March 20. 1834
Lord Byron and H. Walpole’s “Mysterious Mother.” — Lewis’s “Jamaica Journal.”
Lord Byron, as quoted by Lord Dover1, says, that the “Mysterious Mother” raises Horace Walpole above every author living in his, Lord Byron’s, time. Upon which I venture to remark, first, that I do not believe that Lord Byron spoke sincerely; for I suspect that he made a tacit exception in favour of himself at least;—secondly, that it is a miserable mode of comparison which does not rest on difference of kind. It proceeds of envy and malice and detraction to say that A. is higher than B., unless you show that they are in pari materia;—thirdly, that the “Mysterious Mother” is the most disgusting, vile, detestable composition that ever came from the hand of man. No one with a spark of true manliness, of which Horace Walpole had none, could have written it. As to the blank verse, it is indeed better than Rowe’s and Thomson’s, which was execrably bad:—any approach, therefore, to the manner of the old dramatists was of course an improvement; but the loosest lines in Shirley are superior to Walpole’s best.
Lewis’s “Jamaica Journal” is delightful; it is almost the only unaffected book of travels or touring I have read of late years. You have the man himself, and not an inconsiderable man,—certainly a much finer mind than I supposed before from the perusal of his romances, &c. It is by far his best work, and will live and be popular. Those verses on the Hours are very pretty; but the Isle of Devils is, like his romances,—a fever dream— horrible, without point or terror.
Notes
1 In the memoir prefixed to the correspondence with Sir H. Mann. Lord Byron’s words are:—“He is the ultimus Romanorum, the author of the ‘Mysterious Mother,’ a tragedy of the highest order, and not a puling love play. He is the father of the first romance, and of the last tragedy, in our language; and surely worthy of a higher place than any living author, be he who he may.”—Preface to Marino Faliero. Is not “Romeo and Juliet” a love play? —But why reason about such insincere, splenetic trash?—ED.