I t was lik e listening to different airs,
all played on the same celestial organ.
all played on the same celestial organ.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 23
peculiar turn of thought, constituted an involuntary spell,
untarnished by the slightest cloud of mannerism. H e
spok e of her eloq uence as a resistless power, which must
transport most those who possessed the best sense and
the truest susceptibility. " Corinne," said he, ' ' is doubt-
less more celebrated than any other of our countrywomen;
and yet it is only her friends who can describe her. The
q ualities of the soul, if real, always req uire to be guessed;
fame, as well as obscurity, might prevent their detection,
if some congenial sympathy came not to our aid. " H e
dilated on her talent as an improvisatrice, as distinct from
every thing which had been k nown by that name in I taly.
" I t is not only attributable," he continued, " to the fer-
tility of her mind, but to her deep enthusiasm for all ge-
nerous sentiments: she cannot pronounce a word that
recalls them, but that inex haustible source of thought
overflows at her lips in strains ever pure and harmonious;
her poetry is intellectual music, such as alone can embody
the fleeting and delicate reveries of the heart. " H e ex -
tolled the conversation of Corinne, as one who had tasted
all its delights. " There," he said, " is united all that is
natural, fanciful, j ust, sublime, powerful, and sweet, to
vary the mental banq uet every instant; it is what Petrarch
termed --
' I I parlar cbe nell' anima si sente,' --
a language that is felt to the heart' s core, and must possess
much of the vaunted O riental magic which has been given
. by the ancients to Cleopatra. The scenes I have visited
with her, the lays we have heard together, the pictures she
has shown me, the book s she has taught me to enj oy, com-
pose my universe. I n all these is some spark of her life;
and were I forced to dwell afar from her, I would, at
least, surround myself with them, though certain to seek
in vain for her radiant traces amongst them, when once
she had departed. "
" Y es ! " he cried, as his glance accidentally fell upon
O swald; " look on Corinne, if you may pass your days
with her--
if that twofold ex istence can be long secured to
you; but behold her not, if you must be condemned to
o4
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? 24 corinne; or italy.
leave her. V ainly would you seek , however long you might
survive, the creative spirit which multiplied in partak ing
all your thoughts and feelings: you would never find it
more! "
O swald shuddered at these words; his eyes were
fix ed on Corinne, who listened with an agitation self-love
cannot produce; it belongs only to humility and to grati-
tude. Castel F orte resumed the address, which a mo-
mentary weak ness had suspended. H e spok e of Corinne
as a painter and a musician; of her declamation and her
dancing. " I n all these ex ertions," he said, "
herself-- confined to no one mode, nor rule -- but ex
in various languages, the enchantments of A rt and I
she is still
pressing,
magin-
ation. I cannot flatter myself on having faithfully repre-
sented one of whom it is impossible to form an idea till
she herself is k nown; but her presence is left to R ome, as
among the chief blessings beneath its brilliant sk y. Corinne
is the link that binds her friends to each other. S he is
the motive, the interest of our lives; we rely on her worth,
pride in her genius, and say to the sons of other lands,
' L ook on the personation of our own fair I taly. S he is
what we might be, if freed from the ignorance, envy, dis-
cord, and sloth, to which fate has reduced us. ' W e love
to contemplate her, as a rare production of our climate,
and our fine arts; a relic of the past, a prophetess of the
future; and when strangers, pitiless of the faults born of
our misfortunes, insult the country whence have arisen the
planets that illumed all E urope, still we but say to them,
' L ook upon Corinne. ' Y es; we will follow in her track ,
and be such men as she is a woman; if, indeed, men can,
lik e women, mak e worlds in their own hearts; if our moral
temperaments, necessarily dependent on social obligations
and ex terior circumstances, could, lik e hers, owe all their
light to the glorious torch of poesy! "
The instant the Prince ceased to speak , was followed by
an unanimous outbreak of admiration, even from the
leaders of the S tate, although the discourse had ended by
an indirect censure on the present situation of I taly; so
true it is, that there men practise a degree of liberality
which, though it ex tends not to any improvement of their
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 25
institutions, readily pardons superior minds, for a mild
dissent from ex isting prej udices. Castel F orte was a man
of high repute in R ome. H e spok e with a sagacity re-
mark able among a people usually wiser in actions than in
words. H e had not, in the affairs of life, that ability which
often distinguishes an I talian; but he shrank not from
the fatigue of think ing, as his happy countrymen are wont
to do; trusting to arrive at all truths by intuition, even as
their soil bears fruit, unaided, save by the favour of heaven.
CH A PTE R I I I .
Corinne rose, as the Prince finished his oration. S he
thank ed him by an inclination of the head, which diffi-
dently betrayed her sense of having been praised in a strain
after her own heart. I t was the custom for a poet crowned
at the Capitol to ex temporise or recite in verse, ere re-
ceiving the destined bays. Corinne sent for her chosen
instrument, the lyre, more antiq ue in form and simpler
in sound than the harp: while tuning it, she was op-
pressed by so violent a tremor, that her voice trembled as
she ask ed what theme she was to attempt. " The glory
andwelfareofI taly! " criedallnearher. " A h,yes! " she
ex claimed, already sustained by her own talents; " the
glory and welfare of I taly! " Then, animated by her love
of country, she breathed forth thoughts to which prose or
another language can do but imperfect j
ustice.
A TTH E
orld!
CH A N TO F
Cradle of L etters!
CO R I N N E
Mistress of the W
CA PI
TO L . *
S oil of the S un! I talia! I salute thee!
H ow oft the human race have worn thy yok e,
The vassals of thine arms, thine arts, thy sk y!
O lympus for A usonia once was left,
A ndbyaGod. O fsuchalandareborn
Dreams of the golden time, for there man look s
Too happy to suppose him criminal.
* F or the translation of this O de, the proprietor of the S
indebted to the pen of Miss L . E . L andon.
tandard N
ovels is
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? 26
B
corinne; or itaiy.
y genius R ome subdued the world, then reign'
d
s;
A q ueen by liberty. The R oman mind
S
A
et its own stamp upon the universe;
nd, when barbarian hordes whelm' d I taly,
Then dark ness was entire upon the earth.
I talia reappear' d, and with her rose
Treasures divine, brought by the wandering Greek
To her were then reveal' d the laws of H eaven.
H er daring children made discovery
O f a new hemisphere: Q ueen still she held
Thought' s sceptre; but that laurell' d sceptre made
Ungrateful subj ects.
4 I
W
E
H
F
F
magination gave her back the world
hich she had lost. Painters and poets shaped
arth and O lympus, and a heaven and hell.
er animating fire, by Genius k ept,
ar better guarded than the Pagan God' s,
ound not in E urope a Prometheus
To bear it from her.
A nd wherefore am I at the Capitol?
W hy should my lowly brow receive the crown
W hich Petrarch wore? which yet suspended hangs
W here Tasso' s funeral cypress mournful waves:
W hy? oh, my countrymen! but that you love
Glory so well, that you repay its search
A lmost lik e its success.
N ow, if you love that glory which too oft
Chooses its victims from its vanq
Those which itself has crown' d;
O f days which saw the perish'
uishers,
think , and be proud
d A rts reborn.
Y our Dante! H omer of the Christian age,
The sacred poet of F aith' s mysteries, --
. -' H ero of thought, -- whose gloomy genius plunged
I n S
W as lik
I talia!
tyx , and pierced to hell; and whose deep soul
e the abyss it fathom' d.
as she was in days of power
R evived in Dante: such a spirit stirr' d
I n old republics: bard and warrior too,
H e lit the fire of action ' mid the dead,
Till e' en his shadows had more vigorous life
Than real ex istence; still were they pursued
B y earthly memories: passions without aim
Gnaw' d at their heart, still fever' d by the past;
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? corinne; O R I TA 1Y . 27
Y et less irrevocable seem' d that past,
Than their eternal future.
Methink s that Dante, banish' d his own soil,
B ore to imagined worlds his actual grief,
E ver his shades enq uire the things of life,
A s ask ' d the poet of his native land;
A nd from his ex ile did he paint a hell.
I n his eyes F lorence set her stamp on all;
The ancient dead seem' d Tuscans lik e himself:
N ot that his power was bounded, but his strength;
A nd his great mind forced all the universe
W ithin the circle of its thought.
A mystic chain of circles and of spheres
L ed him from H ell to Purgatory; thence
F rom Purgatory unto Paradise:
F aithful historian of his glorious dream,'
H e fills with light the regions most obscure;
The world created in his triple song
I s brilliant, and complete, and animate,
L ik e a new planet seen within the sk y.
A ll upon earth doth change to poetry
B eneath his voice: the obj ects, the ideas,
The laws, and all the strange phenomena,
S eem lik e a new O lympus with new Gods,--
F ancy' s mythology, -- which disappears
L ik e Pagan creeds at sight of paradise,
That sea of light, radiant with shining stars,
A nd love, and virtue.
The magic words of our most noble bard
A re lik e the prism of the universe; --
H er marvels there reflect themselves, divide,
A nd re-create her wonders; sounds paint hues,
A nd colours melt in harmony. The rhyme --
S ounding or strange, and rapid or prolong'
That charm of genius, triumph of high art;
Poetry' s divination, which reveals
A ll nature' s secrets, such as influence
The heart of man.
d --
F rom this great work did Dante hope the end
O fhislongex ile; andhecall' donF ame
To be his mediator: but he died
Too soon to reap the laurels of his land.
Thus wastes the transitory life of man
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? 28 corinne; or italy.
I n adverse fortunes; and it glory wins,
I f some chance tide, more happy, floats to shore.
The grave is in the port; and destiny,
I n thousand shapes, heralds the close of life
B y a return of happiness.
Thus the ill-fated Tasso, whom your praise,
O R omans! ' mid his wrongs, could yet console,-
The beautiful, the chivalric, the brave,
Dreaming the deeds, feeling the love he sung,--
W ith awe and gratitude approach' d your walls,
A s did his heroes to J erusalem.
They named the day to crown him; but its eve
Death bade him to his feast, the terrible!
The H eaven is j ealous of the E arth; and calls
I ts favourites from the stormy waves of time.
' Twas in an age more happy and more free
Than Tasso' s, that, lik e Dante, Petrarch sang:
B rave poet of I talian liberty.
E lsewhere they k now him only by his love:
H ere memories more severe aye consecrate
H is sacred name;
E ' en more than L
H is vigils gave antiq
his country could inspire
aura.
uity new life;
I magination was no obstacle
To his deep studies: that creative power
Conq uer' d the future, and reveal' d the past.
H e proved how k nowledge lends invention aid;
A nd more original his genius seem' d,
W hen, lik e the powers eternal, it could be
Present in every time.
O ur laughing climate and our air serene
I nspired our A riosto: after war,
O ur many long and cruel wars, he came
L ik e to a rainbow; varied and as bright
A s that glad messenger of summer hours,
H is light, sweet gaiety is lik e nature' s smile,
A nd not the irony of man.
R aftaele, Galileo, A ngelo,
Pergolese; you! intrepid voyagers,
Greedy of other lands, though N ature never
Could yield ye one more lovely than your own;
Come ye, and to our poets j oin your fame:
A rtists, and sages, and philosophers,
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? CO B I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
29
Y e are, lik e them, the children of a sun
W hich k indles valour, concentrates the mind,
Developes fancy, each one in its turn;
W hich lulls content, and seems to promise all,
O r mak e us all forget.
K now ye the land where orange-trees are blooming;
W here all heaven' s rays are fertile, and with love .
H ave you inhaled these perfumes, lux ury!
I n air already so fragrant and so soft?
N ow answer, strangers; N ature, in your home, -
I s she as generous or as beautiful?
N ot only with vine-leaves and ears of corn
I s N ature dress' d, but ' neath the feet of man,
A s at a sovereign' s feet, she scatters flowers
A nd sweet and useless plants, which, born to please,
Disdain to serve.
H ere pleasures delicate, by nature nurst,--
F elt by a people who deserve to feel: --
The simplest food suffices for their wants.
W hat though her fountains flow with purple wine
F rom the abundant soil, they drink them not!
They love their sk y, their arts, their monuments;
Their land, the ancient, and yet bright with spring;
B rilliant society; refined delight:
Coarse pleasures, fitting to a savage race,
S uit not with them.
H ere the sensation blends with the idea;
L ife ever draws from the same fountain-head;
The soul, lik e air, ex pands o' er earth and heaven.
H ere Genius feels at ease; its reveries
A re here so gentle f its unrest is soothed:
F or one lost aim a thousand dreams are given.
A nd nature cherishes, if man oppress;
A gentle hand consoles, and binds the wound:
E ' en for the griefs that haunt the strick en heart,
I s comfort here: by admiration fill' d,
F or God, all goodness; taught to penetrate
The secret of his love; not by brief days --
Mysterious heralds of eternity --
B ut in the fertile and maj estic breast
O f the immortal universe!
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? S O CO R I N N E ; O B . I TA L Y .
Corinne was interrupted for some moments by impetuous
applause. O swald alone j oined not in the noisy transport
around him. H e had. bowed his head on his hand, when
Corinne said--
" E ' en for the sorrows of the strick en heart
I s comfort here:"
he had not raised it since. Corinne observed him; and,
from his features, the colour of his hair, his dress, his
height-- indeed, from his whole appearance -- recognised
him as E nglish. S he was struck by the mourning which
he wore, and his melancholy countenance. H is gaze, then
fix ed upon herself, seemed gently to reproach her: she
entered into his thoughts, and felt a wish to sympathise
with him, by speak ing of happiness with less reliance, and
consecrating some few verses to Death in the midst of a
festival. W ith this intention she again took up her lyre;
a few prolonged and touching tones silenced the assem-
blage, while thus she continued: --
Y et there are griefs which our consoling sk y
May not efface: but where will grief convey
N oble and soft impressions to the soul,
A s it does here?
E lsewhere the living cannot find them space
F or all their hurrying paths, and ardent hopes;
A nd deserts, ruins, vacant palaces,
L eave a vast vacancy to shadows; -- R ome,
I s she not now the country of the tomb?
The Coliseum, and the obelisk s --
The wonders brought from E gypt and from Greece -- ?
F rom the ex tremity of time, here met,
F romR omulustoL eo,-- allarehere,
Greatness attracting greatness, that one place
Might garner all that man could screen from time;
A ll consecrate to funeral monuments.
O ur idle life is scarcely here perceived;
The silence of the living to the dead
I s homage: they endure, but we decay.
The dead alone are honour' d, and alone
R ecorded still; -- our destinies obscure
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 31
Contrast the glories of our ancestors;
O ur present life leaves but the past entire,
A nd deep the q uiet around memory:
O ur trophies are the work of those no more:
Genius itself rank s ' mid th' illustrious dead.
I t is R ome' s secret charm to reconcile
I magination with our long last sleep.
W e are resign' d ourselves, and suffer less
F or those we love. The people of the S outh
Paint closing life in hues less terrible
Than do the gloomy nations of the N orth:
The sun, lik e glory, even warms the grave.
The chill, the solitude of sepulchres 1
' N eath our fair sk y, beside our funeral urns
S o numerous, less haunt the frighted soul.
W e deem they wait for us, yon shadowy crowd:
A nd from our silent city' s loneliness ^ ^
Down to the subterranean one below
I t is a gentle passage.
The edge of grief is blunted thus, and turn' d,
N ot by a harden' d heart, a wither' d soul,
B ut by a yet more perfect harmony, --
A n air more fragrant, -- blending with our life.
W e yield ourselves to N ature with less fear --
N ature, whose great Creator said of old, --
" The lilies of the vale, lo! they toil not,
A nd neither do they spin:
Y et the great S olomon, in all his glory,
W as not array' d lik e one of these. "
O swald was so enchanted by these stanzas, that he tes-
tified his transport with a vehemence uneq ualled by the
R omans themselves: in sooth, it was to him, rather than to
her countrymen, that the second improvisation of Corinne
had been addressed. The generality of I talians read poetry
with a k ind of monotonous chant, that destroys all effect. (3)
I n vain the words vary, the impression is ever the same;
because the accent is unchanged: but Corinne recited with
a mobility of tone which increased the charm of its sus-
tained harmony.
I t was lik e listening to different airs,
all played on the same celestial organ.
A language so stately and sonorous, breathed by so
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? 3. 2 corinne; or italy.
gentle and affecting a voice, awak ened a very novel sens-
ation in the mind of O swald. The natural beauties of the
E nglish tongue are all melancholy; tinted by clouds, and
tuned by lashing waves: but I talian, among sounds, may
be compared to scarlet, among colours; its words ring lik e
clarions of victory, and glow with all the bliss a delicious
clime can shower on human hearts. W hen, therefore,
I talian is spok en by a faltering tongue, its splendour melts,
its concentrated force causes an agitation resistless as un-
foreseen. The intents of N ature seem defeated, her boun-
ties useless or repulsed; and the ex pression of sorrow in the
midst of enj oyment, surprises, touches us more deeply,
than would despair itself, if sung in those northern lan-
guages, which it seems to have inspired.
CH A PTE R I V .
The senator took the crown of bays and myrtle he was
to place on the brow of Corinne. S he removed the shawl
which had bound the ebon curls that now fell about her
shoulders, and advanced with an air of pleased thank ful-
ness, which she strove not to dissemble. A gain she k
nelt;
but not in trepidation, as at first. S he had j ust spok en,
had filled her soul with godlik e images; enthusiasm had
surmounted timidity; she was no longer the shrink ing maid,
but the inspired vestal who ex ultingly devoted herself to
the worship of Genius.
W hen the chaplet was set upon her head, the musicians
sent forth one of those triumphant airs which so power-
fully ex alt the soul. The clash of cymbals, and the
flourish of trumpets, overwhelmed Corinne afresh; her
eyes filled, she sunk on a seat, and covered her face. O s-
wald rushed from the crowd, and made a few steps towards
her, but an uncontrollable embarrassment k ept him silent.
Corinne, tak ing care that he should not detect her, look ed
on him for some time; and when Prince Castel F orte took
her hand to lead her from the Capitol she yielded in abs-
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . S 3
traction, freq uently turning, on various pretex ts, to gaze
again on O swald. H e followed her; and as she descended
the steps, one of these gestures displaced her crown, which
O swald hastily raised, and presenting it, said in I talian a
few words, implying that humble mortals lay at the feet
of their deities the crowns they dare not place upon their
brows. (4) W hat was his astonishment when Corinne
thank ed him in E nglish, with that insular accent, which
can scarce ever be acq uired on the Continent: he remained
motionless, till, feeling himself almost faint, he leaned
against one of the basaltic lions that stand at the foot of
the staircase. Corinne gazed on him again, forcibly struck
by his emotion; but they led her to her car, and the whole
crowd had disappeared, long ere O swald recovered his pre-
sence of mind. Till now, he had been enchanted as with
a most attractive foreigner; but that E nglish intonation
had brought back all the recollections of his country, and,
as it were, naturalised in his heart the charms of Corinne.
W as she E nglish? H ad she not passed many years of her
life in E ngland? H e could not guess; but it was impossible
that study alone could have taught her to speak thus. S he
must have lived in the same country with himself.
W ho could tell, but that their families might have been
related? perhaps he had even seen her in his childhood.
There is often in the heart some innate image of the beings
we are to love that lends to our first sight of them almost an
air of recognition. O swald had believed the I talians,
though impassioned, too vacillating for deep or constant
affection. A lready had the words of Corinne given him a
totally distinct view of their character. W hat then must
he feel should he thus at once revive the remembrance of
his home, and receive a new-born life, for future enj oy-
ment, without being weaned from the past? I n the midst
of these reveries he found himself on the bridge of S t.
A ngelo, which leads to the castle of that name, or rather to
A drian' s tomb, which has been converted into a fortress.
The silence of the scene, the pale waves of the Tiber, the
moon-beams that lit up the statues, till they appeared lik e
pallid phantoms, steadfastly watching the current of time,
by which they could be influenced no more; all these ob-
D
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? 34CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
j ects recalled him to his habitual train of thought: he lay
his hand on his breast, and felt the portrait of his father,
which he always wore; he drew it forth, and gazed on it,
while the cause of the felicity he had j ust enj oyed but too
strongly reminded him of all that long since had tempted
his rebellion against his parent.
" E ver haunting memory ! " he cried, with revived re-
morse, " too wronged and too forgiving friend! could I
have believed myself capable of feeling so much pleasure
thus soon after thy loss? but it is not thine indulgent
spirit which rebuk es me: thou wouldst have me happy in
spite of my faults; or may I not mistak e thy mandates
now uttered from above, I , who misunderstood them while
thou wert yet on earth? "
BOOKIII.
CH A PTE R I .
The Count d' E rfeuil had been present at the capitol, and
called the nex t day on L
O swald! would you lik
ord N evil, saying, " My dear
e me to tak e you to Corinne' s this
evening ? " -- " H ow! " interruptedO swald, eagerly," do you
k nowher? " -- " N otI ; butsofamousapersonisalways
gratified by a desire to see her; and I wrote this morning
for her permission to visit her house to-night, with you. "
-- " I could have wished," replied O swald, blushing, " that
you had not named me thus without my consent. " -- "
should rather thank me for having spared you so maiiy
tedious formalities. I nstead of going to an ambassador,
who would have led you to a cardinal, who might have
tak en you to a lady, who, perhaps, could have introduced
you to Corinne, I shall present you, you will present me,
Y ou
and we shall both be very well received. " -- " I am less
confident than you; and, doubtless, it is but rational to
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 35
conclude that so hasty a req uest must have displeased her. "
-- " N ot at all, I assure you, she is too sensible a girl, as
her polite reply may prove. " -- " H as she then answered you?
W hathadyousaid,mydearCount! " -- " A h! ' mydear
Count,' is it? " laughed d' E rfeuil, " you melt apace, now
you k now that she has answered me; but I lik e you too
well not to forgive all that. I humbly confess, then, that
my note spok e more of myself than of you, and that hers
gives your lordship' s name precedence; but then, you
k now,I ' mneverj ealousofmyfriends. " -- " N ay," re-
turned N evil, " it is not in vanity to ex pect that either of
us can render ourselves agreeable to her. A ll I seek is
sometimes to enj oy the society of so wondrous a being.
This evening, then, since you have so arranged it. " -- "
Y ou
willgowithme? " -- " W hy,yes," rej oinedN evil,in
visible confusion " W hy then all this regret at what I ' ve
done? though ' tis but j ust to leave you the honour of
being more reserved than I , always provided that you lose
nothing by it. S he' s really a delightful person, this Co-
rinne! with a vast deal of ease and cleverness. I could
not very well mak e out what she talk ed of, but, I ' ll wager
you she speak s F rench: we can decide that to-night.
S he leads a strange life. Y oung, free, and wealthy, yet
no one k nows whether she has any lovers or no. I t seems
plain that at present she favours no one; that she should
never have met, in this country, with a man worthy of her,
don' t astonish me in the least. " D' E rfeuil ran on for some
time, in this k ind of chat, without any interruption from
O swald. H e said nothing which could ex actly be called
coarse, yet his light matter-of-fact manner, on a topic so
interesting, clashed with the delicacy of his companion.
There is a refinement which even wit and k nowledge of
the world cannot teach their votaries, who often wound
the heart, without violating perfect politeness. L ord
N evil was much disturbed during the day in think ing over
the visit of the evening; but he did his utmost to banish
his disq uieting presentiments, and strove to persuade him-
self that he might indulge a pleasing idea, without per-
mitting it to decide his fate. F alse hope! the heart can
receive no bliss from that which it k nows must prove
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? S 6 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
evanescent. A ccompanied by the Count he arrived at the
house of Corinne, which was situated a little beyond the
castle of S t. A ngelo, commanding a view of the Tiber.
I ts interior was ornamented with the most perfect elegance.
The hall embellished by casts of the N iobe, L aocoon,
V enus de Medicis, and dying Gladiator; while in the
sitting-room usually occupied by Corinne, he found but
book s, musical instruments, and simple furniture, arranged
for the easy conversation of a domestic circle. Corinne
was not there when he entered; and, while waiting for her,
he anx iously ex plored the apartment, remark ing in its every
detail a happy combination of the best F rench, I talian,
and E nglish attributes; a taste for society, a love of let-
ters, and a zeal for the fine arts. Corinne at last appeared;
though ever picturesq ue, she was attired without the least
research. S he wore some antiq ue cameos in her hair, and
round her throat a band of coral. N atural and familiar as
she was among her friends, they still recognised the di-
vinity of the capital. S he bowed first to Count d' E rfeuil,
though look ing at his friend; then, as if repenting this
insincerity, advanced towards O swald, and twice repeated
" L ord N evil! " as if that name was associated in her
mind with some affecting reminiscence. A t last she said
a few words in I talian on his obliging restoration of her
crown. O swald endeavoured to ex press his admiration,
and gently complained of her no longer addressing him in
E nglish. " A m I a greater stranger than I was yesterday? "
he said. -- " Certainly not," she replied; " but when one
has been accustomed for many years of one' s life to speak
two or three different languages, one chooses that which
will best ex
he cried, "
you speak
press what one desires to say. " -- " S urely,"
E nglish is your native tongue -- that which
to your friends. " -- " I am an I talian,"
inter-
rupted Corinne. " F orgive me, my L ord! but I
perceive in you the national importance which so often
think I
characterises your countrymen. H ere we are more lowly,
neither self-complacent, lik e the F rench, nor proud of our-
selves, lik e the E nglish. A little indulgence suffices us
from strangers; and we have the great fault of wanting,
as individuals, that dignity which we are not allowed as a
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 37
people; but when you k now us, you may find some traces
of our ancient greatness, such as, though few and half
effaced, might be restored by happier times. I shall now
and then speak to you in E nglish, but I talian is more dear
to me. I have suffered much," she added, sighing, " that
I might live in I taly. " D' E rfeuil here gallantly upbraided
her for conversing in languages of which he was entirely
ignorant. " I n mercy, fair Corinne," he said, " speak
F rench: you are truly worthy to do so. " S he smiled at
this compliment, and granted its req uest, with ease, with
purity, but with an E nglish accent. N evil and the Count
were eq ually astonished; but the latter, who believed that
he might say what he pleased, provided he did so with a
grace, imagining that impoliteness dwelt not in matter
but in manner, put the direct q uestion to Corinne, on the
reason of this singularity. S he seemed at first somewhai
uneasy, beneath this sudden interrogation ;
herself, said, " I t seems, monsieur, that I
learnt F rench of an E nglish person. " H
then recovering
must have
e renewed his
attack with earnest gaiety. Corinne became more confused,
and at last said, gravely, " During the four years that I have
lived in R ome, monsieur, none even of the friends most
interested in me have ever enq uired into my fate: they un-
derstood, from the first, that it was painful for me to
speak of it. " This check silenced the Count; but Corinne
feared that she had hurt him; and, as he seemed so inti-
mate with L ord N evil, she dreaded still more, without
confessing it to herself, that he might speak
of her to his companion, and therefore took
pains in atoning to him. The Prince Castel F
unfavourably
sufficient
orte now
arrived, with many of their mutual acq uaintance, men of
lively and amiable minds, of k ind and courteous manners,
bo easily animated by the conversation of others, so capable
of appreciating all that deserved approval, that they made
the best listeners possible. The I talians are usually too
indolent to display in society, or often in any way, the wit
they really possess. The generality of them cultivate not,
even in seclusion, the intellectual faculties of their natures;
but they revel in the mental delights which find them
without any trouble of their own. Corinne had all a
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? 38CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y .
F renchwoman' s sense of the ridiculous, and evinced it
with all the fancy of an I talian; but she mingled in both
such sweetness of temper that nothing appeared precon-
certed or hostile -- for, in most things, it is coldness which
offends; while vivacity, on the contrary, has almost in-
variably an air of good nature. O swald found in Corinne
a grace which he had never before met.
A terrible event of his life was associated with recol-
lections of a very lovely and gifted F renchwoman;
Corinne in no way resembled her. E very creature'
seemed united in the conversation he now partook
but
s best
. I nge-
niously and rapidly as she twined its flowers, nothing was
frivolous, nothing incomplete; such was her depth of feel-
ing, and k nowledge of the world, that he felt borne away,
and lost in wonder, at q ualities so contrasted. H e ask ed
himself, if it was from an all-embracing sensibility, or from
a forgetfulness of each mood, as a new one succeeded, that
she fled, almost in the same instant, " from grave to gay,
from lively to severe," from learning that might have in-
structed men, to the coq uetry of a woman who amused
herself with mak ing conq uests; yet, in this very coq
there was such perfect nobleness, that it ex acted as much
respect as the most scrupulous reserve. The Prince Castel
uetry,
F orte, and all her other guests, paid her the most assiduous
and delicate attention. The habitual homage with which
they surrounded her gave the air of a fete to every day of
her life. S he was happy in being beloved, j ust as one is
happy to breathe in a gentle clime, to hear harmonious
sounds, and receive, in fact, none but agreeable impressions.
H er lively and fluctuating countenance betrayed each emo-
tion of her heart; but the deep and serious sentiment of
love was not yet painted there. O swald gazed on her in
silence: his presence animated and inspired her with a
wish to please. N evertheless, she sometimes check ed her-
self, in the midst of her most brilliant sallies, astonished
at his ex ternal composure, and doubting whether he might
not secretly blame her, or if his E nglish notions could
permit him to approve such success in a woman. H e was,
however, too fascinated to remember his former opinions
on the obscurity which best becomes a female; but he
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 39
ask ed himself, who could ever become dear to her? W hat
single obj ect could ever concentrate so many rays, or tak
captive a spirit gifted with such glorious wings? I n truth,
he was alik e dazzled and distressed; nay, though, as he
took leave, she politely invited him to visit her again, a
whole day elapsed without his going to her house, re-
strained by a species of terror at the feeling which ex cited
him. S ometimes he compared it with the fatal error of
his early youth; but instantly rej ected such comparison.
Then it was by treacherous arts he had been subdued; and
who could doubt the truth, the honour of Corinne? W ere
e
her spells those of poetry or of magic? W as she a S appho
or an A rmida? I t was impossible to decide. Y et it was
evident, that not society, but H eaven itself, had formed this
ex traordinary being, whose mind was as inimitable as her
character was unfeigned. " O h, my father! " he sighed
" had you k nown Corinne, what would you have thought
of her?
? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 23
peculiar turn of thought, constituted an involuntary spell,
untarnished by the slightest cloud of mannerism. H e
spok e of her eloq uence as a resistless power, which must
transport most those who possessed the best sense and
the truest susceptibility. " Corinne," said he, ' ' is doubt-
less more celebrated than any other of our countrywomen;
and yet it is only her friends who can describe her. The
q ualities of the soul, if real, always req uire to be guessed;
fame, as well as obscurity, might prevent their detection,
if some congenial sympathy came not to our aid. " H e
dilated on her talent as an improvisatrice, as distinct from
every thing which had been k nown by that name in I taly.
" I t is not only attributable," he continued, " to the fer-
tility of her mind, but to her deep enthusiasm for all ge-
nerous sentiments: she cannot pronounce a word that
recalls them, but that inex haustible source of thought
overflows at her lips in strains ever pure and harmonious;
her poetry is intellectual music, such as alone can embody
the fleeting and delicate reveries of the heart. " H e ex -
tolled the conversation of Corinne, as one who had tasted
all its delights. " There," he said, " is united all that is
natural, fanciful, j ust, sublime, powerful, and sweet, to
vary the mental banq uet every instant; it is what Petrarch
termed --
' I I parlar cbe nell' anima si sente,' --
a language that is felt to the heart' s core, and must possess
much of the vaunted O riental magic which has been given
. by the ancients to Cleopatra. The scenes I have visited
with her, the lays we have heard together, the pictures she
has shown me, the book s she has taught me to enj oy, com-
pose my universe. I n all these is some spark of her life;
and were I forced to dwell afar from her, I would, at
least, surround myself with them, though certain to seek
in vain for her radiant traces amongst them, when once
she had departed. "
" Y es ! " he cried, as his glance accidentally fell upon
O swald; " look on Corinne, if you may pass your days
with her--
if that twofold ex istence can be long secured to
you; but behold her not, if you must be condemned to
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? 24 corinne; or italy.
leave her. V ainly would you seek , however long you might
survive, the creative spirit which multiplied in partak ing
all your thoughts and feelings: you would never find it
more! "
O swald shuddered at these words; his eyes were
fix ed on Corinne, who listened with an agitation self-love
cannot produce; it belongs only to humility and to grati-
tude. Castel F orte resumed the address, which a mo-
mentary weak ness had suspended. H e spok e of Corinne
as a painter and a musician; of her declamation and her
dancing. " I n all these ex ertions," he said, "
herself-- confined to no one mode, nor rule -- but ex
in various languages, the enchantments of A rt and I
she is still
pressing,
magin-
ation. I cannot flatter myself on having faithfully repre-
sented one of whom it is impossible to form an idea till
she herself is k nown; but her presence is left to R ome, as
among the chief blessings beneath its brilliant sk y. Corinne
is the link that binds her friends to each other. S he is
the motive, the interest of our lives; we rely on her worth,
pride in her genius, and say to the sons of other lands,
' L ook on the personation of our own fair I taly. S he is
what we might be, if freed from the ignorance, envy, dis-
cord, and sloth, to which fate has reduced us. ' W e love
to contemplate her, as a rare production of our climate,
and our fine arts; a relic of the past, a prophetess of the
future; and when strangers, pitiless of the faults born of
our misfortunes, insult the country whence have arisen the
planets that illumed all E urope, still we but say to them,
' L ook upon Corinne. ' Y es; we will follow in her track ,
and be such men as she is a woman; if, indeed, men can,
lik e women, mak e worlds in their own hearts; if our moral
temperaments, necessarily dependent on social obligations
and ex terior circumstances, could, lik e hers, owe all their
light to the glorious torch of poesy! "
The instant the Prince ceased to speak , was followed by
an unanimous outbreak of admiration, even from the
leaders of the S tate, although the discourse had ended by
an indirect censure on the present situation of I taly; so
true it is, that there men practise a degree of liberality
which, though it ex tends not to any improvement of their
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 25
institutions, readily pardons superior minds, for a mild
dissent from ex isting prej udices. Castel F orte was a man
of high repute in R ome. H e spok e with a sagacity re-
mark able among a people usually wiser in actions than in
words. H e had not, in the affairs of life, that ability which
often distinguishes an I talian; but he shrank not from
the fatigue of think ing, as his happy countrymen are wont
to do; trusting to arrive at all truths by intuition, even as
their soil bears fruit, unaided, save by the favour of heaven.
CH A PTE R I I I .
Corinne rose, as the Prince finished his oration. S he
thank ed him by an inclination of the head, which diffi-
dently betrayed her sense of having been praised in a strain
after her own heart. I t was the custom for a poet crowned
at the Capitol to ex temporise or recite in verse, ere re-
ceiving the destined bays. Corinne sent for her chosen
instrument, the lyre, more antiq ue in form and simpler
in sound than the harp: while tuning it, she was op-
pressed by so violent a tremor, that her voice trembled as
she ask ed what theme she was to attempt. " The glory
andwelfareofI taly! " criedallnearher. " A h,yes! " she
ex claimed, already sustained by her own talents; " the
glory and welfare of I taly! " Then, animated by her love
of country, she breathed forth thoughts to which prose or
another language can do but imperfect j
ustice.
A TTH E
orld!
CH A N TO F
Cradle of L etters!
CO R I N N E
Mistress of the W
CA PI
TO L . *
S oil of the S un! I talia! I salute thee!
H ow oft the human race have worn thy yok e,
The vassals of thine arms, thine arts, thy sk y!
O lympus for A usonia once was left,
A ndbyaGod. O fsuchalandareborn
Dreams of the golden time, for there man look s
Too happy to suppose him criminal.
* F or the translation of this O de, the proprietor of the S
indebted to the pen of Miss L . E . L andon.
tandard N
ovels is
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? 26
B
corinne; or itaiy.
y genius R ome subdued the world, then reign'
d
s;
A q ueen by liberty. The R oman mind
S
A
et its own stamp upon the universe;
nd, when barbarian hordes whelm' d I taly,
Then dark ness was entire upon the earth.
I talia reappear' d, and with her rose
Treasures divine, brought by the wandering Greek
To her were then reveal' d the laws of H eaven.
H er daring children made discovery
O f a new hemisphere: Q ueen still she held
Thought' s sceptre; but that laurell' d sceptre made
Ungrateful subj ects.
4 I
W
E
H
F
F
magination gave her back the world
hich she had lost. Painters and poets shaped
arth and O lympus, and a heaven and hell.
er animating fire, by Genius k ept,
ar better guarded than the Pagan God' s,
ound not in E urope a Prometheus
To bear it from her.
A nd wherefore am I at the Capitol?
W hy should my lowly brow receive the crown
W hich Petrarch wore? which yet suspended hangs
W here Tasso' s funeral cypress mournful waves:
W hy? oh, my countrymen! but that you love
Glory so well, that you repay its search
A lmost lik e its success.
N ow, if you love that glory which too oft
Chooses its victims from its vanq
Those which itself has crown' d;
O f days which saw the perish'
uishers,
think , and be proud
d A rts reborn.
Y our Dante! H omer of the Christian age,
The sacred poet of F aith' s mysteries, --
. -' H ero of thought, -- whose gloomy genius plunged
I n S
W as lik
I talia!
tyx , and pierced to hell; and whose deep soul
e the abyss it fathom' d.
as she was in days of power
R evived in Dante: such a spirit stirr' d
I n old republics: bard and warrior too,
H e lit the fire of action ' mid the dead,
Till e' en his shadows had more vigorous life
Than real ex istence; still were they pursued
B y earthly memories: passions without aim
Gnaw' d at their heart, still fever' d by the past;
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? corinne; O R I TA 1Y . 27
Y et less irrevocable seem' d that past,
Than their eternal future.
Methink s that Dante, banish' d his own soil,
B ore to imagined worlds his actual grief,
E ver his shades enq uire the things of life,
A s ask ' d the poet of his native land;
A nd from his ex ile did he paint a hell.
I n his eyes F lorence set her stamp on all;
The ancient dead seem' d Tuscans lik e himself:
N ot that his power was bounded, but his strength;
A nd his great mind forced all the universe
W ithin the circle of its thought.
A mystic chain of circles and of spheres
L ed him from H ell to Purgatory; thence
F rom Purgatory unto Paradise:
F aithful historian of his glorious dream,'
H e fills with light the regions most obscure;
The world created in his triple song
I s brilliant, and complete, and animate,
L ik e a new planet seen within the sk y.
A ll upon earth doth change to poetry
B eneath his voice: the obj ects, the ideas,
The laws, and all the strange phenomena,
S eem lik e a new O lympus with new Gods,--
F ancy' s mythology, -- which disappears
L ik e Pagan creeds at sight of paradise,
That sea of light, radiant with shining stars,
A nd love, and virtue.
The magic words of our most noble bard
A re lik e the prism of the universe; --
H er marvels there reflect themselves, divide,
A nd re-create her wonders; sounds paint hues,
A nd colours melt in harmony. The rhyme --
S ounding or strange, and rapid or prolong'
That charm of genius, triumph of high art;
Poetry' s divination, which reveals
A ll nature' s secrets, such as influence
The heart of man.
d --
F rom this great work did Dante hope the end
O fhislongex ile; andhecall' donF ame
To be his mediator: but he died
Too soon to reap the laurels of his land.
Thus wastes the transitory life of man
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? 28 corinne; or italy.
I n adverse fortunes; and it glory wins,
I f some chance tide, more happy, floats to shore.
The grave is in the port; and destiny,
I n thousand shapes, heralds the close of life
B y a return of happiness.
Thus the ill-fated Tasso, whom your praise,
O R omans! ' mid his wrongs, could yet console,-
The beautiful, the chivalric, the brave,
Dreaming the deeds, feeling the love he sung,--
W ith awe and gratitude approach' d your walls,
A s did his heroes to J erusalem.
They named the day to crown him; but its eve
Death bade him to his feast, the terrible!
The H eaven is j ealous of the E arth; and calls
I ts favourites from the stormy waves of time.
' Twas in an age more happy and more free
Than Tasso' s, that, lik e Dante, Petrarch sang:
B rave poet of I talian liberty.
E lsewhere they k now him only by his love:
H ere memories more severe aye consecrate
H is sacred name;
E ' en more than L
H is vigils gave antiq
his country could inspire
aura.
uity new life;
I magination was no obstacle
To his deep studies: that creative power
Conq uer' d the future, and reveal' d the past.
H e proved how k nowledge lends invention aid;
A nd more original his genius seem' d,
W hen, lik e the powers eternal, it could be
Present in every time.
O ur laughing climate and our air serene
I nspired our A riosto: after war,
O ur many long and cruel wars, he came
L ik e to a rainbow; varied and as bright
A s that glad messenger of summer hours,
H is light, sweet gaiety is lik e nature' s smile,
A nd not the irony of man.
R aftaele, Galileo, A ngelo,
Pergolese; you! intrepid voyagers,
Greedy of other lands, though N ature never
Could yield ye one more lovely than your own;
Come ye, and to our poets j oin your fame:
A rtists, and sages, and philosophers,
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? CO B I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
29
Y e are, lik e them, the children of a sun
W hich k indles valour, concentrates the mind,
Developes fancy, each one in its turn;
W hich lulls content, and seems to promise all,
O r mak e us all forget.
K now ye the land where orange-trees are blooming;
W here all heaven' s rays are fertile, and with love .
H ave you inhaled these perfumes, lux ury!
I n air already so fragrant and so soft?
N ow answer, strangers; N ature, in your home, -
I s she as generous or as beautiful?
N ot only with vine-leaves and ears of corn
I s N ature dress' d, but ' neath the feet of man,
A s at a sovereign' s feet, she scatters flowers
A nd sweet and useless plants, which, born to please,
Disdain to serve.
H ere pleasures delicate, by nature nurst,--
F elt by a people who deserve to feel: --
The simplest food suffices for their wants.
W hat though her fountains flow with purple wine
F rom the abundant soil, they drink them not!
They love their sk y, their arts, their monuments;
Their land, the ancient, and yet bright with spring;
B rilliant society; refined delight:
Coarse pleasures, fitting to a savage race,
S uit not with them.
H ere the sensation blends with the idea;
L ife ever draws from the same fountain-head;
The soul, lik e air, ex pands o' er earth and heaven.
H ere Genius feels at ease; its reveries
A re here so gentle f its unrest is soothed:
F or one lost aim a thousand dreams are given.
A nd nature cherishes, if man oppress;
A gentle hand consoles, and binds the wound:
E ' en for the griefs that haunt the strick en heart,
I s comfort here: by admiration fill' d,
F or God, all goodness; taught to penetrate
The secret of his love; not by brief days --
Mysterious heralds of eternity --
B ut in the fertile and maj estic breast
O f the immortal universe!
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? S O CO R I N N E ; O B . I TA L Y .
Corinne was interrupted for some moments by impetuous
applause. O swald alone j oined not in the noisy transport
around him. H e had. bowed his head on his hand, when
Corinne said--
" E ' en for the sorrows of the strick en heart
I s comfort here:"
he had not raised it since. Corinne observed him; and,
from his features, the colour of his hair, his dress, his
height-- indeed, from his whole appearance -- recognised
him as E nglish. S he was struck by the mourning which
he wore, and his melancholy countenance. H is gaze, then
fix ed upon herself, seemed gently to reproach her: she
entered into his thoughts, and felt a wish to sympathise
with him, by speak ing of happiness with less reliance, and
consecrating some few verses to Death in the midst of a
festival. W ith this intention she again took up her lyre;
a few prolonged and touching tones silenced the assem-
blage, while thus she continued: --
Y et there are griefs which our consoling sk y
May not efface: but where will grief convey
N oble and soft impressions to the soul,
A s it does here?
E lsewhere the living cannot find them space
F or all their hurrying paths, and ardent hopes;
A nd deserts, ruins, vacant palaces,
L eave a vast vacancy to shadows; -- R ome,
I s she not now the country of the tomb?
The Coliseum, and the obelisk s --
The wonders brought from E gypt and from Greece -- ?
F rom the ex tremity of time, here met,
F romR omulustoL eo,-- allarehere,
Greatness attracting greatness, that one place
Might garner all that man could screen from time;
A ll consecrate to funeral monuments.
O ur idle life is scarcely here perceived;
The silence of the living to the dead
I s homage: they endure, but we decay.
The dead alone are honour' d, and alone
R ecorded still; -- our destinies obscure
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 31
Contrast the glories of our ancestors;
O ur present life leaves but the past entire,
A nd deep the q uiet around memory:
O ur trophies are the work of those no more:
Genius itself rank s ' mid th' illustrious dead.
I t is R ome' s secret charm to reconcile
I magination with our long last sleep.
W e are resign' d ourselves, and suffer less
F or those we love. The people of the S outh
Paint closing life in hues less terrible
Than do the gloomy nations of the N orth:
The sun, lik e glory, even warms the grave.
The chill, the solitude of sepulchres 1
' N eath our fair sk y, beside our funeral urns
S o numerous, less haunt the frighted soul.
W e deem they wait for us, yon shadowy crowd:
A nd from our silent city' s loneliness ^ ^
Down to the subterranean one below
I t is a gentle passage.
The edge of grief is blunted thus, and turn' d,
N ot by a harden' d heart, a wither' d soul,
B ut by a yet more perfect harmony, --
A n air more fragrant, -- blending with our life.
W e yield ourselves to N ature with less fear --
N ature, whose great Creator said of old, --
" The lilies of the vale, lo! they toil not,
A nd neither do they spin:
Y et the great S olomon, in all his glory,
W as not array' d lik e one of these. "
O swald was so enchanted by these stanzas, that he tes-
tified his transport with a vehemence uneq ualled by the
R omans themselves: in sooth, it was to him, rather than to
her countrymen, that the second improvisation of Corinne
had been addressed. The generality of I talians read poetry
with a k ind of monotonous chant, that destroys all effect. (3)
I n vain the words vary, the impression is ever the same;
because the accent is unchanged: but Corinne recited with
a mobility of tone which increased the charm of its sus-
tained harmony.
I t was lik e listening to different airs,
all played on the same celestial organ.
A language so stately and sonorous, breathed by so
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? 3. 2 corinne; or italy.
gentle and affecting a voice, awak ened a very novel sens-
ation in the mind of O swald. The natural beauties of the
E nglish tongue are all melancholy; tinted by clouds, and
tuned by lashing waves: but I talian, among sounds, may
be compared to scarlet, among colours; its words ring lik e
clarions of victory, and glow with all the bliss a delicious
clime can shower on human hearts. W hen, therefore,
I talian is spok en by a faltering tongue, its splendour melts,
its concentrated force causes an agitation resistless as un-
foreseen. The intents of N ature seem defeated, her boun-
ties useless or repulsed; and the ex pression of sorrow in the
midst of enj oyment, surprises, touches us more deeply,
than would despair itself, if sung in those northern lan-
guages, which it seems to have inspired.
CH A PTE R I V .
The senator took the crown of bays and myrtle he was
to place on the brow of Corinne. S he removed the shawl
which had bound the ebon curls that now fell about her
shoulders, and advanced with an air of pleased thank ful-
ness, which she strove not to dissemble. A gain she k
nelt;
but not in trepidation, as at first. S he had j ust spok en,
had filled her soul with godlik e images; enthusiasm had
surmounted timidity; she was no longer the shrink ing maid,
but the inspired vestal who ex ultingly devoted herself to
the worship of Genius.
W hen the chaplet was set upon her head, the musicians
sent forth one of those triumphant airs which so power-
fully ex alt the soul. The clash of cymbals, and the
flourish of trumpets, overwhelmed Corinne afresh; her
eyes filled, she sunk on a seat, and covered her face. O s-
wald rushed from the crowd, and made a few steps towards
her, but an uncontrollable embarrassment k ept him silent.
Corinne, tak ing care that he should not detect her, look ed
on him for some time; and when Prince Castel F orte took
her hand to lead her from the Capitol she yielded in abs-
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . S 3
traction, freq uently turning, on various pretex ts, to gaze
again on O swald. H e followed her; and as she descended
the steps, one of these gestures displaced her crown, which
O swald hastily raised, and presenting it, said in I talian a
few words, implying that humble mortals lay at the feet
of their deities the crowns they dare not place upon their
brows. (4) W hat was his astonishment when Corinne
thank ed him in E nglish, with that insular accent, which
can scarce ever be acq uired on the Continent: he remained
motionless, till, feeling himself almost faint, he leaned
against one of the basaltic lions that stand at the foot of
the staircase. Corinne gazed on him again, forcibly struck
by his emotion; but they led her to her car, and the whole
crowd had disappeared, long ere O swald recovered his pre-
sence of mind. Till now, he had been enchanted as with
a most attractive foreigner; but that E nglish intonation
had brought back all the recollections of his country, and,
as it were, naturalised in his heart the charms of Corinne.
W as she E nglish? H ad she not passed many years of her
life in E ngland? H e could not guess; but it was impossible
that study alone could have taught her to speak thus. S he
must have lived in the same country with himself.
W ho could tell, but that their families might have been
related? perhaps he had even seen her in his childhood.
There is often in the heart some innate image of the beings
we are to love that lends to our first sight of them almost an
air of recognition. O swald had believed the I talians,
though impassioned, too vacillating for deep or constant
affection. A lready had the words of Corinne given him a
totally distinct view of their character. W hat then must
he feel should he thus at once revive the remembrance of
his home, and receive a new-born life, for future enj oy-
ment, without being weaned from the past? I n the midst
of these reveries he found himself on the bridge of S t.
A ngelo, which leads to the castle of that name, or rather to
A drian' s tomb, which has been converted into a fortress.
The silence of the scene, the pale waves of the Tiber, the
moon-beams that lit up the statues, till they appeared lik e
pallid phantoms, steadfastly watching the current of time,
by which they could be influenced no more; all these ob-
D
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? 34CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
j ects recalled him to his habitual train of thought: he lay
his hand on his breast, and felt the portrait of his father,
which he always wore; he drew it forth, and gazed on it,
while the cause of the felicity he had j ust enj oyed but too
strongly reminded him of all that long since had tempted
his rebellion against his parent.
" E ver haunting memory ! " he cried, with revived re-
morse, " too wronged and too forgiving friend! could I
have believed myself capable of feeling so much pleasure
thus soon after thy loss? but it is not thine indulgent
spirit which rebuk es me: thou wouldst have me happy in
spite of my faults; or may I not mistak e thy mandates
now uttered from above, I , who misunderstood them while
thou wert yet on earth? "
BOOKIII.
CH A PTE R I .
The Count d' E rfeuil had been present at the capitol, and
called the nex t day on L
O swald! would you lik
ord N evil, saying, " My dear
e me to tak e you to Corinne' s this
evening ? " -- " H ow! " interruptedO swald, eagerly," do you
k nowher? " -- " N otI ; butsofamousapersonisalways
gratified by a desire to see her; and I wrote this morning
for her permission to visit her house to-night, with you. "
-- " I could have wished," replied O swald, blushing, " that
you had not named me thus without my consent. " -- "
should rather thank me for having spared you so maiiy
tedious formalities. I nstead of going to an ambassador,
who would have led you to a cardinal, who might have
tak en you to a lady, who, perhaps, could have introduced
you to Corinne, I shall present you, you will present me,
Y ou
and we shall both be very well received. " -- " I am less
confident than you; and, doubtless, it is but rational to
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 35
conclude that so hasty a req uest must have displeased her. "
-- " N ot at all, I assure you, she is too sensible a girl, as
her polite reply may prove. " -- " H as she then answered you?
W hathadyousaid,mydearCount! " -- " A h! ' mydear
Count,' is it? " laughed d' E rfeuil, " you melt apace, now
you k now that she has answered me; but I lik e you too
well not to forgive all that. I humbly confess, then, that
my note spok e more of myself than of you, and that hers
gives your lordship' s name precedence; but then, you
k now,I ' mneverj ealousofmyfriends. " -- " N ay," re-
turned N evil, " it is not in vanity to ex pect that either of
us can render ourselves agreeable to her. A ll I seek is
sometimes to enj oy the society of so wondrous a being.
This evening, then, since you have so arranged it. " -- "
Y ou
willgowithme? " -- " W hy,yes," rej oinedN evil,in
visible confusion " W hy then all this regret at what I ' ve
done? though ' tis but j ust to leave you the honour of
being more reserved than I , always provided that you lose
nothing by it. S he' s really a delightful person, this Co-
rinne! with a vast deal of ease and cleverness. I could
not very well mak e out what she talk ed of, but, I ' ll wager
you she speak s F rench: we can decide that to-night.
S he leads a strange life. Y oung, free, and wealthy, yet
no one k nows whether she has any lovers or no. I t seems
plain that at present she favours no one; that she should
never have met, in this country, with a man worthy of her,
don' t astonish me in the least. " D' E rfeuil ran on for some
time, in this k ind of chat, without any interruption from
O swald. H e said nothing which could ex actly be called
coarse, yet his light matter-of-fact manner, on a topic so
interesting, clashed with the delicacy of his companion.
There is a refinement which even wit and k nowledge of
the world cannot teach their votaries, who often wound
the heart, without violating perfect politeness. L ord
N evil was much disturbed during the day in think ing over
the visit of the evening; but he did his utmost to banish
his disq uieting presentiments, and strove to persuade him-
self that he might indulge a pleasing idea, without per-
mitting it to decide his fate. F alse hope! the heart can
receive no bliss from that which it k nows must prove
d2
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? S 6 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
evanescent. A ccompanied by the Count he arrived at the
house of Corinne, which was situated a little beyond the
castle of S t. A ngelo, commanding a view of the Tiber.
I ts interior was ornamented with the most perfect elegance.
The hall embellished by casts of the N iobe, L aocoon,
V enus de Medicis, and dying Gladiator; while in the
sitting-room usually occupied by Corinne, he found but
book s, musical instruments, and simple furniture, arranged
for the easy conversation of a domestic circle. Corinne
was not there when he entered; and, while waiting for her,
he anx iously ex plored the apartment, remark ing in its every
detail a happy combination of the best F rench, I talian,
and E nglish attributes; a taste for society, a love of let-
ters, and a zeal for the fine arts. Corinne at last appeared;
though ever picturesq ue, she was attired without the least
research. S he wore some antiq ue cameos in her hair, and
round her throat a band of coral. N atural and familiar as
she was among her friends, they still recognised the di-
vinity of the capital. S he bowed first to Count d' E rfeuil,
though look ing at his friend; then, as if repenting this
insincerity, advanced towards O swald, and twice repeated
" L ord N evil! " as if that name was associated in her
mind with some affecting reminiscence. A t last she said
a few words in I talian on his obliging restoration of her
crown. O swald endeavoured to ex press his admiration,
and gently complained of her no longer addressing him in
E nglish. " A m I a greater stranger than I was yesterday? "
he said. -- " Certainly not," she replied; " but when one
has been accustomed for many years of one' s life to speak
two or three different languages, one chooses that which
will best ex
he cried, "
you speak
press what one desires to say. " -- " S urely,"
E nglish is your native tongue -- that which
to your friends. " -- " I am an I talian,"
inter-
rupted Corinne. " F orgive me, my L ord! but I
perceive in you the national importance which so often
think I
characterises your countrymen. H ere we are more lowly,
neither self-complacent, lik e the F rench, nor proud of our-
selves, lik e the E nglish. A little indulgence suffices us
from strangers; and we have the great fault of wanting,
as individuals, that dignity which we are not allowed as a
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 37
people; but when you k now us, you may find some traces
of our ancient greatness, such as, though few and half
effaced, might be restored by happier times. I shall now
and then speak to you in E nglish, but I talian is more dear
to me. I have suffered much," she added, sighing, " that
I might live in I taly. " D' E rfeuil here gallantly upbraided
her for conversing in languages of which he was entirely
ignorant. " I n mercy, fair Corinne," he said, " speak
F rench: you are truly worthy to do so. " S he smiled at
this compliment, and granted its req uest, with ease, with
purity, but with an E nglish accent. N evil and the Count
were eq ually astonished; but the latter, who believed that
he might say what he pleased, provided he did so with a
grace, imagining that impoliteness dwelt not in matter
but in manner, put the direct q uestion to Corinne, on the
reason of this singularity. S he seemed at first somewhai
uneasy, beneath this sudden interrogation ;
herself, said, " I t seems, monsieur, that I
learnt F rench of an E nglish person. " H
then recovering
must have
e renewed his
attack with earnest gaiety. Corinne became more confused,
and at last said, gravely, " During the four years that I have
lived in R ome, monsieur, none even of the friends most
interested in me have ever enq uired into my fate: they un-
derstood, from the first, that it was painful for me to
speak of it. " This check silenced the Count; but Corinne
feared that she had hurt him; and, as he seemed so inti-
mate with L ord N evil, she dreaded still more, without
confessing it to herself, that he might speak
of her to his companion, and therefore took
pains in atoning to him. The Prince Castel F
unfavourably
sufficient
orte now
arrived, with many of their mutual acq uaintance, men of
lively and amiable minds, of k ind and courteous manners,
bo easily animated by the conversation of others, so capable
of appreciating all that deserved approval, that they made
the best listeners possible. The I talians are usually too
indolent to display in society, or often in any way, the wit
they really possess. The generality of them cultivate not,
even in seclusion, the intellectual faculties of their natures;
but they revel in the mental delights which find them
without any trouble of their own. Corinne had all a
d3
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? 38CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y .
F renchwoman' s sense of the ridiculous, and evinced it
with all the fancy of an I talian; but she mingled in both
such sweetness of temper that nothing appeared precon-
certed or hostile -- for, in most things, it is coldness which
offends; while vivacity, on the contrary, has almost in-
variably an air of good nature. O swald found in Corinne
a grace which he had never before met.
A terrible event of his life was associated with recol-
lections of a very lovely and gifted F renchwoman;
Corinne in no way resembled her. E very creature'
seemed united in the conversation he now partook
but
s best
. I nge-
niously and rapidly as she twined its flowers, nothing was
frivolous, nothing incomplete; such was her depth of feel-
ing, and k nowledge of the world, that he felt borne away,
and lost in wonder, at q ualities so contrasted. H e ask ed
himself, if it was from an all-embracing sensibility, or from
a forgetfulness of each mood, as a new one succeeded, that
she fled, almost in the same instant, " from grave to gay,
from lively to severe," from learning that might have in-
structed men, to the coq uetry of a woman who amused
herself with mak ing conq uests; yet, in this very coq
there was such perfect nobleness, that it ex acted as much
respect as the most scrupulous reserve. The Prince Castel
uetry,
F orte, and all her other guests, paid her the most assiduous
and delicate attention. The habitual homage with which
they surrounded her gave the air of a fete to every day of
her life. S he was happy in being beloved, j ust as one is
happy to breathe in a gentle clime, to hear harmonious
sounds, and receive, in fact, none but agreeable impressions.
H er lively and fluctuating countenance betrayed each emo-
tion of her heart; but the deep and serious sentiment of
love was not yet painted there. O swald gazed on her in
silence: his presence animated and inspired her with a
wish to please. N evertheless, she sometimes check ed her-
self, in the midst of her most brilliant sallies, astonished
at his ex ternal composure, and doubting whether he might
not secretly blame her, or if his E nglish notions could
permit him to approve such success in a woman. H e was,
however, too fascinated to remember his former opinions
on the obscurity which best becomes a female; but he
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 39
ask ed himself, who could ever become dear to her? W hat
single obj ect could ever concentrate so many rays, or tak
captive a spirit gifted with such glorious wings? I n truth,
he was alik e dazzled and distressed; nay, though, as he
took leave, she politely invited him to visit her again, a
whole day elapsed without his going to her house, re-
strained by a species of terror at the feeling which ex cited
him. S ometimes he compared it with the fatal error of
his early youth; but instantly rej ected such comparison.
Then it was by treacherous arts he had been subdued; and
who could doubt the truth, the honour of Corinne? W ere
e
her spells those of poetry or of magic? W as she a S appho
or an A rmida? I t was impossible to decide. Y et it was
evident, that not society, but H eaven itself, had formed this
ex traordinary being, whose mind was as inimitable as her
character was unfeigned. " O h, my father! " he sighed
" had you k nown Corinne, what would you have thought
of her?
