CHAPTER VIII.

QUALITIES OF LORD BYRON'S HEART.

Gratitude,--that honesty of the soul which is even greater than social

honesty, since it is regulated by no express law, and that most uncommon

virtue, since it proscribes selfishness,--was pre-eminently conspicuous

in Lord Byron.

To forget a kindness done, a service rendered, or a good-natured

proceeding, was for him an impossibility. The memories of his heart were

even more astonishing than those of his mind.

His affection for his nurses, for his masters, for all those who had

taken care of him when a boy, is well known; and how great was his

gratitude for all that Doctor Drury had done for him! His early poems

are full of it. His grateful affection for Drury he felt until his last

hour.

This quality was so strong in him, that it not only permitted him to

forget all past offenses, but even rendered him blind to any fresh

wrongs. It sufficed to have been kind to him once, to claim his

indulgence. The reader remembers that Jeffrey had been the most cruel of

the persecutors of his early poems, but that later he had shown more

impartiality. This act of justice appeared to Byron a generous act, and

one sufficient for him in return to forget all the harm done to him in

the past. We accordingly find in his memoranda of 1814:--

"It does honor to the editor (Jeffrey), because he once abused me: many

a man will retract praise; none but a high-spirited mind will revoke its

censure, or _can_ praise the man it has once attacked."

Yet Jeffrey, who was eminently a critic, gave fresh causes of

displeasure to Byron at a later period, and then it was that he forgot

the present on recalling the past.

In speaking of this Scotch critic, he considered himself quite disarmed.

When at Venice, he heard that he had been attacked about Coleridge in

the "Edinburgh Review," he wrote as follows to Murray:--

"The article in the 'Edinburgh Review' on Coleridge, I have not seen;

but whether I am attacked in it or not, or in any other of the same

journal, I shall never think ill of Mr. Jeffrey on that account, nor

forget that his conduct toward me has been certainly most handsome

during the last four or more years."[28]

And instead of complaining of this attack, he laughed at it with

Moore:--

"The 'Edinburgh Review' had attacked me.... Et tu, Jeffrey! 'there is

nothing but roguery in villainous man.' But I absolve him of all

attacks, present and future; for I think he had already pushed his

clemency in my behoof to the utmost, and I shall always think well of

him. I only wonder he did not begin before, as my domestic destruction

was a fine opening for all who wished to avail themselves of the

opportunity."[29]

His great sympathy for Walter Scott became quite enthusiastic, owing

also to a feeling of gratitude for a service rendered to him by Scott.

Shortly after his arrival in Italy, and the publication of the third

canto of "Childe Harold," public opinion in England went completely

against him, and an article appeared in the "Quarterly Review," by an

anonymous pen, in his defense. Byron was so touched by this, that he

endeavored to find out the name of its writer.

"I can not," he said to Murray, "express myself better than in the words

of my sister Augusta, who (speaking of it) says, 'that it is written in

a spirit of the most feeling and kind nature.' It is, however, something

more: it seems to me (as far as the subject of it may be permitted to

judge) to be very well written as a composition, and I think will do the

journal no discredit; because, even those who condemn its partiality,

must praise its generosity. The temptations to take another and a less

favorable view of the question have been so great and numerous, that

what with public opinion, politics, etc., he must be a gallant as well

as a good man, who has ventured in that place, and at this time, to

write such an article even anonymously.

"Perhaps, some day or other, you will know or tell me the writer's name.

Be assured, had the article been a harsh one, I should not have asked

it."

He afterward learnt that the article had been written by Walter Scott,

and his sympathy was so increased by his gratitude for the service

rendered, that he never after seemed happier than when he could extol

Scott's talents and kindness.

Gratitude, which often weighs upon one as a duty, so captivated his

soul, that the remembrance of the kindness done to him was wont to turn

into an affectionate devotion, which time could not change. Long after

the appearance of the article, he wrote as follows to Scott from Pisa:--

"I owe to you far more than the usual obligations for the courtesies of

literature and common friendship, for you went out of your way in 1817

to do me a service, when it required, not merely kindness, but courage

to do so; to have been mentioned by you, in such a manner, would have

been a proud memorial at any time, but at such a time, 'when all the

world and his wife,' as the proverb goes, were trying to trample upon

me, was something still more complimentary to my self-esteem. Had it

been a common criticism, however eloquent or panegyrical, I should have

felt pleased, undoubtedly, and grateful, but not to the extent which the

extraordinary good-heartedness of the whole proceeding must induce in

any mind capable of such sensations. The very tardiness of this

acknowledgment will, at least, show that I have not forgotten the

obligation; and I can assure you, that my sense of it has been out at

compound interest during the delay."

Gratitude, with him, was oftentimes a magnifying-glass which he used

when he had to appreciate certain merits. No doubt Gifford was a

judicious, clear-sighted, and impartial critic, but Byron extolled him

as an oracle of good taste, and submitted like a child to his decisions.

Gratitude levelled every social condition in his eyes, as we may see by

his correspondence with Murray, where the proud aristocrat considers his

publisher on a par with himself. Moore marvelled at this; but Moore

forgets that Murray was no ordinary publisher, and that, generous by

nature, he made to Byron on one occasion, in 1815, when the noble poet

was in great difficulties, the handsomest offers. Lord Byron refused

them; but the act was so noble, that its impression was never effaced

from Byron's mind, and modified the nature of their relations.

When he had recovered his fortune, he wrote to Murray from Ravenna:--"I

only know of three men who would have raised a finger on my behalf; and

one of those is yourself. It was in 1815, when I was not even sure of a

five-pound note. I refused your offer, but have preserved the

recollection of it, though you may have lost it."

To calculate the degree of gratitude due to a service rendered, would

have seemed ingratitude in his eyes. He could create beings who were

capable of doling it out in that way, but to apply it to himself was an

impossibility.

His predilection for the inhabitants of Epirus, of Albania, and for the

Suliotes, is known. This predilection originated in the gratitude which

he felt for the care taken of him by two Albanian servants who doted on

him, during an illness which he had at Patras at the time when he

visited that place for the first time. It was also on the Albanian coast

that he was wrecked on one occasion, and where he received that

hospitality which he has immortalized in Don Juan.

Byron's predilection for this people even overcame the effects which

their ingratitude might have produced, for it is matter of history, how

badly the barbarous Suliotes behaved to him at Missolonghi a short time

before his death; they who had been so benefited by his kindness to

them.

The memory of services done to him was not susceptible of change, and

neither time nor distance could in the least affect it. The moment he

had contracted a debt of gratitude, he believed himself obliged to pay

interest upon it all his life, even had he discharged his debt. One

single anecdote will serve to illustrate the truth of these remarks. On

the eve of his last departure from London in 1816, when the cruelty of

his enemies, powerfully seconded by the spite of Lady Byron, had

succeeded in so perverting facts as to give their calumnies the color of

truth, and to throw upon his conduct as a husband so false a light as to

hold him up to universal execration, it required great courage to

venture on his defense. Lady Jersey did it. She--who was then quite the

mistress of fashion by her beauty, her youth, her rank, her fortune,

and her irreproachable conduct--organized a fete in honor of Byron, and

invited all that was most distinguished in London to come and wish Byron

farewell.

Among those who responded to the noble courage of Lady Jersey was one

equally deserving of praise, Miss Mercer, now Lady K----. This conduct

of Miss Mercer was all the more creditable that there had been a

question of her marriage with Lord Byron, and that Miss Milbank had been

preferred to her.

This party gave Byron a great insight into the human heart, and showed

him all its beauty and all its baseness. The reflections which it caused

him to make, and the frank account he gave of it in his memoirs--(the

loss of which can never be too much regretted)--would not have pleased

his survivors. This was unquestionably a powerful reason why the memoirs

were destroyed. But Byron cared not so much for the painful portion of

this recollection, as he loved to remember the noble conduct of these

two ladies.

"How often he spoke to me of Lady Jersey, of her beauty and her

goodness," says Madame G----. "As to Miss M----," he said, "she was a

woman of elevated ideas, who had shown him more friendship than he

deserved."

One of the noblest tributes of gratitude and admiration which can be

rendered to a woman was paid by Lord Byron to Miss Mercer. As he was

embarking at Dover, Byron turned round to Mr. Scroope Davies, who was

with him, and giving him a little parcel which he had forgotten to give

her when in London, he added: "Tell her that had I been fortunate enough

to marry a woman like her, I should not now be obliged to exile myself

from my country."

"If," pursues Arthur Dudley (evidently a name adopted by a very

distinguished woman biographer), "the rare instances of devotion which

he met in life reconciled him to humanity, with what touching glory used

he not to repay it. The last accents of the illustrious fugitive will

not be forgotten, and history will preserve through centuries the name

of her to whom Byron at such a time could send so flattering a message."

But, as if all this were not enough, he actually consecrated in verse, a

short time before his death, the memory of his gratitude to the noble

women who had done so much honor to their sex:--

"I've also seen some female _friends_ ('tis odd,

But true--as, if expedient, I could prove),

That faithful were through thick and thin abroad,

At home, far more than ever yet was Love--

Who did not quit me when Oppression trod

Upon me; whom no scandal could remove;

Who fought, and fight, in absence, too, my battles,

Despite the snake Society's loud rattles."

It was on that occasion that Hobhouse said to Lady Jersey, "Who would

not consent to be attacked in this way, to boast such a defense?" To

which Lady Jersey might have replied, "But who would not be sufficiently

rewarded by such gratitude, preserved in such a heart and immortalized

in such verses?"

IMPULSES OF LORD BYRON.

All those who have studied human nature agree that impulses show the

natural qualities of the soul. "Beware of your first impulses, they are

always true," said a diplomatist, the same who insisted that speech was

given us to conceal our thoughts. If such be the case, Lord Byron's

goodness of heart is palpable, for all who knew him agree in bearing

testimony to the extraordinary goodness of all his impulses. "His

lordship," says Parry, "was keenly sensitive at the recital of any case

of distress, in the first instance; and advantage being taken of this

feeling immediately, he would always relieve it when in his power. If

this passion, however, was allowed to cool, he was no longer to be

excited. This was a fault of Lord Byron's, as he frequently offered,

upon the impulse of a moment, assistance which he would not afterward

give, and therefore occasionally compromise his friends."

To multiply quotations would only be to repeat the same proof. I shall

therefore merely add that it was often the necessity of modifying the

nobility of his first impulses which made him appear inconstant and

changeable.

EFFECTS OF HAPPINESS AND MISFORTUNE UPON BYRON.

"The effect of a great success," writes some one, "is ever bad in bad

natures, but does good only to such as are really good in themselves."

As the rays of the sun soften the honey and harden the mud, so the rays

of happiness soften a good and tender heart, while they harden a base

and egotistical nature. This proof has not been wanting in Byron. His

wonderful successes, which laid at his feet the homage of nations, and

which might easily have made him vain and proud, only rendered him

better, more amiable, and brighter.

"I am happy," said Dallas, on the occasion of the great success which

greeted the publication of the first canto of "Childe Harold," "to think

that his triumph, and the attention which he has attracted, have already

produced upon him the soothing effect I had hoped. He was very lively to

day."

Moore says the same; and Galt is obliged to grant that, as Byron became

the object of public curiosity, his desire to oblige others increased.

After giving a personal proof of Byron's goodness to him, he ends by

saying:--

"His conversation was then so lively, that gayety seemed to have passed

into habit with him." It was also at that time that he wrote in his

memoranda:--"I love Ward, I love A----, I love B----," and then, as if

afraid of those numerous sympathies, he adds: "oh! shall I begin to love

the whole world?" This universal love was only the expression of the

want of his soul which had mollified under the rays of that mild sun

which is called happiness.

EFFECTS OF MISFORTUNE AND INJUSTICE UPON BYRON.

If his natural goodness had so large a field to develop itself in

happiness, it reached a degree of sublimity in misfortune.

That Byron's short life was full of real sorrows, I have shown in

another chapter, when I had to prove their reality against those

imputations of their being imaginary made by some of his biographers. He

required a strength of mind equal to his genius and to his sensibility,

to be able to resist the numerous ills with which he was assailed,

throughout his life:--

"Have I not had to wrestle with my lot?

Have I not suffered things to be forgiven?

Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven,

Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, Life's life lied away?"

Such beautiful lines speak loudly enough of the intensity of his

sufferings. Great as they were, they did not, however, produce in him

any feeling of hatred. To forgive was his only revenge; and not only did

he forgive, but, the paroxysm of passion over, there was only room in

his soul for those nobler feelings of patience, of toleration, of

resignation, and of abnegation, of which no one in London can have

formed a notion. The storms to which his soul was at times a prey only

purified it, and discovered a host of qualities which are kept back

often by the more powerful passions of youth. If he never attained that

calmness of spirit which is the gift of those who can not feel, or

perhaps of the saints, he at any rate, at the age of thirty-two, began

to feel a contempt of all worldly and frivolous matters, and came to the

resolution of forgiving most generously all offenses against him.

Shelley, who went to see him at Ravenna, wrote to his wife "that if he

had mischievous passions he seemed to have subdued them; and that he was

becoming, what he should be,--a _virtuous man_."

Mme. de Bury, in her excellent essay upon Byron, expresses herself thus:

"Had his natural goodness not been great, the events which compelled him

to leave his country, and which followed upon his departure, must have

exercised over his mind the effect of drying it up; and, in lessening

its power, would have forced him to give full vent to his passions."

Instead of producing such a result, they on the contrary purified it,

and developed in him the germs of a host of virtues. I shall not tarry

any longer, however, on this subject, as in another chapter I intend to

consider Byron's kindness of disposition from a far higher point of

view. I shall only add his own words, which prove his goodness of

character. "I can not," said he, "bear malice to any one, nor can I go

to sleep with an ill thought against any body."

ABSENCE OF ALL JEALOUS FEELINGS IN LORD BYRON.

Among the infirmities of human nature, one of the most general, serious,

and incurable, is certainly that of jealousy. Being the essence of a

disordered self-love, it presents several aspects, according to the

different social positions of those whom it afflicts, and the degree of

goodness of the people. It might, in my mind, almost be called the

thermometer of the heart. But of all the jealousies, that which has done

most harm on earth has been the jealousy of artists and of literary men.

This kind of fever has at times risen to a degree inconceivable. It has

raged so high as to call poison to its aid, to invoke the help of

daggers and create assassins.

But even putting aside these excesses, proper to Southern countries, it

is certain that everywhere and at all times jealousy has caused

numberless cases of ingratitude, and has set brothers against brothers,

friends against friends, and pupils against masters.

Great minds in France have not been altogether free from it. Corneille,

Racine, Voltaire, became a prey to its disastrous influences. In England

Dryden, Addison, Swift, Shaftesbury, were its victims. So it has been

everywhere, and in Italy even Petrarch, the meek and excellent Petrarch,

was not exempted from it.

This moral infirmity is of so subtle a nature, that not only does it

injure those who are devoted to those works of the mind, which can not

be said to establish a solid claim to glory inasmuch as public opinion

is judge, but also those whose influence being confined to a more

limited sphere, should be less anxious about obtaining it. It finds so

easy an access into the souls of men, that it is said that even Plato

was jealous of Socrates, Aristotle of Plato, Leibnitz of Locke, and so

forth.

When we behold so many great minds at all times unable to avoid this

jealousy, and that we see nowadays jealousy animating the pen of some of

the best writers, and completely changing their moral sense, must we not

admire the great goodness of him whom, though living in such a heated

atmosphere of jealous rivalry, contrived wholly to escape its effects?

This right I claim for Lord Byron, that he was the least jealous of any

man, as the proofs which I shall bring forward will abundantly attest.

If Byron was jealous of the living, of whom could he have been so? Of

course of such who may have become his rivals in the sphere of

literature which he had adopted. When Byron appeared in the literary

world, those who were most in repute were Sir Walter Scott, Rogers,

Moore, Campbell, and the lakers Southey, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and,

later, Shelley.

On one occasion, in 1813, Byron amused himself by tracing what he called

a "triangular gradus ad Parnassum," in which the names of the principal

poets then in renown are thus classified:--

SIR W. SCOTT,

ROGERS,

MORRE, CAMPBELL,

SOUTHEY, WORDSWORTH, COLERIDGE,

THE MANY

To know best his feelings with respect to his rivals, we must listen to

himself; and to preserve the order given in the triangle, let us begin

by Walter Scott. We read in Byron's memorandum of the 17th of September,

1813:--

"George Ellis and Murray have been talking something about Scott and me,

George _pro_ Scoto--and very right too. If they want to depose him, I

only wish they would not set me up as a competitor. Even if I had my

choice, I would rather be the Earl of Warwick than all the kings he ever

made! Jeffrey and Gifford I take to be the monarch-makers in poetry and

prose. I like Scott--and admire his works to what Mr. Braham calls

Entusymusy. All such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good."

And elsewhere: "I have not answered W. Scott's last letter, but I will.

I regret to hear from others that he has lately been unfortunate in

pecuniary involvements. He is undoubtedly the Monarch of Parnassus, and

the most English of bards."

When these expressions were written, Byron did not know Scott

personally; but notwithstanding his satire, of which he had often made a

generous retractation, he had always felt a great sympathy for Scott,

who, on the other hand, appeared to have forgotten the wound inflicted

by Byron's youthful pen, only to remember the latter's heartfelt

praises.

A few years after the publication of "English Bards" and just after that

of "Childe Harold," Byron and Sir W. Scott manifested a mutual desire to

make each other's acquaintance through the medium of Murray, who was

then travelling in Scotland. An exchange of letters full of mutual

generosity had taken place, when George IV., then regent, expressed the

wish to make Byron's acquaintance.

After speaking to him of "Childe Harold," in terms which Byron was

always proud to recall, the prince went on to speak of Walter Scott in

the most enthusiastic terms. Byron seemed almost as pleased as if the

praise had been addressed to himself, and hastened to make his

illustrious rival acquainted with the flattering words used by royalty

with regard to him.

It was only in the summer of 1815 that they became personally

acquainted. Scott was then passing through London on his way to France.

Their sympathy was mutual. Byron, who had been married seven months,

already foresaw that a storm was brewing in his domestic affairs, which

explains the mysterious melancholy, observed by Scott, upon the

countenance of his young friend. Scott's liveliness, however, always

brought about a return of Byron's spirits, and their meetings were

always very gay, "the gayest even," says Scott, "that I ever spent."

Byron's handsomeness produced a great impression upon Scott. "It is a

beauty," said he, "which causes one to reflect and to dream;" as if he

wished one to understand that he thought Byron's beauty superhuman.

"Report had prepared me to meet a man of peculiar habits and a quick

temper, and I had some doubt whether we were likely to suit each other

in society. I was most agreeably disappointed in this respect. I found

Lord Byron in the highest degree courteous, and even kind.

"Like the old heroes in Homer, we exchanged gifts: I gave Byron a

beautiful dagger mounted with gold, which had been the property of the

redoubted Elfi Bey. But I was to play the part of Diomed in the Iliad,

for Byron sent me, some time after, a large sepulchral vase of silver.

It was full of dead men's bones, and had inscriptions on the sides of

the base. One ran thus:--"The bones contained in this urn were found in

certain ancient sepulchres within the land walls of Athens in the month

of February, 1811. The other face bears the lines of Juvenal--

'Expende quot libras in duce summo invenies.

Mors sola fatetur quantula hominum corpuscula.'

"A letter," adds W. Scott, "accompanied this vase, which was more

valuable to me than the gift itself, from the kindness with which the

donor expressed himself toward me. I left it, naturally, in the urn with

the bones, but it is now missing. As the theft was not of a nature to be

practiced by a mere domestic, I am compelled to suspect the

inhospitality of some individual of higher station,--most gratuitously

exercised certainly, since, after what I have here said, no one will

probably choose to boast of possessing this literary curiosity."

Their mutual sympathy increased upon improved acquaintance with one

another. When at Venice Byron was informed that Scott was ill, he said

that he would not for all the world have him ill. "I suppose it is from

sympathy that I have suffered from fever at the same time." At Ravenna a

little later, on the 12th of January, 1821, he wrote down in his

memoranda:--

"Scott is certainly the most wonderful writer of the day. His novels are

a new literature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any, if not

better (only on an erroneous system), and only ceased to be so popular,

because the vulgar learned were tired of hearing Aristides called the

Just, and Scott the Best, and ostracized them.

"I like him, too, for his manliness of character, for the extreme

pleasantness of his conversation, and his good-nature toward myself

personally. May he prosper! for he deserves it.

"I know no reading to which I fall with such alacrity as a work of W.

Scott's. I shall give the seal with his bust on it to Mlle. la Comtesse

Guiccioli this evening, who will be curious to have the effigies of a

man so celebrated."

He did take the seal to the Countess Guiccioli, and she said that

Byron's expressions about Scott were always most affectionate. "How I

wish you knew him!" he often repeated.

He used to say that it was not the poetry of "Child Harold," but Scott's

own superior prose that had done his poetry harm, and that if ever the

public could by chance get tired of his novels, Scott might write in

verse with equal success. He insisted that Scott had a dramatic talent,

"talent," he said, "which people are loth to grant me." He said that the

success of Scott's novels was not in the least due to the anonymous

character he had adopted, and that he could not understand why he would

not sign his name to works of such merit. He likewise asserted that of

all the authors of his period, Scott was the least jealous. "He is too

sure of his fame to fear any rivals, nor does he think of good works as

Tuscans do of fever; that there is only a certain amount of it in the

world, and that in communicating it to others, one gets rid of it."

"I never travel without taking Scott's novels with me," said Byron to

Medwin, at Pisa; "it is a real library, a literary treasure; I can read

them yearly with renewed pleasure."

A few days before his departure for Greece, he learned that M. Stendhall

had published an article upon Racine and Shakspeare, wherein there were

some unfavorable remarks about Walter Scott.

Notwithstanding his occupations preparatory to departure, he found time

to write to Stendhall, and tell him how much he felt the injustice of

these remarks, and to request that they should be rectified.

This letter of Byron's to M. Beyle will no doubt be read with universal

admiration, as it points out most prominently all the goodness of his

character:--

"SIR,--Now that I know to whom I am indebted for a very flattering

mention in the 'Rome, Naples, and Florence, in 1817,' by Monsieur

Stendhall, it is fit that I should return my thanks (however undesired

or undesirable) to Monsieur Beyle, with whom I had the honor of being

acquainted at Milan in 1816.[30] You only did me too much honor in what

you were pleased to say in that work, but it has hardly given

me less pleasure than the praise itself, to become at length aware

(which I have done by mere accident) that I am indebted for it to one of

whose good opinion I was really ambitious. So many changes have taken

place since that period in the Milan circle, that I hardly dare recur to

it--some dead, some banished, and some in the Austrian dungeons. Poor

Pelico! I trust that in his iron solitude his muse is consoling him in

some measure, one day to delight us again, when both she and her poet

are restored to freedom.

"There is one part of your observations in the pamphlet, which I shall

venture to remark upon: it regards Walter Scott. You say that 'his

character is little worthy of enthusiasm,' at the same time that you

mention his productions in the manner they deserve. I have known Walter

Scott long and well, and in occasional situations which call forth the

real character, and I can assure you that his character _is_ worthy of

admiration; that of all men, he is the most open, the most honorable,

the most amiable," etc.

BYRON."

Even at Missolonghi, where certainly literary thoughts were little in

harmony with his occupations, Byron found occasion to speak of his

sentiments as regards Scott, since even the simple and anti-poetic Parry

tells us, in his interesting narrative of "The Last Days of Lord Byron,"

of the admiration and affection with which Byron always spoke of Walter

Scott. "He never wearied of his praise of 'Waverley,' and continually

quoted passages from it."

May we be allowed to observe, in conclusion, that such a generous desire

on the part of Byron constantly to put forward the merits of Scott

deserved from the latter a warmer acknowledgment. The homage paid to his

memory by Scott came late, and is cold. Be it from a Tory or Protestant

spirit, Scott in his eulogy of Lord Byron did not disclaim openly the

calumnies uttered against the great poet's fame, but almost sided with

his hypocritical apologists, by assuming a kind of tone of indulgence in

speaking of him.

ROGERS.

Rogers comes next in the triangular order.

Byron's esteem for Rogers was such, that not only did he spare him in

his famous satire, but even addressed him a real compliment in the

lines:--

"And thou, melodious Rogers! rise at last,

Recall the pleasing memory of the past;

Arise! let blest remembrance still inspire,

And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre;

Restore Apollo to his vacant throne,

Assert thy country's honor and thine own."

He equally declared that, after the "Essay on Man" of Pope, the

"Pleasures of Memory" constituted the finest English didactic poem. This

opinion he maintained always.

"I have read again the 'Pleasures of Memory,'" he wrote in September,

1813. "The elegance of this poem is quite marvellous. Not a vulgar line

throughout the whole book."

About the same time he read, in the "Edinburgh Review," a eulogy of

Rogers. "He is placed very high," he exclaimed, "but not higher than he

has a right to be. There is a summary review of every body. Moore and I

included: we were both--he justly--praised; but both very justly ranked

under Rogers.

At another time he wrote in his memoranda:

"When he does talk (Rogers), on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of

expression is as pure as his poetry. If you enter his house, his

drawing-room, his library, you involuntarily say, 'This is not the

dwelling of a common mind.' There is not a gem, a coin, a book, thrown

aside on his chimney-piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak

an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor. But this very delicacy

must be the misery of his existence. Oh! the jarrings this disposition

must have encountered through life!"

On one occasion he borrows one of Rogers's ideas, to write upon it the

"Bride of Abydos;" and in confessing that the "Pleasures of Memory" have

suggested his theme, he adds in a note, that "it is useless to say that

the idea is taken from a poem so well known, and to which one has such

pleasurable recourse."

To Rogers he dedicates the "Giaour," a slight but sincere token of

admiration.

When Rogers sent him "Jacqueline," Byron replied that he could not

receive a more acceptable gift. "It is grace, delicacy, poetry itself."

What astonishes him is that Rogers should not be tempted to write

oftener such charming poetry. He sympathized with that kind of soft

affection, though he would say that he lacked the talent to express it.

From Venice he wrote to Moore, "I hope Rogers is flourishing. He is the

Titan of poetry, already immortal. You and I must wait to become so."

At Pisa he took the part of Rogers against his detractors in the warmest

manner. Not only did the "Pleasures of Memory" always enchant him, not

only did he insist that the work was immortal, but added that Rogers was

kind and good to him. And as people persisted in blaming Rogers for

being jealous and susceptible, which Byron knew from experience to be

so, he replied, that "these things are, as Lord Kenyon said of Erskine,

little spots in the sun. Rogers has qualities which outweigh the little

weaknesses of his character."

MOORE.

Moore is third in the order of the triangle. We have seen Byron's

sentiments and conduct with regard to this friend. It remains for us to

note the feelings of the author for another very popular writer, who was

in many respects a worthy rival.

Byron had often recommended Moore to write other poetry than melodies,

and to apply his talent to a work of more serious importance. When he

learned that he was writing an Oriental poem he was charmed.

"It may be, and would appear to a third person," he wrote to him, "an

incredible thing; but I know _you_ will believe me, when I say that I am

as anxious for your success as one human being can be for another's--as

much as if I had never scribbled a line. Surely the field of fame is

wide enough for all; and if it were not, I would not willingly rob my

neighbor of a rood of it."

And he goes on to praise Moore and to depreciate himself, as was his

custom.

After two years' intimacy he dedicated the "Corsair" to Moore, and, in

speaking of it to him, he adds:--

"If I can but testify to you and the world how truly I admire and esteem

you, I shall be quite satisfied."

And, in dedicating his work to him, he expresses himself thus:--

"My praise could add nothing to your well-earned and firmly-established

fame, and with my most hearty admiration of your talents, and delight in

your conversation, you are already acquainted."

I have already said that he almost wished to be eclipsed, that Moore

might shine the more prominently.

"The best way to make the public 'forget' me is to remind them of

yourself. You can not suppose that I would ask you or advise you to

publish, if I thought you would _fail_. I really have no literary envy;

and I do not believe a friend's success ever sat nearer another's heart,

than yours does to the wishes of mine. It is for _elderly gentlemen_ to

'bear no brother near,' and can not become our disease for more years

than we may perhaps number. I wish you to be out before Eastern subjects

are again before the public."

He meanwhile got Murray to use his influence to point out to Moore the

best time for appearing.

"I need not say, that I have his success much at heart; not only because

he is my friend, but something much better--a man of great talent, of

which he is less sensible than, I believe, any even of his enemies. If

you can so far oblige me as to step down, do so," etc.

Lord Byron had never ceased to press Moore to publish his poem. When it

appeared, he wrote to him from Venice:--

"I am glad that we are to have it at last. Really and truly, I want you

to make a great hit, if only out of self-love, because we happen to be

old cronies; and I have no doubt you will--I am sure you _can_. But you

are, I'll be sworn, in a devil of a pucker, and I am not at your elbow,

and Rogers _is_. I envy him; which is not fair, because he does _not

envy any body_.[31] Mind you send to me--that is, make Murray send--the

moment you are forth."

"I feel as anxious for Moore as I could do for myself, for the soul of

me; and I would not have him succeed otherwise than splendidly, which I

trust he will do."

And then, writing again to Murray, from Venice (June, 1817):--

"It gives me great pleasure to hear of Moore's success, and the more so

that I never doubted that it would be complete. Whatever good you can

tell me of him and his poem will be most acceptable; I feel very anxious

indeed to receive it. I hope that he is as happy in his fame and reward

as I wish him to be; for I know no one who deserves both more, if any so

much."

A month later he added:--

"I have got the sketch and extracts from 'Lalla Rookh'--which I humbly

suspect will knock up ..." (he intended himself), "and show young

gentlemen that something more than having been across a camel's hump is

necessary to write a good Oriental tale. The plan, as well as the

extracts I have seen, please me very much indeed, and I feel impatient

for the whole."

And, lastly, after he had received it:--

"I have read 'Lalla Rookh.' ... I am very glad to hear of his

popularity, for Moore is a very noble fellow, in all respects, and will

enjoy it without any of the bad feelings which success, good or evil,

sometimes engenders in the men of rhyme."

He wrote to Moore from Ravenna, in a sort of jest,--"I am not quite sure

that I shall allow the Miss Byrons to read 'Lalla Rookh,'--in the first

place, on account of this sad _passion_, and in the second, that they

mayn't discover that there was a better poet than Papa."[32]

To end these quotations, let us add that, shortly before his death, he

said to Medwin:--"Moore is one of the small number of writers, who will

survive the century which has appreciated his worth. The Irish Melodies

will go to posterity with their music, and the poems and the music will

last as long as Ireland, or music or poetry."

CAMPBELL.

Campbell, the author of "Pleasures of Hope," and who stands fourth in

the triangle, was spared, with Rogers, in the famous satire--

"Come forth, oh! Campbell, give thy talents scope:

Who dare aspire, if thou must cease to hope?"

This homage was strengthened by a note, in which Byron called the

"Pleasures of Hope" one of the finest didactic poems in the English

language.

Byron's relations with Campbell were never as intimate as with other

poets. Not only because circumstances prevented it, but also in

consequence of a fault in Campbell's character, which lessened the

sympathy raised by the admiration of his talent and of his worth. This

fault consisted in an _excessive_ opinion of himself, which prevented

his being just toward his rivals, and bearing patiently with their

successes, or the criticisms of his own work.

Coleridge at this time was giving lectures upon poetry, in which he

taught a new system of poetry.

"He attacks," says Lord Byron, "the 'Pleasures of Hope,' and all other

pleasure whatever.... Campbell will be desperately annoyed. I never saw

a man (and of him I have seen very little) so sensitive. What a happy

temperament! I am sorry for it; what can _he_ fear from criticism?"

Lord Byron had just published the "Bride of Abydos," when he wrote in

his journal, "Campbell last night seemed a little nettled at something

or other--I know not what. We were standing in the ante-saloon, when

Lord H---- brought out of the other room a vessel of some composition

similar to that which is used in Catholic churches for burning incense,

and seeing us, he exclaimed, 'Here is some incense for you.' Campbell

answered, 'Carry it to Lord Byron; he is used to it.'

"Now this comes of 'bearing no brother near the throne.' I who have no

throne am at perfect peace with all the poetical fraternity."

But if this weakness of Campbell lessened Byron's sympathy for him, or

rather interfered with his intimacy, it never altered his just

appreciation of his merits, or made him less generous to him.

"By-the-by," writes Byron to Moore, "Campbell has a printed poem which

is not yet published, the scene of which is laid in Germany. It is

perfectly magnificent, and equal to himself. I wonder why he does not

publish it."

Later on, in Italy, when in his reply to Blackwood, Byron criticises

modern poetry, and gives, without sparing any body, not even himself,

his unbiased opinion about the poets of the day, he says: "We are all on

a false track, except Rogers, Campbell, and Crabbe."

And in his memoranda in 1821, at Ravenna, we find the following

passage:----

"Read Campbell's 'Poets' ... justly celebrated. His defense of Pope is

glorious. To be sure, it is his own cause too--but no matter, it is very

good, and does him great credit.... If any thing could add to my esteem

of this gentleman poet, it would be his classical defense of Pope

against the cant of the present day."

On the fifth line of the triangle come the names of Southey, Wordsworth,

and Coleridge, commonly called the "Lakers," because they had resided

near the Lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland. He was certainly bitter

against these in his satire; but owing simply to their efforts to upset

the school of Pope, of which he had made a deep study, and to their

endeavors to start an aesthetical school, which he strenuously opposed.

As, however, in blaming, he allowed his passion at times to master his

opinions and judgments of their merits, he generously made amends and

owned his error some years later. He kept to his own notions of poetry

and art, but nobly recognized the talent of the Lakers, knowing,

however, very well that he would never obtain from them a reciprocity of

good feeling.

SOUTHEY.

"Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey,--the

best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head

and shoulders, I would almost have written his 'Sapphics.' He is

certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and

all that--and--there is his eulogy."

"Southey I have not seen much of. His appearance is epic; and he is the

only existing entire man of letters. His manners are mild, but not those

of a man of the world, and his talents of the first order. His prose is

perfect. Of his poetry there are various opinions: there is, perhaps,

too much of it for the present generation--posterity will probably

select. He has passages equal to any thing. At present he has a party,

but no public--except for his prose writings. The 'Life of Nelson' is

beautiful."

WORDSWORTH.

Underneath some lines of his satire upon Wordsworth, Byron in 1816 wrote

in Switzerland the word "unjust!"

He often praised Wordsworth, even at times when the latter had, for

reasons which I will mention hereafter, lost all claims to Byron's

indulgence. Even in his poem of the "Island," written shortly before his

departure for Greece, where he was to die, Byron found means of

inserting a passage from Wordsworth's poem, which he considered

exquisite.

COLERIDGE.

Among the three Lakers, Coleridge was the one to whom he showed the most

generous feeling. He was poor, and lived by his pen. Lord Byron, putting

this consideration above all others, wished to assist at his readings,

and praised them warmly. Coleridge having asked him on one occasion to

interest himself with the director of Drury-lane Theatre (on the

committee of which Byron then stood) the latter did his best to gratify

the wishes of Coleridge, and wrote him the most flattering letter,

blaming the satire which had been the effect of a youthful ebullition of

feeling:--

"P.S.--You mention my 'satire,' lampoon, or whatever you or others

please to call it. I can only say that it was written when I was very

young and very angry, and has been a thorn in my side ever since; more

particularly as almost all the persons animadverted upon became

subsequently my acquaintances, and some of them my friends, which is

'heaping fire upon an enemy's head,' and forgiving me too readily to

permit me to forgive myself. The part applied to you is pert, and

petulant, and shallow enough; but, although I have long done every thing

in my power to suppress the circulation of the whole thing, I shall

always regret the wantonness or generality of many of its attacks. If

Coleridge writes his promised tragedy, Drury Lane will be set up."

Though harassed with pecuniary difficulties of all kinds, Byron

contrived to help Coleridge, who he had heard was in the greatest

distress.

He wrote to Moore:--"By the way, if poor Coleridge--who is a man of

wonderful talent, and in distress, and about to publish two volumes of

poesy and biography, and who has been worse used by the critics than

ever we were--will you, if he comes out, promise me to review him

favorably in the E.R.? Praise him I think you must; but will you also

praise him well,--of all things the most difficult? It will be the

making of him.

"This must be a secret between you and me, as Jeffrey might not like

such a project: nor, indeed, might he himself like it. But I do think he

only wants a pioneer and a spark or two to explode most gloriously."

He sent Murray a MS. tragedy of Coleridge, begging him to read it and to

publish it:----

"When you have been enabled to form an opinion on Mr. Coleridge's MS.,

you will oblige me by returning it, as, in fact, I have no authority to

let it out of my hands. I think most highly of it, and feel anxious that

you should be the publisher; but if you are not, I do not despair of

finding those who will."

As the reader knows, Byron, while in England, always gave away the

produce of his poems. To Coleridge he destined part of the sum offered

to him by Murray for "Parisina" and the "Siege of Corinth." Some

difficulty, however, having arisen, because Murray refused to pay the

100 guineas to any other than Byron himself, he borrowed it himself to

give it to Coleridge.

At the same time Byron paid so noble a tribute to Coleridge's talent,

and to his poem of "Christabel," by inserting a note on the subject in

his preface to the "Siege of Corinth," that Coleridge's editor took this

note as the epigraph.

"Christabel!--I won't have any one," he said, "sneer at 'Christabel;' it

is a fine wild poem."

In 1816 he wrote from Venice to Moore:--

"I hear that the E.R. has cut up Coleridge's 'Christabel,' and declared

against me for praising it. I praised it, firstly, because I thought

well of it; secondly, because Coleridge was in great distress, and after

doing what little I could for him in essentials, I thought that the

public avowal of my good opinion might help him further, at least with

the booksellers. I am very sorry that J---- has attacked him, because,

poor fellow, it will hurt him in mind and pocket. As for me, he's

welcome--I shall never think less of Jeffrey for any thing he may say

against me or mine in future."

At Genoa he declared, in a memorandum, that Crabbe and Coleridge were

pre-eminent in point of power and talent.

At Pisa he blamed those who refused to see in "Christabel" a work of

rare merit, notwithstanding the knowledge which he had of Coleridge's

ingratitude to him; and refused to believe that W. Scott did not admire

the poem, "for we all owe Coleridge a great deal," said he, "and even

Scott himself."

And Medwin adds: "Lord Byron thinks Coleridge's poem very fine. He

paraphrased and imitated one passage. He considers the idea excellent,

and enters into it."

And speaking of Coleridge's psychological poem, he said: "What perfect

harmony! 'Kubla Khan' delights me."

SHELLEY.

If Shelley did not find a place in the triangle, it is only because he

was not yet known, except by the eccentricities of his conduct as a boy.

But so soon as Byron was able to appreciate his genius, he lavished

praises upon the poet and the man, while he blamed his metaphysics.

In all his letters we find proofs of his affectionate regard for

Shelley; and during his last days in Greece, he said to

Finlay,--"Shelley was really a most extraordinary genius; but those who

know him only from his works, know but half his merits: it was from his

thoughts and his conversation poor Shelley ought to be judged. He was

romance itself in his manners and his style of thinking."

"You were all mistaken," he wrote from Pisa to Murray, "about Shelley,

who was, without exception, the best and least selfish man I ever knew."

And when he learned his death, he wrote to Moore:--"There is thus

another man gone, about whom the world was ill-naturedly, and

ignorantly, and brutally mistaken. It will, perhaps, do him justice now,

when he can be no better for it."

Such were Byron's expressions in behalf of poets of whose school he

disapproved, before the calumnies spread about, and the perfidious

provocations of some, joined to the ingratitude and jealousy of others,

obliged him to turn his generosity into bitter retaliation. We will

speak elsewhere of this epoch in their mutual relations, and we hope to

show, if jealousy caused the change, that it sprang from them and not

from him.

To praise was almost a besetting sin in Lord Byron. So amiable a fault

was not only committed in favor of his rivals, but also by way of

encouragement to young authors. What did he not do to promote the

success of M.N. N----, the author of Bertram's dramas, whom Walter Scott

had recommended to him?

After reading a tragedy which a young man had submitted to him, Byron

wrote in his memoranda:----

"This young man has talent; he has, no doubt, stolen his ideas from

another, but I shall not betray him. His critics will be but too prone

to proclaim it. I hate to discourage a beginner."

Indulgent to mediocrity, compassionate with the weakness and defects of

all, incapable of causing the slightest pain to those who were destitute

of talent, even when art required that he should condemn them, his

goodness was such, that he almost felt remorse whenever he had been led

to criticise a work too severely. He deplored his having dealt too

harshly with poor Blackett, as soon as the latter's position became

known to him; and also with Keats, whose talent, though great, was raw

in many respects, and who had become a follower of the Lakist school,

which Byron abhorred.

To praise the humble, however, in order to humble the great, was an

action incompatible with his noble character. Great minds constituted

his great attractions, and on these he bestowed such praise as could not

be deemed too partial or unjust.

Happy in the unqualified praise of Pope, of the classical poets, of the

great German and Italian poets, he sometimes made exceptions, and

Shakspeare was one. This is not to be wondered at. Lord Byron's mind was

as well regulated as it was powerful. His admiration of Pope proves it.

"As to Pope," he writes to Moore from Ravenna, in 1821, "I have always

regarded him as the greatest name in our Poetry. Depend upon it, the

rest are barbarians. He is a Greek temple, with a Gothic cathedral on

one hand, and a Turkish mosque and all sorts of fantastic pagodas and

conventicles about him. You may call Shakspeare and Milton pyramids, if

you please; but I prefer the Temple of Theseus, or the Parthenon, to a

mountain of burnt brick-work."[33]

Order and proportion were necessities of his nature, so much so that he

condemned his writings whenever they departed from his ideal of the

beautiful, the essential constituents of which were order and power.

His admiration, therefore, was entirely centred in classical works. But

has not Shakspeare a little disregarded the eternal laws of the

beautiful observed by Homer, Pindar, and a host of other poets, ancient

and modern?

If Byron, then, did not see in Shakspeare all that perfection which an

aesthetical school just sprung from the North attributed to him, was he

to be blamed? Has he, on this account, disregarded the great merits of

that glorious mind? Even had Byron seen in Shakspeare the founder of a

dramatic school, rather than a genius more powerful than orderly, who

acted against his will upon certain principles, and who scrutinized the

human heart to an almost supernatural depth, was he interdicted from

finding fault with that school?

Does Shakspeare so economize both time and mind, as to make the action

of his dramas continuous, without fatiguing the mind or weakening the

dramatic effect? Are not the unities and the proportions disregarded in

his plays? What necessity is there at times to put one piece into

another? Are not his discussions and monologues too long? Does not his

own exuberant genius become a fatigue to himself and to his readers? Are

not, perhaps, his characters too real? and do they not often degenerate,

without motive, from the sublime into the ridiculous? Would Hamlet have

appeared less interesting or less mad had he not spoken indelicate and

cruel words to Ophelia? Would Laertes have seemed less grieved on

hearing of the death of his sister had he not made so unnecessary a play

on the words?

Was not Byron, therefore, right when he said, with Pope, that Shakspeare

was "the worst of models?" And could he possibly be called jealous,

because he added that, "notwithstanding his defects, Shakspeare was

still the most extraordinary of men of genius?"

This opinion of Byron was decidedly serious, though his opinions did not

always partake of that character. His humor was rather French: he liked

to laugh, to joke, to mystify, and astonish people who wished to

understand him. He used, then, to employ a particular measure in his

praise and his condemnation.

"On one occasion at Missolonghi, and shortly before his death," says

Colonel Stanhope, "the drama was mentioned in conversation, and Byron at

once attacked Shakspeare by defending the unities. A gentleman present,

on hearing his anti-Shakspearean opinions rushed out of the room, and

afterward entered his protest most earnestly against such doctrines.

Lord Byron was quite delighted with this, and redoubled the severity of

his criticism.

"He said once, when we were alone,--'I like to astonish Englishmen; they

come abroad full of Shakspeare, and contempt for the dramatic literature

of other nations. They think it blasphemy to find a fault in his

writings, which are full of them. People talk of my writings, and yet

read the sonnets to Master Hughes.'

"And yet," continues Finlay, "he continually had the most melodious

lines of Shakspeare in his mouth, as examples of blank verse."

The jealousy of Shakspeare attributed to Byron is, however, nothing when

compared to the ridiculous assertion, that he was jealous of Keats,

simply because he had repeated in joke what the papers and Shelley

himself, a friend of Keats, had said, namely, "that the young poet had

been killed by a criticism of the 'Quarterly.'"

But since a French critic, M. Philarete Chasles, has made the same

accusation, we must pause and consider it.

At the time when Byron was more than ever penetrated with the perfection

of Pope, and opposed to the romantic school,--at the time when he

himself wrote his dramas according to all classical rules,--he received

at Ravenna the poems of a young disciple of the Lakists, who united in

himself all their exaggerated faults. This young man had the

audacity--(which was almost unpardonable in the eyes of Byron)--to

despise Pope, and to constitute himself at nineteen a lawgiver of

poetical rules in England.

Such ridiculous pride, added to the contempt shown to his idol, incensed

Byron and prevented his showing Keats the same indulgence he had shown

Maturin and Blackett. He spoke severely of Keats in his famous reply to

"Blackwood's Magazine," and to his Cambridge friends--followers of the

good old traditions. He quoted some lines of Keats, and remarked that

"they were taken from the book of a young man who was learning how to

write in verse, but who began by teaching others the art of poetry."

Then, after a long quotation, he adds--"What precedes will show the

ideas and principles professed by the regenerators of the English lyre

in regard to the man who most of any contributed to its harmony, and the

progress visible in their innovation."

Let us not forget to add that he styled Keats "the tadpole of the

Lakists."

But the following year, when he heard that Keats had died at Rome, the

victim of his inordinate self-love, and unable to be consoled for the

criticism directed against his poetry, he wrote the following heartfelt,

and, as it were, repentant words to Shelley:--

"I am very sorry to hear what you say of Keats--is it _actually_ true? I

did not think criticism had been so killing. Though I differ from you

essentially in your estimate of his performances, I so much abhor all

unnecessary pain, that I would rather he had been seated on the highest

peak of Parnassus than have perished in such a manner. Poor fellow!

though, with such inordinate self-love, he would probably have not been

very happy.... Had I known that Keats was dead, or that he was 'alive,'

and so 'sensitive,' I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry,

to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation

of his own style of writing."

To Murray he wrote the same day:--

"Is it true what Shelley writes me, that poor John Keats died at Rome of

the 'Quarterly Review?' I am very sorry for it; though I think he took

the wrong line as a poet, and was spoilt by Cockneyfying and suburbing,

and versifying Tooke's 'Pantheon' and Lempriere's 'Dictionary.' I know

by experience, that a savage review is hemlock to a sucking author; and

the one on me (which produced the 'English Bards,' etc.) knocked me

down; but I got up again. Instead of bursting a bloodvessel, I drank

three bottles of claret, and began an answer, finding that there was

nothing in the article for which I could lawfully knock Jeffrey on the

head, in an honorable way. However, I would not be the person who wrote

the homicidal article for all the honor and glory in the world, though I

by no means approve of that school of scribbling which it treats upon."

Some time after he wrote again to Murray, saying,--"You know very well

that I did not approve of Keats's poetry, nor of his poetical

principles, nor of his abuse of Pope. But he is dead. I beg that you

will therefore omit all I have said of him either in my manuscripts or

in my publications. His 'Hyperion' is a fine monument, and will cause

his name to last. I do not envy the man who wrote the article against

Keats."

Several months later he made complete amends. He added to his severe

article in answer to Blackwood, a note in the following terms:

"I have read the article before and since; and although it is bitter, I

do not think that a man should permit himself to be killed by it. But a

young man little dreams what he must inevitably encounter in the course

of a life ambitious of public notice. My indignation at Mr. Keats's

depreciation of Pope has hardly permitted me do justice to his own

genius, which, _malgre_ all the fantastic fopperies of his style, was

undoubtedly of great promise. His fragment of 'Hyperion' seems actually

inspired by the Titans, and is as sublime as AEschylus. He is a loss to

our literature; and the more so, as he himself, before his death, is

said to have been persuaded that he had not taken the right line, and

was reforming his style upon the more classical models of the language."

Were we wrong in saying that the accusations against Byron, with respect

to Keats, did not deserve a notice? If we have noticed them, it has been

merely to show, that the French critic should have judged matters in

this instance with greater conscientiousness and reflection.

Influenced as Byron always was by his own ideas of beauty, he required

in the authors themselves certain moral qualities which would demand for

their works the bestowal of his praise. It was not only their talent,

but their loyalty, their independence of character, their political

consistency, and their perfect honesty, which endeared Walter Scott,

Moore, and others, to him.

Byron, on the other hand, had never found these qualities in the

Lakists, and especially in the head of their school, whose whole life,

on the contrary, bore the marks of quite opposite characteristics. Since

Southey's dream of a life of intimacy with other poets of his school,

such as Wordsworth and Coleridge, in some blissful remote spot from

which they would publish their works in common, and where they would

live with their wives and children in community of interests, some

change had taken place; for Southey had so far deviated from his purpose

as to become Laureate, to write for himself, and to profess ultra-Tory

principles, the ultimate objects of which could not but be palpable.

All this called for Byron's contempt. To this contempt, however, he gave

no expression, for fear of wounding without reason, until that reason

did arise by the Laureate's unforgiving spirit. "The Laureate," says

Byron, "is not one of those who can forgive." Incapable of forgetting

that Byron's genius had obscured his own reputation, Southey hated Byron

with an intensity, such as to make him look out for opportunities of

doing him an injury. This opportunity Southey found in Byron's departure

for the Continent, subsequently to the unfortunate result of his

marriage; and not only did he join in all the calumnies which were set

forth against him in England, but actually followed him to Switzerland,

there to invent new ones, in the hope of crushing his reputation and

ruining the fame of the poet by the depreciation of the man.

Lord Byron for some time was ignorant of the Laureate's baseness, for

oftentimes friends deem it prudent to hide the truth which it would

perhaps be better to make known. But when he came to know of them, his

whole soul revolted, as naturally must be the case with a man of honor,

and in "Don Juan" he came down upon Southey with a double-edged sword,

throwing ridicule upon the author's writings, and odium upon his conduct

as a calumniator.

This revenge was well deserved. It was not only natural but just, and

even necessary, for it was requisite to show up the man, to judge of the

value to be attached to his calumnies; and later, when he called him

out, he did what honor required of him.

We have seen elsewhere how far the Laureate's conduct justified Byron's

retaliation. It is enough, therefore, that I should have shown here that

Byron's anger was rather the result of Southey's envy than his own, and

that his sarcasms were due entirely to the disgust which he felt for

such dishonorable proceedings.

From that time his language, when speaking of Wordsworth and Coleridge,

always reflected the same disgust. Both had made themselves the echoes

of Southey, and both had been inconstant from interested motives, and

had solicited favors from the party in power, which they had abused in

their writings. "They have each a price," said Byron at Pisa.

On one occasion, as Shelley and Medwin were laughing at some of

Wordsworth's last poems, which disgusted them, not only from the

subservient spirit to Toryism which pervaded them, but also excited

their laughter from their absurdity, Byron, in whose house they were,

said to them, "It is satisfactory to see that a man who becomes

mercenary, and traffics upon the independence of his character, loses at

the same time his talent as a poet."

Byron had such a notion of political consistency, that he ceased having

any regard for those who failed in this respect.

"I was at dinner," says Stendhall, "at the Marquis of Breno's at Milan,

in 1816, with Byron and the celebrated poet Monti, the author of

'Basvilliana.' The conversation fell upon poetry, and the question was

asked which were the twelve most beautiful lines written in a century,

either in English, in Italian, or in French. The Italians present agreed

in declaring that Monti's first twelve lines in the 'Mascheroniana' were

the finest Italian lines written for a century. Monti recited them. I

observed Byron. He was in raptures. That kind of haughty look which a

man often puts on when he has to get rid of an inopportune question, and

which rather took away from the beauty of his magnificent countenance,

suddenly disappeared to make way for an expression of happiness. The

whole of the first canto to the 'Mascheroniana,' which Conti was made to

recite, enchanted all hearers, and caused the liveliest pleasure to the

author of 'Childe Harold.' Never shall I forget the sublime expression

of his countenance: it was the peaceful look of power united with

genius."

He learned, later, that Monti was a man inconsistent in his politics,

and that on the sole impulse of his passions he had passed from one

party to another, and had called from the pen of another poet the remark

that he justified Dante's saying,--

"Il verso si non l' animo costante."

Byron's sympathy for Monti ceased from that time, and he even called him

the "Giuda del Parnaso," whereas his esteem and sympathy for Silvio

Pellico, for Manzoni, and for many other Italians, remained perfectly

unshaken.

His sense of justice extended to all nationalities. He was a

cosmopolite, and, provided the elements essential to claim his

admiration existed both in the man's work, and in his character, no

personal consideration ever came in the way of his bestowing

praise,--the most pleasing duty that could befall him. The great minds

of antiquity, those of the middle ages--especially the Italians,--all

the modern great men, of whatever nation, were all for him of one

country, the country of great intellects, and the degree of his sympathy

for each was calculated upon the degree of their merit.

We know how ably he defended Dante, the greatest of Italian poets; how

ably he translated "Francesca da Rimini," and how he exposed the error

of those who did not find that Dante was not sufficiently pathetic.

We know his admiration for Goethe, who was not only his contemporary,

but also his rival. Could Goethe see with pleasure another star rise in

the horizon, when his own was at its zenith? Some say that he could.

Without sharing altogether in this opinion, it is impossible, however,

not to find that the first impressions which he gave to the world with

respect to Byron do not justify the accusations of those who said he

was jealous of him.

While at Ravenna, Byron received several numbers of a German paper

edited and written by Goethe. It contained several articles upon English

literature, and, among others, upon "Manfred." Curious to know what the

patriarch of German literature thought of him, and being unable to read

German, Byron sent these articles to Hoppner, at Venice, begging him to

translate them.

" ... If I may judge by two notes of admiration (generally put after

something ridiculous by us), and the word '_hypocondrisch_,' they are

any thing but favorable. I shall regret this; for I should have been

proud of Goethe's good word; but I sha'n't alter my opinion of him, even

though he should be (savage).... Never mind--soften nothing--I am

_literary proof_--as one says of a material object, when he puts it to

the proof of fire and water," etc.

The article was any thing but favorable. After recognizing that the

author of "Manfred" is gifted with wonderful genius, Goethe pretends

that it is an imitation of his "Faust," and thereupon writes a tissue of

fanciful notions which he palms off upon the world.

On learning all this, Byron was by no means put out, but laughed

heartily at the notion of the author of "Werther" accusing him of

inciting others to a disgust of life. He wondered at such a man as

Goethe giving credence to such silly fables, and giving out as authentic

what were merely suppositions. Instead of being angry at this evident

hostility, he declared that the article was intended as favorable to

him, and, as an acknowledgment, wished to dedicate to him the tragedy of

"Marino Faliero," upon which he was engaged. In the dedication, which

was only projected, the reality of his admiration for Goethe soars above

some jesting expressions.

To Goethe also he wished to dedicate "Sardanapalus." "I mean," said he,

at Pisa, "to dedicate 'Werner' to Goethe. I look upon him as the

greatest genius that the age has produced. I desired Murray to inscribe

his name to a former work; but he said my letter containing the order

came too late. It would have been more worthy of him than this. I have a

great curiosity about every thing relating to Goethe, and please myself

with thinking there is some analogy between our characters and writings.

So much interest do I take in him, that I offered to give L100 to any

person who would translate his memoirs for my own reading. Shelley has

sometimes explained part of them to me. He seems to be very

superstitious, and is a believer in astrology, or rather was, for he was

very young when he wrote the first part of his 'Life.' I would give the

world to read 'Faust' in the original. I have been urging Shelley to

translate it." In comparing 'Cain' to 'Faust,' he said, "'Faust' itself

is not so fine a subject as 'Cain,' which is a grand mystery. The mark

that was put upon Cain is a sublime and shadowy act; Goethe would have

made more of it than I have done."

Not being able to dedicate "Sardanapalus" to him, he dedicated "Werner"

"to the illustrious Goethe, by one of his humblest admirers."

All these tokens of sympathy pleased Goethe. Their mutual admiration of

one another brought on an exchange of courtesies, which ended by

creating on both sides quite a warm feeling. In a letter which Goethe

wrote to M. M----, after Byron's death, he speaks of his relation with

the noble poet; after saying how "Sardanapalus" appeared without a

dedication, of which, however, he was happy to possess a lithographed

fac-simile, he adds:--

"It appeared, however, that the noble lord had not renounced his project

of showing his contemporary and companion in letters a striking

testimony of his friendly intentions, of which the tragedy of 'Werner'

contains an extremely precious evidence."

It might naturally be expected that the aged German poet, after

receiving from so celebrated a person such an unhoped-for kindness

(proof of a disposition so thoroughly amiable, and the more to be prized

from its rarity in the world), should also prepare, on his part, to

express most clearly and forcibly a sense of the gratitude and esteem

with which he was affected:--

"But this undertaking was so great, and every day seemed to make it so

much more difficult; for what could be said of an earthly being whose

merit could not be exhausted by thought, or comprehended by words?

"But when, in the spring of 1823, a young man of amiable and engaging

manners, a M. St.----, brought direct from Genoa to Weimar, a few words

under the hand of this estimable friend, by way of recommendation, and

when, shortly after, there was spread a report that the noble lord was

about to consecrate his great powers and varied talents to high and

perilous enterprise, I had no longer a plea for delay, and addressed to

him the stanzas which ends by the lines,--'And he self-known, e'en as to

me he's known!'

"These verses," continued Goethe, "arrived at Genoa, but found him not.

This excellent friend had already sailed; but being driven back by

contrary winds, he landed at Leghorn, where this effusion of my heart

reached him. On the era of his departure, July 23, 1823, he found time

to send me a reply, full of the most beautiful ideas and the divinest

sentiments, which will be treasured as an invaluable testimony of worth

and friendship, among the choicest documents which I possess.

"What emotions of joy and hope did not that paper at once excite! but

now it has become, by the premature death of its noble writer, an

inestimable relic, and a source of unspeakable regret; for it

aggravates, to a peculiar degree in me, the mourning and melancholy that

pervade the whole moral and poetical world,--in me, who looked forward

(after the success of his great efforts) to the prospect of being

blessed with the sight of this master-spirit of the age--this friend so

fortunately acquired: and of having to welcome, on his return, the most

humane of conquerors."

These are, no doubt, most noble words, but they were called forth by the

still nobler conduct of Byron toward him. It can not be said that Goethe

ever appreciated all that there was of worth in his young rival, and a

few words at the end of his letter make one believe that he still

credited some of the absurd stories which he had been told about Byron's

youth, and whom he still believed to be identified in the person of

"Manfred." He entertained a great affection for Byron, no doubt, but he

believed, however, that indulgence and forgiveness were not only

necessary on his part, but actually generous in him.

Lord Byron's sympathetic admiration had this peculiarity,--that it did

not attach to one class of individuals devoted like himself to poetry,

but extended to every class of society. The statesman, the orator, the

philosopher, the prince, the subject, the learned, women, general, or

literary men, all were equally sure of having justice done to them. At

every page of his memoranda, we find instances of this. Thus of

Mackintosh he says: "He is a rare instance of the union of every

transcendent talent and great good-nature."

Of Curran he speaks in the most enthusiastic terms:--

"I have met Curran at Holland House--he beats every body;--his

imagination is beyond conception, and his humor (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. Now, were I a woman, and

e'en a virgin, that is the man I should make my Seamander. He is quite

fascinating. Remember, I have met him only once, and I almost fear to

meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered.

"Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most. Such imagination! There

never was any thing like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His

_published_ life--his published speeches--give you no idea of the man,

none at all."

In his memoranda there were equally enthusiastic praises of Curran. "The

riches," said he, "of his Irish imagination were exhaustless. I have

heard that man speak more poetry than I have ever written--though I saw

him seldom, and but occasionally."

In speaking of Colman, he said, "He was most agreeable and sociable. He

can laugh so well, which Sheridan can not. If I could not have them both

together, I should like to begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish

it with Colman."

He praised loudly the eloquence of Grattan:--

"I differ with him in politics, but I agree with all those who admire

his eloquence."

As to Sheridan, he never ceased his eulogies:--

"At Lord Holland's the other night, we were all delivering our

respective and various opinions on him and other _hommes marquants_, and

mine was this:--'Whatever Sheridan has done, or chosen to do, has been,

_par excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. He has written the

_best_ comedy ("School for Scandal"), the _best_ drama (in my mind, far

before that St. Giles's lampoon, the "Beggars' Opera"), the _best_

farce (the "Critic,"--it is only too good for a farce), and the _best_

address ("Monologue on Garrick"), and, to crown all, delivered the very

best oration (the famous "Begum Speech") ever conceived or heard in this

country.'"

His enthusiasm for Sheridan partook even of a kind of tender compassion

for his great weaknesses and misfortunes. He wrote in his memoranda, on

one occasion, when Sheridan had cried with joy on hearing that Byron had

warmly praised him:--

"Poor Brinsley, if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said

those few, but most sincere words, than have written the "Iliad," or

made his own celebrated "Philippic." Nay, his own comedy never gratified

me more, than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from

any praise of mine, humble as it must appear to 'my elders, and my

betters.'"

And also:--

"Poor, dear Sherry! I shall never forget the day when he, Rogers, Moore,

and myself, spent the time from six at night till one o'clock in the

morning, without a single yawn; we listening to him, and he talking all

the time."

When he speaks of great men recently dead,--of Burke, Pitt, Burns,

Goldsmith, and others of his distinguished contemporaries,--he is

never-ending in his praise of them. His affectionate admiration for so

many went so far, almost, as to frighten him into the belief that it was

a weakness: after having said--"I like A----, I like B----. By

Mohammed!" he exclaims in his memoranda, "I begin to think I like every

body; a disposition not to be encouraged; a sort of social gluttony,

that swallows every thing set before it."

Not only was it a pleasure to him to praise those who deserved it, but

he would not allow the dead to be blamed, nor the illustrious among the

living; we all know how much he admired the talents of Madame de Stael:

"Il avait pour elle des admirations _obstinees_." "Campbell abused

Corinne," he says in his journal, 1813: "I reverence and admire him; but

I won't give up my opinion. Why should I? I read her again and again,

and there can be no affectation in this. I can not be mistaken (except

in taste) in a book I read and lay down and take up again; and no book

can be totally bad, which finds some, even _one_ reader, who can say as

much sincerely."

And elsewhere:

"H---- laughed, as he does at every thing German, in which, however, I

think he goes a little too far. B----, I hear, contemns it too. But

there are fine passages; and, after all, what is a work--any or every

work--but a desert with fountains, and, perhaps, a grove or two every

day's journey? To be sure, in mademoiselle, what we often mistake and

'pant for' as the 'cooling stream,' turns out to be the 'mirage'

(_critice_, verbiage); but we do, at last, get to something like the

temple of Jupiter Ammon, and then the waste we have passed is only

remembered to gladden the contrast."

He who was so sparing of answers to his own detractors, could not allow

a criticism against a friend to be left unanswered. We have seen how he

defended Scott, Shelley, Coleridge, and numerous other remarkable

persons, whenever they were unjustly attacked, although they were alive

to defend themselves. The respect and justice which he claimed for the

dead was equally proportioned. "Do not forget," he wrote to Moore on

hearing that he was about to write the "Life of Sheridan;" "do not

forget _to spare the living without insulting the dead_."

On reading, at Ravenna, that Schlegel said, that Dante was not popular

in Italy, and accused him of want of pathos: "'Tis false," said he, with

indignation; "there have been more editors and commentators (and

imitators ultimately) of Dante, than of all their poets put together.

_Not_ a favorite! Why they talk Dante, write Dante, and think and dream

Dante at this moment (1821) to an excess which would be ridiculous, but

that he deserves it.

"In the same style this German talks of gondolas on the Arno--a precious

fellow to dare to speak of Italy!

"He says, also, that Dante's chief defect is a want, in a word, of

gentle feelings. Of gentle feelings! and this in the face of 'Francesca

of Rimini'--and the father's feelings in 'Ugolino'--and 'Beatrice'--and

'La Pia!' Why, there is a gentleness in Dante beyond all gentleness,

when he is tender. It is true, that in treating of the Christian Hades,

or Hell, there is not much scope or room for gentleness; but who _but_

Dante could have introduced any 'softness' at all into Hell? Is there

any in Milton? No--and Dante's heaven is all _love_, and _glory_, and

_majesty_."

We have alluded to his admiration for Pope. It was such as to appear

almost a kind of filial love. He was sorry, mortified, and humbled, not

to find in Westminster Abbey the monument of so great a man:--

"Of all the disgraces that attach to England, the greatest," said he,

"is that there should be no place assigned to Pope in Poets' Corner. I

have often thought of erecting a monument to him at my own expense in

Westminster Abbey; and hope to do so yet."

To add any thing more to show how totally Byron was free from all

sentiments of an envious nature, would be to exhaust the subject, and to

abuse the reader's patience. This absence of envy in him shows itself so

clearly in all his sayings and doings, that it appears to be impossible

to doubt it, and yet he has not been spared even such a calumny! I do

not allude to the French critics, who neither knew the man nor the

author, and whose systematic attacks have no value; but I allude to a

certain article in the "London Magazine," which appeared shortly before

his death, under the title of "Personal Character of Lord Byron," and

which caused some sensation because it appeared to have been written by

some one who had known Byron intimately. It was all the more perfidious

because it gave an appearance of truth to a great many falsehoods,

derived from the truth with which these falsehoods were mixed. It was

the work of one who had gone to Greece, there to play a great part, but

who, having failed in his attempt and exposed himself to the laughter of

his friends, felt a kind of jealousy for Byron's success in that line,

and revenged himself by saying, among other things, "that it was

dangerous for Byron's friends to rise in the world, if they preferred

his friendship to their glory, because, as soon as they arrived at a

certain pre-eminence, he was sure to hate them."

Such a calumny exasperated Byron's real friends, and among these Count

Gamba, who hastened to reply to it, by publishing an interesting book,

precious from its veracity, and which does equal credit to Byron and to

the young man honored with his friendship. After analyzing the

anonymous article, Count Gamba goes on to say: "My own opinion is just

the contrary to that of the writer in the magazine. I think he prided

himself on the successes of his friends, and cited them as a proof of

discernment in the choice of some of his companions. This I know, that

of envy he had not the least spark in his whole disposition: he had

strong antipathies, certainly, to one or two individuals; but I have

always understood, from those most likely to know, that he never broke

with any of the friends of his youth, and that his earliest attachments

were also his last."

It may be remarked that Byron's popularity made it difficult for him to

indulge sentiments of envy. But without referring to the unstable

character of popularity, was not his own attacked by the jealousy of

those who wished to pull him down from the pedestal of fame, to which

they hoped themselves to rise? Did he not think, some years before his

death, that his popularity was wavering, and that his rivals would

profit by it? Was he less pleased at the success of his friends? Does

not all he said, and all he did, prove that where he blamed he did so

unwillingly, from a sense of justice and truth; but that when he

praised, he did so to satisfy a desire of his heart?

We have dwelt at considerable length upon this subject, because we

believe that a total absence of envy is so rare among poets, and so

conspicuous in Lord Byron, that we can take it to be the criterion of

his nobility of soul. We can sum up, therefore, all we have said, by

declaring, that if Byron has been envied by all his enemies, and even

his friends, with, perhaps, the exception of Shelley, and has not

himself envied one, though he suffered personally from the consequences

of their jealousy, it is because the great kindness of his nature made

him the least envious of men.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 28: Moore, Letter 261.]

[Footnote 29: Venice, 1817.]

[Footnote 30: Why has the passage in the first edition of Stendhall's

works, which treats in enthusiastic terms of Byron's genius, been cut

out of the subsequent editions?]

[Footnote 31: Was this a little irony? I think so, for it was believed

that jealousy was the weak point of Rogers.]

[Footnote 32: Moore, Letter 435.]

[Footnote 33: Moore, Letter 422.]