[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
said with tears in his eyes: "Will you not return to Rome?" "Oh, _Mon
Dieu_, yes!" replied she, "we shall be back in a month."--"But if you
marry Lord Nelville you must leave Italy!" "Leave Italy!" said Corinne,
with a sigh.--"This country," continued Prince Castel-Forte, "where your
language is spoken, where you are so well known, where you are so warmly
admired, and your friends, Corinne--your friends! Where will you be
beloved as you are here? Where will you find that perfection of the
imagination and the fine arts, so congenial to your soul? Is then our
whole life composed of one sentiment? Is it not language, customs, and
manners, that compose the love of our country; that love which creates
a home sickness so terrible to the exile?" "Ah, what is it you tell me,"
cried Corinne, "have I not felt it? Is it not that which has decided my
fate?"--She regarded mournfully her room and the statues that adorned
it, then the Tiber which rolled its waves beneath her windows, and the
sky whose beauty seemed to invite her to stay. But at that moment Oswald
crossed the bridge of St Angelo on horseback, swift as lightning. "There
he is!" cried Corinne. Hardly had she uttered these words, when he was
already arrived,--she ran to meet him, and both impatient to set out
hastened to ascend the carriage. Corinne, however, took a kind farewell
of Prince Castel-Forte; but her obliging expressions were lost in the
midst of the cries of postillions, the neighing of horses, and all that
bustle of departure, sometimes sad, and sometimes intoxicating,
according to the fear or the hope which the new chances of destiny
inspire.
Book xi.