1827.J The Toils of a Modern Philologist. 31 



writers. To all Gay's simplicity, he adds delicacy to his truth, grace- 

 and to his ease, the happiest lightness and variety of diction. Besides Jay- 

 ing claim to poetry in its exclusive sense, the French claim for it, in its 

 connexion with theatrical subjects, the first rank among modern nations. 

 To this they can have no just title, not only from the defects of their lan- 

 guage, which have just been enumerated, but also, from their frigid imita- 

 tion of the ancients, the fictitious rules with which they have embarrassed 

 themselves, and the exclusion of true passion and romantic sentiment. 

 Voltaire s productions, and particularly his Zaire, have appeared to me 

 nearer approximations to tragedy, than the higher- vaunted statelinesses of 

 Corneille and Racine. When I next say that Molieres comedies do 

 not, in my opinion, rise to a higher rank than that of farces, I congratulate 

 myself on not being personally known to any Frenchman, as I should cer- 

 tainly tind a challenge on my table the day after these memoirs appear in 

 print. That the French are particularly weak In productions of legitimate 

 history, I believe may be named without giving them deadly offence; and, 

 on the contrary, it is but just to state that, in memoires pour servir & 

 Vhistoire, they are abundant, though they have not yet had any master- 

 head to arrange and select these chaotic treasures. 



With all its defects, the French language is a sine qua non of every 

 man who wishes to pass current in the world, for it is the language par 

 excellence for conversation of elegant society, for epistolary intercourse, 

 and for diplomacy : in a word, it is la langue sociale et politique de 

 r Europe. 



At the period when I experienced the disappointment of my expecta- 

 tions of French poetry, my heart became affected with that tender passion, 

 which has ever exercised the most powerful influence on the happiness and 

 destinies of mankind. Irritated at the frigidity of the authors that I was 

 reading, and unable to find in our native writers poetic sentiments at all 

 adequate to the warm conceptions of an enamoured heart, I naturally 

 turned to the language of song, of poetry, and of love, and commenced the 

 study of the Italian, inspired by the most powerful incentive to its acqui- 

 sition. 



This language may be called the eldest daughter of the Latin, united 

 to a barbarian descendant of the Goths. Though this union gave birth 

 to the inflections and many new words of its northern parent, it has 

 retained many of the virtues of its maternal origin, and has superadded the 

 loveliest graces. Rich in vowels, and possessing a fixed quantity, its 

 powers of harmony are unrivalled ; and it is of all languages best adapted 

 to musical compositions. Nor are its merits confined to euphony, but it 

 possesses also the rich variety of transposition, of augmentives, of diminu- 

 tives, and of capability of expression of every shade of sentiment. With 

 .such advantages, it is much to be regretted that its literature has not 

 equalled its intrinsic capabilities. On the revival of learning, it was the 

 first that distinguished itself, and it soon became pre-eminent both in 

 poetry and in prose. In the latter it is well known for its tales, which 

 have proved the sources from which authors of all nations have drawn 

 their subject-matter, not to exclude even our own immortal Shakspeare. 

 Though less generally known, it deserves not less honourable mention, 

 that their prose writers have greatly distinguished themselves in history, 

 though they have, unfortunately for the diffusion of their reputation, 

 treated on subjects of a local nature, and of events when modern Europe 



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