“I have received some books, and Quarterlies, and Edinburghs, for all which I am grateful; they contain all I know of England, except by Galignani’s newspaper.
“The Tragedy is completed, but now comes the task of copy and correction. It is very long (492 sheets of long paper, of four pages each), and I believe must make more than 140 or 150 pages, besides many historical extracts as notes, which I mean to append. History is closely followed. Dr. Moore’s account is in some respects false, and in all foolish and flippant. None of the chronicles (and I have consulted Sanuto, Sandi, Navagero, and an anonymous Siege of Zara, besides the histories of Laugier, Daru, Sismondi, &c.) state, or even hint, that he begged his life; they merely say that he did not deny the conspiracy. He was one of their great men,—commanded at the siege of Zara,—beat 80,000 Hungarians, killing 8000, and at the same time kept the town he was besieging in order,—took Capo d’ Istria,—was ambassador at Genoa, Rome, and finally Doge, where he fell for treason, in attempting to alter the government, by what Sanuto calls a judgment on him for, many years before (when Podesta and Captain of Treviso), having knocked down a bishop, who was sluggish in carrying the host at a procession. He ‘saddles him,’ as Thwackum did Square, ‘with a judgment;’ but he does not mention whether he had been punished at the time for what would appear very strange, even now, and must have been still more so in an age of papal power and glory. Sanuto says, that Heaven took away his senses for this buffet, and induced him to conspire. ‘Però fu permesso che il Faliero perdette l’ intelletto,’ &c.
“I do not know what your parlour-boarders will think of the Drama I have founded upon this extraordinary event. The only similar one in history is the story of Agis, King of Sparta, a prince with the commons against the aristocracy, and losing his life therefor. But it shall be sent when copied.
| 340 | NOTICES OF THE | A. D. 1820. |
“I should be glad to know why your Quartering Reviewers, at the close of ‘the Fall of Jerusalem,’ accuse me of Manicheism? a compliment to which the sweetener of ‘one of the mightiest spirits’ by no means reconciles me. The poem they review is very noble; but could they not do justice to the writer without converting him into my religious antidote? I am not a Manichean, nor an Any-chean. I should like to know what harm my ‘poeshies’ have done? I can’t tell what people mean by making me a hobgoblin.”
