ppresses him? That belief
without dignity, that hell-born fatality which weighs him down, his
contempt of life, his horror of death? Undoubtedly the human countenance
is the greatest of mysteries; but the motionless physiognomy of a
painting can never express more than the workings of a single sentiment.
Contrasts, conflicts of the mind, events, in short, belong to the
dramatic art. Painting can with difficulty render a succession of
events: time and movement exist not for it.

"The Phedre of Racine has furnished the subject of the fourth picture,"
said Corinne, showing it to Lord Nelville.--"Hippolitus, in all the
beauty of youth and innocence, repels the perfidious accusations of his
step-mother; the hero, Theseus, still protects his guilty spouse, whom
he encircles with his conquering arm. There is in the countenance of
Phedre, a trouble which freezes the soul with horror; and her nurse,
without remorse, encourages her in her guilt. Hippolitus in this picture
is perhaps more beautiful than even in Racine; he resembles more the
ancient Meleager, because no love for Aricia disturbs the impression of
his wild and noble virtue; but is it possible to suppose that Phedre, in
the presence of Hippolitus, can support her falsehood? Is it possible
that she can behold him innocent and persecuted without falling at his
feet? An offended woman may wrong the object of her affection in his
absence; but when she sees him, her heart is wholly absorbed in love.
The poet has never put Phedre and Hippolitus in the same scene after the
former has calumniated the latter; the painter has been obliged to do so
in order to bring together, as he has done in his picture, all the
beauties of the contrast; but is not this a proof that there is such a
difference between poetical and picturesque subjects that it would be
better for the poets to write from pictures, than for the painters to
compose their works from the poets? The history of the human mind proves
to us that imagination must always precede thought."

Whilst Corinne was thus explaining her pictures to Lord Nelville, she
had stopped several times, in the hope that he would speak to her; but
his wounded soul did not betray itself by a single word; whenever she
expressed a feeling idea he only sighed and turned his head, in order
that she might not see how easily he was affected in his present state
of mind. Corinne, overcome by this silence, sat down and covered her
face with her hands