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Lord Byron and his Times: http://lordbyron.org
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[Every body knows that we know, and every body may know if every body
pleases, that there are more copies than two, beyond doubt, still existent; and that the
Memoirs, moreover, have been read by more than five hundred people, as nonce. Under these circumstances, it is quite impossible that they (begging their
ladyships’ pardon,) can remain unpublished. In order to expedite this good work, for we
think it a pity that an expurgated edition of his lordship’s
autography should be lost, we here publish, with due mutilations, which we shall not specify,
the chapter which has given most offence; and, it is said, finally determined such a chapter in the book, and that it was this
alone which sealed the fate of the whole, is beyond all dispute.]
His lordship had been just describing his marriage.
“It was now near two o’clock in the morning, and I was jaded to the
soul by the delay. I had left the company, and retired to a private apartment. Will those, who
think that a bridegroom on his bridal-night should be so thoroughly saturated with love, as to
render it impossible for him to yield to any other feeling, pardon me when I say, that I had
almost fallen asleep on a sofa, when a giggling, tittering, half-blushing face popped itself
into the door, and popped as fast back again, after having whispered as audibly as a
suivante
“I found my way, however, at once into the bed-room, and tore off my
garments. Your pious zeal will, I am sure, be quite shocked, when I tell you I did not say my
prayers that evening—morning I mean. It was, I own, wrong in me, who had been educated in the
pious and praying kingdom of Scotland, and must confess myself—you need not smile—at least half
a Presbyterian. coup de
mainmodesteslightly was
sufficient. Ce n’est que la premiere pas qui
coute
As yet she had not uttered a word, and I was becoming tired of her obsti-Are you afraid of me,
dearest?
’—I uttered, in a half-fond, half-querulous, tone. It broke the ice. She
answered in a low, timid, and subdued voice—‘I am not,’—and turned to me, for the
[There follows immediately, in his lordship’s manuscript, a long passage—long enough to fill three of our pages, but it is unfortunately illegible. At least our correspondent assures us that he could not decypher it—it is not, however, impossible that some more skilful decypherer will be found—nor is it totally out of the question, but that even this difficult passage may find its way into print.]
“My sleep might have been profound, but it was, of course, not over-long. I
slept about three hours, which were sadly infested with dreams. I fancied that I had died, yet
retained a puzzling sense of consciousness of existence. I seemed to be a sort of spectator of
my own actions—to be looking at what the deceased Lasciate
ogni speranza.
“As I had been presented to Hail,
’
“And, so saying, I awoke: but the influence of the dream was still strong
upon me. The sound of my salutation rung in my ears, and the objects that met my eyes did not
for some moments dispel the illusion. It was a clear January morning, and the dim grey light
streamed in murkily through the glowing red damask-curtains of our bed. It represented just the
gloomy furnace light with which our imaginations have illuminated hell. On the pillow reclined
the head of my wife, with her face paler than the white cover which she was pressing; her hair
had escaped from the night-cap, and it waved in long irregular tresses over her neck and bosom.
She slept, but there was a troubled air upon her countenance. Altogether, that light—that
cavern-like bed—that pale, melancholy visage—that disordered and dark hair so completely agreed
with the objects which I had just seen in my slumbers, that I started. I was almost going to
continue the address, which, in the inferior realms I had commenced. ‘Hail,
’ was again upon my lips, but reason
soon returned. Her hand casually met mine, and, instead of the monumental-marble-like
[There is some more of this chapter, but this is sufficient for a sample. We leave the remainder to the imagination of our readers. We are promised additional sketches from the same quarter.]