ster? "Ah!" answered she, "_Il piu bel viso e il mio_;"--Mine is the
most beautiful face.

[29] An Italian postillion, whose horse was dying, prayed for him,
saying. "_O Sant' Antonio, abbiate pieta dell' anima sua_;"--O Saint
Anthony, have mercy on his soul!

[30] Goethe has a description of the carnival at Rome, which gives a
faithful and animated picture of that festival.

Chapter ii.

Oswald, since his calamity, had not found spirits to seek the pleasure
of music. He dreaded those ravishing strains so soothing to melancholy,
but which inflict pain, when we are oppressed by real grief. Music
awakens those bitter recollections which we are desirous to appease.
When Corinne sang, Oswald listened to the words she uttered; he
contemplated the expression of her countenance, it was she alone that
occupied him; but if in the streets of an evening, several voices were
joined, as it frequently happens in Italy, to sing the fine airs of the
great masters, he at first endeavoured to listen, and then retired,
because the emotion it excited, at once so exquisite and so indefinite,
renewed his pain. However, there was a magnificent concert to be given
in the theatre at Rome, which was to combine the talents of all the best
singers. Corinne pressed Lord Nelville to accompany her to this concert,
and he consented, expecting that his feelings would be softened and
refined by the presence of her he loved.

On entering her box, Corinne was immediately recognised, and the
remembrance of the Capitol adding to the interest which she usually
inspired, the theatre resounded with applause. From every part of the
house they cried, "Long live Corinne!" and the musicians themselves,
electrified by this general emotion, began to play victorious strains;
for men are led to associate triumph of every sort with war and battle.
Corinne was intimately affected with these universal tokens of
admiration and respect. The music, the applause, the _bravos_, and that
indefinable impression, which a multitude of people expressing one
sentiment always produces, awakened those feelings which, in spite of
her efforts to conceal them, appeared in her eyes suffused with tears,
and the palpitation of her heart equally visible. Oswald, jealous of
this emotion, approached her, saying in a low voice,--"It would be a
pity madam to snatch you from this brilliant popularity, it is certainly
equal to love, since it produces the same effect in your heart."--