Mme de Stael - Corinne, Volume 1 (of 2)

M >> Mme de Stael >> Corinne, Volume 1 (of 2)

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When the friends of Corinne, particularly Prince Castel-Forte, were
informed of her project, they felt considerably chagrined. Prince
Castel-Forte was so much pained at it, that he resolved in a short time
to go and join her. There was certainly no vanity in thus filling up the
train of a favoured lover; but he could not support the dreadful void
which he would find in the absence of Corinne. He had no acquaintances
but the circle he met at her house; and he never entered any other. The
company which assembled around her would disperse when she should be no
longer there; and it would be impossible to collect together the
fragments. Prince Castel-Forte was little accustomed to domestic life:
though possessing a good share of intellect, he did not like the fatigue
of study; the whole day therefore would have been an insufferable weight
to him, if he had not come, morning and evening, to visit Corinne. She
was about to depart--he knew not what to do; however he promised himself
in secret to approach her as a friend, who indulged in no pretensions,
but who was ever at hand to offer his consolation in the moment of
misfortune; such a friend may be sure that his hour will come.

Corinne felt oppressed with melancholy in thus breaking all her former
connections; she had led for some years in Rome a manner of life that
pleased her. She was the centre of attraction to every artist and to
every enlightened man. A perfect independence of ideas and habits gave
many charms to her existence: what was to become of her now? If destined
to the happiness of espousing Oswald, he would take her to England, and
what would she be thought of there; how would she be able to confine
herself to a mode of existence so different from what she had known for
six years past! But these sentiments only passed through her mind, and
her passion for Oswald always obliterated every trace of them. She saw,
she heard him, and only counted the hours by his absence or his
presence. Who can dispute with happiness? Who does not welcome it when
it comes? Corinne was not possessed of much foresight--neither fear nor
hope existed for her; her faith in the future was vague, and in this
respect her imagination did her little good, and much harm.

On the morning of her departure, Prince Castel-Forte visited her, and
said with tears in his eyes: "Will you not return to Rome?" "Oh, _Mon
Dieu_, yes!" replied she, "we shall be back in a month."--"But if you
marry Lord Nelville you must leave Italy!" "Leave Italy!" said Corinne,
with a sigh.--"This country," continued Prince Castel-Forte, "where your
language is spoken, where you are so well known, where you are so warmly
admired, and your friends, Corinne--your friends! Where will you be
beloved as you are here? Where will you find that perfection of the
imagination and the fine arts, so congenial to your soul? Is then our
whole life composed of one sentiment? Is it not language, customs, and
manners, that compose the love of our country; that love which creates
a home sickness so terrible to the exile?" "Ah, what is it you tell me,"
cried Corinne, "have I not felt it? Is it not that which has decided my
fate?"--She regarded mournfully her room and the statues that adorned
it, then the Tiber which rolled its waves beneath her windows, and the
sky whose beauty seemed to invite her to stay. But at that moment Oswald
crossed the bridge of St Angelo on horseback, swift as lightning. "There
he is!" cried Corinne. Hardly had she uttered these words, when he was
already arrived,--she ran to meet him, and both impatient to set out
hastened to ascend the carriage. Corinne, however, took a kind farewell
of Prince Castel-Forte; but her obliging expressions were lost in the
midst of the cries of postillions, the neighing of horses, and all that
bustle of departure, sometimes sad, and sometimes intoxicating,
according to the fear or the hope which the new chances of destiny
inspire.

Book xi.

NAPLES AND THE HERMITAGE OF ST SALVADOR.

[Illustration]

Chapter i.

Oswald was proud of carrying off his conquest; he who felt himself
almost always disturbed in his enjoyments by reflections and regrets,
for once did not experience the pangs of uncertainty. It was not that he
was decided, but he did not think about it and followed the tide of
events hoping it would lead him to the object of his wishes.

They traversed the district of Albano[32], where is still shown what is
believed to be the tomb of the Horatii and the Curiatii. They passed
near the lake of Nemi and the sacred woods that surround it. It is said
that Hippolitus was resuscitated by Diana in these parts; she would not
permit horses to approach it, and by this prohibition perpetuated the
memory of her young favourite's misfortune. Thus in Italy our memory is
refreshed by History and Poetry almost at every step, and the charming
situations which recall them, soften all that is melancholy in the past,
and seem to preserve an eternal youth.

Oswald and Corinne traversed the Pontine marshes--a country at once
fertile and pestilential,--where, with all the fecundity of nature, a
single habitation is not to be found. Some sickly men change your
horses, recommending to you not to sleep in passing the marshes; for
sleep there is really the harbinger of death. The plough which some
imprudent cultivators will still sometimes guide over this fatal land,
is drawn by buffaloes, in appearance at once mean and ferocious, whilst
the most brilliant sun sheds its lustre on this melancholy spectacle.
The marshy and unwholesome parts in the north are announced by their
repulsive aspect; but in the more fatal countries of the south, nature
preserves a serenity, the deceitful mildness of which is an illusion to
travellers. If it be true that it is very dangerous to sleep in crossing
the Pontine marshes, their invincible soporific influence in the heat of
the day is one of those perfidious impressions which we receive from
this spot. Lord Nelville constantly watched over Corinne. Sometimes she
leant her head on Theresa who accompanied them; sometimes she closed her
eyes, overcome by the languor of the air. Oswald awakened her
immediately, with inexpressible terror; and though he was naturally
taciturn, he was now inexhaustible in subjects of conversation, always
well supported and always new, to prevent her from yielding to this
fatal sleep. Ah! should we not pardon the heart of a woman the cruel
regret which attaches to those days when she was beloved, when her
existence was so necessary to that of another, when at every moment she
was supported and protected? What isolation must succeed this season of
delight! How happy are they whom the sacred hand of Hymen has conducted
from love to friendship, without one painful moment having embittered
their course!

Oswald and Corinne, after the anxious passage of the marshes, at length
arrived at Terracina, on the sea coast, near the confines of the kingdom
of Naples. It is there that the south truly begins; it is there that it
receives travellers in all its magnificence. Naples, _that happy
country_, is, as it were, separated from the rest of Europe by the sea
which surrounds it and by that dangerous district which must be passed
in order to arrive at it. One would say that nature, wishing to secure
to herself this charming abode, has designedly made all access to it
perilous. At Rome we are not yet in the south; we have there a foretaste
of its sweets, but its enchantment only truly begins in the territory of
Naples. Not far from Terracina is the promontory fixed upon by the poets
as the abode of Circe: and behind Terracina rises Mount Anxur, where
Theodoric, king of the Goths, had placed one of those strong castles
with which the northern warriors have covered the earth. There are few
traces of the invasion of Italy by the barbarians; or at least, where
those traces consist in devastation, they are confounded with the
effects of time. The northern nations have not given to Italy that
warlike aspect which Germany has preserved. It seems that the gentle
soil of Ausonia was unable to support the fortifications and citadels
which bristle in northern countries. Rarely is a Gothic edifice or a
feudal castle to be met with here; and the monuments of the ancient
Romans reign alone triumphant over Time, and the nations by whom they
have been conquered.

The whole mountain which dominates Terracina, is covered with orange and
lemon trees, which embalm the air in a delicious manner. There is
nothing in our climate that resembles the southern perfume of lemon
trees in the open air; it produces on the imagination almost the same
effect as melodious music; it gives a poetic disposition to the soul,
stimulates genius, and intoxicates with the charms of nature. The aloe
and the broad-leaved cactus, which are met here at every step, have a
peculiar aspect, which brings to mind all that we know of the formidable
productions of Africa. These plants inspire a sort of terror: they seem
to belong to a violent and despotic nature. The whole aspect of the
country is foreign: we feel ourselves in another world, a world which is
only known by the descriptions of the ancient poets, who have at the
same time so much imagination and so much exactness in their
descriptions. On entering Terracina, the children threw into the
carriage of Corinne an immense quantity of flowers which they gather by
the road-side or on the mountain, and which they carelessly scatter
about; such is their reliance on the prodigality of nature! The carts
which bring home the harvest from the fields are every day ornamented
with garlands of roses, and sometimes the children surround the cups
they drink out of with flowers; for beneath such a sky the imagination
of the common people becomes poetical. By the side of these smiling
pictures the sea, whose billows lashed the shore with fury, was seen and
heard. It was not agitated by the storm; but by the rocks which stand in
habitual opposition to its waves, irritating its grandeur.

E non udite ancor come risuona
Il roco ed alto fremito marino?

_And do you not hear still the hoarse and deep roar of the sea?_

This motion without aim, this strength without object which is renewed
throughout eternity without our being able to discover either its cause
or its end, attracts us to the shore, where this grand spectacle offers
itself to our sight; and we experience, as it were, a desire mingled
with terror, to approach the waves and to deaden our thoughts by their
tumult.

Towards the evening all was calm. Corinne and Lord Nelville walked into
the country; they proceeded with a slow pace silently enjoying the scene
before them. Each step they took crushed the flowers and extorted from
them their delicious perfumes; the nightingales, resting on the
rose-bushes, willingly lent their song, so that the purest melodies were
united to the most delicious odours; all the charms of nature mutually
attracted each other, while the softness of the air was beyond
expression. When we contemplate a fine view in the north, the climate in
some degree disturbs the pleasure which it inspires: those slight
sensations of cold and humidity are like a false note in a concert, and
more or less distract your attention from what you behold; but in
approaching Naples you experience the friendly smiles of nature, so
perfectly and without alloy, that nothing abates the agreeable
sensations which they cause you. All the relations of man in our climate
are with society. Nature, in hot countries, puts us in relation with
external objects, and our sentiments sweetly expand. Not but that the
south has also its melancholy. In what part of the earth does not human
destiny produce this impression? But in this melancholy there is neither
discontent, anxiety, nor regret. In other countries it is life, which,
such as it is, does not suffice for the faculties of the soul; here the
faculties of the soul do not suffice for life, and the superabundance of
sensation inspires a dreamy indolence, which we can hardly account for
when oppressed with it.

During the night, flies of a shining hue fill the air; one would say
that the mountain emitted sparks of fire, and that the burning earth had
let loose some of its flames. These insects fly through the trees,
sometimes repose on the leaves, and the wind blows these minute stars
about, varying in a thousand ways their uncertain light. The sand also
contained a great number of metallic stones, which sparkled on every
side: it was the land of fire, still preserving in its bosom the traces
of the sun, whose last rays had just warmed it. There is a life, and at
the same time, a repose, in this nature, which entirely satisfies the
various desires of human existence.

Corinne abandoned herself to the charms of this evening, and was
penetrated with joy; nor could Oswald conceal the emotion they
inspired--many times he pressed Corinne to his heart, many times he drew
back from her, then returned, then drew back again out of respect to her
who was to be the companion of his life. Corinne felt no alarm, for such
was her esteem for Oswald, that if he had demanded the entire surrender
of her being she would have considered that request as a solemn vow to
espouse her; but she saw him triumph over himself, and this conquest was
an honour paid her; whilst her heart felt that plenitude of happiness,
and of love, which does not permit us to form another desire. Oswald was
far from being so calm: he was fired with the charms of Corinne. Once he
threw himself at her feet with violence, and seemed to have lost all
empire over his passion; but Corinne regarded him with such an
expression of sweetness and fear, she made him so sensible of his power
while beseeching him not to abuse it, that this humble entreaty inspired
him with more respect than any other could possibly have done.

They then perceived in the sea, the reflection of a torch carried by the
unknown hand of one who traversed the shore, repairing secretly to a
neighbouring house. "He is going to see the object of his love;" said
Oswald.--"Yes," answered Corinne. "And my happiness, for to-day, is
about to end,"--resumed Oswald. At this moment the looks of Corinne were
lifted towards heaven, and her eyes suffused with tears. Oswald, fearing
that he had offended her, fell on his knees to entreat her forgiveness
for that love which had overpowered him. "No," said Corinne, stretching
forth her hand to him, and inviting him to return with her. "No,
Oswald, I feel no alarm: you will respect her who loves you: you know
that a simple request from you would be all-powerful with me; it is
therefore you who must be my security--you who would for ever reject me
as your bride, if you had rendered me unworthy of being so." "Well,"
answered Oswald, "since you believe in this cruel empire of your will
upon my heart, Corinne, whence arises your sadness?"--"Alas!" replied
she, "I was saying to myself, that the moments which I have just passed
with you were the happiest of my life, and as I turned my eyes in
gratitude to heaven, I know not by what chance, a superstition of my
childhood revived in my heart. The moon which I contemplated was covered
with a cloud, and the aspect of that cloud was fatal. I have always
found in the sky a countenance sometimes paternal and sometimes angry;
and I tell you, Oswald, heaven has to-night condemned our love."--"My
dear," answered Lord Nelville, "the only omens of the life of man, are
his good or evil actions; and have I not this very evening, immolated my
most ardent desires on the altar of virtue?"--"Well, so much the better
if you are not included in this presage," replied Corinne; "it may be
that this angry sky has only threatened me."

FOOTNOTE:

[32] There is a charming description of the Lake of Albano, in a
collection of poems by Madame Brunn, _nee_ Muenter, whose talent and
imagination give her a first rank among the women of her country.

Chapter ii.

They arrived at Naples by day, in the midst of that immense population,
at once so animated and so indolent. They first traversed the Via
Toledo, and saw the Lazzaroni lying on the pavement, or in osier baskets
which serve them for lodging, day and night. There is something
extremely original in this state of savage existence, mingled with
civilization. There are some among these men who do not even know their
own name, and who go to confess anonymous sins; not being able to tell
who it is that has committed them. There is a subterranean grotto at
Naples where thousands of Lazzaroni pass their lives, only going out at
noon to see the sun, and sleeping the rest of the day, whilst their
wives spin. In climates where food and raiment are so easy of attainment
it requires a very independent and active government to give sufficient
emulation to a nation; for it is so easy for the people merely to
subsist at Naples, that they can dispense with that industry which is
necessary to procure a livelihood elsewhere. Laziness and ignorance
combined with the volcanic air which is breathed in this spot, ought to
produce ferocity when the passions are excited; but this people is not
worse than any other. They possess imagination, which might become the
principle of disinterested actions and give them a bias for virtue, if
their religious and political institutions were good.

Calabrians are seen marching in a body to cultivate the earth with a
fiddler at their head, and dancing from time to time, to rest themselves
from walking. There is every year, near Naples, a festival consecrated
to the _madonna of the grotto_, at which the girls dance to the sound of
the tambourine and the castanets, and it is not uncommon for a condition
to be inserted in the marriage contract, that the husband shall take his
wife every year to this festival. There is on the stage at Naples, a
performer eighty years old, who for sixty years has entertained the
Neapolitans in their comic, national character of Polichinello. Can we
imagine what the immortality of the soul may be to a man who thus
employs his long life? The people of Naples have no other idea of
happiness than pleasure; but the love of pleasure is still better than
a barren egotism.

It is true that no people in the world are more fond of money than the
Neapolitans: if you ask a man of the people in the street to show you
your way, he stretches out his hand after having made you a sign, for
they are more indolent in speech than in action; but their avidity for
money is not methodical nor studied; they spend it as soon as they get
it. They use money as savages would if it were introduced among them.
But what this nation is most wanting in, is the sentiment of dignity.
They perform generous and benevolent actions from a good heart rather
than from principle; for their theory in every respect is good for
nothing, and public opinion in this country has no force. But when men
or women escape this moral anarchy their conduct is more remarkable in
itself and more worthy of admiration than any where else, since there is
nothing in external circumstances favourable to virtue. It is born
entirely in the soul. Laws and manners neither reward nor punish it. He
who is virtuous is so much the more heroic for not being on that account
either more considered or more sought after.

With some honourable exceptions the higher classes pretty nearly
resemble the lower: the mind of the one is seldom more cultivated than
that of the other, and the practice of society is the only external
difference between them. But in the midst of this ignorance there is
such a natural intelligence in all ranks that it is impossible to
foresee what a nation like this might become if all the energies of
government were directed to the advancement of knowledge and morality.
As there is little education at Naples, we find there, at present, more
originality of character than of mind. But the remarkable men of this
country, it is said, such as the Abbe Galiani, Caraccioli, &c.,
possessed the highest sense of humour, joined to the most profound
reflection,--rare powers of the mind!--an union without which either
pedantry or frivolity would hinder us from knowing the true value of
things.

The Neapolitan people, in some respects, are not civilized at all; but
their vulgarity does not at all resemble that of other nations. Their
very rudeness interests the imagination. The African coast which borders
the sea on the other side is almost perceptible; there is something
Numidian in the savage cries which are heard in every part of the city.
Those swarthy faces, those vestments formed of a few pieces of red or
violet stuff whose deep colours attract the eye, even those very rags in
which this artistic people drape themselves with grace, give to the
populace a picturesque appearance, whilst in other countries they
exhibit nothing but the miseries of civilization. A certain taste for
finery and decoration is often found in Naples accompanied with an
absolute lack of necessaries and conveniences. The shops are agreeably
ornamented with flowers and fruit. Some have a festive appearance that
has no relation to plenty nor to public felicity, but only to a lively
imagination; they seek before every thing to please the eye. The
mildness of the climate permits mechanics of every class to work in the
streets. The tailors are seen making clothes, and the victuallers
providing their repasts, and these domestic occupations going on out of
doors, multiply action in a thousand ways. Singing, dancing, and noisy
sports, are very suitable to this spectacle; and there is no country
where we feel more clearly the difference between amusement and
happiness. At length we quit the interior of the city, and arrive at the
quays, whence we have a view of the sea and of Mount Vesuvius, and
forget then all that we know of man.

Oswald and Corinne arrived at Naples, whilst the eruption of Mount
Vesuvius yet lasted. By day nothing was seen but the black smoke which
mixed with the clouds; but viewing it in the evening from the balcony of
their abode it excited an entirely unexpected emotion. A river of fire
descends towards the sea, and its burning waves, like the billows of the
sea, express the rapid succession of continual and untiring motion. One
would say that when nature transforms herself into various elements she
nevertheless preserves some traces of a single and primal thought. The
phenomenon of Vesuvius deeply impresses us. We are commonly so
familiarised with external objects that we hardly perceive their
existence; we scarcely ever feel a new emotion in the midst of our
prosaic countries, but that astonishment which the universe ought to
cause, is suddenly evoked at the aspect of an unknown wonder of
creation: our whole being is shaken by this power of nature, in whose
social combinations we have been so long absorbed; we feel that the
greatest mysteries in this world do not all consist in man, and that he
is threatened or protected by a force independent of himself, in
obedience to laws which he cannot penetrate. Oswald and Corinne proposed
to ascend Mount Vesuvius, and the peril of this enterprise gave an
additional charm to a project which they were to execute together.

Chapter iii.

There was at that time in the port of Naples, an English man-of-war in
which divine service was performed every Sunday. The captain, and all
the English who were at Naples, invited Lord Nelville to come the
following day; he consented without thinking at first whether he should
take Corinne with him, and how he should present her to his
fellow-countrymen. He was tormented by this disquietude the whole night.
As he was walking with Corinne, on the following morning near the port
and was about to advise her not to go on board, they saw an English
long-boat rowed by ten sailors, clad in white, and wearing black velvet
caps, on which was embroidered silver leopards. A young officer landed
from it, and accosting Corinne by the name of Lady Nelville, begged to
have the honour of conducting her to the ship. At the name of Lady
Nelville Corinne was embarrassed--she blushed and cast down her eyes.
Oswald appeared to hesitate a moment: then suddenly taking her hand, he
said to her in English,--"Come, my dear,"--and she followed him.

The noise of the waves and the silence of the sailors, who neither moved
nor spoke but in pursuance of their duty, and who rapidly conducted the
bark over that sea which they had so often traversed, gave birth to
reverie. Besides, Corinne dared not question Lord Nelville on what had
just passed. She sought to conjecture his purpose, not thinking (which
is however the more probable) that he had none, and that he yielded to
each new circumstance. One moment she imagined that he was conducting
her to divine service in order to espouse her, and this idea caused her
at the time more fear than happiness: it appeared to her that she was
going to quit Italy and return to England, where she had suffered so
much. The severity of manners and customs in that country returned to
her mind, and love itself could not entirely triumph over the bitterness
of her recollections. But how astonished will she be in other
circumstances at those thoughts, fleeting as they were! how she will
abjure them!

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