"Ravenna, 9bre 12. 1820.
"What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews has set me to my
recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which
would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother,--even if he had
previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of
anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary
man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more
surpassing degree than he did, as far as he went. He was indolent,
too; but whenever he stripped, he overthrew all antagonists. His
conquests will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his
_Downing_ one, which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily
_won_. Hobhouse was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of
him than any man. William Bankes also a great deal. I myself recollect
more of his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived
most together at a very idle period of _my_ life. When I went up
to Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was
miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow,
to which I had become attached during the two last years of my stay
there; wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no
rooms Vacant at Christ-church); wretched from some private domestic
circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial
as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and
met him often _then_ at Bankes's, (who was my collegiate pastor,
and master, and patron,) and at Rhode's, Milnes's, Price's, Dick's,
Macnamara's, Farrell's, Galley Knight's, and others of that _set_
of contemporaries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with any
one else, except my old schoolfellow Edward Long (with whom I used to
pass the day in riding and swimming), and William Bankes, who was
good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities.
"It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from
Cambridge, to which I had returned again to _reside_ for my
degree, that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of H----,
who, after hating me for two years, because I wore a _white hat_, and
a _grey_ coat, and rode a _grey_ horse (as he says himself), took me
into his good graces because I had written some poetry. I had always
lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their company--but
now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not
at this period resident in College. I met _him_ chiefly in
London, and at uncertain periods at Cambridge. H----, in the mean
time, did great things: he founded the Cambridge 'Whig Club' (which he
seems to have forgotten), and the 'Amicable Society,' which was
dissolved in consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and
made himself very popular with 'us youth,' and no less formidable to
all tutors, professors, and beads of Colleges. William B---- was gone;
while he stayed, he ruled the roast--or rather the _roasting_--and was
father of all mischiefs.
"Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great
cronies. He was not good tempered--nor am I--but with a little tact
his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I
was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often,
at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his _papers_
(and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never
known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and _as_ he
_wrote_ remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to
Newstead together, where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_
dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven
or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visiters, and used to
sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret,
champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of
glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual
garments. Matthews always denominated me 'the Abbot,' and never called
me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his death.
The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a few days
after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw ---- out of a
_window_, in consequence of I know not what commerce of jokes ending
in this epigram. ---- came to me and said, that 'his respect and
regard for me as host would not permit him to call out any of my
guests, and that he should go to town next morning.' He did. It was in
vain that I represented to him that the window was not high, and that
the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went.
"Matthews and myself had travelled down from London together, talking
all the way incessantly upon one single topic. When we got to
Loughborough, I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a moment
to some other subject, at which he was indignant. 'Come,' said he,
'don't let us break through--let us go on as we began, to our
journey's end;' and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever
to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence
from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones,
the tutor, in his odd way, had said, on putting him in, 'Mr. Matthews,
I recommend to your attention not to damage any of the movables, for
Lord Byron, Sir, is a young man of _tumultuous passions_.' Matthews
was delighted with this; and whenever anybody came to visit him,
begged them to handle the very door with caution; and used to repeat
Jones's admonition in his tone and manner. There was a large mirror in
the room, on which he remarked, 'that he thought his friends were
grown uncommonly assiduous in coming to see _him_, but he soon
discovered that they only came to _see themselves_.' Jones's phrase of
'_tumultuous passions_,' and the whole scene, had put him into such
good humour, that I verily believe that I owed to it a portion of his
good graces.
"When at Newstead, somebody by accident rubbed against one of his
white silk stockings, one day before dinner; of course the gentleman
apologised. 'Sir,' answered Matthews, 'it may be all very well for
you, who have a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's;
but to me, who have only this _one pair_, which I have put on in
honour of the Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such
carelessness; besides, the expense of washing.' He had the same sort
of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild Irishman, named F----,
one evening beginning to say something at a large supper at Cambridge,
Matthews roared out 'Silence!' and then, pointing to F----, cried out,
in the words of the oracle, '_Orson is endowed with reason_.' You may
easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he had acquired, on hearing
this compliment. When H---- published his volume of poems, the
Miscellany (which Matthews _would_ call the '_Miss-sell-any_'), all
that could be drawn from him was, that the preface was 'extremely like
_Walsh_.' H---- thought this at first a compliment; but we never could
make out what it was,[82] for all we know of _Walsh_ is his Ode
to King William, and Pope's epithet of '_knowing Walsh_.' When the
Newstead party broke up for London, H---- and Matthews, who were the
greatest friends possible, agreed, for a whim, to _walk together_ to
town. They quarrelled by the way, and actually walked the latter half
of their journey, occasionally passing and repassing, without
speaking. When Matthews had got to Highgate, he had spent all his
money but three-pence halfpenny, and determined to spend that also in
a pint of beer, which I believe he was drinking before a public-house,
as H---- passed him (still without speaking) for the last time on
their route. They were reconciled in London again.
"One of Matthews's passions was 'the Fancy;' and he sparred uncommonly
well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist.
In swimming, too, he swam well; but with _effort_ and _labour_, and
_too high_ out of the water; so that Scrope Davies and myself, of whom
he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be
drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so;
but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that
"'the Dean had lived,
And our prediction proved a lie.'
"His head was uncommonly handsome, very like what _Pope_'s was in
his youth.
"His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his
brother Henry's, if Henry be _he_ of _King's College_. His passion for
boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with
Dogherty (whom I had backed and made the match for against Tom
Belcher), and I saw them spar together at my own lodgings with the
gloves on. As he was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to
please him, but the match went off. It was of course to have been a
private fight, in a private room.
"On one occasion, being too late to go home and dress, he was equipped
by a friend (Mr. Baillie, I believe,) in a magnificently fashionable
and somewhat exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to the
Opera, and took his station in Fops' Alley. During the interval
between the opera and the ballet, an acquaintance took his station by
him and saluted him: 'Come round,' said Matthews, 'come round.'--'Why
should I come round?' said the other; 'you have only to turn your
head--I am close by you.'--'That is exactly what I cannot do,' said
Matthews; 'don't you see the state I am in?' pointing to his buckram
shirt collar and inflexible cravat,--and there he stood with his head
always in the same perpendicular position during the whole spectacle.
"One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I
happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and
presented it to Matthews. 'Now, sir,' said he to Hobhouse afterwards,
'this I call _courteous_ in the Abbot--another man would never have
thought that I might do better with half a guinea than throw it to a
door-keeper;--but here is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives
me a ticket for the theatre.' These were only his oddities, for no
man was more liberal, or more honourable in all his doings and
dealings, than Matthews. He gave Hobhouse and me, before we set out
for Constantinople, a most splendid entertainment, to which we did
ample justice. One of his fancies was dining at all sorts of
out-of-the-way places. Somebody popped upon him in I know not what
coffee-house in the Strand--and what do you think was the attraction?
Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to _dine with his hat on_. This
he called his '_hat_ house,' and used to boast of the comfort of being
covered at meal-times.
"When Sir Henry Smith was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a
tradesman named 'Hiron,' Matthews solaced himself with shouting under
Hiron's windows every evening,
"'Ah me! what perils do environ
The man who meddles with _hot Hiron_.'
"He was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices
of ----, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his
slumbers in the lodge of Trinity; and when he appeared at the window
foaming with wrath, and crying out, 'I know you, gentlemen, I know
you!' were wont to reply, 'We beseech thee to hear us, good
_Lort_'--'Good _Lort_ deliver us!' (Lort was his Christian name.) As
he was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects,
although by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct,
and as I was no less independent, our conversation and correspondence
used to alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree.
"You must be almost tired of my packets, which will have cost a mint
of postage.
"Salute Gifford and all my friends.
"Yours, &c."
As already, before his acquaintance with Mr. Matthews commenced, Lord
Byron had begun to bewilder himself in the mazes of scepticism, it
would be unjust to impute to this gentleman any further share in the
formation of his noble friend's opinions than what arose from the
natural influence of example and sympathy;--an influence which, as it
was felt perhaps equally on both sides, rendered the contagion of
their doctrines, in a great measure, reciprocal. In addition, too, to
this community of sentiment on such subjects, they were both, in no
ordinary degree, possessed by that dangerous spirit of ridicule, whose
impulses even the pious cannot always restrain, and which draws the
mind on, by a sort of irresistible fascination, to disport itself most
wantonly on the brink of all that is most solemn and awful. It is not
wonderful, therefore, that, in such society, the opinions of the noble
poet should have been, at least, accelerated in that direction to
which their bias already leaned; and though he cannot be said to have
become thus confirmed in these doctrines,--as neither now, nor at any
time of his life, was he a confirmed unbeliever,--he had undoubtedly
learned to feel less uneasy under his scepticism, and even to mingle
somewhat of boast and of levity with his expression of it. At the very
first onset of his correspondence with Mr. Dallas, we find him
proclaiming his sentiments on all such subjects with a flippancy and
confidence far different from the tone in which he had first ventured
on his doubts,--from that fervid sadness, as of a heart loth to part
with its illusions, which breathes through every line of those
prayers, that, but a year before, his pen had traced.
Here again, however, we should recollect, there must be a considerable
share of allowance for his usual tendency to make the most and the
worst of his own obliquities. There occurs, indeed, in his first
letter to Mr. Dallas, an instance of this strange ambition,--the very
reverse, it must be allowed, of hypocrisy,--which led him to court,
rather than avoid, the reputation of profligacy, and to put, at all
times, the worst face on his own character and conduct. His new
correspondent having, in introducing himself to his acquaintance,
passed some compliments on the tone of moral and charitable feeling
which breathed through one of his poems, had added, that it "brought
to his mind another noble author, who was not only a fine poet,
orator, and historian, but one of the closest reasoners we have on the
truth of that religion of which forgiveness is a prominent principle,
the great and good Lord Lyttleton, whose fame will never die. His
son," adds Mr. Dallas, "to whom he had transmitted genius, but not
virtue, sparkled for a moment and went out like a star,--and with him
the title became extinct." To this Lord Byron answers in the following
letter:--