MAY, 1813-DECEMBER, 1813.
THE 'GIAOUR' AND 'BRIDE OF ABYDOS'.
* * * * *
290.--To John Murray.
May 13, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I send a corrected, and, I hope, amended copy of the lines
for the "fragment" already sent this evening. [1] Let the enclosed be
the copy that is sent to the Devil (the printers) and burn the other.
Yours, etc., B'N.
[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour', which was now in the press, was expanded,
either in the course of printing, or in the successive editions, from
400 lines to 1400. It was published in May, 1813.]
* * * * *
291.--To Thomas Moore.
May 19, 1813.
Oh you, who in all names can tickle the town,
Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore, or Tom Brown, [1]--
For hang me if I know of which you may most brag,
Your Quarto two-pounds, or your Twopenny Post Bag;
* * * * *
But now to my letter--to _yours_ 'tis an answer--
To-morrow be with me, as soon as you can, sir,
All ready and dress'd for proceeding to spunge on
(According to compact) the wit in the dungeon [2]--
Pray Phoebus at length our political malice
May not get us lodgings within the same palace!
I suppose that to-night you're engaged with some codgers,
And for Sotheby's [3] Blues have deserted Sam Rogers;
And I, though with cold I have nearly my death got,
Must put on my breeches, and wait on the Heathcote.
But to-morrow at four, we will both play the _Scurra_,
And you'll be Catullus, the Regent, Mamurra. [4]
Dear M.,--having got thus far, I am interrupted by----. 10 o'clock.
Half-past 11.----is gone. I must dress for Lady Heathcote's.--Addio.
[Footnote 1: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag. By
Thomas Brown, the Younger', was published in 1813.]
[Footnote 2: The "wit in the dungeon" was James Henry Leigh Hunt
(1784-1859), who was educated at Christ's Hospital, and began his
literary life with "a collection of poems, written between the ages of
twelve and sixteen," and published in 1801 as 'Juvenilia'. In 1808 he
and his brother John started a weekly newspaper called the 'Examiner',
which advocated liberal principles with remarkable independence. On
February 24, 1811, Hunt published an article in defence of Peter
Finnerty, convicted for a libel on Castlereagh, and exhorting public
writers to be bold in the cause of individual liberty. The same number
contained an article on the savagery of military floggings, for which he
was prosecuted, defended by Brougham, and acquitted. His acquittal drew
from Shelley a letter of congratulation, addressed to Hunt as "one of
the most fearless enlighteners of the public mind" (Dowden's 'Life of
Shelley', vol. i. p. 113).
In March, 1812, the 'Morning Post' printed a poem, speaking of the
Prince Regent as the "Mæcenas of the Age," the "Exciter of Desire," the
"Glory of the People," an "Adonis of Loveliness," etc. The 'Examiner'
for March 12, 1812, thus translated this adulation into "the language of
truth:"
"What person, unacquainted with the true state of the case, would
imagine, in reading these astounding eulogies, that this 'Glory of the
People' was the subject of millions of shrugs and reproaches!... that
this 'Exciter of Desire' (bravo! Messieurs of the 'Post'!), this
'Adonis in Loveliness,' was a corpulent man of fifty!--in short, this
'delightful, blissful, wise, pleasureable, honourable, virtuous,
true', and 'immortal' prince was a violator of his word, a libertine
over head and ears in disgrace, a despiser of domestic ties, the
companion of gamblers and demireps, a man who has just closed half a
century without one single claim on the gratitude of his country or
the respect of posterity."
Crabb Robinson, who met Leigh Hunt, four days later, at Charles Lamb's,
says ('Diary', vol. i. p. 376),
"Leigh Hunt is an enthusiast, very well intentioned, and, I believe,
prepared for the worst. He said, pleasantly enough, 'No one can accuse
me of not writing a libel. Everything is a libel, as the law is now
declared, and our security lies only in their shame.'"
For this libel John and Leigh Hunt were convicted in the Court of King's
Bench on December 9, 1812. In the following February they were sentenced
to two years' imprisonment and a fine of £500 a-piece. John was
imprisoned in Coldbath-fields, Leigh in the Surrey County Gaol. They
were released on February 2 or 3, 1815.
Shelley, on reading the sentence, proposed a subscription for
"the brave and enlightened man... to whom the public owes a debt as
the champion of their liberties and virtues"
(Dowden, 'Life of Shelley', vol. i. p. 325). Keats wrote a sonnet to
Hunt on the day he left his prison, beginning:
"What though for showing truth to flatter'd state,
Kind Hunt was shut in prison."
A political alliance was thus cemented, which, for the time, was
disastrous to the literary prospects of Shelley and Keats. To Hunt
Shelley dedicated the 'Cenci', and Keats his first volume of 'Poems'
(1817). He is the "gentlest of the wise" in Shelley's 'Adonais'; and, in
a suppressed stanza of the same poem, the poet speaks of Hunt's "sweet
and earnest looks," "soft smiles," and "dark and night-like eyes." The
words inscribed on Shelley's tomb--"_Cor Cordium_"--were Hunt's choice.
In his various papers Hunt zealously championed his friends. In the
'Examiner' for September to October, 1819, he defended Shelley's
personal character; in the same paper for June to July, 1817, he praised
Keats's first volume of 'Poems'; he reviewed "Lamia" in the 'Indicator'
for August 2-9, 1820, and "La Belle Dame sans Merci" in that for May 10,
1820. In his 'Foliage' (1818) are three sonnets addressed to Keats.
Shelley believed in Hunt to the end. It was mainly through him that Hunt
came to Pisa in June, 1822, to join with Byron in 'The Liberal'. But he
doubted whether the alliance between the "wren and the eagle" could
continue ('Life of Shelley', vol. ii. p. 519). Keats, on the other hand,
lost his faith in Hunt. In a letter to Haydon (May, 1817), speaking of
Hunt, he says,
"There is no greater Sin after the seven deadly than to flatter
oneself into an idea of being a great Poet."
Again (March, 1818) he writes,
"It is a great Pity that People should, by associating themselves with
the finest things, spoil them. Hunt has damned Hampstead, and masks,
and sonnets, and Italian tales."
He writes still more severely (December, 1818-January, 1819),
"If I were to follow my own inclinations, I should never meet any one
of that set again, not even Hunt, who is certainly a pleasant fellow
in the main when you are with him; but in reality he is vain,
egotistical, and disgusting in matters of taste and morals. Hunt does
one harm by making fine things petty, and beautiful things hateful.
Through him I am indifferent to Mozart. I care not for white
Busts--and many a glorious thing when associated with him becomes a
nothing."
Haydon considered that Hunt was the "great unhinger" of Keats's best
dispositions ('Works of Keats', ed. H.B. Forman, vol. iv. p. 359); and
Severn attributes Keats's temporary "mawkishness" to Hunt's society
('ibid'., p. 376).
Nathaniel Hawthorne ('Our Old Home', p. 229, ed. 1884) says of Hunt, and
means it as high praise, that
"there was not an English trait in him from head to foot--morally,
intellectually, or physically. Beef, ale or stout, brandy or
port-wine, entered not at all into his composition."
He was, in fact, a man of weak fibre, who allowed himself to sponge upon
his friends, such as Talfourd, Haydon, and Shelley. Though Dickens
denied ('All the Year Round', Dec. 24, 1859) that "Harold Skimpole" was
intended for Hunt, the picture was recognized as a portrait. On the
other hand, Hunt was a man of kindly and genial disposition.
"He loves everything," says Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. ii. p. 192),
"he catches the sunny side of everything, and, excepting that he has a
few polemical antipathies, finds everything beautiful."
In his essays, the best of which appeared in the 'Indicator' (1819-21),
he communicates some of his own sense of enjoyment to those of his
readers who are content to take him as he is. His circle is limited; but
in it his observation is minute and suggestive. The Vale of Health is to
him, in a degree proportioned to their respective powers, what the
Temple was to Lamb. His style is neat, pretty, and would be affected if
it were not the man himself. As a literary journalist, a dramatic
critic, and an essayist, he has a place in literature. His poetry is
less successful; his affectations, innate vulgarity, and habit of pawing
his subjects repel even those who are attracted by its sweetness. Yet
his 'Story of Rimini' (1816), which he dedicated to Byron, was admired
in its day. Byron, though he condemned its affected style, thought the
poem a "devilish good one." Moore held the same opinion; and Jeffrey,
writing to him May 28, 1816 ('Memoirs, etc., of Thomas Moon,' vol. ii.
p. 100), says,
"I certainly shall not be ill-natured to 'Rimini'. It is very sweet
and very lively in many places, and is altogether piquant, as being by
far the best imitation of Chaucer and some of his Italian
contemporaries that modern times have produced."
No two men could be more unlike than Byron and Hunt, or have less in
common. Yet, with a singular capacity for self-delusion, Hunt told his
wife that the texture of Byron's mind resembled his to a thread
('Correspondence of L. Hunt', vol. i. p. 88). The friendship began in
political sympathy; but two years later (see Byron's letter to Moore,
June 1, 1818) it had, on one side at least, cooled. In June, 1822, Hunt
came to Pisa to launch The Liberal, with the aid of Shelley and Byron.
'The Liberal: Verse and Prose from the South', started in 1822, lived
through four numbers, and died in July, 1823. During that time Byron
expressed to Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 77)
"a very good opinion of the talents and principle of Mr. Hunt, though,
as he said, 'our tastes are so opposite that we are totally unsuited
to each other ... in short, we are more formed to be friends at a
distance, than near.'"
For the best part of two years Hunt was Byron's guest: he repaid his
hospitality by publishing his 'Lord Byron and Some of his
Contemporaries' (1828). Though Lady Blessington said the book "gave, in
the main, a fair account" of Byron (Crabb Robinson's 'Diary', vol. iii.
p. 13), its publication was a breach of honour. As such it was justly
attacked by Moore in "The 'Living Dog' and the 'Dead Lion'":
"Next week will be published (as 'Lives' are the rage)
The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange,
Of a small puppy-dog, that lived once in the cage
Of the late noble Lion at Exeter 'Change.
"Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call 'sad,'
'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretends;
And few dogs have such opportunities had
Of knowing how Lions behave--among friends.
"How that animal eats, how he snores, how he drinks,
Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;
And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks
That the Lion was no such great things after all.
"Though he roared pretty well--this the puppy allows--
It was all, he says, borrowed--all second-hand roar;
And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows
To the loftiest war-note the Lion could pour.
"'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a 'Cynic' could ask,
To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits
Takes gravely the Lord of the Forest to task,
And judges of Lions by puppy-dog habits.
"Nay, fed as he was (and this makes it a dark case)
With sops every day from the Lion's own pan,
He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass,
And--does all a dog, so diminutive, can.
"However, the book's a good book, being rich in
Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,
How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,
Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.
"Exeter 'Change'.
T. PIDCOCK."
For the reply of Hunt or one of his friends, "The Giant and the Dwarf,"
see Appendix VI.]
[Footnote 3: William Sotheby (1757-1833), once a cavalry officer,
afterwards a man of letters and of fortune, published his 'Oberon' in
1798, and his 'Georgics' in 1800 (see 'English Bards, etc.', line 818,
and 'note'). The following passage from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts'
(1821) refers to him:
"Sotheby is a good man; rhymes well (if not wisely), but is a bore. He
seizes you by the button. One night of a rout, at Mrs. Hope's, he had
fastened upon me (something about Agamemnon or Orestes--or some of his
plays), notwithstanding my symptoms of manifest distress, (for I was
in love and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor
husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was
beautiful as the Statues of the Gallery where we stood at the time).
Sotheby, I say, had seized upon me by the button, and the
heart-strings, and spared neither. W. Spencer, who likes fun, and
don't dislike mischief, saw my case, and, coming up to us both, took
me by the hand and pathetically bade me farewell, 'for,' said he, 'I
see it is all over with you.' Sotheby then went away. 'Sic me servavit
Apollo.'"]
[Footnote 4: See Catullus, xxix. 3:
"Quis hoc potest videre, quis potest pati,
Nisi impudicus et vorax, et aleo,
Mamurram habere, quod Comata Gallia
Habebat uncti et ultima Britannia?"
See also xli. 4, xliii. 5 (compare Horace, 'Sat'. i. 5. 37), and lvii.
2.]
* * * * *
292.--To John Murray.
May 22nd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I return the "_Curiosities of Literature_." [1] Pray is it
fair to ask if the "_Twopenny Postbag_" is to be reviewed in this No.?
because, if not, I should be glad to undertake it, and leave it to
Chance and the Editor for a reception into your pages.
Yours truly,
B.
P.S.--You have not sent me Eustace's 'Travels'. [2]
[Footnote 1: The first volume of Isaac Disraeli's 'Curiosities of
Literature' was published in 1791. The remaining volumes were published
at intervals: vol. ii., 1793; vol. iii., 1817; vols. iv. and v., in
1823; vol. vi., 1834.]
[Footnote 2: John Chetwode Eustace ('circ'. 1762-1815) published his
'Tour through Italy' in 1813.]
* * * * *
293.--To John Murray.
May 23rd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I question whether ever author before received such a
compliment from his _master_. I am glad you think the thing is tolerably
_vamped_ and will be _vendible_.
Pray look over the proof again. I am but a careless reviser, and let me
have 12 struck off, and one or two for yourself to serve as MS. for the
thing when published in the body of the volume. If Lady Caroline Lamb
sends for it, do _not_ let her have it, till the copies are all ready,
and then you can send her one.
Yours truly,
[Greek: Mpairon].
P.S.--H.'s book is out at last; I have my copy, which I have lent
already.
* * * * *
294.--To John Murray.
June 2, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I presented a petition to the house yesterday, [1] which gave
rise to some debate, and I wish you to favour me for a few minutes with
the 'Times' and 'Herald' to look on their hostile report.
You will find, if you like to look at my 'prose', my words nearly
'verbatim' in the 'M. Chronicle'.
B'N.
[Footnote 1: The petition was from Major Cartwright, and was presented
June 1, 1813. (For Byron's speech, see Appendix II. (3).) Returning from
the House, he called on Moore, and, while the latter was dressing for
dinner, walked up and down the next room,
"spouting in a sort of mock heroic voice, detached sentences of the
speech he had just been delivering. 'I told them,' he said, 'that it
was a most flagrant violation of the Constitution--that, if such
things were permitted, there was an end of English freedom, and
that--'
"'But what was this dreadful grievance?' asked Moore.
"'The grievance?' he repeated, pausing as if to consider, 'oh,
_that_ I forget.'"]
* * * * *
295.--To Thomas Moore.
My Dear Moore,--"When Rogers" [1] must not see the inclosed, which I
send for your perusal. I am ready to fix any day you like for our visit.
Was not Sheridan good upon the whole? The "Poulterer" was the first and
best. [2]
Ever yours, etc.
1.
When Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent,
(I hope I am not violent),
Nor men nor gods knew what he meant.
2.
And since not ev'n our Rogers' praise
To common sense his thoughts could raise--
Why _would_ they let him print his lays?
3.
* * * * *
4.
* * * * *
5.
To me, divine Apollo, grant--O!
Hermilda's first and second canto,
I'm fitting up a new portmanteau;
6.
And thus to furnish decent lining,
My own and others' bays I'm twining--
So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in.
* * * * *
296.--To John Hanson.
June 3d, 1813.
Dear Sir,--When you receive this I shall have left town for a week, and,
as it is perfectly right we should understand each other, I think you
will not be surprised at my persisting in my intention of going abroad.
If the Suit can be carried on in my absence,--_well_; if not, it must be
given up. One word, one letter, to Cn. would put an end to it; but this
I shall not do, at all events without acquainting you before hand; nor
at all, provided I am able to go abroad again. But at all hazards, at
all losses, on this last point I am as determined as I have been for the
last six months, and you have always told me that you would endeavour to
assist me in that intention. Every thing is ordered and ready now. Do
not trifle with me, for I am in very solid serious earnest, and if utter
ruin _were_, or _is_ before me, on the one hand--and wealth at home on
the other,--I have made my choice, and go I will.
If you wish to write, address a line before Saturday to Salthill Post
Office; Maidenhead, I believe, but am not sure, is the Post town; but I
shall not be in town till Wednesday next.
Believe me, yours ever,
BN.
P.S.--Let all the books go to Mr. Murray's immediately, and let the
plate, linen, etc., which I find _excepted_ by the _contract_, be sold,
particularly a large silver vase--with the _contents_ not removed as
they are curious, and a silver cup (not the skull) be sold also--both
are of value.
The Pictures also, and every moveable that is mine, and can be converted
into cash; all I want is a few thousand pounds, and then adieu. You
shan't be troubled with me these ten years, if ever.
* * * * *
297.--To Francis Hodgson.
June 6, 1813.
MY DEAR HODGSON,--I write to you a few lines on business. Murray has
thought proper at his own risk, and peril, and profit (if there be any)
to publish 'The Giaour'; and it may possibly come under your ordeal in
the 'Monthly' [1] I merely wish to state that in the published copies
there are additions to the amount of ten pages, _text_ and _margin_
(_chiefly_ the last), which render it a little less unfinished (but more
unintelligible) than before. If, therefore, you review it, let it be
from the published copies and not from the first sketch. I shall not
sail for this month, and shall be in town again next week, when I shall
be happy to hear from you but more glad to see you. You know I have no
time or turn for correspondence(!). But you also know, I hope, that I am
not the less
Yours ever,
[Greek: MPAIRON].
[Footnote 1: 'The Giaour' was reviewed in the 'Monthly Review' for June,
1813 (N.S. vol. lxxi. p. 202). In the Editor's copy is added in MS. at
the end of the article, as indicating the author of the review, the word
"Den."]
* * * * *
298.--To Francis Hodgson.
June 8th, 1813.
My dear Hodgson,--In town for a night I find your card. I had written to
you at Cambridge merely to say that Murray has thought it expedient to
publish 'The Giaour' at his own risk (and reimbursement, if he can), and
that, as it will probably be in your department in the 'Monthly', I
wished to state that, in the published copies, there are additions to
the tune of 300 lines or so towards the end, and, if reviewed, it should
_not_ be from the privately printed copy. So much for scribbling.
I shall manage to see you somewhere before I sail, which will be next
month; till then I am yours here, and afterwards any where and every
where,
Dear H., _tutto tuo_,
BN.
* * * * *
299.--To John Murray.
Je. 9, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I regret much that I have no profane garment to array you
with for the masquerade. As my motions will be uncertain, you need not
write nor send the proofs till my return.
Yours truly,
BN.
P.S.--My wardrobe is out of town--or I could have dressed you as an
Albanian--or a Turk--or an officer--or a Waggoner.
* * * * *
300.--To John Murray.
June 12, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Having occasion to send a servant to London, I will thank you
to inform me whether I left with the other things 3 miniatures in your
care (--if not--I know where to find them), and also to "report
progress" in unpacking the books? The bearer returns this evening.
How does Hobhouse's work go on, or rather off--for that is the essential
part? In yesterday's paper, immediately under an advertisement on
"Strictures in the Urethra," I see--most appropriately consequent--a
poem with "_strictures_ on Ld B., Mr. Southey and others,"[1] though I
am afraid neither "Mr. S.'s" poetical distemper, nor "mine," nor
"others," is of the suppressive or stranguary kind. You may read me the
prescription of this kill or cure physician. The medicine is compounded
at White and Cochrane's, Fleet Street. As I have nothing else to do, I
may enjoy it like Sir Fretful, or the Archbishop of Grenada, or any
other personage in like predicament.
Recollect that my lacquey returns in the Evening, and that I set out for
Portsmouth [2] to-morrow. All here are very well, and much pleased with
your politeness and attention during their stay in town.
Believe me, yours truly,
B.
P.S.--Are there anything but books? If so, let those _extras_ remain
untouched for the present. I trust you have not stumbled on any more
"Aphrodites," and have burnt those. I send you both the advertisements,
but don't send me the first treatise--as I have no occasion for
_Caustic_ in that quarter.
[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle' (June 10, 1813) appeared
advertisements of the two following books:--'Practical Observations on
the best mode of curing Strictures, etc., with Remarks on Inefficacy,
etc., of Caustic Applications'. By William Wadd. Printed for J. Callow,
Soho. 'Modern Poets; a Dialogue in Verse, containing some Strictures on
the Poetry of Lord Byron, Mr. Southey, and Others'. Printed for White,
Cochrane, and Co., Fleet Street.
In a note on 'Modern Poets' (p. 7) occurs the following passage:
"In 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers' the same respectable corps
of critics is successively exhibited, in the course of only ten lines,
under the following significant but somewhat incongruous forms, viz.
(1) Northern Wolves, (2) Harpies, (3) Bloodhounds."
In proof the writer quotes lines 426-437 of the Satire. Then follows a
long review of 'Childe Harold', in which the critic condemns Harold, the
hero, as "an uncouth incumbrance of this flighty Lord;" the want of
"plot ... action and fable, interest, order, end;" and asks:
"Shall he immortal bays aspire to wear
Who immortality from man would tear,
Repress the sigh which hopes a happier home,
And chase the visions of a life to come?"]
[Footnote 2: For Byron's intention to go abroad with Lord and Lady
Oxford, see p. 164, 'note' 3 [Footnote 6 of Letter 256.]]
* * * * *
301.--To John Murray.
[Maidenhead], June 13, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Amongst the books from Bennet St. is a small vol. of
abominable poems by the Earl of Haddington which must not be in ye
Catalogue on Sale--also--a vol. of French Epigrams in the same
predicament.
On the title page of Meletius is an inscription in writing which must be
_erased_ and made illegible.
I have read the strictures, which are just enough, and not grossly
abusive, in very fair couplets. There is a note against Massinger near
the end, but one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The
author detects some incongruous figures in a passage of 'E. Bds'., page
23., but which edition I do not know. In the _sole_ copy in your
possession--I mean the _fifth_ edition--you may make these alterations,
that I may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks:--For
"_hellish_ instinct," substitute "_brutal_ instinct;" "_harpies_" alter
to "_felons_;" and for "blood-hounds" write "hell-hounds." These be
"very bitter words, by my troth," and the alterations not much sweeter;
but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a
satisfaction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only 12
lines.
You do not answer me about H.'s book; I want to write to him, and not to
say anything unpleasing. If you direct to Post Office, Portsmouth, till
_called_ for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of
the forthcoming critique on 'Columbus' [1] which is not _too_ fair; and
I do not think justice quite done to the 'Pleasures', which surely
entitles the author to a higher rank than that assigned to him in the
'Quarterly'. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the _invisible
infallibles_; and the article is very well written. The general horror
of "_fragments_" [2] makes me tremulous for "_The Giaour_;" but you
would publish it--I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I
consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even
though I detect it in my pastry; but I shall not open a pye without
apprehension for some weeks.
The Books which may be marked G.O. I will carry out. Do you know
Clarke's 'Naufragia' [3]? I am told that he asserts the _first_ volume
of 'Robinson Crusoe' was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the
Tower, and given by him to Defoe; if true, it is a curious anecdote.
Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it?
Write to me at Portsmouth.
Ever yours, etc.,
Bn.
[Footnote 1: Rogers's _Columbus_ was reviewed by Ward in the _Quarterly_
for March, 1813. The reviewer detects "evident marks of haste" in the
poem.]
[Footnote 2: _The Giaour_, like _Columbus_, was written in fragments.]
[Footnote 3: James Stanier Clarke, a Navy Chaplain (1765-1834),
published, in 1805, 'Naufragia, or Historical Memoirs of Shipwrecks'. In
that work he does not himself attribute the _first_ volume of 'Robinson
Crusoe' to Lord Oxford. The following is the passage to which Byron
refers ('Naufragia', vol. i. pp. 12, 13): "But before I conclude this
Section, I wish to make the admirers of this Nautical Romance mindful of
a Report, which prevailed many years ago; that Defoe, after all, was not
the real author of Robinson Crusoe. This assertion is noticed in an
article in the seventh volume of the 'Edinburgh Magazine' [vol. vii. p.
269]. Dr. Towers, in his 'Life' of Defoe in the 'Biographia', is
inclined to pay no attention to it; but was that writer aware of the
following letter, which also appeared in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' for
1788? (vol. lviii. part i. p. 208). At least no notice is taken of it in
his 'Life' of Defoe:
"'Dublin, February 25.
"Mr. Urban,--In the course of a late conversation with a nobleman of
the first consequence and information in this kingdom, he assured me,
that Mr. Benjamin Holloway, of Middleton Stony, assured him, some time
ago: that he knew for fact, that the celebrated Romance of 'Robinson
Crusoe' was really written by the Earl of Oxford, when confined in the
Tower of London: that his Lordship gave the manuscript to Daniel
Defoe, who frequently visited him during his confinement: and that
Defoe, having afterwards added the second volume, published the whole
as his own production. This anecdote I would not venture to send to
your valuable magazine, if I did not think my information good, and
imagine it might be acceptable to your numerous readers,
not-withstanding the work has heretofore been generally attributed to
the latter. W. W.'
"It is impossible for me to enter on a discussion of this literary
subject; though I thought the circumstance ought to be more generally
known. And yet I must observe, that I always discerned a very striking
falling off between the composition of the first and second volumes of
this Romance--they seem to bear evident marks of having been the work of
different writers."
A volume of memoranda in the handwriting of Warton, the Laureate,
preserved in the British Museum, contains the following:
"Mem. Jul. 10, 1774. In the year 1759, I was told by the Rev. Mr.
Benjamin Holloway, rector of Middleton Stony, in Oxfordshire, then
about 70 years old, and in the early part of his life domestic
Chaplain to Lord Sunderland, that he had often heard Lord Sunderland
say that Lord Oxford, while a prisoner in the Tower of London, wrote
the first volume of the History of Robinson Crusoe, merely as an
amusement under confinement; and gave it to Daniel De Foe, who
frequently visited Lord Oxford in the Tower, and was one of his
Pamphlet writers. That De Foe, by Lord Oxford's permission, printed it
as his own, and, encouraged by its extraordinary success, added
himself the second volume, the inferiority of which is generally
acknowledged. Mr. Holloway also told me, from Lord Sunderland, that
Lord Oxford dictated some parts of the manuscript to De Foe. Mr.
Holloway was a grave conscientious clergyman, not vain of telling
anecdotes, very learned, particularly a good orientalist, author of
some theological tracts, bred at Eton School, and a Master of Arts at
St. John's College, Cambridge. He lived many years with great respect
in Lord Sunderland's family, and was like to the late Duke of
Marlborough. He died, as I remember, about the year 1761." ]
* * * * *
302.--To John Murray.
June 18, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Will you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I
ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr.
Gifford himself nor to any one else?
Ever yours,
B'N.
* * * * *
303.--To W. Gifford.
June 18, 1813.
My Dear Sir,--I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all--still
more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I
have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of
becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would
not surprise you.
Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape
of the text of the 'Baviad', or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, [1]
would have been obeyed; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by
your censure: judge then if I shall be less willing to profit by your
kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my
betters: I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return
my brass for your Gold by expressing more fully those sentiments of
admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome.
To your advice on Religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the
best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published
objectionable passages have been much commented upon, but certainly have
been rather _strongly_ interpreted. I am no Bigot to Infidelity, and did
not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of Man, I should be
charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative
insignificance of ourselves and _our world_, when placed in competition
with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to
imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be over-rated.
This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, where
I was cudgelled to Church for the first ten years of my life, afflicted
me with this malady; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the
mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria.
I regret to hear you talk of ill-health. May you long exist! not only to
enjoy your own fame, but outlive that of fifty such ephemeral
adventurers as myself.
As I do not sail quite so soon as Murray may have led you to expect (not
till July) I trust I have some chance of taking you by the hand before
my departure, and repeating in person how sincerely and affectionately I
am
Your obliged servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 198 [Footnote 4 of Letter 192.]]
* * * * *
304.--To John Murray.
June 22, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I send you a _corrected_ copy of the lines with several
_important_ alterations,--so many that this had better be sent for proof
rather than subject the other to so many blots.
You will excuse the eternal trouble I inflict upon you. As you will see,
I have attended to your Criticism, and softened a passage you proscribed
this morning.
Yours veritably,
B.
* * * * *
305.--To Thomas Moore.
June 22, 1813.
Yesterday I dined in company with Stael, the "Epicene," [1] whose
politics are sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord
of Liverpool--a vile antithesis of a Methodist and a Tory--talks of
nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God
and the government will help her to a pension.
Murray, the [Greek: anax] of publishers, the Anak of stationers, has a
design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and
stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you be
bound, like "Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nine years in the
_Universal Visitor?_" [2]
Seriously, he talks of hundreds a year, and--though I hate prating of
the beggarly elements--his proposal may be to your honour and profit,
and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure.
I don't know what to say about "friendship." I never was in friendship
but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as
love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted
to knight him, that I am "too old;" [3] but nevertheless, no one wishes
you more friends, fame, and felicity, than
Yours, etc.
[Footnote 1:
"'And ah! what verse can grace thy stately mien,
Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen,
Neckar's fair daughter, Staël the 'Epicene'!
Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple nose
The bloom of young desire unceasing glows!
Fain would the Muse--but ah! she dares no more,
A mournful voice from lone 'Guyana's' shore,
Sad Quatremer, the bold presumption checks,
Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex.'
"These lines contain the Secret History of Quatremer's deportation. He
presumed, in the Council of Five Hundred, to arraign Madame de Staël's
conduct, and even to hint a doubt of her sex. He was sent to 'Guyana'.
The transaction naturally brings to one's mind the dialogue between
Falstaff and Hostess Quickly in Shakespeare's 'Henry IV'."
'Canning's New Morality', lines 293-301 (Edmonds' edition of the 'Poetry
of the Anti-Jacobin', pp. 282, 283).
Anne Louise Germaine Necker (1766-1817), only child of the Minister
Necker and his wife Suzanne Curchod, Gibbon's early love, married, in
1786, the Swedish Ambassador Baron de Staël Holstein, who died in 1802.
She married, as her second husband, in 1811, M. de Rocca, a young French
officer, who had been severely wounded in Spain, but survived her by a
year (Madame de Récamier, 'Souvenirs', vol. i. p. 272). Her book, 'De
l'Allemagne', seized and destroyed by Napoleon, was brought out in June,
1813, by John Murray. Byron thought her
"certainly the cleverest, though not the most agreeable woman he had
ever known. 'She declaimed to you instead of conversing with you,'
said he, 'never pausing except to take breath; and if during that
interval a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did not
attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her discourse as though it
had not been interrupted'"
(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', p. 26). Croker ('Croker Papers',
vol. i. p. 327) describes her as
"ugly, and not of an intellectual ugliness. Her features were coarse,
and the ordinary expression rather vulgar, she had an ugly mouth, and
one or two irregularly prominent teeth, which perhaps gave her
countenance an habitual gaiety. Her eye was full, dark, and
expressive; and when she declaimed, which was almost whenever she
spoke, she looked eloquent, and one forgot that she was plain."
Madame de Staël
"did not affect to conceal her preference for the society of men to
that of her own sex,"
and was entirely above, or below, studying the feminine arts of
pleasing. In 1802 Miss Berry called on her in Paris.
"Found her in an excessively dirty 'cabinet'--sofa singularly so;
her own dress, a loose spencer with a bare neck"
('Journal', vol. ii. p. 145). A similar experience is mentioned by Crabb
Robinson ('Diary', 1804).
"On the 28th of January," he writes, "I first waited on Madame de
Staël. I was shown into her bedroom, for which, not knowing Parisian
customs, I was unprepared. She was sitting, most decorously, 'in'
her bed, and writing. She had her night-cap on, and her face was not
made up for the day. It was by no means a captivating spectacle; but I
had a very cordial reception, and two bright black eyes smiled
benignantly on me."
Of her political opinions Sir John Bowring ('Autobiographical
Recollections', pp. 375, 376) has left a sketch.
"Madame de Staël was a perfect aristocrat, and her sympathies were
wholly with the great and prosperous. She saw nothing in England but
the luxury, stupidity, and pride of the Tory aristocracy, and the
intelligence and magnificence of the Whig aristocracy. These latter
talked about truth, and liberty and herself, and she supposed it was
all as it should be. As to the millions, the people, she never
inquired into their situation. She had a horror of the
'canaille', but anything of 'sangre asul' had a charm for
her. When she was dying she said, 'Let me die in peace; let my last
moments be undisturbed.' Yet she ordered the cards of every visitor to
be brought to her. Among them was one from the Duc de Richelieu.
'What!' exclaimed she indignantly, 'What! have you sent away the
'Duke'? Hurry! Fly after him. Bring him back. Tell him that,
though I die for all the world, I live for 'him'.'"
Napoleon's hatred of her was intense. "Do not allow that jade, Madame de
Staël," he writes to Fouché, December 31, 1806 ('New Letters of Napoleon
I.', p. 35), "to come near Paris." Again, March 15, 1807 ('ibid.', p.
39), "You are not to allow Madame de Staël to come within forty leagues
of Paris. That wicked schemer ought to make up her mind to behave
herself at last." In a third letter, April 19, 1807 ('ibid.', p. 40), he
speaks of her as "paying court, one day to the great--a patriot, a
democrat, the next!... a fright, ... a worthless woman" (Léon Lecestre's
'Lettres inédites de Napoléon I'er', 2nd ed. vol. i. pp. 84, 88, 93).]
[Footnote 2:
"Old Gardner the bookseller employed Rolt and Smart to write a monthly
miscellany called the 'Universal Visitor'. There was a formal written
contract, which Allen the printer saw.... They were bound to write
nothing else; they were to have, I think, a third of the profits of
his sixpenny pamphlet; and the contract was for ninety-nine years"
(Boswell's 'Life of Dr. Johnson', ed. Birrell, vol. iii. p. 192).]
[Footnote 3:
"But first the Monarch, so polite,
Ask'd Mister Whitbread if he'd be a 'Knight'.
Unwilling in the list to be enroll'd,
Whitbread contemplated the Knights of 'Peg',
Then to his generous Sov'reign made a leg,
And said, 'He was afraid he was 'too old','" etc.
Peter Pindar's 'Instructions to a Laureat'.]
* * * * *
306.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
4, Bennet Street, June 26th, 1813.
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--Let me know when you arrive, and when, and where,
and how, you would like to see me,--any where in short but at _dinner_.
I have put off going into ye country on purpose to _waylay_ you.
Ever yours, Byron
* * * * *
307.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[June, 1813.]
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--And if you knew _whom_ I had put off besides my
journey--you would think me grown strangely fraternal. However I won't
overwhelm you with my _own praises_.
Between one and two be it--I shall, in course, prefer seeing you all to
myself without the incumbrance of third persons, even of _your_ (for I
won't own the relationship) fair cousin of _eleven page_ memory [1],
who, by the bye, makes one of the finest busts I have seen in the
Exhibition, or out of it. Good night!
Ever yours, BYRON.
P.S.--Your writing is grown like my Attorney's, and gave me a qualm,
till I found the remedy in your signature.
[Footnote 1: 'Letters', vol. i. p. 54 [end of Footnote 3 of Letter 13.],
Lady Gertrude Howard married, in 1806, William Sloane Stanley, and died
in 1870.]
* * * * *
308.--To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.
[Sunday], June 27th, 1813.
MY DEAREST AUGUSTA,--If you like to go with me to ye Lady Davy's [1] [
to-night, I _have_ an invitation for you.
There you will see the _Stael_, some people whom you know, and _me_ whom
you do _not_ know,--and you can talk to which you please, and I will
watch over you as if you were unmarried and in danger of always being
so. Now do as you like; but if you chuse to array yourself before or
after half past ten, I will call for you. I think our being together
before 3d people will be a new _sensation_ to _both_.
Ever yours,
B.
[Footnote 1: Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829), the son of a wood-carver of
Penzance, was apprenticed to John Borlase, a surgeon at Penzance, in
whose dispensary he became a chemist. He wrote poetry as a young man,
but soon abandoned the pursuit for science. Two poems on Byron by Davy,
one written in 1823, the other in 1824, will be found in Dr. Davy's
'Memoirs of the Life of Sir H. Davy', vol. ii. pp. 168, 169. In October,
1798, he joined Dr. Beddoes at Bristol, where he superintended the
laboratory at his Pneumatic Institution. His 'Researches, Chemical and
Philosophical' (1799), made him famous. At the Royal Institution in
London, founded in 1799, Davy became assistant-lecturer in chemistry,
and director of the chemical laboratory. There his lecture-room was
crowded by some of the most distinguished men and women of the day.
Within the next few years his discoveries in electricity and galvanism,
(1806-7) brought him European celebrity; his lectures on agricultural
chemistry (1810) marked a fresh era in farming, and inaugurated the new
movement of "science with practice." His famous discovery of the Safety
Lamp was made in 1816. He was created a baronet in 1818. A skilful
fisherman, he wrote, when in declining health, 'Salmonia, or Days of
Fly-fishing', published in 1827. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 57),
speaking of Davy in 1815, says,
"He is now about thirty-three, but with all the freshness and bloom of
five-and-twenty, and one of the handsomest men I have seen in England.
He has a great deal of vivacity, talks rapidly, though with great
precision, and is so much interested in conversation, that his
excitement amounts to nervous impatience, and keeps him in constant
motion."
Davy married, in 1812, a rich widow, Jane Aprecce, 'née' Kerr
(1780-1855). The marriage brought him wealth; but it also, it is said,
impaired the simplicity of his character, and made him ambitious of
social distinction. Miss Berry ('Journal', vol. ii. p. 535) supped with
Lady Davy in May, 1813, to meet the Princess of Wales, and notes that
among the other guests was Byron. Lady Davy, who was so dark a brunette
that Sydney Smith said she was as brown as a dry toast, was for many
years a prominent figure in the society of London and Rome. It was of
her that Madame de Staël said that she had "all Corinne's talents
without her faults or extravagances." Ticknor, who called on her in
June, 1815,
"found her in her parlour, working on a dress, the contents of her
basket strewed about the table, and looking more like home than
anything since I left it. She is small, with black eyes and hair, a
very pleasant face, an uncommonly sweet smile, and, when she speaks,
has much spirit and expression in her countenance. Her conversation is
agreeable, particularly in the choice and variety of her phraseology,
and has more the air of eloquence than I have ever heard before from a
lady." ('Life of George Ticknor', vol. i. P. 57).]
* * * * *
309.--To John Murray.
July 1st, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--There is an error in my dedication. [1] The word "_my_" must
be struck out--"my" admiration, etc.; it is a false construction and
disagrees with the signature. I hope this will arrive in time to prevent
a _cancel_ and serve for a proof; recollect it is only the "my" to be
erased throughout.
There is a critique in the 'Satirist', [2] which I have read,--fairly
written, and, though _vituperative_, very fair in judgment. One part
belongs to you, _viz_., the 4_s_. and 6_d_ charge; it is unconscionable,
but you have no conscience.
Yours truly,
B.
[Footnote 1: The dedication was originally printed thus:
"To Samuel Rogers, Esq., as a slight but most sincere token of my
admiration of his genius."]
[Footnote 2: 'The Satirist' for July 1, 1813 (pp. 70-88), reviews the
'Giaour' at length. It condemns it for its fragmentary character and
consequent obscurity, its carelessness and defects of style; but it also
admits that the poem "abounds with proofs of genius:"
"A word in conclusion. The noble lord appears to have an
aristocratical solicitude to be read only by the opulent. Four
shillings and sixpence for forty-one octavo pages of poetry! and those
pages verily happily answering to Mr. Sheridan's image of a rivulet of
text flowing through a meadow of margin. My good Lord Byron, while you
are revelling in all the sensual and intellectual luxury which the
successful sale of Newstead Abbey has procured for you, you little
think of the privations to which you have subjected us unfortunate
Reviewers, ... in order to enable us to purchase your lordship's
expensive publication."]
* * * * *
310.--To Thomas Moore.
4, Benedictine Street, St. James's, July 8, 1813.
I presume by your silence that I have blundered into something noxious
in my reply to your letter, for the which I beg leave to send beforehand
a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that
unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from
you in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows
what I have said; but he also knows (if he is not as indifferent to
mortals as the _nonchalant_ deities of Lucretius), that you are the last
person I want to offend. So, if I have,--why the devil don't you say it
at once, and expectorate your spleen?
Rogers is out of town with Madame de Stael, who hath published an Essay
against Suicide, [1] which, I presume, will make somebody shoot
himself;--as a sermon by Blenkinsop, in _proof_ of Christianity, sent a
hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a
perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet? and have you
begun or finished a poem? If you won't tell me what _I_ have done, pray
say what you have done, or left undone, yourself. I am still in
equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you _before_ I
go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I sha'n't
cogitate about you afterwards. I shall give the lie to that calumny by
fifty foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is
rife,--without a drop of vinegar or a whiff of sulphur to save you from
infection.
The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town,
which is a great comfort,--for, never having been much together, we are
naturally more attached to each other. I presume the illuminations have
conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. [2] We are
just recovering from tumult and train oil, and transparent fripperies,
and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury Lane had a large
_M.W._, which some thought was Marshal Wellington; others, that it might
be translated into Manager Whitbread; while the ladies of the vicinity
of the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to
themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illustrate. If you don't
answer this, I sha'n't say what _you_ deserve, but I think _I_ deserve a
reply. Do you conceive there is no Post-Bag but the Twopenny? [3]
Sunburn me, if you are not too bad.
[Footnote 1:
"Madame de Stael treats me as the person whom she most delights to
honour; I am generally ordered with her to dinner, as one orders beans
and bacon: she is one of the few persons who surpass expectation; she
has every sort of talent, and would be universally popular, if, in
society, she were to confine herself to her inferior talents--
pleasantry, anecdote, and literature. I have reviewed her 'Essay on
Suicide' in the last 'Edinburgh Review': it is not one of her best,
and I have accordingly said more of the author and the subject than of
the work."
Sir J. Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 269).]
[Footnote 2: One result of the illuminations in honour of the battle of
Vittoria (June 21, 1813), which took place July 7, was a great fire at
Woolwich. Moore was at this time living at Mayfield Cottage near
Ashbourne, in Derbyshire.]
[Footnote 3: Moore's 'Intercepted Letters, or the Twopenny Post-bag',
was published, without his name, in 1813.]
* * * * *
311.--To Thomas Moore.
July 13, 1813.
Your letter set me at ease; for I really thought (as I hear of your
susceptibility) that I had said--I know not what--but something I should
have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you;--though I don't
see how a man with a beautiful wife--_his own_ children,--quiet--fame
--competency and friends, (I will vouch for a thousand, which is more
than I will for a unit in my own behalf,) can be offended with any thing.
Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined--remember I say but
_inclined_--to be seriously enamoured with Lady A[delaide] F[orbes]
[1]--but this----has ruined all my prospects. However, you know her;
is she _clever_, or sensible, or good-tempered? either _would_ do--I
scratch out the _will_. I don't ask as to her beauty--that I see; but my
circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I
would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. I do
not yet know her much, but better than I did.
I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a
ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the
word--"nay, an they'll mouth, I'll rant as well as they." [2]
Now, what are you doing?--writing, we all hope, for our own sakes.
Remember you must edit my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author,
for which I will send you Confessions, dated "Lazaretto," Smyrna, Malta,
or Palermo--one can die any where.
There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a national fête [3]. The
Regent and----are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings
enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhall is the scene--there are six
tickets issued for the modest women, and it is supposed there will be
three to spare. The passports for the lax are beyond my arithmetic.
P. S.--The Stael last night attacked me most furiously--said that I had
"no right to make love--that I had used----barbarously--that I had no
feeling, and was totally _in_sensible to _la belle passion_, and _had_
been all my life." I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it
before. Let me hear from you anon.
[Footnote 1:
"Lady A. F----'was' also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of
women in the past tense. What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade
so soon as beauty! Poor Lady A. F--has not got married. Do you know, I
once had some thoughts of her as a wife; not that I was in love, as
people call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that I ought to
marry, and, meeting her very often in society, the notion came into my
head, not heart, that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so much
of her good qualities--all which was, I believe, quite true--that I
felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, whether 'tant mieux' or
'tant pis', God knows, supposing my proposal accepted."
(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', pp. 108, 109).
Lady Adelaide Forbes, whom Byron in Rome compared to the "Belvedere
Apollo," was the daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard, and his
wife, Lady Selina Rawdon, daughter of the first Earl of Moira. Born in
1789, she died at Dresden, in 1858, unmarried. Lord Moira was Moore's
patron, and, through this connection and political sympathies, Moore was
acquainted with Lord Granard and his family.]
[Footnote 2: Byron possibly quoted the actual words from 'Hamlet' (act
v. sc. 1), referring to Moore's attack on the Regent in 'The Two-penny
Post-bag':
"Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou."
But the letter is destroyed.]
[Footnote 3: The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 12 contains the
announcement that "the Prince Regent has projected a 'Grand National
Fête' in honour of the battle of Vittoria. It is to be held at Vauxhall
Gardens." The 'fête' was held on Tuesday, July 20, beginning with a
banquet, at which such toasts were drunk as "The Marquis of Wellington,"
"Sir Thomas Graham and the other officers engaged," "The Spanish Armies
and the brave Guerillas." The 'báton' of Marshal Jourdan was "disposed
among the plate, so as to be obvious to all." The proceedings ended with
illuminations and dancing.]
* * * * *
312.--To John Hanson.
Sunday, July 18th, 1813.
DEAR SIR,--A Report is in general circulation (which has distressed my
friends, and is not very pleasing to me), that the Purchaser of Newstead
is a _young_ man, who has been over-reached, ill-treated, and ruined, by
me in this transaction of the sale, and that I take an unfair advantage
of the _law_ to enforce the contract. This must be contradicted by a
true and open statement of the circumstances attending, and subsequent
to, the sale, and that immediately and publicly. Surely, if anyone is
ill treated it is myself. He bid his own price; he took time before he
bid at all, and now, when I am actually granting him further time as a
favour, I hear from all quarters that I have acted unfairly. Pray do not
delay on this point; see him, and let a proper and true statement be
drawn up of the sale, etc., and inserted in the papers.
Ever yours,
B.
P.S.--Mr. C. himself, if he has either honour or feeling, will be the
first to vindicate me from so unfounded an implication. It is surely not
for his credit to be supposed _ruined_ or _over-reached_.
* * * * *
313.--To John Murray.
July 22nd, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have great pleasure in accepting your invitation to meet
anybody or nobody as you like best.
Pray what should you suppose the book in the inclosed advertisement to
be? is it anything relating to Buonaparte or Continental Concerns? If
so, it may be worth looking after, particularly if it should turn out to
be your purchase--Lucien's _Epic_.
Believe me, very truly yours,
BYRON.
* * * * *
314.--To Thomas Moore.
July 25, 1813.
I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much
matrimonial progress.
I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley [1] for this last week. My
head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are
muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the Daltons:--she sang one of
your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I
could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical
in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous
complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much
attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this
nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her
complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else.
I must tell you a story. Morris [2] (of indifferent memory) was dining
out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old
wassailers. D'Israeli (a learned Jew) bored him with questions--why
this? and why that? "Why did the Prince act thus?"--"Why, sir, on
account of Lord----, who ought to be ashamed of himself."--"And why
ought Lord----to be ashamed of himself?"--"Because the Prince, sir,
--------"--"And why, sir, did the Prince cut _you_?"--"Because, G--d
d--mme, sir, I stuck to my principles."--"And why did you stick to your
principles?"
Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider
to whom? It nearly killed Morris. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but,
as Goldsmith said about the peas, [3] it was a very good joke when I
heard it--as I did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my
narration.
The season has closed with a dandy ball; [4]--but I have dinners with
the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh [5], where I shall drink
your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till "too much
canaries" wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of
you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party
by a speech from his [----]--the true throne of a Tory [6].
Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them
think for themselves. "I have led my ragamuffins where they are well
peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive," [7] and they are
for the _Townsend_ (_query_, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street
officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for
life.
Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by
night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on
the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung
down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second
figure of number XIX--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can
only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed
him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out
to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or
stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have
scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is
merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians [8] of the post from
peeping. You once complained of my _not_ writing;--I will "heap coals of
fire upon your head" by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading.
Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?),
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Under the title of "An excellent Ballad of a most dreadful
combat, fought between Moore of Moore-Hall and the Dragon of Wantley,"
this ballad forms (in the 12th edition) the Argument of 'The Dragon of
Wantley, a Burlesque Opera', performed at Covent Garden, the libretto of
which is by Sig. Carini, 'i.e.' Henry Carey:
"Have you not heard of the 'Trojan' Horse;
With Seventy Men in his Belly?
This Dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell you;
Devoured he poor Children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup he eat them up,
As one would eat an Apple.
"All sorts of Cattle this Dragon did eat,
Some say he eat up Trees,
And that the Forest sure he would
Devour by degrees.
For Houses and Churches were to him Geese and Turkies;
He eat all, and left none behind,
But some Stones, dear Jack, which he could not crack,
Which on the Hills you'll find."]
[Footnote 2: Charles Morris (1745-1838) served in the 17th Foot, the
Royal Irish Dragoons, and finally in the Second Life Guards. He was
laureate and punch-maker to the Beef-steak Club, founded in 1735 by John
Rich, patentee of Covent Garden Theatre. The Prince of Wales became a
member of the Club in 1785, and Morris was a frequent guest at Carlton
House. Another member of the Club was the Duke of Norfolk, who gave
Morris the villa at Brockham, near Betchworth, where he lived and died.
Morris, who was an admirable song-writer and singer, attached himself
politically to the Prince's party, and attacked Pitt in such popular
ballads as "Billy's too young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the
Farmer." He was, however, disappointed in his hope of reward from his
political patrons, and vented his spleen in his ode, "The Old Whig Poet
to his Old Buff Waistcoat"
"Farewell, thou poor rag of the Muse!
In the bag of the clothesman go lie;
A farthing thou'lt fetch from the Jews,
Which the hard-hearted Christians deny," etc.
Some of his poems deserve the censure of 'The Shade of Pope' (line 225):
"There reeling Morris and his bestial songs."
But others, in their ease and vivacity, hold their own with all but the
best of Moore's songs. A collection of them was printed in two volumes
by Bentley, in 1840, under the title of 'Lyra Urbanica'.]
[Footnote 3: In Forster's 'Life of Goldsmith' (vol. i. p. 34) it is
related that Goldsmith ran away from Trinity College, Dublin, because he
had been beaten by one of the Fellows. He started for Cork with a
shilling in his pocket, on which he lived for three days. He told
Reynolds that he thought
"a handful of grey pease, given him by a girl at a wake (after fasting
for twenty-four hours) the most comfortable repast he had ever made."
Byron may mean that any joke seems good to a man who had not heard one
for a day.]
[Footnote 4:
"I liked the Dandies," says Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts'; "they
were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked
literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madme. de Staël, Lewis,
Horace Twiss, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madme. de Staël
that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a year, etc., etc., till she
praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty!_ and made a set at him for
Albertine ('Libertine', as Brummell baptized her, though the poor girl
was, and is, as correct as maid or wife can be, and very amiable
withal), and a hundred other fooleries besides. The truth is, that,
though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my
minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great
ones at four and twenty. I had gamed and drunk and taken my degrees in
most dissipations, and, having no pedantry, and not being overbearing,
we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made
me a member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being, I take
it, the only literary man (except 'two' others, both men of the world,
M[oore] and S[pencer]) in it. Our Masquerade was a grand one; so was
the Dandy Ball too--at the Argyle,--but 'that' (the latter) was given
by the four chiefs--B[rummel?], M[idmay?], A[lvanley?], and
P[ierreoint?], if I err not."]
[Footnote 5: Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), after studying medicine,
was called to the English Bar in 1795. Originally a supporter of the
French Revolution, he answered Burke's 'Reflections' with his 'Vindiciæ
Gallicæ' (1791). He is "Mr. Macfungus" in the 'Anti-Jacobin's' account
of the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." But his revolutionary
sympathies rapidly cooled, and he publicly disavowed them in his
'Introductory Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations'
(1799). He remained, however, throughout his life, a Whig. His lectures
on "'The Law of Nature and Nations'," delivered at Lincoln's Inn, in
1799, brought him into prominence, both at the Bar and in society. In
1803 he was knighted on accepting the Recordership of Bombay. He
returned to England in 1812, entered Parliament as member for Nairn,
advocated some useful measures, became a Privy Councillor in 1828, and
held office in the Whig Ministry of 1830 as Commissioner of the Board of
Control. In politics, as well as in literature, he disappointed
expectation. His principal works, besides those mentioned above, were
his 'Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830), and his
'History of the Revolution in England in 1688' (1834).
His great intellectual powers were shown to most advantage in society.
Rogers ('Table-Talk', pp. 197, 198) thought him one of the three acutest
men he had ever known.
"He had a prodigious memory, and could repeat by heart more of Cicero
than you could easily believe.... I never met a man with a fuller mind
than Mackintosh,--such readiness on all subjects, such a talker."
"Till subdued by age and illness," wrote Sydney Smith ('Life of
Mackintosh', vol. ii. p. 500), "his conversation was more brilliant
and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the good
fortune to be acquainted with."
As in political life, so in society, he was too much of the lecturer.
Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 265) thought him "a little too precise, a
little too much made up in his manners and conversation." But on all
sides there is evidence to confirm the testimony of Rogers
('Table-Talk', p. 207) that he was a man "who had not a particle of envy
or jealousy in his nature."]
[Footnote 6: George Canning (1770-1827) had been offered the Foreign
Office in 1812 after the assassination of Perceval, on condition that
Castlereagh should lead the House of Commons. He refused the offer.
Elected M.P. for Liverpool in 1812, he had, in July, 1813, disbanded his
followers, and in 1814 left England. He supported Lord Liverpool in
carrying the repressive measures known as the Six Acts (1817-20), and,
on the death of Lord Londonderry, in 1822, entered the Government as
Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It is to the private speech to his
followers, in July, 1813, that Byron refers.
The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 29, 1813, has the following paragraph:
"Mr. Canning it seems has (to use a French phrase) 'reformed' his
political corps. He assembled them at the close of the Session, and
with many expressions of regret for the failure of certain
negociations, which might have been favourable to them as a body,
relieved them from their oaths of allegiance, and recommended them to
pursue in future their objects separately. The Right Honourable
gentleman, perhaps, finds it more convenient for himself to act
unencumbered; and both he and one or two others may find their
interest in disbanding the squad; but some of them are turned off
'without a character'."
The 'Courier' for July 29, quoting the first part of the statement,
adds,
"We believe ... that Mr. Canning is not indisposed to join the present
Cabinet, and may wish one or two of his particular friends to come in
with him."]
[Footnote 7:
"I have led my ragamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three
of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end,
to beg during life."
('Henry IV'., Part I. act v. sc. 3). Townshend, the Bow Street officer,
is described by Cronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 286) as
"a little fat man with a flaxen wig, Kersey-mere breeches, a blue
straight-cut coat, and a broad-brimmed white hat. To the most daring
courage he added great dexterity and cunning; and was said, 'in
propria persona', to have taken more thieves than all the other Bow
Street officers put together."]
[Footnote 8:
"Epistolam, quam attulerat Phileros tabellarius."
(Cic., 'Fam'.,9, 15).]
* * * * *
315.--To Thomas Moore.
July 27, 1813.
When you next imitate the style of "Tacitus," pray add, _de moribus
Germannorum_;--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could
only be taken from the _Woods_, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to
your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting
up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I
shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my
attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero [1]; but don't make a
postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your
sanctity of wax or wafer.
Believe me, ever yours _ indignantly_, BN.
[Footnote 1: _i. e._ Samuel Rogers.]
* * * * *
316.--To Thomas Moore.
July 28, 1813.
Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without
actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the
second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a
miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own.
If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall
send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand
couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege,
sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible
senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I
won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may I be curst if I
do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you--I disclaim you--and by
all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you--or
dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends.
P.S.--I am in training to dine with Sheridan [1] and Rogers this
evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his "Clary
wines pottle-deep." [2] This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate
letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may
wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it.
[Footnote 1: In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has noted the following
impressions of Sheridan:
"In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a
sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, as
he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of
them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de
Staël, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose
names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. Poor
fellow! he got drunk very thoroughly and very soon. It occasionally
fell to my lot to pilot him home--no sinecure, for he was so tipsy
that I was obliged to put on his cocked hat for him. To be sure, it
tumbled off again, and I was not myself so sober as to be able to pick
it up again.
"The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where
he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time
was at Douglas Kinnaird's. I have met him in all places and
parties--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of
Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphry Davy's, at
Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found
him very convivial and delightful.
"I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was
maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see
'From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow,
And Swift expire a driveller and a show'?
"Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid
dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of
sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some
observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs
in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned
round: 'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or
Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either
'presently' derived, or 'inherited' in sinecure or acquisitions from
the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from
temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept
aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal
passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what
it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.
"There was something odd about Sheridan. One day, at dinner, he was
slightly praising that pert pretender and impostor, Lyttelton (the
Parliamentary puppy, still alive, I believe). I took the liberty of
differing from him; he turned round upon me, and said, 'Is that your
real opinion?' I confirmed it. Then said he, 'Fortified by this
concurrence, I beg leave to say that it, in fact, is 'my' opinion
also, and that he is a person whom I do absolutely and utterly
despise, abhor, and detest.' He then launched out into a description
of his despicable qualities, at some length, and with his usual wit,
and evidently in earnest (for he hated Lyttelton). His former
compliment had been drawn out by some preceding one, just as its
reverse was by my hinting that it was unmerited.
"I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of
his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other
people's.
"In 1815 I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane; he was
with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first.
Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring 'that'
of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave
off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I,
'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said
he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the
use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good
gifts of conversation.
"Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no
means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of
impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an
hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner,
that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man,
with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window,
had he come in at the moment.
"Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been
nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.
"One day I saw him take up his own ''Monody on Garrick'.' He lighted
upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady Spencer. On seeing it, he flew
into a rage, and exclaimed 'that it must be a forgery, that he had
never dedicated any thing of his to such a damned canting bitch,'
etc., etc.--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own
dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally
sincere, it would be ludicrous.
"He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his 'School for
Scandal' he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a
row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen.
Latterly, when found drunk one night in the kennel, and asked his name
by the watchmen, he answered, 'Wilberforce.'
"When dying he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied
that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's
lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair
cut, and sitting for his picture."
"I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely
pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always
saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that 'I'
saw, and I watched him), but Colman did. If I had to 'choose' and
could not have both at a time I should say, 'Let me begin the evening
with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman
for supper; Sheridan for claret or port but Colman for every thing,
from the madeira and champagne at dinner the claret with a 'layer' of
'port' between the glasses up to the punch of the night, and down to
the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded
with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life guards,
but Colman a whole regiment--of 'light infantry', to be sure, but
still a regiment."]
[Footnote 2:
"Potations pottle deep"
'Othello', act ii. sc. 3, line 54.]
* * * * *
317.--To John Murray.
July 31, 1813.
Dear Sir--As I leave town early tomorrow, the proof must be sent
to-night, or many days will be lost. If you have any _reviews_ of the
'Giaour' to send, let me have them now. I am not very well to day. I
thank you for the 'Satirist', which is short but savage on this unlucky
affair, and _personally_ facetious on me which is much more to the
purpose than a tirade upon other peoples' concerns [1].
Ever yours,
B.
[Footnote 1: In the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. pp. 150, 151) is an article
headed "Scandalum Magnatum," with the motto from 'Rejected Addresses':
With horn-handled knife,
To kill a tender lamb as dead as mutton."
"A short time back (say the newspapers, and newspapers never say 'the
thing which is not') Lady H. gave a ball and supper. Among the company
were Lord B--n, Lady W--, and Lady C. L--b. Lord B., it would appear,
is a favourite with the latter Lady; on this occasion, however, he
seemed to lavish his attention on another fair object. This preference
so enraged Lady C. L. that in a paroxysm of jealousy she took up a
dessert-knife and stabbed herself. The gay circle was, of course,
immediately plunged in confusion and dismay, which however, was soon
succeeded by levity and scandal. The general cry for medical
assistance was from Lady W--d: Lady W--d!!! And why? Because it was
said that, early after her marriage, Lady W--also took a similar
liberty with her person for a similar cause, and was therefore
considered to have learned from experience the most efficacious remedy
for the complaint. It was also whispered that the Lady's husband had
most to grieve, that the attempt had not fully succeeded. Lady C. L.
is still living.
"The poet has told us how 'Ladies wish to be who love their Lords;'
but this is the first public demonstration in our times to show us how
Ladies wish to be who love, not their own, but others' Lords. 'Better
be with the dead than thus,' cried the jealous fair; and, casting a
languishing look at Lord B--, who, Heaven knows, is more like Pan than
Apollo, she whipt up as pretty a little dessert-knife as a Lady could
desire to commit suicide with,
'And stuck it in her wizzard.'
"The desperate Lady was carried out of the room, and the affair
endeavoured to be hushed up, etc., etc." ]
* * * * *
318.--To John Wilson Croker [1].
Bt. Str., August 2, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter,
when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from
acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am
endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday--and even if I
should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not
the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of
forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my
best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to
be, most truly, Your obliged and most obedient servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: J. W. Croker (1780-1857),--the "Wenham" of Thackeray, the
"Rigby" of Disraeli, and the "Con Crawley" of Lady Morgan's 'Florence
Macarthy', had been made Secretary to the Admiralty in 1809. At his
request Captain Carlton of the 'Boyne', "just then ordered to re-enforce
Sir Edward Pellew" in the Mediterranean, had consented to receive Byron
into his cabin for the voyage,]
* * * * *
319.--To John Murray.
If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal
story--"_Ecce signum_"--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter
discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage.
B.
* * * * *
320.--To John Murray.
Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813.
Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_, for I am _bitten_ again, and have
_quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. Yours ever,
B.
P. S.--You shall have them in the course of the day.
* * * * *
321.--To James Wedderburn Webster.
August 12, 1813.
My Dear Webster,--I am, you know, a detestable correspondent, and write
to no one person whatever; you therefore cannot attribute my silence to
any thing but want of good breeding or good taste, and not to any more
atrocious cause; and as I confess the fault to be entirely
mine--why--you will pardon it.
I have ordered a copy of the 'Giaour' (which is nearly doubled in
quantity in this edition) to be sent, and I will first scribble my name
in the title page. Many and sincere thanks for your good opinion of
book, and (I hope to add) author.
Rushton shall attend you whenever you please, though I should like him
to stay a few weeks, and help my other people in forwarding my chattels.
Your taking him is no less a favor to me than him; and I trust he will
behave well. If not, your remedy is very simple; only don't let him be
idle; honest I am sure he is, and I believe good-hearted and quiet. No
pains has been spared, and a good deal of expense incurred in his
education; accounts and mensuration, etc., he ought to know, and I
believe he does.
I write this near London, but your answer will reach me better in Bennet
Street, etc. (as before). I am going very soon, and if you would do the
same thing--as far as Sicily--I am sure you would not be sorry. My
sister, Mrs. L. goes with me--her spouse is obliged to retrench for a
few years (but _he_ stays at home); so that his _link boy_ prophecy (if
ever he made it) recoils upon himself.
I am truly glad to hear of Lady Frances's good health. Have you added to
your family? Pray make my best respects acceptable to her Ladyship.
Nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear from you as soon and as
fully as you please. Ever most truly yours,
BYRON.
* * * * *
322.--To Thomas Moore.
Bennet Street, August 22, 1813.
As our late--I might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the
town-life leaven in it, we will now, _paulo majora_, prattle a little of
literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. The
Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having,
I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite
neighbourhood [1].
Mad'e. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons [2], who has
been carbonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a
coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers
must be,--but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers
could--write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance--and
somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen
her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior
observation.
In a "mail-coach copy" of the _Edinburgh_ [3] I perceive _The Giaour_ is
second article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack--_pray which
way is the wind?_ The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that
it must be written by Jeffrey _in love_ [4];--you know he is gone to
America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several
_quarters, éperdument amoureux_. Seriously--as Winifred Jenkins [5]
says of Lismahago--Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) "has done the handsome
thing by me," and I say _nothing_. But this I will say, if you and I had
knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have
laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our
posthumous works. By the by, I was call'd _in_ the other day to mediate
between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and--after a long struggle
between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the
dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--I got one to make an
apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever
after [6].
One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high
play;--and one, I can swear for, though very mild, "not fearful," and so
dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would
have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselves very well,
and I put them out of _pain_ as soon as I could.
There is an American _Life_ of G. F. Cooke [7], _Scurra_ deceased,
lately published. Such a book!--I believe, since _Drunken Barnaby's
Journal_ [8] nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and
tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_,
toddy, overflow every page. Two things are rather marvellous,--first,
that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have
found a sober biographer. There are some very laughable things in it,
nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed,
are too regularly registered.
All this time you wonder I am not gone; so do I; but the accounts of the
plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the
quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from
England. It is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability,
be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one likes to have
one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty; but not the worse for
that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to
do;--not stay, if I can help it, but where to go? Sligo is for the
North;--a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in September, with one's ears and
nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or
pocket-handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little
ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--Give me a
_sun_, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and _my_
Heaven is as easily made as your Persian's [9].
_The Giaour_ is now a thousand and odd lines. "Lord Fanny spins a
thousand such a day," [10] eh, Moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but I
forgive it. Yours ever,
BYRON.
P. S.--I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted
letter! let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the
brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more
serious, and entirely new, scrape [11] than any of the last twelve
months,--and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither
live with nor without these women.
I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you
reside near it. Did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you
like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't
think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a
bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and
such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of
antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when
pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a
bath and a _vault_--and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd
that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. I
remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which I can
repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author,
when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if
I should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest
poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with
that volume. Adieu--I commit you to the care of the gods--Hindoo,
Scandinavian, and Hellenic!
P.S. 2d.--There is an excellent review of Grimm's _Correspondence_ and
Madame de Stael in this No. of the _E[dinburgh] R[eview]_ [12]. Jeffrey,
himself, was my critic last year; but this is, I believe, by another
hand. I hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that
damned Lucien Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his poem
in MS., and he really surpasses every thing beneath Tasso. Hodgson is
translating him _against_ another bard. You and (I believe Rogers,)
Scott, Gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the
twain,--that is, if you accept the office. Conceive our different
opinions! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will
think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and Scott
certainly have.
[Footnote 1: The fight, in which Harry Harmer, "the Coppersmith"
(1784-1834), beat Jack Ford, took place at St. Nicholas, near Margate,
August 23, 1813.
Francis Charles Seymour Conway, Earl of Yarmouth (1777-1842), succeeded
his father as second Marquis of Hertford in 1822. The colossal
libertinism and patrician splendour of his life inspired Disraeli to
paint him as "Monmouth" in 'Coningsby', and Thackeray as "Steyne" in
'Vanity Fair'. He married, in 1798, Maria Fagniani, claimed as a
daughter by George Selwyn and by "Old Q.," and enriched by both.
Yarmouth, as an intimate friend of the Regent, and the son of the
Prince's female favourite, was the butt of Moore and the Whig satirists.
Byron gibes at Yarmouth's red whiskers, which helped to gain him the
name of "Red Herrings" in the 'Waltz', line 142, 'note' 1. Yarmouth,
like Byron, patronized the fancy, and, like him also, was a frequenter
of Manton's shooting-gallery in Davies Street; but there is no record of
their being acquainted, though the house, which Byron occupied (13,
Piccadilly Terrace) during his brief married life, was in the occupation
of Lord Yarmouth before Byron took it from the Duchess of Devonshire.]
[Footnote 2: Albert de Staël
"led an irregular life, and met a deplorable death at Doberan, a small
city of the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the coast of the Baltic
Sea, a favourite resort in summer for bathing, gambling, etc. Some
officers of the état-major of Bernadotte had gone to try their luck in
this place of play and pleasure. They quarrelled over some louis, and
a duel immediately ensued. I well remember that the Grand-Duke Paul of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin told me he was there at the time, and, while
walking with his tutors in the park, suddenly heard the clinking of
swords in a neighbouring thicket. They ran to the place, and reached
it just in time to see the head of Albert fall, cleft by one of those
long and formidable sabres which were carried by the Prussian cavalry."
The above passage is quoted from the unpublished 'Souvenirs' of M.
Pictet de Sergy, given by A. Stevens in his 'Life of Madame de Staël',
vol. ii. pp. 204, 205.]
[Footnote 3: Only special copies of books published in Edinburgh came to
London by coach: the bulk was forwarded in Leith smacks.
In the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1813, the 'Giaour' was reviewed as a
poem "full of spirit, character, and originality," and producing an
effect at once "powerful and pathetic." But the reviewer considers that
"energy of character and intensity of emotion... presented in
combination with worthlessness and guilt," are "most powerful corrupters
and perverters of our moral nature," and he deplores Byron's exclusive
devotion to gloomy and revolting subjects.]
[Footnote 4: Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) succeeded Sidney Smith as
editor of the 'Edinburgh Review' (founded 1802), and held the editorship
till 1829. The first number of the 'Review', says Francis Horner,
brought to light "the genius of that little man." During the first six
years of its existence, he wrote upwards of seventy articles. At the
same time, he was a successful lawyer. Called to the Scottish Bar in
1794, he became successively Dean of the Faculty of Advocates (1829),
Lord Advocate (1830), and a Judge of the Court of Sessions (1834) with
the title of Lord Jeffrey. He married, as his second wife, at New York,
in October, 1813, Charlotte Wilkes, a grandniece of John Wilkes.
Jeffrey is described at considerable length by Ticknor, in a letter,
dated February 8, 1814 ('Life of G. Ticknor', vol. i. pp. 43-47):
"You are to imagine, then, before you a short, stout, little
gentleman, about five and a half feet high, with a very red face,
black hair, and black eyes. You are to suppose him to possess a very
gay and animated countenance, and you are to see in him all the
restlessness of a will-o'-wisp ... He enters a room with a countenance
so satisfied, and a step so light and almost fantastic, that all your
previous impressions of the dignity and severity of the 'Edinburgh
Review' are immediately put to flight ... It is not possible, however,
to be long in his presence without understanding something of his real
character, for the same promptness and assurance which mark his
entrance into a room carry him at once into conversation. The moment a
topic is suggested--no matter what or by whom--he comes forth, and the
first thing you observe is his singular fluency," etc., etc.
By the side of this description may be set that given of Jeffrey by
Francis Horner ('Life of Jeffrey', 2nd edition, vol. i. p. 212):
"His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that
cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of
levity and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man whose real
character is so much the reverse."
The secret of his success, both as editor and critic, is that he made
the 'Review' the expression of the Whig character, both in its
excellences and its limitations. A man of clear, discriminating mind, of
cool and placid judgment, he refused to accept the existing state of
things, was persuaded that it might be safely improved, saw the
practical steps required, and had the courage of his convictions. He was
suspicious of large principles, somewhat callous to enthusiasm or
sentiment, intolerant of whatever was incapable of precise expression.
His intellectual strength lay not in the possession of one great gift,
but in the simultaneous exercise of several well-adjusted talents. His
literary taste was correct; but it consisted rather in recognizing
compliance with accepted rules of proved utility than in the readiness
to appreciate novelties of thought and treatment. Hence his criticism,
though useful for his time, has not endured beyond his day. It may be
doubted whether more could be expected from a man who was eminently
successful in addressing a jury. "He might not know his subject, but he
knew his readers" (Bagehot's 'Literary Studies', vol. i. p. 30).
Byron, believing him to have been the author of the famous article on
'Hours of Idleness', attacked him bitterly in 'English Bards, and Scotch
Reviewers'; (lines 460-528). He afterwards recognized his error. 'Don
Juan' (Canto X. stanza xvi.) expresses his mature opinion of a critic
who, whatever may have been his faults, was as absolutely honest as
political prejudice would permit:
"And all our little feuds, at least all 'mine',
Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe
(As far as rhyme and criticism combine
To make such puppets of us things below),
Are over; Here's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!'
I do not know you, and may never know
Your face--but you have acted, on the whole,
Most nobly; and I own it from my soul."
Jeffrey reviewed 'Childe Harold' in the 'Edinburgh Review', No. 38, art.
10; the 'Giaour', No. 42, art. 2; the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos',
No. 45, art. 9; Byron's 'Poetry', No. 54, art. I; 'Manfred', No. 56,
art. 7; 'Beppo', No. 58, art. 2; 'Marino Faliero', No. 70, art. I;
Byron's 'Tragedies', No. 72, art. 5.]
[Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who
marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.]
[Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.]
[Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of
the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he
served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as
"Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago"
and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite,
especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax
MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the
London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for
New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible
habits of drinking."
Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its
other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of
the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was
published in 1813]
[Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a
small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The
author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford.
But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to
Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The title of the second edition
(1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of
England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one
hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had
a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which
is added, Bessy Bell'.
"Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by
Haslewood:
"Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking,
I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking;
Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover,
Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over.
Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning,
Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"]
[Footnote 9:
"A Persian's Heav'n is easily made--
'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."]
[Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.]
[Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]
[Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Staël's 'Germany' was by
Mackintosh.]
* * * * *
323.--To John Murray.
August 26, 1813.
Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so
carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to
preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or
_com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you
know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I
am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some
difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been
lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being
more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines
per book, with all late additions inclusive.
The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he
don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have
thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying
man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.
Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day?
if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not
W's), or we shall be buffeted.
I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and
I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.
Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by
themselves; but this is the age of criticism.
Ever yours,
B.
* * * * *
324.--To Thomas Moore.
August 28, 1813.
Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks,
when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1]
I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815,
that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I
can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country,
reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid.
Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour
to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,----
Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_
or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about
Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour
[3].
I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what
you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far
you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or
less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that
thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with
all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know
you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an
_entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful,
I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right
to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles.
Stick to the East;--the oracle, Staël, told me it was the only poetical
policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from
the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has
contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His
personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no
competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I
have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and
if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are
orientalising, and pave the path for you.
I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a
mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's
_Diable Amoureux_ [6].
It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte.
For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely
suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think
it a subject you might make much of [7].
If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des
Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six
small tomes [8].
I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and
my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives.
[Footnote 1: Jerry Sneak, in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt' (act ii.), says
to Major Sturgeon, "I heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy."]
[Footnote 2:
"The Ode of Horace--
'Natis in usum lætitiæ,' etc.;
some passages of which I told him might be parodied, in allusion to
some of his late adventures:
'Quanta laboras in Charybdi!
Digne puer meliore flammâ!'"
(Moore.)]
[Footnote 3:
"In his first edition of 'The Giaour' he had used this word as a
trisyllable--'Bright as the gem of Giamschid'--but on my remarking to
him, upon the authority of Richardson's Persian Dictionary, that this
was incorrect, he altered it to 'Bright as the ruby of Giamschid.' On
seeing this, however, I wrote to him, 'that, as the comparison of his
heroine's eye to a "ruby" might unluckily call up the idea of its
being bloodshot, he had better change the line to "Bright as the jewel
of Giamschid;"' which he accordingly did in the following edition"
(Moore).
In the 'Sháh Námeh', Giamschid is the fourth sovereign of the ancient
Persians, and ruled seven hundred years. His jewel was a green
chrysolite, the reflection of which gives to the sky its blue-green
colour. Byron probably changed to "ruby" on the authority of 'Vathek'
(p. 58, ed. 1856), where Beckford writes,
"Then all the riches this place contains, as well as the carbuncle of
Giamschid, shall be hers."]
[Footnote 4: Moore's reference (see 'note' 1) to John Richardson's
'Dictionary of Persian, Arabic, and English' (1777), suggests to Byron
that Moore was at work on an Oriental poem, probably 'Lalla Rookh',
which would surpass the 'Charlemagne' of Lucien Buonaparte.]
[Footnote 5: The 'Sháh Námeh' is a rhymed history of Persia, in which
occurs the famous episode of Sohrab and Rustem. It was written in thirty
years by Abul Kásim Firdausí, the last name being given to him by Sultan
Mahmúd because he had shed over the court at Ghizni the delights of
"Paradise." Firdausí is said to have lived about 950 to 1030. (See The
'Sháh Námeh', translated and abridged by James Atkinson.)]
[Footnote 6: Jacques Cazotte (1720-1792) wrote 'La Patte du Chat'
(1741); 'Mille et une Fadaises' (1742); 'Observations sur la lettre de
Rousseau au sujet de la Musique Française' (1754); and other works. 'Le
Diable Amoureux' appeared in 1772. Cazotte escaped the September
Massacres at the Abbaye in 1792, through the heroism of his daughter,
but was executed on the twenty-fifth of the same month.]
[Footnote 7:
"I had already, singularly enough, anticipated this suggestion, by
making the daughter of a Peri the heroine of one of my stories, and
detailing the love adventures of her aërial parent in an episode. In
acquainting Lord Byron with this circumstance, in my answer to the
above letter, I added, 'All I ask of your friendship is--not that you
will abstain from Peris on my account, for that is too much to ask of
human (or, at least, author's) nature--but that, whenever you mean to
pay your addresses to any of these aërial ladies, you will, at once,
tell me so, frankly and instantly, and let me, at least, have my
choice whether I shall be desperate enough to go on, with such a
rival, or at once surrender the whole race into your hands, and take,
for the future, to Antediluvians with Mr. Montgomery'"
(Moore).]
[Footnote 8: Brunet, 's.v.' "Breton de la Martinière," gives the title
of the work: 'Moeurs, usages costumes des Othomans, et abrégé de leur
histoire'. Par A.L. Castellan, Paris, 1812.]
[Footnote 9: Maxime LXXXV.:
"Nous nous persuadons souvent d'aimer les gens plus puissans que nous,
et néanmoins c'est l'interêt seul qui produit notre amitié; nous ne
nous donnons pas à eux pour le bien que nous leur voulons faire, mais
pour celui que nous en voulons recevoir."]
* * * * *
325.--To Thomas Moore.
August--September, I mean--1, 1813.
I send you, begging your acceptance, Castellan, and three vols. on
Turkish literature [1], not yet looked into. The _last_ I will thank you
to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent
to me by that brightest of Northern constellations, Mackintosh
[2],--amongst many other kind things into which India has warmed him;
for I am sure your _home_ Scotsman is of a less genial description.
Your Peri, my dear M., is sacred and inviolable; I have no idea of
touching the hem of her petticoat. Your affectation of a dislike to
encounter me is so flattering, that I begin to think myself a very fine
fellow. But you are laughing at me--"Stap my vitals, Tam! thou art a
very impudent person;" [3] and, if you are not laughing at me, you
deserve to be laughed at. Seriously, what on earth can you, or have you,
to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? It really puts me out of
humour to hear you talk thus.
_The Giaour_ I have added to a good deal; but still in foolish
fragments. It contains about 1200 lines, or rather more--now printing.
You will allow me to send you a copy. You delight me much by telling me
that I am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper; for,
unluckily, I have the reputation of a very bad one. But they say the
devil is amusing when pleased, and I must have been more venomous than
the old serpent, to have hissed or stung in your company. It may be, and
would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but I know _you_
will believe me when I say, that I am as anxious for your success as one
human being can be for another's,--as much as if I had never scribbled a
line. Surely the field of fame is wide enough for all; and if it were
not, I would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. Now you
have a pretty property of some thousand acres there, and when you have
passed your present Inclosure Bill, your income will be doubled,
(there's a metaphor, worthy of a Templar, namely, pert and low,) while
my wild common is too remote to incommode you, and quite incapable of
such fertility. I send you (which return per post, as the printer would
say) a curious letter from a friend of mine [4], which will let you into
the origin of _The Giaour_. Write soon.
Ever, dear Moore, yours most entirely, etc.
P.S.--This letter was written to me on account of a _different story_
circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a little too close
to the text. The part erased contained merely some Turkish names, and
circumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very important or
decorous.
[Footnote 1: Giovanni Battista Toderini (1728-1799) published his work
'Della Letteratura Turchesca', at Venice in 1787. Brunet says, "Cet
ouvrage curieux a été traduit en Français, par Cournand. Paris, 1789
('De La Littérature des Turcs')."]
[Footnote 2:
"Yes, his manner was cold; his shake of the hand came under the genus
'mortmain;' but his heart was overflowing with benevolence"
(Lady Holland's 'Memoir of Sydney Smith', 4th edition, vol. i. p. 440).]
[Footnote 3: A reminiscence of Sheridan's 'Trip to Scarborough' (act v.
sc. 2), itself borrowed from Vanbrugh's 'Relapse' (act iv. sc. 6), in
both of which passages Lord Foppington says, "Strike me dumb, Tam, thou
art a very impudent fellow."]
[Footnote 4: The following is the letter to which Byron refers:
Albany, Monday, August 31, 1813.