Читать книгу Corinne; or, Italy - Madame de Staël - Страница 10

At Inspruck, where he stayed for some time, in the house of a banker, Oswald was much interested by the history of Count d'Erfeuil, a French emigrant, who had sustained the total loss of an immense fortune with perfect serenity. By his musical talents he had maintained himself and an aged uncle, over whom he watched till the good man's death, constantly refusing the pecuniary aid which had been pressed on him. He had displayed the most brilliant valor—that of France—during the war, and an unchangeable gayety in the midst of reverses. He was anxious to visit Rome, that he might find a relative, whose heir he expected to become; and wished for a companion, or rather a friend, with whom to make the journey agreeably.

Lord Nevil's saddest recollections were attached to France; yet he was exempt from the prejudices which divided the two nations. One Frenchman had been his intimate friend, in whom he had found a union of the most estimable qualities. He therefore offered, through the narrator of Count d'Erfeuil's story, to take this noble and unfortunate young man with him to Italy. The banker in an hour informed him that his proposal was gratefully accepted. Oswald rejoiced in rendering this service to another, though it cost him much to resign his seclusion; and his reserve suffered greatly at the prospect of finding himself thus thrown on the society of a man he did not know.

He shortly received a visit of thanks from the Count, who possessed an elegant manner, ready politeness, and good taste; from the first appearing perfectly at his ease. Every one, on seeing him, wondered at what he had undergone; for he bore his lot with a courage approaching to forgetfulness. There was a liveliness in his conversation truly admirable, while he spoke of his own misfortunes; though less so, it must be owned, when extended to other subjects.

"I am greatly obliged to your Lordship," said he, "for transporting me from Germany, of which I am tired to death."—"And yet," replied Nevil, "you are universally beloved and respected here."—"I have friends, indeed, whom I shall sincerely regret; for in this country one meets none but the best of people; only I don't know a word of German; and you will confess that it were a long and tedious task to learn it. Since I had the ill-luck to lose my uncle, I have not known what to do with my leisure; while I had to attend on him, that filled up my time; but now the four-and-twenty hours hang heavily on my hands."—"The delicacy of your conduct towards your kinsman, Count," said Nevil, "has impressed me with the deepest regard for you."—"I did no more than my duty. Poor man! he had lavished his favors on my childhood. I could never have left him, had he lived to be a hundred; but 'tis well for him that he's gone; 'twere well for me to be with him," he added, laughing, "for I've little to hope in this world. I did my best, during the war, to get killed; but since fate would spare me, I must live on as I may."—"I shall congratulate myself on coming hither," answered Nevil, "should you do well in Rome; and if——"—"Oh, Heaven!" interrupted d'Erfeuil, "I do well enough everywhere; while we are young and cheerful, all things find their level. 'Tis neither from books nor from meditation that I have acquired my philosophy, but from being used to the world and its mishaps; nay, you see, my Lord, I have some reason for trusting to chance, since I owe to it the opportunity of travelling with you." The Count then agreed on the hour for setting forth next day, and, with a graceful bow, departed. After the mere interchange of civilities with which their journey commenced, Oswald remained silent for some hours; but perceiving that this fatigued his fellow-traveller, he asked him if he anticipated much pleasure in their Italian tour. "Oh," replied the Count, "I know what to expect, and don't look forward to the least amusement. A friend of mine passed six months there, and tells me that there is not a French province without a better theatre, and more agreeable society than Rome; but in that ancient capital of the world I shall be sure to find some of my countrymen to chat with; and that is all I require."—"Then you have not been tempted to learn Italian?"—"No, that was never included in the plan of my studies," he answered, with so serious an air, that one might have thought him expressing a resolution founded on the gravest motives. "The fact is," he continued, "that I like no people but the English and the French. Men must be proud, like you, or wits, like ourselves; all the rest is mere imitation." Oswald said nothing. A few moments afterwards the Count renewed the conversation by sallies of vivacity and humor, in which he played on words most ingeniously; but neither what he saw or what he felt was his theme. His discourse sprang not from within, nor from without; but, steering clear alike of reflection and imagination, found its subjects in the superficial traits of society. He named twenty persons in France and England, inquiring if Lord Nevil knew them; and relating as many pointed anecdotes, as if, in his opinion, the only language for a man of taste was the gossip of good company. Nevil pondered for some time on this singular combination of courage and frivolity, this contempt of misfortune, which would have been so heroic if it had cost more effort, instead of springing from the same source which rendered him incapable of deep affections. "An Englishman," thought he, "would have been overwhelmed by similar circumstances. Whence does this Frenchman derive his fortitude, yet pliancy of character? Does he rightly understand the art of living? I deem myself his superior, yet am I not ill and wretched? Does his trifling course accord better than mine with the fleetness of life? Must one fly from thought as from a foe, instead of yielding all the soul to its power?" In vain he thought to clear these doubts; he could call no aid from his own intellectual region, whose best qualities were even more ungovernable than its defects.

The Count gave none of his attention to Italy, and rendered it almost impossible for Oswald to be entertained by it. D'Erfeuil turned from his friend's admiration of a fine country, and sense of its picturesque charm; our invalid listened as oft as he could to the sound of the winds, or the murmur of the waves; the voice of nature did more for his mind than sketches of coteries held at the foot of the Alps, among ruins, or on the banks of the sea. His own grief would have been less an obstacle to the pleasure he might have tasted than was the mirth of d'Erfeuil. The regrets of a feeling heart may harmonize with a contemplation of nature and an enjoyment of the fine arts; but frivolity, under whatever form it appears, deprives attention of its power, thought of its originality, and sentiment of its depth. One strange effect of the Count's levity, was its inspiring Nevil with diffidence in all their affairs together.

The most reasoning characters are often the easiest abashed. The giddy embarrass and overawe the contemplative; and the being who calls himself happy appears wiser than he who suffers. D'Erfeuil was every way mild, obliging, and free; serious only in his self-love, and worthy to be liked as much as he could like another; that is, as a good companion in pleasure and in peril, but one who knew not how to participate in pain. He wearied of Oswald's melancholy; and, as well from the goodness of his heart as from taste, he strove to dissipate it. "What would you have?" he often said. "Are you not young, rich, and well, if you choose? you are but fancy-sick. I have lost all, and know not what will become of me; yet I enjoy life as if I possessed every earthly blessing."—"Your courage is as rare as it is honorable," replied Nevil; "but the reverses you have known wound less than do the sorrows of the heart."—"The sorrows of the heart! ay, true, they must be the worst of all; but still you must console yourself; for a sensible man ought to banish from his mind whatever can be of no service to himself or others. Are we not placed here below to be useful first, and consequently happy? My dear Nevil, let us hold by that faith."

All this was rational enough, in the usual sense of the word; for d'Erfeuil was, in most respects, a clear-headed man. The impassioned are far more liable to weakness, than the fickle; but, instead of his mode of thinking securing the confidence of Nevil, he would fain have assured the Count that he was the happiest of human beings, to escape the infliction of his attempts at comfort. Nevertheless, d'Erfeuil became strongly attached to Lord Nevil. His resignation and simplicity, his modesty and pride, created respect irresistibly. The Count was perplexed by Oswald's external composure, and taxed his memory for all the grave maxims, which in childhood he had heard from his old relations, in order to try their effect upon his friend; and, astonished at failing to vanquish his apparent coldness, he asked himself, "Am I not good-natured, frank, brave, and popular in society? What do I want, then, to make an impression on this man? May there not be some misunderstanding between us, arising, perhaps, from his not sufficiently understanding French?"