Chapter vi.
Corinne flattered herself in secret with having captivated the heart ofOswald, but as she knew his reserve and his severity, she had not daredmake known to him all the interest he had excited in her heart, thoughshe was disposed, by character, to conceal nothing that she felt.Perhaps also she believed that even in speaking on subjects foreign totheir growing passion there was a tenderness of accent in their voice,which betrayed their mutual affection, and that a secret avowal of lovewas painted in their looks, and in that melancholy and veiled languagewhich penetrates so deeply into the soul.
One morning, when Corinne was getting ready to continue her walks withOswald, she received a note from him, somewhat ceremonious, informingher that the bad state of his health would confine him at home for somedays. A painful disquietude seized upon the heart of Corinne: she atfirst feared he might be dangerously ill, but the Count d'Erfeuil, whomshe saw at night, told her it was one of those melancholy fits to whichhe was very much subject and, during which he would not speak toanybody.--"He will not see _even me_," said the Count d'Erfeuil, "whenhe is so."--This _even me_ was highly displeasing to Corinne, but shewas upon her guard not to betray any symptoms of that displeasure to theonly man who might be able to give her news of Lord Nelville. Sheinterrogated him, flattering herself that a man of so much apparentlevity would tell her all he knew. But on a sudden, whether he wished toconceal from her by an air of mystery that Oswald had confided nothingto him, or whether he believed it more honourable to refuse what wasasked of him than to grant it, he opposed an invincible silence to theardent curiosity of Corinne. She who had always had an ascendency overthose with whom she conversed, could not comprehend why all her means ofpersuasion were without effect upon the Count d'Erfeuil: did she notknow that there is nothing in the world so inflexible as self-love?
What resource remained then to Corinne to know what was passing in theheart of Oswald! should she write to him? The formality it would requirewas too foreign to her open disposition. Three days glided away, duringwhich she did not see Lord Nelville, and was tormented by the most cruelagitation.--"What have I done then," said she, "to drive him from me? Ihave not told him that I loved him.--I have not been guilty of thatcrime, so terrible in England, but so pardonable in Italy. Has heguessed it? But why should he esteem me the less for it?" Oswald hadonly absented himself from Corinne because he felt the power of hercharms becoming too strong to resist. Though he had not given his wordto espouse Lucilia Edgermond, he knew it was his father's wish that sheshould become his wife, and to that wish he desired to conform. Besides,Corinne was not known by her real name, and had, for several years, leda life much too independent. Such a marriage, Lord Nelville believedwould not have obtained the approbation of his father, and he felt thatit was not thus he could expiate the transgressions he had been guiltyof towards him. Such were his motives for removing himself from thepresence of Corinne. He had formed the project of writing to her onquitting Rome, stating the motives that condemned him to thisresolution; but as he could not find strength to do that, he contentedhimself with abstaining from visiting her, and even this sacrificebecame almost too painful to bear from the second day of his absence.
Corinne was struck with an idea that she should never behold Oswaldagain; that he would go away without bidding her adieu. She expectedevery instant to receive the news of his departure, and this fear soincreased the agony of her feelings that she felt herself all of asudden seized by passion, that vulture beneath whose talons happinessand independence sink. Unable to endure the house that Lord Nelville nolonger visited, she frequently wandered in the gardens of Rome, hopingto meet with him. The hours so spent were the least insupportable, sincethey afforded some chance of seeing the object of her wanderings. Theardent imagination of Corinne was the source of her talents; but,unfortunately for her, it was united to her natural sensibility, whichoften rendered it extremely painful to her.
On the evening of the fourth day of this cruel absence, the moon shonebeautifully bright, and the silence of the night gives Rome a fineeffect: it seems then to be inhabited by the shades of its illustriousancients. Corinne, returning from the house of a female friend,oppressed with grief, quitted her carriage, to sit for a few momentsnear the fountain of Trevi; before that abundant cascade, which, fallingin the midst of Rome, seems like the vital principle of this tranquilabode. When this cascade ceases to play for some days, one would saythat Rome is struck with stupor. It is the noise of carriages that weexpect to hear in other capitals; but at Rome, it is the murmuring ofthis immense fountain, which seems to be an accompaniment necessary tothe pensive life people lead there: the image of Corinne was painted inthis stream, so pure, that for several centuries past it has borne thename of the _Virgin Spring_. Oswald, who had stopped in the same place afew moments afterwards, beheld the charming features of his lovereflected in the water. He was seized with so lively an emotion, that hedid not know, at first, whether it was not his imagination whichpresented to him the shadow of Corinne, as it had so often done that ofhis father; he bent towards the fountain to observe more distinctly,when his own countenance was reflected by the side of Corinne's. Sheknew him, uttered a cry, and darting towards him rapidly, seized his armas if she were afraid he would leave her again; but hardly had sheyielded to this impetuous emotion than recollecting the character ofNelville, she blushed at having given him this lively testimony of herfeelings, and letting fall the hand which held Oswald, she covered herface with the other to conceal her tears.
"Corinne!" said Oswald, "dear Corinne! my absence has then rendered youunhappy!" "Oh yes," answered she, "you were sure of that! Why then painme! have I deserved to suffer at your hand?" "No, certainly," criedNelville, "but if I do not think myself free; if I feel in my heart astorm of grief, why should I associate you with such a torture ofsentiment and dread?"--"It is too late," interrupted Corinne, "it is toolate, grief has already seized upon my bosom--spare me."--"Do youmention grief?" replied Oswald, "in the midst of so brilliant a career,of such renown, and possessing so lively an imagination?"--"Hold," saidCorinne, "you do not know me; of all the faculties I possess, the mostpowerful is that of suffering. I am born for happiness, my dispositionis open, my imagination animated; but pain excites in me a certainimpetuosity, powerful enough to disturb my reason or bring me to mygrave; therefore I beseech you, spare me. My gaiety and mobility areonly superficial; but there are in my soul abysses of sadness, which Ican only escape by guarding against love."
Corinne pronounced these words with an expression that deeply affectedOswald.--"I will come and see you to-morrow morning," said he. "Do youswear it?" said she, with a disquietude which she vainly endeavoured toconceal. "Yes, I swear it," cried Lord Nelville, and disappeared.
Book v.
THE TOMBS, THE CHURCHES, AND THE PALACES.