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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
We feel inclined to divide our review into three heads, and
consider, first, the biographer; secondly, the impression produced by the whole; thirdly,
May we not say, that, as knowledge is ever the parent of
tolerance, the more insight we gain into the springs and motives of a man’s actions,
the peculiar circumstances in which he was placed, and the influences and temptations under
which he acted, the more allowance we may be inclined to make for his errors, and the lore
approbation his virtues may extort from it? * * * Should it have been the effect of my
humble labours to clear away some of those mists that hung round my friend, and shew him in
most respects as worthy of love, as he was in all of admiration, then will the chief and
sole aim of this work have been accomplished.
” First, let us set forth with doing
full justice to the kindly and generous feeling which thus enlarges on the excellence, and
defends all debatable points of a departed friend. It is easy to cavil and to correct; but we
admire and respect the spirit which has made his task “a labour of love,
”
however we may and do differ from many of his conclusions. Secondly, the work itself. It is
equally interesting and entertaining; interesting, as an extraordinary mental picture; and
entertaining, as replete with keen lively observations and amusing anecdotes. But has a quarto
any privilege which it can plead, like a peer? or any peculiar literary immunity? if not, a
considerable portion of these pages might have been omitted. Whole lines of stars, some of
which are liable to very awkward inferences; and divers passages, merely commemorative of the
most common-place incidents, seem to us utterly unworthy of preservation. This fashion of
asterisks is here carried to its excess, often very needlessly; so many of the names, such as
PelhamDevereuxThe wounds of our vanity make the secret of our
pathos:
” it was especially so in
Where this evil is not called into play, he is frank, kind, liberal, and
affectionate. But vanity was the nightshade of his mind; it obscured, nay, eradicated, all his
higher qualities. It equally stimulated his confidence and his reserve; for it is curious to
remark how completely earth, earthy;
” the other, indeed, like that of an angel. We now turn
to the work itself: much there is, we think, as already stated, that might most judiciously
have been omitted. Take, for example, the following passages; and they are but two of many:
speaking of an intrigue at Venice—
“I am very well off with
” personally, but because they are generally bores in their
disposition; and, secondly, because she is amiable, and has a tact which is not always the
portion of the fair creation; and, thirdly, she is very pretty; and, fourthly,—but there is
no occasion for farther specification. * * * * So far we have gone on very well; as to the
future, I never anticipate,—carpe diemliaison.
“It is the height of the Carnival, and I am in the extreme and agonies
of a new intrigue with I don’t exactly know whom or what, ex
”
Having thus alluded to what we think objectionable, we proceed to what we think worthless: what is there in the following quotation to deserve publishing?—and yet this one extract is also the sample of many.
“Why have you not sent me an answer, and lists of subscribers to the
translation of the Armenian
” Eusebius?
It is useless to prolong extracts of this kind, and we gladly advance to the
great mass of interesting material which the book really contains. No new light is thrown on
the subject of his matrimonial separation, except the following letter, which is, at least,
very beautiful: it is addressed to
“I have to acknowledge the receipt of ‘
” 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.
We will also subjoin
“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
We shall endeavour now to make our selection as miscellaneous as possible. His
own confessions were given to
“I found my noble host waiting to receive me, and, in passing with him
through the hall, saw his little
” Have you any notion—but I suppose you have—of what
they call the parental feeling? For myself, I have not the least.
’ And yet,
when that child died, in a year or two afterwards, he who now uttered this artificial
speech was so overwhelmed by the event, that those who were about him at the time actually
trembled for his reason! A short time before dinner he left the room, and in a minute or
two returned, carrying in his hand a white leather bag. ‘Look here,
’ he
said, holding it up,—‘this would be worth something to
’ ‘you, I dare say, would not give
sixpence for it.What is it?
’ I asked.—‘My
’ he
answered. On hearing this, I raised my hands in a gesture of wonder. ‘It is not a
thing,
’ he continued, ‘that can be published during my lifetime, but
you may have it, if you like—there, do whatever you please with it.
’ In
taking the bag, and thanking him most warmly, I added, ‘This will make a nice
legacy for my little
’ He then added, ‘You may show it to
any of our friends you think worthy of it:
’—and this is, nearly word for
word, the whole of what passed between us on the subject.
“The
” * * * Memoranda, and not Confessions. I have left
out all my loves (except in a general way), and many other of the most important things
(because I must not compromise other people), so that it is like the play of the part of
’ But you
will find many opinions, and some fun, with a detailed account of my marriage and its
consequences as true as a party concerned can make such account, for I suppose we are all
prejudiced. I have never read over this Life since it was written, so that I know not
exactly what it may repeat or contain.
A fellow-feeling does not seem to have made him wondrous kind in the following instance:
“Of
”
’
“As to
” mouthed
Switzerland, why she had
changed her opinion, replied, with laudable sincerity, that I had named her in a sonnet
with
The above asterisks of
“‘My dearest Amor
miosay
so, and act as if you did so, which last
is a great consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and
cannot cease to love you. Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide us,—but
they never will, unless you wish it. Byron.
Speaking of the separation he had caused between the countess and her husband, he says:
“Your apprehensions (arising from
” no damages
in this country, but there will probably be a separation between them, as her family, which
is a principal one, by its connexions, are very much against him,
for the whole of his conduct,—and he is old and obstinate, and she is young and a woman,
determined to sacrifice every thing to her affections. I have given her the best advice,
viz., to stay with him,—pointing out the state of a separated woman (for the priests
won’t let lovers live openly together, unless the husband sanctions it), and making
the most exquisite moral reflections,—but to no purpose. She says, ‘I will stay
with him, if he will let you remain with me. It is hard that I should be the only woman
in Romagna who is not to have her
’—you know how females reason on such occasions. He says he has let it go
on, till he can do so no longer. But he wants her to stay, and dismiss me; for he
doesn’t like to pay back her dowry and to make an alimony. Her relations are rather
for the separation, as they detest him,—indeed, so does I see how it will end; she
will be the sixteenth
’
Again, alluding to a party, whither he accompanies her.
“The
We subjoin one or two chance bits, as we must give a few more extracts next week.
“In the mean time,
”
“A dialogue which
After all,’ said the
physician, ‘what is there you can do that I cannot?
’—‘Why,
since you force me to say,’ answered the other, ‘I think there are three
things I can do which you cannot.’
” I can,’ said
’
“You seem to think that I could not have written the ‘
”