As I was reading the excerpt from Mary Darby Robinson's memoirs, I could
not help but remember William Hazlitt's essay, "Why Distant Objects
Please." I was enthralled in her prose by her obviously romanticized
memories (be they her own or from others). “Whatever is placed beyond the reach
of sense and knowledge, whatever is imperfectly discerned, the fancy pieces out
at its leisure,” states Hazlitt quite truthfully. He does not necessarily mean that the passing of time makes something more pleasant however, but that it changes. She begins by recounting the
story of her birth, focusing on the circumstances and how they followed her
throughout her life. Like the other writers we looked at for today (Byron and
Smith in particular), she has lost her vitality with age and has become
cynical. Is there any other way to look back on life?
- “The wind whistled round the dark pinnacles of the minister tower, and the rain beat in torrents against the casements of her chamber. Through life the tempest has followed my footsteps; and I have in vain looked for a short interval of repose from the perseverance of sorrow.”
Hazlitt states in his essay, “fancy colors the
prospect of the future as it thinks good,” and by going back and rewriting the
memory of the fateful evening of her birth, she is able to project a sense of
the entirety of the future of her life from that moment.
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