THIRD EDITION.
V' i "
LOUD B,f R'O.N.'X\
.A.
OUNTESS OP lLESSI.NGTON .
WITH A SKETCH OK
THE LIFE OF THE AUOTOR.
BOSTON:
BF G. 17. COTTRELL,
NO. 36 CORNHILL.
i
CONVEESATIONS
LORD BYRON
MEMOIR
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.
MARGUERITE, Countess of Blessington, was born at
Knockbrit, near Clonmel, Tipperary County, Ireland, on
the 1st of September, 1789, and was the third daughter
of Mr. Edmund Power, who was of respectable family,
but broken fortune and reckless habits.
She was married in her fifteenth year to a Captain
Farmer, but the marriage was a very unhappy one, and
Mrs. Farmer after a time quitted his house. He was killed
by falling from a window in the King's Bench prison
while in a state of intoxication, and within four months
his widow was married to the Earl of Blessington, Feb-
ruary, 1818. After exhausting every means of enjoy-
ment in England and Ireland, the Earl and Countess
started in September, 1822, on a continental tour which,
partly owing to the Earl's property having become con-
siderably encumbered, was prolonged till his death.
At Paris they were joined by Count Alfred D'Orsay,
who in 1827 married a daughter of Lord Blessington by
his first wife. It was an unhappy marriage, and a sep-
6 MEMOIR OF THE
aration eventually took place; but Count D'Orsay con-
tinued after the death of Lord Blessington to reside with
Lady Blessington during the remainder of her life. Lord
Blessington died at Paris in May, 1829.
Lady Blessington on her return to London made her
house the centre of a brilliant circle of persons of social
and intellectual eminence. She quickly became one of
the celebrities of London ; and for nearly twenty years
the Salon, first of Seamore Place, and afterwards of Gore
House, disputed the palm with those of Holland House
as the resort of the learned, the witty, and the famous
of the day.
In the twelfth letter of "the Pencillings," dated 1834,
Mr. Willis gives an account of his first visit to Lady
Blessington in London, then residing in Seamore Place,
certainly more graphic than any other description of her
reunions that has been given :
" A friend in Italy had kindly given me a letter to
Lady Blessington, and with a strong curiosity to see this
celebrated authoress, I called on the second day after my
arrival in London. It was ' deep i' the afternoon,' but I
had not yet learned the full meaning of town hours.
1 Her ladyship had not come down to breakfast.' I gave
the letter and my address to the powdered footman, and
had scarce reached home, when a note arrived inviting
me to call the same evening at ten.
"In a long library, lined alternately with splendidly-
bound books and mirrors, and with a deep window, of
the breadth of the room, opening upon Hyde Park, I
found Lady Blessington alone. The picture, to my eye,
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 7
as the door opened, was a very lovely one a woman of
remarkable beauty, half buried in a fauteuil of yellow
satin, reading by a magnificent lamp suspended from the
centre of the arched ceiling; sofas, couches, ottomans,
and busts arranged in rather a crowded sumptuousness
through the room ; enamel tables, covered with expensive
and elegant trifles in every corner, and a delicate white
hand relieved on the back of a book, to which the eye
was attracted by the blaze of its diamond rings. As the
servant mentioned my name, she rose arid gave me her
hand very cordially; and a gentleman, entering imme-
diately after, she presented me to Count D'Orsay, the
well-known Pelham of London, and certainly the most
splendid specimen of a man, and a well-dressed one, that
I had ever seen. Tea was brought in immediately, and
conversation went swimmingly on.
" Her ladyship's inquiries were principally about
America, of which, from long absence, I knew very little.
She was extremely curious to know the degrees of rep-
utation the present popular authors of England enjoy
among us, particularly Bulwer and D'Israeli, (the author
of 'Vivian Grey.') 'If you will come to-morrow night/
she said, 'you will see Bulwer. I am delighted that he
is popular in America. He is envied and abused for
nothing, I believe, except for the superiority of his genius,
and the brilliant literary success it commands ; and know-
ing this, he chooses to assume a pride which is only the
armor of a sensitive mind afraid of a wound. He is to
his friends the most frank and noble creature in the world,
and open to boyishness with those who he thinks under-
8 MEMOIR OF THE
stand and value him. He has a brother Henry, who is
also very clever in a different vein, and is just now pub-
lishing a book on the present state of France.
" ' Do they like the D'Israelis in America ? '
" I assured her ladyship that the ' Curiosities of Lit-
erature,' by the father, and. * Vivian Grey ' and ' Con-
tarini Fleming/ by the son, were universally known.
" I am pleased at that, for I like them both. DTs-
raeli the elder came here with his son the other night.
It would have delighted you to see the old man's pride
in him, and the son's respect and affection for his father.
D'Israeli the elder lives in the country, about twenty
miles from town ; seldom comes up to London, and leads
a life of learned leisure, each day hoarding up and dis-
pensing forth treasures of literature. He is courtly, yet-
urbane, and impresses one at once with confidence in his
goodness. In his manners, D'Israeli the younger is quite
his own character of " Vivian Grey ; " full of genius and
eloquence, with extreme good nature, and a perfect frank-
ness of character.'
" I asked if the account I had seen in some American
paper of a literary celebration at Canandaigua, and the
engraving of her ladyship's name with some others upon
a rock, was not a quiz.
" ' Oh, by no means. I was much amused by the whole
affair. I have a great idea of taking a trip to America
to see it. Then the letter, commencing, " Most charming
Countess for charming you must be, since you have
written the ' Conversations of Lord Byron ' " oh, it was
quite delightful. I have shown it to every body. By-
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 9
the-way, I receive a great many letters from America
from people I never heard of, written in the most extra-
ordinary style of compliment, apparently in perfect good
faith. I hardly know what to make of them/
" I accounted for it by the perfect seclusion in which
great numbers of cultivated people live in our country,
who, having neither intrigue, nor fashion, nor twenty
other things to occupy their minds, as in England, de-
pend entirely upon books, and consider an author who
has given them pleasure as a friend. * America,' I said,
' has probably more literary enthusiasts than any country
in the world ; and there are thousands of romantic minds
in the interior of New England who know perfectly
every writer on this side of the water, and hold them all
in affectionate veneration, scarcely conceivable by a
sophisticated European. If it were not for such read-
ers, literature would be the most thankless of vocations ;
I, for one, would never write another line.'
" ' And do you think these are the people which write
to me ? If I could think so, I should be exceedingly
happy. A great proportion of the people of England
are refined down to such heartlessness ; criticism, private
and public, is so much influenced by politics, that it is
really delightful to know there is a more generous tri-
bunal. Indeed, I think many of our authors now are be-
ginning to write for America. We think already a great
deal of your praise or censure.'
" I asked if her ladyship had known many Ameri-
cans.
" ' Not in London, but a great many abroad. I w.i-
10 MEMOIR OF THE
with Lord Blessington in his yacht at Naples when the
American fleet was lying there ten or eleven years ago,
and we were constantly on board your ships. I knew
Commodore Creighton and Captain Deacon extremely
well, and liked them particularly. They were with us
frequently of an evening on board the yacht or the fri-
gate, and I remember very well the bands playing always
" God save the King " as we went up the side. Count
D'Orsay here, who spoke very little English at the time,
had a great passion for " Yankee Doodle," and it was
always played at his request.'
" The count, who still speaks the language with a very
slight accent, but with a choice of words that shows him
to be a man of uncommon tact and elegance of mind,
inquired after several of the officers, whom I have not
the pleasure of knowing. He seems to remember his
visits to the frigate with great pleasure. The conversa-
tion, after running upon a variety of topics, turned very
naturally upon Byron. I had frequently seen the
Countess Guiccioli on the Continent, and I asked Lady
Blessington if she knew her.
"'Yes, very well. We were at Genoa when they
were living there, but we never saw her. It was at
Rome, in the year 1828, that I first knew her, having
formed her acquaintance at Count Funchal's, the Portu-
guese ambassador.'
" It would be impossible, of course, to make a full and
fair record of a conversation of some hours. I have
only noted one or two topics which I thought most likely
to interest an American reader. During all this long
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. H
visit, however, my eyes were very busy in finishing for
memory a portrait of the celebrated and beautiful woman
before me.
" The portrait of Lady Blessington in the l Book of
Beauty ' is not unlike her, but it is still an unfavorable
likeness. A picture by Sir Thomas Lawrence hung
opposite me, taken, perhaps, at the age of eighteen,
which is more like her, and as captivating a representa-
tion of a just matured woman, full of loveliness and
love, the kind of creature with whose divine sweetness
the gazer's heart aches, as ever was drawn in the paint-
er's most inspired hour. The original is no longer dans
sa premiere jeunesse. Still she looks something on the
sunny side of thirty. Her person is full, but preserves
all the fineness of an admirable shape ; her foot is not
pressed in a satin slipper, for which a Cinderella might
long be sought in vain ; and her complexion (an unusu-
ally fair skin, with very dark hair and eyebrows) is of
even a girlish delicacy and freshness. Her dress, of
blue satin, (if I am describing her like a milliner, it is
because I have here and there a reader in my eye who
will be amused by it,) was cut low, and folded across her
bosom, in a way to show to advantage the round and
sculpture-like curve and whiteness of a pair of exquisite
shoulders ; while her hair, dressed close to her head, and
parted simply on her forehead with a rich feronier of
turquoise, enveloped in clear outline a head with which
it would be difficult to find a fault. Her features are
regular, and her mouth, the most expressive of them, has
a ripe fulness and freedom of play peculiar to the T rish
12 MEMOIR OF THE
physiognomy, and expressive of the most unsuspicious
good-humor. Add to all this a voice merry and sad by
turns, but always musical, and manners of the most
unpretending elegance, yet even more remarkable for
their winning kindness, and you have the prominent
traits of one of the most lovely and fascinating women I
have ever seen. Remembering her talents and her rank,
and the unenvying admiration she receives from the
world of fashion and genius, it would be difficult to recon-
cile her lot to the ' doctrine of compensation.' *
" In the evening I kept my appointment with Lady
Blessington. She had deserted her exquisite library for
the drawing-room, and sat, in full dress, with six or seven
gentlemen about her. I was presented immediately to
all ; and when the conversation was resumed, I took the
opportunity to remark the distinguished coterie with
which she was surrounded.
" Nearest me sat Smith, the author of ' Rejected Ad-
dresses ' a hale, handsome man, apparently fifty, with
white hair, and a very nobly-formed head and physiog-
nomy. His eye alone small, and with lids contracted
into an habitual look of drollery, betrayed the bent of
his genius. He held a cripple's crutch in his hand, and,
though otherwise rather particularly well-dressed, wore a
pair of large India-rubber shoes the penalty he was
paying, doubtless, for the many good dinners he had
eaten. He played rather an aside in the conversation,
whipping in with a quiz or witticism whenever he could
get an opportunity, but more a listener than a talker.
* Pencillings by the Way, pp. 355, 356.
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.
13
" On the opposite side of Lady Blessington stood
Henry Bulwer, the brother of the novelist, very earnestly
engaged in a discussion of some speech of O'ConnelPs.
He is said by many to be as talented as his brother, and
has lately published a book on the present state of
France. He is a small man ; very slight and gentleman-
like ; a little pitted with the smallpox, and of very win-
ning and persuasive manners. I liked him at the first
glance.
" A German prince, with a star on his breast, trying
with all his might but, from his embarrassed look, quite
unsuccessfully to comprehend the drift of the argu-
ment ; the Duke de Richelieu ; a famous traveller just
returned from Constantinople ; and the splendid person
of Count D'Orsay, in a careless attitude upon the otto-
man, completed the cordon.
"I fell into conversation after a while with Smith,
who, supposing I might not have heard the names of the
others in the hurry of an introduction, kindly took the
trouble to play the dictionary, and added a graphic char-
acter of each as he named him. Among other things,
he talked a great deal of America, and asked me if I
knew our distinguished countryman, "Washington Irving.
I had never been so fortunate as to meet him. * You
have lost a great deal,' he said, ' for never was so delight-
ful a fellow. I was once taken down with him into the
country by a merchant to dinner. Our friend stopped
his carriage at the gate of his park, and asked us if we
would walk through his grounds to the house. Irving
refused, and held me down by the coat, so that we drove
14 MEMOIR OF THE
on to the house together, leaving our host to follow on
foot. * I make it a principle,' said Irving, ( never to
walk with a man through his own grounds. I have no
idea of praising a thing whether I like it or not. You
and I will do them to-morrow morning by ourselves.'
The rest of the company had turned their attention to
Smith as he began his story, and there was a universal
inquiry after Mr. Irving. Indeed, the first question on
the lips of every one to whom I am introduced as an
American is of him and Cooper. The latter seems to
me to be admired as much here as abroad, in spite of
a common impression that he dislikes the nation. No
man's works could have higher praise in the general
conversation that followed, though several instances were
mentioned of his having shown an unconquerable aver-
sion to the English when in England. Lady Blessing-
ton mentioned Mr. Bryant, and I was pleased at the
immediate tribute paid to his delightful poetry by the
talented circle around her.
" Toward twelve o'clock Mr. Lytton Bulwer was an-
nounced, and enter the author of ' Pelham.' I had made
up my mind how he should look, and, between prints
and descriptions, thought I could scarcely be mistaken
in my idea of his person. No two things could be more
unlike, however, than the ideal of Mr. Bulwer in my
mind and the real Mr. Bulwer who followed the an-
nouncement. I liked his manners extremely. He ran
up to Lady Blessington with the joyous heartiness of a
boy let out of school; and the 'how d'ye, Bulwer?'
went round, as he shook hands with every body, in the
COWSESS OF BLESSINGTOff. 15
style of welcome usually given to ' the best fellow in the
world.' As I had brought a letter of introduction to him
from a friend in Italy, Lady Blessington introduced me
particularly, and we had a long conversation about
Naples and its pleasant society.
" Bulwer's head is phrenologically a fine one. His
forehead retreats very much, but is very broad and well
marked, and the whole air is that of decided mental
superiority. His nose is aquiline. His complexion is
fair, his hair profuse, curly, and of a light auburn. A
more good-natured, habitually-smiling expression could
hardly be imagined. Perhaps my impression is an
imperfect one, as he was in the highest spirits, and was
not serious the whole evening for a minute but it is
strictly and faithfully my impression.
" I can imagine no style of conversation calculated to
be more agreeable than Bulwer's. Gay, quick, various,
half-satirical, and always fresh and different from every
body else, he seemed to talk because he could not help
it, and infected every body with his spirits. I cannot
give even the substance of it in a letter, for it was in a
great measure local or personal.
" Bulwer's voice, like his brother's, is exceedingly
lover-like and sweet. His playful tones are quite deli-
cious, and his clear laugh is the soul of sincere and care-
less merriment.
" It is quite impossible to convey in a letter, scrawled
literally between the end of a late visit and a tempting
pillow, the evanescent and pure spirit of a conversation
of wits. I must confine myself, of course, in such
1G * MEMOIR -(ft 1 THR
sketches, to the mere sentiment of things that concern
general literature and ourselves.
" ' The Rejected Addresses ' got upon his crutches about
three o'clock in the morning, and I made my exit with
the rest, thanking Heaven that, though in a strange coun-
try, my mother tongue was the language of its men of
genius.
"Letter June 14, 1834. I was at Lady Blessington's
at eight. Moore had not arrived, but the other persons
of the party a Russian count, who spoke all the lan-
guages of Europe as well as his own ; a Roman banker,
whose dynasty is more powerful than the Pope's; a
clever English nobleman, and the 'observed of all ob-
servers,' Count D'Orsay, stood in the window upon the
park, killing, as they might, the melancholy twilight half
hour preceding dinner.
" Dinner was announced, the Russian handed down
1 miladi,' and I found myself seated opposite Moore, with
a blaze of light on his Bacchus head, and the mirrors
with which the superb octagonal room is panelled reflect-
ing every motion .... The soup vanished in the busy
silence that beseems it, and as the courses commenced
their procession, Lady Blessington led the conversation
with the brilliancy and ease for which she is remarkable
over all the women I ever met ....
" O'Connell was mentioned.
" ' He is a powerful creature/ said Moore ; l but his
eloquence has done great harm both to England and Ire-
land. There is nothing so powerful as oratory. The
faculty of " thinking on his legs " is a tremendous engine
in the hands of any man. There is an undue admiration
for this faculty, and a sway permitted to it which was al-
ways more dangerous to a country than any thing else.
Lord A is a wonderful instance of what a man may
do without talking. There is a general confidence in
him a universal belief in his honesty, which serves him
instead. Peel is a fine speaker, but, admirable as he had
been as an Oppositionist, he failed when he came to lead
the House. O'Connell would be irresistible, were it not
for the two blots on his character the contributions in
Ireland for his support, and his refusal to give satisfac-
tion to the man he is still willing to attack. They may
say what they will of duelling : it is the great preserver
of the decencies of society. The old school, which made
a man responsible for his words, was the better. I must
confess I think so. Then, in O'Connell's case, he had
not made his vow against duelling when Peel challenged
him. He accepted the challenge, and Peel went to
Dover on his way to France, where they were to meet ;
and O'Connell pleaded his wife's illness, and delayed till
the law interfered. Some other Irish patriot, about the
same time, refused a challenge on account of the illness
of his daughter, and one of the Dublin wits made a good
epigram on the two :
" Some men, with a horfor of slaughter,
Improve on the Scripture command,
And ' honor their ' wife and their daughter,
4 That their days may be long in the land.' ' r
1 The great period of Ireland's glory,' continued Moore,
2
' was between '82 and '98, anc^^^P^time when a man
almost lived with a pistol in his hand. Grattan's dying
advice to his son was, " Be always ready with the pis-
tol ! " He himself never hesitated a moment . . . .'
" Talking of Grattan, is it not wonderful, with all the
agitation in Ireland, we have had no such man since his
time ? You can scarcely reckon Shiel of the calibre of
her spirits of old, and O'Connell, with all his faults,
stands alone in his glory.
" The conversation I have given is a mere skeleton of
course ....
" This discussion may be supposed to have occupied
the hour after Lady Blessington retired from the table ;
for with her vanished Moore's excitement, and everybody
else seemed to feel that light had gone out of the room.
Her excessive beauty is less an inspiration than the won-
drous talent with which she draws from every person
around her his peculiar excellence. Talking better than
any body else, and narrating, particularly, with a graphic
power that I never saw excelled, this distinguished wo-
man seems striving only to make others unfold them-
selves; and never had diffidence a more apprehensive
and encouraging listener. But this is a subject with
which I should never be done.
"We went up to coffee, and Moore brightened again
over his chasse-cafe, and ffrent glittering on with criti-
cisms on Grisi, the delicious songstress now ravishing the
world, whom he placed above all but Pasta ; and whom
he thought, with the exception that her legs were too
short, an incomparable creature. This introduced mu-
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 19
sic very naturally, and with a great deal of difficulty he
was taken to the piano. My letter is getting long, and I
have no time to describe his singing. It is well known,
however, that its effect is only equalled by the beauty of
his own words; and, for one, I could have taken him
into my heart with my delight. He makes no attempt
at music. It is a kind of admirable recitative, in which
every shade of thought is syllabled and dwelt upon, and
the sentiment of the song goes through your blood,
warming you to the very eyelids, and starting your tears,
if you have a soul or sense in you. I have heard of
women's fainting at a song of Moore's ; and if the bur-
den of it answered by chance to a secret in the bosom
of the listener, I should think, from its comparative effect
upon ^so old a stager as myself, that the heart would
break with it.
" We all sat around the piano, and after two or three
songs of Lady Blessington's choice, he rambled over the
keys a while, and sang 'When first I met thee ' with a
pathos that beggars description. When the last word
had faltered out, he rose and took Lady Blessington's
hand, said good-night, and was gone before a word was
uttered." *
But Lady Blessington aspired to be something more
than merely their hostess. She had in 1822 published
a couple of volumes of Sketches, and in 1832 she fairly
entered upon her career of authorship by contributing to
the " New Monthly Magazine " a journal of conversa-
tions with Lord Byron. She became acquainted with
* Peucillings by the Way, pp. 360 to 367.
20 MEMOIR OF THE
Lord Byron when residing on the Continent, and as she
repeated his remarks with little reserve, the 'journal*
excited considerable interest and was soon republished
in a separate form.
Dr. Madden, in his Life of Lady Blessington, thus
narrates an account of her meeting with Lord Byron
at Genoa.
The 1st of April, 1823, Lady Blessington's strong de-
sire was gratified she saw Byron. But the lady was
disappointed, and there is reason to believe that the lord,
always indisposed abroad to make new acquaintances with
his countrymen or women, was on the occasion of this in-
terview taken by surprise, and not so highly gratified by
it as might have been expected, when the agremens and
personal attractions of the lady are taken into consider-
ation.
Lady Blessington's expression of disappointment has a
tincture of asperity in it which is seldom, indeed, to be
found in her observations. There are very evident ap-
pearances of annoyance of some kind or another in the
account given by her of this interview, occasioned either
by the reception given her by Byron, or at some eccen-
tricity, or absence of mind, that was unexpected, or
apparent want of homage on his part to her beauty or
talents on this occasion, to which custom had habituated
her.
It must also be observed, that the interview with her
ladyship is described as having been sought by Lord
Byron. It is more than probable, however, a little ruse
was practised on his lordship to obtain it. It is stated by
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 21
one who has a good knowledge of all the circumstances
of this visit, that a rainy forenoon was selected for the
drive to Byron's villa ; that shelter was necessitated, and
that necessity furnished a plea for a visit which would
not have been without some awkwardness under other
circumstances. Lord Blessington, having been admitted
at once on presenting himself at Byron's door, was on
the point of taking his departure, apologizing for the
briefness of the visit on account of Lady Blessington
being left in an open carriage in the court-yard, the rain
then falling, when Byron immediately insisted on de-
scending with Lord Blessington, and conducting her
ladyship into his house.
" When we arrived," says Lady Blessington, " at the
gate of the court-yard of the Casa Saluzzo, in the village
of Albano,* where he resides, Lord Blessington and a
gentleman of our party left the carriage and sent in their
names.f They were admitted immediately, and experi-
enced a very cordial reception from Lord Byron, who
expressed himself delighted to see his old acquaintance.
Byron requested to be presented to me, which led to
Lord Blessington's avowing that I was in the carriage
at the gate, with my sister. Byron immediately hurried
out into the court, and I, who heard the sound of steps,
looked through the gate, and beheld him approaching
quickly toward the carriage without his hat, and consid-
erably in advance of the other two gentlemen."
* About a mile and a half from Genoa.
t The gentleman's name will be found in a letter of Byron to Moore,
dated 2d April, 1823.
2 MEMOIR OF THE
The visit was a long one ; and many questions were
asked about old friends and acquaintances. Lady Bles-
.sington says Byron expressed warmly, at their departure,
the pleasure which the visit had afforded him and she
-doubted not his sincerity ; not that she would arrogate
.any merit in her party to account for his satisfaction, but
.simply because she could perceive that Byron liked to
hear news of his old associates, and to pass them en revue,
pronouncing sarcasms on each as he turned up in conver-
sation.
In a previous notice of this interview, which bears
some internal evidence of having been written long after
the period it refers to, lamenting over the disappointment
.she felt at finding her beau ideal of a poet by no mean's
realized, her ladyship observes : " Well, I never will
allow myself to form an ideal of any person I desire to
see, for disappointment never fails to ensue."
Byron, she admits, had more than usual personal at-
tractions, "but his appearance nevertheless had fallen
short of her expectations." There is no commendation,
however, without a concomitant effort at depreciation.
^For example, her ladyship observes, " His laugh is musi-
cal, but he rarely indulged in it during our interview ;
and when he did, it was quickly followed by a graver
aspect, as if he liked not this exhibition of hilarity.
Were I asked to point out the prominent defect of By-
ron's manner, I should pronounce it to be a flippancy
incompatible with the notion we attach to the author of
Childe Harold and Manfred, and a want of self posses-
sion and dignity that ought to characterize a man of birth
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 23
and genius. Notwithstanding this defect, his manner?
are very fascinating more so, perhaps, than if they
were dignified; but he is too gay, too flippant for a
poet."*
Lady Blessington was accompanied on this occasion by
her sister, Miss Mary Anne Power, now Comtesse de St.
Marsault. Byron, in a letter to Moore, dated April 2.
1823, thus refers to this interview :
" Your other allies, whom I have found very agreeable
personages, are Milor Blessington and epouse, travelling
with a very handsome companion in the shape of a
' French count,' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the Beaux
Stratagem,) who has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine.
and is one of the few specimens I have seen of our ideal
of a Frenchman before the Revolution, an old friend with
a new face, upon whose like I never thought that we
should look again. Miladi seems highly literary, to
which, and your honor's acquaintance with the family, I
attribute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also
very pretty, even in a morning a species of beauty on
which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the
chandelier. Certainly P^nglish women wear better than
their Continental neighbors of the same sex. Mountjoy
seems very good-natured, but is much tamed since I rec-
ollect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and
uniform, and theatricals, and speeches in our house 4 I
mean of Peers' I must refer you to Pope, whom you
don't read and won't appreciate, for that quotation (which
you must allow to be poetical) and sitting to Stroelling,
* Idler in Italy, p, 392.
24 MEMOIR OF THE
the painter, (do you remember our visit, with Leckie, to
the German?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of
Agincourt, ' with his long sword, saddle, bridle, Whak fal
de," &c. &c.
We thus find, from the letter of Byron to his friend
Moore, that the Blessingtons were accompanied by the
Count Alfred D'Orsay in their visit to his lordship, and
that he was one of the party on their arrival and at their
departure from Genoa.
It is probable that the arrangements for the count's
journey to Italy with the Blessingtons had been made in
Paris, though he did not accompany them from that city,
but joined them first at Valence on the Rhone, and sub-
sequently at Avignon.
D'Orsay, who had been attached to the French array
of the pretended expedition against Spain, abandoned his
profession in an evil hour for the career of a mere man
of pleasure and of fashion.
Byron and the Blessingtons continued to live on the
most intimate terms, we are told by Lady Blessington,
during the stay of the latter at Genoa ; and that intimacy
had such a happy influence on the author of Childe
Harold, that he began to abandon his misanthropy. On
the other hand, I am assured by the Marquise de Boissy,
formerly Countess of Guiccioli, that the number of visits
of Byron to Lady Blessington during the entire period
of her sojourn in Genoa, did not exceed five or six at the
utmost, and that Byron was by no means disposed to
afford the opportunities that he believed were sought, to
enable a lady of a literary turn to write about him. But
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 25
D'Orsay, she adds, at the first interview, had struck
Byron as a person of considerable talents and wonderful
acquirements for a man of his age and former pursuits.
" Byron from the first liked D'Orsay ; he was clever,
original, unpretending ; he affected to be nothing that he
was not."
Byron sat for his portrait to D'Orsay, that portrait
which subsequently appeared in the "New Monthly
Magazine," and afterward as a frontispiece of her lady-
ship's work, " Conversations with Lord Byron."
His lordship suffered Lady Blessington to lecture him
in prose, and, what was worse, in verse. He endeavored
to persuade Lord Blessington to prolong his stay in
Genoa, and to take a residence adjoining his own named
" II ParadisO." And a rumor of his intention to take the
place for himself, and some good-natured friend observ-
ing, " II diavolo e ancora entrato in Paradiso," his lord-
ship wrote the following lines :
Beneath Blessington's eyes
The reclaimed Paradise
Should be free as the former from evil;
But if the new Eve
For an apple should grieve,
What mortal would not play the devil ?
But the original conceit was not in poetry.
Lady Blessington informed me that, on the occasion
of a masked ball to be given in Genoa, Byron stated
his intention of going there, and asked her ladyship to
accompany him: en badinant about the character she
was to go in, some one had suggested that of Eve
26 MEMOIR OF THE
Byron said, " As some one must play the devil, I will
do it."
Shortly before her departure from Genoa, Lady Bles-
sington requested Byron to write some lines in her
album, and, accordingly, he composed the following
stanzas for her :
TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON.
1,
You have ask'd for averse: the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
2.
Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.
3.
I am ashes where once I was fire,
And the bard in my bosom is dead;
What I loved I now merely admire,
And my heart is as gray as my head.
4.
My life is not dated by years
There are moments which act as a plow;
And there is not a furrow appears,
But is deep in my soul as my brow.
5.
Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in vain ;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
The string which was worthy the strain.
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 27
Moore speaks of the happy influence of Lady Bles-
sington's society over the mind of Byron :
" One of the most important services conferred upon
Lord Byron by Lady Blessington during this intimacy,
was that half reviving of his old regard for his wife, and
the check which she contrived to place upon the com-
position of Don Juan, and upon the continuation of its
most glaring immoralities. He spoke of Ada ; her
mother, he said, 'has feasted on the smiles of her infancy
and growth, but the tears of her maturity shall be mine.'
Lady Blessington told him that if he so loved his child,
he should never write a line that could bring a blush of
shame to her cheek, or a sorrowing tear to her eye ; and
he said, ' You are right ; I never recollected this. I am
jealously tenacious of the undivided sympathy of my
daughter ; and that work, (Don Juan,) written to beguile
hours of tristcsse and wretchedness, is well calculated to
loosen my hold on her affections. I will write no more
of it would that I had never written a line.' In this
gentler mind, with old loves, old times, and the tenderest
love that human heart can know, all conducing to soothe
his pride and his dislike of Lady Byron, he learned that
a near friend of her ladyship was in Genoa, and he re-
quested Lady Blessington to procure for him, through
this friend, a portrait of his wife. He had heard that
Lady Byron feared he was about to come to England for
the purpose of claiming his child. In requesting the
portrait and in refuting the report, he addressed the fol-
lowing letter to Lady Blessington :
28 MEMOIR OF THE
" ' May 3, 1823.
" * DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON : My request would be
for a copy of the miniature of Lady B. which I have
seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no
picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as
all her letters were in her own possession before I left
England, and we have had no correspondence since at
least on her part. My message with regard to the infant
is simply to this effect, that in the event of any accident
occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor,
it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect,
both with regard to the education of the child, and the
person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be
desirous that she should be placed. It is not my inten-
tion to interfere with her in any way on the subject
during her life ; and I presume that it would be some
consolation to her to know (if she is in ill health, as I am
given to understand,) that in no case would any thing be
done, as far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity
with Lady B's own wishes and intentions, left in what
manner she thought proper. Believe me, dear Lady B.,
your obliged,' " &c.
At length, in the early part of June, 1823, the Bles-
singtons took their departure from Genoa, and Moore
tells us how the separation affected Byron :
"On the evening befoie the departure of his friends,
Lord and Lady Blessington, from Genoa, he called upon
them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat conversing
for some time. He was evidently in low spirits, and after
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 29
expressing his regret that they should leave Genoa be-
fore his own time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his
own intended voyage in a tone full of despondence.
' Here,' said he, ' we are all now together ; but when,
and where, shall w r e meet again ? I have a sort of boding
that we see each other for the last time ; as something
tells me I shall never again return from Greece.' Hav-
ing continued a little longer in this melancholy strain, he
leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on which they
were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some
minutes with uncontrollable feeling. Though he had
been talking only with Lady Blessington, all who were
present in the room observed, and were affected by, his
emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his
weakness, endeavored to turn off attention from it by
some ironical remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical
laugh, upon the effects of nervousness. He had, previous
to this conversation, presented to each of the party some
little farewell gift a book to one, a print from his bust
by Bartolini to another, and to Lady Blessington a copy
of his Armenian Grammar, which had some manuscript
remarks of his own on the leaves. In now parting with
her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle which she
had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings ; in return
for which he took a pin from his breast, containing a
small cameo of Napoleon, which he said had long been
his companion, and presented it to her ladyship. The
next day Lady Blessington received from him the fol-
lowing note :
30 MEMOIR OF THE
" ' Albaro, June 2, 1823.
" ' MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON : I am supersti-
tious, and have recollected that memorials with a point
are of less fortunate augury : I will, therefore, request
you to accept, instead of the pin, the inclosed chain,
which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate.
As you wished for something worn, I can only say that
it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. It
is of Venetian manufacture, and the only peculiarity
about it is that it could only- be obtained at or from
Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same kind. I
also inclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to keep ;
it is too large to wear ; but it is formed of lava, and so far
adapted to the fire of his years and character. You will
perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of
this note, and send back the pin, (for good luck's sake,)
which I shall value much more for having been a night
in your custody. Ever faithfully your obliged, &c.
" ' P S. I hope your nerves are well to-day, and will
continue to flourish.' "
Lady Blessington continued to write for the press with
little intermission. She wrote a great many novels of
which " The Repealers," was the first in point of time ;
and the " Victim of Society," the " Two Friends," and
the " Belle of a Season," were the most popular.
When portraying the habits of fashionable society she
was on familiar ground, and could write with effect;
when she treated of subjects of more general interest she
lost her power.
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 31
One of her most pleasant books after the " Conversa-
tions with Lord Byron," is her " Idler in Italy," published
in two volumes in 1839.
To this literary industry Lady Blessington was in-
cited by pecuniary necessity, brought about by her
splendid style of living. But both her jointure and her
literary earnings proved insufficient to meet her expendi-
ture ; and when the famine in Ireland cut off in a great
measure the returns of the Blessington property, it
became necessary in 1849, to dispose of the costly fittings
and furniture of Gore House.
Count D'Orsay had gone to Paris in the hope, as was
understood, of obtaining a post under Louis Napoleon,
with whom he had been on terms of much intimacy.
Lady Blessington followed him in April, 1849, and died
at Paris almost suddenly on the 4th of June, 1849.
Count D'Orsay died at Paris, August 4, 1852.
CONVERSATIONS
LORD BYRON
PREFACE.
THE deep and general interest with which every
detail connected with Lord Byron has been re-
ceived by the public, induced the writer to publish
her Conversations with him. She was for a long
time undecided as to adopting this measure, fear-
ful that, by th3 invidious, it might be considered
as a breach i >/ < onfidence ; but as Boswell's arid
Mrs. Piozzi's disclosures, relative to Dr. Johnson,
were never viewed in this light, and as Lord By-
ron never gave, or implied, the slightest injunction
to secrecy, she hopes that she may equally escape
such an imputation.
The many pages suppressed, filled with poems,
epigrams, and sallies of Lord Byron, in which
piquancy and wit are more evident than good-
nature, bear testimony, that a wish to avoid
wounding the feelings of the living, or to cast a
darker shade over the reputation of the dead, has
influenced the writer much more than the desire
to make an amusing book; and she trusts that,
in portraying Lord Byron, if she has proved her-
self an unskilful, she incurs not the censure of
being considered an unfaithful, limner.
CONVERSATIONS
LORD BYRON
GENOA, April 1, 1823. Saw Lord Byron for the
first time. The impression, for the first few min-
utes, disappointed me ; as I had, both from the
portraits and descriptions given, conceived a dif-
ferent idea of him. I had fancied him taller, with
a more dignified and commanding air ; and I
looked in vain for the hero-looking sort of person
with whom I had so long identified him in imag-
ination. His appearance is, however, highly pre-
possessing ; his head is finely shaped, and the
forehead open, high, and noble ; his eyes are gray
and full of expression, but one is visibly larger
than the other; the nose is large and well shaped,
but, from being a little too thick, it looks better in
profile than in front-face ; his mouth is the most
remarkable feature in his face, the upper lip of
Grecian shortness, and the corners descending;
38 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the lips full, and finely cut. In speaking, he
shows his teeth very much, and they are white
and even ; but I observed that even in his smile
and he smiles frequently there is something of
a scornful expression in his mouth that is evi-
dently natural, and not, as many suppose, af-
fected. This particularly struck me. His chin
is large and well shaped, and finishes well the
oval of his face. He is extremely thin, indeed so
much so that his figure has almost a boyish air;
his face is peculiarly pale, but not the paleness
of ill-health, as its character is that of fairness
the fairness of a dark-haired person ; and his hair
(which is getting rapidly gray) is of a very dark
brown, and curls naturally ; he uses a good deal
of oil in it, which makes it look still darker. His
countenance is full of expression, and changes
with the. subject of conversation; it gains on the
beholder the more it is seen, and leaves an agree-
able impression. I should say that melancholy
was its prevailing character ; as I observed that,
when any observation elicited a smile and they
were many, as the conversation was gay and
playful it appeared to linger but for a moment
on his lip, which instantly resumed its former
expression of seriousness. His whole appearance
is remarkably gentleman-like, and he owes nothing
of this to his toilet, as his coat appears to have
WITH LORD BYRON. 39
been many years made, is much too large and
all his garments convey the idea of having been
purchased ready-made, so ill do they lit him.
There is a gaucherie in his movements, which
evidently proceeds from the perpetual conscious-
ness of his lameness, that appears to haunt him ;
for he tries to conceal his foot when seated, and,
when walking, has a nervous rapidity in his man-
ner. He is very slightly lame, and the deformity
of his foot is so little remarkable, that I am not
now aware which foot it is. His voice and ac-
cent are peculiarly agreeable, but effeminate
clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that, 1 hough
his general tone in speaking is rather low than
high, not a word is lost. His manners are as
unlike my preconceived notions of them as is his
appearance. I had expected to find him a digni-
fied, cold, reserved, and haughty person, resem-
bling those mysterious personages he so loves to
paint in his works, and with whom he has been
so often identified by the good-natured world ;
but nothing can be more different ; for were I to
point out the prominent defect of Lord Byron, I
should say it was flippancy, and a total want of
that natural self-possession and dignity which
ought to characterize a man of birth .and edu-
cation.
Albaro, the village in which the Casa Saluzzo,
40 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
where he lives, is situated, is about a mile and a
half distant from Genoa : it is a fine old palazzo,
commanding an extensive view, and with spa-
cious apartments, the front looking into a court-
yard and the back into the garden. The room in
which Lord Byron received us was large, and
plainly furnished. A small portrait of his daugh-
ter Ada, with an engraved portrait of himself,
taken from one of his works, struck my eye.
Observing that I remarked that of his daughter,
he took it down, and seemed much gratified when
I discovered the strong resemblance it bore to
him. Whilst holding it in his hand, he said : " I
am told she is clever I hope not; and, above
all, I hope she is not poetical ; the price paid for
such advantages, if advantages they be, is such
as to make me pray that my child may escape
them."
The conversation, during our first interview,
was chiefly about our mutual English friends,
some of whom he spoke of with kind interest.
T. Moore, D. Kinnaird, and Mr. E. Ellice, were
among those whom he most distinguished. He
expressed himself greatly annoyed by the num-
ber of travelling English who pestered him with
visits, the greater part of whom he had never
known, or was but slightly acquainted with ;
which obliged him to refuse receiving any, but
WITH LORD BYRON. 41
those he particularly wished to see. " But,"
added he, smiling, "they avenge themselves, by
attacking me in every sort of way, and there is
no story too improbable for the craving appetites
of our slander-loving countrymen."
Before taking leave, he proposed paying us a
visit next day; and he handed me into the car-
nage with many flattering expressions of the
pleasure our visit had procured him.
April 2. We had scarcely finished our dtjeune
a la fourchette this day when Lord Byron was
announced; he sent up two printed cards in an
envelop addressed to us, and soon followed them.
He appeared still more gay and cheerful than the
day before made various inquiries about all our
mutual friends in England spoke of them with
affectionate interest, mixed with a badinage in
which none of their little defects were spared ;
indeed, candor obliges rne to own that their de-
fects seemed to have made a deeper impression
on his rnind than their good qualities, (though he
allowed all the latter,) by the gusto with which
he entered into them.
He talked of our mutual friend Moore, and of
his " Lalla Rookh," which, he said, though very
beautiful, had disappointed him ; adding, that
Moore would go down to posterity by his Melo-
dies, which were all perfect. He said that he had
42 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
never been so much affected as on hearing Moore
sing some of them, particularly " When I first
met thee," which, he said, made him shed tears.
" But," added he, with a look full of archness,
" it was after I had drunk a certain portion of
very potent white brandy." As he laid a pecu-
liar stress on the word affected, I smiled, and the
sequel of the white brandy made me smile again ;
he asked me the cause, and I answered that his
observation reminded me of the story of a lady
offering her condolence to a poor Irishwoman on
the death of her child, who stated that she had
never been more affected than on the event ; the
poor woman, knowing the hollowness of the
compliment, answered, with all the quickness of
her country, " Sure, then, ma'am, that is saying
a great deal, for you were always affected." Lord
Byron laughed, and said my apropos was very
wicked, but I maintained it was very just. He
spoke much more warmly of Moore's social at-
tractions as a companion, which he said were
unrivalled, than of his merits as a poet.
He offered to be our cicerone in pointing out
all the pretty drives and rides about Genoa ; re-
commended riding as the only means of seeing
the country, many of the fine points of view
being inaccessible, except on horseback ; and he
praised Genoa on account of the rare advantage
WITH LORD BYRON. . 43
it possessed of having so few English, either as
inhabitants or birds of passage.
I was this day again struck by the flippancy
of his manner of talking of persons for whom I
know he expresses, nay, for w T hom I believe he
feels a regard. Something of this must have
shown itself in my manner, for he laughingly
observed that he was afraid he should lose my
good opinion by his frankness ; but that when,
the fit was on him he could not help saying what
he thought, though he often repented it when too
late.
He talked of Mr. , from whom he had re-
ceived a visit the day before, praised his looks,
and the insinuating gentleness of his manners,
which, he observed, lent a peculiar charm to the
little tales he repeated: he said that he had given
him more London scandal than he heard since he
left England; observed that he had quite talent
enough to render his malice very piquant and
amusing, and that his imitations were admirable.
" How can his mother do without him ? " said
Byron : " with his espieg-lerie and malice, he must
be an invaluable coadjutor ; and Venus without
Cupid could not be more delaissee than Milady
without this her legitimate son."
He said that he had formerly felt very partial
to Mr. ; his face was so handsome, and his
44 . JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
countenance so ingenuous, that it was impossible
not to be prepossessed in his favor ; added to
which, one hoped that the son of such a father
could never entirely degenerate : " he has, how-
ever, degenerated sadly," said Byron, "but as he
is yet young, he may improve ; though to see a
person of his age and sex so devoted to gossip
and scandal, is rather discouraging to those who
are interested in his Welfare."
He talked of Lord ; praised his urbanity,
his talents, and acquirements ; but above all, his
sweetness of temper and good-nature. " Indeed
I do love Lord ," said Byron, " though the
pity I feel for his domestic thraldom has some-
thing in it akin to contempt. Poor dear man !
he is sadly bullied by Milady / and, what is worst
of all, half her tyranny is used on the plea of
kindness and taking care of his health. Hang
such kindness ! say I. She is certainly the most
imperious, dictatorial person I know is always
en rcine ; which, by the by, in her peculiar posi-
tion, shows tact, for she suspects that were she to
quit the throne she might be driven to the ante-
chamber ; however, with all her faults, she is not
vindictive as a proof, she never extended her
favor to me until after the little episode respecting
her in ' English Bards ; ' nay more, I suspect I
owe her friendship to it. Rogers persuaded me
WITH LORD BYRON. 45
to suppress, the passage in the other editions.
Afler all, Lady has one merit, and a great
one in my eyes, which is, that in this age of cant
and humbug, and in a country I mean our own
dear England where the cant of Virtue is the
order of the day, she has contrived, without any
great resemblance of it, merely by force of shall
I call it impudence or courage ? not only to get
herself into society, but absolutely to give the
law to her own circle. She passes, also, for
being clever; this, perhaps owing to my dulness,
I never discovered, except that she has a way,
en reine, of asking questions that show some
reading. The first dispute I ever had with Lady
Byron, was caused by my urging her to visit
Lady ; and, what is odd enough," laughing
with bitterness, " our first and last difference was
caused by two very worthless women."
Observing that we appeared surprised at the
extraordinary frankness, to call it by no harsher
name, with which he talked of his ci-dcuant
friends, he added: "Don't think the worse of
me for what I have said : the truth is, I have
witnessed such gross selfishness and want of
feeling in Lady that I cannot resist speak-
ing my sentiments of her." I observed : " But
are you not afraid she will hear what you say of
her ? " He answered : " Were she to hear it she
46 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
would act the amiable, as she always does to
those who attack her ; while to those who are
attentive, and court her, she is insolent beyond
bearing."
Having sat with us above two hours, and ex-
pressed his wishes that we might prolong our
stay at Genoa, he promised to dine with us on
the following Thursday, and took his leave, laugh-
ingly apologizing for the length of his visit, add-
ing, that he was such a recluse, and had lived so
long out of the world, that he had quite forgotten
the usages of it.
He on all occasions professes a detestation of
what he calls cant; and says it will banish from
England all that is pure and good ; and that
while people are looking after the shadow, they
lose the substance of goodness ; he says, that the
best mode left for conquering it, is to expose it
to ridicule, the only weapon, added he, that the
English climate cannot rust. He appears to
know every thing that is going on in England ;
takes a great interest in the London gossip ; and
while pvofessing to read no new publications, be-
trays, in various ways, a perfect knowledge of
every new work.
" ArniL 2, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD : I send you to-day's (the
latest) < GalignamV My banker tells me, however,
WITH LORD BYRON. 47
that his letters from Spain state, that two regi-
ments have revolted, which is a great vex, as they
say in Ireland. I shall be very glad to see your
friend's journal. He seems to have all the quali-
ties requisite to have figured in his brother-in-
law's ancestor's Memoirs. I did not think him
old enough to have served in Spain, and must
have expressed myself badly. On the contrary,
he has all the air of a Oupidon dechalnc^ and
promises to have it for some time to come. I
beg to present my respects to Lady B , and
ever am your obliged and faithful servant,
NOEL BYRON."
When Lord Byron came to dine with us on
Thursday, he arrived an hour before the usual
time f and appeared in good spirits. He said that
he found the passages and stairs filled with peo-
ple, who stared at him very much ; but he did
not seem vexed at this homage, for so it certainly
was meant, as the Albergo della Villa, where we
resided, being filled with English, all were curious
to see their distinguished countryman. He was
very gay at dinner, ate of most of the dishes, ex-
pressed pleasure at partaking of a plum pudding,
d VAngiaise^ made by one of our English ser-
vants ; was helped twice, and observed, that he
hoped he should not shock us by eating so much.
48 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
" But," added he, " the truth is, that for several
months I have been following a most abstemious
regime, living almost entirely on vegetables ; and
now that I see a good dinner, I cannot resist
temptation, though to-morrow I shall suffer for
my gourrnandize, as I always do when I indulge
in luxuries." He drank a few glasses of cham-
pagne, saying, that as he considered it a jour de
fete, he would eat, drink, and be merry.
He talked of Mr. , who was then our
Minister at Genoa. " H ," said he, " is a
thorough good-natured and hospitable man, keeps
an excellent table, and is as fond of good things
as I am, but has not my forbearance. I received
some time ago, a pate de Perigordj and finding
it excellent, I determined on sharing it with
H ; but here my natural selfishness sug-
gested that it would be wiser for me, who had so
few dainties, to keep this for myself, than to give
it to II , who had so many. After half an
hour's debate between selfishness and generosity,
which do you think (turning to me) carried the
point ? " I answered, " Generosity, of course."
" No, by Jove ! " said he, " no such thing ; selfish-
ness in this case, as in most others, triumphed :
t sent the pdte to my friend H , because I
felt that another dinner of it would play the
deuce with me ; and so you see, after ail, he
WITH LORD BYKON. 49
owed the pdte more to selfishness than gen-
erosity." Seeing us smile at this he said :
" When you know me better, you will find that
I am the most selfish person in the world ; I
have, however, the merit, if it be one, of not
only being perfectly conscious of my faults, but
of never denying them ; and this surely is some-
thing, in this age of cant and hypocrisy."
The journal to which Lord Byron refers was
written by one of our party, and Lord Byron,
naving discovered its existence, and expressed a
desire to peruse it, the writer confided it to him.*
" APRIL 14, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD : I was not in the way when
your note came. I have only time to thank you,
and to send the c Galignani's.' My face is bettei
in fact, but worse in appearance, with a very
scurvy aspect; but I expect it to be well in a
day or two. I will subscribe to the Improving
Society.
" Yours in haste, but ever,
NOEL BYRON."
" APBIL 22, 1823.
u Mi LOR : I received your billet at dinner,
which was a good one with a sprinkling of
* See Moore'3 Life, vol. ii. p. 686, 4to edition. Here also follow
several letters in Moore's Byron.
4
50 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
female foreigners, who, I dare say, were very
agreeable. As I have formed a sullen resolution
about presentations, which I never break, (above '
once a month,) I begged to dispense me
from being introduced, and intrigued for myself a
place as far remote as possible from his fair guests,
and very near a bottle of the best wine to confirm
my misogyny. After coffee, I had accomplished
my retreat as far as the hall, on full tilt towards
your the, which I was very eager to partake of,
when I was arrested by requesting that I
would make my bow to the French Ambassa-
dress, who it seems is a Dillon, Irish, but born or
bred in America; has been pretty, and is a blue,
and of course entitled to the homage of all per-
sons who have been printed. I returned, and it
was then too late to detain Miss P over
the tea-urn. I beg you to accept my regrets,
and present my regards to Milady, and Miss
P , and Comte Alfred, and believe me ever
yours,
" NOEL BYRON."
"APRIL 23,1823.
" MY DEAR LORD : I thank you for quizzing me
and my 'learned Thebans.' I assure you, my
* notions on that score are limited to getting away
with a whole skin, or sleeping quietly with a bro
WITH LOED BYEON. 51
ken one, in some of my old Glens where I used
to dream in my former excursions. I should pre-
fer a gray Greek stone over me to Westminster
Abbey ; but I doubt if I shall have the luck to
die so happily. A lease of my ' body's length ' is
all the land which I should covet in that quarter.
" What the Honorable Dug* and his Committee
may decide, I do not know, and still less what I
may decide (for I am not famous for decision)
for myself; but if I could do any good in any
way, I should be happy to contribute thereto, and
without eclat. I have seen enough of that in my
time, to rate it at its .value. I wish you were
upon that Committee, for I think you would set
them going one way or the other ; at present they
seem a little dormant. I dare not venture to dine
with you to-morrow, nor indeed any day this
week; for three days of dinners during the last
seven days, have made me so head-achy and
sulky, that it will take me a whole Lent to sub-
side again into any thing like independence of
sensation from the pressure of materialism. *
But I shall take my chance of finding you the first
fair morning for a visit. Ever yours,
"NoEL BYRON."
" MAY 7, 1823.
DEAR LORD : I return the poesy, which
* His abridgment for Douglas Kinnaird.
52 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
will form a new light to lighten the Irish, and
will, I hope, be duly appreciated by the public. I
have not returned MiledVs verses, because I am
not aware of the error she mentions, and see no
reason for the alteration ; however, if she insists,
I must be conformable. I write in haste, having
a visitor.
" Ever yours, very truly,
" NOEL BYRON."
" MAY 14, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD : I avize you that the Read-
ing Association have received numbers of English
publications, which you may like to see, and as
you are a member, should avail yourself of early.
I have just returned my share before its time,
having kept the books one day instead of five,
which latter is the utmost allowance. The rules
obliged me to forward it to a Monsieur G , as
next in rotation. If you have any thing for Eng-
land, a gentleman with some law papers of mine
returns there to-morrow (Thursday) and would
be happy to convey any thing for you. Ever
yours, and truly,
"NoEL BYRON.
"P. S. I request you to present my compli-
ments to Lady Blessington, Miss Power, and
Comte D'Orsay."
WITH LORD BYRON. 53
" MAY 23, 1823.
"MY DEAR LORD: I thought that I had an-
swered your note. I ought, and beg you to
excuse the omission. I should have called, but I
thought my chance of finding you at home in the
environs, greater than at the hotel. * * * I
hope you will not take my not dining with you
again after so many dinners, ill ; but the truth
is, that your banquets are too luxurious for my
habits, and I feel the effect of them in this warm
weather for some time after. I am sure you will
not be angry, since I have already more than suf-
ficiently abused your hospitality. * * * I fear
that I can hardly afford more than two thousand
francs for the steed in question, as I have to
undergo considerable expenses at this present
time, and I suppose that will not suit you. I
must not forget to pay my Irish Subscription.
My remembrances to Miledi^ and to Alfred, and
to Miss P . Ever yours,
" NOEL BYRON."
" MAY 24, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD : I find that I was elected a
Member of the Greek Committee in March, but
did not receive the Chairman's notice till yester-
day, and this by mere chance, and through a
private hand. I am doing all I can to get away,
and the Committee and my friends in England
54 JOUENAL OF CONVERSATIONS
seem both to approve of my going up into
Greece ; but I meet here with obstacles, which
have hampered and put me out of spirits, and
still keep me in a vexatious state of uncertainty.
I began bathing the other day, but the water was
still chilly, and in diving for a Genoese lira in
clear but deep water, I imbibed so much water
through my ears, as gave me a megrim in my
head, which you will probably think a super-
fluous malady.
" Ever yours, obliged and truly,
" NOEL BYRON."
In all his conversations relative to Lady Byron
and they are frequent, he declares that he is
totally unconscious of the cause of her leaving
him, but suspects that the ill-natured interposition
of Mrs. Charlemont led to it. It is a strange
business! He declares that he left no means
untried to effect a reconciliation, and always adds
with bitterness, " A day will arrive when I shall
be avenged. I feel that I shall not live long, and
when the grave has closed over me, what must
she feel!" All who wish well to Lady Byron
must desire that she should not survive her hus-
band, for the all-atoning grave, that gives oblivion
to the errors of the dead, clothes those of the
living in such sombre colors to their own too-late
WITH LORD BYRON. 55
awakened feelings, as to render them wretched
for life, and more than avenges the real or
imagined wrongs of those we have lost for ever.
When Lord Byron was praising the mental
and personal qualifications of Lady Byron, I
asked him how all that he now said agreed with
certain sarcasms supposed to bear a reference to
her, in his works. He smiled, shook his head,
and said they were meant to spite and vex her,
when he was wounded and irritated at her refus-
ing to receive or answer his letters ; that he was
not sincere in his implied censures, and that he
was sorry he had written them ; but notwithstand-
ing this regret, and all his good resolutions to
avoid similar sins, he might on renewed provo-
cation recur to the same vengeance, though
he allowed it was petty and unworthy of him.
Lord Byron speaks of his sister, Mrs. Leigh, con-
stantly, and always with strong expressions of
affection; he says she is the most faultless person
he ever knew, and that she was his only source
of consolation in his troubles on the separation.
Byron is a great talker; his flippancy ceases in
a tete-d-tete, and he becomes sententious, aban-
doning himself to the subject, and seeming to
think aloud, though his language has the appear-
ance of stiffness, and is quite opposed to the
trifling chit-chat that he enters into when in gen-
56 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
eral society. I attribute this to his having lived
so much alone, as also to the desire he now pro-
fesses of applying himself to prose writing. He
affects a sort of Johnsonian tone, likes very much
to be listened to, and seems to observe the effect
he produces on his hearer. In mixed society his
ambition is to appear the man of fashion; he
adopts a light tone of badinage and persiflage
that does not sit gracefully on him, but is always
anxious to turn the subject to his own personal
affairs, or feelings, which are either lamented with
an air of melancholy, or dwelt on with playful ridi-
cule, according to the humor he happens to be in.
A friend of ours, Colonel M , having arrived
at Genoa, spent much of his time with us.
Lord Byron soon discovered this, and became
shy, embarrassed in his manner, and- out of
humor. The first time I had an opportunity of
speaking to him without witnesses was on the
road to Nervi, on horseback, when he asked me
if I had not observed a great change in him. I
allowed that I had, and asked him the cause; and
he told me, that knowing Colonel M to be a
friend of Lady Byron's, and believing him to be
an enemy of his, he expected that he would
endeavor to influence us against him, and finally
succeed in depriving him of our friendship ; and
that this was the cause of his altered manner. I
WITH LOUD BYEON. 57
endeavored, and at length succeeded, to convince
him that Colonel M was too good and honor-
able a man to do any thing spiteful or ill-natured,
and that he never spoke ill of him ; which seemed
to gratify him. He told me that Colonel M 's
sister was the intimate and confidential friend of
Lady Byron, and that through this channel I might
be of great use to him, if I would use my influence
with Colonel M , to make his sister write to
Lady Byron for a copy of her portrait, which he
had long been most anxious to possess. Colonel
M , after much entreaty, consented to write to
his sister on the subject, but on the express con-
dition that Lord Byron should specify on paper
his exact wishes ; and I wrote to Lord Byron to
this effect, to which letter I received the following
answer. I ought to add, that in conversation I
told Lord Byrou that it was reported that Lady
Byron was in delicate health, and also that it was
said she was apprehensive that he intended to
claim his daughter, or to interfere in her educa-
tion ; he refers to this in the letter which I copy.*
Talking of literary women, Lord Byron said
that Madame de Stael was certainly the clever-
est, though not the most agreeable woman he had
ever known. " She declaimed to you instead of
conversing with you," said he, "never pausing
* Here follow the letters in Moore's Journal, pp. 644-6.
58 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
except to take breath ; and if during that interval
a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did
not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her
discourse as though it had not been interrupted."
This observation from Byron was amusing
enough, as we had all made nearly the same
observation on him, with the exception that he
listened to, and noticed, any answer made to his
reflections. " Madame de Stael," continued By-
ron, " was very eloquent when her imagination
warmed, (and a very little excited it ;) her pow-
ers of imagination were much stronger than her
reasoning ones, perhaps owing to their being
much more frequently exercised ; her language
was recondite, but redundant ; and though al-
ways flowery, and often brilliant, there was an
obscurity that left the impression that she did not
perfebtly understand what she endeavoured to
render intelligible to others. She was always
losing herself in philosophical disquisition, and
once she got entangled in the mazes of the laby-
rinth of metaphysics ; she had no clue by which
she could guide her path the imagination that
led her into her difficulties could not get her out
of them ; the want of a mathematical education,
which might have served as a ballast to steady
and help her into the port of reason, was always
visible, and though she had great tact in conceal-
WITH LORD BYRON. 55
ing her defeat, and covering a retreat, a tolerable
logician must have always discovered the scrapes
she got into. Poor dear Madame de Stael! I
shall never forget seeing her one day, at table
with a large party, when the busk (I believe you
ladies call it) of her corset forced its way through
the top of the corset, and would not descend
though pushed by all the force of both hands of
the wearer, who became crimson from the opera-
tion. After fruitless efforts, she turned in despair
to the valet de chambre behind her chair and re-
quested him to draw it out, which could only be
done by his passing his hand from behind over
her shoulder, and across her chest, when, with a
desperate effort, he unsheathed the busk. Had
you seen the faces of some of the English ladies
of the party, you would have been, like me, al-
most convulsed ; while Madame remained per-
fectly unconscious that she had committed any
solecism on la decence Ang-laise. - Poor Madame
de Stael verified the truth of the lines
Qui de son sexe n'a pas 1'esprit,
De son sexe a tout le malheur.
She thought like a man, but, alas ! she felt like a
woman ; as witness the episode in her life with
Monsieur Rocca, which she dared not avow. (I
mean her marriage with him,) because she was
more jealous of her reputation as a writer than a
60 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
woman, and the faiblesse de cceur, this alliance
proved she had not courage to affiche. A friend
of hers, and a compatriot into the bargain, whom
she believed to be one of the most adoring of her
worshippers, gave me the following epigrams :
SUR LA GROSSESSE DE MADAME DE STAEL.
Quel esprit ! quel talent ! quel sublime ge"nie !
En elle tout aspire a I'immortalite;
Et jusqu'a son hydropisie,
Rien n'est perdu pour la posterite.
PORTRAIT DE MADAME DE STAEL.
Arraande a pour esprit des momens de delire,
Armande a pour vertu le mepris des appas :
Elle craint le railleur que sans cesse elle inspire,
Elle evite 1'amant que ne la cherche pas:
Puisqu'elle n'a point 1'art de cacher son visage,
Et qu'elle a la fureur de montrer son esprit,
D faut la defier de cesser d'etre sage
Et d' entendre ce qu'elle dit.
" The giving the epigrams to me, a brother of
the craft of authors, was worthy of a friend, and
was another proof, if proof were wanting, of the
advantages of friends :
No epigram such pointed satire lends
As does the memory of our faithful friends.
I have an exalted opinion of friendship, as you
see. You look incredulous, but you will not only
give me credit for being sincere in this opinion,
but one day arrive at the same conclusion your-
WITH LORD BYE ON. 61
self. c Shake not thy jetty locks at me ; ' ten
years hence, if we both live so long, you will al-
low that I am right, though you now think me a
cynic for saying all this. Madame de Stael,"
continued Byron, " had peculiar satisfaction in
impressing on her auditors the severity of the
persecution she underwent from Napoleon; a
certain mode of enraging her, was to appear- to
doubt the extent to which she wished it to be be-
lieved this had been pushed, as she looked on the
persecution as a triumphant proof of her literary
and political importance, which she more than in-
sinuated Napoleon feared might subvert his gov-
ernment. This was a weakness, but a common
one. One half of the clever people of the world
believe they are hated and persecuted, and the
other half imagine they are admired and beloved.
Both are wrong, and both false conclusions are
produced by vanity, though that vanity is the
strongest which believes in the hatred and per-
secution, as it implies a belief of extraordinary
superiority to account for it."
I could not suppress the smile that Byron's re-
flections excited, and, with his usual quickness, he
instantly felt the application I had made of them
to himself, for he blushed, and half angry, and
half laughing, said : " Oh ! I see what you are
at; YOU think that I have described my
62 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
own case, and proved myself guilty of vanity."
I allowed that I thought so, as he had a thousand
times repeated to me, that he was feared and de-
tested in England, which I never would admit.
He tried various arguments to prove to me that it
was not vanity, but a knowledge of the fact, that
made him believe himself detested ; but I, con-
tinuing to smile, and look incredulous, he got
really displeased, and said : " You have such a
provoking memory, that you compare notes of all
one's different opinions, so that one is sure to get
into a scrape." Byron observed, that he once told
Madame de Stael that he considered her " Del-
phine " and " Corinne " as very dangerous produc-
tions to be put into the hands of young women.
I asked him how she received this piece of can-
dor, and he answered : " Oh ! just as all such can-
did avowals are received she never forgave me
for it. She endeavored to prove to me, that au
contraire^ the tendencies of both her novels were
super-eminently moral. I begged that we might
not enter on ' Delphine/ as that was hors du ques-
tion^ (she was furious at this,) but that all the
moral world thought, that her representing all the
virtuous characters in < Corinne ' as being dull,
common-place, and tedious, was a most insidious
blow aimed at virtue, and calculated to throw it
into the shade. She was so excited and impa-
WITH LOED BYRON. 63
ti3nt to attempt a refutation, that it was only by
my volubility I could keep her silent. She inter-
rupted me every moment by gesticulating, ex-
claiming 'Quel idee I ^ ' Mon Dieu!' c Ecoutez
done ! ' * Vous mHmpatientez ! ' but I continued
saying how dangerous it was to inculcate the be-
lief that genius, talent, acquirements, and accom-
plishments, such as Corinne was represented to
possess, could not preserve a woman from becom-
ing a victim to an unrequited passion, and that
reason, absence, and female pride were unavail-
ing.
" I told her that ' Corinne ' would be consid-
ered, if not cited, as an excuse for violent passions,
by all young ladies with imaginations exalte, and
that she had much to answer for. Had you seen
her ! I now wonder how I had courage to go on ;
but I was in one of my humors, and had heard of
her commenting on me one day, so I determined
to pay her off. She told me that I, above all peo-
ple, was the last person that ought to talk of mor-
als, as nobody had done more to deteriorate them.
I looked innocent, and added, I was willing to
plead guilty of having sometimes represented vice
under alluring forms, but so it was generally in
the world, therefore it was necessary to paint it
so ; but that I never represented virtue under the
sombre and disgusting shapes of dulness, severity,
64 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
and ennui, and that I always took care to repre-
sent the votaries of vice as unhappy themselves,
and entailing unhappiness on those that loved
them; so that my moral was unexceptionable.
She was perfectly outrageous, and the more so,
as I appeared calm and in earnest, though I as-
sure you it required an effort, as I was ready to
laugh outright at the idea that /, who was at that
period considered the most mauvais sujet of the
day, should give Madame de Stael a lecture on
morals ; and I knew that this added to her rage. I
also knew she never dared avow lhat I had taken
such a liberty. She was, notwithstanding her
little defects, a fine creature, with great talents,
and many noble qualities, and had a simplicity
quite extraordinary, which led her to believe
every thing people told her, and consequently to
be continually hoaxed, of which I saw such proofs
in London. Madame de Stae'J it was who first
lent me ' Adolphe,' which you like so much ; it is
very clever, and very affecting. A friend of hers
told me, that she was supposed to be the heroine,
and I, with my aimable franchise, insinuated as
much to her, which rendered her furious. She
proved to me how impossible it was that it could
be so, which I already knew, and complained of
the malice of the world for supposing it possible."
Bvron has remarkable penetration in discover-
WITH LORD BYRON. 65
ing the characters of those around him, and he
piques himself extremely on it; he also thinks
he has fathomed the recesses of his own mind;
but he is mistaken ; with much that is little
(which he suspects) in his character, there is
much that is great) that he does not give him-
self credit for; his first impulses are always
good, but his temper, which is impatient, pre-
vents his acting on the cool dictates of reason ;
and it appears to me, that in judging himself,
Byron mistakes temper for character, and takes
the ebullitions of the first for the indications of
the nature of the second. He declares that, in
addition to his other failings, avarice is now
established.
This new vice, like all the others he attributes
to himself, he talks of as one would name those
of an acquaintance, in a sort of deprecating,
yet half-mocking tone ; as much as to say, you
see I know all my faults better than you do,
though I don't choose to correct them ; indeed,
it has often occurred to me, that he brings for-
ward his defects, as if in anticipation of some
one else exposing them, which he would not
like; as, though he affects the contrary, he is
jealous of being found fault with, and shows it
in a thousand ways.
He affects to dislike hearing his works praised
66 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
or referred to; I say affects, because I am sure
the dislike is not real or natural ; as he who
loves praise, as Byron evidently does, in other
things, cannot dislike it for that in which he
must be conscious it is deserved. He refers to
his feats in horsemanship, shooting at a mark,
and swimming, in a way that proves he likes
to be complimented on them ; and nothing ap-
pears to give him more satisfaction than being
considered a man of fashion, who had great
success in fashionable society in London, when
he resided there. He is peculiarly compassionate
to the poor. I remarked that he rarely, in our
rides, passed a mendicant without giving him
charity, which was invariably bestowed with
gentleness and kindness ; this was still more
observable if the person was deformed, as if he
sympathized with the object.
Byron is very fond of gossiping, and of hear-
ing what is going on in the London fashionable
world ; his friends keep him au courant^ and any
little scandal amuses him very much. I ob-
served this to him one day, and added, that I
thought his mind had been too great to descend
to such trifles ! He laughed, and said with mock
[ gravity, " Don't you know that the trunk of an
\elephant, which can lift the most ponderous
weights, disdains not to take up the most mi
'X-M-, ^
WITH LORD BYKOK 67
.
nute ? This is the case with my great mind,
(laughing anew,) and you must allow the simile
is worthy the subject. Jesting apart, I do like a
little scandal I believe all English people do.
An Italian lady, Madame Benzoni, talking to
me on the prevalence of this taste among my
compatriots, observed, that when she first knew
the English, she thought them the most spiteful
and ill-natured people in the world, from hearing
them constantly repeating evil of each other ;
but having seen various amiable traits in their
characters, she had arrived at the conclusion, that
they were not naturally mediant; but that living
in a country like England, where severity of
morals punishes so heavily any dereliction from
propriety, each individual, to prove personal cor-
rectness, was compelled to attack the sins of his
or her acquaintance, as it furnished an opportu-
nity of expressing their abhorrence by words,
instead of proving it by actions, which might
cause some self-denial to themselves. This,"
said Byron, "was an ingenious, as well as char-
itable supposition ; and we must all allow that
it is infinitely more easy to decry and expose
the sins of others than to correct our own; and
many find the first so agreeable an occupation,
that it precludes the second this at least, is my
68 JOUENAL OF CONVEESATIONS
" The Italians do not understand the English,"
said Byron ; " indeed, how can they ? for they
(the Italians) are frank, simple, and open in their
natures, following the bent of their inclinations,
which they do not believe to be wicked ; while
the English, to conceal the indulgence of theirs,
daily practise hypocrisy, falsehood, and unchari-
tableness ; so that to one error is added many
crimes." Byron had now got on a favorite sub-
ject, and went on decrying hypocrisy and cant,
mingling sarcasms and bitter observations on the
false delicacy of the English. It is strange, but
true as strange, that he could not, or at least did
not, distinguish the distinction between cause
and effect, in this case. The respect for virtue
will always cause spurious imitations of it to be
given, and what he calls hypocrisy is but the re-
spect to public opinion that induces people, who
have not courage to correct their errors, at least
to endeavor to conceal them ; and Cant is the
homage that Vice pays to Virtue.* "We do not
value the diamond less because there are so
many worthless imitations of it, and Goodness
loses nothing of her intrinsic value because so
many wish to be thought to possess it. That
nation may be considered to possess the most
virtue where it is the most highly appreciated
* Roekefcucault.
WITH LORD BYRON.
69
and that the least, where it is so little understood,
that the semblance is not even assumed.
About this period the Duke of Leeds and
family arrived at Genoa, and passed a day or
two there, at the same hotel where we were
residing. Shortly after their departure, Byron
came to dine with us, and expressed his morti-
fication at the Duke's not having called on
him were it only out of respect to Mrs. Leigh,
who was the half sister of both. This seemed
to annoy him so much, that I endeavored to
point out the inutility of ceremony between
people who could have no two ideas in com-
mon ; and observed, that the gene of finding
one's self with people of totally different habits
and feelings, was ill repaid by the respect their
civility indicated. Byron is a person to be ex-
cessively bored by the constraint that any change
of system would occasion, even for a day ; yet
his amour propre is wounded by any marks of
incivility or want of respect he meets with.
Poor Byron! he is still far from arriving at the
philosophy that he aims at and thinks he has
acquired, when the absence or presence of a per-
son who is indifferent to him, whatever his sta-
tion in life may be, can occupy his thoughts for
a moment.
I have observed in Byron, a habit of attach-
70 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ing importance to trifles, and, vice versd, turning
serious events into ridicule; he is extremely su-
perstitious, and seems offended with those who
cannot, or will not, partake this weakness. He
has frequently touched on this subject, and taunt-
ingly observed to me, that I must believe myself
wiser than him, because I was not superstitious.
I answered, that the vividness of his imagina-
tion, which was proved by his. works, furnished a
sufficient excuse for his superstition, which was
caused by an over-excitement of that faculty ;
but that JJ not being blessed by the camera lucida
of imagination, could have no excuse for the
camera oscura, which I looked on superstition
to be. This did not, however, content him, and
I am sure he left me with a lower opinion of my
faculties than before. ,To deprecate his anger,
I observed that Nature was so wise and good
that she gave compensations to all her offspring :
that as to him she had given the brightest gift,
genius ; so to those whom she had not so distin-
guished, she gave the less brilliant, but perhaps
as useful, gift of plain and unsophisticated rea-
son. This did not satisfy his amour propre, and
he left me, evidently displeased at my want of
superstition. Byron is, I believe, sincere in his
belief in supernatural appearances ; he assumes
a grave and mysterious air when he talks on the
WITH LOED BYE ON. 71
subject, which he is fond of doing, and has told
me some extraordinary stories relative to Mr.
Shelley, who, he assures me, had an implicit
belief in ghosts. He also told me that Mr. Shel-
ley's spectre had appeared to a lady, walking in
a garden, and he seemed to lay great stress on
this. Though some of the wisest of mankind,
as witness Johnson, shared this weakness in com-
mon with Byron, still there is something so un-
usual in our matter-of-fact days in giving way to
it, that I was at first doubtful that Byron was
serious in his belief. He is also superstitious
about days, and other trifling things, believes in
lucky and unlucky days dislikes undertaking
any thing on a Friday, helping or being helped
to salt at table, spilling salt or oil, letting bread
fall, and breaking mirrors ; in short, he gives way
to a thousand fantastical notions, that prove that
even V esprit le plus fort has its weak side. Hav-
ing declined riding with Byron one day, on the
plea of going to visit some of the Genoese pal-
aces and pictures, it furnished him with a subject
of attack at our next interview ; he declared that
he never believed people serious in their admira-
tion of pictures, statues, &c., and that those who
expressed the most admiration were " Amatori
senza Amore, and Conoscitori senza Cognizione."
I replied, that as I had never talked to him of pic-
72 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
tures, 1 hoped he would give me credit for be-
ing sincere in my admiration of them ; but he
was in no humor to give one credit for any thing
on this occasion, as he felt that our giving a pre-
ference to seeing sights, when we might have
passed the hours with him, was not nattering to
his vanity. I should say that Byron was not
either skilled in, or an admirer of, works of art ;
he confessed to me that very few had excited his
attention, and that to admire these he had been
forced to draw on his imagination. Of objects of
taste or virtu he was equally regardless, and anti-
quities had no interest for him ; nay, he carried
this so far, that he disbelieved the possibility of
their exciting interest in any one, and said that
they merely served as excuses for indulging the
vanity and ostentation of those who had no
other means of exciting attention. Music he
liked, though he was no judge of it; he often
dwelt on the power of association it possessed,
and declared that the notes of a well-known air
could transport him to distant scenes and events,
presenting objects before him with a vividness
that quite banished the present. Perfumes, he
said, produced the same effect, though less for-
cibly, and, added he, with his mocking smile,
often make me quite sentimental.
Byron is of a very suspicious nature ; he dreads
WITH LOED BYRON. 73
imposition on all points, declares that he foregoes
many things, from the fear of being cheated in
the purchase, and is afraid to give way to the
natural impulses of his character, lest he should
be duped or mocked. This does not interfere
with his charities, which are frequent and liberal ;
but he has got into a habit of calculating even
his most trifling personal expenses, that is often
ludicrous, and would in England expose him to
ridicule. He indulges in a self-complacency when
talking of his own defects, that is amusing; and
he is rather fond than reluctant of bringing them
into observation. He says that money is wis-
dom, knowledge, and power, all combined; and
that this conviction is the only one he has in
common with all his countrymen. He dwells
with great asperity on an acquaintance to whom
he lent some money, and who has not repaid him.
Byron seems to take particular pleasure in
ridiculing sentiment and romantic feelings ; and
yet the day after will betray both, to an extent
that appears impossible to be sincere, to those
who had heard his previous sarcasms ; that he is
sincere, is evident, as his eyes fill with tears, his
voice becomes tremulous, and his whole manner
evinces that he feels what he says. All this ap-
pears so inconsistent, that it destroys sympathy,
or, if it does not quite do that, it makes one
74 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
angry with one's self for giving way to it for one
who is never two days of the same way of think-
ing, or at least expressing himself. He talks for
effect, likes to excite astonishment, and certainly
destroys, in the mind of his auditors, all confi-
dence in his stability of character. This must,
I am certain, be felt by all who have lived much
in his society ; and the impression is not satis-
factory.
Talking one day of his domestic misfortunes,
as he always called his separation from Lady
Byron, he dwelt in a sort of unmanly strain of
lamentation on it, that all present felt to be
unworthy of him ; and as, the evening before, I
had heard this habitude of his commented on by
persons indifferent about his feelings, who even
ridiculed his making it a topic of conversation
with mere acquaintances, I wrote a few lines in
verse, expressive of my sentiments, and handed
it across the table round which we were seated,
as he was sitting for his portrait. He read them,
became red and pale by turns, with anger, and
threw them down on the table, with an expres-
sion of countenance that is not to be forgotten.
The following are the lines, which had nothing
to offend, but they did offend him deeply, and he
did not recover his temper during the rest of his
stay. .
WITH LOKD BYRON. 75
And canst thou bare thy breast to vulgar eyes ?
And canst thou show the wounds that rankle there?
Methought in noble hearts that sorrow lies
Too deep to suffer coarser minds to share.
The wounds inflicted by the hand we love,
(The hand that should have warded off each blow,)
Are never heal'd, as aching hearts can prove,
But sacred should the stream of sorrow flow.
If friendship's pity quells not real grief,
Can public pity soothe thy woes to sleep ?
No ! Byron, spurn such vain, such weak relief,
And if thy tears must fall in secret weep.
He never appeared to so little advantage as
vvhen he talked sentiment ; this did not at all
strike me at first ; on the contrary, it excited a
powerful interest for him ; but when he had
vented his spleen in sarcasms, and pointed ridi- *
cule on sentiment, reducing all that is noblest in
our natures to the level of common e very-day
life, the charm was broken, and it was impossible
to sympathize with him again. He observed
something of this, and seemed*' dissatisfied and
restless when he perceived that he could no
longer excite either strong sympathy or aston-
ishment. Notwithstanding all these contradic-
tions in this wayward, spoiled child of genius,
the impression left on my mind was, that he had
both sentiment and romance in his nature ; but
that, from the love of displaying his wit and as-
76 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
tonishing his hearers, he affected to despise and
ridicule them.
From this period we saw Lord Byron fre-
quently ; he met us in our rides nearly every
day, and the road to Nervi became our favorite
promenade. While riding by the sea-shore, he
often recurred to the events of his life, min-
gling sarcasms on himself with bitter pleasantries
against others. He dined often with us, and
sometimes came after dinner, as he complained
that he suffered from indulging at our repasts,
as animal food disagreed with him. He added,
that even the excitement of society, though agree-
able and exhilarating at the time, left a nervous
irritation, that prevented* sleep or occupation for
many hours afterwards.
I once spoke to him, by the desire of his med-
ical adviser, on the necessity of his accustoming
himself to a more nutritious regimen; but he
declared that, if he did, he should get fat and
stupid, and that it was only by abstinence that
he felt he had the power of exercising his mind.
He complained of being spoiled for society, by
having so long lived out of it ; and said that,
though naturally of a quick apprehension, he lat-
terly felt himself dull and stupid. The impres-
sion left on my mind is, that Byron never could
have been a brilliant person in society, and that
WITH LOED BYRON. 77
he was not formed for what generally is under-
stood by that term ; he has none of the " small
change" that passes current in the mart of so-
ciety ; his gold is in ingots, and cannot be
brought into use for trifling expenditures; he,
however, talks a good deal, and likes to ra-
conter.
Talking of people who were great talkers, he
observed that almost all clever people were such,
and gave several examples ; amongst others, he
cited Voltaire, Horace Walpole, Johnson, Napo-
leon Bonaparte, and Madame de Stael. " But,"
said he, " my friend, Lady , would have
talked them all out of the field. She, I sup-
pose, has heard that all clever people are great
talkers, and so has determined on displaying, at
least, one attribute of that genus ; but her lady-
ship would do well to recollect, that all great
talkers are not clever people a truism that no
one can doubt who has been often in her so-
ciety."
"Lady ," continued Byron, "with beau-
coup de ridicule^ has many essentially fine qual-
ities ; she is independent in her principles
though, by the by, like all Independents, she al-
lows that privilege to few others, being the veriest
tyrant that ever governed Fashion's fools, who
are compelled to shake their caps and bells is
78 JOLiiNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
she wills it. Of all that coterie," said Byron,"
" Madame de , after Lady , was the
best ; at least I thought so, for these two ladies
were the only ones who ventured to protect me
when all London was crying out against me on
the separation, and they behaved courageously
and kindly; indeed Madame de defended
me when few dared to do so, and I have always
remembered it. Poor dear Lady ! does
she still retain her beautiful cream-colored com-
plexion and raven hair ? I used to long to tell
her that she spoiled her looks by her excessive
animation ; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms were
all in movement at once, and were only relieved
from their active service by want of respiration.
I shall never forget when she once complained to
me of the fatigue of literary occupations ; and I,
in terror, expected her ladyship to propose read-
ing to me an epic poem, tragedy, or at least a
novel of her composition, when lo ! she displayed
to me a very richly-bound album, half filled with
printed extracts cut out of newspapers and maga-
zines, which she had selected and pasted in the
book ; and I (happy at being let off so easily)
sincerely agreed with her that literature was very
tiresome. I understand that she has now ad-
vanced with the l march of intellect,' and got an
album filled with MS. poetry, to which all of usf
WITH LOED BYRON.
79
of the craft, have contributed. I was the first;
Moore wrote something, which was, like all that
he writes, very sparkling and terse ; but he got
dissatisfied with the faint praise it met with from
the husband before Miladi saw the verses, and
destroyed the effusion ; I know not if he ever has
supplied their place. Can you fancy Moore pay-
ing attention to the opinion of Milor on poesy ?
Had it been on racing or horse-flesh, he might
have been right ; but Pegasus is, perhaps, the
only horse of whose paces Lord could not
be a judge."
Talking of fashionable life in London, Lord
Byron said that there was nothing so vapid and
ennuyeux. " The English," said he, " were in-
tended by nature to be good, sober-minded peo-
ple, and those who live in the country are really
admirable. I saw a good deal of English country
life, and it is the only favorable impression that
remains of our mode of living; but of London,
and exclusive society, I retain a fearful recollec-
tion. Dissipation has need of wit, talent, and
gaiety to prevent reflection, and make the eter-
nal round of frivolous amusements pass ; and of
these," continued Byron, " there was a terrible
lack in the society in which I mixed. The minds
of the English are formed of sterner stuff. You
may make an English woman (indeed Nature
80 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
does this) the best daughter, wife, and mother in
the world ; nay, you may make her a heroine ;
but nothing can make her a genuine woman of
fashion ! And yet this latter role is the one
which, par preference, she always wishes to act.
Thorough-bred English gentlewomen," said By-
ron, " are the most distinguished and lady-like
creatures imaginable. Natural, mild, and digni-
fied, they are formed to be placed at the heads of
our patrician establishments ; but when they quit
their congenial spheres to enact the leaders of
fashion, les dames d la mode, they bungle sadly;
their gaiety degenerates into levity their hauteur
into incivility their fashionable ease and non-
chalance into brusquerie and their attempts at
assuming les usages du monde into a positive
outrage on all the bienseances. In short, they
offer a coarse caricature of the airy flightiness
and capricious, but amusing, legerete of the
French, without any of their redeeming espie-
glerie and politesse. And all this because they
will perform parts in the comedy of life for which
nature has not formed them, neglecting their own
dignified characters."
" Madame de Stael," continued Lord Byron,
" was forcibly struck by the factitious tone of the
best society in London, and wished very much to
have an opportunity of judging of that of the
WITH LOKD BYBON. 81
second class. She, however, had not this oppor-
tunity, which I regret, as I think it would have
justified her expectations. In England, the raw
material is generally good ; it is the over-dressing
that injures it; and as the class she wished to
study, are well educated, and have all the refine-
ment of civilization without its corruption, she
would have carried away a favorable impression.
Lord Grey and his family were' the personification
of her beau ideal of perfection, as I must say they
are of mine," continued Byron, " and might serve
as the finest specimens of the pure English patri-
cian breed, of which so few remain. His uncom-
promising and uncompromised dignity, founded
on self-respect, and accompanied by that certain
proof of superiority simplicity of manner and
freedom from affectation, with her mild and ma-
tron graces, her whole life offering a model to
wives and mothers really they are people to be
proud of, and a few such would reconcile one to
one's species."
One of our first rides with Lord Byron was
to Nervi, a village on the sea-coast, most ro-
mantically situated, and each turn of the road
presenting various and beautiful prospects. They
were all familiar to him, and he failed not to
point them out, but in very sober terms, never
allowing any thing like enthusiasm in his ex-
82 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
pressions, though many of the views might have
excited it.
His appearance on horseback was not advan-
tageous, and he seemed aware of it, for he made
many excuses for his dress and equestrian appoint-
ments. His horse was literally covered with
various trappings, in the way of cavesons, mar-
tingales, and Heaven knows how many other (to
me) unknown inventions. The saddle was a la
hussarde with holsters, in which he always carried
pistols. His dress consisted of a nankeen jacket
and trousers, which appeared to have shrunk from
washing; the jacket embroidered in the same
color, and with three rows of buttons ; the waist
very short, the back very narrow, and the sleeves
set in as they used to be ten or fifteen years be-
fore; a black stock, very narrow; a dark-blue
velvet cap with a shade, and a very rich gold
band and large gold tassel at the crown ; nankeen
gaiters, and a pair of blue spectacles, completed
his costume, which was any thing but becoming.
This was his general dress of a morning for rid-
ing, but I have seen it changed for a green tartan
plaid jacket. He did not ride well, which sur-
prised us, as, from the frequent allusions to horse-
manship in his works, we expected to find him
almost a Nimrod. It was evident that he had
pretensions on this point, though he certainly was
WITH LORD BYRON. 83
what I should call a timid rider. When his horse
made a false step, which was not unfrequent, he
seemed discomposed; and when we came to any
bad part of the road, he immediately checked his
course and walked his horse very slowly, though
there really was nothing to make even a lady
nervous. Finding that I could perfectly manage
(or what he called bully) a very highly-dressed
horse that I daily rode, he became extremely anx-
ious to buy it ; asked me a thousand questions as
to how I had acquired such a perfect command
of it, &c. &c. and entreated, as the greatest favor,
that I would resign it to him as a charger to take
to Greece, declaring he never would part with it,
&c. As I was by no means a bold rider, we were
rather amused at observing Lord Byron s opinion
of my courage ; and as he seemed so anxious for
the horse, I agreed to let him have it when he was
to embark. From this time he paid particular
attention to the movements of poor Mameluke,
(the name of the horse,) and said he should now
feel confidence in action with so steady a charger.
During our ride the conversation turned on our
mutual friends and acquaintances in England.
Talking of two of them, for one of whom he pro-
fessed a great regard, he declared laughingly that
they had saved him from suicide. Seeing me
look grave, he added, " It is a fact, I assure you ;
84 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
I should positively have destroyed myself, but *
guessed that or would write my
life, and with this fear before my eyes, I have
lived on. I know so well the sort of things they
would write of me the excuses, lame as myself,
that they would offer for my delinquencies, while
they were unnecessarily exposing them, and all
this done with the avowed intention of justifying,
what, God help me! cannot be justified, my un-
poetical reputation, with which the world can have
nothing to do ! One of my friends would dip his
pen in clarified honey, and the other in vinegar,
to describe my manifold transgressions, and as I
do not wish my poor fame to be either preserved
or pickled, I have lived on and written my
Memoirs, where facts will speak for themselves,
without the editorial candor of excuses, such as
4 we cannot excuse this unhappy error, or defend
that impropriety!' the mode," continued Byron,
"in which friends exalt their own prudence and
virtue, by exhibiting the want of those qualities
in the dear departed, and by marking their disap-
proval of his errors. I have written my Memoirs,"
said Byron, "to save the necessity of their being
written by a friend or friends, and have only to
hope they will not add notes."
I remarked, with a smile, that at all events he
anticipated his friends by saying beforehand as
WITH LOED BYRON.
85
many ill-natured things of them as they could
possibly write of him. He laughed, and said,
" Depend on it we are equal. Poets (and I may,
I suppose, without presumption, count myself
among that favored race, as it has pleased the
Fates to make me one,) have no friends. On the
old principle that ' union gives force,' we some-
times agree to have a violent friendship for each
other. We dedicate, we bepraise, we write pretty
letters, but we do not deceive each other. In short,
we resemble you fair ladies, when some half dozen
of the fairest of you profess to love each other
mightily, correspond so sweetly, call each other
by such pretty epithets, and laugh in your hearts
at those who are taken in by such appearances."
I endeavored to defend my sex, but he adhered
to his opinion. I ought to add that during this
conversation he was very gay, and that though
his words may appear severe, there was no sever-
ity in his manner. The natural flippancy of Lord
Byron took off all appearance of premeditation or
bitterness from his remarks, even when they were
acrimonious, and the impression conveyed to, and?
left on my mind was, that for the most part they 1
were uttered more in jest than in earnest. They;
were, however, sufficiently severe to make me feel
that there was no safety with him, and that in
five minutes after one's quitting him on terms of
86 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
friendship, he could not resist the temptation of
showing one up, either in conversation or by letter,
though in half an hour after he would put him-
self to personal inconvenience to render a kind-
ness to the person so shown up.
I remarked, that in talking of literary produc-
tions, he seemed much more susceptible to their
defects, than alive to their beauties. As a proof,
he never failed to remember some quotation that
told against the unhappy author, which he recited
with an emphasis, or a mock-heroic air, that made
it very ludicrous. The pathetic he always burles-
qued in reciting; but this I am sure proceeded
from an affectation of not sympathizing with the
general taste.
April. Lord Byron dined 5 with us to-day.
During dinner he was as usual gay, spoke in terms
of the warmest commendation of Sir Walter
Scott, not only as an author, but as a man, and
dwelt with apparent delight on his novels, declar-
ing that he had read and reread them over and
over again, and always with increased pleasure.
He said that he quite equalled, nay, in his own
opinion, surpassed Cervantes. In talking of Sir
Walter's private character, goodness of heart, &c.
Lord Byron became more animated than I had
ever seen him ; his color changed from its general
pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his eyes be-
WITH LORD BYRON.
87
came humid ; never had he appeared to such
advantage, and it might easily be seen that every
expression he uttered proceeded from his heart
Poor Byron ! for poor he is even with all his ge-
nius, rank, and wealth had he lived more with
men like Scott, whose openness of character and
steady principle had convinced him that they were
in earnest in their goodness, and not making be-
lieve, (as he always suspects good people to be,)
his life might be different and happier.
Byron is so acute an observer that nothing es-
capes him ; all the shades of selfishness and
vanity are exposed to his searching glance, and
the misfortune is, (and a serious one it is to him,)
that when he finds these, and alas ! they are to be
found on every side, they disgust and prevent his
giving credit to the many good qualities that often
accompany them. He declares he can sooner
pardon crimes, because they proceed from the
passions, than these minor vices, that spring from
selfishness and self-conceit. We had a long argu-
ment this evening on this subject, which ended,
like most arguments, by leaving both of the same
opinion as when it commenced. I endeavored to
prove that crimes were not only injurious to the
perpetrators, but often ruinous to the innocent,
and productive of misery to friends and relations,
whereas selfishness and vanity carried with them
88 , JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
their own punishment, the first depriving the per-
son of all sympathy, and the second exposing him
to ridicule, which to the vain is a heavy punish-
ment, but that their effects were not destructive to
society as are crimes.
He laughed when I told him that having heard
him so often declaim against vanity, and detect
it so often in his friends, I began to suspect he
knew the malady by having had it himself, and
that I had observed through life, that those per-
sons who had the most vanity were the most se-
vere against that failing in their friends. He
wished to impress upon me that he was not vain,
and gave various proofs to establish this ; but I
produced against him his boasts of swimming,
his evident desire of being considered more un
homme de societe than a poet, and other little
examples, when he laughingly pleaded guilty,
and promised to be more merciful towards his
friends.
We sat on the balcony after tea ; it commands
a fine view, and we had one of those moonlight
nights that are seen only in this country. Every
object was tinged with its silvery lustre. In front
were crowded an uncountable number of ships
from every country, with their various flags wav-
ing in the breeze, which bore to us the sounds of
the as various languages of the crews. In the
WITH LORD BYRON. 89
distance we enjoyed a more expanded view of the
sea, which reminded Byron of his friend Moore's
description, which he quoted:
The sea is like a silv'ry lake.
The fanale casting its golden blaze into this sil-
very lake, and throwing a red lurid reflection on
the sails of the vessels that passed near it ; the
fishermen, with their small boats, each having a
fire held in a sort of grate fastened at the end of
the boat, which burns brilliantly, and by which
they not only see the fish that approach, but at-
tract them ; their scarlet caps, which all the Gen-
oese sailors and fishermen wear, adding much to
their picturesque appearance, all formed a picture
that description falls far short of; and when to
this are joined the bland odors of the richest and
rarest flowers, with which the balconies are filled,
one feels that such nights are never to be forgot-
ten, and while the senses dwell on each, and all,
a delicious melancholy steals over the mind, as it
reflects that, the destinies of each conducting to
far distant regions, a time will arrive when all
now before the eye will appear but as a dream.
This was felt by all the party ; and after a si-
lence of many minutes, it was broken by Byron,
who remarked, " What an evening, and what a
view! Should we ever meet in the dense atmos-
phere of London, shall we not recall this evening,
90 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
and the scenery now before us? but no! most
probably there we should not feel as we do here ;
we should fall into the same heartless, loveless
apathy that distinguishes one half of our dear
compatriots, or the bustling, impertinent impor-
tance to be considered supreme bon toft that marks
the other."
Byron spoke with bitterness, but it was the
bitterness of a fine nature soured by having been
touched too closely by those who had lost their
better feelings through a contact with the world.
After a few minutes' silence, he said, " Look at
that forest of masts now before us ! from what
remote parts of the world do they come ! o'er
how many waves have they not passed, and how
many tempests have they not been, and may
again be exposed to ! how many hearts and ten-
der thoughts follow them ! mothers, wives, sisters,
and sweethearts, who .perhaps' at this hour are
offering up prayers for their safety."
While he was yet speaking, sounds of vocal
music arose; national hymns and barcaroles were
sung in turns by the different crews, and when
they had ceased, " God save the King " was sung
by the crews of some English merchantmen ly-
ing close to the pier. This was a surprise to us
all, and its effect on our feelings was magnetic.
Byron was no less touched than the rest ; each
WITH LORD BYRON. 91
feit at the moment that tie of country which
unites all when they meet on a far distant shore.
When the song ceased, Byron, with a melancholy
smile, observed, " Why, positively, we are all
quite sentimental this evening, and I /, who
have sworn against sentimentality, find the old
leaven still in my nature, and quite ready to make
a fool of me. < Tell it not in Gath,' that is to
say, breathe it not in London, or to English ears
polite, or never again shall I be able to enact the
stoic philosopher. Come, come, this will never do,
we must forswear moonlight, fine views, and above
all, hearing a national air sung. Little does his
gracious Majesty Big Ben, as Moore calls him,
imagine what loyal subjects he has at Genoa,
and least of all that I am among their number."
Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was
not successful, and he wished us good-night with
a trepidation of manner that marked his feelings.
And this is the man that I have heard considered
unfeeling! How often are our best qualities
turned against us, and made the instruments for
wounding us in the most vulnerable part, until,
ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, we af-
fect an insensibility we are far from possessing,
and, while we deceive others, nourish in secret
the feelings that prey only on our own hearts !
It is difficult to judge when Lord Byron is
92 JOUBNAL OF CONVEESATIONS
serious or not. He has a habit of mystifying,
that might impose upon many; but that can be
detected by examining his physiognomy ; for a
sort of mock gravity, now and then broken by a
malicious smile, betrays when he is speaking for
effect, and not giving utterance to his real senti-
ments. If he sees that he is detected, he appears
angry for a moment, and then laughingly admits
that it amuses him to hoax people, as he calls it,
and that when each person, at some future day,
will give their different statements of him, they
will be so contradictory, that all will be doubted
an idea that gratifies him exceedingly ! The
mobility of his nature is extraordinary, arid makes
him inconsistent in his actions as well as in his
conversation. He introduced the subject of La
Contessa Guiccioli and her family, which we of
course, would not have touched on. He stated
that they lived beneath his roof because his rank
as a British peer afforded her father and brother
protection, they having been banished from Ra-
venna, their native place, on account of their pol-
itics. He spoke in high terms of the Counts
Gamba, father and son; he said that he had
given the family a wing of his house, but that
their establishments were totally separate, their
repasts never taken together, and that such was
their scrupulous delicacy, that they never would
WITH LORD BYRON. 93
accept a pecuniary obligation from him in all the
difficulties entailed on them by their exile. He
represented La Contessa Guiccioli as a most
amiable and lady-like person, perfectly disinter-
ested and noble-minded, devotedly attached to
him, and possessing so many high and estimable
qualities, as to offer an excuse for any man's at-
tachment to her. He said that he had been
passionately in love with her, and that she had
sacrificed every thing for him ; that the whole of
her conduct towards him had been admirable, and
that not only did he feel the strongest personal
attachment to her, but the highest sentiments
of esteem. He dwelt with evident complacency
on her noble birth and distinguished connections
advantages to which he attaches great impor-
tance. 1 never met any one with so decided a
taste for aristocracy as Lord Byron, and this is
shown in a thousand different ways.
He says the Contessa is well educated, remark-
ably fond of, and weU read in, the poetry of her
own country, and a tolerable proficient in that of
France and England. In his praises of Madame
Guiccioli, it is quite evident that he is sincere,
and I am persuaded this is his last attachment.
He told me that she had used every effort to get
him to discontinue " Don Juan," or at least to
preserve the future cantos from all impure pass-
94 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ages. In short, he has said all that was possible
to impress me with a favorable opinion of this
lady, and has convinced me that he entertains a
very high one of her himself.
Byron is a strange melange of good and evil,
the predominancy of either depending wholly on
the humor he may happen to be in. His is a
character that Nature totally unfitted for domes-
tic habits, or for rendering a woman of refine-
ment or susceptibility happy. He confesses to
me that he is not happy, but admits that it is his
own fault, as the Contessa Guiccioli, the only
object of his love, has all the qualities to render
a reasonable being happy. I observed, apropos
to some observation he had made, that I feared
La Contessa Guiccioli had little reason to be sat-
isfied with her lot. He answered, " Perhaps you
are right ; yet she must know that I am sincerely
attached to her; but the truth is, my habits are
not those requisite to form the happiness of any
woman ; I am worn out in feelings ; for, though
only thirty-six, I feel sixty in mind, and am less
capable than ever of those nameless attentions
that all women, but, above all, Italian women,
require. I like solitude, which has become abso-
lutely necessary to me ; am fond of shutting my-
self up for hours, and, when with the person I
like, am often distrait and gloomy. There is
WITH LOKD BYRON. 95
something I am convinced (continued Byron) in
the poetical temperament that precludes happi-
ness, not only to the person who has it, but to
those connected with him. Do not accuse me of
vanity, because I say this, as my belief is, that
the worst poet may share this misfortune in com-
mon with the best. The way in which I account
for it is, that our imaginations being warmer than
our hearts, and much more given to wander, the
latter have not the power to control the former ;
hence, soon after our passions are gratified, imag-
ination again takes wing, and, finding the insuf-
ficiency of actual indulgence beyond the moment,
abandons itself to all its wayward fancies, arid
during this abandonment becomes cold and in-
sensible to the demands of affection. This is our
misfortune, but not our fault, and dearly do we
expiate it; by it we are rendered incapable of
sympathy, and cannot lighten, by sharing, the
pain we inflict. Thus we witness, without the
power of alleviating, the anxiety and dissatisfac-
tion our conduct occasions. We are not so
totally unfeeling as not to be grieved at the un-
happiness we cause ; but this same power of im-
agination transports our thoughts to other scenes,
and we are always so much more occupied by
the ideal than the present, that we forget all that
is actual. It is as though the creatures of an-
96 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
other sphere, not subject to the lot of mortality,
formed a factitious alliance (as all alliances must
be that are not in all respects equal) with the
creatures of this earth, and, being exempt from
its sufferings, turned their thoughts to brighter
regions, leaving the partners of their earthly ex-
istence to suffer alone. But, let the object of
affection be snatched away by death, and how
is all the pain ever inflicted on them avenged !
The same imagination that led us to slight, or
overlook their sufferings, now that they are for
ever lost to us, magnifies their estimable qual-
ities, and increases tenfold the affection we ever
felt for them
Oh ! what are thousand living loves,
To that which cannot quit the dead?
How did I feel this, when Allegra, my daughter,
died ! While she lived, her existence never seemed
necessary to my happiness ; but no sooner did I
lose her, than it appeared to me as if I could not
live without her. Even now the recollection is
most bitter ; but how much more severely would
the death of Teresa afflict me with the dreadful
consciousness that while I had been soaring into
the fields of romance and fancy, I had left her to
weep over my coldness or infidelities of imagina-
tion. It is a dreadful proof of the weakness of
our natures, that we cannot control ourselves suf-
WITH LORD BYRON. 97
ficiently to form the happiness of those we love,
or to bear their loss without agony."
The whole of this conversation made a deep
impression on my mind, and the countenance of
the speaker, full of earnestness and feeling, im-
pressed it still more strongly on my memory.
Byron is right ; a brilliant imagination is rarely,
if ever, accompanied by a warm heart ; but on
this latter depends the happiness of life ; the other
renders us dissatisfied with its ordinary enjoy-
ments.
He is an extraordinary person, indiscreet to a
degree that is surprising, exposing his own feel-
ings, and entering into details of those of others,
that ought to be sacred, with a degree of frank-
ness as unnecessary as it is rare. Incontinence
of speech is his besetting sin. He is, I am per-
suaded, incapable of keeping any secret, however
it may concern his own honor or that of another ;
and the first person with whom he found himself
Ute-d-tete would be made the confidant without
any reference to his worthiness of the confidence
or not. This indiscretion proceeds not from
malice, but I should say, from want of delicacy
of mind. To this was owing the publication of
his " Farewell," addressed to Lady Byron a
farewell that must have lost all effect as an ap-
peal to her feelings the moment it was exposed to
7
98 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the public nay, must have offended her deli-
cacy.
Byron spoke to-day in terms of high commen-
dation of Hope's " Anastasius ; " said that he
wept bitterly over many pages of it, and for two
reasons first, that h.e had not written it, and,
secondly, that Hope had ; for that it was neces-
sary to like a man excessively to pardon his writ-
ing such a book a book, as he said, excelling all
recent productions, as much in wit and talent, as
in true pathos. He added, that he would have
given his two most approved poems to have been
the author of " Anastasius."
From " Anastasius "he wandered to the works
of Mr. Gait, praised the "Annals of the Parish "
very highly, as also " The Entail," which we had
lent him, and some scenes of which he said had
affected him very much. " The characters in Mr.
Gait's novels have an identity," added Byron,
" that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures."
As a woman, I felt proud of the homage he
paid to the genius of Mrs. Hemans, and as a pas-
sionate admirer of her poetry, I felt flattered, at
finding that Lord Byron fully sympathized with
my admiration. He has, or at least expresses, a
strong dislike to the Lake school of poets, never
mentions them except in ridicule, and he and I
nearly quarrelled to-day because I defended poor
Keats.
WITH LORD BYRON. 99
On looking out from the balcony this morning
with Byron, I observed -his countenance change,
and an expression of deep sadness steal over it.
After a few minutes' silence he pointed out to
me a boat anchored to the right, as the one in
which his friend Shelley went down, and he said
the sight of it made him ill, " You should have
known Shelley," said Byron, " to feel how much
I must regret him. He was the most gentle, most
amiable, and least worldly-minded person I ever
met ; full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all
other men, and possessing a degree of genius,
joined to a simplicity as rare as it is admirable.
He had formed to himself a beau ideal of all that
is fine, high minded, and noble, and he acted up
to this ideal even to the very letter. He had a
most brilliant imagination, but a total want of
worldly wisdom. I have seen nothing like him,
and never shall again, I am certain. I never can
forget the night that his poor wife rushed into my
room at Pisa, with a face pale as marble, and
terror impressed on her brow, demanding, with all
the tragic impetuosity of grief and alarm, where
was her husband ! Vain were all our efforts to
calm her, a desperate sort of courage seemed to
give her energy to confront the horrible truth that
awaited her ; it was the courage of despair. I
have seen nothing in tragedy on the stage so
100 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
powerful, or so affecting, as her appearance, and
it often presents itself to my memory. I knew
nothing then of the catastrophe, but the vividness
of her terror communicated itself to me, and I
feared the worst, which fears were, alas! too
soon fearfully realized.
" Mrs. Shelley is very clever ; indeed it would
be difficult for her not to be so ; the daughter of
Mary Wollstonecraft and Godwin, and the wife
of Shelley, could be no common person."
Byron talked to-day of Leigh Hunt, regretted
his ever having embarked in the " Liberal," and
said that it had drawn a nest of hornets on him ;
but expressed a very good opinion of the talents
and principle of Mr. Hunt, though, as he said,
" our tastes are so opposite, that we are totally
unsuited to each other. He admires the Lakers,
I abhor them ; in short, we are more formed to be
friends at a distance, than near." I can perceive
that he wishes Mr. Hunt and his family away.
It appears to me that Byron is a person who,
without reflection, would form engagements
which, when condemned by his friends or ad-
visers, he would gladly get out of without con-
sidering the means, or, at least, without reflecting
on the humiliation such a desertion must inflict
on the persons he hai associated with him. He
gives me the idea of a man. who, feeling himself
WITH LORD BYRON. 101
in such a dilemma, would become cold and un-
gracious to the parties with whom he so stood,
before he had mental courage sufficient to aban-
don them. I may be wrong ; but the whole of
his manner of talking of Mr. Hunt gives me this
impression, though he has not said what might
be called an unkind word of him.
Much as Byron has braved public opinion, it is
evident he has a great deference for those who
stand high in it, and that he is shy in attaching
himself publicly to persons who have even, how-
ever undeservedly, fallen under its censure. His
expressed contempt and defiance of the world
reminds me of the bravadoes of children, who
afraid of darkness, make a noise to give them-
selves courage to support what they dread. It
is very evident that he is partial to aristocratic
friends ; he dwells with complacency on the ad-
vantages of rank and station ; and has more than
once boasted that people of family are always to
be recognized by a certain air and the smallness
and delicacy of their hands.
He talked in terms of high commendation of
the talents and acquirements of Mr. Hobhouse ;
but a latent sentiment of pique was visible in his
manner, from the idea he appeared to entertain
that Mr. Hobhouse had undervalued him. Byron
evidently likes praise ; this is a weakness, if weak-
102 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ness it be, that he partakes in common with man-
kind in general ; but he does not seem aware that
a great compliment is implied in the very act
of telling a man his faults for the friend who
undertakes this disagreeable office must give him
whom he censures credit for many good qualities,
as well as no ordinary portion of candor and tem-
per, to suppose him capable of hearing the recap-
itulation of his failings. Byron is, after all, a
spoiled child, and the severe lessons he has met
with being disproportioned to the errors that
called them forth, has made him view the faults
of the civilized world through a false medium ; a
sort of discolored magnifying-glass, while his own
are gazed at through a concave lens. All that
Byron has told me of the frankness and unbend-
ing honesty of Mr. Hobhouse's character, has
given me a most favorable impression of that
gentleman.
Byron gave me to-day a MS. copy of verses,
addressed to Lady Byron, on reading in a news-
paper that she had been ill. How different is the
feeling that pervades them from that of the letter
addressed to her which he has given me! a lurking
tenderness, suppressed by a pride that was doubt-
ful of the reception it might meet, is evident in
one, while bitterness, uncompromising bitterness,
marks the other. Neither were written but with
WITH LOED BYKON. 103
deep feelings of pain, and should be judged as the
outpourings of a wounded spirit, demanding pity
more than anger. I subjoin the verses, though
not without some reluctance. But while to the
public they are of that value that any reasons for
their suppression ought to be extremely strong, so,
on the other hand, I trust they cannot hurt either
her feelings to whom they are addressed, or his
memory by whom they are written ; to her,
because the very bitterness of reproach proves
that unconquerable affection which cannot but
heal the wound it causes ; to him, because who,
in the shattered feelings they betray, will not
acknowledge the grief that hurries into error, and
(may we add in charity !) atones for it.
TO
And thou wert sad yet I was not with thee ;
And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near ;
Methought that joy and health alone could be
Where I was not and pain and sorrow here !
And is it thus ? it is as I foretold,
And shall be more so ; for the mind recoils
Upon itself, and the wreck' d heart lies cold,
While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils.
It is not in the storm nor in the strife
We feel benumb' d, and wish to be no more,
But in the after-silence on the shore,
When all is lost, except a little life.
I am too well avenged! but 'twas my right:
Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent
104 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
To be the Nemesis who should requite
}Jor did Heaven choose so near an instrument.
Mercy is for the merciful ! if thou
Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now,
Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of sleep I-
Yes ! they may natter thee, but thou shalt feel
A hollow agony which will not heal,
For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep:
Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap
The bitter harvest in a woe as real !
I have had many foes, but none like thee ;
For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend,
And be avenged, or turn them into friend ;
But thou in safe implacability
Hadst nought to dread in thy own weakness shielded,
And in my love, which hath but too much yielded,
And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare
And thus upon the world trust in thy truth
And the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth
On things that were not, and on things that are
Even upon such a basis hast thou built
A monument, whose cement hath been guilt !
The moral Clytemnestra of thy lord,
And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword,
Fame, peace, and hope and all the better life
Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart,
Might still have risen from out the grave of strife,
And found a nobler duty than to part.
But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice,
Trafficking with them in a purpose cold,
For present anger, and for future gold
And buying other's grief at any price.
And thus once enter'd into crooked ways,
The early Truth, which was thy proper praise,
Did not still walk beside thee but at times,
And with a breast unknowing its own crimes,
Deceit, averments incompatible,
WITH LOED BYRON. 1Q5
Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell
In Janus-spirits the significant eye
Which learns to lie with silence the pretext
Of Prudence, with advantages annex' d
The acquiescence in all things which tend,
No matter how, to the desired end
All found a place in thy philosophy.
The means were worthy, and the end is won
I would not do by thee as thou hast done !
It is evident that Lady Byron occupies his
attention continually; he introduces- her name
frequently; is fond of recurring to the brief period
of their living together; dwells with complacency
on her personal attractions, saying that though not
regularly handsome, he liked her looks. He is
very inquisitive about her; was much disap-
pointed that I had never seen her, nor could give
any account of her appearance at present. In
short, a thousand indescribable circumstances
have left the irnpresssion on my mind that she
occupies much of his thoughts, and that they
appear to revert continually to her and his child.
He owned to me, that when he reflected on the
whole tenor of her conduct the refusing any
explanation never answering his letters, or hold*
ing out even a hope that in future years their
child might form a bond of union between them,
he felt exasperated against her, and vented this
feeling in his writings; nay more, he blushed for
his own weakness in thinking so often and so
106 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
>A V
kindly of one who certainly showed no symptom
of ever bestowing a thought on him. The mys-
tery attached to Lady Byron's silence has piqued
him, and kept alive an interest that, even now,
appears as lively as if their separation was recent.
There is something so humiliating in the con-
sciousness that some dear object, to whom we"
thought ourselves necessary, and who occupies
much of our thoughts, can forget that we exist,
or at least act as if she did so, that I can well
excuse the bitterness of poor Byron's feelings on
this point, though not the published sarcasms
caused by this bitterness; and whatever maybe
the sufferings of Lady Byron, they are more than
avenged by what her husband feels.
It appears to me extraordinary, that a person
who has given such interesting sketches of the
female character, as Byron has in his works,
should be so little au fait of judging feminine
feeling under certain circumstances. He is sur-
prised that Lady Byron has never relented since
his absence from England; but he forgets how
that absence has been filled up on his part. I
ventured to suggest this, and hinted that, per-
haps, had his conduct been irreproachable during
the first years of their separation, and unstained
by any attachment that could have widened the
breach between them, it is possible that Lady
WITH LORD BYRON. 107
Byron might have become reconciled to him ; but
that no woman of delicacy could receive or
answer letters written beneath the same roof that
sheltered some female favorite, whose presence
alone proved that the husband could not have
those feelings of propriety or affection towards
his absent wife, the want of which constitutes a
crime that all ivomen^ at least, can understand to
be one of those least pardonable. How few men
understand the feelings of women! Sensitive,
and easily wounded as we are, obliged to call
up pride to support us in trials that always leave
fearfol marks behind, how often are we compelled
to assume the semblance of coldness and indif-
ference when the heart inly bleeds; and the
decent composure, put on with our visiting gar-
ments to appear in public, and, like them, worn
for a few hours, are with them laid aside ; and all
the dreariness, the heart-consuming cares, that
woman alone can know, return to make us feel,
that though we may disguise our sufferings from
others, and deck our countenance with smiles, we
cannot deceive ourselves, and are but the more
miserable from the constraint we submit to ! A
woman only can understand a woman's heart
we cannot, dare not, complain sympathy is
denied us, because we must not lay open the
wounds that excite it ; and even the most legiti-
108 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
mate feelings are too sacred in female estimation
to be exposed thus while we nurse the grief
" that lies too deep for tears," and consumes alike
health and peace, a man may with impunity
express all, nay, more than he feels court and
meet sympathy, while his leisure hours are cheered
by occupations and pleasures, the latter too often
such as ought to prove how little he stood in
need of compassion, except for his vices.
I stated something of this to Lord Byron
to-day, apropos to the difference between his
position and that of his wife. He tried to prove
to me how much more painful was his situation
than hers; but I effected some alteration in his
opinion when I had fairly placed their relative
positions before him at least such as they
appeared to me. I represented Lady Byron to
him separating in early youth, whether from just
or mistaken motives for such a step, from the
husband of her choice, after little more than a
brief year's union, and immediately after that
union had been cemented by the endearing,
strengthening tie of & new-born infant! carrying
with her into solitude this fond and powerful
remembrancer of its father, how much must it
have cost her to resist the appeals of such a
pleader! wearing away her youth in almost
monastic seclusion, her motives questioned by
WITH LORD BYRON, 109
some, and appreciated by few seeking consola-
tion alone in the discharge of her duties, and
avoiding all external demonstrations of a grief
that her pale cheek and solitary existence are such
powerful vouchers for! Such is the portrait I
gave him of Lady Byron his own I ventured to
sketch as follows.
I did not enter into the causes, or motives, of
the separation, because I know them not, but I
dwelt on his subsequent conduct : the appealing
on the separation to public sympathy, by the pub-
lication of verses which ought only to have met
the eye of her to whom they were addressed, was
in itself an outrage to that delicacy, that shrinks
from, and shuns publicity, so inherent in the
female heart. He leaves England the climate,
modes, and customs of which had never been
congenial to his taste to seek beneath the sunny
skies of Italy, and all the soul-exciting objects
that classic land can offer, a consolation for
domestic disappointment. How soon were the
broken ties of conjugal affection replaced by less
holy ones ! I refer not to his attachment to La
Contessa Guiccioli, because at least it is of a
different and a more pure nature, but to those
degrading liaisons which marked the first year or
two of his residence in Italy and must ever, from
their revolting coarseness, remain a stain on his
HO JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
fame. It may be urged that disappointment and
sorrow drove him into such excesses ; but admit-
ting this, surely we must respect the grief that is
borne in solitude, and with the most irreproach-
able delicacy of conduct, more than that which
flies to gross sensualities for relief.
Such was the substance, and I believe nearly
the words I repeated to him to-day ; and it is but
justice to him to say that they seemed to make a
deep impression. He said that if my portrait of
Lady Byron's position was indeed a faithful one,
she was much more to be pitied than he ; that he
felt deeply for her, but that he had never viewed
their relative situations in the same light before ;
he had always considered her as governed wholly
by pride.
I urged that my statement was drawn from
facts ; that, of the extreme privacy and seclusion
of her life, ever since the separation, there could
bo no doubt, and this alone vouched for the feel-
ings that led to it.
He seemed pleased and gratified by the re-
flections I had made, insensibly fell into a tone
of tenderness in speaking of Lady Byron, and
pressed my hand with more than usual cordiality.
On bidding me good-bye, his parting words were,
u You probe old and half-healed wounds, but
though you give pain, you excite more healthy
action, and do good."
WITH LORD BYRON. HI
His heart yearns to see his clpld ; all children
of the same age remind him of her, and he lovea
to recur to the subject.
Poor Byron has hitherto been so continually
occupied with dwelling on, and analyzing his
own feelings, that he has not reflected on those
of his wife. He cannot understand her observing
such a total silence on their position, because he
could not, and cannot, resist making it the topic
of conversation with even chance associates ; this,
which an impartial observer of her conduct would
attribute to deep feelings, and a sense of delicacy,
he concludes to be caused by pride and want of
feeling. We are always prone to judge of others
by ourselves, which is one of the reasons why our
judgments are in general so erroneous. Man
may be judged of by his species en masse, but he
who would judge of mankind in the aggregate,
from one specimen of the genus, must be often in
error, and this is Byron's case.
Lord Byron told me to-day, that he had been
occupied in the morning making his will ; that
he had left the bulk of his fortune to his sister, as
his daughter having, in right of her mother, a
large fortune, he thought it unnecessary to in-
crease it ; he added that he had left La Contessa
Guiccioli X 10,000, and had intended to have left
her 25,000, but that she had suspected his in-
112 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
tentions, and urged him so strongly not to do so,
or indeed to leave her any thing, that he had
changed the sum to < 10,000. He said that this
was one, of innumerable instances, of her delicacy
and disinterestedness, of which he had repeated
proofs ; that she was so fearful of the possibility
of having interested motives attributed to her,
that he was certain she would prefer the most
extreme poverty to incurring such a suspicion. I
observed, that were I he, I would have left her
the sum I had originally intended, as, in case of
his death, it would be a flattering proof of his
esteem for her, and she had always the power of
refusing the whole, or any part of the bequest
she thought proper. It appeared to me, that
the more delicacy and disinterestedness she dis-
played, the more decided ought he to be, in
marking his appreciation of her conduct. He
appeared to agree with me, and passed many
encomiums on La Contessa.
He talked to-day of Sir Francis Burdett, of
whose public and private character he entertains
the most exalted opinion. He said that it was
gratifying to behold in him the rare union of a
heart and head that left nothing to be desired,
and dwelt with evident pride and pleasure on the
mental courage displayed by Sir Francis in be-
friending and supporting him, when so many of
WITH LORD BYRON 113
his professed friends stood aloof, on his separa-
tion from Lady Byron. The defalcation of his
friends, at the moment he most required them,
has made an indelible impression on his mind,
and has given him a very bad opinion of his
countrymen. I endeavored to reason him out
of this, by urging the principle that mankind,
en masse, are every where the same, but he de-
nied this, on the plea that, as civilization had
arrived at a greater degree of perfection in Eng-
land than elsewhere, selfishness, its concomitant,
there flourished so luxuriantly, as to overgrow all
generous and kind feelings. He quoted various
examples of friends, and even the nearest rela-
tions, deserting each other in the hour of need,
fearful that any part of the censure heaped on
some less fortunate connection might fall on
them. I am unwilling to believe that his pic-
tures are not overdrawn, and hope I shall always
think so
" Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise."
" Talking of friends," said Byron, " Mr. Hob-
house has been the most impartial, or perhaps
(added he) impartial of all my friends ; he always
told me my faults, but I must do him the justice to
add, that lie told them to me, and not to others."
I observed that the epithet impartial was the ap-
plicable one ; but he denied it, saying that Mr.
114 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Hobhouse must have been unpartial, to have dis-
cerned all the errors he had pointed out ; " but,"
he added, laughing, " I could have told him of
some more which he had not discovered, for,
even then, avarice had made itself strongly felt
in my nature."
Byron came to see us to-day, and appeared ex-
tremely discomposed; after half an hour's con-
versation on indifferent subjects, he at length
broke forth with, " Only fancy my receiving to-
day a tragedy dedicated as follows < From
George to George Byron!' This is being
cool with a vengeance. I never was more pro-
voked. How stupid, how ignorant to pass over
my rank ! I am determined not to read the
tragedy; for a man capable of committing such
a solecism in good breeding and common de-
cency, can write nothing worthy of being read."
We were astonished at witnessing the annoy-
ance this circumstance gave him, and more than
ever convinced, that the pride of aristocracy is
one of the peculiar features of his character. If
he sometimes forgets his rank, he never can for-
give any one else's doing so ; and as he is not
naturally dignified, and his propensity to flip-
pancy renders him still less so, he often finds
himself in a false position, by endeavoring to
recover lost ground. We endea"-' ed to console
WITH LORD BYRON. 115
him by telling him that we knew Mr. George
a little, and that he was clever and agree-
able, as also that his passing over the title of
Byron was meant as a compliment it was a
delicate preference shown to the renown accord-
ed to George Byron the poet, over the rank and
title, which were adventitious advantages, enno-
bled by the possessor, but that could add nothing
to his fame. All our arguments were vain ; he
said " this could not be the man's feelings, as he
reduced him (Lord Byron) to the same level as
himself." It is strange to see a person of such
brilliant and powerful genius sullied by such in-
congruities. Were he but sensible how much the
Lord is overlooked in the Poet he would be less
vain of his rank ; but as it is, this vanity is very
prominent, and resembles more the pride of a
parvenu than the calm dignity of an ancient aris-
tocrat. It is also evident that he attaches im-
portance to the appendages of rank and station.
The trappings of luxury, to which a short use
accustoms every one, seem to please him ; he
observes, nay, comments upon them, and oh !
mortifying conclusion, appears, at least for the
moment, to think more highly of their possessors.
As his own mode of life is so extremely simple,
this seems the more extraordinary ; but every
thing in him is contradictory and extraordinary.
116 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Of his friends he remarks, "this or that person
is a man of family, or he is a parvenu, the marks
of which character, in spite of all his affected
gentility, break out in a thousand ways." We
were not prepared for this ; we expected to meet
a man more disposed to respect the nobility of
genius than that of rank ; but we have found the
reverse. In talking of Ravenna, the natal resi-
dence of La Contessa Guiccioli, he dwells with
peculiar complacency on the equipage of her hus-
band ; talks of the six black carriage-horses, with-
out which the old Conte seldom moved, and their
spacious palazzo ; also the wealth of the Conte,
and the distinguished connections of the lady.
He describes La Contessa as being of the mid-
dle stature, finely formed, exquisitely fair, her
features perfectly regular, and the expression of
her countenance remarkable for its animation
and sweetness, her hair auburn, and of great
beauty. No wonder, then, that such rare charms
have had power to fix his truant heart; and, as he
says that to these she unites accomplishments
and amiability, it may be concluded, as indeed
he declares, that this is his last attachment. He
frequently talks of Alfieri, and always with en-
thusiastic admiration. He remarks on the simi-
larity of their tastes and pursuits, their domes-
ticating themselves with women of rank, their
WITH LORD BYRON. 117
fondness for animals, and above all for horses;
their liking to be surrounded by birds and pets of
various descriptions, their passionate love of lib-
erty, habitual gloom, &c. &c. In short, he pro-
duces so many points of resemblance, that it
leads one to suspect that he is a copy of an
original he has long studied.
This, again, proceeds from a want of self-re-
spect ; but we may well pardon it, when we reflect
on the abuse, calumny, envy, hatred, and malice,
that, in spite of all his genius, have pursued him
from the country that genius must adorn.
Talking of Alfieri, he told me to-day, that
when that poet was travelling in Italy, a very
romantic, and, as he called her, tete montee Ital-
ian Principessa, or Duchessa, who had long been
an enthusiastic admirer of his works, having
heard that he was to pass within fifty miles of
her residence, set of to encounter him; and v hav-
ing arrived at the inn where he sojourned, was
shown into a room where she was told Alfieri
was writing. She enters agitated and fatigued
sees a very good-looking man seated at a ta-
ble whom she concludes must be Alfieri, throws
herself into his arms and, in broken words, de-
clares her admiration, and the distance she has
come to declare it. In the midst of the lady's
impassioned speeches, Alfieri enters the room,
118 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
casts a glance of surprise and hauteur at the
pair, and lets fall some expression that discloses
to the humbled Principessa the shocking mistake
she has made.
The poor Secretary (for such he was) is blamed
by the lady, while he declares his innocence, find-
ing himself, as he says, in the embraces of a lady
who never allowed him even a moment to inter-
rupt her, by the simple question of what she
meant! Alfieri retired in offended dignity, shocked
that any one could be mistaken for him, while
the Principessa had to retrace her steps, her en-
thusiasm somewhat cooled by the mistake and its
consequences.
Byron says that the number of anonymous
amatory letters and portraits he has received, and
all from English ladies, would fill a large volume.
He says he has never noticed any of them ; but it
is evident he recurs to them with complacency.
He talked to-day of a very different kind of
letter, which appears to have made a profound
impression on him; he has promised to show it
to me; it is from a Mr. Sheppard, inclosing him
a prayer offered up for Byron, by the wife of Mr.
Sheppard, and sent since her death. He says he
never was more touched than on perusing it, and
that it has given him a better opinion of human
nature.
WITH LOUD BYE ON. 119
The following is the copy of the letter and
prayer, which Lord Byron has permitted me to
make :
" TO LORD BYRON.
" FKOME, SOMERSET, Nov. 21, 1821.
" MY LORD : More than two years since, a
lovely and beloved wife was taken from me, by
a lingering disease, after a very short union. She
possessed unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and
a piety so retiring as rarely to disclose itself in
words, but so influential as to produce uniform
benevolence of conduct. In the last hour of life,
after a farewell look on a lately-born and only
infant, for whom she had evinced inexpressible
affection, her last whispers were, i God's happi-
ness ! God's happiness ! '
" Since the second anniversary of her decease,
I have read some papers which no one had seen
during her life, and which contain her most secret
thoughts. I am induced to communicate to your
Lordship a passage from these papers, which
there is no doubt refers to yourself, as I have
more than once heard the writer mention your
agility on the rocks at Hastings.
" ' Oh, my God, I take encouragement from the
assurance of thy word, to pray to Thee in behalf
of one for whom I have lately been much inter-
120 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ested. May the person to whom I allude (and
who is now, we fear, as much distinguished for
his neglect of Thee as for the transcendant talents
Thou hast bestowed on him,) be awakened to a
sense of his own danger, and led to seek that
peace of mind in a proper sense of religion, which
he has found this world's enjoyment unable to
procure ! Do Thou grant that his future example
may be productive of far more extensive benefit
than his past conduct and writings have been of
evil; and may the Sun of Righteousness, which
we trust will, at some future period, arise on him,
be bright in proportion to the darkness of those
clouds which guilt has raised around him, and
the balm which it bestows, healing and soothing
in proportion to the keenness of that agony which
the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him !
May the hope that the sincerity of my own efforts
for the attainment of holiness, and the approval
of my own love for the Great Author of religion,
will render this prayer, and every other for the
welfare of mankind, more efficacious cheer me
in the path of duty ; but, let me not forget, that
while we are permitted to animate ourselves to
exertion by every innocent motive, these are but
the lesser streams which may serve to increase
the current, but which, deprived of the grand
fountain of good, (a deep conviction of inborn sin,
WITH LORD BYRON. 121
and firm belief in the efficacy of Christ's death
for the salvation of those who trust in him, and
really wish to serve him,) would soon dry up, and
leave us barren of every virtue as before.
HASTINGS, July 31, 1814.'
" There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract
which, in a literary sense, can at all interest you ;
but it may, perhaps, appear to you how worthy of
reflection how deep and expansive a concern for
the happiness of others the Christian faith can
awaken in the midst of youth and prosperity.
Here is nothing poetical and splendid, as in the
expostulatory homage of M. Delamartine ; but
here is the sublime, my Lord ; for this intercession
was offered on your account, to the supreme
Source of happiness. It sprang from a faith more
confirmed than that of the French poet, and from
a charity, which, in combination with faith,
showed its power unimpaired amidst the languors
and pains of approaching dissolution. I will hope
that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply sin-
cere, may not always be unavailing.
" It would add nothing, my Lord, to the fame
with which your genius has surrounded you, for
an unknown and obscure individual to express
his admiration of it. I had rather be numbered
with those who wish and pray, that ' wisdom
122 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
from above,' and 4 peace,' and 'joy?' may entei
such a mind. JOHN SHEPPARD."
On reading this letter and prayer, which Byron
did aloud, before he consigned it to me to copy,
and with a voice tremulous from emotion, and
seriousness of aspect that showed how deeply it
affected him, he observed, " Before I had read
this prayer, I never rightly understood the ex-
pression, so often used, ' The beauty of holiness/
This prayer and letter has done more to give me
a good opinion of religion, and its professors, than
all the religious books I ever read in my life.
" Here were two most amiable and exalted
minds offering prayers and wishes for the salva-
tion of one considered by three parts of his coun-
trymen to be beyond the pale of hope, and
charitably doomed to everlasting torments. The
religion that prays and hopes for the erring is the
true religion, and the only one that could make a
convert of me ; and I date (continued Byron) my
first impressions against religion to having wit-
nessed how little its votaries were actuated by
any true feeling of Christian charity. Instead of
lamenting the disbelief, or pitying the transgres-
sions (or at least the consequence) of the sinner,
they at once cast him off, dwell with acrimony
on his errors, and, not content with foredooming
him to eternal punishment hereafter, endeavor, as
WITH LOKD BYRON. 123
much as they can, to render his earthly existence
as painful as possible, until they have hardened
him in his errors, and added hatred of his species
to their number. Were all religious people like
Mr. Sheppard and the amiable wife he has lost,
we should have fewer skeptics ; such examples
would do more towards the work of conversion
than all that ever was written on the subject.
" When Religion supports the sufferer in afflic-
tion and sickness, even unto death, its advantages
are so visible, that all must wish to seek such a
consolation ; and when it speaks peace and hope
to those who have strayed from its path, it softens
feelings that severity must have hardened, and
leads back the wanderer to the fold ; but when it
clothes itself in anger, denouncing vengeance, or
shows itself in the pride of superior righteousness,
condemning, rather than pitying, all erring broth-
ers, it repels the wavering, and fixes the unrepent-
ant in their sins. Such a religion can make few
converts, but may make many dissenters to its
tenets ; for in religion, as in every thing else, its
utility must be apparent, to encourage people to
adopt its precepts; and the utility is never so
evident as when we see professors of religion sup-
ported by its consolations, and willing to extend
these consolations to those who have still more
need of them the misguided and the erring."
124 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
They who accuse Byron of being an unbeliever
are wrong ; he is skeptical, but not unbelieving ;
and it appears not unlikely to me that a time
may come when his wavering faith in many of
the tenets of religion' may be as firmly fixed as is
now his conviction of the immortality of the soul
a conviction that he declares every fine and
noble impulse of his nature renders more decided.
He is a sworn foe to Materialism, tracing every
defect to which we are subject, to the infirmities
entailed on us by the prison of clay in which the
heavenly spark is confined. Conscience, he says,
is to him another proof of the Divine Origin of
Man, as is also his natural tendency to the love
of good. A fine day, a moonlight night, or any
other fine object in the phenomena of nature,
excites (said Byron) strong feelings of religion
in all elevated minds, and an outpouring of the
spirit to the Creator, that, call it what we may, is
the essence of innate love and gratitude to the
Divinity.
There is a seriousness in Byron's manner, when
he gets warmed by his subject, that impresses one
with the truth of his statements. He observed to
me, " I seldom talk of religion, but I feel it, per-
haps, more than those who do. I speak to you
on this topic freely, because I know you will
neither laugh at, nor enter into a controversy with
WITH LORD BYRON. 125
me. It is strange, but true, that Mrs. Sheppard
is mixed up with all my religious aspirations ;
nothing ever so excited my imagination, and
touched my heart, as her prayer. I have pictured
her to myself a thousand times in the solitude of
her chamber, struck by a malady that generally
engrosses all feeling for self, and those near and
dear to one, thinking o/, and praying for me, who
was deemed by all an outcast. Her purity her
blameless life and the deep humility expressed
in her prayer render her, in my mind, the most
interesting and angelic creature that ever existed,
and she mingles in all my thoughts of a future
state. I would give any thing to have her por-
trait, though perhaps it would destroy the beau
ideal I have formed of her. What strange
thoughts pass through the rnind, and how much
are we influenced by adventitious circumstances !
The phrase lovely, in the letter of Mr. Sheppard,
has invested the memory of his wife with a
double interest; but beauty and goodness have
always been associated in my mind, because,
through life, I have found them generally go
together. I do not talk of mere beauty (continued
Byron) of feature or complexion, but of expres-
sion, that looking oat of the soul through the
eyes, which, in my opinion, constitutes true
beauty. Women have been pointed out to me
126 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
as beautiful who never could have interested my
feelings, from their want of countenance, or ex-
pression, which means countenance ; and others,
who were little remarked, have struck me as being
captivating, from the force of countenance. A
woman's face ought to be like an April day
susceptible of change and variety; but sunshine
should often gleam over it, to replace the clouds
and showers that may obscure its lustre which,
poetical description apart (said Byron) in sober
prose means, that good-humored smiles ought to
be ready to chase away the expression of pen-
siveness or care that sentiment or earthly ills call
forth. Women were meant to be the exciters of
all that is finest in our natures, and the soothers
of all that is turbulent and harsh. Of what use,
then, can a handsome automaton be, after one
has got acquainted with a face that knows no
change, though it causes many ? This is a style
of looks I could not bear the sight of for a week ;
and yet such are the looks that pass in society
for pretty, handsome, and beautiful. How beau-
tiful Lady C was ! She had no great variety
of expression, but the predominant ones were
purity, calmness, and abstraction. She looked
as if she had never caused an unhallowed senti-
ment, or felt one a sort of ' moonbeam on the
snow/ as our friend Moore would describe her,
WITH LORD BYKON. 127
that was lovely to look on. Lady A. F was
also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of
women in the past tense. What a pity, that of
all flowers, none fade so soon as beauty ! Poor
Lady A. F has not got married. Do you
know, I once had some thoughts of her as a wife ;
not that I was in love, as people call it, but I had
argued myself into a belief that I ought to marry,
and meeting her very often in society, the notion
came into my head, not heart, that she would suit
me. Moore, too, told me so much of her good
qualities, all which was, I believe, quite true, that
I felt tempted to propose to her, but did not,
whether tant mieux or tant pis, God knows, sup-
posing my proposal accepted. No marriage could
have turned out more unfortunately than the one
I made that is quite certain ; and, to add to my
agreeable reflections on this subject, I have the
consciousness that had I possessed sufficient com-
mand over my own wayward humor, I might
have rendered myself so dear and necessary to
Lady Byron, that she would not, could not, have
left me. It is certainly not very gratifying to my
vanity to have been plante after so short a union,
and within a few weeks after being made a father
a circumstance that one would suppose likely
to cement the attachment. I always get out of
temper when I recur to this subject ; and yet,
128 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
malgre moi, I find myself continually recurring
to it.
Byron is a perfect chameleon, possessing the
fabulous qualities attributed to that animal, of
taking the color of whatever touches him. He is
conscious of this, and says it is owing to the
extreme mobilite of his nature, which yields to
present impressions. It appears to me, that the
consciousness of his own defects renders him still
less tolerant to those of others ; this perhaps is
owing to their attempts to conceal them, more
than from natural severity, as he condemns hy-
pocrisy more than any other vice saying it is
the origin of all. If vanity, selfishness, or mun-
dane sentiments are brought in contact with him,
every 'arrow in the armory of ridicule is let fly,
and there is no shield sufficiently powerful to
withstand them. If vice approaches, he assails
it with the bitterest gall of satire ; but when
goodness appears, and that he is assured it is
sincere, all the dormant affections of his nature
are excited, and it is impossible not to observe
how tender and affectionate a heart his must
have been ere circumstances had soured it. This
was never more displayed than in the impression
made on him by. the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard,
and the letter of her husband. It is also evident
in the generous impulses that he betraj^s on hear-
WITH LOKD BYRON. 129
ing of distress or misfortune, which he endeavors
to alleviate ; and, unlike the world in general,
Byron never makes light of the griefs of others,
but shows commiseration and kindness. There
are days when he excites so strong an interest
and sympathy, by showing such undoubtable
proofs of good feeling, that every previous im-
pression to his disadvantage fades away, and one
is vexed with one's self for ever having harbored
them. But, alas ! " the morrow comes," and he
is no longer the same being. Some disagreeable
letter, review, or new example of the slanders
with which he has been for years assailed, changes
the whole current of his feelings renders him
reckless, sardonic, and as unlike the Byron of the
day before, as if they had nothing in common
nay, he seems determined to efface any good im-
pressions he might have made, and appears angry
with himself for having yielded to the kindly
feelings that gave birth to it. After such exhibi-
tions, one feels perplexed what opinion to form
of him ; and the individual who has an oppor-
tunity of seeing Byron very often, and for any
length of time, if he or she stated the daily im-
pressions candidly, would find, on reviewing them,
a mass of heterogeneous evidence, from which it
would be most difficult to draw a just conclu-
sion. The affectionate manner in which he
9
130 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
speaks of some of his juvenile companions, has
a delicacy and tenderness resembling the nature
of woman more than that of man, and leads me
to think that an extreme sensitiveness, checked
by coming in contact with persons incapable of
appreciating it, and affections chilled by finding
a want of sympathy, have repelled, but could not
eradicate, the seeds of goodness that now often
send forth blossoms, and, with culture, may yet
produce precious fruits.
I am sure that, if ten individuals undertook
the task of describing Byron, no two of the ten
would agree in their verdict respecting him, or
convey any portrait that resembled the other, and
yet the description of each might be correct, ac-
cording to his or her received opinion ; but the
truth is, the chameleon-like character or manner
of Byron renders it difficult to portray him ; and
the pleasure he seems to take in misleading his
associates in their estimate of him increases the
difficulty of the task. This extraordinary fancy
of his has so often struck me, that I expect to
see all the persons who have lived with him giv-
ing portraits, each unlike the other, and yet all
bearing a resemblance to the original at some
one time. Like the pictures given of some cele-
brated actor in his different characters, each like-
ness is affected by the dress and the part he has
WITH LOKD BYKON. i3l
to fill. The portrait of John Kemble in Cato,
resembles not Macbeth nor Hamlet, and yet each
is an accurate likeness of that admirable actor
in those characters ; so Byron, changing every
day, and fond of misleading those whom he
suspects might be inclined to paint him, will
always appear different from the hand of each
limner.
During our rides in the vicinity of Genoa, we
frequently met several persons, almost all of them
English, who evidently had taken that route pur-
posely to see Lord Byron, " Which is he ? "
" That's he," I have frequently heard whispered,
as the different groups extended their heads to
gaze at him ; while he has turned to me his pale
face assuming, for the moment, a warmer tint
and said, " How very disagreeable it is to be so
stared at ! If you knew how I detest it, you
would feel how great must be my desire to enjoy
the society of my friends at the Hotel de la Ville,
when I pay the price of passing through the
town, and exposing myself to the gazing multi-
tude on the stairs and in the antechambers."
Yet there were days when he seemed more
pleased than displeased at being followed and
stared at. All depended on the humor he was
in. When gay, he attributed the attention he
excited to the true cause admiration of his ge-
132 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
nius ; but when in a less good-natured humor, he
looked on it as an impertinent curiosity, caused
by the scandalous histories circulated against him,
and resented it as such.
He was peculiarly fond of flowers, and gener-
ally bought a large bouquet every day of a gar-
dener whose grounds we passed. He told me
that he liked to have them in his room, though
they excited melancholy feelings, by reminding
him of the evanescence of all that is beautiful,
but that the melancholy was of a softer, milder
character, than his general feelings.
Observing Byron one day in more than usually
low spirits, I asked him if any thing painful had
occurred. He sighed deeply, and said " No,
nothing new ; the old wounds are still unhealed,
and bleed afresh on the slightest touch, so that
God knows there needs nothing new. Can I
reflect on my present position without bitter feel-
ings ? Exiled from my country by a species of
ostracism the most humiliating to a proud mind,
when daggers and not shells were used to ballot,
inflicting mental wounds more deadly and diffi-
cult to be healed than all that the body could
suffer. Then the notoriety (as I call what you
would kindly name fame) that follows me, pre-
cludes the privacy I desire, and renders me an
object of curiosity, which is a continual source
WITH LORD BYRON. 133
of irritation to my feelings. I am bound, by the
indissoluble ties of marriage to one who will not
live with me, and live with one to whom I can-
not give a legal right to be my companion, and
who, wanting that right, is placed in a position
humiliating to her and. most painful to me.
Were the Contessa Guiccioli and I married,
we should, I am sure, be cited as an example
of conjugal happiness, and the domestic and
retired life we lead would entitle us to respect;
but our union, wanting the legal and religious
part of the ceremony of marriage, draws on us
both censure and blame. She is formed to make
a good wife to any man to whom she attached
herself. She is fond of retirement is of a most
affectionate disposition and noble-minded and
disinterested to the highest degree. Judge, then,
how mortifying it must be to me to be the cause
of placing her in a false position. All this is not
thought of when people are blinded by passion,
but when passion is replaced by better feelings
those of affection, friendship, and confidence
when, in short, the liaison has all of marriage but
its forms, then it is that we wish to give it the
respectability of wedlock. It is painful (said By-
ron) to find one's self growing old without
that which should accompany old age,
As honor, love, obedience, troops of friends.
134 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
I feel this keenly, reckless as I appear, though
there are few to whom I would avow it, and cer-
tainly not to a man."
" With all. my faults," said Byron one day, " and
they are, as you will readily believe, innumerable,
I have never traduced the only two women with
whom I was ever domesticated, Lady Byron and
the Contessa Guiccioli. Though I have had, God
knows, reason to complain of Lady Byron's leav-
ing me, and all that her desertion entailed, I defy
malice itself to prove that I ever spoke against
her ; on the contrary, I have always given her
credit for the many excellent and amiable quali-
ties she possesses, or at least possessed, when I
knew her ; and I have only to regret that for-
giveness, for real or imagined wrongs, was not
amongst their number. Of the Guiccioli, I could
not, if I would, speak ill ; her conduct towards
me has been faultless, and there ar$ few examples
of such complete and disinterested affection as
she has shown towards me all through our at-
tachment."
I observed in Lord Byron a candor in talking
)f his own defects, nay, a seeming pleasure in
dwelling on them, that I never remarked in any
other person : I told him this one day, and he
answered, " Well, does not that give you hopes
of my amendment ? " My reply was, " No ; I
WITH LORD BYRON. 135
fear r by continually recapitulating them, you will
get so accustomed to their existence, as to con-
quer your disgust of them. You remind me of
Belcour, in the ' "West Indian,' when he exclaims,
* No one sins with more repentance, or repents
with less amendment than I do.' " He laughed,
and said, " Well, only wait, and you will see me
one day become all that I ought to be ; I am de-
termined to leave my sins, and not wait until they
leave me ; I have reflected seriously on all my
faults, and that is the first step towards amend-
ment. Nay, I have made more progress than
people give me credit for ; but the truth is, I have
such a detestation of cant, and am so fearful of
being suspected of yielding to its outcry, that I
make myself appear rather worse than better than
lam."
" You will believe me, what I sometimes be-
lieve myself, mad," said Byron one day, " when I
tell you that I seem to have two states of exist-
ence, one purely contemplative, daring which the
crimes, faults, and follies of mankind are laid
open to my view, (my own forming a prominent
object in the picture,) and the other active, when
I play my part in the drama of life, as if impelled
by some power over which I have no control,
though the consciousness of doing wrong re-
mains. It is as though I had the faculty of dis-
136 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
covering error, without the power of avoiding it.
How do you account for this ? " I answered,
" That, like all the phenomena of thought, it was
unaccountable ; but that contemplation, when too
much indulged, often produced the same effect on
the mental faculties that the dwelling on bodily
ailments effected in the physical powers we
might become so well acquainted with diseases,
as to find all their symptoms in ourselves and
others, without the power of preventing or curing
them ; nay, by the force of imagination, might
end in the belief that we were afflicted with them
to such a degree as to lose all enjoyment of life,
which state is termed hypochondria ; but the
hypochondria which arises from the belief in
mental diseases is still more insupportable, and
is increased by contemplation of the supposed
crimes or faults, so that the mind should be often
relaxed from its extreme tension, and other and
less exciting subjects of reflection presented to it.
Excess in thinking, like all other excesses, pro-
duces reaction, and add the two words 'too
much ' before the word thinking, in the two lines
of the admirable parody of the brothers Smith
Thinking is but an idle waste of thought,
And nought is everything, and everything is nought;
and instead of parody, it becomes true philoso
phy."
WITH LORD BYRON. 137
We both laughed at the abstract subject we
had fallen upon ; and Byron remarked, " How
few would guess the general topics that occupy
our conversation ! " I added, " It may not, per-
haps, be very amusing, but at all events it is
better than scandal." He shook his head, and
said, "All subjects are good in their way, pro-
vided they are sufficiently diversified ; but scandal
has something so piquant it is a sort of Cayenne
to the mind that I confess I like it, particularly
if the objects are one's own particular friends."
" Of course you know Luttrel," said Lord
Byron. " He is a most agreeable member of
society, the best sayer of good things, and the
most epigrammatic conversationist I ever met ;
there is a terseness, and wit, mingled with fancy,
in his observations, that no one else possesses,
and no one so peculiarly understands the apropos.
His * Advice to Julia' is pointed, witty, and full
of observation, showing in every line a knowledge
of society, and a tact rarely met with. Then,
unlike all, or most other wits, Luttrel is never
obtrusive ; even the choicest bon mots are only
brought forth when perfectly applicable and then
are given in a tone of good breeding which en-
hances their value.
" Moore is very sparkling in a choice or chosen
society (said Byron) ; with lord and lady listeners
138 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
he shines like a diamond, and thinks that, like
that precious stone, his brilliancy should be re-
served pour le beau monde. Moore has a happy
disposition, his temper is good, and he has a sort
of fire-fly imagination, always in movement, and
in each evolution displaying new brilliancy. He
has not done justice to himself in living so mach
in society ; much of his talents are frittered away
in display, to support the character of ' a man of
wit about town,' and Moore was meant for some-
thing better. Society and genius are incompati-
ble, and the latter can rarely, if ever, be in close or
frequent contact with the former, without degen-
erating; it is otherwise with wit and talent, which
are excited and brought into play by the friction
of society, which polishes and sharpens both. I
judge from personal experience; and as some
portion of genius has been attributed to me, I
suppose I may, without any extraordinary vanity,
quote my ideas on this subject. Well, then,
(continued Byron,) if I have any genius, (which
I grant is problematical,) all I can say is, that I
have always found it fade away, like snow before
the sun, when I have been living much in the
world. My ideas became dispersed and vague, I
lost the power of. concentrating my thoughts, and
became another being ; you will perhaps think a
better, on the principle that any change in me
WITH LORD BYRON. 139
must be for the better ; but no instead of this, I
became worse, for the recollection of former men-
tal power remained, reproaching me with present
inability, and increased the natural irritability of
my nature. It must be this consciousness of di-
minished power that renders old people peevish,
and, I suspect, the peevishness will be in propor-
tion to former ability. Those who have once ac-
customed themselves to think and reflect deeply
in solitude, will soon begin to find society irk-
some ; the small money of conversation will ap-
pear insignificant, after the weighty metal of
thought to which they have been used, and like
the man who was exposed to the evils of poverty
while in possession of one of the largest dia-
monds in the world, which, from its size, could
find no purchaser, such a man will find himself
in society unable to change his lofty and profound
thoughts into the conventional small-talk of those
who surround him. But, bless me ; how I have
been holding forth (said Byron). Madame de
Stael herself never declaimed more energetically,
or succeeded better, in ennuyant her auditors than
I have done, as I perceive you look dreadfully
bored. I fear I am grown a sad proser, which is
a bad thing, more especially after having been,
what I swear to you I once heard a lady call me,
a sad poet. The whole of my tirade might have
140 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
been comprised in the simple statement of my
belief that genius shuns society, and that, except
for the indulgence of vanity, society would be
well disposed to return the compliment, as they
have little in common between them.
" Who would willingly possess genius ? None,
I am persuaded, who knew the misery it entails,
its temperament producing continual- irritation,
destructive alike to health and happiness and
what are its advantages ? to be envied, hated,
and persecuted in life, and libelled in death.
Wealth may be pardoned (continued Byron), if
its possessor diffuses it liberally ; beauty may be
forgiven provided it is accompanied by folly ; tal-
ent may meet with toleration if it be not of a
very superior order, but genius can hope for no
mercy. If it be of a stamp that insures its cur-
rency, those who are compelled to receive it will
indemnify themselves by finding out a thousand
imperfections in the owner, and as they canno*
approach his elevation, will endeavor to reduce
him to their level by dwelling on the errors from
which genius is not exempt, and which forms the
only point of resemblance between them. We
hear the errors of men of genius continually
brought forward, while those that belong to me-
diocrity are unnoticed ; hence people conclude
that errors peculiarly appertain to genius, and
WITH LOKD BYRON. 141
that those who boast it not, are saved from them.
Happy delusion ! but not even this belief can in-
duce them to commiserate the faults they con-
demn. It is the fate of genius to be viewed with
severity instead of the indulgence that it ought
to meet, from the gratification it dispenses to
others ; as if its endowments could preserve the
possessor from the alloy that marks the nature of
mankind. Who can walk the earth, with eyes
fixed on the heavens, without often stumbling
over the hinderances that intercept the path ?
while those who are intent only on the beaten
road escape. Such is the fate of men of genius ;
elevated over the herd of their fellow-men, with
thoughts that soar above the sphere of their phys-
ical existence, no wonder that they stumble when
treading the mazes of ordinary life, with irritated
sensibility, and mistaken views of all the common
occurrences they encounter."
Lord Byron dined with us to-day ; we all ob-
served that he was evidently discomposed ; the
dinner and servants had no sooner disappeared,
than he quoted an attack against himself in some
newspaper as the cause. He was very much
irritated much more so than the subject merited,
and showed how keenly alive he is to censure,
though he takes so little pains to avoid exciting
it. This is a strange anomaly that I have ob-
142 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
v served in Byron an extreme susceptibility to
censorious observations, and a want of tact in
not knowing how to steer clear of giving cause to
them, that is extraordinary. He winces under
castigation, and writhes in agony under the in-
fliction of ridicule, yet gives rise to attack every
day. Ridicule is, however, the weapon he most
dreads, perhaps, because it is the one he wields
with most power; and I observe he is sensitively
alive to its slightest approach. It is also the
weapon with which he assails all ; friend and foe
alike come under its cutting point; and the
laugh, which accompanies each sally, as a deadly
incision is made in some vulnerable quarter, so
little accords with the wound inflicted, that it is
as though one were struck down by summer
lightning while admiring its brilliant play.
Byron likes not contradiction ; he waxed wroth
to-day, because I defended a friend of mine whom
he attacked, but ended by taking my hand, and
saying he honored me for the warmth with which
I defended an absent friend, adding with irony,
" Moreover, when he is not a poet, or even prose
writer, by whom you can hope to be repaid by
being handed down to posterity, as his defender."
"I often think," said Byron, "that I inherit
my violence and bad temper from my poor
mother not that my father, from all I could ever
WITH LORD BYRON. 143
learn, had a much better ; so that it is no wonder
I have such a very bad one. As long as I can
remember any thing, I recollect being subject to
violent paroxysms of rage ; so disproportioned to
the cause, as to surprise me when they were over,
and this still continues. I cannot coolly view
any thing that excites my feelings ; and once the
lurking devil in rne is roused, I lose all command
of myself. I do not recover a good fit of rage
for days after ; mind, I do not by this mean that
the ill-humor continues, as, on the contrary, that
quickly subsides, exhausted by its own violence ;
but it shakes me terribly, and leaves me low and
nervous after. Depend on it, people's tempers
must be corrected while they are children ; for not
all the good resolutions in the world can enable
a man to conquer habits of ill-humor or rage,
however he may regret having given way to
them. My poor mother was generally in a rage
every day, and used to render me sometimes
almost frantic ; particularly when, in her passion,
she reproached me with my personal deformity,
I have left her presence to rush into solitude,
where, unseen, I could vent the rage and mortifi-
cation I endured, and curse the deformity, that I
now began to consider as a signal mark of the
injustice of Providence. Those were bitter mo-
ments ; even now, the impression of them is vivid
144 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
in my mind ; and they cankered a heart that I
believe was naturally affectionate, and destroyed
a temper always disposed to be violent. It was
my feelings at this period that suggested the idea
of * The Deformed Transformed.' I often look
back on the days of my childhood, and am as-
tonished at the recollection of the intensity of my
feelings at that period ; first impressions are in-
delible. My poor mother, and after her my
school-fellows by their taunts, led me to consider
my lameness as the greatest misfortune, and I
have never been able to conquer this feeling. It
requires great natural goodness of disposition, as
well as reflection, to conquer the corroding bitter-
ness that deformity engenders in the mind, and
which, while preying on itself, sours one towards
all the world. I have read, that where personal
deformity exists, it may be always traced in the
face, however handsome the face may be. I am
sure that what is meant by this is, that the con-
sciousness of it gives to the countenance an ha-
bitual expression of discontent, which I believe is
the case ; yet it is too bad (added Byron with
bitterness) that, because one had a defective foot,
one cannot have a perfect face."
He indulges a morbid feeling on this subject
that is extraordinary, and that leads me to think
it has had a powerful effect in forming his char-
WITH LORD BYRON. 145
acter. As Byron had said that his own position
had led to his writing " The Deformed Trans-
formed," I ventured to remind him that, in the
advertisement to that drama, he had stated it to
have been founded on the novel of " The Three
Brothers." He said that both statements were
correct, and then changed the subject, without
giving me an opportunity of questioning him on
the unacknowledged, but visible, resemblances
between other of his works and that extraordinary
production. It is possible that he is unconscious
of the plagiary of ideas he has committed ; for his
reading is so desultory, that he seizes thoughts
which in passing through the glowing alembic of
his mind, become so embellished as to lose all
identity with the original crude embryos he had
adopted. This was proved to me in another
instance, when a book that he was constantly in
the habit of looking over fell into my hands, and
I traced various passages marked by his pencil 01
by his notes ; which gave me the idea of having
led to certain trains of thought in his works. He
told me that he rarely ever read a page that did
not give rise to chains of thought, the first idea
serving as the original link on which the others
were formed
Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise.
I have observed, that, in conversation, some
10
II,; JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
trifling remark has often led him into long dis-
quisitions, evidently elicited by it ; and so prolific
is his imagination, that the slightest spark can
warm it.
Comte Pietro Gamba lent me the u Age of
Bronze," with a request that his having; done so
should be kept a profound secret, as Lord Byron,
he said, would be angry if he knew it. This is
another instance of the love of mystification that
marks Byron, in trifles as well as in things of
more importance. What can be the motive for
concealing a published book, that is in the hands
of all England ?
Byron talks often of Napoleon, of whom he is
a great admirer, and says that what he most likes
in his character was his want of sympathy, which
proves his knowledge of human nature, as those
only could possess sympathy who were in happy
ignorance of it. I told him that this carried its
own punishment with it, as Napoleon found the
want of sympathy when he most required it, and
that some portion of what he affected to despise,
namely, enthusiasm and sympathy, would have
saved him from the degradations he twice under-
went when deserted by those on whom he
counted. Not all Byron's expressed contempt
for mankind can induce me to believe that he has
the feeling; this is one of the many little aitiiiees
WITH LOKD BYRON. 147
which he condescends to make use of to excite
surprise in his hearers, and can only impose on
the credulous. He is vexed when he discovers
that any of his little ruses have not succeeded,
and is like a spoiled child who finds out that he
cannot have every thing his own way. Were he
but sensible of his own powers, how infinitely
superior would he be, for he would see the use-
lessness, as well as unworthiness, of being artifi-
cial, and of acting to support the character he
wishes to play a misanthrope, which nature
never intended him for, and which he is not, and
never will be. I see a thousand instances of good
feeling in Byron, but rarely a single proof of sta-
bility ; his abuse of friends, which is continual,
has always appeared to me more inconsistent
than ill-natured, and as if indulged in more to
prove that he was superior to the partiality friend-
ship engenders, than that they were unworthy of
exciting the sentiment. He has the rage of dis-
playing his knowledge of human nature, and thinks
this knowledge more proved by pointing out the
blemishes than the perfections of the subjects he
anatomizes. Were he to confide in the effect his
own natural character would produce, how much
more would he be loved and respected ; whereas,
at present, those who most admire the genius will
be the most disappointed in the man. The lovet
148 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
of mystification is so strong in Byron, that he
is continually letting drop mysterious hints of
events in his past life ; as if to excite curiosity,
he assumes, on those occasions, a look and air
suited to xhe insinuation conveyed ; if it has ex-
cited the curiosity of his hearers, he is satisfied,
looks still more mysterious, and changes the sub-
ject ; but if it fails to rouse curiosity, he becomes
evidently discomposed and sulky, stealing sly
glances at the person he has been endeavoring to
mystify, to observe the effect he has produced.
On such occasions I have looked at him a little
maliciously, and laughed, without asking a single
question ; and I have often succeeded in making
him laugh too at those mystifications, manquce as
I called them. Byron often talks of the authors
of the " Rejected Addresses," and always in
terms of unqualified praise. He says that the
imitations, unlike all other imitations, are full of
genius, and that the " Cui Bono " has some lines
that he should wish to have written. " Parodies,"
he said, " always gave a bad impression of the
original, but in the 'Rejected Addresses' the
reverse was the fact;" and he quoted the second
and third stanzas, in imitation of himself, as ad-
mirable, and just what he could have wished to
write on a similar subject. His memory is extra-
ordinary, for he can repeat lines from every author
WITH LORD BYRON. 149
whose works have pleased him; and in reciting
passages that have called forth his censure or
ridicule, it is no less tenacious. He observed on
the pleasure he felt at meeting people with whom
he could go over old subjects of interest, whether
on persons or literature, and said that nothing
cemented friendship or companionship so strongly
as having read the same books and known the
same people.
I observed that when, in our rides, we came to
any point of view, Byron paused, and looked at
it, as if to impress himself with the recollection
of it. He rarely praised what so evidently pleased
him, and he became silent and abstracted for
some time after, as if he was noting the principal
features of the scene on the tablet of his memory.
He told me that, from his earliest youth, he had
a passion for solitude ; that the sea, whether in a
storm or calm, was a source of deep interest to
him, and filled his mind with thoughts. "An ac-
quaintance of mine," said Byron, laughing, " who
is a votary of the lake; or simple school, and to
whom I once expressed this effect of the sea on
me, said that I might in this case say that the
ocean served me as a vast inkstand ; what do you
think of that as a poetical image? It reminds
me of a man who, talking of the effect of Mont
Blanc from a distant mountain, said that it re-
150 JOURNAL OF
minded him of a giant at his toilet, the feet in
water, and the face prepared for the operation of
shaving. Such observations prove that from the
sublime to the ridiculous there is only one step,
and really make one disgusted with the simple
school." Recurring to fine scenery, Byron re-
marked, " That as artists filled their sketch-books
with studies from Nature, to be made use of on
after occasions, so he laid up a collection of
images in his mind, as a store to draw on when
he required them, and he found the pictures much
more vivid in recollection, when he had not ex-
hausted his admiration in expressions, but con-
centrated his powers in fixing them in memory.
The end and aim of his life is to render himself
celebrated ; hitherto his pen has been the instru-
ment to cut his road to renown, and it has traced
a brilliant path; this, he thinks, has lost some of
its point, and he is about to change it for the
sword, to carve a new road to fame. Military
exploits occupy much of his conversation, and
still more of his attention ; but even on this sub-
ject there is never the slightest elan, and it ap-
pears extraordinary to see a man about to engage
in a chivalrous, and, according to the opinion of
many, a Utopian undertaking, for which his habits
peculiarly unfit him, without any indication of
the enthusiasm that leads men to embark in such
WITH LOED BYRON. 151
careers. Perhaps he thinks with Napoleon, that
" II n'y a rien qui refroidit, comme 1' enthousiasme
des autres;" but he is wrong coldness has in
general a sympathetic effect, and we are less dis-
posed to share the feelings of others, if we observe
that those feelings are not as warm as the occa-
sion seems to require.
There is something so exciting in the idea of
the greatest poet of his day sacrificing his fortune,
his occupations, his enjoyments in short, offering
up to the altar of Liberty all the immense advan-
tages which station, fortune, and genius can be-
stow, that it is impossible to reflect on it without
admiration ; but when one hears this same person
calmly talk of the worthlessness of the people he
proposes to make those sacrifices for, the loans
he means to advance, the uniforms he intends to
wear, entering into petty details, and always with
perfect sang- froid, one's admiration evaporates,
and the action loses all its charms, though the
real merit of it still remains. Perhaps Byron
wishes to show that his going to Greece is more
an affair of principle than feeling", and, as such,
more entitled to respect, though perhaps less likely
to excite warmer feelings. However this may be,
his whole manner and conversation on the subject
are calculated to chill the admiration such an
enterprise ought to create, and to reduce it to 3
more ordinary standard.
152 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Byron is evidently, in delicate health, brought
on by starvation, and a mind too powerful for the
frame in which it is lodged. He is obstinate in
resisting the advice of medical men and his
friends, who all have represented to him the dan-
gerous effects likely to ensue from his present sys-
tem. He declares that he has no choice but that
of sacrificing the body to the mind, as that when
he eats as others do he gets ill, and loses all power
over his intellectual faculties ; that animal food
engenders the appetite of the animal fed upon,
and he instances the manner in which boxers are
fed as a proof; while, on the contrary, a regime of
fish and vegetables served to support existence
without pampering it. I affected to think that his
excellence in, and fondness of, swimming, arose
from his continually living on fish, and he ap-
peared disposed to admit the possibility, until,
being no longer able to support my gravity, I
laughed aloud, which for the first minute discom-
posed him, though he ended by joining heartily
in the laugh, and said " Well, Miladi, after this
hoax, never accuse me any more of mystifying ;
you did take me in until you laughed." Nothing
gratifies him so much as being told that he grows
thin. This fancy of his is pushed to an almost
childish extent: and he frequently asks "Don't
you think I am getting thinner ? " or, " Did you
WITH LORD BYRON. 153
ever see any one so thin as I am, who was not
ill ? " He says he is sure no one could recollect
him were he to go to England at present, and
seems to enjoy this thought very much.
Byron affects a perfect indifference to the opin-
ion of the world, yet is more influenced by it than
most people not in his conduct, but in his dread
of and wincing under its censures. He was ex-
tremely agitated by his name being introduced in
the P trial, as having assisted in making up
the match, and showed a degree of irritation that
proves he is as susceptible as ever to newspaper
attacks, notwithstanding his boasts to the con-
trary. This susceptibility will always leave him
at the mercy of all those who may choose to
write against him, however insignificant they
may be.
I noticed Byron one day more than usually irri-
table, though he endeavored to suppress all symp-
toms of it. After various sarcasms on the cant and
hypocrisy of the times, which was always the sig-
nal that he was suffering from some attack made
on him, he burst forth in violent invectives against
America, and said that she now rivalled her
mother country in cant, as he had that morning
read an article of abuse, copied from an Ameri-
can newspaper, alluding to a report that he was
going to reside there. We had seen the article.
154 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
and hoped that it might have escaped his notice,
but unfortunately he had perused it, and its effects
on his temper were visible for several days after.
He said that he never was sincere in his praises
of the Americans, and that he only extolled their
navy to pique Mr. Croker. There was something
so childish in this avowal, that there was no keep-
ing a serious face on hearing it; and Byron smi-
led himself, like a petulant spoiled child, who
acknowledges having done something to spite a
playfellow.
Byron is a great admirer of the poetry of
Barry Cornwall, which, he says, is full of imag-
ination and beauty, possessing a refinement and
delicacy, that, whilst they add all the charms of a
woman's mind, take off none of the force of a
man's. He expressed his hope that he would
devote himself to tragedy, saying that he was
sure he would become one of the first writers of
the day.
Talking of marriage, Byron said that there was
no real happiness out of its pale. " If people like
each other so well," said he, " as not to be able to
live asunder, this is the only tie that can insure
happiness all others entail misery. I put religion
and morals oui: of the question, though of course
the misery will be increased tenfold by the influ-
ence of both ; but, admitting persons to have
WITH LOKD BYRON. 155
neither, (and many such are, by the good-natured
world, supposed to exist,) still liaisons^ that are
not cemented by marriage, must produce unhap-
piness, when there is refinement of mind, and
that honorable fierte which accompanies it. The
humiliations and vexations a woman, under such
circumstances, is exposed to, cannot fail to have
a certain effect on her temper and spirits, which
robs her of the charms that won affection ; it ren-
ders her susceptible and suspicious ; her self-
esteem being diminished, she becomes doubly
jealous of that of him for whom ehe lost it, and
on whom she depends; and if he has feeling to
conciliate her, he must submit to a slavery much
more severe than that of marriage, without its
respectability. Women become exigeante always
in proportion to their consciousness of a decrease
in the attentions they desire ; and this very exig-e-
ance accelerates the flight of the blind god, whose
approaches, the Greek proverb says, are always
made walking, but whose retreat is flying. I once
wrote some lines expressive of my feelings on this
subject, and you shall have them." He had no
sooner repeated the first line than I recollected
having the verses in my possession, having been
allowed to copy them by Mr. D. Kinnaird thi-
day he received them from Lord Byron. The
following are the verses :
156 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
COMPOSED DEC. 1, 1819.
Could Love for ever
Run like a river,
And Time's endeavor
Be tried in vain ;
No other pleasure
With this could measure;
And as a treasure
We'd hug the chain.
But since our sighing
Ends not in dying,
And, formed for flying,
Love plumes his wing;
Then, for this reason,
Let's love a season ;
But let that season be only Spring.
When lovers parted
Feel broken hearted,
And, all hopes thwarted,
Expect to die ;
A few years older,
Ah ! how much colder
They might behold her
For whom they sigh.
When link'd together,
Through every weather,
We pluck Love's feather
From out his wing,
He'll sadly shiver,
And droop for ever,
Without the plumage that sped his spring.
[or
Shorn of the plumage which sped his spring.]
Like Chiefs of Faction
His life is action,
WITH LUKD BXKOJN.
A formal paction,
Which curbs his reign,
Obscures his glory,
Despot no more, he
Such territory
Quits with disdain.
Still, still advancing,
With banners glancing,
His powers enhancing,
He must march on:
Repose but cloys him,
Retreat destroys him;
Love brooks not a degraded throne !
Wait not, fond lover!
Till years are over,
And then recover
As from a dream;
While each bewailing
The other's failing,
With wrath and railing
All hideous seem;
While first decreasing,
Yet not quite ceasing,
Pause not till teasing
All passion blight:
If once diminished,
His reign is finish'd,
f>*)e last embrace then, and bid good nijrht*
So shall Affection
To recollection
The dear connection
Bring back with joy ;
You have not waited
Till, tired and hated,
All passion sated,
Began to cloy.
158 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Your last embraces
Leave no cold traces,
The same fond faces
As through the past;
And eyes, the mirrors
Of your sweet errors,
Reflect but raptures; not least, though last!
True separations
Ask more than patience;
What desperations
From such have risen !
And yet remaining
What is't but chaining
Hearts which, once waning,
Beat 'gainst their prison?
Time can but cloy love:
And use destroy love :
The winged boy, Love,
Is but for boys ;
You'll find it torture,
Though sharper, shorter,
To wean, and not wear out your joys.
They are so unworthy of the author, that they
are merely given as proof that the greatest genius
can sometimes write bad verses ; as evt-n Homer
nods. 1 remarked to Byron, that the sentiment
of the poem differed with that which he had just
given me of marriage ; he laughed, and said,
" Recollect, the lines were written nearly four years
ago ; and we grow wiser as we grow older ; but
mind, I still say, that I only approve marriage
when the persons are so much attached as not to
WITH LORD BYRON. 159
be able to live asunder, which ought always to be
tried by a year's absence before the irrevocable knot
was formed. The truest picture of the misery
unhallowed liaisons produce," said Byron, " is in
the 'Adolphe' of Benjamin Constant. I told
Madame de Stael that there was more morale in
that book than in all she ever wrote ; and that it
ought always to be given to every young woman
who had read * Corinne,' as an antidote. Poor de
Stael! she came down upon rne like an aval-
anche, whenever I told her any of my amiable
truths, sweeping every thing before her, with that
eloquence that always overwhelmed, but never
convinced. She however, good soul, believed
she had convinced, whenever she silenced an op-
ponent ; an effect she generally produced, as she,
to use an Irish phrase, succeeded in bothering,
and producing a confusion of ideas that left one
little able or willing to continue an argument with
her. " I liked her daughter very much," said By-
ron : " I wonder will she turn out literary ? at
all events, though she may not write, she posses-
ses the power of judging the writings of others;
is highly educated and clever; but I thought a
little given to systems, which is not in general
the fault of young women, and, above all, young
French women."
One day that Byron dined with us, his chas-
160 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
seur, while we were at table, demanded to speak
with him ; he left the room, and returned in
a few minutes in a state of violent agitation,
pale with anger, and looking as I had never be-
fore seen him look, though I had often seen him
angry. He told us that his servant had come to
tell him that he must pass the gate of Genoa
(his house being outside the town) before half-
past ten o'clock, as orders were given that no one
was to be allowed to pass after. This order,
which had no personal reference to him, he con-
ceived to be expressly levelled at him, and it
rendered him furious ; he seized a pen, and com-
menced a letter to our minister, tore two or
three letters one after the other, before he had
written one to his satisfaction ; and, in short,
betrayed such ungovernable rage, as to astonish
all who were present ; he seemed very much dis-
posed to enter into a personal contest with the
authorities; and we had some difficulty in per-
suading him to leave the business wholly in the
hands of Mr. Hill, the English minister, who
would arrange it much better.
Byron's appearance and conduct, on this occa-
sion, forcibly reminded me of the description
given of Rousseau ; he declared himself the vic-
tim of persecution wherever he went; said that
there was a confederacy between all governments
WITH LORD BYRON. 161
to pursue and molest him, and uttered a thousand
extravagances, which proved that he was no
longer master of himself. I now understood how
likely his manner was, under any violent excite-
ment, to give rise to the idea that he was deranged
in his intellects, and became convinced of the
truth of the sentiment in the lines
Great wit to madness sure is near allied,
And thin partitions do their bounds divide.
The next day, when we met, Byron said that
he had received a satisfactory explanation from
Mr. Hill, and then asked me if I had not thought
him mad the night before: " I assure you," said
he, " I often think myself not in my right senses,
and this is perhaps the only opinion I have in
common with Lady Byron, who, dear sensible
soul, not only thought me mad, but tried to per-
suade others into the same belief."
Talking one day on the difference between men's
actions and thoughts, a subject to which he often
referred, he observed, that it frequently happened
that a man who was capable of superior powers
of reflection and reasoning when alone, was tri-
fling and common-place in society. " On this
point," said he, " I speak feelingly, for I have
remarked it of myself, and have often longed to
know if other people had the same defect, or the
11
1G2 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
same consciousness of it, which ifl, that while in
solitude my mind was occupied in serious and
elevated reflections, in society it sinks into a tri-
fling levity of tone, that in another would have
called forth my disapprobation and disgust. An-
other defect of mine is, that I am so little fasti-
dious in the selection, or rather want of selection,
of associates, that the most stupid men satisfy me
quite as well, nay, perhaps better than the most
brilliant; and yet all the time they are with me I
feel, even while descending to their level, that
they are unworthy of me, and what is worse, that
we seem in point of conversation so nearly on an
equality, that the effort of letting myself down to
them costs me nothing, though my pride is hurt
that they do not seem more sensible of the con-
descension. When I have sought what is called
good society, it was more from a sense of pro-
priety and keeping my station in the world, than
from any pleasure it gave me, for I have been
always disappointed, even in the most brilliant
and clever of my acquaintances, by discovering
some trait of egotism, or futility, that I was too
egotistical and futile to pardon, as I find that we
are least disposed to overlook the defects we are
most prone to. Do you think as I do on this
point?" said Byron. I answered, "That as a
clear and spotless mirror reflects the brightest im-
WITH LORD BYRON. 163
ages, so is goodness ever most prone to see good in
others ; and as a sullied mirror shows its own de-
fects in all that it reflects, so does an impure mind
tinge all that passes through it." Byron laugh-
ingly said, " That thought of yours is pretty, and
just, which all pretty thoughts are not, and I shall
pop it into my next poem. But how do you ac-
count for this tendency of mine to trifling and levity
in conversation, when in solitude my mind is really
occupied in serious reflections ? " I answered,
" That this was the very cause the bow cannot
remain always bent; the thoughts suggested to
him in society were the reaction of a mind
strained to its bent, and reposing itself after ex-
ertion ; as also that, feeling the inferiority of the
persons he mixed with, the great powers were not
excited, but lay dormant and supine, collecting
their force for solitude." This opinion pleased
him, and when I added that great writers were
rarely good talkers, and vice versa, he was still
more gratified. He said that he disliked every-
day topics of conversation ; he thought it a waste
of time ; but that if he met a person with whom
he could, as he said, think aloud, and give utter-
ance to his thoughts on abstract subjects, he was
sure it would excite the energies of his mind, and
awaken sleeping thoughts that wanted to be stir-
red up. " I like to go home with a new idea,"
164 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
said Byron ; " it sets my mind to work ; I enlarge
it, and it often gives birth to many others ; this
one can only do in a tete-d-tete. I felt the advan-
tage of this in my rides with Hoppner at Venice ;
he was a good listener, and his remarks were
acute and original ; he is besides a thoroughly
good man, and I knew he was in earnest when he
gave me his opinions. But conversation, such as
one finds in society, and above all, in English
society, is as uninteresting as it is artificial, and
few can leave the best with the consolation of
carrying away with him a new thought, or of
leaving behind him an old friend." Here he
laughed at his own antithesis, and added, " By
Jove, it is true ; you know how people abuse or
quiz each other in England, the moment one is
absent; each is afraid to go away before the
other, knowing that, as is said in the ' School for
Scandal,' he leaves his character behind. It is
this certainty that excuses me to myself, for abus-
ing my friends and acquaintances in their ab-
sence. I was once accused of this by an ami
intime, to whom some devilish good-natured per-
son had repeated what I had said of him; I had
nothing for it but to plead guilty, adding, l you
know you have done the same by me fifty times,
and yet you see I never was affronted, or liked
you the less for it;' on which he laughed, and we
WITH LORD BYRON.
165
were as good friends as ever. Mind you (a fa-
vorite phrase of Byron's) I never heard that he
had abused me, but I took it for granted, and was
right. So much for friends."
I remarked to Byron that his skepticism as to
the sincerity and durability of friendship argued
very much against his capability of feeling the
sentiment, especially as he admitted that he had
not been deceived by the few hs had confided in,
consequently his opinion must be founded on self-
knowledge. This amused him, and he said that
he verily believed that his knowledge of human
nature, on which he had hitherto prided himself,
was the criterion by which I judged so unfavorably
of him, as he was sure I attributed his bad opin-
ion of mankind to his perfect knowledge of self.
When in good spirits, he liked badinage very
much, and nothing seemed to please him more
than being considered as a mzuvais sujet; he
disclaimed the being so with an air that showed
he was far from being offended at the suspicion.
Of love he had strange notions; he said that
most people had le besoin d'aimer, and that with
this besoin the first person who fell in one's way
contented one. He maintained that those who
possessed the most imagination, poets for ex-
ample, were most likely to he constant in their
attachments, as with the beau ideal in their heads,
166 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
with which they identified the object of their
attachment, they had nothing to desire, and
viewed their mistresses through the brilliant me-
dium of fancy, instead of the common one of
the eyes. " A poet, therefore," said Byron, " en-
dows the person he loves with all the charms with
which his mind is stored, and has no need of
actual beauty to fill up the picture. Hence he
should select a woman who is rather good-looking
than beautiful, leaving the latter for those who,
having no imagination, require actual beauty to
satisfy their tastes. And after all," said he,
" where is the actual beauty that can come up to
the bright 'imaginings' of the poet? where can
one see women that equal the visions, half-mortal,
half-angelic, that people his fancy ? Love, who is
painted blind (an allegory that proves the use-
lessness of beauty,) can supply all deficiencies
with his aid; we can invest her whom we admire
with all the attributes of loveliness, and though
time may steal the roses from her cheek, and the
lustre from her eye, still the original beau ideal
remains, filling the mind and intoxicating the soul
with the overpowering presence of loveliness. I
flatter myself that my Leila, Zuleika, Gulnare,
Medora, and Haidee will always vouch for my
taste in beauty ; these are the bright creations of
my fancy, with rounded forms, and delicacy o1
WITH LORD BYRON. 16?
limbs, nearly so incompatible as to be rarely, if
ever, united ; for where, with some rare excep-
tions, do we see roundness of contour accompanied
by lightness, and those fairy hands and feet that
are at once the type of beauty and refinement.
I like to shut myself up, close my eyes, and fancy
one of the creatures of my imagination, with
taper and rose-tipped fingers, playing with rny
hair, touching my cheek, or resting its little snowy-
dimpled hand on mine. I like to fancy the fairy
foot, round and pulpy, but small to diminutive-
ness, peeping from beneath the drapery that half
conceals it, or moving in the mazes of the dance.
I detest thin women ; and unfortunately all, or
nearly all plump women, have clumsy hands and
feet, so that I am obliged to have recourse to im-
agination for my beauties, and there I always
find them. I can so well understand the lover
leaving his mistress that he might write to her I
should leave mine, not to write to, but to think of
her, to dress her up in the habiliments of my ideal
beauty, investing her with all the charms of the
latter, and then adoring the idol I had formed.
You must have observed that I give my heroines
extreme refinement, joined to great simplicity and
want of education. Now, refinement and want
of education are incompatible, at least I have ever
found them so ; so here again, you see, I am
168 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
forced to have recourse to imagination ; and cer-
tainly it furnishes me with creatures as unlike the
sophisticated beings of civilized existence, as they
are to the still less tempting, coarse realities of
vulgar life. In short, I am of opinion that poets
do not require great beauty in the objects of their
affection ; all that is necessary for them is a strong
and devoted attachment from the object, and
where this exists, joined to health and good tem-
per, little more is required, at least in early youth,
though with advancing years men become more
exigeants" Talking of the difference between
love in early youth and in maturity, Byron said,
" that, like the measles, love was most dangerous
when it came late in life."
Byron had two points of ambition the one to
be thought the greatest poet of his day, and the
other a nobleman and man of fashion, who couid
have arrived at distinction without the aid of his
poetical genius. This often produced curious
anomalies in his conduct and sentiments, and a
sort of jealousy of himself in each separate char-
acter, that was highly amusing to an observani
spectator. If poets were talked of or eulogized,
he referred to the advantages of rank and station,
as commanding that place in society by right,
which was only accorded to genius by sufferance ;
for, said Byron, " Let authors do, say, or think
WITH LORD BYRON. 169
what they please, they are never considered as
men of fashion in the circles of haut ton, to which
their literary reputations have given them an en-
tree, unless they happen to be of high birth. How
many times have I observed this in London ; as
also the awkward efforts made by authors to trifle
and act the fine gentleman like the rest of the
herd in society. Then look at the faiblesse they
betray in running after great people. Lords and
ladies seem to possess, in their eyes, some power
of attraction that I never could discover ; and the
eagerness with which they crowd to balls and as-
semblies, where they are as deplaces as ennuys,
all conversation at such places being out of the
question, might lead one to think that they sought
the heated atmospheres of such scenes as hot-
beds to nurse their genius." If men of fashion
were praised, Byron dwelt on the futility of their
pursuits, their ignorance en masse, and the neces-
sity of talents to give lustre to rank and station.
In short, he seemed to think that the bays of the
author ought to be entwined with a coronet to
render either valuable, as, singly, they were not
sufficiently attractive; and this evidently arose
from his uniting, in his own person, rank and ge-
nius. I recollect once laughingly telling him that
he was fortunate in being able to consider himself
a poet amongst lords, and a lord amongst poets.
170 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
He seemed doubful as to how he should take the
parody, but ended by laughing also.
Byron has often laughed at some repartie or
joke against himself, and after a few minutes'
reflection, got angry at it ; but was always soon
appeased by a civil apology ; though it was clear
that he disliked any thing like ridicule, as do
most people who are addicted to play it off on
others ; and he certainly delighted in quizzing and
ridiculing his associates. The translation of his
works into different languages, however it might
have flattered his amour propre as an author,
never failed to enrage him from the injustice he
considered all translations rendered to his works.
I have seen him furious at some passages in the
French translation, which he pointed out as proof
of the impossibility of the translators understand-
ing the original, and he exclaimed, "// traditore !
H traditore ! " (instead of // traduttore !) vowing
vengeance against the unhappy traducers as he
called them. He declared that every translation
he had seen of his poems had so destroyed the
sense, that he could not understand how the
French and Italians could admire his works, as
they professed to do. It proved, he said, at how
low an ebb modern poetry must be in both coun-
tries. French poetry he detested, and continually
ridicule 1 ; he said it was discordant to his ears,
WITH LORD BYRON. 171
Of his own works, with some exceptions, he
always spoke in derision, saying he could write
much better, but that he wrote to suit the false
taste of the day; and that if now and then a
gleam of true feeling or poetry was visible in his
productions, it was sure to be followed by the
ridicule he could not suppress. Byron was not
sincere in this, and it was only said to excite sur-
prise, and show his superiority over the rest of
the world. It was this same desire of astonishing
people that led him to depreciate Shakspeare,
which I have frequently heard him do, though
from various reflections of his in conversation, and
the general turn of his mind, I am convinced that
he had not only deeply read, but deeply felt the
beauties of our immortal poet.
I do riot recollect ever having met Byron that
he did not in some Way or other, introduce the
subject of Lady Byron. The impression left on
my rnind was, that she continually occupied his
thoughts, and that he most anxiously desired a
reconciliation with her. He declared that his
marriage was free from every interested motive ;
and if not founded on love, as love is generally
viewed, a wild, engrossing, and ungovernable
passion, there was quite sufficient liking in it to
have insured happiness had his temper been
better. He said that Lady Byron's appearance
172 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
had pleased him from the first moment, and had
always continued to please him ; and that, had
his pecuniary affairs been in a less ruinous state,
his temper would not have been excited, as it
daily, hourly was, during the brief period of their
union, by the insolent creditors whom he was
unable to satisfy and who drove him nearly out
of his senses, until he lost all command of him-
self, and so forfeited Lady Byron's affection. " I
must admit," said he, " that I could not have left
a very agreeable impression on her mind. With
my irascible temper, worked upon by the con-
stant attacks of duns, no wonder that I became
gloomy, violent, and I fear, often personally un-
civil, if no worse, and so disgusted her ; though
had she really loved me, she would have borne
with my infirmities, and made allowance for my
provocations. I have written to her repeatedly,
and arn still in the habit of writing long letters to
her, many of which I have sent, but without ever
receiving an answer, and others that I did not
send, because I despaired of their doing any
good. I will show you some of them, as they
may serve to throw a light on my feelings." The
next day Byron sent me the letter addressed to
Lady Byron, which has already appeared in
" Moore's Life." He never could divest himself
of the idea that she took a deep interest in him;
WITH LORD BYRON. 173
he said that their child must always be a bond
of union between them, whatever lapse of years
or distance might separate them ; and this idea
seemed to comfort him. And yet, notwithstand-
ing the bond of union a child was supposed to
form between the parents, he did not hesitate to
state, to the gentlemen of our party, his more
than indifference towards the mother of his illegit-
imate daughter. Byron's mental courage was
much stronger in his study than in society. In
moments of inspiration, with his pen in his hand,
he would have dared public opinion, and laughed
to scorn the criticisms of all the literati, but with
reflection came doubts and misgivings ; and
though in general he was tenacious in not chang-
ing what he had once written, this tenacity pro-
ceeded more from (he fear of being thought to
want mental courage, than from the existence of
the quality itself. This operated also on his
actions as well as his writings ; he was the crea-
ture of impulse ; never reflected on the possible
or probable results of his conduct, until that con-
duct had drawn down censure and calumny or
him, when he shrunk with dismay, " frightened
at the sounds himself had made."
This sensitiveness was visible on all occasions,
and extended to all his relations with others ; d'.d
his friends or associates become the objects of
174 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
public attack, he shrunk from the association, or
at least from any public display of it, disclaimed
the existence of any particular intimacy, though
in secret he felt good-will to the persons. I have
witnessed many examples of this, and became
convinced that his friendship was much more
likely to be retained by those who stood well in
the world's opinion, than by those who had even
undeservedly forfeited it. I once made an obser-
vation to him on this point, which was elicited
by something he had said of persons with whom
I knew he had once been on terms of intimacy,
and which he wished to disclaim : his reply was,
" what the deuce good can I do them against
public opinion ? I shall only injure myself, and
do them no service." I ventured to tell him, that
this was precisely the system of the English
whom he decried ; and that self-respect, if no
better feeling operated, ought to make us support
in adversity those whom we had led to believe we
felt interested in. He blushed, and allowed I was
right ; " though," added he, " you are singular in
both senses of the word, in your opinion, as I
have had proofs ; for at the moment when I was
assailed by all the vituperation of the press in
England at the separation, a friend of mine, who
had written a complimentary passage to me,
either by way of dedication or episode (I r orget
WITH LOKD BYRON. 175
whic? lit said,) suppressed it on finding public
opinion running hard against me ; he will prob-
ably produce it if he finds l.he quicksilver of the
barometer of my reputation mounts to beau fixe ;
while it remains, as at present, at variable, it will
never see the light, save and except I die in
Greece, with a sort of demi-poetic and de mi-
heroic renommee attached to my memory."
Whenever Byron found himself in a difficulty
and the occasions were frequent he had re-
course to the example of others, which induced
me to tell him that few people had so much pro-
fited by friends as he had ; they always served
" to point a moral and adorn a tale," being his
illustrations for all the errors to which human
nature is heir, and his apologetic examples when-
ever he wished to find an excuse for unpoetical
acts of worldly wisdom. Byron rather encouraged
than discouraged such observations ; he said they
had novelty to recommend them, and has even
wilfully provoked their recurrence. Whenever I
gave him my opinions, and still oftener when one
of the party, whose sentiments partook of all the
chivalric honor, delicacy, and generosity of the
beau ideal of the poetic character, expressed his^
Byron used to say, " Now for a Utopian system
of the good and beautiful united ; Lord B. ought
to have lived in the heroic ages, and if all man-
176 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
kind would agree to act a3 he feels and acts, I
agree with you we should all be certainly better,
and, I do believe, happier than at present; but it
would surely be absurd for a few and to how
few would it be limited to set themselves up
* doing as they would be done by,' against a
million who invariably act vice versa. No, if
goodness is to become d-la-mode and I sin-
cerely wish it were possible we must have a
fair start, and all begin at the same time, other-
wise it will be like exposing a few naked and
unarmed men against a multitude in armor."
Byron was never de bonne foi in giving such
opinions ; indeed, the whole of his manner be-
trayed this, as it was playful and full of p/aisan-
terie, but still he wanted the accompaniment of
habitual acts of disinterested generosity to con-
vince one that his practice was better than his
theory. He was one of the many whose lives
prove how much more effect example has than
precept. All the elements of good were com-
bined in his nature, but they lay dormant for
want of emulation to excite their activity. He
was the slave of his passions, and he submitted
not without violent, though, alas! unsuccessful,
struggles to the chains they imposed; but each
day brought him nearer to that age when reason
triumphs over passion when, had life, been
WITH LORD BYRON. 177
spared him, he would have subjugated those un-
worthy tyrants, and asserted his empire over that
most rebellious of all dominions self.
Byron never wished to live to be old ; on the
contrary, I have frequently heard him express the
hope of dying young ; and I remember his quot-
ing Sir William Temple's opinion that life is
like wine ; who would drink it pure must not
draw it to the dregs as being his way of think-
ing also. He said, it was a mistaken idea that
O '
passions subsided with age, as they only changed,
and not for the better, Avarice usurping the place
vacated by Love, and Suspicion filling up that
of Confidence. " And this," continued Byron.
" is what age and experience brings us. No, lei
me not live to be old; give me youth, which i;
the fever of reason, and not age, which is the
palsy. I remember my youth, when my hear!
overflowed with affection towards all who showed
any symptom of liking towards me ; and now, at
thirty-six, no very advanced period of life, I can
scarcely, by raking up the dying embers of affec-
tion in that same heart, excite even a temporary
flame to warm my chilled feelings." Byron
mourned over the lost feelings of his youth as
we regret the lost friends of the same happy
period ; there was something melancholy in th;
sentiment, and the more so, as one saw that i;
12
178 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
was sincere. He often talked of death, and never
with dread. He said that its certainty furnished
a better lesson than all the philosophy of the
schools, as it enabled us to bear the ills of life,
which would be unbearable were life of unlimited
duration. He quoted Cowley's lines
Life ! thou weak -built isthmus, winch doth proudly rise
Up betwixt two eternities !
as an admirable description, and said they often
recurred to his memory. He never mentioned
the friends of whom Death had deprived him
without visible emotion ; he loved to dwell on
their merits, and talked of them with a tender-
ness as if their deaths had been recent, instead
of years ago. Talking of some of them, and
deploring their loss, he observed, with a bitter
smile : "But perhaps it is as well that they are
gone ; it is less bitter to mourn their deaths than
to have to regret their alienation ; and who knows
but that, had they lived, they might have become
as faithless as some others that I have known.
Experience has taught me, that the only friends
that we can call our own that can know no
change are those over whom the grave has
closed ; the sj.il of death is the only seal of
friendship. No wonder, then, that we cherish
the memory of those who loved us, and comfort
WITH LORD BYRON. 179
ourselves with the thought that they were un-
changed to the last. The regret we feel at such
afflictions has something in it that softens our
hearts, and renders us better. We feel more
kindly disposed to our fellow-creatures, because
we are satisfied with ourselves first, for being
able to excite affection, and secondly, for the
gratitude with which we repay it to the mem-
ory of those we have lost ; but the regret we
prove at the alienation or unkindness of those
we trusted and loved, is so mingled with bitter
feelings, that- they sear the heart, dry up the foun-
tain of kindness in our breasts, and disgust us
with human nature, by wounding our self-love
in its most vulnerable part the showing that we
have failed to excite affection where we had lav-
ished ours. One may learn to bear this uncom-
plainingly, and with outward calm ; but the im-
pression is indelible, and he must be made of
different materials to the generality of men, who
does not become a cynic, if he become nothing
worse, after once suffering such a disappoint-
ment."
I remarked that his early friends had not given
him cause to speak feelingly on this subject, and
named Mr. Hobhouse as a proof; he answered,
" Yes, certainly, he has remained unchanged, and
I believe is unchangeable ; and, if friendship, as
180 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
most people imagine, consists in telling one truth
unvarnished, unadorned truth he is indeed a
friend ; yet, hang it, I must be candid, and say I
have had many other, and more agreeable, proofs
of Hobhouse's friendship than the truths he always
told me ; but the fact is, I wanted him to sugar
them over a little with flattery, as nurses do the
physic given to children ; and he never would,
and therefore I have never felt quite content with
him, though au fond, I respect him the more for
his candor, while I respect myself very much less
for my weakness in disliking it.
" William Bankes is another of my early
friends. He is very clever, very original, and
has a fund of information ; he is also very good-
natured, but he is not much of a flatterer. How
unjust it is to accuse you, ladie?, of loving flat-
tery so much ; I am quite sure that we men are
quite as much addicted to it, but have not
the amiable candor to show it, as you all do.
Adulation is never disagreeable when addressed
to ourselves ; though let us hear only half the
same degree of it addressed to another, and we
vote the addresser a parasite, and the addressed a
fool for swallowing it. But even though we may
doubt the sincerity or the judgment of the adu-
lator, the incense is nevertheless acceptable, as it
proves we must be of some importance, to induce
WITH LORD BYRON. 181
him to take the trouble of flattering us. There
are two things that we are all willing to take, and
never think we can have too much of (continued
Byron) money and flattery ; and the more we
have of the first, the more we are likely to get of
the second, as far as I have observed, at all events
in England, where I have seen wealth excite an
attention and respect that virtue, genius, or valor
would fail to meet with.
" I have frequently remarked (said Byron) that
in no country have I seen preeminence so univer-
sally followed by envy, jealousy, and all unchari-
tableness, as in England ; those who are deterred
by shame from openly attacking, endeavor to de-
preciate it, by holding up mediocrity to admira-
tion ; on the same principle that women, when
they hear the beauty of another justly extolled,
either deny, or assent with faint praise, to her
claims, and lavish on some merely pas-able
woman the highest encomiums, to prove they
are not envious. The English treat their cel-
ebrated men as they do their climate, abuse
them amongst themselves, and defend them, out
of amour propre, if attacked by strangers. Did
you ever know of a person of powerful abilities
really liked in England? Are not the persons
most popular in society precisely those who have
no qualities to excite envy ? Amiable, good-
182 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
natured people, but negative characters ; their
very goodness (if mere good-nature can be called
goodness) being caused by the want of any pos-
itive excellence, as white is produced by the ab-
sence of color. People feel themselves equal,
and generally think themselves superior to such
persons ; hence, as they cannot wound vanity,
they become popular ; all agree to praise them,
because each individual, while praising, adminis-
ters to his own self-complacency, from his belief
of superiority to him whom he praises. Notwith-
standing their faults, the English, (said Byron,)
that is to say, the well bred and well educated
among them, are better calculated for the com-
merce of society than the individuals of other
countries, from the simple circumstance that they
listen. This makes one cautious of what one
says, and prevents the hazarding the mille petits
riens that escape when one takes courage from
the noise of all talking together, as in other
places ; and this is a great point gained. In
what country but England could the epigram-
matic repartees and spiritual anecdotes of a Jekyll
have flourished? Place him at a French or Ita-
lian table, supposing him au fait of the lan-
guages, and this, our English Attic bee, could
neither display his honey nor his sting ; both
would be useless in the hive of drones around
WITH LORD BYRON. 183
him. St. Evremond, I think it is, who says that
there is no better company than an Englishman
who talks, and a Frenchman who thinks ; but
give me the man who listens^ unless he can talk
like a Jekyll, from the overflowing of a full mind,
and not, as most of one's acquaintances do, make
a noise like drums, from their emptiness. An
animated conversation has much the same effect
on me as champagne it elevates and makes me
giddy, and I say a thousand foolish things while
under its intoxicating influence; it takes a long
time to sober me after; and I sink, under reac-
tion, into a state of depression half cross, half
hippLsh, and out of humor with myself and the
world. I find an interesting book the only seda-
tive to restore me to my wonted calm ; for, left
alone to my own reflections, I feel so ashamed
of myself vis-d-vis to myself for my levity and
over excitement, that all the follies I have uttered
rise up in judgment against me, and I am as
sheepish as a school-boy, after his first degrading
abandonment to intemperance."
" Did you know Curran ? (asked Byron) he
was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In
him was combined an imagination the most bril-
liant and profound, with a flexibility and wit that
would have justified the observation applied to
, that his heart was in his head. I remem-
134 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ocr his once repeating some stanzas to me, four
lines of which struck me so much, that I made
him repeat them twice, and I wrote them down
before I went to bed :
While Memory with more than Egypt's art
Embalming all the sorrows of the heart,
Sits at the altar which she raised to woe,
And feeds tl\3 source whence tears eternal flow!
I have caught myself repeating these lines fifty
times ; and, strange to say, they suggested an
image on memory to me, with which they have
no sort of resemblance in any way, and yet the
idea came while repeating them ; so unaccount-
able and incomprehensible is the power of asso-
ciation. My thought was Memory, the mirror
which affliction dashes to the earth, and, looking
down upon the fragments, only beholds the re-
flection multiplied." He seemed pleased at my
admiring his idea.* I told him that his thoughts,
in comparison with those of others, were eagles
brought into competition with sparrows. As an
example, I gave him my definition of memory,
which, I said, resembled a telescope bringing dis-
tant objects near to us. He said the simile was
* E'en as a broken mirror which the glass
In every fragment multiplies, and makes
A thousand images of one that was, &c.
Cliilde Harold, Canto iii. St. 33.
WITH LORD BYRON. 185
good ; but I added it was mechanical, instead of
poetical, which constituted the difference between
excellence and mediocrity, as between the eagle
and sparrow. This amused him, though his po-
liteness refused to admit the verity of the com-
parison.
Talking of tact, Byron observed that it ought to
be added to the catalogue of the cardinal virtues,
and that our happiness frequently depended more
on it than all the accredited ones. "A man (said
he) may have prudence, temperance, justice, and
fortitude ; yet, wanting tact, may, and must, ren-
der Ihose around him uncomfortable (the English
synonyme for unhappy;) and, by the never-failing
retributive justice of Nemesis, be unhappy him-
self, as all are who make others so. I consider
tact the real panacea of life, and have observed
that Ihose who most eminently possessed it were
remarkable for feeling and sentiment; while, on
the contrary, the persons most deficient in it were
obtuse, frivolous, or insensible. To possess tact
it is necessary to have a fine perception, and to
be sensitive ; for how can we know what will
pain another, without having some criterion in
our own feelings by which we can judge of his ?
Hence, I maintain that our tact is always in pro-
portion to our sensibility."
Talking of love and friendship, Byron said,
186 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
that " friendship may, and often does, grow into
love, but love never subsides into friendship."
I maintained the contrary, and instanced the
affectionate friendship which replaces the love
of married people ; a sentiment as tender, though
less passionate, and more durable than the first.
He said, " You should say more enduring'; for,
depend on it, that the good-natured passiveness,
with which people submit to the conjugal yoke,
is much more founded on the philosophical prin-
ciple of what can't be cured must be endured,
than the tender friendship you give them credit
for. Who that has felt the all-engrossing passion
of love (continued he) could support the stagnant
calm you refer to for the same object? No, the
humiliation of discovering the frailty of our own
nature, which is in no instance more proved than
by the short duration of violent love, has some-
thing so painful in it, that, with our usual selfish-
ness, we feel, if not a repugnance, at least an
indifference to the object that once charmed, but
can no longer charm us, and whose presence
brings mortifying recollections; nay, such is our
injustice, that we transfer the blame of the weak-
ness of our own natures to the person who had
not power to retain our love, and discover blem-
ishes in her to excuse our inconstancy. As in-
difference begets indifference, vanity is wound-
WITH LORD BYRON. 187
ed at both sides ; and though good sense may
induce people to support and conceal their feel-
ings, how can an affectionate friendship spring
up like a phoenix, from the ashes of extinguished
passion ? I am afraid that the friendship, in such
a case, would be as fabulous as the phoenix, for
the recollection of burnt-out love would remain
too mortifying a memento to admit the successor,
friendship." I told Byron that this was mere
sophistry, and could not be his real sentiments;
as also that, a few days before, he admitted that
passion subsided into a better, or at least a more
durable feeling. I added, that persons who had
felt the engrossing love he described, which was
a tempestuous and selfish passion, were glad to
sink into the refreshing calm of milder feelings,
and looked back with complacency on the storms
they had been exposed to, and with increased
sympathy to the person who had shared them.
The community of interest, of sorrows, and of
joys added new Jinks to the chain of affection,
and habit, which might wear away the gloss of
the selfish passion he alluded to, gave force to
friendship, by rendering the persons every day
more necessary to each other. I added, that
dreadful would be the fate of persons, if, after
a few months of violent passion, they were to
pass their lives in indifference, merely because
188 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
their new feelings were less engrossing and ex-
citing than the old. " Then (said Byron,) if you
admit that the violent love does, or must, subside
in a few months, and, as in coursing, that we are
mad for a minute to be melancholy for an hour,
would it not be wiser to choose the friend, I
mean the person most calculated for friend-
ship, with whom 1he long years are to be spent,
than the idol who is to be worshipped for some
months, and then hurled from the altar we had
raised to her, and left defaced and disfigured by
the smoke of the incense she had received? I
maintained that as the idols are chosen nearly
always for their personal charms, they are seldom
calculated for friendship; hence the disappoint-
ment that endues, when the violence of passion
has abated, and the discovery is made that there
are no solid qualities to replace the passion that
has passed away with the novelty that excited it.
When a man chooses a friend in a woman, he
looks to her powers of conversation, her mental
qualities, and agreeability ; and as these win his
regard the more they are known, love often takes
the place of friendship, and certainly the founda-
tion on which he builds is more likely to be last-
ing; and, in this case, I admit that affection, or,
as you more prettily call it, tender friendship,
may last for ever/* I replied that I believe the
WITH LORD BYRON. 189
only difference in oar opinions is, that I denied
that friendship could not succeed love, and that
nothing could change my opinion. " I suppose
(said Byron) that a woman, like
A man, convinced against his will,
Is of the same opinion stil!
so that all my fine commentaries on my text
have been useless ; at all events, I hope you give
me credit for being ingenious, as well as ingen-
uous in my defence. Clever men (said Byron)
commit a great mistake in selecting wives who
are destitute of abilities; I allow that une femme
savante is apt to be a bore, and it is to avoid this
that people run into the opposite extreme, and
condemn themselves to pass their lives with
women who are incapable of understanding or
appreciating them. Men have an idea that a
clever woman must be disputative and dictato-
rial, not considering that it is only pretenders
who are either, and that this applies as much to
one sex as the other. Now, my bea.u ideal would
be a woman with talent enough to be able to
understand and value mine, but not sufficient
to be able to shine herself. All men with pre-
tensions desire this, though few, if any, have
courage to avow it ; I believe the truth is, that a
man must be very conscious of superior abilities
to endure the thought of having a rival near the
190 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
throne, though that rival was his wife ; and as it
is said that no man is a hero to his valet-de-
chambre, it may be concluded that few men can
retain their position on the pedestal of genius vis-
a-vis to one who has been behind the curtain,
unless that one is unskilled in the art of judging,
and consequently admires the more because she
does not understand. Genius, like greatness,
should be seen at a distance, for neither will bear
a too close inspection. Imagine the hero of a
hundred fights in his cotton night-cap, subject to
all the infirmities of human nature, and there is
an end of his sublimity; and see a poet whose
works have raised our thoughts above this sphere
of common e very-day existence, and who, Pro-
metheus-like, has stolen fire from heaven to ani-
mate the children of clay see him in the throes
of poeti" labor, blotting, tearing, rewriting the
lines that w r e suppose him to have poured forth
with Homeric inspiration, and, in the intervals,
eating, drinking, and sleeping, like the most or-
dinary mortal, and he soon sinks to a level with
them in our estimation. I am sure (said Byron)
we can never justly appreciate the works of those
with whom we have lived on familiar terms. I
have felt this myself, and it applies to poets more
than all other writers. They should live in soli-
tude, rendering their presence more desired by its
WITH LORD BYRON. 191
rarity; never submit to the gratification of the
animal appetite of eating in company, and be as
distinct in their general habits, as in their genius,
from the common herd of mankind." He laughed
heartily when he had finished this speech, and
added, " I have had serious thoughts of drawing
up a little code of instructions for my brethren of
the craft. I don't think my friend Moore would
adopt it, and he, perhaps, is the only exception
who would be privileged to adhere to his present
regime, as he can certainly pass the ordeal of
dinners without losing any of his poetical reputa-
tion, since the brilliant things that come from his
lips reconcile one to the solid things that go into
them."
" We have had ' Pleasures of Hope,' ' Plea-
sures of Memory,' ' Pleasures of Imagination,'
and ' Pleasures of Love.' I wonder that no one
has thought of writing ' Pleasures of Fear ' (said
Byron). It surely is a poetical subject, and
much might be made of it in good hands." I
answered, "Why do you not undertake it?" He
replied, " Why, I have endeavored through life
to make believe that I am unacquainted with
the passion, so I must not now show an intimacy
with it, lest I be accused of cowardice, which
is, I believe, the only charge that has not yet
been brought against me." But, joking apart,
192 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
it would be a fine subject, and has more of the
true sublime than any of the other passions. I
have always found more difficulty in hitting on a
subject than in filling it up, and so I dare say do
most people ; and I have remarked that I never
could make much of a subject suggested to me
by another. I have sometimes dreamt of sub-
jects and incidents (continued he), nay nearly
filled up an outline of a tale while under the
influence of sleep, but have found it too wild to
work up into any thing. Dreams are strange
things, and here, again, is one of the incompre-
hensibilities of nature. I could tell you extraor-
dinary things of dreams, and as true as extraor-
dinary, but you would laugh at my superstition.
Mine are always troubled and disagreeable ; and
one of the most fearful thoughts that ever crossed
my mind during moments of gloomy skepticism,
has been the possibility that the last sleep may not
be dreamless. Fancy an endless dream of horror
it is too dreadful to think of this thought
alone would lead the veriest clod of animated clay
that ever existed to aspirations after immortality.
The difference between a religious and irreligious
man (said Byron) is, that the one sacrifices the
present to the future ; and the other, the future to
the present." I observed, that grovelling must
be the mind that can content itself with the
WITH LORD BYRON. 193
present ; even those who are occupied only with
their pleasures find the insufficiency of it, and
must have something to look forward to in the
morrow of the future, so unsatisfying is to-day
of the present ! Byron said that he agreed with
me, and added, " The belief in the immortality
of the soul is the only true panacea for the ills
of life."
" You will like the Italian women (said Byron),
and I advise you to cultivate their acquaintance.
They are natural, frank, and good-natured, and
have none of the affectation, petitesse, jealousy,
and malice, that characterize our more polished
countrywomen. This gives a raciness to their
ideas as well as manners, that to me is peculiarly
pleasing ; and I feel with an Italian woman as if
she was a full-grown child, possessing the buoy-
ancy and playfulness of infancy with the deep
feeling of womanhood ; none of that conventional
manierisme that one meets with from the first
patrician circles in England, justly styled the
marble age, so cold and polished, to the second
and third coteries, where a coarse caricature is
given of the un penetrated and impenetrable mys-
teries of the first. Where dulness, supported by
the many, silences talent and originality, upheld
by the few. Madame de Stael used to say that
our great balls and assemblies of hundreds in
13
194 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
London, to which all flocked, were admirably
calculated to reduce all to the same level, and
were got up with this intention. In the torrid
zone of suffocating hundreds, mediocrity and ex-
cellence had equal chances, for neither could be
remarked or distinguished ; conversation was im-
practicable, reflection put hors de combat, and
common sense,- by universal accord, sent to
Coventry ; so that after a season in London one
doubted one's own identity, and was tempted
to repeat the lines in the child's book, 'If I be
not I, who can I be ? ' So completely were one's
faculties reduced to the conventional standard.
The Italians know not this artificial state of
society; their circles are limited and social; they
love or hate, but then they l do their hating
gently ; ' the clever among them are allowed a
distinguished place ; the less endowed admires,
instead of depreciating, what he cannot attain ;
and ah 1 and each contribute to the general stock of
happiness. Misanthropy is unknown in Italy, as
are many of the other exotic passions, forced into
flower by the hot-beds of civilization ; and yet in
moral England you will hear people express their
horror of the freedom and immorality of the
Italians, whose errors are but as the weeds that a
too warm sun brings forth, while ours are the
stinging-nettles of a soil rendered rank by its too
WITH LOKD BYEON. 195
great richness. Nature is all-powerful in Italy,
and who is it that would not prefer the sins of
her exuberance to the crimes of art ? Lay aside
ceremony, and meet them with their own warmth
and frankness, and I answer for it you will leave
those whom you sought as acquaintances, friends,
instead of, as in England, scarcely retaining as
acquaintances those with whom you had started
in life as friends. Who ever saw in Italy the
nearest and dearest relations bursting asunder all
the ties of consanguinity, from some worldly and
interested motive ? And yet this so frequently
takes place in England, that, after an absence of
a year or two, one dare hardly inquire of a sister
after a sister, or a brother after a brother, as one
is afraid to be told not that they are dead but
that they have cut each other."
" I ought to be an excellent comic writer (said
Byron), if it be true, as some assert, that melan-
choly people succeed best in comedy, and gay
people in tragedy ; and Moore would make, by
that rule, a first-rate tragic writer. I have known*
among amateur authors, some of the gayest per-
sons, whose compositions were all of a melan-
choly turn ; and for myself, some of my nearest
approaches to comic have been written under a
deep depression of spirits. This is strange, but
so is all that appertains to our strange natures ;
196 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
and the more we analyze the anomalies in our-
selves or others, the more incomprehensible they
appear. I believe (continued Byron) the less we
reflect on them the better, at least I am sure
those that reflect the least are the happiest. I
once heard a clever medical man say, that if a
person were to occupy himself a certain time in
counting the pulsations of his heart, it would
have the effect of accelerating its movements, and
if continued, would produce disease. So it is
with the mind and nature of man ; our exami-
nations and reflections lead to no definite con-
clusions, and often engender a morbid state of
feeling, that increases the anomalies for which we
sought to account. We know that we live (con-
tinued Byron,) and to live and to suffer are in my
opinion synonymous. We know also that we
shall die, though the how, the when, and the
where, we are ignorant of; the whole knowledge
of man can pierce no farther, and centuries re-
volving on centuries have made us no wiser. I
think it was Luther who said that the human
mind was like a drunken man on horseback
prop it on one side and it falls on the other ; who
that has entered into the recesses of his own
mind, or examined all that is exposed in the
minds of others, but must have discovered this
tendency to weakness, which is generally in pro-
WITH LORD BYRON. 197
portion to the strength in some other faculty.
Great imagination is seldom accompanied by
equal powers of reason, and vice versa, so that
we rarely possess superiority in any one point,
except at the expense of another. It is surely
then unjust (continued Byron, laughing) to rendei
poets responsible for their want of common sense,
since it is only by the excess of imagination they
can arrive at being poets, and this excess debars
reason ; indeed the very circumstance of a man's
yielding to the vocation of a poet ought to serve
as a voucher that he is no longer of sound mind."
Byron always became gay when any subject
afforded him an opportunity of ridiculing poets ;
he entered into it con amore, and generally ended
by some sarcasm on the profession, or on himself.
He has often said, " We of the craft are all crazy,
but I more than the rest ; some are affected by
gayety, others by melancholy, but all are more or
less touched, though few except myself have the
candor to avow it, which I do to spare my friends
the pain of sending it forth to the world. This
very candor is another proof that I am not of
sound mind (continued he), for people will be
sure to say how far gone he must be, when he
admits it ; on the principle that when a belle or
beau owns to thirty-five, the world gives them
credit for at least seven years more, from the
198 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
belief that if we seldom speak the truth of others,
we never do of ourselves, at least on subjects of
personal interest or vanity."
Talking of an acquaintance, Byron said, look
at , and see how he gets on in the world
he is as unwilling to do a bad action as he is in-
capable of doing a good ; fear prevents the first,
and mechancete the second. The difference be-
tween and me is, that I abuse many, and
really, with one or two exceptions, (and mind
you, they are males,) hate none; and he abuses
none, and hates many, if not all. Fancy in the
Palace of Truth, what good fun it would be, to
hear him, while he believed himself uttering the
most honeyed compliments, giving vent to all the
spite and rancor that has been pent up in his
mind for years, and then to see the person he has
been so long flattering hearing his real sentiments
for the first time ; this would be rare fun ! Now, I
would appear to great advantage in the Palace
of Truth," continued Byron, " though you look
ill-naturedly incredulous; for while I thought I
was vexing friends and foes with spiteful
speeches, I should be saying good-natured things,
for, aufond, I have no malice, at least none that
lasts beyond the moment." Never was there a
more true observation ; Byron's is a fine nature,
spite of all the weeds that have sprung up in it ;
WITH LORD BYRON. 199
and 1 am convinced that it is the excellence of
the poet, or rather let me say, the effect of that
excellence, that has produced the defects of the
man. In proportion to the admiration one has
excited, has been the severity of the censure be-
stowed on the other, and often most unjustly.
The world has burnt incense before the poet, and
heaped ashes on the head of the man. This has
revolted and driven him out of the pale of social
life, his wounded pride has avenged itself, by
painting his own portrait in the most sombre
colors, as if to give a still darker picture than has
yet been drawn by his foes, while glorying in
forcing even from his foes an admiration as un-
bounded for his genius as has been their disap-
probation for his character. Had his errors met
with more mercy, he might have been a less
grand poet, but he would have been a more esti-
mable man ; the good that is now dormant in his
nature would have been called forth, and the evil
would not have been excited. The blast that
withers the rose destroys not its thorns, which
often remain, the sole remembrance of the flower
they grow near; and so it is with some of our
finest qualities blighted by unkind ness, we can
only trace them by the faults their destruction
has made visible.
Lord Byron, in talking of his friend, La Comte
200 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Pietro Gamba, (the brother of La Contessa
Ouicciola,) whom he had presented to us soon
after our arrival at Genoa, remarked, that he was
one of the most amiable,, brave, and excellent
young men he had ever encountered, with a
thirst for knowledge, and a disinterestedness
rarely to be met with. " He is my grand point
tfappui for Greece," said he, " as I know he will
neither deceive nor flatter me." We have found
La Comte Pietro Gamba exactly what Lord
Byron had described him; sensible, mild, and
amiable, devotedly attached to Lord B., and
dreaming of glory and Greece. He is extremely
good-looking, and Lord Byron told us he resem-
bled his sister very much, which I dare say in-
creased his partiality for him not a little.
Habit has a strong influence over Byron ; he
likes routine, and detests what he calls being put
out of his way. He told rne that any infringe-
ment on his habitual way of living, or passing
his time, annoyed him. Talking of thin women,
he said that if they were young and pretty, they
reminded him of dried butterflies ; but if neither,
of spiders, whose nests would never catch him
were he a fly, as they had nothing tempting. A
new book is a treasure to him, provided it is
really new ; for having read more than perhaps
any man of his age, he can immediately dis-
WITH LORD BYRON. 201
cover a want of originality, and throws by the
book in disgust at the first wilful plagiary he de-
tects.
Talking of Mr. Ward,* Lord Byron said
" Ward is one of the best-informed men I know,
and, in a tete-a-tete, is one of the most agreeable
companions. He has great originality, and, being
ires distrait, it adds to the piquancy of his obser-
vations, which are sometimes somewhat trop
naivete, though always amusing. This naivete
of his is the more piquant from his being really
a good-natured man, who unconsciously thinks
aloud. Interest Ward on a subject, and I know
no one who can talk better. His expressions are
concise without being poor, and terse and epi-
grammatic without being affected. He can com-
press (continued Byron) as much into a few
words as any one I know ; and if he gave more
of his attentions to his associates, and less to
himself, he would be one of the few whom one
could praise, without being compelled to use the
conjunction but. Ward has bad health, and un-
fortunately, like all valetudinarians, it occupies
his attention too much, which will probably bring
on a worse state," continued Byron, "that of
confirmed egoism a malady that, though not to
be found in the catalogue of ailments to which
* Now Lord Dudley.
202 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
man is subject, yet perhaps is more to be dreaded
than all that are."
I observed that egoism is in general the malady
of the aged ; and that, it appears, we become
occupied with our own existence in proportion as
it ceases to be interesting to others.
" Yes," said Byron, " on the same principle as
we see the plainest people the vainest nature
giving them vanity and self-love to supply the
want of that admiration they never can find in
others. I can therefore pity and forgive the
vanity of the ugly and deformed, whose sole con-
solation it is ; but the handsome, whose good
looks are mirrored in the eyes of all around them,
should be content w.ith that, and not indulge in
such egregious vanity as they give way to in
general. But to return to Ward," said Byron,
" and this is not apropos to vanity, for I never
saw any one who has less. He is not properly
appreciated in England. The English can better
understand and enjoy the bon mots of a bon
vivant, who can at all times set the table in a
roar, than the neat repliques of Ward, which, ex-
citing reflection, are more likely to silence the
rabble-riot of intemperance. They like better the
person who makes them laugh, though often at
their own expense, than he who forces them to
think an operation which the mental faculties
WITH LORD BYE ON 203
of few of them are calculated to perform ; so that
poor "Ward, finding himself undervalued, sinks
into self, and this, at the long run, is dangerous :
For well we know the mind, too finely wrought,
Preys on itself, and is o'erpower'd by thought.
" There are many men in England of superior
abilities, (continued Byron,) who are lost from
the habits and inferiority of their associates.
Such men, finding that they cannot raise their
companions to their level, are but too apt to let
themselves down to that of the persons they live
with ; and hence many a man condescends to be
merely a wit, and man of pleasure, who was born
for better things. Poor Sheridan often played
his character in society; but he maintained his
superiority over the herd, by having established a
literary and political reputation ; and as I have
heard him more than once say, when his jokee
have drawn down plaudits from companions, to
whom, of an evening at least, sobriety and sad-
ness were alike unknown ' It is some consolation ;
that if I set the table in a roar, I can at pleasure
set the senate in a roar ; ' and this was muttered
while under the influence of wine, and as if apol-
ogizing to his own mind for the profanation it
was evident he felt he had offered to it at the
moment. Lord A ley is a delightful companion,
(said Byron,) brilliant, witty, and playful ; he can
204 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
be irresistibly comic when he pleases, but what
could he not be if he pleased ? for he has talents
to be any thing. I lose patience when I see such
a man throw himself away ; for there are plenty
of men, who could be witty, brilliant, and comic,
but who could be nothing else, while he is all
these, but could be much more. How many men
have made a figure in public life, without half his
abilities ! But indolence and the love of pleasure
will be the bane of A y, as it has been of
many a man of talent before."
The more I see of Byron the more am I con-
vinced that all he says and does should be judged
more leniently that the sayings and doings of
others as his proceed from the impulse of the
moment, and never from premeditated malice.
He cannot resist expressing whatever comes into
his mind ; and the least shade of the ridiculous is
seized by him at a glance, and portrayed with a
facility and a felicity that must encourage the
propensity to ridicule, which is inherent in him.
All the malice of his nature has lodged itself on
his lips and the fingers of his right hand for there
is none I am persuaded to be found in his heart,
which has more of good than most people give
him credit for, except those who have lived with
him on habits of intimacy. He enters into society
as children do their play-ground, for relaxation
WITH LORD BYRON. 205
and amusement, after his mind has been strained
to its utmost stretch, and that he feels the neces-
sity of unbending it. Ridicule is his play ; it
amuses him perhaps the more that he sees it
amuses others, and much of its severity is miti-
gated by the boyish glee, and laughing sportive-
ness, with which his sallies are uttered. All this
is felt when he is conversing, but unfortunately it
cannot be conveyed to the reader; the narrator
would therefore deprecate the censure his sar-
casms may excite in the memory of the smiles
and gayety that palliated them when spoken.
Byron is fond of talking of Napoleon, and told
me that his admiration of him had much in-
creased since he had been in Italy, and witnessed
the stupendous works he had planned and exe-
cuted. " To pass through Italy without thinking
of Napoleon, (said he,) is like visiting Naples
without looking at Vesuvius." Seeing me smile
at the comparison, he added " Though the
works of one are indestructible, and the other de-
structive, still one is continually reminded of the
power of both." " And yet (said I) there are
days, that, like all your other favorites, Napoleon
does not escape censure." "That may be, (said
Byron,) but I find fault, and quarrel with Napo-
leon, as a lover does with the trifling faults of his
mistress, from excessive liking, which tempts me
236 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
to desire that he had been all faultless ; and, like
the lover, I return with renewed fondness after
each quarrel. Napoleon (continued Byron) was
a grand creature, and though he was hurled from
his pedestal, after having made thrones his foot-
stool, his memory still remains, like the colossal
statue of the Memnon, though cast down from
its seat of honor, still bearing the ineffaceable
traces of grandeur and sublimity, to astonish
future ages. When Metternich (continued By-
ron) was depreciating the genius of Napoleon, in
a circle at Vienna where his word was a law, and
his nod a decree, he appealed to John William
Ward, if Bonaparte had not been greatly over-
rated. Ward's answer was as courageous as
admirable. He replied, that * Napoleon had ren-
dered past glory doubtful, and future fame impos-
sible." This was expressed in French, and such
pure French, that all present were struck with
admiration, no less with the thought than with
the mode of expressing it." I told Byron that
this reminded me of a reply made by Mr. Ward
to a lady at Vienna, who somewhat rudely re-
marked to him, that it was strange that all the
best society at Vienna spoke French as well as
German, while the English scarcely spoke French
at all, or spoke it ill. Ward answered, that the
English must be excused for their want of
WITH LOED BYKON.
207
practice, as the French army had not been twice
to London to teach them, as they had been at
Vienna. " The coolness of Ward's manner (said
Byron) must have lent force to such a reply ; I
have heard him say many things worth remem-
bering, and the neatness of their expression was
as remarkable as the justness of the thought. It
is a pity (continued Byron) that Ward has not
written any thing ; his style, judging by letters of
his that I have seen, is admirable, and reminded
me of Sallust."
Having, one day, taken the liberty of (what he
termed) scolding Lord Byron, and finding him
take it with his usual good-nature, I observed
that I was agreeably surprised by the patience
with which he listened to my lectures ; he smiled,
and replied, " No man dislikes being lectured by
a woman, provided she be not his mother, sister,
wife, or mistress : first, it implies that she takes an
interest in him, and, secondly, that she does not
think him irreclaimable, then there is not that air
of superiority in women when they give advice,
that men, particularly one's contemporaries, affect,
and even if there was, men think their own
superiority so acknowledged, that they listen
without humiliation to the gentler, I don't say
weaker, sex. There is one exception, however,
for I confess I could not stand being lectured by
208 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Lady , but then she is neither of the weak
nor gentle sex she is a nondescript having all
the faults of both sexes, without the virtues of
either. Two lines in the ' Henriade,' describing
Catherine de Medici s, seem made for Lady
(continued Byron)
Posse* dant en un mot, pour n'en pas dire plus,
Les deTauts de son sexe et peu de ses vertus."
I remember only one instance of Byron's being
displeased with my frankness. We were return-
ing on horseback from Nervi, and, in defending a
friend of mine, whom he assailed with all the
slings and arrows of ridicule and sarcasm, I was
obliged to be more severe than usual ; and hav-
ing at that moment arrived at the turn of the
road that led to Albaro, he politely, but coldly,
wished me good bye, and galloped off. We had
scarcely advanced a hundred yards, when he
came galloping after us, and, reaching out his
hand, said to me, " Come, come, give me your
hand, I cannot bear that we should part so for-
mally ; I am sure what you have said was right,
and meant for my good ; so God bless you, and
to-morrow we shall ride again, and I promise to
say nothing that can produce a lesson." We all
agreed that we had never seen Byron appear to
so much advantage. He gives me the idea of be-
ing the man the most easily to be managed I ever
WITH LORD BYRON. 209
saw ; I w ish Lady Byron had discovered the
means, and both might now be happier.
Lord Byron told me that La Contessa Guic-
cioli had repeatedly asked him to discontinue
Don Juan, as its immorality shocked her, and
that she could not bear that any thing of the
kind should be written under the same roof with
her. " To please her, (said Byron,) I gave it up
for some time, and have only got permission to
continue it on condition of making my hero a
more moral person. I shall end by making him
turn Methodist ; this will please the English, and
be an amende honorable for his sins and mine. I
once got an anonymous letter, written in a very
beautiful female hand, (said Byron,) on the sub-
ject of Don Juan, with a beautiful illustrative
drawing, beneath which was written 'When
Byron wrote the first Canto of Don Juan, Love,
that had often guided his pen, resigned it to Sen-
suality and Modesty, covering her face with her
veil, to hide her blushes and dry her tears, fled
from him for ever.' The drawing (continued By-
ron) represented Love and Modesty turning their
backs on wicked Me and Sensuality, a fat,
flushed, wingless Cupid, presenting me with a
pen. Was not this a pretty conceit ? At all
events, it is some consolation to occupy the at-
tention of women so much, though it is but by
14
210 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
my faults; and I confess it gratifies me. Apropos
to Cupid it is strange (said Byron) that the an-
cients, in their mythology, should represent Wis-
dom by a woman, and Love by a boy! how. do
you account for this ? I confess I have little
faith in Minerva, and think that Wisdom is,
perhaps, the last attribute I should be inclined
to give woman ; but then I do allow, that Love
would be more suitably represented by a female
than a male; for men or boys feel riot the pas-
sion with the delicacy and purity that women
do ; and this is my real opinion, which must be
my peace-offering for doubting the wisdom of
your sex."
Byron is infirm of purpose decides without
reflection and gives up his plans if they are
opposed for any length of time ; but, as far as I
can judge of him, though he yields, he does it
not with a good grace. He is a man likely to
show that such a sacrifice of self-will was offered
up more through indolence than affection, so that
his yielding can seldom be quite satisfactory, at
least to a delicate mind. He says that all women
are exi^Sante^ and apt to be dissatisfied ; he is, as
I have told him, too selfish and indolent not to
have given those who had more than a common
interest in him cause to be so. It is such men as
Byron who complain of women ; they touch lot
WITH LORD BYRON. 211
the chords that give sweet music in woman's
breast, but strike with a bold and careless hand
those that jar and send forth discord. Byron
has a false notion on the subject of women ; he
fancies that they are all disposed to be tyrants,
and that the moment they know their power they
abuse it. We have had many arguments on
this point I maintaining that the more disposed
men were to yield to the empire of woman, the
less were they inclined to exact, as submission
disarmed, and attention and affection enslaved
them.
Men are capable of making great sacrifices,
who are not willing to make the lesser ones, on
which so much of the happiness of life depends.
The great sacrifices are seldom called for, but
the minor ones are in daily requisition ; and the
making them with cheerfulness and grace en-
hances their value, and banishes from the do-
mestic circle the various misunderstandings, dis-
cussions, and coldnesses, that arise to embitter
existence, where a little self-denial might have
kept them off. Woman is a creating of feeling
easily wounded, but susceptible of all the soft
and kind emotions ; destroy this sensitiveness,
and you rob her of her greatest attraction ;
study her happiness, and you insure your own.
" One of the things that most pleases me in
212 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the Italian character (said Byron) is the total
absence of that belief, which exists so generally
in England in the mind of each individual, that
the circle in which he lives, and which he digni-
fies by calling The World> is occupied with him
and his actions an idea founded on the extreme
vanity that characterizes the English, and pre-
cludes the possibility of living for one's self 01
those immediately around one. How many of
my soi-disant friends in England are dupes to
this vanity (continued Byron) keeping up ex-
pensive establishments, which they can ill afford
living in crowds ; and with people who do not
suit them feeling ennuyes day after day, and
yet submitting to all this tiresome routine of
vapid reunions living, during the fashionable
season, if living it can be called, in n state of
intermitting fever, for the sake of being con-
sidered to belong to a certain set. During the
time I passed in London, I always remarked
that I never met a person who did not tell me
how bored he or she had been the day or night
before at Lady This or Lady That's ; and when
I've asked, * Why do you go, if it bores you ? '
the invariable answer has been < One can't help
going ; it would be so odd not to go.' Old and
young, ugly and handsome, all have the rage, in
England, of losing their identity in crowds ; and
WITH LORD BYRON. 213
prefei conjugating the verb ennuyer en masse in
heated rooms, to conning it over in privacy in a
purer atmosphere. The constancy and perseve-
rance with which our compatriots support fash-
ionable life, have always been to me a subject of
wonder, if not of admiration, and proves what
they might be capable of in a good cause. I am
curious to know (continued Byron) if the rising
generation will fall into the same inane routine ;
though it is to be hoped the march of intellect
will have some influence in establishing some-
thing like society, which has hitherto been only
to be found in country-houses. I spent a week
at Lady J y's once, and very agreeably it
passed ; the guests were well chosen the host
and hostess on 'hospitable thoughts intent' the
establishment combining all the luxury of a mai-
son montee en prince with the ease and comfort
of a well-ordered home. How different do the
same people appear in London and in the coun-
try! they are hardly to be recognized. In the
latter they are as natural and unaffected, as they
are insipid or over-excited in the former. A cer-
tain place (continued Byron) not to be named to
4 ears polite,' is said to be paved with good inten-
tions, and London (viewing the effect it produces
on its fashionable inhabitants) may really be
supposed to be paved by evil passions, as few
214 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
can touch its pave without contamination. I
have been reading Lord John Russell's Essays
on London Society, and find them clever and
amusing, (said Byron,) but too microscopic for
my taste; he has, however, treated the subject
with a lightness and playfulness best suited to it,
and his reflections show an accuracy of observa-
tion that proves he is capable of better things.
He who would take a just view of the world
must neither examine it through a microscope
nor a magnifying-glass. Lord John is a sensible
and amiable man, and bids fair to distinguish
himself.
" Do you know Hallam ? (said Byron.) Of
course, I need not ask if you have read his c Mid-
dle Ages ; ' it is an admirable work, full of re-
search, and does Hallam honor. I know no one
capable of having written it except him ; for,
admitting that a writer could be found who could
bring to the task his knowledge and talents, it
would be difficult to find one who united to these
his research, patience, and perspicuity of style.
The reflections of Hallam are at once just and
profound his language well chosen and impres-
sive. I remember (continued Byron) being struck
by a passage, where, touching on the Venetians,
he writes ' Too blind to avert danger, too cow-
ardly to withstand it, the most ancient govern
WITH LORD BYEON. 215
meni of Europe made not an instant's resist-
ance ; the peasants of Underwald died upon their
mountains the nobles of Venice clung only to
their lives.' This is the style in which history
ought to be written, if it is wished to impress it
on the memory ; and I found myself, on my first
perusal of the * Middle Ages,' repeating aloud
many such passages as the one I have cited, they
struck my fancy so much. Robertson's State of
Europe, in his ' Charles the Fifth,' is another of
my great .favorites (continued Byron); it con-
tains an epitome of information. Such works do
more towards the extension of knowledge than
half the ponderous tomes that lumber up our
libraries ; they are the railroads to learning ; while
the others are the neglected old roads that deter
us from attempting the journey.
" It is strange (said Byron) that we are in gen-
eral much more influenced by the opinions of
those whose sentiments ought to be a matter of
indifference to us, than by that of near or dear
friends ; nay, we often do things totally opposed
to the opinions of the latter, (on whom much, if
not all, our comfort depends,) to cultivate that
of the former, who are or can be nothing in the
scale of our happiness. It is in this opposition
between our conduct and our affections, that
much of our troubles originates ; it loosens the
216 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
bonds of affection between us and those we
ought to please, and fails to excite any good will
in those whom our vanity leads us to wish to
propitiate, because they are regardless of us and
of our actions. With all our selfishness, this is
a great mistake (continued Byron) ; for, as I take
it for granted we have all some feelings of natu-
ral affection for our kindred or friends, and, con-
sequently, wish to retain theirs, we never wound
or offend them without its reacting on ourselves,
by alienating them from us ; hence, selfishness
ought to make us study the wishes of those to
whom we look for happiness ; and the principle
of doing as you would be done by, a principle
which, if acted upon, could not fail to add to
the stock of general good, was founded in wis-
dom, and knowledge of the selfishness of human
nature."
Talking of Mr. D. K , Byron said : " My
friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot
compensate for an irritable temper ; whenever he
is named, people dwell on the last and pass over
the first ; and yet he really has an excellent heart,
and a sound head, of which I, in common with
many others of his friends, have various proofs.
He is clever, too, and well informed, and I do
think would have made a figure in the world,
were it not for his temper, which gives a di<
WITH LOUD BYRON. 217
tatorial tone to his manner, that is offensive to
the amour propre of those with whom he
mixes ; and when you alarm that, (said Byron,)
there is an end of your influence. By tacitly
admitting the claims of vanity of others, you
make at least acquiescent beholders of your own,
and this is something gained ; for, depend on it,
disguise it how we will, vanity- is the prime
mover in most, if not all, of us, and some of
the actions and works that have the most excited
our admiration have been inspired by this pas-
sion, that none will own to, yet that influences
all.
" The great difference between the happy and
unhappy (said Byron) is, that the former are
afraid to contemplate death, and the latter look
forward to it as a release from suffering. Now,
as death is inevitable, and life brief and uncer-
tain, unhappiness, viewed in this point, is rather
desirable than otherwise ; but few, I fear, derive
consolation from the reflection. I think of death
often, (continued Byron,) as I believe do most
people who are not happy ; and view it as a
I refuge, ' where the wicked cease from troubling,
and the weary are at rest,' There is something
calm and soothing to me in the thought of death j
and the only time that I feel a repugnance to it
is on a fine day, in solitude, in a beautiful coun-
218 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
try, when all nature seems rejoicing in light and
life. The contrast then between ihe beautiful and
animated world around me, and the dark, nar-
row grave, gives a chill to the feelings ; for, with
all the boasted philosophy of man, his physical
being' influences his notions of that state where
they can be felt, no more. The nailed down cof-
fin, and the dark, gloomy vault, or grave, always
mingle with our thoughts of death ; then the
decomposition of our mortal frames, the being
preyed on by reptiles, add to the disgusting horror
of the picture, and one has need of all the hopes
of immortality to enable one to pass over this
bridge between the life we know and the life we
hope to find.
" Do you know (said Byron) that when I have
looked on some face that I love, imagination has
often figured the changes that death must one
day produce on it the worm rioting on lips now
smiling, the features and hues of health changed
to the livid and ghastly tints of putrefaction ;
and the image conjured up to my fancy, but
which is as true as it is a fearful anticipation
of what must arrive, has left an impression
for hours that the actual presence of the object,
in all the bloom of health, has not been able to
banish ; this is one of my pleasures of imagina-
tion."
WITH LORD BYRON. 219
Talking of hypochondriasm, Byron said, thai
the world had little compassion for two of the
most serious ills that human nature is subject to
mental or bodily hypochondriasm. " Real ail-
ments may be cured, (said he,) but imaginary
ones, either moral or physical, admit of no rem-
edy. People analyze the supposed causes of
maladies of the mind ; and if the sufferer be rich,
well born, well looking, and clever in any way,
they conclude he or she can have no cause for
unhappiness ; nay, assign the cleverness, which
is often the source of unhappiness, as among the
adventitious gifts that increase, or ought to in-
crease, the felicity, and pity not the unhappiness
they cannot understand. They take the same
view of imaginary physical ailments, never re-
flecting that ' happiness (or health) is often but
in opinion ; ' and that he who believes himself
wretched or ill suffers, perhaps, more than he
who has real cause for wretchedness, or who is
laboring under disease with less acute sensibility
to feel his troubles, and nerves subdued by ill
health, which prevents his suffering from bodily
ills as severely as does the hypochondriac from
imaginary ones. The irritability of genius (con*
tinued Lord Byron) is nothing more or less than
a delicacy of organization, which gives a suscep-
tibility to impressions to which coarser minds are
220 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
never subject, and cultivation and refinement but
increases it, until the unhappy victim becomes a
prey to mental hypochondriasm."
Byron furnished a melancholy illustration of
the fate of genius; and, while he dwelt on the
diseases to which it is subject, I looked at his fine
features, already marked by premature age, and
his face " sicklied o'er with the pale cast of
thought," and stamped with decay, until I felt
that his was no hypothetical statement. Alas !
Noblest minds
Sink soonest into ruin, like a tree
That, with the weight of its own golden fruitage,
Is bent down to the dust.
" Do you know Mackintosh ? (asked Lord By-
ron) his is a mind of powerful calibre. Madame
de Stael used to extol him to the skies, and was
perfectly sincere in her admiration of him, which
was not the case with all whom she praised.
Mackintosh also praised her; but his is a mind
that, as Moore writes, * rather loves to praise than
blame ; ' for, with a judgment so comprehensive,
a knowledge so general, and a critical acumen
rarely to be met with, his sentences are never
severe. He is a powerful writer and speaker ^
there is an earnestness and vigor in his style, and
a force and purity in his language, equally free
from inflation and loquacity. Lord Erskine is,
WITH LOED BYRON. 221
I know, a friend of yours, (continued Byron,)
and a most gifted person he is. The Scotch are
certainly very superior people ; with intellects nat-
urally more acute than the English, they are better
educated, and make better men of business.
Erskine is full of imagination, and in this he
resembles your countrymen, the Irish, more than
the Scotch. The Irish would make better poets,
and the Scotch philosophers ; but this excess of
imagination gives a redundancy to the writings
and speeches of the Irish that I object to ; they
come down on one with similes, tropes, and met-
aphors, a superabundance of riches, that makes
one long for a little plain matter-of-fact. An
Irishman, of course I mean a clever one, (con-
tinued Byron,) educated in Scotland, would be
perfection, for the Scots professors would prune
down the over-luxuriant shoots of his imagina-
tion, and strengthen his reasoning powers. I
hope you are not very much offended with me
for this critique on your countrymen (continued
Byron) ; but, en revanche, I give you carte blanche
to attack mine as much as you please, and will
join in your strictures to the utmost extent to
which you wish to go. Lord Erskine is, or was.
(said Byron) for I suppose age has not improved
him more than it generally does people the most
brilliant person imaginable quick, vivacious, and
222 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
sparkling, he spoke so well that I never felt tired
of listening to him, even when he abandoned
himself to that subject of which all his other
friends and acquaintances expressed themselves
so fatigued self. His egotism was remarkable,
but there was a bonhommie in it that showed he
.had a better opinion of mankind than they de-
served ; for it implied a belief that his listeners
could be interested in what concerned him, whom
they professed to like. He was deceived in this,
{continued Byron,) as are all who have a favor-
able opinion of their fellow-men ; in society, all
and each are occupied with self, and can rarely
pardon any one who presumes to draw their at-
tention to other subjects for any length of time.
Erskine had been a great man, and he knew it ;
and, in talking so continually of self, imagined
that he was but the echo of fame. All his tal-
ents, wit, and brilliancy were insufficient to excuse
this weakness in the opinion of his friends ; and
I have seen bores, acknowledged bores, turn from
this clever man, with every symptom of ennui,
when he has been reciting an interesting anec-
dote, merely because he was the principal actor
in it.
" This fastidiousness of the English, (contin-
ued Byron,) and habit of pronouncing people
bores, often impose on strangers and stupid peo-
WITH LORD BYRON. 223
pie, who conceive that it arises from delicacy of
taste and superior abilities. I never was taken
in by it, for I have generally found that those
who were the most ready to pronounce others
bores, had the most indisputable claims to thai
title in their own persons. The truth is, (con-
tinued Byron,) the English are very envious;
they are au fond y conscious that they are dread-
fully dull being loquacious without liveliness,
proud without dignity, and brusque without sin-
cerity ; they never forgive those who show that
they have made the same discovery, or who
occupy public attention of which they are jeal-
ous. An Englishman rarely condescends to take
the .trouble of conciliating admiration, (though
he is jealous of esteem,) and he as rarely par-
dons those who have succeeded in attaining it.
They are jealous (continued Byron) of popu-
larity of every sort, and not only depreciate the
talents that obtain it, whatever they may be, but
the person who possesses them. I have seen in
London, in one of the circles the most recherche,
a literary man a la mode universally attacked by
the elite of the party, who were damning his
merits with faint praise, and drawing his defects
into notice, until some other candidate for appro-
bation as a conversationist, a singer, or even a
dancer was named, when all fell upon him
224 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
proving that a superiority of tongue, voice, or
heel was as little to be pardoned as genius or
talent. I have known people (continued Byron)
talk of the highest ei Drts of genius, as if they
had been within the reach of each of the com-
mon-place individuals of the circle ; and com-
ment on the acute reasonings of some logician,
as if they coulfl have made the same deductions
from the same premises, though ignorant of the
most simple syllogism. Their very ignorance of
the subjects on which they pronounce is perhaps
the cause of the fearless decisions they give, for,
knowing nought, they think every thing easy ;
but this impertinence (continued Byron) is dif-
ficult to be borne by those who know ' how
painful 'tis to climb,' and who having, by labor,
gained some one of the eminences in literature
which, alas ! as we all know, are but as mole-
hills compared to the acclivity they aim at as-
cending are the more deeply impressed with the
difficulties that they have yet to surmount. I
have never yet been satisfied with any one of my
own productions ; I cannot read them over with-
out detecting a thousand faults ; but when 1
read critiques upon them by those who could not
have written them, I lose my patience.
" There is an old and stupid song, (said By-
ron,) that says < Friendship with woman is sis-
WITH LORD BYRON. 225
ter to love.' There is some truth in this ; for
let a man form a friendship with a woman, even
though she be no longer young or handsome,
there is a softness and tenderness attached to it
that no male friendship can know. A proof of
this is, that Lady M , who might have beer,
my mother, excited an interest in my feelings
that few young women have been able to
awaken. She was a charming person a sori
of modern Aspasia, uniting the energy of a
man's mind with the delicacy and tenderness of
a woman's. She wrote and spoke admirably,
because she felt admirably. Envy, malice, ha-
tred, or uncharitable ness, found no place in her
feelings. She had all of philosophy, save its
moroseness, and all of nature, save its defects
and general faiblesse ; or, if some portion of
faiblesse attached to her, it only served to ren-
der her more forbearing to the errors of others.
I have often thought that, with a little morr
youth, Lady M might have turned my head :
at all events, she often turned my heart, by bring-
ing me back to mild feelings, when the demon
passion was strong within me. Her mind and
heart were as fresh as if only sixteen summers had
flown over her, instead of four times that num-
ber; and the mind and heart always leave exter-
nal marks of their state of health. Goodness i.-
16
9v>6 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the best cosmetic that has yet been discovered;
for I am of opinion that, not according to our
friend Moore
As the shining casket's worn
The gem within will tarnish too,
but au contraire, the decay of the gem will tar-
nish the casket the sword will wear away the
scabbard. Then how rare is it to see age give its
experience without its hardness of heart ! and
this was Lady M 's case. She was a capti-
vating creature, malgrS her eleven or twelve lus-
tres, and I shall always love her.
" Did you know William Spencer, the Poet of
Society, as they used to call him ? (said Byron.)
His was really what your countrymen call an
elegant mind, polished, graceful, and sentimental,
with just enough gayety to prevent his being
lachrymose, and enough sentiment to prevent his
being too anacreontic. There was a great deal of
genuine fun in Spencer's conversation, as well as
a. great deal of refined sentiment in his verses. I
liked both, for both were perfectly aristocratic in
their way ; neither one nor the other was calcu-
lated to please the canaille, which made me like
them all the better. England was, after all I
may say against it, very delightful in my day ;
that is to say, there were some six or seyen very
delightful people among the hundred common-
WITH LORD BYRON 227
place that one saw every day seven stars, the
Pleiades, visible when all others had hid their
diminished heads ; and, look where we may,
where can we find so many stars united else-
where ? Moore, Campbell, Rogers, Spencer, as
poets ; and how many conversationists to be
added to the galaxy of stars, one set irradiat-
ing our libraries of a morning, and the other
illuminating our dining-rooms of an evening !
All this was, and would be, very delightful, could
you have confined the stars within their own
planets ; but, alas ! they were given to wander
into other spheres, and often set in the arctic cir-
cles, the frozen zones of nobility. I often thought
at that time, (continued Byron,) that England
had reached the pinnacle that point where, as
no advance can be made, a nation must retro-
grade and I don't think I was wrong. Our
army had arrived at a state of perfection before
unknown ; Wellington's star was in the ascen-
dant, and all others paled before its influence.
We had Grey, Grenville, Wellesley, and Holland
in the House of Peers, and Sheridan, Canning,
Burdett, and Tierney in the Commons. In so-
ciety, we were rich in poets, then in their zenith,
now, alas ! fallen into the sear and yellow leaf ;
and in wits, of whom one did not speak in the
past tense. Of these, those whom the destroyer
228 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Time has not cut off he has mutilated ; the wine
of their lives has turned sour, and lost its body
and who is there to supply their places? The
march of intellect has been preceded by pioneers
who have levelled all the eminences of distinc-
tion, and reduced all to the level of decent medi-
ocrity.
" It is said that, as people grow old, they mag
nify the superiority of past times, and detract
from the advantages of the present ; this is natu-
ral enough, for, admitting that the advantages
were equal, we view them through a different
medium the sight, like all the other senses, loses
its fine perceptions, and nought looks as bright
through the dim optics of age as through the
bright ones of youth ; but, as I have only reached
the respectable point of middle age, (continued
Byron,) I cannot attribute my opinion of the fall-
ing off of the present men to my senility ; and I
really see or hear of no young men, either in the
literary or political fields of London, who prom-
ise to supply the places of the men of my time
no successioaal crop, to replace the passing or
the past." I told Byron that the march of intel-
lect had rendered the spread of knowledge so
general, that young men abstained from writing,
or at least from publishing, until they thought
they had produced something likely to obtain
WITH LORD BYRON. 229
attention, which was now much more difficult
to be obtained than formerly, as people grew
more fastidious every day. He would not agree
to this, but maintained that mediocrity was the
distinguishing feature of the present times, and
that we should see no more men like those of his
day. To hear Byron talk of himself, one would
suppose that, instead of thirty-six, he was sixty
years old ; there is no affectation in this, as he
says he feels all the languor and exhaustion of
age.
Byron always talks in terms of high admira-
tion of Mr. Canning ; says he is a man of supe-
rior abilities, brilliant fancy, cultivated mind, and
the most effective eloquence; and adds, that Can-
ning only wanted to be born to a good estate to
have made a great statesman. " Fortune (con-
tinued Byron) would have saved him from ter-
giversation, the bare suspicion of which is destruc-
tive to the confidence a statesman ought to inspire.
As it is, (said he,) Canning is brilliant, but not
great, with all the elements in him that constitute
greatness."
Talking of Lord , Byron observed, that
his success in life was a proof of the weight
that fortune gave a man, and his popularity a
certain sign of his mediocrity ; " the first (said
Byron) puts him out of the possibility of being
230 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
suspected of mercenary motives, and the second
precludes envy ; yet you hear him praised at
every side for his independence ! and a great
merit it is, truly, (said he,) in a man who has
high rank and large fortune what can he want,
and where could be the temptation to barter his
principles, since he already has all that people
seek in such a traffic? No, I see no merit in
Lord -'s independence ; give me the man
who is poor and untitled, with talents to excite
temptation, and honesty to resist it, and I will
give him credit for independence of principle,
because he deserves it. People (continued By-
ron) talk to you of Lord 's high character
in what does it consist ? Why, in being, as
I before said, put by fortune and rank beyond the
power of temptation having an even temper,
thanks to a cool head and a colder heart! and
a mediocrity of talents, that insures his being
4 content to live in decencies forever,' while it
exempts him from exciting envy or jealousy, the
followers of excellence."
Byron continually reverts to Sir Walter Scott,
and always in terms of admiration for his genius,
and affection for his good qualities ; he says that
he never gets up from the perusal of one of his
works, without finding himself in a better di-spo-
sition ; and that he generally reads his novels
WITH LORD BYRON. 231
three times. " I find such a just mode of think-
ing," said Byron, "that I could fill volumes with
detached thoughts from Scolt, all, and each, full
of tru'h and beauty. Then how good are his
definitions! Do you remember, in * Peveril of
the Peak,' where he says, c Pressnce of mind is
courage. Real valor consists, not in being insen-
sible to danger, but in being prompt to confront
and disarm it.' How true is this, and what an
admirable distinction between moral and physi-
cal courage ? "
I complimented him on his memory, and he
added : " My memory is very retentive, but the
passage I repeated I read this morning for the
third time. How applicable to Scott's works is
the observation made by Madame du DefFand on
Richardson's Novels, in one of her letters to Vol-
taire : ' La morale y est en action, et n'a jamais
6te traitee d'une maniere plus inte'ressante. On
meurt d'envie d'etre parfait apres cette lecture, et
I'on croit que rien n'est si aise.' I think," con-
tinued Byron, after a pause, "that Scott is the
only very successful genius that could be cited as
being as generally beloved as a man, as he is ad-
mired as an author; and, I must add, he deserves
it, for he is so thoroughly good-natured, sincere,
and honest, that he disarms the envy and jeal-
ousy his extraordinary genius nust excite. I
232 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
hope to meet Scott once more before I die ; for,
worn out as are my affections, he still retains a
strong hold of them."
There was something highly gratifying to the
feelings in witnessing the warmth and cordiality
that Byron's countenance and manner displayed
when talking of Sir W. Scott; it proved how
capable he was of entertaining friendship a
sentiment of which he so frequently professed to
doubt the existence: but in this, as on many
other points, he never did himself justice; and
the turn for ridicule and satire implanted in his
nature led him to indulge in observations in
which his real feelings had no share. Circum-
stances had rendered Byron suspicious ; he was
apt to attribute every mark of interest or good-
will shown to him as emanating from vanity,
that sought gratification by a contact with his
poetical celebrity ; this encouraged his predilec-
tion for hoaxing, ridiculing, and doubting friends
and friendship. But as Sir W. Scott's own well-
earned celebrity put the possibility of such a
motive out of the question, Byron yielded to the
sentiment of friendship in all its force for him,
and never named him but with praise and affec-
tion. Byron's was a proud mind, that resisted
correction, but that might easily be led by kind-
ness; his errors had been so severely punished,
WITH LOKD BYEON. 233
that he became reckless and misanthropic, to
avenge the injustice he had experienced ; and, as
misanthropy was foreign to his nature, its partial
indulgence produced the painful state of being
continually at war with his better feelings, and
of rendering him dissatisfied with himself and
others.
Talking of the effects that ingratitude and dis-
appointments produced on the character of the
individual who experienced them, Byron said,
" that they invariably soured the nature of the
person, who, when reduced to this state of acid-
ity, was decried as a cynical, ill-natured brute.
People wonder," continued he, " that a man is
sour who has been feeding on acids all his life.
The extremes of adversity and prosperity pro-
duce the same effects; they harden the heart,
and enervate the mind ; they render a person so
selfish, that, occupied solely with his own pains
or pleasures, he ceases to feel for others ; hence,
as sweets turn to acids as well as sours, excessive
prosperity may produce the same consequences
as adversity."
His was a nature to be bettered by prosperity,
and to be rendered obstinate by adversity. He
invoked Stoicism to resist injustice, but its shield
repelled not a single blow aimed at his peace,
while its appearance deprived him of the sympa-
234 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
thy for which his heart yearned. Let those, who
would judge with severity the errors of this way-
ward child of genius, look back at his days of
infancy and youth, and ask themselves whether^
under such unfavorable auspices, they could have
escaped the defects that tarnish the lustre of his
fame defects rendered more obvious by the
brightness they partially obscured, and which,
without that brightness, had perhaps never been
observed.
An eagle confined in a cage could not have
been more displaced than was Byron in the arti-
ficial and conventional society that disgusted him
with the world ; like that daring bird, he could
fearlessly soar high, and contemplate the sun, but
he was unfit for the busy haunts of men ; and he,
whose genius could people a desert, pined in the
solitude of crowds. The people he saw resem
bled not the creatures his fancy had formed, and.
with a heart yearning towards his fellow-men,
pride and a false estimate of mankind repelled
him from seeking their sympathy, though it de-
prived them not of his, as not all his assumed
Stoicism could subdue the kind feelings that
spontaneously showed themselves when the mis-
fortunes of others were named. Byron warred
only with the vices and follies of his species ; and
if he had a bitter jest and biting sarcasm for
WITH LORD BYRON. 235
these, he had pity and forbearance for affliction,
even though deserved, and forgot the cause in the
effect. Misfortune was sacred in his eyes, and
seemed to be the last link of the chain that con-
nected hina with his fellow-men. I remember
hearing a person in his presence revert to the
unhappiness of an individual known to all the
party present, and, having instanced some proofs
of the unhappiness, observe, that the person was
not to be pitied, for he had brought it on himself
by misconduct. I shall never forget the expression
of Byron's face; it glowed with indignation, and,
turning to the person who had excited it, he said,
" If, as you say, this heavy misfortune has been
caused by 's misconduct, then is he doubly
to be pitied, for he has the reproaches of con-
science to embitter his draught. Those who
have lost what is considered the right to pity in
losing reputation and self-respect, are the per-
sons who stand most in need of commiseration ;
and yet the charitable feelings of the over-moral
would deny them this boon; reserving it for those
on whom undeserved misfortunes fall, and who
have that within which renders pity superfluous,
have also respect to supply its place. Nothing
so completely serves to demoralize a man as the
certainty that he has lost the sympathy of his
fellow-creatures; it breaks the last tie that binds
236 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
him to humanity, and renders him reckless and
irreclaimable. This," continued Byron, "is my
moral; and this it is that makes me pity the
guilty and respect the unfortunate."
While he spoke, the earnestness of his manner,
and the increased color and animation of his
countenance, bore evident marks of the sincerity
of the sentiments he uttered : it was at such
moments that his native goodness burst forth,
and pages of misanthropic sarcasms could not
efface the impression they left behind, though
he often endeavored to destroy such impressions
by pleasantries against himself.
" When you go to Naples you must make
acquaintance with Sir William Drummond," said
Byron, " for he is certainly one of the most eru-
dite men, and admirable philosophers now living.
He has all the wit of Voltaire, with a profundity
that seldom appertains to wit, and writes so
forcibly, and with such elegance and purity of
style, that his works possess a peculiar charm.
Have you read his ' Academical Questions ? ' if
not, get them directly, and I think you will agree
with me, that the preface to that work alone
would prove Sir William Drummond an admir-
able writer. He concludes it by the following
sentence, which I think one of the best in our
language 'Prejudice may be trusted to guard
WITH LOED BYKON. 237
the outworks for a short space of time, while
Reason slumbers in the citadel ; but if the latter
sink into a lethargy, the former will quickly erect
a standard for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and
liberty, support each other ; he who will not rea-
son is a bigot ; he who cannot is a fool ; and he
who dares not is a slave.' Is not the passage
admirable ? " continued Byron ; " how few could
have written it, and yet how few read Drum-
mond's works ! they are too good to be popular.
His c Odin ' is really a fine poem, and has some
passages that are beautiful, but it is so little rea4
that it may be said to have dropped still-born
from the press, a mortifying proof of the bad
taste of the age. His translation of Persius is
not only very literal, but preserves much of the
spirit of the original ; a merit that, let me tell
you, is very rare at present, when translations
have about as much of the spirit of the original
as champagne diluted with three parts of water
may be supposed to retain of the pure and spark-
ling wine. Translations, for the most part re-
semble imitations, where the marked defects are
exaggerated, and the beauties passed over, al-
ways excepting the imitations of Mathews," con-
tinued Byron, " who seems to have continuous
chords in his mind, that vibrate to those in the
minds of others, as he gives not only the look,
238 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
tones, and manners of the persons he personifies,
but the very train of thinking, and the expres-
sions they indulge in; and, strange to say, this
modern Proteus succeeds best when the imitated
is a person of genius or great talent, as he seems
to identify himself with him. His imitation of
Curran can hardly be so called it is a continu-
ation, and is inimitable. I remember Sir Walter
Scott's observing, that Mathews's imitations were
of the mind, to those who had the key; but as.
the majority had it not, they 'were contented with
admiring those of the person, and pronounced
him a mimic who ought to be considered an
accurate an'd philosophic observer of human na-
ture, blessed with the rare talent of intuitively
identifying himself with the minds of others.
But, to return to Sir William Drummond," con-
tinued Byron, " he has escaped all the defects of
translators, and his Persius resembles the original
as nearly in feeling and sentiment as two lan-
guages so dissimilar in idiom will admit. Trans-
lations almost always disappoint rne ; I must,
however, except Pope's < Homer,' which has more
of the spirit of Homer than all the other transla-
tions put together, and the Teian bard himself
might have been proud of the beautiful odes
which the Irish Anacreon has given us.
" Of the wits about town, I think," said By-
WITH LORD BYRON. 239
ron, "that George Colman was one of the most
agreeable ; he was toujours pret^ and after two or
three glasses of champagne, the quicksilver of his
wit mounted to beau fixe. Colrnan has a good
deal of tact; he feels that convivial hours were
meant for enjoyment, and understands society so
well, that he never obtrudes any private feeling,
except hilarity, into it. His jokes are all good,
and readable, and flow without effort, like the
champagne that often gives birth lo them, spar-
kle after sparkle, and brilliant to the last. Then
one is sure of Colman," continued Byron, "which
is a great comfort ; for to be made to cry when
one had made up one's mind to laugh, is a triste
affair. I remember that this was the- great draw-
back with Sheridan ; a little wine made him mel-
ancholy, and his melancholy was contagious; for
who could bear to see the wizard, who could at
will command smiles or tears, yield to the latter
without sharing them, though one wished that
the exhibition had been less public ? My feel-
ings were never more excited than while writing
the Monody on Sheridan every word that I
wrote came direct from the heart. Poor Sherry !
what a noble mind was in him overthrown by
poverty ! and to see the men with whom he had
passed his life, the dark souls whom his genius
illumined, rolling in wealth, the Sybarites whose
240 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
slumbers a crashed rose-leaf would have dis-
turbed, leaving him to die on the pallet of pov-
erty, his last moments disturbed by the myrmi-
dons of the law. Oh ! it was enough to disgust
one with human nature, but above all with the
nature of those who, professing liberality, were so
little acquainted with its twin-sister generosity.
" I have seen poor Sheridan weep, and good
cause had he," continued Byron. " Placed by
his transcendent talents in an elevated sphere,
without the means of supporting the necessary
appearance, to how many humiliations must his
fine mind have submitted, ere he had arrived at
the state in which I knew him, of reckless jokes
to pacify creditors of a morning, and alternate
smiles and tears of an evening, round the boards
where ostentatious dulness called in his aid to
give a zest to the wine that often maddened him,
but could not thaw the frozen current of their
blood. Moore's Monody on Sheridan," contin-
ued Byron, " was a fine burst of generous indig-
nation, and is one of the most powerful of his
compositions. It was as daring as my l Avatar,'
which was bold enough, and, God knows, true
enough, but I have never repented it. Your
countrymen behaved dreadfully on that occasion ;
despair may support the chains of tyranny, but it
is only baseness that can sing and dance in them
WITH LORD BYRON. 241
as did the Irish on the 's visit. But I see
you would prefer another subject, so let us talk
of something else, though this cannot be a hu-
miliating one to you personally, as I know your
husband did not make one among the rabble at
that Saturnalia.
" The Irish are strange people," continued By-
ron, " at one moment overpowered by sadness,
and the next elevated to joy; impressionable as
heated wax, and like it changing each time that
it is warmed. The dolphin, when shone upon by
the sun, changes not its hues more frequently
than do your mobile countrymen, and this want
of stability will leave them long what centuries
have found them slaves. I liked them before
the degradation of 1822, but the dance in chains
disgusted me. What would Grattan and Curran
have thought of it? and Moore, why struck he
not the harp of Erin to awaken the slumbering
souls of his upine countrymen!"
242 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
PART IT.
To those who only know Byron as an author,
it would be difficult, if not impossible, to con-
vey a just impression of him as a man. In him
the elements of good and evil were so strongly
mixed, that an error could riot be detected that
was not allied to some good quality; and his
fine qualities, and they were many, could hardly
be separated from the faults that sullied them.
In bestowing on Byron a genius as versatile as it
was brilliant and powerful, Nature had not de-
nied him warmth of heart, and the kind affec-
tions that beget, while they are formed to repay
friendship ; but a false beau ideal that he had
created for himself, and a wish of exciting won-
der, led him into a line of conduct calculated to
lower him in the estimation of superficial ob-
servers, who judge from appearances, while those
who had opportunities of obs or ' r ^ng him more
nearly, and who made allowance for his besetting
sin, (the assumption of vices and errors, that he
either had not, or exaggerated the appearar*^
WITH LORD BYRON. 243
of,) found in him more to admire than censure,
and to pity than condemn. In his severest sa-
tires, however much of malice there might be in
the expression, there was little in the feeling that
dictated them ; they came from the imagination
and not from the heart, for in a few minutes after
he had unveiled the errors of some friend or ac-
quaintance, he would call attention to some of
their good qualities with as much apparent plea-
sure as he had dwelt on their defects. A nearly
daily intercourse often weeks with Byron left the
impression on my mind, that if an extraordinary
quickness of perception prevented his passing
over the errors of those with whom he came in
contact, and a natural incontinence of speech be-
trayed him into an exposure of them, a candor
and good-nature, quite as remarkable, often led
him to enumerate their virtues, and to draw at-
tention to them. It may be supposed, that with
such powerful talents, there was less excuse for
the attacks he was in the habit of making on his
friends and acquaintances; but those very talents
were the cause; they suggested a thousand lively
and piquant images to his fancy, relative to the
defects of those with whom he associated ; and
he had not self-command sufficient to repress the
sallies that he knew must show at once his dis-
crimination and talents for ridicule, and amuse
244 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
his hearers, however they might betray a want
of good-nature and sincerity.
There was no premeditated malignity in By-
ron's nature; though constantly in the habit of
exposing the follies and vanity of his friends, I
never heard him blacken their reputations, and I
never felt an unfavorable impression from any of
the censures he bestowed, because I saw they
were aimed at follies, and not character. He
used frequently to say that people hated him
more for exposing their follies than if he had
attacked their moral characters, adding, " Such
is the vanity of human nature, that men would
prefer being defamed to being ridiculed, and
would much sooner pardon the first than the
second. There is much more folly than vice in
the world," said Byron. " The appearance of
the latter is often assumed by the dictates of the
former, and people pass for being vicious who
are only foolish. I have seen such examples,"
continued he, "of this in the world, that it makes
one rather incredulous as to the extent of actual
vice; but I can believe any thing of the capabili-
ties of vanity and folly, having witnessed to what
length they can go. I have seen women com-
promise their honor (in appearance only) for the
triumph (and a hopeful one) of rivalling some
contemporary belle ; and men sacrifice theirs, in
WITH LORD BYRON. 245
reality, by false boastings for the gratification of
vanity. All, all is vanity and vexation of spirit,"
added he; "the first being the legitimate parent
of the second, an offspring that, school it how
you will, is sure to turn out a curse to its par-
ent."
" Lord Blessington has been talking to me
about Mr. Gait," said Lord Byron, " and tells
me much good of him. I am pleased at finding
he is as amiable a man as his recent works prove
him to be a clever and intelligent author. When
I knew Gait, years ago, I was not in a frame of
mind to form an impartial opinion of him ; his
mildness and equanimity struck me even then ;
but, to say the truth, his manner had not defer-
ence enough for my then aristocratical taste, and
finding I could not awe him into a respect suffi-
ciently profound for my sublime self, either as a
peer or an author, I felt a little grudge towards
him that has now completely worn off. There is
a quaint humor and observance of character in
his novels that interest me very much, and when
he chooses to be pathetic he fools one to his
bent, for 1 assure you the ' Entail ' beguiled me
of some portion of watery -humors, yclept tears,
' albeit unused to the melting mood.' What I
admire particularly in Gait's works," continued
Byron, "is, that with a perfect knowledge of
24 6 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
human nature and its frailties and legerdemain
tricks, he shows a tenderness of heart which con-
vinces one that his is in the right place, and he
has a sly caustic humor that is very amusing.
All that Lord Blessington has been telling me
of Gait has made me reflect on the striking dif-
ference between his (Lord B.'s) nature and my
own. I had an excellent opportunity of judging
Gait, being shut up on board ship with him for
some days; and though I saw he was mild, equal,
and sensible, I took no pains to cultivate his ac-
quaintance further than I should with any com-
mon-place person, which he was not; and Lord
Blessington in London, with a numerous ac-
quaintance, and 4 all appliances to boot,' for
choosing and selecting, has found so much to
like in Gait, malgre the difference of their poli-
tics, that his liking has grown into friendship.
" I must say that I never saw the milk of
human kindness overflow in any nature to so
great a degree, as in Lord Blessington's," con-
tinued Byron. " I used, before I knew him well,
to think that Shelley was the most amiable
person I ever knew, but I now think that Lord B.
bears off the palm, for he has been assailed by all
the temptations that so few can resist, those of
unvarying prosperity, and has passed the ordeal
victoriously a triumphant proof of the extra-
WITH LORD BYRON. 247
ordinary goodness of his nature, while poor Shel-
ley had been tried in the school of adversity only,
which is not such a corrupter as is that of pros-
perity. If Lord B. has not the power, Midas-like,
of turning whatever he touches into gold," con-
tinued Byron, " he has at least that of turning all
into good. I, alas ! detect only the evil qualities
of those that approach me, while he discovers the
amiable. It appears to me, that the extreme ex-
cellence of his own disposition prevents his attri-
buting evil to others ; I do assure you," continued
Byron, " I have thought better of ^mankind since
I have known him intimately." The earnestness
of Byron's manner convinced me that he spoke
his real sentiments relative to Lord B., and that
his commendations were not uttered with a view
of gratifying me, but flowed spontaneously in the
honest warmth of the moment. A long, daily
and hourly knowledge of the person he praised,
has enabled me to judge of the justice of the
commendation, and Byron never spoke more
truly than when he pronounced Lord B's a fault-
less nature. While he was speaking, he continu-
ally looked back, for fear that the person of whom
he spoke should overhear his remarks, as he was
riding behind, at a little distance from us.
" Is Lady as restless and indefatigable as
ever?" asked Byron. "She is an extraordinary
248 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
woman, and the most thorough-paced manoeuvrer
I ever met with; she cannot make or accept an
invitation, or perform any of the common courte-
sies of life, without manreuvring, and has always
some plan in agitation, to which all her acquaint-
ance are made subservient. This is so evident,
that she never approached me that I did not ex-
pect her to levy contributions on my muse, the
only disposable property I possessed ; and I was
as surprised as grateful at finding it was not
pressed into the service for compassing some job,
or accomplishing some mischief. Then she
passes for being clever, when she is only cunning,
her life has been passed in giving the best proof
of want of cleverness, that of intriguing to carry
points not worth intriguing for, and that must
have occurred in the natural course of events
without any manoeuvring on her part. Cleverness
and cunning are incompatible I never saw them
united ; the latter is the resource of the weak, and
is only natural to them. Children and fools are
always cunning, but clever people never. The
world, or rather the persons who compose it, are
so indolent, that when they see great personal
activity, joined to indefatigable and unshrinking
exertion of tongue, they conclude that such effects
must proceed from adequate causes, never reflect-
ing that real cleverness requires not such aids
WITH LORD BYRON. 249
but few people take the trouble of analyzing the
actions or motives of others, and least of all when
such others have no envy-stirring attractions. On
this account Lady 's manoeuvres are set
down to cleverness, but when she was young and
pretty they were less favorably judged. Women
of a certain age," continued Byron, "are for the
most part bores or mechanics. I have known
some delightful exceptions, but on consideration
they were past the certain age, and were no
longer like the coffin of Mahomet hovering be-
tween heaven and earth, that is to say, floating
between maturity and age, but had fixed their
persons on the unpretending easy chairs of vieil-
lessc, and their thoughts neither on war nor
conquest except the conquest of self. Age is
beautiful when no attempt is made to modernize
it. Who can look at the interesting remains of
loveliness without some of the same tender feel-
ings of melancholy with which we regard a fine
ruin ! Both mark the triumph of the mighty con-
queror Time, and whether we examine the eyes,
the windows of the soul, through which love and
hope once sparkled, now dim and languid, show-
ing only resignation, or the ruined casements of
the abbey or castle through which blazed the
light of tapers, and the smoke of incense offered
to the Deity, the feelings excited are much the
250 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
same, and we approach both with reverence
always," interrupted Byron, " provided that the
old beauty is not a specimen of the florid Gothic
by which I mean restored, painted and varn-
ished and that the abbey or castle is not white-
washed ; both, under such circumstances, produce
the same effect on me, and all reverence is lost;
but I do seriously admire age when it is not
ashamed to let itself be seen, and look on it as
something sanctified and holy, having passed
through the fire of its passions, and being on the
verge of the grave."
u I once," said Byron, "found it necessary to
call up all that could be said in favor of matured
beauty, when my heart became captive to a
donna of forty -six, who certainly excited as lively
a passion in my breast as ever it has known ;
and even now the autumnal charms of Lady
are remembered by me with more than
admiration. She resembled a landscape by
Claude Lorraine, with a setting sun, her beauties
enhanced by the knowledge that they were shed-
ding their last dying beams which threw a radi-
ance around. A woman," continued Byron, " is
only grateful for her^zr^ and last conquest. The
first ot* poor daar Lady 's was achieved be-
fore I entered on this world of care, but the last
I do flatter myself was reserved for me and a
bonne bouche it was."
WITH LORD BYRON. 251
I told Byron that his poetical sentiments of the
attractions of matured beauty had, at the mo-
ment, suggested four lines to me ; which he beg-
ged me to repeat, and he laughed not a little
when I recited the following lines to him :
Oh ! talk not to me of the charms of youth's dimples,
There's surely more sentiment c enter' d in wrinkles.
They're the triumphs of time that mark heauty's decay,
Telling tales of years past, and the few left to stay.
;c I never spent an hour with Moore " said
Byron, "without being ready to apply to him the
expression attributed to Aristophanes, ' You have
spoken roses;' his thoughts and expressions have
al] the beauty and freshness of those flowers, but
the piquancy of his wit, and the readiness of his
repartees, prevent one's ear being cloyed by too
much sweets, and one cannot l die of a rose in
aromatic pain ' with Moore, though he does
speak roses, there is such an endless variety in his
conversation. Moore is the only poet," continued
Byron, " whose conversation equals his writings ;
he comes into society with a mind as fresh and
buoyant as if he had not expended such a multi-
plicity of thoughts on paper ; and leaves behind
him an impression that he possesses an inex-
haustible mine equally brilliant as the specimens
he has given us. Will you, after this frank con-
fession of my opinion of your countryman, ever
252 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
accuse me of injustice again ? You see I can
render justice when I am not forced into its op-
posite extreme by hearing people overpraised,
which always awakes the sleeping devil in my
nature, as witness the desperate attack I gave
your friend Lord the other day, merely be-
cause you all wanted to make me believe he was
a model, which he is not ; though I admit he is
not all or half i\\&\, which I accused him of being.
Had you dispraised, probably I should have de-
fended him."
" I will give you some stanzas I wrote yester-
day," said Byron, "they are as simple as even
Wordsworth himself could write, and would do
for music."
The following are the lines :
TO
But once I dared to lift my eyes
To lift my eyes to thee;
And since that day, beneath the skies
Ko other sight they see.
In vain sleep shuts them in the nipcb* -
The night grows day to me;
Presenting idly to my sight
\Vhat still a dream must be.
A fatal dream for many a bar
Divides thy fate from mine;
And still my passions wake and war
But peace be still with thine.
WITH LORD BYRON. 953
" No one writes songs like Moore," said Byron.
"Sentiment and imagination are joined to the
most harmonious versification, and I know no
greater treat than to hear him sing his own com-"
positions; the powerful expression he gives to
them, and the pathos of the tones of his voice,
tend to produce an effect on my feelings that
no other songs, or singer, ever could.
used to write pretty songs, and certainly has
talent, but I maintain there is more poesy in her
prose, at least more fiction, than is to be met
with in a folio of poetry. You look shocked at
what you think my ingratitude towards her, but
if you knew half the cause I have to dislike her,
you would not condemn me. You shall, however,
know some parts of that serio-comic drama, in
which I was forced to play a part, and, if you
listen with candor, you must allow I was more
sinned against than sinning."
The curious history that followed this preface
is not intended for the public eye, as it contains
anecdotes and statements that are calculated to
give pain to several individuals the same feeling
that dictates the suppression of this most curious
episode in Byron's London life, has led to the
suppression of many other piquant and amusing
disclosures made by him, as well as some of the
most severe poetical portraits that ever were
254 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
drawn of some of his supposed friends, and many
of his acquaintances. The vigor with which
they are sketched proves that he entered into
every fold of Ihe characters of the originals, and
that he painted them con amore, but he could not
be accused of being a flattering portrait painter.
The disclosures made by Byron could never be
considered confidential, because they were always
at the service of the first listener who fell in his
way, and who happened to know any thing of
the parties he talked of. They were not confided
with any injunction to secrecy, but were indis-
criminately made to his chance companions nay,
he often declared his decided intention of writing
copious notes to the Life he had given to his
friend Moore, in which the whole truth should be
declared of, for, and against, himself and others.
Talking of this gift to Mr. Moore, he asked me
if it had made a great sensation in London,
and whether people were not greatly alarmed at
the thoughts of being shown up in it ? He
seemed much pleased in anticipating the panic it
would occasion, naming all the persons who
would be most alarmed.
I told him that he had rendered the most
essential service to the cause of morality by his
confessions, as a dread of similar disclosures
would operate in putting people on their guard
WITH LORD BYRON. 255
in reposing dangerous confidence in men, than all
the homilies that ever were written ; and that
people would in future be warned by the phrase
of " beware of being Byroned" instead of the old
cautions used in past times. " This," continued
I, " is a sad antithesis to your motto of Crede
Byron" He appeared vexed at my observations,
and it struck me that he seemed uneasy and out
of humor for the next half-hour of our ride. I
told him that his gift to Moore had suggested to
me the following lines :
The ancients were famed for their friendship, we're told,
Witness Damon and Pythias, and others of old;
But, Byron, 'twas thine friendship's power to extend,
Who surrender'd thy Life for the sake of a friend.
He laughed heartily at the lines, and, in laugh-
ing at them, recovered his good-humor.
" I have never," said Byron, " succeeded to my
satisfaction in an epigram ; my attempts have
not been happy, and knowing Greek as I do, and
admiring the Greek epigrams, which excel all
others, it is mortifying that I have not succeeded
better, but I begin to think that epigrams demand
a peculiar talent, and that talent I decidedly have
not. One of the best in the English language
is that of Rogers on , it has the true Greek
talent of expressing by implication what is wished
to be conveyed.
256 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
has no heart they say, but T deny it :
He has a heart he gets his speeches by it.
This is the ne plus ultra of English epigrams."
I told Byron that I had copied Rogers's thought,
in two Lnes on an acquaintance of mine as fol-
lows :
The charming Mary has no mind they say;
I prove she has it changes ever; day.
This amused him, and he repeated several epi-
grams, very clever, but which are too severe to be
given in these pages. The epigrams of Byron
are certainly not equal to his other poetry, they
are merely clever, and such as any person of
talent might have written, but who except him,
in our day, could have written Childe Harold?
No one, for admitting that the same talent exists,
(which I am by no means prepared to admit) the
possessor must have experienced the same des-
tiny, to have brought it to the same perfection.
The reverses that nature and circumstance en-
tailed on Byron served but to give a higher polish
and a finer temper to his genius. All that marred
the perfectibility of the man, had perfected the
poet, and this must have been evident to those
who approached him, though it had escaped his
own observation. Had the choice been left him,
I am quite sure he would not have hesitated a
moment in choosing between the renown of the
WITH LORD BYRON. 257
poet, even at the price of the happiness of the
man, as he lived much more in the future than in
the present, as do all persons of genius. As it
was, he felt dissatisfied with his position, without
feeling that it was the whetstone that sharpened
his powers ; for with all his affected philosophy,
he was a philosopher but in theory, and never re-
duced it to practice. One of the strangest anom-
alies in Byron was the exquisite taste displayed
in his descriptive poetry, and the total want of it
that was so visible in his modes of life. Fine
scenery seemed to produce little effect on his feel-
ings, though his descriptions are so glowing, and
the elegances and comforts of refined life he ap-
peared to as little understand as value. This last
did not arise from a contempt of them, as might
be imagined, but from an ignorance of what con-
stituted them. I have seen him apparently de-
lighted with the luxurious inventions in furniture,
equipages, plate, &c., common to all persons of a
certain station or fortune, and yet after an inquiry
as to their prices an inquiry so seldom made by
persons of his rank, shrink back alarmed at the
thought of the expense, though there was nothing
alarming in it, and congratulate himself that he
had no such luxuries, or did not require them. I
should say that a bad and vulgar taste predomi-
nated in all Byron's equipments, whether '.11 dress
17
258 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
or in furniture. I saw his bed at Genoa, when I
passed through in 1826, and it certainly was the
most gaudily vulgar thing I ever saw; the cur-
tains in the worst taste, and the cornice having
his family motto of " Crede Byron " surmounted
by baronial coronets. His carriages and his
liveries were in the same bad taste, having an
affectation of finery, but mesquin in the details
and tawdry in the ensemble ; and it was evident
that he piqued himself on them, by the compla-
cency with which they were referred to. These
trifles are touched upon, as being characteristic
of the man, and would have been passed by, as
unworthy of notice, had he not shown that they
occupied a considerable portion of his attention.
He has even asked us if they were not rich and
handsome, and then remarked that no wonder
they were so, as they cost him a great deal of
money. At such moments it was difficult to re-
member that one was speaking to the author of
Childe Harold. If the poet was often forgotten
in the levities of the man, the next moment some
original observation, cutting repartee, or fanciful
simile, reminded one 1hat he who could be ordi-
nary in trifles, (the only points of assimilation be-
tween him and the common herd of men,) was
only ordinary when he descended to their level
but when once on subjects worthy his attention,
WITH LORD BYRON. 259
the great poet shone forth, and they who had felt
self-complacency at noting the futilities that had
lessened the distance between him and them,
were forced to see the immeasurable space which
separated them, when he allowed his genius to
be seen. It is only Byron's preeminence as a
poet that can give interest to such details as the
writer has entered into, if they are written with-
out partiality, they are also given in no unfriendly
spirit ; but his defects are noted with the same
feeling with which an astronomer would remark
the specks that are visible even in the brightest
stars, and which having examined more minutely
than the common observers, he wishes to give the
advantages of his discoveries, though the specks
he describes have not made him overlook the
brightness of the luminaries they sullied, but*
could not obscure.
u You know of course," said Byron, " every
one does, I hope you don't like him ; water and
oil are not more anti-pathetic than hs and I are
to each other. I admit that his abilities are great,
they are of the very first order; but he has that
which almost always accompanies great talents,
and generally proves a counter-balance to them
an overweening ambition, which renders him not
over-nice about the means, as long as he attains
the end; and this facility will prevent his ever
200 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
being a truly great man, though it may abridge
his road to what is considered greatness official
dignity. You shall see some verses in which I
have not spared him, and yet I have only said
what I believe to be strictly correct. Poets are
said to succeed best in fiction ; but this I deny,
at least I always write best when truth inspires
me, and my satires, which are founded on truth,
have more spirit than all rny other productions,
for they were written con amore. My intimacy
with the family," continued Byron, " let me
into many of 's secrets, and they did not
raise him in my estimation.
" One of the few persons in London, whose
society served to correct my predisposition to
misanthropy, was Lord Holland. There is more
benignity, and a greater share of the milk of
human kindness in his nature than in that of any
man I know, always excepting Lord B .
Then there is such a charm in his manners, his
mind is so highly cultivated, his conversation so
agreeable, and his temper so equal and bland,
that he never fails to send away his guests con-
tent with themselves and delighted with him. I
never," continued Byron, "heard a difference of
opinion about Lord Holland, and I am sure no
one could know him without liking him. Lord
Erskine, in talking to me of Lord Holland, ob-
WITH LORD BYRON. 261
served, that it was his extreme good nature alone
that prevented his taking as high a political posi
tion as his talents entitled him to fill. This
quality," continued Byron, "will never prevent
's rising in the world ; so that his talents
will have a fair chance.
" It is difficult," said Byron, " when one detests
an author not to detest his works. There are
some that I dislike so cordially, that I am aware
of my incompetency to give an impartial opinion
of their writings. Southey, par exemple, is one
of these. When travelling in Italy, he was re-
ported to me as having circulated some reports
much to my disadvantage, and still more to that
of two ladies of my acquaintance ; all of which,
through the kind medium of some good-natured
friends, were brought to my ears; and I have
vowed eternal vengeance against him, and all
who uphold him ; which vengeance has been
poured forth, in phials of wrath, in the shape of
epigrams and lampoons, some of which you shall
see. When any one attacks me, on the spur of
the moment I sit down and write all the median-
cete that comes into my head ; and, as some of
these sallies have merit, they amuse me, and are
too good to be torn or burned, and so are kept,
and see the light long after the feeling that dic-
tated them has subsided. All my malice evapo-
262 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
rates in the effusions of my pen; but I dare say
those that excite it would prefer any other mode
of vengeance. At Pisa, a friend told me that
Walter Savage Landor had declared he either
would not, or could not, read ray works. I asked
my officious friend if he was sure which it was
that Landor said, as the would not was not offen-
sive, and the could not was highly so. After some
reflection, he, of course en ami, chose the most
disagreeable signification ; and I marked down
Landor in the tablet of memory as a person to
whom a coup-de-pat must be given in my forth-
coming work, though he really is a man whose
brilliant talents and profound erudition I cannot
help admiring as much as I respect his character
various proofs of the generosity, manliness, and
independence of which has reached me; so you
see I can render justice (en petite comite) even to
a man who says he could not read my works ;
this, at least, shows some good feeling, if the petit
vengeance of attacking him in my work cannot
be defended; but my attacking proves the truth
of the observation made by a French writer that
we don't like people for the merit we discover in
them, but for that which they find in us."
When Byron was one day abusing most
vehemently., we accused him of undue severity ;
and he replied, he was only deterred from treat-
WITH LORD BYRON. 263
ing him much more severely by the fear of being
indicted under the Act of cruelty to Animals !
" 1 am quite sure," said Byron, " that many of
our worst actions and our worst thoughts are
caused by friends. An enemy can never do as
much injury or cause as much pain; if he speak?
ill of one, it is set down as an exaggeration ol
malice, and therefore does little harm, and he
has no opportunity of telling one any of the dis-
agreeable things that are said in one's absence ;
but a friend has such an amiable candor in
admitting the faults least known, and often un-
suspected, and of denying or defending with
acharnement those that can neither be denied
nor defended, that he is sure to do one mis-
chief. Then he thinks himself bound to retail
and detail every disagreeable remark or story he
hears, and generally under the injunction of se-
crecy ; so that one is tormented without the
power of bringing the slanderer to account, unless
by a breach of confidence. I am always tempted
to exclaim, with Socrates, l My friend ! there are
no friends ! ' when I hear and see the advantages
of friendship. It is odd," continued Byron, " that
people do not seem aware that the person who
repeats to a friend an offensive observation, ut-
tered when he was absent, without any idea that
he was likely to hear it, is much more blamable
264 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
than the person who originally said it; of course
I except a friend who hears a charge brought
against one's honor, and who comes and openly
states what he has heard, that it may be refuted ;
but this friends seldom do ; for, as that Queen of
egotists. La Marquis du Deffand, trnly observed
( Ceux qu'on nomme amis sont ceux par qui on
n'a pas a craindre d'etre assassine, rnais qui lais-
seroient faire les assassins.' Friends are like dia-
monds ; alF wish to possess them ; but few can or
will pay their price ; and there never was more
wisdom embodied in a phrase than in that which
says ' Defend me from my friends, and I will
defend myself from my enemies.' "
Talking of poetry, Byron said that, " next to the
affected simplicity of the Lake School, he disliked
prettiness, or what are called flowers of poetry;
they are only admissible in the poetry of ladies,"
said he, " which should always have a sprinkling
of dew-gemmed leaves and flowers of rainbow
hues, with tuneful birds and gorgeous butter-
flies " Here he laughed like a child, and added,
"I suppose you would never forgive me if I
finished the sentence sweet emblems of fair
woman's looks and mind." Having joined in
the laugh, which was irresistible from the mock
heroic air he assumed, I asked him how he could
prove any resemblance between tuneful birds,
WITH LOED BYRON. 265
gorgeous butterflies, and woman's face or mind
He immediately replied, " Have I not printed a
certain line, in which I say, ' the music breathing
from her face ! ' and do not all, even philosophers,
assert, that there is harmony in beauty, nay, that
there is no beauty without it? Now tuneful birds
are musical; ergo, that simile holds good as far as
the face, and the butterfly must stand for the
mind, brilliant, light, and wandering. I say noth-
ing of its being the emblem of the soul, because
I have not quite made up my mind that women
have souls; but, in short, flowers and all that is
fragile and beautiful, must remind one of women.
So do not be offended with my comparison.
" But to return to the subject," continued
Byron, " you do not, cannot like what are called
flowers in poetry. I try to avoid them as much
as possible in mine, and I hope you think that I
have succeeded." I answered that he had given
oaks to Parnassus instead of flowers, and while
disclaiming the compliment it seemed to gratify
him.
" A successful work," said Byron, " makes a
man a wretch for life : it engenders in him a thirst
for notoriety and praise, that precludes the possi-
bility of repose ; this spurs him on to attempt
others, which are always expected to be superior
to the first; hence arises disappointment, as ex-
266 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
pectation being too much excited is rarely grati-
fied, and, in the present day, one failure is placed
as a counterbalance to fifty successful efforts.
Voltaire was right," continued Byron, " when he
said that the fate of a literary man resembled that
of the flying-fish ; if he dives in the water the fish
devour him, and if he rises in the air he is at-
tacked by the birds. Voltaire," continued Byron,
" had personal experience of the persecution a
successful author must undergo ; but malgre all
this, he continued to keep alive the sensation he
had excited in the literary world, and, while at
Ferney, thought only of astonishing Paris. Mon-
tesquieu has said 'that moins on pense plus on
parleS Voltaire was a proof, indeed I have known
many," said Byron, "of the falseness of this ob-
servation, for who ever wrote or talked as much
as Voltaire ? But Montesquieu, when he wrote
his remark, thought not of literary men ; he was
thinking of the bavards of society, who certainly
think less and talk more than all others. I was
once very much amused," said Byron, " by over-
hearing the conversation of two country ladies, in
company with a celebrated author, who happened
io be that evening very taciturn: one remarked
to the other, how strange it was that a person
reckoned so clever, should be so silent ! and the
other answered, Oh ! he has nothing left o say,
WITH LORD BYRON. 267
he has sold all his thoughts to his publishers.
This you will allow was a philosophical way
of explaining the silence of an author.
" One of the things that most annoyed me in
London," said Byron, " was the being continually
asked to give my opinion on the works of con-
temporaries. I got out of the difficulty as well
as I could, by some equivocal answer that might
be taken in two ways ; but even this prudence did
not save me, and I have been accused of envy and
jealousy of authors, of whose works, God knows,
I was far from being envious. I have also been
suspected of jealousy towards ancient as well as
modern writers ; but Pope, whose poems I really
envy, and whose works I admire, perhaps more
than any living or dead English writer, they have
never found out that I was jealous of, nay, prob-
ably, as I always praise him, they suppose I do
not seriously admire him, as insincerity on all
points is universally attributed to me.
" I have often thought of writing a book to be
filled with all the charges brought against me in
England," said Byron; "it would make an inter-
esting folio, with rny notes, and might serve pos-
terity as a proof of the charity, good-nature, and
candor of Christian England in the nineteenth
century. Our laws are bound to think a man in-
nocent until he is proved to be guilty ; but our
268 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
English society condemn him before trial, which
is a summary proceeding that saves trouble.
" However, I must say," continued Byron, "that
it is only those to whom any superiority is ac-
corded, that are prejudged or treated with undue
severity in London, for mediocrity meets with the
utmost indulgence, on the principle of sympathy,
' a fellow-feeling makes them wondrous kind.'
The moment my wife left me, I was assailed by
all the falsehoods that malice could invent or
slander publish ; how many wives have since left
their husbands, and husbandj their wives, without
either of the parties being blackened by defama-
tion, the public having the sense to perceive that
a husband and wife's living together or separate
can only concern the parties, or their immediate
families! but in my case, no sooner did Lady By-
ron take herself off, than my character went off;
or rather was carried off, not by force of arms, but
by force of tongues and pens too ; and there was
no crime too dark to be attributed to me by the
moral English, to account for so very common an
occurrence as a separation in high life. I was
thought a devil, because Lady Byron was allowed
to be an angel, and that it formed a pretty antith-
esis ; mais helas ! there are neither angels nor de-
vils on earth, though some of one's acquaintance
might tempt one into the belief of the existence
WITH LORD BYRON. 269
of the latter. - After twenty, it is difficult to be-
lieve in that of the former, though the first and
last object of one's affection has some of its attri-
butes. Imagination," said Byron, "resembles hope
when unclouded, it gilds all that it touches with
its own bright hue ; mine makes me see beauty
wherever youth and health have impressed their
stamp ; and after all I am not very far from the
goddess, when I am with her handmaids, for such
they certainly are. Sentimentalists may despise
4 buxom health, with rosy hue,' which has some-
thing dairymaid like, I confess, in the sound," con-
tinued he "for buxom, however one may like the
reality, is not euphonious, but I have the associa-
tion of plumpness, rosy hue, good spirits, and
good humor, all brought before me in the homely
phrase ; and all these united give me a better idea
of beauty than lanky languor, sicklied o'er with
the pale cast of thought ; and bad health, and bad
humor, which are synonymous, making to-morrow
cheerless as to-day. Then see some of our fine
ladies, whose nerves are more active than their
brains, who talk sentiment, and ask you to ' ad-
minister to a mind diseased, and pluck from the
memory a rooted sorrow,' when it is the body that
is diseased, and the rooted sorrow is some chronic
malady; these, I own," continued Byron, " alarm
me, and a delicate woman, however prettily it
270 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
may sound, harrows up my feelings with a host
of shadowy ills to come, of vapors, hysterics,
nerves, megrims, intermitting fevers, and all the
Ills that wait upon poor weak women, who, when
sickly are generally weak in more senses than one.
The best dower a woman can bring is health and
good humor ; the latter, whatever we may say of
the triumphs of mind, depends on the former, as
according to the old poem
Temper ever waits on health,
As luxury depends on wealth.
But mind," said Byron, " when I object to deli-
cate women, that is to Say, to women of delicate
health, alias sickly, I don't mean to say that I
like coarse, fat ladies, d la Rubens, whose rninds
must be impenetrable, from the mass of matter
in which they are incased. No ! I like an ac-
tive and healthy mind, in an active and healthy
person, each extending its beneficial influence
over the other, and maintaining their equili-
brium ; the body illumined by the light within,
but that light not let out by any * chinks made
by time ; ' in short, I like, as who does not," con-
tinued Byron, " a handsome, healthy woman, with
an intelligent and intelligible mind, who can do
something more than what it is said a French
woman can only do, habille^ babUle, and disha-
bille, who is not obliged to have recourse to
WITH LORD BYRON. 271
dress, shopping, and visits, to get through a day,
and soirees, operas, and flirting, to pass an even-
ing. You see I am moderate in my desires ; I
only wish for perfection.
" There was a time," said Byron, " when fame
appeared the most desirable of all acquisitions to
me ; it was my ' being's end and aim ; ' but now
how worthless does it appear ! Alas ! how true
are the lines
La Nominanza 4 color d'erba,
Che viene e va; e quei la discolora
Per cui vien fuori della terra acerba.
And dearly is fame bought, as we all have found,
who have acquired even a small portion of it
Che seggendo in piuma
In Fama non si vien, ne sotto coltre.
No ! with sleepless nights, excited nerves, and
morbid feelings, is fame purchased, and envy, ha-
tred, and jealousy follow the luckless possessor.
ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova?
Tutti tornate alia gran madre antica,
E il vostro norae appena si ritrova.
Nay, how often has a tomb been denied to those
whose names have immortalized their country, or
else granted when shame compelled the tardy
justice! Yet, after all, fame is but like all other
pursuits, ending in disappointment its worthless-
ness only discovered when attained, and
272 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Sensa la qual chi sua vita consuma
Cotal vestigio in terra di se lascia
Qual fummo in aere, ed in acqua la schiuma.
" People complain of the brevity of life," said
Byron ; " should they not rather complain of its
length, as its enjoyments cease long before the
lialf-way house of life is passed, unless one has
the luck to die young, ere the illusions that ren-
der existence supportable have faded away, and
are replaced by experience, that dull monitress,
'that ever comes too late ? While youth steers
ihe bark of life, and passion impels her on, expe-
rience keeps aloof; but when youth and passion
are fled, and that we no longer require her aid,
she comes to reproach us with the past, to disgust
us with the present, and alarm us with the fu-
ture. ^ *
, w We buy wisdom with happiness, and who
would purchase it at such a price ? To be happy,
We must forget the past, and think not of the
future ; and who that has a soul, or mind, can
do this ? No one," continued Byron, " and this
proves, that those who have either, know no hap-
piness on this earth. Memory precludes happi-
ness, whatever Rogers may say to the contrary ;
for it borrows from the past, to embitter the pres-
ent, bringing back to us all the grief that has
most wounded, or the happiness that has most
WITH LORD BYRON. 273
charmed us ; the first leaving its sting, and of the
second
Nesson maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice,
Nulla miseria.
Let us look back," continued Byron, " to those
days of grief, the recollection of which now
pains us, and we shall find that time has only
cicatrized, but not effaced the scars ; and if we
reflect on the happiness that, seen through the
vista of the past, seems now so bright, memory
will tell us that, at the actual time referred to.
we were far from thinking so highly of it ; nay
that, at that very period, we were obliged to draw
drafts on the future, to support the then present,
though now that epoch, tinged by the rays of
memory, seems so brilliant, and renders the pres-
ent more sombre by contrast. We are so consti-
tuted," said Byron, " that we know not the value
of our possessions until we have lost them. Let
us think of the friends that death has snatched
from us, whose loss has left aching voids in the
heart never again to be filled up ; and memory
will tell us, that we prized not their presence
while we were blessed with it, though, could the
grave give them back, now that we had learned
to estimate their value, all else could be borne,
and we believe (because it is impossible) that
18
274 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
happiness might once more be ours. We should
live with our friends," said Byron, "not as the
worldly-minded philosopher says, as though they
may one day become our enemies, but as though
we may one day lose them ; and this maxim,
strictly followed, will not only render our lives
happier while together, but will save the sur-
vivors from those bitter pangs that memory con-
jures up, of slights and unkindnesses offered to
those we have lost, when too late for atonement,
and arms remorse with double force because it is
too late." It was in such conversations that
Byron was seen in his natural character ; the
feeling, the tenderness of his nature, shone forth
at such moments ; and his natural character,
like the diamond, when breathed upon, though
dimmed for a time, soon recovered its purity and
showed its original lustre, perhaps the more for
having been for a moment obscured.
How much has Byron to unlearn ere he can
hope for peace! Then, he is proud of his false
knowledge. I call it false, because it neither
makes him better nor happier; and true knowl-
edge ought to do the former, though I admit it
cannot the latter. We are not relieved by the
certainty that we have an incurable disease ; on
the contrary, we cease to apply remedies, and
so let the evil increase. So it is with human
WITH LORD BYRON. 275
nature; by believing ourselves devoted to selfish-
ness, we supinely sink into its withering and in-
glorious thraldom ; when, by encouraging kindly
affections, without analyzing their source, we
strengthen and fix them in the heart, and find
their genial influence extending around, contrib-
uting to the happiness and well-being of others,
and reflecting back some portion to ourselves.
Byron's heart is running to waste, for want of
being allowed to expend itself on his fellow-
creatures ; it is naturally capacious, and teeming
with affection ; but the worldly wisdom he has
acquired has checked its course, and it preys on
his own happiness, by reminding him continually
of the aching void in his breast. With a con-
temptible opinion of human nature, he requires
a perfectability in the persons to whom he at-
taches himself, that those who think most highly
of it never expect ; he gets easily disgusted, and
when once the persons fall short of his expecta-
tions, his feelings are thrown back on himself,
and, in their reaction, create new bitterness. I
have remarked to Byron, that it strikes me as a
curious anomaly that he, who thinks ill of man-
kind, should require more from it than do those
who think well of it en masse; and that each
new disappointment at discovery of baseness
sends him back to solitude, with some of the
276 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
feelings with which a savage creature would seek
its lair; while those who judge it more favor-
ably, instead of feeling bitterness at the disap-
pointments we must all experience, more or less,
when we have the weakness to depend wholly
on others for happiness, smile at their own delu-
sion, and blot out, as with a sponge, from mem-
ory that such things were, and were most sweet
while we believed them, and open a fresh ac-
count, a new leaf in the leger of life, always
indulging in the hope that it may not be bal-
anced like the last. We should judge others not
by self, for that is deceptive, but by their general
conduct and character. We rarely do this ; be-
cause that with le besoin $ aimer, which all ardent
minds have, we bestow our affections on the first
person that chance throws in our path, and en-
dow them with every good and noble quality,
which qualities were unknown to them, and only
existed in our own imaginations. We discover,
when too late, our own want of discrimination ;
but, instead of blaming ourselves, we throw the
whole censure on those whom we had over-
rated, and declare war against the whole species,
because we had chosen ill, and " loved not wisely,
but too well" When such disappointments oc-
cur and, alas'! they are so frequent as to inure
us to them^if we were to reflect on all the ante-
WITH LORD BYRON. 277
cedent conduct and modes of thinking of those
in whom we had " garnered up our hearts," we
should find that they were in general consistent,
and that we had indulged erroneous expectations,
from having formed too high an estimate of them,
and, consequently, were disappointed.
A modern writer has happily observed, that
" the sourest disappointments are made out of
our sweetest hopes, as the most excellent vinegar
is made from damaged wine." We have all
proved that hope ends but in frustration ; but
this should only give us a more humble opinion
of our own powers of discrimination, instead of
making us think ill of human nature ; we may
believe that goodness, disinterestedness, and affec-
tion exist in the world, although we have not had
the good fortune to encounter them in the per-
sons on whom we had lavished our regard. This
is the best, because it is the safest and most con-
solatory philosophy ; it prevents our thinking ill
of our species, and precludes that corroding of
our feelings which is the inevitable result ; for, as
we all belong to the family of human nature, we
cannot think ill of it without deteriorating our
own. If we have had the misfortune to meet
with some persons whose ingratitude and base-
ness might serve to lower our opinion of our
Cello w-creatures, have we not encountered others
278 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
whose nobleness, generosity, and truth might re-
deem them ? A few such examples nay, one
alone such as I have the happiness to know,
has taught me to judge favorably of mankind ;
and Byron, with all his skepticism as to the
perfectibility of human nature, allowed that the
person to whom I allude was an exception to the
rule of the belief he had formed, as to the selfish-
ness or worldly-mindedness being the spring of
action in man.
The grave has closed over him who shook By-
ron's skepticism in perfect goodness, and estab-
lished forever my implicit faith in it ; but, in the
debts of gratitude, engraved in deep characters
on memory, the impression his virtues has given
me of human nature is indelibly registered an
impression of which his conduct was the hap-
piest illustration, as the recollection of it must
ever be the antidote to misanthropy. We have
need of such examples, to reconcile us to the
heartless ingratitude that all have, in a greater or
less degree, been exposed to, and which is so cal-
culated to disgust us with our species. How,
then, must the heart reverence the memory of
those who, in life, spread the shield of their good-
ness between us and sorrow and evil, and, even
in death, have left us the hallowed recollection of
their virtues, to enable us to think well of oui
fellow-creatures !
WITH LORD BYRON. 279
Of the rich legacies the dying leave,
Remembrance of their virtues is the best.
We are as posterity to those who have gone
before us the avant-coureurs on that journey
that we must all undertake. It is permitted us
to speak of absent friends with the honest warmth
of commendatory truth ; then, surely, we may
claim that privilege for the dead a privilege
which every grateful heart must pant to establish,
when the just tribute we pay to departed worth
is but as the outpourings of a spirit that is over-
powered by its own intensity, and whose praise
or blame falls equally unregarded on " the dull
cold ear of death." They who are in the grave
cannot be flattered ; and if their qualities were
such as escaped the observance of the public eye,
are not those who, in the shade of domestic
privacy, had opportunities of appreciating them,
entitled to one of the few consolations left to sur-
vivors that of offering the homage of admiration
and praise to virtues that were beyond all praise,
and goodness that, while in existence, proved a
source of happiness, and, in death, a consolation,
by the assurance they have given of meeting their
reward !
Byron said to-day that he had met, in a French
writer, an idea that had amused him very much,
and that he thought had as much truth as origi-
280 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
nality in it. He quoted the passage : " La curio-
sit^ est suicide de se nature, et Pamour n'est que
la curiosite*." He laughed, and rubbed his hands,
and repeated : " Yes, the Frenchman is right.
Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity,
as is proved by its end."
I told Byron that it was in vain that he affected
to believe what he repeated, as I thought too well
of him to imagine him to be serious.
"At all events," said Byron, "you must admit
that, of all passions, love is the most selfish. It
begins, continues, and ends in selfishness. Who
ever thinks of the happiness of the object apart
from his own, or who attends to it ? While the
passion continues, the lover wishes the object of
his attachment happy, because, were she visibly
otherwise, it would detract from his own pleas-
ures. The French writer understood mankind
well, who said that they resembled the Grand
Turk in an opera, who, quitting his sultana for
another, replied to her tears, l Dissimulez votre
peine, et respectez mes plaisirs.' This," con-
tinued Byron, "is but too true a satire on men;
for, when love is over,
A few years older,
Ah ! how much colder
He could behold her
For whom he sigh'd !
" Depend on it my doggrel rhymes have more
WITH LOBD BYEON. 281
truth than most that I have written. I have been
told that love never exists without jealousy ; if
this be true, it proves that love must be founded
on selfishness, for jealousy surely never proceeds
from any other feeling than selfishness. We see
that the person we like is pleased and happy in
the society of some one else, and we prefer to see
her unhappy with us, than to allow her to enjoy
it ; is not this selfish ? Why is it," continued
Byron, " that lovers are at first only happy in
each other's society ? It is, that their mutual
flattery and egotism gratify their vanity; and,
not finding this stimulus elsewhere, they become
dependent on each other for it. When they'
get better acquainted, and have exhausted all
their compliments, without the power of creating
or feeling any new illusions, or even continuing
the old, they no longer seek each other's pres-
ence from preference ; habit alone draws them
together, and they drag on a chain that is tire-
some to both, but which often neither has the
courage to break. We have all a certain portion
of love in our natures, which portion we inva-
riably bestow on the object that most charms us,
which, as invariably is, self; and though some
degree of love may be extended to another, it is
only because that other administers to our van-
ity ; and the sentiment is but a reaction a sort
282 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
of ekctricity that emits the sparks with which we
are charged to another body ; and when the re-
torts lose their power which means, in plain
sense, when the flattery of the recipient no longer
gratifies us and yawning, that fearful abyss in
love, is visible, the passion is over. Depend on
it," continued Byron, " the only love that never
changes its object is self-love ; and the disappoint-
ments it meets with make a more lasting impres-
sion than all others."
I told Byron that I expected him to-morrow to
disprove every word he had uttered to-day. He
laughed, and declared that his profession of faith
was contained in the verses, " Could love for
ever ; " that he wished he could think otherwise,
but so it was.
Byron affects skepticism in love and friendship,
and yet is, I am persuaded, capable of making
great sacrifices for both. He has an unaccount-
able passion for misrepresenting his own feelings
and motives, and exaggerates his defects more
than any enemy could do ; he is often angry, be-
cause we do not believe all he says against him-
self, and would be, I am sure, delighted to meet
some one credulous enough to give credence to
all he asserts or insinuates with regard to his own
misdoings.
If Byron were not a great poet, the charlatan
WITH LOED BYRON. 283
ism of affecting to be a Satanic character, in this
our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, would be
very amusing ; but, when the genius of the man
is taken into account, it appears too ridiculous,
and one feels mortified at finding that he, who
could elevate the thoughts of his readers to the
empyrean, should fall below the ordinary stand-
ard of e very-day life, by a vain and futile attempt
to pass for something that all who know him
rejoice that he is riot ; while, by his sublime gen-
ius and real goodness of heart, which are made
visible every day, he establishes claims on the
admiration and sympathy of mankind that few
can resist. If he knew his own power, he would
disdain such unworthy means of attracting atten-
tion, and trust to his merit for commanding it.
" I know not when I have been so much inter-
ested and amused," said Byron, " as in the perusal
of journal : it is one of the choicest pro-
ductions I ever read, and is astonishing as being
written by a minor, as I find he was under age
when he penned it. The most piquant vein of
pleasantry runs through it ; the ridicules and
they are many of our dear compatriots are
touched with the pencil of a master ; but what
pleases me most is, that neither the reputation of
man nor woman is compromised, nor any disclo-
sures made that could give pain. He has adrni-
284 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
rably penetrated the secret of English ennui"
continued Byron, " a secret that is one to the
English only, as I defy any foreigner, blessed
with a common share of intelligence to come
in contact with them without discovering it.
The English know that they are ennuyes^ but
vanitv prevents their discovering that they are en-
nuyeux, and they will be little disposed to pardon
the person who enlightens them on this point.
ought to publish this work," continued
Byron, " for two reasons : the first, that it will be
sure to get known that he has written a piquant
journal, and people will imagine it to be a mali-
cious libel, instead of being a playful satire, as
the English are prone to fancy the worst, from a
consciousness of not meriting much forbearance ;
the second reason is, that the impartial view of
their foibles, taken by a stranger who cannot be
actuated by any of the little jealousies that influ-
ence the members of their own coteries, might
serve to correct them, though I fear reflexione
faite, there is not much hope of 'this. It is an
extraordinary anomaly," said Byron, " that peo-
ple who are really naturally inclined to good, as I
believe the English are, and who have the advan-
tages of a better education than foreigners re-
ceive, should practise more ill-nature, and display
more heartlessness than the inhabitants of any
WITH LORB BYRON. 285
other country. This is all the effect of the artifi-
cial state of society in England, and the exclusive
system has increased the evils of it tenfold. We
accuse the French of frivolity," continued Byron,
"because they are governed by fashion ; but this
extends only to their dress, whereas the English
allow it to govern their pursuits, habits, and
modes of thinking and acting : in short, it is the
Alpha and Omega of all they think, do, or will :
their society, residences, nay, their very friends,
are chosen by this criterion, and old and tried
friends, wanting its stamp are voted de trop.
Fashion admits women of more than dubious
reputations, and well-born men with none, into
circles where virtue and honor, not a la mode,
might find it difficult to get placed ; and if (on
hearing the reputation of Lady This, or Mrs.
That, or rather want of reputation, canvassed
over by their associates) you ask why they are
received, you will be told it is because they are
seen everywhere they are the fashion. I have
known," continued Byron, " men and women in
London received in the first circles, who by their
birth, talents, or manners, had no one claim to
such a distinction, merely because they had been
seen in one or two houses, to which, by some
manoeuvring, they got the entree ; but I must add,
they were not remarkable for good looks, or supe-
286 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
riority in any way, for if they had been it would
have elicited attention to their want of other
claims, and closed the doors of fashion against
them. I recollect," said Byron, " on my first en-
tering fashionable life, being surprised at the (to
me) unaccountable distinctions I saw made be-
tween ladies placed in peculiar and precisely sim-
ilar situations. I have asked some of the fair
leaders of fashion, ' Why do you exclude Lady
, and admit Lady , as they are both in
the same scrape ? ' With that amiable indiffer-
ence to cause and effect- that distinguishes the
generality of your sex, the answer has invariably
been, ' Oh ! we admit Lady because all our
set receive her ; and exclude Lady because
they will not.' I have pertinaciously demanded,
c Well, but you allow their claims are equal ? '
and the reply has been, ' Certainly ; and we be-
lieve the excluded lady to be the better of the
two.' Mais que voulez-vous ? she is not received,
and the other is ; it is all chance or luck : and
this," continued Byron, " is the state of society in
London, and such the line of demarcation drawn
between the pure and the impure, when chance
or luck, as Lady honestly owned to me, de-
cided whether a woman lost her caste or not. I
am not much of a prude," said Byron, " but I de-
clare that, for the general good, I think that all
WITH LORD BYRON. 287
women who had forfeited their reputations ought
to lose their places in society ; but this rule ought
never to admit of an exception : it becomes an
injustice and hardship when it does, and loses all
effect as a warning or preventive. I have known
young married women, when cautioned by friends
on the probability of losing caste by such or such
a step, quote the examples of Lady This, or Mrs.
That, who had been more imprudent, (for impru-
dence is the new name for guilt in England,) and
yet that one saw these ladies received every-
where, and vain were precepts with such exam-
ples. People may suppose," continued Byron,
" that I respect not morals, because unfortunately
I have sometimes violated them : perhaps from
this very circumstance I respect them the more,
as we never value riches until our prodigality has
made us feel their loss ; and a lesson of prudence
coming from him who had squandered thousands,
would have more weight than whole pages writ-
ten by one who had not personal experience : so
I maintain that persons who have erred are most
competent to point out errors. It is my respect
for morals that makes me so indignant against
its vile substitute cant, with which I wage war,
and this the good-natured world chooses to con-
sider as a sign of my wickedness. We are all
the creatures of circumstance," continued Byron ;
288 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
" the greater part of our errors are caused, if not
excused, by events and situations over which we
have had little control ; the world see the faults,
but they see not what led to them : therefore I
am always lenient to crimes that have brought
their own punishment, while I am a little dis-
posed to pity those who think they atone for
their own sins by exposing those of others, and
add cant and hypocrisy to the catalogue of their
vices. Let not a woman who has gone astray,
without detection, affect to disdain a less fortunate
though not more culpable, female. She who is
unblemished should pity her who has fallen, and
she whose conscience tells her she is not spotless
should show forbearance ; but it enrages me to
see women whose conduct is, or has been, infi-
nitely more blamable than that of the persons
they denounce, affecting a prudery towards others
that they had not in the hour of need for them-
selves. It was this forbearance towards her own
sex that charmed me in Lady Melbourne : she
had always some kind interpretation for every
action that would admit of one, and pity or si-
lence when aught else was impracticable.
" Lady , beautiful and spotless herself, al-
ways struck me as wanting that pity she could so
well afford. Not that I ever thought her ill-na-
tured or spiteful ; but I thought there was a cer-
WITH LORD BYEON. 289
tain severity in her demarcations, which her ac-
knowledged purity rendered less necessary. Do
you remember my lines in the Giaour, ending
with
No : gayer insects fluttering by
Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die;
And lovelier things have mercy shown
To every failing but their own;
And every woe a tear can claim
Except an erring sister's shame.
" These lines were suggested by the conduct I
witnessed in London from women to their erring
acquaintances a conduct that led me to draw
the conclusion, that their hearts are formed of less
penetrable stuff than those of men."
Byron has not lived sufficiently long in Eng-
land, and has left it at too young an age, to be
able to form an impartial and just estimate of
his compatriots. He was a busy actor, more than
a spectator, in the circles which had given him an
unfavorable impression ; and his own passions
were, at that period, too much excited to permit
his reason to be unbiassed in the opinions he
formed. In his hatred of what he calls cant, and
hypocrisy, he is apt to denounce as such all that
has the air of severity ; and which, though often
painful in individual cases, is, on the whole, salu-
tary for the general good of society. This error
of Byron's proceeds from a want of actual per-
19
290 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
sonal observation, for which opportunity has not
been afforded him, as the brief period of his resi-
dence in England, after he had arrived at an age
to judge, and the active part he took in the scenes
around him, allowed him not to acquire that per-
fect knowledge of society, manners, and customs,
which is necessary to correct the prejudices that
a superficial acquaintance with it is apt to en-
gender, even in the most acute observer, but to
which a powerful imagination, prompt to jump at
conclusions, without pausing to trace caue and
effect, is still more likely to fall into. Byron sees
not that much of what he calls the usages nf cant
and hypocrisy are the fences that protect proprie-
ty, and that they cannot be invaded without ex-
posing what it is the interest of all to preserve.
Had he been a calm looker-on, instead of an im-
passioned actor in the drama of English fashion-
able life, he would probably have taken a less
harsh view of all that has so much excited his ire,
and felt the necessity of many of the restraints
which fettered him.
A two years' residence in Greece, with all the
freedom and personal independence that a desul-
tory rambling life admits of and gives a taste for
in a country where civilization has so far retro-
graded that its wholesome laws, as well as its
refinement, have disappeared, leaving license to
WITH LORD BYRON. 291
usurp the place of liberty was little calculated
to prepare a young man of three-and-twenty for
the conventional habits and restraints of that arti-
ficial state of society which extreme civilization
and refinement beget. No wonder then that it
soon became irksome to him, and that, like the
unbroken courser of Arabia, when taken from
the deserts where he had sported in freedom, he
spurned the puny meshes which ensnared him,
and pined beneath the trammels that intercepted
his liberty.
Byron returned to England in his twenty-third
year, and left it before he had completed his
twenty-eighth, soured by disappointments and
rendered reckless by a sense of injuries. " He
who fears not is to be feared," says the proverb ;
and Byron, wincing under all the obloquy which
malice and envy could inflict, felt that its utmost
malignity could go no farther, and became fixed
in a fearless braving of public opinion, which a
false spirit of vengeance led him to indulge in,
turning the genius, that could have achieved the
noblest ends, into the means of accomplishing
those which were unworthy of it. His attacks
on the world are like the war of the Titans
against the gods the weapons he aims fall back
on himself. He feels that he has allowed senti-
ments of pique to influence and deteriorate \ia
292 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
works ; and that the sublime passages in them,
which now appear like gleams of sunshine flit-
ting across the clouds that sometimes obscure the
bright luminary, might have one unbroken blaze
of light, had not worldly resentment and feelings
dimmed their lustre.
This consciousness of misapplied genius has
made itself felt in Byron, and will yet lead him
to redeem the injustice he has done it ; and when
he has won the guerdon of the world's applause,
and satisfied that craving for celebrity which con-
sumes him, reconciled to that world, and at peace
with himself, he may yet win as much esteem for
the man as he has hitherto elicited admiration for
the poet. To satisfy Byron, the admiration must
be unqualified ; and, as I have told him, this de-
pends on himself: he has only to choose a subject
for his muse, in which not only received opinions
are not wounded, but morality is inculcated ; and
his glowing genius, no longer tarnished by the
stains that have previously blemished it, will shine
forth with a splendor, and insure that universal
applause, which will content even his ambitious
and aspiring nature. He wants some one to tell
him what he might do, what he ought to do, and
what so doing he would become. I have told
him: but I have not sufficient weight or influ-
ence with him to make my representations effec-
WITH LORD BYRON. 293
tive ; and the task would be delicate and difficult
for a male friend to undertake, as Byron is perti-
nacious in refusing to admit that his works have
failed in morality, though in his heart I am sure
he feels it.
Talking of some one who was said to have
fallen in love, " I suspect," said Byron, " that he
must be indebted to your country for this phrase,
' falling in love ; ' it is expressive and droll : they
also say falling ill ; and, as both are involuntary
and in general, equally calamitous, the expres-
sions please me. Of the two evils, the falling ill
seems to be the least; at all events I would pre-
fer it ; for as, according to philosophers, pleasures
consists in the absence of pain, the sensations of
returning health (if one does recover) must be
agreeable ; but the recovery from love is another
affair, and resembles the awaking from an agree-
able dream. Hearts are often only lent, when
they are supposed to be given away," continued
Byron; "and are the loans for which people
exact the most usurious interest. When the debt
is called in, the borrower, like all other debtors,
feels little obligation to the lender, and, having
refunded the principal, regrets the interest he has
paid. You see," said Byron, " that, a V Anglaise^
I have taken a mercantile view of the tender pas-
sion ; but I must add that, in closing the ac-
294 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS.
counts, they are seldom fairly balanced, { e cio
sa'l tuo dotore.' There is this difference between
the Italians and others," said Byron, "that the
*end of love is not with them the beginning of ha-
tred, which certainly is, in general, the case with
the English, and, I believe, the French : this may
be accounted for from their having less vanity ;
-which is also the reason why they have less ill-
nature in their compositions ; for vanity, being
always on the qui vive, up in arms, ready to re-
sent the least offence offered to it, precludes good
temper."
I asked Byron if his partialty for the Italians
did not induce him to overlook other and obvious
reasons for their not beginning to hate when they
ceased to love : first the attachments were of such
long duration .that age arrived to quell angry feel-
ings, and the gradations were so slow, from the
first sigh of love to the yawn of expiring affec-
tion, as to be almost imperceptible to the parties ;
and the system of domesticating in Italy estab-
lished a habit that rendered them necessary to
each other. Then the slavery of serventism, the
jealousies, carried to an extent that is unknown
in England, and which exists longer than the
passion that is supposed to excite, if not ex-
cuse, them, may tend to reconcile lovers to
the exchange of friendship for love ; and re-
WITH LORD BYRON. 295
joicing ir. their recovered liberty, they are more
disposed to indulge feelings of complacency than
hatred.
Byron said, " Whatever may be the cause, they
have reason to rejoice in the effect ; and one is
never afraid in Italy of inviting people together
who have been known to have once had warmer
feelings than friendship towards each other, as is
the case in England, where, if persons under such
circumstances were to meet, angry glances and a
careful avoidance of civility, would mark their
kind sentiments towards each other."
I asked Byron if what he attributed to the
effects of wounded vanity might not proceed
from other and better feelings, at least on the
part of women ? Might not shame and remorse
be the cause ? The presence of the man who
had caused their dereliction from duty and virtue
calling up both, could not be otherwise than
painful and humiliating to women who were not
totally destitute of delicacy and feeling ; and that
this most probably was the cause of the coldness
he observed between persons of opposite sexes in
society.
" You are always thinking of and reasoning
on the English" answered Byron: "mind, I refer
to Italians, and with them there can be neither
shame nor remorse, because in yielding to love,
296 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
they do not believe they are violating either their
duty or religion ; consequently a man has none
of the reproaches to dread that awaits him in
England when a lady's conscience is awakened
which, by the by, I have observed it seldom is
until affection is laid asleep, which," continued
Byron, " is very convenient to herself, but very
much the reverse to the unhappy man."
I am sure that much of what Byron said in
this conversation was urged to vex me. Know-
ing my partiality to England and all that is Eng-
lish, he has a childish delight in exciting me into
an argument; and as I as yet know nothing of
Italy, except through books, he takes advantage
of his long residence in, and knowledge of the
country, to vaunt the superiority of its customs
and usages, which I never can believe he prefers
to his own. A wish of vexing or astonishing the
English is, I am persuaded, the motive that in-
duces him to attack Shakspeare ; and he is highly
gratified when he succeeds in doing either, and
enjoys it like a child. He says that the reason
why he judges the English women so severely is,
that being brought up with certain principles,
they are doubly to blame in not making their
conduct accord with them ; and that, while pun-
ishing with severity the transgressions of persons
of their own sex in humble positions, they look
WITH LORD BxKON. 297
over the more glaring misconduct and vices of
the rich and great that not the crime, but its de-
tection, is punished in England, and, to avoid this,
hypocrisy is added to a want of virtue.
" You have heard, of course," said Byron, "that
I was considered mad in England ; my most in-
timate friends in general, and Lady Byron in
particular, were of this opinion : but it did not
operate in my favor in their minds, as they were
not, like the natives of eastern nations, disposed
to pay honor to my supposed insanity or folly.
They considered me a mejnoun, but would not
treat me as one. And yet had such been the
case, what ought to excite such pity and forbear-
ance as a mortal malady that reduces us to more
than childishness a prostration of intellect that
places us in the dependence- of even menial
hands ? Reason," continued Byron, " is so unrea-
sonable, that few can say that they are in pos-
session of it. I have often doubted my own
sanity, and, what is more, wished for insanity
anything to quell memory, the never-dying
worm that feeds on the heart, and only calls up
the past to make the present more insupportable.
Memory has for me
The vulture's ravenous tooth,
The raven's funereal song.
There is one thing," continued Byron, " that in-
298 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
creases my discontent, and adds to the rage that
I often feel against self. It is the conviction that
the events in life that have most pained me- that
have turned the milk of my nature into gall
have not depended on the persons who tortured
me as I admit the causes were inadequate to
the effects : it was my own nature, prompt to
receive painful impressions, and to retain them
with a painful tenacity, that supplied the arms
against my peace. Nay, more, I believe that the
wounds inflicted were not, for the most part pre-
meditated ; or if so, that the extent and pro-
fundity of them were not anticipated by the
persons who aimed them. There are some na-
tures that have a predisposition to grief, as others
have to disease ; and such was my case. The
causes that have made me wretched would prob-
ably not have discomposed, or, at least, more
than discomposed another. We are all differ-
ently organized ; and that I feel acutely is no
more my fault (though it is my misfortune) than
that another feels not, is his. We did not make
ourselves : and if. the elements of unhappiness
abound more in the nature of one man than an-
other, he is but the more entitled to our pity and
forbearance. Mine is a nature," continued Byron,
" that might have been softened and ameliorated
by prosperity, but that has been hardened and
WITH LORD BYRON. 299
soured by adversity ."' Prosperity and adversity
are the fires by which moral chemists try and
judge human nature ; and how few can pass the
ordeal ! Prosperity corrupts and adversity ren-
ders ordinary nature callous : but when any por-
tion of excellence exists, neither can injure. The
first will expand the heart, and show forth every
virtue, as the genial rays of the sun bring forth
the fruit and flowers of the earth ; and the second
will teach sympathy for others, which is best
learned in the school of affliction.
" I am persuaded," said Byron, " that education
has more effect in quelling the passions than
people are aware of. I do not think this is
achieved by the powers of reasoning and reflec-
tion that education is supposed to bestow; for I
know by experience how little either can in-
fluence the person who is under the tyrant rule
of passion. My opinion is that education, by
expanding the mind, and giving sources of taste-
ful occupation, so fills up the time, this leisure
is not left for the passions to gain that empire
that they are sure to acquire over the idle and
ignorant. Look at the lower orders, and see
what fearful proofs they continually furnish of
the unlimited power passion has over them. I
have seen instances, and particularly in Italy,
among the lower class, and of your sex, where
300 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the women seemed for the moment transform-
ed into Medeas ; and so ungoverned and un-
governable was their rage, that each appeared
grand and tragic for the time, and furnished me,
who am rather an amateur in studying nature
under all her aspects, with food for reflection.
Then the upper classes, too, in Italy, where the
march of intellect has not advanced by rail-roads
and steam-boats, as in polished, happy England,
and where the women remain children in mind
long after maturity had stamped their persons!
see one of their stately dames under the influence
of the green-eyed monster, and one can believe
that the Furies were not fabulous. This is amus-
ing at first, but becomes, like most amusements,
rather a bore at the end ; and a poor cavalier ser-
vente must have more courage than falls to the
share of most, who would not shut his eyes
against the beauty of all damas but his own,
rather than encounter an explosion of jealousy.
But the devil of it is, there is hardly a possibility
of avoiding it, as the Italian women are so ad-
dicted to jealousy, that the poor serventi are often
accused of the worst intentions for merely per-
forming the simple courtesies of life ; so that the
system of serventism imposes a thousand times
more restraint and slavery than marriage ever im-
posed, even in the most moral countries : indeed,
WITH LORD BYRON. 30]
where the morals are the most respected and
cultivated," continued Byron, "there will be the
least jealousy or suspicion, as morals are to the
enlightened what religion is to the ignorant
their safeguard from committing wrong, or sus-
pecting it. So you see, bad as I am supposed to
be, I have, by this admission, proved the advan-
tages of morals and religion.
" But to return to my opinion of the effect
education has in extending the focus of ideas,
and consequently, of curbing the intensity of the
passions. I have remarked that well-educated
women rarely, if ever, gave way to any ebullitions
of them ; and this is a grand step gained in con-
quering their empire, as habit in this, as well as in
all else, has great power . I hope my daughter will
be well educated ; but of this I have little dread,
as her mother is highly cultivated, and certainly
has a degree of self-control that I never saw
equalled. I am certain that Lady Byron's first
idea is, what is due to herself; I mean that it is
the undeviating rule of her conduct. I wish she
had thought a little more of what is due to others.
Now my besetting sin is a want of that self-
respect which she has in excess; and that want
has produced much unhappiness to us both. But
though I accuse Lady Byron of an excess of self-
respect, I must in candor, admit, that if any per-
302 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
son ever had an excuse for an extraordinary
portion of it, she has, as in all her thoughts,
words, and deeds, she is the most decorous
woman that ever existed and must appear what
few, I fancy, could a perfect refined gentle-
woman, even to her femme-de-chambre. This
extraordinary degree of self-command in Lady
Byron produced an opposite effect on me. When
I have broken out, on slight provocations, into
one of my ungovernable fits of rage, her calmness
piqued and seemed to reproach me ; it gave her
an air of superiority that vexed, and increased my
mauvais humeur. I am now older and wiser ; and
should know how to appreciate her conduct as it
deserved, as I look on self-command as a positive
virtue, though it is one I have not courage to
adopt."
Talking of his proposed expedition to Greece,
Byron said that, as the moment approached for
undertaking it, he almost wished he had never
thought of it. " This," said Byron, " is one of the
many scrapes into which my poetical tempera-
ment has drawn me. You smile, but it is never-
theless true. No man, or woman either, with
such a temperament, can be quiet. Passion is
the element in which we live ; and without it we
but vegetate. All the passions have governed
me in turn, and I have found them the veriest
WITH LORD BYRON. 303
tyrants ; like all slaves, I have reviled my mas-
ters, but submitted to the yoke they imposed. I
had hoped," continued Byron, "that avarice, that
old gentlemanly vice, would, like Aaron's serpent,
have swallowed up all the rest in me ; and that
now I am descending into the vale of years, I
might have found pleasure in golden realities, as
in youth I found it in golden dreams, (and let me
tell you, that of all the passions, this same decried
avarice is the most consolatory, and, in nine cases
out of ten, lasts the longest, and is the latest,)
when up springs a new passion call it love of
liberty, military ardor, or what you will to dis-
gust me with my strong box, and the comfortable
contemplation of my moneys nay, to create
wings for my golden darlings, that may waft me
away from them for ever, and I may awaken to
find that this, my present ruling passion, as I
have always found my last, was the most worth-
less of all, with the soothing reflection that it has
left me minus some thousands. But I am fairly
in for it, and it is useless to repine ; but, I repeat,
this scrape, which may be my last, has been
caused by my poetical temperament the devil
take it, say I."
Byron was irresistibly comic when commenting
on his own errors or weaknesses. His face, half
laughing and half serious, archness always pre-
304 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
dominating in its expression, added peculiar force
to his words.
" Is it not pleasant," continued Byron, " that my
eyes should never open to the folly of any of the
undertakings passion prompts me to engage in,
until I am so far embarked that retreat (at least
with honor) is impossible, and my mal a propos
sagesse arrives, to scare away the enthusiasm that
led to the undertaking, and which is so requisite
to carry it on ? It is all an up-hill affair with me
afterwards ; I cannot, for my life, echauffcr my
imagination again, and my position excites such
ludicrous images and thoughts in my own mind,
that the whole subject, which, seen through the
veil of passion, looked fit for a sublime epic, and
I one of its heroes, examined now through
reason's glass, appears fit only for a travestie,
and my poor self a Major Sturgeon, marching
and counter-marching, not from Acton to Ealing,
or from Ealing to Acton, but from Corinth to
Athens, and from Athens to Corinth. Yet, hang
it," continued he, " these very names ought to
chase away every idea of the ludicrous ; but the
laughing devils will return, and make a mockery
of every thing, as with me there is, as Napoleon
said, but one step between the sublime and the
ridiculous. Well, if I do (and this if is a grand
peutetre in my future history) outlive the cam-
WITH LORD BYRON. 305
paign, I shall write two poems on the subject
one an epic, and the other a burlesque, in which
none shall be spared, and myself least of all ;
indeed, you must allow," continued Byron, " that
if I take liberties with my friends, I take still
greater ones with myself, therefore they ought to
bear with me, if only out of consideration for my
impartiality. I am also determined to write a
poem in praise of avarice," said Byron, " as I
think it a most ill-used and unjustly decried
passion mind, I do not call it a vice and I
hope to make it clear that a passion which
enables us to conquer the appetites, or, at least,
the indulgence of them ; that triumphs over pride,
vanity, and ostentation, that leads us to the prac-
tice of daily self-denial, temperance, sobriety, and
a thousand other praiseworthy practices, ought
not to be censured, more especially as all the
sacrifices it commands are endured without any
weak feeling of reference to others, though to
others all the reward of such sacrifices belongs."
Byron laughed very much at the thought of
this poem, and the censures it would excite in
England among the rnatter-of-fact, credulous
class of readers and writers. Poor Byron ! how
much more pains did he bestow to take off the
gloss from his own qualities, than others do to
give theirs a false lustre ! In his hatred arid con-
20
306 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
tempt of hypocrisy and cant, he outraged his own
nature, and rendered more injustice to himself
than even his enemies ever received at his hands.
His confessions of errors were to be received with
caution ; for he exaggerated not only hi? mis-
deeds but his opinions ; and, fond of tracing
springs of thought to their sources, he involved
himself in doubts, to escape from which he boldly
attributed to himself motives and feelings that
had passed, but like shadows, through his mind,
and left unrecorded, mementos that might have
redeemed even more than the faults of which he
accused himself. When the freedom with which
Byron remarked on the errors of his friends draws
down condemnation from his readers, let them
reflect on the still greater severity with which he
treated his own, and let this mistaken and exag-
gerated candor plead his excuse. ,
" It is odd," said Byron, "that I never could get
on well in conversation with literary men ; they
always seemed to think themselves obliged to
pay* some neat and appropriate compliment to
my last work, which I, as in duty bound, was
compelled to respond to, and bepraise theirs.
They never appeared quite satisfied with my
faint praise, and I was far from being satisfied at
having been forced to administer it; so mutual
constraint ensued, each wondering what was to
WITH LORD BYRON.
307
come next, and wishing each other (at least I can
answer for myself) at the devil. Now Scott,
though a giant in literature, is unlike literary
men ; he neither expects compliments nor pays
them in conversation. There is a sincerity and
simplicity In his character and manner that stamp
any commendation of his as truth, and any praise
one might offer him must fall short of his deserts,
so that there is no gene in his society. There is
nothing in him that gives the impression I have
s.o often had of others, who seemed to say, ' I
praise you that you may do the same by me.'
Moore is a delightful companion," continued
Byron; "gay without being boisterous, witty
without effort, comic without coarseness, and
sentimental without being lachrymose. He re-
minds one," continued Byron, " of the fairy, who,
whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from her
lips. My tete-d-tete suppers with Moore are
among the most agreeable impressions I retain
of the hours passed in London, they are the re-
deeming lights in the gloomy picture ; but they
were,
Like angel visits, few and far between:
for the great defect in my friend Tom is a sort
of fidgety unsettledness that prevents his giving
himself up, con amore, to any one friend, because
he is apt to think he might be more happy with
308 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
another; he has the organ of locomotiveness
largely developed, as a phrenologist would say,
and would like to be at three places instead of
one. I always felt, with Moore, the desire John-
son expressed, to be shut up in a postchaise,
tete-a-tete with a pleasant companion, to be quite
sure of him. He must be delightful in a country-
house, at a safe distance from any other inviting
one, when one could have him really to one's self,
and enjoy his conversation and his singing,
without the perpetual fear that he is expected at
Lady This or Lady That's, or the being reminded
that he promised to look in at Lansdowne House
or Grosvenor Square. The wonder is, not that
he is recherche, but that he wastes himself on
those who can so little appreciate him, though
they value the eclat his reputation gives to theb
stupid soirees. I have known a dull man live on
a bon mot of Moore's for a week; and I once
offered a wager of a considerable sum that the
reciter was guiltless of understanding its point,
but could get no one to accept my bet.
" Are you acquainted with the family of ? "
asked Byron. " The commendation formerly be-
stowed on the Sidney family might be reversed
on them, as all the sons are virtuous, and all the
daughters brave. I once," continued he, " said
this with a grave face to a near relation of theirs
WITH LORD BYRON. 309
who received it as a compliment, and told me I
was very good. I was in old times fond of
mystifying, and paying equivocal compliments;
but l was is not is ' with me, as God knows, in
any sense, for I am now cured of mystifying,
as well as of many others of my mischievous
pranks ; whether I am a better man for my self-
correction remains to be proved ; I am quite sure
that I am not a more agreeable one. I have
always had a strong love of mischief in my
nature," said Byron, " and this still continues,
though I do not very often give way to its dic-
tates. It is this lurking devil that prompts me
to abuse people against whom I have not the
least malicious feeling, and to praise some whose
merits (if they have any) I am little acquainted
with, but I do it in the mischievous spirit of the
moment to vex the person or persons with whom
I am conversing. Is not this very childish ? " con-
tinued Byron, " and, above all, for a poet, which
people tell me I am ? All I know is, that if I
am, poets can be greater fools than other people,
We of the craft poets, I mean resemble paper
kites ; we soar high into the air, but are held to
earth by a cord, and our flight is restrained by a
child that child is self. We are but grown
children, having all their weakness, and only
wanting their innocence; our thoughts soar, but
310 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the frailty of our natures brings them back to
earth. What should we be without thoughts?"
continued Byron, " they are the bridges by which
we pass over time and space. And yet, perhaps,
like troops flying before the enemy, we are often
tempted to destroy the bridges we have passed
to save ourselves from pursuit. How often have I
tried to shun thought! but come, I must not get
gloomy ; my thoughts are almost always of the
sombre hue, so that I ought riot to be blamed,"
said he, laughing, "if I steal those of others, as
I am accused of doing ; I cannot have any more
disagreeable ones than my own, at least as far as
they concern myself.
" In all the charges of plagiary brought against
me in England," said Byron, "did you hear me
accused of stealing from Madame de Stael the
opening lines of my ' Bride of Abydos ? ' She is
supposed to have borrowed her lines from Schle-
gel, or to have stolen them from Goethe's ' Wil-
helm Meister ;' so you see I am a third or fourth
hand stealer of stolen goods. Do you know de
Stael's lines-? " continued Byron, " for if I am a
thief, she must be the plundered, as I don't read
German, and do French, yet I could almost
swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote
mine, nor do I even now remember them. I
think the first began with ' Cette terre/ &c. &c.
WITH LORD BYRON. 311
but the rest I forget; as you have a good
memory, perhaps you would repeat them."
I did so, and they are as follows :
- Cette terre, ou les m}*rtes fleurissent,
Oil les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour,
Oil des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent,
Oil la plus douce nuit succdde au plus beau jour.
," said Byron, " I do not see any point of
resemblance, except in the use of the two un-
fortunate words land and myrtle, and for using
these new and original words I am a plagiarist!
To avoid such charges, I must invent a dictionary
for myself. Does not this charge prove the liberal
spirit of the hypercritics in England? If they
knew how little I value their observations, or the
opinions of those that they can influence, they
would be perhaps more spiteful, and certainly
more careful in producing better proofs of their
charges ; the one of de Stael's I consider a tri-
umphant refutation for me.
" I often think," said Byron, " that were I to re-
turn to England, I should be considered, in cer-
tain circles, as having a ires mauvais ton, for I
have been so long out of it that I have learned to
say what I think, instead of saying only what,
by the rules of convenience, people are permitted
to think. For though England tolerates the lib-
erty of the press, it is far from tolerating liberty
312 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
of thought or of speech ; and since the progress
of modern refinement, when delicacy of words is
as remarkable as in delicacy of actions, a plain-
speaking man is sure to get into a scrape. Noth-
ing amuses me more than to see refinement
versus morals, and to know that people are
shocked not at crimes, but their detection. The
Spartan boy, who suffered the animal he had
secured by theft to prey on his vitals, evinced
not more constancy in concealing his sufferings
than do the English in suppressing all external
symptoms of what they must feel, and on many
occasions, when Nature makes herself felt through
the expression of her feelings, would be con-
sidered almost as a crime. But I believe crime
is a word banished from the vocabulary of haut-
ton, as the vices of the rich and great are called
errors, and those of the poor and lowly only,
crimes.
" Do you know ? " asked Byron. " He is
the king of prosers. I called him ' he of the
thousand tales,' in humble imitation of Boccaccio,
whom I styled ' he of the hundred tales of love,'
mais helas ! 's are not tales of love, or that
beget Jove ; they are born of dulness, and inciting
sleep, they produce the same effect on the senses
that the monotonous sound of a waterfall never
fails to have on mine. With one is afraid
WITH LORD BYRON. 313
to speak, because whatever is said is sure to bring
forth a reminiscence, that as surely leads to inter-
minable recollections,
Dull as the dreams of him who swills vile beer.
Thus," continued Byron, "is so honourable
and well-intentioned a man that one can find
nothing bad to say of him, except that he is a
bore ; and as there is no law against that class
of offenders, one must bear with him. It is to be
hoped, that, with all the modern improvements in
refinement, a mode will be discovered of getting
rid of bores, for it is too bad that a poor wretch
can be punished for stealing your pocket hand-
kerchief or gloves, and that no punishment can
be inflicted on those who steal your time, and
with it your temper and patience, as well as the
bright thoughts that might have entered into the
mind, (like the Irishman who lost a fortune be-
fore he had got it,) but were frighted away by
the bore. Nature certainly," said Byron, " has not
dealt charitably by , for, independent of
his being the king of prosers, he is the ugliest
person possible, and when he talks, breathes not
of Araby the blest; his heart is good, but the
stomach is none of the best, judging from its
exhalations. His united merits led me to at-
tempt an epigram on them, which, I believe, ia
as follows:
31., JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
When conversing with , who can disclose
Which suffers the most eyes, ears, or the nose ?
" I repeated this epigram," continued Byron, "to
him as having been made on a mutual friend of
ours, and he enjoyed it, as we all do some hit on
a friend. I have known people who were in-
capable of saying the least unkind word against
friends, and yet who listened with evident (though
attempted to be suppressed) pleasure to the ma-
licious jokes or witty sarcasms of others against
them ; a proof that, even in the best people, some
taints, of the original evil of our natures remain.
You think I arn wrong," continued Byron, " in my
estimate of human nature ; you think I analyze
my own evil qualities and those of others too
closely, and judge them too severely. I have
need of self-examination to reconcile me to all
the incongruities I discover, and to make me
more lenient to faults that my tongue censures,
but that my heart pardons, from the conscious-
ness of its own weakness."
We should all do well to reflect on the frailty
of man, if it led us more readily to forgive his
faults, and cherish his virtues; the one, alas!
are inextirpable, but the others are the victories
gained over that most difficult to be conquered
of all assailants self; to which victory, if we
do not decree a triumph, we ought to grant an
WITH LORD BYRON. 315
ovation, but, unhappily, the contemplation of
human frailty is too apt to harden the heart, and
oftener creates disgust than humility. " When
we dwell on vices with mockery and bitterness,
instead of pity, we may doubt the efficacy of
our contemplation ; and this," said I to Byron,
" seems to me to be your case ; for when I hear
your taunting reflections on the discoveries you
make in poor, erring human nature ; when you
have explored and exposed every secret recess of
the heart, you appear to me like a fallen angel,
sneering at the sins of men, instead of a fellow
man pitying them. This it is that makes me
think you analyze too deeply ; and I would at
present lead you to reflect only on the good that
still remains in the world for be assured there
is much good, as an antidote to the evil that you
know of."
Byron laughed, and said, " You certainly do
not spare me ; but you manage to wrap up your
censures in an envelop almost complimentary,,
and that reconciles me to their bitterness, a&
children are induced to take physic by its being
disguised in some sweet substance. The fallen
angel is so much more agreeable than demon, as
others have called me, that I am rather flattered
than affronted ; I ought, in return, to say some-
thing tres aimable to you, in which angelic at
316 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
least might be introduced, but I will not, as I
never can compliment those that I esteem. But
to return to self; you know that I have been
called not only a demon, but a French poet has
addressed me as chantre cPenfer, which, I sup-
pose, he thinks very flattering. I dare say his
poem will be done into English by some Attic
resident, and, instead of a singer of hell, I shall
be styled a hellish singer, and so go down to
posterity."
He laughed at his own pun, and said he felt
half disposed to write a quizzing answer to the
French poet, in which he should mystify him.
" It is no wonder," said Byron," that I am con-
sidered a demon, when people have taken it into
their heads that I am the hero of all my own
tales in verse. They fancy one can only describe
what has actually occurred to one's self, and for-
get the power that persons of any imagination
possess of identifying themselves, for the time be-
ing, with the creations of their fancy. This is a
peculiar distinction conferred on me, for I have
heard of no other poet who has been identified
with his works. I saw the other day," said By-
ron, " in one of the papers a fanciful simile about
Moore's writings and mine. It stated that Moore's
poems appeared as if they ought to be written
with crow-quills, on rose-colored paper, stamped
WITH LORD BYRON 317
with Cupids and flowers ; and mine on asbestos,
written by quills from the wing of an eagle;
you laugh, but I think this is a very sublime com-
parison at least, so far as I am concerned it
quite consoles me for l chantre d'enfer.' By the
by, the French poet is neither a philosopher nor a
logician ; as he dubs me by this title merely because
I doubt that there is an enfer ergo, I cannot
be styled the chantre of a place of which I doubt
the existence. I dislike French verse so much,"
said Byron, " that I have not read more than a
few lines of the one in which I am dragged into
public view. He calls me," said Byron, " Esprit
myste'rieux, mOrtel, ange ou demon ;' which I call
very uncivil, for a well-bred Frenchman, and
moreover one of the craft ; I wish he would let
me and my works alone, for T am sure I do not
trouble him or his, and should not know that he
existed, except from his notice of me which some
good-natured friend has sent me. There are
some things in the world, of which, like gnats,
we are only reminded of the existence by their
stinging us; this was his position with me."
Had Byron read the whole of the poem ad-
dressed to him by M. de Lamartine, he would
have been more flattered than offended by it, as it
is not only full of beauty, but the admiration for
the genius of the English poet, which pervades
JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
very sentiment of the ode, is so profound, that
the epithet which offended the morbid sensitive-
ness of Byron would have been readily pardoned.
M. de Lamartine is perhaps the only French poet
who could have so justly appreciated, and grace-
fully eulogized, our wayward child of genius ; and
having written so successfully himself, his praise
is more valuable. His " Meditations " possess a
depth of feeling which, tempered by a strong re-
ligious sentiment that makes the Christian rise
superior to the philosopher, bears the impress of a
true poetical temperament, which could not fail to
sympathize with all \}\G feelings^ however he might
differ from the reasonings of Byron. Were the
works of the French poet better known to the
English bard he could not, with even all his dis-
like to French poetry, have refused his approba-
tion to the writings of .M. de Lamartine.
Talking of solitude "It has but one disad-
vantage," said Byron, " but that is a serious one
it is apt to give one too high an opinion of one's
self. In the world we are sure to be often re-
minded of every known or supposed defect we
may have ; hence we can rarely, unless possessed
of an inordinate share of vanity, form a very ex-
alted opinion of ourselves, and, in society, woe be
to him who lets it be known that he thinks more
highly of himself than of his neighbors, a* 'his is
WITH LORD BYRON. 319
a crime that arms every one against him. This
was the rock on which Napoleon foundered ; he
had so often wounded the amour propre of others,
that they were glad to hurl him from the emi-
nence that made him appear a giant and those
around him pigmies. If a man or woman has any
striking superiority, some great defect or weakness
must be discovered to counterbalance it, that
their contemporaries may console themselves for
their envy, by saying, < Well, if I have not the
genius of Mr. This, or the beauty or talent of Mrs.
That, I have not the violent temper of the one, or
the overweening vanity of the other.' But, to re-
turn to solitude," said Byron, " it is the only fooPs
paradise on earth ; there we have no one to re-
mind us of our faults, or by whom we can be
humiliated by comparisons ! Our evil passions
sleep, because they are not excited; our produc-
tions appear sublime, because we have no kind
and judicious friend to hint at their defects, and
to point out faults of style and imagery where
we had thought ourselves most luminous ; these
are the advantages of solitude, and those who
have once tasted them, can never return to the
busy world again with any zest for its feverish
enjoyments. In the world," said Byron, " I am
always irritable and violent; the very noise of the
ts of a populous city affect my nerves; I
520 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
seemed in a London house 'cabined, cribbed,
confined, and felt like a tiger in too small a
cage.' Apropos of tigers, did you ever observe
that all people in a violent rage, walk up and
down the place they are in, as wild beasts do in
their dens? I have particularly remarked this,"
continued he, " and it proved to me, what I
never doubted, that we have much of the animal
.nd the ferocious in our natures, which, I am
convinced, is increased by an over-indulgence of
our carnivorous propensities. It has been said
that, to enjoy solitude, a man must be superla-
tively good or bad ; I deny this, because there
are no superlatives in man all are comparative
or relative ; but, had I no other reason to deny it,
my own experience would furnish me with one.
God knows I never flattered myself with the idea
of being superlatively good, as no one better
knows his faults than I do mine; but, at the
same time, I am as unwilling to believe that I
am superlatively bad, yet I enjoy solitude more
than I ever enjoyed society, even in my most
youthful days."
I told Byron, that I expected he would one day
give the world a collection of useful aphorisms,
drawn from personal experience. He laughed
and said "Perhaps I may; those are best suited
to advise others who have missed the road them-
WITH LORD BYRON. 321
selves, and this has been my case. I have found
friends false acquaintances malicious relations
indifferent and nearer and dearer connections
perfidious. Perhaps much, if not all this, has
been caused by my own waywardness ; but that
has not prevented my feeling it keenly. It has
made me look on friends as partakers of pros-
perity censurers in adversity and absentees in
distress; and has forced me to view acquaint-
ances merely as persons who think themselves
justified in courting or cutting one, as best suits
them. But relations I regard only as people
privileged to tell disagreeable truths, and to ac-
cept weighty obligations, as matters of course.
You have now," continued Byron, "my unsophisti-
cated opinion of friends, acquaintances, and rela-
tions ; of course there are always exceptions, but
they are rare, and exceptions do not make the
rule. All that I have said are but reiterated tru-
isms that all admit to be just, but that few, if
any, act upon ; they are like the death-bell that
we hear toll for others, without thinking that it
must soon toll for us ; we know that others have
been deceived, but we believe that we are other
too clever, or too lovable, to meet the same fate ;
we see our friends drop daily around us, many
of them younger and healthier than ourselves, yet
we think that we shall b've to be old, as if we
21
322 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
possessed some stronger hold on life than those
who have gone before us. Alas ! life is but a,
dream from which we are only awakened by
death. All else is illusion ; changing as we
change, and each cheating us in turn, until death
withdraws the veil, and shows us the dread real-
ity. It is strange," said Byron, "that feeling, as
most people do, life a burthen, we should still
cling to it with such pertinacity. This is an-
other proof of animal feeling ; for if the divine
spirit that is supposed to animate us mastered
the animal nature, should we not rejoice at lay-
ing down the load that has so long oppressed us,
and beneath which we have groaned for years,
to seek a purer, brighter existence ? Whoever
reached the age of twenty-five," continued Byron,
"without feeling the tcedium mice which poisons
the little enjoyment that we are allowed to taste?
We begin life with the hope of attaining happi-
ness ; soon discovering that to be unattainable,
we seek pleasure as a poor substitute ; but even
this eludes our grasp, and we end by desiring
repose, which death alone can give."
I told Byron that the greater part of our cha-
.grins arose from disappointed hopes ; that, in our
pride and weakness, we consider happiness as
our birthright, and received infliction as an in-
justice; whereas the latter was the inevitable lot
WITH LORD BYRON. 323
of man, and the other but the ignis fatuus that
beguiles the dreary path of life, and sparkles but
to deceive. I added that while peace of mind
was left us, we could not be called miserable.
This greatest of all earthly consolations depends
on ourselves ; whereas for happiness we rely on
others; but, as the first is lasting, and the second
fleeting, we ought to cultivate that of which
naught but our own actions can deprive us, and
enjoy the other as we do a fine autumnal day,
that we prize the more because we know it will
soon be followed by winter.
u Your philosophy is really admirable," said By-
ron, u if it were possible to follow it ; but I suspect
that you are among the number of those who
preach it the most, and practice it the least, for
you have too much feeling to have more than a
theoretical knowledge of it. For example, how
would you bear the ingratitude and estrangement
of friends of those in whom you had garnered
up your heart? I suspect that, in such a case,
feeling would beat philosophy out of the field;
for I have ever found that philosophy, like expe-
rience, never comes till one has ceased to require
its services. I have," continued Byron " experi-
enced ingratitude and estrangement from friends ;
and this, more than all else, has destroyed my
confidence in human nature. It is thus from in-
324 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
dividual cases that we are so apt to generalize.
A few persons on whom we have lavished our
friendship, without ever examining if they had
the qualities requisite to justify such a preference,
are found to be ungrateful, and un worth v, and
instead of blaming our own want of perception
in the persons so unwisely chosen, we cry out
against poor human nature; one or two exam-
ples of ingratitude and selfishness prejudice us
against the world ; but six times the number of
examples of goodness and sincerity fail to recon-
cile us to it so much more susceptible are we
of evil impressions than of good. Have you not
observed," said Byron, " how much more prone
people are to remember injuries than benefits ?
The most essential services are soon forgotten;
but some trifling and often unintentional offence
is rarely pardoned, and never effaced from the
memory. All this proves that we have a strong
and decided predisposition to evil ; the tendencies
and consequences of which we may conceal, but
cannot eradicate. I think ill of the world," con-
tinued Byron, " but I do not as some cynics as-
sert, believe it to be composed of knaves and
fools. No, I consider that it is, for the most part,
peopled by those who have not talents sufficient
to be the first, and yet have one degree too much
to be the second"
WITH LORD BYRON. 325
Byron's bad opinion of mankind is not, I am
convinced, genuine ; and it certainly does not
operate on his actions, as his first impulses are
always good, and his heart is kind and charitable.
His good deeds are never the result of reflection,
as the heart acts before the head has had time to
reason. This cynical habit of decrying human
nature is one of the many little affectations to
which he often descends ; and this impression has
become so fixed in my mind, that I have been
vexed with myself for attempting to refute opin-
ions of his, which, on reflection, I was convinced
were not his real sentiments, but uttered either
from a foolish wish of display, or from a spirit of
contradiction, which much influences his conver-
sation. I have heard him assert opinions one
day, and maintain the most opposite, with equal
warmth the day after; this arises not so much
from insincerity, as from being wholly governed
by the feeling of the moment ; he has no fixed
principle of conduct or of thought, and the want
of it leads him into errors and inconsistencies,
from which he is only rescued by a natural good-
ness of heart, tfoat redeems, in some degree, what
it cannot prevent. Violence of temper tempts
him into expressions that might induce people to
believe him vindictive and rancorous ; he exag-
gerates all his feelings when he gives utterance
326 JOUKNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
to them ; and here the imagination, that has led
to his triumph in poetry, operates less happily, by
giving a stronger shade to his sentiments and ex-
pressions. When he writes or speaks at such
moments, the force of his language imposes a be-
lief that the feeling which gives birth to it must
be fixed in his mind ; but see him in a few hours
after, and not only no trace of this angry excite-
ment remains, but, if recurred to by another, he
smiles at his own exaggerated warmth of expres-
sion, and proves, in a thousand ways, that the
temper only is responsible for his defects, and not
the heart.
" I think it is Diderot," said Byron, " who says
that, to desciibe woman, one ought to dip one's
pen in the rainbow; and, instead of sand, use the
dust from the wings of butterflies to dry the pa-
per. This is a concetto worthy of a Frenchman ;
and, though meant as complimentary, is really by
no means so to your sex. To describe woman,
the pen should be dipped, not in the rainbow, bat
in the heart of man, ere more than eighteen sum-
mers have passed over his head ; and, to dry the
paper, I would allow only the sighs of adoles-
cence. Women are best understood by ision
whose feelings have not been hardened by a con-
tact with the world, and who believe in vir *ie
because they are unacquainted with vice. A.
WITH LORD BYRON. 327
knowledge of vice will, as far as I can judge by
experience, invariably produce disgust, as I be-
lieve, with my favorite poet, that
Vice is a monster of such hideous mien,
That, to be hated, needs but to be seen.
But he who has known it can never truly de-
scribe woman as she ought to be described ; and,
therefore, a public knowledge of the world unfits
a man for the task. When I attempted to de-
scribe Haidee and Zuleika, I endeavored to forget
all that friction with the world had taught me;
and if I at all succeeded, it was because I was,
and am, penetrated with the conviction that wo-
men only know evil from having experienced it
through men ; whereas men have no criterion to
judge of purity or goodness but woman. Some
portion of this purity and goodness always ad-
heres to woman," continued Byron, " even though
she may lapse from virtue; she makes a willing
sacrifice of herself on the altar of affection, and
thinks only of him for whom it is made : while
men think of themselves alone, and regard the
woman but as an object that administers to their
selfish gratification, and who, when she ceases to
have this power, is thought of no more, save as
an obstruction in their path. You look incredu-
lous," said Byron, "but I have said what I think,
though not all that I think, as I have a much
323 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
higher opinion of your sex than I have even now
expressed."
This would be most gratifying could I be sure
that, to-morrow or next day, some sweeping sar-
casm against my sex may not escape from the
lips that have now praised them, and that my
credulity, in believing the praise, may not be
quoted as an additional proof of their weakness.
This instability of opinion, or expression of opin-
ion, of Byron, destroys all confidence in him, and
precludes the possibility of those, who live much
in his society, feeling that sentiment of confiding
security in him, without which a real regard can-
not subsist. It has always appeared a strange
anomaly to me, that Byron, who possesses such
acuteness in discerning the foibles and defects of
others, should have so little power either in con-
quering or concealing his own, that they are evi-
dent even to a superficial observer; it is also
extraordinary that the knowledge of human na-
ture, which enables him to discover at a glance
such defects, should not dictate the wisdom of
concealing his discoveries, at least from those in
whom he has made them ; but in this he betrays
a total want of tact, and must often send away
his associates dissatisfied with themselves, and
still more so with him, if they happen to possess
discrimination or susceptibility.
WITH LORD BYEON. 329
" To let a person see that you have discovered
.his faults, is to make him an enemy for life,' ;
says Byron ; and yet this he does continually :
he says, " that the only truths a friend will tell
you, are your faults; and the only thing he will
give you, is advice." Byron's affected display of
knowledge of the world deprives him of commis-
eration for being its dupe, while his practical in-
experience renders him so perpetually. He is at
war with the actual state of things, yet admits
that all that he now complains of has existed for
centuries ; and that those who have taken up
arms against the world have found few applaud-
ers, and still fewer followers. His philosophy is
more theoretical than practical, and must so con-
tinue, as long as passion and feeling have more
influence over him than reflection and reason.
Byron affects to be unfeeling, while he is a victim
to sensibility ; and to be reasonable, while he is
governed by imagination only ; and so meets
with no sympathy from either the advocates of
sensibility or reason, and consequently condemns
both. " It is fortunate for those," said Byron,
"whose near connections are good and estimable ;
independently of various other advantages that
are derived from it, perhaps the greatest of all
are the impressions made on our minds in early
youth by witnessing goodness, impressions which
330 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
have such weight in deciding our future opinions.
If we witness evil qualities in common acquaint--
ancss, the effect is slight, in comparison with that
made by discovering the:n in those united to us
by the ties of consanguinity ; this last disgusts
us with human nature, and renders us doubtful
of goodness, a progressive step made in misan-
thropy, the most fearful disease that can attack
the mind. My first and earliest impressions were
melancholy my poor mother gave them ; but to
my sister, who, incapable of wrong herself sus-
pected no wrong in others, I owe the little good
of which I can boast ; and had I earlier known
her, it might have influenced my destiny. Au-
gusta has great strength of mind, which is dis-
played not only in her own conduct, but to
support the weak and infirm of purpose. To me
she was, in the hour of need, as a tower of
strength. Her affection was my last rallying-
point, and is now the only bright spot that the
horizon of England offers to my view. Augusta
knew all my weaknesses, but she had love enough
to bear with them. I value not the false senti-
ment of affection that adheres to one while we
believe him faultless ; not to love him would then
be difficult : but give me the love that, with per-
ception to view the errors, has sufficient force to
oardon them who can * love the offender, yet de-
WITH LORD BYRON. 331
test the offence;' and this my sister had. She
has given me such good advice, and yet, finding
me incapable of following it, loved and pitied me
but the more, because I was erring. This is true
affection, and, above all, true Christian feeling ;
but how rarely is it to be met with in England !
where amour propre prompts people to show their
superioriry by giving advice ; and a melange of
selfishness and wounded vanity engages them to
resent its not being followed ; which they do by
not only leaving off the advised, but by injuring
him by every means in their power. Depend on
it," continued Byron, " the English are the most
perfidious friends and unkind relations that the
civilized world can produce; and if you have had
the misfortune to lay them under weighty obliga-
tions, you may look for all the injuries that they
can inflict, as they are anxious to avenge them-
selves for all the humiliations they suffer when
they accept favors. They are proud, bat have
not sufficient pride to refuse services that are nec-
essary to their comfort, and have too much false
prids to be grateful. They may pardon a refusal
to assist them, but they never can forgive a gen-
erosity which, as they are seldom capable of prac-
tising or appreciating, overpowers and humiliates
them. With this opinion of the English," con-
tinued Byron, " which has not been lightly formed,
332 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
you may imagine how truly I must value my sis-
ter, who is so totally opposed to them. She is
tenacious of accepting obligations, even from the
nearest relations ; but, having accepted, is inca-
pable of aught approaching to ingratitude. Poor
Lady had just such a sister as mine, who,
faultless herself, could pardon and weep over the
errors of one less pure, and almost redeem them
by her own excellence. Had Lady 's sister
or mine, 1 ' continued Byron, " been less good and
irreproachable, they could not have afforded to be
so forbearing; but, being unsullied, they could
show mercy without fear of drawing attention to
their own misdemeanors."
Byron talked to-day of Campbell the poet;
said that he was a warm-hearted and honest
man ; praised his works, and quoted some passa-
ges from the " Pleasures of Hope," which he said
was a poem full of beauties. " I differ, however,"
said Byron, " with my friend Campbell on some
points. Do you remember the passage
' But mark the wretch whose wanderings never knew
The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue !
His erring heart the lash of sorrow bore,
But found not pity when it erred no more. '
This, he said, was so far a true picture, those who
once erred being supposed to err always a char-
itable, but false, supposition, that the English are
WITH LORD BYRON. 333
prone to act upon. " But," added Byron " I am
not prepared to admit, that a man, under such
circumstances as those so poetically described by
Campbell could feel hope ; and, judging by my
own feelings, I should think that there would be
more of envy than of hope in the poor man's
mind, when he leaned on the gate, and looked at
' the blossom'd bean-field, and the sloping green.'
Campbell was, however, right in representing it
otherwise," continued Byron. " We have all, God
knows, occasion for hope to enable us to support
the thousand vexations of this dreary existence;
and he v/ho leads us to believe in this universal
panacea, in which, par parenthesc, I have little
faith, renders a service to humanity. Campbell's
'Lochiel' and 'Mariners' are admirable spirit-
stirring productions," said Byron ; "his ' Gertrude
of Wyoming' is beautiful; and some of the
episodes in his ' Pleasures of Hope ' pleased me
so much, that I know them by heart. By the by,"
continued he, "we must be indebted to Ireland
for this mode of expressing the knowing any
thing by rote, and it is at once so true and poeti-
cal, that I always use it. We certainly remem-
ber best those passages, as well as events, that
interest us most, or touch the heart, which must
have given birth to the phrase ' know by heart.'
The * Pleasures of Memory' is a very beautiful
334 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
poem," said Byron, " harmonious, finished, and
chaste ; it contains not a single meretricious or-
nament. If Rogers has not fixed 'himself in the
higher fields of Parnassus, he has, at least, culti-
vated a very pretty flower-garden at its base. Is
not this/' continued Byron, " a poetical image
worthy of a conversazione at Lydia White's ?
But, jesting apart, for one ought to be serious in
talking of so serious a subject as the pleasures
of memory, which, God knows, never offered any
pleasures to me, (mind, I mean memory, and not
the poem,) it really always did remind me of a
flower-garden, so filled with sweets, so trim, so
orderly. You, I am sure, know the powerful
poem written in a blank leaf of the ' Pleasures
of Memory,' by an unknown author? He has
taken my view of the subject, and I envy him
for expressing all that I felt ; but did not, could
not, express as he has done. This wilderness of
triste thoughts offered a curious contrast to the
hortus siccus of pretty flowers that followed it,"
said Byron, " and marks the difference between
inspiration and versification.
" Having compared Rogers's poem to a flower-
garJen," continued Byron, " to what shall I com-
pare Moore's ? to the Valley of Diamonds,
where all is brilliant and attractive, but where
one is so dazzled by the sparkling on every side
WITH LORD BYRON. 335
that one knows not where to fix, each gem beau-
tiful in itself but overpowering to the eye from
their quantity. Or, to descend to a more homely
comparison, though really," continued Byron, "so
brilliant a subject hardly admits of any thing
homely, Moore's poems (with the exception of
the Melodies) resemble the fields in Italy, cov-
ered by such myriads of fire-flies shining and
glittering around, that if one attempts to seize
one, another still more brilliant attracts, and one
is bewildered from too much brightness. I re-
member reading somewhere," said Byron, " a con-
cetto of designating different living poets, by the
cups Apollo gives them to drink out of. Words-
worth is made to drink from a wooden bowl, and
my melancholy self from a skull, chased with
gold. Now, I would add the following cups:
To Moore, I would give a cup formed like the
lotus flower, and set in brilliants ; to Crabbe a
scooped pumpkin ; to Rogers, an antique vase,
formed of agate ; and to Colman, a champagne-
glass, as descriptive of their different styles. I
dare say none of them would be satisfied with
the appropriation ; but who ever is satisfied with
any thing in the shape of criticism ? and least of
all, poets."
Talking of Shakspeare, Byron said, that " he
owed one half of his popularity to his low origin,
336 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
which, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins
with the multitude, and the other half, to the
remoteness of the time at which he wrote from
our own days. All his vulgarisms," continued
Byron, " are attributed to the circumstances of
his birth and breeding depriving him of a good
education ; hence they are to be excused, and
the obscurities with which his works abound are
all easily explained away by the simple state-
ment, that he wrote above two hundred years
ago, and that the terms then in familiar use are
now become obsolete. With two such good ex-
cuses, as want of education, and having written
above two hundred years before our time, any
writer may pass muster ; and when to these is
added the being a sturdy hind of low degree,
which to three parts of the community in Eng-
land has a peculiar attraction, one ceases to
wonder at his supposed popularity ; I say sup-
posed, for who goes to see his plays, and who,
except country parsons, or mouthing, stage-struck,
theatrical amateurs, read them ? " I told Byron
what really was, and is, my impression, that he
was not sincere in his depreciation of our immor-
tal bard; and I added that I preferred believing
him insincere, than incapable of judging works,
which his own writings proved he must, more
than most other men, feel the beauties of. He
WITH LORD BYRON. 337
laughed, and replied, " That the compliment T
paid to his writings was so entirely at the ex-
pense of his sincerity, that he had no cause to
be flattered ; but that, knowing I was one of
thos^ that worshipped Shakspeare, he forgave
me, and would only bargain that I made equal
allowance for his worship of Pope." I observed,
" That any comparison between the two was as
absurd as comparing some magnificent feudal
caslle, surrounded by mountains and forests, with
foaming cataracts, and boundless lakes, to the
pretty villa of Pope, with its sheen lawn, arti-
ficial grotto, stunted trees, and trim exotics."
He said that my simile was more ingenious than
just, and hoped that I was prepared to admit
that Pope was the greatest of all modern poets r
and a philosopher as well as a poet. I made my
peace by expressing my sincere admiration of
Pope, but begged to be understood as refusing to
admit any comparison between him and Shak-
speare ; and so the subject ended. Byron is so
prone to talk for effect, and to assert what he
does not believe, that one must be cautious m
giving implicit credence to his opinions. My
conviction is, that, in spite of his declarations
to the contrary, he admires Shakspeare as much
as most of his countrymen do; but that, unlike
the generality of them, he sees the blemishes that
22
338 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the freedom of the times in which the great poet
lived led him to indulge in his writings, in a
stronger point of view ; and takes pleasure in
commenting on them with severity, as a means
of wounding the vanity of the English. I have
rarely met with a person more conversant "with
the works of Shakspeare than was Byron. I
have heard him quote passages from them re-
putedly; and in a tone that marked how well
*? appreciated their beauty which certainly lost
nothing in his delivery of them, as few possessed
9 more harmonious voice or a more elegant pro-
nunciation than did Byron. Could there be a
less equivocal proof of his admiration of our im-
mortal bard than the tenacity with which his
memory retained the finest passages of ah 1 his
wonts? When I made this observation to him
ne smiled, and affected to boast that his memory
was so retentive that it equally retained all that
he read ; but as I had seen many proofs of the
contrary, I persevered in affirming what I have
never ceased to believe, that, in despite of his
professions to the reverse, Byron was in his heart
a warm admirer of Shakspeare.
Byron takes a peculiar pleasure in opposing
himself to popular opinion on all points ; he
wishes to be thought as dissenting from the mul-
titude, and this affectation is the secret source of
WITH LORD BYKON. 339
many of the incongruities he expresses. One
cannot help lamenting that so great a genius
should be sullied by this weakness; but he has
so many redeeming points that we must pardon
what we cannot overlook, and attribute this error
to .the imperfectibility of human nature. Once
thoroughly acquainted with his peculiarities, much
that appeared incomprehensible is explained, and
one knows when to limit belief to assertions that
are not always worthy of commanding it, be
cause uttered from the caprice of the moment.
He declares that such is his bad opinion of the
taste and feelings of the English, that he should
form a bad opinion of any work that they ad-
mired, or any person that they praised ; and that
their admiration of his own works has rather
confirmed than softened his bad opinion of them*
" It was the exaggerated praises of the people in
England," said he, "that indisposed me to the
Duke of Wellington. I know that the same
herd, who were trying to make an idol of him,
would on any reverse, or change of opinions,,
hurl him from the pedestal to which they had
raised him, and lay their idol in the dust. I
remember," continued Byron, " enraging some
of his Grace's worshippers, after the battle
of Waterloo, by quoting the lines from Ari-
osto ;
840 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
Fft il vincer sembre rnai laudadil cosa,
Vincasi 6 per fortuna 6 per iugregno, .
iu answer to their appeal to me, if he was not
the greatest general that ever existed."
I told Byron that his quotation was insidious,
but that the Duke had gained too many victorjes
to admit the possibility of any of them being
achieved more by chance than ability ; and that,
like his attacks on Shakspeare, he was not sincere
in disparaging Wellington, as I was sure he must
au fond be as proud of him as all other Knglish-
inen are. " What!" said Byron, " could a Whig be
proud of Wellington ! would this be consistent? "
The whole of Byron's manner, and his coun-
tenance on this and other occasions, when the
name of the Duke of Wellington has been men-
tioned, conveyed the impression, that he had
not been de bonne foi in his censures on him.
Byron's words and feelings are so often opposed,
and both so completely depend on the humor
of the moment, that those who know him well
could never attach much confidence to the sta-
bility of his sentiments, or the force of his ex-
pressions ; nor could they feel surprised, or angry,
at hearing that he had spoken unkindly of some
for whom he really felt friendship. This habit
of censuring is his ruling passion, and he is now
too old to correct, it.
WITH LORD BYRON. 341
"I have been amused," said Byron, "in reading
4 Les Essais de Montaigne/ to find how severe he
is on the sentiment of tristesse : we are always
severe on that particular passion to which we are
not addicted, and the French are exempt from
this. Montaigne says that the Italians were right
in translating their word tristezza, which means
tristesse, into malignitd ; and this," continued
Byron, " explains my me'chancete', for that I am
subject to tristesse cannot be doubted ; and if
that means, as Le Sieur de Montaigne states, la
malignite, this is the secret of all my evil doings,
or evil imaginings, and probably is also the source
of my inspiration." This idea appeared to amuse
him very much, and he dwelt on it with apparent
satisfaction, saying that it absolved him from a
load of responsibility, as he considered himself,
according to this, as no more accountable for the
satires he might write or speak, than for his per-
sonal deformity. Nature, he said, had to answer
for malignitd as well as for deformity; she gave
both, and the unfortunate persons on whom she
bestowed them were not to be blamed for their
effects. Byron said, that Montaigne was one of
the French writers that amused him the most,
as, independently of the quaintness with which
he made his observations, a perusal of his works
was like a repetition at school, they rubbed up
342 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the reader's classical knowledge. He added, that
u Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy " was also
excellent, from the quantity of desultory informa-
tion it contained, and was a mine of knowledge
that, though much worked, was inexhaustible. I
told him that he seemed to think more highly of
Montaigne than d;d some of his own country-
men ; for that when Le Cardinal du Perron " ap-
peloit les Essais de Montaigne le bre'viaire des
honnetes gens; le celebre Huet, evcque d'Av-
janche, les disoit celui des honnetes paresseux et
des ignorans, qui veulent s'enfariner de quelque
teinture des lettres" Byron said that the critique
was severe, but just; for that Montaigne was the
greatest plagiarist that ever existed, and certainly
had turned his reading to the most account.
"But," said Byron, "who is the author that is
not, intentionally or unintentionally, a plagiarist ?
Many more, I am persuaded, are the latter than
the former ; for if one has read much, it is diffi-
cult, if not impossible, to avoid adopting, not
only the thoughts, but the expressions of others,
which, after they have been some time stored in
our minds, appear to us to come forth ready
formed, like Minerva from the brain of Jupiter,
and we fancy them our own progeny, instead of
being those of adoption : I met lately a passage
in a French book," continued Byron, "that states,
WITH LORD BYRON. 343
apropos of plagiaries, that it was from the preface
to the works of Montaigne, by Mademoiselle de
Gournay, his adopted daughter, that Pascal stole
his image of the Divinity: ; C'est un cercle,
dont la circonference est partout, et le centre
nulle part,' So you see that even the saintly
Pascal could steal as well as another, and was
probably unconscious of the theft.
" To be perfectly original," continued Byron,
" one should think much and read little ; and this
is impossible, as one must have read much before
one learns to think ; for I have no faith in innate
ideas, whatever I may have of innate predisposi-
tions. But after one has laid in a tolerable stock
of materials for thinking, I should think the best
plan would be to give the mind time to digest
it, and then turn it all well over by thought and
reflection, by which we make the knowledge ac-
quired our own ; and, on this foundation, we may
let our originality (if we have any) build a su-
perstructure, and if not, it supplies our want of
it to a certain degree. I am accused of plagiar-
ism," continued Byron, " as I see by the news-
papers. If I am guilty, I have many partners in
the crime ; for I assure you I scarcely know a
living author who might not have a similar charge
brought against him, and whose thoughts I have
not occasionally found in the works of others ; so
that this consoles me.
344 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
" The book you lent me, Dr. Richardson's
* Travels along the Mediterranean/ " said Byron,
"is an excellent work. It abounds in information,
sensibly and unaffectedly conveyed, and, even
without Lord B.'s praises of the author, would
liave led me to conclude that be was an enlight-
ened, sensible, and thoroughly good man. He is
tdways in earnest," continued Byron, " and never
^writes for effect ; his language is well chosen and
correct ; and his religious views unaffected and
sincere, without bigotry. He is just the sort of
man I should like to have with me for Greece
clever, both as a man and a physician : for I re-
quire both one for my mind, and the other for
my body, which is a little the worse for wear,
from the bad usage of the troublesome tenant
that has inhabited it, God help me!
" It is strange," said Byron, " how seldom one
meets with clever, sensible men in the professions
of divinity or physic! and yet they are precisely
the professions that most peculiarly demand intel-
ligence and ability and to keep the soul and
body in good health requires no ordinary talents.
I have, I confess, as little faith in medicine as
Napoleon had. I think it has many remedies,
but few specifics. I do not know if we arrived
at the same conclusion by the same road. Mine
has been drawn from observing that the medical
WITH LORD BYRON. 345
men who fell in my way were, in general, so defi-
cient in ability, that, even had the science of
medicine been fifty times more simplified than it
ever will be in our time, they had not intelligence
enough to comprehend or reduce it to practice,
which has given me a much greater dread of
remedies than diseases. Medical men do not
sufficiently attend to idiosyncrasy," continued
Byron, " on which so much depends, and often
hurry to the grave one patient by a treatment
that has succeeded with another. The moment
they ascertain a disease to be the same as one
they have known, they conclude the same reme-
dies that cured the first must remove the second,
not making allowance for the peculiarities of
temperament, habits, and dispositions ; which
last has a great influence in maladies. All that
I have seen of physicians has given me a dread
of them, which dread will continue until I have
met a doctor like your friend Richardson, who
proves himself to be a sensible and intelligent
man. I maintain," continued Byron, " that more
than half our maladies are produced by accus-
toming ourselves to more sustenance than is re-
quired for the support of nature. We put too
much oil into the lamp, and it blazes and burns
out ; but if we only put enough to feed the flame,
it burns brightly and steadily. We have, God
346 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
knows, sufficient alloy in our compositions, with-
out reducing them still nearer to the brute, by
overfeeding. I think that one of the reasons
why women are, in general, so much better than
men for I do think they are, whatever I may
say to the contrary," continued Byron, "is, that
they do not indulge in gourmandise as men do ;
and, consequently, do not labor under the com-
plicated horrors that indigestion produces, which
had such a dreadful effect on the tempers, as I
have both witnessed and felt.
" There is nothing I so much dread as flat-
tery," said Byron ; " not that I mean to say I
dislike it for, on the contrary, if well adminis-
tered, it is very agreeable but I dread it, because
I know, from experience, we end by disliking
those we flatter ; it is the mode we take to
.avenge ourselves, for stooping to the humilia-
tion of flattering them. On this account, I never
flatter those I really like ; and, also, I should be
fearful and jealous of owing 'their regard for me
to the pleasure my flattery gave them. I am not
so forbearing with those I am indifferent about ;
for, seeing how much people like flattery, I can-
not resist giving them some, and it amuses me
to see how they swallow even the largest doses.
Now, there is and ; who could live
on passable teiras with them, that did not ad-
WITH LORD BYRON. 347
minister to their vanity ? One tells you all his
bonnes fortunes, and would never forgive you if
you appeared to be surprised at their extent ; and
the other talks to you of prime ministers and
dukes by their surnames, and cannot state the
most simple fact or occurrence without telling
you that Wellington or Devonshire told him so.
" One does not," continued Byron, " meet this last
foiblesse out of England, and not then, I must
admit, except among parvenus.
" It is doubtful which, vanity or conceit, is the
most offensive," said Byron ; " but I think con-
ceit is, because the gratification of vanity depends
on the suffrages of others, to gain which, vain
people must endeavor to please; but as conceit
is content with its own approbation, it makes no
sacrifice, and is not susceptible of humiliation.
I confess that I have a spiteful pleasure," con-
tinued Byron, " in mortifying conceited people ;
and the gratification is enhanced by the difficulty
of the task. One of the reasons why I dislike
society is, that its contact excites all the evil
qualities of my nature, which, like the fire in
the flint, can only be elicited by friction. My
philosophy is more theoretical than practical; it
is never at hand when I want it ; and the puerile
passions that I witness in those whom I encoun-
ter excite disgust when examined near, though,
348 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
viewed at a distance, they only create pity;
that is to say, in simple, homely truth," contin-
ued Byron, " the follies of mankind, when they
touch me not, I can be lenient to, and moralize
on ; but if they rub against my own, there is an
end to the philosopher. We are all better in sol-
itude, and more especially if we are tainted with
evil passions, which, God help us ! we all are,
more or less," said Byron. " They are not then
brought into action ; reason and reflection have
time and opportunity to resume that influence
over us, which they rarely can do if we are act-
ors in the busy scene of life ; and we grow better,
because we believe ourselves better. Our pas-
sions often only sleep, when we suppose them
dead; and we are not convinced of our mistake,
till they are awake with renewed strength, gained
by repose. We are, therefore, wise when we
choose solitude, where ' passions sleep and reason
wakes ; ' for, if we cannot conquer the evil quali-
ties that adhere to our nature, we do well to en-
courage their slumber. Like cases of acute pain,
when the physician cannot remove ihe malady,
he administers soporifics.
" When I recommend solitude," said Byron,
" I do not mean the solitude of country neighbor-
hood, where people pass their time a dire, redire,
t medire. No I I mean a regular retirement
WITH LORD BYRON. 349
with a woman that one loves, and interrupted
only by a correspondence with a man that one
esteems, though if we put plural of man, it would
be more agreeable for the correspondence. By
this means, friendships would not be subject to
the variations and estrangements that are so often
caused by a frequent personal intercourse ; arid
we might delude ourselves into a belief that they
were sincere, and might be lasting two difficult
articles of faith in. my creed of friendship. Soc-
rates and Plato," continued Byron, " ridiculed
Laches, who defined fortitude to consist in re-
maining firm in the ranks opposed to the enemy ,
and I agree with those philosophers in thinking
that a retreat is not inglorious, whether from the
enemy in the field or in the town, if one feels
one's own weakness, and anticipates a defeat. I
feel that society is my enemy, in even more than
a figurative sense ; I have not fled, but retreated
from it ; and if solitude has not made me better,
I am sure it has prevented my becoming worse,
which is a point gained.
" Have you ever observed," said Byron, " the
extreme dread that parvenus have of aught that
approaches to vulgarity ? In manners, letters,
conversation, nay, even in literature, they are
always superfine ; and a man of birth would un-
consciously hazard a thousand dubious phrases
350 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
sooner than a parvenu would risk the possibility
of being suspected of one. One of the many
advantages of birth is, that it saves one from this
hypocritical gentility; and he of noble blood may
be natural, without the fear of being accused of
vulgarity. I have left an assembly filled with all
the names of haut ton in London, and where lit-
tle but names were to be found, to seek relief
from the ennui that overpowered me, in a cider
cellar; are you not shocked? and have found
there more food for speculation than in the vapid
circles of glittering dulness I had left. or
dared not have done this ; but I had the
patent of nobility to carry me through it ; and
what would have been deemed originality and
spirit in me, would have been considered a nat-
ural bias to vulgar habits in them. In my works,
too, I have dared to pass the frozen molehills I
cannot call them Alps, though they are frozen
eminences of high life, and have used common
thoughts and common words to express my im-
pressions, where poor would have clarified
each thought, and double-refined each sentence,
until he had reduced them to the polished and
cold temperature of the illuminated houses of ice
that he loves to frequent ; which have always
reminded me of the palace of ice built to please
an empress, cold, glittering, and costly. But I
WITH LORD BYRON. 35J
suppose that and like them, from the
same cause that I like high life below stairs, not
being born to it ; there is a good deal in this.
I have been abused for dining at Tom Cribb's,
where I certainly was amused, and have returned
from a dinner where the guests were composed
of the magnates of the land, where I had nigh
gone to sleep ; at least, my intellect slumbered
so dullified was I and those around me, by the
soporofic quality of the conversation, if conver-
sation it might be called. For a long time I
thought it was my constitutional melancholy that
made me think London society so insufferably
tiresome ; but I discovered that those who had
no such malady found it equally so ; the only
difference was, that they yawned under the
nightly inflictions, yet still continued to bear
them, while I writhed, and ' muttered curses not
loud but deep ' against the well-dressed automa-
tons that threw a spell over my faculties, making
me doubt if I could any longer feel or think ; and
I have sought the solitude of my chamber, almost
doubting my own identity, or, at least, my san-
ity ; such was the overpowering effect produced
on me by exclusive society in London. Madame
de Stael was the only person of talent I ever
knew who was not overcome by it ; but this was
owing to the constant state of excitement she
S52 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
was kept in by her extraordinary self-compla-
cency, and the mystifications of the dandies, who
made her believe all sorts of things. I have seen
her entranced by them, listening with undisguised
delight to exaggerated compliments, uttered only
to hoax her, by persons incapable of appreciating
her genius, and who doubted its existence from
the facility with which she received mystifications
which would have been detected in a moment by
the most commonplace woman in the room. It
is thus genius and talent are judged of," contin-
ued Byron, " by those who, having neither, are
incapable of understanding them ; and a punster
may glory in puzzling a genius of the first order,
by a play on words that was below his comprehen-
sion, though suited to that of the most ordinary
understandings. Madame de Stae'l had no tact ;
she would believe any thing, merely because she
did not take the trouble to examine, being too
much occupied with self; and often said the most
ma! a propos things, because she was thinking not
of the person she addressed, but of herself. She
had a party to dine with her one day in London,
when Sir James and Lady entered the
drawing-room, the lady dressed in a green gown,
with a shawl of the same verdant hue, and a
bright red turban. Madame de Stael marched
up to her in her eager manner, and exclaimed,
WITH LORD BYRON. 353
'Ah, mon Dieu, miladi ! comme vous re?semblez
a un perroquet!' The poor lady looked con-
founded ; the company tried, but in vain, to sup-
press the smiles the observation excited ; but all
felt that the making it betrayed a total want of
tact in the Corinne."
" Does the cant of sentiment still continue in
England 1 " asked Byron. < Childe Harold '
called it forth ; but my * Juan ' was well calcu-
lated to cast it into shade, and had that merit,
if it had no other ; but I must not refer to the
Don, as that, I remember, is a prohibited subject
between us. Nothing sickens me so completely,"
said Byron, " as women who affect sentiment in
conversation. A woman without sentiment is
not a woman; but I have observed, that those
who most display it in words have least of the
reality. Sentiment, like love and grief, should be
reserved for privacy; and when I hear women
affi.chant their sentimentality, I look upon it as an
allegorical mode of declaring their wish of find-
ing an object on whom they could bestow its
superfluity. I am of a jealous nature," said By-
ron., "and should wish to call slumbering sen-
timent into life in the woman I love, instead of
finding that I w 7 as chosen from its excess and
activity rendering a partner in the firm indispen-
sable. I should hate a woman," continued By-
23
354 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
ron, " who could laugh at or ridicule sentiment,
as I should, and do, women who have not relig-
ious feelings ; and much as I dislike bigotry, I
think it a thousand times more pardonable in a
woman than irreligion. There is something un-
feminine in the want of religion, that takes off
the peculiar charm of woman. It inculcates
mildness, forbearance, and charity those graces
that adorn them more than all others," continued
Byron, u and whose beneficent effects are felt, not
only on their minds and manners, but are visible
in their countenances, to which they give their
own sweet character. But when I say that I
admire religion in women," said Byron, " don't
fancy that I like sectarian ladies, distributors of
tracts, armed and ready for controversies, many
of whom only preach religion, but do not prac-
tise it. No ; I like to know that it is the guide
of woman's actions, the softener of her words,
the soother of her cares, and those of all dear to
her, who are comforted by her that it is, in short,
the animating principle, to which all else is re-
ferred. When I see women professing religion,
and violating its duties mothers turning from
erring daughters, instead of staying to reclaim
sisters deserting sisters, whom, in their hearts,
they know to be more pure than themselves
and wives abandoning husbands, on the ground
WITH LOED BYRON. 355
of faults that they should have wept over, and
redeemed by the force of love then it is," con-
tinued Byron, " that I exclaim against the cant
of false religion, and laugh at the credulity of
those who can reconcile such conduct with the
dictates of a creed that ordains forgiveness, and
commands that { if a man be overtaken in a fault,
ye which are spiritual restore such a one in the
spirit of meekness ; considering thyself, lest thou
also be tempted ; ' and that tells a wife, that ' if
she hath a husband that believeth not, and if he
be pleased to dwell with her, let her not leave
him. For the unbelieving husband is sanctified
by the wife,' &c. Now, people professing relig-
ion, either believe, or do not believe, such creeds,"
continued Byron. " If they believe, and act con-
trary to their belief, what avails their religion,
except to throw discredit on its followers, by
showing that they practise nat its tenets ? apd
if they inwardly disbelieve, as their conduct
would lead one to think, are they not guilty of
hypocrisy ? It is such incongruities between the
professions and conduct of those who affect to
be religious, that puts me out of patience," con-
tinued Byron, "and makes me wage war with
cant, and not. as many suppose, a disbelief or
want of faith in religion. I want to see it prac-
tised^ and to know, which is soon made known
356 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
by the conduct, that it dwells in the heart, in-
stead of being on the lips only of its votaries.
Let me not be told that the mother?, sisters,
and wives, who violate the duties such relation-
ships impose, are good and religious people ; let
it be admitted that a mother, sister, or wife,
who deserts, instead of trying to lead back, the
stray sheep to the flock, cannot be truly religious,
and I shall exclaim no more against hypocrisy
and cant, because they will no longer be danger-
ous. Poor Mrs. Sheppard tried more and did
more to reclaim me," continued Byron, " than
; but no ; as I have been preaching religion,
I shall practise one of its tenets, and be charita-
ble ; so I shall not finish the sentence."
It appears to me that Byron has reflected
much on religion, and that many, if not all,
the doubts and sarcasms he has expressed on it
are to be attributed only to his enmity against
its false worshippers. He is indignant at seeing
people professing it governed wholly by worldly
principles in their conduct ; and fancies that he
is serving the true cause, by exposing the votaries
that he thinks dishonor- it. He forgets that in
BO exposing and decrying them, he is breaking
through the commandments of charity he ad-
mires, and says ought to govern our actions
towards our erring brethren ; but that he reflects
WITH LORD BYRON. 357
deeply on the subject of religion and its duties,
is, I hope, a step gained in the right path, in
which, I trust, he will continue to advance ; and
which step I attribute, as does he, to the effect
the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard had on his mind,
and which, it is evident, has made a lasting im-
pression, by the frequency and seriousness with
which he refers to it.
" There are two blessings, of which people
never know the value until they have lost them,"
said Byron, " health and reputation. And not
only is their loss destructive to our own happi-
ness, but injurious to the peace and comfort of
our friends. Health seldom goes, without tem-
per accompanying it ; and, that fled, we become
a burden on the patience of those around us,
until dislike replaces pity and forbearance. Loss
of reputation entails still greater evils. In losing
caste, deservedly or otherwise," continued Byron,
u we become reckless and misanthropic ; we can-
not sympathize with those, from whom we are
separated by the barrier of public opinion, and
pride becomes ' the scorpion, girt by fire,' that
turns on our own breast the sting prepared for
our enemies. Shakspeare says, that < it is a bit-
ter thing to look into happiness through another
man's eyes ; ' and this must he do," said Byron,
<c who has lost his reputation. Nay, rendered
358 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
nervously sensitive by the falseness of his posi-
tion, he sees, or fancies he sees, scorn or avoid-
ance in the eyes of all he encounters ; and, as it
is well known that we are never so jealous of
the respect of others as when we have forfeited
our own, every mark of coldness or disrespect he
meets with arouses a host of angry feelings, that
prey upon his peace. Such a man is to be
feared," continued Byron ; " and yet how many
such have the world made ! how many errors
have not slander and calumny magnified into
crimes of the darkest die! and malevolence and
injustice having set the condemned seal on the
reputation of him who has been judged without
a trial, he is driven without the pale of society, a
sense of injustice rankling in his heart ; and if
his hand be not against each man, the hand, or
at least the tongue, of each man is against him.
The genius and powers of such a man," contin-
ued Byron, " act but as fresh incitements to the
unsated malice of his calumniators ; and the
fame they win is but as the flame that con-
sumes the funeral pile, whose blaze attracts at-
tention to the substance that feeds it. Medioc-
rity is to be desired, for those who lose caste,
because if it gains not pardon for errors, it sinks
them into oblivion. But genius," continued By-
ron, " reminds the enemies of its possessor of his
WITH LORD BYRON. 359
existence, and of their injustice, They are en-
raged that he, on whom they heaped obloquy,
can surmount it, and elevate himself on new
ground, where their malice cannot obstruct his
path."
It was impossible not to see that his own posi-
tion had led Byron to these reflections ; and on ob-
serving the changes in his expressive countenance
while uttering them, who could resist pitying
the morbid feelings which had given them birth?
The milk and honey that flowed in his breast has
been turned into gall by the bitterness with which
his errors have been assailed ; but even now, so
much of human kindness remains in his nature,
that I am persuaded the effusions of wounded
pride which embody themselves in the biting
satires that escape from him, are more productive
of pain to him who writes, than to those on
whom they are written. Knowing Byron as I
do, I could forgive the most cutting satire his pen
ever traced, because I know the bitter feelings and
violent reaction which led to it ; and that, in thus
avenging some real or imagined injury on indi-
viduals, he looks on them as a part of that great
whole, of which that world which he has waged
war with, and that he fancies has waged war with
him, is composed. He looks on himself lik^ a
soldier in action, who, without any individual re-
360 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
sentment, strikes at all within his reach, as com
ponent parts of the force to which he is opposed.
If this be indefensible, and all must admit that it
is so, let us be merciful even while we are con-
demning ; and let us remember what must have
been the heart-aches and corroding thoughts of a
mind so sensitive as Byron's, ere the last weapons
of despair were resorted to, and the fearful sally,
the forlorn hope attack, on the world's opinions,
made while many of those opinions had partisans
within his own breast, even while he stood in the
last breach of defeated hope, to oppose them.
The poison in which he has dipped the arrows
aimed at the world has long been preying on his
own life, and has been produced by the deleteri-
ous draughts administered by that world, and
which he has quaffed to the dregs, until it has
turned the once healthful current of his existence
into deadly venom, poisoning all the fine and gen-
erous qualities that adorned his nature. He feels
what he might have been, and what he is, and
detests the world that has marred his destiny.
But, as the passions lose their empire, he will
think differently : the veil which now obscures
his reason will pass away, like clouds dispelled
by the sun ; he will learn to distinguish much of
good, where he has hitherto seen only evil ; and
no longer braving the world, and, to enrage it,
WITH LOED BYKON. 361
assuming faults he has not, he will let the good
qualities he has make themselves known, and gain
that good-will and regard they were formed to
conciliate.
" I often, in imagination, pass over a long lapse
of years," said Byron, " and console myself for
present privations, in anticipating the time when
my daughter will know me by reading my works ;
for, though the hand of prejudice may conceal my
portrait from her eyes, it cannot hereafter conceal
my thoughts and feelings, which will talk to her
when he to whom they belonged has ceased to
exist. The triumph will then be mine ; and the
tears that my child will drop over expressions
wrung from me by mental agony the certainty
that she will enter into the sentiments whicli
dictated the various allusions to her and myself
in my works- consoles me in many a gloomy
hour. Ada's mother has feasted on the smiles of
her infancy and growth, but the tears of her ma-
turity shall be mine."
I thought it a good opportunity to represent to
Byron, that this thought alone? should operate to
prevent his ever writing a page which could bring
the blush of offended modesty to the cheek of his
daughter ; and that if he hoped to live in her
heart, unsullied by aught that could abate her
admiration, he ought never more to write a line
362 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
of " Don Juan." He remained silent for some
minutes, and then said, " You are right : I never
recollected this. I am jealously tenacious of the
undivided sympathy of my daughter ; and that
work, (' Don Juan,') written to beguile hours of
tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to
loosen my hold on her affection. I will write
no more of it would that I had never written a
line!"
There is something tender and beautiful in the
deep love with which poor Byron turns to his
poor daughter. This is his last resting-place, and
on her heart has he cast his last anchor of hope.
When one reflects that he looks not to consola-
tion from her during his life, as he believes her
mother implacable, and only hopes that, when
the grave has closed over him, his child will
cherish his memory, and weep over his misfor-
tunes, it is impossible not to sympathize with his
feelings. Poor Byron ! why is he not always
true to himself? Who can, like him, excite sym-
pathy, even when one knows him to be erring ?
But he shames one out of one's natural and
better feelings by his mockery of self. Alas !
His is a lofty spirit, turn'd aside
From its bright path by woes, and wrongs, and pride;
And onward in its new tumultuous course,
Borne with too rapid and intense a force
WITH LOED BYRON. 363
T: pause one moment in the dread career,
And ask if such could be its native sphere?
How unsatisfactory is it to find one's feelings
with regard to Byron's varying every day ! This
is because he is never two days the same. The
day after he has awakened the deepest interest,
his manner of scoffing at himself and others de-
stroys it, and one feels as if one had been duped
into a sympathy, only to be laughed at.
" I have been accused," said Byron, " of thinking
ill of women. This has proceeded from my sar-
castic observations on them in conversation, much
more than from what I have written. The fact
is, I always say whatever comes into my head,
and very often say things to provoke people to
whom I am talking. If I meet a romantic per-
son, with what I call a too exalted opinion of
women, I have a peculiar satisfaction in speaking
lightly of them ; not out of pique to your sex,
but to mortify their champion ; as I always con-
clude, that when a man overpraises women, he
does it to convey the impression of how much
they must have favored him, to have won such
gratitude towards them ; whereas there is such
an abnegation of vanity in a poor devil's decrying
women it is such a proof positive that they
never distinguished him that I can overlook it.
People take for gospel all I say, and go away
364 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
continually with false impressions. Mais n'im-
porte ! it will render the statements of my future
biographers more amusing ; as I flatter myself I
shall have more than one. Indeed, the more the
merrier, say I. One will represent me as a sort
of sublime misanthrope, with moments of kind
feeling. This, par example, is rny favorite role.
Another will portray me as a modern Don Juan ;
and a third (as it would be hard if a votary of the
Muses had less than the number of the Graces for
his biographers) will, it is to be hoped, if only for
opposition sake, represent me as an amiable, ill-
used gentleman, ' more sinned against than sin-
ning.' Now, if I know myself, I should say, that
I have no character at all. By the by, this is
what has long been said, as I lost mine, -as an
Irishman w r ould say, before I had it ; that is to
say, my reputation was gone according to the
good-natured English, before I had arrived at
years of discretion, which is the period one is
supposed to have found one. But, joking apart,
what I think of myself is, that I am so change-
able, being every thing by turns and nothing long
I am such a strange melange of good and evil,
that it would be difficult to describe me. There
are but two sentiments to which I am constant
a strong love of liberty, and a detestation of cant,
and neither is calculated to gain me friends. I
WITH LORD BYKOSl. . 355
am of a wayward, uncertain disposition, more dis-
posed to display the defects than the redeeming
points in my nature ; this, at least proves that I
understand mankind, for they are always ready
to believe the evil, but not the good ; and there is
no crime of which I could accuse myself, for
which they would not give me implicit credit.
What do you think of me ? " asked he, looking
seriously in my face.
I replied, " I look on you as a spoilt child of
genius, an epicycle in your own circle." At
which he laughed, though half disposed to be
angry.
" I have made as many sacrifices to liberty,"
continued Byron, " as most people of my age ;
and the one I am about to undertake is not the
least, though, probably, it will be the last; for,
with my broken health, and the chances of war,
Greece will most likely terminate my mortal
career. I like Italy, its climate, its customs, and,
above all, its freedom from cant of every kind,
which is the primum mobile of England : there-
fore it is no slight sacrifice of comfort to give up
the tranquil life I lead here, and break through
the ties I have formed, to engage in a cause, for
the successful result of which I have no very
sanguine hopes. You will think me more super-
stitious than ever," said Byron, " when I tell you.
366 JOUKNAL OF CONVEKSATIONS
that I have a presentiment that I shall die in
Greece. I hope it may be in action, for that
would be a good finish to a very triste existence,
and I have a horror to death-bed scenes ; but as I
have not been famous for my luck in life, most
probably I shall not have more in the manner
of my death, and that I may draw my last sigh,
not on the field of glory, but on the bed of dis-
ease. I very nearly died when I was in Greece
in my youth ; perhaps as things have turned out,
it would have been well if I had : I should have
lost nothing, and the world very little, and I
would have escaped many cares, for God knows
I have had enough of one kind or another : but I
am getting gloomy, and looking either back or
forward is not calculated to enliven me. One of
the reasons why I quiz my friends in conversa-
tion is, that it keeps me from thinking of myself:
you laugh, but it is true."
Byron had so unquenchable a thirst for celeb-
rity, that no means were left untried tha.t might
attain it : this frequently led to his expressing
opinions totally at variance with his actions and
real sentiments, and vice versa, and made him
appear quite inconsistent and puerile. There was
no sort of celebrity that he did not, at some
period or other, condescend to seek, and he was
not over nice in the means, provided he obtained
WITH LORD BYRON. 367
the end. This weakness it was that led him to
accord his society to many persons whom he
thought unworthy the distinction, fancying that
he might find a greater facility in astonishing
them, which he had a childish propensity to do,
than with those who were more on an equality
with him. When I say persons that he thought
unworthy of his society, I refer only to their sta-
tions in life, and not to their merits, as the first
was the criterion by which Byron was most prone
to judge them, never being able to conquer the
overweening prejudices in favor of aristocracy
that subjugated him. He expected a deferential
submission to his opinions from those whom he
thought he honored by admitting to his society;
and if they did not seem duly impressed with a
sense of his condescension, as well as astonished
at the versatility of his powers and accomplish-
ments, he showed his dissatisfaction by assuming
an air of superiority, and by opposing their opin-
ions in a dictatorial tone, as if from his fiat there
was no appeal. If, on the contrary, they appeared
willing to admit his superiority in all respects, he
was kind, playful and good-humored, and only
showed his own sense of it by familiar jokes,
and attempts at hoaxing, to which he was greatly
addicted.
An extraordinary peculiarity in Byron was his
368 JOURNAL OF CONVEESATIONS
constant habit of disclaiming friendships, a habit
that must have been rather humiliating to those
who prided themselves on being considered his
friends. He invariably, in conversing about the
persons supposed to stand in that relation to him,
drew a line of demarcation ; and Lord Clare, with
Mr. Hobhouse and Moore, were the only persons
he allowed to be within its pale. Long acquaint-
ance, habitual correspondence, and reciprocity of
kind actions, which are the general bonds of
friendship, were not admitted by Byron to be
sufficient claims to the title of friend ; and he
seized with avidity every opportunity of denying
this relation with persons for whom, I am per-
suaded, he felt the sentiment, and to whom he
would not have hesitated to have given all proof
but the name, yet who, wanting this, could not
consistently with delicacy receive aught else.
This habit of disclaiming friendships was very
injudicious in Byron, as it must have wounded
the amour propre of those who liked him, and
humiliated the pride and delicacy of all whom he
had ever laid under obligations, as well as freed
from a sense of what was due to friendship, those
who restrained by the acknowledgment of that
tie, might have proved themselves his zealous
defenders and advocates. It was his aristocratic
pride that prompted this ungracious conduct, and
WITH LORD BYRON. 359
I remember telling him, apropos to his denying
friendships, that all the persons with whom he
disclaimed them, must have less vanity, and more
kindness of nature, than fall to the lot of most
people, if they did not renounce the sentiment,
which he disdained to acknowledge, and give
him proofs that it no longer operated on them.
His own morbid sensitiveness did not incline him
to be more merciful to that of others ; it seemed,
on the contrary, to render him less so, as if every
feeling was concentrated in self alone, and yet
this egoist was capable of acts of generosity,
kindness, and pity for the unfortunate: but he
appeared to think, that the physical ills of others
were those alone which he was called on to sym-
pathize with ; their moral ailments he entered
not into, as he considered his own to be too
elevated to admit of any reciprocity with those
of others. The immeasurable difference between
his genius and that of all others he encountered
had given him a false estimate of their feelings
and characters ; they could not, like him, embody
their feelings in language that found an echo in
every breast, and hence he concluded they have
neither the depth nor refinement of his. He for-
got that this very power of sending forth his
thoughts disburthened him of much of their bit-
terness, while others, wanting it, felt but the more
24
370 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
poignantly what is unshared and unexpressed. I
have told Byron that he added ingratitude to his
other faults, by scoffing at, and despising his
countrymen, who have shared all his griefs, and
enjoyed all his biting pleasantries; he has sound-
ed the diapason of his own feelings, and found the
concord in theirs, which proves a sympathy he
cannot deny, and ought not to mock : he says,
that he values not their applauses or sympathy ;
that he who describes passions and crimes, touches
chords, which vibrate in every breast; not that
either pity or interest is felt for him who submits
to this moral anatomy, but that each discovers
the symptoms of his own malady and feels and
thinks only of self, while analyzing the griefs or
pleasures ,of another.
When Byron had been one day repeating to
me some epigrams and lampoons, in which many
of his friends were treated with great severity, I
observed that, in case he died, and that these
proofs of friendship came before the public, what
would be the feelings of those so severely dealt
by, and who previously had indulged the agree-
able illusion of being high in his good graces !
" That," said Byron, " is precisely one of the
ideas which most amuses me. I often fancy the
rage and humiliation of my quondam friends at
hearing the truth (at least from me) for the first
WITH LORD BYRON. 371
time, and when I am beyond the reach of their
malice. Each individual will enjoy the sarcasms
against his friends, but that will not console him
for those against himself. Knowing the affec-
tionate dispositions of my soi-disant friends, and
the mortal chagrin my death would occasion them,
I have written my thoughts of each, purely as a
consolation for them in case they survive me.
Surely this is philanthropic, for a more effectual
means of destroying all regret for the dead could
hardly be found than discovering, after their de-
cease, memorials in which the surviving friends
were treated with more sincerity than flattery.
What grief," continued Byron, laughing while he
spoke, "could resist the charges of ugliness, dul-
ness, or any of the thousand nameless defects,
personal or mental, to which flesh is heir, coming
from one ostentatiously loved, lamented, and de-
parted, and when reprisals or recantations are
impossible ! Tears would soon be dried, lamen-
tations and eulogiums changed to reproaches, and
many faults would be discovered in the dear de-
parted that had previously escaped detection. If
half the observations," said Byron, " which friends
make on each other were written down instead of
being said, how few would remain on terms of
friendship! People are in such daily 'habits of
commenting on the defects of friend-, that they
372 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
are unconscious of the unkindness of it ; which
only comes home to their business and bosoms
when they discover that they have been so treated,
which proves that self is the only medium for
feeling or judging of, or for, others. Now I write
down, as well as speak, my sentiments of those
who believe that they have gulled me; and I only
wish (in case I die before them) that I could re-
turn to witness the effect my posthumous opin-
ions of them are likely to produce on their minds.
What good fun this would be ! Is it not disin-
terested in me to lay up this source of consola-
tion for my friends, whose grief for my loss might
otherwise be too acute ? You don't seem to value
it as you ought," continued Byron, with one of
his sardonic smiles, seeing that I looked, as I
really felt, surprised to his avowed insincerity.
(< I feel the same pleasure in anticipating the rage
and mortification of my soi-disant friends, at the
discovery of my real sentiments of them, that a
miser may be supposed to feel while making a
will that is to disappoint all the expectants who
have been toadying him for years. Then only
think how amusing it will be, to compare my
posthumous with my previously given opinions,
one throwing ridicule on the other. This will be
delicious," said he, rubbing his hands, " and the
very anticipation of it charms me. Now this, by
WITH LORD BYRON. 373
your grave face, you are disposed to call very
wicked, nay, more, very mean; but wicked or
mean, or both united, it is human nature, or at
least my nature."
Should various poems of Byron that I have
seen ever meet the public eye, and this is by no
means unlikely, they will furnish a better criterion
for judging his real sentiments than all the notices
of him that have yet appeared.
Each day that brought Byron nearer to the pe-
riod fixed on for his departure for Greece seemed
to render him still more reluctant to undertake it.
He frequently expressed a wish to return to Eng-
land, if only for a few weeks, before he embarked,
and yet had not firmness of purpose sufficient to
carry his wishes into effect. There was a help-
lessness about Byron, a sort of abandonment of
himself to his destiny, as he called it, that com-
monplace people can as little pity as understand.
His purposes in visiting England, previous to
Greece, were vague and undefined, even to him-
self; but from various observations that he let fall,
I imagined that he hoped to establish something
like an amicable understanding, or correspondence,
with Lady Byron, and to see his child, which last
desire had become a fixed one in his mind. He
$o often turned with a yearning heart to his wish
of going to England before Greece, that we asked
374 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
him why, being a free agent, he did not go. The
question seemed to embarrass him. He stam-
mered, blushed, and said,
" Why, true, there is no reason why I should
not go ; but yet I want resolution to encounter
all the disagreeable circumstances which might,
and most probably would, greet my arrival in
England. The host of foes that now slumber,
because they believe me out of their reach, and
that their stings cannot touch me, would soon
awake with renewed energies to assail and blacken
me. The press, that powerful engine of a licen-
tious age, (an engine known only in civilized
England as an invader of the privacy of domes-
tic life,) would pour forth all its venom against
me, ridiculing my person, misinterpreting my mo-
tives, and misrepresenting my actions. I can
mock at all these attacks when the sea divides me
from them, but on the spot, and reading the effect
of each libel in the alarmed faces of my selfishly-
sensitive friends, whose common attentions, under
such circumstances, seem to demand gratitude for
the personal risk of abuse incurred by a contact
with the attacked delinquent No, this I could
not stand, because I once endured it, and never
have forgotten what I felt" under the infliction. 1
wish to see Lady Byron and my child, because I
firmly believe I shah 1 never return from Greece^
WITH LORD BYRON. 375
and that I anxiously desire to forgive and be for-
given, by the former, and to embrace Ada. It is
more than probable," continued Byron, " that the
same amiable consistency to call it by no harsher
name which has hitherto influenced Lady B.'s
adherence to the line she has adopted, of refusing
all explanation, or attempt at reconciliation, would
still operate on her conduct. My letters would be
returned unopened, my daughter would be pre-
vented from seeing me, and any step, I might,
from affection, be forced to take to assert my right
of seeing her once more before I left England,
would be misrepresented as an act of the most
barbarous tyranny and presecution towards the
mother and child; and I should be driven again
from the British shore, more vilified, and with
even greater ignominy, than on the separation.
Such is my idea of the justice of public opinion
in England," continued Byron, " and, with such
woful experience as I have had, can you wonder
that I dare not encounter the annoyances I have
detailed? But if I live, and return from Greece
with something better and higher than the reputa-
tion or glory of a poet, opinions 'may change, as
the successful are always judged favorably of in
our country; my laurels may cover my faults
better than the bays have done, and give a to-
tally different reading to my thoughts, words, and
deeds."
376 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
With such various forms of pleasing as rarely
fall to the lot of man, Byron possessed the coun-
terbalance to an extraordinary degree, as he could
disenchant his admirers almost as quickly as he
had won their admiration. He was too observant
not to discover, at a glance, the falling off in the
admiration of those around him, and resented as
an injury the decrease in their esteem, which a
little consideration for their feelings, and some
restraint in the expression of his own, would have
prevented. Sensitive, jealous, and exigent him-
self, he had no sympathy or forbearance for those
weaknesses in others. He claimed admiration
not only for his genius, but for his defects, as a
sort of right that appertained solely to him. He
was conscious of his foiblesse, but wanted either
the power or inclination to correct it, and was
deeply offended if others appeared to have made
the discovery.
There was a sort of mental reservation in
Byron's intercourse with those with whom he
was on habits of intimacy that he had not tact
enough to conceal, and which was more offensive
when the natural flippancy of his manner was
taken into consideration. His incontinence of
speech on subjects of a personal nature, and with
regard to the defects of friends, rendered this
display of reserve on other points still more offen-
WITH LORD BYRON. 377
eive ; as, after having disclosed secrets which
..eft him, and some of those whom he professed
to like, at the mercy of the discretion of the
person confided in, he would absolve him from
the best motive for secrecy that of implied con-
fidence by disclaiming any sentiment of friend-
ship for those so trusted. It was as though he
said, I think aloud, and you hear my thoughts ;
but I have no feeling of friendship towards you,
though you might imagine I have from the con-
fidence I repose in you. Do not deceive yourself;
few, if any, are worthy of my friendship ; and
only one or two possess even a portion of it. I
think not of you but as the first recipient for the
disclosures that I have le besoin to make, and as
an admirer whom I can make administer to my
vanity, by exciting in turn sur.pri.se, wonder, and
admiration; but J can have no sympathy with
you.
Byron, in all his intercourse with acquaintances,
proved that he wanted the simplicity and good
faith of uncivilized life, without having acquired
the tact and fine perception that throws a veil
over the artificial coldness and selfishness of re-
fined civilization, which must be concealed to be
rendered endurable. To keep alive sympathy,
there must be a reciprocity of feelings ; and this
Byron did not, or would not, understand. It was
378 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
the want of this, or rather the studied display of
the want, that deprived him of the affection thai
would otherwise have been unreservedly accorded
to him, and which he had so many qualities cal-
culated to call forth. Those who have known
Byron only in the turmoil and feverish excitation
of a London life, may not have had time or
opportunity to be struck with this defalcation in
his nature ; or, if they observed it, might natur-
ally attribute it to the artificial state of society in
London, which more or less affects all its mem-
bers ; but when he was seen in the isolation of
a foreign land, with few acquaintances, and fewer
friends, to make demands either on his time or
his sympathy, this extreme egoism became strik-
ingly visible, and repelled the affection that must
otherwise have replaced the admiration to which
he never failed to give birth.
Byron had thought long an'd profoundly on
man and his vices natural and acquired he
generalized and condemned en masse, in theory ;
while, in practice, he was ready to allow the ex-
ceptions to his general rule. He had commenced
his travels ere yet age or experience had rendered
him capable of forming a just estimate of thj
civilized world he had left, or the uncivilized one
he was exploring ; hence he saw both through a
false medium, and observed not that their advan-
WITH LORD BYRON. 379
tages and disadvantages were counterbalanced.
Byron wished for that Utopian state of perfection
which experience teaches us it is impossible to
attain the simplicity and good faith of savage
life, with the refinement and intelligence of civil-
ization. Naturally of a melancholy temperament,
his travels in Greece were eminently calculated to
give a still more sombre tint to his mind, and trac-
ing at each step the marks of degradation which
had followed a state of civilization still more lux-
urious than that he had left; and surrounded with
the fragments of arts that we can but imperfectly
copy, and ruins whose original beauty we can
never hope to emulate, he grew into a contempt
of the actual state of things, and lived but in
dreams of the past, or aspirations of the future.
This state of mind, as unnatural as it is uncom-
mon in a young man, destroyed the bonds of
sympathy between him and those of his own age,
without creating any with those of a more ad-
vanced. With the young he could not^ sympa-
thize, because they felt not like him ; and with
the old, because that, though their reasonings and
reflections arrived at the same conclusions, they
had not journeyed by the same road. They had
travelled by the beaten one of experience, but he
had abridged the road, having been hurried over
it by the passions which were still unexhausted
380 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS
and ready to go in search of new discoveries.
The wisdom thus prematurely acquired by Byron
being the forced fruit of circumstances and travail
acting on an excitable mind, instead of being the
natural production ripened by time, was, like aL
precocious advantages, of comparatively little
utility ; it influenced his words more than his
deeds, and wanted that patience and forbearance
towards the transgressions of others that is best
acquired by having suffered from and repented
our own.
It would be a curious speculation to reflect how
far the mind of Byron might have been differently
operated on, had he, instead of going to Greece
in his early youth, spent the same period beneath
the genial climate and surrounded by the luxuries
of Italy. We should then, most probably, have
had a "Don Juan" of a less reprehensible char-
acter, and more excusable from the youth of its
author, followed in natural succession, by aton-
ing works produced by the autumnal sun of ma-
turity, and the mellowing touches of experience
instead of his turning from the more elevated tone
of " Childe Harold " to Don Juan." Each year,
had life been spared him, would have corrected
the false wisdom that had been the bane of Byron.,
and which, like the fruit so eloquently described
by himself as growing on the banks of the Dead
WITH LOKD BYRON. 38]
Sea, that was lovely to the eye, but turned to
ashes when tasted, was productive only of disap-
pointment to him, because he mistook it for the
real fruit its appearance resembled, and found only
bitterness in its taste.
There was that in Byron which would have yet
nobly redeemed the errors of his youth, and the
misuse of his genius, had length of years been
granted him ; and, while lamenting his premature
death, our regret is rendered the more poignant
by the reflection, that we are deprived of works
which, tempered by an understanding arrived at
its meridian, would have had all the genius, with-
out the immorality of his more youthful produc-
tions, which, notwithstanding their defects, have
formed an epoch in the literature of his country.
THE END.
a>
PR HLessington, Marguerite
4381 (Power) Fanner Gardiner
B5 A journal of conversations
1800 with Lord Byron 3rd ed.
PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE
CARDS OR SLIPS FROM THIS POCKET
UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO LIBRARY
