towards the Creator. What they exact of us, is an observance of those
practices which prove our respect for our worship, and our desire to
please God, namely, charity for the unfortunate, and repentance for our
errors. But they do not refuse absolution, when we zealously entreat it;
and the attachments of the heart inspire a more indulgent pity amongst
us than anywhere else. Has not Jesus Christ said of the Magdalen: _Much
shall be pardoned her, because she hath loved much_? These words were
uttered beneath a sky, beautiful as ours; this same sky implores for us
the Divine mercy."

"Corinne!" answered Lord Nelville, "how can I combat words so sweet, and
of which my heart stands so much in need? But I will do it,
nevertheless, because it is not for a day that I love Corinne - I expect
with her a long futurity of happiness and virtue. The most pure religion
is that which makes a continual homage to the Supreme Being, by the
sacrifice of our passions and the fulfilment of our duties. A man's
morality is his worship of God; and it would be degrading the idea we
form of the Creator, to suppose that He wills anything in relation with
His creature, that is not worthy of His intellectual perfection.
Paternal authority, that noble image of a master sovereignly good,
demands nothing of its children that does not tend to make them better
or happier. How then can we imagine that God would exact anything from
man, which has not man himself for its object? You see also what
confusion in the understandings of your people results from the
practice of attaching more importance to religious ceremonies than to
moral duties. It is after Holy Week, you know, that the greatest number
of murders is committed at Rome. The people think, to use the
expression, that they have laid in a stock during Lent, and expend in
assassination the treasures of their penitence. Criminals have been
seen, yet reeking with murder, who have scrupled to eat meat on a
Friday; and gross minds, who have been persuaded that the greatest of
crimes consists in disobeying the discipline of the church, exhaust
their consciences on this head, and conceive that the Deity, like human
sovereigns, esteems submission to his power more than every other
virtue. This is to substitute the sycophancy of a courtier for the
respect which the Creator inspires, as the source and reward of a
scrupulous and delicate life. Catholicism in Italy, confining itself to
external demonstrations, dispenses the soul from meditation and
self-contemplation. When the spectacle is over, the emotion ceases, the
duty is fulfilled, and one is not, as with us, a long time absorbed in
thoughts and sentiments, which give birth to a rigid examination of
one's conduct and heart."

"You are severe, my dear Oswald," replied Corinne; "it is not the first
time I have remarked it. If religion consisted only in a strict
observance of moral duties, in what would it be superior to reason and
philosophy? And what sentiments of piety could we discover, if our
principal aim were to stifle the feelings of the heart? The stoics were
as enlightened as we, as to the duties and the austerity of human
conduct; but that which is peculiar to Christianity is the religious
enthusiasm which blends with every affection of the soul; it is the
power of love and pity; it is the worship of sentiment and of
indulgence, so favourable to the flights of the soul towards heaven.
How are we to interpret the parable of the Prodigal Son, if not that
love, sincere love, is preferred even to the most exact discharge of
every duty? This son had quitted his paternal abode, and his brother had
remained there; he had plunged into all the dissipation and pleasure of
the world, and his brother had never deviated for a single moment from
the regularity of domestic life; but he returned, full of love for his
father and of repentance for his past follies, and his parent celebrated
this return by a festival. Ah! can it be doubted that among the
mysteries of our nature, to love and to love again is what remains to us
of our celestial inheritance? Even our virtues are often too complicated
with life, for us to comprehend the gradations of good, and what is the
secret sentiment that governs and leads us astray: I ask of my God to
teach me to adore him, and I feel the effect of my prayers in the tears
that I shed. But to support this disposition of the soul, religious
practices are more necessary than you think; they are a constant
communication with the Deity; they are daily actions, unconnected with
the interests of life and solely directed towards the invisible world.
External objects are also a great help to piety; the soul falls back
upon itself, if the fine arts, great monuments, and harmonic strains, do
not reanimate that poetical genius, which is synonymous with religious
inspiration.

"The most vulgar man, when he prays, when he suffers, and places hope in
heaven, has at that moment something in him which he would express like
Milton, Homer, or Tasso, if education had taught him to clothe his
thoughts with words. There are only two distinct classes of men in the
world; those who feel enthusiasm, and those who despise it; every other
difference is the work of society. The former cannot find words to
express their sentiments, and the latter know what it is necessary to
say to conceal the emptiness of their heart. But the spring that bursts
from the rock at the voice of heaven, that spring is the true talent,
the true religion, the true love.

"The pomp of our worship; those pictures in which the kneeling saints
express a continual prayer in their looks; those statues placed on the
tombs as if they were one day to rise with their inhabitants; those
churches and their immense domes, have an intimate connection with
religious ideas. I like this splendid homage paid by men to that which
promises them neither fortune nor power - to that which neither punishes
nor rewards them, but by a sentiment of the heart. I then feel more
proud of my being; I recognise something disinterested in man; and were
even religious magnificence multiplied to an extreme, I should love that
prodigality of terrestrial riches for another life, of time for
eternity: enough is provided for the morrow, enough care is taken for
the economy of human affairs. How I love the useless, useless if
existence be only a painful toil for a miserable gain! But if on this
earth we are journeying towards heaven, what can we do better than to
take every means of elevating our soul, that it may feel the infinite,
the invisible, and the eternal, in the midst of all the limits that
surround us?

"Jesus Christ permitted a weak, and perhaps, repentant woman, to anoint
His feet with the most precious perfumes, and repulsed those who advised
that those perfumes should be reserved for a more profitable use. "_Let
her alone_" said He, "_for I am only with you for a short time_." Alas!
all that is good and sublime upon earth is only with us for a short
time; age, infirmity, and death, would soon dry up that drop of dew
which falls from heaven and only rests upon the flowers. Let us then,
dear Oswald, confound everything, - love, religion, genius, the sun, the
perfumes, music, and poetry: atheism only consists in coldness, egotism,
and baseness. Jesus Christ has said: _When two or three are gathered
together in my name, I will be in the midst of them._ And what is it O
God! to be assembled in Thy name, if it be not to enjoy Thy sublime
gifts, and to offer Thee our homage, to thank Thee for that existence
which Thou hast given us; above all, to thank Thee, when a heart, also
created by Thee is perfectly responsive to our own?"

At this moment a celestial inspiration animated the countenance of
Corinne. Oswald could hardly refrain from falling on his knees before
her in the midst of the temple, and was silent for a long time to
indulge in the pleasure of recalling her words and retracing them still
in her looks. At last he set about replying; for he would not abandon a
cause that was dear to him. "Corinne," said he, then, "indulge your
lover with a few words more. His heart is not dry; no, Corinne, believe
me it is not, and if I am an advocate for austerity in principle and
action, it is because it renders sentiment more deep and permanent. If I
love reason in religion, that is to say, if I reject contradictory
dogmas and human means of producing effect upon men, it is because I
perceive the Deity in reason as well as in enthusiasm; and if I cannot
bear that man should be deprived of any one of his faculties, it is
because I conceive them all barely sufficient to comprehend truths which
reflection reveals to him, as well as the instinct of the heart, namely,
the existence of God, and the immortality of the soul. What can be added
to these sublime ideas, to their union with virtue? What can we add
thereto that is not beneath them? The poetical enthusiasm which gives
you so many charms, is not, I venture to assert, the most salutary
devotion. Corinne, how could we by this disposition prepare for the
innumerable sacrifices which duty exacts of us! There was no revelation,
except by the flights of the soul, when human destiny, present and
future, only revealed itself to the mind through clouds; but for us, to
whom Christianity has rendered it clear and positive, feeling may be our
recompense, but ought not to be our only guide: you describe the
existence of the blessed, not that of mortals. Religious life is a
combat, not a hymn. If we were not condemned in this world to repress
the evil inclinations of others and of ourselves, there would in truth
be no distinction to be made except between cold and enthusiastic souls.
But man is a harsher and more formidable creature than your heart paints
him to you; and reason in piety, and authority in duty, are a necessary
curb to the wanderings of his pride.

"In whatever manner you may consider the external pomp and multiplied
ceremonies of your religion, believe me, my love, the contemplation of
the universe and its author, will be always the chief worship; that
which will fill the imagination, without any thing futile or absurd
being found in it upon investigation. Those dogmas which wound my reason
also cool my enthusiasm. Undoubtedly the world, such as it is, is a
mystery which we can neither deny nor comprehend; it would therefore be
foolish to refuse credence to what we are unable to explain; but that
which is contradictory is always of human creation. The mysteries of
heavenly origin are above the lights of the mind; but not in opposition
to them. A German philosopher[31] has said: _I know but two beautiful
things in the universe: the starry sky above our heads, and the
sentiment of duty in our hearts_. In truth all the wonders of the
creation are comprised in these words.

"So far from a simple and severe religion searing our hearts, I should
have thought, before I had known you, Corinne, that it was the only one
which could concentrate and perpetuate the affections. I have seen the
most pure and austere conduct unfold in a man the most inexhaustible
tenderness. I have seen him preserve even to old age, a virginity of
soul, which the passions and their criminal effects would necessarily
have withered. Undoubtedly repentance is a fine thing, and I have more
need than any person to believe in its efficacy; but repeated repentance
fatigues the soul - this sentiment can only regenerate once. It is the
redemption which is accomplished at the bottom of our soul, and this
great sacrifice cannot be renewed. When human weakness is accustomed to
it, the power to love is lost; for power is necessary in order to love,
at least with constancy.

"I shall offer some objections of the same kind to that splendid form of
worship, which according to you, acts so powerfully upon the
imagination. I believe the imagination to be modest, and retired as the
heart. The emotions which are imposed on it, are less powerful than
those born of itself. I have seen in the Cevennes, a Protestant minister
who preached towards the evening in the heart of the mountains. He
invoked the tombs of the French, banished and proscribed by their
brethren, whose ashes had been assembled together in this spot. He
promised their friends that they should meet them again in a better
world. He said that a virtuous life secured us this happiness; he said:
_do good to mankind, that God may heal in your heart the wound of
grief_. He testified his astonishment at the inflexibility and
hard-heartedness of man, the creature of a day, to his fellow man
equally with himself the creature of a day, and seized upon that
terrible idea of death, which the living have conceived, but which they
will never be able to exhaust. In short, he said nothing that was not
affecting and true: his words were perfectly in harmony with nature. The
torrent which was heard in the distance, the scintillating light of the
stars, seemed to express the same thought under another form. The
magnificence of nature was there, that magnificence, which can feast the
soul without offending misfortune; and all this imposing simplicity,
touched the soul more deeply than dazzling ceremonies could have done."

On the second day after this conversation, Easter Sunday, Corinne and
Lord Nelville went together to the square of St Peter, at the moment
when the Pope appears upon the most elevated balcony of the church, and
asks of heaven that benediction which he is about to bestow on the land;
when he pronounces these words, _urbi et orbi_ (to the city and to the
world) - all the assembled people fell on their knees, and Corinne and
Lord Nelville felt, by the emotion which they experienced at this
moment, that all forms of worship resemble each other. The religious
sentiment intimately unites men among themselves, when self-love and
fanaticism do not make it an object of jealousy and hatred. To pray
together in the same language, whatever be the form of worship, is the
most pathetic bond of fraternity, of hope, and of sympathy, which men
can contract upon earth.

FOOTNOTE:

[31] Kant.


Chapter vi.


Easter-Day was passed, and Corinne took no notice of the fulfilment of
her promise to confide her history to Lord Nelville. Wounded by this
silence, he said one day before her that he had heard much of the
beauty of Naples, and that he had a mind to visit it. Corinne,
discovering in a moment what was passing in his soul, proposed to
perform the journey with him. She flattered herself that she, should be
able to postpone the confession which he required of her, by giving him
this satisfying proof of her love. And besides she thought that if he
should take her with him, it would be without doubt because he desired
to consecrate his life to her. She waited then with anxiety for what he
should say to her, and her almost suppliant looks seemed to entreat a
favourable answer. Oswald could not resist; he had at first been
surprised at this offer and the simplicity with which Corinne made it,
and hesitated for some time before he accepted it; but beholding the
agitation of her he loved, her palpitating bosom, her eyes suffused with
tears, he consented to set out with her, without reflecting upon the
importance of such a resolution. Corinne was elevated to the summit of
joy; for at this moment her heart entirely relied on the passion of
Oswald.

The day was fixed upon, and the sweet perspective of their journey
together made every other idea disappear. They amused themselves with
settling the details of their journey, and every one of these details
was a source of pleasure. Happy disposition of the soul, in which all
the arrangements of life have a particular charm, from their connection
with some hope of the heart! That moment arrives only too soon, when
each hour of our existence is as fatiguing as its entirety, when every
morning requires an effort to support the awakening and to guide the day
to its close.

The moment Lord Nelville left Corinne's house in order to prepare every
thing for their departure, the Count d'Erfeuil arrived, and learnt from
her the project which they had just determined on. - "Surely you don't
think of such a thing!" said he, "what! travel with Lord Nelville
without his being your husband! without his having promised to marry
you! And what will you do if he abandon you?" "Why," replied Corinne,
"in any situation of life if he were to cease to love me, I should be
the most wretched creature in the world!" "Yes, but if you have done
nothing to compromise your character, you will remain entirely
yourself." - "Remain entirely myself, when the deepest sentiment of my
life shall be withered? when my heart shall be broken?" - "The public
will not know it, and by a little dissimulation you would lose nothing
in the general opinion." "And why should I take pains to preserve that
opinion," replied Corinne, "if not to gain an additional charm in the
eyes of him I love?" - "We may cease to love," answered the Count, "but
we cannot cease to live in the midst of society, and to need its
services." - "Ah! if I could think," retorted Corinne, "that that day
would arrive when Oswald's affection would not be all in all to me in
this world; if I could believe it, I should already have ceased to love.
What is love when it anticipates and reckons upon the moment when it
shall no longer exist? If there be any thing religious in this
sentiment, it is because it makes every other interest disappear, and,
like devotion, takes a pleasure in the entire sacrifice of self."

"What is that you tell me?" replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "can such an
intellectual lady as you fill her head with such nonsense? It is the
advantage of us men that women think as you do - we have thus more
ascendancy over you; but your superiority must not be lost, it must be
serviceable to you." "Serviceable to me?" said Corinne, "Ah! I owe it
much, if it has enabled me to feel more acutely all that is interesting
and generous in the character of Lord Nelville." - "Lord Nelville is
like other men," said the Count; "he will return to his native country,
he will pursue his profession; in short he will recover his reason, and
you would imprudently expose your reputation by going to Naples with
him." - "I am ignorant of the intentions of Lord Nelville," observed
Corinne, "and perhaps I should have done better to have reflected more
deeply before I had let him obtain such power over my heart; but now,
what signifies one more sacrifice! Does not my life depend on his love?
I feel pleasure, on the contrary, in leaving myself no resource; - there
is none when the heart is wounded; nevertheless, the world may sometimes
think the contrary, and I love to reflect that even in this respect my
calamity would be complete, if Lord Nelville were to leave me!" - "And
does he know how you expose yourself on his account?" proceeded
d'Erfeuil. - "I have taken great care to conceal it from him," answered
Corinne, "and as he is not well acquainted with the customs of this
country, I have a little exaggerated to him the latitude of conduct
which they allow. I must exact from you a promise, that you will never
undeceive him in this respect - I wish him to be perfectly free, he can
never make me happy by any kind of sacrifice. The sentiment which
renders me happy is the flower of my life; were it once to decay,
neither kindness nor delicacy could revive it. I conjure you then, my
dear Count, not to interfere with my destiny; no opinion of yours upon
the affections of the heart can possibly apply to me. Your observations
are very prudent, very sensible, and extremely applicable to the
situations of ordinary life; but you would innocently do me a great
injury, in attempting to judge of my character in the same manner as
large bodies of people are judged, for whom there are maxims ready made.
My sufferings, my enjoyments, and my feelings, are peculiar to myself,
and whoever would influence my happiness must contemplate me alone,
unconnected with the rest of the world."

The self-love of Count d'Erfeuil was a little wounded by the inutility
of his counsels, and the decided proof of her affection for Lord
Nelville which Corinne gave him. He knew very well that he himself was
not beloved by her, he knew equally that Oswald was; but it was
unpleasant to him to hear this so openly avowed. There is always
something in the favour which a man finds in a lady's sight, that
offends even his best friends. - "I see that I can do nothing for you,"
said the Count; "but should you become very unhappy you will think of
me; in the meantime, I am going to leave Rome, for since you and Lord
Nelville are about to quit it, I should be too much bored in your
absence. I shall certainly see you both again, either in Scotland or
Italy; for since I can do nothing better with myself, I have acquired a
taste for travelling. Forgive my having taken the liberty to counsel
you, charming Corinne, and believe me ever devoted to you!" - Corinne
thanked him, and separated with a sentiment of regret. Her acquaintance
with him commenced at the same time as with Oswald, and this remembrance
formed a tie between them which she did not like to see broken. She
conducted herself agreeably to what she had declared to the Count. Some
uneasiness disturbed for a moment the joy with which Lord Nelville had
accepted the project of the journey. He feared that their departure for
Naples might injure Corinne, and wished to obtain her secret before they
went, in order to know with certainty whether some invincible obstacle
to their union might not exist; but she declared to him that she would
not relate her history till they arrived at Naples, and sweetly
deceived him, as to what the public opinion would be on her conduct.
Oswald yielded to the illusion. In a weak and undecided character, love
half deceives, reason half enlightens, and it is the present emotion
that decides which of the two halves shall be the whole. The mind of
Lord Nelville was singularly expansive and penetrating; but he only
formed a correct judgment of himself in reviewing his past conduct. He
never had but a confused idea of his present situation. Susceptible at
once of transport and remorse, of passion and timidity, those contrasts
did not permit him to know himself till the event had decided the combat
that was taking place within him.

When the friends of Corinne, particularly Prince Castel-Forte, were
informed of her project, they felt considerably chagrined. Prince
Castel-Forte was so much pained at it, that he resolved in a short time
to go and join her. There was certainly no vanity in thus filling up the
train of a favoured lover; but he could not support the dreadful void
which he would find in the absence of Corinne. He had no acquaintances
but the circle he met at her house; and he never entered any other. The
company which assembled around her would disperse when she should be no
longer there; and it would be impossible to collect together the
fragments. Prince Castel-Forte was little accustomed to domestic life:
though possessing a good share of intellect, he did not like the fatigue
of study; the whole day therefore would have been an insufferable weight
to him, if he had not come, morning and evening, to visit Corinne. She
was about to depart - he knew not what to do; however he promised himself
in secret to approach her as a friend, who indulged in no pretensions,
but who was ever at hand to offer his consolation in the moment of
misfortune; such a friend may be sure that his hour will come.

Corinne felt oppressed with melancholy in thus breaking all her former
connections; she had led for some years in Rome a manner of life that
pleased her. She was the centre of attraction to every artist and to
every enlightened man. A perfect independence of ideas and habits gave
many charms to her existence: what was to become of her now? If destined
to the happiness of espousing Oswald, he would take her to England, and
what would she be thought of there; how would she be able to confine
herself to a mode of existence so different from what she had known for
six years past! But these sentiments only passed through her mind, and
her passion for Oswald always obliterated every trace of them. She saw,
she heard him, and only counted the hours by his absence or his
presence. Who can dispute with happiness? Who does not welcome it when
it comes? Corinne was not possessed of much foresight - neither fear nor
hope existed for her; her faith in the future was vague, and in this
respect her imagination did her little good, and much harm.

On the morning of her departure, Prince Castel-Forte visited her, and