’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.”