F orgetfulness alone
degrades
the soul,
which can ever tak e refuge in the past, when deprived of
a present purpose.
which can ever tak e refuge in the past, when deprived of
a present purpose.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
Their theories are worth nothing;
and public opinion has no influence over them; but, if any
here escape this moral anarchy, their conduct is more
admirable than might be found elsewhere, since nothing in
their ex terior circumstances is favourable to virtue. N or
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 185
laws nor manners are there to reward or punish. The
good are the more heroic, as they are not the more sought or
better considered for their pains. W ith some honourable
ex ceptions, the highest class is very lik e the lowest; the
mind is as little cultivated in the one as in the other.
Dress mak es the only difference. B ut, in the midst of all this,
there is at bottom a natural cleverness and aptitude, which
shows us what such a nation might become, if the govern.
ment devoted its powers to their mental and moral im.
provement. A s there is little education, one finds more
originality of character than of wit; but the distinguished
men of this country, such as the A bbe Galiani, and
Caraccioli, possessed, it is said, both pleasantry and reflec-
tion,-- rare union, without which either pedantry or frivolity
must prevent men from k nowing the true value of things.
I n some respects the N eapolitans are q uite uncivilised; but
their vulgarity is not lik e that of others; their very gross-
ness strik es the imagination. W e feel that the A frican
shore is near us. There is something N umidian in the
wild cries we hear from all sides. The brown faces, and
dresses of red or purple stuff, whose strong colours catch
the eye, those ragged cloak s, draped so artistically, give
something picturesq ue to the populace, in whom, elsewhere,
we can but mark the steps of civilisation. A certain taste for
ornament is here found, contrasted with a total want of all
that is useful. The shops are deck
some of them have a holyday look
private plenty nor public felicity;
ed with fruit and flowers;
, that belongs neither to
but solely to vivacious
fancy, which fain would feast the eye at any rate. The
mild clime permits all k inds of labourers to work in the
streets. Tailors there- mak e clothes, and cook s pastry, --
these household task s performed out of doors much augment
the action of the scene. S ongs, dances, and noisy sports
accompany this spectacle. There never was a country in
which the difference between amusement and happiness
might be more clearly felt; yet leave the interior for the
q uays, look on the sea, and V esuvius, and you forget all that
you k now of the natives. O swald and Corinne reached
N aples while the eruption still lasted. B y day it sent forth but
a black smok e, which might be confounded with the clouds;
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? 186 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
but in the evening, going to the balcony of their abode,
they received a most unex pected shock . A flood of fire
rolled down to the sea, -- its flaming waves imitating the
rapid succession, and indefatigable movement of the ocean' s
billows. I t might be said that nature, though dividing
herself into different elements, preserved some traces of her
single and primitive design. This phenomenon really
mak es the heart palpitate. W e are so familiarised with
the work s of heaven, that we scarcely notice them with any
new sensation in our prosaic realms j but the wonder which
the universe ought to inspire is suddenly j enewed at the
sight of a miracle lik e this: our whole being is agitated by
its Mak er' s power, -i-- from which our social connections
have turned our thoughts so long: we feel that man is not
the world' s chief mystery; that a strength independent of
his own at once threatens and protects him, by a law to
him unk nown. O swald and Corinne promised themselves
the pleasure of ascending V esuvius, and felt an added de-
light in think ing of the danger they thus should brave
together.
CH A PTE R I I I .
There was at that time in the harbour an E nglish ship of
war, where divine service was performed every S unday.
The captain and other E nglish persons then at N aples in-
vited L ord N evil to attend on the morrow. H e promised;
but while think ing whether he should tak e Corinne, or how
she could be presented to his countrywomen, he was tor-
tured by anx iety. A s he walk ed with her near the port
nex t day, and was about to advise her not to go on board
this vessel, a boat neared the shore, rowed by ten sailors,
dressed in white, wearing black velvet caps, with the L eo-
pard embroidered on them in silver. A young officer
stepped on shore, and entreated Corinne to let him tak e her
to the ship, calling her " L ady N
blushed, and cast down her eyes. O
ment, then said in E nglish, ' '
evil. " A t that name she
swald hesitated a mo-
Come, ray dear:" she
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 187
obeyed. The sound of the waves made her thoughtful,
as did the silence of the well disciplined crew, who, with-
out one superfluous word or gesture, rapidly winged their
bark over the element they had so often traversed. Co-
rinne dared not ask N evil what she was to anticipate; she
strove to guess his proj ects, never hitting on what, at all
times, was most probable, that he had none, but let himself
be borne away by every new occurrence. F or a moment,
she imagined that he was leading her to a church of E ng-
land chaplain to mak e her his wife: this thought alarmed
more than it gratified her. S he felt about to leave I taly
for E ngland, where she had suffered so much: the severity
of its manners returned to her mind, and not even love
could triumph over her fear. H ow she would in other
circumstances have wondered at these fleeting ideas! S he
mounted the vessel' s side: it was arranged with the most
careful neatness. N othing was heard from its deck but
the commands of the captain. S ubordination and serious
regularity here reigned, as emblems of liberty and order,
in contrast with the impassioned turmoil of N aples. O s-
wald eagej ly watched the impression this made on Corinne,
yet he was often diverted from his attention by the love
he bore his country. There is no second country for an
E nglishman, ex cept a ship and the sea. O swald j oined
the B ritons on board to ask the news, and talk politics.
Corinne stood beside some E nglish females who had come
to hear prayers. They were surrounded by children,
beautiful as day, but timid lik e their mothers, and not a
word was spok en before the stranger. This restraint was
sad enough for Corinne: she look ed towards fair N aples,
thought of its flowery shore, its lively habits, and sighed.
H appily O swald heard her not; on the contrary, seeing
her seated among his sisters, as it were, her dark eyelashes
cast down lik e their light ones, and in every way conform-
ing with their customs, he felt a thrill of j oy. V ainly
does an E nglishman tak e a temporary pleasure among
foreign scenes and people; his heart invariably flies back to
his first impressions. I f you find him sailing from the
antipodes, and ask whither he is going, he answers " H ome"
if it is towards E ngland that he steers. H is vows, his
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? 188 corinne; or italy.
sentiments, at whatever distance he may he, are always
turned towards her. * They went helow for divine service.
Corinne perceived that her first conj ecture was unfounded,
and that N evil' s intentions were less solemn than she sup-
posed; then she reproached herself for having feared, and
again felt all the embarrassment of her situation; for every
one present believed her the wife of L ord N evil, and she
could say nothing either to confirm or to destroy this idea.
O swald suffered as cruelly. S uch faults as weak ness and
irresolution are never detected by their possessor, for
whom they tak e new names from each fresh circumstance;
sometimes he tells himself that prudence, sometimes that
delicacy defers the moment of action, and prolongs his
suspense. Corinne, in spite of her painful thoughts, was
deeply impressed by all she witnessed. N othing speak s
more directly to the soul than divine service on board ship,
for which the noble simplicity of the R eformed Church
seems particularly adapted. A young man acted as chap-
lain, with a firm, sweet voice: his face bespok e a purity
of soul: he stood " severe in youthful beauty," a type of the
religion fit to be preached amidst the risk s of . war. A t
certain periods the E nglish minister pronounced prayers,
the last words of which were repeated by the whole assem-
bly: these confused, yet softened tones, coming from vari-
ous distances, re-animated the interest of the whole. S ailors
and officers alik e k nelt to the words, " L ord, have mercy
upon us! " The Captain' s cutlass hung by his side, sug-
gesting the glorious union of humility before God, and
courage among men, which renders the devotion of warriors
so affecting. W hile all these brave fellows addressed the
God of H osts, the sea was seen through the ports; the light
sound of its now peaceful waves was audible, as if to say,
" Y our prayers are heard. " The chaplain concluded with
a petition peculiar to E nglish sailors, " A nd may God
grant us the grace to defend our happy constitution abroad,
* W ho that has one beloved obj ect absent for any considerable space of time,
can read this tribute from a foreigner without tears of pride and rapture, at
the consciousness that whoever is left behind, though little valued while
near, gains a sad importance as part of that home, that E ngland, to which the
dear one must long to return? The natives of great continents may love their
birthplaces as well as we do ours; but it cannot be in the same manner. -- Tj l
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? C0MN N E ; O R I TA L Y . 189
and to find on our Teturn domestic peace at home. "
W hat grandeur is contained in these simple words! The
preparatory and continual study which the navy demands,
the life led in those warlik e and floating cloisters, the uni-
formity of their grave toils, is seldom interrupted, save by
danger or death. N evertheless, sailors often hehave with
ex treme gentleness and pity towards women and children,
if thrown on their care: one is the more touched by this,
from k nowing the heedless coolness with which they ex pose
their lives in battle, and on that main where the presence
of man seems something supernatural. N evil and Corinne
were again rowed on shore: they gazed on N aples, built
lik e an amphitheatre, thence to look on the spectacle of
nature.
A s Corinne' s foot touched the shore, she could not
check a sentiment of j oy: had O swald guessed this, he
would have felt displeased, perhaps ex cusably; yet such
displeasure would have been unj ust, for he was passion-
ately beloved, though the thought of his country always
forced on his adorer the memory of events which had
rendered her miserable. H er fancy was changeful: talent,
especially in a woman, creates a zest for variety that the
deepest passion cannot entirely supply. A monotonous life,
even in the bosom of content, dismays a mind so con-
stituted: without a breeze to fill our sails we may always
hug the shore; but imagination will stray, be sensibility
never so faithful, at least till misfortune slays these trifling
impulses, and leaves us but one thought, one only sorrow.
O swald attributed the reverie of Corinne solely to the
awk ward situation of her having been called L ady N evil:
he blamed himself for not ex tricating her from it, and
feared that she might suspect him of levity. H e, there-
fore, began the long desired ex planation, by offering to
relate his own history. " I shall speak
" and your confidence will follow mine?
first," he said,
" -- " Doubtless
" you wish it -- at
it ought,"
what day --
replied Corinne, trembling;
all. "
" W
-- " H ow sadly you are agitated! " said O swald.
ill you always fear me thus, nor ever learn to trust my
what hour? when you have spok en I will tell
heart? " -- " I t must be," she answered: " I have written
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? 190 ' corinne; or italy.
it, and if yon insist-- to-morrow-- " -- " To-mo<< row we
go to V esuvius: you shall teach me to admire it; and on
our way, if I have strength enough, I will give you the
story of my own doom: that shall precede yours, I am re-
solved. " --
morrow: I
tell if, when I
" W ell," replied Corinne," you give me to-
thank you for that one day more. W ho can
have opened my heart to you, you will re-
main the same? H ow can I help trembling beneath such
doubt? "
CH A PTE R I V .
O ur lovers commenced their route by the ruins of Pom-
peii. B oth were silent, for the decisive moment now drew
nigh; and the vague hope so long enj oyed, so accordant
with the clime, was about to give place to yet unk nown
reality. Pompeii is the most curious ruin of antiq uity.
I n R ome one hardly finds any wreck s, save those of public
work s, associated with the political changes of by-gone
centuries. I n Pompeii you retrace the private life of the
ancients. The volcano which buried it in ashes pre-
served it from decay. N o edifices, ex posed to the air,
could thus have lasted. Pictures and bronzes k eep their
primal beauty, while all domestic implements remain in
overawing perfection. The amphoras are still deck ed
for the morrow' s festival. The flour that was to have
been k neaded into cak es is yet there: the remains of a fe-
male are adorned for this interrupted fete, her fleshless
arm no longer filling the j ewelled bracelet that yet hangs ^ x .
about it. N owhere else can one behold such proofs of /)
death' s abrupt invasion. The track of wheels is visible in
the streets; and the stone-work of the wells bears the
mark s of the cords that had worn away their edges by
degrees. O n the walls of the guard-room are seen the ill-
formed letters, and rudely sk etched figures, which the sol-
diers had scrawled to beguile their time, while Time him-
self was striding to devour them. W hen, from the midst
of the cross-roads, you see all sides of the town, nearly as
it ex isted of yore, you seem to ex pect that some one will
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 191
come fropi these masterless dwellings: this appearance of
life renders the eternal silence of the place still more ap-
palling. Most of the houses are built of lava,-- and fresh
lava destroyed them. The epochs of the world are counted
from fall to fall. The thought of human beings, toiling
by the light that consumed them, fills the breast with me-
lancholy. H ow long it is since man first lived, suffered,
and died! W here can we find the thoughts of the de-
parted? do they still float around these ruins? or are they
gathered for ever to the heaven of immortality? A few
scorched manuscripts, which were partly unrolled at Por-
tici, are all that is left us of these victims to earthq uak e
and volcano. B ut in drawing near such relics we dread
to breathe, lest we should scatter with their dust the noble
ideas perhaps impressed on it. The public buildings,
even of Pompeii, which was one of the smallest I talian
towns, are very handsome. The splendour of the ancients
seemed always intended for the general good. Their
private houses are small, and deck ed but by a taste for the
fine arts. Their interiors possess agreeable pictures, and
tasteful mosaic pavements; on many of them, near the
door-sill, is inlet the word " S alve. " This salutation
was not surely one of simple politeness, but an invitation to
hospitality. The rooms are remark ably narrow, with no
windows towards the street, nearly all of them opening
into a portico, or the marble court round which the rooms
are constructed: in its centre is a simply elegant cistern.
I t is evident that the inhabitants lived chiefly in the open
air, and even received their friends there. N othing can
give a more lux urious idea of life than a climate which
throws man into the bosom of nature. S ociety must have
meant something very different in such habits from what
it is where the cold confines men within doors. W e bet-
ter appreciate the dialogues of Plato while beholding the
porticoes beneath which the ancients passed half of their
day. They were incessantly animated by the beauteous
sk y. S ocial order, they conceived, was not the barren com-
bination of fraud and force, but a happy union of institu-
tions that ex cite the faculties, and develope the mind,
mak ing man' s obj ect the perfection of himself and his fel-
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? 1J )2 corinne; or italy.
low-creatures. A ntiq uity inspires insatiable curiosity.
The learned, employed solely on collections of names,
which they call history, were surely devoid of all imagin-
ation. B ut to penetrate the past, interrogate the human
heart through many ages; to seize on a fact in a word, and
on the manners or character of a nation in a fact; to re-
enter the most distant time, in order to conceive how the
earth look ed in its youth, and in what way men sup-
ported the life which civilisation has since rendered so
complicated; -- this were a continual effort of imagination,
whose guesses discover secrets that study and reflection
cannot reveal. S uch occupation was particularly attractive
to N evil, who often told Corinne that, if he had not nobler
interests to serve in his own land, he could not endure to
live away from this. W e should, at least, regret the glory
we cannot obtain.
F orgetfulness alone degrades the soul,
which can ever tak e refuge in the past, when deprived of
a present purpose.
L eaving Pompeii they proceeded to Portici, whose in-
habitants beset them with loud cries of " Come and see
the mountain! " thus they designate V esuvius. H as it
need of name? I t is their glory, their country is cele-
brated as the shrine of this marvel. >> O swald begged Co-
rinne to ascend in a sort of palanq uin to the H ermitage of
S t. S alvadore, which is half way up, and the usual resting-
place of travellers. H e rode by her side to overlook her
bearers; and the more his heart filled with the generous
sentiments such scenes inspire, the more he adored Co-
rinne. The country at the foot of V esuvius is the most
fertile and best cultivated of the k ingdom most favoured
by H eaven in all E urope. The celebrated L acryma Christi
vine flourishes beside land totally devastated by lava, as if
nature here made a last effort, and resolved to perish in
her richest array. A s you ascend, you turn to gaze on
N aples and on the fair land around it: the sea spark les
in the sun as if strewn with j ewels; but all the splendours
of creation are ex tinguished by degrees, as you enter the
region of ashes and of smok e, that announces your approach
to the volcano. The iron waves of other years have traced
their large black furrows in the soil. A t a certain height
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? oorinne; O R I TA L Y . I 93
birds are no longer seen; further on, plants become very
scarce, then even insects find no nourishment. A t last all
life disappears; you enter the realm of death, and the slain
earth' s dust alone slips beneath your unassured feet.
" N e greggi, ne armenti
Guida bifolco mai, guida pastore. "
"
A
O
N ever doth swain nor cowboy thither lead the flock s or herds. "
hermit lives betwix t the confines of life and death.
ne tree, the last farewell to vegetation, stands before his
door, and beneath the shade of its pale foliage are travellers
wont to await the night ere they renew their course; for
during the day the fires and lava, so fierce when the sun is
set, look dark beneath his splendour. This metamorphose
is in itself a glorious sight, which every eve renews the
wonder that a continual glare might weak en. The solitude
of this spot gave O swald strength to reveal his secrets;
and, wishing to encourage the confidence of Corinne, he
said, " Y ou would fain read your unhappy lover to the
depth of his soul. W ell, I will confess all. My wounds
will re-open, I feel it; but in the presence of immutable
nature ought one to fear the changes time can bring? "
BOOKXII.
H I S TO R Y O PL O R DN E V I L .
CH A PTE R I .
" I was educated in my paternal home, with a tenderness
and virtue that I admire the more, the more I k now of man-
k ind. I have never loved any one more profoundly than
I loved my father; yet I think , had I then k nown as I now
do, how alone his character stood in the world, my affection
would have been still more devoted. I remember a thou-
sand traits in his life that seemed to me q uite simple, be-
o
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? 194CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
cause he found them so, and that melt me into tears now
I can appreciate their worth. S elf-reproach on our conduct
to a dear obj ect who is no more, gives an idea of what
eternal torments would be, if divine mercy deigned not to
sooth our griefs. I was calmly happy with my father, but
wished to travel ere I entered the army. There is, in my
country, a noble career open for eloq uence; but I am even
yet so timid, that it would be painful for me to speak in
public; therefore I preferred a military life, and certain
danger, to possible disgust; my self-love is in all respects
more susceptible than ambitious. Men become giants when
they blame me, and pigmies when they praise. I wished
to visit F rance, where the revolution had j ust begun, which,
old as was the race of man, professed to recommence the
history of the world. My father was somewhat prepossessed
against Paris, which he had seen during the last years
of L ouis X V . ; and could hardly conceive how coteries
were to change into a nation, pretence into virtue, or vanity
into enthusiasm. 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.
and public opinion has no influence over them; but, if any
here escape this moral anarchy, their conduct is more
admirable than might be found elsewhere, since nothing in
their ex terior circumstances is favourable to virtue. N or
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 185
laws nor manners are there to reward or punish. The
good are the more heroic, as they are not the more sought or
better considered for their pains. W ith some honourable
ex ceptions, the highest class is very lik e the lowest; the
mind is as little cultivated in the one as in the other.
Dress mak es the only difference. B ut, in the midst of all this,
there is at bottom a natural cleverness and aptitude, which
shows us what such a nation might become, if the govern.
ment devoted its powers to their mental and moral im.
provement. A s there is little education, one finds more
originality of character than of wit; but the distinguished
men of this country, such as the A bbe Galiani, and
Caraccioli, possessed, it is said, both pleasantry and reflec-
tion,-- rare union, without which either pedantry or frivolity
must prevent men from k nowing the true value of things.
I n some respects the N eapolitans are q uite uncivilised; but
their vulgarity is not lik e that of others; their very gross-
ness strik es the imagination. W e feel that the A frican
shore is near us. There is something N umidian in the
wild cries we hear from all sides. The brown faces, and
dresses of red or purple stuff, whose strong colours catch
the eye, those ragged cloak s, draped so artistically, give
something picturesq ue to the populace, in whom, elsewhere,
we can but mark the steps of civilisation. A certain taste for
ornament is here found, contrasted with a total want of all
that is useful. The shops are deck
some of them have a holyday look
private plenty nor public felicity;
ed with fruit and flowers;
, that belongs neither to
but solely to vivacious
fancy, which fain would feast the eye at any rate. The
mild clime permits all k inds of labourers to work in the
streets. Tailors there- mak e clothes, and cook s pastry, --
these household task s performed out of doors much augment
the action of the scene. S ongs, dances, and noisy sports
accompany this spectacle. There never was a country in
which the difference between amusement and happiness
might be more clearly felt; yet leave the interior for the
q uays, look on the sea, and V esuvius, and you forget all that
you k now of the natives. O swald and Corinne reached
N aples while the eruption still lasted. B y day it sent forth but
a black smok e, which might be confounded with the clouds;
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? 186 CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
but in the evening, going to the balcony of their abode,
they received a most unex pected shock . A flood of fire
rolled down to the sea, -- its flaming waves imitating the
rapid succession, and indefatigable movement of the ocean' s
billows. I t might be said that nature, though dividing
herself into different elements, preserved some traces of her
single and primitive design. This phenomenon really
mak es the heart palpitate. W e are so familiarised with
the work s of heaven, that we scarcely notice them with any
new sensation in our prosaic realms j but the wonder which
the universe ought to inspire is suddenly j enewed at the
sight of a miracle lik e this: our whole being is agitated by
its Mak er' s power, -i-- from which our social connections
have turned our thoughts so long: we feel that man is not
the world' s chief mystery; that a strength independent of
his own at once threatens and protects him, by a law to
him unk nown. O swald and Corinne promised themselves
the pleasure of ascending V esuvius, and felt an added de-
light in think ing of the danger they thus should brave
together.
CH A PTE R I I I .
There was at that time in the harbour an E nglish ship of
war, where divine service was performed every S unday.
The captain and other E nglish persons then at N aples in-
vited L ord N evil to attend on the morrow. H e promised;
but while think ing whether he should tak e Corinne, or how
she could be presented to his countrywomen, he was tor-
tured by anx iety. A s he walk ed with her near the port
nex t day, and was about to advise her not to go on board
this vessel, a boat neared the shore, rowed by ten sailors,
dressed in white, wearing black velvet caps, with the L eo-
pard embroidered on them in silver. A young officer
stepped on shore, and entreated Corinne to let him tak e her
to the ship, calling her " L ady N
blushed, and cast down her eyes. O
ment, then said in E nglish, ' '
evil. " A t that name she
swald hesitated a mo-
Come, ray dear:" she
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 187
obeyed. The sound of the waves made her thoughtful,
as did the silence of the well disciplined crew, who, with-
out one superfluous word or gesture, rapidly winged their
bark over the element they had so often traversed. Co-
rinne dared not ask N evil what she was to anticipate; she
strove to guess his proj ects, never hitting on what, at all
times, was most probable, that he had none, but let himself
be borne away by every new occurrence. F or a moment,
she imagined that he was leading her to a church of E ng-
land chaplain to mak e her his wife: this thought alarmed
more than it gratified her. S he felt about to leave I taly
for E ngland, where she had suffered so much: the severity
of its manners returned to her mind, and not even love
could triumph over her fear. H ow she would in other
circumstances have wondered at these fleeting ideas! S he
mounted the vessel' s side: it was arranged with the most
careful neatness. N othing was heard from its deck but
the commands of the captain. S ubordination and serious
regularity here reigned, as emblems of liberty and order,
in contrast with the impassioned turmoil of N aples. O s-
wald eagej ly watched the impression this made on Corinne,
yet he was often diverted from his attention by the love
he bore his country. There is no second country for an
E nglishman, ex cept a ship and the sea. O swald j oined
the B ritons on board to ask the news, and talk politics.
Corinne stood beside some E nglish females who had come
to hear prayers. They were surrounded by children,
beautiful as day, but timid lik e their mothers, and not a
word was spok en before the stranger. This restraint was
sad enough for Corinne: she look ed towards fair N aples,
thought of its flowery shore, its lively habits, and sighed.
H appily O swald heard her not; on the contrary, seeing
her seated among his sisters, as it were, her dark eyelashes
cast down lik e their light ones, and in every way conform-
ing with their customs, he felt a thrill of j oy. V ainly
does an E nglishman tak e a temporary pleasure among
foreign scenes and people; his heart invariably flies back to
his first impressions. I f you find him sailing from the
antipodes, and ask whither he is going, he answers " H ome"
if it is towards E ngland that he steers. H is vows, his
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? 188 corinne; or italy.
sentiments, at whatever distance he may he, are always
turned towards her. * They went helow for divine service.
Corinne perceived that her first conj ecture was unfounded,
and that N evil' s intentions were less solemn than she sup-
posed; then she reproached herself for having feared, and
again felt all the embarrassment of her situation; for every
one present believed her the wife of L ord N evil, and she
could say nothing either to confirm or to destroy this idea.
O swald suffered as cruelly. S uch faults as weak ness and
irresolution are never detected by their possessor, for
whom they tak e new names from each fresh circumstance;
sometimes he tells himself that prudence, sometimes that
delicacy defers the moment of action, and prolongs his
suspense. Corinne, in spite of her painful thoughts, was
deeply impressed by all she witnessed. N othing speak s
more directly to the soul than divine service on board ship,
for which the noble simplicity of the R eformed Church
seems particularly adapted. A young man acted as chap-
lain, with a firm, sweet voice: his face bespok e a purity
of soul: he stood " severe in youthful beauty," a type of the
religion fit to be preached amidst the risk s of . war. A t
certain periods the E nglish minister pronounced prayers,
the last words of which were repeated by the whole assem-
bly: these confused, yet softened tones, coming from vari-
ous distances, re-animated the interest of the whole. S ailors
and officers alik e k nelt to the words, " L ord, have mercy
upon us! " The Captain' s cutlass hung by his side, sug-
gesting the glorious union of humility before God, and
courage among men, which renders the devotion of warriors
so affecting. W hile all these brave fellows addressed the
God of H osts, the sea was seen through the ports; the light
sound of its now peaceful waves was audible, as if to say,
" Y our prayers are heard. " The chaplain concluded with
a petition peculiar to E nglish sailors, " A nd may God
grant us the grace to defend our happy constitution abroad,
* W ho that has one beloved obj ect absent for any considerable space of time,
can read this tribute from a foreigner without tears of pride and rapture, at
the consciousness that whoever is left behind, though little valued while
near, gains a sad importance as part of that home, that E ngland, to which the
dear one must long to return? The natives of great continents may love their
birthplaces as well as we do ours; but it cannot be in the same manner. -- Tj l
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? C0MN N E ; O R I TA L Y . 189
and to find on our Teturn domestic peace at home. "
W hat grandeur is contained in these simple words! The
preparatory and continual study which the navy demands,
the life led in those warlik e and floating cloisters, the uni-
formity of their grave toils, is seldom interrupted, save by
danger or death. N evertheless, sailors often hehave with
ex treme gentleness and pity towards women and children,
if thrown on their care: one is the more touched by this,
from k nowing the heedless coolness with which they ex pose
their lives in battle, and on that main where the presence
of man seems something supernatural. N evil and Corinne
were again rowed on shore: they gazed on N aples, built
lik e an amphitheatre, thence to look on the spectacle of
nature.
A s Corinne' s foot touched the shore, she could not
check a sentiment of j oy: had O swald guessed this, he
would have felt displeased, perhaps ex cusably; yet such
displeasure would have been unj ust, for he was passion-
ately beloved, though the thought of his country always
forced on his adorer the memory of events which had
rendered her miserable. H er fancy was changeful: talent,
especially in a woman, creates a zest for variety that the
deepest passion cannot entirely supply. A monotonous life,
even in the bosom of content, dismays a mind so con-
stituted: without a breeze to fill our sails we may always
hug the shore; but imagination will stray, be sensibility
never so faithful, at least till misfortune slays these trifling
impulses, and leaves us but one thought, one only sorrow.
O swald attributed the reverie of Corinne solely to the
awk ward situation of her having been called L ady N evil:
he blamed himself for not ex tricating her from it, and
feared that she might suspect him of levity. H e, there-
fore, began the long desired ex planation, by offering to
relate his own history. " I shall speak
" and your confidence will follow mine?
first," he said,
" -- " Doubtless
" you wish it -- at
it ought,"
what day --
replied Corinne, trembling;
all. "
" W
-- " H ow sadly you are agitated! " said O swald.
ill you always fear me thus, nor ever learn to trust my
what hour? when you have spok en I will tell
heart? " -- " I t must be," she answered: " I have written
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? 190 ' corinne; or italy.
it, and if yon insist-- to-morrow-- " -- " To-mo<< row we
go to V esuvius: you shall teach me to admire it; and on
our way, if I have strength enough, I will give you the
story of my own doom: that shall precede yours, I am re-
solved. " --
morrow: I
tell if, when I
" W ell," replied Corinne," you give me to-
thank you for that one day more. W ho can
have opened my heart to you, you will re-
main the same? H ow can I help trembling beneath such
doubt? "
CH A PTE R I V .
O ur lovers commenced their route by the ruins of Pom-
peii. B oth were silent, for the decisive moment now drew
nigh; and the vague hope so long enj oyed, so accordant
with the clime, was about to give place to yet unk nown
reality. Pompeii is the most curious ruin of antiq uity.
I n R ome one hardly finds any wreck s, save those of public
work s, associated with the political changes of by-gone
centuries. I n Pompeii you retrace the private life of the
ancients. The volcano which buried it in ashes pre-
served it from decay. N o edifices, ex posed to the air,
could thus have lasted. Pictures and bronzes k eep their
primal beauty, while all domestic implements remain in
overawing perfection. The amphoras are still deck ed
for the morrow' s festival. The flour that was to have
been k neaded into cak es is yet there: the remains of a fe-
male are adorned for this interrupted fete, her fleshless
arm no longer filling the j ewelled bracelet that yet hangs ^ x .
about it. N owhere else can one behold such proofs of /)
death' s abrupt invasion. The track of wheels is visible in
the streets; and the stone-work of the wells bears the
mark s of the cords that had worn away their edges by
degrees. O n the walls of the guard-room are seen the ill-
formed letters, and rudely sk etched figures, which the sol-
diers had scrawled to beguile their time, while Time him-
self was striding to devour them. W hen, from the midst
of the cross-roads, you see all sides of the town, nearly as
it ex isted of yore, you seem to ex pect that some one will
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 191
come fropi these masterless dwellings: this appearance of
life renders the eternal silence of the place still more ap-
palling. Most of the houses are built of lava,-- and fresh
lava destroyed them. The epochs of the world are counted
from fall to fall. The thought of human beings, toiling
by the light that consumed them, fills the breast with me-
lancholy. H ow long it is since man first lived, suffered,
and died! W here can we find the thoughts of the de-
parted? do they still float around these ruins? or are they
gathered for ever to the heaven of immortality? A few
scorched manuscripts, which were partly unrolled at Por-
tici, are all that is left us of these victims to earthq uak e
and volcano. B ut in drawing near such relics we dread
to breathe, lest we should scatter with their dust the noble
ideas perhaps impressed on it. The public buildings,
even of Pompeii, which was one of the smallest I talian
towns, are very handsome. The splendour of the ancients
seemed always intended for the general good. Their
private houses are small, and deck ed but by a taste for the
fine arts. Their interiors possess agreeable pictures, and
tasteful mosaic pavements; on many of them, near the
door-sill, is inlet the word " S alve. " This salutation
was not surely one of simple politeness, but an invitation to
hospitality. The rooms are remark ably narrow, with no
windows towards the street, nearly all of them opening
into a portico, or the marble court round which the rooms
are constructed: in its centre is a simply elegant cistern.
I t is evident that the inhabitants lived chiefly in the open
air, and even received their friends there. N othing can
give a more lux urious idea of life than a climate which
throws man into the bosom of nature. S ociety must have
meant something very different in such habits from what
it is where the cold confines men within doors. W e bet-
ter appreciate the dialogues of Plato while beholding the
porticoes beneath which the ancients passed half of their
day. They were incessantly animated by the beauteous
sk y. S ocial order, they conceived, was not the barren com-
bination of fraud and force, but a happy union of institu-
tions that ex cite the faculties, and develope the mind,
mak ing man' s obj ect the perfection of himself and his fel-
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? 1J )2 corinne; or italy.
low-creatures. A ntiq uity inspires insatiable curiosity.
The learned, employed solely on collections of names,
which they call history, were surely devoid of all imagin-
ation. B ut to penetrate the past, interrogate the human
heart through many ages; to seize on a fact in a word, and
on the manners or character of a nation in a fact; to re-
enter the most distant time, in order to conceive how the
earth look ed in its youth, and in what way men sup-
ported the life which civilisation has since rendered so
complicated; -- this were a continual effort of imagination,
whose guesses discover secrets that study and reflection
cannot reveal. S uch occupation was particularly attractive
to N evil, who often told Corinne that, if he had not nobler
interests to serve in his own land, he could not endure to
live away from this. W e should, at least, regret the glory
we cannot obtain.
F orgetfulness alone degrades the soul,
which can ever tak e refuge in the past, when deprived of
a present purpose.
L eaving Pompeii they proceeded to Portici, whose in-
habitants beset them with loud cries of " Come and see
the mountain! " thus they designate V esuvius. H as it
need of name? I t is their glory, their country is cele-
brated as the shrine of this marvel. >> O swald begged Co-
rinne to ascend in a sort of palanq uin to the H ermitage of
S t. S alvadore, which is half way up, and the usual resting-
place of travellers. H e rode by her side to overlook her
bearers; and the more his heart filled with the generous
sentiments such scenes inspire, the more he adored Co-
rinne. The country at the foot of V esuvius is the most
fertile and best cultivated of the k ingdom most favoured
by H eaven in all E urope. The celebrated L acryma Christi
vine flourishes beside land totally devastated by lava, as if
nature here made a last effort, and resolved to perish in
her richest array. A s you ascend, you turn to gaze on
N aples and on the fair land around it: the sea spark les
in the sun as if strewn with j ewels; but all the splendours
of creation are ex tinguished by degrees, as you enter the
region of ashes and of smok e, that announces your approach
to the volcano. The iron waves of other years have traced
their large black furrows in the soil. A t a certain height
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? oorinne; O R I TA L Y . I 93
birds are no longer seen; further on, plants become very
scarce, then even insects find no nourishment. A t last all
life disappears; you enter the realm of death, and the slain
earth' s dust alone slips beneath your unassured feet.
" N e greggi, ne armenti
Guida bifolco mai, guida pastore. "
"
A
O
N ever doth swain nor cowboy thither lead the flock s or herds. "
hermit lives betwix t the confines of life and death.
ne tree, the last farewell to vegetation, stands before his
door, and beneath the shade of its pale foliage are travellers
wont to await the night ere they renew their course; for
during the day the fires and lava, so fierce when the sun is
set, look dark beneath his splendour. This metamorphose
is in itself a glorious sight, which every eve renews the
wonder that a continual glare might weak en. The solitude
of this spot gave O swald strength to reveal his secrets;
and, wishing to encourage the confidence of Corinne, he
said, " Y ou would fain read your unhappy lover to the
depth of his soul. W ell, I will confess all. My wounds
will re-open, I feel it; but in the presence of immutable
nature ought one to fear the changes time can bring? "
BOOKXII.
H I S TO R Y O PL O R DN E V I L .
CH A PTE R I .
" I was educated in my paternal home, with a tenderness
and virtue that I admire the more, the more I k now of man-
k ind. I have never loved any one more profoundly than
I loved my father; yet I think , had I then k nown as I now
do, how alone his character stood in the world, my affection
would have been still more devoted. I remember a thou-
sand traits in his life that seemed to me q uite simple, be-
o
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? 194CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
cause he found them so, and that melt me into tears now
I can appreciate their worth. S elf-reproach on our conduct
to a dear obj ect who is no more, gives an idea of what
eternal torments would be, if divine mercy deigned not to
sooth our griefs. I was calmly happy with my father, but
wished to travel ere I entered the army. There is, in my
country, a noble career open for eloq uence; but I am even
yet so timid, that it would be painful for me to speak in
public; therefore I preferred a military life, and certain
danger, to possible disgust; my self-love is in all respects
more susceptible than ambitious. Men become giants when
they blame me, and pigmies when they praise. I wished
to visit F rance, where the revolution had j ust begun, which,
old as was the race of man, professed to recommence the
history of the world. My father was somewhat prepossessed
against Paris, which he had seen during the last years
of L ouis X V . ; and could hardly conceive how coteries
were to change into a nation, pretence into virtue, or vanity
into enthusiasm. 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.
