which in other countries so effectually torment and stifle natural genius.—­A happy idea, sentiment, or expression, sets an audience on fire, if I may say so.  By the same rule that talent holds the first rank amongst us, it excites considerable envy; Pergolese was assassinated for his Stabat Mater; Giorgione armed himself with a cuirass when he was obliged to paint in public; but the violent jealousy which talent inspires amongst us, is that which, in other nations, gives birth to power.  This jealousy does not degrade its object; it may hate, proscribe, and kill, but it is nevertheless mingled with the fanaticism of admiration, and encourages genius, even in persecuting it.  To conclude; when we see so much life in so confined a circle, in the midst of so many obstacles and so much subjection of every kind, we cannot avoid in my opinion taking the deepest interest in a people who inhale, with so much avidity, the little air which the loopholes of imagination allow to enter through the walls that confine them.

“That this confinement is such, I will not deny:  nor that men rarely acquire in Italy that dignity, that boldness, which distinguishes free and military nations.—­I will even admit my lord, if you choose, that the character of such nations is capable of inspiring women with more love and enthusiasm.  But might it not also be possible, that a noble and interested man, cherishing the most rigid virtues, might unite in his character every quality that can excite love, without possessing those which promise happiness.

“CORINNE.”

FOOTNOTE: 

[21] Mr Roscoe, author of the History of the Medici, has recently published an History of Leo X., which is truly a masterpiece in its kind, in which he relates all those marks of esteem and admiration, which the princes and the people of Italy have conferred on distinguished men of letters; he also shows, with impartiality, that the conduct of many of the Popes has been, in this respect, very liberal.

Chapter iv.

Corinne’s letter made Oswald a second time repent the idea he had formed of detaching himself from her.  The intellectual dignity, the attractive tenderness with which she repelled the harsh allegations he had made against her country, affected him deeply, and penetrated him with admiration.  A superiority, so grand, so simple, and so true, appeared to him above all ordinary rules.  He felt that Corinne was not the weak, timid woman, without an opinion on any subject beyond the sphere of her private duties and sentiments, which he had chosen in his imagination as a partner for life.  The remembrance of Lucilia, such as he had beheld her at the age of twelve years, agreed much better with this idea;—­but could any woman be compared with Corinne?  Could ordinary laws and rules be applied to one, who united in herself so many different qualities, cemented by genius and sensibility?  Corinne was a miracle