'nice. It appears that the Austrian brutes have 'seized my three or four pounds of English powder. The scoundrels!-I hope to pay them in ball for that powder. Rode out till twilight. 'Pondered the subjects of four tragedies to be 'written (life and circumstances permitting), to wit, 'Sardanapalus, already begun; Cain, a metaphysical 'subject, something in the style of Manfred, but in 'five acts, perhaps, with the chorus; Francesca of ' Rimini, in five acts; and I am not sure that I would not try Tiberius. I think that I could extract a 'something, of my tragic, at least, out of the gloomy 'sequestration and old age of the tyrant-and even 'out of his sojourn at Caprea-by softening the details, ' and exhibiting the despair which must have led to 'those very vicious pleasures. For none but a power'ful and gloomy mind overthrown would have had ' recourse to such solitary horrors,-being also, at the same time, old, and the master of the world. 'Memoranda. 'What is Poetry?-The feeling of a Former world ' and Future. 'Thought Second. a Why, at the very height of desire and human ' pleasure,—worldly, social, amorous, ambitious, or even avaricious,-does there mingle a certain sense ' of doubt and sorrow- a fear of what is to comedoubt of what is-a retrospect to the 'to a prognostication of the future? 'Prophets of the future is the Past.) or these? I know not, except that 'we are most susceptible of giddiness, and that we never fear falling except from a precipice-the past, leading (The best of Why is this? on a pinnacle' higher, the more awful, and the more sublime; and, 'therefore, I am not sure that Fear is not a pleasurable sensation; at least, Hope is; and what Hope is there ' without a deep leaven of Fear? and what sensation is so delightful as Hope? and, if it were not for Hope, where would the Future be?-in hell. It is ' useless to say where the Present is, for most of us 'know; and as for the Past, what predominates in 'memory ?-Hope baffled. Ergo, in all human affairs, it is Hope-Hope-Hope. I allow sixteen minutes, though I never counted them, to any given or supposed possession. From whatever place we commence, we know where it all must end. And yet, what good is there in knowing it? It does not make men better or wiser. During the greatest horrors of the greatest plagues (Athens and Florence, for example-see Thucydides and Machiavelli), men were 'more cruel and profligate than ever. It is all a mys'tery. I feel most things, but I know nothing, except Thought for a speech of Lucifer, in the tragedy of Cain :— 'Were Death an evil, would I let thee live? Fool! live as I live-as thy father lives, And thy son's sons shall live for evermore. 'Past Midnight. One o' the clock. I have been reading W. F. S** (brother to the ' other of the name) till now, and I can make out 'nothing. He evidently shows a great power of words, 'but there is nothing to be taken hold of. He is like 'Hazlitt, in English, who talks pimples-a red and * Thus marked, with impatient strokes of the pen, by himself in the original. 'white corruption rising up (in little imitation of 'mountains upon maps), but containing nothing, and discharging nothing, except their own humours. 'I dislike him the worse (that is, S**), because he always seems upon the verge of meaning; and, lo, 'he goes down like sunset, or melts like a rainbow, leaving a rather rich confusion,-to which, however, 'the above comparisons do too much honour. 'Continuing to read Mr. F. S* *. He is not such ' a fool as I took him for, that is to say, when he speaks of the North. But still he speaks of things all over 'the world with a kind of authority that a philosopher. 'would disdain, and a man of common sense, feeling, and knowledge of his own ignorance, would be ashamed of. The man is evidently wanting to make ' an impression, like his brother, or like George in the 'Vicar of Wakefield, who found out that all the good things had been said already on the right side, and therefore dressed up some paradoxes" upon the wrong side-ingenious, but false, as he himself says -to which "the learned world said nothing, nothing ' at all, sir." The "learned world," however, has said 'something to the brothers S* * 'It is high time to think of something else. What 'they say of the antiquities of the North is best. 'January 29th, 1821. 'Yesterday, the woman of ninety-five years of age ' was with me. She said her eldest son (if now alive) 'would have been seventy. She is thin-short, but active-hears, and sees, and talks incessantly. Se'veral teeth left-all in the lower jaw, and single front 'teeth. She is very deeply wrinkled, and has a sort ' of scattered grey beard over her chin, at least as long ' as my mustachios. Her head, in fact, resembles the 'drawing in crayons of Pope the poet's mother, which is in some editions of his works. 'I forgot to ask her if she remembered Alberoni (legate here), but will ask her next time. Gave her a louis-ordered her a new suit of clothes, and put her upon a weekly pension. Till now, she had worked at gathering wood and pine-nuts in the forest,— pretty work at ninety-five years old! She had a 'dozen children, of whom some are alive. Her name 'is Maria Montanari. ' Met a company of the sect (a kind of Liberal Club) 'called the "Americani" in the forest, all armed, and 'singing, with all their might, in Romagnuole-" Sem 'tutti soldat' per la liberta" (" we are all soldiers for liberty"). They cheered me as I passed-I returned 'their salute, and rode on. This may show the spirit ' of Italy at present. My to-day's journal consists of what I omitted 'yesterday. To-day was much as usual. Have rather a better opinion of the writings of the Schlegels than I had four-and-twenty hours ago; and will ' amend it still further, if possible. They say that the Piedmontese have at length risen-ça ira! Read S**. Of Dante he says, "that at no time has the greatest and most national of all Italian poets ever been much the favourite of his country'men." 'Tis false! There have been more editors and commentators (and imitators, ultimately) of Dante than of all their poets put together. Not a 'favourite! Why, they talk Dante-write Dante' and think and dream Dante at this moment (1821) to an excess, which would be ridiculous, but that he ⚫ deserves it. In the same style this German talks of gondolas ' on the Arno-a precious fellow to dare to speak of ' Italy! He says also that Dante's chief defect is a want, ' in a word, of gentle feelings. Of gentle feelings!' and Francesca of Rimini-and the father's feelings ' in Ugolino-and Beatrice-and "La Pia!" Why, 'there is gentleness in Dante beyond all gentleness, 'when he is tender. It is true that, treating of the 'Christian Hades, or Hell, there is not much scope or 'site for gentleness-but who but Dante could have introduced any "gentleness" at all into Hell? Is 'there any in Milton's? No-and Dante's Heaven is ' all love, and glory, and majesty. 'One o'clock. 'I have found out, however, where the German is 'right-it is about the Vicar of Wakefield. "Of all 'romances in miniature (and, perhaps, this is the best shape in which romance can appear), the Vicar of 'Wakefield is, I think, the most exquisite." He 'thinks he might be sure. But it is very well for 'a S**. I feel sleepy, and may as well get me to 'bed. To-morrow there will be fine weather. 'Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay.' 'January 30th, 1821. The Count P. G. this evening (by commission from the C.) transmitted to me the new words for 'the next six month. *** and ** 'cred word is ***— the reply *** The new sa the rejoinder *. The former word (now changed) was ** 'there is also *** to a crisis-ça ira! **†. Things seem fast coming In the original MS. these watch-words are blotted over so as to be illegible. |