[Illustration]
Chapter i.
The indecision of Oswald's character, increased by his misfortunes, led
him to dread forming any irrevocable resolve. He had not even dared, in
his state of irresolution, to ask of Corinne the secret of her name and
destiny; nevertheless, his love acquired every day new strength; he
never beheld her without emotion; in company he could hardly quit, even
for an instant, the place where she was seated; she did not speak a word
that he felt not; nor did she experience one moment's sadness or gaiety,
that was not reflected in his countenance. But in the midst of his
admiration and of his love for Corinne, he recollected how little such a
woman agreed with the English manner of living; how much she differed
from the idea which his father had formed of her whom it would be proper
for him to espouse; and all that he said to Corinne partook of the
trouble and constraint which these reflections caused him.
Corinne perceived this too well; but it would have cost her so much to
break off with Lord Nelville, that she herself endeavoured to avoid, as
much as he, a decisive explanation; and as she was not possessed of much
foresight she was happy with the present, such as it was, although it
was impossible for her to know what would be the issue of it.
She had become entirely divided from the world, in order to devote
herself entirely to her passion for Oswald. But at length, so much
affected was she at his silence with regard to the future, that she
resolved to accept an invitation for a ball to which she had been
pressingly solicited. Nothing is more common at Rome than to leave
society and to appear in it again, alternately, just as the parties feel
it agreeable to themselves: it is the country where people trouble their
minds the least with what is elsewhere called _gossip_; each one does as
he pleases, without any person enquiring about it, or at least, without
finding in others any obstacle either to his love or his ambition. The
Romans are as inattentive to the conduct of their fellow-countrymen, as
to that of strangers, who pass and repass through their city, the
rendezvous of Europeans. When Lord Nelville knew that Corinne was going
to the ball, he was vexed at it. He thought he had perceived in her for
some time a melancholy disposition in sympathy with his own: all on a
sudden she appeared to him to be taken up with dancing, an art in which
she excelled; and her imagination seemed fired at the approach of a
_féte_. Corinne was not frivolous by character; but she felt herself
every day more and more enslaved by her love for Oswald, and she would
fain endeavour to weaken its force. She knew by experience, that
reflection and sacrifices have less effect upon passionate characters
than dissipation, and she thought that reason did not consist in
conquering ourselves according to rules, but by doing so how we can.
"I must," said she to Lord Nelville, who reproached her with her
intention of going to the ball, "I must know, however, if there be only
you in the world who can fill the void of my life; if that which pleased
me formerly may not still have the power to amuse me; and if the
sentiment you have inspired me with must absorb every other interest,
every other idea."--"You would then cease to love me?" replied
Oswald.--"No;" answered Corinne, "but it is only in domestic life that
it could be pleasing to me to feel thus governed by a single affection.
To me who need my talents, my mind, and my imagination, to support the
lustre of that kind of life which I have adopted, it must be
painful--extremely painful to love as I love you."--"You would not
sacrifice to me then," said Oswald to her, "this homage and this
glory."--"Of what importance can it be to you," said Corinne, "to know
whether or not I would sacrifice them to you? Since we are not
absolutely destined for one another, it would not be prudent to let that
happiness with which I must be satisfied, wither for ever."--Lord
Nelville made no answer, because it was necessary, in expressing his
sentiments, to avow also the purpose they inspired, and of this his own
heart was still in ignorance. He was silent therefore, and sighing,
followed Corinne to the ball, whither he went with much reluctance.
It was the first time since his calamity that he had seen a large
assembly; and the tumult of a _féte_ caused him such an impression of
sadness that he remained a long time in a room contiguous to that
appropriated for the ball, his head supported on his hand, not even
curious to behold Corinne dance. He listened to the festive music, which
like every other music, produces reverie, though only intended to
inspire joy. The Count d'Erfeuil arrived, quite enchanted at the sight
of a ball, which produced in him some recollections of France.--"I have
tried all I could," said he to Lord Nelville, "to discover something
interesting in these ruins of which they talk so much, and I can really
find no charm in them. It must be the effect of a very great prejudice
to admire those heaps of rubbish covered with thorns. I shall speak my
mind of them when I return to Paris, for it is time that this Italian
delusion should cease. There is not a monument now standing whole in any
part of Europe, that I would not sooner see than those old stumps of
pillars, those bas-reliefs, all black with time, which can only be
admired by dint of erudition. A pleasure which must be bought with so
much study, does not appear to me very lively in itself--to be charmed
with the sights of Paris, nobody need grow pale over books." Lord
Nelville made no reply.--The Count interrogated him afresh, as to the
impression that Rome produced on him. "In the midst of a ball," said
Oswald, "is not the most proper time for serious conversation on this
subject; and you know that I am incapable of any other."--"Well and
good:" replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "I am more gay than you I admit; but
who knows whether I am not also the more wise of the two? Believe me,
there is much philosophy in my apparent levity: it is the way we should
take life."--"You are perhaps in the right," answered Oswald, "but it is
from nature, and not from reflection, that you acquire that way of
thinking; and that is why your manner of taking life may only suit
yourself."
The Count d'Erfeuil heard the name of Corinne mentioned in the ball
room, and entered it to know what was going forward. Lord Nelville
advanced as far as the door, and beheld the Prince Amalfi, a Neapolitan
of the most handsome figure, who besought Corinne to dance with him the
_Tarantula_, a Neapolitan dance full of grace and originality. The
friends of Corinne besought her also to comply with his request. She
yielded to their desire without waiting to be asked frequently, which
astonished the Count d'Erfeuil, accustomed as he was to the refusals
with which it is customary to precede consenting to a request of this
nature. But in Italy, these kind of graces are unknown, and all believe
they please most in society by showing an eagerness to do what is asked
of them. Corinne would have invented this natural behaviour if she were
not already accustomed to it. The dress she had chosen for the ball was
elegant and light; her hair was gathered up in a fillet of silk, after
the Italian fashion; and her eyes expressed a lively pleasure, which
rendered her more seductive than ever. Oswald was disturbed at this; he
warred against himself; he was indignant at being captivated with charms
which he ought to lament, since, far from thinking to please him, it was
to escape his empire that Corinne appeared so attractive.--But who could
resist the seductions of a grace like hers? Were she even disdainful,
she would be still more omnipotent; and that certainly was not the
disposition of Corinne. She perceived Lord Nelville, and blushed, while
there was in her eyes as she looked upon him, a most enchanting
softness.
The Prince d'Amalfi accompanied himself, in dancing, with castanets.
Corinne before she began saluted the assembly most gracefully with both
her hands, then turning round upon her heel took the tambourine which
the Prince Amalfi presented her with. She then began to dance, striking
the air upon the tambourine, and there was in all her motions, an
agility, a grace, a mixture of modesty and voluptuousness, which might
give an idea of that power which the Bayadores exercise over the
imagination of the Indians, when, if we may use the expression, they are
almost poets in their dance; when they express so many different
sentiments by the characteristic steps and the enchanting pictures which
they offer to the sight. Corinne was so well acquainted with all the
attitudes which the ancient painters and sculptors have represented,
that by a light movement of her arms, sometimes in placing the
tambourine over her head, sometimes forward, with one of her hands,
whilst the other ran over the little bells with an incredible dexterity,
she recalled to mind the dancers of Herculaneam[20], and gave birth
successively to a crowd of new ideas for painting and design.
It was not the French style, characterised by the elegance and
difficulty of the step; it was a talent more connected with imagination
and sentiment. The character of the music was alternately expressed by
the exactitude and softness of the movements. Corinne, in dancing,
conveyed to the souls of her spectators what was passing in her own. The
same as in her improvisation, her performance on the lyre, or the
efforts of her pencil,--she reduced everything to language. The
musicians, in beholding her, exerted themselves to make the genius of
their art felt more exquisitely; a kind of passionate joy, a sensibility
of the imagination, electrified all the spectators of the magic dance,
and transported them to that state of ideal existence in which we dream
of happiness that does not exist in this world.
There is a part of this Neapolitan dance when the lady kneels, whilst
the gentleman moves round her, not as a master, but as a
conqueror.--What at this moment were the charms and dignity of Corinne.
How regal, even in kneeling, did she appear! And when she arose,
striking her aerial cymbal, she seemed animated with that lively
enthusiasm of youth and beauty, which would create a belief that nothing
was wanting to complete her happiness. Alas! it was far otherwise; but
Oswald feared it, and sighed in the midst of his admiration of Corinne,
as if each triumph of her genius was a degree of separation from him: at
the conclusion of the dance, the gentleman kneels in his turn, and the
lady dances round him. Corinne in this part, if it were possible,
surpassed herself; her step was so light, as she tripped two or three
times round the same circle, that her buskined feet seemed to fly over
the floor with the velocity of lightning; and when she lifted up one of
her hands, shaking the tambourine, while with the other she motioned the
Prince Amalfi to rise, all the male part of the company were tempted to
throw themselves on their knees too, except Oswald, who retired a few
paces backward, and the Count d'Erfeuil, who advanced a few paces
forward to compliment Corinne. This enthusiasm of the Italians was by no
means assumed, but was the spontaneous effect of their feelings. They
are not sufficiently practised in society and in self-esteem to pay much
regard to the effect which their actions will produce; they never let
themselves be thwarted in their pleasures by vanity, nor turned aside
from the object of their pursuit by applause.
Corinne was charmed at her success, and thanked all her admirers with
the most simple grace.--The satisfaction she felt at having succeeded so
well, appeared beneath a veil of modesty; but her chief anxiety was to
make her way through the crowd, in order to reach the door against which
the pensive Oswald was leaning. When she had reached the spot, she
paused to hear what he would say to her:--"Corinne," said he,
endeavouring to conceal his captivation as well as the pain that he
felt: "Corinne, I hope you have met with sufficient homage and
sufficient applause; but in the midst of these enthusiastic admirers,
have you found one certain and courageous friend--one protector for
life? Can this vain tumult of applause satisfy a heart like thine?"