st
of errata written by Shelley himself.

NOTE ON THE CENCI, BY MRS. SHELLEY.

The sort of mistake that Shelley made as to the extent of his own genius
and powers, which led him deviously at first, but lastly into the direct
track that enabled him fully to develop them, is a curious instance of
his modesty of feeling, and of the methods which the human mind uses at
once to deceive itself, and yet, in its very delusion, to make its way
out of error into the path which Nature has marked out as its right one.
He often incited me to attempt the writing a tragedy: he conceived that
I possessed some dramatic talent, and he was always most earnest and
energetic in his exhortations that I should cultivate any talent I
possessed, to the utmost. I entertained a truer estimate of my powers;
and above all (though at that time not exactly aware of the fact) I was
far too young to have any chance of succeeding, even moderately, in a
species of composition that requires a greater scope of experience in,
and sympathy with, human passion than could then have fallen to my
lot,--or than any perhaps, except Shelley, ever possessed, even at the
age of twenty-six, at which he wrote The Cenci.

On the other hand, Shelley most erroneously conceived himself to be
destitute of this talent. He believed that one of the first requisites
was the capacity of forming and following-up a story or plot. He fancied
himself to be defective in this portion of imagination: it was that
which gave him least pleasure in the writings of others, though he laid
great store by it as the proper framework to support the sublimest
efforts of poetry. He asserted that he was too metaphysical and
abstract, too fond of the theoretical and the ideal, to succeed as a
tragedian. It perhaps is not strange that I shared this opinion with
himself; for he had hitherto shown no inclination for, nor given any
specimen of his powers in framing and supporting the interest of a
story, either in prose or verse. Once or twice, when he attempted such,
he had speedily thrown it aside, as being even disagreeable to him as an
occupation.

The subject he had suggested for a tragedy was Charles I: and he had
written to me: 'Remember, remember Charles I. I have been already
imagining how you would conduct some scenes. The second volume of "St.
Leon" begins with this proud and true sentiment: "There is nothing which
the human mind can conceive which it may not execute." Shakespeare w