I do not feel there is any merit in my avoiding egotism. It is rather an effect of education than disposition, for I am naturally communicative; but I was brought forward almost a child as a puppet upon the theatre of the world—where no one is permitted to speak of self,—and wisely too, since nine times in ten the truth would not be spoken.
I admired the verses on the death of Sheridan. I believe the other person you mention, to have been applauded in early life far beyond his merits. When I first saw, and occasionally conversed with him, he had long past ‘the liquid dew and morn of youth,’ and had suffered much from ‘contagious blastments;’ ‘all was false and hollow.’ At an earlier period higher hopes were entertained.
We are just reading Rimini, and are crammed with description till we are crop-full. Pity that one who now and then reminds us of Dryden, and who really sees and feels, should thus bury himself in the exuberance of detail; and instead of allowing you to look quietly at the object he describes, turn it round and round, and force you, like a showman, to examine it on all sides, ‘about, above, and underneath.’ There are some admirable lines in Boileau’s Art Poétique, ending ‘Et je me sauve enfin à travers le jardin,’ which I refer you to, as exactly apposite to Hunt’s account of a palace garden; yet when he touches on the feelings of the heart, and describes the dignified yet natural penitence of the guilty lovers, he is admirable, and the beauty of his thoughts overcomes all the peculiarities of his style. He has written a silly dedication to Lord Byron, with an affectation of familiarity unsuitable to a public address, and in colloquial phrase, which I must agree with Johnson in thinking ‘unfit for a printed letter.’
Sept. 18, 1816.—Read Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Letters. I pity Mr. Wortley in the beginning of their acquaintance. There are marks of sincerity and love in his letters, whereas I suspect her of only following up a design to marry him from motives of prudence; and she certainly does show great address in both piquing and soothing him, without ever committing herself.
Sept. 20.—Of the numerous class who have affected ‘to wear a window in the breast,’ we feel little confidence in any but Montaigne and Rousseau. Mad. Roland tries to persuade herself and us that she follows their steps; but the head and heart alike refuse to believe her. She seems never to forget the effect to be produced by what she writes. She may speak truth, but it is truth presented with selection and address; while Montaigne and Rousseau abandon themselves to the current of their thoughts, apparently indifferent to the impression they will make on their readers.
TO RICHARD TRENCH, ESQ.
Bath, Oct. 1, 1816.