[Illustration]
Chapter i.
Oswald awoke in Rome. His first looks were saluted by the brilliancy of
an Italian sun, and his soul was penetrated with a sentiment of love and
gratitude towards that Power which seemed manifested in its resplendent
beams. He heard the bells of the different churches of the city; the
firing of cannon at intervals announced some great solemnity. He
demanded the cause of it, and was informed that that morning was to be
crowned, at the Capitol, the most celebrated woman in Italy. Corinne,
poetess, writer, _improvisatrice_, and one of the greatest beauties of
Rome. He made some enquiries respecting this ceremony consecrated by the
names of Petrarch and of Tasso, and all the answers that he received
strongly excited his curiosity.
There is certainly nothing more contrary to the habits and opinions of
an Englishman, than this great publicity given to the destiny of a
woman; but even foreigners are affected, at least for a moment, with
that enthusiasm which is inspired in the Italians by all those talents
that belong to the imagination, and they forget the prejudices of their
country amidst a nation so warm in the expression of its feelings. The
common people of Rome reason with taste upon their statues, pictures,
monuments and antiquities; and literary merit, carried to a certain
pitch, excites in them a national interest.
Oswald quitted his lodgings to repair to the public square, where he
heard everybody speaking of the genius and talents of Corinne. The
streets through which she was to pass had been decorated; the people,
who rarely assemble together except to pay their homage to fortune or
power, were, upon this occasion, almost in a tumult to behold a female
whose mind was her only claim to distinction. In the actual state of the
Italians the field of glory is only open to them in the fine arts, and
they possess a sensibility for genius in that department, which ought to
give birth to great men, if applause alone were sufficient to produce
them, if the stress of vigorous life, great interests and an independent
existence were not necessary to nourish thought.
Oswald walked the streets of Rome, waiting the arrival of Corinne. At
every instant he heard her name accompanied with some anecdote
concerning her, which implied the possession of all those talents that
captivate the imagination. One said that her voice was the most touching
in Italy; another, that nobody played tragedy like her; somebody else,
that she danced like a nymph, and designed with as much taste as
invention: all said that nobody had ever written or improvised such fine
verses, and that, in habitual conversation she possessed by turns, a
grace and an eloquence which charmed every mind. Disputes were entered
into as to what city of Rome had given her birth; but the Romans
maintained, warmly, that she must have been born in Rome to speak
Italian in such purity as she did. No one was acquainted with her family
name. Her first work had appeared five years before, and only bore the
name of Corinne; nobody knew where she had lived, nor what she had been
before that time: she was, however, nearly twenty-six years of age. This
mystery and publicity both at the same time, this woman of whom
everybody spoke, but whose real name was known to nobody, appeared to
Lord Nelville one of the wonders of the singular country he had just
come to live in. He would have judged very severely of such a woman in
England, but he did not apply the usual etiquette of society to Italy,
and the coronation of Corinne inspired him beforehand with that interest
to which an adventure of Ariosto would give birth.
Very fine and brilliant music preceded the arrival of the triumphal
procession. Any event, whatever it may be, which is announced by music,
always produces emotion. A great number of Roman Lords, and some
foreigners, preceded the car of Corinne. "_That is the train of her
admirers!_" said a Roman. "_Yes_," replied the other, "_she receives the
incense of everybody; but she grants nobody a decided preference: she is
rich and independent; it is even believed, and certainly her appearance
bespeaks it, that she is a woman of illustrious birth who desires to
remain unknown_." "_Be it as it may_," replied a third, "_she is a
goddess wrapt in a cloud_." Oswald looked at the man who spoke thus, and
every thing about him indicated that he belonged to the most obscure
rank in society; but in the south people so naturally make use of
poetical expressions, that one would say they were inhaled with the air
and inspired by the sun.
At length way was made through the crowd for the four white horses that
drew the car of Corinne. Corinne was seated in this car which was
constructed upon an antique model, and young girls, dressed in white,
walked on each side of her. Wherever she passed an abundance of perfumes
was thrown into the air; the windows, decorated with flowers and scarlet
tapestry, were crowded with spectators; every body cried, "_Long live
Corinne!_" "_Long live Genius and Beauty!_" The emotion was general but
Lord Nelville did not yet share it, and though he had observed in his
own mind that in order to judge of such a ceremony we must lay aside
the reserve of the English and the pleasantry of the French, he did not
share heartily in the _fête_ till at last he beheld Corinne.
[Illustration: _Corinne at the Capitol._]
She was dressed like the Sybil of Domenichino; an Indian shawl twisted
about her head, and her hair of the finest jet black, entwined with this
shawl; her dress was white, with blue drapery from her bosom downwards,
and her costume was very picturesque, at the same time without departing
so much from established modes as to savour of affectation. Her attitude
on the car was noble and modest: it was easily perceived that she was
pleased with being admired, but a sense of timidity was mingled with her
joy, and seemed to ask pardon for her triumph. The expression of her
physiognomy, of her eyes, of her smile, interested all in her favour,
and the first look made Lord Nelville her friend, even before that
sentiment was subdued by a warmer impression. Her arms were of dazzling
beauty; her shape, tall, but rather full, after the manner of the
Grecian statues, energetically characterised youth and happiness; and
there was something inspired in her look. One might perceive in her
manner of greeting and returning thanks for the applause which she
received, a kind of disposition which heightened the lustre of the
extraordinary situation in which she was placed. She gave at once the
idea of a priestess of Apollo advancing towards the temple of the Sun,
and of a woman of perfect simplicity in the common relations of life. To
conclude, in her every motion there was a charm which excited interest,
curiosity, astonishment and affection. The admiration of the people
increased in proportion as she advanced towards the Capitol--that spot
so fertile in memories. The beauty of the sky, the enthusiasm of these
Romans, and above all Corinne, electrified the imagination of Oswald. He
had often, in his own country, seen statesmen carried in triumph by the
people, but this was the first time he had been a witness of the
honours paid to a woman--a woman illustrious only by the gifts of
genius. Her chariot of victory was not purchased at the cost of the
tears of any human being, and no regret, no terror overshadowed that
admiration which the highest endowments of nature, imagination,
sentiment and mind, could not fail to excite.
Oswald was so absorbed in his reflections, so occupied by novel ideas,
that he did not remark the antique and celebrated places through which
the car of Corinne passed. It was at the foot of the flight of steps
which leads to the Capitol, that the car stopped, and at that moment all
the friends of Corinne rushed forward to offer her their hands. She
chose that of the prince Castel-Forte, the most esteemed of the Roman
nobility, for his intellect and for his disposition: every one approved
the choice of Corinne, and she ascended the steps of the Capitol whose
imposing majesty seemed to receive, with kind condescension, the light
footsteps of a woman. A new flourish of music was heard at the moment of
Corinne's arrival, the cannon resounded and the triumphant Sybil entered
the palace prepared for her reception.
At the lower end of the hall in which she was received were placed the
senator who was to crown her, and the conservators of the senate; on one
side all the cardinals and the most distinguished women of the country;
on the other the men of letters of the academy of Rome; and at the
opposite extremity the hall was occupied by a part of the immense crowd
who had followed Corinne. The chair destined for her was placed a step
below that of the senator. Corinne, before she seated herself in it,
made a genuflection on the first step, agreeably to the etiquette
required in this august assembly. She did it with so much nobleness and
modesty, so much gentleness and dignity, that Lord Nelville in that
moment felt his eyes moist with tears: he was astonished at his own
tenderness, but in the midst of all her pomp and triumph it seemed to
him that Corinne had implored, by her looks, the protection of a
friend--that protection which no woman, however superior, can dispense
with; and how sweet, said he within himself, would it be to become the
support of her to whom sensibility alone renders that support necessary.
As soon as Corinne was seated the Roman poets began to read the sonnets
and odes which they had composed for the occasion. They all exalted her
to the skies, but the praises which they lavishly bestowed upon her did
not draw any characteristic features of distinction between her and
other women of superior talents. They were only pleasing combinations of
images, and allusions to mythology, which might, from the days of Sappho
to those in which we live, have been addressed indiscriminately to any
woman who had rendered herself illustrious by her literary talents.
Already Lord Nelville felt hurt at this manner of praising Corinne; he
thought, in beholding her, that he could at that very instant draw a
portrait of her, more true, more just, more characteristic--a portrait
in fact that could only belong to Corinne.
Chapter ii.
The Prince Castel-Forte then rose to speak, and his observations upon
the merits of Corinne excited the attention of the whole assembly. He
was about fifty years of age, and there was in his speech and in his
deportment much deliberate ease and dignity. The assurances which Lord
Nelville received from those about him, that he was only the friend of
Corinne, excited, in his lordship's mind, an interest for the portrait
which he drew of her, unmixed with any other emotion. Without such a
security a confused sentiment of jealousy would have already disturbed
the soul of Oswald.
The Prince Castel-Forte read some unpretentious pages of prose which
were particularly calculated to display the genius of Corinne. He first
pointed out the peculiar merit of her work, and said that that merit
partly consisted of her profound study of foreign literature: she
united, in the highest degree, imagination, florid description and all
the brilliancy of the south, with that knowledge, that observation of
the human heart, which falls to the share of those countries where
external objects excite less interest.
He extolled the elegant graces and the lively disposition of Corinne--a
gaiety which partook of no improper levity, but proceeded solely from
the vivacity of the mind and the freshness of the imagination. He
attempted to praise her sensibility, but it was easily perceived that
personal regret mingled itself with this part of his speech. He lamented
the difficulty which a woman of her superior cast experienced of meeting
with the object of which she has formed to herself an ideal portrait--a
portrait clad with every endowment the heart and mind can wish for. He
however took pleasure in painting the passionate sensibility which the
poetry of Corinne inspired, and the art she possessed of seizing every
striking relation between the beauties of nature and the most intimate
impressions of the soul. He exalted the originality of Corinne's
expressions, those expressions which were the offspring of her character
and manner of feeling, without ever permitting any shade of affectation
to disfigure a species of charm not only natural but involuntary.
He spoke of her eloquence as possessing an irresistible force and energy
which must the more transport her hearers the more they possessed within
themselves true intellectual sensibility. "Corinne," said he, "is
indubitably the most celebrated woman of our country, and nevertheless
it is only her friends who can properly delineate her; for we must
always have recourse, in some degree, to conjecture, in order to
discover the genuine qualities of the soul. They may be concealed from
our knowledge by celebrity as well as obscurity, if some sort of
sympathy does not assist us to penetrate them." He enlarged upon her
talent for extemporisation, which did not resemble any thing of that
description known in Italy. "It is not only to the fecundity of her mind
that we ought to attribute it;" said he; "but to the deep emotion which
every generous thought excites in her. She cannot pronounce a word that
recalls such thoughts without enthusiasm, that inexhaustible source of
sentiments and of ideas animating and inspiring her." The Prince
Castel-Forte also made his audience sensible of the beauties of a style
always pure and harmonious. "The poetry of Corinne," added he, "is an
intellectual melody which can alone express the charm of the most
fugitive and delicate impressions."
He praised the conversation of his heroine in a manner that easily made
it perceived he had experienced its delight. "Imagination and
simplicity, justness and elevation, strength and tenderness, are
united," said he, "in the same person to give incessant variety to all
the pleasures of the mind: we may apply to her, this charming verse of
Petrarch:
_Il parlar che nell' anima si sente._[4]
and, I believe, in her will be found that grace so much boasted of,
that oriental charm which the ancients attributed to Cleopatra.
"The places I have visited with her, the music we have heard together,
the pictures she has pointed out to me, the books she has made me
comprehend, compose the universe of my imagination. There is in all
these objects a spark of her life; and if I were to exist at a distance
from her I would wish at least to be surrounded by those objects,
certain as I am of finding nowhere else that trace of fire, that trace
of herself in fact, which she has left in them. Yes," continued he (and
at that moment his eyes fell by chance upon Oswald), "behold Corinne; if
you can pass your life with her, if that double existence which it is in
her power to give can be assured to you for a long time; but do not
behold her if you are condemned to quit her; you will seek in vain as
long as you live that creative soul which shares and multiplies your
sentiments and your thoughts; you will never behold her like again."
Oswald started at these words, his eyes fixed themselves upon Corinne,
who heard them with an emotion that was not inspired by self-love, but
which was allied to the most amiable and delicate feelings. The Prince
Castel-Forte was much affected for a moment, and then resumed his
speech. He spoke of Corinne's talent for music, for painting, for
declamation and for dancing: In all these talents, he said, she was
entirely herself, not confined to any particular manner, or to any
particular rule, but expressing in various languages the same powers of
the imagination, and the same witchery of the fine arts under all their
different forms.
"I do not flatter myself," said the Prince Castel-Forte in concluding,
"that I have been able to paint a lady of whom it is impossible to form
an idea without having heard her; but her presence is, for us at Rome,
as one of the benefits of our brilliant sky and our inspired nature.
Corinne is the tie that unites her friends together; she is the moving
principle and the interest of our life. We reckon upon her goodness; we
are proud of her genius; we say to strangers, 'Behold her! She is the
image of our beautiful Italy; she is what we should be without the
ignorance, the envy, the discord and the indolence to which our fate has
condemned us.' We take pleasure in contemplating her as an admirable
production of our climate and of our fine arts,--as a scion shooting out
of the past, as a prophecy of the future. When foreigners insult this
country, whence has issued that intelligence which has shed its light
over Europe; when they are without pity for our defects, which arise out
of our misfortunes, we will say to them: 'Behold Corinne! 'Tis our
desire to follow her footsteps; we would endeavour to become, as men,
what she is as woman, if man like woman could create a world in his own
heart; and if our genius, necessarily dependent upon social relations
and external circumstances, could be kindled by the torch of poetry
alone.'"
The moment the Prince Castel-Forte left off speaking unanimous applause
was heard on all sides, and though towards the conclusion of his speech
he indirectly blamed the present state of the Italians, all the nobles
of the state approved of it; so true it is that we find in Italy that
sort of liberality which does not lead men to alter institutions, but
which pardons in superior minds a tranquil opposition to existing
prejudices. The reputation of Prince Castel-Forte was very great in
Rome. He spoke with a rare sagacity, which is a remarkable gift in a
nation who exhibit more intellect in their conduct than in their
conversation. He did not in his worldly concerns shew that address which
often distinguishes the Italians, but he took delight in thought, and
did not dread the fatigue of meditation. The happy inhabitants of the
south sometimes shrink from this fatigue, and flatter themselves that
imagination will do everything for them, as their fertile soil produces
fruit without cultivation assisted only by the bounty of the sky.