The latter part of my life has been a perpetual struggle against affections which imbittered the earliest portion; and though I flatter myself I have in a great measure conquered them, yet there are moments and this was one) when I am as foolish as formerly. I never said so much before, nor had I said this now, if I did not suspect myself of having been rather savage in my letter, and wish to inform you thus much of the cause. You know I am not one of your dolorous gentlemen: so now let us laugh again. "Yesterday I went with Moore to Sydenham to visit Campbell. He was not visible, so we jogged homeward, merrily enough. To-morrow I dine with Rogers, and am to hear Coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present. Last night I saw Kemble in Coriolanus ;-he was glorious, and exerted himself wonderfully. By good luck, I got an excellent place, in the best part of the house, which was more than overflowing. Clare and Delawarre, who were there on the same speculation, were less fortunate. I saw them by accident,,—we were not together. I wished for you, to gratify your love of Shakspeare and of fine acting to its fullest extent. Last week I saw an exhibition of a different kind in a Mr Coates, at the Haymarket, who performed Lothario in a damned and damnable manner. "I told you of the fate of B. and H. in my last. So much for these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the loss-the never to be recovered loss-the despair of the refined attachment of a couple of drabs! You censure my life, Harness, -when I compare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin to conceive myself a monument of prudence-a walking statue-without feeling or failing; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud pre-eminence over them in profligacy. Yet I like the men, and, God knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked when they dignify all this by the name of love-romantic attachments for things marketable for a dollar! * * “Dec. 16th.—I have just received your letter;-I feel your kindness very deeply. The foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will, I hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. I do like to hear from you-more than like. Next to seeing you, I have no greater satisfaction. But you have other duties and greater pleasures, and I should regret to take a moment from either. H call to-day, but I have not seen him. The circumstances you mention at the close of your letter is another proof in favour of my opinion of mankind. Such you will always find them-selfish and distrustful. I except none. The cause of this is the state of society. In the world, every one is to stir for himself-it is useless, perhaps selfish, to expect any was to *On this occasion, another of the noble poet's peculiarities was, somewhat startlingly, introduced to my notice. When we were on the point of setting out from his lodgings in St James's-street, it being then about mid-day, he said to the servant, who was shutting the door of the vis-à-vis, Have you put in the pistols?" and was answered in the affirmative. It was difficult,-more especially taking into account the circumstances under which we had just become acquainted,-to keep from smiling at this singular noonday precaution. thing from his neighbour. But I do not think we are born of this disposition; for you find friendship, as a schoolboy, and love enough before twenty. "I went to see **; he keeps me in town, where I don't wish to be at present. He is a good man, but totally without conduct. And now, my dearest William, I must wish you good morrow, and remain ever most sincerely and affectionately yours, &c." From the time of our first meeting, there seldom elapsed a day that Lord Byron and I did not see each other; and our acquaintance ripened into intimacy and friendship with a rapidity of which I have seldom known an example. I was, indeed, lucky in all the circumstances that attended my first introduction to him. In a generous nature like his, the pleasure of repairing an injustice would naturally give a zest to any partiality I might have inspired in his mind; while the manner in which I had sought this reparation, free as it was from resentment or defiance, left nothing painful to remember in the transaction between us,-no compromise or concession that could wound self love, or take away from the grace of that frank friendship, to which he at once, so cordially and so unhesitatingly, admitted me. I was also not a little fortunate in forming my acquaintance with him, before his success had yet reached its meridian burst,—before the triumphs that were yet in store for him had brought the world all in homage at his feet, and, among the splendid crowds that courted his society, even claims less humble than mine had but a feeble chance of fixing his regard. As it was, the new scene of life that opened upon him with his success, instead of detaching us from each other, only multiplied our opportunities of meeting, and increased our intimacy. In that society where his birth entitled him withstanding mine; and when, after the appearance to move, circumstances had already placed me, notof " Childe Harold," he began to mingle with the world, the same persons, who had long been my intimates and friends, became his; our visits were mostly to the same places, and, in the gay and giddy round of a London spring, we were generally (as in one of his own letters he expresses it)" embarked in the same Ship of Fools together." But, at the time when we first met, his position in the world was most solitary. Even those coffee-house companions who, before his departure from England, had served him as a sort of substitute for more worthy society, were either relinquished or had dispersed; and, with the exception of three or four associates of his college days (to whom he appeared strongly attached), Mr Dallas and his solicitor seemed to be the only persons whom, even in their very questionable degree, he could boast of as friends. Though too proud to complain of this loneliness, it was evident that he felt it; and that the state of cheerless isolation, unguided and unfriended," to which, on entering into manhood, he had found himself abandoned, was one of the chief sources of that resentful disdain of mankind, which even their subsequent worship of him came too late to remove. The effect, indeed, which his short commerce with society afterwards had, for the period it lasted, in softening and exhilarating his temper, showed how fit a soil his heart would have been for the growth of all the kindlier 66 feelings, had but a portion of this sunshine of the lables, and adhere to the appellations sanctioned by world's smiles shone on him earlier. At the same time, in all such speculations and conjectures as to what might have been, under more favourable circumstances, his character, it is invariably to be borne in mind, that his very defects were among the elements of his greatness, and that it was out of the struggle between the good and evil principles of his nature that his mighty genius drew its strength. A more genial and fostering introduction into life, while it would doubtless have softened and disciplined his mind, might have impaired its vigour; and the same influences that would have diffused smoothness and happiness over his life might have been fatal to its glory. In a short poem of his, which appears to have been produced at Athens (as I find it written on a leaf of the original MS. of Childe Harold, and dated "Athens, 1811"), there are two lines which, though hardly intelligible as connected with the rest of the poem, may, taken separately, be interpreted as implying a sort of prophetic consciousness that it was out of the wreck and ruin of all his hopes the immortality of his name was to arise. Dear object of defeated care, Though now of love and thee bereft, My Memory immortal grew! We frequently, during the first months of our acquaintance, dined together alone; and as we had no club, in common, to resort to, the Alfred being the only one to which he, at that period, belonged, and I being then a member of none but Watier's,-our dinners used to be either at the St Alban's, or at his old haunt, Stevens's. Though at times he would drink freely enough of claret, he still adhered to his system of abstinence in food. He appeared, indeed, to have conceived a notion that animal food has some peculiar influence on the character; and I remember, one day, as I sat opposite to him, employed, I suppose, rather earnestly over a beef-steak, after watching me for a few seconds, he said, in a grave tone of inquiry-" Moore, don't you find eating beef-steak makes you ferocious?" Understanding me to have expressed a wish to become a member of the Alfred, he very good-naturedly lost no time in proposing me as a candidate; but as the resolution which I had then nearly formed of betaking myself to a country life, rendered an additional club in London superfluous, I wrote to beg that he would, for the present, at least, withdraw my name; and his answer, though containing little, being the first familiar note he ever honoured me with, I may be excused for feeling a peculiar pleasure in inserting it. our godfathers and godmothers. If you make it a point, I will withdraw your name; at the same time there is no occasion, as I have this day postponed your election 'sine die,' till it shall suit your wishes to be amongst us. I do not say this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would occasion to me, but simply such is the state of the case; and, indeed, the longer your name is up, the stronger will become the probability of success, and your voters more numerous. Of course you will decide-your wish shall be my law. If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon me, and attribute my officiousness to an excusable motive. "I wish you would go down with me to Newstead. Hodgson will be there, and a young friend, named Harness, the earliest and dearest I ever had from the third form at Harrow to this hour. I can promise you good wine, and, if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres, fires, books, your own free will, and my own very indifferent company. Balnea, vina ****** Among those acts of generosity and friendship by which every year of Lord Byron's life was signalized, there is none, perhaps, that, for its own peculiar seasonableness and delicacy, as well as for the perfect worthiness of the person who was the object of it, deserves more honourable mention than that which I am now about to record, and which took place nearly at the period of which I am speaking. The friend, whose good fortune it was to inspire the feeling thus testified, was Mr Hodgson, the gentleman to whom so many of the preceding letters are addressed; and as it would be unjust to rob him of the grace and honour of being, himself, the testimony of obligations so signal, I shall here lay before my readers an extract from the letter with which, in reference to a passage in one of his noble friend's Journals, he has favoured me. "I feel it incumbent upon me to explain the circumstances to which this passage alludes, however private their nature. They are, indeed, calculated to do honour to the memory of my lamented friend. Having become involved, unfortunately, in difficulties and embarrassments, I received from Lord Byron (besides former pecuniary obligations) assistance, at the time in question, to the amount of a thousand pounds. Aid of such magnitude was equally unsolicited and unexpected on my part; but it was the long-cherished, though secret, purpose of my friend to afford that aid; and he only waited for the period when he thought it would be of most service. His own words were, on the occasion of conferring this overwhelming favour, I always intended to do it.”” During all this time, and through the months of January and February, his Poem of "Childe Ha“If you please, we will drop our formal monosyl- rold" was in its progress through the press; and to LETTER LXXXII. TO MR MOORE. MY DEAR MOORE, 66 December 11, 1811. * Written beneath the picture of —— the changes and additions which he made in the course of printing, some of the most beautiful passages of the work owe their existence. On comparing, indeed, his rough draft of the two Cantos with the finished form in which they exist at present, we are made sensible of the power which the man of genius possesses, not only of surpassing others, but of improving on himself. Originally, the "little Page" and "Yeoman" of the Childe were introduced to the reader's notice in the following tame stanzas, by expanding the substance of which into their present light, lyric shape, it is almost needless to remark how much the poet has gained in variety and dramatic effect : And of his train there was a henchman page, Childe Buron's ear, when his proud heart did swell It has not been your lot to see, Like me, the lovely girl of Cadiz. Nor fair her locks, like English lasses, &c. &c. There were also, originally, several stanzas full of direct personality, and some that degenerated into a style still more familiar and ludicrous than that of the description of a London Sunday, which still disfigures the Poem. In thus mixing up the light with the solemn, it was the intention of the poet to imitate Ariosto. But it is far easier to rise, with grace, from the level of a strain generally familiar, into an occasional short burst of pathos or splendour, than to interrupt thus a prolonged tone of solemnity by any descent into the ludicrous or burlesque.** In the former case, the transition may have the effect of softening or elevating, while, in the latter, it almost invariably shocks; for the same reason, perhaps, that a trait of pathos or high feeling, in comedy, has a peculiar charm, while the intrusion of comic scenes *If there could be any doubt as to his intention of delineating himself in his hero, this adoption of the old Norman name of his family, which he seems to have at first contemplated. would be sufficient to remove it. In the MS. the names "Robin" and "Rupert" had been successively inserted here and scratched out again. Here the manuscript is illegible. **Among the acknowledged blemishes of Milton's great Poem is his abrupt transition, in this manner, into an imitation of Ariosto's style, in the "Paradise of Fools.” into tragedy, however sanctioned among us by habit and authority, rarely fails to offend. The noble poet was himself convinced of the failure of the experiment, and in none of the succeeding Cantos of Childe Harold repeated it. Of the satiric parts, some verses on the well-known traveller, Sir John Carr, may supply us with, at least, a harmless specimen : Ye who would more of Spain and Spaniards know, Hear what he did, and sought, and wrote afar, Among those passages which, in the course of revisal, he introduced, like pieces of "rich inlay," into the Poem, was that fine stanza Yet if, as holiest men have deem'd, there be A land of souls beyond that sable shore, &c. through which lines though, it must be confessed, a tone of scepticism breathes (as well as in those tender verses, Yes, I will dream that we may meet'again), it is a scepticism whose sadness calls far more for pity than blame; there being discoverable, even through its very doubts, an innate warmth of piety, which they had been able to obscure, but not to chill. To use the words of the poet himself, in a note which it was once his intention to affix to these stanzas, "Let it be remembered that the spirit they breathe is desponding, not sneering, scepticism,"— a distinction never to be lost sight of; as, however hopeless may be the conversion of the scoffing infidel, he who feels pain in doubting has still alive within him the seeds of belief. At the same time with Childe Harold, he had three other works in the press,-his "Hints from Horace," "The Curse of Minerva," and a fifth eu on of "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." The ite upon the latter Poem, which had been the lucky origin of our acquaintance, was withdrawn in this edition, and a few words of explanation, which he had the kindness to submit to my perusal, substituted in its place. In the month of January, the whole of the Two Cantos being printed off, some of the poet's friends, and, among others, Mr Rogers and myself, were so far favoured as to be indulged with a perusal of the sheets. In adverting to this period in his " Memoranda," Lord Byron, I remember, mentioned,—as one of the ill omens which preceded the publication of the Poem,-that some of the literary friends to whom it was shown expressed doubts of its success, and that one among them had told him "it was too good for the age." Whoever may have pronounced this opinion, and I have some suspicion that I am, myself, the guilty person,-the age has, it must be owned, most triumphantly refuted the calumny upon its taste which the remark implied. It was in the hands of Mr Rogers I first saw the sheets of the Poem, and glanced hastily over a few 15 LETTER LXXXIII. of the stanzas which he pointed out to me as beauti-lity, and not insulted by any person over whom I have ful. Having occasion, the same morning, to write a the smallest control, or, indeed, by any one whatever, note to Lord Byron, I expressed strongly the admi- while I have the power to protect her. I am truly ration which this foretaste of his work had excited in sorry to have any subject of complaint against you; me; and the following is,-as far as relates to literary I have too good an opinion of you to think I shall matters,-the answer I received from him. have occasion to repeat it, after the care I have taken of you, and my favourable intentions in behalf. your I see no occasion for any communication whatever between you and the women, and wish you to occupy yourself in preparing for the situation in which you will be placed. If a common sense of decency cannot prevent you from conducting yourself towards them with rudeness, I should at least hope that your own interest, and regard for a master who has never treated you with unkindness, will have some weight. "Yours, &c. "BYRON. 66 TO MR MOORE. "January 29th, 1812. MY DEAR MOORE, "I wish very much I could have seen you; I am in a state of ludicrous tribulation. "Why do you say that I dislike your poesy? I have expressed no such opinion, either in print or elsewhere. In scribbling myself it was necessary for me to find fault, and I fixed upon the trite charge of immorality, because could discover no other, and was so perfectly qualified, in the innocence of my heart, to pluck that mote from my neighbour's eye.' "I feel very, very much obliged by your approbation; but, at this moment, praise, even your praise, passes by me like the idle wind.' I meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication; but now, I can think of nothing but damned, deceitful,-delightful woman, as Mr Liston says in the Knight of Snowdon. "Believe me, my dear Moore, "Ever yours, most affectionately, The passages here omitted contain rather too amusing an account of a disturbance that had just occurred in the establishment at Newstead, in consequence of the detected misconduct of one of the maid-servants, who had been supposed to stand rather too high in the favour of her master, and, by the airs of authority which she thereupon assumed, had disposed all the rest of the household to regard her with no very charitable eyes. The chief actors in the strife were this Sultana and young Rushton; and the first point in dispute that came to Lord Byron's knowledge (though circumstances, far from creditable to the damsel, afterwards transpired) was, whether Rushton was bound to carry letters to "the Hut" at the bidding of this female. To an episode of such a nature I should not have thought of alluding, were it not for the two rather curious letters that follow, which show how gravely and coolly the young lord could arbitrate on such an occasion, and with what considerate leaning towards the servant whose fidelity he had proved, in preference to any new liking or fancy, by which it might be suspected he was actuated towards the other. LETTER LXXXIV. TO ROBERT RUSHTON. "8, St James's-street, Jan. 21st, 1812. "Though I have no objection to your refusal to carry letters to Mealey's, you will take care that the letters are taken by Spero at the proper time. I have also to observe, that Susan is to be treated with civi "P. S.-I wish you to attend to your arithmetic, to occupy yourself in surveying, measuring, and making yourself acquainted with every particular relative to the land of Newstead, and you will write to me one letter every week, that I may know how you go on." LETTER LXXXV. TO ROBERT RUSHTON. "8, St James's-street, January 25th, 1812. "Your refusal to carry the letter was not a subject of remonstrance; it was not a part of your business; but the language you used to the girl was (as she stated it) highly improper. "You say that you also have something to complain of; then state it to me immediately; it would be very unfair, and very contrary to my disposition, not to hear both sides of the question. "If any thing has passed between you before or since my last visit to Newstead, do not be afraid to mention it. I am sure you would not deceive me, though she would. Whatever it is, you shall be forgiven. I have not been without some suspicions on the subject, and am certain that, at your time of life, the blame could not attach to you. You will not consult any one as to your answer, but write to me immediately. I shall be more ready to hear what you have to advance, as I do not remember ever to have heard a word from you before against any human being, which convinces me you would not maliciously assert an untruth. There is not any one who can do the least injury to you while you conduct yourself properly. I shall expect your answer immediately. "Yours, &c. "BYRON." It was after writing these letters that he came to the knowledge of some improper levities on the part of the girl, in consequence of which he dismissed her and another female servant from Newstead; and how strongly he allowed this discovery to affect his mind, will be seen in a subsequent letter to Mr Hodgson. confined to bed with stone in the kidney, but I am now quite recovered. If the stone had got into my heart instead of my kidneys, it would have been all the better. The women are gone to their relatives, after many attempts to explain what was already too clear. However, I have quite recovered that also, and only wonder at my folly in excepting my own strumpets from the general corruption,-albeit a two months' weakness is better than ten years. I have one request to make, which is, never mention a woman again in any letter to me, or even allude to the existence of the sex. I won't even read a word of the feminine gender; it must all be propria quæ maribus.' In the spring of 1813 I shall leave England for ever. Every thing in my affairs tends to this, and my inclinations and health do not discourage it. Neither my habits nor constitution are improved by your customs or your climate. I shall find employment in making myself a good oriental scholar. I shall retain a mansion in one of the fairest islands, and retrace, at intervals, the most interesting portions of the East. In the mean time, I am adjusting my concerns, which will (when arranged) leave me with wealth sufficient even for home, but enough for a principality in Turkey. At present they are involved, but I hope, by taking some necessary but unpleasant steps, to clear every thing. Hobhouse is expected daily in London; we shall be very glad to see him; and, perhaps, you will come up and drink deep ere he depart,' if not, Mahomet must go to the mountain;'-but Cambridge will bring sad recollections to him, and worse to me, though for very different reasons. I believe the only human being that ever loved me in truth and entirely was of, or belonging to, Cambridge, and in that no change can now take place. There is one consolation in death-where he sets his seal, the impression can neither be melted or broken, but endureth for ever. "Yours always, B." 6 Among those lesser memorials of his good-nature and mindfulness, which, while they are precious to those who possess them, are not unworthy of admiration from others, may be reckoned such letters as the following, to a youth at Eton, recommending another, who was about to be entered at that school, to his care. LETTER LXXXVII. TO MASTER JOHN COWELL. ❝8, St James's-street, Feb. 12th, 1812. 66 MY DEAR JOHN, "You have probably long ago forgotten the writer of these lines, who would, perhaps, be unable to recognise yourself, from the difference which must naturally have taken place in your stature and appearance since he saw you last. I have been rambling through Portugal, Spain, Greece, &c. &c., for some years, and have found so many changes on my return, that it would be very unfair not to expect that you should have had your share of alteration and improvement with the rest. I write to request a favour of you: a little boy of eleven years, the son of Mr **, my particular friend, is about to become an Etonian, and I should esteem any act of protection or kindness to him as an obligation to myself; let me beg of you then to take some little notice of him at first, till he is able to shift for himself. "I was happy to hear a very favourable account of you from a schoolfellow a few weeks ago, and should be glad to learn that your family are as well as I wish them to be. I presume you are in the upper school;-as an Etonian, you will look down upon a Harrow man; but I never, even in my boyish days, disputed your superiority, which I once experienced in a cricket match, where I had the honour of making one of eleven, who were beaten to their hearts' content by your college in one innings. "Believe me to be, with great truth, &c. &e." On the 27th of February, a day or two before the appearance of Childe Harold, he made the first trial of his eloquence in the House of Lords; and it was on this occasion he had the good fortune to become acquainted with Lord Holland,—an acquaintance no less honourable than gratifying to both, as having originated in feelings the most generous, perhaps, of our nature, a ready forgiveness of injuries, on the one side, and a frank and unqualified atonement for them, on the other. The subject of debate was the Nottingham Frame-breaking Bill, and Lord Byron having mentioned to Mr Rogers his intention to take a part in the discussion, a communication was, by the intervention of that gentleman, opened between the noble poet and Lord Holland, who, with his usual courtesy, professed himself ready to afford all the information and advice in his power. The following letters, however, will best explain their first advances towards acquaintance. "With my best acknowledgments to Lord Holland, I have to offer my perfect concurrence in the propriety of the question previously to be put to ministers. If their answer is in the negative, I shall, with his lordship's approbation, give notice of a motion for a Committee of Inquiry. I would also gladly avail myself of his most able advice, and any information or documents with which he might be pleased to intrust me, to bear me out in the statement of facts it may be necessary to submit to the House. "From all that fell under my own observation during my Christmas visit to Newstead, I feel convinced that, if conciliatory measures are not very soon adopted, the most unhappy consequences may he apprehended. Nightly outrage and daily depredation are already at their height; and not only the masters of frames, who are obnoxious on account of their occupation, but persons in no degree connected with the malcontents or their oppressors, are liable to insult and pillage. "I am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken on my account, and beg you to believe me ever your obliged and sincere, &c." |
