" These words re-
called Corinne to herself, yet overwhelmed her with de-
spair.
called Corinne to herself, yet overwhelmed her with de-
spair.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
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? corinne; or italy. 281
destined, perhaps, some day, to resuscitate the ashes of
their sires. I t is always something for a land to have
been great; its natives blush at least beneath degradation;
while, in a country never consecrated to fame, the in-
habitants do not even suspect that there can be a nobler
doom than the obscure servility beq ueathed to them by
their fathers. Dalmatia, which was of yore occupied by
so warlik e a race, still preserves something of the savage.
I ts natives are so little aware of the changes wrought by
fifteen centuries, that they still deem the R omans ' all-
powerful ; ' yet they betray more modern k
calling the E nglish ' the heroes of the sea,'
have so often landed in their ports; but they k
nowledge, by
because you
now no-
thing about the rest of the world. I love all realms where,
in the manners, customs, language, something original is
left. Civilised life is so monotonous; you k now its secrets
in so short a time; I have already lived long enough for
that. " -- " L iving with you," said N evil, " can we ever
behold the end of new thoughts and sensations? " -- " God
grant that such may prove ex haustless ! " she replied, con-
tinuing,-- " L et us give one moment more to Dalmatia:
when we descend from this height we shall still see the
uncertain lines which mark that land, as indistinctly as
a tender recollection in the memory of man. There are
improvisatores among the Dalmatians as among the sa-
vages;
always ex
vanity. N
they were found, too, with the Grecians, and almost
ist where there is much imagination, and little
atural talent turns rather to epigram, in coun-
tries where a fear of ridicule mak es every man anx ious to
be the first who secures that weapon; but people thrown
much with N ature feel a reverence for her that greatly
nurtures fancy. ' Caverns are sacred,' say the Dalmatians,
doubtless thus ex pressing an indefinite terror of the old
earth' s secrets. Their poetry, S outherns though they be,
resembles O ssian' s; but there are only two ways of feeling
the charms of nature. Men either animate and deify
them, as did the ancients, beneath a thousand brilliant
shapes, or, lik e the S cottish bards, yield to the melancholy
fear inspired by the unk nown. S ince I met you, O swald,
this last manner has best pleased me. F ormerly I had
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? 282 corinne; or italy.
vivacious hope enough to prefer a fearless enj oyment of
smiling imagery. " -- " I t is I , then," said N evil, " who
have withered the fair ideal, to which I owed the richest
pleasures of my life. " --
my own passion. Talent req
as true love destroys. " --
" N o, you are not in fault, but
uires internal freedom, such
" A h! if you mean that your
genius may lose its voice, and your heart speak but for
me " H e could not proceed, the words promised
more to his mind than he dared utter. Corinne guessed
this, and would not answer, lest she should dissipate their
present hopes. S he felt herself beloved, and, used to live
where men lose all for love, she was easily persuaded
that N evil could not leave her. A t once ardent and in-
dolent, she deemed a danger past which was no longer
mentioned. S he lived as many others do, who have been
long menaced by the same misfortune, and think it will
never happen, merely because it has not done so yet.
The air of V enice, and the life led there, is singularly
calculated for lulling the mind into security: the very boats,
peacefully rock ing to and fro, induce a languid reverie;
now and then a gondolier on the R ialto sings a stanza from
Tasso; one of his fellows answers him, by the nex t
verse, from the ex tremity of the canal. The very antiq ue
music they employ is lik e church psalmody, and mono-
tonous enough when near: but, on the evening breeze, it
floats over the waters lik e the last beams of the sun; and,
aided by the sentiment it ex presses, in such a scene, it
cannot be heard without a gentle pensiveness. O swald
and Corinne remained on the canals, side by side, for
hours; often without a word; holding each other' s hands,
and yielding to the formless dreams inspired by love and
nature.
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? corinne; or italy. 283
BOOKXVI.
PA R TI N GA N DA B S E N CE .
CH A PTE R I . x
A s soon as Corinne' s arrival was k nown in V enice, it
ex cited the greatest curiosity. W hen she went to a cafe
in the piazza of S t. Mark , its galleries were crowded, for
a moment' s glimpse at her; and the best society sought
her with eager haste. S he had once loved to produce this
effect wherever she appeared, and naturally confessed that
admiration had many charms for her. Genius inspires
this thirst for fame: there is no blessing undesired by
those to whom H eaven gave the means of winning it. Y
in her present situation she dreaded every tiling in oppo-
sition with the domestic habits so dear to N evil. Corinne
was blind to her own welfare, in attaching herself to a
man lik ely rather to repress than to ex cite her talents;
it is easy to conceive why a woman, occupied by literature
and the arts, should love the tastes that differed from her
own. O ne is so often weary of one' s self, that a resem-
blance of that self would never tempt affection, which
req uires a harmony of sentiment, but a contrast of cha-
racter; many sympathies, but not unvaried congeniality.
et
but
N evil was supremely blessed with this double charm. H is
gentle ease and gracious manner could never sate, because
his liability to clouds and storms k ept up a constant in-
terest. A lthough the depth and ex tent of his acq uire-
ments fitted him for any life, his political opinions and
military bias inclined him rather to a career of arms than
one of letters,-- the thought that action might be mors
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? 284CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y .
poetical than even verse itself. H e was superior to the
success of his own mind, and spok e of it with much in-
, difference. Corinne strove to please him by imitating
this carelessness of literary glory; in order to grow more
lik e the retiring females for whom E nglish womanhood
offers the best model. Y et the homage she received at
V enice gave O swald none but agreeable sensations. There
was so much cordial good breeding in the reception she
met, the V enetians ex pressed the pleasure her conversation
afforded them with such vivacity, that O swald felt proud
of being dear to one so universally admired. H e was no
longer j ealous of her celebrity, certain that she prized him
far above it; and his own love increased by every tribute
I she elicited. H e forgot E ngland, and revelled in the
I talian heedlessness of days to come. Corinne perceived
this change; and her imprudent heart welcomed it, as if
to last for ever.
I talian is the only tongue whose dialects are almost
languages of themselves. I n that of each state book s
might be written distinct from the standard I
though only the N eapolitan, S icilian, and V
have yet the honour of being ack nowledged;
talian;
enetian dialects
and that of
V enice as the most original, most graceful of all. Corinne
pronounced it charmingly; and the manner in which she
sung some lively barcaroles proved that she could act
comedy as well as tragedy. S he was pressed to tak e a
part in an opera which some of her new friends intended
playing the nex t week . S ince she had loved O swald she
concealed this talent from him, not feeling sufficient peace
of mind for its ex ercise, or, at other times, fearing that
any outbreak of high spirits might be followed by mis-
fortune; but now, with unwonted confidence, she con-
sented, as he, too, j oined in the req
that she should perform in a piece, lik
composed of the most diverting fairy ex
uest; and it was agreed
e most of Gozzi' s,
travagances. (3)
Truffaldin and Pantaloon, in these burlesq ues, often j ostle
the greatest monarchs of the earth. The marvellous fur-
nishes them with j ests, which, from their very order,
cannot approach to low vulgarity. The Child of the A ir,
or S emiramis in her Y outh, is a coq uette, endowed by tha
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 285
celestials and infernals to subj ugate the world; bred in
a desert, lik e a savage, cunning as a sorceress, and im-
perious as a q ueen, she unites natural wildness with pre-
meditated grace, and a warrior' s courage with the frivolity
of a woman. The character demands a fund of fanciful
drollery, which but the inspiration of the moment can
bring to light.
CH A PTE R I I .
F ate sometimes has its own strange cruel sport, repulsing
our presuming familiarity. O ft, when we yield to hope,
calculate on success, and trifle with our destiny, the sable
thread is blending with its tissue, and the weird sisters
dash down the airy fabrics we have reared.
I t was now N ovember; yet Corinne arose enchanted
with her prospects. F or the first act she chose a very
picturesq ue costume: her hair, though dishevelled, was
arranged with an evident design of pleasing; her light
fantastic garb gave her noble form a most mischievously
attractive air. S he reached the palace where she was to
play. E very one but O swald had arrived. S he deferred
the performance as long as possible, and began to be uneasy
at his absence; when she came on the stage, however, she
perceived him, though he sat in a remote part of the hall,
and the pain of having waited redoubled her j oy. S he was
as inspired by gaiety as she had been at the Capitol by en-
thusiasm. This drama blends song with speech, and even
gives opportunities for ex tempore dialogue, of which Co-
rinne availed herself to render the scene more animated.
S he sung the buffa airs with peculiar elegance. H er
gestures were at once comic and dignified. S he ex torted
laughter, without ceasing to be imposing. H er talents,
lik e her part, q ueened it over actors and spectators, plea-
santly bantering both parties. A h! who would not have
wept over such a sight, could they have k nown that this
bright armour but drew down the lightning, that this triumph-
ant mirth would soon give place to bitter desolation? The
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? 286 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
applause was so continual, so j udicious, that the rapture of
the audience infected Corinne with that k ind of delirium
which pours a lethe over the past, and bids the future seem
unclouded. O swald had seen her represent the deepest
woe, at a time when he still hoped to mak e her happy; he
now beheld her breathing stainless j oy, j ust as he had re-
ceived tidings that might prove fatal to them both. O ft
did he wish to tak e her from this scene of daring happiness,
yet felt a sad pleasure in once more beholding that lovely
countenance bedeck ed in smiles. A t the conclusion she
appeared arrayed as an A mazonian q ueen, commanding
men, almost the elements, by that reliance on her charms
which beauty may preserve, unless she loves; then, then,
no gift of nature or of fortune can re-assure her spirit; but
this crowned flirt, this fairy q ueen, miraculously blending
rage with wit, carelessness with ambition, and conceit with
despotism, seemed to rule over fate as over hearts; and
when she ascended her throne she ex acted the submission
of her subj ects with a smile, arch as it was arrogant. This
was, perhaps, the moment of her life, from which both
grief and fear seemed farthest banished; when suddenly
she saw her lover bow his face on his hands to hide his
tears. S he trembled, and the curtain had not q uite fallen,
when, leaving her already hated throne, she rushed into the
nex t apartment. Thither he followed her; and when she
mark ed his paleness, she was seized with such alarm, that
she was forced to lean against the wall for support. " O s-
wald," she said, " my God! what has happened ? " -- " I
must start for E ngland to-night," he said, forgetting that
he ought not thus to have ex posed her feelings. -- " N o,
no ! " she cried, clinging to him distractedly; " you cannot
plunge me into such despair. H ow have I merited it?
or-- or-- youmeanthatyouwilltak emewithyou? " --
" L et us leave this cruel crowd," he said: " come with me,
Corinne. " S he followed him, not understanding aught ad-
dressed to her, answering at random; her gait and look so
change' d, that every one believed her struck with sudden
illness.
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? corinne; or I taly. 287
CH A PTE R I I I .
W hen they were in the gondola, she raved,-- " W hat you
have made me feel is worse than death: be generous : throw
me into these waves, that I may lose the sense which mad-
dens me. O swald, be hrave: I have seen you do things that
req uired more courage. " -- " H old, hold! " he cried, " if
you would not drive me to suicide. H ear me, when we have
reached your house, and then pronounce our fate. I n the
name of H eaven be calm! " There was such misery in his
accents that she was silent; but trembled so violently, that
she could hardly walk up the stairs toher apartment. There
she tore off her ornaments in dismay; and, as L ord N evil
saw her in this state, a few moments since so brilliant, he
sunk uponaseatintears. -- " A mI abarbarian? " he
cried. " Corinne! J ust H eaven! Corinne! do you not
think meso? " -- " N o," shesaid," no,I cannot. -- H ave
you not still that look which every day gives me fresh
comfort? O swald, your presence is a ray from heaven--
can I then fear you ? -- not dare to read your eyes? but fall
before you as before my murderer? O h, O swald! O s-
wald! " and she threw herself at his feet in supplication.
" W hat do I see," he ex claimed, raising her vehemently,
" would you dishonour me? W ell, be it so. My regiment
embark s in a month. I will remain, if you betray this all
commanding grief, but I shall not survive my shame. " --
" I ask you not to stay," she said; " but what harm can
I dobyfollowingyou? " -- " W egototheW estI ndies,
and no officer is allowed to tak e his wife. " -- " W ell, well,
at least let me go to E ngland with you. " -- " My letters
also tell me," answered he, "
are already in the papers there;
pected; and your family, ex
that reports concerning us
that your identity is sus-
cited by L ady E dgarmond,
refuse to meet or own you. Give me but time to reconcile
them, to enforce your rights with your stepmother; for if I
tak e you thither, and leave you, ere your name be cleared,
you will endure all the severe opinions which I shall not be
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? 288corinne; O ilI TA L Y .
by to answer. " -- " Then you refuse me every thing! "
she said, and sunk insensible to the earth, her forehead re-
ceiving a wound in the fall. O swald shriek ed at the sight.
Theresina entered in ex treme alarm, and restored her
mistress to animation; but when Corinne perceived, in an
opposite mirror, her own pale and disfigured face, -- " O s-
wald," she sighed, " it was not thus I look ed the day
you met me first. I wore the crown of hope and fame,
now blood and dust are on my brow; yet it is not for you
to despise the state to which you have reduced me. O thers
may, -- but you cannot, -- you ought to pity me for loving
thus,-- youmust! " -- " S tay," hecried," thisistoo
much; " and signing for Theresina to retire, he took Co-
rinne in his arms, saying, -- " Do what thou wilt with me.
I must submit to the decrees of H eaven. I cannot abandon
thee in this distress, nor lead thee to E ngland, before I
have secured against the insults of that haughty woman.
I will stay with thee. I cannot depart.
" These words re-
called Corinne to herself, yet overwhelmed her with de-
spair. S he felt the necessity that weighed upon her, and,
with her head reclined, remained long silent. -- " Dearest! "
said O swald, " let me hear thy voice. I have no other
support -- no other guide now. " -- " N o," replied Corinne,
" you must leave me," and a flood of tears evinced her
comparative resignation. -- " My love," said N evil, " I
call to witness this portrait of my father, and you best
k now whether his name is sacred to me,-- I swear to it that
my life is in thy power, if needful to thy happiness. A t
my return from the islands I will see if I cannot restore
thee to thy due rank in thy father' s country. I f I
fail, I
will return to I taly, and live or die at thy feet. " -- " B ut
the dangers you are about to brave," she rej oined. -- "
not, I shall escape; or, if I perish, unk nown as I
F ear
am,
my memory will survive in thy heart; and when thou hearest
my name, thou mayest say, perhaps with tearful eyes, ' I
k newhimonce-- helovedme! ' " -- " A h,leaveme! "
she cried: " you are deceived by my apparent calm; to-
morrow, when the sun rises, and I tell myself, ' I shall
see him no more,' the thought may k ill me; happy if it
does. " -- " W hy, Corinne, do you fear? is my solemn
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 289
promise nothing? Can your heart doubt it ? " -- " N o, I
respect -- too much not to believe you: it would cost me
more to abj ure mine admiration than my love. I look on
you as an angelic being,-- the purest, noblest, that ever shone
on earth. I t is not alone your grace that captivates me,
but the idea that so many virtues never before united in
one obj ect, and that your heavenly look was only given to
ex press them all. F ar be it from me, then> to doubt your
word. I should fly from the human face for ever if L ord
N evil could deceive; but absence has so many perils, and
that dreaded word adieu " -- " H ave I not said, never
-- save from my death-bed? " demanded O swald, with such
emotion, that Corinne, terrified for his health strove to re-
strain her feelings, and became more pitiable than before.
They then began to concert means of writing, and to
speak on the certainty of rej oining each other. A year
was the term fix ed. O swald securely believed that the
ex pedition would not be longer away. S ome time was left
them still, and Corinne trusted to regain her strength; but
when O swald told her that the gondola would come for
him at three in the morning, and she saw, by her dial,
that the hour was not far distant, she shivered as if she
were approaching the stak e: her lover had every instant
less resolution; and Corinne, who had never seen his
mastery over himself thus unmanned, was heart-brok en at
the sight of his great anguish. S he consoled him, though
she must have been a thousand times the most unhappy of
thetwo. -- " L isten! " shesaid:" whenyouareinL on-
don, fick le gallants will tell you that love-promises bind
not your honour; that every E nglishman has lik ed some
I talian on his travels, and forgotten her on his return; that
a few pleasant months ought to involve neither the giver
nor the receiver; that at your age the colour of your whole
life cannot depend upon the temporary fascinations of a
foreigner. N ow this will seem right in the way of the
world; but will you, who k now the heart of which you
made yourself the lord, find ex cuses in these sophisms for
inflicting a mortal wound? W ill barbarous j ests from
men of the day prevent your hand' s trembling as it drives
the poniard through this breast i" -- " H ush," said O s-
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? 290 corinne; or italy.
wald: " you k now it is not your grief alone restrains me;
but where could I A nd such bliss as I have owed to you?
W ho, in the universe, can understand me as you do?
Corinne, you are the only woman who can feel or inspire
true love, that harmonious intelligence of hearts and souls,
which I shall never enj oy ex cept with you. Y ou k now I am
not fick le: I
you only that I
look on all things seriously; is it then against
should belie my nature ? " -- " N o," an-
swered Corinne; " you would not treat my fond sincerity
with scorn: it is not you, O swald, who could remain in-
sensible to my despair; but to you my stepmother will say
all that can sully my past life. S pare me the task of
telling you beforehand her pitiless remark s. F ar from
what talents I may boast disarming her, they are my
greatest errors in her eyes. S he cannot feel their charm,
she only sees their danger: whatever is unlik e the destiny
she herself chose seems useless, if not culpable. The
poetry of the heart to her appears but an impertinence,
which usurps the right of depreciating common sense.
I t is in the name of virtues I respect as much as you do
that she will condemn my character and fate. O swald,
she will call me unworthy of you. " -- " A nd how should
I hear that? " interrupted he: "
rate above your generosity, your frank
what virtues dare she
ness? N o, heavenly
creature! be common minds j udged by common rules; but
shame befall the being you have loved who does not more
revere than even adore you. Peerless in love and truth,
Corinne!
never fly. I
pain you. "
my firmness fails;
t is from you I
-- " W ell,"
if you sustain me not I can
must receive the power to
said Corinne, " there are some
seconds yet ere I must recommend myself to God, and beg
he will enable me to hear the hour of your departure strik e.
O h, O swald, we love each other with deep tenderness.
I have intrusted you with all my secrets; the facts were
nothing -- but the most private feelings of my heart, you
k now them all. I have not a thought that is not wedded
to thee: if I write aught in which my soul ex pands, thou
art mine inspiration. I address myself to thee, as I shall
my latest sigh. W hat, then, is my asylum if thou leavest
me? The arts will retrace thine image, music tby voice;
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 291
Genius, which formerly entranced my spirit, is nothing
now but love, and unshared with thee must perish. O h,
God! " she added, raising her eyes to heaven, " deign but
to hear me! Thou art not merciless to our noblest sorrows:
tak e back my life when he has ceased to love: it will be
then but suffering. H e carries with him all my highest,
softest feelings: if he permits the fire shrined in his breast
to be ex tinguished, wherever I may be, my life, too, will be
q uenched. Great God! thou didst not frame me to out-
live my better self, and what should I become in ceasing
to esteem him? H e ought to love me ever --
ought -- my affection should command his. O
F ather! death or his love! "
A s she concluded this prayer she turned to O
I feel he
h! heavenly
swald, and
beheld him prostrated before her in strong convulsions:
he repelled her cares, as if his reason were entirely lost.
Corinne gently pressed his hand, repeating to him all he
had said to her, assuring him that she relied on his return.
H er words somewhat composed him; yet the nearer the
hour of separation drew the more impossible it seemed to
part " W hy," he said, " should we not go to the altar,
and at once tak e our eternal oaths? " A ll the firmness, all
the pride of Corinne revived at these words. O swald had
told her that a woman' s grief once before subdued him,
but his love had chilled with every sacrifice he made.
A fter a moment' s silence, she replied, -- " N o, you must
see your country and your friends before you adopt this
resolution. I owe it now, my L ord, to the pangs of part-
ing,andI willnotacceptit. " H etook herhand. " A t
least," he said, " I swear again my faith is bound to this
ring; while you preserve it, never shall another attain a
right over my actions; if you at last rej ect me, and send it
back " -- " Cease," she interposed, " cease to talk of >>
fear you never felt; I cannot be the first to break om
sacred tie, and almost blush to assure you of what you but
too well k now already. " Meanwhile the time advanced,
Corinne turned pale at every sound. N evil remained in
speechless grief beside her; at last a light gleamed through
the window, and the black , hearse-lik e gondola stopped
before the door. Corinne uttered a scream of fright, and
u2
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? 292 corinne; or itaiy,
fell into O swald' s arms, crying, " They are here-- adieu
//-- leaveme-- allisover! " -- " O hGod,ohmyfather! "
heex claimed; " whatdoyeex actofme? " H eem-
braced and wept over his beloved, who continued,-- " Go!
it must be done-- go! " -- " L et me call Theresina," he
said; " I cannot leave you thus alone. " -- " A lone! " she
repeated: " shall I not be alone till you return? " -- " I
cannot q uit this room; it is impossible," he articulated, with
desperation. -- " W ell," said Corinne; " then it is I must
give the signal. I will open the door; but when I have
done so, spare me a few short instants. " -- " Y es, yes,"
he murmured, " let us be still together, though these cruel
combats are even worse than absence. " They now heard
the boatmen calling up L ord N evil' s servants; one of
whom soon tapped at the door, informing him that all
was ready. -- " A ll is ready," echoed Corinne, and k nelt
beside his father' s portrait. Doubtless her former life
then passed in review before her; she ex aggerated every
fault, and feared herself unworthy of Divine compassion,
though far too wretched to ex ist without it. W hen she
arose, she held forth her hand to N evil, saying, -- " N
can bid you farewell -- a moment more, and, perhaps, I
not. May God protect your steps, and mine,-- for I much
need his care! " O swald flung himself once more into
ow I
could
her arms, trembling and pale lik e one prepared for torture,
and left the room, where, perhaps, for the last time, he
had loved, and felt himself beloved, as few have ever been,
or ever can be.
W hen he disappeared, a horrid palpitation attack ed
Corinne; she could not breathe; every thing she beheld
look ed unreal; obj ects seemed vanishing from her sight;
the chamber tottering as from a shock of earthq uak e. F or
aq uarter of an hour she heard the servants completing
the preparations for this j ourney. H e was still near; she
might yet again behold him, speak to him once more;
but she would not trust herself. O swald lay almost sense-
loss in the gondola: at last it rowed away; and at that
moment Corinne fled forth to recall him; but Theresina
stopped her. A heavy rain was falling, and a high wind
arose: the house was now, indeed, shak en lik e a ship at
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? CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 293
sea, and O swald had to cross the L agune in such weather!
Corinne descended, purposing to follow him, at least till
he should land in safety; but it was so dark that not a
single gondola was plying: she walk ed, in dreadful agi-
tation, the narrow pavement that divides the houses from
the water. The storm increased: she called upon the
boatmen, who mistook her cries for those of some poor
creature drowning,-- yet no one dared approach, the waves
of the grand canal had swollen so formidably. Corinne
remained till daybreak in this state; meanwhile the tem-
pest ceased. O ne of the gondoliers brought word from
O swald that he had crossed securely. That moment was
almost a happy one; and it was some hours ere the un-
fortunate creature again felt the full weight of absence, or
calculated the long days which but anx iety and grief might
henceforth occupy.
CH A PTE R I V .
During the first part of his j
on the point of returning;
vanq uished this desire. W
ourney, O swald was freq uently
but the motives for perseverance
e mak e a solemn step towards the
limits of L ove' s empire, after we have once disobeyed him --
the dream of his resistlessness is over. O n approaching E ng-
land, all O swald' s homefelt recollections returned. The
year he had passed abroad had no connection with any
other era of his life. A glorious apparition had charmed
his fancy, but could not change the tastes, the opinions, of
which his ex istence had been, till then, composed. H e
regained himself; and though regret prevented his yet
feeling any delight, his thoughts began to steady from
the I talian intox ication which had unsettled them. N
o
the
sooner had he landed than his mind was struck
ease, the order, the wealth, and industry he look
habits and inclinations to which he was born wak
more force than ever.
with the
ed on;
ed with
I n a land where men have so much dignity, and women
v3
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? 294 corinne; or italy.
so much virtue, where domestic peace is the basis of public
welfare, O swald could but remember I taly to pity her.
H e saw the stamp of human reason upon all things; he
had lately found, in social life as in state institutions,
nothing but confusion, weak ness, and ignorance. Painting
and poetry gave place in his heart to freedom and to
morals; and, much as he loved Corinne, he gently blamed
her for wearying of a race so wise, so noble. H ad he left
her imaginative land for one of bare frivolity, he would
have pined for it still; but now he ex changed the vague
yearnings after romantic rapture, for pride in the truest
blessings-- security and independence. H e returned to a
career that suits man' s mind -- action that has an aim!
R everie may be the heritage of women, weak and resigned
from their birth; but man would win what he desires:
his courage irritates him against his fate, unless he can
direct it by his will. I n L ondon, O swald met his early
friends: he heard that language so condensed in power,
that it seems to imply more thoughts than it ex plains.
A gain he saw those serious countenances that k indle or
that melt so suddenly, when deep affections triumph over
their habit of reserve. H e once more tasted the pleasure
of mak ing discoveries in the human heart, there by de-
grees revealed to the observant eye. H e felt himself in
his own land, and those who never left it k now not by
how many link s it is endeared to them. The image of
Corinne mingled with all these impressions; and the more
reluctant he felt to leave his country, the more he wished
to marry, and fix in S cotland with her. H e was even
impatient to embark that he might return the sooner; but
the ex pedition was suspended, though still liable to be
ordered abroad immediately. N o officer, therefore, could
dispose of his time even for a fortnight. L ord N evil
doubly felt his separation from Corinne, having neither
leisure nor liberty to form or follow any decided plan.
H e passed six week s in L ondon, fretted by every moment
thus lost to her. F inally, he resolved to beguile his im-
patience by a short visit to N orthumberland, and, by in-
fluencing L ady E dgarmond to recognise the daughter of
her late lord, contradict the report of her death, and the
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? corinne; or italv. 295
unfavourable insinuations of the papers; for he longed to
tender her the rank and respect so thoroughly her due.
CHAPTER V.
O swald reflected with emotion that he was about to behold
the scene in which Corinne had passed so many years. H e
felt embarrassed by the necessity of informing L ady E dgar-
mond that he could not mak e L ucy his wife. The north
of E ngland, too, reminded him of S cotland, and the memory
of his father was never absent from his mind.
W hen he reached L ady E dgarmond' s estate, he was
struck by the good taste which pervaded its grounds; and,
as the mistress of the mansion was not ready to receive
him, he walk ed awhile in the park : through its foliage he
beheld a youthful and elegant figure reading with much
attention. A beautiful fair curl, escaping from her bonnet,
told him that this was L ucy, whom three years had im-
proved from child to woman. H e approached her, bowed,
and forgetting where he was, would have imprinted a re-
spectful k iss upon her hand, after the I talian mode; but
the young lady drew back , and, blushing as she courtesied,
replied, " I will inform my mother, sir, that you desire to
see her. " S he withdrew, and N evil remained awed by the
modest air of that angelic face. L ucy had j ust entered her
six teenth year; her features were ex tremely delicate; she
had a little outgrown her strength, as might be j udged by
her gait and mutable complex ion. H er blue eyes were so
downcast that her countenance owed its chief attraction to
these rapid changes of colour, which alone betrayed her
feelings. O swald, since he had dwelt in the south, had
never beheld this species of ex pression.
? corinne; or italy. 281
destined, perhaps, some day, to resuscitate the ashes of
their sires. I t is always something for a land to have
been great; its natives blush at least beneath degradation;
while, in a country never consecrated to fame, the in-
habitants do not even suspect that there can be a nobler
doom than the obscure servility beq ueathed to them by
their fathers. Dalmatia, which was of yore occupied by
so warlik e a race, still preserves something of the savage.
I ts natives are so little aware of the changes wrought by
fifteen centuries, that they still deem the R omans ' all-
powerful ; ' yet they betray more modern k
calling the E nglish ' the heroes of the sea,'
have so often landed in their ports; but they k
nowledge, by
because you
now no-
thing about the rest of the world. I love all realms where,
in the manners, customs, language, something original is
left. Civilised life is so monotonous; you k now its secrets
in so short a time; I have already lived long enough for
that. " -- " L iving with you," said N evil, " can we ever
behold the end of new thoughts and sensations? " -- " God
grant that such may prove ex haustless ! " she replied, con-
tinuing,-- " L et us give one moment more to Dalmatia:
when we descend from this height we shall still see the
uncertain lines which mark that land, as indistinctly as
a tender recollection in the memory of man. There are
improvisatores among the Dalmatians as among the sa-
vages;
always ex
vanity. N
they were found, too, with the Grecians, and almost
ist where there is much imagination, and little
atural talent turns rather to epigram, in coun-
tries where a fear of ridicule mak es every man anx ious to
be the first who secures that weapon; but people thrown
much with N ature feel a reverence for her that greatly
nurtures fancy. ' Caverns are sacred,' say the Dalmatians,
doubtless thus ex pressing an indefinite terror of the old
earth' s secrets. Their poetry, S outherns though they be,
resembles O ssian' s; but there are only two ways of feeling
the charms of nature. Men either animate and deify
them, as did the ancients, beneath a thousand brilliant
shapes, or, lik e the S cottish bards, yield to the melancholy
fear inspired by the unk nown. S ince I met you, O swald,
this last manner has best pleased me. F ormerly I had
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? 282 corinne; or italy.
vivacious hope enough to prefer a fearless enj oyment of
smiling imagery. " -- " I t is I , then," said N evil, " who
have withered the fair ideal, to which I owed the richest
pleasures of my life. " --
my own passion. Talent req
as true love destroys. " --
" N o, you are not in fault, but
uires internal freedom, such
" A h! if you mean that your
genius may lose its voice, and your heart speak but for
me " H e could not proceed, the words promised
more to his mind than he dared utter. Corinne guessed
this, and would not answer, lest she should dissipate their
present hopes. S he felt herself beloved, and, used to live
where men lose all for love, she was easily persuaded
that N evil could not leave her. A t once ardent and in-
dolent, she deemed a danger past which was no longer
mentioned. S he lived as many others do, who have been
long menaced by the same misfortune, and think it will
never happen, merely because it has not done so yet.
The air of V enice, and the life led there, is singularly
calculated for lulling the mind into security: the very boats,
peacefully rock ing to and fro, induce a languid reverie;
now and then a gondolier on the R ialto sings a stanza from
Tasso; one of his fellows answers him, by the nex t
verse, from the ex tremity of the canal. The very antiq ue
music they employ is lik e church psalmody, and mono-
tonous enough when near: but, on the evening breeze, it
floats over the waters lik e the last beams of the sun; and,
aided by the sentiment it ex presses, in such a scene, it
cannot be heard without a gentle pensiveness. O swald
and Corinne remained on the canals, side by side, for
hours; often without a word; holding each other' s hands,
and yielding to the formless dreams inspired by love and
nature.
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? corinne; or italy. 283
BOOKXVI.
PA R TI N GA N DA B S E N CE .
CH A PTE R I . x
A s soon as Corinne' s arrival was k nown in V enice, it
ex cited the greatest curiosity. W hen she went to a cafe
in the piazza of S t. Mark , its galleries were crowded, for
a moment' s glimpse at her; and the best society sought
her with eager haste. S he had once loved to produce this
effect wherever she appeared, and naturally confessed that
admiration had many charms for her. Genius inspires
this thirst for fame: there is no blessing undesired by
those to whom H eaven gave the means of winning it. Y
in her present situation she dreaded every tiling in oppo-
sition with the domestic habits so dear to N evil. Corinne
was blind to her own welfare, in attaching herself to a
man lik ely rather to repress than to ex cite her talents;
it is easy to conceive why a woman, occupied by literature
and the arts, should love the tastes that differed from her
own. O ne is so often weary of one' s self, that a resem-
blance of that self would never tempt affection, which
req uires a harmony of sentiment, but a contrast of cha-
racter; many sympathies, but not unvaried congeniality.
et
but
N evil was supremely blessed with this double charm. H is
gentle ease and gracious manner could never sate, because
his liability to clouds and storms k ept up a constant in-
terest. A lthough the depth and ex tent of his acq uire-
ments fitted him for any life, his political opinions and
military bias inclined him rather to a career of arms than
one of letters,-- the thought that action might be mors
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? 284CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y .
poetical than even verse itself. H e was superior to the
success of his own mind, and spok e of it with much in-
, difference. Corinne strove to please him by imitating
this carelessness of literary glory; in order to grow more
lik e the retiring females for whom E nglish womanhood
offers the best model. Y et the homage she received at
V enice gave O swald none but agreeable sensations. There
was so much cordial good breeding in the reception she
met, the V enetians ex pressed the pleasure her conversation
afforded them with such vivacity, that O swald felt proud
of being dear to one so universally admired. H e was no
longer j ealous of her celebrity, certain that she prized him
far above it; and his own love increased by every tribute
I she elicited. H e forgot E ngland, and revelled in the
I talian heedlessness of days to come. Corinne perceived
this change; and her imprudent heart welcomed it, as if
to last for ever.
I talian is the only tongue whose dialects are almost
languages of themselves. I n that of each state book s
might be written distinct from the standard I
though only the N eapolitan, S icilian, and V
have yet the honour of being ack nowledged;
talian;
enetian dialects
and that of
V enice as the most original, most graceful of all. Corinne
pronounced it charmingly; and the manner in which she
sung some lively barcaroles proved that she could act
comedy as well as tragedy. S he was pressed to tak e a
part in an opera which some of her new friends intended
playing the nex t week . S ince she had loved O swald she
concealed this talent from him, not feeling sufficient peace
of mind for its ex ercise, or, at other times, fearing that
any outbreak of high spirits might be followed by mis-
fortune; but now, with unwonted confidence, she con-
sented, as he, too, j oined in the req
that she should perform in a piece, lik
composed of the most diverting fairy ex
uest; and it was agreed
e most of Gozzi' s,
travagances. (3)
Truffaldin and Pantaloon, in these burlesq ues, often j ostle
the greatest monarchs of the earth. The marvellous fur-
nishes them with j ests, which, from their very order,
cannot approach to low vulgarity. The Child of the A ir,
or S emiramis in her Y outh, is a coq uette, endowed by tha
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 285
celestials and infernals to subj ugate the world; bred in
a desert, lik e a savage, cunning as a sorceress, and im-
perious as a q ueen, she unites natural wildness with pre-
meditated grace, and a warrior' s courage with the frivolity
of a woman. The character demands a fund of fanciful
drollery, which but the inspiration of the moment can
bring to light.
CH A PTE R I I .
F ate sometimes has its own strange cruel sport, repulsing
our presuming familiarity. O ft, when we yield to hope,
calculate on success, and trifle with our destiny, the sable
thread is blending with its tissue, and the weird sisters
dash down the airy fabrics we have reared.
I t was now N ovember; yet Corinne arose enchanted
with her prospects. F or the first act she chose a very
picturesq ue costume: her hair, though dishevelled, was
arranged with an evident design of pleasing; her light
fantastic garb gave her noble form a most mischievously
attractive air. S he reached the palace where she was to
play. E very one but O swald had arrived. S he deferred
the performance as long as possible, and began to be uneasy
at his absence; when she came on the stage, however, she
perceived him, though he sat in a remote part of the hall,
and the pain of having waited redoubled her j oy. S he was
as inspired by gaiety as she had been at the Capitol by en-
thusiasm. This drama blends song with speech, and even
gives opportunities for ex tempore dialogue, of which Co-
rinne availed herself to render the scene more animated.
S he sung the buffa airs with peculiar elegance. H er
gestures were at once comic and dignified. S he ex torted
laughter, without ceasing to be imposing. H er talents,
lik e her part, q ueened it over actors and spectators, plea-
santly bantering both parties. A h! who would not have
wept over such a sight, could they have k nown that this
bright armour but drew down the lightning, that this triumph-
ant mirth would soon give place to bitter desolation? The
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? 286 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
applause was so continual, so j udicious, that the rapture of
the audience infected Corinne with that k ind of delirium
which pours a lethe over the past, and bids the future seem
unclouded. O swald had seen her represent the deepest
woe, at a time when he still hoped to mak e her happy; he
now beheld her breathing stainless j oy, j ust as he had re-
ceived tidings that might prove fatal to them both. O ft
did he wish to tak e her from this scene of daring happiness,
yet felt a sad pleasure in once more beholding that lovely
countenance bedeck ed in smiles. A t the conclusion she
appeared arrayed as an A mazonian q ueen, commanding
men, almost the elements, by that reliance on her charms
which beauty may preserve, unless she loves; then, then,
no gift of nature or of fortune can re-assure her spirit; but
this crowned flirt, this fairy q ueen, miraculously blending
rage with wit, carelessness with ambition, and conceit with
despotism, seemed to rule over fate as over hearts; and
when she ascended her throne she ex acted the submission
of her subj ects with a smile, arch as it was arrogant. This
was, perhaps, the moment of her life, from which both
grief and fear seemed farthest banished; when suddenly
she saw her lover bow his face on his hands to hide his
tears. S he trembled, and the curtain had not q uite fallen,
when, leaving her already hated throne, she rushed into the
nex t apartment. Thither he followed her; and when she
mark ed his paleness, she was seized with such alarm, that
she was forced to lean against the wall for support. " O s-
wald," she said, " my God! what has happened ? " -- " I
must start for E ngland to-night," he said, forgetting that
he ought not thus to have ex posed her feelings. -- " N o,
no ! " she cried, clinging to him distractedly; " you cannot
plunge me into such despair. H ow have I merited it?
or-- or-- youmeanthatyouwilltak emewithyou? " --
" L et us leave this cruel crowd," he said: " come with me,
Corinne. " S he followed him, not understanding aught ad-
dressed to her, answering at random; her gait and look so
change' d, that every one believed her struck with sudden
illness.
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? corinne; or I taly. 287
CH A PTE R I I I .
W hen they were in the gondola, she raved,-- " W hat you
have made me feel is worse than death: be generous : throw
me into these waves, that I may lose the sense which mad-
dens me. O swald, be hrave: I have seen you do things that
req uired more courage. " -- " H old, hold! " he cried, " if
you would not drive me to suicide. H ear me, when we have
reached your house, and then pronounce our fate. I n the
name of H eaven be calm! " There was such misery in his
accents that she was silent; but trembled so violently, that
she could hardly walk up the stairs toher apartment. There
she tore off her ornaments in dismay; and, as L ord N evil
saw her in this state, a few moments since so brilliant, he
sunk uponaseatintears. -- " A mI abarbarian? " he
cried. " Corinne! J ust H eaven! Corinne! do you not
think meso? " -- " N o," shesaid," no,I cannot. -- H ave
you not still that look which every day gives me fresh
comfort? O swald, your presence is a ray from heaven--
can I then fear you ? -- not dare to read your eyes? but fall
before you as before my murderer? O h, O swald! O s-
wald! " and she threw herself at his feet in supplication.
" W hat do I see," he ex claimed, raising her vehemently,
" would you dishonour me? W ell, be it so. My regiment
embark s in a month. I will remain, if you betray this all
commanding grief, but I shall not survive my shame. " --
" I ask you not to stay," she said; " but what harm can
I dobyfollowingyou? " -- " W egototheW estI ndies,
and no officer is allowed to tak e his wife. " -- " W ell, well,
at least let me go to E ngland with you. " -- " My letters
also tell me," answered he, "
are already in the papers there;
pected; and your family, ex
that reports concerning us
that your identity is sus-
cited by L ady E dgarmond,
refuse to meet or own you. Give me but time to reconcile
them, to enforce your rights with your stepmother; for if I
tak e you thither, and leave you, ere your name be cleared,
you will endure all the severe opinions which I shall not be
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? 288corinne; O ilI TA L Y .
by to answer. " -- " Then you refuse me every thing! "
she said, and sunk insensible to the earth, her forehead re-
ceiving a wound in the fall. O swald shriek ed at the sight.
Theresina entered in ex treme alarm, and restored her
mistress to animation; but when Corinne perceived, in an
opposite mirror, her own pale and disfigured face, -- " O s-
wald," she sighed, " it was not thus I look ed the day
you met me first. I wore the crown of hope and fame,
now blood and dust are on my brow; yet it is not for you
to despise the state to which you have reduced me. O thers
may, -- but you cannot, -- you ought to pity me for loving
thus,-- youmust! " -- " S tay," hecried," thisistoo
much; " and signing for Theresina to retire, he took Co-
rinne in his arms, saying, -- " Do what thou wilt with me.
I must submit to the decrees of H eaven. I cannot abandon
thee in this distress, nor lead thee to E ngland, before I
have secured against the insults of that haughty woman.
I will stay with thee. I cannot depart.
" These words re-
called Corinne to herself, yet overwhelmed her with de-
spair. S he felt the necessity that weighed upon her, and,
with her head reclined, remained long silent. -- " Dearest! "
said O swald, " let me hear thy voice. I have no other
support -- no other guide now. " -- " N o," replied Corinne,
" you must leave me," and a flood of tears evinced her
comparative resignation. -- " My love," said N evil, " I
call to witness this portrait of my father, and you best
k now whether his name is sacred to me,-- I swear to it that
my life is in thy power, if needful to thy happiness. A t
my return from the islands I will see if I cannot restore
thee to thy due rank in thy father' s country. I f I
fail, I
will return to I taly, and live or die at thy feet. " -- " B ut
the dangers you are about to brave," she rej oined. -- "
not, I shall escape; or, if I perish, unk nown as I
F ear
am,
my memory will survive in thy heart; and when thou hearest
my name, thou mayest say, perhaps with tearful eyes, ' I
k newhimonce-- helovedme! ' " -- " A h,leaveme! "
she cried: " you are deceived by my apparent calm; to-
morrow, when the sun rises, and I tell myself, ' I shall
see him no more,' the thought may k ill me; happy if it
does. " -- " W hy, Corinne, do you fear? is my solemn
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 289
promise nothing? Can your heart doubt it ? " -- " N o, I
respect -- too much not to believe you: it would cost me
more to abj ure mine admiration than my love. I look on
you as an angelic being,-- the purest, noblest, that ever shone
on earth. I t is not alone your grace that captivates me,
but the idea that so many virtues never before united in
one obj ect, and that your heavenly look was only given to
ex press them all. F ar be it from me, then> to doubt your
word. I should fly from the human face for ever if L ord
N evil could deceive; but absence has so many perils, and
that dreaded word adieu " -- " H ave I not said, never
-- save from my death-bed? " demanded O swald, with such
emotion, that Corinne, terrified for his health strove to re-
strain her feelings, and became more pitiable than before.
They then began to concert means of writing, and to
speak on the certainty of rej oining each other. A year
was the term fix ed. O swald securely believed that the
ex pedition would not be longer away. S ome time was left
them still, and Corinne trusted to regain her strength; but
when O swald told her that the gondola would come for
him at three in the morning, and she saw, by her dial,
that the hour was not far distant, she shivered as if she
were approaching the stak e: her lover had every instant
less resolution; and Corinne, who had never seen his
mastery over himself thus unmanned, was heart-brok en at
the sight of his great anguish. S he consoled him, though
she must have been a thousand times the most unhappy of
thetwo. -- " L isten! " shesaid:" whenyouareinL on-
don, fick le gallants will tell you that love-promises bind
not your honour; that every E nglishman has lik ed some
I talian on his travels, and forgotten her on his return; that
a few pleasant months ought to involve neither the giver
nor the receiver; that at your age the colour of your whole
life cannot depend upon the temporary fascinations of a
foreigner. N ow this will seem right in the way of the
world; but will you, who k now the heart of which you
made yourself the lord, find ex cuses in these sophisms for
inflicting a mortal wound? W ill barbarous j ests from
men of the day prevent your hand' s trembling as it drives
the poniard through this breast i" -- " H ush," said O s-
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? 290 corinne; or italy.
wald: " you k now it is not your grief alone restrains me;
but where could I A nd such bliss as I have owed to you?
W ho, in the universe, can understand me as you do?
Corinne, you are the only woman who can feel or inspire
true love, that harmonious intelligence of hearts and souls,
which I shall never enj oy ex cept with you. Y ou k now I am
not fick le: I
you only that I
look on all things seriously; is it then against
should belie my nature ? " -- " N o," an-
swered Corinne; " you would not treat my fond sincerity
with scorn: it is not you, O swald, who could remain in-
sensible to my despair; but to you my stepmother will say
all that can sully my past life. S pare me the task of
telling you beforehand her pitiless remark s. F ar from
what talents I may boast disarming her, they are my
greatest errors in her eyes. S he cannot feel their charm,
she only sees their danger: whatever is unlik e the destiny
she herself chose seems useless, if not culpable. The
poetry of the heart to her appears but an impertinence,
which usurps the right of depreciating common sense.
I t is in the name of virtues I respect as much as you do
that she will condemn my character and fate. O swald,
she will call me unworthy of you. " -- " A nd how should
I hear that? " interrupted he: "
rate above your generosity, your frank
what virtues dare she
ness? N o, heavenly
creature! be common minds j udged by common rules; but
shame befall the being you have loved who does not more
revere than even adore you. Peerless in love and truth,
Corinne!
never fly. I
pain you. "
my firmness fails;
t is from you I
-- " W ell,"
if you sustain me not I can
must receive the power to
said Corinne, " there are some
seconds yet ere I must recommend myself to God, and beg
he will enable me to hear the hour of your departure strik e.
O h, O swald, we love each other with deep tenderness.
I have intrusted you with all my secrets; the facts were
nothing -- but the most private feelings of my heart, you
k now them all. I have not a thought that is not wedded
to thee: if I write aught in which my soul ex pands, thou
art mine inspiration. I address myself to thee, as I shall
my latest sigh. W hat, then, is my asylum if thou leavest
me? The arts will retrace thine image, music tby voice;
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 291
Genius, which formerly entranced my spirit, is nothing
now but love, and unshared with thee must perish. O h,
God! " she added, raising her eyes to heaven, " deign but
to hear me! Thou art not merciless to our noblest sorrows:
tak e back my life when he has ceased to love: it will be
then but suffering. H e carries with him all my highest,
softest feelings: if he permits the fire shrined in his breast
to be ex tinguished, wherever I may be, my life, too, will be
q uenched. Great God! thou didst not frame me to out-
live my better self, and what should I become in ceasing
to esteem him? H e ought to love me ever --
ought -- my affection should command his. O
F ather! death or his love! "
A s she concluded this prayer she turned to O
I feel he
h! heavenly
swald, and
beheld him prostrated before her in strong convulsions:
he repelled her cares, as if his reason were entirely lost.
Corinne gently pressed his hand, repeating to him all he
had said to her, assuring him that she relied on his return.
H er words somewhat composed him; yet the nearer the
hour of separation drew the more impossible it seemed to
part " W hy," he said, " should we not go to the altar,
and at once tak e our eternal oaths? " A ll the firmness, all
the pride of Corinne revived at these words. O swald had
told her that a woman' s grief once before subdued him,
but his love had chilled with every sacrifice he made.
A fter a moment' s silence, she replied, -- " N o, you must
see your country and your friends before you adopt this
resolution. I owe it now, my L ord, to the pangs of part-
ing,andI willnotacceptit. " H etook herhand. " A t
least," he said, " I swear again my faith is bound to this
ring; while you preserve it, never shall another attain a
right over my actions; if you at last rej ect me, and send it
back " -- " Cease," she interposed, " cease to talk of >>
fear you never felt; I cannot be the first to break om
sacred tie, and almost blush to assure you of what you but
too well k now already. " Meanwhile the time advanced,
Corinne turned pale at every sound. N evil remained in
speechless grief beside her; at last a light gleamed through
the window, and the black , hearse-lik e gondola stopped
before the door. Corinne uttered a scream of fright, and
u2
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? 292 corinne; or itaiy,
fell into O swald' s arms, crying, " They are here-- adieu
//-- leaveme-- allisover! " -- " O hGod,ohmyfather! "
heex claimed; " whatdoyeex actofme? " H eem-
braced and wept over his beloved, who continued,-- " Go!
it must be done-- go! " -- " L et me call Theresina," he
said; " I cannot leave you thus alone. " -- " A lone! " she
repeated: " shall I not be alone till you return? " -- " I
cannot q uit this room; it is impossible," he articulated, with
desperation. -- " W ell," said Corinne; " then it is I must
give the signal. I will open the door; but when I have
done so, spare me a few short instants. " -- " Y es, yes,"
he murmured, " let us be still together, though these cruel
combats are even worse than absence. " They now heard
the boatmen calling up L ord N evil' s servants; one of
whom soon tapped at the door, informing him that all
was ready. -- " A ll is ready," echoed Corinne, and k nelt
beside his father' s portrait. Doubtless her former life
then passed in review before her; she ex aggerated every
fault, and feared herself unworthy of Divine compassion,
though far too wretched to ex ist without it. W hen she
arose, she held forth her hand to N evil, saying, -- " N
can bid you farewell -- a moment more, and, perhaps, I
not. May God protect your steps, and mine,-- for I much
need his care! " O swald flung himself once more into
ow I
could
her arms, trembling and pale lik e one prepared for torture,
and left the room, where, perhaps, for the last time, he
had loved, and felt himself beloved, as few have ever been,
or ever can be.
W hen he disappeared, a horrid palpitation attack ed
Corinne; she could not breathe; every thing she beheld
look ed unreal; obj ects seemed vanishing from her sight;
the chamber tottering as from a shock of earthq uak e. F or
aq uarter of an hour she heard the servants completing
the preparations for this j ourney. H e was still near; she
might yet again behold him, speak to him once more;
but she would not trust herself. O swald lay almost sense-
loss in the gondola: at last it rowed away; and at that
moment Corinne fled forth to recall him; but Theresina
stopped her. A heavy rain was falling, and a high wind
arose: the house was now, indeed, shak en lik e a ship at
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? CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 293
sea, and O swald had to cross the L agune in such weather!
Corinne descended, purposing to follow him, at least till
he should land in safety; but it was so dark that not a
single gondola was plying: she walk ed, in dreadful agi-
tation, the narrow pavement that divides the houses from
the water. The storm increased: she called upon the
boatmen, who mistook her cries for those of some poor
creature drowning,-- yet no one dared approach, the waves
of the grand canal had swollen so formidably. Corinne
remained till daybreak in this state; meanwhile the tem-
pest ceased. O ne of the gondoliers brought word from
O swald that he had crossed securely. That moment was
almost a happy one; and it was some hours ere the un-
fortunate creature again felt the full weight of absence, or
calculated the long days which but anx iety and grief might
henceforth occupy.
CH A PTE R I V .
During the first part of his j
on the point of returning;
vanq uished this desire. W
ourney, O swald was freq uently
but the motives for perseverance
e mak e a solemn step towards the
limits of L ove' s empire, after we have once disobeyed him --
the dream of his resistlessness is over. O n approaching E ng-
land, all O swald' s homefelt recollections returned. The
year he had passed abroad had no connection with any
other era of his life. A glorious apparition had charmed
his fancy, but could not change the tastes, the opinions, of
which his ex istence had been, till then, composed. H e
regained himself; and though regret prevented his yet
feeling any delight, his thoughts began to steady from
the I talian intox ication which had unsettled them. N
o
the
sooner had he landed than his mind was struck
ease, the order, the wealth, and industry he look
habits and inclinations to which he was born wak
more force than ever.
with the
ed on;
ed with
I n a land where men have so much dignity, and women
v3
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? 294 corinne; or italy.
so much virtue, where domestic peace is the basis of public
welfare, O swald could but remember I taly to pity her.
H e saw the stamp of human reason upon all things; he
had lately found, in social life as in state institutions,
nothing but confusion, weak ness, and ignorance. Painting
and poetry gave place in his heart to freedom and to
morals; and, much as he loved Corinne, he gently blamed
her for wearying of a race so wise, so noble. H ad he left
her imaginative land for one of bare frivolity, he would
have pined for it still; but now he ex changed the vague
yearnings after romantic rapture, for pride in the truest
blessings-- security and independence. H e returned to a
career that suits man' s mind -- action that has an aim!
R everie may be the heritage of women, weak and resigned
from their birth; but man would win what he desires:
his courage irritates him against his fate, unless he can
direct it by his will. I n L ondon, O swald met his early
friends: he heard that language so condensed in power,
that it seems to imply more thoughts than it ex plains.
A gain he saw those serious countenances that k indle or
that melt so suddenly, when deep affections triumph over
their habit of reserve. H e once more tasted the pleasure
of mak ing discoveries in the human heart, there by de-
grees revealed to the observant eye. H e felt himself in
his own land, and those who never left it k now not by
how many link s it is endeared to them. The image of
Corinne mingled with all these impressions; and the more
reluctant he felt to leave his country, the more he wished
to marry, and fix in S cotland with her. H e was even
impatient to embark that he might return the sooner; but
the ex pedition was suspended, though still liable to be
ordered abroad immediately. N o officer, therefore, could
dispose of his time even for a fortnight. L ord N evil
doubly felt his separation from Corinne, having neither
leisure nor liberty to form or follow any decided plan.
H e passed six week s in L ondon, fretted by every moment
thus lost to her. F inally, he resolved to beguile his im-
patience by a short visit to N orthumberland, and, by in-
fluencing L ady E dgarmond to recognise the daughter of
her late lord, contradict the report of her death, and the
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? corinne; or italv. 295
unfavourable insinuations of the papers; for he longed to
tender her the rank and respect so thoroughly her due.
CHAPTER V.
O swald reflected with emotion that he was about to behold
the scene in which Corinne had passed so many years. H e
felt embarrassed by the necessity of informing L ady E dgar-
mond that he could not mak e L ucy his wife. The north
of E ngland, too, reminded him of S cotland, and the memory
of his father was never absent from his mind.
W hen he reached L ady E dgarmond' s estate, he was
struck by the good taste which pervaded its grounds; and,
as the mistress of the mansion was not ready to receive
him, he walk ed awhile in the park : through its foliage he
beheld a youthful and elegant figure reading with much
attention. A beautiful fair curl, escaping from her bonnet,
told him that this was L ucy, whom three years had im-
proved from child to woman. H e approached her, bowed,
and forgetting where he was, would have imprinted a re-
spectful k iss upon her hand, after the I talian mode; but
the young lady drew back , and, blushing as she courtesied,
replied, " I will inform my mother, sir, that you desire to
see her. " S he withdrew, and N evil remained awed by the
modest air of that angelic face. L ucy had j ust entered her
six teenth year; her features were ex tremely delicate; she
had a little outgrown her strength, as might be j udged by
her gait and mutable complex ion. H er blue eyes were so
downcast that her countenance owed its chief attraction to
these rapid changes of colour, which alone betrayed her
feelings. O swald, since he had dwelt in the south, had
never beheld this species of ex pression.
