W hen the friends of Corinne
heard of her return, they flock ed to see her: if any won-
dered that she was not O swald' s wife, none, at least, ask
the reason: the pleasure of regaining her diverted them
from every other thought.
heard of her return, they flock ed to see her: if any won-
dered that she was not O swald' s wife, none, at least, ask
the reason: the pleasure of regaining her diverted them
from every other thought.
Madame de Stael - Corinna, or Italy
A s she
recognised him, her senses still wandered, and she wildly
ex claimed, " Y ou promised never to depart without my
consent! I
promise, O
may now appear unworthy of your love; but a
swald ! " -- " Corinne," he cried, " the thought
of leaving you never entered my heart. I would only reflect
on our fate; and wished to recover my spirits ere I saw
you again. " -- " W ell," she said, struggling to appear calm,
" you have had time, during the long hours that might
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 257
bave cost my life; time enough-- therefore speak ! tell me
what have you resolved? " O swald, terrified at the accents,
which betrayed her inmost feelings, k nelt before her, an-
swering, " Corinne, my heart is unchanged; what have I
learnt that should dispel your enchantment? O nly hear
me; " and as she trembled still more violently, he added,
with much earnestness, " L isten fearlessly to one who cannot
live, and k now thou art unhappy. " -- " A h," she sighed,
" it is of my happiness you speak ; your own, then, no
longer depends on me? Y et I
repulse not your pity; for,
at this moment, I have need of it: but think you I will
liveforthatalone? " -- " N o,no,wewillbothlivefor
love. I will return. " --
" A h, you do go, then?
changed since yesterday!
" R eturn! " interrupted Corinne,
W hat has happened? how is all
hapless wretch that I am! " --
" Dearest love," returned O swald, " be composed; and let
me, if I can, ex plain my meaning; it is better than you
suppose, much better; but it is necessary, nevertheless,
that I should ascertain my father' s reasons for opposing
our union seven years since: he never mentioned the sub-
j ect to me; but his most intimate surviving friend, in
E ngland, must k now his motives. I f, as I believe, they
sprung from unimportant circumstances, I can pardon your
desertion of your father' s land and mine; to so noble a
country love may attach you yet, and bid you prefer home-
felt peace, with its gentle and natural virtues, even to the
fame of genius. I will hope every thing, do every thing;
if my father decides against thee, Corinne, I will never be
' the husband of another, though then I cannot be thine. "
A cold dew stood on his brow: the effort he had made to
speak thus cost him so much agony, that for some time
Corinne could think of nothing but the sad state in which
she beheld him. A t last she took his hand, crying, " S o,
you return to E ngland without me. " O swald was silent.
" Cruel! " she continued: " you say nothing to contradict
my fears; they are j ust, then, though even while saying so
I cannot yet believe it. " -- " Thank s to your cares," an-
swered N evil, " I have regained the life so nearly lost: it
belongs to my country during the war. I f I can marry
you, we part no more. I will restore you to your rank in
s
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? 258CO R I N ' N E ; O B I TA L Y .
E ngland. I f this too happy lot should be forbidden me, I
shall return, with the peace, to I taly, stay with you long,
and change your fate in nothing save in giving you one
faithful friend the more. " -- " N ot change my fate! "
repeated; " you, who have become my only interest in the
world! to whom I owe the intox icating draught which?
gives happiness or death? Y et tell me, at least, this
parting, when must it be? H ow many days are left me? "
-- " B eloved! " he cried, pressing her to his heart, "
that for three months I will not leave thee; not, perhaps,
even then. " -- " Three months! " she burst forth; "
I to live so long? it is much, I did not hope so much.
Come, I feel better. Three months? -- what a futurity! "
she added, with a mix ture of j oy and sadness, that pro-
foundly affected O swald; and both, in silence, entered the
carriage which took them back to N aples.
CH A PTE R I I .
Castel F orte awaited them at the inn. A report had
been circulated of their marriage: it greatly pained the
Prince, yet he came to assure himself of the fact, to regain,
as a friend, the society of his love, even if she were for ever
united to another. The state of dej ection in which he be-
held her, for the first time, occasioned him much uneasi-
ness; but he dared not q uestion her, as she seemed to
avoid all conversation on this subj ect. There are situations
which we dread to confide in any one; a single word, that
we might say or hear, would suffice to dissipate the illusion
that supports our life. The self-deceptions of impassioned
sentiment have the peculiarity of humouring the heart, as
we humour a friend whom we fear to affiict by the truth;
thus, unconsciously, trust we our own griefs to the protection
of our own pity. .
N ex t day, Corinne, who was too natural a person to
attempt producing an effect by her sorrows, strove to appear
gay; believing that the best method of retaining O swald
she
I
swear,
am
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? corinne; or italy. 259
was to seem as attractive as formerly. S he, therefore, in-
troduced some interesting topic; but suddenly her abstrac-
tion returned, her eyes wandered: the woman who had
possessed the greatest possible facility of address now
hesitated in her choice of words, and sometimes used ex -
pressions that bore not the slightest reference to what she
intended saying: then she would laugh at herself, though
through tears; and O swald, overwhelmed by the wreck he
had made, would have sought to be alone with her, but she
carefully denied him an opportunity.
" W hat would you learn from me? " she said one day,
when, for an instant, he insisted on speak ing with her. " I
regret myself-- that is all! I had some pride in my
talents. I loved success, glory. The praises, even of in-
different persons, were obj ects of my ambition; now I
for nothing: and it is not happiness that weans me from
these vain pleasures, but a vast discouragement. I accuse
not you; it springs from myself; perhaps I may yet tri-
umph over it. Many things pass in the depths of the soul
care
that we can neither foresee nor direct; but I do you j ustice,
O swald: I see you suffer for me. I sympathise with you,
too: why should not pity bestow her gifts on us? A las!
they might be offered to all who breathe, without proving
very inapplicable. "
O swald, indeed, was not less wretched than Corinne.
H e loved her strongly; but her history had wounded his
affections, his way of think ing. H e seemed to perceive
clearly that his father had prej udged every thing for him;
and that he could only wed Corinne in defiance of such
warning; -- yet how resign her? H is uncertainty was more
painful than that which he hoped to terminate by a k now-
ledge of her life. O n her part, she had not wished that the
tie of marriage should unite her to O swald: so she could
have been certain that he would never leave her, she would
have wanted no more to render her content; but she k new
him well enough to understand, that he could conceive no
happiness save in domestic life; and would never abj ure
the design of marrying her, unless in ceasing to love. H ia \
departure for E ngland appeared the signal for her death.
S he was aware how great an influence the manners and
s2
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? 26 0CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y *
opinions of his country held over his mind. V ainly did he
talk of passing his life with her in I taly: she doubted not
that, once returned to his home, the thought of q uitting it
again would be odious to him. S he felt that she owed her
power to her charms; and what is that power in absence?
W hat are the memories of imagination to a man encircled
by all the realities of social order, the more imperious from
being founded on pure and noble reason? Tormented by
these reflections, Corinne strove to ex ert some power over
her fondness. S he tried to speak with Castel F orte on
literature and the fine arts; but, if O swald j oined them,
the dignity of his mien, the melancholy look which seemed
to ask , " W hy will you renounce me? " disconcerted all her
attempts. Twenty times would she have told him, that his
/ irresolution offended her, and that she was decided to leave
him; but she saw him now lean his head upon his hand,
as if bending breathless beneath his sorrows; now musing
beside the sea, or raising his eyes to heaven, at the sound
of music; and these simple changes, whose magic was
k nown but to herself, suddenly overthrew her determin-
ation. A look , an accent, a certain grace of gesture, re-
veals to love the nearest secrets of the soul;
a countenance, so apparently cold as N evil'
read, save by those to whom it is dearest. I
and, perhaps,
s, can never be
mpartiality
guesses nothing, j udges only by what is displayed. Co-
rinne, in solitude, essayed a test which had succeeded
when she had but believed that she loved. S he tax ed her
spirit of observation (which was capable of detecting the
slightest foibles) to represent O swald beneath less seducing
colours; but there was nothing about him less than noble,
simple, and affecting. H ow then defeat the spell of so per-
fectly natural a mind? I t is only affectation which can at
once awak en the heart, astonished at ever having loved.
B esides, there ex isted between O swald and Corinne a sin-
gular, all-powerful sympathy. Their tastes were not the
same; their opinions rarely accorded; yet in the centre of
each soul dwelt k indred mysteries, drawn from one source;
a secret lik eness, that attests the same nature, however
differently modified by ex ternal circumstances. Corinne,
therefore, found to her dismay, that she had but increased
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? O O R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 26 1
her passion, by thus minutely considering O swald anew,
even in her very struggle against his image. S he invited
Castel F orte to return to R ome with them. N evil k new
she did this to avoid being alone with him: he felt it sadly,
but could not oppose. H e was no longer persuaded, that
what he might offer Corinne would constitute her content;
and this thought rendered him timid. S he, the while, had
hoped, that he would refuse the Prince' s company. Their
situation was no longer honest as of old: though as yet
without actual dissimulation, restraint already troubled a.
regard, which for six months had daily conferred on them
a bliss almost unq ualified. R eturning by Capua and Gaeta,
scenes which she had so lately visited with such delight,
Corinne felt that these beauties vainly called on her to reflect
their smile. W hen such a sk y fails to disperse the clouds
of care, its laughing contrast but augments their gloom.
They arrived at Terracina on a deliciously refreshing
eve. Corinne withdrew after supper. O swald went forth,
and his heart, lik e hers, led him towards the spot where
they had rested on their way to N aples. H e beheld her,
k neeling before the rock on which they sat; and, as he
look ed on the moon, saw that she was veiled by a cloud, as
she had been two months since at that hour. Corinne, at
his approach, rose, and pointing upwards, said, " H ave I
not reason to believe in omens? I s there not some com-
passion in that heaven? I t warned me of the future; and
to-night, you see, it mourns for me. F orget not, O swald,
to remark , if such a cloud passes not over the moon when
I am dying. " -- " Corinne," he cried, " have I deserved
that you should k ill me? I t were easily done: speak thus
again, and you will see how easily,-- but for what crime?
Y our mode of think ing lifts you above the world' s opinion:
in your country it is not severe; and if it were, your genius
could surmount it. W hatever happens, I will live near
you; whence, then, this despair? I f I cannot be your
husband, without offence to the memory of one who reigns
eq ually with yourself in my breast,-- do you not love me
well enough to find some solace in the tender devotion ot
mine every instant. H ave you not still my ring? that
sacredpledge? " -- . " I willreturnit,O swald. " -- " N ever! "
s3
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? 26 2CO R I N N E ; O R H A L T-
-- " A h, yes, when you desire it; the ring itself will tell
me. A n old legend says, that the diamond, more true than
man, dims when the giver has betrayed our trust. " (1)
-- " Corinne,"
your mind is lost;
oh, pardon me!
said O swald, " dare you speak such treason?
it no longer k nows me. " -- " Pardon!
in love lik e mine, the heart, O swald, is
gifted suddenly with most miraculous instincts; and its
own sufferings hecome oracles. W
hat portends, then, the
heavy palpitation of my heart? A h, love, I should not
fear it, if it were hut my k nell! " S he fled, precipitately,
dreading to remain longer with him. S he could not dally
with her grief, but sought to break from it; yet it returned
but the more violently for her repulse. The nex t day, as
they crossed the Pontine Marsh, O swald' s care of her was
even more scrupulous than before; she received it with the
sweetest thank fulness: but there was something in her look
thatsaid," W hywillyounotletmedie? " '
CH A PTE R I I I .
W hat a desert seems R ome, in going to it from N aples!
E ntering by the gate of S t. J ohn L ateran, you traverse
but long solitary streets; they please afresh after a little
time; but, on j ust leaving a lively, dissipated population,
it is melancholy to be thrown upon one' s self, even were
that self at ease. B esides this, R ome, towards the end
of J uly, is a dangerous residence. The malaria renders
many q uarters uninhabitable; and the contagion often
spreads through the whole city. This year, particularly,
every face bore the impress of apprehension. Corinne
wasmetatherowndoorbyamonk ,whoask edleaveto
bless her house against infection: she consented; and the
priest walk ed through the rooms, sprink ling holy water,
and repeating L atin prayers. L ord N evil smiled at this
ceremony-- Corinne' s heart melted over it. " I find in-
definable charms," she said, " in all that is religious, cr
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? corinne; or italy. 26 3
even superstitious, while nothing hostile nor intolerant
blends with it. Divine aid is so needful, when our
thoughts stray from the common path, that the highest
minds most req uire superhuman care. " -- " Doubtless
such want ex ists, but can it thus be satisfied? " -- "
never refuse a prayer associated with my own, from whom-
soever it is offered me. " -- " Y ou are right," said N
giving his purse to the old friar, who departed, with be-
nedictions on them both.
W hen the friends of Corinne
heard of her return, they flock ed to see her: if any won-
dered that she was not O swald' s wife, none, at least, ask
the reason: the pleasure of regaining her diverted them
from every other thought. Corinne endeavoured to appear
unchanged; but she could not succeed. S he revisited the
work s of art that once afforded her such vivid pleasure;
but sorrow was the base of her every feeling now. A t the
V illa B orghese, or the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she no
longer enj oyed that reverie on the instability of human
blessings, which lends them a still more touching character.
I
evil,
ed
A fix ed, despondent pensiveness absorbed her. N ature,
who ever speak s to the heart vaguely, can do nothing for
it when oppressed by real calamities. O swald and Corinne
were worse than unhappy; for actual misery oft causes
such emotions as relieve the laden breast; and from
the storm may burst a flash pointing the onward way:
but mutual restraint, and fruitless efforts to escape pur-
suing recollections, made them even discontented with one
another. I ndeed, how can we suffer thus, without ac-
cusing the being we love as the cause? True, a word, a
look , suffices to efface our displeasure; but that look , that
word, may not come when most ex pected, or most needful.
N othing in love can be premeditated; it is as a power
divine, that think s and feels within us unswayed by our
control.
A fever, more malignant than had been k nown in R omp
for some years, now brok e out suddenly. A young woman
was attack ed: her friends and family refused to fly, and
perished with her. The nex t house ex perienced the same
devastation. E very hour a holy fraternity, veiled in white,
accompanied the dead to interment; themselves appearing
84
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? 26 ? A corinne; oritaly.
lik e the ghosts of those they followed. The bodies, -with
their faces uncovered, are borne on a k ind of litter. O ver
their feet is thrown a pall of gold or rose-colour satin;
and children often unconsciously play with the cold hands
' of the corpse. This spectacle, at once terrific and familiar,
is graced but by the monotonous murmur of a psalm, in
which the accent of the human soul can scarce be recog-
nised. O ne evening, when O swald and Corinne were
alone together, and he more depressed than usual by her
altered manner, he heard, beneath the windows, these
dreary sounds, announcing a funeral: he listened awhile
in silence, and then said, " Perhaps to-morrow I may be
seized by this same malady, against which there is no
defence; you will then wish that you had said a few k ind
words to me on the day that may be my last. Corinne,
death threatens us both closely. A re there not miseries
enough in life, that we should thus mutually augment
each other' s? " S truck by the idea of his danger, she now
entreated him to leave R ome instantly; he stubbornly
refused: she then proposed their going to V enice; to this
he cheerfully assented: it was for her alone that he had
trembled. Their departure was fix ed for the second day
from this; but on that morning O swald, who had not
seen Corinne the night before, received a note, informing
him that indispensable business obliged her to visit F lo-
rence; but that she should rej oin him at V enice in a fort-
night: she begged him to tak e A ncona in his way, and
gave him a seemingly important commission to ex ecute
for her there. H er style was more calm and considerate
than he had found it since they left N aples. H e believed
her implicitly, and prepared for his j ourney; but, wishing
once more to behold the dwelling of Corinne ere he left
R ome, he went thither, found it shut up, and rapped at the
door. A n old woman appeared, told him that all the other
servants had gone with her mistress, and would not answer
another word to his numerous q uestions. H e hastened to
Prince Castel F orte, who was as surprised as himself at
Corinne' s abrupt retirement. N evil, all anx iety, imagined
that her agent at Tivoli must have received some in-
structions as to her affairs. H e mounted his horse with
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 2fl5
a promptitude unusual to him, and, in ex treme agitation,
rode to her country house: its doors were open; he en-
tered, passed some of the rooms without meeting any one,
till he reached that of Corinne: though dark ness reigned
there, he saw her on her bed, with There' sina alone beside
her: he uttered a cry of recognition; it recalled her to
consciousness: she raised herself, saying eagerly, -- " Do
not come near me! I forbid you! I die if you do! "
O swald felt as if his beloved were accusing him of some
crime which she had all at once suspected: believing him-
self hated-- scorned-- he fell on his k nees, with a despair-
ing submission which suggested to Corinne the idea of
profiting by this mistak e, and she commanded him to leave
her for ever, as if he had in truth beerj guilty. S peechless
with wonder, he would have obeyed, when Theresina
sobbed forth, --
dear lady? S
banish me too;
" O h, my L ord! will you then desert my
he has sent every one away, and would fain
for she has caught the infectious fever! "
These words instantly ex plained the affecting stratagem
of Corinne; and O swald clasped, her to his heart, with a
transport of tenderness, such as he had never before ex -
perienced. I n vain she repelled him; in vain she re-
proached Theresina. O swald bade the good creature with-
draw, and lavished his tearful k isses on the face of his
adored. " N ow, now," he cried, " thou shalt not die
without me: if the fatal poison be in thy veins, at least,
thank H
eaven, I breathe it in thine arms. " -- " Dear, cruel
O swald! " she sighed, " to what tortures you condemn
me! O
h God! since he will not live without me, let not
my better angel perish! no, save him, save him! " H ere
her strength was lost, and, for eight days, she remained in
the greatest danger. I n the midst of her delirium, she
would cry, -- " K eep O swald from me!
here! never tell him where I am! " W
returned, she gazed on him, murmuring, -- "
let him not come
hen her reason
O swald! in
death as in life you are with me; we shall be re-united. "
W hen she perceived how pale he was, a deadly terror
seized her, and she called to his aid the physicians who
had given her a strong proof of devotion in never having
abandoned her. O swald constantly held her burning hands
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? 26 6 CO R I N N e' ; O R I TA L Y .
c
in his, and finished the cup of which she had drank ; in
fact, with such avidity did he share her perils, that she
herself ceased at last to combat this passionate self-sacri-
fice. L eaning her head upon his arm, she resigned herself
to his will. Two beings who so love that they feel the
impossibility of living without each other, may well attain
the noble and tender intimacy which puts all things in com-
mon, even death itself. (2) H appily L ord N evil did not
tak e the disease through which he so carefully nursed
Corinne. S he recovered; but another malady penetrated
yet deeper into her breast. The generosity of her lover,
alas! redoubled the attachment she had borne him.
CH A PTE R I V .
I t was agreed that N evil and Corinne should visit V enice.
They had relapsed into silence on their future prospects,
but spok e of their affection more confidingly than ever:
both avoided all topics that could disturb their present
mutual peace. A day passed with him was to her such
enj oyment! he seemed so to revel in her conversation; he
followed her every impulse; studied her slightest wish,
with so sustained an interest, that it appeared impossible he
could bestow so much felicity without himself being happy.
Corinne drew assurances of safety from the bliss she tasted.
A fter some months of such habits we believe them insepar-
able from our ex istence. H er agitation was calmed again,
and her natural heedlessness of the future returned. Y et,
on the eve of q uitting R ome, she became ex tremely melan-
choly: this time she both hoped and feared that it was for
ever. The night before her departure, unable to sleep,
she heard a troop of R omans singing in the moonlight.
S he could not resist her desire to follow them, and once
more wander through that beloved scene. S he dressed; and
bidding her servants k eep the carriage within sight of her,
put on a veil, to avoid recognition, and, at some distance,
pursued the musicians. They paused on the bridge of
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 26 * 7
S t. A ngelo, in front of A drian' s tomb: in such a spot
music seems to ex press the vanities and splendours of the
world. O ne might fancy one beheld in the air the im-
perial shade wondering to find no other trace left of his
power on earth ex cept a tomb. The band continued their
walk , singing as they went, to the silent night, when the
happy ought to sleep: their pure and gentle melodies
seemed designed to solace wak eful suffering. Drawn on-
ward by this resistless spell, Corinne, insensible to fatigue,
seemed winging her way along. They also sang before
A ntoninus' pillar, and then at Traj an' s column: they sa-
luted the obelisk of S t. J ohn L
of music worthily mates the ideal ex
ateran. The ideal language
these: enthusiasm reigns alone, while vulgar interests
slumber. A t last the singers departed, and left Corinne
near the Coliseum: she wished to enter its enclosure and
bid adieu to ancient R ome.
Those who have seen this place but by day cannot
j udge of the impression it may mak e. The sun of I
should shine on festivals; but the moon is the light for
ruins. S ometimes, through the openings of the amphi-
theatre, which seems towering to the clouds, a portion of
heaven' s vault appears lik e a dark blue curtain. The
plants that cling to the brok en walls all wear the hues of
night. The soul at once shudders and melts on finding
itself alone with nature. O ne side of this edifice is much
more fallen than the other: the two contemporaries mak e
an uneq ual struggle against time. H e fells the weak est;
the other still resists, but soon must yield.
" Y e solemn scenes! " cried Corinne, " where, at this
hour, no being breathes beside me, -- where but the
echoes of my own voice answer me, -- how are the storms
of passion calmed by nature, who thus peacefully permits so
many generations to glide by! H as not the universe some
better end than man? or are its marvels scattered here,
merely to be reflected in his mind? O swald! why do I
love with such idolatry? why live but for the feelings of a
day, compared to the infinite hopes that unite us with
divinity? My God! if it be true, as I believe, that we
admire thee the more the more capable we are of reflection,
pression of work
s lik e
taly
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? 2b8 corinne; or I taly.
mak e my own mind my refuge against my heart! The
noble being whose gentle look s I can never forget is but a
perishable mortal lik e myself. A mong the stars there is
eternal love, alone sufficing to a boundless heart. " Corinne
remained long lost in these ideas, and, at last, turned slowly
towards her own abode; but, ere she re-entered it, she
wished to await the dawn at S t. Peter' s, and from its
dome tak e her last leave of all beneath. H er imagination
represented this edifice as it must be, when, in its turn,
a wreck , -- the theme of wonder for yet unborn ages.
The columns, now erect, half bedded in earth; the porch
dilapidated, with the E gyptian obelisk ex ulting over the
decay of novelties, wrought for an earthly immortality.
F rom the summit of S t. Peter' s Corinne beheld day rise
over R ome, which, in its uncultivated Campagna, look
the O asis of a L ibyan desert. Devastation is around it;
but the multitude of spires and cupolas, over which S t.
Peter' s rises, give a strange beauty to its aspect. This
city may boast one peculiar charm: we love it as an ani-
mated being: its very ruins are as friends, from whom we
cannot part without farewell.
s lik e
Corinne addressed the Pantheon, S t. A ngelo' s, and all
the sites that once renewed the pleasures of her fancy.
" A dieu! " she said, " land of remembrances! scenes
where life depends not on events, nor on society; where
enthusiasm refreshes itself through the eyes, and link s the
soul to each ex ternal obj ect. I leave you, to follow O swald,
not k nowing to what fate he may consign me. I prefer
him to the independence which here afforded me such
happy days. I may return no more ; -- but for a brok en
heart and blighted mind, ye arts and monuments so oft
invok ed, while I was ex iled beneath his stormy sk y, ye
could do nothing to console! "
S he wept; yet thought not, for an instant, of letting
O swald depart without her. R esolutions springing from the
neart we often j ustly blame, yet hesitate not to adopt.
W hen passion masters a superior mind, it separates our
j udgment from our conduct, and need not cloud the one
in order to over-rule the other.
Corinne' s black curls and veil floating on the breeze
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 26 9
gave her so picturesq ue an air, that, as she left the church,
the common people recognised and followed her to her
carriage with the warmest testimonials of respect. S he
sighed again, at parting from a race so ardent and so
graceful in their ex pressions of esteem. N or was this all.
S he had to endure the regrets of her friends. They
devised fetes in order to delay her departure: their poetical
tributes strove in a thousand ways to convince her that she
ought to stay; and finally they accompanied her on horse-
back for twenty miles. S he was ex tremely affected. O s-
wald cast down his eyes in confusion, reproaching himself
for tearing her from so much delight, though he k new that
an offer of remaining there would be more barbarous still.
H e appeared selfish in removing Corinne from R ome; yet
he was not so; for the fear of afflicting her, by setting forth
alone, had more weight with him than even the hope of
retaining her presence. H e k new not what he was about
to do, -- saw nothing beyond V enice. H e had written to
enq uire how soon his regiment would be actively employed
in the war, and awaited a reply. S ometimes he thought
of tak ing Corinne with him to E ngland; yet instantly re-
membered that he should for ever ruin her reputation by
so doing, unless she were his wife; then he wished to
soften the pangs of separation by a private marriage; but
a moment afterwards gave up that plan also. " W e can
k eep no secrets from the dead," he cried; " and what
should I gain by mak ing a mystery of an union prohibited
by nothing but my worship of a tomb? " H is mind, so
weak in all that concerned his affections, was sadly agitated
by contending sentiments. Corinne resigned herself to
him, lik e a victim, ex ulting, amid her sorrows, in the
sacrifices she made; while O swald, responsible for the
welfare of another, bound himself to her daily by new
ties, without the power of yielding to them; and, unhappy
in his love as in his conscience, felt the presence of both
but in their combats with each other.
W hen the friends of Corinne took
mended her earnestly to his care;
the love of so eminent a woman;
ing lik e mock ery and upbraiding. S he felt this; hastily
leave, they com-
congratulated him on
their every word sound-
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? 270CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
concluded the trying scene; and when, after turning from
time to time to salute her, they were at last lost to her
sight, she only said to her lover, " O swald! I have now
noonebutyouintheworld! " H owdidhelongtoswear
he would be hers! B ut freq uent disappointments teach us
to mistrust our own inclinations, and shrink even from the
vows our hearts may prompt. Corinne read his thoughts,
and delicately strove to fix his attention on the country
through which they travelled.
CHAPTER V.
recognised him, her senses still wandered, and she wildly
ex claimed, " Y ou promised never to depart without my
consent! I
promise, O
may now appear unworthy of your love; but a
swald ! " -- " Corinne," he cried, " the thought
of leaving you never entered my heart. I would only reflect
on our fate; and wished to recover my spirits ere I saw
you again. " -- " W ell," she said, struggling to appear calm,
" you have had time, during the long hours that might
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 257
bave cost my life; time enough-- therefore speak ! tell me
what have you resolved? " O swald, terrified at the accents,
which betrayed her inmost feelings, k nelt before her, an-
swering, " Corinne, my heart is unchanged; what have I
learnt that should dispel your enchantment? O nly hear
me; " and as she trembled still more violently, he added,
with much earnestness, " L isten fearlessly to one who cannot
live, and k now thou art unhappy. " -- " A h," she sighed,
" it is of my happiness you speak ; your own, then, no
longer depends on me? Y et I
repulse not your pity; for,
at this moment, I have need of it: but think you I will
liveforthatalone? " -- " N o,no,wewillbothlivefor
love. I will return. " --
" A h, you do go, then?
changed since yesterday!
" R eturn! " interrupted Corinne,
W hat has happened? how is all
hapless wretch that I am! " --
" Dearest love," returned O swald, " be composed; and let
me, if I can, ex plain my meaning; it is better than you
suppose, much better; but it is necessary, nevertheless,
that I should ascertain my father' s reasons for opposing
our union seven years since: he never mentioned the sub-
j ect to me; but his most intimate surviving friend, in
E ngland, must k now his motives. I f, as I believe, they
sprung from unimportant circumstances, I can pardon your
desertion of your father' s land and mine; to so noble a
country love may attach you yet, and bid you prefer home-
felt peace, with its gentle and natural virtues, even to the
fame of genius. I will hope every thing, do every thing;
if my father decides against thee, Corinne, I will never be
' the husband of another, though then I cannot be thine. "
A cold dew stood on his brow: the effort he had made to
speak thus cost him so much agony, that for some time
Corinne could think of nothing but the sad state in which
she beheld him. A t last she took his hand, crying, " S o,
you return to E ngland without me. " O swald was silent.
" Cruel! " she continued: " you say nothing to contradict
my fears; they are j ust, then, though even while saying so
I cannot yet believe it. " -- " Thank s to your cares," an-
swered N evil, " I have regained the life so nearly lost: it
belongs to my country during the war. I f I can marry
you, we part no more. I will restore you to your rank in
s
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? 258CO R I N ' N E ; O B I TA L Y .
E ngland. I f this too happy lot should be forbidden me, I
shall return, with the peace, to I taly, stay with you long,
and change your fate in nothing save in giving you one
faithful friend the more. " -- " N ot change my fate! "
repeated; " you, who have become my only interest in the
world! to whom I owe the intox icating draught which?
gives happiness or death? Y et tell me, at least, this
parting, when must it be? H ow many days are left me? "
-- " B eloved! " he cried, pressing her to his heart, "
that for three months I will not leave thee; not, perhaps,
even then. " -- " Three months! " she burst forth; "
I to live so long? it is much, I did not hope so much.
Come, I feel better. Three months? -- what a futurity! "
she added, with a mix ture of j oy and sadness, that pro-
foundly affected O swald; and both, in silence, entered the
carriage which took them back to N aples.
CH A PTE R I I .
Castel F orte awaited them at the inn. A report had
been circulated of their marriage: it greatly pained the
Prince, yet he came to assure himself of the fact, to regain,
as a friend, the society of his love, even if she were for ever
united to another. The state of dej ection in which he be-
held her, for the first time, occasioned him much uneasi-
ness; but he dared not q uestion her, as she seemed to
avoid all conversation on this subj ect. There are situations
which we dread to confide in any one; a single word, that
we might say or hear, would suffice to dissipate the illusion
that supports our life. The self-deceptions of impassioned
sentiment have the peculiarity of humouring the heart, as
we humour a friend whom we fear to affiict by the truth;
thus, unconsciously, trust we our own griefs to the protection
of our own pity. .
N ex t day, Corinne, who was too natural a person to
attempt producing an effect by her sorrows, strove to appear
gay; believing that the best method of retaining O swald
she
I
swear,
am
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? corinne; or italy. 259
was to seem as attractive as formerly. S he, therefore, in-
troduced some interesting topic; but suddenly her abstrac-
tion returned, her eyes wandered: the woman who had
possessed the greatest possible facility of address now
hesitated in her choice of words, and sometimes used ex -
pressions that bore not the slightest reference to what she
intended saying: then she would laugh at herself, though
through tears; and O swald, overwhelmed by the wreck he
had made, would have sought to be alone with her, but she
carefully denied him an opportunity.
" W hat would you learn from me? " she said one day,
when, for an instant, he insisted on speak ing with her. " I
regret myself-- that is all! I had some pride in my
talents. I loved success, glory. The praises, even of in-
different persons, were obj ects of my ambition; now I
for nothing: and it is not happiness that weans me from
these vain pleasures, but a vast discouragement. I accuse
not you; it springs from myself; perhaps I may yet tri-
umph over it. Many things pass in the depths of the soul
care
that we can neither foresee nor direct; but I do you j ustice,
O swald: I see you suffer for me. I sympathise with you,
too: why should not pity bestow her gifts on us? A las!
they might be offered to all who breathe, without proving
very inapplicable. "
O swald, indeed, was not less wretched than Corinne.
H e loved her strongly; but her history had wounded his
affections, his way of think ing. H e seemed to perceive
clearly that his father had prej udged every thing for him;
and that he could only wed Corinne in defiance of such
warning; -- yet how resign her? H is uncertainty was more
painful than that which he hoped to terminate by a k now-
ledge of her life. O n her part, she had not wished that the
tie of marriage should unite her to O swald: so she could
have been certain that he would never leave her, she would
have wanted no more to render her content; but she k new
him well enough to understand, that he could conceive no
happiness save in domestic life; and would never abj ure
the design of marrying her, unless in ceasing to love. H ia \
departure for E ngland appeared the signal for her death.
S he was aware how great an influence the manners and
s2
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? 26 0CO R I N N E ; O B I TA L Y *
opinions of his country held over his mind. V ainly did he
talk of passing his life with her in I taly: she doubted not
that, once returned to his home, the thought of q uitting it
again would be odious to him. S he felt that she owed her
power to her charms; and what is that power in absence?
W hat are the memories of imagination to a man encircled
by all the realities of social order, the more imperious from
being founded on pure and noble reason? Tormented by
these reflections, Corinne strove to ex ert some power over
her fondness. S he tried to speak with Castel F orte on
literature and the fine arts; but, if O swald j oined them,
the dignity of his mien, the melancholy look which seemed
to ask , " W hy will you renounce me? " disconcerted all her
attempts. Twenty times would she have told him, that his
/ irresolution offended her, and that she was decided to leave
him; but she saw him now lean his head upon his hand,
as if bending breathless beneath his sorrows; now musing
beside the sea, or raising his eyes to heaven, at the sound
of music; and these simple changes, whose magic was
k nown but to herself, suddenly overthrew her determin-
ation. A look , an accent, a certain grace of gesture, re-
veals to love the nearest secrets of the soul;
a countenance, so apparently cold as N evil'
read, save by those to whom it is dearest. I
and, perhaps,
s, can never be
mpartiality
guesses nothing, j udges only by what is displayed. Co-
rinne, in solitude, essayed a test which had succeeded
when she had but believed that she loved. S he tax ed her
spirit of observation (which was capable of detecting the
slightest foibles) to represent O swald beneath less seducing
colours; but there was nothing about him less than noble,
simple, and affecting. H ow then defeat the spell of so per-
fectly natural a mind? I t is only affectation which can at
once awak en the heart, astonished at ever having loved.
B esides, there ex isted between O swald and Corinne a sin-
gular, all-powerful sympathy. Their tastes were not the
same; their opinions rarely accorded; yet in the centre of
each soul dwelt k indred mysteries, drawn from one source;
a secret lik eness, that attests the same nature, however
differently modified by ex ternal circumstances. Corinne,
therefore, found to her dismay, that she had but increased
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? O O R I N N E J O R I TA L Y . 26 1
her passion, by thus minutely considering O swald anew,
even in her very struggle against his image. S he invited
Castel F orte to return to R ome with them. N evil k new
she did this to avoid being alone with him: he felt it sadly,
but could not oppose. H e was no longer persuaded, that
what he might offer Corinne would constitute her content;
and this thought rendered him timid. S he, the while, had
hoped, that he would refuse the Prince' s company. Their
situation was no longer honest as of old: though as yet
without actual dissimulation, restraint already troubled a.
regard, which for six months had daily conferred on them
a bliss almost unq ualified. R eturning by Capua and Gaeta,
scenes which she had so lately visited with such delight,
Corinne felt that these beauties vainly called on her to reflect
their smile. W hen such a sk y fails to disperse the clouds
of care, its laughing contrast but augments their gloom.
They arrived at Terracina on a deliciously refreshing
eve. Corinne withdrew after supper. O swald went forth,
and his heart, lik e hers, led him towards the spot where
they had rested on their way to N aples. H e beheld her,
k neeling before the rock on which they sat; and, as he
look ed on the moon, saw that she was veiled by a cloud, as
she had been two months since at that hour. Corinne, at
his approach, rose, and pointing upwards, said, " H ave I
not reason to believe in omens? I s there not some com-
passion in that heaven? I t warned me of the future; and
to-night, you see, it mourns for me. F orget not, O swald,
to remark , if such a cloud passes not over the moon when
I am dying. " -- " Corinne," he cried, " have I deserved
that you should k ill me? I t were easily done: speak thus
again, and you will see how easily,-- but for what crime?
Y our mode of think ing lifts you above the world' s opinion:
in your country it is not severe; and if it were, your genius
could surmount it. W hatever happens, I will live near
you; whence, then, this despair? I f I cannot be your
husband, without offence to the memory of one who reigns
eq ually with yourself in my breast,-- do you not love me
well enough to find some solace in the tender devotion ot
mine every instant. H ave you not still my ring? that
sacredpledge? " -- . " I willreturnit,O swald. " -- " N ever! "
s3
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? 26 2CO R I N N E ; O R H A L T-
-- " A h, yes, when you desire it; the ring itself will tell
me. A n old legend says, that the diamond, more true than
man, dims when the giver has betrayed our trust. " (1)
-- " Corinne,"
your mind is lost;
oh, pardon me!
said O swald, " dare you speak such treason?
it no longer k nows me. " -- " Pardon!
in love lik e mine, the heart, O swald, is
gifted suddenly with most miraculous instincts; and its
own sufferings hecome oracles. W
hat portends, then, the
heavy palpitation of my heart? A h, love, I should not
fear it, if it were hut my k nell! " S he fled, precipitately,
dreading to remain longer with him. S he could not dally
with her grief, but sought to break from it; yet it returned
but the more violently for her repulse. The nex t day, as
they crossed the Pontine Marsh, O swald' s care of her was
even more scrupulous than before; she received it with the
sweetest thank fulness: but there was something in her look
thatsaid," W hywillyounotletmedie? " '
CH A PTE R I I I .
W hat a desert seems R ome, in going to it from N aples!
E ntering by the gate of S t. J ohn L ateran, you traverse
but long solitary streets; they please afresh after a little
time; but, on j ust leaving a lively, dissipated population,
it is melancholy to be thrown upon one' s self, even were
that self at ease. B esides this, R ome, towards the end
of J uly, is a dangerous residence. The malaria renders
many q uarters uninhabitable; and the contagion often
spreads through the whole city. This year, particularly,
every face bore the impress of apprehension. Corinne
wasmetatherowndoorbyamonk ,whoask edleaveto
bless her house against infection: she consented; and the
priest walk ed through the rooms, sprink ling holy water,
and repeating L atin prayers. L ord N evil smiled at this
ceremony-- Corinne' s heart melted over it. " I find in-
definable charms," she said, " in all that is religious, cr
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? corinne; or italy. 26 3
even superstitious, while nothing hostile nor intolerant
blends with it. Divine aid is so needful, when our
thoughts stray from the common path, that the highest
minds most req uire superhuman care. " -- " Doubtless
such want ex ists, but can it thus be satisfied? " -- "
never refuse a prayer associated with my own, from whom-
soever it is offered me. " -- " Y ou are right," said N
giving his purse to the old friar, who departed, with be-
nedictions on them both.
W hen the friends of Corinne
heard of her return, they flock ed to see her: if any won-
dered that she was not O swald' s wife, none, at least, ask
the reason: the pleasure of regaining her diverted them
from every other thought. Corinne endeavoured to appear
unchanged; but she could not succeed. S he revisited the
work s of art that once afforded her such vivid pleasure;
but sorrow was the base of her every feeling now. A t the
V illa B orghese, or the tomb of Cecilia Metella, she no
longer enj oyed that reverie on the instability of human
blessings, which lends them a still more touching character.
I
evil,
ed
A fix ed, despondent pensiveness absorbed her. N ature,
who ever speak s to the heart vaguely, can do nothing for
it when oppressed by real calamities. O swald and Corinne
were worse than unhappy; for actual misery oft causes
such emotions as relieve the laden breast; and from
the storm may burst a flash pointing the onward way:
but mutual restraint, and fruitless efforts to escape pur-
suing recollections, made them even discontented with one
another. I ndeed, how can we suffer thus, without ac-
cusing the being we love as the cause? True, a word, a
look , suffices to efface our displeasure; but that look , that
word, may not come when most ex pected, or most needful.
N othing in love can be premeditated; it is as a power
divine, that think s and feels within us unswayed by our
control.
A fever, more malignant than had been k nown in R omp
for some years, now brok e out suddenly. A young woman
was attack ed: her friends and family refused to fly, and
perished with her. The nex t house ex perienced the same
devastation. E very hour a holy fraternity, veiled in white,
accompanied the dead to interment; themselves appearing
84
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? 26 ? A corinne; oritaly.
lik e the ghosts of those they followed. The bodies, -with
their faces uncovered, are borne on a k ind of litter. O ver
their feet is thrown a pall of gold or rose-colour satin;
and children often unconsciously play with the cold hands
' of the corpse. This spectacle, at once terrific and familiar,
is graced but by the monotonous murmur of a psalm, in
which the accent of the human soul can scarce be recog-
nised. O ne evening, when O swald and Corinne were
alone together, and he more depressed than usual by her
altered manner, he heard, beneath the windows, these
dreary sounds, announcing a funeral: he listened awhile
in silence, and then said, " Perhaps to-morrow I may be
seized by this same malady, against which there is no
defence; you will then wish that you had said a few k ind
words to me on the day that may be my last. Corinne,
death threatens us both closely. A re there not miseries
enough in life, that we should thus mutually augment
each other' s? " S truck by the idea of his danger, she now
entreated him to leave R ome instantly; he stubbornly
refused: she then proposed their going to V enice; to this
he cheerfully assented: it was for her alone that he had
trembled. Their departure was fix ed for the second day
from this; but on that morning O swald, who had not
seen Corinne the night before, received a note, informing
him that indispensable business obliged her to visit F lo-
rence; but that she should rej oin him at V enice in a fort-
night: she begged him to tak e A ncona in his way, and
gave him a seemingly important commission to ex ecute
for her there. H er style was more calm and considerate
than he had found it since they left N aples. H e believed
her implicitly, and prepared for his j ourney; but, wishing
once more to behold the dwelling of Corinne ere he left
R ome, he went thither, found it shut up, and rapped at the
door. A n old woman appeared, told him that all the other
servants had gone with her mistress, and would not answer
another word to his numerous q uestions. H e hastened to
Prince Castel F orte, who was as surprised as himself at
Corinne' s abrupt retirement. N evil, all anx iety, imagined
that her agent at Tivoli must have received some in-
structions as to her affairs. H e mounted his horse with
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 2fl5
a promptitude unusual to him, and, in ex treme agitation,
rode to her country house: its doors were open; he en-
tered, passed some of the rooms without meeting any one,
till he reached that of Corinne: though dark ness reigned
there, he saw her on her bed, with There' sina alone beside
her: he uttered a cry of recognition; it recalled her to
consciousness: she raised herself, saying eagerly, -- " Do
not come near me! I forbid you! I die if you do! "
O swald felt as if his beloved were accusing him of some
crime which she had all at once suspected: believing him-
self hated-- scorned-- he fell on his k nees, with a despair-
ing submission which suggested to Corinne the idea of
profiting by this mistak e, and she commanded him to leave
her for ever, as if he had in truth beerj guilty. S peechless
with wonder, he would have obeyed, when Theresina
sobbed forth, --
dear lady? S
banish me too;
" O h, my L ord! will you then desert my
he has sent every one away, and would fain
for she has caught the infectious fever! "
These words instantly ex plained the affecting stratagem
of Corinne; and O swald clasped, her to his heart, with a
transport of tenderness, such as he had never before ex -
perienced. I n vain she repelled him; in vain she re-
proached Theresina. O swald bade the good creature with-
draw, and lavished his tearful k isses on the face of his
adored. " N ow, now," he cried, " thou shalt not die
without me: if the fatal poison be in thy veins, at least,
thank H
eaven, I breathe it in thine arms. " -- " Dear, cruel
O swald! " she sighed, " to what tortures you condemn
me! O
h God! since he will not live without me, let not
my better angel perish! no, save him, save him! " H ere
her strength was lost, and, for eight days, she remained in
the greatest danger. I n the midst of her delirium, she
would cry, -- " K eep O swald from me!
here! never tell him where I am! " W
returned, she gazed on him, murmuring, -- "
let him not come
hen her reason
O swald! in
death as in life you are with me; we shall be re-united. "
W hen she perceived how pale he was, a deadly terror
seized her, and she called to his aid the physicians who
had given her a strong proof of devotion in never having
abandoned her. O swald constantly held her burning hands
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? 26 6 CO R I N N e' ; O R I TA L Y .
c
in his, and finished the cup of which she had drank ; in
fact, with such avidity did he share her perils, that she
herself ceased at last to combat this passionate self-sacri-
fice. L eaning her head upon his arm, she resigned herself
to his will. Two beings who so love that they feel the
impossibility of living without each other, may well attain
the noble and tender intimacy which puts all things in com-
mon, even death itself. (2) H appily L ord N evil did not
tak e the disease through which he so carefully nursed
Corinne. S he recovered; but another malady penetrated
yet deeper into her breast. The generosity of her lover,
alas! redoubled the attachment she had borne him.
CH A PTE R I V .
I t was agreed that N evil and Corinne should visit V enice.
They had relapsed into silence on their future prospects,
but spok e of their affection more confidingly than ever:
both avoided all topics that could disturb their present
mutual peace. A day passed with him was to her such
enj oyment! he seemed so to revel in her conversation; he
followed her every impulse; studied her slightest wish,
with so sustained an interest, that it appeared impossible he
could bestow so much felicity without himself being happy.
Corinne drew assurances of safety from the bliss she tasted.
A fter some months of such habits we believe them insepar-
able from our ex istence. H er agitation was calmed again,
and her natural heedlessness of the future returned. Y et,
on the eve of q uitting R ome, she became ex tremely melan-
choly: this time she both hoped and feared that it was for
ever. The night before her departure, unable to sleep,
she heard a troop of R omans singing in the moonlight.
S he could not resist her desire to follow them, and once
more wander through that beloved scene. S he dressed; and
bidding her servants k eep the carriage within sight of her,
put on a veil, to avoid recognition, and, at some distance,
pursued the musicians. They paused on the bridge of
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? CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y . 26 * 7
S t. A ngelo, in front of A drian' s tomb: in such a spot
music seems to ex press the vanities and splendours of the
world. O ne might fancy one beheld in the air the im-
perial shade wondering to find no other trace left of his
power on earth ex cept a tomb. The band continued their
walk , singing as they went, to the silent night, when the
happy ought to sleep: their pure and gentle melodies
seemed designed to solace wak eful suffering. Drawn on-
ward by this resistless spell, Corinne, insensible to fatigue,
seemed winging her way along. They also sang before
A ntoninus' pillar, and then at Traj an' s column: they sa-
luted the obelisk of S t. J ohn L
of music worthily mates the ideal ex
ateran. The ideal language
these: enthusiasm reigns alone, while vulgar interests
slumber. A t last the singers departed, and left Corinne
near the Coliseum: she wished to enter its enclosure and
bid adieu to ancient R ome.
Those who have seen this place but by day cannot
j udge of the impression it may mak e. The sun of I
should shine on festivals; but the moon is the light for
ruins. S ometimes, through the openings of the amphi-
theatre, which seems towering to the clouds, a portion of
heaven' s vault appears lik e a dark blue curtain. The
plants that cling to the brok en walls all wear the hues of
night. The soul at once shudders and melts on finding
itself alone with nature. O ne side of this edifice is much
more fallen than the other: the two contemporaries mak e
an uneq ual struggle against time. H e fells the weak est;
the other still resists, but soon must yield.
" Y e solemn scenes! " cried Corinne, " where, at this
hour, no being breathes beside me, -- where but the
echoes of my own voice answer me, -- how are the storms
of passion calmed by nature, who thus peacefully permits so
many generations to glide by! H as not the universe some
better end than man? or are its marvels scattered here,
merely to be reflected in his mind? O swald! why do I
love with such idolatry? why live but for the feelings of a
day, compared to the infinite hopes that unite us with
divinity? My God! if it be true, as I believe, that we
admire thee the more the more capable we are of reflection,
pression of work
s lik e
taly
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? 2b8 corinne; or I taly.
mak e my own mind my refuge against my heart! The
noble being whose gentle look s I can never forget is but a
perishable mortal lik e myself. A mong the stars there is
eternal love, alone sufficing to a boundless heart. " Corinne
remained long lost in these ideas, and, at last, turned slowly
towards her own abode; but, ere she re-entered it, she
wished to await the dawn at S t. Peter' s, and from its
dome tak e her last leave of all beneath. H er imagination
represented this edifice as it must be, when, in its turn,
a wreck , -- the theme of wonder for yet unborn ages.
The columns, now erect, half bedded in earth; the porch
dilapidated, with the E gyptian obelisk ex ulting over the
decay of novelties, wrought for an earthly immortality.
F rom the summit of S t. Peter' s Corinne beheld day rise
over R ome, which, in its uncultivated Campagna, look
the O asis of a L ibyan desert. Devastation is around it;
but the multitude of spires and cupolas, over which S t.
Peter' s rises, give a strange beauty to its aspect. This
city may boast one peculiar charm: we love it as an ani-
mated being: its very ruins are as friends, from whom we
cannot part without farewell.
s lik e
Corinne addressed the Pantheon, S t. A ngelo' s, and all
the sites that once renewed the pleasures of her fancy.
" A dieu! " she said, " land of remembrances! scenes
where life depends not on events, nor on society; where
enthusiasm refreshes itself through the eyes, and link s the
soul to each ex ternal obj ect. I leave you, to follow O swald,
not k nowing to what fate he may consign me. I prefer
him to the independence which here afforded me such
happy days. I may return no more ; -- but for a brok en
heart and blighted mind, ye arts and monuments so oft
invok ed, while I was ex iled beneath his stormy sk y, ye
could do nothing to console! "
S he wept; yet thought not, for an instant, of letting
O swald depart without her. R esolutions springing from the
neart we often j ustly blame, yet hesitate not to adopt.
W hen passion masters a superior mind, it separates our
j udgment from our conduct, and need not cloud the one
in order to over-rule the other.
Corinne' s black curls and veil floating on the breeze
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? corinne; O R I TA L Y . 26 9
gave her so picturesq ue an air, that, as she left the church,
the common people recognised and followed her to her
carriage with the warmest testimonials of respect. S he
sighed again, at parting from a race so ardent and so
graceful in their ex pressions of esteem. N or was this all.
S he had to endure the regrets of her friends. They
devised fetes in order to delay her departure: their poetical
tributes strove in a thousand ways to convince her that she
ought to stay; and finally they accompanied her on horse-
back for twenty miles. S he was ex tremely affected. O s-
wald cast down his eyes in confusion, reproaching himself
for tearing her from so much delight, though he k new that
an offer of remaining there would be more barbarous still.
H e appeared selfish in removing Corinne from R ome; yet
he was not so; for the fear of afflicting her, by setting forth
alone, had more weight with him than even the hope of
retaining her presence. H e k new not what he was about
to do, -- saw nothing beyond V enice. H e had written to
enq uire how soon his regiment would be actively employed
in the war, and awaited a reply. S ometimes he thought
of tak ing Corinne with him to E ngland; yet instantly re-
membered that he should for ever ruin her reputation by
so doing, unless she were his wife; then he wished to
soften the pangs of separation by a private marriage; but
a moment afterwards gave up that plan also. " W e can
k eep no secrets from the dead," he cried; " and what
should I gain by mak ing a mystery of an union prohibited
by nothing but my worship of a tomb? " H is mind, so
weak in all that concerned his affections, was sadly agitated
by contending sentiments. Corinne resigned herself to
him, lik e a victim, ex ulting, amid her sorrows, in the
sacrifices she made; while O swald, responsible for the
welfare of another, bound himself to her daily by new
ties, without the power of yielding to them; and, unhappy
in his love as in his conscience, felt the presence of both
but in their combats with each other.
W hen the friends of Corinne took
mended her earnestly to his care;
the love of so eminent a woman;
ing lik e mock ery and upbraiding. S he felt this; hastily
leave, they com-
congratulated him on
their every word sound-
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? 270CO R I N N E ; O R I TA L Y .
concluded the trying scene; and when, after turning from
time to time to salute her, they were at last lost to her
sight, she only said to her lover, " O swald! I have now
noonebutyouintheworld! " H owdidhelongtoswear
he would be hers! B ut freq uent disappointments teach us
to mistrust our own inclinations, and shrink even from the
vows our hearts may prompt. Corinne read his thoughts,
and delicately strove to fix his attention on the country
through which they travelled.
CHAPTER V.
