Macaulay, and his aversions
are numerous and strong. If I had not once written his character in
verse,[1] I would now write it in prose, for few people know him
better: he was--_Dieu me pardonne_, as the French say--my inmate for
very near three years; and though I really liked the man once for his
talents, and at last was weary of him for the use he made of them, I
never altered my sentiments concerning him; for his character is
easily seen, and his soul above disguise, haughty and insolent, and
breathing defiance against all mankind; while his powers of mind
exceed most people's, and his powers of purse are so slight that they
leave him dependent on all. Baretti is for ever in the state of a
stream dammed up: if he could once get loose, he would bear down all
before him.
"Every soul that visited at our house while he was master of it, went
away abhorring it; and Mrs. Montagu, grieved to see my meekness so
imposed upon, had thoughts of writing me on the subject an anonymous
letter, advising me to break with him. Seward, who tried at last to
reconcile us, confessed his wonder that we had lived together so
long. Johnson used to oppose and battle him, but never with his own
consent: the moment he was cool, he would always condemn himself for
exerting his superiority over a man who was his friend, a foreigner,
and poor: yet I have been told by Mrs. Montagu that he attributed his
loss of our family to Johnson: ungrateful and ridiculous! if it had
not been for his mediation, I would not so long have borne trampling
on, as I did for the last two years of our acquaintance.
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