Memoir of Francis Hodgson
Robert Bland to John Herman Merivale, 20 May 1820
Kenilworth: May 20, 1820.
My very dear Merivale,—Call me ‘ungrateful, reprobate, degraded,
spiritless outcast,’ but never say I am forgetful—for the fact is,
I have done, and still do, all in my power not to write to you or any one; and
now, if I could be certain of sleeping if I left
248 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. | |
off, I would not add a word more. My opinion of the state
of things is this: you—et vos semblables, if, per hasard, there exists a semblance in the
world—have too firmly convinced yourselves of the excellence of Will Whistlecraft’s performance, which has a
strong smack of that Italian cask, always so palatable and pleasurable to
yourself. That is, you are a man of good present and future fortunes. I, on the contrary, have much less than no fortune at
present, and see a further remove from her favours in futurity. You are immersed in the world, its gaieties, varieties,
conversations, contradictions, and acquaintances; whereas, I never clash with, or meet, any world at all, except myself at
toilette, and even that fascination begins to tire. Again, Nature may have
possibly instilled into your ——. No, no; that she has not, nor into any one’s veins, more milk of
gentleness than into mine. And so we will even keep to the difference of
fortunes, mixing in the world, admiration (even to gloating) of Italian, and
strong prepossession for Will Whistlecraft; and these said
circumstances and feelings procreated, and otherwise engendered, a better thing
than Will’s—most probably a better thing than
Fortiguerra’s—but not so
good a thing as your own brains had reel’d, spun, and | DEATH OF ROBERT BLAND. | 249 |
woven, had your own brains really been
consulted; the language plain, easy, and of most accessible
construction—the stanza playful, and done evidently while you were
whistling—in a word, facile to excess. Much fun; but I vow you could,
without a particle more pains, do a better thing. I mean you might invent a
more amusing story; and then all would be as it should be. Have I wounded my
brother? Say no; for Heaven knows I have so few brothers in this world, that to
me it is all a wilderness—even to this late day of my existence.
Niccolò Forteguerri (1674-1735)
Italian poet, author of the mock-heroic
Ricciardetto
(1716-25).
John Hookham Frere (1769-1846)
English diplomat and poet; educated at Eton and Cambridge, he was envoy to Lisbon
(1800-02) and Madrid (1802-04, 1808-09); with Canning conducted the
The
Anti-Jacobin (1797-98); author of
Prospectus and Specimen of an
intended National Work, by William and Robert Whistlecraft (1817, 1818).
John Herman Merivale (1779-1844)
English poet and translator, friend of Francis Hodgson, author of
Orlando in Ronscevalles: a Poem (1814). He married Louisa Drury, daughter of the
headmaster at Harrow, and wrote for the
Monthly Review while
pursuing a career in the law.