Scarce twenty summers yet for thee have smil'd, The sunshine of thy soul, and thine alone? O, ever is their envied lot unblest, Unblest though envy'd, (such may soon be thine,) I tell thee (mark me!) not the loathliest ills, No more shall fly,- Time cannot heal such wound, - Such is the curse of misconstruction! such His venom'd rheum! lo, where he thrusts his sting, Ah me, my muse! turn back thy wandering wing, There, whatever else may be said of these stanzas, no one can call them commonplace. W. Nor am I sure they would the other verses. too hard upon them. You are A. On my own offspring? That would be indeed a mira DANGER OF OPPOSING POPULAR TASTE. xli cle. No, I insist upon it, that if a few faults should not condemn a poem, neither may a few excellencies reprieve it. The Romance, I still say, is puerile. The very length, to which even its best passages are spun out, should convince you of that. But I say likewise, to bring us back to our subject, that it is in the fashion of the day, and would suit it. W. Perhaps better than your later poems. A. It shall never come out, for all that. The necessity of shaving every morning would else be a constant reproach to me. W. How so? A. Dunce! By reminding me of my manhood. What do you suppose the hair grows on a man's cheek for, except to warn him to cast away childish things? Why, one such epigram as that on W-BB (1) is worth fifty such poems. They would, no doubt, do credit to of immortalize life-long ecstasy , make the fortune and throw into a ; but for a poet not emas culated they are poor stuff, the commonplaces, and the lullaby melody of a puerile or feminine fancy, and of a muse yet practising her gamut. But you shake the head. W. I should not, if it were only to me that you talked in this fashion; for with me it cannot harm you. But it is just so you discourse to the public; and you may depend upon it, ERNEST, that the way to win their favor is not to ridicule their (1) The present occasion is as good as any other to mention, that the substi tution of dashes and isolated letters for certain names in this volume is entirely owing to the publishers. On my reading to them the epigram above mentioned, they remonstrated earnestly upon the insertion of the full style of the subject it handles, and finally, though they had already accepted the work, declined positively its publication, unless the objectionable appellation should be put into a state more in keeping with its owner's understanding. Of course, I thereupon declared that the names of editors of less prominent "combativeness" should undergo a similar eviration; and eventually I extended the excision to the nomina, prænomina, and cognomina, of every other person actually resident in this country. The reader will think of this mutilation what he pleases: it is a nicety, which, however I have been the operator, I do not understand. tastes. Do you remember what is said to have befallen the Misanthrope of MOLIÈRE, one of the masterpieces of French comedy? You have on your shelves a copy of that poet. Will you permit me to take it down? A. Certainly. That is BRET's edition. And here is the passage. "La W. The very one I want. tradition nous apprend," ... But you must let me translate it to you; for I have no desire that you should mark my accent. Moreover, says M. BRET, tradition teaches us that the Sonnet of ORONTES, written in the style of the petty verses which at that time were making reputations for the Ménages, the Cotins, the Montreuils, &c., &c., &c., had unluckily pleased the pit, and that the share of having bestowed its approbation on such follies, indisposed it against the work of MOLIÈRE. There is your lesson. You may count, for your certain enemies, all the admirers of and of and of your readers. of ; and they will be nine out of ten of A. But this ill-judged fashion, to which they have enslaved themselves, cannot last for ever. "Che la fortuna che tanto s'aspetta Le poppe volgerà u' son le prore, Sì che la classe correrà diretta ; E vero frutto verrà dopo 'l fiore." (1) - W. Yes, and in the mean time you remain with Dante to console you. What has been the result of the publication of the Vision? A. Well questioned. You have asked the publishers for their account of it, and those "worthy men" (as a bird of their feather called them,) have never deigned to answer you (2): (1) For Fortune, in her galley, long expected, So that the fleet will run the course directed; And a true fruit the flower will be succeeding. DANTE. Par. xxvii., at the close. (2) It is with a sense of degradation, that I make this complaint public; but I threatened my dishonest publishers to expose them; and I keep my promises to pay of whatever sort. you do well to call for mine, which no one should know better than yourself. Result? For all the advantage I have received from my poem, my dear W——————, I might prefix my picture to it, with a fig in my hand, like the author of the Rape of the Bucket. (1) W. Yet you will continue it? A. Certainly. Have you known me so long, and do you ask? What have I to repent of, I, in a poem where there is but one place in which I can accuse myself of having said too much? W. And which is that? A A. Where I have spoken of the Rector of St. mere defect of pronunciation, however displeasing, and however justly censurable in a pulpit orator, should not have been noticed so publicly, and with such contemptuous sarcasm. This one particular has been to me a cause of frequent selfreproach. Yet even here, though I have sinned against propriety, I have not offended justice. How many satirists can boast as much? What then should make me desist? Not the clamor of my enemies? W. No, but the neglect of your friends; I mean of the public at large. A. You say well; for friends I have few, or none. And of the public at large, that is, of the reading public, can you say how many of them are not inimical? "Cum sibi quisque timet, quanquam est intactus, et odit." (2) No, neither neglect nor clamor can make me drop my purpose; though the first has been able to suspend it, as is seen in the fragment appended to my new essay in rhymes. (1) In the Modenese edition of 1744, a copy of which I have the good fortune to possess, there is a portrait of TASSONI, fronting his Life by MURATORI. The poet holds a fig in his right hand; and an inscription under the medallion tells us, with a melancholy facetiousness, that it was the reward of a long labor: "Dextera cur ficum, quæris, mea gestet inanem? Longi operis merces hæc fuit. Aula dedit." (2) Since for himself each one fears, though untouch'd by the lash, and detests HOR. Serm. ii. S. 23. you. W. And was it there appended for that purpose? A. Yes; and to show that the Vision was not a mere lampoon, as falsely represented, but what it was advertised to be, a regular mock-heroic poem, having a prescribed plot, and proceeding, by regular steps, to a prescribed conclusion. After the publication of Arthur Carryl, I shall continue the satire, and the Fifth Canto, when completed, shall publish with my name, and thus assume, in my proper person, a responsibility which I had hoped that better success would have enabled me to take at once. W. But, excuse me, ERNEST, why should you prefer to run tilt against the public, when, without truckling in the least, you could abandon satire for awhile, and appeal to its favor in some gentler way. A. Because, "Vo' uscir di giorno, e sol per forza d'arme ; Che per ogni altro modo obbrobrio parme." (1) Besides, have I not appealed as you say? What are the rhymes I am about to issue but such an appeal? But, by the by, you have not yet told me: what do you think of them? W. It is a hard question to answer, and, I think, an unfair one to put. If I praise them you will think I flatter; and to censure them, supposing I were prepared to do so, would be rude. A. But do you think they will be successful? W. That, though not so nice a question, is nearly as difficult. If variety will give them reputation, yes. But... A. Well; out with it: I am no Archbishop of Grenada, as you know. W. O, neither am I Gil Blas. I am not going to find fault with your Eminence's compositions, as falling off from previous efforts; I see no touch of apoplexy. In plain words, you (1) By my own strength, and in the light of day, Orl. Fur. xx. 77. |