[16] Augustus died at Nola, on his way to the waters of Brindisi, which
had been prescribed him; but he left Rome in a dying state.
Chapter vi.
Corinne flattered herself in secret with having captivated the heart of
Oswald, but as she knew his reserve and his severity, she had not dared
make known to him all the interest he had excited in her heart, though
she was disposed, by character, to conceal nothing that she felt.
Perhaps also she believed that even in speaking on subjects foreign to
their growing passion there was a tenderness of accent in their voice,
which betrayed their mutual affection, and that a secret avowal of love
was painted in their looks, and in that melancholy and veiled language
which penetrates so deeply into the soul.
One morning, when Corinne was getting ready to continue her walks with
Oswald, she received a note from him, somewhat ceremonious, informing
her that the bad state of his health would confine him at home for some
days. A painful disquietude seized upon the heart of Corinne: she at
first feared he might be dangerously ill, but the Count d'Erfeuil, whom
she saw at night, told her it was one of those melancholy fits to which
he was very much subject and, during which he would not speak to
anybody.--"He will not see _even me_," said the Count d'Erfeuil, "when
he is so."--This _even me_ was highly displeasing to Corinne, but she
was upon her guard not to betray any symptoms of that displeasure to the
only man who might be able to give her news of Lord Nelville. She
interrogated him, flattering herself that a man of so much apparent
levity would tell her all he knew. But on a sudden, whether he wished to
conceal from her by an air of mystery that Oswald had confided nothing
to him, or whether he believed it more honourable to refuse what was
asked of him than to grant it, he opposed an invincible silence to the
ardent curiosity of Corinne. She who had always had an ascendency over
those with whom she conversed, could not comprehend why all her means of
persuasion were without effect upon the Count d'Erfeuil: did she not
know that there is nothing in the world so inflexible as self-love?
What resource remained then to Corinne to know what was passing in the
heart of Oswald! should she write to him? The formality it would require
was too foreign to her open disposition. Three days glided away, during
which she did not see Lord Nelville, and was tormented by the most cruel
agitation.--"What have I done then," said she, "to drive him from me? I
have not told him that I loved him.--I have not been guilty of that
crime, so terrible in England, but so pardonable in Italy. Has he
guessed it? But why should he esteem me the less for it?" Oswald had
only absented himself from Corinne because he felt the power of her
charms becoming too strong to resist. Though he had not given his word
to espouse Lucilia Edgermond, he knew it was his father's wish that she
should 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, led
a life much too independent. Such a marriage, Lord Nelville believed
would not have obtained the approbation of his father, and he felt that
it was not thus he could expiate the transgressions he had been guilty
of towards him. Such were his motives for removing himself from the
presence of Corinne. He had formed the project of writing to her on
quitting Rome, stating the motives that condemned him to this
resolution; but as he could not find strength to do that, he contented
himself with abstaining from visiting her, and even this sacrifice
became almost too painful to bear from the second day of his absence.
Corinne was struck with an idea that she should never behold Oswald
again; that he would go away without bidding her adieu. She expected
every instant to receive the news of his departure, and this fear so
increased the agony of her feelings that she felt herself all of a
sudden seized by passion, that vulture beneath whose talons happiness
and independence sink. Unable to endure the house that Lord Nelville no
longer visited, she frequently wandered in the gardens of Rome, hoping
to meet with him. The hours so spent were the least insupportable, since
they afforded some chance of seeing the object of her wanderings. The
ardent imagination of Corinne was the source of her talents; but,
unfortunately for her, it was united to her natural sensibility, which
often rendered it extremely painful to her.
On the evening of the fourth day of this cruel absence, the moon shone
beautifully bright, and the silence of the night gives Rome a fine
effect: it seems then to be inhabited by the shades of its illustrious
ancients. Corinne, returning from the house of a female friend,
oppressed with grief, quitted her carriage, to sit for a few moments
near the fountain of Trevi; before that abundant cascade, which, falling
in the midst of Rome, seems like the vital principle of this tranquil
abode. When this cascade ceases to play for some days, one would say
that Rome is struck with stupor. It is the noise of carriages that we
expect to hear in other capitals; but at Rome, it is the murmuring of
this immense fountain, which seems to be an accompaniment necessary to
the pensive life people lead there: the image of Corinne was painted in
this stream, so pure, that for several centuries past it has borne the
name of the _Virgin Spring_. Oswald, who had stopped in the same place a
few moments afterwards, beheld the charming features of his love
reflected in the water. He was seized with so lively an emotion, that he
did not know, at first, whether it was not his imagination which
presented to him the shadow of Corinne, as it had so often done that of
his father; he bent towards the fountain to observe more distinctly,
when his own countenance was reflected by the side of Corinne's. She
knew him, uttered a cry, and darting towards him rapidly, seized his arm
as if she were afraid he would leave her again; but hardly had she
yielded to this impetuous emotion than recollecting the character of
Nelville, she blushed at having given him this lively testimony of her
feelings, and letting fall the hand which held Oswald, she covered her
face with the other to conceal her tears.
"Corinne!" said Oswald, "dear Corinne! my absence has then rendered you
unhappy!" "Oh yes," answered she, "you were sure of that! Why then pain
me! have I deserved to suffer at your hand?" "No, certainly," cried
Nelville, "but if I do not think myself free; if I feel in my heart a
storm of grief, why should I associate you with such a torture of
sentiment and dread?"--"It is too late," interrupted Corinne, "it is too
late, grief has already seized upon my bosom--spare me."--"Do you
mention grief?" replied Oswald, "in the midst of so brilliant a career,
of such renown, and possessing so lively an imagination?"--"Hold," said
Corinne, "you do not know me; of all the faculties I possess, the most
powerful is that of suffering. I am born for happiness, my disposition
is open, my imagination animated; but pain excites in me a certain
impetuosity, powerful enough to disturb my reason or bring me to my
grave; therefore I beseech you, spare me. My gaiety and mobility are
only superficial; but there are in my soul abysses of sadness, which I
can only escape by guarding against love."
Corinne pronounced these words with an expression that deeply affected
Oswald.--"I will come and see you to-morrow morning," said he. "Do you
swear it?" said she, with a disquietude which she vainly endeavoured to
conceal. "Yes, I swear it," cried Lord Nelville, and disappeared.
Book v.