Chapter ii.
During those days which immediately followed the illness of Oswald,Corinne carefully avoided any thing that might lead to an explanationbetween them. She wished to render life as calm as possible; but shewould not yet confide her history to him. All her remarks upon theirdifferent conversations, had only served to convince her too well of theimpression he would receive in learning who she was, and what she hadsacrificed; and nothing appeared more dreadful to her than thisimpression, which might detach him from her.
Returning then to the amiable artifice with which she had beforeprevented Oswald from abandoning himself to passionate disquietudes, shedesired to interest his mind and his imagination anew, by the wonders ofthe fine arts which he had not yet seen, and by this means retard themoment when their fate should be cleared up and decided. Such asituation would be insupportable, governed by any other sentiment thanthat of love; but so much is it in the power of love to sweeten everyhour, to give a charm to every minute, that although it need anindefinite future, it becomes, intoxicated with the present, and isfilled every day with such a multitude of emotions and ideas that itbecomes an age of happiness or pain!
Undoubtedly it is love alone that can give an idea of eternity; itconfounds every notion of time; it effaces every idea of beginning andend; we believe that we have always loved the object of our affection;so difficult is it to conceive that we have ever been able to livewithout him. The more dreadful separation appears, the less it seemsprobable; it becomes, like death, a fear which is more spoken of thanbelieved--a future event which seems impossible, even at the very momentwe know it to be inevitable.
Corinne, among her innocent stratagems to vary the amusements of Oswald,had still in reserve the statues and the paintings. One day therefore,when Oswald was perfectly restored, she proposed that they should gotogether to see the most beautiful specimens of painting and sculpturethat Rome contains. "It is a reproach," said she to him, smiling, "notto be acquainted with our statues and our pictures; so to-morrow we willcommence our tour of the museums and the galleries."--"It is your wish,"answered Nelville, "and I agree. But in truth, Corinne, you have noneed of these foreign resources to retain me; on the contrary, it is asacrifice that I make whenever I turn my eyes from you to any objectwhatever."
They went first to the Museum of the Vatican, that palace of statueswhere the human figure is deified by Paganism, in the same manner as thesentiments of the soul are now by Christianity. Corinne directed theobservation of Lord Nelville to those silent halls, where the images ofthe gods and the heroes are assembled, and where the most perfect beautyseems to enjoy itself in eternal repose. In contemplating theseadmirable features and forms, the intentions of the Deity towards man,seems, I know not how, to be revealed by the noble figure which He hasbeen pleased to give him. The soul is uplifted by this contemplation tohopes full of enthusiasm and virtue; for beauty is one and the samethroughout the universe, and under whatever form it presents itself, italways excites a religious emotion in the heart of man. What poeticlanguage, there is in those countenances where the most sublimeexpression is for ever imprinted,--where the grandest thoughts are cladwith an image so worthy of them!
In some instances, an ancient sculptor only produced one statue duringhis life--it was his whole history.--He perfected it every day: if heloved, if he was beloved, if he received from nature or the fine artsany new impression, he adorned the features of his hero with hismemories and affections: he could thus express to outward eyes all thesentiments of his soul. The grief of our modern times, in the midst ofour cold and oppressive social conditions, contains all that is mostnoble in man; and in our days, he who has not suffered, can never havethought or felt. But there was in antiquity, something more noble thangrief--an heroic calm--the sense of conscious strength, which wascherished by free and liberal institutions. The finest Grecian statueshave hardly ever indicated anything but repose. The Laocoon and Niobeare the only ones which paint violent grief and pain; but it is thevengeance of heaven which they represent, and not any passion born inthe human heart; the moral being was of so sound an organization amongthe ancients, the air circulated so freely in their deep bosoms, and theorder politic was so much in harmony with their faculties, that troubledminds hardly ever existed then, as at the present day. This state causesthe discovery of many fine ideas, but does not furnish the arts,particularly sculpture, with those simple affections, those primitiveelements of sentiment, which can alone be expressed by eternal marble.Hardly do we find any traces of melancholy; a head of Apollo, at theJustinian palace, another of the dying Alexander, are the only ones inwhich the thoughtful and suffering dispositions of the soul areindicated; but according to all appearances they both belong to the timewhen Greece was enslaved. Since that epoch, we no longer see thatboldness, nor that tranquillity of soul, which among the ancients, hasproduced masterpieces of sculpture, and poetry composed in the samespirit.
That thought which has nothing to nourish it from without, turns uponitself, analyses, labours, and dives into every inward sentiment; but ithas no longer that creative power which supposes happiness, and thatplenitude of strength which happiness alone can give. Even thesarcophagi, among the ancients, only recall warlike or pleasing ideas:in the multitude of those which are to be found at the museum of theVatican, are seen battles and games represented in bas-relief on thetombs. The remembrance of living activity was thought to be the finesthomage that could be rendered to the dead; nothing relaxed, nothingdiminished strength. Encouragement and emulation were the principles ofthe fine arts as well as of politics; they afforded scope for everyvirtue, and for every talent. The vulgar gloried in knowing how toadmire, and the worship of genius was served even by those who could notaspire to its rewards.
The religion of Greece was not, like Christianity, the consolation ofmisfortune, the riches of poverty, the future hope of the dying--itsought glory and triumph;--in a manner it deified man: in thisperishable religion, beauty itself was a religious dogma. If the artistswere called to paint the base and ferocious passions, they rescued thehuman form from shame, by joining to it, as in Fauns and Centaurs, sometraits of the animal figure; and in order to give to beauty its mostsublime character, they alternately blended in their statues (as in thewarlike Minerva and in the Apollo Musagetus), the charms of bothsexes--strength and softness, softness and strength; a happy mixture oftwo opposite qualities, without which neither of the two would beperfect.
Corinne, continuing her observations, retained Oswald some time beforethose sleeping statues which are placed on the tombs, and which displaythe art of sculpture in the most agreeable point of view. She pointedout to him, that whenever statues are supposed to represent an action,the arrested movement produces a sort of astonishment which is sometimespainful. But statues asleep, or merely in the attitude of completerepose, offer an image of eternal tranquillity which wonderfully accordswith the general effect of a southern climate upon man. The fine artsappear there to be peaceful spectators of nature, and genius, which inthe north agitates the soul of man, seems beneath a beautiful sky, onlyan added harmony.
Oswald and Corinne passed on to the hall where are collected togetherthe sculptured images of animals and reptiles; and the statue ofTiberius is found, by chance, in the midst of this court. Thisassemblage is without design. Those statues appear to have rangedthemselves of their own accord about their master. Another hall enclosedthe dull and rigid monuments of the Egyptians; of that people whosestatues resembled mummies more than men, and who by their silent, stiff,and servile institutions, seem to have assimilated as much as possible,life to death. The Egyptians excelled much more in the art of imitatinganimals than in representing men: the dominion of the soul seems to havebeen inaccessible to them.
After these come the porticos of the museum, where at each step is seena new masterpiece. Vases, altars, ornaments of every kind, encircle theApollo, the Laocoon, and the Muses. It is there that we learn to feelHomer and Sophocles: it is there that a knowledge of antiquity
isawakened in the soul, which cannot be acquired elsewhere. It is in vainthat we trust to the reading of history to comprehend the spirit ofnations; what we see inspires us with more ideas than what we read, andexternal objects cause in us a strong emotion, which gives that livinginterest to the study of the past which we find in the observation ofcontemporary facts and events.
In the midst of these magnificent porticos, which afford an asylum to somany wonders of art, there are fountains, which, flowing incessantly,seem to tell us how sweetly the hours glided away two thousand yearsago, when the artists who executed these masterpieces were yet alive.But the most melancholy impression which we experience at the Vatican,is in contemplating the remains of statues which are collected there:the torso of Hercules, heads separated from the trunks, and a foot ofJupiter, which indicates a greater and more perfect statue than any thatwe know. We fancy a field of battle before us, where time has foughtwith genius; and these mutilated limbs attest its victory, and ourlosses.
After leaving the Vatican, Corinne conducted him to the Colossi of MountCavallo; these two statues represent, as it is said, Castor and Pollux.Each of the two heroes is taming with one hand a fiery steed. Thesecolossal figures, this struggle between man and the animal creation,gives, like all the works of the ancients, an admirable idea of thephysical power of human nature. But this power has something noble init, which is no longer found in modern society, where all bodilyexercises are for the most part left to the common people. It is notmerely the animal force of human nature, if I may use the expression,which is observable in these masterpieces. There seems to have been amore intimate union between the physical and moral qualities among theancients, who lived incessantly in the midst of war, and a war almost ofman to man. Strength of body and generosity of soul, dignity of featuresand boldness of character, loftiness of stature and commandingauthority, were ideas almost inseparable, before a religion, entirelyintellectual, had placed the power of man in his mind. The human figure,which was also the figure of the gods, appeared symbolical; and thenervous colossus of Hercules, as well as every other ancient statue ofthis sort, do not convey vulgar ideas of common life; but an omnipotentand divine will, which shews itself under the emblem of a supernaturalphysical force.
Corinne and Lord Nelville finished the day with a visit to the studio ofCanova, the greatest modern sculptor. As it was late when they gotthere, they were shewn it by torch light; and statues improve much intheir effect by being seen in this manner. The ancients appear to havebeen of this opinion, since they often placed them in their Thermae,where day could not enter. By the light of the flambeaux, the shadowsbeing more full, the uniform lustre of the marble was softened, and thestatues appeared as so many pale figures, possessing a more touchingcharacter of grace and life. There was, in the studio of Canova, anadmirable statue destined for a tomb, which represented the genius ofgrief leaning upon a lion, the emblem of strength. Corinne, incontemplating the figure of grief, thought she discovered in it someresemblance to Oswald, and the artist himself was struck with it; LordNelville turned about to avoid this kind of notice; but he said in a lowvoice to his fair companion, "Corinne, I was condemned to a fate likethat which is here represented, when I met with you; but you havechanged my existence, and sometimes hope, and always an anxiety mixedwith charm, fills that heart which was to suffer nothing but regret."