I suppose you know that Tommy Moore has lost all his prospects of advancement by publishing The Twopenny Post Bag;—Lord Moira refusing on this account to take him to India, where he had intended to provide for him. He has gained in fame what he has lost in profit; as, although his former works had many admirers, some disliked, and some despised them, how justly I will not pretend to say; but all acknowledge the wit and humour of this last production. It is not free from blemishes, but perhaps as much so as any work we know, entirely and professedly satirical.
Aug. 4, 1813.—Met Lord Lauderdale at dinner at Lady Lansdowne’s.—“I once saw Sheridan and Mad. de Staël together. She praised his morality, while he extolled her beauty. I sold a book at the highest price ever paid in England, Fox’s work.[49] Two booksellers offered me £4000; I told them it was impossible to decide between them. One refused to add to his first offer, the other offered £500 more. He lost by it. Robertson’s Charles the Fifth sold for £5000. The size of the book considered, it was not so much. No other has ever sold at so great a price. Mad. de Staël has received here £1500 for her work on Germany, suppressed at Paris. She publishes it with notes, marking the passages she supposes to have been obnoxious to the French Government.” He should have said to ‘Buonaparte,’ for despotism is an unit, and ‘Government’ to English ears implies plurality.
TO CHARLES MANNERS ST. GEORGE, ESQ.
August 14, 1813.
Mr. Marsh dined here yesterday, supposed to be the author of the admired letters that appeared this year in the Times under the name of Vetus.[50] He did not talk so much or so well as usual, for we had a petrifying coxcomb of the party. He mentioned that Mad. de Staël, who was always clumsy, and had a peculiarly large foot, once exhibiting herself on a pedestal as an antique figure, one of the spectators whispered, ‘Voilà un vilain pied de Staël,’ a bon mot, though an ill-natured one. We had music in the evening. Miss M—— is a fine thundering player of the new Beethoven school; and Lady A——’s sweet little robin red-breast finger made a pretty contrast, pleasing to me who can admire merit in various styles. Indeed, I believe the less exclusive is one’s taste, and the more one can extend its limits, so as to like what is good in every direction, the more one will naturally enjoy, and perhaps animate, social life. Adieu. Honour me not with needless envelopes. ‘Ce petit garçon oublie que je suis dévote,’ said a ci-devant mistress of Louis XIV., when a servant offered her a glass of liqueur; so you sometimes forget that I have arrived at thinking all waste is blameable.
Oct., 1813.—The Giaour is a trial of skill how far picturesque, animated, and eloquent description will please, without dignity or delicacy of character, novelty of scene or manners, interesting narrative, or elevated sentiments. Events similar to those recorded in this tale have not only been thrice told, but three hundred times; and, in point of manners, every one who has read a book of Travels in Turkey, knows too well all of which he is here reminded, not to feel a certain disappointment at being carried so far and shown nothing new. When St. Pierre in Paul and Virginia leads us to the Isle of France, another world is opened to our view; a refreshing, invigorating clime enchants our senses, where we see the pure and simple sources of human happiness, the sparkling, living fountains of innocence, and love, and joy. It is an earthly paradise, worthy to succeed that where Milton has placed our first parents; and assimilated to our tenderest feelings by ties more numerous, if singly less powerful. The East also may have its ‘fresh fields and pasture new,’ but Lord Byron has not introduced us to them.