[25] I have taken the liberty here to borrow some passages of the
Discourse on Death, which is to be found in the _Cours de Morale
Religieuse_, by M. Necker. This work, which appeared in times when the
attention was engrossed by political events, is sometimes confounded
with another by the same author, called _l'Importance des Opinions
Religieuses_, which has had the most brilliant success. But I dare
affirm, that the former is my father's most eloquent work. No minister
of state, I believe, before him, ever composed works for the Christian
pulpit; and that which ought to characterise this kind of writing from a
man who has had so much dealings with his race, is a knowledge of the
human heart, and the indulgence which this knowledge inspires: it
appears then, that considered in these two points of view, the _Cours de
Morale_, is perfectly original. Religious men in general do not mix in
the world, and men of the world for the most part, are not religious:
where then would it be possible to find to such a degree, knowledge of
life united to the elevation which detaches us from it? I will assert
without being afraid that my opinion will be attributed to my feelings,
that this book ranks among the first of those which console the sensible
being, and interest minds which reflect on the great questions that the
soul incessantly agitates within us.
Chapter ii.
During those days which immediately followed the illness of Oswald,
Corinne carefully avoided any thing that might lead to an explanation
between them. She wished to render life as calm as possible; but she
would not yet confide her history to him. All her remarks upon their
different conversations, had only served to convince her too well of the
impression he would receive in learning who she was, and what she had
sacrificed; and nothing appeared more dreadful to her than this
impression, which might detach him from her.
Returning then to the amiable artifice with which she had before
prevented Oswald from abandoning himself to passionate disquietudes, she
desired to interest his mind and his imagination anew, by the wonders of
the fine arts which he had not yet seen, and by this means retard the
moment when their fate should be cleared up and decided. Such a
situation would be insupportable, governed by any other sentiment than
that of love; but so much is it in the power of love to sweeten every
hour, to give a charm to every minute, that although it need an
indefinite future, it becomes, intoxicated with the present, and is
filled every day with such a multitude of emotions and ideas that it
becomes an age of happiness or pain!
Undoubtedly it is love alone that can give an idea of eternity; it
confounds every notion of time; it effaces every idea of beginning and
end; 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 live
without him. The more dreadful separation appears, the less it seems
probable; it becomes, like death, a fear which is more spoken of than
believed--a future event which seems impossible, even at the very moment
we 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 go
together to see the most beautiful specimens of painting and sculpture
that Rome contains. "It is a reproach," said she to him, smiling, "not
to be acquainted with our statues and our pictures; so to-morrow we will
commence our tour of the museums and the galleries."--"It is your wish,"
answered Nelville, "and I agree. But in truth, Corinne, you have no
need of these foreign resources to retain me; on the contrary, it is a
sacrifice that I make whenever I turn my eyes from you to any object
whatever."
They went first to the Museum of the Vatican, that palace of statues
where the human figure is deified by Paganism, in the same manner as the
sentiments of the soul are now by Christianity. Corinne directed the
observation of Lord Nelville to those silent halls, where the images of
the gods and the heroes are assembled, and where the most perfect beauty
seems to enjoy itself in eternal repose. In contemplating these
admirable features and forms, the intentions of the Deity towards man,
seems, I know not how, to be revealed by the noble figure which He has
been pleased to give him. The soul is uplifted by this contemplation to
hopes full of enthusiasm and virtue; for beauty is one and the same
throughout the universe, and under whatever form it presents itself, it
always excites a religious emotion in the heart of man. What poetic
language, there is in those countenances where the most sublime
expression is for ever imprinted,--where the grandest thoughts are clad
with an image so worthy of them!
In some instances, an ancient sculptor only produced one statue during
his life--it was his whole history.--He perfected it every day: if he
loved, if he was beloved, if he received from nature or the fine arts
any new impression, he adorned the features of his hero with his
memories and affections: he could thus express to outward eyes all the
sentiments of his soul. The grief of our modern times, in the midst of
our cold and oppressive social conditions, contains all that is most
noble in man; and in our days, he who has not suffered, can never have
thought or felt. But there was in antiquity, something more noble than
grief--an heroic calm--the sense of conscious strength, which was
cherished by free and liberal institutions. The finest Grecian statues
have hardly ever indicated anything but repose. The Laocoon and Niobe
are the only ones which paint violent grief and pain; but it is the
vengeance of heaven which they represent, and not any passion born in
the human heart; the moral being was of so sound an organization among
the ancients, the air circulated so freely in their deep bosoms, and the
order politic was so much in harmony with their faculties, that troubled
minds hardly ever existed then, as at the present day. This state causes
the discovery of many fine ideas, but does not furnish the arts,
particularly sculpture, with those simple affections, those primitive
elements of sentiment, which can alone be expressed by eternal marble.
Hardly do we find any traces of melancholy; a head of Apollo, at the
Justinian palace, another of the dying Alexander, are the only ones in
which the thoughtful and suffering dispositions of the soul are
indicated; but according to all appearances they both belong to the time
when Greece was enslaved. Since that epoch, we no longer see that
boldness, nor that tranquillity of soul, which among the ancients, has
produced masterpieces of sculpture, and poetry composed in the same
spirit.
That thought which has nothing to nourish it from without, turns upon
itself, analyses, labours, and dives into every inward sentiment; but it
has no longer that creative power which supposes happiness, and that
plenitude of strength which happiness alone can give. Even the
sarcophagi, among the ancients, only recall warlike or pleasing ideas:
in the multitude of those which are to be found at the museum of the
Vatican, are seen battles and games represented in bas-relief on the
tombs. The remembrance of living activity was thought to be the finest
homage that could be rendered to the dead; nothing relaxed, nothing
diminished strength. Encouragement and emulation were the principles of
the fine arts as well as of politics; they afforded scope for every
virtue, and for every talent. The vulgar gloried in knowing how to
admire, and the worship of genius was served even by those who could not
aspire to its rewards.
The religion of Greece was not, like Christianity, the consolation of
misfortune, the riches of poverty, the future hope of the dying--it
sought glory and triumph;--in a manner it deified man: in this
perishable religion, beauty itself was a religious dogma. If the artists
were called to paint the base and ferocious passions, they rescued the
human form from shame, by joining to it, as in Fauns and Centaurs, some
traits of the animal figure; and in order to give to beauty its most
sublime character, they alternately blended in their statues (as in the
warlike Minerva and in the Apollo Musagetus), the charms of both
sexes--strength and softness, softness and strength; a happy mixture of
two opposite qualities, without which neither of the two would be
perfect.
Corinne, continuing her observations, retained Oswald some time before
those sleeping statues which are placed on the tombs, and which display
the art of sculpture in the most agreeable point of view. She pointed
out to him, that whenever statues are supposed to represent an action,
the arrested movement produces a sort of astonishment which is sometimes
painful. But statues asleep, or merely in the attitude of complete
repose, offer an image of eternal tranquillity which wonderfully accords
with the general effect of a southern climate upon man. The fine arts
appear there to be peaceful spectators of nature, and genius, which in
the north agitates the soul of man, seems beneath a beautiful sky, only
an added harmony.
Oswald and Corinne passed on to the hall where are collected together
the sculptured images of animals and reptiles; and the statue of
Tiberius is found, by chance, in the midst of this court. This
assemblage is without design. Those statues appear to have ranged
themselves of their own accord about their master. Another hall enclosed
the dull and rigid monuments of the Egyptians; of that people whose
statues 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 imitating
animals than in representing men: the dominion of the soul seems to have
been inaccessible to them.
After these come the porticos of the museum, where at each step is seen
a new masterpiece. Vases, altars, ornaments of every kind, encircle the
Apollo, the Laocoon, and the Muses. It is there that we learn to feel
Homer and Sophocles: it is there that a knowledge of antiquity is
awakened in the soul, which cannot be acquired elsewhere. It is in vain
that we trust to the reading of history to comprehend the spirit of
nations; what we see inspires us with more ideas than what we read, and
external objects cause in us a strong emotion, which gives that living
interest to the study of the past which we find in the observation of
contemporary facts and events.
In the midst of these magnificent porticos, which afford an asylum to so
many wonders of art, there are fountains, which, flowing incessantly,
seem to tell us how sweetly the hours glided away two thousand years
ago, 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 of
Jupiter, which indicates a greater and more perfect statue than any that
we know. We fancy a field of battle before us, where time has fought
with genius; and these mutilated limbs attest its victory, and our
losses.
After leaving the Vatican, Corinne conducted him to the Colossi of Mount
Cavallo; these two statues represent, as it is said, Castor and Pollux.
Each of the two heroes is taming with one hand a fiery steed. These
colossal figures, this struggle between man and the animal creation,
gives, like all the works of the ancients, an admirable idea of the
physical power of human nature. But this power has something noble in
it, which is no longer found in modern society, where all bodily
exercises are for the most part left to the common people. It is not
merely the animal force of human nature, if I may use the expression,
which is observable in these masterpieces. There seems to have been a
more intimate union between the physical and moral qualities among the
ancients, who lived incessantly in the midst of war, and a war almost of
man to man. Strength of body and generosity of soul, dignity of features
and boldness of character, loftiness of stature and commanding
authority, were ideas almost inseparable, before a religion, entirely
intellectual, had placed the power of man in his mind. The human figure,
which was also the figure of the gods, appeared symbolical; and the
nervous colossus of Hercules, as well as every other ancient statue of
this sort, do not convey vulgar ideas of common life; but an omnipotent
and divine will, which shews itself under the emblem of a supernatural
physical force.
Corinne and Lord Nelville finished the day with a visit to the studio of
Canova, the greatest modern sculptor. As it was late when they got
there, they were shewn it by torch light; and statues improve much in
their effect by being seen in this manner. The ancients appear to have
been of this opinion, since they often placed them in their Thermæ,
where day could not enter. By the light of the flambeaux, the shadows
being more full, the uniform lustre of the marble was softened, and the
statues appeared as so many pale figures, possessing a more touching
character of grace and life. There was, in the studio of Canova, an
admirable statue destined for a tomb, which represented the genius of
grief leaning upon a lion, the emblem of strength. Corinne, in
contemplating the figure of grief, thought she discovered in it some
resemblance to Oswald, and the artist himself was struck with it; Lord
Nelville turned about to avoid this kind of notice; but he said in a low
voice to his fair companion, "Corinne, I was condemned to a fate like
that which is here represented, when I met with you; but you have
changed my existence, and sometimes hope, and always an anxiety mixed
with charm, fills that heart which was to suffer nothing but regret."
Chapter iii.
The masterpieces of painting were then all collected together at Rome,
whose riches in this respect surpassed that of all the rest of the
world. There could exist only one disputable point as to the effect
produced by this collection, namely, whether the nature of the subjects
chosen by the Italian artists, afford a scope for all the variety and
all the originality of passion and character which painting can express?
Oswald and Corinne were of contrary opinions in this respect; but this,
like every other opposition of sentiment that existed between them, was
owing to the difference of nation, climate, and religion. Corinne
affirmed that the most favourable subjects for painting were religious
ones[26]. She said that sculpture was a Pagan art, and painting a
Christian one; and that in these arts were to be found, as in poetry,
the distinguishing qualities of ancient and modern literature. The
pictures of Michael Angelo, the painter of the Bible, and of Raphael,
the painter of the Gospel, suppose as much profound thought, as much
sensibility as are to be found in Shakespeare and Racine: sculpture can
only present a simple, energetic existence, whilst painting indicates
the mysteries of reflection and resignation, and makes the immortal soul
speak through transient colours. Corinne maintained also that historical
or poetical facts were rarely picturesque. In order to comprehend such
subjects, it would often be necessary to preserve the practice of
painters of old, and write the speech of each personage in a ribbon
proceeding out of the mouth. But religious subjects are instantly
understood by everybody, and attention is not removed from the picture
to guess what it represents.
Corinne was of opinion that the expression of modern painters was often
theatrical, and that it bore the stamp of their age, in which was no
longer found, as in Andrea Mantegna, Perugino, and Leonardo da Vinci,
the unity and simplicity which characterised the repose of the ancients;
a repose to which is joined that profundity of sentiment which is the
characteristic of Christianity. She admired the artless composition of
Raphael's pictures, especially those in his first manner. All the
figures are directed towards one principal object, without any
contrivance on the part of the artist to group them in various attitudes
in order to produce a laboured effect. Corinne said that this sincerity
in the arts of the imagination, as well as in every other, is the true
character of genius; and that studied efforts for fame are almost
always destructive of enthusiasm. She maintained that there was rhetoric
in painting as well as in poetry, and that all those who could not
embody character called every accessory ornament to their aid, uniting
rich costumes and remarkable attitudes to the attraction of a brilliant
subject, whilst a single Virgin holding a child in her arms, an
attentive old man in the Mass of Bolsena, a man leaning on his stick in
the School of Athens, or Saint Cecilia with her eyes lifted up to
heaven, produced the deepest effect by the expression of the countenance
alone. These natural beauties increase every day more and more in our
estimation; but on the contrary, in pictures done for effect, the first
glance is always the most striking.
Corinne added to these reflections an observation which strengthened
them: which was, that the religious sentiments of the Greeks and Romans,
and the disposition of their minds, being in every respect absolutely
foreign from ours, it is impossible for us to create according to their
conceptions, or to build upon their ground. They may be imitated by dint
of study; but how can genius employ all its energies in a work where
memory and erudition are so necessary? It is not the same with subjects
that belong to our own history and our own religion. Here the painter
himself may be inspired; he may feel what he paints, and paint what he
has seen. Life assists him to imagine life; but in transporting himself
to the regions of antiquity, his invention must be guided by books and
statues. To conclude, Corinne found that pictures from pious subjects,
impart a comfort to the soul that nothing could replace; and that they
suppose a sacred enthusiasm in the artist which blends with genius,
renovates, revives, and can alone support him against the injustice of
man and the bitterness of life.
Oswald received, in some respects, a different impression. In the first
place, he was scandalized to see the Deity represented as he is by
Michael Angelo, in human form and feature. It was his opinion that
thought dare not give Him shape and figure, and that hardly at the very
bottom of the soul could be found an idea sufficiently intellectual,
sufficiently ethereal to elevate it to the Supreme Being; as to subjects
taken from the Holy Scripture, it seemed to him that the expression and
the images left much to be desired. He thought, with Corinne, that
religious meditation is the most intimate sentiment that man can
experience; and in this respect, it is that which furnishes the painter
with the deepest mysteries of physiognomy and expression; but as
religion represses every emotion which does not proceed immediately from
the heart, the figures of the saints and martyrs cannot admit of much
variety. The sentiment of humility, so noble in the face of heaven,
weakens the energy of terrestrial passions and necessarily gives
monotony to most religious subjects. When Michael Angelo applied his
terrible genius to those subjects, he almost changed their essence by
giving to his prophets a formidable expression of power more becoming a
Jupiter than a Saint. He, like Dante, often avails himself of the images
of Paganism and blends the heathen mythology with the Christian
religion. One of the most admirable circumstances attending the
establishment of Christianity, is the lowly estate of the apostles who
have preached it, and the misery and debasement of the Jewish people, so
long the depositaries of the promises that announced the coming of
Christ. This contrast between the littleness of the means and the
greatness of the result, is in a moral point of view, extremely fine;
but in painting, which exhibits the means alone, Christian subjects must
be less dazzling than those taken from the heroic and fabulous ages.
Among the arts, music alone can be purely religious. Painting cannot be
confined to so abstract and vague an expression as that of sound. It is
true that the happy combination of colour, and of _chiaro-oscuro_
produces, if it may be so expressed, a musical effect in painting; but
as the latter represents life, it should express the passions in all
their energy and diversity. Undoubtedly it is necessary to choose among
historical facts, those which are sufficiently known not to require
study in order to comprehend them; for the effect produced by painting
ought to be immediate and rapid, like every other pleasure derived from
the fine arts; but when historical facts are as popular as religious
subjects, they have the advantage over them of the variety of situations
and sentiments which they recall.
Lord Nelville thought also, that scenes of tragedy and the most moving
poetical fictions, ought to claim a preference in painting, in order
that all the pleasures of the imagination and of the soul might be
united. Corinne combated this opinion, fascinating as it was. She was
convinced that the encroachment of one art upon another was mutually
injurious. Sculpture loses the advantages which are peculiar to it when
it aspires to represent a group of figures as in painting; painting when
it wishes to attain dramatic expression. The arts are limited in their
means, though boundless in their effects. Genius seeks not to combat
that which is in the essence of things; on the contrary, its superiority
consists in discovering it.--"As for you, my dear Oswald," said Corinne,
"you do not love the arts in themselves, but only on account of their
relation with mind and feeling. You are only sensible to that which
represents the sorrows of the heart. Music and poetry agree with this
disposition; whilst the arts which speak to the eyes, though their
signification be ideal, only please and interest us when the soul is
tranquil and the imagination entirely free; nor do we require, in order
to relish them, that gaiety which society inspires, but only the
serenity which beautiful weather and a fine climate diffuse over the
mind. We must be capable of feeling the universal harmony of nature in
those arts which represent external objects; this is impossible when the
soul is troubled, that harmony having been destroyed in us by
calamity."--"I know not," replied Oswald, "whether my taste in the fine
arts be confined to that alone which can recall the sufferings of the
soul; but I know, at least, that I cannot endure the representation of
physical pain. My strongest objection," continued he, "against Christian
subjects in painting, is the painful sensations excited in me by the
image of blood, wounds, and torture, notwithstanding the victims may
have been animated by the noblest enthusiasm. Philoctetus is perhaps the
only tragical subject in which bodily ills can be admitted. But with how
many poetical circumstances are his cruel pangs surrounded? They have
been caused by the arrows of Hercules. They will be healed by the son of
Æsculapius. In short, the wound is almost confounded with the moral
resentment produced in him who is struck, and cannot excite any
impression of disgust. But the figure of the boy possessed with a devil,
in Raphael's superb picture of the Transfiguration, is a disagreeable
image, and in no way possesses the dignity of the fine arts. They must
discover to us the charm of grief, as well as the melancholy of
prosperity; it is the ideal part of human destiny which they should
represent in each particular circumstance. Nothing torments the
imagination more than bloody wounds and nervous convulsions. It is
impossible in such pictures not to seek, and at the same time dread, to
find the exactness of the imitation. What pleasure can we receive from
that art which only consists in such an imitation; it is more horrible,
or less beautiful than nature herself, the moment it only aspires to
resemble her."
"You are right, my lord," said Corinne, "to wish that Christian subjects
were divested of painful images; they do not require them. But confess,
however, that genius, and the genius of the soul, can triumph over every
thing. Behold that picture of the Communion of St Jerome, by
Domenichino. The body of the dying saint is livid and gaunt: death has
seized upon it; but in that look is eternal life, and every earthly
misery seems produced here only to disappear before the pure lustre of a
religious sentiment. However, dear Oswald," continued Corinne, "though I
am not of your opinion in everything, I will shew you that even in
differing from one another there is some analogy of sentiment between
us. I have endeavoured to accomplish what you desire, in the gallery of
pictures which has been furnished me by those artists who were of my
acquaintance, among which are some designs of my own sketching. You will
there see the defects and the advantages of those subjects which you
prefer. This gallery is at my country seat at Tivoli. The weather is
fine enough to visit it.--Shall we go thither to-morrow?" As she awaited
Oswald's consent, he said to her: "My love, have you any doubt of my
answer? Have I in this world, any other pleasure, any other thought,
besides you? And is not my life, too free perhaps from any occupation,
as from every interest, solely taken up with the happiness of seeing and
hearing you?"