"Piccadilly, March 31. 1815.
"Dear Sir,
"It will give me great pleasure to comply with your request, though
I hope there is still taste enough left amongst us to render it
almost unnecessary, sordid and interested as, it must be admitted,
many of 'the trade' are, where circumstances give them an
advantage. I trust you do not permit yourself to be depressed by
the temporary partiality of what is called 'the public' for the
favourites of the moment; all experience is against the permanency
of such impressions. You must have lived to see many of these pass
away, and will survive many more--I mean personally, for
_poetically_, I would not insult you by a comparison.
"If I may be permitted, I would suggest that there never was such
an opening for tragedy. In Kean, there is an actor worthy of
expressing the thoughts of the characters which you have every
power of embodying; and I cannot but regret that the part of
Ordonio was disposed of before his appearance at Drury Lane. We
have had nothing to be mentioned in the same breath with 'Remorse'
for very many years; and I should think that the reception of that
play was sufficient to encourage the highest hopes of author and
audience. It is to be hoped that you are proceeding in a career
which could not but be successful. With my best respects to Mr.
Bowles, I have the honour to be
"Your obliged and very obedient servant,
"Byron.
"P.S. You mention my 'Satire,' lampoon, or whatever you or others
please to call it. I can only say, that it was written when I was
very young and very angry, and has been a thorn in my side ever
since; more particularly as almost all the persons animadverted
upon became subsequently my acquaintances, and some of them my
friends, which is 'heaping fire upon an enemy's head,' and
forgiving me too readily to permit me to forgive myself. The part
applied to you is pert, and petulant, and shallow enough; but,
although I have long done every thing in my power to suppress the
circulation of the whole thing, I shall always regret the
wantonness or generality of many of its attempted attacks."
* * * * *
It was in the course of this spring that Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott
became, for the first time, personally acquainted with each other. Mr.
Murray, having been previously on a visit to the latter gentleman, had
been intrusted by him with a superb Turkish dagger as a present to Lord
Byron; and the noble poet, on their meeting this year in London,--the
only time when these two great men had ever an opportunity of enjoying
each other's society,--presented to Sir Walter, in return, a vase
containing some human bones that had been dug up from under a part of
the old walls of Athens. The reader, however, will be much better
pleased to have these particulars in the words of Sir Walter Scott
himself, who, with that good-nature which renders him no less amiable
than he is admirable, has found time, in the midst of all his
marvellous labours for the world, to favour me with the following
interesting communication:[78]--
"My first acquaintance with Byron began in a manner rather doubtful. I
was so far from having any thing to do with the offensive criticism in
the Edinburgh, that I remember remonstrating against it with our friend,
the editor, because I thought the 'Hours of Idleness' treated with undue
severity. They were written, like all juvenile poetry, rather from the
recollection of what had pleased the author in others than what had been
suggested by his own imagination; but, nevertheless, I thought they
contained some passages of noble promise. I was so much impressed with
this, that I had thoughts of writing to the author; but some exaggerated
reports concerning his peculiarities, and a natural unwillingness to
intrude an opinion which was uncalled for, induced me to relinquish the
idea.
"When Byron wrote his famous Satire, I had my share of flagellation
among my betters. My crime was having written a poem (Marmion, I think)
for a thousand pounds; which was no otherwise true than that I sold the
copy-right for that sum. Now, not to mention that an author can hardly
be censured for accepting such a sum as the booksellers are willing to
give him, especially as the gentlemen of the trade made no complaints of
their bargain, I thought the interference with my private affairs was
rather beyond the limits of literary satire. On the other hand, Lord
Byron paid me, in several passages, so much more praise than I deserved,
that I must have been more irritable than I have ever felt upon such
subjects, not to sit down contented, and think no more about the matter.
"I was very much struck, with all the rest of the world, at the vigour
and force of imagination displayed in the first Cantos of Childe
Harold, and the other splendid productions which Lord Byron flung from
him to the public with a promptitude that savoured of profusion. My own
popularity, as a poet, was then on the wane, and I was unaffectedly
pleased to see an author of so much power and energy taking the field.
Mr. John Murray happened to be in Scotland that season, and as I
mentioned to him the pleasure I should have in making Lord Byron's
acquaintance, he had the kindness to mention my wish to his Lordship,
which led to some correspondence.
"It was in the spring of 1815 that, chancing to be in London, I had the
advantage of a personal introduction to Lord Byron. Report had prepared
me to meet a man of peculiar habits and a quick temper, and I had some
doubts whether we were likely to suit each other in society. I was most
agreeably disappointed in this respect. I found Lord Byron in the
highest degree courteous, and even kind. We met, for an hour or two
almost daily, in Mr. Murray's drawing-room, and found a great deal to
say to each other. We also met frequently in parties and evening
society, so that for about two months I had the advantage of a
considerable intimacy with this distinguished individual. Our sentiments
agreed a good deal, except upon the subjects of religion and politics,
upon neither of which I was inclined to believe that Lord Byron
entertained very fixed opinions. I remember saying to him, that I really
thought, that if he lived a few years he would alter his sentiments. He
answered, rather sharply, 'I suppose you are one of those who prophesy
I will turn Methodist.' I replied, 'No--I don't expect your conversion
to be of such an ordinary kind. I would rather look to see you retreat
upon the Catholic faith, and distinguish yourself by the austerity of
your penances. The species of religion to which you must, or may, one
day attach yourself must exercise a strong power on the imagination.' He
smiled gravely, and seemed to allow I might be right.
"On politics, he used sometimes to express a high strain of what is now
called Liberalism; but it appeared to me that the pleasure it afforded
him as a vehicle of displaying his wit and satire against individuals in
office was at the bottom of this habit of thinking, rather than any real
conviction of the political principles on which he talked. He was
certainly proud of his rank and ancient family, and, in that respect, as
much an aristocrat as was consistent with good sense and good breeding.
Some disgusts, how adopted I know not, seemed to me to have given this
peculiar and, as it appeared to me, contradictory cast of mind: but, at
heart, I would have termed Byron a patrician on principle.
"Lord Byron's reading did not seem to me to have been very extensive
either in poetry or history. Having the advantage of him in that
respect, and possessing a good competent share of such reading as is
little read, I was sometimes able to put under his eye objects which had
for him the interest of novelty. I remember particularly repeating to
him the fine poem of Hardyknute, an imitation of the old Scottish
Ballad, with which he was so much affected, that some one who was in
the same apartment asked me what I could possibly have been telling
Byron by which he was so much agitated.
I saw Byron, for the last time, in 1815, after I returned from France.
He dined, or lunched, with me at Long's in Bond Street. I never saw him
so full of gaiety and good-humour, to which the presence of Mr. Mathews,
the comedian, added not a little. Poor Terry was also present. After one
of the gayest parties I ever was present at, my fellow-traveller, Mr.
Scott, of Gala, and I set off for Scotland, and I never saw Lord Byron
again. Several letters passed between us--one perhaps every half year.
Like the old heroes in Homer, we exchanged gifts:--I gave Byron a
beautiful dagger mounted with gold, which had been the property of the
redoubted Elfi Bey. But I was to play the part of Diomed, in the Iliad,
for Byron sent me, some time after, a large sepulchral vase of silver.
It was full of dead men's bones, and had inscriptions on two sides of
the base. One ran thus:--'The bones contained in this urn were found in
certain ancient sepulchres within the land walls of Athens, in the month
of February, 1811.' The other face bears the lines of Juvenal:
"Expende--quot libras in duce summo invenies.
--Mors sola fatetur quantula hominum corpuscula."
Juv. x.
To these I have added a third inscription, in these words--'The gift of
Lord Byron to Walter Scott.'[79] There was a letter with this vase more
valuable to me than the gift itself, from the kindness with which the
donor expressed himself towards me. I left it naturally in the urn with
the bones,--but it is now missing. As the theft was not of a nature to
be practised by a mere domestic, I am compelled to suspect the
inhospitality of some individual of higher station,--most gratuitously
exercised certainly, since, after what I have here said, no one will
probably choose to boast of possessing this literary curiosity.
"We had a good deal of laughing, I remember, on what the public might be
supposed to think, or say, concerning the gloomy and ominous nature of
our mutual gifts.
"I think I can add little more to my recollections of Byron. He was
often melancholy,--almost gloomy. When I observed him in this humour, I
used either to wait till it went off of its own accord, or till some
natural and easy mode occurred of leading him into conversation, when
the shadows almost always left his countenance, like the mist rising
from a landscape. In conversation he was very animated.
"I met with him very frequently in society; our mutual acquaintances
doing me the honour to think that he liked to meet with me. Some very
agreeable parties I can recollect,--particularly one at Sir George
Beaumont's, where the amiable landlord had assembled some persons
distinguished for talent. Of these I need only mention the late Sir
Humphry Davy, whose talents for literature were as remarkable as his
empire over science. Mr. Richard Sharpe and Mr. Rogers were also
present.
"I think I also remarked in Byron's temper starts of suspicion, when he
seemed to pause and consider whether there had not been a secret, and
perhaps offensive, meaning in something casually said to him. In this
case, I also judged it best to let his mind, like a troubled spring,
work itself clear, which it did in a minute or two. I was considerably
older, you will recollect, than my noble friend, and had no reason to
fear his misconstruing my sentiments towards him, nor had I ever the
slightest reason to doubt that they were kindly returned on his part. If
I had occasion to be mortified by the display of genius which threw into
the shade such pretensions as I was then supposed to possess, I might
console myself that, in my own case, the materials of mental happiness
had been mingled in a greater proportion.
"I rummage my brains in vain for what often rushes into my head
unbidden,--little traits and sayings which recall his looks, manner,
tone, and gestures; and I have always continued to think that a crisis
of life was arrived in which a new career of fame was opened to him,
and that had he been permitted to start upon it, he would have
obliterated the memory of such parts of his life as friends would wish
to forget."
[Footnote 78: A few passages at the beginning of these recollections
have been omitted, as containing particulars relative to Lord Byron's
mother, which have already been mentioned in the early part of this
work. Among these, however, there is one anecdote, the repetition of
which will be easily pardoned, on account of the infinitely greater
interest as well as authenticity imparted to its details by coming from
such an eye-witness as Sir Walter Scott:--"I remember," he says, "having
seen Lord Byron's mother before she was married, and a certain
coincidence rendered the circumstance rather remarkable. It was during
Mrs. Siddons's first or second visit to Edinburgh, when the music of
that wonderful actress's voice, looks, manner, and person, produced the
strongest effect which could possibly be exerted by a human being upon
her fellow-creatures. Nothing of the kind that I ever witnessed
approached it by a hundred degrees. The high state of excitation was
aided by the difficulties of obtaining entrance and the exhausting
length of time that the audience were contented to wait until the piece
commenced. When the curtain fell, a large proportion of the ladies were
generally in hysterics.
"I remember Miss Gordon of Ghight, in particular, harrowing the house by
the desperate and wild way in which she shrieked out Mrs. Siddons's
exclamation, in the character of Isabella, 'Oh my Byron! Oh my Byron!' A
well-known medical gentleman, the benevolent Dr. Alexander Wood,
tendered his assistance; but the thick-pressed audience could not for a
long time make way for the doctor to approach his patient, or the
patient the physician. The remarkable circumstance was, that the lady
had not then seen Captain Byron, who, like Sir Toby, made her conclude
with 'Oh!' as she had begun with it."]
[Footnote 79: Mr. Murray had, at the time of giving the vase, suggested
to Lord Byron, that it would increase the value of the gift to add some
such inscription; but the feeling of the noble poet on this subject will
be understood from the following answer which he returned:--
"April 9. 1815.
"Thanks for the books. I have great objection to your proposition
about inscribing the vase,--which is, that it would appear
_ostentatious_ on my part; and of course I must send it as it is,
without any alteration.
"Yours," &c.
]
* * * * *