"
Those were pleasant days at Dresden, filled up with the society of bright
and warm-hearted people, varied by royal boar hunts, stiff ceremonies at
the little court, tableaux, and private theatricals, yet tinged with a
certain melancholy, partly constitutional, that appears in most of his
letters. His mind was too unsettled for much composition. He had little
self-confidence, and was easily put out by a breath of adverse criticism.
At intervals he would come to the Fosters to read a manuscript of his
own.
"On these occasions strict orders were given that no visitor should
be admitted till the last word had been read, and the whole praised
or criticised, as the case may be. Of criticism, however, we were
very spare, as a slight word would put him out of conceit of a whole
work. One of the best things he has published was thrown aside,
unfinished, for years, because the friend to whom he read it,
happening, unfortunately, not to be well, and sleepy, did not seem
to take the interest in it he expected. Too easily discouraged, it
was not till the latter part of his career that he ever appreciated
himself as an author. One condemning whisper sounded louder in his
ear than the plaudits of thousands.
Pages:
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233