On March 22 news reached Missolonghi that the Greek loan had been
successfully raised in London. Byron sent this welcome intelligence to the
Greek Government, with a request that no time should be lost in fitting
out the fleet at the different islands. The artillery corps at Missolonghi
was augmented by one hundred regular troops under the command of Lambro, a
brave Suliote chief, for the better protection of the guns stationed in
the mountains. Unfortunately, the weather, upon which Byron so much
depended for exercise, could not possibly have been worse. Incessant rain
and impassable roads confined him to the house until his health was
seriously affected. He constantly complained of oppression on his chest,
and was altogether in a depressed condition of mind.
On the day fixed for his departure for Salona, the River Phidari was so
swollen as not to be fordable, and the roads in every direction were
impassable. For many days the rain poured down in torrents, until, to
employ Byron's quaint phrase, 'The dykes of Holland, when broken down,
would be the deserts of Arabia for dryness, in comparison.'
On March 28 an event occurred to which Byron has alluded in his published
correspondence. It was a trifling matter enough, but might have had
serious consequences if Byron had not shown great firmness. One of the
artillerymen, an Italian, had robbed a poor peasant in the market-place of
25 piastres. The man was in due course arrested, tried by court-martial,
and convicted. There was no doubt as to his guilt, but a serious dispute
arose among the officers as to his punishment. The Germans were for the
bastinado; but that was contrary to the French military code, under which
the man was tried, and Byron strongly opposed its infliction. He declared
that, so far as he was concerned, no barbarous usages should be introduced
into Greece, especially as such a mode of punishment would disgust rather
than reform. He proposed that, instead of corporal punishment, the
offender should have his uniform stripped off his back, and be marched
through the streets, bearing a label describing the nature of his offence.
He was then to be handed over to the regular police and imprisoned for a
time. This example of severity, tempered by humanity, produced an
excellent effect upon the soldiers and the citizens of Missolonghi. In the
course of the evening some high words passed on the subject between three
Englishmen, two of them being officers of the brigade, cards were
exchanged, and two duels were to be fought the next morning. Byron did not
hear of this until late at night. He then ordered Gamba to arrest the
whole party. When they were afterwards brought before Byron, he with some
difficulty prevailed upon them to shake hands, and thus averted a serious
scandal. Gamba, writing on March 30, says that the Primates of Missolonghi
on that day presented Byron with the freedom of their town.
'This new honour,' he says, 'did but entail upon Lord Byron the
necessity for greater sacrifices. The poverty of the Government and
the town became daily more apparent. They could not furnish the
soldiers' rations nor pay their arrears; nor was there forthcoming a
single piastre of the 1,500 dollars which the Primates had agreed to
furnish for the fortifications. Thus the whole charge fell upon Lord
Byron.'
On the following night a Greek came with tears rolling down his cheeks,
and complained that one of Byron's soldiers had, in a drunken frenzy,
broken open his door and with drawn sword alarmed his whole family. He
appealed to Byron for protection. Without a moment's hesitation Byron sent
an officer with a file of men to arrest the delinquent. He was a Russian
who had lately arrived and enlisted in the artillery brigade. The man
vowed that the charge was false; that he had lodged in that house for
several days, and that he only broke the door open because the Greek would
not admit him, and kept him outside in the rain. He moreover complained of
the time and manner of his arrest, and sent a letter to Byron accusing the
officer who had arrested him. Byron's reply was as follows:
'_April 1, 1824._
'SIR,
'I have the honour to reply to your letter of this day. In consequence
of an urgent and, to all appearances, a well-founded complaint, made
to me yesterday evening, I gave orders to Mr. Hesketh to proceed to
your quarters with the soldiers of his guard, and to remove you from
your house to the Seraglio, because the owner of your house declared
himself and his family to be in immediate danger from your conduct;
and added that that was not the first time that you had placed them in
similar circumstances. Neither Mr. Hesketh nor myself could imagine
that you were in bed, as we had been assured to the contrary; and
certainly such a situation was not contemplated. But Mr. Hesketh had
positive orders to conduct you from your quarters to those of the
artillery brigade; at the same time being desired to use no violence;
nor does it appear that any was had recourse to. This measure was
adopted because your landlord assured me, when I proposed to put off
the inquiry until the next day, that he could not return to his house
without a guard for his protection, and that he had left his wife and
daughter, and family, in the greatest alarm; on that account putting
them under our immediate protection; the case admitted of no delay. As
I am not aware that Mr. Hesketh exceeded his orders, I cannot take any
measures to punish him; but I have no objection to examine minutely
into his conduct. You ought to recollect that entering into the
auxiliary Greek Corps, now under my orders, at your own sole request
and positive desire, you incurred the obligation of obeying the laws
of the country, as well as those of the service.
'I have the honour to be, etc.,
'N. B.'
It is doubtful whether any other commanding officer would, in similar
circumstances, have taken the trouble to write such a letter to a private
in his regiment. We merely allude to the incident in order to show that
even in trivial matters Byron performed his duty towards those under his
command, taking especial interest in each case, so that breaches of
discipline might not be too harshly treated by his subordinates.
On April 3 the whole town of Missolonghi was thrown into a panic of alarm.
A rumour quickly spread that a body of troops had disembarked at Chioneri,
a village on the southern shore of the city. At two o'clock in the
afternoon about one hundred and fifty men, belonging to the chief
Cariascachi, landed, and demanded reparation for an injury which had been
inflicted on his nephew by some boatmen belonging to Missolonghi.
Meanwhile the man who wounded the young man had absconded; and the
soldiers, unable to wreak their vengeance upon them, arrested two of the
Primates, and sent them to Cariascachi as hostages. They then seized the
fort at Vasiladi, a small mud island commanding the flats, which on the
sea side afford an impenetrable defence to the town. Cariascachi further
declared that he would neither give up the Primates nor Vasiladi until the
men who had wounded his nephew were delivered into his hands. On the same
day seven Turkish vessels anchored off Vasiladi. Cariascachi had long been
suspected of a treasonable correspondence with the Turks, and Mavrocordato
was quick to perceive that his conduct on this occasion, coinciding as it
did with the movements of the enemy, was part of a conspiracy against his
authority in Western Greece. He expected every moment to hear that the
Turks had taken possession of Vasiladi, and guessed that the soldiers sent
by Cariascachi, ostensibly to avenge a private injury, had really come to
open the gates to the Turks. It was a critical moment indeed. All the
disposable troops were in the provinces; the Suliotes were marching to
Arta, and some of them had already accepted service under Cariascachi
himself.
Byron, with wonderful self-command, concealed his indignation at such
evidence of treason, and urged Mavrocordato to dismiss his fears, and to
display all possible energy in order to defeat Cariascachi's designs. He
offered his own services, that of the artillery brigade, and of the three
hundred Suliotes who formed his guard. Gunboats were sent to Vasiladi with
orders to dislodge the rebels, and Byron resolved that the suspected
treason of this Greek chieftain should be severely punished. The batteries
of Missolonghi were immediately secured by the artillerymen, and several
of their guns were pointed towards the town, so as to prevent a surprise.
At the approach of the gunboats the rebels precipitately fled, and,
perceiving the resolute bearing assumed by Byron's troops, they
immediately surrendered the Primates, and humbly asked permission to
retire unmolested. This was of course granted, but Cariascachi was
subsequently tried by court-martial, and found guilty of holding
treasonable communications with the enemy.
According to Millingen, who was at Missolonghi at that time, it was not
proved against Cariascachi that he had ever proposed to deliver up
Vasiladi and Missolonghi to the Turks; but appearances were certainly
against him, and his subsequent flight to Agraffa seems to have given
evidence of a guilty conscience. Byron was deeply mortified by this
example of treason on the part of a Greek chieftain. He had not been
prepared to meet with black-hearted treachery, or to see Greeks conspiring
against their own country, courting the chains of their former masters,
and bargaining the liberties and very existence of their own
fellow-countrymen.
'Ignorant at first,' says Millingen, 'how far the ramifications of
this conspiracy might extend, he trembled to think of the
consequences. Personal fear never entered his mind, although most of
the Suliotes who composed his guard, as soon as they heard that their
compatriots at Anatolico sided with Cariascachi, declared openly that
they would not act against their countrymen. The hopes that Byron had
formed for the future of Greece were for a moment obscured. He feared
lest the news of a civil war in the Peloponnesus, and of a conspiracy
to introduce the Turks into Western Greece, would, on reaching
England, ruin the Greek credit, and preclude all hope of obtaining a
loan, which to him appeared indispensable to the salvation of her
liberty.'
While absorbed by the gloomy reflections to which this incident gave rise,
a spy was discovered under Byron's own roof. A man named Constantine
Volpiotti, it was asserted, had had several conferences with Cariascachi
at Anatolico. Letters found upon him confirmed the worst suspicions, and
he was handed over by Byron's orders to the tender mercies of the town
guard. A military commission subsequently examined minutely into the whole
affair. It appears that the incriminating letters found in Volpiotti's
clothes were those written by Mavrocordato and other patriots to
Cariascachi, reproaching him for his treachery and connivance with the
enemy. These Volpiotti was to show to Omer Pacha as certificates to prove
how faithful Cariascachi had ever been to his engagements with him.
'It resulted, from the examination which Volpiotti underwent, that he
had been charged to ask Omer Pacha for a _Bouyourtè_, appointing
Cariascachi Capitano of the province of Agraffa. Cariascachi engaged
in return to co-operate with Vernakiotti in the reduction of Western
Greece, and to draw over to his party several of the chiefs who had
hitherto most faithfully adhered to the Greek Government.'
Under these circumstances it was not wise, even if it were politic, to
allow Cariascachi to escape. Byron felt this keenly, and foresaw what
actually happened. Cariascachi was no sooner clear of Anatolico than he
placed himself at the head of his followers, and, assisted by Andrea Isco,
of Macrinoro, he again made Agraffa and its adjoining provinces the scene
of his depredations and daily sanguinary encounters.
'At no time in his life,' says Millingen, 'did Lord Byron find himself
in circumstances more calculated to render him unhappy. The cup of
health had dropped from his lips, and constant anxiety and suffering
operated powerfully on his mind, already a prey to melancholy
apprehensions, and disappointment, increased by disgust. Continually
haunted by a dread of epilepsy or palsy, he fell into the lowest state
of hypochondriasis, and vented his sorrows in language which, though
sometimes sublime, was at others as peevish and capricious as that of
an unruly and quarrelsome child.'
Gamba tells us that Byron, after the events above mentioned, became
nervous and irritable. He had not been on horseback for some days on
account of the weather, but on April 9, though the weather was
threatening, he determined to ride. Three miles from the town he and Gamba
were caught in a heavy downpour of rain, and they returned to the town
walls wet through and in a violent perspiration. Gamba says:
'I have before mentioned that it was our practice to dismount at the
walls, and return to our house in a boat. This day, however, I
entreated Byron to return home on horseback the whole way, as it would
be dangerous, hot as he was, to remain exposed to the rain in a boat
for half an hour. But he would not listen to me, and said: "I should
make a pretty soldier indeed, if I were to care for such a trifle."
Accordingly we dismounted, and got into the boat as usual. Two hours
after his return home, he was seized with a shuddering: he complained
of fever and rheumatic pains. At eight in the evening I entered his
rooms; he was lying on a sofa, restless and melancholy.'
Byron said that he suffered a great deal of pain, and in consequence Dr.
Bruno proposed to bleed him. Bruno seems to have considered the lancet as
a sovereign remedy for all the ills of life.
'Have you no other remedy than bleeding? There are many more die of the
lancet than the lance,' said Byron, as he declined his doctor's proposal.
On the following day he was perpetually shuddering, but he got up at his
usual hour and transacted business. He did not, however, leave the house.
On April 11 Byron resolved to ride out an hour before his usual time,
fearing that, if he waited, he would be prevented by the rain.
'We rode for a long time in the olive woods,' says Gamba. 'Lambro, a
Suliote officer, accompanied by a numerous suite, attended Byron, who
spoke much and appeared to be in good spirits.
'The next day he kept his bed with an attack of rheumatic fever. It
was thought that his saddle was wet; but it is more probable that he
was really suffering from his previous exposure to the rain, which
perhaps affected him the more readily on account of his
over-abstemious mode of life.'
The dates to which Gamba refers in the statement we have quoted were April
11 and 12. It is important to remark that in Fletcher's account, published
in the _Westminster Review_, it is stated that the last time Byron rode
out was on April 10. According to Parry, who supports Fletcher's opinion,
Byron was very unwell on April 11, and did not leave his house. He had
shivering fits, and complained of pains, particularly in his bones and
head.
'He talked a great deal,' says Parry, 'and I thought in rather a
wandering manner. I became alarmed for his safety, and earnestly
begged him to try a change of air and scene at Zante.'
Gamba, in his journal, says that Byron rose from his bed on April 13, but
did not leave the house. The fever appeared to be diminished, but the
pains in his head and bones continued. He was melancholy and irritable. He
had not slept since his attack, and could take no other nourishment than a
little broth and a spoonful or two of arrowroot. On the 14th he got out
of bed at noon; he was calmer. The fever had apparently diminished, but he
was very weak, and still complained of pains in his head. It was with the
greatest difficulty, says Gamba, that the physicians dissuaded him from
going out riding, which, in spite of the threatening weather, he desired
to do. There seems at that time to have been no suspicion of danger, and
it was even supposed by his doctors that the malady was under control.
Byron himself said that he was rather glad of his fever, as it might cure
him of his tendency to epilepsy. He attended to his correspondence as
usual. Gamba says:
'I think it was on this day that, as I was sitting near him on his
sofa, he said to me, "I was afraid I was losing my memory, and, in
order to try, I attempted to repeat some Latin verses with the English
translation, which I have not tried to recollect since I was at
school. I remembered them all except the last word of one of the
hexameters."'
On April 15 the fever was still upon him, says Gamba, but all pain had
ceased. He was easier, and expressed a wish to ride out, but the weather
would not permit. He transacted business, and received, among others, a
letter from the Turkish Governor to whom he had sent the prisoners he had
liberated. The Turk thanked Byron for his courtesy, and asked for a
repetition of this favour. 'The letter pleased him much,' says Gamba.
According to Fletcher, it appears that both on that day and the day
previous Byron had a suspicion that his complaint was not understood by
his doctors.
Parry says that on April 15 the doctors thought there was no danger, and
said so, openly. He paid Byron a visit, and remained at his bedside from
7 p.m. until 10 o'clock.
'Lord Byron spoke of death with great composure,' says Parry; 'and
though he did not think that his end was so very near, there was
something about him so serious and so firm, so resigned and composed,
so different from anything I had ever before seen in him, that my mind
misgave me.'
Byron then spoke of the sadness of being ill in such a place as
Missolonghi, and seemed to have imagined the possibility of a
reconciliation with his wife.
'When I left Italy,' said Byron, 'I had time on board the brig to give
full scope to memory and reflection. I am convinced of the happiness
of domestic life. No man on earth respects a virtuous woman more than
I do, and the prospect of retirement in England with my wife and
daughter gives me an idea of happiness I have never before
experienced. Retirement will be everything for me, for heretofore my
life has been like the ocean in a storm.'
Byron then spoke of Tita (and Fletcher also, doubtless, though Parry does
not mention that honest and faithful servant), and said that Bruno was an
excellent young man and very skilful, but too much agitated. He hoped that
Parry would come to him as often as possible, as he was jaded to death by
the worrying of his doctors, and the evident anxiety of all those who
wished him well. On a wretched fever-stricken swamp, in a house barely
weather-tight, in a miserable room, far from all those whom he loved on
earth, lay the 'pilgrim of eternity,' his life, so full of promise, slowly
flickering out. The pestilent sirocco was blowing a hurricane, and the
rain was falling with almost tropical violence. Gamba had met with an
accident which confined him to his quarters in another part of the town,
a circumstance which deprived Byron of a loyal friend in the hour of his
direst need. Under these circumstances, Parry was a godsend to Byron, and
he seems to have done everything possible to cheer him in his moments of
depression.
On April 16 Byron was alarmingly ill, and, according to Parry, almost
constantly delirious. He spoke alternately in English and Italian, and his
thoughts wandered. The doctors were not alarmed, and told Parry that Byron
would certainly recover. According to Millingen's account, Dr. Bruno
called him in for a consultation on the 15th, and we shall see what
Millingen thought of his patient's condition when we lay his narrative
before the reader.
When Parry visited Byron on the morning of the 17th, he was at times
delirious. He appeared to be much worse than on the day before. The
doctors succeeded in bleeding him twice, and both times he fainted.
'His debility was excessive. He complained bitterly of the want of
sleep, as delirious patients do complain, in a wild, rambling manner.
He said he had not slept for more than a week, when, in fact, he had
repeatedly slept at short intervals, disturbedly indeed, but still it
was sleep. He had now ceased to think or talk of death; he had
probably no idea that death was so near at hand, for his senses were
in such a state that they rarely allowed him to form a correct idea of
anything.'
On the 17th Gamba managed to get to Byron's room, and was struck by the
change in his appearance.
'He was very calm,' says Gamba, 'and talked to me in the kindest
manner about my having sprained my ankle. In a hollow, sepulchral
tone, he said: "Take care of your foot. I know by experience how
painful it must be." I could not stay near his bed: a flood of tears
rushed into my eyes, and I was obliged to withdraw. This was the
first day that the medical men seemed to entertain serious
apprehensions.'
On this day Gamba heard that Dr. Thomas, of Zante, had been sent for. It
is unfortunate that this was not done sooner; but Byron had forbidden
Fletcher to send for that excellent medical man, when he proposed it two
days previously. During the night of the 17th Byron became delirious, and
wandered in his speech; he fancied himself at the head of his Suliotes,
assailing the walls of Lepanto--a wish that had lain very close to his
heart for many and many a day. It was his dream of a soldier's glory, to
die fighting, sword in hand. On the morning of the 18th Drs. Millingen and
Bruno were alarmed by symptoms of an inflammation of the brain, and
proposed another bleeding, to which Byron consented, but soon ordered the
vein to be closed.
'At noon,' says Gamba, 'I came to his bedside. He asked me if there
were any letters for him. There was one from the Archbishop Ignatius
to him, which told Byron that the Sultan had proclaimed him, in full
divan, an enemy of the Porte. I thought it best not to let him know of
the arrival of that letter. A few hours afterwards other letters
arrived from England from his most intimate friends, full of good
news, and most consolatory in every way, particularly one from Mr.
Hobhouse, and another from Douglas Kinnaird; but he had then become
unconscious--it was too late!'
April 18, 1824, was Easter Day, a holiday throughout the length and
breadth of Greece, and a noisy one, too. It is the day on which the Greeks
at Missolonghi were accustomed to discharge their firearms and great guns.
Prince Mavrocordato gave orders that Parry should march his artillery
brigade and Suliotes to some distance from the town, in order to attract
the populace from the vicinity of Byron's house. At the same time the town
guard patrolled the streets, and informed people of Byron's danger,
begging them to make as little noise as possible. The plan succeeded
admirably; Byron was not disturbed, and at three o'clock in the afternoon
he rose, and, leaning on the arm of Tita, went into the next room. When
seated, he told Tita to bring him a book, mentioning it by name. About
this time Dr. Bruno entreated him, with tears in his eyes, to be again
bled.
'No,' said Byron; 'if my hour is come, I shall die whether I lose my blood
or keep it.'
After reading a few minutes he became faint, and, leaning on Tita's arm,
he tottered into the next room and returned to bed.
At half-past three, Dr. Bruno and Dr. Millingen, becoming more alarmed,
wished to call in two other physicians, a Dr. Freiber, a German, and a
Greek named Luca Vaya, the most distinguished of his profession in the
town, and physician to Mavrocordato. Lord Byron at first refused to see
them; but being told that Mavrocordato advised it, he said: 'Very well,
let them come; but let them look at me and say nothing.' They promised
this, and were admitted. When about him and feeling his pulse, one of them
wished to speak. 'Recollect your promise,' said Byron, 'and go away.'
In order to form some idea of the state of things while Byron's life was
slowly ebbing away, we will quote a passage from Parry's book, which was
published soon after the poet's death:
'Dr. Bruno I believe to be a very good young man, but he was certainly
inadequate to his situation. I do not allude to his medical knowledge,
of which I cannot pretend to be a judge; but he lacked firmness, and
was so much agitated that he was incapable of bringing whatever
knowledge he might possess into use. Tita was kind and attentive, and
by far the most teachable and useful of all the persons about Lord
Byron. As there was nobody invested with any authority over his
household after he fell ill, there was neither method, order, nor
quiet, in his apartments. A clever, skilful English surgeon,
possessing the confidence of his patient, would have put all this in
train; but Dr. Bruno had no idea of doing any such thing. There was
also a want of many comforts which, to the sick, may be called
necessaries, and there was a dreadful confusion of tongues. In his
agitation Dr. Bruno's English, and he spoke but imperfectly, was
unintellegible; Fletcher's Italian was equally bad. I speak nothing
but English; Tita then spoke nothing but Italian; and the ordinary
Greek domestics were incomprehensible to us all. In all the attendants
there was the officiousness of zeal; but, owing to their ignorance of
each other's language, their zeal only added to the confusion. This
circumstance, and the absence of common necessaries, made Lord Byron's
apartment such a picture of distress, and even anguish, during the two
or three last days of his life, as I never before beheld, and wish
never again to witness.'
At four o'clock on April 18, according to Gamba, Byron seemed to be aware
of his approaching end. Dr. Millingen, Fletcher, and Tita, were at his
bedside. Strange though it may seem to us in these far-off days, with our
experience of medical men, Dr. Millingen, unable to restrain his tears,
walked out of the room. Tita also wept profusely, and would have retired
if Byron had not held his hand. Byron looked at him steadily, and said,
half smiling, in Italian: 'Oh, questa è una bella scena.' He then seemed
to reflect a moment, and exclaimed, 'Call Parry.'
'Almost immediately afterwards,' says Gamba, 'a fit of delirium
ensued, and he began to talk wildly, as if he were mounting a breach
in an assault. He called out, half in English, half in Italian:
"Forwards--forwards--courage--follow my example--don't be afraid!"'
When he came to himself Fletcher was with him. He then knew that he was
dying, and seemed very anxious to make his servant understand his wishes.
He was very considerate about his servants, and said that he was afraid
they would suffer from sitting up so long in attendance upon him. Byron
said, 'I wish to do something for Tita and Luca.' 'My lord,' said
Fletcher, 'for God's sake never mind that now, but talk of something of
more importance.' But he returned to the same topic, and, taking Fletcher
by the hand, continued: 'You will be provided for--and now hear my last
wishes.'
Fletcher begged that he might bring pen and paper to take down his words.
'No,' replied Lord Byron, 'there is no time--mind you execute my orders.
Go to my sister--tell her--go to Lady Byron--you will see her, and
say----' Here his voice faltered, and gradually became indistinct; but
still he continued muttering something in a very earnest manner for nearly
twenty minutes, though in such a tone that only a few words could be
distinguished. These were only names: 'Augusta,' 'Ada,' 'Hobhouse,'
'Kinnaird.' He then said: 'Now I have told you all.'
'My lord,' replied Fletcher, 'I have not understood a word your lordship
has been saying.' Byron looked most distressed at this, and said, 'Not
understand me? What a pity! Then it is too late--all is over.' 'I hope
not,' answered Fletcher; 'but the Lord's will be done.' Byron continued,
'Yes, not mine.' He then tried to utter a few words, of which none were
intelligible except, 'My sister--my child.' The doctors began to concur
in an opinion which one might have thought sufficiently obvious from the
first, namely, that the principal danger to the patient was his extreme
weakness, and now agreed to administer restoratives. Dr. Bruno, however,
thought otherwise, but agreed to administer a dose of claret, bark, and
opium, and to apply blisters to the soles of Byron's feet. He took the
draught readily, but for some time refused the blisters. At last they were
applied, and Byron fell asleep.
Gamba says: 'He awoke in half an hour. I wished to go to him, but I had
not the heart. Parry went; Byron knew him, and squeezed his hand.'
Parry says:
'When Lord Byron took my hand, I found his hands were deadly cold.
With Tita's assistance, I endeavoured gently to create a little warmth
in them, and I also loosened the bandage which was tied round his
head. Till this was done, he seemed in great pain--clenched his hands
at times, and gnashed his teeth. He bore the loosening of the band
passively; and after it was loosened, he shed tears. I encouraged him
to weep, and said: "My lord, I thank God, I hope you will now be
better; shed as many tears as you can; you will sleep and find ease."
He replied faintly, "Yes, the pain is gone; I shall sleep now." He
took my hand, uttered a faint "Good-night," and dropped to sleep. My
heart ached, but I thought then his sufferings were over, and that he
would wake no more. He did wake again, however, and I went to him; he
knew me, though scarcely. He was less distracted than I had seen him
for some time before; there was the calmness of resignation, but there
was also the stupor of death. He tried to utter his wishes, but he was
not able to do so. He said something about rewarding Tita, and uttered
several incoherent words. There was either no meaning in what he said,
or it was such a meaning as we could not expect at that moment. His
eyes continued open only a short time, and then, at about six o'clock
in the evening of the 18th April, he sank into a slumber, or rather, I
should say, a stupor, and woke and knew no more.'
It must be borne in mind that the details given above were written by a
man who asserts that he was present during the period of which he gives an
account. Gamba, as we have seen, was not present, and the details which he
gives are avowedly gathered from those who happened to be in the room.
'From those about him,' says Gamba, 'I collected that, either at this
time or in his former interval of reason, Byron could be understood to
say, "Poor Greece! Poor town! My poor servants!" Also, "Why was I not
aware of this sooner?" and, "My hour is come! I do not care for death.
But why did I not go home before I came here?" At another time he
said: "There are things which make the world dear to me."'
He said this in Italian, and Parry may of course not have understood him.
'Io lascio qualche cosa di caro nel mondo.' He also said: 'I am content to
die.' In speaking of Greece, he said: 'I have given her my time, my means,
my health, and now I give her my life! What could I do more?'
Byron remained insensible, immovable, for twenty-four hours. There were
occasional symptoms of suffocation, and a rattling in the throat, which
induced his servants occasionally to raise his head. Gamba says:
'Means were taken to rouse him from his lethargy, but in vain. A great
many leeches were applied to his temples, and the blood flowed
copiously all night. It was exactly a quarter past six on the next
day, the 19th April, that he was seen to open his eyes, and
immediately close them again. The doctors felt his pulse--he was
gone!'