A t that moment the carriage stopped at the
hotel to which she had promised Mr.
hotel to which she had promised Mr.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
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? 320CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L T.
and misery, alik e destroy it in the end? These heavenly
j oys belong not to our fate; they never cross our path,
save to remind us of our immortal origin and hopes.
L ady E dgarmond was better; and talk ed of departing,
in two days, for her estate in S cotland, near that of L ord
N evil, whither he had purposed going before the embark -
ation of his regiment: she anticipated his proposing to
accompany her, but he said nothing. L ucy gazed on him
in silence for a moment, then hastily rose, and went to
the window: on some pretex t N evil shortly followed her,
and fancied that her lids were wet with tears: he sighed,
and the forgetfulness of which he had accused Corinne
returning to his memory, he ask ed himself whether this
young creature might not prove more capable of constant
love? H e wished to atone for the pain he had inflicted.
I t is delightful to rek indle smiles on a countenance so
nearly infantine. Grief is out of place, where even re-
flection has yet left no trace. There was to be a review
in H yde Park on the morrow; he therefore entreated
L ady E dgarmond to drive there with her daughter, and
afterwards permit his tak ing a ride with L ucy beside her
carriage. Miss E dgarmond had once said that she greatly
wished to mount a horse, and look ed at her mother with
appealing submission: after a little deliberation, the in-
valid held out her wasting hand to O swald, saying, -- " I f
you req uest it, my L ord, I consent. " These words so alarmed
him, that he would have abandoned his own proposal; but
that L ucy, with a vivacity she had never before betrayed,
took her mother' s hand, and k issed it gratefully. H
not the courage to deprive an innocent being, who led so
lonely a life, of an amusement she so much desired.
CH A PTE R V I .
F or a fortnight Corinne had endured the severest anx
every morning she hesitated whether she should write to
e had
iety;
O swald; every evening she had the inex pressible grief of
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? corinne; or it alt. S 21
k nowing that he was with L ucy. H er sufferings made
lier daily more timid: she blushed to think that he
might not approve the step she had tak en. " Perhaps,"
she often said, " all thought of I taly is banished from
his breast: he no longer needs in woman a gifted mind
or an impassioned heart; all that can please him now
is the angelic beauty of six teen, the fresh and diffident
soul that consecrates to him its first emotions. " H er
imagination was so strick en with the advantages of her
young sister that she was abashed, disarmed, depreciatingly
disgusted with herself. Though not yet eight-and-twenty,
she had already reached that era when women sadly dis-
trust their power to please. H er pride and j ealousy con-
tending, made her defer from day to day the dreaded yet
desired moment of her meeting with O swald. S he learnt
that his regiment would be reviewed, and resolved on being
present. S he thought it probable that L ucy would be
there; if so, she would trust her own eyes to j udge the
state of N evil' s heart. A t first she thought of dressing
herself with care, and suddenly appearing before him; but
at her toilet, her black hair, her sk in slightly embrowned by
the I talian sun, her prominent features, all discouraged her.
S he remembared the ethereal aspect of her sister; and,
throwing aside her rich array, assumed a black V enetian
garb, covered her head and figure with the mantle worn in
that country, and threw herself into a coach. I n H yde
Park she found groups of gentlemen, attired with simple
elegance, escorting their fair and modest ladies. The
virtues proper to each sex seemed thus to meet. S carcely
was she there ere she beheld O swald at the head of his
corps: its men look ed up to him with confidence and de-
votion. The uniform lent him a more imposing air than
usual, and he reined his charger with perfectly graceful
dex terity. The band played pieces of music at once proud
and sweet, which seemed nobly enj
life: among them " God save the K
hearts; and Corinne ex claimed, "
oining the sacrifice of
ought to be my own! why did I ever leave thee? W
matters more or less of personal fame, amid so much true
Y
ing," so dear to E
R espected land!
nglish
which
hat
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? 322CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
merit? and what glory could eq ual that of being called
L ord N evil' s worthy wife? "
The martial instruments recalled to her mind the perils
he must brave so soon. Unseen by him she gazed through
her tears, sighing, " O h, may he live, though it be not for
me! My God! it is O swald only I implore thee to
preserve! " A t this moment L ady E dgarmond' s carriage
drove up. N evil bowed respectfully, and lowered the point
of his sword. N o one who look ed on L ucy but admired
her: O swald' s glances pierced the heart of Corinne: she
k new their meaning well, for such had once been bent on
her. The horses he had lent to L ady E dgarmond passed
to and fro with ex q uisite speedy while the eq uipage of
Corinne was drawn after these flying coursers almost as
slowly as a hearse. " I t was not thus," she thought,
" that I approached the Capitol: no; he has dashed me
from my car of triumph into an abyss of misery. I love
him, and the j oys of life are lost. I love him, and the
gifts of nature fade. Pardon him, oh, my God! when I
am gone. " O swald was now close to her vehicle. The
I talian dress caught his eye, and he rode round, in hopes
of beholding the face of this unk nown. H er heart beat
violently; and all her fear was that she should faint and
be discovered; but she restrained her feelings; and L ord
N evil relinq uished the idea which beset him. W hen the
review was over, to avoid again attracting his attention, she
alighted, and retired behind the trees, so as not to be observed.
O swald then went up to L ady E dgarmond, and showed
her a very gentle horse, which his servants had brought
thither for L ucy: her mother bade him be very careful
of her. H e dismounted, and, hat in hand, conversed
through the carriage door with so feeling an ex pression,
that Corinne could attribute this regard for the mother to
nothing less than an attachment for the daughter. L ucy
left the carriage: a riding habit charmingly defined the
elegant outline of her figure: she wore a black hat with
white plumes,-- her fair silk en lock s floating airily about
her smiling face. O swald placed his hand as her step:
she had ex pected this service from a domestic, and blushed
at receiving it from him; but he insisted, and, at last, she
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? CO R I N N E ,' O B I TA L Y . 323
set her little foot in his hand, then sprung so lightly to
her saddle, that she seemed one of those sylphid shapes
which fancy paints in colours so delicate. S he set off at a
gallop. O swald followed, never losing sight of her: once the
horse made a false step: he instantly check ed it, ex amining
the bit and bridle with the most k ind solicitude. S hortly
afterwards the animal ran away. O swald turned pale as
death, spurring his own steed to an incredible fleetness; in
a second he overtook that of L ucy, leaped from his seat,
and threw himself before her. S he shuddered in her turn
lest she should harm him; but with one hand he seized her
rein, supporting her with the other, as she gently leant
against him.
W hat more needed Corinne to convince her of O swald' s
love for L ucy? Did she not see all the signs of interest
which formerly he lavished on herself? N ay, to her
eternal despair, did she not read in his eyes a more re-
vering deference than he had ever shown to her? Twice
she drew the ring from her finger, and was ready to break
through the crowd, that she might throw it at his feet: the
hope of dying in this effort encouraged her resolution; but
where is the woman, even born beneath a southern sk y,
who does not tremble at attracting the attention of a
crowd? S he was returning to her coach; and, as she crossed
a somewhat deserted walk , O swald again noticed the black
figure he before had seen; and it now made a stronger
impression on him than at first: he attributed his emotion
to remorse, at having, for the first time, felt his heart
faithless to the image of Corinne; yet he resolved on start-
ing for S cotland, as his regiment was not to embark for
some time.
t1
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? 324CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
CH A PTE R V I I .
F rom this moment Corinne' s reason was affected, and her
strength decayed. S he began a letter to L ord N evil, full
of bitter upbraidings, and then tore it up. " W hat avail
reproaches ? " she thought: " could love be the most pure,
most generous of our sentiments, if it were not involuntary?
A nother face, another voice, command the secret of his
heart: all is said that can be said. " S he began a
new letter, depicting the monotony he would find in an
union with L ucy; essayed to prove that without a perfect
harmony of soul and mind no happiness could last; but
she destroyed this paper more hastily than the other.
" I f he already k nows not my opinions, I
him now," she said; " besides, ought I
my sister? is she so greatly my inferior as I
cannot teach
to speak thus of
think ? and,
if she be, is it for me, who, lik e a mother, pressed her in
childhood to my heart, to point out her deficiencies? no,
no! we must not thus value our own inclinations above all
price. This life, full as it is of wishes, must have end;
and even before death meditation may wean us from its
selfishness. " O nce more she resumed her pen, to tell but
of her misery; yet, in ex pressing it, she felt such pity for
herself, that her tears flowed over every word. " N o,"
she said again, "
should hate him;
be by a sacrifice?
I cannot send this: if he resisted it, I
if he yielded, how k now I but it would
even after which he would be haunted
by the memory of another. I had better see him, speak
with him, and return his ring. " S he folded it in paper, on
which she only wrote, " Y ou are free; " and, putting it in
her bosom, awaited the evening ere she could approach.
I n open day she would have blushed before all she met;
and yet she sought to anticipate the moment of his visit to
L ady E dgarmond. A t six o' clock , therefore, she set forth,
trembling lik e a condemned criminal, -- we so much fear
those we love, when once our confidence is lost. The ob-
j ect of a passionate affection is in the eyes of woman,
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 325
either her surest protector or most dreaded master. Co-
rinne stopped her eq
a hesitating voice ask
but the man replied, --
an hour ago, madam. "
uipage at L ord N evil' s door, and in
ed the porter if he was at home;
" My L ord set out for S cotland half
This intelligence pressed heavily
on her heart: she had shrunk from the thought of meeting
O swald, but her soul had surmounted that inex pressible
emotion. The effort was made: she believed herself about
to hear, his voice, and now must tak e some new resolution
ere she could regain it; wait some days longer, and stoop
to one step more. Y et, at all hazards, she must see him
again; and the nex t day she departed for S cotland.
CH A PTE R V I I I .
E re q uitting L ondon, N evil again called on his agents;
and, on finding no letter from Corinne, bitterly ask ed
himself if he ought to give up the certainty of permanent
domestic peace for one who perhaps no longer remembered
him. Y et he decided on writing once more, to enq uire
the cause of this silence, and assure her, that, till she sent
back his ring, he would never be the husband of another.
H e completed his j ourney in a very gloomy mood, loving
L ucy almost unconsciously, for he had, as yet, scarcely
heard her speak twenty words -- yet regretting Corinne,
and the circumstances which separated him from her, by
fits yielding to the innocent beauty of the one, and re-
tracing the brilliant grace or sublime eloq uence of the
other. H ad he but k nown that Corinne loved him better
than ever, that she had q uitted every thing to follow him,
he would never have seen L ucy more; but he believed him-
self forgotten, and told his heart that a cool manner might
oft conceal deep feelings. H e was deceived. I mpassioned
spirits must betray themselves a thousand ways: that
which can always be controlled must needs be weak .
A nother event added to his interest in L ucy. I n re-
turning to his estates he passed so near her mother' s, that
Y3
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? 326 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
curiosity urged him to visit it. H e ask ed to be shown the
room in which Miss E dgarmond usually studied: it was
filled by remembrances of the time his father had passed
there during his own absence in F rance. O n the spot
where, a few months before his death, the late L ord N evil
had given her lessons, L ucy had erected a marble pedestal,
on which was graven, " To the memory of my second
father. " A book lay on the table. O swald opened it, and
found a collection of his father' s thoughts, who in the first
page had written, " To her who has solaced me in my
sorrows; the maid whose angelic soul will constitute the
glory and happiness of her'
O swald read these lines!
vered dead was so warmly ex
husband. " W ith what emotion
in which the opinion of the re-
pressed. H e interpreted L ucy' s
silence on this subj ect into a delicacy which feared to ex -
tort his vows by any idea of duty. " I t was she, then/'
he cried, " who softened the pangs I dealt him; and shall
I desert her while her mother is dying, and she has no
comforter but myself? A h, Corinne! brilliant and admired
as thou art, thou dost not, lik e L ucy, stand in need of one
devoted friend! " A las! 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.
? 320CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L T.
and misery, alik e destroy it in the end? These heavenly
j oys belong not to our fate; they never cross our path,
save to remind us of our immortal origin and hopes.
L ady E dgarmond was better; and talk ed of departing,
in two days, for her estate in S cotland, near that of L ord
N evil, whither he had purposed going before the embark -
ation of his regiment: she anticipated his proposing to
accompany her, but he said nothing. L ucy gazed on him
in silence for a moment, then hastily rose, and went to
the window: on some pretex t N evil shortly followed her,
and fancied that her lids were wet with tears: he sighed,
and the forgetfulness of which he had accused Corinne
returning to his memory, he ask ed himself whether this
young creature might not prove more capable of constant
love? H e wished to atone for the pain he had inflicted.
I t is delightful to rek indle smiles on a countenance so
nearly infantine. Grief is out of place, where even re-
flection has yet left no trace. There was to be a review
in H yde Park on the morrow; he therefore entreated
L ady E dgarmond to drive there with her daughter, and
afterwards permit his tak ing a ride with L ucy beside her
carriage. Miss E dgarmond had once said that she greatly
wished to mount a horse, and look ed at her mother with
appealing submission: after a little deliberation, the in-
valid held out her wasting hand to O swald, saying, -- " I f
you req uest it, my L ord, I consent. " These words so alarmed
him, that he would have abandoned his own proposal; but
that L ucy, with a vivacity she had never before betrayed,
took her mother' s hand, and k issed it gratefully. H
not the courage to deprive an innocent being, who led so
lonely a life, of an amusement she so much desired.
CH A PTE R V I .
F or a fortnight Corinne had endured the severest anx
every morning she hesitated whether she should write to
e had
iety;
O swald; every evening she had the inex pressible grief of
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? corinne; or it alt. S 21
k nowing that he was with L ucy. H er sufferings made
lier daily more timid: she blushed to think that he
might not approve the step she had tak en. " Perhaps,"
she often said, " all thought of I taly is banished from
his breast: he no longer needs in woman a gifted mind
or an impassioned heart; all that can please him now
is the angelic beauty of six teen, the fresh and diffident
soul that consecrates to him its first emotions. " H er
imagination was so strick en with the advantages of her
young sister that she was abashed, disarmed, depreciatingly
disgusted with herself. Though not yet eight-and-twenty,
she had already reached that era when women sadly dis-
trust their power to please. H er pride and j ealousy con-
tending, made her defer from day to day the dreaded yet
desired moment of her meeting with O swald. S he learnt
that his regiment would be reviewed, and resolved on being
present. S he thought it probable that L ucy would be
there; if so, she would trust her own eyes to j udge the
state of N evil' s heart. A t first she thought of dressing
herself with care, and suddenly appearing before him; but
at her toilet, her black hair, her sk in slightly embrowned by
the I talian sun, her prominent features, all discouraged her.
S he remembared the ethereal aspect of her sister; and,
throwing aside her rich array, assumed a black V enetian
garb, covered her head and figure with the mantle worn in
that country, and threw herself into a coach. I n H yde
Park she found groups of gentlemen, attired with simple
elegance, escorting their fair and modest ladies. The
virtues proper to each sex seemed thus to meet. S carcely
was she there ere she beheld O swald at the head of his
corps: its men look ed up to him with confidence and de-
votion. The uniform lent him a more imposing air than
usual, and he reined his charger with perfectly graceful
dex terity. The band played pieces of music at once proud
and sweet, which seemed nobly enj
life: among them " God save the K
hearts; and Corinne ex claimed, "
oining the sacrifice of
ought to be my own! why did I ever leave thee? W
matters more or less of personal fame, amid so much true
Y
ing," so dear to E
R espected land!
nglish
which
hat
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? 322CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
merit? and what glory could eq ual that of being called
L ord N evil' s worthy wife? "
The martial instruments recalled to her mind the perils
he must brave so soon. Unseen by him she gazed through
her tears, sighing, " O h, may he live, though it be not for
me! My God! it is O swald only I implore thee to
preserve! " A t this moment L ady E dgarmond' s carriage
drove up. N evil bowed respectfully, and lowered the point
of his sword. N o one who look ed on L ucy but admired
her: O swald' s glances pierced the heart of Corinne: she
k new their meaning well, for such had once been bent on
her. The horses he had lent to L ady E dgarmond passed
to and fro with ex q uisite speedy while the eq uipage of
Corinne was drawn after these flying coursers almost as
slowly as a hearse. " I t was not thus," she thought,
" that I approached the Capitol: no; he has dashed me
from my car of triumph into an abyss of misery. I love
him, and the j oys of life are lost. I love him, and the
gifts of nature fade. Pardon him, oh, my God! when I
am gone. " O swald was now close to her vehicle. The
I talian dress caught his eye, and he rode round, in hopes
of beholding the face of this unk nown. H er heart beat
violently; and all her fear was that she should faint and
be discovered; but she restrained her feelings; and L ord
N evil relinq uished the idea which beset him. W hen the
review was over, to avoid again attracting his attention, she
alighted, and retired behind the trees, so as not to be observed.
O swald then went up to L ady E dgarmond, and showed
her a very gentle horse, which his servants had brought
thither for L ucy: her mother bade him be very careful
of her. H e dismounted, and, hat in hand, conversed
through the carriage door with so feeling an ex pression,
that Corinne could attribute this regard for the mother to
nothing less than an attachment for the daughter. L ucy
left the carriage: a riding habit charmingly defined the
elegant outline of her figure: she wore a black hat with
white plumes,-- her fair silk en lock s floating airily about
her smiling face. O swald placed his hand as her step:
she had ex pected this service from a domestic, and blushed
at receiving it from him; but he insisted, and, at last, she
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? CO R I N N E ,' O B I TA L Y . 323
set her little foot in his hand, then sprung so lightly to
her saddle, that she seemed one of those sylphid shapes
which fancy paints in colours so delicate. S he set off at a
gallop. O swald followed, never losing sight of her: once the
horse made a false step: he instantly check ed it, ex amining
the bit and bridle with the most k ind solicitude. S hortly
afterwards the animal ran away. O swald turned pale as
death, spurring his own steed to an incredible fleetness; in
a second he overtook that of L ucy, leaped from his seat,
and threw himself before her. S he shuddered in her turn
lest she should harm him; but with one hand he seized her
rein, supporting her with the other, as she gently leant
against him.
W hat more needed Corinne to convince her of O swald' s
love for L ucy? Did she not see all the signs of interest
which formerly he lavished on herself? N ay, to her
eternal despair, did she not read in his eyes a more re-
vering deference than he had ever shown to her? Twice
she drew the ring from her finger, and was ready to break
through the crowd, that she might throw it at his feet: the
hope of dying in this effort encouraged her resolution; but
where is the woman, even born beneath a southern sk y,
who does not tremble at attracting the attention of a
crowd? S he was returning to her coach; and, as she crossed
a somewhat deserted walk , O swald again noticed the black
figure he before had seen; and it now made a stronger
impression on him than at first: he attributed his emotion
to remorse, at having, for the first time, felt his heart
faithless to the image of Corinne; yet he resolved on start-
ing for S cotland, as his regiment was not to embark for
some time.
t1
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? 324CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
CH A PTE R V I I .
F rom this moment Corinne' s reason was affected, and her
strength decayed. S he began a letter to L ord N evil, full
of bitter upbraidings, and then tore it up. " W hat avail
reproaches ? " she thought: " could love be the most pure,
most generous of our sentiments, if it were not involuntary?
A nother face, another voice, command the secret of his
heart: all is said that can be said. " S he began a
new letter, depicting the monotony he would find in an
union with L ucy; essayed to prove that without a perfect
harmony of soul and mind no happiness could last; but
she destroyed this paper more hastily than the other.
" I f he already k nows not my opinions, I
him now," she said; " besides, ought I
my sister? is she so greatly my inferior as I
cannot teach
to speak thus of
think ? and,
if she be, is it for me, who, lik e a mother, pressed her in
childhood to my heart, to point out her deficiencies? no,
no! we must not thus value our own inclinations above all
price. This life, full as it is of wishes, must have end;
and even before death meditation may wean us from its
selfishness. " O nce more she resumed her pen, to tell but
of her misery; yet, in ex pressing it, she felt such pity for
herself, that her tears flowed over every word. " N o,"
she said again, "
should hate him;
be by a sacrifice?
I cannot send this: if he resisted it, I
if he yielded, how k now I but it would
even after which he would be haunted
by the memory of another. I had better see him, speak
with him, and return his ring. " S he folded it in paper, on
which she only wrote, " Y ou are free; " and, putting it in
her bosom, awaited the evening ere she could approach.
I n open day she would have blushed before all she met;
and yet she sought to anticipate the moment of his visit to
L ady E dgarmond. A t six o' clock , therefore, she set forth,
trembling lik e a condemned criminal, -- we so much fear
those we love, when once our confidence is lost. The ob-
j ect of a passionate affection is in the eyes of woman,
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 325
either her surest protector or most dreaded master. Co-
rinne stopped her eq
a hesitating voice ask
but the man replied, --
an hour ago, madam. "
uipage at L ord N evil' s door, and in
ed the porter if he was at home;
" My L ord set out for S cotland half
This intelligence pressed heavily
on her heart: she had shrunk from the thought of meeting
O swald, but her soul had surmounted that inex pressible
emotion. The effort was made: she believed herself about
to hear, his voice, and now must tak e some new resolution
ere she could regain it; wait some days longer, and stoop
to one step more. Y et, at all hazards, she must see him
again; and the nex t day she departed for S cotland.
CH A PTE R V I I I .
E re q uitting L ondon, N evil again called on his agents;
and, on finding no letter from Corinne, bitterly ask ed
himself if he ought to give up the certainty of permanent
domestic peace for one who perhaps no longer remembered
him. Y et he decided on writing once more, to enq uire
the cause of this silence, and assure her, that, till she sent
back his ring, he would never be the husband of another.
H e completed his j ourney in a very gloomy mood, loving
L ucy almost unconsciously, for he had, as yet, scarcely
heard her speak twenty words -- yet regretting Corinne,
and the circumstances which separated him from her, by
fits yielding to the innocent beauty of the one, and re-
tracing the brilliant grace or sublime eloq uence of the
other. H ad he but k nown that Corinne loved him better
than ever, that she had q uitted every thing to follow him,
he would never have seen L ucy more; but he believed him-
self forgotten, and told his heart that a cool manner might
oft conceal deep feelings. H e was deceived. I mpassioned
spirits must betray themselves a thousand ways: that
which can always be controlled must needs be weak .
A nother event added to his interest in L ucy. I n re-
turning to his estates he passed so near her mother' s, that
Y3
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? 326 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
curiosity urged him to visit it. H e ask ed to be shown the
room in which Miss E dgarmond usually studied: it was
filled by remembrances of the time his father had passed
there during his own absence in F rance. O n the spot
where, a few months before his death, the late L ord N evil
had given her lessons, L ucy had erected a marble pedestal,
on which was graven, " To the memory of my second
father. " A book lay on the table. O swald opened it, and
found a collection of his father' s thoughts, who in the first
page had written, " To her who has solaced me in my
sorrows; the maid whose angelic soul will constitute the
glory and happiness of her'
O swald read these lines!
vered dead was so warmly ex
husband. " W ith what emotion
in which the opinion of the re-
pressed. H e interpreted L ucy' s
silence on this subj ect into a delicacy which feared to ex -
tort his vows by any idea of duty. " I t was she, then/'
he cried, " who softened the pangs I dealt him; and shall
I desert her while her mother is dying, and she has no
comforter but myself? A h, Corinne! brilliant and admired
as thou art, thou dost not, lik e L ucy, stand in need of one
devoted friend! " A las! 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.
