[26] In a journal entitled _Europe_, are to be found observations full
of information on subjects relating to painting: from this journal I
have extracted many of these reflections, which have just been read; Mr
Frederic Schlegel is the author of it, and this writer, as well as the
German thinkers in general, is an inexhaustible mine.
Chapter iv.
They set out therefore the next day for Tivoli. Oswald himself drove the
four horses that drew them; he took pleasure in their swiftness, which
seemed to increase the vivacity of thought and of existence; and such an
impression is sweet by the side of the object we love. He performed the
office of whip with the most extreme attention, for fear the slightest
accident should happen to Corinne. He felt the duties of a protector
which is the softest tie that binds man to woman. Corinne was not, like
most women, easily terrified by the possible dangers of a journey; but
it was so sweet to remark the solicitude of Oswald, that she almost
wished to be frightened, to enjoy the pleasure of, hearing him cheer and
comfort her.
That which gave Lord Nelville, as will be seen in the sequel, so great
an ascendancy over the heart of his mistress, was the unexpected
contrasts which gave a peculiar charm to his manners. Everybody admired
his intellect and the gracefulness of his figure; but he must have been
particularly interesting to one, who uniting in herself by a singular
accord, constancy and mobility, took delight in impressions, at once
various and faithful. Never did he think of anything but Corinne; and
this very occupation of his mind incessantly assumed different
characters: at one time he was governed by reserve, at another he was
open and communicative: one moment he was perfectly calm, and another a
prey to the most gloomy and bitter sensations, which proved the depth of
his sentiments, but mingled anxiety with confidence and incessantly gave
birth to new emotions. Oswald, internally agitated, endeavoured to
assume an external appearance of composure, and Corinne, occupied in
conjecturing his thoughts, found in this mystery a continual interest.
One would have said, that the very defects of Oswald were only made to
set off his agreeable qualities. No man, however distinguished, in whose
character there was no contradiction, who was subject to no internal
conflict, could have captivated the imagination of Corinne. She felt a
sort of awe of Oswald, which subjected her to him. He reigned over her
soul by a good and by an evil power; by his qualities, and by the
disquietude which these qualities, badly combined, could inspire: in
short there was no security in the happiness that Lord Nelville
conferred, and perhaps the violence of Corinne's passion was owing to
this; perhaps she could only love, to such a degree, him whom she feared
to lose. A superior mind, a sensibility as ardent as it was delicate,
might become weary of everything, except that truly extraordinary man,
whose soul, constantly agitated, seemed like the sky--sometimes serene,
sometimes covered with clouds. Oswald, always true, always of profound
and impassioned feelings, was nevertheless often ready to renounce the
object of his tenderness, because a long habit of mental pain made him
believe, that only remorse and suffering could be found in the too
exquisite affections of the heart.
Lord Nelville and Corinne, in their journey to Tivoli, passed before the
ruins of Adrian's palace, and the immense garden which surrounded it.
That prince had collected together in this garden, the most rare
productions, the most admirable masterpieces of those countries which
were conquered by the Romans. To this very day some scattered stones are
seen there, which are called _Egypt_, _India_, and _Asia_. Farther on
was the retreat, where Zenobia, Queen of Palmyra, ended her days. She
did not support in adversity, the greatness of her destiny; she was
incapable of dying for glory like a man; or like a woman, dying rather
than betray her friend.
At length they discovered Tivoli, which was the abode of so many
celebrated men, of Brutus, of Augustus, of Mecenas, and of Catullus; but
above all, the abode of Horace, for it is his verse which has rendered
this retreat illustrious. The house of Corinne was built over the noisy
cascade of Teverone; at the top of the mountain, opposite her garden,
was the temple of the Sybil. It was a beautiful idea of the ancients, to
place their temples on the summits of high places. They majestically
presided over the surrounding country, as religious ideas over all other
thoughts. They inspired more enthusiasm for nature, by announcing the
Deity from which she emanates, and the eternal gratitude of successive
generations towards her. The landscape, from whatever point of view
considered, formed a picture with the temple, which was placed there as
the centre and the ornament of the whole. Ruins spread a singular charm
over the _campagna_ of Italy. They do not recall, like modern edifices,
the labour and the presence of man; they are confounded with nature and
the trees; they seem in harmony with the solitary torrent; they present
the image of time, which has made them what they are. The most beautiful
countries in the world, when they bring to mind no recollection, when
they bear the stamp of no remarkable event, are stripped of interest
when compared with historical countries. What place in Italy could be
more suitable for the habitation of Corinne than the retreat consecrated
to the sybil, to the memory of a woman, animated by divine inspiration.
The house of Corinne was delightful; it was ornamented with the elegance
of modern taste, and yet discovered the charm of an imagination
enamoured of the beauties of antiquity; happiness, in the most elevated
sense of the word, seemed to reign there; a felicity which consisted in
all that ennobles the soul, excites thought, and vivifies talent.
In walking with Corinne, Oswald perceived that the wind possessed an
harmonious sound, and filled the air with chords, which seemed to
proceed from the waving of the flowers, and the rustling of the trees,
and to give a voice to nature. Corinne told him that the wind produced
this harmony from the æolian harps, which she had placed in grottoes to
fill the air with sound, as well as perfumes. In this delicious abode,
Oswald was inspired with the purest sentiment.--"Hear me," said he to
Corinne; "till this moment I felt the happiness I derived from your
society blended with remorse; but now I say to myself, that you are sent
by my father to terminate my sufferings upon this earth. It is he that I
had offended; but it is, nevertheless, he who has obtained by his
prayers my pardon in heaven. Corinne!" cried he, throwing himself upon
his knees, "I am pardoned; I feel it in this sweet calm of innocence
which pervades my soul. Thou canst now, without apprehension, unite
thyself to me, nor fear that fate opposes our union."--"Well," said
Corinne, "let us continue to enjoy this peace of the heart which is
granted us. Let us not meddle with destiny: she inspires so much dread
when we wish to interfere with her, when we try to obtain from her more
than she will give! Since we are now happy, let us not desire a change!"
[Illustration: _Corinne showing Oswald her pictures._]
Lord Nelville was hurt at this answer of Corinne. He conceived she ought
to comprehend that he was ready to tell her every thing, to promise
every thing, if she would only confide to him her history; and this
manner of avoiding it gave him as much offence as apprehension; he did
not perceive that a sense of delicacy prevented Corinne from taking
advantage of his emotion, to bind him by an oath. Perhaps also, it is in
the nature of a profound and genuine passion, to dread a solemn moment,
however much desired, and to tremble at exchanging hope for happiness
itself. Oswald, far from judging in this manner, persuaded himself, that
although Corinne loved him, she wished to preserve her independence, and
intentionally deferred all that might lead to an indissoluble union.
This thought excited in him a painful irritation, and immediately
assuming a cold and reserved air, he followed Corinne to her gallery of
pictures, without uttering a word. She soon divined the impression she
had produced on him, but knowing his pride, she durst not impart to him
her observations; however, in showing him her pictures and discussing
general topics, she felt a vague hope of softening him, which gave to
her voice a more moving charm, even when uttering the most indifferent
words.
Her gallery was composed of historical pictures, paintings on poetical
and religious subjects, and landscapes. None of them was composed of a
very large number of figures. That style of painting undoubtedly
presents greater difficulties, but affords less pleasure. Its beauties
are too confused, or too minute. That unity of interest, which is the
vital principle of the arts, as well as anything else, is necessarily
divided and scattered. The first of the historical pictures represented
Brutus, in profound meditation, seated at the foot of the statue of
Rome. In the back ground, the slaves are carrying the lifeless bodies of
his two sons, whom he had condemned to death; and on the other side of
the picture, the mother and sisters appear plunged into an agony of
grief: women are, happily, divested of that courage, which can triumph
over the affections of the heart. The statue of Rome, placed by the
side of Brutus, is a beautiful idea; it speaks eloquently. Yet how can
any body know without an explanation, that it is the elder Brutus who
has just sent his sons to execution? Nevertheless, it is impossible to
characterise this event better than it is done in this picture. At a
distance the city of Rome is perceived in its ancient simplicity,
without edifices or ornaments, but full of patriotic grandeur, since it
could inspire such a sacrifice.--"Undoubtedly," said Corinne, "when I
have named Brutus, your whole soul will become fixed to this picture;
but still it would be possible to behold it without divining the subject
it represented. And does not this uncertainty, which almost always
exists in historical pictures, mingle the torment of an enigma with the
enjoyment of the fine arts, which ought to be so easy and so clear?
"I have chosen this subject because it recalls the most terrible action
that love of country has inspired. The companion to this picture is
Marius, spared by the Cimbrian, who cannot bring himself to kill this
great man; the figure of Marius is imposing; the costume of the Cimbrian
and the expression of his physiognomy, are very picturesque. It is the
second epoch of Rome, when laws no longer existed, but when genius still
exercised considerable influence upon circumstances. Then comes that era
when talents and fame were only objects of misfortune and insult. The
third picture which you see here, represents Belisarius, carrying on his
shoulders the body of his young guide, who died while asking alms for
him. Belisarius, blind and mendicant, is thus recompensed by his master;
and in the universe which he has conquered, he is employed in bearing to
the grave the remains of the poor boy who alone had not abandoned him.
This figure of Belisarius is admirable; another so fine is not to be
found in the modern school. The painter, with a truly poetical
imagination, has united here every species of misfortune, and perhaps
the picture is too dreadful even to awaken pity: but who tells us it is
Belisarius? to indicate him it should be faithful to history: but that
fidelity would deprive the subject of all its picturesque beauty.
Following these pictures which represent in Brutus, virtues approaching
to crime; in Marius, glory, the cause of calamity; in Belisarius,
services paid by the blackest persecutions; in short, every misery of
human destiny, which is recorded in the events of history, I have placed
two pictures of the old school, which a little relieve the oppressed
soul by recalling that religion which has consoled the enslaved and
distracted universe, that religion which stirred the depths of the heart
when all without was but oppression and silence. The first is by Albano;
he has painted the infant Jesus sleeping on a cross. Behold the
sweetness and calm of that countenance! What pure ideas it recalls; how
it convinces the soul that celestial love has nothing to fear, either
from affliction or death. The second picture is by Titian; the subject
is Christ sinking beneath the weight of the cross. His mother comes to
meet Him, and throws herself upon her knees on perceiving Him. Admirable
reverence in a mother for the misfortunes and divine virtues of her son!
What a look is that of our Redeemer, what a divine resignation in the
midst of suffering, and in this suffering what sympathy with the heart
of man! That is, doubtless, the finest of my pictures. It is that
towards which I incessantly turn my eyes, without ever being able to
exhaust the emotion which it inspires. Next come the dramatic pieces,"
continued Corinne, "taken from four great poets. Judge with me, my lord,
of the effect which they produce. The first represents Æneas in the
Elysian fields, when he wishes to approach Dido. The indignant shade
retires, rejoiced that she no longer carries in her bosom that heart
which would still beat with love at the aspect of her guilty paramour.
The vapoury colour of the shades and the paleness of the surrounding
scene, form a contrast with the life-like appearance of Æneas and of the
sybil who conducts him. But this kind of effect is an amusement of the
artist, and the description of the poet is necessarily superior to
anything that painting can produce. I will say as much of this picture
of Clorinda dying, and Tancred. The utmost pathos which it can excite,
is to call to our minds the beautiful lines of Tasso, when Clorinda
pardons her adoring enemy who has just pierced her breast. Painting
necessarily becomes subordinate to poetry, when devoted to subjects
which have been treated by great poets; for their words leave an
impression which effaces every other; the situations which they have
chosen almost ever derive their chief strength from the development of
the passions and their eloquence, whilst the greater part of picturesque
effects arises from a calm beauty, a simple expression, a noble
attitude, a moment of repose, worthy of being indefinitely prolonged
without ever wearying the eye.
"Your terrible Shakespeare, my lord," continued Corinne, "has furnished
the subject of the third dramatic picture--it is Macbeth,--the
invincible Macbeth--who, ready to fight Macduff, whose wife and children
he has put to death, learns that the oracle of the witches is
accomplished, that Birnam Wood is advancing to Dunsinane, and that he is
fighting a man who was born after the death of his mother. Macbeth is
conquered by fate, but not by his adversary.--He grasps the sword with a
desperate hand;--he knows that he is about to die;--but wishes to try
whether human strength cannot triumph over destiny. There is certainly
in this head, a fine expression of wildness and fury--of trouble and of
energy; but how many poetical beauties do we miss? Is it possible to
paint Macbeth plunged in guilt by the spells of ambition, which offer
themselves to him under the shape of witchcraft? How can painting
express the terror which he feels? That terror, however, which is not
inconsistent with intrepid bravery? Is it possible to characterise that
peculiar species of superstition which oppresses him? That belief
without dignity, that hell-born fatality which weighs him down, his
contempt of life, his horror of death? Undoubtedly the human countenance
is the greatest of mysteries; but the motionless physiognomy of a
painting can never express more than the workings of a single sentiment.
Contrasts, conflicts of the mind, events, in short, belong to the
dramatic art. Painting can with difficulty render a succession of
events: time and movement exist not for it.
"The Phèdre of Racine has furnished the subject of the fourth picture,"
said Corinne, showing it to Lord Nelville.--"Hippolitus, in all the
beauty of youth and innocence, repels the perfidious accusations of his
step-mother; the hero, Theseus, still protects his guilty spouse, whom
he encircles with his conquering arm. There is in the countenance of
Phèdre, a trouble which freezes the soul with horror; and her nurse,
without remorse, encourages her in her guilt. Hippolitus in this picture
is perhaps more beautiful than even in Racine; he resembles more the
ancient Meleager, because no love for Aricia disturbs the impression of
his wild and noble virtue; but is it possible to suppose that Phèdre, in
the presence of Hippolitus, can support her falsehood? Is it possible
that she can behold him innocent and persecuted without falling at his
feet? An offended woman may wrong the object of her affection in his
absence; but when she sees him, her heart is wholly absorbed in love.
The poet has never put Phèdre and Hippolitus in the same scene after the
former has calumniated the latter; the painter has been obliged to do so
in order to bring together, as he has done in his picture, all the
beauties of the contrast; but is not this a proof that there is such a
difference between poetical and picturesque subjects that it would be
better for the poets to write from pictures, than for the painters to
compose their works from the poets? The history of the human mind proves
to us that imagination must always precede thought."
Whilst Corinne was thus explaining her pictures to Lord Nelville, she
had stopped several times, in the hope that he would speak to her; but
his wounded soul did not betray itself by a single word; whenever she
expressed a feeling idea he only sighed and turned his head, in order
that she might not see how easily he was affected in his present state
of mind. Corinne, overcome by this silence, sat down and covered her
face with her hands--Lord Nelville for some time walked about the room
with a hurried step, then approaching Corinne, was about to betray his
feelings; but the invincible pride of his nature repressed his emotion,
and he returned to the pictures as if he were waiting for Corinne to
finish showing them. Corinne expected much from the effect of the last
of all; and making an effort in her turn to appear calm, she arose and
said, "My lord, I have yet three landscapes to show you--two of them are
allied to very interesting ideas. I am not fond of those rustic scenes
which are as dull in painting as idylls, when they make no allusion to
fable or to history. I am most pleased with the manner of Salvator Rosa,
who represents, as you see in this picture, a rock with torrents and
trees, without a single living creature, without even a bird recalling
an idea of life. The absence of man in the midst of natural scenes,
excites deep reflection. What would the earth be in this state of
solitude? A work without an aim; and yet a work so beautiful, the
mysterious impression of which would be addressed to the Divinity alone!
"We are come at last to the two pictures in which, according to my
opinion, history and poetry are happily blended with landscape[27]. One
represents the moment when Cincinnatus is invited by the consuls to
leave the plough, in order to take the command of the Roman armies. In
this landscape you behold all the luxury of the South, its abundant
vegetation, its burning sky, the smiling aspect of all nature,
discoverable even in the plants themselves; and that other picture which
forms a contrast with this, is the son of Cairbar asleep upon the tomb
of his father.--For three days and three nights he has awaited the
arrival of the bard who is to honour the memory of the dead. This bard
is perceived at a distance descending the mountain; the shade of the
father hovers in the clouds; the country is covered with hoar frost; the
trees, though naked, are agitated by the wind, and their dead branches
and dried leaves, still follow the current of the storm."
Till then, Oswald had been influenced by resentment at what had taken
place in the garden; but on beholding this picture, the tomb of his
father and the mountains of Scotland appeared to his mind, and his eyes
were filled with tears. Corinne took her harp, and before this picture,
began to sing one of those Scotch ballads whose simple notes seem to
accompany the noise of the wind, mournfully complaining through the
valleys. She sang the farewell of a warrior quitting his native land and
his mistress; and the word, _no more_, one of the most harmonious and
touching in the English language, was pronounced by Corinne with the
most moving expression. Oswald sought not to resist his emotion, and
both yielded without restraint to their tears.--"Ah!" cried Lord
Nelville, "does my native country speak no language to thy heart?
Wouldst thou follow me into those retreats, peopled by my recollections?
Wouldst thou be the worthy companion of my life, as thou art its sole
charm and delight?"--"I believe so," replied Corinne--"I believe so; for
I love thee!"--"In the name of love then, no longer conceal anything
from me," said Oswald.--"I consent," interrupted Corinne; "since it is
thy wish. My promise is given; I only make one condition, which is, that
thou wilt not exact it of me before the approaching epoch of our
religious ceremonies. Will not the support of heaven be more than ever
necessary to me at the moment when my fate is about to be decided?"--"No
more," cried Lord Nelville, "if that fate depend upon me, it is no
longer doubtful."--"Thou thinkest so," replied she; "I have not the same
confidence; but, in a word, I intreat thee show that condescension to my
weakness which I request."--Oswald sighed, without either granting or
refusing the delay required.--"Let us now return to town," said Corinne.
"How can I conceal anything from thee in this solitude? And if what I
have to relate must divide us, ought I so soon--Let us go, Oswald--thou
wilt return hither again, happen what may: my ashes will find rest
here." Oswald, much affected, obeyed Corinne. He returned to the city
with her, and scarcely a word passed between them upon the road. From
time to time they looked at each other with an affection that said
everything; but nevertheless, a sentiment of melancholy reigned in the
depths of their souls when they arrived in the midst of Rome.