[1] From a journal called "Europe," I have derived many valuable observations on painting--an inexhaustible subject for their author, M. Frederic Schlegel, and for German reasoners in general.
Oswald himself drove the four horses that drew them next day towards Tivoli; he delighted in their rapid course, which seemed to lend fresh vivacity to the sense of existence--an impression so sweet when enjoyed beside those we love. He was careful, even to fear, least the slightest accident should befall his charge--that protecting air is such a link betwixt man and woman! Corinne, though less easily alarmed than the rest of her sex, observed his solicitude with such pleasure as made her almost wish she could be frightened, that she might claim the reassurances of Oswald. What gave him so great an ascendency over her, was the occasional unexpected contrasts with himself, that lent a peculiar charm to his whole manner. Every one admired his mind and person; but both were particularly interesting to a woman at once thus constant and versatile. Though occupied by nothing but Corinne, this same interest perpetually assumed a new character: sometimes reserve predominated; then he abandoned himself to his passion; anon, he was perfectly amiable and content; as probably, by a gloomy bitterness, betrayed the sincerity of his distress. Agitated at heart, he strove to appear serene, and left her to guess the secrets of his bosom. This kept her curiosity forever on the alert. His very faults set off his merits; and no man, however agreeable, who was devoid of these contradictions and inconsistencies, could thus have captivated Corinne: she was subdued by her fear of him. He reigned in her heart by a good and by an evil power--by his own qualities, and by the anxiety their ill-regulated state inspired. There was no safety in the happiness he bestowed. This, perhaps, accounts for the exaltation of her love; she might not have thus adored aught she did not fear to lose. A mind of ardent yet delicate sensibility may weary of all save a being whose own, forever in motion, appears like a heaven, now clear and smiling, now lapped in threatening clouds. Oswald, ever truly, deeply attached, was not the less often on the brink of abjuring the object of his tenderness, because long habit had persuaded him that he could find nothing but remorse in the too vivid feelings of his breast.