vertheless one might perceive that there was something of religious
mystery in them, some recollections of heaven, with a presage that she
was shortly to return thither; a kind of celestial melancholy, as of a
soul exiled upon earth, but which was soon to be called to its divine
home. Ah! how happy was Corinne the day that she represented the part of
a noble character in a beautiful tragedy before the lover of her choice;
how many years, how many lives would appear dull, compared to such a
day!

If Lord Nelville could have performed, with Corinne, the part of Romeo,
the pleasure which she would have tasted would not have been so
complete. She would have desired to put aside the verses of the greatest
poet in order to speak the dictates of her own heart; perhaps even her
genius would have been confined by insurmountable timidity; she would
not have dared to look at Oswald for fear of betraying herself, and
truth would have destroyed the charm of art; but how sweet it was to
know that he whom she loved was present when she experienced those
exalted sentiments which poetry alone can inspire; when she felt all the
charm of tender emotions, without their real pain; when the affection
she expressed was neither personal nor abstract; and when she seemed to
say to Lord Nelville, "See how I am able to love."

It is impossible when the situation is our own to be satisfied with
ourselves: passion and timidity alternately transport and check
us--inspire us either with too much bitterness or too much submission;
but to appear perfect without affectation; to unite calm to sensibility,
which too frequently destroys it; in a word, to exist for a moment in
the sweetest reveries of the heart; such was the pure enjoyment of
Corinne in performing tragedy. She united to this pleasure that of all
the plaudits she received; and her look seemed to place them at the feet
of Oswald, at the feet of him whose simple approval she valued more than
all her fame. Corinne was happy, at least for a moment! for a moment, at
least, she experienced at the price of her repose, those delights of the
soul which till then she had vainly wished for, and which she would ever
have to regret!

Juliet in the third act becomes privately, the wife of Romeo. In the
fourth, her parents wishing to force her to marry another, she
determines to take the opiate which she receives from the hand of a
friar, and which is to give her the appearance of death. All the motions