LORD BYRON'S PRIDE.
Among Lord Byron's biographers, we remark some who doubtless believed it
useless to count on success, if their work did not contain a large
tribute to human wickedness, and who, seeing it nevertheless impossible
to accuse Lord Byron of any vice emanating from heart or soul, gave
themselves the pleasure of imagining a host of defects. Besides the
faults produced by impetuosity and irritability of temper,--those we
have just explained,--they dwell on I know not what exaggerated esteem
of himself, and immoderate desire of esteem from others, so as to
insinuate that Lord Byron was a prey to pride, ambition, and even
vanity.
Though all we have remarked in a general way, with regard to his
modesty, might be considered a sufficient response to these accusations,
we are willing to take up the theme again and examine more particularly
all these forms of self-love.
To assert that Lord Byron was not at all proud, might cause surprise, so
much has been said of his pride confounding the man with the poet, and
the poet with the heroes of his creation. But assuredly those who would
feel surprise could not have known him or studied his character.
Pride is easily recognized by a thousand traits. It is one of those
serious maladies of soul, whose external symptoms can no more be hidden
from moral psychologists than the symptoms of serious physical
infirmities can be hidden from physiologists. Now, what says the
moralist of the proud man? That he never listens to the counsels of
friendship; that every reproach irritates him; that a proud man can not
be grateful, because the burden is too great for him; that he never
forgives, makes excuses, or acknowledges his faults, or that he is to
blame; that he is extremely reserved and proud in the habits of social
life; that he is envious of the goods enjoyed by others, deeming them so
much subtracted from his own merits; that hatred toward his rivals fills
his heart; finally, that, satisfied with himself almost to idolatry, he
is incapable of any moral improvement.
Now, let it be said in all sincerity, what analogy can there be between
the proud man and Lord Byron? By his words, his actions, and the
testimony of all those who approached him, was not Lord Byron the
reverse of all this? Was it he who would have refused the counsels of
friendship? turned aside from admonition? been indignant at blame? Let
those who think so, only read the accounts of his childhood, his youth,
his life of affection, and they will see whether he was not rather the
slave of his loving heart; if he did not always give doubly what he had
received.
Without even speaking of his childhood, when he was really so charming,
of his docility toward his nurses and preceptors, toward good Dr.
Glennie at Dulwich, and afterward at Harrow, toward the excellent Dr.
Drury; let us consider him at that solemn moment for a boy of eighteen,
when he was about to publish his poetic compositions. Did he not burn
the whole edition, because a friend whom he respected, disapproved some
parts?[130] See him again accepting the blame of another friend about
"Childe Harold," and when, before publishing it, yielding to the advice
of Dallas and Gifford, he suppressed the stanzas that most pleased him.
See him also ceasing to write "Don Juan," because the person he loved
had expressed disapprobation of it, not even substantiated by reasons.
Was it Lord Byron who would have been incapable of forgiving? Why, the
pardon of injuries was, on the contrary, a habit with him, a necessity,
his sole vengeance, even when such conduct might appear almost
superhuman. It was thus, that when cruelly wounded in his self-love,
even more than in his heart, by Lady Byron's behavior, he wrote that
touching "Farewell," which might have disarmed the fiercest resentment:
and that afterward, yielding to Madame de Stael's entreaties, he
consented to propose a reconciliation, which was refused: and not even
that aggravation prevented him from often speaking well of Lady Byron.
Gratitude, that proves such an insupportable load to the proud man, did
it not rather seem a happiness to him?
When he had done some wrong, far from refusing to make excuses, was he
not the first to think of it, saying that he could not go to rest, with
resentment in his heart? While a mere boy, and when he had been wounded
in his most enthusiastic feelings by a fortunate rival, Mr. Musters, was
not Byron the first to hold out his hand and express regret for the
bitterness of a few words?
Far from hiding his faults, and not satisfied with avowing them, did he
not magnify them, exaggerate them to such a degree that this generous
impulse became a real fault in him?
Far from having been too proud and reserved in his habits of life, have
we not seen him reproached with being too familiar?
Did envy or rivalry ever enter into his soul?
And lastly, far from conceiving too much self-satisfaction, far from
rendering his own mind the homage characteristic of pride, did not Lord
Byron, looking at himself through the weaknesses of other men,
constantly depreciate himself?
All the ways in which genius is wont to manifest itself were assuredly
alike familiar to him; neither philosophy nor art had any secrets for
him. But he only made use of them to produce continual acts of humility
instead of pride; saying, that if philosophy were blind, art was no less
incapable of fulfilling the aspirations of mind, and realizing the ideal
beheld in imagination.
His very skepticism, or rather what has been called by this name,
affords another great proof of his modesty. "Skepticism," says Bacon,
"is the great antagonist of pride."
But, the most striking proof of all, undoubtedly, consists in the
improvement of his moral being that was perpetually going on; for, to
carry it out, he must have dived into the depths of his secret soul,
sternly and conscientiously, undeterred by the great obstacle to all
self-amelioration, namely--pride.
So many facts, in support of the same assertions, are to be found spread
through the different chapters of this work, that we forbear to
lengthen the present view of Lord Byron's character by adducing any
more. Let us sum up by saying, that not only was Lord Byron devoid of
pride, but that it would be difficult to find in any man more striking
examples of the opposite virtues; unless, indeed, we sought them in
souls completely swayed by the sublimest teachings of Christianity.
And yet it is easy to understand how he might be accused of pride. His
contempt for opinion, augmenting as he further appreciated its little
worth; a certain natural timidity, of which Moore, Galt, and Pigott have
all spoken, though without drawing thence the logical inferences; his
eagerness to put down the unfounded _ridiculous pretensions of human
nature_; his own dignity under misfortune; his magnanimity and passion
for independence; all these qualities might easily betray those
superficial minds into error, who do not study their subjects
sufficiently to discover the truth.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 130: See what Moore says of this trait in Lord Byron.]