We
are taken into his confidence, like old friends. He describes himself
and his ways; he lets us share in his own vision of himself and in his
amusement at the bustling and self-deluded world, and subtly conciliates
us by making us feel ourselves partakers with him in the criticism of
life. There is no better example in literature of personal magnetism.
And he is more than merely personal. He is sincere and unreserved. Were
he otherwise, the delight of intimate acquaintance with him would be
impossible. It is the real Horace whom we meet,--not a person on the
literary stage, with buskins, pallium, and mask. Horace holds the mirror
up to himself; rather, not to himself, but to nature in himself. Every
side of his personality appears: the artist, and the man; the formalist,
and the skeptic; the spectator, and the critic; the gentleman in
society, and the son of the collector; the landlord of five hearths, and
the poet at court; the stern moralist, and the occasional voluptuary;
the vagabond, and the conventionalist. He is independent and unhampered
in his expression. He has no exalted social position to maintain, and
blushes neither for parentage nor companions.
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