The Works of Lord Byron: Letters and Journals. Vol. 2
Chapter 11
MAY, 1813-DECEMBER, 1813.
THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS'.
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290.--To John Murray.
May 13, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I send a corrected, and, I hope, amended copy of the lines for the "fragment" already sent this evening. [1] Let the enclosed be the copy that is sent to the Devil (the printers) and burn the other.
Yours, etc., B'N.
[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour', which was now in the press, was expanded, either in the course of printing, or in the successive editions, from 400 lines to 1400. It was published in May, 1813.]
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291.--To Thomas Moore.
May 19, 1813.
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town, Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, [1]-- For hang me if I know of which you may most brag, Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;
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But now to my letter--to _yours_ 'tis an answer-- To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir, All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on (According to compact) the wit in the dungeon [2]-- Pray Phoebus at length our political malice May not get us lodgings within the same palace! I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers, And for Sotheby's [3] Blues have deserted Sam Rogers; And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got, Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote. But to-morrow at four, we will both play the _Scurra_, And you'll be Catullus, the Regent, Mamurra. [4]
Dear M.,--having got thus far, I am interrupted by----. 10 o'clock.
Half-past 11.----is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.--Addio.
[Footnote 1: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag. By Thomas Brown, the Younger', was published in 1813.]
[Footnote 2: The "wit in the dungeon" was James Henry Leigh Hunt (1784-1859), who was educated at Christ's Hospital, and began his literary life with "a collection of poems, written between the ages of twelve and sixteen," and published in 1801 as 'Juvenilia'. In 1808 he and his brother John started a weekly newspaper called the 'Examiner', which advocated liberal principles with remarkable independence. On February 24, 1811, Hunt published an article in defence of Peter Finnerty, convicted for a libel on Castlereagh, and exhorting public writers to be bold in the cause of individual liberty. The same number contained an article on the savagery of military floggings, for which he was prosecuted, defended by Brougham, and acquitted. His acquittal drew from Shelley a letter of congratulation, addressed to Hunt as "one of the most fearless enlighteners of the public mind" (Dowden's 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 113).
In March, 1812, the 'Morning Post' printed a poem, speaking of the Prince Regent as the "Maecenas of the Age," the "Exciter of Desire," the "Glory of the People," an "Adonis of Loveliness," etc. The 'Examiner' for March 12, 1812, thus translated this adulation into "the language of truth:"
"What person, unacquainted with the true state of the case, would imagine, in reading these astounding eulogies, that this 'Glory of the People' was the subject of millions of shrugs and reproaches!... that this 'Exciter of Desire' (bravo! Messieurs of the 'Post'!), this 'Adonis in Loveliness,' was a corpulent man of fifty!--in short, this 'delightful, blissful, wise, pleasureable, honourable, virtuous, true', and 'immortal' prince was a violator of his word, a libertine over head and ears in disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or the respect of posterity."
Crabb Robinson, who met Leigh Hunt, four days later, at Charles Lamb's, says ('Diary', vol. i. p. 376),
"Leigh Hunt is an enthusiast, very well intentioned, and, I believe, prepared for the worst. He said, pleasantly enough, 'No one can accuse me of not writing a libel. Everything is a libel, as the law is now declared, and our security lies only in their shame.'"
For this libel John and Leigh Hunt were convicted in the Court of King's Bench on December 9, 1812. In the following February they were sentenced to two years' imprisonment and a fine of L500 a-piece. John was imprisoned in Coldbath-fields, Leigh in the Surrey County Gaol. They were released on February 2 or 3, 1815.
Shelley, on reading the sentence, proposed a subscription for
"the brave and enlightened man... to whom the public owes a debt as the champion of their liberties and virtues"
(Dowden, 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 325). Keats wrote a sonnet to Hunt on the day he left his prison, beginning:
"What though for showing truth to flatter'd state, Kind Hunt was shut in prison."
A political alliance was thus cemented, which, for the time, was disastrous to the literary prospects of Shelley and Keats. To Hunt Shelley dedicated the 'Cenci', and Keats his first volume of 'Poems' (1817). He is the "gentlest of the wise" in Shelley's 'Adonais'; and, in a suppressed stanza of the same poem, the poet speaks of Hunt's "sweet and earnest looks," "soft smiles," and "dark and night-like eyes." The words inscribed on Shelley's tomb--"_Cor Cordium_"--were Hunt's choice. In his various papers Hunt zealously championed his friends. In the 'Examiner' for September to October, 1819, he defended Shelley's personal character; in the same paper for June to July, 1817, he praised Keats's first volume of 'Poems'; he reviewed "Lamia" in the 'Indicator' for August 2-9, 1820, and "La Belle Dame sans Merci" in that for May 10, 1820. In his 'Foliage' (1818) are three sonnets addressed to Keats.
Shelley believed in Hunt to the end. It was mainly through him that Hunt came to Pisa in June, 1822, to join with Byron in 'The Liberal'. But he doubted whether the alliance between the "wren and the eagle" could continue ('Life of Shelley', vol. ii. p. 519). Keats, on the other hand, lost his faith in Hunt. In a letter to Haydon (May, 1817), speaking of Hunt, he says,
"There is no greater Sin after the seven deadly than to flatter oneself into an idea of being a great Poet."
Again (March, 1818) he writes,
"It is a great Pity that People should, by associating themselves with the finest things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead, and masks, and sonnets, and Italian tales."
He writes still more severely (December, 1818-January, 1819),
"If I were to follow my own inclinations, I should never meet any one of that set again, not even Hunt, who is certainly a pleasant fellow in the main when you are with him; but in reality he is vain, egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste and morals. Hunt does one harm by making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful. Through him I am indifferent to Mozart. I care not for white Busts--and many a glorious thing when associated with him becomes a nothing."
Haydon considered that Hunt was the "great unhinger" of Keats's best dispositions ('Works of Keats', ed. H.B. Forman, vol. iv. p. 359); and Severn attributes Keats's temporary "mawkishness" to Hunt's society ('ibid'., p. 376).
Nathaniel Hawthorne ('Our Old Home', p. 229, ed. 1884) says of Hunt, and means it as high praise, that
"there was not an English trait in him from head to foot--morally, intellectually, or physically. Beef, ale or stout, brandy or port-wine, entered not at all into his composition."
He was, in fact, a man of weak fibre, who allowed himself to sponge upon his friends, such as Talfourd, Haydon, and Shelley. Though Dickens denied ('All the Year Round', Dec. 24, 1859) that "Harold Skimpole" was intended for Hunt, the picture was recognized as a portrait. On the other hand, Hunt was a man of kindly and genial disposition.
"He loves everything," says Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. ii. p. 192), "he catches the sunny side of everything, and, excepting that he has a few polemical antipathies, finds everything beautiful."
In his essays, the best of which appeared in the 'Indicator' (1819-21), he communicates some of his own sense of enjoyment to those of his readers who are content to take him as he is. His circle is limited; but in it his observation is minute and suggestive. The Vale of Health is to him, in a degree proportioned to their respective powers, what the Temple was to Lamb. His style is neat, pretty, and would be affected if it were not the man himself. As a literary journalist, a dramatic critic, and an essayist, he has a place in literature. His poetry is less successful; his affectations, innate vulgarity, and habit of pawing his subjects repel even those who are attracted by its sweetness. Yet his 'Story of Rimini' (1816), which he dedicated to Byron, was admired in its day. Byron, though he condemned its affected style, thought the poem a "devilish good one." Moore held the same opinion; and Jeffrey, writing to him May 28, 1816 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moon,' vol. ii. p. 100), says,
"I certainly shall not be ill-natured to 'Rimini'. It is very sweet and very lively in many places, and is altogether piquant, as being by far the best imitation of Chaucer and some of his Italian contemporaries that modern times have produced."
No two men could be more unlike than Byron and Hunt, or have less in common. Yet, with a singular capacity for self-delusion, Hunt told his wife that the texture of Byron's mind resembled his to a thread ('Correspondence of L. Hunt', vol. i. p. 88). The friendship began in political sympathy; but two years later (see Byron's letter to Moore, June 1, 1818) it had, on one side at least, cooled. In June, 1822, Hunt came to Pisa to launch The Liberal, with the aid of Shelley and Byron. 'The Liberal: Verse and Prose from the South', started in 1822, lived through four numbers, and died in July, 1823. During that time Byron expressed to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 77)
"a very good opinion of the talents and principle of Mr. Hunt, though, as he said, 'our tastes are so opposite that we are totally unsuited to each other ... in short, we are more formed to be friends at a distance, than near.'"
For the best part of two years Hunt was Byron's guest: he repaid his hospitality by publishing his 'Lord Byron and Some of his Contemporaries' (1828). Though Lady Blessington said the book "gave, in the main, a fair account" of Byron (Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', vol. iii. p. 13), its publication was a breach of honour. As such it was justly attacked by Moore in "The 'Living Dog' and the 'Dead Lion'":
"Next week will be published (as 'Lives' are the rage) The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange, Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change.
"Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 'sad,' 'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends; And few dogs have such opportunities had Of knowing how Lions behave--among friends.
"How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks, Is all noted down by this Boswell so small; And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks That the Lion was no such great things after all.
"Though he roared pretty well--this the puppy allows-- It was all, he says, borrowed--all second-hand roar; And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour.
"'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a 'Cynic' could ask, To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task, And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits.
"Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) With sops every day from the Lion's own pan, He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass, And--does all a dog, so diminutive, can.
"However, the book's a good book, being rich in Examples and warnings to lions high-bred, How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen, Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.
"Exeter 'Change'.
T. PIDCOCK."
For the reply of Hunt or one of his friends, "The Giant and the Dwarf," see Appendix VI.]
[Footnote 3: William Sotheby (1757-1833), once a cavalry officer, afterwards a man of letters and of fortune, published his 'Oberon' in 1798, and his 'Georgics' in 1800 (see 'English Bards, etc.', line 818, and 'note'). The following passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) refers to him:
"Sotheby is a good man; rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout, at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me (something about Agamemnon or Orestes--or some of his plays), notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress, (for I was in love and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the Statues of the Gallery where we stood at the time). Sotheby, I say, had seized upon me by the button, and the heart-strings, and spared neither. W. Spencer, who likes fun, and don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took me by the hand and pathetically bade me farewell, 'for,' said he, 'I see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went away. 'Sic me servavit Apollo.'"]
[Footnote 4: See Catullus, xxix. 3:
"Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest pati, Nisi impudicus et vorax, et aleo, Mamurram habere, quod Comata Gallia Habebat uncti et ultima Britannia?"
See also xli. 4, xliii. 5 (compare Horace, 'Sat'. i. 5. 37), and lvii. 2.]
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292.--To John Murray.
May 22nd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I return the "_Curiosities of Literature_." [1] Pray is it fair to ask if the "_Twopenny Postbag_" is to be reviewed in this No.? because, if not, I should be glad to undertake it, and leave it to Chance and the Editor for a reception into your pages.
Yours truly,
B.
P.S.--You have not sent me Eustace's 'Travels'. [2]
[Footnote 1: The first volume of Isaac Disraeli's 'Curiosities of Literature' was published in 1791. The remaining volumes were published at intervals: vol. ii., 1793; vol. iii., 1817; vols. iv. and v., in 1823; vol. vi., 1834.]
[Footnote 2: John Chetwode Eustace ('circ'. 1762-1815) published his 'Tour through Italy' in 1813.]
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293.--To John Murray.
May 23rd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I question whether ever author before received such a compliment from his _master_. I am glad you think the thing is tolerably _vamped_ and will be _vendible_.
Pray look over the proof again. I am but a careless reviser, and let me have 12 struck off, and one or two for yourself to serve as MS. for the thing when published in the body of the volume. If Lady Caroline Lamb sends for it, do _not_ let her have it, till the copies are all ready, and then you can send her one.
Yours truly,
[Greek: Mpairon].
P.S.--H.'s book is out at last; I have my copy, which I have lent already.
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294.--To John Murray.
June 2, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I presented a petition to the house yesterday, [1] which gave rise to some debate, and I wish you to favour me for a few minutes with the 'Times' and 'Herald' to look on their hostile report.
You will find, if you like to look at my 'prose', my words nearly 'verbatim' in the 'M. Chronicle'.
B'N.
[Footnote 1: The petition was from Major Cartwright, and was presented June 1, 1813. (For Byron's speech, see Appendix II. (3).) Returning from the House, he called on Moore, and, while the latter was dressing for dinner, walked up and down the next room,
"spouting in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the speech he had just been delivering. 'I told them,' he said, 'that it was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution--that, if such things were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and that--'
"'But what was this dreadful grievance?' asked Moore.
"'The grievance?' he repeated, pausing as if to consider, 'oh, _that_ I forget.'"]
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295.--To Thomas Moore.
My Dear Moore,--"When Rogers" [1] must not see the inclosed, which I send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit. Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The "Poulterer" was the first and best. [2]
Ever yours, etc.
1.
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent, (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
2.
And since not ev'n our Rogers' praise To common sense his thoughts could raise-- Why _would_ they let him print his lays?
3.
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4.
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5.
To me, divine Apollo, grant--O! Hermilda's first and second canto, I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
6.
And thus to furnish decent lining, My own and others' bays I'm twining-- So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
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296.--To John Hanson.
June 3d, 1813.
Dear Sir,--When you receive this I shall have left town for a week, and, as it is perfectly right we should understand each other, I think you will not be surprised at my persisting in my intention of going abroad. If the Suit can be carried on in my absence,--_well_; if not, it must be given up. One word, one letter, to Cn. would put an end to it; but this I shall not do, at all events without acquainting you before hand; nor at all, provided I am able to go abroad again. But at all hazards, at all losses, on this last point I am as determined as I have been for the last six months, and you have always told me that you would endeavour to assist me in that intention. Every thing is ordered and ready now. Do not trifle with me, for I am in very solid serious earnest, and if utter ruin _were_, or _is_ before me, on the one hand--and wealth at home on the other,--I have made my choice, and go I will.
If you wish to write, address a line before Saturday to Salthill Post Office; Maidenhead, I believe, but am not sure, is the Post town; but I shall not be in town till Wednesday next.
Believe me, yours ever,
BN.
P.S.--Let all the books go to Mr. Murray's immediately, and let the plate, linen, etc., which I find _excepted_ by the _contract_, be sold, particularly a large silver vase--with the _contents_ not removed as they are curious, and a silver cup (not the skull) be sold also--both are of value.
The Pictures also, and every moveable that is mine, and can be converted into cash; all I want is a few thousand pounds, and then adieu. You shan't be troubled with me these ten years, if ever.
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297.--To Francis Hodgson.
June 6, 1813.
MY DEAR HODGSON,--I write to you a few lines on business. Murray has thought proper at his own risk, and peril, and profit (if there be any) to publish 'The Giaour'; and it may possibly come under your ordeal in the 'Monthly' [1] I merely wish to state that in the published copies there are additions to the amount of ten pages, _text_ and _margin_ (_chiefly_ the last), which render it a little less unfinished (but more unintelligible) than before. If, therefore, you review it, let it be from the published copies and not from the first sketch. I shall not sail for this month, and shall be in town again next week, when I shall be happy to hear from you but more glad to see you. You know I have no time or turn for correspondence(!). But you also know, I hope, that I am not the less
Yours ever,
[Greek: MPAIRON].
[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour' was reviewed in the 'Monthly Review' for June, 1813 (N.S. vol. lxxi. p. 202). In the Editor's copy is added in MS. at the end of the article, as indicating the author of the review, the word "Den."]
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298.--To Francis Hodgson.
June 8th, 1813.
My dear Hodgson,--In town for a night I find your card. I had written to you at Cambridge merely to say that Murray has thought it expedient to publish 'The Giaour' at his own risk (and reimbursement, if he can), and that, as it will probably be in your department in the 'Monthly', I wished to state that, in the published copies, there are additions to the tune of 300 lines or so towards the end, and, if reviewed, it should _not_ be from the privately printed copy. So much for scribbling.
I shall manage to see you somewhere before I sail, which will be next month; till then I am yours here, and afterwards any where and every where,
Dear H., _tutto tuo_,
BN.
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299.--To John Murray.
Je. 9, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I regret much that I have no profane garment to array you with for the masquerade. As my motions will be uncertain, you need not write nor send the proofs till my return.
Yours truly,
BN.
P.S.--My wardrobe is out of town--or I could have dressed you as an Albanian--or a Turk--or an officer--or a Waggoner.
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300.--To John Murray.
June 12, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Having occasion to send a servant to London, I will thank you to inform me whether I left with the other things 3 miniatures in your care (--if not--I know where to find them), and also to "report progress" in unpacking the books? The bearer returns this evening.
How does Hobhouse's work go on, or rather off--for that is the essential part? In yesterday's paper, immediately under an advertisement on "Strictures in the Urethra," I see--most appropriately consequent--a poem with "_strictures_ on Ld B., Mr. Southey and others,"[1] though I am afraid neither "Mr. S.'s" poetical distemper, nor "mine," nor "others," is of the suppressive or stranguary kind. You may read me the prescription of this kill or cure physician. The medicine is compounded at White and Cochrane's, Fleet Street. As I have nothing else to do, I may enjoy it like Sir Fretful, or the Archbishop of Grenada, or any other personage in like predicament.
Recollect that my lacquey returns in the Evening, and that I set out for Portsmouth [2] to-morrow. All here are very well, and much pleased with your politeness and attention during their stay in town.
Believe me, yours truly,
B.
P.S.--Are there anything but books? If so, let those _extras_ remain untouched for the present. I trust you have not stumbled on any more "Aphrodites," and have burnt those. I send you both the advertisements, but don't send me the first treatise--as I have no occasion for _Caustic_ in that quarter.
[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle' (June 10, 1813) appeared advertisements of the two following books:--'Practical Observations on the best mode of curing Strictures, etc., with Remarks on Inefficacy, etc., of Caustic Applications'. By William Wadd. Printed for J. Callow, Soho. 'Modern Poets; a Dialogue in Verse, containing some Strictures on the Poetry of Lord Byron, Mr. Southey, and Others'. Printed for White, Cochrane, and Co., Fleet Street.
In a note on 'Modern Poets' (p. 7) occurs the following passage:
"In 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' the same respectable corps of critics is successively exhibited, in the course of only ten lines, under the following significant but somewhat incongruous forms, viz. (1) Northern Wolves, (2) Harpies, (3) Bloodhounds."
In proof the writer quotes lines 426-437 of the Satire. Then follows a long review of 'Childe Harold', in which the critic condemns Harold, the hero, as "an uncouth incumbrance of this flighty Lord;" the want of "plot ... action and fable, interest, order, end;" and asks:
"Shall he immortal bays aspire to wear Who immortality from man would tear, Repress the sigh which hopes a happier home, And chase the visions of a life to come?"]
[Footnote 2: For Byron's intention to go abroad with Lord and Lady Oxford, see p. 164, 'note' 3 [Footnote 6 of Letter 256.]]
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301.--To John Murray.
[Maidenhead], June 13, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Amongst the books from Bennet St. is a small vol. of abominable poems by the Earl of Haddington which must not be in ye Catalogue on Sale--also--a vol. of French Epigrams in the same predicament.
On the title page of Meletius is an inscription in writing which must be _erased_ and made illegible.
I have read the strictures, which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, but one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of 'E. Bds'., page 23., but which edition I do not know. In the _sole_ copy in your possession--I mean the _fifth_ edition--you may make these alterations, that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:--For "_hellish_ instinct," substitute "_brutal_ instinct;" "_harpies_" alter to "_felons_;" and for "blood-hounds" write "hell-hounds." These be "very bitter words, by my troth," and the alterations not much sweeter; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only 12 lines.
You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to say anything unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, till _called_ for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on 'Columbus' [1] which is not _too_ fair; and I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures', which surely entitles the author to a higher rank than that assigned to him in the 'Quarterly'. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the _invisible infallibles_; and the article is very well written. The general horror of "_fragments_" [2] makes me tremulous for "_The Giaour_;" but you would publish it--I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pye without apprehension for some weeks.
The Books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's 'Naufragia' [3]? I am told that he asserts the _first_ volume of 'Robinson Crusoe' was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth.
Ever yours, etc.,
Bn.
[Footnote 1: Rogers's _Columbus_ was reviewed by Ward in the _Quarterly_ for March, 1813. The reviewer detects "evident marks of haste" in the poem.]
[Footnote 2: _The Giaour_, like _Columbus_, was written in fragments.]
[Footnote 3: James Stanier Clarke, a Navy Chaplain (1765-1834), published, in 1805, 'Naufragia, or Historical Memoirs of Shipwrecks'. In that work he does not himself attribute the _first_ volume of 'Robinson Crusoe' to Lord Oxford. The following is the passage to which Byron refers ('Naufragia', vol. i. pp. 12, 13): "But before I conclude this Section, I wish to make the admirers of this Nautical Romance mindful of a Report, which prevailed many years ago; that Defoe, after all, was not the real author of Robinson Crusoe. This assertion is noticed in an article in the seventh volume of the 'Edinburgh Magazine' [vol. vii. p. 269]. Dr. Towers, in his 'Life' of Defoe in the 'Biographia', is inclined to pay no attention to it; but was that writer aware of the following letter, which also appeared in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for 1788? (vol. lviii. part i. p. 208). At least no notice is taken of it in his 'Life' of Defoe:
"'Dublin, February 25.
"Mr. Urban,--In the course of a late conversation with a nobleman of the first consequence and information in this kingdom, he assured me, that Mr. Benjamin Holloway, of Middleton Stony, assured him, some time ago: that he knew for fact, that the celebrated Romance of 'Robinson Crusoe' was really written by the Earl of Oxford, when confined in the Tower of London: that his Lordship gave the manuscript to Daniel Defoe, who frequently visited him during his confinement: and that Defoe, having afterwards added the second volume, published the whole as his own production. This anecdote I would not venture to send to your valuable magazine, if I did not think my information good, and imagine it might be acceptable to your numerous readers, not-withstanding the work has heretofore been generally attributed to the latter. W. W.'
"It is impossible for me to enter on a discussion of this literary subject; though I thought the circumstance ought to be more generally known. And yet I must observe, that I always discerned a very striking falling off between the composition of the first and second volumes of this Romance--they seem to bear evident marks of having been the work of different writers."
A volume of memoranda in the handwriting of Warton, the Laureate, preserved in the British Museum, contains the following:
"Mem. Jul. 10, 1774. In the year 1759, I was told by the Rev. Mr. Benjamin Holloway, rector of Middleton Stony, in Oxfordshire, then about 70 years old, and in the early part of his life domestic Chaplain to Lord Sunderland, that he had often heard Lord Sunderland say that Lord Oxford, while a prisoner in the Tower of London, wrote the first volume of the History of Robinson Crusoe, merely as an amusement under confinement; and gave it to Daniel De Foe, who frequently visited Lord Oxford in the Tower, and was one of his Pamphlet writers. That De Foe, by Lord Oxford's permission, printed it as his own, and, encouraged by its extraordinary success, added himself the second volume, the inferiority of which is generally acknowledged. Mr. Holloway also told me, from Lord Sunderland, that Lord Oxford dictated some parts of the manuscript to De Foe. Mr. Holloway was a grave conscientious clergyman, not vain of telling anecdotes, very learned, particularly a good orientalist, author of some theological tracts, bred at Eton School, and a Master of Arts at St. John's College, Cambridge. He lived many years with great respect in Lord Sunderland's family, and was like to the late Duke of Marlborough. He died, as I remember, about the year 1761." ]
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302.--To John Murray.
June 18, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else?
Ever yours,
B'N.
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303.--To W. Gifford.
June 18, 1813.
My Dear Sir,--I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all--still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you.
Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the 'Baviad', or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, [1] would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure: judge then if I shall be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your Gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome.
To your advice on Religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather _strongly_ interpreted. I am no Bigot to Infidelity, and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of Man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insignificance of ourselves and _our world_, when placed in competition with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated.
This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where I was cudgelled to Church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria.
I regret to hear you talk of ill-health. May you long exist! not only to enjoy your own fame, but outlive that of fifty such ephemeral adventurers as myself.
As I do not sail quite so soon as Murray may have led you to expect (not till July) I trust I have some chance of taking you by the hand before my departure, and repeating in person how sincerely and affectionately I am
Your obliged servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 198 [Footnote 4 of Letter 192.]]
* * * * *
304.--To John Murray.
June 22, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I send you a _corrected_ copy of the lines with several _important_ alterations,--so many that this had better be sent for proof rather than subject the other to so many blots.
You will excuse the eternal trouble I inflict upon you. As you will see, I have attended to your Criticism, and softened a passage you proscribed this morning.
Yours veritably,
B.
* * * * *
305.--To Thomas Moore.
June 22, 1813.
Yesterday I dined in company with Stael, the "Epicene," [1] whose politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of Liverpool--a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory--talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the government will help her to a pension.
Murray, the [Greek: anax] of publishers, the Anak of stationers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be bound, like "Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the _Universal Visitor?_" [2]
Seriously, he talks of hundreds a year, and--though I hate prating of the beggarly elements--his proposal may be to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure.
I don't know what to say about "friendship." I never was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am "too old;" [3] but nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than
Yours, etc.
[Footnote 1:
"'And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien, Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen, Neckar's fair daughter, Stael the 'Epicene'! Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple nose The bloom of young desire unceasing glows! Fain would the Muse--but ah! she dares no more, A mournful voice from lone 'Guyana's' shore, Sad Quatremer, the bold presumption checks, Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.'
"These lines contain the Secret History of Quatremer's deportation. He presumed, in the Council of Five Hundred, to arraign Madame de Stael's conduct, and even to hint a doubt of her sex. He was sent to 'Guyana'. The transaction naturally brings to one's mind the dialogue between Falstaff and Hostess Quickly in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV'."
'Canning's New Morality', lines 293-301 (Edmonds' edition of the 'Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin', pp. 282, 283).
Anne Louise Germaine Necker (1766-1817), only child of the Minister Necker and his wife Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love, married, in 1786, the Swedish Ambassador Baron de Stael Holstein, who died in 1802. She married, as her second husband, in 1811, M. de Rocca, a young French officer, who had been severely wounded in Spain, but survived her by a year (Madame de Recamier, 'Souvenirs', vol. i. p. 272). Her book, 'De l'Allemagne', seized and destroyed by Napoleon, was brought out in June, 1813, by John Murray. Byron thought her
"certainly the cleverest, though not the most agreeable woman he had ever known. 'She declaimed to you instead of conversing with you,' said he, 'never pausing except to take breath; and if during that interval a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her discourse as though it had not been interrupted'"
(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 26). Croker ('Croker Papers', vol. i. p. 327) describes her as
"ugly, and not of an intellectual ugliness. Her features were coarse, and the ordinary expression rather vulgar, she had an ugly mouth, and one or two irregularly prominent teeth, which perhaps gave her countenance an habitual gaiety. Her eye was full, dark, and expressive; and when she declaimed, which was almost whenever she spoke, she looked eloquent, and one forgot that she was plain."
Madame de Stael
"did not affect to conceal her preference for the society of men to that of her own sex,"
and was entirely above, or below, studying the feminine arts of pleasing. In 1802 Miss Berry called on her in Paris.
"Found her in an excessively dirty 'cabinet'--sofa singularly so; her own dress, a loose spencer with a bare neck"
('Journal', vol. ii. p. 145). A similar experience is mentioned by Crabb Robinson ('Diary', 1804).
"On the 28th of January," he writes, "I first waited on Madame de Stael. I was shown into her bedroom, for which, not knowing Parisian customs, I was unprepared. She was sitting, most decorously, 'in' her bed, and writing. She had her night-cap on, and her face was not made up for the day. It was by no means a captivating spectacle; but I had a very cordial reception, and two bright black eyes smiled benignantly on me."
Of her political opinions Sir John Bowring ('Autobiographical Recollections', pp. 375, 376) has left a sketch.
"Madame de Stael was a perfect aristocrat, and her sympathies were wholly with the great and prosperous. She saw nothing in England but the luxury, stupidity, and pride of the Tory aristocracy, and the intelligence and magnificence of the Whig aristocracy. These latter talked about truth, and liberty and herself, and she supposed it was all as it should be. As to the millions, the people, she never inquired into their situation. She had a horror of the 'canaille', but anything of 'sangre asul' had a charm for her. When she was dying she said, 'Let me die in peace; let my last moments be undisturbed.' Yet she ordered the cards of every visitor to be brought to her. Among them was one from the Duc de Richelieu. 'What!' exclaimed she indignantly, 'What! have you sent away the 'Duke'? Hurry! Fly after him. Bring him back. Tell him that, though I die for all the world, I live for 'him'.'"
Napoleon's hatred of her was intense. "Do not allow that jade, Madame de Stael," he writes to Fouche, December 31, 1806 ('New Letters of Napoleon I.', p. 35), "to come near Paris." Again, March 15, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 39), "You are not to allow Madame de Stael to come within forty leagues of Paris. That wicked schemer ought to make up her mind to behave herself at last." In a third letter, April 19, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 40), he speaks of her as "paying court, one day to the great--a patriot, a democrat, the next!... a fright, ... a worthless woman" (Leon Lecestre's 'Lettres inedites de Napoleon I'er', 2nd ed. vol. i. pp. 84, 88, 93).]
[Footnote 2:
"Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart to write a monthly miscellany called the 'Universal Visitor'. There was a formal written contract, which Allen the printer saw.... They were bound to write nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of the profits of his sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for ninety-nine years"
(Boswell's 'Life of Dr. Johnson', ed. Birrell, vol. iii. p. 192).]
[Footnote 3:
"But first the Monarch, so polite, Ask'd Mister Whitbread if he'd be a 'Knight'. Unwilling in the list to be enroll'd, Whitbread contemplated the Knights of 'Peg', Then to his generous Sov'reign made a leg, And said, 'He was afraid he was 'too old','" etc.
Peter Pindar's 'Instructions to a Laureat'.]
* * * * *
306.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
4, Bennet Street, June 26th, 1813.
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--Let me know when you arrive, and when, and where, and how, you would like to see me,--any where in short but at _dinner_. I have put off going into ye country on purpose to _waylay_ you.
Ever yours, Byron
* * * * *
307.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[June, 1813.]
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--And if you knew _whom_ I had put off besides my journey--you would think me grown strangely fraternal. However I won't overwhelm you with my _own praises_.
Between one and two be it--I shall, in course, prefer seeing you all to myself without the incumbrance of third persons, even of _your_ (for I won't own the relationship) fair cousin of _eleven page_ memory [1], who, by the bye, makes one of the finest busts I have seen in the Exhibition, or out of it. Good night!
Ever yours, BYRON.
P.S.--Your writing is grown like my Attorney's, and gave me a qualm, till I found the remedy in your signature.
[Footnote 1: 'Letters', vol. i. p. 54 [end of Footnote 3 of Letter 13.], Lady Gertrude Howard married, in 1806, William Sloane Stanley, and died in 1870.]
* * * * *
308.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[Sunday], June 27th, 1813.
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--If you like to go with me to ye Lady Davy's [1] [ to-night, I _have_ an invitation for you.
There you will see the _Stael_, some people whom you know, and _me_ whom you do _not_ know,--and you can talk to which you please, and I will watch over you as if you were unmarried and in danger of always being so. Now do as you like; but if you chuse to array yourself before or after half past ten, I will call for you. I think our being together before 3d people will be a new _sensation_ to _both_.
Ever yours,
B.
[Footnote 1: Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), the son of a wood-carver of Penzance, was apprenticed to John Borlase, a surgeon at Penzance, in whose dispensary he became a chemist. He wrote poetry as a young man, but soon abandoned the pursuit for science. Two poems on Byron by Davy, one written in 1823, the other in 1824, will be found in Dr. Davy's 'Memoirs of the Life of Sir H. Davy', vol. ii. pp. 168, 169. In October, 1798, he joined Dr. Beddoes at Bristol, where he superintended the laboratory at his Pneumatic Institution. His 'Researches, Chemical and Philosophical' (1799), made him famous. At the Royal Institution in London, founded in 1799, Davy became assistant-lecturer in chemistry, and director of the chemical laboratory. There his lecture-room was crowded by some of the most distinguished men and women of the day. Within the next few years his discoveries in electricity and galvanism, (1806-7) brought him European celebrity; his lectures on agricultural chemistry (1810) marked a fresh era in farming, and inaugurated the new movement of "science with practice." His famous discovery of the Safety Lamp was made in 1816. He was created a baronet in 1818. A skilful fisherman, he wrote, when in declining health, 'Salmonia, or Days of Fly-fishing', published in 1827. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 57), speaking of Davy in 1815, says,
"He is now about thirty-three, but with all the freshness and bloom of five-and-twenty, and one of the handsomest men I have seen in England. He has a great deal of vivacity, talks rapidly, though with great precision, and is so much interested in conversation, that his excitement amounts to nervous impatience, and keeps him in constant motion."
Davy married, in 1812, a rich widow, Jane Aprecce, 'nee' Kerr (1780-1855). The marriage brought him wealth; but it also, it is said, impaired the simplicity of his character, and made him ambitious of social distinction. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 535) supped with Lady Davy in May, 1813, to meet the Princess of Wales, and notes that among the other guests was Byron. Lady Davy, who was so dark a brunette that Sydney Smith said she was as brown as a dry toast, was for many years a prominent figure in the society of London and Rome. It was of her that Madame de Stael said that she had "all Corinne's talents without her faults or extravagances." Ticknor, who called on her in June, 1815,
"found her in her parlour, working on a dress, the contents of her basket strewed about the table, and looking more like home than anything since I left it. She is small, with black eyes and hair, a very pleasant face, an uncommonly sweet smile, and, when she speaks, has much spirit and expression in her countenance. Her conversation is agreeable, particularly in the choice and variety of her phraseology, and has more the air of eloquence than I have ever heard before from a lady." ('Life of George Ticknor', vol. i. P. 57).]
* * * * *
309.--To John Murray.
July 1st, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--There is an error in my dedication. [1] The word "_my_" must be struck out--"my" admiration, etc.; it is a false construction and disagrees with the signature. I hope this will arrive in time to prevent a _cancel_ and serve for a proof; recollect it is only the "my" to be erased throughout.
There is a critique in the 'Satirist', [2] which I have read,--fairly written, and, though _vituperative_, very fair in judgment. One part belongs to you, _viz_., the 4_s_. and 6_d_ charge; it is unconscionable, but you have no conscience.
Yours truly,
B.
[Footnote 1: The dedication was originally printed thus:
"To Samuel Rogers, Esq., as a slight but most sincere token of my admiration of his genius."]
[Footnote 2: 'The Satirist' for July 1, 1813 (pp. 70-88), reviews the 'Giaour' at length. It condemns it for its fragmentary character and consequent obscurity, its carelessness and defects of style; but it also admits that the poem "abounds with proofs of genius:"
"A word in conclusion. The noble lord appears to have an aristocratical solicitude to be read only by the opulent. Four shillings and sixpence for forty-one octavo pages of poetry! and those pages verily happily answering to Mr. Sheridan's image of a rivulet of text flowing through a meadow of margin. My good Lord Byron, while you are revelling in all the sensual and intellectual luxury which the successful sale of Newstead Abbey has procured for you, you little think of the privations to which you have subjected us unfortunate Reviewers, ... in order to enable us to purchase your lordship's expensive publication."]
* * * * *
310.--To Thomas Moore.
4, Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8, 1813.
I presume by your silence that I have blundered into something noxious in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from you in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as the _nonchalant_ deities of Lucretius), that you are the last person I want to offend. So, if I have,--why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen?
Rogers is out of town with Madame de Stael, who hath published an Essay against Suicide, [1] which, I presume, will make somebody shoot himself;--as a sermon by Blenkinsop, in _proof_ of Christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me what _I_ have done, pray say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you _before_ I go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife,--without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from infection.
The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort,--for, never having been much together, we are naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. [2] We are just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a large _M.W._, which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't answer this, I sha'n't say what _you_ deserve, but I think _I_ deserve a reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? [3] Sunburn me, if you are not too bad.
[Footnote 1:
"Madame de Stael treats me as the person whom she most delights to honour; I am generally ordered with her to dinner, as one orders beans and bacon: she is one of the few persons who surpass expectation; she has every sort of talent, and would be universally popular, if, in society, she were to confine herself to her inferior talents-- pleasantry, anecdote, and literature. I have reviewed her 'Essay on Suicide' in the last 'Edinburgh Review': it is not one of her best, and I have accordingly said more of the author and the subject than of the work."
Sir J. Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 269).]
[Footnote 2: One result of the illuminations in honour of the battle of Vittoria (June 21, 1813), which took place July 7, was a great fire at Woolwich. Moore was at this time living at Mayfield Cottage near Ashbourne, in Derbyshire.]
[Footnote 3: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag', was published, without his name, in 1813.]
* * * * *
311.--To Thomas Moore.
July 13, 1813.
Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your susceptibility) that I had said--I know not what--but something I should have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;--though I don't see how a man with a beautiful wife--_his own_ children,--quiet--fame --competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing.
Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined--remember I say but _inclined_--to be seriously enamoured with Lady A[delaide] F[orbes] [1]--but this----has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her; is she _clever_, or sensible, or good-tempered? either _would_ do--I scratch out the _will_. I don't ask as to her beauty--that I see; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do not yet know her much, but better than I did.
I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the word--"nay, an they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they." [2]
Now, what are you doing?--writing, we all hope, for our own sakes. Remember you must edit my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author, for which I will send you Confessions, dated "Lazaretto," Smyrna, Malta, or Palermo--one can die any where.
There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fete [3]. The Regent and----are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene--there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic.
P. S.--The Stael last night attacked me most furiously--said that I had "no right to make love--that I had used----barbarously--that I had no feeling, and was totally _in_sensible to _la belle passion_, and _had_ been all my life." I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. Let me hear from you anon.
[Footnote 1:
"Lady A. F----'was' also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of women in the past tense. What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade so soon as beauty! Poor Lady A. F--has not got married. Do you know, I once had some thoughts of her as a wife; not that I was in love, as people call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that I ought to marry, and, meeting her very often in society, the notion came into my head, not heart, that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so much of her good qualities--all which was, I believe, quite true--that I felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, whether 'tant mieux' or 'tant pis', God knows, supposing my proposal accepted."
(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', pp. 108, 109).
Lady Adelaide Forbes, whom Byron in Rome compared to the "Belvedere Apollo," was the daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard, and his wife, Lady Selina Rawdon, daughter of the first Earl of Moira. Born in 1789, she died at Dresden, in 1858, unmarried. Lord Moira was Moore's patron, and, through this connection and political sympathies, Moore was acquainted with Lord Granard and his family.]
[Footnote 2: Byron possibly quoted the actual words from 'Hamlet' (act v. sc. 1), referring to Moore's attack on the Regent in 'The Two-penny Post-bag':
"Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou."
But the letter is destroyed.]
[Footnote 3: The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 12 contains the announcement that "the Prince Regent has projected a 'Grand National Fete' in honour of the battle of Vittoria. It is to be held at Vauxhall Gardens." The 'fete' was held on Tuesday, July 20, beginning with a banquet, at which such toasts were drunk as "The Marquis of Wellington," "Sir Thomas Graham and the other officers engaged," "The Spanish Armies and the brave Guerillas." The 'baton' of Marshal Jourdan was "disposed among the plate, so as to be obvious to all." The proceedings ended with illuminations and dancing.]
* * * * *
312.--To John Hanson.
Sunday, July 18th, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--A Report is in general circulation (which has distressed my friends, and is not very pleasing to me), that the Purchaser of Newstead is a _young_ man, who has been over-reached, ill-treated, and ruined, by me in this transaction of the sale, and that I take an unfair advantage of the _law_ to enforce the contract. This must be contradicted by a true and open statement of the circumstances attending, and subsequent to, the sale, and that immediately and publicly. Surely, if anyone is ill treated it is myself. He bid his own price; he took time before he bid at all, and now, when I am actually granting him further time as a favour, I hear from all quarters that I have acted unfairly. Pray do not delay on this point; see him, and let a proper and true statement be drawn up of the sale, etc., and inserted in the papers.
Ever yours,
B.
P.S.--Mr. C. himself, if he has either honour or feeling, will be the first to vindicate me from so unfounded an implication. It is surely not for his credit to be supposed _ruined_ or _over-reached_.
* * * * *
313.--To John Murray.
July 22nd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have great pleasure in accepting your invitation to meet anybody or nobody as you like best.
Pray what should you suppose the book in the inclosed advertisement to be? is it anything relating to Buonaparte or Continental Concerns? If so, it may be worth looking after, particularly if it should turn out to be your purchase--Lucien's _Epic_.
Believe me, very truly yours,
BYRON.
* * * * *
314.--To Thomas Moore.
July 25, 1813.
I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress.
I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley [1] for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the Daltons:--she sang one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else.
I must tell you a story. Morris [2] (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old wassailers. D'Israeli (a learned Jew) bored him with questions--why this? and why that? "Why did the Prince act thus?"--"Why, sir, on account of Lord----, who ought to be ashamed of himself."--"And why ought Lord----to be ashamed of himself?"--"Because the Prince, sir, --------"--"And why, sir, did the Prince cut _you_?"--"Because, G--d d--mme, sir, I stuck to my principles."--"And why did you stick to your principles?"
Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? It nearly killed Morris. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, [3] it was a very good joke when I heard it--as I did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my narration.
The season has closed with a dandy ball; [4]--but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh [5], where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till "too much canaries" wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his [----]--the true throne of a Tory [6].
Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. "I have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive," [7] and they are for the _Townsend_ (_query_, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life.
Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number XIX--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians [8] of the post from peeping. You once complained of my _not_ writing;--I will "heap coals of fire upon your head" by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading. Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?), BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Under the title of "An excellent Ballad of a most dreadful combat, fought between Moore of Moore-Hall and the Dragon of Wantley," this ballad forms (in the 12th edition) the Argument of 'The Dragon of Wantley, a Burlesque Opera', performed at Covent Garden, the libretto of which is by Sig. Carini, 'i.e.' Henry Carey:
"Have you not heard of the 'Trojan' Horse; With Seventy Men in his Belly? This Dragon was not quite so big, But very near, I'll tell you; Devoured he poor Children three, That could not with him grapple; And at one sup he eat them up, As one would eat an Apple.
"All sorts of Cattle this Dragon did eat, Some say he eat up Trees, And that the Forest sure he would Devour by degrees. For Houses and Churches were to him Geese and Turkies; He eat all, and left none behind, But some Stones, dear Jack, which he could not crack, Which on the Hills you'll find."]
[Footnote 2: Charles Morris (1745-1838) served in the 17th Foot, the Royal Irish Dragoons, and finally in the Second Life Guards. He was laureate and punch-maker to the Beef-steak Club, founded in 1735 by John Rich, patentee of Covent Garden Theatre. The Prince of Wales became a member of the Club in 1785, and Morris was a frequent guest at Carlton House. Another member of the Club was the Duke of Norfolk, who gave Morris the villa at Brockham, near Betchworth, where he lived and died.
Morris, who was an admirable song-writer and singer, attached himself politically to the Prince's party, and attacked Pitt in such popular ballads as "Billy's too young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the Farmer." He was, however, disappointed in his hope of reward from his political patrons, and vented his spleen in his ode, "The Old Whig Poet to his Old Buff Waistcoat"
"Farewell, thou poor rag of the Muse! In the bag of the clothesman go lie; A farthing thou'lt fetch from the Jews, Which the hard-hearted Christians deny," etc.
Some of his poems deserve the censure of 'The Shade of Pope' (line 225):
"There reeling Morris and his bestial songs."
But others, in their ease and vivacity, hold their own with all but the best of Moore's songs. A collection of them was printed in two volumes by Bentley, in 1840, under the title of 'Lyra Urbanica'.]
[Footnote 3: In Forster's 'Life of Goldsmith' (vol. i. p. 34) it is related that Goldsmith ran away from Trinity College, Dublin, because he had been beaten by one of the Fellows. He started for Cork with a shilling in his pocket, on which he lived for three days. He told Reynolds that he thought
"a handful of grey pease, given him by a girl at a wake (after fasting for twenty-four hours) the most comfortable repast he had ever made."
Byron may mean that any joke seems good to a man who had not heard one for a day.]
[Footnote 4:
"I liked the Dandies," says Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts'; "they were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madme. de Stael, Lewis, Horace Twiss, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madme. de Stael that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a year, etc., etc., till she praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty!_ and made a set at him for Albertine ('Libertine', as Brummell baptized her, though the poor girl was, and is, as correct as maid or wife can be, and very amiable withal), and a hundred other fooleries besides. The truth is, that, though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at four and twenty. I had gamed and drunk and taken my degrees in most dissipations, and, having no pedantry, and not being overbearing, we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made me a member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being, I take it, the only literary man (except 'two' others, both men of the world, M[oore] and S[pencer]) in it. Our Masquerade was a grand one; so was the Dandy Ball too--at the Argyle,--but 'that' (the latter) was given by the four chiefs--B[rummel?], M[idmay?], A[lvanley?], and P[ierreoint?], if I err not."]
[Footnote 5: Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), after studying medicine, was called to the English Bar in 1795. Originally a supporter of the French Revolution, he answered Burke's 'Reflections' with his 'Vindiciae Gallicae' (1791). He is "Mr. Macfungus" in the 'Anti-Jacobin's' account of the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." But his revolutionary sympathies rapidly cooled, and he publicly disavowed them in his 'Introductory Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations' (1799). He remained, however, throughout his life, a Whig. His lectures on "'The Law of Nature and Nations'," delivered at Lincoln's Inn, in 1799, brought him into prominence, both at the Bar and in society. In 1803 he was knighted on accepting the Recordership of Bombay. He returned to England in 1812, entered Parliament as member for Nairn, advocated some useful measures, became a Privy Councillor in 1828, and held office in the Whig Ministry of 1830 as Commissioner of the Board of Control. In politics, as well as in literature, he disappointed expectation. His principal works, besides those mentioned above, were his 'Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830), and his 'History of the Revolution in England in 1688' (1834).
His great intellectual powers were shown to most advantage in society. Rogers ('Table-Talk', pp. 197, 198) thought him one of the three acutest men he had ever known.
"He had a prodigious memory, and could repeat by heart more of Cicero than you could easily believe.... I never met a man with a fuller mind than Mackintosh,--such readiness on all subjects, such a talker."
"Till subdued by age and illness," wrote Sydney Smith ('Life of Mackintosh', vol. ii. p. 500), "his conversation was more brilliant and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the good fortune to be acquainted with."
As in political life, so in society, he was too much of the lecturer. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 265) thought him "a little too precise, a little too much made up in his manners and conversation." But on all sides there is evidence to confirm the testimony of Rogers ('Table-Talk', p. 207) that he was a man "who had not a particle of envy or jealousy in his nature."]
[Footnote 6: George Canning (1770-1827) had been offered the Foreign Office in 1812 after the assassination of Perceval, on condition that Castlereagh should lead the House of Commons. He refused the offer. Elected M.P. for Liverpool in 1812, he had, in July, 1813, disbanded his followers, and in 1814 left England. He supported Lord Liverpool in carrying the repressive measures known as the Six Acts (1817-20), and, on the death of Lord Londonderry, in 1822, entered the Government as Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It is to the private speech to his followers, in July, 1813, that Byron refers.
The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 29, 1813, has the following paragraph:
"Mr. Canning it seems has (to use a French phrase) 'reformed' his political corps. He assembled them at the close of the Session, and with many expressions of regret for the failure of certain negociations, which might have been favourable to them as a body, relieved them from their oaths of allegiance, and recommended them to pursue in future their objects separately. The Right Honourable gentleman, perhaps, finds it more convenient for himself to act unencumbered; and both he and one or two others may find their interest in disbanding the squad; but some of them are turned off 'without a character'."
The 'Courier' for July 29, quoting the first part of the statement, adds,
"We believe ... that Mr. Canning is not indisposed to join the present Cabinet, and may wish one or two of his particular friends to come in with him."]
[Footnote 7:
"I have led my ragamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end, to beg during life."
('Henry IV'., Part I. act v. sc. 3). Townshend, the Bow Street officer, is described by Cronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 286) as
"a little fat man with a flaxen wig, Kersey-mere breeches, a blue straight-cut coat, and a broad-brimmed white hat. To the most daring courage he added great dexterity and cunning; and was said, 'in propria persona', to have taken more thieves than all the other Bow Street officers put together."]
[Footnote 8:
"Epistolam, quam attulerat Phileros tabellarius."
(Cic., 'Fam'.,9, 15).]
* * * * *
315.--To Thomas Moore.
July 27, 1813.
When you next imitate the style of "Tacitus," pray add, _de moribus Germannorum_;--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from the _Woods_, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero [1]; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer.
Believe me, ever yours _ indignantly_, BN.
[Footnote 1: _i. e._ Samuel Rogers.]
* * * * *
316.--To Thomas Moore.
July 28, 1813.
Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may I be curst if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you--I disclaim you--and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you--or dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends.
P.S.--I am in training to dine with Sheridan [1] and Rogers this evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his "Clary wines pottle-deep." [2] This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it.
[Footnote 1: In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has noted the following impressions of Sheridan:
"In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, as he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de Stael, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. Poor fellow! he got drunk very thoroughly and very soon. It occasionally fell to my lot to pilot him home--no sinecure, for he was so tipsy that I was obliged to put on his cocked hat for him. To be sure, it tumbled off again, and I was not myself so sober as to be able to pick it up again.
"The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time was at Douglas Kinnaird's. I have met him in all places and parties--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphry Davy's, at Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found him very convivial and delightful.
"I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see
'From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow, And Swift expire a driveller and a show'?
"Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned round: 'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either 'presently' derived, or 'inherited' in sinecure or acquisitions from the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.
"There was something odd about Sheridan. One day, at dinner, he was slightly praising that pert pretender and impostor, Lyttelton (the Parliamentary puppy, still alive, I believe). I took the liberty of differing from him; he turned round upon me, and said, 'Is that your real opinion?' I confirmed it. Then said he, 'Fortified by this concurrence, I beg leave to say that it, in fact, is 'my' opinion also, and that he is a person whom I do absolutely and utterly despise, abhor, and detest.' He then launched out into a description of his despicable qualities, at some length, and with his usual wit, and evidently in earnest (for he hated Lyttelton). His former compliment had been drawn out by some preceding one, just as its reverse was by my hinting that it was unmerited.
"I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other people's.
"In 1815 I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane; he was with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first. Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring 'that' of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I, 'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good gifts of conversation.
"Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner, that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man, with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window, had he come in at the moment.
"Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.
"One day I saw him take up his own ''Monody on Garrick'.' He lighted upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady Spencer. On seeing it, he flew into a rage, and exclaimed 'that it must be a forgery, that he had never dedicated any thing of his to such a damned canting bitch,' etc., etc.--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally sincere, it would be ludicrous.
"He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his 'School for Scandal' he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen. Latterly, when found drunk one night in the kennel, and asked his name by the watchmen, he answered, 'Wilberforce.'
"When dying he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair cut, and sitting for his picture."
"I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that 'I' saw, and I watched him), but Colman did. If I had to 'choose' and could not have both at a time I should say, 'Let me begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman for supper; Sheridan for claret or port but Colman for every thing, from the madeira and champagne at dinner the claret with a 'layer' of 'port' between the glasses up to the punch of the night, and down to the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life guards, but Colman a whole regiment--of 'light infantry', to be sure, but still a regiment."]
[Footnote 2:
"Potations pottle deep"
'Othello', act ii. sc. 3, line 54.]
* * * * *
317.--To John Murray.
July 31, 1813.
Dear Sir--As I leave town early tomorrow, the proof must be sent to-night, or many days will be lost. If you have any _reviews_ of the 'Giaour' to send, let me have them now. I am not very well to day. I thank you for the 'Satirist', which is short but savage on this unlucky affair, and _personally_ facetious on me which is much more to the purpose than a tirade upon other peoples' concerns [1].
Ever yours, B.
[Footnote 1: In the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. pp. 150, 151) is an article headed "Scandalum Magnatum," with the motto from 'Rejected Addresses':
With horn-handled knife, To kill a tender lamb as dead as mutton."
"A short time back (say the newspapers, and newspapers never say 'the thing which is not') Lady H. gave a ball and supper. Among the company were Lord B--n, Lady W--, and Lady C. L--b. Lord B., it would appear, is a favourite with the latter Lady; on this occasion, however, he seemed to lavish his attention on another fair object. This preference so enraged Lady C. L. that in a paroxysm of jealousy she took up a dessert-knife and stabbed herself. The gay circle was, of course, immediately plunged in confusion and dismay, which however, was soon succeeded by levity and scandal. The general cry for medical assistance was from Lady W--d: Lady W--d!!! And why? Because it was said that, early after her marriage, Lady W--also took a similar liberty with her person for a similar cause, and was therefore considered to have learned from experience the most efficacious remedy for the complaint. It was also whispered that the Lady's husband had most to grieve, that the attempt had not fully succeeded. Lady C. L. is still living.
"The poet has told us how 'Ladies wish to be who love their Lords;' but this is the first public demonstration in our times to show us how Ladies wish to be who love, not their own, but others' Lords. 'Better be with the dead than thus,' cried the jealous fair; and, casting a languishing look at Lord B--, who, Heaven knows, is more like Pan than Apollo, she whipt up as pretty a little dessert-knife as a Lady could desire to commit suicide with,
'And stuck it in her wizzard.'
"The desperate Lady was carried out of the room, and the affair endeavoured to be hushed up, etc., etc." ]
* * * * *
318.--To John Wilson Croker [1].
Bt. Str., August 2, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday--and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, Your obliged and most obedient servant, BYRON.
[Footnote 1: J. W. Croker (1780-1857),--the "Wenham" of Thackeray, the "Rigby" of Disraeli, and the "Con Crawley" of Lady Morgan's 'Florence Macarthy', had been made Secretary to the Admiralty in 1809. At his request Captain Carlton of the 'Boyne', "just then ordered to re-enforce Sir Edward Pellew" in the Mediterranean, had consented to receive Byron into his cabin for the voyage,]
* * * * *
319.--To John Murray.
If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal story--"_Ecce signum_"--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage. B.
* * * * *
320.--To John Murray.
Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_, for I am _bitten_ again, and have _quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. Yours ever, B.
P. S.--You shall have them in the course of the day.
* * * * *
321.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
August 12, 1813.
My Dear Webster,--I am, you know, a detestable correspondent, and write to no one person whatever; you therefore cannot attribute my silence to any thing but want of good breeding or good taste, and not to any more atrocious cause; and as I confess the fault to be entirely mine--why--you will pardon it.
I have ordered a copy of the 'Giaour' (which is nearly doubled in quantity in this edition) to be sent, and I will first scribble my name in the title page. Many and sincere thanks for your good opinion of book, and (I hope to add) author.
Rushton shall attend you whenever you please, though I should like him to stay a few weeks, and help my other people in forwarding my chattels. Your taking him is no less a favor to me than him; and I trust he will behave well. If not, your remedy is very simple; only don't let him be idle; honest I am sure he is, and I believe good-hearted and quiet. No pains has been spared, and a good deal of expense incurred in his education; accounts and mensuration, etc., he ought to know, and I believe he does.
I write this near London, but your answer will reach me better in Bennet Street, etc. (as before). I am going very soon, and if you would do the same thing--as far as Sicily--I am sure you would not be sorry. My sister, Mrs. L. goes with me--her spouse is obliged to retrench for a few years (but _he_ stays at home); so that his _link boy_ prophecy (if ever he made it) recoils upon himself.
I am truly glad to hear of Lady Frances's good health. Have you added to your family? Pray make my best respects acceptable to her Ladyship.
Nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear from you as soon and as fully as you please. Ever most truly yours,
BYRON.
* * * * *
322.--To Thomas Moore.
Bennet Street, August 22, 1813.
As our late--I might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the town-life leaven in it, we will now, _paulo majora_, prattle a little of literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. The Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having, I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite neighbourhood [1].
Mad'e. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons [2], who has been carbonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be,--but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could--write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance--and somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior observation.
In a "mail-coach copy" of the _Edinburgh_ [3] I perceive _The Giaour_ is second article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack--_pray which way is the wind?_ The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that it must be written by Jeffrey _in love_ [4];--you know he is gone to America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several _quarters, eperdument amoureux_. Seriously--as Winifred Jenkins [5] says of Lismahago--Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) "has done the handsome thing by me," and I say _nothing_. But this I will say, if you and I had knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our posthumous works. By the by, I was call'd _in_ the other day to mediate between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and--after a long struggle between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--I got one to make an apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever after [6].
One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high play;--and one, I can swear for, though very mild, "not fearful," and so dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselves very well, and I put them out of _pain_ as soon as I could.
There is an American _Life_ of G. F. Cooke [7], _Scurra_ deceased, lately published. Such a book!--I believe, since _Drunken Barnaby's Journal_ [8] nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_, toddy, overflow every page. Two things are rather marvellous,--first, that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have found a sober biographer. There are some very laughable things in it, nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed, are too regularly registered.
All this time you wonder I am not gone; so do I; but the accounts of the plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from England. It is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability, be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one likes to have one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty; but not the worse for that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to do;--not stay, if I can help it, but where to go? Sligo is for the North;--a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in September, with one's ears and nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or pocket-handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--Give me a _sun_, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and _my_ Heaven is as easily made as your Persian's [9].
_The Giaour_ is now a thousand and odd lines. "Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day," [10] eh, Moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but I forgive it. Yours ever,
BYRON.
P. S.--I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted letter! let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape [11] than any of the last twelve months,--and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither live with nor without these women.
I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you reside near it. Did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a bath and a _vault_--and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. I remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which I can repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author, when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if I should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with that volume. Adieu--I commit you to the care of the gods--Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic!
P.S. 2d.--There is an excellent review of Grimm's _Correspondence_ and Madame de Stael in this No. of the _E[dinburgh] R[eview]_ [12]. Jeffrey, himself, was my critic last year; but this is, I believe, by another hand. I hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that damned Lucien Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his poem in MS., and he really surpasses every thing beneath Tasso. Hodgson is translating him _against_ another bard. You and (I believe Rogers,) Scott, Gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the twain,--that is, if you accept the office. Conceive our different opinions! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and Scott certainly have.
[Footnote 1: The fight, in which Harry Harmer, "the Coppersmith" (1784-1834), beat Jack Ford, took place at St. Nicholas, near Margate, August 23, 1813.
Francis Charles Seymour Conway, Earl of Yarmouth (1777-1842), succeeded his father as second Marquis of Hertford in 1822. The colossal libertinism and patrician splendour of his life inspired Disraeli to paint him as "Monmouth" in 'Coningsby', and Thackeray as "Steyne" in 'Vanity Fair'. He married, in 1798, Maria Fagniani, claimed as a daughter by George Selwyn and by "Old Q.," and enriched by both. Yarmouth, as an intimate friend of the Regent, and the son of the Prince's female favourite, was the butt of Moore and the Whig satirists. Byron gibes at Yarmouth's red whiskers, which helped to gain him the name of "Red Herrings" in the 'Waltz', line 142, 'note' 1. Yarmouth, like Byron, patronized the fancy, and, like him also, was a frequenter of Manton's shooting-gallery in Davies Street; but there is no record of their being acquainted, though the house, which Byron occupied (13, Piccadilly Terrace) during his brief married life, was in the occupation of Lord Yarmouth before Byron took it from the Duchess of Devonshire.]
[Footnote 2: Albert de Stael
"led an irregular life, and met a deplorable death at Doberan, a small city of the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the coast of the Baltic Sea, a favourite resort in summer for bathing, gambling, etc. Some officers of the etat-major of Bernadotte had gone to try their luck in this place of play and pleasure. They quarrelled over some louis, and a duel immediately ensued. I well remember that the Grand-Duke Paul of Mecklenburg-Schwerin told me he was there at the time, and, while walking with his tutors in the park, suddenly heard the clinking of swords in a neighbouring thicket. They ran to the place, and reached it just in time to see the head of Albert fall, cleft by one of those long and formidable sabres which were carried by the Prussian cavalry."
The above passage is quoted from the unpublished 'Souvenirs' of M. Pictet de Sergy, given by A. Stevens in his 'Life of Madame de Stael', vol. ii. pp. 204, 205.]
[Footnote 3: Only special copies of books published in Edinburgh came to London by coach: the bulk was forwarded in Leith smacks.
In the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1813, the 'Giaour' was reviewed as a poem "full of spirit, character, and originality," and producing an effect at once "powerful and pathetic." But the reviewer considers that "energy of character and intensity of emotion... presented in combination with worthlessness and guilt," are "most powerful corrupters and perverters of our moral nature," and he deplores Byron's exclusive devotion to gloomy and revolting subjects.]
[Footnote 4: Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) succeeded Sidney Smith as editor of the 'Edinburgh Review' (founded 1802), and held the editorship till 1829. The first number of the 'Review', says Francis Horner, brought to light "the genius of that little man." During the first six years of its existence, he wrote upwards of seventy articles. At the same time, he was a successful lawyer. Called to the Scottish Bar in 1794, he became successively Dean of the Faculty of Advocates (1829), Lord Advocate (1830), and a Judge of the Court of Sessions (1834) with the title of Lord Jeffrey. He married, as his second wife, at New York, in October, 1813, Charlotte Wilkes, a grandniece of John Wilkes.
Jeffrey is described at considerable length by Ticknor, in a letter, dated February 8, 1814 ('Life of G. Ticknor', vol. i. pp. 43-47):
"You are to imagine, then, before you a short, stout, little gentleman, about five and a half feet high, with a very red face, black hair, and black eyes. You are to suppose him to possess a very gay and animated countenance, and you are to see in him all the restlessness of a will-o'-wisp ... He enters a room with a countenance so satisfied, and a step so light and almost fantastic, that all your previous impressions of the dignity and severity of the 'Edinburgh Review' are immediately put to flight ... It is not possible, however, to be long in his presence without understanding something of his real character, for the same promptness and assurance which mark his entrance into a room carry him at once into conversation. The moment a topic is suggested--no matter what or by whom--he comes forth, and the first thing you observe is his singular fluency," etc., etc.
By the side of this description may be set that given of Jeffrey by Francis Horner ('Life of Jeffrey', 2nd edition, vol. i. p. 212):
"His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of levity and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man whose real character is so much the reverse."
The secret of his success, both as editor and critic, is that he made the 'Review' the expression of the Whig character, both in its excellences and its limitations. A man of clear, discriminating mind, of cool and placid judgment, he refused to accept the existing state of things, was persuaded that it might be safely improved, saw the practical steps required, and had the courage of his convictions. He was suspicious of large principles, somewhat callous to enthusiasm or sentiment, intolerant of whatever was incapable of precise expression. His intellectual strength lay not in the possession of one great gift, but in the simultaneous exercise of several well-adjusted talents. His literary taste was correct; but it consisted rather in recognizing compliance with accepted rules of proved utility than in the readiness to appreciate novelties of thought and treatment. Hence his criticism, though useful for his time, has not endured beyond his day. It may be doubted whether more could be expected from a man who was eminently successful in addressing a jury. "He might not know his subject, but he knew his readers" (Bagehot's 'Literary Studies', vol. i. p. 30).
Byron, believing him to have been the author of the famous article on 'Hours of Idleness', attacked him bitterly in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'; (lines 460-528). He afterwards recognized his error. 'Don Juan' (Canto X. stanza xvi.) expresses his mature opinion of a critic who, whatever may have been his faults, was as absolutely honest as political prejudice would permit:
"And all our little feuds, at least all 'mine', Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe (As far as rhyme and criticism combine To make such puppets of us things below), Are over; Here's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!' I do not know you, and may never know Your face--but you have acted, on the whole, Most nobly; and I own it from my soul."
Jeffrey reviewed 'Childe Harold' in the 'Edinburgh Review', No. 38, art. 10; the 'Giaour', No. 42, art. 2; the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos', No. 45, art. 9; Byron's 'Poetry', No. 54, art. I; 'Manfred', No. 56, art. 7; 'Beppo', No. 58, art. 2; 'Marino Faliero', No. 70, art. I; Byron's 'Tragedies', No. 72, art. 5.]
[Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.]
[Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.]
[Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as "Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago" and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite, especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible habits of drinking."
Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was published in 1813]
[Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford. But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The title of the second edition (1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which is added, Bessy Bell'.
"Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by Haslewood:
"Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking, I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking; Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover, Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over. Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning, Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"]
[Footnote 9:
"A Persian's Heav'n is easily made-- 'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."]
[Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.]
[Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]
[Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Stael's 'Germany' was by Mackintosh.]
* * * * *
323.--To John Murray.
August 26, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or _com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive.
The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.
Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day? if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not W's), or we shall be buffeted.
I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.
Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by themselves; but this is the age of criticism.
Ever yours,
B.
* * * * *
324.--To Thomas Moore.
August 28, 1813.
Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks, when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1]
I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815, that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid. Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,----
Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_ or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour [3].
I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an _entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful, I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles. Stick to the East;--the oracle, Stael, told me it was the only poetical policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalising, and pave the path for you.
I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's _Diable Amoureux_ [6].
It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte. For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think it a subject you might make much of [7].
If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six small tomes [8].
I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives.
[Footnote 1: Jerry Sneak, in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt' (act ii.), says to Major Sturgeon, "I heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy."]
[Footnote 2:
"The Ode of Horace--
'Natis in usum laetitiae,' etc.;
some passages of which I told him might be parodied, in allusion to some of his late adventures:
'Quanta laboras in Charybdi! Digne puer meliore flamma!'"
(Moore.)]
[Footnote 3:
"In his first edition of 'The Giaour' he had used this word as a trisyllable--'Bright as the gem of Giamschid'--but on my remarking to him, upon the authority of Richardson's Persian Dictionary, that this was incorrect, he altered it to 'Bright as the ruby of Giamschid.' On seeing this, however, I wrote to him, 'that, as the comparison of his heroine's eye to a "ruby" might unluckily call up the idea of its being bloodshot, he had better change the line to "Bright as the jewel of Giamschid;"' which he accordingly did in the following edition" (Moore).
In the 'Shah Nameh', Giamschid is the fourth sovereign of the ancient Persians, and ruled seven hundred years. His jewel was a green chrysolite, the reflection of which gives to the sky its blue-green colour. Byron probably changed to "ruby" on the authority of 'Vathek' (p. 58, ed. 1856), where Beckford writes,
"Then all the riches this place contains, as well as the carbuncle of Giamschid, shall be hers."]
[Footnote 4: Moore's reference (see 'note' 1) to John Richardson's 'Dictionary of Persian, Arabic, and English' (1777), suggests to Byron that Moore was at work on an Oriental poem, probably 'Lalla Rookh', which would surpass the 'Charlemagne' of Lucien Buonaparte.]
[Footnote 5: The 'Shah Nameh' is a rhymed history of Persia, in which occurs the famous episode of Sohrab and Rustem. It was written in thirty years by Abul Kasim Firdausi, the last name being given to him by Sultan Mahmud because he had shed over the court at Ghizni the delights of "Paradise." Firdausi is said to have lived about 950 to 1030. (See The 'Shah Nameh', translated and abridged by James Atkinson.)]
[Footnote 6: Jacques Cazotte (1720-1792) wrote 'La Patte du Chat' (1741); 'Mille et une Fadaises' (1742); 'Observations sur la lettre de Rousseau au sujet de la Musique Francaise' (1754); and other works. 'Le Diable Amoureux' appeared in 1772. Cazotte escaped the September Massacres at the Abbaye in 1792, through the heroism of his daughter, but was executed on the twenty-fifth of the same month.]
[Footnote 7:
"I had already, singularly enough, anticipated this suggestion, by making the daughter of a Peri the heroine of one of my stories, and detailing the love adventures of her aerial parent in an episode. In acquainting Lord Byron with this circumstance, in my answer to the above letter, I added, 'All I ask of your friendship is--not that you will abstain from Peris on my account, for that is too much to ask of human (or, at least, author's) nature--but that, whenever you mean to pay your addresses to any of these aerial ladies, you will, at once, tell me so, frankly and instantly, and let me, at least, have my choice whether I shall be desperate enough to go on, with such a rival, or at once surrender the whole race into your hands, and take, for the future, to Antediluvians with Mr. Montgomery'"
(Moore).]
[Footnote 8: Brunet, 's.v.' "Breton de la Martiniere," gives the title of the work: 'Moeurs, usages costumes des Othomans, et abrege de leur histoire'. Par A.L. Castellan, Paris, 1812.]
[Footnote 9: Maxime LXXXV.:
"Nous nous persuadons souvent d'aimer les gens plus puissans que nous, et neanmoins c'est l'interet seul qui produit notre amitie; nous ne nous donnons pas a eux pour le bien que nous leur voulons faire, mais pour celui que nous en voulons recevoir."]
* * * * *
325.--To Thomas Moore.
August--September, I mean--1, 1813.
I send you, begging your acceptance, Castellan, and three vols. on Turkish literature [1], not yet looked into. The _last_ I will thank you to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent to me by that brightest of Northern constellations, Mackintosh [2],--amongst many other kind things into which India has warmed him; for I am sure your _home_ Scotsman is of a less genial description.
Your Peri, my dear M., is sacred and inviolable; I have no idea of touching the hem of her petticoat. Your affectation of a dislike to encounter me is so flattering, that I begin to think myself a very fine fellow. But you are laughing at me--"Stap my vitals, Tam! thou art a very impudent person;" [3] and, if you are not laughing at me, you deserve to be laughed at. Seriously, what on earth can you, or have you, to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? It really puts me out of humour to hear you talk thus.
_The Giaour_ I have added to a good deal; but still in foolish fragments. It contains about 1200 lines, or rather more--now printing. You will allow me to send you a copy. You delight me much by telling me that I am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper; for, unluckily, I have the reputation of a very bad one. But they say the devil is amusing when pleased, and I must have been more venomous than the old serpent, to have hissed or stung in your company. It may be, and would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but I know _you_ will believe me when I say, that I am as anxious for your success as one human being can be for another's,--as much as if I had never scribbled a line. Surely the field of fame is wide enough for all; and if it were not, I would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. Now you have a pretty property of some thousand acres there, and when you have passed your present Inclosure Bill, your income will be doubled, (there's a metaphor, worthy of a Templar, namely, pert and low,) while my wild common is too remote to incommode you, and quite incapable of such fertility. I send you (which return per post, as the printer would say) a curious letter from a friend of mine [4], which will let you into the origin of _The Giaour_. Write soon.
Ever, dear Moore, yours most entirely, etc.
P.S.--This letter was written to me on account of a _different story_ circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a little too close to the text. The part erased contained merely some Turkish names, and circumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very important or decorous.
[Footnote 1: Giovanni Battista Toderini (1728-1799) published his work 'Della Letteratura Turchesca', at Venice in 1787. Brunet says, "Cet ouvrage curieux a ete traduit en Francais, par Cournand. Paris, 1789 ('De La Litterature des Turcs')."]
[Footnote 2:
"Yes, his manner was cold; his shake of the hand came under the genus 'mortmain;' but his heart was overflowing with benevolence"
(Lady Holland's 'Memoir of Sydney Smith', 4th edition, vol. i. p. 440).]
[Footnote 3: A reminiscence of Sheridan's 'Trip to Scarborough' (act v. sc. 2), itself borrowed from Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' (act iv. sc. 6), in both of which passages Lord Foppington says, "Strike me dumb, Tam, thou art a very impudent fellow."]
[Footnote 4: The following is the letter to which Byron refers:
Albany, Monday, August 31, 1813.
"MY DEAR BYRON,--You have requested me to tell you all that I heard at Athens about the affair of that girl who was so near being put an end to while you were there; you have asked me to remember every circumstance, in the remotest degree relating to it, which I heard. In compliance with your wishes, I write to you all I heard, and I cannot imagine it to be very far from the fact, as the circumstances happened only a day or two before I arrived at Athens, and, consequently, was a matter of common conversation at the time.
"The new governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the Christians as his predecessor, had, of course, the barbarous Turkish ideas with regard to women. In consequence, and in compliance with the strict letter of the Mohammedan law, he ordered this girl to be sewed up in a sack, and thrown into the sea--as is, indeed, quite customary at Constantinople. As you were returning from bathing in the Piraeus, you met the procession going down to execute the sentence of the Waywode on this unhappy girl. Report continues to say, that on finding out what the object of their journey was, and who was the miserable sufferer, you immediately interfered; and on some delay in obeying your orders, you were obliged to inform the leader of the escort that force should make him comply; that, on further hesitation, you drew a pistol, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders, and come back with you to the Aga's house, you would shoot him dead. On this the man turned about and went with you to the governor's house; here you succeeded, partly by personal threats, and partly by bribery and entreaty, in procuring her pardon, on condition of her leaving Athens. I was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off at night to Thebes, where she found a safe asylum. Such is the story I heard, as nearly as I can recollect it at present. Should you wish to ask me any further questions about it, I shall be very ready and willing to answer them.
"I remain, my dear Byron,
"Yours very sincerely,
"Sligo".]
* * * * *
326.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
September 2nd, 1813.
My dear Webster,--You are just the same generous and I fear careless gentleman of the years of _indifferent_ memory 1806. I--; but I must not burthen you with my entire household. Joe [1] is, I believe, necessary for the present as a fixture, to keep possession till every thing is arranged; and were it otherwise, you don't know what a perplexity he would prove--honest and faithful, but fearfully superannuated: now _this_ I ought and do bear, but as he has not been fifty years in your family, it would be rather hard to convert your mansion into a hospital for decayed domestics. Rushton is, or may be made useful, and I am less _compunctious_ on his account.
"Will I be Godfather?" [2]
Yea, verily! I believe it is the only species of parentage I shall ever encounter, for all my acquaintance, Powerscourt, Jocelyn, yourself, Delawarr, Stanhope, with a long list of happy _etceteras_, are married; most of them my juniors too, and I as single and likely to remain so as, nay more than, if I were seventy.
If it is a _girl_ why not also? Georgina, or even _Byron_ will make a classical name for a spinster, if Mr. Richardson's _Sir Charles Grandison_ is any authority in your estimation.
My ship is not settled. My passage in the _Boyne_ was only for _one_ Servant, and would not do, of course. You ask after the expense, a question no less interesting to the married than the single. Unless things are much altered, no establishment in the Mediterranean Countries could amount to the quarter of the expenditure requisite in England for the same or an inferior household.
I am interrupted, and have only time to offer my best thanks for all your good wishes and intentions, and to beg you will believe me,
Equally yours ever,
B.
P.S.--Rushton shall be sent on Saturday next.
[Footnote 1: Joseph Murray]
[Footnote 2: Webster's eldest son was christened "Byron Wedderburn." He died young, and when his father told Byron of the child's death, the godfather
"almost chuckled with joy or irony," and said, "Well, I cautioned you, and told you that my name would almost damn any thing or creature."
(MS. note by Wedderburn Webster.)]
* * * * *
327.--To Thomas Moore.
Sept. 5, 1813.
You need not tie yourself down to a day with Toderini, but send him at your leisure, having anatomised him into such annotations as you want; I do not believe that he has ever undergone that process before, which is the best reason for not sparing him now.
Rogers has returned to town, but not yet recovered of the 'Quarterly'. What fellows these reviewers are! "these bugs do fear us all." [1]
They made you fight, and me (the milkiest of men) a satirist, and will end by making Rogers madder than Ajax. I have been reading 'Memory' again, the other day, and _Hope_ together, and retain all my preference of the former [2].
His elegance is really wonderful--there is no such thing as a vulgar line in his book.
What say you to Buonaparte? Remember, I back him against the field, barring catalepsy and the Elements. Nay, I almost wish him success against all countries but this,--were it only to choke the 'Morning Post', and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious bastard of Scandinavian adoption, Bernadotte. Rogers wants me to go with him on a crusade to the Lakes, and to besiege you on our way. This last is a great temptation, but I fear it will not be in my power, unless you would go on with one of us somewhere--no matter where. It is too late for Matlock, but we might hit upon some scheme, high life or low,--the last would be much the best for amusement. I am so sick of the other, that I quite sigh for a cider-cellar [3], or a cruise in a smuggler's sloop.
You cannot wish more than I do that the Fates were a little more accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong _ad infinitum_ without coming a jot nearer. I almost wish I were married, too--which is saying much. All my friends, seniors and juniors, are in for it, and ask me to be godfather,--the only species of parentage which, I believe, will ever come to my share in a lawful way; and, in an unlawful one, by the blessing of Lucina, we can never be certain,--though the parish may. I suppose I shall hear from you to-morrow. If not, this goes as it is; but I leave room for a P.S., in case any thing requires an answer.
Ever, etc.
No letter--_n'importe_. Rogers thinks the _Quarterly_ will be at _me_ this time; if so, it shall be a war of extermination--no _quarter_. From the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that review, all shall perish by one fatal lampoon. The ties of nature shall be torn asunder, for I will not even spare my bookseller; nay, if one were to include readers also, all the better.
[Footnote 1: "Warwick was a bug that feared us all" ('Henry VI'., Part III. act v. se. 2).]
[Footnote 2: Byron quoted to Lady Blessington "some passages from the 'Pleasures of Hope', which he said was a poem full of beauties... 'The 'Pleasures of Memory' is a very beautiful poem' (said Byron), 'harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament'" ('Conversations', pp. 352, 353).]
[Footnote 3: No. 20, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, was a tavern called the 'Cider Cellars'. Over the entrance was the motto, 'Honos erit huic quoque homo', supplied by Porson, who frequented the house. There Lord Campbell heard him "recite from memory to delighted listeners the whole of Anstey's 'Pleader's Guide'" ('Lives of the Chief Justices', vol. iii. p. 271, note). Mr. Wheatley, in 'London Past and Present, sub voce' "Maiden Lane," says that the
"tavern continued to be frequented by young men, and 'much in vogue for devilled kidneys, oysters, and Welch rabbits, cigars, "goes" of brandy, and great supplies of London stout' (also for comic songs), till it was absorbed in the extensions of the Adelphi Theatre."]
* * * * *
328.--To Thomas Moore.
September 8, 1813.
I am sorry to see Toderini again so soon, for fear your scrupulous conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful pamphlet _The Giaour_, which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that I have added much in quantity,--a circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the subject.
You stand certainly in great need of a "lift" with Mackintosh. My dear Moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. I should conceive it an affectation in any other; but I think I know you well enough to believe that you don't know your own value. However, 'tis a fault that generally mends; and, in your case, it really ought. I have heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish; and enough to give all your friends the jaundice.
Yesterday I had a letter from _Ali Pacha!_ brought by Dr. Holland, who is just returned from Albania [1]. It is in Latin, and begins "Excellentissime _nec non_ Carissime," and ends about a gun he wants made for him;--it is signed "Ali Vizir." What do you think he has been about? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunigunde [2] was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit--children, grandchildren, etc. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree [3],--which is more than I would. So much for "dearest friend."
[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 246 [Letter 131], and 'note' [Footnote 1 of Letter 131]. Dr., afterwards Sir Henry, Holland (1788-1873) published his 'Travels in the Ionian Islands, Albania, etc.', in 1815.]
[Footnote: Voltaire's 'Candide', ch. vii.:
"On ne vous a done pas viole? on ne vous a point fendu le ventre, comme le philosophe Pangloss me l'avait assure? Si fait, dit la belle Cunegonde; mais on ne meurt pas toujours de ces deux accidents."]
[Footnote 3: The "false Sextus... that wrought the deed of shame," and violated Lucretia.]
* * * * *
329.--To Thomas Moore.
Sept. 9, 1813.
I write to you from Mr. Murray's, and I may say, from Murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work. I can safely recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point of reputation, he stands among the first of "the trade." I am sure he would do you justice. I have written to you so much lately, that you will be glad to see so little now.
Ever, etc., etc.
* * * * *
330.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
September 15th, 1813.
My dear Webster,--I shall not resist your second invitation, and shortly after the receipt of this you may expect me. You will excuse me from the races. As a guest I have no "antipathies" and few preferences.... You won't mind, however, my _not_ dining with you--every day at least. When we meet, we can talk over our respective plans: mine is very short and simple; viz. to sail when I can get a passage. If I remained in England I should live in the Country, and of course in the vicinity of those whom I knew would be most agreeable.
I did not know that Jack's graven image [1] was at Newstead. If it be, pray transfer it to Aston. It is my hope to see you so shortly, tomorrow or next day, that I will not now trouble you with my speculations.
Ever yours very faithfully,
BYRON.
P.S.--I don't know how I came to sign myself with the "i." It is the old spelling, and I sometimes slip into it. When I say I can't _dine_ with you, I mean that sometimes I don't dine at all. Of course, when I do, I conform to all hours and domestic arrangements.
[Footnote 1: "Jack's graven image" means the portrait of John Jackson the pugilist.]
* * * * *
331.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[Wednesday], Sept'r. 15th, 1813.
My dear Augusta,--I joined my friend Scrope about 8, and before eleven we had swallowed six bottles of his burgundy and Claret, which left him very unwell and me rather feverish; we were 'tete a tete'. I remained with him next day and set off last night for London, which I reached at three in the morning. Tonight I shall leave it again, perhaps for Aston or Newstead. I have not yet determined, nor does it much matter. As you perhaps care more on the subject than I do, I will tell you when I know myself.
When my departure is arranged, and I can get this long-evaded passage, you will be able to tell me whether I am to expect a visit or not, and I can come for or meet you as you think best. If you write, address to Bennet Street.
Yours very truly,
B.
* * * * *
332.--To John Murray.
Sept. 15, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Will you pray enquire after any ship with a convoy _taking passengers_ and get me one if possible? I mean not in a ship of war, but anything that may be _paid_ for. I have a friend and 3 servants --Gibraltar or Minorca--or Zante.
Yours ever,
B.
* * * * *
333.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
Stilton, September 25th, 1813.
My Dear W.,--Thus far can I "report progress," and as a solid token of my remembrance I send you a 'cheese' of 13 lbs. to enable your digestion to go through the race week. It will go to night; pray let your retainers enquire after it. The date of this letter will account for so homely a present. On my arrival in town I will write more on our different concerns. In the mean time I wish you and yours all the gratification on Doncaster you can wish for yourselves. My love to the faithless Nettle [1] (who I dare say is 'wronging' me during my absence), and my best Compliments to all in your house who will receive them.
Ever, dear W., yours truly,
B.
[Footnote 1: A dog given by Webster to Byron. (Note by J. W. W.)]
* * * * *
334.--To Sir James Mackintosh.
Sept. 27, 1813.
Dear Sir James,--I was to have left London on Friday, but will certainly remain a day longer (and believe I _would a year_) to have the honour of meeting you. My best respects to Lady Mackintosh.
Ever your obliged and faithful servant,
BYRON.
* * * * *
335.--To Thomas Moore.
September 27, 1813.
Thomas Moore,--(Thou wilt never be called "_true_ Thomas," [1] like he of Ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?--as you won't, I must. I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so, you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in _flash_ dialect, is poetically termed "a lark," with Rogers and me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey--the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and--_there_ is his eulogy.
----read me _part_ of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and _looked_--I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have _had_ to defend you--an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending themselves by saying--"Ay, ay, _I_ gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on." But do you know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse;--and do you suppose I will forgive _that_?
I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncaster races. It is odd,--I was a visitor in the same house [2] which came to my sire as a residence with Lady Carmarthen (with whom he adulterated before his majority--by the by, remember _she_ was not my mamma),--and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which I should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well--though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have _coveted_, is a sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't "snub me when I'm in spirits." [3]
Ever yours,
BN.
Here's an impromptu for you by a "person of quality," written last week, on being reproached for low spirits:
When from the heart where Sorrow sits, Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye: Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink; My Thoughts their dungeon know too well-- Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And bleed within their silent cell.
[Footnote 1: Thomas Learmont, of Ercildoune, called "Thomas the Rhymer," is to reappear on earth when Shrove Tuesday and Good Friday change places. He sleeps beneath the Eildon Hills.]
[Footnote 2: Aston Hall, Rotherham, at that time rented by J. Wedderburn Webster.]
[Footnote 3: In 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.) Tony Lumpkin says,
"I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then--snubbing this way when I'm in spirits."]
* * * * *
336.--To John Murray.
Sept. 29, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_ for I am bitten again and have quantities for other parts of _The Giaour_.
Yours ever,
B.
P. S.--You shall have these in the course of the day.
* * * * *
337.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
September 30th, 1813.
My dear Webster,--Thanks for your letter. I had answered it by _anticipation_ last night, and this is but a postscript to my reply. My yesterday's contained some advice, which I now see you don't want, and hope you never will.
So! Petersham [1] has not joined you. I pity the poor women. No one can properly repair such a deficiency; but rather than such a chasm should be left utterly unfathomable, I, even I, the most awkward of attendants and deplorable of danglers, would have been of your forlorn hope, on this expedition. Nothing but business, and the notion of my being utterly superfluous in so numerous a party, would have induced me to resign so soon my quiet apartments never interrupted but by the sound, or the more harmonious barking of Nettle, and clashing of billiard balls.
On Sunday I shall leave town and mean to join you immediately. I have not yet had my sister's answer to Lady Frances's very kind invitation, but expect it tomorrow. Pray assure Lady Frances that I never can forget the obligation conferred upon me in this respect, and I trust that even Lady Catherine [2] will, in this instance, not question my "stability."
I yesterday wrote you rather a long tirade about La Comptesse, but you seem in no immediate peril; I will therefore burn it. Yet I don't know why I should, as you may relapse: it shall e'en go.
I have been passing my time with Rogers and Sir James Mackintosh; and once at Holland House I met Southey; he is a person of very _epic_ appearance, and has a fine head--as far as the outside goes, and wants nothing but taste to make the inside equally attractive.
Ever, my dear W., yours,
Biron.
P.S.--I read your letter thus: "the Countess is _miserable_" instead of which it is "_inexorable_" a very different thing. The best way is to let her alone; she must be a _diablesse_ by what you told me. You have probably not _bid_ high enough. _Now_ you are not, perhaps, of my opinion; but I would not give the tithe of a Birmingham farthing for a woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman _quoad mere woman_; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than her sex. If she _loves_, a little _pique_ is not amiss, nor even if she don't; the next thing to a woman's _love_ in a man's favour is her _hatred_,--a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of _indifference_ and circumstance, and their passions will do wonders for a _dasher_ which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or patience to follow them up.
[Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day. Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him
"making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually supersede every other."
His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to a fashionable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the year. Gronow ('ibid'.)
"heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sevres box he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.'"
Lord Petersham, who never went out of doors before 6 p.m., was celebrated for his brown carriages, brown horses, brown harness, and brown liveries.]
[Footnote 2: Lady Catherine Annesley, sister of Lady F. W. Webster, afterwards Lady John Somerset.]
* * * * *
338.--To Francis Hodgson.
October 1, 1813.
My Dear H.,--I leave town again for Aston on Sunday, but have messages for you. Lord Holland desired me repeatedly to bring you; he wants to know you much, and begged me to say so: you will like him. I had an invitation for you to dinner there this last Sunday, and Rogers is perpetually screaming because you don't call, and wanted you also to dine with him on Wednesday last. Yesterday we had Curran there--who is beyond all conception! and Mackintosh and the wits are to be seen at H. H. constantly, so that I think you would like their society. I will be a judge between you and the attorneo. So B[utler] may mention me to Lucien if he still adheres to his opinion. Pray let Rogers be one; he has the best taste extant. Bland's nuptials delight me; if I had the least hand in bringing them about it will be a subject of selfish satisfaction to me these three weeks. Desire Drury--if he loves me--to kick Dwyer thrice for frightening my horses with his flame-coloured whiskers last July. Let the kicks be hard, etc.
* * * * *
339.--To Thomas Moore.
October 2, 1813.
You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that--I swear by all the saints--I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran [1] at Holland House--he beats every body;--his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics--I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I should make my Scamander [2].
He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you--a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his! He absolutely changes it entirely. I have done--for I can't describe him, and you know him. On Sunday I return to Aston, where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night.
Saturday morn.--Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did _not suspect_ you in _earnest_. Modest again! Because I don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, I "don't fear your competition." If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I _should_ dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Go on--it will soon be my turn to forgive. To-day I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. _Stale_--as John Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne--whom I saw last night, at Covent Garden, yawning over the humour of Falstaff.
The reputation of "gloom," if one's friends are not included in the _reputants_, is of great service; as it saves one from a legion of impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. But thou know'st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely _larmoyant_. Murray shall reinstate your line forthwith. [3]
I believe the blunder in the motto was mine;--and yet I have, in general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first.
I do "blush" very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M.;--but luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu.
[Footnote 1: Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc'., p. 161) regretted "that so little of Curran's brilliant talk has been preserved." John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), after accepting the Mastership of the Rolls in Ireland (1806), spent much of his time in England. He retired from the Bench, where he never shone, in 1814.
In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs the following passage:
"I was much struck with the simplicity of Grattan's manners in private life. They were odd, but they were natural. Curran used to take him off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking God that he had no peculiarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly ludicrous. Rogers used to call him a 'Sentimental Harlequin;' but Rogers backbites everybody, and Curran, who used to quiz his great friend Godwin to his very face, would hardly respect a fair mark of mimicry in another. To be sure, Curran _was_ admirable! to hear his description of the examination of an Irish witness was next to hearing his own speeches; the latter I never heard, but I have the former."
Elsewhere ('ibid'.) he returns to the subject:
"Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most--such imagination! There never was anything like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His _published_ life--his published speeches--give you no idea of the man; none at all. He was a _Machine_ of imagination, as some one said that Piron was an 'Epigrammatic Machine.' I did not see a great deal of Curran,--only in 1813; but I met him at home (for he used to call on me), and in society, at Mackintosh's, Holland House, etc., etc. And he was wonderful, even to me, who had seen many remarkable men of the time."
The following notes on this passage are in the handwriting of Walter Scott:
"When Mathews first began to imitate Curran in Dublin--in society, I mean,--Curran sent for him and said, the moment he entered the room, 'Mr. Mathews, you are a first-rate artist, and, since you are to do my picture, pray allow me to give you a sitting.' Everyone knows how admirably Mathews succeeded in furnishing at last the portraiture begun under these circumstances. No one was more aware of the truth than Curran himself. In his latter and feeble days, he was riding in Hyde Park one morning, bowed down over the saddle and bitterly dejected in his air. Mathews happened to observe and saluted him. Curran stopped his horse for a moment, squeezed Charles by the hand, and said in that deep whisper which the comedian so exquisitely mimics, 'Don't speak to me, my dear Mathews; you are the only Curran now!'"
"Did you know Curran?" asked Byron of Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 176); "he was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In him was combined an imagination the most brilliant and profound, with a flexibility and wit that would have justified the observation applied to----, that his heart was in his head."
Moore ('Journal, etc.', vol. i. p. 40) quotes a couplet by Mrs. Battier upon Curran, which "commemorates in a small compass two of his most striking peculiarities, namely, his very unprepossessing personal appearance, and his great success, notwithstanding, in pursuits of gallantry...:
"'For though his monkey face might fail to woo her, Yet, ah! his monkey tricks would quite undo her.'"]
[Footnote 2: In the spurious letters of AEschines (Letter x.) is a passage which explains the allusion.
"It is the custom of maidens, on the eve of their marriage, to wash in the waters of the Scamander, and then to utter this almost sacred formula,
'Take, O Scamander, my virginity'
([Greek: to epos touto hosper hieron ti epilegein, Lhabe mou Scamandre taen parthenian)."]
[Footnote 3:
"The motto to 'The Giaour':
One fatal remembrance--one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,' etc.
"which is taken from one of the 'Irish Melodies', had been quoted by him incorrectly in the first editions of the poem". (Moore).]
* * * * *
340.--To John Murray.
Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof to be sent to Aston.--Among the lines on Hassan's Serai, not far from the beginning, is this:
Unmeet for Solitude to share.
Now to share implies more than _one_, and Solitude is a single gentlewoman; it must be thus:
For many a gilded chamber's there, Which Solitude might well forbear;
and so on.--My address is Aston Hall, Rotherham. Will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your trouble. Ever yours, B.
P.S.--I leave this to your discretion; if any body thinks the old line a good one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But, in that case, the word _share_ is repeated soon after in the line:
To share the Master's "bread and salt;"
and must be altered to:
To break the Master's bread and salt.
This is not so well, though--confound it! If the old line stands, let the other run thus:
Nor there will weary traveller halt, To bless the sacred "bread and salt."
_Note_.--To partake of food--to break bread and taste salt with your host--ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred.
There is another additional note sent yesterday--on the Priest in the Confessional.
* * * * *
341.--To John Hanson.
Nottingham, Octr. 10th, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I am disposed to advance a loan of L1000 to James Webster Wedderburne Webster, Esqre., of Aston Hall, York County, and request you will address to me _there a bond_ and _judgement_ to be signed by the said as soon as possible. Of Claughton's payments I know nothing further, and the demands on myself I know also; but W. is a very old friend of mine, and a man of property, and, as I can command the money, he shall have it. I do not at all wish to inconvenience you, and I also know that, when we balance accounts, it will be much in your favour; but if you could replace the sum at Hoare's from my advance of two thousand eight hundred in July, it would be a favour; or, still better, if C. makes further payments, which will render it unnecessary. Don't let the first part of the last sentence embarrass you at all; the last part about Claughton I would wish you to attend to. I have written this day--about his opening the cellar.
Pray send the bond and judgement to Aston as directed.
Ever, dear Sir,
B.
P.S.--Many, many thanks for your kind invitation; but it was too late. I was in this county before it arrived. My best remembrances to Mrs. H. and all the family.
* * * * *
342.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[Sunday], October 10th, 1813.
My dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I am not in the least angry, and that my silence has merely arisen from several circumstances which I cannot now detail. I trust you are better, and will continue _best_. Ever, my dearest,
Yours,
B.
* * * * *
343.--To John Murray.
Oct. 12, 1813.
Dear Sir,--You must look 'The Giaour' again over carefully; there are a few lapses, particularly in the last page,--"I _know_ 'twas false; she could not die;" it was, and ought to be--"_knew_." Pray observe this and similar mistakes.
I have received and read the 'British Review' [1].
I really think the writer in most parts very right. The only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation.
_Crabbe's passage_ I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his _lyric_ measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. 'The Giaour' is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous: and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few proselytes. I shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you please; but don't put yourself out of your way on my account.
Yours ever,
B.
[Footnote 1: 'The British Review' (No. ix.) criticized 'The Giaour' severely (pp. 132-145). "Lord Byron," it says, "has had the bad taste to imitate Mr. Walter Scott" (p. 135). Further on (p. 139) it charges him with borrowing a simile from Crabbe's 'Resentment'. The passage to which the reviewer alludes will be found in lines 11-16 of that poem:
"Those are like wax--apply them to the fire, Melting, they take th' impressions you desire: Easy to mould, and fashion as you please, And again moulded with an equal ease: Like smelted iron these the forms retain; But, once impress'd, will never melt again."]
* * * * *
344.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
(Monday), Nov'r. 8th, 1813.
My Dearest Augusta,--I have only time to say that I shall write tomorrow, and that my present and long silence has been occasioned by a thousand things (with which _you_ are not concerned). It is not L'y C. nor O.; but perhaps you may _guess_, and, if you do, do not tell.
You do not know what mischief your being with me might have prevented. You shall hear from me tomorrow; in the mean time don't be alarmed. I am in _no immediate_ peril.
Believe me, ever yours,
B.
* * * * *
345.--To John Murray.
(Nov. 12, 1813. With first proof of _Bride of Abydos_ correct.)
Dear Sir,--I have looked over--corrected--and added--_all_ of which you may do too--at least _certainly_ the _two_ first. There is more MS. _within_. Let me know tomorrow at your leisure _how_ and _when_ we shall proceed! It looks better than I thought at first. _Look over_ again. I suspect some omissions on my part and on the printers'.
Yours ever,
B.
Always print "een" "even." I utterly abhor "een"--if it must be contracted, be it "ev'n."
* * * * *
346.--To William Gifford.
November 12, 1813.
My Dear Sir,--I hope you will consider, when I venture on any request, that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and is addressed, _not_ to "The Editor of the 'Quarterly Review'" but to Mr. Gifford. You will understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther.
You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.--a Turkish story, and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor "obliged by hunger and request of friends," [1] but in a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to "us youth," that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was composed. Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to you. He has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter.
I beg you will _not_ send me any answer. I assure you very sincerely I know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers.
A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames or
"A hundred hawkers' load, On wings of wind to fly or fall abroad."
It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' [2], (by the by, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each. Believe me ever,
Your obliged and affectionate servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Pope, 'Epistle to Arbuthnot', l. 44.]
[Footnote 2: Horace, 'Sat'. 1. iv. 10.]
* * * * *
347.--To John Murray.
Nov. 12, 1813.
Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons. As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation. You say all the last of 'The Giaour' [1] are gone--at least out of your hands. Now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the reader (I mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add "'The Bride of Abydos'," which will thus steal quietly into the world [2]: if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of former "Giaours;" and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication. What think you? I really am no judge of those things; and, with all my natural partiality for one's own productions, I would rather follow any one's judgment than my own.
P.S.--Pray let me have the proofs. I sent _all_ to-night. I have some alterations that I have thought of that I wish to make speedily. I hope the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a mile-long, ballad-singing sheet, as those of 'The Giaour' sometimes are: for then I can't read them distinctly.
[Footnote 1: In 'Accepted Addresses; or, Premium Poetarum', pp. 50-52 (1813), 'Address' xvii. is from "Lord B----n to J. M----y, Book-seller." The address itself runs as follows:
"A Turkish tale I shall unfold, A sweeter tale was never told; But then the facts, I must allow, Are in the east not common now; Tho' in the 'olden time,' the scene My Goaour (_sic_) describes had often been. What is the cause! Perhaps the fair Are now more cautious than they were; Perhaps the Christians not so bold, So enterprising as of old. No matter what the cause may be, It is a subject fit for me.
"Take my disjointed fragments then, The offspring of a willing pen. And give them to the public, pray, On or before the month of May. Yes, my disjointed fragments take, But do not ask _how much they'll make_. Perhaps not fifty pages--well, I in a little space can tell Th' adventures of an infidel; Of _quantity_ I never boast, For _quality_'s, approved of most.
"It is a handsome sum to touch, Induces authors to write much; But in this much, alas! my friend, How little is there to commend. So, Mr. M----y, I disdain, To sacrifice my muse for gain. I wish it to be understood, The little which I write is good.
"I do not like the quarto size, Th' octavo, therefore, I advise. Then do not, Mr. M----y, fail, To publish this, my Turkish Tale; For tho' the volume may be thin, A thousand readers it will win; And when my pages they explore, They'll gladly read them o'er and o'er; And all the ladies, I engage, With tears will moisten every page."]
[Footnote 2: John Murray writes, in an undated letter to Byron,
"Mr. Canning returned the poem to-day with very warm expressions of delight. I told him your delicacy as to separate publication, of which he said you should remove every apprehension."]
* * * * *
348.--To John Murray.
Nov. 13, 1813.
Will you forward the letter to Mr. Gifford with the proof? There is an alteration I may make in Zuleika's speech, in second canto (the only one of _hers_ in that canto). It is now thus:
And curse--if I could curse--the day.
It must be:
And mourn--I dare not curse--the day, That saw my solitary birth, etc., etc.
Ever yours, B.
In the last MS. lines sent, instead of "living heart," correct to "quivering heart." It is in line 9th of the MS. passage. Ever yours again,
B.
* * * * *
349.--To John Murray.
Alteration of a line in Canto 2nd. Instead of:
And tints to-morrow with a _fancied_ ray
Print:
And tints to-morrow with _prophetic_ ray.
The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray;
Or,
And {_gilds_/tints} the hope of Morning with its ray;
Or,
And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray.
Dear Sir,--I wish you would ask Mr. G. which of them is best, or rather _not worst_.
Ever yours, B.
You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the _revise, after_ I have seen the _said revise_.
* * * * *
350.--To John Murray.
Nov. 13, 1813.
Certainly. Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with _Adam_, and _Eve_, and _Cain,_ [1] and _Noah_?--Surely, I might have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses, or the other. When you know that _Zuleika_ is the _Persian poetical_ name for _Potiphar's_ wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem in the Persian, this will not surprise you. If you want authority look at Jones, D'Herbelot, 'Vathek', or the notes to the 'Arabian Nights'; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a _note_.
Alter, in the inscription, "the most affectionate respect," to "with every sentiment of regard and respect,"
[Footnote 1:
"Some doubt had been expressed by Murray as to the propriety of his putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman."
(Moore).]
* * * * *
351.--To John Murray.
Nov. 14, 1813.
I send you a note for the _ignorant_, but I really wonder at finding _you_ among them. I don't care one lump of Sugar for my _poetry_; but for my _costume_, and my _correctness_ on those points (of which I think the _funeral_ was a proof), I will combat lustily.
Yours ever,
B.
* * * * *
352.--To John Murray.
November 15, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--Mr. Hodgson has looked over and _stopped_, or rather _pointed_, this revise, which must be the one to print from. He has also made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flattering critic of mine. _He_ likes it (you will think _flatteringly_, in this instance) better than 'The Giaour', but doubts (and so do I) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others, advises a separate publication. On this we can easily decide. I confess I like the _double_ form better. Hodgson says, it is _better versified_ than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more _hours_ at a time) than any attempt I ever made.
Yours ever, B.
P.S.--Do attend to the punctuation: I can't, for I don't know a comma--at least where to place one.
That Tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and _perhaps more_, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy? I have reinserted the 2, but they were in the manuscript, I can swear.
* * * * *
353.--To John Murray.
November 17, 1813.
My Dear Sir,--That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like "the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more," [1] makes conversation not very pleasant, I think it as well to _write_ a few lines on the topic.--Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of 'The Giaour'; and my answer was--from which I do not mean to recede--that we would discuss the point at Christmas. The new story may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its expences--but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or the other, we will say nothing about it. Thus then be it: I will postpone all arrangement about it, and 'The Giaour' also, till Easter, 1814; and you shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two. At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own estimation at half 'The Giaour'; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first, which has already had its success [2].
My account with you since my last payment (which I believe cleared it off within five pounds) I presume has not _much_ increased--but whatever it is have the goodness to send it to me--that I may at least meet you on even terms.
The pictures of Phillips I consider as _mine_, all three; and the one (not the Arnaut) of the two best is much at _your service_, if you will accept it as a present, from Yours very truly, BIRON.
P.S.--The expence of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that detestable print from it immediately.
[Footnote 1: 'The What d'ye call't?' by John Gay (act ii. sc. 9):
"So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more."]
[Footnote 2: Murray replies, November 18, 1813,
"I restore the 'Giaour' to your Lordship entirely, and for 'it', the 'Bride of Abydos', and the miscellaneous poems intended to fill up the volume of the small edition, I beg leave to offer you the sum of One Thousand Guineas, and I shall be happy if you perceive that my estimation of your talents in my character of a man of business is not much under my admiration of them as a man."]
* * * * *
354.--To John Murray.
November 20, 1813.
More work for the _Row_. I am doing my best to beat "_The Giaour_"--_no_ difficult task for any one but the author. Yours truly, B.
* * * * *
355.--To John Murray.
November 22, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--I have no time to _cross_-investigate, but I believe and hope all is right. I care less than you will believe about its success, but I can't survive a single _misprint_; it _choaks_ me to see words misused by the Printers. Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me. Ever yours, B.
P.S.--Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Canning, Mr. Heber, Mr. Gifford, Lord Holland, Lady Melbourne (Whitehall), Lady C. L. (Brocket), Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge), Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author.
* * * * *
356.--To John Murray.
November 23, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--You wanted some _reflections_, and I send you _per Selim_ (see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46.), eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an _ethical_ tendency. One more revise--poz. the _last_, if decently done--at any rate the _pen_ultimate. Mr. Canning's approbation (_if_ he did approve) I need not say makes me proud [1].
As to printing, print as you will and how you will--by itself, if you like; but let me have a few copies in _sheets_.
Ever yours,
B.
[Footnote 1: Canning wrote the following note to Murray:
"I received the books, and, among them, 'The Bride of Abydos'. It is very, very beautiful. Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at dinner at Mr. Ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. I mention this, not to save my purchase, but because I should be really flattered by the present. I can now say that I have read enough of Mad. de Stael to be highly pleased and instructed by her. The second volume delights me particularly. I have not yet finished the third, but am taking it with me on my journey to Liverpool."]
* * * * *
357.--To John Murray.
November 24, 1813.
You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good: it must be thus:
He makes a Solitude, and calls it Peace.
"_Makes_" is closer to the passage of Tacitus [1], from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than "_leaves_."
Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease-- He makes a Solitude, and calls it--peace.
You will perceive that the sense is now clearer, the "_He_" refers to "_Man_" in the preceding couplet.
Yours ever,
B.
[Footnote 1:
"Solitudinem faciunt--pacem appellant."
Tacitus, 'Agricola', 30.]
* * * * *
358.--To John Murray.
November 27, 1813.
Dear Sir,--If you look over this carefully by the _last proof_ with my corrections, it is probably right; this _you_ can _do_ as well or better;--I have not now time. The copies I mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new Giaours, if it also is ready. If not, send 'The Giaour' afterwards.
The 'Morning Post' says _I_ am the author of 'Nourjahad' [1]!!
This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not worth a _formal contradiction_. Besides, the criticisms on the _supposition_ will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. The _Orientalism_--which I hear is very splendid--of the Melodrame (whosever it is, and I am sure I don't know) is as good as an Advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling their heads with glitter. Yours ever, B.
P.S.--You will of course _say_ the truth, that I am _not_ the Melo-dramatist--if any one charges me in your presence with the performance.
[Footnote 1: The same charge is made in the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. p. 508). 'Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad', was acted at Drury Lane, November 25, 1813. It is described by Genest ('The English Stage', vol. viii. p. 403) as "a Melo-dramatic spectacle in three acts by an anonymous author." "Nourjahad" was acted by Elliston; "Mandane," his wife, by Mrs. Horn.]
* * * * *
359.--To John Murray.
November 28, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady Holland of the _Journal_ [1], in my name, when you receive this; it is for _Earl Grey_--and I will relinquish my own. Also to Mr. Sharpe, Lady Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of _The Bride_, as soon as convenient. Ever yours, BIRON.
P.S.--Mr. W. and myself still continue our purpose; but I shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of _The Giaour_ and _The Bride_ till our return,--or, at any rate, before _May_, 1814,--that is, six months from hence: and before that time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one: if so, you can deduct proportionably; and if not, I shall not at any rate allow you to go higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair.
I have had--but this must be _entre nous_--a very kind note, on the subject of _The Bride_, from Sir James Mackintosh, and an invitation to go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept [2].
[Footnote 1: The Rev. John Eagles (1783-1855), scholar, artist, and contributor (1831-55) to 'Blackwood's Magazine', edited 'The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman', which Murray published in 1815.]
[Footnote 2:
"Lord Byron is the author of the day; six thousand of his 'Bride of Abydos' have been sold within a month."
Sir James Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 271).]
* * * * *
360.--To John Murray.
November 29, 1813.
Sunday--Monday morning--three o'clock--in my doublet and hose,--_swearing_.
Dear Sir,--I send you in time an Errata page, containing an omission of mine [1], which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text. The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines. Pray let this be done, and directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book(-_making_), and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the _public_. Answer me, thou Oracle, in the affirmative. You can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the _Critical_ copyholders.
Ever yours, BIRON.
P.S.--I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep, whether I had amended this or not), and so good morning. I am trying whether _De l'Allemagne_ will act as an opiate, but I doubt it.
[Footnote 1: 'The Bride of Abydos', Canto II. stanza xx. The lines were:
"Then, if my lip once murmurs, it must be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee."]
* * * * *
361.--To John Murray.
November 29, 1813.
"_You have looked at it!_" to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand; it is _not_ "_courage_" but "_carnage_;" and if you don't want me to cut my own throat, see it altered.
I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden.
* * * * *
362.--To John Murray.
Nov. 29, 1813, Monday.
Dear Sir,--You will act as you please upon that point; but whether I go or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May--nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself. I have many things I wish to leave to your care, principally papers. The _vases_ need not be now sent, as Mr. W. is gone to Scotland. You are right about the Er[rata] page; place it at the beginning. Mr. Perry is a little premature in his compliments [1]: these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think _we_ ought to be above it--though I see the next paragraph is on the 'Journal' [2], which makes me suspect _you_ as the author of both.
Would it not have been as well to have said in 2 cantos in the advertisement? they will else think of _fragments_, a species of composition very well for _once_, like _one ruin_ in a _view_; but one would not build a town of them. 'The Bride', such as it is, is my first _entire_ composition of any length (except the Satire, and be damned to it), for 'The Giaour' is but a string of passages, and 'Childe Harold' is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded. I return Mr. Hay's note, with thanks to him and you.
There have been some epigrams on Mr. W[ard]: one I see to-day [3].
The first I did not see, but heard yesterday. The second seems very bad and Mr. P[erry] has placed it over _your_ puff. I only hope that Mr. W. does not believe that I had any connection with either. The Regent is the only person on whom I ever expectorated an epigram, or ever should; and even if I were disposed that way, I like and value Mr. W. too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intended to annoy him or his. You need not take the trouble to answer this, as I shall see you in the course of the afternoon.
Yours very truly, B.
P.S.--I have said this much about the epigrams, because I live so much in the _opposite camp_, and, from my post as an Engineer, might be suspected as the flinger of these hand Grenadoes; but with a worthy foe I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have [not] had, nor will have, any thing to do with it. I do not know the author.
[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle', November 29, 1813, appeared the following paragraph:
"Lord Byron's muse is extremely fruitful. He has another poem coming out, entitled 'The Bride of Abydos', which is spoken of in terms of the highest encomium."]
[Footnote 2: 'Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman.']
[Footnote 3:
"Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it;-- He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."]
* * * * *
363.--To John Murray.
Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813.
Dear Sir,--For the sake of correctness, particularly in an Errata page, the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the _proof_ early to-morrow. I found out _murmur_ to be a neuter _verb_, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus:
The deepest murmur of this life shall be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee!
Don't send the copies to the _country_ till this is all right.
Yours, B.
* * * * *
364.--To Thomas Moore.
November 30, 1813.
Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and indifferent,--not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to whom _your_ thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. We were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your French quotation [1] was confoundedly to the purpose,--though very _unexpectedly_ pertinent, as you may imagine by what I _said_ before, and my silence since. However, "Richard's himself again," [2] and except all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about the matter.
All convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, I have scribbled another Turkish story [3]--not a Fragment--which you will receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in the least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. You will think, and justly, that I run some risk of losing the little I have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written this, and published it, for the sake of the _employment_,--to wring my thoughts from reality, and take refuge in "imaginings," however "horrible;" [4] and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a failure--excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less,--and so, let it go----.
P.S.--Ward and I _talk_ of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch canal looks after the Bosphorus. Pray respond.
[Footnote 1: Moore wrote to Byron in 1813 an undated letter, in which the following passage occurs:
"I am sorry I must wait till 'we are veterans' before you will open to me 'the story of your wandering life, wherein you find more hours _due to repentance_ ... than time hath told you yet.' Is it so with you, or are you, like me, reprobate enough to look back with complacency on what you have done? I suppose repentance _must bring up the rear_ with us all; but at present I should say with old Fontenelle, _Si je recommencais ma carriere, je ferais tout ce que j'ai fait_."]
[Footnote 2: Colley Cibber's 'Richard III', act v. sc. 3:
"Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again."]
[Footnote 3: 'The Bride of Abydos' was published December, 1813.]
[Footnote 4:
"Horrible imaginings."
'Macbeth', act i. sc. 3.]
* * * * *
365.--To Francis Hodgson.
Nov'r--Dec'r 1st, 1813.
I have just heard that _Knapp_ is acquainted with what I was but too happy in being enabled to do for you [1].
Now, my dear Hn., you, or Drury, must have told this, for, upon my own honour, not even to Scrope, nor to one soul, (Drury knew it before) have I said one syllable of the matter. So don't be out of humour with me about it, but you can't be more so than I am. I am, however, glad of one thing; if you ever conceived it to be in the least an obligation, this disclosure most fairly and fully releases you from it:
"To John I owe some obligation, But John unluckily thinks fit To publish it to all the nation, So John and I are more than quit."
And so there's an end of the matter.
Ward _wavers_ a little about the Dutch, till matters are more sedative, and the French more sedentary.
The 'Bride' will blush upon you in a day or two; there is _much_, at least a _little_ addition. I am happy to say that Frere and Heber, and some other "good men and true," have been kind enough to adopt the same opinion that you did.
Pray write when you like, and believe me,
Ever yours,
BYRON.
P.S.--Murray has _offered_ me a thousand guineas for the _two_ ('Giaour' and 'Bride'), and told M'e. de Stael that he had _paid_ them to me!! I should be glad to be able to tell her so too. But the truth is, he would; but I thought the fair way was to decline it till May, and, at the end of 6 months, he can safely say whether he can afford it or not--without running any risk by Speculation. If he paid them now and lost by it, it would be hard. If he gains, it will be time enough when he has already funded his profits. But he needed not have told "_la Baronne_" such a devil of an uncalled for piece of--premature _truth_, perhaps--but, nevertheless, a _lie_ in the mean time.
[Footnote 1: Hodgson, now engaged to Miss Tayler, was anxious to clear off his father's liabilities. Byron gave him from first to last the sum of L1500 for the purpose. Hodgson, in a letter to his uncle, thus describes the gift ('Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 268, 269):
"My noble-hearted friend, Lord Byron, after many offers of a similar kind, which I felt bound to refuse, has irresistibly in my present circumstances ... volunteered to pay all my debts, and within a few pounds it is done! Oh, if you knew (but _you_ do know) the exultation of heart, aye, and of head too, I feel at being free from these depressing embarrassments, you would, as I do, bless my dearest friend and brother Byron."]
* * * * *
366.--To John Murray.
Dec. 2, 1813.
Dear Sir,--When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the Errata page. I trust it is in time for some of the copies. This alteration is in the same part--the page _but one_ before the last correction sent.
Yours, etc.,
B.
P.S.--I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped. This comes of Mr. Perry and one's wise friends; but do not _you_ wind _your_ hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and I have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both.
* * * * *
367.--To Leigh Hunt.
4, Bennet St., Dec. 2, 1813.
My dear Sir,--Few things could be more welcome than your note, and on Saturday morning I will avail myself of your permission to thank you for it in person. My time has not been passed, since we met, either profitably or agreeably. A very short period after my last visit, an incident occurred with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic. That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness. Then I nearly incurred a lawsuit on the sale of an estate; but that is now arranged: next--but why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details? I merely wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a mind, occupied by what is called pleasure (_not_ in the true sense of Epicurus), that kept me away; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease. I hate being _larmoyant_, and making a serious face among those who are cheerful.
It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent. I have been lucky enough to preserve some friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now) select them lightly, I shall not lose them capriciously. I have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit [1] which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering. You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were composing, when Moore and I partook of your hospitality in the summer. I hope a time will come when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the _latter_--for the rhyme, at least in _quantity_, you are in arrear to both.
Believe me, very truly and affectionately yours,
Byron.
[Footnote 1: The following is Leigh Hunt's answer:
"My dear Lord,--I need not tell you how much your second letter has gratified me, for I am apt to speak as sincerely as I think (you must suffer me to talk in this way after what you have been kind enough to say of my independence), and it always rejoices me to find that those whom I wish to regard will take me at my word. But I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship's good opinion. I shall be heartily glad to see you on Saturday morning, and perhaps shall prevail upon you to take a luncheon with us at our dinner-time(3). The nature of your letter would have brought upon you a long answer, filled perhaps with an enthusiasm that might have made you smile; but I am keeping your servant in the cold, and so, among other good offices, you see what he has done for you. However, I would not make a light thing of so good a matter as I mean my enthusiasm to be, and intend, before I have done, that you shall have as sound a regard for it, as I have for the feelings on your Lordship's part that have called it forth.
"Yours, my dear Lord, most sincerely and cordially,
"Leigh Hunt.
"Surrey Jail, 2'd Dec'r., 1813."]
* * * * *
368.--To John Murray.
Dec. 3, 1813.
I send you a _scratch_ or _two_, the which _heal_. The _Christian Observer_ [1] is very savage, but certainly uncommonly well written--and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author. I rather suspect you won't much like the _present_ to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes.
Let me see a proof of the _six_ before _incorporation_.
[Footnote 1: The 'Christian Observer' for November, 1813 (pp. 731-737) felt compelled to review 'The Giaour', because of its extraordinary popularity; but it found that some of the passages savoured "too much of Newgate and Bedlam for our expurgated pages." It acknowledged one obligation to Byron.
"He never attempts to deceive the world by representing the profligate as happy.... And his testimony is of the more value, as his situation in life must have permitted him to see the experiment tried under the most favourable circumstances. He has probably seen more than one example of young men of high birth, talents, and expectancies, ... sink under the burden of unsubdued tempers, licentious alliances, and ennervating indulgence.... He has _seen_ all this; nay, perhaps--But we check our pen," etc., etc.]
* * * * *
369.--To John Murray.
Dec. 3, 1813.
My dear Sir,--Look out the Encyclopedia article _Mecca_ whether it is there or at _Medina_ the Prophet is entombed, if at Medina the first lines of my alteration must run:
Blest as the call which from Medina's dome Invites Devotion to her Prophet's tomb, etc.
If at "Mecca" the lines may stand as before. Page 45, C deg.. 2nd, 'Bride of Abydos'. Yours, B.
You will find this out either by Article _Mecca, Medina_ or _Mahommed_. I have no book of reference by me.
* * * * *
370.--To John Murray.
[No date.]
Did you look out? is it _Medina_ or _Mecca_ that contains the _holy_ Sepulchre? don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. I have no books of reference or I would save you the trouble. I _blush_ as a good Mussulman to have confused the point. Yours, B.
* * * * *
371.--To John Murray.
Dec. 4, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have redde through your Persian Tales [1], and have taken the liberty of making some remarks on the _blank_ pages. There are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and I cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the _date_ of the _hour--two o'clock_,--till which it has kept me awake _without a yawn_.
The conclusion is not quite correct in _costume_: there is no _Mussulman suicide_ on record--at least for _love_. But this matters not. The tale must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish him, and he deserves, success. Will you apologise to the author for the liberties I have taken with his MS.? Had I been less awake to, and interested in, his theme, I had been less obtrusive; but you know _I_ always take this in good part, and I hope he will. It is difficult to say what _will_ succeed, and still more to pronounce what _will not_. _I_ am at this moment in _that uncertainty_ (on your _own_ score); and it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to _charm_ and _fix_ a _mind's_ attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament. That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the _doubt_, of
Yours truly, B.
[Footnote 1: Henry Gally Knight (1786-1846), who was with Byron at Trinity, Cambridge, and afterwards distinguished himself by his architectural writings (e.g. 'The Normans in Sicily,' 1838), began his literary career with 'Ilderim, a Syrian Tale' (1816). 'Phrosyne, a Grecian Tale'; 'Alashtar, an Arabian Tale' (1817), was followed, after a considerable interval, by 'Eastern Sketches' (about 1829-30). If the manuscript of the first-mentioned volume is that to which Byron refers, he seems to have changed his mind as to its merits (March 25, 1817):
"I tried at 'Ilderim;' Ahem!"]
* * * * *
372.--To John Murray.
Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813.
Dear Sir,--It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which _must_ be corrected with the _pen_, if no other way remains; it is the omission of "_not_" before "_disagreeable_" in the _note_ on the _amber_ rosary. This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the Threshold--I mean the _misnomer_ of bride. Pray do not let a copy go without the "_not_;" it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense, as it now stands. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire.
Yours ever, B.
P.S.--It is still _hath_ instead of _have_ in page 20.; never was any one so _misused_ as I am by your Devils of printers.
P.S.--I hope and trust the "_not_" was inserted in the first Edition. We must have something--any thing--to set it right. It is enough to answer for one's own bulls, without other people's.
* * * * *
373.--To Thomas Moore.
December 8, 1813.
Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you,--not in a formal inscription, as to one's _elders_,--but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of _your_ poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than _once_ repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which _ecce signum!_ When I was at Aston, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of--I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to myself--but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your "Oh breathe not," "When the last glimpse," and "When he who adores thee," with others of the same minstrel;--they are my matins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not _La Donna_, but _Il Marito_, with a very grave face, saying, "Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least of those songs." I stared, and said, "Certainly, but why?"--"To tell you the truth," quoth he, "they make my wife _cry_, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them."
Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases--at least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire,--and surely no one was ever so popular in both,--I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all _you_ can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a _Cossac_ like me can appal a _cuirassier_. Your story I did not, could not, know,--I thought only of a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, I yet hope, this _clashing_ will not even now deprive them of [1].
Mine is the work of a week, written, _why_ I have partly told you, and partly I cannot tell you by letter--some day I will.
Go on--I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for 'The Giaour' and such "horrid mysteries." The only advantage I have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If _your chamber_ was furnished in the same way, you have no need to _go there_ to describe--I mean only as to _accuracy_--because I drew it from recollection.
This last thing of mine _may_ have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. Come out--"screw your courage to the sticking-place." [2]
Except the _Post Bag_ (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been _regularly_ out for some years. No man stands higher,--whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat.
"Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a ete, peut-etre, plus completement le poete du coeur et le poete des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir represente le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit etre; _mais les femmes repondent qu'il l'a represente tel qu'elles le desirent._"
I should have thought Sismondi [3] had written this for you instead of Metastasio.
Write to me, and tell me of _yourself_. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one--"Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself."
P.S.--The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism,--but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was _mutual_. I have met with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not--at least the bad part--be applied to you or me, though _one_ of us has certainly an indifferent name--but this it is:--"Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives". I need not add it is a woman's saying--a Mademoiselle de Sommery's [4].
[Footnote 1:
"Among the stories intended to be introduced into 'Lalla Rookh', which I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of 'The Bride', and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject--the Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to whom I had even given the name of 'Zelim,' and who was a descendant of Ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord Byron on the subject: 'I chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to aim at vigour and strong feeling after 'you' is hopeless;--that region "was made for Caesar."'"
(Moore).]
[Footnote 2: 'Macbeth', act i. sc. 7.]
[Footnote 3: 'De la Litterature du Midi de l'Europe', ed. 1813, tom. ii. p. 436.]
[Footnote 4: Grimm ('Correspondance Litteraire', ed. 1813, part iii. tom ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790,
"Que de gens ont la reputation d'etre mechans, avec lesquels on serait trop heureux de passer sa vie."
The 'Biographie Universelle' says of her,
"Elle avait du talent pour ecrire; mais elle ne l'exerca que fort tard .... Le premier livre qu'elle publia, n'etant plus tres jeune, fut un recueil de pensees detachees, dedie aux manes de Saurin, qu'elle intitula 'Doutes sur differentes Opinions recues dans la Societe'. Ce recueil eut un veritable succes."
Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the 'Doutes' (1782), 'Lettres de Madame la Comtesse de L. a M. le Comte de R'. (1785); 'Lettres de Mlle. de Tourville a Madame la Comtesse de Lenoncourt' (1788); 'L'Oreille, conte Asiatique' (1789).]
* * * * *
374.--To John Galt [1].
Dec. 11, 1813.
My dear Galt,--There was no offence--there _could_ be none. I thought it by no means impossible that we might have hit on something similar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious to assure you of the truth, viz., that I had not wittingly seized upon plot, sentiment, or incident; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched upon your subjects. Something still more singular is, that the _first_ part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your observations on _life_, was _drawn_ from _observations_ of mine also, and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on _second_ thoughts, I thought myself _two centuries_ at least too late for the subject; which, though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of the Greeks, one of Schiller's and Alfieri's in modern times, besides several of our _old_ (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similar cast. I therefore altered it as you perceive, and in so doing have weakened the whole, by interrupting the train of thought: and in composition I do not think _second_ thoughts are the best, though _second_ expressions may improve the first ideas.
I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who have met together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased: but I always look forward to renewing my travels; and though _you_, I think, are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits _there_ as well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity.
Ever yours very sincerely, B.
P.S.--I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but after that I am always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two.
[Footnote 1: For John Galt, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243 [Footnote 1 of