N ew doctrines
ever displease the old.
ever displease the old.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
I n leaving the church she leaned
timidly on O swald' s arm, as if to assure herself of his
protection: he look ed on her tenderly, feeling, at the bottom
of his heart, a foe who menaced her repose, and from
whom he had promised to defend her. L ady E dgarmond,
on their return, said to her son-in-law, -- " My mind is
easy: I have confided to you the happiness of my daugh-
ter; and have so short a time to live, that it is a comfort
for me to think my place will be so well supplied. " L ord
N evil was much affected' by these words, and anx
iously
mused on the duties they imposed. A few days elapsed:
L ucy had begun to meet her husband' s eye with confidence,
and mak e her mind k nown to him, when unluck y incidents
disturbed the union commenced under these favourable
auspices.
CH A PTE R I I .
*
Mr. Dick son paid his respects to the young couple, apolo-
gising for not having been present at their marriage. H e
had been ill, he said, from the effects of a fall, though
k indly assisted by the most charming woman in the world.
O swald, at this moment, was playing battledore and
shuttlecock with L ucy, who was very graceful at this
ex ercise. H er bridegroom gazed on her, and listened not
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 355
to Mr. Dick son, who, at last, called to him from the other
end of the room. " My L ord, the fair unk nown, who
came to my aid, had certainly heard much about you, for
she ask ed me many q uestions concerning your fate. " --
" W ho do you mean? " said N evil, continuing his game. --
" A lovely creature, my L ord, although she. look ed changed
by suffering, and could not speak of you without emo-
tion. " * These words attracted O swald' s attention; but
L ucy, perfectly unconcerned, j oined her mother, who had
j ustsentforher. L ordN evilnowask edMr. Dick son
whatladyitwaswhohadthusspok enofhim. " I k now
not," he replied: " her accent proved her E nglish, though
I have rarely found so obliging and easy a person
among our countrywomen. S he took as much care of a
poor old man lik e me as if she had been my own child:
while I
dear O
I taly?
was beside her, I did not feel my bruises; but, my
swald, have you been faithless here as well as in
My beauteous benefactress trembled and turned
pale at naming you. " -- " J ust heaven! " ex claimed N evil,
" yousaidanE nglishwoman? " -- " O hyes:youk now
foreigners never pronounce our language without a certain
intonation. " -- " A nd her face? " -- " The most ex pressive
I ever saw, though fearfully pale and thin. " This de-
scription suited not the bright Corinne; yet might she not
have suffered much, if in E ngland, and unable to find the
being she sought? This dread fell suddenly on O swald,
who continued his q uestions with ex treme uneasiness.
A ir. Dick son replied that the lady conversed with an ele-
gance which he had never before met, that the gentlest k ind-
ness spok e from her sad and languid eyes. " Did you
notice their colour? " ask edO swald. -- " Magnificently dark ! "
The catechist trembled. " F rom time to time," continued
Mr. Dick son, " she interrogated, or answered, me, and
what she did say was delightful. " H e would have pro-
ceeded, but L ady N evil, with her mother, rej oined them;
and O
Dick
swald hastily retired, hoping soon again to find Mr.
son alone. S truck by his sadness, L ady E
dgarmond sent
swald' s circumstances, such a
t is unpardonable, as
* ' E ven had not Mr. Dick son been aware of O
speech before his bride would have been bad enough. I
he k new so much Tit.
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? 856 CO R I N N E ; O H I TA L Y .
L ucy away, that she might enq uire its cause. H er guest
simply repeated what had passed: terrified at anticipating
the despair of O swald, if he were assured that Corinne had
followed him to S cotland; foreseeing, too, that he would
resume this topic, she instructed Mr. Dick son as to what
she wished said to her son-in-law. Thus the old gentle-
man only increased the anx iety it was too late to remove.
O swald now ask ed his servant if all the letters sent him
within the last three week s had come by post. * The
man ' believed they had,' and was leaving the room; but,
turning back , added, " I remember that, on the ball night,
a blind man gave me one for your L ordship. I supposed
it a petition for charity. " -- " I received none such: could
youfindthisman? " -- " Y es,myL ord,directly; helives
in the village. " -- " Go, bring him to me! " said N evil;
and, unable to wait patiently, walk ed out to meet him at
the end of the avenue. " S o, my friend," he said, " you
brought a letter here for me, on the evening of the ball;
whogaveittoyou? " -- " MyL ord,yeseeI ' mblind; how
wadI k en? " -- " Doyouthink itwasafemale? " -- " E ch,
fine that, my L ord! for I hard weel eneuch that she was
vera soft voiced, though I j aloused the while that she was
greeting. " -- " A ndwhatdidshesaytoyou? " -- " O h,sir,
she said, ' Gude auld man, gie this to O
and there stopped, but syne she added, '
N evil' s. ' " -- " A h, Corinne!
swald' s servant,'
I mean L ord
" ex claimed O swald, and grew
so faint that he was forced to support himself on the poor
creature' s arm, who continued, " I was sitting under a tree
j ust, and wished to do the leddy' s bidding diract, but could
scarce raise mysel, being auld the noo: weel, after giein
me mair siller than I ' d had for lang, she was that free she
lent me her hand, puir thing! it trembled j ust as your
L ordship' s does this minute," -- " E nough ! " sighed N evil.
" H ere, my good friend, as she gave you money, let me do
so too: go, and pray for us both! " H e withdrew.
F rom this moment a terrible agitation preyed on his
mind: he made a thousand useless enq uiries, unable to
conceive the possibility of Corinne' s having been in S cotland
* I wonder he had not observed that Corinne' s bore no post-mark . -- Tr.
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 357
without seek ing him. H e formed various conj ectures, as to
her motives; and, in spite of all his endeavours to conceal it,
this affliction was evident to L ady E dgarmond, nay, even to
L ucy. A ll was constraint and silence. A t this time O swald
wrote first to Caste! F orte. H ad Corinne read that letter, it
would much have softened her resentment.
Count d' E rfeuil j oined the N evils ere the Prince' s
reply arrived. H e said no more of Corinne than was
necessary, yet felt vex ed at their not perceiving that he had
an important secret in his power, though too discreet to
betray it. H is insinuations at first took no effect upon
O swald; but, when he detected that they referred to
Corinne, he was all curiosity. The Count having brought
him to this, defended his own trust pretty bravely; at last,
however, his friend drew forth the whole truth. I t was
a pleasure for d' E rfeuil to relate how grateful Corinne
had felt, and in what a wretched state he had found her:
he ran on, without observing how he agonised L ord
N evil: his only obj ect was that of being the hero of his
own story; when he ceased, he was much afflicted at the
mischief he had done. O swald had commanded himself
till then, but suddenly became distracted with regret; accused
himself as the most barbarous and ungrateful of men; raved
of Corinne' s devoted tenderness; her generosity at the very
moment when she believed him most culpable. H e con-
trasted this with the heartless fick leness by which he had
req uited her; incessantly repeating that no one ever loved
him as she did; and that he should in some way be ulti-
mately punished for his cruelty. H e would have set forth
to see her, if only for a day, an hour; but R ome and
F lorence were already occupied by the F rench: his regi-
ment was about to embark ; he could not forfeit his own
honour, nor break the heart of his wife; indeed, no faults
he might now commit could repair the past; they would
but add to the misery he had occasioned. The only hope
that calmed him was derived from the dangers he was
about to brave. I n this mood he wrote again to Castel
F orte, whose replies represented Corinne as sad, but re-
signed: his pride in her softened rather than ex aggerated
the truth. O swald believed that he ought not to torture
aA3
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? 358 corinne; or I taly.
her by his regrets, after having so wronged her by his
love,-- and left B ritain with a sense of remorse which nearly
rendered life insupportable.
CH A PTE R I I I .
L ucy was afflicted by his departure; yet his recent gloom
had so increased her natural timidity, that she had never
found courage to confide in him her hopes of becoming a
mother; but left it for L ady E dgarmond to send these
tidings after him. N evil, unable to guess what passed in
his wife' s heart, had thought her farewell cold; compared
her silent submission with the eloq uence of Corinne, and
hesitated not to believe that L ucy loved him but feebly;
yet, during his absence, scarcely could even the birth of
their daughter divert her mind from his perils. A nother
grief was added to all this. D' E rfeuil spent a year in
S cotland, strongly persuaded that he had not revealed the
secret of Corinne' s soj ourn there; but he said so much that
implied it, and found such difficulty, when conversation
flagged, in avoiding the theme most interesting to L ady
N evil, that she at last learnt the whole truth. I nnocent
as she was, it req uired even less art than she possessed
to draw d' E rfeuil out upon a favourite subj ect. L ady
E dgarmond was too ill to be present at these conversations;
but when she q uestioned her daughter on the melancholy
she detected, L ucy told all. H er mother spok e very severely
on Corinne' s pursuit of O swald. L ucy was alternately
j ealous of her sister, and indignant against her husband,
for deserting one to whom he had been so dear. S he
could not help trembling for her own peace, with a man
who had thus wreck ed that of another. S he had ever
cherished a grateful recollection of her early instructress,
which now blended with sympathy: far from feeling
flattered by O swald' s sacrifice, she was tormented by the
idea that he had chosen her merely because her position in
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 359
the world was more advantageous than that of Corinne.
S he remembered his hesitation before marriage, his sadness
so soon after, and every thing confirmed the cruel belief
that her husband loved her not. L ady E dgarmond might
have been of great service to her daughter, had she striven
to calm her; but she too intolerantly anathematised all
sentiments that deviated from the line of duty; nor
dreamt of tenderly leading a wanderer back , think ing that
the only way to awak e conscience was by j ust resentment.
S he was mortified that so lovely a woman should be so ill
appreciated; and aggravated L ucy' s fears, in order to
ex cite her pride. L ady N evil, more gentle and enlightened
than her mother, could not rigorously follow such advice;
yet her letters to O swald were always far colder than her
heart. Meanwhile he was distinguishing himself nobly,
ex posing his life, not merely in honourable enthusiasm,
but in a positive love of peril. H e appeared most gay
when most actively employed, and would blush with
pleasure when the tumult of battle commenced. A t such
moments a weight seemed lifted from his heart, and he
could breathe with ease. The popularity he enj oyed
among his fellow-soldiers animated the ex istence it could
not render happy, and almost blinded him both to the past
and future. H e grew accustomed to the luk ewarm cor-
respondence of his wife, whom he did not suppose offended
with him. W hen he remembered her it was as a being
worthy of his protection, and whose mind he ought to
spare from all deeply serious thoughts. B ut in those
splendid tropic nights, that give so grand an idea of nature
and its A uthor, the image of Corinne was often with him;
yet, as both war and climate menaced his life each hour,
he ex cused his lingering memory. A t the approach of
eternity, we forgive and hope to be forgiven. H e thought
but of the tears his death would cause her, not upon those
his errors had ex torted. I t was natural he should think
most of her; they had so often talk ed of immortality, and
sounded every depth of solemn feeling: he fancied that he
still conversed with her, while occupied by the great
thoughts the spectacles of war invariably suggest. I t was
to Corinne he spok e in solitude, although he k new that
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? 36 0 corinne; or italy.
she must sadly blame him. S pite absence, distance, time,
and every change, they seemed to understand each other
still.
A t last his regiment was ordered home. The monotony
of shipboard pleased him less than had the stir of arms.
E x ternal ex citement supplied some of the imaginative j oys
he owed to his intercourse with Corinne. H e had not yet
attempted to live calmly without her. The proofs of de-
votion his soldiers gave him somewhat beguiled the voyage;
but even that interest failed on their landing in E ngland.
CH A PTE R I V .
N evil had now to renew his acq uaintance with his own
family, after four years' separation. H e arrived at L ady
E dgarmond' s castle in N orthumberland. L ucy presented
her child with as much diffidence as if she had deemed
herself guilty. H er imagination had been so occupied by
her sister, during the period of her maternal ex pectations,
that little J uliet displayed the dark eyes and hair of Co-
rinne. H er father, in wild agitation, pressed her to his
heart; and from that instant L ucy could not tak e un-
q ualified delight in his affection for his daughter. The
young wife was now nearly twenty. H er beauty had
attained a dignity which inspired N evil with respect.
L ady E dgarmond was too infirm to leave her bed; yet,
though this tried her temper, she received her son-in-law
with satisfaction; having feared that she should die in his
absence, and leave her daughter alone upon the world.
O swald, so long accustomed to a military career, found it
very difficult to remain nearly all day in the chamber of
an invalid, who received no one but himself and wife.
L ucy dearly loved her lord; but, believing her affection
unprized, concealed what she k new of his passion for Co-
rinne, and became more silent than ever. Mild as she was,
her mother had so influenced her, that when O swald hinted
at the added charm she would gain by a little animation,
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 36 1
she received this but as a proof that he still preferred her
sister, and was too hurt to profit by it: he could not speak
of the fine arts without occasioning her a sadness that re-
pressed his enthusiasm. H ad she been better taught, she
would have treasured up his lightest word, that she might
study how to please him. L ady E dgarmond evinced a
growing distaste for all deviations from her habitual rou-
tine: her irritated nerves shrunk from every sound. S he
would have reduced life to a state of stagnation, as if the
less to regret its loss: but, as few lik e to confess their
personal motives for certain opinions, she supported hers
on the general principles of ex aggerated morality; and
disenchanted life, by mak ing sins of its least amusements,--
by opposing some duty to every employment which would
have made to-day differ from yesterday or to-morrow.
L ucy, duteous as she was, had so much flex ibility of mind
that she would have j oined her husband in gently reasoning
with this ex acting austerity, had she not been persuaded
that it was adopted merely to discountenance O swald' s
I talian predilections. " Y ou must struggle most perse-
veringly," would her mother say, " against any return of
that dangerous infatuation. " L ord N evil had a great
reverence for duty; but he understood it in a wider sense
than that of L ady E dgarmond: tracing it to its source, he
found that it might perfectly accord with natural inclin-
ation, instead of req uiring perpetual combats and sacrifices.
V irtue, he thought, far from rendering life a torture, con-
tributes to the duration of its happiness, and may be consi-
dered as a sort of prescience granted " to man alone beneath
the heaven. " S ometimes, in ex plaining these ideas, he
yielded to the pleasure of q uoting Corinne; but such lan-
guage always offended his mother-in-law.
N ew doctrines
ever displease the old. They lik e to fancy that the world
has been losing wisdom, instead of gaining it, since they
were young. L ucy' s heart instinctively detected the
echoes of her sister' s voice in the sentiments O swald
breathed with so much ardour. S he would cast down her
eyes to hide this consciousness: her husband, utterly un-
aware of it, attributed her apparent insensibility to want
of comprehension; and not k nowing where to seek con-
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? 36 2 corinne; or italy.
geniality sunk into despondence. H e wrote to Castel
F orte for news of Corinne; but the war prevented the
letter' s arrival. H is health suffered from the cold of E ng-
land; and the physicians assured him that his chest would
be again attack ed, if he did not pass the winter in I taly.
H e told this to his wife and mother, adding, that the war
between F
tour. " A
rance and E ngland must at present prevent his
nd when peace is concluded," said L ady E d-
garmond, " I should hope, my L ord, that you would not
think of returning to I taly. " -- " I f his health depends on
it," ventured L ucy, " ' he could not do better. "
O swald
ex pressed much gratitude for her k indness. A las! his
thank s but assured her of his love for another.
W ar ceased; and every time O swald complained, L ucy'
heart was divided between her dread of his departure for
I taly, and her fondness, which over-rated his indisposition.
H e attributed her doubt of the necessity for this voyage
to selfishness: thus each wounded the other' s feelings,
because neither dared confess their own. A ll these inter-
ests were soon absorbed in the state of L ady E dgarmond,
who was now speechless, and could only ex press herself by
tears, or by the manner in which she pressed their hands.
L ucy was in despair. O swald sat up every night with
her. I t was now December; and these cares were highly
inj urious to him, though they seemed much to gratify the
sufferer, whose faults disappeared j ust as her agonies would
have ex cused them. The approach of death stills all the
tumults of soul from which most of our errors proceed.
O n her last night she j oined the hands of O swald and
L ucy, pressed them to her heart, and raised her eyes to
heaven; no longer deploring the voice which could have
added nothing to the impressiveness of that action, -- that
s
look . I
L ord N
for her sak
n a few seconds she ex pired.
evil, who had supported himself by great effort,
e, now became dangerously ill, and poor L ucy'
s
distress was thus redoubled. I n his delirium, he often
named Corinne, and I taly, sighing, " O h, for the south-
ern sun! it is so cold in the north here: I shall never be
warm again. " W hen he recovered his senses he was sur-
prised at finding that L ucy had prepared every thing for
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 36 3
his voyage: she merely repeated the advice of his phy-
sicians, adding, " I f you will permit it, I shall accompany
you;
-- "
this j
and our child ought not to be parted from her parents. "
N o, no, we will not part,"
ourney would pain you, I
he answered; " but if
renounce it" -- " That
swald took her hand,
will not pain me," she replied. O
and gazed enq uiringly on her: she would have ex plained
herself; but the memory of her mother' s advice never to
betray a sign of j ealousy, reproved her, and she added,--
" Y oumustbesure,myL ord,thatmyfirstobj ectisthe
re-establishment of your health. " --
I taly," continued he. -- " I
k
" Y ou have a sister in
now it: have you any tidings
ofher? " -- " N eversinceI leftforA merica. " -- " W ell,
myL ord,weshalllearnallinI taly. " -- " A reyouthen
interested in her still ? " -- " Y es; I have not forgotten
the tenderness she showed my childhood. " -- " W e ought
not to forget," sighed N evil; and both again were silent.
O swald had too much delicacy to desire a renewal of his
former ties with Corinne; but he thought that it would be
sweet to die in I taly, after receiving her pardon and
adieu. H e little deemed that his delirium had betrayed
him, and did inj ustice to the mind of his wife; because it
had rather shown him the opinion of others than what
she felt herself, he believed she loved him as much as
she could love, but he k new nothing of her sensibility; at
present her pride disguised it; but, had she been perfectly
happy, she would have thought it improper to avow a pas-
sionate affection even for her own husband; capable as
she was of it, education had convinced her that it would be
immodest to profess this feeling; but nothing could teach
her to tak e pleasure in speak ing of any thing else.
CHAPTER V.
O swald, dislik ing all recollections of F rance, crossed it
very hastily. L ucy evinced neither wish nor will of any
k ind, but left it for him to decide every thing. They
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? 36 4 corinne; or italy.
reached the base of the mountains that separate Dauphine
from S avoy, and ascended the Pas des E ehelles on foot:
this road is dug in the rock s; its entrance resembles a deep
cavern; it is dark throughout, even in the brightest days
of summer. A s yet they found no snow; but autumn,
the season of decay, was herself fast fading. The road
was covered with dead leaves, borne to this region on the
gale, from the distant trees. Thus they saw the wreck of
nature, without beholding any promise of her revival.
The sight of the mountains charmed L ord N evil: while
we live among plains, the earth seems only made to bear
and nourish man; but in picturesq ue countries we see the
impress of their Creator' s power and genius; yet man is
every where familiarised with nature: the roads he frames
ascend the steep, or fathom the abyss; nothing is inacces-
sible to him, save the great mystery of his own being. I n
Morienne the winter was more rigorously felt at every
step: one might fancy one' s self wending northward, in
approaching Mont Cenis. L ucy, who had never travelled
before, was alarmed at finding the ice render the horses'
pace unsteady: she hid her fears, but reproached herself
for having brought her little one with her; often doubting
whether the resolve to do so had been purely moral, or
whether the hope of growing dearer to O swald, by con-
stantly associating her image with that of their beloved
child, had not deadened her to the risk s J uliet would thus
incur. L ucy was apt to perplex her mind with secret
scruples of conscience; the more virtuous we are the more
this k ind of fastidiousness increases: she had no resource,
save in her long and silent prayers, which somewhat tran-
q uillised her spirit. The landscape now took a more terrific
character: the snow fell heavily on ground already covered
with it. They seemed entering the H ell of I ce described
by Dante. F rom the foot of the precipices to the moun-
tain tops all varieties were concealed. The pines, now
clothed in white, were mirrored in the water lik e spectral
trees. O swald and L ucy gazed in silence; speech would
have seemed presumptuous; nature was frozen into dumb-
ness, and they were mute lik e her. S uddenly they per-
ceived, on an immense ex tent of snow, a long file of dark ly
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? corinne; or italy. 36 5
clad figures carrying a bier towards a church. These
priests, the only living beings who brok e this desert soli-
tude, preserved their wonted pace. The thought of death
lent it a gravity which not even the bleak ness of the air
tempted them to forget. H ere was the mourning of na-
ture and of man for vegetable and for human life. N o
colour was left, -- that black , that white, thus united,
struck the soul with awe. " W hat a sad omen ! "
L ady N evil. -- " L ucy," interrupted O swald, "
sighed
trust me,
itisnotforyou. " -- " A las! " hethought," itwasnot
beneath such auspices I travelled with Corinne. W here is
she now? may not these gloomy obj ects be but warnings
of what I am to suffer? " L ucy' s nerves were shak en by
the terrors of her j ourney. This k ind of fear is almost
unk nown to an intrepid man; and she mistook for care-
lessness of her, O swald' s ignorance of such alarm' s possible
ex istence. The common people, who have no better ex er-
cise for fancy, love to ex aggerate all hazards, and delight in
the effect they thus produce on their superiors. The inn-
k eepers, every winter, tell their guests wild tales of " le
Mont," as if it were an immovable monster, guarding the
vales that lead to the land of promise. They watch the
weather for formidable symptoms, and beg all foreigners to
avoid crossing Mont Cenis during la tourmente. This is
a wind announced by a white cloud, spread lik e a sheet
in the air, and by degrees covering the whole horizon.
L ucy had gained all possible information, unk nown to
N evil, who was too much occupied by the sensation of re-
entering I taly to think on these reports. The possible
end and aim of his pilgrimage agitated his wife still more
than did the j ourney itself, and she j udged every thing un-
favourably. I n the morning of their ascent, several pea-
sants beset her with forebodings; those hired to carry her
up the mountain, however, assured her that there was no-
thing to apprehend: she look ed at N evil, and saw that he
laughed at these predictions; therefore, piq ued by his se-
curity, she professed herself ready to depart. H e k new
not how much this resolution cost her, but mounted a horse
and followed the litter which bore his wife and child. The
way was easy, till they were about the centre of the flat
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? 36 ' 6 CO R I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
which precedes the descent, when a violent hurricane arose.
Drifts of snow blinded L ucy' s bearers, and often hid O s-
wald from her view. The religious men who devote their
lives to succour travellers on the A lps began to ring their
alarm bell; yet, though this sound proclaimed the neigh-
bourhood of benevolent pity, its rapid and heavy repetition
seemed more ex pressive of dismay than assistance. L ucy
hoped that O swald would propose passing the night at this
monastery; but, as she said nothing, he thought it best to
hasten on, while daylight lasted. L ucy' s bearers enq uired,
with some uneasiness, if she wished them to descend.
" Y es," she said, " since my L ord does not oppose it. "
erred in thus suppressing her feelings: the presence of her
child would have ex cused them; but, while we love one by
whom we cannot deem ourselves beloved, each instant
brings its own sense of humiliation. O swald remained on
horseback , though that was the least safe method of descent,
but he believed himself thus secure against losing sight of
his wife and child. F rom the summit L ucy look ed down
on the abrupt road which she would have tak en for a pre-
cipice, had not steeps still more perpendicular been close at
hand. S he pressed her darling to her heart with strong
emotion. O swald observed this, and, q uitting his saddle,
j oined the men who carried her litter. The graceful zeal
with which he did this filled her eyes with tears; but, at
that instant, the whirlwind rose so furiously that her bearers
fell on their k nees, ex claiming, " O h God, protect us! "
L ucy regained her courage; and, raising herself, held
J uliet towards L ord N evil. " Tak e your child, my love!
she said. O swald received it, answering, " A nd you too--
S he
come,I cancarryyeboth! " -- " N o," shesaid," only
save her! " -- " S ave! " he repeated: " is there any dan-
ger? Unhappy wretches-- why did you not tell us? "
-- " They did," interrupted L ucy. -- " A nd you concealed
it from me? H ow have I merited this cruel reserve? "
H e wrapped his cloak round J uliet, and cast down his eyes
in deep disq uietude; but H eaven most mercifully appeased
the storm, and lent a ray which showed them the fertile
plains of Piedmont. I n another hour they arrive' d un-
harmed at N ovalaise, the first I talian town after crossing
"
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? O O R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 36 7
Mont Cenis. O n entering the inn, L ucy embraced her
child, and returned her fervent thank s to God. O swald
leaned pensively near the fire, and, when she rose, held out
his hand to her, saying, " Y ou were alarmed then, love? "
-- " Y es,dear. " -- " W hywouldyougoon? " -- " Y ou
seemed impatient to proceed. " -- " Do you not k now that,
above all things, I dread ex posing you to pain or danger? "
-- " I tisforJ ulietthattheyaretobedreaded," shere-
plied, tak ing the little one on her lap to warm it, and
twisting round her fingers the beautiful black curls that the
snow had matted on that fair brow. * The mother and
child formed so charming a picture, that O swald gazed on
them with tender admiration; but L ucy' s silence dis-
couraged the feeling which might else have led to a mutual
understanding. They arrived at Turin, where the season
was unusually severe. The vast apartments of I taly were
destined to receive the sun. Their freshness in summer is
most welcome; but, in the depth of winter, they seem
cheerless deserts; and their possessors feel lik e pigmies in
the abode of giants. The death of A lfieri had j ust oc-
casioned a general mourning among his proud countrymen.
N evil no longer recognised the gaiety formerly so dear to
him. The absence of her he loved disenchanted both
nature and art: he sought intelligence of her, and learnt
that for five years she had published nothing, but lived in
B eclusion at F lorence. H e resolved on going thither; not to
remain, and thus violate the affection he owed to L ucy, but
to tell Corinne how ignorant he had been of her residence
in S cotland. I n crossing L ombardy he sighed, " H ow
beautiful this was, when all those elms were in full leaf,
with vines link ing them together ! " -- " H ow beautiful it
was," thought L ucy, " while Corinne shared it with you! "
A humid fog, such as oft arises in so well watered a land,
obscured their view of the country. During the night they
heard the deluge of southern rain fall on, nay, through the
roof, as if water were pursuing them with all the avidity of
* Madame de S tael gave L ucy, at three years of age, hair long enough to
mak e a bracelet. S he was think ing of F rench children. The formal E dgar,
monds were not more lik ely to deviate from the E nglish fashion than to
Christen N evil' s daughter J uliette. -- in.
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? 36 8C0R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
fire. L ucy sought in vain for the charm of I taly: it
seemed that every thing conspired to veil it in gloom for
O swald and herself.
CH A PTE R V I .
S inceL ordN evilhadbeeninI taly,hehadnotspok ena
word of the language; it even made him ill to hear it.
O n the evening of his arrival at Milan he heard a tap at
the door, which was followed by the entrance of a man,
whose dark and prominent face would have been ex pressive,
if animated by natural enthusiasm: it wore an unvaryingly
giacious smile, and a look that strove to be poetical. H e
stood at the door, improvising verses in praise of the
group before him, but such as might have suited any other
husband, wife, or child, j ust as truly; and so ex aggerated,
that the speak er seemed to think poetry ought to have no
connection with truth. O swald perceived that he was a
R oman; yet, harmonious as were the sounds he uttered,
the vehemence of his declamation served but to indicate
more plainly the unmeaning insipidity of all he said.
N othing could be more painful for O swald than to hear
the R oman tongue thus spok en, for the first time after so
long an interval, to see his dearest memories travestied,
and feel his melancholy renewed by an obj ect so ridiculous.
L ucy guessed all this, and would have dismissed the im-
provisatore; but it was impossible to mak e him hear her:
he paced the chamber all gesture and ex clamation, heedless
of the disgust he dealt his hearers, proceeding lik e a
machine that could not stop till after a certain moment.
A t last that time arrived, and L ucy paid him to depart.
" Poetic language," said O swald, " is so easily parodied
here, that it ought to be forbidden all save those who are
worthy to employ it. " -- " True," observed L ucy, perhaps
a little too pointedly: " it is very disagreeable to be re-
minded of what you admire, by such a burlesq ue as we
have j ust endured. " -- " N ot so," he answered; " the con-
trast only mak es me more deeply feel the power of genius.
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timidly on O swald' s arm, as if to assure herself of his
protection: he look ed on her tenderly, feeling, at the bottom
of his heart, a foe who menaced her repose, and from
whom he had promised to defend her. L ady E dgarmond,
on their return, said to her son-in-law, -- " My mind is
easy: I have confided to you the happiness of my daugh-
ter; and have so short a time to live, that it is a comfort
for me to think my place will be so well supplied. " L ord
N evil was much affected' by these words, and anx
iously
mused on the duties they imposed. A few days elapsed:
L ucy had begun to meet her husband' s eye with confidence,
and mak e her mind k nown to him, when unluck y incidents
disturbed the union commenced under these favourable
auspices.
CH A PTE R I I .
*
Mr. Dick son paid his respects to the young couple, apolo-
gising for not having been present at their marriage. H e
had been ill, he said, from the effects of a fall, though
k indly assisted by the most charming woman in the world.
O swald, at this moment, was playing battledore and
shuttlecock with L ucy, who was very graceful at this
ex ercise. H er bridegroom gazed on her, and listened not
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 355
to Mr. Dick son, who, at last, called to him from the other
end of the room. " My L ord, the fair unk nown, who
came to my aid, had certainly heard much about you, for
she ask ed me many q uestions concerning your fate. " --
" W ho do you mean? " said N evil, continuing his game. --
" A lovely creature, my L ord, although she. look ed changed
by suffering, and could not speak of you without emo-
tion. " * These words attracted O swald' s attention; but
L ucy, perfectly unconcerned, j oined her mother, who had
j ustsentforher. L ordN evilnowask edMr. Dick son
whatladyitwaswhohadthusspok enofhim. " I k now
not," he replied: " her accent proved her E nglish, though
I have rarely found so obliging and easy a person
among our countrywomen. S he took as much care of a
poor old man lik e me as if she had been my own child:
while I
dear O
I taly?
was beside her, I did not feel my bruises; but, my
swald, have you been faithless here as well as in
My beauteous benefactress trembled and turned
pale at naming you. " -- " J ust heaven! " ex claimed N evil,
" yousaidanE nglishwoman? " -- " O hyes:youk now
foreigners never pronounce our language without a certain
intonation. " -- " A nd her face? " -- " The most ex pressive
I ever saw, though fearfully pale and thin. " This de-
scription suited not the bright Corinne; yet might she not
have suffered much, if in E ngland, and unable to find the
being she sought? This dread fell suddenly on O swald,
who continued his q uestions with ex treme uneasiness.
A ir. Dick son replied that the lady conversed with an ele-
gance which he had never before met, that the gentlest k ind-
ness spok e from her sad and languid eyes. " Did you
notice their colour? " ask edO swald. -- " Magnificently dark ! "
The catechist trembled. " F rom time to time," continued
Mr. Dick son, " she interrogated, or answered, me, and
what she did say was delightful. " H e would have pro-
ceeded, but L ady N evil, with her mother, rej oined them;
and O
Dick
swald hastily retired, hoping soon again to find Mr.
son alone. S truck by his sadness, L ady E
dgarmond sent
swald' s circumstances, such a
t is unpardonable, as
* ' E ven had not Mr. Dick son been aware of O
speech before his bride would have been bad enough. I
he k new so much Tit.
AA2
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? 856 CO R I N N E ; O H I TA L Y .
L ucy away, that she might enq uire its cause. H er guest
simply repeated what had passed: terrified at anticipating
the despair of O swald, if he were assured that Corinne had
followed him to S cotland; foreseeing, too, that he would
resume this topic, she instructed Mr. Dick son as to what
she wished said to her son-in-law. Thus the old gentle-
man only increased the anx iety it was too late to remove.
O swald now ask ed his servant if all the letters sent him
within the last three week s had come by post. * The
man ' believed they had,' and was leaving the room; but,
turning back , added, " I remember that, on the ball night,
a blind man gave me one for your L ordship. I supposed
it a petition for charity. " -- " I received none such: could
youfindthisman? " -- " Y es,myL ord,directly; helives
in the village. " -- " Go, bring him to me! " said N evil;
and, unable to wait patiently, walk ed out to meet him at
the end of the avenue. " S o, my friend," he said, " you
brought a letter here for me, on the evening of the ball;
whogaveittoyou? " -- " MyL ord,yeseeI ' mblind; how
wadI k en? " -- " Doyouthink itwasafemale? " -- " E ch,
fine that, my L ord! for I hard weel eneuch that she was
vera soft voiced, though I j aloused the while that she was
greeting. " -- " A ndwhatdidshesaytoyou? " -- " O h,sir,
she said, ' Gude auld man, gie this to O
and there stopped, but syne she added, '
N evil' s. ' " -- " A h, Corinne!
swald' s servant,'
I mean L ord
" ex claimed O swald, and grew
so faint that he was forced to support himself on the poor
creature' s arm, who continued, " I was sitting under a tree
j ust, and wished to do the leddy' s bidding diract, but could
scarce raise mysel, being auld the noo: weel, after giein
me mair siller than I ' d had for lang, she was that free she
lent me her hand, puir thing! it trembled j ust as your
L ordship' s does this minute," -- " E nough ! " sighed N evil.
" H ere, my good friend, as she gave you money, let me do
so too: go, and pray for us both! " H e withdrew.
F rom this moment a terrible agitation preyed on his
mind: he made a thousand useless enq uiries, unable to
conceive the possibility of Corinne' s having been in S cotland
* I wonder he had not observed that Corinne' s bore no post-mark . -- Tr.
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 357
without seek ing him. H e formed various conj ectures, as to
her motives; and, in spite of all his endeavours to conceal it,
this affliction was evident to L ady E dgarmond, nay, even to
L ucy. A ll was constraint and silence. A t this time O swald
wrote first to Caste! F orte. H ad Corinne read that letter, it
would much have softened her resentment.
Count d' E rfeuil j oined the N evils ere the Prince' s
reply arrived. H e said no more of Corinne than was
necessary, yet felt vex ed at their not perceiving that he had
an important secret in his power, though too discreet to
betray it. H is insinuations at first took no effect upon
O swald; but, when he detected that they referred to
Corinne, he was all curiosity. The Count having brought
him to this, defended his own trust pretty bravely; at last,
however, his friend drew forth the whole truth. I t was
a pleasure for d' E rfeuil to relate how grateful Corinne
had felt, and in what a wretched state he had found her:
he ran on, without observing how he agonised L ord
N evil: his only obj ect was that of being the hero of his
own story; when he ceased, he was much afflicted at the
mischief he had done. O swald had commanded himself
till then, but suddenly became distracted with regret; accused
himself as the most barbarous and ungrateful of men; raved
of Corinne' s devoted tenderness; her generosity at the very
moment when she believed him most culpable. H e con-
trasted this with the heartless fick leness by which he had
req uited her; incessantly repeating that no one ever loved
him as she did; and that he should in some way be ulti-
mately punished for his cruelty. H e would have set forth
to see her, if only for a day, an hour; but R ome and
F lorence were already occupied by the F rench: his regi-
ment was about to embark ; he could not forfeit his own
honour, nor break the heart of his wife; indeed, no faults
he might now commit could repair the past; they would
but add to the misery he had occasioned. The only hope
that calmed him was derived from the dangers he was
about to brave. I n this mood he wrote again to Castel
F orte, whose replies represented Corinne as sad, but re-
signed: his pride in her softened rather than ex aggerated
the truth. O swald believed that he ought not to torture
aA3
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? 358 corinne; or I taly.
her by his regrets, after having so wronged her by his
love,-- and left B ritain with a sense of remorse which nearly
rendered life insupportable.
CH A PTE R I I I .
L ucy was afflicted by his departure; yet his recent gloom
had so increased her natural timidity, that she had never
found courage to confide in him her hopes of becoming a
mother; but left it for L ady E dgarmond to send these
tidings after him. N evil, unable to guess what passed in
his wife' s heart, had thought her farewell cold; compared
her silent submission with the eloq uence of Corinne, and
hesitated not to believe that L ucy loved him but feebly;
yet, during his absence, scarcely could even the birth of
their daughter divert her mind from his perils. A nother
grief was added to all this. D' E rfeuil spent a year in
S cotland, strongly persuaded that he had not revealed the
secret of Corinne' s soj ourn there; but he said so much that
implied it, and found such difficulty, when conversation
flagged, in avoiding the theme most interesting to L ady
N evil, that she at last learnt the whole truth. I nnocent
as she was, it req uired even less art than she possessed
to draw d' E rfeuil out upon a favourite subj ect. L ady
E dgarmond was too ill to be present at these conversations;
but when she q uestioned her daughter on the melancholy
she detected, L ucy told all. H er mother spok e very severely
on Corinne' s pursuit of O swald. L ucy was alternately
j ealous of her sister, and indignant against her husband,
for deserting one to whom he had been so dear. S he
could not help trembling for her own peace, with a man
who had thus wreck ed that of another. S he had ever
cherished a grateful recollection of her early instructress,
which now blended with sympathy: far from feeling
flattered by O swald' s sacrifice, she was tormented by the
idea that he had chosen her merely because her position in
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 359
the world was more advantageous than that of Corinne.
S he remembered his hesitation before marriage, his sadness
so soon after, and every thing confirmed the cruel belief
that her husband loved her not. L ady E dgarmond might
have been of great service to her daughter, had she striven
to calm her; but she too intolerantly anathematised all
sentiments that deviated from the line of duty; nor
dreamt of tenderly leading a wanderer back , think ing that
the only way to awak e conscience was by j ust resentment.
S he was mortified that so lovely a woman should be so ill
appreciated; and aggravated L ucy' s fears, in order to
ex cite her pride. L ady N evil, more gentle and enlightened
than her mother, could not rigorously follow such advice;
yet her letters to O swald were always far colder than her
heart. Meanwhile he was distinguishing himself nobly,
ex posing his life, not merely in honourable enthusiasm,
but in a positive love of peril. H e appeared most gay
when most actively employed, and would blush with
pleasure when the tumult of battle commenced. A t such
moments a weight seemed lifted from his heart, and he
could breathe with ease. The popularity he enj oyed
among his fellow-soldiers animated the ex istence it could
not render happy, and almost blinded him both to the past
and future. H e grew accustomed to the luk ewarm cor-
respondence of his wife, whom he did not suppose offended
with him. W hen he remembered her it was as a being
worthy of his protection, and whose mind he ought to
spare from all deeply serious thoughts. B ut in those
splendid tropic nights, that give so grand an idea of nature
and its A uthor, the image of Corinne was often with him;
yet, as both war and climate menaced his life each hour,
he ex cused his lingering memory. A t the approach of
eternity, we forgive and hope to be forgiven. H e thought
but of the tears his death would cause her, not upon those
his errors had ex torted. I t was natural he should think
most of her; they had so often talk ed of immortality, and
sounded every depth of solemn feeling: he fancied that he
still conversed with her, while occupied by the great
thoughts the spectacles of war invariably suggest. I t was
to Corinne he spok e in solitude, although he k new that
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? 36 0 corinne; or italy.
she must sadly blame him. S pite absence, distance, time,
and every change, they seemed to understand each other
still.
A t last his regiment was ordered home. The monotony
of shipboard pleased him less than had the stir of arms.
E x ternal ex citement supplied some of the imaginative j oys
he owed to his intercourse with Corinne. H e had not yet
attempted to live calmly without her. The proofs of de-
votion his soldiers gave him somewhat beguiled the voyage;
but even that interest failed on their landing in E ngland.
CH A PTE R I V .
N evil had now to renew his acq uaintance with his own
family, after four years' separation. H e arrived at L ady
E dgarmond' s castle in N orthumberland. L ucy presented
her child with as much diffidence as if she had deemed
herself guilty. H er imagination had been so occupied by
her sister, during the period of her maternal ex pectations,
that little J uliet displayed the dark eyes and hair of Co-
rinne. H er father, in wild agitation, pressed her to his
heart; and from that instant L ucy could not tak e un-
q ualified delight in his affection for his daughter. The
young wife was now nearly twenty. H er beauty had
attained a dignity which inspired N evil with respect.
L ady E dgarmond was too infirm to leave her bed; yet,
though this tried her temper, she received her son-in-law
with satisfaction; having feared that she should die in his
absence, and leave her daughter alone upon the world.
O swald, so long accustomed to a military career, found it
very difficult to remain nearly all day in the chamber of
an invalid, who received no one but himself and wife.
L ucy dearly loved her lord; but, believing her affection
unprized, concealed what she k new of his passion for Co-
rinne, and became more silent than ever. Mild as she was,
her mother had so influenced her, that when O swald hinted
at the added charm she would gain by a little animation,
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? CO R I N N E J O B I TA L Y . 36 1
she received this but as a proof that he still preferred her
sister, and was too hurt to profit by it: he could not speak
of the fine arts without occasioning her a sadness that re-
pressed his enthusiasm. H ad she been better taught, she
would have treasured up his lightest word, that she might
study how to please him. L ady E dgarmond evinced a
growing distaste for all deviations from her habitual rou-
tine: her irritated nerves shrunk from every sound. S he
would have reduced life to a state of stagnation, as if the
less to regret its loss: but, as few lik e to confess their
personal motives for certain opinions, she supported hers
on the general principles of ex aggerated morality; and
disenchanted life, by mak ing sins of its least amusements,--
by opposing some duty to every employment which would
have made to-day differ from yesterday or to-morrow.
L ucy, duteous as she was, had so much flex ibility of mind
that she would have j oined her husband in gently reasoning
with this ex acting austerity, had she not been persuaded
that it was adopted merely to discountenance O swald' s
I talian predilections. " Y ou must struggle most perse-
veringly," would her mother say, " against any return of
that dangerous infatuation. " L ord N evil had a great
reverence for duty; but he understood it in a wider sense
than that of L ady E dgarmond: tracing it to its source, he
found that it might perfectly accord with natural inclin-
ation, instead of req uiring perpetual combats and sacrifices.
V irtue, he thought, far from rendering life a torture, con-
tributes to the duration of its happiness, and may be consi-
dered as a sort of prescience granted " to man alone beneath
the heaven. " S ometimes, in ex plaining these ideas, he
yielded to the pleasure of q uoting Corinne; but such lan-
guage always offended his mother-in-law.
N ew doctrines
ever displease the old. They lik e to fancy that the world
has been losing wisdom, instead of gaining it, since they
were young. L ucy' s heart instinctively detected the
echoes of her sister' s voice in the sentiments O swald
breathed with so much ardour. S he would cast down her
eyes to hide this consciousness: her husband, utterly un-
aware of it, attributed her apparent insensibility to want
of comprehension; and not k nowing where to seek con-
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? 36 2 corinne; or italy.
geniality sunk into despondence. H e wrote to Castel
F orte for news of Corinne; but the war prevented the
letter' s arrival. H is health suffered from the cold of E ng-
land; and the physicians assured him that his chest would
be again attack ed, if he did not pass the winter in I taly.
H e told this to his wife and mother, adding, that the war
between F
tour. " A
rance and E ngland must at present prevent his
nd when peace is concluded," said L ady E d-
garmond, " I should hope, my L ord, that you would not
think of returning to I taly. " -- " I f his health depends on
it," ventured L ucy, " ' he could not do better. "
O swald
ex pressed much gratitude for her k indness. A las! his
thank s but assured her of his love for another.
W ar ceased; and every time O swald complained, L ucy'
heart was divided between her dread of his departure for
I taly, and her fondness, which over-rated his indisposition.
H e attributed her doubt of the necessity for this voyage
to selfishness: thus each wounded the other' s feelings,
because neither dared confess their own. A ll these inter-
ests were soon absorbed in the state of L ady E dgarmond,
who was now speechless, and could only ex press herself by
tears, or by the manner in which she pressed their hands.
L ucy was in despair. O swald sat up every night with
her. I t was now December; and these cares were highly
inj urious to him, though they seemed much to gratify the
sufferer, whose faults disappeared j ust as her agonies would
have ex cused them. The approach of death stills all the
tumults of soul from which most of our errors proceed.
O n her last night she j oined the hands of O swald and
L ucy, pressed them to her heart, and raised her eyes to
heaven; no longer deploring the voice which could have
added nothing to the impressiveness of that action, -- that
s
look . I
L ord N
for her sak
n a few seconds she ex pired.
evil, who had supported himself by great effort,
e, now became dangerously ill, and poor L ucy'
s
distress was thus redoubled. I n his delirium, he often
named Corinne, and I taly, sighing, " O h, for the south-
ern sun! it is so cold in the north here: I shall never be
warm again. " W hen he recovered his senses he was sur-
prised at finding that L ucy had prepared every thing for
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? CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 36 3
his voyage: she merely repeated the advice of his phy-
sicians, adding, " I f you will permit it, I shall accompany
you;
-- "
this j
and our child ought not to be parted from her parents. "
N o, no, we will not part,"
ourney would pain you, I
he answered; " but if
renounce it" -- " That
swald took her hand,
will not pain me," she replied. O
and gazed enq uiringly on her: she would have ex plained
herself; but the memory of her mother' s advice never to
betray a sign of j ealousy, reproved her, and she added,--
" Y oumustbesure,myL ord,thatmyfirstobj ectisthe
re-establishment of your health. " --
I taly," continued he. -- " I
k
" Y ou have a sister in
now it: have you any tidings
ofher? " -- " N eversinceI leftforA merica. " -- " W ell,
myL ord,weshalllearnallinI taly. " -- " A reyouthen
interested in her still ? " -- " Y es; I have not forgotten
the tenderness she showed my childhood. " -- " W e ought
not to forget," sighed N evil; and both again were silent.
O swald had too much delicacy to desire a renewal of his
former ties with Corinne; but he thought that it would be
sweet to die in I taly, after receiving her pardon and
adieu. H e little deemed that his delirium had betrayed
him, and did inj ustice to the mind of his wife; because it
had rather shown him the opinion of others than what
she felt herself, he believed she loved him as much as
she could love, but he k new nothing of her sensibility; at
present her pride disguised it; but, had she been perfectly
happy, she would have thought it improper to avow a pas-
sionate affection even for her own husband; capable as
she was of it, education had convinced her that it would be
immodest to profess this feeling; but nothing could teach
her to tak e pleasure in speak ing of any thing else.
CHAPTER V.
O swald, dislik ing all recollections of F rance, crossed it
very hastily. L ucy evinced neither wish nor will of any
k ind, but left it for him to decide every thing. They
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? 36 4 corinne; or italy.
reached the base of the mountains that separate Dauphine
from S avoy, and ascended the Pas des E ehelles on foot:
this road is dug in the rock s; its entrance resembles a deep
cavern; it is dark throughout, even in the brightest days
of summer. A s yet they found no snow; but autumn,
the season of decay, was herself fast fading. The road
was covered with dead leaves, borne to this region on the
gale, from the distant trees. Thus they saw the wreck of
nature, without beholding any promise of her revival.
The sight of the mountains charmed L ord N evil: while
we live among plains, the earth seems only made to bear
and nourish man; but in picturesq ue countries we see the
impress of their Creator' s power and genius; yet man is
every where familiarised with nature: the roads he frames
ascend the steep, or fathom the abyss; nothing is inacces-
sible to him, save the great mystery of his own being. I n
Morienne the winter was more rigorously felt at every
step: one might fancy one' s self wending northward, in
approaching Mont Cenis. L ucy, who had never travelled
before, was alarmed at finding the ice render the horses'
pace unsteady: she hid her fears, but reproached herself
for having brought her little one with her; often doubting
whether the resolve to do so had been purely moral, or
whether the hope of growing dearer to O swald, by con-
stantly associating her image with that of their beloved
child, had not deadened her to the risk s J uliet would thus
incur. L ucy was apt to perplex her mind with secret
scruples of conscience; the more virtuous we are the more
this k ind of fastidiousness increases: she had no resource,
save in her long and silent prayers, which somewhat tran-
q uillised her spirit. The landscape now took a more terrific
character: the snow fell heavily on ground already covered
with it. They seemed entering the H ell of I ce described
by Dante. F rom the foot of the precipices to the moun-
tain tops all varieties were concealed. The pines, now
clothed in white, were mirrored in the water lik e spectral
trees. O swald and L ucy gazed in silence; speech would
have seemed presumptuous; nature was frozen into dumb-
ness, and they were mute lik e her. S uddenly they per-
ceived, on an immense ex tent of snow, a long file of dark ly
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? corinne; or italy. 36 5
clad figures carrying a bier towards a church. These
priests, the only living beings who brok e this desert soli-
tude, preserved their wonted pace. The thought of death
lent it a gravity which not even the bleak ness of the air
tempted them to forget. H ere was the mourning of na-
ture and of man for vegetable and for human life. N o
colour was left, -- that black , that white, thus united,
struck the soul with awe. " W hat a sad omen ! "
L ady N evil. -- " L ucy," interrupted O swald, "
sighed
trust me,
itisnotforyou. " -- " A las! " hethought," itwasnot
beneath such auspices I travelled with Corinne. W here is
she now? may not these gloomy obj ects be but warnings
of what I am to suffer? " L ucy' s nerves were shak en by
the terrors of her j ourney. This k ind of fear is almost
unk nown to an intrepid man; and she mistook for care-
lessness of her, O swald' s ignorance of such alarm' s possible
ex istence. The common people, who have no better ex er-
cise for fancy, love to ex aggerate all hazards, and delight in
the effect they thus produce on their superiors. The inn-
k eepers, every winter, tell their guests wild tales of " le
Mont," as if it were an immovable monster, guarding the
vales that lead to the land of promise. They watch the
weather for formidable symptoms, and beg all foreigners to
avoid crossing Mont Cenis during la tourmente. This is
a wind announced by a white cloud, spread lik e a sheet
in the air, and by degrees covering the whole horizon.
L ucy had gained all possible information, unk nown to
N evil, who was too much occupied by the sensation of re-
entering I taly to think on these reports. The possible
end and aim of his pilgrimage agitated his wife still more
than did the j ourney itself, and she j udged every thing un-
favourably. I n the morning of their ascent, several pea-
sants beset her with forebodings; those hired to carry her
up the mountain, however, assured her that there was no-
thing to apprehend: she look ed at N evil, and saw that he
laughed at these predictions; therefore, piq ued by his se-
curity, she professed herself ready to depart. H e k new
not how much this resolution cost her, but mounted a horse
and followed the litter which bore his wife and child. The
way was easy, till they were about the centre of the flat
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? 36 ' 6 CO R I N N B ; O R I TA L Y .
which precedes the descent, when a violent hurricane arose.
Drifts of snow blinded L ucy' s bearers, and often hid O s-
wald from her view. The religious men who devote their
lives to succour travellers on the A lps began to ring their
alarm bell; yet, though this sound proclaimed the neigh-
bourhood of benevolent pity, its rapid and heavy repetition
seemed more ex pressive of dismay than assistance. L ucy
hoped that O swald would propose passing the night at this
monastery; but, as she said nothing, he thought it best to
hasten on, while daylight lasted. L ucy' s bearers enq uired,
with some uneasiness, if she wished them to descend.
" Y es," she said, " since my L ord does not oppose it. "
erred in thus suppressing her feelings: the presence of her
child would have ex cused them; but, while we love one by
whom we cannot deem ourselves beloved, each instant
brings its own sense of humiliation. O swald remained on
horseback , though that was the least safe method of descent,
but he believed himself thus secure against losing sight of
his wife and child. F rom the summit L ucy look ed down
on the abrupt road which she would have tak en for a pre-
cipice, had not steeps still more perpendicular been close at
hand. S he pressed her darling to her heart with strong
emotion. O swald observed this, and, q uitting his saddle,
j oined the men who carried her litter. The graceful zeal
with which he did this filled her eyes with tears; but, at
that instant, the whirlwind rose so furiously that her bearers
fell on their k nees, ex claiming, " O h God, protect us! "
L ucy regained her courage; and, raising herself, held
J uliet towards L ord N evil. " Tak e your child, my love!
she said. O swald received it, answering, " A nd you too--
S he
come,I cancarryyeboth! " -- " N o," shesaid," only
save her! " -- " S ave! " he repeated: " is there any dan-
ger? Unhappy wretches-- why did you not tell us? "
-- " They did," interrupted L ucy. -- " A nd you concealed
it from me? H ow have I merited this cruel reserve? "
H e wrapped his cloak round J uliet, and cast down his eyes
in deep disq uietude; but H eaven most mercifully appeased
the storm, and lent a ray which showed them the fertile
plains of Piedmont. I n another hour they arrive' d un-
harmed at N ovalaise, the first I talian town after crossing
"
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? O O R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y . 36 7
Mont Cenis. O n entering the inn, L ucy embraced her
child, and returned her fervent thank s to God. O swald
leaned pensively near the fire, and, when she rose, held out
his hand to her, saying, " Y ou were alarmed then, love? "
-- " Y es,dear. " -- " W hywouldyougoon? " -- " Y ou
seemed impatient to proceed. " -- " Do you not k now that,
above all things, I dread ex posing you to pain or danger? "
-- " I tisforJ ulietthattheyaretobedreaded," shere-
plied, tak ing the little one on her lap to warm it, and
twisting round her fingers the beautiful black curls that the
snow had matted on that fair brow. * The mother and
child formed so charming a picture, that O swald gazed on
them with tender admiration; but L ucy' s silence dis-
couraged the feeling which might else have led to a mutual
understanding. They arrived at Turin, where the season
was unusually severe. The vast apartments of I taly were
destined to receive the sun. Their freshness in summer is
most welcome; but, in the depth of winter, they seem
cheerless deserts; and their possessors feel lik e pigmies in
the abode of giants. The death of A lfieri had j ust oc-
casioned a general mourning among his proud countrymen.
N evil no longer recognised the gaiety formerly so dear to
him. The absence of her he loved disenchanted both
nature and art: he sought intelligence of her, and learnt
that for five years she had published nothing, but lived in
B eclusion at F lorence. H e resolved on going thither; not to
remain, and thus violate the affection he owed to L ucy, but
to tell Corinne how ignorant he had been of her residence
in S cotland. I n crossing L ombardy he sighed, " H ow
beautiful this was, when all those elms were in full leaf,
with vines link ing them together ! " -- " H ow beautiful it
was," thought L ucy, " while Corinne shared it with you! "
A humid fog, such as oft arises in so well watered a land,
obscured their view of the country. During the night they
heard the deluge of southern rain fall on, nay, through the
roof, as if water were pursuing them with all the avidity of
* Madame de S tael gave L ucy, at three years of age, hair long enough to
mak e a bracelet. S he was think ing of F rench children. The formal E dgar,
monds were not more lik ely to deviate from the E nglish fashion than to
Christen N evil' s daughter J uliette. -- in.
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? 36 8C0R I N N E J O R I TA L Y .
fire. L ucy sought in vain for the charm of I taly: it
seemed that every thing conspired to veil it in gloom for
O swald and herself.
CH A PTE R V I .
S inceL ordN evilhadbeeninI taly,hehadnotspok ena
word of the language; it even made him ill to hear it.
O n the evening of his arrival at Milan he heard a tap at
the door, which was followed by the entrance of a man,
whose dark and prominent face would have been ex pressive,
if animated by natural enthusiasm: it wore an unvaryingly
giacious smile, and a look that strove to be poetical. H e
stood at the door, improvising verses in praise of the
group before him, but such as might have suited any other
husband, wife, or child, j ust as truly; and so ex aggerated,
that the speak er seemed to think poetry ought to have no
connection with truth. O swald perceived that he was a
R oman; yet, harmonious as were the sounds he uttered,
the vehemence of his declamation served but to indicate
more plainly the unmeaning insipidity of all he said.
N othing could be more painful for O swald than to hear
the R oman tongue thus spok en, for the first time after so
long an interval, to see his dearest memories travestied,
and feel his melancholy renewed by an obj ect so ridiculous.
L ucy guessed all this, and would have dismissed the im-
provisatore; but it was impossible to mak e him hear her:
he paced the chamber all gesture and ex clamation, heedless
of the disgust he dealt his hearers, proceeding lik e a
machine that could not stop till after a certain moment.
A t last that time arrived, and L ucy paid him to depart.
" Poetic language," said O swald, " is so easily parodied
here, that it ought to be forbidden all save those who are
worthy to employ it. " -- " True," observed L ucy, perhaps
a little too pointedly: " it is very disagreeable to be re-
minded of what you admire, by such a burlesq ue as we
have j ust endured. " -- " N ot so," he answered; " the con-
trast only mak es me more deeply feel the power of genius.
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