"January 10. 1821.

"Day fine--rained only in the morning. Looked over accounts. Read Campbell's Poets--marked errors of Tom (the author) for correction.

Dined--went out--music--Tyrolese air, with variations. Sustained the cause of the original simple air against the variations of the Italian school.

"Politics somewhat tempestuous, and cloudier daily. To-morrow being foreign post-day, probably something more will be known.

"Came home--read. Corrected Tom Campbell's slips of the pen. A good work, though--style affected--but his defence of Pope is glorious. To be sure, it is his _own cause_ too,--but no matter, it is very good, and does him great credit.

"Midnight.

"I have been turning over different _Lives_ of the Poets. I rarely read their works, unless an occasional flight over the cla.s.sical ones, Pope, Dryden, Johnson, Gray, and those who approach them nearest (I leave the _rant_ of the rest to the _cant_ of the day), and--I had made several reflections, but I feel sleepy, and may as well go to bed.

"January 11. 1821.

"Read the letters. Corrected the tragedy and the 'Hints from Horace.'

Dined, and got into better spirits. Went out--returned--finished letters, five in number. Read Poets, and an anecdote in Spence.

"Alli. writes to me that the Pope, and Duke of Tuscany, and King of Sardinia, have also been called to Congress; but the Pope will only deal there by proxy. So the interests of millions are in the hands of about twenty c.o.xcombs, at a place called Leibach!

"I should almost regret that my own affairs went well, when those of nations are in peril. If the interests of mankind could be essentially bettered (particularly of these oppressed Italians), I should not so much mind my own 'suma peculiar.' G.o.d grant us all better times, or more philosophy!

"In reading, I have just chanced upon an expression of Tom Campbell's;--speaking of Collins, he says that no reader cares any more about the _characteristic manners_ of his Eclogues than about the authenticity of the tale of Troy.' 'Tis false--we _do_ care about the authenticity of the tale of Troy. I have stood upon that plain _daily_, for more than a month in 1810; and if any thing diminished my pleasure, it was that the blackguard Bryant had impugned its veracity. It is true I read 'Homer Travestied' (the first twelve books), because Hobhouse and others bored me with their learned localities, and I love quizzing. But I still venerated the grand original as the truth of _history_ (in the material _facts_) and of _place_. Otherwise, it would have given me no delight. Who will persuade me, when I reclined upon a mighty tomb, that it did not contain a hero?--its very magnitude proved this. Men do not labour over the ign.o.ble and petty dead--and why should not the _dead_ be _Homer_'s dead? The secret of Tom Campbell's defence of _inaccuracy_ in costume and description is, that his Gertrude, &c. has no more locality in common with Pennsylvania than with Penmanmaur. It is notoriously full of grossly false scenery, as all Americans declare, though they praise parts of the poem. It is thus that self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting any thing which happens, even accidentally, to stumble upon it.

"January 12. 1821.

"The weather still so humid and impracticable, that London, in its most oppressive fogs, were a summer-bower to this mist and sirocco, which has now lasted (but with one day's interval), chequered with snow or heavy rain only, since the 30th of December, 1820. It is so far lucky that I have a literary turn;--but it is very tiresome not to be able to stir out, in comfort, on any horse but Pegasus, for so many days. The roads are even worse than the weather, by the long splashing, and the heavy soil, and the growth of the waters.

"Read the Poets--English, that is to say--out of Campbell's edition.

There is a good deal of taffeta in some of Tom's prefatory phrases, but his work is good as a whole. I like him best, though, in his own poetry.

"Murray writes that they want to act the Tragedy of Marino Faliero--more fools they, it was written for the closet. I have protested against this piece of usurpation, (which, it seems, is legal for managers over any printed work, against the author's will,) and I hope they will not attempt it. Why don't they bring out some of the numberless aspirants for theatrical celebrity, now enc.u.mbering their shelves, instead of lugging me out of the library? I have written a fierce protest against any such attempt, but I still would hope that it will not be necessary, and that they will see, at once, that it is not intended for the stage.

It is too regular--the time, twenty-four hours--the change of place not frequent--nothing _melo_dramatic--no surprises, no starts, nor trap-doors, nor opportunities 'for tossing their heads and kicking their heels'--and no _love_--the grand ingredient of a modern play.

"I have found out the seal cut on Murray's letter. It is meant for Walter Scott--or _Sir_ Walter--he is the first poet knighted since Sir Richard Blackmore. But it does not do him justice.

Scott's--particularly when he recites--is a very intelligent countenance, and this seal says nothing.

"Scott is certainly the most wonderful writer of the day. His novels are a new literature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any--if not better (only on an erroneous system)--and only ceased to be so popular, because the vulgar learned were tired of hearing 'Aristides called the Just,' and Scott the Best, and ostracised him.

"I like him, too, for his manliness of character, for the extreme pleasantness of his conversation, and his good-nature towards myself, personally. May he prosper!--for he deserves it. I know no reading to which I fall with such alacrity as a work of W. Scott's. I shall give the seal, with his bust on it, to Madame la Contesse G. this evening, who will be curious to have the effigies of a man so celebrated.

"How strange are our thoughts, &c. &c. &c.[19]

[Footnote 19: Here follows a long pa.s.sage, already extracted, relative to his early friend, Edward Noel Long.]

"Midnight.

"Read the Italian translation by Guido Sorelli of the German Grillparzer--a devil of a name, to be sure, for posterity; but they _must_ learn to p.r.o.nounce it. With all the allowance for a _translation_, and above all, an _Italian_ translation (they are the very worst of translators, except from the Cla.s.sics--Annibale Caro, for instance--and _there_, the b.a.s.t.a.r.dy of their language helps them, as, by way of _looking legitimate_, they ape their father's tongue);--but with every allowance for such a disadvantage, the tragedy of Sappho is superb and sublime! There is no denying it. The man has done a great thing in writing that play. And _who is he?_ I know him not; but _ages will_.

'Tis a high intellect.

"I must premise, however, that I have read _nothing_ of Adolph Mullner's (the author of 'Guilt'), and much less of Goethe, and Schiller, and Wieland, than I could wish. I only know them through the medium of English, French, and Italian translations. Of the _real_ language I know absolutely nothing,--except oaths learnt from postilions and officers in a squabble. I can _swear_ in German potently, when I like--'Sacrament--Verfluchter--Hundsfott'--and so forth; but I have little of their less energetic conversation.

"I like, however, their women, (I was once so _desperately_ in love with a German woman, Constance,) and all that I have read, translated, of their writings, and all that I have seen on the Rhine of their country and people--all, except the Austrians, whom I abhor, loathe, and--I cannot find words for my hate of them, and should be sorry to find deeds correspondent to my hate; for I abhor cruelty more than I abhor the Austrians--except on an impulse, and then I am savage--but not deliberately so.

"Grillparzer is grand--antique--_not so simple_ as the ancients, but very simple for a modern--too Madame de Stael_ish_, now and then--but altogether a great and goodly writer.

"January 13. 1821, Sat.u.r.day.

"Sketched the outline and Drams. Pers. of an intended tragedy of Sardanapalus, which I have for some time meditated. Took the names from Diodorus Siculus, (I know the history of Sardanapalus, and have known it since I was twelve years old,) and read over a pa.s.sage in the ninth vol.

octavo, of Mitford's Greece, where he rather vindicates the memory of this last of the a.s.syrians.

"Dined--news come--the _Powers_ mean to war with the peoples. The intelligence seems positive--let it be so--they will be beaten in the end. The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it.

"I carried Teresa the Italian translation of Grillparzer's Sappho, which she promises to read. She quarrelled with me, because I said that love was _not the loftiest_ theme for true tragedy; and, having the advantage of her native language, and natural female eloquence, she overcame my fewer arguments. I believe she was right. I must put more love into 'Sardanapalus' than I intended. I speak, of course, _if_ the times will allow me leisure. That _if_ will hardly be a peace-maker.

"January 14. 1821.

"Turned over Seneca's tragedies. Wrote the opening lines of the intended tragedy of Sardanapalus. Rode out some miles into the forest. Misty and rainy. Returned--dined--wrote some more of my tragedy.

"Read Diodorus Siculus--turned over Seneca, and some other books. Wrote some more of the tragedy. Took a gla.s.s of grog. After having ridden hard in rainy weather, and scribbled, and scribbled again, the spirits (at least mine) need a little exhilaration, and I don't like laudanum now as I used to do. So I have mixed a gla.s.s of strong waters and single waters, which I shall now proceed to empty. Therefore and thereunto I conclude this day's diary.

"The effect of all wines and spirits upon me is, however, strange. It _settles_, but it makes me gloomy--gloomy at the very moment of their effect, and not gay hardly ever. But it composes for a time, though sullenly.

"January 15. 1821.

"Weather fine. Received visit. Rode out into the forest--fired pistols.

Returned home--dined--dipped into a volume of Mitford's Greece--wrote part of a scene of 'Sardanapalus.' Went out--heard some music--heard some politics. More ministers from the other Italian powers gone to Congress. War seems certain--in that case, it will be a savage one.

Talked over various important matters with one of the initiated. At ten and half returned home.

"I have just thought of something odd. In the year 1814, Moore ('the poet,' _par excellence_, and he deserves it) and I were going together, in the same carriage, to dine with Earl Grey, the Capo Politico of the remaining Whigs. Murray, the magnificent (the ill.u.s.trious publisher of that name), had just sent me a Java gazette--I know not why, or wherefore. Pulling it out, by way of curiosity, we found it to contain a dispute (the said Java gazette) on Moore's merits and mine. I think, if I had been there, that I could have saved them the trouble of disputing on the subject. But, there is _fame_ for you at six and twenty!

Alexander had conquered India at the same age; but I doubt if he was disputed about, or his conquests compared with those of Indian Bacchus, at Java.

"It was a great fame to be named with Moore; greater to be compared with him; greatest--_pleasure_, at least--to be _with_ him; and, surely, an odd coincidence, that we should be dining together while they were quarrelling about us beyond the equinoctial line.

"Well, the same evening, I met Lawrence the painter, and heard one of Lord Grey's daughters (a fine, tall, spirit-looking girl, with much of the _patrician, thorough-bred look_ of her father, which I dote upon) play on the harp, so modestly and ingenuously, that she _looked music_.

Well, I would rather have had my talk with Lawrence (who talked delightfully) and heard the girl, than have had all the fame of Moore and me put together.

"The only pleasure of fame is that it paves the way to pleasure; and the more intellectual our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for us too. It was, however, agreeable to have heard our fame before dinner, and a girl's harp after.

"January 16. 1821.