]
I do not mean that things in themselves artificial may not be highly
agreeable. We learn by degrees to take a pleasure in the mannerism of
Gibbon and Johnson. It is something like reading Latin as a living
language. But in both these cases the man is only present by his
thought. It is the force of that, and only that, which distinguishes
them from their imitators, who easily possess themselves of everything
else. But with Burke, who has true style, we have a very different
experience. If we _go_ along with Johnson or Gibbon, we are _carried_
along by Burke. Take the finest specimen of him, for example, "The
Letter to a Noble Lord." The sentences throb with the very pulse of the
writer. As he kindles, the phrase glows and dilates, and we feel
ourselves sharing in that warmth and expansion. At last we no longer
read, we seem to hear him, so livingly is the whole man in what he
writes; and when the spell is over, we can scarce believe that those
dull types could have held such ravishing discourse. And yet we are told
that when Burke spoke in Parliament he always emptied the house.
I know very well what the charm of mere words is. I know very well that
our nerves of sensation adapt themselves, as the wood of the violin is
said to do, to certain modulations, so that we receive them with a
readier sympathy at every repetition.
Pages:
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103