"It is true that here you must forget all the political interests in the world, but when these interests are not united to sacred sentiments and duties they chill the heart. Here too you must renounce what would be called the pleasures of society, but these pleasures almost invariably wither up the imagination. In Rome you may enjoy an existence at once solitary and animated, which freely develops all that Heaven has implanted in us. I repeat it, my lord; pardon this love of my country, which begets a desire to make it beloved by such a man as you; and do not judge, with the severity of an Englishman, those testimonies of good-will which an Italian hopes she may give you without sinking either in her own estimation or in yours.
Corrine."
In vain would Oswald have endeavoured to conceal the exquisite pleasure he received from this letter; he caught a glimpse of a confused future of enjoyment and happiness: imagination, love, enthusiasm, all that is divine in the soul of man, appeared to him united with the project of seeing Rome with Corinne. For, this time he did not reflect; this time he set out the very instant to visit Corinne, and by the way he contemplated the sky, he enjoyed the charm of the weather, life sat lightly on him. His griefs and his fears were lost in the clouds of hope; his heart, so long oppressed by sadness, palpitated and leaped with joy; he feared, it is true, that so happy a disposition of mind might not last; but the very idea that it was fleeting gave to this fever of enjoyment more force and activity.
"What, are you come already?" said Corinne, seeing Lord Nelville enter; "Ah, thanks!" and she stretched forth her hand. Oswald seized it, and imprinted his lips on it with the warmest tenderness; nor did he suffer now that timidity which often mingled itself with his most agreeable impressions, and caused him sometimes to endure, in the company of those he loved best, the most bitter and painful feelings. The intimacy had commenced between Oswald and Corinne since they had parted; it was the letter of Corinne which had established it: they were satisfied with each other, and mutually felt the most tender gratitude.
"This morning then," said Corinne, "I will shew you the Pantheon and St Peter's: I had, indeed, some hope," added she smiling, "that you would accept my offer to make the tour of Rome with you, so my horses are ready. I have expected you; you have arrived; 'tis very well, let us set out." "Astonishing woman!" said Oswald; "Who then, art thou? Whence hast thou derived so many opposite charms, which it would seem ought to exclude each other;—sensibility, gaiety, profound reflection, external grace, freedom, and modesty? Art thou an illusion? art thou some supernatural blessing, destined to make happy the life of him who is fortunate enough to meet with thee?" "Ah!" replied Corinne, "if I have it in my power to do you any service you must not think I will ever give up the merit of it." "Take care," said Oswald, seizing Corinne's hand with emotion; "take care what service it is you are about to render me. For these two years the iron hand of affliction has closed up my heart; if your sweet presence has afforded me relief; if, while with you, I breathe again, what will become of me when once more abandoned to my destiny?—What will become of me?" "Let us leave to time and to chance," interrupted Corinne, "to decide whether this impression of a day, which I have produced upon you, will be longer than a day in its duration. If there be a mutual sympathy between our souls, our mutual affection will not be transient. Be that as it may, let us go and admire together all that can elevate our mind and our sentiments; we shall thus taste some moments of happiness."
In finishing these words Corinne went down stairs, and Nelville followed her, astonished at her answer. It seemed to him that she admitted the possibility of a half sentiment,—a momentary attraction. In short, he thought he perceived something like levity in the manner in which she had expressed herself, and he was hurt at it.
He placed himself, without saying a word, in Corinne's carriage; who, guessing his thoughts, said to him, "I do not believe that the heart of man is so formed that he must always feel either no love at all or the most invincible passion. There are beginnings of sentiment which a more profound examination may dissipate. We flatter and then undeceive ourselves, and even the enthusiasm of which we are susceptible, if it renders the enchantment more rapid, may also cause coldness to succeed the more quickly." "You have, then, reflected deeply on the tender passion," said Oswald with bitterness. Corinne blushed at this word, and was silent for some moments; then resuming the conversation, with a striking mixture of frankness and dignity, "I do not believe," said she, "that a woman of sensibility has ever arrived at the age of twenty-six years, without having known the illusion of love; but if never having been happy, if never having met the object who could merit all the affections of my heart, be any claim to interest in the bosom of man, I have a claim to yours." These words, and the accent with which Corinne pronounced them, dissipated a little, the cloud which had spread over the soul of Lord Nelville; nevertheless he said to himself: "She is the most fascinating of women, but an Italian; and hers is not that timid, innocent heart, to herself unknown, which the young English lady that my father destined for me must possess."
The name of this young English lady was Lucilia Edgermond, daughter to the best friend of Lord Nelville's father; but she was too young when Oswald quitted England for him to marry her, or even foresee, with certainty, what she would one day become.