Theresa, sometimes called Thyrza, Macri married an Englishman named

Black, employed in H.M.'s Consular service at Missolonghi. She survived

her husband, and fell into great poverty. Finlay, the historian of

Greece, made an appeal on her behalf, which obtained the support of the

leading members of Athenian society, including M. Charilaus Tricoupi,

for some time Prime Minister at Athens, the son of Spiridion

Tricoupi--Byron's intimate friend. In the 'New York Times' for October

22, 1875, Mr. Anthony Martelaus, United States Consular Agent at Athens,

describes Mrs. Black, whom he visited in August, 1875, as "a tall old

lady, with features inspiring reverence, and showing that at a time past

she was a beautiful woman." Theresa Black died October 15, 1875, aged 80

years. (See letters to the 'Times', October 25 and October 27, 1875, by

Richard Edgcumbe and Neocles Mussabini respectively.)]

137.--To Francis Hodgson.

'Salsette' frigate, in the Dardanelles, off Abydos, May 5, 1810.

I am on my way to Constantinople, after a tour through Greece, Epirus,

etc., and part of Asia Minor, some particulars of which I have just

communicated to our friend and host, H. Drury. With these, then, I shall

not trouble you; but as you will perhaps be pleased to hear that I am

well, etc., I take the opportunity of our ambassador's return to forward

the few lines I have time to despatch. We have undergone some

inconveniences, and incurred partial perils, but no events worthy of

communication, unless you will deem it one that two days ago I swam from

Sestos to Abydos. This, with a few alarms from robbers, and some danger

of shipwreck in a Turkish galliot six months ago, a visit to a Pacha, a

passion for a married woman at Malta, [1] a challenge to an officer, an

attachment to three Greek girls at Athens, with a great deal of

buffoonery and fine prospects, form all that has distinguished my

progress since my departure from Spain.

Hobhouse rhymes and journalises; I stare and do nothing--unless smoking

can be deemed an active amusement. The Turks take too much care of their

women to permit them to be scrutinised; but I have lived a good deal

with the Greeks, whose modern dialect I can converse in enough for my

purposes. With the Turks I have also some male acquaintances--female

society is out of the question. I have been very well treated by the

Pachas and Governors, and have no complaint to make of any kind.

Hobhouse will one day inform you of all our adventures--were I to

attempt the recital, neither _my_ paper nor _your_ patience would hold

out during the operation.

Nobody, save yourself, has written to me since I left England; but

indeed I did not request it. I except my relations, who write quite as

often as I wish. Of Hobhouse's volume I know nothing, except that it is

out; and of my second edition I do not even know _that_, and certainly

do not, at this distance, interest myself in the matter. I hope you and

Bland [2] roll down the stream of sale with rapidity.

Of my return I cannot positively speak, but think it probable Hobhouse

will precede me in that respect. We have been very nearly one year

abroad. I should wish to gaze away another, at least, in these evergreen

climates; but I fear business, law business, the worst of employments,

will recall me previous to that period, if not very quickly. If so, you

shall have due notice.

I hope you will find me an altered personage,--I do not mean in body,

but in manner, for I begin to find out that nothing but virtue will do

in this damned world. I am tolerably sick of vice, which I have tried in

its agreeable varieties, and mean, on my return, to cut all my dissolute

acquaintance, leave off wine and carnal company, and betake myself to

politics and decorum. I am very serious and cynical, and a good deal

disposed to moralise; but fortunately for you the coming homily is cut

off by default of pen and defection of paper.

Good morrow! If you write, address to me at Malta, whence your letters

will be forwarded. You need not remember me to any body, but believe me,

Yours with all faith,

BYRON.

Constantinople, May 15, 1810.

P.S.--My dear H.,--The date of my postscript "will prate to you of my

whereabouts." We anchored between the Seven Towers and the Seraglio on

the 13th, and yesterday settled ashore. [3] The ambassador [4] is laid

up; but the secretary [5] does the honours of the palace, and we have a

general invitation to his palace. In a short time he has his leave of

audience, and we accompany him in our uniforms to the Sultan, etc., and

in a few days I am to visit the Captain Pacha with the commander of our

frigate. [6] I have seen enough of their Pashas already; but I wish to

have a view of the Sultan, the last of the Ottoman race.

Of Constantinople you have Gibbon's description, very correct as far

as I have seen. The mosques I shall have a firman to visit. I shall

most probably ('Deo volente'), after a full inspection of Stamboul,

bend my course homewards; but this is uncertain. I have seen the most

interesting parts, particularly Albania, where few Franks have ever

been, and all the most celebrated ruins of Greece and Ionia.

Of England I know nothing, hear nothing, and can find no person better

informed on the subject than myself. I this moment drink your health in

a bumper of hock; Hobhouse fills and empties to the same; do you and

Drury pledge us in a pint of any liquid you please--vinegar will bear

the nearest resemblance to that which I have just swallowed to your

name; but when we meet again the draught shall be mended and the wine

also.

Yours ever,

B.

[Footnote 1: Mrs. Spencer Smith (see page 244 [Letter 130], [Foot]note 1

[2]).

"In the mean time," writes Galt, who was at Malta with him, "besides

his "Platonic dalliance with Mrs. Spencer Smith, Byron had involved

himself in a quarrel with an officer; but it was satisfactorily

settled"

('Life of Byron', p. 67).]

[Footnote 2: The Rev. Robert Bland (1780-1825), the son of a well-known

London doctor, educated at Harrow and Pembroke College, Cambridge, was

an assistant-master at Harrow when Byron was a schoolboy. There he

became one of a "social club or circle," to which belonged J. Herman

Merivale, Hodgson, Henry Drury, Denman (afterwards Lord Chief Justice),

Charles Pepys (afterwards Lord Chancellor), Launcelot Shadwell

(afterwards Vice-Chancellor), Walford (afterwards Solicitor to the

Customs), and Paley, a son of the archdeacon. A good singer, an amusing

companion, and a clever, impulsive, eccentric creature, he was nicknamed

by his friends "Don Hyperbolo" for his humorous extravagances. Some of

his letters, together with a sketch of his life, are given in the 'Life

of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 226-250. In the 'Monthly

Magazine' for March, 1805, he and Merivale began to publish a series of

translations from the Greek minor poets and epigrammatists, which were

afterwards collected, with additions by Denman, Hodgson, Drury, and

others, and published (1806) under the title of 'Translations, chiefly

from the Greek Anthology, with Tales and Miscellaneous Poems'. Bland and

Merivale (1779-1844) are addressed by Byron ('English Bards, and Scotch

Reviewers', lines 881-890) as "associate bards," and adjured to "resign

Achaia's lyre, and strike your own." The two friends also collaborated

in the 'Collections from the Greek Anthology' (1813), and 'A Collection

of the most Beautiful Poems of the Minor Poets of Greece' (1813). Bland

also published two volumes of original verse: 'Edwy and Elgiva' (1808),

and 'The Four Slaves of Cythera, a Poetical Romance' (1809). Several

generations of schoolboys have learned to write Latin verse from his

'Elements of Latin Hexameters and Pentameters'. A lover of France, and

of the French nation and of French acting, he spoke the language like a

native, travelled in disguise over the countries occupied by Napoleon's

armies, and (1813) published, in collaboration with Miss Plumptre, a

translation of the 'Memoirs' of Baron Grimm and Diderot. He was

appointed Chaplain at Amsterdam, whence he returned in 1811. (For the

circumstances of his quarrel with Hodgson, see page 195 [Letter 102],

[Foot]note 1.) He was successively Curate of Prittlewell and Kenilworth.

At the latter place, where he eked out a scanty income by taking pupils,

he died in 1825 from breaking a blood-vessel.]

[Footnote 3: Byron and Hobhouse landed on May 14, and rode to their inn.

"This," says Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.', vol. ii pp. 216,

217), "was situated at the corner of the main street of Pera, here

four ways meet, all of which were not less mean and dirty than the

lanes of Wapping. The hotel, however (kept by a Mons. Marchand), was a

very comfortable mansion, containing many chambers handsomely

furnished, and a large billiard-room, which is the resort of all the

idle young men of the place. Our dinners there were better served, and

composed of meats more to the English taste, than we had seen at any

tavern since our departure from Falmouth; and the butter of Belgrade

(perfectly fresh, though not of a proper consistency) was a delicacy

to which we had long been unaccustomed. The best London porter, and

nearly every species of wine, except port, were also to be procured in

any quantity. To this eulogy cannot be added the material

recommendation of cheapness."]

[Footnote 4: Robert Adair. (See page 260 [Letter 134], [Foot]note 1.)]

[Footnote 5: Stratford Canning, afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe.]

[Footnote 6: Captain Bathurst, and the officers of the 'Salsette',

anxious to see the arsenal and the Turkish fleet, paid a visit with

Byron to Ali, the Capudan-Pasha, or Lord High Admiral.

"He was," writes Hobhouse ('Travels in Albania, etc.', vol. ii. p.

279), "in his kiosk of audience at Divan-Hane, a splendid chamber,

surrounded by his attendants, and, contrary to custom, received us

sitting. He is reported to be a ferocious character, and certainly had

the appearance of being so."]

138.--To his Mother.

Constantinople, May 18, 1810.

Dear Madam,--I arrived here in an English frigate from Smyrna a few

days ago, without any events worth mentioning, except landing to view

the plains of Troy, and afterwards, when we were at anchor in the

Dardanelles, _swimming_ from Sestos to Abydos, in imitation of

Monsieur Leander, whose story you, no doubt, know too well for me to

add anything on the subject except that I crossed the Hellespont

without so good a motive for the undertaking. As I am just going to

visit the Captain-Pacha, you will excuse the brevity of my letter.

When Mr. Adair takes leave I am to see the Sultan and the mosques,

etc.

Believe me, yours ever,

BYRON.

139.--To his Mother.

Constantinople, May 24, 1810.

Dear Mother,--I wrote to you very shortly the other day on my arrival

here, and, as another opportunity avails, take up my pen again, that

the frequency of my letters may atone for their brevity. Pray did you

ever receive a picture of me in oil by _Sanders_ in _Vigo Lane_,

London? (a noted limner); if not, write for it immediately; it was

paid for, except the frame (if frame there be), before I left England.

I believe I mentioned to you in my last that my only notable exploit

lately has been swimming from Sestos to Abydos in humble imitation of

_Leander_, of amorous memory; though I had no _Hero_ to receive me on

the other shore of the Hellespont.

Of Constantinople you have of course read fifty descriptions by sundry

travellers, which are in general so correct that I have nothing to add

on the subject. When our ambassador takes his leave I shall accompany

him to see the Sultan, and afterwards probably return to Greece. I

have heard nothing of Mr. H----, but one remittance without any letter

from that legal gentleman. If you have occasion for any pecuniary

supply, pray use my funds as far as they _go_, without reserve; and

lest there should not be enough, in my next to Mr. H----I will direct

him to advance any sum you want, leaving at your discretion how much,

in the present state of my affairs, you may think proper to require.

I have already seen the most interesting part of Turkey in Europe and

Asia Minor, but shall not proceed further till I hear from England. In

the mean time I shall expect occasional supplies, according to

circumstances, and shall pass my summer amongst my friends the Greeks

of the Morea. You will direct to Malta, where my letters are

forwarded.

And believe me, with great sincerity, yours ever,

BYRON.

P.S.--Fletcher is well. Pray take care of my boy Robert and the old

man Murray. It is fortunate they returned; neither the youth of the

one nor the age of the other would have suited the changes of climate

and fatigue of travelling.

140.--To Henry Drury.

Constantinople, June 17, 1810.

Though I wrote to you so recently, I break in upon you again to

congratulate you on a child being born, [1] as a letter from Hodgson

apprizes me of that event, in which I rejoice.

I am just come from an expedition through the Bosphorus to the Black

Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled with as

great risk as ever the Argonauts escaped in their hoy. You remember

the beginning of the nurse's dole in the 'Medea', of which I beg you

to take the following translation, done on the summit:--

"Oh how I wish that an embargo

Had kept in port the good ship Argo!

Who, still unlaunched from Grecian docks,

Had never passed the Azure rocks;

But now I fear her trip will be a

Damned business for my Miss Medea, etc., etc.," [2]

as it very nearly was to me;--for, had not this sublime passage been

in my head, I should never have dreamed of ascending the said rocks,

and bruising my carcass in honour of the ancients.

I have now sat on the Cyaneans, swam from Sestos to Abydos (as I

trumpeted in my last), and, after passing through the Morea again,

shall set sail for Santa Maura, and toss myself from the Leucadian

promontory;--surviving which operation, I shall probably join you in

England. Hobhouse, who will deliver this, is bound straight for these

parts; and, as he is bursting with his travels, I shall not anticipate

his narratives, but merely beg you not to believe one word he says,

but reserve your ear for me, if you have any desire to be acquainted

with the truth.

I am bound for Athens once more, and thence to the Morea; but my stay

depends so much on my caprice, that I can say nothing of its probable

duration. I have been out a year already, and may stay another; but I

am quicksilver, and say nothing positively. We are all very much

occupied doing nothing, at present. We have seen every thing but the

mosques, which we are to view with a firman on Tuesday next. But of

these and other sundries let H. relate, with this proviso, that

'I' am to be referred to for authenticity; and I beg leave to

contradict all those things whereon he lays particular stress. But, if

he soars at any time into wit, I give you leave to applaud, because

that is necessarily stolen from his fellow-pilgrim. Tell Davies [3]

that Hobhouse has made excellent use of his best jokes in many of his

Majesty's ships of war; but add, also, that I always took care to

restore them to the right owner; in consequence of which he (Davies)

is no less famous by water than by land, and reigns unrivalled in the

cabin as in the "Cocoa Tree." [4]

And Hodgson has been publishing more poesy--I wish he would send me

his 'Sir Edgar', [5] and Bland's 'Anthology', to Malta,

where they will be forwarded. In my last, which I hope you received, I

gave an outline of the ground we have covered. If you have not been

overtaken by this despatch, Hobhouse's tongue is at your service.

Remember me to Dwyer, who owes me eleven guineas. Tell him to put them

in my banker's hands at Gibraltar or Constantinople. I believe he paid

them once, but that goes for nothing, as it was an annuity.

I wish you would write. I have heard from Hodgson frequently. Malta is

my post-office. I mean to be with you by next Montem. You remember the

last,--I hope for such another; but after having swam across the

"broad Hellespont," I disdain Datchett. [6] Good afternoon!

I am yours, very sincerely,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: Henry Drury, afterwards Archdeacon of Wilts.]

[Footnote 2: Euripides, 'Medea', lines 1-7--

[Greek (transliterated)]:

Eith _ophel Argous mae diaptasthai skaphos

Kolch_on es aian kuaneas Symplaegadas,

maed en napaisi Paeliou pedein pote

tmaetheisa peukae, maed eretm_osai cheras

andr_on ariste_on, oi to pagchryson deros

Pelia metaelthon ou gar an despoin emae

Maedeia pyrgous gaes epleus I_olkias k.t.l.]]

[Footnote 3: For Scrope Berdmore Davies, see page 165 [Letter 86],

[Foot]note 2.]

[Footnote 4: "The Cocoa Tree," now 64, St. James's Street, formerly in

Pall Mall, was, in the reign of Queen Anne, the Tory Chocolate House. It

became a club about 1745, and was then regarded as the headquarters of

the Jacobites. Probably for this reason Gibbon, whose father professed

Jacobite opinions, belonged to it on coming to live in London (see his

journal for November, 1762, and his letter to his stepmother, January

18, 1766: "The Cocoa Tree serves now and then to take off an idle

hour"). Byron was a member.]

[Footnote 5: Hodgson's 'Sir Edgar' was published in 1810.]

[Footnote 6: Alluding to his having swum across the Thames with Henry

Drury, after the Montem, to see how many times they could make the

passage backwards and forwards without touching land. In this trial

Byron was the conqueror.]

141.--To his Mother.

Constantinople, June 28, 1810.

My dear Mother,--I regret to perceive by your last letter that several

of mine have not arrived, particularly a very long one written in

November last from Albania, where I was on a visit to the Pacha of

that province. Fletcher has also written to his spouse perpetually.

Mr. Hobhouse, who will forward or deliver this, and is on his return

to England, can inform you of our different movements, but I am very

uncertain as to my own return. He will probably be down in Notts, some

time or other; but Fletcher, whom I send back as an incumbrance

(English servants are sad travellers), will supply his place in the

interim, and describe our travels, which have been tolerably

extensive.

I have written twice briefly from this capital, from Smyrna, from

Athens and other parts of Greece; from Albania, the Pacha of which

province desired his respects to my mother, and said he was sure I was

a man of high birth because I had small ears, curling hair, and white

hands!!! He was very kind to me, begged me to consider him as a

father, and gave me a guard of forty soldiers through the forests of

Acarnania. But of this and other circumstances I have written to you

at large, and yet hope you will receive my letters.

I remember Mahmout Pacha, the grandson of Ali Pacha, at Yanina, (a

little fellow of ten years of age, with large black eyes, which our

ladies would purchase at any price, and those regular features which

distinguish the Turks,) asked me how I came to travel so young,

without anybody to take care of me. This question was put by the

little man with all the gravity of threescore. I cannot now write

copiously; I have only time to tell you that I have passed many a

fatiguing, but never a tedious moment; and all that I am afraid of is

that I shall contract a gypsy like wandering disposition, which will

make home tiresome to me: this, I am told, is very common with men in

the habit of peregrination, and, indeed, I feel it so. On the 3rd of

May I swam from _Sestos_ to _Abydos_. You know the story of Leander,

but I had no _Hero_ to receive me at landing.

I also passed a fortnight on the Troad. The tombs of Achilles and

Æsyetes still exist in large barrows, similar to those you have

doubtless seen in the North. The other day I was at Belgrade (a

village in these environs), to see the house built on the same site as

Lady Mary Wortley's.[1] By-the-by, her ladyship, as far as I can

judge, has lied, but not half so much as any other woman would have

done in the same situation.

I have been in all the principal mosques by the virtue of a firman:

this is a favor rarely permitted to Infidels, but the ambassador's

departure obtained it for us. I have been up the Bosphorus into the

Black Sea, round the walls of the city, and, indeed, I know more of it

by sight than I do of London. I hope to amuse you some winter's

evening with the details, but at present you must excuse me;--I am not

able to write long letters in June. I return to spend my summer in

Greece. I write often, but you must not be alarmed when you do not

receive my letters; consider we have no regular post farther than

Malta, where I beg you will in future send your letters, and not to

this city.

Fletcher is a poor creature, and requires comforts that I can dispense

with. He is very sick of his travels, but you must not believe his

account of the country. He sighs for ale, and idleness, and a wife,

and the devil knows what besides. I have not been disappointed or

disgusted. I have lived with the highest and the lowest. I have been

for days in a Pacha's palace, and have passed many a night in a

cowhouse, and I find the people inoffensive and kind. I have also

passed some time with the principal Greeks in the Morea and Livadia,

and, though inferior to the Turks, they are better than the Spaniards,

who, in their turn, excel the Portuguese. Of Constantinople you will

find many descriptions in different travels; but Lady Mary Wortley

errs strangely when she says, "St. Paul's would cut a strange figure

by St. Sophia's." [2] I have been in both, surveyed them inside and

out attentively. St. Sophia's is undoubtedly the most interesting from

its immense antiquity, and the circumstance of all the Greek emperors,

from Justinian, having been crowned there, and several murdered at the

altar, besides the Turkish Sultans who attend it regularly. But it is

inferior in beauty and size to some of the mosques, particularly

"Soleyman," etc., and not to be mentioned in the same page with St.

Paul's (I speak like a _Cockney_). However, I prefer the Gothic

cathedral of Seville to St. Paul's, St. Sophia's, and any religious

building I have ever seen.

The walls of the Seraglio are like the walls of Newstead gardens, only

higher, and much in the same _order_; but the ride by the walls of the

city, on the land side, is beautiful. Imagine four miles of immense

triple battlements, covered with ivy, surmounted with 218 towers, and,

on the other side of the road, Turkish burying-grounds (the loveliest

spots on earth), full of enormous cypresses. I have seen the ruins of

Athens, of Ephesus, and Delphi. I have traversed great part of Turkey,

and many other parts of Europe, and some of Asia; but I never beheld a

work of nature or art which yielded an impression like the prospect on

each side from the Seven Towers to the end of the Golden Horn. [3]

Now for England. I am glad to hear of the progress of 'English Bards',

etc. Of course, you observed I have made great additions to the new

edition. Have you received my picture from Sanders, Vigo Lane, London?

It was finished and paid for long before I left England: pray, send

for it. You seem to be a mighty reader of magazines: where do you pick

up all this intelligence, quotations, etc., etc.? Though I was happy

to obtain my seat without the assistance of Lord Carlisle, I had no

measures to keep with a man who declined interfering as my relation on

that occasion, and I have done with him, though I regret distressing

Mrs. Leigh, [4] poor thing!--I hope she is happy.

It is my opinion that Mr. B----ought to marry Miss R----. Our first

duty is not to do evil; but, alas! that is impossible: our next is to

repair it, if in our power. The girl is his equal: if she were his

inferior, a sum of money and provision for the child would be some,

though a poor, compensation: as it is, he should marry her. I will

have no gay deceivers on my estate, and I shall not allow my tenants a

privilege I do not permit myself--_that_ of debauching each other's

daughters. God knows, I have been guilty of many excesses; but, as I

have laid down a resolution to reform, and lately kept it, I expect

this Lothario to follow the example, and begin by restoring this girl

to society, or, by the beard of my father! he shall hear of it. Pray

take some notice of Robert, who will miss his master; poor boy, he was

very unwilling to return. I trust you are well and happy. It will be a

pleasure to hear from you.

Believe me, yours very sincerely,

BYRON.

P.S.--How is Joe Murray?

P.S.--I open my letter again to tell you that Fletcher having

petitioned to accompany me into the Morea, I have taken him with me,

contrary to the intention expressed in my letter.

[Footnote 1: Alluding to his having swum across the Thames with Henry

Drury, after the Montem, to see how many times they could make the

passage backwards and forwards without touching land. In this trial

Byron was the conqueror.]

[Footnote 2: Lady Mary describes the village of Belgrade in a letter to

Pope, dated June 17, 1717 ('Letters', edit. 1893, vol. i. pp. 331-333).

But Walsh ('Narrative of a Residence in Constantinople', vol. ii. 108,

109), who visited Belgrade in 1821, says that no trace of her

description was then to be seen--no view of the Black Sea, no houses of

the wealthy Christians, no fountains, and no fruit-trees. "The very

tradition" of the house, which had disappeared before Dallaway visited

Belgrade in 1794, had perished.]

[Footnote 3: Lady Mary does not compare St. Paul's with St. Sophia's,

but with the mosque of the Valide,

"the largest of all, built entirely of marble, the most prodigious,

and, I think, the most beautiful structure I ever saw, be it spoken to

the honour of our sex, for it was founded by the mother of Mahomet IV.

Between friends, "St. Paul's Church would make a pitiful figure near

it"

('Letters', vol. i. p. 356).

[Footnote 4:

"The European with the Asian shore

Sprinkled with palaces; the ocean stream

Here and there studded with a seventy-four;

Sophia's cupola with golden gleam;

The cypress groves; Olympus high and hoar;

The twelve isles, and the more than I could dream,

Far less describe, present the very view

Which charm'd the charming Mary Montagu."

_Don Juan_, Canto V. stanza 3.]

[Footnote 5: For Mrs. Leigh, 'née' Augusta Byron, see page 18 [Letter

7], [Foot]note 1.]

142.--To his Mother.

Constantinople, July 1, 1810.

My dear Mother,--I have no wish to forget those who have any claim

upon me, and shall be glad of the good wishes of R----when he can

express them in person, which it seems will be at some very indefinite

date. I shall perhaps essay a speech or _two_ in the House when I

return, but I am not ambitious of a parliamentary career, which is of

all things the most degrading and unthankful. If I could by my own

efforts inculcate the truth, that a man is not intended for a despot

or a machine, but as an individual of a community, and fit for the

society of kings, so long as he does not trespass on the laws or rebel

against just governments, I might attempt to found a new Utopia; but

as matters are at present, in course you will not expect me to

sacrifice my health or self to your or anyone's ambition.

To quit this new idea for something you will understand better, how

are Miss R's, the W's, and Mr. R's blue bastards? for I suppose he

will not deny their _authorship_, which was, to say the least,

imprudent and immoral. Poor Miss----: if he does not marry, and marry

her speedily, he shall be no tenant of mine from the day that I set

foot on English shores.

I am glad you have received my portrait from Sanders. It does not

_flatter_ me, I think, but the subject is a bad one, and I must even

do as Fletcher does over his Greek wines--make a face and hope for

better. What you told me of----is not _true_, which I regret for

your sake and your gossip-seeking neighbours, whom present with my

good wishes, and believe me,

Yours, etc.,

BYRON.

143.--To Francis Hodgson.

Constantinople, July 4, 1810.

My Dear Hodgson,--Twice have I written--once in answer to your last,

and a former letter when I arrived here in May. That I may have

nothing to reproach myself with, I will write once more--a very

superfluous task, seeing that Hobhouse is bound for your parts full of

talk and wonderment. My first letter went by an ambassadorial express;

my second by the _Black John_ lugger; my third will be conveyed by

Cam, the miscellanist.

I shall begin by telling you, having only told it you twice before,

that I swam from Sestos to Abydos. I do this that you may be impressed

with proper respect for me, the performer; for I plume myself on this

achievement more than I could possibly do on any kind of glory,

political, poetical, or rhetorical. Having told you this, I will tell

you nothing more, because it would be cruel to curtail Cam's

narrative, which, by-the-by, you must not believe till confirmed by

me, the eye-witness. I promise myself much pleasure from contradicting

the greatest part of it. He has been plaguily pleased by the

intelligence contained in your last to me respecting the reviews of

his hymns. I refreshed him with that paragraph immediately, together

with the tidings of my own third edition, which added to his

recreation. But then he has had a letter from a Lincoln's Inn Bencher,

full of praise of his harpings, and vituperation of the other

contributions to his _Missellingany_, which that sagacious person is

pleased to say must have been put in as FOILS (_horresco referens!_);

furthermore he adds that Cam "is a genuine pupil of Dryden,"

concluding with a comparison rather to the disadvantage of Pope.

I have written to Drury by Hobhouse; a letter is also from me on its

way to England intended for that matrimonial man. Before it is very

long, I hope we shall again be together; the moment I set out for

England you shall have intelligence, that we may meet as soon as

possible. Next week the frigate sails with Adair; I am for Greece,

Hobhouse for England. A year together on the 2nd July since we sailed

from Falmouth. I have known a hundred instances of men setting out in

couples, but not one of a similar return. Aberdeen's [1] party split;

several voyagers at present have done the same. I am confident that

twelve months of any given individual is perfect ipecacuanha.

The Russians and Turks are at it, [2] and the Sultan in person is soon

to head the army. The Captain Pasha cuts off heads every day, and a

Frenchman's ears; the last is a serious affair. By-the-by I like the

Pashas in general. Ali Pasha called me his son, desired his

compliments to my mother, and said he was sure I was a man of birth,

because I had "small ears and curling hair." He is Pasha of Albania

six hundred miles off, where I was in October--a fine portly person.

His grandson Mahmout, a little fellow ten years old, with large black

eyes as big as pigeon's eggs, and all the gravity of sixty, asked me

what I did travelling so young without a _Lala_ (tutor)?

Good night, dear H. I have crammed my paper, and crave your

indulgence. Write to me at Malta. I am, with all sincerity,

Yours affectionately,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: George Hamilton Gordon, Earl of Aberdeen (1784-1860),

afterwards Prime Minister (1852-55), succeeded his grandfather as fourth

earl in 1801. Grandson of the purchaser of Mrs. Byron's old home of

Gight, and writer of an article in the 'Edinburgh Review' (July, 1805)

on Gell's 'Topography of Troy,' he has a place in 'English Bards, and

Scotch Reviewers' (lines 508, 509). He also appears as "sullen

Aberdeen," in a suppressed stanza of 'Childe Harold', Canto II., which

in the MS. follows stanza xiii., among those who

"----pilfer all the Pilgrim loves to see,

All that yet consecrates the fading scene."

After leaving Harrow, and before entering St. John's College, Cambridge,

he spent two years (1801-3) in Greece. On his return he founded the

Athenian Society, and became President of the Society of Antiquaries

from 1812 to 1846. It may be added that he was Foreign Secretary when

the Porte acknowledged the independence of Greece by the Treaty of

Adrianople (1829).]

[Footnote 2: In this war, the scene of which lay chiefly in Wallachia,

Bosnia, Bulgaria, and Servia, the main episodes were the two battles of

Rustchuk (July 4 and October 14, 1811), the recapture of Silistria by

the Russians, and the Convention of Giurgevo between the contending

forces (October 28, 1811).]g

144.--To his Mother.

Athens, July 25, 1810.

Dear Mother,--I have arrived here in four days from Constantinople,

which is considered as singularly quick, particularly for the season

of the year. I left Constantinople with Adair, at whose adieux of

leave I saw Sultan Mahmout, [1] and obtained a firman to visit the

mosques, of which I gave you a description in my last letter, now

voyaging to England in the _Salsette_ frigate, in which I visited the

plains of Troy and Constantinople. Your northern gentry can have no

conception of a Greek summer; which, however, is a perfect frost

compared with Malta and Gibraltar, where I reposed myself in the shade

last year, after a gentle gallop of four hundred miles, without

intermission, through Portugal and Spain. You see, by my date, that I

am at Athens again, a place which I think I prefer, upon the whole, to

any I have seen.

My next movement is to-morrow into the Morea, where I shall probably

remain a month or two, and then return to winter here, if I do not

change my plans, which, however, are very variable, as you may

suppose; but none of them verge to England.

The Marquis of Sligo, [2] my old fellow-collegian, is here, and wishes

to accompany me into the Morea. We shall go together for that purpose;

but I am woefully sick of travelling companions, after a year's

experience of Mr. Hobhouse, who is on his way to Great Britain. Lord

S. will afterwards pursue his way to the capital; and Lord B., having

seen all the wonders in that quarter, will let you know what he does

next, of which at present he is not quite certain. Malta is my

perpetual post-office, from which my letters are forwarded to all

parts of the habitable globe:--by the bye, I have now been in Asia,

Africa, and the east of Europe, and, indeed, made the most of my time,

without hurrying over the most interesting scenes of the ancient

world. Fletcher, after having been toasted and roasted, and baked, and

grilled, and eaten by all sorts of creeping things, begins to

philosophise, is grown a refined as well as a resigned character, and

promises at his return to become an ornament to his own parish, and a

very prominent person in the future family pedigree of the Fletchers,

who I take to be Goths by their accomplishments, Greeks by their

acuteness, and ancient Saxons by their appetite. He (Fletcher) begs

leave to send half-a-dozen sighs to Sally his spouse, and wonders

(though I do not) that his ill-written and worse spelt letters have

never come to hand; as for that matter, there is no great loss in

either of our letters, saving and except that I wish you to know we

are well, and warm enough at this present writing, God knows. You must

not expect long letters at present, for they are written with the

sweat of my brow, I assure you. It is rather singular that Mr. Hanson

has not written a syllable since my departure. Your letters I have

mostly received as well as others; from which I conjecture that the

man of law is either angry or busy.

I trust you like Newstead, and agree with your neighbours; but you

know _you_ are a _vixen_--is not that a dutiful appellation? Pray,

take care of my books and several boxes of papers in the hands of

Joseph; and pray leave me a few bottles of champagne to drink, for I

am very thirsty;--but I do not insist on the last article, without you

like it. I suppose you have your house full of silly women, prating

scandalous things. Have you ever received my picture in oil from

Sanders, London? It has been paid for these sixteen months: why do you

not get it? My suite, consisting of two Turks, two Greeks, a Lutheran,

and the nondescript, Fletcher, are making so much noise, that I am

glad to sign myself

Yours, etc., etc.,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: On July 10, 1810, the British ambassador, Robert Adair, had

his audience of Sultan Mahmoud II, and on the 14th the 'Salsette' set

sail. She touched at the island of Zea to land Byron, who thence made

his way to Athens.

It was in making war against Mahmoud II, the conqueror of Ali Pasha and

the destroyer of the Janissaries, that Byron lost his life. The

following description of the Sultan is given by Hobhouse ('Travels in

Albania, etc.,' vol. ii. pp. 364, 365):--

"The chamber was small and dark, or rather illumined with a gloomy

artificial light, reflected from the ornaments of silver, pearls, and

other white brilliants, with which it is thickly studded on every side

and on the roof. The throne, which is supposed the richest in the

world, is like a four-posted bed, but of a dazzling splendour; the

lower part formed of burnished silver and pearls, and the canopy and

supporters encrusted with jewels. It is in an awkward position, being

in one corner of the room, and close to a fireplace.

"Sultan Mahmoud was placed in the middle of the throne, with his feet

upon the ground, which, notwithstanding the common form of squatting

upon the hams, seems the seat of ceremony. He was dressed in a robe of

yellow satin, with a broad border of the darkest sable; his dagger,

and an ornament on his breast, were covered with diamonds; the front

of his white and blue turban shone with a large treble sprig of

diamonds, which served as a buckle to a high, straight plume of

bird-of-paradise feathers. He, for the most part, kept a hand on each

knee, and neither moved his body nor head, but rolled his eyes from

side to side, without fixing them for an instant upon the ambassador

or any other person present. Occasionally he stroked and turned up his

beard, displaying a milk-white hand glittering with diamond rings. His

eyebrows, eyes, and beard, being of a glossy jet black, did not appear

natural, but added to that indescribable majesty which it would be

difficult for any but an Oriental sovereign to assume; his face was

pale, and regularly formed, except that his nose (contrary to the

usual form of that feature in the Ottoman princes) was slightly turned

up and pointed; his whole physiognomy was mild and benevolent, but

expressive and full of dignity. He appeared of a short and small

stature, and about thirty years old, which is somewhat more than his

actual age."

Byron, at the audience, claimed some precedence in the procession as a

peer. On May 23, 1819, Moore sat at dinner next to Stratford Canning

(afterwards Lord Stratford de Redcliffe), who

"gave a ludicrous account of Lord Byron's insisting upon taking

precedence of the 'corps diplomatique' in a procession at

Constantinople (when Canning was secretary), and upon Adair's refusing

it, limping, with as much swagger as he could muster, up the hall,

cocking a foreign military hat on his head. He found, however, he was

wrong, and wrote a very frank letter acknowledging it, and offering to

take his station anywhere"

('Journals, etc., of Thomas Moore', vol. ii. p. 313).

An incident of the voyage from Constantinople to Zea is mentioned by

Moore ('Life', p. 110). Picking up a Turkish dagger on the deck, Byron

looked at the blade, and then, before replacing it in the sheath, was

overheard to say to himself, "I should like to know how a person feels

after committing a murder." In 'Firmilian; a Spasmodic Tragedy' (scene

ix.) the sentiment is parodied. Firmilian determines to murder his

friend, in order to shriek "delirious at the taste of sin!" He had

already blown up a church full of people; but--

"I must have

A more potential draught of guilt than this

With more of wormwood in it! ...

...

Courage, Firmilian! for the hour has come

When thou canst know atrocity indeed,

By smiting him that was thy dearest friend.

And think not that he dies a vulgar death--

'Tis poetry demands the sacrifice!"

And he hurls Haverillo from the summit of the Pillar of St. Simeon

Stylites.

[Footnote 3: For Lord Sligo, see page 100 [Letter 51], [Foot]note 2 [4].

Lord Sligo was at Athens with a 12-gun brig and a crew of fifty men. At

Athens, also, were Lady Hester Stanhope and Michael Bruce, on their way

through European Turkey. As the party were passing the Piraeus, they saw

a man jump from the mole-head into the sea. Lord Sligo, recognizing the

bather as Byron, called to him to dress and join them. Thus began what

Byron, in his Memoranda, speaks of as "the most delightful acquaintance

which I formed in Greece." From Lord Sligo Moore heard the following

stories:--

Weakened and thinned by his illness at Patras, Byron returned to Athens.

There, standing one day before a looking-glass, he said to Lord Sligo,

"How pale I look! I should like, I think, to die of a consumption." "Why

of a consumption?" asked his friend. "Because then," he answered, "the

women would all say, 'See that poor Byron--how interesting he looks in

dying!'"

He often spoke of his mother to Lord Sligo, who thought that his feeling

towards her was little short of aversion. "Some time or other," he said,

"I will tell you why I feel thus towards her." A few days after, when

they were bathing together in the Gulf of Lepanto, pointing to his naked

leg and foot, he exclaimed,

"Look there! It is to her false delicacy at my birth I owe that

deformity; and yet as long as I can remember, she has never ceased to

taunt and reproach me with it. Even a few days before we parted, for

the last time, on my leaving England, she, in one of her fits of

passion, uttered an imprecation upon me, praying that I might prove as

ill formed in mind as I am in body!"

Relics of ancient art only appealed to Byron's imagination among their

original and natural surroundings. For collections and collectors he had

a contempt which, like everything he thought or felt, was unreservedly

expressed. Lord Sligo wished to spend some money in digging for

antiquities, and Byron offered to act as his agent, and to see the money

honestly applied. "You may safely trust 'me'" he said; "I am no

dilettante. Your connoisseurs are all thieves; but I care too little for

these things ever to steal them."

His system of thinning himself, which he had begun before he left

England, was continued abroad. While at Athens, where he stayed at the

Franciscan Convent, he took a Turkish bath three times a week, his usual

drink being vinegar and water, and his food seldom more than a little

rice. The result was that, when he returned to England, he weighed only

9 stone 11-1/2 lbs. (see page 127 [Letter 71], [Foot]note 1).

Moore's account of the "cordial friendship" between Byron and Lady

Hester Stanhope requires modification. Lady Hester (see page 302, note

I) thus referred in after-life to her meeting with Byron, if her

physician's recollection is to be trusted ('Memoirs', by Dr. Meryon,

vol. iii. pp. 218, 219)--

"'I think he was a strange character: his generosity was for a motive,

his avarice for a motive; one time he was mopish, and nobody was to

speak to him; another, he was for being jocular with everybody. Then

he was a sort of Don Quixote, fighting with the police for a woman of

the town; and then he wanted to make himself something great ... At

Athens I saw nothing in him but a well-bred man, like many others;

for, as for poetry, it is easy enough to write verses; and as for the

thoughts, who knows where he got them? ... He had a great deal of vice

in his looks--his eyes set close together, and a contracted brow--so'

(imitating it). 'Oh, Lord! I am sure he was not a liberal man,

whatever else he might be. The only good thing about his looks was

this part' (drawing her hand under the cheek down the front of her

neck), 'and the curl on his forehead.'"

Michael Bruce, with the help of Sir Robert Wilson and Capt. Hutchinson,

assisted Count Lavallette to escape from Paris in January, 1816. For an

account, see Wilson's intercepted letter to Lord Grey ('Memoires du

Comte Lavallette', vol. ii. p. 132) and the story of their trial,

conviction, and sentence before the Assize Court of the Department of

the Seine (April 22-24, 1816), given in the 'Annual Register' for 1816,

pp. 329-336.]

145.--To his Mother.

Athens, July 27, 1810.

Dear Mother,--I write again in case you have not received my letters.

To-day I go into the Morea, which will, I trust, be colder than this

place, where I have tarried in the expectation of obtaining rest.

Sligo has very kindly proposed a union of our forces for the occasion,

which will be perhaps as uncomfortable to him as to myself, judging

from previous experience, which, however, may be explained by my own

irritability and hurry.

At Constantinople I visited the Mosques, plains, and grandees of that

place, which, in my opinion, cannot be compared with Athens and its

neighbourhood; indeed I know of no Turkish scenery to equal this,

which would be civilised and Celtic enough with a little alteration in

situation and inhabitants. An usual custom here, as at Cadiz, is to

part with wives, daughters, etc., for a trifling present of gold or

English arms (which the Greeks set a high value upon). The women are

generally of the middle height, with Turkish eyes, straight hair, and

clear olive complexion, but are not nearly so amorous as the Spanish

belles, whom I have described to you in former letters. I have some

feats to boast of when I return, which is undesired and undesirable--I

always except you from my complaints, and hope you will expect me with

the same delight that I anticipate meeting you. You can have no

conception of Lord S.'s ecstasy when I informed him of my probable

movements. The man is well enough and sensible enough by himself; but

the swarm of attendants, Turks, Greeks, Englishmen that he carries

with him, makes his society, or rather theirs, an intolerable

annoyance. If you will read this letter to----, you may imagine in

what capacity I believe you excel.

Before I left England I promised to give my silver-mounted whip (in

your chamber) to Charles. Present it to him, poor boy, for I should

not like him to suppose me as unfaithful as his _amante_, who, by the

way is no better than she should be, and no great loss to himself or

his family. Hobhouse is silent, and has, I suppose, not yet returned;

indeed, like myself, he appears to love the world better than England,

and the Devil more than either, who I regret is not present to be

informed of this. Do not fail, if you see him (Hobhouse, I mean), to

repeat it, and the assurance that I am to him, with yourself,

Ever affectionately,

BYRON.

146.--To his Mother.

Patras, July 30, 1810.

DEAR MADAM,--In four days from Constantinople, with a favourable wind,

I arrived in the frigate at the island of Teos, from whence I took a

boat to Athens, where I met my friend the Marquis of Sligo, who

expressed a wish to proceed with me as far as Corinth. At Corinth we

separated, he for Tripolitza, I for Patras, where I had some business

with the consul, Mr. Strané, in whose house I now write. He has

rendered me every service in his power since I quitted Malta on my way

to Constantinople, whence I have written to you twice or thrice. In a

few days I visit the Pacha[1] at Tripolitza, make the tour of the

Morea, and return again to Athens, which at present is my

head-quarters. The heat is at present intense. In England, if it

reaches 98° you are all on fire: the other day, in travelling between

Athens and Megara, the thermometer was at 125°!!! Yet I feel no

inconvenience; of course I am much bronzed, but I live temperately,

and never enjoyed better health.

Before I left Constantinople, I saw the Sultan (with Mr. Adair), and

the interior of the mosques, things which rarely happen to travellers.

Mr. Hobhouse is gone to England: I am in no hurry to return, but have

no particular communications for your country, except my surprise at

Mr. Hanson's silence, and my desire that he will remit regularly. I

suppose some arrangement has been made with regard to Wymondham and

Rochdale. Malta is my post-office, or to Mr. Strané, consul-general,

Patras, Morea. You complain of my silence--I have written twenty or

thirty times within the last year: never less than twice a month, and

often more. If my letters do not arrive, you must not conclude that we

are eaten, or that there is war, or a pestilence, or famine: neither

must you credit silly reports, which I dare say you have in Notts., as

usual. I am very well, and neither more nor less happy than I usually

am; except that I am very glad to be once more alone, for I was sick

of my companion,--not that he was a bad one, but because my nature

leads me to solitude, and that every day adds to this disposition. If

I chose, here are many men who would wish to join me--one wants me to

go to Egypt, another to Asia, of which I have seen enough. The greater

part of Greece is already my own, so that I shall only go over my old

ground, and look upon my old seas and mountains, the only

acquaintances I ever found improve upon me.

I have a tolerable suite, a Tartar, two Albanians, an interpreter,

besides Fletcher; but in this country these are easily maintained.

Adair received me wonderfully well, and indeed I have no complaints

against any one. Hospitality here is necessary, for inns are not. I

have lived in the houses of Greeks, Turks, Italians, and

English--to-day in a palace, to-morrow in a cow-house; this day with a

Pacha, the next with a shepherd. I shall continue to write briefly,

but frequently, and am glad to hear from you; but you fill your

letters with things from the papers, as if English papers were not

found all over the world. I have at this moment a dozen before me.

Pray take care of my books, and believe me, my dear mother,

Yours very faithfully,

BYRON.

[Footnote 1: For Veli Pasha, see page 248 [Letter 131], [Foot]note 1

[2].]

147.--To his Mother.

Patras, October 2, 1810.

DEAR MADAM,--It is now several months since I have received any

communication from you; but at this I am not surprised, nor indeed

have I any complaint to make, since you have written frequently, for

which I thank you; but I very much condemn Mr. Hanson, who has not

taken the smallest notice of my many letters, nor of my request before

I left England, which I sailed from on this very day _fifteen_ months

ago. Thus one year and a quarter have passed away, without my

receiving the least intelligence on the state of my affairs, and they

were not in a posture to admit of neglect; and I do conceive and

declare that Mr. Hanson has acted negligently and culpably in not

apprising me of his proceedings; I will also add uncivilly. His

letters, were there any, could not easily miscarry; the communications

with the Levant are slow, but tolerably secure, at least as far as

Malta, and there I left directions which I know would be observed.

I have written to you several times from Constantinople and Smyrna.

You will perceive by my date I am returned into the Morea,[1] of which

I have been making the tour, and visiting the Pacha, who gave me a

fine horse, and paid me all possible honours and attention. I have now

seen a good portion of Turkey in Europe, and Asia Minor, and shall

remain at Athens, and in the vicinity, till I hear from England.

I have punctually obeyed your injunctions of writing frequently, but I

shall not pretend to describe countries which have been already amply

treated of. I believe before this time Mr. Hobhouse will have arrived

in England, and he brings letters from me, written at Constantinople.

In these I mention having seen the Sultan and the mosques, and that I

swam from Sestos to Abydos, an exploit of which I take care to boast.

I am here on business at present, but Athens is my head-quarters,

where I am very pleasantly situated in a Franciscan convent. Believe

me to be, with great sincerity, yours very affectionately,

BYRON.

P.S.--Fletcher is well, and discontented as usual; his wife don't

write, at least her scrawls have not arrived. You will address to

Malta. Pray have you never received my picture in oil from Sanders,

Vigo Lane, London?

[Footnote 1: In a note upon the Advertisement prefixed to his 'Siege of

Corinth', Byron says,

"I visited all three (Tripolitza, Napoli, and Argos) in 1810-11, and,

in the course of journeying through the country, from my first arrival

in 1809, I crossed the Isthmus eight times in my way from Attica to

the Morea, over the mountains, or in the other direction, when passing

from the Gulf of Athens to that of Lepanto."]

148.--To Francis Hodgson.

Patras, Morea, October 3, 1810.

As I have just escaped from a physician and a fever, which confined me

five days to bed, you won't expect much _allegrezza_ in the ensuing

letter. In this place there is an indigenous distemper, which when the

wind blows from the Gulf of Corinth (as it does five months out of

six), attacks great and small, and makes woful work with visiters.

Here be also two physicians, one of whom trusts to his genius (never

having studied)--the other to a campaign of eighteen months against

the sick of Otranto, which he made in his youth with great effect.

When I was seized with my disorder, I protested against both these

assassins;--but what can a helpless, feverish, toast-and-watered poor

wretch do? In spite of my teeth and tongue, the English consul, my

Tartar, Albanians, dragoman, forced a physician upon me, and in three

days vomited and glystered me to the last gasp. In this state I made

my epitaph--take it:--

Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove,

To keep my lamp _in_ strongly strove:

But Romanelli was so stout,

He beat all three--and _blew_ it _out_.

But Nature and Jove, being piqued at my doubts, did, in fact, at last,

beat Romanelli, and here I am, well but weakly, at your service.

Since I left Constantinople, I have made a tour of the Morea, and

visited Veley Pacha, who paid me great honours, and gave me a pretty

stallion. H. is doubtless in England before even the date of this

letter:--he bears a despatch from me to your bardship. He writes to me

from Malta, and requests my journal, if I keep one. I have none, or he

should have it; but I have replied in a consolatory and exhortatory

epistle, praying him to abate three and sixpence in the price of his

next boke, seeing that half a guinea is a price not to be given for

any thing save an opera ticket.

As for England, it is long since I have heard from it. Every one at

all connected with my concerns is asleep, and you are my only

correspondent, agents excepted. I have really no friends in the world;

though all my old school companions are gone forth into that world,

and walk about there in monstrous disguises, in the garb of guardsmen,

lawyers, parsons, fine gentlemen, and such other masquerade dresses.

So, I here shake hands and cut with all these busy people, none of

whom write to me. Indeed I ask it not;--and here I am, a poor

traveller and heathenish philosopher, who hath perambulated the

greatest part of the Levant, and seen a great quantity of very

improvable land and sea, and, after all, am no better than when I set

out--Lord help me!

I have been out fifteen months this very day, and I believe my

concerns will draw me to England soon; but of this I will apprise you

regularly from Malta. On all points Hobhouse will inform you, if you

are curious as to our adventures. [1] I have seen some old English

papers up to the 15th of May. I see the _Lady of the Lake_[2]

advertised. Of course it is in his old ballad style, and pretty. After

all, Scott is the best of them. The end of all scribblement is to

amuse, and he certainly succeeds there. I long to read his new

romance.

And how does _Sir Edgar_? and your friend Bland? I suppose you are

involved in some literary squabble. The only way is to despise all

brothers of the quill. I suppose you won't allow me to be an author,

but I contemn you all, you dogs!--I do.

You don't know Dallas, do you? He had a farce [3] ready for the stage

before I left England, and asked me for a prologue, which I promised,

but sailed in such a hurry I never penned a couplet. I am afraid to

ask after his drama, for fear it should be damned--Lord forgive me for

using such a word! but the pit, Sir, you know the pit--they will do

those things in spite of merit. I remember this farce from a curious

circumstance. When Drury Lane [4] was burnt to the ground, by which

accident Sheridan and his son lost the few remaining shillings they

were worth, what doth my friend Dallas do? Why, before the fire was

out, he writes a note to Tom Sheridan, [5] the manager of this

combustible concern, to inquire whether this farce was not converted

into fuel with about two thousand other unactable manuscripts, which

of course were in great peril, if not actually consumed. Now was not

this characteristic?--the ruling passions of Pope are nothing to it.

Whilst the poor distracted manager was bewailing the loss of a

building only worth £300,000., together with some twenty thousand

pounds of rags and tinsel in the tiring rooms, Bluebeard's elephants,

[6] and all that--in comes a note from a scorching author, requiring

at his hands two acts and odd scenes of a farce!!

Dear H., remind Drury that I am his well-wisher, and let Scrope Davies

be well affected towards me. I look forward to meeting you at

Newstead, and renewing our old champagne evenings with all the glee of

anticipation. I have written by every opportunity, and expect

responses as regular as those of the liturgy, and somewhat longer. As

it is impossible for a man in his senses to hope for happy days, let

us at least look forward to merry ones, which come nearest to the

other in appearance, if not in reality; and in such expectations I

remain, etc.

[Footnote 1: Hobhouse, writing to Byron from Malta, July 31, 1810, says,

"Mrs. Bruce picked out a pretty picture of a woman in a fashionable

dress in Ackerman's 'Repository', and observed it was vastly like Lord

Byron. I give you warning of this, for fear you should make another

conquest and return to England without a curl upon your head. Surely

the ladies copy Delilah when they crop their lovers after this fashion.

'Successful youth! why mourn thy ravish'd hair,

Since each lost lock bespeaks a conquer'd fair,

And young and old conspire to make thee bare?'

This makes me think of my poor 'Miscellany', which is quite dead, if

indeed that can be said to be dead which was never alive; not a soul

knows, or knowing will speak of it." Again, July 15, 1811, he writes:

"The 'Miscellany' is so damned that my friends make it a point of

politeness not to mention it ever to me."]

[Footnote 2: 'The Lady of the Lake' was published in May, 1810.]

[Footnote 3: For Dallas, see page 168 [Letter 87], [Foot]note 1. His

farce, entitled, 'Not at Home', was acted at the Lyceum, by the Drury

Lane Company, in November, 1809. It was afterwards printed, with a

prologue (intended to have been spoken) written by Walter Rodwell

Wright, author of 'Horae Ionicae'.]

[Footnote 4: Drury Lane Theatre, burned down in 1791, and reopened in

1794, was again destroyed by fire on February 24, 1809.]

[Footnote 5: Thomas Sheridan (1775-1817), originally in the army, was at

this time assisting his father, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, as manager of

Drury Lane Theatre. His 'Bonduca' was played at Covent Garden in May,

1808. He married, in 1805, Caroline Henrietta Callender, who was "more

beautiful than anybody but her daughters," afterwards Mrs. Norton, the

Duchess of Somerset, and Lady Dufferin. He died at the Cape of Good Hope

in 1817. "Tom Sheridan and his beautiful wife" were at Gibraltar in

1809, when Byron and Hobhouse landed on the Rock, and, as Galt states

('Life of Byron', p. 58), brought the news to Lady Westmorland of their

arrival. (See 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers', lines 572, 573, and

note 1.)]

[Footnote 6: 'Bluebeard, or Female Curiosity', by George Colman the

Younger (1762-1836), was being acted at Drury Lane in January, 1809.

"Bluebeard's elephants" were wicker-work constructions. It was at Covent

Garden that the first live elephant was introduced two years later.

Johnstone, the machinist employed at Drury Lane, famous for the

construction of wooden children, wicker-work lions, and paste-board

swans, was present with a friend.

"Among the attractions of this Christmas foolery, a _real_ elephant

was introduced.... The friend, who sat close to Johnstone, jogged his

elbow, whispering, 'This is a bitter bad job for Drury! Why, the

elephant's _alive_! He'll carry all before him, and beat you hollow.

What do you think on't, eh?' 'Think on't?' said Johnstone, in a tone

of utmost contempt, 'I should be very sorry if I couldn't make a much

better elephant than that, at any time'"

(George Colman the Younger, 'Random Records', vol. i. pp. 228, 229).]

149.--To John Cam Hobhouse.

Patras, Morea, October 4th, 1810.

MY Dear Hobhouse,--I wrote to you two days ago, but the weather and my

friend Strané's conversation being much the same, and my ally Nicola

[1] in bed with a fever, I think I may as well talk to you, the

rather, as you can't answer me, and excite my wrath with impertinent

observations, at least for three months to come.

I will try not to say the same things I have set down in my other

letter of the 2nd, but I can't promise, as my poor head is still giddy

with my late fever.

I saw the Lady Hesther Stanhope [2] at Athens, and do not admire "that

dangerous thing a female wit." She told me (take her own words) that

she had given you a good set-down at Malta, in some disputation about

the Navy; from this, of course, I readily inferred the contrary, or in

the words of an _acquaintance_ of ours, that "you had the best of it."

She evinced a similar disposition to _argufy_ with me, which I avoided

by either laughing or yielding. I despise the sex too much to squabble

with them, and I rather wonder you should allow a woman to draw you

into a contest, in which, however, I am sure you had the advantage,

she abuses you so bitterly.

I have seen too little of the Lady to form any decisive opinion, but I

have discovered nothing different from other she-things, except a

great disregard of received notions in her conversation as well as

conduct. I don't know whether this will recommend her to our sex, but

I am sure it won't to her own. She is going on to Constantinople.

Ali Pacha is in a scrape. Ibrahim Pacha and the Pacha of Scutari have

come down upon him with 20,000 Gegdes and Albanians, retaken Berat,

and threaten Tepaleni. Adam Bey is dead, Vely Pacha was on his way to

the Danube, but has gone off suddenly to Yanina, and all Albania is in

an uproar.

The mountains we crossed last year are the scene of warfare, and there

is nothing but carnage and cutting of throats. In my other letter I

mentioned that Vely had given me a fine horse. On my late visit he

received me with great pomp, standing, conducted me to the door with

his arm round my waist, and a variety of civilities, invited me to

meet him at Larissa and see his army, which I should have accepted,

had not this rupture with Ibrahim taken place. Sultan Mahmout is in a

phrenzy because Vely has not joined the army. We have a report here,

that the Russians have beaten the Turks and taken Muchtar Pacha

prisoner, but it is a Greek Bazaar rumour and not to be believed.

I have now treated you with a dish of Turkish politics. You have by

this time gotten into England, and your ears and mouth are full of

"Reform Burdett, Gale Jones, [3] minority, last night's division,

dissolution of Parliament, battle in Portugal," and all the cream of

forty newspapers.

In my t'other letter, to which I am perpetually obliged to refer, I

have offered some moving topics on the head of your _Miscellany_, the

neglect of which I attribute to the half guinea annexed as the

indispensable equivalent for the said volume.

Now I do hope, notwithstanding that exorbitant demand, that on your

return you will find it selling, or, what is better, sold, in

consequence of which you will be able to face the public with your new

volume, if that intention still subsists.

My journal, did I keep one, should be yours. As it is I can only offer

my sincere wishes for your success, if you will believe it possible

for a brother scribbler to be sincere on such an occasion.

Will you execute a commission for me? Lord Sligo tells me it was the

intention of Miller [4] in Albemarle Street to send by him a letter to

me, which he stated to be of consequence. Now I have no concern with

Mr. M. except a bill which I hope is paid before this time; will you

visit the said M. and if it be a pecuniary matter, refer him to

Hanson, and if not, tell me what he means, or forward his letter.

I have just received an epistle from Galt, [5] with a Candist poem,

which it seems I am to forward to you. This I would willingly do, but

it is too large for a letter, and too small for a parcel, and besides

appears to be damned nonsense, from all which considerations I will

deliver it in person. It is entitled the "Fair Shepherdess," or rather

"Herdswoman;" if you don't like the translation take the original

title "[Greek (transliterated): hae boskopoula]." Galt also writes

something not very intelligible about a "Spartan State paper" which by

his account is everything but Laconic. Now the said Sparta having some

years ceased to be a state, what the devil does he mean by a paper? he

also adds mysteriously that the _affair_ not being concluded, he

cannot at present apply for it.

Now, Hobhouse, are you mad? or is he? Are these documents for Longman

& Co.? Spartan state papers! and Cretan rhymes! indeed these

circumstances super-added to his house at Mycone (whither I am

invited) and his Levant wines, make me suspect his sanity. Athens is

at present infested with English people, but they are moving, _Dio

bendetto!_ I am returning to pass a month or two; I think the spring

will see me in England, but do not let this transpire, nor cease to

urge the most dilatory of mortals, Hanson. I have some idea of

purchasing the Island of Ithaca; I suppose you will add me to the

Levant lunatics. I shall be glad to hear from your Signoria of your

welfare, politics, and literature.

Your last letter closes pathetically with a postscript about a

nosegay; [6] I advise you to introduce that into your next sentimental

novel. I am sure I did not suspect you of any fine feelings, and I

believe you were laughing, but you are welcome.

_Vale_; "I can no more," like Lord Grizzle. [7]

Yours,

[Greek (transliterated): Mpair_on]

[Footnote 1: Nicolo Giraud, from whom Byron was learning Italian.]

[Footnote 2: Hobhouse had written to Byron, speaking of Lady Hester

Stanhope "as the most superior woman, as Bruce says, of all the world."

The daughter of Pitt's favourite sister, Lady Hester (1776-1839) was her

uncle's constant companion (1803-6). In character she resembled her

grandfather far more than her uncle, who owed his cool judgment to the

Grenville blood. Lady Hester inherited the overweening pride,

generosity, courage, and fervent heat of the "Great Commoner," as well

as his indomitable will. Like him, she despised difficulties, and

ignored the word "impossibility." Her romantic ideas were also combined

with keen insight into character, and much practical sagacity. These

were the qualities which made her for many years a power among the wild

tribes of Lebanon, with whom she was in 1810 proceeding to take up her

abode (1813-39).]

[Footnote 3: Sir Francis Burdett (1770-1844), a lifelong friend of Lady

Hester Stanhope, was afterwards Hobhouse's colleague as M.P. for

Westminster (1820-33). He was committed to the Tower in 1810 for

publishing a speech which he delivered in the House of Commons in

defence of John Gale Jones, whom the House (February, 1810) had sent to

Newgate for a breach of privilege. Sir Francis refused to obey the

warrant, and told the sergeant-at-arms that he would not go unless taken

by force. His refusal led to riots near his house (77, Piccadilly), in

which the Horse Guards, or "Oxford Blues" as they were called, gained

the name of "Piccadilly Butchers" (Lord Albemarle's 'Recollections',

vol. i. pp. 317, 318).]

[Footnote 4: See page 319, 'note 2.']

[Footnote 5: John Galt (1779-1839), the novelist, was at this time

endeavouring to establish a place of business at Mycone, in the Greek

Archipelago. He published in 1812 his 'Voyages and Travels in the Years'

1809, 1810, 1811. (For his meeting with Byron at Gibraltar, see page

243 [Letter 130], [Foot]note 1.)]

[Footnote 6: Hobhouse's letter to Byron of July 31, 1810, ends with the

following postscript:--

"I kept the half of your little nosegay till it withered entirely, and

even then I could not bear to throw it away. I can't account for this,

nor can you either, I dare say."]

[Footnote 7: Lord Grizzle, in Fielding's 'Tom Thumb', is the first peer

in the Court of King Arthur, who, jealous of Tom Thumb and in love with

the Princess Huncamunca, turns traitor, and is run through the body by

Tom Thumb. It is the ghost, not Grizzle, who says, "I can no more." (See

page 226 [Letter 124], [Foot]note 1.)]

150.--To Francis Hodgson.

Athens, November 14, 1810.

MY DEAR HODGSON,--This will arrive with an English servant whom I send

homewards with some papers of consequence. I have been journeying in

different parts of Greece for these last four months, and you may

expect me in England somewhere about April, but this is very dubious.

Hobhouse you have doubtless seen; he went home in August to arrange

materials for a tour he talks of publishing. You will find him well

and scribbling--that is, scribbling if well, and well if scribbling.

I suppose you have a score of new works, all of which I hope to see

flourishing, with a hecatomb of reviews. _My_ works are likely to have

a powerful effect with a vengeance, as I hear of divers angry people,

whom it is proper I should shoot at, by way of satisfaction. Be it so,

the same impulse which made "Otho a warrior" will make me one also. My

domestic affairs being moreover considerably deranged, my appetite for

travelling pretty well satiated with my late peregrinations, my

various hopes in this world almost extinct, and not very brilliant in

the next, I trust I shall go through the process with a creditable

_sang froid_ and not disgrace a line of cut-throat ancestors.

I regret in one of your letters to hear you talk of domestic

embarrassments, [1] indeed I am at present very well calculated to

sympathise with you on that point. I suppose I must take to

dram-drinking as a _succedaneum_ for philosophy, though as I am

happily not married, I have very little occasion for either just yet.

Talking of marriage puts me in mind of Drury, who I suppose has a

dozen children by this time, all fine fretful brats; I will never

forgive Matrimony for having spoiled such an excellent Bachelor. If

anybody honours my name with an inquiry tell them of "my whereabouts"

and write if you like it. I am living alone in the Franciscan

monastery with one "fri_ar_" (a Capuchin of course) and one "fri_er_"

(a bandy-legged Turkish cook), two Albanian savages, a Tartar, and a

Dragoman. My only Englishman departs with this and other letters. The

day before yesterday the Waywode (or Governor of Athens) with the

Mufti of Thebes (a sort of Mussulman Bishop) supped here and made

themselves beastly with raw rum, and the Padré of the convent being as

drunk as _we_, my _Attic_ feast went off with great _éclat_. I have

had a present of a stallion from the Pacha of the Morea. I caught a

fever going to Olympia. I was blown ashore on the Island of Salamis,

in my way to Corinth through the Gulf of Ægina. I have kicked an

Athenian postmaster, I have a friendship with the French consul [2]

and an Italian painter, and am on good terms with five Teutones and

Cimbri, Danes and Germans, [2] who are travelling for an Academy.

Vale!

Yours, [Greek: Mpair_on] [3]

[Footnote 1: Hodgson's father, Rector of Barwick-in-Elmet, Yorkshire,

died in October, 1810, heavily in debt. Francis Hodgson undertook

to satisfy the claims of his father's creditors ('Life of the Rev. Francis

Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 147, 148).]

[Footnote 2: M. Fauriel, the French Consul: Lusieri, an Italian artist

employed by Lord Elgin; Nicolo Giraud, from whom Byron learned Italian,

and to whose sister Lusieri proposed; Baron Haller, a Bavarian

'savant'; and Dr. Bronstett, of Copenhagen, were among his friends

at Athens.]

[Footnote 3: The signature represents "Byron" in modern Greek, [Greek:

Mp] being the correct transliteration of 'B'.]

151.--To his Mother.

Athens, January 14, 1811.

My Dear Madam,--I seize an occasion to write as usual, shortly, but

frequently, as the arrival of letters, where there exists no regular

communication, is, of course, very precarious. I have lately made

several small tours of some hundred or two miles about the Morea,

Attica, etc., as I have finished my grand giro by the Troad,

Constantinople, etc., and am returned down again to Athens. I believe

I have mentioned to you more than once that I swam (in imitation of

Leander, though without his lady) across the Hellespont, from Sestos

to Abydos. Of this, and all other particulars, Fletcher, whom I have

sent home with papers, etc., will apprise you. I cannot find that he

is any loss; being tolerably master of the Italian and modern Greek

languages, which last I am also studying with a master, I can order

and discourse more than enough for a reasonable man. Besides, the

perpetual lamentations after beef and beer, the stupid, bigoted

contempt for every thing foreign, and insurmountable incapacity of

acquiring even a few words of any language, rendered him, like all

other English servants, an incumbrance. I do assure you, the plague of

speaking for him, the comforts he required (more than myself by far),

the pilaws (a Turkish dish of rice and meat) which he could not eat,

the wines which he could not drink, the beds where he could not sleep,

and the long list of calamities, such as stumbling horses, want of

_tea!!!_ etc., which assailed him, would have made a lasting source of

laughter to a spectator, and inconvenience to a master. After all, the

man is honest enough, and, in Christendom, capable enough; but in

Turkey, Lord forgive me! my Albanian soldiers, my Tartars and

Jannissary, worked for him and us too, as my friend Hobhouse can

testify.

It is probable I may steer homewards in spring; but to enable me to do

that, I must have remittances. My own funds would have lasted me very

well; but I was obliged to assist a friend, who, I know, will pay me;

but, in the mean time, I am out of pocket. At present, I do not care

to venture a winter's voyage, even if I were otherwise tired of

travelling; but I am so convinced of the advantages of looking at

mankind instead of reading about them, and the bitter effects of

staying at home with all the narrow prejudices of an islander, that I

think there should be a law amongst us, to set our young men abroad,

for a term, among the few allies our wars have left us.

Here I see and have conversed with French, Italians, Germans, Danes,

Greeks, Turks, Americans, etc., etc., etc.; and without losing sight

of my own, I can judge of the countries and manners of others. Where I

see the superiority of England (which, by the by, we are a good deal

mistaken about in many things), I am pleased, and where I find her

inferior, I am at least enlightened. Now, I might have stayed, smoked

in your towns, or fogged in your country, a century, without being

sure of this, and without acquiring any thing more useful or amusing

at home. I keep no journal, nor have I any intention of scribbling my

travels. I have done with authorship, and if, in my last production, I

have convinced the critics or the world I was something more than they

took me for, I am satisfied; nor will I hazard _that reputation_ by a

future effort. It is true I have some others in manuscript, but I

leave them for those who come after me; and, if deemed worth

publishing, they may serve to prolong my memory when I myself shall

cease to remember. I have a famous Bavarian artist taking some views

of Athens, etc., etc., for me. This will be better than scribbling, a

disease I hope myself cured of. I hope, on my return, to lead a quiet,

recluse life, but God knows and does best for us all; at least, so

they say, and I have nothing to object, as, on the whole, I have no

reason to complain of my lot. I am convinced, however, that men do

more harm to themselves than ever the devil could do to them. I trust

this will find you well, and as happy as we can be; you will, at

least, be pleased to hear I am so, and

Yours ever.

152.--To his Mother.

Athens, February 28, 1811.

DEAR MADAM,--As I have received a firman for Egypt, etc., I shall

proceed to that quarter in the spring, and I beg you will state to Mr.

Hanson that it is necessary to [send] further remittances. On the

subject of Newstead, I answer as before, _No_. If it is necessary to

sell, sell Rochdale. Fletcher will have arrived by this time with my

letters to that purport. I will tell you fairly, I have, in the first

place, no opinion of funded property; if, by any particular

circumstances, I shall be led to adopt such a determination, I will,

at all events, pass my life abroad, as my only tie to England is

Newstead, and, that once gone, neither interest nor inclination lead

me northward. Competence in your country is ample wealth in the East,

such is the difference in the value of money and the abundance of the

necessaries of life; and I feel myself so much a citizen of the world,

that the spot where I can enjoy a delicious climate, and every luxury,

at a less expense than a common college life in England, will always

be a country to me; and such are in fact the shores of the

Archipelago. This then is the alternative--if I preserve Newstead, I

return; if I sell it, I stay away. I have had no letters since yours

of June, but I have written several times, and shall continue, as

usual, on the same plan.

Believe me, yours ever, BYRON.

P.S.--I shall most likely see you in the course of the summer, but, of

course, at such a distance, I cannot specify any particular month.

153.--To his Mother.

'Volage' frigate, at sea, June 25, 1811.

DEAR MOTHER,--This letter, which will be forwarded on our arrival at

Portsmouth, probably about the 4th of July, is begun about

twenty-three days after our departure from Malta. I have just been two

years (to a day, on the 2d of July) absent from England, and I return

to it with much the same feelings which prevailed on my departure,

viz. indifference; but within that apathy I certainly do not comprise

yourself, as I will prove by every means in my power. You will be good

enough to get my apartments ready at Newstead; but don't disturb

yourself, on any account, particularly mine, nor consider me in any

other light than as a visiter. I must only inform you that for a long

time I have been restricted to an entire vegetable diet, neither fish

nor flesh coming within my regimen; so I expect a powerful stock of

potatoes, greens, and biscuit; I drink no wine. I have two servants,

middle-aged men, and both Greeks. It is my intention to proceed first

to town, to see Mr. Hanson, and thence to Newstead, on my way to

Rochdale. I have only to beg you will not forget my diet, which it is

very necessary for me to observe. I am well in health, as I have

generally been, with the exception of two agues, both of which I

quickly got over.

My plans will so much depend on circumstances, that I shall not

venture to lay down an opinion on the subject. My prospects are not

very promising, but I suppose we shall wrestle through life like our

neighbours; indeed, by Hanson's last advices, I have some apprehension

of finding Newstead dismantled by Messrs. Brothers,[1] etc., and he

seems determined to force me into selling it, but he will be baffled.

I don't suppose I shall be much pestered with visiters; but if I am,

you must receive them, for I am determined to have nobody breaking in

upon my retirement: you know that I never was fond of society, and I

am less so than before. I have brought you a shawl, and a quantity of

attar of roses, but these I must smuggle, if possible. I trust to find

my library in tolerable order.

Fletcher is no doubt arrived. I shall separate the mill from Mr. B--'s

farm, for his son is too gay a deceiver to inherit both, and place

Fletcher in it, who has served me faithfully, and whose wife is a good

woman; besides, it is necessary to sober young Mr. B--, or he will

people the parish with bastards. In a word, if he had seduced a

dairy-maid, he might have found something like an apology; but the

girl is his equal, and in high life or low life reparation is made in

such circumstances. But I shall not interfere further than (like

Buonaparte) by dismembering Mr. B.'s _kingdom_, and erecting part of

it into a principality for field-marshal Fletcher! I hope you govern

my little _empire_ and its sad load of national debt with a wary hand.

To drop my metaphor, I beg leave to subscribe myself

Yours ever, BYRON.

P.S. July 14.--This letter was written to be sent from Portsmouth,

but, on arriving there, the squadron was ordered to the Nore, from

whence I shall forward it. This I have not done before, supposing you

might be alarmed by the interval mentioned in the letter being longer

than expected between our arrival in port and my appearance at

Newstead.

[Footnote 1: Brothers, an upholsterer of Nottingham, had put in an

execution at Newstead for £1600.]

154.--To R. C. Dallas.

_Volage_ Frigate, at sea, June 28, 1811.

After two years' absence (to a day, on the 2d of July, before which we

shall not arrive at Portsmouth), I am retracing my way to England. I

have, as you know, spent the greater part of that period in Turkey,

except two months in Spain and Portugal, which were then accessible. I

have seen every thing most remarkable in Turkey, particularly the

Troad, Greece, Constantinople, and Albania, into which last region

very few have penetrated so high as Hobhouse and myself. I don't know

that I have done anything to distinguish me from other voyagers,

unless you will reckon my swimming from Sestos to Abydos, on May 3d,

1810, a tolerable feat for a _modern_.

I am coming back with little prospect of pleasure at home, and with a

body a little shaken by one or two smart fevers, but a spirit I hope

yet unbroken. My affairs, it seems, are considerably involved, and

much business must be done with lawyers, colliers, farmers, and

creditors. Now this, to a man who hates bustle as he hates a bishop,

is a serious concern. But enough of my home department.

I find I have been scolding Cawthorn without a cause, as I found two

parcels with two letters from you on my return to Malta. By these it

appears you have not received a letter from Constantinople, addressed

to Longman's, but it was of no consequence.

My Satire, it seems, is in a fourth edition, a success rather above

the middling run, but not much for a production which, from its

topics, must be temporary, and of course be successful at first, or

not at all. At this period, when I can think and act more coolly, I

regret that I have written it, though I shall probably find it

forgotten by all except those whom it has offended. My friend

Hobhouse's _Miscellany_ has not succeeded; but he himself writes so

good-humouredly on the subject, I don't know whether to laugh or cry

with him. He met with your son at Cadiz, of whom he speaks highly.

Yours and Pratt's [1] _protégé_, Blacket, [2] the cobbler, is dead, in

spite of his rhymes, and is probably one of the instances where death

has saved a man from damnation. You were the ruin of that poor fellow

amongst you: had it not been for his patrons, he might now have been

in very good plight, shoe- (not verse-) making; but you have made him

immortal with a vengeance. I write this, supposing poetry, patronage,

and strong waters, to have been the death of him. If you are in town

in or about the beginning of July, you will find me at Dorant's, in

Albemarle Street, glad to see you.[1] I have an imitation of Horace's

_Art of Poetry_ ready for Cawthorn, but don't let that deter you, for

I sha'n't inflict it upon you. You know I never read my rhymes to

visiters. I shall quit town in a few days for Notts., and thence to

Rochdale. I shall send this the moment we arrive in harbour, that is a

week hence.

Yours ever sincerely, BYRON.

[Footnote 1: For Pratt, see page 186, note 1.]

[Footnote 2: Joseph Blacket (1786-1810) has his place in 'English Bards'

(lines 765, 798) and 'Hints from Horace' (line 734). The son of a

labourer, and himself by trade a cobbler, he wrote verses in which Pratt

saw signs of genius. A volume of his poetry was published in 1809, under

the title of 'Specimens', edited by Pratt. Among those who befriended

him were Elliston the actor, Dallas, and Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady

Byron (see 'English Bards', lines 770, and note 1). His 'Remains' were

collected and published by Pratt in 1811 for the benefit of Blacket's

orphan daughter, with a dedication to "the Duchess of Leeds, Lady

Milbanke and family" (see page 337, and 'Hints from Horace', line 734,

and Byron's note). In the suppressed edition of Dallas's

'Correspondence of Lord Byron' (pp. 127, 128) occurs the following

passage, from which, if Dallas's grammar is to be trusted, it seems that

the famous epitaph on Blacket was not Byron's composition. Dallas

"was persuaded by Mr. Pratt's warmth to see some sparkling of genius

in the effusions of this young man (Blacket). It was upon this that

Lord Byron and a young friend of his were sometimes playful in

conversation, and in writing to me. 'I see,' says the latter, 'that

Blacket the Son of Crispin and Apollo is dead.' Looking into Boswell's

'Life of Johnson' the other day, I saw, 'We were talking about the

famous Mr. Wordsworth, the poetical Shoemaker.' Now, I never before

heard that there had been a Mr. Wordsworth a Poet, a Shoemaker, or a

famous man; and I dare say you have never heard of him. Thus it will

be with Bloomfield and Blackett--their names two years after their

death will be found neither on the rolls of Curriers' Hall nor of

Parnassus. Who would think that anybody would be such a blockhead as

to sin against an express proverb, 'Ne sutor ultra crepidam'?

'But spare him, ye Critics, his follies are past,

For the Cobler is come, as he ought, to his 'last'.'

Which two lines, with a scratch under 'last', to show where the joke

lies, I beg that you will prevail on Miss Milbanke to have inserted on

the tomb of her departed Blacket."

It should be added that the shoemaking poet was not Wordsworth, but

Woodhouse.]

[Footnote 3: Dallas called on Byron at Reddish's Hotel, St. James's

Street, July 15, 1811, and received from him the MS. of 'Hints from

Horace'. Byron finished the work March 12, 1811, at the Franciscan

Convent at Athens, where he found a copy of the 'De Arte Poeticâ'.

('Hints from Horace' were not, however, published till 1831.) On July 16

Dallas called again, and expressed surprise that Byron had written

nothing else. Byron then produced out of his trunk 'Childe Harold's

Pilgrimage', saying, "They are not worth troubling you with, but you

shall have them all with you if you like." He was as reluctant to

publish 'Childe Harold' as he was eager to publish 'Hints from Horace'.]

155.--To Francis Hodgson.

'Volage' Frigate, at sea, June 29, 1811.

In a week, with a fair wind, we shall be at Portsmouth, and on the 2d

of July I shall have completed (to a day) two years of peregrination,

from which I am returning with as little emotion as I set out. I

think, upon the whole, I was more grieved at leaving Greece than

England, which I am impatient to see, simply because I am tired of a

long voyage.

Indeed, my prospects are not very pleasant. Embarrassed in my private

affairs, indifferent to public, solitary without the wish to be

social, with a body a little enfeebled by a succession of fevers, but

a spirit I trust, yet unbroken, I am returning _home_ without a hope,

and almost without a desire. The first thing I shall have to encounter

will be a lawyer, the next a creditor, then colliers, farmers,

surveyors, and all the agreeable attachments to estates out of repair,

and contested coal-pits. In short, I am sick and sorry, and when I

have a little repaired my irreparable affairs, away I shall march,

either to campaign in Spain, or back again to the East, where I can at

least have cloudless skies and a cessation from impertinence.

I trust to meet, or see you, in town, or at Newstead, whenever you can

make it convenient--I suppose you are in love and in poetry as usual.

That husband, H. Drury, has never written to me, albeit I have sent

him more than one letter;--but I dare say the poor man has a family,

and of course all his cares are confined to his circle.

"For children fresh expenses yet,

And Dicky now for school is fit."

WARTON. [1]

If you see him, tell him I have a letter for him from Tucker, a

regimental chirurgeon and friend of his, who prescribed for me,----

and is a very worthy man, but too fond of hard words. I should be too

late for a speech-day, or I should probably go down to Harrow. I

regretted very much in Greece having omitted to carry the _Anthology_

with me--I mean Bland and Merivale's.--What has _Sir Edgar_ done? And

the _Imitations and Translations_--where are they? I suppose you don't

mean to let the public off so easily, but charge them home with a

quarto. For me, I am "sick of fops, and poesy, and prate," and shall

leave the "whole Castalian state" to Bufo, or any body else. [2] But

you are a sentimental and sensibilitous person, and will rhyme to the

end of the chapter. Howbeit, I have written some 4000 lines, of one

kind or another, on my travels.

I need not repeat that I shall be happy to see you. I shall be in town

about the 8th, at Dorant's Hotel, in Albemarle Street, and proceed in

a few days to Notts., and thence to Rochdale on business.

I am, here and there, yours, etc.

[Footnote 1: Warton's 'Progress of Discontent', lines 109, 110.]

[Footnote 2:

"But sick of fops, and poetry, and prate,

To Bufo left the whole Castalian state."

Pope, 'Prologue to the Satires', lines 229, 230.]

156.--To Henry Drury.

'Volage' frigate, off Ushant, July 17, 1811.

My Dear Drury,--After two years' absence (on the 2d) and some odd days,

I am approaching your country. The day of our arrival you will see by

the outside date of my letter. At present, we are becalmed comfortably,

close to Brest Harbour;--I have never been so near it since I left Duck

Puddle. [1] We left Malta thirty-four days ago, and have had a tedious

passage of it. You will either see or hear from or of me, soon after the

receipt of this, as I pass through town to repair my irreparable

affairs; and thence I want to go to Notts. and raise rents, and to

Lanes. and sell collieries, and back to London and pay debts,--for it

seems I shall neither have coals nor comfort till I go down to Rochdale

in person.

I have brought home some marbles for Hobhouse;--for myself, four

ancient Athenian skulls, [2] dug out of sarcophagi--a phial of Attic

hemlock [3]--four live tortoises--a greyhound (died on the

passage)--two live Greek servants, one an Athenian, t'other a _Yaniote_,

who can speak nothing but Romaic and Italian--and _myself_, as Moses in

the _Vicar of Wakefield_ says, _slily_ [4] and I may say it too, for I

have as little cause to boast of my expedition as he had of his to the

fair.

I wrote to you from the Cyanean Rocks to tell you I had swam from Sestos

to Abydos--have you received my letter? Hobhouse went to England to fish

up his _Miscellany,_ which foundered (so he tells me) in the Gulph of

Lethe. I daresay it capsized with the vile goods of his contributory

friends, for his own share was very portable. However, I hope he will

either weigh up or set sail with a fresh cargo, and a luckier vessel.

Hodgson, I suppose, is four deep by this time. What would he have given

to have seen, like me, the _real Parnassus,_ where I robbed the Bishop

of Chrisso of a book of geography!--but this I only call plagiarism, as

it was done within an hour's ride of Delphi.

[Footnote 1: The swimming-bath at Harrow.]

[Footnote 2: Given afterwards to Sir Walter Scott.]

[Footnote 3: At present in the possession of Mr. Murray.]

[Footnote 4:

"'Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, what have you brought us from

the fair?'

'I have brought you _myself_,' cried Moses, with a sly look, and

resting the box on the dresser."

'Vicar of Wakefield', ch. xii.]

157.-To his Mother.