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FINDEN'S
ILLUSTRATIONS
»K T11K
LIFE AND WORKS
OF
LORD BYRON.
WITH ORIGINAL AND SELECTED INFORMATION ON THE
SUBJECTS OF THE ENGRAVINGS
BY
W. BROCKEDON,
Ml Ml.l H OF THE ACADEMIES OF I1NI. AIIT8 AT I I nlll M I >M AT ROUE ;
AUTHOR OF " THE PASSES OF THE ALPS," 4r.
VOL. III.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET:
•OLD AL»0 IT
CHARLES TILT, FLEET STREET.
1834.
1120
v 3
A-
LIST OF PLATES.
Sutytct. Uniu-n '.y F'um a SV'M. '*
LORD BYRON, AT THE ACE or 17.... FROM A PORTRAIT nv SAI MU t -.
ABF.RDEEN W. Ptnstn.
HARROW C. STANrm.D, A.II.A.
EARL OF CLARK FROM A DRAWIVC..
NEWSTEAD AIIHEY W. WESTALI , A.R.I. C. KII.I ...» is, K..«.
.. WILLIAM UIFFORD, EM| (ORIGINAL Pint ni.)
MADRID J. F. Liwis.
SEVILLE, THE GIRALOA J. F. LLHK,
SARAGOZA J. F. LIWI».
GRENADA J. F. Liwu.
Sin JOHN CAM IIOHHOt SK, HART. WIVDI.L.
SULl'S ROCKS C. STAxrm.n, ..R.A. DR. HOLI.»M>.
CEPHALOXIA J.M.\\.TURMI.,R..>. W. I'uir.
NEGROPONT J.M. \\.TI-RMR i,.. i.
CONSTANTINOPLE, rm.M TII.;)
J E. I. I'AHRIS. CAITAIN R. HURTS.
PIRA MILL j
THOMAS CAMPBELL. Ew FROM A PicTra. nv SIR T. I.AWRINHI, ,..„.,
THE PARTHENON W. PACE.
TEMPLE OF THESEUS. AT ATHIM. W. PACE.
CORINTH G. CAT»mM(.i.r. W. PAOI
SAMUEL ROGERS, £•<» SI»T.LAWRI>CI,P.R.A.
SAINT MARK'S, VENICE S. PHOUT.
THE RIALTO, VENICE S. P«OOT.
ROBERT SOUTHEY, Ei<j. LUD. ... T. PIIILI.IM, R.A.
PADUA C. Si \M it MI, A.R.I.
VERONA C. STAxriiLu, A.«.«.
ANCONA S. P.OIT.
RAVENNA, D»rrt'. TOM. S. Pitovr.
LIST OF PLATES.
Subject. Drawn by Ff<»n a Sketch b.v
THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY E. T. PARIUS.
FALLS OF TERNI J. D. HARDING.
PONTE ROTTO, ROME J. D. HARDING.
PANTHEON, ROME C. BARRY.
S.T.COLERIDGE, ESQ. WIVELL.
TEMPLE OF VESTA, TIVOLI J. D. HARDING.
FRASCATI J. D. HARDING. MRS. C.morr.
LICENZA J. D. HARDING.
JM. G. LEWIS, Eso HAHLOWE.
THE HAGUE T. S.' COOPER.
IN'TERLACHEN C. STANIIELD, A.H.A. \V. PAGL.
GRINDENWALD T. S. COOPEB.
LA BARONNE DE STAEL HOL- |
STFIV [ i'""M A BY GtRARD.
?• FROM A PORTK.I
MIS80LOXGIII \V. PURSER.
ROME, (VIGNETTE) J. ]>. HARDING.
Vignettes in the Third Volume of these Illustrations,
added to the -ito edition.
SutlJe';t- Drawn dy frum „ Sketch by
THE SCHOOL OF HOMER, AiScio. J.M. W. TURNER, K.A. W. PAGI,
THE CASTELLATED RHINE J.M. W. TURNER, R.A.
ROME.
VIGNETTE.
From a Drawing liij J. I). Harding,
But lo ! the dome — the vast ami wondrous dome.
To which Diana's marvel was a cell —
Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's torn!) !
I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle —
Its columns strew the wilderness.
But thou, of altars old or temples new,
Standest alone — with nothing like to thee —
Worthiest of God, the holy and the true.
Since Zion's desolation, when that He
Forsook his former city, what could be,
Of earthly structures, in his honour piled,
Of a sublimcr aspect ? Majesty,
Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty — all are aisled
In this eternal ark of worship."
Childe Harold, canto iv. st. 1.53, I.>1.
TIMS view of St. Peter's is taken from the gardens
above the Borgo di S. Spirito, whence the enormous
mass of this stupendous structure is seen to great
ROME.
advantage, and where the objects in the immediate
vicinity of the spectator relieve the eye from the mere
lines of the temple itself, without lessening the vast-
ness of their effect. The view may almost be connected
with that of Rome in the frontispiece, Vol. II. of these
Illustrations ; for St. Peter's would thus appear from
nearly the same spot whence that view of Rome, with
the Castle and Bridge of St. Angelo, was taken.
LORD BYRON
AT THE AGE OF 17.
From a /Vrtnnl /Mi/iirci /»y .Siiu/idcrs.
MK. D'lsKAEM, in his preface to the " Literary
Character," says of Lord Hvron :
" This man of genius was a moral phenomenon,
which vanished at the moment when, by its indications,
ii change was silently operating on the most ductile and
versatile of human minds. I consider, that had he
lived the complete development of his powerful capa-
city, the elevation of his generous temper, in ;i word,
the perfect formation of his character, would have been
the necessary consequence of his nature. They who,
while they ascribe his imperfections to a deficient
education, and consider at the same time that this
alleged cause was a bar against all perfection, only
shew that they are not entitled to speculate upon the
philosophy of the human mind.
" The man who, independent of a constant struggle
after intellectual truth, perceptible in all his writings,
had the power twice completely to revolutionise his
principles of taste and his style of composition, and at
VOL. III. b
LORD BYRON.
each great change attained greater excellence — this
man can only be classed among the very highest and
most capable intellects. The culture of Lord Byron
was imperfect, but it could only have been perfected
by his own solitary exertions ; and that this perfection
would have been consummated, is to me not a matter
of doubt.
" If the mind of Byron were disorganised and
unsettled, so also was it searching and inquisitive.
His opinions, indeed, were already greatly changed —
his self-knowledge much increased — his knowledge of
nature much more just — his knowledge of mankind
much more profound. Already had he discovered
that misanthropy is impossible, and that that sublime
selfism, which would exist without the sympathies of
life, only gratifies our vanity without satisfying our
feelings. Another step, and he would have discovered
that virtue is a reality, and happiness a positive exist-
ence. He would have found that the hum of human
cities is not torture, that society is not a peopled
desert, and that this world is only a place of strife
and agony to those who are hostile, and, therefore,
agonised.
" For his own fame he lived long enough; for
society he died too soon. With all their errors, the
works of Byron have elevated the character of his
countrymen. Let us hope that that which he has left
LORD BYRON.
unperformed will not remain unfinished, and that the
rising race, over whom he has had so powerful an in-
fluence, will not be left amidst a moral darkness and
disorganisation a thousand times more fearful than
the material darkness and disorganisation which he
has so finely described. He has taught our youth
to think : they must now be taught to think justly.
He has taught them to feel : they must now learn
to feel virtuously. In the pride of his eloquence the
poet has proved the strength of human intellect, even
when he has cursed, rather than deplored, its weak-
ness. We must shew that there is no strength where
there is no order; and that that existence, the objects
of which were to him a source of doubt or dissatis-
faction, is neither doubtful nor unsatisfactory, when,
in the study of our nature, we become acquainted with
its wants and its capacity."
Moore, in his " Life of Lord Byron," lias sketched
with great truth and power his constitutional pecu-
liarities, as well as their intiuence upon the important
events of his life — events of common occurrence to
common minds, but assailing his, produced those over-
whelming bursts of indignation and of retribution, and
that intense effervescence of a withering heart, which
demanded the world's commiseration and sympathy.
" Had he been," says his friend and biographer,
" of that class of unfeeling and self-satisfied natures
LORD BYRON.
from whose hard surface the reproaches of others fall
pointless, he might have found in insensibility a sure
refuge against reproach ; but, on the contrary, the same
sensitiveness that kept him so awake to the applauses
of mankind, rendered him, in a still more intense
degree, alive to their censure. Even the strange,
perverse pleasure which he felt in painting himself
unamiably to the world did not prevent him from
being both startled and pained when the world took
him at his word ; and, like a child in a mask before
a looking-glass, the dark semblance which he had,
half in sport, put on, when reflected back upon him
from the mirror of public opinion, shocked even
himself.
" Thus surrounded by vexations, and thus deeply
feeling them, it is not too much to say, that any
other spirit but his own would have sunk under the
struggle, and lost, perhaps irrecoverably, that level of
self-esteem which alone affords a stand against the
shocks of fortune. But in him — furnished as was his
mind with reserves of strength, waiting to be called
out — the very intensity of the pressure brought relief
by the proportionate re-action which it produced.
Had his transgressions and frailties been visited with
no more than their due portion of punishment, there
can be little doubt that a very different result would
have ensued. Not only would such an excitement
LORD BYRON.
have been insufficient to waken up the new energies
still dormant in him, but that consciousness of his
own errors, which was for ever livelily present in his
mind, would, under such circumstances, have been
left, undisturbed by any unjust provocation, to work
its usual softening and, perhaps, humbling influences
on his spirit. But — luckily, as it proved, for the
further triumphs of his genius — no such moderation
was exercised. The storm of invective raised around
him, so utterly out of proportion with his offences, and
the base calumnies that were every where heaped upon
his name, left to his wounded pride no other resource
than in the same summoning up of strength, the same
instinct of resistance to injustice, which had first forced
out the energies of his youthful genius, and was now
destined to give a still bolder and loftier range to its
powers.
" It was, indeed, not without truth, said of him by
Goethe, that he was inspired by the Genius of Pain ;
for, from the first to the lost of his agitated career,
every fresh recruitment of his faculties was imbibed
from that bitter source. His chief incentive, when a
boy, to distinction, was, as we have seen, that mark of
deformity on his person, by an acute sense of which he
was first stung into the ambition of being great.* An,
• " In one of his letters to Mr. Hunt, he declares it to be hii own
opinion, that' an addiction to poetry is very generally the result of
VOL. III. A
LORD BYRON.
with an evident reference to his own fate, he himself
describes the feeling —
" Deformity is daring.
It is its essence to o'ertake mankind
By heart and soul, and make itself the equal-
Ay, the superior of the rest. There is
A spur in its halt movements, to become
All that the others cannot, in such things
As still are free to hoth, to compensate
For stepdame Nature's avarice at first."
The Deformed Transformed.
" Then came the disappointment of his youthful
passion, — the lassitude and remorse of premature ex-
cess,— the lone friendlessness of his entrance into life,
and the ruthless assault upon his first literary efforts, —
all links in that chain of trials, errors, and sufferings,
by which his great mind was gradually and painfully
drawn out; — all bearing their respective shares in
accomplishing that destiny which seems to have de-
creed that the triumphal march of his genius should be
over the waste and ruins of his heart. He appeared,
indeed, himself to have had an instinctive consciousness
that it was out of such ordeals his strength and glory
" an uneasy mind in an uneasy body ;" disease or deformity,' he adds,
' have been the attendants of many of our best. Collins mad — Chat-
terton, I think, mad — Cowper mad — Pope crooked — Milton blind,'
&c. &c."
LORD BYRON.
were to arise, as his whole life waa passed in courting
agitation and difficulties ; and whenever the scenes
around him were too tame to furnish such excitement,
he flew to fancy or memory for ' thorns' whereon to
' lean his breast.'
" But the greatest of his trials, as well as triumphs,
was yet to come. The last stage of this painful, though
glorious, course, in which fresh power was, at every
step, wrung from out his soul, wns that at which we
are now arrived, his marriage and its results, — without
which, dear as was the price puid by him in peace and
character, his career would have been incomplete, and
the world still left in ignorance of the full compass of
his genius. It is, indeed, worthy of remark, that it
was not till his domestic circumstances begun to darken
around him, that his fancy, which bad long la-en idle,
again rose upon the wing — both ' The Siege of Corinth'
and ' Parasina* having been produced but u short time
before the separation. How conscious he was, too, that
the turmoil which followed was the true element of his
restless spirit, may be collected from several passages
of his letters at that period, in one of which he even
mentions that his health had become all the better for
the conflict : — ' It is odd,' he says, ' but agitation or
contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits, and
sets me up for the time.'
" This buoyancy it was — this irrepressible spring
LORD BYRON.
of mind, that now enabled him to bear up not only
against the assaults of others, but, what was still more
difficult, against his own thoughts and feelings. The
muster of all his mental resources, to which, in self-
defence, he had been driven, but opened to him the yet
undreamed extent and capacity of his powers, and in-
spired him with a proud confidence that he should yet
shine down these calumnious mists, convert censure to
wonder, and compel even those who could not approve
to admire."
Ten years have passed away since the mortal pil-
grimage of Childe Harold closed, and he bequeathed
to the world his undying name, to be perpetually asso-
ciated with the literature of his country.
The biography of Lord Byron, and sketches of his
character, have been again and again written — by his
friends, to guard his memory against the misrepre-
sentation of ignorance and envy ; and by his enemies,
to darken a fame which, raised immeasurably above
their attainment, might yet be obscured by the smoke
of that foul incense which hypocrisy burns in its sacri-
fices to prejudice : but this Time dissipates. Time,
which makes man just to his fellows, has already be-
gun to render justice to the memory of Byron; — not
that his errors are less distinct as moral landmarks,
but that these are not alone pointed out in his character.
It is now perceived that he had also virtues, which his
LORD BYRON.
detractors would do well to imitate. Thousands who
before they read his works joined in the yell of exe-
cration against him as a literary monster, now recant
the prejudice, and see the greater monster in his calum-
niators. They see the dishonesty of the endeavour
to identify Byron with the characters he has written,
and his opinions with the language they utter, without
admitting that it would he as just to pronounce Milton
his own Satan, Gesner personified in his Cain, and
that the great and good " Ariosto of the North"
expressed his own opinions when lie wrote those of
Henbane Dwining. Such an independent writer as
Byron was sure to create enemies. All whose pretences
he unmasked, or whose darling vices he exposed, and
who had, even when bis attacks were general, felt their
particular justice — all such hypocrites hated him.
Whatever may have been the noble poet's errors —
and they were legion — hypocrisy was not one of them.
If he had bad but a tithe of the average proportion
P
among men of that most common and convenient vice,
his faults would have appeared venial, or remained
unknown or uncommented upon ; but " all the cants
of this canting world " have been poured out upon him
by the unprincipled and the prejudiced. Patriotism
has lx?en denied to him, — because he detested party. It
has been denied that he had any sense of moral obli-
gation, — because he did not conceal its occasional
VOL. III. B
LORD BYRON.
derelictions ; but who that can lay claim to half the
number of such good and moral actions as are recorded
in his Life by Moore, will cast the first stone at him ?
He has been called, too, a man without religion — a
man without sect he may have been, but could he be
without religion who wrote the following lines ?
" Father of Light, on Thee I call !
Thou see'st my soul is dark within ;
Thou who canst mark the sparrow's fall,
Avert from me the death of sin.
Shall man confine his Maker's sway
To Gothic domes of mouldering stone?
Thy temple is the face of day ;
Earth, ocean, heaven, Thy boundless throne.
Shall each pretend to reach the skies,
Yet doom his brother to expire,
Whose soul a different hope supplies,
Or doctrines less severe inspire ?
Thou who in wisdom placed me here,
Who, when thou wilt, canst take me hence ;
Ah ! whilst 1 tread this earthly sphere,
Extend to me thy wide defence.
To Thee, my God, to Thee I call !
Whatever weal or woe betide,
By thy command I rise or fall —
In thy protection I confide.
LORD BYRON.
If, when this dust to dust 's restored,
My soul shall float on airy wing,
How shall thy glorious name adored
Inspire her feeble voice to sing !
To Thee 1 breathe my humble strain,
Grateful for all thy mercies past ;
And hope, my God, to Thee again
This erring life may fly at last."
Twenty years after writing the above, he said to
Dr. Kennedy, " Devotion is the affection of the heart,
and that I feel ; for when I view the wonders of the
creation, I bow to the majesty of heaven ; and when I
feel the enjoyment of life, health, and happiness, I feel
grateful to God for having bestowed these ujwn me."
Was it said that Byron had no religion, l>ecause he
thought that a prayer of the heart, ottered to the Al-
mighty under the canopy of heaven, was as efficacious
as when repeated, according to act of parliament, in a
temple ?
" Ay, there's the rub."
He had boldness enough to avow so dangerous an
opinion aa this, though it is held by thousands who
conceal it : towards him, however, pardon would have
been impolicy ; and there is no subject upon which the
presumption of man prompts him to rush so impiously
LORD BYRON.
to judgment as upon the opinions of his fellows —
opinions which God alone can truly know.
" Ye narrow souls, take heed
How ye restrain the mercy you will need ! "
Byron is now gone to that account where his
actions and his thoughts will be judged, not by his
weak and erring fellow-men, who, when they arraigned
him, forgot the great Christian precept of charity, but
by One " who knoweth all hearts," and who is the only
source of mercy.
" Peace to his manes ; may his spirit find that
rest in eternity it was a stranger to here ! "
ABERDEEN.
From a Drauing hy W. Purter.
" As « auld langsyne' brings Scotland, one and all —
Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue bells and clear
streams —
The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brio's black wall —
All my boy's feelings, all my gentler dreams
Of what I (hen dreamt, clothed in their own pall,
Like Ban<|iio's offspring; — floating past me seems
My childhood in this childishness of mine :
I care not — 'tis a glimpse of ' auld langsyne.' "
Don Juan, canto x. st. 18.
•' The brig of Don, near the ' auld toun' of Aberdeen, with
its one arch and its black deep salmon-stream below, is in
my memory as yesterday. I still remember, though per-
haps I may misquote, the awful proverb which made me
pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a childish de-
light, being an only son, at least by the mother's side.
The saying, as recollected by me, was this ; but I have
never heard or seen it since I was nine years of age :
" Brig of Dalgoume, black'i your \ca',
\Vi' a wife's at ton and a mear's at foal
Doun ye shall fa 1"
IT was in the year 1790, when Byron was two years
old, that his mother took up her residence in Aberdeen,
VOL. III. C
ABERDEEN.
where his earliest years were spent, except in the
summers of 1796 and 97, when, for the benefit of
Byron's health, his mother went with him into the
Highlands, and lived at a farm-house at Ballater, ahout
forty miles up the Dee above Aberdeen ; but this town
may be considered his place of residence from the year
1790 to the summer of 1798 ; when he left Scotland,
in his eleventh year, with his mother, to take possession
of Newstead Abbey, which, together with the title of
Lord Byron, had devolved upon him at the death of
his great-uncle.
Boasting as he did that he was " half a Scot by
birth, and bred a whole one," he cherished through
life a recollection of the early scenes in which he had
been brought up. " To meet with an Aberdonian,"
says Moore, " was, at all times, a delight to him ; and
when the late Mr. Scott, who was a native of Aberdeen,
paid him a visit at Venice in the year 1819, and talking
of the haunts of his childhood, one of the places he
particularly mentioned was Wallace-nook, a spot where
there is a rude statue of the Scottish chief still standing.
From first to last, indeed, these recollections of the
country of his youth never forsook him. In his early
voyage into Greece, not only the shapes of the moun-
tains, but the kilts and hardy forms of the Albanese —
all, as he says, ' carried him back to Morven ;' and in
his last fatal expedition, the dress which he chiefly
ABERDEEN.
wore at Cephalonia was a tartan jacket." " There is
on the part of the people of Aberdeen — who consider
him almost as their fellow-townsman — a correspondent
warmth of affection for his memory and nnme. The
various houses where he resided in his youth are pointed
out to the traveller : to have seen him hut once is a
recollection hoasted of with pride; and the brig of Don,
beautiful in itself, is invested, by his mere mention of
it, with an additional charm."
The recollection of the early days of Byron have
been carefully collected, and anecdotes of his childhood
obtained from all who could relate them, and form an
interesting portion of his life by Moore. " When not
quite five years old, young Byron was sent to a day-
school at Aberdeen, taught by Mr. Bowers, and re-
mained there, with some interruptions, during a twelve-
month, as appears by the following extract from the
Day-book of the school: — ' George Gordon Byron,
19th November, 1792.— 19th of November, 179:i,— paid
one guinea.' — Lord Byron, in one of his MS. journals,
mentions his first master, who, he says, ' was called
' llwhy Bowers,' by reason of his dapperness. He sub-
sequently passed under the care of two other preceptors
— a clergyman named Ross, and a young man called
Paterson, and continued with the latter until he entered
the grammar-school of Aberdeen." The following in-
formation, as immediately descriptive of the view in
ABERDEEN.
these " Illustrations," was furnished by a gentleman,
a schoolfellow of Byron at Dr. Glennie's, one, who
from early association with him there, felt a deep in-
terest in all that related to him, and who has visited
the scenes of the boyhood of Byron with the enthu-
siasm of a pilgrim.
" I am very familiar with the subject you have sent
me, though it is not taken from one of my sketches.
It is a view of Broad Street, or Broad Gate, as it is
called by some of the older inhabitants of Aberdeen.
Gate, you are aware, perhaps, is the old Scotch for
street, or way. In the latter acceptation it was used
formerly in English ; for Chaucer says, in the ' Romant
of the Rose,' that ' reason went her gate ;' and so
the Scotch still say, ' Gang your gate,' ' Ye'll no gang
that gate,' &c. To this day they have in Aberdeen the
Gallowgate, where was the ancient place of public
execution ; and the upper and nether Kirkgate. I can
vouch for the accuracy of the present view, being well
acquainted with almost every window in it, from having
myself taken a sketch of the same street, only looking
up it instead of down. The first floor (or flat, as it is
called in Scotland,) of the house on which the bright
light is thrown, (and which, by the by, is in itaelf
brighter than its neighbours, being built of freestone,
whereas they are of granite), was occupied by Mrs.
Byron ; whilst her son, previous to his entering the
ABERDEEN.
grammar-school, attended Bodsy Bowers' day-school
in Long Acre, a narrow street, which meets the Broad
(iate at right angles, and is entered through a small
archway immediately beyond the house in question.
Moore has, I believe, explained Jiotlxy as the dnp|>er
pedagogue. He WHS, I understand, a worthy man ;
and his son, a most excellent person, is now minister of
Mary Culler, formerly my grandfather's parish. The
old and picturesque building, with the round watch-
tower in its angle — an appendage by no means un-
common in houses of a certain date and of some pre-
tension in Aberdeen — is now used as a printing-office;
that with the clock in the pediment is the conduit-
house, which supplies a large portion of the town with
water ; nnd the archway, in which two figures are
placed, is the entrance to the school in Mare^hal
College. I again repeat, that I can give you nothing
to connect Byron with the subject beyond what you
may find in Moore's Life. Moore, no doubt, raked
up every straw which could be found connected with
him upon the field of his early exploits. As to the
town of Aberdeen itself, (or city, as it is called by
courtesy,) it is not romantic enough, either in its situa-
tion or from association, to Ijecome the subject of much
interesting remark. It is a bustling, flourishing place.
Its linen and cotton manufactories are on a large scale ;
and the busy appearance of the quay, with the constant
VOL. III. U
ABERDEEN.
arrival and sailing of vessels, many of them of con-
siderable tonnage, give evidence of an extensive com-
merce. Indeed, the great improvement and increase
of the town within the last half century, are proofs
of prosperous industry. It has now some handsome
streets, and the houses of the more wealthy inhabitants
are spacious and elegant : but though extremely sub-
stantial, there is a dulness in the external appearance
of the buildings, arising both from the gray colour of the
granite and the almost total want of ornament — the natu-
ral result of having to deal with so stubborn a material.
As a seminary of learning, Mareschal College still re-
tains its celebrity. It may well cherish with pride the
memory of such men as Dr. Campbell and Dr. Beattie.
" You will understand, that nothing I have said
applies in the least to Old Aberdeen, a pretty village,
(for it is little more), about a mile from the town, con-
taining the university of King's College, and part of
the ancient cathedral, both very interesting buildings,
whilst the banks of the Don are exquisitely beautiful
and romantic. The Brig of Balgony (for that is the true
spelling) is an interesting old structure, built in the four-
teenth century, I think by Bishop Cheyne. The accurate
reading of the old prophecy to which Byron refers is —
" ' Brig of Balgony, whight's thy wa' !
Wi' a wife's ae son on a meer's ae foal,
Boon sal ye fa' !' "
HARROW.
From a Drau-ing ky C. Slanfitld, A.K.A.
'• Ye scenes of my childhood, whose loved recollection
Embitters the present, compared with the past ;
Where science first dawned on the |xiwers of reflection.
And friendships were formed, too romantic to last ;
Where fancy yet joys to retrace the resemblance
Of comrades, in friendship and mischief allied ;
How welcome to me your ne'er-fading remembrance,
\N hich rests in the bosom, though hope is denied !
Again I revisit the hills where we s|>orted,
The streams where we swam, and the fields where we fought ;
The school where, loud warned by the bell, we resorted,
To pore o'er the precepts by pedagogues taught.
Again I behold where for hours I have pondered.
As reclining at eve on yon tombstone I lay ;
Or round the steep brow of the churchyard 1 wandered,
To catch the last gleam of the sun's setting ray."
Lines on n distant View of Harrow —
Hours of Idleness.
AFTER haviiig been for two years under the care
and instruction of Dr. Glennie, at Dulwich Grove,
HARROW.
ciated with his name. A tomb in the churchyard,
whence a heautiful view is commanded over the in-
termediate country to Windsor, was his favourite
resting - place. This the boys now call " Byron's
Tomb ;" and " here," says Moore, " notwithstanding
those general habits of play and idleness, which might
seem to indicate a certain absence of reflection and
feeling, there were moments when the youthful poet
would retire thoughtfully within himself, and give
way to moods of musing uncongenial with the usual
cheerfulness of his age. Here he used to sit for hours
wrapt up in thought, and brooding lonelily over the
first stirrings of passion and genius in his soul, and
occasionally, perhaps, indulging in those bright fore-
thoughts of fame, under the influence of which, when
little more than fifteen years of age, he wrote those
remarkable lines :• — •
' My epitaph shall be my name alone :
If that with honour fail to crown my clay,
Oh ! may no other fame my deeds repay ;
That, only that, shall single out the spot —
By that remembered, or with that forgot.'"
. Nearly twenty years after, when he wished the
remains of his natural daughter Allegra to be deposited
at Harrow, in the letter which contains his request to
Mr. Murray, that he would have the kindness to give
HARROW.
the necessary directions for the interment, he writes :
" There is a spot in the churchyard, near the footpath,
on the brow of the hill looking towards Windsor, and
a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie
or Peachey), where 1 used to sit for hours and hours
when a boy. This was my favourite spot ; but as 1
wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body had
better be deposited in the church."
So strong, at last, hail become the poet's attach-
ment to Harrow, where, as he records in a note to
the fourth canto of " Cliilde Harold," the happiest
part of his life was passed, thai, on his leaving it
for the I'liiversity of Cambridge, which occurred in
October 181MJ, he writes: " When I first went up to
college, it was a new and a heavy-hearted scene for
me. I so much disliked leaving Harrow, that though
it was time (I being seventeen), it broke my very rest
for the last quarter with counting the days that re-
mained. I always hated Harrow till the last year and
a half; but then I liked it." During his stay there,
many men, who have risen into political and literary
distinction, were his schoolfellows ; but when they are
forgotten, and almost every other person's name whose
education has been associated with that establishment,
shall have passed away, Byron's will be remembered.
The Free Grammar School at Harrow ranks as one
of the greatest schools of England, for the learned
HARROW.
reputation of its masters, and the distinction which its
scholars have obtained in the world. Its founder was
John Lyon, a wealthy yeoman of Preston, in the
parish of Harrow. He obtained, in the fourteenth
year of Queen Elizabeth, an especial license for per-
petuating his benevolence by this foundation for gra-
tuitous instruction. From a small beginning it has
grown to its present celebrity ; but not without some
contests on the part of the parishioners for the recovery
of what they consider an exclusive right, the education
of the poor children of Harrow only. It was strongly
put by the Master of the Rolls, before whom the inves-
tigation of the subject took place, " Would the parish
itself gain by the conversion of this distinguished semi-
nary of learning into a mere parish-school ? " The
result of the inquiry, however, confirmed the present
government and its regulations. — The greatest number
of scholars that ever was upon the establishment at
the same time was in 1804, when Dr. Drury had under
him 353 students, of whom one was Byron.
EARL OF CLARE.
ONE of the strongest attachments of friendship
Lord Byron ever formed was with his old schoolfellow
at Harrow, Lord Clare; and though in his moodier
hours he distrusted that lie had a friend, and some-
times did his own feelings the dishonour to fancy that
he had no such predilections left, or that their traces
had been lost or ohscured in his severe struggles with
society, yet these were shewn, with much feeling and
affection, upon the occasion of his accidentally meeting
with Lord Clare in Italy, after many years of separa-
tion, and not long before Byron's last journey to Cireece.
' In Byron's Diary (1821) he says: " Of all I have
ever known, Clare has always been the least altered in
every thing, from the excellent qualities and kind affec-
tions which attached me so strongly to him at school.
I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or
the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little
of the leaven of bad passions. I do not speak of per-
sonal experience only, but from all I have ever heard
of him from others, during absence and distance."
VOL. III. P
EARL OF CLARE.
" I never," again he says, " hear the word ' Clare,'
without a heating of the heart even now ; and I write
it with the feelings of 1803, 4, 5, ad infinitum." One
of the poems in " Hours of Idleness" is addressed to
Lord Clare, beginning :
" Friend of my youth ! when young we roved,
Like striplings mutually beloved
With friendship's purest glow,
The bliss which wing'd those rosy hours
Was such as pleasure seldom showers
On mortals here below."
After Lord Byron's death nearly all the notes and
letters ever addressed to him hy his schoolfellows and
favourites were found carefully preserved among his
papers. Upon one of them was indorsed, " This, and
another letter, were written at Harrow by my then,
and I hope ever, beloved friend, Lord Clare, when we
were both schoolboys ; and sent to my study in conse-
quence of some childish misunderstanding — the only
one which ever arose between us. It was of short dura-
tion ; and I retain this note solely for the purpose of
submitting it to his perusal, that we may smile over
the recollection of the insignificance of our first and last
quarrel." This amiable letter of Lord Clare's is pub-
lished in the first volume of his " Life and Works,"
p. 73.
KARL OF CLARE.
How powerfully those feelings of regard for Lord
Clare were cherished by Byron, he has thus recorded
in his " Detached Thoughts:"- — " I met him in the
road between Imola and Bologna, after not having met
for eight or nine years. This meeting annihilated for
a moment all the years between the present time and
the days of Harrow. It was a new and inexplicable
feeling, like rising from the grave, to me. Clare, too,
was much agitated — more in appearance than myself;
for I could feel his heart beat to his fingers' ends,
unless, indeed, it was the pulse of my own which made
me think so. We were obliged to part for our dif-
ferent journeys — he for Rome, I for 1'isa — but with
the promise to meet again in the spring. We were
but five minutes together, and on the public road ; but
I hardly recollect an hour of my existence which could
be weighed against them."
They met again. In a letter to Mr. Moore, dated
Leghorn, June 8th, 1822, he says: " A few days ago
my earliest and dearest friend, Lord Clare, came over
from Geneva on purpose to see me before he returned
to England. As I have always loved him (since I was
thirteen, at Harrow,) better than any (male) thing in
the world, I need hardly say what a melancholy pleasure
it was to see him for a duy only ; for he was obliged
to resume his journey immediately." It is to this visit
that the Countess of Guiccioli adverts when she says,
EARL OF CLARE.
in a letter to Mr. Moore, that " Lord Clare's visit
occasioned him extreme delight. He had a great affec-
tion for Lord Clare, and was very happy during the
short visit that he paid him at Leghorn. The day
on which they separated was a melancholy one for
Lord Byron. ' I have a presentiment that I shall
never see him more,' he said, and his eyes filled with
tears. The same melancholy came over him during
the first weeks that succeeded to Lord Clare's depar-
ture, whenever his conversation happened to fall upon
this friend."
Lord Clare, the friend of Byron, is at present
Governor of Bombay. His father, to whose title he
succeeded in 1802, was for nearly twelve years Lord
Chancellor of Ireland.
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
Draun by W. Wtslall, A.R.A.,from a Skttch by Charles Ftlloua, EJ?.
" Newstead ! what saddening change of scene is thine !"
" THE Priory of Newstead, or cle tiovo loco in Sher-
wood, (says the editor of Murray's complete edition of
" Byron's Life and Works,") was founded about the
year 1170, by Henry II., and dedicated to God and
the Virgin. It was in the reign of Henry VIII., on
the dissolution of the monasteries, that, by a royal
grant, it was added, with the lands adjoining, to the
other possessions of the Byron family."
Lord Byron has rapidly sketched some of the names
and deeds of his ancestors, in the " Lines on leaving
Newstead Abbey," published in his " Hours of Idleness ;"
but their names and deeds will be forgotten in the
surpassing greatness of the last Byron to whom it
belonged.
Shortly after the death of his great uncle, the fifth
lord, in 1798, young Byron took possession of the seat
of his ancestors ; but when he was removed to Dr.
Glennie's school, and subsequently to Harrow, for his
VOL. in. o
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
education, Newstead was let to Lord Grey de Ruthven,
whilst Mrs. Byron took up her residence in lodgings at
Nottingham. Lord Byron, from his strong attachment
to Newstead, spent as much of his vacation-time there
as possible ; and his friendship with the noble tenant
obtained for him the privilege of a room in the Abbey
whenever he chose to avail himself of it. Here, from
its proximity to Annesley, his early intercourse with
the family of Miss Chaworth led to that attachment
and disappointment which had so much influence upon
his future life and character. When he subsequently
resided at Newstead, he made it a scene of thought-
less revelry with the companions he brought there :
his limited means and extravagant habits soon made
him feel severely the inadequacy of his fortune to
his expenses. Early in 1808 he wrote to his friend
Mr. Becher, almost with indifference, of his pro-
bable disposal of Newstead, though, in the following
spring, in a letter to his mother, he says, "What you
say is all very true ; come what may, Newstead and I
stand or fall together. I have now lived on the spot ;
I have fixed my heart upon it ; and no pressure, pre-
sent or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige
of our inheritance. I have that pride within me which
will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure
privations ; but could I obtain in exchange for New-
stead Abbey, the first fortune in the country, I would
NEWSTEAD ABBEV.
reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that
score; Mr. H. talks like u man of business upon the
subject. I feel like a man of honour, and I will not
sell Newstead."
It is seen, however, in Moore's Life, that his em-
barrassments drove him to the disposal of it. " Early
in 1812," says Mr. Dallas, " he told me that he was
urged by his man of business, and that Newstead must
be sold." It was brought to the hammer at Garrau-ay's,
but not at that time disposed of, only UO,(HX)/. I KM tig
ottered for it. It was afterwards privately l>ought by
a Mr. Claughten. " You have heard that Newstead is
sold," says l?yron to a friend; " the sum is UO.IHXI/.,
sixty to remain in mortgage on the estate for three
years, paying interest, of course. Rochdale is also
likely to do well ; so my worldly matters are mending."
The purchase was not, however, in this case completed,
and seems to have involved him in much perplexity ;
for, more than twelve months after, he writes in his
Journal, " I wonder when that Newstead business will
be finished. It cost me more than words to part with
it — and to have parted with it! what matters it what
I do ? or what becomes of me ? But let me remember
Job's saying, and console myself with being a living
man." Again, some months after, he says, in a letter
to Mr. Murray, dated from Newstead, " You will be
happy to hear that I have established my title-deeds as
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
marketable, and that the purchaser has succumbed to
the terms, and fulfils them, or is to fulfil them forth-
with. He is now here, and we go on very amicably
together — one in each wing of the Abbey. Mrs. Leigh
[his sister] is with me, much pleased with the place,
and less so with me for parting with it, to which not
even the price can reconcile her." Two years, however,
had passed away, and the purchaser not having been
able or willing to complete the agreement, forfeited
25,OOOZ., and the expenses which had been incurred.
The extravagance, greatly exceeding his means,
into which Lord Byron launched after his marriage,
led to the most harassing pecuniary difficulties ; and
after his separation from Lady Byron, and last de-
parture from England, the sale of Newstead Abbey
was finally effected for 94,500^., as he mentions to
Mr. Murray, in a letter dated Feb. 20, 1818.
But, what Stratford is to Shakspeare, Newstead
will be to Byron ; every thing associated with his
memory is already cherished there. " Lord Byron,
on his first arrival at Newstead in 1798, planted an
oak in the garden, and nourished the fancy, that
as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting
the Abbey during Lord Gray de Ruthven's residence
there, he found the oak choked up by weeds, and
almost destroyed ; hence his lines ' To an Oak at
Newstead Abbey.' Shortly after Colonel Wildman,
XEWSTEAD ABBEY.
the present proprietor, took possession, he one day
noticed it, and said to the servant who was with him,
' Here is a fine young oak ; hut it must he cut down, as
it grows in an improper place." ' I hope not, sir,'
replied the man ; ' for it is the one my lord was so fond
of, hecause he set it himself." The Colonel has, of
course, taken every possihle care of it. It is already
inquired after as 'THE BYRON OAK," and promises to
share, in after-times, the celehrity of Shakspeare's Mul-
berry-tree and Pope's Willow."
Lord Byron has beautifully described Newstead
Abbey in the thirteenth canto of" Don Juan;" and in
those exquisite lines to Mrs. Leigh, written in 1810,
from Diodati, beginning — " My sister! my sweet
sister !" he thus recalls Newstead :
" I did remind thee of our own dear lake
By the old hall, which may be mine no more.
Leman's is fair ; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore :
Sad havoc Time must with my memory make
Ere that and thote can fade these eyes before."
The following sketch of Newstead is copied from a
letter by Charles Skinner Mathews, the college friend
of Byron, and one of his visitors at the Abbey : -
" Newstead Abbey is situate 13fi miles from London,
— four on this side Mansfield. It is so fine a piece of
VOL. III. II
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
antiquity, that I should think there must be a descrip-
tion, and perhaps a picture of it, in Grose. The an-
cestors of its present owner came into possession of it
at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries ; but
the building itself is of a much earlier date. Though
sadly fallen to decay, it is still completely an abbey;
and most part of it is still standing in the same state as
when it was first built. There are two tiers of cloisters,
with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which,
though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might
easily be made so ; and many of the original rooms,
amongst which is a fine stone hall, are still in use. Of
the Abbey church only one end remains ; and the old
kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to
a heap of rubbish. Leading from the Abbey to the
modern part of the habitation is a noble room, seventy
feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth ; but every
part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those
which the present lord has lately fitted up.
" The house and gardens are entirely surrounded
by a wall with battlements. In front is a large lake,
bordered here and there with castellated buildings,
the chief of which stands on an eminence at the further
extremity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak
and barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles,
except a solitary clump or two, and you will have some
idea of Newstead ; for the late lord being at enmity
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
with his son, to whom the estate was secured hy entail,
resolved, out of spite to the same, that the estate should
descend to him in as miserable a plight as ho could
possibly reduce it to ; for which cause he took no care of
the mansion, and fell to lopping every tree he could
lay his Imnds on so furiously, that he reduced immense
tracts of woodland country to the desolate state I have
just described. However, his son died before him, so
that all his rage was thrown away.
" So much for the place concerning which I have
thrown together these few particulars, meaning my
account to be, like the place itself, without any order
or connexion."
Newstead formed part of the forest of Sherwood.
To this circumstance Allan Cunningham alludes in the
following extracts from his lines to Newstead Abbey, in
the " Anniversary."
" Less joyous, but far smoother times
Have passed o'er Newstead since her tree
Shook its greeu branches to the rhymes
Of Robin's minstrelsie.
A soul of other stamp h.ith woke
His song beneath the Outlaw's Oak ;
One nobly born and proudly bred
Hath here the mirth and revel led.
NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
One, like bold Robin, proud and kind,
Of daring thought and generous mind ;
For wild of life, untamed of mood,
Was Byron, so was Robin Hood.
*
To jolly Robin yet belongs
Enough of joy, enough of mirth,
Of social tales, and saucy songs,
To keep his name on earth.
But to his great successor, more
Was given than this ; for he had store
Of lofty thought, and lordly scorn,
For meanness high or humbly born.
* * * *
0 noble Byron ! thou hadst light,
Pure as yon sun, and warm as bright ;
But thou hadst darkness deeper far
Than winter night that knows no star.
1 glory in thee ; yet I weep
For thy stern moods, and early sleep.
* * * *
0 ! hadst thou writ of brother men
With milder mood and soberer pen ;
Nor poured thy scorching spirit proud
O'er them, like lightning from a cloud,
1 could, beneath thy favourite tree,
Have blessed — done all but worship thee.
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
From the original PUturf in the /V«/»iiiw <»/ .Hr. .Vnir<l</.
WHEN Byron began his career in the world of let-
ter?, GiHbnl was one of the most distinguished anionir
the literati, and us a critic the most eminent. With
profound respect for his judgment and his talent?, Byron
asks, in " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers :"
•• Why slumbers G if lord ? once was asked in vain :
Why slumbers Gilford '. let us ask again :
Are there no follies for his pen to purge }.
Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge '
Are there no sins for satire's bard to greet '.
Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street ?
Shall peers or princes tread pollution's path,
And 'scape alike the law's antl muse's wrath '
Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time.
Eternal beacons of consummate crime '
Arouse tliee, Gilford! be thy promise claim'd,
Make bad men better, or at least ashamed."
This appeal was made just hcfore .Mr. Giflbrd be-
came the editor of the " Quarterly Review," which
thenceforth occupied nearly all his time.
VOL. III. I
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
Whilst the author of Byron's satire was a mystery,
Cawthorn, the bookseller, had asked Gifford, who fre-
quented his shop, if it was his. Mr. Gifford denied all
knowledge of the author, but spoke very highly of it,
and said a copy had been sent to him.
When, after Byron's return from Greece, he had
determined on the appearance of the two first cantos of
" Childe Harold," Mr. Murray, who had undertaken
to publish them, expressed a wish to shew the MS. to
Mr. Gifford. Lord Byron immediately wrote to Mr.
Murray to prevent this, and said, " Now, though no
one would feel more gratified by the chance of obtaining
his observations on a work than myself, there is in
such a proceeding a kind of petition for praise, that
neither my pride, or whatever you may please to call
it, will admit. Mr. Gifford is not only the first sa-
tirist of the day, but editor of one of the principal Re-
views. As such, he is the last man whose censure
(however eager to avoid it) I would deprecate by clan-
destine means. You will, therefore, retain the manu-
script in your own care ; or, if it must needs be shewn,
send it to another. Though not very patient of censure,
I would fain obtain fairly any little praise my rhymes
might deserve — at all events, not by extortion, and the
humble solicitations of a baudied-about MS. I am
sure a little consideration will convince you it would
be wrong." His lordship's letter, however, came too
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
late, and his high and honourable spirit had to submit
to the vexatious cnntre-temps. Mr. Dallas reported to
him that Mr. Clifford had already seen it; and added,
" Of your satire he spoke highly ; but this poein
(' Childe Harold') he pronounced not only the best
you have written, but equal to any of the present age."
He replied to Mr. Dallas : " As (iittbrd has ever lx;eii
uiy ' magnus Apollo,' any approbation, such as you
mention, would, of course, be more welcome than ' all
Bokara's vaunted gold, than nil the gems of Sanna-
kimd.' Hut I am sorry the MS. was shewn to him
in such a manner." Again : " I am not at all pleased
with Murray for shewing the MS. ; and I am certain
(iiti'ord must see it in the same light that I do. His
praise is nothing to the purpose : what could he say ?
He could not spit in the face of one who had praised
bin) in every possible way. I must own that I wish to
have the impression removed from his mind, that I bad
any concern in such a paltry transaction. The more I
think, the more it disquiets me; so I will say lio more
alnjut it. It is bad enough to be a scribbler, without
having recourse to such shifts to extort praise, or depre-
cate censure. It is anticipating, it is begging, kneel-
ing, adulating, — the devil! — the devil ! and all with-
out my wish, and contrary to my express desire. I
wish Murray had been tied to Paynes neck when he
jumped into the Paddington canal; and so tell him."
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
Thus connected with Mr. Murray as his publisher,
it soon led to a personal acquaintance with Mr. Gifford ;
and it appears, from a fragment that remains to us of
an answer to a letter which that gentleman had written
to Lord Byron, that his advice had been given to his
lordship upon those important points in his writings
and his character upon which the world had already
commented with greater severity, but less justice. The
answer to this letter was enclosed in the following
note to Mr. Murray : —
" 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, nor to
any one else.
" Ever yours."
" TO WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
" MY DEAR SIR, June 18, 1813.
" 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
WILLIAM CIFFORD, ESQ.
in the less tender shape of the text of the ' Baviad," or
a Monk Muson note in ' Massinger,' would have been
obeyed ; I should have endeavoured to improve myself
by your censure : judge, then, if I should 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, l>c unwelcome.
" To your advice on religious topics I *]m\\ ecjuallv
attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding
them altogether. The already published objectionable
passages have been much commented upon, but cer-
tainly have been rather strongly interpreted. I am no
bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that, because 1
doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged
with denying the existence of a God. It was the com-
parative insignificance of ourselves and our wurltl, when
placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which
it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our
pretensions to eternity might be overrated.
" This, and being early disgusted with a Calviuistic
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."
VOL. III. *
WILLIAM G1FFORD, ESQ.
Numerous subsequent passages in his " Life" by
Moore, shew his deep respect and regard for Mr. Gif-
ford. " Report," he says, " my best acknowledgments
to him in any words that may best express how truly
his kindness obliges me." Again, in defying the criti-
cal coterie at Mr. Murray's, he says, " I care for none
of you except Gifford ; and he won't abuse me except I
deserve it, which will at least reconcile me to his justice."
When Lord Byron left England, it appears that
Mr. Gifford kindly undertook, at his lordship's request,
to correct the press for him during his absence. Upon
one occasion, when the " Siege of Corinth" was pre-
paring for the press, Mr. Hobhouse had some quarrel
with the " Quarterly." " Now," says Lord Byron, " he
and I are friends of many years ; I have many obliga-
tions to him, and he none to me which have not been
cancelled, and more than repaid ; but Mr. Gifford and
I are friends also, and he has moreover been literally
so, through thick and thin, in despite of difference of
years, morals, hahits, and even politics."
Byron's ready consent to alterations in his MS. when
proposed by Mr. Gifford, is shewn in many instances in
Moore's Life. Upon some suggestions on " Manfred,"
Byron says, " I am glad indeed you have sent me Mr.
Gifford's opinions, without deduction. Do you suppose
me such a booby as not to be very much obliged to
him ? or, that I was not, and am not, convinced and
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
convicted in my conscience of this same overt act of
nonsense." But in his " Cain," having found that he
had brought a nest of hornets about him, he frankly
desires Mr. Murray to say that " both he, and Mr.
(fijforil, and Mr. Hobhouse, remonstrated against the
publication." His deep respect for, and gratitude to, Mr.
Giftbrd continued while he lived. Within little more
than a month before his death, he wrote to Mr. Dou-
glas Kinnaird an indignant denial of having written a
satire upon his excellent friend. " It is not true that I
ever did, trill, would, could, or should write a satire
against Gitfbrd, or a hair of his head. I always consi-
dered him as my literary father, and myself as hi-
prodigal son." And to Mr. Murray he writes from
Missolonghi, Feb. '22, 18'24, " I have heard from Mr.
Douglas Kinnaird, that you state a report of a satire
on Mr. (iifford having arrived from Italy, suit! to b<-
written by me ! but that you do not believe it. I dare-
say you do not, nor any body else, I should think.
Whoever asserts that 1 am the author or abettor of any
tiling of the kind on Giftbrd, lies in his throat."
Mr. Gifford's life and character afford one of the
finest examples on record of the irresistible [rawer of
principle and perseverance. Few boys possessed of
such mind and feelings ever had to contend with such
adverses of fortune : that he was an orphan, a charity-
boy, and an apprentice to a humble occupation, were
WILLIAM GIFFORD, ESQ.
constant checks to that self-education, which, in spite
of every obstacle, ultimately placed him in a situation
to receive higher attainments, and raised him to the
honourable distinction of being acknowledged " a giant
in literature, in criticism, in politics, and in morals ;
and an ornament and an honour to his country and
the age in which he lived."
<
MADRID.
from ii Drauing by J, [•'. l.nm.
" OUR first view of Madrid was extremely imposing.
It ottered a compact mass, crowned every where with
countless domes of temples and palaces, upon which the
setting sun sent his rays obliquely, and which conveyed,
in a high decree, the idea of magnificence and splen-
dour. Nor was this effect diminished as we advanced ;
for the cupolas first seen grew into greater pre-emi-
nence, while others at each instant ror-e aliove the
confusion."
" The neighlKjuring country is of a very irregular
surface, and broken into an infinite succession of mis-
shapen hills, so that although there are nearly two
hundred villages in the vicinity of the capital, not more
than four or five can ever be discovered at once. The
soil is of a dry and barren nature, producing nothing
but wheat, which yields only ten for one, but which is
very sweet, and of excellent quality. Madrid has no
immediate environs, no country-seats of the rich in-
habitants, none of those delightful little colonies which
are usually found clustering round the walls of a great
VOL. in. L
MADRID.
city, and which combine the convenience of a town
residence with the enjoyments of rural life. If you
wander a hundred yards from the gates of Madrid,
you seem to have taken leave of civilisation and the
haunts of men ; nor are there any forests or orchards to
make up for the absence of inhabitants, if indeed you
except the valley of the Manzanares, and to the east a
few scattering olive-trees, as sad and gloomy in appear-
ance as their owners, the monkish inmates of San
Geronimo and Atocha." — A Year in Spain.
The first mention of Madrid is not earlier than the
tenth century, 250 years after the Moorish invasion :
it was then a Moorish town, named Magerit ; and it is
remarkable that it should have become the capital of a
kingdom in which so many celebrated cities, Eoman and
Moorish, have existed, and continue in importance.
The very great elevation of Madrid above the level
of the sea, 2000 feet, or nearly twice that of Geneva,
makes it, during winter, in spite of its latitude, ex-
tremely cold.
Situated as Madrid is, almost in a plain, it is diffi-
cult to obtain a good general view of the city. That
which Mr. Lewis has supplied is taken from one of
the most favourable spots whence it can be seen from
without.
is ~y E n. a.
L.id.m IViliKiJ 1B33.TJJ J. I.Iinam.t Said "by C. Till .81'.. Fleet Street.
SEVILLE.
THE G1UALDA.
Draicn fry J. F. Lmii.
" Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast
Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days."
Childt Harold, canto i. st. fi.3.
AN adventure which Hyron met with at Seville,
which, says Moore, is characteristic Ixjth of the country
and of himself, is thus descriln-d in a letter to Mrs.
Byron.
" We lodged in the house of two Spanish unmar-
ried ladies, who possess six houses in Seville, and gave
me a curious specimen of Spanish manners. They are
women of character; and the eldest a fine woman, tin-
younger pretty, but not so good a figure as Donna
Josepha. The freedom of manner which is general
here astonished me not a little ; and in the course of
further observation, 1 find that reserve is not the cha-
racteristic of Spanish belles, who are, in general, very
handsome, with large black eyes, and very fine forms.
The eldest honoured your unworthy son with very par-
SEVILLE.
ticular attention, embracing him with great tenderness
at parting (I was there but three days), after cutting off
a lock of his hair, and presenting him with one of her
own, about three feet in length, which I send, and beg
you will retain till my return. Her last words were,
' Adios, tu hermosa ! — me gusto mucho ! ' ' Adieu,
you pretty fellow! — you please me much!' She
offered me a share of her apartment, which my virtue
induced me to decline ; she laughed, and said I had
some English ' amante' (lover); and added, that she
was going to be married to an officer in the Spanish
army."
His summary, however, of Spanish female cha-
racter is a reproach to the nation. " The women of
Seville are, in general, very handsome, with large
black eyes, and forms more graceful in motion than
can be conceived by an Englishman, added to the most
becoming dress, and at the same time the most de-
cent in the world. Certainly they are fascinating ;
but their minds have only one idea, and the business
of their lives is intrigue. The wife of a duke is, in
information, as the wife of a peasant — the wife of a
peasant, in manner, equal to a duchess."
Of the Moorish structures, for which Seville is cele-
brated, one of the most remarkable is the subject of the
engraving — the Tower of the Cathedral — -which was
anciently the minaret of the most celebrated mosque in
SEVILLE.
Spain ; the upper part was added after the expulsion
of the Moors, though one of the conditions upon which
the city was surrendered was, that the tower should be
taken down, to avoid desecration hy the Christians.
It was esteemed hy the Moors the most heautiful tower
attached to any of their places of worship : it was raised
hy the same architect who huilt the celebrated minaret
of the Grand Mosque at Morocco. The ascent to the
summit, hy an inclined plane, is so capacious, that the
former queen of the late King Ferdinand, <>i' Spain,
ascended on a mule.
The wall on the right, in the view, forms the hack
of the library, which was bequeathed to the cathedral
by the son of Columbus. He (jhe son i is buried in
the nave opposite the grand entrance. In this cele-
brated library, Washington Irving principally made his
researches among the MSS. and early Ixxiks for the
history of Columbus. The building on the left in the
view is the Archiepiscopal Palace.
There are at present 220 churches and monasteries
in Seville. Of its extent under the Romans, to whom
it was known as Hispalis, some idea may be formed
from the statement, that the ancient aqueduct was sup-
ported upon 300 arches, and that the city now boasts
of containing, among its Roman remains, more than
80,0<X) columns within its walls.
VOL. HI. M
SARAGOZA.
From a Drawing lt\i J. F. L*ui*.
" IN the Plaza tie San Felipe," says Locker, in his
" Views in Spain," " stands a very singular building.
used ns a belfry, called Kl Torre Nuevo, — a name now
somewhat inappropriate, as it was erected so long ago
as the year 1394. It leans in a fearful manner towards
a church on the other side of the street, but has hitherto
betrayed no further tokens of slipping from its founda-
tions, having stood unmoved upwards of two centuries.
It is built of brick, curiously ornamented, and has a
Hight of '280 steps leading to the top.
" At first sight of this curious edifice, the question
' How came it so?' instantly occurred to us; but we
found it not so easy to obtain n solution, for the critics
of Saragoza seem as much divided in opinion as those
of Pisa ; and though their tower is not so old by four
centuries, the cause of its declination is involved in
equal perplexity. It is not improbable that the founda-
tion may have sunk during its erection, and that the
architect carried up the remainder of his work as a
triumph of his art, counterbalancing the inferior side
in order to prevent the fabric from oversetting, in the
SARAGOZA.
same manner as the antiquaries profess to have dis-
covered in the construction of the Pisan tower."
It does not appear to have struck the disputants
about leaning towers, that the silence of history upon
such structures is a proof that they did not lean when
they were built, but have gradually settled, owing to an
imperfect foundation, to their present inclination ; and
this unequal settlement and consequent leaning has been
so slow as not to have been perceived until long after
the completion of the building, and, therefore, when it
commenced or stopped was too uncertain to record.
That such imperfect and dangerous structures should
have been purposely raised, as some have conjectured
— or, that, during their building, if a settlement and
leaning had been perceived, the architects would have
had the folly to go on — to shew their skill — or that
those who employed them -would still spend their money
upon a dangerous or falling structure, since no one could
tell to what extent it would lean before the settlement
should support it, — are conjectures too absurd to enter-
tain. Here is a building, little more than three hundred
years old — within the time that records of such public
works have been kept — yet no mention is made of its
commencement or completion in this state ; it is there-
fore obvious to common sense, that such buildings as
the leaning towers of Saragoza, of Bologna, and of
Pisa, have leaned from the partial settlement of their
foundations, since their completion.
GRENADA.
From (i Drnuirij; hu J. F. I^un.
GRENADA is the scene of the '' very mournful
Imllad on the siege anil conquest of Albania," inserted
in the 10th volume of the " Life and Works of Lord
Byron."
This view is on the river Daro, looking up from
the Ponte del Carhon. In the distance on the right
is seen the watch-tower of the Alhambra, which com-
manded the town : on the left, overhanging the river,
are the hacks of the houses of the Zacat'm, where, after
Bonlxlil had delivered up the city, the tradespeople
still fought for two days, and defended themselves from
house to house.
VOL. III.
SIR JOHN CAM HOBIIOl'SE, BART.
/Yi>m a Drawing fry TI'itY//.
" Moschus! with whom once more I hope to sit
And smile at folly, if we can't at wit;
Yes, friend ! for thec I'll quit my cynic cell,
And bear Swift's motto, ' Vive la bagatelle !'
Which charmed our days in each /Egean clime,
As oft at home, with revelry and rhyme.
Then may Euphrosync, who sped the past,
Soothe thy life's scenes, nor leave thee in the hist ;
But find in thine, like patjan Plato's bid,
Some merry manuscript of mimes when dead."
Hints from Horace
UNDER the name of Moschus, Byron apostrophises
Mr. Ilobhousc, who was the fellow-collegian, the tra-
velling companion, the brideman, the constant friend,
and, finally, the executor of his will.
In 1809, the two friends left London for Portugal,
Spain, Greece, and Turkey. The results to the world
were Byron's two first cantos of his immortal work,
" Childe Harold," and Hobhouse's two volumes, " A
Journey through Albania and other Provinces of Turkey,
SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOlJSE.
in Europe and Asia." After his return to England,
their friendship was so intimate, that Mr. Hobhouse
accompanied him to Seaham as his brideman, upon his
ill-fated marriage ; and when, after his separation from
Lady Byron, he left England, the friends made an
excursion together in the Oberland Bernois, and visited
those scenes which are so wonderfully recorded in
Manfred. " In the weather for this tour (of thirteen
days)," says Byron in his diary, " I have been very
fortunate — fortunate in a companion (Mr. Hobhouse) —
fortunate in our prospects, and exempt from even the
petty accidents and delays which often render journeys
in a less wild country disappointing. I was disposed
to be pleased. I am a lover of nature, and an admirer
of beauty. I can bear fatigue, and welcome privation,
and have seen some of the noblest views in the world."
In October, they took their departure together
from Diodati, near Geneva, for Italy, by the way of
the Simplon to Venice. The result was the fourth
canto, the completion of " Childe Harold" by the noble
poet, and the advantage of his friend's most able and
classical illustrations in a volume separately published,
which contains more antiquarian research and lucid
exposition of the subjects within the range of his in-
quiry, than is perhaps to be found any where else in
our own or any other language. To this Lord Byron
bears testimony in one of his letters to Mr. Murray,
SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE.
wherein he says — " Tlie notes (to the fourth canto of
Chiltle Harold^ are numerous, and chiefly written by
Mr. Hobhouae, wliose researches liave been indefa-
tigable, and who, 1 will venture to say, has more real
knowledge of Home and its environs than any English-
man who has been there since Gibbon."
Some quarrel had taken place between the " Quar-
terly Review" and his friend, to which Hyron drolly
adverts in a letter to Mr. Murray — " Your new canto
has expanded into 107 stanzas. It will l>e long, you see ;
and as for the notes by Hobhouse, I suspect they will
be of the heroic size. You must keep 11— - in
good humour, for he is devilish touchy yet alxmt your
Review and all which it inherits, including the editor,
the Admiralty, and its bookseller. I used to think that
/ was a good deal of an author in amour propr*- and
noli me tanyeri' ; but these prose fellows are worst, after
all, about their little comforts."
Mr. Hobhouse was very desirous of drawing Byron
from Italy, and forcing him back to Knuland ; and
" deeply," says Moore, " is it for many reasons to be
regretted that this friendly puqwse did not succeed."
During his absence, however, his friend was of essen-
tial sen-ice to him in the management of his aflairs ;
and, in fact, in writing to Mr. Murray, he desires that
negotiations in matters of business may pass through
the medium of Mr. Hobhouse, " as ' alter ego,' and
VOL. III. (I
SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE.
tantamount to myself, during my absence — or presence."
Nor was Mr. Hobhouse wanting in records of his esti-
mation of Byron ; for, " in describing a short tour to
Negroponte, in which his noble friend was unable to
accompany him, he regrets the absence of a companion,
' who, to quickness of observation and ingenuity of
remark, united that gay good humour which keeps alive
the attention under the pressure of fatigue, and softens
the aspect of every difficulty and danger.' "
But the highest testimony to their friendship is
found in the dedication of the fourth canto of " Childe
Harold," just before they parted for the last time in
Italy, of which the following portion may most pardon-
ably be inserted here.
" MY DEAR HOBHOUSE,
" After an interval of eight years
between the composition of the first and last cantos of
Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is about to
be submitted to the public. In parting with so old a
friend, it is not extraordinary that I should recur to
one still older and better, — to one who has beheld the
birth and death of the other, and to whom I am far
more indebted for the social advantages of an enlight-
ened friendship, than — though not ungrateful — I can,
or could be, to Childe Harold, for any public favour
reflected through the poem on the poet, — to one whom
SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOISE.
I have known long, and accompanied far, whom I have
found wakeful over my sickness, and kind in my sor-
row ; glad in my prosperity, and firm in my adversity ;
true in counsel, and trusty in peril, — to a friend often
tried, and never found wanting ; — to yourself.
" In so doing, I recur from fiction to truth ; ;md in
dedicating to you in its complete, or at least concluded
state, a poetical work which is the longest, the most
thoughtful and comprehensive of my composition;-, I
wish to do honour to myself l>y the record of ninny
years' intimacy with a man of learning, of talent, <>!'
steadiness, and of honour. It is not for minds like ours
to give or to receive flattery ; yet the praises of sincerity
have ever heen permitted to the voice of friendship ;
and it is not for you, nor even for others, but to relieve
a heart which has not elsewhere, or lately, been ?o
much accustomed to the encounter of good-will ;i- to
withstand the shock firmly, that I thus attempt to com-
memorate your good qualities, or rather the advantages
which I have derived from their exertion. Even the re-
currence of the date of this letter, the anniversary of the
most unfortunate day of my past existence, but which
cannot poison my future while I retain the resource of
your friendship, and of my own faculties, will hence-
forth have a more agreeable recollection for both, in-
asmuch as it will remind us of this my attempt to thank
you for an indefatigable regard, such as few men have
SIR JOHN CAM HOBHOUSE.
experienced, and no one could experience, without
thinking better of his species and of himself. * * *
" Wishing you, my dear Hobhouse, a safe and
agreeable return to that country whose real welfare can
be dearer to none than to yourself, I dedicate to you
this poem in its completed state ; and repeat once more
how truly I am ever,
" Your obliged
" And affectionate friend,
" BYRON."
SULI'S ROCKS.
Draun liy C. StantitU, A. li. A., from a Skrlch by Dr. Il,'U,,n,l.
" Morn dawns, and with it stern Albania's hills
Dark Suli's rocks, and Pimliis' inland |>e;tk,
Robed half in mist, bedewed with snowy rills,
Arrayed in many a dim and purple stu.ik —
Arise ; and, as the clouds aloii£ them break.
Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer.
Here roams the wolf, tin- e.i-le whets his beak —
Birds, beasts of ]>rcy, and wilder men appear.
And gathering storms around convulse the rl<>~in_ u-ai.
• • • •
It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark
Full on the coast of Suli's angry shure,
When all around was desolate and daik ;
To land was perilous — to sojourn, more ;
Yet for a while the mariners forebore,
Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk.
• • • • . •
Vain fear! the Suliotes stretched the welcome hand.
Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp —
Kinder than polished slaves, though not so bland —
And piled the hearth — and wrung their garments damp,
VOL. III. P
SUL1S ROCKS.
And filled the bowl, and trimmed the cheerful lamp,
And spread their fare — though homely, all they had :
Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp —
To rest the weary, and to soothe the sad,
Doth lesson happier men, and shames at least the bad."
Childe Harold, canto i.
THE adventures of Lord Byron and his companions
among the savage inhabitants of the Suliote mountains,
which border upon the rocky shores of Epirus, is de-
scribed with great energy in some of his letters ; and
Mr. Hobhouse, in his account of their journey, con-
firms all the wildness of their adventures in the country
from Tepaleen to the Morea, through Acarnania and
Etolia.
The subject of the view is " the seraglio of Suli,"
which, says Dr. Holland, in his " Travels in Albania
in 1812-13," " is included within the area of the great
fortress recently erected by Ali Pasha. In architecture
it is much the same as other Turkish buildings ; in
situation it is scarcely perhaps to be paralleled. From
the great gallery you look down a precipice, not much
less, probably, than a thousand feet in height, into the
dark waters of the river below, which, so seen, is a
fit representative of the ancient Acheron. On every
side is scenery of the wildest and most extraordinary
nature, with a disorderly magnificence about it, which
forms perhaps its most striking peculiarity. The
sri.is ROCKS.
mountains and precipices, all on Uie greatest scale, are
thrown confusedly around, as if some other agency
than the slow working of nature had operated to pro-
duce these effects. The eye, looking generally over the
scene, is perplexed at first by its vastness and intricacy,
and requires sometimes to select the objects on which
to repose. Towards the south, and over the peaked
summits which environ the seraglio, is seen the long
chasm-like channel of the Acheron ; beyond it, the
country stretching down to the gulf of Arta, the gulf
itself, and the mountains of Acarnaniu in the distance.
To the west you look down precipices intersected by
deep ravines, to that point in the river where, receiving
the stream of Zngouri from the north, it turns over to
the west, and continuing its course for some way !«'-
twecn clitts of immense height, makes a sudden exit
from its confined channel to the wide and fertile plains
of Paramithia. The remains of several of the ^uliote
villages appear at intervals among the clitl's, which
Ixmler on these deep valleys."
" The mountain on which the fortresses of Suli have
been erected, has a singular seuiilunar form, termi-
nating at the summit in a ridge so narrow as barely
to admit a narrow path leading from one fortress to
another. Of the buildings in this situation, only the
fortress of the seraglio is fortified with cannon, some
pieces of which I observed to be of English manu-
SULI S ROCKS.
facture. Two other edifices are inhabited by Albanian
soldiers ; and the fourth, placed on the highest pinnacle
to the north of the seraglio, has never yet been com-
pleted. Having been twice struck by lightning, a
superstitious belief has arisen that it is impossible to
erect any building upon this spot ; and the work has
been discontinued. Between this pinnacle and the
seraglio, an immense ravine descends from the summit
of the ridge, so nearly perpendicular, that a fragment
of rock thrown down may be heard after a long in-
terval plunging into the waters of the river below.
From one of the precipices impending over this
ravine, it is related that the Suliote women threw their
children, when the contest for their liberty had come
to an end. To such a spot, the epithet given by Aristo-
phanes— Axfgovriot gKoviXos aiftaToeTaytis — ' the rock of
Acheron dropping blood,' may be well applied."
" Five thousand Suliotes, among the rocks and in
the castle of Suli," says Lord Byron, in a note to the
second canto of " Childe Harold," " withstood thirty
thousand Albanians for eighteen years : the castle at
last was taken by bribery. In this contest there were
several acts performed not unworthy of the better clays
of Greece."
CEPHALONIA.
Draun hu J. -V. II". Turntr, n..t.,fr,>m a V.rtch Inl II'. l',yr.
CEPHALONIA was the first Greek inland toward-
which Lord Hyron steered his course, in the trl.>n<,u-
and fatal expedition to which he had devoted himself.
Knowing how vilely his character and conduct had
heen misrepresented to his countrymen, and what treat-
ment he had elsewhere met with from them, in con-
sequence of such misrepresentation, — lie \vas reluctant
to encounter the numbers of lui^hr-h who at that time
resided in the island, at Argostoli. They, on the other
liaiul, having heard of his misanthropy and horror of
his countrymen, expected only contempt and coldnc»
from him. A few moments effaced every unjust im-
pression : their meeting was frank, manly, and cordial ;
and whilst he removed, hy his cheerful all'ahilitv, their
prejudices, his own heart warmed to the welcome,
which gratified and sensibly touched him.
Here began his operations in the Greek war of
independence ; but here, too, many of his dream* of
the glories which awaited the regeneration of Greece
were dissipated. The jealousies and selfishness of the
VOL. III. U
CEPHALONIA.
chiefs disgusted him. After remaining six weeks in
the vessel which brought him to Argostoli, he took
up his ahode in the retired village of Metaxata, about
seven miles from Argostoli, and awaited more favour-
able moments for effectual service. Owing to the
state of parties, his stay in Cephalonia was nearly
five months.
Some of his letters to the Countess Guiccioli,
written from Cephalonia, mark his disappointment in
the character of the people in aid of whose struggles
for liberty he had devoted himself. " I was a fool
to come here," he says ; " but being here, I must see
what is to be done." " We are still in Cephalonia,
waiting for news of a more accurate description ; for
all is contradiction and division in the reports of the
state of the Greeks. I shall fill the object of my
mission from the Committee, and then return into
Italy ; for it does not seem likely that, as an indi-
vidual, I can be of use to them : at least no other
foreigner has yet appeared to be so, nor does it seem
likely that any will be at present." " Of the Greeks
I can't say much good hitherto ; and I do not like to
speak ill of them, though they do of one another."
" There is nothing very attractive here to divide my
attention ; but I must attend to the Greek cause, both
from honour and inclination."
It was during his residence in Cephalonia, that
CEPHALONIA.
those interesting conversations with Dr. Kennedy oc-
curred ; which few can read without respecting the
sincerity of his inquiries, though they may regret that
he could not avow a belief as extensive as their own.
" Sailing from Zante," says Williams, in his
" Travels in Greece," " a few hours brought us to
the coast of Cephalouia, at the foot of Mount -'Enos ;
but we had to beat all uight to the west before we
could make the entrance of the long bay, near tin-
top of which Argostoli, the capital, is situate. In
passing up the bay, we almost touched l.ixuri, a pretty
and thriving town on its western shore. The country
near it is well cultivated, light, and pleasant. On the
opposite side, within a branch of the great bay, which
lias here the appearance of an inland lake, stands the
town of Argostoli. The approach is Ixmutiful, even
grand, from the majesty of Mount .Kiios, and the
variety of surface l>elow, cultivated or wild. The
town, which is upwards of a mile in length, is im-
proving in neatness, cleanliness, and health. In the
last particular, there yet remains much to be done.
The malaria fever prevailed at times like a pestilence.
" The neighbourhood is rich in vines, and the pro-
duce is highly esteemed. We dined with the Capo
di Govenio ; and the regimental band played to a late
hour a variety of Scotch aire, which, at this distance
from home, were truly delightful.
CEPHALONIA.
" Cephalonia is enumerated by Homer among the
dominions of Ulysses, who conducted its heroes to the
Trojan war. Tt was divided into four districts, with
each its capital, and hence called Tetrapolis. The
ancient cities were Cranii near Argostoli, Pronii,
Same or Samos, and Palle in the sea : at the south
point, ruins, perhaps of Palle, can be seen in clear
weather. Same defied the Roman power under Marcus
Fulvius, in the 563d year of the city.
" The natives of Cephalonia seem partial to the
sea. We were informed by an intelligent gentleman,
that the cultivation of the island is almost abandoned,
old men and women being in some villages the only
stationary population."
NEGROPOXT.
BI.-IDI:- the hri.l-e of Kirri|i<>. tlii- lic.iuiifiil viirw
(if tin- town :nid psirl of (lie i-laiul of Nrirropont, a
-ccii fnun ;i disiaiice, lias Keen introdui-i'd inin ilu-
Illtl.-tnitiuns to cdiivcv a more just idea of the lin
>itiiation of llu; town, and tlic diameter d the «urroii!iil-
ili1' M'elierv on tin1 -horc- of Kiihira.
VOL. III.
t>
CONSTANTINOPLE,
FROM THE I'ERA IIII.I..
Drau'ft fev K. T. Purrii, from a Sketch fry ('<ip(<mi K.'/vrli.
"Or lu>
\Vlio has sailed where picturesque Constantinople iv"
Dim Juan, canto n. -t. 7.
To the. exceeding beauty of Constantinople and its
environs, most travellers to the ancient seat of the
eastern empire have Iwirne testimony. Lord Uyron
says: " I have seen the ruins of Athens of Kphesns
and Delphi ; I have traversed a threat part of Turkey,
and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia :
but I never beheld a work of nature or art which
yielded an impression like the prospect on each side
from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden
Horn."
" The view of Constantinople," f»ays Mr. Hose,
" which appeared intersected by proves of cypress
(for such is the effect of its great burial-grounds
planted with these trees) ; its gilded domes and
minarets reflecting the first rays of the sun; the
deep blue sea in which it glazed itself, and that sea
CONSTANTINOPLE.
covered with beautiful boats and barges darting in
every direction in perfect silence, amidst sea-fowl, who
sat at rest upon the waters — altogether conveyed such
an impression as I had never received, and probably
never shall again receive, from the view of any other
place."
The following description of this view has been
furnished by the Rev. J. V. J. Anmdell, whose visits
to the Turkish capital have rendered every object in
the scene familiar to him.
" The foreground, Pera Hill, is called the ' little'
burial-ground, in distinction from the immense one at
the extremity of Pera, where the cemeteries of every
faith are seen close to each other ; whereas the ' little '
burial-ground is exclusively Turkish. The higher part
of this, or ' Pera Hill,' is the favourite resort of the
Franks, Greeks, and Armenians, on Sundays and days
of fi-te ; and had, before the destructive fire of 1831, a
number of lofty and well-built stone houses on its ele-
vated terrace, inhabited chiefly by the members of the
diplomacies of the different courts. On the memorable
day of the conflagration every inch of ground in this
burial-ground was covered by groups of unfortunate
sufferers, who, houseless, remained for some days there
amidst piles of mattrasses and furniture, the wrecks of
their property. Even the solitude of the cypresses
below, where usually the turtle-dove and vulture held
CONSTANTINOPLE.
almost uudisturlK'd dominion, was occupied in (he same
milliner.
" Helow tlie cypresses, nt the left corner, is the
Mfitl.iltfl/i, or the ' Imlder <>f thf ilrtul,' whence the
bodies of those who die at Constantinople are trans-
ported across, for the purpose of interment in the
favourite cemetery at Scutari.
" In the year 1831, I rmharked near the ar«enal in
one of the extraordinary cuiques so unrivalled for Kcauty
and speed ; and in ]>a«-iii'_r clo-e hv tlie building, near
which is a vessel, and which may IN- called the Ad-
miralty House, the following account was ^iveii me by
an intelligent friend :• — It is constructed wholly of wood,
and with a fairy elegance of so peculiar a character,
that it mi^ht be called ii/iiiji/i'. The Capitan Pa-ha, for
whom it was erected, determined that it -liouM lie -o ;
and while the architect, a fircek, was calculating to
lie made at least president of the Hoard of Works, and
of rivalling the fame of Mftniji'm-x, he was «tiddcnly
summoned into the presence of his grateful em|)loyer,
and ordered to l>e put to death, lest his talents should
pass into the service of any other master. It was this
edifice to which the following extract from my journal
relates : —
" ' Aiiyust 30, 1831. — The first news we- heard this
morning was, that the Capitan Pasha's superb house
near the arsenal was reduced to ashes by a fire last
VOL. in. s
CONSTANTINOPLE.
night. Discontent against the sultan is openly avowed
as the cause ; but it is said that ivomcn were, in this
instance, the incendiaries ; and that two had been taken
up and strangled. It is currently reported, that a
prophecy is in circulation among the Turks, foretelling
twenty-five fires, all at this period ; so we may expect
many more.' And actually I saw a fire or fires every
night till the day we quitted Constantinople, Sept. 7th ;
and there had been fires regularly every night, or nearly
so, from the time of the great fire, which destroyed
Pera in August; so that the prediction was literally
fulfilled.
" In passing round this edifice, and under the site
of the superb palace on the hill — for the palace itsel
had some time before been destroyed — my attention
was attracted by a wall of some length adjoining it,
which had a picturesque appearance, from being per-
forated in a curious way : it had enclosed the garden,
and these little look-outs were for the ladies of the
harem, whose eyes could be permitted to wander, while
the lofty wall was a pledge of their security.
" Behind the palace of the Capitan Pasha, along the
edge of the water, is the quarter called Hassa-heny, or
the Jews' quarter, inhabited almost exclusively by them.
They are more kindly treated by their Turkish masters
than by their Christian neighbours, the Greeks of
St. Demetri, whose unchristian feeling towards them
CONSTANTINOPLE.
amounts to absolute hatred ; anil the old story <>f a
Christian child killt'd by them, and his blood drank at
the Passover, wns revived while I was at Constantinople,
witli every conceivable exaggeration .
" On the opposite side of the harbour, to the right
of the smoke, is the quarter of the Fttii/tr, the residence
of the most distinguished Greek families, and the
patriarch of Constantinople. I almost fancy that I am
now standing at the entrance of the patriarchal palace,
and see the l>ody of the unfortunate chief of the eastern
church suspended from the archway, us it was at the
commencement of the revolution. Close to the palace
of the patriarch is his church, in which is shewn, for
the veneration of the faithful, part of the marble column
to which our Lord was bound when he was scourged.
" If I mistake not, the mosque, with the minaret-
on the left, is. the Sulimanie/i, almost the finest in Con-
stantinople; and to which travellers may have such
ready access, that I was actually invited by a Turk to
go in ; and by his order an inferior officer of the mosque
accompanied me throughout it, and explained every
thing to me. Very near the Sulimanieh, almost con-
nected with it, are the shops or cafe-houses of the
opium-eaters ; and though the habit is now nearly out
of fashion, some may always IK- seen either reposing
after taking the pill, or in the full excitement of its
subsequent effects.
CONSTANTINOPLE.
" The mosque on the right is peculiarly interesting,
as connected with the triumph of the religion of the
Prophet over Christianity. It is the mosque huilt by
Mahomet II. on the site of a church, that, if I mistake
not, in which the Christian emperors were usually in-
terred, called the Church of the Apostles. It has now,
I believe, the titrbt, or sepulchral chapel of the con-
queror of Constantinople, and of some of his successors.
" At the head of the harbour, nearly behind the
minaret, are the suburbs called Blucherne, near which
the lofty and dark walls, with numerous round towers,
mantled with ivy, and relieved by plane-trees of gigantic
growth, presented a picture, which, connected with
glimpses of the harbour, minarets, &c., impressed me
more than any thing I saw at Constantinople.
" Between the minaret and the Capitan Pasha's
palace, at the head of the harbour, is the mosque of
Aioub ; not Job the patriarch, but Job the faithful
and brave general of Mahomet II. : adjoining to which
is the turbc of the late Sultan Selim, and his family.
The extensive barracks above, called ' Daoud Pasha,'
are historical evidence of Selim's enlightened mind and
unmerited fate."
Jltnirtiifil I>U -f-'. f'in.l< r,
/
ff
THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.
From a Picture by Sir T. Lawrence, P.Ii.A.
" To the famed throng now paid the tribute due,
Neglected Genius ! let me turn to you.
Come forth, O Campbell ! give thy talents soojx; ;
Who dares aspire, if thou must cease to hope ?"
Enyliih Bards and Scotch Rtrietrfn.
LORD BYRON'S uniform feeling of respect for the
distinguished talents of Mr. Campbell, is shewn in a
hundred places in the " Life and Works," though it
is sometimes mixed up with a good deal of drollery,
where he touches upon his peculiarities. It never
fails, however, to leave evidence of Byron's kindly
feelings for the man, and his admiration of his pro-
ductions.
The first meeting of Byron with Camptall was at
Mr. Rogers'*, upon the occasion of his lordship's per-
sonal introduction to Moore, which was so arranged by
their host, that the noble poet met there, for the first
time, three of his celebrated contemi>oraries. What a
(juartette ! Such a party, and under such circumstances,
never met before, and never will again. The close
VOL. in. T
THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.
intimacy which such men immediately formed is shewn
in Byron's subsequent letters, in which he mentions their
various meetings and conversations ; among others, in
Byron's Journal in 1813, he adverts to a party at Lord
Holland's, where he says, " Campbell looks well,
seems pleased, and dressed to sprucery. A blue coat
becomes him — so does his new wig. He really looked
as if Apollo had sent him a birth-day suit, or a wedding
garment, and was lively and witty. He abused Co-
rinne's book, which I regret, because, firstly, he under-
stands German, and, secondly, he is first-rate, and con-
sequently the best of judges. I reverence and admire
him." With great good temper, upon the same oc-
casion, Lord Byron relates a joke of Campbell's, of
which he himself was the object. " We were standing
in the ante-saloon, when Lord H. brought out of the
other room a vessel of some composition similar to that
used in Catholic churches ; and, seeing us, he exclaimed,
' Here is some incense for you.' Campbell answered,
' Carry it to Lord Byron — he is used to it.'"
The enduring character of Campbell's poetry was a
frequent theme of Byron in his letters to Moore ; and
it is impossible to doubt his sincere conviction that it
was deserved ; for in colloquy, in his correspondence,
and in his private journals, this testimony of his respect
for the talents of his contemporary is shewn ; but in no
instance stronger, perhaps, than in the appendix to the
THOMAS CAMPBELL, ESQ.
tilth canto of" Don Juan," where he introduces Camp-
bell, and complains of some inadvertencies in his edition
of the poets. He says : " being in the humour of criti-
cism, I shall proceed, after having ventured upon tin-
slips of Bacon, to touch upon one or two as trifling in
the edition of the British Poets, by the justly celebrated
Campbell : but I do this in good will, and trust it will
be ><> taken. If any thing could add to my opinion
of the talents and true let-ling of that gentleman, it
would be his classical, honest, anil triumphant defence
dt' Pope, against the vulgar cant of the day, and it*
• •xisfing (Jriib Street."
After noticing the inadvertencies, he adds : " a-
there is ' honour among thieves,' let there be i-onic
amongst poets, and i^ive each his due. .None can afford
to -.five it more than .Mr. Campbell himself, who, with
a high reputation for originality, and a fame which
cannot be shaken, is the only poet of the times (except
Holers) who can lx: reproached (and in h'nn it is in-
deed a reproach) with having written too little."
THE PARTHENON.
Drau ii />y H . I'tlgr.
•• Hi-aril some curious extracts from the life of Morosini. the
blundering Venetian who blew uj> tlie Acropolis :it
Alllell* With a liolllli, aliil l>e ll — (1 to Ililll."
l.onl Byron's Diiin/, \^\\.
IN addition to the oilier \iews of the Parthenon
given in these Illustrations, this, taken from among it?
niins, has been added, to convey a Iwtter idea of the
destruction which " (ioth, and Turk, and Time," have
effected upon this magnificent temple. The portion of
it here shewn is its eastern end. The ruin> of the
western extremity, of which some ]>art of the cella also
remains, are much more extensive.
In !()?(>, when Sir Cieorge \Vheeler visited Athens,
the Parthenon was nearly entire, the only dilapidation,
at least that he noticed, was, that the statues had
fallen from the eastern pediment; hut, in 1(187, the
Venetian Morosini, having conquered the Moren, made
a wanton expedition into Attica, and laid siege to the
Acropolis ; during its progress, the powder-magazine
established by the Turks in the temple exploded ; the
VOL. in. u
THE PARTHENON.
centre of the building was blown away and totally
destroyed, leaving the insulated mass seen in this view —
the ruins of the eastern portico. The metopes and
frieze of the cella which decorated the centre portion
are probably buried beneath the ruins, and better pre-
served than those which have been removed from the
ruins of the Parthenon. The Greeks have lately com-
menced the formation of museums of the antiquities of
their nation, and they will perhaps find these ruins
still rich in such objects of research.
TEMPLE OF THESEUS,
AT ATHENS.
Draitn t»j M'. 1'tt^f.
•• And dim and sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Ni-, r Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm."
Tin Corsair.
" THIS palm is without the present walls of Athens,
not far from the Temple of Theseus, between which
and the tree the wall intervenes.
" D;'.ring our residence of ten weeks at Athens,''
says Mr. llobhouse, " there was not, I talieve, a day
of which we did not devote a part to the contemplation
of the noble monuments of Grecian genius, that have
outlived the ravages of time, and the outrage of bar-
barous and antiquarian despoilers. The Temple of
Theseus, which was within live minutes' walk of our
lodging, is the most perfect ancient edifice in the world.
In i In- fabric the most enduring stability, and a sim-
plicity of design peculiarly striking, are united with
the highest elegance and accuracy of workmanship ;
the characteristic of the Doric style, whose chaste
TEMPLE OF THESEUS.
beauty is not, in the opinion of the first artists, to be
equalled by the graces of any of the other orders. A
gentleman of Athens, of great taste and skill, assured
us, that after a continued contemplation of this temple,
and the remains of the Parthenon, he could never again
look with his accustomed satisfaction upon the Ionic
and Corinthian ruins of Athens, much less upon the
specimens of the more modern species of architecture to
be seen in Italy."
Mr. Fuller, in his " Tour in the Turkish Empire,"
thus mentions the Temple of Theseus. " Unlike the
vast masses of brick-work which we see at Rome, and
which, having been despoiled of their rich casing, re-
main now in naked deformity, the Athenian buildings
are, with one or two exceptions, of solid marble ; nor
are there any neighbouring chefs-d'oeuvre of modern
architecture to distract our attention, or to share our
admiration. The Temple of Theseus is an almost per-
fect model of the Doric order ; for though most of the
ornaments have been' removed or defaced, the architec-
tural part of the building remains entire, with the
exception of the roof of the cella, and of the porticoes.
It has six columns at each of the fronts, and thirteen at
each of the sides, making together thirty-four ; and
their height is about nineteen feet. It has also within
the porticoes a pronaos and posticum, each with two
columns and antis. The statues have wholly disap-
TEMPLE OF THESEI/S.
pcarcil from the eastern pediment ; and there are no
trace* of any ever having l>eeii placed in the western.
There are eighteen sculptured metopes, and two friezes
much mutilated, which are explained to represent the
lal»ours of Hercules and Theseus, the wars of the giants,
and the combats of Centaurs and Lapithif. The Temple
of Theseus was built by Cimon, son of .Miltiades, in
compliance with the injunction of the Pythian oracle,
thirty or forty years before the Parthenon was l>ogun.
. . .
It is now a Greek church, dedicated to St. (ieorge,
whose exploits are probably supposed to bear some
analogy to those of the Athenian hero ; and of late
years it has l>ten the burial-place for the Knglir-h who
have died in (ireece. Mr. Walpole's < Jreek pentame-
ters are inscrilxxl on the stone which covers Tweddell's
remains; and a Latin inscription of equal length com-
memorates the more humble merits of an English lady'*
waiting-maid, who reposes beside him."
t'|K)i» the death of Lord Byron, it was proposed by
Colonel Stanhope that he should be buried at Athens,
in the Temple of Theseus; and the chief Odysseus sent
an express to Missolonghi to enforce this wish ; but an
the noble poet left no direction contrary to the re-
moval of his remains to England, they were restored
to his country.
VOL. III.
CORINTH.
Draun hy C. t.\>tlfrmi<le, f'nwi <l Sficfo'l 'i-; II'. 1'n^r.
THE appearance of tliis portion of the city agrees
with Dodwell's description of it — " house* placed wide
apart, and the spaces between occupied with Burdens;"
Imt tlie striking feature of the scene i* the singularly
.
grand and Ix-aiitiful form of the Acrocorinthos. The
following remarks are hy a recent traveller in Cf recce :
" In the course of the morning after our arrival at
Corinth, we paid a visit to the Acropolis, or . \cro-
corinthoe. We were three -cmartera of an hour in
riding up to the fort, where we were kindly received
hy the old governor. The walls of the fort are very
extensive, constructed iu many places over rocky preci-
pices, and from eight to twelve feet high ; with a ban-
cpiette, — in some parts not eighteen inches wide, in
others from two to three feet iu width : thus, at ni^ht,
in the event of alarm, it would be found impossible to
communicate along such places, and at all times dim-
cult to fire from them. The (Jreeks took the citadel
from the Turks by a night attack. The walls were built
by the Venetians upon the old Acropolis, enlarging it
CORINTH.
considerably. The view from the walls is very fine,
looking towards Athens, and also across the gulf towards
Parnassus. There are several tanks in the fort; and
in one particularly, pointed out by the governor, is an
inscription consisting of strange characters, which could
not be deciphered: it may be Phoenician, from its
proximity to Tyrius, Argos, and Mycenae, which towns
are said to have been built by the Cyclops, who are
most likely to have been Phoenicians, — at all events,
are supposed to have come from or near the coast of
Egypt. A fountain is said to have been constructed
near the entrance into the citadel by Asopus, in front
of which was the temple of Venus ; but the general
ruin of every thing but the walls of the fortress pre-
vents almost all possibility of tracing any of the ancient
buildings. There were formerly four chapels and four
temples on the side of the road leading to the Acro-
polis ; of these not a vestige is now to be seen.
" In the afternoon, we rode to see the intended
canal across the isthmus. About five miles from the
town are the remains of the towers and lines for the
defence of the isthmus, and a mile farther is the exca-
vation made for the intended canal ; it is about four
hundred yards in length, commencing not far from the
sea-shore. The labours appear to have been checked
shortly after the work reached the hilly ground, which
proved to be very rocky. It has only been carried on
CORINTH.
about one hundred feet among the rocks ; but this dis-
tance is great, considering the deficiency of means in
those days for such operations. The width of the canal
appeared to be about eighty feet. It has l>een asserted
that the canal could never have been serviceable, had
the excavation been completed, on account of the differ-
ence of level in the two seas. From the place where
the cut is stopped, the ground gradually ri?es towards
the southern shore of the isthmus."
Lord Byron, in the course of his journeys in (.ireere.
em-.ed thi.- isthmus five or >i.\ times; and the beautiful
xvner v which he has de-eribed in " The Divam" i-
j-npposed to have Wen Mi-ire-ted by the country \\hicli
he traversed between the Sfaronic and the Corinthian
(Julfs. In that poem he say-, —
" I If lay
Reusing from the noon-tide sultrim--,,
Couched among fidlen columns, in the shade
Of ruined walls that had survived the names
Of those who reared them ; by his sleeping >i<!e
Stood camels grazing, and some goodly steeds
W ere fastened near a fountain ; and a man
Clad in a flowing garb did watch the while,
While many of his tribe slumbered around :
And they were canopied by the blue sky,
So cloudless, clear, and purely beautiful,
That God alone was to be seen in heaven."
VOL. III.
^t
y tte^
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
from a Limning by iir 7'. /.,iu rtntt, V.ll.A.
" And thoti, melodious Rogers! rise ;it l,i-t.
Recall the pleasing memory of tin- past ;
Arise ! let blest remembrance still inspire,
And stnkr to \\onliil tours thy hallow'il lyre;
Restore Apollo to Ins vacant throne —
A--' it thy country's honour and thine own."
Enijlish Bunls and Scotch It< ritirirs.
THE commencement of Lord Byron's acquaintance
with Mr. IlogLTs lias lieen rt-liiteil with much interest
by Mr. Moore, in liis " Life of Lord Byron," in statin^
the circumstances under which that friendship Kr^an,
which continued during the life of the noMe poet.
L'pon Lord Byron's return to England in 1H11,
Mr. Moore wrote to him, explanatory of a letter of
rather u warlike character, which, in the first moment
of indignation after the appearance of the second edi-
tion of " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," had
been addressed by him to Lord Byron. This letter
led to a satisfactory explanation on the part of In-
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
lordship, who, at the request of Mr. Moore, agreed,
in the following letter, to meet him at Mr. Rogers's,
who had proposed that a first and friendly meeting
should take place at his house.
" TO MR. MOORE.
" SIR, 8, St. James's Street, Nov. 1, 1811.
" As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sun-
day's engagement, if Monday, or any other clay of the
ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself
and friend, I will then have the honour of accepting
his invitation. Of the professions of esteem with which
Mr. Rogers has honoured me, I cannot but feel proud,
though undeserving. I should be wanting to myself,
if insensible to the praise of such a man ; and, should
my approaching interview with him and his friend lead
to any degree of intimacy with both or either, I shall
regard our past correspondence as one of the happiest
events of my life. I have the 'honour to be
" Your very sincere and obedient servant,
" BYRON."
Mr. Campbell, who had called at Mr. Rogers's that
morning, was invited to meet Lord Byron, and thus
commenced his personal acquaintance with all three ; an
auspicious meeting which led the way to those delightful
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
associations at the house of Mr. Rogers which are so
often noticed in the second and third volumes of the
Life of Byron.
" After the appearance of Childe Harold," says
Moore, " when he began to mingle with the world, the
same persons who had long been MI/ intimates and
friends l>ccainc his." Among those whom he met at
Mr. Rogers's were Mr. Sheridan, Sir James Mackintosh,
Mr. Sharp, Payne Knight, Madame de Stai'-l, Lord
Kr>kine, and others the i/iti- of the nio-t distinguished
society <>f the day ; from the fashion and frivolity, that
sought In- company a* a limi, lie always returned \\itli
plea-tire to where he could herd with minds as noMe
as his own.
Mr. Rogers was one of tho-e friends who, through
good report and evil rejwrt, adliered to Lord Jiyn.ni,
always testifying his friendship for him ; and the con-
stant declaration by Byron of the estimation in which
he held the talents and character of Mr. Rogers, is to
be found throughout his letters, his journals, and his
works. He placed him the highest among his con-
temporaries, publi»hed his " Lara" jointly with Mr.
Rogers's " Jacqueline," and dedicated to him, in testi-
mony of his respect and friendship, his poem of the
" Giaour."
Of the partnership publication of " Jacky and
Larry," as he facetiously called them, he wrote thus
VOL. in. z
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
to Moore : " Rogers and I have almost coalesced into
a joint invasion of the public ; whether it will take
place or not, I do not yet know ; and I am afraid
Jacqueline (which is very beautiful) will be in bad
company. But in this case the lady will not be the
sufferer."
There was a certain class of Byron's feelings which
peculiarly belonged to his friendship with Mr. Rogers,
— any affair of delicacy requiring advice, any judg-
ment from an arbiter elegantiarum, any inquiries on
matters of virtu; and even upon the subject of his
domestic miseries, an appeal to his friend, which re-
fers to previous confidence, is seen in the following
letter :—
" You are one of the few persons with whom I have
lived in what is called intimacy, and have heard me
at times conversing on the untoward topic of my recent
family disquietudes. Will you have the goodness to
say to me at once, whether you ever heard me speak
of her with disrespect, with unkindness, or defending
myself at her expense — by any serious imputation of
any description against her? Did you never hear me
say, ' that when there was a right or a wrong, she had
the right?' The reason why I put these questions to
you, is because I am said, by her and hers, to have
resorted to such means of exculpation."
In 1821, during Mr. Rogers's journey in Italy, they
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
met by appointment at Bologna ; and, after remaining
a day then*, they crossed the Apennines, and visited
together the Gallery of Florence ; but Byron honestly
confesses", that much that they saw, which to Mr.
Rogers'.* refined taste was a source of enjoyment, was
to him almost as a sealed letter ; whilst he was fully
alive to the fun of ex|x>sing the absurdly aflected ad-
miration of would-be connoisseurs, who shelter their
ignorance under truisms. " I heard one bold Briton,"
says Byron, " declare to a woman on his arm, looking
:it the Venus of Titian, — ' Well, now this is really very
Hue indeed!' — an observation which, like that of the
landlord in Joseph Andrews on the certaintv of death,
war fa-, the landlord's \\ite observed) strictly true."
And " in the Pitti Palace I did not omit Goldsmith's
prescription for a connoisseur, viz. ' that the picture
would have been better if tin- painter had taken more
pains, and to praise the works of Pietro Perugino.'"
In Mr. Rogers's poem on Italy, he has preserved
an account of their meeting at Bologna, in a sketch
full of feeling, and affording abundant evidence of his
reciprocation of that good will and regard, which,
even Ijcyond the grave, produced those beautiful lines,
so honourable to his judgment and his heart, in which
he apostrophises him as
" One long used
To sojourn among strangers, every where
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
(Go where he would, along the wildest track)
Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost,
And leaving footsteps to be traced by those
Who love the haunts of Genius ! one who saw,
Observed, nor shunned the busy scenes of life,
But mingled not ; and mid the din, the stir,
Lived as a separate spirit.
" Much had passed
Since last we parted ; and those five short years —
Much had they told ! His clustering locks were turned
Grey ; nor did aught recall the youth that swam
From Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice,
Still it was sweet ; still from his eye the thought
Flashed lightning-like, nor lingered on the way,
Waiting for words. Far, far into the night
We sat conversing — no unwelcome hour,
The hour we met ; and, when Aurora rose,
Rising, we climbed the rugged Apennine.
" Well I remember how the golden sun
Filled with its beams the unfathomable gulfs
As on we travelled ; and along the ridge,
Mid groves of cork, and cistus, and wild fig,
His motley household came. Not last nor least,
Battista, who upon the moonlight-sea
Of Venice had so ably, zealously
Served, and at parting, thrown his oar away
To follow through the world ; who, without stain
Had worn so long that honourable badge,
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
The gondolier's, in a patrician house
Arguing unlimited trust. — Not last nor least,
Thou, though declining in thy beauty and strength,
Faithful Moretto, to the latest hour
Guarding his chamber-door, and now along
The silent, sullen strand of Missolonghi
Howling in grief.
• • • • •
•' He is now at rest ;
And praise and blame fall on his car alike,
Now dull in death. Yes, BY RON ! thou art gone,
Gone like a star that through the firmament
Shot and was lost, in its eccentric course
Dazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks,
W;is generous, noble — noble in its scorn
Of all things low or little ; nothing there
Sordid or servile. If imagined wrongs
Pursued thee, urging thee sometimes to do
Things long regretted, oft, as many know,
None more than I, thy gratitude would build
On slight foundations: and, if in thy life
Not happy, in thy death thou surely wert,
Thy wish accomplished; dying in the land
Where thy young mind had caught ethereal fire,
Dying in Greece, and n a cause so glorious !
" They in thy train — ah, little did they think.
As round we went, that they so soon should sit
Mourning beside thee, while a nation mourn 'd.
Changing her festal for her funeral song ;
VOL. III. A A
SAMUEL ROGERS, ESQ.
That they so soon should hear the minute gun,
As morning gleamed on what remained of thee,
Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numbering
Thy years of joy and sorrow.
" Thou art gone ;
And he that would assail thee in thy grave,
' Oh ! let him pause. For who among us all,
Tried as thou wert, even from thine earliest years,
When wandering, yet unspoilt, a Highland boy-
Tried as thou wert, and with thy soul of flame-
Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek,
Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine,
Her charmed cup ;— ah ! who among us all
Could say he had not erred as much, and more ?'
SAINT MARK'S,
VENICE.
t'r^m a Drawing hij S. /'rout.
THIS view looks out from liuiiouth tin- massive
arcade of the Ducal Palace, upon a part of St. Mark's
church and the Place of St. Mark. Here are again
seen the columns which form the foreground of the
view of the Piazetta, and upon which the gates of Acre
were formerly suspended. One of the three lofty masts
rixPd at the eastern end of the Place of St. Mark is
also seen ; upon which, in the days of Venetian glory,
the Hags of the dependencies of the repuhlic — Cyprus,
Candia, and the Morea — were displayed.
THE RIALTO.
VKM< I-..
from a I)rnlciH£ l>\t .V. Pnutf.
IT would he scarcely doing justice to t IK-SI- Illus-
trations to withhold this — whicli is the finest, and
then-fort; the most generally-chosen, view of Venice —
though there are few works illustrative of the •' Sen
Queen" in which it is not to In- found. The magnificent
situation of the Ponte Kialto, spanning the Great Canal,
will l>e remembered hy most travellers who have taken
up their residence in the Leone Hinnca, or the adjoin-
ing iilhcrgo. From every window in the front of either
of these hotels this interesting view is seen.
VOL. 111. i I.
<-/. £-£~f /
FKOM Tin-'. ORIGINAL I'lCTTTRE IN THE POS.SESS1OM Of M» 'MtTKBAV
y, £ Jala, by C. TU^Flcrt Street.
ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D.
/•'rom the original PiTfraif fry 7. I'fnttipi, H.A.
THOIT.H the selection of Mr. Sou t hey 'B jx>rtrait,
among others, was considered necessary by the pro-
prietors of the " Illustrations of Lord Byron's Life and
Works," it places the author of these observations in
a situation of some difficulty.
The portraits which have been introduced are of
persons too well known in the world to require any
sketches of their biography, beyond an account of their
connexion with the noble poet. Hut in this rase,
instead of Ix'ing connected by any ties with the povt-
laureate, Lord Byron was ever in opposition to him :
and " hatred, malice, and all uncharitablenesB," W»TC
not wanting in either, to vituperate, misrepresent, and
dishonour each other. The latter effect, however, most
abundantly recoiled ujxm themselves ; for though the
talents which this rancour directed were perhaps the
greatest of their time, thus exercised they only excited
the world's laughter, and its contempt fur both.
One of them is now gone to his account ; it is to
be wished that the other had not forgotten it, when he
ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D.
exhibited his boldness by kicking a dead lion : but
that other still lives, and therefore, instead of repeating
the history of their mutual abuse, the author refers for
such information to Byron's Works and Southey's ; and
whatever may be the endurance of his own, the laureate
is assured of immortality in those of his rival.
One observation, however, he desires to make, in
connexion with this subject and in justice to Byron.
No poem of his lordship's ever brought more obloquy
upon his character, and the tendency of his writings,
than the " Vision of Judgment," a satire written by
him in ridicule of that " Vision of Judgment," by the
laureate, which the Rev. Robert Hall said, was " a
poem grossly and unpardonably profane ;" but nothing
was ever more unjust than the charge — a thousand
times repeated — of Byron having sought, in his satire,
recklessly to bring into contempt things sacred. From
its universality, this charge must have been brought by
those who, not having read Mr. Southey's " Vision of
Judgment," little suspected that such a serious pro-
duction of " audacious impiety" had preceded Byron's
satire. The dishonour, therefore, which ought to have
fallen upon that political prostitution of mind, fell upon
the agent of its exposure. It is impossible, however,
for any unprejudiced human being, possessed of com-
mon sense, not to see that Lord Byron's was not an
impious attack upon things sacred, but a satire upon a
ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D.
poem which is unexampled in our literature for its
time-serving uuworthiness. The events of the life of
George the Third had Income matters of history — his
character an open subject for comment ; but it was the
mode adopted by the laureate in recording them that
sharpened the stinj; of Myron ; and hud it been a
thousand times sharper, its inHiction would have lieen
deserved by one who had dared so impiously to assume
the judgment-seat of (iod.
VOL. III. 0 C
laUj
\\i\\v ij
PADUA.
From a Droving fry C. StanfitU, A.R.A.
LORD BYRON thus slightly mentions his passage
through Padua, in a letter from Venice, shortly after
his arrival in this city — " I saw Verona ami Vicenza
on my way here — Padua too." And again, when it
was revisited by him on his journey to Ravenna, in
one of his letters to Mr. Hoppner, dated from Padua,
on that occasion, he says : " A journey in an Italian
June is a conscription ; and if I was not the most
constant of men, I should now be swimming from the
Lido, instead of smoking in the dust of Padua."
The glories of Padua have passed away with the
importance of its University ; but the men whose names
now belong to the world, who obtained for this city, by
their association with it, the appellation of the Learned,
" Padua la Dotta," have given to it an undying me-
mory. Dante, Petrarch, and Tasso, all studied here.
Here Galileo taught ; and some honoured names of our
own countrymen have added to its reputation ; for
Chaucer, Harvey (the discoverer of the circulation of the
blood), and, almost in our own days, Oliver Goldsmith,
PADUA.
were for a time students. But Padua has had its dis-
tinguished natives also. One of the earliest was Livy,
the Roman historian ; and among the last was Belzoni,
the celebrated Egyptian traveller, who has consigned
to his native city some of the results of his researches
on the banks of the Nile. There is a pride of place,
as well as of family, which every inhabitant tries to
sustain. Padua boasts of very high antiquity : its
citizens claim as its founder the Trojan prince An-
tenor ; and to confirm this they shew his tomb ! The
claim of Padua to the honour of Livy's birth is indis-
putable ; yet his countrymen seek to confirm it by
shewing the house in which he lived ! But, these de-
mands upon credulity are too easy to be refused by
those who make no difficulty in implicitly believing
the monstrous absurdities related as the miracles of
their patron — Saint Anthony.
There is in Padua a public building of extraordinary
magnitude— the town-hall, or il Salone. The great
room is three hundred feet long and one hundred
broad ; it contains also the public offices and the
prison. It is recorded that it was begun in 1172, and
completed in 1306. How one hundred and forty years
could be wasted on such a work, it is difficult to
imagine ; yet numerous examples occur in Italy of
centuries having been required for the erection of some
of their public structures. Though there is a gloomy
PADUA.
and melancholy air nlxmt Padua, there are many ob-
jects of interest to detain the traveller in their public
buildings and churches. Here the Italian fathers of
the revival of painting in Italy have left their finest pic-
tures, especially Ciniabue, (iiotto, and Mantegna; and
the extraordinary merit of some ofthe.se works will un-
deceive those who have had thrust upon their attention,
by picture-dealers, the hideous old gaunt virgins, with
friezes of little dangling angels, like imps — the work*
of the Greek painters of the eleventh and twelfth cen-
turies— as those of Ciniabue and (iiotto. With all ii>
dnlness, Padua boasts of one of the finest promenades,
attached to a city, in liuropc — the J'rtito di-llu I'ul/i.
It is a lan.rc open space with a canal, laid out ami
planted ; and around these are placed, on pedestals,
the statues of those men who have been most distin-
guished in the history of Padua. Many structures
exist which prove its participation in the struggles
l>etween the Guelphe anil the Ghibelines, when houses
were fortified and towers were raised for defence
against the indignant populace, who were roused to
revenge acts of atrocity, which would appear to us to
be improbable, if the crimes of such a wretch as
Kceelino dn Romano had not been recorded, and
descended to our times as matter of history.
VOL. III. 0 D
55
a
VERONA.
Fri>m a IJrauing hli C. Stanfirld, A. It. A.
THE scenery in and about Verona, and particularly
the prospects from the heights of the castle, which in
this view is seen towering above the city, are remark-
ably beautiful. Until lately the fortifications were so
strong as to have a deserved celebrity. During the
power of the Venetian Republic they were rebuilt and
greatly strengthened ; but they were razed by the
l-'rench after the struggle of the Veronesi with that
government in 17!)7. At present the Emj>eror of Austria
trusts more to the number of his troops than the secu-
rity of their quarters; for, crowded as the Veneto-
Lombard kingdom is with Hungarian soldiers — (it is
the policy of the government to guard Italy with Hun-
garians, and Hungary with Italians), — Verona seems to
have more than her share. The proximity, however,
of Verona to the great route by the Tyrol into (iermany
may occasion the appearance of an unusually large pro-
portion in this city.
Verona is a place of high antiquity. Its ancient
name was Urennio. Ini|X)rtant events, as early as the
VERONA.
time of the descent of the Gauls under Brennus, had
here their place of action. Its distinction as a Roman
city is proved in the remains of its amphitheatre, its
gates, and its walls ; and its history is mixed up with
that of Venice during the middle ages, when it sub-
mitted to the power of the Republic. The latest political
event in its history was the lowest step to which it
could sink. It became the seat of congress in 1822,
when the Alliance impiously called " Holy" sat within
its walls ; and the Veronesi thought themselves hon-
oured !
.lUt ,i3G.±liM't Street,
ANCONA.
/•Yi>m a Drairing fcu A. /Vpuf.
WHILST Lord Hyron was at Ravcuna, early in 1821,
In- was in daily expectation of the outbreak of the
Carlxniari ; :ind, expecting that the government would
niiike sonic effort to meet the anticipated insurrection,
lie contemplated a change of residence ; and says in his
journal : " I think of retiring towards Ancona, nearer
the northern frontier; that is to say, if Teresa and her
father are obliged to retire, which is most likely, as
all the family are Liberals."
The northern frontier alluded to was that of Naples,
with the Carbonari of which kingdom those of the
states of the church were in correspondence.
Ancona is the chief place of the province of Marche,
often mentioned as the Marches of Ancona. It is the
chief port in the Adriatic appertaining to the papal
government, and is the place of residence of the British
consul. It was made a free port by Clement XII., and
greatly improved by I'ius VI., who granted additional
immunities to the city. Considering it as the key to
the papal states, the French have recently taken pos-
VOL. III. B £
ANCONA.
session of this city, to balance the influence of Austria
in Italy.
Its appearance from the sea is very fine and im-
posing ; but within the city, its narrow and dirty streets
place it on a par with other Italian towns, especially
on the coast. There are two moles, which form and
defend the harbour, the old and the new : the former
extends far into the sea, and at its entrance is the mag-
nificent triumphal arch raised in honour of Trajan, by
his wife Plautine and his sister Marciana : it is in good
condition, better preserved, perhaps, than any such
structure remaining to us from the Romans : it was
erected in the 112th year of our era; but the statues
and the trophies in bronze, and other ornaments which
embellished it, have long been removed.
JBAWKJS'S TCCDWJPJ,
ubllstod 1B33 T>T J Murray,* Sola ty C.Tttt.BG, Plfrt Strc«.
RAVENNA.
DANTIVS TOMB.
Frttm a Drauiiig htj front.
'• I'n^rateful Florence ! Dante sleeps af'u,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ;
Tliy faction1*. in their worse than civil war,
Proscribed the bard whose name t'ir e\ermore
Their rhildren's children would in vain adore
With tlie remorse of a^e<."
i/i lliirnld, c. iv. >t.
•• I pass each day where Dante's hones are laid :
A little cupola, more neat than solemn,
Protects his dust ; but reverence hen- is paid
To the bard's tomb, and not the warrior's column :
The time must come, when both alike decayed,
The chieftain's trophy and the poet's volume, —
Will sink where lie the songs and wars of earth,
Before Pelides' death or Homer's birth."
Don Juan, c. iv. st. 1O4.
In the course of a visit to the city of Ravenna, in the
summer of 1819, it was suggested to the author, that,
having composed something on the subject of Tasso's
confinement, he should do the same on Dante's exile-
RAVENNA.
the tomb of the poet forming one of the principal
objects of interest in that city, both to the native and
to the stranger. ' On this hint I spake.' "
Preface to Byron's Prophecy of Dante.
SOME of the following information is furnished from
the notes to the " Prophecy."
" Dante Alighieri was born in Florence, in May
1265, of an ancient and honourable family. In the
early part of his life he gained some credit in a military
character, and distinguished himself by his bravery
in an action where the Florentines obtained a signal
victory over the citizens of Arezzo. He became still
more eminent by the acquisition of court honours ;
and at the age of thirty-five he rose to be one of the
chief magistrates of Florence, when that dignity was
conferred by the suffrages of the people. From this
exaltation the poet himself dated his principal mis-
fortunes. Italy was at that time distracted by the
contending factions of the Ghibelines and Guelphs,—
among the latter Dante took an active part. In one
of the proscriptions he was banished, his possessions
confiscated, and he died in exile in 1321. Boccaccio
thus describes his person and manners : — ' He was of
the middle stature, of a mild disposition, and, from the
time he arrived at manhood, grave in his manner and
deportment. His clothes were plain, and his dress
RAVENNA.
always conformable to his years. His face was long;
his nose aquiline; his eyes rather lur^p than otherwise.
His complexion wn.« dark, melancholy, and ]>ensive.
In his meals he was extremely moderate ; in his man-
ners most courteous and civil; and, lx>th in public and
private life, he was admirably decorous.
" Dante died at Ravenna, in lo'JI, in the palace
of his patron, (iuido Novello da Polenta, who testified
his sorrow and respect by the suniptuoiisiiess of his
ohseijiiic*, and by giving orders to erect a nioiiunient,
which he did not live to complete. His countrvmeii
shewed, too late, that they knew the value of what
they had lost. At the bcirinniii£ of the next century,
they entreated that the mortal remains of their illus-
trious citizen mij;ht be restored to them, and deposited
aiiMiiu' the tombs of their fathers. Hut the people of
Ravenna were unwilling to part with the sad and
honourable memorial of their own hospitality. -No
lietter success attended the subsequent' negotiations of
the Florentines for the same purpose, though renewed
under the auspices of Leo X., and conducted through
the powerful mediation of Michael Angelo.
" Never did any |x>em rise so suddenly into notice,
after the dentil of its author, as the Diviua Commedia.
About the year 13"><), (iiovnnni Visoonti, archbishop of
Milan, selected six of the most learned men in Italy,
— two divines, two philosophers, and two Florentines,
VOL. III. F F
RAVENNA.
— and gave them in charge to contribute their joint
endeavours towards the compilation of an ample com-
ment, a copy of which is preserved in the Laurentian
library. At Florence, a public lecture was founded for
the purpose of explaining a poem, which was at the
same time the boast and the disgrace of the city. The
decree for this institution was passed in 1373 ; and in
that year Boccaccio was appointed, with a salary of
a hundred florins, to deliver lectures in one of the
churches on the first of their poets. The example of
Florence was speedily followed by Bologna, Pisa,
Piacenza, and Venice. It is only within a few years,
that the merits of this great and original poet were
attended to, and made known in this country. And
this seems to be owing to a translation of the very
pathetic story of Count Ugolino ; to the judicious and
spirited summary given of this poem in the 31st section
of the History of English Poetry ; and to Mr. Hayley's
translations of the three cantos of the Inferno. ' Dante
believed,' says Ugo Foscolo, ' that, by his sufferings on
earth, he atoned for the errors of humanity —
' Ma la bonta divina ha si gran braccia,
Che prende cib che si rivolge a lei.'
' So wide arms
Hath goodness infinite, that it receives
All who turn to it.'
RAVENNA.
And he scorns to address Heaven in the attitude of a
worshipper, rather than a suppliant. IScing convinced
' that man is then truly happy when he frtely exercises
all his energies,' he walked through the world with an
assured step, ' keeping his vigils '-
' So that, nor night nor slumber with close stealth
Convey'd from him ;i single step in all
Tin- goings on of time."
Hi- collected the opinions, the follies the vici--itudes,
the mi-eries, and the pa--inn-. that agitate mankind :
and left behind him a monument, which, \\liile it
humMes us liv the representation of our own wretehed-
\if--, should make us glory that we partake of the fame
nature with such a man, and encourage us to make the
l)c«t use of our fleeting existence.' "
1 lie tomb, the subject of this illustration, was ori-
ginally an urn, ami placed in a niche on the outside of
the convent belonging to the l-'rati .Minor! at Ravenna:
upon this urn were inscribed the following lines, written
by Dante.
•• Jura monarchic, superos, Phlegetonta, lacusque
Lustrando cccini, voluerunt fata (|uous<|iic ;
Sed <[iiui pars cessit melioribua liospita castris,
Auctorcrn<iue siiiini pctiit ftrlicior astris,
Hie claudor Dantes patriis extorris ab oris,
Qucm gcnuit parvi Florentia muter amoris."
RAVENNA.
The laws of monarchy, the regions above, Phlegethon,
and the lakes, were the subjects of my survey and my pen,
as long as fate willed ; but since that part of me which was
a guest on earth (my soul) departed to better scenes, and
more happy, sought its Maker in the stars, I, Dante, whom
Florence (a mother of little love) bore, am enclosed here,
banished from the land of my fathers.
A later inscription shews that the monument was
repaired and decorated by Benardo Bembo, the father
of the cardinal, in 1483, in consequence of the injuries
which the memorial erected by the patron of Dante,
Guido da Polenta, had suffered by exposure. It was
again restored by Cardinal Corsi, in 1692; and finally
replaced by the present sepulchre, which was erected
in 1780, at the expense of the Cardinal Luigi Valent
Gonzaga.
Lord Byron, in the fourth canto of " Childe Harold,"
makes reflections upon the illustrious dead whose ashes
repose in the church of the Santa Croce of Florence,
" the Westminster Abbey of Italy :" —
" In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie
Ashes which make it holier."
Among these are the tombs of Machiavelli, Michael
Angelo, Galileo, and Alfieri ; but, asks Lord Byron,
" Where repose the all Etruscan three,
Dante and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they,
RAVENNA.
The Card of Prose, creative spirit ! he
Of a Hundred Talcs of love ?
• • • • •
Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar,
Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ;
Thy factions, in their worse than civil war,
Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore
Their children's children would in vain adore
With the remorse of ages ;
• • • • •
And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust ;
Yet for this want more noted, as of yore
The Crrsar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust,
Did but of Rome's best Son remind lier more •.
Happier Ravenna! on thy hoary shore,
Fortress of falling empire ! hommr'd sleeps
The immortal exile ;
While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps."
" The appearance," says a correspondent <>f the
author, " of Dante's Tomb at Ravenna is remarkable :
it is situated at the end of a street, where it is seen
attached to a convent ; it has a dome, surmounted by a
pine cone. The frieze is composed of skeleton ox-heads,
with festoons of flowers. Over the door is a fan-light,
with the cardinal's hat, and, I suppose, his arms on n
shield. Two ovals in the door are latticed, to peep
through, after ascending some steps, which are rather
Hat. Such IB all that I can remember of the tomb of
Dante."
VOL. III. (, O
I
THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY.
From u Drautng by F.. T. Varrit.
DrniNf; Byron's " London life," as Moon1 culls it,
when his society was sought, to give lirilliimcy to the
most fashionable circles, there were few parties that he
visited with more pleasure, or where the attentions he
received were more gratefully remembered, than those
of the distinguished lady whose portrait is here intro-
duced. Allusions are often made in the " Life of Lord
Hyron" to her parties, and the persons •whom he met
in her society.
When his Lordship was about to leave his native;
land, hecausc scandal and misrepresentation had assailed
him, and made it ns fashionahle to shrink from his
society as it had In-fore been to seek it, Lady Jersey,
at one of whose assemblies lie made his last public
appearance in Kngland, received him with her wonted
courtesy ; and the kindness of his noble hostess upon
that occasion was never forgotten by him.
Afterwards, on his way to Rome, he mentions that
lie again met Lord and Lady Jersey, who were return-
ing to I'aris — " all well, children g-rown and healthy ;
she very pretty, but sunburnt." Uyron often praised
THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY.
the beauty of women abroad, by comparing them to
Lady Jersey.
When his late Majesty was Prince Regent, he
formed a collection of miniature portraits of the ladies
of his court the most celebrated for their beauty. The
Countess of Jersey's was necessarily among them. Some
pique, however, against the lady led to its being sent
away from Carlton House. The affair at the time made
much noise in the fashionable world ; and Lord Byron,
upon that occasion, wrote the following " Condolatory
Address to Sarah, Countess of Jersey:" —
" When the vain triumph of the imperial lord,
Whom servile Rome obeyed, and yet abhorred,
Gave to the vulgar gaze each glorious bust,
That left a likeness of the brave, or just ;
What most admired each scrutinising eye
Of all that decked that passing pageantry ?
What spread from face to face that wondering air ?
The thought of Brutus — for his was not there !
That absence proved his worth, — that absence fixed
His memory on the longing mind, unmixed ;
And more decreed his glory to endure,
Than all a gold Colossus could secure.
If thus, fair Jersey, our desiring gaze
Search for thy form, in vain and mute amaze,
Amidst those pictured charms, whose loveliness,
Bright though they be, thine own had rendered less ;
THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY.
If he, that vain old man, whom truth admits
Heir of his father's crown and of his wits,
If his corrupted eye, and withered heart,
Could with thy gentle image bear depart ;
That tasteless shame be his, and ours the grief,
To gaze on Beauty's band without its chief:
Yet comfort still one selfish thought imparts,
\Ve lose the portrait, but preserve our heart.-;.
What can his vaulted gallery now disclose '
A garden with all flowers — except the rose ; —
A fount that only wants its living stream ;
A night, with every star, save Dian's beam.
I»st to our eyes (lie present forms shall be.
That turn from tracing thun to dream of tliec ;
And more on that recalled resemblance pau*c.
Than all he shtill not force on our applause.
I-ong may thy yet meridian lustre shine,
With all that Virtue asks of Homage thine :
The symmetry of youth — the grace of mien —
The eye that gladdens — and the brow serene ;
The glossy darkness of that clustering hair,
Which shades, yet shews thut forehead more than fan !
Kach glance that wins us, and the life that throws
A spell which will not let our looks repose,
But turn to ga/.e again, and find anew
Some charm that well rewards another view.
These are not lessened, these are still as bright,
Albeit too dazzling for a dotard's sight ;
VOL. III. " "
THE COUNTESS OF JERSEY.
And those must wait till every charm is gone,
To please the paltry heart that pleases none ; -
That dull cold sensualist, whose sickly eye
In envious dimness passed thy portrait by ;
Who rack'd his little spirit to combine
Its hate of Freedom's loveliness, and thine."
\
JFA1T, ;r« S ®)F ICIKIKWK.
miS, by J Murray.* S.ild tj P. Till. 8f. f'livl Su
FALLS OF TERNI.
Friwn a Drawing bij J . I). Harding.
•' The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height
Vclino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ;
Tin- fall of waters ! rapid as the light
Tlie Hashing mass foams shaking the abyss;
The hell of waters ! where thev howl and hiss.
And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat
Of their great agony, wrung out from this
Their Phlegcthon, curls round the rocks of jet
That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set.
And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again
Returns in an unceasing shower, which round,
With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain,
Is an eternal April to the ground,
Making it all one emerald : — how profound
The gulf! and how the giant element
From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound,
Crushing the clifl's, which, downward worn and rent
With his tierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent
To the broad column which rolls on, and shews
More like the fountain of an infant sea
Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes
Of a new world, than only thus to be
FALLS OF TEKNI.
Parent of rivers, which flow gushingly,
With many windings, through the vale : — Look back !
Lo ! where it comes like an eternity,
As if to sweep down all things in its track,
Charming the eye with dread, — a matchless cataract,
Horribly beautiful ! but on the verge,
From side to side, beneath the glittering morn,
An Iris sits, amidst the infernal surge,
Like Hope upon a death-bed, and, unworn
Its steady dyes, while all around is torn
By the distracted waters, bears serene
Its brilliant hues with all their beams unshorn :
Resembling, 'mid the torture of the scene,
Love watching Madness with unalterable mien."
Cldlde Harold, canto iv. st. 69-72.
" I saw," says Lord Byron, " the ' Cascata del
Marmore' of Terni twice, at different periods; once
from the summit of the precipice, and again from the
valley helow. The lower view is far to be preferred, if
the traveller has time for one only ; but in any point of
view, either from above or below, it is worth all the
cascades and torrents of Switzerland put together : the
Staubach, Reichenbach, Pisse Vache, fall of Arpenaz,
&c., are rills in comparative appearance. Of the fall of
Schaffhausen I cannot speak, not yet having seen it."
Schaffhausen must be content to sink with the
others into the list of inferiors. The Falls of Terni
FALLS OF TERM.
have no rival in Europe. The height is not so con-
siderable as cither that of the Stauhach or the Arpenaz,
nor the quantity so great as that of the Rhone at Schaff-
hausen ; hut it has ten times the height of the latter,
and a hundred times the quantity of the former, and
its picturesque localities make every other cataract
suffer hy a comparison with it.
" The stunning sound," says Williams, " the mi-t,
uncertainty, and tremendous depth, hewildered the
senses for a time, and the eye had little r«--t from the
impetuous and hurrying waters, to search into the
mysterious and whitened gulf, which presented, through
a cloud of spray, the apparitions, as it were, of n>ck-
and overhanging wood. The wind, however, would
sometimes remove for an instant this misty veil, and
display such a scene of havoc as appalled the soul."
A visit to the Falls of Trrni i> one of the highest
enjoyments which a traveller to Koine from IVrugia
can possibly receive on his journey. Mules, or a light
carriage, are usually taken from Terni ; and a journey
of less than two hours firings the traveller to the top of
the cascade, which it is desirahle to visit first, and to
send the mules down to await the party in the valley of
the Nar lielow. The road to the head of the fall is
singularly beautiful — the valley richly wooded — the
villages — the town in the distance — the precipitous
side of the mountain, hy which the path winds round
VOL. III. 1 I
FALLS OF TERNI.
to attain its summit — and the stupendous effect of the
first appearance of the fall — all is excitement and
astonishment. A safe but difficult path leads down to
a look-out house huilt on the verge of the precipice
which overhangs the abyss, about a hundred feet below
the crest of the torrent. Of the scene from this spot
language can convey no idea : the roar of the mass of
waters which fall close to the corridor of the building,
and the concealment, by the mists, of the depth of the
abyss, above four hundred feet below, makes it to the
eye immeasurable. The effect is never to be forgotten
by those who have looked out in safety upon this " hell
of waters" — than which nothing can be more sublime.
Yet beauty rests upon it ; for when the sun shines from
a favourable point, the most lovely iris is spread across
the cataract, and changes in intensity with the acci-
dental variations of the mists as the wind affects them.
From this point of view a path leads down over
the tufose masses of which the whole mountain seems
to be composed, and the course of their formation is
every where seen. After examining the scenery from
the bottom of the fall, which is the finest view, for the
entire descent of eight hundred feet is commanded
from below, the traveller returns through the valley
along the course of the Nar ; and he will return with
the conviction that he has visited the most picturesque
scenery in Italy.
FALLS OF TERM.
It is difficult for a visitor to the Falls of Terni to
believe that they have been formed by man — or rather,
that the waters have been directed into their present
channel by his labours ; and much of its present com-
pleteness has been effected almost in our day. Ori-
ginally, the channel of the Velino was cut, under the
consulate of Curius Dentatus, about the year of Rome
H71, to discharge the waters of the lake of Luco, which
often overflowed its bunks and greatly injured the
neighbouring country in the vale of llieti ; but at that
time the channel was not large enough ; and though it
was often repaired and altered, the mischiefs which
arose from the inundations of the Velino frequently re-
curred. At length Pius VI. enlarged its channel to its
present state, and not only rendered great service to
the people of the valley of Rieti, but completed one
of the most magnificent objects in the world.
1'ONTE ROTTO,
KOMI:
I'rmit ^ Orau'iiiif /iy J. I), ll.intirt£.
'I ins scene uj)oii the Tiher is one of antiquarian
interest. Tin; ruins art- of the ancient Palatine hridiri- ;
hut there sire vestiges of the piers of another, the l'on«
Suhlicius, a little lower down the river; and antiqua-
ries, though generally in favour of the latter, un-
divided as to which of the two occupied the site of that
"('which tin: defence has immortalised lioratius Codes.
An enthusiastic Frenchman chose, however, to identify
this with H. (/<x;Ies hv the following ini]irovis<>, whicli
he uttered on the Ponte Uotto, and chanted with <jreat
effect to one of the. republican airs: —
" Rome, leve lii tete ! la fut le Capitol —
Cc [K)Ilt flit If |X)llt (Id Cocll-S —
Cos aiilcls sont cliauds des ccndrcs dc Sci-volc —
I.ucri'cc rlort nous ces cyprcs —
I-i Hrtitus immola s;i race —
l«a fut eiij:louti Curtiils —
I'.i l.i. dans et-tte autre place,
Cesar fut poignarde par C'assiu*.
VOL. III. K K.
PONTE ROTTO.
Rome, la Liberte t'appele —
Sache vaincre — sache perir !
Un Remain doit vivre pour elle,
Pour elle un Remain doit mourir!"
The island, in the distance, which appears to con-
nect two parts of a bridge — the Ponte di Quattro Capi
— is called the Isola di S. Bartolomeo ; it was anciently
known both as the island of yEsculapius, and as the
Isola Tiberina. In the days of Roman splendour it was
covered with temples, and the ground built up, or cut
away, until the island was made to assume the form
of a gigantic Roman galley.
PANTHEON,
ROME
/•Vitn a Droning fcv C. Barry.
•' Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime —
Slirine of all saints and temple (if all g<»ls,
From .love to Jesus — spared and blest by time ;
Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods
Arch, empire, each thin*; round tlu-e, and man plods
His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome !
Shalt thou not last '. Time's scythe and tyrants' rods
Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home
( )f art and piety — Pantheon ! — pride of Home !
Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts !
Despoiled yet perfect, with thy circle spreads
A holiness appealing to all hearts —
To art a model ; and to him who treads
Home for the sake of ages, Glory sheds
Her light through thy sole aperture ; to those
Who worship, here are altars for their beads ;
And they who feel for genius may repose
Their eyes on honoured forms, whose busts around them
close."
Childe Harold, canto iv. st. 146-7.
PANTHEON.
" WHETHER," says Hobhouse, in his " Historical
Illustrations," " the Pantheon be the calidarium of a
bath or a temple, or a single or a double building, it is
evidently that structure of which the ancients themselves
spoke with rapture, as one of the wonders of Rome —
whose vault was like the heavens, and whose compass
was that of a whole legion.
" Notwithstanding the repairs of Domitian, Ha-
drian, Severus, and Caracalla, it is probable that the
latter artist copied the old model, and that the portico
may still be said to belong to the age of Augustus.
Knowing that we see what was one of the most superb
edifices of the ancient city, in the best period of its
architecture, we are surprised, when, looking down on
the Pantheon from one of the summits of Rome, with
the mean appearance of its flat leaden dome, compared
with the many towering structures of the modern
town ; but the sight of the portico from the opposite
extremity of the market-place, in front of the Rotonda,
vindicates the majesty of the ancient capitol."
" The first view of this building," says Dr. Burton,
" will disappoint most persons. The round part may
be pronounced decidedly ugly ; and a Corinthian por-
tico is certainly not so striking, when centuries have
passed over it and disfigured it, as one of the Doric
order. The two turrets, or belfries, a modern addition
by Bernini, must offend every eye. The situation of
PANTHEON.
the building is also very bad, in a dirty part of the city,
und closely surrounded with houses. The arches which
appear in the second and third stories, are the con-
tinuation of the vaulting of the roofs which cover the
chapels and the cavities cut out of the thickness of
the wall. The portico, however, is a majestic struc-
ture. The most inexperienced eye would observe a
want of agreement between this and the body of the
building. The cornice of the one does not agree with
the cornice of the other ; and a singular effect is pro-
duced by there being a pediment on the temple, which
rises above that of the portico, so that, in fact, there
are two pediments. This has caused some controversy
among the antiquaries ; but it is now generally sup-
posed, that Agrippa built the whole, though perhaps at
different times, and the portico may have been an after-
thought
"The portico is 110 feet long, by 44 deep, snp-
|K>rted by sixteen columns of the Corinthian order.
Kach is of one piece of oriental granite, A'2 feet high,
without the bases and capitals, which are of white
marble; they are about 15 feet in circumference. . . .
There is supposed to have been a bas-relief in the pe-
diment ; and, from the appearance of nails to fasten it,
it was probably of bronze. Some fragments of a horse
and car, discovered near the portico, confirm this idea.
The ascent to the portico was formerly by seven steps,
VOL. III. L L
PANTHEON.
but is now only by two. L. Fauno, who wrote in 1548,
says, that in his time, the entrance was by a descent
of many steps, which was owing to the accumulation of
soil from the ruin of neighbouring buildings. It was
Alexander VII. who cleared this away, and made the
entrance as it is at present."
" Of the sixteen pillars which support the portico,
eight are ranged in front, and the other eight in two
rows behind. Thirteen of them occupy their original
position, and three are restorations. ' If the columns
are not all mathematically equal,' says Mr. Forsyth,
' yet, inequalities which nothing but measurement can
detect, are not faults to the eye, which is sole judge.
But the portal is more than faultless : it is positively
the most sublime result that was ever produced by so
little architecture.'
" The marble coating, which once covered what is
now naked brick-work, is gone — nobody knows where ;
and the bare walls and naked roof add to the grandeur
of the edifice something of the melancholy of a ruin.
The ceiling of the portico was of gilt bronze. How
this was disposed, is a question which has been much
agitated : the probable opinion is, that it formed a
panelled vault over each division. Urban VIII. took
away this bronze (then, as it appears, in a very de-
cayed state), formed from it the four twisted columns
which support the canopy over the high altar of Saint
PANTHEON.
Peter's, and cast several cannon from the remainder.
The marhle doorway corresponds, both internally and
externally, to the architecture of the portico, and not
to that of the Pantheon itself: the opening is attout
19 feet wide, and 38 feet high. Within this are pilas-
ters of bronze, which form the actual doorway. On
this hang magnificent doors, also of bronze ; and over
them is a grating of the same metal. All these evi-
dently Ix-long to each other, and probably to tin- place
where they are fixed ; though it has been said, that the
original ones were carried away bv (ienseric, and that
thr-e were supplied from some other edifice."
" It is remarkable, that the original design of the
edifice, the etymology of the name — every thing relating
to its early architecture — should be involved in uncer-
tainty. It is generally supposed to have Ix-en erected
by Agrippa, B.C. 2f>, in honour of Augustus's victory
over Antony, and was dedicated, as Pliny assert.-, to
Jupiter L'ltor. But was this Rotonda the Pantheon
so dedicated ? In the construction of a temple, the
external effect was chiefly studied ; whereas that of
the Rotonda is, separate from the portico, unimpres-
sive ; and although the rough brick-work was probably
covered in some way, conjecture only can supply, and
that not without difficulty, an ornamental elevation.
On the other hand, ' detach the known additions, the
portal, the columns, the altars — strip the immense
PANTHEON.
cylinder and its niches of their present ornaments ; and
you will then,' remarks Forsyth, ' arrive at the exact
form of the caldaria now existing in Rome.' That this
' glorious combination of beauty and magnificence' was
raised simply as a bath — a temple of luxury, not of
superstition — has, however, been deemed a supposition
utterly inadmissible . Yet, the thermcB of the Romans vied
with their most magnificent temples; and the Baptisteries
of the Roman Church were probably ancient baths.
" Whatever was its original purpose, it would seem
certain that it has been a temple, and since then has
served alternately as a fortress and a church. The
Emperor Phocas made a present of this edifice to Pope
Boniface IV. (A.D. 607), who, having removed thither
twenty-eight cart-loads of the relics of martyrs, dedi-
cated it to the Virgin and All Martyrs. In 830, Gre-
gory IV. changed the style to ' All Saints;' and upon
this occasion, the festival of All Saints was introduced
into the Calendar. It still bears the name, however,
of Sta. Maria ad Martires, though more commonly
called simply La Rotonda. The fame of a miraculous
image, a ' dirty cobweb-covered block preferred into
divinity,' has lately crowded this church with devotees,
at the expense of its pavement. The busts of Raffael,
Annibal Caracci, Pieria del Vaga, Zuccari, Metastasio,
and other great men, artists and authors, have found a
place here, in somewhat incongruous assortment." —
Conder's Italy.
PANTHEON.
Tlic interior, since its consecration as a Christian
churcli, has been fitted up with altars ; the chief of
these is sacred to the Virgin — the others to different
saints. Besides the busts which have l>een placed
here, the altars have been occasionally used for the
public exposition of any large pictures of sacred sub-
jects. The author, after much negotiation, was per-
mitted to exhibit over one of them a picture which he
painted in the year IS'J'J at Koine, of " The Vision of
the ( 'harlots to the Prophet /.achariah :" it was the first
work, of the class, the production of a heretic allowed
t<> lie shewn there. The tees, however, were numerous;
and the cloth, which was festooned round the picture
to serve as a frame or border, was ri'ijuiml to be large
enough to conceal the altar entirely, bcctiusc the draper)'
was the jierquisite of the sacristan !
After Raphael's death his mortal remains were
exposed for three days previous to his interment ; with
his last, but then unfinished, work, the Transfigura-
tion, placed above him. Here, too, he was buried ;
but no memorial marked his grave, though the stone
was shewn beneath which it was thought he reposed.
His bust had been put upon a pedestal in a neighbouring
recess ; but it was so beautiful, that some turned to it,
preferring to otter their devotions there, rather than to
the ugly and tinselled Virgin and Saints in the niches.
The bust was, in consequence of this mistake, which
VOL. in. M M
PANTHEON.
was considered a scandal to the Catholic church ! re-
moved in 1820.
The following particulars of a recent communica-
tion by Signor Nibby, the Roman antiquary, to M.
Quatremere de Quincy, secretary to the Institute of
France, is one of great interest as connected with the
Pantheon : it is upon the discovery of Raphael's grave
in this temple ; and the exhumation, for a time, of the
remains of the " Prince of Painters," which are now
again restored to his honoured resting-place : —
" It is well known," says M. Nibby, " that the
Academy of St. Luke, as the academy of painting
at Rome is called, has been for a century in the
habit of shewing a skull, which they pretended to
be that of Raphael. The circumstance of the Aca-
demy's possessing it was explained by saying, that
when Carlo Maratti employed Nardini to produce a
bust of the artist for the Pantheon, he had contrived
to open the tomb of the great artist, and extract the
skull, to serve as a model for the sculptor's labours.
Considerable doubts, however, were cast on the authen-
ticity of the skull ; and an authentic document, dis-
covered about two years back, clearly proved the
cranium to have belonged not to Raphael, but to Don
Desiderio de Adintorlo, founder of the Society of the
Virtuosi of the Pantheon in 1542. This Society, in
consequence, claimed the head of its founder from the
PANTHEON.
Academy of St. Luke, which indignantly resisted the
claim, and upheld the skull in it* possession to have
heen veritably that of Raphael. The Society of Vir-
tuosi, after some delay and consideration, summoned
the chief members of the Painting Academy, to aid
in a search after the tomb and remains of Raphael
d'Urbino. Taking as their guide the descriptions given
by Vasari, in his " Lives of Ratiaelle and Lorcnzetto,"
the commission of research began their explorations by
excavating the earth under the statue of the Virgin in
the Pantheon. Nor was it long before they were
stopped by a piece of masonry, in the form of a grave.
.Sinking through this for about a foot and a half, they
found a void ; and supjwsing, with justice, this to be
the depository which they sought, it was o|>ened in all
solemnity, before the chief magistrates and prr-mi:
of Rome. When the surface was cleared, a coffin dis-
played itself, with a skeleton extended within, covered
over with a slight coat of dust and rubbish, formed in
part by the garments, and the lid of the coffin, that
had mouldered. It was evident that the tomb had
never been opened, and, consequently, that the skull
possessed and shewn by the Academy of St. Luke was
spurious.* But the dispute was forgotten in the in-
• To the horror of ihe phrenologist! ! who had found every indi-
cation of Itaphael's talenU in the skull, which was very peculiar in
form, now proved to be not ha, but that of a man who had no
PANTHEON.
terest and enthusiasm excited by the discovery of the
true and entire remains. The first care was, to gather
up the dust and the skeleton, in order to their being
replaced in a new mausoleum. Amid the mouldering
fragments of the coffin, which was of pine-wood, and
adorned with paintings, were found a stelletta of iron,
being a kind of spur, with which Raphael had been
decorated by Leo X., some buttons, and filulce . Pieces
of the argil of the Tiber shewed that the waters of the
river had penetrated into the tomb. The sepulchre
had, nevertheless, been carefully built up — the chief
cause of the good state of preservation in which the
skeleton was found. On the 15th of September the
surgeons proceeded to examine the skeleton, which was
declared to be of the masculine sex, and of small dimen-
sions, measuring seven palms, five inches, and three
minutes (five feet, two inches, three lines French mea-
sure).* In the skull, which has been moulded, may be
traced the lineaments of Raphael's head, as painted
in his School of Athens. The neck was found to be
long, the arm and breast delicate, the hollow of the
right arm marked by the apophyse, a projection of
a bone, caused by incessant working with the pencil.
talents to distinguish him as a painter. We shall soon see their
ingenuity exercised in discovering evidence of the same talents in
the skull of Raphael, malgre any difference of form; and this they
call " the science ! of phrenology ! ! "
* About five feet seven inches English.
PANTHEON.
The liml>s were stout in appearance ; and, strange to
say, the larynx was intact and still flexible. The
Marquis Biontli, president of the Archa-ological Society,
enumerated the proofs mid circumstances, shewing
this to lie the toinlt ami Ixxly of Raphael, in the pre-
sence of all the learned and celebrated in Koine. Ho
asked, was there a doiiht in any one's mind as to their
identity ! Not one was found to question it. In ilic
disposing of the remains, the will of Raphael was con-
sulted, and his wishes aijain followed. They are to
l>e replaced in a leaden eoth'n, and more solidly en-
tonihed in the same spot where they were found.
ITOIII the 'Jllth to the '-Mill, the remains were exposed
to tin- [Ionian public, whose enthusiasm and ti ar- may
he imagined hy those who know them. Tlir iKth of
( >etol>er, 18:5:}," adds .\ihhy, " is tixed for the dav nt
the ureiit artist's second funeral, on which occasion tin
Pantheon will l>e hrilliantlv illuminated."
VOL. III. N N
S. T. COLERID(.K, Esy.
/•Yum a Drauing bij Kite//.
" Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here,
To turgid ode ami tumid stanza dear ?
Though themes of innocence amuse him host.
Yet still, obscurity! a welcome guest.
If Inspiration should her aid refuse
To him who takes a Pixy* for a muse,
Yet none in lofty numliers can surpass
The hard who soars to elegise an ass.
So well the subject suits his lofty mind,
He brays the laurcat of the long-ear'd kind."
English Bards and Scotch Kcvicwers.
" Unjust" \r&8 written l>y Lord Byron, in 1816, again«t
this passage in his own copy; and in a letter to Mr.
Coleridge, dated in 1810, he writes: — " You men-
tion my ' Satire,' lampoon, or whatever you or others
please to call it. I can only say, that it was written
when I was young and very angry, and has been a
thorn in my side ever since ; more particularly as all
the persons animadverted upon became subsequently
* A note of I/>nl Hyron's has — " I'txies, i. e. Devonshire
fairies;" but in that county they are called " 1'iskeys."
S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ.
my acquaintances, and some of them my friends ; which
is ' heaping fire upon an enemy's head,' and forgiving
me too readily to permit me to forgive myself. The
part applied to you is pert, and petulant, and shallow
enough ; but, although I have long done every thing
in my power to suppress the circulation of the whole
thing, I shall always regret the wantonness or gene-
rality of many of its attempted attacks."
Many proofs of a kind feeling towards Mr. Cole-
ridge is shewn in Byron's " Life and Works." In a
letter to Mr. Harness, dated December 17, 1811, he
says: — "To-morrow I dine with Rogers, and am to
hear Coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present."
This, probably, was their first meeting. During the
time that Lord Byron was on the Committee at Drury
Lane, he exerted the influence he had there to bring-
forward Coleridge's tragedy ; and again, in writing to
Moore, he entreats his interest in Coleridge's favour
by the following request: — " By the way, if poor
C***e, — who is a man of wonderful talent, and in
distress, and about to publish two volumes of Poesy
and Biography, and who has been worse used by the
critics than ever we were, — will you, if he comes out,
promise me to review him favourably in the E. R.?
Praise him, I think, you must; but you will also
praise him well — of all things the most difficult : it
will be the making of him."
S. T. COLERIDGE, ESQ.
" This must In1 u secret l>etween you and me, as
Jeffrey mi^ht not like such a project ; — nor, indeed,
might C. himself like it. Hut 1 do think he only
wants a pioneer, and a sparkle or two, to explode
most gloriously."
\\ hatever may have been the eH'ect of the re<|iiest,
the " Edinburgh Review" was not very tender upon
Coleridge's poem of " Christanel,"-— a work whicli
Byron not only praised, hut, struck with the rumbling
wildness of its versification, imiiated. lie said of it :
— " Christabel — 1 won't have anv one sneer at Chris-
tahel ; it is a fine, wild poem." And in acknow-
ledging the accidental resemblance to a passage in
" Christaliel," lie calls it, " that wild and singularly
original and l>eautiful poem."
It was not, however, hy speaking well of Coleridge's
works only, or getting others to praise them, thut Lord
Byron most essentially served him ; for, in the midst
of his own embarrassments, he found means to prove,
by what the world receives as the best evidence, tlmt
his friendship to Coleridge was not a mere profession.
VUL. in. u o
TEMPLK OF VESTA,
TIVOI.I.
O..IUM l.y J. I). llarit,,ig.
1 MI- view M taken from the mn— of tut'" ii|x>n
which tlii' Temple is erected. Tin1 grotto of Neptune,
the profound caverns below the I'oute l,ujx>, unil tin-
deep bed of the Anio, where it e«'upe» froirt tlii'sm
caverns, lie between the mountains here st-en and the
rocks upon which this Temple and that of the .Sibyl,
concealed by it, are built. I'ew spots are more striking
than the platform of the Temple of Vesta : the scene
around and beneath the spectator is at once sublime
and beautiful.
FRASCATI.
From a Drawing 6y J . I), llariting.
" I have l>ccn riding my saddle-horses every day ; and tx-i-n
to Albano, its lakes, and to the top of the Aldan Mount ;
and to Frascati, Aricia, &c. with an &c. &c. Arc. about
the city, and in the city: for all which — vide ' fiiiide-
Book."1
Lord Byron » Letter to Mr. Murray, No. 27tf.
THE " CIuide-Book" says, tliat Frawati is a little
town four leagues from Home, and that it was anciently
celebrated under the name of Tusculum ; built half-
way up a rather high mountain, for which reason Horace
has given it the name of Supernum. Tusculum existed
even before Rome. Here Tarquin retired after hi:>
expulsion from Rome. This ancient town refused a
passage to Hannibal ; and when the Romans took
possession of it, they built a great number of villas.
Subsequently it was possessed by the Goths ; after whom
came the Popes, who made it the place of their retire-
ment. This raised the jealousy of the Romans, who
attacked it in 1191, and rased it so entirely, that the
inhabitants were obliged to shelter themselves in one
VOL. III. P P
FRASCATI.
of its fauxbourgs — the present Frascati — where they
lived, sheltered by huts made with the boughs of trees,
whence Tusculum acquired the name of Frascati, from
frasche, or boughs ; in which they may also be said to
live still, — for beautiful woods of arbutus, ilex, cypress,
and stone-pine, shade the stately residences of Frascati.
The town has 9000 inhabitants ; and the most beautiful
villas and seats surround it : these are built on the slope
of the mountain, and enriched by gardens of vines and
olives. From Frascati the whole campagna of Rome
lies before the spectator, with the " Niobe of nations"
in the distance, and, bounding the horizon, the Medi-
terranean, upon which the sparkling white of the sails
of vessels can be seen. — So much for the "Guide-
Book."
Simond is not quite so favourable ; he says that
" Frascati is a cluster of modern villas, not more than
two hundred years old, — which is modern for Italy,
where nothing, or very little, has been built since that
period. These villas might be taken for caricatures of
the old-fashioned gardens of the rest of Europe, and
exaggerated on purpose to expose their bad taste ;
while, on the contrary, they are the models from which
the Browns and the Reptons of the seventeenth century
drew their plans. The first we saw, and the only one
of which. I shall say any thing, was the Villa Aldobran-
dini, in a beautiful situation of course, and shaded with
PRASCATI.
fine trees. Water in abundance ran down a flight of
steps ; and this artificial cascade, seen from the hall
r>f the palace, looked, I must say, coolness itself.
Hundreds of hidden pipes, let on" for strangers, squirted
up in every direction. I'an played awkwardly on hi*
reeds by water-machinery : and another demi-£od irave
a blast through his cracked trumpet. In an adjoining
grotto, Mount Parnassus, ten feet hi^h, resounded with
the music of Apollo's lyre out of tune, while leade.ii
Muses danced with winded IV^asuscs, all hy mt-an.- <>f
the same ingenious artifice. It is extraordinary that
the repuhlicans of 179S should have forgotten to lay
hands on all this aristocratic lead. In the liou-e were
-omc pictures, with trees like inverted brooms, which
were shewn to us as Domenicliino's : I hope, for his
credit and for my own, they were not realh hi-.
Higher up in the mountain is the country-house lately
inhabited hy Liiciau Buonaparte i l.a Iluttinella), and
new-made hy him in the inveterate old taste. It i-
supposed to be on the very site of Cicero's celebrati d
Tusculum Villa; and half a mile above it we come to
the ruins of ancient Tusculum."
It was at this villa of Lucian Buonaparte that the
famous brigand adventure, so well known, occurred ;
when n painter on a visit to Lucian was taken by the
banditti, in error, for the prince himself.
LICENZA.
t'rvm a IJrauing by J . 1). Harding.
" I WAS delighted with Rome, and was on horse-
back all round it many hours daily, l» -idc- in it iln-
rest of my time, bothering over its marvels. I excursed
and skirted the country round to Alba, Tivoli, Frascati,
Licenza, kc." Ix>rd Byron thus mentions Licenza as
one of the scenes in the neighbourhood of Rome visited
by him during his sojourn in the Eternal City.
It is a village in the Sabine mountains, alxmt
thirty-four miles from Rome. The chief object which
travellers have in visiting Licenza, is to examine the
site of Horace's villa, and the country which he has
described as surrounding it. From many passages in
his works, and particularly in his seventli Ode, it was
supposed that he had but one villa, and that at Tivoli.
What favoured this view was, that the river Anio
formed the frontier of the Sabine country; so that his
Sabiue farm might as well have been at Tivoli as
nine miles further up the river ; it would still have
been his Sabine farm. But the question is now •• t
at rest: De Sancti has proved that Horace's Sabine
VOL. III. Q q
LICENZA.
farm was near the modern Licenza, close to a stream
called the Digetia, eleven miles from Tivoli, and two
from Vico Varo, which Horace alludes to in the four-
teenth Epistle, under the name of Varium. In con-
sequence of De Sanctis' researches, excavations were
made at Licenza, and the mosaic pavement of a villa
discovered. Several springs in the immediate neigh-
bourhood now divide the name and honours of the
fountain of Blandusia.
Monte Libretti, in the view, was the ancient Mount
Lucretilis ; and the Temple of Vacuna was on the
present Rocca Giovane.
Of THE MUSKJ
M. G. LEWIS, ESQ.
fVirm a Draining i»v lljrlwf.
•' Oh! wonder-working Lewis, monk or bard,
Who fain wouldst makf Parnassus a churchyard !
Lo ! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow —
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou !
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand,
By gibb'ring spectres hailed, thy kindred band ;
Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,
To please the females of our modest age —
All hail M.P. ! from whose infernal brain,
Thin, sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ;
At whose command " grim women" throng in crowds.
And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,
With small gray men, " wild yagers," and what not,
To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott.
Again all hail ! if tales like thine may please,
St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease."
English Bardt and Scotch Reviewers.
THE wild and imaginative stories in proee and
verse written by Mr. Lewis, and which sprung from a
mind tutored in the German school, were, in their day,
M. G. LEWIS, ESQ.
extremely popular ; and the notoriety of the author gave
him a place in " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers :"
but it is remarkable, that, with one striking exception,
nearly all the persons introduced into that celebrated
satire of Lord Byron afterwards became his friends,
and among them Matthew Gregory Lewis, Esq. — a
gentleman who was known, when very young, in the
literary world as the author of" Tales of Terror," the
" Castle Spectre," the " Bravo of Venice," and who
latterly obtained the dishonourable cognomination of
Monk Lewis, from a work he published under the
title of " The Monk," and which drew down upon
him the deserved and indignant reprehension of the
serious world.
The period in which Lewis flourished was fortunate
for the distinctions he received as a literary man; earlier
or later, his powers, which were of a mediocre order,
would have scarcely been noticed. The " Bravo of
Venice" is a tale of great interest, written with much
spirit; but it is little more than a translation from
Zschokke. Byron met Lewis in the best circles, to
which he had long had access. " Lewis," says the editor
of Byron's works, " was for several years the fashion-
able versifier of his time ; but his plagiarisms, perhaps
more audacious than had ever before been resorted to
by a man of real talents, were by degrees unveiled,
and writers of greater original genius, as well as of
M. G. LEWIS, ESQ.
purer taste and morals, successively emerging, Monk
Lewis, dying young, hud already outlived his reputa-
tion. In society he was to the last a favourite; and
Lord Byron, who had become well acquainted with
him during his experience of London life, in his
' Detached Thoughts' thus notices his death, which
occurred at sea in 1818 : —
" ' Lewis was a good man, a clever man, but a bore :
my only revenge or consolation used to be setting him
by the ears with some vivacious person who hated
l>ores especially — Madame de Stai/1 or Hobhouse, for
example. But I liked Lewis; he was a jewel of a man
had he been better set — 1 do not mean personally, but
less tiresome — for he was tedious and contradictory to
every thing and every body. Being short- sighted,
when we used to ride out together near the Brenta, in
the twilight of summer, he made me go before to pilot
him. I am absent at times, especially towards evening ;
and the consequence of this pilotage was some narrow
escapes to the monk on horseback. Once I led him
into a ditch, over which I had passed as usual, for-
getting to warn my convoy ; once I led him nearly
into the river, instead of on the movable bridge, which
incommodes passengers ; and twice did we both run
against the diligence, which, being heavy and slow,
did communicate less damage than it received in its
leaders, who were /crrafied by the charge ; thrice did
VOL. III. K R
M. G. LEWIS, ESQ.
I lose him in the grey of the gloaming, and was obliged
to bring-to to his distant signals of distance and distress.
All the time he went on talking without intermission,
for he was a man of many words. Poor fellow ! he
died a martyr to his new riches — of a second visit to
Jamaica.' >:
THE HAGUE.
From u Drawing fry 7". 5. Cooper.
" ' Orange Boven !' so the bees have expelled the bear that
broke open their hive. Well — if we are to have new
De Witts and De Ruytcrs, God speed the little republic !
I should like to sec the Hague and the village of Broek,
where they have such primitive habits. Yet 1 don't
know ; their canals would cut a poor figure by tlie me-
mory of the Bosphorus ; and the Zuyder Zee look awk-
wardly after' Ak-Dcnizi.'"
Byron t Journal, Nov. 22, 1813.
THE Hague is a well-lmilt, handsome, and — what is
common in Holland — clean town, containing between
thirty and forty thousand inhabitants ; hut, what is
unusual in Holland, having about it rather an air of
fashion than of business. This arises from its being tin-
usual place of residence of the court : it was so under
the old stallholder; but since the monarchy has suc-
ceeded a republic, its gaieties have increased, as the
presence of the royal family is always accompanied by
numerous employes, foreign and domestic. It is a
delightful place of residence to those who think canals,
windmills, and pollard willows, picturesque objects ;
THE H:\GC'E.
and that hills are more fatiguing than agreeable. There
are in it, however, libraries, museums, and collections
of pictures, though the finest of these have been re-
moved to Amsterdam ; and about it, some villas and
pleasure - houses, parks and gardens, beautiful — as
Dutch. Still the Hague is enjoyable for a short visit ;
and Holland, whatever may be the character of the
country, is always interesting to those who consider
that
" The proper study of mankind is man."
INTERLACHEN.
Urntrn by ('. Sunft'fU, .4.K..4., /rom a SWlrA &u II'. Pagi.
" Left Tlioun in a boat, which carried us the length of the
lake in three hours. The lake small, hut the bank!)
fine. Rocks down to the water's edge. Landed at
Newhaus ; passed Intorlachcn; entered upon a range
of scenes beyond all description or previous conccp-
tion' ' Byron t Journal, 18l«.
INTERLACHEN is n beautiful village, not far from
Unterseen, ntitl lying Iietween the two lake? of Than
and Brienz ; and if a fashionable term, perfectly under-
stood in London, were applied to it, it might In- called,
in relation to I'nterseen, and disregarding the geo-
graphical anomaly — the West End. It is u delightful
spot for u summer residence ; there are excellent inns
and hoarding-houses, of which many Knglish families
avail themselves to make this spot head-quarters ;
and whenever the beauty of the weather tempts them
to excursions in the valleys and mountains which sur-
round them, they start on such journeys under the
favourable circumstance of convenient proximity to the
objecU of their visits.
VOL. III. 8 8
INTERLACHEN.
Interlachen has, within a few years, so changed its
aspect, that it has become rather an English than
a Swiss village — even the Swiss cottage has lost here
its peculiar character : the wooden houses, curiously
carved with quotations from the Scriptures running the
whole length of the front, the sloped enormous roof
and small windows, have disappeared, and the houses
have now rather the appearance of those smart, English,
comfortable country-residences which bear the humble
name of cottage, than of the Swiss habitation. Here
are reading-rooms, the newspapers, billiards, and ex-
cellent tables-d'hote, provided, and the charges are
very moderate.
There is a beautiful look-out point of view about
twenty minutes' walk from Interlachen, called Hb'he-
buhl, which every traveller should visit : it commands
a prospect of the village, the two lakes, the valley of
the Lutchine, leading to Lauterbrunn and Grinden-
wald, and the glorious surmounting mass of the Jung-
frau. Lord Byron ascended this valley to Lauterbrunn,
and crossed by the Little Scheidegg, or Wengern Alp,
to Grindenwald : the notes which he made were rapid ;
but to the impressions derived from this journey may
be traced all the magnificent descriptions of the Alps
which he has given in " Manfred."
Near the entrance of the valley of the Lutchine are
the ruins of the castle of Unspunnen, now pointed out
INTERLACHEN.
to travellers, with a new claim to interest, as the cattle
of Manfred. This association with the poetry of Byron
has oltecured the realities of its history in the rveiitful
periods of the struggles of the SwUs for liberty in the
fourteenth century. The knoll on which tin- ruins of
the castle stand, and the surrounding vallev, are rielih
wooded. The; square structure of the principal build-
ing, now falling to rapid decay, is partly concealed
hv the trees and woods which surround it, from the
observation of the traveller who pa •>•»«?* through the
vallev helow.
GRINDENWALD.
From a Dratcing fcy 7". S. Confer.
. 23. — Before ascending the mountain, went to the
torrent (seven in the morning) again ; the sun upon it,
forming a rainbow of the lower part of all colours, but
principally purple and gold ; the bow moving as you
move ; I never saw any thing like this ; it is only in the
sunshine. Ascended the Wengen mountain ; at noon
reached a valley on the summit ; left the horses, took
off my coat, and went to the summit, seven thousand
feet (English feet) above the level of the tf<i, and about
five thousand above the valley we left in the morn-
ing. On one side, our view comprised the Jungfrau,
with all her glaciers ; then the Dent d'Argent, shining
like truth ; then the Little Giant (the Kleine Eighcr) ;
and the Great Giant (the Grosse Eigher) ; and last,
not least, the Wetterhorn. The height of Jungfrau is
13,000 feet above the sea, 11,000 above the valley;
she is the highest of this range. Heard the avalanches
falling every five minutes nearly. From whence we
stood on the Wengen Alp, we had all these in view on
one side ; on the other, the clouds rose from the oppo-
site valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the
foam of the ocean of hell, during a spring-tide — it wu
VOL. III. T T
GRINDENWALD.
white, and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appear-
ance. The side we ascended was (of course) not of so
precipitous a nature; but on arriving at the summit,
we looked down upon the other side upon a boiling sea
of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood
(these crags on one side quite perpendicular). Stayed
a quarter of an hour ; begun to descend ; quite clear
from cloud on that side of the mountain. In passing
the masses of snow, I made a snowball and pelted
Hobhouse with it.
" Got down to our horses again ; ate something ; remounted ;
heard the avalanches still ; came to a morass ; Hobhouse
dismounted, to get over well ; I tried to pass my horse
over ; the horse sunk up to the chin, and, of course, he
and I were in the mud together, bemired, but not hurt ;
laughed, and rode on. Arrived at the Grindenwald ;
dined; mounted again, and rode to the higher glacier —
like a frozen hurricane. Starlight, beautiful ; but a devil
a path! Never mind, got safe in. A little lightning ;
but the whole of the day as fine, in point of weather,
as the day on which Paradise was made. Passed whole
woods of withered pines, all withered ; trunks stripped
and barkless, branches lifeless ; done by a single winter :
their appearance reminded me of me and my family."
Extract from Byron's Journal, 1816.
THESE notes were made on the day when Byron
and his friend Mr. Hobhouse crossed the Wengern
Alps, in their excursion in the Oberland Bernois ; and
GRIXDENWALD.
there are few routes in the Alps in which, within a
day's visit and ohscrvation, so much of the magni-
ficeuce of Alpine nature can be seen. It is rare
that travellers cross this pass without hearing, and
generally seeing, the fall of avalanches ; these are occa-
sioned hy the disruption of the glaciers — millions of
tons — enormous masses which, hy Bubmel ting, lose their
support, and fall over into the ravines liulow. First, a
sound like distant thunder is heard, and then the eye
probably catches the cause — the broken ice forcing its
way down the slopes, and falling over immense! cliff's ;
with the appearance and sound of a stupendous cata-
ract ; it reaches its height of violence, and then sul>-
sidcs again, until other masses detach themselves, anil
reproduce these awful effects. So impalpably fine is
the ice broken by the quantity commingling from such
depths of fall, that clouds of ice-dust, as fine as steam,
rise, and for a time float al>ove the abyss — actually
clouds of ice — that differ not in appearance from the
vaporous clouds which are often seen at the same time
above and around the observer.
There are two distinct glaciers which descend into
the Grindenwald, from the ravines of the Finster-aar-
horn, and other lofty masses of the Bernese Alps; the
bases of these glaciers are of such easy access as to
make those of Grindenwald better known than any
other in the chain ; and the upper glacier, that which
GRINDENWALD.
appears on the left of the view, is particularly beau-
tiful. Little idea can be formed of its magnitude, unti 1
the visitor walks about amongst the masses of which it
is composed, or enters the caverns of ice, where frac-
tures or meltings allow of such examination ; there he
will receive such impressions of its character, its vast-
ness, and its colour, as he can never lose : this latter
quality is more beautiful than can be imagined, for
on looking into a cavern, or down an abyss, the tint
passes from the most delicate azure, upon the parts
nearest to the light, to the most intense ultra-marine in
the unilluminated depths of the crevices.
-td by E, Fin
tcndart. J*u)'luh0d. 1334, fy .f. Murray, A Sold, by C. Tftt, 86, FUft
LA BARONNE DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
f'lvm a /Vrfruil by (ifraril.
•• Rousseau — Voltaire — our Gibbon — and de Stacl —
I., in. in ! these names are worthy of thy shore —
Thy shore of names like these ! wert tlioii no more.
Their memory thy remembrance would recall ;
To them thy hanks were lovely, us to all.
Hut they have made them lovelier- — for the hire
Of mighty minds doth hallow in the core
Of human hearts the ruin of a wall
Where dwelt the wist- and wondrous ; but by thee ,
How much more. Lake of Beauty ! do wi; feel,
In sweetly gliding o'er thy crystal sea,
The wild glow of that not ungentle zeal,
Which of the heirs of immortality
Is proud, and makes the breath of glory real !
Sonnet to Luhi- I.rmiin.
IN the years 1813, 14, .Madame dc Stael was in
Kngland. Byron had heen for some time the lion of
fashionable society; it was now the turn of Coriime to
" Ix- exhibited." They were often brought together;
and the numerous notices left by him uj>on her apjtear-
ance, her conduct, and her opinions, present — with
much that is amusing — such a medley of remarks,
VOL. in. u u
LA BARONNK DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
as left it uncertain, until his tribute to her memory
appeared, in the note to the fourth canto of " Childe
Harold," whether he feared, envied, admired, or re-
spected her. The following are some of his desultory
notices of this lady : —
" The Stael last night attacked me most furiously
— said I had no right to make love — that I had iised
* * * * barbarously — that I had no feeling, and was
totally insensible to la belle passion, and had been all
my life." - - " Mad. de Stacl Holstein has lost
one of her young barons, who has been carbonaded by
a vile Teutonic adjutant- — kilt and killed in a coffee-
house at Scrawsenhausen. 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." " To-day
I dine with 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."
- " To-day received Lord Jersey's invitation to
Middleton — to travel sixty miles to meet Madame
— . I once travelled three thousand to get among
silent people ; and this same lady writes octavos, and
talks folios. I have read her books — like most of
LA BARONNE DE STAEI. HOLSTF.IN.
them, aiul delight in the last ; so I won't hear it as
well us read."
In explanation of that line in the " Hride of
Aliydos :" —
" The mind, the music breathing from her face,"
lie added a note, referring to .Madame de Sta< l'«
" I)f I'Allemagne," which she acknowledged, in what
Hyron calls a " very pretty hillet. She is pleased in
lie much pleased with my mention of her and her
hist work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. 1 lei-
works are my delight and so is «lie herself, for-
half an hour. 1 don't like her politics — at least her
liiirtinj changed them : had she lieen ijiinlia nli lit-
i-i ji/u, it were nothing : hut she is a woman hy
herself, and has done more than all the rest of them
together, intellectually : she ought to have IK.MMI a
man. She Jlntters me very prettily in her note ; —
hut I /tunic it. The reason that adulation is not di«-
plcasing is, that though untrue, it shews one to he of
consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce
people; to lie to make n« their friend; — that is their
concern." — —"Asked for Wednesday to dine and
meet the Stni'-l — asked particularly, I U-lieve, out of
mischief, to see the first interview after the n»tr, with
which Corinne professes herself to he so much taken.
I don't much like it; she always talks of wyself or lirr-
LA BARONNE DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
self; and I am not (except in soliloquy as now), much
enamoured of either subject — especially one's works.
What the devil shall I say about ' De 1'Allemagne ? '
I like it prodigiously ; but unless I can twist my admira-
tion into some fantastical expression, she won't believe
me ; and I know, by experience, I shall be overwhelmed
with fine things about rhyme, &c. &c."
This invitation gave her occasion to express her
gratification again upon the prospect of meeting him,
which she did in another note. " She has written,
I daresay," says Byron, " twenty such this morning
to different people, all equally flattering to each. So
much the better for her and those who believe all
she wishes them, or they wish to believe. She has
been pleased with my slight eulogy in the note an-
nexed to ' The Bride.' This is to be accounted for
in several ways : firstly, all women like all or any
praise ; secondly, this was unexpected, because I
never courted her ; and, thirdly, as Scrub says,
those who have been all their lives praised by re-
gular critics like a little variety, and are glad when
any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing ;
and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature,
which is the best reason after all, and, perhaps, the
only one." They met at Lord Holland's. " The
Stael," says Byron, " was at the other end of the table,
and less loquacious than heretofore. We are now
I. A BARONNE HE STAEL HOLSTE1N.
very good friends ; though she asked Lady Melbourne
whether I had really any Iton/unnmir. She might as
well have asked that question before she told C. L.
' rest mi demon.' True enough, l>ut rather premature ;
for she could not have found it out, and so — she wants
me to dine there next Sunday."- — " .More notes
from Madame de Starl unanswered — and so they -hall
remain. I admire her abilities, hut really her society
is overwhelming — an avalanche that buries one in
glittering nonsense — all snow ami sophistry. "-
To Murray he says : " I do not love Madame de Sta< 1 ;
but, depend upon it, she (units all your natives hollow
as an authoress, in my opinion ; and I would not
say this if I could help it." In his .Memoranda, he
mentions having seen Curran presented at .Sir .1.
Mackintosh's to Madame de Stiu-1 : " It was the
grand continence (wtween the Khone and the Saone ;
and they were l>oth so d — <1 ugly, that I could not help
wondering how the. Ix-st intellects of l-'rance and Ireland
could have taken up respectively such residences." In
'another place, however, he is lesp ungullant in his de-
scription of the lady: " Her figure was not had; her
legs tolerable ; her arm? good. Altogether, I can con-
ceive her having l>ecn a desirable woman, allowing a
little imagination for her soul, and so forth. She
would have made a great man."
On Byron's departure from England, uud residence
VOL. in. x x
LA BAR.ONNE DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
in 1816 at Diodati, he paid frequent visits to Coppet,
the residence of Madame de Stat-1. " She has made
Coppet," he says, " as agreeable as society and talent
can make any place on earth." He paid a visit there
in the month of July, and was received by the distin-
guished hostess with a cordiality that was most sensibly
felt by him, conscious as he was of being under the ban
of unpopularity. With great frankness and kindness she
entered upon his domestic affairs, and persuaded him
to make another attempt at reconciliation with Lady
Byron. He yielded to her suggestions, but fruitlessly.
The amiable reception which she gave him at Coppet
evidently removed many of his prejudices against her.
He says : " She was very kind to me at Coppet — she
was a good woman at heart, and the cleverest at
bottom, but spoilt by a wish to be — she knew not
what. In her own house she was amiable ; in any
other person's, you wished her gone, and in her own
again."
Upon hearing of her death, whilst he was at
Venice, he commences a letter to Mr. Murray with —
" 1 have been very sorry to hear of the death of
Madame de Stacl, not only because she had been very
kind to me at Coppet, but because I can now never
requite her. In a general point of view, she will leave a
great gap in society and literature." —In a copy
of " Corinne," belonging to the Countess Guiccioli, he
LA BAKONNE DK STAEI. HOLSTEIN.
wrote : " I know Madame de Stai-1 well — tatter thau
she knew Italy ; but I little thought that, one dny, I
should think u'il/i her thoughts, in the country where
she lias laid the scene of her most attractive produc-
tions. She is sometime? right, and often wrong, about
Italy and Kngland ; but almost always tme in deli-
watiii" the heart, which is of but one nation, and of no
country — or rather of all."
" ('OKINXK is no more," savs Byron, beautifully
apostrophising her character, in a note to ' Childe
Harold ;' " and with her should expire the fear, the
flattery, and the envy, which threw too dazzling or
too dark a cloud round the march of genius, and
forbade the steady gaze of disinterested criticism.
We have her picture embellished or distorted, as
friendship or detraction has held the pencil : the
impartial portrait was hardly to lie expected from
a contemporary. The immediate voice of her survivors
will, it is probable, be far from atfording a just estimate
of her singular capacity. The gallantry, the love of
wonder, and the hope of associated fame, which blunted
the edge of censure, must cease to exist. The dead
have no sex; they can surprise by no new miracles;
they can confer no privilege: Corinne has ceased to
be a woman — she is only an author: and it may !«•
foreseen that many will repay themselves for former
complaisance, by a severity to which the extravagance
LA BARONNE DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
of previous praises may perhaps give the colour of
truth. The latest posterity — for to the latest posterity
they will assuredly descend — will have to pronounce
upon her various productions ; and the longer the vista
through which they are seen, the more accurately
minute will be the object, the more certain the justice,
of the decision. She will enter into that existence in
which the great writers of all ages and nations are, as
it were, associated in a world of their own, and, from
that superior sphere, shed their eternal influence for
the control and consolation of mankind. But the indi-
vidual will gradually disappear as the author is more
distinctly seen : some one, therefore, of all those whom
the charms of involuntary wit, and of easy hospitality,
attracted within the friendly circles of Coppet, should
rescue from oblivion those virtues which, although they
are said to love the shade, are, in fact, more frequently
chilled than excited by the domestic cares of private
life. Some one should be found to portray the un-
affected graces with which she adorned those dearer
relationships, the performance of whose duties is rather
discovered amongst the interior secrets, than seen in the
outward management, of family intercourse ; and which,
indeed, it requires the delicacy of genuine affection to
qualify for the eye of an indifferent spectator. Some
one should be found, not to celebrate, but to describe,
the amiable mistress of an open mansion, the centre of
LA BAROSNE DE STAEL HOLSTEIN.
a society, ever varied, and always pleased, the creator
uf which, divested of the ambition and the arts of public
rivalry, shone forth oidy to give fresh animation to
those around her. The mother tenderly affectionate
and tenderly l>eloved, the friend unl>oiimlfdly generous
l)iit still esteemed, th»- charitable patroness of nil dis-
tress, cannot l>e forgotten liy those whom she cherished,
and protected, and fed. Her h»s will !*• mourned the
most where she was known the In-st ; and, to the sor-
rows of very many friends, and more dependents, may
l>e ottered the disinterested regret of u stranger, who,
amidst the suhlimer scenes of the Lemuii lake, received
his chief satisfaction from contemplating the engaging
qualities of the incomparable Coriime."
TOL. III. Y Y
MISSOLONGHI.
Drain t>tj 1C. I'urter.
THIS place will never he heard of or seen but with
the most melancholy associations with the warrior
poet, . who, in the devotion of his fortune and his
energies to the emancipation of Greece, found hen- u
grave.
It was almost the first SJK>I in (iroece that he saw
on his way to Prevesa, in 18()f), with his friend Mr.
Hohhouse, who says, in his " Travels in Albania:"-
" Before sunset we had u view of the town of Messa-
longe, with a singular-looking double shore at the foot
of the mountains, rising one alwve the other as far us
the eye could reach, which is, indeed, the apj>earanee
of all the country to be seen to the north of the gulf of
Lepanto." With how little of the anticipation of the
fatalities yet to be associated with this spot did the
friends contemplate the scene before them !
On their return from the court of Ali Pacha, through
Etolia, they arrived at Mitwolonghi, and stayed two
nights. The situation of the town is described by Mr.
Hobhouse as " on the south-east side of a salt marsh,
MISSOLONGHJ.
or shallow, that extends two or three miles into the
land below Natolico, and six miles about, beyond Messa-
longe itself, into the gulf of Lepanto." The swampy
nature of the detestable country around this fatal spot,
so productive of malaria, was one of the causes of the
event which, fifteen years after, left Byron's heart cold
in that country for which it had beat with such noble
ardour.
After the breaking out of the Greek revolution,
which began in 1821 at Patrass, it was continued with
various success. In October 1822, Missolonghi was
invested with a force of 12,000 men by Omar Vrione ;
but the siege was raised, after a gallant defence by
Mavrocordato, and the besieging army dispersed. In
August 1823, another was formed of 10,000 Albanians,
under Isouf Pacha, which deserted its commander
before it could be effectually brought into action,
owing, it was supposed, to the intrigues of Vrione,
who, having failed himself, was jealous of Isouf. A
third army, however, was raised, under the command
of Mustafa, Pacha of Scutari, amounting to 15,000
men, which on the 2d of October invested Missolonghi
by land, whilst Isouf Pacha blockaded it by sea. Yet,
with only 3000 men for the defence of its miserable
walls, it was gallantly defended; and this army also
retired disgracefully the first week in December, leaving
the town blockaded by the Turkish fleet.
MISSOLONGIII.
On the 20th of December Lord Hyron reached
Missolonghi ; having been detained by adverse winds
for several day?, and nt last effected his landing there,
in spite of the blockade, his own vessel getting in safely,
while that on board of which his servants and baggage
had embarked was captured, though afterwards re-
leased. On his landing he was received with all kind-
ness and honour; and he immediately began to organise
u body of Suliotes, who had quitted Ccphalonia to
enter his service, of whom lit? had taken ulxnit "><MI
men into pay. The fatal disputes of these Suliotes with
the citizens, and the jealousies of tin; (ireek chiefs, who,
with the exception of Mavrocordato, displayed little
gratitude or respect towards Lord Myron, were sources of
annoyance to him. They were- men who, in their own
petty squabbles for power, forgot the interests of their
country and their country's friends; but, with tirmne<«
and temper and enthusiasm, Hyron slackened not in his
energies for the deliverance! of the country to which
he had devoted himself. These troubles, however, less-
ened his hopes of that success he so thirsted after, and,
harassing a mind like his, began to affect his health ; the
climate increased the evil ; and that these had created
some presentiment of his fate, those beautiful lines,
" Tis time this heart should be unmoved,"
the last that he wrote, and on his last birth-day,
January '2'Jd, bear melancholy testimony.
VOL. in. z z
MISSOLONGHI.
The details of his last clays, given in Moore's
" Life," have the most intense interest. He had been
attacked in February with an epileptic fit, from the
effects of which he had not recovered when an inflam-
mation followed, which, after an illness of twelve days,
removed from all earthly pain and anxiety the " Pilgrim
of Eternity."
After the death of Lord Byron, the struggles in
Greece still continued, and Missolonghi was bravely
defended above two years longer. At length Ibrahim
Pacha, with an army of Arab?, and the fleet and sol-
diers of the Capoudan Pacha, bombarded the place,
and so effectually blockaded it, that the wretched in-
habitants made a sortie, not to fight, but to escape,
and a horrible slaughter was the consequence. Mis-
solonghi was sacked by the Arabs, or rather all that
remained of it;, for when the consul for the Morea,
Mr. Green, visited it after it was taken, it was, with
the exception of about twenty of the houses, a heap of
ruins ; but that in which Lord Byron died had escaped
destruction.
THE END.
LONDON:
J. MOVES, CASTLE STREET, LEICESTER SQUARE.
PLEASE DO NO1
CARDS OR SUPS
UNIVERSITY OF TOR<
ME fcrockedon, WU
1720 Finden's 11
F55 life and works
v.3
cop. 2
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