Blake evidently began to feel himself a little badgered, and not insensible that he was under the hands of a cross-examining, though courteous, lawyer. For, as we know, he did, at times, make portraits of spiritual visitants.
'In answer to an inquiry about Shakspeare: "He is exactly like the old engraving—which is said to be a bad one; I think it very good." I inquired about his own writings. " I have written," he answered, "more than Rousseau or Voltaire; six or seven epic poems as long as Homer's, and twenty tragedies as long as Macbeth.'" He showed me his Version of Genesis, for so it may be called, as understood by a Christian Visionary. He read a wild passage in a sort of Biblical style. " I shall print no more," he said. " When I am commanded by the spirits, then I write; and the moment I have written, I see the words fly about the room in all directions. It is then published. The spirits can read, and my MS. is of no further use. I have been tempted to burn my MSS., but my wife won't let me." "She is right," I answered. "You wrote not from yourself, but from higher order. The MSS. are their property, not yours. You cannot tell what purpose they may answer." This was addressed ad hominem, and indeed amounted only to a deduction from his own premises. He incidentally denied causation: everything being the work of God or Devil. "Every man has a devil in himself; and the conflict between this Self and God perpetually carrying on." I ordered of him to-day a copy of his Songs for five guineas. My manner of receiving his mention of price pleased him. He spoke of his horror of money, and of turning pale when it was offered him. And this was certainly unfeigned.'
Blake's visitor made the purchase simply as a delicate means of assisting the artist. From the same motive, he bought some other books and drawings; but, though he had expressly asked for them, experienced the greatest difficulty in getting Blake to accept money. The latter wished to present them. Poor Blake!
Next in order of date comes another letter to Mr. Linnell:—
Dear Sir,—
I have had another desperate shivering fit. It came on yesterday afternoon—after as good a morning as I ever experienced.
