It was in these very assemblies, however, that Oswald had found so much to interest him a few days before; the slight obstacle which the company opposed to his conversation with Corinne,—­the speedy opportunity which she took to return to him as soon as she had been sufficiently polite to the rest of the circle,—­the similarity of sentiment which existed between them in the observations which the company suggested,—­the pleasure which Corinne took when discoursing in Oswald’s presence, to address indirectly to him some reflection of which he alone comprehended the true meaning, had attached such recollections to every part of this very room, that Oswald had been deluded so far as to believe that there was something amusing in these assemblies themselves.  “Ah!” said he, when departing, “it was here as every where else—­she was the life of the scene; let me rather seek the most desert spot till she return.  I shall feel her absence less bitterly when there is nothing about me bearing the resemblance of pleasure.”

Book x.

HOLY WEEK.

[Illustration]

Chapter i.

Oswald passed the following day in the gardens of some monasteries.  He went first to that of the Carthusians, and stopped some time before he entered, to contemplate two Egyptian lions which are at a little distance from the gate.  Those lions have a remarkable expression of strength and repose; there is something in their physiognomy belonging neither to the animal nor the man:  they seem one of the forces of nature and enable us to form a conception how the gods of the Pagan theology might be represented under this emblem.

The Carthusian monastery is built upon the ruins of the Thermae of Diocletian; and the church by the side of the monastery, is decorated with such of its granite columns as remained standing.  The monks who inhabit this retreat are very eager to show them, and the interest they take in these ruins seems to be the only one they feel in this world.  The mode of life observed by the Carthusians, supposes in them either a very limited mind, or the most noble and continued elevation of religious sentiments; this succession of days without any variety of event, reminds us of that celebrated line: 

     Sur les mondes detruits le Temple dort immobile.

     The Temple sleeps motionless on the ruins of worlds.

The whole employment of their life serves but to contemplate death.  Activity of mind, with such an uniformity of existence, would be a most cruel torment.  In the midst of the cloister grow four cypresses.  This dark and silent tree, which is with difficulty agitated by the wind, introduces no appearance of motion into this abode.  Near the cypresses is a fountain, scarcely heard, whose fall is so feeble and slow, that one would be led to call it the clepsydra of this solitude, where time makes so little noise.  Sometimes the moon penetrates it with her pale lustre, and her absence and return may be considered as an event in this monotonous scene.