Stael_Corinne.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
the bare possibility of looking on her threw him into extreme
confusion. morning came, and winter frowned on it with
all the sternness of the north : the wind howled, the rain beat
violently against the windows, and by an eccentricity more fre-
quent in than elsewhere, the thunder added a sense of dread
to all this gloom. could not speak : everything around
him increased the desolation of his soul. entered the hall
with : it was immensely crowded. an obscure recess was
placed a sofa, whereon was to recline, being too ill to
read her own verses. to show herself, changed as she
was, she had chosen those means of seeing unseen.
soon as she knew that he was there, she veiled her face, and was
supported to this couch ; from time to time staying to take breath,
as if that short space had been a painful journey : the last steps
of life are ever slow and difficult. herself, her eyes sought
, found him, and involuntarily starting up, she spread her
arms; but instantly fell back, turning away her face, like
when she met . in a world which human passions should
33
386 corinne; or, italt:
not penetrate. detained ., who now, ut-
terly beside himself, would have flown to fall at her feet : the
reminded him of the respect he owed before the
world.*
young girl, dressed in white, and crowned with flowers, now
appeared on the stage which had been erected. meek and
peaceful face touchingly contrasting the sentiments she was about
to breathe ; it was 's taste, which thus mingled something
sweet with thoughts in themselves too dreary. nobly and
aflieoting prepared the auditors. hapless could not
tear his eyes from : she was to him as an apparition that
haunts a night of fever : it was through his own deep sighs that
he heard the death-song of the swan, which the woman he had so
much wronged addressed to his heart.
.
ye my solemn farewell ! 0, my friends,
night is darkening on my eyes ;
is not heaven most beautiful by night?
of stars shine in the kindling sky,
is an azure desert during day.
do the gathering of eternal shades
innumerable thoughts, half lost
the fuU daylight of prosperity.
weaken'd is the voice which might instruct;
soul retires within itself, and seeks
gather round itself its failing fire.
my first days of youth, my inward hope
to do honor to the name ;
name at which the startled heart yet beats.
have aUow'd me fame, generous land!
banished not a woman from the shrine!
do not sacrifice immortal gifts
passing jealousies, who still yield
to in its daring flight ;
without the vanquished ,
* a word of wl):it he owil his wife. .
corinne; or, italy. 387
without spoil ; who, from eternity,
riches, for all time.
and ! with what deep confidence
did inspire me! deem'd all grief arose
what we did not feel, or think enough:
that we might, even on this our earth,
taste that heavenly happiness.
is but length in our enthusiasm.
constancy in love.
, repent it not, this generous faith;
, that caused " the bitter tears 've shed,
the dust which doth await me now.
had aocomplish'd all my destiny
had been worthy all the gifts of ,
had only vow'd my sounding lyre
celebrate that goodness all divine,
manifest throughout the universe.
thou, my ! , thou wilt not reject
offering of the mind; for poetry,
homage is religious, and the wings
thought but serve to draw more near to thee.
has no limits, and no bonds ;
vast, the infinite, and the eternal.
from her may separate.
from its earliest flight,
o'er the bounds of life: and the sublime
the reflection of divinity.
! my , had loved only thee;*
had raised my head aloft in heaven
passionate affections shelter'd there,
had not now been crush'd before my time
had not displaced my brilliant dreams
one, if yet my genius lives,
only know it by my strength of grief:
* " biit served my with half the zeal," &c. .
(.)
388 corinne; or, italt.
the features of an enemy
recognize it now.
, my birthplace ! farewell, my own land t
'arewell, remembrances of infancy.
! , what have ye to do with death?
ye who in my writings may have found
, whose echo was within your soul.
, friends of mine where'er ye be farewell!
/ nne has suffer'd much but sufiFer'd not
an unworthy cause: she has not lost
least her claim on pityT
! it is in
promise me your loveliness; my heart
worn and wasted ; what can ye avail ?
ye revive my hopes, to~ edge my griefs ?
ye recall my happiness, and thus
me revolt against my fate?
do submit myself. , ye
may survive me when the spring returns,
how lo" its loveliness !
oft sung its perfume and its air.
pray you sometimes to recall a line
out my songs my soul is written there:
fatal , love and misery,
my best poetry.
the designs of mighty
work-'d in us, internal music marks.
coming of the angel of the grave :-
fearful, nor yet terrible he spreads
white wings; and, though compass'd by night,
thousand omens tell of his approach.
the wind murmurs, then they seem to hear
voice; and when night falls, the shadows round
the dark foldings of his sweeping robe.
noon, when life sees only the clear sky,
only the bright sun, the fated one
hath called, upon the distance marks
heavy shade is so soon to shroud
nature from their eyes.
corinne; oh, italy. 389
, hope, emotiona of the heart ye all
now no more. from me vain regrets ;
can yet obtain some falling tears,
can yet believe myself beloved,
is because am about to die.
recall my fleeting life that life.
vrould it turn upon me all its stings.
! , where my ashes will be borne 1
who hast seen so many die, forgive.
, with a trembling step, join the shades,
multitude of your illustrious dead !
me for my pity of myself. *
, and noble thoughts, such thoughts perchance
_l?ight have yielded fruit expire with me.
/ all the powers of mind wMch_nature gDve. ,
( be power o f suitermg nas been the sole one.^
have used to its extent..
matters not. do obey. 'er
be the mighty mystery of death,
mystery at least must give repose.
do not answer me, ye silent tombs
, thou dost not answer me!
made my choice on earth, and now my heart
no asylum. decide for me.
such a destiny is best. . . .
ended, the last song of . hall resounded
with deep, sad murmurs of applause. could not sup-
port the violence of his emotion, but fell senseless to the ground.
, beholding him in this condition, would have flown to
him, but her strength failed as she attempted to rise. was
borne home, and ftom that hour no hopes were entertained of
saving her. hastened to her, so afflicted by her husband's
grief, that she threw herself at her sister's feet, imploring her to
afimit him; but refused. " forgive him," she said,
"for having broken my heart. ( know not what they doj.
* " 'a piti^ de moi-m6me." . .
33*
590 corinne; or, italy.
^socipty persuades them that it is sport to fill a heart with rapture ^ ,
and t hei) ^nnamn 't tn-rlespair; but 's fr fifi frrane has ^ijien
me ba ck composure. "^ sig^i:^lL^swald would revive sensa-
tions that ill befit a death-bed\^ligjon]jral2_^S5S^J5!f_^^'""*
c lue thro pgWhis terrific labyrmth. pardon the beingTlo
loved," she continued,~vrith~a failing voice; "may he be happy
with you 1 but when in his turn he is called on to die, then may
he recollect the poor . will watch over him, if -
ven permits ; for those never cease to love, whose love has had
the strength to cost them life."
stood at her door, sometimes about to enter, spite her
prohibition, sometimes motionless with sorrow. passed
from one to the other, like an angel of peace, between despair '
and death. evening appeared more easy, and the
parents went for a short time to their child, whom they had not
seen for three days. their absence the dying woman per-
formed all the duties of religion ; then said to the reverend man
who received her last solemn confession : ", father, you know
my fate. me ! have never taken vengeance on my foes ;
the griefs of others never asked my sympathy in vain ; my faults
sprung but from passions not guilty in themselves, though human
pride and weakness led them to excess and error. you,
my father you who have so much longer experience than
that will pardon me ?" ", child, hope so; is not your
heart now wholly his ?" " believe it, father^ake away this
, it is 's; lay on my breast the image of who"
descended to this life -i ^- not for the powerful, nor the in-spirerTITiiit
for the sufferer, the dying; they need his mercy." then
perceived , who wept beside her bed, and holding out
her hand to him, exclaimed : " friend ! you only are beside
me now. lived for love; yet, but for you, should die alone."
tears fell as she spoke, yet she added : " is no help for
such a moment; friends can but follow us to the brink; there
begin thoughts too deep, too troubled, to be confided."
begged they would remove her to a sofa, whence she could gaze
upon the sky. now came to her side; and the unhappy
, following his wife, fell at the feet of , who would
have spoken to him, but her voice failed : she raised her eyes to
; the moon was covered with just such a cloud as they
had seen on their way to . pointed to it with a
dying hand one sigh and that hand sank powerless.
fell into such distraction that trembled for his
life. followed the funeral pomp to ; then retired to
, where he remained long, without seeing even his wife and
child. last, duty and affection restored him to them ; they
returned to . 's domestic lif^ became most
exemplary: but did he ever pardon his past conduct?
the approving world console him? the fate he had en-
joyed, could he content himself with common life ? know not :
nor will , on that head, either absolve or condemn him.