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Updated: May 17, 2025
Medwin gives a long account of a poem on the story of the Wandering Jew, composed by him in concert with Shelley during the winter of 1809-1810. They sent the manuscript to Thomas Campbell, who returned it with the observation that it contained but two good lines: It seemed as if an angel's sigh Had breathed the plaintive symphony.
"You say I can't twist their heads about. But I HAVE twisted them." It had been quietly produced, but it gave her companion a jerk. "They say 'Yes'?" She summed it up. "All but one. SHE says 'No." Mrs. Medwin thought; then jumped. "Lady Wantridge?" Miss Cutter, as more delicate, only bowed admission. "I shall see her either this afternoon or late to-morrow. But she has written."
Her visitor wondered again. "May I see her letter?" "No." She spoke with decision. "But I shall square her." "Then how?" "Well" and Miss Cutter, as if looking upward for inspiration, fixed her eyes a while on the ceiling "well, it will come to me." Mrs. Medwin watched her it was impressive. "And will they come to you the others?"
Mary does not give way long to despondency, she goes on to tell news as to Medwin, Hogg, Jane, &c.; she can even tease Trelawny about the different ladies who believe themselves the sole object of his affection, and tells him she is having a certain letter of his about "Caroline" lithographed, and thinks of dispensing 100 copies among "the many hapless fair."
Men met in the small public-houses and over their mugs of beer discussed the possibilities of emigrating to Canada or New Zealand, for "there'll be no more farm work worth doin' round 'ere" they all declared "Mister Jocelyn wanted MEN, an' paid 'em well for workin' LIKE men! but it'll all be machines now." Meanwhile, the Reverend Mr. Medwin, M.A., had arrived at Briar Farm.
Trelawny adds a note that in 1822 Byron had contemplated that he, Trelawny, Williams, Medwin, Mary Shelley, and Mrs. Williams were to take the several parts: Byron, Iago; Trelawny, Othello; Mary, Desdemona. Trelawny adds that Byron recited a great portion of his part with great gusto, and looked it too. Byron said that all Pisa were to be the audience.
Nearly the whole of the winter was spent in Naples, where Shelley suffered from depression of more than ordinary depth. Mrs. Shelley attributed this gloom to the state of his health, but Medwin tells a strange story, which, if it is not wholly a romance, may better account for the poet's melancholy.
Gisborne, "whether or no I am a poet, is removed from the present time to the hour when our posterity shall assemble; but the court is a very severe one, and I fear that the verdict will be, guilty death." Deep down in his own heart he had, however, less doubt: "This I know," he said to Medwin, "that whether in prosing or in versing, there is something in my writings that shall live for ever."
It wasn't till, by an inspiration, I thought to ask the sweet-stall man that I found out that his name was Medwin, and that his parents lived at a place called Ocean Rest, in Beach Road. I shot off there like an arrow and knocked at the door. Nobody answered. I knocked again. I could hear movements inside, but nobody came.
He, therefore, at this period required the powerful stimulus of some highly exciting cause from without to determine his activity. Such external stimulus came to Shelley from three quarters early in the year 1821. Among his Italian acquaintances at Pisa was a clever but disreputable Professor, of whom Medwin draws a very piquant portrait.
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