Mme de Stael - Corinne, Volume 1 (of 2)
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Mme de Stael >> Corinne, Volume 1 (of 2)
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"There are griefs however which our consoling sky cannot efface, but in
what retreat can sorrow make a more sweet and more noble impression upon
the soul than here?
"In other countries hardly do the living find space sufficient for their
rapid motions and their ardent desires; here, ruins, deserts and
uninhabited palaces, afford an asylum for the shades of the departed. Is
not Rome now the land of tombs?
"The Coliseum, the obelisks, all the wonders which from Egypt and from
Greece, from the extremity of ages, from Romulus to Leo X. are assembled
here, as if grandeur attracted grandeur, and as if the same spot was to
enclose all that man could secure from the ravages of time; all these
wonders are consecrated to the monuments of the dead. Our indolent life
is scarcely perceived, the silence of the living is homage paid to the
dead; they endure and we pass away.
"They only are honoured, they are still celebrated: our obscure
destinies serve only to heighten the lustre of our ancestors: our
present existence leaves nothing standing but the past; it will exact no
tribute from future recollections! All our masterpieces are the work of
those who are no more, and genius itself is numbered among the
illustrious dead.
"Perhaps one of the secret charms of Rome, is to reconcile the
imagination with the sleep of death. Here we learn resignation, and
suffer less pangs of regret for the objects of our love. The people of
the south picture to themselves the end of life in colours less gloomy
than the inhabitants of the north. The sun, like glory, warms even the
tomb.
"The cold and isolation of the sepulchre beneath our lovely sky, by the
side of so many funereal urns, have less terrors for the human mind. We
believe a crowd of spirits is waiting for our company; and from our
solitary city to the subterranean one the transition seems easy and
gentle.
"Thus the edge of grief is taken off; not that the heart becomes
indifferent, or the soul dried up; but a more perfect harmony, a more
odoriferous air, mingles with existence. We abandon ourselves to nature
with less fear--to nature, of whom the Creator has said: 'Consider the
lilies of the field; they toil not neither do they spin: yet I say unto
you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of
these.'"
Oswald was so ravished with these last strains, that he gave the most
lively testimonies of his admiration; and, upon this occasion, the
transports of the Italians themselves did not equal his. In fact, it was
to him more than to the Romans, that the second improvisation of Corinne
was directed.
The greater part of the Italians have, in reading poetry, a kind of
singing monotony, called _cantilene_, which destroys all emotion[5]. It
is in vain that the words vary--the impression remains the same; since
the accent, more essential than even the words, hardly varies at all.
But Corinne recited with a variety of tone, which did not destroy the
sustained charm of the harmony;--it was like several different airs
played on some celestial instrument.
The tones of Corinne's voice, full of sensibility and emotion, giving,
effect to the Italian language, so pompous and so sonorous, produced
upon Oswald an impression entirely novel. The English prosody is uniform
and veiled, its natural beauties are all of a sombre cast; its colouring
has been formed by clouds, and its modulation by the roaring of the sea;
but when Italian words, brilliant as an Italian festival, resonant like
those instruments of victory, which have been compared to scarlet among
colours; when these words, bearing the stamp of that joy which a fine
climate spreads through every heart, are pronounced in a moving voice,
their lustre softened, their strength concentrated, the soul is affected
in a manner as acute as unforeseen. The intention of nature seems
baffled, her benefits of no use, her offers rejected, and the expression
of pain, in the midst of so many enjoyments, astonishes and affects us
more deeply than the grief which is sung in those northern languages
which it seems to inspire.
FOOTNOTE:
[5] We must expect from this censure upon the Italian mode of
declamation, the celebrated Monti, who recites verses as well as he
composes them. It is really one of the greatest dramatic pleasures that
can be experienced, to hear him recite the Episode of Ugolin, of
Francesca da Rimini, the Death of Clorinda, &c.
Chapter iv.
The Senator took the crown of myrtle and laurel which he was to place on
the head of Corinne. She removed the shawl which graced her forehead,
and all her ebon hair fell in ringlets about her shoulders. She advanced
with her head bare, and her look animated by a sentiment of pleasure and
gratitude which she sought not to conceal. She a second time bent her
knee, to receive the crown; but she displayed less agitation and tremor
than at first; she had just spoken; she had just filled her mind with
the most noble thoughts, and enthusiasm conquered diffidence. She was
no longer a timid woman, but an inspired priestess who joyfully
consecrated herself to the worship of genius.
As soon as the crown was placed on the head of Corinne all the
instruments were heard in those triumphant airs which fill the soul with
the most sublime emotion. The sound of kettle-drums, and the flourish of
trumpets, inspired Corinne with new feelings--her eyes were filled with
tears--she sat down a moment, and covered her face with her
handkerchief. Oswald, most sensibly affected, quitted the crowd, and
advanced to speak to her, but was withheld by an invincible
embarrassment. Corinne looked at him for some time, taking care
nevertheless, that he should not observe the attention she paid him; but
when the Prince Castel-Forte came to take her hand, in order to conduct
her to the car, she yielded to his politeness with an absent mind; and,
while she permitted him to hand her along, turned her head several
times, under various pretexts, to take another view of Oswald.
He followed her, and at the moment when she descended the steps
accompanied by her train, she made a retrograde movement, in order to
behold him once more, when her crown fell off. Oswald hastened to pick
it up; and in restoring it to her, said in Italian, that an humble
mortal like himself might venture to place at the feet of a goddess that
crown which he dared not presume to place on her head[6]. Corinne
thanked Lord Nelville in English, with that pure national accent--that
pure insular accent, which has scarcely ever been successfully imitated
on the continent. What was the astonishment of Oswald in hearing her! He
remained at first immovably fixed to the spot where he was, and feeling
confused he leaned against one of the lions of basalt at the foot of
the stairway descending from the Capitol. Corinne viewed him again,
forcibly struck with the emotion he betrayed; but she was dragged away
towards the car, and the whole crowd disappeared long before Oswald had
recovered his strength and his presence of mind.
Corinne, till then, had enchanted him as the most charming of
foreigners--as one of the wonders of that country he had come to visit;
but her English accent recalled every recollection of his native
country, and in a manner naturalised all the charms of Corinne. Was she
English? Had she passed several years of her life in England? He was
lost in conjecture; but it was impossible that study alone could have
taught her to speak thus--Corinne and Lord Nelville must have lived in
the same country. Who knows whether their families were not intimate?
Perhaps even, he had seen her in his infancy! We often have in our
hearts, we know not what kind of innate image of that which we love,
which may persuade us that we recognise it in an object we behold for
the first time.
Oswald had cherished many prejudices against the Italians; he believed
them passionate, but changeable, and incapable of any deep and lasting
affection. Already the language of Corinne at the Capitol had inspired
him with a different idea. What would be his fortune, then, if he could
at once revive the recollections of his native country, and receive by
imagination a new existence,--live again for the future without
forgetting the past!
In the midst of his reveries, Oswald found himself upon the bridge of St
Angelo, which leads to the castle of the same name, or rather to the
tomb of Adrian, which has been converted into a fortress. The silence of
the place, the pale waves of the Tiber, the moon-beams which shed their
mild radiance upon the statues placed on the bridge, and gave to those
statues the appearance of white spectres steadfastly regarding the
current of the waters, and the flight of time which no longer concerned
them; all these objects led him back to his habitual ideas. He put his
hand upon his breast, and felt the portrait of his father which he
always carried there; he untied it, contemplated the features, and the
momentary happiness which he had just experienced, as well as the cause
of that happiness, only recalled, with too severe a remembrance, the
sentiment which had already rendered him so guilty towards his father:
This reflection renewed his remorse.
"Eternal recollection of my life!" cried he: "Friend so offended, yet so
generous! Could I have believed that any pleasurable sensation would so
soon have found access to my heart? It is not thou, best and most
indulgent of men,--it is not thou who reproachest me with them--it was
thy wish that I should be happy, and, in spite of my errors, that is
still thy desire: but at least, may I not misconceive thy voice, if thou
speak to me from heaven, as I have misconceived it upon earth!"
FOOTNOTE:
[6] Lord Nelville seems to have alluded to this beautiful distich of
Propertius:
"Ut caput in Magnis ubi non est ponere signis,
Ponitur hic imos ante corona pedes."
Book iii.
CORINNE
[Illustration]
Chapter i.
The Count d'Erfeuil was present at the ceremony of the Capitol: He came
the next day to Lord Nelville, and said to him, "My dear Oswald, shall I
take you this evening to see Corinne?" "How!" interrupted Oswald; "are
you acquainted with her, then?" "No," replied the Count d'Erfeuil; "but
so celebrated a lady is always flattered when people express a desire to
see her; and I have written to her this morning to request permission to
visit her in the evening accompanied by you." "I could have wished,"
replied Oswald blushing, "that you had not named me in this manner
without my consent." "Do not be angry with me," replied the Count
d'Erfeuil, "for having spared you some tiresome formalities: Instead of
going to an ambassador, who would have taken you to a cardinal, who
would have conducted you to a lady, who would have introduced you to
Corinne, I present you--you present me, and we shall both of us be very
well received I have no doubt."
"I am less confident on that subject than you," replied Lord Nelville,
"and certainly not without reason. I am afraid that this forward request
may have displeased Corinne." "Not at all, I assure you," said the Count
d'Erfeuil; "she has too much good sense for that; and her answer is
extremely polite." "How! she has answered you," replied Lord Nelville;
"and what has she said to you, my dear Count?" "Ah, my dear Count?"
said M. d'Erfeuil, laughing, "you change your note then, since you know
that Corinne has answered me; however, _I love you, and all is
pardoned_. I will confess to you then, modestly, that in my note I had
spoken of myself more than of you, and that, in her answer she seems to
have named you first, but I am never jealous of my friends." "Indeed,"
replied Lord Nelville, "I do not think that either you or I have any
reason to flatter ourselves with being agreeable to Corinne; and as to
me, all that I desire is sometimes to enjoy the society of so
extraordinary a lady: so adieu till this evening, since you have
arranged it so." "You will accompany me then?" said the Count d'Erfeuil.
"Well, yes, I will," answered Lord Nelville with visible embarrassment.
"Why then," continued the Count, "find fault with what I have done? You
finish as I have begun, but however, I must allow you the honour of
being more reserved than I, provided you lose nothing by it. Corinne is
certainly a charming lady, she is graceful and witty; I could not
comprehend what she said very well, because she spoke Italian; but I
would venture to lay a wager, from only seeing her, that she knows
French very well: however, we shall judge of that in the evening. She
leads a very singular life; she is rich, young, and independent; yet no
one can tell, to a certainty, whether she has lovers or not. It appears
certain, notwithstanding, that, at present she gives a preference to no
one; indeed," added he, "it may be the case that she has not been able
to find in this country a man worthy of her: that would not astonish me
at all."
The Count held this kind of discourse some time longer without being
interrupted by Lord Nelville. He said nothing that was discourteous; but
he always wounded the delicate feelings of Oswald by speaking with too
much boldness or too much levity upon what interested him. There is a
certain tact that even wit and knowledge of the world will not teach; so
that, without being wanting in the most perfect politeness, we may often
wound the heart.
Lord Nelville was very much agitated the whole day in thinking of the
visit he was to make in the evening; but he drove away from him as much
as he could the reflections which disturbed him, and endeavoured to
persuade himself that he might find pleasure in a sentiment, without
permitting it to decide the fate of his life. False security! for the
soul receives no pleasure from anything which it deems transient.
Oswald and the Count arrived at Corinne's house, which was situated in
the _Quartiere di Trastevere_, a little beyond the castle of St Angelo.
The view of the Tiber gave an additional embellishment to this house,
which was ornamented, internally, with the most perfect elegance. The
saloon was decorated with copies, in plaster, of the best statues in
Italy--Niobe, Laocoon, Venus de Medicis, and the Dying Gladiator. In the
apartment where Corinne received company were instruments of music,
books, and furniture not more remarkable for its simplicity than for its
convenience, being merely arranged so as to render the conversation
easy, and to draw the circle more closely together. Corinne had not yet
made her appearance when Oswald arrived; while waiting for her he walked
about the apartment with much eager curiosity, remarking in every
particular a happy medley of all that is most agreeable in the English,
French and Italian nations; the love of literature, the taste for
society, and a passion for the fine arts.
Corinne at length appeared; her costume was still picturesque without
being over-studied. Her hair was ornamented with antique cameos and she
wore a necklace of coral: her politeness was noble and easy: in
beholding her in the familiar circle of her friends, you might discover
in her the goddess of the Capitol, notwithstanding she was perfectly
simple and natural in everything. She first saluted the Count d'Erfeuil,
her eyes fixed upon Oswald; and then, as if she repented this piece of
falsehood, she advanced towards the latter--and it might be remarked
that in addressing him by the title of Lord Nelville, that name seemed
to produce a singular effect upon her, and twice she repeated it with a
faltering voice, as if it recalled some affecting remembrances.
At length, in the most graceful manner, she thanked Lord Nelville, in
Italian, for his obliging behaviour on the preceding day in picking up
her crown. Oswald answered by expressing the admiration with which she
inspired him, and gently complained of her not speaking to him upon this
occasion in English: "Am I more an alien to you to-day," added he, "than
I was yesterday?" "No certainly," replied Corinne; "but when people
have, like me, for several years, been in the habit of speaking two or
three different languages, they are apt to employ that which will best
convey the sentiments they wish to express." "Surely," said Oswald,
"English is your natural language, that which you speak to your friends,
that--" "I am an Italian," interrupted Corinne--"pardon me, my lord, but
I think I discover in you that national pride which often characterises
your countrymen. In this country we are more modest; we are neither
pleased with ourselves like the French, nor proud of ourselves like the
English: we only ask a little indulgence of foreigners, and as we have
long ceased to be considered a nation, we are guilty of sometimes being
wanting, as individuals, in that dignity which is not allowed us as a
people. But when you are acquainted with the Italians, you will see
that they possess in their character, some traces of ancient greatness,
some rare traces which, though now effaced, may appear again in happier
times. I will speak English to you sometimes, but not always: Italian is
dear to me; for I have endured much," added she, "to reside in Italy."
The Count d'Erfeuil politely reproached Corinne with having entirely
forgotten him, by expressing herself in languages he did not understand.
"Lovely Corinne," said he to her, "pray talk French; indeed you are
worthy of such an accomplishment." Corinne smiled at this compliment,
and began to speak French, with great purity and much facility, but with
an English accent. Lord Nelville and the Count d'Erfeuil were equally
astonished, but the Count, who believed he might say anything, provided
it was done with grace, and who imagined that impoliteness consisted in
the form, and not the substance, asked directly of Corinne, the reason
of this singularity. She was at first a little discomposed at this
sudden interrogation; but recovering her presence of mind, she said to
the Count--"Apparently, Sir, I have learnt French of an Englishman?" He
renewed his questions smilingly, but with much earnestness. Corinne more
and more embarrassed, said to him at last, "For these four years past,
Sir, since I have settled at Rome, none of my friends, none of those
who, I am sure, are most interested on my account have questioned me
concerning my destiny; they easily perceived that it was painful to me
to speak on the subject."
Those words put an end to the questions of the Count; but Corinne was
afraid she had offended him, and as he appeared to be very intimately
connected with Lord Nelville, she feared still more, without asking
herself the reason of such fear, that he might speak disadvantageously
of her to his friend; and therefore she set about taking much pains to
please him.
The Prince Castel-Forte arrived at this moment, with several Romans,
friends of his and of Corinne. They were men of an amiable mind and
lively disposition, very prepossessing in their appearance, and so
easily animated by the conversation of others that it was a great
pleasure to converse with them, so exquisitely did they appear to feel
every thing that was worthy of being felt. The indolence of the Italians
prevents them from displaying in company, or often in any way whatever,
all the wit they possess. The greater part of them do not even cultivate
in retirement, the intellectual faculties that nature has given them;
but they enjoy with transport, that which comes to them without trouble.
Corinne possessed a very gay turn of wit; she perceived the ridiculous
with the keen sense of a French woman, and coloured it with the
imagination of an Italian; but in every instance it was mingled with
goodness of heart; nothing was ever seen in her, either premeditated or
hostile; for, in every thing, it is coldness that offends--and
imagination on the contrary, is always accompanied with good-nature.
Oswald discovered a grace in Corinne which was entirely new to him. One
great and terrible circumstance of his life was connected with the
remembrance of a very amiable and intelligent French woman; but Corinne
resembled her in nothing--her conversation was a mixture of every kind
of intellectual endowment, enthusiasm for the fine arts, and knowledge
of the world; refinement of ideas, and depth of sentiment; in short, all
the charms of a vivacious and rapid mind were observable in her, without
her thoughts ever being on that account incomplete, or her reflections
superficial. Oswald was at once surprised and charmed, uneasy and
transported; he was unable to comprehend how one person alone could
combine all the qualifications of Corinne. He asked himself whether the
union of all these qualities was the effect of an inconsistent or a
superior character; whether it was by the force of universal feeling, or
because she forgot every thing successively, that she passed thus,
almost in the same instant, from melancholy to gaiety, from profundity
to grace--from conversation the most astonishing, by the knowledge and
the ideas it displayed, to the coquetry of a woman who seeks to please,
and desires to captivate; but there was, even in that coquetry, such
perfect nobleness that it imposed as much respect as the most severe
reserve.
The Prince Castel-Forte was very much taken up with Corinne, and the
sentiments of all his party were manifested towards her by attention and
the most delicate and assiduous respect; and the habitual worship with
which they surrounded her, made every day of her life a sort of
festival. Corinne felt herself happy in being thus beloved; but it was
that sort of happiness which we feel in living in a mild climate,
hearing nothing but harmonious sounds, and receiving, in short, nothing
but agreeable impressions. The serious and profound passion of love was
not painted on her countenance, where every emotion of her soul was
expressed by a most bright and mobile physiognomy. Oswald beheld her in
silence; his presence animated Corinne, and inspired her with the desire
of pleasing. However, she sometimes checked herself in those moments
when her conversation was the most brilliant, astonished at the calm
exterior of Oswald, not knowing whether he approved her or blamed her
secretly, or whether his English ideas would permit him to applaud this
display of talents in a woman.
Oswald was too much captivated by the charms of Corinne, to call to
mind his old opinions upon that obscurity which became women; but he was
inquiring of himself, whether it were possible to be beloved by her;
whether any man could expect to concentrate in himself so many rays of
light. In fact, he was at the same time dazzled and disturbed; and
although, at his departure, she invited him, very politely, to come and
see her again, he suffered a whole day to pass without availing himself
of the invitation, experiencing a sort of terror from the sentiment by
which he felt himself impelled.
Sometimes he compared this sentiment with the fatal error of the first
moments of his youth, but immediately banished such a comparison from
his mind--for then it was a perfidious art that had overcome him; but
who could doubt the truth of Corinne? Was that peculiar charm she
possessed the effect of magic, or of poetical inspiration? Was she an
Armida, or a Sappho? Was there any hope of captivating so lofty and
brilliant a genius! It was impossible to decide; but at least it was
easily seen, that not society, but heaven itself, could have formed this
extraordinary being, and that her mind could no more be imitated, than
her character feigned. "Oh, my father!" said Oswald, "if you had known
Corinne what would you have thought of her?"
Chapter ii.
The Count d'Erfeuil came in the morning, according to custom, to see
Lord Nelville, and reproaching him for not having been to see Corinne
the day before, said, "Had you come, you would have been very happy."
"Why so?" replied Oswald. "Because yesterday I discovered, to a
certainty, that you have greatly interested her." "Still this levity,"
interrupted Lord Nelville; "know that I neither can nor will endure it."
"Do you call levity," said the Count, "the promptitude of my
observation? Am I less in the right, because more quickly so? You were
made to live in the happy time of the Patriarchs, when the age of man
was five centuries; but mind, I give you notice that four of them at
least are lopped off in our days." "Be it so," answered Oswald, "and
what discovery have you made by these rapid observations?"--"That
Corinne loves you. Yesterday, when I arrived at her house, she received
me very kindly, to be sure; but her eyes were fixed on the door, to see
whether you followed me. She tried for a moment to talk of something
else; but as she is a lady of a very ingenuous and natural disposition,
she asked me, quite frankly, why you had not come with me? I blamed you
very much; I said that you were a very odd, gloomy sort of creature; but
you will excuse my relating all that I said over and above in your
praise."
"'He is very sad,' said Corinne; 'he must certainly have lost some one
very dear to him. Whom is he in mourning for?' 'His father, Madam,' said
I; 'though it is more than a year since he lost him; and as the law of
nature obliges us all to survive our parents, I imagine there is some
other secret cause for so long and deep a melancholy.' 'Oh!' replied
Corinne, 'I am very far from thinking that griefs, similar in
appearance, are felt alike by all men. I am very much tempted to believe
that the father of your friend, and your friend himself, are exceptions
from the general rule.' Her voice was very tender, my dear Oswald, when
she said these words." "Are these," replied Oswald, "your proofs of that
interest you spoke of?" "In truth," replied the Count d'Erfeuil, "these
are quite enough, according to my way of thinking, to convince a man
that he is beloved by a lady; but since you wish for better, you shall
have them; I have reserved the strongest for the last. Prince
Castel-Forte arrived, and related your adventure at Ancona, without
knowing that he was speaking of you: he related it with much fire and
imagination, as well as I could judge from the two lessons of Italian I
have taken; but there are so many French words in the foreign languages,
that we comprehend them, almost all, without even knowing them. Besides,
the countenance of Corinne would have explained to me what I did not
understand. One might read in it so visibly the agitation of her heart!
She did not breathe, for fear of losing a single word; and when she
asked if he knew the name of this generous and intrepid Englishman, such
was her anxiety, that it was easy to judge how much she dreaded to hear
pronounced any other name than yours.
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