Chapter 12

Oswald arrived in the evening at Corinne's, with a sentiment entirely new; he thought that he was expected. What enchantment there is in that first gleam of intercourse with the object of our love!--before remembrance enters into partnership with hope--before words have expressed our sentiments,--before eloquence has painted what we feel, there is in these first moments, something so indefinite, a mystery of the imagination, more fleeting than happiness, it must be owned, but also more celestial.

Oswald, on entering the apartment of Corinne, felt more timid than ever. He saw that she was alone, and that circumstance almost gave him pain: he could have wished to see her longer in the midst of society; he could have wished to be convinced, in some manner, of her preference, instead of finding himself all of a sudden engaged in a conversation which might make Corinne cool towards him, if, as was certain, he should appear embarrassed, and cold in consequence of that embarrassment.

Whether Corinne perceived this disposition of Oswald, or whether it was that a similar disposition produced in her a desire to animate the conversation in order to remove restraint, she asked his Lordship whether he had seen any of the monuments of Rome. "No," answered Oswald. "What did you do with yourself yesterday, then?" replied Corinne smiling. "I passed the whole day at home," said Oswald. "Since I have been at Rome, Madam, my time has been divided between solitude and you." Corinne wished to introduce the subject of his behaviour at Ancona; she began by these words: "Yesterday I learnt--" then she stopped and said, "I will speak to you of that when the company comes." There was a dignity in the manners of Lord Nelville that intimidated Corinne; and, besides, she feared, lest in reminding him of his noble conduct, she should betray too much emotion; conceiving that emotion would be less when they were no longer alone. Oswald was deeply touched with the reserve of Corinne, and the frankness with which she testified, without thinking, the motives of that reserve; but the more he was affected the less was he able to express what he felt.

He arose all of a sudden, and advanced towards the window; then he felt that Corinne would be unable to explain the meaning of this movement, and more disconcerted than ever, he returned to his place without saying anything. There was in the conversation of Corinne more confidence than in that of Oswald; nevertheless, she partook of the embarrassment which he exhibited; and in her absence of mind, seeking to recover her countenance, she placed her fingers upon the harp which was standing by her side, and struck some chords, without connection or design. These harmonious sounds, by increasing the emotion of Oswald, seemed to inspire him with more boldness. He could now look at Corinne, and who but must have been struck, in beholding her, with that divine inspiration which was painted in her eyes! Encouraged at the same moment by that mild expression which veiled the majesty of her looks, he would then perhaps have spoken, but was prevented by the entrance of Prince Castel-Forte.

It was not without pain that he beheld Nelville _tête-à-tête_ with Corinne, but he was accustomed to dissimulate his feelings. This habit, which is often found in the Italians united with great vehemence of sensation, was in him rather the result of indolence and of natural gentleness. He was content not to be the first object of Corinne's affections; he was no longer young; he possessed great intelligence, considerable taste for the arts, an imagination sufficiently animated to diversify life without disturbing it, and such a desire to pass all his evenings with Corinne, that if she were to be married he would conjure her husband to let him come every day, to see her as usual, and upon this condition he would not have been very unhappy at seeing her united to another. The grief of the heart is not found in Italy complicated with the sufferings of vanity, so that we find there, men either passionate enough to stab their rival through jealousy, or men modest enough to take willingly the second rank in the favour of a lady whose conversation is agreeable to them; but rarely will be found any who for fear of being thought despised, would refuse to preserve any sort of connection which they found pleasing. The empire of society over self-esteem is almost null in this country.

The Count d'Erfeuil and the company that met every evening at Corinne's house being assembled, the conversation turned upon the talent for improvisation which their heroine had so gloriously displayed at the Capitol, and they went so far as to ask her own opinion of it. "It is something so rare," said Prince Castel-Forte, "to find any one at once susceptible of enthusiasm and of analysis, gifted as an artist and capable of observing herself, that we must intreat her to reveal to us the secrets of her genius." "The talent for improvisation," replied Corinne, "is not more extraordinary in the languages of the south, than the eloquence of the tribune, or the brilliant vivacity of conversation in other tongues. I will even say that, unfortunately it is with us more easy to make verses _impromptu_ than to speak well in prose. The language of poetry is so different from that of prose, that from the first verses the attention is commanded by the expressions themselves, which, if I may so express it, place the poet at a distance from his auditors. It is not only to the softness of the Italian language, but much more to its strong and pronounced vibration of sonorous syllables, that we must attribute the empire of poetry amongst us. There is a kind of musical charm in Italian, by which the bare sound of words, almost independently of the ideas, produces pleasure; besides, these words have almost all something picturesque in them; they paint what they express. You feel that it is in the midst of the arts, and under an auspicious sky that this melodious, and highly-coloured language has been formed. It is therefore more easy in Italy than any where else, to seduce with words, without profundity of thought or novelty of imagery. Poetry, like all the fine arts, captivates the senses, as much as the intellect. I dare venture to say, however, that I have never improvised without feeling myself animated by some real emotion, some idea which I believed new, therefore I hope that I have trusted less than others to our bewitching language. It is possible, if I may say so, to prelude at random, and convey a lively pleasure by the charm of rhythm and of harmony alone."

"You believe then," interrupted one of the friends of Corinne, "that the talent for improvisation injures our literature; I thought so once myself, but hearing you, madam, has made me entirely alter that opinion." "I have said," replied Corinne, "that there resulted from this facility, this literary abundance, a quantity of inferior poetry; but I am as pleased with this fecundity, which exists in Italy, as I am with seeing our fields covered with a thousand superfluous products. This liberality of nature makes me proud. I am particularly pleased with the improvisations of the lower classes of the people; it discovers their imagination to us, which is concealed everywhere else, and is only developed amongst us. They give a poetical character to the lowest orders of society, and spare us the contempt which we cannot help feeling for every thing that is vulgar. When our Sicilians, conveying travellers in their vessels, so delicately and politely felicitate them in their pleasing dialect, and wish them in verse a sweet and long adieu, one would say the pure breeze of heaven and of the sea produces the same effect upon the imagination of men as the wind on the Æolian harp, and that poetry, like the chords of that instrument, is the echo of nature. One thing makes me attach an additional value to our talent for improvisation, and that is, that it would be almost impossible in a society disposed to mockery. It requires the good humour of the south, or rather of those countries where people love to amuse themselves without taking pleasure in criticising that which affords them amusement, to encourage poets to venture on so perilous an enterprise. One jeering smile would be sufficient to destroy that presence of mind necessary for a sudden and uninterrupted composition: your audience must become animated with you, and inspire you with their applause."

"But madam," said Oswald at last, who till then had kept silence without having for a moment ceased to behold Corinne, "to which of your poetical talents do you yourself give the preference? To the work of inflection, or of momentary inspiration?" "My lord," answered Corinne, with a look that expressed the highest interest and the most delicate sentiment of respectful consideration, "it is you that I would wish to make the judge of that; but if you ask me to examine my own thoughts upon this subject, I would say that improvisation is to me as an animated conversation. I do not confine myself to any particular subject, I yield entirely to the impression produced on me by the attention of my hearers, and it is to my friends, in this instance, that I owe the greatest part of my talent. Sometimes the impassioned interest with which I am inspired by a conversation in which we have spoken of some great and noble question that relates to the moral existence of man, his destiny, his end, his duties and his affections; sometimes this interest elevates me above my strength, makes me discover in nature, in my own heart, bold truths, expressions full of life, that solitary reflection would not have given birth to. I then believe myself acted upon by a supernatural enthusiasm, and feel that what is speaking within me is greater than myself. Often I quit the rhythm of poetry to express my thoughts in prose; sometimes I quote the finest verses of the different languages I am acquainted with. These divine verses, with which my soul is penetrated, have become my own. Sometimes also I finish upon my lyre by chords, by simple and national airs, the sentiments and thoughts which have escaped me in speaking. In a word, I feel myself a poet, not only when a happy choice of rhymes and harmonious syllables, or a happy combination of images dazzles my auditors, but when my soul is elevated to the highest degree and looks down with contempt upon every thing that is selfish and base: in short, when a noble action appears most easy to me, it is then that my poetry is in its greatest perfection. I am a poet when I admire, when I despise, when I hate, not from personal feeling, not on my own account, but for the dignity of human nature and the glory of the world."

Corinne then perceiving how the conversation had carried her away, blushed a little, and turning towards Lord Nelville said to him, "you see, my lord, I cannot touch upon any of those subjects that affect me without experiencing that sort of shock which is the source of ideal beauty in the arts, of religion in solitary minds, of generosity in heroes, and of disinterestedness among men. Pardon me, my lord, although such a woman resemble but little those whom your nation approves." "Who could resemble you?" replied Lord Nelville; "can we make laws for one who is without her like?"

The Count d'Erfeuil was absolutely enchanted, notwithstanding he had not understood all that Corinne had said; but her gestures, the sound of her voice, and her pronunciation, charmed him.--It was the first time that any grace which was not French had produced an effect upon him. But indeed the great celebrity of Corinne at Rome put him a little in the way of what he should think of her, and in his admiration of this extraordinary lady he did not drop the good custom of letting himself be guided by the opinion of others.

He quitted Corinne's house along with Lord Nelville, and said to him on their way home, "allow, my dear Oswald, that I may lay claim to some merit for not having paid my court to so charming a lady." "But," observed Nelville, "it seems, according to general opinion, that she is not easy to please in that respect." "It is said so," replied the Count, "but I can hardly believe it. A single woman of independent means who leads nearly the life of an artist ought not to be so difficult to captivate." Lord Nelville was wounded by this reflection. The Count, whether he did not perceive it, or whether he wished to pursue the train of his own ideas, continued thus:

"I do not mean to say, however, that if I entertained much faith in a lady's virtue, I might not as readily believe in that of Corinne as in that of any other. She has certainly a thousand times more expression in her look, and vivacity in her arguments than would be necessary in your country, or even in ours, to excite suspicion of the rigidness of a lady's virtue; but she is a person of so superior a mind, such profound knowledge, and such fine tact, that the ordinary rules by which we judge a woman cannot apply to her. In fact, would you believe it, notwithstanding the openness of her disposition, and the freedom of her conversation, she really imposes reserve upon me. It was my wish, yesterday, with all due respect to her predilection for you, to say a few words, at random, upon my own account: they were words that take their chance; if they are heard, well and good; if not, well and good still; and do you know Corinne gave me such cold looks that I was quite disconcerted. It is, however, singular that one should feel any timidity in the company of an Italian, a poet, an artist, every thing, in short, that ought to produce quite a contrary effect." "Her name is unknown," observed Nelville, "but her manners would make one believe that her birth is illustrious." "Ah! it is in romances," said the Count, "that we see the finest part of a character concealed, but in real life people are more disposed to exhibit all that is most honourable in their life, and even a little more than all." "Yes," interrupted Oswald, "in some societies where people think of nothing but the effect they can produce upon one another; but in one whose existence is internal there may be mysteries in circumstances, as there are secrets in thought, and he only who would espouse Corinne might be able to know them." "Espouse Corinne!" interrupted the Count, bursting out laughing, "truly that idea never occurred to me! Take my advice, my dear Nelville, if you wish to do foolish things let them be such as will admit of reparation; but as for marriage, you must always consider propriety. I appear frivolous in your eyes, nevertheless I wager that in the conduct of life I shall be more reasonable than you." "I believe so too," answered Lord Nelville, and said not another word.

In effect, he might have told the Count d'Erfeuil that there is often a great deal of egotism in frivolity, and that such egotism can never betray people into those errors of sentiment in which we always sacrifice our own personal considerations to those of others! Frivolous characters are very likely to acquire address in the pursuit of their own interests; for in all that is called the political science of private, as well as of public life, people succeed oftener by those qualities which they have not than by those which they possess. Absence of enthusiasm, absence of opinion, absence of sensibility, a little understanding, combined with this negative treasure, and social life, that is to say, fortune and rank, may be acquired or supported well enough. The pleasantries of the Count however pained Lord Nelville; he blamed them, but nevertheless they continually occupied his thoughts.