Corinne, Volume 1 (of 2)

  Chapter ii.

  Oswald, since his calamity, had not found spirits to seek the pleasureof music. He dreaded those ravishing strains so soothing to melancholy,but which inflict pain, when we are oppressed by real grief. Musicawakens those bitter recollections which we are desirous to appease.When Corinne sang, Oswald listened to the words she uttered; hecontemplated the expression of her countenance, it was she alone thatoccupied him; but if in the streets of an evening, several voices werejoined, as it frequently happens in Italy, to sing the fine airs of thegreat 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 givenin the theatre at Rome, which was to combine the talents of all the bestsingers. Corinne pressed Lord Nelville to accompany her to this concert,and he consented, expecting that his feelings would be softened andrefined by the presence of her he loved.

  On entering her box, Corinne was immediately recognised, and theremembrance of the Capitol adding to the interest which she usuallyinspired, the theatre resounded with applause. From every part of thehouse 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 ofadmiration and respect. The music, the applause, the _bravos_, and thatindefinable impression, which a multitude of people expressing onesentiment always produces, awakened those feelings which, in spite ofher efforts to conceal them, appeared in her eyes suffused with tears,and the palpitation of her heart equally visible. Oswald, jealous ofthis emotion, approached her, saying in a low voice,--"It would be apity madam to snatch you from this brilliant popularity, it is certainlyequal to love, since it produces the same effect in your heart."--Havingspoken thus, he retired to the further end of the box without waitingfor any reply. These words produced the most cruel agitation in thebosom of Corinne, and in a moment destroyed all the pleasure shereceived from these expressions of applause, which principally gave herdelight because they were witnessed by Oswald.

  The concert began--he who has not heard Italian singing can have no ideaof music! Italian voices are so soft and sweet, that they recall at oncethe perfume of flowers, and the purity of the sky. Nature has destinedthe music for the climate: one is like a reflection of the other. Theworld is the work of one mind, expressed in a thousand different forms.The Italians, during a series of ages, have been enthusiastically fondof music. Dante, in his poem of purgatory, meets with one of the bestsingers of his age; being entreated, he sings one of his delicious airs,and the ravished spirits are lulled into oblivion of their sufferings,until recalled by their guardian angel. The Christians, as well as thepagans, have extended the empire of music beyond the grave. Of all thefine arts, it is that which produces the most immediate effect upon thesoul. The others are directed to some particular idea; but this appealsto the intimate source of our existence, and entirely changes our inmostsoul. What is said of Divine Grace, which suddenly transforms the heart,may humanly speaking be applied to the power of melody; and among thepresentiments of the life to come, those which spring from music arenot to be despised.

  Even the gaiety which the comic music of Italy is so well calculated toexcite, is not of that vulgar description which does not speak to theimagination. At the very bottom of the mirth which it excites, will befound poetical sensations and an agreeable reverie, which mere verbalpleasantry never could inspire. Music is so fleeting a pleasure, that itglides away almost at the same time we feel it, in such a manner, that amelancholy impression is mingled with the gaiety which it excites; butwhen expressive of grief, it also gives birth to a sweet sentiment. Theheart beats more quickly while listening to it, and the satisfactioncaused by the regularity of the measure, by reminding us of the brevityof time, points out the necessity of enjoying it. You no longer feel anyvoid, any silence, around you; life is filled; the blood flows quickly;you feel within you that motion which gives activity to life, and youhave no fear of the external obstacles with which it is beset.

  Music redoubles the ideas which we possess of the faculties of the soul;when listening to it we feel capable of the noblest efforts. Animated bymusic, we march to the field of death with enthusiasm. This divine artis happily incapable of expressing any base sentiment, any artifice, anyfalsehood. Calamity itself, in the language of music, is stript of itsbitterness; it neither irritates the mind nor rends the heart. Musicgently raises that weight which almost constantly oppresses the heartwhen we are formed for deep and serious affections; that weight whichsometimes becomes confounded with the very sense of our existence, sohabitual is the pain which it causes. It seems to us in listening topure and delectable sounds, that we are about to seize the secret ofthe Creator, and penetrate the mystery of life. No language can expressthis impression, for language drags along slowly behind primitiveimpressions, as prose translators behind the footsteps of poets. It isonly a look that can give some idea of it; the look of an object youlove, long fixed upon you, and penetrating by degrees so deeply intoyour heart, that you are at length obliged to cast down your eyes toescape a happiness so intense, that, like the splendour of another life,it would consume the mortal being who should presume stedfastly tocontemplate it.

  The admirable exactness of two voices perfectly in harmony produces, inthe duets of the great Italian masters, a melting delight which cannotbe prolonged without pain. It is a state of pleasure too exquisite forhuman nature; and the soul then vibrates like an instrument which a tooperfect harmony would break. Oswald had obstinately kept at a distancefrom Corinne during the first part of the concert; but when the duetbegan, with faintly-sounding voices, accompanied by wind instruments,whose sounds were more pure than the voices themselves, Corinne coveredher face with her handkerchief, entirely absorbed in emotion; she wept,but without suffering--she loved, and was undisturbed by any fear.Undoubtedly the image of Oswald was present to her heart; but this imagewas mingled with the most noble enthusiasm, and a crowd of confusedthoughts wandered over her soul: it would have been necessary to limitthese thoughts in order to render them distinct. It is said that aprophet traversed seven different regions of heaven in a minute. He whocould thus conceive all that an instant might contain, must surely havefelt the sublime power of music by the side of the object he loved.Oswald felt this power, and his resentment became gradually appeased.The feelings of Corinne explained and justified everything; he gentlyapproached her, and Corinne heard him breathing by her side in the mostenchanting passage of this celestial music. It was too much--the mostpathetic tragedy could not have excited in her heart so much sensationas this intimate sentiment of profound emotion which penetrated themboth at the same time, and which each succeeding moment, each new sound,continually exalted. The words of a song have no concern in producingthis emotion--they may indeed occasionally excite some passingreflection on love or death; but it is the indefinite charm of musicwhich blends itself with every feeling of the soul; and each one thinkshe finds in this melody, as in the pure and tranquil star of night, theimage of what he wishes for on earth.

  "Let us retire," said Corinne; "I feel ready to faint." "What ails you?"said Oswald, with uneasiness; "you grow pale. Come into the open airwith me; come." They went out together. Corinne, leaning on the arm ofOswald, felt her strength revive from the consciousness of his support.They both approached a balcony, and Corinne, with profound emotion, saidto her lover, "Dear Oswald, I am about to leave you for eight days.""What do you tell me?" interrupted he. "Every year," replied she, "atthe approach of Holy Week, I go to pass some time in a convent, toprepare myself for the solemnity of Easter." Oswald advanced nothing inopposition to this intention; he knew that at this epoch, the greaterpart of the Roman ladies gave themselves up to the most rigid devotion,without however on that account troubling themselves very seriouslyabout religion during the rest of the year; but he recollected thatCorinn
e professed a different worship to his, and that they could notpray together. "Why are you not," cried he, "of the same religion asmyself?" Having pronounced this wish, he stopped short. "Have not ourhearts and minds the same country?" answered Corinne. "It is true,"replied Oswald; "but I do not feel less painfully all that separatesus." They were then joined by Corinne's friends; but this eight days'absence so oppressed his heart that he did not utter a word during thewhole evening.