There is no doubt that Byron had a craving for celebrity in one form or
another. In the last year of his life his thoughts turned with something
like apathy from the fame which his pen had brought him[10] towards that
wider and nobler fame which might be attained by the sword. In the spirit
of an exalted poet who has lately passed from us, if such prescience were
possible, Byron might have applied these stirring lines to himself:
'Up, then, and act! Rise up and undertake
The duties of to-day. Thy courage wake!
Spend not life's strength in idleness, for life
Should not be wasted in Care's useless strife.
No slothful doubt let work's place occupy,
But labour! Labour for posterity!
'Up, then, and sing! Rise up and bare the sword
With which to combat suffering and wrong.
Console all those that suffer with thy word,
Defend Man's heritage with sword and song!
Combat intrigue, injustice, tyranny,
And in thine efforts God will be with thee.'
'I have made as many sacrifices to liberty,' said Byron, 'as most
people of my age; and the one I am about to undertake is not the
least, though probably it will be the last; for with my broken
health, and the chances of war, Greece will most likely terminate my
career. I like Italy, its climate, its customs, and, above all, its
freedom from cant of every kind; therefore it is no slight sacrifice
of comfort to give up the tranquil life I lead here, and break through
the ties I have formed, to engage in a cause, for the successful
result of which I have no very sanguine hopes. I have a presentiment
that I shall die in Greece. I hope it may be in action, for that would
be a good finish to a very _triste_ existence, and I have a horror of
death-bed scenes; but as I have not been famous for my luck in life,
most probably I shall not have more in the manner of my death.'
It was towards the close of May, 1823, that Byron received a letter
telling him that he had been elected a member of the Committee which sat
in London to further the Greek cause. Byron willingly accepted the
appointment, and from that moment turned his thoughts towards Greece,
without exactly knowing in what manner he could best serve her cause. He
experienced alternations of confidence and despondency certainly, but he
never abandoned the notion that he might be of use, if only he could see
his way clearly through the conflicting opinions and advice which reached
him from all sides.
The presentiment that he would end his days in Greece, weighed so heavily
on his mind, that he felt a most intense desire to revisit his native
country before finally throwing in his lot with the Greeks. He seems to
have vaguely felt that all chances of reconciliation with Lady Byron were
not dead. He would have liked to say farewell to her without bitterness,
and he longed to embrace his child. But the objections to a return to
England were so formidable that he was compelled to abandon the idea. His
proud nature could not face the chance of a cold reception, and a revival
of that roar of calumny which had driven him from our shores. He told Lady
Blessington that he could laugh at those attacks with the sea between him
and his traducers; but that on the spot, and feeling the effect which each
libel produced upon the minds of his too sensitive friends, he could not
stand the strain. Byron felt sure that his enemies would misinterpret his
motives, and that no good would come of it.
After Byron had made up his mind to visit Greece in person, he does not
appear ever to have seriously thought of drawing back. On June 15, 1823,
he informed Trelawny, who was at Rome, that he was determined to go to
Greece, and asked him to join the expedition. Seven days later Byron had
hired a vessel to transport himself, his companions, his servants, and his
horses, to Cephalonia.
On July 13, Byron, with Edward Trelawny, Count Pietro Gamba, and a young
medical student,[11] with eight servants, embarked at Genoa on the English
brig _Hercules_, commanded by Captain Scott. At the last moment a passage
was offered to a Greek named Schilitzy, and to Mr. Hamilton Browne. Gamba
tells us that five horses were shipped, besides arms, ammunition, and two
one-pounder guns which had belonged to _The Bolivar_. Byron carried with
him 10,000 Spanish dollars in ready-money, with bills of exchange for
40,000 more.
Passing within sight of Elba, Corsica, the Lipari Islands (including
Stromboli,) Sicily, Italy, etc., on August 2, the _Hercules_ lay between
Zante and Cephalonia; and the next day she cast anchor in Argostoli, the
principal port of Cephalonia. The Resident, Colonel Napier, was at that
time absent from the island. Shortly after Byron's arrival, Captain
Kennedy, Colonel Napier's secretary, came on board, and informed him that
little was known of the internal affairs of Greece. The Turks appeared to
have been in force at sea, while the Greeks remained inactive at Hydra,
Spezia, and Ipsara. It was supposed that Mr. Blaquière had gone to Corfu,
while the famous Marco Botzari, to whom Byron had been especially
recommended, was at Missolonghi. Before taking any definite step, Byron
judged it best to send messengers to Corfu and Missolonghi, to collect
information as to the state of affairs in the Morea. To pass the time,
Byron and some of his companions made an excursion to Ithaca. The first
opportunity of showing his sympathy towards the victims of barbarism and
tyranny occurred at this period. Many poor families had taken refuge at
Ithaca, from Scio, Patras, and other parts of Greece. Byron handed 3,000
piastres to the Commandant for their relief, and transported a family, in
absolute poverty, to Cephalonia, where he provided them with a house and
gave them a monthly allowance.
The following narrative, written by a gentleman who was travelling in
Ithaca at that time, seems to be worthy of reproduction in these pages:
'It was in the island of Ithaca, in the month of August, 1823, that I
was shown into the dining-room of the Resident Governor, where Lord
Byron, Count Gamba, Dr. Bruno, Mr. Trelawny, and Mr. Hamilton Browne,
were seated after dinner, with some of the English officers and
principal inhabitants of the place. I had been informed of Lord
Byron's presence, but had no means of finding him out, except by
recollection of his portraits; and I am not ashamed to confess that I
was puzzled, in my examination of the various countenances before me,
where to fix upon "the man." I at one time almost settled upon
Trelawny, from the interest which he seemed to take in the schooner in
which I had just arrived; but on ascending to the drawing-room I was
most agreeably undeceived by finding myself close to the side of the
great object of my curiosity, and engaged in easy conversation with
him, without presentation or introduction of any kind.
'He was handling and remarking upon the books in some small open
shelves, and fairly spoke to me in such a manner that not to have
replied would have been boorish. "'Pope's Homer's Odyssey'--hum!--that
is well placed here, undoubtedly; 'Hume's Essays,'--'Tales of my
Landlord;' there you are, Watty! Are you recently from England, sir?"
I answered that I had not been there for two years. "Then you can
bring us no news of the Greek Committee? Here we are all waiting
orders, and no orders seem likely to come. Ha! ha!" "I have not
changed my opinion of the Greeks," he said. "I know them as well as
most people" (a favourite phrase), "but we must not look always too
closely at the men who are to benefit by our exertions in a good
cause, or God knows we shall seldom do much good in this world. There
is Trelawny thinks he has fallen in with an angel in Prince
Mavrocordato, and little Bruno would willingly sacrifice his life for
the _cause_, as he calls it. I must say he has shown some sincerity in
his devotion, in consenting to join it for the little matter he makes
of me." I ventured to say that, in all probability, the being joined
with him in any cause was inducement enough for any man of moderate
pretensions. He noticed the compliment only by an indifferent smile.
"I find but one opinion," he continued, "among all people whom I have
met since I came here, that no good is to be done for these rascally
Greeks; that I am sure to be deceived, disgusted, and all the rest of
it. It may be so; but it is chiefly to satisfy myself upon these very
points that I am going. I go prepared for anything, expecting a deal
of roguery and imposition, but hoping to do some good."
'"Have you read any of the late publications on Greece?" I asked.
'"I never read any accounts of a country to which I can myself go,"
said he. "The Committee have sent me some of their 'Crown and Anchor'
reports, but I can make nothing of them."
'The conversation continued in the same familiar flow. To my increased
amazement, he led it to his works, to Lady Byron, and to his daughter.
The former was suggested by a volume of "Childe Harold" which was on
the table; it was the ugly square little German edition, and I made
free to characterize it as execrable. He turned over the leaves, and
said:
'Yes, it was very bad; but it was better than one that he had seen in
French prose in Switzerland. "I know not what my friend Mr. Murray
will say to it all. Kinnaird writes to me that he is wroth about many
things; let them do what they like with the book--they have been
abusive enough of the author. The _Quarterly_ is trying to make
amends, however, and _Blackwood's_ people will suffer none to attack
me but themselves. Milman was, I believe, at the bottom of the
personalities, but they all sink before an American reviewer, who
describes me as a kind of fiend, and says that the deformities of my
mind are only to be equalled by those of my body; it is well that
anyone can see them, at least." Our hostess, Mrs. Knox, advanced to us
about this moment, and his lordship continued, smiling: "Does not your
Gordon blood rise at such abuse of a clansman? The gallant Gordons
'bruik nae slight.' Are you true to your name, Mrs. Knox?" The lady
was loud in her reprobation of the atrocious abuse that had recently
been heaped upon the noble lord, and joined in his assumed clannish
regard for their mutual name. "Lady Byron and you would agree," he
said, laughing, "though I could not, you are thinking; you may say so,
I assure you. I dare say it will turn out that I have been terribly in
the wrong, _but I always want to know what I did_." I had not courage
to touch upon this delicate topic, and Mrs. Knox seemed to wish it
passed over till a less public occasion. He spoke of Ada exactly as
any parent might have done of a beloved absent child, and betrayed not
the slightest confusion, or consciousness of a sore subject,
throughout the whole conversation.
'I now learnt from him that he had arrived in the island from
Cephalonia only that morning, and that it was his purpose (as it was
mine) to visit its antiquities and localities. A ride to the Fountain
of Arethusa had been planned for the next day, and I had the happiness
of being invited to join it. Pope's "Homer" was taken up for a
description of the place, and it led to the following remarks:
"Yes, the very best translation that ever was, or ever will be; there
is nothing like it in the world, be assured. It is quite delightful to
find Pope's character coming round again; I forgive Gifford everything
for that. Puritan as he is, he has too much good sense not to know
that, even if all the lies about Pope were truths, his character is
one of the best among literary men. There is nobody now like him,
except Watty,[12] and he is as nearly faultless as ever human being
was."
'The remainder of the evening was passed in arranging the plan of
proceeding on the morrow's excursion, in the course of which his
lordship occasionally interjected a facetious remark of some general
nature; but in such fascinating tones, and with such a degree of
amiability and familiarity, that, of all the libels of which I well
knew the public press to be guilty, that of describing Lord Byron as
inaccessible, morose, and repulsive in manner and language, seemed to
me the most false and atrocious. I found I was to be accommodated for
the night under the same roof with his lordship, and I retired,
satisfied in my own mind that favouring chance had that day made me
the intimate (almost confidential) friend of the greatest literary man
of modern times.
'The next morning, about nine o'clock, the party for the Fountain of
Arethusa assembled in the parlour of Captain Knox; but Lord Byron was
missing. Trelawny, who had slept in the room adjoining his lordship's,
told us that he feared he had been ill during the night, but that he
had gone out in a boat very early in the morning. At this moment I
happened to be standing at the window, and saw the object of our
anxiety in the act of landing on the beach, about ten or a dozen
yards from the house, to which he walked slowly up. I never saw and
could not conceive the possibility of such a change in the appearance
of a human being as had taken place since the previous night. He
looked like a man under sentence of death, or returning from the
funeral of all that he held dear on earth. His person seemed shrunk,
his face was pale, and his eyes languid and fixed on the ground. He
was leaning upon a stick, and had changed his dark camlet-caped
surtout of the preceding evening for a nankeen jacket embroidered like
a hussar's--an attempt at dandyism, or dash, to which the look and
demeanour of the wearer formed a sad contrast. On entering the room,
his lordship made the usual salutations; and, after some preliminary
arrangements, the party moved off, on horses and mules, to the place
of destination for the day.
'I was so struck with the difference of appearance in Lord Byron that
the determination to which I had come, to try to monopolize him, if
possible, to myself, without regard to appearances or _bienséance_,
almost entirely gave way under the terror of a freezing repulse. I
advanced to him under the influence of this feeling, but I had
scarcely received his answer when all uneasiness about my reception
vanished, and I stuck as close to him as the road permitted our
animals to go. His voice sounded timidly and quiveringly at first; but
as the conversation proceeded, it became steady and firm. The
beautiful country in which we were travelling naturally formed a
prominent topic, as well as the character of the people and of the
Government. Of the latter, I found him (to my amazement) an admirer.
"There is a deal of fine stuff about that old Maitland," he said; "he
knows the Greeks well. Do you know if it be true that he ordered one
of their brigs to be blown out of the water if she stayed ten minutes
longer in Corfu Roads?" I happened to know, and told him that it was
true. "Well, of all follies, that of daring to say what one cannot
dare to do is the least to be pitied. Do you think Sir Tom would have
really executed his threat?" I told his lordship that I believed he
certainly would, and that this knowledge of his being in earnest in
everything he said was the cause, not only of the quiet termination of
that affair, but of the order and subordination in the whole of the
countries under his government.
'The conversation again insensibly reverted to Sir Walter Scott, and
Lord Byron repeated to me the anecdote of the interview in Murray's
shop, as conclusive evidence of his being the author of the "Waverley
Novels." He was a little but not durably staggered by the equally
well-known anecdote of Sir Walter having, with some solemnity, denied
the authorship to Mr. Wilson Croker, in the presence of George IV.,
the Duke of York, and the late Lord Canterbury. He agreed that an
author wishing to conceal his authorship had a right to give _any
answer whatever_ that succeeded in convincing an inquirer that he was
wrong in his suppositions.
'When we came within sight of the object of our excursion, there
happened to be an old shepherd in the act of coming down from the
fountain. His lordship at once fixed upon him for Eumæus, and invited
him back with us to "fill up the picture." Having drunk of the
fountain, and eaten of our less classical repast of cold fowls, etc.,
his lordship again became lively, and full of pleasant conceits. To
detail the conversation (which was general and varied as the
individuals that partook of it) is now impossible, and certainly not
desirable if it were possible. I wish to observe, however, that on
this and one very similar occasion, it was very unlike the kind of
conversation which Lord Byron is described as holding with various
individuals who have written about him. Still more unlike was it to
what one would have _supposed_ his conversation to be; it was exactly
that of nine-tenths of the cultivated class of English gentlemen,
careless and unconscious of everything but the present moment. Lord
Byron ceased to be more than one of the party, and stood some sharp
jokes, practical and verbal, with more good nature than would have
done many of the ciphers whom one is doomed to tolerate in society.
'We returned as we went, but no opportunity presented itself of
introducing any subject of interest beyond that of the place and time.
His lordship seemed quite restored by the excursion, and in the
evening came to the Resident's, bearing himself towards everybody in
the same easy, gentlemanly way that rendered him the delight and
ornament of every society in which he chose to unbend himself.
'The Resident was as absolute a monarch as Ulysses, and I dare say
much more hospitable and obliging. He found quarters for the whole
Anglo-Italian party, in the best houses of the town, and received them
on the following morning at the most luxurious of breakfasts,
consisting, among other native productions, of fresh-gathered grapes,
just ripened, but which were pronounced of some danger to be eaten, as
not having had the "first rain." This is worthy of note, as having
been apparently a ground of their being taken by Lord Byron in
preference to the riper and safer figs and nectarines; but he deemed
it a fair reason for an apology to the worthy doctor of the 8th
Regiment (Dr. Scott), who had cautioned the company against the fruit.
'"I take them, doctor," said his lordship, "as I take other prohibited
things--in order to accustom myself to any and all things that a man
may be compelled to take where I am going--in the same way that I
abstain from all superfluities, even salt to my eggs or butter to my
bread; and I take tea, Mrs. Knox, without sugar or cream. But tea
itself is, really, the most superfluous of superfluities, though I am
never without it."
'I heard these observations as they were made to Dr. Scott, next to
whom I was sitting, towards the end of the table; but I could not hear
the animated conversation that was going on between his lordship and
Mrs. Knox, beyond the occasional mention of "Penelope," and, when one
of her children came in to her, "Telemachus"--names too obviously _à
propos_ of the place and persons to be omitted in any incidental
conversation in Ithaca.
'The excursion to the "School of Homer" (why so called nobody seemed
to know) was to be made by water; and the party of the preceding day,
except the lady, embarked in an elegant country boat with four rowers,
and sundry packages and jars of eatables and drinkables. As soon as we
were seated under the awning--Lord Byron in the centre seat, with his
face to the stern--Trelawny took charge of the tiller. The other
passengers being seated on the side, the usual small flying general
conversation began. Lord Byron seemed in a mood calculated to make the
company think he meant something more formal than ordinary talk. Of
course there could not be anything said in the nature of a dialogue,
which, to be honest, was the kind of conversation that I had at heart.
He began by informing us that he had just been reading, with renewed
pleasure, David Hume's Essays. He considered Hume to be by far the
most profound thinker and clearest reasoner of the many philosophers
and metaphysicians of the last century. "There is," said he, "no
refuting him, and for simplicity and clearness of style he is
unmatched, and is utterly unanswerable." He referred particularly to
the Essay on Miracles. It was remarked to him, that it had
nevertheless been specifically answered, and, some people thought,
refuted, by a Presbyterian divine, Dr. Campbell of Aberdeen. I could
not hear whether his lordship knew of the author, but the remark did
not affect his opinion; it merely turned the conversation to Aberdeen
and "poor John Scott," the most promising and most unfortunate
literary man of the day, whom he knew well, and who, said he, knew him
(Lord Byron) as a schoolboy. Scotland, Walter Scott (or, as his
lordship always called him, "Watty"), the "Waverley Novels," the
"Rejected Addresses," and the English aristocracy (which he reviled
most bitterly), were the prominent objects of nearly an hour's
conversation. It was varied, towards the end of the voyage, in this
original fashion: "But come, gentlemen, we must have some inspiration.
Here, Tita, l'Hippocrena!"
'This brought from the bows of the boat a huge Venetian gondolier,
with a musket slung diagonally across his back, a stone jar of two
gallons of what turned out to be English gin, another porous one of
water, and a quart pitcher, into which the gondolier poured the
spirit, and laid the whole, with two or three large tumblers, at the
feet of his expectant lord, who quickly uncorked the jar, and began to
pour its contents into the smaller vessel.
'"Now, gentlemen, drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring; it is
the true poetic source. I'm a rogue if I have drunk to-day. Come"
(handing tumblers round to us), "this is the way;" and he nearly half
filled a tumbler, and then poured from the height of his arm out of
the water-jar, till the tumbler sparkled in the sun like soda-water,
and drunk it off while effervescing, glorious gin-swizzle, a most
tempting beverage, of which everyone on board took his share, munching
after it a biscuit out of a huge tin case of them. This certainly
exhilarated us, till we landed within some fifty or sixty yards of the
house to which we were directed.
'On our way we learned that the Regent of the island--that is, the
native Governor, as Captain Knox was the protecting Power's Governor
(Viceroy over the King!)--had forwarded the materials of a substantial
feast to the occupant (his brother); for the _nobili Inglesi_, who
were to honour his premises. In mentioning this act of the Regent to
Lord Byron, his remark was a repetition of the satirical line in the
imitation address of the poet Fitzgerald, "God bless the Regent!" and
as I mentioned the relationship to our approaching host, he added,
with a laugh, "and the Duke of York!"
'On entering the mansion, we were received by the whole family,
commencing with the mother of the Princes--a venerable lady of at
least seventy, dressed in pure Greek costume, to whom Lord Byron went
up with some formality, and, with a slight bend of the knee, took her
hand, and kissed it reverently. We then moved into the adjoining
_sala_, or saloon, where there was a profusion of English comestibles,
in the shape of cold sirloin of beef, fowls, ham, etc., to which we
did such honour as a sea appetite generally produces. It was rather
distressing that not one of the entertainers touched any of these
luxuries, it being the Greek Second or Panagia Lent, but fed entirely
on some cold fish fried in oil, and green salad, of which last Lord
Byron, in adherence to his rule of accustoming himself to eat anything
eatable, partook, though with an obvious effort--as well as of the
various wines that were on the table, particularly Ithaca, which is
exactly port as made and drunk in the country of its growth.
'I was not antiquary enough to know to what object of antiquity our
visit was made, but I saw Lord Byron in earnest conversation with a
very antique old Greek monk in full clerical habit. He was a Bishop,
sitting oil a stone of the ruined wall close by, and he turned out to
be the _Esprit fort_ mentioned in a note at the end of the second
canto of "Childe Harold"--a freethinker, at least a freespeaker, when
he called the sacrifice of the Maso _una Coglioneria_.
'When we embarked on our return to Vathi, Lord Byron seemed moody and
sullen, but brightened up as he saw a ripple on the water, a mast and
sail raised in the cutter, and Trelawny seated in the stern with the
tiller in hand. In a few minutes we were scudding, gunwale under, in a
position infinitely more beautiful than agreeable to landsmen, and
Lord Byron obviously enjoying the not improbable idea of a swim for
life. His motions, as he sat, tended to increase the impulse of the
breeze, and tended also to sway the boat to leeward. "I don't know,"
he said, "if you all swim, gentlemen; but if you do, you will have
fifty fathoms of blue water to support you; and if you do not, you
will have it over you. But as you may not all be prepared, starboard,
Trelawny--bring her up. There! she is trim; and now let us have a
glass of grog after the gale. _Tita, i fiaschi!_" This was followed by
a reproduction of the gin-and-water jars, and a round of the immortal
swizzle. To my very great surprise, it was new to the company that the
liquor which they were enjoying was the product of Scotland, in the
shape of what is called "low-wines," or semi-distilled whisky--chiefly
from the distillery of mine ancient friend, James Haig of Lochrin; but
the communication seemed to gratify the noble drinker, and led to the
recitation by one of the company, in pure lowland Scotch, of Burns's
Petition to the House of Commons in behalf of the national liquor. The
last stanza, beginning
'"Scotland, my auld respeckit mither,"
very much pleased Lord Byron, who said that he too was more than half
a Scotchman.
'The conversation again turned on the "Waverley Novels," and on this
occasion Lord Byron spoke of "The Bride of Lammermoor," and cited the
passage where the mother of the cooper's wife tells her husband (the
cooper) that she "kent naething aboot what he might do to his wife;
but the deil a finger shall ye lay on my dochter, and _that ye may
foond upon_." Shortly afterwards, the conversation having turned upon
poetry, his lordship mentioned the famous ode on the death of Sir John
Moore as the finest piece of poetry in any language. He recited some
lines of it. One of the company, with more presumption than wisdom,
took him up, as his memory seemed to lag, by filling in the line:
'"And he looked like a warrior taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him."
'Lord Byron, with a look at the interloper that spoke as if death were
in it, and no death was sufficiently cruel for him, shouted, "He
_lay_--he _lay_ like a warrior, not he _looked_." The pretender was
struck dumb, but, with reference to his lordship's laudation of the
piece, he ventured half to whisper that the "Gladiator" was superior
to it, as it is to any poetical picture ever painted in words. The
reply was a benign look, and a flattering recognition, by a little
applausive tapping of his tobacco-box on the board on which he sat.
'On arriving at Vathi, we repaired to our several rooms in the worthy
citizens' houses where we were billeted, to read and meditate, and
write and converse, as we might meet, indoors or out; and much
profound lucubration took place among us, on the characteristics and
disposition of the very eminent personage with whom we were for the
time associated. Dr. Scott, the assistant-surgeon of the 8th Foot, who
had heard of, though he may not have witnessed, any of the
peculiarities of the great poet, accounted for them, and even for the
sublimities of his poetry, by an abnormal construction or chronic
derangement of the digestive organs--a theory which experience and
observation of other people than poets afford many reasons to support:
'"Is it not strange now--ten times strange--to think,
And is it not enough one's faith to shatter,
That right or wrong direction of a drink,
A _plus_ or _minus_ of a yellow matter,
One half the world should elevate or sink
To bliss or woe (most commonly the latter)--
That human happiness is well-formed chyle,
And human misery redundant bile!"
'The next morning the accounts we heard of Lord Byron were
contradictory: Trelawny, who slept in the next room to him, stating
that he had been writing the greater part of the night, and he alleged
it was the sixteenth canto of "Don Juan"; and Dr. Bruno, who visited
him at intervals, and was many hours in personal attendance at his
bedside, asserting that he had been seriously ill, and had been saved
only by those _benedette pillule_ which so often had had that effect.
His lordship again appeared rowing in from his bath at the Lazzaretto,
a course of proceeding (bathing and boating) which caused Dr. Bruno to
wring his hands and tear his hair with alarm and vexation.
'It was, however, the day fixed for our return to Cephalonia, and,
having gladly assented to the proposition to join the suite, we all
mounted ponies to cross the island to a small harbour on the south
side, where a boat was waiting to bear us to Santa Eufemia, a
Custom-house station on the coast of Cephalonia, about half an hour's
passage from Ithaca, which we accordingly passed, and arrived at the
collector's mansion about two o'clock.
'During the journey across the smaller island, I made a bold push, and
succeeded in securing, with my small pony, the side-berth of Lord
Byron's large brown steed, and held by him in the narrow path, to the
exclusion of companions better entitled to the post. His conversation
was not merely free--it was familiar and intimate, as if we were
schoolboys meeting after a long separation. I happened to be "up" in
the "Waverley Novels," had seen several letters of Sir Walter Scott's
about his pedigree for his baronetage, could repeat almost every one
of the "Rejected Addresses," and knew something of the _London
Magazine_ contributors, who were then in the zenith of their
reputation--Hazlitt, Charles Lamb, Talfourd, Browning, Allan
Cunningham, Reynolds, Darley, etc. But his lordship pointed at the
higher game of Southey, Gifford (whom he all but worshipped), Jeffrey
of the _Edinburgh Review_, John Wilson, and other Blackwoodites. He
said they were all infidels, as every man has a right to be; that
Edinburgh was understood to be the seat of all infidelity, and he
mentioned names (Dr. Chalmers and Andrew Thomson, for examples) among
the clergy as being of the category. This I never could admit. He was
particularly bitter against Southey, sneered at Wordsworth, admired
Thomas Campbell, classing his "Battle of the Baltic" with the very
highest of lyric productions. "Nothing finer," he said, "was ever
written than--
'"There was silence deep as death,
And the boldest held his breath
For a time."
'We arrived at one of the beautiful bays that encircle the island,
like a wavy wreath of silver sand studded with gold and emerald in a
field of liquid pearl, and embarked in the collector's boat for the
opposite shore of Santa Eufemia, where, on arrival, we were received
by its courteous chief, Mr. Toole, in a sort of state--with his whole
establishment, French and English, uncovered and bowing. He had had
notice of the illustrious poet's expected arrival, and had prepared
one of the usual luxurious feasts in his honour--feasts which Lord
Byron said "played the devil" with him, for he could not abstain when
good eating was within his reach. The apartment assigned to us was
small, and the table could not accommodate the whole party. There
were, accordingly, small side or "children's tables," for such guests
as might choose to be willing to take seats at them. "Ha!" said Lord
Byron, "England all over--places for Tommy and Billy, and Lizzie and
Molly, if there were any. Mr. ----" (addressing me), "will you be my
Tommy?"--pointing to the two vacant seats at a small side-table, close
to the chair of our host. Down I sat, delighted, opposite to my
companion, and had a _tête-à-tête_ dinner apart from the head-table,
from which, as usual, we were profusely helped to the most recherché
portions. "Verily," said his lordship, "I cannot abstain." His
conversation, however, was directed chiefly to his host, from whom he
received much local information, and had his admiration of Sir Thomas
Maitland increased by some particulars of his system of government.
There were no vacant apartments within the station, but we learned
that quarters had been provided for us at a monastery on the hill of
Samos, across the bay. Thither we were all transported at twilight,
and ascended to the large venerable abode of some dozen of friars, who
were prepared for our arrival and accommodation. Outside the walls of
the building there were some open sarcophagi and some pieces of carved
frieze and fragments of pottery.
'I walked with his lordship and Count Gamba to examine them,
speculating philosophically on their quondam contents. Something to
our surprise, Lord Byron clambered over into the deepest, and lay in
the bottom at full length on his back, muttering some English lines. I
may have been wrong, or idly and unjustifiably curious, but I leaned
over to hear what the lines might be. I found they were unconnected
fragments of the scene in "Hamlet," where he moralizes with Horatio on
the skull:
'"Imperious Cæsar, dead and turned to clay,
Might stop a hole to keep the wind away;
O, that that earth, which held the world in awe,
Should patch a wall to expel the winter's flaw!"
'As he sprang out and rejoined us, he said: "Hamlet, as a whole, is
original; but I do not admire him to the extent of the common opinion.
More than all, he requires the very best acting. Kean did not
understand the part, and one could not look at him after having seen
John Kemble, whose squeaking voice was lost in his noble carriage and
thorough right conception of the character. Rogers told me that Kemble
used to be almost always hissed in the beginning of his career. 'The
best actor on the stage,' he said, 'is Charles Young. His Pierre was
never equalled, and never will be.'" Amid such flying desultory
conversation we entered the monastery, and took coffee for lack of
anything else, while our servants were preparing our beds. Lord Byron
retired almost immediately from the _sala_. Shortly afterwards we
were astonished and alarmed by the entry of Dr. Bruno, wringing his
hands and tearing his hair--a practice much too frequent with him--and
ejaculating: "_O Maria, santissima Maria, se non è già morto--cielo,
perchè non son morto io!_" It appeared that Lord Byron was seized with
violent spasms in the stomach and liver, and his brain was excited to
dangerous excess, so that he would not tolerate the presence of any
person in his room. He refused all medicine, and stamped and tore all
his clothes and bedding like a maniac. We could hear him rattling and
ejaculating. Poor Dr. Bruno stood lamenting in agony of mind, in
anticipation of the most dire results if immediate relief were not
obtained by powerful cathartics, but Lord Byron had expelled him from
the room by main force. He now implored one or more of the company to
go to his lordship and induce him, if possible, to save his life by
taking the necessary medicine. Trelawny at once proceeded to the room,
but soon returned, saying that it would require ten such as he to hold
his lordship for a minute, adding that Lord Byron would not leave an
unbroken article in the room. The doctor again essayed an entrance,
but without success. The monks were becoming alarmed, and so, in
truth, were all present. The doctor asked me to try to bring his
lordship to reason; "he will thank you when he is well," he said, "but
get him to take this one pill, and he will be safe." It seemed a very
easy undertaking, and I went. There being no lock on the door, entry
was obtained in spite of a barricade of chairs and a table within. His
lordship was half undressed, standing in a far corner like a hunted
animal at bay. As I looked determined to advance in spite of his
imprecations of "Back! out, out of my sight! fiends, can I have no
peace, no relief from this hell! Leave me, I say!" and he lifted the
chair nearest to him, and hurled it direct at my head; I escaped as I
best could, and returned to the _sala_. The matter was obviously
serious, and we all counselled force and such coercive measures as
might be necessary to make him swallow the curative medicine. Mr.
Hamilton Browne, one of our party, now volunteered an attempt, and the
silence that succeeded his entrance augured well for his success. He
returned much sooner than expected, telling the doctor that he might
go to sleep; Lord Byron had taken both the pills, and had lain down on
my mattress and bedding, prepared for him by my servant, the only
regular bed in the company, the others being trunks and portable
tressels, with such softening as might be procured for the occasion.
Lord Byron's beautiful and most commodious patent portmanteau bed,
with every appliance that profusion of money could provide, was mine
for the night.
'On the following morning Lord Byron was all dejection and penitence,
not expressed in words, but amply in looks and movements, till
something tending to the jocular occurred to enliven him and us.
Wandering from room to room, from porch to balcony, it so happened
that Lord Byron stumbled upon their occupants in the act of writing
accounts, journals, private letters, or memoranda. He thus came upon
me on an outer roof of a part of the building, while writing, as far
as I recollect, these very notes of his conversation and conduct. What
occurred, however, was not of much consequence--or none--and turned
upon the fact that so many people were writing, when he, the great
voluminous writer, so supposed, was not writing at all. The journey of
the day was to be over the Black Mountain to Argostoli, the capital of
Cephalonia. We set out about noon, struggling as we best could over
moor, marsh ground, and water wastes. Lord Byron revived; and, lively
on horseback, sang, at the pitch of his voice, many of Moore's
melodies and stray snatches of popular songs of the time in the common
style of the streets. There was nothing remarkable in the
conversation. On arrival at Argostoli, the party separated--Lord Byron
and Trelawny to the brig of the former, lying in the offing, the rest
to their several quarters in the town.'