presented
to
She Xibrarp
of
lHni\>ersit College
professor Hlfreo JSafter
WITH THE
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
'
,
V
LORD BYRON.
From a Sketch made by Count D'Orsay in 1823.
LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY 4 SON, 1893.
A J OU RN AL
OF THE
CONVERSATIONS OF LORD BYRON
WITH THE
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
A NEW EDITION, REVISED, AND ANNOTATED
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF LADY BLKSSINGTON,
BY HER SISTER, AND A MEMOIR OF HER
BY THE EDITOR OF THIS EDITION
WITH SEVERAL PORTRAITS ENGRAVED ON STEEL
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET
publishers in Oriinavg to gijer ^ttajcsts the
1*
JAN 2 7 law)
t\& o, //
FTO$S
1044439
CONTENTS
PAGE
CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON,
BY HER SISTER - - xiii
MEMOIR BY THE EDITOR OF THE PRESENT EDITION - xxix
CHAPTER 1.
First meeting of Lady Blessington and Lord Byron Personal
appearance of Lord Byron His lameness The Casa
Saluzzi at Albaro Mutual friends Tom Moore Ellice
" Lalla Rookh " " When first I met thee "Irish wit
At Genoa Lord Holland Rogers Lady Holland
and the Edinburgh Review Galignani's Messenger The
Hon. William Hill Selfishness and generosity The
" Improving Society " Douglas Kinnaird Horse-
dealing The expedition to Greece Lady Byron The
Hon. Augusta Byron Byron's conversation - 1-20
CHAPTER II.
Colonel Montgomery Letter from Byron to Lady Blessing-
ton Lady Byron's portrait Byron's wishes regarding
his daughter Literary women Madame de Stael Her
brilliant conversation A solecism Epigrams Literary
reputation Napoleon His " persecution " of Madame
de Stael " Corinne " A lecture on morals Byron's
CONTENTS
misjudgment of himself His love of gossip Madame
Benzoni The Duke of Leeds Byron's superstitious
nature Shelley's belief in ghosts Byron's indifference
to works of art His suspicion " Sacred should the
stream of sorrow flow " - - 21-41
CHAPTER III.
Daily rides Clever people great talkers The fatigue of
literary occupation A lady's album Moore and the
critic Fashionable life in London as it appeared to
Byron English country life Les dames a la mode
English and French idiosyncrasies The village of Nervi
Byron on horseback Peculiarities of his riding-
costume and his horse's caparison Byron's horror of
necrologists Friendless poets Byron as literary critic
Sir Walter Scott, author and man Byron's apprecia-
tion of his works'* Cervantes surpassed by Scott Byron
at his best His acute observation Italian moonlight
Genoese sailors " God save the King " in a foreign land
The Stoic philosopher The Countess Guiccioli The
Counts Gamba "Don Juan" Hope's "Anastasius"
Gait's novels and Wilkie's pictures The genius of
Mrs. Hemans Byron's dislike for the Lake school of
poets Keats - - 42-65
CHAPTER IV.
On the balcony Shelley Byron's eulogy on him Mary
Wollstonecraft Shelley Leigh Hunt A journalistic
venture, " The Liberal " Absent friends Hobhouse
Lines written on hearing of Lady Byron's illness-
Byron's will Sir Francis Burdett An impartial friend
The pride of aristocracy "George Rose to George
Byron " Ravenna Count Vittorio Alfieri Mistaken
identity Anonymous letters A stranger's prayer
"The beauty of holiness" Lady Cowper Lady
Adelaide Forbes ....-- - 66-94
CONTENTS
CHAPTER V.
PAGE
A chameleon Difficulty in describing Byron John Kemble
A gazing multitude Byron's fondness for flowers
His candour A parody Luttrell His "Advice to
Julia " What Moore was meant for The evanescence
of genius Byron's dread of ridicule Inherited bad
temper " The Deformed Transformed" Reminiscence
Byron's sensitiveness regarding his lameness His
desultory reading Count Pietro Gamba "The Age
of Bronze" An anonymous author Byron's love of
mystification - 95-114
CHAPTER VI.
Napoleon His lack of sympathy The brothers Smith
The " Rejected Addresses " " Cui Bono ?" Byron's
marvellous memory His love of solitude An enormous
inkstand A giant shaving himself The sublime and
the ridiculous A hoax The mad Earl of Portsmouth
Cant in America The American navy John Wilson
Croker Bryan Waller Procter ("Barry Cornwall")
Byron on marriage Benjamin Constant An antidote
to Madame de Stael's " Corinne " The advantages of
blindness and the inutility of beauty - 115-142
\
CHAPTER VII.
Byron's friends Sir John Hobhouse William Bankes
Joseph Jekyll "The Tears of the Cruets" John
Philpot Curran An inimitable mimic An ode to
memory Definitions of memory One more cardinal
virtue "The Pleasures of Fear" Dreams English
and Italian characteristics Byron as comic writer
Pietro Gamba John William Ward, Lord Dudley
Sheridan William Arden, second Lord Alvanley and
successor to Beau Brummel - - 143-177
viii CONTENTS
CHAPTER VIII.
PAGE
Byron's habit of ridicule His admiration of Napoleon
Metternich on Napoleon Why the Viennese speak
better French than do the English A very good reason
Why Don Juan turned Methodist What the world
says A week at Lady Jersey's Lord John Russell's
essays on London society Hallam's " Middle Ages "
The golden rule Douglas Kinnaird Cremation
versus burial Hypochondriasm, bodily and mental
Lord Erskine The " And- Jacobin " The best
cosmetic William Spencer, the "Poet of Society"
No parody A galaxy of "stars" Decent mediocrity
Canning The weight of riches An honest poor
man - - 178-205
CHAPTER IX.
Sir Walter Scott His thrice-read novels Byron's memory
Madame du Deffand Richardson's novels A letter
to Voltaire A lasting friendship Extremes meet
Stoicism Righteous indignation Sir William Drum-
mond His " Academical questions " An admirable
preface Robert Walpole Francis Horner Transla-
tions Pope's " Homer " George Colman the younger
Byron's monody on Sheridan, and Moore's lines
Byron on the Irish - 206-223
CHAPTER X.
Byron as a man A difficult task Byron's versatility A .
false beau ideal Lord Blessington John Gait, a
prolific author The "Entail" Shipmates The milk
of human kindness Shelley's amiability A " thorough-
paced manceuvrer" The beauty of age A donna of
forty-six A landscape by Claude Lorraine " Sentiment
centred in wrinkles" Moore "speaking roses "His
CONTENTS
PAGE
songs sung by himself- Byron's autobiography Greek
epigrams Rogers's epigram on Ward Byron's parsi-
mony His want of good taste " Crede Byron " - 224-242
CHAPTER XI.
Lords Holland and Erskine Walter Savage Landor
Byron's mode of wreaking vengeance La Marquise
du Deffand The Lake School Ladies' poetry
Voltaire on authors An interesting folio Society
versus law "A fellow-feeling makes them wondrous
kind" Buxom health and lanky languor Ladies
a la Rubens "Mens sana in corpore sano " The price
of fame The best legacy A French proverb " Love
is only curiosity " Count d'Orsay's journal The secret
of English ennui Slaves of fashion Creatures of cir-
cumstance Lady Melbourne Women's hearts - 243-273
CHAPTER XII.
Retrograde Greece The less of two evils The system of
Serventism -The advantages of morals and religion
Education's effects The consolation of avarice Byron's
expedition to Greece Sir Walter Scott and his sincerity
Tete-a-tete suppers The organ of locomotiveness
Securing a tete-a-tete Food for a week An equivocal
compliment Byron's love of mischief His plagiarism
A triumphant refutation - - 274-296
CHAPTER XIII.
The liberty of thought and speech The king of prosers
Bores The Irishwoman's fortune Un chantre d'enfer
A fanciful simile M. de Lamartine His ode to
Byron His " Meditations " The one disadvantage of
solitude The rock which wrecked Napoleon Byron
compares himself to a tiger Diderot How to write of
women -Byron's mother and sister : their influence on
CONTENTS
him Thomas Campbell" The Pleasures of Hope "-
To know "by heart" "The Pleasures of Memory"
Loving-cups for the poets An excuse for Shakespeare
Pope Byron's elocution - - 297-324
CHAPTER XIV.
The Duke of Wellington " Les Essais de Montaigne"
An amusing idea Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy "
A severe criticism An excuse for the plagiarist
How to be original Dr. Richardson's "Travels along
the Mediterranean " Two opinions Medical men
In a cider cellar Tom Cribb, the champion pugilist-
Madame de Stael Sir James and Lady Mackintosh
" Comme vous ressemblez un perroquet " Religious
women The cant of false religion Ada Lady Lovelace
Her father's portrait Byron's presentiment of death
in Greece John Fitzgibbon, second Earl of Clare, a
schoolfellow of Byron, and the Lycus in "Childish
Recollections" Byron's three friends His wish to
visit England before going to Greece His mental
reservation in intimate intercourse What might have
been A literary epoch - 325-369
INDEX - - 37'37 6
LIST OF PORTRAITS
LORD BYRON, FROM A SKETCH MADE IN 1823 BY COUNT
I/ORSAY - Frontispiece.
LORD BYRON, ENGRAVED BY T. A. DEAN FROM THE PAINTING
BY W. B. WEST to face page \
THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI - ,, ,, 60
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 176
GEORGE CANNING - ,, 204
GEORGE COLMAN, THE YOUNGER - 216
M. DE LAMARTINE- 304
ADA, COUNTESS OF LOVELACE 348
NOTE
THE sketch commencing on the opposite page was not pre-
fixed to the edition which has already appeared of this book
(viz., in 1834). The one which follows is prepared especially
for this issue.
A
CONTEMPORARY SKETCH
OF
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
MARGUERITE BLESSINGTON was the third child and
second daughter of Edmund Power, Esq., of Knockbrit,
near Clonmel, in the County of Tipperary, and was born
on the ist of September, 1789. Her father, who was
then a country gentleman, occupied with field sports and
agricultural pursuits, was the only son of Michael Power,
Esq., of Curragheen, and descended from an ancient
family in the County of Waterford. Her mother also
belonged to a very old Roman Catholic family, a fact of
which she was not a little proud, and her genealogical
tree was preserved with a religious veneration and studied
until all its branches were as familiar as the names of
her children. " My ancestors, the Desmonds," were her
household gods, and their deeds and prowess her
favourite theme.
The rest of the family consisted of a son, Michael ;
Anne and Edmund, who both died early; Ellen, who
married, first, Mr. Home Purves, brother of Sir Alexander
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
Home Purves, a Scotch baronet of ancient descent and
large fortune, and secondly, the Viscount Canterbury,
then Speaker of the House of Commons ; Robert, after-
wards Surveyor-General of Van Diemen's Land ; and
Marianne, married to the Baron de St. Marsault.
Beauty, the heritage of the family, was, in her early
youth, denied to Marguerite ; her elder brother and sister,
Michael and Anne, as well as Ellen and Robert, were
singularly handsome and healthy children, while she,
pale, weakly, and ailing, was for years regarded as little
likely ever to grow to womanhood ; the precocity of her
intellect, the keenness of her perceptions, and her extreme
sensitiveness, all of which are so often regarded, more
especially among the Irish, a people peculiarly impres-
sionable and superstitious, as the precursive symptoms of
an early death, confirmed this belief, and the poor, pale,
reflective child was long looked upon as doomed to a
premature grave.
The atmosphere in which she lived was but little con-
genial to such a nature. Her father, a man of violent
temper, and little given to study the characters of his
children, intimidated and shook the delicate nerves of the
sickly child, though there were moments rare ones, it is
true when the sparkles of her early genius for an instant
dazzled and gratified him. Her mother, though she
failed not to bestow the tenderest maternal care on the
health of the little sufferer, was not capable of apprecia-
ting her fine and subtle qualities, and her brothers and
sisters, fond as they were of her, were not, in their high
health and boisterous gaiety, companions suited to such
a child.
During her earliest years, therefore, she lived in a world
of dreams and fancies, sufficient, at first, to satisfy her
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
infant mind, but soon all too vague and incomplete to
fill the blank within. Perpetual speculations, restless
inquiries, to which she could find no satisfactory solutions,
continually occupied her dawning intellect ; and, until at
last accident happily threw in her way someone capable
of comprehending the workings of the infant spirit, it was
at once a torment and a blessing to her.
This person, a Miss Anne Dwyer, a visitor and friend
of her mother's, was herself possessed of talents and
information far above the standard of women in those
days and in those situations, where a considerable portion
of natural and uncultivated cleverness, an inexhaustible
fund of vivacity and repartee, with a very small sprinkling
of education and accomplishments, " two washing gowns
and a tune on the piano," generally formed the whole
dower of an Irish country girl, even when belonging to
some of the oldest and most respectable families.
Miss Dwyer was surprised and soon interested by the
reflective air and strange questions, which had excited
only ridicule among those who had hitherto been around
the child. The development of this fine organization,
and the aiding it to comprehend what had so long been a
sealed book, formed a study fraught with pleasure to her ;
and, while Marguerite was yet an infant, this worthy
woman began to undertake the task of her education.
She commenced by encouraging her freely to communi-
cate all her ideas, thoughts, and speculations, and by
answering her questions as clearly and satisfactorily as
she was able. The child, enchanted at being at length
understood and instructed, eagerly demanded where her
preceptress had found what appeared to her an inex-
haustible fund of knowledge. " From books," was the
reply ; and from that moment books seemed to her the
xvi A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
most precious of all treasures. She learned to read with
a rapidity and facility that astonished as much as they
delighted her instructress : and, once possessed of this
source of entertainment, she became independent of all
other amusement.
Even at this early age, the powers of her imagination
had already begun to develop themselves. She would
entertain her brothers and sisters for hours with tales
invented as she proceeded, and at last so remarkable did
this talent become, that her parents, astonished at the
interest and coherence of her narrations, constantly
called upon her to improvise for the entertainment of their
friends and neighbours, a task always easy to her fertile
brain ; and in a short time the neglected child became
the wonder of the neighbourhood. Her health at length
began to improve ; and, though still cited as the plainest
of the family, there were to be found a few who ventured
to predict that she would one day do it no discredit.
The increasing ages of their children, and the difficulty
of obtaining the means of instruction for them at Knock-
brit, induced Mr. and Mrs. Power to put into practice a
design long formed of removing to Clonmel, the county
town of Tipperary. This change, which was looked upon
by her brothers and sisters as a source of infinite satis-
faction, was to Marguerite one of almost unmingled
regret. To leave the place of her birth, the scenes which
her passionate love of Nature had so deeply endeared to
her, was one of the severest trials she had ever ex-
perienced, and was looked forward to with sorrow and
dread. At last, the day arrived when she was to leave
the home of her childhood, and sad and lonely she stole
forth to the garden to bid farewell to each beloved spot.
Gathering a handful of flowers, as relics to keep in
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
memory of the place, she, fearing the ridicule of the other
members of the family, carefully concealed them in her
pocket ; and, with many tears and bitter regrets, was at
last driven from Knockbrit, where, as it seemed to her,
she left all of happiness behind her.
Arrived at their destination, the many friends with
whom her parents were acquainted at Clonmel eagerly
flocked around them. Loud and long were the praises
bestowed on the beauty and animation of the children,
with the exception of Marguerite, who, pale, sad, and
retiring, showed to even less advantage than usual ; and
she would have remained wholly unnoticed, had not the
projection of that homely article of dress, her pocket,
unfortunately attracted the attention of the lady at whose
house the first evening was passed. " What have you
got in your pocket, my dear?" she inquired of the child,
who, blushing with painful confusion, dared not reply to
the question. Her mother beckoned to her, and, thrust-
ing her hand into the repository of treasures, drew forth
from its recesses the withered flowers, so carefully placed
there in the morning. Shame, embarrassment, and grief,
all struggled in the breast of the child as the beloved
relics were brought to light, and contemptuously flung
from the window ; and, after a hard but unsuccessful
effort to restrain her tears, she burst into a fit of weeping,
which drew down accusations of folly and ill-temper,
at the idea that a girl of her age should amuse herself
by filling her pocket with withered flowers, and then cry
because they were taken from her !
At Clonmel, the improving health of Marguerite, and
the society of children of her own age, gradually pro-
duced their effect on her spirits ; and, though her love of
reading and study continued rather to increase than
b
abate, she became more able to join in the amuse-
ments of her brothers and sisters, who, delighted at the
change, gladly welcomed her into their society, and
manifested the affection which hitherto they had little
opportunity of displaying.
But soon it seemed as if the violent grief she had
experienced at quitting the place of her birth was
prophetic of the misfortunes which, one by one, followed
the removal to Clonmel.
Her father, with the recklessness too often displayed
by his countrymen, commenced a system of give-and-take
hospitality, which his means, though amply sufficient to
supply necessary expenses, were wholly inadequate to
support.
He then embarked in a speculation in which were
engaged the heads of some of the most respectable
families of Clonmel and its neighbourhood ; and so
successful was it at first, that he would, in all probability,
have been enabled to secure a comfortable independence
for himself and his children, when, in an evil hour, he
was tempted by the representations of a certain noble-
man, more anxious to promote his own interest and
influence than scrupulous as to the consequences which
might result to others, to accept the situation of magistrate
for the counties of Tipperary and Waterford, a position
from which no pecuniary reward was to be obtained, and
which, in those times of trouble and terror, was fraught
with difficulty and danger.
Led on by promises of a lucrative situation and hints
at the probability of a baronetcy, as well as by his own
fearless and reckless disposition, Mr. Power performed
the painful and onerous duties of his situation with a zeal
which procured for him the animosity of the friends and
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
relatives in the remotest degree of those whom it was his
fate in the course of his office to bring to punishment,
and entirely precluded his giving the slightest attention
to the scheme which had bid so fair to re-establish the
fortunes of his family. His nights were spent in hunting
down, with troops of dragoons, the unfortunate and mis-
guided rebels, whose connections, in turn, burned his
store-houses, destroyed his plantations, and killed his
cattle, while for all of these losses he was repaid by the
most flattering encomiums from his noble friend, letters
of thanks from the Secretary for Ireland, acknowledging
his services, and by the most gratifying and marked
attention at the Castle, when he visited Dublin.
He was too proud to remind the nobleman he believed
to be his friend of his often-repeated promises, whilst
the latter, only too glad not to be pressed for their per-
formance, continued to lead on his victim, and, instead of
the valuable official appointment, etc., etc., proposed to
him to set up a newspaper, in which his lordship was to
procure for him the publication of the Government
proclamations, a source of no inconsiderable profit.
This journal was, of course, to advocate nothing but his
lordship's views, so that, by way of serving his friend, he
found a cheap and easy method of furthering his own
plans. The result may be guessed : Mr. Power, utterly
unsuited in every respect to the conduct of such an
undertaking, only became more and more deeply involved,
and year by year added to his difficulties.
About this time, Anne, the eldest of the family, was
attacked by a nervous fever, partly the result of the terror
and anxiety into which the whole of the family was
plunged by the misfortunes which gathered round them,
aggravated by the frequent and terrible outbreaks of rage
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
to which their father, always passionate, now became
more than ever subject. In spite of every effort, this
lovely child, whose affectionate disposition and endearing
qualities entirely precluded any feeling of jealousy which
the constant praises of her extreme beauty, to the dis-
paragement of Marguerite, might have excited in the
breast of the latter, fell a victim to the disease, and not
long after Edmund, the second son, also died.
These successive misfortunes so impaired the health
and depressed the spirits of the mother, that the gloom
continued to fall deeper and deeper over the house.
Thus matters continued for some years, though still
there were moments when the natural buoyancy of child-
hood caused the younger members of the family to find
relief from the cloud of sorrow and anxiety that hung
over their home. The love of society still entertained by
their father brought not unfrequent guests to his board,
and enabled his children to mix with the families around.
Among those who visited at his house were some whose
names have been honourably known to their country.
Lord Hutchinson and his brothers, Curran, the brilliant
and witty Lysaght, Generals Sir Robert Mac Farlane,
and Sir Colquhoun Grant then lieutenant-colonels
and other men of talent and merit, were among these
visitors, and their society and conversation were the
greatest delight of Marguerite, who, child as she was,
was perfectly capable of understanding and appreciating
their superiority.
At fourteen she began to enter into the society of
grown-up persons, an event which afforded her no small
satisfaction, as that of children, with the exception of her
brothers and sisters, especially Ellen, from whom she was
almost inseparable, had but little charm for her. Ellen,
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
who was somewhat more than a year her junior, shared
the beauty of her family, a fact of which Marguerite,
instead of being jealous, was proud, and the greatest
affection subsisted between the sisters, though there was
but little similarity in their dispositions or pursuits. In
order that they might not be separated, Ellen, notwith-
standing her extreme youth, was permitted to accompany
her sister into the society of Tipperary that is to say, to
assemblies held once a week, called Coteries. These,
though music and dancing were the principal amuse-
ments, were not considered as balls, to which only girls
of riper years were admitted. Here, though Ellen's
beauty at first procured her much more notice and
admiration than fell to the lot of her sister, the latter
ere long began to attract no inconsiderable degree of
attention. Her dancing was singularly graceful, and the
intelligence of her countenance and the charm of her
conversation produced more lasting impressions than
mere physical beauty could have won. Her conscious-
ness of the want of this attraction also induced her to
bestow particular pains on her dress, a taste for which
had, we may state en passant, very early developed
itself, and been the cause of many amusing adventures,
which our space, unfortunately, does not permit us to
relate.
About this period, the 47th Regiment arrived, and was
stationed at Clonmel, and, according to the custom of
country towns, particularly in Ireland, all the houses of
the leading gentry were thrown open to receive the
officers with due attention.
At a dinner given to them by her father, Marguerite
was immediately singled out by two of them, Captain
Murray and Captain Farmer, who paid her the most
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
marked attention, which was renewed at a juvenile ball
given shortly after.
The admiration of Captain Murray, although it failed
to win so very youthful a heart, pleased and flattered her,
while that of Captain Farmer excited nothing but mingled
fear and distaste. She hardly knew why ; for, young,
good-looking, and with much to win the good graces of
her sex, he was generally considered as more than equal
to Captain Murray in the power of pleasing.
An instinct, however, which she could neither define
nor control, increased her dislike to such a degree at
every succeeding interview, that Captain Farmer, per-
ceiving it was in vain to address her personally, applied
to her parents, unknown to her, offering his hand, with
the most liberal proposals which a good fortune enabled
him to make. In ignorance of an event which was
destined to work so important a change in her destiny,
Marguerite received a similar proposal from Captain
Murray, who at the same time informed her of the
course adopted by his brother officer, and revealed a fact
which perhaps accounted for the instinctive dread she felt
for him. Captain Farmer was subject to fits of insanity,
so violent as to endanger the safety of himself and those
around him ; and even during his lucid intervals there
were moments when the symptoms of the terrible malady
might be detected in a certain wildness and abruptness of
speech and gesture. Astonishment, embarrassment, and
incredulity were the feelings uppermost in the girl's
mind at a communication in every way so strange and un-
expected. That a child of fourteen should thus seriously
be sought in marriage by two men seemed to her as all
but impossible, and that she should be kept in ignorance
of the fact as regarded one appeared no less so. The
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxiii
idea, however, that this silence on the part of her parents
might proceed from their having rejected the addresses
of her dreaded suitor occurred to relieve her mind, and,
feeling more pained and embarrassed than gratified by
the declaration of Captain Murray, she blushingly declined
his proposals, on the plea that she was too young to con-
template so serious an engagement.
A few days proved to her that the information of
Captain Farmer's having addressed himself to her parents
was but too true ; and the further discovery that these
addresses were sanctioned by them filled her with anxiety
and dismay. She knew the embarrassed circumstances
of her father, the desire he would naturally feel to secure
a union so advantageous in a worldly point of view for
one of his children, and she knew, too, his fiery temper,
his violent resistance of any attempt at opposition, and
the little respect, or consideration, he entertained for the
wishes of any of his family when contrary to his own.
Her mother, too, gave but little heed to what she con-
sidered as the foolish and romantic notions of a child
who was much too young to be consulted in the matter.
Despite of tears, prayers, and entreaties, the unfortunate
girl was compelled to yield to the commands of her in-
exorable parents ; and at fourteen and a half she was
united to a man who inspired her with nothing but feel-
ings of terror and detestation.
The result of such a union may be guessed. Her
husband could not but be conscious of the sentiment she
entertained towards him, though she endeavoured to con-
ceal the extent of her aversion ; and this conviction,
acting upon his already diseased brain, produced such
frequent and terrible paroxysms of rage and jealousy that
his victim trembled in his presence. It were needless to
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
relate the details of the period of misery, distress, and
harrowing fear, through which Marguerite, a child in years,
though old in suffering, passed. Denied in her entreaties
to be permitted to return to the home of her parents, she
at last, in positive terror for her personal safety, fled from
the roof of her brutal persecutor to return no more.
Of the years which followed this decisive step, we can
give but little account. Mrs. Farmer resided principally
in England in the most complete seclusion, indulging to
the utmost her natural love of study, to which she
devoted the greater portion of her time. Circumstances
having at last induced her to fix upon London as a resi-
dence, she established herself in a house in Manchester
Square, where, with her brother Robert (Michael had
died in India some years previously), she remained for a
considerable period, enjoying in his society and her
favourite pursuits a degree of tranquillity which, after the
stormy scenes of her early years, was positive happiness.
Notwithstanding the troublous scenes through which
she had passed, the beauty denied her in childhood had
gradually budded and blossomed into a degree of loveli-
ness which was the admiration of all, and which Lawrence
painted and Byron sang.
Unknown, unfriended, and retiring from the gaze of the
world, her extraordinary beauty attracted, wherever she
appeared, a degree of attention and admiration which she
was far from seeking. By dint of anxious inquiries, her
history became partly revealed, and the interest her misfor-
tunesexcited added to the charm that she already possessed
Hosts of would-be admirers sought to win her favour, but
her dignity and reserve forbade any but the most respectful
attentions, and drove away the idle flatterers, whose ill-
advised gallantries met with the coldest rebuffs.
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
She received at her house those only whose age and
character rendered them safe friends, and a very few
others on whose perfect respect and consideration she
could wholly rely.
Among the latter was the Earl of Blessington, then a
widower, who entertained feelings of the deepest and
most respectful admiration for his beautiful hostess ; but,
fearful of forfeiting the privilege so highly prized of en-
joying the charm of her society and conversation, he
ventured not to give expression to any feeling that might
endanger the loss of this pleasure, until the occurrence of
an event which placed the destiny of Mrs. Farmer in her
own hands.
This was the death of her husband, who, at a dinner
given by one of his friends, locked the door, and, being
seized with one of the fits of insanity to which he had for
so many years been subject, attempted to rush out, and,
failing in his frenzy to open the lock, sprang to the
window, which stood open, and, before he could be pre-
vented, flung himself out, and was killed almost on the
spot. This event, which occurred in the year 1817,
left Lord Blessington at liberty to solicit the hand of
Mrs. Farmer, which she accorded to him, and the mar-
riage took place in London in the month of February,
1818.
Generous to lavishness, charitable, compassionate,
delicately considerate of the feelings of others, sincere,
forgiving, devoted to those she loved, and with a warmth
of heart rarely equalled, her change of fortune was
immediately felt by every member of her family. The
parents whose cruel obstinacy had involved her in so
much misery, but whose ruined circumstances now placed
them in need of her aid, were comfortably supported by
A CONTEMPORARY SKETCH OF
her up to the period of their deaths. Her brothers and
sisters (the youngest of whom, Marianne, she adopted
and educated), and even the more distant of her relatives,
all profited by her benefits, assistance, and interest.
The death of Lord Blessington, from apoplexy, which
occurred in Paris in the year 1829, again effected a
change in her destiny, and was a source of the deepest
and most enduring affliction. She remained in Paris till
after the Revolution of 1830, when she returned to
England, and took a house in Seamore Place, Mayfair,
from which some years subsequently she removed to
Gore House, Kensington. Here, in the midst of
splendour and elegance, adding largely to her jointure by
the success of her literary efforts, she lived for some years
a life peculiarly suited to her taste surrounded by men
of distinction in every branch, loved and admired by all
who came within her sphere. Gore House was an arena
where assembled the celebrities of all nations, all politics,
all denominations, and all positions : it was the starting-
point from whence Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte, a
cherished guest through years of friendless exile, pro-
ceeded to head the Government of France.
But in the course of time, changes and circumstances,
over which Lady Blessington had no control, rendered
a removal from Gore House desirable. Severe domestic
afflictions, increasing years, and impaired health, made
the literary labour, in which she had been so long and
actively engaged, a task much too difficult and fatiguing
to be longer persevered in, at the same time that its
remuneration, in the cases of even the most popular and
distinguished writers, became considerably diminished.
The distresses in Ireland, from whence Lady Blessington's
income was drawn, were also the source of considerable
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
delays, disappointments, and losses. Desirous of rest,
and feeling the impossibility of making a change in her
mode of life without a change of residence, she had long
contemplated retiring to the Continent, where her income
would be sufficient to enable her to live without the
necessity of labour. This step was at last put into
execution, and, in the month of April, 1849, she removed
to Paris, where she took a new and beautiful appartement
in the Champs Elysees, which she began to occupy her-
self in furnishing. Having nearly completed the task, her
impatience to quit the hotel, where she suffered much
from the heat and noise, and her desire to enter her new
abode, induced her to remove to it before it was entirely
ready for her reception, and she took possession of it on
the 3rd of June. Early on the following morning she
was attacked with difficulty of breathing, a symptom from
which she had suffered on previous occasions, but which
had been lightly treated by the physicians consulted.
Finding herself becoming rapidly worse, she called for
assistance, and medical aid was instantly sent for, while,
in the meantime, every remedy that could be suggested
was applied, but in vain. She gradually sank, and
expired at the last tranquil as a sleeping infant ; so that
not even those who hung trembling over her could fix
with precision the moment when she drew her latest
breath. Enlargement of the heart, which was proved on
examination to have commenced at least five-and-twenty
years previously, was the cause of her death. Possibly
the change of air and mode of life, the unusual exertion
she had undergone during her stay in Paris, and the ex-
citement attendant on the removal, may have accelerated
the crisis, but that such a malady must soon have had a
fatal result was inevitable.
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
The remains of Lady Blessington are interred in
France, a country for which she always entertained much
regard, and which, on her removal thither, she contem-
plated the probability of making her permanent residence.
They are deposited at Chambourcy, near St. Germain-
en-Laye, the residence of the Due and Duchesse de
Grammont, between whom and Lady Blessington the
warmest and closest intimacy had existed uninterrupted
from the period of her first residence in Paris. The
monument is erected in a most beautiful and retired
spot, designed by one who for nearly five-and-twenty
years had regarded her with a deep and filial devotion,
and whose only consolation was to be found in paying
the last tribute of tenderness and respect to her cherished
memory. We allude to Comte D'Orsay, whose dying
mother had with her latest breath exacted from Lady
Blessington a promise never to leave her son, a similar
promise having been made to her by Lord Blessington,
who loved him with a paternal affection. This mutual
engagement was kept to the letter, and the quarter of a
century that they remained together only served to
strengthen and consolidate the tender regard that sub-
sisted between them. In Comte D'Orsay, Lady Blessing-
ton found the son that nature had withheld from her,
and on him she bestowed that tenderness with which her
heart overflowed. His wishes, his interests, were ever
the moving principle of her actions; his friends were hers,
and to love or dislike him (and her quick and feminine
instinct never failed to teach her where either sentiment
existed) was the best claim to her affection, or the
strongest provocative to her antipathy.
M. A. P.
MEMOIR OF
THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
THE Countess of Blessington wrote several works
of fiction, but none of her books had more romance
in it than her life.
She was born on September i, 1789, at Knock-
brit, near Clonmel, her father being Edmund
Power, a small landowner. She had three sisters,
all of whom were handsome from their youth,
while she was the reverse of attractive in her earlier
years. Though Marguerite, for so she was named,
was not blessed with beauty as a young girl, she had
cleverness in excess of her brothers and sisters, and
was famed for her powers as a story-teller. Her
childhood was unhappy, owing in great part to the
unkindness of her father, who was a tyrant abroad
and a bully at home.
Marguerite acquired beauty with years. Before
she was fifteen her good looks attracted suitors, one
of whom found favour in her father's eyes. A match
[xxix]
xxx MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
was made between Captain Farmer of the 47th
Regiment and Marguerite against her inclination
and without her consent, her mother being as averse
as her father to marrying her to a man who had an
ungovernable temper and whom she loathed. She
was but fourteen and a half when this unhallowed
alliance was consummated, and her feelings and
sufferings cannot be set forth better than in the
words she uttered to her friend and biographer,
Mr. Madden : " She had not been long under her
husband's roof when it became evident to her that he
was subject to fits of insanity, and his own relatives
informed her that her father had been acquainted
by them that Captain Farmer had been insane, but
this information had been concealed from her by
her father. She lived with him about three months,
and during this time he frequently treated her with
personal violence : he used to strike her on the face,
pinch her till her arms were black and blue, lock her
up whenever he went abroad, and often left her with-
out food till she felt almost famished."
Captain Farmer may not have been actually in-
sane, and what his young and inexperienced wife
considered to be attacks of insanity may really have
been epileptic fits ; but it appears to have been
demonstrated that his temper was atrocious. In a
quarrel with the Colonel of his regiment he drew
his sword and threatened him with it. This unpardon-
able act of insubordination was charitably attributed
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxxi
to temporary loss of reason, and he was permitted
to sell his commission and retire from the service.
About ten years afterwards he died in London,
from a fall out of the window of the King's Bench
prison, when on a visit to some friends who were
confined there, and after the party had drunk four
quarts of rum.
For a short time after separating from her hus-
band, Mrs. Farmer lived in her father's house, where
she was not a welcome guest. Mr. Power seems to
have been a very bad specimen of the debauched
squireen of a past generation. When stretched on
a bed of suffering he told a friend who paid him a
visit the day before his death that he had drunk five
tumblers of punch the previous evening.
Mrs. Farmer did not remain long to enjoy the
shelter of her father's roof, finding hospitality from
relatives at Cahir and Dublin. Her beauty must
have been so remarkable as to have made some friend
or relative consider that it should be perpetuated
on canvas, as at eighteen Sir Thomas Lawrence was
commissioned to paint her portrait. There is a
mystery about her existence at this time which has
not been solved, and which may not deserve investi-
gation. Mr. Madden, who knew her intimately and
wrote a eulogistic biography, contents himself with
the remark that there is a period of her life, extend-
ing over nine years, about which the record is silent,
and he does not attempt to fill up the blank. It
xxxii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
does not follow that anything had occurred which
ought to have been concealed ; all that can be truth-
fully said is that nothing is known. In 1809 she
was in Dublin ; next she sojourned in Hampshire ;
and in 1816 she was living in London, with her
brother Robert, at a house in Manchester Square.
On February 16, 1818, four months after her hus-
band's death, Mrs. Farmer became the second wife
of the Earl of Blessington. The pair cannot be
said to have been ill-matched in years, as the
wife was twenty-eight and the husband thirty-
five.
Lord Blessington's income was ,30,000. His
tastes were expensive, and his second wife, who
had not been extravagant before marrying him,
revelled in luxury after her marriage. The house
in St. James's Square in which the Blessingtons
lived was furnished with that utter disregard of
expense which ends in ruin. It was the meeting-
place of a brilliant society, and Lady Blessington
sat as a queen in a circle of admirers. She was
clever as well as lovely, witty as well as high-placed,
yet, while enjoying all the pleasures which money
can supply, she sighed for the fame which money
alone will not purchase.
Her ambition to become a leader in the world of
letters as well as in that of fashion led to the pub-
lication of two works from her pen in 1822, the
one being entitled " The Magic Lantern," the other
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxxiii
" Sketches and Fragments," both of them contain-
ing accounts of the life led in the society wherein
she moved, and reflections upon it. Neither work
was successful. Longmans were the publishers of
both, and they could not hand over to the authoress
more than a few pounds, which represented her share
of the small profit on the second work, the first
having yielded nothing. At that time, however, the
Countess of Blessington was sublimely indifferent to
money, being provided with enough for her needs
by a husband who joyfully lavished his large fortune
upon her. The sum which the publishers handed
to her was bestowed in charity.
During three years the house of the Blessingtons
was one in which all who were remarkable in the
world of fashion and intellect congregated and
shone. It was as noted as Holland House as a
centre of attraction, and Lady Blessington numbered
women of rank and virtue among her guests as well
as men of mark in society, while Lady Holland's
invitations were accepted by men only. At a later
period in Lady Blessington's career, her position in
society came to resemble that of Lady Holland.
Early in 1822, a Frenchman named Count D'Orsay
accompanied his sister and her husband, the Due de
Guiche, when they journeyed to England, and visited
the Blessingtons. The Count was young, handsome,
and highly accomplished. He ingratiated himself
with men as easily as with women, and he soon
c
xxxiv MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
became on intimate terms with the Earl of Blessing-
ton and his wife.
On August 22, 1822, the Earl and Countess
started for the Continent with the view of seeing
much of France and Italy in a leisurely way, and of
stopping at Genoa and seeing Byron, with whom
the Earl was personally acquainted. The Countess
of Blessington kept a journal of her experiences,
which was published in 1839, and was entitled "The
Idler in Italy." In that account there is a contrast
which is most striking between the period of which
she writes and that in which we live, not only as
to the manner, but the purpose of travelling. The
journey was made with strict attention to the comfort
which money could procure, and it was also made in
the leisurely way which has long gone out of fashion.
Seven months were passed on the road from London
to Genoa, and places of interest were visited with a
thoroughness which is now rare. The narrative is
sometimes minute to tediousness, and the opening
pages are in very bad taste, five of them being
devoted to comments upon the physical sufferings of
the Countess's fellow-passengers when crossing the
Channel from Dover to Calais.
Many interesting facts are scattered through the
work, and some of the passages about Byron supple-
ment those in the " Conversations." She mentions
several persons whom she met while in France and
Italy ; but the name of Count D'Orsay is not among
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxxv
the number, yet he renewed in Paris the acquaintance
which he had begun in London ; he afterwards
rejoined the party at Valence and Avignon, and,
as a result of his perseverance and attention, he
was invited to join it.
The start from Paris was made in state. The
Blessingtons had brought men and women servants
from London, and they soon found, as the Countess
records, " the greater number of domestics one is
compelled to keep, the greater are the torments they
inflict." In Paris they "murmured at the hardships
to which they are exposed. . . . The ladies'-maids
sigh for their tea and toast, and the men groan
at the absence of their beef and porter." It must
be added in fairness that Lady Blessington was a
grumbler also, and it is possible that her husband
was equally exacting and discontented. She pro-
nounces the dinners at her hotel execrable, and
she complains that cooking in Paris has greatly
degenerated within her own memory. This was
in 1822 ; a similar complaint is often made now.
She likens a perfect French dinner to the conversa-
tion of a very clever and highly-educated man :
" enough of the raciness of the inherent natural
quality remains to gratify the taste, but is rendered
more attractive by the manner in which it is pre-
sented." Moreover, she quotes a remark of an
old nobleman, which is curious enough to deserve
repetition : " He used to say he could judge of a
xxxvi MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
man's birth by the dishes he preferred ; but above
all by the vegetables : truffles, morels, mushrooms,
and peas in their infancy, he designated as aristo-
cratic vegetables ; but all the vast stock of beans,
full-grown peas, carrots, turnips, parsnips, cauli-
flowers, onions, etc., he said, were only fit for the
vulgar."
Two carriages and a " fourgon," or baggage-
waggon, carried the party and attendants. A
courier superintended all arrangements, and a
cook, who had prepared dishes for an Emperor,
joined the party at Paris. Towards the end of her
work the Countess gives vent to her feelings with
regard to the "fourgon," which she styles "a real
blessing to women," as it removes half the in-
convenience of travel : " From its roomy store-
house are drawn forth those movable articles so
indispensable to the ' comfort of the learned and
curious, not only in fish sauces,' but in arranging
houses. Thence come the patent brass bed, that
gives repose at night, and the copious supply
of books which ensures amusement during the day.
Thence emerge the modern inventions of easy-
chairs and sofas to occupy the smallest space
when packed ; batteries de cuisine, to enable a
cook to fulfil the arduous duties of his me'tier ;
and though last, not least, cases to contain the
delicate chapeaux, toq^ces, berets, and bonnets of a
Herbault, too fragile to bear the less easy motion
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxxvii
of leathern band-boxes crowning imperials. Yes,
a 'fourgon' is one of the comforts of life."
I do not wonder that a French spectator of the
preparations for the departure from the hotel of the
Blessingtons' party of attendants should . have ex-
claimed : "How strange those English are! One
would suppose that, instead of a single family, a
regiment at least was about to move. How many
things those people require to satisfy them !"
Geneva was the first city of importance at which
the party halted after leaving Paris ; the principal
towns of Switzerland were next visited. At Lau-
sanne the Countess saw the house in which Gibbon
lived, and the garden where he walked after writing
the last page of his history, and soliloquized on the
occasion in words which are the most pathetic of
any from his pen. A hotel now stands on the site
of his house ; but the garden attached to it is
different from that in which Gibbon delighted.
Berne, Zurich, Lucerne were visited in succession,
and then the party returned to Geneva, travelling
thence to Lyons. The principal places visited after
leaving Lyons were Grenoble, Valence, Orange, and
Avignon, where a halt of several months was made.
It is noteworthy that the Countess of Blessington
was not only an indefatigable sightseer, but a careful
recorder of what she saw and ascertained, and her
observations are seldom commonplace, while some-
times they are very acute. She did not transcribe
xxxviii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
into her journal what she had read in a guide-book.
Wherever she went she was introduced to the men
who had studied the subjects in which she was
interested : the information which local antiquaries
and men of learning supplied was worth hearing
and recording. She saw everything to the best
advantage, and enjoyed to the full the opportunities
which she had for acquiring knowledge. For this
reason the journal which she diligently kept during
her travels has not yet lost its interest or its
charm.
Leaving Avignon on February 16, 1823, the
party went to Aix, the capital of Provence. Many
touches in Lady Blessington's journal betray her
character and excite a smile. She was not born
in the lap of luxury. She did not enjoy the sweets
of existence in the house of her first husband ;
yet, after becoming the Countess of Blessington,
she writes as if she had been accustomed all her
days to sybaritic ease and aristocratic station. Any
discomfort in travel she resents as an affront. A
catalogue of her lamentations would not be edifying,
and I abstain from preparing one ; but an instance
of her grievances may be cited by way of specimen.
Having nothing else to complain of at Aix, she
finds fault with the milk and the butter, the milk
coming from goats and the butter from a distance.
What seems to have tantalized her was that an
English family settled there possessed the only cow
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xxxix
in the city, and that she could not procure " either
cream or butter, or, at least, any that was palat-
able."
From Aix the party journeyed to Marseilles,
thence to Toulon, making a stay of some length at
both, and one of a few hours only at Cannes, which
was then a small fishing village. The Countess
enjoyed the beauty of the prospect between Nice
and Antibes, and Antibes and Nice a treat which
is denied to the traveller by express train now.
She writes that never had she beheld before "any
scenery that could surpass that which presents itself
to the eye on crossing the mountains that lead to
Antibes" ; and she afterwards adds: " The prospect
from the height above Antibes is one of the finest I
have ever seen. Hills covered with wood, whence
a spire, village, or chateau, is seen to peep forth ; the
blue waters of the Mediterranean spread out in front;
and the snow-crowned mountains of the Maritime
Alps rearing their heads to the clouds, form a
magnificent picture."
She was unfavourably impressed with Nice, then an
Italian city, and at the height of its undeserved popu-
larity as a place of resort for invalids from England.
She found, as these poor invalids did to their sorrow,
that the climate was far less genial in winter than that
of many places on the southern shores of the British
Isles. She witnessed sights which are happily rare
now that it is generally understood that none but
xl MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
those who are robust ought to select Nice as a place
of residence in winter. " I am filled with pity," she
writes, "when I meet some fair English girl, with the
bright hectic tinge on her delicate cheek, and the
lustrous eyes, which betoken the presence of that
most perfidious and fatal of all diseases, consump-
tion, mounted on a pony, led by a father, a brother,
or one who hoped to stand in a still more tender
relation to her. I tremble when I see the warm
cloak in which she is enveloped swept by the rude
wind from her shrinking shoulders, and hear that
fearful cough which shakes her tortured chest. A
few weeks, and such invalids (and, alas ! they are
many) are seen no more ; and the mourning parents
retrace their route with the bitter knowledge that
they left their home in vain nay, that the change
of climate which they fondly anticipated would have
preserved their darling had accelerated her death."
The change which has occurred in the manner of
travel along the Riviera cannot be better exemplified
than by stating that the Blessingtons could not drive
in their carriage from Nice to Genoa, and had to
send it with their servants by sea, proceeding as far
as Mentone in light vehicles of the country, and
continuing their journey on muleback. While Lady
Blessington was favoured with information from local
antiquaries at every place where she sojourned, she
was not able to learn on the way from Nice to
Mentone what the traveller now can easily do by
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xli
turning to one of Murray's guide - books. An
instance of the want of such a fund of facts was
supplied when the little village of Turbia, on the
Cornice road, was reached. Here was seen what
she calls "one of the most picturesque ruins imagin-
able." She tried to learn something about it, but
failed to get anything more than the unsatisfying
answer from the Custom-house officer " that it was a
very fine and ancient ruin, well worth the attention
of travellers." Had Lady Blessington possessed
such a guide-book as any traveller can now carry,
she would have learned that the picturesque ruin
was a trophy of Augustus, erected by the Roman
Senate to commemorate the subjugation of forty-
five Gaulish tribes.
Looking down from this part of the road, the
houses of Monaco are visible 2,000 feet below.
Lady Blessington states that "the village of Monaco"
looked like a town built for children, and she
adds that its pigmy white houses "have a beauti-
ful appearance." A great poet saw the same sight
several years afterwards, and his lines have rendered
it memorable for ever. What Tennyson beheld
and felt is told in " The Daisy " :
"What Roman strength Turbia showed
In ruin, by the mountain-side ;
How like a gem, beneath, the city
Of little Monaco, basking, glowed."
At Mentone she had to sleep on a mattress filled
xlii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
with Indian corn straw, and she was surprised to
find it as comfortable as the most luxurious couch.
But her regard for appearances is shown by the
comment : " How an English housemaid would
wonder to see a fine lady content with such a
bed !"
Despite Lady Blessington's professed inability to
endure hardships when travelling, and notwithstand-
ing that she makes the unsuspecting reader imagine
that her whole life had been passed in splendid
affluence, there is an unexpected absence from her
narrative of complaint about the harshness of her
lot when she had to journey on muleback from
Mentone to Genoa. Indeed, the change in the
mode of locomotion gave her such pleasure that she
stated, " There cannot be a more agreeable mode of
travelling than on mules."
On March 31, 1823, she entered Genoa with
the party, which then numbered thirteen, and
occupied rooms at the Albergo della Villa, which
appeared to her a palace in comparison with the
inns at which she had lodged on the way. The
chief purpose of a long, leisurely and an uneventful
journey was nearly attained. The party started
with Genoa as a destination, and a meeting with
Byron as an object. Lady Blessington had not
lost any opportunity by the way for conversing
about him, and she was able to note that "he is
much in vogue in France, and a lively curiosity exists
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xliii
respecting him. The French regard him as a
most mysterious character, in which much of evil
and good, the former, however, preponderating,
is mingled." When Genoa had been reached at
length, she thus gave expression to the thought
which was uppermost in her mind : " Desirous as
I am to see ' Genoa the Superb,' with its street
of palaces, and the treasures of art they contain
I confess that its being the residence of Lord
Byron gives it a still greater attraction for me.
His works have excited such a lively interest in my
rnind, and the stories related of him have so much
increased it, that I look forward to making his
acquaintance with impatience. Should he decline
seeing us, as he has done to many of his acquaint-
ances, it will be a great disappointment to me ; but
I will not anticipate such an annoyance. I long to
compare him with the beau-icttal I have formed in
my mind's eye, and to judge how far the descrip-
tions given of him are correct."
On the following day, after she had taken a bath,
as she is careful to state, and had declined to receive
Lord William Russell because she had not dressed
herself, she made the following entry in her journal :
"And am I indeed in the same town with Byron?
and to-morrow I may, perhaps, behold him ! I
never before felt the same impatient longing to
see anyone known to me only by his works. I
hope he may not be fat, as Moore described him
xliv MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
to be at Venice ; for a fat poet is an anomaly, in
my opinion. Well, well, to-morrow I may know
what he is like : and now to bed, to sleep away
the fatigues of my journey."
The "Journal of the Conversations" begins with
the words, " Saw Lord Byron for the first time," and
the succeeding sentences are devoted to expressing
the writer's disappointment. In the journal written
at the time, from which the other was afterwards
compiled, the disappointment is even more emphati-
cally expressed. A passage in the original, or, at
least, the earlier version, ought to have been repro-
duced in the second, as it forms an excellent intro-
duction to what follows. It should be explained
that Byron was then stopping at the Casa Saluzzi,
in the village of Albaro, which is a mile and a half
from Genoa. The party drove thither. It con-
sisted of the Earl and Countess, a gentleman whose
name she does not give, but who was Count D'Orsay,
and Miss Power, the youngest sister of the Countess.
What followed is thus set forth in "The Idler
in Italy": "When we arrived at the gate of the
courtyard of the Casa Saluzzi, where he resides,
Lord Blessington and a gentleman of our party left
the carriage and sent in their names. They were
admitted immediately and experienced a very cordial
reception from Lord Byron, who expressed himself
delighted to see his old acquaintance. Lord Byron
requested to be presented to me, which led to Lord
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xlv
Blessington's avowing that I was in the carnage 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 ap-
proaching quickly without his hat and considerably
in advance of the other two gentlemen. ' You must
have thought me quite as ill-bred and sauvage as
fame reports,' said Byron, bowing very low, 'in
having permitted your ladyship to remain a quarter
of an hour at my gate ; but my old friend, Lord
Blessington, is to blame, for I only heard a minute
ago that I was so highly honoured. I shall think
you do not pardon this apparent rudeness unless
you enter my abode, which I entreat you will do ;'
and he offered his hand to assist me to descend from
the carriage. In the vestibule stood his chasseur
in full uniform, with two or three other domestics,
and the expression of surprise visible in their coun-
tenances evinced that they were not habituated to
see their lord display so much cordiality to visitors."
The visit is said to have been a long one, and
it is further said that Byron objected to its being
shortened when the party first rose to go. The
Countess adds : "He expressed warmly, at our
departure, the pleasure which our visit had afforded
him, and I doubt not his sincerity : not that I would
arrogate any merit in us, to account for his satis-
faction, but simply because I can perceive that he
likes hearing news of his old haunts and associates,
xlvi MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
and likes also to pass them en revue, pronouncing en
passant opinions in which wit and sly sarcasm are
more obvious than good-nature."
The foregoing statement is explicit and most
complimentary to all parties, yet doubts have been
thrown upon its correctness by the Countess's
biographer. As Mr. Madden had no object in
writing what was unpleasant about the subject of his
biography, it may be inferred that he would have
refrained from any disparaging comment, unless his
authority for making it was entirely trustworthy.
His conclusion is that the Countess was annoyed
during her first interview with Byron, and he in-
sinuates that the great poet may have failed in
paying due homage to the great beauty's intellect.
A beautiful woman is always exacting as to her
intellect, and a plain one as to her face, both enjoy-
ing the most the flattery which they least deserve.
Whatever the case may be matters but little. Mr.
Madden's statement concerning the visit to Byron,
which he makes on the authority of one " who
had good knowledge of all the circumstances of this
visit," is to the effect that Lady Blessington is in
error in representing the interview to have been
sought by Byron, and that "a little ruse was practised
on his lordship to obtain it. A rainy forenoon was
selected for the drive to Byron's villa. Thus shelter
was necessitated, and that necessity furnished a plea
for a visit which would not have been made without
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xlvii
some awkwardness under other circumstances. Lord
Blessington, having been admitted at once on pre-
senting 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 courtyard, the rain then
falling, when Byron immediately insisted on de-
scending with Lord Blessington and conducting her
ladyship into his house."
The foregoing statement is open to the criticism
that one part of it is incorrect. This is the part to the
effect that a rainy day was ''selected" for the drive
to Albaro. The Blessingtons reached Genoa on
March 31, and paid the visit on the morning of the
following day ; hence they did not purposely choose
a day on which rain fell. I fear that Mr. Madden
was over-credulous in accepting the story of his
anonymous informant. Byron did not express any
distaste to the visit. He returned it the next day,
and then he wrote as follows to Moore : " I have
just seen some friends of yours, who paid me a visit
yesterday, which, in honour of them and of you, I
returned to-day ; as I reserve my bear-skin and
teeth, and paws and claws, for our enemies. . . .
Your allies, whom I found very agreeable personages,
are Milor Blessington and Spouse, travelling with a
very handsome companion, in the shape of a
' French Count ' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the
' Beau's Stratagem'), who has all the air of a Cupidon
xlviii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
de'chaine', and is one of the few specimens I have
seen of our ideal of a Frenchman before the Revolu-
tion 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
honour'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."
The Countess of Blessington's version of this visit
which she gives in "The Idler in Italy" is less detailed
than that in the "Conversations," yet it deserves read-
ing: "Lord Byron has just left our hotel; he came to
us about two o'clock and remained until half-past four.
It is strange to see the perfect abandon with which he
converses to recent acquaintances, on subjects which
even friends would think too delicate for discussion.
I do not like this openness on affairs that should be
only confided to long-tried intimacy : it betrays a
want of the delicacy and decorum which a sensitive
mind ought to possess, and leaves him at the mercy
of every chance acquaintance to whom he may
make his imprudent disclosures. Byron seems to
take a pleasure in censuring England and its customs;
yet it is evident to me that he rails at it and them as
a lover does at the faults of his mistress, not loving
her the less even while he rails. ... He has promised
to dine with us on Thursday ; this being, as he
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON xlix
asserts, the first dinner invitation which he has
accepted during two years."
This dinner is described in the " Conversations "
H and "The Idler in Italy" ; the following passage in
the latter deserves to be added to the record in the
former: "Byron loves to dwell in conversation on his
own faults. How far he might endure their recapitu-
lation by another remains to be proved ; but I have
observed that those persons who display the greatest
frankness in acknowledging their errors, are pre-
cisely those who most warmly resent their detection
by another. . . But it appears to me that Byron is
more ready to acknowledge his infirmities than to
correct them ; nay, that he considers the candour of
his confession as an amende honorable''
The " Conversations " contain no mention of the
intercourse between Byron and the Blessingtons for
several days after the incidents last narrated, yet
there are many references in "The Idler in Italy"
to meetings and excursions. The poet and Lady
Blessington rode on horseback to places of interest
in the neighbourhood. His talk during the rides
was often worthy of preservation on account of its
suggestiveness and the light which it threw on his
character. Lady Blessington having made it clear
to Byron that she was surprised at his insensibility
to the beauties of the views which he pointed out, he
smiled and said: "I suppose you expected me to ex-
plode into some enthusiastic exclamations on the sea,
d
1 MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
the scenery, etc., such as poets indulge in, or rather,
are supposed to indulge in ; but the truth -is, I hate
cant of any kind, and the cant of the love of nature
as much as any other." Byron may have been per-
fectly sincere in thus speaking ; yet it is not easy to
determine when he was in earnest or when he was
indulging in the cant against which he protested. If
he really, appreciated these natural beauties, there
was more affectation in denying than in admitting
the fact. Sir Walter Scott never concealed his love
for the scenery at or near to Abbotsford when he
pointed out the best views to his guests. How-
ever, a softer side to Byron's nature is shown by
the Countess, and its existence ought to be borne in
mind: "He has a passion for flowers, and purchases
bouquets from the vendors on the road, who have
tables piled with them. He bestows charity on
every mendicant who asks it ; and his manner in
giving is gentle and kind. The people seem all to
know his face, and to like him ; and many recount
their affairs as if they were sure of his sympathy."
While the Blessingtons were at Genoa, the
project of going to Greece as a volunteer was
growing into a resolve on Byron's part, and he
talked with Lady Blessington of his intention and
hopes. She gives in "The Idler in Italy" the
substance of his talk, and she adds some comments
of her own which are shrewd and just. The
following entry was made on April 12: "Byron
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON li
asserts that he who is only a poet has done little
for mankind, and that he will endeavour to prove
in his own person that a poet may be a soldier.
That Byron will fulfil this self-imposed duty is, I
think, nearly certain ; and that he will fulfil it
bravely I entertain not a doubt ; yet, from what I
have seen of him, I should say that his vocation is
more for a reflective than an active life, and that the
details and contrarieties to which, from the position
he will hold in Greece, he must be subjected, will
exhaust his patience and impair his health."
In the course of a ride with him on April 16, she
learned something about his tastes which she did
not reproduce in the ''Conversations." She notes her
surprise at his indifference to works of art, and his
remark that " he feels art while others prate about
it." He had not visited a single palace in Genoa,
nor had be been once at the opera. He said that
he liked music, and he added : " But I do not know
the least of it as a science ; indeed, I am glad that
I do not, for a perfect knowledge might rob it of
half its charms. At present I only know that a
plaintive air softens and a lively one cheers one.
Martial music renders me brave ; and voluptuous
music disposes me to be luxurious, even effeminate.
Now, were I skilled in the science, I should become
fastidious, and instead of yielding to the fascination
of sweet sounds, I should be analyzing, or criticising,
or connoisseurshipizing (to use a word of my own
lii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
making), instead of simply enjoying them as at
present. In the same way, I never would study
botany. I don't want to know why certain flowers
please me ; enough for me that they do, and I leave
to those who have no better occupation the analysis
of the sources of their pleasure, which I can enjoy
without the useless trouble."
The Blessingtons remained two months in Genoa,
and when they prepared to leave Byron pressed
them to stay. On May 5 he accompanied Lady
Blessington to a villa near his own at Albaro,
which he thought would suit her. She expressed
a wish to buy it, and then he wrote the following-
lines, which owe their point to the fact of the villa
being called "II Paradiso " :
" 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 ?"
Having written the lines, he laughingly said : " In
future times people will come to see // Paradiso,
where Byron wrote an impromptu on his country-
woman : thus our names will be associated when we
have long ceased to exist." Mr. Madden remarks,
on Lady Blessington's authority, that the conceit
which he versified had been first spoken in prose.
The occasion was a masked ball in Genoa, to which
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON liii
Byron talked of going, and wished her to accompany
him. Someone present having suggested that, if
Lady Blessington went, she should personate Eve,
"Byron exclaimed: "As someone must play the devil,
I will do it."
There is a difference of opinion as to the degree of
intimacy between Byron and the Blessingtons while
the latter sojourned in Genoa, and, if Countess
Guiccioli be trusted implicitly, Lady Blessington and
Byron did not see each other more than five or six
times. On the same authority, it is said that Byron
was reluctant to converse freely with a lady who
might publish his remarks. On the other hand,
Lady Blessington felt convinced that she had exer-
cised a salutary softening influence over Byron, and
that her talks with him had proved edifying. Moore's
decision is that Lady Blessington accomplished what
she aimed at effecting. It is not improbable that
jealousy may have caused Countess Guiccioli to
regard with unfriendly eyes the association of her
lover with a lady whose beauty was the theme of all
tongues ; she may have remonstrated with Byron,
and he may have reassured her by minimizing the
number of his meetings with Lady Blessington.
Another reason, however, doubtless influenced
Byron in desiring that the departure of the Bless-
ingtons should be delayed. He had been struck
with Count D'Orsay at the outset, and he probably
delighted in his society as much as in that of Lady
liv MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
Blessington. During his stay in England the Count
had kept a journal, which Byron read and enjoyed,
styling it, when writing to the Earl of Blessington, "a
most extraordinary production and of a most melan-
choly truth in all that regards high life in England."
On another occasion he sends his compliments
to Alfred, adding, " I think, since his Majesty of
the same name, there has not been such a learned
surveyor of our Saxon society." Writing to Count
D'Orsay, he said, after praising his journal, "Though
I love my country, I do not love my countrymen
at least, such as they now are. And, besides the
seduction of talent and wit in your work, I fear that
to me there was the attraction of vengeance. I have
seen and felt much of what you have described so
well. I have known the persons, and the reunions,
so described many of them, that is to say and
the portraits are so like that I cannot but admire the
painter no less than his performance. And I am
sorry for you ; for if you are so well acquainted with
life at your age, what will become of you when the
illusion is still more dissipated ? But never mind
en avant ! live while you can ; and that you may
have the full enjoyment of the many advantages of
youth, talent and figure which you possess is the
wish of an Englishman, I suppose, but it is no
treason ; for my mother was Scotch, and my name
and family are both Norman ; and as for myself, I
am of no country."
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON Iv
Byron showed the journal to Countess Guiccioli, as
appears in a letter from him to the Earl of Blessing--
ton, where, after saying that she was a celebrated
beauty as well as well educated, he adds that "she
was delighted with it," and says that she " has
derived a better notion of English society from it
than from all Madame de StaeTs metaphysical dis-
putations on the same subject, in her work on the
Revolution.""
Before their departure, the Blessingtons became
the owners of Byron's yacht, The Bolivar. It is
assumed by some writers that, if he had gone to
Greece in this yacht he could not have resisted
Countess Guiccioli's entreaties to accompany him.t
* Mr. Cordy Jeaffreson, the painstaking author of the " Real
Lord Byron," puts these questions at page 203 of the second
volume : "What has become of the young Count's journal? In
whose keeping does it rest ? Will it be found two centuries hence
in English libraries, side by side with Grammont's ' Memoirs ' ?"
If so acute an investigator as this should have put such questions,
others may be pardoned for not knowing there is an answer to
them, which I now supply. On page 324 of the first volume of
"The Literary Life and Correspondence of the Countess of Bless-
ington," Mr. Madden writes: "Count D'Orsay's journal was burnt
by himself some years back."
t After Byron's death, Countess Guiccioli became the intimate
friend of Lady Blessington and often visited her in England.
Mr. W. Arthur Shee saw her at Gore House in May, 1837, and
writes of her as follows in his recently published work, " My
Contemporaries " : "I have long wished to see the Guiccioli, and
last night I met her at Lady Blessington's. Great was my disap-
pointment. I had pictured to myself one so fair, fragile, and
fascinating as to excuse the entetement of Byron. . . . But what
Ivi MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
Whatever his reasons for selling the yacht, he drove
a hard bargain with its purchaser, the price which he
exacted being four hundred guineas. Lady Bless-
ington adds the comment : " The poet is certainly
fond of money, and this growing passion displays
itself on many occasions." He bought her horse
Mameluke, of which she was very fond, and with
which she parted reluctantly, and only in compliance
with his repeated and urgent requests. Then, after
she had consented, he wrote saying that he could
not pay more than eighty pounds ; she had paid one
hundred guineas for the horse, and she would rather
have lost two hundred than part with him. Having
said this, she adds : " How strange, to beg and
entreat to have this horse resigned to him, and
then name a less price than he cost !"
The parting took place on June 2, and it was
keenly felt on both sides. Byron seemed to have a
conviction that the meeting was the last which he
would have with any of the party, and he was moved
did I see ? The very thing that he has placed on record as
being the object of his hatred 'a fubsy woman.' She has now
neither youth, striking beauty, nor grace, and it is difficult to
believe that she ever could have been the great poet's ideal. She
is not tall and is ' thick-set,' devoid of air or style, and, whatever
she may have been, is no longer attractive. Her manners, too,
are neither high-bred nor gracious, and altogether her appearance
and bearing are most desenchantant. She sang several Italian airs
to her own accompaniment in a very pretentious manner, and her
voice is loud and somewhat harsh " (p. 45).
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON Ivii
to tears. Lady Blessington remarks, after stating
what had occurred : " Should his presentiment be
realized and we indeed meet no more, I shall never
cease to remember him with kindness : the very idea
that I shall not see him again overpowers me with
sadness and makes me forget many defects which
had often disenchanted me with him."
Before another June came round Lady Blessing-
ton wrote in her journal that the intelligence of
Byron's death had arrived, and she added: "Alas,
alas ! his presentiment of dying in Greece has been
but too well fulfilled, and I used to banter him on
his superstitious presentiment !"
The Blessingtons proceeded from Genoa to
Lucca, where they stayed a few days, thence to
Florence, where they stayed three weeks. From
Florence they journeyed to Rome, which they
reached on July 5, 1823, and left on the i4th, being
driven from it, as Lady Blessington records, "by
oppressive heat and the evil prophecies dinned into
my ears of the malaria." She adds : "I have no
fears of the effect of either for myself, but I dare not
risk them for others." This remark appears to be
wholly to the writer's advantage, but Mr. Madden
puts a complexion upon it which does not do her
credit. He affirms that Lady Blessington had be-
come very fastidious in her tastes ; that she did not
find in Rome the luxuries which had become neces-
saries of life to her ; that she objected to the
Iviii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
lodgings, and, above all, to the cookery there, and
that the abrupt departure from the ancient city was
occasioned by her whims and not by a regard for
the health of others. The passage which follows
serves to explain some things in her life and conduct
which would remain mysterious and mistaken with-
out the clue that it furnishes : " With the strongest
regard for Lady Blessington, and the fullest appre-
ciation of the many good qualities that belonged to
her, it cannot be denied that, whether discoursing in
her salons or talking with pen in hand on paper in
her journals, she occasionally aimed at something
like stage effects, acted in society and in her diaries,
and at times assumed opinions which she abandoned
a little later, or passed off appearances for realities.
This was done with the view of acquiring esteem,
strengthening her position in the opinion of persons
of exalted intellect or station, and directing attention
to the side of it that was brilliant and apparently
enviable, not for any unworthy purpose, but from a
desire to please, and perhaps from a feeling of un-
certainty in the possession of present advantages."
The Blessingtons stayed in Naples till February,
1828. On December 4, 1827,* Count D'Orsay had
* The date given in Madden's " Memoirs of the Countess of
Blessington" is December i, and this is repeated in the "Dictionary
of National Biography"; but the 4th is the day named in The
Annual Register for 1827, and as this entry appeared in the life-
time of all the parties concerned, without objection from any of
them, it may be accepted as accurate.
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON lix
become the husband of Lady Harriet Frances
Gardiner, the only legitimate daughter of the Earl
of Blessington. This marriage resembled that of
Marguerite Power to Captain Farmer at the im-
mature age of fourteen and a half. Lady Harriet
Gardiner was fifteen years and four months old, and
she was summoned to Naples and commanded to
become the wife of Count D'Orsay. The marriage
had been determined upon when the Blessingtons
were at Genoa. There is not a word extant to
show that Lady Blessington objected to the match,
and gave any heed to the feelings of her step-
daughter. Count D'Orsay profited by the union to
the extent of .40,000. Three years after the
mercenary bargain had been consummated, the ill-
matched pair separated, and the young wife escaped
from a state of misery.
The journey to Paris from Naples was made in as
leisurely a fashion as the journey from Paris to
Genoa. The latter city was twice revisited before
leaving Italy. On the first occasion Lady Blessing-
ton read several of Byron's letters and manuscripts
which were in Mr. Barry's possession. Every
object recalled the deceased poet to her mind, and
she could hardly think " that he, whose image is
identified with all I view, is sleeping in an English
grave." During the second visit she was walking one
day, when she saw a young girl whose features re-
called those of Byron ; an elderly lady accompanied
Ix MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
her. She was informed that the latter was Lady
Byron, and the former was Ada.
Lady Blessington's journal of her trip through
France and her stay in Paris was published in 1841,
with the title of "The Idler in France." It contains
much that is of permanent interest, although the
greater part is antiquated and unattractive. Many
passages in which she notes the books that she
read, and her opinions upon them, serve to display
her own mind and tastes. The following passage is
curious : "I have been reading ' Vivian Grey,' a
very wild but a very clever book, full of genius in
its unpruned luxuriance : the writer revels in all the
riches of a brilliant imagination, and expends them
prodigally, dazzling at one moment by his passionate
eloquence, and at another by his touching pathos."
Sir Walter Scott had made this entry in his
" Journal" not long before : " Reading, among the
rest, an odd volume of ' Vivian Grey '; clever, but
not so much as to make me, in this sultry weather,
go upstairs to the drawing-room to seek the other
volumes." Neither knew the writer's name, as the
work was anonymous. Lady Blessington afterwards
made Benjamin Disraeli's acquaintance ; at present
she was greatly struck with his father, of whom she
wrote : " I never peruse a production of his without
longing to be personally acquainted with him ; and
though we never met, I entertain a regard and
respect for him, induced by the many pleasant hours
his works have afforded me."
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON Ixi
The impression made upon her by the first novel
of Bulwer was as strong and favourable as that
which was made by the first novel of Disraeli ;
moreover, her statement shows that Bulwer had been
a favourite in Paris from the outset : "' Pelham ' is
a new style of novel. . . . The writer possesses a
felicitous fluency of language, profound and just
thoughts, and a knowledge of the world rarely
acquired at his age ; for I am told he is a very
young man. ... I, who don't like reading novels,
heard so much in favour of this one for all Paris
talk of it that I broke through a resolution to read
no more, and I am glad I did so, for this clever
book has greatly interested me."
When " Devereux " appeared, she liked it better \
than "Pelham," and wrote of the author that "his
novels produced a totally different effect on one
from that exercised by the works of other authors ;
they amuse less than they make one think." She
had a good taste in poetry as well as in novels, and
her appreciation of the poets she loved does her
credit. She writes : " I have been reading Words-
worth's poems again, and I verily believe for the
fiftieth time. They contain a mine of lofty, beau-
tiful and natural thoughts. I never peruse them
without feeling proud that England has such a
poet, and without finding a love for the pure and
noble increased in my mind." Her remarks on
Shelley are still more noteworthy. When she
penned them the admirers of Shelley were in the
Ixii MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
minority, Byron being the first favourite, whereas
the reverse is true now : " I have been reading
Shelley's works, in which I have found many
beautiful thoughts. This man of genius for de-
cidedly such he was has not yet been rendered
justice to. ... He who was all charity has found
none in the judgment pronounced on him by his
contemporaries ; but posterity will be more just."
She admired the poetesses as well as the poets
of her day, some of whom have not received from
posterity the homage with which contemporaries
honoured them. " Well may England," she exclaims,
" be proud of such poetesses as she can now boast !
Johanna Baillie, the noble-minded and elevated ;
Miss Bowles, the pure and true; Miss Mitford, the
gifted and natural ; and Mrs. Hemans and Miss
Landon, though last not least in the galaxy of
genius, with imaginations as brilliant as their hearts
[_ are generous and tender." Theodore Hook was as
popular in his day as any of the female bards whose
names and praises have just been set forth, and
Lady Blessington was one of his admirers. After
finishing his book styled "Sayings and Doings,"
she writes of it that "every page teems with wit,
humour, or pathos, and reveals a knowledge of the
world under all the various phases of the ever-moving
scene that gives a lively interest to all he writes."
Captain Marryat is another name which was
greater in her day than in ours, though it is still
MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON Ixiii
remembered in connexion with one or two capital
novels. Her remarks about him are very acute,
and they show that she possessed critical discrimi-
nation. Having stated that his " Naval Officer"
resembles himself in being full of talent, originality
and humour, she adds : "He is an accurate observer
of life ; nothing escapes him ; yet there is no bitter-
ness in his satire and no exaggeration in his comic
vein. He is never obliged to explain to his readers
why the characters he introduces act in such and
such a manner. They always bear out the parts he
wishes them to enact, and the whole story goes
on so naturally that one feels as if reading a narra-
tive of facts, instead of a work of fiction."
In the wide circle of Lady Blessington's acquaint-
ance there were many French as well as English
statesmen who had achieved or were on the high
road to greatness. Two Englishmen who even-
tually attained the first place in the hearts of their
countrymen are admirably sketched by her in 1829,
when they were still in blossom. Lord John
Russell was one of them. She pronounces him
very agreeable when the reserve which veils his
many fine qualities wears off. She holds that few
men had a finer taste in literature than he ; more-
over, Lord John Russell is said by her to be "pre-
cisely the person calculated to fill a high official
situation. Well informed on all subjects, with an
ardent love of his country, and an anxious desire
Ixiv MEMOIR OF THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
to serve it, he has a sobriety of judgment and
strictness of principle that will for ever place him
beyond the reach of suspicion, even to the most
prejudiced of his political adversaries."
The other Englishman whom she sketches is
Lord Palmerston, and in his case, as in that of him
who died Earl Russell, her forecast was amply con-
firmed. After saying that she found him as intelli-
gent, sensible and agreeable as he was when she
O ' O
knew him in England seven years before, she adds :
" Lord Palmerston has much more ability than
people are disposed to give him credit for. He is,
or used to be, when I lived in England, considered
a good man of business, acute in the details, and
quick in the comprehension of complicated ques-
tions. Even this is no mean praise, but I think
him entitled to more ; for, though constantly and
busily occupied with official duties, he has contrived
to find time to read everything worth reading, and
to make himself acquainted with the politics of
other countries. Lively, well-bred and unaffected,
Lord Palmerston is a man that is so well acquainted
with the routine of official duties, performs them
so readily and pleasantly, and is so free from the
assumption of self-importance that too frequently
appertains to adepts in them, that, whether Whig
or Tory Government has the ascendant in England,
his services will be always considered a desideratum
to be secured if possible."
A
JOURNAL
OK THE
CONVERSATIONS OF LORD BYRON
WITH TIIK
COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON
" Wo du das Genie erblickst
Erblickst du auch 7,ugleich die Marterkrone."
GOETHE.
CHAPTER I.
First meeting of Lady Blessington and Lord Byron Personal
appearance of Lord Byron His lameness The Casa
Saluxzi at Albaro Mutual friends Tom Moore Ellice
" Lalla Rookh " " When first I met thee "Irish wit At
Genoa Lord Holland Rogers Lady Holland and the
Edinburgh Review Galignani's Messenger The Hon.
William Hill Selfishness and generosity The " Improving
Society" Douglas Kinnaird Horse-dealing The expedi-
tion to Greece Lady Byron The Hon. Augusta Byron
Byron's conversation.
Genoa, April \st, 1823.
SAW Lord Byron for the first time. The im-
pression of the first few minutes disappointed
me, as I had, both from the portraits and
2 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
descriptions given, conceived a different 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 imagina-
tion.
His appearance is, however, highly prepossess-
ing ; 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 descend-
ing ; 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 some-
thing of a scornful expression in his mouth that
is evidently natural, and not, as many suppose,
affected. 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
PERSONAL APPEARANCE OF LORD BYRON 3
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 agreeable
impression. I should say that melancholy was
its prevailing character, as I noticed 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 remark-
ably gentlemanlike, and he owes nothing of
this to his toilet, as his coat appears to have
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
fit 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
manner. 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 accent are peculiarly agreeable, but effeminate
clear, harmonious, and so distinct, that though
4 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 dignified, cold, reserved,
and haughty person, resembling 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
characterise a man of birth and education.
Albaro, the village in which the Casa Saluzzi,
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 spacious
apartments, the front looking into a courtyard,
and the back into the garden. The room in
which Lord Byron received us was large, and
plainly furnished. A small portrait of his daughter
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 dis-
covered 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
MUTUAL FRIENDS
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.
Tom Moore, Douglas Kinnaird, and Mr. Ellice
were among those whom he most distinguished.*
He expressed himself greatly annoyed by the
number 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
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."
* Thomas Moore, born May 28th, 1779 ; died February 25th,
1852. The Hon. Douglas Kinnaird (born February 28th, 1788 :
died March i2th, 1830) was the fifth son of the seventh Baron
Kinnaird. He was a member of the sub-committee for directing
Drury Lane Theatre ; he sat in Parliament for a short time ; he
adapted Tom Fletcher's comedy, " The Merchant of Bruges,"
which was put on the stage of Drury Lane, and he wrote articles
relating to India. The Right Hon. Edward Ellice (born 1791 ;
died September loth, 1863) was for many years member for
Coventry ; he was, first, Secretary to the Treasury, and, second,
Secretary at War in Earl Grey's administration ; he was Chairman
of the Hudson Bay Company and the founder of the Reform
Club.
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
U
Before taking leave, he proposed paying us a
visit next day, and he handed me into the carriage
with many flattering expressions of the pleasure
our visit had procured him.
April 2nd. We had scarcely finished our dejeuner
a la fourchette this day when Lord Byron was
announced ; he sent up two printed cards in an
envelope 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, candour obliges me to own that their
defects seemed to have made a deeper impression
on his mind 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
melodies, which were all perfect. He said that
he had never been so much affected as on hearing
Moore sing some of them, particularly " When
first I met Thee,"* which, he said, made him
* The following are the first and last of the four stanzas which
compose the poem :
WHEN FIRST I MET THEE
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 peculiar 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
" When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder,
And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver, go,
The heart whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou shouldst break it.
* * * * *
" And days may come, thou false one ! yet,
When even those ties shall sever ;
When thou wilt call, with vain regret,
On her thou'st lost for ever ;
On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still received thee,
And gladly died to prove thee all
Her fancy first believed thee.
Go go 'tis vain to curse,
Tis weakness to upbraid thee ;
Hate cannot wish thee worse
Than guilt and shame have made thee."
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 attractions 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 ;
recommended 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
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 whom 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.
LORD HOLLAND
He spoke of Mr. , from whom he had
received 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 had
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 espieglerie
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
countenance so ingenuous, that it was impossible
not to be prepossessed in his favour ; 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 Holland ; praised his
urbanity, his talents, and acquirements ; but
above all, his sweetness of temper and good-
io CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
nature. " Indeed, I do love Lord Holland," said
Byron, " though the pity I feel for his domestic
thraldom has something 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 reine ; which, by
the by, in her peculiar position, shows tact, for
she suspects that were she to quit the throne she
might be driven to the antechamber ; however,
with all her faults, she is not vindictive as a
proof, she never extended her favour 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 to suppress the
passage in the other editions.* After all, Lady
* " Dunedin ! view thy children with delight,
They write for food and feed because they write ;
And lest when heated with unusual grape,
Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape,
And tinge with red the female reader's cheek,
My lady skims the cream of each critique ;
Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul,
Reforms each error, and refines the whole."
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
In a footnote to this passage Byron states on what he calls " good
authority " that the manuscripts of contributions to the Edinburgh
Review were submitted to Lady Holland for perusal ; he adds,
" no doubt, for correction." No doubt exists about the assertion
being as false as it is absurd.
LADY HOLLAND n
Holland 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
1 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
Holland ; and, what is odd enough," laughing
with bitterness, " our first and last differences
were 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-devant
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 feel-
ing in Lady Holland, that I cannot resist speaking
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 would act the aimable^ as she always does to
those who attack her; while to those who are
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
attentive, and court her, she is insolent beyond
bearing."
Having sat with us above two hours, and
expressed his wishes that we might prolong our
stay at Genoa, he promised to dine with us the
following Thursday, and took his leave, laugh-
ingly apologizing for the length of his visit,
adding, 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 ; says it will banish from Eng-
land 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 Eng-
lish climate cannot rust. He appears to know
everything that is going on in England ; takes a
great interest in the London gossip ; and while
professing to read no new publications, betrays,
in various ways, a perfect knowledge of every
new work.
" April 2nd, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD,
" I send you to-day's (the latest) Galignani's [Messenger].
My banker tells me, however, that his letters from Spain state that
two regiments 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 qualities requisite to have figured in his
brother-in-law's ancestor's Memoirs. I did not think him old
BYRON AND THE PLUM-PUDDING 13
enough to have served in Spain, and must have expressed myself
badly. On the contrary, he has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine,
and promises to have it for some time to come. I beg to present
my respects to Lady Blessington, 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, and appeared in good spirits. He said that
he found the passages and stairs filled with people,
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,
expressed pleasure at partaking of a plum pud-
ding, a r Anglaise, made by one of our English
servants ; was helped twice, and observed, that he
hoped he should not shock us by eating so much :
" 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 gourmandize, 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. Hill, who was then our
14 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Minister at Genoa.* "Hill," 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 Perigord, and
finding it excellent, I determined on sharing it
with Hill ; but here my natural selfishness
suggested that it would be wiser for me, who
had so few dainties, to keep this for myself, than
to give it to Hill, who had so many. After half
an hour's debate between selfishness and gene-
rosity, which do you think " (turning to me)
" carried the point ?" I answered, " Generosity,
of course." " No, by Jove !" said he, " no such
thing ; selfishness in this case, as in most others,
triumphed : I sent the pate to my friend Hill,
because I felt another dinner off it would play the
deuce with me ; and so you see, after all, he
owed the pate more to selfishness than gene-
rosity." 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."
* This is inaccurate. Genoa was ceded to Sardinia in 1815,
and at the time Lady Blessington wrote her journal, the Hon.
William Hill was Envoy Extraordinary and Minister Plenipoten-
tiary from the Court of St. James's to that of Turin.
THE IMPROVING SOCIETY 15
The journal to which Lord Byron refers was
written by one of our party,* and Lord Byron,
having discovered its existence, and expressed a
desire to peruse it, the writer confided it to
him.
" April i4th, 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 Galignanis. My face is
better 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.t
" Yours in haste, but ever,
"NOEL BYRON."
"April 22nd, 1823.
" MILOR,
" I received your billet at dinner, which was a good one
with a sprinkling of female foreigners, who, I dare say, were very
agreeable. As I have formed a sullen resolution about presenta-
tions, 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 Ambassadress, 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 persons who have been
printed. I returned, and it was then too late to detain Miss
* Count Alfred D'Orsay.
I Probably the Reading Association or Book Club referred to
in the subsequent letter to Lord Blessington, dated May i4th,
1823.
1 6 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Power over the tea-urn. I beg you to accept my regrets, and
present my regards to Milady, and Miss Power, and Comte
Alfred, and believe me,
" Ever yours,
"NOEL BYRON."
"April 23rd, 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 broken one, in
some of my old Glens where I used to dream in my former
excursions. I should prefer a gray Greek stone over me to West-
minster 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 Honourable Dug [Douglas Kinnaird] and his Com-
mittee 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 \vishyou 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 subside again
into anything 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 yth, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD,
" I return the poesy, which will form a new light to lighten
the Irish, and will, I hope, be duly appreciated by the public. I
have not returned Miladi's verses, because I am not aware of the
HORSE-DEALING 17
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 i4th, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD,
" I avize you that the Reading 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 rota-
tion. If you have anything for England, a gentleman with some
law papers of mine returns there to-morrow (Thursday), and would
be happy to convey anything for you.
" Ever yours, and truly,
" NOEL B\RON.
" P.S. I request you to present my compliments to Lady
Blessington, Miss Power, and Comte D'Orsay."
" May 23rd, 1823.
"Mv DEAR LORD,
" I thought that I had answered 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
sufficiently abused your hospitality. ... I fear that I can hardly
afford more than two thousand francs for the steed in question,*
* Lady Blessington's horse Mameluke, for which 100 guineas
had been paid. Byron's offer was ^80.
2
1 8 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 Miladi, and to
Alfred, and to Miss Power.
" Ever yours,
"NOEL BYRON."
"May 24th, 1823.
" MY DEAR LORD,
" I find that I was elected a member of the Greek Com-
mittee in March, but did not receive the chairman's notice till
yesterday, 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 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 superfluous
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 interposi-
tion of Mrs. Charlemont led to it.* It is a
strange business! He declares that he left no
means untried to effect a reconciliation, and
* Lady Byron's remarks on this matter are to be found at
page 275 of the sixth volume of Moore's " Life of Byron," the
edition being that which appeared in 1832.
LADY BYRON ,19
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 husband, for the all-atoning grave,
that gives oblivion to the errors of the dead,
clothes those of the living in such sombre colours
to their own too-late 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 re-
fusing 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 notwith-
standing this regret, and all his good resolutions
to avoid similar sins, he might on renewed pro-
vocation recur to the same vengeance, though he
allowed it was petty and unworthy of him. Lord
Byron speaks of his sister, Mrs. Leigh, constantly,
and always with strong expressions of affection ;
he says she is the most faultless person he ever
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
knew, and that she was his only source of con-
solation in his troubles on the separation.*
Byron is a great talker ; his flippancy ceases in
a tete-a-tete, and he becomes sententious, abandon-
ing himself to the subject, and seeming to think
aloud, though his language has the appearance
of stiffness, and is quite opposed to the trifling
chit-chat that he enters into when in general
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 ridicule, according to the humour he
I happens to be in.
* The Hon. Augusta Byron, daughter of Byron's father by his
marriage with Baroness Conyers, who became the wife of Colonel
Leigh in 1807.
[21 ]
CHAPTER II.
Colonel Montgomery Letter from Byron to Lady Blessington
Lady Byron's portrait Byron's wishes regarding his daughter
Literary women Madame de Stael Her brilliant con-
versation A solecism Epigrams Literary reputation
Napoleon His " persecution " of Madame de Stael
" Corinne " A lecture on morals Byron's misjudgment of
himself His love of gossip Madame Benzoni The Duke
of Leeds Byron's superstitious nature Shelley's belief in
ghosts Byron's indifference to works of art His suspicion
" Sacred should the stream of sorrow flow."
A FRIEND of ours, Colonel Montgomery, having
arrived at Genoa, spent much of his time with
us. Lord Byron soon discovered this, and be-
came shy, embarrassed in his manner, and out of
humour. 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 Mont-
gomery to be a friend of Lady Byron's, and
believing him to be an enemy of his, he expected
that he would endeavour to influence us against
him, and finally succeed in depriving him of our
22 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
friendship ; and that this was the cause of his
altered manner. I endeavoured to convince him,
and at length succeeded, that Colonel Mont-
gomery was too good and honourable a man to
do anything spiteful or ill-natured, and that he
never spoke ill of him ; which seemed to gratify
him. He told me that Colonel Montgomery'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 Montgomery, to make
his sister write to Lady Byron for a copy of her
portrait, which he had long been most anxious
to possess. Colonel Montgomery, after much
entreaty, consented to write to his sister on the
subject, but on the express condition 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
Byron 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 education : he
refers to this in the letter which I copy :
"May 3rd, 1823.
" DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
" My request would be for a copy of the miniature of
Lady Byron which I have seen in possession of the late Lady
Noel, as I have no picture, or indeed memorial of any kind, of
Lady Byron, as all her letters were in my 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 Byron might be desirous that she should be placed.
It is not my intention to interfere with her on the subject during
her life ; and I would presume 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 anything be done, as far as I am concerned,
but in strict conformity with Lady Byron's own wishes and inten-
tions left in whatever manner she thought proper.
" Believe me, dear Lady Blessington,
" Your obliged, etc."
Talking of literary women, Lord Byron said
that Madame de Stae'l was certainly the cleverest,
though not the most agreeable woman he had
ever known. " She declaimed to you instead of
conversing with you," said he, " never pausing
except to take breath ; and if during that interval
a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she
did not attend to it, as she resumed the thread
of her discourse as though it had not been
interrupted."
This remark 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 Stae'l," continued Byron, " was
very eloquent when her imagination warmed,
24 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
(and a very little excited it) ; her powers of ima-
gination were much stronger than her reasoning
ones, perhaps owing to their being much more
frequently exercised ; her language was recon-
dite, but redundant ; and though always flowery,
and often brilliant, there was an obscurity that
left the impression that she did not perfectly
understand what she endeavoured to render in-
telligible to others. She constantly lost her-
self in philosophical disquisition, and once she
got entangled in the mazes of the labyrinth 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-
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 operation.
After fruitless efforts, she turned in despair to the
EPIGRAMS 25
valet de chambre behind her chair, and requested
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,
almost convulsed ; while Madame remained per-
fectly unconscious that she had committed any
solecism on la decence Anglaise. Poor Madame
de Stael verified the truth of the lines
" ' Qui de son sexe n'a pas Fesprit,
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 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 genie !
En elle tout aspire a 1'immortalite ;
Et jusqu'a son hydropisie,
Rien n'est perdu pour la posterite.'
26 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" ' PORTRAIT DE MADAME DE STAEL.
" ' Armande a pour esprit des momens de delire,
Armande a pour vertu le mepris des appas :
Elle craint la 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,
II 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.'
T 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
yourself. * Shake not thy jetty locks at me :' ten
years hence, if we both live so long, you will
allow 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 believed this had been pushed, as
NAPOLEON AND MADAME DE STAEL 27
she looked on the persecution as a triumphant
proof of her literary and political importance,,
which she more than insinuated Napoleon feared
might subvert his government. 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 persecution, as it
implies a belief of extraordinary superiority to
account for it."
I could not suppress the smile that Byron's
reflections excited, and, with his usual quick-
ness, he instantly felt the application I had made
of them to himself, for he blushed, and half
angry, half laughing, said : " Oh ! I see what
you are smiling at; you think that I have
described my 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 detested 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 continuing 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^
Stae'l that he considered her " Delphine " and
*' Corinne " as very dangerous productions to be
put into the hands of young women. I asked
him how she received this piece of candour, and
he answered : " Oh ! just as all such candid
avowals are received she never forgave me for
it. She endeavoured to prove to me that, au
contraire, the tendencies of both her novels were
supereminently moral. I begged that we might
not enter on * Delphine,' as that was bors de
question (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 impatient to attempt a refutation, that it was
only by my volubility I could keep her silent.
She interrupted me every moment by gesticu-
lating, exclaiming : * 0$uel idee /' ' Mon Dieu /'
* Ecoutez done ! ' ' Vous mimpatientez ! ' but I
continued saying, how dangerous it was to incul-
cate the belief that genius, talent, acquirements,
and accomplishments, such as Corinne was repre-
sented to possess, could not preserve a woman
A LECTURE ON MORALS 29
from becoming a victim to an unrequited passion,
and that reason, absence, and female pride were
unavailing.
" I told her that * Corinne ' would be con-
sidered, 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
humours, and had heard of her commenting on
me one day, so I determined to pay her off.
She told me that I, above all people, was the
last person that ought to talk of morals, 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, and ennui, and that I always took care
to represent the votaries of vice as unhappy
themselves, and entailing unhappiness on those
who loved them ; so that my moral was un-
exceptionable. She was perfectly outrageous,
and the more so, as I appeared calm and in
earnest, though I assure you it required an effort,
as I was ready to laugh outright at the idea
that /, who was at that period considered the
30 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 that / had taken such a
j
" 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 everything people told
her, and consequently to be continually hoaxed,
of which I saw such proofs in London. Madame
de Stael 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."
Byron has remarkable penetration in discover-
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, for which he does not give
himself credit ; his first impulses are always good,
but his temper, which is impatient, prevents his
BYRON'S MISJUDGMENT OF HIMSELF
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 forward his
defects, as if in anticipation of someone 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
or referred to I say affects, because I am sure
the dislike is not real or natural ; as one 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 appears
to give him more satisfaction than being con-
32 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
(sidered a man of fashion, who had great success
in fashionable society in London when he resided
there. He is peculiarly compassionate to the
I poor. I remarked that he rarely, in our rides,
[passed a mendicant without giving him charity,
^which was invariably bestowed with gentleness
jand 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 hearing
what is going on in the London fashionable
world ; his friends keep him au courant, and any
little scandal amuses him very much. I observed
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 minute ? 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 eacb other ;
MADAME BENZONI ON THE ENGLISH 33
but having seen various amiable traits in their
characters, she had arrived at the conclusion that
they were not naturally mechant ; but that living
in a country like England, where severity of
morals punishes so heavily any dereliction from
propriety, each individual, to prove personal
correctness, was compelled to attack the sins of
his or her acquaintance, as it furnished an oppor-
tunity of expressing his 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
charitable 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 case.*
" The Italians do not understand the English,"
* " Once in six or seven years our virtue becomes outrageous.
We cannot suffer the laws of religion and decency to be violated.
We must make a stand against vice. We must teach libertines
that the English people appreciate the importance of domestic
ties. Accordingly some unfortunate man, in no respect more
depraved than hundreds whose offences have been treated with
lenity, is singled out as an expiatory sacrifice. . . . We reflect
very complacently on our own severity, and compare with great
pride the high standard of morals established in England with the
Parisian laxity. At length our anger is satiated. Our victim is
ruined and heart-broken. And our virtue goes quietly to sleep
for seven years more." MACAULAY.
3
34 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 un-
charitableness ; so that to one error is added many
crimes." Byron had now got on a favourite
subject, 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 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 respect paid to public
opinion that induces people, who have not courage
to correct their errors, at least to endeavour
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
* Lady Blessington attributes this saying to Rochefoucauld.
But he wrote "hypocrisy," which differs from "cant," for which
there is no equivalent in French. A Frenchman writes " le cant
Britannique " when he desires to express what the word implies.
An Englishman will write about "a canting hypocrite."
THE DUKE OF LEEDS 35
considered to possess the most virtue where it is
the most highly appreciated ; 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 mortification 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 endeavoured to point out the inutility
of ceremony between people who could have no
two ideas in common, 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
excessively bored by the constraint that any
change of system would occasion, even for a
day ; but 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 person who is indifferent to him,
whatever his station in life may be, can occupy
his thoughts for a moment.
I have observed in Byron a habit of attaching
36 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
importance to trifles, and, vice-versa, turning
i serious events into ridicule ; he is extremely
1 superstitious, and seems offended with those who
cannot, or will not, partake this weakness. He
has frequently touched on this subject, and
tauntingly observed to me that I must believe
myself wiser than him, because I was not super-
stitious. I answered that the vividness of his
imagination, 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 /, not being blessed by the
camera lucida of imagination, could have no excuse
for the camera obscura, which I considered super-
stition 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 distinguished she gave the less brilliant,
but perhaps as useful, gift of plain and unsophis-
ticated reason. 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 subject,
BYRON'S SUPERSTITIOUS NATURE 37
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.
Shelley's spectre had appeared to a lady, walking J
in a garden, and he seemed to lay great stress
on this. Though some of the wisest of man- \
kind, as witness Johnson, shared this weakness
in common with Byron, still there is something
so unusual 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
anything 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 I" esprit le plus fort has its weak side.
Having declined riding with Byron one day,
on the plea of going to visit some of the Genoese
palaces and pictures, it furnished him with a
subject of attack at our next interview ; he
declared that he never believed people serious in
their admiration of pictures, statues, etc., and
that those who expressed the most admiration
* Percy Bysshe Shelley, whose fame as a poet is not second to
that of Byron, was born August 4th, 1792, and died by drowning
between Leghorn and Spezzia July 8th, 1822.
38 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
were Amatori sen-za Amore y and Conoscitori senza
Cognizione. I replied, that as I had never talked
co him of pictures, I hoped he would give me
credit for being sincere in my admiration of
them : but he was in no humour to give one
credit for anything on this occasion, as he felt
that our giving a preference to seeing sights,
when we might have passed the hours with him,
was not flattering 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 antiquities had no
interest for him ; nay, he carried this so far, that
he disbelieved the possibility of their exciting
interest in anyone, 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 asso-
ciation 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 forcibly, and, added he, with his mock-
ing smile, " often make me quite sentimental."
BYRON'S INSTABILITY OF CHARACTER 39
Byron is of a very suspicious nature; he
dreads 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 fre-
quent 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 more willing
than reluctant to bring them into observation.
He says that money is wisdom, 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 had not repaid him.
Byron seems to take a peculiar 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 appears so inconsistent, that it destroys syrn-
40 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
pathy, or if it does not quite do that, it makes
one angry with one's self for giving way to it for
one who is never two days of the same way of
thinking, or at least expressing himself. He
talks for effect, likes to excite astonishment, and
certainly destroys in the minds of his auditors
all confidence 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
satisfactory.
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 lamenta-
tion on it, which 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, ex-
pressive 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 expression 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.
BYRON AND SENTIMENT
" 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
when 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 every-day
life, the charm was broken, and it was impos-
sible 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 astonish-
ment. Notwithstanding all these contradictions
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
astonishing his hearers, he affected to despise and
ridicule them.
[42 ]
CHAPTER III.
Daily rides Clever people great talkers The fatigue of literary
occupation A lady's album Moore and the critic
Fashionable life in London as it appeared to Byron English
country life Les dames a la mode English and French
idiosyncrasies The village of Nervi Byron on horseback
Peculiarities of his riding-costume and his horse's caparison
Byron's horror of necrologists Friendless poets Byron
as literary critic Sir Walter Scott, author and man Byron's
appreciation of his works Cervantes surpassed by Scott
Byron at his best His acute observation Italian moon-
light Genoese sailors " God save the King " in a foreign
land The Stoic philosopher The Countess Guiccioli The
Counts Gamba " Don Juan " Hope's " Anastasius "
Gait's novels and Wilkie's pictures The genius of Mrs.
Hemans Byron's dislike for the Lake school of poets
Keats.
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 favourite
promenade. While riding by the sea-shore, he
often recurred to the events of his life, ming-
ling 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,
CLEVER PEOPLE GREAT TALKERS 43
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, which prevented sleep or occupation
for many hours afterwards.
I once spoke to him, by the desire of his
medical adviser, on the necessity of his accus-
toming himself to a more nutritious regimen ;
but he declared, that if he did, he should get fat
and stupid, and that he felt it was only by absti-
nence that 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 appre-
hension, he latterly felt himself dull and stupid.
The impression left on my mind is, that Byron
never could have been a brilliant person in
society, and that he was not formed for what
generally is understood by that term : he has
none of the " small change " that passes current
in the mart of society ; his gold is in ingots, and
cannot be brought into use for trifling expendi-
tures ; he, however, talks a good deal, and likes
to raconter. .
Speaking of people who were great talkers, he
said that almost all clever people were such, and
gave several examples : amongst others, he cited
Voltaire, Horace Walpole, Johnson, Napoleon
Bonaparte, and Madame de Stael. " But," said
44 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
he, " my friend, Lady , would have talked
them all out of the field. She, I suppose, has
heard that all clever people are great talkers,
and so has determined on displaying at least one
attribute of that genus ; but her ladyship 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 society.
" Lady ," continued Byron, " with beau-
coup de ridicule, has many essentially fine quali-
ties ; she is independent in her principles
though, by-the-bye, like all Independents, she
allows that privilege to few others, being the
veriest tyrant that ever governed Fashion's fools,
who are compelled to shake their caps and bells
as 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-coloured 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
A LADY'S ALBUM 45
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
reading to me an epic poem, tragedy, or at least
a novel of her composition, when lo ! she dis-
played to me a very richly-bound album, half
filled with printed extracts cut out of newspapers
and magazines, 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 advanced with the * march of intellect,' and
got an album filled with MS. poetry, to which
all of us 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 paying attention to the opinion of Milor
on poesy ? Had it been on racing or horse-flesh
he might have been right ; but Pegasus is, per-
haps, 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- /
46 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
tended by nature to be good, sober-minded
people, and those who live in the country are
1 really admirable. I saw a good deal of English
country life, and it is the only favourable im-
pression that remains of our mode of living ; but
of London and exclusive society I retain a fearful
recollection. Dissipation has need of wit, talent,
(and gaiety to prevent reflection, and make the
eternal 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 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
Byron, " 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 a 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
LONDON SOCIETY 47
assuming les usages du monde into a positive out-
rage 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 espieglerie 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
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 favourable impression.
Lord Grey and his family were the personifica-
tion 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
patrician breed, of which so few remain. His
uncompromising and uncompromised dignity,
founded on self-respect, and accompanied by that
certain proof of superiority simplicity of manner
48 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
and freedom from affectation, with her mild and
matron 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 romanti-
cally situated, and each turn of the road present-
ing various and beautiful prospects. They were
all familiar to him, and he failed not to point
them out, but in very sober terms, never allow-
ing anything like enthusiasm in his expressions,
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 ap-
pointments. His horse was literally covered with
various trappings, in the way of cavesons, martin-
gales, and Heaven knows how many other (to
me) unknown inventions. The saddle was a la
hussar de 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 colour, 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 before ; a black stock, very narrow ; a
dark-blue velvet cap with a shade, and a very
BYRON ON HORSEBACK 49
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 riding, but I have seen it
changed for a green tartan plaid jacket.
He did not ride well, which surprised us, as,
from the frequent allusions to horsemanship 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 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
anxious to buy it ; asked me a thousand questions
as to how I had acquired such a perfect command
of it, etc., etc., and entreated as the greatest
favour that I would resign it to him as a charger
to take to Greece, declaring he never would part
with it, etc. 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
4
So CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 :
I should positively have destroyed myself, but I
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
unpoetkal 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 them-
selves, without the editorial candour of excuses,
such as, * We cannot excuse this unhappy error,
FRIENDLESS POETS 51
or defend that impropriety !' the mode," con-
tinued Byron, " in which friends exalt their own
j
prudence and virtue, by exhibiting the want of
those qualities in the dear departed, and by
marking their disapproval 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
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 favoured race, as it has pleased the
Fates to make me one,) have no friends. On
the old principle, that * union gives force,' we
sometimes 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 endeavoured to defend my sex, but he
adhered to his opinion. I ought to add that
52 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
during this conversation he was very gay, and
that though his words may appear severe, there
was no severity in his manner. The natural
I flippancy of Lord Byron took off all appearance
of premeditation or bitterness from his remarks,
I even when they were acrimonious, and the im-
pression conveyed to, and left on my mind was,
that for the most part they were uttered more in
jest than in earnest. They were, however, suffi-
ciently 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 friendship, he
could not resist the temptation of showing one
up, either in conversation or by letter, though
in another half-hour he would put himself to
personal inconvenience to render a kindness 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 re-
cited with an emphasis, or a mock-heroic air, that
made it very ludicrous. The pathetic he always
burlesqued in reciting ; but this I am sure pro-
ceeded from an affectation of not sympathizing
with the general taste.
April . Lord Byron dined with us to-day.
During dinner he was as usual gay, spoke in
BYRON AT HIS BEST 53
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,
declaring that he had read and re-read them over
and over again, and always with increased plea-
sure. He said that he quite equalled, nay, in his
opinion surpassed, Cervantes. In talking of Sir
Walter's private character, goodness of heart, etc.,
Lord Byron became more animated than I had
ever seen him ; his colour changed from its
general pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his
eyes became 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 genius, 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 believe, (as he always suspects good
people to be,) his life might be different and
happier.
Byron is so acute an observer that nothing
escapes 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
54 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
often accompany them. He declares he can
sooner pardon crimes, because they proceed from
the passions, than these minor vices, which spring
from selfishness and self-conceit. We had a long
argument this evening on the subject, which
ended, like most arguments, by leaving both of
the same opinion as when it commenced. I
endeavoured 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 car-
ried with them their own punishment, the first
depriving the person of all sympathy, and the
second exposing him to ridicule, which to the
vain is a heavy punishment, 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 lite that those
persons who had the most vanity were the most
severe 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,
ITALIAN MOONLIGHT 55
and promised to be more merciful towards his
friends.
After tea we sat on the balcony : 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
waving in the breeze, which bore to us the sounds
of the as various languages of the crews. In the
distance v/e 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 female (lighthouse) casting its golden blaze
into this silvery 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 bow of the boat, which burns brilliantly,
and by which they not only see the fish that
approach, but attract them ; their scarlet caps,
which all the Genoese 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 odours
of the richest and rarest flowers, with which the
balconies are filled, one feels that such nights are
56 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
never to be forgotten, 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
silence of many minutes, it was broken by Byron,
who remarked, " What an evening, and what a
view ! Should we ever meet in the dense atmo-
sphere of London, shall we not recall this evening,
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 import-
ance to be considered supreme bon ton 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 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 tender
thoughts follow them ! mothers, wives, sisters,
THE STOIC PHILOSOPHER 57
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
lying 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
felt 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 / / 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
58 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
I a trepidation of manner that marked his feelings.
I And this is the man that I have heard considered
1 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 affect
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 Byr'on is
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
sentiments. 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 ex-
| ceedingly !
The mobility of his .nature is extraordinary,
and makes him inconsistent in his actions as well
as in his conversation. He introduced the subject
of the Countess Guiccioli and her family, which
we, of course, would not have touched on. He
THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI 59
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 Ravenna, their native place, on account of
their politics. 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 accept a pecuniary obligation from him in
all the difficulties entailed on them by their exile.
He represented the Countess Guiccioli as a
most amiable and lady-like person, perfectly dis-
interested and noble-minded, devotedly attached
to him, and possessing so many high and estimable
qualities as to offer an excuse for any man's
attachment to her. He said that he had been
passionately in love with her, and that she had
sacrificed everything 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 import-
ance. I never met anyone with so decided a
taste for aristocracy as Lord Byron, and this is
shown in a thousand different ways.
60 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
He says the Countess is well educated, re-
markably fond of, and well read in, the poetry
of her own country, and a tolerable proficient in
that of France and England. In his praises of
the Countess 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 passages. In short, he has said all that
was possible to impress me with a favourable
opinion of this lady, and has convinced me
that he entertains a very high one of her
_ himself.
i * Byron is a strange melange of good and evil,
the predominancy of either depending wholly on
the humour he may happen to be in. His is a
character that Nature totally unfitted for domestic
habits, or for rendering a woman of refinement
|__ or susceptibility happy. He confesses to me that
he is not happy, but admits that it is his own
fault, as the Countess 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
the Countess Guiccioli had little reason to be
satisfied 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
THE COUNTESS GUICCIOL1.
BYRON ON THE POETICAL TEMPERAMENT 61
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 absolutely necessary to me ; am fond of
shutting myself up for hours, and, when with
the person I like, am often distrait and gloomy.
"There is something, I am convinced (continued
Byron), in the poetical temperament that pre-
cludes happiness, 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 common 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, imagination again takes
wing, and, finding the insufficiency of actual in-
dulgence beyond the moment, abandons itself to
all its wayward fancies, and during this abandon-
ment becomes cold and insensible 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
62 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
we witness, without the power of alleviating, the
anxiety and dissatisfaction our conduct occasions.
" We are not so totally unfeeling as not to be
grieved at the unhappiness we cause ; but this
same power of imagination 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 another 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 existence 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
qualities, 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
BYRON'S BESETTING SIN
could not live without her. Even now the recol-
lection 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 imagination. It is a dreadful proof
of the weakness of our natures that we cannot
control ourselves sufficiently 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
enjoyments.
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 honour or that of another;
and the first person with whom he found himself
64 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
tete-a-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
appeal to her feelings the moment it was exposed
to the public nay, must have offended her
. delicacy.
Byron spoke to-day in terms of high com-
mendation of Hope's " Anastasius ;" said that he
wept bitterly over many pages of it, and for two
reasons r-first, that he had not written it, and
secondly, that Hope had ; for that it was neces-
sary to like a man excessively to pardon his
writing 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."*
* Thomas Hope born about 1770; died February 3rd, 1831
was a wealthy man who collected works of art and patronized
artists. He wrote works on house-furnishing and decoration, and
on the costume of the ancients and the moderns. His romance,
entitled " Anastasius ; or, Memoirs of a Greek Writer at the Close
of the Eighteenth Century," appeared anonymously in 1819. It
was attributed to Byron, and Hope claimed the authorship. Two
books from his pen appeared after his death, the one being " An
Essay on the Origin and Prospects of Man," the other "An
Historical Essay on Architecture."
BYRON AND THE LAKE SCHOOL 65
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
passionate admirer of her poetry, I felt flattered,
at finding that Lord Byron fully sympathized
with my admiration. He has, or at least ex-
presses, 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.
[66]
CHAPTER IV.
On the balcony -Shelley Byron's eulogy on him Mary Woll-
stonecraft Shelley Leigh Hunt A journalistic venture,
"The Liberal" Absent friends Hobhouse Lines written
on hearing of Lady Byron's illness Byron's will Sir Francis
Burdett An impartial friend The pride of aristocracy
"George Rose to George Byron" Ravenna Count Vittorio
Alfieri Mistaken identity Anonymous letters A stranger's
prayer " The beauty of holiness" Lady Cowper Lady
Adelaide Forbes.
ON looking out from the balcony this morn-
ing 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, dis-
interested beyond all other men, and possessing a
degree of genius, joined to a simplicity, as rare as
is it admirable. He had formed to himself a beau
BYRON'S EULOGY OF SHELLEY 67
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 con-
front the horrible truth that awaited her ; it was
the courage of despair. I have seen nothing in
tragedy on the stage so 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 com-
municated 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
* Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley born August 3oth, 1797; died
February 2ist, 1851 was Shelley's second wife. She wrote
several readable books, the one by which she is best known being
that continuing the weird story called " Frankenstein."
68 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 per-
ceive 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 had associated with him. He
gives me the idea of a man, who, feeling him-
self in such a dilemma, would become cold
and ungracious to the parties with whom he so
stood, before he had mental courage sufficient to
abandon 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
BYRON AND HOBHOUSE 69
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 recognised 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-
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 candour and
temper, to suppose him capable of hearing their
recapitulation 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
70 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
sort of discoloured magnifying-glass, while his
own are gazed at through a concave lens. All
that Byron has told me of the frankness and
unbending honesty of Mr. Hobhouse's character
has given me a most favourable impression of that
gentleman.
JJ 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 doubtful of the reception it might meet, is
evident in one, while bitterness, uncompromising
bitterness, marks the other. Neither was written
but with 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 such value that
any reasons for their suppression ought to be
extremely strong, so, on the other hand, I trust,
they cannot hurt either the feelings of her to
whom they are addressed, or the memory of him
by whom they are written : to her, because the
very bitterness of reproach proves that uncon-
querable affection which cannot but heal the
wound it causes ; to him, because who, in the
shattered feelings they betray, will not acknow-
LINES ON LADY BYRON'S ILLNESS 71
ledge the grief that hurries into error, and (may
we add in charity !) atones for it ?
"LINES ON HEARING THAT LADY BYRON WAS ILL.
" 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
To be the Nemesis who should requite
Nor 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 !
Yes ! they may flatter thee, but thou shah 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
72 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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,
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 com-
placency on her personal attractions, saying, that
though not regularly handsome, he liked her
BYRON'S INTEREST IN HIS WIFE 73
looks. He is very inquisitive about her ; was
much disappointed that I had never seen her,
nor could give any account of her appearance at
present. In short, a thousand indescribable cir-
cumstances have left the impression 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 tenour of her conduct the refusing
any explanation never answering his letters, nor
holding 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
kindly of one who certainly showed no symptom
of ever bestowing a thought on him. The mystery
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 consciousness
that some dear object, to whom we thought our-
selves 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 bitter-
ness of poor Byron's feelings on this point, though
not the published sarcasms caused by this bitter-
ness ; and whatever may be the sufferings of
Lady Byron, they are more than avenged by
what her husband feels.
74 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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, perhaps,
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
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 favourite, 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 women, 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 fearful marks behind,
how often are we compelled to assume the sem-
blance of coldness and indifference when the
heart inly bleeds ; and the decent composure, put
WOMA N AND HER HE A RT 75
on with our visiting garments to appear in public,
and, like them, worn for a few hours, is with
them laid aside ; and all the dreariness, the heart-
consuming cares, that women 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 our-
selves, 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 legitimate 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
76 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
a new-born infant ; carrying with her into soli-
tude 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 some, and appreciated by
few seeking consolation alone in the discharge
of her duties, and avoiding all external demon-
strations 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
publication 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
A COMPARISON OF SITUATIONS 77
sunny skies of Italy, and among 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 the Countess 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 fame. It may be urged that dis-
appointment and sorrow drove him into such
excesses ; but admitting this, surely we must
respect the grief that is borne in solitude, and
with the most irreproachable 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
78 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
of her life ever since the separation, there could
be no doubt, and this alone vouched for the feel-
ings that led to it.
He seemed pleased and gratified by the reflec-
tions 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,
" You probe old and half-healed wounds, but
though you give pain, you excite a more healthy
action and do good."
His heart yearns to see his child ; all children
of the same age remind him of her, and he loves
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 by his species en masse, but he
who would judge of mankind in the aggregate,
BYRON'S WILL 79
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 the Countess
Guiccioli 1 0,000, and had intended to have left
her 25,000 ; but that she had suspected his in-
tentions, and urged him so strongly not to do so,
or indeed to leave her anything, 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. T
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 deli-
cacy and disinterestedness she displayed, 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 the Countess.
8o CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
his professed friends stood aloof, on his separation
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 endeavoured to reason him out of this by
urging the principle that mankind en masse are
everywhere the same ; but he denied this on the
plea that, as civilization had arrived at a greater
degree of perfection in England than elsewhere,
* Sir Francis Burdett, Bart. born January 25th, 1770; died
January 23rd, 1844 was noted in early life for marrying the
youngest daughter of Mr. Coutts, for the intensity of his Radicalism,
and for his capacity as a public speaker. He was imprisoned in
the Tower in 1819 by the House of Commons for breach of
privilege; he was prosecuted by the Government in 1820 for
denouncing the " Peterloo Massacre," and sentenced to three
months' imprisonment and a fine of ^2,000 ; his name was
struck out of the Commission of the Peace. At the age of sixty-
five, and after representing Westminster as a Radical for many
years, he was returned for Wiltshire as a Tory. He was a man of
education, and he was highly respected even by those who disliked
his political opinions and conduct.
AN " UNPARTIAL" FRIEND 81
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 relations, deserting each
other in the hour of need, fearful that any part of
the censure heaped on some less fortunate con-
nexion might fall on them.
I am unwilling to believe that his pictures 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 he told them to me^ and not to
others." I observed that the epithet impartial
was the applicable one ; but he denied it, saying
that Mr. Hobhouse must have been impartial to
have discerned 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
extremely discomposed. After half- an -hour's
conversation on indifferent subjects, he at length
broke forth with, " Only fancy my receiving to-
6
82 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
day a tragedy dedicated as follows : ' From
George [Rose?] to George Byron!' This is
being cool with a vengeance. I never was more
provoked. 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 decency
can write nothing worthy of being read." We
were astonished at witnessing the annoyance this
circumstance gave him, and more than ever con-
vinced that the pride of aristocracy is one of the
peculiar features of his character. If he some-
times forgets his rank, he never can forgive any-
one else's doing so ; and as he is not naturally
dignified, and his propensity to flippancy renders
him still less so, he often finds himself in a false
position by endeavouring to recover lost ground.
We endeavoured to console him by telling him
that we knew Mr. George [Rose ?] a little, and
that he was clever and agreeable, as also that his
passing over the title of Byron was meant as a
compliment ; it was a delicate preference shown
to the renown accorded to George Byron the
poet over the rank and title, which were adven-
titious advantages ennobled 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
THE PRIDE OF ARISTOCRACY 83
strange to see a person of such brilliant and
powerful genius sullied by such incongruities.
Were he but sensible how much the Lord is over-
looked 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 aristocrat. It is
also evident that he attaches importance 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, C9m-
ments 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 everything in him is contra-
dictory and extraordinary. 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 residence of
the Countess Guiccioli, he dwells with peculiar
complacency on the equipage of her husband ;
talks of the six black carriage-horses, without
which the old Count seldom moved, and their
84 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
spacious palazzo ; also the wealth of the Count
and the distinguished connexions of the lady.
He describes the Countess as being of the middle
stature, finely formed, exquisitely fair, her features
perfectly regular, and the expression of her coun-
tenance remarkable for its animation and sweet-
ness, 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 amia-
bility, it may be concluded, as indeed he declares,
that this is his last attachment. He frequently
talks of Alfieri, and always with enthusiastic
admiration.* He remarks on the similarity of
their tastes and pursuits, their domesticating
themselves with women of rank, their fondness,
for animals, and, above all, for horses ; their
liking to be surrounded by birds and pets of
various descriptions ; their passionate love of
liberty, habitual gloom, etc., etc. In short, he
produces so many points of resemblance, that it
leads one to suspect that he is a copy of an
original he has long studied.
* Count Vittorio Alfieri born January i7th, 1741 ; died
October 8th, 1803 is one of the most noteworthy among modern
Italian poets. His tragedies are deservedly admired. The Countess
of Albany, widow of Charles Stuart, the Young Pretender, lived
with him ; and when she died twenty years after him, her remains
were placed at her request by the side of his in the Church of
Santa Croce in Florence.
MISTAKEN IDENTITY 85
This, again, proceeds from a want of self-
respect ; 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 pur-
sued 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 Italian
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 off to encounter him ; and having
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 table, whom
she concludes must be Alfieri throws herself
into his arms and, in broken words, declares her
admiration, and the distance she has come to
declare it. In the midst of the lady's impas-
sioned speeches, Alfieri enters the room, 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,
finding himself, as he says, in the embraces of a
86 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
lady who never allowed him even a moment to
interrupt her, by the simple question of what
she meant ! Alfieri retired in offended dignity,
shocked that anyone could be mistaken for him,
while the Principessa had to retrace her steps,
her enthusiasm 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.
The following is the copy of the letter and
prayer which Lord Byron has permitted me to
make :
"TO LORD BYRON.
" Frome, Somerset,
"November 2ist, 1821.
" MY LORD,
" More than two years since, a lovely and beloved wife was
taken from me, by lingering disease, after a very short union. She
A STRANGER'S PRAYER 87
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, ' God's
happiness ! 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 interested. May the person to whom I allude
(and who is now, we fear, as much distinguished for his neglect
of Thee as for the transcendent 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 keen-
ness 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 to
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 per-
mitted 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, and firm belief in the efficacy of
Christ's death for the salvation of those who trust in Him, and
88 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
really wish to serve Him), would soon dry up, and leave us barren
of every virtue as before. Hastings, July yst, 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
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. De Lamartine ; 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 un-
impaired amidst the languors and pains of approaching dissolu-
tion. I will hope that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply
sincere, 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 from above,' and 'peace,'
and 'joy,' may enter 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 a
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 have done more to give
me a good opinion of religion and its professors,
than all the religious books I ever read in my
life.
BYRON ON PROFESSORS OF RELIGION 89
u Here were two most amiable and exalted
minds offering prayers and wishes for the salva-
tion of one considered by three parts of his
countrymen 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 their consequences) 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, endeavour, as
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 sceptics : 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
90 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 righteous-
ness, condemning, rather than pitying, all erring
brothers, it repels the wavering, and fixes the
unrepentant in their sins. Such a religion can
make few converts, but may make many dis-
senters, 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 pro-
fessors of religion supported by its consolations,
and willing to extend these consolations to those
who have still more need of them the misguided
and the erring."
Those who accuse Byron of being an unbe-
liever are wrong : he is sceptical, but not unbe-
lieving ; 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
BYRON NOT AN UNBELIEVER 91
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, perhaps, 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 me. It is strange, but true, that Mrs.
Sheppard is mixed up with all my religious
aspirations : nothing ever so excited my imagina-
tion 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 feelings for self, and
those near and dear to one, thinking of, and
praying for me, who was deemed by all an out-
cast. 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
92 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
anything to have her portrait, though perhaps it
would destroy the beau ideal I have formed of
her.
" What strange thoughts pass through the mind,
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 com-
plexion, but of expression, that looking out of
the soul through the eyes, which, in my opinion,
constitutes true beauty. Women have been
pointed out to me as beautiful who never could
have interested my feelings, from their want of
countenance, or expression, which means counte-
nance ; 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-humoured smiles ought to be ready to chase
away the expression of pensiveness or care that
sentiment or earthly ills call forth. Women were
LADY COW PER
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 beautiful Lady C[owper ?] was ! She
had no great variety of expression, but the pre-
dominant ones were purity, calmness, and abstrac-
tion. She looked as if she had never caused an
unhallowed sentiment, or felt one a sort of
4 moonbeam on the snow,' as our friend Moore
would describe her, that was lovely to look on.
Lady Adelaide Forbes 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 Adelaide Forbes
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.*
* In a letter to Moore, dated July i3th, 1813, Byron wrote:
" Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined remember, I
say but inclined to be seriously enamoured with Lady A. Forbes."
94 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 command over my own
wayward humour, I might have rendered myself
so dear and necessary to Lady Byron, that she
would not, could not, have left me. It is cer-
tainly 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 circum-
stance that one would suppose likely to cement
the attachment. I always get out of temper
when I recur to this subject ; and yet, malgre moi,
I find myself continually recurring to it."
_ .
And on May i2th, 1817, he wrote to him : "The Apollo Belvidere
is the image of Lady Adelaide Forbes I think I never saw such
a likeness."
[95 ]
CHAPTER V.
A chameleon Difficulty in describing Byron John Kemble A
gazing multitude Byron's fondness for flowers His candour
A parody Luttrell His " Advice to Julia " What Moore
was meant for The evanescence of genius Byron's dread
of ridicule Inherited bad temper " The Deformed Trans-
formed" Reminiscence Byron's sensitiveness regarding his
lameness His desultory reading Count Pietro Gamba
" The Age of Bronze " An anonymous author Byron's love
of mystification.
BYRON is a perfect chameleon, possessing the
fabulous quality attributed to that animal, of
taking the colour 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 hypocrisy more than any other
vice saying it is the origin of all. If vanity,
selfishness, or mundane sentiments, are brought in
contact with him, every arrow in the armoury of
96 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 he is assured that 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 betrays on
hearing of distress or misfortune, which he
endeavours 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 un-
doubted proofs of good feeling, that every pre-
vious impression to his disadvantage fades away,
and one is vexed with one's self for ever having
harboured them. But, alas ! " the morrow comes,"
and he is no longer the same being. Some dis-
agreeable 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
DIFFICULTY IN DESCRIBING BYRON 97
any good impression he might have made, and
appears angry with himself for having yielded to
the kindly feelings that gave birth to it. After
such exhibitions, one feels perplexed what opinion
to form of him ; and the individual who has an
opportunity of seeing Byron very often, and for
any length of time, if he or she stated the daily
impressions candidly, would find, on reviewing
them, a mass of heterogeneous evidence, from
which it would be most difficult to draw a just
conclusion. The affectionate manner in which
he i peaks 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 fruit.
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,
according 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
7
98 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 giving
portraits, each unlike the other, and yet all
bearing a resemblance to the original at some one
time. Like the pictures given of some celebrated
actor in his different characters, each likeness is
affected by the dress and the part he has 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 who 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 purposely 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
BYRON'S FONDNESS FOR FLOWERS 99
de la Ville, when I pay the price of passing
through the town, and exposing myself to the
gazing multitude on the stairs and in the ante-
chambers."
Yet there were days when he seemed more
pleased than displeased at being followed and
stared at. All depended on the humour he was
in. When gay, he attributed the attention he
excited to the true cause admiration of his
genius ; but when in a less good-natured humour,
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 gene-
rally bought a large bouquet every day from a
gardener 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 anything 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 with-
out bitter feelings ? Exiled from my country
ioo CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
by a species of ostracism the most humili-
ating to a proud mind, when daggers and not
shells were used to ballot, inflicting mental
wounds more deadly and difficult 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, precludes the
privacy I desire, and renders me an object of
curiosity, which is a continual source 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 cannot 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 Countess 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 morti-
fying 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
BYRON'S CANDOUR 101
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 respect-
ability of wedlock. It is painful (said Byron) to
find one's self growing old without
" ' That which should accompany old age,
As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends.'
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." _i
" With all my faults," said Byron one day,
" and they are, as you will readily believe, innu-
merable, I have never traduced the only two
women with whom I was ever domesticated,
Lady Byron and the Countess Guiccioli. Though
I have had, God knows, reason to complain of
Lady Byron's leaving me, and all that her de-
sertion 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 ex-
cellent and amiable qualities she possesses, or at
least possessed, when I knew her ; and I have
only to regret that forgiveness for real or ima-
gined 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 are few examples of such complete
102 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
and disinterested affection as she has shown to-
wards me all through our attachment."
I observed in Lord Byron a candour in talking
of 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
fear, by continually recapitulating them, you
will get so accustomed to their existence as to
conquer your disgust of them. You remind me
of Belcour, in the ' West Indian,' when he ex-
claims, ' 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 determined 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 amendment. 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 I am."
* The passage occurs in Richard Cumberland's "West Indian,"
which was first acted at Drury Lane Theatre in 1771, and runs
thus : " Sure no man sins with so much repentance, or repents
with so little amendment, as I do." Act III., scene 3.
AN ABSTRACT SUBJECT 103
" 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
existence, one purely contemplative, during which
the crimes, faults, and follies of mankind are
laid open to my view (my own forming a pro-
minent 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 remains. It is as though I had
the faculty of discovering 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 con-
templation, when too much indulged, often pro-
duced 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 con-
104 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
templation 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, produces
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 every thing, and every thing is nought ;'
and, instead of parody, it becomes true philo-
sophy."
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 particular friends."
" Of course you know Luttrell," 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,
LUTTRELL' S "ADVICE TO JULIA " 105
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, Luttrell is never
obtrusive ; even the choicest bons mots are only
brought forth when perfectly applicable, and
then are given in a tone of good breeding which
enhances their value."*
" Moore is very sparkling in a choice or chosen
society (said Byron) ; with lord and lady listeners
he shines like a diamond, and thinks that, like
that precious stone, his brilliancy should be
* Writing in his Diary on August i2th, 1820, Moore says the
" Advice to Julia " is " full of well-bred facetiousness and sparkle
of the very first water." Luttrell said many clever things, and he
made a most mistaken forecast of the Duke of Wellington. When
the latter was a captain, he said to himself, as he told Moore,
" Well, let who will get on in this world, you certainly will not."
The following are two fair specimens of his verses. In the first
he neatly compliments Ellen Tree, then very young, and who
became Mrs. Charles Kean in 1842 :
" On this Tree if a nightingale settles and sings,
This Tree will return her as good as she brings."
The second is an epitaph on a man who had been run over by an
omnibus :
" Killed by an omnibus why not ?
So quick a death a boon is.
Let not his friends lament his lot,
Mors omnibus communis"
io6 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
reserved 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 much
in society ; many 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 incompatible, and the
latter can rarely, if ever, be in close or frequent
contact with the former, without degenerating :
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 con-
centrating my thoughts, and became another
being : you will perhaps think a better, on the
principle that any change in me must be for the
better ; but no, instead of this, I became worse,
THE EVANESCENCE OF GENIUS 107
for the recollection of former mental power re-
mained, reproaching me with present inability,
and increased my natural irritability. It must
be this consciousness of diminished power that
renders old people peevish, and, I suspect,
the peevishness will be in proportion to former
ability. Those who have once accustomed them-
selves to think and reflect deeply in solitude, will
soon begin to find society irksome ; the small
money of conversation will appear 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 diamonds 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 morr 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 been com-
prised in the simple statement of my belief that
loS CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 ;
talent 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
currency, those who are compelled to receive
it will indemnify themselves by finding out a
thousand imperfections in the owner, and as they
cannot approach his elevation, will endeavour 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 be-
tween them. We hear the errors of men of
genius continually brought forward, while those
that belong to mediocrity are unnoticed ; hence
people conclude that errors peculiarly appertain
to genius, and that those who boast it not are
saved from them. Happy delusion ! but not even
THE FATE OF GENIUS 109
this belief can induce them to commiserate the
faults they condemn.
" 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 hin-
drances 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 physical existence,
no wonder that they stumble when treading the
mazes of ordinary life, with irritated sensibility,
and mistaken views of all the common occur-
rences they encounter."
Lord Byron dined with us to-day : we all
observed 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 ex-
citing it.
This is a strange anomaly that I have observed
in Byron an extreme susceptibility to censorious
i io CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 infliction 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 accom-
panies 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 honoured 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
learn, had a much better ; so that it is no wonder
INHERITED BAD TEMPER in
I have such a very bad one. As long as I can
remember anything, 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
anything that excites my feelings ; and once the
lurking devil in me 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-humour 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-humour 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 mortification I
endured, and curse the deformity that I now
began to consider as a signal mark of the injustice
of Providence. Those were bitter moments :
even now, the impression of them is vivid in
my mind ; and they cankered a heart that I
112 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
astonished at the recollection of the intensity of
my feelings at that period ; first impressions are
indelible. My poor mother, and after her my
schoolfellows, 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 dis-
position, as well as reflection, to conquer the
corroding bitterness 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 consciousness of it gives to the
countenance an habitual expression of discontent,
which I believe is the case ; yet it is too bad
(added Byron with bitterness) that, because one
has 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
character. As Byron had said that his own
"THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED" 113
position had led to his writing " The Deformed
Transformed," 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, resem-
blances 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 embel-
lished 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 or 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
trifling remark has often led him into long dis-
8
H4 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
quisitions, evidently elicited by it ; and so prolific
is his imagination, that the slightest spark can
warm it.
Count Pietro Gamba * lent me the " 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 mystifica-
tion 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 ?
* The brother of Countess Guiccioli.
[ "51
CHAPTER VI.
Napoleon His lack of sympathy The brothers Smith The
" Rejected Addresses " " Cui Bono " Byron's marvellous
memory His love of solitude An enormous inkstand A
giant shaving himself The sublime and the ridiculous A
hoax The mad Earl of Portsmouth Cant in America
The American navy John Wilson Croker Bryan Waller
Procter (" Barry Cornwall ") Byron on marriage Benjamin
Constant An antidote to Madame de StaeTs " Corinne "
The advantages of blindness and the inutility of
beauty.
BYRON talks often of Napoleon, of whom he
is a great admirer, and says that what he most
likes in his character is his want of sympathy,
which proved 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 de-
gradations he twice underwent when deserted
by those on whom he counted. Not all Byron's
Ii6 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
expressed contempt for mankind can induce me
to believe that he has the feeling ; this is one of
the many little artifices 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 he cannot have
everything his own way. Were he but sensible
of his own powers, how infinitely superior would
he be, for he would see the uselessness, as well
as unworthiness, of being artificial, 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 stability ; his abuse
of friends, which is continual, has always ap-
peared to me more inconsistent than ill-natured,
and as if indulged in more to prove that he was
superior to the partiality friendship engenders,
than that they were unworthy of exciting the
sentiment. He has the rage of displaying 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 ;
BYRON'S LOVE OF MYSTIFICATION 117
whereas, at present, those who most admire the
genius will be the most disappointed in the man.
The love 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 the insinuation conveyed : if it has
excited 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 evi-
dently discomposed and sulky, stealing sly glances
at the person he has been endeavouring 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, manquee 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,
* The authors of the " Rejected Addresses " were James Smith
born February loth, 1775 > died December 24th, 1839 and
Horace, his brother born December 3131, 1779 ; died July i2th,
1849. James wrote the first stanza of "Cui Bono," and Horace
the rest ; the second and third run as follows :
ii.
" Ye reckless dupes, who hither wend your way
To gaze on puppets in a painted dome,
Pursuing pastimes glittering to betray,
Like falling stars in life's eternal gloom,
Ii8 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
unlike all other imitations, are full of genius, and
that the " Cui Bono " has some lines that 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
admirable, and just what he could have wished
to write on a similar subject. His memory is
extraordinary, for he can repeat lines from every
author whose works have pleased him ; and in
reciting the passages that have called forth his
censure or ridicule, it is no less tenacious. He
remarked on the pleasure he felt at meeting
people with whom he could go over old subjects
of interest, whether on persons or literature, and
What seek ye here ? Joy's evanescent bloom ?
Woe's me ! the brightest wreaths she ever gave
Are but as flowers that decorate a tomb.
Man's heart, the mournful urn o'er which they wave,
Is sacred to despair, its pedestal the grave.
in.
" Has life so little store of real woes,
That here ye wend to taste fictitious grief ?
Or is it that from truth such anguish flows,
Ye court the lying drama for relief ?
Long shall ye find the pang, the respite brief :
Or if one tolerable page appears
In folly's volume, 'tis the actor's leaf
Who dries his own by drawing other's tears,
And raising present mirth, makes glad his future years."
THE SUBLIME AND THE RIDICULOUS 1*9
said that nothing cemented friendship or com-
panionship so strongly as having read the same
books and known the same people.
I observed that when, in our rides, we came
to any fine 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 acquaintance 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 reminded 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 remarked,
120 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" 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 exhausted
his admiration in expressions, but concentrated
his powers in fixing them in memory." The end
and aim of his life is to render himself cele-
brated : hitherto his pen has been the instrument
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 conver-
sation, and still more of his attention ; but even
on this subject there is never the slightest elan,
and it appears 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 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 disposed to share the feel-
ings of others, if we observe that those feelings
are not as warm as the occasion seems to require.
BYRON'S DELICATE HEALTH 121
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 on the altar of liberty all the immense ad-
vantages which station, fortune, and genius can
bestow, that it is impossible to reflect on it with-
out 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. Per-
haps 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, per-
haps, less likely to excite warmer feelings. How-
ever this may be, his whole manner and conver-
sation on the subject are calculated to chill the
admiration such an enterprize ought to create, and
to reduce it to a more ordinary standard.
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
dangerous effects likely to ensue from his present
system. He declares that he has no choice but
122 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 regimen of fish and vegetables served to support
existence without pampering it. I affected to
think that his excellency in and fondness of
swimming arose from his continually living on
fish, and he appeared disposed to admit the
possibility, until, being no longer able to support
my gravity, I laughed aloud, which for the first
minute discomposed 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 get thinner ?" or,
" Did you ever see any person so thin as I am
who was not ill ?" He says he is sure no one
could recognize him were he to go to England at
present, and seems to enjoy this thought very
much.
Byron affects a perfect indifference to the
opinion of the world, yet is more influenced by it
THE MAD EARL OF PORTSMOUTH 123
than most people not in his conduct, but in his
dread of and wincing under its censures. He
was extremely agitated by his name being intro-
duced in the Portsmouth 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
of the contrary. The susceptibility will always
leave him at the mercy of all who may choose to
write against him, however insignificant they
may be.
I noticed Byron one day more than usually
* On February 28th, 1823, John Charles, third Earl of Ports-
mouth, was declared by a jury to be " a man of unsound mind
and condition, and incapable of managing himself and his affairs,
and that he was so from January ist, 1809." He was married on
March yth, 1814, to Mary Anne, the eldest daughter of Mr.
Hanson, solicitor to Byron, and Byron gave away the bride. Why
he should have done so while the bride's father was alive and
present is a puzzle of which the possible solution is that the fact of
Byron being a peer was regarded as entitling him to the post of
honour. His annoyance concerning the newspapers appears to
have been caused by an article in the Journal des Debats,
stating that Byron had formerly been intimately acquainted with
the Countess. Writing on the subject, he says : " I beg leave to
decline the liaison, which is quite untrue : my liaison was with the
father in the unsentimental shape of long lawyer's bills, through
the medium of which I have had to pay him ten or twelve
thousand pounds within these few years." Byron adds : " I could
not foresee that a man was to turn out mad who had gone about
the world for fifty years as competent to vote and walk at large ;
nor did he seem to me more insane than any other person going
to be married."
124 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
irritable, though he endeavoured to suppress all
symptoms of it. After various sarcasms on the
cant and hypocrisy of the times, which was
always the signal that he was suffering from some
attack made on him, he burst forth in violent in-
vectives 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 American newspaper, alluding to a report
that he was going to reside there. We had seen
the article, 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 was never
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 keeping a serious face on hear-
ing it ; and Byron smiled 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
* John Wilson Croker born December 2oth, 1780; died
August ioth, 1857 was Secretary to the Admiralty for many
years ; he sat in Parliament till the passing of the Reform Bill in
.1832; he was a frequent contributor to the Quarterly Review^
and he edited several works. His edition of " Boswell's Johnson "
was attacked by Macaulay in the Edinburgh ; while he attacked
the two first volumes of Macaulay's " History of England " in
the Quarterly.
BYRON ON MARRIAGE 125
Cornwall,* which, he says, is full of imagination
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 himselt
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
ensure happiness all others entail misery. I
put religion and morals out of the question,
though of course the misery will be increased
tenfold by the influence of both ; but, admitting
persons to have neither (and many such are by
the good-natured world supposed to exist), still
liaisons, that are not cemented by marriage, must
produce unhappiness, when there is refinement of
mind, and that honourable fierte which accom-
panies it. The humiliations and vexations a
woman under such circumstances is exposed to
cannot fail to have a certain effect on her temper
* This is the name under which Bryan Waller Procter wrote.
He was born November 2ist, 1787, and died October 4th, 1874.
He had produced four volumes of poems at the time Byron con-
versed with Lady Blessington ; his " English Songs," which ap-
peared in 1832, are more valued than his other verses. He wrote
memoirs of Kean and Charles Lamb. He was called to the Bar
in 1831, and he was a Metropolitan Commissioner of Lunacy from
1832 to 1861. He was the father of Adelaide Anne Procter.
126 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
and spirits, which robs her of the charms that
won affection ; it renders her susceptible and sus-
picious ; her self-esteem being diminished, she
becomes doubly jealous of that of him for whom
she 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 propor-
tion to their consciousness of a decrease in the
attentions they desire, and this very exigeance
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 recol-
lected having the verses in my possession, having
been allowed to copy them by Mr. D. Kinnaird
the day he received them from Lord Byron. The
following are the verses :
"COMPOSED DECEMBER IST, 1819.
" Could Love for ever
Run like a river,
And Time's endeavour
Be tried in vain ;
No other pleasure
With this could measure ;
And as a treasure
We'd hug the chain.
BYRON'S BAD VERSES 127
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,
A formal paction,
Which curbs his reign,
Obscures his glory,
Despot no more, he
Such territory
Quits with disdain.
128 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Still, still advancing,
With banners glancing,
His power 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 teazing
All passion blight :
If once diminish'd,
His reign is finish'd,
One last embrace then, and bid good-night
" So shall Affection
To recollection
The dear connexion
Bring back with joy ;
You have not waited
Till, tired and hated,
All passion sated,
Began to cloy.
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 rapture : not least, though last !
BYRON'S BAD VERSES 129
" 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 the author, that they
are merely given as proof that the greatest genius
can sometimes write bad verses ; as even Homer
nods. I 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 mar-
riage when the persons are so much attached as
not to be able to live asunder, which ought
always to be tried by a year's absence before the
irrevocable knot is formed. The truest picture
of the misery unhallowed liaisons produce," said
Byron, " is in the * Adolphe ' of Benjamin Con-
stant.* I told Madame de Stael that there was
* Benjamin Constant de Rebecque, born October isth, 1767,
died December 10, 1830, was a Swiss by birth and a Frenchman
9
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 me
like an avalanche, whenever I told her any of
my amiable truths, sweeping everything before
her, with that eloquence which always over-
whelmed, but never convinced. She however,
good soul, believed she had convinced, whenever
she silenced an opponent ; 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
t argument with her. I liked her daughter very
much," said Byron : " I wonder will she turn
out literary ? at all events, though she may not
write, she possesses 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."*
by naturalization. He achieved fame as a Parliamentary orator.
Among his many writings, his work of " Adolphe " is now the best
known, and it has always been the most admired. It is supposed
to contain particulars of his own life. He was one of Madame
de StaeTs special favourites, and she was thought to be the heroine
of the romance ; but, according to M. de Lomerie, the lady who
figures under the name of Eleonore was Mrs. Lindsey.
* Madame de Stael, born April 22nd, 1766, died July i4th,
1817, was the most brilliant Frenchwoman of her time. Her
INSANE ANGER 131
One day that Byron dined with us, his chas-
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 before
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 conceived to be
expressly levelled at him, and it rendered him
furious : he seized a pen, and commenced 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 un-
governable rage, as to astonish all who were
present : he seemed very much disposed to enter
into a personal contest with the authorities ; and
we had some difficulty in persuading 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 victim
daughter Albertine, who did not " turn out literary," became the
wife of the Due de Broglie in February, 1816.
132 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
of persecution wherever he went ; said that there
was a confederacy between all governments 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
excitement, 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 wits are sure to madness 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 trifling and common-place in society. " On
this point," said he, " I speak feelingly, for I
have remarked it of myself, and have often longed
THE SOCIETY OF INFERIORS 133
to know if other people had the same defect, or
the same consciousness of it, which is, that while
in solitude my mind was occupied in serious and
elevated reflections, in society it sinks into a
trifling levity of tone, that in another would have
called forth my disapprobation and disgust.
Another defect of mine is, that I am so little
fastidious 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 condescension. When I have
sought what is called good society, it was more
from a sense of propriety 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 egoism, or futility,
that I was too egoistical 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
134 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
mirror reflects the brightest images, so is good-
ness ever most prone to see good in others ; and
as a sullied mirror shows its own defects in all
that it reflects, so does an impure mind tinge all
that passes through it." Byron laughingly 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 account for this
tendency of mine to trifling and levity in con-
versation, 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 exer-
tion ; 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 utterance 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
GOOD-NATURED FRIENDS" 135
stirred up. "I like to go home with a new
idea," 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-a-tete. I felt the
advantage 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
abusing my friends and acquaintances in their
absence.
" I was once accused of this by an ami intime,
to whom some devilish good-natured person had
repeated what I had said of him ; I had nothing
for it but to plead guilty, adding, ' you know
you have done the same by me fifty times, and
* The English Consul-General.
136 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
yet you see 1 never was affronted, or liked you
less for it ;' on which he laughed, and we were
as good friends as ever. Mind you (a favourite
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 scepticism 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 he had confided in,
consequently his opinion must be founded on
j-^-knovvledge. 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
unfavourably of him, as he was sure I attributed
his bad opinion of mankind to his perfect know-
ledge of self. When in good spirits, he liked
badinage very much, and nothing seemed to
please him more than being considered as a
mauvais 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
LOVES OF THE POETS 137
example were most likely to be constant in
their attachments, as with the beau ideal in their
heads, with which they identified the object of
their attachment, they had nothing to desire, and
viewed their mistresses through the brilliant
medium of fancy, instead of the common one of
the eyes. " A poet, therefore," said Byron,
" endows 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 uselessness of beauty), can supply all
deficiencies with his aid ; we can invest her
whom we admire with all the attributes of loveli-
ness, 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
138 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
are the bright creations of my fancy, with rounded
forms, and delicacy of limbs, nearly so incom-
patible as to be rarely, if ever, united ; for where,
with some rare exceptions, 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 my 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 diminutiveness, 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 imagination 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
BYRON'S TWO AMBITIONS 139
ever found them so : so here again, you see, I
am forced to have recourse to imagination ; and
certainly 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 temper, little more is re-
quired, at least in early youth, though with ad-
vancing 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
could 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
character, that was highly amusing to an ob-
servant spectator.
If poets were talked of or eulogized, he re-
ferred to the advantages of rank and station as
commanding that place in society by right, which
140 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
was only accorded to genius by sufferance ; for,
said Byron, " Let authors do, say, or think 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 entree,
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 Jaiblesse 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
assemblies, where they are as Replaces as ennuyes,
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 necessity 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 genius. I recollect once laugh-
ingly telling him that he was fortunate in being
TRANSLATIONS OF HIS POEMS 141
able to consider himself a poet amongst lords,
and a lord amongst poets. He seemed doubtful
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 anything 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 understanding the original, and he
exclaimed, " // traditore ! II traditore /" (instead
of // traduttore /) vowing vengeance against the
unhappy traducers, as he called them. He de-
clared 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 countries. French poetry
1 42 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
he detested, and continually ridiculed : he said it
was discordant to his ears.
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
surprise, and show his superiority over the rest
of the world. It was the same desire of astonish-
ing people that led him to depreciate Shakespeare,
which 1 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.
CHAPTER VII.
Byron's friends Sir John Hobhouse William Bankes Joseph
Jekyll " The Tears of the Cruets "John Philpot Curran
An inimitable mimic An ode to memory Definitions
of memory One more cardinal virtue " The Pleasures of
Fear " Dreams English and Italian characteristics Byron
as comic writer Pietro Gamba John William Ward, Lord
Dudley Sheridan William Arden, second Lord Alvanley
and successor to Beau Brummel.
I DO not 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 mind 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 pas-
sion, there was quite sufficient liking in it to
have insured happiness had his temper been
better.
He said that Lady Byron's appearance had
pleased him from the first moment, and had
always continued to please him ; and that, had
144 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 demands of insolent creditors whom
he was unable to satisfy, and who drove him
nearly out of his senses, until he lost all command
of himself, and so forfeited Lady Byron's affec-
tion. " 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 constant attacks of duns, no wonder that
I became gloomy, violent, and, I fear, often per-
sonally uncivil, if no worse, and so disgusted
her ; though, had she really loved me, she would
have borne with my infirmities, and made allow-
ance for my provocations. I have written to her
repeatedly, and am 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 1 despaired of their
doing any good. I will show you some of them,
as they may serve to throw a light on my feel-
ings."
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 ; he said that their child must
* Vol. vi., p. 30, edition 1832.
WANT OF MORAL COURAGE 14;
always be a bond of union between them, what-
ever lapse of years or distance might separate
them ; and this idea seemed to comfort him.
And yet, notwithstanding 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 illegitimate daughter.
Byron's mental courage was much stronger in
his study than in society. In moments of in-
spiration, with his pen in his hand, he would
have dared public opinion, and laughed to scorn
the criticisms of all the litterati, but with re-
flection came doubts and misgivings ; and though
in general he was tenacious in not changing what
he had once written, this tenacity proceeded
more from the 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 creature of
impulse ; never reflected on the possible or
probable results of his conduct, until that conduct
had drawn down censure and calumny on him,
when he shrunk with dismay, " frightened at the
sounds himself had made."
* Clara Mary Jane Clairmont, step-daughter of William Godwin,
born April 27, 1798, died March 19, 1879. Her daughter Allegra,
of whom Byron was the father, was born January 12, 1817, and
died April 19, 1822.
10
146 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
This sensitiveness was visible on all occasions,
and extended to all his relations with others : did
his friends or associates become the objects of
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 observation 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
SUMMER FRIENDS 147
separation, a friend of mine, who had written a
complimentary passage to me, either by wa^ of
dedication or episode (I forget which he said),
suppressed it on finding public opinion running
hard against me : he will probably produce it if
he finds the 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 demi-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 encou-
raged 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 honour, delicacy,
and generosity of the beau ideal of the poetic
character, expressed his, Byron used to say,
148 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" Now for a Utopian system of the good and
beautiful united ; Lord B. ought to have lived in
the heroic ages, and if all mankind would agree
to act as 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 in-
variably act vice versa. No ; if goodness is to
become a-la-mode^ and I sincerely wish it were
possible, we must have a fair start, and all begin
at the same time, otherwise it will be like ex-
posing a few naked unarmed men against a
multitude in armour."
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
plaisanterie^ 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
" WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG" 149
day brought him nearer to that age when reason
triumphs over passion when, had life been
spared him, he would have subjugated those
unworthy 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
quoting 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 thinking
also. He said, it was a mistaken idea that pas-
sions 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 bring us. No; let me
not live to be old : give me youth, which is the
fever of reason, and not age, which is the palsy.
I remember my youth, when my heart over-
flowed 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
150 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
in the sentiment, and the more so, as one saw
that it 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
" O Life ! thou weak-built isthmus, which 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 tenderness 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
* Moore's lines in " The Veiled Prophet of Khorassan " are
more familiar, and they may have been inspired by Cowley. Life
is depicted as :
" This narrow isthmus 'twixt two boundless seas,
The past, the future, two eternities."
FRIENDS LOST AND CHANGED 151
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 seal of
death is the only seal of friendship. No wonder,
then, that we cherish the memory of those who
loved us, and comfort ourselves with the thought
that they were unchanged 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 memory of those we have lost; but
the regret we prove at the alienation or unkind-
ness of those we trusted and loved, is so mingled
with bitter feelings, that they sear the heart, dry
up the fountain of kindness in our breasts, and
disgust us with human nature, by wounding our
self-love in its most vulnerable part showing
that we have failed to excite affection where we
had lavished ours. One may learn to bear this
uncomplainingly, and with outward calm ; but
the impression is indelible, and he must be made
of different materials from the generality of men,
who does not become a cynic, if he become
nothing worse, after once suffering such a dis-
appointment."
I remarked that his early friends had not given
152 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
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 re-
spect him the more for his candour, while I
respect myself very much less for my weakness
in disliking it.
" William Bankesf is another of my early
friends. He is very clever, very original, and
has a fund of information : he is also very good-
* Sir John Cam Hobhouse, born in 1786, was the author of
poems and translations published in 1809, and of a "Journey
through Albania and other Provinces of Turkey," with Byron,
which went through several editions, the first appearing in 1812.
His third work, " The Last Reign of Napoleon," appeared in 1816 ;
and his fourth, " Historical Illustrations of the Fourth Canto of
Childe Harold," in 1818. He was raised to the peerage as Baron
Broughton in 1851. The title died with him in 1869.
f In a letter to Murray from Ravenna, Byron writes that at
Cambridge " Bankes was my collegiate pastor, and master, and
patron," and that he "was good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities."
LOVE OF FLATTERY 153
natured ; but he is not much of a flatterer. How
unjust it is to accuse you ladies of loving flattery
so much ; I am sure that we men are quite as
much addicted to it, but have not the amiable
candour 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
of the judgment of the adulator, the incense is
nevertheless acceptable, as it proves we must be
of some importance to induce 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 valour would fail to
meet with."
" I have frequently remarked (said Byron),
that in no country have I seen pre-eminence so
universally followed by envy, jealousy, and all
uncharitableness, as in England ; those who are
deterred by shame from openly attacking, endea-
vour to depreciate it, by holding up mediocrity to
admiration, on the same principle that women,
154 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
when they hear the beauty of another justly
extolled, either deny, or assent with faint praise
to her claims, and lavish on some merely passable
woman the highest encomiums, to prove they are
not envious. The English treat their celebrated
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 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-natured people, but negative characters ;
their very goodness (if mere good-nature can be
called goodness) being caused by the want of any
positive excellence, as white is produced by the
absence of colour. 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, admin-
isters to his own self-complacency, from his belief
of superiority to him whom he praises.
" Notwithstanding their faults, the English,
(said Byron,) that is to say, the well bred and
well educated among them, are better calculated
for the commerce of society than the individuals
of other countries, from the simple circumstance
that they listen. This makes one cautious of
JEKYLL'S CONVERSATION 155
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
epigrammatic repartees and spirituel anecdotes ot
a Jekyll* have flourished ? Place him at a
French or Italian table, supposing him au fait of
the languages, and this, our English Attic bee,
could neither display his honey nor his sting ;
both would be useless in the hive of drones
around 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 acquaint-
ances 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
* Joseph Jekyll, born 1753, died 1837, was a member of the
Bar, who was more celebrated as a story-teller than a lawyer. He
was a favourite of the Prince Regent, to whose influence with Lord
Eldon he owed the appointments first of a Commissioner in
Lunacy, and second of a Master in Chancery. He wrote
humorous verses on topics of the day, the best being the Tears
of the Cruets, when Pitt laid a tax on salt.
156 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
foolish things while under its intoxicating in-
fluence : it takes a long time to sober me after ;
and I sink, under reaction, into a state of de-
pression half cross, half hippish, and out of
humour with myself and the world. I find an
interesting book the only sedative to restore me
to my wonted calm ; for, left alone to my own
reflections, I feel sc ashamed of myself vis-a-vis
to myself for my levity and over-excitement,
that all the follies I have uttered rise up in judg-
ment against me, and I am as sheepish as a
schoolboy, 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
brilliant and profound, with a flexibility and wit
that would have justified the observation applied
to , that his heart was in his head. I re-
member 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 :
* John Philpot Curran, born July 24th, 1750, died October i4th,
1817, was a distinguished Irish politician, orator and lawyer. Byron
wrote to Moore in 1813 : "I have met Curran at Holland House
he beats everybody ; his imagination is beyond human, and his
wit (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty
faces and twice as many voices when he mimics I never met his
equal."
SYMBOLS OF MEMORY 157
" ' 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 the 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 ot 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
distant objects near to us. He said the simile
was good ; but I added it was mechanical,
instead of poetical, which constituted the differ-
ence between excellence and mediocrity, as
between the eagle and sparrow. This amused
him, though his politeness refused to admit the
verity of the comparison.
* " E'en as a broken mirror which the glass
In every fragment multiplies, and makes
A thousand images of one that was," etc.
Childe Harold, Canto iii., St. 33.
158 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Talking of tact, Byron observed that it ought
to be added to the catalogue of the cardinal
virtues, and that our happiness frequently de-
pended more on it than all the accredited ones.
" A man (said he) may have prudence, tem-
perance, justice, and fortitude : yet wanting tact
may, and must, render those around him uncom-
fortable (the English synonym for unhappy) ;
and, by the never-failing retributive justice of
Nemesis, be unhappy himself, as all are who
make others so. I consider tact the real panacea
of life, and have observed that those 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 with-
out having some criterion in our own feelings,
by which we can judge of his ? Hence, I main-
tain that our tact is always in proportion to our
sensibility."
Talking of love and friendship, Byron said,
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.
FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE 159
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
selfishness, 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
weakness of our own natures to the person who
had not power to retain our love, and discover
blemishes in her to excuse our inconstancy. As
indifference begets indifference, vanity is wounded
at both sides ; and though good sense may induce
people to support and conceal their feelings, 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
160 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 subsides
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 re-
freshing 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
links 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 render-
ing 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 indiffer-
ence, merely because their new feelings were less
engrossing and exciting 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 friendship, with whom
BROKEN IDOLS 161
the 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 disappointment that ensues,
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 (an-
swered Byron) chooses a friend in a woman, he
looks to her powers of conversation, her mental
qualities, and agreeability; and as these win his re-
gard the more they are known, love often takes the
place of friendship, and certainly the foundation on
which he builds is more likely to be lasting ; 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 only difference in
our 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, li-ke
" ' A man, convinced against his will
Is of the same opinion still '*
* " He that complies against his will
Is of his own opinion still."
HudibrciS) Part III., canto iii.
I I
l62
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 ingenuous in
my defence. Clever men (said Byron) commit a
great mistake in selecting wives who are destitute
of abilities ; I allow that une femme savanfe 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 dictatorial, not considering that
it is only pretenders who are either, and that this
applies as much to one sex as the other. Now,
my beau 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 pretensions 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 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
GENIUS SHOULD BE UNSEEN 163
the more because she does not understand.
Genius, like greatness, should be seen at a
distance, for neither will bear a too close in-
spection. Imagine the hero of a hundred fights
in his cotton night-cap, subject to all the in-
firmities 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 everyday existence, and who, Pro-
metheus-like, has stolen fire from heaven to
animate the children of clay, see him in the
throes of poetic labour, blotting, tearing, re-
writing the lines that we suppose him to have
poured forth with Homeric inspiration, and, in
the intervals, eating, drinking and sleeping, like
the most ordinary 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 solitude, rendering
their presence more desired by its 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
164 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
thoughts of drawing up a little code of instruc-
tions 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 reputation, 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 endeavoured 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, 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
THE PANACEA FOR THE ILLS OF LIFE 165
subjects 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 anything. Dreams are strange
things ; and here, again, is one of the incompre-
hensibilities of nature. I could tell you extra-
ordinary things of dreams, and as true as extra-
ordinary, 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 scepticism,
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 irre-
ligious man (said Byron) is, that the one sacrifices
the present to the future ; and the other, the
future to the present." I observed, that grovel-
ling must be the mind that can content itself
with the 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
the 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."
166 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" 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 were a full - grown child, possessing the
buoyancy and playfulness of infancy with the
deep feeling of womanhood ; none of that con-
ventional 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 carica-
ture is given of the unpenetrated and impenetrable
mysteries of thejirsf.
" 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 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 excellence
had equal chances, for neither could be remarked
or distinguished ; conversation was impracticable,
reflection put hors de combat, and common sense,
by universal accord, sent to Coventry ; so that
ITALIAN SOCIETY 167
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 ' 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 all 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 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
1 68 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 enquire 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 persons, whose compositions were all of
a melancholy 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 ; and the more we analyze the
anomalies in ourselves or others, the more in-
comprehensible they appear. I believe (con-
tinued 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
WANT OF BALANCE 169
have the effect of accelerating its movements,
and, if continued, would produce disease. So
it is with the mind and nature of man ; our
examinations and reflections lead to no definitive
conclusions, and often engender a morbid state
of feeling, that increases the anomalies for which
we sought to account. We know that we live
(continued 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 revolving 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 dis-
covered this tendency to weakness, which is
generally in proportion 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
render poets responsible for their want of common
sense, since it is only by the excess of imagination
1 70 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 / more than the rest ; some are affected
by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more
or less touched, though few except myself have
the candour to avow it, which I do to spare my
friends the pain of sending it forth to the world.
This very candour 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 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 incapable of doing a good : fear prevents
the first, and mechancete the second. The differ-
THE PALACE OF TRUTH 171
ence between 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 rancour 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 incredu-
lous ; for while I thought I was vexing friends
and foes with spiteful speeches, I should be
saying good-natured things, for, au fond, 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 may have sprung up in it ; and I am con-
vinced 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 bestowed
on the other, and often most unjustly. The
world has burnt incense before the poet, and
172 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
colours, 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
unbounded for his genius as has been their dis-
approbation 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
estimable 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 remembrancer 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, Count
Pietro Gamba, (the brother of the Countess
Guiccioli,) 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
d'appui for Greece," said he, " as I know he will
BYRON'S LOVE OF ROUTINE 173
neither deceive nor flatter me." We have found
Count 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 resembled
his sister very much, which I dare say increased
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 me 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 nets 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 discover
a want of originality, and throws by the book in
disgust at the first wilful plagiary he detects.
Talking of Mr. Ward,* Lord Byron said
* The Hon. John William Ward, born August gth, 1781,
succeeded his father as Viscount Dudley and Ward on April 5th,
1823 ; he was created Viscount Ednam and Earl Dudley in 1827,
and he died on March 6th, 1833. Byron heard him speak in the
House of Commons in 1813, and remarked, "I like Ward
studied but keen, and sometimes eloquent." He was credited
174 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" 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
tres distrait, it adds to the piquancy of his
observations, which are sometimes somewhat
trop name, 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
epigrammatic without being affected. He can
compress (continued Byron) as much into a few
words as anyone I know ; and if he gave more of
his attention to his associates, and less to himself,
he would be one of the few whom one could
praise, without being compelled to use the con-
junction but. Ward has bad health, and unfortu-
nately, like all valetudinarians, it occupies his
attention too much, which will probably bring
on a worse state," continued Byron, "that of
with learning his speeches by heart ; hence the epigram by
Rogers :
" Ward has no heart they say, but I deny it ;
He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it. : '
Luttrell wrote on the same subject after Ward became Lord
Dudley :
" In vain my affections the ladies are seeking :
If I give up my heart, there's an end of my speaking."
EGOTISM AND VANITY 175
confirmed egoism, a malady that, though not
to be found in the catalogue of ailments to which
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 consolation it is ; but
the handsome, whose good looks are mirrored in
the eyes of all around them, should be content
with 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 anyone who
has less. He is not properly appreciated in
England. The English can better understand
and enjoy the bons mots of a bon vruant, who can
at all times set the table in a roar, than the neat
repliques of Ward, which, exciting reflection, are
more likely to silence the rabble-riot of intem-
perance. They like better the person who
makes them laugh, though often at their own
expense, than he who forces them to think, an
176 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
operation which the mental faculties 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'erpowered 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, rinding 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 this character in society ; but he maintained
his superiority over the herd, by having estab-
lished a literary and political reputation ; and as
I have heard him more than once say, when his
jokes have drawn down plaudits from companions,
to whom, of an evening at least, sobriety and
sadness were alike unknown, * It is some conso-
lation, 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 apologizing to his own mind for the
profanation it was evident he felt he had offered
to it at the moment.
S '
TA LENTS THRO WN AWAY 177
" Lord Alvanley* is a delightful companion,
(said Byron,) brilliant, witty, and playful ; he
can be irresistibly comic when he pleases, but
what could he not be if he pleased, for he has
talents to be anything ? 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 Alvanley,
as it has been of many a man of talent before."
* William Arden, second Lord Alvanley, born September 2oth,
1789, died November i6th, 1849, succeeded Beau Brummel as a
fashionable wit and a spendthrift. Captain Gronow writes of him
as follows : " Apart from his extravagance, Alvanley, the magnifi-
cent, the witty, the famous, and chivalrous, was the idol of the
clubs and of society, from the King to the ensign of the Guards.
. . . When he succeeded to his father's fortune, he inherited an
income of ^"8,000 a year ; when he died, he did not leave to his
brother, who succeeded to the title, above ^2,000." Again :
" To Lord Alvanley was awarded the reputation, good or bad, of
all the witticisms in the clubs after the abdication of the throne
of Dandyism by Brummel, who, before that time, was always
quoted as the sayer of good things, as Sheridan had been some
time before. Lord Alvanley had the talk of the day completely
under his control, and was the arbiter of the school for scandal in
St. James's."
12
[ 178]
CHAPTER VIII.
Byron's habit of ridicule His admiration of Napoleon Metter-
nich on Napoleon Why the Viennese speak better French
than do the English A very good reason Why Don Juan
turned Methodist What the world says A week at Lady
Jersey's Lord John Russell's essays on London society
Hallam's "Middle Ages" The golden rule Douglas
Kinnaird Cremation versus burial Hypochondriasm, bodily
and mental Sydney Smith on Mackintosh Lord Erskine
The " Anti-Jacobin " The best cosmetic William Spencer,
the " Poet of Society " No parody A galaxy of " stars "
Decent mediocrity Canning The weight of riches An
honest poor man.
THE more I see of Byron, the more am I con-
vinced that all he says and does should be judged
more leniently than 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 felicity that must encourage the
propensity to ridicule, which is inherent in him.
All the malice of his nature has lodged itself on
ADMIRATION FOR NAPOLEON 179
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 in habits of intimacy.
He enters into society as children enter their
play-ground, for relaxation and amusement, when
his mind has been strained to the utmost, and he
feels the necessity 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 mitigated by the boyish glee, and laughing
sportiveness, with which his sallies are uttered.
All this is felt when he is conversing, but un-
fortunately it cannot be conveyed to the reader :
the narrator would therefore deprecate the censure
his sarcasms may excite, in memory of the smiles
and gaiety that palliated them when spoken.
Byron is fond of talking of Napoleon ; and
told me that his admiration of him had much
increased since he had been in Italy, and witnessed
the stupendous works he had planned and executed.
" 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
destructive, still one is continually reminded of
the power of both." " And yet (said I) there
iSo CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
are days, when, like all your other favourites,
Napoleon does not escape censure." "That may
be, (said Byron,) but I find fault and quarrel
with Napoleon, as a lover does with the trifling
faults of his mistress, from excessive liking, which
tempts me 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
footstool, his memory still remains, like the
colossal statue of the Memnon, though cast
down from its seat of honour, still bearing the
ineffaceable traces of grandeur and sublimity, to
astonish future ages. When Metternich (con-
tinued Byron) 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 overrated. Ward's answer was as courageous
as admirable. He replied, that * Napoleon had
rendered past glory doubtful, and future fame
impossible.' 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
* Lord Dudley, see p. 173.
A SEVERE RETORT 181
remarked 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
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 re-
membering, 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 anything : his style, judging by letters
of his that I have seen, is admirable, and re-
minded me of Sallust." ,
Having, one day, taken the liberty of (what he
termed) scolding Lord Byron, and rinding 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
182 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
were, men think their own superiority so acknow-
ledged, 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 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 Medicis,
seem made for Lady (continued Byron)
" ' Possedant et 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 having
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 gallop-
ing after us, and reaching, out his hand, said to
me, " Come, come, give me your hand ; I cannot
bear that we should part so formally: 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
AN ALLEGORICAL REBUKE 183
produce a lesson." We all agreed that we had
never seen Byron appear to so much advantage.
He gives me the idea of being the man the most
easily to be managed I ever saw: I wish Lady
Byron had discovered the means, and both might
now be happier.
Lord Byron told me that the Countess Guic-
cioli had repeatedly asked him to discontinue
" Don Juan," as its immorality shocked her, and
that she could not bear that anything 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
subject 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
Sensuality and Modesty, covering her face with
her veil, to hide her blushes and dry her tears,
fled from him for ever/ The drawing (con-
tinued Byron) represented Love and Modesty
turning their backs on wicked Me and Sen-
1 84 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
suality, a fat, flushed, wingless Cupid, present-
ing me with a pen. Was not this a pretty
conceit ? at all events, it is some consolation to
occupy the attention of women so much, though
it is but by my faults; and I confess it gratifies
me.
" Apropos to Cupid it is strange (said Byron)
that the ancients, in their mythology, should
represent Wisdom 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 not
the passion 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 exigeante, and apt to be dissatisfied : he is, as I
WOMEN ALL TYRANTS 185
have told him, too selfish and indolent not to have
given those who had more than a common in-
terest in him cause to be so.
It is such men as Byron who complain of
women ; they touch not 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 domestic
circle the various misunderstandings, discussions,
and coldnesses, that arise to embitter existence,
where a little self-denial might have kept them
off. Woman is a creature of feeling, easily
wounded, but susceptible of all the soft and kind
emotions : destroy this sensitiveness, and you rob
1 86 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
her of her greatest attraction; study her happi-
ness, and you insure your own.
" One of the things that most please me in
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
dignifies by calling The World, is occupied with
him and his actions an idea founded on the
extreme vanity that characterizes the English,
and that precludes the possibility of living for
one's self or those immediately around one. How
many of my soi-disant friends in England are
dupes to this vanity (continued Byron) keeping
up expensive 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 a state of
intermittent 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
LADY JERSEY AT HOME 187
odd not to go/ Old and young, ugly and
handsome, all have the rage in England of losing
their identity in crowds ; and prefer conjugating
the verb ennuyer, en masse, in heated rooms, to
conning it over in privacy in a purer atmosphere.
The constancy and perseverance with which our
compatriots support fashionable life have always
been to me a subject of wonder, if not of admira-
tion, and prove what they might be capable of
in a good cause. I am curious to know (con-
tinued 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 something like society,
which has hitherto been only to be found in
country-houses.
" I spent a week at Lady Jersey'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 maison 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 country ! they are hardly to
be recognised. In the latter they are as natural
and unaffected as they are insipid or over-excited
in the former. A certain place (continued Byron)
not to be named to ' ears polite,' is said to be
paved with good intentions, and Lcndon (viewing
1 88 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
the effect it produces on its fashionable inhabitants)
may really be supposed to be paved by evil
passions, as few can touch its pave without con-
tamination. 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 playful-
ness best suited to it, and his reflections show an
accuracy of observation 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 you if you have read his
* Middle Ages :' it is an admirable work, full of
research, and does Hallam honour.'!' 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
* The title of this book, which was published in 1820, is
"Essays and Sketches of Life and Character by a Gentleman
who has left his Lodgings." The author's name does not appear
on the title-page and that of Joseph Skillett is at the end of the
preface. It is characteristic of the writer that the longest essay
is on "The State of the English Constitution."
I Hallam's most notable work, " The Constitutional History of
England," did not appear till three years after Byron's death.
HISTORIES OF HALL AM AND ROBERTSON 189
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 im-
pressive. I remember (continued Byron) being
struck by a passage, where, touching on the
Venetians, he writes * Too blind to avert danger,
too cowardly to withstand it, the most ancient
government of Europe made not an instant's
resistance : 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 favourites (continued Byron) ; it contains
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
general 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
190 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 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 natural
affection for our kindred or friends, and conse-
quently wish to retain theirs ; we never wound
or offend them without its re-acting on our-
selves, by alienating them from us : hence selfish-
ness 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
wisdom and knowledge of the selfishness of
human nature."
Talking of Mr. D. Kinnaird, Byron said, " My
friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot
compensate for an irritable temper : whenever he
DOUGLAS KINNAIRD 191
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 had 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
dictatorial 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 passion, 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 uncertain, un-
happiness, 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 refuge
192 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
f 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 ;
and the only time that I feel repugnance to it
is on a fine day, in solitude, in a beautiful country,
when all nature seems rejoicing in light and life.
The contrast then between the beautiful and
animated world around me, and the dark narrow
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
coffin, 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
* Since the introduction of cremation, less horrible thoughts
prevail in the minds of those who favour that method of treating
human remains ; for, as Sir Thomas Browne wrote, " tragical
abominations are escaped in burning burials."
"HAPPINESS IS BUT IN OPINION" 193
to the livid and ghastly tints of putrefaction ; and
the image conjured up by 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 imagination."
Talking of hypochondriasm, Byron said, that
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
remedy. 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, 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 labour-
ing under disease with less acute sensibility to
feel his troubles, and nerves subdued by ill-health,
13
194 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
which prevents his suffering from bodily ills as
severely as does the hypochondriac from imagi-
nary ones. The irritability of genius (continued
Byron) is nothing more or less than a delicacy of
organization, which gives a susceptibility to im-
pressions to which coarser minds are never sub-
ject, and cultivation and refinement but increase
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 ruins, like a tree
That, with the weight of its own golden fruitage,
Is bent down to the dust."
"Do you know Mackintosh ? (asked Lord
Byron) his is a mind of powerful calibre.
Madame de Stael used to extol him to the
skies, and was perfectly sincere in her admira-
tion 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
ENGLISH, SCOTCH AND fRISH INTELLECTS 195
judgment so comprehensive, a knowledge sp
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 earnest-
ness and vigour in his style, and a force and
purity in his language, equally free from inflation
and loquacity. Lord Erskine is, I know, a friend
of yours (continued Byron), and a most gifted
person he is. The Scotch are certainly very
superior people ; with intellects naturally 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 imagina-
tion gives a redundancy to the writings and
speeches of the Irish that I object to : they come
down on one with similes, tropes, and metaphors,
a superabundance of riches that makes one long
for a little plain matter of fact.
* Sydney Smith, who admired Mackintosh, said that " his chief
foible was indiscriminate praise." He wrote a speech caricaturing
this failing, of which the last two sentences will serve as a speci-
men : " I cannot conclude, sir, without thanking you for the very
clear and distinct manner in which you have announced the
proposition on which we are to vote. It is but common justice to
add, that public assemblies rarely witness articulation so perfect,
language so select, and a manner so eminently remarkable for
everything that is kind, impartial, and just." " Memoir of Sydney
Smith," vol. i., p. 441.
196 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
1 " An Irishman, of course I mean a clever one
(continued Byron), educated in Scotland, would
be perfection, for the Scots professors would
prune down the over -luxuriant shoots of his
imagination, 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 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 acquaint-
ances expressed themselves so fatigued self. His
egoism was remarkable, but there was a bon-
homie in it that showed he had a better opinion
of mankind than they deserved ; for it implied a
belief that his listeners could be interested in
what concerned him, whom they professed to
like.*
* The caricature in the Anti-Jacobin of his manner is amusing,
and it may convey a good idea of it : " Mr. Erskine now rose, in
consequence of some allusions which had been made to the trial
by jury. He professed himself to be highly flattered by the
encomiums which had been lavished upon him ; but at the same
ERSKINE'S EGOTISM 197
" He was deceived in this (continued Byron),
as are all who have a favourable 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 attention 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 talents, 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 anecdote, merely because
he was the principal actor in it.
" This fastidiousness of the English," continued
Byron, " the habit of pronouncing people bores,
often imposes on strangers and stupid people, who
conceive that it arises from delicacy of taste and
time he was conscious that he could not, without some degree of
reason, consent to arrogate to himself those qualities which the
partiality of his friends had attributed to him. He had, on former
occasions, declared himself to be clothed with the infirmities of
man's nature ; and he now begged leave, in all humility, to reiterate
that confession : he should never cease to consider himself as a
feeble, and with respect to the extent of his faculties, in many
respects a finite, being. He had ever borne in mind, and he hoped
he should ever continue to bear in mind, those words of the
inspired Penman, ' Thou hast made him less than the angels to
crown him with glory and honour.'" The Anti-Jacobin, vol. i.,
pp. 126, 127.
ig8 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 that title in their
own persons. The truth is," continued Byron,
" the English are very envious, they are au fond
conscious that they are dreadfully dull being
loquacious without liveliness, proud without
dignity, and brusque without sincerity ; they
never forgive those who show that they have
made the same discovery, or who occupy public
attention, of which they are jealous.
" An Englishman rarely condescends to take
the trouble of conciliating admiration (though he
is jealous of esteem), and he as rarely pardons
those who have succeeded in attaining it. They
are jealous," continued Byron, " of popularity 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
proving that a superiority of tongue, voice, or heel
was as little to be pardoned as genius or talent.
GENIUS RESENTS CRITICISM 199
" I have known people," continued Byron,
" talk of the highest efforts of genius as if they
had been within the reach of each of the
commonplace individuals of the circle ; and com-
ment on the acute reasonings of some logician as
if they could 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 everything easy :
but this impertinence," continued Byron, " is
difficult to be borne by those who know ' how
painful 'tis to climb,' and who having, by labour,
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
ascending 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
without detecting a thousand faults ; but when
I read critiques upon them by those who could
not have written them, I lose my patience.
"There is an old and stupid song," said Byron,
"that says * Friendship with woman is sister 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,
200 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 been
my mother, excited an interest in my feelings
that few young women have been able to awaken.
She was a charming person a sort 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, hatred, or unchari-
tableness, 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 render her more forbearing to the errors
of others. I have often thought, that, with a
little more youth, Lady M might have
turned my head, at all events she often turned
my heart, by bringing 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 number : and the mind and heart
always leave external marks of their state of
health. Goodness is 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,'
THE POET OF SOCIETY 201
but, au contraire, the decay of the gem will
tarnish the casket the sword will wear awav
, ^
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
captivating creature, malgre her eleven or twelve
lustres, 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 gaiety 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 calculated 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 seven very delightful people
|: The Honourable William Robert Spencer, born 1769, died
October 23rd, 1834, composed verses which had so much vogue
that the authors of " The Rejected Addresses " parodied them in
one styled " The Beautiful Incendiary," of which Jeffrey wrote
in the Edinburgh Review : " The flashy, fashionable, artificial
style of this writer, with his confident and extravagant compli-
ments, can scarcely be said to be parodied in such lines."
202 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
among the hundred commonplace 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 elsewhere ? Moore, Campbell,
Rogers, Spencer, as poets ; and how many con-
versationists to be added to the galaxy of stars-
one set irradiating 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 circles, 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 retrograde and I don't think I was
wrong. Our army had arrived at a state of per-
fection before unknown ; Wellington's star was
in the ascendant, 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 society 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 de-
DECADENCE OF INTELLECT 203
stroyer 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
distinction, and reduced all to the level of decent
mediocrity.
" It is said that as people grow old they
magnify the superiority of past times, and
detract from the advantages of the present: this
is natural enough ; for admitting that the advan-
tages were equal, we view them through a dif-
ferent 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 falling 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 promise to supply the places of the
men of my time no successional crop to replace
the passing or the past."
I told Byron that the march of intellect 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 attract attention,
204 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
which was now much more difficult to be ob-
tained than formerly, as people grew more fas-
tidious every day. He would not agree to this,
but maintained that mediocrity was the distin-
guishing 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
superior abilities, brilliant fancy, cultivated mind,
and most effective eloquence ; and adds, that
Canning only wanted to be born to a good estate
to have made a great statesman. " Fortune,"
continued Byron, " would have saved him from
tergiversation, the bare suspicion of which is
destructive to the confidence a statesman ought
to inspire. As it is," said he, " Canning is bril-
liant 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 sus-
pected of mercenary motives ; and the second
AN HONEST POOR MAN 205
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
Byron, " talk to you of Lord 's high char-
acter 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 ' con-
tent to live in decencies for ever,' while it
exempts him from exciting envy or jealousy, the
followers of excellence."
[ 206 ]
CHAPTER IX.
Sir Walter Scott- His thrice-read novels Byron's memory
Madame du Deffand- Richardson's novels A letter to
Voltaire A lasting friendship Extremes meet Stoicism
Righteous indignation Sir William Drummond His
" Academical questions "An admirable preface Robert
Walpole Francis Horner Translations Pope's " Homer "
George Colman the younger Canning Byron's monody
on Sheridan, and Moore's lines Byron on the Irish.
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 dis-
position ; and that he generally reads his novels
three times. " I find such a just mode of
thinking," said Byron, " that I could fill volumes
with detached thoughts from Scott, all, and each,
full of truth and beauty. Then how good are
his definitions ! Do you remember, in c Peveril
of the Peak,' where he says, ' Presence of mind
is courage. Real valour consists, not in being
insensible to danger, but in being prompt to
BYRON'S LOVE FOR SCOTT 207
confront and disarm it ' ? How true is this, and
what an admirable distinction between moral and
physical 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
Voltaire : ' La morale y est en action, et n'a
jamais ete traitee d'une maniere plus interessante.
On meurt d'envie d'etre parfait apres cette lecture,
et 1'on croit que rien n'est si aise.'* I think,"
continued 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
admired 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
jealousy his extraordinary genius must excite. I
hope to meet Scott once more before I die ; for,
worn out as are my affections, he still retains a
strong hold on them."
* The passage referred to may be the following. After having
said that English novels were too long, Madame du Deffand con-
tinues : " Mais je trouve que ce sont des traites de morale en
actions, qui sont tres interessante, et peuvent etre fort utiles ;
c'est Pamela, Claire et Grandison, 1'auteur est Richardson, il me
parait avoir bien de 1'esprit." "Lettres de la Marquise du
Deffand," vol. iv., p. 129.
208 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 Walter ; 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. Circumstances
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 predilection for
hoaxing, ridiculing, and doubting friends and
friendship. But as 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 affection.
Byron's was a proud mind, that resisted correc-
tion, but that might easily be led by kindness;
his errors had been so severely punished, 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
CAUSES OF BYRON'S CYNICISM 209
at war with his better feelings, and of rendering
him dissatisfied with himself and others.
Talking of the effects that ingratitude and
disappointments 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
acidity, 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 produce
the same effects ; they harden the heart, and ener-
vate 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 sympathy
for which his heart yearned. Let those, who
would judge with severity the errors of this
wayward child of genius, look back at his days
of infancy and youth, and ask themselves whether,
under such unfavourable auspices, they could
have escaped the defects that tarnish the lustre
of his fame, defects rendered more obvious by
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 misplaced than was Byron in the
artificial 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 resembled 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 deprived them not of his, as not all his assumed
Stoicism could subdue the kind feelings that
spontaneously showed themselves when the
misfortunes 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
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
connected him 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
BYRON'S NATIVE GOODNESS 211
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 conscience to embitter
his draught. Those who have lost what is
considered the right to pity in losing reputation
and self-respect, are the persons 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, having 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 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 colour 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
212 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
efface the impression they left behind, though
he often endeavoured to destroy such impressions
by pleasantries against himself.
"When you go to Naples you must make ac-
quaintance 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
* Sir William Drummond, born about 1770, died 1828, was
between 1801 and 1809 in the Diplomatic Service, having been
employed as Ambassador to the Ottoman Porte, and Envoy Ex-
traordinary and Minister Plenipotentiary to the Court of Naples.
He wrote " A Review of the Governments of Athens and Sparta,"
which was published in 1795; "Philosophical Sketches on the
Principles of Society and Government," which appeared two years
before, had no name on the title-page, and did not attract the
public. His other writings, with the dates of publication, were
a translation of "The Satires of Persius " (1798); "Academical
Questions" (1805); " Herculanasia," in concert with Robert Wai-
pole (1810); "Essay on a Punic Inscription found in the Island
of Malta" (1810); a blank verse poem on "Odin" (1817);
"Origenes" (1824 to 1829); " (Edipus Judiacus," printed for
private circulation only (1811). The copy of " Academical Ques-
tions " in the library of the Reform Club contains copies of two
manuscript letters from Sir William Drummond to Francis Horner,
in which he writes : " It would not have been safe to have written
upon such subjects as I have treated of, with that distinctness
with which I can speak to a friend ;" and, " I have made some
unavailing exceptions against my own rule in the third chapter, in
favour of the existence of a God as proved from the doctrine of
causes and effects ; but an attentive perusal of my work will show
you that these were suggested by the personal fears of the author,
and not by the independent reflexions of the philosopher.'
SIR WILLIAM DRUMMOND 213
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
admirable writer. He concludes it by the fol-
lowing sentence, which I think one of the best
in our language : ' Prejudice may be trusted to
guard 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 reason 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 Drummond's works ! they are too good to
be popular. His * Odin ' is really a fine poem,
and has some passages that are beautiful, but it
is 'so little read 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 sparkling wine.
214
" Translations, for the most part, resemble
imitations, where the marked defects are ex-
aggerated, and the beauties passed over, always
excepting the imitations of Mathews," continued
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, tones, and
manners of the persons he personifies, but the
very train of thinking, and the expressions 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 continua-
tion, and is inimitable. I remember Sir Walter
Scott's observing, that Mathews' 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 pro-
nounced him a mimic who ought to be con-
sidered an accurate and philosophic observer of
human nature, blessed with the rare talent of
intuitively identifying himself with the minds
of others.
" But, to return to Sir William Drummond,"
continued Byron, " he has escaped all the defects
of translators, and his Persius resembles the
original as nearly in feeling and sentiment as two
languages so dissimilar in idiom will admit.
Translations almost always disappoint me ; I
SOCIETY WITS 215
must, however, except Pope's * Homer,' which
has more of the spirit of Homer than all the
other translations 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
Byron, " that George Colman was one of the
most agreeable ; he was toujours pret, and after
two or three glasses of champagne, the quick-
silver of his wit mounted to beau fixe. Colman
has a good deal of tact ; he feels that convivial
hours were meant for enjoyment, and under-
stands society so well, that he never obtrudes
any private feeling, except hilarity, into it. His
jokes are all good, and readable, and flow with-
out effort, like the champagne that often gives
birth to them, sparkle after sparkle, and brilliant
to the last. Then one is sure of Colman," con-
tinued Byron, " which is a great comfort ; for
to be made to cry when one had made up one's
mind to laugh, is a tr'iste affair. -f- I remember
* The Honourable Henry Erskine produced the following lines
after the publication of Moore's version of Anacreon's odes :
" Ah ! mourn not for Anacreon dead ;
Ah ! weep not for Anacreon fled :
The lyre still breathes he touched before,
For we have one Anacreon Moore."
t Byron wrote in his " Journal ": " If I had to choose, and could
not have both at a time, I should say, ' Let me begin the evening
with Sheridan and finish it with Colman.' " George Colman the
216 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
that this was the great drawback with Sheridan ;
a little wine made him melancholy, 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 feelings were never more excited than
while writing the Monody on Sheridan, every
word that I wrote came direct from the heart.*
younger, was born October 21, 1762, and died October 17, 1836.
Like his father before him, he was a prolific playwright. He was
manager for a time of the Haymarket Theatre ; but riotous living
led to his imprisonment for debt. On January igth, 1824, he was
appointed Examiner of Plays, and he displayed in that capacity
a respect for public morals which he had not exhibited as a writer.
He was intimate with Canning as well as Byron, and the "Rovers ;
or, The Double Arrangement," in the Anti-Jacobin, was the joint
production of Canning and Colman.
* MONODY ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HON. R. B. SHERIDAN.
" When the last sunshine of expiring day
In Summer's twilight weeps itself away,
Who hath not felt the softness of the hour
Sink on the heart, as dew along the flower ?
With a pure feeling which absorbs and awes,
While Nature makes that melancholy pause,
Her breathing moment on the bridge where Time
Of light and darkness forms an arch sublime,
Who hath not shared that calm so still and deep,
The voiceless thought which would not speak but weep,
A holy concord, and a bright regret,
A glorious sympathy with suns that set ?
BYRON'S MONODY ON SHERIDAN 217
Poor Sherry ! what a noble mind was in him
overthrown by poverty ! and to see the men with
'Tis not harsh sorrow, but a tenderer woe,
Nameless, but dear to gentle hearts below,
Felt without bitterness, but full and clear,
A sweet dejection a transparent tear,
Unmixed with worldly grief or selfish stain,
Shed without shame a secret without pain.
Even as the tenderness that hour instils,
When Summer's day declines along the hills,
So feels the fulness of our hearts and eyes
When all of genius, which can perish, dies.
A mighty Spirit is eclipsed a Power
Hath passed from day to darkness to whose hour
Of light no darkness is bequeathed no name,
Focus at once of all the rays of fame !
The flash of wit the bright intelligence,
The beam of song the blaze of eloquence,
Set with their sun but still have left behind
The enduring produce of immortal mind ;
Fruits of a genial morn, a glorious noon,
A deathless part of him who died too soon.
But small that portion of the wondrous whole,
These sparkling segments of that circling soul,
Which all embraced and lightened over all,
To cheer to pierce to please or to appal.
From the charmed council to the festive board,
Of human feelings the unbounded lord ;
In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied
The praised the proud who made his praise their pride
When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan
Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man,
His was the thunder his the avenging rod,
The wrath the delegated voice of God !
Which shook the nations through his lips and blazed
Till vanquished senates trembled as they praised.
2i8 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
whom he had passed his life, the dark souls
whom his genius illumined, rolling in wealth,
And here, oh ! here, where yet all young and warm
The gay creations of his spirit charm,
The matchless dialogue the deathless wit,
Which knew not what it was to intermit ;
The glowing portraits, fresh from life, that bring
Home to our hearts the truth from which they spring ;
These wondrous beings of his fancy, wrought
To fulness by the fiat of his thought,
Here in their first abode you still may meet,
Bright with the hues of his Promethean heat ;
A halo of the light of other days,
Which still the splendour of his orb betrays.
But should there be to whom the fatal blight
Of failing wisdom yields a base delight,
Men who exalt when minds of heavenly tone
Jar in the music which was born their own,
Still let them praise ah ! little do they know
That what to them seemed vice might be but woe.
Hard is his fate on whom the public gaze
Is fixed for ever to detract or praise ;
Repose denies her requiem to his name
And folly loves the martyrdom of fame.
The secret enemy whose sleepless eye
Stands sentinel accuser judge and spy,
The foe the fool the jealous- -and the vain,
The envious who but breathe in others' pain,
Behold the host ! delighting to deprave,
Who track the steps of glory to the grave,
Watch every fault that daring genius owes
Half to the ardour which its birth bestows,
Distort the truth, accumulate the lie,
And pile the pyramid of calumny !
These are his portion but if joined to these
Gaunt poverty should league with deep disease,
SHERIDAN'S MELANCHOLY DEATH 219
the Sybarites whose slumbers a crushed rose-leaf
would have disturbed, leaving him to die on the
If the high spirit must forget to soar,
And stoop and strive with misery at the door,
To soothe indignity and face to face
Meet sordid rage and wrestle with disgrace,
To find in hope but the renewed caress,
The serpent-fold of further faithlessness :
If such may be the ills which men assail,
What marvel if at last the mightiest fail ?
Breasts to whom all the strength of feeling given
Bear hearts electric charged with fire from Heaven,
Black with the rude collision, inly torn,
By clouds surrounded, and on whirlwinds borne,
Driven o'er the lowering atmosphere that nurst
Thoughts which have turned to thunder scorch and burst.
But far from us and from our mimic scene
Such things should be - if such have ever been :
Ours be the gentler wish, the kinder task,
To give the tribute glory need not ask,
To mourn the vanished beam and add our mite
Of praise in payment of a long delight.
Ye Orators ! whom yet our Councils yield,
Mourn for the veteran hero of your field !
The worthy rival of the wondrous three !
Whose words were sparks of immortality !
Ye bards ! to whom the drama's muse is dear,
He was your master, emulate him here !
Ye men of wit and social eloquence !
He was your brother bear his ashes hence !
While powers of mind almost of boundless range,
Complete in kind as various in their change,
While Eloquence Wit Poesy and Mirth,
That humble harmonist of Care on earth,
Survive within our souls while lives our sense
Of pride in merit's proud pre-eminence.
220 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
pallet of poverty, his last moments disturbed by the
myrmidons 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," con-
tinued Byron, " was a fine burst of generous
indignation, and is one of the most powerful of
his compositions.* It was as daring as my
Long shall we seek his likeness long in vain,
And turn to all of him which may remain,
Sighing that Nature formed but one such man
And broke the die in moulding Sheridan."
Byron's Works, edition 1832, pp. 313-319.
* LINES ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN.
" Yes, grief will have way but the fast-falling tear
Shall be mingled with deep execration on those
Who can bask in that spirit's meridian career
And yet leave it thus lonely and dark at its close :
MOORE'S INDIGNANT VERSES 221
' Avatar,' which was bold enough, and, God
knows, true enough, but I have never repented
" Whose vanity flew round him, only while fed
By the odour his fame in its summer-time gave ;
Whose vanity now, with quick scent for the dead,
Like the ghoul of the East, comes to feed at his grave.
" Oh ! it sickens the heart to see bosoms so hollow,
And spirits so mean in the great and high-born ;
To think that a long line of titles may follow
The relics of him who died friendless and lorn !
" How proud they can press to the funeral array
Of one who they shunned in his sickness and sorrow :
How bailiffs may seize his last blanket to-day,
Whose pall shall be held up by nobles to-morrow !
" And thou, too, whose life a sick epicure's dream,
Incoherent and gross, even grosser had passed,
Were it not for that cordial and soul-giving beam,
Which his friendship and wit o'er thy nothingness cast : -
" No, not for the wealth of the land, that supplies thee,
With millions to heap upon Foppery's shrine ;
No, not for the riches of all who despise thee,
Though this would make Europe's whole opulence mine ;
" Would I suffer what e'en in the heart that thou hast,
All mean as it is must have consciously burned
When the pittance, which shame had wrung from thee at last
And which found all his wants at an end, was returned :
" ' Was this then the fate,' future ages will say,
When some names will live but in history's curse,
When Truth will be heard, and these Lords of a day
Be forgotten as fools, or remembered as worse ;
" ' Was this then the fate of that high-gifted man
The pride of the palace, the bower and the hall,
The orator dramatist minstrel who ran
Through each mode of the lyre, and was master of all ;
222 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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, as did the Irish on the King's
visit. But I see you would prefer another
subject, so let us talk of something else, though
this cannot be a humiliating one to you per-
sonally, as I know your husband did not make
one among the rabble at that Saturnalia.
" The Irish are strange people," continued
Byron, " at one moment overpowered by sadness,
' ' Whose mind was an essence, compounded with art
From the finest and best of all other men's powers :
Who ruled like a wizard, the world of the heart,
And could call up its sunshine, or bring down its showers ;
" ' Whose humour as gay as the fire-fly's light
Played round every subject and shone as it played,
Whose wit in the combat, as gentle as bright,
Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its blade :
" ' Whose eloquence brightening whatever it tried,
Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the grave,
Was as rapid, as deep, and as brilliant a tide,
As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave !'
"Yes such was the man, and so wretched his fate;
And thus, sooner or later, shall all have to grieve,
Who waste their morn's dew in the beams of the great,
And expect 'twill return to refresh them at eve.
" In the woods of the north there are insects that prey
On the brain of the elk till his very last sigh ;
Oh, Genius ! thy patrons, more cruel than they,
First feed on thy brains, and then leave thee to die !"
Moore's Poetical Works, edition 1851, pp. 400, 401.
THE IRISH TEMPERAMENT 223
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 supine countrymen?"
[22 4 ]
CHAPTER X.
Byron as a man A difficult task Byron's versatility A false
beau idkal Lord Blessington John Gait, a prolific author
The " Entail " Shipmates The milk of human kindness
Shelley's amiability A " thorough-paced manoeuvrer " The
beauty of age A donna of forty-six A landscape by Claude
Lorraine " Sentiment centred in wrinkles " Moore " speak-
ing roses " His songs sung by himself Byron's auto-
biography Greek epigrams Rogers's epigram on Ward
Byron's parsimony His want of good taste " Crede Byron."
To those who only know Byron as an author, it
would be difficult, if not impossible, to convey
a just impression of him as a man. In him the
elements of good and evil were so strongly mixed,
that an error could not 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 denied him warmth
of heart, and the kind affections 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 wonder, led him into a line of
BYRON'S ATTACKS ON HIS FRIENDS 225
conduct calculated to lower him in the estimation
of superficial observers, who judge from ap-
pearances, while those who had opportunities of
observing 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 appearance of,) found in him
more to admire than censure, and to pity than
condemn. In his severest satires, 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 friends or acquaintances, he
would call attention to some of their good quali-
ties with as much apparent pleasure as he had
dwelt on their defects.
A nearly daily intercourse of ten 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 betrayed him into an exposure of them, a
candour and good-nature, quite as remarkable,
often led him to enumerate their virtues, and to
draw attention 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
226 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 suffi-
cient to repress the sallies that he knew must
show at once his discrimination and talents for
ridicule, and amuse his hearers, however they
might betray a want of good-nature and sincerity.
There was no premeditated malignity in Byron'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
unfavourable 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 anything
of the capabilities of vanity and folly, having
VANITY AND FOLLY 227
witnessed to what length they can go. I have
seen women compromise their honour (in appear-
ance only) for the triumph (and a hopeful one)
of rivalling some contemporary belle ; and men
sacrifice theirs, in 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 parent."
" 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 deference enough for my then aristo-
cratical taste, and finding I could not awe him
* John Gait, born May 2nd, 1779, died April nth, 1834, was
the author of tragedies and books of travel, biographies and novels,
his published works numbering forty-four. He was one of the few
contemporaries of Sir Walter Scott whose works of fiction had a
popularity nearly as great as his. "The Annals of the Parish,"
" The Provost," and " Sir Andrew Wylie " are the three which are
best known and best worth reading. The second edition of that
last named was dedicated to the Earl of Blessington, and a portrait
of him was added. Gait was Byron's companion for a short time
on his travels and wrote a life of him.
228 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
into a respect sufficiently 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 humour 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 I assure you the ' Entail '
beguiled me of some portion of watery humours,
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 human nature and its frailties and
legerdemain tricks, he shows a tenderness of
heart which convinces one that his is in the right
place, and he has a sly caustic humour that is
very amusing. All that Lord Blessington has
been telling me of Gait has made me reflect on
the striking difference between his (Lord B.'s)
nature and my own. I had an excellent op-
portunity of judging Gait, being shut up on
board ship with him for some days ; and though
I saw he was mild, equable, and sensible, I took
no pains to cultivate his acquaintance further than
I should with any common-place person, which
he was not; and Lord Blessington in London,
with a numerous acquaintance, and * all appliances
to boot,' for choosing and selecting, has found
so much to like in Gait, malgre the difference
LORD BLESSINGTON'S AMIABILITY 229
of their politics, 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 extraordinary goodness of his nature, while
poor Shelley had been tried in the school of
adversity only, which is not such a corrupter
as is that of prosperity. If Lord B. has not the
power, Midas -like, of turning whatever he
touches into gold," continued 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 excellence of
his own disposition prevents his attributing 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
230 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 faultless nature. While he was
speaking, he continually looked back, for fear
that the person of whom he spoke should over-
hear 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
woman, and the most thorough-paced manceuvrer
I ever met with ; she cannot make or accept an
invitation, or perform any of the common
courtesies of life, without manoeuvring, and has
always some plan in agitation, to which all her
acquaintance are made subservient. This is so
evident, that she never approached me that I did
not expect her to levy contributions on my muse,
the only disposable property I possessed ; and I
was as surprised as grateful at rinding 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
CLEVERNESS AND CUNNING
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 un-
shrinking exertion of tongue, they conclude that
such effects must proceed from adequate causes,
never reflecting that real cleverness requires not
such aids ; 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 favour-
ably judged.
" Women of a certain age (continued Byron)
are for the. most part bores or mechantes. I have
known some delightful exceptions, but on con-
sideration they were past the certain age, and
were no longer, like the coffin of Mahomet,
hovering between heaven and earth, that is to
say, floating between maturity and age, but had
fixed their persons on the unpretending easy
chairs of vieillesse^ and their thoughts neither on
war nor conquest, except the conquest of self.
232
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 feelings of melancholy with which we
regard a fine ruin ? Both mark the triumph of
the mighty conqueror Time ; and whether we
examine the eyes, the windows of the soul, through
which love and hope once sparkled, now dim
and languid, showing 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 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 varnished, and that the abbey or
castle is not whitewashed; 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.
" I once (said Byron) found it necessary to call
up all that could be said in favour 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
AUTUMNAL BEAUTY
even now the autumnal charms of Ladv are
J
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 shedding their last
dying beams, which threw a radiance around.
A woman (continued Byron) is only grateful for
her first and last conquest. The first of poor
dear Lady 's was achieved before I entered
on this world of care, but the last I do flatter
myself was reserved for me, and a bonne bouche
it was."
I told Byron that his poetical sentiments of
the attractions of matured beauty had, at the
moment, suggested four lines to me ; which
he begged 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 centred in wrinkles.
They're the triumphs of time that mark beauty's decay,
Telling tales of years past, and the few left to stay."
" 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
all the beauty and freshness of those flowers, but
the piquancy of his wit, and the readiness of his
234 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
repartees, prevent one's ear being cloyed by too
much sweets, and one cannot ' 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 I know
(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 multiplicity of thoughts on paper ; and leaves
behind him an impression that he possesses an
inexhaustible mine equally brilliant as the
specimens he has given us. Will you, after this
frank confession of my opinion of your country-
man, ever accuse me of injustice again ? You
see I can render justice when I am not forced
into its opposite extreme by hearing people over-
praised, which always awakes the sleeping Devil
in my nature, as witness the desperate attack I
gave your friend Lord the other day, merely
because you all wanted to make me believe he
was a model, which he is not ; though I admit
he is not all or half that which I accused him of
being. Had you dispraised, probably I should
have defended 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 :
MOORE'S SONGS SUNG BY HIMSELF 235
"To
" But once I dared to lift my eyes
To lift my eyes to thee ;
And since that day, beneath the skies,
No other sight they see.
" In vain sleep shuts them in the night
The night grows day to me ;
Presenting idly to my sight
What 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."
" 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 compositions;
the powerful expression he gives to them, and
the pathos of the tones of his voice, tend to pro-
duce an effect on my feelings that no other songs,
or singer, ever could. used to write 4/
pretty songs, and certainly has talent, but I main-
tain 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
236 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
candour, 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
drawn of some of his supposed friends, and many
of his acquaintances. The vigour with which
they are sketched proves that he entered into
every fold of the characters of the originals, and
that he painted them con amore, but he could not
be accused of being a flattering portrait painter.
I 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 anything 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.
BYRON'S CONFESSIONS 237
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 he had rendered the most essential
service to the cause of morality by his confessions,
as a dread of similar disclosures would operate
more strongly in putting people on their guard 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
humour 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 surrendered thy Life for the sake of a friend."
He laughed heartily at the lines, and, in
laughing at them, recovered his good-humour.
" I have never," said Byron, " succeeded to my
238 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 de-
cidedly have not. One of the best in the English
language is that of Rogers on Ward ; it has the
true Greek talent of expressing by implication
what is wished to be conveyed.
" Ward has no heart, they say ; but I deny it ;
He has a heart, and 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 lines on an acquaintance of mine, as
follows :
" The charming Mary has no mind they say ;
I prove she has it changes every day."
This amused him, and he repeated several
epigrams, 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
BYRON'S VULGARITY IN DAILY LIFE 239
same destiny, to have brought it to the same
perfection.
The reverses that nature and circumstances
entailed 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 per-
fected 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 the renown of
the 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 reduced it to practice.
One of the strangest anomalies 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 feelings, though his
descriptions are so glowing, and the elegancies
and comforts of refined life he appeared 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 consti-
240 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
tuted them. I have seen him apparently delighted
with the luxurious inventions in furniture, equi-
pages, plate, etc., 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 pre-
dominated in all Byron's equipments, whether in
dress 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 curtains in the worst taste, and the cornice
having his family motto of " Crede Byron " sur-
mounted 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
complacency with which they were referred to.
These trifles are touched upon, as being charac-
teristic 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
THE GREATNESS OF HIS GENIUS 241
great deal of money. At such moments it was
difficult to remember 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 that he who could be ordinary in
trifles, (the only points of assimilation between
him and the common herd of men,) was only
ordinary when he descended to their level ; but
when once on subjects worthy his attention, 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 pre-eminence as a
poet that can give interest to such details as the
writer has entered into : if they are written
without 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, which having examined more
minutely than common observers, he wishes to
give others the advantage of his discoveries,
though the specks he describes have not made
him overlook the brightness of the luminaries
they sullied, but could not obscure.
16
242 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" You know of course, (said Byron,)
everyone does. I hope you don't like him ;
water and oil are not more antipathetic than he
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 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 my 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."
[ 243 ]
CHAPTER XL
Lords Holland and Erskine Walter Savage Landor Byron's
mode of wreaking vengeance La Marquise du Deffand
The Lake School Ladies' poetry Voltaire on authors An
interesting folio Society versus law " A fellow-feeling makes
them wondrous kind " Buxom health and lanky languor
Ladies a la Rubens "Afens sana in corpore sano " The price
of fame The best legacy A French proverb " Love is
only curiosity " Count d'Orsay's journal The secret of
English ennui Slaves of fashion -Creatures of circumstance
Lady Melbourne Women's hearts.
" ONE of the few persons in London, whose
society served to correct my predisposition to
misanthropy, was Lord Holland.* There is
* Henry Richard Vassall Fox, third Lord Holland, was born
November 2ist, 1773, and died October 22nd, 1840. He was an
eminent Whig and as a great a lover of literature as his uncle,
Charles James Fox. He held the office of Lord Privy Seal in the
Administration of All the Talents, and that of Chancellor of the
Duchy of Lancaster in the Administration of Earl Grey and
Viscount Melbourne. The most noteworthy works from his pen
were translations from the Spanish, published when a young man,
and " Memoirs of the Whig Party." the production of his mature
years. During his lifetime Holland House was the meeting place
of Liberal politicians and men of letters, and its influence is set
forth in Macaulay's essay upon it. The personal ambition of Lord
244 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
Blessington. 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 content 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, observed, that it was his extreme good-
nature alone that prevented his taking as high a
political position 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
Holland is expressed in the following lines in his handwriting
which were found after his death :
" Nephew of Fox, and friend of Grey,
Enough my meed of fame,
If those who deigned to observe me say
I injured neither name."
VOW OF VENGEANCE AGAINST SOUTH EY 245
these. When travelling in Italy, he was reported
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 1 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 anyone attacks rne, on the spur of the
moment I sit down and write all the mechancete
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 dictated
them has subsided. All my malice evaporates
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 my works. I asked my officious
friend if he was sure which it was that Landor
said, as the would not was not offensive, 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-
246 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
patte must be given in my forthcoming 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 ha^ 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
treating him much more severely by the fear of
being indicted under the Act of Cruelty to
Animals !
" I 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 speaks
ill of one, it is set down as an exaggeration of
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 candour in
" SA VE ME FROM MY FRIENDS " 247
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 mischief.
Then he thinks himself bound to retail and
detail every disagreeable remark or story he
hears, and generally under the injunction of
secrecy ; 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, ' My friends ! 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, uttered when he
was absent, without any idea thaj he was likely
to hear it, is much more blamable than the
person who originally said it ; of course I except
a friend who hears a charge brought against one's
honour, 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 egoists,
La Marquise du Deffand, truly observed ' Ceux
qu'on nomme amis sont ceux par qui on n'a pas
a craindre d'etre assassine, mais qui laisseroient
faire les assassins.' Friends are like diamonds ;
all wish to possess them : but few can or will
pay their price ; and there never was more
248 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 prettinesses, 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
butterflies " 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, 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 nothing of its being the emblem
of the soul, because I have not quite made up
my mind that women have souls ; but, in short,
"FAME IS THE SPUR" 249
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 possibility
of repose ; this spurs him on to attempt others,
which are always expected to be superior to the
first ; hence arises disappointment, as expectation
being too much excited is rarely gratified, and, in
the present day, one failure is placed as a counter-
balance 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 attacked 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
250 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
of astonishing Paris. Montesquieu has said ' that
moms on pense plus on park.' Voltaire was a
proof, indeed I have known many (said Byron),
of the falseness of this observation, for who ever
wrote or talked as much as Voltaire ? But Mon-
tesquieu, 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 overhearing the conversation of
two country ladies, in company with a celebrated
author, who happened to 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 to say, he has sold all his thoughts to
his publishers. This you will allow was a philo-
sophical 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
A CURIOSITY OF LITERATURE 251
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, probably, 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
interesting folio, with my notes, and might serve
posterity as a proof of the chanty, good-nature,
and candour of Christian England in the nine-
teenth century. Our laws are bound to think
a man innocent until he is proved to be guilty ;
but our English society condemns 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
accorded, 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 husbands their
252 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
wives, without either of the parties being black-
ened by defamation, 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 Byron 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
I pretty antithesis, mais helas ! there are neither
"* angels nor devils on earth, though some of one's
acquaintance might tempt one into the belief of
the existence of the latter. After twenty, it is
difficult to believe in that of the former, though
the first and last objects of one's affection have
some of its attributes. 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. Senti-
mentalists may despise ' buxom health, with rosy
hue,' which has something dairy-maid like, I
THE BEST OF DOWERS 253
confess, in the sound, (continued he) for buxom,
however one may like the reality, is not
euphonious, but I have the association of plump-
ness, rosy hue, good spirits, and good humour,
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 humour,
which are synonymous, making to-morrow cheer-
less 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 ' administer
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
may sound, harrows up my feelings with a host
of shadowy ills to come, of vapours, 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 humour ; 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.'
254 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
But mind (said Byron) when I object to delicate
women, that is to say, to women of delicate
health, alias sickly, I don't mean to say that I
like coarse, fat ladies, a la Rubens, whose minds
must be impenetrable, from the mass of matter
in which they are incased. No ! I like an active
and healthy mind, in an active and healthy
person, each extending its beneficial influence
over the other, and maintaining their equilibrium,
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, (continued
Byron,) a handsome healthy woman, with an
intelligent and intelligible mind, who can do
something more than what is said a French
woman can only do, habille, babille, and dishabille^
who is not obliged to have recourse to dress,
shopping and visits, to get through a day, and
soirees, operas, and flirting to pass an evening.
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
* " The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made."
WALLER.
THE DISENCHANTMENTS OF LIFE 255
" ' La Nominanza e color d'erba,
Che viene e va ; e quei la discolora
Per cui vien fuori della terra acerba.'
And dearly is fame bought, as 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,
hatred, and jealousy follow the luckless possessor.
" ' O ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova ?
Tutti tornate alia gran madre antica,
E il vostro nome 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
" ' Sensa la qual chi sua vita consuma
Cotal vestigio in terra di se lascia
Qual fummo in acre, 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
halfway-house of life is passed, unless one has
the luck to die young, ere the illusions that
render existence supportable have faded away,
256 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
and are replaced by experience, that dull
monitress, that ever comes too late ? While youth
steers the bark of life, and passion impels her on,
experience keeps aloof; but when youth and
passion are fled, and we no longer require her
aid, she comes to reproach us with the past, to
disgust us with the present, and to alarm us
with the future."
" 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
happiness on this earth. Memory precludes
happiness, whatever Rogers may say to the
contrary, for it borrows from the past, to em-
bitter the present, bringing back to us all the
grief that has most wounded, or the happiness
that has most charmed us ; the first leaving its
sting, and of the second,
" ' Nessun maggior dolore,
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice,
Nella 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,
* "Inferno," Canto V., lines 121-123.
HOW TO LIVE WITH FRIENDS
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 present more
sombre by contrast.
"We are so constituted (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 learnt to estimate their value, all
else could be borne, and we believe (because it is
impossible) that 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 survivors from those bitter pangs
that memory conjures up, of slights and un-
17
258 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
kindnesses offered to those we have lost, when
too late for atonement, arming 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 knowledge
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 nature :
by believing ourselves devoted to selfishness, we
supinely sink into its withering and inglorious
thraldom ; when, by encouraging kindly affec-
tions, without analyzing their source, we strengthen
and fix them in the heart, and find their genial
influence extending around, contributing to the
happiness and well-being of others, and reflecting
back some portion on ourselves.
Byron's heart is running to waste for want of
BYRON'S INCONSISTENCY 259
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 perfectibility in the persons to whom he attaches
himself, that those who think most highly of it
never expect : he gets easily disgusted, and when
once the persons fall short of his expectations,
his feelings are thrown back on himself, and, in
their re-action, create new bitterness.
I have remarked to Byron that it strikes me as
a curious anomaly, that he, who thinks ill of
mankind, 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
feelings with which a savage creature would seek
its lair ; while those who judge it more favourably , J
instead of feeling bitterness at the disappointments
we must all experience, more or less, when we
have the weakness to depend wholly on others
for happiness, smile at their own delusion, and
blot out, as with a sponge, from memory that
such things were, and were most sweet while we
believed them, and open a fresh account, a new
leaf in the ledger of life, always indulging in
260 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
the hope that it may not be balanced 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, because with that
le besom d'aimer, which all ardent minds have,
we bestow our affections on the first person that
chance throws in our path, and endow 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 overrated, and declare war against the whole
species because we had chosen ill, and " loved
not wisely, but too well." When such disap-
pointments occur, and, alas ! they are so frequent
as to inure us to them, if we were to reflect on
all the antecedent 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 dis-
appointed.
A modern writer has happily observed that
" the sourest disappointments are made out of
our sweetest hopes, as the most excellent vinegar
FAITH IN HUMAN NATURE 261
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
affection exist in the world, although we have
not had the good fortune to encounter them in
the persons on whom we had lavished our regard.
This is the best, because it is the safest and most
consolatory 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 baseness
might serve to lower our opinion of our fellow-
creatures, have we not encountered others whose
nobleness, generosity, and truth might redeem
them ? A few such examples, nay, one alone,
such as I have had the happiness to know,
taught me to judge favourably of mankind ; and
Byron, with all his scepticism as to the perfecti-
bility 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 selfishness or
worldly-mindedness being the spring of action in
man.
262 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
The grave has closed over him who shook
Byron's scepticism in perfect goodness, and
established for ever my implicit faith in it ; but,
in the debts of gratitude engraved in deep
characters on memory, the impression his virtues
have given me of human nature is indelibly
registered, an impression of which his conduct
was the happiest 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 calculated to disgust us with our species.
How, then, must the heart reverence the memory
of those who, in life, spread the shield of their
goodness between us and sorrow and evil, and,
even in death, have left us the hallowed recollec-
tion of their virtues, to enable us to think well
of our fellow-creatures !
" 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 a<u ant -couriers 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,
" CURIOSITY KILLS ITSELF " 263
when the just tribute we pay to departed worth
is but as the outpouring of a spirit that is over-
powered by its own intensity, and whose praise
or blame falls equally unregarded on u 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
survivors that of offering the homage of admira-
tion 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
originality in it : he quoted the passage, " La
curiosite est suicide de sa nature, et 1'amour 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
264 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 plea-
sures. 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, * 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 doggerel rhymes have more
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 someone 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
LOVE "A SORT OF ELECTRICITY" 265
each other's society ? It is, that their mutual
flattery and egoism gratify their vanity ; and not
rinding 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 presence
from preference ; habit alone draws them together,
and they drag on a chain that is tiresome 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 invariably bestow on
the object that most charms us, which, as invari-
ably, is self; and though some degree of love
may be extended to another, it is only because
that other administers to our vanity ; and the
sentiment is but a reaction, a sort of electricity
that emits the sparks with which we are charged
to another body ; and when the retorts 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," con-
tinued Byron, " the only love that never changes
its object is self-love ; and the disappointments it
meets with make a more lasting impression than
all others."
266 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 scepticism 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
because we do not believe all he says against
himself, and would be, I am sure, delighted to
meet someone 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 charla-
tanism 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 ridicu-
lous, and one feels mortified at finding that he,
who could elevate the thoughts of his readers to
the empyrean, should fall below the ordinary
standard of every-day life, by a vain and futile
attempt to pass for something that all who know
him rejoice that he is not ; while, by his sublime
genius and real goodness of heart, which are
!
COUNT D'ORSArS JOURNAL 267
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
attention, and trust to his merit for command-
ing it.
" I know not when I have been so much
interested and amused," said Byron, "as in the
perusal of Count D'Orsay's journal : it is one of
the choicest productions 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 disclosures made that
could give pain. He has admirably 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 ennuyh, but vanity prevents their dis-
covering that they are ennuyeux^ and they will
be little disposed to pardon the person who
enlightens them on this point.
" Count D'Orsay ought to publish this work,"
268 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 malicious 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 influence the members of their
own coteries, might serve to correct them, though
I fear reflexion faite^ there is not much hope of
this. It is an extraordinary anomaly," said
Byron, " that people who are really naturally
inclined to good, as I believe the English are,
and who have the advantages of a better education
than foreigners receive, should practise more ill-
nature and display more heartlessness than the
inhabitants of any other country. This is all the
effect of the artificial 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, resi-
dences, nay, their very friends, are chosen by this
THE CAPRICES OF FASHION 269
criterion, and old and tried friends, wanting its
stamp, are voted de trap. Fashion admits women
of more than dubious reputations, and well-born
men with none, into circles where virtue and
honour, 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 remark-
able for good looks, or superiority 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 entering
fashionable life, being surprised at the (to me)
unaccountable distinctions I saw made between
ladies placed in peculiar and precisely similar
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
270 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
same scrape ?' With that amiable indifference
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, ' Well,
but you allow their claims are equal ?' and the
reply has been, ' Certainly ; and we believe the
excluded lady to be the better of the two/ Mais
que vou/ez-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,
decided whether a woman lost her caste or
not.
" I am not much of a prude," said Byron,
" but I declare that, for the general good, I
think that all women who had forfeited their
reputations ought to lose their places in society ;
but this rule ought never to admit of an ex-
ception : 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 pro-
bability of losing caste by such or such a step,
quote the examples of Lady This, or Mrs. That,
who had been more imprudent, (for imprudence
CREATURES OF CIRCUMSTANCE 271
is the new name for guilt in England,) and yet
one saw these ladies received everywhere, and
vain were precepts with such examples.
" 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 written 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 morality that makes me so
indignant against its vile substitute cant, with
which I wage war, and this the good-natured
world chooses to consider as a sign of my
wickedness.
" We are all the creatures of circumstance,"
continued Byron ; " the greater part of our errors
are caused, if not excused, by events and situations
over which we have had little control ; * the
world sees the faults, but sees not what led to
them : therefore I am always lenient to crimes
that have brought their own punishment, while
* " Men are the sport of circumstances, when
The circumstances seem the sport of men."
Don Juan, Canto V., stanza xvii.
272 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
I am little disposed 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, infinitely more blamable than that of
the persons they denounce, affecting a prudery
towards others that they had not in the hour of
need for themselves. It was this forbearance
towards her own sex that charmed me in Lady
Melbourne : she had always some kind interpre-
tation for every action that would admit of one,
and pity or silence when aught else was im-
practicable.
" Lady , beautiful and spotless herself,
always struck me as wanting that pity she could
so well afford. Not that I ever thought her ill-
natured or spiteful ; but I thought there was a
certain severity in her demarcations, which her
acknowledged 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 ;
WANT OF CHARITY 273
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."
18
274
CHAPTER XII.
Retrograde Greece The less of two evils The system of
Serventism The advantages of morals and religion
Education's effects The consolation of avarice Byron's
expedition to Greece Sir Walter Scott and his sincerity
Tete-a-tete suppers The organ of locomotiveness Securing
a tte-ci-tte Food for a week An equivocal compliment
Byron's love of mischief His .plagiarism A triumphant
refutation.
BYRON has not lived sufficiently long in England,
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 have given him an
unfavourable impression ; and his own passions
were, at that period, too much excited to permit
his reason to be unbiased 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,
salutary for the general good of society.
This error of Byron's proceeds from a want of
actual personal observation, for which opportunity
BYRON'S BIAS AGAINST SOCIETY 275
has not been afforded him, as the brief period of
his residence 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 perfect knowledge of society, manners, and
customs, which is necessary to correct the pre-
judices that a superficial acquaintance with it is
so apt to engender, even in the most acute
observer, but to which a powerful imagination,
prompt to jump at conclusions, without pausing
to trace cause and effect, is still more likely to
fall into. Byron sees not that much of what he
calls the usages of cant and hypocrisy are the
fences that protect propriety, and that they can-
not be invaded without exposing what it is the
interest of all to preserve. Had he been a calm
looker on, instead of an impassioned actor in
the drama of English fashionable 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
usurp the place of liberty, was little calculated
276
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
to prepare a young man of three-and-twenty for
the conventional habits and restraints of that
artificial state of society which extreme civiliza-
tion 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 impeded
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 his
works ; and that the sublime passages in them,
which now appear like gleams of sunshine flitting
THE POET AND THE MAN 277
across the clouds that sometimes obscure the
bright luminary, might have been 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
depends on himself: he has only to choose a
subject for his muse, in which not only received
opinions are not wounded, but morality is incul-
cated ; and his glowing genius, no longer tarnished
by the stains that have previously blemished it,
will shine forth with a splendour, 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 influence with him to make my representations
effective ; and the task would be delicate and
difficult for a male friend to undertake, as Byron
is pertinacious in refusing to admit that his works
2;S CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
have failed in morality, though in his heart I am
sure he feels it.
Talking of someone 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 me to be the least ; at all events I would
prefer it ; for as, according to philosophers, plea-
sure 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 r.Anglaise, I have taken a mercantile view of
the tender passion ; but I must add that, in
closing the accounts, they are seldom fairly
balanced, ' e cio sa '1 suo dottore.' There is this
difference between the Italians and others," said
Byron, " that the end of love is not with them
LOVE IN ITALY AND ENGLAND 279
the beginning of hatred, 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 resent the least offence offered to
it, precludes good temper."
I asked Byron if his partiality 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 feelings, and the gradations were so slow,
from the first sigh of love to the yawn of expiring
affection, as to be almost imperceptible to the
parties ; and the system of domesticating in Italy
established a habit that rendered them necessary
to each other. Then the slavery of serventism,
the jealousies, carried to an extent that is un-
known in England, and which exists longer than
the passion that is supposed to excite, if not
excuse, them, may tend to reconcile lovers to
the exchange of friendship for love ; and, re-
joicing in 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
280 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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, they do not believe they are violating
either their duty or religion ; consequently a man
has none of the reproaches to dread that await
him in England when a lady's conscience is
awakened,- which, by the by, I have observed
BYRON'S LOVE OF TEAZING 281
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. Knowing
my partiality to England and all that is English,
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 1 never can believe he prefers to his own.
A wish of vexing or astonishing the English is,
I am persuaded, the motive that induces him to
attack Shakespeare ; 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 punishing
with severity the transgressions of persons of
their own sex in humble positions, they look
over the more glaring misconduct and vices
of the rich and great that not the crime, but
its detection, is punished in England, and, to
avoid this, hypocrisy is added to want of virtue.
"You have heard, of course," said Byron,
" that I was considered mad in England ; my
282 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
most intimate friends in general, and Lady Byron
in particular, were of this opinion ; but it did
not operate in my favour in their minds, as they
were not, like the natives of Eastern nations,
disposed to pay honour 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 forbearance as a mortal malady that reduces
us to more than childishness a prostration of
intellect that makes us dependent on even
menial hands ? Reason," continued Byron, " is
so unreasonable, that few can say that they are
in possession 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
increases 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
* An Arabic word, sometimes used by Turkish-speaking people,
which means a lunatic.
BYRON ON HIMSELF 283
gall have not depended on the persons who
tortured me, as I admit the causes were in-
adequate 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, premeditated ; or, if so, that the extent and
profundity of them were not anticipated by the
persons who aimed them. There are some
natures that have a predisposition to grief, as
others have to disease ; and such was my case.
The causes that have made me wretched would
probably not have discomposed, or, at least, more
than discomposed, another.
" We are all differently 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 another, 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 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 renders ordinary nature callous ; but
284 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
when any portion 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 influence
the person who is under the tyrant rule of
passion. My opinion is, that education, by
expanding the mind, and giving sources of tasteful
occupation, so fills up the time, that 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 the women
seemed for the moment transformed into Medeas ;
and so ungoverned and ungovernable 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
JEALOUSY OF ITALIAN WOMEN 285
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 amusing at first, but becomes, like
most amusements, rather a bore at the end ; and
a poor cavaliere servente 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 addicted to jealousy, that the poor seruenti
are often accused of the worst intentions for
merely performing the simple courtesies of life ;
so that the system of serventism imposes a thousand
times more restraint and slavery than marriage
ever imposed, even in the most moral countries :
indeed, 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
suspecting it. So you see, bad as I am supposed
286 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
to be, I have, by this admission, proved the
advantages of morals and religion.
" But to return to my opinion of the effect
education has in extending the focus of ideas,
and, consequently, in curbing the intensity of the
\ passions. I have remarked that well-educated
women rarely, if ever, gave way to any ebulli-
tions of them ; and this is a grand step gained in
conquering 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 un-
happiness to us both. But though I accuse Lady
Byron of an excess of self-respect, I must in
candour admit, that if any person 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 and refined gentlewoman, even to her
femme-de-chambre.
LADY BYRON'S SELF-CONTROL 287
" This extraordinary degree of self-command
in Lady Byron produced an opposite effect on
me. When I have broken out, on slight provoca-
tions, 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 mauvaise 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 tyrants ; like
all slaves, I have reviled my masters, but sub-
mitted to the yoke they imposed. I had hoped
(continued Byron) that avarice, that old gentle-
manly 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
288 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
have found pleasure in golden realities, as in
youth T 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 ardour, or what you will, to
disgust me with my strong box, and the com-
fortable contemplation of my moneys, nay, to
create wings for my golden darlings, that may
waft them away from me for ever; and I may
awaken to find that this, my present ruling
passion, as I have always found my last, was the
most worthless 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-
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 honour) is impossible, and my mal a propos
THE EXPEDITION TO GREECE 289
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, echauffer
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 travesty, and
my poor self a Major Sturgeon, marching and
counter-marching, not from Acton to Baling, or
from Baling 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 everything, 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 peut-etre
in my future history) outlive the campaign, 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 impar-
290 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
tiality. 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 practice 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 matter-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 and
contempt of hypocrisy and cant, he outraged his
own nature, and rendered more injustice to him-
self than even his enemies ever received at his
hands. His confessions of errors were to be
received with caution ; for he exaggerated not
only his misdeeds but his opinions ; and, fond of
tracing springs of thought to their sources, he
involved himself in doubts, to escape from which
RECIPROCAL COMPLIMENTS 291
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 exaggerated candour
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 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 conversa-
tion. There is a sincerity and simplicity in his
character and manner that stamp any commenda-
tion of his as truth, and any praise one might
offer him must fall short of his deserts ; so that
292 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
there is no gene in his society. There is nothing
in him that gives the impression I have so 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
reminds one (continued Byron) of the fairy,
who, whenever she spoke, let diamonds fall from
her lips. My tete-a-tete suppers with Moore
are among the most agreeable impressions I
retain of the hours passed in London : they are
the redeeming 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
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
Johnson expressed, to be shut up in a post-
chaise, tete-a-tete with a pleasant companion, to
be quite sure of him. He must be delightful in
MOORE'S RESTLESSNESS
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 ap-
preciate him, though they value the eclat his
reputation gives to their 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
bestowed on the Sydney family might be reversed
for 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, 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 ' 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
294 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 dictates. 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 ? (continued 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
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
CHARGES OF PLAGIARY 295
get gloomy ; my thoughts are almost always of
the sombre hue, so that I ought not 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
Schlegel, or to have stolen them from Goethe's
' Wilhelm Meister ;' so you see I am a third or
fourth hand stealer of stolen goods. Do you
know De StaeTs 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,' etc.,
etc., 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 myrtes fleurissent,
Oil les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour,
Ou les sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent,
Ou la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour."
" Well (said Byron) I do not see any point of
resemblance, except in the use of the two un-
296 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 I consider a
triumphant refutation for me."
[297]
CHAPTER XIII.
The liberty of thought and speech The king of prosers Bores /
The Irishwoman's fortune Un chantre d&enfer A fanciful /
simile M. de Lamartine His ode to Byron His "Medita-
tions " The one disadvantage of solitude The rock which
wrecked Napoleon Byron compares himself to a tiger
Diderot How to write of women Byron's mother and
sister : their influence on him Thomas Campbell " The
Pleasures of Hope " To know " by heart " " The Pleasures
of Memory" Loving-cups for the poets An excuse for
Shakespeare Pope Byron's elocution.
" I OFTEN think (said Byron) that were I to
return to England, I should be considered, in
certain circles, as having a tres 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 liberty
of the press, it is far from tolerating liberty of
thought or of speech ; and since the progress of
modern refinement, when delicacy of words is as
remarkable as indelicacy of actions, a plain-speak-
ing man is sure to get into a scrape. Nothing
amuses me more than to see refinement versus
298 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 considered almost as a crime.
But I believe crime is a word banished from the
vocabulary of hani-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 love ; 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
to speak, because whatever is said is sure to bring
forth a reminiscence, that as surely leads to
interminable 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
BORES SHOULD BE PUNISHED 299
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 dis-
covered of getting rid of bores, for it is too bad
that a poor wretch can be punished for stealing
your pocket-handkerchief 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 before 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. His
united merits led me to attempt an epigram on
them, which, I believe, is as follows :
" ' 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 incapable of
300 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
saying the least unkind word against friends, and
yet who listened with evident (though attempted
to be suppressed) pleasure to the malicious 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 am 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 former, alas !
are inextirpable, but the latter 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
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
BYRON A FALLEN ANGEL 301
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 envelope almost complimentary,
and that reconciles me to their bitterness, as
children are induced to take physic by its being
disguised in some sweet substance. The fallen
angel is so much more agreeable than the 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
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 d'enfer, which, I
suppose, 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,
302 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 forget
the power that persons of any imagination possess
of identifying themselves, for the time being, 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 Byron) 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-coloured paper, stamped
with Cupids and flowers ; and mine on asbestos,
written by quills from the wing of an eagle :
you laugh, but I think this a very sublime com-
parison, at least, so far as I am concerned, it
quite consoles me for * chantre d'enfer.' By the
bye, 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
LAMARTINE ON BYRON 303
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 mysterieux, 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
I 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
addressed 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 per-
vades every sentiment of the ode, is so profound,
that the epithet which offended the morbid
sensitiveness of Byron would have been readily
pardoned. M. de Lamartine is perhaps the only
French poet who could have so justly appre-
ciated, and gracefully eulogized, our wayward
child of genius ; and having written so success-
fully himself, his praise is more valuable. His
304 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
" Meditations " possess a depth of feeling which,
tempered by a strong religious sentiment that
makes the Christian rise superior to the philo-
sopher, bears the impress of a true poetical
temperament, which could not fail to sympathize
with all the 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 dislike to
French poetry, have refused his approbation to
the writings of M. de Lamartine.
Talking of solitude " It has but one dis-
advantage (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
reminded of every known or supposed defect we
may have ; hence we can rarely, unless possessed
of an inordinate share of vanity, form a very
exalted 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 neighbours, as
this is a crime that arms everyone 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
eminence that made him appear a giant and those
around him pigmies.
" If a man or woman has any striking supe-
riority, some great defect or weakness must be
ii
A FOOL'S PARADISE 305
discovered to counterbalance it, that their con-
temporaries may console themselves for their
envy, by saying, 'Well, if I have not the genius
of Mr. This, or the beauty or talents of Mrs.
That, I have not the violent temper of the one,
or the overweening vanity of the other.' But, to
return to solitude, (said Byron,) it is the only
fool's paradise on earth : there we have no one to
remind 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 enjoy-
ments. In the world (said Byron) I am always
irritable and violent; the very noise of the streets
of a populous city affects my nerves : I 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
* Byron was fond of comparing himself to a tiger. In a letter
to Mr. Murray he writes : " I am like the tiger (in poesy), if I miss
the first spring, I go growling back to my jungle." Byron's Works,
1832 edition, vol. v., p. 33.
20
306 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
particularly remarked this, (continued he,) and it
proved to me, what I never doubted, that we
have much of the animal and the ferocious in our
natures, which, I am convinced, is increased by
an over-indulgence of our carnivorous propen-
sities.
" It has been said that, to enjoy solitude, a
man must be superlatively 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
themselves, and this has been my case. I have
found friends false, acquaintances malicious,
relations indifferent, and nearer and dearer con-
nexions perfidious. Perhaps much, if not all
this, has been caused by my own waywardness ;
but that has not prevented my feeling it keenly.
LIFE ONLY A DREAM 307
It has made me look on friends as partakers of
prosperity, censurers in adversity, and absentees
in distress ; and has forced me to view acquain-
tances 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
accept weighty obligations, as matters of course.
You have now (continued Byron) my unsophis-
ticated opinion of friends, acquaintances, and
relations ; 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
truisms 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 either
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 live to be old, as if
we 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 reality. It is strange (said Byron)
3 o8 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
that feeling, as most people do, life a burthen,
we should still cling to it with such pertinacity.
This is another proof of animal feeling ; for if
the divine spirit that is supposed to animate us
mastered the animal nature, should we not rejoice
at laying down the load that has so long oppressed
us, and beneath which we have groaned for years,
to seek a purer, brighter existence ? Who ever
reached the age of twenty-five (continued Byron)
without feeling the tadium <vit(Z 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
chagrins arose from disappointed hopes ; that, in
our pride and weakness, we considered happiness
as our birthright, and received infliction as an
injustice ; whereas the latter was the inevitable
lot 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
THEORETICAL PHILOSOPHY 309
nought 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.
" Your philosophy is really admirable (said
Byron) if it were possible to follow it ; but I
suspect that you are among the number of those
who preach it the most, and practise 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
experience, never comes until one has ceased to
require its services.
" I have (continued Byron) experienced ingrati-
tude and estrangement from friends ; and this,
more than all else, has destroyed my confidence
in human nature. It is thus from individual
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 unworthy, 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 examples of
}io CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
ingratitude and selfishness prejudice us against
the world ; but six times the number of examples
of goodness and sincerity fail to reconcile 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 un-
intentional 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, (continued Byron,) but I do not,
as some cynics assert, 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."
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
11 UN STABLE AS WATER" 311
has become so fixed in my mind, that I have
been vexed with myself for attempting to refute
opinions of his which, on reflection, I was con-
vinced were not his real sentiments, but uttered
either from a foolish wish of display, or from a
spirit of contradiction, which much influences
his conversation.
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
goodness of heart, that 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 exaggerates all his feelings when he gives
utterance 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 expressions. When he writes or
speaks at such moments, the force of his language
imposes a belief 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 excitement remains, but, if recurred
312 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
to by another, he smiles at his own exaggerated
warmth of expression, 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 describe 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
paper. 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,
but in the heart of man, ere more than eighteen
summers have passed over his head ; and, to dry
the paper, I would allow only the sighs of
adolescence. Women are best understood by
men whose feelings have not been hardened by a
contact with the world, and who believe in virtue
because they are unacquainted with vice. A
knowledge of vice will, as far as I can judge by
experience, invariably produce disgust, as I
believe, with my favourite 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 describe
woman as she ought to be described ; and, there-
* " Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated needs but to be seen."
Essay on Man, Epistle II., lines 217, 218.
HAIDER AND ZULEIKA
fore, a perfect knowledge of the world unfits a
man for the task. When I attempted to describe
Haidee and Zuleika, I endeavoured 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
women 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 adheres
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 in-
credulous, (said Byron ;) but I have said what I
think, though not all that I think, as I have a
much 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
sarcasm 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.
314
\ This instability of opinion, or expression of opinion,
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
cannot 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
conquering or concealing his own, that they are
evident even to a superficial observer ; it is also
extraordinary that the knowledge of human
nature, 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.
u=- * *
" 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 com-
miseration for being its dupe, while his practical
inexperience renders him so perpetually. He is
STRENGTH OF EARLY ASSOCIATIONS 315
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
continue, as long as passion and feeling have
more influence over him than reflection and
reason. Byron affects to be unfeeling, while he xU ~)
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 connexions are good and estimable ; in-
dependently 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 have
such weight in deciding our future opinions. If
we witness evil qualities in common acquaintances,
the effect is slight, in comparison with that made
by discovering them in those united to us by the
ties of consanguinity ; this last disgusts us with
human nature, and renders us doubtful of good-
ness, a progressive step made in misanthropy, the
most fearful disease that can attack the mind.
" My first arid earliest impressions were
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
melancholy, my poor mother gave them ; but
to my sister, who, incapable of wrong herself,
suspected 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.
Augusta has great strength of mind, which is
displayed 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 sentiment
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
perception to view the errors, has sufficient force
to pardon them, who can * love the offender,
yet detest 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 superiority by giving advice ; and a
melange of selfishness and wounded vanity
engages them to resent its not being followed ;
CHARACTER OF MRS. LEIGH 317
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 obligations, you may look for all the
injuries that they can inflict, as they are anxious
to avenge themselves for the humiliations they
suffer when they accept favours. They are
proud, but have not sufficient pride to refuse
services that are necessary to their comfort, and
have too much false pride to be grateful. They
may pardon a refusal to assist them, but they
never can forgive a generosity which, as they are
seldom capable of practising or appreciating it,
overpowers and humiliates them.
" With this opinion of the English (continued
Byron), which has not been lightly formed, you
may imagine how truly I must value my sister,
who is so totally opposed to them. She is
tenacious of accepting obligations, even from the
nearest relations ; but, having accepted, is in-
capable 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 (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 misdemeanours."
Byron talked to-day of Campbell the poet;
said that he was a warm-hearted and honest
man ; praised his works, and quoted some passages
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 ?
" ' And, mark the wretch, whose wanderings never knew
The world's regard, that soothes, though half untrue ;
Whose 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
charitable, but false, supposition, that the English
are 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
CAMPBELL'S POEMS 319
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 who leads us to believe in this universal
panacea, in which, par parenthese, 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 bye (continued he) we must be indebted
to Ireland for this mode of expressing the knowing
anything by rote, and it is at once so true and
poetical, that I always use it. We certainly
remember 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 beauti-
ful poem (said Byron), harmonious, finished, and
chaste; it contains not a single meretricious orna-
ment. 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
320 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
trlste thoughts offered a curious contrast to the
* This poem, which is not to be found in all the editions of
the " Pleasures of Memory," is appended :
" Pleasures of Memory ! oh supremely blest,
And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise !
If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays,
By me how envied, for to me
The herald still of misery !
Memory makes her influence known
By sighs and tears and grief alone ;
I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong
The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song.
" She tells of time misspent, of comfort lost,
Of fair occasions gone for ever by,
Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely crost,
Of many a cause to wish yet fear to die ;
For what, except th' instinctive fear,
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When 'all the life of life ' is fled ?
What, but the deep inherent dread
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign,
And realize the hell that priests and beldames feign ?"
321
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-
garden," continued Byron, " to what shall I
compare 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
that one knows not where to fix, each gem
beautiful 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
anything homely, Moore's poems (with the
exception of the Melodies) resemble the fields
in Italy, covered 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 remember reading somewhere," said Byron,
" a concetto of designating different living poets
by the cups Apollo gives them to drink out of.
Wordsworth 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,
21
322 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
a champagne glass, as descriptive of their different
styles. I dare say none of them would be satis-
fied with the appropriation ; but who ever is
satisfied with anything in the shape of criticism ?
and least of all, poets."
Talking of Shakespeare, Byron said that he
owed one half of his popularity to his low origin,
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 statement,
that he wrote above 200 years ago, and that the
terms then in familiar use are now become
obsolete. With two such good excuses, as want
of education, and having written above 200 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 England has a peculiar attraction,
one ceases to wonder at his supposed popularity ;
I say supposed, 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
DEPRECIATION OF SHAKESPEARE 323
impression, that he was not sincere in his depre-
ciation of our immortal 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 laughed, and replied, t( That
the compliment I paid to his writings was so
entirely at the expense of his sincerity, that he
had no cause to be flattered ; but that, knowing
I was one of those who worshipped Shakespeare,
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 magnifi-
cent feudal castle, surrounded by mountains and
forests, with foaming cataracts, and boundless
lakes, to the pretty villa of Pope, with its sheen
lawn, artificial grotto, stunted trees, and trim
exotics." He said that my simile was more
ingenious than just, and hoped that I was pre-
pared to admit that Pope was the greatest of all
modern poets, 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 Shakespeare ; 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 in giving implicit credence to his
324 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
opinions. My conviction is, that, in spite of
his declarations to the contrary, he admires
Shakespeare as much as most of his country-
men do ; but that, unlike the generality of them,
he sees the blemishes that the freedom of the
times in which the great poet lived led him to
indulge in 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 Shakespeare
than was Byron. I have heard him quote
passages from them repeatedly ; and in a tone
that marked how well he appreciated their
beauty, which certainly lost nothing in his
delivery of them, as few possessed a more har-
monious voice or a more elegant pronunciation
than did Byron. Could there be a less equivocal
proof of his admiration of our immortal bard than
the tenacity with which his memory retained the
finest passages of all his works ? When I made
this observation to him he 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 Shake-
speare.
[ 325 1
CHAPTER XIV.
The Duke of Wellington " LesEssais de Montaigne" An amusing
idea Burton's "Anatomy of Melancholy" A severe
criticism An excuse for the plagiarist How to be original
Dr. Richardson's " Travels along the Mediterranean "
Two opinions Medical men In a cider cellar Tom Cribb,
the champion pugilist Madame de Stael Sir James and
Lady Mackintosh " Comme vous resemblez un perroquet "
Religious women The cant of false religion Ada Lady
Lovelace -Her father's portrait Byron's presentiment of
death in Greece John Fitzgibbon, second Earl of Clare, a
schoolfellow of Byron, and the Lycus in " Childish Recollec-
tions" Byron's three friends His wish to visit England
before going to Greece His mental reservation in intimate
intercourse What might have been A literary epoch.
BYRON takes a peculiar pleasure in opposing
himself to popular opinion on all points; he
wishes to be thought as dissenting from the
multitude, and this affectation is the secret source
of 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
326 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
thoroughly acquainted with his peculiarities,
much that appeared incomprehensible is ex-
plained, and one knows when to refuse belief to
assertions that are not always worthy of com-
manding it, because 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
be prejudiced against any work that they
admired, or any person whom they praised ; and
that their admiration of his own works has rather
confirmed than softened his judgment 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 Ariosto :
" ' Fu il vincer sempre mai lodabil cosa,
Vincasi b per fortuna b per ingegnio,'
in answer to their appeal to me, if he was not
the greatest general that ever existed."
* This was curiously fulfilled when Apsley House was attacked,
and the windows broken, in consequence of which they were
afterwards protected by iron shutters.
THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON 327
I told Byron that his quotation was insidious,
but that the Duke had gained too many victories
to admit the possibility of any of them being
achieved more by chance than ability ; and that,
like his attacks on Shakespeare, he was not
sincere in disparaging Wellington, as I was sure
he must au fond be as proud of him as all other
Englishmen are. " What !" said Byron, " could
a Whig be proud of Wellington! would this be
consistent ?"
The whole of Byron's manner, and his
countenance on this and other occasions, when
the name of the Duke of Wellington has been
mentioned, 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 humour
of the moment, that those who know him well
could never attach much confidence to the
stability of his sentiments, or the force of his
expressions ; 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.
" I have been amused," said Byron, " in reading
* 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
328 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 malignite ; and this," con-
tinued Byron, " explains my mechancete, 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 responsi-
bility, as he considered himself, according to
this, as no more accountable for the satires he
might write or speak, than for his personal
deformity. Nature, he said, had to answer for
malignite 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
the reader's classical knowledge. He added, that
Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy " was also
excellent, from the quantity of desultory informa-
MONTAIGNE AND HIS CRITICS 329
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 did some of his own country-
men ; for that when the Cardinal du Perron
" appelloit les Essais de Montaigne le breviaire des
honnetes gens ; le celebre Huet, eveque d'Avranche,
les disoit celui des honnetes paresseux et des ignorans y
qui veulent s'enfariner de quelque teinture des
lettres " Byron said that the critique was severe,
but just ; for 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
difficult, 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,
a propos 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 : ' Cest un cercle, dont
330 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
la circonference est par- tout , et le centre nulle part.'*
So you see that even the saintly Pascal could
steal as well as another, and was probably un-
conscious 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 in innate
predispositions. 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 acquired our own ; and on this
foundation we may let our originality (if we have
any) build a superstructure, and if not, it supplies
our want of it, to a certain degree. I am accused
of plagiarism," continued Byron, " as I see by the
newspapers. 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.
"The book you lent me, Dr. Richardson's
* The actual words of Pascal are : " Dieu est une sphere infinic
d'ont le centre est partout, la circonference nulle part."
DR. RICHARDSON'S TRAVELS 331
' Travels along the Mediterranean,' "* said Byron,
" is an excellent work. It abounds in informa-
tion, sensibly and unaffectedly conveyed, and
even without Lord Blessington's praises of the
author, would have led me to conclude that he
was an enlightened, sensible, and thoroughly good
man. He is always in earnest," continued Byron,
" and never writes for effect : his language is well
chosen and correct ; and his religious views un-
affected 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 physi-
cian ; for I require 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, c< how seldom one
* Dr. Robert Richardson's " Travels " during the years 1816
to 1818 extended as far as the Second Cataract of the Nile,
and embraced Jerusalem, Damascus, and Baalbec. He journeyed
as physician with the Earl of Belmore. His work in two volumes
was published in 1822, and reviewed in the October number
of The Quarterly for that year. The reviewer expresses himself
about the book in different terms from Byron : "As a writer of
travels, he is neither so entertaining nor so instructive as might be
wished, mistaking frequently cant and vulgar phrases for wit, and
uncouth words for learning. That he has told the truth we cannot
for a moment doubt ; but that he has told it, as he says, ' in as few
words, and in as agreeable a manner as possible,' we can by no
means concede to him."
332 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
meets with clever, sensible men in the professions
of divinity or physic ! and yet they are precisely
the professions that most peculiarly demand in-
telligence and ability, as 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
men who fell in my way were, in general, so
deficient 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 intel-
ligence 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 con-
clude the same remedies that cured the first must
remove the second, not making allowance for the
peculiarities of temperament, habits, and disposi-
tion ; 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
SELF-INFLICTED MISERIES 333
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 accustom-
ing ourselves to more sustenance than is required
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 knows,
sufficient alloy in our compositions, without
reducing them still nearer to the brute by over-
feeding. 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, con-
sequently, do not labour under the complicated
horrors that indigestion produces, which has such
a dreadful effect on the temper, as I have both
witnessed and felt.
" There is nothing I so much dread as flattery,"
said Byron ; " not that I mean to say I dislike it,
for, on the contrary, if well administered, 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 our-
selves for stooping to the humiliation of flattering
them. On this account, I never flatter those I
really like ; and, also, I should be fearful and
334 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 cannot
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 terms with them, that did not administer
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
faiblesse 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 endeavour 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," continued
Byron, "in mortifying conceited people; and the
gratification is enhanced by the difficulty of the
task.
REASONS FOR DISLIKING SOCIETY 335
" 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 encounter excite dis-
gust when examined near, though, viewed at a
distance, they only create pity : that is to say,
in simple homely truth," continued 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 solitude, 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 actors
in the busy scene of life ; and we grow better,
because we believe ourselves better. Our passions
often only sleep when we suppose them dead;
and we are not convinced of our mistake till they
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 qualities that adhere
to our nature, we do well to encourage their
336
slumber. Like cases of acute pain, when the phy-
sician cannot remove the malady he administers
soporifics.
" When I recommend solitude," said Byron,
" I do not mean the solitude of country neigh-
bourhood, where people pass their time a dire,
redire, et medire. No ! I mean a regular retire-
ment, with a woman that one loves, and inter-
rupted 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 ;
and 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.
Socrates and Plato," continued Byron, " ridiculed
Laches, who defined fortitude to consist in re-
maining firm in the ranks opposed to the epemy ;
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.
AFFECTED REFINEMENT 337
" 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
unconsciously hazard a thousand dubious phrases
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
hypercritical gentility, and he of noble blood
may be natural without the fear of being accused
of vulgarity.
" I have left an assembly rilled with all the
names of haut ton in London, and where little
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
natural bias to vulgar habits in them. In my
works, too, I have dared to pass the frozen mole-
hills I cannot call them Alps, though they are
frozen eminences of high life, and have used
common thoughts and common words to express
my impressions ; where poor would have
22
338 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 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 soporific quality of the
conversation, if conversation it might be called.
" For a long time I thought it was my consti-
tutional melancholy that made me think London
* Tom Cribb, born July 8th, 1781, died May nth, 1848, was
the champion pugilist of his day. In 1811 he retired from the
business of boxing and became a coal merchant, and failing in
that business he became a publican. He taught boxing, and
,. Byron was one of his pupils. When the Emperor of Russia and
|( the King of Prussia visited London in 1814, he was called upon
to exhibit before them his skill in the art of sparring. At the
coronation of George IV. he was one of the prize-fighters, dressed
as pages, who guarded the entrance to Westminster Hall. He
was buried in Woolwich Churchyard, and sympathizing friends
erected a monument to his memory there, on which a lion is
represented grieving over the ashes of a hero.
MADAME DE STAEL 339
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
4 muttered curses not loud but deep ' against the
well-dressed automatons 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 sanity ; 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 was kept
in by her extraordinary self-complacency, 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 common-place woman in the room. It
is thus genius and talent are judged of," continued
Byron, " by those who, having neither, are in-
capable of understanding them ; and a punster
340 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
may glory in puzzling a genius of the first order,
by a play on words that was below his compre-
hension, though suited to that of the most
ordinary understandings.
" Madame de Stael had no tact ; she would
believe anything, merely because she did not
take the trouble to examine, being too much
occupied with self, and often said the most
mal 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 [Mackintosh ?] 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,
' Ah, mon Dieu, miladi! comme vous ressemblez
a un perroquet /' The poor lady looked con-
founded : the company tried, but in vain, to
suppress 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 ?" asked Byron. " < Childe Harold '
called it forth ; but my 'Juan ' was well calculated
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
SENTIMENT IN WOMEN 341
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
ajfichant their sentimentality, I look upon it as
an allegorical mode of declaring their wish of
finding an object on whom they could bestow
its superfluity.
" I am of a jealous nature," said Byron, " and
should wish to call slumbering sentiment into
life in the woman I love, instead of finding that
I was chosen, from its excess and activity rendering
a partner in the firm indispensable. I should
hate a woman," continued Byron, " who could
laugh at or ridicule sentiment, as I should, and
do, women who have not religious feelings : and,
much as I dislike bigotry, I think it a thousand
times more pardonable in a woman than irreligion.
There is something unfeminine 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, " 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
342 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 practise 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 referred.
" 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 of
faults that they should have wept over, and
redeemed by the force of love, then it is,"
continued 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 an 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,' etc.
THE INFLUENCE OF TRUE RELIGION 343
" Now, people professing religion either believe,
or do not believe, such creeds," continued Byron.
" If they believe, and act contrary to their belief,
what avails their religion, except to throw
discredit on its followers, by showing that they
practise not its tenets ? and 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," continued 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 practised, and to know, which is
soon made known by the conduct, that it dwells
in the heart, instead of being on the lips only
of its votaries. Let me not be told that the
mothers, sisters, and wives, who violate the duties
such relationships 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 dangerous. Poor Mrs. Sheppard tried more, ^?
and did more, to reclaim me," continued Byron,
" than -r : but no ; as I have been preaching * "-^ /J
religion, I shall practise one of its tenets, and
be charitable ; so I shall not finish the sentence."
344 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 dishonour it. He forgets that in
so exposing and decrying them, he is breaking
through the commandments of charity he admires,
and says ought to govern our actions towards our
erring brethren ; but that he reflects 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 impression, 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 temper
accompanying it ; and, that fled, we become a
burden on the patience of those around us, until
EVIL OF LOSING CASTE 345
dislike replaces pity and forbearance. Loss of
reputation entails still greater evils. In losing
caste, deservedly or otherwise," continued Byron,
" we become reckless and misanthropic : we
cannot 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 breasts the sting prepared
for our enemies. Shakespeare says, that 'it is a
bitter thing to look into happiness through
another man's eyes ;' and this must he do," said
Byron, " who has lost his reputation. Nay,
rendered nervously sensitive by the falseness of
his position, he sees, or fancies he sees, scorn or
avoidance 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
dye ! 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
346 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
against each man, the hand, or at least the tongue,
of each man is against him. The genius and
powers of such a man," continued Byron, " act
but as fresh incitements to the unsated malice of
his calumniators ; and the fame they win is but
as the flame that consumes the funeral pile, whose
blaze attracts attention to the substance that feeds
it. Mediocrity 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 Byron, " reminds the enemies of its
possessor, of his existence, and of their injustice.
They are enraged 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
position had led Byron to these reflections ; and
on observing the changes in his expressive counte-
nance while uttering them, who could resist pity-
ing the morbid feelings which had given them
birth ? The milk and honey that flowed in his
breast has been turned to 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 pro-
ductive of pain to him who writes, than to those
BYRON AS A FREE LANCE 347
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 individuals, 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 like a soldier in action,
who, without any individual resentment, strikes
at all within his reach, as component parts of the
force to which he is opposed. If this be inde-
fensible, and all must admit that it is so, let us
be merciful even while we are condemning ; and
let us remember what must have been the heart-
aches and corroding thoughts of a mind so sensi-
tive 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 dele-
terious draughts administered by that world, and
which he has quaffed to the dregs, until it has
turned the once healthful current of his existence
348 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
into deadly venom, poisoning all the fine and
generous 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,
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.
\X "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
* Sixteen months before her death, Ada Lady Lovelace paid a
visit to the home of her ancestors, and in the great library Colonel
Wildman, the then proprietor of Newstead Abbey, quoted a passage
from Byron's works to Byron's daughter, and she, touched by the
beauty of the words, inquired the name of the author. For reply,
Colonel Wildman pointed to the painting of her father, which
hung on the library wall. It came as a revelation to her. She
confessed that she was brought up in complete ignorance of all
that regarded her father. From that time Lady Lovelace devoted
herself to a close study of her father's life and works. The loss
of the affection of that noble heart, which had so long been kept
from her, preyed upon her mind : she fell ill so ill that she knew
'IF
'^
f
BYRON AND HIS DAUGHTER 349
conceal my porrait ftrom her eyes, it cannot here-
after 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 shed over
expressions wrung from me by mental agony,
the certainty that she will enter into the senti-
ments which 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 maturity 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
of " Don Juan." He remained silent for some
she could never hope to recover. In this last illness she wrote
Colonel Wildman a letter begging to be buried beside her father.
" Yes, I will be buried there : not where my mother can join me,
but by the side of him who so loved me, and whom I was not
taught to love ; and this reunion of our bodies in the grave shall
be an emblem of the union of our spirits in the bosom of the
eternal." V. R. R.
Lord Byron was buried in the church of Hucknall Torkard,
Notts, in which may be seen a monument to him, erected by
his sister, Mrs. Leigh.
350 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
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 mis-
fortunes, it is impossible not to sympathize with
his feelings. Poor Byron ! why is he not always
true to himself? Who can, like him, excite
sympathy, 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
To pause one moment in the dread career,
And ask if such could be its native sphere ?"
HIS AVOWED INSINCERITY 351
How unsatisfactory is it to find one's feelings
with regard to Byron varying every day ! This
is because he is never two davs the same. The
>
day after he has av/akened the deepest interest,
his manner of scoffing at himself and others
destroys 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
sarcastic 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 person, 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 conclude, that when a man over-praises
women, he does it to convey the impression of
how much they must have favoured 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 over-
look it.
" People take for gospel all I say, and go
away continually with false impressions. Mais
nimporte ! it will render the statements of my
352 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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 exemple, is my
favourite 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, repre-
sent me as an amiable, ill-used gentleman, ' more
sinned against than sinning.' Now, if I know
/ 1 myself, I should say, that I have no character at
if """ ~
$\\^ By the bye, this is what has long been said,
as I lost mine, as an Irishman would 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 changeable, being everything 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 ajletestatioq of cant, and neither is calculated
to gain me friends. I am of a wayward, un-
certain disposition, more disposed to display the
defects than the redeeming points in my nature ;
A SPOILT CHILD OF GENIUS 353
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 : therefore
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 superstitious than
ever (said Byron) when I tell you, 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
2 3
354 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
a horror of 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 I may draw my last sigh, not on the
field of glory, but on the bed of disease. 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 conversation is, that it
keeps me from thinking of myself: you laugh,
but it is true."
Byron had so unquenchable a thirst for celebrity,
that no means were left untried that 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
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
355
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
stations 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 favour of aristocracy
that subjugated him.
He expected a deferential submission to his
opinions from those whom he thought he
honoured 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 accomplishments,
he showed his dissatisfaction by assuming an air
of superiority, and by opposing their opinions 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-humoured, and
only showed his own sense of it by familiar
jokes, and attempts at hoaxing, to which he was
greatly addictedi
An extraordinary peculiarity in Byron was his
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
356 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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
acquaintance, habitual correspondence, and re-
ciprocity 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 persuaded, 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 npt 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
* John Fitzgibbon, second Earl of Clare, was born June 2nd,
1792. He was with Byron at Harrow, and is depicted in his
earlier poems under the name of Lycus. In the poem entitled
" Childish Recollections," Byron writes :
" Lycus ! on me thy claims are justly great :
Thy milder virtues could my muse relate,
To thee alone, unrivalled, would belong
The feeb e efforts of my lengthened song.
Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,
A Spartan firmness with Athenian wit :
Though yet in embryo these perfections shine,
Lycus, thy father's fame will soon be thine."
HIS DENIAL OF FRIENDSHIP 357
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
I remember telling him, a propos 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 sympathize 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
358 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
their feelings in language that found an echo in
every breast, and hence he concluded they had
neither the depth nor refinement of his. He
forgot that this very power of sending forth his
thoughts disburdened him of much of their
bitterness, while others, wanting it, felt but the
more poignantly what is unshared and un-
expressed.
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
sounded 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 applause
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
A NOVEL CONSOLATION 359
by, and who previously had indulged the
agreeable 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
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
affectionate 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 decease, 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,
dulness, or any of the thousand nameless defects,
personal or mental, to which flesh is heir, coming
from one ostentatiously loved, lamented \ and departed,
and when reprisals or recantations are impossible !
Tears would soon be dried, lamentations and
eulogiums changed to reproaches, and many
360 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
faults would be discovered in the dear departed
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 friend-
ship ! People are in such daily habits of com-
menting on the defects of friends, that they 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 return to witness the effect my posthu-
mous opinions of them are likely to produce on
their minds. What good fun this would be !
" Is it not disinterested in me to lay up this
source of consolation 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 at 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
PRESENTIMENTS OF DANGER 361
all the expectants who have been toadying him
for years. Then only think how amusing it will
be, to compare my posthumous with my pre-
viously 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 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
period 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 England, if only for a few weeks, before
he embarked, and yet had not firmness of purpose
sufficient to carry his wish into effect. There
was a helplessness about Byron, a sort of abandon-
ment of himself to his destiny, as he called it,
that commonplace people can as little pity as
understand. His purposes in visiting England,
previous to Greece, were vague and undefined,
even to himself; but from various observations
that he let fall, I imagined that he hoped to
362 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
establish something like an amicable under-
standing, or correspondence, with Lady Byron,
and to see his child, which last desire had become
a fixed one in his mind. He so often turned
with a yearning heart to his wish of going to
England before Greece, that we asked him why,
being a free agent, he did not go. The question
seemed to embarrass him. He stammered,
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
licentious age, (an engine known only in civilized
England as an invader of the privacy of domestic
life,) would pour forth all its venom against me,
ridiculing my person, misinterpreting my motives,
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
HIS WISH TO SEE ADA 363
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.
" I wish to see Lady Byron and my child,
because I firmly believe I shall never return
from Greece, and I anxiously desire to forgive,
and be forgiven, 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 had adopted,
of refusing all. explanation, or attempt at recon-
ciliation, would still operate on her conduct. My
letters would be returned unopened, my daughter
would be prevented 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 persecution to-
wards the mother and the 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 woeful 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
364 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
the reputation or glory of a poet, opinions may
change, as the successful are always judged favour-
ably of in our country ; my laurels may cover my
faults better than the bays have done, and give a
totally different reading to my thoughts, words,
and deeds/'
With such various powers of pleasing as rarely
fall to the lot of man, Byron possessed the
counterbalance 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
himself, he had no sympathy or forbearance for
those weaknesses in others. He claimed admira-
tion not only for his genius, but for his defects,
as a sort of right that appertained solely to him.
He was conscious of this faibksse^ but wanted
either 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
UNDESIRABLE CONFIDENCES 365
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
offensive ; as, after having disclosed secrets which
left 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
confidence by disclaiming any sentiment of
friendship 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 confidence I repose.
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 besom to make, and as an admirer whom I can
make administer to my vanity, by exciting in
turirt surprise, wonder, and admiration ; but I can^J
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
366 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
refined 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
the want of this, or rather the studied display of
the want, that deprived him of the affection that
would otherwise have been unreservedly accorded
to him, and which he had so many qualities
calculated to call forth.
Those who have known Byron only in the
turmoil and feverish excitement of a London life,
may not have had time or opportunity to be
struck with this defect in his nature ; or, if they
observed it, might naturally attribute it to the
artificial state of society in London, which more
or less affects all its members ; 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 sympathy, this extreme
egoism became strikingly visible, and repelled the
affection that must otherwise have replaced the
admiration to which he never failed to give
birth.
Byron had thought long and 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
exceptions to his general rule. He had com-
menced his travels ere yet age or experience had
PAST AND FUTURE 36?
rendered him capable of forming a just estimate
of the civilized world he had left, or the un-
civilized one he was exploring : hence he saw
both through a false medium, and observed not
that their advantages 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 civilization.
Naturally of a melancholy temperament, his
travels in Greece were eminently calculated to
give a still more sombre tint to his mind, and
tracing at each step the marks of degradation
which had followed a state of civilization still
more luxurious than that he had left ; and sur-
rounded 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 for
the future. This state of mind, as unnatural as it
is uncommon 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 advanced.
With the young he could not sympathize,
because they felt not like him ; and with the
old, because that, though their reasonings and
368 CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
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,
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
all 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 repre-
hensible character, and more excusable from the
youth of its author, followed, in natural succes-
sion, by atoning works produced by the autumnal
sun of maturity, and the mellowing touches of
experience, instead of his turning from the more
elevated tone of" Childe Harold " to "Don Juan."
DEAD SEA FRUIT 369
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 Sea, that was lovely to
the eye, but turned to ashes when tasted, was
productive only of disappointment 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.
24
[ 370]
INDEX
BLESSINGTON, MARGUERITE, COUN-
TESS OF, xiii
and Count D'Orsay, xxviii
and the death of Lord Byron,
Ivii
as a sightseer, xxxvii
death of her first husband, xxv,
xxxi
death of her second husband,
xxvi, Ixv
her arrival in Genoa, xliii
her birth, xiii, xxix
her childhood, xiv, xxix
her Continental tour, xxxiv, Ivi
her death, xxvii, Ixviii
her early acquaintance with the
Earl of Blessington, xxv, xxxii
her education, xv
her entrance into society, xx
her first home, xiii, xvi, xxxviii
her first impression of Lord
Byron, I
her first marriage (to Captain
Farmer), xxiii, xxiv, xxx, lix
her first meeting with Byron,
xliv, I
her flight from her first husband,
xxiv
her friendship with the Due and
Duchesse de Grammont, xxviii
her influence over Byron, liii
her intellectual powers, xiv,
Ixviii
her journal, xxxviii, xliii, xliv,
Ix, Ixxi
her life at Gore House, Kensing-
ton, xxvi, Ixvi-lxix
her literary tastes, Ix-lxiii
her literary work, xxvi, xxix,
xxxii, Ixvi, Ixvii, Ixxi, 16, 17
BLESSINGTON, LADY continued
her love of luxury, Ivii, Ixv
her parting from Byron, Ivi
her personal appearance, xiv,
xvi, xxiv, xxix, Ixviii
her place of burial, xxviii
her reasons for leaving Rome,
Ivii
her residence in London, xxiv-
xxvi, xxxii, Ixvi, Ixviii
her residence in Paris, xxvi, xxvii,
Ixv, Ixvii
her rides with Byron, xlix, 119,
182
her second marriage (to Lord
Blessington), xxv
her tomb, xxviii
inscriptions on her tomb, Ixxii
on Byron's Greek expedition, li
the sale of her horse Mameluke
to Byron, Ivi, 17, 49
BYRON, GEORGE GORDON, LORD,
and Americans, 124
and literary women, 23
and plum-pudding a FAnglaise,
'?
as cicerone, 8
as a man, 224
as an author, 224
as chantre d'enfer, 301
as gourmand, 13, 14
French opinion of, xliii
his abstinence, 13, 1 6, 17, 43,
121
his acute powers of observation,
S3
his admiration of Sir Walter
Scott, 53, 206, 207, 291
his ambitions, 139, 254
his amour propre, 35, 141, 208
INDEX
37i
BYRON, LORD continued
his annoyance by English tourists,
. 5, 13, 98
his anonymous correspondents,
86, 183
his appearance on horseback, 48
his avarice, Iv, 81
his candour, xlviii, xlix, 8, 28,
39, 102, 170
his characteristics, 1, li, Iv, lix,
Ixviii, Ixix, 4, 8, 11-14, 20, 2 7
28, 30-32, 35, 36, 39, 43, 50,
52-54, 58-61, 63, 68, 69, 81,
95, no, 137, 139, 145, 171,
173, 184, 209, 224, 225, 239,
241, 258, 311, 314, 344, 346,
. 355. 357, 364
his comparison of himself to a
tiger, 305
his compassion, 32
his conversation, xlix, Ixxi, 20,
43, 52, 134, 155, 209, 258
his conversations regarding Lady
Byron, 18, 19, 73-78, 94, 101,
132, 143, 286, 349, 363
his daughter Allegra, 62
his death, Ivi
his definition of beauty, 92
his description of Countess
Guiccioli, 57-59, 100
his description of Lady Blessing-
ton to Moore, xlviii
his description of Tom Moore,
106, 292
his detestation of cant, 12, 34,
124, 274
his discernment of character, 30
his dislike of his countrymen,
liv, 80, 155, 326
his dread of ridicule, no
his epigrams, 238
his establishment at Genoa, 240
his expedition to Greece, 1, Iv,
16, 18, 49, 121, 287, 331, 361,
362
his fear of biographers, 50
his first meeting with Lady
Blessington, xlv, I
his first visit to the Earl and
Countess of Blessington, 6, 12
his flippancy, 8, 20, 52, 82
his fondness of flowers, 99
his fondness of solitude, 61
his frankness, 8, n, 39, 63
his friends, n, 80, 136, 152, 247,
355, 359
his generosity, 1, 32, 39, 96
BYRON, LORD contimied
his genius, 357
his grave, 349
his health, 121
his horsemanship, 31, 49
his horse's appointments, 48
his impulses, 30
his inconsistency, 39, 58, 311
his indifference to objects of art,
li> 39, 239
his indiscretion, 63
his interest in London gossip,
12, 32
his knowledge of English affairs,
12
his letters and manuscripts, lix
his letters to Lord Blessington,
12, 15, 16, 17, 18
his literary criticisms, 65, 188,
. 189, 250, 303, 319, 328, 329
his loquacity, 20, 63, 178
his love of mystification, 58, 117
his Memoirs, 51, 236
his memory, 207
his mother, in
his observations on women, 125,
162, 173, 231, 253, 269, 272,
312, 341
his opinion of Lord Blessington,
Ixvi
his opinion of Madame de Stae'l,
. 2 3 .
his opinion of marriage, 125
his opinion of Napoleon, 115
his opinion of Shakespeare, 302
his opinion of Thomas Campbell,
318
his parting from Lady Blessing-
ton, Ivi
his patriotism, liv
his personal appearance, 2, 3
his plagiarism, 113, 295, 330
his predilection for aristocracy,
59, 69, 82, 140, 357
his presentiment of death in
Greece, Ivi, Ivii, 289, 353, 36-5
i i r *J7f J J
his pride, 82, 357
his purchase of Lady Blessing-
ton's horse Mameluke, Ivi, 17
his reading, 113
his religious belief, 90
his residence near Genoa, 4
his rides with Lady Blessington,
xlix, 119, 182
his riding costume, 48, 49
his sale of his yacht to the Bless-
ingtons, Iv, Ivi
372
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
BYRON, LORD continued
his scepticism, 136
his self-depreciation, xlix, 31, 103
his sensitiveness, 35, 109, 112,
122, 145, 357
his separation from Lady Byron,
ii, 18, 19, 40, 70-78, 101, 251,
362
his shooting, 31
his sister, Mrs. Leigh, 19
his superstition, 36
his suspicious nature, 39, 53,
131
his swimming, 18, 31, 122
his sympathy with the deformed,
32
his temper, 30, 131, 182, 311
his treatment of Lady Byron in
his works, 19, 70, 71
his unhappiness, 60, 99
his unsuitability for ' society,'
43, 106, 210
his vanity, 20, 27, 54
his versatility, 95, 224
his verses on Lady Byron, 70,
71, 72
his want of tact, 1 10
his want of taste, 240
his Will, 79
his wish for a portrait of Lady
Byron, 22
his wishes in regard to his infant
daughter, 23, 78, 350, 362
his works, 112-114, 138, 141,
216, 221, 239, 271, 272, 295,
302, 368
in a cider cellar, 337
Lady Blessington's influence over,
liii
monument to, 349
Mrs. Sheppard's prayer for, 86,
96, 343
on bores, 299
Sir Francis Burdett and, 80
the effect of music on, li, 38
Abbotsford, 1
Abstinence, Byron's, 13, 16, 17, 43
"Academical Questions," 213
Ada, Lady Lovelace, lix, Ix, 4, 23,
78, 348
" Adolphe," 30
" Advice to Julia," Luttrell's, 105
" Age of Bronze, The," 114
Aix, xxxviii
Albany, Countess of, 85
Albaro, The village of, xliv, I
Albergo della Villa, the residence of
Lady Blessington while in Genoa,
xlii, 13
Albertine de Stael, 131
Album, A lady's, 45
Alfieri, Count Vittorio, 84, 85
Allegra, Byron's daughter, 62
Alvanley, William Arden, Lord, 177
" Anacreon," 215
" Anastasius," Hope's, 64, 65
"Anatomy of Melancholy, The," 328
" Annals of the Parish," Gait's, 65
Anonymous letters to Byron, 86
Antibes, xxxix
Army, The British, 202
Augustus, A trophy of, xli
Autobiography, Byron's, 51, 236
Avarice, Byron's, Iv, 81
Avignon, xxxvii, xxxviii
Baillie, Joanna, Ixii
Bankes, William, 152
" Barry Cornwall " (B. W. Procter),
Ixxii, 125
Beauty, Byron's definition of, 92
" Beauty of Holiness, The," 87
Benzoni, Madame, 32
Berne, xxxvii
Blessington, Earl of, xxv, xxvi, xxviii,
xxxii, Iv, Ixv, Ixvi, 229, 244
Bolivar, The, Byron's yacht, Iv
Bonaparte, Prince Louis Napoleon,
xxvi
Bonaparte, The Emperor. See " Na-
poleon "
Bowles, Miss, Ixii
" Bride of Abydos, The," 295
Broughton, Baron. See Hobhouse,
Sir John
Bulwer, Ix
Burdett, Sir Francis, 80, 202
Burton's " Anatomy of Melancholy,"
328
Byron, Ada, afterwards Lady Love-
lace, lix, Ix
Byron, Lady, Ix, II, 18, 19, 39, 70-78,
132, 143, 251, 252, 286, 349
Byron, The Hon. Augusta, who
married Colonel Leigh, 20
Campbell, Thomas, 202, 318
Cannes, xxxix
Canning, 202, 204
Cant, 12, 14, 34, 124, 274
Canterbury, xiv
Casa Saluzzi, Byron's residence near
Genoa, xliv, 4
INDEX
373
Cervantes, 53
Chambourcy, xxviii
Chameleon, Byron compared to a,
95
Charity, Byron's, 1, 32, 39
Charlemont, Mrs., 18
Charles Stuart, The Young Pretender,
84 '
" Childe Harold," 238, 340
Cider Cellar, Byron in a, 337
Civilization in England and elsewhere,
80
Clairmont, Clara Mary Jane, 145
Clare, John Fitzgibbon, Earl of, 356
Clever People as Talkers, 43, 44
Clonmel, xiii, xvi, xvii
Colman, George (the younger), 215
" Comme vousressemblez unferroquet"
340
Constant, Benjamin, 129
" Corinne," 28, 130, 340
Cornice, xli
"Cornwall, Barry" (B. W. Procter),
Ixxii, 125
Cosmetic, The best, 200
Cowiey, 150
Cowper, Lady, 93
Crabbe, 321
Cremation, 192
Cribb, Tom, 338
Croker, John Wilson, 124
"Cui Bono?" The, 118
Cumberland, Richard, 102
Cupid, 184
Curran, John Philpott, xx, 156, 223
The Daily News, Ixvii
Death of Lord Byron, Ivi
Deffand, Madame la Marquise du,
207, 247
" Deformed Transformed," The, 1 12
De Lamartine, M., 301, 303
" Delphine," 28
Desmonds, The, xiii
De Stael, Albertine, 131
De Stael, Madame, lv., 23, 27, 28,
43, 47, 107, 129, 194, 295, 340
" Devereux," Ixi
Diderot, 312
Difficulty in describing Byron, 97
Disraeli, Benjamin, Ix
" Don Juan," 60, 183, 271, 340, 349
D'Orsay, Count, xxviii, xxxiii, xxxv,
xliv, liii, liv, lv, Iviii, lix, Ixvi, Ixvii,
Ixxi, 12, 15, 267
D'Orsay, Countess, Iviii
Drummond, Sir William, 212
Dudley, Lord, 180
Dwyer, Miss Anne, xv
Ellice, Rt. Hon. Edward, 5
England, Civilization in, 80
England, Morals in, 33
" English Bards and Scotch Re-
viewers," 10
English liking for scandal, 32
English women, 46
" Entail, The," Gait's, 65, 228
Epigrams, 25, 238
Epitaphs on Lady Blessington's tomb,
Ixxii
Erskine, The Hon. Henry, 196, 215,
244
Eve and the Devil, liii
Farmer, Captain, first husband of
Lady Blessington, xxi, xxii, xxv,
xxx, lix
Farmer, Mrs., afterwards Countess of
Blessington. See under Blessing-
ton, Countess of
Fashionable life in London, 45, 47
Fashion's fools, 44
First years in Italy, Byron's, 77
Fishermen, Genoese, 55
Florence, Ivii
Flowers, Byron's fondness of, 99
Forbes, Lady Adelaide, 93
" Fourgon," Advantages of travelling
'with a, xxxvi
Fox, Charles James, 243
" France, The Idler in," Ix
" Frankenstein," 67
French cookery, xxxv
French opinion of English tourists,
xxxvii
French Revolution of 1830, xxvi
Friend, An impartial, 81
Gait, John, 65, 227
Gamba, Count Pietro, 59, 114, 172
Gardiner, Lady Harriet Frances, who
married Count D'Orsay, lix
Generosity v. Selfishness, 14
Geneva, xxxvii
Genoa, xxxiv, xl, xiii, Ivii, I, 4, 8, 12,
37
Genoese sailors and fishermen, 55
"George Rose to George Byron," 82
Ghosts, 37
" Giaour, The," 272
Gibbon, the historian, xxxvii
Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft (Mrs.
Shelley), 67
374
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Goethe's "Wilhelm Meister," 295
Gore House, xxvi, Ixvi, Ixvii, Ixviii,
Ixix
Grammont, Due and Duchesse de,
xxviii
Grant, General Sir Colquhoun, xx
Greece, Byron's expedition to, 1,
Iv-lvii, 49, 121, 172, 287, 353
Greek epigrams, 238
Grenoble, xxxvii
Grenville, Lord, 202
Grey, Earl, 47, 202
Guiccioli, The Countess, liii, Iv, 58,
59, 60, 77, 79,83-100, 183
Guiche, Due de, xxxiii
Hallam, Henry, 188
Haydon, Benjamin Robert, Ixviii
Hemans, Mrs., Ixii, 65
Hill, The Hon. William, 14
Hobhouse, Sir John Cam (Baron
Broughton), 69, 8l, 152, 356
" Holiness, The Beauty of," 88
Holland House, xxxiii, 243
Holland, Lady, xxxiii, 10, II
Holland, Lord (Henry Richard Vas-
sall Fox), 9, 10, 202, 243
Hook, Theodore, Ixii
Hope's " Anastasius," 64
Hoppner, 135
Horsemanship, Byron's, 31, 48
Hunt, Leigh, 67, 68
Hutchinson, Lord, xx
Hypochondriasm, 193
" Idler in France, The," Ix
" Idler in Italy, The," xliv, xlviii
" Improving Society, The," 15
" Inferno, The," 256
Inscriptions on Lady Blessington's
tomb, Ixxii
" Intellect, The March of," 45
Ireland, Disturbances in, xix, xxvi
Italian characteristics, 34, 1 66, 167,
1 86
Italian inability to understand the
English, 34
Jekyll, Joseph, 155
Johnson, Samuel, 43, 292
Journal of Count D'Orsay, liv, Iv,
12, 15, 267
Kean, Mrs. Charles (Ellen Tree), 105
Keats, 65
Kinnaird, The Hon. Douglas, 190, 516
Knockbrit, xiii, xvi, xvii, xxix
Lake School of Poets, The, 65, 68, 248
Lamartine, M. de, 301-303
Landon, Letitia Elizabeth, Ixii
Landor, Walter Savage, Ixxii, 245
Last Will and Testament of Byron, 79
Lausanne, xxxvii
Lawrence, Sir Thomas, xxiv, xxxi
Leeds, The Duke of (half-brother to
Mrs. Leigh), 35
Legacy to Countess Guiccioli, 79
Leigh, Mrs. (Byron's sister), 19, 349
" Liberal, The," 68
" Life of Byron," Moore's, 18
Lines on hearing of Lady Byron's
illness, 70, 71, 72
Literary occupations, The fatigue of,
45
London society, 45-47, 1 88, 269, 339
Lovelace, Ada, lix, Ix, 4, 23, 78, 348
Loyal subjects, 57
Lucca, Ivii
Lucerne, xxxvii
Luther, Martin, 169
Luttrell, 104
" Lycus," 356
Lyons, xxxvii
Lysaght, xx
Macaulay on English morals, 33
Macfarlane, General Sir Robert, xx
Mackintosh, Sir James, 194
Mackintosh, Sir James and Lady, 340
Madden, Mr., Lady Blessington's
publisher and biographer, xxx,
xxxi, xlvi, lii, Ivii
" Mameluke," Lady Blessington's
horse, Iv, 17, 49
Maritime Alps, The, xxxix
Marriage, Byron's, 94
Marriage, Byron's opinion of, 125
Marryat, Captain, Ixii
Marsault, Baron de St., xiv
Marseilles, xxxix
Mathews, 214
Medicis, Catherine de, 182
Mediterranean, The, xxxix
Melbourne, Lady, 272
Memoirs, Byron's, 51, 236
Memory, 157, 256
Mentone, xl
Metternich, Prince, 180
Military exploits, 120
Mistaken identity, 85
Mitford, Mary Russell, Ixii
Monaco, xli
Montaigne, Michel de, 327, 328
Mont Blanc, A description of, 119
INDEX
375
Montesquieu, 251
Montgomery, Colonel, 21, 22
Moore, Tom, xliii, xlvii, liii, 5i 6,
8, 45. 55. 93. i5. 164, 195, 202,
233, 292, 302, 321, 356
Moore's " Life of Byron," 18
Moore's Monody on Sheridan, 220-222
Morals, A lecture on, 28
Mules, xlii
Murray, Captain, xxi, xxii
Murray's Guide-books, xli
Music, its effect on Byron, li, 38
Mutual friends, 50
Naples, Iviii, lix
Napoleon, The Emperor, 26, 43, 115,
1 20, 179
Napoleon, Prince Louis, Ixx
Nervi, 42, 48
Nice, xxxix, xl
Orange, xxxvii
Palmerston, Lord, Ixiii
Paris, xxvi, lix, Ixv
Parodies, 118
Pascal, 329
Pdtt de Perigord, The, 14
" Pelham," Ixi
Pembroke, Lord, Ixxi
Perfumes, their effect on Byron, 38
" Persius," 214
" Peveril of the Peak," 206
Plagiarism, 113, 295, 329
Pleasures of Fear, The, 164
" Pleasures of Hope, The," 318
" Pleasures of Memory, The," 319
Plum-pudding, 13
Poets, Ixii, 65, 163, 248
Poets, Drinking-cups for the, 321
Poets, The Lake School of, 65
Pope, Alexander, 215, 323
Portsmouth, John Charles, Third Earl
of, 123
Power, Anne, xiii, xiv, xix
Edmund, father of Lady Bless-
ington, xiii, xvi, xviii, xxix,
xxxi
Edmund, xiii, xx
Ellen, xiii, xiv, xx, xxi
Marianne, xiv, xxvi, xliv, 16
Marguerite. (See Blessington,
Countess of)
Michael, xiii, xiv, xxiv
Robert, xiv, xxiv
Prayer for Byron, Mrs. Sheppard's, 86
Pretender, The Young, 84
Procter, Bryan Waller (" Barry Corn-
wall"), 125
Purves, Sir Alexander Home, xiii, xiv
Ravenna, 83
Reading Association in Genoa, The,
15. 17
" Rejected Addresses, The," 117
Relative Positions of Lord and Lady
Byron, 75, 76
Religion, Byron's, 90
Richardson, Dr. Robert, 330
Richardson, Samuel, and his Novels,
207
Rides with Byron, 42, 48
Riding Costume, Byron's, 48
Riviera, The, xl
Rocca, M., 25
Rogers, Samuel, 202, 238, 256, 321
Roman cookery, Ivii
Rome, Ivii
Rose, George, 82
Rousseau, Jean Jacques, 131
Russell, Lord John, Ixiii, 188
Russell, Lord William, xliii
St. Marsault, Baron de, xiv
" Sayings and Doings " (Theodore
Hook's), Ixii
Scandal, Liking of the English for, 32
Scott, Sir Walter, 1, Ix, 53, 206, 207,
214, 291
Sentimental party, A, 57
Shakespeare, 322
Shee, Archer, Iv, Ixix
Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, 67
Shelley, Percy Bysshe, Ixi, Ixii, 37, 66,
229
Sheppard, John and Mrs., 86, 343
Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 202,
217-220
Smith, The brothers James and
Horace, 117
Smith, Sydney, 195
Society in London, 46, 47, 269, 338
Southey, 244
Spencer, William ("The Poet of
Society"), 201, 202
Stael, Albertine de, 131
Stae'l, Madame de, Iv, 23, 27, 28, 43,
47, 107, 129, 194, 295, 340
Statesmen, French and English, Ixiii
Stuart, Charles, 84
Superstition, 37
Suspicious nature, Byron's, 39
Talkers, Great, 43, 44
376
CONVERSATIONS WITH LORD BYRON
Tennyson, xli
Thackeray, W. M., Ixvii
" The Idler in France," Ix
" The Idler in Italy," xliv
"Three Brothers, The," 113
Tierney, 202
Toulon, xxxix
Translations, 214
" Travellers along the Mediterra-
nean," 331
Travelling in the Nineteenth Century,
xxxiv
Tree, Ellen (Mrs. Charles Kean), 105
Truisms, 44
Turbia, xli
Unpartial friend, An, 81
Valence, xxxvii
Vegetables, Aristocratic and vulgar,
xxxvi
Venice, xliv
Vienna, 181
" Vivian Grey," Ix
Voltaire, 43, 207, 249
Walpole, Horace, 43
Ward, The Hon. John William (Lord
Dudley), 173, 180, 239
Wellington, Duke of, 105, 202, 326
" West Indian, The " (by Richard
Cumberland), 102
" Wilhelm Meister," 295
Wilkie's pictures, 65
Will of Lord Byron, 79
Willis, N. P., Ixviii
Women, 46, 162
Wordsworth, Ixi, 321
Young Pretender, The, 84
Zurich, xxxvii
ERRATA.
$i,for "p ofess" read "profess."
297, for " dit enfer" read " d'enfer.
THE END.
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