talent for
improvisation which their heroine had so gloriously displayed at the
Capitol, and they went so far as to ask her own opinion of it. "It is
something so rare," said Prince Castel-Forte, "to find any one at once
susceptible of enthusiasm and of analysis, gifted as an artist and
capable of observing herself, that we must intreat her to reveal to us
the secrets of her genius." "The talent for improvisation," replied
Corinne, "is not more extraordinary in the languages of the south, than
the eloquence of the tribune, or the brilliant vivacity of conversation
in other tongues. I will even say that, unfortunately it is with us more
easy to make verses _impromptu_ than to speak well in prose. The
language of poetry is so different from that of prose, that from the
first verses the attention is commanded by the expressions themselves,
which, if I may so express it, place the poet at a distance from his
auditors. It is not only to the softness of the Italian language, but
much more to its strong and pronounced vibration of sonorous syllables,
that we must attribute the empire of poetry amongst us. There is a kind
of musical charm in Italian, by which the bare sound of words, almost
independently of the ideas, produces pleasure; besides, these words have
almost all something picturesque in them; they paint what they express.
You feel that it is in the midst of the arts, and under an auspicious
sky that this melodious, and highly-coloured language has been formed.
It is therefore more easy in Italy than any where else, to seduce with
words, without profundity of thought or novelty of imagery. Poetry, like
all the fine arts, captivates the senses, as much as the intellect. I
dare venture to say, however, that I have never improvised without
feeling myself animated by some real emotion, some idea which I believed
new, therefore I hope that I have trusted less than others to our
bewitching language. It is possible, if I may say so, to prelude at
random, and convey a lively pleasure by the charm of rhythm and of
harmony alone."

"You believe then," interrupted one of the friends of Corinne, "that the
talent for improvisation injures our literature; I thought so once
myself, but hearing you, madam, has made me entirely alter that
opinion." "I have said," replied Corinne, "that there resulted from this
facility, this literary abundance, a quantity of inferior poetry; but I
am as pleased with this fecundity, which exists in It