Il roco ed alto fremito marino?
And do you not hear still the hoarse and deep roar of the sea?
This motion without aim, this strength without object which is renewed throughout eternity without our being able to discover either its cause or its end, attracts us to the shore, where this grand spectacle offers itself to our sight; and we experience, as it were, a desire mingled with terror, to approach the waves and to deaden our thoughts by their tumult.
Towards the evening all was calm. Corinne and Lord Nelville walked into the country; they proceeded with a slow pace silently enjoying the scene before them. Each step they took crushed the flowers and extorted from them their delicious perfumes; the nightingales, resting on the rose-bushes, willingly lent their song, so that the purest melodies were united to the most delicious odours; all the charms of nature mutually attracted each other, while the softness of the air was beyond expression. When we contemplate a fine view in the north, the climate in some degree disturbs the pleasure which it inspires: those slight sensations of cold and humidity are like a false note in a concert, and more or less distract your attention from what you behold; but in approaching Naples you experience the friendly smiles of nature, so perfectly and without alloy, that nothing abates the agreeable sensations which they cause you. All the relations of man in our climate are with society. Nature, in hot countries, puts us in relation with external objects, and our sentiments sweetly expand. Not but that the south has also its melancholy. In what part of the earth does not human destiny produce this impression? But in this melancholy there is neither discontent, anxiety, nor regret. In other countries it is life, which, such as it is, does not suffice for the faculties of the soul; here the faculties of the soul do not suffice for life, and the superabundance of sensation inspires a dreamy indolence, which we can hardly account for when oppressed with it.
During the night, flies of a shining hue fill the air; one would say that the mountain emitted sparks of fire, and that the burning earth had let loose some of its flames. These insects fly through the trees, sometimes repose on the leaves, and the wind blows these minute stars about, varying in a thousand ways their uncertain light. The sand also contained a great number of metallic stones, which sparkled on every side: it was the land of fire, still preserving in its bosom the traces of the sun, whose last rays had just warmed it. There is a life, and at the same time, a repose, in this nature, which entirely satisfies the various desires of human existence.
Corinne abandoned herself to the charms of this evening, and was penetrated with joy; nor could Oswald conceal the emotion they inspired—many times he pressed Corinne to his heart, many times he drew back from her, then returned, then drew back again out of respect to her who was to be the companion of his life. Corinne felt no alarm, for such was her esteem for Oswald, that if he had demanded the entire surrender of her being she would have considered that request as a solemn vow to espouse her; but she saw him triumph over himself, and this conquest was an honour paid her; whilst her heart felt that plenitude of happiness, and of love, which does not permit us to form another desire. Oswald was far from being so calm: he was fired with the charms of Corinne. Once he threw himself at her feet with violence, and seemed to have lost all empire over his passion; but Corinne regarded him with such an expression of sweetness and fear, she made him so sensible of his power while beseeching him not to abuse it, that this humble entreaty inspired him with more respect than any other could possibly have done.
They then perceived in the sea, the reflection of a torch carried by the unknown hand of one who traversed the shore, repairing secretly to a neighbouring house. "He is going to see the object of his love;" said Oswald.—"Yes," answered Corinne. "And my happiness, for to-day, is about to end,"—resumed Oswald. At this moment the looks of Corinne were lifted towards heaven, and her eyes suffused with tears. Oswald, fearing that he had offended her, fell on his knees to entreat her forgiveness for that love which had overpowered him. "No," said Corinne, stretching forth her hand to him, and inviting him to return with her. "No, Oswald, I feel no alarm: you will respect her who loves you: you know that a simple request from you would be all-powerful with me; it is therefore you who must be my security—you who would for ever reject me as your bride, if you had rendered me unworthy of being so." "Well," answered Oswald, "since you believe in this cruel empire of your will upon my heart, Corinne, whence arises your sadness?"—"Alas!" replied she, "I was saying to myself, that the moments which I have just passed with you were the happiest of my life, and as I turned my eyes in gratitude to heaven, I know not by what chance, a superstition of my childhood revived in my heart. The moon which I contemplated was covered with a cloud, and the aspect of that cloud was fatal. I have always found in the sky a countenance sometimes paternal and sometimes angry; and I tell you, Oswald, heaven has to-night condemned our love."—"My dear," answered Lord Nelville, "the only omens of the life of man, are his good or evil actions; and have I not this very evening, immolated my most ardent desires on the altar of virtue?"—"Well, so much the better if you are not included in this presage," replied Corinne; "it may be that this angry sky has only threatened me."
FOOTNOTE:
[32] There is a charming description of the Lake of Albano, in a collection of poems by Madame Brunn, née Münter, whose talent and imagination give her a first rank among the women of her country.