THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON

AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION

My present task is one of considerable difficulty; but I have longhad a notion that some time or another it would fall to my lot toperform it. I approach it, therefore, without apprehension, entirelyin consequence of having determined, to my own satisfaction, themanner in which the biography of so singular and so richly endowed acharacter as that of the late Lord Byron should be treated, but stillwith no small degree of diffidence; for there is a wide differencebetween determining a rule for one's self, and producing, accordingto that rule, a work which shall please the public. 

It has happened, both with regard to the man and the poet, that fromthe first time his name came before the public, there has been avehement and continual controversy concerning him; and the chiefdifficulties of the task arise out of the heat with which the adverseparties have maintained their respective opinions. The circumstancesin which he was placed, until his accession to the title and estatesof his ancestors, were not such as to prepare a boy that would befather to a prudent or judicious man. Nor, according to the historyof his family, was his blood without a taint of sullenness, whichdisqualified him from conciliating the good opinion of those whom hisinnate superiority must have often prompted him to desire forfriends. He was branded, moreover, with a personal deformity; andthe grudge against Nature for inflicting this defect not only deeplydisturbed his happiness, but so generally affected his feelings as toembitter them with a vindictive sentiment, so strong as, at times, toexhibit the disagreeable energy of misanthropy. This was not all. He enjoyed high rank, and was conscious of possessing great talents;but his fortune was inadequate to his desires, and his talents werenot of an order to redeem the deficiencies of fortune. It likewiseso happened that while indulged by his only friend, his mother, to anexcess that impaired the manliness of his character, her conduct wassuch as in no degree to merit the affection which her waywardfondness inspired. 

It is impossible to reflect on the boyhood of Byron without regret. There is not one point in it all which could, otherwise than withpain, have affected a young mind of sensibility. His works beartestimony, that, while his memory retained the impressions of earlyyouth, fresh and unfaded, there was a gloom and shadow upon them, which proved how little they had been really joyous. 

The riper years of one so truly the nursling of pride, poverty, andpain, could only be inconsistent, wild, and impassioned, even had histemperament been moderate and well disciplined. But when it isconsidered that in addition to all the awful influences of thesefatalities, for they can receive no lighter name, he possessed animagination of unbounded capacity--was inflamed with thoseindescribable feelings which constitute, in the opinion of many, thevery elements of genius--fearfully quick in the discernment of thedarker qualities of character--and surrounded by temptation--hiscareer ceases to surprise. It would have been more wonderful had heproved an amiable and well-conducted man, than the questionable andextraordinary being who has alike provoked the malice and interestedthe admiration of the world. 

Posterity, while acknowledging the eminence of his endowments, andlamenting the habits which his unhappy circumstances induced, willregard it as a curious phenomenon in the fortunes of the individual, that the progress of his fame as a poet should have been so similarto his history as a man. 

His first attempts, though displaying both originality and power, were received with a contemptuous disdain, as cold and repulsive asthe penury and neglect which blighted the budding of his youth. Theunjust ridicule in the review of his first poems, excited in hisspirit a discontent as inveterate as the feeling which sprung fromhis deformity: it affected, more or less, all his conceptions tosuch a degree that he may be said to have hated the age which hadjoined in the derision, as he cherished an antipathy against thosepersons who looked curiously at his foot. Childe Harold, the mosttriumphant of his works, was produced when the world was kindliestdisposed to set a just value on his talents; and his latterproductions, in which the faults of his taste appear the broadest, were written when his errors as a man were harshest in the publicvoice. 

These allusions to the incidents of a life full of contrarieties, anda character so strange as to be almost mysterious, sufficiently showthe difficulties of the task I have undertaken. But the course Iintend to pursue will relieve me from the necessity of entering, inany particular manner, upon those debatable points of his personalconduct which have been so much discussed. I shall consider him, ifI can, as his character will be estimated when contemporary surmisesare forgotten, and when the monument he has raised to himself iscontemplated for its beauty and magnificence, without suggestingrecollections of the eccentricities of the builder. 

JOHN GALT. 

CHAPTER I

Ancient Descent--Pedigree--Birth--Troubles of his Mother--EarlyEducation--Accession to the Title

The English branch of the family of Byron came in with William theConqueror; and from that era they have continued to be reckoned amongthe eminent families of the kingdom, under the names of Buron andBiron. It was not until the reign of Henry II. That they began tocall themselves Byron, or de Byron. 

Although for upwards of seven hundred years distinguished for theextent of their possessions, it docs not appear, that, before thetime of Charles I. , they ranked very highly among the heroic familiesof the kingdom. 

Erneis and Ralph were the companions of the Conqueror; butantiquaries and genealogists have not determined in what relationthey stood to each other. Erneis, who appears to have been the moreconsiderable personage of the two, held numerous manors in thecounties of York and Lincoln. In the Domesday Book, Ralph, thedirect ancestor of the poet, ranks high among the tenants of theCrown, in Notts and Derbyshire; in the latter county he resided atHorestan Castle, from which he took his title. One of the lords ofHorestan was a hostage for the payment of the ransom of Richard Coeurde Lion; and in the time of Edward I. , the possessions of hisdescendants were augmented by the addition of the Manor of Rochdale, in Lancashire. On what account this new grant was given has not beenascertained; nor is it of importance that it should be. 

In the wars of the three Edwards, the de Byrons appeared with somedistinction; and they were also of note in the time of Henry V. SirJohn Byron joined Henry VII. On his landing at Milford, and foughtgallantly at the battle of Bosworth, against Richard III. , for whichhe was afterwards appointed Constable of Nottingham Castle and Wardenof Sherwood Forest. At his death, in 1488, he was succeeded by SirNicholas, his brother, who, at the marriage of Arthur, Prince ofWales, in 1501, was made one of the Knights of the Bath. 

Sir Nicholas died in 1540, leaving an only son, Sir John Byron, whomHenry VIII. Made Steward of Manchester and Rochdale, and Lieutenantof the Forest of Sherwood. It was to him that, on the dissolution ofthe monasteries, the church and priory of Newstead, in the county ofNottingham, together with the manor and rectory of Papelwick, weregranted. The abbey from that period became the family seat, andcontinued so until it was sold by the poet. 

Sir John Byron left Newstead and his other possessions to John Byron, whom Collins and other writers have called his fourth, but who was infact his illegitimate son. He was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in1579, and his eldest son, Sir Nicholas, served with distinction inthe wars of the Netherlands. When the great rebellion broke outagainst Charles I. , he was one of the earliest who armed in hisdefence. After the battle of Edgehill, where he courageouslydistinguished himself, he was made Governor of Chester, and gallantlydefended that city against the Parliamentary army. Sir John Byron, the brother and heir of Sir Nicholas, was, at the coronation of JamesI. , made a Knight of the Bath. By his marriage with Anne, the eldestdaughter of Sir Richard Molyneux, he had eleven sons and a daughter. The eldest served under his uncle in the Netherlands; and in the year1641 was appointed by King Charles I. , Governor of the Tower ofLondon. In this situation he became obnoxious to the refractoryspirits in the Parliament, and was in consequence ordered by theCommons to answer at the bar of their House certain charges which thesectaries alleged against him. But he refused to leave his postwithout the king's command; and upon' this the Commons applied to theLords to join them in a petition to the king to remove him. ThePeers rejected the proposition. 

On the 24th October, 1643, Sir John Byron was created Lord Byron ofRochdale, in the county of Lancaster, with remainder of the title tohis brothers, and their male issue, respectively. He was also madeField-Marshal-General of all his Majesty's forces in Worcestershire, Cheshire, Shropshire and North Wales: nor were these trusts andhonours unwon, for the Byrons, during the Civil War, were eminentlydistinguished. At the battle of Newbury, seven of the brothers werein the field, and all actively engaged. 

Sir Richard, the second brother of the first lord, was knighted byCharles I. For his conduct at the battle of Edgehill, and appointedGovernor of Appleby Castle, in Westmorland, and afterwards of Newark, which he defended with great honour. Sir Richard, on the death ofhis brother, in 1652, succeeded to the peerage, and died in 1679. 

His eldest son, William, the third lord, married Elizabeth, thedaughter of Viscount Chaworth, of Ireland, by whom he had five sons, four of whom died young. William, the fourth lord, his son, wasGentleman of the Bedchamber to Prince George of Denmark, and married, for his first wife, a daughter of the Earl of Bridgewater, who diedeleven weeks after their nuptials. His second wife was the daughterof the Earl of Portland, by whom he had three sons, who all diedbefore their father. His third wife was Frances, daughter of LordBerkley, of Stratton, from whom the poet was descended. Her eldestson, William, born in 1722, succeeded to the family honours on thedeath of his father in 1736. He entered the naval service, andbecame a lieutenant under Admiral Balchen. In the year 1763 he wasmade Master of the Staghounds; and in 1765, he was sent to the Tower, and tried before the House of Peers, for killing his relation andneighbour, Mr Chaworth, in a duel fought at the Star and GarterTavern, in Pall-mall. 

This Lord William was naturally boisterous and vindictive. Itappeared in evidence that he insisted on fighting with Mr Chaworth inthe room where the quarrel commenced. They accordingly foughtwithout seconds by the dim light of a single candle; and, although MrChaworth was the more skilful swordsman of the two, he received amortal wound; but he lived long enough to disclose some particularsof the rencounter, which induced the coroner's jury to return averdict of wilful murder, and Lord Byron was tried for the crime. 

The trial took place in Westminster Hall, and the public curiositywas so great that the Peers' tickets of admission were publicly soldfor six guineas each. It lasted two days, and at the conclusion hewas unanimously pronounced guilty of manslaughter. On being broughtup for judgment he pleaded his privilege and was discharged. It wasto this lord that the poet succeeded, for he died without leavingissue. 

His brother, the grandfather of the poet, was the celebrated "HardyByron"; or, as the sailors called him, "Foulweather Jack, " whoseadventures and services are too well known to require any noticehere. He married the daughter of John Trevannion, Esq. , of Carhais, in the county of Cornwall, by whom he had two sons and threedaughters. John, the eldest, and the father of the poet, was born in1751, educated at Westminster School, and afterwards placed in theGuards, where his conduct became so irregular and profligate that hisfather, the admiral, though a good-natured man, discarded him longbefore his death. In 1778 he acquired extraordinary eclat by theseduction of the Marchioness of Caermarthen, under circumstanceswhich have few parallels in the licentiousness of fashionable life. The meanness with which he obliged his wretched victim to supply himwith money would have been disgraceful to the basest adulteries ofthe cellar or garret. A divorce ensued, the guilty parties married;but, within two years after, such was the brutal and vicious conductof Captain Byron, that the ill-fated lady died literally of a brokenheart, after having given birth to two daughters, one of whom stillsurvives. 

Captain Byron then married Miss Catharine Gordon, of Gight, a lady ofhonourable descent, and of a respectable fortune for a Scottishheiress, the only motive which this Don Juan had for forming theconnection. She was the mother of the poet. 

Although the Byrons have for so many ages been among the eminentfamilies of the realm, they have no claim to the distinction whichthe poet has set up for them as warriors in Palestine, even though hesays--

Near Ascalon's tow'rs John of Horestan slumbers;

for unless this refers to the Lord of Horestan, who was one of thehostages for the ransom of Richard I. , it will not be easy todetermine to whom he alludes; and it is possible that the poet has noother authority for this legend than the tradition which he foundconnected with two groups of heads on the old panels of Newstead. Yet the account of them is vague and conjectural, for it was notuntil ages after the Crusades that the abbey came into the possessionof the family; and it is not probable that the figures referred toany transactions in Palestine, in which the Byrons were engaged, ifthey were put up by the Byrons at all. They were probably placed intheir present situation while the building was in possession of theChurchmen. 

One of the groups, consisting of a female and two Saracens, with eyesearnestly fixed upon her, may have been the old favouriteecclesiastical story of Susannah and the elders; the other, whichrepresents a Saracen with a European female between him and aChristian soldier, is, perhaps, an ecclesiastical allegory, descriptive of the Saracen and the Christian warrior contending forthe liberation of the Church. These sort of allegorical stories werecommon among monastic ornaments, and the famous legend of St Georgeand the Dragon is one of them. 

Into the domestic circumstances of Captain and Mrs Byron it would beimpertinent to institute any particular investigation. They wereexactly such as might be expected from the sins and follies of themost profligate libertine of the age. 

The fortune of Mrs Byron, consisting of various property, andamounting to about 23, 500 pounds, was all wasted in the space of twoyears; at the end of which the unfortunate lady found herself inpossession of only 150 pounds per annum. 

Their means being thus exhausted she accompanied her husband in thesummer of 1786 to France, whence she returned to England at the closeof the year 1787, and on the 22nd of January, 1788, gave birth, inHolles Street, London, to her first and only child, the poet. Thename of Gordon was added to that of his family in compliance with acondition imposed by will on whomever should become the husband ofthe heiress of Gight. The late Duke of Gordon and Colonel Duff, ofFetteresso, were godfathers to the child. 

In the year 1790 Mrs Byron took up her residence in Aberdeen, whereshe was soon after joined by Captain Byron, with whom she lived inlodgings in Queen Street; but their reunion was comfortless, and aseparation soon took place. Still their rupture was not final, forthey occasionally visited and drank tea with each other. The Captainalso paid some attention to the boy, and had him, on one occasion, tostay with him for a night, when he proved so troublesome that he wassent home next day. 

Byron himself has said that he passed his boyhood at Marlodge, nearAberdeen; but the statement is not correct; he visited, with hismother, occasionally among their friends, and among other placespassed some time at Fetteresso, the seat of his godfather, ColonelDuff. In 1796, after an attack of the scarlet fever, he passed sometime at Ballater, a summer resort for health and gaiety, about fortymiles up the Dee from Aberdeen. Although the circumstances of MrsByron were at this period exceedingly straitened, she received avisit from her husband, the object of which was to extort more money;and he was so far successful, that she contrived to borrow a sum, which enabled him to proceed to Valenciennes, where in the followingyear he died, greatly to her relief and the gratification of all whowere connected with him. 

By her advances to Captain Byron, and the expenses she incurred infurnishing the flat of the house she occupied after his death, MrsByron fell into debt to the amount of 300 pounds, the interest onwhich reduced her income to 135 pounds; but, much to her credit, shecontrived to live without increasing her embarrassments until thedeath of her grandmother, when she received 1122 pounds, a sum whichhad been set apart for the old gentlewoman's jointure, and whichenabled her to discharge her pecuniary obligations. 

Notwithstanding the manner in which this unfortunate lady was treatedby her husband, she always entertained for him a strong affectioninsomuch that, when the intelligence of his death arrived, her griefwas loud and vehement. She was indeed a woman of quick feelings andstrong passions; and probably it was by the strength and sincerity ofher sensibility that she retained so long the affection of her son, towards whom it cannot be doubted that her love was unaffected. Inthe midst of the neglect and penury to which she was herselfsubjected, she bestowed upon him all the care, the love andwatchfulness of the tenderest mother. 

In his fifth year, on the 19th of November, 1792, she sent him to aday-school, where she paid about five shillings a quarter, the commonrate of the respectable day-schools at that time in Scotland. It waskept by a Mr Bowers, whom Byron has described as a dapper, spruceperson, with whom he made no progress. How long he remained with MrBowers is not mentioned, but by the day-book of the school it was atleast twelve months; for on the 19th of November of the followingyear there is an entry of a guinea having been paid for him. 

From this school he was removed and placed with a Mr Ross, one of theministers of the city churches, and to whom he formed someattachment, as he speaks of him with kindness, and describes him as adevout, clever little man of mild manners, good-natured, andpainstaking. His third instructor was a serious, saturnine, kindyoung man, named Paterson, the son of a shoemaker, but a good scholarand a rigid Presbyterian. It is somewhat curious in the record whichByron has made of his early years to observe the constant endeavourwith which he, the descendant of such a limitless pedigree and greatancestors, attempts to magnify the condition of his mother'scircumstances. 

Paterson attended him until he went to the grammar-school, where hischaracter first began to be developed; and his schoolfellows, many ofwhom are alive, still recollect him as a lively, warm-hearted, andhigh-spirited boy, passionate and resentful, but withal affectionateand companionable; this, however, is an opinion given of him after hehad become celebrated; for a very different impression hasunquestionably remained among some who carry their recollections backto his childhood. By them he has been described as a malignant imp:was often spoken of for his pranks by the worthy housewives of theneighbourhood, as "Mrs Byron's crockit deevil, " and generallydisliked for the deep vindictive anger he retained against those withwhom he happened to quarrel. 

By the death of William, the fifth lord, he succeeded to the estatesand titles in the year 1798; and in the autumn of that year, MrsByron, with her son and a faithful servant of the name of Mary Gray, left Aberdeen for Newstead. Previously to their departure, Mrs Byronsold the furniture of her humble lodging, with the exception of herlittle plate and scanty linen, which she took with her, and the wholeamount of the sale did not yield SEVENTY-FIVE POUNDS. 

CHAPTER II

Moral Effects of local Scenery; a Peculiarity in Taste--Early Love--Impressions and Traditions

Before I proceed to the regular narrative of the character andadventures of Lord Byron, it seems necessary to consider the probableeffects of his residence, during his boyhood, in Scotland. It isgenerally agreed, that while a schoolboy in Aberdeen, he evinced alively spirit, and sharpness enough to have equalled any of hisschoolfellows, had he given sufficient application. In the fewreminiscences preserved of his childhood, it is remarkable that heappears in this period, commonly of innocence and playfulness, rarelyto have evinced any symptom of generous feeling. Silent rages, moodysullenness, and revenge are the general characteristics of hisconduct as a boy. 

He was, undoubtedly, delicately susceptible of impressions from thebeauties of nature, for he retained recollections of the scenes whichinterested his childish wonder, fresh and glowing, to his latestdays; nor have there been wanting plausible theories to ascribe theformation of his poetical character to the contemplation of thoseromantic scenes. But, whoever has attended to the influential causesof character will reject such theories as shallow, and betrayinggreat ignorance of human nature. Genius of every kind belongs tosome innate temperament; it does not necessarily imply a particularbent, because that may possibly be the effect of circumstances: but, without question, the peculiar quality is inborn, and particular tothe individual. All hear and see much alike; but there is anundefinable though wide difference between the ear of the musician, or the eye of the painter, compared with the hearing and seeingorgans of ordinary men; and it is in something like that differencein which genius consists. Genius is, however, an ingredient of mindmore easily described by its effects than by its qualities. It is asthe fragrance, independent of the freshness and complexion of therose; as the light on the cloud; as the bloom on the cheek of beauty, of which the possessor is unconscious until the charm has been seenby its influence on others; it is the internal golden flame of theopal; a something which may be abstracted from the thing in which itappears, without changing the quality of its substance, its form, orits affinities. I am not, therefore, disposed to consider the idleand reckless childhood of Byron as unfavourable to the development ofhis genius; but, on the contrary, inclined to think, that theindulgence of his mother, leaving him so much to the accidents ofundisciplined impression, was calculated to cherish associationswhich rendered them, in the maturity of his powers, ingredients ofspell that ruled his memory. 

It is singular, and I am not aware it has been before noticed, thatwith all his tender and impassioned apostrophes to beauty and love, Byron has in no instance, not even in the freest passages of DonJuan, associated either the one or the other with sensual images. The extravagance of Shakespeare's Juliet, when she speaks of Romeobeing cut after his death into stars, that all the world may be inlove with night, is flame and ecstasy compared to the icymetaphysical glitter of Byron's amorous allusions. The versesbeginning with

She walks in beauty like the lightOf eastern climes and starry skies, are a perfect example of what I have conceived of his bodilessadmiration of beauty, and objectless enthusiasm of love. Thesentiment itself is unquestionably in the highest mood of theintellectual sense of beauty; the simile is, however, anything butsuch an image as the beauty of woman would suggest. It is only theremembrance of some impression or imagination of the loveliness of atwilight applied to an object that awakened the same abstract generalidea of beauty. The fancy which could conceive in its passion thecharms of a female to be like the glow of the evening, or the generaleffect of the midnight stars, must have been enamoured of somebeautiful abstraction, rather than aught of flesh and blood. Poetsand lovers have compared the complexion of their mistresses to thehues of the morning or of the evening, and their eyes to the dewdropsand the stars; but it has no place in the feelings of man to think offemale charms in the sense of admiration which the beauties of themorning or the evening awaken. It is to make the simile theprincipal. Perhaps, however, it may be as well to defer thecriticism to which this peculiar characteristic of Byron's amatoryeffusions gives rise, until we shall come to estimate his generalpowers as a poet. There is upon the subject of love, no doubt, muchbeautiful composition. Throughout his works; but not one line in allthe thousands which shows a sexual feeling of female attraction--allis vague and passionless, save in the delicious rhythm of the verse. 

But these remarks, though premature as criticisms, are not uncalledfor here, even while we are speaking of a child not more than tenyears old. Before Byron had attained that age, he describes himselfas having felt the passion. Dante is said as early as nine years oldto have fallen in love with Beatrice; Alfieri, who was himselfprecocious in the passion, considered such early sensibility to be anunerring sign of a soul formed for the fine arts; and Canova used tosay that he was in love when but five years old. But theseinstances, however, prove nothing. Calf-love, as it is called in thecountry, is common; and in Italy it may arise earlier than in thebleak and barren regions of Lochynagar. This movement of juvenilesentiment is not, however, love--that strong masculine avidity, which, in its highest excitement, is unrestrained, by the laws alikeof God and man. In truth, the feeling of this kind of love is thevery reverse of the irrepressible passion it is a mean shrinking, stealthy awe, and in no one of its symptoms, at least in none ofthose which Byron describes, has it the slightest resemblance to thatbold energy which has prompted men to undertake the most improbableadventures. 

He was not quite eight years old, when, according to his own account, he formed an impassioned attachment to Mary Duff; and he gives thefollowing account of his recollection of her, nineteen yearsafterwards. 

"I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very oddthat I should have been so devotedly fond of that girl, at an agewhen I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the wordand the effect! My mother used always to rally me about thischildish amour, and at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day, 'O Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, and your old sweetheart, Mary Duff, is married to Mr C***. ' And whatwas my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings atthat moment, but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmedmy mother so much, that after I grew better she generally avoided thesubject--to ME--and contented herself with telling it to all heracquaintance. " But was this agitation the effect of natural feeling, or of something in the manner in which his mother may have told thenews? He proceeds to inquire. "Now what could this be? I had neverseen her since her mother's faux pas at Aberdeen had been the causeof her removal to her grandmother's at Banff. We were both themerest children. I had, and have been, attached fifty times sincethat period; yet I recollect all we said to each other, all ourcaresses, her features, my restlessness, sleeplessness, my tormentingmy mother's maid to write for me to her, which she at last did toquiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and, as I could not writefor myself, became my secretary. I remember too our walks, and thehappiness of sitting by Mary, in the children's apartment, at theirhouse, not far from the Plainstones, at Aberdeen, while her lessersister, Helen, played with the doll, and we sat gravely making lovein our own way. 

"How the deuce did all this occur so early? Where could itoriginate? I certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterward, andyet my misery, my love for that girl, were so violent, that Isometimes doubt if I have ever been really attached since. Be thatas it may, hearing of her marriage, several years afterward, was as athunderstroke. It nearly choked me, to the horror of my mother, andthe astonishment and almost incredulity of everybody; and it is aphenomenon in my existence, for I was not eight years old, which haspuzzled and will puzzle me to the latest hour of it. And, lately, Iknow not why, the RECOLLECTION (NOT the attachment) has recurred asforcibly as ever: I wonder if she can have the least remembrance ofit or me, or remember pitying her sister Helen, for not having anadmirer too. How very pretty is the perfect image of her in mymemory. Her dark brown hair and hazel eyes, her very dress--I shouldbe quite grieved to see her now. The reality, however beautiful, would destroy, or at least confuse, the features of the lovely Peri, which then existed in her, and still lives in my imagination, at thedistance of more than sixteen years. "

Such precocious and sympathetic affections are, as I have alreadymentioned, common among children, and is something very differentfrom the love of riper years; but the extract is curious, and showshow truly little and vague Byron's experience of the passion musthave been. In his recollection of the girl, be it observed, there isno circumstance noticed which shows, however strong the mutualsympathy, the slightest influence of particular attraction. Herecollects the colour of her hair, the hue of her eyes, her verydress, and he remembers her as a Peri, a spirit; nor does it appearthat his sleepless restlessness, in which the thought of her was everuppermost, was produced by jealousy, or doubt, or fear, or any otherconcomitant of the passion. 

There is another most important circumstance in what may be calledthe Aberdonian epoch of Lord Byron's life. 

That Byron, in his boyhood, was possessed of lively sensibilities, issufficiently clear; that he enjoyed the advantage of indulging hishumour and temper without restraint, is not disputable; and that hisnatural temperament made him sensible, in no ordinary degree, to thebeauties of nature, is also abundantly manifest in all hisproductions; but it is surprising that this admiration of thebeauties of Nature is but an ingredient in Byron's poetry, and notits most remarkable characteristic. Deep feelings of dissatisfactionand disappointment are far more obvious; they constitute, indeed, thevery spirit of his works, and a spirit of such qualities is the leastof all likely to have arisen from the contemplation of magnificentNature, or to have been inspired by studying her storms or serenity;for dissatisfaction and disappointment are the offspring of moralexperience, and have no natural association with the forms ofexternal things. The habit of associating morose sentiments with anyparticular kind of scenery only shows that the sources of thesullenness arose in similar visible circumstances. It is from thesepremises I would infer, that the seeds of Byron's misanthropictendencies were implanted during the "silent rages" of his childhood, and that the effect of mountain scenery, which continued so strongupon him after he left Scotland, producing the sentiments with whichhe has imbued his heroes in the wild circumstances in which he placesthem, was mere reminiscence and association. For although the sullentone of his mind was not fully brought out until he wrote ChildeHarold, it is yet evident from his Hours of Idleness that he wastuned to that key before he went abroad. The dark colouring of hismind was plainly imbibed in a mountainous region, from sombre heaths, and in the midst of rudeness and grandeur. He had no taste for morecheerful images, and there are neither rural objects nor villagery inthe scenes he describes, but only loneness and the solemnity ofmountains. 

To those who are acquainted with the Scottish character, it isunnecessary to suggest how very probable it is that Mrs Byron and herassociates were addicted to the oral legends of the district and ofher ancestors, and that the early fancy of the poet was nourishedwith the shadowy descriptions in the tales o' the olden time;--atlast this is manifest, that although Byron shows little of themelancholy and mourning of Ossian, he was yet evidently influenced bysome strong bias and congeniality of taste to brood and cogitate ontopics of the same character as those of that bard. Moreover, besides the probability of his imagination having been early tingedwith the sullen hue of the local traditions, it is remarkable, thatthe longest of his juvenile poems is an imitation of the manner ofthe Homer of Morven. 

In addition to a natural temperament, kept in a state of continualexcitement, by unhappy domestic incidents, and the lurid legends ofthe past, there were other causes in operation around the young poetthat could not but greatly affect the formation of his character. 

Descended of a distinguished family, counting among its ancestors thefated line of the Scottish kings, and reduced almost to extremepoverty, it is highly probable, both from the violence of her temper, and the pride of blood, that Mrs Byron would complain of the almostmendicant condition to which she was reduced, especially so long asthere was reason to fear that her son was not likely to succeed tothe family estates and dignity. Of his father's lineage fewtraditions were perhaps preserved, compared with those of hismother's family; but still enough was known to impress theimagination. Mr Moore, struck with this circumstance, has remarked, that "in reviewing the ancestors, both near and remote, of LordByron, it cannot fail to be remarked how strikingly he combined inhis own nature some of the best, and perhaps worst qualities that liescattered through the various characters of his predecessors. " Butstill it is to his mother's traditions of her ancestors that I wouldascribe the conception of the dark and guilty beings which hedelighted to describe. And though it may be contended that there waslittle in her conduct to exalt poetical sentiment, still there was agreat deal in her condition calculated to affect and impel animpassioned disposition. I can imagine few situations more likely toproduce lasting recollections of interest and affection, than that inwhich Mrs Byron, with her only child, was placed in Aberdeen. Whatever might have been the violence of her temper, or theimproprieties of her after-life, the fond and mournful caresses withwhich she used to hang over her lame and helpless orphan, must havegreatly contributed to the formation of that morbid sensibility whichbecame the chief characteristic of his life. At the same time, if itdid contribute to fill his days with anguish and anxieties, it alsoundoubtedly assisted the development of his powers; and I amtherefore disposed to conclude, that although, with respect to thecharacter of the man, the time he spent in Aberdeen can only becontemplated with pity, mingled with sorrow, still it must have beenrichly fraught with incidents of inconceivable value to the genius ofthe poet. 

CHAPTER III

Arrival at Newstead--Find it in Ruins--The old Lord and his Beetles--The Earl of Carlisle becomes the Guardian of Byron--The Poet's acuteSense of his own deformed Foot--His Mother consults a Fortune-teller

Mrs Byron, on her arrival at Newstead Abbey with her son, found italmost in a state of ruin. After the equivocal affair of the duel, the old lord lived in absolute seclusion, detested by his tenantry, at war with his neighbours, and deserted by all his family. He notonly suffered the abbey to fall into decay, but, as far as lay in hispower, alienated the land which should have kept it in repair, anddenuded the estate of the timber. Byron has described the conduct ofthe morose peer in very strong terms:--"After his trial he shuthimself up at Newstead, and was in the habit of feeding crickets, which were his only companions. He made them so tame that they usedto crawl over him, and, when they were too familiar, he whipped themwith a wisp of straw: at his death, it is said, they left the housein a body. "

However this may have been, it is certain that Byron came to anembarrassed inheritance, both as respected his property and thecharacter of his race; and, perhaps, though his genius sufferednothing by the circumstance, it is to be regretted that he was stillleft under the charge of his mother: a woman without judgment orself-command; alternately spoiling her child by indulgence, irritating him by her self-willed obstinacy, and, what was stillworse, amusing him by her violence, and disgusting him by fits ofinebriety. Sympathy for her misfortunes would be no sufficientapology for concealing her defects; they undoubtedly had a materialinfluence on her son, and her appearance was often the subject of hischildish ridicule. She was a short and corpulent person. She rolledin her gait, and would, in her rage, sometimes endeavour to catch himfor the purpose of inflicting punishment, while he would run roundthe room, mocking her menaces and mimicking her motion. 

The greatest weakness in Lord Byron's character was a morbidsensibility to his lameness. He felt it with as much vexation as ifit had been inflicted ignominy. One of the most striking passages insome memoranda which he has left of his early days, is where, inspeaking of his own sensitiveness on the subject of his deformedfoot, he described the feeling of horror and humiliation that cameover him when his mother, in one of her fits of passion, called him a"lame brat. "

The sense which Byron always retained of the innocent fault in hisfoot was unmanly and excessive; for it was not greatly conspicuous, and he had a mode of walking across a room by which it was scarcelyat all perceptible. I was several days on board the same ship withhim before I happened to discover the defect; it was indeed so wellconcealed, that I was in doubt whether his lameness was the effect ofa temporary accident, or a malformation, until I asked Mr Hobhouse. 

On their arrival from Scotland, Byron was placed by his mother underthe care of an empirical pretender of the name of Lavender, atNottingham, who professed the cure of such cases; and that he mightnot lose ground in his education, he was attended by a respectableschoolmaster, Mr Rodgers, who read parts of Virgil and Cicero withhim. Of this gentleman he always entertained a kind remembrance. Nor was his regard in this instance peculiar; for it may be said tohave been a distinguishing trait in his character, to recollect withaffection all who had been about him in his youth. The quack, however, was an exception; whom (from having caused him to suffermuch pain, and whose pretensions, even young as he then was, hedetected) he delighted to expose. On one occasion, he scribbled downon a sheet of paper, the letters of the alphabet at random, but inthe form of words and sentences, and placing them before Lavender, asked him gravely, what language it was. "Italian, " was the reply, to the infinite amusement of the little satirist, who burst into atriumphant laugh at the success of his stratagem. 

It is said that about this time the first symptom of his predilectionfor rhyming showed itself. An elderly lady, a visitor to his mother, had been indiscreet enough to give him some offence, and slights hegenerally resented with more energy than they often deserved. Thisvenerable personage entertained a singular notion respecting thesoul, which she believed took its flight at death to the moon. Oneday, after a repetition of her original contumely, he appeared beforehis nurse in a violent rage, and complained vehemently of the oldlady, declaring that he could not bear the sight of her, and then hebroke out into the following doggerel, which he repeated over andover, crowing with delight. 

In Nottingham county, there lives at Swan-green, As curs'd an old lady as ever was seen;And when she does die, which I hope will be soon, She firmly believes she will go to the moon. 

Mrs Byron, by the accession of her son to the family honours andestate, received no addition to her small income; and he, being aminor, was unable to make any settlement upon her. A representationof her case was made to Government, and in consequence she was placedon the pension-list for 300 pounds a-year. 

Byron not having received any benefit from the Nottingham quack, wasremoved to London, put under the care of Dr Bailey, and placed in theschool of Dr Glennie, at Dulwich; Mrs Byron herself took a house onSloan Terrace. Moderation in all athletic exercises was prescribedto the boy, but Dr Glennie had some difficulty in restraining hisactivity. He was quiet enough while in the house with the Doctor, but no sooner was he released to play, than he showed as muchambition to excel in violent exercises as the most robust youth ofthe school; an ambition common to young persons who have themisfortune to labour under bodily defects. 

While under the charge of Dr Glennie, he was playful, good-humoured, and beloved by his companions; and addicted to reading history andpoetry far beyond the usual scope of his age. In these studies heshowed a predilection for the Scriptures; and certainly there aremany traces in his works which show that, whatever the laxity of hisreligious principles may have been in after-life, he was notunacquainted with the records and history of our religion. 

During this period, Mrs Byron often indiscreetly interfered with thecourse of his education; and if his classical studies were inconsequence not so effectually conducted as they might have been, hismind derived some of its best nutriment from the loose desultorycourse of his reading. 

Among the books to which the boys at Dr Glennie's school had accesswas a pamphlet containing the narrative of a shipwreck on the coastof Arracan, filled with impressive descriptions. It had notattracted much public attention, but it was a favourite with thepupils, particularly with Byron, and furnished him afterwards withthe leading circumstances in the striking description of theshipwreck in Don Juan. 

Although the rhymes upon the lunar lady of Notts are supposed to havebeen the first twitter of his muse, he has said himself, "My firstdash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of apassion for my first cousin, Margaret Parker. I was then abouttwelve, she rather older, perhaps a year. " And it is curious toremark, that in his description of this beautiful girl there is thesame lack of animal admiration which we have noticed in all hisloves; he says of her:--

"I do not recollect scarcely anything equal to the transparent beautyof my cousin, or to the sweetness of her temper, during the shortperiod of our intimacy: she looked as if she had been made out of arainbow, all beauty and peace. " This is certainly poeticallyexpressed; but there was more true love in Pygmalion's passion forhis statue, and in the Parisian maiden's adoration of the Apollo. 

When he had been nearly two years under the tuition of Dr Glennie, hewas removed to Harrow, chiefly in consequence of his mother'sinterference with his studies, and especially by withdrawing himoften from school. 

During the time he was under the care of Dr Glennie, he was moreamiable than at any other period of his life, a circumstance whichjustifies the supposition, that, had he been left more to thediscipline of that respectable person, he would have proved a betterman; for, however much his heart afterwards became incrusted with theleprosy of selfishness, at this period his feelings were warm andkind. Towards his nurse he evinced uncommon affection, which hecherished as long as she lived. He presented her with his watch, thefirst he possessed, and also a full-length miniature of himself, whenhe was only between seven and eight years old, representing him witha profusion of curling locks, and in his hands a bow and arrow. Thesister of this woman had been his first nurse, and after he had leftScotland he wrote to her, in a spirit which betokened a gentle andsincere heart, informing her with much joy of a circumstance highlyimportant to himself. It was to tell her that at last he had got hisfoot so far restored as to be able to put on a common boot, an eventwhich he was sure would give her great pleasure; to himself it isdifficult to imagine any incident which could have been moregratifying. 

I dwell with satisfaction on these descriptions of his earlydispositions; for, although there are not wanting instances ofsimilar warm-heartedness in his later years, still he never formedany attachments so pure and amiable after he went to Harrow. Thechange of life came over him, and when the vegetable period ofboyhood was past, the animal passions mastered all the softeraffections of his character. 

In the summer of 1801 he accompanied his mother to Cheltenham, andwhile he resided there the views of the Malvern hills recalled to hismemory his enjoyments amid the wilder scenery of Aberdeenshire. Therecollections were reimpressed on his heart and interwoven with hisstrengthened feelings. But a boy gazing with emotion on the hills atsunset, because they remind him of the mountains where he passed hischildhood, is no proof that he is already in heart and imagination apoet. To suppose so is to mistake the materials for the building. 

The delight of Byron in contemplating the Malvern hills, was notbecause they resembled the scenery of Lochynagar, but because theyawoke trains of thought and fancy, associated with recollections ofthat scenery. The poesy of the feeling lay not in the beauty of theobjects, but in the moral effect of the traditions, to which theseobjects served as talismans of the memory. The scene at sunsetreminded him of the Highlands, but it was those reminiscences whichsimilar scenes recalled, that constituted the impulse which gave lifeand elevation to his reflections. There is not more poesy in thesight of mountains than of plains; it is the local associations thatthrow enchantment over all scenes, and resemblance that awakens them, binding them to new connections: nor does this admit of muchcontroversy; for mountainous regions, however favourable to musicalfeeling, are but little to poetical. 

The Welsh have no eminent bard; the Swiss have no renown as poets;nor are the mountainous regions of Greece, nor of the Apennines, celebrated for poetry. The Highlands of Scotland, save the equivocalbastardy of Ossian, have produced no poet of any fame, and yetmountainous countries abound in local legends, which would seem to beat variance with this opinion, were it not certain, though I cannotexplain the cause, that local poetry, like local language or localmelody, is in proportion to the interest it awakens among the localinhabitants, weak and ineffectual in its influence on the sentimentsof the general world. The "Rans de Vaches, " the most celebrated ofall local airs, is tame and commonplace, --unmelodious, to all earsbut those of the Swiss "forlorn in a foreign land. "

While in Cheltenham, Mrs Byron consulted a fortune-teller respectingthe destinies of her son, and according to her feminine notions, shewas very cunning and guarded with the sybil, never suspecting thatshe might have been previously known, and, unconscious to herself, anobject of interest to the spaewife. She endeavoured to pass herselfoff as a maiden lady, and regarded it as no small testimony of thewisdom of the oracle, that she declared her to be not only a marriedwoman, but the mother of a son who was lame. After such a marvellousproof of second-sightedness, it may easily be conceived with what aweand faith she listened to the prediction, that his life should be indanger from poison before he was of age, and that he should be twicemarried; the second time to a foreign lady. Whether it was this samefortune-teller who foretold that he would, in his twenty-seventhyear, incur some great misfortune, is not certain; but, consideringhis unhappy English marriage, and his subsequent Italian liaison withthe Countess Guiccioli, the marital prediction was not far fromreceiving its accomplishment. The fact of his marriage taking placein his twenty-seventh year, is at least a curious circumstance, andhas been noticed by himself with a sentiment of superstition. 

CHAPTER IV

Placed at Harrow--Progress there--Love for Miss Chaworth--HisReading--Oratorical Powers

In passing from the quiet academy of Dulwich Grove to the publicschool of Harrow, the change must have been great to any boy--toByron it was punishment; and for the first year and a half he hatedthe place. In the end, however, he rose to be a leader in all thesports and mischiefs of his schoolfellows; but it never could be saidthat he was a popular boy, however much he was distinguished forspirit and bravery; for if he was not quarrelsome, he was sometimesvindictive. Still it could not have been to any inveterate degree;for, undoubtedly, in his younger years, he was susceptible of warmimpressions from gentle treatment, and his obstinacy and arbitraryhumour were perhaps more the effects of unrepressed habit than ofnatural bias; they were the prickles which surrounded his genius inthe bud. 

At Harrow he acquired no distinction as a student; indeed, at noperiod was he remarkable for steady application. Under Dr Glennie hehad made but little progress; and it was chiefly in consequence ofhis backwardness that he was removed from his academy. When placedwith Dr Drury, it was with an intimation that he had a clevernessabout him, but that his education had been neglected. 

The early dislike which Byron felt towards the Earl of Carlisle isabundantly well known, and he had the magnanimity to acknowledge thatit was in some respects unjust. But the antipathy was not all on oneside; nor will it be easy to parallel the conduct of the Earl withthat of any guardian. It is but justice, therefore, to Byron, tomake the public aware that the dislike began on the part of LordCarlisle, and originated in some distaste which he took to MrsByron's manners, and at the trouble she sometimes gave him on accountof her son. 

Dr Drury, in his communication to Mr Moore respecting the earlyhistory of Byron, mentions a singular circumstance as to thissubject, which we record with the more pleasure, because Byron hasbeen blamed, and has blamed himself, for his irreverence towards LordCarlisle, while it appears that the fault lay with the Earl. 

"After some continuance at Harrow, " says Dr Drury, "and when thepowers of his mind had begun to expand, the late Lord Carlisle, hisrelation, desired to see me in town. I waited on his Lordship. Hisobject was to inform me of Lord Byron's expectations of property whenhe came of age, which he represented as contracted, and to inquirerespecting his abilities. On the former circumstance I made noremark; as to the latter, I replied, 'He has talents, my Lord, whichwill add lustre to his rank. ' 'Indeed, ' said his Lordship, with adegree of surprise, that, according to my feelings, did not expressin it all the satisfaction I expected. "

Lord Carlisle had, indeed, much of the Byron humour in him. Hismother was a sister of the homicidal lord, and possessed some of thefamily peculiarity: she was endowed with great talent, and in herlatter days she exhibited great singularity. She wrote beautifulverses and piquant epigrams among others, there is a poeticaleffusion of her pen addressed to Mrs Greville, on her Ode toIndifference, which, at the time, was much admired, and has been, with other poems of her Ladyship's, published in Pearch's collection. After moving, for a long time, as one of the most brilliant orbs inthe sphere of fashion, she suddenly retired, and like her morosebrother, shut herself up from the world. While she lived in thisseclusion, she became an object of the sportive satire of the late MrFox, who characterized her as

Carlisle, recluse in pride and rags. 

I have heard a still coarser apostrophe by the same gentleman. Itseems they had quarrelled, and on his leaving her in the drawing-room, she called after him, that he might go about his business, forshe did not care two skips of a louse for him. On coming to thehall, finding paper and ink on the table, he wrote two lines inanswer, and sent it up to her Ladyship, to the effect that she alwaysspoke of what was running in her head. 

Byron has borne testimony to the merits of his guardian, her son, asa tragic poet, by characterizing his publications as paper books. Itis, however, said that they nevertheless showed some talent, and thatThe Father's Revenge, one of the tragedies, was submitted to thejudgment of Dr Johnson, who did not despise it. 

But to return to the progress of Byron at Harrow; it is certain thatnotwithstanding the affectionate solicitude of Dr Drury to encouragehim, he never became an eminent scholar; at least, we have his owntestimony to that effect, in the fourth canto of Childe Harold; thelines, however, in which that testimony stands recorded, are amongthe weakest he ever penned. 

 May he who will his recollections rake And quote in classic raptures, and awake The hills with Latin echoes: I abhorr'd Too much to conquer, for the poet's sake, The drill'd, dull lesson forced down word by word, In my repugnant youth with pleasure to record. 

And, as an apology for the defect, he makes the following remarks ina note subjoined:--

"I wish to express that we become tired of the task before we cancomprehend the beauty; that we learn by rote before we can get byheart; that the freshness is worn away, and the future pleasure andadvantage deadened and destroyed by the didactic anticipation, at anage when we can neither feel nor understand the power ofcompositions, which it requires an acquaintance with life, as well asLatin and Greek, to relish or to reason upon. For the same reason, we never can be aware of the fulness of some of the finest passagesof Shakspeare ('To be, or not to be, ' for instance), from the habitof having them hammered into us at eight years old, as an exercisenot of mind but of memory; so that when we are old enough to enjoythem, the taste is gone, and the appetite palled. In some parts ofthe Continent, young persons are taught from mere common authors, anddo not read the best classics until their maturity. I certainly donot speak on this point from any pique or aversion towards the placeof my education. I was not a slow or an idle boy; and I believe noone could be more attached to Harrow than I have always been, andwith reason: a part of the time passed there was the happiest of mylife; and my preceptor, the Rev. Dr Joseph Drury, was the best andworthiest friend I ever possessed; whose warnings I have rememberedbut too well, though too late, when I have erred; and whose counselsI have but followed when I have done well and wisely. If ever thisimperfect record of my feelings towards him should reach his eyes, let it remind him of one who never thinks of him but with gratitudeand veneration; of one who would more gladly boast of having been hispupil if, by more closely following his injunctions, he could reflectany honour upon his instructor. "

Lord Byron, however, is not singular in his opinion of the inutilityof premature classical studies; and notwithstanding the able mannerin which the late Dean Vincent defended public education, we havesome notion that his reasoning upon this point will not be deemedconclusive. Milton, says Dr Vincent, complained of the years thatwere wasted in teaching the dead languages. Cowley also complainedthat classical education taught words only and not things; andAddison deemed it an inexpiable error, that boys with genius orwithout were all to be bred poets indiscriminately. As far, then, asrespects the education of a poet, we should think that the names ofMilton, Cowley, Addison, and Byron would go well to settle thequestion; especially when it is recollected how little Shakspeare wasindebted to the study of the classics, and that Burns knew nothing ofthem at all. I do not, however, adopt the opinion as correct;neither do I think that Dean Vincent took a right view of thesubject; for, as discipline, the study of the classics may be highlyuseful, at the same time, the mere hammering of Greek and Latin intoEnglish cannot be very conducive to the refinement of taste or theexaltation of sentiment. Nor is there either common sense or correctlogic in the following observations made on the passage and note, quoted by the anonymous author of Childe Harold's Monitor. 

"This doctrine of antipathies, contracted by the impatience of youthagainst the noblest authors of antiquity, from the circumstance ofhaving been made the vehicle of early instruction, is a mostdangerous doctrine indeed; since it strikes at the root, not only ofall pure taste, but of all praiseworthy industry. It would, if actedupon (as Harold by the mention of the Continental practice of usinginferior writers in the business of tuition would seem to recommend), destroy the great source of the intellectual vigour of ourcountrymen. "

This is, undoubtedly, assuming too much; for those who have objectedto the years "wasted" in teaching the dead languages, do not admitthat the labour of acquiring them either improves the taste or addsto the vigour of the understanding; and, therefore, before thesoundness of the opinion of Milton, of Cowley, of Addison, and ofmany other great men can be rejected, it falls on those who are ofDean Vincent's opinion, and that of Childe Harold's Monitor, to provethat the study of the learned languages is of so much primaryimportance as they claim for it. 

But it appears that Byron's mind, during the early period of hisresidence at Harrow, was occupied with another object than hisstudies, and which may partly account for his inattention to them. He fell in love with Mary Chaworth. "She was, " he is represented tohave said, "several years older than myself, but at my age boys likesomething older than themselves, as they do younger later in life. Our estates adjoined, but owing to the unhappy circumstances of thefeud (the affair of the fatal duel), our families, as is generallythe case with neighbours, who happen to be near relations, were neveron terms of more than common civility, scarcely those. She was thebeau ideal of all that my youthful fancy could paint of thebeautiful! and I have taken all my fables about the celestial natureof women from the perfection my imagination created in her. I saycreated, for I found her, like the rest of the sex, anything butangelic. I returned to Harrow, after my trip to Cheltenham, moredeeply enamoured than ever, and passed the next holidays at Newstead. I now began to fancy myself a man, and to make love in earnest. Ourmeetings were stolen ones, and my letters passed through the mediumof a confidant. A gate leading from Mr Chaworth's grounds to thoseof my mother, was the place of our interviews, but the ardour was allon my side; I was serious, she was volatile. She liked me as ayounger brother, and treated and laughed at me as a boy; she, however, gave me her picture, and that was something to make versesupon. Had I married Miss Chaworth, perhaps the whole tenor of mylife would have been different; she jilted me, however, but hermarriage proved anything but a happy one. " It is to this attachmentthat we are indebted for the beautiful poem of The Dream, and thestanzas beginning

Oh, had my fate been joined to thine!

Although this love affair a little interfered with his Greek andLatin, his time was not passed without some attention to reading. Until he was eighteen years old, he had never seen a review; but hisgeneral information was so extensive on modern topics, as to induce asuspicion that he could only have collected so much information fromreviews, as he was never seen reading, but always idle, and inmischief, or at play. He was, however, a devourer of books; he readeating, read in bed, read when no one else read, and had perused allsorts of books from the time he first could spell, but had never reada review, and knew not what the name implied. 

It should be here noticed, that while he was at Harrow, his qualitieswere rather oratorical than poetical; and if an opinion had then beenformed of the likely result of his character, the prognosticationwould have led to the expectation of an orator. Altogether, hisconduct at Harrow indicated a clever, but not an extraordinary boy. He formed a few friendships there, in which his attachment appears tohave been, in some instances, remarkable. The late Duke of Dorsetwas his fag, and he was not considered a very hard taskmaster. Hecertainly did not carry with him from Harrow any anticipation of thatsplendid career he was destined to run as a poet. 

CHAPTER V

Character at Harrow--Poetical Predilections--Byron at Cambridge--His"Hours of Idleness"

In reconsidering the four years which Byron spent at Harrow, while wecan clearly trace the development of the sensibilities of hischaracter, and an increased tension of his susceptibility, by whichimpressions became more acute and delicate, it seems impossible notto perceive by the records which he has himself left of his feelings, that something morbid was induced upon them. Had he not afterwardsso magnificently distinguished himself as a poet, it is not probablethat he would have been recollected by his schoolfellows as havingbeen in any respect different from the common herd. His activity andspirit, in their controversies and quarrels, were but theoutbreakings of that temperament which the discipline of riper years, and the natural awe of the world, afterward reduced into hishereditary cast of character, in which so much of sullenness andmisanthropy was exhibited. I cannot, however, think that there wasanything either in the nature of his pastimes, or his studies, unfavourable to the formation of the poetical character. Hisamusements were active; his reading, though without method, was yetcongenial to his impassioned imagination; and the phantom of anenthusiastic attachment, of which Miss Chaworth was not the onlyobject (for it was altogether intellectual, and shared with others), were circumstances calculated to open various sources of reflection, and to concentrate the elements of an energetic and original mind. 

But it is no easy matter to sketch what may have been the outline ofa young poet's education. The supposition that poets must bedreamers, because there is often much dreaminess in poesy, is a merehypothesis. Of all the professors of metaphysical discernment, poetsrequire the finest tact; and contemplation is with them a sign ofinward abstract reflection, more than of any process of mind by whichresemblance is traced, and associations awakened. There is noaccount of any great poet, whose genius was of that dreamycartilaginous kind, which hath its being in haze, and draws itsnourishment from lights and shadows; which ponders over the mysteriesof trees, and interprets the oracles of babbling waters. They haveall been men--worldly men, different only from others in reasoningmore by feeling than induction. Directed by impulse, in a greaterdegree than other men, poets are apt to be betrayed into actionswhich make them singular, as compared by those who are lessimaginative; but the effects of earnestness should never beconfounded with the qualities of talent. 

No greater misconception has ever been obtruded upon the world asphilosophic criticism, than the theory of poets being the offspringof "capering lambkins and cooing doves"; for they differ in norespect from other men of high endowment, but in the singlecircumstance of the objects to which their taste is attracted. Themost vigorous poets, those who have influenced longest and are mostquoted, have indeed been all men of great shrewdness of remark, andanything but your chin-on-hand contemplators. To adduce manyinstances is unnecessary. Are there any symptoms of the gelatinouscharacter of the effusions of the Lakers in the compositions ofHomer? The London Gazette does not tell us things more like factsthan the narratives of Homer, and it often states facts that are muchmore like fictions than his most poetical inventions. So much isthis the case with the works of all the higher poets, that as theyrecede from that worldly standard which is found in the Epics ofHomer, they sink in the scale of poets. In what does the inferiorityof Virgil, for example, consist, but in his having hatched fancies inhis contemplations which the calm mind rejects as absurdities. ThenTasso, with his enchanted forests and his other improbabilities; arethey more than childish tales? tales, too, not in fancy to becompared with those of that venerable dry-nurse, Mother Bunch. Compare the poets that babble of green fields with those who deal inthe actions and passions of men, such as Shakspeare, and it must beconfessed that it is not those who have looked at external nature whoare the true poets, but those who have seen and considered most aboutthe business and bosom of man. It may be an advantage that a poetshould have the benefit of landscapes and storms, as children are thebetter for country air and cow's milk; but the true scene of theirmanly work and business is in the populous city. Inasmuch as Byronwas a lover of solitude, he was deficient as an observer of men. 

The barrenest portion, as to materials for biography, in the life ofthis interesting man, is the period he spent at the University ofCambridge. Like that of most young men, it is probable the majorpart of his time was passed between the metropolis and theuniversity. Still it was in that period he composed the differentpoems which make up the little volume of The Hours of Idleness; awork which will ever be regarded, more by its consequences than itsimportance, as of great influence on the character and career of thepoet. 

It has been supposed, I see not how justly, that there wasaffectation in the title. It is probable that Byron intended no moreby it than to imply that its contents were sketches of leisure. Thisis the less doubtful, as he was at that period particularly sensitiveconcerning the opinion that might be entertained of his works. Before he made the collection, many of the pieces had beencirculated, and he had gathered opinions as to their merits with adegree of solicitude that can only be conceived by those who wereacquainted with the constantly excited sensibility of his mind. Whenhe did publish the collection, nothing appeared in the style and formof the publication that indicated any arrogance of merit. On thecontrary, it was brought forward with a degree of diffidence, which, if it did not deserve the epithet of modesty, could incur nothingharsher than that of bashfulness. It was printed at the obscuremarket-town press of Newark, was altogether a very homely, rusticwork, and no attempt was made to bespeak for it a good name from thecritics. It was truly an innocent affair and an unpretendingperformance. But notwithstanding these, at least seeming, qualitiesof young doubtfulness and timidity, they did not soften the austerenature of the bleak and blighting criticism which was thencharacteristic of Edinburgh. 

A copy was somehow communicated to one of the critics in that city, and was reviewed by him in the Edinburgh Review in an article repletewith satire and insinuations calculated to prey upon the author'sfeelings, while the injustice of the estimate which was made of histalent and originality, could not but be as iron in his heart. Owingto the deep and severe impression which it left, it ought to bepreserved in every memoir which treats of the development of hisgenius and character; and for this reason I insert it entire, as oneof the most influential documents perhaps in the whole extent ofbiography. 

CHAPTER VI

Criticism of the "Edinburgh Review"

"The poesy of this young lord belongs to the class which neither Godnor man are said to permit. Indeed we do not recollect to have seena quantity of verse with so few deviations in either direction fromthat exact standard. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, andcan no more get above or below the level than if they were so muchstagnant water. As an extenuation of this offence, the noble authoris peculiarly forward in pleading minority. We have it in the title-page, and on the very back of the volume; it follows his name like afavourite part of his style. Much stress is laid upon it in thepreface; and the poems are connected with this general statement ofhis case by particular dates, substantiating the age at which eachwas written. Now, the law upon the point of minority we hold to beperfectly clear. It is a plea available only to the defendant; noplaintiff can offer it as a supplementary ground of action. Thus, ifany suit could be brought against Lord Byron, for the purpose ofcompelling him to put into court a certain quantity of poetry, and ifjudgment were given against him, it is highly probable that anexception would be taken, were he to deliver FOR POETRY the contentsof this volume. To this he might plead MINORITY; but as he now makesvoluntary tender of the article, he hath no right to sue on thatground for the price in good current praise, should the goods beunmarketable. This is our view of the law on the point; and we dareto say, so will it be ruled. Perhaps, however, in reality, all thathe tells us about his youth is rather with a view to increase ourwonder, than to soften our censures. He possibly means to say, 'Seehow a minor can write! This poem was actually composed by a youngman of eighteen! and this by one of only sixteen!' But, alas, we allremember the poetry of Cowley at ten, and Pope at twelve; and, so farfrom hearing with any degree of surprise that very poor verses werewritten by a youth from his leaving school to his leaving collegeinclusive, we really believe this to be the most common of alloccurrences;--that it happens in the life of nine men in ten who areeducated in England, and that the tenth man writes better verse thanLord Byron. 

"His other plea of privilege our author brings forward to waive it. He certainly, however, does allude frequently to his family andancestors, sometimes in poetry, sometimes in notes; and while givingup his claim on the score of rank, he takes care to remind us of DrJohnson's saying, that when a nobleman appears as an author, hismerit should be handsomely acknowledged. In truth, it is thisconsideration only that induces us to give Lord Byron's poems a placein our Review, besides our desire to counsel him, that he doforthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents, which areconsiderable, and his opportunities, which are great, to betteraccount. 

"With this view we must beg leave seriously to assure him, that themere rhyming of the final syllable, even when accompanied by thepresence of a certain number of feet; nay, although (which does notalways happen) these feet should scan regularly, and have been allcounted upon the fingers, is not the whole art of poetry. We wouldentreat him to believe that a certain portion of liveliness, somewhatof fancy, is necessary to constitute a poem; and that a poem in thepresent day, to be read, must contain at least one thought, even in alittle degree different from the ideas of former writers, ordifferently expressed. We put it to his candour, whether there isanything so deserving the name of poetry, in verses like thefollowing, written in 1806, and whether, if a youth of eighteen couldsay anything so uninteresting to his ancestors, a youth of nineteenshould publish it:

Shades of heroes, farewell! your descendant, departing From the seat of his ancestors, bids you adieu;Abroad or at home, your remembrance imparting New courage, he'll think upon glory and you. 

Though a tear dim his eye at this sad separation, 'Tis nature, not fear, that excites his regret;Far distant he goes with the same emulation, The fame of his fathers he ne'er can forget. 

That fame and that memory still will he cherish, He vows that he ne'er will disgrace your renown;Like you will he live, or like you will he perish, When decay'd, may he mingle his dust with your own. 

"Now, we positively do assert, that there is nothing better thanthese stanzas in the whole compass of the noble minor's volume. 

"Lord Byron should also have a care of attempting what the greatestpoets have done before him, for comparisons (as he must have hadoccasion to see at his writing-master's) are odious. Gray's Ode toEton College should really have kept out the ten hobbling stanzas ona distant view of the village and school at Harrow. 

Where fancy yet joys to trace the resemblance Of comrades in friendship or mischief allied, How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance, Which rests in the bosom, though hope is denied. 

"In like manner, the exquisite lines of Mr Rogers, On a Tear, mighthave warned the noble author of these premises, and spared us a wholedozen such stanzas as the following:

 Mild charity's glow, To us mortals below, Shows the soul from barbarity clear; Compassion will melt Where the virtue is felt. And its dew is diffused in a tear. 

 The man doom'd to sail With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer, As he bends o'er the wave, Which may soon be his grave, The green sparkles bright with a tear. 

"And so of instances in which former poets had failed. Thus, we donot think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his nonage, Adrian's Address to his Soul, when Pope succeeded indifferently inthe attempt. If our readers, however, are of another opinion, theymay look at it. 

Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite, Friend and associate of this clay, To what unknown region borneWilt thou now wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn. 

"However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and imitationsare great favourities with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from Anacreon to Ossian; and, viewing them as school-exercises, theymay pass. Only, why print them after they have had their day andserved their turn? And why call the thing in p. 79 a translation, where TWO words ([Greek]) of the original are expanded into fourlines, and the other thing in p. 81, where [Greek] is rendered bymeans of six hobbling verses. As to his Ossian poesy, we are notvery good judges; being, in truth, so moderately skilled in thatspecies of composition, that we should, in all probability, becriticising some bit of genuine Macpherson itself, were we to expressour opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. If, then, the followingbeginning of a Song of Bards is by his Lordship, we venture to objectto it, as far as we can comprehend it; 'What form rises on the roarof clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream of tempests?His voice rolls on the thunder; 'tis Oila, the brown chief ofOtchona. He was, ' etc. After detaining this 'brown chief' sometime, the bards conclude by giving him their advice to 'raise hisfair locks'; then to 'spread them on the arch of the rainbow'; and to'smile through the tears of the storm. ' Of this kind of thing thereare no less than nine pages: and we can so far venture an opinion intheir favour, that they look very like Macpherson; and we arepositive they are pretty nearly as stupid and tiresome. 

"It is some sort of privilege of poets to be egotists; but theyshould 'use it as not abusing it'; and particularly one who piqueshimself (though, indeed, at the ripe age of nineteen) on being aninfant bard--

The artless Helicon I boast is youth--

should either not know, or should seem not to know, so much about hisown ancestry. Besides a poem, above cited, on the family-seat of theByrons, we have another of eleven pages on the selfsame subject, introduced with an apology, 'he certainly had no intention ofinserting it, ' but really 'the particular request of some friends, 'etc. Etc. It concludes with five stanzas on himself, 'the last andyoungest of the noble line. ' There is also a good deal about hismaternal ancestors, in a poem on Lachion-y-Gair, a mountain, where hespent part of his youth, and might have learned that pibroach is nota bagpipe, any more than a duet means a fiddle. 

"As the author has dedicated so large a part of his volume toimmortalize his employments at school and college, we cannot possiblydismiss it without presenting the reader with a specimen of theseingenious effusions. 

"In an ode, with a Greek motto, called Granta, we have the followingmagnificent stanzas:--

There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizesSits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes late to bed, yet early rises:

Who reads false quantities in Seale, Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle, Depriv'd of many a wholesome meal, In barbarous Latin doomed to wrangle. 

Renouncing every pleasing page From authors of historic use;Preferring to the letter'd sage The square of the hypotenuse. Still harmless are these occupations, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compared with other recreations Which bring together the imprudent. 

"We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the college-psalmody, asis contained in the following attic stanzas

Our choir could scarcely be excused, Even as a band of raw beginners;All mercy now must be refused To such a set of croaking sinners. 

If David, when his toils were ended, Had heard these blockheads sing before him, To us his psalms had ne'er descended-- In furious mood he would have tore 'em. 

"But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this nobleminor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content forthey are the last we shall ever have from him. He is at best, hesays, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus; he never lived ina garret, like thoroughbred poets, and though he once roved acareless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland, he has not of lateenjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects no profit from hispublication; and whether it succeeds or not, it is highly improbable, from his situation and pursuits, that he should again condescend tobecome an author. Therefore, let us take what we get and bethankful. What right have we poor devils to be nice? We are welloff to have got so much from a man of this lord's station, who doesnot live in a garret, but has got the sway of Newstead Abbey. Againwe say, let us be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid God blessthe giver, nor look the gift-horse in the mouth. "

The criticism is ascribed to Mr Francis Jeffrey, an eloquent memberof the Scottish bar, and who was at that time supposed to be theeditor of the Edinburgh Review. That it was neither just nor fair issufficiently evident, by the degree of care and artificial point withwhich it has been drawn up. Had the poetry been as insignificant asthe critic affected to consider it, it would have argued little forthe judgment of Mr Jeffrey, to take so much pains on a work which heconsidered worthless. But the world has no cause to repine at theseverity of his strictures, for they unquestionably had the effect ofkindling the indignation of Byron, and of instigating him to thatretaliation which he so spiritedly inflicted in his satire of EnglishBards and Scotch Reviewers. 

It is amusing to compare the respective literary reputation of thepoet and the critic, as they are estimated by the public, now thatthe one is dead, and the other dormant. The voice of all the ageacknowledges Byron to have been the greatest poetical genius of histime. Mr Jeffrey, though still enjoying the renown of being a shrewdand intelligent critic of the productions of others, has establishedno right to the honour of being an original or eminent author. 

At the time when Byron published the satire alluded to, he hadobtained no other distinction than the college reputation of being aclever, careless, dissipated student. But his dissipation was notintense, nor did it ever become habitual. He affected to be muchmore so than he was: his pretensions were moderated byconstitutional incapacity. His health was not vigorous; and hisdelicacy defeated his endeavours to show that he inherited therecklessness of his father. He affected extravagance andeccentricity of conduct, without yielding much to the one, orpractising a great deal of the other. He was seeking notoriety; andhis attempts to obtain it gave more method to his pranks and folliesthan belonged to the results of natural impulse and passion. Heevinced occasional instances of the generous spirit of youth; butthere was in them more of ostentation than of that discriminationwhich dignifies kindness, and makes prodigality munificence. Norwere his attachments towards those with whom he preferred toassociate, characterised by any nobler sentiment than self-indulgence; he was attached, more from the pleasure he himselfreceived in their society, than from any reciprocal enjoyment theyhad with him. As he became a man of the world, his early friendsdropped from him; although it is evident, by all the contemporaryrecords of his feelings, that he cherished for them a kind, and evenbrotherly, affection. This secession, the common effect of the newcares, hopes, interests, and wishes, which young men feel on enteringthe world, Byron regarded as something analogous to desertion; andthe notion tainted his mind, and irritated that hereditary sullennessof humour, which constituted an ingredient so remarkable in thecomposition of his more mature character. 

An anecdote of this period, characteristic of his eccentricity, andthe means which he scrupled not to employ in indulging it, deservesto be mentioned. 

In repairing Newstead Abbey, a skull was found in a secret niche ofthe walls. It might have been that of the monk who haunted thehouse, or of one of his own ancestors, or of some victim of themorose race. It was converted into a goblet, and used at Odin-likeorgies. Though the affair was but a whim of youth, more odious thanpoetical, it caused some talk, and raised around the extravagant hostthe haze of a mystery, suggesting fantasies of irreligion and horror. The inscription on the cup is not remarkable either for point orpoetry. 

Start not, nor deem my spot fled; In me behold the only skullFrom which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. 

I liv'd, I lov'd, I quaff'd like thee; I died, but earth my bones resign:Fill up--thou canst not injure me, The worm hath fouler lips than thine. 

Better to hold the sparkling grape Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood, And circle in the goblet's shape The drink of gods than reptile's food. 

Where once my wit perchance hath shone, In aid of others let me shine;And when, alas, our brains are gone, What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst--another race, When thou and thine like me are sped, May rescue thee from earth's embrace, And rhyme and revel with the dead. 

Why not? since through life's little day, Our heads such sad effects produce;Redeem'd from worms and wasting clay, This chance is theirs, to be use. 

CHAPTER VII

Effect of the Criticism in the "Edinburgh Review"--"English Bards andScotch Reviewers"--His Satiety--Intention to Travel--Publishes hisSatire--Takes his Seat in the House of Lords--Departs for Lisbon;thence to Gibraltar

The impression which the criticism of the Edinburgh Review producedupon the juvenile poet was deep and envenomed. It stung his heart, and prompted him to excess. But the paroxysms did not endure long;strong volitions of revenge succeeded, and the grasps of his mindwere filled, as it were, with writhing adders. All the world knows, that this unquenchable indignation found relief in the composition ofEnglish Bards and Scotch Reviewers; a satire which, in many passages, equals, in fervour and force, the most vigorous in the language. 

It was during the summer of 1808, while the poet was residing atNewstead, that English Bards and Scotch Reviewers was principallywritten. He bestowed more pains upon it than perhaps on any other ofhis works; and, though different from them all, it still exhibitsstrong indications of the misanthropy with which, after quittingCambridge, he became more and more possessed. It is painful toreflect, in considering the splendid energy displayed in the poem, that the unprovoked malice which directed him to make the satire sogeneral, was, perhaps, the main cause of that disposition to witherhis reputation, which was afterwards so fervently roused. He couldnot but expect, that, in stigmatising with contempt and ridicule somany persons by name, some of them would retaliate. Nor could hecomplain of injustice if they did; for his attack was so wilful, thatthe rage of it can only be explained by supposing he was instigatedto "the one fell swoop, " by a resentful conviction, that hisimpillory in the Edinburgh Review had amused them all. 

I do not conceive, that the generality of the satire can be wellextenuated; but I am not inclined to regard it as having been a veryheinous offence. The ability displayed in it is a sufficientcompensation. The beauty of the serpent's skin appeases the aversionto its nature. Moreover, a toothless satire is verse without poetry--the most odious of all respectable things. 

But, without regard to the merits or delinquency of the poem, to theacumen of its animadversions, or to the polish of the lines, itpossesses, in the biography of the author, a value of the mostinteresting kind. It was the first burst of that dark, diseasedichor, which afterwards coloured his effusions; the overflowingsuppuration of that satiety and loathing, which rendered ChildeHarold, in particular, so original, incomprehensible, and antisocial;and bears testimony to the state of his feelings at that importantepoch, while he was yet upon the threshold of the world, and wasentering it with a sense of failure and humiliation, and prematuredisgust. For, notwithstanding his unnecessary expositions concerninghis dissipation, it is beyond controversy, that at no time could itbe said he was a dissipated young man. That he indulged inoccasional excesses is true; but his habits were never libertine, nordid his health or stamina permit him to be distinguished inlicentiousness. The declaration in which he first discloses hissobriety, contains more truth than all his pretensions to hisfather's qualities. "I took my gradations in the vices, " says he, inthat remarkable confession, "with great promptitude, but they werenot to my taste; for my early passions, though violent in theextreme, were concentrated, and hated division or spreading abroad. I could have left or lost the whole world with or for that which Iloved; but, though my temperament was naturally burning, I could notshare in the common libertinism of the place and time withoutdisgust; and yet this very disgust, and my heart thrown back uponitself, threw me into excesses perhaps more fatal than those fromwhich I shrunk, as fixing upon one at a time the passions, which, spread among many, would have hurt only myself. " This is vague andmetaphysical enough; but it bears corroborative intimations, that theimpression which he early made upon me was not incorrect. He wasvain of his experiments in profligacy, but they never grew tohabitude. 

While he was engaged in the composition of his satire, he formed aplan of travelling; but there was a great shortcoming between theintention and the performance. He first thought of Persia; heafterwards resolved to sail for India; and had so far matured thisproject, as to write for information to the Arabic professor atCambridge; and to his mother, who was not then with him at Newstead, to inquire of a friend, who had resided in India, what things wouldbe necessary for the voyage. He formed his plan of travelling upondifferent reasons from those which he afterward gave out, and whichhave been imputed to him. He then thought that all men should insome period of their lives travel; he had at that time no tie toprevent him; he conceived that when he returned home he might beinduced to enter into political life, to which his having travelledwould be an advantage; and he wished to know the world by sight, andto judge of men by experience. 

When his satire was ready for the press, he carried it with him toLondon. He was then just come of age, or about to be so; and one ofhis objects in this visit to the metropolis was, to take his seat inthe House of Lords before going abroad; but, in advancing to thisproud distinction, so soothing to the self-importance of youth, hewas destined to suffer a mortification which probably wounded him asdeeply as the sarcasms of the Edinburgh Review. Before the meetingof Parliament, he wrote to his relation and guardian, the Earl ofCarlisle, to remind him that he should be of age at the commencementof the Session, in the natural hope that his Lordship would make anoffer to introduce him to the House: but he was disappointed. Heonly received a formal reply, acquainting him with the technical modeof proceeding, and the etiquette to be observed on such occasions. It is therefore not wonderful that he should have resented suchtreatment; and he avenged it by those lines in his satire, for whichhe afterwards expressed his regret in the third canto of ChildeHarold. 

Deserted by his guardian at a crisis so interesting, he was preventedfor some time from taking his seat in Parliament; being obliged toprocure affidavits in proof of his grandfather's marriage with MissTrevannion, which having taken place in a private chapel at Carhais, no regular certificate of the ceremony could be produced. At length, all the necessary evidence having been obtained, on the 13th ofMarch, 1809, he presented himself in the House of Lords alone--aproceeding consonant to his character, for he was not so friendlessnor unknown, but that he might have procured some peer to have gonewith him. It, however, served to make his introduction remarkable. 

On entering the House, he is described to have appeared abashed andpale: he passed the woolsack without looking round, and advanced tothe table where the proper officer was attending to administer theoaths. When he had gone through them, the chancellor quitted hisseat, and went towards him with a smile, putting out his hand in afriendly manner to welcome him, but he made a stiff bow, and onlytouched with the tip of his fingers the chancellor's hand, whoimmediately returned to his seat. Such is the account given of thisimportant incident by Mr Dallas, who went with him to the bar; but acharacteristic circumstance is wanting. When Lord Eldon advancedwith the cordiality described, he expressed with becoming courtesyhis regret that the rules of the House had obliged him to call forthe evidence of his grandfather's marriage. --"Your Lordship has doneyour duty, and no more, " was the cold reply, in the words of TomThumb, and which probably was the cause of the marked manner of thechancellor's cool return to his seat. 

The satire was published anonymously, and immediately attractedattention; the sale was rapid, and a new edition being called for, Byron revised it. The preparations for his travels being completed, he then embarked in July of the same year, with Mr Hobhouse, forLisbon, and thence proceeded by the southern provinces of Spain toGibraltar. 

In the account of his adventures during this journey, he seems tohave felt, to an exaggerated degree, the hazards to which he wasexposed. But many of his descriptions are given with a bright pen. That of Lisbon has always been admired for its justness, and themixture of force and familiarity. 

 What beauties doth Lisboa's port unfold! Her image floating on that noble tide, Which poets vainly pave with sands of gold, But now whereon a thousand keels did ride, Of mighty strength since Albion was allied, And to the Lusians did her aid afford. A nation swoln with ignorance and pride, Who lick, yet loathe, the hand that waves the swordTo save them from the wrath of Gaul's unsparing lord. 

 But whoso entereth within this town, That sheening for celestial seems to be, Disconsolate will wander up and down, 'Mid many things unsightly strange to see, For hut and palace show like filthily; The dingy denizens are reared in dirt; No personage of high or mean degree Doth care for cleanness of surtout and shirt, Though shent with Egypt's plague, unkempt, unwash'd, unhurt. 

Considering the interest which he afterwards took in the affairs ofGreece, it is remarkable that he should have passed through Spain, atthe period he has described, without feeling any sympathy with thespirit which then animated that nation. Intent, however, on histravels, pressing onward to an unknown goal, he paused not to inquireas to the earnestness of the patriotic zeal of the Spaniards, noronce dreamed, even for adventure, of taking a part in their heroiccause. 

CHAPTER VIII

First Acquaintance with Byron--Embark together--The Voyage

It was at Gibraltar that I first fell in with Lord Byron. I hadarrived there in the packet from England, in indifferent health, onmy way to Sicily. I had then no intention of travelling. I onlywent a trip, intending to return home after spending a few weeks inMalta, Sicily, and Sardinia; having, before my departure, enteredinto the Society of Lincoln's Inn, with the design of studying thelaw. 

At this time, my friend, the late Colonel Wright, of the artillery, was secretary to the Governor; and during the short stay of thepacket at the Rock, he invited me to the hospitalities of his house, and among other civilities gave me admission to the garrison library. 

The day, I well remember, was exceedingly sultry. The air wassickly; and if the wind was not a sirocco, it was a witheringlevanter--oppressive to the functions of life, and to an invaliddenying all exercise. Instead of rambling over the fortifications, Iwas, in consequence, constrained to spend the hottest part of the dayin the library; and, while sitting there, a young man came in andseated himself opposite to me at the table where I was reading. Something in his appearance attracted my attention. His dressindicated a Londoner of some fashion, partly by its neatness andsimplicity, with just so much of a peculiarity of style as served toshow, that although he belonged to the order of metropolitan beaux, he was not altogether a common one. 

I thought his face not unknown to me; I began to conjecture where Icould have seen him; and, after an unobserved scrutiny, to speculateboth as to his character and vocation. His physiognomy wasprepossessing and intelligent, but ever and anon his brows loweredand gathered; a habit, as I then thought, with a degree ofaffectation in it, probably first assumed for picturesque effect andenergetic expression; but which I afterwards discovered wasundoubtedly the occasional scowl of some unpleasant reminiscence: itwas certainly disagreeable--forbidding--but still the general cast ofhis features was impressed with elegance and character. 

At dinner, a large party assembled at Colonel Wright's; among othersthe Countess of Westmorland, with Tom Sheridan and his beautifulwife; and it happened that Sheridan, in relating the local news ofthe morning, mentioned that Lord Byron and Mr Hobhouse had come infrom Spain, and were to proceed up the Mediterranean in the packet. He was not acquainted with either. 

Hobhouse had, a short time before I left London, , published certaintranslations and poems rather respectable in their way, and I hadseen the work, so that his name was not altogether strange to me. Byron's was familiar--the Edinburgh Review had made it so, and stillmore the satire of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, but I was notconscious of having seen the persons of either. 

On the following evening I embarked early, and soon after the twotravellers came on board; in one of whom I recognised the visitor tothe library, and he proved to be Lord Byron. In the little bustleand process of embarking their luggage, his Lordship affected, as itseemed to me, more aristocracy than befitted his years, or theoccasion; and I then thought of his singular scowl, and suspected himof pride and irascibility. The impression that evening was notagreeable, but it was interesting; and that forehead mark, the frown, was calculated to awaken curiosity, and beget conjectures. 

Hobhouse, with more of the commoner, made himself one of thepassengers at once; but Byron held himself aloof, and sat on therail, leaning on the mizzen shrouds, inhaling, as it were, poeticalsympathy, from the gloomy Rock, then dark and stern in the twilight. There was in all about him that evening much waywardness; he spokepetulantly to Fletcher, his valet; and was evidently ill at ease withhimself, and fretful towards others. I thought he would turn out anunsatisfactory shipmate; yet there was something redeeming in thetones of his voice, when, some time after he had indulged his sullenmeditation, he again addressed Fletcher; so that, instead of findinghim ill-natured, I was soon convinced he was only capricious. 

Our passage to Sardinia was tardy, owing to calms; but, in otherrespects, pleasant. About the third day Byron relented from his raptmood, as if he felt it was out of place, and became playful, anddisposed to contribute his fair proportion to the general endeavourto wile away the tediousness of the dull voyage. Among otherexpedients for that purpose, we had recourse to shooting at bottles. Byron, I think, supplied the pistols, and was the best shot, but notvery pre-eminently so. In the calms, the jolly-boat was severaltimes lowered; and, on one of those occasions, his Lordship, with thecaptain, caught a turtle--I rather think two--we likewise hooked ashark, part of which was dressed for breakfast, and tasted, withoutrelish; your shark is but a cannibal dainty. 

As we approached the gulf, or bay, of Cagliari, in Sardinia, a strongnorth wind came from the shore, and we had a whole disagreeable dayof tacking, but next morning, it was Sunday, we found ourselves atanchor near the mole, where we landed. Byron, with the captain, rodeout some distance into the country, while I walked with Mr Hobhouseabout the town: we left our cards for the consul, and Mr Hill, theambassador, who invited us to dinner. In the evening we landedagain, to avail ourselves of the invitation; and, on this occasion, Byron and his Pylades dressed themselves as aides-de-camp--acircumstance which, at the time, did not tend to improve myestimation of the solidity of the character of either. But such isthe force of habit: it appeared a less exceptionable affectation inthe young peer than in the commoner. 

Had we parted at Cagliari, it is probable that I should have retaineda much more favourable recollection of Mr Hobhouse than of LordByron; for he was a cheerful companion, full of odd and drollstories, which he told extremely well; he was also good-humoured andintelligent--altogether an advantageous specimen of a well-educatedEnglish gentleman. Moreover, I was at the time afflicted with anervous dejection, which the occasional exhilaration produced by hisanecdotes and college tales often materially dissipated, though, forthe most part, they were more after the manner and matter of Swiftthan of Addison. 

Byron was, during the passage, in delicate health, and upon anabstemious regimen. He rarely tasted wine, nor more than half aglass, mingled with water, when he did. He ate little; no animalfood, but only bread and vegetables. He reminded me of the ghoulthat picked rice with a needle; for it was manifest, that he had notacquired his knowledge of the world by always dining so sparely. Ifmy remembrance is not treacherous, he only spent one evening in thecabin with us--the evening before we came to anchor at Cagliari; for, when the lights were placed, he made himself a man forbid, took hisstation on the railing between the pegs on which the sheets arebelayed and the shrouds, and there, for hours, sat in silence, enamoured, it may be, of the moon. All these peculiarities, with hiscaprices, and something inexplicable in the cast of his metaphysics, while they served to awaken interest, contributed little toconciliate esteem. He was often strangely rapt--it may have beenfrom his genius; and, had its grandeur and darkness been thendivulged, susceptible of explanation; but, at the time, it threw, asit were, around him the sackcloth of penitence. Sitting amid theshrouds and rattlins, in the tranquillity of the moonlight, churmingan inarticulate melody, he seemed almost apparitional, suggesting dimreminiscences of him who shot the albatross. He was as a mystery ina winding-sheet, crowned with a halo. 

The influence of the incomprehensible phantasma which hovered aboutLord Byron has been more or less felt by all who ever approached him. That he sometimes came out of the cloud, and was familiar andearthly, is true; but his dwelling was amid the murk and the mist, and the home of his spirit in the abysm of the storm, and the hiding-places of guilt. He was, at the time of which I am speaking, scarcely two-and-twenty, and could claim no higher praise than havingwritten a clever worldly-minded satire; and yet it was impossible, even then, to reflect on the bias of his mind, as it was revealed bythe casualties of conversation, without experiencing a presentiment, that he was destined to execute some singular and ominous purpose. The description he has given of Manfred in his youth was of himself. 

My spirit walk'd not with the souls of men, Nor look'd upon the earth with human eyes;The thirst of their ambition was not mine;The aim of their existence was not mine. My joys, my griefs, my passions, and my powers, Made me a stranger. Though I wore the form, I had no sympathy with breathing flesh. My joy was in the wilderness--to breatheThe difficult air of the iced mountain's top. Where the birds dare not build, nor insect's wingFlit o'er the herbless granite; or to plungeInto the torrent, and to roll alongOn the swift whirl of the new-breaking waveOf river, stream, or ocean, in their flow--In these my early strength exulted; orTo follow through the night the moving moon, The stars, and their development; or catchThe dazzling lightnings till my eyes grew dim;Or to look listening on the scatter'd leaves, While autumn winds were at their evening song;--These were my pastimes--and to be alone. For if the beings, of whom I was one--Hating to be so--cross'd me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again. 

CHAPTER IX

Dinner at the Ambassador's--Opera--Disaster of Byron at Malta--MrsSpencer Smith

I shall always remember Cagliari with particular pleasure; for it sohappened that I formed there three of the most agreeableacquaintances of my life, and one of them was with Lord Byron; foralthough we had been eight days together, I yet could not previouslyhave accounted myself acquainted with his Lordship. 

After dinner, we all went to the theatre, which was that evening, onaccount of some Court festival, brilliantly illuminated. The RoyalFamily were present, and the opera was performed with more taste andexecution than I had expected to meet with in so remote a place, andunder the restrictions which rendered the intercourse with theContinent then so difficult. Among other remarkable characterspointed out to us was a nobleman in the pit, actually under the banof outlawry for murder. I have often wondered if the incident hadany effect on the creation of Lara; for we know not in what smallgerms the conceptions of genius originate. 

But the most important occurrence of that evening arose from adelicate observance of etiquette on the part of the ambassador. After carrying us to his box, which was close to that of the RoyalFamily, in order that we might see the members of it properly, heretired with Lord Byron to another box, an inflection of manners topropriety in the best possible taste--for the ambassador wasdoubtless aware that his Lordship's rank would be known to theaudience, and I conceive that this little arrangement was adopted tomake his person also known, by showing him with distinction apartfrom the other strangers. 

When the performance was over, Mr Hill came down with Lord Byron tothe gate of the upper town, where his Lordship, as we were takingleave, thanked him with more elocution than was precisely requisite. The style and formality of the speech amused Mr Hobhouse, as well asothers; and, when the minister retired, he began to rally hisLordship on the subject. But Byron really fancied that he hadacquitted himself with grace and dignity, and took the jocularity ofhis friend amiss--a little banter ensued--the poet became petulant, and Mr Hobhouse walked on; while Byron, on account of his lameness, and the roughness of the pavement, took hold of my arm, appealing tome, if he could have said less, after the kind and hospitabletreatment we had all received. Of course, though I thought prettymuch as Mr Hobhouse did, I could not do otherwise than civillyassent, especially as his Lordship's comfort, at the moment, seemedin some degree dependent on being confirmed in the good opinion hewas desirous to entertain of his own courtesy. From that night Ievidently rose in his good graces; and, as he was always mostagreeable and interesting when familiar, it was worth my while toadvance, but by cautious circumvallations, into his intimacy; for hisuncertain temper made his favour precarious. 

The next morning, either owing to the relaxation of his abstinence, which he could not probably well avoid amid the good things of theambassadorial table; or, what was, perhaps, less questionable, someregret for his petulance towards his friend, he was indisposed, anddid not make his appearance till late in the evening. I rathersuspect, though there was no evidence of the fact, that Hobhousereceived any concession which he may have made with indulgence; forhe remarked to me, in a tone that implied both forbearance andgenerosity of regard, that it was necessary to humour him like achild. But, in whatever manner the reconciliation was accomplished, the passengers partook of the blessings of the peace. Byron, duringthe following day, as we were sailing along the picturesque shores ofSicily, was in the highest spirits overflowing with glee, andsparkling with quaint sentences. The champagne was uncorked and inthe finest condition. 

Having landed the mail at Girgenti, we stretched over to Malta, wherewe arrived about noon next day--all the passengers, except Orestesand Pylades, being eager to land, went on shore with the captain. They remained behind for a reason--which an accidental expression ofByron let out--much to my secret amusement; for I was aware theywould be disappointed, and the anticipation was relishing. Theyexpected--at least he did--a salute from the batteries, and sentashore notice to Sir Alexander Ball, the Governor, of his arrival;but the guns were sulky, and evinced no respect of persons; so thatlate in the afternoon, about the heel of the evening, the twomagnates were obliged to come on shore, and slip into the cityunnoticed and unknown. 

At this time Malta was in great prosperity. Her commerce wasflourishing; and the goodly clusters of its profits hung ripe andrich at every door. The merchants were truly hospitable, and fewmore so than Mr Chabot. As I had letters to him, he invited me todinner, along with several other friends previously engaged. In thecool of the evening, as we were sitting at our wine, Lord Byron andMr Hobhouse were announced. His Lordship was in better spirits thanI had ever seen him. His appearance showed, as he entered the room, that they had met with some adventure, and he chuckled with an inwardsense of enjoyment, not altogether without spleen--a kind ofmalicious satisfaction--as his companion recounted with all becominggravity their woes and sufferings, as an apology for begging a bedand morsel for the night. God forgive me! but I partook of Byron'slevity at the idea of personages so consequential wandering destitutein the streets, seeking for lodgings, as it were, from door to door, and rejected at all. 

Next day, however, they were accommodated by the Governor with anagreeable house in the upper part of Valetta; and his Lordship, assoon as they were domiciled, began to take lessons in Arabic from amonk--I believe one of the librarians of the public library. Hiswhole time was not, however, devoted to study; for he formed anacquaintance with Mrs Spencer Smith, the lady of the gentleman ofthat name, who had been our resident minister at Constantinople: heaffected a passion for her; but it was only Platonic. She, however, beguiled him of his valuable yellow diamond ring. She is theFlorence of Childe Harold, and merited the poetical embalmment, orrather the amber immortalisation, she possesses there--being herselfa heroine. There was no exaggeration in saying that many incidentsof her life would appear improbable in fiction. Her adventures withthe Marquis de Salvo form one of the prettiest romances in theItalian language; everything in her destiny was touched withadventure: nor was it the least of her claims to sympathy that shehad incurred the special enmity of Napoleon. 

After remaining about three weeks at Malta, Byron embarked with hisfriend in a brig of war, appointed to convoy a fleet of smallmerchantmen to Prevesa. I had, about a fortnight before, passed overwith the packet on her return from Messina to Girgenti, and did notfall in with them again till the following spring, when we met atAthens. In the meantime, besides his Platonic dalliance with MrsSpencer Smith, Byron had involved himself in a quarrel with anofficer; but it was satisfactorily settled. 

His residence at Malta did not greatly interest him. The story ofits chivalrous masters made no impression on his imagination--nonethat appears in his works--but it is not the less probable that theremembrance of the place itself occupied a deep niche in his bosom:for I have remarked, that he had a voluntary power of forgetfulness, which, on more than one occasion, struck me as singular: and I amled in consequence to think, that something unpleasant, connectedwith this quarrel, may have been the cause of his suppression of alldirect allusion to the island. It was impossible that hisimagination could avoid the impulses of the spirit which haunts thewalls and ramparts of Malta; and the silence of his muse on a topicso rich in romance, and so well calculated to awaken associationsconcerning the knights, in unison with the ruminations of ChildeHarold, persuades me that there must have been some specific causefor the omission. If it were nothing in the duel, I should beinclined to say, notwithstanding the seeming improbability of thenotion, that it was owing to some curious modification of vindictivespite. It might not be that Malta should receive no celebrity fromhis pen; but assuredly he had met with something there which made himresolute to forget the place. The question as to what it was, henever answered the result would throw light into the labyrinths ofhis character. 

CHAPTER X

Sails from Malta to Prevesa--Lands at Patras--Sails again--PassesIthaca--Arrival at Prevesa

It was on the 19th of September, 1809, that Byron sailed in theSpider brig from Malta for Prevesa, and on the morning of the fourthday after, he first saw the mountains of Greece; next day he landedat Patras, and walked for some time among the currant grounds betweenthe town and the shore. Around him lay one of the noblest landscapesin the world, and afar in the north-east rose the purple summits ofthe Grecian mountains. 

Having re-embarked, the Spider proceeded towards her destination; thepoet not receiving much augmentation to his ideas of the grandeur ofthe ancients, from the magnitude of their realms and states. Ithaca, which he doubtless regarded with wonder and disappointment, as hepassed its cliffy shores, was then in the possession of the French. In the course of a month after, the kingdom of Ulysses surrendered toa British serjeant and seven men. 

 Childe Harold sail'd, and pass'd the barren spot, Where sad Penelope o'erlook'd the wave; And onward view'd the mount, not yet forgot. The lover's refuge, and the Lesbian's grave. But when he saw the evening star above Leucadia's far-projecting rock of woe, And hail'd the last resort of fruitless love, He felt, or deem'd he felt, no common glow; And as the stately vessel glided slow Beneath the shadow of that ancient mount, He watch'd the billows' melancholy flow, And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont--More placid seem'd his eye, and smooth his pallid front. 

At seven in the evening, of the same day on which he passed Leucadia, the vessel came to anchor off Prevesa. The day was wet and gloomy, and the appearance of the town was little calculated to bespeakcheerfulness. But the novelty in the costume and appearance of theinhabitants and their dwellings, produced an immediate effect on theimagination of Byron, and we can trace the vivid impression animatingand adorning his descriptions. 

 The wild Albanian, kirtled to his knee, With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see; The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon; The Delhi with his cap of terror on, And crooked glaive; the lively, supple Greek, And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son; The bearded Turk, that rarely deigns to speak, Master of all around, too potent to be meek. 

Having partaken of a consecutive dinner, dish after dish, with thebrother of the English consul, the travellers proceeded to visit theGovernor of the town: he resided within the enclosure of a fort, andthey were conducted towards him by a long gallery, open on one side, and through several large unfurnished rooms. In the last of thisseries, the Governor received them with the wonted solemn civility ofthe Turks, and entertained them with pipes and coffee. Neither hisappearance, nor the style of the entertainment, were distinguished byany display of Ottoman grandeur; he was seated on a sofa in the midstof a group of shabby Albanian guards, who had but little reverencefor the greatness of the guests, as they sat down beside them, andstared and laughed at their conversation with the Governor. 

But if the circumstances and aspect of the place derived noimportance from visible splendour, every object around was enrichedwith stories and classical recollections. The battle of Actium wasfought within the gulf. 

 Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost A world for woman--lovely, harmless thing! In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Did many a Roman chief and Asian king To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring. Look where the second Caesar's trophies rose! Now, like the lands that rear'd them, withering; Imperial monarchs doubling human woes!God! was Thy globe ordained for such to win and lose?

Having inspected the ruins of Nicopolis, which are more remarkablefor their desultory extent and scattered remnants, than for anyremains of magnificence or of beauty, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime, Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales. Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Are rarely seen; nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not; loved Parnassus fails, Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. 

In this journey he was still accompanied by Mr Hobhouse. They hadprovided themselves with a Greek to serve as a dragoman. With thisperson they soon became dissatisfied, in consequence of their generalsuspicion of Greek integrity, and because of the necessary influencewhich such an appendage acquires in the exercise of his office. Heis the tongue and purse-bearer of his master; he procures himlodging, food, horses, and all conveniences; must support his dignitywith the Turks--a difficult task in those days for a Greek--and hismanifold trusts demand that he should be not only active andingenious, but prompt and resolute. In the qualifications of thisessential servant, the travellers were not fortunate--he never lostan opportunity of pilfering;--he was, however, zealous, bustling, andtalkative, and withal good-humoured; and, having his mind intent onone object--making money--was never lazy nor drunken, negligent norunprepared. 

On the 1st of October they embarked, and sailed up the Gulf ofSalona, where they were shown into an empty barrack for lodgings. Inthis habitation twelve Albanian soldiers and an officer werequartered, who behaved towards them with civility. On theirentrance, the officer gave them pipes and coffee, and after they haddined in their own apartment, he invited them to spend the eveningwith him, and they condescended to partake of his hospitality. 

Such instances as these in ordinary biography would be withoutinterest; but when it is considered how firmly the impression of themwas retained in the mind of the poet, and how intimately they enteredinto the substance of his reminiscences of Greece, they acquiredignity, and become epochal in the history of the development of hisintellectual powers. 

"All the Albanians, " says Mr Hobhouse, "strut very much when theywalk, projecting their chests, throwing back their heads, and movingvery slowly from side to side. Elmas (as the officer was called) hadthis strut more than any man perhaps we saw afterwards; and as thesight was then quite new to us, we could not help staring at themagisterial and superlatively dignified air of a man with great holesin his elbows, and looking altogether, as to his garment, like whatwe call a bull-beggar. " Mr Hobhouse describes him as a captain, butby the number of men under him, he could have been of no higher rankthan serjeant. Captains are centurions. 

After supper, the officer washed his hands with soap, inviting thetravellers to do the same, for they had eaten a little with him; hedid not, however, give the soap, but put it on the floor with an airso remarkable, as to induce Mr Hobhouse to inquire the meaning of it, and he was informed that there is a superstition in Turkey againstgiving soap: it is thought it will wash away love. 

Next day it rained, and the travellers were obliged to remain undershelter. The evening was again spent with the soldiers, who didtheir utmost to amuse them with Greek and Albanian songs and freaksof jocularity. 

In the morning of the 3rd of October they set out for Arta, with tenhorses; four for themselves and servants, four for their luggage, andtwo for two soldiers whom they were induced to take with them asguards. Byron takes no notice of his visit to Arta in Childe Harold;but Mr Hobhouse has given a minute account of the town. They metthere with nothing remarkable. 

The remainder of the journey to Joannina, the capital then of thefamous Ali Pasha, was rendered unpleasant by the wetness of theweather; still it was impossible to pass through a country sopicturesque in its features, and rendered romantic by the traditionsof robberies and conflicts, without receiving impressions of thatkind of imagery which constitutes the embroidery on the vestment ofpoetry. 

The first view of Joannina seen in the morning light, or glitteringin the setting sun, is lively and alluring. The houses, domes, andminarets, shining through gardens of orange and lemon trees andgroves of cypresses; the lake, spreading its broad mirror at the footof the town, and the mountains rising abrupt around, all combined topresent a landscape new and beautiful. Indeed, where may be itsparallel? the lake was the Acherusian, Mount Pindus was in sight, andthe Elysian fields of mythology spread in the lovely plains overwhich they passed in approaching the town. 

On entering Joannina, they were appalled by a spectaclecharacteristic of the country. Opposite a butcher's shop, theybeheld hanging from the boughs of a tree a man's arm, with part ofthe side torn from the body. How long is it since Temple Bar, in thevery heart of London, was adorned with the skulls of the Scottishnoblemen who were beheaded for their loyalty to the son andrepresentative of their ancient kings!

The object of the visit to Joannina was to see Ali Pasha, in thosedays the most celebrated Vizier in all the western provinces of theOttoman empire; but he was then at Tepellene. The luxury of resting, however, in a capital, was not to be resisted, and they accordinglysuspended their journey until they had satisfied their curiosity withan inspection of every object which merited attention. Of Joannina, it may be said, they were almost the discoverers, so little was knownof it in England--I may say in Western Europe--previous to theirvisit. 

The palace and establishment of Ali Pasha were of regal splendour, combining with Oriental pomp the elegance of the Occident, and thetravellers were treated by the Vizier's officers with all thecourtesy due to the rank of Lord Byron, and every facility wasafforded them to prosecute their journey. The weather, however--theseason being far advanced--was wet and unsettled, and they sufferedmore fatigue and annoyance than travellers for information orpleasure should have had to encounter. 

The journey from Joannina to Zitza is among the happiest sketches inthe Pilgrimage of Childe Harold. 

 He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, And left the primal city of the land, And onwards did his farther journey take To greet Albania's chief, whose dread command Is lawless law; for with a bloody hand He sways a nation, turbulent and bold: Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Disdain his power, and from their rocky holdHurl their defiance far, nor yield unless to gold. 

 Monastic Zitza! from thy shady brow, Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground! Where'er we gaze, above, around, below, What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found; Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound; And bluest skies that harmonize the whole. Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth rollBetween those hanging rocks that shock yet please the soul. 

In the course of this journey the poet happened to be alone with hisguides, when they lost their way during a tremendous thunderstorm, and he has commemorated the circumstance in the spirited stanzasbeginning--

Chill and mink is the nightly blast. 

CHAPTER XI

Halt at Zitza--The River Acheron--Greek Wine--A Greek Chariot--Arrival at Tepellene--The Vizier's Palace

The travellers, on their arrival at Zitza, went to the monastery tosolicit accommodation; and after some parley with one of the monks, through a small grating in a door plated with iron, on which marks ofviolence were visible, and which, before the country had beentranquillised under the vigorous dominion of Ali Pasha, had beenfrequently battered in vain by the robbers who then infested theneighbourhood. The prior, a meek and lowly man, entertained them ina warm chamber with grapes and a pleasant white wine, not trodden outby the feet, as he informed them, but expressed by the hand. To thisgentle and kind host Byron alludes in his description of "MonasticZitza. "

 Amid the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity; The convent's white walls glisten fair on high: Here dwells the caloyer, nor rude is he, Nor niggard of his cheer; the passer-by Is welcome still; nor heedless will he fleeFrom hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. 

Having halted a night at Zitza, the travellers proceeded on theirjourney next morning, by a road which led through the vineyardsaround the villages, and the view from a barren hill, which they wereobliged to cross, is described with some of the most forcible touchesof the poet's pencil. 

 Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight, Nature's volcanic amphitheatre, Chimera's Alps, extend from left to right; Beneath, a living valley seems to stir. Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the mountain fir Nodding above; behold Black Acheron! Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto! if this be hell I look upon, Close shamed Elysium's gates; my shade shall seek for none!

The Acheron, which they crossed in this route, is now called theKalamas, a considerable stream, as large as the Avon at Bath buttowards the evening they had some cause to think the Acheron had notlost all its original horror; for a dreadful thunderstorm came on, accompanied with deluges of rain, which more than once nearly carriedaway their luggage and horses. Byron himself does not notice thisincident in Childe Harold, nor even the adventure more terrific whichhe met with alone in similar circumstances on the night before theirarrival at Zitza, when his guides lost their way in the defiles ofthe mountains--adventures sufficiently disagreeable in the advent, but full of poesy in the remembrance. 

The first halt, after leaving Zitza, was at the little village ofMosure, where they were lodged in a miserable cabin, the residence ofa poor priest, who treated them with all the kindness his humblemeans afforded. From this place they proceeded next morning througha wild and savage country, interspersed with vineyards, to Delvinaki, where it would seem they first met with genuine Greek wine, that is, wine mixed with resin and lime--a more odious draught at the firsttaste than any drug the apothecary mixes. Considering how much ofallegory entered into the composition of the Greek mythology, it isprobable that in representing the infant Bacchus holding a pine, theancient sculptors intended an impersonation of the circumstance ofresin being employed to preserve new wine. 

The travellers were now in Albania, the native region of Ali Pasha, whom they expected to find at Libokavo; but on entering the town, they were informed that he was further up the country at Tepellene, or Tepalen, his native place. In their route from Libokavo toTepalen they met with no adventure, nor did they visit Argyro-castro, which they saw some nine or ten miles off--a large city, supposed tocontain about twenty thousand inhabitants, chiefly Turks. When theyreached Cezarades, a distance of not more than nine miles, which hadtaken them five hours to travel, they were agreeably accommodated forthe night in a neat cottage; and the Albanian landlord, in whosedemeanour they could discern none of that cringing, downcast, sinister look which marked the degraded Greek, received them with ahearty welcome. 

Next morning they resumed their journey, and halted one night morebefore they reached Tepellene, in approaching which they met acarriage, not inelegantly constructed after the German fashion, witha man on the box driving four-in-hand, and two Albanian soldiersstanding on the footboard behind. They were floundering on at a trotthrough mud and mire, boldly regardless of danger; but it seemed tothe English eyes of the travellers impossible that such a vehicleshould ever be able to reach Libokavo, to which it was bound. In duetime they crossed the river Laos, or Voioutza, which was then full, and appeared both to Byron and his friend as broad as the Thames atWestminster; after crossing it on a stone bridge, they came in sightof Tepellene, when

 The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit, And Laos, wide and fierce, came roaring by; The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, When down the steep banks, winding warily, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky, The glittering minarets of Tepalen, Whose walls o'erlook the stream; and drawing nigh, He heard the busy hum of warrior-menSwelling the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. 

On their arrival, they proceeded at once to the residence of AliPasha, an extensive rude pile, where they witnessed a scene, notdissimilar to that which they might, perhaps, have beheld somehundred years ago, in the castle-yard of a great feudal baron. Soldiers, with their arms piled against the wall, were assembled indifferent parts of the court, several horses, completely caparisoned, were led about, others were neighing under the hands of the grooms;and for the feast of the night, armed cooks were busy dressing kidsand sheep. The scene is described with the poet's liveliest pencil. 

 Richly caparison'd a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, Circled the wide extending court below; Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor, And ofttimes through the area's echoing door, Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away. The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor Here mingled in their many-hued array, While the deep war-drum's sound announced the close of day. 

 Some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round. There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops, And some that smoke, and some that play, are found. Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground Half-whispering, there the Greek is heard to prate. Hark! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound; The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret. "There is no god but God!--to prayer--lo, God is great!"

The peculiar quietness and ease with which the Mahommedans say theirprayers, struck the travellers as one of the most peculiarcharacteristics which they had yet witnessed of that people. Some ofthe graver sort began their devotions in the places where they weresitting, undisturbed and unnoticed by those around them who wereotherwise engaged. The prayers last about ten minutes they are notuttered aloud, but generally in a low voice, sometimes with only amotion of the lips; and, whether performed in the public street or ina room, attract no attention from the bystanders. Of more than ahundred of the guards in the gallery of the Vizier's mansion atTepellene, not more than five or six were seen at prayers. TheAlbanians are not reckoned strict Mahommedans; but no Turk, howeverirreligious himself, ever disturbs the devotion of others. 

It was then the fast of Ramazan, and the travellers, during thenight, were annoyed with the perpetual noise of the carousal kept upin the gallery, and by the drum, and the occasional voice of theMuezzin. 

 Just at this season, Ramazani's fast Through the long day its penance did maintain: But when the lingering twilight hour was past, Revel and feast assumed the rule again. Now all was bustle, and the menial train Prepared and spread the plenteous board within; The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain, But from the chambers came the mingling din, And page and slave, anon, were passing out and in. 

CHAPTER XII

Audience appointed with Ali Pasha--Description of the Vizier'sPerson--An Audience of the Vizier of the Morea

The progress of no other poet's mind can be to clearly traced topersonal experience as that of Byron's. The minute details in thePilgrimage of Childe Harold are the observations of an actualtraveller. Had they been given in prose, they could not have beenless imbued with fiction. From this fidelity they possess a valueequal to the excellence of the poetry, and ensure for themselves aninterest as lasting as it is intense. When the manners and customsof the inhabitants shall have been changed by time and thevicissitudes of society, the scenery and the mountains will beartestimony to the accuracy of Lord Byron's descriptions. 

The day after the travellers' arrival at Tepellene was fixed by theVizier for their first audience; and about noon, the time appointed, an officer of the palace with a white wand announced to them that hishighness was ready to receive them, and accordingly they proceededfrom their own apartment, accompanied by the secretary of the Vizier, and attended by their own dragoman. The usher of the white rod ledthe way, and conducted them through a suite of meanly-furnishedapartments to the presence chamber. Ali when they entered wasstanding, a courtesy of marked distinction from a Turk. As theyadvanced towards him, he seated himself, and requested them to sitnear him. The room was spacious and handsomely fitted up, surroundedby that species of continued sofa which the upholsterers call adivan, covered with richly-embroidered velvet; in the middle of thefloor was a large marble basin, in which a fountain was playing. 

 In marble-paved pavilion, where a spring Of living water from the centre rose, Whose bubbling did a genial freshness fling, And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, ALI reclined; a man of war and woes. Yet in his lineaments ye cannot trace, While Gentleness her milder radiance throws Along that aged, venerable face, The deeds that lurk beneath and stain him with disgrace. 

 It is not that yon hoary, lengthening beard, Ill suits the passions that belong to youth; Love conquers age--so Hafiz hath averr'd: So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth-- But crimes that scorn the tender voice of Ruth, Beseeming all men ill, but most the man In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth; Blood follows blood, and through their mortal span, In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began. 

When this was written Ali Pasha was still living; but the predictionwhich it implies was soon after verified, and he closed his stern andenergetic life with a catastrophe worthy of its guilt and bravery. He voluntarily perished by firing a powder-magazine, when surrounded, beyond all chance of escape, by the troops of the Sultan his master, whose authority he had long contemned. 

Mr Hobhouse describes him at this audience as a short fat man, aboutfive feet five inches in height; with a very pleasing face, fair andround; and blue fair eyes, not settled into a Turkish gravity. Hisbeard was long and hoary, and such a one as any other Turk would havebeen proud of; nevertheless, he, who was more occupied in attendingto his guests than himself, neither gazed at it, smelt it, norstroked it, according to the custom of his countrymen, when they seekto fill up the pauses in conversation. He was not dressed with theusual magnificence of dignitaries of his degree, except that his highturban, composed of many small rolls, was of golden muslin, and hisyataghan studded with diamonds. 

He was civil and urbane in the entertainment of his guests, andrequested them to consider themselves as his children. It was onthis occasion he told Lord Byron, that he discovered his noble bloodby the smallness of his hands and ears: a remark which has becomeproverbial, and is acknowledged not to be without truth in theevidence of pedigree. 

The ceremonies on such visits are similar all over Turkey, amongpersonages of the same rank; and as Lord Byron has not described inverse the details of what took place with him, it will not bealtogether obtrusive here to recapitulate what happened to myselfduring a visit to Velhi Pasha, the son of Ali: he was then Vizier ofthe Morea, and residing at Tripolizza. 

In the afternoon, about four o'clock, I set out for the seraglio withDr Teriano, the Vizier's physician, and the Vizier's Italiansecretary. The gate of the palace was not unlike the entrance tosome of the closes in Edinburgh, and the court within reminded me ofSmithfield, in London; but it was not surrounded by such loftybuildings, nor in any degree of comparison so well constructed. Weascended a ruinous staircase, which led to an open gallery, wherethree or four hundred of the Vizier's Albanian guards were lounging. In an antechamber, which opened from the gallery, a number ofofficers were smoking, and in the middle, on the floor, two old Turkswere seriously engaged at chess. 

My name being sent in to the Vizier, a guard of ceremony was called, and after they had arranged themselves in the presence chamber, I wasadmitted. The doctor and the secretary having, in the meantime, taken off their shoes, accompanied me in to act as interpreters. 

The presence chamber was about forty feet square, showy and handsome:round the walls were placed sofas, which, from being covered withscarlet, reminded me of the woolsacks in the House of Lords. In thefarthest corner of the room, elevated on a crimson velvet cushion, sat the Vizier, wrapped in a superb pelisse: on his head was a vastturban, in his belt a dagger, incrusted with jewels, and on thelittle finger of his right hand he wore a solitaire as large as theknob on the stopper of a vinegar-cruet, and which was said to havecost two thousand five hundred pounds sterling. In his left hand heheld a string of small coral beads, a comboloio which he twistedbackwards and forwards during the greater part of the visit. On thesofa beside him lay a pair of richly-ornamented London-made pistols. At some distance, on the same sofa, but not on a cushion, sat Memet, the Pasha of Napoli Romania, whose son was contracted in marriage tothe Vizier's daughter. On the floor, at the foot of this pasha, andopposite to the Vizier, a secretary was writing despatches. Thesewere the only persons in the room who had the honour of being seated;for, according to the etiquette of this viceregal court, those whoreceived the Vizier's pay were not allowed to sit down in hispresence. 

On my entrance, his highness motioned to me to sit beside him, andthrough the medium of the interpreters began with some commonplacecourtly insignificancies, as a prelude to more interestingconversation. In his manners I found him free and affable, with aconsiderable tincture of humour and drollery. Among other questions, he inquired if I had a wife: and being answered in the negative, hereplied to me himself in Italian, that I was a happy man, for hefound his very troublesome: considering their probable number, thiswas not unlikely. Pipes and coffee were in the mean-time served. The pipe presented to the Vizier was at least twelve feet long; themouth-piece was formed of a single block of amber, about the size ofan ordinary cucumber, and fastened to the shaft by a broad hoop ofgold, decorated with jewels. While the pipes and coffee weredistributing, a musical clock, which stood in a niche, began to play, and continued doing so until this ceremony was over. The coffee wasliterally a drop of dregs in a very small china cup, placed in agolden socket. His highness was served with his coffee by Pasha Bey, his generalissimo, a giant, with the tall crown of a dun-colouredbeaver-hat on his head. In returning the cup to him, the Vizierelegantly eructed in his face. After the regale of the pipes andcoffee, the attendants withdrew, and his highness began a kind ofpolitical discussion, in which, though making use of an interpreter, he managed to convey his questions with delicacy and address. 

On my rising to retire, his highness informed me, with more politecondescension than a Christian of a thousandth part of his authoritywould have done, that during my stay at Tripolizza horses were at mycommand, and guards who would accompany me to any part of the countryI might choose to visit. 

Next morning, he sent a complimentary message, importing, that he hadordered dinner to be prepared at the doctor's for me and two of hisofficers. The two officers were lively fellows; one of them inparticular seemed to have acquired, by instinct, a large share of theease and politeness of Christendom. The dinner surpassed all countand reckoning, dish followed dish, till I began to fancy that thecook either expected I would honour his highness's entertainment asCaesar did the supper of Cicero, or supposed that the party were notfinite beings. During the course of this amazing service, theprincipal singers and musicians of the seraglio arrived, and sung andplayed several pieces of very sweet Turkish music. Among others wasa song composed by the late unfortunate Sultan Selim, the air ofwhich was pleasingly simple and pathetic. I had heard of theSultan's poetry before, a small collection of which has been printed. It is said to be interesting and tender, consisting chiefly of littlesonnets, written after he was deposed; in which he contrasts thetranquillity of his retirement with the perils and anxieties of hisformer grandeur. After the songs, the servants of the officers, whowere Albanians, danced a Macedonian reel, in which they exhibitedseveral furious specimens of Highland agility. The officers thentook their leave, and I went to bed, equally gratified by thehospitality of the Vizier and the incidents of the entertainment. 

CHAPTER XIII

The Effect of Ali Pasha's Character on Lord Byron--Sketch of theCareer of Ali, and the Perseverance with which he pursued the Objectsof his Ambition

Although many traits and lineaments of Lord Byron's own character maybe traced in the portraits of his heroes, I have yet often thoughtthat Ali Pasha was the model from which he drew several of their mostremarkable features; and on this account it may be expedient to givea sketch of that bold and stern personage--if I am correct in myconjecture--and the reader can judge for himself when the picture isbefore him--it would be a great defect, according to the plan of thiswork, not to do so. 

Ali Pasha was born at Tepellene, about the year 1750. His father wasa pasha of two tails, but possessed of little influence. At hisdeath Ali succeeded to no inheritance but the house in which he wasborn; and it was his boast, in the plenitude of his power, that hebegan his fortune with sixty paras, about eighteen pence sterling, and a musket. At that time the country was much infested withcattle-stealers, and the flocks and herds of the neighbouringvillages were often plundered. 

Ali collected a few followers from among the retainers of his father, made himself master, first of one village, then of another, amassedmoney, increased his power, and at last found himself at the head ofa considerable body of Albanians, whom he paid by plunder; for he wasthen only a great robber--the Rob Roy of Albania: in a word, one ofthose independent freebooters who divide among themselves so much ofthe riches and revenues of the Ottoman dominions. 

In following up this career, he met with many adventures andreverses, but his course was still onwards, and uniformlydistinguished by enterprise and cruelty. His enemies expected nomercy when vanquished in the field; and when accidentally seized inprivate, they were treated with equal rigour. It is reported that heeven roasted alive on spits some of his most distinguishedadversaries. 

When he had collected money enough, he bought a pashalic; and beinginvested with that dignity, he became still more eager to enlarge hispossessions. He continued in constant war with the neighbouringpashas; and cultivating, by adroit agents, the most influentialinterest at Constantinople, he finally obtained possession ofJoannina, and was confirmed pasha of the territory attached to it, byan imperial firman. He then went to war with the pashas of Arta, ofDelvino, and of Ocrida, whom he subdued, together with that ofTriccala, and established a predominant influence over the agas ofThessaly. The pasha of Vallona he poisoned in a bath at Sophia; andstrengthened his power by marrying his two sons, Mouctar and Velhi, to the daughters of the successor and brother of the man whom he hadmurdered. In The Bride of Abydos, Lord Byron describes theassassination, but applies it to another party. 

Reclined and feverish in the bath, He, when the hunter's sport was up, But little deem'd a brother's wrathTo quench his thirst had such a cup:The bowl a bribed attendant bore--He drank one draught, nor needed more. 

During this progression of his fortunes, he had been more than oncecalled upon to furnish his quota of troops to the imperial armies, and had served at their head with distinction against the Russians. He knew his countrymen, however, too well ever to trust himself atConstantinople. It was reported that he had frequently been offeredsome of the highest offices in the empire, but he always declinedthem and sought for power only among the fastnesses of his nativeregion. Stories of the skill and courage with which he counteractedseveral machinations to procure his head were current and popularthroughout the country, and among the Greeks in general he wascertainly regarded as inferior only to the Grand Vizier himself. Butthough distrusting and distrusted, he always in the field fought forthe Sultan with great bravery, particularly against the famous rebelPaswan Oglou. On his return from that war in 1798, he was, inconsequence, made a pasha of three tails, or vizier, and was morethan once offered the ultimate dignity of Grand Vizier, but he stilldeclined all the honours of the metropolis. The object of hisambition was not temporary power, but to found a kingdom. 

He procured, however, pashalics for his two sons, the younger ofwhom, Velhi, saved sufficient money in his first government to buythe pashalic of the Morea, with the dignity of vizier, for which hepaid seventy-five thousand pounds sterling. His eldest son, Mouctar, was of a more warlike turn, with less ambition than his brother. Atthe epoch of which I am speaking, he supplied his father's place atthe head of the Albanians in the armies of the Sultan, in which hegreatly distinguished himself in the campaign of 1809 against theRussians. 

The difficulties which Ali Pasha had to encounter in establishing hisascendancy, did not arise so much from the opposition he met withfrom the neighbouring pashas as from the nature of the people, and ofthe country of which he was determined to make himself master. Manyof the plains and valleys which composed his dominions were occupiedby inhabitants who had been always in rebellion, and were neverentirely conquered by the Turks, such as the Chimeriotes, theSulliotes, and the nations living among the mountains adjacent to thecoast of the Ionian Sea. Besides this, the woods and hills of everypart of his dominions were in a great degree possessed by formidablebands of robbers, who, recruited and protected by the villages, andcommanded by chiefs as brave and as enterprising as himself, laidextensive tracts under contribution, burning and plunderingregardless of his jurisdiction. Against these he proceeded with themost iron severity; they were burned, hanged, beheaded, and impaled, in all parts of the country, until they were either exterminated orexpelled. 

A short time before the arrival of Lord Byron at Joannina, a largebody of insurgents who infested the mountains between that city andTriccala, were defeated and dispersed by Mouctar Pasha, who cut topieces a hundred of them on the spot. These robbers had been headedby a Greek priest, who, after the defeat, went to Constantinople andprocured a firman of protection, with which he ventured to return toJoannina, where the Vizier invited him to a conference, and made hima prisoner. In deference to the firman, Ali confined him in prison, but used him well until a messenger could bring from Constantinople apermission from the Porte to authorise him to do what he pleased withthe rebel. It was the arm of this man which Byron beheld suspendedfrom the bough on entering Joannina. 

By these vigorous measures, Ali Pasha rendered the greater part ofAlbania and the contiguous districts safely accessible, which werebefore overrun by bandits and freebooters; and consequently, byopening the country to merchants, and securing their persons andgoods, not only increased his own revenues, but improved thecondition of his subjects. He built bridges over the rivers, raisedcauseways over the marshes, opened roads, adorned the country and thetowns with new buildings, and by many salutary regulations, acted thepart of a just, though a merciless, prince. 

In private life he was no less distinguished for the same unmitigatedcruelty, but he afforded many examples of strong affection. The wifeof his son Mouctar was a great favourite with the old man. Uponpaying her a visit one morning, he found her in tears. He questionedher several times as to the cause of her grief; she at lastreluctantly acknowledged that it arose from the diminution of herhusband's regard. He inquired if she thought he paid attention toother women; the reply was in the affirmative; and she related that alady of the name of Phrosyne, the wife of a rich Jew, had beguiledher of her husband's love; for she had seen at the bath, upon thefinger of Phrosyne, a rich ring, which had belonged to Mouctar, andwhich she had often in vain entreated him to give to her. Aliimmediately ordered the lady to be seized, and to be tied up in asack, and cast into the lake. Various versions of this tragical taleare met with in all parts of the country, and the fate of Phrosyne isembodied in a ballad of touching pathos and melody. 

That the character of this intrepid and ruthless warrior made a deepimpression on the mind of Byron cannot be questioned. The scenes inwhich he acted were, as the poet traversed the country, everywherearound him; and his achievements, bloody, dark, and brave, had becomethemes of song and admiration. 

CHAPTER XIV

Leave Joannina for Prevesa--Land at Fanari--Albania--Byron'sCharacter of the Inhabitants

Having gratified their curiosity with an inspection of every objectof interest at Tepellene, the travellers returned Joannina, wherethey again resided several days, partaking of the hospitality of theprincipal inhabitants. On the 3rd of November they bade it adieu, and returned to Salona, on the Golf of Arta; where, in consequence ofhearing that the inhabitants of Carnia were up in arms, that numerousbands of robbers had descended from the mountains of Ziccola andAgrapha, and had made their appearance on the other side of the gulf, they resolved to proceed by water to Prevesa, and having presented anorder which they had received from Ali Pasha, for the use of hisgalliot, she was immediately fitted out to convey them. In thecourse of the voyage they suffered a great deal of alarm, ran somerisk, and were obliged to land on the mainland of Albania, in a baycalled Fanari, contiguous to the mountainous district of Sulli. There they procured horses, and rode to Volondorako, a town belongingto the Vizier, by the primate of which and his highness's garrisonthey were received with all imaginable civility. Having passed thenight there, they departed in the morning, which, proving bright andbeautiful, afforded them interesting views of the steep romanticenvirons of Sulli. 

 Land of Albania, where Iskander rose, Theme of the young, and beacon of the wise, And he his namesake whose oft-baffled foes Shrunk from his deeds of chivalrous emprise; Land of Albania! let me bend mine eyes On thee, thou rugged nurse of savage men! The Cross descends, thy minarets arise, And the pale crescent sparkles in the glen, Through many a cypress grove within each city's ken. 

Of the inhabitants of Albania--the Arnaouts or Albanese--Lord Byronsays they reminded him strongly of the Highlanders of Scotland, whomthey undoubtedly resemble in dress, figure, and manner of living. "The very mountains seemed Caledonian with a kinder climate. Thekilt, though white, the spare active form, their dialect, Celtic inits sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven. Nonation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as theAlbanese; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turksas Moslems, and in fact they are a mixture of both, and sometimesneither. Their habits are predatory: all are armed, and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montenegrins, Chimeriotes, and Gedges, aretreacherous; the others differ somewhat in garb, and essentially incharacter. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was attended by two, an infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinopleand every other part of Turkey which came within my observations, andmen more faithful in peril and indefatigable in service are nowhereto be found. The infidel was named Basilius, the Moslem DervishTahiri; the former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pasha in person to attend us, andDervish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests ofAcarnania, to the banks of the Achelous, and onward to Missolonghi. There I took him into my own service, and never had occasion torepent it until the moment of my departure. 

"When in 1810, after my friend, Mr Hobhouse, left me for England, Iwas seized with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my lifeby frightening away my physician, whose throat they threatened to cutif I was not cured within a given time. To this consolatoryassurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of DrRomanelli's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I had left mylast remaining English servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill asmyself; and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which wouldhave done honour to civilization. 

"They had a variety of adventures, for the Moslem, Dervish, being aremarkably handsome man, was always squabbling with the husbands ofAthens; insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid me a visit ofremonstrance at the convent, on the subject of his having taken awoman to the bath--whom he had lawfully bought, however--a thingquite contrary to etiquette. 

"Basili also was extremely gallant among his own persuasion, and hadthe greatest veneration for the Church, mixed with the highestcontempt of Churchmen, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a mostheterodox manner. Yet he never passed a church without crossinghimself; and I remember the risk he ran on entering St Sophia, inStamboul, because it had once been a place of his worship. Onremonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariablyanswered, 'Our church is holy, our priests are thieves'; and then hecrossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first papas whorefused to assist in any required operation, as was always found tobe necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi ofhis village. Indeed, a more abandoned race of miscreants cannotexist than the lower orders of the Greek clergy. 

"When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians weresummoned to receive their pay. Basili took his with an awkward showof regret at my intended departure, and marched away to his quarterswith his bag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for some time hewas not to be found; at last he entered just as Signor Logotheti, father to the ci-devant Anglo-consul of Athens, and some other of myGreek acquaintances, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but ona sudden dashed it on the ground; and clasping his hands, which heraised to his forehead, rushed out of the room weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour of my embarkation, he continued hislamentations, and all our efforts to console him only produced thisanswer, 'He leaves me. ' Signor Logotheti, who never wept before foranything less than the loss of a paras, melted; the padre of theconvent, my attendants, my visitors, and I verily believe that evenSterne's foolish fat scullion would have left her fish-kettle tosympathise with the unaffected and unexpected sorrow of thisbarbarian. 

"For my part, when I remembered that a short time before my departurefrom England, a noble and most intimate associate had excused himselffrom taking leave of me, because he had to attend a relation 'to amilliner's, ' I felt no less surprised than humiliated by the presentoccurrence and the past recollection. 

"The Albanians in general (I do not mean the cultivators of the earthin the provinces, who have also that appellation, but themountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance; and the most beautifulwomen I have ever beheld, in stature and in features, we sawlevelling the road broken down by the torrents between Delvinaki andLibokavo. Their manner of walking is truly theatrical, but thisstrut is probably the effect of the capote or cloak depending fromone shoulder. Their long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and theircourage in desultory warfare is unquestionable. Though they havesome cavalry among the Gedges, I never saw a good Arnaout horseman, but on foot they are never to be subdued. "

The travellers having left Volondorako proceeded southward until theycame near to the seaside, and passing along the shore, under a castlebelonging to Ali Pasha, on the lofty summit of a steep rock, they atlast reached Nicopolis again, the ruins of which they revisited. 

On their arrival at Prevesa, they had no choice left but that ofcrossing Carnia, and the country being, as already mentioned, overrunwith robbers, they provided themselves with a guard of thirty-sevensoldiers, and procured another galliot to take them down the Gulf ofArta, to the place whence they were to commence their land journey. 

Having embarked, they continued sailing with very little wind untilthey reached the fortress of Vonitza, where they waited all night forthe freshening of the morning breeze, with which they again set sail, and about four o'clock in the afternoon arrived at Utraikee. 

At this place there was only a custom house and a barrack for troopsclose to each other, and surrounded, except towards the water, by ahigh wall. In the evening the gates were secured, and preparationsmade for feeding their Albanian guards; a goat was killed and roastedwhole, and four fires were kindled in the yard, around which thesoldiers seated themselves in parties. After eating and drinking, the greater part of them assembled at the largest of the fires, and, while the travellers were themselves with the elders of the partyseated on the ground, danced round the blaze to their own songs, withastonishing Highland energy. 

 Childe Harold at a little distance stood, And view'd, but not displeased, the revelry, Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude; In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent glee; And as the flames along their faces gleam'd, Their gestures nimble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that to their girdles stream'd, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream'd. 

 "I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear; He neither must know who would serve the vizier; Since the days of our prophet, the crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 

CHAPTER XV

Leave Utraikee--Dangerous Pass in the Woods--Catoona--Quarrel betweenthe Guard and Primate of the Village--Makala--Gouri--Missolonghi--Parnassus

Having spent the night at Utraikee, Byron and his friend continuedtheir journey southward. The reports of the state of the countryinduced them to take ten additional soldiers with them, as their roadfor the first two hours lay through dangerous passes in the forest. On approaching these places fifteen or twenty of the party walkedbriskly on before, and when they had gone through the pass halteduntil the travellers came up. In the woods two or three green spotswere discovered on the road-side, and on them Turkish tombstones, generally under a clump of trees, and near a well or fountain. 

When they had passed the forest they reached an open country, whencethey sent back the ten men whom they had brought from Utraikee. Theythen passed on to a village called Catoona, where they arrived bynoon. It was their intention to have proceeded farther that day, buttheir progress was interrupted by an affair between their Albanianguard and the primate of the village. As they were looking about, while horses were collecting to carry their luggage, one of thesoldiers drew his sword at the primate, the Greek head magistrate;guns were cocked, and in an instant, before either Lord Byron or MrHobhouse could stop the affray, the primate, throwing off his shoesand cloak, fled so precipitately that he rolled down the hill anddislocated his shoulder. It was a long time before they couldpersuade him to return to his house, where they lodged, and when hedid return he remarked that he cared comparatively little about hisshoulder to the loss of a purse with fifteen sequins, which haddropped out of his pocket during the tumble. The hint wasunderstood. 

Catoona is inhabited by Greeks only, and is a rural, well-builtvillage. The primate's house was neatly fitted up with sofas. Upona knoll, in the middle of the village, stood a schoolhouse, and fromthat spot the view was very extensive. To the west are loftymountains, ranging from north to south, near the coast; to the east agrand romantic prospect in the distance, and in the foreground agreen valley, with a considerable river winding through a long lineof country. 

They had some difficulty in procuring horses at Catoona, and inconsequence were detained until past eleven o'clock the next morning, and only travelled four hours that day to Makala, a well-built stonevillage, containing about forty houses distinct from each other, andinhabited by Greeks, who were a little above the condition ofpeasants, being engaged in pasturage and a small wool-trade. 

The travellers were now in Carnia, where they found the inhabitantsmuch better lodged than in the Albanian villages. The house in whichthey slept at this place resembled those old mansions which are to bemet with in the bottoms of the Wiltshire Downs. Two green courts, one before and the other behind, were attached to it, and the wholewas surrounded by a high and thick wall, which shut out the prospect, but was necessary in a country so frequently overrun by strong bandsof freebooters. 

From Makala they proceeded through the woods, and in the course oftheir journey passed three new-made graves, which the Albanianspointing at as they rode by, said they were "robbers. " In the courseof the journey they had a distant view of the large town of Vraikore, on the left bank of the Aspro, but they did not approach it, crossingthe river by a ferry to the village of Gouria, where they passed thenight. 

Leaving that place in the morning, they took an easterly direction, and continued to ride across a plain of cornfields, near the banks ofthe river, in a rich country; sometimes over stone causeways, andbetween the hedges of gardens and olive-groves, until they werestopped by the sea. This was that fruitful region formerly calledParacheloitis, which, according to classic allegory, was drained ortorn from the river Achelous, by the perseverance of Hercules andpresented by him for a nuptial present to the daughter of Oeneus. 

The water at which they had now arrived was rather a salt marsh thanthe sea, a shallow bay stretching from the mouth of the Gulf ofLepanto into the land for several miles. Having dismissed theirhorses, they passed over in boats to Natolico, a town which stood inthe water. Here they fell in with a hospitable Jew, who made himselfremembered by saying that he was honoured in their having partaken ofhis little misery. 

Natolico, where they stayed for the night, was a well-built town; thehouses of timber, chiefly of two stories, and about six hundred innumber. Having sent on their baggage in boats, they themselvesproceeded to the town of Missolonghi, so celebrated since as havingsuffered greatly during the recent rebellion of the Greeks, but moreparticularly as the place where Lord Byron died. 

Missolonghi is situated on the south side of the salt marsh orshallow, along the north coast of the Gulf of Corinth, nearlyopposite to Patras. It is a dull, and I should think an unwholesomeplace. The marsh, for miles on each side, has only from a foot totwo feet of water on it, but there is a channel for boats marked outby perches. When I was there the weather was extremely wet, and Ihad no other opportunity of seeing the character of the adjacentcountry than during the intervals of the showers. It was green andpastoral, with a short skirt of cultivation along the bottom of thehills. 

Abrupt and rapid as the foregoing sketch of the journey throughAlbania has been, it is evident from the novelty of its circumstancesthat it could not be performed without leaving deep impressions onthe susceptible mind of the poet. It is impossible, I think, not toallow that far more of the wildness and romantic gloom of hisimagination was derived from the incidents of this tour, than fromall the previous experience of his life. The scenes he visited, thecharacters with whom he became familiar, and above all, the charteredfeelings, passions, and principles of the inhabitants, were greatlycalculated to supply his mind with rare and valuable poeticalmaterials. It is only in this respect that the details of histravels are interesting. --Considered as constituting a portion of theeducation of his genius, they are highly curious, and serve to showhow little, after all, of great invention is requisite to makeinteresting and magnificent poetry. 

From Missolonghi the travellers passed over the Gulf of Corinth toPatras, then a rude, half-ruined, open town with a fortress on thetop of a hill; and on the 4th of December, in the afternoon, theyproceeded towards Corinth, but halted at Vostizza, the ancientAEgium, where they obtained their first view of Parnassus, on theopposite side of the gulf; rising high above the other peaks of thathilly region, and capped with snow. It probably was during thisfirst visit to Vostizza that the Address to Parnassus was suggested. 

 Oh, thou Parnassus! whom I now survey Not in the frensy of a dreamer's eye, Not in the fabled landscape of a lay, But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky, In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! What marvel if I thus essay to sing? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine echoes with his string, Though from thy heights no more one muse will wave her wing. 

 Oft have I dream'd of thee! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore; And now I view thee, 'tis, alas! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopyIn silent joy, to think at last I look on thee. 

CHAPTER XVI

Vostizza--Battle of Lepanto--Parnassus--Livadia--Cave at Trophonius--The Fountains of Oblivion and Memory--Chaeronea--Thebes--Athens

Vostizza was then a considerable town, containing between three andfour thousand inhabitants, chiefly Greeks. It stands on a risingground on the Peloponnesian side of the Gulf of Corinth. I saystands, but I know not if it has survived the war. The sceneryaround it will always make it delightful, while the associationsconnected with the Achaian League, and the important events whichhave happened in the vicinity, will ever render the site interesting. The battle of Lepanto, in which Cervantes lost his hand, was foughtwithin sight of it. 

What a strange thing is glory! Three hundred years ago allChristendom rang with the battle of Lepanto, and yet it is alreadyprobable that it will only be interesting to posterity as an incidentin the life of one of the private soldiers engaged in it. This iscertainly no very mournful reflection to one who is of opinion thatthere is no permanent fame, but that which is obtained by adding tothe comforts and pleasures of mankind. Military transactions, aftertheir immediate effects cease to be felt, are little productive ofsuch a result. Not that I value military virtues the less by beingof this opinion; on the contrary, I am the more convinced of theirexcellence. Burke has unguardedly said, 'that vice loses half itsmalignity by losing its grossness'; but public virtue ceases to beuseful when it sickens at the calamities of necessary war. Themoment that nations become confident of security, they give way tocorruption. The evils and dangers of war seem as requisite for thepreservation of public morals as the laws themselves; at least it isthe melancholy moral of history, that when nations resolve to bepeaceful with respect to their neighbours, they begin to be viciouswith respect to themselves. But to return to the travellers. 

On the 14th of December they hired a boat with fourteen men and tenoars, and sailed to Salona; thence they proceeded to Crisso, and rodeon to Delphi, ascending the mountain on horseback, by a steep, craggypath towards the north-east. After scaling the side of Parnassus forabout an hour, they saw vast masses of rock, and fragments of stone, piled in a perilous manner above them, with niches and sepulchres, and relics, and remains on all sides. 

They visited and drank of Castalia, and the prophetic font, Cassotis;but still, like every other traveller, they were disappointed. Parnassus is an emblem of the fortune that attends the votaries ofthe Muses, harsh, rugged, and barren. The woods that once waved onDelphi's steep have all passed away, and may now be sought in vain. 

A few traces of terraces may yet be discovered--here and there thestump of a column, while niches for receiving votive offerings arenumerous among the cliffs, but it is a lone and dismal place;Desolation sits with Silence, and Ruin there is so decayed as to bealmost Oblivion. 

Parnassus is not so much a single mountain as the loftiest of arange; the cloven summit appears most conspicuous when seen from thesouth. The northern view is, however, more remarkable, for the cleftis less distinguishable, and seven lower peaks suggest, incontemplation with the summits, the fancy of so many seats of theMuses. These peaks, nine in all, are the first of the hills whichreceive the rising sun, and the last that in the evening part withhis light. 

From Delphi the travellers proceeded towards Livadia, passing in thecourse of the journey the confluence of the three roads where OEdipusslew his father, an event with its hideous train of fatalities whichcould not be recollected by Byron on the spot, even after the talesof guilt he had gathered in his Albanian journeys, without agitatingassociations. 

At Livadia they remained the greater part of three days, during whichthey examined with more than ordinary minuteness the cave ofTrophonius, and the streams of the Hercyna, composed of the mingledwaters of the two fountains of Oblivion and Memory. 

From Livadia, after visiting the battlefield of Chaeronea (thebirthplace of Plutarch), and also many of the almost innumerablestoried and consecrated spots in the neighbourhood, the travellersproceeded to Thebes--a poor town, containing about five hundredwooden houses, with two shabby mosques and four humble churches. Theonly thing worthy of notice in it is a public clock, to which theinhabitants direct the attention of strangers as proudly as if itwere indeed one of the wonders of the world. There they still affectto show the fountain of Dirce and the ruins of the house of Pindar. But it is unnecessary to describe the numberless relics of the famousthings of Greece, which every hour, as they approached towardsAthens, lay more and more in their way. Not that many remarkableobjects met their view; yet fragments of antiquity were often seen, though many of them were probably brought far from the edifices towhich they had originally belonged; not for their beauty, or onaccount of the veneration which the sight of them inspired, butbecause they would burn into better lime than the coarser rock of thelulls. Nevertheless, abased and returned into rudeness as all thingswere, the presence of Greece was felt, and Byron could not resist theinspirations of her genius. 

 Fair Greece! sad relic of departed worth! Immortal! though no more; though fallen, great; Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth And long-accustom'd bondage uncreate? Not such thy Sons who whilom did await, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thermopylae's sepulchral strait: Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume, Leap from Eurotas' banks, and call thee from the tomb!

In the course of the afternoon of the day after they had left Thebes, in attaining the summit of a mountain over which their road lay, thetravellers beheld Athens at a distance, rising loftily, crowned withthe Acropolis in the midst of the plain, the sea beyond, and themisty hills of Egina blue in the distance. 

On a rugged rock rising abruptly on the right, near to the spot wherethis interesting vista first opened, they beheld the remains of theancient walls of Phyle, a fortress which commanded one of the passesfrom Baeotia into Attica, and famous as the retreat of the chiefpatriots concerned in destroying the thirty tyrants of Athens. 

 Spirit of freedom! when on Phyle's brow Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, But every carle can lord it o'er thy land; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain, Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand, From birth till death enslaved; in word, in deed unmann'd. 

Such was the condition in which the poet found the country as heapproached Athens; and although the spirit he invoked has reanimatedthe dejected race he then beheld around him, the traveller who evennow revisits the country will still look in vain for that lofty mienwhich characterises the children of liberty. The fetters of theGreeks have been struck off, but the blains and excoriated marks ofslavery are still conspicuous upon them; the sinister eye, thefawning voice, the skulking, crouching, base demeanour, time and manyconflicts only can efface. 

The first view of the city was fleeting and unsatisfactory; as thetravellers descended from the mountains the windings of the roadamong the hills shut it out. Having passed the village of Casha, they at last entered upon the slope, and thence into the plain ofAttica but the intervening heights and the trees kept the townconcealed, till a turn of the path brought it full again before them;the Acropolis crowned with the ruins of the Parthenon--the Museumhill--and the Monument of Philopappus--

 Ancient of Days--august Athena! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone--glimmering through the dreams of things that were: First in the race that led to glory's goal, They won, and pass'd away:--is this the whole? A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour! The warrior's weapon, and the sophist's stole Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. 

CHAPTER XVII

Athens--Byron's Character of the modern Athenians--Visit to Eleusis--Visit to the Caverns at Vary and Keratea--Lost in the Labyrinths ofthe latter

It has been justly remarked, that were there no other vestiges of theancient world in existence than those to be seen at Athens, they arestill sufficient of themselves to justify the admiration entertainedfor the genius of Greece. It is not, however, so much on account oftheir magnificence as of their exquisite beauty, that the fragmentsobtain such idolatrous homage from the pilgrims to the shatteredshrines of antiquity. But Lord Byron had no feeling for art, perhapsit would be more correct to say he affected none: still, Athens wasto him a text, a theme; and when the first rush of curiosity has beensatisfied, where else can the palled fancy find such a topic. 

To the mere antiquary, this celebrated city cannot but long continueinteresting, and to the classic enthusiast, just liberated from thecloisters of his college, the scenery and the ruins may for a seasoninspire delight. Philosophy may there point her moral apophthegmswith stronger emphasis, virtue receive new incitements toperseverance, by reflecting on the honour which still attends thememory of the ancient great, and patriotism there more patheticallydeplore the inevitable effects of individual corruption on publicglory; but to the man who seeks a solace from misfortune, or is "a-weary of the sun"; how wretched, how solitary, how empty is Athens!

 Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied throng; Long shall the voyager, with th' Ionian blast, Hail the bright clime of battle and of song; Long shall thy annals and immortal tongue Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore; Boast of the aged! lesson of the young! Which sages venerate and bards adore, As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore!

Of the existing race of Athenians Byron has observed, that they areremarkable for their cunning: "Among the various foreigners residentin Athens there was never a difference of opinion in their estimateof the Greek character, though on all other topics they disputed withgreat acrimony. M. Fauvel, the French consul, who has passed thirtyyears at Athens, frequently declared in my hearing, that the Greeksdo not deserve to be emancipated, reasoning on the ground of theirnational and individual depravity--while he forgot that suchdepravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be removed bythe measures he reprobates. 

"M. Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled inAthens, asserted with the most amusing gravity, 'Sir, they are thesame canaille that existed in the days of Themistocles. ' Theancients banished Themistocles; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque:thus great men have ever been treated. 

"In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of theEnglishmen, Germans, Danes, etc. , of passage, came over by degrees totheir opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in England wouldcondemn the nation by wholesale, because he was wronged by his lackeyand overcharged by his washerwoman. Certainly, it was not a littlestaggering when the Sieurs Fauvel and Lusieri, the two greatestdemagogues of the day, who divide between them the power of Periclesand the popularity of Cleon, and puzzle the poor Waywode withperpetual differences, agreed in the utter condemnation of the Greeksin general, and of the Athenians in particular. "

I have quoted his Lordship thus particularly because after hisarrival at Athens he laid down his pen. Childe Harold theredisappears. Whether he had written the pilgrimage up to that pointat Athens I have not been able to ascertain; while I am inclined tothink it was so, as I recollect he told me there that he had thendescribed or was describing the reception he had met with atTepellene from Ali Pasha. 

After having halted some time at Athens, where they established theirheadquarters, the travellers, when they had inspected the principalantiquities of the city (those things which all travellers mustvisit), made several excursions into the environs, and among otherplaces went to Eleusis. 

On the 13th of January they mounted earlier than usual, and set outon that road which has the site of the Academy and the Colonos, theretreat of OEdipus during his banishment, a little to the right; theythen entered the Olive Groves, crossed the Cephessus, and came to anopen, well-cultivated plain, extending on the left to the Piraeus andthe sea. Having ascended by a gentle acclivity through a pass, atthe distance of eight or ten miles from Athens, the ancientCorydallus, now called Daphnerouni, they came, at the bottom of apiney mountain, to the little monastery of Daphne, the appearance andsituation of which are in agreeable unison. The monastery was thenfast verging into that state of the uninhabitable picturesque so muchadmired by young damsels and artists of a romantic vein. The pineson the adjacent mountains hiss as they ever wave their boughs, andsomehow, such is the lonely aspect of the place, that their hissingmay be imagined to breathe satire against the pretensions of humanvanity. 

After passing through the hollow valley in which this monastichabitation is situated, the road sharply turns round an elbow of themountain, and the Eleusinian plain opens immediately in front. Itis, however, for a plain, but of small dimensions. On the left isthe Island of Salamis, and the straits where the battle was fought;but neither of it nor of the mysteries for which the Temple of Cereswas for so many ages celebrated, has the poet given us description orsuggestion; and yet few topics among all his wild and wonderfulsubjects were so likely to have furnished such "ample room, and vergeenough" to his fancy. 

The next excursion in any degree interesting, it a qualification ofthat kind can be applied to excursions, in Attica, was to CapeColonna. Crossing the bed of the Ilissus and keeping nearer to MountHymettus, the travellers arrived at Vary, a farm belonging to themonastery of Agios Asomatos, and under the charge of a caloyer. Herethey stopped for the night, and being furnished with lights, andattended by the caloyer's servant as a guide, they proceeded toinspect the Paneum, or sculptured cavern in that neighbourhood, intowhich they descended. Having satisfied their curiosity there, theyproceeded, in the morning, to Keratea, a small town containing abouttwo hundred and fifty houses, chiefly inhabited by rural Albanians. 

The wetness of the weather obliged them to remain several days atKeratea, during which they took the opportunity of a few hours ofsunshine to ascend the mountain of Parne in quest of a cave of whichmany wonderful things were reported in the country. Having found theentrance, kindled their pine torches, and taken a supply of strips ofthe same wood, they let themselves down through a narrow aperture;creeping still farther down, they came into what seemed a largesubterranean hall, arched as it were with high cupolas of crystal, and divided into long aisles by columns of glittering spar, in someparts spread into wide horizontal chambers, in others terminated bythe dark mouths of deep and steep abysses receding into the interiorof the mountain. 

The travellers wandered from one grotto to another until they came toa fountain of pure water, by the side of which they lingered sometime, till, observing that their torches were wasting, they resolvedto return; but after exploring the labyrinth for a few minutes, theyfound themselves again close beside this mysterious spring. It wasnot without reason they then became alarmed, for the guide confessedwith trepidation that he had forgotten the intricacies of the cave, and knew not how to recover the outlet. 

Byron often described this adventure with spirit and humour, magnifying both his own and his friend's terrors; and though, ofcourse, there was caricature in both, yet the distinction wascharacteristic. Mr Hobhouse, being of a more solid dispositionnaturally, could discern nothing but a grave cause for dread in beingthus lost in the bowels of the earth; Byron, however, described hisown anxiety as a species of excitement and titillation which movedhim to laughter. Their escape from starvation and being buried alivewas truly providential. 

While roaming in a state of despair from cave to cell; climbing upnarrow apertures; their last pine-torch fast consuming; totallyignorant of their position, and all around darkness, they discovered, as it were by accident, a ray of light gleaming towards them; theyhastened towards it, and arrived at the mouth of the cave. 

Although the poet has not made any use of this incident indescription, the actual experience which it gave him of what despairis, could not but enrich his metaphysical store, and increase hisknowledge of terrible feelings; of the workings of the darkest anddreadest anticipations--slow famishing death--cannibalism and therage of self-devouring hunger. 

CHAPTER XVIII

Proceed from Keratea to Cape Colonna--Associations connected with theSpot--Second-hearing of the Albanians--Journey to Marathon--Effect ofhis Adventures on the Mind of the Poet--Return to Athens--I join theTravellers there--Maid of Athens

From Keratea the travellers proceeded to Cape Colonna, by the way ofKatapheke. The road was wild and rude, but the distant view of theruins of the temple of Minerva, standing on the loneliness of thepromontory, would have repaid them for the trouble, had the road beeneven rougher. 

This once elegant edifice was of the Doric order, a hexastyle, thecolumns twenty-seven feet in height. It was built entirely of whitemarble, and esteemed one of the finest specimens of architecture. The rocks on which the remains stand are celebrated alike by theEnglish and the Grecian muses; for it was amid them that Falconerlaid the scene of his Shipwreck; and the unequalled description ofthe climate of Greece, in The Giaour, was probably inspired there, although the poem was written in London. It was also here, but noton this occasion, that the poet first became acquainted with theAlbanian belief in second-hearing, to which he alludes in the samepoem:

 Deep in whose darkly-boding ear The death-shot peal'd of murder near. 

"This superstition of a second-hearing, " says Lord Byron, "fell onceunder my own observation. On my third journey to Cape Colonna, as wepassed through the defile that leads from the hamlet between Kerateaand Colonna, I observed Dervish Tahiri (one of his Albanian servants)riding rather out of the path, and leaning his head upon his hand asif in pain. I rode up and inquired. 'We are in peril!' he answered. 'What peril? we are not now in Albania, nor in the passes to Ephesus, Missolonghi, or Lepanto; there are plenty of us well armed, and theChoriotes have not courage to be thieves. '--'True, Affendi; but, nevertheless, the shot is ringing in my ears. '--'The shot! not atophaike has been fired this morning. '--'I hear it, notwithstanding--bom--bom--as plainly as I hear your voice. '--'Bah. '--'As you please, Affendi; if it is written, so will it be. '

"I left this quick-eared predestinarian, and rode up to Basili, hisChristian compatriot, whose ears, though not at all prophetic, by nomeans relished the intelligence. We all arrived at Colonna, remainedsome hours, and returned leisurely, saying a variety of brilliantthings, in more languages than spoiled the building of Babel, uponthe mistaken seer; Romaic, Arnaout, Turkish, Italian, and Englishwere all exercised, in various conceits, upon the unfortunateMussulman. While we were contemplating the beautiful prospect, Dervish was occupied about the columns. I thought he was derangedinto an antiquarian, and asked him if he had become a palaocastroman. 'No, ' said he, 'but these pillars will be useful in making astand' and added some remarks, which at least evinced his own beliefin his troublesome faculty of fore-hearing. 

"On our return to Athens we heard from Leone (a prisoner set on shoresome days after) of the intended attack of the Mainotes, with thecause of its not taking place. I was at some pains to question theman, and he described the dresses, arms, and marks of the horses ofour party so accurately, that, with other circumstances, we could notdoubt of his having been in 'villainous company, ' and ourselves in abad neighbourhood. Dervish became a soothsayer for life, and I daresay is now hearing more musketry than ever will be fired, to thegreat refreshment of the Arnaouts of Berat and his native mountains. 

"In all Attica, if we except Athens itself, and Marathon, " Byronremarks, "there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. Tothe antiquary and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible sourceof observation and design; to the philosopher the supposed scene ofsome of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and thetraveller will be struck with the prospect over 'Isles that crown theAEgean deep. ' But, for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additionalinterest in being the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallasand Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell. 

"There, in the dead of night, by Donna's steep, The seamen's cry was heard along the deep. "

From the ruins of the temple the travellers returned to Keratea, bythe eastern coast of Attica, passing through that district of countrywhere the silver mines are situated; which, according to Sir GeorgeWheler, were worked with some success about a hundred and fifty yearsago. They then set out for Marathon, taking Rapthi in their way;where, in the lesser port, on a steep rocky island, they beheld, froma distance, the remains of a colossal statue. They did not, however, actually inspect it, but it has been visited by other travellers, whohave described it to be of white marble, sedent on a pedestal. Thehead and arms are broken off; but when entire, it is conjectured tohave been twelve feet in height. As they were passing round theshore they heard the barking of dogs, and a shout from a shepherd, and on looking round saw a large dun-coloured wolf, galloping slowlythrough the bushes. 

Such incidents and circumstances, in the midst of the most romanticscenery of the world, with wild and lawless companions, and aconstant sense of danger, were full of poetry, and undoubtedlycontributed to the formation of the peculiar taste of Byron's genius. As it has been said of Salvator Rosa, the painter, that he derivedthe characteristic savage force of his pencil from his youthfuladventures with banditti; it may be added of Byron, that much of hismost distinguished power was the result of his adventures as atraveller in Greece. His mind and memory were filled with stores ofthe fittest imagery, to supply becoming backgrounds and appendages, to the characters and enterprises which he afterward depicted withsuch truth of nature and poetical effect. 

After leaving Rapthi, keeping Mount Pentilicus on the left, thetravellers came in sight of the ever-celebrated Plain of Marathon. The evening being advanced, they passed the barrow of the Athenianslain unnoticed, but next morning they examined minutely the field ofbattle, and fancied they had made antiquarian discoveries. In theirreturn to Athens they inspected the different objects of research andfragments of antiquity, which still attract travellers, and with thehelp of Chandler and Pausanias, endeavoured to determine the localhabitation and the name of many things, of which the traditions haveperished and the forms have relapsed into rock. 

Soon after their arrival at Athens, Mr Hobhouse left Lord Byron tovisit the Negropont, where he was absent some few days. I think hehad only been back three or four when I arrived from Zante. My visitto Athens at that period was accidental. I had left Malta with theintention of proceeding to Candia, by Specia, and Idra; but adreadful storm drove us up the Adriatic, as far as Valona; and inreturning, being becalmed off the Island of Zante, I landed there, and allowed the ship, with my luggage, to proceed to her destination, having been advised to go on by the Gulf of Corinth to Athens; fromwhich place, I was informed, there would be no difficulty inrecovering my trunks. 

In carrying this arrangement into effect, I was induced to go asidefrom the direct route, and to visit Velhi Pasha, at Tripolizza, towhom I had letters. Returning by Argos and Corinth, I crossed theisthmus, and taking the road by Megara, reached Athens on the 20th ofFebruary. In the course of this journey, I heard of two Englishtravellers being in the city; and on reaching the convent of thePropaganda, where I had been advised to take up my lodgings, thefriar in charge of the house informed me of their names. Nextmorning, Mr Hobhouse, having heard of my arrival, kindly called onme, and I accompanied him to Lord Byron, who then lodged with thewidow of a Greek, who had been British Consul. She was, I believe, arespectable person, with several daughters; one of whom has beenrendered more famous by his Lordship's verses than her degree ofbeauty deserved. She was a pale and pensive-looking girl, withregular Grecian features. Whether he really cherished any sincereattachment to her I much doubt. I believe his passion was equallyinnocent and poetical, though he spoke of buying her from her mother. It was to this damsel that he addressed the stanzas beginning, Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh! give me back my heart. 

CHAPTER XIX

Occupation at Athens--Mount Pentilicus--We descend into the Caverns--Return to Athens--A Greek Contract of Marriage--Various Athenian andAlbanian Superstitions--Effect of their Impression on the Genius ofthe Poet

During his residence at Athens, Lord Byron made almost dailyexcursions on horseback, chiefly for exercise and to see thelocalities of celebrated spots. He affected to have no taste for thearts, and he certainly took but little pleasure in the examination ofthe ruins. 

The marble quarry of Mount Pentilicus, from which the materials forthe temples and principal edifices of Athens are supposed to havebeen brought, was, in those days, one of the regular staplecuriosities of Greece. This quarry is a vast excavation in the sideof the hill; a drapery of woodbine hangs like the festoons of acurtain over the entrance; the effect of which, seen from theoutside, is really worth looking at, but not worth the trouble ofriding three hours over a road of rude and rough fragments to see:the interior is like that of any other cavern. To this place I oneday was induced to accompany the two travellers. 

We halted at a monastery close by the foot of the mountain, where weprocured a guide, and ate a repast of olives and fried eggs. DrChandler says that the monks, or caloyers, of this convent aresummoned to prayers by a tune which is played on a piece of an ironhoop; and, on the outside of the church, we certainly saw a piece ofcrooked iron suspended. When struck, it uttered a bell-like sound, by which the hour of prayer was announced. What sort of tune couldbe played on such an instrument the doctor has judiciously left hisreaders to imagine. 

When we reached the mouth of the grotto, by that "very bad track"which the learned personage above mentioned clambered up, we saw theruins of the building which the doctor at first thought had beenpossibly a hermit's cell; but which, upon more deliberate reflection, he became of opinion "was designed, perhaps, for a sentinel to lookout, and regulate, by signals, the approach of the men and teamsemployed in carrying marble to the city. " This, we agreed, was avery sagacious conjecture. It was, indeed, highly probable thatsentinels were appointed to regulate, by signals, the manoeuvres ofcarts coming to fetch away stones. 

Having looked at the outside of the quarry, and the guide havinglighted candles, we entered into the interior, and beheld on allsides what Dr Chandler saw, "chippings of marble. " We thendescended, consecutively, into a hole, just wide enough to let a manpass; and when we had descended far enough, we found ourselves in acell, or cave; it might be some ten or twelve feet square. Here westopped, and, like many others who had been there before us, attempted to engrave our names. Mine was without success; LordByron's was not much better; but Mr Hobhouse was making some progressto immortality, when the blade of his knife snapped, or shuttingsuddenly, cut his finger. These attempts having failed, we inscribedour initials on the ceiling with the smoke of our candles. Afteraccomplishing this notable feat, we got as well out of the scrape aswe could, and returned to Athens by the village of Callandris. Inthe evening, after dinner, as there happened to be a contract ofmarriage performing in the neighbourhood, we went to see theceremony. 

Between the contract and espousal two years are generally permittedto elapse among the Greeks in the course of which the bride, according to the circumstances of her relations, prepares domesticchattels for her future family. The affections are rarely consultedon either side, for the mother of the bridegroom commonly arrangesthe match for her son. In this case, the choice had been evidentlymade according to the principle on which Mrs Primrose chose herwedding gown; viz. For the qualities that would wear well. For thebride was a stout household quean; her face painted with vermilion, and her person arrayed in uncouth embroidered garments. Unfortunately, we were disappointed of seeing the ceremony, as it wasover before we arrived. 

This incident led me to inquire particularly into the existing usagesand customs of the Athenians; and I find in the notes of my journalof the evening of that day's adventures, a memorandum of a curiouspractice among the Athenian maidens when they become anxious to gethusbands. On the first evening of the new moon, they put a littlehoney, a little salt, and a piece of bread on a plate, which theyleave at a particular spot on the east bank of the Ilissus, near theStadium, and muttering some ancient words, to the effect that Fatemay send them a handsome young man, return home, and long for thefulfilment of the charm. On mentioning this circumstance to thetravellers, one of them informed me, that above the spot where theseofferings are made, a statue of Venus, according to Pausanias, formerly stood. It is, therefore, highly probable that what is now asuperstitious, was anciently a religious rite. 

At this period my fellow-passengers were full of their adventures inAlbania. The country was new, and the inhabitants had appeared tothem a bold and singular race. In addition to the characteristicdescriptions which I have extracted from Lord Byron's notes, as wellas Mr Hobhouse's travels, I am indebted to them, as well as toothers, for a number of memoranda obtained in conversation, whichthey have themselves neglected to record, but which probably becameunconsciously mingled with the recollections of both; at least, I candiscern traces of them in different parts of the poet's works. 

The Albanians are a race of mountaineers, and it has been oftenremarked that mountaineers, more than any other people, are attachedto their native land, while no other have so strong a thirst ofadventure. The affection which they cherish for the scenes of theiryouth tends, perhaps, to excite their migratory spirit. For themotive of their adventures is to procure the means of subsisting inease at home. 

This migratory humour is not, however, universal to the Albanians, but applies only to those who go in quest of rural employment, andwho are found in a state of servitude among even the Greeks. Itdeserves, however, to be noticed, that with the Greeks they rarelyever mix or intermarry, and that they retain both their own nationaldress and manners unchanged among them. Several of their customs aresingular. It is, for example, in vain to ask a light or any firefrom the houses of the Albanians after sunset, if the husband or headof the family be still afield; a custom in which there is more ofpolice regulation than of superstition, as it interdicts a plausiblepretext for entering the cottages in the obscurity of twilight, whenthe women are defenceless by the absence of the men. 

Some of their usages, with respect to births, baptisms, and burials, are also curious. When the mother feels the fulness of time at hand, the priestess of Lucina, the midwife, is duly summoned, and she comesbearing in her hand a tripod, better known as a three-legged stool, the uses of which are only revealed to the initiated. She isreceived by the matronly friends of the mother, and begins themysteries by opening every lock and lid in the house. During thisceremony the maiden females are excluded. 

The rites which succeed the baptism of a child are still morerecondite. Four or five days after the christening, the midwifeprepares, with her own mystical hands, certain savoury messes, spreads a table, and places them on it. She then departs, and allthe family, leaving the door open, in silence retire to sleep. Thistable is covered for the Miri of the child, an occult being, that issupposed to have the care of its destiny. In the course of thenight, if the child is to be fortunate, the Miri comes and partakesof the feast, generally in the shape of a cat; but if the Miri do notcome, nor taste of the food, the child is considered to have beendoomed to misfortune and misery; and no doubt the treatment itafterwards receives is consonant to its evil predestination. 

The Albanians have, like the vulgar of all countries, a species ofhearth or household superstitions, distinct from their wild andimperfect religion. They imagine that mankind, after death, becomevoorthoolakases, and often pay visits to their friends and foes forthe same reasons, and in the same way, that our own country ghostswalk abroad; and their visiting hour is, also, midnight. But thecollyvillory is another sort of personage. He delights in mischiefand pranks, and is, besides, a lewd and foul spirit; and, therefore, very properly detested. He is let loose on the night of thenativity, with licence for twelve nights to plague men's wives; atwhich time some one of the family must keep wakeful vigil all thelivelong night, beside a clear and cheerful fire, otherwise thisnaughty imp would pour such an aqueous stream on the hearth, thatfire could never be kindled there again. 

The Albanians are also pestered with another species of malignantcreatures; men and women whose gifts are followed by misfortunes, whose eyes glimpse evil, and by whose touch the most prosperousaffairs are blasted. They work their malicious sorceries in thedark, collect herbs of baleful influence; by the help of which, theystrike their enemies with palsy, and cattle with distemper. Themales are called maissi, and the females maissa--witches andwarlocks. 

Besides these curious superstitious peculiarities, they have amongthem persons who pretend to know the character of approaching eventsby hearing sounds which resemble those that shall accompany theactual occurrence. Having, however, given Lord Byron's account ofthe adventure of his servant Dervish, at Cape Colonna, it isunnecessary to be more particular with the subject here. Indeed, butfor the great impression which everything about the Albanians made onthe mind of the poet, the insertion of these memoranda would beirrelevant. They will, however, serve to elucidate severalallusions, not otherwise very clear, in those poems of which thescenes are laid in Greece; and tend, in some measure, to confirm thecorrectness of the opinion, that his genius is much more indebted tofacts and actual adventures, than to the force of his imagination. Many things regarded in his most original productions, as fancies andinvention, may be traced to transactions in which he was himself aspectator or an actor. The impress of experience is vivid upon themall. 

CHAPTER XX

Local Pleasures--Byron's Grecian Poems--His Departure from Athens--Description of Evening in "The Corsair"--The Opening of "The Giaour"--State of Patriotic Feeling then in Greece--Smyrna--Change in LordByron's Manners

The genii that preside over famous places have less influence on theimagination than on the memory. The pleasures enjoyed on the spotspring from the reminiscences of reading; and the subsequentenjoyment derived from having visited celebrated scenes, comes againfrom the remembrance of objects seen there, and the associationsconnected with them. 

A residence at Athens, day after day, is but little more interestingthan in a common country town: but afterwards, in reading either ofthe ancient or of the modern inhabitants, it is surprising to findhow much local knowledge the memory had unconsciously acquired on thespot, arising from the variety of objects to which the attention hadbeen directed. 

The best of all Byron's works, the most racy and original, areundoubtedly those which relate to Greece; but it is only travellerswho have visited the scenes that can appreciate them properly. Inthem his peculiar style and faculty are most eminent; in all hisother productions, imitation, even mere translation may be oftentraced, and though, without question, everything he touched becametransmuted into something more beautiful and precious, yet he wasnever so masterly as in describing the scenery of Greece, andAlbanian manners. In a general estimate of his works, it may befound that he has produced as fine or finer passages than any in hisGrecian poems; but their excellence, either as respects his own, orthe productions of others, is comparative. In the Grecian poems heis only truly original; in them the excellence is all his own, andthey possess the rare and distinguished quality of being as true tofact and nature, as they are brilliant in poetical expression. Childe Harold's Pilgrimage is the most faithful descriptive poemwhich has been written since the Odyssey; and the occasional scenesintroduced into the other poems, when the action is laid in Greece, are equally vivid and glowing. 

When I saw him at Athens, the spring was still shrinking in the bud. It was not until he returned from Constantinople in the followingautumn, that he saw the climate and country with those delightfulaspects which he has delineated with so much felicity in The Giaourand The Corsair. It may, however, be mentioned, that the finedescription of a calm sunset, with which the third canto of TheCorsair opens, has always reminded me of the evening before hisdeparture from Athens, owing to the circumstance of my having, in thecourse of the day, visited the spot which probably suggested thescene described. 

It was the 4th of March, 1810; the Pylades sloop of war came thatmorning into the Piraeus, and landed Dr Darwin, a son of the poet, with his friend, Mr Galton, who had come out in her for a cruise. Captain Ferguson, her commander, was so kind as to offer the Englishthen in Athens, viz. , Lord Byron, Mr Hobhouse, and myself, a passageto Smyrna. As I had not received my luggage from Specia, I could notavail myself of the offer, but the other two did: I accompaniedCaptain Ferguson, however, and Dr Darwin, in a walk to the Straits ofSalamis; the ship, in the meantime, after landing them, having beenmoored there. 

It was one of those serene and cloudless days of the early spring, when the first indications of leaf and blossom may just be discerned. The islands slept, as it were, on their glassy couch, and a slightdun haze hung upon the mountains, as if they too were drowsy. Afteran easy walk of about two hours, passing through the olive groves, and along the bottom of the hill on which Xerxes sat to view thebattle, we came opposite to a little cove near the ferry, and made asignal to the ship for a boat. Having gone on board and partaken ofsome refreshment, the boat then carried us back to the Piraeus, wherewe landed, about an hour before sundown--all the wide landscapepresenting at the time the calm and genial tranquillity which isalmost experienced anew in reading these delicious lines:

Slow sinks more lovely e'er his race be run, Along Morea's hills, the setting sunNot, as in northern climes, obscurely bright, But one unclouded blaze of living light. O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws, Gilds the green wave that trembles as it flows. On old Egina's rock, and Idra's isle, The god of gladness sheds his parting smile;O'er his own regions lingering, loves to shine, Though there his altars are no more divine;--Descending fast, the mountain shadows kissThy glorious gulf, unconquer'd Salamis!

Their azure arches, through the long expanse, More deeply purpled meet his mellowing glance, And tenderest tints, along their summits driven, Mark his gay course, and own the hues of heaven;Till darkly shaded from the land and deep, Behind his Delphian cliff he sinks to sleep. 

The opening of The Giaour is a more general description, but thelocality is distinctly marked by reference to the tomb above therocks of the promontory, commonly said to be that of Themistocles;and yet the scene included in it certainly is rather the view fromCape Colonna, than from the heights of Munychia. 

No breath of air to break the waveThat rolls below the Athenian's grave, That tomb, which, gleaming o'er the cliff, First greets the homeward-veering skiff, High o'er the land he saved in vain--When shall such hero live again!

The environs of the Piraeus were indeed, at that time, wellcalculated to inspire those mournful reflections with which the poetintroduces the Infidel's impassioned tale. The solitude, the relics, the decay, and sad uses to which the pirate and the slave-dealer hadput the shores and waters so honoured by freedom, rendered a visit tothe Piraeus something near in feeling to a pilgrimage. 

 Such is the aspect of this shore, 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, We start, for soul is wanting there. Hers is the loveliness in death, That parts not quite with parting breath; But beauty with that fearful bloom, That hue which haunts it to the tomb, Expression's last receding ray, A gilded halo hov'ring round decay, The farewell beam of feeling past away. Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherish'd earth. 

At that time Lord Byron, if he did pity the condition of the Greeks, evinced very little confidence in the resurrection of the nation, even although symptoms of change and reanimation were here and thereperceptible, and could not have escaped his observation. Greece hadindeed been so long ruined, that even her desolation was then in astate of decay. The new cycle in her fortunes had certainly notcommenced, but it was manifest, by many a sign, that the course ofthe old was concluding, and that the whole country felt the assuringauguries of undivulged renovation. The influence of that period didnot, however, penetrate the bosom of the poet; and when he firstquitted Athens, assuredly he cared as little about the destinies ofthe Greeks, as he did for those of the Portuguese and Spaniards, whenhe arrived at Gibraltar. 

About three weeks or a month after he had left Athens, I went by acircuitous route to Smyrna, where I found him waiting with MrHobhouse, to proceed with the Salsette frigate, then ordered toConstantinople, to bring away Mr Adair, the ambassador. He had, inthe meantime, visited Ephesus, and acquired some knowledge of theenvirons of Smyrna; but he appeared to have been less interested bywhat he had seen there than by the adventures of his Albanian tour. Perhaps I did him injustice, but I thought he was also, in that shortspace, something changed, and not with improvement. Towards MrHobhouse, he seemed less cordial, and was altogether, I should say, having no better phrase to express what I would describe, more of aCaptain Grand than improved in his manners, and more disposed to holdhis own opinion than I had ever before observed in him. I wasparticularly struck with this at dinner, on the day after my arrival. We dined together with a large party at the consul's, and he seemedinclined to exact a deference to his dogmas, that was more lordlythan philosophical. One of the naval officers present, I think thecaptain of the Salsette, felt, as well as others, this overweening, and announced a contrary opinion on some question connected with thepolitics of the late Mr Pitt with so much firm good sense, that LordByron was perceptibly rebuked by it, and became reserved, as if hedeemed that sullenness enhanced dignity. I never in the whole courseof my acquaintance saw him kithe so unfavourably as he did on thatoccasion. In the course of the evening, however, he condescended tothaw, and before the party broke up, his austerity began to leaf, andhide its thorns under the influence of a relenting temperament. Itwas, however, too evident--at least it was so to me--that withoutintending wrong, or any offence, the unchecked humour of his temperwas, by its caprices, calculated to prevent him from ever gainingthat regard to which his talents and freer moods, independently ofhis rank, ought to have entitled him. Such men become objects ofsolicitude, but never of esteem. 

I was also on this occasion struck with another new phase in hischaracter; he seemed to be actuated by no purpose--he spoke no moreof passing "beyond Aurora and the Ganges, " but seemed disposed to letthe current of chances carry him as it might. If he had any specificobject in view, it was something that made him hesitate between goinghome and returning to Athens when he should have reachedConstantinople, now become the ultimate goal of his intended travels. To what cause this sudden and singular change, both in demeanour anddesign, was owing, I was on the point of saying, it would befruitless to conjecture; but a letter to his mother, written a fewdays before my arrival at Smyrna, throws some light on the sources ofhis unsatisfied state. He appears by it to have been disappointed ofletters and remittances from his agent, and says:

"When I arrive at Constantinople, I shall determine whether toproceed into Persia, or return--which latter I do not wish if I canavoid it. But I have no intelligence from Mr H. , and but one letterfrom yourself. I shall stand in need of remittances, whether Iproceed or return. I have written to him repeatedly, that he may notplead ignorance of my situation for neglect. "

Here is sufficient evidence that the cause of the undetermined stateof his mind, which struck me so forcibly, was owing to theincertitude of his affairs at home; and it is easy to conceive thatthe false dignity he assumed, and which seemed so like arrogance, wasthe natural effect of the anxiety and embarrassment he suffered, andof the apprehension of a person of his rank being, on account of hisremittances, exposed to require assistance among strangers. But asthe scope of my task relates more to the history of his mind, than ofhis private affairs, I shall resume the narrative of his travels, inwhich the curiosity of the reader ought to be more legitimatelyinterested. 

CHAPTER XXI

Smyrna--The Sport of the Djerid--Journey to Ephesus--The dead City--The desolate Country--The Ruins and Obliteration of the Temple--Theslight Impression of all on Byron

The passage in the Pylades from Athens to Smyrna was performedwithout accident or adventure. 

At Smyrna Lord Byron remained several days, and saw for the firsttime the Turkish pastime of the Djerid, a species of tournament towhich he more than once alludes. I shall therefore describe theamusement. 

The Musselim or Governor, with the chief agas of the city, mounted onhorses superbly caparisoned, and attended by slaves, meet, commonlyon Sunday morning, on their playground. Each of the riders isfurnished with one or two djerids, straight white sticks, a littlethinner than an umbrella-stick, less at one end than at the other andabout an ell in length, together with a thin cane crooked at thehead. The horsemen, perhaps a hundred in number, gallop about in asnarrow a space as possible, throwing the djerids at each other andshouting. Each man then selects an opponent who has darted hisdjerid or is for the moment without a weapon, and rushes furiouslytowards him, screaming "Olloh! Olloh!" The other flies, lookingbehind him, and the instant the dart is launched stoops downwards aslow as possible, or wields his horse with inconceivable rapidity, andpicking up a djerid with his cane, or taking one from a runningslave, pursues in his turn the enemy, who wheels on the instant hedarts his weapon. The greatest dexterity is requisite in these mimicbattles to avoid the concurrence of the "javelin-darting crowd, " andto escape the random blows of the flying djerids. 

Byron, having satisfied his curiosity with Smyrna, which is so likeevery other Turkish town as to excite but little interest, set outwith Mr Hobhouse on the 13th of March, for Ephesus. As I soon afterpassed along the same road, I shall here describe what I met withmyself in the course of the journey, it being probable that theincidents were in few respects different from those which theyencountered. 

On ascending the heights after leaving Smyrna, the road wasremarkable in being formed of the broken relics of ancient edificespartly macadamised. On the brow of the hill I met a numerous caravanof camels coming from the interior of Asia. These ships of thedesert, variously loaded, were moving slowly to their port, and itseemed to me as I rode past them, that the composed docile look ofthe animals possessed a sort of domesticated grace which lessened theeffect of their deformity. 

A caravan, owing to the oriental dresses of the passengers andattendants, with the numerous grotesque circumstances which itpresents to the stranger, affords an amusing spectacle. On the backof one camel three or four children were squabbling in a basket; inanother cooking utensils were clattering; and from a crib on a thirda young camel looked forth inquiringly on the world: a longdesultory train of foot-passengers and cattle brought up the rear. 

On reaching the summit of the hills behind Smyrna the road liesthrough fields and cotton-grounds, well cultivated and interspersedwith country houses. After an easy ride of three or four hours Ipassed through the ruins of a considerable Turkish town, containingfour or five mosques, one of them, a handsome building, still entire;about twenty houses or so might be described as tenantable, but onlya place of sepulchres could be more awful: it had been depopulatedby the plague--all was silent, and the streets were matted with thickgrass. In passing through an open space, which reminded me of amarket-place, I heard the cuckoo with an indescribable sensation ofpleasure mingled with solemnity. The sudden presence of a raven at abridal banquet could scarcely have been a greater phantasma. 

Proceeding briskly from this forsaken and dead city, I arrived in thecourse of about half an hour at a coffee-house on the banks of asmall stream, where I partook of some refreshment in the shade ofthree or four trees, on which several storks were conjugally buildingtheir nests. While resting there, I became interested in their work, and observed, that when any of their acquaintances happened to flypast with a stick, they chattered a sort of How-d'ye-do to oneanother. This civility was so uniformly and reciprocally performed, that the politeness of the stork may be regarded as even lessdisputable than its piety. 

The road from that coffee-house lies for a mile or two along the sideof a marshy lake, the environs of which are equally dreary andbarren; an extensive plain succeeds, on which I noticed severalbroken columns of marble, and the evident traces of an ancientcauseway, which apparently led through the water. Near the extremityof the lake was another small coffee-house, with a burial-ground anda mosque near it; and about four or five miles beyond I passed aspot, to which several Turks brought a coffinless corpse, and laid iton the grass while they silently dug a grave to receive it. 

The road then ascended the hills on the south side of the plain, ofwhich the marshy lake was the centre, and passed through a tract ofcountry calculated to inspire only apprehension and melancholy. Nota habitation nor vestige of living man was in sight, but severalcemeteries, with their dull funereal cypresses and tombstones servedto show that the country had once been inhabited. 

Just as the earliest stars began to twinkle I arrived at a thirdcoffee-house on the roadside, with a little mosque before it, aspreading beech tree for travellers to recline under in the spring, and a rude shed for them in showers or the more intense sunshine ofsummer. Here I rested for the night, and in the morning at daybreakresumed my journey. 

After a short ride I reached the borders of the plain of Ephesus, across which I passed along a road rudely constructed, and raisedabove the marsh, consisting of broken pillars, entablatures, andinscriptions, at the end of which two other paths diverge; onestrikes off to the left, and leads over the Cayster by a bridge abovethe castle of Aiasaluk--the other, leading to the right, or west, goes directly to Scala Nuova, the ancient Neapolis. By the latterByron and his friend proceeded towards the ferry, which they crossed, and where they found the river about the size of the Cam atCambridge, but more rapid and deeper. They then rode up the southbank, and about three o'clock in the afternoon arrived at Aiasaluk, the miserable village which now represents the city of Ephesus. 

Having put up their beds in a mean khan, the only one in the town, they partook of some cold provisions which they had brought with themon a stone seat by the side of a fountain, on an open green near to amosque, shaded with tall cypresses. During their repast a young Turkapproached the fountain, and after washing his feet and hands, mounted a flat stone, placed evidently for the purpose on the top ofthe wall surrounding the mosque, and devoutly said his prayers, totally regardless of their appearance and operations. 

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in exploring the ruins ofAiasaluk, and next morning they proceeded to examine those of thecastle, and the mouldering magnificence of Ephesus. The remains ofthe celebrated temple of Diana, one of the wonders of the ancientworld, could not be satisfactorily traced; fragments of walls andarches, which had been plated with marble, were all they coulddiscover, with many broken columns that had once been mighty in theiraltitude and strength: several fragments were fifteen feet long, andof enormous circumference. Such is the condition of that superbedifice, which was, in its glory, four hundred and twenty feet longby two hundred and twenty feet broad, and adorned with more than ahundred and twenty columns sixty feet high. 

When the travellers had satisfied their curiosity, if that can becalled satisfaction which found no entire form, but saw only therubbish of desolation and the fragments of destruction, they returnedto Smyrna. 

The investigation of the ruins of Ephesus was doubtless interestingat the time, but the visit produced no such impression on the mind ofByron as might have been expected. He never directly refers to it inhis works: indeed, after Athens, the relics of Ephesus are thingsbut of small import, especially to an imagination which, like that ofthe poet, required the action of living characters to awaken itsdormant sympathies. 

CHAPTER XXII

Embarks for Constantinople--Touches at Tenedos--Visits Alexandria--Trees--The Trojan Plain--Swims the Hellespont--Arrival atConstantinople

On the 11th of April Lord Byron embarked at Smyrna, in the Salsettefrigate for Constantinople. The wind was fair during the night, andat half past six next morning, the ship was off the Sygeanpromontory, the north end of the ancient Lesbos or Mitylene. Havingpassed the headland, north of the little town of Baba, she came insight of Tenedos, where she anchored, and the poet went on shore toview the island. 

The port was full of small craft, which in their voyage to theArchipelago had put in to wait for a change of wind, and a crowd ofTurks belonging to these vessels were lounging about on the shore. The town was then in ruins, having been burned to the ground by aRussian squadron in the year 1807. 

Next morning, Byron, with a party of officers, left the ship to visitthe ruins of Alexandria Troas, and landed at an open port, about sixor seven miles to the south of where the Salsette was at anchor. Thespot near to where they disembarked was marked by several largecannon-balls of granite; for the ruins of Alexandria have longsupplied the fortresses of the Dardanelles with these giganticmissiles. 

They rambled some time through the shaggy woods, with which thecountry is covered, and the first vestiges of antiquity whichattracted their attention were two large granite sarcophagi; a littlebeyond they found two or three fragments of granite pillars, one ofthem about twenty-five feet in length, and at least five in diameter. Near these they saw arches of brick-work, and on the east of themthose magnificent remains, to which early travellers have given thename of the palace of Priam, but which are, in fact, the ruins ofancient baths. An earthquake in the course of the preceding winterhad thrown down large portions of them, and the internal divisions ofthe edifice were, in consequence, choked with huge masses of muralwrecks and marbles. 

The visitors entered the interior through a gap, and found themselvesin the midst of enormous ruins, enclosed on two sides by walls, raised on arches, and by piles of ponderous fragments. The fallenblocks were of vast dimensions, and showed that no cement had beenused in the construction--an evidence of their great antiquity. Inthe midst of this crushed magnificence stood several lofty portalsand arches, pedestals of gigantic columns and broken steps and marblecornices, heaped in desolate confusion. 

From these baths the distance to the sea is between two and threemiles--a gentle declivity covered with low woods, and partiallyinterspersed with spots of cultivated ground. On this slope theancient city of Alexandria Troas was built. On the north-west, partof the walls, to the extent of a mile, may yet be traced; the remainsof a theatre are also still to be seen on the side of the hillfronting the sea, commanding a view of Tenedos, Lemnos, and the wholeexpanse of the AEgean. 

Having been conducted by the guide, whom they had brought with themfrom Tenedos, to the principal antiquities of Alexandria Troas, thevisitors returned to the frigate, which immediately after got underway. On the 14th of April she came to anchor about a mile and a halffrom Cape Janissary, the Sygean promontory, where she remained abouta fortnight; during which ample opportunity was afforded to inspectthe plain of Troy, that scene of heroism, which, for three thousandyears, has attracted the attention and interested the feelings andfancy of the civilized world. 

Whether Lord Byron entertained any doubt of Homer's Troy ever havingexisted, is not very clear. It is probable, from the little he sayson the subject, that he took no interest in the question. Foralthough no traveller could enter with more sensibility into thelocal associations of celebrated places, he yet never seemed to caremuch about the visible features of antiquity, and was always moreinclined to indulge in reflections than to puzzle his learning withdates or dimensions. His ruminations on the Troad, in Don Juan, afford an instance of this, and are conceived in the very spirit ofChilde Harold. 

And so great names are nothing more than nominal, And love of glory's but an airy lust, Too often in its fury overcoming all Who would, as 'twere, identify their dustFrom out the wide destruction which, entombing all, Leaves nothing till the coming of the just, Save change. I've stood upon Achilles' tomb, And heard Troy doubted--time will doubt of Rome. 

The very generations of the dead Are swept away, and tomb inherits tomb, Until the memory of an age is fled, And buried, sinks beneath its offspring's doom. Where are the epitaphs our fathers read, Save a few glean'd from the sepulchral gloom, Which once named myriads, nameless, lie beneath, And lose their own in universal death?

No task of curiosity can indeed be less satisfactory that theexamination of the sites of ancient cities; for the guides, notcontent with leading the traveller to the spot, often attempt tomislead his imagination, by directing his attention to circumstanceswhich they suppose to be evidence that verifies their traditions. Thus, on the Trojan plain, several objects are still shown which aredescribed as the self-same mentioned in the Iliad. The wild fig-trees, and the tomb of Ilus, are yet there--if the guides may becredited. But they were seen with incredulous eyes by the poet; eventhe tomb of Achilles appears to have been regarded by him with equalscepticism; still his description of the scene around is striking, and tinted with some of his happiest touches. 

There on the green and village-cotted hill is Flanked by the Hellespont, and by the sea, Entomb'd the bravest of the brave, Achilles-- They say so. Bryant says the contrary. And farther downward tall and towering still is The tumulus, of whom Heaven knows it may be, Patroclus, Ajax, or Protesilaus, --All heroes, who, if living still, would slay us. 

High barrows without marble or a name, A vast untill'd and mountain-skirted plain, And Ida in the distance still the same, And old Scamander, if 'tis he, remain;The situation seems still form'd for fame, A hundred thousand men might fight againWith ease. But where I sought for Ilion's wallsThe quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls. 

Troops of untended horses; here and there Some little hamlets, with new names uncouth, Some shepherds unlike Paris, led to stare A moment at the European youth, Whom to the spot their schoolboy feelings bear; A Turk with beads in hand and pipe in mouth, Extremely taken with his own religion, Are what I found there, but the devil a Phrygian. 

It was during the time that the Salsette lay off Cape Janissary thatLord Byron first undertook to swim across the Hellespont. Havingcrossed from the castle of Chanak-Kalessi, in a boat manned by fourTurks, he landed at five o'clock in the evening half a mile above thecastle of Chelit-Bauri, where, with an officer of the frigate whoaccompanied him, they began their enterprise, emulous of the renownof Leander. At first they swam obliquely upwards, rather towardsNagara Point than the Dardanelles, but notwithstanding their skilland efforts they made little progress. Finding it useless tostruggle with {156} the current, they then turned and went with thestream, still however endeavouring to cross. It was not until theyhad been half an hour in the water, and found themselves in themiddle of the strait, about a mile and a half below the castles, thatthey consented to be taken into the boat, which had followed them. By that time the coldness of the water had so benumbed their limbsthat they were unable to stand, and were otherwise much exhausted. The second attempt was made on the 3rd of May, when the weather waswarmer. They entered the water at the distance of a mile and a-halfabove Chelit-Bauri, near a point of land on the western bank of theBay of Maito, and swam against the stream as before, but not for solong a time. In less than half an hour they came floating down thecurrent close to the ship, which was then anchored at theDardanelles, and in passing her steered for the bay behind thecastle, which they soon succeeded in reaching, and landed about amile and a-half below the ship. Lord Byron has recorded that hefound the current very strong and the water cold; that some largefish passed him in the middle of the channel, and though a littlechilled he was not fatigued, and performed the feat without muchdifficulty, but not with impunity, for by the verses in which hecommemorated the exploit it appears he incurred the ague. 

WRITTEN AFTER SWIMMING FROM SESTOS TO ABYDOS

If in the month of dark December Leander who was nightly wont(What maid will not the tale remember) To cross thy stream, broad Hellespont, If when the wintry tempest roar'd He sped to Hero nothing loath, And thus of old thy current pour'd, Fair Venus! how I pity both. 

For me, degenerate modern wretch, Though in the genial month of May, My dripping limbs I faintly stretch, And think I've done a feat to-day. 

But since he crossed the rapid tide, According to the doubtful story, To woo, and--Lord knows what beside, And swam for love as I for glory, 'Twere hard to say who fared the best; Sad mortals thus the gods still plague you;He lost his labour, I my jest-- For he was drown'd, and I've the ague. 

"The whole distance, " says his Lordship, "from the place whence westarted to our landing on the other side, including the length wewere carried by the current, was computed by those on board thefrigate at upwards of four English miles, though the actual breadthis barely one. The rapidity of the current is such that no boat canrow directly across, and it may in some measure be estimated from thecircumstance of the whole distance being accomplished by one of theparties in an hour and five, and by the other (Byron) in an hour andten minutes. The water was extremely cold from the melting of themountain snows. About three weeks before, in April, we had made anattempt; but having ridden all the way from the Troad the samemorning, and the water being of an icy chilliness, we found itnecessary to postpone the completion till the frigate anchored belowthe castles, when we swam the straits as just stated, entering aconsiderable way above the European, and landing below the Asiaticfort. Chevallier says that a young Jew swam the same distance forhis mistress; and Oliver mentions it having been done by aNeapolitan; but our consul (at the Dardanelles), Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade usfrom the attempt. A number of the Salsette's crew were known to haveaccomplished a greater distance and the only thing that surprised mewas, that as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander'sstory, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain itspracticability. "

While the Salsette lay off the Dardanelles, Lord Byron saw the bodyof a man who had been executed by being cast into the sea, floatingon the stream, moving to and fro with the tumbling of the water, which gave to his arms the effect of scaring away several sea-fowlthat were hovering to devour. This incident he has strikinglydepicted in The Bride of Abydos. 

The sea-birds shriek above the preyO'er which their hungry beaks delay, As shaken on his restless pillow, His head heaves with the heaving billow;That hand whose motion is not life, Yet feebly seems to menace strife, Flung by the tossing tide on high, Then levell'd with the wave--What reeks it tho' that corse shall lie Within a living grave. The bird that tears that prostrate formHath only robb'd the meaner worm. The only heart, the only eye, That bled or wept to see him die, Had seen those scatter'd limbs composed, And mourned above his turban stone;That heart hath burst--that eye was closed-- Yea--closed before his own. 

Between the Dardanelles and Constantinople no other adventure wasundertaken or befel the poet. On the 13th of May, the frigate cameto anchor at sunset, near the headland to the west of the SeraglioPoint; and when the night closed in, the silence and the darknesswere so complete "that we might have believed ourselves, " says MrHobhouse, "moored in the lonely cove of some desert island, and notat the foot of a city which, from its vast extent and countlesspopulation, is fondly imagined by its present masters to be worthy tobe called 'The Refuge of the World. '"

CHAPTER XXIII

Constantinople--Description--The Dogs and the Dead--Landed atTophana--The Masterless Dogs--The Slave Market--The Seraglio--TheDefects in the Description

The spot where the frigate came to anchor affords but an imperfectview of the Ottoman capital. A few tall white minarets, and thedomes of the great mosques only are in sight, interspersed with treesand mean masses of domestic buildings. In the distance, inland onthe left, the redoubted Castle of the Seven Towers is seen risingabove the gloomy walls; and, unlike every other European city, aprofound silence prevails over all. This remarkable characteristicof Constantinople is owing to the very few wheel-carriages employedin the city. In other respects the view around is lively, and infine weather quickened with innumerable objects in motion. In thecalmest days the rippling in the flow of the Bosphorus is like therunning of a river. In the fifth canto of Don Juan, Lord Byron hasseized the principal features, and delineated them with sparklingeffect. 

 The European with the Asian shore, Sprinkled with palaces, the ocean stream Here and there studded with a seventy-four, Sophia's cupola with golden gleam; The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar; The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream, Far less describe, present the very viewWhich charm'd the charming Mary Montague. 

In the morning, when his Lordship left the ship, the wind blewstrongly from the north-east, and the rushing current of theBosphorus dashed with great violence against the rocky projections ofthe shore, as the captain's boat was rowed against the stream. 

The wind swept down the Euxine, and the waveBroke foaming o'er the blue Symplegades. 'Tis a grand sight, from off the giant's grave, To watch the progress of those rolling seasBetween the Bosphorus, as they lash and laveEurope and Asia, you being quite at ease. 

"The sensations produced by the state of the weather, and leaving acomfortable cabin, were, " says Mr Hobhouse, "in unison with theimpressions which we felt, when, passing under the palace of thesultans, and gazing at the gloomy cypresses, which rise above thewalls, we saw two dogs gnawing a dead body. " The description in TheSiege of Corinth of the dogs devouring the dead, owes its origin tothis incident of the dogs and the body under the walls of theseraglio. 

And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall, Hold o'er the dead their carnival. Gorging and growling o'er carcase and limb, They were too busy to bark at him. From a Tartar's scull they had stripp'd the flesh, As ye peel the fig when its fruit is fresh, And their white tusks crunched on the whiter scull, As it slipp'd through their jaws when their edge grew dull. As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead, When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fed. So well had they broken a lingering fast, With those who had fallen for that night's repast. And Alp knew by the turbans that rolled on the sand, The foremost of these were the best of his band. Crimson and green were the shawls of their wear, And each scalp had a single long tuft of hair, All the rest was shaven and bare. The scalps were in the wild dogs' maw, The hair was tangled round his jaw. But close by the shore on the edge of the gulf, There sat a vulture flapping a wolf, Who had stolen from the hills but kept away, Scared by the dogs from the human prey;But he seized on his share of a steed that lay, Pick'd by the birds on the sands of the bay. 

This hideous picture is a striking instance of the uses to whichimaginative power may turn the slightest hint, and of horroraugmented till it reach that extreme point at which the ridiculouscommences. The whole compass of English poetry affords no parallelto this passage. It even exceeds the celebrated catalogue ofdreadful things on the sacramental table in Tam O' Shanter. It istrue, that the revolting circumstances described by Byron are lesssublime in their associations than those of Burns, being mere visibleimages, unconnected with ideas of guilt, and unlike

The knife a father's throat had mangled, Which his ain son of life bereft:The gray hairs yet stuck to the heft. 

Nor is there in the vivid group of the vulture flapping the wolf, anyaccessory to rouse stronger emotions, than those which are associatedwith the sight of energy and courage, while the covert insinuation, that the bird is actuated by some instigation of retribution inpursuing the wolf for having run away with the bone, approaches thevery point and line where the horrible merges in the ludicrous. Thewhole passage is fearfully distinct, and though in its circumstances, as the poet himself says, "sickening, " is yet an amazing display ofpoetical power and high invention. 

The frigate sent the travellers on shore at Tophana, from which theroad ascends to Pera. Near this landing-place is a large fountain, and around it a public stand of horses ready saddled, attended byboys. On some of these Lord Byron and his friend, with the officerswho had accompanied them, mounted and rode up the steep hill, to theprincipal Frank Hotel, in Pera, where they intended to lodge. In thecourse of the ride their attention was attracted to the prodigiousnumber of masterless dogs which lounge and lurk about the corners ofthe streets; a nuisance both dangerous and disagreeable, but whichthe Turks not only tolerate but protect. It is no uncommon thing tosee a litter of puppies with their mother nestled in a mat placed onpurpose for them in a nook by some charitable Mussulman of theneighbourhood; for notwithstanding their merciless militarypractices, the Turks are pitiful-hearted Titans to dumb animals andslaves. Constantinople has, however, been so often and so welldescribed, that it is unnecessary to notice its different objects ofcuriosity here, except in so far as they have been contributory tothe stores of the poet. 

The slave market was of course not unvisited, but the description inDon Juan is more indebted to the author's fancy, than any of thoseother bright reflections of realities to which I have hithertodirected the attention of the reader. The market now-a-days is intruth very uninteresting; few slaves are ever to be seen in it, andthe place itself has an odious resemblance to Smithfield. I imagine, therefore, that the trade in slaves is chiefly managed by privatebargaining. When there, I saw only two men for sale, whites, whoappeared very little concerned about their destination, certainly notmore than English rustics offering themselves for hire to the farmersat a fair or market. Doubtless, there was a time when the slavemarket of Constantinople presented a different spectacle, but thetrade itself has undergone a change--the Christians are nowinterdicted from purchasing slaves. The luxury of the guilt isreserved for the exclusive enjoyment of the Turks. Still, as adescription of things which may have been, Byron's market is probableand curious. 

 A crowd of shivering slaves of every nation And age and sex were in the market ranged, Each busy with the merchant in his station. Poor creatures, their good looks were sadly changed. 

 All save the blacks seem'd jaded with vexation, From friends, and home, and freedom far estranged. The negroes more philosophy displayed, Used to it no doubt, as eels are to be flayed. 

 Like a backgammon board, the place was dotted With whites and blacks in groups, on show for sale, Though rather more irregularly spotted; Some bought the jet, while others chose the pale. 

 No lady e'er is ogled by a lover, Horse by a black-leg, broadcloth by a tailor, Fee by a counsel, felon by a jailer, As is a slave by his intended bidder. 'Tis pleasant purchasing our fellow-creatures, And all are to be sold, if you consider Their passions, and are dext'rous, some by features Are bought up, others by a warlike leader; Some by a place, as tend their years or natures;The most by ready cash, but all have prices, From crowns to kicks, according to their vices. 

The account of the interior of the seraglio in Don Juan is also onlyprobably correct, and may have been drawn in several particulars froman inspection of some of the palaces, but the descriptions of theimperial harem are entirely fanciful. I am persuaded, by differentcircumstances, that Byron could not have been in those sacredchambers of any of the seraglios. At the time I was inConstantinople, only one of the imperial residences was accessible tostrangers, and it was unfurnished. The great seraglio was notaccessible beyond the courts, except in those apartments where theSultan receives his officers and visitors of state. Indeed, thewhole account of the customs and usages of the interior of theseraglio, as described in Don Juan, can only be regarded asinventions; and though the descriptions abound in picturesque beauty, they have not that air of truth and fact about them which render thepictures of Byron so generally valuable, independent of theirpoetical excellence. In those he has given of the apartments of themen, the liveliness and fidelity of his pencil cannot be denied; butthe Arabian tales and Vathek seem to have had more influence on hisfancy in describing the imperial harem, than a knowledge of actualthings and appearances. Not that the latter are inferior to theformer in beauty, or are without images and lineaments of graphicdistinctness, but they want that air of reality which constitutes thesingular excellence of his scenes drawn from nature; and there is avagueness in them which has the effect of making them obscure, andeven fantastical. Indeed, except when he paints from actual models, from living persons and existing things, his superiority, at leasthis originality, is not so obvious; and thus it happens, that hisgorgeous description of the sultan's seraglio is like a versifiedpassage of an Arabian tale, while the imagery of Childe Harold'svisit to Ali Pasha has all the freshness and life of an actual scene. The following is, indeed, more like an imitation of Vathek, thananything that has been seen, or is in existence. I quote it for thecontrast it affords to the visit referred to, and in illustration ofthe distinction which should be made between beauties derived fromactual scenes and adventures, and compilations from memory andimagination, which are supposed to display so much more of creativeinvention. 

 And thus they parted, each by separate doors, Raba led Juan onward, room by room, Through glittering galleries and o'er marble floors, Till a gigantic portal through the gloom Haughty and huge along the distance towers, And wafted far arose a rich perfume, It seem'd as though they came upon a shrine, For all was vast, still, fragrant, and divine. 

 The giant door was broad and bright and high, Of gilded bronze, and carved in curious guise; Warriors thereon were battling furiously; Here stalks the victor, there the vanquish'd lies; There captives led in triumph droop the eye, And in perspective many a squadron flies. It seems the work of times before the lineOf Rome transplanted fell with Constantine. 

 This massy portal stood at the wide close Of a huge hall, and on its either side Two little dwarfs, the least you could suppose, Were sate, like ugly imps, as if allied In mockery to the enormous gate which rose O'er them in almost pyramidic pride. 

CHAPTER XXIV

Dispute with the Ambassador--Reflections on Byron's Pride of Rank--Abandons his Oriental Travels--Re-embarks in the "Salsette"--TheDagger Scene--Zea--Returns to Athens--Tour in the Morea--DangerousIllness--Return to Athens--The Adventure on which "The Giaour" isfounded

Although Lord Byron remained two months in Constantinople, andvisited every object of interest and curiosity within and around it, he yet brought away with him fewer poetical impressions than from anyother part of the Ottoman dominions; at least he has made less use inhis works of what he saw and learned there, than of the materials hecollected in other places. 

From whatever cause it arose, the self-abstraction which I hadnoticed at Smyrna, was remarked about him while he was in thecapital, and the same jealousy of his rank was so nervously awake, that it led him to attempt an obtrusion on the ambassadorialetiquettes--which he probably regretted. 

It has grown into a custom, at Constantinople, when the foreignministers are admitted to audiences of ceremony with the Sultan, toallow the subjects and travellers of their respective nations toaccompany them, both to swell the pomp of the spectacle, and togratify their curiosity. Mr Adair, our ambassador, for whom theSalsette had been sent, had his audience of leave appointed soonafter Lord Byron's arrival, and his Lordship was particularly anxiousto occupy a station of distinction in the procession. The pretensionwas ridiculous in itself, and showed less acquaintance with courtlyceremonies than might have been expected in a person of his rank andintelligence. Mr Adair assured him that he could obtain noparticular place; that in the arrangements for the ceremonial, onlythe persons connected with the embassy could be considered, and thatthe Turks neither acknowledged the precedence, nor could be requestedto consider the distinctions of our nobility. Byron, however, stillpersisted, and the minister was obliged to refer him on the subjectto the Austrian Internuncio, a high authority in questions ofetiquette, whose opinion was decidedly against the pretension. 

The pride of rank was indeed one of the greatest weaknesses of LordByron, and everything, even of the most accidental kind, which seemedto come between the wind and his nobility, was repelled on the spot. I recollect having some debate with him once respecting a pique ofetiquette, which happened between him and Sir William Drummond, somewhere in Portugal or Spain. Sir William was at the time anambassador (not, however, I believe, in the country where theincident occurred), and was on the point of taking precedence inpassing from one room to another, when Byron stepped in before him. The action was undoubtedly rude on the part of his Lordship, eventhough Sir William had presumed too far on his riband: to me itseemed also wrong; for, by the custom of all nations from timeimmemorial, ambassadors have been allowed their official rank inpassing through foreign countries, while peers in the samecircumstances claim no rank at all; even in our own colonies it hasbeen doubted if they may take precedence of the legislativecounsellors. But the rights of rank are best determined by theheralds, and I have only to remark, that it is almost inconceivablethat such things should have so morbidly affected the sensibility ofLord Byron; yet they certainly did so, and even to a ridiculousdegree. On one occasion, when he lodged in St James's Street, Irecollect him rating the footman for using a double knock inaccidental thoughtlessness. 

These little infirmities are, however, at most only calculated toexcite a smile; there is no turpitude in them, and they merit noticebut as indications of the humour of character. It was his Lordship'sfoible to overrate his rank, to grudge his deformity beyond reason, and to exaggerate the condition of his family and circumstances. Butthe alloy of such small vanities, his caprice and feline temper, wereas vapour compared with the mass of rich and rare ore whichconstituted the orb and nucleus of his brilliancy. 

He had not been long in Constantinople, when a change came over hisintentions; the journey to Persia was abandoned, and the dreams ofIndia were dissolved. The particular causes which produced thischange are not very apparent--but Mr Hobhouse was at the same timedirected to return home, and perhaps that circumstance had someinfluence on his decision, which he communicated to his mother, informing her, that he should probably return to Greece. As in thatletter he alludes to his embarrassment on account of remittances, itis probable that the neglect of his agent, with respect to them, wasthe main cause which induced him to determine on going no farther. 

Accordingly, on the 14th of July, he embarked with Mr Hobhouse andthe ambassador on board the Salsette. It was in the course of thepassage to the island of Zea, where he was put on shore, that one ofthe most emphatic incidents of his life occurred; an incident whichthrows a remarkable gleam into the springs and intricacies of hischaracter--more, perhaps, than anything which has yet been mentioned. 

One day, as he was walking the quarter-deck, he lifted an ataghan (itmight be one of the midshipmen's weapons), and unsheathing it, said, contemplating the blade, "I should like to know how a person feelsafter committing murder. " By those who have inquiringly noticed theextraordinary cast of his metaphysical associations, this dagger-scene must be regarded as both impressive and solemn; although thewish to know how a man felt after committing murder does not implyany desire to perpetrate the crime. The feeling might be appreciatedby experiencing any actual degree of guilt; for it is not the deed--the sentiment which follows it makes the horror. But it is doinginjustice to suppose the expression of such a wish dictated bydesire. Lord Byron has been heard to express, in the eccentricity ofconversation, wishes for a more intense knowledge of remorse thanmurder itself could give. There is, however, a wide and wilddifference between the curiosity that prompts the wish to know theexactitude of any feeling or idea, and the direful passions thatinstigate to guilty gratifications. 

Being landed, according to his request, with his valet, twoAlbanians, and a Tartar, on the shore of Zea, it may be easilyconceived that he saw the ship depart with a feeling before unfelt. It was the first time he was left companionless, and the scene aroundwas calculated to nourish stern fancies, even though there was notmuch of suffering to be withstood. 

The landing-place in the port of Zea, I recollect distinctly. Theport itself is a small land-locked gulf, or, as the ScottishHighlander would call it, a loch. The banks are rocky andforbidding; the hills, which rise to the altitude of mountains, have, in a long course of ages, been always inhabited by a civilizedpeople. Their precipitous sides are formed into innumerableartificial terraces, the aspect of which, austere, ruinous, andancient, produces on the mind of the stranger a sense of the presenceof a greater antiquity than the sight of monuments of mere labour andart. The town stands high upon the mountain, I counted on the lowerside of the road which leads to it forty-nine of those terraces atone place under me, and on the opposite hills, in several places, upwards of sixty. Whether Lord Byron ascended to the town isdoubtful. I have never heard him mention that he had; and I aminclined to think that he proceeded at once to Athens by one of theboats which frequent the harbour. 

At Athens he met an old fellow-collegian, the Marquis of Sligo, withwhom he soon after travelled as far as Corinth; the Marquis turningoff there for Tripolizza, while Byron went forward to Patras, wherehe had some needful business to transact with the consul. He thenmade the tour of the Morea, in the course of which he visited theVizier Velhi Pasha, by whom he was treated, as every other Englishtraveller of the time was, with great distinction and hospitality. 

Having occasion to go back to Patras, he was seized by the localfever there, and reduced to death's door. On his recovery hereturned to Athens, where he found the Marquis, with Lady HesterStanhope, and Mr Bruce, afterward so celebrated for his adventures inassisting the escape of the French General Lavalette. He tookpossession of the apartments which I had occupied in the monastery, and made them his home during the remainder of his residence inGreece; but when I returned to Athens, in October, he was not therehimself. I found, however, his valet, Fletcher, in possession. 

There is no very clear account of the manner in which Lord Byronemployed himself after his return to Athens; but various intimationsin his correspondence show that during the winter his pen was notidle. It would, however, be to neglect an important occurrence, notto notice that during the time when he was at Athens alone, theincident which he afterwards embodied in the impassioned fragments ofThe Giaour came to pass; and to apprise the reader that the story isfounded on an adventure which happened to himself--he was, in fact, the cause of the girl being condemned, and ordered to be sewn up in asack and thrown into the sea. 

One day, as he was returning from bathing in the Piraeus, he met theprocession going down to the shore to execute the sentence which theWaywode had pronounced on the girl; and learning the object of theceremony, and who was the victim, he immediately interfered withgreat resolution; for, on observing some hesitation on the part ofthe leader of the escort to return with him to the Governor's house, he drew a pistol and threatened to shoot him on the spot. The manthen turned about, and accompanied him back, when, partly by briberyand entreaty, he succeeded in obtaining a pardon for her, oncondition that she was sent immediately out of the city. Byronconveyed her to the monastery, and on the same night sent her off toThebes, where she found a safe asylum. 

With this affair, I may close his adventures in Greece; for, althoughhe remained several months subsequent at Athens, he was in a greatmeasure stationary. His health, which was never robust, was impairedby the effects of the fever, which lingered about him; perhaps, too, by the humiliating anxiety he suffered on account of the uncertaintyin his remittances. But however this may have been, it was fortunatefor his fame that he returned to England at the period he did, forthe climate of the Mediterranean was detrimental to his constitution. The heat oppressed him so much as to be positive suffering, andscarcely had he reached Malta on his way home, when he was visitedagain with a tertian ague. 

CHAPTER XXV

Arrival in London--Mr Dallas's Patronage--Arranges for thePublication of "Childe Harold"--The Death of Mrs Byron--His Sorrow--His Affair with Mr Moore--Their Meeting at Mr Rogers's House, andFriendship

Lord Byron arrived in London about the middle of July, 1811, havingbeen absent a few days more than two years. The embarrassedcondition in which he found his affairs sufficiently explains thedejection and uneasiness with which he was afflicted during thelatter part of his residence in Greece; and yet it was not such asought to have affected him so deeply, nor have I ever been able tocomprehend wherefore so much stress has been laid on his supposedfriendlessness. In respect both to it and to his ravelled fortune, agreat deal too much has been too often said; and the manliness of hischaracter has suffered by the puling. 

His correspondence shows that he had several friends to whom he wasmuch attached, and his disposition justifies the belief that, had henot been well persuaded the attachment was reciprocal, he would nothave remained on terms of intimacy with them. And though for hisrank not rich, he was still able to maintain all its suitableexhibition. The world could never regard as an object of compassionor of sympathy an English noble, whose income was enough to supporthis dignity among his peers, and whose poverty, however grievous tohis pride, caused only the privation of extravagance. But it cannotbe controverted, that there was an innate predilection in the mind ofLord Byron to mystify everything about himself: he was actuated by apassion to excite attention, and, like every other passion, it wasoften indulged at the expense of propriety. He had the infirmity ofspeaking, though vaguely, and in obscure hints and allusions, more ofhis personal concerns than is commonly deemed consistent with acorrect estimate of the interest which mankind take in the cares ofone another. But he lived to feel and to rue the consequences: torepent he could not, for the cause was in the very element of hisnature. It was a blemish as incurable as the deformity of his foot. 

On his arrival in London, his relation, Mr Dallas, called on him, andin the course of their first brief conversation his Lordshipmentioned that he had written a paraphrase of Horace's Art of Poetry, but said nothing then of Childe Harold, a circumstance which leads meto suspect that he offered him the slighter work first, to enjoy hissurprise afterward at the greater. If so, the result answered theintent. Mr Dallas carried home with him the paraphrase of Horace, with which he was grievously disappointed; so much so, that onmeeting his Lordship again in the morning, and being reluctant tospeak of it as he really thought, he only expressed some surprisethat his noble friend should have produced nothing else during hislong absence. 

I can easily conceive the emphatic indifference, if my conjecture bewell founded, with which Lord Byron must have said to him, "I haveoccasionally written short poems, besides a great many stanzas inSpenser's measure, relative to the countries I have visited: theyare not worth troubling you with, but you shall have them all withyou, if you like. "

Childe Harold's Pilgrimage was accordingly placed in his hands; MrDallas took it home, and was not slow in discovering its beauties, for in the course of the same evening he despatched a note to hisLordship, as fair a specimen of the style of an elderly patronisinggentleman as can well be imagined: "You have written, " said he, "oneof the most delightful poems I ever read. If I wrote this inflattery, I should deserve your contempt rather than your friendship. I have been so fascinated with Childe Harold, that I have not beenable to lay it down; I would almost pledge my life on its advancingthe reputation of your poetical powers, and on its gaining you greathonour and regard, if you will do me the credit and favour ofattending to my suggestions. "

For some reason or another, Lord Byron, however, felt or feignedgreat reluctance to publish Childe Harold. Possibly his repugnancewas dictated by diffidence, not with respect to its merits, but froma consciousness that the hero of the poem exhibited traits andresemblances of himself. It would indeed be injustice to hisjudgment and taste, to suppose he was not sensible of the superiorityof the terse and energetic poetry which brightens and burns in everystanza of the Pilgrimage, compared with the loose and sprawlinglines, and dull rhythm, of the paraphrase. It is true that healleged it had been condemned by a good critic--the only one who hadpreviously seen it--probably Mr Hobhouse, who was with him during thetime he was writing it; but still I cannot conceive he was so blindto excellence, as to prefer in sincerity the other composition, whichwas only an imitation. But the arguments of Mr Dallas prevailed andin due season Childe Harold was prepared for the press. 

In the meantime, while busily engaged in his literary projects withMr Dallas, and in law affairs with his agent, he was suddenlysummoned to Newstead by the state of his mother's health: before hehad reached the Abbey she had breathed her last. The event deeplyaffected him; he had not seen her since his return, and apresentiment possessed her when they parted, that she was never tosee him again. 

Notwithstanding her violent temper and other unseemly conduct, heraffection for him had been so fond and dear, that he undoubtedlyreturned it with unaffected sincerity; and from many casual andincidental expressions which I have heard him employ concerning her, I am persuaded that his filial love was not at any time even of anordinary kind. During her life he might feel uneasy respecting her, apprehensive on account of her ungovernable passions andindiscretions, but the manner in which he lamented her death, clearlyproves that the integrity of his affection had never been impaired. 

On the night after his arrival at the Abbey, the waiting-woman of MrsByron, in passing the door of the room where the corpse lay, heardthe sound of some one sighing heavily within, and on entering foundhis Lordship sitting in the dark beside the bed. She remonstratedwith him for so giving way to grief, when he burst into tears, andexclaimed, "I had but one friend in the world, and she is gone. " Ofthe fervency of his sorrow I do therefore think there can be nodoubt; the very endeavour which he made to conceal it byindifference, was a proof of its depth and anguish, though hehazarded the strictures of the world by the indecorum of his conducton the occasion of the funeral. Having declined to follow theremains himself, he stood looking from the hall door at theprocession, till the whole had moved away; and then, turning to oneof the servants, the only person left, he desired him to fetch thesparring-gloves, and proceeded with him to his usual exercise. Butthe scene was impressive, and spoke eloquently of a grieved heart; hesparred in silence all the time, and the servant thought that he hitharder than was his habit: at last he suddenly flung away the glovesand retired to his own room. 

As soon as the funeral was over the publication of Childe Harold wasresumed, but it went slowly through the press. In the meantime, anincident occurred to him which deserves to be noted--because it isone of the most remarkable in his life, and has given rise toconsequences affecting his fame--with advantage. 

In English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, he had alluded, with provokingpleasantry, to a meeting which had taken place at Chalk Farm someyears before, between Mr Jeffrey, the Edinburgh reviewer, and MrMoore, without recollecting, indeed without having heard, that MrMoore had explained, through the newspapers, what was alleged to havebeen ridiculous in the affair. This revival of the subject, especially as it called in question the truth of Mr Moore'sstatement, obliged that gentleman to demand an explanation; but LordByron, being abroad, did not receive this letter, and of course knewnot of its contents, so that, on his return, Mr Moore was induced toaddress his Lordship again. The correspondence which ensued ishonourable to the spirit and feelings of both. 

Mr Moore, after referring to his first letter, restated the nature ofthe insult which the passage in the note to the poem was calculatedto convey, adding, "It is now useless to speak of the steps withwhich it was my intention to follow up that letter, the time whichhas elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injurynor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered mysituation, and the only object I have now in writing to yourLordship, is to preserve some consistency with that former letter, and to prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, howevercircumstances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates at present. When I say 'injured feeling, ' let me assure your Lordship that thereis not a single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you; I meanbut to express that uneasiness under what I consider to be a chargeof falsehood, which must haunt a man of any feeling to his grave, unless the insult be retracted, or atoned for, and which, if I didnot feel, I should indeed deserve far worse than your Lordship'ssatire could inflict upon me. " And he concluded by saying, that sofar from being influenced by any angry or resentful feeling, it wouldgive him sincere pleasure if, by any satisfactory explanation, hisLordship would enable him to seek the honour of being ranked amonghis acquaintance. 

The answer of Lord Byron was diplomatic but manly. He declared thathe never received Mr Moore's letter, and assured him that in whateverpart of the world it had reached him, he would have deemed it hisduty to return and answer it in person; that he knew nothing of theadvertisement to which Mr Moore had alluded, and consequently couldnot have had the slightest idea of "giving the lie" to an addresswhich he had never seen. "When I put my name to the production, "said his Lordship, "which has occasioned this correspondence, Ibecame responsible to all whom it might concern, to explain where itrequires explanation, and where insufficiently or too sufficientlyexplicit, at all events to satisfy; my situation leaves me no choice;it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain reparation in theirown way. With regard to the passage in question, YOU were certainlyNOT the person towards whom I felt personally hostile: on thecontrary, my whole thoughts were engrossed by one whom I had reasonto consider as my worst literary enemy, nor could I foresee that hisformer antagonist was about to become his champion. You do notspecify what you would wish to have done. I can neither retract norapologize for a charge of falsehood which I never advanced. "

In reply, Mr Moore commenced by acknowledging that his Lordship'sletter was upon the whole as satisfactory as he could expect; andafter alluding to specific circumstances in the case, concluded thus:"As your Lordship does not show any wish to proceed beyond the rigidformulary of explanation, it is not for me to make any fartheradvances. We Irishmen, in business of this kind, seldom know anymedium between decided hostility and decided friendship. But as anyapproaches towards the latter alternative must now depend entirely onyour Lordship, I have only to repeat that I am satisfied with yourletter. " Here the correspondence would probably, with most people, have been closed, but Lord Byron's sensibility was interested, andwould not let it rest. Accordingly, on the following day, herejoined: "Soon after my return to England, my friend Mr Hodgsonapprised me that a letter for me was in his possession; but adomestic event hurrying me from London immediately after, the letter, which may most probably be your own, is still unopened in hiskeeping. If, on examination of the address, the similarity of thehandwriting should lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened inyour presence, for the satisfaction of all parties. Mr H. Is atpresent out of town; on Friday I shall see him, and request him toforward it to my address. With regard to the latter part of bothyour letters, until the principal point was discussed between us, Ifelt myself at a loss in what manner to reply. Was I to anticipatefriendship from one who conceived me to have charged him withfalsehood? were not advances under such circumstances to bemisconstrued, not perhaps by the person to whom they were addressed, but by others? In my case such a step was impracticable. If you, who conceived yourself to be the offended person, are satisfied thatyou had no cause for offence, it will not be difficult to convince meof it. My situation, as I have before stated, leaves me no choice. I should have felt proud of your acquaintance had it commenced underother circumstances, but it must rest with you to determine how farit may proceed after so AUSPICIOUS a beginning. "

Mr Moore acknowledges that he was somewhat piqued at the manner inwhich his efforts towards a more friendly understanding werereceived, and hastened to close the correspondence by a short note, saying that his Lordship had made him feel the imprudence he wasguilty of in wandering from the point immediately in discussionbetween them. This drew immediately from Lord Byron the followingfrank and openhearted reply:

"You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasantsubject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think toyourself, that the unopened letter in Mr Hodgson's possession(supposing it to prove your own) should be returned in statu quo tothe writer, particularly as you expressed yourself 'not quite easyunder the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage. '

"A few words more and I shall not trouble you further. I felt, andstill feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondencewhich held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did notmeet them, in the first instance, as perhaps I ought, let thesituation in which I was placed be my defence. You have NOW declaredyourself SATISFIED, and on that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hintedat, I shall be most happy to meet you when, where, and how youplease, and I presume you will not attribute my saying thus much toany unworthy motive. "

The result was a dinner at the house of Mr Rogers, the amiable andcelebrated author of The Pleasures of Memory, and the only guestbesides the two adversaries was Mr Campbell, author of The Pleasuresof Hope: a poetical group of four not easily to be matched, amongcontemporaries in any age or country. 

The meeting could not but be interesting, and Mr Moore has describedthe effect it had on himself with a felicitous warmth, which showedhow much he enjoyed the party, and was pleased with the friendshipthat ensued. 

"Among the impressions, " says he, "which this meeting left on me, what I chiefly remember to have remarked was, the nobleness of hisair, his beauty, the gentleness of his voice and manners, and--whatwas naturally not the least attraction--his marked kindness formyself. Being in mourning for his mother, the colour as well of hisdress as of his glossy, curling, and picturesque hair, gave moreeffect to the pure spiritual paleness of his features, in theexpression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play oflively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character whenin repose. "

CHAPTER XXVI

The Libel in "The Scourge"--The general Impression of his Character--Improvement in his Manners, as his Merit was acknowledgement by thePublic--His Address in Management--His first Speech in Parliament--The Publication of "Childe Harold"--Its Reception and Effect

During the first winter after Lord Byron had returned to England, Iwas frequently with him. Childe Harold was not then published; andalthough the impression of his satire, English Bards and ScotchReviewers, was still strong upon the public, he could not well besaid to have been then a celebrated character. At that time thestrongest feeling by which he appeared to be actuated was indignationagainst a writer in a scurrilous publication, called The Scourge; inwhich he was not only treated with unjustifiable malignity, butcharged with being, as he told me himself, the illegitimate son of amurderer. I had not read the work; but the writer who could makesuch an absurd accusation, must have been strangely ignorant of thevery circumstances from which he derived the materials of his ownlibel. When Lord Byron mentioned the subject to me, and that he wasconsulting Sir Vickery Gibbs, with the intention of prosecuting thepublisher and the author, I advised him, as well as I could, todesist, simply because the allegation referred to well-knownoccurrences. His grand-uncle's duel with Mr. Chaworth, and the orderof the House of Peers to produce evidence of his grandfather'smarriage with Miss Trevannion; the facts of which being matter ofhistory and public record, superseded the necessity of anyproceeding. 

Knowing how deeply this affair agitated him at that time, I was notsurprised at the sequestration in which he held himself--and whichmade those who were not acquainted with his shy and mystical nature, apply to him the description of his own Lara:

The chief of Lara is return'd again, And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?--Left by his sire too young such loss to know, Lord of himself; that heritage of woe. In him, inexplicably mix'd, appear'dMuch to be loved and hated, sought and fear'd, Opinion varying o'er his hidden lot, In praise or railing ne'er his name forgot. His silence form'd a theme for others' prate;They guess'd, they gazed, they fain would know his fate, What had he been? what was he, thus unknown, Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known?A hater of his kind? yet some would say, With them he could seem gay amid the gay;But own'd that smile, if oft observed and nearWaned in its mirth and wither'd to a sneer;That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by;None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:Yet there was softness, too, in his regard, At times a heart is not by nature hard. But once perceived, his spirit seem'd to hideSuch weakness as unworthy of its pride, And stretch'd itself as scorning to redeemOne doubt from others' half-withheld esteem;In self-inflicted penance of a breastWhich tenderness might once have wrung from rest, In vigilance of grief that would compelThe soul to hate for having loved too well. There was in him a vital scorn of all, As if the worst had fall'n which could befall. He stood a stranger in this breathing world, An erring spirit from another hurl'd;A thing of dark imaginings, that shapedBy choice the perils he by chance escaped. 

Such was Byron to common observance on his return. I recollect onenight meeting him at the Opera. Seeing me with a gentleman whom hedid not know, and to whom he was unknown, he addressed me in Italian, and we continued to converse for some time in that language. Myfriend, who in the meanwhile had been observing him with curiosity, conceiving him to be a foreigner, inquired in the course of theevening who he was, remarking that he had never seen a man with sucha Cain-like mark on the forehead before, alluding to that singularscowl which struck me so forcibly when I first saw him, and whichappears to have made a stronger impression upon me than it did uponmany others. I never, in fact, could overcome entirely the prejudiceof the first impression, although I ought to have been gratified bythe friendship and confidence with which he always appeared disposedto treat me. When Childe Harold was printed, he sent me a quartocopy before the publication; a favour and distinction I have alwaysprized; and the copy which he gave me of The Bride of Abydos was onehe had prepared for a new edition, and which contains, in his ownwriting, these six lines in no other copy:

Bless'd--as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wallTo pilgrims pure and prostrate at his call, Soft--as the melody of youthful daysThat steals the trembling tear of speechless praise, Sweet--as his native song to exile's earsShall sound each tone thy long-loved voice endears. 

He had not, it is true, at the period of which I am speaking, gathered much of his fame; but the gale was rising--and though thevessel was evidently yielding to the breeze, she was neither cranknor unsteady. On the contrary, the more he became an object ofpublic interest, the less did he indulge his capricious humour. About the time when The Bride of Abydos was published, he appeareddisposed to settle into a consistent character--especially after thefirst sale of Newstead. Before that particular event, he was oftenso disturbed in his mind, that he could not conceal his unhappiness, and frequently spoke of leaving England for ever. 

Although few men were more under the impulses of passion than LordByron, there was yet a curious kind of management about him whichshowed that he was well aware how much of the world's favour was tobe won by it. Long before Childe Harold appeared, it was generallyknown that he had a poem in the press, and various surmises tostimulate curiosity were circulated concerning it: I do not say thatthese were by his orders, or under his directions, but on oneoccasion I did fancy that I could discern a touch of his own hand ina paragraph in the Morning Post, in which he was mentioned as havingreturned from an excursion into the interior of Africa; and when Ialluded to it, my suspicion was confirmed by his embarrassment. 

I mention this incident not in the spirit of detraction; for in theparagraph there was nothing of puff, though certainly something ofoddity--but as a tint of character, indicative of the appetite fordistinction by which, about this period, he became so powerfullyincited, that at last it grew into a diseased crave, and to such adegree, that were the figure allowable, it might be said, the mouthbeing incapable of supplying adequate means to appease it--every porebecame another mouth greedy of nourishment. I am, however, hasteningon too fast. Lord Byron was, at that time, far indeed from beingruled by any such inordinate passion; the fears, the timidity, andbashfulness of young desire still clung to him, and he was throbbingwith doubt if he should be found worthy of the high prize for whichhe was about to offer himself a candidate. The course he adopted onthe occasion, whether dictated by management, or the effect ofaccident, was, however, well calculated to attract attention to hisdebut as a public man. 

When Childe Harold was ready for publication, he determined to makehis first appearance as an orator in the House of Lords: theoccasion was judiciously chosen, being a debate on the Nottinghamframe-breaking bill; a subject on which it was natural to suppose hepossessed some local knowledge that might bear upon a questiondirected so exclusively against transactions in his own county. Heprepared himself as the best orators do in their first essays, notonly by composing, but writing down, the whole of his speechbeforehand. The reception he met with was flattering; he wascomplimented warmly by some of the speakers on his own side; but itmust be confessed that his debut was more showy than promising. Itlacked weight in metal, as was observed at the time, and the mode ofdelivery was more like a schoolboy's recital than a masculine grapplewith an argument. It was, moreover, full of rhetoricalexaggerations, and disfigured with conceits. Still it scintillatedwith talent, and justified the opinion that he was an extraordinaryyoung man, probably destined to distinction, though he might not be astatesman. 

Mr Dallas gives a lively account of his elation on the occasion. "When he left the great chamber, " says that gentleman, "I went andmet him in the passage; he was glowing with success, and muchagitated. I had an umbrella in my right hand, not expecting that hewould put out his hand to me; in my haste to take it when offered, Ihad advanced my left hand: 'What!' said he, 'give your friend yourleft hand upon such an occasion?' I showed the cause, andimmediately changing the umbrella to the other, I gave him my righthand, which he shook and pressed warmly. He was greatly elated, andrepeated some of the compliments which had been paid him, andmentioned one or two of the peers who had desired to be introduced tohim. He concluded by saying, that he had, by his speech, given methe best advertisement for Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. "

It is upon this latter circumstance, that I have ventured to state mysuspicion, that there was a degree of worldly management in makinghis first appearance in the House of Lords, so immediately precedingthe publication of his poem. The speech was, indeed, a splendidadvertisement, but the greater and brighter merits of the poem soonproved that it was not requisite, for the speech made no impression, but the poem was at once hailed with delight and admiration. Itfilled a vacancy in the public mind, which the excitement andinflation arising from the mighty events of the age, had created. The world, in its condition and circumstances, was prepared toreceive a work, so original, vigorous, and beautiful; and thereception was such that there was no undue extravagance in the nobleauthor saying in his memorandum, "I awoke one morning and foundmyself famous. "

But he was not to be allowed to revel in such triumphant success withimpunity. If the great spirits of the time were smitten withastonishment at the splendour of the rising fire, the imps and elvesof malignity and malice fluttered their bat-wings in all directions. Those whom the poet had afflicted in his satire, and who had remainedquietly crouching with lacerated shoulders in the hope that theirflagellation would be forgotten, and that the avenging demon who hadso punished their imbecility would pass away, were terrified fromtheir obscurity. They came like moths to the candle, and sarcasms inthe satire which had long been unheeded, in the belief that theywould soon be forgotten, were felt to have been barbed withirremediable venom, when they beheld the avenger

Towering in his pride of place. 

CHAPTER XXVII

Sketches of Character--His Friendly Dispositions--Introduce Prince K--to him--Our last Interview--His continued Kindness towards me--Instance of it to one of my Friends. 

For some time after the publication of Childe Harold, the nobleauthor appeared to more advantage than I ever afterwards saw him. Hewas soothed by success; and the universal applause which attended hispoem seemed to make him think more kindly of the world, of which hehas too often complained, while it would be difficult to discover, inhis career and fortunes, that he had ever received any cause from itto justify his complaint. 

At no time, I imagine, could it be said that Lord Byron was one ofthose men who interest themselves in the concerns of others. He hadalways too much to do with his own thoughts about himself, to affordtime for the consideration of aught that was lower in his affections. But still he had many amiable fits, and at the particular period towhich I allude, he evinced a constancy in the disposition to oblige, which proved how little self-control was wanting to have made him aspleasant as he was uniformly interesting. I felt this towards myselfin a matter which had certainly the grace of condescension in it, atthe expense of some trouble to him. I then lived at the corner ofBridge Street, Westminster, and in going to the House of Lords hefrequently stopped to inquire if I wanted a frank. His conversation, at the same time, was of a milder vein, and with the single exceptionof one day, while dining together at the St Alban's, it was light andplayful, as if gaiety had become its habitude. 

Perhaps I regarded him too curiously, and more than once it struck methat he thought so. For at times, when he was in his comfortlessmoods, he has talked of his affairs and perplexities as if I had beenmuch more acquainted with them than I had any opportunity of being. But he was a subject for study, such as is rarely met with--at least, he was so to me; for his weaknesses were as interesting as histalents, and he often indulged in expressions which would have beenblemishes in the reflections of other men, but which in him oftenproved the germs of philosophical imaginings. He was the leastqualified for any sort of business of all men I have ever known; soskinless in sensibility as respected himself, and so distrustful inhis universal apprehensions of human nature, as respected others. Itwas, indeed, a wild, though a beautiful, error of nature, to endow aspirit with such discerning faculties, and yet render it unfit todeal with mankind. But these reflections belong more properly to ageneral estimate of his character, than to the immediate purposebefore me, which was principally to describe the happy effects whichthe splendid reception of Childe Harold had on his feelings; effectswhich, however, did not last long. He was gratified to the fullnessof his hopes; but the adulation was enjoyed to excess, and hisinfirmities were aggravated by the surfeit. I did not, however, seethe progress of the change, as in the course of the summer I went toScotland, and soon after again abroad. But on my return, in thefollowing spring, it was very obvious. 

I found him, in one respect, greatly improved; there was more of aformed character about him; he was evidently, at the first glance, more mannered, or endeavouring to be so, and easier with theproprieties of his rank; but he had risen in his own estimation abovethe honours so willingly paid to his genius, and was again longingfor additional renown. Not content with being acknowledged as thefirst poet of the age, and a respectable orator in the House ofLords, he was aspiring to the eclat of a man of gallantry; so thatmany of the most ungracious peculiarities of his temper, thoughbrought under better discipline, were again in full activity. 

Considering how much he was then caressed, I ought to have been proudof the warmth with which he received me. I did not, however, sooften see him as in the previous year; for I was then on the eve ofmy marriage, and I should not so soon, after my return to London, have probably renewed my visits, but a foreign nobleman of thehighest rank, who had done me the honour to treat me as a friend, came at that juncture to this country, and knowing I had beenacquainted with Lord Byron, he requested me to introduce him to hisLordship. This rendered a visit preliminary to the introductionnecessary; and so long as my distinguished friend remained in town, we again often met. But after he left the country my visits becamefew and far between; owing to nothing but that change in a man'spursuits and associates which is one among some of the evils ofmatrimony. It is somewhat remarkable, that of the last visit I everpaid him, he has made rather a particular memorandum. I rememberwell, that it was in many respects an occasion not to be at onceforgotten; for, among other things, after lighter topics, heexplained to me a variety of tribulations in his affairs, and I urgedhim, in consequence, to marry, with the frankness which hisconfidence encouraged; subjoining certain items of other good adviceconcerning a liaison which he was supposed to have formed, and whichMr Moore does not appear to have known, though it was much talked ofat the time. 

During that visit the youthful peculiarities of his temper andcharacter showed all their original blemish. But, as usual, whensuch was the case, he was often more interesting than when in hisdiscreeter moods. He gave me the copy of The Bride of Abydos, with avery kind inscription on it, which I have already mentioned; butstill there was an impression on my mind that led me to believe hecould not have been very well pleased with some parts of mycounselling. This, however, appears not to have been the case; onthe contrary, the tone of his record breathes something of kindness;and long after I received different reasons to believe hisrecollection of me was warm and friendly. 

When he had retired to Genoa, I gave a gentleman a letter to him, partly that I might hear something of his real way of life, andpartly in the hope of gratifying my friend by the sight of one ofwhom he had heard so much. The reception from his Lordship wasflattering to me; and, as the account of it contains what I think acharacteristic picture, the reader will, I doubt not, be pleased tosee so much of it as may be made public without violating the decorumwhich should always be observed in describing the incidents ofprivate intercourse, when the consent of all parties cannot beobtained to the publication. 

Edinburgh, June 3, 1830. 

"DEAR GALT, --Though I shall always retain a lively generalrecollection of my agreeable interview with Lord Byron, at Genoa, inMay, 1823, so long a time has since elapsed that much of the aroma ofthe pleasure has evaporated, and I can but recall generalities. Atthat time there was an impression in Genoa that he was averse toreceive visits from Englishmen, and I was indeed advised not to thinkof calling on him, as I might run the risk of meeting with a savagereception. However, I resolved to send your note, and to thesurprise of every one the messenger brought a most polite answer, inwhich, after expressing the satisfaction of hearing of his old friendand fellow-traveller, he added that he would do himself the honour ofcalling on me the next day, which he accordingly did; but owing tothe officious blundering of an Italian waiter, who mentioned I was atdinner, his Lordship sent up his card with his compliments that hewould not deranger the party. I was determined, however, that heshould not escape me in this way, and drove out to his residence nextmorning, when, upon his English valet taking up my name, I wasimmediately admitted. 

"As every one forms a picture to himself of remarkable characters, Ihad depicted his Lordship in my mind as a tall, sombre, Childe Haroldpersonage, tinctured somewhat with aristocratic hauteur. You maytherefore guess my surprise when the door opened, and I saw leaningupon the lock, a light animated figure, rather petite than otherwise, dressed in a nankeen hussar-braided jacket, trousers of the samematerial, with a white waistcoat; his countenance pale but thecomplexion clear and healthful, with the hair coming down in littlecurls on each side of his fine forehead. 

"He came towards me with an easy cheerfulness of manner, and aftersome preliminary inquiries concerning yourself, we entered into aconversation which lasted two hours, in the course of which I feltmyself perfectly at ease, from his Lordship's natural and simplemanners; indeed, so much so, that, forgetting all my anticipations, Ifound myself conversing with him with as fluent an intercourse ofmind as I ever experienced, even with yourself. 

"It is impossible for me at present to overtake a detail of whatpassed, but as it produced a kind of scene, I may mention oneincident. 

"Having remarked that in a long course of desultory reading, I hadread most of what had been said by English travellers concerningItaly; yet, on coming to it I found there was no country of which Ihad less accurate notions: that among other things I was much struckwith the harshness of the language. He seemed to jerk at this, andimmediately observed, that perhaps in going rapidly through thecountry, I might not have had many opportunities of hearing itpolitely spoken. 'Now, ' said he, 'there are supposed to be nineteendialects of the Italian language, and I shall let you hear a ladyspeak the principal of them, who is considered to do it very well. 'I pricked up my ears at hearing this, as I considered it would affordme an opportunity of seeing the far-famed Countess Guiccioli. HisLordship immediately rose and left the apartment, returning in thecourse of a minute or two leading in the lady, and while arrangingchairs for the trio, he said to me, 'I shall make her speak each ofthe principal dialects, but you are not to mind how I pronounce, forI do not speak Italian well. ' After the scene had been performed heresumed to me, 'Now what do you think?' To which I answered, that myopinion still remained unaltered. He seemed at this to fall into alittle revery, and then said, abruptly, 'Why 'tis very odd, Moorethought the same. ' 'Does your Lordship mean Tom Moore?' 'Yes. ''Ah, then, my Lord, I shall adhere with more pertinacity to myopinion, when I hear that a man of his exquisite taste in poetry andharmony was also of that opinion. '

"You will be asking what I thought of the lady; I had certainly heardmuch of her high personal attractions, but all I can say is, that inmy eyes her graces did not rank above mediocrity. They were youth, plumpness, and good-nature. "

CHAPTER XXVIII

A Miff with Lord Byron--Remarkable Coincidences--Plagiarisms of hisLordship

There is a curious note in the memoranda which Lord Byron kept in theyear 1813, that I should not pass unnoticed, because it refers tomyself, and moreover is characteristic of the excoriated sensibilitywith which his Lordship felt everything that touched or affected himor his. 

When I had read The Bride of Abydos, I wrote to him my opinion of it, and mentioned that there was a remarkable coincidence in the story, with a matter in which I had been interested. I have no copy of theletter, and I forget the expressions employed, but Lord Byron seemedto think they implied that he had taken the story from something ofmine. 

The note is:

"Galt says there is a coincidence between the first part of The Brideand some story of his, whether published or not, I know not, neverhaving seen it. He is almost the last person on whom any one wouldcommit literary larceny, and I am not conscious of any witting theftson any of the genus. As to originality, all pretensions areludicrous; there is nothing new under the sun. "

It is sufficiently clear that he was offended with what I had said, and was somewhat excited. I have not been able at present to findhis answer to my letter, but it would appear by the subjoined that hehad written to me something which led me to imagine he was offendedat my observations, and that I had in consequence deprecated hiswrath. 

"Dec. 11, 1813. 

"MY DEAR GALT, --There was no offence--there COULD be none. I thoughtit by no means impossible that we might have hit on somethingsimilar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious toassure you of the truth, viz. That I had not wittingly seized uponplot, sentiment, or incident; and I am very glad that I have not inany respect trenched upon your subjects. Something still moresingular is, that the FIRST part, where you have found a coincidencein some events within your observations on LIFE, was DRAWN fromOBSERVATION of mine also, and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on SECOND thoughts, I thought myself TWO CENTURIES at least toolate for the subject; which, though admitting of very powerfulfeeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at leastthis country. Though the finest works of the Greeks, one ofSchiller's and Alfieri's, in modern times, besides several of our OLD(and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similarcast, I therefore altered it as you perceive, and in so doing haveweakened the whole, by interrupting the train of thought; and incomposition I do not think SECOND thoughts are the best, thoughSECOND expressions may improve the first ideas. 

"I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who havemet together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state ofpre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased; but Ialways look forward to renewing my travels; and though YOU, I think, are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits THERE aswell as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity. Ever yoursvery sincerely, "B. 

"P. S. I believe I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but afterthat I am always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two. "

This letter was dated on Saturday, the 11th of December, 1813. OnSunday, the 12th, he made the following other note in his memorandumbook:

"By Galt's answer, I find it is some story in REAL life, and not anywork with which my late composition coincides. It is still moresingular, for mine is drawn from EXISTENCE also. "

The most amusing part of this little fracas is the denial of hisLordship, as to pilfering the thoughts and fancies of others; for itso happens, that the first passage of The Bride of Abydos, the poemin question, is almost a literal and unacknowledged translation fromGoethe, which was pointed out in some of the periodicals soon afterthe work was published. 

Then, as to his not thieving from me or mine, I believe the fact tobe as he has stated; but there are singular circumstances connectedwith some of his other productions, of which the account is at leastcurious. 

On leaving England I began to write a poem in the Spenserian measure. It was called The Unknown, and was intended to describe, in narratingthe voyages and adventures of a pilgrim, who had embarked for theHoly Land, the scenes I expected to visit. I was occasionallyengaged in this composition during the passage with Lord Byron fromGibraltar to Malta, and he knew what I was about. In stating this, Ibeg to be distinctly understood, as in no way whatever intending toinsinuate that this work had any influence on the composition ofChilde Harold's Pilgrimage, which Lord Byron began to write inAlbania; but it must be considered as something extraordinary, thatthe two works should have been so similar in plan, and in thestructure of the verse. His Lordship never saw my attempt that Iknow of, nor did I his poem until it was printed. It is needless toadd, that beyond the plan and verse there was no other similaritybetween the two works; I wish there had been. 

His Lordship has published a poem, called The Curse of Minerva, thesubject of which is the vengeance of the goddess on Lord Elgin forthe rape of the Parthenon. It has so happened that I wrote at Athensa burlesque poem on nearly the same subject (mine relates to thevengeance of all the gods) which I called The Atheniad; themanuscript was sent to his Lordship in Asia Minor, and returned to methrough Mr Hobhouse. His Curse of Minerva, I saw for the first timein 1828, in Galignani's edition of his works. 

In The Giaour, which he published a short time before The Bride ofAbydos, he has this passage, descriptive of the anxiety with whichthe mother of Hassan looks out for the arrival of her son:

The browsing camels' bells are tinkling-- His mother look'd from her lattice high;She saw the dews of eve besprinkling The parterre green beneath her eye:She saw the planets faintly twinkling-- 'Tis twilight--sure his train is nigh. She could not rest in the garden bower, But gazed through the grate of his steepest tower:Why comes he not--and his steeds are fleet--Nor shrink they from the summer heat?Why sends not the bridegroom his promised gift;Is his heart more cold or his barb less swift?

His Lordship was well read in the Bible, and the book of Judges, chap. 5, and verse 28, has the following passage:--

"The mother of Sisera looked out at a window, and cried through thelattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming; why tarry the wheelsof his chariot?"

It was, indeed, an early trick of his Lordship to filch good things. In the lamentation for Kirke White, in which he compares him to aneagle wounded by an arrow feathered from his own wing, he says, So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dartAnd winged the shaft that quivered in his heart. 

The ancients have certainly stolen the best ideas of the moderns;this very thought may be found in the works of that ancient-modern, Waller:

That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own Wherewith he wont to soar on high. 

His Lordship disdained to commit any larceny on me; and no doubt thefollowing passage from The Giaour is perfectly original:

It is as if the dead could feelThe icy worm around them steal;And shudder as the reptiles creepTo revel o'er their rotting sleep, Without the power to scare awayThe cold consumers of their clay. 

I do not claim any paternity in these lines: but not the mostjudicious action of all my youth was to publish certain dramaticsketches, and his Lordship had the printed book in his possessionlong before The Giaour was published, and may have read the followingpassage in a dream, which was intended to be very hideous:

 Then did I hear aroundThe churme and chirruping of busy reptilesAt hideous banquet on the royal dead:--Full soon methought the loathsome epicuresCame thick on me, and underneath my shroudI felt the many-foot and beetle creep, And on my breast the cold worm coil and crawl. 

However, I have said quite enough on this subject, both as respectsmyself and his seeming plagiarisms, which might be multiplied tolegions. Such occasional accidental imitations are not things ofmuch importance. All poets, and authors in general, avail themselvesof their reading and knowledge to enhance the interest of theirworks. It can only be considered as one of Lord Byron's spurts ofspleen, that he felt so much about a "coincidence, " which ought notto have disturbed him; but it may be thought by the notice taken ofit, that it disturbs myself more than it really does; and that itwould have been enough to have merely said--Perhaps, when some friendis hereafter doing as indulgently for me, the same kind of task thatI have undertaken for Byron, there may be found among my memorandanotes as little flattering to his Lordship, as those in hisconcerning me. I hope, however, that friend will have more respectfor my memory than to imitate the taste of Mr Moore. 

CHAPTER XXIX

Lord Byron in 1813--The Lady's Tragedy--Miss Milbanke--GrowingUneasiness of Lord Byron's Mind--The Friar's Ghost--The Marriage--AMember of the Drury Lane Committee--Embarrassed Affairs--TheSeparation

The year 1813 was perhaps the period of all Lord Byron's life inwhich he was seen to most advantage. The fame of Childe Harold wasthen in its brightest noon; and in that year he produced The Giaourand The Bride of Abydos--compositions not only of equal power, buteven tinted with superior beauties. He was himself soothed by thefull enjoyment of his political rank and station; and though hismanners and character had not exactly answered to the stern andstately imaginations which had been formed of his dispositions andappearance, still he was acknowledged to be no common man, and hiscompany in consequence was eagerly courted. 

It forms no part of the plan of this work to repeat the gossip andtattle of private society, but occurrences happened to Lord Byronwhich engaged both, and some of them cannot well be passed overunnoticed. One of these took place during the spring of this year, and having been a subject of newspaper remark, it may with lessimpropriety be mentioned than others which were more indecorouslymade the topics of general discussion. The incident alluded to wasan extravagant scene enacted by a lady of high rank, at a rout givenby Lady Heathcote; in which, in revenge, as it was reported, forhaving been rejected by Lord Byron, she made a suicidal attempt withan instrument, which scarcely penetrated, if it could even inflictany permanent mark on, the skin. 

The insane attachment of this eccentric lady to his Lordship was wellknown; insane is the only epithet that can be applied to the actionsof a married woman, who, in the disguise of her page, flung herselfto a man, who, as she told a friend of mine, was ashamed to be inlove with her because she was not beautiful--an expression at oncecurious and just, evincing a shrewd perception of the springs of hisLordship's conduct, and the acuteness blended with frenzy and talentwhich distinguished herself. Lord Byron unquestionably at that timecared little for her. In showing me her picture, some two or threedays after the affair, and laughing at the absurdity of it, hebestowed on her the endearing diminutive of vixen, with a hard-hearted adjective that I judiciously omit. 

The immediate cause of this tragical flourish was never very wellunderstood; but in the course of the evening she had made severalattempts to fasten on his Lordship, and was shunned: certain it is, she had not, like Burke in the House of Commons, premeditatedlybrought a dagger in her reticule, on purpose for the scene; but, seeing herself an object of scorn, she seized the first weapon shecould find--some said a pair of scissors--others, more scandalously, broken jelly-glass, and attempted an incision of the jugular, to theconsternation of all the dowagers, and the pathetic admiration ofevery Miss who witnessed or heard of the rapture. 

Lord Byron at the time was in another room, talking with Prince K--, when Lord P-- came, with a face full of consternation, and told themwhat had happened. The cruel poet, instead of being agitated by thetidings, or standing in the smallest degree in need of a smelling-bottle, knitted his scowl, and said, with a contemptuousindifference, "It is only a trick. " All things considered, he wasperhaps not uncharitable; and a man of less vanity would have feltpretty much as his Lordship appeared to do on the occasion. Thewhole affair was eminently ridiculous; and what increased theabsurdity was a letter she addressed to a friend of mine on thesubject, and which he thought too good to be reserved only for hisown particular study. 

It was in this year that Lord Byron first proposed for Miss Milbanke;having been urged by several of his friends to marry, that lady wasspecially recommended to him for a wife. It has been alleged, thathe deeply resented her rejection of his proposal; and I doubt not, inthe first instance, his vanity may have been a little piqued; but ashe cherished no very animated attachment to her, and moreover, as sheenjoyed no celebrity in public opinion to make the rejectionimportant, the resentment was not, I am persuaded, either of anintense or vindictive kind. On the contrary, he has borne testimonyto the respect in which he held her character and accomplishments;and an incidental remark in his journal, "I shall be in love with heragain, if I don't take care, " is proof enough that his anger was notof a very fierce or long-lived kind. 

The account ascribed to him of his introduction to Miss Milbanke, andthe history of their attachment, ought not to be omitted, because itserves to illustrate, in some degree, the state of his feelingstowards her, and is so probable, that I doubt not it is in the maincorrect:--

"The first time of my seeing Miss Milbanke was at Lady ***'s. It wasa fatal day; and I remember, that in going upstairs I stumbled, andremarked to Moore, who accompanied me, that it was a bad omen. Iought to have taken the warning. On entering the room, I observed ayoung lady more simply dressed than the rest of the assembly sittingalone upon a sofa. I took her for a female companion, and asked if Iwas right in my conjecture. 'She is a great heiress, ' said he, in awhisper, that became lower as he proceeded, 'you had better marryher, and repair the old place, Newstead. '

"There was something piquant, and what we term pretty, in MissMilbanke. Her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for herheight, and there was a simplicity, a retired modesty about her, which was very characteristic, and formed a happy contrast to thecold artificial formality and studied stiffness which is calledfashion. She interested me exceedingly. I became daily moreattached to her, and it ended in my making her a proposal, that wasrejected. Her refusal was couched in terms which could not offendme. I was, besides, persuaded, that in declining my offer, she wasgoverned by the influence of her mother; and was the more confirmedin my opinion, by her reviving our correspondence herself twelvemonths after. The tenour of her letter was, that, although she couldnot love me, she desired my friendship. Friendship is a dangerousword for young ladies; it is love full-fledged, and waiting for afine day to fly. "

But Lord Byron possessed this sort of irrepressible predilections--was so much the agent of impulses, that he could not keep long inunison with the world, or in harmony with his friends. Withoutmalice, or the instigation of any ill spirit, he was continuallyprovoking malignity and revenge. His verses on the PrincessCharlotte weeping, and his other merciless satire on her father, begot him no friends, and armed the hatred of his enemies. Therewas, indeed, something like ingratitude in the attack on the Regent, for his Royal Highness had been particularly civil; had intimated awish to have him introduced to him; and Byron, fond of thedistinction, spoke of it with a sense of gratification. Theseinstances, as well as others, of gratuitous spleen, only justifiedthe misrepresentations which had been insinuated against himself, andwhat was humour in his nature, was ascribed to vice in hisprinciples. 

Before the year was at an end, his popularity was evidently beginningto wane: of this he was conscious himself, and braved the frequentattacks on his character and genius with an affectation ofindifference, under which those who had at all observed the singularassociations of his recollections and ideas, must have discerned thesymptoms of a strange disease. He was tainted with a Herodian maladyof the mind: his thoughts were often hateful to himself; but therewas an ecstasy in the conception, as if delight could be mingled withhorror. I think, however, he struggled to master the fatality, andthat his resolution to marry was dictated by an honourable desire togive hostages to society, against the wild wilfulness of hisimagination. 

It is a curious and a mystical fact, that at the period to which I amalluding, and a very short time, only a little month, before hesuccessfully solicited the hand of Miss Milbanke, being at Newstead, he fancied that he saw the ghost of the monk which is supposed tohaunt the abbey, and to make its ominous appearance when misfortuneor death impends over the master of the mansion. --The story of theapparition in the sixteenth canto of Don Juan is derived from thisfamily legend, and Norman Abbey, in the thirteenth of the same poem, is a rich and elaborate description of Newstead. 

After his proposal to Miss Milbanke had been accepted, a considerabletime, nearly three months, elapsed before the marriage was completed, in consequence of the embarrassed condition in which, when thenecessary settlements were to be made, he found his affairs. Thisstate of things, with the previous unhappy controversy with himself, and anger at the world, was ill-calculated to gladden his nuptials:but, besides these real evils, his mind was awed with gloomypresentiments, a shadow of some advancing misfortune darkened hisspirit, and the ceremony was performed with sacrificial feelings, andthose dark and chilling circumstances, which he has so touchinglydescribed in The Dream:--

 I saw him standBefore an altar with a gentle bride;Her face was fair, but was not that which madeThe starlight of his boyhood:--as he stoodEven at the altar, o'er his brow there cameThe self-same aspect, and the quivering shockThat in the antique oratory shookHis bosom in its solitude; and then--As in that hour--a moment o'er his faceThe tablet of unutterable thoughtsWas traced--and then it faded as it came, And he stood calm and quiet, and he spokeThe faltering vows, but heard not his own words, And all things reeled around him: he could seeNot that which was, nor that which should have been--But the old mansion and the accustom'd hall, And the remembered chambers, and the place, The day, the hour, the sunshine and the shade, All things pertaining to that place and hour. And her, who was his destiny, came back, And thrust themselves between him and the light. 

This is very affectingly described; and his prose description bearstestimony to its correctness. "It had been predicted by Mrs Williamsthat twenty-seven was to be a dangerous age for me. The fortune-telling witch was right; it was destined to prove so. I shall neverforget the 2nd of January, 1815, Lady Byron was the only unconcernedperson present; Lady Noel, her mother, cried; I trembled like a leaf, made the wrong responses, and after the ceremony called her MissMilbanke. 

"There is a singular history attached to the ring. The very day thematch was concluded a ring of my mother's, that had been lost, wasdug up by the gardener at Newstead. I thought it was sent on purposefor the wedding; but my mother's marriage had not been a fortunateone, and this ring was doomed to be the seal of an unhappier unionstill. 

"After the ordeal was over, we set off for a country-scat of SirRalph's (Lady B. 's father), and I was surprised at the arrangementsfor the journey, and somewhat out of humour, to find the lady's maidstuck between me and my bride. It was rather too early to assume thehusband; so I was forced to submit, but it was not with a very goodgrace. I have been accused of saying, on getting into the carriage, that I had married Lady Byron out of spite, and because she hadrefused me twice. Though I was for a moment vexed at her prudery, orwhatever you may choose to call it, if I had made so uncavalier, notto say brutal, a speech, I am convinced Lady Byron would instantlyhave left the carriage to me and the maid. She had spirit enough tohave done so, and would properly have resented the affront. Ourhoneymoon was not all sunshine; it had its clouds. 

"I was not so young when my father died, but that I perfectlyremember him, and had a very early horror of matrimony from the sightof domestic broils: this feeling came over me very strongly at mywedding. Something whispered me that I was sealing my own death-warrant. I am a great believer in presentiments: Socrates's demonwas not a fiction; Monk Lewis had his monitor, and Napoleon manywarnings. At the last moment I would have retreated, could I havedone so; I called to mind a friend of mine, who had married a young, beautiful, and rich girl, and yet was miserable; he had stronglyurged me against putting my neck in the same yoke. "

For some time after the marriage things went on in the usualmatrimonial routine, until he was chosen into the managing committeeof Drury Lane; an office in which, had he possessed the slightestdegree of talent for business, he might have done much good. It wasjustly expected that the illiterate presumption which had so longdeterred poetical genius from approaching the stage, would haveshrunk abashed from before him; but he either felt not the importanceof the duty he had been called to perform, or, what is more probable, yielding to the allurements of the moment, forgot that duty, in theamusement which he derived from the talents and peculiarities of theplayers. No situation could be more unfit for a man of histemperament, than one which exposed him to form intimacies withpersons whose profession, almost necessarily, leads them toundervalue the domestic virtues. 

It is said, that the course of life into which he was drawn after hejoined the managing committee of Drury Lane was not in unison withthe methodical habits of Lady Byron. But independently of outdoorcauses of connubial discontent and incompatibility of temper, theirdomestic affairs were falling into confusion. 

"My income at this period, " says Lord Byron, "was small, and somewhatbespoken. We had a house in town, gave dinner-parties, had separatecarriages, and launched into every sort of extravagance. This couldnot last long; my wife's ten thousand pounds soon melted away. I wasbeset by duns, and at length an execution was levied, and thebailiffs put in possession of the very beds we had to sleep on. Thiswas no very agreeable state of affairs, no very pleasant scene forLady Byron to witness; and it was agreed she should pay her father avisit till the storm had blown over, and some arrangement had beenmade with my creditors. " From this visit her Ladyship neverreturned; a separation took place; but too much has been said to theworld respecting it, and I have no taste for the subject. Whateverwas the immediate cause, the event itself was not of so rare a kindas to deserve that the attention of the public should be indelicatelycourted to it. 

Beyond all question, however, Lord Byron's notions of connubialobligations were rather philosophical. "There are, " said he toCaptain Parry, "so many undefinable and nameless, and not to benamed, causes of dislike, aversion, and disgust in the matrimonialstate, that it is always impossible for the public, or the friends ofthe parties, to judge between man and wife. Theirs is a relationabout which nobody but themselves can form a correct idea, or haveany right to speak. As long as neither party commits gross injusticetowards the other; as long as neither the woman nor the man is guiltyof any offence which is injurious to the community; as long as thehusband provides for his offspring, and secures the public againstthe dangers arising from their neglected education, or from thecharge of supporting them; by what right does it censure him forceasing to dwell under the same roof with a woman, who is to him, because he knows her, while others do not, an object of loathing?Can anything be more monstrous, than for the public voice to compelindividuals who dislike each other to continue their cohabitation?This is at least the effect of its interfering with a relationship, of which it has no possible means of judging. It does not indeeddrag a man to a woman's bed by physical force, but it does exert amoral force continually and effectively to accomplish the samepurpose. Nobody can escape this force, but those who are too high orthose who are too low for public opinion to reach; or thosehypocrites who are, before others, the loudest in their approbationof the empty and unmeaning forms of society, that they may securelyindulge all their propensities in secret. "

In the course of the conversation, in which he is represented to havestated these opinions, he added what I have pleasure in quoting, because the sentiments are generous in respect to his wife, andstrikingly characteristic of himself:--

"Lady Byron has a liberal mind, particularly as to religiousopinions: and I wish when I married her that I had possessed thesame command over myself that I now do. Had I possessed a littlemore wisdom and more forbearance, we might have been happy. Iwished, when I was just married to have remained in the country, particularly till my pecuniary embarrassments were over. I knew thesociety of London; I knew the characters of many who are calledladies, with whom Lady Byron would necessarily have to associate, andI dreaded her contact with them. But I have too much of my motherabout me to be dictated to; I like freedom from constraint; I hateartificial regulations: my conduct has always been dictated by myown feelings, and Lady Byron was quite the creature of rules. Shewas not permitted either to ride, or run, or walk, but as thephysician prescribed. She was not suffered to go out when I wishedto go: and then the old house was a mere ghost-house, I dreamed ofghosts and thought of them waking. It was an existence I could notsupport. " Here Lord Byron broke off abruptly, saying, "I hate tospeak of my family affairs, though I have been compelled to talknonsense concerning them to some of my butterfly visitors, glad onany terms to get rid of their importunities. I long to be again onthe mountains. I am fond of solitude, and should never talknonsense, if I always found plain men to talk to. "

CHAPTER XXX

Reflections on his domestic Verses--Consideration of his Works--"TheCorsair"--Probabilities of the Character and Incidents of the Story--On the Difference between poetical Invention and moral Experience:illustrated by the Difference between the Genius of Shakespeare andthat of Byron

The task just concluded may disappoint the expectations of some of myreaders, but I would rather have said less than so much, could solittle have been allowed; for I have never been able to reconcile tomy notions of propriety, the exposure of domestic concerns which theworld has no right claim to know, and can only urge the plea ofcuriosity for desiring to see explained. The scope of my undertakingcomprehends only the public and intellectual character of Lord Byron;every word that I have found it necessary to say respecting hisprivate affairs has been set down with reluctance; nor should I havetouched so freely on his failings, but that the consequences havedeeply influenced his poetical conceptions. 

There is, however, one point connected with his conjugal differenceswhich cannot be overlooked, nor noticed without animadversion. Hewas too active himself in bespeaking the public sympathy against hislady. It is true that but for that error the world might never haveseen the verses written by him on the occasion; and perhaps it wasthe friends who were about him at the time who ought chiefly to beblamed for having given them circulation: but in saying this, I amdeparting from the rule I had prescribed to myself, while I oughtonly to have remarked that the compositions alluded to, both theFare-thee-well and the Anathema on Mrs Charlemont, are splendidcorroborations of the metaphysical fact which it is the main objectof this work to illustrate, namely, that Byron was only original andtruly great when he wrote from the dictates of his own breast, anddescribed from the suggestions of things he had seen. When hisimagination found not in his subject uses for the materials of hisexperience, and opportunities to embody them, it seemed to be nolonger the same high and mysterious faculty that so ruled the tidesof the feelings of others. He then appeared a more ordinary poet----a skilful verse-maker. The necromancy which held the readerspellbound became ineffectual; and the charm and the glory whichinterested so intensely, and shone so radiantly on his configurationsfrom realities, all failed and faded; for his genius dealt not withairy fancies, but had its power and dominion amid the living and thelocal of the actual world. 

I shall now return to the consideration of his works, and the firstin order is The Corsair, published in 1814. He seems to have beenperfectly sensible that this beautiful composition was in his bestpeculiar manner. It is indeed a pirate's isle, peopled with his owncreatures. 

It has been alleged that Lord Byron was indebted to Sir WalterScott's poem of Rokeby for the leading incidents of The Corsair, butthe resemblance is not to me very obvious: besides, the whole styleof the poem is so strikingly in his own manner, that even had heborrowed the plan, it was only as a thread to string his own originalconceptions upon; the beauty and brilliancy of them could not beborrowed, and are not imitations. 

There were two islands in the Archipelago, when Lord Byron was inGreece, considered as the chief haunts of the pirates, Stampalia, anda long narrow island between Cape Colonna and Zea. Jura also was alittle tainted in its reputation. I think, however, from thedescription, that the pirate's isle of The Corsair is the island offCape Colonna. It is a rude, rocky mass. I know not to whatparticular Coron, if there be more than one, the poet alludes; forthe Coron of the Morea is neighbour to, if not in, the Mainoteterritory, a tract of country which never submitted to the Turks, andwas exempted from the jurisdiction of Mussulman officers by thepayment of an annual tribute. The Mainotes themselves are allpirates and robbers. If it be in that Coron that Byron has placedSeyd the pasha, it must be attributed to inadvertency. His Lordshipwas never there, nor in any part of Maina; nor does he describe theplace, a circumstance which of itself goes far to prove theinadvertency. It is, however, only in making it the seat of aTurkish pasha that any error has been committed. In working out theincidents of the poem where descriptions of scenery are given, theyrelate chiefly to Athens and its neighbourhood. In themselves thesedescriptions are executed with an exquisite felicity; but they arebrought in without any obvious reason wherefore. In fact, theyappear to have been written independently of the poem, and arepatched on "shreds of purple" which could have been spared. 

The character of Conrad the Corsair may be described as a combinationof the warrior of Albania and a naval officer--Childe Harold mingledwith the hero of The Giaour. 

 A man of loneliness and mystery, Scarce seen to smile, and seldom heard to sigh;Robust, but not Herculean, to the sight, No giant frame sets forth his common height;Yet in the whole, who paused to look againSaw more than marks the crowd of vulgar men:They gaze and marvel how, and still confessThat thus it is, but why they cannot guess. Sun-burnt his cheek, his forehead high and pale, The sable curls in wild profusion veil. And oft perforce his rising lip revealsThe haughtier thought it curbs, but scarce conceals:Though smooth his voice, and calm his general mien, Still seems there something he would not have seen. His features' deepening lines and varying hueAt times attracted, yet perplex'd the view, As if within that murkiness of mindWork'd feelings fearful, and yet undefined:Such might he be that none could truly tell, Too close inquiry his stern glance could quell. There breathed but few whose aspect could defyThe full encounter of his searching eye;He had the skill, when cunning gaze to seekTo probe his heart and watch his changing cheek, At once the observer's purpose to espy, And on himself roll back his scrutiny, Lest he to Conrad rather should betraySome secret thought, than drag that chief's to day. 

There was a laughing devil in his sneerThat raised emotions both of rage and fear;And where his frown of hatred darkly fellHope withering fled, and mercy sigh'd, farewell. 

It will be allowed that, in this portrait, some of the darkerfeatures and harsher lineaments of Byron himself are very evident, but with a more fixed sternness than belonged to him; for it was onlyby fits that he could put on such severity. Conrad is, however, ahigher creation than any which he had previously described. Insteadof the listlessness of Childe Harold, he is active and enterprising;such as the noble pilgrim would have been, but for the satiety whichhad relaxed his energies. There is also about him a solemnitydifferent from the animation of the Giaour--a penitential despairarising from a cause undisclosed. The Giaour, though wounded andfettered, and laid in a dungeon, would not have felt as Conrad issupposed to feel in that situation. The following bold and terrificverses, descriptive of the maelstrom agitations of remorse, could nothave been appropriately applied to the despair of grief, thepredominant source of emotion in The Giaour. 

There is a war, a chaos of the mindWhen all its elements convulsed combined, Lie dark and jarring with perturbed force, And gnashing with impenitent remorse. That juggling fiend who never spake before, But cries, "I warn'd thee, " when the deed is o'er;Vain voice, the spirit burning, but unbent, May writhe, rebel--the weak alone repent. 

The character of Conrad is undoubtedly finely imagined; as thepainters would say, it is in the highest style of art, and broughtout with sublime effect; but still it is only another phase of thesame portentous meteor, that was nebulous in Childe Harold, and fieryin The Giaour. To the safe and shop-resorting inhabitants ofChristendom, The Corsair seems to present many improbabilities;nevertheless, it is true to nature, and in every part of the Levantthe traveller meets with individuals whose air and physiognomy remindhim of Conrad. The incidents of the story, also, so wild andextravagant to the snug and legal notions of England, are not more inkeeping with the character, than they are in accordance with fact andreality. The poet suffers immeasurable injustice, when it isattempted to determine the probability of the wild scenes and wilderadventurers of his tales, by the circumstances and characters of thelaw-regulated system of our diurnal affairs. Probability is astandard formed by experience, and it is not surprising that theanchorets of libraries should object to the improbability of TheCorsair, and yet acknowledge the poetical power displayed in thecomposition; for it is a work which could only have been written byone who had himself seen or heard on the spot of transactions similarto those he has described. No course of reading could have suppliedmaterials for a narration so faithfully descriptive of the accidentsto which an AEgean pirate is exposed as The Corsair. Had Lord Byronnever been out of England, the production of a work so appropriate inreflection, so wild in spirit, and so bold in invention, as in thatcase it would have been, would have entitled him to the highesthonours of original conception, or been rejected as extravagant;considered as the result of things seen, and of probabilitiessuggested, by transactions not uncommon in the region where hisgenius gathered the ingredients of its sorceries, more than the halfof its merits disappear, while the other half brighten with thelustre of truth. 

The manners, the actions, and the incidents were new to the Englishmind; but to the inhabitant of the Levant they have long beenfamiliar, and the traveller who visits that region will hesitate toadmit that Lord Byron possessed those creative powers, and thatdiscernment of dark bosoms for which he is so much celebrated;because he will see there how little of invention was necessary toform such heroes as Conrad, and how much the actual traffic of lifeand trade is constantly stimulating enterprise and bravery. But letit not, therefore, be supposed, that I would undervalue either thegenius of the poet, or the merits of the poem, in saying so, for I dothink a higher faculty has been exerted in The Corsair than in ChildeHarold. In the latter, only actual things are described, freshly andvigorously as they were seen, and feelings expressed eloquently asthey were felt; but in the former, the talent of combination has beensplendidly employed. The one is a view from nature, the other is acomposition both from nature and from history. 

Lara, which appeared soon after The Corsair, is an evident supplementto it; the description of the hero corresponds in person andcharacter with Conrad; so that the remarks made on The Corsair apply, in all respects, to Lara. The poem itself is perhaps, in elegance, superior; but the descriptions are not so vivid, simply because theyare more indebted to imagination. There is one of them, however, inwhich the lake and abbey of Newstead are dimly shadowed, equal insweetness and solemnity to anything the poet has ever written. 

It was the night, and Lara's glassy streamThe stars are studding each with imaged beam:So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray, And yet they glide, like happiness, away;Reflecting far and fairy-like from highThe immortal lights that live along the sky;Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree, And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee:Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove, And innocence would offer to her love;These deck the shore, the waves their channel makeIn windings bright and mazy, like the snake. All was so still, so soft in earth and air, You scarce would start to meet a spirit there, Secure that naught of evil could delightTo walk in such a scene, in such a night!It was a moment only for the good:So Lara deemed: nor longer there he stood;But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate:Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:Such scene reminded him of other days, Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze;Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now--No, no! the storm may beat upon his browUnfelt, unsparing; but a night like this, A night of beauty, mock'd such breast as his. 

He turn'd within his solitary hall, And his high shadow shot along the wall:There were the painted forms of other times--'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes, Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaultsThat hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults, And half a column of the pompous page, That speeds the spacious tale from age to age;Where history's pen its praise or blame suppliesAnd lies like truth, and still most truly lies;He wand'ring mused, and as the moonbeam shoneThrough the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone, And the high-fretted roof and saints that thereO'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer;Reflected in fantastic figures grewLike life, but not like mortal life to view;His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom, And the wide waving of his shaken plumeGlanced like a spectre's attributes, and gaveHis aspect all that terror gives the grave. 

That Byron wrote best when he wrote of himself and of his own, hasprobably been already made sufficiently apparent. In this respect hestands alone and apart from all other poets, and there will beoccasion to show, that this peculiarity extended much farther overall his works, than merely to those which may be said to haverequired him to be thus personal. The great distinction, indeed, ofhis merit consists in that singularity. Shakspeare, in drawing thematerials of his dramas from tales and history has, with wonderfulart, given from his own invention and imagination the fittest andmost appropriate sentiments and language; and admiration at theperfection with which he has accomplished this, can never beexhausted. The difference between Byron and Shakspeare consists inthe curious accident, if it may be so called, by which the former wasplaced in circumstances which taught him to feel in himself the verysentiments that he has ascribed to his characters. Shakspearecreated the feelings of his, and with such excellence, that they arenot only probable to the situations, but give to the personificationsthe individuality of living persons. Byron's are scarcely less so;but with him there was no invention, only experience, and when heattempts to express more than he has himself known, he is alwayscomparatively feeble. 

CHAPTER XXXI

Byron determines to reside abroad--Visits the Plain of Waterloo--State of his Feelings

From different incidental expressions in his correspondence it issufficiently evident that Byron, before his marriage, intended toreside abroad. In his letter to me of the 11th December, 1813, hedistinctly states this intention, and intimates that he then thoughtof establishing his home in Greece. It is not therefore surprisingthat, after his separation from Lady Byron, he should have determinedto carry this intention into effect; for at that period, besides thecalumny heaped upon him from all quarters, the embarrassment of hisaffairs, and the retaliatory satire, all tended to force him intoexile; he had no longer any particular tie to bind him to England. 

On the 25th of April, 1816, he sailed for Ostend, and resumed thecomposition of Childe Harold, it may be said, from the moment of hisembarkation. In it, however, there is no longer the fiction of animaginary character stalking like a shadow amid his descriptions andreflections----he comes more decidedly forwards as the hero in hisown person. 

In passing to Brussels he visited the field of Waterloo, and theslight sketch which he has given in the poem of that eventfulconflict is still the finest which has yet been written on thesubject. 

But the note of his visit to the field is of more importance to mypresent purpose, inasmuch as it tends to illustrate the querulousstate of his own mind at the time. 

"I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with myrecollection of similar scenes. As a plain, Waterloo seems markedout for the scene of some great action, though this may be mereimagination. I have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Chaevronae, and Marathon, and the field round MontSt Jean and Hugoumont appears to want little but a better cause andthat indefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throwsaround a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all ofthese, except perhaps the last-mentioned. "

The expression "a better cause, " could only have been engendered inmere waywardness; but throughout his reflections at this period apeevish ill-will towards England is often manifested, as if he soughtto attract attention by exasperating the national pride; that pridewhich he secretly flattered himself was to be augmented by his ownfame. 

I cannot, in tracing his travels through the third canto, test theaccuracy of his descriptions as in the former two; but as they areall drawn from actual views they have the same vivid individualityimpressed upon them. Nothing can be more simple and affecting thanthe following picture, nor less likely to be an imaginary scene:

 By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground, There is a small and simple pyramid, Crowning the summit of the verdant mound; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid, Our enemies. And let not that forbid Honour to Marceau, o'er whose early tomb Tears, big tears, rush'd from the rough soldier's lid, Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, Falling for France, whose rights he battled to resume. 

Perhaps few passages of descriptive poetry excel that in whichreference is made to the column of Avenches, the ancient Aventicum. It combines with an image distinct and picturesque, poeticalassociations full of the grave and moral breathings of olden formsand hoary antiquity. 

 By a lone wall, a lonelier column rears A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days: 'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, And looks as with the wild-bewilder'd gaze Of one to stone converted by amaze, Yet still with consciousness; and there it stands, Making a marvel that it not decays, When the coeval pride of human hands, Levell'd Aventicum, hath strew'd her subject lands. 

But the most remarkable quality in the third canto is the deep, lowbass of thought which runs through several passages, and which givesto it, when considered with reference to the circumstances underwhich it was written, the serious character of documentary evidenceas to the remorseful condition of the poet's mind. It would be, after what has already been pointed out in brighter incidents, affectation not to say, that these sad bursts of feeling and wildparoxysms, bear strong indications of having been suggested by thewreck of his domestic happiness, and dictated by contrition for thepart he had himself taken in the ruin. The following reflections onthe unguarded hour, are full of pathos and solemnity, amountingalmost to the deep and dreadful harmony of Manfred:

 To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind; All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil In the hot throng, where we become the spoil Of our infection, till too late and long We may deplore and struggle with the coil, In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong'Midst a contentious world, striving where none are strong. 

 There, in a moment, we may plunge our years In fatal penitence, and in the blight Of our own soul, turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come with hues of night; The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those who walk in darkness: on the sea, The boldest steer but where their ports invite; But there are wanderers o'er eternity, Whose bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall be. 

These sentiments are conceived in the mood of an awed spirit; theybreathe of sorrow and penitence. Of the weariness of satiety thepilgrim no more complains; he is no longer despondent fromexhaustion, and the lost appetite of passion, but from the weight ofa burden which he cannot lay down; and he clings to visible objects, as if from their nature he could extract a moral strength. 

 I live not in myself, but I become Portion of that around me; and to me, High mountains are a feeling, but the hum Of human cities tortures: I can see Nothing to loathe in nature, save to be A link reluctant in a fleshly chain, Class'd among creatures, where the soul can flee, And with the sky, the peak, the heaving plainOf ocean, or the stars, mingle, and not in vain. 

These dim revelations of black and lowering thought are overshadowedwith a darker hue than sorrow alone could have cast. A consciousnessof sinful blame is evident amid them; and though the fantasies thatloom through the mystery, are not so hideous as the guilty reveriesin the weird caldron of Manfred's conscience, still they have anawful resemblance to them. They are phantoms of the same murkyelement, and, being more akin to fortitude than despair, prophesy notof hereafter, but oracularly confess suffering. 

Manfred himself hath given vent to no finer horror than the oraclethat speaks in this magnificent stanza:

 I have not loved the world, nor the world me; I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee-- Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles--nor cried aloud In worship of an echo;--in the crowd They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them; in a shroud Of thoughts which were not of their thoughts, and still could, Had I not filed my mind, which thus itself subdued. 

There are times in life when all men feel their sympathies extinct, and Lord Byron was evidently in that condition, when he penned theseremarkable lines; but independently of their striking beauty, thescenery in which they were conceived deserves to be considered withreference to the sentiment that pervades them. For it was amid thesame obscure ravines, pine-tufted precipices and falling waters ofthe Alps, that he afterward placed the outcast Manfred--an additionalcorroboration of the justness of the remarks which I ventured tooffer, in adverting to his ruminations in contemplating, while yet aboy, the Malvern hills, as if they were the scenes of his impassionedchildhood. In "the palaces of nature, " he first felt theconsciousness of having done some wrong, and when he would infuseinto another, albeit in a wilder degree, the feelings he had himselffelt, he recalled the images which had ministered to the cogitationsof his own contrition. But I shall have occasion to speak more ofthis, when I come to consider the nature of the guilt and misery ofManfred. 

That Manfred is the greatest of Byron's works will probably not bedisputed. It has more than the fatal mysticism of Macbeth, with thesatanic grandeur of the Paradise Lost, and the hero is placed incircumstances, and amid scenes, which accord with the stupendousfeatures of his preternatural character. How then, it may be asked, does this moral phantom, that has never been, bear any resemblance tothe poet himself? Must not, in this instance, the hypothesis whichassigns to Byron's heroes his own sentiments and feelings beabandoned? I think not. In noticing the deep and solemn reflectionswith which he was affected in ascending the Rhine, and which he hasembodied in the third canto of Childe Harold, I have already pointedout a similarity in the tenour of the thoughts to those of Manfred, as well as the striking acknowledgment of the "filed" mind. Thereis, moreover, in the drama, the same distaste of the world whichByron himself expressed when cogitating on the desolation of hishearth, and the same contempt of the insufficiency of his genius andrenown to mitigate contrition--all in strange harmony with the samemagnificent objects of sight. Is not the opening soliloquy ofManfred the very echo of the reflections on the Rhine?

My slumbers--if I slumber--are not sleep, But a continuance of enduring thought, Which then I can resist not; in my heartThere is a vigil, and these eyes but closeTo look within--and yet I live and bearThe aspect and the form of breathing man. 

But the following is more impressive: it is the very phrase he wouldhimself have employed to have spoken of the consequences of his fatalmarriage:

My in juries came down on those who lov'd me, On those whom I best lov'd; I never quell'dAn enemy, save in my just defence--But my embrace was fatal. 

He had not, indeed, been engaged in any duel of which the issue wasmortal; but he had been so far engaged with more than one, that hecould easily conceive what it would have been to have quelled anenemy in just defence. But unless the reader can himself discern, byhis sympathies, that there is the resemblance I contend for, it is ofno use to multiply instances. I shall, therefore, give but one otherextract, which breathes the predominant spirit of all Byron 's works--that sad translation of the preacher's "vanity of vanities; all isvanity!"

 Look on me! there is an orderOf mortals on the earth, who do becomeOld in their youth and die ere middle age, Without the violence of warlike death;Some perishing of pleasure--some of study--Some worn with toil--some of mere weariness--Some of disease--and some insanity--And some of wither'd or of broken hearts;For this last is a malady which slaysMore than are number'd in the lists of Fate;Taking all shapes, and bearing many names. Look upon me! for even of all these thingsHave I partaken--and of all these thingsOne were enough; then wonder not that IAm what I am, but that I ever was, Or, having been, that I am still on earth. 

CHAPTER XXXII

Byron's Residence in Switzerland--Excursion to the Glaciers--"Manfred" founded on a magical Sacrifice, not on Guilt--Similaritybetween Sentiments given to Manfred and those expressed by Lord Byronin his own Person

The account given by Captain Medwin of the manner in which Lord Byronspent his time in Switzerland, has the raciness of his Lordship's ownquaintness, somewhat diluted. The reality of the conversations Ihave heard questioned, but they relate in some instances to mattersnot generally known, to the truth of several of which I can myselfbear witness; moreover they have much of the poet's peculiar modes ofthinking about them, though weakened in effect by the reporter. Noman can give a just representation of another who is not capable ofputting himself into the character of his original, and of thinkingwith his power and intelligence. Still there are occasional touchesof merit in the feeble outlines of Captain Medwin, and with thisconviction it would be negligence not to avail myself of them. 

"Switzerland, " said his Lordship, "is a country I have been satisfiedwith seeing once; Turkey I could live in for ever. I never forget mypredilections: I was in a wretched state of health and worse spiritswhen I was at Geneva; but quiet and the lake, better physicians thanPolidori, soon set me up. I never led so moral a life as during myresidence in that country; but I gained no credit by it. Where thereis mortification there ought to be reward. On the contrary, there isno story so absurd that they did not invent at my cost. I waswatched by glasses on the opposite side of the lake, and by glasses, too, that must have had very distorted optics; I was waylaid in myevening drives. I believe they looked upon me as a man-monster. 

"I knew very few of the Genevese. Hentsh was very civil to me, and Ihave a great respect for Sismondi. I was forced to return thecivilities of one of their professors by asking him and an oldgentleman, a friend of Gray's, to dine with me I had gone out to sailearly in the morning, and the wind prevented me from returning intime for dinner. I understand that I offended them mortally. 

"Among our countrymen I made no new acquaintances; Shelley, MonkLewis, and Hobhouse were almost the only English people I saw. Nowonder; I showed a distaste for society at that time, and went littleamong the Genevese; besides, I could not speak French. When I wentthe tour of the lake with Shelley and Hobhouse, the boat was nearlywrecked near the very spot where St Preux and Julia were in danger ofbeing drowned. It would have been classical to have been lost there, but not agreeable. "

The third canto of Childe Harold, Manfred, and The Prisoner ofChillon are the fruits of his travels up the Rhine and of his sojournin Switzerland. Of the first it is unnecessary to say more; but thefollowing extract from the poet's travelling memorandum-book, hasbeen supposed to contain the germ of the tragedy

"September 22, 18 16. --Left Thun in a boat, which carried us thelength of the lake in three hours. The lake small, but the banksfine; rocks down to the water's edge: landed at Newhouse; passedInterlachen; entered upon a range of scenes beyond all description orprevious conception; passed a rock bearing an inscription; twobrothers, one murdered the other; just the place for it. After avariety of windings, came to an enormous rock; arrived at the foot ofthe mountain (the Jungfrau) glaciers; torrents, one of these ninehundred feet, visible descent; lodge at the curate's; set out to seethe valley; heard an avalanche fall like thunder; glaciers; enormousstorm comes on thunder and lightning and hail, all in perfection andbeautiful. The torrent is in shape, curving over the rock, like thetail of the white horse streaming in the wind, just as might beconceived would be that of the pale horse on which Death is mountedin the Apocalypse: it is neither mist nor water, but a somethingbetween both; its immense height gives a wave, a curve, a spreadinghere, a condensation there, wonderful, indescribable

"September 23. --Ascent of the Wingren, the dent d'argent shining liketruth on one side, on the other the clouds rose from the oppositevalley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of theocean of hell during a spring-tide. It was white and sulphury, andimmeasurably deep in appearance; the side we ascended was of coursenot of so precipitous a nature; but on arriving at the summit, welooked down on the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud dashingagainst the crag on which we stood. Arrived at the Greenderwold, mounted and rode to the higher glacier, twilight, but distinct, veryfine; glacier like a frozen hurricane; starlight beautiful; the wholeof the day was fine, and, in point of weather, as the day in whichParadise was made. Passed whole woods of withered pines, allwithered, trunks stripped and lifeless, done by a single winter. "

Undoubtedly in these brief and abrupt but masterly touches, hints forthe scenery of Manfred may be discerned, but I can perceive nothingin them which bears the least likelihood to their having influencedthe conception of that sublime work. 

There has always been from the first publication of Manfred, astrange misapprehension with respect to it in the public mind. Thewhole poem has been misunderstood, and the odious supposition thatascribes the fearful mystery and remorse of a hero to a foul passionfor his sister, is probably one of those coarse imaginations whichhave grown out of the calumnies and accusations heaped upon theauthor. How can it have happened that none of the critics havenoticed that the story is derived from the human sacrifices supposedto have been in use among the students of the black art?

Manfred is represented as being actuated by an insatiable curiosity--a passion to know the forbidden secrets of the world. The sceneopens with him at his midnight studies--his lamp is almost burnedout--and he has been searching for knowledge and has not found it, but only that

Sorrow is knowledge: they who know the mostMust mourn the deepest o'er the fatal truth, The tree of knowledge is not that of life. Philosophy and science and the springsOf wonder, and the wisdom of the worldI have essayed, and in my mind there is, A power to make these subject to itself. 

He is engaged in calling spirits; and, as the incantation proceeds, they obey his bidding, and ask him what he wants; he replies, "forgetfulness. "

FIRST SPIRIT

Of what--of whom--and why?

MANFRED

Of that which is within me; read it there----Ye know it, and I cannot utter it. 

SPIRIT

We can but give thee that which we possess;--Ask of us subjects, sovereignty, the powerO'er earth, the whole or portion, or a signWhich shall control the elements, whereofWe are the dominators. Each and all--These shall be thine. 

MANFRED

 Oblivion, self oblivion--Can ye not wring from out the hidden realmsYe offer so profusely, what I ask?

SPIRIT

It is not in our essence, in our skill, But--thou may'st die. 

MANFRED

 Will death bestow it on me?

SPIRIT

We are immortal, and do not forget;We are eternal, and to us the pastIs as the future, present. Art thou answer'd?

MANFRED

Ye mock me, but the power which brought ye hereHath made you mine. Slaves! scoff not at my will;The mind, the spirit, the Promethean spark, The lightning of my being is as bright, Pervading and far darting as your own, And shall not yield to yours though coop'd in clay. Answer, or I will teach you what I am. 

SPIRIT

We answer as we answer'd. Our replyIs even in thine own words. 

MANFRED

Why say ye so?

SPIRIT

If, as thou say'st, thine essence be as ours, We have replied in telling thee the thingMortals call death hath naught to do with us. 

MANFRED

I then have call'd you from your realms in vain. 

This impressive and original scene prepares the reader to wonder whyit is that Manfred is so desirous to drink of Lethe. He has acquireddominion over spirits, and he finds, in the possession of the power, that knowledge has only brought him sorrow. They tell him he isimmortal, and what he suffers is as inextinguishable as his ownbeing: why should he desire forgetfulness?--Has he not committed agreat secret sin? What is it?--He alludes to his sister, and in hissubsequent interview with the witch we gather a dreadful meaningconcerning her fate. Her blood has been shed, not by his hand nor inpunishment, but in the shadow and occultations of some unutterablecrime and mystery. 

She was like me in lineaments; her eyes, Her hair, her features, all to the very toneEven of her voice, they said were like to mine, But soften'd all and temper'd into beauty. She had the same lone thoughts and wanderings, The quest of hidden knowledge, and a mindTo comprehend the universe; nor theseAlone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears, which I had not;And tenderness--but that I had for her;Humility, and that I never had:Her faults were mine--her virtues were her own;I lov'd her and--destroy'd her--

WITCH

With thy hand?

MANFRED

Not with my hand, but heart, which broke her heart. It gaz'd on mine, and withered. I have shedBlood, but not hers, and yet her blood was shed;--I saw, and could not stanch it. 

There is in this little scene, perhaps, the deepest pathos everexpressed; but it is not of its beauty that I am treating; my objectin noticing it here is, that it may be considered in connection withthat where Manfred appears with his insatiate thirst of knowledge, and manacled with guilt. It indicates that his sister, Astarte, hadbeen self-sacrificed in the pursuit of their magical knowledge. Human sacrifices were supposed to be among the initiate propitiationsof the demons that have their purposes in magic--as well as compactssigned with the blood of the self-sold. There was also a darkEgyptian art, of which the knowledge and the efficacy could only beobtained by the novitiate's procuring a voluntary victim--the dearestobject to himself and to whom he also was the dearest; {241} and theprimary spring of Byron's tragedy lies, I conceive, in a sacrifice ofthat kind having been performed, without obtaining that happinesswhich the votary expected would be found in the knowledge and powerpurchased at such a price. His sister was sacrificed in vain. Themanner of the sacrifice is not divulged, but it is darkly intimatedto have been done amid the perturbations of something horrible. 

 Night after night for yearsHe hath pursued long vigils in this towerWithout a witness. --I have been within it--So have we all been ofttimes; but from it, Or its contents, it were impossibleTo draw conclusions absolute of aughtHis studies tend to. --To be sure there isOne chamber where none enter--. . . Count Manfred was, as now, within his tower:How occupied--we know not--but with him, The sole companion of his wanderingsAnd watchings--her--whom of all earthly thingsThat liv'd, the only thing he seem'd to love. 

With admirable taste, and its thrilling augmentation of the horror, the poet leaves the deed which was done in that unapproachablechamber undivulged, while we are darkly taught, that within it liethe relics or the ashes of the "one without a tomb. "

CHAPTER XXXIII

State of Byron in Switzerland--He goes to Venice--The fourth Canto of"Childe Harold"--Rumination on his own Condition--Beppo--Lament ofTasso--Curious Example of Byron's metaphysical Love

The situation of Lord Byron in Switzerland was comfortless. He foundthat "the montain palaces of Nature" afforded no asylum to a hauntedheart; he was ill at ease with himself, even dissatisfied that theworld had not done him enough of wrong to justify his misanthropy. 

Some expectation that his lady would repent of her part in theseparation probably induced him to linger in the vicinity of Geneva, the thoroughfare of the travelling English, whom he affected to shun. If it were so, he was disappointed, and, his hopes being frustrated, he broke up the establishment he had formed there and crossed theAlps. After visiting some of the celebrated scenes and places in thenorth of Italy he passed on to Venice, where he domiciled himself fora time. 

During his residence at Venice Lord Byron avoided as much as possibleany intercourse with his countrymen. This was perhaps in some degreenecessary, and it was natural in the state of his mind. He hadbecome an object of great public interest by his talents; the storiesconnected with his domestic troubles had also increased hisnotoriety, and in such circumstances he could not but shrink from theinquisition of mere curiosity. But there was an insolence in thetone with which he declares his "utter abhorrence of any contact withthe travelling English, " that can neither be commended for itsspirit, nor palliated by any treatment he had suffered. LikeCoriolanus he may have banished his country, but he had not, like theRoman, received provocation: on the contrary, he had been theaggressor in the feuds with his literary adversaries; and there was aserious accusation against his morals, or at least his manners, inthe circumstances under which Lady Byron withdrew from his house. Itwas, however, his misfortune throughout life to form a wrong estimateof himself in everything save in his poetical powers. 

A life in Venice is more monotonous than in any other great city; buta man of genius carries with him everywhere a charm, which secures tohim both variety and enjoyment. Lord Byron had scarcely taken up hisabode in Venice, when he began the fourth canto of Childe Harold, which he published early in the following year, and dedicated to hisindefatigable friend Mr Hobhouse by an epistle dated on theanniversary of his marriage, "the most unfortunate day, " as he says, "of his past existence. "

In this canto he has indulged his excursive moralizing beyond eventhe wide licence he took in the three preceding parts; but it bearsthe impression of more reading and observation. Though not superiorin poetical energy, it is yet a higher work than any of them, andsomething of a more resolved and masculine spirit pervades thereflections, and endows, as it were, with thought and enthusiasm theaspect of the things described. Of the merits of the descriptions, as of real things, I am not qualified to judge: the transcripts fromthe tablets of the author's bosom he has himself assured us arefaithful. 

"With regard to the conduct of the last canto, there will be foundless of the pilgrim than in any of the preceding, and that littleslightly, if at all, separated from the author speaking in his ownperson. The fact is, that I had become weary of drawing a line, which every one seemed determined not to perceive: like the Chinese, in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World, whom nobody would believe to bea Chinese, it was in vain that I asserted and imagined that I haddrawn a distinction between the author and the pilgrim; and the veryanxiety to preserve this difference, and the disappointment atfinding it unavailing, so far crushed my efforts in the composition, that I determined to abandon it altogether--and have done so. "

This confession, though it may not have been wanted, gives a patheticemphasis to those passages in which the poet speaks of his ownfeelings. That his mind was jarred, and out of joint, there is toomuch reason to believe; but he had in some measure overcome themisery that clung to him during the dismal time of his sojourn inSwitzerland, and the following passage, though breathing the sweetand melancholy spirit of dejection, possesses a more generous vein ofnationality than is often met with in his works, even when the sameproud sentiment might have been more fitly expressed:

 I've taught me other tongues--and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger; to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise, Nor is it harsh to make or hard to find A country with--aye, or without mankind. Yet was I born where men are proud to be, Not without cause; and should I leave behind Th' inviolate island of the sage and free, And seek me out a home by a remoter sea?

 Perhaps I lov'd it well, and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it--if we may, Unbodied, choose a sanctuary. I twine My hopes of being remember'd in my line, With my land's language; if too fond and far These aspirations in their hope incline-- If my fame should be as my fortunes are, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull oblivion bar

 My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations--let it be, And light the laurels on a loftier head, And be the Spartan's epitaph on me: "Sparta had many a worthier son than he"; Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted--they have torn me--and I bleed:I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. 

It will strike the reader as remarkable, that although the poet, inthe course of this canto, takes occasion to allude to Dante andTasso, in whose destinies there was a shadowy likeness of his own, the rumination is mingled with less of himself than might have beenexpected, especially when it is considered how much it was a habitwith him, to make his own feelings the basis and substratum of thesentiments he ascribed to others. It has also more than oncesurprised me that he has so seldom alluded to Alfieri, whom of allpoets, both in character and conduct, he most resembled; with thisdifference, however, that Alfieri was possessed of affections equallyintense and durable, whereas the caprice of Byron made him uncertainin his partialities, or what was the same in effect, made his friendsset less value on them than perhaps they were entitled to. 

Before Childe Harold was finished, an incident occurred whichsuggested to Byron a poem of a very different kind to any he had yetattempted:--without vouching for the exact truth of the anecdote, Ihave been told, that he one day received by the mail a copy ofWhistlecraft's prospectus and specimen of an intended national work;and, moved by its playfulness, immediately after reading it, beganBeppo, which he finished at a sitting. The facility with which hecomposed renders the story not improbable; but, singular as it mayseem, the poem itself has the facetious flavour in it of his gaiety, stronger than even his grave works have of his frowardness, commonlybelieved to have been--I think, unjustly--the predominant mood of hischaracter. 

The Ode to Venice is also to be numbered among his compositions inthat city; a spirited and indignant effusion, full of his peculiarlurid fire, and rich in a variety of impressive and original images. But there is a still finer poem which belongs to this period of hishistory, though written, I believe, before he reached Venice--TheLament of Tasso: and I am led to notice it the more particularly, asone of its noblest passages affords an illustration of the opinionwhich I have early maintained--that Lord Byron's extraordinarypretensions to the influence of love was but a metaphysicalconception of the passion. 

It is no marvel--from my very birthMy soul was drunk with love, which did pervadeAnd mingle with whate'er I saw on earth;Of objects all inanimate I madeIdols, and out of wild and lovely flowers, And rocks whereby they grew, a paradise, Where I did lay me down within the shadeOf waving trees, and dream'd uncounted hours. 

It has been remarked by an anonymous author of Memoirs of Lord Byron, a work written with considerable talent and acumen, that "this is sofar from being in character, that it is the very reverse; for whetherTasso was in his senses or not, if his love was sincere, he wouldhave made the object of his affection the sole theme of hismeditation, instead of generalising his passion, and talking aboutthe original sympathies of his nature. " In truth, no poet has betterdescribed love than Byron has his own peculiar passion. 

 His love was passion's essence--as a tree On fire by lightning; with ethereal flame Kindled he was, and blasted; for to be Thus enamour'd were in him the same. But his was not the love of living dame, Nor of the dead who rise upon our dreams, But of ideal beauty, which became In him existence, and o'erflowing teemsAlong his burning page, distemper'd though it seems. 

In tracing the course of Lord Byron's career, I have not deemed it atall necessary to advert to the instances of his generosity, or toconduct less pleasant to record. Enough has appeared to show that hewas neither deficient in warmth of heart nor in less amiablefeelings; but, upon the whole, it is not probable that either in hischarities or his pleasures he was greatly different from other youngmen, though he undoubtedly had a wayward delight in magnifying hisexcesses, not in what was to his credit, like most men, but in whatwas calculated to do him no honour. More notoriety has been given toan instance of lavish liberality at Venice, than the case deserved, though it was unquestionably prompted by a charitable impulse. Thehouse of a shoemaker, near his Lordship's residence, in St Samuel, was burned to the ground, with all it contained, by which theproprietor was reduced to indigence. Byron not only caused a new buta superior house to be erected, and also presented the sufferer witha sum of money equal in value to the whole of his stock in trade andfurniture. I should endanger my reputation for impartiality if I didnot, as a fair set-off to this, also mention that it is said hebought for five hundred crowns a baker's wife. There might becharity in this, too. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

Removes to Ravenna--The Countess Guiccioli

Although Lord Byron resided between two and three years at Venice, hewas never much attached to it. "To see a city die daily, as shedoes, " said he, "is a sad contemplation. I sought to distract mymind from a sense of her desolation and my own solitude, by plunginginto a vortex that was anything but pleasure. When one gets into amill-stream, it is difficult to swim against it, and keep out of thewheels. " He became tired and disgusted with the life he led atVenice, and was glad to turn his back on it. About the close of theyear 1819 he accordingly removed to Ravenna; but before I proceed tospeak of the works which he composed at Ravenna, it is necessary toexplain some particulars respecting a personal affair, the influenceof which on at least one of his productions is as striking as any ofthe many instances already described upon others. I allude to theintimacy which he formed with the young Countess Guiccioli. 

This lady, at the age of sixteen, was married to the Count, one ofthe richest noblemen in Romagna, but far advanced in life. "From thefirst, " said Lord Byron, in his account of her, "they had separateapartments, and she always called him, Sir! What could be expectedfrom such a preposterous connection. For some time she was anAngiolina and he a Marino Faliero, a good old man; but young Italianwomen are not satisfied with good old men, and the venerable Countdid not object to her availing herself of the privileges of hercountry in selecting a cicisbeo; an Italian would have made it quiteagreeable: indeed, for some time he winked at our intimacy, but atlength made an exception against me, as a foreigner, a heretic, anEnglishman, and, what was worse than all, a Liberal. 

"He insisted--Teresa was as obstinate--her family took her part. Catholics cannot get divorces; but to the scandal of all Romagna, thematter was at last referred to the Pope, who ordered her a separatemaintenance on condition that she should reside under her father'sroof. All this was not agreeable, and at length I was forced tosmuggle her out of Ravenna, having discovered a plot laid with thesanction of the legate, for shutting her up in a convent for life. "

The Countess Guiccioli was at this time about twenty, but sheappeared younger; her complexion was fair, with large, dark, languishing eyes; and her auburn hair fell in great profusion ofnatural ringlets over her shapely shoulders. Her features were notso regular as in their expression pleasing, and there was an amiablegentleness in her voice which was peculiarly interesting. LeighHunt's account of her is not essentially dissimilar from any otherthat I have either heard of or met with. He differs, however, in onerespect, from every other, in saying that her hair was YELLOW; butconsidering the curiosity which this young lady has excited, perhapsit may be as well to transcribe his description at length, especiallyas he appears to have taken some pains on it, and more particularlyas her destiny seems at present to promise that the interest for heris likely to be revived by another unhappy English connection. 

"Her appearance, " says Mr Hunt, "might have reminded an Englishspectator of Chaucer's heroine:

Yclothed was she, fresh for to devise, Her yellow hair was braided in a tressBehind her back, a yarde long I guess, And in the garden (as the same uprist)She walketh up and down, where as her list. 

And then, as Dryden has it:

At every turn she made a little stand, And thrust among the thorns her lily hand. 

Madame Guiccioli, who was at that time about twenty, was handsome andlady-like, with an agreeable manner, and a voice not partaking toomuch of the Italian fervour to be gentle. She had just enough of itto give her speaking a grace--none of her graces appeared entirelyfree from art; nor, on the other hand, did they betray enough of itto give you an ill opinion of her sincerity and good-humour . . . Herhair was what the poet has described, or rather BLOND, with aninclination to yellow; a very fair and delicate yellow, at allevents, and within the limits of the poetical. She had regularfeatures of the order properly called handsome, in distinction toprettiness or piquancy; being well proportioned to one another, large, rather than otherwise, but without coarseness, and moreharmonious than interesting. Her nose was the handsomest of the kindI ever saw; and I have known her both smile very sweetly, and lookintelligently, when Lord Byron has said something kind to her. Ishould not say, however, that she was a very intelligent person. Both her wisdom and her want of wisdom were on the side of herfeelings, in which there was doubtless mingled a good deal of theself-love natural to a flattered beauty. . . . In a word, MadameGuiccioli was a kind of buxom parlour-boarder, compressing herselfartificially into dignity and elegance, and fancying she walked, inthe eyes of the whole world, a heroine by the side of a poet. When Isaw her at Monte Nero, near Leghorn, she was in a state of excitementand exultation, and had really something of this look. At that time, also, she looked no older than she was; in which respect, a rapid andvery singular change took place, to the surprise of everybody. Inthe course of a few months she seemed to have lived as many years. "

This is not very perspicuous portraiture, nor does it show that MrHunt was a very discerning observer of character. Lord Byron himselfis represented to have said, that extraordinary pains were taken withher education: "Her conversation is lively without being frivolous;without being learned, she has read all the best authors of her ownand the French language. She often conceals what she knows, from thefear of being thought to know too much; possibly because she knows Iam not fond of blues. To use an expression of Jeffrey's, 'If she hasblue stockings, she contrives that her petticoats shall hide them. '"

Lord Byron was at one time much attached to her; nor could it bedoubted that their affection was reciprocal; but in both, their unionoutlived their affection, for before his departure to Greece hisattachment had perished, and he left her, as it is said, notwithstanding the rank and opulence she had forsaken on hisaccount, without any provision. He had promised, it was reported, tosettle two thousand pounds on her, but he forgot the intention, ordied before it was carried into effect. {255} On her part, theestrangement was of a different and curious kind--she had not come tohate him, but she told a lady, the friend of a mutual acquaintance ofLord Byron and mine, that she feared more than loved him. 

CHAPTER XXXV

Residence in Ravenna--The Carbonari--Byron's Part in their Plot--TheMurder of the military Commandant--The poetical Use of the Incident--"Marino Faliero"--Reflections--"The Prophecy of Dante"

Lord Byron has said himself, that except Greece, he was never soattached to any place in his life as to Ravenna. The peasantry hethought the best people in the world, and their women the mostbeautiful. "Those at Tivoli and Frescati, " said he, "are mereSabines, coarse creatures, compared to the Romagnese. You may talkof your English women; and it is true, that out of one hundredItalian and English you will find thirty of the latter handsome; butthen there will be one Italian on the other side of the scale, whowill more than balance the deficit in numbers--one who, like theFlorence Venus, has no rival, and can have none in the North. Ifound also at Ravenna much education and liberality of thinking amongthe higher classes. The climate is delightful. I was not broken inupon by society. Ravenna lies out of the way of travellers. I wasnever tired of my rides in the pine forest: it breathes of theDecameron; it is poetical ground. Francesca lived and Dante wasexiled and died at Ravenna. There is something inspiring in such anair. 

"The people liked me as much as they hated the government. It is nota little to say, I was popular with all the leaders of theconstitutional party. They knew that I came from a land of liberty, and wished well to their cause. I would have espoused it, too, andassisted them to shake off their fetters. They knew my character, for I had been living two years at Venice, where many of theRavennese have houses. I did not, however, take part in theirintrigues, nor join in their political coteries; but I had a magazineof one hundred stand of arms in the house, when everything was ripefor revolt----a curse on Carignan's imbecility! I could havepardoned him that, too, if he had not impeached his partisans. 

"The proscription was immense in Romagna, and embraced many of thefirst nobles: almost all my friends, among the rest the Gambas (thefather and brother of the Countess Guiccioli), who took no part inthe affair, were included in it. They were exiled, and theirpossessions confiscated. They knew that this must eventually driveme out of the country. I did not follow them immediately: I was notto be bullied--I had myself fallen under the eye of the government. If they could have got sufficient proof they would have arrested me. "

The latter part of this declaration bears, in my opinion, indubitablemarks of being genuine. It has that magnifying mysticism about itwhich more than any other quality characterized Lord Byron'sintimations concerning himself and his own affairs; but it is alittle clearer than I should have expected in the acknowledgment ofthe part he was preparing to take in the insurrection. He does notseem HERE to be sensible, that in confessing so much, he hasjustified the jealousy with which he was regarded. 

"Shortly after the plot was discovered, " he proceeds to say, "Ireceived several anonymous letters, advising me to discontinue myforest rides; but I entertained no apprehensions of treachery, andwas more on horseback than ever. I never stir out without being wellarmed, nor sleep without pistols. They knew that I never missed myaim; perhaps this saved me. "

An event occurred at this time at Ravenna that made a deep impressionon Lord Byron. The commandant of the place, who, though suspected ofbeing secretly a Carbonaro, was too powerful a man to be arrested, was assassinated opposite to his residence. The measures adopted toscreen the murderer proved, in the opinion of his Lordship, that theassassination had taken place by order of the police, and that thespot where it was perpetrated had been selected by choice. Byron atthe moment had his foot in the stirrup, and his horse started at thereport of the shot. On looking round he saw a man throw down acarbine and run away, and another stretched on the pavement near him. On hastening to the spot, he found it was the commandant; a crowdcollected, but no one offered any assistance. His Lordship directedhis servant to lift the bleeding body into the palace--he assistedhimself in the act, though it was represented to him that he mightincur the displeasure of the government--and the gentleman wasalready dead. His adjutant followed the body into the house. "Iremember, " says his Lordship, "his lamentation over him--'Poor devilhe would not have harmed a dog. '"

It was from the murder of this commandant that the poet sketched thescene of the assassination in the fifth canto of Don Juan. 

 The other evening ('twas on Friday last), This is a fact, and no poetic fable-- Just as my great coat was about me cast, My hat and gloves still lying on the table, I heard a shot--'twas eight o'clock scarce past, And running out as fast as I was able, I found the military commandantStretch'd in the street, and able scarce to pant. 

 Poor fellow! for some reason, surely bad, They had him slain with five slugs, and left him there To perish on the pavement: so I had Him borne into the house, and up the stair;The man was gone: in some Italian quarrelKill'd by five bullets from an old gun-barrel. 

 The scars of his old wounds were near his new, Those honourable scars which bought him fame, And horrid was the contrast to the view-- But let me quit the theme, as such things claim Perhaps ev'n more attention than is due From me: I gazed (as oft I've gazed the same)To try if I could wrench aught out of deathWhich should confirm, or shake, or make a faith. 

Whether Marino Faliero was written at Ravenna or completed there, Ihave not ascertained, but it was planned at Venice, and as far backas 1817. I believe this is considered about the most ordinaryperformance of all Lord Byron's works; but if it is considered withreference to the time in which it was written, it will probably befound to contain many great and impressive passages. Has not thelatter part of the second scene in the first act reference to thecondition of Venice when his Lordship was there? And is not thedescription which Israel Bertuccio gives of the conspiratorsapplicable to, as it was probably derived from, the Carbonari, withwhom there is reason to say Byron was himself disposed to take apart?

Know, then, that there are met and sworn in secretA band of brethren, valiant hearts and true;Men who have proved all fortunes, and have longGrieved over that of Venice, and have rightTo do so; having served her in all climes, And having rescued her from foreign foes, Would do the same for those within her walls. They are not numerous, nor yet too fewFor their great purpose; they have arms, and means, And hearts, and hopes, and faith, and patient courage. 

This drama, to be properly appreciated, both in its taste and feelingshould be considered as addressed to the Italians of the epoch atwhich it was written. Had it been written in the Italian instead ofthe English language, and could have come out in any city of Italy, the effect would have been prodigious. It is, indeed, a work not tobe estimated by the delineations of character nor the force ofpassion expressed in it, but altogether by the apt and searchingsarcasm of the political allusions. Viewed with reference to thetime and place in which it was composed, it would probably deserve tobe ranked as a high and bold effort: simply as a drama, it may notbe entitled to rank above tragedies of the second or third class. But I mean not to set my opinion of this work against that of thepublic, the English public; all I contend for is, that it possessesmany passages of uncommon beauty, and that its chief tragic meritconsists in its political indignation; but above all, that is anotherand a strong proof too, of what I have been endeavouring to show, that the power of the poet consisted in giving vent to his ownfeelings, and not, like his great brethren, or even his less, in theinvention of situations or of appropriate sentiments. It is, perhaps, as it stands, not fit to succeed in representation; but itis so rich in matter that it would not be a difficult task to makeout of little more than the third part a tragedy which would notdishonour the English stage. 

I have never been able to understand why it has been so oftensupposed that Lord Byron was actuated in the composition of hisdifferent works by any other motive than enjoyment: perhaps no poethad ever less of an ulterior purpose in his mind during the fits ofinspiration (for the epithet may be applied correctly to him and tothe moods in which he was accustomed to write) than this singular andimpassioned man. Those who imagine that he had any intention toimpair the reverence due to religion, or to weaken the hinges ofmoral action, give him credit for far more design and prospectivepurpose than he possessed. They could have known nothing of the man, the main defect of whose character, in relation to everything, was inhaving too little of the element or principle of purpose. He was athing of impulses, and to judge of what he either said or did, as theresults of predetermination, was not only to do the harshestinjustice, but to show a total ignorance of his character. His wholefault, the darkest course of those flights and deviations frompropriety which have drawn upon him the severest animadversion, layin the unbridled state of his impulses. He felt, but never reasoned. I am led to make these observations by noticing the ungracious, or, more justly, the illiberal spirit in which The Prophecy of Dante, which was published with the Marino Faliero, has been treated by theanonymous author of Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Lord Byron. 

Of The Prophecy of Dante I am no particular admirer. It contains, unquestionably, stanzas of resounding energy, but the general verseof the poem is as harsh and abrupt as the clink and clang of thecymbal; moreover, even for a prophecy, it is too obscure, and thoughit possesses abstractedly too many fine thoughts, and too much of thecombustion of heroic passion to be regarded as a failure, yet it willnever be popular. It is a quarry, however, of very precious poeticalexpression. 

It was written at Ravenna, and at the suggestion of the Guiccioli, towhom it is dedicated in a sonnet, prettily but inharmoniously turned. Like all his other best performances, this rugged but masterlycomposition draws its highest interest from himself and his ownfeelings, and can only be rightly appreciated by observing how fitlymany of the bitter breathings of Dante apply to his own exiled andoutcast condition. For, however much he was himself the author ofhis own banishment, he felt when he wrote these haughty verses thathe had been sometimes shunned. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

The Tragedy of "Sardanapalus" considered, with Reference to LordByron's own Circumstances--"Cain"

Among the mental enjoyments which endeared Ravenna to Lord Byron, thecomposition of Sardanapalus may be reckoned the chief. It seems tohave been conceived in a happier mood than any of all his otherworks; for, even while it inculcates the dangers of voluptuousindulgence, it breathes the very essence of benevolence andphilosophy. Pleasure takes so much of the character of virtue in it, that but for the moral taught by the consequences, enjoyment might bemistaken for duty. I have never been able to satisfy myself in whatthe resemblance consists, but from the first reading it has alwaysappeared to me that there was some elegant similarity between thecharacters of Sardanapalus and Hamlet, and my inclination hassometimes led me to imagine that the former was the nobler conceptionof the two. 

The Assyrian monarch, like the Prince of Denmark, is highly endowed, capable of the greatest undertakings; he is yet softened by aphilosophic indolence of nature that makes him undervalue theenterprises of ambition, and all those objects in the attainment ofwhich so much of glory is supposed to consist. They are both alikeincapable of rousing themselves from the fond reveries of moraltheory, even when the strongest motives are presented to them. Hamlet hesitates to act, though his father's spirit hath come fromdeath to incite him; and Sardanapalus derides the achievements thathad raised his ancestors to an equality with the gods. 

 Thou wouldst have me goForth as a conqueror. --By all the starsWhich the Chaldeans read! the restless slavesDeserve that I should curse them with their wishesAnd lead them forth to glory. 

Again:

The ungrateful and ungracious slaves! they murmurBecause I have not shed their blood, nor led themTo dry into the deserts' dust by myriads, Or whiten with their bones the banks of Ganges, Nor decimated them with savage laws, Nor sweated them to build up pyramidsOr Babylonian walls. 

The nothingness of kingly greatness and national pride were neverbefore so finely contemned as by the voluptuous Assyrian, and werethe scorn not mitigated by the skilful intermixture of mercifulnessand philanthropy, the character would not be endurable. But when thesame voice which pronounced contempt on the toils of honour says, EnoughFor me if I can make my subjects feelThe weight of human misery less, it is impossible to repress the liking which the humane spirit ofthat thought is calculated to inspire. Nor is there any want ofdignity in Sardanapalus, even when lolling softest in his luxury. 

Must I consume my life--this little life--In guarding against all may make it less!It is not worth so much--It were to dieBefore my hour to live in dread of death. . . . Till now no drop of an Assyrian veinHath flow'd for me, nor hath the smallest coinOf Nineveh's vast treasure e'er been lavish'dOn objects which could cost her sons a tear. If then they hate me 'tis because I hate not, If they rebel 'tis because I oppress not. 

This is imagined in the true tone of Epicurean virtue, and it risesto magnanimity when he adds in compassionate scorn, Oh, men! ye must be ruled with scythes, not sceptres, And mow'd down like the grass, else all we reapIs rank abundance and a rotten harvestOf discontents infecting the fair soil, Making a desert of fertility. 

But the graciousness in the conception of the character ofSardanapalus, is not to be found only in these sentiments of hismeditations, but in all and every situation in which the character isplaced. When Salamenes bids him not sheath his sword--

'Tis the sole sceptre left you now with safety, the king replies--

"A heavy one;" and subjoins, as if to conceal his distaste for war, by ascribing a dislike to the sword itself, The hilt, too, hurts my hand. 

It may be asked why I dwell so particularly on the character ofSardanapalus. It is admitted that he is the most heroic ofvoluptuaries, the most philosophical of the licentious. The first heis undoubtedly, but he is not licentious; and in omitting to make himso, the poet has prevented his readers from disliking his characterupon principle. It was a skilful stroke of art to do this; had itbeen otherwise, and had there been no affection shown for the Ionianslave, Sardanapalus would have engaged no sympathy. It is not, however, with respect to the ability with which the character hasbeen imagined, nor to the poetry with which it is invested, that Ihave so particularly made it a subject of criticism; it was to pointout how much in it Lord Byron has interwoven of his own best nature. 

At the time when he was occupied with this great work, he wasconfessedly in the enjoyment of the happiest portion of his life. The Guiccioli was to him a Myrrha, but the Carbonari were around, andin the controversy, in which Sardanapalus is engaged, between theobligations of his royalty and his inclinations for pleasure, we havea vivid insight of the cogitation of the poet, whether to take a partin the hazardous activity which they were preparing, or to remain inthe seclusion and festal repose of which he was then in possession. The Assyrian is as much Lord Byron as Childe Harold was, and bearshis lineaments in as clear a likeness, as a voluptuary unsated coulddo those of the emaciated victim of satiety. Over the whole drama, and especially in some of the speeches of Sardanapalus, a great dealof fine but irrelevant poetry and moral reflection has been profuselyspread; but were the piece adapted to the stage, these portions wouldof course be omitted, and the character denuded of them would thenmore fully justify the idea which I have formed of it, than it mayperhaps to many readers do at present, hidden as it is, both in shapeand contour, under an excess of ornament. 

That the character of Myrrha was also drawn from life, and that theGuiccioli was the model, I have no doubt. She had, when mostenchanted by her passion for Byron--at the very time when the dramawas written--many sources of regret; and he was too keen an observer, and of too jealous a nature, not to have marked every shade of changein her appearance, and her every moment of melancholy reminiscence;so that, even though she might never have given expression to hersentiments, still such was her situation, that it could not butfurnish him with fit suggestions from which to fill up the moralbeing of the Ionian slave. Were the character of Myrrha scanned withthis reference, while nothing could be discovered to detract from thevalue of the composition, a great deal would be found to lessen themerit of the poet's invention. He had with him the very being inperson whom he has depicted in the drama, of dispositions andendowments greatly similar, and in circumstances in which she couldnot but feel as Myrrha is supposed to have felt--and it must beadmitted, that he has applied the good fortune of that incident to abeautiful purpose. 

This, however, is not all that the tragedy possesses of the author. The character of Zarina is, perhaps, even still more strikingly drawnfrom life. There are many touches in the scene with her which hecould not have imagined, without thinking of his own domesticdisasters. The first sentiment she utters is truly conceived in thevery frame and temper in which Byron must have wished his lady tothink of himself, and he could not embody it without feeling THAT--

 How many a year has pass'd, Though we are still so young, since we have metWhich I have borne in widowhood of heart. 

The following delicate expression has reference to his having lefthis daughter with her mother, and unfolds more of his secret feelingson the subject than anything he has expressed more ostentatiouslyelsewhere:

I wish'd to thank you, that you have not dividedMy heart from all that's left it now to love. 

And what Sardanapalus says of his children is not less applicable toByron, and is true:

 Deem notI have not done you justice: rather make themResemble your own line, than their own sire;I trust them with you--to you. 

And when Zarina says, They ne'erShall know from me aught but what may honourTheir father's memory, he puts in her mouth only a sentiment which he knew, if his wifenever expressed to him, she profoundly acknowledged in resolution toherself. The whole of this scene is full of the most penetratingpathos; and did the drama not contain, in every page, indubitableevidence to me, that he has shadowed out in it himself his wife, andhis mistress, this little interview would prove a vast deal inconfirmation of the opinion so often expressed, that where his geniuswas most in its element, it was when it dealt with his ownsensibilities and circumstances. It is impossible to read thefollowing speech, without a conviction that it was written at LadyByron:

 My gentle, wrong'd Zarina!I am the very slave of circumstanceAnd impulse--borne away with every breath!Misplaced upon the throne--misplaced in life. I know not what I could have been, but feelI am not what I should be--let it end. But take this with thee: if I was not form'dTo prize a love like thine--a mind like thine--Nor dote even on thy beauty--as I've dotedOn lesser charms, for no cause save that suchDevotion was a duty, and I hatedAll that look'd like a chain for me or others(This even rebellion must avouch); yet hearThese words, perhaps among my last--that noneE'er valued more thy virtues, though he knew notTo profit by them. 

At Ravenna Cain was also written; a dramatic poem, in some degree, chiefly in its boldness, resembling the ancient mysteries of themonasteries before the secular stage was established. Thisperformance, in point of conception, is of a sublime order. Theobject of the poem is to illustrate the energy and the art of Luciferin accomplishing the ruin of the first-born. By an unfairmisconception, the arguments of Lucifer have been represented as thesentiments of the author upon some imaginary warranty derived fromthe exaggerated freedom of his life; and yet the moral tendency ofthe reflections are framed in a mood of reverence as awful towardsOmnipotence as the austere divinity of Milton. It would bepresumption in me, however, to undertake the defence of any questionin theology; but I have not been sensible to the imputed impiety, while I have felt in many passages influences that have their beingamid the shadows and twilights of "old religion";

 "Stupendous spiritsThat mock the pride of man, and people spaceWith life and mystical predominance. "

The morning hymns and worship with which the mystery opens are grave, solemn, and scriptural, and the dialogue which follows with Cain isno less so: his opinion of the tree of life is, I believe, orthodox;but it is daringly expressed: indeed, all the sentiments ascribed toCain are but the questions of the sceptics. His description of theapproach of Lucifer would have shone in the Paradise Lost. 

 A shape like to the angels, Yet of a sterner and a sadder aspect, Of spiritual essence. Why do I quake?Why should I fear him more than other spiritsWhom I see daily wave their fiery swordsBefore the gates round which I linger oftIn twilight's hour, to catch a glimpse of thoseGardens which are my just inheritance, Ere the night closes o'er the inhibited walls, And the immortal trees which overtopThe cherubim-defended battlements?I shrink not from these, the fire-arm'd angels;Why should I quail from him who now approaches?Yet he seems mightier far than them, nor lessBeauteous; and yet not all as beautifulAs he hath been, or might be: sorrow seemsHalf of his immortality. 

There is something spiritually fine in this conception of the terroror presentiment of coming evil. The poet rises to the sublime inmaking Lucifer first inspire Cain with the knowledge of hisimmortality--a portion of truth which hath the efficacy of falsehoodupon the victim; for Cain, feeling himself already unhappy, knowingthat his being cannot be abridged, has the less scruple to desire tobe as Lucifer, "mighty. " The whole speech of Lucifer, beginning, Souls who dare use their immortality, is truly satanic; a daring and dreadful description given byeverlasting despair of the Deity. 

But, notwithstanding its manifold immeasurable imaginations, Cain isonly a polemical controversy, the doctrines of which might have beenbetter discussed in the pulpit of a college chapel. As a poem it isgreatly unequal; many passages consist of mere metaphysicaldisquisition, but there are others of wonderful scope and energy. Itis a thing of doubts and dreams and reveries--dim and beautiful, yetwithal full of terrors. The understanding finds nothing tangible;but amid dread and solemnity, sees only a shapen darkness witheloquent gestures. It is an argument invested with the language oforacles and omens, conceived in some religious trance, and addressedto spirits. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

Removal to Pisa--The Lanfranchi Palace--Affair with the Guard atPisa--Removal to Monte Nero--Junction with Mr Hunt--Mr Shelley'sLetter

The unhappy distrusts and political jealousies of the times obligedLord Byron, with the Gambas, the family of the Guiccioli, to removefrom Ravenna to Pisa. In this compulsion he had no cause tocomplain; a foreigner meddling with the politics of the country inwhich he was only accidentally resident, could expect no deferentialconsideration from the government. It has nothing to do with thequestion whether his Lordship was right or wrong in his principles. The government was in the possession of the power, and in self-defence he could expect no other course towards him than what he didexperience. He was admonished to retreat: he did so. Could he havedone otherwise, he would not. He would have used the Austrianauthority as ill as he was made to feel it did him. 

In the autumn of 1821, Lord Byron removed from Ravenna to Pisa, wherehe hired the Lanfranchi palace for a year--one of those massy marblepiles which appear

"So old, as if they had for ever stood--So strong, as if they would for ever stand!"

Both in aspect and character it was interesting to the boding fanciesof the noble tenant. It is said to have been constructed from adesign of Michael Angelo; and in the grandeur of its featuresexhibits a bold and colossal style not unworthy of his genius. 

The Lanfranchi family, in the time of Dante, were distinguished inthe factions of those days, and one of them has received his meed ofimmortality from the poet, as the persecutor of Ugolino. They arenow extinct, and their traditionary reputation is illustrated by thepopular belief in the neighbourhood, that their ghosts are restless, and still haunt their former gloomy and gigantic habitation. 

The building was too vast for the establishment of Lord Byron, and heoccupied only the first floor. 

The life he led at this period was dull and unvaried. Billiards, conversations, reading, and occasionally writing, constituted theregular business of the day. In the cool of the afternoon, hesometimes went out in his carriage, oftener on horseback, andgenerally amused himself with pistol practice at a five-paul piece. He dined at half an hour after sunset, and then drove to CountGamba's, where he passed several hours with the Countess Guiccioli, who at that time still resided with her father. On his return heread or wrote till the night was far spent, or rather till themorning was come again, sipping at intervals spirits diluted withwater, as medicine to counteract some nephritic disorder to which heconsidered himself liable. 

Notwithstanding the tranquillity of this course of life, he wasaccidentally engaged in a transaction which threatened unpleasantconsequences, and had a material effect on his comfort. On the 21stof March, 1822, as he was returning from his usual ride, in companywith several of his friends, a hussar officer, at full speed, dashedthrough the party, and violently jostled one of them. Lord Byron, with his characteristic impetuosity, instantly pushed forwards, andthe rest followed, and overtook the hussar. His Lordship inquiredwhat he meant by the insult; but for answer, received the grossestabuse: on which he and one of his companions gave their cards, andpassed on. The officer followed, hallooing, and threatening with hishand on his sabre. They were now near the Paggia gate. During thisaltercation, a common artilleryman interfered, and called out to thehussar, "Why don't you arrest them?--command us to arrest them. "Upon which the officer gave the word to the guard at the gate. HisLordship, hearing the order, spurred his horse, and one of his partydoing the same, they succeeded in forcing their way through thesoldiers, while the gate was closed on the rest of the party, withwhom an outrageous scuffle ensued. 

Lord Byron, on reaching his palace, gave directions to inform thepolice, and, not seeing his companions coming up, rode back towardsthe gate. On his way the hussar met him, and said, "Are yousatisfied?"--"No: tell me your name!"--"Serjeant-major Masi. " Oneof his Lordship's servants, who at this moment joined them, seizedthe hussar's horse by the bridle, but his master commanded him to letit go. The hussar then spurred his horse through the crowd, which bythis time had collected in front of the Lanfranchi palace, and in theattempt was wounded by a pitchfork. Several of the servants werearrested, and imprisoned: and, during the investigation of theaffair before the police, Lord Byron's house was surrounded by thedragoons belonging to Serjeant-major Masi's troop, who threatened toforce the doors. The result upon these particulars was not just; allLord Byron's Italian servants were banished from Pisa; and with themthe father and brother of the Guiccioli, who had no concern whateverin the affair. Lord Byron himself was also advised to quit the town, and, as the Countess accompanied her father, he soon after joinedthem at Leghorn, and passed six weeks at Monte Nero, a country housein the vicinity of that city. 

It was during his Lordship's residence at Monte Nero, that an eventtook place--his junction with Mr Leigh Hunt--which had some effectboth on his literary and his moral reputation. Previous to hisdeparture from England, there had been some intercourse between them--Byron had been introduced by Moore to Hunt, when the latter wassuffering imprisonment for the indiscretion of his pen, and by hiscivility had encouraged him, perhaps, into some degree offorgetfulness as to their respective situations in society. --Mr Huntat no period of their acquaintance appears to have been sufficientlysensible that a man of positive rank has it always in his power, without giving anything like such a degree of offence as may beresented otherwise than by estrangement, to inflict mortification, and, in consequence, presumed too much to an equality with hisLordship--at least this is the impression his conduct made upon me, from the familiarity of his dedicatory epistle prefixed to Rimini totheir riding out at Pisa together dressed alike--"We had blue frock-coats, white waistcoats and trousers, and velvet caps, a la Raphael, and cut a gallant figure. " I do not discover on the part of LordByron, that his Lordship ever forgot his rank; nor was he a personagelikely to do so; in saying, therefore, that Mr Hunt presumed upon hiscondescension, I judge entirely by his own statement of facts. I amnot undertaking a defence of his lordship, for the manner in which heacted towards Mr Hunt, because it appears to me to have been, in manyrespects, mean; but I do think there was an original error, amisconception of himself on the part of Mr Hunt, that drew down abouthim a degree of humiliation that he might, by more self-respect, haveavoided. However, I shall endeavour to give as correct a summary ofthe whole affair as the materials before me will justify. 

The occasion of Hunt's removal to Italy will be best explained byquoting the letter from his friend Shelley, by which he was inducedto take that obviously imprudent step. 

"Pisa, Aug. 26, 1821. 

"MY DEAREST FRIEND, --Since I last wrote to you, I have been on avisit to Lord Byron at Ravenna. The result of this visit was adetermination on his part to come and live at Pisa, and I have takenthe finest palace on the Lung' Arno for him. But the material partof my visit consists in a message which he desires me to give you, and which I think ought to add to your determination--for such a oneI hope you have formed--of restoring your shattered health andspirits by a migration to these 'regions mild, of calm and sereneair. '

"He proposes that you should come, and go shares with him and me in aperiodical work to be conducted here, in which each of thecontracting parties should publish all their original compositions, and share the profits. He proposed it to Moore, but for some reasonit was never brought to bear. There can be no doubt that the profitsof any scheme in which you and Lord Byron engage must, for variousyet co-operating reasons, be very great. As to myself, I am, for thepresent, only a sort of link between you and him, until you can knoweach other, and effectuate the arrangement; since (to intrust youwith a secret, which for your sake I withhold from Lord Byron)nothing would induce me to share in the profits, and still less inthe borrowed splendour of such a partnership. You and he, indifferent manners, would be equal, and would bring in a differentmanner, but in the same proportion, equal stocks of reputation andsuccess. Do not let my frankness with you, nor my belief that youdeserve it more than Lord Byron, have the effect of deterring youfrom assuming a station in modern literature, which the universalvoice of my contemporaries forbids me either to stoop or aspire to. I am, and I desire to be, nothing. 

"I did not ask Lord Byron to assist me in sending a remittance foryour journey; because there are men, however excellent, from whom wewould never receive an obligation in the worldly sense of the word;and I am as jealous for my friend as for myself. I, as you know, have it not; but I suppose that at last I shall make up an impudentface, and ask Horace Smith to add to the many obligations he hasconferred on me. I know I need only ask. " . . . 

Now, before proceeding farther, it seems from this epistle, and thereis no reason to question Shelley's veracity, that Lord Byron was theprojector of The Liberal; that Hunt's political notoriety wasmistaken for literary reputation, and that there was a sad lack ofcommon sense in the whole scheme. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

Mr Hunt arrives in Italy--Meeting with Lord Byron--Tumults in theHouse--Arrangements for Mr Hunt's Family---Extent of his Obligationsto Lord Byron--Their Copartnery--Meanness of the whole Business

On receiving Mr Shelley's letter, Mr Hunt prepared to avail himselfof the invitation which he was the more easily enabled to do, as hisfriend, notwithstanding what he had intimated, borrowed two hundredpounds from Lord Byron, and remitted to him. He reached Leghorn soonafter his Lordship had taken up his temporary residence at MonteNero. 

The meeting with his Lordship was in so many respects remarkable, that the details of it cannot well be omitted. The day was very hot;and when Hunt reached the house he found the hottest-lookinghabitation he had ever seen. Not content with having a red wash overit, the red was the most unseasonable of all reds--a salmon-colour;but the greatest of all heats was within. 

Lord Byron was grown so fat that he scarcely knew him; and wasdressed in a loose nankeen jacket and white trousers, his neckclothopen, and his hair in thin ringlets about his throat; altogetherpresenting a very different aspect from the compact, energetic, andcurly-headed person whom Hunt had known in England. 

His Lordship took the stranger into an inner room, and introduced himto a young lady who was in a state of great agitation. This was theGuiccioli; presently her brother also, in great agitation, entered, having his arm in a sling. This scene and confusion had arisen froma quarrel among the servants, in which the young Count, havinginterfered, had been stabbed. He was very angry, the Countess wasmore so, and would not listen to the comments of Lord Byron, who wasfor making light of the matter. Indeed, it looked somewhat serious, for though the stab was not much, the inflicter threatened more, andwas at that time revengefully keeping watch, with knotted brows, under the portico, with the avowed intention of assaulting the firstperson who issued forth. He was a sinister-looking, meager caitiff, with a red cap--gaunt, ugly, and unshaven; his appearance altogethermore squalid and miserable than Englishmen would conceive it possibleto find in such an establishment. An end, however, was put to thetragedy by the fellow throwing himself on a bench, and bursting intotears--wailing and asking pardon for his offence, and perfecting hispenitence by requesting Lord Byron to kiss him in token offorgiveness. In the end, however, he was dismissed; and it beingarranged that Mr Hunt should move his family to apartments in theLanfranchi palace at Pisa, that gentleman returned to Leghorn. 

The account which Mr Hunt has given, in his memoir of Lord Byron, isevidently written under offended feeling; and, in consequence, thoughhe does not appear to have been much indebted to the munificence ofhis Lordship, the tendency is to make his readers sensible that hewas, if not ill used, disappointed. The Casa Lanfranchi was a hugeand gaunt building, capable, without inconvenience or intermixture, of accommodating several families. It was, therefore, not a greatfavour in his Lordship, considering that he had invited Mr Hunt fromEngland, to become a partner with him in a speculation purelycommercial, to permit him to occupy the ground-floor or flat, as itwould be called in Scotland. The apartments being empty, furniturewas necessary, and the plainest was provided; good of its kind andrespectable, it yet could not have cost a great deal. It was chosenby Mr Shelley, who intended to make a present of it to Mr Hunt; butwhen the apartments were fitted up, Lord Byron insisted upon payingthe account, and to that extent Mr Hunt incurred a pecuniaryobligation to his Lordship. The two hundred pounds already mentionedwas a debt to Mr Shelley, who borrowed the money from Lord Byron. 

Soon after Mr Hunt's family were settled in their new lodgings, Shelley returned to Leghorn, with the intention of taking a seaexcursion--in the course of which he was lost: Lord Byron knowinghow much Hunt was dependent on that gentleman, immediately offeredhim the command of his purse, and requested to be considered asstanding in the place of Shelley, his particular friend. This wasboth gentlemanly and generous, and the offer was accepted, but withfeelings neither just nor gracious: "Stern necessity and a largefamily compelled me, " says Mr Hunt, "and during our residence at PisaI had from him, or rather from his steward, to whom he always sent mefor the money, and who doled it out to me as if my disgraces werebeing counted, the sum of seventy pounds. "

"This sum, " he adds, "together with the payment of our expenses whenwe accompanied him from Pisa to Genoa, and thirty pounds with whichhe enabled us subsequently to go from Genoa to Florence, was all themoney I ever received from Lord Byron, exclusive of the two hundredpounds, which, in the first instance, he made a debt of Mr Shelley, by taking his bond. "--The whole extent of the pecuniary obligationappears certainly not to have exceeded five hundred pounds; no greatsum--but little or great, the manner in which it was recollectedreflects no credit either on the head or heart of the debtor. 

Mr Hunt, in extenuation of the bitterness with which he has spoken onthe subject, says, that "Lord Byron made no scruple of talking veryfreely of me and mine. " It may, therefore, be possible, that Mr Hunthad cause for his resentment, and to feel the humiliation of beingunder obligations to a mean man; at the same time Lord Byron, on hisside, may upon experience have found equal reason to repent of hisconnection with Mr Hunt. And it is certain that each has sought tojustify, both to himself and to the world, the rupture of acopartnery which ought never to have been formed. But his Lordship'sconduct is the least justifiable. He had allured Hunt to Italy withflattering hopes; he had a perfect knowledge of his hamperedcircumstances, and he was thoroughly aware that, until theirspeculation became productive, he must support him. To the extent ofabout five hundred pounds he did so: a trifle, considering theglittering anticipations of their scheme. 

Viewing their copartnery, however, as a mere commercial speculation, his Lordship's advance could not be regarded as liberal, and nomodification of the term munificence or patronage could be applied toit. But, unless he had harassed Hunt for the repayment of the money, which does not appear to have been the case, nor could he morally, perhaps even legally, have done so, that gentleman had no cause tocomplain. The joint adventure was a failure, and except a littlerepining on the part of the one for the loss of his advance, and ofgrudging on that of the other for the waste of his time, no sharperfeeling ought to have arisen between them. But vanity was mingledwith their golden dreams. Lord Byron mistook Hunt's politicalnotoriety for literary reputation, and Mr Hunt thought it was a finething to be chum and partner with so renowned a lord. After all, however, the worst which can be said of it is, that formed inweakness it could produce only vexation. 

But the dissolution of the vapour with which both parties were sointoxicated, and which led to their quarrel, might have occasionedonly amusement to the world, had it not left an ignoble stigma on thecharacter of Lord Byron, and given cause to every admirer of hisgenius to deplore, that he should have so forgotten his dignity andfame. 

There is no disputing the fact, that his Lordship, in conceiving theplan of The Liberal, was actuated by sordid motives, and of thebasest kind, inasmuch as it was intended that the popularity of thework should rest upon satire; or, in other words, on the ability tobe displayed by it in the art of detraction. Being disappointed inhis hopes of profit, he shuffled out of the concern as meanly as anyhiggler could have done who had found himself in a profitlessbusiness with a disreputable partner. There is no disguising thisunvarnished truth; and though his friends did well in getting theconnection ended as quickly as possible, they could not eradicate theoriginal sin of the transaction, nor extinguish the consequenceswhich it of necessity entailed. Let me not, however, bemisunderstood: my objection to the conduct of Byron does not lieagainst the wish to turn his extraordinary talents to profitableaccount, but to the mode in which he proposed to, and did, employthem. Whether Mr Hunt was or was not a fit copartner for one of hisLordship's rank and celebrity, I do not undertake to judge; but anyindividual was good enough for that vile prostitution of his genius, to which, in an unguarded hour, he submitted for money. Indeed, itwould be doing injustice to compare the motives of Mr Hunt in thebusiness with those by which Lord Byron was infatuated. He putnothing to hazard; happen what might, he could not be otherwise thana gainer; for if profit failed, it could not be denied that the"foremost" poet of all the age had discerned in him either thepromise or the existence of merit, which he was desirous ofassociating with his own. This advantage Mr Hunt did gain by theconnection; and it is his own fault that he cannot be recollected asthe associate of Byron, but only as having attempted to deface hismonument. 

CHAPTER XXXIX

Mr Shelley--Sketch of his Life--His Death--The Burning of his Body, and the Return of the Mourners

It has been my study in writing these sketches to introduce as fewnames as the nature of the work would admit of; but Lord Byronconnected himself with persons who had claims to public considerationon account of their talents; and, without affectation, it is not easyto avoid taking notice of his intimacy with some of them, especially, if in the course of it any circumstance came to pass which was initself remarkable, or likely to have produced an impression on hisLordship's mind. His friendship with Mr Shelley, mentioned in thepreceding chapter, was an instance of this kind. 

That unfortunate gentleman was undoubtedly a man of genius--full ofideal beauty and enthusiasm. And yet there was some defect in hisunderstanding by which he subjected himself to the accusation ofatheism. In his dispositions he is represented to have been evercalm and amiable; and but for his metaphysical errors and reveries, and a singular incapability of conceiving the existing state ofthings as it practically affects the nature and condition of man, tohave possessed many of the gentlest qualities of humanity. He highlyadmired the endowments of Lord Byron, and in return was esteemed byhis Lordship; but even had there been neither sympathy nor friendshipbetween them, his premature fate could not but have saddened Byronwith no common sorrow. 

Mr Shelley was some years younger than his noble friend; he was theeldest son of Sir Timothy Shelley, Bart. , of Castle Goring, Sussex. At the age of thirteen he was sent to Eton, where he rarely mixed inthe common amusements of the other boys; but was of a shy, reserveddisposition, fond of solitude, and made few friends. He was notdistinguished for his proficiency in the regular studies of theschool; on the contrary, he neglected them for German and chemistry. His abilities were superior, but deteriorated by eccentricity. Atthe age of sixteen he was sent to the University of Oxford, where hesoon distinguished himself by publishing a pamphlet, under the absurdand world-defying title of The Necessity of Atheism; for which he wasexpelled from the University. 

The event proved fatal to his prospects in life; and the treatment hereceived from his family was too harsh to win him from error. Hisfather, however, in a short time relented, and he was received home;but he took so little trouble to conciliate the esteem of hisfriends, that he found the house uncomfortable, and left it. He thenwent to London; where he eloped with a young lady to Gretna Green. Their united ages amounted to thirty-two; and the match being deemedunsuitable to his rank and prospects, it so exasperated his father, that he broke off all communication with him. 

After their marriage the young couple resided some time in Edinburgh. They then passed over to Ireland, which being in a state ofdisturbance, Shelley took a part in politics, more reasonable thanmight have been expected. He inculcated moderation. 

About this tune he became devoted to the cultivation of his poeticaltalents; but his works were sullied with the erroneous inductions ofan understanding which, inasmuch as he regarded all the existingworld in the wrong, must be considered as having been eithershattered or defective. 

His rash marriage proved, of course, an unhappy one. After the birthof two children, a separation, by mutual consent, took place, and MrsShelley committed suicide. 

He then married a daughter of Mr Godwin, the author of CalebWilliams, and they resided for some time at Great Marlow, inBuckinghamshire, much respected for their charity. In the meantime, his irreligious opinions had attracted public notice, and, inconsequence of his unsatisfactory notions of the Deity, his children, probably at the instance of his father, were taken from him by adecree of the Lord Chancellor: an event which, with increasingpecuniary embarrassments, induced him to quit England, with theintention of never returning. 

Being in Switzerland when Lord Byron, after his domestictribulations, arrived at Geneva, they became acquainted. He thencrossed the Alps, and again at Venice renewed his friendship with hisLordship; he thence passed to Rome, where he resided some time; andafter visiting Naples, fixed his permanent residence in Tuscany. Hisacquirements were constantly augmenting, and he was without questionan accomplished person. He was, however, more of a metaphysicianthan a poet, though there are splendid specimens of poetical thoughtin his works. As a man, he was objected to only on account of hisspeculative opinions; for he possessed many amiable qualities, wasjust in his intentions, and generous to excess. 

When he had seen Mr Hunt established in the Casa Lanfranchi with LordByron at Pisa, Mr Shelley returned to Leghorn, for the purpose oftaking a sea excursion; an amusement to which he was much attached. During a violent storm the boat was swamped, and the party on boardwere all drowned. Their bodies were, however, afterwards cast onshore; Mr Shelley's was found near Via Reggio, and, being greatlydecomposed, and unfit to be removed, it was determined to reduce theremains to ashes, that they might be carried to a place of sepulture. Accordingly preparations were made for the burning. 

Wood in abundance was found on the shore, consisting of old trees andthe wreck of vessels: the spot itself was well suited for theceremony. The magnificent bay of Spezzia was on the right, andLeghorn on the left, at equal distances of about two-and-twentymiles. The headlands project boldly far into the sea; in front lieseveral islands, and behind dark forests and the cliffy Apennines. Nothing was omitted that could exalt and dignify the mournful riteswith the associations of classic antiquity; frankincense and winewere not forgotten. The weather was serene and beautiful, and thepacified ocean was silent, as the flame rose with extraordinarybrightness. Lord Byron was present; but he should himself havedescribed the scene and what he felt. 

These antique obsequies were undoubtedly affecting; but the return ofthe mourners from the burning is the most appalling orgia, withoutthe horror of crime, of which I have ever heard. When the duty wasdone, and the ashes collected, they dined and drank much together, and bursting from the calm mastery with which they had repressedtheir feelings during the solemnity, gave way to frantic exultation. They were all drunk; they sang, they shouted, and their barouche wasdriven like a whirlwind through the forest. I can conceive nothingdescriptive of the demoniac revelry of that flight, but scraps of thedead man's own song of Faust, Mephistophiles, and Ignis Fatuus, inalternate chorus. 

The limits of the sphere of dream, The bounds of true and false are past;Lead us on, thou wand'ring Gleam; Lead us onwards, far and fast, To the wide, the desert waste. 

But see how swift, advance and shift, Trees behind trees--row by row, Now clift by clift, rocks bend and lift, Their frowning foreheads as we go;The giant-snouted crags, ho! ho! How they snort, and how they blow. Honour her to whom honour is due, Old mother Baubo, honour to you. An able sow with old Baubo upon herIs worthy of glory and worthy of honour. 

The way is wide, the way is long, But what is that for a Bedlam throng?Some on a ram, and some on a prong, On poles and on broomsticks we flutter along. 

Every trough will be boat enough, With a rag for a sail, we can sweep through the sky. Who flies not to-night, when means he to fly?

CHAPTER XL

"The Two Foscari"--"Werner"--"The Deformed Transformed"--"Don Juan"--"The Liberal"--Removes from Pisa to Genoa

I have never heard exactly where the tragedy of The Two Foscari waswritten: that it was imagined in Venice is probable. The subjectis, perhaps, not very fit for a drama, for it has no action; but itis rich in tragic materials, revenge and affection, and thecomposition is full of the peculiar stuff of the poet's own mind. The exulting sadness with which Jacopo Foscari looks in the firstscene from the window, on the Adriatic, is Byron himself recallinghis enjoyment of the sea. 

 How many a time have ICloven with arm still lustier, heart more daring, The wave all roughen'd: with a swimmer's strokeFlinging the billows back from my drench'd hair, And laughing from my lip th' audacious brineWhich kiss'd it like a wine-cup. 

The whole passage, both prelude and remainder, glows with thedelicious recollections of laying and revelling in the summer waves. But the exile's feeling is no less beautifully given and appropriateto the author's condition, far more so, indeed, than to that ofJacopo Foscari. 

 Had I gone forthFrom my own land, like the old patriarchs, seekingAnother region with their flocks and herds;Had I been cast out like the Jews from Zion, Or like our fathers driven by AttilaFrom fertile Italy to barren islets, I would have given some tears to my late country, And many thoughts; but afterward address'dMyself to those about me, to createA new home and first state. 

What follows is still more pathetic:

 Ay--we but hearOf the survivors' toil in their new lands, Their numbers and success; but who can numberThe hearts which broke in silence of that parting, Or after their departure; of that malady {291a}Which calls up green and native fields to viewFrom the rough deep with such identityTo the poor exile's fever'd eye, that heCan scarcely be restrained from treading them?That melody {291b} which out of tones and tunesCollects such pastime for the ling'ring sorrowOf the sad mountaineer, when far awayFrom his snow-canopy of cliffs and clouds, That he feeds on the sweet but poisonous thoughtAnd dies. --You call this weakness! It is strength, I say--the parent of all honest feeling:He who loves not his country can love nothing. 

MARINA

Obey her then, 'tis she that puts thee forth. 

JACOPO FOSCARI

Ay, there it is. 'Tis like a mother's curseUpon my soul--the mark is set upon me. The exiles you speak of went forth by nations;Their hands upheld each other by the way;Their tents were pitch'd together--I'm alone-- Ah, you never yetWere far away from Venice--never sawHer beautiful towers in the receding distance, While every furrow of the vessel's trackSeem'd ploughing deep into your heart; you neverSaw day go down upon your native spiresSo calmly with its gold and crimson glory, And after dreaming a disturbed visionOf them and theirs, awoke and found them not. 

All this speaks of the voluntary exile's own regrets, and awakenssympathy for the anguish which pride concealed, but unable torepress, gave vent to in the imagined sufferings of one that was tohim as Hecuba. 

It was at Pisa that Werner, or The Inheritance, a tragedy, waswritten, or at least completed. It is taken entirely from theGerman's tale, Kruitzner, published many years before, by one of theMiss Lees, in their Canterbury Tales. So far back as 1815, Byronbegan a drama upon the same subject, and nearly completed an act whenhe was interrupted. "I have adopted, " he says himself, "thecharacters, plan, and even the language of many parts of this story";an acknowledgment which exempts it from that kind of criticism towhich his principal works are herein subjected. 

But The Deformed Transformed, which was also written at Pisa, is, though confessedly an imitation of Goethe's Faust, substantially anoriginal work. In the opinion of Mr Moore, it probably owessomething to the author's painful sensibility to the defect in hisown foot; an accident which must, from the acuteness with which hefelt it, have essentially contributed to enable him to comprehend andto express the envy of those afflicted with irremediable exceptionsto the ordinary course of fortune, or who have been amerced by natureof their fair proportions. But save only a part of the first scene, the sketch will not rank among the felicitous works of the poet. Itwas intended to be a satire--probably, at least--but it is only afragment--a failure. 

Hitherto I have not noticed Don Juan otherwise than incidentally. Itwas commenced in Venice, and afterward continued at intervals to theend of the sixteenth canto, until the author left Pisa, when it wasnot resumed, at least no more has been published. Strong objectionshave been made to its moral tendency; but, in the opinion of many, itis the poet's masterpiece, and undoubtedly it displays all thevariety of his powers, combined with a quaint playfulness not foundto an equal degree in any other of his works. The serious andpathetic portions are exquisitely beautiful; the descriptive have allthe distinctness of the best pictures in Childe Harold, and are, moreover, generally drawn from nature, while the satire is for themost part curiously associated and sparklingly witty. The charactersare sketched with amazing firmness and freedom, and though sometimesgrotesque, are yet not often overcharged. It is professedly an epicpoem, but it may be more properly described as a poetical novel. Norcan it be said to inculcate any particular moral, or to do more thanunmantle the decorum of society. Bold and buoyant throughout, itexhibits a free irreverent knowledge of the world, laughing ormocking as the thought serves, in the most unexpected antitheses tothe proprieties of time, place, and circumstance. 

The object of the poem is to describe the progress of a libertinethrough life, not an unprincipled prodigal, whose profligacy, growingwith his growth, and strengthening with his strength, passes fromvoluptuous indulgence into the sordid sensuality of systematicdebauchery, but a young gentleman, who, whirled by the vigour andvivacity of his animal spirits into a world of adventures, in whichhis stars are chiefly in fault for his liaisons, settles at last intoan honourable lawgiver, a moral speaker on divorce bills, andpossibly a subscriber to the Society for the Suppression of Vice. The author has not completed his design, but such appears to havebeen the drift of it, affording ample opportunities to unveil thefoibles and follies of all sorts of men--and women too. It isgenerally supposed to contain much of the author's own experience, but still, with all its riant knowledge of bowers and boudoirs, it isdeficient as a true limning of the world, by showing man as if hewere always ruled by one predominant appetite. 

In the character of Donna Inez and Don Jose, it has been imaginedthat Lord Byron has sketched himself and his lady. It may be so; andif it were, he had by that time got pretty well over the lachrymationof their parting. It is no longer doubtful that the twenty-seventhstanza records a biographical fact, and the thirty-sixth his ownfeelings, when, Poor fellow! he had many things to wound him, Let's own, since it can do no good on earth;It was a trying moment that which found himStanding alone beside his desolate hearth, Where all his household gods lay shiver'd round him:No choice was left his feelings or his pride, Save death or Doctors' Commons. 

It has been already mentioned, that while the poet was at DrGlennie's academy at Dulwich, he read an account of a shipwreck, which has been supposed to have furnished some of the most strikingincidents in the description of the disastrous voyage in the secondcanto in Don Juan. I have not seen that work; but whatever LordByron may have found in it suitable to his purpose, he hasundoubtedly made good use of his grandfather's adventures. Theincident of the spaniel is related by the admiral. 

In the licence of Don Juan, the author seems to have considered thathis wonted accuracy might be dispensed with. 

The description of Haidee applies to an Albanian, not a Greek girl. The splendour of her father's house is altogether preposterous; andthe island has no resemblance to those of the Cyclades. With theexception of Zea, his Lordship, however, did not visit them. Somedegree of error and unlike description, runs indeed through the wholeof the still life around the portrait of Haidee. The fete whichLambro discovers on his return, is, however, prettily described; andthe dance is as perfect as true. 

And farther on a group of Grecian girls, The first and tallest her white kerchief waving, Were strung together like a row of pearls, Link'd hand in hand and dancing; each too havingDown her white neck long floating auburn curls. Their leader sang, and bounded to her song, With choral step and voice, the virgin throng. 

The account of Lambro proceeding to the house is poetically imagined;and, in his character, may be traced a vivid likeness of Ali Pasha, and happy illustrative allusions to the adventures of that chief. 

The fourth canto was written at Ravenna; it is so said within itself;and the description of Dante's sepulchre there may be quoted for itstruth, and the sweet modulation of the moral reflection interwovenwith it. 

I pass each day where Dante's bones are laid;A little cupola, more neat than solemn, Protects his dust; but reverence here is paidTo the bard's tomb and not the warrior's column. The time must come when both alike decay'd, The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volumeWill sink where lie the songs and wars of earth, Before Pelides' death or Homer's birth. 

The fifth canto was also written in Ravenna. But it is not myintention to analyze this eccentric and meandering poem; acomposition which cannot be well estimated by extracts. Without, therefore, dwelling at greater length on its variety and merits. Iwould only observe that the general accuracy of the poet'sdescriptions is verified by that of the scenes in which Juan isplaced in England, a point the reader may determine for himself;while the vagueness of the parts derived from books, or sketched fromfancy, as contrasted with them, justifies the opinion, that inventionwas not the most eminent faculty of Byron, either in scenes or incharacters. Of the demerits of the poem it is only necessary toremark, that it has been proscribed on account of its immorality;perhaps, however, there was more of prudery than of equity in thedecision, at least it is liable to be so considered, so long asreprints are permitted of the older dramatists, with all theirunpruned licentiousness. 

But the wheels of Byron's destiny were now hurrying. Both in theconception and composition of Don Juan he evinced an increasingdisregard of the world's opinion; and the project of The Liberal wasstill more fatal to his reputation. Not only were the invidious eyesof bigotry now eagerly fixed upon his conduct, but those ofadmiration were saddened and turned away from him. His principles, which would have been more correctly designated as paradoxes, wereobjects of jealousy to the Tuscan Government; and it has been alreadyseen that there was a disorderliness about the Casa Lanfranchi whichattracted the attention of the police. His situation in Pisa became, in consequence, irksome; and he resolved to remove to Genoa, anintention which he carried into effect about the end of September, 1822, at which period his thoughts began to gravitate towards Greece. Having attained to the summit of his literary eminence, he grewambitious of trying fortune in another field of adventure. 

In all the migrations of Lord Byron there was ever somethinggrotesque and desultory. In moving from Ravenna to Pisa, his caravanconsisted of seven servants, five carriages, nine horses, a monkey, abulldog, and a mastiff, two cats, three peafowl, a harem of hens, books, saddles, and firearms, with a chaos of furniture nor was theexodus less fantastical; for in addition to all his own clanjamphry, he had Mr Hunt's miscellaneous assemblage of chattels and chatteryand little ones. 

CHAPTER XLI

Genoa--Change in the Manners of Lord Byron--Residence at the CasaSaluzzi--"The Liberal"--Remarks on the Poet's Works in general and onHunt's Strictures on his Character

Previously to their arrival at Genoa, a house had been taken for LordByron and the Guiccioli in Albaro, a pleasant village on a hill, inthe vicinity of the city; it was the Casa Saluzzi, and I have beentold, that during the time he resided there, he seemed to enjoy amore uniform and temperate gaiety than in any former period of hislife. There might have been less of sentiment in his felicity, thanwhen he lived at Ravenna, as he seldom wrote poetry, but he appearedto some of his occasional visitors, who knew him in London, to havebecome more agreeable and manly. I may add, at the risk of sarcasmfor the vanity, that in proof of his mellowed temper towards me, besides the kind frankness with which he received my friend, asalready mentioned, he sent me word, by the Earl of Blesinton, that hehad read my novel of The Entail three times, and thought the oldLeddy Grippy one of the most living-like heroines he had ever metwith. This was the more agreeable, as I had heard within the sameweek, that Sir Walter Scott had done and said nearly the same thing. Half the compliment from two such men would be something to be proudof. 

Lord Byron's residence at Albaro was separate from that of Mr Hunt, and, in consequence, they were more rarely together than whendomiciled under the same roof as at Pisa. Indeed, by this time, ifone may take Mr Hunt's own account of the matter, they appear to havebecome pretty well tired of each other. He had found out that a peeris, as a friend, but as a plebeian, and a great poet not always ahigh-minded man. His Lordship had, on his part, discovered thatsomething more than smartness or ingenuity is necessary to protectpatronage from familiarity. Perhaps intimate acquaintance had alsotended to enable him to appreciate, with greater accuracy, themeretricious genius and artificial tastes of his copartner in TheLiberal. It is certain that he laughed at his affected admiration oflandscapes, and considered his descriptions of scenery as drawn frompictures. 

One day, as a friend of mine was conversing with his Lordship at theCasa Saluzzi, on the moral impressions of magnificent scenery, hehappened to remark that he thought the view of the Alps in theevening, from Turin, the sublimest scene he had ever beheld. "It isimpossible, " said he, "at such a time, when all the west is goldenand glowing behind them, to contemplate such vast masses of the Deitywithout being awed into rest, and forgetting such things as man andhis follies. "--"Hunt, " said his Lordship, smiling, "has no perceptionof the sublimity of Alpine scenery; he calls a mountain a greatimpostor. "

In the mean time the materials for the first number of The Liberalhad been transmitted to London, where the manuscript of The Vision ofJudgment was already, and something of its quality known. All hisLordship's friends were disturbed at the idea of the publication. They did not like the connection he had formed with Mr Shelley--theyliked still less the copartnery with Mr Hunt. With the justice orinjustice of these dislikes I have nothing to do. It is anhistorical fact that they existed, and became motives with those whodeemed themselves the custodiers of his Lordship's fame, to seek adissolution of the association. 

The first number of The Liberal, containing The Vision of Judgment, was received soon after the copartnery had established themselves atGenoa, accompanied with hopes and fears. Much good could not beanticipated from a work which outraged the loyal and decoroussentiments of the nation towards the memory of George III. To thesecond number Lord Byron contributed the Heaven and Earth, a sacreddrama, which has been much misrepresented in consequence of itsfraternity with Don Juan and The Vision of Judgment; for it containsno expression to which religion can object, nor breathes a thought atvariance with the Genesis. The history of literature affords noinstance of a condemnation less justifiable, on the plea ofprofanity, than that of this Mystery. That it abounds in literaryblemishes, both of plan and language, and that there are harshjangles and discords in the verse, is not disputed; but still itabounds in a grave patriarchal spirit, and is echo to the oracles ofAdam and Melchisedek. It may not be worthy of Lord Byron's genius, but it does him no dishonour, and contains passages which accord withthe solemn diapasons of ancient devotion. The disgust which TheVision of Judgment had produced, rendered it easy to persuade theworld that there was impiety in the Heaven and Earth, although, inpoint of fact, it may be described as hallowed with the Scripturaltheology of Milton. The objections to its literary defects weremagnified into sins against worship and religion. 

The Liberal stopped with the fourth number, I believe. Itdisappointed not merely literary men in general, but even the mostspecial admirers of the talents of the contributors. The main defectof the work was a lack of knowledge. Neither in style nor genius, nor even in general ability, was it wanting; but where it showedlearning it was not of a kind in which the age took much interest. Moreover, the manner and cast of thinking of all the writers in itwere familiar to the public, and they were too few in number tovariegate their pages with sufficient novelty. But the main cause ofthe failure was the antipathy formed and fostered against it beforeit appeared. It was cried down, and it must be acknowledged that itdid not much deserve a better fate. 

With The Liberal I shall close my observations on the works of LordByron. They are too voluminous to be examined even in the brief andsketchy manner in which I have considered those which are deemed theprincipal. Besides, they are not, like them, all characteristic ofthe author, though possessing great similarity in style and thoughtto one another. Nor would such general criticism accord with theplan of this work. Lord Byron was not always thinking of himself;like other authors, he sometimes wrote from imaginary circumstances;and often fancied both situations and feelings which had no referenceto his own, nor to his experience. But were the matter deserving ofthe research, I am persuaded, that with Mr Moore's work, and thepoet's original journals, notes, and letters, innumerable additionsmight be made to the list of passages which the incidents of his ownlife dictated. 

The abandonment of The Liberal closed his Lordship's connection withMr Hunt; their friendship, if such ever really existed, was endedlong before. It is to be regretted that Byron has not given someaccount of it himself; for the manner in which he is represented tohave acted towards his unfortunate partner, renders another versionof the tale desirable. At the same time--and I am not one of thosewho are disposed to magnify the faults and infirmities of Byron--Ifear there is no excess of truth in Hunt's opinion of him. I judgeby an account which Lord Byron gave himself to a mutual friend, whodid not, however, see the treatment in exactly the same light as thatin which it appeared to me. But, while I cannot regard hisLordship's conduct as otherwise than unworthy, still the pains whichMr Hunt has taken to elaborate his character and dispositions intoevery modification of weakness, almost justifies us in thinking thathe was treated according to his deserts. Byron had at least themanners of a gentleman, and though not a judicious knowledge of theworld, he yet possessed prudence enough not to be always unguarded. Mr Hunt informs us, that when he joined his Lordship at Leghorn, hisown health was impaired, and that his disease rather increased thandiminished during his residence at Pisa and Genoa; to say nothing ofthe effect which the loss of his friend had on him, and thedisappointment he suffered in The Liberal; some excuse may, therefore, be made for him. In such a condition, misapprehensionswere natural; jocularity might be mistaken for sarcasm, and capricefelt as insolence. 

CHAPTER XLII

Lord Byron resolves to join the Greeks--Arrives at Cephalonia--GreekFactions--Sends Emissaries to the Grecian Chiefs--Writes to Londonabout the Loan--To Mavrocordato on the Dissensions--Embarks at lestfor Missolonghi

While The Liberal was halting onward to its natural doom, theattention of Lord Byron was attracted towards the struggles ofGreece. 

In that country his genius was first effectually developed; his namewas associated with many of its most romantic scenes, and the causewas popular with all the educated and refined of Europe. He hadformed besides a personal attachment to the land, and perhaps many ofhis most agreeable local associations were fixed amid the ruins ofGreece, and in her desolated valleys. The name is indeed alonecalculated to awaken the noblest feelings of humanity. The spirit ofher poets, the wisdom and the heroism of her worthies; whatever issplendid in genius, unparalleled in art, glorious in arms, and wisein philosophy, is associated in their highest excellence with thatbeautiful region. 

Had Lord Byron never been in Greece, he was, undoubtedly, one ofthose men whom the resurrection of her spirit was likeliest tointerest; but he was not also one fitted to do her cause muchservice. His innate indolence, his sedentary habits, and that all-engrossing consideration for himself, which, in every situation, marred his best impulses, were shackles upon the practice of thestern bravery in himself which he has so well expressed in his works. 

It was expected when he sailed for Greece, nor was the expectationunreasonable with those who believe imagination and passion to be ofthe same element, that the enthusiasm which flamed so highly in hisverse was the spirit of action, and would prompt him to undertakesome great enterprise. But he was only an artist; he could describebold adventures and represent high feeling, as other giftedindividuals give eloquence to canvas and activity to marble; but hedid not possess the wisdom necessary for the instruction of councils. I do, therefore, venture to say, that in embarking for Greece, he wasnot entirely influenced by such exoterical motives as the love ofglory or the aspirations of heroism. His laurels had for some timeceased to flourish, the sear and yellow, the mildew and decay, hadfallen upon them, and he was aware that the bright round of his famewas ovalling from the full and showing the dim rough edge of waning. 

He was, moreover, tired of the Guiccioli, and again afflicted with adesire for some new object with which to be in earnest. The Greekcause seemed to offer this, and a better chance for distinction thanany other pursuit in which he could then engage. In the spring of1823 he accordingly made preparations for transferring himself fromGenoa to Greece, and opened a correspondence with the leaders of theinsurrection, that the importance of his adhesion might be dulyappreciated. 

Greece, with a fair prospect of ultimate success, was at that time asdistracted in her councils as ever. Her arms had been victorious, but the ancient jealousy of the Greek mind was unmitigated. Thethird campaign had commenced, and yet no regular government had beenorganized; the fiscal resources of the country were neglected: awild energy against the Ottomans was all that the Greeks could dependon for continuing the war. 

Lord Byron arrived in Cephalonia about the middle of August, 1823, where he fixed his residence for some time. This was prudent, but itsaid nothing for that spirit of enterprise with which a man engagingin such a cause, in such a country, and with such a people, ought tohave been actuated--especially after Marco Botzaris, one of the bestand most distinguished of the chiefs, had earnestly urged him to joinhim at Missolonghi. I fear that I may not be able to do justice toByron's part in the affairs of Greece; but I shall try. He did notdisappoint me, for he only acted as might have been expected, fromhis unsteady energies. Many, however, of his other friends longed invain to hear of that blaze of heroism, by which they anticipated thathis appearance in the field would be distinguished. 

Among his earliest proceedings was the equipment of forty Suliotes, or Albanians, whom he sent to Marco Botzaris to assist in the defenceof Missolonghi. An adventurer of more daring would have gone withthem; and when the battle was over, in which Botzaris fell, hetransmitted bandages and medicines, of which he had brought a largesupply from Italy, and pecuniary succour, to the wounded. 

This was considerate, but there was too much consideration in allthat he did at this time, neither in unison with the impulses of hisnatural character, nor consistent with the heroic enthusiasm withwhich the admirers of his poetry imagined he was kindled. 

In the mean time he had offered to advance one thousand dollars amonth for the succour of Missolonghi and the troops with MarcoBotzaris; but the government, instead of accepting the offer, intimated that they wished previously to confer with him, which heinterpreted into a desire to direct the expenditure of the money toother purposes. In his opinion his Lordship was probably notmistaken; but his own account of his feeling in the business does nottend to exalt the magnanimity of his attachment to the cause: "Iwill take care, " says he, "that it is for the public cause, otherwiseI will not advance a para. The opposition say they want to cajoleme, and the party in power say the others wish to seduce me; so, between the two, I have a difficult part to play; however, I willhave nothing to do with the factions, unless to reconcile them, ifpossible. "

It is difficult to conceive that Lord Byron, "the searcher of darkbosoms, " could have expressed himself so weakly and with such vanity;but the shadow of coming fate had already reached him, and hisjudgment was suffering in the blight that had fallen on hisreputation. To think of the possibility of reconciling two Greekfactions, or any factions, implies a degree of ignorance of mankind, which, unless it had been given in his Lordship's own writing, wouldnot have been credible; and as to having nothing to do with thefactions, for what purpose went he to Greece, unless it was to take apart with one of them? I abstain from saying what I think of hishesitation in going to the government instead of sending two of hisassociated adventurers, Mr Trelawney and Mr Hamilton Brown, whom hedespatched to collect intelligence as to the real state of things, substituting their judgment for his own. When the Hercules, the shiphe chartered to carry him to Greece, weighed anchor, he was committedwith the Greeks, and everything short of unequivocal folly he wasbound to have done with and for them. 

His two emissaries or envoys proceeded to Tripolizza, where theyfound Colocotroni seated in the palace of the late vizier, VelhiPasha, in great power; the court-yard and galleries filled with armedmen in garrison, while there was no enemy at that time in the Moreaable to come against them! The Greek chieftains, like their classicpredecessors, though embarked in the same adventure, were personaladversaries to each other. Colocotroni spoke of his compeerMavrocordato in the very language of Agamemnon, when he said that hehad declared to him, unless he desisted from his intrigues, he wouldmount him on an ass and whip him out of the Morea; and that he hadonly been restrained from doing so by the representation of hisfriends, who thought it would injure their common cause. Such wasthe spirit of the chiefs of the factions which Lord Byron thought itnot impossible to reconcile!

At this time Missolonghi was in a critical state, being blockadedboth by land and sea; and the report of Trelawney to Lord Byronconcerning it, was calculated to rouse his Lordship to activity. "There have been, " says he, "thirty battles fought and won by thelate Marco Botzaris, and his gallant tribe of Suliotes, who are shutup in Missolonghi. If it fall, Athens will be in danger, andthousands of throats cut: a few thousand dollars would provide shipsto relieve it; a portion of this sum is raised, and I would coin myheart to save this key of Greece. " Bravely said! but deserving oflittle attention. The fate of Missolonghi could have had no visibleeffect on that of Athens. 

The distance between these two places is more than a hundred miles, and Lord Byron was well acquainted with the local difficulties of theintervening country; still it was a point to which the eyes of theGreeks were all at that time directed; and Mavrocordato, then incorrespondence with Lord Byron, and who was endeavouring to collect afleet for the relief of the place, induced his Lordship to undertaketo provide the money necessary for the equipment of the fleet, to theextent of twelve thousand pounds. It was on this occasion hisLordship addressed a letter to the Greek chiefs, that deserves to bequoted, for the sagacity with which it suggests what may be theconduct of the great powers of Christendom. 

"I must frankly confess, " says he, "that unless union and order areconfirmed, all hopes of a loan will be in vain, and all theassistance which the Greeks could expect from abroad, an assistancewhich might be neither trifling nor worthless, will be suspended ordestroyed; and what is worse, the great powers of Europe, of whom noone was an enemy to Greece, but seemed inclined to favour her inconsenting to the establishment of an independent power, will bepersuaded that the Greeks are unable to govern themselves, and will, perhaps, undertake to arrange your disorders in such a way, as toblast the brightest hopes you indulge, and that are indulged by yourfriends. "

In the meantime, Lord Byron was still at the villa he had hired inCephalonia, where his conduct was rather that of a spectator than anally. Colonel Stanhope, in a letter of the 26th of November, describes him as having been there about three months, and spendinghis time exactly as every one acquainted with his habits must haveexpected. "The first six weeks he spent on board a merchant-vessel, and seldom went on shore, except on business. Since that period hehas lived in a little villa in the country, in absolute retirement, Count Gamba (brother to the Guiccioli) being his only companion. "--Such, surely, was not exactly playing that part in the Greek causewhich he had taught the world to look for. It is true, that theaccounts received there of the Greek affairs were not thenfavourable. Everybody concurred in representing the executivegovernment as devoid of public virtue, and actuated by avarice orpersonal ambition. This intelligence was certainly not calculated toincrease Lord Byron's ardour, and may partly excuse the causes of hispersonal inactivity. I say personal, because he had written toLondon to accelerate the attempt to raise a loan, and, at thesuggestion of Colonel Stanhope, he addressed a letter to Mavrocordatorespecting the inevitable consequences of their calamitousdissensions. The object of this letter was to induce areconciliation between the rival factions, or to throw the odium, ofhaving thwarted the loan, upon the Executive, and thereby to degradethe members of it in the opinion of the people. "I am very uneasy, "said his Lordship to the prince, "at hearing that the dissensions ofGreece still continue; and at a moment when she might triumph overeverything in general, as she has triumphed in part. Greece is atpresent placed between three measures; either to reconquer herliberty, or to become a dependence of the sovereigns of Europe, or toreturn to a Turkish province; she has already the choice only ofthese three alternatives. Civil war is but a road which leads to thetwo latter. If she is desirous of the fate of Wallachia and theCrimea, she may obtain it TO-MORROW; if that of Italy, THE DAY AFTER. But if she wishes to become TRULY GREECE, FREE AND INDEPENDENT, shemust resolve TO-DAY, or she will never again have the opportunity, "etc. , etc. 

Meanwhile, the Greek people became impatient for Lord Byron to comeamong them. They looked forward to his arrival as to the coming of aMessiah. Three boats were successively despatched for him and two ofthem returned, one after the other, without him. On the 29th ofDecember, 1823, however, his Lordship did at last embark. 

CHAPTER XLIII

Lord Byron's Conversations on Religion with Dr Kennedy

While Lord Byron was hesitating, in the Island of Cephalonia, aboutproceeding to Greece, an occurrence took place, of which much hasbeen made. I allude to the acquaintance he formed with a Dr Kennedy, the publication of whose conversations with him on religion hasattracted some degree of public attention. 

This gentleman was originally destined for the Scottish bar, butafterwards became a student of medicine, and entering the medicaldepartment of the army, happened to be stationed in Cephalonia whenLord Byron arrived. He appears to have been a man of kinddispositions, possessed of a better heart than judgment; in allplaces wherever his duty bore him he took a lively interest in thecondition of the inhabitants, and was active, both in his officialand private capacity, to improve it. He had a taste for circulatingpious tracts, and zealously co-operated in distributing copies of theScriptures. 

Firmly settled, himself, in a conviction of the truth ofChristianity, he was eager to make converts to his views of thedoctrines; but whether he was exactly the kind of apostle to achievethe conversion of Lord Byron may, perhaps, be doubted. His sincerityand the disinterestedness of his endeavours would secure to him fromhis Lordship an indulgent and even patient hearing. But I fear thatwithout some more effectual calling, the arguments he appears to haveemployed were not likely to have made Lord Byron a proselyte. HisLordship was so constituted in his mind, and by his temperament, thatnothing short of regeneration could have made him a Christian, according to the gospel of Dr Kennedy. 

Lord Byron had but loose feelings in religion--scarcely any. Hissensibility and a slight constitutional leaning towards superstitionand omens showed that the sense of devotion was, however, alive andawake within him; but with him religion was a sentiment, and theconvictions of the understanding had nothing whatever to do with hiscreed. That he was deeply imbued with the essence of natural piety;that he often felt the power and being of a God thrilling in all hisframe, and glowing in his bosom, I declare my thorough persuasion;and that he believed in some of the tenets and in the philosophy ofChristianity, as they influence the spirit and conduct of men, I amas little disposed to doubt; especially if those portions of hisworks which only trend towards the subject, and which bear theimpression of fervour and earnestness, may be admitted as evidence. But he was not a member of any particular church, and, without areconstruction of his mind and temperament, I venture to say, hecould not have become such; not in consequence, as too many haverepresented, of any predilection, either of feeling or principle, against Christianity, but entirely owing to an organic peculiarity ofmind. He reasoned on every topic by instinct, rather than byinduction or any process of logic; and could never be so convinced ofthe truth or falsehood of an abstract proposition, as to feel itaffect the current of his actions. He may have assented toarguments, without being sensible of their truth; merely because theywere not objectionable to his feelings at the time. And, in the samemanner, he may have disputed even fair inferences, from admittedpremises, if the state of his feelings happened to be indisposed tothe subject. I am persuaded, nevertheless, that to class him amongabsolute infidels were to do injustice to his memory, and that he hassuffered uncharitably in the opinion of "the rigidly righteous, " who, because he had not attached himself to any particular sect orcongregation, assumed that he was an adversary to religion. To claimfor him any credit, as a pious man, would be absurd; but to supposehe had not as deep an interest as other men "in his soul's health"and welfare, was to impute to him a nature which cannot exist. Being, altogether, a creature of impulses, he certainly could not beever employed in doxologies, or engaged in the logomachy ofchurchmen; but he had the sentiment which at a tamer age might havemade him more ecclesiastical. There was as much truth as joke in theexpression, when he wrote, I am myself a moderate Presbyterian. 

A mind constituted like that of Lord Byron, was little susceptible ofimpressions from the arguments of ordinary men. It was necessarythat Truth, in visiting him, should come arrayed in her solemnities, and with Awe and Reverence for her precursors. Acknowledgedsuperiority, yea, celebrated wisdom, were indispensable, to bespeakhis sincere attention; and, without disparagement, it may be fairlysaid, these were not the attributes of Dr Kennedy. On the contrary, there was a taint of cant about him--perhaps he only acted like thosewho have it--but still he was not exactly the dignitary to commandunaffected deference from the shrewd and irreverent author of DonJuan. The result verified what ought to have been the anticipation. The doctor's attempt to quicken Byron to a sense of grace failed; buthis Lordship treated him with politeness. The history of the affairwill, however, be more interesting than any reflections which it isin my humble power to offer. 

Some of Dr Kennedy's acquaintances wished to hear him explain, in "alogical and demonstrative manner, the evidences and doctrines ofChristianity"; and Lord Byron, hearing of the intended meeting, desired to be present, and was accordingly invited. He attended; butwas not present at several others which followed; he howeverintimated to the doctor, that he would be glad to converse with him, and the invitation was accepted. "On religion, " says the doctor, "his Lordship was in general a hearer, proposing his difficulties andobjections with more fairness than could have been expected from oneunder similar circumstances; and with so much candour, that theyoften seemed to be proposed more for the purpose of procuringinformation, or satisfactory answers, than from any other motive. "

At the first meeting, Dr Kennedy explained, becomingly, his views ofthe subject, and that he had read every work against Christianitywhich fell in his way. It was this consideration which had inducedhim with such confidence to enter upon the discussion, knowing, onthe one hand, the strength of Christianity, and, on the other, theweakness of its assailants. "To show you, therefore, " said thedoctor, "the grounds on which I demand your attention to what I maysay on the nature and evidence of Christianity, I shall mention thenames of some of the authors whose works I have read or consulted. "When he had mentioned all these names, Lord Byron asked if he hadread Barrow's and Stillingfleet's works? The doctor replied, "I haveseen them, but I have not read them. "

After a disquisition, chiefly relative to the history ofChristianity, Dr Kennedy observed, "We must, on all occasions, butmore particularly in fair and logical discussions with sceptics, orDeists, make a distinction between Christianity, as it is found inthe Scriptures, and the errors, abuses, and imperfections ofChristians themselves. " To this his Lordship remarked, that healways had taken care to make that distinction, as he knew enough ofChristianity to feel that it was both necessary and just. The doctorremarked that the contrary was almost universally the case with thosewho doubted or denied the truth of Christianity, and proceeded toillustrate the statement. He then read a summary of the fundamentaldoctrines of Christianity; but he had not proceeded far, when heobserved signs of impatience in Lord Byron, who inquired if thesesentiments accorded with the doctor's? and being answered they did, and with those of all sound Christians, except in one or two minorthings, his Lordship rejoined, that he did not wish to hear theopinions of others, whose writings he could read at any time, butonly his own. The doctor then read on till coming to the expression"grace of God. " His Lordship inquired, "What do you mean by grace?""The primary and fundamental meaning of the word, " replied thedoctor, somewhat surprised at his ignorance (I quote his ownlanguage), "is favour; though it varies according to the context toexpress that disposition of God which leads Him to grant a favour, the action of doing so, or the favour itself, or its effects on thosewho receive it. " The arrogance of the use of the term ignorancehere, requires no animadversion; but to suppose the greatest master, then in existence, of the English language, not acquainted with themeaning of the word, when he asked to be informed of the meaningattached to it by the individual making use of it, gives us someinsight into the true character of the teacher. The doctor closedthe book, as he perceived that Lord Byron, as he says, had nodistinct conception of many of the words used; and his Lordshipsubjoined, "What we want is, to be convinced that the Bible is true;because if we can believe that, it will follow as a matter of course, that we must believe all the doctrines it contains. "

The reply to this was to the effect, that the observation was partlyjust; but though the strongest evidence were produced of theScriptures being the revealed will of God, they (his Lordship andothers present) would still remain unbelievers, unless they knew andcomprehended the doctrines contained in the Scriptures. This was notconclusive, and Lord Byron replied, that they wished him to provethat the Scriptures were the Word of God, which the doctor, with morethan apostolic simplicity, said that such was his object, but heshould like to know what they deemed the clearest course to followwith that object in view. After some farther conversation--"No otherplan was proposed by them, " says the doctor; and he adds, "they hadviolated their engagement to hear me for twelve hours, for which Ihad stipulated. " This may, perhaps, satisfy the reader as to thequality of the doctor's understanding; but as the subject, in itsbearing, touches Lord Byron's character, I shall proceed a littlefarther into the marrow of the matter. 

The inculcation being finished for that evening, Lord Byron said, that when he was young his mother brought him up strictly; and thathe had access to a great many theological works, and remembered thathe was particularly pleased with Barrow's writings, and that he alsowent regularly to church. He declared that he was not an infidel, who denied the Scriptures and wished to remain in unbelief; on thecontrary, he was desirous to believe, as he experienced no happinessin having his religious opinions so unsteady and unfixed. But hecould not, he added, understand the Scriptures. "Those people whoconscientiously believe, I always have respected, and was alwaysdisposed to trust in them more than in others. " A desultoryconversation then ensued, respecting the language and translations ofthe Scriptures; in the course of which his Lordship remarked, thatScott, in his Commentary on the Bible, did not say that it was thedevil who tempted Eve, nor does the Bible say a word about the devil. It is only said that the serpent spoke, and that it was the subtlestof all the beasts of the field. --Will it be said that truth andreason were served by Dr Kennedy's {319} answer? "As beasts have notthe faculty of speech, the just inference is, that the beast was onlyan instrument made use of by some invisible and superior being. TheScriptures accordingly tell us, that the devil is the father of lies--the lie made by the serpent to Eve being the first we have onrecord; they call him also a murderer from the beginning, as he wasthe cause of the sentence of death which was pronounced against Adamand all his posterity; and still farther, to remove all doubt, and toidentify him as the agent who used the serpent as an instrument, heis called the serpent--the devil. "

Lord Byron inquired what the doctor thought of the theory ofWarburton, that the Jews had no distinct idea of a future state? Thedoctor acknowledged that he had often seen, but had never read TheDivine Legation. And yet, he added, had Warburton read his Biblewith more simplicity and attention, he would have enjoyed a moresolid and honourable fame. 

His Lordship then said, that one of the greatest difficulties he hadmet with was the existence of so much pure and unmixed evil in theworld, and which he could not reconcile to the idea of a benevolentCreator. The doctor set aside the question as to the origin of evil;but granted the extensive existence of evil in the universe; toremedy which, he said, the Gospel was proclaimed; and after some ofthe customary commonplaces, he ascribed much of the existing evil tothe slackness of Christians in spreading the Gospel. 

"Is there not, " said his Lordship, "some part of the New Testamentwhere it appears that the disciples were struck with the state ofphysical evil, and made inquiries into the cause?"--"There are twopassages, " was the reply. The disciples inquired, when they saw aman who had been born blind, whether it was owing to his own or hisparents' sin?--and, after quoting the other instance, he concludes, that moral and physical evil in individuals are not always a judgmentor punishment, but are intended to answer certain ends in thegovernment of the world. 

"Is there not, " said his Lordship, "a prophecy in the New Testamentwhich it is alleged has not been fulfilled, although it was declaredthat the end of the world would come before the generation thenexisting should pass away?"--"The prediction, " said Dr Kennedy, "related to the destruction of Jerusalem, which certainly took placewithin the time assigned; though some of the expressions descriptiveof the signs of that remarkable event are of such a nature as toappear to apply to Christ's coming to judge the world at the end oftime. "

His Lordship then asked, if the doctor thought that there had beenfewer wars and persecutions, and less slaughter and misery, in theworld since the introduction of Christianity than before? The doctoranswered this by observing, that since Christianity inculcates peaceand good-will to all men, we must always separate pure religion fromthe abuses of which its professors are guilty. 

Two other opinions were expressed by his Lordship in theconversation. The doctor, in speaking of the sovereignty of God, hadalluded to the similitude of the potter and his clay; for hisLordship said, if he were broken in pieces, he would say to thepotter, "Why do you treat me thus?" The other was an absurdity. Itwas--if the whole world were going to hell, he would prefer goingwith them than go alone to heaven. 

Such was the result of the first council of Cephalonia, if one mayventure the allusion. It is manifest, without saying much for LordByron's ingenuity, that he was fully a match for the doctor, and thathe was not unacquainted with the subject under discussion. 

In the next conversation Lord Byron repeated, "I have no wish toreject Christianity without investigation; on the contrary, I am verydesirous of believing. But I do not see very much the need of aSaviour, nor the utility of prayer. Devotion is the affection of theheart, and this I feel. When I view the wonders of creation, I bowto the Majesty of Heaven; and when I feel the enjoyments of life, Ifeel grateful to God for having bestowed them upon me. " Upon thissome discussion arose, turning chiefly on the passage in the thirdchapter of John, "Unless a man is converted, he cannot enter thekingdom of Heaven"; which naturally led to an explanatoryinterlocutor, concerning new birth, regeneration, etc. ; and thencediverged into the topics which had been the subject of the formerconversation. 

Among other things, Lord Byron inquired, "if the doctor reallythought that the devil appeared before God, as is mentioned in theBook of Job, or is it only an allegorical or poetical mode ofspeaking?"--The reply was, "I believe it in the strict and literalmeaning. "

"If it be received in a literal sense, " said his Lordship, "it givesme a much higher idea of the majesty, power, and wisdom of God, tobelieve that the devils themselves are at His nod, and are subject toHis control, with as much ease as the elements of nature follow therespective laws which His will has assigned them. "

This notion was characteristic, and the poetical feeling in which itoriginated, when the doctor attempted to explain the doctrine of theManicheans, was still more distinctly developed; for his Lordshipagain expressed how much the belief of the real appearance of Satan, to hear and obey the commands of God, added to his views of thegrandeur and majesty of the Creator. 

This second conversation was more desultory than the first; religionwas brought in only incidentally, until his Lordship said, "I do notreject the doctrines of Christianity; I want only sufficient proofsof it, to take up the profession in earnest; and I do not believemyself to be so bad a Christian as many of them who preach against mewith the greatest fury--many of whom I have never seen nor injured. "

"You have only to examine the causes which prevent you" (from being atrue believer), said the doctor, "and you will find they are futile, and only tend to withhold you from the enjoyment of real happiness;which at present it is impossible you can find. "

"What, then, you think me in a very bad way?"

"I certainly think you are, " was the reply; "and this I say, not onmy own authority, but on that of the Scriptures. --Your Lordship mustbe converted, and must be reformed, before anything can be said ofyou, except that you are bad, and in a bad way. "

"But, " replied his Lordship, "I already believe in predestination, which I know you believe, and in the depravity of the human heart ingeneral, and of my own in particular; thus you see there are twopoints in which we agree. I shall get at the others by-and-by. Youcannot expect me to become a perfect Christian at once. "

And farther his Lordship subjoined:

"Predestination appears to me just; from my own reflection andexperience, I am influenced in a way which is incomprehensible, andam led to do things which I never intended; and if there is, as weall admit, a Supreme Ruler of the universe; and if, as you say, hehas the actions of the devils, as well as of his own angels, completely at his command, then those influences, or thosearrangements of circumstances, which lead us to do things against ourwill, or with ill-will, must be also under his directions. But Ihave never entered into the depths of the subject; I have contentedmyself with believing that there is a predestination of events, andthat predestination depends on the will of God. "

Dr Kennedy, in speaking of this second conversation, bears testimonyto the respectfulness of his Lordship's attention. "There wasnothing in his manner which approached to levity, or anything thatindicated a wish to mock at religion; though, on the other hand, anable dissembler would have done and said all that he did, with suchfeelings and intentions. "

Subsequent to the second conversation, Dr Kennedy asked a gentlemanwho was intimate with Lord Byron, if he really thought his Lordshipserious in his desire to hear religion explained. "Has he exhibitedany contempt or ridicule at what I have said?" This gentlemanassured him that he had never heard Byron allude to the subject inany way which could induce him to suspect that he was merely amusinghimself. "But, on the contrary, he always names you with respect. Ido not, however, think you have made much impression on him: he isjust the same fellow as before. He says, he does not know whatreligion you are of, for you neither adhere to creeds nor councils. "

It ought here to be noticed, as showing the general opinionentertained of his Lordship with respect to these polemicalconversations, that the wits of the garrison made themselves merrywith what was going on. Some of them affected to believe, or did so, that Lord Byron's wish to hear Dr Kennedy proceeded from a desire tohave an accurate idea of the opinions and manners of the Methodists, in order that he might make Don Juan become one for a time, and so beenabled to paint their conduct with greater accuracy. 

The third conversation took place soon after this comment had beenmade on Lord Byron's conduct. The doctor inquired if his Lordshiphad read any of the religious books he had sent. "I have looked, "replied Byron, "into Boston's Fourfold State, but I have not had timeto read it far: I am afraid it is too deep for me. "

Although there was no systematic design, on the part of Lord Byron, to make Dr Kennedy subservient to any scheme of ridicule; yet it isevident that he was not so serious as the doctor so meritoriouslydesired. 

"I have begun, " said his Lordship, "very fairly; I have given some ofyour tracts to Fletcher (his valet), who is a good sort of man, butstill wants, like myself, some reformation; and I hope he will spreadthem among the other servants, who require it still more. Bruno, thephysician, and Gamba, are busy, reading some of the Italian tracts;and I hope it will have a good effect on them. The former is rathertoo decided against it at present; and too much engaged with a spiritof enthusiasm for his own profession, to attend to other subjects;but we must have patience, and we shall see what has been the result. I do not fail to read, from time to time, my Bible, though not, perhaps, so much as I should. "

"Have you begun to pray that you may understand it?"

"Not yet. I have not arrived at that pitch of faith yet; but it maycome by-and-by. You are in too great a hurry. "

His Lordship then went to a side-table, on which a great number ofbooks were ranged; and, taking hold of an octavo, gave it to thedoctor. It was Illustrations of the Moral Government of God, by E. Smith, M. D. , London. "The author, " said he, "proves that thepunishment of hell is not eternal; it will have a termination. "

"The author, " replied the doctor, "is, I suppose, one of theSocinians; who, in a short time, will try to get rid of everydoctrine in the Bible. How did your Lordship get hold of this book?"

"They sent it out to me from England, to make a convert of me, Isuppose. The arguments are strong, drawn from the Bible itself; andby showing that a time will come when every intelligent creatureshall be supremely happy, and eternally so, it expunges that shockingdoctrine, that sin and misery will for ever exist under thegovernment of God, Whose highest attribute is love and goodness. Tomy present apprehension, it would be a most desirable thing, could itbe proved that, alternately, all created beings were to be happy. This would appear to be most consistent with the nature of God. --Icannot yield to your doctrine of the eternal duration of punishment. --This author's opinion is more humane; and, I think, he supports itvery strongly from Scripture. "

The fourth conversation was still more desultory, being carried on attable amid company; in the course of it Lord Byron, however, declared"that he was so much of a believer as to be of opinion that there isno contradiction in the Scriptures which cannot be reconciled by anattentive consideration and comparison of passages. "

It is needless to remark that Lord Byron, in the course of theseconversations, was incapable of preserving a consistent seriousness. The volatility of his humour was constantly leading him intoplayfulness, and he never lost an opportunity of making a pun orsaying a quaint thing. "Do you know, " said he to the doctor, "I amnearly reconciled to St Paul; for he says there is no differencebetween the Jews and the Greeks, and I am exactly of the sameopinion, for the character of both is equally vile. "

Upon the whole it must be conceded, that whatever was the degree ofLord Byron's dubiety as to points of faith and doctrine, he could notbe accused of gross ignorance, nor described as animated by anyhostile feeling against religion. 

In this sketch of these conversations, I have restricted myselfchiefly to those points which related to his Lordship's ownsentiments and belief. It would have been inconsistent with theconcise limits of this work to have detailed the controversies. Afair summary of what Byron did not believe, what he was disposed tobelieve but had not satisfied himself with the evidence, and what hedid believe, seemed to be the task I ought to undertake. The resultconfirmed the statement of his Lordship's religious condition, givenin the preliminary remarks which, I ought to mention, were writtenbefore I looked into Dr Kennedy's book; and the statement is notdifferent from the estimate which the conversations warrant. It istrue that Lord Byron's part in the conversations is not verycharacteristic; but the integrity of Dr Kennedy is a sufficientassurance that they are substantially correct. 

CHAPTER XLIV

Voyage to Cephalonia--Letter--Count Gamba's Address--GratefulFeelings of the Turks--Endeavours of Lord Byron to mitigate theHorrors of the War

Lord Byron, after leaving Argostoli, on the 29th December, 1823, theport of Cephalonia, sailed for Zante, where he took on board aquantity of specie. Although the distance from Zante to Missolonghiis but a few hours' sail, the voyage was yet not without adventures. Missolonghi, as I have already mentioned, was then blockaded by theTurks, and some address was necessary, on that account, to effect anentrance, independent of the difficulties, at all times, ofnavigating the canals which intersect the shallows. In the followingletter to Colonel Stanhope, his Lordship gives an account of whattook place. It is very characteristic; I shall therefore quote it. 

"Scrofer, or some such name, on board aCephaloniate Mistice, Dec. 31, 1823. 

"MY DEAR STANHOPE, --We are just arrived here--that is, part of mypeople and I, with some things, etc. , and which it may be as well notto specify in a letter (which has a risk of being intercepted, perhaps); but Gamba and my horses, negro, steward, and the press, andall the committee things, also some eight thousand dollars of mine(but never mind, we have more left--do you understand?) are taken bythe Turkish frigates; and my party and myself in another boat, havehad a narrow escape, last night (being close under their stern, andhailed, but we would not answer, and bore away) as well as thismorning. Here we are, with sun and charming weather, within a prettylittle port enough; but whether our Turkish friends may not send intheir boats, and take us out (for we have no arms, except twocarbines and some pistols, and, I suspect, not more than fourfighting people on board), is another question; especially if weremain long here, since we are blocked out of Missolonghi by thedirect entrance. You had better send my friend George Drake, and abody of Suliotes, to escort us by land or by the canals, with allconvenient speed. Gamba and our Bombard are taken into Patras, Isuppose, and we must take a turn at the Turks to get them out. Butwhere the devil is the fleet gone? the Greek, I mean--leaving us toget in without the least intimation to take heed that the Moslemswere out again. Make my respects to Mavrocordato, and say that I amhere at his disposal. I am uneasy at being here. We are very well. --Yours, etc. 

"N. B. 

"P. S. The Bombard was twelve miles out when taken; at least, so itappeared to us (if taken she actually be, for it is not certain), andwe had to escape from another vessel that stood right in between usand the port. "

Colonel Stanhope on receiving this despatch, which was carried to himby two of Lord Byron's servants, sent two armed boats, and a companyof Suliotes, to escort his Lordship to Missolonghi, where he arrivedon the 5th of January, and was received with military honours, andthe most enthusiastic demonstrations of popular joy. No mark ofrespect which the Greeks could think of was omitted. The ships fireda salute as he passed. Prince Mavrocordato, and all the authorities, with the troops and the population, met him on his landing, andaccompanied him to the house which had been prepared for him, amidthe shouts of the multitude and the discharge of cannon. 

In the meantime, Count Gamba and his companions being taken beforeYusuff Pasha at Patras, expected to share the fate of certainunfortunate prisoners whom that stern chief had sacrificed thepreceding year at Prevesa; and their fears would probably have beenrealised but for the intrepid presence of mind displayed by theCount, who, assuming a haughty style, accused the Ottoman captain ofthe frigate of a breach of neutrality, in detaining a vessel underEnglish colours, and concluded by telling the Pasha that he mightexpect the vengeance of the British Government in thus interrupting anobleman who was merely on his travels, and bound to Calamata. Perhaps, however, another circumstance had quite as much influencewith the Pasha as this bravery. In the master of the vessel herecognised a person who had saved his life in the Black Sea fifteenyears before, and in consequence not only consented to the vessel'srelease, but treated the whole of the passengers with the utmostattention, and even urged them to take a day's shooting in theneighbourhood. 

The first measure which his Lordship attempted after his arrival, wasto mitigate the ferocity with which the war was carried on; one ofthe objects, as he explained to my friend who visited him at Genoa, which induced him to embark in the cause. And it happened that thevery day he reached the town was signalised by his rescuing a Turkwho had fallen into the hands of some Greek sailors. This man wasclothed by his Lordship's orders, and sent over to Patras; and soonafter Count Gamba's release, hearing that four other Turks wereprisoners in Missolonghi, he requested that they might be placed inhis hands, which was immediately granted. These he also sent toPatras, with a letter addressed to Yusuff, expressing his hope thatthe prisoners thence-forward taken on both sides would be treatedwith humanity. This act was followed by another equallypraiseworthy. A Greek cruiser having captured a Turkish boat, inwhich there was a number of passengers, chiefly women and children, they were also placed at the disposal of his Lordship, at hisparticular request. Captain Parry has given a description of thescene between Lord Byron, and that multitude of mothers and children, too interesting to be omitted here. "I was summoned to attend him, and receive his orders that everything should be done which mightcontribute to their comfort. He was seated on a cushion at the upperend of the room, the women and children were standing before him withtheir eyes fixed steadily on him; and on his right hand was hisinterpreter, who was extracting from the women a narrative of theirsufferings. One of them, apparently about thirty years of age, possessing great vivacity, and whose manners and dress, though shewas then dirty and disfigured, indicated that she was superior inrank and condition to her companions, was spokeswoman for the whole. I admired the good order the others preserved, never interfering withthe explanation, or interrupting the single speaker. I also admiredthe rapid manner in which the interpreter explained everything theysaid, so as to make it almost appear that there was but one speaker. After a short time it was evident that what Lord Byron was hearingaffected his feelings; his countenance changed, his colour went andcame, and I thought he was ready to weep. But he had, on alloccasions, a ready and peculiar knack in turning conversation fromany disagreeable or unpleasant subject; and he had recourse to thisexpedient. He rose up suddenly, and, turning round on his heel aswas his wont, he said something to his interpreter, who immediatelyrepeated it to the women. All eyes were immediately fixed on me; andone of the party, a young and beautiful woman, spoke very warmly. Lord Byron seemed satisfied, and said they might retire. The womenall slipped off their shoes in an instant, and, going up to hisLordship, each in succession, accompanied by their children, kissedhis hand fervently, invoked, in the Turkish manner, a blessing, bothon his hand and heart, and then quitted the room. This was too muchfor Lord Byron, and he turned his face away to conceal his emotion"

A vessel was then hired, and the whole of them, to the number oftwenty-four, were sent to Prevesa, provided with every requisite fortheir comfort during the passage. These instances of humanityexcited a sympathy among the Turks. The Governor of Prevesa thankedhis Lordship, and assured him that he would take care that equalattention should be in future paid to the Greeks, who might fall intohis hands. 

CHAPTER XLV

Proceedings at Missolonghi--Byron's Suliote Brigade--TheirInsubordination--Difference with Colonel Stanhope--Imbecility of thePlans for the Independence of Greece

The arrival of Lord Byron at Missolonghi was not only hailed as a newera in the history of Greece, but as the beginning of a new cycle inhis own extraordinary life. His natural indolence disappeared; theSardanapalian sloth was thrown off, and he took a station in the vanof her efforts that bespoke heroic achievement. 

After paying the fleet, which indeed had only come out in theexpectation of receiving the arrears from the loan he had promised toMavrocordato, he resolved to form a brigade of Suliotes. Fivehundred of the remains of Marco Botzaris's gallant followers wereaccordingly taken into his pay. "He burns with military ardour andchivalry, " says Colonel Stanhope, "and will proceed with theexpedition to Lepanto. " But the expedition was delayed by causeswhich ought to have been foreseen. 

The Suliotes, conceiving that in his Lordship they had found a patronwhose wealth and generosity were equally boundless, refused to quitMissolonghi till their arrears were paid. Savage in the field, anduntamable in the city, they became insubordinate and mercenary; norwas their conduct without excuse. They had long defended the townwith untired bravery; their families had been driven into it in themost destitute condition; and all the hopes that had led them to takeup arms were still distant and prospective. Besides, Mavrocordato, unlike the other Grecian captains, having no troops of his own, affected to regard these mercenaries as allies, and was indulgent totheir excesses. The town was overawed by their turbulence, conflictstook place in the street; riot and controversy everywhere prevailed, and blood was shed. 

Lord Byron's undisciplined spirit could ill brook delay; he partookof the general vehemence, and lost the power of discerning thecomparative importance both of measures and things. He was out ofhis element; confusion thickened around him; his irritability grewinto passion; and there was the rush and haste, the oblivion andalarm of fatality in all he undertook and suggested. 

One day, a party of German adventurers reached the fortress sodemoralized by hardships, that few of them were fit for service. Itwas intended to form a corps of artillery, and these men weredestined for that branch of the service; but their condition wassuch, that Stanhope doubted the practicability of carrying themeasure into effect at that time. He had promised to contribute ahundred pounds to their equipment. Byron attributed the Colonel'sobjections to reluctance to pay the money; and threatened him if itwere refused, with a punishment, new in Grecian war----to libel himin the Greek Chronicle! a newspaper which Stanhope had recentlyestablished. 

It is, however, not easy to give a correct view of the state ofaffairs at that epoch in Missolonghi. All parties seem to have beendeplorably incompetent to understand the circumstances in which theywere placed;--the condition of the Greeks, and that their exigenciesrequired only physical and military means. They talked of newspapersand types, and libels, as if the moral instruments of civilexhortation were adequate to wrench the independence of Greece fromthe bloody grasp of the Ottoman. No wonder that Byron, accustomed tothe management only of his own fancies, was fluttered amid theconflicts of such riot and controversy. 

His situation at this period was indeed calculated to inspire pity. Had he survived, it might, instead of awakening the derision ofhistory, have supplied to himself materials for another canto of DonJuan. I shall select one instance of his afflictions. 

The captain of a British gun-brig came to Missolonghi to demand anequivalent for an Ionian boat, which had been taken in the act ofgoing out of the Gulf of Lepanto, with provisions and arms. TheGreek fleet at that time blockading the port consisted of five brigs, and the Turks had fourteen vessels of war in the gulf. The captainmaintained that the British Government recognised no blockade whichwas not efficient, and that the efficiency depended on the numericalsuperiority of cannon. On this principle he demanded restitution ofthe property. Mavrocordato offered to submit the case to thedecision of the British Government, but the captain would only givehim four hours to consider. The indemnification was granted. 

Lord Byron conducted the business in behalf of the captain. In theevening, conversing with Stanhope on the subject, the colonel saidthe affair was conducted in a bullying manner. His Lordship startedinto a passion and contended that law, justice, and equity hadnothing to do with politics. "That may be, " replied Stanhope, "but Iwill never lend myself to injustice. "

His Lordship then began to attack Jeremy Bentham. The colonelcomplained of such illiberality, as to make personal attacks on thatgentleman before a friend who held him in high estimation. 

"I only attack his public principles, " replied Byron, "which are meretheories, but dangerous, --injurious to Spain, and calculated to dogreat mischief in Greece. "

Stanhope vindicated Bentham, and said, "He possesses a truly Britishheart; but your Lordship, after professing liberal principles fromboyhood, have, when called upon to act, proved yourself a Turk. "

"What proofs have you of this?

"Your conduct in endeavouring to crush the press by declaimingagainst it to Mavrocordato, and your general abuse of liberalprinciples. "

"If I had held up my finger, " retorted his Lordship, "I could havecrushed the press. "

"With all this power, " said Stanhope, "which by the way you neverpossessed, you went to the prince, and poisoned his ear. "

Lord Byron then disclaimed against the liberals. "What liberals?"cried Stanhope. "Did you borrow your notions of freemen from theItalians?"

"No: from the Hunts, Cartwrights, and such. "

"And yet your Lordship presented Cartwright's Reform Bill, and aidedHunt by praising his poetry and giving him the sale of your works. "

"You are worse than Wilson, " exclaimed Byron, "and should quit thearmy. "

"I am a mere soldier, " replied Stanhope, "but never will I abandon myprinciples. Our principles are diametrically opposite, so let usavoid the subject. If Lord Byron acts up to his professions, he willbe the greatest, if not, the meanest of mankind. "

"My character, " said his Lordship, "I hope, does not depend on yourassertions. "

"No: your genius has immortalized you. The worst will not depriveyou of fame. "

Lord Byron then rejoined, "Well; you shall see: judge of me by myacts. " And, bidding the colonel good night, who took up the light toconduct him to the passage, he added, "What! hold up a light to aTurk!"

Such were the Franklins, the Washingtons, and the Hamiltons whoundertook the regeneration of Greece. 

CHAPTER XLVI

Lord Byron appointed to the command of three thousand Men to besiegeLepanto--The Siege abandoned for a Blockade--Advanced Guard orderedto proceed--Lord Byron's first Illness--A Riot--He is urged to leaveGreece--The Expedition against Lepanto abandoned--Byron dejected--Awild diplomatic Scheme

Three days after the conversation related in the preceding chapter, Byron was officially placed in the command of about three thousandmen, destined for the attack on Lepanto; but the Suliotes remainedrefractory, and refused to quit their quarters; his Lordship, however, employed an argument which proved effectual. He told themthat if they did not obey his commands, he would discharge them fromhis service. 

But the impediments were not to be surmounted; in less than a week itwas formally reported to Byron that Missolonghi could not furnish themeans of undertaking the siege of Lepanto, upon which his Lordshipproposed that Lepanto should be only blockaded by two thousand men. Before any actual step was, however, taken, two spies came in with areport that the Albanians in garrison at Lepanto had seized thecitadel, and were determined to surrender it to his Lordship. Stillthe expedition lingered; at last, on the 14th of February, six weeksafter Byron's arrival at Missolonghi, it was determined that anadvanced guard of three hundred soldiers, under the command of CountGamba, should march for Lepanto, and that Lord Byron, with the mainbody, should follow. The Suliotes were, however, still exorbitant, calling for fresh contributions for themselves and their families. His troubles were increasing, and every new rush of the angry tiderose nearer and nearer his heart; still his fortitude enabled him topreserve an outward show of equanimity. But, on the very day afterthe determination had been adopted, to send forward the advancedguard, his constitution gave way. 

He was sitting in Colonel Stanhope's room, talking jestingly, according to his wonted manner, with Captain Parry, when his eyes andforehead occasionally discovered that he was agitated by strongfeelings. On a sudden he complained of a weakness in one of hislegs; he rose, but finding himself unable to walk, called forassistance; he then fell into a violent nervous convulsion, and wasplaced upon a bed: while the fit lasted, his face was hideouslydistorted; but in the course of a few minutes the convulsion ceased, and he began to recover his senses: his speech returned, and he soonrose, apparently well. During the struggle his strength waspreternaturally augmented, and when it was over, he behaved with hisusual firmness. "I conceive, " says Colonel Stanhope, "that this fitwas occasioned by over-excitement. The mind of Byron is like avolcano; it is full of fire, wrath, and combustibles, and when thismatter comes to be strongly agitated, the explosion is dreadful. With respect to the causes which produced the excess of feeling, theyare beyond my reach, except one great cause, the provoking conduct ofthe Suliotes. "

A few days after this distressing incident, a new occurrence arose, which materially disturbed the tranquillity of Byron. A Suliote, accompanied by the son, a little boy, of Marco Botzaris, with anotherman, walked into the Seraglio, a kind of citadel, which had been usedas a barrack for the Suliotes, and out of which they had been ejectedwith difficulty, when it was required for the reception of stores andthe establishment of a laboratory. The sentinel ordered them back, but the Suliote advanced. The sergeant of the guard, a German, pushed him back. The Suliote struck the sergeant; they closed andstruggled. The Suliote drew his pistol; the German wrenched it fromhim, and emptied the pan. At this moment a Swedish adventurer, Captain Sass, seeing the quarrel, ordered the Suliote to be taken tothe guard-room. The Suliote would have departed, but the Germanstill held him. The Swede drew his sabre; the Suliote his otherpistol. The Swede struck him with the flat of his sword; the Sulioteunsheathed his ataghan, and nearly cut off the left arm of hisantagonist, and then shot him through the head. The other Sulioteswould not deliver up their comrade, for he was celebrated among themfor distinguished bravery. The workmen in the laboratory refused towork: they required to be sent home to England, declaring, they hadcome out to labour peaceably, and not to be exposed to assassination. These untoward occurrences deeply vexed Byron, and there was no mindof sufficient energy with him to control the increasing disorders. But, though convinced, as indeed he had been persuaded from thebeginning in his own mind, that he could not render any assistance tothe cause beyond mitigating the ferocious spirit in which the war wasconducted, his pride and honour would not allow him to quit Greece. 

In a letter written soon after his first attack, he says, "I am agood deal better, though of course weakly. The leeches took too muchblood from my temples the day after, and there was some difficulty instopping it; but I have been up daily, and out in boats or onhorseback. To-day I have taken a warm bath, and live as temperatelyas can well be, without any liquid but water, and without any animalfood"; then adverting to the turbulences of the Suliotes, he adds, "but I still hope better things, and will stand by the cause as longas my health and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful. "Subsequently, when pressed to leave the marshy and deleterious air ofMissolonghi, he replied, still more forcibly, "I cannot quit Greecewhile there is a chance of my being of (even supposed) utility. There is a stake worth millions such as I am, and while I can standat all I must stand by the cause. While I say this, I am aware ofthe difficulties, and dissensions, and defects of the Greeksthemselves; but allowance must be made for them by all reasonablepeople. "

After this attack of epilepsy Lord Byron because disinclined topursue his scheme against Lepanto. Indeed, it may be said that inhis circumstances it was impracticable; for although the Suliotesrepented of their insubordination, they yet had an objection to theservice, and said "they would not fight against stone walls. " Allthought of the expedition was in consequence abandoned, and thedestinies of poor Byron were hastening to their consummation. Hebegan to complain!

In speaking to Parry one day of the Greek Committee in London, hesaid, "I have been grossly ill-treated by the Committee. In Italy MrBlaquiere, their agent, informed me that every requisite supply wouldbe forwarded with all despatch. I was disposed to come to Greece, but I hastened my departure in consequence of earnest solicitations. No time was to be lost, I was told, and Mr Blaquiere, instead ofwaiting on me at his return from Greece, left a paltry note, whichgave me no information whatever. If ever I meet with him, I shallnot fail to mention my surprise at his conduct; but it has been allof a piece. I wish the acting Committee had had some of the troublewhich has fallen on me since my arrival here: they would have beenmore prompt in their proceedings, and would have known better whatthe country stood in need of. They would not have delayed thesupplies a day nor have sent out German officers, poor fellows, tostarve at Missolonghi, but for my assistance. I am a plain man, andcannot comprehend the use of printing-presses to a people who do notread. Here the Committee have sent supplies of maps. I suppose thatI may teach the young mountaineers geography. Here are bugle-hornswithout bugle-men, and it is a chance if we can find anybody inGreece to blow them. Books are sent to people who want guns; theyask for swords, and the Committee give them the lever of a printing-press. 

"My future intentions, " continued his Lordship, "as to Greece, may beexplained in a few words. I will remain here until she is secureagainst the Turks, or till she has fallen under their power. All myincome shall be spent in her service; but, unless driven by somegreat necessity, I will not touch a farthing of the sum intended formy sister's children. Whatever I can accomplish with my income, andmy personal exertions, shall be cheerfully done. When Greece issecure against external enemies, I will leave the Greeks to settletheir government as they like. One service more, and an eminentservice it will be, I think I may perform for them. You, Parry, shall have a schooner built for me, or I will buy a vessel; theGreeks shall invest me with the character of their ambassador, oragent: I will go to the United States, and procure that free andenlightened government to set the example of recognising thefederation of Greece as an independent state. This done, Englandmust follow the example, and then the fate of Greece will bepermanently fixed, and she will enter into all her rights as a memberof the great commonwealth of Christian Europe. "

This intention will, to all who have ever looked at the effects offortune on individuals, sufficiently show that Byron's part in theworld was nearly done. Had he lived, and recovered health, it mighthave proved that he was then only in another lunation: his first waswhen he passed from poesy to heroism. But as it was, it has onlyserved to show that his mind had suffered by the decadency of hiscircumstances, and how much the idea of self-exaltation weaklyentered into all his plans. The business was secondary to the stylein which it should be performed. Building a vessel! why think of theconveyance at all? as if the means of going to America were so scarcethat there might be difficulty in finding them. But his mind waspassing from him. The intention was unsound--a fantasy--a dream ofbravery in old age--begotten of the erroneous supposition that thecabinets of Christendom would remain unconcerned spectators of thetriumph of the Greeks, or even of any very long procrastination oftheir struggle. 

CHAPTER XLVII

The last Illness and Death of Lord Byron--His last Poem

Although in common parlance it may be said, that after the attack ofepilepsy Lord Byron's general health did not appear to have beenessentially impaired, the appearance was fallacious; his constitutionhad received a vital shock, and the exciting causes, vexation andconfusion, continued to exasperate his irritation. 

On the 1st of March he complained of frequent vertigoes, which madehim feel as though he were intoxicated; but no effectual means weretaken to remove these portentous symptoms; and he regularly enjoyedhis daily exercise, sometimes in boats, but oftener on horseback. His physician thought him convalescent; his mind, however, was inconstant excitement; it rested not even during sleep. 

On the 9th of April, while sailing, he was overtaken by the rain, andgot very wet: on his return home, he changed the whole of his dress;but he had been too long in his wet clothes, and the stamina of hisconstitution being shaken could not withstand the effects. In littlemore than two hours he was seized with rigors, fever, and rheumaticpains. During the night, however, he slept in his accustomed manner, but in the morning he complained of pains and headache; still thisdid not prevent him from going out on horseback in the afternoon--itwas for the last time. 

On returning home, he observed to one of the servants that the saddlewas not perfectly dry, from having been so wet the day before, andthat he thought it had made him worse. He soon after became affectedwith almost constant shivering; sudorific medicines wereadministered, and blood-letting proposed; but though he took thedrugs, he objected to the bleeding. Another physician was inconsequence called in to see if the rheumatic fever could be appeasedwithout the loss of blood. This doctor approved of the medicinesprescribed, and was not opposed to the opinion that bleeding wasnecessary, but said it might be deferred till the next day. 

On the 11th he seemed rather better, but the medicines had producedno effect. 

On the 12th he was confined to bed with fever, and his illnessappeared to be increasing; he was very low, and complained of nothaving had any sleep during the night; but the medical gentlemen sawno cause for alarm. Dr Bruno, his own physician, again proposedbleeding; the stranger still, however, thought it might be deferred, and Byron himself was opposed to it. "You will die, " said Dr Bruno, "if you do not allow yourself to be bled. " "You wish to get thereputation of curing my disease, " replied his Lordship, "that is whyyou tell me it is so serious; but I will not permit you to bleed me. "

On the 13th he sat up for some time, after a sleepless night, andstill complained of pain in his bones and head. 

On the 14th he also left his bed. The fever was less, but thedebility greater, and the pain in his head was undiminished. Hisvalet became alarmed, and, doubtful of the skill of the doctorsaround him, entreated permission to send to Zante for an Englishphysician of greater reputation. His Lordship desired him to consultthe others, which he did, and they told him there was no occasion tocall in any person, as they hoped all would be well in a few days. 

His Lordship now began to doubt if his disease was understood, andremarked repeatedly in the course of this day, that he was sure thedoctors did not understand it. "Then, my Lord, " said Fletcher, hisvalet, "have other advice. " "They tell me, " rejoined his Lordship, "that it is only a common cold, which you know I have had a thousandtimes. "

"I am sure you never had one of so serious a nature. "

"I think I never had. "

Fletcher then went again to the physicians, and repeated hissolicitations that the doctor in Zante might be sent for; but wasagain assured that his master would be better in two or three days. 

At length, the doctor who had too easily consented to thepostponement of the bleeding, seeing the prognostications of Dr Brunomore and more confirmed, urged the necessity of bleeding, and of nolonger delay. This convinced Byron, who was himself greatly averseto the operation, that they did not understand his case. 

On the 15th his Lordship felt the pains abated, insomuch that he wasable to transact some business. 

On the 16th he wrote a letter, but towards the evening he becameworse, and a pound of blood was taken from him. Still the diseasewas making progress, but Dr Bruno did not yet seem much alarmed; onthe contrary, he thought were more blood removed his recovery wascertain. Fletcher immediately told his master, urging him to complywith the doctor's wishes. "I fear, " said his Lordship, "they knownothing about my disorder, but"--and he stretched out his arm--"here, take my arm and do whatever you like. "

On the 17th his countenance was changed; during the night he hadbecome weaker, and a slight degree of delirium, in which he raved offighting, had come on. In the course of the day he was bled twice;in the morning, and at two in the afternoon. The bleeding, on bothoccasions, was followed by fainting fits. On this day he said toFletcher, "I cannot sleep, and you well know I have not been able tosleep for more than a week. I know that a man can only be a certaintime without sleep, and then he must go mad, without anyone beingable to save him; and I would ten times sooner shoot myself than bemad, for I am not afraid of dying--I am more fit to die than peoplethink. "

On the 18th his Lordship first began to dread that his fate wasinevitable. "I fear, " said he to Fletcher, "you and Tita will be illby sitting up constantly, night and day"; and he appeared muchdissatisfied with his medical treatment. Fletcher again entreatedpermission to send for Dr Thomas, at Zante: "Do so, but be quick, "said his Lordship, "I am sorry I did not let you do so before, as Iam sure they have mistaken my disease; write yourself, for I knowthey would not like to see other doctors here. "

Not a moment was lost in executing the order, and on Fletcherinforming the doctors what he had done, they said it was right, asthey now began to be afraid themselves. "Have you sent?" said hisLordship, when Fletcher returned to him. --"I have, my Lord. "

"You have done well, for I should like to know what is the matterwith me. "

From that time his Lordship grew every hour weaker and weaker; and hehad occasional flights of delirium. In the intervals he was, however, quite self-possessed, and said to Fletcher, "I now begin tothink I am seriously ill; and in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to give you several directions, which I hope you will beparticular in seeing executed. " Fletcher in reply expressed his hopethat he would live many years, and execute them himself. "No, it isnow nearly over; I must tell you all without losing a moment. "

"Shall I go, my Lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper. 

"Oh, my God! no, you will lose too much time, and I have it not tospare, for my time is now short. Now pay attention--you will beprovided for. "

"I beseech you, my Lord, to proceed with things of more consequence. "

His Lordship then added, "Oh, my poor dear child!--my dear Ada!--My God! could I have but seenher--give her my blessing--and my dear sister Augusta, and herchildren--and you will go to Lady Byron and say--tell her everything--you are friends with her. "

He appeared to be greatly affected at this moment. His voice failed, and only words could be caught at intervals; but he kept mutteringsomething very seriously for some time, and after raising his voice, said, "Fletcher, now if you do not execute every order which I have givenyou, I will torment you hereafter, if possible. "

This little speech is the last characteristic expression whichescaped from the dying man. He knew Fletcher's superstitioustendency, and it cannot be questioned that the threat was the lastfeeble flash of his prankfulness. The faithful valet replied inconsternation that he had not understood one word of what hisLordship had been saying. 

"Oh! my God!" was the reply, "then all is lost, for it is now toolate! Can it be possible you have not understood me!"

"No, my Lord; but I pray you to try and inform me once more. "

"How can I? it is now too late, and all is over. "

"Not our will, but God's be done, " said Fletcher, and his Lordshipmade another effort, saying, "Yes, not mine be done--but I will try"--and he made several attemptsto speak, but could only repeat two or three words at a time; suchas, "My wife! my child--my sister--you know all--you must say all--youknow my wishes"----The rest was unintelligible. 

A consultation with three other doctors, in addition to the twophysicians in regular attendance, was now held; and they appeared tothink the disease was changing from inflammatory diathesis tolanguid, and ordered stimulants to be administered. Dr Bruno opposedthis with the greatest warmth; and pointed out that the symptoms werethose, not of an alteration in the disease, but of a fever flying tothe brain, which was violently attacked by it; and, that thestimulants they proposed would kill more speedily than the diseaseitself. While, on the other hand, by copious bleeding, and themedicines that had been taken before, he might still be saved. Theother physicians, however, were of a different opinion; and then DrBruno declared he would risk no farther responsibility. Peruvianbark and wine were then administered. After taking these stimulants, his Lordship expressed a wish to sleep. His last words were, "I mustsleep now"; and he composed himself accordingly, but never awokeagain. 

For four-and-twenty hours he continued in a state of lethargy, withthe rattles occasionally in his throat. At six o'clock in themorning of the 19th, Fletcher, who was watching by his bed-side, sawhim open his eyes and then shut them, apparently without pain ormoving hand or foot. "My God!" exclaimed the faithful valet, "I fearhis Lordship is gone. " The doctors felt his pulse--it was so. 

After life's fitful fever he sleeps well. 

But the fittest dirge is his own last lay, written on the day hecompleted his thirty-sixth year, soon after his arrival atMissolonghi, when his hopes of obtaining distinction in the Greekcause were, perhaps, brightest; and yet it breathes of dejectionalmost to boding. 

'Tis time this heart should be unmoved Since others it has ceased to move, Yet though I cannot be beloved Still let me love. 

My days are in the yellow leaf, The flowers and fruits of love are gone, The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone. 

The fire that in my bosom preys Is like to some volcanic isle, No torch is kindled at its blaze-- A funeral pile. 

The hope, the fears, the jealous care, Th' exalted portion of the pain, And power of love I cannot share, But wear the chain. 

But 'tis not here--it is not here-- Such thoughts should shake my soul; nor nowWhere glory seals the hero's bier, Or binds his brow. 

The sword, the banner, and the field, Glory and Greece around us see;The Spartan borne upon his shield Was not more free. 

Awake! not Greece--she is awake-- Awake my spirit! think through whomMy life-blood tastes its parent lake, And then strike home!

I tread reviving passions down, Unworthy manhood! Unto theeIndifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. 

If thou regrett'st thy youth, why live? The land of honourable deathIs here, up to the field and give Away thy breath. 

Seek out--less often sought than found-- A soldier's grave--for thee the bestThen look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. 

CHAPTER XLVIII

The funeral Preparations and final Obsequies

The death of Lord Byron was felt by all Greece as a nationalmisfortune. From the moment it was known that fears were entertainedfor his life, the progress of the disease was watched with thedeepest anxiety and sorrow. On Easter Sunday, the day on which heexpired, thousands of the inhabitants of Missolonghi had assembled onthe spacious plain on the outside of the city, according to anancient custom, to exchange the salutations of the morning; but onthis occasion it was remarked, that instead of the wontedcongratulations, "Christ is risen, " they inquired first, "How is LordByron?"

On the event being made known, the Provisional Government assembled, and a proclamation, of which the following is a translation, wasissued

"Provisional Government of Western Greece. 

"The day of festivity and rejoicing is turned into one of sorrow andmorning. 

"The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at eleven {354} o'clock lastnight, after an illness of ten days. His death was caused by aninflammatory fever. Such was the effect of his Lordship's illness onthe public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usualrecreations of Easter, even before the afflicting event wasapprehended. 

"The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to bedeplored by all Greece; but it must be more especially a subject oflamentation at Missolonghi, where his generosity has been soconspicuously displayed, and of which he had become a citizen, withthe ulterior determination of participating in all the dangers of thewar. 

"Everybody is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor. 

"Until, therefore, the final determination of the national Governmentbe known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleasedto invest me, I hereby decree:

"1st. To-morrow morning, at daylight, thirty-seven minute-guns shallbe fired from the grand battery, being the number which correspondswith the age of the illustrious deceased. 

"2nd. All the public offices, even to the tribunals, are to remainclosed for three successive days. 

"3rd. All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicinesare sold, will also be shut; and it is strictly enjoined that everyspecies of public amusement and other demonstrations of festivity atEaster may be suspended. 

"4th. A general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days. 

"5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all thechurches. 

"A. MAVROCORDATOS. "GEORGIS PRAIDIS, Secretary. 

"Given at Missolonghi, this 19th of April, 1824. "

The funeral oration was written and delivered on the occasion, bySpiridion Tricoupi, and ordered by the government to be published. No token of respect that reverence could suggest, or custom andreligion sanction, was omitted by the public authorities, nor by thepeople. 

Lord Byron having omitted to give directions for the disposal of hisbody, some difficulty arose about fixing the place of interment. Butafter being embalmed it was sent, on the 2nd of May, to Zante, whereit was met by Lord Sidney Osborne, a relation of Lord Byron, bymarriage--the secretary of the senate at Corfu. 

It was the wish of Lord Sidney Osborne, and others, that theinterment should be in Zante; but the English opposed the propositionin the most decided manner. It was then suggested that it should beconveyed to Athens, and deposited in the temple of Theseus, or in theParthenon--Ulysses Odysseus, the Governor of Athens, having sent anexpress to Missolonghi, to solicit the remains for that city; but, before it arrived, they were already in Zante, and a vessel engagedto carry them to London, in the expectation that they would bedeposited in Westminster Abbey or St Paul's. 

On the 25th of May, the Florida left Zante with the body, whichColonel Stanhope accompanied; and on the 29th of June it reached theDowns. After the ship was cleared from quarantine, Mr Hobhouse, withhis Lordship's solicitor, received it from Colonel Stanhope, and, bytheir directions it was removed to the house of Sir E. Knatchbull, inWestminster, where it lay in state several days. 

The dignitaries of the Abbey and of St Paul's having, as it was said, refused permission to deposit the remains in either of these greatnational receptacles of the illustrious dead, it was determined thatthey should be laid in the ancestral vault of the Byrons. Thefuneral, instead of being public, was in consequence private, andattended by only a few select friends to Hucknell, a small villageabout two miles from Newstead Abbey, in the church of which the vaultis situated; there the coffin was deposited, in conformity to a wishearly expressed by the poet, that his dust might be mingled with hismother's. Yet, unmeet and plain as the solemnity was in itscircumstances, a remarkable incident gave it interest anddistinction: as it passed along the streets of London, a sailor wasobserved walking uncovered near the hearse, and on being asked whathe was doing there, replied that he had served Lord Byron in theLevant, and had come to pay his last respects to his remains; asimple but emphatic testimony to the sincerity of that regard whichhis Lordship often inspired, and which with more steadiness mightalways have commanded. 

The coffin bears the following inscription:

LORD BYRON, OF ROCHDALE, BORN IN LONDON, JANUARY 22, 1788;DIED AT MISSOLONGHI, IN WESTERN GREECE, APRIL 19, 1824. 

Beside the coffin the urn is placed, the inscription on which is, Within this urn are deposited the heart, brains, etc. Of the deceasedLord Byron. 

CHAPTER XLIX

The Character of Lord Byron

My endeavour, in the foregoing pages, has been to give a general viewof the intellectual character of Lord Byron. It did not accord withthe plan to enter minutely into the details of his private life, which I suspect was not greatly different from that of any otherperson of his rank, not distinguished for particular severity ofmanners. In some respects his Lordship was, no doubt, peculiar. Hepossessed a vivacity of sensibility not common, and talents of a veryextraordinary kind. He was also distinguished for superior personalelegance, particularly in his bust. The style and character of hishead were universally admired; but perhaps the beauty of hisphysiognomy has been more highly spoken of than it really merited. Its chief grace consisted, when he was in a gay humour, of aliveliness which gave a joyous meaning to every articulation of themuscles and features: when he was less agreeably disposed, theexpression was morose to a very repulsive degree. It is, however, unnecessary to describe his personal character here. I have alreadysaid enough incidentally, to explain my full opinion of it. In themass, I do not think it was calculated to attract much permanentaffection or esteem. In the detail it was the reverse: few menpossessed more companionable qualities than Lord Byron didoccasionally; and seen at intervals in those felicitous moments, Iimagine it would have been difficult to have said, that a moreinteresting companion had been previously met with. But he was notalways in that fascinating state of pleasantry: he was as oftenotherwise; and no two individuals could be more distinct from eachother than Byron in his gaiety and in his misanthropy. Thisantithesis was the great cause of that diversity of opinionconcerning him, which has so much divided his friends andadversaries. Of his character as a poet there can be no differenceof opinion, but only a difference in the degree of admiration. 

Excellence in talent, as in every other thing, is comparative; butthe universal republic of letters will acknowledge, that in energy ofexpression and liveliness of imagery Byron had no equal in his owntime. Doubts, indeed, may be entertained, if in these high qualitieseven Shakspeare himself was his superior. 

I am not disposed to think with many of those who rank the genius ofByron almost as supreme, that he has shown less skill in theconstruction of his plots, and the development of his tales, thanmight have been expected from one so splendidly endowed; for it hasever appeared to me that he has accomplished in them everything heproposed to attain, and that in this consists one of his greatmerits. His mind, fervid and impassioned, was in all hiscompositions, except Don Juan, eagerly fixed on the catastrophe. Heever held the goal full in view, and drove to it in the mostimmediate manner. By this straightforward simplicity all theinterest which intricacy excites was of necessity disregarded. He istherefore not treated justly when it is supposed that he might havedone better had he shown more art: the wonder is, that he shouldhave produced such magnificent effects with so little. He could nothave made the satiated and meditative Harold so darkling andexcursive, so lone, "aweary, " and misanthropical, had he treated himas the hero of a scholastic epic. The might of the poet in suchcreations lay in the riches of his diction and in the felicity withwhich he described feelings in relation to the aspect of scenes amidthe reminiscences with which the scenes themselves were associated. 

If in language and plan he be so excellent, it may be asked whyshould he not be honoured with that pre-eminent niche in the templewhich so many in the world have by suffrage assigned to him? Simplybecause, with all the life and beauty of his style, the vigour andtruth of his descriptions, the boldness of his conceptions, and thereach of his vision in the dark abysses of passion, Lord Byron wasbut imperfectly acquainted with human nature. He looked but on theoutside of man. No characteristic action distinguishes one of hisheroes from another, nor is there much dissimilarity in theirsentiments; they have no individuality; they stalk and pass in mistand gloom, grim, ghastly, and portentous, mysterious shadows, entities of the twilight, weird things like the sceptred effigies ofthe unborn issue of Banquo. 

Combined with vast power, Lord Byron possessed, beyond all question, the greatest degree of originality of any poet of this age. In thisrare quality he has no parallel in any age. All other poets andinventive authors are measured in their excellence by the accuracywith which they fit sentiments appropriate not only to the charactersthey create, but to the situations in which they place them: theworks of Lord Byron display the opposite to this, and with the mostextraordinary splendour. He endows his creations with his ownqualities; he finds in the situations in which he places them onlyopportunities to express what he has himself felt or suffered; andyet he mixes so much probability in the circumstances, that they arealways eloquently proper. He does everything, as it were, thereverse of other poets; in the air and sea, which have been in alltimes the emblems of change and the similitudes of inconstancy, hehas discovered the very principles of permanency. The ocean in hisview, not by its vastness, its unfathomable depths, and its limitlessextent, becomes an image of deity, by its unchangeable character!

The variety of his productions present a prodigious display of power. In his short career he has entitled himself to be ranked in the firstclass of the British poets for quantity alone. By Childe Harold, andhis other poems of the same mood, he has extended the scope offeeling, made us acquainted with new trains of association, awakenedsympathies which few suspected themselves of possessing; and he haslaid open darker recesses in the bosom than were previously supposedto exist. The deep and dreadful caverns of remorse had long beenexplored but he was the first to visit the bottomless pit of satiety. 

The delineation of that Promethean fortitude which defied conscience, as he has shown it in Manfred, is his greatest achievement. Theterrific fables of Marlowe and of Goethe, in their respectiveversions of the legend of Faustus, had disclosed the utmost writhingswhich remorse in the fiercest of its torments can express; but whatare those Laocoon agonies to the sublime serenity of Manfred. In thepower, the originality, and the genius combined, of that unexampledperformance, Lord Byron has placed himself on an equality withMilton. The Satan of the Paradise Lost is animated by motives, anddignified by an eternal enterprise. He hath purposes of infiniteprospect to perform, and an immeasurable ambition to satisfy. Manfred hath neither purpose nor ambition, nor any desire that seeksgratification. He hath done a deed which severs him from hope, aseverlastingly as the apostacy with the angels has done Satan. Heacknowledges no contrition to bespeak commiseration, he complains ofno wrong to justify revenge, for he feels none; he despises sympathy, and almost glories in his perdition. 

The creation of such a character is in the sublimest degree oforiginality; to give it appropriate thoughts and feelings requiredpowers worthy of the conception; and to make it susceptible of beingcontemplated as within the scope and range of human sympathy, placesByron above all his contemporaries and antecedents. Milton hasdescribed in Satan the greatest of human passions, supernaturalattributes, directed to immortal intents, and stung withinextinguishable revenge; but Satan is only a dilatation of man. Manfred is loftier, and worse than Satan; he has conqueredpunishment, having within himself a greater than hell can inflict. There is a fearful mystery in this conception; it is only by solemnlyquestioning the spirits that lurk within the dark metaphors in whichManfred expresses himself, that the hideous secrets of the charactercan be conjectured. 

But although in intellectual power, and in creative originality, Byron is entitled to stand on the highest peak of the mountain, hisverse is often so harsh, and his language so obscure, that in thepower of delighting he is only a poet of the second class. He hadall the talent and the means requisite to embody his conceptions in amanner worthy of their might and majesty; his treasury was rich ineverything rare and beautiful for illustration, but he possessed notthe instinct requisite to guide him in the selection of the thingsnecessary to the inspiration of delight:--he could give his statuelife and beauty, and warmth, and motion, and eloquence, but not atuneful voice. 

Some curious metaphysicians, in their subtle criticism, have saidthat Don Juan was but the bright side of Childe Harold, and that allits most brilliant imagery was similar to that of which the dark andthe shadows were delineated in his other works. It may be so. And, without question, a great similarity runs through everything that hascome from the poet's pen; but it is a family resemblance, the progenyare all like one another; but where are those who are like them? Iknow of no author in prose or rhyme, in the English language, withwhom Byron can be compared. Imitators of his manner there will beoften and many, but he will ever remain one of the few whom the worldacknowledges are alike supreme, and yet unlike each other--epochalcharacters, who mark extraordinary periods in history. 

Raphael is the only man of pre-eminence whose career can be comparedwith that of Byron; at an age when the genius of most men is but inthe dawning, they had both attained their meridian of glory, and theyboth died so early, that it may be said they were lent to the worldonly to show the height to which the mind may ascend when time shallbe allowed to accomplish the full cultivations of such extraordinaryendowments. 

Footnotes:

{156} I. E. , against. 

{241} The sacrifice of Antinous by the emperor Adrian is supposed tohave been a sacrifice of that kind. Dion Cassius says, that Adrian, who had applied himself to the study of magic, being deceived by theprinciples of that black Egyptian art into a belief that he would berendered immortal by a voluntary human sacrifice to the infernalgods, accepted the offer which Antinous made of himself. 

I have somewhere met with a commentary on this to the followingeffect:

The Christian religion, in the time of Adrian, was rapidly spreadingthroughout the empire, and the doctrine of gaining eternal life bythe expiatory offering was openly preached. The Egyptian priests, who pretended to be in possession of all knowledge, affected to beacquainted with this mystery also. The emperor was, by his taste andhis vices, attached to the old religion; but he trembled at thetruths disclosed by the revelation; and in this state ofapprehension, his thirst of knowledge and his fears led him toconsult the priests of Osiris and Isis; and they impressed him with anotion that the infernal deities would be appeased by the sacrificeof a human being dear to him, and who loved him so entirely as to laydown his life for him. Antinous, moved by the anxiety of hisimperial master, when all others had refused, consented to sacrificehimself; and it was for this devotion that Adrian caused his memoryto be hallowed with religious rites. 

{255} Mr Hobhouse has assured me that this information is notcorrect. "I happen, " says he, "to know that Lord Byron offered togive the Guiccioli a sum of money outright, or to leave it to her byhis will. I also happen to know that the lady would not hear of anysuch present or provision; for I have a letter in which Lord Byronextols her disinterestedness, and mentions that he has met with asimilar refusal from another female. As to the being in destitutecircumstances, I cannot believe it; for Count Gamba, her brother, whom I knew very well after Lord Byron's death, never made anycomplaint or mention of such a fact: add to which, I know amaintenance was provided for her by her husband, in consequence of alaw process, before the death of Lord Byron. "

{291a} The calenture. 

{291b} The Swiss air. 

{319} The doctor evidently makes a mistake in confounding SirWilliam Hamilton with Sir William Drummond. 

{354} Fletcher's narrative implies at six that evening, the 19thApril, 1824.