'Yes! we are slaves, but slaves ever quivering with hope,'
says Alfieri, the most bold of our modern writers. There is so much soul in our fine arts that perhaps one day our character will be equal to our genius.
"Behold," continued Corinne, "those statues placed on the tombs, those pictures in mosaic—patient and faithful copies of the masterpieces of our great artists. I never examine St Peter's in detail, because I do not wish to discover those multiplied beauties which disturb in some degree the impression of the whole. But what a monument is that, where the masterpieces of the human mind appear superfluous ornaments! This temple is like a world by itself; it affords an asylum against heat and cold; it has its own peculiar season—a perpetual spring, which the external atmosphere can never change. A subterraneous church is built beneath this temple;—the popes, and several foreign potentates, are buried there: Christina after her abdication—the Stuarts since the overthrow of their dynasty. Rome has long afforded an asylum to exiles from every part of the world. Is not Rome herself dethroned? Her aspect affords consolation to kings, fallen like herself.
'Cadono le citta, cadono i regni,
E l'uom, d'esser mortal, par che si sdegni.'
'Cities fall. Empires disappear, and yet man is angry at being mortal!'
"Place yourself here," said Corinne to Lord Nelville, "near the altar in the middle of the cupola; you will perceive through the iron grating, the church of the dead, which is beneath our feet, and lifting up your eyes, their ken will hardly reach the summit of the vault. This dome, viewing it even from below, inspires us with a sentiment of terror; we imagine that we see an abyss suspended over our head. All that is beyond a certain proportion causes man, limited creature as he is, an invincible dread. That which we know is as inexplicable as that which is unknown, but then we are accustomed to our habitual darkness, whilst new mysteries terrify us and disturb our faculties.
"All this church is ornamented with antique marble, and its stones know more than we concerning the ages that are past. There is the statue of Jupiter, which has been converted into St Peter, by adding the nimbus to the head. The general expression of this temple perfectly characterises the mixture of gloomy tenets with brilliant ceremonies; a depth of sadness in ideas, but the softness and vivacity of the south in external application; severe intentions, but mild interpretations; the Christian theology, and the images of Paganism; in a word, the most admirable union of splendour and majesty that man can infuse into his worship of the deity.
"The tombs, decorated by the wonders of the fine arts, do not present death under a formidable aspect. It is not altogether like the ancients, who engraved dances and games upon their sarcophagi; but the mind is abstracted from the contemplation of a coffin by the masterpieces of genius. They recall immortality, even upon the altar of death; and the imagination animated by the admiration which they inspire, does not feel, as in the north, silence and cold, the immutable guardians of sepulchres." "Without doubt," said Oswald, "we wish death to be surrounded by sadness; and even before we were enlightened by Christianity our ancient mythology, our Ossian, made lamentations and dirges concomitants of the tomb. Here one wishes to forget and to enjoy. I know not whether I should be desirous of such a benefit from your fine sky." "Do not believe, however," replied Corinne, "that our character is light, or our mind frivolous; it is only vanity that causes frivolity. Indolence may introduce some intervals of sleep, or of forgetfulness into our lives, but it neither wears out nor dries up the heart; and unfortunately for us we may be aroused from this state by passions more deep, and more terrible than those of souls habitually active."
In finishing these words, Corinne and Lord Nelville approached the door of the church. "Another glance towards this immense sanctuary," said she to Nelville: "See how little man appears in presence of religion, even when we are reduced to consider only its material emblem! See what immobility, what eternity, mortals can give to their works, whilst they themselves pass away so rapidly, and only survive themselves by their genius! This temple is an image of the infinite, and there is no limit to the sentiments to which it gives birth—to the ideas which it revives—to the immense quantity of years which it recalls to our reflection, either of past or future ages; and on quitting its walls we seem to pass from celestial thoughts to worldly interests, from the eternity of religion to the atmosphere of time."