“Yours of the 15th came yesterday. I am sorry that you do not mention a large letter addressed to your care for Lady Byron, from me, at Bologna, two months ago. Pray tell me, was this letter received and forwarded?
“You say nothing of the vice-consulate for the Ravenna patrician, from which it is to be inferred that the thing will not be done.
“I had written about a hundred stanzas of a Third Canto to Don Juan, but the reception of the two first is no encouragement to you nor me to proceed.
“I had also written about 600 lines of a poem, the Vision (or Prophecy) of Dante, the subject a view of Italy in the ages down to the present—supposing Dante to speak in his own person, previous to his death, and embracing all topics in the way of prophecy, like Lycophron’s Cassandra; but this and the other are both at a stand-still for the present.
“I gave Moore, who is gone to Rome, my Life in MS., in 78 folio sheets, brought down to 1816. But this I put into his hands for his care, as he has some other MSS. of mine—a Journal kept in 1814, &c. Neither are for publication during my life, but when I am cold, you may do what you please. In the mean time, if you like to read them you may, and show them to any body you like—I care not.
“The Life is
Memoranda, and not Confessions. I have
left out all my loves (except in a general way), and many other of the most important
things (because I must not compromise other people), so that it is like the play of
Hamlet—‘the part of
Hamlet omitted by particular
desire.’ But you will find many opinions, and some fun, with a detailed
account
| 280 | NOTICES OF THE | A. D. 1819. |
“I have never read over this Life since it was written, so that I know not exactly what it may repeat or contain. Moore and I passed some merry days together. * * * * * *
“I probably must return for business, or in my way to America. Pray. did you get a letter for Hobhouse, who will have told you the contents? I understand that the Venezuelan commissioners had orders to treat with emigrants; now I want to go there. I should not make a bad South-American planter, and I should take my natural daughter, Allegra, with me, and settle. I wrote, at length, to Hobhouse, to get information from Perry, who, I suppose, is the, best topographer and trumpeter of the new republicans. Pray write.
“P.S. Moore and I did nothing but laugh. He will tell you of ‘my whereabouts,’ and all my proceedings at this present; they are as usual. You should not let those fellows publish false ‘Don Juans;’ but do not put my name, because I mean to cut R—ts up like a gourd in the preface, if I continue the poem.”
