"Montenero, Leghorn, June 12. 1822.
"My dear Ellice,
"It is a long time since I have written to you, but I have not
forgotten your kindness, and I am now going to tax it--I hope not
too highly--but _don't_ be alarmed, it is _not_ a loan, but
_information_ which I am about to solicit. By your extensive
connections, no one can have better opportunities of hearing the
real state of _South_ America--I mean Bolivar's country. I have
many years had transatlantic projects of settlement, and what I
could wish from you would be some information of the best course to
pursue, and some letters of recommendation in case I should sail
for Angostura. I am told that land is very cheap there; but though
I have no great disposable funds to vest in such purchases, yet my
income, such as it is, would be sufficient in any country (except
England) for all the comforts of life, and for most of its
luxuries. The war there is now over, and as I do not go there to
_speculate_, but to settle, without any views but those of
independence and the enjoyment of the common civil rights, I should
presume such an arrival would not be unwelcome.
"All I request of you is, not to _dis_courage nor _en_courage, but
to give me such a statement as you think prudent and proper. I do
not address my other friends upon this subject, who would only
throw obstacles in my way, and bore me to return to England; which
I never will do, unless compelled by some insuperable cause. I have
a quantity of furniture, books, &c. &c. &c. which I could easily
ship from Leghorn; but I wish to 'look before I leap' over the
Atlantic. Is it true that for a few thousand dollars a large tract
of land may be obtained? I speak of _South_ America, recollect. I
have read some publications on the subject, but they seemed violent
and vulgar party productions. Please to address your answer[81] to
me at this place, and believe me ever and truly yours," &c.
[Footnote 81: The answer which Mr. Ellice returned was, as might be
expected, strongly dissuasive of this design. The wholly disorganised
state of the country and its institutions, which it would take ages,
perhaps, to restore even to the degree of industry and prosperity which
it had enjoyed under the Spaniards, rendered Columbia, in his opinion,
one of the last places in the world to which a man desirous of peace and
quiet, or of security for his person and property, should resort to as
an asylum. As long as Bolivar lived and maintained his authority, every
reliance, Mr. Ellice added, might be placed on his integrity and
firmness; but with his death a new æra of struggle and confusion would
be sure to arise.]
* * * * *
About this time he sat for his picture to Mr. West, an American artist,
who has himself given, in one of our periodical publications, the
following account of his noble sitter:--
"On the day appointed, I arrived at two o'clock, and began the picture.
I found him a bad sitter. He talked all the time, and asked a multitude
of questions about America--how I liked Italy, what I thought of the
Italians, &c. When he was silent, he was a better sitter than before;
for he assumed a countenance that did not belong to him, as though he
were thinking of a frontispiece for Childe Harold. In about an hour our
first sitting terminated, and I returned to Leghorn, scarcely able to
persuade myself that this was the haughty misanthrope whose character
had always appeared so enveloped in gloom and mystery; for I do not
remember ever to have met with manners more gentle and attractive.
"The next day I returned and had another sitting of an hour, during
which he seemed anxious to know what I should make of my undertaking.
Whilst I was painting, the window from which I received my light became
suddenly darkened, and I heard a voice exclaim 'è troppo bello!' I
turned, and discovered a beautiful female stooping down to look in, the
ground on the outside being on a level with the bottom of the window.
Her long golden hair hung down about her face and shoulders, her
complexion was exquisite, and her smile completed one of the most
romantic-looking heads, set off as it was by the bright sun behind it,
which I had ever beheld. Lord Byron invited her to come in, and
introduced her to me as the Countess Guiccioli. He seemed very fond of
her, and I was glad of her presence, for the playful manner which he
assumed towards her made him a much better sitter.
"The next day, I was pleased to find that the progress which I had made
in his likeness had given satisfaction, for, when we were alone, he
said that he had a particular favour to request of me--would I grant it?
I said I should be happy to oblige him; and he enjoined me to the
flattering task of painting the Countess Guiccioli's portrait for him.
On the following morning I began it, and, after, they sat alternately.
He gave me the whole history of his connection with her, and said that
he hoped it would last for ever; at any rate, it should not be his fault
if it did not. His other attachments had been broken off by no fault of
his.
"I was by this time sufficiently intimate with him to answer his
question as to what I thought of him before I had seen him. He laughed
much at the idea which I had formed of him, and said, 'Well, you find me
like other people, do you not?' He often afterwards repeated, 'And so
you thought me a finer fellow, did you?' I remember once telling him,
that notwithstanding his vivacity, I thought myself correct in at least
one estimate which I had made of him, for I still conceived that he was
not a happy man. He enquired earnestly what reason I had for thinking
so, and I asked him if he had never observed in little children, after a
paroxysm of grief, that they had at intervals a convulsive or tremulous
manner of drawing in a long breath. Wherever I had observed this, in
persons of whatever age, I had always found that it came from sorrow. He
said the thought was new to him, and that he would make use of it.
"Lord Byron, and all the party, left Villa Rossa (the name of their
house) in a few days, to pack up their things in their house at Pisa.
He told me that he should remain a few days there, and desired me, if I
could do any thing more to the pictures, to come and stay with him. He
seemed at a loss where to go, and was, I thought, on the point of
embarking for America. I was with him at Pisa for a few days; but he was
so annoyed by the police, and the weather was so hot, that I thought it
doubtful whether I could improve the pictures, and, taking my departure
one morning before he was up, I wrote him an excuse from Leghorn. Upon
the whole, I left him with an impression that he possessed an excellent
heart, which had been misconstrued on all hands from little else than a
reckless levity of manners, which he took a whimsical pride in opposing
to those of other people."
* * * * *