doubtless, among
the mysteries of nature, love is all that is left us of our
heavenly heritage!
the mysteries of nature, love is all that is left us of our
heavenly heritage!
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
corinne; or italy.
16 3
this in an instant. H is pulpit is a somewhat long tribunal,
from one end. to the other of which he walk s, with a
strangely mechanical agitation. H e fails not to start with
some phrase to which, at the end of the sentence, he re-
turns, lik e a pendulum; though, by his impassioned ges-
tures, you would think him very lik ely to forget it: but
this is a systematic fury, " a fit of regular and voluntary
distraction," often seen in I taly, and indicating none but
superficial or artificial feelings. A crucifix is hung in the
pulpit; the preacher tak es it down, k isses, presses it in his
arms, and then hangs it up again, with perfect coolness, as
soon as the pathetic passage is got through. A nother
method for producing effect is pulling off and putting on
his cap, with inconceivable rapidity. O ne of these men
attack ed V oltaire and R ousseau on the scepticism of the
age. H e threw his cap into the middle of the rostrum, as
the representative of J ean J acq ues, and then cried, "
philosopher of Geneva, what have you to say against my
N ow,
arguments? " H e was silent for some seconds, as if ex -
pecting a reply; but, as the cap said nothing, he replaced
it on his head, and terminated the discourse by adding,--
" W ell, since I ' ve convinced you, let us say no more about
it. " These uncouth scenes are freq uent in R ome, where
real pulpit oratory is ex tremely rare. R eligion is there
respected as an all-powerful law; its ceremonies captivate
the senses; but its preachers deal less in morals than in
dogmas, that never reach the heart. E loq uence, in this,
as in many other branches of literature, is there devoted
to common-places, that can neither describe nor ex plain.
A new thought raises a k ind of rebellion in minds at once
so ardent and so languid, that they need uniformity to calm
them; and love it for the repose it brings. There is an
etiq uette in these sermons, by which words tak e prece-
dence of ideas; and this order would be deranged, if the
preacher spok e from his own heart, or searched his soul for
what he ought to say. Christian philosophy, which finds
analogies between religion and humanity, is as little under-
stood in I taly, as philosophy of every other sort. To spe-
culate on religion is deemed almost as scandalous as
scheming against it; so wedded are all men to mere forms
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? 16 4 corinne; or italy.
and old usages. The worship of the V irgin is particularly
dear to southern people; it seems allied to all that is most
chaste and tender in their love of woman; but every
preacher treats this subj ect with the same ex aggerated rhe-
toric, unconscious that his gestures perpetually turn it
into ridicule. There is scarcely to be heard, from one
I talian pulpit, a single specimen of correct accent, or na-
tural delivery.
O swald fled from this most fatiguing of inflictions -- that
of affected vehemence -- and sought the Coliseum, where a
Capuchin was to preach in the open air, at the foot of an
altar, in the centre of the enclosure which mark s the road
to the cross. W hat a theme were this arena, where mar-
tyrs succeeded gladiators: but there was no hope of hear-
ing it dilated on by the poor capuchin, who k new nothing
of the history of man, save in his own life. W ithout,
however, coming there to hear his bad sermon, O swald
felt interested by the obj ects around him. The congre-
gation was principally composed of the Camaldoline fra-
ternity, at that time attired in grey gowns that covered
both head and body, leaving but two little openings for the
eyes, and having a most ghostly air. Their unseen faces
were prostrated to the earth; they beat their breasts; and
when their preacher threw himself on his k nees, crying--
" Mercy and pity! " they followed his ex ample. A s this
appeal from wretchedness to compassion, from earth to
H eaven, echoed through the classic porticoes, it was im-
possible not to ex perience a deeply pious feeling in the
soul' s inmost sanctuary. O swald shuddered; he remained
standing, that he might not pretend to a faith which was
not his own; yet it cost him an effort to forbear from this
fellowship with mortals, whoever they were, thus hum-
bling themselves before their God; -- for, does not an invo-
cation to heavenly sympathy eq ually become us all?
The people were struck by his noble and foreign aspect,
but not displeased with his omitting to j oin them; for no
men on earth can be more tolerant than the R omans.
They are accustomed to persons who come amongst them
but as sight-seers; and, either from pride or indolence,
never seek to mak e strangers participate their opinions.
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? CO riN N E ; O R I TA L Y . l6 5
I t is a still more ex traordinary fact, that, at this period
especially, there are many who tak e on themselves the
strictest punishments; yet, while the scourge is in their
hands, the church-door is still open, and every stranger
welcome to enter as usual. They do nothing for the sak e
of being look ed at, nor are they frightened from any
thing because they happen to be seen; they proceed to-
wards their own aims, or pleasures, without k nowing that
there is such a thing as vanity, whose only aim and plea-
sure consists in the applause of others.
CH A PTE R I I I .
Much has been said of Passion-week in R ome. A num-
ber of foreigners arrive during L ent, to enj oy this spec-
tacle; and as the music at the S ix tine Chapel, and the
illumination of S t Peter' s, are uniq ue of their k inds, they
naturally attract much curiosity, which is not always satis-
fied. The dinner served by the Pope to the twelve
representatives of the A postles, whose feet he bathes, must
recall solemn ideas; yet a thousand inevitable circum-
stances often destroy their dignity. A ll the contributors
to these customs are not eq ually absorbed by devotion;
ceremonies so oft repeated become mechanical to most of
their agents; the young priests hurry over the service
with a dex trous activity any thing but imposing. A ll the
mysteries that should veil religion are dissipated, by the at- \
tention we cannot help giving to the manner in which each
performs his function. The avidity of the one party for
the meat set before them, the indifference of the other to
their prayers and genuflections, deprive the whole of its
due sublimity.
The ancient costumes still worn by the ecclesiastics ill
accord with their modern heads. The bearded Patriarch
of the Greek Church is the most venerable figure left for
such offices. The old fashion, too, of men curtseying lik e
women is dangerous to decorum. The past and the pre-
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? 16 6 CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y .
sent, indeed, rather j ostle than harmonise; little care is
tak en to strik e the imagination, and none to prevent its
being distracted. A worship so brilliantly maj estic in its
ex ternals is certainly well fitted to elevate the soul; but
more caution should be observed, lest its ceremonies de-
generate into plays, in which the actors get by rote what
they have to do, and at what time; when to pray, when to
have done praying; when to k neel, and when to rise.
Court rules introduced at church restrain that soaring
elasticity which alone can give man hope of drawing near
his Mak er.
The generality of foreigners observe this; yet few R o-
mans but yearly find fresh pleasure in these sacred fetes.
I t is a peculiarity in I talian character, that versatility of
taste leads not to inconstancy; and that vivacity removes
all necessity for truth; it deems every thing more grand,
more beautiful than reality. The I talians, patient and
persevering even in their amusements, let imagination em-
bellish what they possess, instead of bidding them crave
what they have not: and as elsewhere vanity teaches
men to seem fastidious, in I taly, warmth of temperament
mak es it a pleasure to admire.
A fter all the R omans had said to N evil of their Passion-
week , he had ex pected much more than he had found.
H e sighed for the august simplicity of the E nglish Church,
and returned home discontented with himself, for not hav-
ing been affected by that which he ought to have felt. I n
such cases we fancy that the soul is withered, and fear that
we have lost that enthusiasm, without which reason itself
would serve but to disgust us with life.
CH A PTE R I V .
Good F riday restored all the religious emotions of L ord
N evil; he was about to. regain Corinne: the sweet hopes of
love blended with that piety, from which nothing save the
factitious career of the world can entirely wean us. H e
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . l6 7
sought the S ix tine Chapel, to hear the far-famed Miserere.
I t was yet light enough for him to see the pictures of
Michael A ngelo. The Day of J udgment, treated by a
genius worthy so terrible a subj ect. Dante had infected
this painter with the bad taste of representing mythological
beings in the presence of Christ; but it is chiefly as demons
that he has characterised these Pagan creations. B eneath
the arches of the roof are seen the prophets and heathen
priestesses; called as witnesses by the Christians { teste David
cum, S ybilla); a host of angels surround them. The roof
is painted as if to bring heaven nearer to us; but that
heaven is gloomy and repulsive. Day scarcely penetrates
me windows, which throw on the pictures more shadows
than beams. This dimness, too, enlarges the already com-
manding figures of Michael A ngelo. The funereal perfume
of incense fills the aisles, and every sensation prepares us
for that deeper one which awaits the touch of music.
W hile O swald was lost in these reflections, he beheld Co-
rinne, whom he had not ex pected yet to see, enter that
part of the chapel devoted to females, and separated by a
grating from the rest. S he was in black ; pale with ab-
stinence, and so tremulous, as she perceived him, that she
was obliged to support herself by the balustrade. A t this
moment the Miserere commenced. V oices well practised in
this pure and antiq ue chant rose from an unseen gallery;
every instant rendered the chapel dark er. The music
seemed to float in the air; no longer in the voluptuously
impassioned strains which the lovers had heard together a
week since, but such as seemed bidding them renounce all
earthly things. Corinne k nelt before the grate. O swald
himself was forgotten. A t such a moment she would have
loved to die. I f the separation of soul and body were but
pangless; if an angel would bear away thought and feeling
on his wings, -- divine spark s that shall return to their
source, -- death would be then the heart' s spontaneous act,
an ardent prayer most mercifully granted. The verses of
this psalm are sung alternately, and in very contrasted
styles. The heavenly harmony of one is answered by
murmured recitative, heavy and even harsh, lik e the reply
of worldlings to the appeal of sensibility, or the realities of
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? 16 8CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
life defeating the vows of generous souls : when the soft
choir reply, hope springs again, again to be frozen by that
dreary sound which inspires not terror, but utter discou-
ragement; yet the last burst, most reassuring of all, leaves
j ust the stainless and ex q uisite sensation in the soul which
we would pray to be accorded when we die. The lights
are ex tinguished; night advances; the pictures gleam lik e
prophetic phantoms through the dusk ; the deepest silence
reigns: speech would be insupportable in this state of
self-communion; every one steals slowly away, reluctant
to resume the vulgar interests of the world.
Corinne followed the procession to S t. Peter' s, as yet
illumined but by a cross of fire: this type of grief shining
alone through the immense obscure, fair image of Chris-
tianity amid the shades of life! A wan light falls over the
statues on the tombs. The living, who throng these arches,
appear but pigmies, compared with the effigies of the dead.
A round the cross is a space cleared, where the Pope, ar-
rayed in white, with all the cardinals behind him, prostrate
themselves to the earth, and remain nearly half an hour
profoundly mute. N one hear what they req uest; but they
are old, going before us towards the tomb, whither we /
must follow. Grant us, O God! the grace so to ennoble
age, that the last days of life may be the first of immor-
tality. Corinne, too, the young and lovely Corinne, k nelt
near the priests; the mild light weak ened not the lustre
of her eyes. O swald look ed on her as an entrancing pic-
ture, as well as an adored woman. H er orison concluded,
she rose: her lover dared not approach, revering the me-
ditations in which he believed her still plunged; but she
came to him, with all the rapture of reunion: happiness
was so shed over her every action, that she received the
greetings of her friends with unwonted gaiety. S t. Peter' s,
indeed, had suddenly become a public promenade, where
every one made appointments of business or of pleasure.
O swald was astonished at this power of running from one ,
ex treme to another; and, much as he rej oiced in the vivacity
of Corinne, he felt surprised at her thus instantly banishing
all traces of her late emotions. H e could not conceive
how this glorious edifice, on so solemn a day, could be
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 16 9
converted into the Cafe of R ome, where people met for
amusement; and seeing Corinne encircled by admirers, to
whom she chatted cheerfully, as if no longer conscious
where she stood, he felt some mistrust as to the levity of
which she might be capable. S he read his thoughts, and
hastily break ing from her party, took his arm to walk the
church with him, saying, " I have never spok en to you of
my religious sentiments; let me do so now; perhaps I
may thus disperse the clouds I see rising in your mind. "
CHAPTER V.
" The difference of our creeds, my dear O swald," con-
tinued Corinne, " is the cause of the unspok en displeasure
you cannot prevent me from detecting. Y our faith is
serious and severe, ours lively and tender. I t is generally
believed that my church is the most rigorous: it may be
so, in a country where struggles ex ist between the two;
but here we have no doctrinal dissensions. E ngland has
ex perienced many. The result is, that Catholicism here
has tak en an indulgent character, such as it cannot have
where R eformation is armed against it. O ur religion, lik e
that of the ancients, animates the arts, inspires the poets,
and mak es part of all the j oys of life; while yours, esta-
blished in a country where reason predominates over fancy,
is stamped with a moral sternness that will never be effaced.
O urs calls on us in the name of love; yours in that of
duty. Y our principles are liberal; our dogmas bigoted:
yet our orthodox despotism has some fellowship with private
circumstances; and your religious liberty ex acts respect for
its own laws, without any ex ception. I t is true that our
monastics undergo sad hardships, but they choose them
freely; their state is a mysterious engagement between God
and man. A mong the secular Catholics here, love, hope,
and faith are the chief virtues; all announcing, all bestow-
ing peace. F ar from our priests forbidding us to rej oice,
they tell us that we thus evince our gratitude for the gifts
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? ] 70CO R I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
of H eaven. They enj oin us to practise charity and repent.
ance, as proofs of our respect for our faith, and our desire
to please its founder; but they refuse us not the absolution
we zealously implore; and the errors of the heart meet
here a mercy elsewhere denied. Did not our S aviour tell
the Magdalene that much should be pardoned to the great-
ness of her love? A s fair a sk y as ours echoed these words:
shall we then despair of our Creator' s pity? " -- " Corinne,"
returned N evil, " how can I
so needful to me? and yet I
love Corinne; to her I look
combat arguments so sweet,
must I t is not for a day I
for a long futurity of content
and virtue. The purest religion is that which sacrifices
passion to duty, as a continual homage to the S upreme
B eing. A moral life is the best offering. W e degrade the
Creator by attributing to him a wish that tends notH owards
our intellectual perfection. Paternity, that godlik e symbol
of faultless sway, seek s but to render its children better
and happier. - H ow, then, suppose that God demands of
man, actions that have not the welfare of man for their
obj ect? what confused notions spring from the habit of
attaching more importance to religious ceremonies than to
active worth! Y ou k now that it is j ust after Passion-week
the greatest number of murders are committed in R ome.
The long fast has, in more senses than one, put its
votaries in possession of funds, and they spend the trea-
sures of their penitence in assassinations. The most dis-
gusting criminal here scruples to eat meat on F ridays;
convinced that the greatest of crimes were that of disobey-
ing the ordinances of the Church: all conscience is la-
vished on that point; as if the Divinity were lik e one
of this world' s rulers, who preferred flattering submission
to faithful service. I s this courtier-lik e behaviour to be
substituted for the respect we owe the E ternal, as the
source and the recompence of a forbearing and spotless
life? The ex ternal demonstrations of I talian Catholicism
ex cuse the soul from all interior piety. The spectacle
over, the feeling ends -- the duty is done; no one remains,
as with us, long occupied by thoughts born of strict and
sincere self-ex amination. "
" Y ou are severe, my dear O swald," said Corinne;
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 171
" this is not the first time I have remark ed it. I f religion
consists but in morality, how is it superior to philosophy
and reason? A nd what piety could we truly feel, if our
principal end was that of stifling all the feelings of the
heart? The S toics k new almost as much as ourselves of
austere self-denials; but something more due to Christianity
is the enthusiasm which weds it with all the affections
of the soul -- the power of loving and sympathising. I t is'
the most indulgent worship, which best favours the flight
of our spirits towards heaven. W hat means the parable of
the Prodigal S on, if not that true love of God is preferred
even above the most ex act fulfilment of duty? H e q uitted
the paternal roof; his brother remained beneath it: he had
plunged into all the pleasures of the world; his brother
had never, for an instant, brok en the regularity of domestic
life: but the wanderer returned, all tears, and his beloved
father received him with rej oicing! A h!
doubtless, among
the mysteries of nature, love is all that is left us of our
heavenly heritage! O ur very virtues are often too constitu-
tional for us always to comprehend what is right, or what is
the secret impulse that directs us. I ask my God to teach
me to adore him. I feel the effect of my petition by the
tears I shed. B ut, to sustain this disposition, religious
ex ercises are more necessary than you may think ; -- a
constant intercourse with the Divinity; daily habits that
have no connection with the interests of life, but belong
solely to the invisible world. E x ternal obj ects are of
great assistance to piety. The soul would fall back upon her-
self, if music and the arts reanimated not that poetic genius,
which is also the genius of religion. The vulgarest man,
while he prays, suffers, or trusts in H eaven, would ex press
himself lik e Milton, H omer, or Tasso, if education had
clothed his thoughts in words. There are but two distinct
classes of men born -- those who feel enthusiasm, and
those who deride it; all the rest is the work of society.
O ne class have no words for their sentiments; the other
k now what they ought to say to hide the void of their
hearts: but the stream flowed from the rock at the com-
mand of H eaven; even so gush forth true talent, true
religion, true love. The pomp of our worship; those pic-
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? 172CO K I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
tures of k neeling saints, whose look s ex press continual
prayer; those statues placed on tombs, as if to awak en
one day with the dead; our churches, with their lofty
aisles ; -- all seem intimately connected with devout ideas.
I love this splendid homage, made by man to that which
promises him neither fortune nor power; which neither
rewards nor punishes, save by the feelings, it inspires: I
grow proud of my k ind, as I recognise something so
disinterested. The magnificence of religion cannot be too
much increased. I love this prodigality of terrestrial gifts
to another world; offerings from time to eternity: sufficient
for the morrow are the cares req uired by human economy.
O h! how I love what would be useless waste, were life
nothing better than a career of toil for despicable gain! if
this earth be but our road to heaven, what can we do .
better than so elevate our souls, that they feel the I nfinite, t
the I nvisible, the E ternal, in the midst of the limits that
surround them? J esus permitted a weak , and, perhaps,
repentant woman, to steep his head in precious balms,
saying to those who bade her turn them to more profitable
use, ' W hy trouble ye the woman? the poor ye have
always with ye, but me ye have not always. ' A las! what-
ever is good or sublime on this earth, is ours but for a
while; we have it not always. A ge, infirmities, and death
soon sully the heavenly dewdrop that only rests on flowers.
Dear O swald, let us, then, blend love, religion, genius, sun-
shine, odours, music, and poetry. There is no A theism .
but cold selfish baseness. Christ has said, ' W hen two or
three are gathered together in my name, I will be amongst
them ; ' and what, O h God! is assembling in thy name, if
we do not so while enj oying the charms of nature, therein
praising and thank ing thee for our life; above all, when
some other heart, created by thy hands, responds entirely
to our own? "
S o celestial an inspiration animated the countenance of
Corinne, that O swald could scarce refrain from falling at
her feet in that august temple. H e was long silent, de-
lightedly musing over her words, and reading their mean-
ing in her look s: he could not, however, abandon a cause
no dear to him as that he had undertak en; therefore re-
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? CO H I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 173
sumed. -- " Corinne, hear a few words more from your
friend: his heart is not seared; no, no, believe me, if I
req uire austerity of principle and action, it is because it
gives our feelings depth and duration; if I look for reason
in religion, -- that is, if I rej ect contradictory dogmas, and
human means for affecting the soul -- it is because I see
the Divinity in -reason as in enthusiasm; if I cannot allow
man to be deprived of any of his faculties, it is because
they are all scarce sufficient for his comprehension of the
truths, revealed to him as much by mental reflection as by
heartfelt instinct -- the ex istence of a God, and the im-
mortality of the soul. To these solemn thoughts, so en-
twined with virtue, what can be added, that, in fact, belongs
to them? The poetic zeal to which you lend so many
attractions, is not, I dare assert, the most salutary k ind of
devotion! Corinne, how can it prepare us for the innu-
merable sacrifices that duty ex acts? I t has no revela-
tion, save in its own impulses; while its future destiny is
seen but through clouds. N ow we, to whom Christianity
renders it clear and positive, may deem such a sensation
our reward, but cannot mak e it our sole guide. Y ou
describe the ex istence of the blest, not that of mortals; a
religious life is a combat, not a hymn. I f we were not
sent here to repress our own and others' evil inclinations,
there would, as you say, be no distinctions save between
apathetic and ardent minds. B ut man is more harsh and
rugged than you think him; rational piety and imperious
duty alone can check his proud ex cesses. W hatever you
may think of ex terior pomp, and numerous ceremonies,
dearest! the contemplation of the universe and its A uthor,
will ever be the only worship which so fills the heart, that
self-k nowledge can find in it nothing either idle or absurd.
The dogmas that wound my reason, also chill my enthu-
siasm. Doubtless, the world is in itself an incomprehensible
mystery, and he were most unwise who refused to believe
whatever he could not ex plain; but contradictions art
always the work of man. The secrets of God are beyond
our mental powers, but not opposed to them. A German
philosopher has said, ' I k now but two lovely things in the
universe -- the starry sk y above our heads, and the sense
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? 174CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y .
of duty within our hearts. ' I n sooth, all the wonders of
creation are included in these. F ar from a simple religion
withering the heart, I used to think , ere I k new you,
Corinne, that such alone could concentrate and perpetuate
its affections. I have witnessed the most austere purity of
conduct from a man of inex haustible tenderness. I have
seen it preserve, in age, a virgin innocence which the
storms of passion must else have blighted. R epentance is
assuredly commendable, and I , more than most men, had
need rely on its efficacy; but repeated penitence wearies
the soul; it is a sentiment that can but once regenerate us.
R edemption accomplished, cannot be renewed; accustomed
to the attempt, we lose the strength of love; for it req uires
strength of mind to love God constantly. I obj ect to the
splendid forms which here act so powerfully on the fancy,
because I would have imagination modest and retiring,
lik e the heart: emotions ex torted from it, are always less
forcible than those that spring spontaneously. I n the
Cevennes, I heard a Protestant minister preach one eve
among the mountains: he addressed the tombs of the
F renchmen, banished by their brothers, and promised
their friends that they should meet them in a better world:
a virtuous life, he said, would secure that blessing, adding,
' Do good to man, that God may heal the wounds within
your breasts! ' H e wondered at the inflex ibility with
which the creature of a day dared treat his fellow worm;
and spok e of that terrible death, which all conceive, but
none can fully ex pound. I n short, he said nought that was
not touching, true, and perfectly in harmony with nature.
The distant cataract, the spark ling starlight, seemed ex -
pressing the same thoughts in other ways. There was
the magnificence of nature, the only one whose spectacles
offend not the unfortunate; and this imposing simplicity
affected the soul as it was never affected by the most
brilliant of ceremonies. "
O n E aster S unday, O swald and Corinne went to the
Place of S t. Peter' s, to see the Pope, from the highest
balcony of the church, call down H eaven' s blessing on the
earth: as he pronounced ' Urbi et orbi' -- on the city and
the world,-- the people k nelt, and our lovers felt all creeds
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 175
alik e. R eligion link s men with each other, unless self-
love and fanaticism render it a cause of j ealousy and hate.
To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the
most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that men
can contract in this life.
CH A PTE R V I .
E aster was over, yet Corinne spok e not of accomplishing
her promise, ' by confiding her history to N evil. H urt by
this silence, he one day told her that he intended paying a visit
to their vaunted N
proposed to mak
the avowal he ex
aples. S he understood his feelings, and
e the j ourney with him; hoping to escape
pected from her, by giving him a proof of
love which ought to be so satisfactory: besides, she thought
that he would not tak e her with him, unless he designed
to become hers for life. H er anx ious look s supplicated a
favourable reply. H e could not resist, though surprised at
the simplicity with which she made this offer; yet he
hesitated for some time, till, seeing her bosom throb, and
her eyes fill, he consented, without considering the import-
ance of such a resolution. Corinne was overwhelmed with
j oy: at that moment she implicitly relied on his fidelity.
The day was fix ed, and the sweet perspective of travelling
together banished every other idea. N ot an arrangement
they made for this purpose but was a source of pleasure.
H appy mood! in which every detail of life derives a charm
from some fond hope. Too soon comes the time when each
hour fatigues; when each morning costs us an effort, to
support our wak ing, and drag on the day to its close. A s
N evil left Corinne, in order to prepare every thing for their
departure, the Count d' E rfeuil called on her, and learnt
herplan. " Y oucannotthink ofit! " hesaid:" mak ea
tour with a man who has not even promised to be your
husband! what will become of you if he turns deserter? "
-- " I should become," replied she, " but what I
any situation, if he ceased to love me,-- the most unhappy
must be, in
person in the world. " -- " Y es; but if you had done nothing
to compromise your name, you would still remain yourself. "
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? 176 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
" Myself! " she repeated, " when the best feelings of my
soul were blighted, and my heart brok en ? " -- " The public
would not guess that; and with a little caution you might
preserve its opinion. " -- " A nd why humour that opinion,
unless it were to gain one merit the more in the eyes of
love? " -- " W e may cease to love," answered the Count, \
" butwedonotceasetoliveinneedofsociety. " -- " I fI
could think ," she ex claimed, " that the day would come
when O swald' s affections were no longer mine all, I should
have ceased to love already. W hat is love, if it can calculate
and provide against its own decay? N o; lik e devotion, it
dissipates all other interests, and delights in an entire \
sacrifice of self. " -- " A nd can a person of your mind turn
her brain with such nonsense? " ask ed d' E rfeuil: " it is >
certainly to the advantage of us men, that women think as \
you do; but you must not lose your superiority; it ought to
be in some way useful. " -- " Useful! " cried Corinne; " O h!
I shall owe it enough, if it teaches me the better to appre-
ciate the tender generosity of N evil. " -- " N evil is lik e other
men," rej oined the Count; " he will return to his country,
resume his career there, and be reasonable at last; you will
ex pose your reputation most imprudently by going to N aples
with him. " -- " I k now not his intentions," she answered;
" and, perhaps, it would have been better to have reflected
ere I loved him; but now -- what matters one sacrifice
more? Does not my life depend on his love? I ndeed, I
feel some solace in leaving myself without one resource; there
never is any for wounded hearts, but the world may some-
times think that such remains; and I love to k now that
even in this respect my misfortune would be complete, if
N evilabandonedme. " -- " A nddoeshek nowhowfaryou
commit yourself for his sak e? " -- " N o; I have tak en great
pains, as he is but imperfectly acq uainted with the customs
of this country, to ex aggerate the liberty it permits. Give
me your word that you will say nothing to him on this
head. I wish him to be ever free; he cannot constitute
my felicity by giving up any portion of his own. H is love
is the flower of my life; and neither his delicacy nor his
goodness could reanimate it, if once faded. I conj ure you,
then, dear Count, leave me to my fate. N othing that you
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 177
k now of the heart' s affections can suit my case: all you say
is right, and very applicable to ordinary persons and situa-
tions; but you innocently do me great wrong in j udging
ine by the common herd, for whom there are so many
max ims ready made. I enj oy, I suffer, in my own,way;
and it is of me alone that those should think who seek to
influence my welfare. " The self-love of d' E rfeuil was a
little stung by the futility of his advice; and, by the mark
of preference shown to N evil, he k new that he himself
was not dear to Corinne, and that O swald was; yet that all
this should be so publicly evinced was somewhat disagreeable
to him. The success of any man, with any woman, is apt
to displease even his best friends. " I see I can do nothing
here," he added;
will remember me;
you and N evil I
" but, when my words are fulfilled, you
meantime I shall leave R ome* without
should be ennuied to death. I
shall surely
have tak
see you both again in I taly or S cotland; for I
en a
he
fancy to travel, while waiting for better things. F orgive my
counsel, charming Corinne, and ever depend on my devotion
to you. " S he thank ed and parted from him with regret. S
had k
link
d' E
nown him at the same time with O swald; that was a
she lik ed not to see brok en; but she acted as she had told
rfeuil she should do. S ome anx iety still troubled
O swald' s j oy: he would fain have obtained her secret, that
he might be certain they were not to be separated by any
invincible obstacle; but she declared she would ex plain
nothing till they were at N aples; and threw a veil over
what might be said of the step she was tak ing. O swald
lent himself to this illusion: love, in a weak , uncertain cha-
racter, deceives by halves, reason remains half clear, and
present emotions decide which of the two halves shall be-
come the whole. ' The mind of N evil was singularly ex -
pansive and penetrating; yet he could only j udge himself
correctly in the past; his ex isting situation appeared to
him ever in confusion. S usceptible alik e of rashness and
remorse, of passion and timidity, lie was incapable of
understanding his' own state, until events had decided the
combat. W hen the friends of Corinne were apprised of
her plan they were greatly distressed, especially Prince
Castel F orte, who resolved to follow her as soon as possible.
N
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? 178 corik ne; or italy.
H e had not the vanity to oppose her accepted lover, but he
could not support the frightful void left by the absence of
his fair friend; he had no acq uaintance whom he was not
wont to meet at her house; he visited no other. The
society she attracted round her must be dispersed by her
departure, so wreck ed that it would soon be impossible to
restore it. H e was little accustomed to live among his
family; though ex tremely intelligent, study fatigued him;
the day would have been too heavy but for his morn and
evening visit to Corinne. S he was going; he could but
guess why; yet secretly promised himself to rej oin her, not
lik e an ex acting lover, but as one ever ready to console her,
if unhappy, and who might have been but too sure that
such a time would come. Corinne felt some melancholy in
loosening all the ties of habit; the life she had led in R ome
was agreeable to her; she was the centre round which\
circled all its celebrated artists and men of letters -- perfect
freedom had lent charms to her ex istence: what was she
to be now? if destined to be O swald' s wife, he would tak e
her to E ngland: how should she be received there? how
restrain herself to a career so different from that of her last
six years? These thoughts did but pass over her mind;
love for O swald effaced their light track . S he saw him,
heard him, and counted the hours but by his presence or
absence. W ho can refuse the happiness that seek s them?
Corinne, of all women, was the least forethoughted; nor
hope nor fear was made for her; her faith in the future
was indistinct, and in this respect her fancy did her as
little good as harm. The morning of her departure Castel
F orte came to her, with tears in his eyes. " W ill you
returnnomoretoR ome? " heask ed. -- " MyGod,yes! " she
cried; " weshallbeback inamonth. " -- " B ut,ifyouwed
L ordN evil,youwillleaveI taly. " -- " L eaveI taly! " she
sighed " Y es; the country where we speak your language,
and understand you so well; where you are so vividly
admired, and for friends, Corinne,-- where will you be
beloved as you are here? where find the arts, the thoughts
that please you? Can a single attachment constitute your
life? Do not language, customs, and manners, compose
that love of country which inflicts such terrible grief on the
?
this in an instant. H is pulpit is a somewhat long tribunal,
from one end. to the other of which he walk s, with a
strangely mechanical agitation. H e fails not to start with
some phrase to which, at the end of the sentence, he re-
turns, lik e a pendulum; though, by his impassioned ges-
tures, you would think him very lik ely to forget it: but
this is a systematic fury, " a fit of regular and voluntary
distraction," often seen in I taly, and indicating none but
superficial or artificial feelings. A crucifix is hung in the
pulpit; the preacher tak es it down, k isses, presses it in his
arms, and then hangs it up again, with perfect coolness, as
soon as the pathetic passage is got through. A nother
method for producing effect is pulling off and putting on
his cap, with inconceivable rapidity. O ne of these men
attack ed V oltaire and R ousseau on the scepticism of the
age. H e threw his cap into the middle of the rostrum, as
the representative of J ean J acq ues, and then cried, "
philosopher of Geneva, what have you to say against my
N ow,
arguments? " H e was silent for some seconds, as if ex -
pecting a reply; but, as the cap said nothing, he replaced
it on his head, and terminated the discourse by adding,--
" W ell, since I ' ve convinced you, let us say no more about
it. " These uncouth scenes are freq uent in R ome, where
real pulpit oratory is ex tremely rare. R eligion is there
respected as an all-powerful law; its ceremonies captivate
the senses; but its preachers deal less in morals than in
dogmas, that never reach the heart. E loq uence, in this,
as in many other branches of literature, is there devoted
to common-places, that can neither describe nor ex plain.
A new thought raises a k ind of rebellion in minds at once
so ardent and so languid, that they need uniformity to calm
them; and love it for the repose it brings. There is an
etiq uette in these sermons, by which words tak e prece-
dence of ideas; and this order would be deranged, if the
preacher spok e from his own heart, or searched his soul for
what he ought to say. Christian philosophy, which finds
analogies between religion and humanity, is as little under-
stood in I taly, as philosophy of every other sort. To spe-
culate on religion is deemed almost as scandalous as
scheming against it; so wedded are all men to mere forms
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? 16 4 corinne; or italy.
and old usages. The worship of the V irgin is particularly
dear to southern people; it seems allied to all that is most
chaste and tender in their love of woman; but every
preacher treats this subj ect with the same ex aggerated rhe-
toric, unconscious that his gestures perpetually turn it
into ridicule. There is scarcely to be heard, from one
I talian pulpit, a single specimen of correct accent, or na-
tural delivery.
O swald fled from this most fatiguing of inflictions -- that
of affected vehemence -- and sought the Coliseum, where a
Capuchin was to preach in the open air, at the foot of an
altar, in the centre of the enclosure which mark s the road
to the cross. W hat a theme were this arena, where mar-
tyrs succeeded gladiators: but there was no hope of hear-
ing it dilated on by the poor capuchin, who k new nothing
of the history of man, save in his own life. W ithout,
however, coming there to hear his bad sermon, O swald
felt interested by the obj ects around him. The congre-
gation was principally composed of the Camaldoline fra-
ternity, at that time attired in grey gowns that covered
both head and body, leaving but two little openings for the
eyes, and having a most ghostly air. Their unseen faces
were prostrated to the earth; they beat their breasts; and
when their preacher threw himself on his k nees, crying--
" Mercy and pity! " they followed his ex ample. A s this
appeal from wretchedness to compassion, from earth to
H eaven, echoed through the classic porticoes, it was im-
possible not to ex perience a deeply pious feeling in the
soul' s inmost sanctuary. O swald shuddered; he remained
standing, that he might not pretend to a faith which was
not his own; yet it cost him an effort to forbear from this
fellowship with mortals, whoever they were, thus hum-
bling themselves before their God; -- for, does not an invo-
cation to heavenly sympathy eq ually become us all?
The people were struck by his noble and foreign aspect,
but not displeased with his omitting to j oin them; for no
men on earth can be more tolerant than the R omans.
They are accustomed to persons who come amongst them
but as sight-seers; and, either from pride or indolence,
never seek to mak e strangers participate their opinions.
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? CO riN N E ; O R I TA L Y . l6 5
I t is a still more ex traordinary fact, that, at this period
especially, there are many who tak e on themselves the
strictest punishments; yet, while the scourge is in their
hands, the church-door is still open, and every stranger
welcome to enter as usual. They do nothing for the sak e
of being look ed at, nor are they frightened from any
thing because they happen to be seen; they proceed to-
wards their own aims, or pleasures, without k nowing that
there is such a thing as vanity, whose only aim and plea-
sure consists in the applause of others.
CH A PTE R I I I .
Much has been said of Passion-week in R ome. A num-
ber of foreigners arrive during L ent, to enj oy this spec-
tacle; and as the music at the S ix tine Chapel, and the
illumination of S t Peter' s, are uniq ue of their k inds, they
naturally attract much curiosity, which is not always satis-
fied. The dinner served by the Pope to the twelve
representatives of the A postles, whose feet he bathes, must
recall solemn ideas; yet a thousand inevitable circum-
stances often destroy their dignity. A ll the contributors
to these customs are not eq ually absorbed by devotion;
ceremonies so oft repeated become mechanical to most of
their agents; the young priests hurry over the service
with a dex trous activity any thing but imposing. A ll the
mysteries that should veil religion are dissipated, by the at- \
tention we cannot help giving to the manner in which each
performs his function. The avidity of the one party for
the meat set before them, the indifference of the other to
their prayers and genuflections, deprive the whole of its
due sublimity.
The ancient costumes still worn by the ecclesiastics ill
accord with their modern heads. The bearded Patriarch
of the Greek Church is the most venerable figure left for
such offices. The old fashion, too, of men curtseying lik e
women is dangerous to decorum. The past and the pre-
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? 16 6 CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y .
sent, indeed, rather j ostle than harmonise; little care is
tak en to strik e the imagination, and none to prevent its
being distracted. A worship so brilliantly maj estic in its
ex ternals is certainly well fitted to elevate the soul; but
more caution should be observed, lest its ceremonies de-
generate into plays, in which the actors get by rote what
they have to do, and at what time; when to pray, when to
have done praying; when to k neel, and when to rise.
Court rules introduced at church restrain that soaring
elasticity which alone can give man hope of drawing near
his Mak er.
The generality of foreigners observe this; yet few R o-
mans but yearly find fresh pleasure in these sacred fetes.
I t is a peculiarity in I talian character, that versatility of
taste leads not to inconstancy; and that vivacity removes
all necessity for truth; it deems every thing more grand,
more beautiful than reality. The I talians, patient and
persevering even in their amusements, let imagination em-
bellish what they possess, instead of bidding them crave
what they have not: and as elsewhere vanity teaches
men to seem fastidious, in I taly, warmth of temperament
mak es it a pleasure to admire.
A fter all the R omans had said to N evil of their Passion-
week , he had ex pected much more than he had found.
H e sighed for the august simplicity of the E nglish Church,
and returned home discontented with himself, for not hav-
ing been affected by that which he ought to have felt. I n
such cases we fancy that the soul is withered, and fear that
we have lost that enthusiasm, without which reason itself
would serve but to disgust us with life.
CH A PTE R I V .
Good F riday restored all the religious emotions of L ord
N evil; he was about to. regain Corinne: the sweet hopes of
love blended with that piety, from which nothing save the
factitious career of the world can entirely wean us. H e
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . l6 7
sought the S ix tine Chapel, to hear the far-famed Miserere.
I t was yet light enough for him to see the pictures of
Michael A ngelo. The Day of J udgment, treated by a
genius worthy so terrible a subj ect. Dante had infected
this painter with the bad taste of representing mythological
beings in the presence of Christ; but it is chiefly as demons
that he has characterised these Pagan creations. B eneath
the arches of the roof are seen the prophets and heathen
priestesses; called as witnesses by the Christians { teste David
cum, S ybilla); a host of angels surround them. The roof
is painted as if to bring heaven nearer to us; but that
heaven is gloomy and repulsive. Day scarcely penetrates
me windows, which throw on the pictures more shadows
than beams. This dimness, too, enlarges the already com-
manding figures of Michael A ngelo. The funereal perfume
of incense fills the aisles, and every sensation prepares us
for that deeper one which awaits the touch of music.
W hile O swald was lost in these reflections, he beheld Co-
rinne, whom he had not ex pected yet to see, enter that
part of the chapel devoted to females, and separated by a
grating from the rest. S he was in black ; pale with ab-
stinence, and so tremulous, as she perceived him, that she
was obliged to support herself by the balustrade. A t this
moment the Miserere commenced. V oices well practised in
this pure and antiq ue chant rose from an unseen gallery;
every instant rendered the chapel dark er. The music
seemed to float in the air; no longer in the voluptuously
impassioned strains which the lovers had heard together a
week since, but such as seemed bidding them renounce all
earthly things. Corinne k nelt before the grate. O swald
himself was forgotten. A t such a moment she would have
loved to die. I f the separation of soul and body were but
pangless; if an angel would bear away thought and feeling
on his wings, -- divine spark s that shall return to their
source, -- death would be then the heart' s spontaneous act,
an ardent prayer most mercifully granted. The verses of
this psalm are sung alternately, and in very contrasted
styles. The heavenly harmony of one is answered by
murmured recitative, heavy and even harsh, lik e the reply
of worldlings to the appeal of sensibility, or the realities of
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? 16 8CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
life defeating the vows of generous souls : when the soft
choir reply, hope springs again, again to be frozen by that
dreary sound which inspires not terror, but utter discou-
ragement; yet the last burst, most reassuring of all, leaves
j ust the stainless and ex q uisite sensation in the soul which
we would pray to be accorded when we die. The lights
are ex tinguished; night advances; the pictures gleam lik e
prophetic phantoms through the dusk ; the deepest silence
reigns: speech would be insupportable in this state of
self-communion; every one steals slowly away, reluctant
to resume the vulgar interests of the world.
Corinne followed the procession to S t. Peter' s, as yet
illumined but by a cross of fire: this type of grief shining
alone through the immense obscure, fair image of Chris-
tianity amid the shades of life! A wan light falls over the
statues on the tombs. The living, who throng these arches,
appear but pigmies, compared with the effigies of the dead.
A round the cross is a space cleared, where the Pope, ar-
rayed in white, with all the cardinals behind him, prostrate
themselves to the earth, and remain nearly half an hour
profoundly mute. N one hear what they req uest; but they
are old, going before us towards the tomb, whither we /
must follow. Grant us, O God! the grace so to ennoble
age, that the last days of life may be the first of immor-
tality. Corinne, too, the young and lovely Corinne, k nelt
near the priests; the mild light weak ened not the lustre
of her eyes. O swald look ed on her as an entrancing pic-
ture, as well as an adored woman. H er orison concluded,
she rose: her lover dared not approach, revering the me-
ditations in which he believed her still plunged; but she
came to him, with all the rapture of reunion: happiness
was so shed over her every action, that she received the
greetings of her friends with unwonted gaiety. S t. Peter' s,
indeed, had suddenly become a public promenade, where
every one made appointments of business or of pleasure.
O swald was astonished at this power of running from one ,
ex treme to another; and, much as he rej oiced in the vivacity
of Corinne, he felt surprised at her thus instantly banishing
all traces of her late emotions. H e could not conceive
how this glorious edifice, on so solemn a day, could be
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 16 9
converted into the Cafe of R ome, where people met for
amusement; and seeing Corinne encircled by admirers, to
whom she chatted cheerfully, as if no longer conscious
where she stood, he felt some mistrust as to the levity of
which she might be capable. S he read his thoughts, and
hastily break ing from her party, took his arm to walk the
church with him, saying, " I have never spok en to you of
my religious sentiments; let me do so now; perhaps I
may thus disperse the clouds I see rising in your mind. "
CHAPTER V.
" The difference of our creeds, my dear O swald," con-
tinued Corinne, " is the cause of the unspok en displeasure
you cannot prevent me from detecting. Y our faith is
serious and severe, ours lively and tender. I t is generally
believed that my church is the most rigorous: it may be
so, in a country where struggles ex ist between the two;
but here we have no doctrinal dissensions. E ngland has
ex perienced many. The result is, that Catholicism here
has tak en an indulgent character, such as it cannot have
where R eformation is armed against it. O ur religion, lik e
that of the ancients, animates the arts, inspires the poets,
and mak es part of all the j oys of life; while yours, esta-
blished in a country where reason predominates over fancy,
is stamped with a moral sternness that will never be effaced.
O urs calls on us in the name of love; yours in that of
duty. Y our principles are liberal; our dogmas bigoted:
yet our orthodox despotism has some fellowship with private
circumstances; and your religious liberty ex acts respect for
its own laws, without any ex ception. I t is true that our
monastics undergo sad hardships, but they choose them
freely; their state is a mysterious engagement between God
and man. A mong the secular Catholics here, love, hope,
and faith are the chief virtues; all announcing, all bestow-
ing peace. F ar from our priests forbidding us to rej oice,
they tell us that we thus evince our gratitude for the gifts
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? ] 70CO R I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
of H eaven. They enj oin us to practise charity and repent.
ance, as proofs of our respect for our faith, and our desire
to please its founder; but they refuse us not the absolution
we zealously implore; and the errors of the heart meet
here a mercy elsewhere denied. Did not our S aviour tell
the Magdalene that much should be pardoned to the great-
ness of her love? A s fair a sk y as ours echoed these words:
shall we then despair of our Creator' s pity? " -- " Corinne,"
returned N evil, " how can I
so needful to me? and yet I
love Corinne; to her I look
combat arguments so sweet,
must I t is not for a day I
for a long futurity of content
and virtue. The purest religion is that which sacrifices
passion to duty, as a continual homage to the S upreme
B eing. A moral life is the best offering. W e degrade the
Creator by attributing to him a wish that tends notH owards
our intellectual perfection. Paternity, that godlik e symbol
of faultless sway, seek s but to render its children better
and happier. - H ow, then, suppose that God demands of
man, actions that have not the welfare of man for their
obj ect? what confused notions spring from the habit of
attaching more importance to religious ceremonies than to
active worth! Y ou k now that it is j ust after Passion-week
the greatest number of murders are committed in R ome.
The long fast has, in more senses than one, put its
votaries in possession of funds, and they spend the trea-
sures of their penitence in assassinations. The most dis-
gusting criminal here scruples to eat meat on F ridays;
convinced that the greatest of crimes were that of disobey-
ing the ordinances of the Church: all conscience is la-
vished on that point; as if the Divinity were lik e one
of this world' s rulers, who preferred flattering submission
to faithful service. I s this courtier-lik e behaviour to be
substituted for the respect we owe the E ternal, as the
source and the recompence of a forbearing and spotless
life? The ex ternal demonstrations of I talian Catholicism
ex cuse the soul from all interior piety. The spectacle
over, the feeling ends -- the duty is done; no one remains,
as with us, long occupied by thoughts born of strict and
sincere self-ex amination. "
" Y ou are severe, my dear O swald," said Corinne;
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 171
" this is not the first time I have remark ed it. I f religion
consists but in morality, how is it superior to philosophy
and reason? A nd what piety could we truly feel, if our
principal end was that of stifling all the feelings of the
heart? The S toics k new almost as much as ourselves of
austere self-denials; but something more due to Christianity
is the enthusiasm which weds it with all the affections
of the soul -- the power of loving and sympathising. I t is'
the most indulgent worship, which best favours the flight
of our spirits towards heaven. W hat means the parable of
the Prodigal S on, if not that true love of God is preferred
even above the most ex act fulfilment of duty? H e q uitted
the paternal roof; his brother remained beneath it: he had
plunged into all the pleasures of the world; his brother
had never, for an instant, brok en the regularity of domestic
life: but the wanderer returned, all tears, and his beloved
father received him with rej oicing! A h!
doubtless, among
the mysteries of nature, love is all that is left us of our
heavenly heritage! O ur very virtues are often too constitu-
tional for us always to comprehend what is right, or what is
the secret impulse that directs us. I ask my God to teach
me to adore him. I feel the effect of my petition by the
tears I shed. B ut, to sustain this disposition, religious
ex ercises are more necessary than you may think ; -- a
constant intercourse with the Divinity; daily habits that
have no connection with the interests of life, but belong
solely to the invisible world. E x ternal obj ects are of
great assistance to piety. The soul would fall back upon her-
self, if music and the arts reanimated not that poetic genius,
which is also the genius of religion. The vulgarest man,
while he prays, suffers, or trusts in H eaven, would ex press
himself lik e Milton, H omer, or Tasso, if education had
clothed his thoughts in words. There are but two distinct
classes of men born -- those who feel enthusiasm, and
those who deride it; all the rest is the work of society.
O ne class have no words for their sentiments; the other
k now what they ought to say to hide the void of their
hearts: but the stream flowed from the rock at the com-
mand of H eaven; even so gush forth true talent, true
religion, true love. The pomp of our worship; those pic-
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? 172CO K I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
tures of k neeling saints, whose look s ex press continual
prayer; those statues placed on tombs, as if to awak en
one day with the dead; our churches, with their lofty
aisles ; -- all seem intimately connected with devout ideas.
I love this splendid homage, made by man to that which
promises him neither fortune nor power; which neither
rewards nor punishes, save by the feelings, it inspires: I
grow proud of my k ind, as I recognise something so
disinterested. The magnificence of religion cannot be too
much increased. I love this prodigality of terrestrial gifts
to another world; offerings from time to eternity: sufficient
for the morrow are the cares req uired by human economy.
O h! how I love what would be useless waste, were life
nothing better than a career of toil for despicable gain! if
this earth be but our road to heaven, what can we do .
better than so elevate our souls, that they feel the I nfinite, t
the I nvisible, the E ternal, in the midst of the limits that
surround them? J esus permitted a weak , and, perhaps,
repentant woman, to steep his head in precious balms,
saying to those who bade her turn them to more profitable
use, ' W hy trouble ye the woman? the poor ye have
always with ye, but me ye have not always. ' A las! what-
ever is good or sublime on this earth, is ours but for a
while; we have it not always. A ge, infirmities, and death
soon sully the heavenly dewdrop that only rests on flowers.
Dear O swald, let us, then, blend love, religion, genius, sun-
shine, odours, music, and poetry. There is no A theism .
but cold selfish baseness. Christ has said, ' W hen two or
three are gathered together in my name, I will be amongst
them ; ' and what, O h God! is assembling in thy name, if
we do not so while enj oying the charms of nature, therein
praising and thank ing thee for our life; above all, when
some other heart, created by thy hands, responds entirely
to our own? "
S o celestial an inspiration animated the countenance of
Corinne, that O swald could scarce refrain from falling at
her feet in that august temple. H e was long silent, de-
lightedly musing over her words, and reading their mean-
ing in her look s: he could not, however, abandon a cause
no dear to him as that he had undertak en; therefore re-
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? CO H I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 173
sumed. -- " Corinne, hear a few words more from your
friend: his heart is not seared; no, no, believe me, if I
req uire austerity of principle and action, it is because it
gives our feelings depth and duration; if I look for reason
in religion, -- that is, if I rej ect contradictory dogmas, and
human means for affecting the soul -- it is because I see
the Divinity in -reason as in enthusiasm; if I cannot allow
man to be deprived of any of his faculties, it is because
they are all scarce sufficient for his comprehension of the
truths, revealed to him as much by mental reflection as by
heartfelt instinct -- the ex istence of a God, and the im-
mortality of the soul. To these solemn thoughts, so en-
twined with virtue, what can be added, that, in fact, belongs
to them? The poetic zeal to which you lend so many
attractions, is not, I dare assert, the most salutary k ind of
devotion! Corinne, how can it prepare us for the innu-
merable sacrifices that duty ex acts? I t has no revela-
tion, save in its own impulses; while its future destiny is
seen but through clouds. N ow we, to whom Christianity
renders it clear and positive, may deem such a sensation
our reward, but cannot mak e it our sole guide. Y ou
describe the ex istence of the blest, not that of mortals; a
religious life is a combat, not a hymn. I f we were not
sent here to repress our own and others' evil inclinations,
there would, as you say, be no distinctions save between
apathetic and ardent minds. B ut man is more harsh and
rugged than you think him; rational piety and imperious
duty alone can check his proud ex cesses. W hatever you
may think of ex terior pomp, and numerous ceremonies,
dearest! the contemplation of the universe and its A uthor,
will ever be the only worship which so fills the heart, that
self-k nowledge can find in it nothing either idle or absurd.
The dogmas that wound my reason, also chill my enthu-
siasm. Doubtless, the world is in itself an incomprehensible
mystery, and he were most unwise who refused to believe
whatever he could not ex plain; but contradictions art
always the work of man. The secrets of God are beyond
our mental powers, but not opposed to them. A German
philosopher has said, ' I k now but two lovely things in the
universe -- the starry sk y above our heads, and the sense
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? 174CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y .
of duty within our hearts. ' I n sooth, all the wonders of
creation are included in these. F ar from a simple religion
withering the heart, I used to think , ere I k new you,
Corinne, that such alone could concentrate and perpetuate
its affections. I have witnessed the most austere purity of
conduct from a man of inex haustible tenderness. I have
seen it preserve, in age, a virgin innocence which the
storms of passion must else have blighted. R epentance is
assuredly commendable, and I , more than most men, had
need rely on its efficacy; but repeated penitence wearies
the soul; it is a sentiment that can but once regenerate us.
R edemption accomplished, cannot be renewed; accustomed
to the attempt, we lose the strength of love; for it req uires
strength of mind to love God constantly. I obj ect to the
splendid forms which here act so powerfully on the fancy,
because I would have imagination modest and retiring,
lik e the heart: emotions ex torted from it, are always less
forcible than those that spring spontaneously. I n the
Cevennes, I heard a Protestant minister preach one eve
among the mountains: he addressed the tombs of the
F renchmen, banished by their brothers, and promised
their friends that they should meet them in a better world:
a virtuous life, he said, would secure that blessing, adding,
' Do good to man, that God may heal the wounds within
your breasts! ' H e wondered at the inflex ibility with
which the creature of a day dared treat his fellow worm;
and spok e of that terrible death, which all conceive, but
none can fully ex pound. I n short, he said nought that was
not touching, true, and perfectly in harmony with nature.
The distant cataract, the spark ling starlight, seemed ex -
pressing the same thoughts in other ways. There was
the magnificence of nature, the only one whose spectacles
offend not the unfortunate; and this imposing simplicity
affected the soul as it was never affected by the most
brilliant of ceremonies. "
O n E aster S unday, O swald and Corinne went to the
Place of S t. Peter' s, to see the Pope, from the highest
balcony of the church, call down H eaven' s blessing on the
earth: as he pronounced ' Urbi et orbi' -- on the city and
the world,-- the people k nelt, and our lovers felt all creeds
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 175
alik e. R eligion link s men with each other, unless self-
love and fanaticism render it a cause of j ealousy and hate.
To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the
most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that men
can contract in this life.
CH A PTE R V I .
E aster was over, yet Corinne spok e not of accomplishing
her promise, ' by confiding her history to N evil. H urt by
this silence, he one day told her that he intended paying a visit
to their vaunted N
proposed to mak
the avowal he ex
aples. S he understood his feelings, and
e the j ourney with him; hoping to escape
pected from her, by giving him a proof of
love which ought to be so satisfactory: besides, she thought
that he would not tak e her with him, unless he designed
to become hers for life. H er anx ious look s supplicated a
favourable reply. H e could not resist, though surprised at
the simplicity with which she made this offer; yet he
hesitated for some time, till, seeing her bosom throb, and
her eyes fill, he consented, without considering the import-
ance of such a resolution. Corinne was overwhelmed with
j oy: at that moment she implicitly relied on his fidelity.
The day was fix ed, and the sweet perspective of travelling
together banished every other idea. N ot an arrangement
they made for this purpose but was a source of pleasure.
H appy mood! in which every detail of life derives a charm
from some fond hope. Too soon comes the time when each
hour fatigues; when each morning costs us an effort, to
support our wak ing, and drag on the day to its close. A s
N evil left Corinne, in order to prepare every thing for their
departure, the Count d' E rfeuil called on her, and learnt
herplan. " Y oucannotthink ofit! " hesaid:" mak ea
tour with a man who has not even promised to be your
husband! what will become of you if he turns deserter? "
-- " I should become," replied she, " but what I
any situation, if he ceased to love me,-- the most unhappy
must be, in
person in the world. " -- " Y es; but if you had done nothing
to compromise your name, you would still remain yourself. "
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? 176 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
" Myself! " she repeated, " when the best feelings of my
soul were blighted, and my heart brok en ? " -- " The public
would not guess that; and with a little caution you might
preserve its opinion. " -- " A nd why humour that opinion,
unless it were to gain one merit the more in the eyes of
love? " -- " W e may cease to love," answered the Count, \
" butwedonotceasetoliveinneedofsociety. " -- " I fI
could think ," she ex claimed, " that the day would come
when O swald' s affections were no longer mine all, I should
have ceased to love already. W hat is love, if it can calculate
and provide against its own decay? N o; lik e devotion, it
dissipates all other interests, and delights in an entire \
sacrifice of self. " -- " A nd can a person of your mind turn
her brain with such nonsense? " ask ed d' E rfeuil: " it is >
certainly to the advantage of us men, that women think as \
you do; but you must not lose your superiority; it ought to
be in some way useful. " -- " Useful! " cried Corinne; " O h!
I shall owe it enough, if it teaches me the better to appre-
ciate the tender generosity of N evil. " -- " N evil is lik e other
men," rej oined the Count; " he will return to his country,
resume his career there, and be reasonable at last; you will
ex pose your reputation most imprudently by going to N aples
with him. " -- " I k now not his intentions," she answered;
" and, perhaps, it would have been better to have reflected
ere I loved him; but now -- what matters one sacrifice
more? Does not my life depend on his love? I ndeed, I
feel some solace in leaving myself without one resource; there
never is any for wounded hearts, but the world may some-
times think that such remains; and I love to k now that
even in this respect my misfortune would be complete, if
N evilabandonedme. " -- " A nddoeshek nowhowfaryou
commit yourself for his sak e? " -- " N o; I have tak en great
pains, as he is but imperfectly acq uainted with the customs
of this country, to ex aggerate the liberty it permits. Give
me your word that you will say nothing to him on this
head. I wish him to be ever free; he cannot constitute
my felicity by giving up any portion of his own. H is love
is the flower of my life; and neither his delicacy nor his
goodness could reanimate it, if once faded. I conj ure you,
then, dear Count, leave me to my fate. N othing that you
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 177
k now of the heart' s affections can suit my case: all you say
is right, and very applicable to ordinary persons and situa-
tions; but you innocently do me great wrong in j udging
ine by the common herd, for whom there are so many
max ims ready made. I enj oy, I suffer, in my own,way;
and it is of me alone that those should think who seek to
influence my welfare. " The self-love of d' E rfeuil was a
little stung by the futility of his advice; and, by the mark
of preference shown to N evil, he k new that he himself
was not dear to Corinne, and that O swald was; yet that all
this should be so publicly evinced was somewhat disagreeable
to him. The success of any man, with any woman, is apt
to displease even his best friends. " I see I can do nothing
here," he added;
will remember me;
you and N evil I
" but, when my words are fulfilled, you
meantime I shall leave R ome* without
should be ennuied to death. I
shall surely
have tak
see you both again in I taly or S cotland; for I
en a
he
fancy to travel, while waiting for better things. F orgive my
counsel, charming Corinne, and ever depend on my devotion
to you. " S he thank ed and parted from him with regret. S
had k
link
d' E
nown him at the same time with O swald; that was a
she lik ed not to see brok en; but she acted as she had told
rfeuil she should do. S ome anx iety still troubled
O swald' s j oy: he would fain have obtained her secret, that
he might be certain they were not to be separated by any
invincible obstacle; but she declared she would ex plain
nothing till they were at N aples; and threw a veil over
what might be said of the step she was tak ing. O swald
lent himself to this illusion: love, in a weak , uncertain cha-
racter, deceives by halves, reason remains half clear, and
present emotions decide which of the two halves shall be-
come the whole. ' The mind of N evil was singularly ex -
pansive and penetrating; yet he could only j udge himself
correctly in the past; his ex isting situation appeared to
him ever in confusion. S usceptible alik e of rashness and
remorse, of passion and timidity, lie was incapable of
understanding his' own state, until events had decided the
combat. W hen the friends of Corinne were apprised of
her plan they were greatly distressed, especially Prince
Castel F orte, who resolved to follow her as soon as possible.
N
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? 178 corik ne; or italy.
H e had not the vanity to oppose her accepted lover, but he
could not support the frightful void left by the absence of
his fair friend; he had no acq uaintance whom he was not
wont to meet at her house; he visited no other. The
society she attracted round her must be dispersed by her
departure, so wreck ed that it would soon be impossible to
restore it. H e was little accustomed to live among his
family; though ex tremely intelligent, study fatigued him;
the day would have been too heavy but for his morn and
evening visit to Corinne. S he was going; he could but
guess why; yet secretly promised himself to rej oin her, not
lik e an ex acting lover, but as one ever ready to console her,
if unhappy, and who might have been but too sure that
such a time would come. Corinne felt some melancholy in
loosening all the ties of habit; the life she had led in R ome
was agreeable to her; she was the centre round which\
circled all its celebrated artists and men of letters -- perfect
freedom had lent charms to her ex istence: what was she
to be now? if destined to be O swald' s wife, he would tak e
her to E ngland: how should she be received there? how
restrain herself to a career so different from that of her last
six years? These thoughts did but pass over her mind;
love for O swald effaced their light track . S he saw him,
heard him, and counted the hours but by his presence or
absence. W ho can refuse the happiness that seek s them?
Corinne, of all women, was the least forethoughted; nor
hope nor fear was made for her; her faith in the future
was indistinct, and in this respect her fancy did her as
little good as harm. The morning of her departure Castel
F orte came to her, with tears in his eyes. " W ill you
returnnomoretoR ome? " heask ed. -- " MyGod,yes! " she
cried; " weshallbeback inamonth. " -- " B ut,ifyouwed
L ordN evil,youwillleaveI taly. " -- " L eaveI taly! " she
sighed " Y es; the country where we speak your language,
and understand you so well; where you are so vividly
admired, and for friends, Corinne,-- where will you be
beloved as you are here? where find the arts, the thoughts
that please you? Can a single attachment constitute your
life? Do not language, customs, and manners, compose
that love of country which inflicts such terrible grief on the
?
