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Lord Byron and his Times: http://lordbyron.org
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Letters and Journals of Lord
Byron, with Notices of his Life
The interest excited by this work, at the present moment, makes
every body much more anxious to know what it contains, than what is said of it. Were a reviewer
to stand prating at the threshold, as is the wont of such persons, his tittle-tattle would be
considered little short of an impertinence, seeing that his readers are thinking all the time
not of him, but of
The second volume of this noble piece of biography commences with
“Having parted, at Milan, with
“It was not long before
“I was a good deal struck, however, by the alteration
that had taken place in his personal appearance. He had grown fatter both in person and
face, and the latter had most suffered by the change,—having lost, by the enlargement of
the features, some of that refined and spiritualized look that had, in other times,
distinguished it. The addition of whiskers, too, which he had not long before been induced
to adopt, from hearing that some one had said he had a ‘
“His breakfast, which I found he rarely took before three
or four o’clock in the afternoon, was speedily despatched,—his habit being to eat it
standing, and the meal in general consisting of one or two raw eggs, a cup of tea without
either milk or sugar, and a bit of dry biscuit. Before we took our departure, he presented
me to the
”
We cannot better follow up this extract than with the following curious
occurrence, which
“Venice is in the
estroalone,
or be at the ridotto at midnight, where the writer might meet me masked. At ten
o’clock I was at home and alone (biondaamorosa
“After damning my servants for letting people in without
apprizing me, I found that
“You need not be alarmed—jealousy is not the order of
the day in Venice, and daggers are out of fashion, while duels, on love matters, are
unknown—at least, with the husbands. But, for all this, it was an awkward affair; and
though he must have known that I made love to
”
It appears that
“You ask me for a volume of manners, &c. on Italy.
Perhaps I am in the case to know more of them than most Englishmen, because I have lived among
the natives, and in parts of the country where Englishmen never resided before (I speak of
Romagna and this place particularly); but there are many reasons why I do not choose to treat
in print on such a subject. I have lived in their houses and in the heart of their families,
sometimes merely as ‘sudden and durable (what you find in no other
nation), and who actually have no society (what we would call so), as you may see by their
comedies; they have no real comedy, not even in
“Their
women sit in a circle, and the men gather into groups, or they play
at dreary faro, or ‘
“In their houses it is better. I should know something
of the matter, having had a pretty general experience among their women, from the
fisherman’s wife up to the
” not out of that commandment. The reason is, that they marry for
their parents and love for themselves. They exact fidelity from a lover as a debt of
honour, while they pay the husband as a tradesman, that is, not at all. You hear a
person’s character, male or female, canvassed not as depending on their conduct to
their husbands or wives, but to their mistress or lover. If I wrote a quarto, I don’t
know that I could do more than amplify what I have here noted. It is to be observed that
while they do all this, the greatest outward respect is to be paid to the husbands, not
only by the ladies, but by their
After their final separation,
“I have to acknowledge the receipt of ‘
“I also thank you for the inscription of the date and
name, and I will tell you why;—I believe that they are the only two or three words of your
handwriting in my possession. For your letters I returned, and except the two words, or
rather the one word, ‘Household,’ written twice in an old account-book, I have
no other. I burnt your last note, for two reasons:—1stly, it was written in a style not
very agreeable; and, 2dly, I wished to take your word without documents which are the
worldly resources of suspicious people.
“I suppose that this note will reach you somewhere about
“The time which has elapsed since the separation has
been considerably more than the whole brief period of our union, and the not much longer
one of our prior acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake; but now it is over and
irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my part, and a few years less on yours, though it
is no very extended period of life, still it is one when the habits and thought are
generally so formed as to admit of no modification; and as we could not agree when younger,
we should with difficulty do so now.
“I say all this, because I own to you, that,
notwithstanding every thing, I considered our reunion as not impossible for more than a
year after the separation;—but then I gave up the hope entirely and for ever. But this very
impossibility of reunion seems to me at least a reason why, on all the few points of
discussion which can arise between us, we should preserve the courtesies of life, and as
much of its kindness as people who are never to meet may pre-
now (whatever I may have done) no resentment whatever. Remember,
that if you have injured me in aught, this forgiveness is something;
and that, if I have injured you, it is something more still, if it
be true, as the moralists say, that the most offending are the least forgiving.
“Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or
reciprocal, or on yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two things,—viz.
that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never meet again. I think if you
also consider the two corresponding points with reference to myself, it will be better for
all three. Yours ever,
Some readers will perhaps be disappointed that Moore has scarcely alluded at
all to the charges which
“The chief subject of our conversation, when alone, was
his marriage, and the load of obloquy which it had brought upon him. He was most anxious to
know the worst that had been alleged of his conduct, and as this was our first opportunity
of speaking together on the subject, I did not hesitate to put his candour most searchingly
to the proof, not only by enumerating the various charges I had heard brought against him
by others, but by specifying such portions of these charges as I had been inclined to think
not incredible myself. To all this he listened with patience, and answered with the most
unhesitating frankness, laughing to scorn the tales of unmanly outrage related of him, but,
at the same time, acknowledging that there had been in his conduct but too much to blame
and regret, and stating one or two occasions, during his domestic life, when he had been
irritated into letting “
” the breath of bitter words
” escape him,—words,
rather those of the unquiet spirit that possessed him than his own, and which he now
evidently remembered with a degree of remorse and pain which might well have entitled them
to be forgotten by others. It was, at the same time, manifest, that, whatever admissions he
might be inclined to make respecting his own delinquencies, the inordinate measure of the
punishment dealt out to him had sunk deeply into his mind and, with the usual effect of
such injustice, drove him also to be unjust himself;—so much so, indeed, as to impute to
the quarter, to which he now traced all his ill fate, a feeling of fixed hostility to
himself, which would not rest, he thought, even at his grave, but continue to persecute his
memory as it was now embittering his life. So strong was this impression upon him, that
during one of our few intervals of seriousness, he conjured me, by our friendship, if, as
he both felt and hoped, I should survive him, not to let unmerited censure settle upon his
name, but, while I surrendered him up to condemnation, where he deserved it, to vindicate
him where aspersed. How groundless and wrongful were these apprehensions, the early death
which he so often predicted and sighed for has enabled us, unfortunately but too soon, to
testify. So far from having to defend him against any such assailants, an unworthy voice or
two, from persons more injurious as friends than as enemies, is all that I find raised in
hostility to his name; while by none, I am inclined to think, would a generous amnesty over
his grave be more readily and cordially concurred in than by her, among whose numerous
virtues a forgiving charity towards himself was the only one to which she had not yet
taught him to render justice.
The last two sentences of the above extract are to us rather unintelligible.
If they mean any thing, they imply a sneer at
In a letter to his publisher,
“I have been thinking over our late correspondence, and
wish to propose to you the following articles for our future:
“1stly. That you shall write to me of yourself, of the
health, wealth, and welfare of all friends; but of
me (quoad
“2dly. That you shall send me soda-powders,
tooth-powder, toothbrushes, or any such antiodontalgic or chemical articles, as heretofore,
‘
“3dly. That you shall not send me any modern, or (as
they are called)
new publications, in English, whatsoever, save and excepting any writing, prose or verse, of (or
reasonably presumed to be of) neither in Greece, Spain, Asia Minor, Albania, nor Italy, will be welcome. Having travelled the countries mentioned, I
know that what is said of them can convey nothing farther which I desire to know about
them.—No other English works whatsoever.
“4thly. That you send me no periodical works
whatsoever—no
“5thly. That you send me no opinions whatsoever, either
good, bad, or indifferent, of yourself,
or your friends, or others, concerning any work, or works, of mine, past, present, or to
come.
“6thly. That all negotiations in matters of business
between you and me pass through the medium of the
“Some of these propositions may at first seem strange,
but they are founded. The quantity of trash I have received as books is incalculable, and
neither amused nor instructed. Reviews and magazines are at the best but ephemeral and
superficial reading:—
who thinks of the grand
article of last year in any given
Review? In the next place, if they regard myself, they tend to increase egotism.
If favourable, I do not deny that the praise elates, and if
unfavourable, that the abuse irritates. The latter may conduct me to
inflict a species of satire, which would neither do good to you nor to your friends: they may smile now, and so may you; but if I took you all in hand, it would not be difficult to cut
you up like gourds. I did as much by as powerful people at nineteen years old, and I know
little as yet in three-and-thirty, which should prevent me from making all your ribs
gridirons for your hearts, if such were my propensity: but it is not; therefore let me hear none of your provocations. If any thing occurs so very
gross as to require my notice, I shall hear of it from my legal friends. For the rest, I
merely request to be left in ignorance.
“The same applies to opinions,
good,
bad, or indifferent, of persons in conversation or
correspondence. These do not interrupt, but they soil the current of my mind. I am
sensitive enough, but not till I am troubled;
and here I am beyond the touch of the short arms of literary England, except the few
feelers of the polypus that crawl over the channels in the way of extract.
“All these precautions in England would be useless; the
libeller or the flatterer would there reach me in spite of all; but in Italy we know little
of literary England, and think less, except what reaches us through some garbled and brief
extract in some miserable gazette. For
two years (excepting two or
three articles cut out and sent to you by the post) I never read a
newspaper which was not forced upon me by some accident, and know, upon the whole, as
little of England as you do of Italy, and God knows that is little
enough, with all your travels, &c. &c. &c. The English travellers know Italy as you know Guernsey: how much is
that?
“If any thing occurs so violently gross or personal as
know; but of praise, I desire to hear nothing.
“You will say, ‘to what tends all this?’ I
will answer
that;—to keep my mind free and
unbiassed by all paltry and personal irritabilities of praise or censure—to let my
genius take its natural direction, while my feelings are like the dead, who know nothing
and feel nothing of all or aught that is said or done in their regard.
“If you can observe these conditions, you will spare
yourself and others some pain: let me not be worked upon to rise up; for if I do, it will
not be for a little. If you can
not observe these conditions, we
shall cease to be correspondents,—but not friends, for I shall
always be yours ever and truly, Byron
“P.S. I have taken these resolutions not from any
irritation against you or
” yours, but simply upon reflection that all
reading, either praise or censure, of myself has done me harm. When I was in Switzerland
and Greece, I was out of the way of hearing either, and how I wrote
there!—In Italy I am out of the way of it too; but latterly, partly through my
fault, and partly through your kindness in wishing to send me the newest and most periodical publications, I have had a crowd of Reviews, &c.
thrust upon me, which have bored me with their jargon, of one kind or another, and taken
off my attention from greater objects. You have also sent me a parcel of trash of poetry,
for no reason that I can conceive, unless to provoke me to write a new ‘this I wish to avoid; for if ever I do, it will be a
strong production; and I desire peace as long as the fools will keep their nonsense out of
my way.
Containing as this volume does, like its predecessor, much more of the
original letters and memoranda of
“To-day,
” Forsythall gone dead,
’ and damned
by a
We subjoin a specimen of the manner in which
“Sketched the outline and Drams. Pers. of an intended
“Dined—news come—the
Powers mean
to war with the peoples. The intelligence seems positive—let it be so—they will be beaten
in the end. The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and
tears like mist; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I
foresee it.
“I carried
not the loftiest
theme for true tragedy; and, having the advantage of her native language, and natural
female eloquence, she overcame my fewer if
the times will allow me leisure. That if will hardly be a
peacemaker.
“Turned over
“Read
“The effect of all wines and spirits upon me is,
however, strange. It
settles, but it makes me gloomy—gloomy at the
very moment of their effect, and not gay hardly ever. But it composes for a time, though
sullenly.
“Weather fine. Received visit. Rode out into the
forest—fired pistols. Returned home—dined—dipped into a volume of
“I have just thought of something odd. In the year 1814,
par excellence, and he deserves it) and I were going together, in the same
carriage, to dine with fame for you at six and
twenty!
“It was great fame to be named with
“Well, the same evening, I met
patrician, thorough-bred look of her father,
which I dote upon) play on the harp, so modestly and ingenuously, that she looked music. Well, I would rather have had my talk with
“The only pleasure of fame is that it paves the way to
pleasure; and the more intellectual our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for us
too. It was, however, agreeable to have heard our fame before dinner, and a girl’s
harp after.
”
Several pieces of unpublished poetry, of great beauty and interest, are scattered throughout the volume. We have room for only the following stanzas:
“Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. “What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? ‘Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled. Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory? “Oh Fame! if I e’er took delight in thy praises, ‘Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear One discover She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. “ Therechiefly I sought thee,thereonly I found thee;Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o’er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.”
Having now exerted ourselves, to the best of our ability, to take off the first edge of our readers’ curiosity, we shall return to this important work more methodically and argumentatively next week.