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The Introduction of Pauline Bonaparte |
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written
by sariah / 10.24.2005 |
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| Sculpture and movement |
1 of 1 |
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Assignment |
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He usually regretted his marriage far less than predicted by the whisperings of cultured society. From one perspective, Pauline’s passion for the extreme often resulted in his chagrin, followed by frustration. She would erupt into tantrums in polite company at any insinuative remark about her virtuosity, in denial of her continuous undercurrent of flirtation that greatly angered him. Her tastes were extravagant and fickle, often inappropriate for their sphere. Nonetheless, Pauline was physically mesmerizing and a prize to possess. The ivory-colored, silk dress she wore at the previous night’s unveiling of the sculpture forced guests to divide their attention between her physical presence and her reclining marble likeness, with furtive glances towards his aghast face.
As the statue was introduced this evening, he had only begun to regain his composure. He vaguely remembered Pauline’s decision to commission Canova to sculpt her figure in marble. The proposal must have been presented to him in pre-packaged form; his opinion and insight were neither requested nor desired. Upon facing the statue of his undressed wife at the apex of the party, his anger towards her was mixed by self-chastisement. Oh, if only he had been more attentive when she had first proposed the idea, perhaps this searing embarrassment could have been avoided.
This evening, Pauline had waited for the accumulated guests in the foyer of Villa Borghese to reach a comfortable chatter before announcing the tour of the statue. She had sifted through the crowd towards the doorway, raising her hand for attention and inclining her head slightly to signal the direction of movement. He had joined her at the front of the procession, and followed her as she floated from room to room, her silk dress adding a layer of richness to the opulent walls. As they passed through familiar rooms, each accumulated treasure flickered to life in shades of white, gold and bronze, as a multitude of candles lighted their path.
She momentarily paused at the entryway to a darkened room, and waited for the guests to collect before passing the threshold. Then, as she moved gracefully into the new space, his attention shifted from her to the back of the reclining marble figure before him. From where they were standing, he could see the soft curves of a naked back, the groove of spine running its length. Slowly, he revolved around the legs, coming to the finish at the delicate fringe of splayed toes. His eyes were drawn to a round shape posed between the long, familiar fingers of the statue. The posed fingers, grasping a round apple with the familiarity of sipping a cup of tea, were undoubtedly those of his wife. Here was placed a single, white, long-stemmed candle stick, highlighting the figure in the darkened room. Disengaging his eyes, he quickly viewed the head and naked torso partially draped in cloth. A scarce amount of modesty remained left to be protected. Even in the shimmering half-light of the candle’s flame, he immediately knew that Pauline had commissioned a half-naked marble sculpture of herself in the pose of Venus, the most beautiful woman in the world.
His mindset moved quickly from revelation to reputation as the guests circled the marble legs and stood in full view of the statue. Pauline stood off to the side, accepting compliments from nearby guests about her inestimable beauty and Canova’s ability to capture such beauty. Others stood transfixed by the statue, or at least seemingly transfixed, surreptitiously glancing in his direction. He concentrated hard to compress his surprise and anger into an expression of calm dispassion. As the evening continued, he remained resolutely composed, responding politely to comments and vigilantly avoiding his wife. By the end of the party, his initial surprise and anger was mostly transformed into embarrassment, and he quietly retreated, allowing the guests to disband. Finally, Pauline also departed for home, without as much as a backward glance towards him.
Left almost alone, with only with a few servants remaining, he traced his way back through the Villa towards the statue. He re-entered the room, again facing the statue’s back and revolving around the legs towards the front. By this time, the candle had almost burned completely, and melting white wax was dripping from its sides. He stopped to study the gently sloping shoulders propped upon cushions and a sagging mattress. The torso was soft and supple, and the head in a regal pose, supported by a bent arm. He revolved again, hoping to see the frozen expression of his wife’s eyes. At first they seemed to be smiling slightly; perhaps there was a bit of a smirk? As he stood beside her feet, he studied her face more carefully. The nose was too large and the forehead too small, but Canova had captured the eyes and mouth to perfection. He lowered himself to catch her eyes, and to better read her expression. He bent down slowly until his knees were supported by the cold marble floor. At last, he could read her face, with her marble eyes staring straight into his. There, he saw a look of relaxed superiority as she gazed down upon him kneeling at her feet.
Personal Notes: Canova’s Pauline Bonaparte projects a sense of intimacy toward the viewer, and this short perspective is one of the stories I image the statue to tell. Like Bernini’s statues, Pauline Bonaparte directed my movements- in order to look into her eyes, as her fictitious husband does, one must kneel at her feet in a submissive posture. This differs from Bernini’s sculptures where the viewer is dwarfed, but only has to revolve, not change posture, to engage in the story. It is in kneeling at her feet, part of a play in power, that I enter the story. Finally, the order by which Pauline’s husband visually absorbs the statue follows my observations.
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