Bennet, Mr. Rushworth, and Miss Bates are no more alike than her Darcy,
Knightley, and Edmund Bertram. Some have complained indeed of finding
her fools too much like nature, and consequently tiresome. There is no
disputing about tastes; all we can say is, that such critics must
(whatever deference they may outwardly pay to received opinions) find the
"Merry Wives of Windsor" and "Twelfth Night" very tiresome; and that
those who look with pleasure at Wilkie's pictures, or those of the Dutch
school, must admit that excellence of imitation may confer attraction on
that which would be insipid or disagreeable in the reality. Her
minuteness of detail has also been found fault with; but even where it
produces, at the time, a degree of tediousness, we know not whether that
can justly be reckoned a blemish, which is absolutely essential to a very
high excellence. Now it is absolutely impossible, without this, to
produce that thorough acquaintance with the characters which is necessary
to make the reader heartily interested in them. Let any one cut out from
the "Iliad" or from Shakspeare's plays everything (we are far from saying
that either might not lose some parts with advantage, but let him reject
everything) which is absolutely devoid of importance and interest _in_
_itself_; and he will find that what is left will have lost more than
half its charms.
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