202CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y ,
yet received it?
yet received it?
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
Y et he consented to my wishes, for
he feared to ex act any thing, and felt embarrassed by his
own authority, unless duty commanded him to ex ert it,
lest it might impair the truth, the purity, of voluntary af-
fection; and, above all, he lived on being loved. I n the
beginning of 1791, when I had completed my twenty-first
year, he gave me six months' leave of absence; and I de-
parted to mak e acq uaintance with the nation so near in
neighbourhood, so contrasted in habits, to my own. Me-
thought I should never love it. I had all the prej udices of
E nglish pride and gravity. I feared the F rench raillery
against all that is tender and serious. I detested that art
of repelling impulse and disenchanting love. The found-
ation of this vaunted gaiety appeared to me a sad one, for
it wounded the sentiments I most cherished. I had not
then met any really great F renchmen, such as unite the
noblest q ualities with the most charming manners. I was
astonished at the free simplicity which reigned in Parisian
parties. The most important interests were discussed with-
out either frivolity or pedantry, as if the highest thoughts
had become the patrimony of conversation, and that the
revolution of the whole world would but render the society
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 195
of Paris more delightful. I found men of superior talents
and education animated by the desire to please, even more
than the wish to be useful; seek ing the suffrages of the
salon after those of the senate, and living in female society
rather to be applauded than beloved.
" E very thing in Paris is well combined with reference to
ex ternal happiness. There is no restraint in the minutiae
of life; selfishness is at heart, but not in appearance;
active interests occupy you every day, without much
benefit, indeed, but certainly without the least tedium.
A q uick ness of conception enables men to ex press and com-
prehend by a word what would elsewhere req uire a long
ex planation. A n imitative spirit, which must, indeed,
oppose all true independence, gives their intercourse an
accordant complaisance, no where to be found besides; in
short, an easy manner of diversifying life and warding off
reflection, without discarding the charms of intellect. To
all these means of turning the brain, I must add their spec-
tacles, and you will have some idea of the most social city
in the world. I almost start at breathing its name in this
hermitage, in the midst of a desert, and under impressions
the ex
but I
took
treme reverse of those which active population create;
owe you a description of that place, and the effect it
upon myself. Can you believe, Corinne, gloomy and
discouraged as you have k nown me, that I
self to be seduced by this spirited whirlpool?
pleased at having not a moment of ennui;
permitted my-
I was
it would have
been well if I could have deadened my power of suffering,
capable as I was of love. I f I may j udge by myself, I
should say that a thoughtful and sensitive being may weary
of his own intensity; and that which wooes him from
himself a while does him a service. I t is by raising me
above myself, that you, Corinne, have dissipated my natural
melancholy; it was by depreciating my real value, that a
woman of whom I shall have soon to speak benumbed my
internal sadness. Y et though I was infected by Parisian
tastes, they would not long have detained me, had I not
conciliated the friendship of a man, the perfect model of
F rench character in its old loyalty, of F rench mind in its
new cultivation. I shall not, my love, tell you the real names
o2
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? 196 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
of the persons I must mention; you will understand why,
when you have heard me to the end. Count R aimond,
then, was of the most illustrious birth; he inherited all the
chivalrous pride of his ancestors, and his reason adopted
more philosophic ideas whenever they commanded a per-
sonal sacrifice; he had not mix ed actively in the revolu-
tion, but loved what was virtuous in either party. Courage
and gratitude on one side, zeal for liberty on the other:
whatever was disinterested pleased him; the cause of all
the oppressed seemed j ust to him; and this generosity was
heightened by his perfect negligence of his own life. N ot
that he was altogether unhappy, but his mind was so con-
trasted with general society, that the pain he had daily
felt there detached him from it entirely. I was so fortunate
as to interest him; he sought to vanq uish my natural
reserve; and, for this purpose, embellished our friendship
by little artifices perfectly romantic: he k new of no ob-
stacles to his doing a great service or a slight favour: he
designed to settle for six months of the year in E ngland,
to be near me; and I could hardly prevent his sharing
with me the whole of his possessions. ' I have but a
sister,' he said, ' married richly, so I am free to do what
I please with my fortune. B esides, this revolution will
turn out ill, and I may be k illed; let me then enj oy what
I have in look ing on it as yours. ' A las! the noble R ai-
mond but too well foresaw his destiny.
" W hen man is capable of self-k nowledge, he is rarely
deceived as to his own fate; and presentiment is oft but
j udgment in disguise. S incere even to imprudence, R ai-
mond ' wore his heart upon his sleeve:' such a character was
new to me; in E ngland the treasures of the mind are not
thus ex posed;
display them;
afforded me enj
we have even a habit of doubting those who
but the ex pansive bounty of my friend
oyments at once ready and secure. I had
no suspicion of his q ualities, even though I k
at our first meeting. I felt no timidity with him;
what was better, he put me at ease with myself. S
new them all
nay,
uch
was the amiable F renchman for whom I felt the friendship
of a brother in arms, which we ex perience but in youth,
ere we acq uire one sentiment of rivalry-- ere the unreturn-
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 1,07
ing wheels of time have furrowed the partitions betwix t the
present and the future.
" O nedayCountR aimondsaidtome,' Mysisterisa
widow. I confess I am not sorry for it. I never lik ed
the match. S he accepted the hand of a dying old man,
when we were both of us poor; for what I have has but
lately been beq ueathed to me. Y et, at the time, I opposed
this union as much as possible. I would have no mercenary
calculations prompt our acts, least of all the most important
one of life; still she has behaved in an ex emplary manner
to the husband she never loved: that is nothing in the
eyes of the world. N ow that she is free, she will return to
my abode. Y ou will see her: she is very pleasing in the
main, and you E nglish lik e to mak e discoveries; for my
part, I love to read all in the face at once. Y et your man-
ner, dear O swald, never vex es me; but from that of my sister
I
"
I
feel a slight restraint. '
Madame d' A rbigny arrived: I was presented to her.
n features she resembled her brother, and even in voice;
but in both there was a more retiring caution: her coun-
tenance was very agreeable, her figure all grace and faultless
elegance. S he said not a word that was unbecoming;
failed in no species of attention; and, without ex aggerated
politeness, flattered self-love by an address which showed
with what she was pleased, but never committed her. S he
ex pressed herself, on tender subj ects, as if seek ing to hide
the feelings of her heart. This so reminded me of my own
countrywomen, that I was attracted by it; methought,
indeed, that she too often betrayed what she pretended to
conceal, and that chance did not afford so many occasions
for melting moments as she passed off for involuntary.
This reflection, however, flitted but lightly over my mind;
for what I felt beside her was both novel and delightful.
I had never been flattered by any one. I n E ngland, we
feel both love and friendship deeply; yet the art of insi-
nuating ourselves into favour by bribing the vanity of others
is little k nown. Madame d' A rbigny hung on my every
word. I do not think that she guessed all I might become;
but she revealed me to myself by a thousand minute ob-
servations, the discernment of which amazed me. S ometimes
o3
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? 19S CO R I X N E ; O R I TA L Y .
I thought her voice and language too studiously sweet; but
her resemblance to the frank est of men banished these
notions, and bound me to confide in her. O ne day I men-
tioned to him the effect this lik eness had on me. H e
thank ed me; then, after a moment' s pause, said, ' Y et our
characters are not. congenial. ' H e was silent; but these
words, and many other circumstances, have since convinced
me that he did not wish to see his sister my wife: that she
designed to be so, I detected not for a while. My days
glided on without a care: she was always of my opinion.
I f I began a subj ect, she agreed with it, ere ex plained; yet,
with all this meek ness, her power over my actions was most
despotic: she had a way of saying, ' S urely you intend to do
so and so; ' or, ' Y ou certainly cannot think of such a step as
that. ' I feared that I should lose her esteem by disap-
pointing her ex pectations. Y et, Corinne, believe me-- for
I thought so ere I met you-- it was not love I felt. I had
never told her that I loved her, and was not sure whether
such a daughter-in-law would suit my father: he had not
anticipated my marrying a F renchwoman, and I could do
nothing without his consent. My silence, I believe, dis-
pleased the lady; for she had now and then fits of ill
temper,-- she called them low spirits, and attributed them
to very affecting causes, though her countenance, if for a
moment off her guard, wore a most irritated aspect. I
fancied that these little ineq ualities might arise from our
intercourse, with which I was not satisfied myself: for it
does one more harm to love by halves than to love with all
one' s heart.
" R aimond and I never spok e of his sister: it was the
first constraint that subsisted between us: but Madame
d' A rbigny had conj ured me not to mak e her the theme of
my conversations with her brother; and, seeing me astonished
at this req uest, added, ' I k now not if you think with me,
but I can endure no third person, not even an intimate
friend, to interfere with my regard for another. I love the
secresy of affection. ' The ex planation pleased me, and I
obeyed. A t this time a letter arrived from my father,
recalling me to S cotland. The half year had rolled by;
F rance was every day more disturbed; and he deemed it
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 199
unsafe for a foreigner to remain there. This pained me
much, though 1 felt its j ustice. I longed to see him again,
yet could not tear myself from the Count and Madame
d' A rbigny without regret. I sought her instantly, showed
her the letter, and, while she read it, was too absorbed by
sadness to mark the impression it made. I was merely
sensible that she said something to secure my delay; bade
me write word that 1 was ill, and so tack away from my
father' s commands. I remember that was the phrase she
used. I was about to reply, that my departure was fix ed
for the morrow, when R aimond entered the room, and,
hearing the state of the case, declared, with the utmost
promptitude, that I ought to obey my parent without
hesitation. I was struck by this rapid decision, ex pecting
to have been pressed to stay. I would have resisted my
own reluctance, but I did not lik e to have my purposed
triumph talk ed of as a matter of course. F or a moment I
misinterpreted my friend: he perceived it, and took my
hand, saying, ' I n three months I shall visit E ngland;
why, then, should I k eep you here? I have my reasons,'
he added, in a whisper; but his sister heard him, and said,
hastily, that he was right, that no E nglishmen ought to be
involved in the dangers of the revolution. I now k now
it was not to such peril that the Count alluded; but he
neither contradicted nor confirmed her ex planation. I was
going, and he did not think it necessary to tell me more.
' I f I could be useful to my native land, I should stay here,'
he said; ' but you see it is no longer F
ciples for which I loved it are destroyed. I
this soil, but shall regain my country when I
same air with you. '
rance; the prin-
may regret
breathe the
" H ow was I moved by this touching assurance of true
friendship! H ow far above his sister rank ed Count R ai-
mond at that moment in my heart! S he guessed it; and
the same evening appeared in q uite a new character. S ome
guests arrived; she did the honours admirably; spok
my departure as if it were in her eyes the most uninter-
esting occurrence. I had previously remark ed, that she
set a price on her preference, which prevented her ever
letting others witness the favour she accorded me: but
o4
e of
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? 200CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
now this was too much. I was so hurt by her indifference,
that I resolved to tak e leave before the party, and not
remain alone with her one instant. S he heard me ask her
brother to let me see him in the morning, ere I started;
arid, coming to us, told me aloud that she must charge me
with a letter for a friend of hers in E ngland i then added,
hastily, and in a low voice, ' Y
to my brother: would you break
I n an instant she stepped back
ou regret -- you speak but
my heart, by flying thus? '
, and reseated herself among
her visitants. I was agitated by her words, and should
have stayed as she desired, but that R aimond, tak ing my
arm, led me to his own room. W hen the company had
dispersed, we suddenly heard strange sounds from Madame
d' A rbigny' s apartment: he took no notice of them;
forced him to ascertain their cause. W e were told that
she was very ill. I would have flown to her; but the Count
obstinately forbade. ' L et us have no scene! ' he said;
but I
' in these affairs women are best left to themselves. '
could not comprehend this want of feeling for a sister, so
contrasted with his invariable k indness to me; and I
I
left
him in an embarrassment which somewhat chilled my fare-
well. A h! had I k nown the delicacy which would fain
have baffled the captivations of a woman he did not believe
formed to mak e me happy, could I have foreseen the events
which were to separate us for ever, my adieu would have
better satisfied his soul and mine own. "
CH A PTE R I I .
O swald ceased for some minutes. Corinne had listened
so tremblingly that she too was silent, fearful of retarding
the moment when he would renew his narrative. -- " I
should have been happy," he continued, " had my ac-
q uaintance with Madame d' A rbigny ended there --
never more set foot in F rance. B ut fate, or, rather, per-
haps, my own weak ness, has poisoned my life for ever.
had I
Y es, dearest love! even beside you. I passed a year in
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? CO B I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 201
S cotland with my father: our mutual tenderness daily
increased. I was admitted into the sanctuary of that
heavenly spirit; and, in the friendship that united us,
tasted all the consanguine sympathies whose mysterious
link s belong to our whole being. I received most affec-
tionate letters from R aimond, recounting the difficulties he
found in transferring his property, so as to j oin me; but
his perseverance in that aim was unwearied. I loved him
for it; but what friend could I compare with my father?
The reverence I felt for him never check ed my confidence.
I put my faith in his words as in those of an oracle; and
the unfortunate indecision of my character was suspended
while he spok
is venerable,'
not, could not k
e. ' H eaven has formed us for a love of what
says an E nglish author. My father k new
now, to what degree I loved him; and my
fatal conduct might well have taught him to doubt whether
I loved him at all. Y et he pitied me, while dying, for the
grief his loss would inflict. A h, Corinne! I draw near
the recital of my woes: lend my courage thy support: for
in truth I need it. " -- " My dear friend," she answered,
" be it some solace that you unveil your nobly sensitive
heart before the being who most admires and loves you in
the world. " N evil proceeded:-- " H e sent me to L ondon
on business; and I left him without one warning fear,
though never to see him again. H e was more endearing
than ever in our last conversation: it is said that the souls
of the j ust, lik e flowers, breathe their richest balms at the
approach of night. H e embraced me with tears, saying,
that at his age all partings were solemn; but I believed his
life lik e mine: our souls understood each other so well, and
I was too young to think upon his age. The fears and
the confidence of strong affection are alik e inex plicable: he
accompanied me to the door of that old hall which I have
since beheld desert and devastated, lik e my own heart. I
had but been a week in L ondon, when I received the cruel
letter of which I remember every word:-- ' Y esterday, the
1 O th of A ugust, my brother was massacred at the Tuileries,
while defending his k ing. I am proscribed, and forced to
fly, to hide from my persecutors. R aimond had tak en all
my fortune, with his own, to settle in E ngland. H ave you
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?
202CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y ,
yet received it? or k now you whom he trusted to remit
it? I had but one line from him, written when the chateau
was attack ed, bidding me only apply to you and I should
k now all. I f you could come hither and remove me, you
might save my life. The E nglish still travel F rance in
safety; but I cannot obtain a passport under my own name.
I f the sister of your hapless friend sufficiently interests
you, my retreat may be learned at Paris of my relation
Monsieur Maltigues: but should you generously wish to
aid me, lose not a moment; for it is said that war will
shortly be declared between our two countries. ' I magine
the effect this took on me! my friend murdered, his sister
in despair, their fortune, she said, in my hands, though I
had not received the least tidings of I t; add to these cir-
cumstances, Madame d' A rbigny' s danger, and belief that I
could preserve her; it was impossible to hesitate. I sent
a messenger to my father with her letter, and my promise
to return in a fortnight; then set forth instantly. B y the
most distressing chance the man fell ill on the way, and my
second letter, from Dover, reached my father before the
first. Thus he k new of my flight, ere informed of its mo-
tives; and ere the ex planation came, had tak en an alarm
which could not be dissipated. I arrived at Paris in three
days, and found that Madame d' A ubigny had retired to a
provincial town six ty leagues off: thither I followed her.
W e were both much agitated at meeting. S he appeared
more lovely in her distress than I had ever thought her --
less artificial, less restrained. W e wept together for her
noble brother, and distracted country. I anx iously enq
as to her fortune. S he told me that she had no news of it;
uired
but in a few days I learned that the bank er to whom Count
R aimond confided it, had returned it to him; and, what was
more singular, a merchant of the town in which we were,
who told me this by chance, assured me that Madame
d' A rbigny never needed to have felt a moment' s doubt of
its safety. I could not understand this; went to ask her
what it meant; and found M. Maltigues, who, with the
readiest coolness, informed me that he had j ust brought
from Paris intelligence of the bank er' s return, as, not hav-
ing heard of him for a month, they had thought he was
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? ColtI N N K J O R I TA L Y . 203
gone to E ngland. * S he confirmed her k insman' s statements,
and I believed them; but, since, have recollected her pre-
tex ts for not showing me the note from K aimond, men-
tioned in her letter, and am now convinced that the whole
was but a stratagem to secure me. I t is certain that, as she
was rich, no interested motives blended with her scheme;
but her great fault lay in using address where love alone
was req uired, and dissimulating when candour would better
have served the cause of her sentimental enterprise: she
loved me as much as those can love, who preconcert not
only their actions but their feelings, and conduct an affair
of the heart with the policy of a state intrigue. I formally
declared that I would never marry without my father' s
approval; yet I could not forbear betraying the transports
her beauty and sadness ex cited. H er plan being to mak e
me captive at any price, she let me perceive that she was
not thoroughly resolved on repulsing my wishes. A s I now
retrace what passed between us, I am assured that she he-
sitated from motives q uite independent of love and virtue;
nay, that their apparent struggles were but her own
secret deliberations. I was constantly alone with her;
and my delicacy could not long resist the temptation.
S he imposed on me all the duties, in yielding me all the
rights of a husband;
than she really felt;
would, fain have tak
yet displayed more remorse, perhaps,
and thus so bound me to her, that I
en her to E ngland, and implored my
father' s consent to our union; but she refused to q uit
F rance, unless as my wife. There she was wise, indeed;
but, well k nowing my filial resolutions, she erred in the
means she used to retain me in spite mine every duty.
W hen the war brok e out, my desire to leave F rance became
still stronger, and her obstacles to it multiplied. S he could
obtain no passport; and if I went alone, her reputation
would be ruined; nay, she should be doubly suspected, for
her correspondence with me. This woman, so mild, so
eq uable, in general, then gave way to a despair which per-
fectly overwhelmed me. S he employed her wit and graces
? This is the less clear for being literal. 1 cannot comprehend how the
bank er' s return should concern Madame d' A rbigny, if be had previously
restored R aimond' s fortune -t nor who possessed it. -- I n.
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? 204CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
to please, her grief to intimidate me. Perhaps women are
wrong in commanding by tears, enslaving by the strength
of their weak ness; yet, when they fear not to ex ert this
weapon, it is nearly always victorious, at least for a while.
Doubtless, love is weak ened by this sort of usurpation; and
the power of tears, too freq uently ex erted, chills the ima-
gination; but, at that time, there were a thousand ex cuses
for them in F rance. Madame d' A rbigny' s health, too,
seemed daily to decrease: another terrible instrument of
female tyranny is illness. Those who have not, lik e you,'
Corinne, a j ust reliance on their minds, or are not, lik e
E nglishwomen, so proudly modest that feigning is impos-
sible, have always recourse to art; and the best we can
then hope of them is that their deceit is caused by a real
attachment. A third party was now blended with our
connection* -- Monsieur Maltigues. S he pleased him; he
ask ed nothing better than to marry her; though a specu-
lative immorality rendered him indifferent to every thing.
H e loved intrigue as a game, even while not interested in
the stak e; and seconded Madame d' A rbigny' s designs on
me, ready to desert this plot if occasion served for ac-
complishing his own. H e was a man against whom I
felt a singular repugnance; though scarcely thirty, his
manners and person were remark ably hack neyed. I n E ng-
land, where we are accused of coldness, I never met any
thing comparable with the seriousness of his demeanour on
entering a room. I should never have tak en him for a
F renchman, if he had not possessed some taste and plea-
santry, with a love of talk ing very ex traordinary in a man
who seemed sated of the world, and who carried that dis-
position to a system. H e pretended that he was born a
sensitive enthusiast, but that the k nowledge of mank ind
he owed to the revolution had undeceived him. H e per-
ceived, he said, that there was nothing good on earth, save
fortune, or power, or both; and that fine q ualities must
give way to circumstances. H e practised on this theory
cleverly enough; his only mistak e lay in proclaiming it;
but though he had not the national wish to please, he
* The lady' s professed aversion to a third party in . her attachments seems
unaccountably reversed. -- Ta.
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? CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 205
nevertheless desired to create some sensation, and that ren-
dered him thus imprudent: he differed in these respects
from Madame d' A rbigny, who sought to attain her end
without betraying herself, or seek ing to shine, even in her
errors. W hat was most strange in these two persons is,
that the ardent one could k eep her secret, while the insen.
sible k new not how to hold his tongue. S uch as he was,
Maltigues had a great ascendancy over his relative; either
he guessed it, or she told him all; for even from her
habitual wariness she req uired, now and then, to tak
breath, as it were, by an indiscretion. I f Maltigues look
e
ed
on her severely, she was always disturbed; if he seemed
discontented, she would tak e him aside to ask the reason;
if he went away angry, she almost instantly shut herself up
to write to him. I ex plained this to myself from the fact
of his having k nown her from her childhood; he had ma-
naged her affairs since she had lost all nearer ties; but the
chief cause was her proj ect, which I discovered too late,
of marrying him, if I left her; for at no price would she
pass for a deserted woman. S uch a resolution might mak e
you believe that she loved me not; yet love alone could
have induced her preference: but through life she could
mix calculation even with passion, and the factitious pre-
tences of society with her natural feelings. S he wept when
she was agitated, but she could also weep because that was
the way to ex press emotion. S he was happy in being
loved, because she loved, but also because it did her honour
before the world. S he had right impulses while left to
herself, but could only enj
profitable to her self-love. S
and by ' good company,'
oy them if they were rendered
he was a person formed for
and made that false use even of
truth itself, which is so often found in a country where a
zeal for producing effect, by certain sentiments, is much
stronger than the sentiments themselves. I t was long
since I had heard from my father, the war having cut off
all communication. A t last, chance favoured the arrival of
a letter* , in which he adj ured me to return, in the name
? F req uent unex plained chances favour subseq uent letters; indeed, the cor-
respondence henceforth seems to proceed as easily as if the countries had been
at peace-- 1' r.
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? 206 CO R DJ N E ; O B I TA L Y .
of my duty and his affection; at the same time declaring
that, if I married Madame d' A rhigny, I should cause him
the most fatal sorrow; pegging me, at least, to decide on
nothing until I had heard his advice. I replied to him
instantly, giving my word of honour that I would shortly
do as he req uired. Madame d' A rhigny tried, first prayers,
then despondence, to detain me; and finding these fail, re-
sorted to a fresh stratagem; but how could I then suspect
it? S he came to me one morning pale and dishevelled,
threw herself into my arms as if dying with terror, and
besought me to protect her. The order, she said, was
come for her arrest, as sister to Count R aimond, and I
must find her some asylum from her pursuers; at this time
women, indeed, were not spared, and all k inds of horrors
appeared probable. 1 took her to a merchant devoted to
my interest, and hoped to save her, as only Maltigues
shared the secret of her retreat. I n such a situation, how
could I avoid feeling a lively interest in her fate? how
separate myself from her? how say, ' Y ou depend on my
support, and I withdraw it? ' N
image continually haunted me, and I
evertheless my father' s
to entreat her leave for setting forth alone;
ened to give herself up to the assassins if I
and twice, at noonday, rushed from the house in a frantic
state that overwhelmed me with grief and fear. I followed,
vainly conj uring her to return; fortunately it happened
(unless by conspiracy) that each time we were met by
Maltigues, who brought her back with reproaches on her
rashness. O f course I resigned myself to stay, and wrote
to my father, accounting, as well as I could, for my con-
duct; though I blushed at being in F rance, amid the
outrages then acting there, while that country, too, was at
war with my own. Maltigues often rallied me on my
scruples; but, clever as he was, he did not perceive the
effect of his j ests, which revived all the feelings he sought
to ex tinguish. Madame d' A rhigny, however, remark ed
this; but she had no influence over her k insman, who was
often decided by caprice, if self-interest was absent. S he
relapsed into her griefs, both real and assumed, to melt
me; and was never more attractive than while fainting at
took
many occasions
but she threat-
q uitted her,
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? CO H I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 207
my feet; for she k new how to heighten her beauty as well
as her other charms, and wedded each to some emotion in
order to subdue me. Thus did I live, ever anx ious, ever
vacillating, trembling when I received no letter from my
father, still more wretched when I did; enchained by my
infatuation for Madame d' A rbigny, still more dreading her
violence; for, by a strange inconsistency, though the
gentlest, and often the gayest of women, habitually, she
was the most terrible person in a scene. S he wished to
bind me both by pleasure and by fear, and thus always
transformed her nature to her use. O ne day, in S eptem-
ber, 1793, more than a year after my coming to F rance,
I had a brief letter from my father; but its few words were
so afflicting, that I must spare myself their repetition,
Corinne; it would too much unman me. H e was already
ill, though he did not say so; his pride and delicacy for-
bade; but his letter breathed so much distress, both on
account of my absence, and of my possible marriage, that
while reading it I wondered how I
blind to the misfortunes with which I
was now, however, sufficiently awak
more; and went to Madame d' A
could have been so long
was menaced. I
ened to hesitate no
rbigny, perfectly decided to
tak e leave of her. S he perceived this, and at once retiring
within herself, rose, saying, ' B efore you go, you ought to
be informed of a secret which I blush to avow. I f you
abandon me, it is not me alone you k ill. The fruit of my
guilty love will perish with me. ' N othing can describe
my sensations; that new, that sacred duty, absorbed my
whole soul, and made me more submissively her slave than
ever. I would have married her at once, but for the
ruinous conseq uences that must have befallen me, as an
E nglishman, in then and there giving my name to the
civil authorities. I deferred our union, therefore, till we
could fly to E ngland, and determined never to leave my
victim till then. A t first this calmed her; but she soon
renewed her complaints against ine, for not braving all
impediments to mak e her my wife. I should shortly have
bent to her will, for I had fallen into the deepest melan-
choly, and passed whole days alone, without power to move,
-- a prey to an idea which I never confessed to myself,
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? 208CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
though its persecution was incessant. I had a foreboding
of my father' s illness, which I considered a weak ness un-
worthy of belief. My reason was so bewildered by the shock
my mistress had dealt me, that I now combated my sense
of duty as a passion; and that which I might have then
thought my passion, tormented me as a duty. Madame
d' A rbigny was perpetually writing me entreaties to visit
her; at last I went, but did not speak on the subj ect which
gave her such rights over me: indeed, she now less fre-
q uently alluded to it herself than I ex pected; but my
sufferings were too great for me to remark that at the
time. O nce, when I had k ept my house for three days,
writing twenty letters to my father, and tearing them all,
M. Maltigues, who seldom sought m>> j came, deputed by his
cousin to tear me from my solitude. Though little interested
in the success of his embassy, as you will discover, he
entered before I
had time to conceal that my face was
bathed in tears. ' W hat is the use of all this, my dear
boy? ' he said; ' either leave my cousin, or marry her.
The one step is as good as the other, each being conclusive. '
. -- ' There are situations in life,' replied I , ' where even
by sacrificing oneself, one may not be able to fulfil every
duty. ' -- '
he added. '
necessary;
That is, there ought to be no such sacrifice,'
I k now of no circumstances in which it is
with a little address one may back out of any
thing. Management is the q ueen of the world. ' -- ' I
covet no such ability,' said I ; ' but at least would wish,
in resigning myself to unhappiness, to afflict no one that
I love. ' -- ' H ave nothing to do, then, with the intricate
work they call love; it is a sick ness of the soul. I am
attack ed by it at times, lik e any one else; but when it so
happens, I tell myself that it shall soon be over, and
always k eep my word. '
with generalities-- for I
him -- I answered, '
S eek ing to deal, lik e himself,
neither could nor would confide in
Do what we will with love, we can-
not banish honour and virtue, that often oppose our in-
clination. ' -- ' I f you mean, by honour, the necessity for
fighting when insulted, there can be no doubt on that
head; but, in other respects, what interest have we in
allowing ourselves to be perplex ed by a thousand fasti-
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 209
dious chimeras? ' -- '
the word in q uestion. '
--
I nterest! ' I repeated; ' that is not
' To speak seriously, ' he re-
turned, ' there are few men who have a clear view of this
subj ect. I k now they formerly talk ed of honourable mis-
fortunes, and glorious falls; but now that all men are per-
secuted, k naves as well as those by courtesy called honest,
the only difference is between the birds who are trap-
ped, and those who escape. ' -- ' I k now of other distinc-
tions,' I replied, ' where prosperity is despised, and misfor-
tune honoured by the good. ' -- ' S how me the good, though,'
he said, ' whose courageous esteem would console you for
your own destruction. O n the contrary, the self-elected
virtuous are those who ex cuse you if happy, and love you
if powerful. I t is very fine in you, no doubt, to repent
thwarting a father, who ought no longer to meddle with
your affairs; yet do any thing rather than linger where
you may lose your life in a thousand ways. F or my
part, whatever happens to me, I would, at any price, spare
my friends the sight of my sufferings, and myself their
long faces of condolence. ' -- ' I n my opinion,' interrupted
I , ' the aim of an honest man' s life is not the happiness
which serves only himself, but the virtue which is useful
toothers. ' -- ' V irtue! ' ex claimed Maltigues, ' virtue'
he hesitated for a moment, then, with more decision, con-
tinued; ' that' s a language for the vulgar, that even
priests cannot talk between themselves without laughing.
There are good souls whom certain harmonious words
still move; for their sak es let the tune be played: all the
poetry that they call conscience and devotion was in-
vented to console those who cannot get on in the world,
lik e the de profundis that is sung for the dead. The living
and the prosperous are by no means ambitious of lik e
homage. ' I was so irritated that I could not help saying
haughtily, ' I shall be sorry, sir, when I have a right in the
house of Madame d' A rbigny, if she persists in receiving
amanwhothink sandspeak sasyoudo. ' -- ' W henthat
time comes,' he answered, ' you may act as you please;
but if my cousin is led by me, she will never marry a man
who look s forward in such affright to his union with her.
I have always, as she can tell you, censured her folly, and
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? 210CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
the means she has wasted on an obj ect so little worth her
trouble. ' A t these words, which their accent rendered still
more insulting, I made him a sign to follow me; and,
on our way, it is but j ustice to tell you that he continued
to develope his system with the greatest possible coolness:
he might be no more in a few minutes, yet said not one
serious, one feeling word.
he feared to ex act any thing, and felt embarrassed by his
own authority, unless duty commanded him to ex ert it,
lest it might impair the truth, the purity, of voluntary af-
fection; and, above all, he lived on being loved. I n the
beginning of 1791, when I had completed my twenty-first
year, he gave me six months' leave of absence; and I de-
parted to mak e acq uaintance with the nation so near in
neighbourhood, so contrasted in habits, to my own. Me-
thought I should never love it. I had all the prej udices of
E nglish pride and gravity. I feared the F rench raillery
against all that is tender and serious. I detested that art
of repelling impulse and disenchanting love. The found-
ation of this vaunted gaiety appeared to me a sad one, for
it wounded the sentiments I most cherished. I had not
then met any really great F renchmen, such as unite the
noblest q ualities with the most charming manners. I was
astonished at the free simplicity which reigned in Parisian
parties. The most important interests were discussed with-
out either frivolity or pedantry, as if the highest thoughts
had become the patrimony of conversation, and that the
revolution of the whole world would but render the society
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 195
of Paris more delightful. I found men of superior talents
and education animated by the desire to please, even more
than the wish to be useful; seek ing the suffrages of the
salon after those of the senate, and living in female society
rather to be applauded than beloved.
" E very thing in Paris is well combined with reference to
ex ternal happiness. There is no restraint in the minutiae
of life; selfishness is at heart, but not in appearance;
active interests occupy you every day, without much
benefit, indeed, but certainly without the least tedium.
A q uick ness of conception enables men to ex press and com-
prehend by a word what would elsewhere req uire a long
ex planation. A n imitative spirit, which must, indeed,
oppose all true independence, gives their intercourse an
accordant complaisance, no where to be found besides; in
short, an easy manner of diversifying life and warding off
reflection, without discarding the charms of intellect. To
all these means of turning the brain, I must add their spec-
tacles, and you will have some idea of the most social city
in the world. I almost start at breathing its name in this
hermitage, in the midst of a desert, and under impressions
the ex
but I
took
treme reverse of those which active population create;
owe you a description of that place, and the effect it
upon myself. Can you believe, Corinne, gloomy and
discouraged as you have k nown me, that I
self to be seduced by this spirited whirlpool?
pleased at having not a moment of ennui;
permitted my-
I was
it would have
been well if I could have deadened my power of suffering,
capable as I was of love. I f I may j udge by myself, I
should say that a thoughtful and sensitive being may weary
of his own intensity; and that which wooes him from
himself a while does him a service. I t is by raising me
above myself, that you, Corinne, have dissipated my natural
melancholy; it was by depreciating my real value, that a
woman of whom I shall have soon to speak benumbed my
internal sadness. Y et though I was infected by Parisian
tastes, they would not long have detained me, had I not
conciliated the friendship of a man, the perfect model of
F rench character in its old loyalty, of F rench mind in its
new cultivation. I shall not, my love, tell you the real names
o2
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? 196 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
of the persons I must mention; you will understand why,
when you have heard me to the end. Count R aimond,
then, was of the most illustrious birth; he inherited all the
chivalrous pride of his ancestors, and his reason adopted
more philosophic ideas whenever they commanded a per-
sonal sacrifice; he had not mix ed actively in the revolu-
tion, but loved what was virtuous in either party. Courage
and gratitude on one side, zeal for liberty on the other:
whatever was disinterested pleased him; the cause of all
the oppressed seemed j ust to him; and this generosity was
heightened by his perfect negligence of his own life. N ot
that he was altogether unhappy, but his mind was so con-
trasted with general society, that the pain he had daily
felt there detached him from it entirely. I was so fortunate
as to interest him; he sought to vanq uish my natural
reserve; and, for this purpose, embellished our friendship
by little artifices perfectly romantic: he k new of no ob-
stacles to his doing a great service or a slight favour: he
designed to settle for six months of the year in E ngland,
to be near me; and I could hardly prevent his sharing
with me the whole of his possessions. ' I have but a
sister,' he said, ' married richly, so I am free to do what
I please with my fortune. B esides, this revolution will
turn out ill, and I may be k illed; let me then enj oy what
I have in look ing on it as yours. ' A las! the noble R ai-
mond but too well foresaw his destiny.
" W hen man is capable of self-k nowledge, he is rarely
deceived as to his own fate; and presentiment is oft but
j udgment in disguise. S incere even to imprudence, R ai-
mond ' wore his heart upon his sleeve:' such a character was
new to me; in E ngland the treasures of the mind are not
thus ex posed;
display them;
afforded me enj
we have even a habit of doubting those who
but the ex pansive bounty of my friend
oyments at once ready and secure. I had
no suspicion of his q ualities, even though I k
at our first meeting. I felt no timidity with him;
what was better, he put me at ease with myself. S
new them all
nay,
uch
was the amiable F renchman for whom I felt the friendship
of a brother in arms, which we ex perience but in youth,
ere we acq uire one sentiment of rivalry-- ere the unreturn-
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 1,07
ing wheels of time have furrowed the partitions betwix t the
present and the future.
" O nedayCountR aimondsaidtome,' Mysisterisa
widow. I confess I am not sorry for it. I never lik ed
the match. S he accepted the hand of a dying old man,
when we were both of us poor; for what I have has but
lately been beq ueathed to me. Y et, at the time, I opposed
this union as much as possible. I would have no mercenary
calculations prompt our acts, least of all the most important
one of life; still she has behaved in an ex emplary manner
to the husband she never loved: that is nothing in the
eyes of the world. N ow that she is free, she will return to
my abode. Y ou will see her: she is very pleasing in the
main, and you E nglish lik e to mak e discoveries; for my
part, I love to read all in the face at once. Y et your man-
ner, dear O swald, never vex es me; but from that of my sister
I
"
I
feel a slight restraint. '
Madame d' A rbigny arrived: I was presented to her.
n features she resembled her brother, and even in voice;
but in both there was a more retiring caution: her coun-
tenance was very agreeable, her figure all grace and faultless
elegance. S he said not a word that was unbecoming;
failed in no species of attention; and, without ex aggerated
politeness, flattered self-love by an address which showed
with what she was pleased, but never committed her. S he
ex pressed herself, on tender subj ects, as if seek ing to hide
the feelings of her heart. This so reminded me of my own
countrywomen, that I was attracted by it; methought,
indeed, that she too often betrayed what she pretended to
conceal, and that chance did not afford so many occasions
for melting moments as she passed off for involuntary.
This reflection, however, flitted but lightly over my mind;
for what I felt beside her was both novel and delightful.
I had never been flattered by any one. I n E ngland, we
feel both love and friendship deeply; yet the art of insi-
nuating ourselves into favour by bribing the vanity of others
is little k nown. Madame d' A rbigny hung on my every
word. I do not think that she guessed all I might become;
but she revealed me to myself by a thousand minute ob-
servations, the discernment of which amazed me. S ometimes
o3
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? 19S CO R I X N E ; O R I TA L Y .
I thought her voice and language too studiously sweet; but
her resemblance to the frank est of men banished these
notions, and bound me to confide in her. O ne day I men-
tioned to him the effect this lik eness had on me. H e
thank ed me; then, after a moment' s pause, said, ' Y et our
characters are not. congenial. ' H e was silent; but these
words, and many other circumstances, have since convinced
me that he did not wish to see his sister my wife: that she
designed to be so, I detected not for a while. My days
glided on without a care: she was always of my opinion.
I f I began a subj ect, she agreed with it, ere ex plained; yet,
with all this meek ness, her power over my actions was most
despotic: she had a way of saying, ' S urely you intend to do
so and so; ' or, ' Y ou certainly cannot think of such a step as
that. ' I feared that I should lose her esteem by disap-
pointing her ex pectations. Y et, Corinne, believe me-- for
I thought so ere I met you-- it was not love I felt. I had
never told her that I loved her, and was not sure whether
such a daughter-in-law would suit my father: he had not
anticipated my marrying a F renchwoman, and I could do
nothing without his consent. My silence, I believe, dis-
pleased the lady; for she had now and then fits of ill
temper,-- she called them low spirits, and attributed them
to very affecting causes, though her countenance, if for a
moment off her guard, wore a most irritated aspect. I
fancied that these little ineq ualities might arise from our
intercourse, with which I was not satisfied myself: for it
does one more harm to love by halves than to love with all
one' s heart.
" R aimond and I never spok e of his sister: it was the
first constraint that subsisted between us: but Madame
d' A rbigny had conj ured me not to mak e her the theme of
my conversations with her brother; and, seeing me astonished
at this req uest, added, ' I k now not if you think with me,
but I can endure no third person, not even an intimate
friend, to interfere with my regard for another. I love the
secresy of affection. ' The ex planation pleased me, and I
obeyed. A t this time a letter arrived from my father,
recalling me to S cotland. The half year had rolled by;
F rance was every day more disturbed; and he deemed it
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 199
unsafe for a foreigner to remain there. This pained me
much, though 1 felt its j ustice. I longed to see him again,
yet could not tear myself from the Count and Madame
d' A rbigny without regret. I sought her instantly, showed
her the letter, and, while she read it, was too absorbed by
sadness to mark the impression it made. I was merely
sensible that she said something to secure my delay; bade
me write word that 1 was ill, and so tack away from my
father' s commands. I remember that was the phrase she
used. I was about to reply, that my departure was fix ed
for the morrow, when R aimond entered the room, and,
hearing the state of the case, declared, with the utmost
promptitude, that I ought to obey my parent without
hesitation. I was struck by this rapid decision, ex pecting
to have been pressed to stay. I would have resisted my
own reluctance, but I did not lik e to have my purposed
triumph talk ed of as a matter of course. F or a moment I
misinterpreted my friend: he perceived it, and took my
hand, saying, ' I n three months I shall visit E ngland;
why, then, should I k eep you here? I have my reasons,'
he added, in a whisper; but his sister heard him, and said,
hastily, that he was right, that no E nglishmen ought to be
involved in the dangers of the revolution. I now k now
it was not to such peril that the Count alluded; but he
neither contradicted nor confirmed her ex planation. I was
going, and he did not think it necessary to tell me more.
' I f I could be useful to my native land, I should stay here,'
he said; ' but you see it is no longer F
ciples for which I loved it are destroyed. I
this soil, but shall regain my country when I
same air with you. '
rance; the prin-
may regret
breathe the
" H ow was I moved by this touching assurance of true
friendship! H ow far above his sister rank ed Count R ai-
mond at that moment in my heart! S he guessed it; and
the same evening appeared in q uite a new character. S ome
guests arrived; she did the honours admirably; spok
my departure as if it were in her eyes the most uninter-
esting occurrence. I had previously remark ed, that she
set a price on her preference, which prevented her ever
letting others witness the favour she accorded me: but
o4
e of
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? 200CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
now this was too much. I was so hurt by her indifference,
that I resolved to tak e leave before the party, and not
remain alone with her one instant. S he heard me ask her
brother to let me see him in the morning, ere I started;
arid, coming to us, told me aloud that she must charge me
with a letter for a friend of hers in E ngland i then added,
hastily, and in a low voice, ' Y
to my brother: would you break
I n an instant she stepped back
ou regret -- you speak but
my heart, by flying thus? '
, and reseated herself among
her visitants. I was agitated by her words, and should
have stayed as she desired, but that R aimond, tak ing my
arm, led me to his own room. W hen the company had
dispersed, we suddenly heard strange sounds from Madame
d' A rbigny' s apartment: he took no notice of them;
forced him to ascertain their cause. W e were told that
she was very ill. I would have flown to her; but the Count
obstinately forbade. ' L et us have no scene! ' he said;
but I
' in these affairs women are best left to themselves. '
could not comprehend this want of feeling for a sister, so
contrasted with his invariable k indness to me; and I
I
left
him in an embarrassment which somewhat chilled my fare-
well. A h! had I k nown the delicacy which would fain
have baffled the captivations of a woman he did not believe
formed to mak e me happy, could I have foreseen the events
which were to separate us for ever, my adieu would have
better satisfied his soul and mine own. "
CH A PTE R I I .
O swald ceased for some minutes. Corinne had listened
so tremblingly that she too was silent, fearful of retarding
the moment when he would renew his narrative. -- " I
should have been happy," he continued, " had my ac-
q uaintance with Madame d' A rbigny ended there --
never more set foot in F rance. B ut fate, or, rather, per-
haps, my own weak ness, has poisoned my life for ever.
had I
Y es, dearest love! even beside you. I passed a year in
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? CO B I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 201
S cotland with my father: our mutual tenderness daily
increased. I was admitted into the sanctuary of that
heavenly spirit; and, in the friendship that united us,
tasted all the consanguine sympathies whose mysterious
link s belong to our whole being. I received most affec-
tionate letters from R aimond, recounting the difficulties he
found in transferring his property, so as to j oin me; but
his perseverance in that aim was unwearied. I loved him
for it; but what friend could I compare with my father?
The reverence I felt for him never check ed my confidence.
I put my faith in his words as in those of an oracle; and
the unfortunate indecision of my character was suspended
while he spok
is venerable,'
not, could not k
e. ' H eaven has formed us for a love of what
says an E nglish author. My father k new
now, to what degree I loved him; and my
fatal conduct might well have taught him to doubt whether
I loved him at all. Y et he pitied me, while dying, for the
grief his loss would inflict. A h, Corinne! I draw near
the recital of my woes: lend my courage thy support: for
in truth I need it. " -- " My dear friend," she answered,
" be it some solace that you unveil your nobly sensitive
heart before the being who most admires and loves you in
the world. " N evil proceeded:-- " H e sent me to L ondon
on business; and I left him without one warning fear,
though never to see him again. H e was more endearing
than ever in our last conversation: it is said that the souls
of the j ust, lik e flowers, breathe their richest balms at the
approach of night. H e embraced me with tears, saying,
that at his age all partings were solemn; but I believed his
life lik e mine: our souls understood each other so well, and
I was too young to think upon his age. The fears and
the confidence of strong affection are alik e inex plicable: he
accompanied me to the door of that old hall which I have
since beheld desert and devastated, lik e my own heart. I
had but been a week in L ondon, when I received the cruel
letter of which I remember every word:-- ' Y esterday, the
1 O th of A ugust, my brother was massacred at the Tuileries,
while defending his k ing. I am proscribed, and forced to
fly, to hide from my persecutors. R aimond had tak en all
my fortune, with his own, to settle in E ngland. H ave you
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?
202CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y ,
yet received it? or k now you whom he trusted to remit
it? I had but one line from him, written when the chateau
was attack ed, bidding me only apply to you and I should
k now all. I f you could come hither and remove me, you
might save my life. The E nglish still travel F rance in
safety; but I cannot obtain a passport under my own name.
I f the sister of your hapless friend sufficiently interests
you, my retreat may be learned at Paris of my relation
Monsieur Maltigues: but should you generously wish to
aid me, lose not a moment; for it is said that war will
shortly be declared between our two countries. ' I magine
the effect this took on me! my friend murdered, his sister
in despair, their fortune, she said, in my hands, though I
had not received the least tidings of I t; add to these cir-
cumstances, Madame d' A rbigny' s danger, and belief that I
could preserve her; it was impossible to hesitate. I sent
a messenger to my father with her letter, and my promise
to return in a fortnight; then set forth instantly. B y the
most distressing chance the man fell ill on the way, and my
second letter, from Dover, reached my father before the
first. Thus he k new of my flight, ere informed of its mo-
tives; and ere the ex planation came, had tak en an alarm
which could not be dissipated. I arrived at Paris in three
days, and found that Madame d' A ubigny had retired to a
provincial town six ty leagues off: thither I followed her.
W e were both much agitated at meeting. S he appeared
more lovely in her distress than I had ever thought her --
less artificial, less restrained. W e wept together for her
noble brother, and distracted country. I anx iously enq
as to her fortune. S he told me that she had no news of it;
uired
but in a few days I learned that the bank er to whom Count
R aimond confided it, had returned it to him; and, what was
more singular, a merchant of the town in which we were,
who told me this by chance, assured me that Madame
d' A rbigny never needed to have felt a moment' s doubt of
its safety. I could not understand this; went to ask her
what it meant; and found M. Maltigues, who, with the
readiest coolness, informed me that he had j ust brought
from Paris intelligence of the bank er' s return, as, not hav-
ing heard of him for a month, they had thought he was
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? ColtI N N K J O R I TA L Y . 203
gone to E ngland. * S he confirmed her k insman' s statements,
and I believed them; but, since, have recollected her pre-
tex ts for not showing me the note from K aimond, men-
tioned in her letter, and am now convinced that the whole
was but a stratagem to secure me. I t is certain that, as she
was rich, no interested motives blended with her scheme;
but her great fault lay in using address where love alone
was req uired, and dissimulating when candour would better
have served the cause of her sentimental enterprise: she
loved me as much as those can love, who preconcert not
only their actions but their feelings, and conduct an affair
of the heart with the policy of a state intrigue. I formally
declared that I would never marry without my father' s
approval; yet I could not forbear betraying the transports
her beauty and sadness ex cited. H er plan being to mak e
me captive at any price, she let me perceive that she was
not thoroughly resolved on repulsing my wishes. A s I now
retrace what passed between us, I am assured that she he-
sitated from motives q uite independent of love and virtue;
nay, that their apparent struggles were but her own
secret deliberations. I was constantly alone with her;
and my delicacy could not long resist the temptation.
S he imposed on me all the duties, in yielding me all the
rights of a husband;
than she really felt;
would, fain have tak
yet displayed more remorse, perhaps,
and thus so bound me to her, that I
en her to E ngland, and implored my
father' s consent to our union; but she refused to q uit
F rance, unless as my wife. There she was wise, indeed;
but, well k nowing my filial resolutions, she erred in the
means she used to retain me in spite mine every duty.
W hen the war brok e out, my desire to leave F rance became
still stronger, and her obstacles to it multiplied. S he could
obtain no passport; and if I went alone, her reputation
would be ruined; nay, she should be doubly suspected, for
her correspondence with me. This woman, so mild, so
eq uable, in general, then gave way to a despair which per-
fectly overwhelmed me. S he employed her wit and graces
? This is the less clear for being literal. 1 cannot comprehend how the
bank er' s return should concern Madame d' A rbigny, if be had previously
restored R aimond' s fortune -t nor who possessed it. -- I n.
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? 204CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
to please, her grief to intimidate me. Perhaps women are
wrong in commanding by tears, enslaving by the strength
of their weak ness; yet, when they fear not to ex ert this
weapon, it is nearly always victorious, at least for a while.
Doubtless, love is weak ened by this sort of usurpation; and
the power of tears, too freq uently ex erted, chills the ima-
gination; but, at that time, there were a thousand ex cuses
for them in F rance. Madame d' A rbigny' s health, too,
seemed daily to decrease: another terrible instrument of
female tyranny is illness. Those who have not, lik e you,'
Corinne, a j ust reliance on their minds, or are not, lik e
E nglishwomen, so proudly modest that feigning is impos-
sible, have always recourse to art; and the best we can
then hope of them is that their deceit is caused by a real
attachment. A third party was now blended with our
connection* -- Monsieur Maltigues. S he pleased him; he
ask ed nothing better than to marry her; though a specu-
lative immorality rendered him indifferent to every thing.
H e loved intrigue as a game, even while not interested in
the stak e; and seconded Madame d' A rbigny' s designs on
me, ready to desert this plot if occasion served for ac-
complishing his own. H e was a man against whom I
felt a singular repugnance; though scarcely thirty, his
manners and person were remark ably hack neyed. I n E ng-
land, where we are accused of coldness, I never met any
thing comparable with the seriousness of his demeanour on
entering a room. I should never have tak en him for a
F renchman, if he had not possessed some taste and plea-
santry, with a love of talk ing very ex traordinary in a man
who seemed sated of the world, and who carried that dis-
position to a system. H e pretended that he was born a
sensitive enthusiast, but that the k nowledge of mank ind
he owed to the revolution had undeceived him. H e per-
ceived, he said, that there was nothing good on earth, save
fortune, or power, or both; and that fine q ualities must
give way to circumstances. H e practised on this theory
cleverly enough; his only mistak e lay in proclaiming it;
but though he had not the national wish to please, he
* The lady' s professed aversion to a third party in . her attachments seems
unaccountably reversed. -- Ta.
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? CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 205
nevertheless desired to create some sensation, and that ren-
dered him thus imprudent: he differed in these respects
from Madame d' A rbigny, who sought to attain her end
without betraying herself, or seek ing to shine, even in her
errors. W hat was most strange in these two persons is,
that the ardent one could k eep her secret, while the insen.
sible k new not how to hold his tongue. S uch as he was,
Maltigues had a great ascendancy over his relative; either
he guessed it, or she told him all; for even from her
habitual wariness she req uired, now and then, to tak
breath, as it were, by an indiscretion. I f Maltigues look
e
ed
on her severely, she was always disturbed; if he seemed
discontented, she would tak e him aside to ask the reason;
if he went away angry, she almost instantly shut herself up
to write to him. I ex plained this to myself from the fact
of his having k nown her from her childhood; he had ma-
naged her affairs since she had lost all nearer ties; but the
chief cause was her proj ect, which I discovered too late,
of marrying him, if I left her; for at no price would she
pass for a deserted woman. S uch a resolution might mak e
you believe that she loved me not; yet love alone could
have induced her preference: but through life she could
mix calculation even with passion, and the factitious pre-
tences of society with her natural feelings. S he wept when
she was agitated, but she could also weep because that was
the way to ex press emotion. S he was happy in being
loved, because she loved, but also because it did her honour
before the world. S he had right impulses while left to
herself, but could only enj
profitable to her self-love. S
and by ' good company,'
oy them if they were rendered
he was a person formed for
and made that false use even of
truth itself, which is so often found in a country where a
zeal for producing effect, by certain sentiments, is much
stronger than the sentiments themselves. I t was long
since I had heard from my father, the war having cut off
all communication. A t last, chance favoured the arrival of
a letter* , in which he adj ured me to return, in the name
? F req uent unex plained chances favour subseq uent letters; indeed, the cor-
respondence henceforth seems to proceed as easily as if the countries had been
at peace-- 1' r.
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? 206 CO R DJ N E ; O B I TA L Y .
of my duty and his affection; at the same time declaring
that, if I married Madame d' A rhigny, I should cause him
the most fatal sorrow; pegging me, at least, to decide on
nothing until I had heard his advice. I replied to him
instantly, giving my word of honour that I would shortly
do as he req uired. Madame d' A rhigny tried, first prayers,
then despondence, to detain me; and finding these fail, re-
sorted to a fresh stratagem; but how could I then suspect
it? S he came to me one morning pale and dishevelled,
threw herself into my arms as if dying with terror, and
besought me to protect her. The order, she said, was
come for her arrest, as sister to Count R aimond, and I
must find her some asylum from her pursuers; at this time
women, indeed, were not spared, and all k inds of horrors
appeared probable. 1 took her to a merchant devoted to
my interest, and hoped to save her, as only Maltigues
shared the secret of her retreat. I n such a situation, how
could I avoid feeling a lively interest in her fate? how
separate myself from her? how say, ' Y ou depend on my
support, and I withdraw it? ' N
image continually haunted me, and I
evertheless my father' s
to entreat her leave for setting forth alone;
ened to give herself up to the assassins if I
and twice, at noonday, rushed from the house in a frantic
state that overwhelmed me with grief and fear. I followed,
vainly conj uring her to return; fortunately it happened
(unless by conspiracy) that each time we were met by
Maltigues, who brought her back with reproaches on her
rashness. O f course I resigned myself to stay, and wrote
to my father, accounting, as well as I could, for my con-
duct; though I blushed at being in F rance, amid the
outrages then acting there, while that country, too, was at
war with my own. Maltigues often rallied me on my
scruples; but, clever as he was, he did not perceive the
effect of his j ests, which revived all the feelings he sought
to ex tinguish. Madame d' A rhigny, however, remark ed
this; but she had no influence over her k insman, who was
often decided by caprice, if self-interest was absent. S he
relapsed into her griefs, both real and assumed, to melt
me; and was never more attractive than while fainting at
took
many occasions
but she threat-
q uitted her,
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? CO H I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 207
my feet; for she k new how to heighten her beauty as well
as her other charms, and wedded each to some emotion in
order to subdue me. Thus did I live, ever anx ious, ever
vacillating, trembling when I received no letter from my
father, still more wretched when I did; enchained by my
infatuation for Madame d' A rbigny, still more dreading her
violence; for, by a strange inconsistency, though the
gentlest, and often the gayest of women, habitually, she
was the most terrible person in a scene. S he wished to
bind me both by pleasure and by fear, and thus always
transformed her nature to her use. O ne day, in S eptem-
ber, 1793, more than a year after my coming to F rance,
I had a brief letter from my father; but its few words were
so afflicting, that I must spare myself their repetition,
Corinne; it would too much unman me. H e was already
ill, though he did not say so; his pride and delicacy for-
bade; but his letter breathed so much distress, both on
account of my absence, and of my possible marriage, that
while reading it I wondered how I
blind to the misfortunes with which I
was now, however, sufficiently awak
more; and went to Madame d' A
could have been so long
was menaced. I
ened to hesitate no
rbigny, perfectly decided to
tak e leave of her. S he perceived this, and at once retiring
within herself, rose, saying, ' B efore you go, you ought to
be informed of a secret which I blush to avow. I f you
abandon me, it is not me alone you k ill. The fruit of my
guilty love will perish with me. ' N othing can describe
my sensations; that new, that sacred duty, absorbed my
whole soul, and made me more submissively her slave than
ever. I would have married her at once, but for the
ruinous conseq uences that must have befallen me, as an
E nglishman, in then and there giving my name to the
civil authorities. I deferred our union, therefore, till we
could fly to E ngland, and determined never to leave my
victim till then. A t first this calmed her; but she soon
renewed her complaints against ine, for not braving all
impediments to mak e her my wife. I should shortly have
bent to her will, for I had fallen into the deepest melan-
choly, and passed whole days alone, without power to move,
-- a prey to an idea which I never confessed to myself,
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? 208CO R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
though its persecution was incessant. I had a foreboding
of my father' s illness, which I considered a weak ness un-
worthy of belief. My reason was so bewildered by the shock
my mistress had dealt me, that I now combated my sense
of duty as a passion; and that which I might have then
thought my passion, tormented me as a duty. Madame
d' A rbigny was perpetually writing me entreaties to visit
her; at last I went, but did not speak on the subj ect which
gave her such rights over me: indeed, she now less fre-
q uently alluded to it herself than I ex pected; but my
sufferings were too great for me to remark that at the
time. O nce, when I had k ept my house for three days,
writing twenty letters to my father, and tearing them all,
M. Maltigues, who seldom sought m>> j came, deputed by his
cousin to tear me from my solitude. Though little interested
in the success of his embassy, as you will discover, he
entered before I
had time to conceal that my face was
bathed in tears. ' W hat is the use of all this, my dear
boy? ' he said; ' either leave my cousin, or marry her.
The one step is as good as the other, each being conclusive. '
. -- ' There are situations in life,' replied I , ' where even
by sacrificing oneself, one may not be able to fulfil every
duty. ' -- '
he added. '
necessary;
That is, there ought to be no such sacrifice,'
I k now of no circumstances in which it is
with a little address one may back out of any
thing. Management is the q ueen of the world. ' -- ' I
covet no such ability,' said I ; ' but at least would wish,
in resigning myself to unhappiness, to afflict no one that
I love. ' -- ' H ave nothing to do, then, with the intricate
work they call love; it is a sick ness of the soul. I am
attack ed by it at times, lik e any one else; but when it so
happens, I tell myself that it shall soon be over, and
always k eep my word. '
with generalities-- for I
him -- I answered, '
S eek ing to deal, lik e himself,
neither could nor would confide in
Do what we will with love, we can-
not banish honour and virtue, that often oppose our in-
clination. ' -- ' I f you mean, by honour, the necessity for
fighting when insulted, there can be no doubt on that
head; but, in other respects, what interest have we in
allowing ourselves to be perplex ed by a thousand fasti-
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 209
dious chimeras? ' -- '
the word in q uestion. '
--
I nterest! ' I repeated; ' that is not
' To speak seriously, ' he re-
turned, ' there are few men who have a clear view of this
subj ect. I k now they formerly talk ed of honourable mis-
fortunes, and glorious falls; but now that all men are per-
secuted, k naves as well as those by courtesy called honest,
the only difference is between the birds who are trap-
ped, and those who escape. ' -- ' I k now of other distinc-
tions,' I replied, ' where prosperity is despised, and misfor-
tune honoured by the good. ' -- ' S how me the good, though,'
he said, ' whose courageous esteem would console you for
your own destruction. O n the contrary, the self-elected
virtuous are those who ex cuse you if happy, and love you
if powerful. I t is very fine in you, no doubt, to repent
thwarting a father, who ought no longer to meddle with
your affairs; yet do any thing rather than linger where
you may lose your life in a thousand ways. F or my
part, whatever happens to me, I would, at any price, spare
my friends the sight of my sufferings, and myself their
long faces of condolence. ' -- ' I n my opinion,' interrupted
I , ' the aim of an honest man' s life is not the happiness
which serves only himself, but the virtue which is useful
toothers. ' -- ' V irtue! ' ex claimed Maltigues, ' virtue'
he hesitated for a moment, then, with more decision, con-
tinued; ' that' s a language for the vulgar, that even
priests cannot talk between themselves without laughing.
There are good souls whom certain harmonious words
still move; for their sak es let the tune be played: all the
poetry that they call conscience and devotion was in-
vented to console those who cannot get on in the world,
lik e the de profundis that is sung for the dead. The living
and the prosperous are by no means ambitious of lik e
homage. ' I was so irritated that I could not help saying
haughtily, ' I shall be sorry, sir, when I have a right in the
house of Madame d' A rbigny, if she persists in receiving
amanwhothink sandspeak sasyoudo. ' -- ' W henthat
time comes,' he answered, ' you may act as you please;
but if my cousin is led by me, she will never marry a man
who look s forward in such affright to his union with her.
I have always, as she can tell you, censured her folly, and
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? 210CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
the means she has wasted on an obj ect so little worth her
trouble. ' A t these words, which their accent rendered still
more insulting, I made him a sign to follow me; and,
on our way, it is but j ustice to tell you that he continued
to develope his system with the greatest possible coolness:
he might be no more in a few minutes, yet said not one
serious, one feeling word.
