be," resumed he, a little embarrassed, "to be present at such a
representation!"
FOOTNOTES:
[23] Giovanni Pindemonte, has recently published a collection of Dramas,
the subjects of which are taken from Italian history, and this is a very
interesting and praiseworthy enterprize. The name of Pindemonte is also
rendered illustrious by Hippolito Pindemonte, one of the sweetest and
most charming of the present Italian poets.
[24] The posthumous works of Alfieri are just published, in which are to
be found many exquisite pieces; but we may conclude from a rather
singular Dramatic Essay, which he has written on the Death of Abel, that
he himself was conscious that his pieces were too austere, and that on
the stage more must be allowed to the pleasures of the imagination.
Chapter iii.
Every thing was arranged in a few days, the parts distributed, and the
evening chosen for the performance in a palace belonging to a female
relation of Prince Castel-Forte, and a friend of Corinne. Oswald felt a
mixture of uneasiness and pleasure, at the approach of this new scene of
triumph for the talents of Corinne. He enjoyed the by anticipation; but
he was also jealous in the same manner, not of any man in particular,
but of that whole audience in general who were to witness the talents of
her whom he loved. He wished to be the only witness of her mental
charms; - he wished that Corinne, timid and reserved, like an English
woman, should possess eloquence and genius for none but him. However
distinguished a man may be, perhaps he never enjoys, without alloy, the
superiority of a woman: if he feel an affection for her, his heart is
disturbed; - if not, his self-love is wounded. Oswald, in the presence of
Corinne, was more intoxicated than happy; and the admiration which she
inspired him with, increased his love without giving more stability to
his projects. He contemplated her as an admirable phenomenon, which
appeared to him anew every day; but even the transport and astonishment
which she made him feel, seemed to render the hope of a peaceful and
tranquil life more distant. Corinne, however, was of the tenderest and
most easy disposition in private life; her ordinary qualities would have
made her beloved independently of her brilliant ones; but yet again, she
united in herself too much talent, and was too dazzling in every
respect. Lord Nelville, with all his accomplishments, did not believe
himself equal to her, and this idea inspired him with fears as to the
duration of their mutual affection. Vainly did Corinne by force of love
become his slave; the master, often uneasy about his captive queen, did
not enjoy his empire undisturbed.
Some hours before the representation, Lord Nelville conducted Corinne to
the palace of Princess Castel-Forte, where the theatre was fitted up.
The sun shone most brilliantly, and from one of the windows of the
stair-case, Rome and the _Campagna_ were discovered. Oswald stopped
Corinne a moment and said, "Behold this beautiful day, it is for your
sake; it is to heighten the splendour of your fame." "Ah, if that were
so," answered she, "it is you who would bring me happiness; it is to you
that I should owe the protection of heaven." "Would the pure and gentle
sentiments which the beauty of nature inspires, be sufficient to make
you happy?" replied Oswald: "there is a great distance between the air
that we breathe, the reverie which the country inspires, and that noisy
theatre which is about to resound with your name." "Oswald," said
Corinne, "if the applause which I am about to receive, have the power to
affect me, will it not be because it is witnessed by you? And should I
display any talent, will it not owe its success to you, who have
animated and inspired it? Love, poetry, and religion, all that is born
of enthusiasm, is in harmony with nature; and in beholding the azure
sky, in yielding to the impression which it causes, I have a juster
comprehension of the sentiments of Juliet, I am more worthy of Romeo."
"Yes, thou art worthy of him, celestial creature!" cried Lord Nelville;
"'tis only a weakness of the soul, this jealousy of thy talents, this
desire to live alone with thee in the universe. Go, receive the meed of
public homage, go; but let that look of love, still more divine than thy
genius, be directed to me alone!" They then parted, and Lord Nelville
went and took his seat in theatre, awaiting the pleasure of beholding
the appearance of Corinne.
Romeo and Juliet is an Italian subject; the scene is placed in Verona,
where is still to be seen the tomb of those two lovers. Shakespeare has
written this piece with that Southern imagination at once impassioned
and pleasing; that imagination which triumphs in happiness, but which,
nevertheless, passes so easily from happiness to despair, and from
despair to death. The impressions are rapid; but one easily feels that
these rapid impressions will be ineffaceable. It is the force of nature,
and not the frivolity of the heart, which beneath an energetic climate
hastens the development of the passions. The soil is not light, though
vegetation is prompt; and Shakespeare has seized, more happily than any
other foreign writer, the national character of Italy and that fecundity
of the mind which invents a thousand ways of varying the expression of
the same sentiments - the oriental eloquence which makes use of all the
images of nature to paint what is passing in the heart. It is not as in
Ossian, one same tint, one uniform sound which responds constantly to
the most sensitive chords of the heart; the multiplied colours that
Shakespeare employs in Romeo and Juliet, do not give a cold affectation
to his style; it is the ray divided, reflected, and varied, which
produces these colours, in which we ever feel that fire they proceed
from. There is a life and a brilliancy in this composition which
characterise the country and the inhabitants. The play of Romeo and
Juliet translated into Italian would only seem to return to its mother
tongue.
The first appearance of Juliet is at a ball, where Romeo Montague has
introduced himself into the house of the Capulets, the mortal enemies of
his family. Corinne was dressed in a charming festive habit, conformable
to the costume of the times. Her hair was tastefully adorned with
precious stones and artificial flowers. Her friends did not know her on
her first appearance, till her voice discovered her: her figure then
became familiar to them; but it was in a manner deified, and preserved
only a poetical expression. The theatre resounded with unanimous
applause upon her appearance. Her first looks discovered Oswald, and
rested upon him - a spark of joy, a lively and gentle hope, was painted
in her countenance: on beholding her, every heart beat with pleasure and
fear: it was felt that so much felicity could not last upon earth; was
it for Juliet, or Corinne, that this presentiment was to be verified?
When Romeo approached to address to her in a low voice, the lines, so
brilliant in English, so magnificent in the Italian translation, upon
her grace and beauty, the spectators, charmed to hear their own
sentiments so finely interpreted, joined in the transport of Romeo; and
the sudden passion which the first look of Juliet kindled in his soul,
appeared like reality to every eye. Oswald from this moment felt
disturbed; it appeared to him that all was near to being revealed, that
Corinne was about to be proclaimed an angel among women, that he should
be forced to reveal his sentiments, that his claim would be disputed and
the prize ravished from him - a kind of dazzling cloud seemed to pass
before his eyes - he feared his sight might fail him - he was ready to
faint, and retired for some moments behind a pillar. Corinne, uneasy,
sought him with anxiety, and pronounced this line,
"Too early seen unknown, and known too late!"
with such a tone of voice, that Oswald started as he heard it, for it
seemed to him to be applied to their personal situation.
He could never feel tired of admiring the grace of her actions, the
dignity of her motions, and the expression of her countenance, in which
was painted what language could not reveal, all those mysteries of the
heart which cannot be reduced to words; but which, nevertheless, dispose
of our life. The accent, the look, the least gesture of an actor, truly
inspired and influenced by genuine emotion, are a continual revelation
of the human heart; and the ideal of the fine arts is always mingled
with these revelations of nature. The harmony of the verse and the charm
of the attitudes, lend to passion that grace and dignity which it often
wants in reality. Thus every sentiment of the heart, and every emotion
of the soul, pass before the imagination without losing anything of
their truth.
In the second act, Juliet appears in the balcony to converse with Romeo.
Corinne had preserved, of her former ornaments, only the flowers, and
those were soon to disappear: the theatre half-lighted to represent
night, cast a milder reflection upon the countenance of Corinne. There
was now something more melodious in her voice, than when surrounded with
the splendour of a _fête_. Her hand lifted towards the stars, seemed to
invoke the only witnesses worthy of hearing her, and when she repeated,
"_Romeo! Romeo!_" although Oswald was certain that she thought of him,
he felt jealous that these delicious accents should make the air resound
with any other name than his. Oswald was seated opposite the balcony,
and he who performed Romeo being a little concealed by the darkness of
the scene, Corinne was enabled to fix her eyes upon Oswald when
pronouncing these lines:
"In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond;
And therefore thou may'st think my 'haviour light;
But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
* * * * *
* * * * *
* * * * * therefore pardon me."
At these words - "Pardon me! Pardon me for loving; pardon me for having
let you know it!" - There was in Corinne's look, so tender a prayer and
so much respect for her lover, so much exultation in her choice, when
she said, "Noble Romeo! Fair Montague!" that Oswald felt as proud as he
was happy. He raised his head, which tenderness had bowed down, and
fancied himself the king of the world, since he reigned over a heart
which contained all the treasures of life.
Corinne, perceiving the effect which she produced upon Oswald, became
more and more animated by that emotion of the heart which alone produces
miracles; and when at the approach of day, Juliet thought she heard the
song of the lark - a signal for the departure of Romeo, the accents of
Corinne possessed a supernatural charm: they described love, and
nevertheless one might perceive that there was something of religious
mystery in them, some recollections of heaven, with a presage that she
was shortly to return thither; a kind of celestial melancholy, as of a
soul exiled upon earth, but which was soon to be called to its divine
home. Ah! how happy was Corinne the day that she represented the part of
a noble character in a beautiful tragedy before the lover of her choice;
how many years, how many lives would appear dull, compared to such a
day!
If Lord Nelville could have performed, with Corinne, the part of Romeo,
the pleasure which she would have tasted would not have been so
complete. She would have desired to put aside the verses of the greatest
poet in order to speak the dictates of her own heart; perhaps even her
genius would have been confined by insurmountable timidity; she would
not have dared to look at Oswald for fear of betraying herself, and
truth would have destroyed the charm of art; but how sweet it was to
know that he whom she loved was present when she experienced those
exalted sentiments which poetry alone can inspire; when she felt all the
charm of tender emotions, without their real pain; when the affection
she expressed was neither personal nor abstract; and when she seemed to
say to Lord Nelville, "See how I am able to love."
It is impossible when the situation is our own to be satisfied with
ourselves: passion and timidity alternately transport and check
us - inspire us either with too much bitterness or too much submission;
but to appear perfect without affectation; to unite calm to sensibility,
which too frequently destroys it; in a word, to exist for a moment in
the sweetest reveries of the heart; such was the pure enjoyment of
Corinne in performing tragedy. She united to this pleasure that of all
the plaudits she received; and her look seemed to place them at the feet
of Oswald, at the feet of him whose simple approval she valued more than
all her fame. Corinne was happy, at least for a moment! for a moment, at
least, she experienced at the price of her repose, those delights of the
soul which till then she had vainly wished for, and which she would ever
have to regret!
Juliet in the third act becomes privately, the wife of Romeo. In the
fourth, her parents wishing to force her to marry another, she
determines to take the opiate which she receives from the hand of a
friar, and which is to give her the appearance of death. All the motions
of Corinne, her disturbed gait, her altered accent, her looks, sometimes
animated and sometimes dejected, painted the cruel conflict of fear and
love, the terrible images which pursued her at the idea of being
transported alive to the tomb of her ancestors, and the enthusiasm of
passion, which enabled a soul, so young, to triumph over so natural a
terror. Oswald felt an almost irresistible impulse to fly to her aid. At
one time she lifted her eyes towards heaven, with an ardour which deeply
expressed that need of divine protection, from which no human being was
ever free. At another time, Lord Nelville thought he saw her stretch her
arms towards him to ask his assistance - he rose up in a transport of
delirium, and then sat down immediately, brought to his senses by the
astonished looks of those about him; but his emotion became so strong
that it could no longer be concealed.
In the fifth act, Romeo, who believes Juliet dead, lifts her from the
tomb before she awakes and presses her to his heart. Corinne was clad in
white, her black hair dishevelled, and her head inclined upon Romeo with
a grace, and nevertheless an appearance of death, so affecting and so
gloomy, that Oswald felt himself shaken with the most opposite
impressions. He could not bear to see Corinne in the arms of another,
and he shuddered at beholding the image of her whom he loved, apparently
deprived of life; so that in fact he felt, like Romeo, that cruel
combination of despair and love, of death and pleasure, which makes this
scene the most agonising that ever was represented on a stage. At
length, when Juliet awakes in this tomb, at the foot of which her lover
has just immolated himself, when her first words in her coffin, beneath
these funeral vaults, are not inspired by the terror which they ought to
cause, when she exclaims:
"Where is my lord? Where is my Romeo?"
Lord Nelville replied by deep groans, and did not return to himself till
Mr Edgermond conducted him out of the theatre.
The piece being finished, Corinne felt indisposed from emotion and
fatigue. Oswald entered first into her apartment, where he saw her alone
with her women, still in the costume of Juliet, and, like Juliet, almost
swooning in their arms. In the excess of his trouble he could not
distinguish whether it was truth or fiction, and throwing himself at
the feet of Corinne, exclaimed, in English:
"Eyes look your last! Arms take your last embrace."
Corinne, still wandering, cried: "Good God! what do you say? are you
going to leave me?" - "No;" interrupted Oswald, "I swear - " At that
instant the crowd of Corinne's friends and admirers forced the door in
order to see her. Her eyes were fixed upon Oswald, listening with
anxiety for what he was about to answer; but there was no opportunity
for further conversation between them during the whole evening, for they
were not left alone a single instant.
Never had the performance of a tragedy produced such an effect in Italy.
The Romans extolled with transport the talents of Corinne, both as the
representative of Juliet, and the translator of the piece. They said
that this was truly the species of tragedy which suited the Italians,
which painted their manners, moved the soul by captivating the
imagination, and gave effect to their beautiful language, in a style
alternately eloquent and lyrical, inspired and natural. Corinne received
all these praises with the sweetest air imaginable; but her soul
remained suspended on the words "_I swear_," - which Oswald had
pronounced when he was prevented by the entrance of the company from
concluding his sentence: this word might in truth contain the secret of
her destiny.
Book viii.
THE STATUES AND THE PICTURES.
[Illustration]
Chapter i.
After the day which had passed, Oswald could not close his eyes during
the night. He had never been so near sacrificing every thing to Corinne.
He did not even desire to know her secret; or rather, before he was
acquainted with it, he wished to contract a solemn engagement, to
consecrate his life to her. For some hours uncertainty seemed banished
from his mind; and he took pleasure in composing, in his thoughts, the
letter which he should write to her on the morrow, and which would
decide his fate. But this confidence in happiness, this reliance upon
resolution, was of no long duration. His thoughts soon reverted to the
past, he remembered that he had loved, much less, it is true, than he
loved Corinne; and the object of his first choice could not be compared
to her; but nevertheless it was this sentiment which had hurried him
away to thoughtless actions, to actions which had torn the heart of his
father. - "Ah! who knows," cried he, "whether he would not fear equally
to-day, lest his son should forget his native country and the duties
which he owes it?"
"Oh thou!" said he, addressing the portrait of his father, "thou, the
best friend I shall ever have upon earth, I can no longer hear thy
voice, but teach me by that silent look which yet retains such power
over my soul, inform me what I am to do, that now at least in thy
celestial abode, thou mayest be satisfied with the conduct of thy son!
Forget not, however, that need of happiness which consumes mortal
man - be indulgent in heaven, as thou wert upon earth! I shall become
better if I am allowed to taste of happiness; if I am permitted to live
with this angelic creature, to have the honour of protecting, of saving
such a woman. - Of saving her?" continued he suddenly; "and from what?
From a life of homage, of fame, and of independence!" - This reflection,
which originated in himself, terrified him like an inspiration of his
father.
In conflicts of sentiment, who has not felt that kind of secret
superstition which makes us take our own thoughts for presages, and our
sufferings for a warning from heaven? Ah! how bitter is the struggle
between passion and conscience, in susceptible minds!
Oswald paced his chamber under the most cruel agitation, sometimes
stopping to look at the moon, which in Italy is so mild and so
beautiful. The aspect of nature inspires resignation; but it is without
effect upon a mind racked with uncertainty. The next day arrived without
bringing any relief to his distracted thoughts, and when the Count
d'Erfeuil and Mr Edgermond came to visit him, they were uneasy as to the
state of his health, so much was he altered by the anxieties of the
night. The Count d'Erfeuil was the first who spoke. - "It must be
allowed," said he, "that yesterday's entertainment was charming. Corinne
is a most admirable woman. I lost half her words, but I understood
everything from her voice and her countenance. What a pity it is, that a
rich lady should be possessed of this talent! For if she were in humbler
circumstances, and unrestrained as she is, she might embrace the stage
as a profession; and to have an actress like her, would be the glory of
Italy."
Oswald received a painful impression from this speech, and yet could
not tell how to make it known. For there was that about the Count, that
one could not be angry at what he said, even though it were disagreeable
to one's feelings. None but sensitive minds understand those delicate
precautions which they owe each other: self-love, so alive to every
thing that affects itself, hardly ever thinks of the susceptibility of
others.
Mr Edgermond praised Corinne in the most becoming and flattering terms.
Oswald answered him in English, in order to relieve the conversation
about Corinne from the disagreeable eulogiums of the Count. "I see I am
one too many here," said the Count; "well I will pay a visit to Corinne:
she will not be sorry I dare say to hear my observations upon her acting
yesterday evening. I have some advice to give her, too, upon details;
but these details are very essential to the effect of the whole: she is
really so astonishing a woman that one should neglect nothing to assist
her in attaining perfection. - And besides," said he, inclining towards
Nelville's ear, "I wish to encourage her to play tragedy more often:
'tis a certain way to get married by some foreigner of distinction who
may pass through this city. As to you and me, my dear Oswald, that idea
does not concern us, we are too much accustomed to charming women to
commit foolish things; but who knows? a German prince, or a Spanish
grandee - " At these words Oswald rose up almost beside himself, and it
is impossible to conceive what would have been the issue, if the Count
d'Erfeuil had perceived his emotion; but he was so satisfied with his
last reflection, that he tripped away lightly, not in the least
suspecting that he had offended Lord Nelville: had he known it, though
he loved him as much as man could love another, he would certainly have
remained. The brilliant valour of the Count, contributed still more than
his self-love to render him blind to his defects. As he was extremely
delicate in everything that regarded honour, he did not imagine that he
could be wanting with respect to sensibility; and believing himself, not
without reason, amiable and brave, he was pleased with his lot, and did
not suspect there was any more profound way of regarding life than his
own.
None of the sentiments which agitated Oswald had escaped Mr Edgermond,
and when the Count d'Erfeuil was gone, he said to him - "My dear Oswald,
I take my leave, - I am going to Naples." - "Why so soon?" answered
Nelville. "Because it is not good for me to stay here," continued
Edgermond; "I am fifty years of age, and nevertheless I am not sure that
Corinne would not make a fool of me." - "And even in that case,"
interrupted Oswald, "what would be the consequence?" - "Such a woman is
not formed to live in Wales," replied Mr Edgermond; "believe me, my dear
Oswald, only Englishwomen are fit for England: it does not become me to
give you advice, I need not assure you that I shall not mention a word
of what I have seen; but with all Corinne's accomplishments, I should
say, with Thomas Walpole, _of what use is all that at home_? And, you
know the _home_ is all with us, all for our women at least. Imagine to
yourself your beautiful Italian alone, while you are hunting or
attending your duty in Parliament; imagine her leaving you at dessert to
get tea ready against you shall leave table! Dear Oswald, depend upon it
our women possess those domestic virtues which are to be found nowhere
else. The men in Italy have nothing to do but to please the women;
therefore the more attractive they are the better. But with us, where
men have active pursuits, women must be satisfied with the shade. That
it would be a great pity to condemn Corinne to such a destiny, I freely
acknowledge. I should be glad to see her upon the throne of England; but
not beneath my humble roof. My lord, I knew your mother, whose loss was
so much lamented by your worthy father: she was a lady in every respect
like my young cousin. Such is the wife, which, were I at a proper time
of life, I should choose. Adieu, my dear friend, do not be offended at
what I have said, for nobody can be a greater admirer of Corinne than I
am, and I own to you that after all were I at your time of life, I doubt
whether I could have sufficient fortitude to renounce the hope of
becoming agreeable to her." - In finishing, these words, he took the hand