'We talked over various matters of moment and movement. These I omit;-if they come to anything, they will speak for themselves. After these, we spoke of Kosciusko. Count R. G. told me that he has seen the Polish officers in the Italian war 'burst into tears on hearing his name. 'Something must be up in Piedmont-all the letters and papers are stopped. Nobody knows anything, and the Germans are concentrating near ManOf the decision of Leybach nothing is known. This state of things cannot last long. The ferment ' in men's minds at present cannot be conceived with'out seeing it. 'tua. For several days I have not written anything except a few answers to letters. In momentary expectation of an explosion of some kind, it is not easy to settle down to the desk for the higher kinds ' of composition. I could do it, to be sure, for, last 6 summer, I wrote my drama in the very bustle of 'Madame la Contesse G.'s divorce, and all its process of accompaniments. At the same time, I also had the news of the loss of an important lawsuit in England. But these were only private and personal business; the present is of a different nature. Fit I suppose it is this, but have some suspicion that may be laziness, which prevents me from writing; especially as Rochefoucault as Rochefoucault says that "laziness often 'masters them all "-speaking of the passions. If 'this were true, it could hardly be said that "idleness is the root of all evil," since this is supposed to spring from the passions only; ergo, that which masters all the passions (laziness, to wit) would in so 'much be a good. Who knows? 'Midnight. I have been reading Grimm's Correspondence. He repeats frequently, in speaking of a poet, or a man of genius in any department, even in music (Gretry, for instance), that he must have "une ame qui se tourmente, un esprit violent." How far this may be true, I know not; but if it were, I should be 'a poet "per eccellenza;" for I have always had une ame," which not only tormented itself but 'every body else in contact with it; and an "esprit 'violent," which has almost left me without any 6.66 esprit" at all. As to defining what a poet should be, it is not worth while, for what are they worth? 'what have they done? 'Grimm, however, is an excellent critic and literary 'historian. His Correspondence form the annals of 'the literary part of that age of France, with much of 'her politics, and, still more, of her “ way of life." 'He is as valuable, and far more entertaining than 'Muratori or Tiraboschi-I had almost said, than 'Ginguené-but there we should pause. However, ''tis a great man in its line. 'Monsieur St. Lambert has 'Et lorsqu'à ses regards la lumière est ravie, Il n'a plus, en mourant, à perdre que la vie.' 'This is, word for word, Thomson's 'And dying, all we can resign is breath,' ' without the smallest acknowledgment from the Lor'rainer of a poet. M. St. Lambert is dead as a man, and (for anything I know to the contrary) damned, 'as a poet, by this time. However, his Seasons have good things, and, it may be, some of his own. 'February 2d, 1821. 'I have been considering what can be the reason 'why I always wake, at a certain hour in the morning, and always in very bad spirits-I may say, in 'actual despair and despondency, in all respects— even of that which pleased me over night. In about an hour or two, this goes off, and I compose either to sleep again, or, at least, to quiet. In Eng'land, five years ago, I had the same kind of hypochondria, but accompanied with so violent a thirst 'that I have drank as many as fifteen bottles of sodawater in one night, after going to bed, and been still thirsty calculating, however, some lost from the bursting out and effervescence and overflowing of the soda-water, in drawing the corks, or striking off the necks of the bottles from mere thirsty impatience. At present, I have not the thirst; but the depression of spirits is no less violent. 6 I read in Edgeworth's Memoirs of something 'similar (except that his thirst expended itself on ' small beer) in the case of Sir F. B. Delaval ;—but then he was, at least, twenty years older. What is it?-liver? In England, Le Man (the apothecary) 'cured me of the thirst in three days, and it had 'lasted as many years. I suppose that it is all hypo'chondria. What I feel most growing upon me are laziness, ' and a disrelish more powerful than indifference. If 'I rouse, it is into fury. I presume that I shall end (if not earlier by accident, or some such termination) "like Swift-" dying at top." I confess I do not con'template this with so much horror as he apparently did for some years before it happened. But Swift had hardly begun life at the very period (thirtythree) when I feel quite an old sort of feel. 6 Oh! there is an organ playing in the street-a 'waltz, too! I must leave off to listen. They are 'playing a waltz which I have heard ten thousand 'times at the balls in London, between 1812 and 1815. Music is a strange thing*. February 5th, 1821. At last, "the kiln's in a low." The Germans are ' ordered to march, and Italy is, for the ten thousandth time, to become a field of battle. Last night the 'news came. This afternoon-Count P. G. came to me to con'sult upon divers matters. We rode out together. They have sent off to the C. for orders. To-morrow 'the decision. ought to arrive, and then something 'will be done. Returned-dined-read-went out'talked over matters. Made a purchase of some arms 'for the new inrolled Americani, who are all on tiptoe 'to march. Gave orders for some harness and port'manteaus necessary for the horses. Read some of Bowles's dispute about Pope, with all the replies and rejoinders. Perceive that my 'name has been lugged into the controversy, but have not time to state what I know of the subject. "On some "piping day of peace" it is probable that I may resume it. 6 ' February 9th, 1821. Before dinner wrote a little; also, before I rode out, Count P. G. called upon me, to let me know 'the result of the meeting of the C'. at F. and at B. *** returned late last night. Everything was com'bined under the idea that the Barbarians would pass In this little incident of the music in the streets thus touching so suddenly upon the nerve of memory, and calling away his mind from its dark bodings to a recollection of years and scenes the happiest, perhaps, of his whole life, there is something that appears to me peculiarly affecting. the Po on the 15th inst. Instead of this, from some previous information or otherwise, they have hastened their march and actually passed two days ago; so that all that can be done at present in Romagna is, 'to stand on the alert and wait for the advance of the Neapolitans. Every thing was ready, and the Neapolitans had sent on their own instructions and intentions, all calculated for the tenth and eleventh, on ' which days a general rising was to take place, under 'the supposition that the Barbarians could not ad'vance before the 15th. As it is, they have but fifty or sixty thousand troops, a number with which they might as well attempt to conquer the world as secure Italy in its present state. The artillery marches last, and alone, and there is an idea of an attempt to cut part of 'them off. All this will much depend upon the first steps of the Neapolitans. Here, the public spirit is excellent, provided it be kept up. This will be seen 'by the event. It is probable that Italy will be delivered from the 'Barbarians if the Neapolitans will but stand firm, ' and are united among themselves. Here they appear so. February 10th, 1821. Day passed as usual-nothing new. Barbarians still in march-not well equipped, and, of course, 'not well received on their route. There is some talk ' of a commotion at Paris. Rode out between four and six-finished my letter 'to Murray on Bowles's pamphlets-added postscript. 'Passed the evening as usual-out till eleven-and 'subsequently at home. |