hearing nothing but harmonious sounds, and receiving, in short, nothing
but agreeable impressions. The serious and profound passion of love was
not painted on her countenance, where every emotion of her soul was
expressed by a most bright and mobile physiognomy. Oswald beheld her in
silence; his presence animated Corinne, and inspired her with the desire
of pleasing. However, she sometimes checked herself in those moments
when her conversation was the most brilliant, astonished at the calm
exterior of Oswald, not knowing whether he approved her or blamed her
secretly, or whether his English ideas would permit him to applaud this
display of talents in a woman.

Oswald was too much captivated by the charms of Corinne, to call to
mind his old opinions upon that obscurity which became women; but he was
inquiring of himself, whether it were possible to be beloved by her;
whether any man could expect to concentrate in himself so many rays of
light. In fact, he was at the same time dazzled and disturbed; and
although, at his departure, she invited him, very politely, to come and
see her again, he suffered a whole day to pass without availing himself
of the invitation, experiencing a sort of terror from the sentiment by
which he felt himself impelled.

Sometimes he compared this sentiment with the fatal error of the first
moments of his youth, but immediately banished such a comparison from
his mind - for then it was a perfidious art that had overcome him; but
who could doubt the truth of Corinne? Was that peculiar charm she
possessed the effect of magic, or of poetical inspiration? Was she an
Armida, or a Sappho? Was there any hope of captivating so lofty and
brilliant a genius! It was impossible to decide; but at least it was
easily seen, that not society, but heaven itself, could have formed this
extraordinary being, and that her mind could no more be imitated, than
her character feigned. "Oh, my father!" said Oswald, "if you had known
Corinne what would you have thought of her?"


Chapter ii.


The Count d'Erfeuil came in the morning, according to custom, to see
Lord Nelville, and reproaching him for not having been to see Corinne
the day before, said, "Had you come, you would have been very happy."
"Why so?" replied Oswald. "Because yesterday I discovered, to a
certainty, that you have greatly interested her." "Still this levity,"
interrupted Lord Nelville; "know that I neither can nor will endure it."
"Do you call levity," said the Count, "the promptitude of my
observation? Am I less in the right, because more quickly so? You were
made to live in the happy time of the Patriarchs, when the age of man
was five centuries; but mind, I give you notice that four of them at
least are lopped off in our days." "Be it so," answered Oswald, "and
what discovery have you made by these rapid observations?" - "That
Corinne loves you. Yesterday, when I arrived at her house, she received
me very kindly, to be sure; but her eyes were fixed on the door, to see
whether you followed me. She tried for a moment to talk of something
else; but as she is a lady of a very ingenuous and natural disposition,
she asked me, quite frankly, why you had not come with me? I blamed you
very much; I said that you were a very odd, gloomy sort of creature; but
you will excuse my relating all that I said over and above in your
praise."

"'He is very sad,' said Corinne; 'he must certainly have lost some one
very dear to him. Whom is he in mourning for?' 'His father, Madam,' said
I; 'though it is more than a year since he lost him; and as the law of
nature obliges us all to survive our parents, I imagine there is some
other secret cause for so long and deep a melancholy.' 'Oh!' replied
Corinne, 'I am very far from thinking that griefs, similar in
appearance, are felt alike by all men. I am very much tempted to believe
that the father of your friend, and your friend himself, are exceptions
from the general rule.' Her voice was very tender, my dear Oswald, when
she said these words." "Are these," replied Oswald, "your proofs of that
interest you spoke of?" "In truth," replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "these
are quite enough, according to my way of thinking, to convince a man
that he is beloved by a lady; but since you wish for better, you shall
have them; I have reserved the strongest for the last. Prince
Castel-Forte arrived, and related your adventure at Ancona, without
knowing that he was speaking of you: he related it with much fire and
imagination, as well as I could judge from the two lessons of Italian I
have taken; but there are so many French words in the foreign languages,
that we comprehend them, almost all, without even knowing them. Besides,
the countenance of Corinne would have explained to me what I did not
understand. One might read in it so visibly the agitation of her heart!
She did not breathe, for fear of losing a single word; and when she
asked if he knew the name of this generous and intrepid Englishman, such
was her anxiety, that it was easy to judge how much she dreaded to hear
pronounced any other name than yours.

"Prince Castel-Forte said he did not know the gentleman's name; and
Corinne, turning quickly towards me, cried, 'Is it not true, Sir, that
it was Lord Nelville?' 'Yes, Madam,' answered I, 'it was he, himself;'
and Corinne then melted in tears. She had not wept during the story;
what was there then more affecting in the name of the hero than in the
recital itself?" "She wept!" cried Nelville, "Ah! - why was I not there?"
Then, checking himself all of a sudden, he cast down his eyes, and his
manly countenance was expressive of the most delicate timidity: he
hastened to resume the conversation, for fear that the Count might
disturb his secret joy by observing it. "If the adventure of Ancona
deserves to be related," said Oswald, "'tis to you, also, my dear Count,
that the honour of it belongs." "It is true," answered d'Erfeuil,
laughing, "that they mentioned an amiable Frenchman, who was along with
you, my lord; but no one save myself paid attention to this parenthesis
in the narration. The lovely Corinne prefers you; she believes you,
without doubt, the more faithful of the two: perhaps she may be
mistaken; you may even cause her more grief than I should; but women are
fond of pain, provided it is a little romantic; so you will suit her."

Lord Nelville suffered from every word of the Count, but what could he
say to him? He never argued; he never listened attentively enough to
change his opinion; his words, once uttered, gave him no farther
concern, and the best way was to forget them, if possible, as soon as he
himself did.


Chapter iii.


Oswald arrived in the evening at Corinne's, with a sentiment entirely
new; he thought that he was expected. What enchantment there is in that
first gleam of intercourse with the object of our love! - before
remembrance enters into partnership with hope - before words have
expressed our sentiments, - before eloquence has painted what we feel,
there is in these first moments, something so indefinite, a mystery of
the imagination, more fleeting than happiness, it must be owned, but
also more celestial.

Oswald, on entering the apartment of Corinne, felt more timid than ever.
He saw that she was alone, and that circumstance almost gave him pain:
he could have wished to see her longer in the midst of society; he could
have wished to be convinced, in some manner, of her preference, instead
of finding himself all of a sudden engaged in a conversation which might
make Corinne cool towards him, if, as was certain, he should appear
embarrassed, and cold in consequence of that embarrassment.

Whether Corinne perceived this disposition of Oswald, or whether it was
that a similar disposition produced in her a desire to animate the
conversation in order to remove restraint, she asked his Lordship
whether he had seen any of the monuments of Rome. "No," answered Oswald.
"What did you do with yourself yesterday, then?" replied Corinne
smiling. "I passed the whole day at home," said Oswald. "Since I have
been at Rome, Madam, my time has been divided between solitude and you."
Corinne wished to introduce the subject of his behaviour at Ancona; she
began by these words: "Yesterday I learnt - " then she stopped and said,
"I will speak to you of that when the company comes." There was a
dignity in the manners of Lord Nelville that intimidated Corinne; and,
besides, she feared, lest in reminding him of his noble conduct, she
should betray too much emotion; conceiving that emotion would be less
when they were no longer alone. Oswald was deeply touched with the
reserve of Corinne, and the frankness with which she testified, without
thinking, the motives of that reserve; but the more he was affected the
less was he able to express what he felt.

He arose all of a sudden, and advanced towards the window; then he felt
that Corinne would be unable to explain the meaning of this movement,
and more disconcerted than ever, he returned to his place without saying
anything. There was in the conversation of Corinne more confidence than
in that of Oswald; nevertheless, she partook of the embarrassment which
he exhibited; and in her absence of mind, seeking to recover her
countenance, she placed her fingers upon the harp which was standing by
her side, and struck some chords, without connection or design. These
harmonious sounds, by increasing the emotion of Oswald, seemed to
inspire him with more boldness. He could now look at Corinne, and who
but must have been struck, in beholding her, with that divine
inspiration which was painted in her eyes! Encouraged at the same moment
by that mild expression which veiled the majesty of her looks, he would
then perhaps have spoken, but was prevented by the entrance of Prince
Castel-Forte.

It was not without pain that he beheld Nelville _tête-à-tête_ with
Corinne, but he was accustomed to dissimulate his feelings. This habit,
which is often found in the Italians united with great vehemence of
sensation, was in him rather the result of indolence and of natural
gentleness. He was content not to be the first object of Corinne's
affections; he was no longer young; he possessed great intelligence,
considerable taste for the arts, an imagination sufficiently animated to
diversify life without disturbing it, and such a desire to pass all his
evenings with Corinne, that if she were to be married he would conjure
her husband to let him come every day, to see her as usual, and upon
this condition he would not have been very unhappy at seeing her united
to another. The grief of the heart is not found in Italy complicated
with the sufferings of vanity, so that we find there, men either
passionate enough to stab their rival through jealousy, or men modest
enough to take willingly the second rank in the favour of a lady whose
conversation is agreeable to them; but rarely will be found any who for
fear of being thought despised, would refuse to preserve any sort of
connection which they found pleasing. The empire of society over
self-esteem is almost null in this country.

The Count d'Erfeuil and the company that met every evening at Corinne's
house being assembled, the conversation turned upon the talent for
improvisation which their heroine had so gloriously displayed at the
Capitol, and they went so far as to ask her own opinion of it. "It is
something so rare," said Prince Castel-Forte, "to find any one at once
susceptible of enthusiasm and of analysis, gifted as an artist and
capable of observing herself, that we must intreat her to reveal to us
the secrets of her genius." "The talent for improvisation," replied
Corinne, "is not more extraordinary in the languages of the south, than
the eloquence of the tribune, or the brilliant vivacity of conversation
in other tongues. I will even say that, unfortunately it is with us more
easy to make verses _impromptu_ than to speak well in prose. The
language of poetry is so different from that of prose, that from the
first verses the attention is commanded by the expressions themselves,
which, if I may so express it, place the poet at a distance from his
auditors. It is not only to the softness of the Italian language, but
much more to its strong and pronounced vibration of sonorous syllables,
that we must attribute the empire of poetry amongst us. There is a kind
of musical charm in Italian, by which the bare sound of words, almost
independently of the ideas, produces pleasure; besides, these words have
almost all something picturesque in them; they paint what they express.
You feel that it is in the midst of the arts, and under an auspicious
sky that this melodious, and highly-coloured language has been formed.
It is therefore more easy in Italy than any where else, to seduce with
words, without profundity of thought or novelty of imagery. Poetry, like
all the fine arts, captivates the senses, as much as the intellect. I
dare venture to say, however, that I have never improvised without
feeling myself animated by some real emotion, some idea which I believed
new, therefore I hope that I have trusted less than others to our
bewitching language. It is possible, if I may say so, to prelude at
random, and convey a lively pleasure by the charm of rhythm and of
harmony alone."

"You believe then," interrupted one of the friends of Corinne, "that the
talent for improvisation injures our literature; I thought so once
myself, but hearing you, madam, has made me entirely alter that
opinion." "I have said," replied Corinne, "that there resulted from this
facility, this literary abundance, a quantity of inferior poetry; but I
am as pleased with this fecundity, which exists in Italy, as I am with
seeing our fields covered with a thousand superfluous products. This
liberality of nature makes me proud. I am particularly pleased with the
improvisations of the lower classes of the people; it discovers their
imagination to us, which is concealed everywhere else, and is only
developed amongst us. They give a poetical character to the lowest
orders of society, and spare us the contempt which we cannot help
feeling for every thing that is vulgar. When our Sicilians, conveying
travellers in their vessels, so delicately and politely felicitate them
in their pleasing dialect, and wish them in verse a sweet and long
adieu, one would say the pure breeze of heaven and of the sea produces
the same effect upon the imagination of men as the wind on the Æolian
harp, and that poetry, like the chords of that instrument, is the echo
of nature. One thing makes me attach an additional value to our talent
for improvisation, and that is, that it would be almost impossible in a
society disposed to mockery. It requires the good humour of the south,
or rather of those countries where people love to amuse themselves
without taking pleasure in criticising that which affords them
amusement, to encourage poets to venture on so perilous an enterprise.
One jeering smile would be sufficient to destroy that presence of mind
necessary for a sudden and uninterrupted composition: your audience must
become animated with you, and inspire you with their applause."

"But madam," said Oswald at last, who till then had kept silence without
having for a moment ceased to behold Corinne, "to which of your poetical
talents do you yourself give the preference? To the work of inflection,
or of momentary inspiration?" "My lord," answered Corinne, with a look
that expressed the highest interest and the most delicate sentiment of
respectful consideration, "it is you that I would wish to make the judge
of that; but if you ask me to examine my own thoughts upon this subject,
I would say that improvisation is to me as an animated conversation. I
do not confine myself to any particular subject, I yield entirely to the
impression produced on me by the attention of my hearers, and it is to
my friends, in this instance, that I owe the greatest part of my talent.
Sometimes the impassioned interest with which I am inspired by a
conversation in which we have spoken of some great and noble question
that relates to the moral existence of man, his destiny, his end, his
duties and his affections; sometimes this interest elevates me above my
strength, makes me discover in nature, in my own heart, bold truths,
expressions full of life, that solitary reflection would not have given
birth to. I then believe myself acted upon by a supernatural enthusiasm,
and feel that what is speaking within me is greater than myself. Often I
quit the rhythm of poetry to express my thoughts in prose; sometimes I
quote the finest verses of the different languages I am acquainted with.
These divine verses, with which my soul is penetrated, have become my
own. Sometimes also I finish upon my lyre by chords, by simple and
national airs, the sentiments and thoughts which have escaped me in
speaking. In a word, I feel myself a poet, not only when a happy choice
of rhymes and harmonious syllables, or a happy combination of images
dazzles my auditors, but when my soul is elevated to the highest degree
and looks down with contempt upon every thing that is selfish and base:
in short, when a noble action appears most easy to me, it is then that
my poetry is in its greatest perfection. I am a poet when I admire, when
I despise, when I hate, not from personal feeling, not on my own
account, but for the dignity of human nature and the glory of the
world."

Corinne then perceiving how the conversation had carried her away,
blushed a little, and turning towards Lord Nelville said to him, "you
see, my lord, I cannot touch upon any of those subjects that affect me
without experiencing that sort of shock which is the source of ideal
beauty in the arts, of religion in solitary minds, of generosity in
heroes, and of disinterestedness among men. Pardon me, my lord, although
such a woman resemble but little those whom your nation approves." "Who
could resemble you?" replied Lord Nelville; "can we make laws for one
who is without her like?"

The Count d'Erfeuil was absolutely enchanted, notwithstanding he had not
understood all that Corinne had said; but her gestures, the sound of her
voice, and her pronunciation, charmed him. - It was the first time that
any grace which was not French had produced an effect upon him. But
indeed the great celebrity of Corinne at Rome put him a little in the
way of what he should think of her, and in his admiration of this
extraordinary lady he did not drop the good custom of letting himself be
guided by the opinion of others.

He quitted Corinne's house along with Lord Nelville, and said to him on
their way home, "allow, my dear Oswald, that I may lay claim to some
merit for not having paid my court to so charming a lady." "But,"
observed Nelville, "it seems, according to general opinion, that she is
not easy to please in that respect." "It is said so," replied the Count,
"but I can hardly believe it. A single woman of independent means who
leads nearly the life of an artist ought not to be so difficult to
captivate." Lord Nelville was wounded by this reflection. The Count,
whether he did not perceive it, or whether he wished to pursue the train
of his own ideas, continued thus:

"I do not mean to say, however, that if I entertained much faith in a
lady's virtue, I might not as readily believe in that of Corinne as in
that of any other. She has certainly a thousand times more expression in
her look, and vivacity in her arguments than would be necessary in your
country, or even in ours, to excite suspicion of the rigidness of a
lady's virtue; but she is a person of so superior a mind, such profound
knowledge, and such fine tact, that the ordinary rules by which we judge
a woman cannot apply to her. In fact, would you believe it,
notwithstanding the openness of her disposition, and the freedom of her
conversation, she really imposes reserve upon me. It was my wish,
yesterday, with all due respect to her predilection for you, to say a
few words, at random, upon my own account: they were words that take
their chance; if they are heard, well and good; if not, well and good
still; and do you know Corinne gave me such cold looks that I was quite
disconcerted. It is, however, singular that one should feel any timidity
in the company of an Italian, a poet, an artist, every thing, in short,
that ought to produce quite a contrary effect." "Her name is unknown,"
observed Nelville, "but her manners would make one believe that her
birth is illustrious." "Ah! it is in romances," said the Count, "that we
see the finest part of a character concealed, but in real life people
are more disposed to exhibit all that is most honourable in their life,
and even a little more than all." "Yes," interrupted Oswald, "in some
societies where people think of nothing but the effect they can produce
upon one another; but in one whose existence is internal there may be
mysteries in circumstances, as there are secrets in thought, and he only
who would espouse Corinne might be able to know them." "Espouse
Corinne!" interrupted the Count, bursting out laughing, "truly that idea
never occurred to me! Take my advice, my dear Nelville, if you wish to
do foolish things let them be such as will admit of reparation; but as
for marriage, you must always consider propriety. I appear frivolous in
your eyes, nevertheless I wager that in the conduct of life I shall be
more reasonable than you." "I believe so too," answered Lord Nelville,
and said not another word.

In effect, he might have told the Count d'Erfeuil that there is often a
great deal of egotism in frivolity, and that such egotism can never
betray people into those errors of sentiment in which we always
sacrifice our own personal considerations to those of others! Frivolous
characters are very likely to acquire address in the pursuit of their
own interests; for in all that is called the political science of
private, as well as of public life, people succeed oftener by those
qualities which they have not than by those which they possess. Absence
of enthusiasm, absence of opinion, absence of sensibility, a little
understanding, combined with this negative treasure, and social life,
that is to say, fortune and rank, may be acquired or supported well
enough. The pleasantries of the Count however pained Lord Nelville; he
blamed them, but nevertheless they continually occupied his thoughts.


Book iv.

ROME.

[Illustration]


Chapter i.


A fortnight passed away, during which Lord Nelville dedicated himself
entirely to the society of Corinne. He quitted his lodgings but to go
and visit her - he saw nothing - he sought nothing but her; and, without
ever mentioning his passion, he made her sensible of it at every moment
of the day. She was accustomed to the lively and flattering homage of
the Italians; but Oswald's dignity of manners, his apparent coldness,
and the sensibility which he betrayed in spite of himself, produced a
more powerful effect upon her imagination. - Never did he relate a
generous action, never did he speak of a misfortune, without his eyes
being filled with tears; but he always endeavoured to conceal his
emotion. He inspired Corinne with a sentiment of respect such as she had
not felt for a long time before. No wit, however sparkling, could dazzle
her; but she was deeply interested by elevation and dignity of
character. Lord Nelville joined to these qualities, a nobleness in his
expressions, an elegance in the least actions of his life, which formed
a striking contrast to the negligence and familiarity of the greater
part of the Roman nobility.

Though the tastes of Oswald were in some respects different from those
of Corinne, they mutually understood each other in a most wonderful
manner. Nelville conjectured the impressions of Corinne with perfect
sagacity, and Corinne discovered, in the slightest alteration of
Nelville's countenance, what passed in his mind. Accustomed to the
stormy demonstrations of passion that characterise the Italians, this
timid but proud attachment, this passion, incessantly proved, but never
avowed, spread a new charm over her existence: she felt as if encircled
with a calmer and purer atmosphere, and every instant of the day
inspired her with a sentiment of happiness which she loved to enjoy
without accounting for it.

One morning Prince Castel-Forte visited her - he appeared sorrowful - she
asked him the cause of his sorrow. "This Scotsman," said he to her, "is
about to deprive us of your affections; and who knows even, whether he
will not rob us of you entirely?" Corinne was silent for some moments,
and then answered, "I assure you he has not even once told me that he