Two Autobiographical Essays by Elizabeth Barrett

Abstract

“Sure I am that all the light we can let in upon our own minds, all the acquaintance we can make with our own understandings, will not only be very pleasant, but bring us great advantage in directing our thoughts to the search of other things.” Locke/— Under the authority of so great a man, I proceed to the investigation of myself with no small anxiety— Hitherto I have forgotten myself, I have thought neither of my few perfections or my many failings— I have endeavoured to insinuate myself into the windings of other souls, of other characters— I have endeavoured, I may say, to seek truth with an ardent eye, a sincere heart—of that I can boast—but I have never, even in imagination looked into my own heart— How few indeed know themselves! The investigation of oneself is an anxious employment— The heart may appear corrupted by vanity, exalted by pride, soured by ill temper, & then that brilliant phantom, so dear to every soul, self estimation, fades for ever, & those shining clouds, on which you have soared so often to fame, sink under self-debasement—but shall such weakness prevent us from looking into ourselves? No.— I am not vain, but I have some tincture of pride about me, which I fear not to own, on the contrary which I like to boast of— I am not at all insensible to flattery, when in a proportionate degree, but when outraged, I am conscious of it— I prefer praise most when seasoned with censure, as it then appears in the light of truth— I detest flattery when offered by those whom I feel unworthy, I detest flattery when carried, as I said before, beyond just limits— I confess that I enjoy fame more than any worldly pleasure; I know it is transient, & yet I worship it as such— I am fond of reading & of all literary occupations— I hate needlework & drawing because I never feel occupied whilst I work or draw— I know not why, but I always am fatigued— Dancing I consider mere idleness— I abhor music.— I am told it is the trouble of learning that I dislike— It is not so— I have no desire to learn— I always feel weary, full of ennui at the Piano— I sit down discontented, and I rise disgusted.