghost: she strove in vain to calm the devouring faculty
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? corinne; or iTA iyr. 339
of thought, which no longer presented her with varied
images; but one lone idea, armed with a thousand stings,
that pierced her heart.
CH A PTE R I I I .
A n hour passed in S t. Peter' s had been wont to compose
her; and Corinne hoped to find the same effect from visit-
ing the churches of fair F lorence. S he walk ed beneath the
fine trees on the river' s bank , in a lovely eve of J une.
R oses embalmed the air, and every face ex pressed the
general felicity from which she felt herself ex cluded; yet
she unenvyingly blessed her God for his k ind care of man.
" I am an ex ception to universal order," she said; " there
is happiness for every one but me: this power of B uf-
fering, beneath which I die, is then peculiar to myself.
My God! wherefore was I selected for such a doom?
May I not say, lik e thy Divine S on, ' F ather, let this
cupbetak enfromme? ' " Theactiveairofthein-
habitants astonished her: since she had lost all interest in
life she k new not why others seemed occupied; and slowly
pacing the large stoned pavement of F lorence, she forgot
where she had designed to go. A t last, she found herself
before the far-famed gate of brass, sculptured by Ghiberti
for the font of S t. J ohn' s which stands beside the ca-
thedral. F or some time she ex amined this stupendous
work ; where, wrought in bronze, the divers nations, though
of minute proportions, are distinctly mark ed by their varied
physiognomies; all of which ex press some thought of their
artist. " W hat patience ! " cried Corinne; " what respect
for posterity! yet how few scrutinise these doors through
which so many daily pass, in heedlessness, ignorance, or
disdain! H ow difficult it is to escape oblivion! how vast
the power of death! "
I n this cathedral was J ulian de Medicis assassinated.
N ot far thence, in the church of S t. L orenzo, is shown the
marble chapel, enriched with precious stones, where rise
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? 340 corinne; or I taly
the tombs of that high family, and Michael A ngelo' s
statues of J ulian and L orenzo: the latter, meditating
vengeance on the murder of his brother, deserves the
honour of having been called ' la pensee de Michel A ngela! '
A t the feet of these figures are A urora and N ight. The
awak ing of the one is admirable; still more so is the other' s
sleep. A poet chose it for his theme, and concluded by saying,
" S ound as is her slumber, she lives: if you believe not,
wak e her, she will speak . " A ngelo, who cultivated letters
(without which imagination of all k inds must soon decay)
replied, --
" Grato m' e il sono e piii Tesser d' y sasso.
Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura,
N on veder, non sentir m' ^ gran ventura;
Pero non mi destar, deh parla basso! "
" I t is well for me to sleep, still better to be stone; while
shame and inj ustice last: -- not to see, not to hear, is a
great blessing; therefore disturb me not! speak low! "
This great man was the only comparatively modern
sculptor who neither gave the human figure the beauty of
the antiq ue nor the affected air of our own day. Y ou see
the grave energy of the middle ages, its perseverance, its
passions, but no ideal beauty. H e was the genius of his
own school; and imitated no one, not even the ancients.
This tomb is in the church of S anta Croce. A t his desire
it faces a window whence may be seen the dome built by
F ilippo B runelleschi; as if his ashes would stir, even be-
neath the marble, at the sight of a cupola copied from that
of S t. Peter' s. S anta Croce contains some of the most
illustrious dead in E urope. Galileo, persecuted by man,
for having discovered the secrets of the sk y:-- Machiavel,
who revealed the arts of crime rather as an observer than
an actor; yet whose lessons are more available to the op-
pressors than the oppressed:-- A retino, who consecrated
his days to mirth, and found nothing serious in life ex -
cept its end:-- B occaccio, whose laughing fancy resisted the
united scourges of civil war and plague: -- a picture in
honour of Dante, showing that the F lorentines, who per-
mitted him to perish in ex ile, were not the less vain of his
glory{ 5), with many other worthy names, and some cele-
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 341
brated in their own day, but echoing less forcibly from age
to age, so that their sound is now almost unheard. (6 )
This church, adorned with noble recollections, rek indled
the enthusiasm of Corinne, which the living had repressed.
The silent presence of the great revived, for a moment,
that emulation which once she felt for fame. S he stepped
more steadfastly, and the high thoughts of other days arose
within her breast. S ome young priests came slowly down
the aisle, chanting in subdued tones: she ask ed the mean-
ing of this ceremony. " W e are praying for our dead,"
said one of them. " R ight," thought Corinne; " your
dead! well may you boast them; they are the only noble
relics left ye. A h! why then, O swald, have you stifled all the
gifts H eaven granted me, with which I ought to ex cite the
sympathy of k indred minds? O h God ! " she added, sink -
ing on her k nees, " it is not in vanity I dare entreat thee
to give me back my talents; doubtless the lowly saints
who lived and died for thee alone are greatest in thy sight;
but there are different careers for mortals: genius, which
illustrates our noblest virtues, devotes itself to generous
humanity and truth, may trust to be received into some
outer heaven. " S he cast her eyes to earth, and, on the
stone where she had k nelt, read this inscription, --
" A lone I rose, alone I sunk , I am alone e' en here. "
" A h! " cried Corinne, "
should embolden me to toil?
that is mine answer. W hat
what pride can I ever feel?
who would participate in my success, or interest himself
in my defeats? O h, I should need his look for my re-
ward. " A nother epitaph fix ed her attention, that of a
youth who says, --
" Pity me not, if you can guess how many pangs the grave hath
spared me. "
H ow did those words wean her from life! amid the tumult
of a city this church opened to teach mank ind the best of
secrets, if they would learn: but no; they passed it by,
and the miraculous forgetfulness of death k ept all the
world alive.
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longer admired, wandering from town to town, without
overtak ing the being for whom she had lost all, and whom
she could not forget. S he was tak en ill at an inn half way
between L ondon and E dinburgh, and, in spite of all her
efforts, unable to continue her j ourney. S he often thought,
during her long nights of suffering, that if she died there,
none but Theresina would k now the name to inscribe upon
her tomb. W hat a changed fate for the woman who could
not leave her house in I
taly without being followed by a
host of worshippers? W hy should one single feeling thus
despoil a whole life? A fter a week of intense agony, she
resumed her route: so many painful fears mingled with
the hope of seeing O swald, that her ex pectation was but a
sad anx iety. S he designed to rest a few hours on her
father' s land, where his tomb had been erected, never
having been there since; indeed, she only spent one month
on this estate with L ord E dgarmond, the happiest portion
of her stay in E ngland. These recollections inspired her
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? corinne; or italy. 327
with a wish to revisit their scene. S he k new not that her
stepmother was there already. S ome miles from the
house, perceiving that a carriage had been overturned, she
stopped her own, and saw an old gentleman ex tricated from
that which had brok en down, much alarmed by the shock .
Corinne hurried to his assistance, and offered him a share
of her conveyance to the neighbouring town: he accepted
it gratefully, announcing himself as Mr. Dick son: she re-
membered that N evil had often mentioned that name, and
directed the conversation to the only subj ect which inter-
ested her in life. Mr. Dick son was the most willing gossip
in the world; and ignorant who his companion was, be-
lieved her an E nglish lady, with no private interest in the
q uestions she ask ed, therefore told her all he k new most
minutely: her attentions had conciliated him; and, in return,
he trusted that his confidence might entertain her. H e
described how he had informed L ord N evil of his parent' s
wishes, and repeated an ex tract from the late lord' s letter,
often ex claiming, " H e ex pressly forbade O swald' s mar-
riage with this I talian, -- and they cannot brave his will
without insulting his memory. " Mr. Dick son added, that
O swald loved L ucy, was beloved by her; that her mother
strongly desired their union, but that this foreign engage-
ment prevented it. " H ow! " said Corinne, striving to
disguise her agitation: " do you think that the sole barrier
to his happiness with Miss E dgarmond ? " -- " I am sure
of it," he answered, delighted with her enq uiries. " I t is
butthreedayssinceL ordN evilsaidtome,' I fI were
free, I would marry L ucy. ' " -- " I f he were free! " sighed
Corinne. A t that moment the carriage stopped at the
hotel to which she had promised Mr. Dick son her escort.
H e thank ed her, and begged to k now where he might see
her again. S he wrung his hand, without power to speak ,
and left him. L ate as it was, she resolved that evening to
visit the grave of her father. The disorder of her mind
rendered this sacred pilgrimage more necessary than ever.
y 4>
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? 328 corinne; or italy.
CH A PTE R I X .
L ady E dgarmond had been two days on her estate, where,
that night, she had invited all her neighbours and tenants;
and there was O swald with L ucy, when Corinne arrived.
S he saw many carriages in the avenue; and alighted on
the spot where her father had once treated her with such
tenderness. W hat a contrast between those days, when
she had thought herself so unfortunate, and her present
situation! Thus are we punished for our fancied woes, by
real calamities, which but too well teach us what true
sorrow means. Corinne bade her servant ask the cause of
all this light and bustle. A domestic replied, " L ady E d-
garmond gives a ball to-night; which my master, L ord
N evil, has opened with the heiress. " Corinne shuddered;
but a painful curiosity prompted her to approach the place
where so much misery threatened her; and motioning for
her people to withdraw, she entered the open gates alone:
the obscurity permitted her to walk the park unseen. I t
was ten o' clock . O swald had been L ucy' s partner in those
E nglish country dances, which they recommence five or six
times in the evening, -- the same gentleman always dancing
with the same lady, and the greatest gravity sometimes
reigning over this party of pleasure. L ucy danced nobly,
but without vivacity. The feeling which absorbed her
added to her natural seriousness: as the whole county
was inq uisitive to k now whether she loved O swald, the
unusually observant look s she met prevented her ever
raising her eyes to his; and her embarrassment was such,
that she could scarcely hear or see any thing. This deeply
affected him at first; but as it never varied, he soon began
to weary a little; and compared this long range of men and
women, and their monotonous music, with the animated
airs and graceful dances of I taly. These reflections plunged
him into a reverie; and Corinne might yet have tasted
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 329
some moments of happiness could she have guessed his
thoughts; but, lik e a stranger on her paternal soil, alow,
though so near the man she had hoped to call her husband,
she roved at hazard through the dark walk s of grounds she
once might have deemed her own. The earth seemed fail-
ing beneath her feet; and the fever of despair alone sup-
plied her with strength: perhaps she might meet O swald
in the garden, she thought, though scarce k nowing what
she now desired.
The mansion was built on an eminence; a river ran at
its base; there were many trees on one bank ; the other was
formed of rock s, covered with briars. Corinne drew near
the water, whose murmur blended with the distant music:
the gay lamps were reflected on its surface ; while the pale
light of the moon alone irradiated the wilds on the oppo-
site side. S he thought of H amlet, in which a spectre
wanders round the festal palace. O ne step, and this for-
sak en woman might have found eternal oblivion. " To-
morrow," she cried, " when he strays here with a band of
j oyous friends, if his triumphant steps encountered the
remains of her who was once so dear to him, would he not
suffer something lik e what I
grief avenge me? yet, no, no!
seek in death, only repose. "
bear now? would not his
it is not vengeance I would
S ilently she contemplated this
stream, flowing in rapid regularity: fair nature! better
ordered than the human soul. S he remembered the day
on which N evil had saved the drowning man. " H ow
good he was then ! " she wept forth, " and may be still:
why blame him for my woes? he may not guess them --
perhaps if he could see me " S he determined, in the
midst of this fete, to demand a moment' s interview with
L ord N evil; and walk ed towards the house, under the
impulse of a newly adopted decision, which succeeds to
long uncertainty; but, as she approached it, such a tremor
seized her, that she was obliged to sit down on a stone
bench which faced the windows. The throng of rustics,
assembled to look in upon the dancers, prevented her being
seen. O swald, at this moment, came to a balcony, to
breathe the fresh evening air. S ome roses that grew there
reminded him of Corinne' s favourite perfume, and he
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? 330 corinne; or italy.
started. This long entertainment tired him, accustomed as
he had been to her good taste and intelligence; and he felt
that it was only in domestic life he could find pleasure
with such a companion as L ucy. A ll that in the least
degree belonged to the world of poetry and the fine arts
bade him regret Corinne. W hile he was in this mood, a
fellow-guest j oined him, and his adorer once more heard
him speak . W hat inex plicable sensations are awak er. ed
by the voice we love! W hat a confusion of softness
and of dread! There are impressions of such force, that
our poor feeble nature is terrified at itself, while we ex pe-
rience them.
" Don' t you think this a charming ball? " ask ed the
gentleman. -- " Y es," returned O swald,abstractedly, " yes,
indeed ! " and he sighed. That sigh, that melancholy tone,
thrilled Corinne' s heart with j oy. S he thought herself
secure of regaining his, of again being understood by
him, and rose, precipitately, to bid a servant call L ord
N evil: had she obeyed her inclination, how different had
been the destiny of both! B ut at that instant L ucy
came to the window; and seeing through the dark ness of
the garden a female simply drest in white, her curiosity
was k indled. S he leant forward, and gazed attentively,
believing that she recognised the features of her sister,
who, she thought, had been for seven years dead. The
terror this sight caused her was so great that she fainted.
E very one hastened to her aid: Corinne could find no
servant to bear her message, and withdrew into deeper
shade, to avoid remark .
L ucy dared not disclose what had alarmed her; but as
her mother had, from infancy, instilled into her mind the
strongest sense of devotion, she was persuaded that the
image of her sister had appeared, gliding before her to
their father' s tomb, as if to reproach her for holding a fete
in that scene ere she had fulfilled her sacred duty to his
honoured dust: as soon as she was secure from observation,
she left the ball. Corinne, astonished at seeing her alone
in the garden, imagined that O swald soon would follow her,
and that perhaps he had besought a private meeting to ob-
tain her leave for naming his suit to her mother. This
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? corinne; O R 1TA L T. 331
thought k ept her motionless; but she saw that L ucy bent
her steps towards a small grove, which, she well k new, must
lead to L ord E dgarmond' s grave; and, accusing herself of
not having earlier borne thither her own regrets, followed
her sister at some distance, unseen. S he soon perceived
the black sarcophagus raised over the remains of their pa-
rent. F ilial tenderness overpowered her: she supported
herself against a tree. L ucy also paused, and bent her
head respectfully. Corinne was ready to discover herself,
and, in their father' s name, demand her rank and her be-
trothed ; . but the fair girl made a few hurried steps towards
the tomb, and the victim' s courage failed.
There is such timidity, even in the most impetuous
female heart, that a trifle will restrain as a trifle can ex cite
it. L ucy k nelt, removed the garland which had bound her
hair, and raised her eyes to heaven with an angelic appeal:
her face was softly illumined by the moonbeams, and Co-
rinne' s heart melted with the purest generosity. S he con-
templated the chaste and pious ex pression of that almost
childish visage, and remembered how she had watched over
it in infancy: her own youth was waning, while L ucy had
before her a long futurity, that ought not to be troubled by
any recollections which she might shame at confessing,
either before the world or to her own conscience. " I f I
accost her," thought Corinne, " that soul, so peaceful now,
will be disturbed, perhaps, for ever. I have already borne
so much, that I can suffer on; but the innocent L ucy
would pass, in a moment, from perfect calm to the most
cruel agitation. Can I , who have lulled her to sleep on my
bosom, hurl her into the ocean of grief? " L ove still com-
bated this disinterested elevation of mind, when L ucy said
aloud, " Pray for me, oh my father! " Corinne sunk on
her k nees, and mutely besought a paternal benediction on
them both, with tears more stainless than those of love.
L ucy audibly continued, " Dear sister, intercede for me in
heaven! F riend of my childhood, protect me now! "
H ow Corinne' s bosom yearned towards her, as L ucy,
with added fervour, resumed,-- " Pardon me, father, a
brief forgetfulness, caused by the sentiment yourself com-
manded! I am not, sure, to blame for loving him you
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? 332 corinne; or I taly.
chose to be my husband. A chieve your work ! I nspire him
to select me as the partner of his life! I shall never be
happy, save with him; but my fluttering heart shall not
betray its secret. O h, my God! My father, console your
child! render her worthy the esteem of O swald ! " -- " Y es,"
whispered Corinne, " k ind father, grant her prayer, and
give your other child a peaceful grave! " Thus solemnly
concluding the greatest effort of which her soul was capable,
she took from her breast the paper which contained O s-
wald' s ring, and rapidly withdrew. S he felt that in
sending this, without letting him k now where she was, she
should break all their ties, and yield him to her sister. I n
the presence of that tomb, she had been more conscious
than ever of the obstacles which separated them: her own
father, as well as O swald' s, seemed to condemn their love.
L ucy appeared deserving of him; and Corinne, at least for
the moment, was proud to sacrifice herself, that he might
live at peace with his country, his family, and his own
heart. The music which she heard from the house sus-
tained her firmness: she saw an old blind man, seated at
the foot of a tree to listen, and begged he would present
her letter to one of the servants; thus she escaped the risk
of O swald' s discovering who had brought it; for no one
could have seen her give the paper, without being assured
that it contained the fate of her whole life. H er look s, her
shak ing hand, her hollow voice, bespok e one of those awful
moments, when destiny over-rules us, and we act but as the
slaves of that fatality which so long pursued us. Corinne
watched the old man, led by his faithful dog, give her
letter to a servant of N evil' s, who, by chance, was carrying
others into the house. A ll things conspired to banish her
last hope :she made a few steps towards the gate, turning
her head to mark the servant' s entrance. W hen she no
longer saw him -- when she was on the high road, the
lights and music lost, a deathlik e damp rose to her brow,
a chill ran through her frame; she tottered on, but nature
refused the task , and she fell senseless by the way.
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? corinne; or italy.
BOOKXVIII.
TH E S O J O UR N A TF L O R E N CE .
CH A PTE R I .
Count d' E rfeuil having passed some time in S witzer-
land, wearied of nature ' mid the A lps, as he had tired of
the arts at R ome, and suddenly resolved to visit E ngland.
H e had heard that he should find much depth of thought
there, and wok e one morning to the conviction of that
being the very thing he wished to meet. This third
search after pleasure had succeeded no better than its pre-
decessors, but his regard for N evil spurred him on ; and he
assured himself, another morning, that friendship was the
greatest bliss on earth; therefore he went to S cotland.
N et seeing O swald at his home, but learning that he was
gone to L ady E dgarmond' s, the Count leaped on his horse
to follow; so much did he believe that he longed to meet
him. A sherodeq uick lyon,hesawafemaleex tended
motionless upon the road, and instantly dismounted to
assist her. W hat was his horror at recognising, through
their mortal paleness, the features of Corinne! W ith the
liveliest sympathy he helped his servant to arrange some
branches as a litter, intending to convey her to L ady E d-
garmond' s, when The' resina, who till now had remained in
her mistress' s carriage, alarmed at her absence, came to
the spot, and, certain that no one but L ord N evil could
have reduced her lady to this state, begged that she might
be borne to the neighbouring town. The Count followed
her; and for eight days, during which she suffered all the
delirium of fever, he never left her. Thus it was the fri-
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? 334 corinne; or italy
volous man who proved faithful, while the man of senti-
ment was break ing her heart. This contrast struck Co-
rinne, when she recovered her senses, and she thank ed
d' E rfeuil with great feeling: he replied by striving to
console her, more capable of noble actions than of serious
conversation. Corinne found him useful, but could not
mak e him her friend. S he strove to recall her reason, and
think over what had passed; but it was long ere she
could remember all she had done, and from what motive.
Then, perhaps, she thought her sacrifice too great; and
hoped, at least, to bid L ord N evil a last adieu, ere she left
E ngland; but the day after she regained her faculties
chance threw a newspaper in her way, which contained
the following paragraph :--
" L ady E dgarmond has lately learnt that her stepdaughter,
who she believed had died in I taly, is still enj oying great
literary celebrity at R ome, under the name of Corinne.
H er L adyship, much to her own honour, ack nowledges the
fair poet, and is desirous of sharing with her the fortune
left by L ord E dgarmond' s brother, who died in I ndia.
The marriage contract was yesterday signed, between his
L ordship' s youngest daughter (the only child of his widow)
and L ord N evil, who, on S unday nex t, leads Miss L ucy
E dgarmond to the altar. "
Unfortunately Corinne lost not her consciousness after
reading this announcement; a sudden change took place
within her; all the interests of life were lost; she felt lik e
one condemned to death, who had not k nown, till now,
when her sentence would be ex ecuted; and from this
moment the resignation of despair was the only sensation
of her breast. D' E rfeuil entered her room, and, finding
her even paler than while in her swoon, anx iously ask ed
her the news. S he replied gravely, " I am no longer ill;
to-morrow is the S abbath; I will go to Plymouth, and
embark for I taly. " -- " I shall accompany you,"
returned. " I ' ve nothing to detain me here, and shall be
he ardently
charmed at travelling with you. " -- " H ow truly good you
are! " she said: " we ought not to j udge from appear-
ances. " Then, after check ing herself, added, " I accept
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? corinne; or italy. 335
your guidance to the seaport, because I am not sure of
my own; but, once on board, the ship will bear me on,
no matter in what state I may be. " S he signed for him
to leave her, and wept long before her God, begging him
to support her beneath this sorrow. N othing was left of
the impetuous Corinne. The active powers of her life
were all ex hausted; and this annihilation, for which she
could scarcely account, restored her composure. Grief
had subdued her. S ooner or later all rebellious heads
must bow to the same yok e.
" I tisto-day! " sighedCorinne,asshewok e:" itis
to-day! " and entered her carriage with d' E rfeuil. H e
q uestioned her, but she could not reply. They passed a
church: she ask ed his leave to enter for a moment; then,
k neeling before the altar, prayed for O swald and for L ucy:
but when she would have risen she staggered, and could
not tak e onp step without the support of Theresina and
the Count, who had followed her. A ll present made way
for her, with every demonstration of pity. " I look very
miserable, then? " she said: " the young and lovely, at
this hour, are leaving such a scene in triumph. " The Count
scarcely understood these words. K ind as he was, and
much as he loved Corinne, he soon wearied of her sadness,
and strove to draw her from it, as if we had only to say
we will forget all the woes of life, and do so. S ometimes
he cried, " I
of comforting;
tastes at the ex
told you how it would be. " S trange mode
but such is the satisfaction which vanity
pense of misfortune. Corinne fruitlessly
strove to conceal her sufferings; for we are ashamed of
strong affections in the presence of the light-minded, and
bashful in all feelings that must be ex plained ere compre-
hended-- those secrets of the heart that can only be con-
soled by those who guess them. Corinne was displeased
with herself, as not sufficiently grateful for the Count' s
devotion to her service; but in his look s, his words, his
accents, there was so much which wandered in search of
amusement, that she was often on the point of forgetting
his generous actions, as he did himself. I t is doubtless
V ery magnanimous to set small price on our own good
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? 336 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
deeds, but that indifference, so admirable in itself, may be
carried to an ex treme which approaches an unfeeling levity.
Corinne, during her delirium, had betrayed nearly all
her secrets -- the papers had since apprised d' E rfeuil of the
rest. H e often wished to talk of what he called her
" affairs,"
fidence;
breathing L
but that word alone sufficed to freeze her con-
and she entreated him to spare her the pain of
ord N evil' s name. I n parting with the
Count, Corinne k new not how to ex press herself; for she
was at once glad to anticipate being alone, and grieved to
lose a man who had behaved so well towards her. S he
strove to thank him, but he begged her so naturally not to
speak of it, that she obeyed; charging him to inform L ady
E dgarmond that she refused the legacy of her uncle; and
to do so, as if she had sent this message from I taly; for
she did not wish her stepmother to k now she had been in
E ngland. " N orN evil? " ask edtheCount. " Y oumay
tell him soon, yes, very soon;
let you k now when. " -- "
least," he added: " don'
my friends in R ome will
Tak e care of your health, at
t you k now that I am uneasy
aboutyou? " -- " R eally! " sheex claimedsmiling. -- " N ot
without cause, I believe. " H e offered her his arm to the
vessel: at that moment she turned towards E ngland, the
country she must never more behold, where dwelt the sole
obj ect of her love and grief, and her eyes filled with the
first sad tears she had ever shed in d' E rfeuil' s presence.
" L ovely Corinne ! " he said, ' ' forget that ingrate!
of the friends so tenderly attached to you, and recollect
your own advantages with pleasure. " S he withdrew her
hand from him, and stepped back some paces; then blam-
ing herself for this reproof, gently returned to bid him
adieu: but he, having perceived nothing of what passed
in her mind, got into the boat with her; recommended her
earnestly to the captain' s care; busied himself most en-
dearingly on all the details that could render her passage
agreeable; and, when rowed ashore, waved his handk er-
chief to the ship as long as he could be seen. Corinne
returned his salute. A las! was this the friend on whose
attentions she ought to have been thrown? L ight loves
last long: they are not tied so tight that they can break .
think
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? CO R I N N E ; O B H A L T. 337
They are obscured or brought to light by circumstances,
while deep affections fly, never to return; and in their
places leave but cureless wounds.
CH A PTE R I I .
A favourable breeze bore Corinne to L eghorn in less
than a month: she suffered from fever the whole time;
and her debility was such that grief of mind was confused
with the pain of illness; nothing seemed now distinct.
S he hesitated, on landing, whether she should proceed to
R ome, or no; but though her best friends awaited her,
she felt an insurmountable repugnance to living in the
scenes where she had k nown O swald. S he thought of
that door through which he came to her twice every day;
and the prospect of being there without him was too
dreary. S he decided on going to F lorence; and believing
that her life could not long resist her sorrows, thus in-
tended to detach herself by degrees from the world, by
living alone, far from those who loved her, from the city
that witnessed her success, whose inhabitants would strive
to re-animate her mind, ex pect her to appear what she had
been, while her discouraged heart found every effort odious.
I n crossing fertile Tuscany, approaching flower-breathed
F lorence, Corinne felt but an added sadness. H ow dread-
ful the despair which such sk ies fail to calm! O ne must
feel either love or religion, in order to appreciate nature;
and she had lost the first of earthly blessings, without
having yet recovered the peace which piety alone can
afford the unfortunate. Tuscany, a well-cultivated, smiling
land, strik es not the imagination as do the environs of
R ome and N aples. The primitive institutions of its early
inhabitants have been so effaced, that there scarcely re-
mains one vestige of them; but another species of historic
beauty ex ists in their stead, -- cities that bear the impress
of the middle ages. A t S ienna, the public sq uare wherein
the people assembled, the balcony from which their magistrate
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? 338 oorinne; or italy.
harangued them must catch the least reflecting eye, as proofs
that there once flourished a democratic government. I t
is a real pleasure to hear the Tuscans, even of the lowest
classes, speak : their fanciful phrases give one an idea of that
A thenian Greek , which sounded lik e a perpetual melody.
I t is a strange sensation to believe one' s self amid a people
all eq ually educated, all elegant; such is the illusion which,
for a moment, the purity of their language creates.
The sight of F lorence recalls its history, previous to the
Medicean sway. The palaces of its best families are built
lik e fortresses: without are still seen the iron rings, to
which the standards of each party were attached. A ll
things seem to have been more arranged for the support
of individual powers, than for their union in a common
cause. The city appears formed for civil war. There are
towers attached to the H all of J ustice, whence the approach
of the enemy could be discerned. S uch were the feuds
between certain houses, that you find dwellings incon-
veniently constructed, because their lords would not let
them ex tend to the ground on which that of some foe had
been pulled down. H ere the Pazzi conspired against the
De' Medici; there the Guelfs assassinated the Ghibellines.
The mark s of struggling rivalry are every where visible,
though but in senseless stones. N othing is now left for
any pretenders but an inglorious state, not worth dis-
puting. The life led in F lorence has become singularly
monotonous: its natives walk every afternoon on the bank s
of the A rno, and every evening ask one another if they
have been there. Corinne settled at a little distance from
the town; and let Prince Castel F orte k now this, in the
only letter she had strength to write: such was her horror
of all habitual actions, that even the fatigue of giving the
slightest order redoubled her distress. S he sometimes
passed her day in complete inactivity, retired to her pillow,
rose again, opened a book , without the power to compre-
hend a line of it. O ft did she remain whole hours at her
window ; then would walk rapidly in her garden, cull its
flowers, and seek to deaden her senses in their perfume;
but the consciousness of life pursued her, lik e an unrelent-
ing ghost: she strove in vain to calm the devouring faculty
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? corinne; or iTA iyr. 339
of thought, which no longer presented her with varied
images; but one lone idea, armed with a thousand stings,
that pierced her heart.
CH A PTE R I I I .
A n hour passed in S t. Peter' s had been wont to compose
her; and Corinne hoped to find the same effect from visit-
ing the churches of fair F lorence. S he walk ed beneath the
fine trees on the river' s bank , in a lovely eve of J une.
R oses embalmed the air, and every face ex pressed the
general felicity from which she felt herself ex cluded; yet
she unenvyingly blessed her God for his k ind care of man.
" I am an ex ception to universal order," she said; " there
is happiness for every one but me: this power of B uf-
fering, beneath which I die, is then peculiar to myself.
My God! wherefore was I selected for such a doom?
May I not say, lik e thy Divine S on, ' F ather, let this
cupbetak enfromme? ' " Theactiveairofthein-
habitants astonished her: since she had lost all interest in
life she k new not why others seemed occupied; and slowly
pacing the large stoned pavement of F lorence, she forgot
where she had designed to go. A t last, she found herself
before the far-famed gate of brass, sculptured by Ghiberti
for the font of S t. J ohn' s which stands beside the ca-
thedral. F or some time she ex amined this stupendous
work ; where, wrought in bronze, the divers nations, though
of minute proportions, are distinctly mark ed by their varied
physiognomies; all of which ex press some thought of their
artist. " W hat patience ! " cried Corinne; " what respect
for posterity! yet how few scrutinise these doors through
which so many daily pass, in heedlessness, ignorance, or
disdain! H ow difficult it is to escape oblivion! how vast
the power of death! "
I n this cathedral was J ulian de Medicis assassinated.
N ot far thence, in the church of S t. L orenzo, is shown the
marble chapel, enriched with precious stones, where rise
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? 340 corinne; or I taly
the tombs of that high family, and Michael A ngelo' s
statues of J ulian and L orenzo: the latter, meditating
vengeance on the murder of his brother, deserves the
honour of having been called ' la pensee de Michel A ngela! '
A t the feet of these figures are A urora and N ight. The
awak ing of the one is admirable; still more so is the other' s
sleep. A poet chose it for his theme, and concluded by saying,
" S ound as is her slumber, she lives: if you believe not,
wak e her, she will speak . " A ngelo, who cultivated letters
(without which imagination of all k inds must soon decay)
replied, --
" Grato m' e il sono e piii Tesser d' y sasso.
Mentre che il danno e la vergogna dura,
N on veder, non sentir m' ^ gran ventura;
Pero non mi destar, deh parla basso! "
" I t is well for me to sleep, still better to be stone; while
shame and inj ustice last: -- not to see, not to hear, is a
great blessing; therefore disturb me not! speak low! "
This great man was the only comparatively modern
sculptor who neither gave the human figure the beauty of
the antiq ue nor the affected air of our own day. Y ou see
the grave energy of the middle ages, its perseverance, its
passions, but no ideal beauty. H e was the genius of his
own school; and imitated no one, not even the ancients.
This tomb is in the church of S anta Croce. A t his desire
it faces a window whence may be seen the dome built by
F ilippo B runelleschi; as if his ashes would stir, even be-
neath the marble, at the sight of a cupola copied from that
of S t. Peter' s. S anta Croce contains some of the most
illustrious dead in E urope. Galileo, persecuted by man,
for having discovered the secrets of the sk y:-- Machiavel,
who revealed the arts of crime rather as an observer than
an actor; yet whose lessons are more available to the op-
pressors than the oppressed:-- A retino, who consecrated
his days to mirth, and found nothing serious in life ex -
cept its end:-- B occaccio, whose laughing fancy resisted the
united scourges of civil war and plague: -- a picture in
honour of Dante, showing that the F lorentines, who per-
mitted him to perish in ex ile, were not the less vain of his
glory{ 5), with many other worthy names, and some cele-
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 341
brated in their own day, but echoing less forcibly from age
to age, so that their sound is now almost unheard. (6 )
This church, adorned with noble recollections, rek indled
the enthusiasm of Corinne, which the living had repressed.
The silent presence of the great revived, for a moment,
that emulation which once she felt for fame. S he stepped
more steadfastly, and the high thoughts of other days arose
within her breast. S ome young priests came slowly down
the aisle, chanting in subdued tones: she ask ed the mean-
ing of this ceremony. " W e are praying for our dead,"
said one of them. " R ight," thought Corinne; " your
dead! well may you boast them; they are the only noble
relics left ye. A h! why then, O swald, have you stifled all the
gifts H eaven granted me, with which I ought to ex cite the
sympathy of k indred minds? O h God ! " she added, sink -
ing on her k nees, " it is not in vanity I dare entreat thee
to give me back my talents; doubtless the lowly saints
who lived and died for thee alone are greatest in thy sight;
but there are different careers for mortals: genius, which
illustrates our noblest virtues, devotes itself to generous
humanity and truth, may trust to be received into some
outer heaven. " S he cast her eyes to earth, and, on the
stone where she had k nelt, read this inscription, --
" A lone I rose, alone I sunk , I am alone e' en here. "
" A h! " cried Corinne, "
should embolden me to toil?
that is mine answer. W hat
what pride can I ever feel?
who would participate in my success, or interest himself
in my defeats? O h, I should need his look for my re-
ward. " A nother epitaph fix ed her attention, that of a
youth who says, --
" Pity me not, if you can guess how many pangs the grave hath
spared me. "
H ow did those words wean her from life! amid the tumult
of a city this church opened to teach mank ind the best of
secrets, if they would learn: but no; they passed it by,
and the miraculous forgetfulness of death k ept all the
world alive.
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