By J. F. A. Pyre. From the Atlantic Monthly, Vol. XCIX, p.
547.
And with Byron passion was not merely a gift; it was a doctrine. In
one of his letters to Miss Milbanke, there is an observation which
comes very near to expressing the central principle of his existence.
"The great object of life is sensation--to feel that we exist--even
though in pain." To him, one of the chief curses of society was its
ennui, the futility of its conventional pursuits, which all recognize,
but most endure. He was for fanning the coal of life into a blaze. The
vitality of his emotions demanded this. Hence, when friendship
stagnated, when love lapsed into the inevitable mediocrity and torpor,
he fretted or fled. In ordinary terms, he was fundamentally and
abnormally impatient of being bored.
A being thus constituted, and cherishing so dangerous a doctrine,
naturally found no peace in this life, but was goaded on from pleasure
to pleasure, or from one violence to another. Passionate friendships,
savage quarrels, gaming, carousing, travel and adventure, hard
reading, hard riding, flirtations, and intrigues of varying intensity
and duration, playing the social and literary lion, parliament,
marriage, occupied but did not satisfy him. Avid of sensation, avid of
power, he threw himself impetuously into his pursuits, lavished his
life with the reckless waste of a cataract, and seemed as
inexhaustible. He was too clear-sighted not to perceive the triviality
of many of his occupations, and though too willful to change his ways,
or employ his ample will power in self-restraint, he was not sordid
enough to be happy so. Hence, he became a malcontent. Love soothed
him, nature appeased him for a time; and in the presence of either, he
soared into realms of serene delight and contemplation. But "he could
not keep his spirit at that height;" say, perhaps, he was not a
dreamer; his passion called for outlet in action, in enterprise; and
he became--a writer!