“This sonnet, to be sure, is rather difficult to translate, or at least to modernize, as bespoke,” said Lady Geraldine, after she had perused the sonnet;[82] “but I think, Mr. Devereux, you brought this difficulty upon yourself. How came you to show these lines to such an amateur, such a fetcher and carrier of bays as Lady Kilrush? You might have been certain that, had they been trash, with the name of Francis the First, and with your fashionable approbation, and something to say about Petrarch and Laura, my Lady Kilrush would talk for ever, _et se pâmerait d’affectation_.” “Mr. Devereux,” said I, “has only to abide by the last lines, as a good and sufficient apology to Lady Kilrush for his silence: ‘Qui te pourra louer qu’en se taisant? Car la parole est toujours réprimée Quand le sujet surmonte le disant.’” “There is no way to get out of my difficulties,” said Mr. Devereux, with a very melancholy look; and with a deep sigh he sat down to attempt the translation of the poem. In a few minutes, however, he rose and left the room, declaring that he had the bad habit of not being able to do any thing in company. Lady Geraldine now, with much energy of indignation, exclaimed against the pretensions of rich amateurs, and the mean and presumptuous manner in which some would-be great people affect to patronise genius. “Oh! the baseness, the emptiness of such patronising ostentation!” cried she. “I am accused of being proud myself; but I hope--I believe--I am sure, that my pride is of another sort. Persons of any elevation or generosity of mind never have this species of pride; but it is your mean, second-rate folk, who imagine that people of talent are a sort of raree-show for their entertainment. At best, they consider men of genius only as artists formed for their use, who, if not in a situation to be paid with money, are yet to be easily recompensed by praise--by their praise--_their_ praise! Heavens! what conceit! And these amateur-patrons really think themselves judges, and presume to advise and direct genius, and employ it to their petty purposes! Like that Pietro de Medici, who, at some of his entertainments, set Michael Angelo to make a statue of snow. My lord, did you ever happen to meet with Les Mémoires de Madame de Staël?” “No: I did not know that they were published.” “You mistake me: I mean Madame de Staël of Louis the Fourteenth and the Regent’s time, Mademoiselle de Launay.” I had never heard of such a person, and I blushed for my ignorance. “Nay, I met with them myself only yesterday,” said Lady Geraldine: “I was struck with the character of the Duchess de la Ferté, in which this kind of proud patronising ignorance is admirably painted from the life. It is really worth your while, my lord, to look at it. There’s the book on that little table; here is the passage. You see, this Duchess de la Ferté is showing off to a sister-duchess a poor girl of genius, like a puppet or an ape.