Art. VIII—Letters and Journals of Lord Byron. With Notices of his Life. By Thomas Moore. Vol. I.
When Dr. Clarke, the traveller, was
entering the waters of Egypt, he saw the corpse of one who had fallen in the battle of the
Nile, rise from its grave in the ocean, and move slowly past the vessels of the fleet. It was
with somewhat similar misgivings, that we saw the resurrection of Lord
Byron from the waves of time, which soon close over the noblest wreck, and leave
no trace of the spot where it went down. Unless there were something new to be said in his
favor, it seemed needless to bring him again before the public eye. The world
| 168 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
We are disposed to rank high among the better feelings of our nature the one
which leads us to spare and respect the dead, and makes us indignant at every attempt to draw
their frailties to the light, which cannot plead necessity in its justification. We feel
grateful to those who have delighted us, even when they have done so with their enchantments;
we are beholden to them for whiling away some of the drearier hours of existence; and when they
are gone, where our gratitude or censure can no longer reach them, we feel as if their memory
were left in our charge, to be guarded from wanton condemnation. We could see their forms under
the dissecting knife at Surgeons‘ Hall with more patience, than we can see their
reputation made the sport and gain of mercenary writers. We know that the Life of Johnson is a standing excuse for authors of this
description, though we see not why; for Boswell would
sooner have cut off his hand, than have wilfully disparaged his ‘illustrious
friend;‘ and through all his defects of judgment and style his great subject
towers, like Westminster Abbey, whose melancholy grandeur is not destroyed by the meanness of
the objects round it. In his work, there is no violation of that sacred law of human feeling,
which, like the gentle process of nature, seals up the grave, and covers it with verdure and
flowers. But this law has been sadly broken in the case of Byron; a man, who, with all his faults—and we have no disposition to deny
them—was never wanting in generosity to his friends. Some of them have preyed on his memory
like vultures; from the religious Mr. Dallas, who was
dissatisfied with the gift of several rich copy-rights, down to Leigh
Hunt, who intimated his independence of the commonplace opinion, which insists
on gratitude for golden favors. Others, also, of the
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 169 |
We do not, of course, mean to rank the writer of this work among literary
vampyres, nor to complain of this publication. In his case, something of this kind was
necessary; it was understood that Lord Byron made him the
residuary legatee of his infirmities and errors, leaving in his charge a manuscript journal,
which, it was said, Mr. Moore thought proper to destroy.
Such was the prevailing impression, whatever the facts may have been; and this act, dictated
doubtless by the most honorable feelings, was justly thought to bear severely on the character
of his noble friend. It gave indulgence and encouragement to the most unfavorable imaginations;
it was declaring that the pages on which Byron poured out his thoughts and
feelings, were only worthy of the flames. It was expected, that, if this registry was not so
thoroughly disgraceful, Mr. Moore would come forward to declare it; he has
accordingly done so, and given us parts of this same journal, recovered from its ashes, with
various original letters; he has, so far as was possible, made Byron the
historian of his own life, giving his own sentiments in his own words; he feels obliged,
however, to caution us against being misled by the poet’s statements, because, with a
strange inverted ambition, he took pleasure in representing himself as worse than he really
was. This is no doubt true; but one may doubt whether it will do much to exalt
Byron above the level where he chose to stand; this
self-misrepresentation would imply some want of reverence for truth, and it would seem as if
the moral sentiment must be not a little corrupted when a man glories in his shame. Still, it
would be wrong to lay much stress on these avowals, which, wherever they appear, are partly
jesting and partly penitential; meant to
| 170 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Mr. Moore does not attempt to give any regular examination of Byron’s character, aware, perhaps, that the thing was impossible; for, if by character be meant the decided leaning of the habits and feelings towards good or evil, it would be no more correct to speak of his character, than of the bearing of a vessel drifting on the sea; or if we mean by character, the general impression received by one who reads his history, it is evident that such an one could gather no single impression. Every change in Byron’s life was a new experiment or adventure suggested by the moment’s whims; each new deed contradicted the report of the one that went before it; like the mercury in the weather-glass, he varied with the changes of the air. Sometimes he rose to a noble height of virtue; then sunk low in degradation: sometimes he breathed out noble sentiment in inspired language; then profaned his lips with the dialect of hell: sometimes he practised a hermit’s self-denial; then gave himself up to appetite and passion. The very climate of the country where he happened to be, seemed to spread its influence over him. All his manliness melted away into effeminacy under an Italian sun; all the strength of his mind and heart seemed to revive among the living shores and mountains of Greece; and this, while it shows that he had great and active energies within, proves also, that, like others who want principles of action, he needed something external to excite them. In him, these principles, and the unconquerable will, were entirely wanting; the rough hands of others struck out the fire from his soul. His inconsistencies arising from this cause, are equally perplexing to his enemies and admirers; each falter in making up their judgment; the former hesitate in the midst of their sternest condemnation, conscious that all was not evil, and doubtful, whether they are not more just to his vices than. his virtues; while his admirers, in the moments of their warmest enthusiasm, find recollections stealing over their minds which fill them with indignant shame; they, too, doubt sometimes whether they are not misled by their reverence for Genius, and hardly know whether they feel most sorrow for its perversion or wonder at its power.
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 171 |
His biographer was evidently perplexed with this difficulty, and has therefore left the private character of Byron to be inferred from facts and letters, with here and there some pages of comment and explanation. He does not bring the subject to any full discussion, but praises his friend wherever he can do so with justice, and defends him where his conduct seems to require defending. His remarks are written with more than his usual simplicity; in fact, with very little of the glowing ornament in which his other writings abound; but, notwithstanding this improvement, the work is not likely to be a favorite with either class of readers. The poet’s admirers will think that more discretion should have been used in selecting private letters, and that the follies of his youth should, like those of others, be forgotten in the brilliant efforts of his later years; and will wonder why the biographer could not communicate to others the feelings with which, according to his own account, his friend’s talents and virtues inspired him. On the other hand, a large class will accuse Mr. Moore, not only of suppressing, but of making rather too light of the poet’s misdeeds; of treating as a trifling offence in him, what would have been severely visited upon any other; as in the case of his brother, for example (p. 118), they will charge him with making the flower-gardens of poetry a sanctuary for transgressors of moral and social law. Both these faults, inconsistent with each other, as they seem, will be alleged against him. On the whole, the effect of his book will be to lower the character of Byron in the public esteem. No one can charge him with a want of partiality to his subject, and yet, with every disposition to cover the poet’s errors, he finds much that he cannot explain away. He readily acknowledges his friend’s follies, with a candor for which none of Byron’s admirers will thank him; for, in the common estimation, follies bring one into contempt much sooner than vices; men can find something great and commanding in the one, while it is impossible to respect the other.
The literary fate of Byron is a remarkable
example of the indulgence shown to men of genius. The world is apt to be rigid enough in its
exactions from others, but it offers them a perpetual absolution for all offences, even for
their waste of those powers by which it wishes and hopes to be delighted; it receives these
spendthrifts of talent with unwearied forgiveness, however far they may have wandered; it
permits them, like conquerors,
| 172 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Perhaps there never was one, to whom the right direction which the world thus has
it in its power to give, was more important than to Byron;
for as may appear in what we shall say of him, he was remarkably deficient in self-dependence,
except when wrought up with passion; his irresolute judgment was strongly contrasted with his
genius. Powerful, indeed, he was; he came not at a time when the field of success was open;
perhaps there has not been a period, when a greater
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 173 |
Any observer of human nature may be interested in the fact, that men are always
most zealous in their enthusiasm for characters, which are somewhat doubtful, as well as great.
The admirers of a man like Washington criticise him with
freedom, knowing that he can only gain by discussion; but the partisans of eminent characters
like those I have mentioned, as if conscious that any opening for inquiry would overthrow their
favorite passion, meet every suggestion of the kind, with an outcry precisely resembling that
with which the worm-eaten govern-
| 174 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
But there are others, who never have thought it necessary to give up their hearts
to the great poet of the day—who have neither taken part with Byron nor against him; to them, this book will wear a very different aspect;
they will receive it as the deliberate testimony of a friend, of course as partial as truth and
justice will allow, and will see with some surprise, that the strongest feelings awakened by it
are those of sorrow and shame. It is painful to see this disproportion between the moral and
intellectual characters of distinguished men; and though history might prepare them for such
disappointment, they are always dismayed to find those, to whom heaven has been most liberal of
its gifts, unfaithful in the use of them. Their kind feeling will be severely tried by this
Life of Byron; they will say of his mind, as he did of Greece, that it is
strange that when Nature has formed it as if for the residence of the gods, man should take a
mad delight in making a wilderness and a ruin.
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 175 |
The chief misfortune of Byron was his want of
early kindness and instruction. The mind resembles a garden, in which flowers and fruit must be
cultivated, or weeds will grow; and few could be found, even among vagrants and outcasts, more
unfortunate than Byron in the guardians of his tender years. His father was a worthless libertine, who, after the death of his
first victim, married Miss Gordon, the poet’s
mother, with a view to her property, which was large, but soon wasted. His great uncle, from whom he inherited his title, was a man of
savage and unsocial character, who was believed to have murdered a gentleman in a quarrel. With
him, however, he had no intercourse, nor even with his father, who was soon separated from his
wife; so that he was wholly abandoned to his mother’s care; and a more injudicious guide
of a youth so wild and passionate, could not have been any where found. It has been generally
thought that she was fondly indulgent; but the present work effectually clears her memory from
any such imputation: she was a woman of violent temper, and rendered still more irritable by
her husband’s treatment, though she seems to have loved him affectionately after all her
wrongs. If to leave her child ungoverned was indulgence, she was guilty; but it could not be
expected, that, having no rule over her own spirit, she should be equal to the harder duty of
governing her son. Neglect, however, was not the worst offence for which she is answerable; she
was the author of that bitterness of spirit, which
| 176 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 177 |
It may be said, that he might have done like many others whose parents have been unfaithful, and who, by this misfortune, have been driven to that self-education, which Gibbon considers more important than any other. But Lord Byron was most unfavorably situated: this self-discipline is seldom enforced with vigor or success without the pressure of circumstances, or the strong leaning of ambition combining with a sense of duty. But Byron was above the reach of that necessity, which drives so many to great and fortunate exertions. Though poor in childhood, when his wants were few, he had before him what seemed a prospect of unbounded wealth; and the same expectation of rank and honor made him insensible to the call of intellectual glory. He knew that his title would secure him respect, and in this confidence was unambitious of any thing higher; it seemed to be the brightest point in all his visions of future greatness. Those, who, born in humble life, feel the stirrings of ambition, and have no path to eminence open but such as they clear with their own hands, enter upon the work with a vigor which at once gives and strengthens character, and ensures success. Byron, on the contrary, believed from his childhood that he should be respected for his rank alone: it was not till he had reached this great object of desire, and found how barren it was, that he seemed to wish or hope for any other distinction.
The effect of this want of education in mind and character, may be seen in
almost every part of his life; even in those illuminated pages which display the triumphs of
his genius. He never seems to have had the least confidence in his own taste or judgment with
respect to his own productions or those of others. We find him on his return from his first
voyage, talking with delight of an imitation of Horace, which his biographer is too
conscientious to praise, and at the same time, hardly prevailed upon by the most earnest
intreaty, to publish Childe Harold, the work on
which his fame is built. A taste of this kind is as much formed by society, as by reading and
medita-
| 178 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 179 |
Byron’s melancholy seems to have been owing to these peculiar
circumstances of his life. Bright hopes and painful disappointments followed each other in
rapid succession; the disappointment being that which attends the gratified desire—of all
others, the most difficult to bear. He was his own master, and had all that men commonly wish
for; he was thus in a condition where, so far as resources of happiness were concerned, he had
nothing more to hope from the world, and that state in which any change must be for the worse,
is found by experience to be more intolerable than that in which any change must be for the
better. How far his depression was owing to any thing constitutional, we cannot attempt to say,
being less acquainted with the nerves of poets than with those of reviewers; but we believe
that there are few cases in which
| 180 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
We regret to find the vulgar impression that this melancholy was owing to his
poetical talent, countenanced by such authority as Mr.
Moore’s; though he does not openly declare that such is his opinion, he
intimates that faults and sorrows both were owing to ‘the restless fire of
genius.‘ This we believe to be one of the worst heresies in public opinion; beside
being dangerous and misleading, it is unjust to the noblest of all arts. Were there no other
young men of rank and fortune, equally dissipated with Lord Byron, or did
all the companions of his vice and folly share his exalted power? Why need we assign more
refined causes for his corruption than for theirs? And more than all, why offer this immunity
to those who waste the talent, which was given to bless the world, which we deny to the
inferior prodigals of wealth and time? It is unquestionably true, that a quick imagination
gives a sharper edge to sorrow, by multiplying, changing, and coloring its images, but it has
equal power over images of joy, if the poet can be made to look upon the bright side; and as
this depends on his own choice, we cannot sympathise with him very deeply if he insist on being
unhappy; we will not throw the blame, which belongs to himself, either on poetry or nature. It
is time that justice in this respect were done to poetry; it is a full fountain of consolation;
so far from being a Marah in the wilderness of life, there is healing in its waters. The
greatest masters of the lyre have found delight in the calm and majestic exertion of all their
powers; and while poetry doubles their happiness by its inspirations, it has been found
effectual, from the days of Saul till the present, to drive dark thoughts from the soul. No man
was ever more indebted to poetry than Lord Byron; we say
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 181 |
Equal injustice is done to poetry, by saying, as is often said, in the case of
Byron, that misery is the parent of its inspirations.
Poetry is the work, not of circumstances, but of mind; of disciplined and powerful mind; which
so far from being the sport of circumstances, makes them bend to its power. There is neither
romance, nor elegance in real distress; it is too real, oppressive, and disheartening; the
mind, so far from dwelling upon it, turns away with disgust and aversion. The person in
suffering of body or mind, no more thinks of the fine emotions his situation awakens, than the
soldier bleeding on the plain, who would exchange the fame of Cæsar for a drop of water to cool his burning tongue. It is true, that such a
person often ex-
| 182 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
We make these remarks, not by any means because we consider these circumstances
as a full justification of Byron’s character; but
because this book will give a very unfavorable impression; and as title and fortune are
generally thought to be names for happiness, it may chance to be forgotten, that there was any
thing in his condition to be pleaded in excuse for his transgressions. His reputation needs the
apology, and he has a right to the benefit of it, as far it will go. Some may wonder to hear
the name ‘unfortunate‘ applied to this great favorite of the world; and yet,
whoever reads his life with any attention, will feel that there are few so little to be envied
as he. There is something inexpressibly dreary in his history. He never knew any thing of a
father’s kindness, nor in truth of
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 183 |
The outline of Byron’s history was well
known before this work; and as this volume must have been in the hands of nearly all our
readers, we shall not give the particulars of his life, though many are curious and
interesting; particularly such as show how comfortless a splendid life may be. Much light is
thrown upon the promise of his youth; the strong testimonials of affection given by some of his
companions, show that he had warm and generous feelings to those whom he loved, but that he was
sufficiently haughty and sour to others, with or without provocation. He was in no wise
ambitious of improvement in the schools; but rather made it a point of honor to rebel against
their discipline, which he ever afterwards held in contempt, as men hate that which they have
injured. His biographer considers this impatience of restraint an evidence of genius, which, in
his opinion, needs no such aids nor laws, and is therefore at liberty to defy them. If the
remarks made on this subject were intended to bear upon the English universities only, we
should not notice them; but they seem meant as a reflection upon all classical studies pursued
in schools. The writer quotes Lord Byron’s saying of Virgil and Horace—that his
school acquaintance with those classics gave him a distaste for them ever after. The whole
truth probably was, that he never troubled himself to ascertain the strength and fidelity of
his early associations. Had he read them in maturer years, it is impossible that such boyish
recollections should have made him insensible to their beauties; and he would at least have
felt, that such a defect of taste and judgment is what one should sooner confess than avow. He
could have meant nothing more than to express in a decided manner his aversion to schools; and
in this his biographer goes with him, bringing forward great examples of those who felt the
same aversion. But it happens, unfortunately for the argument, that these were, most of them,
such as had been censured and disgraced at such institutions. It
| 184 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
We regret to see such intimations in this work; deliberate opinions we cannot suppose them to be. We do not believe that the writer, though he thinks that the Greeks wrote their language in such purity because they abstained from every other, would recommend a similar abstinence to his readers; when it was owing in them to the want of treasures in any other language which would repay the labor of acquiring it. Nor do we suppose that he would seriously advise us to break up such institutions, and leave the young to forage in the fields of learning and science for a precarious subsistence. To resist the authorities of the schools was not a sure way to make a Milton, nor is every one likely to become a Franklin who runs away from home. But he should have guarded against perversion of his opinions; that they might not countenance the irregularities of genius; that idle impression, which has kept so many fine minds from feeling the necessity of improvement, and inspired so many dunces with a sweet confidence in their own talents, founded on their defiance of all control. Byron and many others became great, not by their transgressions, but in spite of them; had he submitted to the usual discipline of youth, or, more properly speaking, had he enjoyed it, he might have led a better and happier life, and left no cause for his admirers to blush for the cloud upon his fame; though he would have astonished the world less, he might have secured a more enviable immortality.
In speaking of Byron’s infidelity,
Mr. Moore indulges in a fanciful speculation on
unbelief in general, regarding it as a fortunate circumstance, that such skepticism does not
begin till the character is already formed. We cannot easily persuade
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 185 |
Byron had become associated at such an age as this with a
number of young men, who, taking his own description, were not likely to exert a happy
influence over a lawless and wayward mind. Among others, there was Matthews, to whom he has paid so beautiful a tribute in Childe Harold—a man of remarkable promise, if we may judge from
the eulogies of his friends, but a professed atheist, and fond of employing his wit on subjects
which any man of principle, whether atheist or Christian, would have kept apart from
profanation. Byron held him in great respect, and was doubtless injured by
his influence; the more so from his having previously thought, or at least expressed himself
with some interest on religious subjects; having at no period of his life any great confidence
in himself, he was easily laughed out of his religion, and, to show the sincerity of his
contempt for it, may have made a show of indifference to it which he did not really feel; at
any rate, it was driven from his thoughts; and he seldom speaks of it at
| 186 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Mr. Moore has given a very liberal account of the attack of the Edinburgh Review; which, however painful to Byron at the time, was a fortunate humiliation for him, as it
taught him the secret of his own powers. Mr. Moore thinks that we judge
these poems more favorably from our impressions received from his later writings; but we
suspect that the association of the splendid efforts of later years with his imperfect
beginnings would not tend to raise the latter in our estimation. The effect would be that of
contrast, and would make us think of the first attempts more meanly than they deserve. The
question, however, is not, whether the poems were good or bad; we think that many of them are
good: but whether the offence was such as to call for such a severe infliction, which, to
Byron, who had high ideas of the majesty of reviews, was a tremendous
blow. Whether the attack was justifiable or not—the manner no one will defend—the review had no
reason to boast its success. For, though Byron retorted in a poem, which,
with all its excellence and vigor, is wanting in consistency
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 187 |
| 188 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Here we may as well say that we must be careful not to give too much weight to
little incidents and expressions in forming our opinion of such characters. Mr. Moore occasionally errs in this respect; attaching an
unnecessary importance to some of his sayings and actions, which, however they might bear upon
his character, supposing them to be deliberate and meditated, are evidently vacant and
unmeaning. For example, Byron, once holding the point of a
dagger to his breast, was overheard to say, ‘I should like to know how a person feels
after committing a murder.‘ ‘Here,‘ says his biographer,
‘we may discover the germs of his future Giaours and Corsairs.‘ This is
certainly magnifying an idle word and action; hundreds of youths, who could as soon have
written the Principia as the Corsair, have done and said the same thing, without ever touching
the secret spring that discovers the dark passions of the soul. Such indications as this amount
to nothing; and it is difficult to judge from others of more importance, because young men born
to no restraint and exempt by privilege, or misfortune, as it should be called, of birth, from
those weights which regulate the motions of others, are apt to consider what others call
serious things as trifles, and to exalt trifles into absurd importance: so that it is difficult
to judge of their feeling from their conduct, beyond the main fact that the moral sentiment is
inactive and perverted. Byron was certainly one of this class. He has left
some sad examples of his talent at degrading into trifles what others hold in respect: saying
that they were thoughtless, is not excusing them, for he was of an age to know what he was
doing, and thoughtlessness is a crime if it lead to sacrilege and sensuality. That he made
trifles important, appears from the influence he gave to his imagination in the conduct of
life; he imagined himself set apart by his destiny from the communion of mankind—among them,
but not of them: he was really desolate, but he imagined himself more so—and though one like
him, might, by effort, have mastered all the unfavorable circumstances of his life, and have
risen at any time from weakness to power, and from dishonor to glory, he imagined that nature
and man conspired to keep him an alien from his race. Thus all his feelings were fancies—and
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 189 |
The effect of his first travels is beautifully described by Mr. Moore, and may serve as a confirmation of what we have
said respecting his want of energy within, and the manner in which he required to be sustained
by lateral pressure. Strength of mind he possessed in abundance, but he had not strength of
heart. He went away, feeling that satiety which always follows a surrender of the soul to
pleasure, going out as it seemed, with little more than change of place in view; but his
wanderings led him through regions where travel abounds, not merely as in more civilised
regions, in vexation, but also in hardship and adventure. Every thing that he saw was new, and
calculated to awaken the imagination, from the barbaric power of Ali
Pacha, to the eloquent ruins of Athens; like all who have breathed the air of
classical literature, the love of Greece lay deep in his soul; and when he traversed her blue
waters and lonely mountains, he heard the voice of ages fast calling on him to secure a
glorious immortality in all that were to come. He listened and ‘his spirit was stirred
in him,‘ his mind was excited to manly and vigorous actions, and he poured out
his soul in strains never exceeded for the depth and fulness of their meaning or the bold music
of their flow. Who will deny
| 190 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
There are few more interesting facts in literary history than this; Mr. Dallas saw Lord Byron
immediately after his return and heard him speak with enthusiasm of a work, which he
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 191 |
When Lord Byron returned to England, after
his first travels, he felt as if he were going back, without pleasure, to a land which had no
claim upon his affections. It is true, that he had few of those attractions at home; but how
many there are who have none of the enjoyments embraced in that inspiring word; and how many
more whose home is only a distant and painful recollection! He had no friends either, except
such as were ready-made; as he was prevented by pride and reserve from cultivating new
attachments, there were few to welcome his return. Beside this, his circumstances were so
unpromising, that Newstead had been entered with an execution. Such anticipations may have made
him look forward at times to his return with a feeling of dread. It must be allowed too, that
he overrated his own misery; he fixed his eyes on dark points, such as are found in every
man’s prospect, till there seemed to be nothing bright for him to hope or enjoy. He
insisted on being miserable, as if it were a sacred duty, and there are many passages in his
letters of ‘most humorous sadness,‘ which remind us of Cowper’s penitential letters to Newton, in which his natural mirth is perpetually breaking through the
| 192 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 193 |
Lord Byron never appeared in so interesting a light, as at the time when Childe Harold had made him the gaze of every eye. This was the happiest and most brilliant portion of his life; indeed the only portion to which those words can properly be applied. Beside his literary pretensions, he had begun to aspire to the fame of an orator, and had already spoken once or twice, with promising success. But all other hopes were dimmed by bis poetical triumph, and seldom has there broken on the eye of man a scene of equal glory. He had not anticipated this; he had reproached himself with relying so far on the opinion of his friends, as to give his poem to the press; his success therefore was made more welcome by surprise; and when we remember that in addition to this he had the charms of high birth, renowned ancestry, and uncommon beauty of person, it is not strange that the public with its English enthusiasm, should have been transported with admiration. Wherever he went he was received with rapture; nobility, fashion, even royalty itself united in the general acclamation; his natural shyness passed for the absence of genius; his constraint in formal society was taken for the coldness of sorrow; his brow was supposed to be overcast by a melancholy imagination; his faults, so far as known, gave an air of romantic wildness to his character, though they were generally veiled by the clouds of incense that rose from every side and gathered round him. Those who had suffered from his sarcasm laid their resentment by; and came manfully forward to offer at once their forgiveness and applause; sensitive as he was on the subject of self, he had every thing to keep him in a state of perpetual excitement, delightful, no doubt for a time, but calculated, when its first freshness was over, to bring more uneasiness than gratification; and a poor preparation for that hour when the sounds of applause were to die away, and nothing to be heard but the murmur of condemnation, that reached him even across the deep.
As we have said, he appears more amiable at this period of his life than at any
other; for a time, he is at peace with himself and all around him. The appearance of the Giaour, and the compliments paid him by Jeffrey on that occasion, completed his exultation. But while it is pleasant to
witness the
| 194 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
This brings us to Lord Byron’s marriage
and separation; a piece of history which has long been publicly discussed, and with a freedom
unusual in such cases; it was investigated perhaps with the more earnestness from its being
carefully hidden; but now, the slight mystery that hung over it is removed by Mr. Moore’s publication, and a statement from Lady Byron,
which has followed it, and which reveals all the circumstances that the public are likely ever
to know. This is the first time she has ever appealed to the public against the charm of her
husband’s poetical insinuations; silence was certainly the more dignified course, and no
explanation from her was called for; the public feeling in the circle round them was all on her
side, and Lord Byron was visited with a sentence of outlawry, which made him an exile ever
after. There was a stern cry of indignation against him, which indicated either that the
English fashionable world had been suddenly converted to rigid morality, or that his popu-
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 195 |
Lady Byron explains her conduct in a letter written to justify her parents from the charge of interfering on this occasion. She states that she believed her husband insane, and acted upon that impression, both in leaving him and in writing her letter, choosing the tone and manner least likely to irritate his passions. She states that had she not considered him insane, she could not have borne with him so long. She endeavored to obtain a separation, but the circumstances were not thought sufficient to make out the case of insanity. We are not surprised that such was her impression. Mr. Moore mentions that Byron was in the habit of keeping fire-arms in his carriage and near his bed. Such extravagance was enough to excite her suspicion of his soundness of mind; and there was nothing to quiet her apprehensions in his temper, which was grown irresistible by long indulgence of self-will; he was wholly untaught to submit to those mutual concessions, which domestic happiness and harmony require. When we remember that his passions, which he himself describes as occasionally savage, were incensed by seeing his house repeatedly in possession of officers of the law, no wonder that all should have seemed like madness, to her even spirit and uniform feelings.
We do not know how any one acquainted with the history of their attachment, could have anticipated any other result. The first mention of Lady Byron is found in the Journal.
‘A very pretty letter from Annabella, which I answered. What an odd situation and friendship is ours!
without one spark of love on either side, and produced by circumstances which in
| 196 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Here it seems there was no love on either side. He says in another place, ‘a wife would be the salvation of me;‘ and this Mr. Moore explains, by his conviction that ‘it was prudent to take refuge in marriage from those perplexities, which form the sequel of all less regular ties.‘ These are ominous words. He offered himself at that time to Miss Milbanke, and was rejected; ‘on neither side was love either felt, or professed.‘ ‘In the meantime new entanglements, in which his heart was the willing dupe of his fancy and vanity, came to engross the young poet; and still, as the usual penalties of such pursuits followed, he found himself sighing for the sober yoke of wedlock as some security against their recurrence.’ Such is his friend’s account of the reasons of this connexion. Some time after this a friend advised him to marry, to which he assented, ‘after much discussion.‘ He himself was for another application to Miss Milbanke, but his friend dissuaded him, on the ground that she was learned, and had then no fortune. He at last agreed that his friend should write a proposal to another lady; it was rejected. ‘You see,‘ said Lord Byron, ‘that Miss Milbanke is to be the person.‘ He immediately wrote to her, and his friend reading what he had written, said, ‘this is really a very pretty letter; it is a pity it should not go.‘ ‘Then it shall go,‘ said Lord Byron. It went, and the offer was accepted. In this way the most important action of his life was done. He said, ‘I must of course reform,‘ and with this shadow of a resolution, he went through the ceremony in a kind of thoughtless heaviness, which he was at no pains to conceal. What induced Lady Byron to risk her happiness in such an adventure, we cannot tell, unless she was ambitious of the glory of reforming such a man. If so, she did her part, by his own acknowledgment.
‘I do not believe, and I must say it, in the dress of this bitter business, that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, kinder, more agreeable or more amiable being than Lady B. I never had, nor can have, any reproach to make her while with me.‘
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 197 |
Such hopes are invariably disappointed; their only chance of success consists in a strong hold upon the affections, which she never had on his. Such a marriage contract, like the book of some ancient prophet, was written within and without, with lamentation, mourning, and woe.
Mr. Moore is inclined to attribute all this to the incapacity of men of genius to enjoy domestic peace. He forgets that in defending his friend, he does injustice to talent as well as to Him who gave it. Examples may be found among poets of such unfortunate marriages, but there is no connexion of cause and effect between their genius and their guilt or calamity, which ever it may be. We do not believe a single word of his refined speculation on this subject. We cannot believe that poetical inspiration, that glorious gift of God, can ever be a curse to its innocent possessor. Like every thing else, it may be abused; and then the greater the power the wider will be the destruction. But there is no tendency to abase in its nature. There is no need of giving the reins to imagination. Where this power is strong, the judgment, if encouraged, will be strong in full proportion, and, if taught to do its office, will keep the fancy from excesses as well as the passions. So far from giving even a distaste for reality, it will give a charm to reality by surrounding it with elevating associations, it will raise its possessor above the common level of life, not too high to see all things distinctly, and yet so high that he can look over and beyond them. Man is made lord of all his passions—invested with power over all the elements of his nature. He may keep or he may resign it; he may cast the crown from his head—he may make himself the slave of those affections which he is bound to govern; but let him not libel his nature, for he makes himself weak when heaven meant him to be strong; he sinks himself into degradation and sorrow where Providence would never have placed him. The fault is all in his own infirmity of purpose and will.
We shall not probably have another opportunity of speaking of Lord Byron, and we cannot leave the subject without saying a word
of his writings. His name has now become historical, and his works are registered in the
treasures of English poetry. Now, if ever, they can be fairly judged. The enthusiasm in favor
of the writer has nearly died away; and, as usual in cases of reaction, begins to be succeeded
by an indifference, which is more fatal than any other infliction to a poet’s fame.
| 198 | Moore’s Life of Byron. |
Childe Harold is his most important work, and on this and his lyrical poems his fame must ultimately depend. It was a secret outpouring of his soul, deeply colored by his peculiar genius and feeling. It bears no marks of that constraint and adaptation produced by a consciousness that the public eye ‘was upon him. The Childe is a character sufficiently natural, and the feelings embodied in it by the poet, allowing for a little overstatement, nearly resembled his own. It was a happy imagination to represent only the more striking scenes, such as would be likely to fix the attention of an uninterested wanderer. It affords an excuse for passing over what is unsuited to poetical description, and for giving bold relief to such as could kindle the vacant pilgrim’s heart and eye. All about the poem, even its abruptness and disorder, is brought into keeping, so that irregularity becomes a beauty.
But the character of the Childe was so successful, and he was so much flattered by its being taken for a likeness of his own, that, instead of imagining new, he was tempted to draw it again. In the Giaour, Corsair, and other poems, he multiplies copies of this original; but in attempting to give them additional effect, he has gone beyond the bounds of truth and nature. We can imagine some good feelings lingering in the ruins of a libertine’s character, and reviving when his heart is moved to tenderness; but to transfer the same affections to pirates and murderers is so shocking to probability, that none but very young readers can be interested. It is surprising that he should not have felt, that to ascribe habitual good feeling to such a character is quite as unnatural, as to imagine good men living in the practice of robbery and murder. Still these works abound in traits of great loveliness and power; and though they did not injure his fame, could not prevent its natural decline—a decline which must come unless every new effort of a poet transcend the last. It was an indifference which he could not well bear. Though he constantly declared his weariness of the world and the men of it, he could not endure that the world should grow weary of him.
We must say that we consider some of his lyrical poems
| Moore’s Life of Byron. | 199 |
We are bound to say of this work, that the moral tone is not what it should have been. Not that the writer endeavors to conceal Lord Byron’s faults—he tells them without reserve; nor that he flatters the moral character of his subject. So far as he had any clear conceptions of a character so unformed, he gives them with great impartiality. But he speaks of vices at times with a light and careless air, as if they were harmless if not discovered. Still the moral effect of his work will not be so unfavorable as might be feared; for, beside that it is not likely to be popular, envy is the very last feeling which his account of Lord Byron would inspire. Never was there a more striking picture of a man splendidly unhappy; weak in character, though mighty in his powers; solitary as a hermit, though born to rank and fortune; wandering without pleasure and reposing without rest; admired by millions and loved by very few; able to move the spirit of nations, and himself like the great ocean lifted and broken by gales that would not have agitated humbler waters. We freely confess that we read his history with compassion; feeling as if one who was never directed in the right way, could hardly be said to have wandered. But no such feelings can deceive us into an approbation of his character; we hold him up as a warning, not as an example. We might have waited for the conclusion of this ‘Life,‘ but for various reasons thought it better to notice the first volume. There can be nothing to make us regret that we have done so in the registry yet to come. His hopeless fall began after his separation from his wife and his retreat from England. We have followed him to the edge of the cataract, and have no disposition to see him dash below.