And yet, where is the lover of imaginative excitement, that ever laid down one of his books unfinished—or the man of candour and discrimination, who ever denied, after reading through any of them, that Maturin is gifted with a genius as fervently powerful as it is distinctly original—that there is ever and anon a truth of true poetry diffused over the thickest chaos of his absurdities—and that he walks almost without a rival, dead or living, in many of the darkest, but, at the same time, the most majestic circles of romance?
This critic, however, could hardly be taken seriously by the author, inasmuch as he places Montorio before the present work:
We are far from saying that Mr. Maturin should write less—but we do say, that he should write a great deal more—observe a great deal more—and correct a great deal more. If he does not, he may depend upon it he will never fulfil the rich promise of his Montorio; for that, we rather think, was his first—and, we are quite sure, is the best of all his performances.
It is of interest to notice these opinions; for, however slight their authority, they seem to have had the desired effect of checking the ‘extravagances’ of Maturin’s genius—so much the worse for literature. His desire to please—for such desire there was in his temperament, quite apart from all pecuniary considerations—was once more discouraged, and he began to grow weary of being told the same things over and again. It was several years before he again produced a novel, and when he did, he painfully strove to adhere to patterns universally accepted, and avoid displaying those peculiarities which were distinctly his own, but the absence of which to a production of his irreparably meant the loss of vital power, notwithstanding a small temporary success. A sense of ultimate failure and disappointment has, among other things, its share in the unmistakable gloom cast over Maturin’s last years.
V.
1821-1824.
When ance life’s day draws near the gloamin’,
Then fareweel vacant careless roamin’;
An’ fareweel cheerfu’ tankards foamin’,
An’ social noise;