"Venice, September 19. 1818.
"An English newspaper here would be a prodigy, and an opposition
one a monster; and except some ex tracts _from_ extracts in the
vile, garbled Paris gazettes, nothing of the kind reaches the
Veneto-Lombard public, who are, perhaps, the most oppressed in
Europe. My correspondences with England are mostly on business, and
chiefly with my * * *, who has no very exalted notion, or extensive
conception, of an author's attributes; for he once took up an
Edinburgh Review, and, looking at it a minute, said to me, 'So, I
see you have got into the magazine,'--which is the only sentence I
ever heard him utter upon literary matters, or the men thereof.
"My first news of your Irish Apotheosis has, consequently, been
from yourself. But, as it will not be forgotten in a hurry, either
by your friends or your enemies, I hope to have it more in detail
from some of the former, and, in the mean time, I wish you joy with
all my heart. Such a moment must have been a good deal better than
Westminster-abbey,--besides being an assurance of _that_ one day
(many years hence, I trust,) into the bargain.
"I am sorry to perceive, however, by the close of your letter, that
even _you_ have not escaped the 'surgit amari,' &c. and that your
damned deputy has been gathering such 'dew from the still _vext_
Bermoothes'--or rather _vexatious_. Pray, give me some items of the
affair, as you say it is a serious one; and, if it grows more so,
you should make a trip over here for a few months, to see how
things turn out. I suppose you are a violent admirer of England by
your staying so long in it. For my own part, I have passed, between
the age of one-and-twenty and thirty, half the intervenient years
out of it without regretting any thing, except that I ever returned
to it at all, and the gloomy prospect before me of business and
parentage obliging me, one day, to return to it again,--at least,
for the transaction of affairs, the signing of papers, and
inspecting of children.
"I have here my natural daughter, by name Allegra,--a pretty little
girl enough, and reckoned like papa.[26] Her mamma is English,--but
it is a long story, and--there's an end. She is about twenty
months old.
"I have finished the first Canto (a long one, of about 180 octaves)
of a poem in the style and manner of 'Beppo', encouraged by the
good success of the same. It is called 'Don Juan', and is meant to
be a little quietly facetious upon every thing. But I doubt whether
it is not--at least, as far as it has yet gone--too free for these
very modest days. However, I shall try the experiment, anonymously,
and if it don't take, it will be discontinued. It is dedicated to S
* * in good, simple, savage verse, upon the * * * *'s politics, and
the way he got them. But the bore of copying it out is intolerable;
and if I had an amanuensis he would be of no use, as my writing is
so difficult to decipher.
"My poem's Epic, and is meant to be
Divided in twelve books, each book containing
With love and war, a heavy gale at sea--
A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning--
New characters, &c. &c.
The above are two stanzas, which I send you as a brick of my Babel,
and by which you can judge of the texture of the structure.
"In writing the Life of Sheridan, never mind the angry lies of the
humbug Whigs. Recollect that he was an Irishman and a clever
fellow, and that we have had some very pleasant days with him.
Don't forget that he was at school at Harrow, where, in my time, we
used to show his name--R.B. Sheridan, 1765,--as an honour to the
walls. Remember * *. Depend upon it that there were worse folks
going, of that gang, than ever Sheridan was.
"What did Parr mean by 'haughtiness and coldness?' I listened to
him with admiring ignorance, and respectful silence. What more
could a talker for fame have?--they don't like to be answered. It
was at Payne Knight's I met him, where he gave me more Greek than I
could carry away. But I certainly meant to (and _did_) treat him
with the most respectful deference.
"I wish you a good night, with a Venetian benediction, 'Benedetto
te, e la terra che ti fara!'--'May you be blessed, and the _earth_
which you will _make_!'--is it not pretty? You would think it
still prettier if you had heard it, as I did two hours ago, from
the lips of a Venetian girl, with large black eyes, a face like
Faustina's, and the figure of a Juno--tall and energetic as a
Pythoness, with eyes flashing, and her dark hair streaming in the
moonlight--one of those women who may be made any thing. I am sure
if I put a poniard into the hand of this one, she would plunge it
where I told her,--and into _me_, if I offended her. I like this
kind of animal, and am sure that I should have preferred Medea to
any woman that ever breathed. You may, perhaps, wonder that I don't
in that case. I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl, any
thing, but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood
alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me[27]
* * Do you suppose I have forgotten or forgiven it? It has
comparatively swallowed up in me every other feeling, and I am only
a spectator upon earth, till a tenfold opportunity offers. It may
come yet. There are others more to be blamed than * * * *, and it
is on these that my eyes are fixed unceasingly."
[Footnote 26: This little child had been sent to him by its mother about
four or five months before, under the care of a Swiss nurse, a young
girl not above nineteen or twenty years of age, and in every respect
unfit to have the charge of such an infant, without the superintendence
of some more experienced person. "The child, accordingly," says my
informant, "was but ill taken care of;--not that any blame could attach
to Lord Byron, for he always expressed himself most anxious for her
welfare, but because the nurse wanted the necessary experience. The poor
girl was equally to be pitied; for, as Lord Byron's household consisted
of English and Italian men servants, with whom she could hold no
converse, and as there was no other female to consult with and assist
her in her charge, nothing could be more forlorn than her situation
proved to be."
Soon after the date of the above letter, Mrs. Hoppner, the lady of the
Consul General, who had, from the first, in compassion both to father
and child, invited the little Allegra occasionally to her house, very
kindly proposed to Lord Byron to take charge of her altogether, and an
arrangement was accordingly concluded upon for that purpose.]
[Footnote 27:
"I had one only fount of quiet left,
And that they poison'd! _My pure household gods
Were shivered on my hearth._" MARINO FALIERO.
]
* * * * *