This candid admission of what could not be refuted, checked all further censure at the moment, whereas an injudicious defence would have lengthened it; and I heard some of the individuals then present assert, a few days subsequently, that Lord —— was not, after all, by any means to be disliked: for that his manners were equally objectionable even with his most esteemed friends, and consequently meant nothing uncivil to strangers.
I tried this soothing system the other day in defence of ——, when a whole circle were attacking him for his rude habit of contradicting, by asserting, with a grave face, that he only contradicted those whose talents he suspected, in order that he might draw them out in discussion.
—— came in soon after, and it was positively amusing to observe how much better people bore his contradiction. Madame —— only smiled when, having asserted that it was a remarkably fine day, he declared it to be abominable. The Duc de —— looked gracious when, having repeated some political news, —— said he could prove the contrary to be the fact; and the Comtesse de —— looked archly round when, having extravagantly praised a new novel, he pronounced that it was the worst of all the bad ones of the author.
—— will become a popular man, and have to thank me for it. How angry would he be if he knew the service I have rendered him, and how quickly would he contradict all I said in his favour! —— reminds me of the Englishman of whom it was said, that so great was his love of contradiction, that when the hour of the night and state of the weather were announced by the watchman beneath his window, he used to get out of bed and raise both his casement and his voice to protest against the accuracy of the statement.
Read Pelham; commenced it yesterday, and concluded it to-day. It is a new style of novel, and, like all that is very clever, will lead to many copyists. The writer possesses a felicitous fluency of language, profound and just thoughts, and a knowledge of the world rarely acquired at his age, for I am told he is a very young man.
This work combines pointed and pungent satire on the follies of society, a deep vein of elevated sentiment, and a train of philosophical thinking, seldom, if ever, allied to the tenderness which pierces through the sentimental part. The opening reminded me of that of Anastatius, without being in the slightest degree an imitation; and many of the passages recalled Voltaire, by their wit and terseness.
I, who don't like reading novels, heard so much in favour of this one—for all Paris talk of it—that I broke through a resolution formed since I read the dull book of ——, to read no more; and I am glad I did so, for this clever book has greatly interested me.
Oh, the misery of having stupid books presented to one by the author! ——, who is experienced in such matters, told me that the best plan in such cases was, to acknowledge the receipt of the book the same day it arrived, and civilly express the pleasure anticipated from its perusal, by which means the necessity of praising a bad book was avoided. This system has, however, been so generally adopted of late, that authors are dissatisfied with it; and, consequently, a good-natured person often feels compelled to write commendations of books which he or she is far from approving; and which, though it costs an effort to write, are far from satisfying the exigeant amour propre peculiar to authors.
I remember once being present when the merits of a book were canvassed. One person declared it to be insufferably dull, when another, who had published some novel, observed, with rather a supercilious air, "You know not how difficult it is to write a good book!"
"I suppose it must be very difficult," was the answer, "seeing how long and how often you have attempted, without succeeding."