| Description | Opening a drawer that morning she discovered a ghost, something she should have returned to him, but now serving as a bitter-sweet reminder of her Attic Chest days. She found other items in other drawers in other rooms, including the start of "an Heroic Epistle which should have introduced the Voltaic Battery to his critical animadversions". She copies a few lines rom the pencil original. Sha then asks for a critique of her poem "Coeur de Lion", hoping for his valued, sincere opinion in spite of his partiality: there is no rush and can wait until autumn. She cannot help be reminded of their 'coadjutor, Miss Vardill, now Mrs Niven, whose letters she has, and who is now happily married. Eleanor imagines that he may be smiling that it might be her turn soon: she wonders whether his own romance mgiht never have an end. As her father does not think his daughter can write anything that is not superlative, she expects him to write frankly on her "Dicky" [i.e. Coeur de Lion]. She talks of possible travel into France with her father who is keen to go, but she thinks he should not, but if it happens, hopes is not stuck alone in a foreign land. PS: he will recognise parts of "Coeur de Lion", but they were always intended for it. |
| Transcript or Index | (July 12 1822 - in pencil)
Dear Sir
This morning I opened a drawer- what a romantic beginning!, and there I found a ghost! at least never did revenant of any description give stronger shock to a startled Conscience than mine received from the apparition of Edwy and Athelgiva. It ought to have been returned long ago – I did not remember it was in my possession; and yet so many delightful phantoms of other years has it conjured up, that I feel the strongest temptation in the world to be dishonest. I am not sure whether I have now more pain or pleasure in alighting on anything that reminds me of Attic Days. I know that it rests with me to revive them, and I confidently hope and expect at some time to do so, but many of its brightest stars are for ever extinguished here, and should I draw a new constellation round me, may I dare again to be as gay and careless as I was then, to say and act as much nonsense, and among other things, to write as much stuff to you? – In the latter article I feel marvellously inclined to transgress at this moment and, since I have been hard at work for many months at Coeur de Lion, to allow myself the luxury of sending you a love letter. Don’t tell me it is no luxury to you to read it, or – but my wand is broken, and since I am Witness no more I have neither the right to command or menace.
Single misfortunes never come alone, neither did my ghost – I opened another drawer, in another room, and filled with articles of a very different nature – but go where I would you were predestined to haunt me, and started up again in the form of the commencement of an Heroic Epistle which should have introduced the Voltaic Battery to your critical animadversions. Good or bad, I copy you the few lines from the pencil, which is so smoked and dusty as to be almost illegible – but I doubt whether this would have been an instance to prove the position, that obscurity is one source of the sublime. Here they are –
My task is ended – Say will Volta’s pile
Win from thy Critic eye one favouring smile
Yet while I say how much that smile I prize
Give not the applause thy cooler mind denies,
Let not thy friendly blade forget its powers,
Nor, like Harmodius, hide the point in flowers.
I early woo’d the Nine – my infant days
Were fed with flattery, surfeited on praise,
Yet still I turn’d to those who dared to blend
The kind reprover with the partial friend,
I learn’d the action with the words to suit
And read no plaudit when the eye was mute
Cetera desunt-
Perhaps you have had a sufficient dose of my poetry of late, and will not thank me for thus adding to “the needless stream”. Never the less I would fain beg of your friendship a frank and candid critique on Coeur de Lion. It is difficult to get at truth, and though perhaps there are many on whose judgement I might place nearly equal reliance there is none on whose sincerity I can so much depend. That you will be a little partial, I have pleasure in believing, but I also believe that if you take the trouble to give me your opinion at all, you will give it to me without disguise. I would not have this same request of mine infringe on one hour of gaiety or enjoyment, it is in no haste, but the Autumn has many a wet afternoon and many a foggy evening in store, and will perhaps bring one which you cannot employ more agreably than in writing to an old friend – I might say in renewing a correspondence which I flatter myself was equally pleasing and improving to both. By the by, I cannot remember those days without remembering also our coadjutor in Positive House. I have seen a shoal of her letters, filled with all the delight and the vanity of a bride of 16 – The beauty of the Country, and of her dresses! The attentions of her husband, and the excellent manner in which she presided at their first dinner party! Oh! Dear – human nature is an inconsistent thing, and perhaps while I indulge a laugh at Mrs Niven’s expense, you may be smiling at the idea that my turn may come hereafter. Perhaps so! And let my friends laugh when it does, if they can laugh only- There is a graver side of the picture in Miss Vardill’s marriage to which I hope never to furnish a counterpart – but her mother bears her loss with astonishing cheerfulness nay I think her spirits are higher than ever. Apropos is your Romance never to have an end? I think it must have exceeded in length not only Sir Charles Grandison & Clarissa but even the superlative Clelias and Cassandras of renowned memory – now entombed in their own folios.
If you do write a critique on Dicky, as I will maintain my right to call him <in spite of your impertinence on the subject>, pray let me have it privately- Papa is so very apt to think that all which his little girl writes must be superlative, that if written with the frankness I expect from you, I should wish to have it to myself. I know not what we shall do this summer. He seems distressingly bent on another excursion to France and between you and I, no one but myself can know how unfit he is for such a journey. I shall go with a heavy heart if he persists in it. What are you about to do?
Mr Johnson talked of France: if we do go, I am anxious to know of all my friends who meditate a similar tour, that I may at least speculate on the possibility of crossing their course and not feel myself utterly alone with an invalid in a strange land. But you do not like melancholy themes, and I beg your pardon for trespassing on you with this, but in truth it lies very near my heart at present.
Farewell
Yours sincerely
Eleanor Anne Porden
You have of course recognised some parts of Coeur de Lion but I believe you knew that they were originally intended for their present situation. You cannot think how completely I was beset by the devils or what a relief it is to me, body & soul, to be fairly rid of them. The appellation which we bestow on the little imps is scarcely a misnomer, at least in as much as regards their power of tormenting. Next winter I hope to see much more of my friends and to feel at leisure to enjoy their society.
Miss Porden 12/7 - 22 [in different hand] |