Oswald and Corinne went first to the Pantheon, which is now called St Mary of the Rotunda. In every part of Italy Catholicism has inherited something of Paganism, but the Pantheon is the only ancient Temple of Rome which is preserved entire, the only one where may be remarked in its ensemble the beauty of the architecture of the ancients, and the particular character of their worship. Oswald and Corinne stopped in the square of the Pantheon to admire the portico of this Temple and the pillars that support it.
Corinne made Nelville observe that the Pantheon was constructed in such a manner as to appear greater than it was. "The church of St Peter," said she, "will produce quite a different effect upon you; you will believe it at first less stupendous than it is in reality. This illusion, so favourable to the Pantheon, comes, as I am assured, from there being more space between the pillars, and the air playing freely around it; but principally from your not perceiving any of that detailed ornament with which St Peter's is overladen. It is thus that the ancient poets only designed large masses, and left the imagination of the hearer to fill up the intervals, and supply the developments; but we moderns in all things say too much."
"This Temple," continued Corinne, "was consecrated by Agrippa, the favourite of Augustus, to his friend, or rather to his master. However, the master had the modesty to refuse the dedication of the Temple, and Agrippa was obliged to dedicate it to all the gods in Olympus, in order to take the place of Power, the god of the earth. There was a car of bronze on the top of the Pantheon, on which were placed the statues of Augustus and of Agrippa. On each side of the portico these same statues were placed in another form, and on the pediment of the Temple is still to be read: 'Consecrated by Agrippa.' Augustus gave his name to the age in which he lived because he made that age an epoch of the human mind. The masterpieces of every kind produced by his contemporaries form the rays of glory that encircle his head. He knew how to honour the men of genius who cultivated letters, and he has found his recompense in posterity."
"Let us enter the temple," said Corinne. "You see it remains uncovered, almost the same as it was formerly. They say that this light, proceeding from the top, was the emblem of that God who was superior to all the other deities. The Pagans have always been fond of symbolic images. It seems, in effect, that this language is more fitting than speech to religion. The rain often falls upon this marble court, but the rays of the sun also enter to enlighten devotion. What serenity! What an air of festivity is remarkable in this edifice! The Pagans have deified life, and the Christians have deified death. Such is the spirit of the two worships, but the Roman Catholic religion here, however, is less sombre than in the northern countries. You will observe it when we visit St Peter's. Inside the sanctuary of the Pantheon are the busts of our most celebrated artists, they adorn the niches where were placed the gods of the ancients.—As, since the destruction of the empire of the Cæsars, we have hardly ever had political independence in Italy, you do not find here either statesmen or great commanders. It is the genius of imagination which constitutes our own glory; but do you not think, my lord, that a people who honour talents in this manner ought to merit a nobler fate?" "I am very severe towards nations," answered Oswald; "I always believe that they deserve their fate let it be what it may." "That is hard," replied Corinne; "perhaps after a longer residence in Italy you will experience a sentiment of compassion towards this unhappy country, which nature seems to have decorated as a victim; but, at least, you will remember that the dearest hope of us artists, of us lovers of glory, is to obtain a place here. I have already fixed upon mine," said she pointing to a niche still vacant. "Oswald! who knows whether you will not come again to this same enclosure when my bust shall be placed there? Then—"
Oswald interrupted her quickly and said, "In the shining splendour of youth and beauty can you talk thus to one whom misfortune and suffering have already bent towards the grave?" "Ah!" replied Corinne, "the storm may in a moment snap asunder those flowers that now have their heads upreared in life and bloom. Oswald, dear Oswald!" added she; "why should you not be happy? Why—" "Never interrogate me," replied Lord Nelville, "you have your secrets—I have mine, let us mutually respect each other's silence. No—you know not what emotion I should feel were I obliged to relate my misfortunes." Corinne was silent, and her steps in leaving the temple were slower, and her looks more thoughtful.
She stopped beneath the portico:—"There," said she to Lord Nelville, "was a most beautiful urn of porphyry, now transferred to St John of Lateran; it contained the ashes of Agrippa, which were placed at the foot of the statue that he had raised to himself. The ancients took so much care to soften the idea of dissolution that they knew how to strip it of every thing that was doleful and repulsive. There was, besides, so much magnificence in their tombs that the contrast was less felt between the blank of death and the splendours of life. It is true that the hope of another world being less vivid among the Pagans than amongst Christians, they endeavoured to dispute with death the future remembrance which we place, without fear, in the bosom of the Eternal."
Oswald sighed and was silent. Melancholy ideas have many charms when we have not been ourselves deeply wretched, but when grief in all its asperity has seized upon the soul, we no longer hear without shuddering certain words which formerly only excited in us reveries more or less pleasing.
Chapter iii.
On the way to St Peter's the bridge of St Angelo is passed, and Corinne and Lord Nelville crossed it on foot. "It was on this bridge," said Oswald, "that, in returning from the Capitol, I for the first time thought deeply of you." "I did not flatter myself," replied Corinne, "that the coronation at the Capitol would have procured me a friend, but however, in the pursuit of fame it was always my endeavour to make myself beloved.—What would fame be to woman without such a hope?" "Let us stop here a few minutes," said Oswald. "What remembrance of past ages can produce such welcome recollections as this spot, which brings to mind the day when first I saw you." "I know not whether I deceive myself," replied Corinne; "but it seems to me that we become more dear to one another in admiring together those monuments which speak to the soul by true grandeur. The edifices of Rome are neither cold nor dumb, they have been conceived by genius, and consecrated by memorable events. Perhaps, Oswald, it is even necessary that we should be enamoured of such a character as yours, in order to derive such pleasure from feeling with you all that is noble and fine in the universe." "Yes," replied Lord Nelville; "but in beholding you, and listening to your observations, I feel no want of other wonders." Corinne thanked him in a bewitching smile.