Read a Sample Chapter
Divine Fire
By Melanie Jackson
Dorchester Publishing
Copyright © 2005
Melanie JacksonAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0-505-52610-7
Chapter One
"Good God!" Damien Ruthven began to laugh. It wasn't often
that the books he was sent to review provoked this reaction.
In fact, none ever had. His personal secretary, Karen
Andersen, soon stuck her head in his door. She looked alarmed.
"It can't be that bad," she said, ready to defend the author.
She was always ready to defend the author. Karen was sweet and
intelligent, but she soon realized that she hadn't chosen well
in her career as secretary to a book critic. If she hadn't
grown so fond of him, she would have quit only months after
starting. Damien knew this and was careful to stay on her good
side. "I only just gave you the manuscript."
"I don't know if it's bad. It's certainly long. You do realize
that she has written three volumes, each six hundred pages in
length? This only the first installment."
"What? There's more coming?" Even Karen looked taken aback.
Damien chuckled again.
"Apparently book two is devoted to Byron's letters and
accounting ledgers. I'm not sure what book three is- perhaps
his laundry lists." Seeing Karen's consternation, Damien
added: "Don't worry. I shall enjoy this. I always enjoy the
pompous, long-winded ones."
"Don't be too mean," Karen pleaded. "Obviously this woman has
spent a lot of time researching these books. You might
actually learn something about Byron."
"I doubt it," Damien murmured, waving Karen away with an
impatient hand.
What was the woman thinking? Eighteen hundred pages! All about
one man? Even he didn't find himself that fascinating.
Prepared to tear the dry dissertation to shreds, four hours
later, Damien found himself reluctantly intrigued by the
woman's insights into his life and how she chose to present
them. She had taken a collection of scattered facts and
knitted them up into a fairly complete portrait. One so
complete that it might almost have come from a psychiatrist's
couch. It was even arranged almost as a stream of
consciousness story, spinning out the history of Byron's life
by theme rather than strictly chronologically. You could
choose to focus in on various aspects of the poet's
life-childhood, the lover, the poet, the warrior. Within the
categories, she told the story in correct order, but it still
retained the intimacy of a dinner conversation where one
subject naturally lead to another.
The only place she erred so far was in the slight details of
his love affair with Lady Caroline Lamb and misquoting the
love poem he wrote her.
And how Byron died, of course.
Still chuckling, he reread the last section again.
There were many reasons for Byron's self-imposed
Exile to Switzerland, Italy and Greece: unpopular
politics, his unloving wife, rapacious creditors,
and the rumors of an incestuous affair with his half-sister.
Yet, the most vexing of his many irritants
was Caroline Lamb, the wife of the future prime
minister of England. In Adultery's Hall of Fame,
there is surely no mistress as annoying and few so
crazed.
Lord Byron wrote first to her, telling her
That the affair must end because it made "fools
talk, friends grieve, and the wise pity."
When this failed to have any effect on Caroline's
outrageous behavior, he wrote next to Lady Melbourne,
her mother-in-law, asking for assistance and saying:
"I would sooner, much sooner, be with the dead in
purgatory, than with her- Caroline- upon earth ... I
am already almost a prisoner; she has no shame,
no feeling, not one estimable or redeemable quality ... If
there is one human being whom I do utterly detest
and abhor it is she, and, all things considered, I
feel myself justified in thinking so."
One would think that such a comprehensive
excoriation would deter even the most determined
Of lovers, but the lady apparently could not face
rejection. One has to wonder what ever attracted
him to her. His usual good sense must have somehow
become suspended.
He had been accused of many things during the course of his
affairs- wickedness, promiscuity, and licentiousness mainly.
This was one of the few times anyone had said he was stupid.
Damien flipped ahead to the poem he had dashed off in a moment
of anger.
Remember thee! Remember thee!
Till Lethe quench life's burning streams
Remorse and shame shall cling to thee
And haunt thee like a feverish dream.
Remember thee! Ay, doubt it not,
Thy husband too shall think of thee,
By neither shall thee be forgot!
Thou false to him, thou fiend to me.
Miss Ashton was mistaken in a small detail. He'd never sent
the verse to Caroline, knowing that though it was deserved, it
was too cruel and might unhinge her already rather unstable
mind. It had only appeared in print after his death. And then
it had been printed incorrectly. Though he had written the
lines as a question- Remember thee?- it had appeared in print
in different form, the lines changed to a more emphatic-Remember
thee! Tom Medwin always had been inclined to meddle
in with other people's work. Editors! They were an annoying
breed.
As for why he had been attracted to Caroline- it certainly
wasn't her body. She was stick thin, like a dried butterfly.
Nor was it her public antics and theatrical fits. Those had
been supremely distasteful for all involved. But she had
possessed a certain kind of sexuality, one fed by stretched
nerves and endless reservoirs of turbulent emotion. For a
time, it had been intriguing- like being near something
elemental. It was only after their affair had begun that he
had realized that all the deep, unrestrained emotion would
eventually drown them both. He had had one devil of a time
fighting free.
Intrigued, Damien broke a rule about reading a book through
and skipped ahead, intending to read about his affair with the
voluptuous Teresa Guiccioli. However, he got distracted on the
way by an account of the deadly battle at Missolonghi in
chapter seventeen. His biographer got most of the details
right, somehow even managing to describe the delta slime that
outsiders had called mud-an innocuous name for the
unpleasantly odorous and gritty muck that worked its way
inside one's boots and chaffed the feet. To this day, the
smell of the swamp mud near his home outside New Orleans
reminded him of wading through the shattered bones and blood
in the aftermath of that tragic battle.
But though painfully clear about the details of combat, she
made light of the contributions of Teresa's brother to the
cause and his efforts to help the Greeks against the Turks.
The young man had died in Greece, six months after helping
Byron disappear. He was a true patriot, a hero. This should
also be corrected, credit given where credit was due.
Making an impulsive decision, Damien decided that before
writing a formal review, he would contact Brice Ashton about
her few errors and give her a chance to right them. What he
had was an advanced reading copy. There might be still be time
for alterations before the books went to print.
The tomes-in three massive and grossly over-priced
volumes-wouldn't attract the attention that his own memoirs
would have done, but somehow it pleased him to think of the
record being set straight after all those many years of
scholars regurgitating the same old Byron myths. It meant
breaking one of his hard and fast rules, but he was going to
see to it that Brice Ashton knew at least part of the
undiscovered truth about her hero.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Divine Fire
by Melanie Jackson
Copyright © 2005 by Melanie Jackson.
Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Loading...