Oswald discovered a grace in Corinne which was entirely new to him. One great and terrible circumstance of his life was connected with the remembrance of a very amiable and intelligent French woman; but Corinne resembled her in nothing—her conversation was a mixture of every kind of intellectual endowment, enthusiasm for the fine arts, and knowledge of the world; refinement of ideas, and depth of sentiment; in short, all the charms of a vivacious and rapid mind were observable in her, without her thoughts ever being on that account incomplete, or her reflections superficial. Oswald was at once surprised and charmed, uneasy and transported; he was unable to comprehend how one person alone could combine all the qualifications of Corinne. He asked himself whether the union of all these qualities was the effect of an inconsistent or a superior character; whether it was by the force of universal feeling, or because she forgot every thing successively, that she passed thus, almost in the same instant, from melancholy to gaiety, from profundity to grace—from conversation the most astonishing, by the knowledge and the ideas it displayed, to the coquetry of a woman who seeks to please, and desires to captivate; but there was, even in that coquetry, such perfect nobleness that it imposed as much respect as the most severe reserve.
The Prince Castel-Forte was very much taken up with Corinne, and the sentiments of all his party were manifested towards her by attention and the most delicate and assiduous respect; and the habitual worship with which they surrounded her, made every day of her life a sort of festival. Corinne felt herself happy in being thus beloved; but it was that sort of happiness which we feel in living in a mild climate, 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.