I have been suffering from influenza in common with almost everybody. The bright sun and cold north-east winds remind me of Madrid.
But Ford was not at the end of his labours. The first edition of the Handbook was cancelled, in deference to Addington’s advice, at a cost to Ford of £500 and the toil of re-writing a considerable portion of the work.
Sept. 26, 1844.
Visions of Joinville, Narvaez, and the Pope breaking Murray’s presses and écrase-ing my head have haunted me since your letter. Alas! alas! the Preface which you condemn is drawn very mild, and was written purposely to soften more severe castigations on events, historians, and nationalities. What is a man to do who wishes to write the truth, when, at every step in Spain, he meets a French ruin, and, at every page in a Spanish or French book, a libel against us?
I have told the truth. I wish I had not. I have, however, said nothing more than Southey, Napier, Schepeler[50], and the Duke. But I am quite averse to getting into hot water or ill words, and must reconsider the subject, and either cancel much, or make complimentary amendes honorables in the subsequent sheets.
My spouse thinks with you, and I have such a high opinion of you as a man of the world and of sound judgment, and know you to be so kind, true, and good a friend, that I am now going to write to Murray.
At first Ford hoped that he could substitute for the objectionable passages artistic or antiquarian information. In December 1844 he writes to Addington that already four sheets (i.e. 64 pages) had been cancelled. He adds that “we are all in a snowy surplice.” This description of a snowstorm was suggested by the attempt of the Bishop of Exeter to do away with the black gown, and by the excitement which the step had created in Exeter. He refers to the subject in a letter dated January 20th, 1845.
Heavitree, Jan. 26, /45.
I enclose you a very characteristic letter from Don Jorge [Borrow], which please to return. It would be well if he could allay the evil spirit that is broken loose here; the flocks are rising against the shepherds, more like wolves than lambs. The thing is much more serious, and lies deeper than many imagine; it is no mob affair. The entire mass of the middling classes and rich tradesmen are the leaders; the lower and better classes stand aloof. The disquieted are not only urged by a violent, no-popery, protestant feeling, but by a democratic element, probably unknown to themselves, which resists dignities and anything, even a surplice, being dictated to them. The mob, the real [Greek: polykephalon], is quiet, having work and cheap food. The gentry attach no importance to the black or white vesture, nor do their clergy ever, in fact, rule them. But with the middling, and a numerous, class, these clerical crotchets are not shadows, but realities and dangers. The church coach will be upset, unless great temper and management be shown (and that will not be shown); the dissentients are ripe for a free church. Philpotti has been considerably in the wrong; he would have made a splendid Hildebrand or Loyola, but the age of railroads and steam will smash mitres and tracts. The war of opinions which has been now raged for ten years is coming to a crisis. I take our tradesmen in Exeter to be types of those throughout England, and Foolometers; and as they have acted, so will all their like. The train is laid, and a spark may ignite it.
Eventually Ford found that his wisest course was to withdraw the first edition of the Handbook. He writes from London, where he was laid up by somewhat serious illness, February 19th, 1845: “I have quite determined on cancelling Handbook, and reprinting it minus political, military, and religious discussions, and to omit mention of disagreeables, and only make it smooth and charming.” On these lines the book was recast.