Chapter 25

Parnassian pilgrims! ye whom chance, or choice, [lxxx] Hath led to listen to the Muse's voice, Receive this counsel, and be timely wise; Few reach the Summit which before you lies. 580 Our Church and State, our Courts and Camps, concede Reward to very moderate heads indeed! In these plain common sense will travel far; All are not Erskines who mislead the Bar: [lxxxi] [53] But Poesy between the best and worst No medium knows; you must be last or first; For middling Poets' miserable volumes Are damned alike by Gods, and Men, and Columns. [lxxxii] Again, my Jeffrey--as that sound inspires, [54] How wakes my bosom to its wonted fires! 590 Fires, such as gentle Caledonians feel When Southrons writhe upon their critic wheel, Or mild Eclectics, [55] when some, worse than Turks, Would rob poor Faith to decorate "Good Works." Such are the genial feelings them canst claim-- My Falcon flies not at ignoble game. Mightiest of all Dunedin's beasts of chase! For thee my Pegasus would mend his pace. Arise, my Jeffrey! or my inkless pen Shall never blunt its edge on meaner men; 600 Till thee or thine mine evil eye discerns, "Alas! I cannot strike at wretched kernes." [56] Inhuman Saxon! wilt thou then resign A Muse and heart by choice so wholly thine? Dear d--d contemner of my schoolboy songs, Hast thou no vengeance for my Manhood's wrongs? If unprovoked thou once could bid me bleed, Hast thou no weapon for my daring deed? What! not a word!--and am I then so low? Wilt thou forbear, who never spared a foe? 610 Hast thou no wrath, or wish to give it vent? No wit for Nobles, Dunces by descent? No jest on "minors," quibbles on a name, [57] Nor one facetious paragraph of blame? Is it for this on Ilion I have stood, And thought of Homer less than Holyrood? On shore of Euxine or Ægean sea, My hate, untravelled, fondly turned to thee. Ah! let me cease! in vain my bosom burns, From Corydon unkind Alexis turns: [58] 620 Thy rhymes are vain; thy Jeffrey then forego, Nor woo that anger which he will not show. What then?--Edina starves some lanker son, To write an article thou canst not shun; Some less fastidious Scotchman shall be found, As bold in Billingsgate, though less renowned.

As if at table some discordant dish, [59] Should shock our optics, such as frogs for fish; As oil in lieu of butter men decry, And poppies please not in a modern pie; [lxxxiii] 630 If all such mixtures then be half a crime, We must have Excellence to relish rhyme. Mere roast and boiled no Epicure invites; Thus Poetry disgusts, or else delights.

Who shoot not flying rarely touch a gun: Will he who swims not to the river run? And men unpractised in exchanging knocks Must go to Jackson [60] ere they dare to box. Whate'er the weapon, cudgel, fist, or foil, None reach expertness without years of toil; 640 But fifty dunces can, with perfect ease, Tag twenty thousand couplets, when they please. Why not?--shall I, thus qualified to sit For rotten boroughs, never show my wit? Shall I, whose fathers with the "Quorum" sate, [lxxxiv] And lived in freedom on a fair estate; Who left me heir, with stables, kennels, packs, [lxxxv] To 'all' their income, and to--'twice' its tax; Whose form and pedigree have scarce a fault, Shall I, I say, suppress my Attic Salt? 650

Thus think "the Mob of Gentlemen;" but you, Besides all this, must have some Genius too. Be this your sober judgment, and a rule, And print not piping hot from Southey's school, Who (ere another Thalaba appears), I trust, will spare us for at least nine years. And hark'ye, Southey! [61] pray--but don't be vexed-- Burn all your last three works--and half the next. But why this vain advice? once published, books Can never be recalled--from pastry-cooks! [lxxxvi] 660 Though "Madoc," with "Pucelle," [62] instead of Punk, May travel back to Quito--on a trunk! [63]

Orpheus, we learn from Ovid and Lempriere, Led all wild beasts but Women by the ear; And had he fiddled at the present hour, We'd seen the Lions waltzing in the Tower; [64] And old Amphion, such were minstrels then, Had built St. Paul's without the aid of Wren. Verse too was Justice, and the Bards of Greece Did more than constables to keep the peace; 670 Abolished cuckoldom with much applause, Called county meetings, and enforced the laws, Cut down crown influence with reforming scythes, And served the Church--without demanding tithes; And hence, throughout all Hellas and the East, Each Poet was a Prophet and a Priest, Whose old-established Board of Joint Controls [65] Included kingdoms in the cure of souls.

Next rose the martial Homer, Epic's prince, And Fighting's been in fashion ever since; 680 And old Tyrtæus, when the Spartans warred, (A limping leader, but a lofty bard) [lxxxvii] Though walled Ithome had resisted long, Reduced the fortress by the force of song.

When Oracles prevailed, in times of old, In song alone Apollo's will was told. [lxxxviii] Then if your verse is what all verse should be, And Gods were not ashamed on't, why should we?

The Muse, like mortal females, may be wooed; [66] In turns she'll seem a Paphian, or a prude; 690 Fierce as a bride when first she feels affright, Mild as the same upon the second night; Wild as the wife of Alderman or Peer, Now for His Grace, and now a grenadier! Her eyes beseem, her heart belies, her zone-- Ice in a crowd--and Lava when alone.

If Verse be studied with some show of Art. Kind Nature always will perform her part; Though without Genius, and a native vein Of wit, we loathe an artificial strain, 700 Yet Art and Nature joined will win the prize, Unless they act like us and our allies.

The youth who trains to ride, or run a race, Must bear privations with unruffled face, Be called to labour when he thinks to dine, And, harder still, leave wenching and his wine. Ladies who sing, at least who sing at sight, Have followed Music through her farthest flight; [lxxxix] But rhymers tell you neither more nor less, "I've got a pretty poem for the Press;" 710 And that's enough; then write and print so fast;-- If Satan take the hindmost, who'd be last? They storm the Types, they publish, one and all, [xc] [67] They leap the counter, and they leave the stall. Provincial Maidens, men of high command, Yea! Baronets have inked the bloody hand! Cash cannot quell them; Pollio played this prank, [xci] (Then Phoebus first found credit in a Bank!) Not all the living only, but the dead, Fool on, as fluent as an Orpheus' Head; [68] 720 Damned all their days, they posthumously thrive, Dug up from dust, though buried when alive! Reviews record this epidemic crime, Those Books of Martyrs to the rage for rhyme. Alas! woe worth the scribbler! often seen In Morning Post, or Monthly Magazine. There lurk his earlier lays; but soon, hot pressed, [xcii] Behold a Quarto!--Tarts must tell the rest. Then leave, ye wise, the Lyre's precarious chords To muse-mad baronets, or madder lords, [cxiii] 730 Or country Crispins, now grown somewhat stale, Twin Doric minstrels, drunk with Doric ale! Hark to those notes, narcotically soft! The Cobbler-Laureats [69] sing to Capel Lofft! [70] Till, lo! that modern Midas, as he hears, [xciv] Adds an ell growth to his egregious ears! [xcv] There lives one Druid, who prepares in time [71] 'Gainst future feuds his poor revenge of rhyme; Racks his dull Memory, and his duller Muse, To publish faults which Friendship should excuse. 740 If Friendship's nothing, Self-regard might teach More polished usage of his parts of speech. But what is shame, or what is aught to him? [xcvi] He vents his spleen, or gratifies his whim. Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate, Some folly crossed, some jest, or some debate; Up to his den Sir Scribbler hies, and soon The gathered gall is voided in Lampoon. Perhaps at some pert speech you've dared to frown, Perhaps your Poem may have pleased the Town: 750 If so, alas! 'tis nature in the man-- May Heaven forgive you, for he never can! Then be it so; and may his withering Bays Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink The dullest, fattest weeds on Lethe's brink, But springing upwards from the sluggish mould, Be (what they never were before) be--sold! Should some rich Bard (but such a monster now, [72] In modern Physics, we can scarce allow), [xcvii] 760 Should some pretending scribbler of the Court, Some rhyming Peer--there's plenty of the sort--[xcviii] [73] All but one poor dependent priest withdrawn, (Ah! too regardless of his Chaplain's yawn!) Condemn the unlucky Curate to recite Their last dramatic work by candle-light, How would the preacher turn each rueful leaf, Dull as his sermons, but not half so brief! Yet, since 'tis promised at the Rector's death, He'll risk no living for a little breath. 770 Then spouts and foams, and cries at every line, (The Lord forgive him!) "Bravo! Grand! Divine!" Hoarse with those praises (which, by Flatt'ry fed, [xcix] Dependence barters for her bitter bread), He strides and stamps along with creaking boot; Till the floor echoes his emphatic foot, Then sits again, then rolls his pious eye, [c] As when the dying vicar will not die! Nor feels, forsooth, emotion at his heart;-- But all Dissemblers overact their part. 780

Ye, who aspire to "build the lofty rhyme," [74] Believe not all who laud your false "sublime;" But if some friend shall hear your work, and say, "Expunge that stanza, lop that line away," And, after fruitless efforts, you return Without amendment, and he answers, "Burn!" That instant throw your paper in the fire, Ask not his thoughts, or follow his desire; But (if true Bard!) you scorn to condescend, [ci] And will not alter what you can't defend, 790 If you will breed this Bastard of your Brains, [75] We'll have no words--I've only lost my pains.

Yet, if you only prize your favourite thought, As critics kindly do, and authors ought; If your cool friend annoy you now and then, And cross whole pages with his plaguy pen; No matter, throw your ornaments aside,-- Better let him than all the world deride. Give light to passages too much in shade, Nor let a doubt obscure one verse you've made; 800 Your friend's a "Johnson," not to leave one word, However trifling, which may seem absurd; Such erring trifles lead to serious ills, And furnish food for critics, or their quills. [76]

As the Scotch fiddle, with its touching tune, Or the sad influence of the angry Moon, All men avoid bad writers' ready tongues, As yawning waiters fly [77] Fitzscribble's lungs; [cii] Yet on he mouths--ten minutes--tedious each [ciii] [78] As Prelate's homily, or placeman's speech; 810 Long as the last years of a lingering lease, When Riot pauses until Rents increase. While such a minstrel, muttering fustian, strays O'er hedge and ditch, through unfrequented ways, If by some chance he walks into a well, And shouts for succour with stentorian yell, "A rope! help, Christians, as ye hope for grace!" Nor woman, man, nor child will stir a pace; For there his carcass he might freely fling, [civ] From frenzy, or the humour of the thing. 820 Though this has happened to more Bards than one; I'll tell you Budgell's story,--and have done.

Budgell, a rogue and rhymester, for no good, (Unless his case be much misunderstood) When teased with creditors' continual claims, "To die like Cato," [79] leapt into the Thames! And therefore be it lawful through the town For any Bard to poison, hang, or drown. Who saves the intended Suicide receives Small thanks from him who loathes the life he leaves; [cv] 830 And, sooth to say, mad poets must not lose The Glory of that death they freely choose.

Nor is it certain that some sorts of verse [cvi] Prick not the Poet's conscience as a curse; Dosed [80] with vile drams on Sunday he was found, Or got a child on consecrated ground! And hence is haunted with a rhyming rage-- Feared like a bear just bursting from his cage. If free, all fly his versifying fit, Fatal at once to Simpleton or Wit: 840 But 'him', unhappy! whom he seizes,--'him' He flays with Recitation limb by limb; Probes to the quick where'er he makes his breach, And gorges like a Lawyer--or a Leech.

[The last page of 'MS. M.' is dated--

BYRON,

Capuchin Convent,

Athens. 'March 14th, 1811'.

The following memorandum, in Byron's handwriting, is also inscribed on the last page:

"722 lines, and 4 inserted after and now counted, in all 726.--B.

"Since this several lines are added.--B. June 14th, 1811.

"Copied fair at Malta, May 3rd, 1811.--B."

BYRON,

'March 11th and 12th', Athens. 1811.

['MS. L. (a)'.]

BYRON, 'March 14th, 1811.' Athens, Capuchin Convent.

['MS. L. (b)'.]]

[Footnote 1: Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830) succeeded West as P.R.A. in 1820. Benjamin West (1738-1820) had been elected P.R.A. in 1792, on the death of Sir Joshua Reynolds.]

[Footnote 2: In an English newspaper, which finds its way abroad wherever there are Englishmen, I read an account of this dirty dauber's caricature of Mr. H---as a "beast," and the consequent action, etc. The circumstance is, probably, too well known to require further comment. [Thomas Hope (1770-1831) was celebrated for his collections of pictures, sculpture, and _bric-à-brac_. He was the author of _Anastasius, or Memoirs of a Greek, etc_., which was attributed to Byron, and, according to Lady Blessington, excited his envy. "Low Dubost" was a French painter, who, in revenge for some fancied injustice, caricatured Hope and his wife as Beauty and the Beast. An exhibition of the sketch is said to have brought in from twenty to thirty pounds a week. A brother of Mrs. Hope (Louisa Beresford, daughter of Lord Decies, Archbishop of Tuam) mutilated the picture, and, an action having been brought, was ordered to pay a nominal sum of five pounds. Dubost's academy portrait of Mrs. Hope did not please Peter Pindar.

"In Mistress Hope, Monsieur Dubost! Thy Genius yieldeth up the Ghost."

_Works_ (1812), v. 372.]]

[Footnote 3:

"While pure Description held the place of Sense."--

Pope, _Prol. to the Sat.,_ L. 148.

"While Mr. Sol decked out all so glorious Shines like a Beau in his Birthday Embroidery."

[Fielding, _Tom Thumb_, act i. sc. I.]--[_MS. M._]

"_Fas est et ab Hoste doceri._" In the 7th Art. of the 31st No. of the _Edinburgh Review_ (vol. xvi. Ap. 1810) the "Observations" of an Oxford Tutor are compared to "Children's Cradles" (page 181), then to a "Barndoor fowl flying" (page 182), then the man himself to "a Coach-horse on the Trottoir" (page 185) etc., etc., with a variety of other conundrums all tending to prove that the ingenuity of comparison increases in proportion to the dissimilarity between the things compared.--[_MS. L. (b) erased._]]

[Footnote 4: Mere common mortals were commonly content with one Taylor and with one bill, but the more particular gentlemen found it impossible to confide their lower garments to the makers of their body clothes. I speak of the beginning of 1809: what reform may have since taken place I neither know, nor desire to know.--[_MSS. L. (b), M_.]]

[Footnote 5: Mr. Pitt was liberal in his additions to our Parliamentary tongue; as may be seen in many publications, particularly the 'Edinburgh Review'.

[The reference may be to financial terms, such as sinking fund (a phrase not introduced by Pitt), the English equivalent of 'caisse d'amortissement', or income tax ('impôt sur le revenu'), or to actual French words such as 'chouannerie, projet', etc. But Pitt's "additions" are unnoticed by Frere and other reporters and critics of his speeches. For a satirical description of Pitt's words, "which are finer and longer than can be conceived," see 'Rolliad', 1799; 'Political Miscellanies', p. 421; and 'Political Eclogues', p. 195.

"And Billy best of all things loves--a trope."

Compare, too, Peter Pindar, "To Sylvanus Urban," 'Works' (1812), ii. 259.

"Lycurgus Pitt whose penetrating eyes Behold the fount of Freedom in excise, Whose 'patriot' logic possibly maintains The 'identity' of 'liberty' and 'chains'."]]

[Footnote 6: Old ballads, old plays, and old women's stories, are at present in as much request as old wine or new speeches. In fact, this is the millennium of black letter: thanks to our Hebers, Webers, and Scotts!

[Richard Heber (1773-1833), book-collector and man of letters, was half-brother of the Bishop of Calcutta. He edited, 'inter alia', 'Specimens of the Early English Poets', by George Ellis, 3 vols., London: 1811.

W. H. Weber (1783-1818), a German by birth, was employed by Sir Walter Scott as an amanuensis and "searcher." He edited, in 1810, 'Metrical Romances of the 13th, 14th, and 15th Centuries', a work described by Southey ('Letters', ii. 308) as "admirably edited, exceedingly curious, and after my own heart." He also published editions of Ford, and Beaumont and Fletcher, which were adversely criticized by Gifford. For an account of his relations to Scott and of his melancholy end, see Lockhart's 'Life of Scott' (1871), p. 251.]]

[Footnote 7: 'Mac Flecknoe', the 'Dunciad', and all Swift's lampooning ballads. Whatever their other works may be, these originated in personal feelings, and angry retort on unworthy rivals; and though the ability of these satires elevates the poetical, their poignancy detracts from the personal character of the writers.]

[Footnote 8: 'Almanzor: or the Conquest of Granada by the Spaniards', a Tragedy by John Dryden. The bombastic character of the hero was severely criticized in Dryden's own time, and was defended by him thus:

"'Tis said that Almanzor is no perfect pattern of heroic virtue, that he is a contemner of kings, and that he is made to perform impossibilities. I must therefore avow, in the first place, from whence I took the character. The first image I had of him was from the Achilles of Homer: the next from Tasso's Rinaldo, and the third from the Artaban of Mons. Calprenède.... He talks extravagantly in his passion, but if I would take the trouble to quote from Ben Jonson's Cethegus, I could easily show you that the rhodomontades of Almanzor are neither so irrational as his nor so impossible to be put in execution."

'An Essay on Heroic Plays. Works of John Dryden' (1821), iv. 23-25.]

[Footnote 9: With all the vulgar applause and critical abhorrence of puns, they have Aristotle on their side; who permits them to orators, and gives them consequence by a grave disquisition.

["Cicero also," says Addison, "has sprinkled several of his works with them; and in his book on Oratory, quotes abundance of sayings as pieces of wit, which, upon examination, prove arrant puns."--'Essay on Wit, Works' (1888), ii. 354.]]

[Footnote 10: In Vanbrugh and Gibber's comedy of The Provoked Husband, first played at Drury Lane, January 10, 1728.]]

[Footnote 11:

"And in his ear I'll holla--Mortimer!"

['I Henry IV'., act i. sc. 3.]]

[Footnote 12: Garrick's 'Lying Valet' was played for the first time at Goodman's Fields, November 30, 1741.]

["Peregrine" is a character in George Colman's 'John Bull', or 'An Englishman's Fire-Side', Covent Garden. March 5, 1803.] ]

[Footnote 13: I have Johnson's authority for making Lear a monosyllable--

"Perhaps where Lear rav'd or Hamlet died On flying cars new sorcerers may ride."

["Perhaps where Lear has rav'd, and Hamlet dy'd."

Prologue to 'Irene. Johnson's Works' (1806), i. 168.] and (if it need be mentioned) the 'authority' of the epigram on Barry and Garrick.--[Note 'erased, Proof b, British Museum'.]]

[Footnote 14:

"'Johnson'. Pray, Mr. Bayes, who is that Drawcansir?

'Bayes'. Why, Sir, a great [fierce] hero, that frights his mistress, snubs up kings, baffles armies, and does what he will, without regard to numbers, good sense, or justice [good manners, justice, or numbers]."

'The Rehearsal', act iv. sc. I.

'The Rehearsal', by George Villiers, second Duke of Buckingham (1627-1688), appeared in 1671. Sprat and others are said to have shared the authorship. So popular was the play that "Drawcansir" passed into a synonime for a braggadocio. It is believed that "Bayes" (that is, of course, "laureate") was meant for a caricature of Dryden: "he himself complains bitterly that it was so." (See 'Lives of the Poets' (1890), i. 386; and Boswell's 'Life of Johnson' (1876), p. 235, and 'note'.)]]

[Footnote 15:

"Difficile est proprie communia dicere; tuque Rectius Iliacum carmen deducis in actus, Quam si proferres ignota indictaque primus."

HOR: 'DE ARTE POET': 128-130.

Mons. Dacier, Mons. de Sévigné, Boileau, and others, have left their dispute on the meaning of this sentence in a tract considerably longer than the poem of Horace. It is printed at the close of the eleventh volume of Madame de Sévigné's Letters, edited by Grouvelle, Paris, 1806. Presuming that all who can construe may venture an opinion on such subjects, particularly as so many who _can't_ have taken the same liberty, I should have held "my farthing candle" as awkwardly as another, had not my respect for the wits of Louis 14th's Augustan "Siècle" induced me to subjoin these illustrious authorities. I therefore offer:

firstly Boileau: "Il est difficile de trailer des sujets qui sont à la portée de tout le monde d'une maniere qui vous les rende propres, ce qui s'appelle s'approprier un sujet par le tour qu'on y donne."

2dly, Batteux: "Mais il est bien difficile de donner des traits propres et individuels aux etres purement possibles."

3dly, Dacier: "Il est difficile de traiter convenablement ces caractères que tout le monde peut inventer."

Mr. Sévigné's opinion and translation, consisting of some thirty pages, I omit, particularly as Mr. Grouvelle observes, "La chose est bien remarquable, aucune de ces diverses interpretations ne parait être la veritable." But, by way of comfort, it seems, fifty years afterwards, "Le lumineux Dumarsais" made his appearance, to set Horace on his legs again, "dissiper tous les nuages, et concilier tous les dissentiments;" and I suppose some fifty years hence, somebody, still more luminous, will doubtless start up and demolish Dumarsais and his system on this weighty affair, as if he were no better than Ptolemy or Copernicus and comments of no more consequence than astronomical calculations. I am happy to say, "la longueur de la dissertation" of Mr. D. prevents Mr. G. from saying any more on the matter. A better poet than Boileau, and at least as good a scholar as Mr. de Sévigné, has said,

"A little learning is a dangerous thing."

And by the above extract, it appears that a good deal may be rendered as useless to the Proprietors.

[Byron chose the words in question, Difficile,' etc., as a motto for the first five cantos of 'Don Juan']