_By the Countess of Blessington_.
One of our first rides with Lord Byron was to Nervi, a village on
the sea-coast, most romantically situated, and each turn of the road
presenting various and beautiful prospects. They were all familiar to
him, and he failed not to point them out, but in very sober terms,
never allowing any thing like enthusiasm in his expressions, though
many of the views might have excited it.
His appearance on horseback was not advantageous, and he seemed
aware of it, for he made many excuses for his dress and equestrian
appointments. His horse was literally covered with various trappings,
in the way of cavesons, martingales, and Heaven knows how many other
(to me) unknown inventions. The saddle was _à la Hussarde_ with
holsters, in which he always carried pistols. His dress consisted of
a nankeen jacket and trousers, which appeared to have shrunk from
washing; the jacket embroidered in the same colour, and with three
rows of buttons; the waist very short, the back very narrow, and the
sleeves set in as they used to be ten or fifteen years before; a black
stock, very narrow; a dark-blue velvet cap with a shade, and a very
rich gold band and large gold tassel at the crown; nankeen gaiters,
and a pair of blue spectacles, completed his costume, which was any
thing but becoming. This was his general dress of a morning for
riding, but I have seen it changed for a green tartan plaid jacket. He
did not ride well, which surprised us, as, from the frequent allusions
to horsemanship in his works, we expected to find him almost a Nimrod,
It was evident that he had _pretensions_ on this point, though he
certainly was what I should call a timid rider. When his horse made a
false step, which was not unfrequent, he seemed discomposed; and when
we came to any bad part of the road, he immediately checked his course
and walked his horse very slowly, though there really was nothing to
make even a lady nervous. Finding that I could perfectly manage (or
what he called _bully_) a very highly-dressed horse that I daily rode,
he became extremely anxious to buy it; asked me a thousand questions
as to how I had acquired such a perfect command of it, &c. &c. and
entreated, as the greatest favour, that I would resign it to him as a
charger to take to Greece, declaring he never would part with it, &c.
As I was by no means a bold rider, we were rather amused at observing
Lord Byron's opinion of my courage; and as he seemed so anxious for
the horse, I agreed to let him have it when he was to embark. From
this time he paid particular attention to the movements of poor
Mameluke (the name of the horse), and said he should now feel
confidence in action with so steady a charger.
_April_--. Lord Byron dined with us today. During dinner he was as
usual gay, spoke in terms of the warmest commendation of Sir Walter
Scott, not only as an author, but as a man, and dwelt with apparent
delight on his novels, declaring that he had read and re-read them
over and over again, and always with increased pleasure. He said
that he quite equalled, nay, in his opinion, surpassed Cervantes. In
talking of Sir Walter's private character, goodness of heart, &c.,
Lord Byron became more animated than I had ever seen him; his colour
changed from its general pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his
eyes became humid: never had he appeared to such advantage, and it
might easily be seen that every expression he uttered proceeded from
his heart. Poor Byron!--for poor he is even with all his genius, rank,
and wealth--had he lived more with men like Scott, whose openness of
character and steady principle had convinced him that they were in
earnest in _their goodness_, and not _making believe_, (as he always
suspects good people to be,) his life might be different and happier!
Byron is so acute an observer that nothing escapes him; all the shades
of selfishness and vanity are exposed to his searching glance, and the
misfortune is, (and a serious one it is to him,) that when he finds
these, and alas! they are to be found on every side, they disgust
and prevent his giving credit to the many good qualities that often
accompany them. He declares he can sooner pardon crimes, because they
proceed from the passions, than these minor vices, that spring from
egotism and self-conceit. We had a long argument this evening on the
subject, which ended, like most arguments, by leaving both of the same
opinion as when it commenced. I endeavoured to prove that crimes were
not only injurious to the perpetrators, but often ruinous to the
innocent, and productive of misery to friends and relations, whereas
selfishness and vanity carried with them their own punishment, the
first depriving the person of all sympathy, and the second exposing
him to ridicule which to the vain is a heavy punishment, but that
their effects were not destructive to society as are crimes.
He laughed when I told him that having heard him so often declaim
against vanity, and detect it so often in his friends, I began to
suspect he knew the malady by having had it himself, and that I had
observed through life, that those persons who had the most vanity were
the most severe against that failing in their friends. He wished to
impress upon me that he was not vain, and gave various proofs to
establish this; but I produced against him his boasts of swimming, his
evident desire of being considered more _un homme de societe_ than a
poet, and other little examples, when he laughingly pleaded guilty,
and promised to be more merciful towards his friends.
Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was not successful, and he
wished us good night with a trepidation of manner that marked his
feelings. And this is the man that I have heard considered unfeeling!
How often are our best qualities turned against us, and made the
instruments for wounding us in the most vulnerable part, until,
ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, we affect an insensibility
we are far from possessing, and, while we deceive others, nourish in
secret the feelings that prey _only_ on our own hearts!
--_New Monthly Magazine._
* * * * *