.v^^^iJ!^;-^ xO^^. '^bo^ J. ^•: 4 A^ - '- ^^ S) « ^^ -cP <\'■ - t_ v^'-; . -^ ^A, ""^ O* o> ^<- 1^ -^0^ l(. - i 'o. 'OO^ ^°^. ■"OO^ — ^ ^ ^ ^' ^"^ -^bo^ ^^•- -- -^ ^ ^ ^. ,^^ .^ ^ y^^-. .^ ?. ^O^ .... .0^. h-/^ = ^. .v^ ._.. _. ^. <^ : '*, .>^ -^*.. '', rf THE WORKS OF LORD BYRON IN VERSE AND PROSE, INCLUDING HIS LETTERS, JOURNALS, ETC WITH A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE, STEREOTYPE OF A. PBLL ft BROTHER. NEW-YORK ; GEORGE DEARBORN, PUBLISHER, 71 TOIIN-STREET, CORNER OF GOLD. SOLT> DV COI.I.INS AND HANNAY. NEW VORK^-QRIOa AND EJJJOT, MIHADFLrUl \ AND CARTER, HENDEE AND CO , RORTON M DCCC XXXIII., ^^\ <^'' <^ PUBLISHER'S ADVERTISEMENT. The Poetical Works of Lord Byron have been pubUshed in a variety of forms — but at no time, or in any country, has a uniform edition of his Prose and Poetical Works been attempted before the present. The edition now publishing in London, by Murray, con- tains so much of Byron's Prose writing as is included in the Life by Moore. — In the American edition there is a great number of the Letters of Byron not in the English copy, including Letters to his mother. There is also in this edition a large collection of Poems not in any previous American orie ; many blanks are filled up, and explanatory notes added, which will be found of essential service to the reader. The present, therefore, is emphatically the first complete edition of the Poetical and Prose Works of Lord Byron. The Head of Byron, engraved for this edition, is from a painting by an American artist, and was considered by Byron and his friends as the best ever taken. New-York, Jan. 1833. contents; LETTERS, ETC. LIFE LETTERS. I. to Miss Pigot II. to Mr. Pigot . III. to Miss Pigot IV. to Mr. Pigot . V. to Mr. Pigot VI. to Mr. Pigot . VII. to Mr. Pigot VIII. to Miss Pigot IX. to the Earl of Clare . X. to Mr. Pigot . XI. to Mr. William Bankes XII. to Mr. William Bankes XIIL to Mr. Falknor . XIV. to Mr. Pigot . XV. to Miss Pigot XVI. fo Miss Pigot XVII. to Miss Pigot . XVIII. to Miss Pigot XIX. to Miss Pigot . XX. to Miss Pigot XXI. to Miss Pigot . XXII. to Mr. Dallas XXIII. to Mr. Dallas . XXIV. to Mr. Henry Drury XXV. to Mr. Harness . XXVI. to Mr. Harness XXVII. to Mr Becher . XXVIII. to Mr. Becher XXIX. to Mr. Jackson . XXX. to Mr. Jackson XXX r. to Mr. Jackson . XXXir. fo Mr. Becher XXXni. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron XXXIV. to Mrs. Byron XXXV. to Mr. Hodgson XXXVI. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. XXXVII. to R. C. Dallas. Esq. XXXVni. foMrs. Byron XXXIX. to Mr. Harness XL. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. XLI. to Mr. William Bankes XLIl. to Mrs. Byron XLin. fo Mr. Henry Dniry . XLIV. to Mr. Hodgson XLV. to Mr. Hodgson XLVI. to Mr. Hudgson XLVII. to the Hon. Mr.'^. Byron XLVIH. toMr. Ri.shfon XLIX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron L. to Mrs. Byron LI. to Mrs. Byron . LII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LIII, to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LIV. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron PAGE XV LETTERS. LV. to Mr. Henry Drury . LVI. to Mr. Hodgson LVII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LVIII. to Mr. Henry Drury LIX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LX. to Mrs. Byron LXI. to Mrs. Byron LXII. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LXIII. to Mr. Hodgson LXIV. to Mrs. Byron LXV. to Mrs. Byron . LXVL to Mrs. Byron LXVII. to Mr. Hodgson . LXVIII. to Mr. Dallas LXTX. to Mr. Henry Drmy LXX. to the Hon. Mrs. Byron LXXI. to Dr. Pigot LXXII. to Mr. Scrope Davies LXXIH. to Bolton, Esq. LXXIV. to Mr. Bolton LXXV. to Mr. Bolton . LXXVI. to Mr. Dallas LXXVIL to Mr. Hodgson LXXVIII. to Mr. Dallas LXXIX. to Mr. Murray . LXXX. to Mr. Dallas LXXXL to Mr. Dallas. . LXXXII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. LXXXHI. to Mr. Murray . LXXXIV. to Mr. Dallas LXXXV. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. LXXX VI. to Mr. Murray LXXXVII. to R. C. Dallas, Esq. LXXXVIH. to R.C.Dallas, Esq. LXXXIX. toMr. Muriay . XC. to Mr. Dallas XCL loR.C. Dallas, Esq. XCH. to Mr. Dallas XCHI. to Mr. Dallas XCTV. toR. C.Dallas, Esq. XCV. to R.C.Dallas, Esq. XCVI. to Mr. Dallas XCVII. to Mr. Hodgson XCVHL to R. C. Dallas, Esq. XCIX. foR.C. Dallas, Esq. C. to R.C.Dallas, Esq. CI. to R. C. Dallas, E.Ioore 56 CCXLYI. to Mr. Hunt . . 80 CL XXIV. to Mr. Moore . . 57 CCXLVII. to Mr. iNIoore 80 (^LXXV. to Mr. Moore . 57 CCXLVIII. to Mr. Henrv Drury . 80 CLXXVt. toMr.r^Ioore . . 57 CCXLIX. to Mr. Cowell . . , 80 CLXXVII. to.. Ir. Moore 57 CCL. to Mr. Moore . 81 CLXXVlir.toLeichH.ini . 58 ecu. to Mr. Murray , 81 CLXXIX. toMr. Moore 58 CCLII. to Mr. Murray . 81 CLXXX. to Mr. Murrav . 59 CCLIII. to Mr. Nathan . 81 OLXXXI. loMr. GiiFord 59 CCLIV. to Mr. Moore . . 81 CLXXXIT, to Mr. Murray . 59 CCLV. to Mr. Moore . 81 <:LXXXlIi. to Mr ■\Iurray . . GO CCI.VI. to Mr. Moore . . 82 CONTENTS. iz PAGE PAGB LETTERS LETTERS , CCLVII. to Mr. Murray . . 82 CCCXXX. to Mr. Moore . . Ill CCLVIIl. to Mr. Moore . 82 CCCXXXL to Mr. Murray . 112 CCLIX. to Mr. Moore . . 82 cccxxxn. to Mr. Murray . 113 CCLX. to Mr. Moore 83 cccxxxni. to Mr. Murray . 113 CCLXI. to Mr. Moore . . 83 CCCXXXIV. to Mr. Murray . 113 CCLXII. to Mr. Moore 83 cccxxxv. to Mr. Murray . . 114 CCLXI II. to Mr. Moore . . 84 CCCXXXVI. to Mr. Moore . . . 114 CCLXIV. to Mr. Coleridge . 84 cccxxxvn. to Mr. Murray . . 114 CCLXV. to Mr. Murray . . 84 cccxxxvm. to Mr. Murray . 115 CCLXVI. to Mr. Moore 85 CCCXXXIX. to Mr. Murray . 116 CCLXVII. to Mr. Murray . . 85 CCCXL. to Mr. Murray 116 CCLXVllI. to Mr. Hunt . 85 CCCXLI. to Mr. Murray . . 116 CCLXIX. to Mr. Moore . . 85 CCCXLII. to Mr. Murray 116 CCLXX. to Mr. Moore 86 CCCXLIII. to Mr. Murray . . 117 CCLXXI. to Mr. Sotheby .• . 87 CCCXLIV. to Mr. Murray 117 CCLXXII. to Mr. Sotheby 87 CCCXLV. to Mr. Murray . . 117 CCLXXIII. to Mr. Taylor . . 87 CCCXLVL to Mr. Moore 118 CCLXXIV. to Mr. Murray 87 CCCXL VII. to Mr. Murray . . 118 CCLXXV. to Mr. Murray . . 87 CCCXL vni. to Mr. Murray 118 CCLXXVI. to Mr. Hunt . 87 CCCXLIX. to Mr. Murray . . . 119 CCLXXVTI. to Mr. Hunt . , 88 CCCL. to Mr. Murray 119 CCLXXVIII. to Mr. Hunt . 88 CCCLL to Mr. Murray . . .119 CCLXXI X. to Mr. Moore . . 88 CCCLII. to Mr. Murray 120 CCLXXX. to Mr. Hunt . 89 CCCLIII. to Mr. Hoppner . . 121 CCLXXXI. to Mr. Moore . . 89 CCCLIV. to Mr. Murray . 121 CCLXXXII. to Mr. Moore 90 CCCLV. to Mr. Murray . . . 121 CCLXXXIII. to Mr. Murray . . 90 CCCLVI. to Mr. Murray 121 CCLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray 90 CCCLVII. to Mr. Murray . . . 122 CCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray . . 90 CCCLVIII. to Mr. Murray . 123 CCLXXXVI. to Mr. Moore 91 CCCLIX. to Mr. Murray . . . 123 CCLXXXVn. to Mr. Hunt . . 91 CCCLX. to Mr. Hoppner . 123 CCLXXXVItl. to Mr. Rogers 91 CCCLXI. to Mr. Murray . . 124 CCLXXXIX. to Mr. Moore . . 91 CCCXLII. to Mr. Murray 124 CCXC. to Mr. Hunt . 92 CCCLXIII. to Mr. Murray . . 124 CCXCI. to Mr. Moore . . 92 CCCLXIV. to Mr. Moore 124 CCXCII. to Mr. Murray 93 CCCLXV. to Mr. Murray . . 125 CCXCIII. to Mr. Rogers . . 93 CCCLXVL to Mr. Hoppner . 125 CCXCTV. to Mr. Murray 93 CCCLXVII. to Mr. Rogers. 126 CCXCV. to Mr. Murray . . 93 cccLxvni. to Mr. Moore . . . 126 CCXC VI. to Mr. Murray 94 CCCLXIX. to Mr. Murray . 127 CCXC VII. to Mr. Murray . . 94 CCCLXX. to Mr. Murray . . 127 CCXCVIII. to Mr. Rogers 94 CCCLXXI. to Mr. Murray 127 CCXCIX. to Mr. Murray . . 94 CCCLXXII. to Mr. Murray . 128 CCC. to Mr. Murray 94 CCCLXXIII. to Mr. Murray 123 CCCI. to Mr. Rogers . . 95 CCCLXXIV. to Mr. Moore . . 128 CCCIl. to Mr. Murray 95 CCCLXXV to ♦ * * * . . 129 CCCIII. to Mr. Murray . . 96 CCCLXXVI. to Mr. Murray . . 131 CCCIV. to Mr. Murray 96 CCCLXXVIl. to Mr. Murray 131 CCCV. to Mr. Murray . . 96 cccLxxvm. to Mr. Murray . . . 131 CCCVI. to Mr. Murray 96 CCCLXXIX. to Mr. Murray 132 CCCVIl. to Mr. Murray 97 CCCLXXX. to Capt. Basil Hall . 132 CCCVIU. to Mr. Moore . . 97 CCCLXXXI. to Mr. Moore 132 CCCIX. to Mr. Moore 98 cccLxxxn. to Mr. Murray . . 133 CCC X. to Mr. Moore . . 99 CCCLXXXUI. to Mr. Murray . 133 CCCXI. to Mr. Murray 101 CCCLXXXIV. to Mr. Murray . . 133 CCCXII. to Mr. Murray . . . 101 CCCLXXXV. to Mr. Murray 134 CCCXIIT. to Mr. Murray . 102 CCCLXXXVL to Mr. Murray . . i;m CCC XIV. to Mr. Murray . . . 102 CCCLXXXVII. to the Editor of Gall gnani's CCC XV. to Mr. Murray . 102 Messenger 13^1 CCCXVI. (oMr. Moore . 103 CCCLXXXVIII. to Mr. Murray . 135 CCCXVII. to Mr. Murray . 104 CCCLXXXIX. to Mr. Murray 135 CCCXVIII. to Mr. Murray . . . 105 CCCXC. to Mr. Murray . . 136 CCCXIX. to Mr. Murray . 105 CCCXCI. to Mr. Hoppner . 136 CCCXX. to Mr. Moore . . 106 CCCXCU. to Mr. Hoppner . 136 CCCXXI. to Mr. Murray . 106 cccxcin. to Mr. Murray 137 CCCXXII. to Mr. Murray . . 107 CCCXCIV. to Mr. Hoppner . 137 CCCXXIH. to Mr. Mooro' . 107 cccxcv. to Mr. Murray 138 CCCXXIV. to Mr. Moore . . . 108 CCCXC VI. to Mr. Hoppner . 138 CCCXXV. toMr. Mniray 108 cccxcv 11. to Mr. Murray 139 CCCXXVI. to Mr. Moore . . 109 cccxcvni. to Mr. Murray . . 139 CCCXXVTI. to Mr. Murray 110 CCCXCIX. to Mr. Murray 189 ■CCCXXVIIl. to Mr. Roger.s . . . 110 CCCC. to Mr. Murray . . 140 CCCXXI X. to Mr. Murray . 111 CCCCI. to ihc Countess Guicc Mola 110 CONTENTS. LETTERS CCCCII. to Mr. Murray . CCCCIII. to Mr. Murray CCCCIV. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCV. to Mr. Hoppner CCCCVI. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCVH. to Mr. Murray CCCCVni. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCIX. to Mr. Murray CCCCX. to Mr. Bankes CCCCXI. to Mr. Murray CCCCXn. to the Countess Guiccioli CCCCXHI. to the Countess Guiccioli CCCCXIV. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCXV. to Mr. Murray CCCCXVI. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCXVII. to Mr. Moore . CCCCXVni. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCXIX. to Mr. Hoppner CCCCXX. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXI. to Mr. Bankes CCCCXXn. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXrn. to Mr. Bankes CCCCXXIV. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXV. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXVI. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXVII. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXVin. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXIX. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXX. to Mr. Murray . CCCC XXXI. to Mr. Hoppner CCCCXXXn. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXXni. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXXIV. to Mr. Hoppner . CCCCXXXV. to Mr. Murray CCCCXXXVI. to Mr. Murray . CCCCXXXVII. to Mr. Murray . .CCCCXXXVni. to Mr. Murray . .CCCCXXXIX. to Mr. Moore CCCC XL. to Mr. Hoppner CCCCXLI. to Mr. Moore <:CCCXLII. to Mr. Murray <:JCCCXLIII. to Mr. Moore .-CCCCXLIV. to Mr. Moore CCCC XLV. to Mr. Murray . 43CCCXLVI. to Mr. Murray CCCC XL Vn. to Mr. Moore CCCCXLVnL to Mr. Murray CCCCXLIX. to Mr. Murray . CCCCL. to Mr. Murray CCCCLI. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLU. to Mr. Murray CCCCLHI. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLIV. to Mr. Murray CCCCLV. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLVL to Mr. Murray CCCCLVn. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLVHI. to Mr. Murray CCCCLIX. to Mr. Moore CCCCLX. to Mr. Murray CCCCLXI. to Mr. Murray CCCCLXn. to Mr. Moore CCCCLXIIL to Mr. Murray . CCCCLXIV. to Mr. Murray CCCCLXV. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLXVI. to Mr. Murray CCCCLXVn. to Mr. Moore . CCCCLXVHL to Mr. Moore CCCCLXIX. to Mr. Moore Address to the Neapolitan government CCCCLXX. to Mr. Moore CCCCLXXL to Mr. Murray . CCCCLXXII. to Mr. Murray . CCCCLXXin. lo Mr. Murray . 140 141 141 142 142 143 143 143 144 144 145 145 145 145 146 146 147 147 147 148 148 149 149 150 150 150 150 150 151 151 151 152 152 152 153 154 154 154 155 155 155 156 156 157 157 158 158 158 158 158 159 159 160 160 161 161 162 162 163 163 163 164 164 165 166 167 167 167 168 168 169 169 170 LETTERS CCCCLXXIV. CCCCLXXV. CCCCLXXVL ccccLxxvn. CCCCLXXVIIL CCCCLXXIX. CCCCLXXX. CCCCLXXXL ccccLxxxn, CCCCLXXXIII. CCCCLXXXIV. CCCCLXXXV. CCCCLXXXVI. ccccLxxxvn. CCCCLXXXVIIT. CCCCLXXXIX. ccccxc. CCCCXCL CCCCXCH. ccccxcm. CCCCXCIV. CCCCXCV. CCCCXCVE. ccccxcvn. CCCCXCVHL CCCCXCIX. D. DL DH. DHL DIV. DV. DVI. Dvn. DVIIL DIX. DX. DXL DXIL DXHL DXIV. DXV. DXVI. DXVir. DXVHL DXIX. DXX. DXXL DXXH. DXXHL DXXIV. DXXV. DXXVL DXXVII. DXXVJII. DXXIX. DXXX. DXXXL Dxxxn. Dxxxni. DXXXIV. DXXXV. DXXXVI. DXXXVII. DXXXVIIL Dxxxrx. DXL. DXLI. DXLII. DXLIII. DXLIV. DXLV. DXL VI. to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Murray to Mr, Perry . to Mr. Murray to Mr. Hoppner to Mr. Murray to Mr. Shelley . to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Hoppner to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray . to the Countess Guiccioli to Mr. Moore to Mr. Hoppner to Mr, Murray to Mr. Murray , to Mr. Murray to Mr. Hoppner to Mr. Moore to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray , lo Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray , to Mr. Hoppner to Mr. Murray . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray . to MpwMurray to Mr. Murray , to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore to Mr. Moore , to Mr. Moore to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore , to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Moore to Mr. Moore . to Mr. Murray to Mr. MuiTay to Mr. Rogers to Mr. Moore , to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore to Mi . Sheppard to Mr. Murray to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore to Mr. Shelley , to Mr. Moore td Sir Walter Scott, Bart to Douglas Kinnaird to Mr. Murray to Mr. Moore CONTENTS. xi PAGE PAOB LETTERS LETTERS DXT.VII. to Mr. Moore . . 197 DC III. to the Honourable Mr. Dou- DXLVIII. to Mr. Moore 198 glas Kinnaird . 218 DXLIX. to Mr. Moore . . 198 DC IV. to Mr. Bowring 218 DL. to Mr. Moore 198 DCV. to Mr. Moore 218 DLL to Mr. Moore . . 199 DC VI. to the Hon. Col. Stanhope 219 DLIL to Mr. Murray 199 DCVII. to Mr. Muir . 219 DLIIL to Mr. Moore . . 199 DC VIII. to Mr. C. Hancock 220 DLIV. to Mr. Murray 200 DCIX. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 220 DLV. to Mr. Murray . 200 DCX. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 221 DLVI. to Mr. Murray 200 DC XI. to Mr. Charles Hancoc . 221 DLVIL to Mr. Murray . 200 DCXII. to * * * * . 221 DLVIII. to Mr. Shelley 200 DCXIII. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 222 DLIX. to Sir Walter Scott . 201 DC XIV. to Andrew Londo . 223 DLX. to Mr. Murray . . 201 DC XV. to His Highness Yiissuff Pa- DLXL to Mr. Moore . . . 201 cha .... 223 DLXII. to Mr. Murray . 201 DCXVI. to Mr. Barff . 223 DLXIII. to Mr. Murray . 202 DC XVII. to Mr. Mayer . 223 DLXIV. to Mr. Murray . 202 DC XVIII. to Hon. Douglas Kinnaird 224 DLXV. to Mr. Moore . . 203 DC XIX. to Mr. Barff . 224 DLXVI. toMr. Ellice 203 DC XX. to Mr. Murray . 224 DLXVII. to Mr. Murray . 203 DCXXI. to Mr. Moore 22S DLXVIIL to Mr. Murray 204 DCXXII. to Dr. Kennedy 225 DLXIX. to Mr. Moore . . 204 DCXXIII. to Mr. Barff . 225 DLXX. to Mr. Moore 204 DC XXIV. to Mr. Barff . 226 DLXXL to Mr. Moore . . 205 DCXXV. toSr.Parruca 226 DLXXIL to Mr. Murray 205 DC XXVI. to Mr. Charles Hancock . 226 DLXXIIL to Mr. Murray . 206 DC XXVII. to Dr. Kennedy . 226 DLXXIV. to Mr. Murray 206 DC XXVIII. to Colonel Stanhope . 227 DLXXV. to Lady . . 207 DCXXIX. to Mr. Barff . 227 DLXXVL to Mr. Proctor 207 DC XXX. to Mr. Barff . 227 DLXXVIL to Mr. Moore . . 207 DCXXXI. to Mr. Barff . . . 227 DLXXVIIL to Mrs. . 208 DCXXXII. to *****, a Prussian Of. DLXXIX. to Lady * * * . . 208 ficer 228 DLXXX. to Mr. Moore . 208 DCXXXIIL toMr. Barff . . . 228 DLXXXL to the Earl of Blessir gton 209 DCXXWIV. to Mr.Barff . 228 DLXXXIL to the Earl of Blessk gton 210 DC XXXV. to Mr. Barff . 22» DLXXXIIL to the Earl of Blessir gton 210 DLXXXIV. to the Count + * . 210 Extracts from a Journal begun Nov. 14, 1813 22» , DLXXXV. to the Countess Bles sington 211 Extracts from a Journal in Switzerland . 244 DLXXXVL to the Countess of* * ♦ 211 Extracts from a Journal in Italy .... 241 DLXXXVII. to Lady Byron . 211 Detached Thoughts, extracted from various journals, DLXXXVIIL to Mr. Blaquiere . 212 memorandums, &c. &c 259 DLXXXIX. to Mr. Bowring . 212 The first chapter of a Novel, contemplated by Lord DXC. to Mr. Bowring . 213 Byron in the spring of 1812; (afterwards published DXCI. to Mr. Church . 213 inoneofMr. Dallas' novels) .... 271 DXCIL to M. H. Beyle . 214 Parliamentary Speeches 272 DXCIIL to Lady * ♦ + +, . 214 A Fragment 278 DXCIV. to the Countess of Ble 3sington214 Letter to John Murray on the Rev. W. L. Bowles ♦s DXCV. to Mr. Bowring . 214 strictures on the Life and writings of Pope . 280 DXCVL to Goethe . 215 Extracts from a second Letter in answer to Mr. DXCVIL to Mr. Bowring . 215 Bowles, written May 1821 . 288 DXCVIII. to the General Gove mment Extracts from a Pamphlet addressed to the editor of of Greece 216 Blackwood's Magazine, in 1820. . 292 DXCIX. to Prince Mavrocord. ito 216 Letter to the editor of My Grandmother's Review 296 DC. to Mr. Bowring . 216 Translation of two Epistles from the Armenian DCL to Mr. Bowring . 217 version 299 DCII. to Mr. Bowring . . 217 The wiU of Lord Byron SOI CONTENTS. POEMS, ETC. PAGE CHiLCE Harold's pilgrimage. Preface 1 Tolanthe 2 Canto 1 3 Canto II 11 Canto III. 18 Canto IV. ...... 27 Notes to Canto 1 42 Notes to Canto II 43 Appendix ,51 Notes to Canto III. ... .67 Notes to Canto IV 59 THE GIAOUR ... ... 81 Notes 91 THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS. Canto 1 93 Canto II 97 Notes .102 THE CORSAIR. Canto I. 105 Canto II. 110 Canto III 114 Notes 119 LARA. Canto 1 121 Canto II 126 Note 130 8IEGE OF CORINTH 131 Notes 139 PARISINA 140 Notes 144 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON. Sonnet on Chillon ..... 145 Notes 148 BEPFO 149 Notes 156 MAZEPFA 156 MANFRED 163 Notes . ..... 174 MEBREW MELODIES. She walks in beauty 174 The harp the monarch milJstrel swept . .174 Ifthat high world 174 The wild gazelle 175 Oh! weep for those 175 On Jordan's banks 175 Jephtha's daughter 1 75 Oh ! snatch'd away in beauty's bloom . .175 My soul is dark 175 I saw thee weep 175 Thy days are done 176 Song of Saul before his last battle . . .176 Saul 176 " All is vanity, saith the preacher" . 176 When coldness wraps this suffering clay 176 Vision of Belshazzar . . . ' . .177 PAGE Sun of the sleepless 177 Were my bosom as false as thou deem'st it to be 177 Herod's lament for Mariamne . . . 177 On the day of the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus 177 By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept 178 The destruction of Sennacherib . . . 178 From Job 178 ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE . . 178 Notes 180 MONODY ON THE DEATH OF SHERIDAN . 180 LAMENT OF TASSO 181 POEMS. Written in an album ..... 183 To * * * . . . . . . 183 Stanzas written in passing the Ambracian gulf 183 Stanzas 184 Written at Athens 184 Written after swimming from Sestos to Abydos 184 Song . .185 Translation of a famous Greek war song . 185 Translation of a Romaic song . . . 185 Written beneath a picture . . . 186 On parting 186 ToThyrza 186 Stanzas 186 To Thyrza 187 Euthanasia 187 Stanzas 187 Stanzas 188 On a cornelian heart which was broken . 188 To a youthful friend . . . . 188 To ***** * 189 From the Portuguese . . . . 189 Impromptu, in reply to a friend . . . 189 Address spoken at the opening of Drury-Lane Theatre 190 To Time 190 Translation of a Romaic love-song . . 190 A song 191 On being asked what was the " origin of love" 191 Remember him ...... 191 Lines inscribed upon a cup formed from a skull 192 On the death of Sir Peter Parker, Bart. . 192 To a lady weeping 192 From the Turkish 192 Sonnet 193 Sonnet 193 Inscription on the monument of a Newfoundland dog 193 Farewell 193 Bright be the place of thy soul . . . 193 When we two parted 193 Stanzas for music ..... 194 Stanzas for music 194 Fare thee well 194 I CONTENTS. Xlll \ PAGE A sketch 196 To 195 Ode from the F'rench ..... 196 From the French 197 On the star of the legion of honour . .197 Napoleon's farev/ell 197 Written on a blank leaf of " The Pleasures of Memory" . . . . . .198 Sonnet 198 Stanzas to . . . . . .198 Darkness 198 Churchill's grave. A fact literally rendered . 199 The dream 199 Prometheus 201 Romance muy doloroso del sitio y toraa de Alhama 201 A very mournful ballad on the siege and conquest of Alhama 201 Sonette di Vittorelli 203 Translation from Vittorelli . ^ . . . 203 Ode 204 Notes to Poems 205 PKOPHECy OF DANTE. Canto 1 206 Canto II 207 Canto III. 208 Canto IV 210 Notes 211 CAIN 212 MARINO FALIERO 228 Notes 257 Appendix 258 SARDANAPALCrs 265 Notes 291 THE TWO FOSCARI 291 Appendix 310 WERNER . 315 THE DEFORMED TRANSFORMED . . . 345 HEAVEN AND EARTH .... 358 THE ISLAND. Canto 1 368 Canto II 369 Canto III 374 Canto. IV. . 375 Appendix 378 HOURS OF IDLENESS. Preface 382 On leaving Newstead Abbey . . . 383 On a distant view of the village and school of Harrow on the Hill . . . . 383 ToD 384 Epitaph on a friend 384 A fragment 384 ToEddleslon 384 Reply to some verses of J. M. Pigot, Esq. on the cruelty of his mistress .... 385 To the sighing Strephon .... 385 The tear 385 To Miss Pigot 386 Linos written in " Letters of an Italian Nun and an English Gentleman, by J. J. Rousseau, founded on Facts" .... 386 Answer to the foregoing, addressed to Miss 386 The cornelian 386 On the death of a young lady, cousin to the author, and very dear to him .... 387 To Emma 387 An occasional prologue, delivered previous to tho performance of " The Wheel of Fortune" at a private theatre ...... 387 On the death of Mr. Fox .... 388 ToM. SG 388 To Caroline 388 To Caroline 389 ToCarolino 389 c PAGE Stanzas to a lady . v . . . 389 The first kiss of Igve .... 389 To Mary 390 To woman 390 ToM. S. G: 390 To a beautiful quaker .... 390 Song 391 To 391 To Mary SS2 ToLesbia S92 Lines addressed to a young lady . . 392 Love's last adieu 393 Damaetas 393 To Marion 393 Oscar of Alva 394 To the Duke of Dorset • . . . .397 TRANSLATIONS AND IMITATIONS. Adrian's address to his soul when dying, with Translation 398 Translation from Catullus . . . 398 Translation of the epitaph on Virgil and Ti- bullus 398 Imitation of Tibullus .... 398 Translation from Catullus .... 398 Imitated from Catullus .... 398 Translation from Horace .... 398 Translation from Anacreon . . . 399 Ode III 399 Fragments of school exercises . , . 399 The episode of Nisus and Eurialus . . 399 Translation from the Medea of Euripides . 402 FUGITIVE PIECES. Thoughts suggested by a college examination 403 To the Earl of . ^ . . . .404 Answer to some elegant verses sent by a friend lo the author, complaining that one of his de- scriptions was rather too warmly drawn 405 Granta 405 Lachin y. Gair 406 To Romance 407 Elegy on Newstead Abbey . . . 407 On a change of masters at a great public school 409 Childish recollections .... 409 Answer to a beautiful poem, written by Montgo- mery, author of " I'he Wanderer in Switzer- land," &c. &c. entitled ''The Common Lot" 413 To the Rev. J. T. Berber ... 413 The death of Calmar and Oria . . . 414 To E. N. L., Esq 415 To 416 Stanzas 416 Lines written beneath an elm in the churchyard of Harrow on the Hill < . . . .417 Critique, extracted from the Edinburgh Review 417 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH REVIEWERS. Prefice 419 Postscript 430 HINTS FROM HORACE 431 THE CUUSE OF MINERVA .... 441 THE V.ALTZ. To the publisher 4-44 AGE OF BRONZE .... . 447 THE VjatON OF JUDGMENT. P/eiace 453 MO^OANTE MAGGIORE. dvertisenicnt ...... 461 por^is. T\Blues 467 ThirtJ Art of Manfred, in its original shape, as firstSsiMit to the publisher . . . 470 To mv (ii'ar Mary Anno . . . 472 To MissX>haworlh ..... 472 Fragment v^ ..... . 473 Tho prayer of naturo .... 47S XIV CONTENTS. PAGE Fragment 473 On revisiting Harrow .... 473 L'amilie est I'amour sans ailes . . . 473 To my son 474 Epitaph on John Adams, of Southwell . 475 Fragment 475 To Mrs. * * * 475 A love-song 475 Stanzas to * * + * * * ♦ . . . 475 To the same 476 Song 476 Stanzas to * * *, on leaving England . . 476 Lines to Mr. Hodgson .... 477 Lines in the travellers' book at Orchomenua 477 Epistle to Mr. Hodgson . . . .478 On Moore's last operatic farce . . . 478 On Lord Thurlow's poems . . . 478 To Lord Thurlow 478 To Thomas Moore 478 Fragment of an epistle to Thomas Moore . 479 The Devil's drive 479 Windsor poetics ..... 480 Additional stanzas to the ode to Napoleon . 480 To Lady Caroline Lamb . . . . 480 PAGB Stanzas for music 480 Address intended to be recited at the Caledonian meeting . . . . . . 481 ToBelshazzar 481 On the Prince Regent's returning the picture of Sarah Countess of Jersey to Mrs, Mee . 481 Hebrew Melodies .... 482 Lines intended for the opening of ** The Siege of Corinth" 482 Extract from an unpublished poem . . 482 To Augusta 482 Fragment of a poem on hearing that Lady Byron was ill.— 1816 . .... 484 On the bust of Helen by Canova . . . 484 To Thomas Moore 484 Stanzas to the river Po .... 484 Sonnet to George the Fourth . . . 484 The Irish Avatar 485 Francesca of Rimini ... . 485 Stanzas • 486 Stanzas 487 To the Countess of Blessington . . 487 On this day I complete my thirty-sixth year 487 Impromptu 487 THE LIFE OF LORD BYRON. George Gordon Byron, Lord Byron, was born in Holies-street, London, on the 22d of January, 1788. His name was of Norman origin, and still exists, among the noblest in France, in the family of the Duke de Biron. His direct ancestor, Ralph de Biron, accompanied William the Conqueror to England, and he and his descendants for several succeeding reigns, held large posses- sions in Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, and Lancashire. James Byron, of Horestan Castle, Derbyshire, appears on the "Oxford List," as one of the English Knights who followed the banner of Richard Cceur de Lion to Palestine, and he or his brother became a hostage for the payment of the ransom of that monarch after his captivity. In the wars of the three Edwards, and of the White and Red Roses, the family were highly distinguished, and were engaged in almost every battle, from Cressy to Bos- worth Field. Newstead Abbey, near Not- tingham, with the lands adjoining it, was presented by Henry VIII. on the dissolution of the monasteries to Sir John Byron, and in 1643, his great grandson was created a peer by Charles I. with the title of Baron Byron, of Rochdale, in the county of Lan- caster. During the political struggles of that period, the Byrons adhered faithfully to the Crown, and suffered greatly by confis- cation and othervi^ise. At the battle of Edgchill seven brothers of the name were present, four of whom fell at Marston Moor. William, the fifth Lord, succeeded to the title in 1736, and, in 1765, was tried before the House of Peers for killing his relation Mr. Chaworth, in a desperate scuffle or duel in London, and found guilty of man- slaughter, but pleaded the privilege of the peerage, and was discharged. He retired to Newstead Abbey, and resided there, living in a very unsocial, savage, and eccen- tric manner, till his death in 1798. John, the father of the poet, was the son of Lord Willinui's oldt^st br-Mlh r, Adniirnl Byron, the celebrated voyager. He waa a captain in the guards, and notorious, alike for his personal beauty, and the profligacy of his conduct. In his twenty-seventh year, he won the affections of Lady Caermarthen, the wife of the Marquis of Caermarthen ; fled with her to the Continent, and, on her husband's obtaining a divorce, married her. She died in 1784, leaving one daughter, Augusta Byron, afterwards Mrs. Leigh. In the following year, he married Catherine Gordon, the only child of George Gordon, Esq. of Gight, in Scotland. She was of noble, and indeed, of princely ancestry, being a lineal descendant of Sir William Gordon, son of the Earl of Huntly by a daughter of James I. She was possessed of pro- perty to the amount of more than ig-20,000 sterling, which was very soon n'^arly ex- pended in paying her husband's debts, and contributing to his extravagancies. In the summer of 1786, they left Scotland, and resided in France, until the close of the year 1787, when Mrs. Byron returned to London, and continued there until the birth of the poet in January 1788. At this time all her estate had been sacrificed, with the exception of about iSl50 sterling per an- num, vested in trustees for her use. From London she proceeded with her infant to Aberdeen, where she was soon aRer joined by Captain Byron, who, after passing at intervals two or three months with her, during which they lived very unhappily together, departed again for France, and died at Valenciennes in 1791. At five years old, young Byron was sent to a day school kept by a Mr. Bowers, where he remained a year. He was then placed for a time under the care of two other in- structers, and at seven entered the Gram- mar School at Aberdeen. In the summer of 1796, afler an attack of scarlet fever, lie was removed for change of air, to the High- land!^, and rosidcd, with his mother, for some time, at Bitllntcr. on the r>Ci\ about forfv XVI LIFE OP LORD BYRON. miles from Aberdeen. To his pleasant re- collections of this period, and its scenes and associations, he often recurs in his writings. By the death without issue, of William, the fifth Lord, in May, 1798, he succeeded to his estates and titles, and his cousin the Earl of Cariisle, the son of the late Lord's sister, w^as appointed his guardian. In the autumn of that year, he accompanied his mother to Newstead Abbey, which had been the principal seat of the family since its presentation, and continued to be so until it was purchased by Colonel Wildman in 1814. On their arrival there, he was, in consequence of a lameness in one of his feet, occasioned, it is said, b}^ an accident which occurred at his birth, and afterwards increased by improper treatment, placed at Nottingham under the care of a person who professed the cure of such cases, and he received at the same time lessons in Latin, from Mr. Rogers, a schoolmaster of that town. He was removed, in a short time, to London, to the charge of the emi- nent physician, Doctor Baillie, and studied for two years at the school of Doctor Glen- nie at Dulwich. But neither the Notting- ham practitioner, nor the skill of Doctor Bailhe, succeeded in relieving the infirmity in his foot, which continued to be a source of extreme annoyance and mortification to him during life. In one of his vacations at tliis time, (1800,) he visited his cousin, Miss Parker, and " his first dash into poetry," he says in one of his memorandums, " was the ebulli- tion of a passion for her." The verses he alludes to are pubhshed in this volume, page 387.. She was the daughter of Ad- miral Sir Peter Parker, on whose death in 1814, he wrote the lines beginning, " There is a tear for all who die " In the summer of 1801, he vlcited Cheltenham, and immediately on his return was placed at Harrow, under the tuition of Doctor Drury, for whom he appears to have uni- formly entertained tlic utmost respect and affection. In the autumn of 1802, he passed some time with his mother at Bath, and proceeded with her to Nottingham, where she took lodgings, Newstead being for that season let to Lord Grey de Ruthven. Here he cultivated an intimacy with Miss Mary Anne Chaworth ; to whom he had been previously introduced in London. She re sided at Annesley, in the neighbourhood of Nottingham. They were distantly related the third Lord Byron, who succoeded to tin title in 1679, having married a daughter of Viscount Chaworth of Ireland. Mr. Cha- worth, who fell in the dispute with the Lord Byron of 1765, was of the same family. He visited Annesley daily for nearly six weeks, passing most of the time with his cousin, and became deeply and devotedly attached to her. He w-as then but fifteen. She was two or three years older, very beautiful, and an heiress with large expec- tations, and seems to have looked upon him, at the moment, as a mere schoolboy, and laughed at his passion and himself accord- ingly. He has pictured in " The Dream," page 199, the story of his love for her, and its fate and consequences. It appears, young as he then was, to have made an in- delible impression upon him, and to have given, at least in his own opinion, a colour- ing of the deepest and darkest importance to the events and feelings of his after life. Allusions to the subject as one of painful and of powerful interest, are to be found in almost every page of his works. Many of his smaller poems, particularly the lines " Well, thou art happy, &c." page 189, were addressed to her. In the following year, 1805, she was married to Mr. Mus- ters, a gentleman of the neighbourhood, and it is said, that the marriage proved un- happy. She died in 1831. During one of his vacations at this period, he studied French with the Abbe de RoufEgny in London, but made little progress. He afterwards read that language with ease, but never attempted to speak it. He passed the vacation of 1804 with his mother at Southwell, in Nottinghamshire, and in Oc- tober 1805, left Harrow for Trinity Col- lege, Cambridge. On a visit to Southwell in the following summer, (1806,) he became intimate with the family of the Pigots, and to a lady of that family the earliest of his letters which have been preserved was addressed. In August, a dispute Avith his mother, whose violence of temper, at times, exceeded all bounds, compelled him to fly to London. She however pursued him, and they were soon reconciled. About the first of Novem- ber his first collection of poems was put in press at Newark by Mr. Ridge, a bookseller of that place, and about a hundred' copies circulated among his friends. All these, however, he immediately recalled, and in the January following printed for private distribution a second collection, omitting many pieces which had appeared in the first. \ LIFE OP LORD BYRON. xvn It was entitled " Poems on various Occa- sions," and the author's name was not given. fn May, or June, after numerous alterations and additions, the work appeared in its pub- lished shape, with the title of " Hours of Idleness, &c." and its second edit n was dedicated to his guardian, Lord Carlisle. In the present collection, see this volume, page 382, the reader will find all the poems which were originally suppressed, and no- tices of the variations of the different edi- tions. He also wrote previous to, and about this time, several occasional verses, not in- cluded in any of his publications, which have been collected since his death, and are now published, from page 467 to page 488 The minor Reviews, such as the Critical Monthly, Antijacobin, &c. gave the " Hours of Idleness" a very favourable reception, but the appearance, in the spring of 1808, of the article in the Edinburgh Review, (see this volume, page 417,) satirically and severely criticizing it, destroyed for the moment all his hopes of fame, humbled his ambition, and wounded his pride to the quick. Yet to this article may be traced all his future literary eminence. The very reaction of his spirit against what he deem- ed oppression, roused him to a full con- sciousness of his own powers, and to a concentration of them all upon one object. The criticism has been generalh'' attributed to Mr. Jeffrey, the ostensible editor of the Review, although there is no positive cer- tainty from whose pen it emanated. He, however, in his character of editor, neces- sarily sanctioned it, and upon him, in par- ticular, Lord Byron for a long time poured the vials of his wrnth. Previous to this, and since his depar- ture from Harrow, Lord Byron had passed his life between the dissipations of Cam- bridge and London, and had obtained no other distinction than the college reputation among his fellows of being a clever, but a careless and dissipated student. His most intimate associates were Mr. Matthews, Mr. Hobhouse, Mr. Scr()0])e Davies, and a few other young men of his own age and habits, whom he occasionally invited to Newstead, which he had slightly repaired and fitted up as a temporary residence. The follow- ing extract of a letter from Mr. Matthews to a lady of his acquaintance, written from London soon after this period, contains an mteresting and amusing description of the Abbey and its inniates. " Newstead Abbey is situate one hun- dred and thirty-six miles from London ; four on this side Mansfield. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still completely an Jlhhey^ and most part of it is standing in the same state as when it was first built. There are two tiers of cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which, though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might easily be made so ; and many of the origi- nal rooms, among which is a fine stone hall, are still in use. Of the Abbey Church only one end remains ; and the old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap of rubbish. Leading from the Abbey to the modern part of the habitation is a noble room, seventy feet in length and twen- ty-three in breadth : but every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those which the present Lord has lately fitted up. " The house and gardens are entirely surrounded by a wall with battlements. In front is a large lake, bordered here and there with castellated buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence at the farther extre- mity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak and barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles, except a solitary clump or two, and you will have some idea of New- stead. " Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may introduce you to my Lord and his visitants. But have a care how you pro- ceed ; be mindful to go there in broad day- light, and with your eyes about you. For, should you make any blunder, — should you go to the right of the hall steps, you are laid hold of by a bear ; and, should you go to the left, your case is still worse, for you run full against a wolf! — Nor, when you have attained the door, is your danger over ; for the hall being decayed, and therefore stand- ing in need of repair, a bevy of inmates are very probably bagging at one end of it with their pistols ; so that if you enter without giving loud notice of your approach, you have only escaped the wolf and the bear to expire by the pistol-shots of the merry raonUs of Newstead. " Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four others ; and was, now and then, increased by the presence of a neighhouring parson. As for our way of living, the order of the day was generally this : — For break- fast we had no set hour, but each suited his own convenience, — every thing remaining on the table till the whole party had done ; though had one wished to brcaklast at the early hour of ten, one would liave been XVIU LIFE OF LORD BYRON. rather lucky to find any of the servants up. Our average hour of rising was one. I, who generally got up between eleven and twelve, was always, — even when an invalid, — the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy of early rising. It was frequently past two before the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amusements of the morning, there was reading, fencing, single- stick, or shuttlecock, in the great room ; practising with pistols in the hall ; walking — riding — cricket — sailing on the lake, play- ing with the bear, or teazing the wolf. Be- tween seven and eight we dined, and our evening lasted from that time till one, tw^o, or three in the morning. The evening di- versions may be easily conceived. " I must not omit the custom of handing round, after dinner, on the removal of the cloth, a human skull filled with Burgundy. After revelling on choice viands, and the finest wines of France, we adjourned to tea, where we amused ourselves with reading or improving conversation, — each according to his fancy, — and, after sandwiches, &c. retired to rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been provided, with all the pro- per apparatus of crosses, beads, tonsures, &c. often gave a variety to our appearance, and to our pursuits." It was at Newstead Abbey, in the early part of September, that he began to prepare his Satire, the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," for the press. Although its immediate preparation was evidently has- tened by the critique in the Edinburgh Review, yet, as appears from his letters, it had been projected a long time previous, and three or four hundred lines of it written. He had the proof sheets printed from the manuscript by Ridge at Newark, and in the beginning of the next year took them up to London for publication. He had then (Ja- nuary, 1809) become of age, and found his estates greatly embarrassed, as well by the improvidence of his immediate ancestors as by his own pecuniary supplies during his minority, which he had been compelled to borrow at an exorbitant interest. Heavy incumbrances remained for many years after upon his property, and distressed him ex- ceedingly. His Satire was put in press by Cawthorne, the London publisher of the " Hours of Idleness," and its publication was superintended by Mr. Dallas, to whom he had made a present of the copy-right. Mr. Dallas was professionally a man of letters, and the author of several novels of limited popularity, and rather indifferent merit ; to one of which Lord Byron contributed the chapter included in this collection, page 271. He was related by marriage to] George Byron, then an officer in the Bri-! tish navy, the cousin of the poet, and his; successor in the title. One of the objects of Lord Byron in visiting London at this period was to take his seat in the House of Peers, previous to going abroad. He had for several months made arrangements for a voyage to India, and had applied for infor- mation relative to his route, &c. to the Arabic professor at Cambridge, and taken other steps with a similar intention ; but he finally abandoned this project, and resolved on visiting Greece. Before the meeting of Parliament, he wrote to his guardian, Lord Carlisle, and reminded him that he should become of age at the commencement of the session, in the hope of being introduced by him personally into the House. He re- ceived, to his great disappointment, a cold and formal reply, merely pointing out the technical mode of proceeding in such cases. This so excited his indignation that he in- stantly erased from the Satire several cou- plets complimentary to Lord Carlisle, andj inserted the bitter lines, and still more bitter note, which now stand in it. On the 13th of March he took his seat in the House of Lords, placing himself on one of the oppo-i sition benches, and continued a steady ad-' herent of the Whig party till his death. His Satire appeared on the 18th or 20th of March, and met a ready and rapid sale. He then returned to Newstead, where he spent between two and three months in preparing a second edition for the press ; and about the 1 Ith of June, left London for Falmouth, with his friend Mr. Hobhouse, on their way to the East. They embarked at Falmouth, in the Lisbon packet, on the 2d of July, and ar- rived in four days at Lisbon, from whence they journeyed on horseback to Seville and Cadiz, and sailed from the latter place for Gibraltar, in the Hyperion frigate. On the 19th of August, they left Gibraltar for Malta, having first sent home two of Lord Byron's servants, Murray and young Rush- ton, the "Yeoman" and "Page" of the "Good Night" in Childe 1' a rold, the lat- ter being unable, from ill health, to go on. His valet, Fletcher, remained with them. At Malta he formed an acquauitance with Mrs. Spencer Smith, the " Florence" of his poetry, and was on the point of fighting a LIFE OF LORD BYRON. XIX duel with an officer of the garrison, but satisfactory explanations having been made on the ground by the friend of his anta- gonist, the affair was amicably adjusted. They sailed in the brig Spider on the 19th for Prevesa, which they reached on the 29th, having touched at Patras on their way. From Prevesa they journeyed to Joannina, the capital of Albania, the an- cient Epirus, and from thence to Tepelenfe, at nine days distance, for the purpose of visiting Ah Pacha, the then chief of a great portion of Greece, and one of the most celebrated Viziers of the Ottoman empire, by whom they were received with marked civility and attention. They were among the earliest English travellers through Al- bania, a country at that time hardly known to the rest of Europe. The letters of Lord Byron at this period, pubhshed in this col lection of his works, together with the text and notes of the first and second Cantos oC Childe Harold, and many of his other poems, notes, &c. contain such numerous details of their various adventures during this and their subsequent journeys and voyages in the Levant, as render a par- ticular description in this sketch unneces- sary. On the 3d of November they returned from Tepelenfe through Joannina to Pre- vesa, and on the 15th, attended by a guard of forty or fifty Albanians, they traversed Acarnania and Etolia to Missolonghi, crossed the gulf of Corinth to Patras, and proceeded from thence by land to Vostizza, where they obtained a first view of Mount Parnassus. They sailed to the opposite shore of the gulf in a small boat ; rode on horseback from Salona to Delphi, and after travelling through Livadia, and visiting Tihebes, &c. arrived at Athens on the 25th of December. At Athens, they resided for two or three months, making occasional excursions in its neighbourhood. They lodged in the house of Theodora Macri, a Greek lady, to whose eldest daughter, the hues on page 184, " Maid of Athens ere we part, &c." were addressed. On the 5th of March, 1810, they embarked in an English sloop of war for Smyrna, where they remained, with the exception of a few days employed in a visit to the ruins of Ephesus, until the 1 1 th of April. The first two Cantos of Childe Harold were completed at Smyrna, as ap- pears from the following memorandum pre- fixed to the original manuscript. " Byron. Joannina in Albania, Begun October 31st,, 1809 : Concluded Canto 2d, Smyrna, March 28th, 1810. " Byron." The Salsette frigate then lying at Smyr- na, had been ordered to Constantinople for the purpose of conveying to England Mr. Adair, the English ambassador at the Porte, and Lord Byron and Mr. Hobhouse took passage in her on the 11th April. The next morning they landed at Tenedos, and the day after left the ship, with a party of officers to visit the ruins of Troas. On the 14th, they anchored in the Dardanelles, where they lay for nearly three weeks. While at anchor there, Lord B^Ton with Mr. Ekenhead, a lieutenant of the frigate, accomplished the achievement of which he was through life particularly proud, that of swimming from Sestos to Abydos. Their first attempt was made on a day in the latter part of April, and failed, owing to the cold- ness of the water, and their ignorance of the nature of the current. On the 3d May, they made a second attempt, and the weather being warmer, succeeded. The Salsette arrived at Constantinople on the 13th May, and remained there about three months, during which time Lord Byron was pre- sented to the Sultan, and made an expedi- tion to the Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades. On the 14th of July, he left Constantinople in the same frigate, in company with Mr. Adair and Mr. Hob- house. The two latter gentlemen pro- ceeded in her to England, but Lord Byron was on the 15th, at his own request, landed at the island of Zea, with two Albanians, a Tartar, and his English servant, Fletcher, from whence he sailed to Athens, and reached there on the 18th. At Athens he met an old acquaintance and fellow collegian, the Marquis of Sligo, and in a day or two left there in company with him for the Morea. They parted at Corinth, the Marquis going from thence to Tripolitza, and Lord Byron to Patras. During the two following months he made the tour of the Morea, &c. and, after a long and dangerous illness at Patras, returned to Athens in December, and there fixed his head quarters during the remainder of his stay in Greece. His principal companion at this time was Lord Sligo, and he was also in- timate with Mr. Bruce, afterwards celebrated for the part he took in the romantic escape of It LIFE OF LORD BYRON. the French General La valet te from prison, and with Lady Hester Stanhope, the eccen- tric chieftainess of the Bedouin Arabs. He was employed in collecting the materials which form the notes to the 2d Canto of Childe Harold, and in the words of Mr. Moore, " as if in utter defiance of the ' ge- nius loci,' " he there wrote his " Hints from Horace," a satire which, impregnated as it is with London life from beginning to end, bears the date, " Athens, Capuchin convent, March 12, 1811." His pecuniary affairs while abroad were greatly embarrassed, and the want of re- mittances probably prevented him from undertaking a voyage to Egypt, which in the month of March he had contemplated, and no doubt hastened his return home. He went to the island of Malta in May, where he suffered severely from an attack of fever, to which he seems to have been constitu- tionally subject, being three or four times while in the Levant, reduced by similar at- tacks to almost the last extremity. On the 3d of June, as soon as his health permitted, he set sail from Malta in the Volage frigate for England, and reached London on the 14th of July, having been absent a little more than two years. The day after his arrival in London, Mr. Dallas called upon him, and in the course of a brief conversation. Lord Byron men- tioned having written the " Hints from Ho- race," which he said he considered a good finish to the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," adding that he intended to put it in press immediately, and requesting Mr. Dallas to superintend its publication. Mr. Dallas took the manuscript home with him, and on perusing it, was, to use his own words, " grievously disappointed." He re- turned it the next morning, and though unwilling to speak of it as he really thought, could not refrain from expressing some sur- prise that its author should have produced nothing else during his two years' absence. Lord Byron told him that he liad occasion- ally written short poems, besides a great many stanzas in the measure of Spenser, and added, " they are not worth troubhng you with, but you may have them all if you like." He then took the manuscripts of Childe Harold from a small trunk, and said they had been read but by one person, (probably Mr. Hobhouse,) who had found very little to commend and much to con- demn, and that he himself was of the same opinion. Mr. Dallas on the contrary, on perusing the poem, at once appreciated its merit and anticipated its success, but it was some time before he could overcome Lord Byron's real or assumed repugnance to its publication. The " Hints from Horace" was his especial favourite. He was very desirous of having it printed without delay ; and it was accordingly handed to Caw- thorne, the publisher of the " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," for that purpose. Mr. Dallas, however, finally prevailed upon him to suppress it at the moment, and although Lord Byron always dwelt upon it Avith pleasure, and subsequently took pains at various times to prepare it for the press, it never met the approbation of his book- sellers or their Uterary censors, and did not appear until after his death. The publication -of Childe Harold being determined upon, the manuscript Avas placed by Mr. Dallas, to whom the copy-right had been presented, in the hands of Mr. Mur- ray the bookseller, and was immediately put in press. The " English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" had previous to this time passed to a fourth edition ; a fifth was now issued with various additions, after which that work was suppressed, and every copy so far as was practicable called in and destroyed. In America, however, and on the Continent, Avhere the English law of copy-right could not be enforced, it conti- nued to be published with the other works of its author. On the 23d of July, Lord Byron wrote to his mother, who was then at Newstead, stating that he was detained in town by some laAV affairs for a day or two, but should visit her as soon as possible. The next morning he received intelligence that she was dangerously ill, and instantly started for Newstead, but did not reach there until after her death. Her last illness is said to have been rendered fatal by a fit of rage brought on by reading her upholsterer's bill. She is described as a short, corpulent person, exceedingly fretful and impatient in her disposition ; and her conduct towards her son from his childhood appears to have been alternately indulgent and abusive, and without the least judgment or self-command. She undoubtedly loved him to thp extreme of fondness, and was ambitiously proud of him, yet so ungovernable were her passions, that she, at times, treated him with a cruelty, and even brutality almost beyond belief. He said to Lord Sligo, in reference to her, while in Greece, " Look there," pointing LIFE OF LORD BYRON. XXI his foot, " 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." In a pas- sage in his suppressed Memoirs relating to his early days, he is said to have described the horror and humiliation which came over him when in one of her fits of passion she called him a " lame brat," and the opening of " The Deformed Transformed," indeed the whole drama itself, was too evidently occasioned by that painful recollection. Yet notwithstanding the sufferings her unhappy temperament had caused him, he uniformly paid her the greatest courtesy and personal respect; and the manner in which he la- mented her loss proved the unimpaired in- tegrity of his affection. Besides that of his mother, he was com- pelled to mourn at this period the death of no less than six of his relations and inti- mate fHends. Among the number were Wingfield, one of his Harrow favourites, Eggleston, his prolog^ at Cambridge, of whom he was romantically fond, and Mat- thews, a young man of extraordinary pro- mise. •' In the short space of one month," he says, in a note to Childe Harold, " I have lost her who gave me being, and most of those who made that being tolerable ;" and his letters, for a long time after, are written in a style of melancholy reckless- ness, indicative of habitual gloom and de- spondency. He remained at Newstead until late in the autumn ; and, after a visit to Rochdale, in Lancashire, on business connected with his estates in that quarter, returned through Cambridge to London the latter part of October. About this time he became inti- mate with Mr. Moore, the poet, afterwards his biographer, and one of his few firm and faithful friends, and with Lord Holland, both of whom he had violently attacked in the ''English Bards and Scotch Reviewers." The origin of his acquaintance with Mr. Moore was a note appended to that satire, and the singularly curious and characteristic correspondence which followed it is contain- ed in this volume, page 86, &c. That correspondence led to an introduction at the house of Mr. Rogers, the author of " Hu- man Life," &c. and on the day it took place, Mr. Campbell, the author of the " Plea- sures of Hope," Lord Byron, and Mr. Moore, dined with that gentleman, forming, as one of Lord Byron's biographers very justly observes, " a iM)ctical group not easily d to be matched among contemporaries in any age or country." Mr. Moore, in alluding to this meeting, thus describes the impressions left upon him, by this his first interview with Lord Byron. " What I chiefly remember to have remarked was the nobleness of his air, his beauty, and the gentleness of his voice and manners. Being in mourning for his mo- ther, the colour, as well of his dress, as of his glossy curling and picturesque hair, gave more effect to the pure, spiritual paleness of his features, in the expression of which, when he spoke, there was a perpetual play of lively thought, though melancholy was their habitual character when in re- pose." The following further extracts from Mr. Moore's Notices, will give the reader an ac- curate general idea of Lord Byron's personal appearance. " Of his face, the beauty may be pro- nounced to have been of the highest order, as combining at once regularity of features with the most varied and interesting expres- sion. His eyes, though of a Hght gray, were capable of all extremes of meaning, but it was in the mouth and chin that the great beauty as well as expression of his countenance lay. " His head was remarkably small, — so much so as to be rather out of proportion with his face. The forehead, though a lit- tle too narrow, was high, and appeared more so from his having his hair (to preserve it, as he said) shaved over the temples ; while the glossy, dark-brown curls, clustering over his head, gave the finish to its beauty. When to this is added, that his nose, though hand- somely, was rather thickly shaped, that his teeth were white and regular, and his com- plexion colourless, as good an idea perhaps as it is in the power of mere words to con- vey may be conceived of his features. " In height he was, as he himself has in- formed us, five feet eight inches and a half, and to the length of his limbs he attributed his being such a good swimmer. His hands were very white, and — according to his own notion of the size of hands as indicating birth — aristocratically small. The lame- ness of his right foot, though an obstacle to grace, but little impeded the activity of his movements ; and from this circumstance, as well as from the skill with which the foot was disguised by means of long trowsers, it would be ditlicult to conceive a defect of this kind less obtruding itself ns a deformity ; xxu LIFE OF LORD BYRON. while the diffidence which a constant con- sciousness of the infirmity gave to his first approach and address, made, in him, even lameness a source of interest." On the 27th of February, 1812, in a de- bate on the subject of the Nottingham Frame-breakers, he made his first speech in the House of Lords. He had previously prepared himself, not only by composing, but writing it beforehand. It was flatter- ingly received, but obtained no permanent popularity, and his after eflbrts as an orator were generally considered failures. In April following, he spoke a second time, in favour of the claims of the Irish Catholics, and, in June, accompanied the presentation of a petition in behalf of Major Cartwright, with some introductory remarks, which closed his parliamentary career as a speak- er. His display, on the second and third occasions, was less promising than at first. His delivery was mouthing and theatrical, and in a kind of chanting tone, which is said to have also disfigured his recitation of poetry. On the first of March, Childe Harold ap- peared, and " the impression" says Mr. Moore, " which it produced on the public, was as instantaneous as it has proved deep and lasting. The fame of its author had not to wait for any of the ordinary grada- tions, but seemed to spring up like the pa- lace of a fairy tale, in a night." The re- ception of the poem, indeed, was such, that there was no undue extravagance in the memorandum made by Lord Byron himself in his suppressed Memoirs, " I aAvoke one morning and found myself famous." The first edition was immediately disposed of, and numerous editions followed in quick succession. Previous to this period, notwithstanding tlie advantages of liis birth and title, Lord Byron had not mingled, to any great extent, in the gay world of London, his companion- ship having been mostly confined to his col- lege and travelling acquaintances, and to a few intimate friends; but the universal ac- clamation with which his poem was now hailed, and the mysterious interest it at- taclicd to his personal character, together with his youth, his beauty, his rank, and his more than promise of extraordinary in- tellectual power, forced him instantly into the highest fashionable circles, among whose most illustrious crowds he became the dis tinguished object, and with whom he con tinued to move, with occasional voluntary intervals of retirement, until his separation from Lady Byron. In AuLnist he went to Cheltenham, where, at the request of the Managers, through Lord Holland, he wrote the Address spoken at the opening of the new theatre, Drury Lane. He also there wrote the poem on " Walt/.ing." It was published anony- mously ; but as it created no sensation, at least in comparison with Childe Harold, he thought proper to suppress it, and even to contradict, through Mr. Murray, its pub- lisher, the rumour of its being his. " The Curse of Minerva" had been printed also anonymously, and for private circulation only, soon after his return from the East. Its' immediate object, an attack on Lord Elgin, relative to the statues, &c. sent by him from Greece, was more fully accom- plished in the notes to Childe Harold, which contained the substance of the poem. The opening Unes were afterwards made to form the commencement of the Corsair. Neither the " Waltz," nor the " Curse of Minerva," was included in any English collection of his works during his lifetime. The first edition of the Giaour was pub- lished in May, 1813. It was materially improved, and gradually enlarged through various subsequent editions, the fifth being announced in September. In the beginning of December, it was followed by the Bride of Abydos, and in January, 1814, by the Corsair. The latter poem created for the moment a greater excitement with the pub- lic than even Childe Harold, and met with an unexampled sale, fourteen thousand copies being disposed of in less than a week. The Ode to Napoleon was written in April, and the Hebrew Melodies about the same time. The hues " To a Lady weeping," alluding to George the Fourth, then Prince Regent, and his daughter, the Princess Charlotte, were originally printed in a news- paper, and attributed to Mr. Moore ; but their appearance among other small poems in the same volume with the Corsair, fixed their authorship upon Lord Byron, and in connexion with the " Windsor Poetics," then for the first time reported to be his, brought down upon his head a violent storm of invective and abuse, from the ministerial partisans, which uniting with other causes of disquietude and apprehension relating to his political career, induced him about the first of May, not only again to repeat his determination expressed in the preface to the Corsair, of writing no more for LIFE OP LORD BYRON. years ; but to attempt purchasing back the copy-rights of all his works, so far as they had been disposed of, and suppressing every line he had written. In pursuance of this resolution, he wrote to Mr. Murray, en- closing the amount paid for Childe Harold, the Corsair, &c. and ordering the unsold copies destroyed ; but, on being answered that such a proceeding would be deeply in- jurious to Mr. Murray, he abandoned his project, and allowed the pubUcation to pro- ceed. Lara appeared in August. It was at first published in the same volume with Jacqueline, a poem by Mr. Rogers ; the names of both authors being omitted. With the exception of the Ode to Water- loo, Napoleon's Farewell, and other occa- sional poems, he did not come before the public as an author between this period and the publication of the Siege of Corinth and Parisina, in the sp ing of 1816, On the 2d of January, 1815, Lord Byron was married to Anne Arabella Milbanke, daughter of Sir Ralph Milbanke, afterwards Noel, of Seaham, in the county of Durham. She was nearly connected by blood with the families of Lord Wentworth, Lord Mel- bourne, and others of the English nobility. Her immediate fortune was about ten thou- sand pounds sterling, but on the death of her father and mother, which took place a Cew years after her marriage, she became possessed of estates to a very large amount. Lord Byron had addressed her about a year previous, and although his suit was at that time rejected, yet her refusal was accom- panied with every assurance of esteem and regard, and a friendly correspondence was kept up between them. A second applica- tion in September proved successful. The disastrous result of the marriage appears to have been anticipated by her husband even at the bridal altar. The " coming events cast their shadows before." His prose account of the wedding, in his suppressed Memoirs, is said by Mr. Moore to have agreed closely in all its circum- stances with his poetical description of it in " The Dream." Towards the close of the month of March he took up his residence in London, where he lived during the succeeding year in a style of great splendour and expense, far beyond his income or his expec:ations ; and soon became deeply involved in the most distressing pecuniary embarrassments. His time was passed in the whirlwind of uisiiiouable dissipation, and behind the scenes of Drury Lane Theatre, of which he had in June been chosen one of the Ma- naging Committee, in company with Lord Essex, Douglas Kinnaird, Mr. Whitbread, and others. By the month of November, his pecuniary difficulties had increased to such an alarming degree that he was not only under the necessity of selling his libra- ry, but an execution was levied on his fur- niture, and his very beds were seized by bailiffs. His privilege as a member of the Upper House of Parhament exempted his person from arrest. On the tenth of December his daughter, Ada Augusta Byron, was born ; and, about the first of February following, a separation between Lady Byron and himself took place. She had left London a few days before on a visit to her father in Leicestershire, and Lord Byron was to follow her as soon as he could make some arrangements of his mo- ney affairs. They had parted in kindness. She wrote him on the road a letter in a style of the most playful fondness imagina- ble, but immediately on her arrival at Kirkby Mallory, the seat of her family, her father wrote, informing him that she would not again return. They never afterwards met. The particular causes of this event still remain in obscurity. The reader will find Lord Byron's views of the subject detailed in many of his letters, and elsewhere throughout his writings. His Lady, on the appearance of Mr. Moore's Biography, in 1830, caused a letter to be published, exonerating her father and mother from charges connected with it, of which they had been accused, but throwing no farther light upon it. The current of popular opinion was, at the moment, fearfully strong against Lord Byron. He was immediately shunned, if not still more harshly treated, by almost all classes, especially by those who had pre- viously courted his intimacy. Lady Jer- sey, and two or three otliers, were the only ladies of distinction in London who adhered to his fallen fame, and dared to at- tempt his defence. Except in their circles, he was virtually banished from society. Every species of reproach and obloquy was heaped upon iiis head. Exaggerated state- ments of his private conduct, and dark hints and vague insinuations of the most criminal profligacy, were circulated and believed. " In every form of paragraph, pamphlet, and caricature," says Mr. Moore, " both XXJV LIFE OF LORD BYRON, his person and character were held up to odium ; hardly a voice was raised, or at least, listened to, in his behalf; and though a few faithful friends remained unshaken by his side, the utter hopelessness of stemming the torrent was felt as well by them as by him- self, and after an effort or two to gain a fair hearing, they submitted in silence." This could not be long endured. On the 25th of April, 1816, he left England for Ostend. Immediately previous to his departure, the lines to his sister, Mrs. Leigh, beginning "Though the day of my destiny's over," and the first stanza to Mr. Moore, " My boat is on the shore," were written. The " Fare thee well," intended for Lady Byron and the " Sketch from private life," alluding to a Mrs. Charlton, her governess, had ap- peared about the first of April. From Ostend, he journeyed to the Rhine, visiting Brussels and Waterloo, entered Switzerland at Basle, and proceeded by the route of Berne and Lausanne to Ge- neva. He removed in a few weeks to Dio- data,avilla about three miles from Geneva, where with occasional voyages on the Lake, 9nd excursions to Coppet, Chamouni, the Bernese Alps, &c. in company with Mr. Hobhouse, Mr. Shelley, and one or two other intimate acquaintances, he passed the summer. He there wrote the third Canto of Childe Harold, the Monody on the Death of Sheridan, the stanzas " To Augusta," »' The Fragment," " The Prisoner of Chil- lon," &c. In October, he crossed the Simplon to Milan, and on the 10th of November took up his residence at Venice. He soon after commenced the study of the Armenian language with the broihers of a monastery near that city, and in March following, (1817,) translated the Two Epistles, page 299. " Manfred" was finished at this time, and sent to London. The Third Act, as originally written, is included in this col- lection of his Poems, page 470. It was altered to its present state in Jvme, and the drama was published in July. In April he left Venice for Rome, visiting Ferrara, where he wrote the " Lament of Tasso," and passing a day or two at Florence on his way. He returned from Rome to Venice early in June, and in July began the 4th Canto of Childe Harold, which was gra- dually enlarged until its publication in March 1818. Beppo, Mazeppa, and the Ode to Venice, were written in the course pf the spring and summer of that voar, and the 1st Canto of Don Juan in September. The latter was originally dedicated to Sou they in some prefatory verses, said to have been very able and very bitter ; but on Mr. Murray's refusal to publish the poem except anonymously, Lord Byron suppressed the dedication, alleging as a reason his unwillingness to attack Southey " under cloud of night." About this period he became acquainted with the Countess Guiccioli, to whom, in the Italian character of " cavalier servente," he devoted himself for several succeedmg years, and by whose future movements his own were almost exclusively governed du- ring the remainder of his residence in Italy. They appear to have been mutually and passionately attached to each other, and the liaison, however reprehensible, had the good effect of weaning him from still more disreputable attachments. She was a Ro- magnese lady, the daughter of Count Gamba, a nobleman of high rank and an- cient name at Ravenna, and had been married at sixteen or seventeen, without reference to her choice or affection, to the Count Guiccioli, an old and wealthy wi- dower of that country ; whose great opu- lence had rendered his otherwise worse than indifferent reputation respectable. She was on a visit at Venice with her husband, when Lord Byron was introduced to her. She was then about twenty, but appeared much younger, with a singularly fair and delicate complexion, large, dark, and lan- guishing eyes, and a profusion of light au- burn hair. She proceeded with her hus- band to Ravenna about the middle of April, 1819, and in June, Lord Byron visited her there. The Lines to the Po, alluding to her, w^ere written on his journey. They returned through Bologna to Venice, in October. At Bologna he wrote the letter to Roberts, the Editor of the British Re- view, and the Sonnet relating to the heir of Lord Edward Fitzgerald. He received about this time, at Venice, a visit from Mr. Moore, in the course of which he presented to that gentleman a large manuscript volume, which he called his " Life and Adventures." It appears not to have been a detail of the evepts of his life in a regular series, but a collection of various journals, memoranda, &c. At Lord Byron's request, the copy-right was immediately disposed of for Mr. Moore's benefit, to Mr. Murray, for two thousand guineas, w^th the understanding, that the LIFE OF LORD BYRON. XXV work was not to be published until after the author's death. When that event took place, Mr. Moore repaid to Mr. Murray the money advanced, and placed the manu- script at the disposal of Lord Byron's sis- ter, Mrs. Leigh ; at whose request, and in accordance with the opinion of many of the friends of her brother, and of other parties interested, it was destroyed. An unwilling- ness to wound the feelings of many of the persons mentioned in it, is said to have been the only motive for its destruction. In December, Lord Byron again left Venice for Ravenna, where he continued to reside during most of the two succeeding years. He there wrote the 3d, 4th, and 5th Cantos of Don Juan, the Prophecy of Dante, the translations from Pulci and Dante ; the Letters relating to the Contro- versy with Mr. Bowles ; the Letter to the Editor of Blackwood's Magazine; Ma- rino Faliero ; Sardanapalus ; The Two Foscari ; Cain ; Heaven and Earth ; The Vision of Judgment, and other smaller poems. Having disposed of Newstead Abbey, and secured, after a long Chancery suit, the possession of his Lancashire es- tates, his pecuniary affairs had now be- come in good order, and he was enabled to live in comparative splendour. Of his yearly income, (nearly £4,000 sterling,) he devoted a great portion to charitable purposes, and was much beloved and respected in Ra- venna, particularly by the poorer classes, by whom his residence there was deemed a public blessing. He himself was strongly attached to Ravenna. He preferred it to every other part of Italy, and intended to have made it his permanent place of abode. But the Romagnese authorities, suspecting him, and certainly not without reason, of a political connexion with the enemies of the existing government, took measures which indirectly compelled him to hasten his de- parture. Count Gamba, and his son. Count Pietro Gamba, the father and brother of the Countess Guiccioli, were, in July 1821, ba- nished from the Roman States. They were accused of a participation in the revolution- ary projects of the secret societies which, under the name of the Carbonari, had long been organized throughout Italy. The Countess, who had the preceding year ob- tained from the Pope a decree of separation from her husband, on condition Ihat she should in future reside with her father, ac- companied them to Pisa, where, in the No- vember following, Lord Byron joined them. In consequence of the death of Lady Noel, the mother of Lady Byron, which took place in the early part of the year 1822, he assumed the title of Noel Byron, and to most of his letters, &c. written after this pe- riod, that signature is affixed. At Pisa he remained until the middle of May. He then passed a few weeks at Montenero, a villa near Leghorn, returned to Pisa in July, and in September removed to Genoa, where he remained till his final departurefor Greece, in July 1823. During this period were written Werner, The De- formed Transformed, The Island, The Age of Bronze, and the last Cantos of Don Juan. The Lord Chancellor had, in a case brought before him in the year 1821, refused to pro- tect the copy-right of Cain, on the ground of its supposed irreligious tendency. For this, and other unexplained reasons, Mr. Murray had long declined or delayed the publication of several works forwarded to him by Lord Byron,which appears to have oc- casioned for a short time a personal estrange- ment between them. The works in ques- tion, together with those above named, were accordingly handed, at Lord Byron's request, to another bookseller, Mr. John Hunt, by whom they were soon afterwards published. The Vision of Judgment, the Translation from Pulci, the Blues, Heaven and Earth, and the Letter to Roberts, appeared in the " Liberal," a periodical work printed in London by Mr. John Hunt, but conducted principally by his brother Mr. Leigh Hunt, then in Italy. With the exception of Lord Byron's contributions, and one or two from Mr. Shelley, it contained little or no merit, and was abandoned after the fourth number. Lord Byron's motive in connecting himself with it, as well in a literary as in a pecuniary point of view, was solely to aid Mr. Leigh Hunt, who was at the time suffering in ill- health and poverty. His only reward seems to have been a querulous murmuring on the part of that person during the life of his be- nefactor, and an ungrateful volume of the most pitiful and perfidious calumnies after his death. It appears from a statement published by Mr. Murray, thatduring the life-time of Lord Byron, he paid for the copy-right of his poems, &c. as follows : — Childe Harold, Cantos 1st and 2d . . . £600 „ 3d . . . . 1575 „ 4lh 2100 Giaour . . . 525 Brido of Abydos 515 Corsair 615 XXVI LIFE OF LORD BYRON. L&ra Siege of Corinth Parisina Lament of Tasso .... Manfred Beppo Don Juan, Cantos 1st and 2d . „ „ 3d, 4lh, and 5th . Dogo of Venice . . . . • Sardanapalus, Cain, and Foscari . Mazeppa Prisoner of Chillon ^25 Sundries 700 . 525 525 . 315 315 . 525 1525 . 1525 1050 .1100 525 450 £15,455 He afterwards purchased the copy-rights of all the other works, including those pub- lished by Cawthorne, the Hunts, &c. at an expense of nearly i£ 10,000 more. Several of the above were presented by Lord Byron to Mr. Dallas, and the later Cantos of'Don Juan to Hunt. While at Pisa, Lord Byron received intelligence of the death of his natural daughter, Allegra, a loss which distressed him at the moment, almost to madness. She had been sent to him from Switzerland to Venice in September 1818, then nearly two years old, by her mother, an Englishwoman, and had continued with him until a short time previous to his leaving Ravenna, when he placed her in a convent not far from that city, to commence her education. She died of a fever in April 1822. His friend, Mr. Shelley, who had been for some time residing at Pisa, and with whom he had renewed the social and literary inter- course previously formed in Switzerland, was a few months after drowned in a vio- lent storm in the Bay of Spezea, near Leg- horn. On the 13th of July 1823, Lord Byron left Genoa for Greece. His preparations for a visit to that country for the purpose of offering his personal means and services to assist the Greeks in their struggle for freedom, had been for some time going on, a correspondence with several of \hv\v chiefs, and with the Greek Committee in London, having been commenced the pre- ceding April. He had obtained, through the aid of his bankers in Genoa, partly by anticipating his income, and partly from other resources, an advance of a large sum, and hud chartered an English brig, the Hercules, for the voyage, and loaded her with arms, ammunition, and hospital stores. His suite consisted of Count Pie- tro Gamba, (the brother of the Countess Guiccioli,) Mr. Trelawny, (an English gen- tleman,) Doctor Bruno, (an Italian surgeon,) and eight servants. After touching for supplies at Leghorn, where they remained a few days, they sailed for Cephalonia, and reached Argolosti, the chief port in that island, on the 21st of July. He there determined to wait for such in- formation from the Greek governments as should enable him to decide as to his future proceedings, and despatched messengers to Corfu and Missolonghi, the latter the then seat of government of Western Greece, in the hope of obtaining it. During their ab- sence he visited Ithaca, where he contri- buted largely to the relief of a great num- ber of distressed families who had fled thi- ther from Scio. He continued on board the Hercules in the harbour of Argolosti for more than six weeks, but the adverse in- terests and contradictory statements and requests of the various rival factions, still rendering uncertain the best method of benefiting Greece, he finally took up his abode on shore in a small village called Metaxata, about seven miles from Argo- losti. At length, the arrival at Missolonghi of a Greek fleet which had been long expected, induced him to believe that the time had arrived when his presence there could be useful. He accordingly on the 29th of December embarked in a small Greek ves- sel, called a Mistico, Count Gamba, with the horses and heavy baggage following in a larger ship. The latter was, the next day, brought to by a Turkish frigate, and carried into Patras, but in an interview with the Pacha of that place. Count Gamba succeeded in procuring her release, and reached Missolonghi on the 4th of January. The Mistico, with Lord Byron and his suite on board, touched at Zante, where they received a quantity of specie, and pro- ceeded for Missolonghi. On their way they narrowly escaped capture from the frigate above mentioned. Fortunately the Turks mistook the vessel for a Greek brulot or fireship, and were in consequence afraid to fire. With difficulty they eluded her, and reached Dragomestri, a small seaport on * the coast of Acarnania in safety, where they were detained for some time by a vio- lent gale, and did not arrive at Missolonghi until the 5th of January. Lord Byron was received by Prince Mavrocordato, at the head of the magistracy and the whole population civil and mili- tary, with distinguished honours, and every LIFE OF LORD BYRON. XXVll token of gratitude and delight. But the pleasure derived from such a welcome was too soon embittered. He found all things in a wretched state of disorganization, the chiefs divided into numerous and conflicting parties, each desirous of enlisting him in its separate views, and the soldiers and inhabi- tants imagining that he and he only could quiet their unhappy dissensions, and unite the efforts of all against the common enemy. He immediately employed himself day and night in effecting this object, and partially succeeded. He formed and equipped at his own expense a corps of Suliotes, a part of whom he had previously collected and armed at Cephalonia. Their number was now augmented to between five and six hundred, of whom, on the first of February having previously received a regular commission as an officer in the Greek service, he assumed the command. They were brave and hardy mountaineers, but undisciplined and unma- nageable ; and by their riotous conduct and savage deportment, as well towards the other military bodies as the inhabitants, kept the garrison in a continual state of alarm, and their leader in a fever of annoyance and mor- tification. To his command was also at- tached a corps of artillery, the necessary supplies for which arrived in the early part of February, under the care of Captain Parry, an English officer of engineers sent by the Greek Committee from London. An attack on Lepanto, then in the hands of the Turks, had been for some time contemplated by Lord Byron, and on the 14th of Febru- ary the artillery corps was perfected, andlkll things in readiness to start the following day, when a sudden and fatal dispute with the Suliotes took place. They broke out into open mutiny, demanding increase of pay and emoluments, peculiar privileges of military rank, and various other exactions. Satisfied that no reliance could in peril be placed upon them, and at the same time that with- out their aid the Greek force was in- sufficient for the attempt on Lepanto, he very reluctantly abandoned the expedition. His health had for a long time previous to this period been greatly impaired. While at Dragomestri he had imprudently bathed afler a day of violent exertion. A severe cold was the consequence, and the inces- sant labour of mind and body to which he devoted himself at Missolonj^hi, rendered him from day to day more feeble and feverish. The climate of that place is extremely un- healthy, and the military quarters where he resided were comfortless and exposed. On the evening of the 15th of February, the day after the abandonment of the expedition to Lepanto, he was suddenly seized with a convulsive fit which deprived him for se- veral minutes of his senses, distorting for the moment his features in a most fearful man- ner, and leaving him exhausted and unable to move for many days. He was, however, gradually recovering until the 9th of April. In the interim he had occupied himself in repairing the for- tifications at Missolonghi, and in the forma- tion of a brigade with a view to offensive or defensive measures, as events might require. He had also made arrangements for visiting Salon, there to meet a congress of the Greek chiefs, in the hope that his presence might aid in putting an end to their con- tinual and fatal dissensions. But on the morning of the 9th of April, immediately after his return home from a long ride with Count Gamba, during which they had been overtaken by a heavy shower, he was again seized with a convulsive shudderinff, fol- lowed by fever and violent pain. The next day he was better and rode out as usual, but on the 12th he was confined to his chamber, and his disorder continued to in- crease in strength and danger hourly till the l7th, when he was prevailed upon to con- sent to be bled, to which lie had at all times before decidedly objected. A consultation of his physicians was held in the afternoon of the 18th, and it was then evident alike to them and to Lord Byron that his end was fast approaching. He endeavoured in a con- versation with Fletcher his English servant to express to him his last wishes, but his voice was so faint and low, and his language so incoherent, that but little he said could be understood. The names of Lady Byron, of his daughter, of his sister Augusta, and a kw others, were alone distinguishable. Early in the evening of that day, he sunk into a slumber, in which he lay with oc- casional struggles from suffocation during the next twenty-four hours. At a few minutes past six o'clock in the evening of the 19th he was observed to open his eyes and instantly close them. The physicians felt his pulse. He had expired. Immediately after his death, the following proclamation was issued by Prince Mavro- cordato, and similar honours were paid to his memory throughout Greece. XXVIU LIFE OP LORD BYRON. «' PROVISIONAL GOVERNMENT OF WESTERN GREECE. " The present day of festivity and re joicing has become one of sorrow and of mournTng. The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at six o'clock in the afternoon, after an illness of ten days ; his death being caused by an inflammatory fever. Such was the effect of his Lordship's illness on the public mind, that all classes had for- gotten their usual recreations of Easter, even before the afflicting event was appre- hended. " The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to be deplored by all Greece ; but it must be more especially a subject of lamentation at Missolonghi, where his ge- nerosity has been so conspicuously dis- played, and of which he had even become a citizen, with the further determination Oi participating in all the dangers of the war. " Every body is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lordship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real benefactor. " Until, therefore, the final determination of the National Government be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been pleased to invest me, I hereby decree, " 1st. To-morrow morning, at day light, thirty-seven minute guns will be fired from the Grand Battery, being the number which corresponds with the age of the illustrious deceased. " 2d. All the public offices, even the tri- bunals, are to remain closed for three suc- cessive days. " 3d. All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines are sold, will also be shut ; and, it is strictly enjoined, that erery species of public amusement, and other demonstrations of festivity at Easter, shall be suspended. " 4th. A general mourning will be ob- served for twenty-one days. " 5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all the churches. (Signed) " A. Mavrocordato, " George Praidis, Secretary. " Given at Missolonghi, this 19th day of April, 1824." The funeral ceremony took place in the church of Saint Nicolas, at Missolonghi, on the 22d. The coffin was a rude chest of wood, covered with a black mantle. It was carried on the shoulders of the officers of his brigade, relieved from time to time by others ; and followed by all the troops of the garrison, and the whole population. In the church a helmet, a sword, and a crown of laurel were placed upon the bier. After the Greek service for the dead was over, it remained guarded by a detachment of sol- diers, and surrounded by crowds, who thronged from all quarters, to pay their last look of tribute, until the night of the 23d, when it was privately carried back to his house by his own officers. On the 2d of May it was embarked under a morning sa- lute from the guns of the fortress, on board a transport sent by the public authorities from the island of Zante, and on the 25th of May the Florida, an English armed ship, received it, under the charge of Colonel Stanhope, one of his coadjutors in the Greek cause, and sailed from Zante to England. Two days, the 9th and 10th of July, the body lay in state in London, and on Friday the 16th of July, was placed in the vault of his family, and next to the coffin of his mother, in the parish church of Hucknell, a small village near Newstead Abbey. Over the chancel of the church is a tablet of white marble, bearing the fol lowing inscription : IN THE VATTLT BENEATH, WHERE MANY OF HIS ANCESTORS AND HIS MOTHER ARE BURIED, LIE THE REMAINS OF GEORGE GORDON NOEL BYRON, LORD BYRON, OF ROCHDALE, IN THE COUNTY OF LANCASTER, THE AUTHOR OF " CHILDE HAROLD's PILGRIMAGE." HE WAS BORN IN LONDON ON THE 22d OF JANUARY, 1788. HE DIED AT MISSOLONGHI, IN WESTERN GREECE, ON THE 19tH OF APRIL, 1824, ENGAGED IN THE GLORIOUS ATTEMPT TO RESTORE THAT COUNTRY TO HER ANCIENT FREEDOM AKD RENOWN. LETTERS. LETTER L TO MISS FIGOT OF SOUTHWELL. "Burgage Manor, August 29th, 1804. " I received the arms, my dear Miss Pigot, and am very much obliged to you for the trouble you have taken. It is impossible I should have any fault to find with them The sight of the drawings gives me great pleasure for a double reason, — in the first place, they will ornament my books, in the next, they convince me that you have not entirely /o/-g-o«en me. I am, however, sorry you do not return sooner, you have already been gone an age. I per- haps may have talcen my departure for London before you come back ; but, however, I will hope not. Do not overlook my watch-ribbon and purse, as I wish to carry them with me. Your note was given me by Harry, at the play, whither I attended Miss Lyon and Doctor S ; and now I have set down to answer it before I go to bed. If I am at Southwell when you return, — and I sincerely hope you will soon, for I very much regret your absence, — I shall be happy to hear you sing my favourite, ' The Maid of Lodi.' My mother, to- gether with myself, desires to be affectionately remem- bered to Mrs. Pigot, and beUeve me, my dear Miss Pigot, I remain your affectionate friend, " ByRON. " P. S. If you think proper to send me any answer to this, I shall be extremely happy to receive it. Adieu. " P. S. 2d. As you say you are a novice in the art of knitting, I hope it don't give you too much trouble. Go on slovdi/, but surely. Once more, adieu." LETTER II. TO MR. PIGOT. " 16 Piccadilly, August 9th, 1806. "my dear PIGOT, "Many thanks for your amusing narrative of the last proceedings of my amiable Alecto,* who now begins to feel the efi'ucts of her folly. I have just received a pe- nitential epistle, to which, apprehensive of pursuit, I have despatched a moderate answer, with a kind of pro- mise to return in a fortnight ; — this, however, (entrc jious,) I never mean to fulfil. Her soft wurblings must have delighted her auditors, her higlwr notes being particularly musicaly and on a calm moonlight evening would bo heard to great advantage. Had I been present as a specta- tor, nothing would have pleased mo more ; but to have come forward as one of (he ' dramatis persona-,' — St. Dominic defend me from such a scene! Seriously, your * Ilii) Mother. II«r recent violi-ncp of temper hoil compelled him to fly to London. mother has laid me under great obligations, and you, with the rest of your family, merit my warmest thanks for your kind connivance at my escape from ' Mrs. Byron furiosa.'' " Oh ! for the pen of Ariosto to rehearse, in epic, the scolding of that momentous eve, — or rather, let me invoke the shade of Dante to inspire me, for none but the au- thor of the ' Ivfernd' could properly preside over such an attempt. But, perhaps, where the pen might fail, the pencil would succeed. What a group ! — ^IVIrs. B. the principal figure ; you cramming your ears with cotton, as the only antidote to total deafness ; Mrs. in vain endeavouring to mitigate the wrath of the lianess robbed of her whelp ; and last, though not least, Elizabeth and Wousky, — wonderful to relate! — botli deprived of their parts of speech, and bringing up the rear in mute asto- nishment. How did S. B. receive the intelligence? How maxiy puns did he utter on so facetious an event? In your next inform me on this point, and what excuse you made to A. You are probably by this time tired of deciphering this hieroglyphical letter ; — lilie Tony Lump- kin, you wUl pronounce mine to be a d d up and down hand. All Southwell, without doubt, is involved in amazement. Apropos, how does my blue-eyed nun, the fair * * ? is she ' robed in sable garb of wo ?' " Here I remain at least a week or ten days ; previous to my departure you shall receive my address, but what it will be I have not determined. My lodgings must be kept secret from Mrs. B. ; you may present my compli- ments to her, and say any attcmi)t to pursue me will fail, as I have taken measures to retreat immediately to Portsmouth, on the first intimation of her removal from Southwell. You may add, I have now proceeded to a friend's house in the country, there to remain a fortnight. " I have now blotted (I must not say written) a com- plete double letter, and in return shall expect a monstrous budget. Without doubt, (he dames of Southwell re])ro- bate the pernicious example I have shown, and (rcmble lest their babes should disobey their mandates, and quit in dudgeon (heir mammas on any grievance. Adieu. When you begin your next, drop the ' lordship,' and put ' Byron' in its place. Believe me yours, &c. "BVRON." LETTER HI. TO MISS PIGOT. "London, August lOlli, 1S06. "mv dear nUIl>GET, "As I have already (roublod your brodior with more (ban he will find pK-asuro in decipluM-iiig, y»)u are the next to whom I shall assign (he dillieult eniployiu^'ut of perusing this '2d epistle. You will porroivo from n\y l^f, that no idt.;i of JNlrs. B.'s arrival had disturbed uw at tl»« LETTERS, 1806. time it was written ; not so the present, since the ap- pearance of a note from the illustrious cause of my sud- den decampment has driven the ' natural ruby from my cheeks,' and completely blanched my wo-begone counte- nance. This gunpowder intimation of her arrival, (con- found her activity ! ) breathes less of terror and dismay than you will probably imagine from the volcanic tem- perament of her ladyship^ and concludes with the com- fortable assurance of all present motion being prevented by the fatigue of her journey, for which my blessings are due to the rough roads and restive quadrupeds of his ma- jesty's highways. As I have not the smallest incHnation to be chased round the country, I shall e'en make a merit of necessity, and since, like Macbeth, ' They 've tied me to the stake, I cannot fly,' I shall imitate that valorous tyrant, and ' bear-like fight the course,' all escape being precluded. I can now engage with less disadvantage, having dra\vn the enemy from her intrenchments, though, like the prototype to whom I have compared myself, with an excellent chance of being knocked on the head. However, 'lay on, Macduff, and d d be he who first cries, hold, enough.' "I shall remain in town for, at least, a week, and ex- pect to hear from yoii before its expiration. I presume the printer has brought you the offspring of my poetic mania. Remember, in the first line, to read HovdXhe winds whistle,'* instead of 'round,' which that blockhead Ridge has inserted by mistake, and makes nonsense of the whole stanza. Addio! — Now to encounter my Hydra. Yours ever." LETTER IV. TO MR. PIGOT. "London, Sunday, midnight, August 10th, 1806. "dear pioot, • This astonishing packet will, doubtless, amaze you, but having an idle hour this evening, I wrote the enclosed stanzas, which I request you to deliver to Ridge, to be printed separate from my other compositions, as you will perceive them to be improper for the perusal of ladies ; of course, none of the females of your family must see them. I offer a thousand apologies for the trouble I have given you in this and other instances. Yours truly." LETTER V. TO MR. PIGOT. "Piccadilly, August 16th, 1806. "I cannot exactly say with Cajsar, 'Veni, vidi, vici:' however, the most important part of his laconic account of success applies to my present situation ; for, though Mrs. Byron took the trouble of 'coming^ and ^seeing,'' yet your humble servant proved the victor. After an obsti- nate engagement of some hours, in which we suffered considerable damage, from the quickness of the enemy's fire, they at length retired in confusion, leaving behind the artillery, field equipage, and some prisoners : their defeat is decisive of the present campaign. To speak more in- telligibly, Mrs. B. returns immediately, but I proceed, with all my laurels, to Worthing, on the Sussex coast ; to which place you will address (to be left at the post- office) your next epistle. By the enclosure of a 2d jingle of rhyme, you will probably conceive my muse to be vastly prolific ; her inserted production was brought forth a few years ago, and found by accident on Thurs- day among some old papers. I have recopied it, and, adding the proper date, request it may be printed with the rest of the family. I thought your sentiments on the See Houn of Idleneu, page 883. last bantling would coincide with mine, but it was im- possible to give it any other garb, being founded on facts My stay at Worthing will not exceed three weeks, and you mdiy possibly behold me again at Southwell the mid- dle of September. ** + * + ** + "Will you desire Ridge to suspend the printing of my poems till he hears further from me, as I have deter- mined to give them a new form entirely. This prohibi- tion does not extend to the last two pieces I have sent with my letters to you. You will excuse the dull vanity of this epistle, as my brain is a chaos of absurd images, and full of business, preparations, and projects. '■ I shall expect an answer with impatience ; — believe me, there is nothing at this moment could give me greater delight than your letter." LETTER VI. TO MR. PIGOT, "London, August, 18th, 1806. "I am just on the point of setting off for Worthing, and write merely to request you will send that idle scoundrel Charles, [his groom,] with my horses immediately ; tell him I am excessively provoked he has not made his appear- ance before, or written to inform me of the cause of his dela}', particularly as I supplied him with money for his journey. Onno pretext is he to postpone his march one day longer, and if, in obedience to the caprices of Mrs. B. (who, I presume, is again spreading desolation through her little monarchy,) he thinks proper to disregard my positive orders, I shall not, in future, consider him as my servant. He must bring the surgeon's bill with him, which I will discharge immediately on receiving it. Nor can I conceive the reason of his not acquainting Frank, [his valet,] with the state of my unfortunate quadrupeds. Dear Pigot, forgive thispetidant effusion, and attribute it to the idle conduct of that precious rascal, who, instead of obeying my injunctions, is sauntering through the streets of that political Pandemonium, Nottingham. Present my remembrances to your family and the Leacrofts, and believe me, &c. " P. S. I delegate to you the unpleasant task of de- spatching him on his journey — Mrs. B.'s orders to the contrary are not to be attended to ; he is to proceed first to London, and then to Worthing, without delay. Every thing I have left must be sent to London. My Poetics you will pack up for the same place, and not even reserve a copy for yourself and sister, as I am about to give them an entire new form : when they are complete, you shall have the first fruits. Mrs. B. on no accoimt is to see or touch them. Adieu." LETTER VII. TO MR. PIGOT. "LitUe Hampton, August 26th, 1806. "I this morning received your epistle, which I was obliged to send for to Worthing, whence I have removed to this place, on the same coast, about eight miles distant from the former. You will probably not be displeased with this letter, when it informs you that I am 30,000/. richer than I was at our parting, having just received in- telligence from my lawyer that a cause has been gained at Lancaster assizes,* which will be worth that sum by the time I come of age. Mrs. B. is doubtless acquainted of this acquisition, though not apprized of its exact value, of which she had better be ignorant ^ for her behaviour * In a Buit undertaken for the recovery of Ihe Rochdale property. LETTERS, 1807. on any sudden piece of favourable intelligence is, if possi- ble, more ridiculous than her detestable conduct on the most trifling circumstance of an unpleasant nature. You may give my compliments to her, and say that her detaining my servant's things shall only lengthen my ab- sence ; for unless they are immediately despatched to 16 Piccadilly, together w^ith those which have been so long delayed belonging to myself, she shall never again behold my radiant countenance illuminating her gloomy mansion. If they are sent, I may probably appear in less than two years from the date of my present epistle. "Metrical compliment is an ample reward for my strains ; you are one of the few votaries of Apollo who unite the sciences over which that deity presides. I wish you to send my poems to my lodgings in London immediately, as I have several alterations and some ad- ditions to make ; every copy must be sent, as I am about to amend them, and you shall soon behold them in all their glory. I hope you have kept them from that Upas tree, that antidote to the arts, Mrs. B. Entre nous, — you may expect to see me soon. Adieu. Yours ever." LETTER VIII. TO MISS PIGOT. "MV DEAR BRIDGET, "I have only just dismounted from my Pegasus, which has prevented me from descending to plain prose in an epistle of greater length to your fair self. You regretted in a former letter, that my poems were not more exten- sive ; I now for your satisfaction announce that I have nearly doubled them, partly by the discovery of some I conceived to be lost, and partly by some new productions We shall meet on Wednesday next ; till then, believe me yours affectionately, " ByRON. "P. S. Your brother John is seized with a poetic mania, and is now rhyming away at the rate of three lines pc7- hour — so much for inspiration ! Adieu !" LETTER IX. TO THE EARL OF CLARE. "Southwell, Notts, February 6th, 1807. "my dearest CLARE, " Were I to make all the apologies necessary to atone for my late negligence, you would justly say you had re- ceived a petition instead of a letter, as it would be filled with prayers for forgiveness ; but instead of this, I will acknowledge my sins at once, and I trust to your friend- ship and generosity rather than to my own excuses. Though my health is not perfectly re-established, I am out of all danger, and have recovered every thing but my spirits, which are subject to depression. You will be as- tonished to hear I have lately written to Delawarre, for the purpose of explaining (as far as possible, without in- volving some old friends of mine in the business) the cause of my behaviour to him during my last residence at Harrow, (nearly two years ago,) which you will recollect was rather ^cn cavalier.'' Since that period I have dis- covered he was treated with injustice, both by those who misrepresented his conduct, and by me in consequence of their suggestions. I have therefore made all the repara- tion in my power, by apologizing for my mistake, though with very faint hopes of success ; indeed I never ex|)ccted any answer, but desired one for form's sake ; that has not yet arrived, and most probably never will. However, I have eased my own conscience by the atonement, which is humiliating enough to one of my disposition ; yet I could not have slept satisfied with the reflection of having, ri'cn uninUmtionaLly, injured any individual. I have dono all lliat could be done to repair the bijury, and there the affair must end. Whether we renew our intimacy or not is of very trivial consequence. " My time has lately been much occupied with very different pursuits. I have been transporting a ser\'ant,* who cheated me, — rather a disagreeable event: per- forming in private theatricals; publishing a volume of poems, (at the request of my friends, for iheir perusal;) making Zove, and taking physic. The last two amuse- ments have not had the best effect in the world; for mj' attentions have been divided among so imxiy fair damsels, and the drugs I swallow are of such variety in their com- position, that between Venus and jEsculapius I am harassed to death. However, I have still leisure to de- vote some hours to the recollections of past, regretted friendships, and in the interval to take the advantage of the moment, to assure you how much I am, and ever will be, my dearest Clare, " Your truly attached and sincere « Byron " LETTER X. TO MR. PIGOT. "Southwell, Jan. 13,1807. " 1 ought to begin with sundry apologies, for my oyra negligence, but the variety of my avocations in prose and verse must plead my excuse. With this epistle you will receive a volume of all my Juvenilia published since your departure : it is of considerably greater size than the copy in your possession, which I beg you will destroy, as the present is much more complete. That unlucky poem to my poor Maryf has been the cause of some animadver- sion from ladies in years. I have not printed it in this collection, in consequence of my being pronounced a most profligate sinner, in short, a 'young Moore,' by your + * * friend. I beheve in general they have been favourably received, and surely the age of their author will preclude severe criticism. The ad- ventures of my life from sixteen to nineteen, and the dis- sipation into which I have been thrown in London, have given a voluptuous tint to my ideas ; but the occasions which called forth my muse could hardly admit any other colouring. This volume is vastly correct and miracu- lously chaste. Apropos, talking of love, + * + * "If you can find leisure to answer this farrago of un- connected nonsense, you need not doubt what gratifica- tion vvdll accrue from your reply to yours ever, &c." LETTER XL TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. "Southwell, March 6, 1807. "dear BANKES, " Your critiquej is valuable for many reasons : in the first i)lace, it is the only one in which flattery has borne so slight a part ; in the next, I am cloyed with insipid comphmcnts. I have a better opinion of your judgment and ability than yourfeelings. Accept my most sincere thanks for your kind decision, not less wolcoino, because totally unexpected. Witli regard to a nioro exact esti- mate, I need not remind you how few of the best pocms^ in our language, will stand the test of minute or vnlniJ criticism: it can therefore hardly be expected the etni- sions of a boy, (and most of these pieces have been pro- duced at an early period,) can derive much merit eitlior from the subject or composition. Many of them were written under great depression of spirits, and during sr- * His val«l Frank. 1 TliB " Miiry" hcrr mentioned win not llie heir«u of Ann»ilejr, nor the " Mnry" ol AlwiiUon. Th« varMw in the Hour* of IdlonsM, to- tilled " To Mary on rcrolvlng her jiiclurc," wopf addiVMod tolwr. J On the " Iltiiirtof Idleoeaa." LETTERS, 1807. vere indisposition ; hence the gloomy turn of the ideas. We coincide in opinion that the 'poesies ^rotiques' are the most exceptionable ; they were, however, grateful to the deities, on whose altars they were offered— more I seek not. " The portrait of Pomposus* was drawn at Harrow, after a long sitting; this accounts for the resemblance, or rather the caricatura. He is your friend, he never was mine— for both our sakes I shall be silent on this head. The collegiate rhymes are not personal ; one of the notes may appear so, but could not be omitted. I have little doubt they will be deservedly abused ; a just punishment for my unfihal treatment of so excellent an Alma Mater. I sent you no copy, lest we should be placed in the situa- tion of Gil Bias and the Archbishop of Grenada: though running some hazard from the experiment, I wished your verdict to be unbiassed. Had my ' Libellits' heen pre- sented previous to your letter, it would have appeared a species of bribe to purchase compliment. I feel no hesi- tation in saymg, I was more anxious to hear your critique, however severe, than the praises of the million. On the same day I was honoured with the encomiums oi Mac- kenzie, the celebrated author of the ' Man of Feeling.' Whetlier his approbation or yours elated me most, I can- not decide. " You will receive my Juvenilia, at least all yet pub- lished. I have a large volume in manuscript, which may in part appear hereafter : at present I have neither time nor inclination to prepare it for the press. In the spring I shall return to Trinity, to dismantle my rooms, and bid you a final adieu. The Cam will not be much increased by my tears on the occasion. Your farther re- marks, however caustic or bitter to a palate vitiated with the sweets of adulation, will be of service. Johnson has shown us that no poetry is perfect ; but to correct mine would be an Herculean labour. In fact I never looked beyond the moment of composition, and published merely at the request of my friends. Notwithstanding so much has been said concerning the 'Genus irritabile vatum,' we shall never quarrel on the subject. Poetic fame is by no means the ' acme' of my wishes. Adieu. "Yours ever, " Byron." LETTER XII. TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. — [FRAGMENT.] " For my own part, I have suffered severely in the de- cease of my two greatest friends, the only beings I ever loved, (females excepted:) I am therefore a solitary animal, miserable enough, and so perfectly a citizen of the world, that whether I pass my days in Great Britain or Kamschatka is to me a matter of perfect indifference. I cannot evince greater respect for your alteration than by immediately adopting it — this shall be done in the next edition. I am sorry your remarks are not more frequent, a.s I am certain they would be equally benefi- cial. Since my last, I have received two critical opi- nions from E]diiiburgh, both too flattering for me to de- tail. One is from Lord Woodhouslce, at the head of the Scotch literati, and a most voluminous writer, (his ^ast work is a life of Lord Kaimes;) the other from Mac- kensio, who sent his decision a second time, more at length. I am not personally acquainted with either of these gentlemen, nor ever requested their sentiments on the subject: their praise is voluntary, and transmitted through tlie medium of a friend, at \vhose house they read the productions. "Contrary to my former intention, I am now preparing a Volume for the public at large : my amatory pieces will • Doctor Butlfr, Hewl Mailer of Harrow School. See " Hourt of WIcnoKn," pngc 109, &c. be exchanced, and others substituted in their place. The whole will be considerably enlarged, and appear the latter end of May. This is a hazardous experiment ; but want of better employment, the encouragement I have met with, and my own vanity, induce me to stand the test, though not without sundry palpitations. The book will circulate fast enough in this country, from mere curiosity, what I prin " ******** LETTER XIII. TO MR. FALKNER. "The volume* of little pieces which accompanies this, would have been presented before, had I not been apprehensive that Miss Falkner's indisposition might render such trifles unwelcome. There are some errors of the printer which I have not had time to correct in the collection : you have it thus, with ' all its imperfections on its head,' a heavy Aveight, when joined with the faults of its author. Such ' Juvenilia,' as they can claim no great degree of approbation, I may venture to hope, will also escape the severity of uncalled for, though perhaps not undeserved, criticism. " They were written on many and various occasions, and are now published merely for the perusal of a friendly circle. Believe me, sir, if they afford the slightest amusement to yourself and the rest of my social readers, I shall have gathered all the bays I ever wish to adorn the head of " Yours, very truly, " Byron. "P. S. I hope Miss F. is in a state of recovery " LETTER XIV. TO MR. PIGOT. "Southwell, April, 1807. "my DEAR PIGOT, "Allow me to congratulate you on the success of your first examination — ' Courage, mon ami.' The title of Dr. will do wonders with the damsels. I shall most proba- bly be in Essex or London when you arrive at this d — d place, where I am detained by the publication of my rhymes. "Adieu. — BeUeve me yours very truly, " Byron. " P. S. Since we met, I have reduced myself by violent exercise, much physic, and hot bathing, from 14 gto ptr.6 Jh. tfcJ^tPJl^' 7 lb. In all I have lost 27 pounS. Bravo! — what say you *?* ,,-. Vaw- LETTER XV. TO MISS PIGOT. "June 11th, 1807. " dear queen BESS, " Savage ought to be immortal : — though not a thorough- bred buU-dog, he is tlie finest puppy I ever saw, and will answer much better ; in his great and manifold kindness he has already bitten my fingers, and disturbed the gravity of old Boatswain, who is grievously discomposed. I wish to be informed what he costs, his expenses, &c. &c., that I may indemnify Mr. G , My thanl;s are all I can give for the trouble he has taken, make a long The Hours of Idleness. LETTERS, 1807. speech, and conclude it with 12 3 4 5 6 7.* I am out of practice, so deputize you as Legate, — ambassador would not do in a matter concerning the Pope, which I presume this must, as the whole turns upon a BvU. Yours, "Byron « P. S. I write in hed." LETTER XVI. TO MISS PIGOT. "Cambridge, June 30th, 1807. " 'Better late than never, Pal,' is a saying of which you know the origin, and as it is applicable on the present oc- casion, you will excuse its conspicuous place in the front of my epistle. 1 am almost superannuated here. My old friends, (with the exception of a very few,) all de- parted, and I am preparing to follow them, but remain till Monday to be present at three Oratorios, two Concerts, a Fair, and a Ball. I find I am not only thinner but taller by an inch since my last visit. I was obliged to tell every body my name, nobody having the least recollection of my visage or person. Even the hero of my Cornelian,] (who is now sitting vis-h-vis, reading a volume of my Poetics,) passed me in Trinity wallis without recognising me in the least, and was thunderstruck at the aiteration which had taken place in my countenance, &c. &c. Some say I look better, others worse, but all agree I am thinner — more I do not require. I have lost 2 lb. in my weight since I left your cursed, detestable, and abhorred abode of scandal, where, excepting yourself and John Becher, I care not if the whole race were consigned to the Pit o{ Acheron, which I would visit in person rather than contaminate my sandals with the polluted dust of Southwell. Seriously, unless obliged by the emptiness of my purse to revisit Mrs. B., you will see me no more. " On Monday I depart for London. I quit Cambridge with little regret, because our set are vanished, and my musical protegd before mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the metropolis. You may have heard me observe he is exactly, to an hour, two years younger than myself. I found him grown considerably, and, as you will suppose, very glad to see his former Patron. He is nearly my height, very thin, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know ; — I hope I shall never have occasion to change it. Every body here conceives me to be an invalid. The university at present is very gay, from the fetes of divers kinds. I supped out last rught, but cat (or ate) nothing, sipped a bottle of claret, weut to bed at 2 and rose at 8. I have commenced early rising, and find it agrees with me. The Masters and the Fellows all very jjolite, but look a little askance — don't much admire lampoons — truth al- ways disagreeable. "Write, and tell me how the inhabitants of your mena- gerie go on, and if my publication goes o^well: do the quadrwpeda growl ? Apropos, my bull-dog is deceased — ' Flesh both of cur and man is grass.' Address your an- swer to Cambridge. If I am gone, it will be forwarded. Sad news just arrived — Prussians beat — a bad set, cat nothing but oil, consequently must melt before a hnrdjire. 1 get awkward in my academic habiliments for want of practice. Got up in a window to\»car the oratorio at St. Mary's, popped down in the nnddle of the Messiah, tore a woful rent in the back of my best black sillt^ gown, and damaged an egregious pair of breeches. Mem. — never tumble from a churcii window during service. Adieu, dear * * ♦ ♦ ! do not remember mo to any body : — to * He here aUmlos to nn odd fancy or trick of hit own ; wln-nivor lie wiw At a l(iB8 for »oinclliin([ to any, lio uHed lo giibble over '• 12 3 15 6 7." t Mr. Kdl.Hlon. Sec tin; linen " to K." Hoinn of Idl'iu-ii, |uiRc38l; aud " Tlic C'ornuliiiii," Houri of Idlcue»ii, [mgo 386. forget and be forgotten by the people of Southwell is all I aspire to." LETTER XVII. TO MISS PIGOT. "Trin. Coll. Camb. July 5th, 1807. "Since my last letter I have determined to reside another year at Granta, as my rooms, &c. &c. are finished in great style, several old friends come up again, and many new acquaintances made ; consequently, my incli- nation leads me forward, and I shall return to college in October, if still alive. My life here has been one con- tinued routine of dissipation — out at different places every day, engaged to more dinners, &c. &c. than my stay would permit me to fulfil. At this moment I write with a bottle of claret in my head, and tears in my eyes ; for I have just parted with my ' Cornelian^ who spent the evening with me. As it was our last interview, I postponed my engagement to devote the hours of the Sabbath to friend- ship : — Edleston and I have separated for the present, and my mind is a chaos of hope and sorrow. To-mor- row I set out for London : you will address your answer to 'Gordon's Hotel, Albemarle-street,' where 1 sojourn during my visit to the metropolis. " I rejoice to hear you are interested in my protegi: he has been my almost constant associate since October, 1805, when I entered Trinity College. His voice first at- tracted my attention, his countenance fixed it, and his manners attached me to him for ever. He departs for a mercantile house in town in October, and we shall pro- bably not meet till the expiration of my minority, when I shall leave to his decision either entering as a partner through my interest, or residing with me altogether. Of course he would in his present frame of mind prefer the latter, but he may alter his opinion previous to that period ; however, he shall have his choice. I certainly love him more than any human being, and neither time nor distance have had the least effect on my (in general) changeable disposition. In short, we shall put iM^ly E. Butler and Miss Ponsonby to the blush, Pyladcs and Orestes out of countenance, and want nothing but a ca- tastrophe like Nisus and Euryalus, to give Jonathan and David the ' go by.' He certainly is perhaps more at- tached to me than even I am in return. During the whole of my residence at Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, without passing ane tiresome mo- ment, and separated each time with increasing reluc- tance. I hope you will one day see us together, he is the only being I esteem, though I like many.* " The Marquis of Tavistock was down the other day ; I supped with him at his tutor's — entirely a whig party. The opposition muster strong here now, and liOrd Huntingdon, the Duke of Leinster, &c. &c. are lo join us in October, so every thing will be splendid. The music is all over at present. Met with another 'accidcncy'' — pset a butter-boat in the lap of a lady — look'd very blue — spectators grinned — 'curse 'em!' Apro[)Os, sorry to say, been drunk every day, and not quite sober yet — how- vcr, touch no meat, nothing but fish, soup, and vegeta- bles, consequently it does me no harm — sad dogs all the Cnntabs. Mem. — lue mean to reform next January. Tliis place is a monotony of endless laricty — like it — halo Southwell. Has Ridge sold well? or do the ancients demur? What ladies iiavo bought ? + * * * "Saw a girl at St. Mary's tiie image of Anno * ♦ *, tliought it was her — all in the wrong — the lady stared, so did I — I blushed, so did not the lady — sad thing — wish women had more modesty. Talking of women, puts ine in mind of my terrier Faimy — how is she ? Got ii head- ache, must go to bed, up early in the morning to travel. KdlcttoD. See Letter 101 . U \>> 6 LETTERS, 1807. My protege breakfasts with me ; parting spoils my appe- tite—excepting from Southwell. Mem.—/ hate South- well. Yours, &c." LETTER XVIII. TO MISS PIGOT. «« Gordon's Hotel, July 13th, 1807. " You write most excellent epistles — a fig for other correspondents with their nonsensical apologies for ^knoiving nought about it,'— you send me a delightful budget. I am here in a perpetual vortex of dissipation, (very pleasant for all that,) and, strange to tell, I get thinner, being now below eleven stone considerably. Stay in town a montl^ perhaps six weeks, trip into Essex, and^then, as a favour, irradiate Southwell for three days with the light of my countenance ; but nothing shall ever make me reside there again. I positively return to Cambridge in October; we are to be uncommonly gay, or m truth I should cut the University. An extraordinary circumstance occurred to me at Cambridge, a girl so very like * * ♦ made her appearance, that nothing but the most minute inspection could have undeceived me. I wish I had asked.if s^ had ever been at H * * *. « What the devil would Ridge have ? is not fifty in a fortnight, before the advertisements, a sufficient sale ? I hear many of the London booksellers have them, and Crosby has sent copies to the principal watering-places. Are they liked or not in Southwell ?** + ** 1 wish Boatswain had swallowed Damon! How is Bran? by the immortal gods, Bran ought to be a Count of the Holy Roman Empire. * * * " The inteUigence of London cannot be interesting to you, who have rusticated all your life — the annals of routs, riots, balls, and boxing-matches, cards and crim. cons., parliamentary discussion, political details, mas- querades, mechanics, Argyle-street Institution and aquatic races, love and lotteries, Brooks's and Buona- parte, opera-singers and oratorios, wine, women, wax- works, and weathercocks, can't accord with your insu- lated ideas of decorum and other silly expressions not in- serted in our vocabulary. " Oh ! Southwell, Southwell, how I rejoice to have left thee, and how I cnrse the heavy hours I dragged along, for so many months, among the Mohawks who inhabit your kraals ! — However, one thing I do not regret, which is having pared o^a sufficient quantity of flesh to enable me to slip into ' an eel sldn,' and vie with the slim beaux of modern times ; though, I am sorry to say, it seems to be the mode among gentlemen to grow /erf, and I am told 1 am at least 14lb. below the fasliion. However, I de- crease instead of enlarging, which is extraordinary, as violent exercise in London is impracticable ; but I attri- bute the phenomenon to our evening squeezes at public and private parties. I heard from Ridge this morning, (the I4th, my letter was begun yesterday:) he says the Poems go on as well as can be wished, the seventy-five sent to town are circulated, and a demand for fifty more complied witli, the day he dated his epistle, though the advertisements are not yet half published. Adieu. LETTER XIX. TO MISS PIGOT. '•p. S. Lord Carlisle, on receiving my Poems, sent, before he opened the boolc, a tolerably handsome letter : — I have not heard from him since. His opinions I neither know nor care about ; if he is the least insolent, I shall enroll him with Butler* and the other worthies. He is in Yorkshire, poor man ! and very ill ! He said he had not lime to road the contents, but thought it neces- sary to acknowledge the receipt of the volume immedi- ately. Perhaps the earl ^ hears no brother near the throne,^ — if so, 1 will make his sceptre totter in his hands —Adieu !" • Dr.Uuller. .Sec Letter XI. "August 2d, 1807. « London begins to disgorge its contents— town is empty— consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occu- pations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall de- part to fulfil a country engagement ; but expect two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts— very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by reviewers, admired by dutchesses, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to rustic readers. I have now a review before me, entitled ' Literary Recreations,' where my hardship is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but thinlc him a very dis- cerning gentleman, and 7yj?/se^ a devilish clever fellow. His critique pleases me particularly because it is of i great length, and a proper quantum of censure is admi- nistered, just to give an agreeable relish to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, commonplace j compliment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th number of 'Literary Recreations' for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article — it is printed in a periodical publi- cation—and though I have written a paper, (a review of Wordsworth,*) which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it — even ths editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon, requested he would introduce my poetical Lordship to her Highness^ as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was miluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterward, and as the dutchess was on the eve of de- parting for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady, whose taste I shall not dispute, with my most sublime and edifying con- versation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure a few days ago, for the same blessed seat of ' dark rolling winds.'' "Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a third — at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my own name and say nothing, but enjoy my fame in se- cret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more, and 'a Friend to the Cause of Literature' begs I will gratify the public with some new work ' at no very distant period.' Who would not be a bard ? — that is to say, if all critics would be so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this gentle encouragement. If so, have at 'em I By-the-by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after two in the morning, three hundred and eighty lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account. I shall extend the Poem to eight or ten books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for egotism ! My laurels have turned my brain, but the cooling acids of forthcoming criticisms will pro- bably restore me to modesty. " Southwell is a dapmed place — I have done with it— * This first attempt of Lord Byi-cn at reviewing, (for he, once or twice afterward, tried his hand at tliis least poetical of employments,) is remarkable piiiy as showing how plausibly he could assume the esta- blished lone and phraseology of these minor judgment-seats of criticism. For instance : — " The volumes before us are by the Author of Lyrical Ballads, a collection which has not undeservedly met with a consider- able share of public anplause. Tiie characteristics of Mr. Wordsworth's muse are simple and flowing, though occasionally inharmonious, verse, 1— strong and sometimes irresistible appeals to the feelings, wiih unex- ceptionable sentiments. Though the present work may not equal bit former efforts, many of the poems possess a native eJcgance," &c.&c.— Monri LETTERS, 1807. at least in all probability : excepting yourself I esteem no one within its precincts. You were my only ra- tional companion ; and in plain truth, I had more respect for you than the whole hevy, with whose foibles I amused myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave yourself more trouble with me and my manu- scripts than a thousand dolls would have done. Be- lieve me, I have not forgotten your good-nature in this circle of sin, and one day I trust I shall be able to evince my gratitude. Adieu, yours, &c. «P. S. Remember me to Dr. P." LETTER XX. TO MISS PIGOT. "London, August 11th, 1807. "On Sunday next I set off for the Highlands.* A friend of mine accompanies me in my carriage to Edin- burgh. There we shall leave it, and proceed in a tan- dem, (a species of open carriage,) through the western passes to Inverary, where we shall purchase shelties, to enable us to view places inaccessible to vehicular con- veyances. On the coast we shall hire a vessel and visit the most remarkable of the Hebrides, and, if we have time and favourable weather, mean to sail as far as Ice- land, only three hundred miles from the northern ex- tremity of Caledonia, to peep at Hecla. This last inten- tion you will keep a secret, as my nice mamma would imagine I was on a Voyage of Discovery, and raise the accustomed maternal war-whoop. '* Last week I swam in the Thames from Lambeth through the two bridges, Westminster and Blackfriars, a distance, including the different turns and tacks made on the way, of three miles ! You see I am in excellent training in case of a squall at sea. I mean to collect all the Erse traditions, poems, &c. &c., and translate, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next spring under the denomination of ' The Highland Harp' or some title equally picturesque. Of Bosworth Field, one book is finished, another just begun. It will be a work of three or four years, and most probably never conclude. What would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla? they would be written at least with fire. How is the immortal Bran ? and the Phoenix of canine quadrupeds. Boatswain? I have lately pur- chased a thorough-bred bull-dog, worthy to be the co- adjutor of the aforesaid celestials — his name is Smut ! — * bear it, ye breezes, on your balmy wings.' " Write to me before I set off, I conjure you by the fifth rib of your grandfather. Ridge goes on well with the books — I thought that worthy had not done much in the country. In town they have been very successful ; Carpenter (Moore's publisher) told me a few days ago they sold all theirs immediately, and had several inquiries made since, which, from the books being gone, they could not supply. The Duke of York, the Marchioness of Headfort, the Dutchess of Gordon, &c. &c. were among the purchasers, and Crosby says the circulation will be still more extensive in tlie winter ; the summer season being very bad for a sale, as most people arc ab- sent from London. However, they have gone off ex- tremely well altogether. I shall pass very near you on my journey through Newark, but cannot approach. Don't tell this to Mrs. B., who supposes I travel a dif- ferent road. If you have a letter, order it to be left at Ridge's shop, where I shall call, or the post-office, New- arlc, about 6 or 8 in the evening. If your brother would ride over, I should bo devilish glad to see him — ho can • Tliii plan (which he nercr put in piaclicu) had been talked of by him beforn be Icl'l Southwell. — Moort. return the same night, or sup with us, and go home the next morning — the Kingston Arms is my inn. "Adieu, yours ever, " Byron." LETTER XXL TO MISS PIGOT. "Trinity College, Cambridge, Oct. 26th, 1807. "my dear **+*, "Fatigued with sitting up till four in the mornmg for the last two days at hazard, I take up my pen to inquire how your highness and the rest of my female acquaint- ance at the seat of archiepiscopal grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my neghgence in not wri- ting more frequently ; but racing up and down the country for these last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a correspondent ? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as thin as ever, (not having gained an ounce since my reduction,) and rather in better humour ; — but, after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank St. Dominica, I have done with it : I have been twice within eight miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to suffocate in its heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough — a villanous chaos of din and drunk- enness, nothing but hazard and Burgundy, hunting mathematics and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise compared with the eternal dulness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of doing nothing but make love, enemies, and verses. " Next January (but this is entre nous only, and pray let it be so, or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my curious projects) I am going to sea, for four or five months, with my cousin, Capt. Bettes worth, who commands the Tartar, the finest frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West Indies, or — to the d 1; and if there is a possibility of taking me to the latter, Bettesworth will do it ; for he has received four-and- twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself.* " I have got a new friend, the finest in tho world, a tame bear. When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him, and my reply was, ' he should sit for a fellowship.'' Sherard will explain tlie meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This an- swer dehghted them not. We have several parties here, and this evening a large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and poets, sup with me, — a precious mixture, but they go on well togetlier : and for me, I am a spice of every thing except a jockey j by-the-by, I was dismounted again tlie other day. " Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214 pages of a novel, — one poem of 380 hnes,f to be published (without my name) in a few weeks, with notes, — 560 lines of Bosworth Field, and 250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. Apropos, I have been praised to tho skies in the Critical Review, and abused greatly in another publication. So much tho better, tlicy tell me, for tho sale of the book ; it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being forgotten. Besides, tlie first men of all ages have had their siiare, nor do the humblest escape ; — so 1 bear it like a pliik)- sophor. It is oild two opposite critiques came out on tho same day, and out of five pages of abuse my censor only quotes two imcs from different poems, in support of • See poiticript to the Kiigliah Hurdi unA Scotch Re»l«wer». t EnKllih Bardi mid Scotch Kevlewer*. LETTERS, 1808. his opinion. Now the proper way to cut up is to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of praise, and more than my^ modesty will allow said on the subject. Adieu. « P. S. Write, write, write ! ! !" LETTER XXII. TO MR. DALLAS. «Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle-street, Jan. 20th, 1808. • Your letter was not received till this morning, I pre- sume from being addressed to me in Notts, where I have not resided since last June, and as the date is the 6th, you will excuse the delay of my answer. " If the little volume* you mention has given pleasure to the author of Percival and Aubrey, 1 am sufficiently repaid by his praise. Though our periodical censors have been uncommonly lenient, I confess a tribute from a man of acknowledged genius is still more flattering. But I am afraid I should forfeit all claim to candour, if I did not decline such praise as I do not deserve ; and this is, I am sorry to say, the case in the present in- stance. "My compositions speak for themselves, and must stand or fall by their own worth or demerit : thus far I feel highly gratified by your favourable opinion. But my pretensions to virtue are unluckily so few, that though I should be happy to merit, I cannot accept, your ap- plause in that respect. One passage in your letter struck me forcibly : you mention the two Lords Lyttle- ton in a manner they respectively deserve, and will be surprised to hear the person who is now addressing you has been frequently compared to the latter. I know I am injuring myself in your esteem by this avowal, but the circumstance was so remarkable from your observa- tion, that I cannot help relating the fact. The events of my short life have been of so singular a nature, that, though the pride commonly called lionour has, and I trust ever will, prevent me from disgracing my name by a mean or cowardly action, I have been already held up as the votary of Ucentiousness, and the disciple of infidelity. How far justice may have dictated this accusation I cannot pretend to say, but, like the gentleman to whom my religious friends, in the warmth of their charity, have already devoted mc, I am made worse than I reallv am. However, to quit myself, (the worst theme I could pitch upon,) and return to my Poems, I cannot sufficiently ex- press my thanks, and I hope I shall some day have an opportunity of rendering them in person. A second edi- tion is now in tiie press, with some additions and consi- derable omissions ; you will allow me to present you with a copy. The Critical, Monthly, and Anti-Jacobin Reviews have been very indulgent; but the Eclectic has pronounced a furious Philippic, not against the book but the author, where you will find all I have mentioned asserted by a reverend divine who wrote the critique. " Your name and connexion with our family have been long known to me, and I hope your person will be not less so ; you will find me an excellent compound of a ' Brainless' and a ' Stanhope.'f I am afraid you will hardly be able to read this, for my hand is almost as bad as my character, but you will find me, as legibly as possible, " Your obliged and obedient servant, "Byron.' Hours of Idlenctt. C'bKruclcn In the iio»el called Percival. LETTER XXIII. TO MR. DALLAS. "Dorant's, January 21st, 1808. "sir. "Whenever leisure and inclination permit me the pleasure of a visit, I shall feel truly gratified in a per- sonal acquaintance with one whose mind has been long known to me in his writings. " You are so far correct in your conjecturej that I am a member of the University of Cambridge, where I shall take my degree of A. M. this term ; but were reasoning, eloquence, or virtue the objects of my search, Granta is not their metropolis, nor is the place of her situation an 'El Dorado,' far less a Utopia. The intellects of her children are as stagnant as her Cam,* and their pursuits limited to the church — not of Christ, but of the nearest benefice. " As to my reading, I believe I may aver, without hy- perbole, it has been tolerably extensive in the historical ; so that few nations exist, or have existed, with whose records I am not in some degree acquainted, from He- rodotus dowTi to Gibbon. Of the classics, I know about as much as most school boys after a discipline of thirteen years ; of the law of the land as much as enables me to keep ' within the statute' — to use the poacher's vocabu- lary. I did study the ' Spirit of Laws' and the Law c^ Nations ; but when I saw the latter violated every month, I gave up my attempts at so useless an accom- phshment ; — of geography, I have seen more land on maps than I should wish to traverse on foot ; — of mathe- matics, enough to give me the'headache without clearing the part affected ; — of philosophy, astronomy, and meta- physics, more than I can comprehend ; and of commou sense so little, that I mean to leave a Byronian prize at each of our ' Almae Matres' for the first discovery,— though I rather fear that of the Longitude will pre- cede it. " I once thought myself a philosopher, ajtid talked non- sense with great decorum : I defied pain, and preached up equanimity. For some time tliis did very well,^ for no one was in pain for me but my friends, and none lost their patience but my hearers. At last, a fall from my horse convinced me bodily suffering was an evil ; and the worst of an cirgument overset my maxims and my temper at the same moment, so I quitted Zeno for Aris- tippus, and conceive that pleasure constitutes the to kuXov. In morality, I prefer Confucius to the Ten Command- ments, and Socrates to St. Paul, though the latter two agree in their opinion of marriage. In religion, I favour the Catholic emancipation, but do not acknowledge the Pope ; and I have refused to take the Sacrament, be- cause I do not think eating bread or drinking wine from the hand of an earthly vicar will make me an inheriter of heaven. I hold virtue in general, or the virtues se- verally, to be only in the disposition, each a.fceling, not a pvinciple. I believe truth the prime attribute of the Deity ; and death an eternal sleep, at least of the body. You have here a brief compendium of the sentiments of the wicked George Lord Byron ; and, till I get a nevw suit, you will perceive I am badly clothed. I remain, " Yours very truly, " Byron." LETTER XXIV. TO MR, HENRY DRURy.f v "Dorant's Hotel, Jan. 13th, 1808. "my DEAR SIR, " Though the stupidity of my servants, or the porter of the house, in not showing you up stairs, (where I should ♦ See E.B.anrlS. U. p. 429. t Son of Doctor Drury, Lord Byron's forraer Master at Harrow .School. LETTERS, 1808. 9 have joined you directly,) prevented me the pleasure of seeing you yesterday, I hoped to meet you at some pub- lic place in the evening. However, my stars decreed otherwise, as they generally do, when I have any favour to request of them. I think you would have been sur- prised at my figure, for, since our last meeting, I am re- duced four stone in weight. I then weighed fourteen stone seven pound, and now only ten stone and a half. I have disposed of my superfluities by means of hard exer- cise and abstinence. * + + "Should your Harrow engagements allow you to visit town between this and February, I shall be most -happy to see you in Albemarle-street. If I am not so fortunate, I shall endeavour to join you for an afternoon at Harrow, though, I fear, your cellar will by no means contribute to my cure. As for my worthy preceptor. Dr. B., our encounter would by no means prevent the mutual endearments he and I were wont to lavish on each other. We have only spoken once since my departure from Harrow in 1805, and then he politely told Tatersall I was not a proper associate for his pupils. This was long before my strictures in verse : but, in plain prose^ had I been some years older, I should have held my tongue on his perfections. But being laid on my back, when that schoolboy thing was written — or rather dic- tated — expecting to rise no more, my physician having taken his sixteenth fee, and I his prescription, I could not quit this earth without leaving a memento of my constant attachment to Butler in gratitude for his mani- fold good offices. " I meant to have been down in July ; but thinking my appearance, immediately after the publication, would be construed into an insult, I directed my steps elsewhere. Besides, I heard that some of the boys had got hold of my Libellus, contrary to my wishes certainly, for I never transmitted a single copy till October, when I gave one to a boy, since gone, after repeated importunities. You will, 1 trust, pardon this egotism. As you had touched on the subject, I thought some explanation necessary. Defence I shall not attempt, 'Hie murus aheneus esto, nil conscire sibi' — and 'so on' (as Lord Baltimore said, on his trial for a rape)' — I have been so long at Trinity as to forget the conclusion of the line ; but, though I can- not finish my quotation, I will my letter, and entreat you to believe me, gratefully and affectionately, &c. " P. S. I will not lay a tax on your time by requiring an answer, lest you say, as Butler said to Tatersall, (when I had written his reverence an impudent epistle on the expression before mentioned,) viz. ' that I wanted to draw him into a correspondence.'" LETTER XXV. TO MR. HARNESS. "Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle-street, Feb. 11, 1808. "mv dear Harness, "As I had no opportunity of returning my verbal thanks, I trust you will accept my written acknowledg- ments for the compliment you were pleased to [)ay some production of my unlucky muse last November — I am induced to do tliis not less from the pleasure 1 feel in the praise of an old schoolfellow, than from justice to you, for I had heard the story with soma sligiit variations. Indeed, when wc met tills moniiiig, Wingfield liad not undeceived me, but he will tell you that I displayed no resentment in meritioning what I had heard, though I was not sorry to discover the truth. Perhaps you hardly recollect some years ago a short, though, for the time, a warm friendship between us ? Why it wius not of longer duration, I know not. 1 have still a gift of yours in my possession, that must always prevent mo from forgetting it. 1 also remember being favoured witli the perusal of many of your compositions and several other circumstances very pleasajit in their day, which I will not force upon your memory, but entreat you to be- lieve me, with much regret at their short continuance, and a hope they are not irrevocable, yours very sin- cerely, &c. " Byron." LETTER XXVI. TO MR. HARNESS. — [FRAGMENT.] "March 1808. * We both seem perfectly to recollect, with a mixture of pleasure and regret, the hours we once passed to- gether, and I assure you most sincerely they are num- bered among the happiest of my brief chronicle of enjoy- ment. I am now getting into years, that is to say, 1 was twenty a month ago, and another year will send me into the world to run my career of folly with the rest. I was then just fourteen, — you were almost the first of my Harrow friends, certainly the ^rs^ in my esteem, if not in date ; but an absence from Harrow for some time, shortly after, and new cormexions on your side, and the difference in our conduct (an advantage decidedly in your favour) from that turbulent and riotous disposition of mine, which impelled me into every species of mischief — all these circumstances combined to destroy an intimacy, which Affection urged me to continue, and Memory compels me to regret. But there is not a circumstance attending that period, hardly a sentence we exchanged, which is not impressed on my mind at this moment. I need not say more, — this assurance alone must convince you, had I considered them as trivial, they would have been less indelible. How well I recollect the perusal of your • first flights !' There is another circumstance you do not know ; — the first lines I ever attempted at Harrow were addressed to you. You were to have seen them; but Sinclair had the copy in his possession when we went home ; — and, on our return, we were strangers. They were destroyed, and certainly no great loss ; but you will perceive from this circumstance my opinions at an age when we cannot be hypocrites. " 1 have dwelt longer on this theme than I intended, and I shall now conclude with what I ought to have be- gun. We were once friends, — nay, we have always been so, for our separation was the effect of chance, not of dissension. I do not know how far our destinations in life may throw us together, but if opportunity and in- clination allow you to waste a thought on such a hare- brained being as myself^ you will find me at least sincere, and not so bigoted to my faults as to involve others in the consequences. Will you sometimes write to me ? I da not ask it oflen, and, if we meet, let us be what we shouli be and what we were.'" LETTER XXVIL TO MR. BECHER. •Dorant's Hotel, Feb. 26, 1806. "my dear bechkr, «' * ♦ * ♦ Now for Ajmllo. 1 am happy that you still retain your predilection, and that tho public allow me some share of praise. I am of so much importance that a most violent attack is preparing for nio in the next number of tho Edinburgh Review. This 1 had from tho authority of a frieml who has seen tlio i>roof and manuscript of the critique. You know the system of the Edinburgh gentlemen is universal attack. They praise none ; an«l neither the public nor the author ex- pects praise from them. It is, however, something to be noticed, as Uioy profess to puss jud^jnuMit only on worki requiring Uio public attention. You will sco thia, when 10 LETTERS, 1808. it comes out ; — it is, I understanrl, of the most unmerciful description ; but I am aware of it, and hope you will not be hurt by its severity. " Tell Mrs. Byron not to be out of humour with them, and to prepare "her mind for the greatest hostility on their part. It will do no injury whatever, and I trust her mind will not be ruffled. They defeat their object by indiscriminate abuse, and they never praise, except the partizans of Lord Holland and Co. It is nothing to be abused when Southey, Moore, Lauderdale, Strangford, and Payne Knight share the same fate. "I am sorry— but 'Childish Recollections' must be suppressed during this edition. I have altered, at your suggestion, the obnoxious cdlusions in the sixth stanza of my last ode. " And now, my dear Becher, I must return my best acknowledgments for the interest you have taken in me and my poetical bantlings, and I shall ever be proud to show how much I esteem the advice and the adviser. Believe me most truly, &c." LETTER XXVIII. TO MR. EECHER. " Dorant's, March 28, 1808. " I have lately received a copy of the new edition from Ridge, and it is high time for me to return my best thanks to you for the trouble you have taken in the su- perintendence. This I do most sincerely, and only re- gret that Ridge has not seconded you as I could wish, — at least, in the bindings, paper, &c. of the copy he sent to me. Perhaps those for the public may be more re- spectable in such articles. "You have seen the Edinburgh Review, of course. I regret that Mrs. Byron is so much annoyed. For my own part, these ' paper bullets of the brain' have only taught me to stand fire ; and, as I have been lucky enough upon the whole, my repose and appetite are not discomposed. Pratt, the gleaner, author, poet, &c. &c., addressed a long rhyming epistle to me on the subject, by way of consolation ; but it was not well done, so I do not send it, though the name of the man might make it go down. The E. R*. have not performed their task well ; — at least the literati tell me this, and I think / could write a more sarcastic critique on myself than any yet published. For instance, instead of the remark, — ill-natured enough, but not keen, — about Mac Pherson, I (quoad reviewers) could have said, ' Alas, this imita- tion only proves the assertion of Doctor Johnson, that many men, women, and duldren could write such poetry as Ossian's.' " I am thin and in exercise. During the spring or summer I trust we shall meet. 1 hear Lord Ruthyn leaves Newstead in April. * * * As soon as he quits it for ever, I wish much you would take a ride over, 8iirv«-y the mansion, and give me your candid opinion on the most advisable mode of proceeding with regard to the hiniae. Entre nous, I am cursedly dipped ; my debts, every thing inclusive, will be nine or ten thousand before I am twenty-one. But I have reason to think my property will turn out bolter than general expecta- tion may conceive. Of Newstead 1 have little hope or care ; but Hanson, my agent, intimated my Lancashire property was worth three Newstcads. I believe we have it hollow ; though the defendants are protracting the surrender, if possible, till after my majority, for the purpose of forming some arrangement with me, thinking I shall probably prefer a sum in hand to a reversion. Newstead I m&y sell ; — perliai»s I will not, — though of that more anon. I will come down in May or June • * * ♦ « Yours most truly, &c." LETTER XXIX. TO MR. JACKSON.* «N. A. Notts, Sept. 18, 1808. "dear jack, '• I wish you would inform me what has been done by Jekyll, at No. 40, Sloane-square, concerning the pony I returned as unsound. " I have also to request you will call on Louch at Brompton, and inquire what the devil he meant by sending such an insolent letter to me at Brighton ; and at the same time tell him I by no means can comply with the charge he has made for things pretended to be damaged. " Ambrose behaved most scandalously about the pony. You may tell Jekyll if he does not refund the money, I shall put the affair into my lawyer's hands. Five-and- twenty guineas is a sound price for a pony, and by , if it cost me five hundred pounds, I will make an exam- ple of Mr. Jekyll, and that immediately, unless the cash is returned. " BeUeve me, dear Jack, &c." LETTER XXX. TO MR. JACKSON. « N. A. Notts, Oct. 4, 1808 * You will make as good a bargain as possible with this Master Jekyll, if he is not a gentleman. If he is a gentleman, inform me, for I shall take very different steps. If he is not, you must get what you can of the money, for I have too much business on hand at present to commence an action. Besides, Ambrose is the man who ought to refund, — but I have done with him. You can settle with L. out of the balance, and dispose of the bidets, &c. as you best can. " I should be very glad to see you here ; but the house is filled with workmen and undergoing a thorough re- pair. I hope, however, to be more fortunate before many months have elapsed. "If you see Bold Webster, remember me to him, and tell hun I have to regret Sydney, who has perished, I fear, in my rabbit warren, for we have seen nolliing of him for the last fortnight. " Adieu. — BeUeve me, &c." LETTER XXXL TO MR. JACKSON. « N. A. Notts, Dec. 12, 1808. "my dear jack, " You will get the greyhound from the owTier at any price, and as many more of the same breed (male or fe- male) as you can collect. "Tell D'Egville his dress shall be returned — I am obliged to him for the pattern. I am sorry you should have so much trouble, but I was not aware of the diffi- culty of procuring the animals in question. I shall have finished part of my mansion in a few weeks, and, if you can pay me a visit at Christmas, I shall be very glad to see you. « Beheve me, fcc." LETTER XXXII. TO MR. BECHER. •Newstead Abbey, Notts, Sept. 14th, 1808. "my dear becher, " I am much obliged to you for your inquiries, and shall profit by them accordingly. I am going to get up a play Th» Pugilist. See note to Don Ju«n, Canto Xl. LETTERS, 1809. 11 here ; the hall will constitute a most admirable theatre. I have settled the dram. pers. and can do without ladies, as I have some young friends who will make tolerable substitutes for females, and we only want three male characters, beside Mr. Hobhouse and myself for the play we have fixed on, which will be the Revenge. Pray direct Nicholson the carpenter to come over to me immediately, and inform me what day you will dine and pass the night here. "Believe me, &c." LETTER XXXIII. TO THE HONOUKABLE* MRS. BYRON. "Newstead Abbey, Notts, Oct. 7th, 1808. "dear madam, " I have no beds for the H * * s, or any body else at present. The H * * s sleep at Mansfield. I do not know that I resemble Jean .Tacques Rousseau.f I have no ambition to be like so illustrious a madman — but this I know, that I shall live in my own manner, and as much alone as possible. When my rooms are ready I shall be glad to see you ; at present it would be improper, and uncomfortable to both parties. You can hardly object to my rendering my mansion habitable, notwithstandmg ray departure for Persia in March, (or May at farthest,) since you will be tenant till my return ; and in case of any accident, (for I have already arranged my will to be drawn up the moment I am twenty-one,) I have taken care you shall have the house and manor for life, besides a sufficient income. So you see my improvements are not entirely selfish. As I have a friend here, we will go to the Infirmary Ball on the 12th ; we will drink tea with Mrs. Byron at eight o'clock, and expect to see you at the ball. If that lady will allow us a couple of rooms to dress in, we shall be highly obliged : — if we are at the ball by ten or eleven it will be time enough, and we shall return to Newstead about three or four. « Adieu, BeUeve me, " Yours very truly, "Byron." LETTER XXXIV. TO MRS. BYRON. « Newstead Abbey, Nov. 2d, 1808, "dear mother, "If you please, we will forget the things you mention. I have no desire to remember them. When my rooms arc finished, I shall be happy to see you ; as I tell but the truth, you will not suspect me of evasion. I am fur- nishing the house more for you than myself, and I shall establish you in it before I sail for India, which I expect to do in March, if nothing particularly obstructive occurs. I am now fitting up the green drawing-room ; the red for a bed-room, and the rooms over as sleeping-rooms. They will be soon completed ; — at least, I hope so. " I wish you would inquire of Major Watson (who is an old Indian) what things will be necessary to provide for my voyage. I have already procured a friend to write to the Arabic professor at Cambridge for some in- fornmtion I am anxious to procure. I can easily get letters from government to the ambassadors, consuls, &c. and also to the governors at Calcutta and Madras. I shall place my property and my will in the liands of trustees till my return, and I mean to appoint you one. From Hanson I have heard nothing — when I do, you shall have tlie particulars. "After all, you must own my project is not a bad one. If I do not travel now, I never shall, and all men should one day or other. I have at present no connexions to keep me at home ; no wife, or unprovided sisters, bro- thers, &c. I shall take care of you, and when I return I may possibly become a pohtician. A few years' know- ledge of other countries than our own will not incapaci- tate me for that part. If we see no nation but our own we do not give mankind a fair chance — it is from experi- ence, not books, we ought to judge of them. There is nothing like mspection, and trusting to our ovm senses. " Yours very truly, "Byron." * Thui addreHad alwayi by Lord Byron, but without any right to tlic dtiiiiictioii. 1 See Memorundum, page 261. LETTER XXXV. to MR. HODGSON. " A few weeks ago I wrote to * * *, to request he would receive the son of a citizen of London, well known to me, as a pupil ; the family having been particularly polite during the short time I was with them induced me to this application. Now, mark what follows, — as some- body sublimely saith. On this day arrives an epistle, signed * * *, containing not the smallest reference to tuition, or mtuition, but a jietition for Robert Gregson, of pugilistic notoriety, now in bondage for certain paltry pounds sterling, and liable to take up his everlasting abode in Banco Regis. Had the letter been from any of my lay acquaintance, or, in short, from any person but the gentleman whose signature it bears, I should have marvelled not. If * ♦ * is serious, I congratulate pugi- lism on the acquisition of such a patron, and shall be most happy to advance any sum necessary for the hbe- ration of the captive Gregson. But I certainly hope to be certified from you, or some respectable housekeeper, of the fact, before 1 write to * * * on the subject. When I say ihefact, I mean of the letter being written by * * *, not having any doubt as to the authenticity of the statement. The letter is now before me, and I keep it for your perusal." LETTER XXXVI. TO R. C. DALLAS, ES<1. «R eddish's Hotel, Jan. 25, 1809. "my dear sir, " My only reason for not adopting your lines* is be- cause they are your lines. You will recollect what Lady Wortley Montague said to Pope : 'No touching, for the good will be given to you, and the bad attributed to me.' I am determined it shall be all my own, except such alterations as may be absolutely requisite ; but I am much obliged by the trouble you have taken and your good opinion. " The couplet on Lord C. may be scratched out, and the following inserted : " RoBcommon 1 Slieffieid I with your spirits fled, Jtc. " This will answer the purpose of concealment. Now, for some couplets on Mr. Crabbe, which you may place after ' Gifl'ord, Sothoby, M'Noil :' " Tliere be who tay in theto enUghlened days, he. "I am sorry to differ witli you with regard to the title, but 1 mean to retain it with this addition ; ' The F.nglish Bards and Scotch Reviewers ;' and, if we call it a Satire, it will obviate tlie objection, as the bards also wore Welsh. * ♦ * ♦ " Yours very .vincorely, " BVKON." • Mr. PnlliiH hud wnltfii •oino llne«, mid r»iiiirmed l.iml liyroii to hi- iert Ihi'in ill tliu fSiidtv, ihe " KiiglUh Uiinln and Stotrh RrvirwcrB," then in pifM.— The IcUtfii rulluwiiig to Mr. Dallat, rtl*lt to llial work. 12 LETTERS, 1809. LETTER XXXVII. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. «Feb. 7th, 1809. *MT DEAR SIR, " Suppose we have this couplet — * " Though sweet the Bound disdain a borrow'd tone, Resign Achaia't lyre, and strike your ovn ; or, " Though soft the echo scorn a borrow'd tone. Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own. " So much for your admonitions ; but my note of notes,f my soUtary pun must not be given up — no, rather " ' Let mightiest of all the beasts of chace. That roam in woody Caledon' come against me : my annotation must stand. •• We shall never sell a thousand ; then why print so many ? Did you receive my yesterday's note ? I am troubling you, but I am apprehensive some of the lines are omitted by your young amanuensis, to whom, how- ever, I am infinitely obliged. " Believe me, yours very truly, « Byron." WOTES TO MR. DALLAS. "Feb. 11,1809. " I wish you to call if possible, as I have some altera- ions to suggest as to the part about Brougham. " B." " Excuse the trouble, but I have added two lines which ne necessary to complete the poetical character of Lord Carlisle. " in his age Hii scenes alone had damn'd our sinking stage ; But managers for once cried, ' hold, enough !' Nor drugg'd their audience with tlie tragic stuS°. "Feb. 12th, 1809." "Yours, &c. «B. " I wish you much to call on me, about one, not later, if convenient, as I have some thirty or forty lines for addition. " Believe me, &c. " B." » Feb. 15,1809." 'Ecce iterum Crispinus! — I send you some lines to be placed after 'GifTord, Sotheby, M'Neil.' Pray call ix> morrow any time before two, and believe me, &c. "B." "P. S. Print soon, or I shall overflow with more rhyme. "Feb. 16th, 1809." " 1 enclose some lines to be inserted, the six first after, 'Lords too are bards, &c.' or rather immediately follow- ing the line: " ' Oh I who would take their titles with their rhymes ?' Tiie four next will wind up the panegyric on Lord Carlisle, and come after ' tragic stuff.' " Yours, truly, «B." ■Feb. 19th, 1809." ■* A cut at the opera — Ecce signum ! from last night's observation, and inucndoes against the Society for the suppression of Vice. The lines will come well in af\er the couplets concerning Naldi and Catalani. "Yours truly, *' Byron." « Feb. 22d, 1809." LETTER XXXVIIL TO MRS. BYRON. • Mr. Dallss objected to the linM •■ orisfinallv written • " Tranilnlinn's serrile worK at length disown, And qiiil Arhnia's muse to court your own." t 8m Enfllsh Bards, and not*, p. 435. "8, St. James's-street, March 6th, 1809. "dear MOTHER, " My last letter was written under great depression of spirits from poor Falkland's death,* who has lefl without a shilling four children and his wife. I have been en- deavouring to assist them, which, God knows, I cannot do as I could wish, from my own embarrassments, and the many claims upon me from other quarters. "What you say is all very true: come what may, Newstead and I starid or fall together. I have now lived on the spot, I have fixed my heart upon it, and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me to barter the last vestige of our mheritance. I have that pride within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure privations ; but could I obtain in exchange for Newstead Abbey the first fortune in the country, I would reject the proposition. Set your mind at ease on that score ; Mr. Hanson talks like a man of business on the subject, I feel like a man of honour, and I will not sell Newstead. " I shall get my seat on the return of the affidavits fromCarhais, in Cornwall, and will do something in the House soon: I must dash, or it is all over. My Satire must be kept secret for a month i after that you may say what you please on the subject. Lord Carlisle has used me infamously, and refused to state any particulars of ray family to the Chancellor. I have lashed him in my rhymes, and perhaps his Lordship may regret not being more conciliatory. They tell me it will have a sale ; I hope so, for the bookseller has behaved well, as far as publishing well goes. "Believe me, yours truly. " P. S. You shall have a mortgage on one of the farms." LETTER XXXIX. TO MR. HARNESS. " 8, St. James's-street, March 18th, 1809. " There was no necessity for your excuses : if you have time and inchnation to write, ' for what we receive, the Lord make us thanltful.'— If I do not hear from you, I console myself with the idea that you are much more agreeably employed. " I send down to you by this post a certain Satire lately published, and in return for the three and sixpence expenditure upon it, only beg that if you should guess the author, you will keep his name secret ; at least, for the present. London is full of the Duke's business. The Commons have been at it these last three nights and are not yet come to a decision. I do not know if the affair will be brought before our House, unless in the shape of an impeachment. If it makes its appearance m a debatable form, I beheve I shall be tempted to say something on the subject.— I am glad to hear you like Cambridge : firstly, because to know that you are happy is pleasant to one who wshes you all possible sublunary enjoyment ; and, secondly, I admire the morality of the sentiment. Alma Mater was to me injusta noverca : and the old Beldam only gave me my M. A. degree because * See EnglUb Bardi, and note, p. 426. LETTERS, 1809. 13 she could not avoid it. — You know what a farce a noble Cantab, must perform. "I am going abroad, if possible, in the spring, and before I depart I am collecting the pictures of my most intimate schoolfellows ; I have already a few, and shall want yours, or my cabinet will be incomplete. I have employed one of the first miniature-painters of the day to take them, of course at my own expense, as I never allow my acquaintance to incur the least expenditure to gratify a whim of mine. To mention this may seem in- deUcate ; but when I tell you a friend of ours first re- fused to sit, under the idea that he was to disburse on the occasion, you will see that it is necessary to state these prelimmaries to prevent the recurrence of any similar mistake. I shall see you in time, and will carry you to the limner. It will be a tax on your patience for a week, but pray excuse it, as it is possible the resem- blance may be the sole trace I shall be able to preserve of our past friendship and present acquaintance. J ust now it seems fooUsh enough, but in a few years, when some of us are dead, and others are separated by inevi- table circumstances, it will be a kind of satisfaction to retain in these images of the living the idea of our former selves, and to contemplate in the resemblance of the dead, all that remains of judgment, feeling, and a host of passions. But all this would be dull enough for you, and so good night, and to end my chapter, or rather my homily, believe me, dear H. yours most affectionately. "P. S. I do not know how you and Alma Mater agree. I was but an untoward child myselfj and I be- lieve the good lady and her brat were equally rejoiced when I was weaned ; and, if I obtained her benediction at parting, it was, at best, equivocal." con tinned him in my service. If he does not behave well abroad, I will send him back in a transport. I have a German servant, (who has been with Mr. Wilbraham m Persia before, and was strongly recommended to me by Dr. Butler of Harrow,*) Robert, and William; they constitute my whole suite. I have letters in plenty — you shall hear from me at the different ports I touch upon ; but you must not be alarmed if my letters mis- carry. The continent is in a fine state — an insurrec- tion has broken out at Paris, and the Austrians are beating Buonaparte — the Tyrolese have risen. " There is a picture of me in oil, to be sent down to Newstead soon. — I wish the Miss Pigots had some- thing better to do than carry my miniatures to Notting- ham to copy. Now they have done it, you may ask them to copy the others, which are greater favourites than my own. As to money matters, I am ruined — at least till Rochdale is sold ; and if that does not turn out well, I shall enter into the Austrian or Russian service — perhaps the Turkish, if I like their manners. The world is all before me, and I leave England without re- gret, and without a wish to revisit any thing it contains, except yourself, and your present residence. " Believe me, yours ever sincerely. "P. S. Pray teU Mr. Rushton his son is well, and doing well ; so is Murray, indeed better than I ever saw him ; he will be back in about a month. I ought to add the leaving Murray to my few regrets, as his age perhaps will prevent my seeing him again. Robert I take with me ; I like him, because, like myselfj he seems a friend- less animal." LETTER XL. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESC^. "April 25th, 1809. "dear sir, "I am just arrived at Batt's Hotel, Jermyn-street, St. James's, from Newstead, and shall be very glad to see you when convenient or agreeable. Hobhouse is on his way up to town, full of printing resolution, and proof against criticism. " Believe me, with great smcerity, yours truly, « BVRON.' LETTER XLL TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. " Twelve o'clock, Friday night. "MV dear BANKES, " I have just received your note : believe me, I regret most sincerely that I was not fortunate enough to see it before, as I need not repeat to you, that your conversa- tion for half an hour would have been much more agree- able to me than gambling or drinking, or any other fashionable mode of passing an evening abroad or at home. I really am very sorry that I went out previous to the arrival of your despatch : in future, pray let me hear from you before six, and whatever my enga<.'cments may be, 1 will always postpone them. Believe me, with that deference which I have always from my child- hood paid to your talents, and with somewhat a better Opinion of your heart than I have hitherto entertained, " Yours ever, &c." LETTER XLII. TO MRS. EVRON. "Falmouth, Juno 22(1, 1809. "dear MOTHER, •* I am about to sail in a few days ; probably before this reaches you. Fletcher begged so hard, Uiat I have LETTER XLIII. TO MR. HENRY DRITRY. "Falmouth, June 25th, 1809. "my DEAR DRURY, "We sail to-morrow in the Lisbon packet, having been detained till now by the lack of wind, and other ne- cessaries. These being at last procured, by this time to- morrow evening we shall be embarked on the vide rorld of waters, uor all the world like Robinson Crusoe. The Malta vessel not sailing for some weeks, we have determined to go by way of Lisbon, and, as my servants term it, to see ' that there PortingaJe ;' thence to Cadiz and Gibraltar, and so on our old route to Malta and Constantinople, if so be that Captain Kidd, our gallant commander, understands plain sailing and Mercator, and takes us on our voyage all according to the chart. " Will you tell Dr. Butler that I have taken the trea- sure of a servant, Friese, the native of Prussia Proper, into my service from his recommendation. He has been all among the Worshippers of Fire in Persia, and has seen Persepolis and all that. " Hobhouse has made woundy preparations for a book on his return ; — 100 pens, two gallons of japan ink, and several volumes of best blank, is no bad provision for a discerning public. I have laid down my pen, but have l)romised to contribute a chapter on the state o^ morals, &c. &c. " ' The cock ig crowing, I must be going, And can no more.'— Qhoat of Qaffer Thumb. " Adieu. Believe me, &c. &c." LETTER XLIV. TO MR. HODGSON. "Falnioutli, June 26Ui, 1809. **MY dear H0D080N, "Before this reaches you, Hobhouse, two officers' wives, lliree children, two waiting- maids, ditto subalterns The PaKrti U-l ndfl al^l en" LETTER Lin. TO THE HON. MRS. BYRON. " Salsette Frigate, off the Dardanelles?, April 17. 1810. "dear madam, "I write at anchor, (in our way to Constantinople,) off the Troad, which I traversed two days ago. All the re- mains of Troy are the tombs of her destroyers, among which I see that of Antilochus from my cabm window. These are large mounds of earth, lilce the barrows of the Danes in your island. There are several monuments, about twelve miles distant, of the Alexandrian Troas, which I also examined ; but by no means to be compared with the remnants of Athens and Ephesus. This will be sent in a ship of war bound with despatches for Malta. In a few days we shall be at Cwistantinople, 1 barring accidents. I have also written from Smyrna, | and shall, from time to time, transmit short accounts of I my movements, but I feel totally unequal to long letters.^ "Believe me, " Yours very sincerely, "Byron." " P. S. No accoimts from Hanson ! Do not complain of short letters, I write to nobody but yourself and Mr. Hanson. LETTERS, 1810. 19 LETTER LIV. TO THE HON. MRS. BYRON. "Constantmople, May 18th, 1810. "dear madam, "1 arrived here in an English frigate from Smyrna, a few days ago, without any events worth mentioning, ex- cept landing to view the plains of Troy, and afterwards, when we were at anchor in the Dardanelles, ^sw;^»^ff^m^ from Sestos to Abydos, in imitation of Monsieur Lean- der, whose story you no doubt know too well for me to add any thing 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, &c " Believe me, yours ever, " Byron." LETTER LV. TO MR. HENRY DRURY. « Salsette Frigate, May 3d, 1810. *Mr DEAR DRURY, "When I left England, nearly a year ago, you re- quested me to write to you — I will do so. I have crossed Portugal, traversed the south of Spain, visited Sardmia, Sicily, Malta, and thence passed into Turkey, where I am still wandering. I first landed in Albania, the ancient Epirus, where we penetrated as far as Mount Tomarit— excellently treated by the chief Ali Pacha ; and, after journeying through Illyria, Chaonia, &c. crossed the gulf of Actium, with a guard of fifty Albani- ans, and passed the Achelous in our route through Acar- nania and JEtolia. We stopped a short time in the Morea, crossed the gulf of Lepanto, and landed at the foot of Parnassus ; saw all that Delphi retains, and so on to Thebes and Athens, at which last we remained ten weeks. "His majesty's ship Pylades brought us to Smyrna ; but not before we had topographized Attica, including, of course, Marathon and the Sunian promontory. From Smyrna to the Troad (which we visited when at anchor, for a fortnight, off the tomb of Antilochus) was our next stage ; and now we are in the Dardanelles, waiting for a wind to proceed to Constantinople. " This morning I swam from Sestos to Abydos.* The immediate distance is not above a mile, but the current renders it hazardous ; — so much so that I doubt whether Leander's conjugal affection must not have been a little chilled in his passage to Paradise. I attempted it a week ago, and failed, — owing to the north wind, and the wonderful rapidity .of the tide, — though I have been from my childhood a strong swimmer. But, this morn- ing being calmer, I succeeded, and crossed the ' broad Hellespont' in an hour and ten minutes. ■ Well, my dear sir, I have left my home, and seen part of Africa and Asia, and a tolerable portion of Eu- rope. I have been with generals and admirals, princes and pachas, governors and ungovernables, — but I have not time or paper to expatiate. I wish to let you know that I live with a friendly remembrance of you, and a hope to meet you again ; and, if I do this as shortly as possible, attribute it to any thing but forgetfulness. " Greece, ancient and modern, you know too well to require description. Albania, indeed, I have seen more of than any Englishman, (except a Mr. Leake,) for it is a country rarely visited, from the savage character of the natives, though abounding in more natural beauties than the classical regions of Greece, — which, however, S«t Lett«r 4T7, &e. are still eminently beautiful, particularly Delphi and Cape Colonna in Attica. Yet these are nothing to parts of Illyria and Epirus, where places without a name, and rivers not laid down in maps, may, one day, v»-hen more known, be justly esteemed superior subjects, for the pencil and the pen, to the dry ditch of the Ihssus and the bogs of Boeotia. " The Troad is a fine field for conjecture and snipe- shooting, and a good sportsman and an ingenious scholar may exercise their feet and faculties to great advantage upon the spot ; — or, if they prefer riding, lose their way (as I did) in a cursed quagmire of the Scamander, who wriggles about as if the Dardan virgins still offered their wonted tribute. The only vestige of Troy, or her de- stroyers, are the barrovv's supposed to contain the car- casses of Achilles, Antilochus, Ajax, &c. — but Mount Ida is still in high feather, though the shepherds are now-a-days not much like G anymede. But why should I say more of these things ? are they not written in the Boke of Gell ? and has not K. got a journal ? I keep none, as I have renounced scribblhig. " I see not much difference between ourselves and the Turks, save that we have * *, and they have none— that they have long dresses, and we short, and that we talk much, and they little. + * * + * They are sensible people. Ali Pacha told me he was sure I was a man of rank, because I had small ears and Jiands and curling hair. By-the-by, I speak the Romaic, or modern Greek, tolerably. It does not differ from the ancient dialects so much as you would conceive ; but the pronunciation is diametrically opposite. Of verse, ex- cept in rhyme, they have no idea. " I like the Greeks, who are plausible rascals, — with all the Turkish vices, without their courage. However, some are brave, and all are beautiful, very much re- sembling the busts of Alcibiades : — the women not quite so handsome. I can swear in Turkish ; but, except one horrible oath, and 'pimp,' and 'bread,' and 'water,' 1 have got no great vocabulary in that language. They are extremely polite to strangers of any rank, properly protected ; and as I have two servants and two soldiers, we get on with great eclat. We have been occasionally in danger of thieves, and once of shipwreck, — but always escaped. "At Malta I fell in love with a married woman,* and challenged an aid-de-camp of General ♦ * (a rude fellow, who grinned at something, — I never rightly knew what) — but he explained and apologized, and the lady embarked for Cadiz, and so I escaped murder and crim. con. Of Spain I sent some account to our Hodgson, but have subsequently written to no one, save notes to relations and lawyers, to keep them out of my premises. I mean to give up all connexion, on my return, with many of my best friends — as I supposed them — and to snarl all my life. But I hope to have one good-hu- moured laugli with you, and to embrace Dwycr, and pledge Hodgson, bcHirc I commence cynicism. " Tell Doctor Butler I am now writing with the gold pen he gave me before I left England, which is the rea- son my scrawl is more unintelligible than usual. I have been at Athens and seen plenty of these reeds for scrib- bling, some of which he refused to bestow upon me, be- cause topographic GoU had brought them from Attica. But I will not describe, — no — you must be satisfied with simple detail till my return ; and then we will unfold the floodgates of colloquy. I am in a 36 gun frigate, going up to fetch Bob Adair from Constanlinoplo, who will have the honour to carry this letter. "And so H.'s bnkc is out,j with some sentimental sing-song of my own to fill up, — and how does it take, eh ? and where the devil is the second edition of my * Sw r.cKer 49. t Hohhounc'i MincflUnifi, In wliich Mmrnl of Lord Djrron'i pleceiwere orlginRllypublUhed. 20 LETTERS, 1810. oatire, with additions ? and my name on the title-page ? and more lines tagged to the end, with a new exordium and what not, hot from my anvil before I cleared the Channel? The Mediterranean and the Atlantic roll between me and criticism ; and the thunders of the Hy- perborean Review are deafened by the roar of the Hellespont. " Remember me to Claridge, if not translated to col- lege, and present to Hodgson assurances of my high con- sideration. Now, you will ask, what shall I do ne.xt ? and I answer, I do not know. I may return in a few month.", but 1 have intents and projects after visiting Constant inojtle. — Hobhouse, however, will probably be back in September. "On the 2d of July we have left Albion one year ' oblitus meorum oblivisoendus et illis.' I was sick of my own country, and not much prepossessed in favour of any other ; but I ' drag on' ' my chain' without ' length- ening it at each remove.' I am like the Jolly INIiller. caring for nobody, and not cared for. All countries are much the same in my eyes. 1 smoke, and stare at mountains, *and twirl my mustachios very independently. I miss no comforts, and the mosquitoes that wrack the morbid frame of H. have, luckily for me, little effect on mine, because I live more temperately. "I omitted Ejjhesus in my cattLlogue, which I visited during my sojourn at Smjrna ; but the Temple has al- most perished, and St. Paul need not trouble himself to epistolize the present brood of Ejjhesians, who have converted a large church built entirely of marble into a mosque, and 1 don't know that the edifice looks the worse for it. "My paper is full, and my ink ebbing — good afternoon ! If you address to me at Malta, the letter will be for- warded wherever I may be. Hobhouse greets you ; he pines for his poetry, — at least, some tidings of it. I al- most forgot to tell you that I am dying for love of three Greek girls at Athens, sisters. I lived in the same house. Teresa, Mariana, and Katinka, are the names of these divinities, — all of them imder 15. " Your TaneivoTaros 6y\os, « Byron.' 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 yozir 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 wTite quite as often as I wish. Of Hob- house'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. * * * * j hope you and Bland 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 ever-green climates ; but I fear business, law business, the worst of emjjloyments, 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 d — d 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 moralize; 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 beheve me, " Yours with all faith, " Bykon." LETTER LVI. TO MR. HODGSO:*, " Salsctte Frigate, in the Dardanelles, off Abydos, May 5th, 1810. "I am on my way to Conslantuiople, after a tour through Greece, Epirus, &c. and part of Asia Minor. some particulars of which I have just communicated to our friend and host H. Drury. With ihoso, then, I shall not trouble you •, but, as you will perhaps be pleased to hear tjjat I am well, kc, I take the opportunity of our ambassador's return to forward the few lines I have time to desiKitch. We have undergone some inconveniences and incurred partial perils, but no events worthy of com munication, 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 pas- sion for a married woman at Malta, 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 S[iain, « Hobhouse rhymes and journalizes ; I stare and do no- Uung— unless smoking can be deemed an active amuse- ment, 'i'he Turks take too much care of their women to permit them to be scrutinized ; but I have lived a good deal with the Greeks, wliose modern dialect I can con- verse in enough for my purposes. With the Turks I have also some male acquaintances— female society is LETTER LVIL TO THE HONOURABLE MRS. BYRON. "Constantinople, May 24th, 1810. "dear mother, " I wrote to you very shortly the other day on my ar- rival 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 Eng- land. I believe 1 mentioned to you m my last, that my only notable exploit, lately, has been swimming from Sestos to Abydos on the third of this month, in humble imitation of Leander, of amorous memory, though I had no Hero to receive me on the other shore of the^Heljes- pont. 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 ac- company him to see the sultan, and afterward probably return to Greece. I have heard nothing of Mr. Hanson, but one remittance, without any letter from that gentle- man. If you have occasion for any pecuniary supply, pray use my funds as far as they go without reserve ; and, lest this should not be enough, in my next to Mr. Hanson I will direct him to advance any sum you may want, leaving it to your discretion how much, in the pre- sent state of my affairs, you may Uiinlc proper \o require. I have already seen the most interesting parts of Turkey . „ parts of Turkey in Europe and Asia Minor, but shall not proceed farther till I hear from England : in the mean time I shall ex- pect occasional supplies, according and shall Greeks of the Mc shall ex- circumstances ; pass my summer among my friends, the LETTERS, 1810. 21 " You will direct to Malta, where my letters are for- warded, and believe me to be, " With great sincerity, "Yours ever. "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 cUmate and fa- tigue of travelling." LETTER LVIII. TO MR. HENRY DRURY. "Constantinople, June 17th, 1810. " Though I wrote to you so recently, I break in upon you again to congratulate you on a child being bom, as a letter from Hodgson apprizes me of that event, in which I rejoice. " I am just come from an expedition through the Bos- phorus to the Black Sea and the Cyanean Symplegades, up which last I scrambled at as great a 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 unlaunch'd from Grecian docks, Had never pass'd the Azure rocks ; But now I fear her trip will be a DanM'd business for my Miss Medea, &c. &c. 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 ; — sur- viving which operation, I shall probably rejoin you in England. H. 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 sun- dries let H. relate, with this {)roviso, that / am to be re- ferred to for authenticity ; and 1 beg leave to contradict all those things whereon he lays particular stress. But, if he soars, at any time, into wif, I give you leave to ap- plaud, because that is necessarily stolen from his follow- pUgrim. Tell Davies that H, 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 reigas unrivalled in the cabm, as in the 'Cocoa Tree.' "And Hodgson has been publishing more pocsy-4 wish he would send me his ' Sir Edgar,' 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 over- taken by this despatch, II.'s tongue is at your service. Remember me to Dwyer, who owes me rloven 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. Good afternoon ! " I am yours, very sincerely, "Byron." • See ChUdc Harold, Canto IV, iionxa 170 ; aUo •n.wer to Uowlet. LETTER LIX. TO THE HON. MRS. BYRON. "Constantinople, June 28th, 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, when 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 dehver this, and is on his return to Eng- land, can inform you of our different movements, but I am very uncertain as to my own return. He will probably be down to Nott's, 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 ex- tensive. 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 All Pacha, at Yanina, (a Uttle fellow often 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 any body 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 mo- ment ; and that all I am afraid of is, that I shall contract a gipsy-Uke wandering disposition, which will make home tiresome to me : this, 1 am told, is very common with men in the habit of peregrination, and, indeed, I feel it so. On the third 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 in the Troad : the tombs of Achilles and Esyetes 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 ; 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. 1 have been in all the principal mosques by the virtue of a firman ; this is a favour rarely permitted to infidels, but the ambassa- dor's de[)arture 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 mo ; I am not able to write long letters in June. 1 return to spend my summer in Greece. I shall not proceed fiirthcr into Asia, as I have visited Smyrna, Kphesus, and the Troad. I write oflen, but you must not be alarmed when you do not receive my letters ; consider wo have no regular poet 22 LETTERS, 1810. further 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 hved with the highest and the lowest. I have been for days in a Pacha's palace, and have passed many a night in a cow- house, 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 Wortley errs strangely when she says, 'St. Paul's would cut a strange figure by St. Sophia's.' I have been in both, surveyed them inside and out attentively. St. Sophia's is undoubtedly the most interesting from its immense an- tiquity, 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,' &c. and not to be mentioned in the same page with St. Paul's, (I speak Uke 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 New- stead 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 battle- ments, 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 cy- presses. I have seen the ruins of Athens, of Ephesus, ■and Delphi. I have traversed great part of Turkey, and y geni-rnlly do,) Oenirtrhi* Zo- Rinffo of Alhi'ii* is al ihc lii-iul of thi' AUuiiiiiii pi\i t of the Uix-rk iiiiiir. rcrlioii. He wivs my f.ivnnl in 1809, 1810, 1^11. IHIQ, m diffcront inlcrvulH in (hose yeiiri, (for 1 left him In iTi recce when I went to ("on- itnntinoplc,) and necomiianicil me to iCnftlnnd in 1811 ; he returned to (in-ece, ■pring, 1813. He win a clever, but not nppartntiv an enter- prising man ; but circomilancei make men. Hii two loni (thtn infant*) were named Mlllladca and Alclbladei i may the omen b« happy I — MS, Journal. 2d LETTERS, 1811. wise, to the satisfaction of ray executors hereinafter named+J the amount thereof and the correctness of the same." " If Mr. Davies has any unsettled claims upon Lord Byron, that circumstance is a reason for his not being ap- pointed execulor ; each execulir having an opportunity of paying himself his oum debt wilhnut coniuRing his co- executors." " So much the better-'-if possible, let him be an exccu- tOTv i>- In sending a copy of the will, framed on these in- structions, to Lord Byron, the solicitor accompanied some of the clauses with marginal queries, calling the at- tention of his client to points which he considered inex- pedient or questionable : one or two of the clauses are here inserted in full, with the respective queries and an- swers annexed. The twro folloMvlng letters contain further instructions on the same subject : LETTER LXXIV. TO MR, BOLTON. "Newstead Abbey, August 16th, 1811. «SIR, "I have answered the queries on the margin. f I wish Mr. Davies's claims to be most fully allowed, and, further, that he be one of my executors. I wish the will to be made in a manner to prevent all discussion, if possi- ble, after my decease ; and this 1 leave to you, as a pro- fessional gentleman. " With regard to the few and simple directions for the disposal of my carcass, I must have them implicitly ful- filled, as they will, at least, prevent trouble and expense : ' — and (what would be of little consequence to me, but may quiet the conscience of the survivors) the garden is consecrated ground. These directions are copied verba- tim from my former will ; the alterations in other parts J»aye arisen fronj the death of Mrs. B. " I have the honour to be. ''Your most obedient, humble servant, "BVRON." LETTER LXXV. TO MR. BOLTON, " Newstead Abbey, Atigust 20, 18H. SIR, •The witnesses shall be provided from among my tenants, and I shall bo happy to see yon on any day most convenient to yourself. 1 forgot lo mention that it must be specified by codicil, or othoruise, that my body is on no account to be removed from the vault where I have di- rected it to be placed ; and, in case any of my successors within the entail, (from bigotry, or otherwise,) might think proper to remove the carcass, such proceeding shall W attended by forfeiture of the estate, which, in such case, shall go to my sister, tlie Ilon^'''' Augusta Leigh fcnd her heirs on similar conditions. I have the honour to bo, siii "Your very obedient, humble servant, ^ " BVRON." • OTtr 111* wordii hm-e fvlnccfl between brnckeH., Lord Byron drew t I">l»>e<-laii»eenMmcratin(;thcnnmeiiniidpInce«oral)odeoftliecxecu- lori, the inliclior had left liliinlm for ilie Chrimian nnmeg of these ccntle- men, and Lord Byron, huying filled up all but that of Dallas, writes in the margin— "I forRet tli- < hristiaii name of Dallas— cut him out." He • taoeiecutedM.nlhe2Slhof this month, a codicil, by which he revoked the bequest of his " hous^.hold goods and furniture, hbrary, j.ictures, sa- Dret, watches, plaU", liiieii, innkets, and other personal estate, (except montj and securities,) situate within the walls of the mansion-house and pr«ntK«es at his decease— and bequeathed the same (except his wine and •piritiious >.om.rs) to his friends, the said J. C. Hobhouse, S. I!. Davies and t ranc« Hod..on, their executors, tc. lo be equally divided between them for thrir own use ;-«nd he bequeathed his wine and spirituous Jiquors, which should be m the cellars and premises at Newstead, unto il'll J •?,"*,•'• ".««'"•■'<"• his own use, and requested the said J. C. Hobhouje. 8. U. Davies. P. Hodgson, and J. Becher, respectively, to bii'cri '!uhi*3''"' *'" '^°""'"*''' *° ''"="* respectively, as a tokeo of LETTER LXXVI. TO MR. DALLAS. " Newstead Abbey, Notts, August 12, 1811. "Peace be with the dead! Regret cannot wake them. With a sigh to the departed, let us resume the dull business of hfe, in the certainty that we shall also have our repose. Besides her who gave me being, I have lost more than one who made that being tolerable. — The best friend of my friend Hobhouse, Matthews, a man of the first talents, and also not the worst of my narrow circle, has perished miserably in the muddy waves of the Cam, always fatal to genius : — my poor schoolfellow Wingfield, at Coimbra — within a month,* and while I had heard from all three, but not seen one. Matthews wrote to me the very day before his death 5 and though I feel for his fate, I am still more anxious for Hobhouse, who, I very much fear, will hardly retain his senses 5 his letters to me since the event have been most incoherent. But let this pass — we shall all one day pass along with the rest — the world is too full of such things, and our very sorrow is selfish. " I received a letter from you which my late occupa-f tions prevented me from duly noticing, — I hope your friends and family will long hold together, I shall be glad to hear from you, on business, on commonplace, or any thing, or nothing — but death — I am already too fa- miliar with the dead. It is strange that I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have always had four in my study) without emotion, but I cannot strip the features of those I have Imo^vn of their fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation ; but the worms are less ceremonious. — Surely, the Romans did well when they burned the dead. — I shall be happy to hear from you, and am " Yours, &c.'' LETTER LXXVIL TO MR. HODGSON. t "Newstead Abbey, August 22d, 1811. "You may have heard of the sudden death of my mo» ther, and poor Matthews, which, with that of Wingfield, (of which I was not fully aware till just before I left town, and indeed hardly believed it,) has made a sad chasm in my connexions. Indeed the blows followed each other so rapidly that I am yet stupid from the shock, and though I do eat, and drink, and talk, and even laugh, at times, yet I can hardly persuade myself that I am awake, did not every morning convince me mournfully to the contrary. — 1 shall now waive the sul> ject, — the dead are at rest, and none but the dead can be so. " You will feel for poor Hobhouse, — Matthews was the * god of his idolatry ;' and if intellect could exalt a man above his fellows, no one could refuse him pre-emi- nence, I knew him most intimately, and valued hinj proportionably, but I am recurring— so let us talk of life and the living. " If you should feel a disposition to come here, you will find ' beef and a sea-coal fire,' and not ungenerous wine. Whether Otvvay's two other requisites for an Englishman or not, I cannot tell, but probably one of them. — Let me know when I may expect you, that I may tell you when I go and when return.— I have not yet been to Lanes. **♦ + * + Davies has been here, and has invited me to Cambridge for a week in October, so that, peradventure, we may encounter glass to glass. His gayety (death cannot mar it) has done me service ; but, after all, ours was a hollow laughter. • See Childe Harold, note 19lh, to Canto I. LETTERS, 1811. 2^ " You will write to me ? I am solitary, and I never felt solitude irksome before. Your anxiety about the critique on * *'s book is amusing ; as it was anonymous, certes, it was of little consequence : I wish it had pro- duced a little more confusion, being a lover of literary malice. Are yoil doing nothing? writing nothing? printing nothing ? why not your Satire on Methodism ? the subject (supposing the public to be blind to merit) would do wonders. Besides, it would be as well for a destmed deacon to prove his orthodoxy. — It really would give me pleasure to see you properly appreciated. I say really^ as, being an author, my humanity might be ^spected. " Believe me, dear H. yours always." LETTER LXXVIII. TO MR. DALLAS. " Newstead, August 21, 1811. " Your letter gives me credit for more acute feelings than I possess ; for though I feel tolerably miserable, yet I am at the same time subject to a kind of hysterical merriment, or rather laughter without merriment, which I can neither account for nor conquer, and yet I do not feel relieved by it ; but an indifferent person would think me in excellent spirits. ' We must forget these things,' and have recourse to our old selfish comforts, or rather comfortable selfishness. I do not thinlc I shall return to London immediately, and shall therefore accept freely what is offered courteously — your mediation between me and Murray. I don't think my name will answer the purpose, and you must be aware that my plaguy Satire will bring the north and south Grub-streets down upon the ' Pilgrimage ;' — but, nevertheless, if Murray makes a point of it, and you coincide with him, I will do it daringly; so let it be entitled, 'By the Author of English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.' My remarks on the Romaic, &c. once intended to accompany the ' Hints from Horace,' shall go along with the other, as being indeed more appropriate ; also the smaller poems now in my possession, with a few selected from those published in Hobhouse's Miscellany. I have found among my poor mother's papers all my letters from the East, and one in particular of some length from Albania. From this, if necessary, I can work up a note or two on that subject. As I kept no journal, the letters written on the spot are the best. But of this anon, when we have definitively arranged. " Has Murray shown the work to any one ? He may — but I will have no traps for applause. Of course there are little things I would wish to alter, and perhaps the two stanzas of a buffooning cast on London's Sunday are as well left out. I much wish to avoid identifying Childc Harold's character with mine, and that, in sooth, is my second objection to my name appearing in the titlepage. When you have made arrangements as to time, size, type, &c. favour me with a reply. I am giving you a universe of trouble, which thanks cannot atone for. I made a kind of prose apology for my skep- ticism at the head of the MS. whicli, on recollection, is so much more lilic an attack than a defence, tliat, haply, it might better be omitted : — perpend, pronounce. After all, I fear Murray will be in a scrape with the ortliodox ; but I cannot help it, though I wish him well through it. As for me, ' I have supped full of criticism,' and I don't think that the ' most dismal treatise' will stir and rouse my 'fell of hair' till ' Birnam-wood do come to Dunsi- nane.' " I shall continue to write at intervals, and hope you will pay me in kind. How docs Pratt got on, or rather got off Joe Blackett's posthumous stock? You killed that poor man among you, in spite of your Ionian friend and mvself, wL ) would iiave saved him from Pratt, poetry, present poverty, and posthumous oblivion. Cruel patronage ! to ruin a man at his calling ; but then he is a divine subject for subscription and biography ; and Pratt, who makes the most of his dedications, has inscribed the volume to no less than five families of distinction. " I am sorry you don't like Harry White ; with a great deal of cant, which in him was sincere, (indeed, it lulled him as you killed Joe Blackett,) certes, there is poesy and genius. I don't say this on account of my simile and rhymes ;* but surely he was beyond all the Bloora- fields and Blacketts, and their collateral cobblers, whom Loflfl and Pratt have or may kidnap from their calling into the service of the trade. You must excuse my flip- pancy, for I am writing I know not what, to escape from myself Hobhouse is gone to Ireland. Mr. Davies has been here on his way to Harrowgate. " You did not know Mr. Matthews ; he was a man of the most astonishing powers, as he sufficiently proved at Cambridge, by carrying off more prizes and fellowships, against the ablest candidates, than any other graduate on record ; but a most decided atheist, indeed, noxiously so, for he proclaimed his principles in all societies. I knew him well, and feel a loss not easily to be supplied to my- self—to Hobhouse never. Let me hear from you, and " BeUeve me, &c." LETTER LXXIX. TO MR. MXJRRAy. « Newstead Abbey, Notts, August 23, 1811. " SIR, " A domestic calamity in the death of a near relation has hitherto prevented my addressing you on the subject of this letter. — My friend Mr. Dallas has placed in your hands a manuscript poem written by me in Greece, which he tells me you do not object to publishing. But he also informed me in London that you wished to send the MS. to Mr. Gifford. Now, though no one would feel more gratified by the chance of obtaining his obser- vations on a work than myself, there is in such a proceed- ing a kind of petition for praise, that neither my pride — or whatever you please to call it — will admit. Mr. G. is not only the first satirist of the day, but editor of one of the principal Reviews. As such, he is the last man whose censure (however eager to avoid it) I would de- precate by clandestine means. You will therefore re- tain the MS. in your o^^^l care, or, if it must needs be shown, send it to another. Though not very patient of censure, I would fain obtain fairly any little praise my rhymes might deserve, at all events not by extortion and the humble solicitations of a bandied-about MS. I am sure a little consideration will com-ince you it would be wrong. " If you determine on publication, I have some smaller poems, (never published,) a few notes, and a short disser- tation on the literature of the modern Greeks, (written at Athens,) which will come in at the end of the volume. — And if the present poem should succeed, it is my inten- tion, at some subsequent period, to publish some selec- tions from my first work, — my Satire, — another nearly the same length, and a few other things, with the MS. now in your hands, in two volumes. — But of these here- afler. You will apprize me of your determination. I am, sir, " Your very obedient, &€." LETTER LXXX. TO MR. DALLAS. " Newstead Abbey, August 25, 1811. " Being fortunately enabled lo frank, I do not spare scribbling, having sent you packets within the last ten * Set " Eiigliih Bard*. 30 LETTERS, 1811. days. I am passing solitary, and do not expect my agent to accompany me to Rochdale before the second \veck in September, a delay which perplexes me, as I wish the business over, and should at present welcome employment. I sent you exordiums, annotations, &c. for the forthcoming quarto, if quarto it is to be ; and I also have written to Mr. Murray my objection to sending the MS. to Juvenal, but allowing him to show it to any others of the calling. Hobhouse is among the types al- ready ; so, between his prose and my verse, the world will be decently drawn upon for its paper money and pa- tience. Besides all this, my ' Imitation of Horace' is gasping for the press at Cawthorn's, but I am hesitating as to the hmv and the ivhen^ the single or the double, the present or the future. You must excuse all this, for I have nothing to say in this lone mansion but of myself and yet I would willingly talk or think of aught else. " What are you about to do ? Do you think of perch'^- in*' in Cumberland, as you opined when I was in the me- tropolis? If you mean to retire, why not occupy Miss * * +'3 'Cottage of Friendship,' late the seat of Cob- bler Joe, for whose death you and others are answer- able? His ' Orphan Daughter' (pathetic Pratt!) will, certes, turn out a shoeniakmg Sappho. Have you no remorse ? I tliink that elegant address to Miss Dallas should be inscribed on the cenotaph which Miss * + * means to stitch to his memory. " The newspapers seem much disappointed at his majesty's not dying, or doing something better. I pre- sume it is almost over. If parliament meets in October, I shall be in town to attend. I am also invited to Cam- bridge for the beginning of that month, but am first to jaunt to Rochdale. Now Matthews is gone, and Hob- house in Ireland, I have hardly one left there to bid me welcome, except my inviter. At three-and-twenty I am left alone, and what more can we be at seventy ? It is true, 1 am young enough to begin again, but with whom can I retrace the laughing part of life? It is odd how few of my friends have died a quiet death, — I mean, in tlieir beds. But a quiet life is of more consequence. Yet one loves squabbling and jostling better than yavm- ing. This last word admonishes me to reheve you from " Yours very truly, &c." LETTER LXXXL TO MR. D.\LLAS. "Newstead Abbey, August 27, 1811. " I was so sincere in my note on the late Charles Matthews, and do feel myself so totally unable to do justice to his talents, that the passage must stand for the very reason you bring against it. To him all the men I ever knew were pigmies. He was an intellectual giant. It is true I loved W. better ; he vvas the earhest and the dearest, and one of the few one could never repent of having loved : but in ability — ah ! you did not know Matthews ! " * Childe Harold' may wait and welcome — books are never the worse for delay in the pubhcation. So you have got our heir, George Anson Byron, and his sister, with you. ♦ ♦**** + + **** + ♦** " You may say what you please, but you are one of the murderers of Blackett, and yet you won't allow Harry White's genius. Setting aside his bigotry, he surely ranks next to Chatterton. It is astonishing how little he was known ; and at Cambridge no one thought or heard of such a man, till his death rendered all notice useless. For my own part, I should have been most proud of such an acquaintance: his very prejudices were respectable. There is a sucking epic poet at Grants, a Mr. Townsend, pro/^g^^ of the late Cumber- land. Did you ever hear of him and his ' Armageddon ?' I think his plan (the man I don't know) borders on the sublime ; though, perhaps, the anticipation of the ' Last Day,' (according to you Nazarenes,) is a little too daring : at least, it looks like teUing the Lord what he is to do, and might remind an ill-natured person of the line — " ' And fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' " But I don't mean to cavil, only other folks will, and he may bring all the lambs of Jacob Behmen about his ears. However, I hope he will bring it to a conclusion, though Milton is in his way. " Write to me — I dote on gossip — and make a bow to Ju — ,* and shake George by the hand for me ; but, take care, for he has a sad sea-paw. " P. S. I would ask George here, but I don't know how to amuse him — all my horses were sold when I left Eng- land, and I have not had time to replace them. Never- theless, if he will come down and shoot in September, he will be very welcome ; but he must bring a gun, for I gave away all mine to Ali Pacha, and other Turks. Dogs, a keeper, and plenty of game, with a very large manor, I have — a lalce, a boat, house-room, and neat LETTER LXXXII. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESq. "Newstead Abbey, Sept. 4, 1811. "my dear sir, " I am at present anxious, as Cawthorn seems to wish it, to have a small edition of the " Hints from Horace" published immediately ; but the Latin (the most difficult poem in the language) renders it necessary to be very particular not only in correcting the proofs with Horace open, but in adapting the parallel passages of the imita- tion in such places to the original as may enable the rea- der not to lose sight of the allusion. I don't know whe- ther I ought to ask you to do this, but I am too far off to do it for myself; and if you can condescend to my school- boy erudition, you wdll oblige me by setting this thing going, though you will smile at the importance I attach to it. " Believe me, ever yours, « Byron." LETTER LXXXIH. TO MR. MXTRRAY. "Newstead Abbey, Notts, Sept. 5, ISIL " SIR, " The time seems to be past when (as Dr. Johnson said) a man was certain to 'hear the truth from his bookseller,' for you have paid me so many coniphments, that, if I was not the veriest scribbler on earth, I should feel affronted. As I accept your compliments, it is but fair I should give equal or greater credit to your objec- tions, the more so, as I believe them to be well founded. With regard to the political and metaphysical parts, I am afraid I can alter nothing ; but I have high authority for my errors in that point, for even the .^neid was a politi- cal poem, and written for a political purpose ; and as to my unlucky opinions on subjects of more importance, I am too sincere in them for recantation. On Spanish affairs I have said what I saw, and every day confirms me in that notion of the result formed on the spdl ; and I rather thinlv honest John Bull is beginning to come round again to that sobriety which Massena's retreat had begun to reel from its centre — the usual consequence of unusual success. So you perceive I cannot alter the sentiments ; but if there are any alterations in the struc- ture of the versification you would wish to be made, I Julia Heath, George Byron's »i»ter. LETTERS, 1811. 31 will tag rhymes and turn stanzas as much as you please. As for the ' orthodox^ let us hope they will buy, on pur- pose to abuse — you will forgive the one, if they will do the other. You are aware that any thing from my pen must expect no quarter, on many accounts ; and as the present publication is of a nature very different from the former, we must not be sanguine. " You have given me no answer to my question — tell me fairly, did you show the MS. to some of your corps ? — I sent an introductory stanza to Mr. Dallas, to be for- warded to you ; the poem else will open too abruptly.* The stanzas had better be numbered in Roman charac- ters. There is a disquisition on the Uterature of the modern Greeks, and some smaller poems, to come in at the close. These are now at Newstead, but will be sent in time. If Mr. D. has lost the stanza and note annexed to it, write, and I will send it myself — You tell me to add two Cantos, but I am about to visit my collieries in Lan^ cashire on the 15th inst. which is so unpoetical an em- ployment that I need say no more. I am, sir, " Your most obedient, &c.' LETTER LXXXIV. TO MR. DALLAS. "Newstead Abbey, Sept. 7, 1811. " As Giffbrd has been ever my ' Magnus Apollo,' any approbation, such as you mention, would, of course, be more welcome than ' all Bokara's vaunted gold, than all the gems of Samarkand.' But I am sorry the MS. was shown to him in such a manner, and I had written to Murray to say as much, before I was aware that it was too late. " Your objection to the expression ' central line,' I can only meet by saying that, before Childe Harold left Eng- land, it was his full intention to traverse Persia, and re- turn by India, which he could not have done without passing the equinoctial. " The other errors you mention, I must correct in the progress through the press. I feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be continued, but to do that, I must return to Greece and Asia ; I must have a warm sun and a blue sky ; I cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a sea-coal fire. I had projected an addi- tional Canto when I was in the Troad and Constantino- ple, and if I saw them again, it would go on ; but under existing circumstances and serisations, I have neither harp, ' heart, nor voice' to proceed. I feel that you are all right as to the metaphysical part ; but I also feel that I am sincere, and that if I am only to write, ' ad captan- dum vulgus,^ I might as well edit a magazine at once, or spin canzonettas for Vauxhall. *** + * + * + ' My work must make its way as well as it can ; I know I have every thing against me, angry poets and prejudices ; but if the poem is a poem, it will surmount these obstacles, and if not, it deserves its fate. Your friend's Ode I have read — it is no great compliment to pronounce it far superior to S * *'s on the same sub- ject, or to the merits of the new chancellor. It is evi- dently the production of a man of taste, and a poet, though I should not be willing to say it was fully equal to what might be expected from the author oV HoroB loniceB.' I thank you for it, and that is more than I would do for any other Ode of the present day. "I am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed, I have need of them. My whole life has been at vari- ance with propriety, not to say decency; my circum- stances are become involved ; my friends are dead or estranged, and my existence a dreary void. In Mat- thews I have lost my ' guide, philosopher, and friend ;' in Wingfield a friend only, but one whom I could have wished to have preceded in his long journey. " Matthews was indeed an extraordinary man ; it has not entered into the heart of a stranger to conceive such a man ; there was the stamp of immortality in all he said or did ; and now what is he ? When we see such men pass away and be no more — men, who seem created to display what the Creator could make his creatures, ga- thered into corruption, before the maturity of minds that might have been the pride of posterity, what are we to conclude ? For my own part I am bewildered. To mo he was much, to Hobhouse every thing. — My poor Hob- house doted on Matthews. For me, I did not love quite so much as I honoured him ; I was indeed so sensible of his infinite superiority, that though I did not envy, I stood in awe of it. He, Hobhouse, Davies, and myself formed a coterie of our own at Cambridge and elsewhere. Da- vies is a wit and man of the world, and feels as much as such a character can do ; but not as Hobhouse has been affected. Davies, who is not a scribbler, has always beaten us all in the war of words, and by his colloquial powers at once delighted and kept us in order. H. and myself always had the worst of it with the other two ; and even M. yielded to the dashing vivacity of S. D. But I am talking to you of men, or boys, as if you cared about such beings. " I expect mine agent down on the 14th to proceed to Lancashire, where, I hear from all quarters, that I have a very valuable property in coals, &c. I then intend to accept an invitation to Cambridge in October, and shall, perhaps, run up to tovm. I have four invitations — to Wales, Dorset, Cambridge, and Chester ; but I must be a man of business. I am quite alone, as these long letters sadly testify. I perceive, by referring to your letter, that the Ode is from the author ; make my thanks acceptable to him. His muse is worthy a nobler theme You will write, as usual, I hope. I wish you a good evening, " And am, &€." Tbe prepenn't even one. t By this query it is not meant that our foolish generals should have been shot, but that Byng might have been spared ; though Hie one •offered and the others cscafied, probably for Candidc's reason, "pour cncourager lei aiilrii." I In the MS. the names " Robhi" anrl " Rupert" had been sue eeasively ini«rted h«re and scratched out again. regularly apprized. Your objections I have in part done away by alterations, which I hope will suffice ; and I have sent two or three additional stanzas for both ' Fyttes.^ I have been again shocked with a death^ and have lost one very dear to me in happier times ; but ' I have almost forgot the taste of grie^' and ' supped full of horrors' till I have become callous, nor have I a tear left for an event which five years ago would have bowed down my head to the earth. It seems as though I were to experience in my youth the greatest misery of age. My friends fall around me, and I shall be left a lonely The second paragraph in the preface was originally thus : "It has been suggested to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in the fictitious character of ' Childe Harold,' I may in- cur the suspicion of having drawn ' from myself.' This I beg leave once for all to disclaim. I wanted a character to give some connexions to the poem, and the one adopted suited my purpose as well as any other. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such an idea ; but in the main points, I should hope none whatever. My reader will observe that when the author speaks in hi» own person, be assumes a very dift'erent tone from that of ' The cheerless thing, the man without a friend,' at least till death had deprived him of his nearest connexions . " I crave pardon for tins egotism, which proceeds from my wish to dis- card any probable imputation of it to the text." The note to Canto I. stanza 21, was in the manuscript as follows : " In the year 1809, it is a well-known fact, that the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its viciuity, were not confined by the I'ortu- guese to their countrymen ; but Englishmen were daily bulc'nered, and so far from the survivors obtaining redress, they were requested ' not to interfere' if Ihey perceived their compatriot defending himself against his amiable allies. I was once slopped in the way to the theatre, at eight in the evening, when the sireels were not more empty than they generally are, opposite to an open shop, and in a caniage with a friend, by three of OUT allies; and had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt we should have ' adorned a tale,' instead of telling it. We have heard wonders of the Portuguese lately, and their gallantry,— pray Heaven it continue: yet 'would it were bedtime Hal, and al! were well!' They must fight a great many hours 'by Shrewsbury clock,' before the number of their slain equals that of our countrymen butchered by these kind creatures, now metamorphosed into 'Caca- dores,' and what not. I merely state a fact n^t confined to Portugal, for in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished ! Tire neglect of protection is disgraceful to our government and governors, few the murders are as notorious as ihe moon that shines upon them, and the apathy that overlooks them. The Portuguese, it is to be hoped, are complimented with the •Forlorn Hope.' If the cowards are become brave, (like the rest of their kind, in a corner,) pray let them display it. But there is a subscription for these ' ^pacri dtAov,' (they need not be ashamed of the epithet once applied to the Spartans,) and all the cha- ritable patronymicks, from ostentatious A to diffident Z, and 1/. Is. O'Z. from ' an admirer of valour,' are in requisition for the lists at Lloyds, and the honour of British benevolence. Well, we have fought and sub- scribed, and bestowed peerages, and buried the killed by our friends and foes ; and lo ! all this is to be done over again ! Like ' Young The.' (in Goldsmith's Citizen of the World,) as we ■ grow older, we grow never the better.' It would be pleasant to learn who will sub- scribe for us, in or about the year 1825, and what nation will send fifty thousand men, first to be decimated in the capital, and then decimated again (in the Irish fashion nine out of ten) in the bed of honour, which, as Serjeant Kite says, is considerably larger and more commodious than the ' bed of Ware.' Then they must have a poet to write the ' Vision of Don Perceval,' and generously bestow the profits of the well and widely pointed quarto to reUjild the ' Backmynd' and the ' Canongate,' or furnish new kilts for the lialf-roasled Highlanders. Lord Welling- ton, however, has enacted marvels ; and so did his oriental brother, whom I saw charioteering over the French flag, and heard clipping bad Spanish, after listening to the speech of a patriotic cobbler of Cadiz, ou the event of his own entry into that city, and the exit of some five thou- sand bold Britons out of this ' best of all possible worlds.' Sorely were we puzzled how to dispose of that same victory of Talavera ;'anda victory it surely was somewhere, for every body claimed it. The Spa- nish despatch and mob called it Cuestas, and made no great mention of the Viscount ; the French called it theirs, (to my great discomfiture, for a French consul stopped my mouth in Greece with a pestilent Paris CJa- zette, iust as I had killed Sebastiana ' in buckram,' and King Joseph in ' Kendal green,') and we have not yet determined what to call it, or whose, for certes it was none of our own. Howbeit, Massena's retreat is a great comfort, and as we have not been in the habit of pursuing for some years past, no wonder we are a little awkward at fii-st. No doubt we shall improve, or if not, we have only to take to our old way of re- trograding, and then we are at home." The following m te to Canto II. stanza 8, was in ths original manu- script, but omitted in the publication : " In this age of bigotry, when the puritan and priest have changed places, and the wr« ched catholic is visited with the ' sins of his fathers,' even unto generations far beyond the pale of the commandment, tlic cast of opinion in these stanzas wi'll doubtless meet with many a contemptuous anathema. But let it be remembered, that the spirit they breathe ii desponding, not sneering, skepticism ; that he who has seen the Greek and Moslem superstitions contending for mastery over the former shrines of Polytheism,— who has left in his own Counti-y ' Pharisees thanking God that they are not publicans and sinners,' and Spaniards in theirs, abhorring the heretics, who have holpeu them in their need ;— will be not a little bewilderpd, and begin to think that as only one of them can be right, they may most of them be wrong. With regard to morals, and the etlect of religion on mankind, it appears, from all historical testi- mony, to have had less effect in making them love their neighbours, than inducing that cordial christian abhorrence between sectaries and schisnialicB. The Turks and Q,uakers are the most tolerant. If an in- fidel pays his hcrntik to the former, he may pray how, when, and wbave he pleases ; and the mild tenets and devout demeanourof the latter, mafc* their lives the truest commentary on the Sermon on the Mount." LETTERS, 1811. 35 tree berore I am withered. Other men can always take refuge in their families ; I have no resource but my own reflections, and they present no prospect here or here- after, except the selfish satisfaction of surviving my bet- ters. I am indeed very wretched, and you will excuse my saying so, as you know I am not apt to cant of sen- sibility. " Instead of tiring yourself with my concerns, I should be glad to hear your plans of retirement. I suppose you would not hke to be wholly shut out of society ? Now I know a large village or small town, about twelve miles off, where your family would have the advantage of very genteel society, without the hazard of being an- noyed by mercantile affluence ; where you would meet with men of information and independence ; and where I have friends to whom 1 should be proud to introduce you. There are besides, a coffee-room, assemblies, &c. &c. which brmg people together. My mother had a house there some years, and I am well acquainted with the economy of Southwell, the name of this little com- monwealth. Lastly, you will not be very remote from me; and though I am the very worst companion for young people in the world, this objection would not apply to you, whom I could see frequently. Your ex- penses too would be such as best suit your inclinations, more or less, as you thought proper 5 but very little would be requisite to enable you to enter into all the gayeties of a country life. You could be as quiet or bustling as you liked, and certainly as well situated as on the lakes of Cumberland, unless you have a particular wish to be picturesque. " Pray, is your Ionian friend in town ? You have promised me an introduction. — You mention having con- sulted some friends on the MSS. — Is not this contrary to our usual way ? Instruct Mr. Murray not to allow his shopman to call the work 'Child of Harrow's Pilgri- mage ! ! ! ! i' as he has done to some of my astonished friends, who wrote to inquire after my sanity on the oc- casion, as well they might. I have heard nothing of Murray, whom I scolded heartily. — Must I write more notes? — Are there not enough? — Cawthorn must be kept back with the 'Hints.' — I hope he is getting on with Hobhouse's quarto. Good evening. " Yours ever, &c." LETTER XCVII. TO I. HODGSON. "Newstead Abbey, Oct. 13, 1811. " You will begin to deem me a most liberal corre- spondent ; but as my letters are free, you will overlook their frequency. I have sent you answers in prose and verse to all your late communications, and though I am invading your ease again, I don't know why, or what to put down that you are not acquainted with already. I am growing neruoMS (how you will laugh!) — but it is true, — really, wretchedly, ridiculously, fine-ladically ner- vous. Your climate kills me ; I can neither read, write, nor amuse myself, or any one else. My days are list- less, and my nights restless ; I have very seldom any society, and when I have, I run out of it. At ' this pre- sent writing,' there are in the next room three ladies, and I have stolen away to write tins grumblmg letter. — I don't know that I sha'n't end with insanity, for I find a want of method in arranging my thoughts that [)crplexes me strangely ; but this looks moro like sillini'ss than madness, as Scropo Uavies would facetiously remark in his consoling manner. I must try the hartshorn of your company ; and a session of Parliament would suit me well, — any thing to euro me of conjugating Iho accursed verb '■ennuyer.^ "When shall you be at Cambridge? You have hinted, I think, that your friend Bland is returned from Holland. I have always had a great respect for his talents, and for all that I have heard of his character ; but of me, I believe, he knows nothing, except that he heard my sixth-form repetitions ten months together, at the average of two hues a morning, and those never per- fect. I remembered him and his ' Slaves' as I passed between Capes Matapan, St. Angelo, and his Isle of Ceriga, and I always bewailed the absence of the An- thology. I suppose he will now translate Vondel, the Dutch Shakspeare, and ' Gysbert van Amstel' will easily be accommodated to our stage in its present state ; and I presume he saw the Dutch poem, where the love of Pyramus and Thisbe is compared to the passion of Christ ; also the love of Lucifer for Eve, and other va- rieties of Low Country literature. No doubt you will think me crazed to talk of such things, but they are all in black and white and good repute on the banlis of every canal from Amsterdam to Alkmaar. 'Yours ever, «B. " P. S. My Poesy is in the hands of its various pub- lishers; but the 'Hints from Horace,' (to which I have subjoined some savage lines on Methodism, and fero- cious notes on the vanity of the triple Editory of the Edin. Annual Register,) my '■ Hints^ I say, stand still ; and why? — 1 have not a friend in the world (but you and Drury) who can construe Horace's Latin, or my English, well enough to adjust them for the press, or to correct the proofs in a grammatical way. So that, unless you have bowels when you return to town, (I am too far off" to do it for myself,) this ineffable work will be lost to the world for — I don't know how many weeks. " ' Childe Harold's Pilgrimage' must wait till Murray's is finished. He is making a tour in Middlesex, and is to return soon, when high matter may be expected. He wants to have it in quarto, which is a cursed unsaleable size ; but it is pestilent long, and one must obey one's bookseller. I trust Murray will pass the Paddington Canal without being seduced by Payne and Mackinlay's example, — I say Payne and Mackinlay, supposing that the partnership held good. Drury, the villain, has not written to me ; ' I am never (as Mrs. Lumpkin says to Tony) to be gratified with the monster's dear wild notes.' " So you are going (going indeed !) into orders. You must make your peace with the Eclectic Reviewers — they accuse you of impiety, I fear, with injustice. De- metrius, the 'Sicf^cr of Cities,' is here, with 'Gilpin Horner.' The painter is not necessary, as the portraits he already painted are (by anticipation) very like the new animals. — Write, and send me your ' Love Song' — but I want ' paulo majora' from you. Make a dash be- fore you are a deacon, and try a dry publisher. " Yours always, <» B." LETTER XCVIII. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. "October 14,1811, " DEAR SIR, " Stanza 9, for Canto II. somewhat altered, to avoid a recurrence in a former stanza. STANZA IX. ' There, thou I— wlioso lovo and life together fled, Hiivc left me here lo love uiul live in vnin : — Twined with my heorl, and win 1 deem Iheo dead, Wlicn busy memory fluslics o'er my brnin? Well — 1 will drenm that wo may meet again, And woo the vi^iion (o my vacant breast : If aught of yunng roincrobranco then remain, Ue as it may Whalo'er besido Futnrily's behest ; or, — Howe 'or may 1)b For rae 'twere bliii enough to see thy spirit bleill' 36 LETTERS, 1811. «I think it proper to state to you, that this stanza alludes to an event which has taken place since my arrival here, and not to the death of any male friend. "Yours, "B." LETTER XCIX. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. « Newstead Abbey, Oct. 16, 1811. « I am on the wing for Cambridge. Thence, after a short stay, to London. Will you be good enough to keep an account of all the MSS. you receive, for fear of omission ? Have you adopted the three altered stanzas of the lates* proof ? I can do nothing more with them. — 1 am glad you like the new ones. — Of the last, and of the trio^ I sent you a new edition — to-day Sl fresh note. The lines of the second sheet I fear must stand ; I will give you reasons when we meet, " Believe me, yours ever, "ByRON." LETTER C. TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. «Cambridge,Oct. 25, 1811. "dear sir, " I send you a conclusion to the whole. In a stanza towards the end of Canto I. in the hne, ' Oh, known the earliest and beloved the most,' I shall alter the epithet to * esteemed the most.' The present stanzas are for the end of Canto II. In the be- ginning of the week 1 shall be at No. 8, my old lodgings, in St, James's-street, where I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you. "Yours ever, "B." LETTER CL TO R. C. DALLAS, ESQ. " 8, St, James's-street, Oct, 31, 1811. " DEAR SIR, " I have already taken up so much of your time that there needs no excuse on your part, but a great many on mine, for the present interruption, I have altered the passages according to your wish, "With this note I send a few stanzas on a subject whicJi has lately occupied much of my thoughts. They refer to the death of one to whose name you are a stranger, and, consequently, cannot be interested. I mean ihem to complete the present volume. They relate to the same person whom I have mentioned in Canto II. and at the conclusion of the poem.* " 1 by no means intend to identify myself with Harold, but to deny all connexion with him. If in parts I may be thought to have drawn from myself, believe me it is but in parts, and I shall not own even to that. As to the 'Monastic dome^ &c. I thought those circumstances would suit him as well as any other, and I could de- scribe what I had seen better than I could invent. I would not be such a fellow as I have made my h ro for the world. " Yours ever, •' B." LETTER CIL TO MISS PIOOT. "Cambridge, Oct. 28, 1811. "dear MADAM, " I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a * Mr. EUlctlon. See the Letter following. cornelian,* which some years ago I consigned to Miss * * * *, indeed gave to her, and now I am going to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is dead, and though a long time has elapsed since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed of that person, (in whom I was very much interested,) it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes, Ifj therefore, Miss * + * + should have pre- served it, I must, under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me at No. 8, St. James's-street, London, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him that formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornehan died in May last of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relatives that I have lost — between May and the end of August. " Believe me, dear Madam, " Yours very sincerely, "Byron. "P. S. I go to London to-morrow." LETTER CIIL MR. MOORE TO LORD BTRON. "Dublm, January 1, 1810. "my LORD, "Having just seen the name of 'Lord Byron' pre- fixed to a work, entitled 'English Bards and Scotch Reviewers,' in which, as it appears to me, the lie is given to a public statement of mine, respecting an affair with Mr. Jeffrey some years since, I beg you will have the goodness to inform me whether I may consider your lordship as the author of this publication. " I shall not, I fear, be able to return to London for a week or two ; but, in the mean time, I trust your lord- ship will not deny me the satisfaction of knowing whether you avow the insult contained in the passages alluded to. " It is needless to suggest to your lordship the pro- priety of keeping our correspondence secret. " I have the honour to be, " Your lordship's very humble servant, "Thomas Moo be. "22, Molesworth-street." 'sir, LETTER CIV. TO MR, MOORE. "Cambridge, Oct. 27, 1811. " Your letter followed me from Notts, to this place, which will account for the delay of my reply. Your • See Letter 17. t The above letter was transmitted by Mr. Moore to a friend of bis n London, with a request that he would deliver it in person, but as it did not reacli London until a few days after Lord Byron's departure for ihe Continent, Mr. Moore's friend placed it the hands of Mr. Hodgson, who unileriook to forward it, but, as appeai-s by the correspondence to which " enve rise, neglected to do so. On Lord Byron's return to England, Mr. Moore ncain wrote to him referring to his former letter, expressing doubts of its having reached him, and restating in nearly the same wordg the nature of the insult wliich, as it appeared to him, the passage in question was calculated to cunvev. " It is now useless," he continued '• to spealk of the steps wiib which it wag my intention to follow up that lellcr. The time which lias elapsed since then, though it has done away neither the injury nor the feeling of it, has, in many respects, materially altered my siiuation : and the only object which i have now in writing to your lordship is, to preserve some consistency with that former letter and to prove to you that the injured feeling still exists, however circum- stances may compel me to be deaf to its dictates at present. When I say ' injured feeling,' let me assure your lordship that there is not a single vindictive sentiment in my mind towards you. I mean but to ex- press that uneasiness, under (what I consider to be) a charge of false- hood, which must haunt a man of anv feeling to his grave, unless the insult be retracted or atoned for ; and which, if I did not feel. I should, indeed, deserve far worse than your lordship's Satire could inflict upon me." hi conclusion he added, '■ that so far from being inflr.enced by any angry or resentful feeling towards him, it would give him sincere plea- sure, if, by any saliafiictory explanation, he would enable him to seek the honour of being henceforward ranked among his acquaiatltuce." To thu letter, Lord Byrou returned the above answer. LETTERS, 1811. 37 former letter 1 never had the honour to receive ; — be as- sured, in vk^hatever part of the world it had found me, I should have deemed it my duty to return and answer it in person. " The advertisement you mention, I know nothing of. —At the time of your meeting with Mr. Jeffrey, I had recently entered College, and remember to have heard and read a number of squibs on the occasion, and from the recollection of these I derived all my knowledge on the subject, without the slightest idea of 'giving the he' to an address which I never beheld. "When I put my name to the production which has occasioned this cor- respondence, I became responsible to all whom it might concern, — to explain where it requires explanation, and where insufficiently or too sufficiently explicit, at all events to satisfy. My situation leaves me no choice ; it rests with the injured and the angry to obtain repara- tion in their own way. " With regard to the passage in question, you were certainly not the person towards whom I felt personally hostile. On the contrary, my whole thoughts were en- grossed by one whom I had reason to consider as my worst literary enemy, nor could I foresee that his former antagonist was about to become his champion. You do not specify what you would wish to have done : I can neither retract nor apologize for a charge of falsehood whicy I never advanced. " In the beginning of the week, I shall be at No. 8, St. James's-street.— Neither the letter nor the friend to whom you stated your intention ever made their ap- pearance. " Your friend, Mr. Rogers, or any other gentleman delegated by you, will find me most ready to adopt any conciliatory proposition which shall not compromise my own honour, — or, failing in that, to make the atonement you deem it necessary to require. " I have the honour to be, sir, " Your most obedient, humble servant, « Byron." BETTER CV. TO MR. MOORE. «8, St. James's-street, Oct. 29, 1811. "sir, ** Soon after my return to England, my friend, Mr. Hodgson, apprized me that a letter for me was in his possession; but a domestic event hurrying me from London immediately after, the letter (which may most probably be your own) is still unopened in his keeping. IfJ on examination of the address, the similarity of the handwriting should lead to such a conclusion, it shall be opened in your presence, for the satisfaction of all parties. Mr. H. is at present out of town •, — on Friday I shall see him. and request him to forward it to my address. " Witn regard to the latter part of both your letters, until the principal point was discussed between us, I felt myself at a loss in what manner to reply. Was I to an- ticipate friendship from one, who conceived me to have charged him with falsehood? Were not advances under such circumstances, to be misconstrued, — not, perhaps, by the person to whom they were addressed, but by others? In my case, such a step was imjjracti- cable. If you, who conceived yourself to be the oiroiuk-d person, are satisfied that you had no cause for offence, it will not be difficult to convince me of it. My situation, as I have before stated, leaves me no choice. I should have felt proud of your acquaintance, had it commenced tinder other circumstances ; but it must rest with you to determine how far it may proceed alter so auspicious a beginning. " I have the honour to bo, &c." LETTER CVI. TO MR. MOORE. «8, St. James's-street, Oct. 30, 1811. « SIR, " You must excuse my troubling you once more upon this very unpleasant subject. It would be a satisfaction to me, and I should think, to yourself, that the unopened letter in Mr. Hodgson's possession, (supposing it to prove your own,) should be returned 'in statu quo' to the writer, particularly as you expressed yourself ' not quite easy under the manner in which I had dwelt on its miscarriage.' "A few words more, and I shall not trouble you further. 1 felt, and still feel, very much flattered by those parts of your correspondence, which held out the prospect of our becoming acquainted. If I did not meet them in the first instance as perhaps I ought, let the situation in which I was placed be my defence. You have now declared yourself satisfied^ and on that point we are no longer at issue. If, therefore, you still retain any wish to do me the honour you hinted at, I shall be most happy to meet you, when, where, and how you please, and I presume you will not attribute my saying thus much to any unworthy motive. " I have the honour to remain, Stc." LETTER CVIL TO MR. MOORE. «8, St. James's-street, Nov. 1, 1811. " SIR, " As I should be very sorry to interrupt your Sunday's engagement, if Monday, or any other day of the ensuing week, would be equally convenient to yourself and friend, I will then have the honour of accepting his invitation. Of the professions of esteem with which Mr. Rogers has honoured me, I cannot but feel proud, though undeserv- ing. I should be wanting to myself if insensible to the praise of such a man : and should my approaching in- terview with him and his friend lead to any degree of intimacy with both or either, I shall regard our past cor- respondence as one of the happiest events of my life. " I have the honour to be, "Your very sincere and obedient servant, «Byron.» LETTER CVIII. TO MR. HARNESS. «8, St. James's-street, Dec. 6, 1811. "my dear HARNESS, " I will write again, but don't suppose I mean to lay such a tax on your pen and patience as to expect regular replies. When you are inclined, write ; when silent, I shall have the consolation of knowing that you are much better employed. Yesterday, Bland and 1 called on Mr. Miller, who. being then out, will call on Bland to- day or to-morrow. I shall certainly endeavour to bring them together. — You are censorious, child ; when you are a little older, you will learn to dislilie every body, but abuse nobody. " With regard to tlic person of whom you speak, your own good sense must direct you. I never pretend to advise, being an implicit believer in tJio old proverb. This present frost is detestable. It is the first I have felt these three years, though I longed for one in tho oriental summer, when no such thing is to bo had, unless I had gone to the top of llymottus for it. " I thank you most truly for the concluding part of your letter. I have been of late not much accustomed to kindness from any quarter, and I otu not tiic losd 38 LETTERS, 1811. pleased to meet with it again from one, where I had known it earliest. I have not changed in all my ram- blings, — Harrow and, of course, yourself never left me, and the ' Dulces reminiscitur Argos' attended me to the very spot to which that sentence al- ludes in the mind of the fallen Argive. — Our intimacy began before we began to date at all, and it rests with you to continue it till the hour which must number it and me with the thmgs that were. " Do read mathematics, — I should think X plus Y at least as amusing as the Curse of Kehama, and much more intelligible. Master S.'s poems are, in fact, what parallel lines might be — viz. prolonged ad infinitum without meeting any thing half so absurd as themselves. ' What news, what news ? ftueea Oreaca, What news of scribblers five .' S , W , C e, L— <1, and L— e ?— All damn'd, though yet alive.' "Coleridge is lecturing. 'Many an old fool,' said Hannibal to some such lecturer, ' but such as this, never.' "Ever yours, &c." LETTER CIX. TO MR. HARNESS. "8, St. James's-strect, Dec. 8, 1811. " Behold a most formidable sheet, without gilt or black edging, and consequently very vulgar and indecorous, particularly to one of your precision \ but this being Sun- day, I can procure no better, and will atone for its length by not filling it. Eland I have not seen since my last letter ; but on Tuesday he dines with me and will meet M * * e, the epitome of all that is exquisite in poetical or personal accomplishments. How Bland has settled with Miller, I know not. I have very little interest with either, and they must arrange their concerns according to their own gusto. I have done my endeavours, at your request, to bring them together, and hope they may agree to their mutual advantage. "Coleridge has been lecturing against Campbell. Rogers was present, and from him I derive the informa- tion. We are going to make a party to hear this Ma- nichean of poesy. — Pole is to marry Miss Long, and will be a very miserable dog for all that. The present ministers are to continue, and his majesty does continue in the same state. So there 's folly and madness for you, both in a breath. " I never heard but of one man truly fortunate, and he was Beaumarchais, the author of Figaro, who buried two wives and gained three lawsuits before he was thirty. " And now, child, what art thou doing ? Reading, I trust. I want to see you take a degree. Remember this is the most important period of your life ; and don't disappoint your papa and your aunt, and all your kin — besides myself. Don't you know that all male children are begotten for the express purpose of being graduates ? and that even I am an A. M. though how I became so the Public Orator only can resolve. Besides, you are to be a priest ; and to confute Sir William Drummond's late book about the Bible, (printed, but not published,) and all other infidels whatever. Now leave master H.'s gig, and master S.'s Sapphics, and become as immortal as Cambridge can make you. "You see, Mio Carissimo, what a pestilent corre- spondent I am likely to become ; but then you shall be as quiet at Newstcad as you please, and I won't disturb your studies, as I do now. When do you fix the day, that I may take you up according to contract ? Hodg- son talks of making a third in our journey : but we can't Btow him, inside at least. Positively you shall go with me as was agreed, and don't let me have any of your politeate to H. on the occasion. I shall manage to ar- range for both with a little contrivance. I wish H. was not "quite so fat, and we should pack better. Has he left off vinous hquors ? He is an excellent soul ; but I don't think water would improve him, at least internally. M I You will want to know what I am doing — chewing || tobacco. "You see nothing of my allies, Scrope Davies and Matthews — they don't suit you ; and how does it happen that I — who am a pipkin of the same pottery — continue in your good graces ? Good night, — I will go on in the morning. " Dec. 9. — In a morning I 'm always sullen, and to- day is as sombre as myself. Rain and mist are worse than a sirocco, particularly in a beef-eating and beer- drinking country. My bookseller, Cawthorne, has just left me, and tells me, with a most important face, that he is in treaty for a novel of Madame D'Arblay's, for which 1000 guineas are asked ! He wants me to read the MS. (if he obtains it,) which I shall do with pleasure ; but I should be very cautious in venturing an opinion on her whose Cecilia Dr. Johnson superintended. If he lends it to me, I shall put it into the hands of Rogers and Moore, who are truly men of taste. I have filled the sheet, and beg your pardon ; I will not do it again. I shall, perhaps, write again, but if not, believe, silent or scribbling, that I am, "My dearest William, ever, &c." LETTER ex. TO MR. HODGSON. « London, Dec. 8, 1811. " I sent you a sad Tale of Three Friars the other day, and now take a dose in another style. I wrote it a day or two ago, on hearing a song of former days. ' Away, away, ye notes of wo,* &c. &c.' " I have gotten a book by Sir W.Drummond, (printed, but not published,) entitled CEdipus Judaicus, in which he attempts to prove the greater part of the Old Testa- ment an allegory, particularly Genesis and Joshua. He professes himself a theist in the preface, and handles the literal interpretation very roughly. I wish you could see it. Mr. W * * has lent it me, and I confess, to me, it is worth fifty Watsons. " You and Harness must fix on the time for your visit to Newstead ; I can command mine at your wish, unless any thing particular occurs in the interim. * * * Bland dines with me on Tuesday to meet Moore. Coleridge has attacked the 'Pleasures of Hope,' and all other pleasures whatsoever. Mr. Rogers was pre- sent, and heard himself indirectly rowed by the lecturer. We are going in a party to hear the new Art of Poetry by this reformed schismatic ; and were I one of these poetical luminaries, or of sufficient consequence to be noticed by the man of lectures, I should not hear him without an answer. For, you know, ' an' a man will be beaten with brains, he shall never keep a clean doublet.' Campbell will be desperately annoyed. I never saw a man (and of him I have seen very little) so sensitive ; what a happy temp^araent ! I am sorry for it ; what can he fear from criticism ? I don't know if Bland has seen Miller, who was to call on him yesterday. " To-day is the Sabbath,— a day I never pass plea- santly, but at Cambridge ; and, even there, the organ is a sad remembrancer. Things are stagnant enough in town,— as long as they don't retrograde, 't is all very well. Hobhouse writes and writes and writes, and is an author. I do nothing but eschew tobacco. I wish parliament were assembled, that I may hear, and perhaps some day be heard ; — but on this point I am not very sanguine, I have many plans ; — sometimes I think of the East again, See Poemi p. 186. LETTERS, 1811. 39 and dearly beloved Greece. I am well, but weakly. Yesterday Kinnaird told me I looked very ill, and sent me home happy. " You will never give up wine ; — see what it is to be thirty ; if you were six years younger, you might leave off any thing. You dnnk and repent, you repent and drink. Is Scrope still interesting and invalid? And how does Hinde with his cursed chymistry ? To Har- ness I have written, and he has written, and we have all written, and have nothing now to do but write again, till death splits up the pen and the scribbler. " The Alfred has 354 candidates for six vacancies. The cook has run away and left us liable, which makes our committee very plaintive. Master Brook, our head serving man, has the gout, and our new cook is none of the best. 1 speak from report, — for what is cookery to a leguminous-eating ascetic? So now you know as much of the matter as I do. Books and quiet are still there, and they may dress their dishes in their own way for me. Let me know your determination as to New- stead, and believe me. Yours ever, " Nwatpwj;." LETTER CXI. TO MR. HODGSON. «8, St. James's-street, Dec. 12, 1811. " Why, Hodgson ! I fear you have left off wine and me at the same time, — I have written and written and written, and no answer! My dear Sir Edgar, water disagrees with you, — drink sack and write. Bland did not come to his appointment, being unwell, but Moore supplied all other vacancies most delectably. I have hopes of his joining us at Newstead. I am sure you would like him more and more as he developes, — at least I do. "How Miller and Bland go on, I don't know. Caw- thorne talks of being in treaty for a novel of M^. D'Ar- blay's, and if he obtains it (at 1000 gs. ! !) wishes me to see the MS. This I should read with pleasure, — not that I should ever dare to venture a criticism on her whose writings Dr. Johnson once revised, but for the pleasure of the thmg. If my worthy pubhsher wanted a sound opinion, I should send the MS. to Rogers and Moore, as men most alive to true taste. I have had frequent letters from Wm. Harness, and you are silent ; certes, you are not a schoolboy. However, I have the consolation of knowing that you are better employed, viz. reviewing. You don't deserve that I should add another syllable, and I won't. " Yours, &c. " P. S. I only wait for your answer to fix our meeting." LETTER CXII. TO MR. HARNESS. "8, St. James's-street, Dec. 15, 1811. " I wrote you an answer to your last, which, on reflec- tion, pleases me as little as it probably has pleased your- self I will not wait for your rejoinder ; but proceed to tell yoii,that I had just then been greeted with an epistle of **'8, full of his petty grievances, and this at the mo- ment when (from circumstances it is not necessary to enter upon) I was bearing up against recollections to which his imaginary sufferings are as a scratch to a cancer. These things combined, put me out of humour with him and all mankind. The latter part of my life has been a perpetual struggle against affections which imbittered the earliest portion ; and though I (latter myself I have in a great measure conquered them, yet there are moments (and this was one) when I am as foolish as formerly. I nt;ver said so much before, nor had I said this now, if I did not suspect myself of having been rather savage in my letter, and wish to inform you thus much of the cause. You know I am not one of your dolorous gentlemen : so now let us laugh acrain. " Yesterday I went with Moore to Sydenham to visit Campbell. He was not visible, so we jogged homeward, merrily enough. To-morrow I dine with Rogers, and am to hear Coleridge, who is a kind of rage at present. Last night I saw Kemble in Coriolanus ; — he was glori- ous, and exerted himself wonderfully. By good luck, I got an excellent place in the best part of the house, which was more than overflowing. Clare and Delaware, who were there on the same speculation, were less fortunate. I saw them by accident, — we were not together. I wished for you, to gratify your love of Shakspeare and of fine acting to its fullest extent. Last week I saw an ex- hibition of a different kind in a Mr. Coates, at the Hay- market, who performed Lothario in a damned and damn- able manner. " I told you of the fate of B. and H. in my last. So much for these sentimentalists, who console themselves in their stews for the loss — the never to be recovered loss — the despair of the refined attachment of a couple of drabs ! You censure my life. Harness : when I com- pare myself with these men, my elders and my betters, I really begin to conceive myself a monument of prudence — a walking statue — without feeling or failing ; and yet the world in general hath given me a proud pre-eminence over them in profligacy. Yet I lilce the men, and, God knows, ought not to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked when they dignify all this by the name of love — romantic attachments for things market- able for a dollar ! "Dec. 16. — I have just received your letter. I feel your kindness very deeply. The foregoing part of my letter, written yesterday, will 1 hope, account for the tone of the former, though it cannot excuse it. I do like to hear from you — more than like. Next to seeing you, I have no greater satisfaction. But you have other duties and greater pleasures, and I should regret to take a mo- ment from either. H * * was to call to-day, but I have not seen him. The circumstances you mention at the close of your letter is another proof in favour of my opi- nion of mankind. Such you will always find them — selfish and distrustful. I except none. The cause of this is the state of society. In the world, every one is to stir for himself — it is useless, perhaps selfish, to expect any thing from his neighbour. But I do not thinlt we are born of this disposition ; for you fmd friendship as a schoolboy, and love enough before twenty. " I went to see * * ; he keeps me in town, where I don't wish to be at present. He is a good man, but totally without conduct. And now, my dearest William, I must wish you good morrow, and remain ever most sin- cerely and affectionately yours, &c." LETTER CXIII. TO MR. MOORE. "December 11, 1811. " MY DEAR MOORE, " If you please, we will drop our formal monosyllables, and atlherc to the appellations sanctioned by our godfa- thers and godmothers. If you make it a point, I will withdraw your name ; at the same time there is no oc- casion, as I have this day postponed your election ' sine die,' till it shall suit your wishes to bo among us. I do not sav this from any awkwardness the erasure of your proposal would occasion to me, but simjjly such is the state of the case ; and, indeed, the longer your name is up, the stronger will become the probability of success, and your voters more numerous. Of course you will de- ride — your wish shall bo my law. If my zeal has already outrun discretion, pardon me, and attribute my officiousurss to an excusable motive. 40 LETTERS, 1812. "I wish you would go down with me to Newstead. Hodgson will be there, and a young friend, named Har- ness, the earUest and dearest 1 ever had from the third form at Harrow to this hour. I can promise you good wine, and, if you like shooting, a manor of 4000 acres, fires, books, your own free will, and my own very indif- ferent company. ' Balnea, vina * +' + * + " Hodgson will plague you, I fear, with verse ; — for my own part, I will conclude, with Martial, ' nil recitabo tibi ;' and surely the last inducement is not the least. Ponder on my proposition, and believe me, my dear Moore, "Yours ever, "Byrox." LETTER CXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "January 29, 1812. "my DEAR MOORE, " I wish very much I could have seen you ; I am in a state of ludicrous tribulation. ♦ + ** + * + * " Why do you say that I dislike your poesy? I have expressed no such opinion, either in print or elsewhere. In scribbling, myself, it was necessary for me to find fault, and I fixed upon the trite charge of immorality, because I could discover no other, and was so perfectly qualified, in the innocence of my heart, to ' pluck that mote from my neighbour's eye.' " I feel very, very much obliged by your approbation ; but, at this moment, praise, even your praise, passes by me like ' the idle wind.' I meant and mean to send you a copy the moment of publication ; but now, I can think of nothing but damned, deceitful, — delightful woman, as Mr. Listonsays in the Knight of Snowdon. "Beheve me, my dear Moore, " ever yours, most affectionately, " Byron." LETTER CXV. TO ROBERT RtTSHTON, " 8, St. James's-strcet, Jan. 21, 1812. "Though I have no objection to your refusal to carry letters to Mealey's, you will take care that the letters are taken by Spero at the proper time. I have also to ob- serve, that Susan [a servant in the family] is to be treated with civility, and not insulted by any person over whom I have the smallest control, or, indeed, by any one whatever, while I have the power to protect her. I am truly sorry to have any subject of complaint against 7/oit ; I have too good an opinion of you to think I shall have occasion to repeat it, after the care I have taken of you, and my favourable intentions in your behalf. I see no occasion for any communication whatever between you and the womeru, and wish you to occupy yourself in pre- paring for the situation in which you will be placed. If a common sense of decency wmnot prevent you from conducting yourself towards them with rudeness, I should at least hope that your own interest, and regard for a master who has never treated you with unkindness, will have some weight. " Yours, &c. " Byron. "P. S. — I wish you to attend to your arithmetic, to occupy yourself in surveying, measuring, and making yourself acquainted with every particular relative to the land of Newstead, and you will vmite to me one letter every week, that I may know how you go on." LETTER CXVL TO ROBERT RUSHTON. "8, St. Jamcs's-street, Jan. 25, 1812. ■ Your refusal to carry the letter was not a subject of remonstrance ; it was not a part of your business ; but the language you used to the girl was (as she stated it) highly improper. '= You say that you also have something to complain of; then state it to me immediately ; it would be very unfair, and very contrary to my disposition, not to hear both sides of the question. "If any thing has passed between you before or since my last visit to Newstead, do not be afraid to mention it. I am aure you would not deceive me, though she would. Whatever it is. you shall be forgiven. I have not been without some suspicions on the subject, and am certain that, at your time of life, the blame could not attach to you. You will not consult any one as to your answer, but write to me immediately. I shall be more ready to hear what you have to advance, as I do not remember ever to have heard a word from you before against any human being, which convinces me you would not ma- Uciously assert an untruth. There is not any one who can do the least injury to you while you conduct yourself properly. I shall expect your answer immediately. "Yours, &c. "Byron." LETTER CXVn. TO MR. HODGSON. « 8, St. James's-street, Feb. 16, 1812. "dear HODGSON, " I send you a proof. Last week I was very ill and confined to bed with stone in the kidney, but I am now quite recovered. If the stone had got into my heart in- stead of my kidneys, it would have been all the better. The women are gone to their relatives, after many at- tempts to explain what was already too clear. However, I have quite recovered that also, and only wonder at my folly in excepting my o\vn strumpets from the general corruption, — albeit, a two months' weakness is better than ten years. I have one request to make, which is, never mention a woman again in any letter to me, or even allude to the existence of the sex. I won't even read a word of the feminine gender ; it must all be ' propria quae maribus.' "In the spring of 1813 I shall leave England for ever. Every thing in my affairs tends to this, and my inclina- tions and health do not discourage it. Neither my habits nor constitution are improved by your customs or your climate. I shall find employment in making myself a good oriental scholar. I shall retain a mansion in one of the fairest islands, and retrace, at intervals, the most interesting portions of the East. In the mean time, I am adjusting my concerns, which will (when arranged) leave me with wealth— sufficient even for home, but enough for a principality in Turkey. At present they are in- volved, but I hope, by taking some necessary but un- pleasant steps, to clear every thing. Hobhouse is ex- pected daily in London ; we shall be very glad to see him ; and, perhaps, you will come up and ' drink deep ere he depart,' if not, ' Mahomet must go to the moun- tain ;' but Cambridge will bring sad recollections to him, and worse to me, though for very different reasons. I beheve the only human being that ever loved me in truth and entirely was of, or belonging to, Cambridge, and, in that, no change can now take place. There is one con- solation in death — where he sets his seal, the impression can neither be melted or broken, but endureth for ever. " Yours always, « B." LETTER C XVIII. TO MASTER JOHN COWELL. «8, St. James's-street, Feb. 12, 1812. "my DEAR JOHN, " You have probably long ago forgotten the writer of these lines, who would, perhaps, be unable to recognise LETTERS, 1812. 41 yourself, from the difference which must naturally have taken place in your stature and appearance since he saw you last. 1 have been rambling through Portugal, Spain, Greece, &c. &c. for some years, and have found so many changes on my return, that it would be very unfair not to eicpect that you should have had your share of alteration and improvement with the rest. I write to request a favour of you : a little boy of eleven years, the son of Mr. * *, my particular friend, is about to become an Etonian, and I should esteem any act of protection or kindness to him as an obligation to myself; let me beg of you then to take some little notice of him at first, till he is able to shift for himself. " I was happy to hear a very favourable account of you from a schoolfellow a few weeks ago, and should be glad to learn that your family are as well as I wish them to be. I presume you are in the upper school ; as an Etonian, you will look down upon a Harrow man ; but I never, even in my boyish days, disputed your superiority, which I once experienced in a cricket match, where I had the honour of making one of eleven, who were beaten to their hearts' content by your college in one innings. "■ Believe me to be, with great truth, &c. &c." LETTER CXIX. TO MR. ROGERS. "February 4, 1812. **My DEAR SIR, " With my best acknowledgments to Lord Holland, I have to offer my perfect concurrence in the propriety of the question previously to be put to ministers. If their answer is in the negative, I shall, with his lordship's ap- probation, give notice of a motion for a Conmiittee of In- quiry. I would also gladly avail myself of his most able advice, and any information or documents with which he might be pleased to intrust me, to bear me out in the statement of facts it may be necessary to submit to the House. " From all that fell under my own observation during my Christmas visit to Newstead, I feel convinced that, if conciliatory measures are not very soon adopted, the most unhappy consequences may be apprehended. Nightly outrage and daily depredation are already at their height, and not only the masters of frames, who are obnoxious on account of their occupation, but persons in no degree connected with the malcontents or their oppressors, are liable to insult and pillage. " I am very much obhged to you for the trouble you have taken on my account, and beg you to believe me ever your obliged and sincere, &c." LETTER CXX. TO LORD HOLLAND. « 8, St. James's-street, Feb. 25, 1812. "my LORD, ** With my best thanks, I have the honour to return the Notts, letter to your lordship. I have read it with attention, but do not think I shall venture to avail myself of its contents, as my view of the question differs in some measure from Mr. Coldham's. I hope I do not wrong him, but his objections to tlic bill appear to me to be founded on certain apprehensions that he and iiis coad- jutors might be mistaken for tiie ' orii^nal advisers^ (to quote him) of tlie measure. For my own part, I con- sider the manufacturers as a much injured body of men, sacrificed to the views of certain individuals who have enriched themselves by tliose practices wliich have de- prived the frame-workers of employment. I<'or instance : — by the adoption of a certain kind of frame, one man performs the work of seven — six are thus thrown out of business. But it is to be observed that liic work thus done is far inferior in quality, hardly marketable at home, and hurried over with a view to exportation. Surely, my lord, however we may rejoice in any improvement in the arts which may be beneficial to mankind, we must not allow manldnd to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. The maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor is an object of greater consequence to the community than the enrichment of a few monopolists by any improvement in the implements of trade, which deprives the workman of his bread, and renders the la- bourer 'unworthy of his hire.' My own motive for op- posing the bill is founded on its palpable injustice, and its certain inefficacy. I have seen the state of these miserable men, and it is a disgrace to a civihzed country. Their excesses may be condemned, but cannot be subject of wonder. The effect of the present bill would be to drive them into actual rebellion. The few words I shall venture to offer on Thursday will be founded upon these opinions formed from my own observations on the spot.* By previous inquiry, I am convinced these men would have been restored to employment and the county to tranquillity. It is, perhaps, not yet too late, and is surely worth the trial. It can never be too late to employ force in such circumstances. I believe your lordship does not coincide with me entirely on this subject, and most cheerfully and sincerely shall 1 submit to your superior judgment and experience, and take some other line of argument against the biU, or be silent altogether, should you deem it more advisable. Con- demning, as every one must condemn, the conduct of these wretches, I beUeve in the existence of grievances which call rather for pity than punishment. I have tbo honour to be, with great respect, my lord, " Your lordship's " most obedient and obhged servant, " Byron. "P. S. — I am a little apprehensive that your lordship will think me too lenient towards these men, and half a frame-breaker myself." LETTER CXXL TO MR. HODGSON. " 8, St. James's-street, March 5, 1812. "my dear HODGSON, " TVe are not answerable for reports of speeches in the papers, they are always given incorrectly, and on this occasion more so than usual, from the debate in the Commons on the same night. The Morning Post should have said eighteen years. However, you will find the speech, as spoken, in the Parliamentary Register, when it comes out. Lords Holland and G renville, particularly the latter, paid me some high compliments in the course of their speeches, as you may have seen in the papers, and Lords Eldon and Harrowby answered me. I have had many marvellous eulogies repeated (o nic since, in person and by proxy, from divers persons 7ninisteriul — • yea ministerial ! — as well as oppositionists ; of them I shall only mention Sir F. Burdett. He says, it is the best speech by a lord since tlie ^ Lord knows when,' probably from a fellow-feeling in the sentiments.' Lord II. tells me I shall beat them all if I persevere, and Lord G. remaiked that the oonstruclion of some of my periods are very like JSwtAt'a/.' And so mucli for vanity. 1 s|)oke very violent sentences witli a sort of modest impudence, abused every thing and every body, and put the Lord Chancellor very much out of humour ; anil if 1 may believe what I hear, have not lost any cluiracter by tlic experiment. As to my di-livery, loud and lluent enough, perhaps a little theatrical. I could not recognise myself or luiy one else in the newspapers. + * ♦ • b>« hii flrrt Pi'tech, pngc 37? 42 LETTERS, 1812. "My poesy comes out on Saturday. Hobhouse is here ; I ehall tell him to write. My stone is gone for the present, but I fear is part of my habit. We all talk of a visit to Cambridge. "Yours ever. "B." LETTER CXXII. TO LORD HOLLAND. " St. James's-street, March 6th, 1812. "my lord, "May I request your Lordship to accept a copy* of the thing which accompanies this note? You have already so fully proved the truth of tJie first line of Pope's couplet, ' Forgiveness to the injured doth belong, tliat I long for an opportunity to give the lie to the verse that follows. If I were not perfectly convinced that any thing I may have formerly uttered in the boyish rashness of my misplaced resentment had made as little impres- sion as it deserved to make, I should hardly have the con- fidence — perhaps your lordship may give it a stronger and more appropriate appellation — to send you a quarto of the same scribbler. But your lordship, I am sorry to observe to-day, is troubled with the gout : if my book can produce a laugh against itself or the author, it will be of some service. If it can set you to sleq), the benefit will be yet greater; and as some facetious personage observed half a century ago, that ' poetry is a mere drug,' I offer you mine as an humble assistant to the ' eau medecinale.' 1 trust you will forgive this and all my other buffooneries, and believe me to be, with great respect, " Your lordship's obliged and sincere servant, " Byron." In relation to the following note of Lord Byron, Mr. Moore says : — "Not long after the publication of Childe Harold, the noble author paid me a visit, one morning, and, putting a letter into my hands, which he had just received, request- ed that I would undertake to manage for him whatever proceedings it might render necessary. This letter, I found, had been delivered to him by Mr. Leckie, (a gen- tleman well known by a work on Sicilian affairs,) and came from a once active and popular member of the fashionable world, Colonel Greville, — its purport being to require of his lordship, as author of 'English Bards, &c.' such reparation as it was in his power to make for the injury which, as Colonel Greville conceived, certain pas- sages in that Satire, reflecting upon his conduct, as manager of the Argyle Institution, were calculated to inflict upon his character. In the appeal of the gallant colonel, there were some expressions of rather an angry cast, which Lord Byron, though fully coiiscious of the length to which he himself had gone, was but little in- clined to brook, and, on my returning the letter into his hands, he said, ' To such a letter as that there can be but one sort of answer.' He agreed, however, to trust the matter entirely to my discretion, and I had, shortly after, an interview with the friend of Colonel Greville. By this gentleman, who was then an utter stranger to me, I was received with much courtesy, and with every disposition fo bring the affair intrusted to us to an ami- cable issue. On my premising that the tone of his friend's letter stooti in the way of negotiation, and that some ob- noxious expressions which it conlamed must be removed before I could proceed a single step towards explanation, • Chlldc Hnrold. To his Bitter, Mig. Liifih, one of the first presen- U'.ion copies was alio senl, wiili tlic followiiiK inscription in it : — " To Augusta, my dearest sinter, and my best friend, who hoi ever loved me much belter than I descrred, this volume is presented by her fathtr't MO, ftiid rao«l effcctinnato brother, " B." he most readily consented to remove this obstacle. At his request I drew a pen across the parts I considered objectionable, and he undertook to send me the letter, re-written, next morning. In the mean time, I received from Lord Byron the following paper for my guidance." « With regard to the passage on Mr. Way's loss, no unfair play was hinted at, as may be seen by referring to the book ; and it is expressly added that the managers were ignorant of that transaction. As to the prevalence of play at the Argyle, it cannot be denied that there were billiards and dice;— Lord B. has been a witness to the use of both at the Argyle Rooms. These, it is pre- sumed, come under the denomination of play. If play be allowed, the President of the Institution can hardly complain of being termed the 'Arbiter of Play,' — or what becomes of his authority ? " Lord B. has no personal animosity to Colonel Greville. A public institution, to which he, himself, was a subscriber, he considered himself to have a right to notice publicly. Of that institution. Colonel Greville was the avowed director ; — it is too late to enter into the discussion of its merits or demerits. "Lord B. must leave the discussion of the reparation, for the real or supposed injury, to Colonel G.'s friend and Mr. Moore, the friend of Lord B. — begging them to recollect that, while they consider Colonel G.'s honour. Lord B. must also maintain his own. If the business can be settled amicably. Lord B. will do as much as can and ought to be done by a man of honour towards con- ciliation ; — if not, he must satisfy Colonel G. in the man- ner most conducive to his further wishes." " In the morning I received the letter, in its new form, from Mr. Leckie, with the annexed note. "'my dear sir, " 'I found my friend very ill in bed ; he has, however, managed to copy the enclosed, with the alterations pro- posed. Perhaps you may wish to see me in the morn- ing ; I shall therefore be glad to see you any time till twelve o'clock. If you rather wish me to call on you, tell me, and I shall obey your summons. '"Yours, very truly, "'G.T. Leckie. " With such facilities towards pacification, it is almost needless to add, that there was but little delay in settling the matter amicably." LETTER CXXIII. TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. "April 20th, 1812. "my dear BANKES, " I feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you made to me last night, and my hope is, that it was only one of your profane jests. I should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour should give you cause to sup- pose that I think higher of myself^ or otherwise of you, than I have always done. I can assure you that I am as much the humblest of your servants as at Trin. Coll.; and if I have not been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine than yours. In the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no rational conversation ; but when I can enjoy it, there is nobody's I can prefer to your own. "Beheve me ever faithfully " and most affectionately yours, "By ROM.*' LETTER CXXIV. TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. "my dear BANKES, "My eagerness to come to an explanation has, I trust, convinced you that whatever my unlucky manner LETTERS, 1812. 43 might inadvertently be, the change was as unintentional as (if intended) it would have been ungrateful. I really was not aware that, while we were together, I had evinced such caprices ; that we were not so much in each other's company as I could have v.ished, I well know, but 1 thinlt so acute an observer as yourself must have perceived enough to explain this, without supposing any slight to one in whose society I have pride and pleasure. Recollect that I do not allude here to ' ex- tended' or 'extending' acquaintances, but to circum- stances you will understand, I think, on a little reflection. " And now, my dear Bankes, do not distress me by supposing that I can think of you, or you of me, otherwise than I trust we have long thought. You told me not ong ago that my temper was improved, and I should be sorry that opinion should be revoked. Believe me, your friendship is of more account to me than all those absurd vanities in which, I fear, you conceive me to take too much interest. I have never disputed your superiority, or doubted (seriously) your good will, and no one shall ever * make mischief between us' without the sincere regret on the part of your ever affectionate, &c. ** P. S. I shall see you, 1 hope, at Lady Jersey's. Hobhouse goes also." NOTES TO MR. MOORE. « March 25th, 1812. " Know all men by these presents, that you, Thomas Moore, stand indicted — no — invited, by special and par- ticular solicitation, to Lady Caroline Lamb's, to-morrow even, at half-past nine o'clock, where you will meet with a civil reception and decent entertainment. Pray, come —I was so examined after you this morning, that I en- treat you to answer in person. BeUeve me, &c." " Friday noon. " I should have answered your note yesterday, but 1 hoped to have seen you this morning. I must consult with you about the day we dine with Sir Francis. I suppose we shall meet at Lady Spencer's to-night. I did not know that you were at Miss Berry's the other night, or I should have certainly gone there. "As usual, I am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a martial description. Believe me, &c." "May 8th, 1812. " I am too proud of being your friend to care with whom I am linked in your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than at any other. I am 'taking care of myself' to no great purpose. If you knew my situation in every point of view, you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect. * * I shall leave town, I think ; but do not you leave it with- out seeing me. I wish you, from my soul, every happi- ness you can wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it. Peace be with you I I fear she has abandoned me. Ever, &c," « May 20th, 1812. " On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw BelUng- ham launched into eternity, and at three the same day I saw ♦ * * launched into the country. * * + " I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall bo down for a few days in Notts. If so, I shall beat you up *en passant' with Hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes "I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find 1 cannot. If any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me — if good ; if bad, there are plenty to tell it, In the mean time do you be happy. '• Ever yours, &c. "P. S. My best wishes and respects to Mrs. Moore, — she is beautiful. I may say so even to you, for I never was more struck with a countenance." LETTER CXXV. TO LORD HOLLAND. "June 25th, 1812. "my dear LORD, "I must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been very negligent, but till last night I was not apprized of Lady Holland's restoration, and I shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, I trust, of hearing that she is well. — I hope that neither poUtics nor gout have assailed your lordship since I last saw you, and that you also are ' as well as could be expected.' " The other night, at a ball, I was presented by order to our gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation, and professed a predilection for poetry. — I confess it was a most unexpected honour, and I thought of poor Brummell's adventure, with some apprehensions of a similar blunder. I have now great hope, in the event of Mr. Pye's decease, of warbling truth at court,' like Mr. Mallett, of indifferent memory. — Consider 100 marks a year I besides the wine and the disgrace ; but then remorse would make me drown myself in my own butt before the year's end, or the finishing of my first dithyrambic. So that, after all, I shall not meditate our laureate's death by pen or poison. " Will you present my best respects to Lady Holland, and believe me hers and yours very sincerely." LETTER CXXVL TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. " St. James's-street, July 6th, 1812, " SIR, I have just been honoured with your letter. — I feel sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the ' evil works of my non-age,' as the thing is suppressed voluntarily, and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire was written when I was very young and very angry, and fully bent on dis- playing my wTath and my wit, and now I am haunted by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot sufficiently thank you for your praise ; and now, waiving myselfj let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball ; and ailer some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your im- mortalities : he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the ' Lay.^ He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particuhirly the poet of Princes, as they never appeared more fascinating than in * Marniion' and the 'Lady of the Lake.' He was pleased to coin- cide, and to dwell on the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He spoke altcrnatoly of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both ; so that (with the exception of the Turks and your humble servant) you were in very good company. I defy Murray to have exaggerated his royal highness's opinion of your powers, nor can I pretend to enumerate all he said on the subject ; but it may give you pleasure to hear tlxat it was cotivcyod in language which would only suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which 1 had hitherto con- sidered as confined to manners, certainly superior to those of any living s:ctillanan. " This interview was accidental. I never went to tlie loveo ; for having seen the courts of Mus.sulinan and Catholic sovereigns, my curiosity was suflicienlly allayed, and my politics being as perverse as my rhymes, I had, in fact, ' no business thero.' To bo Uius praised by your Sovereign must bo gratifying to you : and if that gratiS- 44 LETTERS, 1812. cation is not alloyed by the communication being made through me, the bearer of it \vill consider himself very fortunately and sincerely " Your obUged and obedient servant, " BVRON. * P. S. Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry and just after a journey." LETTER CXXVII. TO LORD HOLLAND. "Cheltenham, September 10, 1812. "my dear lord, « The lines* which I sketched off on your hint are still, or rather ivere, in an unfinished state, for I have just com- mitted them to a flame more decisive than that of Drury. Under all the circumstances, I should hardly wish a con- test with Philo-drama—Philo-Drury— Asbestos, H * *, and all the anonymes and synonymes of the Committee candidates. Seriously, I think you have a chance of some- thing much better; for prologuizing is not my forte, and, at all events, cither my pride or my modesty won't let me incur the hazard of having my rhymes buried in next month's Magazine, under 'Essays on the Murder of Mr. Perceval,' and 'Cures for the Bite of a Mad Dog,' as poor Goldsmith complained of the fate of far superior performances. " I am still sufficiently interested to wish to know the successful candidate ; and, among so many, I have no doubt some will be excellent, particularly in an age when writing verse is the easiest of all attainments. "I cannot answer your intelligence with the 'like comfort,' unless, as you are deeply theatrical, you may wish to hear of Mr. * *, whose acting is, I fear, utterly inadequate to the London engagement into which the managers of Covent Garden have lately entered. His figure is fat, his features flat, his voice unmanageable, his action ungraceful, and, as Diggory says, ' I defy him to fTtort that d — d muffin face of his into madness.' I was very sorry to see him in the character of the 'Elephant on the slack rope ;' for, when I last saw him, I was m raptures with his performance. But then I was sixteen, — an age to which all London then condescended to subside. After all, much better judges have admired. and may again ; but I venture to ' prognosticate a pro- phecy' (see the Courier) that he will not succeed. '' So, poor dear Rogers has stuck fast on ' the brow of the mighty Hclvellyn' — I hope not for ever. My best respects to Lady H. — ^licr departure, with that of my other friends, was a sad event for me, now reduced to a state of the most cynical solitude. 'By the waters of Cheltenham I sat down and drank; when I remembered thee, oil, Gcorgiana Cottage! As for our harps, we hanged them upon the willows that grew thereby. Then ihcy said, Sing us a song of Drury-lane,' &c. — but I am dumb and dreary as the Israelites. The waters have disordered me to my heart's content, — ^you were right, as you always are. " Believe me ever your obliged ' and affectionate servant, « BVRON." LETTER CXXVIII. TO LORD HOLLAND. "September 22, 1812. "mv dear lord, " ^n a day or two I will send you something which you will still have the liberty to reject if you dislike it. I should like to have had more time, but will do my best, A4'lr»n Rt the p)»Dlnjof Drury L«p» Th*»ir». —but too happy if I can oblige you, though 1 may offend 100 scribblers and the discerning pubUc. " Ever yours. " Keep my name a secret ; or I shall be beset by all the rejected, and perhaps damned by a party." LETTER CXXIX. TO LORD HOLLAND. « Cheltenham, September 23, 1812. "Ecco! — I have marked some passages with dovhle readings — choose between them — cut — add — reject— or destroy — do with them as you will — I leave it to you and the Committee — you cannot say so called a 'non com' mittendo.^ What will they do (and I do) with the hun- dred and one rejected Troubadours ? ' With trumpets, yea, and with shawms,' will you be assailed in the most diabolical doggerel. I wish my name not to transpire till the day is decided. I shall not be in town, so it won't much matter ; but let us have a good deliverer. I think EUiston should be the man, or Pope ; not Raymond, I implore you by the love of Rhythmus ! " The passages marked thus = =, above and below, are for you to choose between epithets, and such like poetical furniture. Pray write me a line, and believe me ever, &c. " My best remembrances to Lady H. Will you be good enough to decide between the various readings marked, and erase the other ; or our deliverer may be as puzzled as a commentator, and belike repeat both. If these versicles won't do I will hammer out some more endecasyllables. " P. S. Tell Lady H. I have had sad work to keep out the Phoenix — I mean the Fire-Office of that name. It has ensured the theatre, and why not the Address ?" LETTER CXXX. TO LORD HOLLAND. " September 24. " I send a recast of the first four lines of the concluding paragraph. " This greeting o'er, the ancient rule obey'd, The drama's homage by her Herald paid, Receive our welcome too, whose every tone Springs from our hearts and fain would win your own. The curtain rises, &c. &c. And do forgive all this trouble. See what it is to have to do even with the genteelest of us. Ever, &c." LETTER CXXXL TO LORD HOLLAND. " Cheltenham, Sept. 25, 1812. "Still 'more matter for a May morning.' Having patched the middle and end of the Address, I send one more couplet for a part of the beginning, which, if not too turgid, you will have the goodness to add. After thai flagrant image of the Thames, (I hope no unlucky wag will say I have set it on fire, though Dryden, in his 'Annus Mirabilis,' and Churchill, in his 'Times,' did it before me,) I mean to insert this : " As flashing far the new '^Tolcano shone meteora And swept the sliies with lightnings not their own, While thousands throng'd around the burning dome, &c. &c. I think ' thousands' less flat than ' crowds collected'— but don't let me plunge into the bathos, or rise into Nat. Lee's Bedlam metaphors. By-the-by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a housetop in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection on the Thames. LETTERS, 1812. 45 " Perhaps the present couplet had better come in after ' trembled for their homes,' the two lines after ; — as other- wise the image certainly sinks, and it will run just as weU. " The lines themselves, perhaps, may be better thus — ('choose,' or 'refuse' — but please yourself^ and don't mind 'Sir Fretful') — sadly " As flash'd the voUimed blaze, and ghastly shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own. The last runs smoothest, and, I think, best ; but you know better than best. ' liUrid' is also a less indistinct epithet than 'livid wave,' and, if you think so, a dash of the pen will do. " I expected one line this morning ; in the mean time, I shall remodel and condense, and if I do not hear from you, shall send another copy. " I am ever, &c." the epilogue to the ' Distressed Mother.' and, I think, one of Goldsmith's, and a prologue of old Colman's to Beau- mont and Fletcher's Philaster, are the best things of the kind we have. " P. S. I am diluted to the throat witli medicine for the stone ; and Boisragon wants me to try a warm climate for the winter — but I won't." You will emendations, thus: LETTER CXXXIl. TO LORD HOLLAND. "September 26, 1812. think there is no end to my villanous The fifth and sixth lines I think to alter " Ye who beheld — oh sight admired and mourn'd, Whose radiance mock'd the ruin it adorn'd ; because 'night' is repeated the next line but one ; and, as it now stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, ' wor- thy him (Shakspeare) and yow,' appears to apply the 'you' to those only who were out of bed and in Covent- garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended to be comprised in that comprehensive and, I hope, comprehensible pronoun. " By-the-by, one of my corrections in the fair co}>y sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom — " When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write. Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first ; therefore I will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes ' sought' and ' wrote.'* Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don't come amiss. I am very anxious on this business, and I do hope that the very trouble I occasion you will plead its own excuse, and that it will tend to show my endeavour to nialce the most of the time allot- ted. I wish I had known it months ago, for in that case I had not left one line standing on another. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as I can, but never sufficiently ; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning. When 1 began 'Childc Harold,' 1 had never tried S(»enser's measure, and now I cannot scribble in any other. " After all, my dear lord, if you can get a decent Ad- dress elsewhere, don't hcsilate to put this aside. Why did you not trust your own Muse ? I am very sure she would have been triumphant, and saved the Committee their trouble — ' 't is a joyful one' to me, but I fear I shall not satisfy even myself. After the account you sent me, 't is no compliment to say, you would have beaten your candidates ; but I mean that, in that case, tliero would have been no occasion for their being beaten at all. " There are but two decent prologues in our tongiio — Pope's to Cato — Johnson's to l)rury-lane. These, with • " Such arc the names that here your nlimdlH sou(?lit, When Oarrick acted, and when Brinsley wrote." At precent the couplet itandt thus : " Dear are the daye that made our anneU bright, Ere Oarrlek fled, or Brineley ceaeed to write." LETTER CXXXIIL TO LORD HOLLAND. " September 27, 1812. " I have just received your very kind letter, and hope you have met with a second copy corrected and ad- dressed to Holland House, with some omissions and this new couplet, " As glared each rising flash,* and ghastly shone The skies with lightnings awful as their own. As to remarks, I can only say I will alter and acquiesce in any thing. With regard to the part which Whitbread wishes to omit, I believe the Address will go off quicker without it, though like the agility of the Hottentot, at the expense of its vigour. I leave to your choice entirely the different specimens of stucco-work ; and a brick of your own will also much improve my Babylonish turret I should like Elliston to have it, with your leave. 'Adorn' and 'mourn' are lawful rhymes in Pope's death of the unfor- tunate Lady — Gray has ' forlorn' and ' mourn' — and ' torn' and ' mourn' are in Smollet's famous Tears of Scotland. " As there will probably be an outcry among the re- jected, I hope the Committee will testify (if it be need- ful) that I sent in nothing to the congress whatever, with or without a name, as your lordship well Imows. All I have to do with it is with and through you ; and though I, of course, wish to satisfy the audience, I do assure you my first object is to comply with your request, and in so doing to show the sense I have of the many obli- gations you have conferred upon me. "Yours ever, «B." LETTER CXXXIV. TO LORD HOLLAND. "September 27, 1812. " I believe this is the third scrawl since yesterday — all about epithets. I think the epithet ' intellectual' won't convey the meaning I intend ; and though I hate com- pounds, for the present I will try (col' permcsso) the word ^genius-gifted patriarciis of our line'f instead. Johnson has ' many-coloured life,' a compound — but they are always best avoided. However, it is the only one in ninety lines-, but will be happy to give way to a better. I am ashamed to intrude any more remembrances on Lady H. or letters upon you ; but you are, fortunately for me, gifted with patience already too often tried by "Your,&c. &c." LETTER CXXXV. TO LORD HOLLAND. " September 28, 1812. " Will tliis do better ? the molaplior is more complete. lava of the " Till slowly ebb'd the spent vnlcimic wave. And blackening ashes mnrk'd the Mute's grave. If not, we will say 'burning' wave, and instead of 'burn ing clime,' in the line some couplets back, linve 'glowing. "Is Whitbread dotcrminr.l to ca.strato all my caiHtlr^ • At present, " As glared llie volumed lilaic." t Thi«, as finolly altered, U " Immortal nam»», rmblnfoned on our line." 46 LETTERS, 1812. lines ?* I don't see why t' other house should be spared ; besides, it is the public, who ought to know better ; and you recollect Johnson's was against similar buflboneries of Rich's — but, certes, I am not Johnson. " Instead of ' effects,' say ' labours' — ' degenerate' will do, will it ? Mr. Betty is no longer a babe, therefore the line cannot be personal. "Will this do? the burning " Till ebb'd the lava of that molten wave,! with ' glowing dome,' in case you prefer ' burning' added to this ' wave' metaphorical. The word ' fiery pillar' was suggested by the 'pillar of fire' in the book of Ex- odus, which went before the Israelites through the Red Sea. I once thought of saying ' like Israel's pillar,' and making it a simile, but I did not know, — the great temp- tation was leaving the epithet ' fiery' for the supplement- ary wave. 1 want to work up that passage, as it is the only new ground us prologuizers can go upon — " This is the place where, if a poet Shined in description, he might show it. If I part with the possibility of a future conflagration, we lessen the compUment to Shakspeare. However, we will e'en mend it thus : " Yes, it shall be — the magic of that name, That scorns the scythe of Time, the torch of Flame, On the same spot, &c. &c. There — ^the deuce is in it, if that is not an improvement to Whitbread's content. Recollect, it is the ' name,' and not the ' magic,' that has a noble contempt for those same weapons. If it were the ' magic' my metaphor would be somewhat of the maddest — so the * name' is the ante- cedent. But, my dear lord, your patience is not quite so immortal — therefore, with many and sincere thanks, I am " Yours ever most affectionately. "P. S. I foresee there will be charges of partiaUty in the papers ; but you know I sent in no Address ; and glad both you and I must be that I did not, for, in that case, their plea had been plausible. I doubt the Pit will be testy ; but conscious innocence (a novel and pleasing sensation) makes me bold." LETTER CXXXVI. TO LORD HOLLAND. "Sept. 28. " I have altered the middle couplet, so as I hope partly to do away with W.'s objection. I do think, in the present state of the stage, it has been unpardonable to pass over the horses and Miss Mudic, &c. As Betty is no longer a boy, how can this be applied to him? He is now to be judged as a man. If he acts still lil:e a boy, the public will but be more ashamed of their blunder. I have, you • The lines he here alludes to, finally were omitted by the Commit- tee ; they were these : " Nay, lower itiU, the Drama yet deplores Thai lale the deign'd to trawl upon all-fours. When Richard roars in Bostcort/i for a horse, If you convnmid, the steed must come in course. tf you decree, the Stage nntst cor,dcscend To tooth the sickly lusle we dare not niond. Blame not our judgment should we acquiesce, And gratify you more l>y showing less. Oh, since your liiil slitm|ia die Urnmn's laws, Forbear to mock us with mi8|ilnced ap])lau8e ; That pul>lic praise be ne'er again disgraced, liruien to mnn recall From babes und brutes redeem a nation's taste. Then pride shall doubly nerve the actors' powers, When Reason's voice is echoed back by ours." Th« last couplet but one was again uitorid in a subsequent copy thus :— " TTie past reproach let present scenes refute, Nor shift from man to babe, from babe to brute." t The form of this couplet, as printed, is as follows ;— " Till blackening ashes and the lonely wall Usurp'd the Muse's realm, and mark'd her fall." see, now taken it for granted that these things are re- formed. I confess, I wish that part of the Address to stand ; but if W. is inexorable, e'en let it go. I have also new cast the lines, and soflened the hint of future combustion,* and sent them off this morning. Will you have the goodness to add, or insert, the approved altera- tions as they arrive ? They ' come lilce shadows, so depart ;' occupy me, and, I fear, disturb you. " Do not let Mr. W. put his Address into EUiston's hands till you have settled on these alterations. E. will think it too long : — much depends on the speaking. I fear it will not bear much curtaiUng, without chasms in the sense. " It is certainly too long in the reading ; but if Elliston exerts himselfj such a favourite with the public will not be thought tedious. / should think it so, if he were not to speak it. " Yours ever, &c. " P. S. On looking again, I doubt my idea of having obviated W.'s objection. To the other House, allusion is a ' non sequitur' — but I wish to plead for this part, because the thing really is not to be passed over. Many after-pieces at the Lyceum by the same company have already attacked this ' Augean Stable^ — and John- son, in his prologue against ' Lunn,' (the harlequin-ma- nager. Rich,) — ' Hunt,' — 'Mahomet,' &c. is surely a fair precedent." liETTER CXXXVU. TO LOBD HOLLAND. « Sept. 29, 1812. " Shakspeare certainly ceased to reign in one of his kingdoms, as George III. did in America, and George IV. may in Ireland.f Now, we have nothing to do out of our own realms, and when the monarchy was gone, his majesty had but a barren sceptre. I have cut away^ you will see, and altered, but make it what you please ; only I do implore, for my own gratification, one lash on those accursed quadrupeds — ' a long shot, Sir Lucius, if you love me.' I have altered ' wave,' &c. and the ' fire,' and so forth, for the timid. " Let me hear from you when convenient, and believe me, &c. "P. S. Do let «Aa^ stand, and cut out elsewhere. I shall choke, if we must overlook their d — d menagerie." LETTER CXXXVIIL TO LORD HOLLAND. "Sept. 30, 1812. "I send you the most I can make of it; for I am not so well as I was, and find I 'pall in resolution.' "I wish much to see you, and will be at Tetbury by twelve on Saturday ; and from thence I go on to Lord Jersey's. It is impossible not to allude to the degraded state of the Stage, but I have lightened it, and endea- voured to obviate your other objections. There is a new couplet for Sheridan, allusive to his Monody. All the alterations I have marked thus |, — as you will see by comparison with the other copy. I have cudgelled my brains with the greatest willingness, and only wish I had more time to have done better. " You will find a sort of clap-trap laudatory couplet inserted for the quiet of the Committee, and I have added, towards the end, the couplet you were pleased to like. The whole Address is seventy-three lines, still * It Imd been, originally, " Though other piles may sink in future fiame. On the same spot," &c. &c. t Some objection, it appears from this, had been made to lh« paiitee. ' and Shakspeare ceased to reign." pn-t^. LETTERS, 1812. 47 perhaps too long , and, if shortened, you will save time, but, I fear, a little of what I meant for sense also. " With myriads of thanlis, I am ever, &c. "My sixteenth edition of respects to Lady H. How she must laugh at all this ! "I wish Murray, my publisher, to print off some copies as soon as your lordship returns to town — it will ensure correctness -in the papers afterward." LETTER CXXXIX. TO LORD HOLLAND. " Far be from him thai liour which asks in vain Tears such as flow for Garrick in liis strain ; or, Far be that Lour that vainly asks in turn crown'd his Such verse for him as wept o'er Garrick's urn. "Sept. 30, 1812. " Will you choose between these added to the lines on Sheridan?* I think they will wind up the panegyric, and agree with the train of thought preceding them. "Now, one word as to the Committee — how could they resolve on a rough copy of an Address never sent in, unless you had been good enough to retain in memory, or on paper, the thing they have been good enough to adopt ? By-the-by, the circumstances of the case should make the Committee less ' avidus gloriae,' for all praise of them would look plaguy suspicious. If necessary to be stated at all, the simple facts bear them out. They surely had a right to act as they pleased. My sole ob- ject is one which, I trust, my whole conduct has shown ; viz. that I did nothing insidious — sent in no Address whatever — but, when applied to, did my best for them and myself; but above all, that there was no undue partial- ity, which will be what the rejected will endeavour to make out. Fortunately — most fortunately — I sent in no lines on the occasion. For I am sure that had they, in that case, been preferred, it would have been asserted that / was known, and owed the preference to private friendship. This is what we shall probably have to en- counter, but, if once spoken and approved, we sha'n't be much embarrassed by their brilliant conjectures, and, as to criticism, an old author, like an old bull, grows cooler (or ought) at every baiting. " The only thing would be to avoid a party on the night of delivery — afterward, the more the better, and the whole transaction inevitably tends to a good deal of discussion. Murray tells me there are myriads of iron- ical Addresses ready — some, in imitation of what is called my style. If they are as good as the Probationary Odes, or Hawkins's Pipe of Tobacco, it will not be bad fun for the imitated. «Ever,&c.'' LETTER CXL. TO LORD HOLLAND. "Octobers, 1812. "A copy of this still altered is sent by (he post, but this will arrive first. It must be 'humbler' — ' yd asjyiring^ does away the modesty, and, after all, truth is truth. Besides, there is a puff direct altered, to please your plaguy renters. " I shall bo at Tetbury by twelve or one — but send this for you to ponder over. There are several little things marked thus / altered for your perusal. I have dismounted the cavalry, and, I hope, arranged to your general satisfaction. « Ever, &c. "At Tetbury by noon. I hope, after it is sent, there will bo no more elisions. It is not now so lonjr — 73 lines — two less than allotted. I will alter all Committee objections, but I hope you won't permit Elliaton to have any voice whatever. — except in speaking it." • These added Unci, as itwy be iccu by refcreiicu to ilu priulcJ Aii drtit, vera not retained. LETTER CXLL TO MR. MURRAY. " High-street, Cheltenham, Sept. 5, 1812. " Pray have the goodness to send those despatches, and a No. of the Edinburgh Review with the rest. 1 hope you have written to Mr. Thompson, thanked him in my name for his present, and told him that I shall be truly happy to comply with his request. How do you go on ? and when is the graven image, ' with bays and wicked rhyme upon 'f,' to grace, or disgrace, some of our tardy editions ? " Send me ' Rokeby.'' Who the devil is he ? — no mat- ter, he has good connexions, and will be well introduced. I thank you for your inquiries: I am so so, but my thermometer is sadly below the poetical point. What will you give me or miiie for a poem of six Cantos, {when complete — no rhyme, no recompense,) as like the last two as I can make them ? I have some ideas that one day may be imbodied, and till winter I shall have much leisure. "P. S. My last question is in the true style of Grub- street ; but, like Jeremy Diddler, I only ' ask for inform- ation.' Send me Adair on Diet and Regimen, just re- published by Ridgway." LETTER CXLIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Cheltenham, Sept. 14, 1812. "The parcels contained some letters and verses, all (but one) anonymous and complimentary, and very anxious for my conversion from certain infidelities into which my good-natured correspondents conceive me to have fallen. The books were presents of a convertible kind. Also, ' Christian knowledge' and the ' Bioscope,' a religious Dial of Life explained ; and to the author of the former, (Cadell publislier,) I beg you will forward my best thanks for his letter, his present, and, above all, his good intentions. The ' Bioscope' contained a MS. copy of very excellent verses, from whom I know not, but evidently the composition of some one in the habit of writing, and of writing well. I do not know if he be the author of the ' Bioscope' which accompanied them ; but whoever he is, if you can discover him, thank him from me most heartily. The other letters were from ladies, who are welcome to convert me when they please ; and if I can discover them, and they be young, as they say they are, I could convince them perhaps of my devotion. I had also a letter from Mr. Walpole on matters of this world, which I have answered. " So you are Lucicn's publisher ? I am promised an interview with him, and think I shall ask you for a letter of introduction, as 'the gods have made him j)oetical.' From whom could it come with a better grace limn from his publisher and mine? Is it not somewhat treasonable in you to have to do with a relative of tlio 'direful foe,' as the Morning Post calls liLs brother ? " But my book on ' Diet and Rogimon,' where is it ? 1 thirst for Scott's Rokeby ; lot me have your first-begotten copy. The Aiitijacobhi Review is all very well, and not a bit worso than the Quarterly, and at least less harmless. By the by, have you secured my books ? I want all the Reviews, at least the criti(]Uos, quarterly, monthly, &.c. Portuguese and F.nglisli, oxtrai'led, and bound up in one voIumu- for luy (»/on its merits; but I would take the liberty, if not too troiiblr- somo, to submit it to Mr. Gifford's judgment, which, from his excellent edition of Massinger, I should con- ceive to bo as decisive on the writings of that age as on tlioso of our own, "Now for a less agreeable and important topic. How came Mr. Mac- Somebody, without consulting you Posmsp. 441 60 • LETTERS, 181S. or me, to prefix the Address to his volume* oV Dejected Addresses?' Is not this somewhat larcenous? I think the ceremony of leave might have been asked, though I have no objection to the thing itself; and leave the 'hundred and eleven' to tire themselves with ' base comparisons.' I ehould think the mgenuous public tolerably sick of the subject, and, except the Parodies, I have not interfered, nor shall ; indeed I did not know that Dr. Busby had published his Apologetical Letter and Postscript, or I should have recalled them. But I confess I looked upon his conduct in a different light before its appear- ance. 1 see some mountebank has talien Alderman Birch's name to vituperate Dr. Busby ; he had much better have pilfered his pastry, which I should imagine the more valuable ingredient — at least for a puff. — Pray secure me a copy of Woodfall's new Junius, and believe me, &c." LETTER CLL TO MR. WILLIAM BANKES. "December 26 "The multitude of your recommendations has already superseded my humble endeavours to be of use to you, and, indeed, most of my principal friends are returned. Leake from Joannina, Canning and Adair from the city of the faithful, and at Smyrna no letter is necessary, as the consuls are always willing to do every thing for per- sonages of respectability. I have sent you three, one to Gibraltar, which, though of no great necessity, will, per- haps, put you on a more intimate footing with a very pleasant family there. You will very soon find out that a msui of any consequence has very little occasion for any letters but to ministers and bankers, and of them you have already plenty, I will be sworn. " It is by no means improbable, that I shall go in the spring, and if you will fix any place of rendezvous about August, I will write or join you. — When in Albania, I wish you would inquire after Dervise Tahiri and Vas- ciUie, (or Basil,) and make my respects to the viziers, both there and in the Morea. If you mention my name to Suleyman of Thebes, I think it will not hurt you; if I had my dragoman, or wrote Turkish, I could have given you letters of real service; but to the English they are hardly requisite, and the Greeks themselves can be of little advantage. Liston you know already, and I do not, as he was not then minister. Mind you visit Ephe- sus and the Troad, and let me hear from you when you please. I beUeve G. Forresti is now at Yanina, but if not, whoever is there wll be too happy to assist you. Be particular about ^rmaurw ,• never allow yourself to be bullied, for you are better protected in Turkey than any ■where ; trust not the Greeks ; and take some knicknack- tries for presents — watches, pistols, &c. &c. to the Beys and Pachas. Ifyou find one Demetrius, at Athens or elsewhere, I can recommend him as a good dragoman. I hope to join you, however; but you will find swamis of English now in the Levant. " Believe me, &c." LETTER CLIL TO MR. MURRAY. • « February 20, 1813. "In 'Horace in London,' I perceive some stanzas on Lord Elgin, in which (waiving the kind compliment to myself,) I heartily concur. I wish I had the pleasure of Mr. Smith's acquaintance, as I could communicate the curious anecdote you read in Mr. T.'s letter. If he • "The genuine Rejected Addressca, presented lo the Committee of Manageitient for Driiry-Iane Thealre , preceded by ihnt written by Lord Byron and adopted by the Committee :''— ^xiblifibed by B. M'Millan would like it, he can have the suhstunce for his second edition ; if not, I shall add it to our next, though I think we already have enough of Lord Elgin. " What I have read of this work seems admirably done. My praise, however, is not much worth the au- thor's having ; but you may thank him in my name for his. The idea is new — we have excellent imitations of the Satires, &c. by Pope ; but I remember but one imi- tative Ode in his works, and none any where else. I can hardly suppose that they have lost any fame by the fate of the farce ; but even should this be the case, the present pubhcation will again place them on their pin- nacle. "Yours, Stc." LETTER CLIIL TO MR. ROGERS. "March 25, I8I3. " I enclose you a draft for the usurious interest due to Lord * *'s protig6 ; — I also could wish you would state thus much for me to his lordship. Though the transac- tion speaks plainly in itself for the borrower's folly and the lender's usury, it never was my intention to quash the demand, as I legally might, nor to withhold payment of principal, or, perhaps, even unlawful interest. You know what my situation has been, and what it is. I have parted with an estate, (which has been in my family for nearly three hundred years, and was never disgraced by being in possession of a lawyer, a churchman, or a woman, during that period,) to liquidate this and similar de- mands ; and the payment of the purchase is still with- held, and may be, perhaps, for years. If, therefore, I am under the necessity of making those persons wait for their money, (which, considering the terms, they can afford to suffer,) it is my misfortune. " When I arrived at majority in 1809, 1 offered my own security on legal interest, and it was refused. JVow, I will not accede to this. This man I may have seen, but I have no recollection of the names of any par- ties but the agents and the securities. The moment 1 can, it is assuredly my intention to pay my debts. This person's case may be a hard one ; but, under all circum- stances, what is mine? I could not foresee that the purchaser of my estate was to demur in paying for it. " I am glad it happens to be in my power so far to accommodate my Israelite, and only wish I could do as much for the rest of the Twelve Tribes. " Ever yours, dear R. « Bn." LETTER CLIV. TO MR. MURRAY. " Westall has, I beUeve, agreed to illustrate your book,* and I fancy one of the engravings will be from the pretty Httle girl you saw the other day,t though without her name, and merely as a model for some sketch connected with the subject. I would also have the portrait (which you saw to-day) of the friend who is mentioned in the text at the close of Canto first, and in the notes, — which are subjects sufficient to authorize that addition." Early in the spring he brought out, anonymously, his poem on Waltzing, which, though full of very lively satire, fell so far short of what was now expected from him by the public, tliat the disavowal of it, which, as we see by the following letter, he thought right to put forth, found ready credence. * A new edition of Childe Harold. t Lady Charlotte Harley, to whom, under the name of lanthc, th« introductory lines to Childe Harold were afterward addreued. LETTERS, 1813. 61 LETTER CLV. TO MR. MURRAY. "April 21, 1813. •* I shall be in town by Sunday next, and will call and have some conversation on the subject of Westall's de- signs. I am to sit to him for a picture at the request of a friend of mine, and as Sanders's is not a good one, you will probably prefer the other. I wish you to have Sanders's taken down and sent to my lodgings imme- diately — before my arrival. I hear that a certain ma- licious pubhcation on Waltzing is attributed to me. This report, I suppose, you will take care to contradict, as the author, I am sure, will not like that I should wear his cap and bells. Mr. Hobhouse's quarto will be out immediately ; pray send to the author for an early copy, which I wish to take abroad with me. " P. S. I see the Examiner threatens some observa- tions upon you next week. What can you have done to share the wrath which has heretofore been principally expended upon the Prince? I presume all your Scribleri will be drawn up in battle array in defence of the modern Tonson — Mr. Bucke, for instance. " Send in my account to Bennet-street, as 1 wish to settle it before sailing." LETTER CLVL TO MR. MURRAY. "Maidenhead, June 13, 1813. « * * + I have read the ' Strictures,'* which are just enough, and not grossly abusive, in very fair cou- plets. There is a note against Massinger near the end, and one cannot quarrel with one's company, at any rate. The author detects some incongruous figures in a pas- sage of English Bards, page 23, but which edition I do not know. In the sole copy in your possession — I mean \he fifth edition — you may make these alterations, that 1 may profit (though a little too late) by his remarks ; — For ^hellish instinct,' substitute ^brutal instinct;' 'harpies' alter to ^felons ;' and for ' blood-hounds' write ' hell- hounds.'! These be * very bitter words, by my troth,' and the alterations not much sweeter ; but as I shall not publish the thing, they can do no harm, but are a satis- faction to me in the way of amendment. The passage is only twelve lines. " You do not answer me about H.'s book ; I want to write to him, and not to say any thing unpleasing. If you direct to Post-office, Portsmouth, till called for, I will send and receive your letter. You never told me of the forthcoming critique on Columbus, which is not loo fair ; and I do not think justice quite done to the ' Pleasures,'! which surely entitle the author to a higher rank than that assigned him in the duarterly. But I must not cavil at the decisions of the invisible infaUibles; and the article is very well written. The general hor- ror o^'^ fragments' makes me tremulous for the 'Giaour;' but you would publish it — I presume, by this time, to your repentance. But as I consented, whatever be its fate, I won't now quarrel with you, even though I detect it in my pastry ; but I shall not open a pie without apprehen- sion for some weeks. " The books which may be marked G. O. I will carry out. Do you know Clarke's Naufragia? I am told that he asserts ihti first volunie of Robinson Crusoe was written by the first Lord Oxford, when in the Tower, and given by him to Defoe ; if true, it is a curious anec- dote. Have you got back Lord Brooke's MS.? and what does Heber say of it? Write to me at Portsmouth. " Ever yours, &c. " N." On Uic Satire, by Mr. Crowe. t Sec Engliali Uuidii. I PDcmi, by Mr. Roger*. LETTER CLVII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Jvme 18, 1813. "dear sir, " WiU you forward the enclosed answer to the kindest letter I ever received in my life, my sense of which I can neither express to Mr. Gifford himself nor to any one else. " Ever yours,j « N." LETTER CLVIII. TO W. GIFFORD, ESq. " June 18, 1813. "my dear sir, " I feel greatly at a loss how to write to you at all — still more to thank you as I ought. If you knew the veneration with which I have ever regarded you, long before I had the most distant prospect of becoming your acquaintance, literary or personal, my embarrassment would not surprise you. " Any suggestion of yours, even were it conveyed in the less tender shape of the text of the Baviad, or a Monk Mason note in Massinger, would have been obeyed ; I should have endeavoured to improve myself by your censure : judge then if I should be less willing to profit by your kindness. It is not for me to bandy compliments with my elders and my betters : I receive your approbation with gratitude, and will not return my brass for your gold, by expressing more fully those sen- timents of admiration, which, however sincere, would, I know, be unwelcome. " To your advice on religious topics, I shall equally attend. Perhaps the best way will be by avoiding them altogether. The already published objectionable pas- sages have been much commented upon, but certainly have been rather strongly interpreted. I am no bigot to infidelity, and did not expect that, because I doubted the immortality of man, I should be charged with denying the existence of a God. It was the comparative insig- nificance of ourselves and our world, when placed in comparison with the mighty whole, of which it is an atom, that first led me to imagine that our pretensions to eternity might be overrated. " This, and being early disgusted with a Calvinistic Scotch school, when I was cudgelled to chur'^.h, for the first ten years of my life, afflicted me with this malady ; for, after all, it is, I believe, a disease of the mind as much as other kinds of hypochondria." LETTER CLIX. TO MR. MOORE. "June 22, 1813. ****** " Yesterday I dined in company with ' * *, the Epi- cene,' whose politics arc sadly changed. She is for the Lord of Israel and the Lord of I^iverpool — a vile anti- thesis of a Methodist and a Tory — talks of nothing but devotion and the ministry, and, I presume, expects that God and the government will help her to a pension. ****** "Murray, the ava^ of publishers, the Anac of station- ers, has a design upon you in the paper line. He wants you to become the staple and stipendiary editor of a periodical work. What say you? Will you bo bound, like 'Kit Smart, to write for ninety-nino years in the Universal Visiter?' Seriously, he talks of hniulrods a year, and — though I hate prating of llio beggarly ele- ments — his proposal may bo to your honour and profit, and, I am very sure, will be to our pleasure. •' I don't know what to say about ' fricndKhip.' I never 62 LETTERS, 1813. was in friendship but once, in my nineteenth year, and then it gave me as much trouble as love. I am afraid, as Whitbread's sire said to the king, when he wanted to knight him, that I am ' too old :' but, nevertheless, no one wishes you more friends, fame, and felicity, than « Yours, &c.' LETTER CLX. TO MR. MOORE. « 4, Benedictine-Street, St. James's, July 8, 1813. •' I presume by your silence that I have blundered into something noxious in my reply to your letter ; for the which I beg leave to send, beforehand, a sweeping apology, which you may apply to any, or all, parts of that unfortunate epistle. If I err in my conjecture, I expect the like from you, in putting our correspondence so long in quarantine. God he knows what I have said ; but he also knows, (if he is not as indifferent to mortals as the nonchalant deities of Lucretius,) that you are the last person I want to offend. So, if I have, — why the devil don't you say it at once, and expectorate your spleen? " Rogers is out of town wdth Madame de Stael, who hath published an Essay against Suicide, wliich, I pre- sume, will make somebody shoot himself; as a sermon by Blinkensop, in proof of Christianity, sent a hitherto most orthodox acquaintance of mine out of a chapel of ease a perfect atheist. Have you found or founded a residence yet ? and have you begun or finished a Poem ? If you won't tell me what / have done, pray say what you have done, or lefl undone, yourself. I am still in equipment for voyaging, and anxious to hear from, or of, you before I go, which anxiety you should remove more readily, as you think I shan't cogitate about you after- ward. I shall give the lie to that calumny by fifly foreign letters, particularly from any place where the plague is rife, — without a drop of vmegar or a whiff of ■ulphur to save you from infection. Pray write : I am sorry to say that * * + *. •* The Oxfords have sailed almost a fortnight, and my sister is in town, which is a great comfort — for, never having been much together, we are naturally more at- tached to each other. I presume the illuminations have conflagrated to Derby (or wherever you are) by this time. We are just recovering from tumult, and train oil, and transparent fripperies, and all the noise and nonsense of victory. Drury-Iane had a large M. IV. which some thought was Marshal Wellington : others that it might be translated into Manager Whitbread ; while the ladies of the vicinity and the saloon conceived the last letter to be complimentary to themselves. I leave this to the commentators to illuminate. If you do n't answer this, I shan't say what you deserve, but I think / deserve a reply. Do you conceive there is no Post- Bag but the Twopenny? Sunburn me, if you are not too bad." LETTER CLXI. TO MR. MOORE. "July 13, 1813. ♦ ♦♦*♦ + " Your letter set me at ease ; for I really thought (as I hear of your susceptibility) that I had said — I know not what — but something I should have been very sorry for, had it, or I, offended you ; though I do n't see how a man with a beautiful wife, his own children, quiet, fame, competency, and friends, ( I will vouch for a thou- sand, which is more than I will for a unit in my own behalfj) can be offended with any thing. " Do you know, Moore, I am amazingly inclined — remember I say but inclined — to be seriously enamoured with Lady A. F.— but this ♦ * has ruined all my pros- LETTER CLXIL TO MR. MOORE. "July 25,1813. " I am not well versed enough in the ways of single women to make much matrimonial progress. * * " I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends, the D * *s : she sung one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried ; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, per- haps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion, and the second, very probably, every thing else. "I must tell you a story. M * * (of indifferent me- mory ) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old wassailers. D' * * (a learned Jew) bored him with questions — why this ? and why that ? ' Why did the Prince act thus ?' ' Why, sir, on account of Lord * *, who ought to be ashamed of himself?' ' And why ought Lord * * to be ashamed of himself?' 'Because the Prince, sir, * + * * * * * *.' 'And why, sir, did the Prince cut yoM.?* ' Because, G — d d — mme, sir, I stuck to my principles.' ' And why did you stick to your principles ?' " Is not this last question the best that ever was put, when you consider to whom 1 It nearly killed M * *. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, it was a very good joke when I heard it — as I did from an ear-witness — and is only spoiled in my narration. " The season has closed with a Dandy Ball ; — but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh, where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till 'too much canaries' wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his * * * ♦ — the true throne pects. However, you know her ; is she clever, or sen- sible, or good-tempered ? either would do— I scratch out the will. I don't ask as to her beauty, that I see ; but my circumstances are mending, and were not my other prospects blackening, I would take a wife, and that should be the woman, had I a chance. 1 do not yet know her much, but better than I did. " I want to get away, but find difficulty in compassing a passage in a ship of war. They had better let me go; if I cannot, patriotism is the word—' nay, an' they 'II mouth, I '11 rant as well as they.' Now, what are you doing ? writing, we all hope, for our ovm sakes. Re- member you must edite my posthumous works, with a Life of the Author, for which I will send you Confes- sions, dated 'Lazaretto,' Smyrna, Malta, or Palermo — one can die any where. " There is to be a thing on Tuesday ycleped a na- tional fete. The Regent and * * * are to be there, and every body else, who has shillings enough for what was once a guinea. Vauxhail is the scene — there are six tickets issued for the modest women, and it is sup- _ posed there will be three to spare. The passports for ■ the lax are beyond my arithmetic. | "P. S. The Stael last night attacked me most furiously— said that I had 'no right to make love— that I had used * * barbarously — that I had no feeling, and was totally msensible to la belle passion, and had been all my life.' I am very glad to hear it, but did not know it before. Let me hear from you anon." LETTERS, 1813. 53 of a Tory. Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. '1 have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered, There are but three of the 150 left alive, and they are for the Tovm's-end (queiy, might not Falstaff mean the Bow-street officer ? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life. " Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night — no incident or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glowworm in the second figure of number XIX — mistaking it for a foot- pad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols, wherewith I had armed him ; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by call- ing out to me whenever we passed any thing — no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians of the post from peeping. You once complained of my not writing ; — I will heap ' coals of fire upon your head' by not complaining of your not reading. Ever, ray dear Moore, your 'n, (isn 't that the Staffordshire termination ?) « Byron." LETTER CLXm. TO MR. MOORE. "July 27, 1813. " When you next imitate the style of ' Tacitus,' pray add, 'de moribus Germanorum ;' — this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from the IVoods, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle, I shall bring my action ; — if you do n't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero; but do n't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer. " Believe me ever yours, indignantly, « Bn." LETTER CLXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "July 28, 1813. " Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miracu- lous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing, — four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking ; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too suscepti- ble senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself I wont frank from you, or for you, or to you, may I be cursed if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you — I disclaim you — and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you —or dedicate a quarto — if you don't make mo ample amends. " P. S. I am in training to dine with Sheridan and Rogers this evening. I have a Uttlc spile against R. and will shed his 'Clary wines pottlo-deep.' This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter ; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps 1 may wait a few weeks for Sligo ; but not if I can help it." LETTER CLXV. TO MR. CROKER. «Bt. Str. August 2, 1813. DEAR SIR, "I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obhgation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday — and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardi- ness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, " Your obliged and most obedient servant, « Bttron." The following notes to Mr. Murray, have reference to a fifth edition of the " Giaour" then m press. The poem first appeared in the May preceding, and contained originally but about four hundred Unes, and was gradu- ally increased through successive editions to its present number, nearly fourteen hundred. In a note which ac- companied the manuscript of the paragraph commencing " Fair clime, where every season smiles," he says, " I have not yet fixed the place of insertion for the following lines, but will when I see you." The whole portion from the line [lown to For there the rose o'er crag and vale. ' And turn to groans his roundelay," was inserted during the revision of the proofs. The passage stood originally thus : — " Fair clime ! where ceaseless summer smiled Benignant o'er those blessed isles, Which, seen from far Colonna's height, Make glad the heart that hails the sight. And give to loneliness delight. There shine the bright abodes ye seek. Like dimples upon Ocean's cheek,— So smiling round the toaters lave These Edens of the eastern wave. Or if, at times, the transient breeze Break the smooth crystal of the seal, Or brush one blossom from the trees, How grateful is the gentle air That wakes and wafts the fragrance there." The several passages beginning- and He who hath bent him o'er the dead : The cygnet proudly walks the water : My memory now is but the tonr.b ; were added to the fourth edition, between which and the first, only six weeks intervened. The verses commencing — •' The browsing camels' bells are tinkling :' and the passage "Yes, love indeed is light from heaven," were inserted in tlio fiflh edition, and subsequently th« following — " Rhe was a form of life and light, That, seen, bucamo a |)arl of sight, And rose, wheiu'cr I tiirn'd mine eye, Tlic Morning-Binr of memory I" " If you send more proof-*, I shall never finish this in- fernal story — ' Ecce signum' — thirty-three Imes mor* enclosed ! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, 1 fear, not to your advantage. " B. 54 LETTERS, 1813. " Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813. "dear sir, " Pray suspend the ■proofs, for I am bitten again, and have quantities for other parts of the bravura. " Yours ever, " B. « P. S. You shall have them in the course of the day." LETTER CLXVL TO MR. MURRAY. "Aug. 26, 1813. ■ I have looked over and corrected one proof] but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some omission of mine or commission of your printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can stop — I mean point — commas, and so forth ? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty, not added any more to this snake of a Poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of Childe Harold, which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive. " The last lines Hodgson likes. It is not often he does, and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself. * + + * " I was q^iite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you do not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness. " Our six critiques ! — they would have made half a duarterly by themselves ; but this is the age of criticism." The following refer apparently to a still later edition. LETTER CLXVn. TO MR. MURRAY. "Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813. " I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof to be sent to Aston. — Among the lines on Hassan's Serai, not far from the beginning, is this — " Unmeet for Solitude to share. Now to share implies more than one, and Solitude is a single gentleman ; it must be thus — " For many a gilded chamber 's there, Which Solitude might well forbear ; and so on. — My address is Aston-Hall, Rotherham. " Will you adopt this correction ? and pray accept a Stilton cheese from me for your trouble, "Ever yours, "B." " If* the old line stands, let the other run thus — " Nor there will weary traveller halt, To bless the sacred bread and salt. "Note. — To partake of food — to break bread and taste salt with your host, ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred. " There is another additional note sent yesterday — on the Priest in the Confessional. " P. S. I leave this to your discretion ; if any body thinks the old line a good one, or the cheese a bad one do n't accept either. But, in that case, the word share in repeated soon after in the hne — " To share the master's bread and salt ; and must be altered to— " To break the master's bread and salt. This is not so well, though— confound it !" LETTER CLXVIIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Oct. 12,1813. "You must look the Giaour again over carefully; there are a few lapses, particularly in the last page.— ' I know 't was false ; she could not die ;' it was, and ought to be — 'I knew.^ Pray obssrve this and similar mistakes. "I have received and read the British Review. I really think the writer in most points very right. The only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation. Crabbe's passage 1 never saw, and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. The Giaour is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous ; and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few proselytes. I shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you please ; but do n't put yourself out of your way on my account." This is written on a separate slip of paper enclosed. LETTER CLXIX. TO MR. MOORE. « Bennet-street, Aug. 22, 1813. ****** " As our late — I might say, deceased— correspondence had too much of the town-life leaven in it, we will now ' paulo majora,' prattle a little of literature in all its branches ; and first of the first — criticism. The Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having, I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite neighbourhood. Mad^. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons, who has been car- bonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant, — kilt and killed in a coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be, — but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could — write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance — and somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen her since the event ; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior observation, " In a ' mail-coach copy' of the Edinburgh, I perceive the Giaour is 2d article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack — pray, which way is the wind ? The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that it must be written by Jeffrey in love; — you know he is gone to America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been for several quarters, ^perdument amoureux. Seriously — as Winifred Jenkins says of Lismahago^Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) ' has done the handsome thing by me,' and I say nothing.* But this 1 will say, — if you and I had knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our posthumous works. By-the-by, I was called in the other day to meditate between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and, — after a long struggle between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing, — I got one to make an apology, and the other to take it, and lefl them to live happy ever after. One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high play ; — and one, I can swear for, though very mild, ' not fearful,' and so dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselve* Sm Don Juan, Canto X. stanza IS, LETTERS, 1813. 56 very well, and I put them out ot' pain as soon as 1 could. ****** "There is an American Life of G. F. Cooke, Scurra deceased, lately published. Such a book ! — I believe, since Drunken Barnaby's Journal, nothing like it has drenched the press.* All green-room and tap-room — drams and the drama — brandy, whisky-punch, and, laU terly^ toddy, overflow every page. Two .things are rather marvellous — first, that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have found a sober bio- grapher. There are some very laughable things in it, nevertheless : — but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed, are too regularly registered. "All this time you wonder I am not gone : so do I ; but the accounts of the plague are very perplexing — not 80 much for the thing itself as the quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from England. It is true the forty or sixty days would, in all probability, be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship ; but one likes to have one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty ; but not the worse for that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to do ; — not stay, if I can help it, but where to go ? Sligo is for the North, — a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in Sep- tember, with one's ears and nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or pocket handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller ? give me a sun., I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and my Heaven is as easily made as your Per- sian's.* The Giaour is now 1000 and odd lines. ' Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day,' eh, Moore? — thou wilt needs be a wag, but I forgive it. "Yours ever, "Bn. "P. S. I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted letter; let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex ; but the fact is, I am, at this moment, in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape than any of the last twelvemonth, — and that is saying a good deal. + * * It is unlucky we can neither live with or without these women. " I am now thinking and regretting that just as I have left Newstead, you reside near it. Did you ever see it ? do — but do n't tell me that you like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I do n't think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a bachelor, — for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion — plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities — with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a bath and a vault — and now I shan't even be buried in it. It is odd that we can't even be certain of a grave, at least a particular one. I remem- ber, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, — which I can repeat almost now, — and asking all kinds of questions about the author, when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface ; wondering if I should ever see him — and though, at that time, without the smallest poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with that volinno. Adieu — I commit you to the care of the gods — Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic ! "P. S. 2d. There is an excellent review of Grimm's Correspondence and Mad", do Stai'l in this N". of the Edinburgh Review. + * * * Jeffrey, himself, was my critic last year ; but this is, I believe, by another hand. I hope you are going on with your grand coup — pray do — or that damned Lueion Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his A PcrHi.tii'H Heivv'n is eniily riimlo — 'T it but black e>-» and lemooado."— Mou' i poem in MS. and he really surpasses every thing be- neath Tasso. Hodgson is translating him against ano- ther bard. You and (I believe, Rogers) Scott, GifTord, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the twain, — that is, if you accept the oflice. Conceive our different opinions ! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will think — v^, indeed ! have a way of our own, — at least, you and Scott certainly have." LETTER CLXX. TO MB. MOORE. "Aug. 28, 1813. "Ay, my dear Moore, 'there was a time' — I have heard of your tricks when ' you was campaigning at the king of Bohemy.' I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815, that time does not come again. After all we must end in marriage ; and I can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, &c. and kissing one's wife's maid. Seriously, I would incorpo- rate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow — - that is, I would a month ago, but, at present, * + * * * *^ "Why do n't you 'parody that Ode?'*— Do you think I should be tetchy ? or have you done it, and won't tell me ? — You are quite right about Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half^hour.")" I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson, because it tells me what you won't — that you are going to beat Lucien. At least, tell me how far you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend Ruggiero ? I am not — and never was. In that thing of mine, the 'English Bards,' at the time when I was angry with all the world, I never ' disparaged your parts,' although I did not know you personally ; — and have always regretted that you do n't give us an entire work, and not sprinkle yourself in de- tached pieces — beautiful, I allow, and quite cdone in our language, but still giving us a right to expect a ShaJi Name/i (is tiiat the name ?) as well as Gazels. Stick to the East; the oracle, Stael, told me it was the only poetical policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted ; but from the East, we have nothinc but Southey's unsaleables, — and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages do n't interest us, and yours will. You will have no competitor ; and if you had, you ought to bo glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a ' voice in the wilderness' for you ; and, if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalizing, and pave the path for you. "I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a mortal — something like, only more philanthropical, than Cazotte's Diable Amoureux.J It would require a good deal of poesy ; and tenderness is not my forte. For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think it a subject you might make much of. If you want any more books, • TheOilc of Horace, " NatU in uauin liciilinj," 4c. «ome pnsangci of which Mr. Mix)te told liim might bt pnnxlied, in alio* ■ion to BOinu of his lutt- udventiiiui : " Uunntn Inlwrai in Charybdi I IJigiic |iiirr nielioit! flunun&l" t In his nr»l edition of ilie (iinour he hni» used thi» wont ai a Irlivlle- Mv,—" llriKht (IS the Rem i.rGlnmmhld,"— but on Mr. Moore'i rt'insik- U\H to liirn, iipou ilic imihorily of Hichiirdion'i Peitinn Dictionnrv, thai liiii wim iiuorrrcl, he Hlleri«il it to " Bright tm the nil)y ot Glnmjcliid." On ieclng thin, however, Mr. M. wrote tu him '• thnt, a* the comi>arltoo of hii lu'iiiine'i eye to a ' ruby' might uniuckilv cull up the ld»a of It* bcinK bloodiihot, he had bettor chnnja th» Una to ' Drifht at iht Jtw»l of liiuinichid ;' "—which he occordinjtiy did In the folio winf edition. \ (iett Heuvi'u and Knrth, (vm* 8SU. 66 thefe is 'Castellan's Moeurs des Ottomans,' the best compendium of the kind 1 ever met with, in six small tomes. I am really taking a liberty by talking in this slyle to my ' elders and my betters ;' — pardon it, and do n't Rochefoiicault my motives." LETTER CLXXI. TO MR. MOORE. "August — September, I mean — 1, 1813. " I send you, begging your acceptance. Castellan, and three vols, on Turkish Literature, not yet looked into. The last I will thank you to read, extract what you want, and return in a week, as they are lent to me by that brightest of northern constellations. Mackintosh, — among many other kind things into which India has warmed him, for I am sure your home Scotsman is of a less genial description. " Your Peri, my dear M., is sacred and inviolable ; I have no idea of touching the hem of her petticoat. Your affectation of a dislike to encounter me is so flat- tering, that I begin to think myself a very fine fellow. But you are laughing at me — 'stap my vitals, Tarn! thou art a very impudent person ;' and, if you are not laughing at me, you deserve to be laughed at. Serious- ly, what on earth can you, or have you, to dread from any poetical flesh breathing? It really puts me out of humour to hear you talk thus. * * + + * * + " The 'Giaour' I have added to a good deal; but still in foolish fragments. It contains about 1200 lines, or rather more — now printing. You will allow me to send you a copy. You delight me much by telling me that I am in your good graces, and more particularly as to temper ; for, unluckily, I have the reputation of a very bad one. But they say the devil is amusing when pleased, and I must have been more venomous than the old ser- pent, to have hissed or stung in your company. It may be, and would appear to a third person, an incredible thing, but I know you will believe me when I say that I am as anxious for your success as one human being can be for another's, — as much as if I had never scribbled a line. Surely the field of fame is wide enough for all ; and if it were not, I would not willingly rob my neighbour of a rood of it. Now you have a pretty property of come thousand acres there, and when you have passed your present Enclosure Bill, your income will be doubled (there 's a metaphor, worthy of a Templar, namely, pert and low,) while my wild common is too remote to in- commode you, and quite incapable of such fertility. I Bend you (which return per post, as the printer would say) a curious letter from a friend of mine,* which will let you into the origin of ' the Giaour.' Write soon. " Ever, dear Moore, yours most entirely, &c. LETTERS, 1813. • The following letter of Lord Sligo. " Albany, Monday, Aug. 31, 1813. " My dear Byron, " You have requested me to tell you all tlial I heard al Athens about the affair of thai girl who was so near being put an end to while you were there ; you have asked me lo mention every circumstance, in the remotest degree relating lo it, which I heard. In compliance with your wishes, 1 wnle to you all I heard, and I cannot imagine it lo be very far from the fact, as ihe circumstance happened only a day or two before 1 arrived at Alheus, and consequently was a matter of common conversation at the time. " The new governor, unaccustomed to have the same intercourse with the (;hri»lians ns his predecessor, had of course the barbarous Turkish Ideas with regard to wouirn. In consequence and in compliance with (he strict letter of the Mahommeddn law, he ordired this girl to bi- sewed up in a sack, and thrown into the sea, — as is, indeed, quite customary at Constantinople. As you were returning from bathiiig in the PIrwus, you met the procession going down lo execute the sentence of the Waywode on this unfortunate girl. Reimrl conliiiuri lo say, that on fimline out what the object of their Journey was, aiid who was Ihe miserable sufferer, you immediately Intrrfered ; and on some delay in obeying your orders, Tou were obliged lo inform the leader nf the escort, that force should make nim comply ;— that, on farther hesitation, you drew a piat.il, and told him, that if he did not immediately obey your orders, ami come back with you to the Aga's house, you would shoot him dead. On this, the man tumeil about and went with you lo the governor's house ; here you suc- c«eded, pafl'y ^V personal ihrcau, and partly by bribery and entreaty, "P. S. This letter was written to me on account of a different stcrry circulated by some gentlewomen of our acquaintance, a litde too close to the text. The part erased contained merely some Turkish names, and cir- cumstantial evidence of the girl's detection, not very im- portant or decorous." LETTER CLXXn. TO MR. MOORE. A « Sept. 5, 1813. "You need not tie yourself down to a day with Tode rini, but send him at your leisure, having anatomized him into such annotations as you want ; I do not believe that he has ever undergone that process before, which is the best reason for not sparing him now. " Rogers has returned to town, but not yet recovered of the (Quarterly. What fellows these reviewers are ! ' these bugs do fear us all.' They made you fight, and me (the milkiest of men) a satirist, and will end by mak- ing Rogers madder than Ajax. I have been reading Memory again, the other day, and Hope together, and retain all my preference of the former. His elegance is really wonderful — there is no such thing as a vulgar hne in his book. + + * + " What say you to Buonaparte ? Remember, I back him against the field, barring Catalepsy and the Ele- ments. Nay, I almost wish him success against all countries but this, — were it only to choke the Morning Post, and his undutiful father-in-law, with that rebellious bastard of Scandinavian adoption, Bernadotte. Rogers wants me to go with him on a crusade to the Lakes, and to besiege you on our way. This last is a great temp- tation, but I fear it will not be in my power, unless you would go on with one of us somewhere — no matter where. It is too late for Matlock, but we might hit upon some scheme, high life or low, — the last would be much the best for amusement. I am so sick of the other, that I quite sigh for a cider-cellar, or a cruise in a smuggler's sloop. "You cannot wish more than I do that the Fates were a little more accommodating to our parallel lines, which prolong ad infinitum without coming a jot the nearer. I almost wish I were married too— which is saying much. All my friends, seniors and juniors, are in for it, and ask me to be godfather, — the only species of parentage which, I beheve, will ever come to my share in a lawful way ; and, in an unlawful one, by the blessing of Lucina, we can never be certain, — though the parish may. I suppose I shall hear from you to-morrow. If not, this goes as it is ; but I leave room for a P. S., in case any thin^ requires an answer. Ever, &c. " No letter — nHmporte. Rogers thinks the (Quarterly will be at me this time : if so, it shall be a war of exter- mination — no quarter. From the youngest devil down to the oldest woman of that Review, all shall perish by one fatal lampoon. The ties of nature shall be torn asunder, for I will not even spare my bookseller ; nay, if one were to include readers also all the better." LETTER CLXXIII. TO MR. MOORE. "Sept. 8, 1813. ' I am sorry to see Tod, again so soon, for fear your 10 procure her pardon on condition of her leaving Athens. I was told that you then conveyed her in safety to the convent, and despatched her off al night to Thebes, where she found a safe asylum. Such is the story I heard, as nearly as I can recollect it at present. Should you wish to ask me any further questions about it, I shall be very ready and willing to answer them. " I remain, my dear Byron, " yours, very sincerely, " Sr.,IGO. " I am afraid you will hardly be able lo read this scrawl j but I am so hurried with thegjreparalions for my journey, that you muBtexcuM it."^ LETTERS, 1813. 57 scrupulous conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful pamphlet, 'the Giaour,' which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that I have added much m quantity, — a circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the subject. " You stand certainly in great need of a ' lift' with Mack- intosh. My dear Moore, you strangely underrate yourself I should conceive it an affectation in any other ; but I think I know you well enough to believe that you don't know your own value. However, 't is a fault that generally mends ; and, in your case, it really ought. I have heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish ; and enough to give all your friends the jaundice. " Yesterday I had a letter from Ali Pacha ! brought by Doctor Holland, who is just returned from Albania. It is in Latin, and begins ' Excellentissime, nee rum Carissime,' and ends about a gun he wants made for him ; — it is signed * Ali Vizir.' What do you think he has been about ? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunigunde was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit— children, grandchildren, &c. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree, — which IS more than I would. So much for ' dearest friend.' " LETTER CLXXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Sept. 9, 1813. "I write to you from Murraj^s, and I may say, from Murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher,, would be happy to treat with you, at a fit- ting time, for your work. I can safely recommend him, as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certamly, in point of reputa- tion, he stands among the first of 'the trade.' I am sure he would do you justice. I have written to you so much lately that you will be glad to see so little now. Ever, &c. &c." LETTER CLXXV. TO MR. MOORE. «Sept.27,1813. "THOMAS MOORE, * (Thou wilt never be called 'true Thomas,' like he of ErcUdoune,) why don't you write to me ? — as you won't, I must. I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so, you must and shall meet nie, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in flash dialect, is poetically termed ' a lark,' with Rogers and me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland-house, I was intro- duced to Southey — the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He Is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and — tliere is his eulogy. " * * read me part of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and looked— I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you tliat I have had to defend you — an agreeable way wliich one's friends have of recommending themselves, by saying — " Ay, ay, / gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on.* But do you know that you are one of tlie very few whom 1 never have tlic satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse ; — and do you suppose I will forgive tlmt ? " I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncastcr races. It is odd, — T was a visitor in tJio same house which came to uiy sire as a residence with L:uly Carmarthen (with whom he adulterated before hiij majority 8 — by-the-by, remember, she was not my mamma) — and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over tlie chimney, which I should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and wliich, inheriting the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well — though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. Now, for a man of my courses, not even to have coveted is a sign of great amendment. Pray pardon cdl this nonsense, and don't ' snub me when I 'm in spirits.' " Ever yours, «Bn. " Here 's an impromptu for you by a ' person of quality,' written last week, on being reproached for low spirits. " When from the heart where sorrow sits,* Sec. LETTER CLXXVL TO MR. MOORE. « Oct. 2, 1813. You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more ; but after that — I swear by all the saints — I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran at HoUand-housef — he beats every body ; — his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wii) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, w hen he mimics ; — I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I shoiild make my Sca- mander. He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once ; and you, who have known liim long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you — a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else tliat I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his ! He absolutely changes it entiiely. I have done — for I can't describe him, and you know him. On Simday I return to * *, where I sliall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night. "Saturday morn. — Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did not suspect you in earnest. Modest again ! Because I don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, I ' don't fear your competition.' If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I should dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Goon — it will soon be my turn to forgive. To- day I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. Stale — as .Tohn Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne — whom I saw last night, at Covent-garden, yawning over tlie humour of FaJstafU " The reputation of ' gloom,' if one's friends are not in- ch iderl in the repulants, is of great service ; as it saves one from a legion of impertincnts, in the shape of commonplace acquaintance. But thou knowest I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely ' larmoyant.' Murray shall reinstate your line forthwitli.J I believe the blunder in tlie motto was mine ; and yet I have, in general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first. "I do 'blush' very often, if I may believe Ladies II. and M. — but luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu." LETTER CLXXVII. TO MR. MOOUE. "Nov. 30, 1813. " Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, * See Poems, p. 189. 1 See Memorriuliiin«, p. 266. t 'I'he mollo lo tln> Oinoiir.whirh ia lukrn fixim oiip of llir lri«h Mcliv illes, lind bpiu quoUd l)V him iiicorreitiv in tho fiist i-ilition» o({hr Votm. Ilu tniuh altfrwnrd a •Imilar miatkkf iii the line* fiviii Uiirut (ucflAcd (u i tho Dride of Abyiloa. 68 LETTERS, 1813. and indifferent, — not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertiieless, has often thought of you, and to whom your thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. We were once very near neighbours tliis autumn ; and a good and bad neighbourhood it lias proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your French quotation was confoundedly to the pur- pose,— though very unexpectedly pertinent, as you may ima- gine by what 1 smd before, and my silence since. * * + However, ' Richard 's himself again,' and, except all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about the matter. " All convulsions end with me in rhyme ; and to solace my midnights,.! have scribbled another Turkish story* — not a Fragment — which you will receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in tlie least, and, if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. You will think, and jusdy, that I run some risk of losing the little I have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience ; but I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written tliis, and published it, for the sake of the em- ploymenL, — to wi-ing ray thoughts from reality, and take refuge in 'imaginings,' however ' horrible ;' and, as to success ! those who succeed will console me for a failure — excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less, — and so let it go * * * "P. S. "Ward and I tdk of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch canal looks, after the Bosphorus. Pray respond." • The Bride of Abydos. To ihis poem he made additions, in the course of printing, amounting altogether to near two hundred lines ; and the opening lines, " Know ye the land," &c. — supposed to have been suggest- ed to him by a song of Goethe's, — were among the number of these new insertions, as were also those verses, " Who hath not proved how feebly words essay," &c. Having, at first, written the line in stanza 6, " Mind on her lip and music in her face,' ' he afterward altered it to — " The mind of music breathing in her face.'' But, this not satisfying him, the next step of correction brought the line to what it is at present— " The mind, the music breathing from her face." The whole passage which follows — " Thou, my Zuleika, share and bless my bark,' ' was sent in sua-essive scraps to the printer, correction following correc- tion. The line, " And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray," was originally the following note being annexed: — " Mr. Murray, — Choose which of the two epithets, ' fancied,' or ' airy,' may be the best; or, if neither will do, tell me, and I will dream another." In the long passage just referred to, the six lines beginning " Blest as the Muezzin's strain," &c. having been despatched to the printer too late for insertion, were, by his desire, added in an errata page ; the first couplet, in its original form, being as follows: — " Soft as the Mecca-Muezzin's strains invite Him who hath journey'd far to join the rite." In a few hours after, anoUier scrap was sent off, containing the lines thus— *' Blest as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's dome, Which welcomes Faith to view her Prophet's tomb," with the following note to Mr. Murray: — "December 3d, 1813. " Lookout in the Encyclopedia, article Mecca, whether it is there or at Medina the Prophet is entombed. If at Medina, the first lines of my alteration roust run — " Blest as the call which from Medina's dome Invites Devotion to her Prophet's tomb, &c." If at Mecca, the lines may stand as before. Page 45, canto 2d, Bride of Abydos. "Yours, "B. " You will find this out either by article Mecca, Medina, or Moham- mtd. I have no book of reference by me." Immcdiutely after succeeded another note: — " Did you look out ? Is it Medina or Mecca that contains the Holy Sepulchre? Don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. I have no book of reference, or I would save you the trouble. I blush as a good Mussulman, to have confused the point. " Yours, "B." Notwithstanding all these various changes, the couplet in question stands, at present, thus: — " Blest as the Muezzin's strain from Mecca's wall To jnjgrims pure and prostrate at his call." LETTER CLXXVm. TO LEIGH HUNT. "4, Bennet-street, Dec. 2, 1813. * MY DEAR SIR, "Few things could be more welcome than your note; and on Saturday morning I will avail myselfof your per- mission to thank you for it in person. My time has not been passed, since we met, either profitably or agreeably. A very short period after my last visit, an incident occurred, with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic. That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness. Then I nearly incurred a lawsuit on the sale of an estate ; but that is now arranged : next — but why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details ? I merely wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a mind oc- cupied by what is called pleasure, (not in the true sense of Epicurus,) that kept me away ; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease. I hate being larmoyant, and making a serious face among those who are cheerful. " It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent. I have been lucky enough to preserve some friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now) select them lightiy, I shall not lose them capriciously. I have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering. You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were com- posing, when Moore and I partook of your hospitality in the summer. 1 hope a time will come when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the latter — for the rhyme, at least in quantity, you are in arrear to both. " Believe me very truly and affectionately yours, "Byron." LETTER CLXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Dec. 8, 1813. " Your letter, like all (he best, and even kindest, things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you, — not in a formal inscription, as to one's elders, — but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of your Poem ; when, lo, the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said Poem, more than once repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could M have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to ■ you, (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you.) but an idea tliat you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waiving personal friend- _ ship for the present, which, by-the-by, is not less sincere and ■ deep-rooted. I have you by rote and by heart ; of which V ' ecce signum !' When I was at * *, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of— I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to my- self—but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your ' Oh breathe not,' '^Tien the last glimpse,' and 'When he who adores thee,' with others of the same minstrel; — they are my ma- tins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not La Donna, but II Marito, with a very grave face, saying, ' Byron, I must re- quest you won't sing any more, at least of tJtose songs.' I stared, and said, 'Certainly, but why?'— 'To tell you the truth,' quoth he, ' they make my wife cry, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them.' " Now, my dear Moore, the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story, to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases— at LETTERS, 1813. 59 least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire, — and surely no one was ever so popular in botli, — I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all you can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you ; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a Cos- sac like me can appal a cuirassier. Your story I did not, could not, know, — I thought only of a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem tiian my own, but which, I yet hope, this clashing wiQ not even now deprive them of. Mine is the work of a week, written, why I have partly told you, and partly 1 cannot tell you by letter — some day I will. ***** "Go on — I shall really be very unhappy if I at all inter- fere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical ; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for ' the Giaour' and such ' horrid mysteries.' The only advantage I have is being on the spot ; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books, which I had better read again. Ifyour chamber was furnished in the same way, you have no need to go there to describe — I mean only as to ac- curacy — because I drew it from recollection. ***** " This last thing of mine may have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. Come out — ' screw your courage to the sticlung-place.' Ex- cept the Post Bag (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there,) you have not been regularly out for some years. No man stands higher, — whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat. ' Aucun honmie, dans aucune langue, n'a ete, peut-etre, plus com- pl^tement le poete du cceur et le poete des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir represente le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit 6tre ; mais les femmes ripondeni qu'il I'a represents tel qu'elles le ddsirent.'' — I should have thought Sismondi had written this for you instead of Metastasio. " Write to me, and tell me of yourself. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one — ' Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned your- self " P. S. The last sentence is an indirect apology for my own egotism, — but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was mutuxil. I have met with an odd reflection in Grimm ; it shall not — at least, the bad part, — be applied to you or me, though one of us has certainly an indifferent name — but this it is: ' Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we shou'd be too happy to pass our lives.' I need not add it is a woman's saying — a Mademoiselle de Som- mery's." ***** LETTER CLXXX. TO MR. MURRAY. « Dec. 4, 1813. " I have rcdde through your Persian Tales,* and have taken tlie liberty of making some remarks on the blank pages. There are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story ; and I cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opi- nion than by the dale of the Imur — turn o''clor,k^ till \vhich it has kept mc awake without n yaum. The conclusion is not quite correct in costume : there is no Mussulman suicide on record, — at least for looe. But this matters not. The talc must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish him, and he deserves, success. Will you apologize to the author for the liberties I have taken with his Ilderim, &c. by Mr. Knight. MS.? Had I been less awake to, and interested in, hia theme, I had been less obtrusive ; but you know / always take this in good part, and I hope he will. It is difficult to say what wUl succeed, and still more to pronounce what will not. I am at this moment in that uncertainty (on our oum score,) and it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to charm and /ix a inind^s attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament. That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the dovbt^ of yours truly, " B." LETTER CLXXXI. TO MR. GIFFORD. "Nov. 12, 1813. "my dear sir, I hope you will consider when I venture on any re- quest, that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and addressed not to ' The Editor of the Quarterly Re- view,' but to Mr. Gifford. You will understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther. " You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.* — a Turkish story, and I should feel grati- fied if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor 'obliged by hunger and request^ of friends,' but m a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to ' us youth,' that rendered it neces- sary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality ; and under this not very briUiant inspiration it was composed. Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to you. He has done so, and to apologize for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter. " I beg you will not send me any answer. 1 assure you very sincerely I know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read ; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers. " A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames, or ' A hundred hawkers' load, On wmga of winds to fly or fall abroad.' It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled ' stans pede in uno' (by-the-by, the only foot I have to stand on ;) and I promise never to trouble you again under forty Cantos, and a voyage between each. " Believe me ever " Your obliged and affectionate servant, " Byron." LETTER CLXXXII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 12,1813. "Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single pub- lication separately, for various reasons. As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation. You say all the last of the 'Giaour' are gone — at least out of your hands. Now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before tiio reader (1 mean distinct from the two-volume publica- tion,) we can adil the ' Bride of Abydos,' which will thus steal quietly into the world: if liked, wo can then tJirow off some copies for the purchasers of former 'Giaours ;' and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication. What think you? I really am no judge of those things, and with all my natural partiality for one's own produc- TheBrictaofAbydo*. .^' 60 LETTERS, 1813. tions, I would rather follow any one's judgment than my own. " P. S. Pray let me have the proofs I sent cdl to-night. I have some alterations that I wish to make spoedily. I hope the proof \'( ill be on separate pa^es, and not all huddled together on a mile-long ballad-singing sheet, as those of the (5 ia lur sometimes are ; for then I can't read them distinctly." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. « Nov. 13, 1813. " Will you forward the letter to Mr. GifFord with the proof? There is an alteration I may make in Zuleika's speech, in second Canto (the only one of ?iers in that Canto.) It is now thus : — " And curse, if I could curse, the day, It must be — " And mourn — I dare not curse — the day That saw my solitary birth, &c. &c. " Ever yours, " B. "In the last MS. lines sent, instead of 'living heart,' convert to ' quivering heart.' It is in the line 9th of the MS. passage. " Ever yours again, " B ." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Alteration of a line in Canto second. Instead of— " And tints to-morrow with a fancied ray, " And tints to-morrow -wlih prophetic ray. " The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray ; gilds " And tints the hope of morning with its ray ; " And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray. « I wish you would ask Mr. GifFord which of them is best, or rather not worst. « Ever &c. " You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the revise, after I have seen the said re- vise.^' NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 13, 1813. "Certamly. Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with Adam, and Eve, and Cain,* and JVoah ? Surely, I might have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses. When you know that Zuleika is the Persian poetical name for Potiphar's wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem, in the Persian, this will not surprise you. If you want authority, look at Jones, D'Herbelot, Vathek, or the notes to the Arabian Nights ; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a note.j " Alter, in the inscription, ' the most affectionate re- spect,' to ' with every sentiment of regard and respect.' " NOTE TO MR. MURRAY, "Nov. 14, 1813. "I send you a note for the ignorant,l but I really wonder at finding you among them. I don't care one lump of sugar for my poetry ; but for my costume and my correctness on those points (of which I think the funeral was a proof,) I will combat lustily. "Yours, &c." "Nov. 14, 1813. Lot the revise which I sent just now (and not the proof m Mr. Gifford's possession) be returned to the printer, as there are several additional corrections, and two new lines in it. « Yours &c." LETTER CLXXXIIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 15, 1813. " Mr. Hodgson has looked over and stopped, or rather pointed, this revise, which must be the one to print from. He has also made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flatter- ing, intimate of mine. He likes it (you wiU think^after- ingly, in this instance) better than the Giaour, but doubts (and so do 1) its being so popular, but, contrary to some others, advises a separate pubhcation. On this we can easily decide. I confess I like the double form better. Hodgson says, it is better versified than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more hours at a time) than any attempt I ever made. "P. S. Do attend to the punctuation: I can't, for I don't know a comma — at least, where to place one. " That tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, . and perhaps more, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy ? I have re- inserted the two, but they were in the manuscript^ I can swear." ^r\?°""'J""^l ^"^ '"*•? «'^I"-'"«»<:'1 by Mr. Murray as to the propriety of hi. putting the name ol Cain into the raoulh of a Mussulman. ^ t See note 30, to the Bride of Ahydos. *u«uuumi. , t See note 28, to the Bride of Abydoi. LETTER CLXXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 17, 1813. " That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like ' the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more,' makes conversation not very plea- sant, I think it as well to write a few lines on the topic. Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of 'The Giaour;' and my answer was, from which I do not mean to recede, that we would discuss the point at Christmas. The new story may or may not succeed ; the probability, under present circum- stances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its ex- penses ; but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or another, we will say nothing about it. Thus then be it : I will postpone all arrangement about it, and the Giaour also, till Easter, 1814 ; and you shaU then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two. At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own estimation at half the Giaour ; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your pro- posal for the first, which has already had its success. " The pictures of Phillips I consider as mine, all three; and the one (not the Arnaout) of the two best is much a.t your sei-vice, if you will accept it as a present. " P. S. The expense of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my de- sire ; and have the goodness to bum that detestable print from it immediately. " To make you some amends for eternally pestering you with alterations, I send you Cobbett, to confirm your orthodoxy. "One more alteration of a into the in the MS.; it must be — ' The heart whose softness,^ &c. "Remember— and in the inscription 'to the Right Honourable Lord Holland,' without the previous names. Henry, &c." ' NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 20, 1813. More work for the Row. 1 am doing my best to beat the 'Giaour'—wo difficult task for any one but the author." LETTERS, 1813. 61 NOTE TO MR, MURRAY. « Nov. 22, 1813. " 1 have no time to cross-investigate, but I believe and hope all is right. I care less than you will believe about its suc- cess, but I can't survive a single misprint: it chokes me to see words misused by the printers. Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me. "P. S. Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Can- ning, Mr. Heber, Mr. GifFord, Lord Holland, Lord Mel- bourne (Whitehall,) Lady Caroline Lamb (Brocket,) Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge,) Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 23, 1813. "You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim (see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46,) eighteen lines in de- cent couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency. One more revise — positively the last, if decently done — at any rate the penultimate. Mr. Cannings approbation (if he did ap- prove) I need not say makes me proud. As to printing, print as you will and how you vvdll — by itselfj if you like; but let me have a few copies in sheets. "Nov. 24, 1813. " You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good : it must be thus — " He makes a solitude, and calls it peace. ^Make^ is closer to the passage of Tacitus, from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than ^leaves.'' •' Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease, He makes a solitude, and calls it — peace." LETTER CLXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 27, 1813. "If you look over this carefully by the last proof with my corrections it is probably right ; this you can do as well or better ; — I have not now time. The copies I mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new Giaours, if it also is ready. If not, send the Giaour afterward. " The Morning Post says / am the author of Nourjahad ! ! This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses ; but it IS not worth a fortnal contradiction. Besides, the criticisms on the supposition will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. The Orienlalism — which I liear is very splendid — of the mclodrame (whosever it is, and I am sure I don't know) is as good as an advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling tlieir heads with glitter. " P. S. You wiU of course say the truth, that I am not the melodramatist — if any one charges me in your presence with the performance." LETTER CLXXXVL TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 28, 1813. ' " Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady Holland of the Journal,* in my name, when you receive this; it is for £arl Grey — and I will relin(iuLsh my own. Also, to Mr. Sharpe, and Lady Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of ' The Bride,' as soon as convenient. "P. S. Mr. Ward and myself still continue our purpose ; but I shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of the Giaour and the Bride till our return — or, at any rato, before May, 1814 — that is, six montlw from hence ; ami be- fore tliat time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may bo a losing one ; if so, you can deduct propor- tionably ; and if not, I shall not at any rato allow you to go • Pbnroio'i JournaJ, a book published by Mr. Murray at tlu» time. higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair.* " I have had— but this must be entre nous, — a very kind note, on the subject of < the Bride,' from Sir James Mack- intosh, end an invitation to go there this evening, which it b now too late to accept." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 29, 1813. * Sunday — Monday morning — 3 o'clock — in my doublet and hose, swearing. " I send you in time an errata page, containing an omis- sion of mine which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text. The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines. Pray let this be done, and directly ; it is necessary, will add one page to your book (making,) and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the public. Answer me, thou oracle, in the affirmative. You can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like ; but certainly to all the critical copyholders. "P. S. I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep, whether I had amended this or not,) and so good morning. I am trying whether De L'Allemagne will act as an opiate, but I doubt it." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. « Nov. 29, 1813. " ' You have looked at it ." to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand ; it is not 'courage,^ hut* carnage f and if you don't want me to cut my own throat, see it altered. " I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden." LETTER CLXXXVn. TO MR. MURRAY. " Nov. 29, 1813, Monday. " You will act as you please upon that point ; but whether I go or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May — nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself. I have many things I wish to leave to your care, principally papers. The vases need not be now sent, as Mr. Ward is gone to Scotland. You are right about the errata page ; place it at the beginning. Mr. Perry is a little premature in his com- pliments ; these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think we ought to be above it — though I see the next para- graph is on the JoumaL,\ which makes me suspect you as the author of both. " Would it not have been as well to have said * in Two Cantos' in die advertisement? they will else think o( frag- ments, a species of composition very well for once, like one ruin in a mew ; but one would not build a town of them. The Bride, such as it is, is my first entire composition of any length (except the Satire, and be d — d to it,) for the Giaour is but a string of passages, and Childo Harold is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded. I return Mr. Hay's note, with thanks to him and you. " There have been some epigrams on Mr. Wai"d : one I see to-day. The first I did not see, but heard yesterday. The second seems very bad. I only hope tliat Mr. Ward does not believe that I had any connexion with either. I like and value him too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intondfd to annoy him or his. You need not take tlie trouble to answer this, as I shall SCO you in tJio course of the afternoon. " P. S. I have said this much about the epigrams, because I lived so much in tlio opposite camp, and, from my post aa an engineer, might bo suspected as Uio flinger of theso liand- grenadocs ; but with a worthy foe, I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have not had, nor will have, any thing to do with it. I do not know the aullior." • Mr. Murruy hiul otrcrcd bim a thouioud guinias for th« two IVmou. t Penrose's Journal. 62 LETTERS, 1813. NOTE TO MR. MURRAY, "Nov. 30, 1813. « Print this a.t ihe end of all thai is of the ' Bride of Abycbsl as an errata page. * Bn. « Omitted, canto 2d, page 47, after line 449, " So that those arms cling closer rouud my neck, Read,— " Then if my lip once murmur, it must be No sigh for safety, but a prayer for thee I" NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813. ■ For the sake of correctness, particularly in an errata {»ge, the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel ; let me see the proof early to-morrow. I found out murmur to be a neuter ueri, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus — " The deepest murmur of this lip shall be No sigh for safely, but a prayer for thee I Don't send the copies to the country till this is all right." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Dec. 2, 1813. " When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the errata page. I trust it is in lime for some of the copies. This alteration is in the same part — the page but one before the last correction sent. "P. S. I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped. This comes of Mr. Perry and one's ^vise friends ; but do not you \\ind your hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly ; and I have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Dec. 3, 1813. " I send you a scratch or two^ the which heal. The Chris- tian Observer is very savage, but certainly well written — and quite uncomfortable at thie naughtiness of book and author. I rather suspect you won't much like the present to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes. "Let me see a proof of the ^ before incorporation." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. " Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813. * It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67, which mxist be corrected with tlie pai^ if no other way remains ; it is the oniLssion of ' not before ' dutagrceabk,^ in the note on the amber rosary. This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the threshold — I mean the misnomer of Bride. Pray do not let a copy go without the ' not ;' it is nonsense and worse than nonsense as it now stands. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire. "P. S. It is still lialh instead of have in page 20; never was any one so misused as I am by your devils of printers. • P. S. I hope and irust tlie ' not'' was inserted in the first edition. We must have something — any thing — to set it right. It is enough to answer for one's own bulls, without other people's." LETTER CLXX XVIII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Dec. 27, 1813. ■Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel Tcry much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D'Arblay's (or even Miss Edgeworth's) new work. I know they are not out; but it is perhaps pos- sible for your Majesty to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet. I need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged. I would abnost fall sick myself to get at Ma- dame D'Arblay's writings. "P. S. You were talking to-day of the American edition of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days. As it can't be helped now, I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of Transatlantic typography. This you will per- haps obtain, and one for yourself: but I must beg that you will not import more, because, seriously, I do wish to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven. " If you send to the Globe editor, say that I want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge. I never was consistent in any thing but my politics ; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last aucho>- " LETTER CLXXXIX. TO MR. ASHE.* «4, Bennet-street, St. James's, Dec. 14, 1813. ''sir, "I leave town for a few days to-morrow; on my return, I will answer your letter more at length. Whatever may be your situation, I cannot but commend your resolution to abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as those to which you have alluded. Depend upon it, they amuse /eu), disgrace both r coder and writer, and benefit none. It will be my wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such a bondage. In your an- swer, inform me what sum you think would enable you to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain at least temporary independence, and I shall be gloxl to contribute my mite towards it. At present I must con- clude. Your name is not unknown to me, and I regret, for your owTi sake, that you have ever lent it to the works you mention. In saying this, I merely repeat your mvn wards in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable that may appear to insult your misfortunes. If I have, excuse me ; it is unintentional. " Yours, &c. " Byron." [In answer to this letter, Ashe mentionedas the sum ne- cessary to extricate him from his difficulties, 150i. — and, some short delay having occurred in the reply to this demand, hcj in renewing his suit, complained, it appears, of neglect.] LETTER CXG. TO MR. ASHE. 'Jan. 5, 1814. 'sir. "When you accuse a stranger of neglect, you forget that it is possible business or absence from London may have interfered to delay his answer, as has actually occurred in the present instance. But to the point. I am willing to do what I can to extricate you from your situation. Your first scheme I was considering ; but your own impatience ap- pears to have rendered it abortive, if not irretrievable. I will deposite in Mr. Murray's hands (with his consent) the sum you mentioned, to be advanced for the time at ten pounds per month. "P. S. I write in the greatest hurry, which may make my letter a little abrupt ; but, as I said before, I have no wish to distress your feelings." • Author of a publication relating to the ftueen, called " The Book:" also of" Travels through America," and other notorious libels. He bad written to Lord Byron, alleging poverty as his excuse for the vile uses to which he had prostituted his peu, aud soliciting the means of obtaining some honest empuyroeut. LETTERS, 1814. 63 LETTER CXCL TO MR. GALT. "Dec. 11, 1813. "my DEAR GALT, " There was no offence — there could be none.* I thought it by no means impossible that we might have hit on some- thing similar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was aaxious to assure you of the truth, viz. that I had not wit- tingly seized upon plot, sentiment, or incident ; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched upon your subjects. Something still more singular is, that the^rs^ part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your observations on life, was drawn from observation of mine also ; and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on second thoughts, I thought myself two centuries at least too late for the subject i which, though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of the Greeks, one of Schiller's and Alfieri's, in modern times, besides several of our old (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similar cast. I therefore altered it as you perceive, and, in so doing, have weakened the whole by interrupting the train of thought; and, in composi- tion, I do not diink second thoughts are the best, though second expressions may improve the first ideas. " I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie estabhshed between all who have met together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased ; but I always look forward to renewing my travels, and though you, I think, are now sta- tionary, if I can at all forward your pursuits there as well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity. " Ever yours very sincerely, " B. " P. S. I believe I leave town for a day or two, on Mon- day, but after that I am always at home, and happy to see you till half past two." LETTER CXCII. TO MR. LEIGH HUNT. "Dec. 22, 1813. ■ MY DEAR SIR, " I am, indeed, ' in your debt' — and what is still worse, am obliged to follow royal example, [he has just apprized his creditors that they must wait till the meeting,] and entreat your indulgence for, I hope, a very short time. The nearest relation, and almost the only friend I possess, has been in London for a week, and leaves it to-morrow, with me, for her own residence. I return immediately ; but we meet so seldom, and are so miniUed when we meet at all, that I give up all engagements, till now, without reluctance. On my return, I must see you to console myself for my past disappoint- ments. I should feel highly honoured in Mr. B 's permission to make his accjuaintance, and there you arc in my debt, for it is a promise of last summer which I still hope to see performed. Yesterday I had a letter from Moore ; you have probably heard from him lately ; but if not, you will be glad to learn that he is Uie same in heart, head, and healtii." LETTER CXCm. TO MR. MERIVALE. "Jan. 1814. •my dear MERIVALE, " I have redde Roncesvaux with very great pleasure, and (if 1 were so disposed) see very little room for criticism. There is a choice of two lines in one of the last Cantos, — I * " It woiilil apfienr tlmt lie Imd wrilleu to mo loinrthiiiR wliicb led tnc 'o Imngine he wan otfendeU at my nbiervfttioiii, and thai I nud, iu coiiia- him and Mr. Murrmy. 64 L E T T E R S 7 1814. NOTE TO MR. MITRKAT. "Jan. 7, 1814. "You don't like the Dedication— very well; there is an- other: but you will send the other to Mr. Moore, that he may know I had written it. I send also mottos for the cantos. 1 think you will allow that an elephant may be more Bagacious, but carmot be more docile. ' "Yours, «B.x. « The Tiame is again altered to Medora.''* LETTER CXCVI. TO MR. MOORE. "Jan. 8, 1814. "As it would not be fair to press you into a Dedication, without previous notice, I send you tvoo, and I will tell you why ttoo. The first, Mr. Murray, who sometimes takes upon him the critic (and I bear it from astonishment) says, may do you harm — God forbid I this alone makes me listen to him. The fact is, he is a damned Tory, and has, I dare swear, something of self, which I cannot divine, at the bottom of liis objection, as it is the allusion to Ireland to which he objects. But he be d — d, though a good fellow enough, (your sinner would not be worth a d — n.) " Take your choice ; no one, save he and Mr. Dallas, has seen either, and D. is quite on my side, and for the first.f If I can but testify to you and the world how truly I admire and esteem you, I shall be quite satisfied. As to prose, I don't know Addison's from Johnson's ; but I will try to mend my cacology. Pray perpend, pronounce, and don't be of- fended with either. " My last epistle would probably put you b a fidget. But the Devil, who ought to be civil on such occasions, proved 60, and took my letter to the right place. ****** " Is it not odd ? the very fate I said she had escaped from * *, she has now undergone from the worthy * *. Like Mr. Fitzgerald, shall I not lay claim to the character of * Vates ?' as he did in tlie Morning Herald for prophesying the fall of Buonaparte, who, by-the-by, I don't think is yet fallen. I wish he would rally and rout your legitimate sovereigns, having a mortal hate to all royal entails. But I am scrawling a treatise. Good night. Ever, &c.'' NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Jan. 11, 1814. "Correct this proof by Mr. Gifford's (and from the MSS.) particularly as to the pointing. I have added a section for Gulnare, to fill up the parting, and dismiss her more ceremoniously. If Mr. Gitford or you dislike, 'tis but a sponge^ and another midnight better employed than in yawning over Miss * * ; who, by-the-by, may soon return the compliment. " Wednesday or Thursday. "P. S. I have redde * *. It is full of praises of Lord Ellenboroiigh ! ! ! (from which I infer near and dear rela- tions at tlie bar,) and ♦ * + ♦ " I do not love Madame de Stael, but depend upon it, she beats all your natives hollow as an authoress, in my opinion ; and I woiild not say this if I could help it. • II hart been at first Gcncvra. t The Am was the one preferred. The other was as follows: — "Jan. 7. 1814. " My dear Moore, " I had written to yon n long letter of dedication, which I suppress, be- cause, though it CJjnlaiiied something reiutine to you which every one hart been glad to henr, yet (here w.is too much about politics, and poesy, and all things whatsoever, ending with ihat topic on which most men are fluent, and none very amusing— one's »»//. It might have been rewritten— but to wliat puriwjv .' My praise could add nothing to your well-earned :ind flrmiy eslablished fame; and with my most hearty admlralinn of your talenU, and delight in your couviM-»:ition, you ^c nl'ruady arquainted. In ■vailing myself of your friendly penni»ii..'u irt"incribe this Poem to you, I can oidy wish Ihe oflering were as worthy your acceptance as your r«- |ard is dear lo " Yours, most alTrctionatcly and faithfully. "ByhON." " P. S. Pray report my best acknowledgments to Mr. GifTord in any words that may best express how truly his kindness obliges me. I won't bore him with Up thanks or notesP NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "Jan. 13,1814. " I have but a moment to write, but all is as it should be. I have said really far short of my opinion, but if you think enough, I am content. Will you return the proof by the post, as I leave town on Sunday, and have no other cor- rected copy. I put ' servant,' as being less familiar before the public ; because I don't like presuming upon our friend- ship to infrmge upon forms. As to the otlier xmrd, you may be sure it is one I cannot hear or repeat too often. "I wTite in £ui agony of haste and confusion. — ^Perdonate." LETTER CXCVn. TO MR. MURRAY. "Jan. 15, 1814. " Before any proof goes to Mr. Gifford, it may be as well to revise this, where there are words omitted, faults com- mitted, and tlie de\Tl knows what. As to the Dedication, I cut out the parenthesis of Mr.*- but not another word shall move unless for a belter. Mr. Moore has seen, and de- cidedly preferred, the part your Tory bile sickens at. If every syllable were a ratdesnake, or every letter a pesti- lence, they should not be expunged. Let those who cannot swallow, chew the expressions on Ireland; or should even Mr. Croker array himself in all his terrors against them, I care for none of you, except Giiford ; and he won't abuse me except I deserve it — which ivill at least reconcile me to his j ustice . As to the poems in Hobhouse's volume,f the trans- lation from the Romaic is well enough ; but the best of the other volume (of mine, 1 mean) have been already printed. But do as you please — only, as I shall be absent when you come out, do, pray, let Mr. Dallas and you have a care of the press. "Yours, &c." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. ["1814, Jan. 16.] "I do believe that the Devil never created or perverted such a fiend as the fool of a printer. I am obliged to enclose you, luckily for me, this second proo^ corrected, because there is an ingenuity in his blunders peculiar to liimself. Let the press be guided by the present sheet. "Yours, &c. " Bum the other. "Correct this also by the other in some things which I may have forgotten. There is one mistake he made, which, if it had stood, I would most certainly have broken his neck." LETTER CXCATH. TO IvIR. MURRAY. "Newstead Abbey, Jan. 22, 1814. " You will be glad to hear of my safe arrival here. The time of my return will depend upon the weather, which is so impracticable tliat this letter has to advance through more snows tiian ever opposed the emperor's retreat. The roads are impassable, and return impossible for the present; which I do not regret, as I am much at my ease, and six-and^txventy complete this day — a very pretty age, if it would always last. Our coals are excellent, our fire-places large, my cellar full, and my head empty ; and I haye not yet recovered my joy at leaving London. If any unexpected turn occurred with my purchasers, I believe I should hardly quit the place at all ; but shut my door, and let my beard grow. "I forgot to mention (and I hope it is unnecessary) that * He had. at first, after the words " Scott alone," inserted, in thesis,—'' He will excuse the Mr.—' we do not say Mr Cssar.' LETTERS, 1814. 65 the lines beginning — Remember him,* &c, must not appear with tlie Corsair. You may slip them in with the smaller pieces newly annexed to Cfulde Harold; but on no account permit them to be appended to the Corsair. Have the goodness to recollect this particularly. " The books I have brought with me are a great consola- tion for the confinement, and I bought more as we came along. In short, I never consult the thermometer, and shall not put up prayers for a thaw, unless I thought it would sweep away the rascally invaders of France. Was ever such a thing as Blucher's proclamation? " Just before I left town, Kemble paid me the compliment of desiring me to write a tragedy; I wish I could, but I find my scribbling mood subsiding — not before it was time ; but it is lucky to check it at all. If I lengthen my letter you will think it is coming on again ; so, good bye. " Yours alway, " B. "P. S. If you hear any news of battle or retreat on the part of the Allies, (as they call them,) pray send it. He has my best wishes to manure the fields of France with an invading army. I hate invaders of all countries, and have no patience \vith the cowardly cry of exultation over him, at whose name you all turned whiter than the snow to which you are indebted for your triumphs. "I open my letter to thank you for yours just received. The 'Lines to a Lady Weeping' must go with the Corsair. I care nothing for consequence on this point. My politics are to me bke a young mistress to an old man — the worse they grow, the fonder I become of them. As Mr. Gifford lilces the ' Portuguese Translation,'! pray insert it as an ad- dition to the Corsair. i "In all points of difference between Mr. Gifford and Mr. Dallas, let the first keep his place ; and in all points of dif- ference between Mr. Giflford and Mr. Anybody-else, I shall abide by the fonner ; if I am wrong, I can't help it. But I would rather not be right with any other person. So there is an end of that matter. After all the trouble he has taken about me and mine, I should be very ungrateful to feel or act otherwise. Besides, in point of judgment, he is not to be lowered by a comparison. In politics, he may be right too ; but that with me is 3l feeling, and I can't tonfy my na- ture." LETTER CXCIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Newstead Abbey, Feb. 4, 1814. " I need not say that your obliging letter was very wel- come, and not the less so for being unexpected. " It doubtless gratifies me much that onr Jinale has pleased, and that the curtain drops gracefully .J You deserve it should, for your promptitude and good nature in arranging immediately with Mr. Dallas ; and I can assure you that I esteem your entering so warmly into the subject, and writing to me so soon upon it, as a personal obligation. We shall now part, I hope, satisfied with each other. I was and am quite in earnest in my prefatory promise not to intrude any more; and this not from any affectation, but a thorough con- viction that it is the best policy, and is at least respectful to my readers, as it shows that I would not willingly run tlie risk of forfeiting their favour in future. Besides, I have other views and objects, and think that I shall keep this reso- lution ; for, since I loft London, though shut up, S7io?/>-bound, Uuiw-hounA, and tempted with all kinds of paper, the dirtiest of ink, and the bluntest of pens, I have not even been haunted • See PocmB, p. 191. 1 llii traiiHlolioii of llie prelly Portiietieie »oiig, " Tu mi cliamns." He wru tempted to Iry another version nt this iiiKenioiis tliuiiKht, whicb is, perhaps, still more happy, and has never, I believe, nppeiireil in priol. " You call me Rtill your /»/«— ah! chnnne the word- Life IK as Irunsient i\s tli' inconsiniit sieh ; S»v, rather, 1 'm your loul, more just tlmt niimc, For, like Ihc soul, my love cun never die." — Moore. t It will he recollected that he had announced the Corsnir as " the last production with which he should trespass on public patience for some Itars." 9 by a wish to put them to their combined uses, except in let- ters of business. My rhyming propensity is quite gone, and I feel much as I did at Patras on recovering from my fever — weak, but in health, and only afraid of a relapse. I do most fervently hope I never shall. "I see by the Morning Chronicle there hath been dis- cussion in die Courier; and 1 read in the IVIorriing Post a wratliful letter about Mr. Moore, in which some Protestant Reader has made a sad confusion about India and Ireland. " You are to do as you please about the smaller poems : but I think removing them now from the Corsair looks lilie fear; and if so, you must allow^me not to be pleased. I should also suppose that, after tlie ftiss of these newspaper esquires, they would materially assist the circulation of the Corsair ; an object I should imagine at present of more im- portance to yourself than Childe Harold's seventh appear- ance. Do as you like ; but don't allow the withdrawing that poem to draw any imputation o( dismay upon me.* "Pray make my respects to Mr. Ward, whose praise I value most highly, as you well know ; it is in the approbation of such men that fame becomes worth having. To Mr. Gifford 1 am always grateful, and surely not less so now than ever. And so good night to my authorship. "I have been sauntering and dozing here very quietly, and not unhappily. You will be happy to hear that I have completely estabhshed my title deeds as marketable, and that the jjurchaser has succumbed to the terms, and fulfils them, or Is to fulfil them forthwith. He is now here, and we go on very amicably together — one in each wivg of die Abbey. We set off on Sunday — I for to\ra, he for Che- shire. Mrs. Leigh is with me — much pleased with the place, and less so with me for parting with it, to which not even the price can reconcile her. Your parcel has not yet arrived — at least the Mags. &c. ; but I have received Childe Harold and the Corsair. I beUeve both are very correctly printed, which is a great satisfaction. " I thank you for wisliing me in town ; but I thmk one's success is most felt at a distance, and I enjoy my solitary self-importance in an agreeably sulky way of my own, upon the strength of your letter — for which I once more thank you, and am, very truly, &c. " P. S. Don't you think Buonaparte's next publication will be rather expensive to the Allies ? Perry's Paris letter of yesterday looks very reviving. What a Hydra and Briareus it is ! I wish they would pacify : Uiere is no end to this campaigning." LETTER CC. TO MR. MURRAY, "Newstead Abbey, Feb. 6, 1814. " I quite forgot, in my answer of yesterday, to mention that I have no means of ascertaining whether the Newark Pirate has been doing what you say.t If so, lie is a rascal, and a shabby rascal too; and if his offence is punishable by law or pugilism, he shall be fined or bufVoted. Do you try and dis- cover, and I will make some inquiry here. Porhajjs some other in town may have gone on pr'mting, and used tlie same deception. " The facsimile is omitted in Childe Harold, which is very av\ kward, as there is a note expressly on the subject. Pray replace it as usital. " On secontl and third thoughts, the withdrawing the small poems from thf Corsair (even to add to Childe Harold) looks like shrinking and shufHing, afier th(> fuss made ujKjn one of tlieiM by tlie Torit^s. IVay replace them in the Corsair's appendix. 1 am sorry Uiat Chikle IlaroUl retjuires some ami .such ahctinents to make him move off: but, if you remetnbtT, I told you his jK>pularity would not bo permanent. It is very lucky for the author tliat he had • He nlhidis to lines heglnninR " Wee)., datighter i-f a r.'vnl hue." Poems, p. 192. t Hvprlnllug the " Hours of Idleness." 66 LETTERS, 1814, made up his mind to a temporary reputation in time. The | pleasantly. You can have no conception of the uproar the truth is, I do not think that any of the present day (and least of all, one who has nc! consulted tlie flattering side of human nature) have much to hope from posterity ; and you may think it affectation very probably, but to me, my present and past success has appeared very singular, since it was in the teeth of so many prejudices. I almost tiiink people like to be contradicted. If Childe Harold flags, it will hardly be worth while to go on with the engravings : but do as you please ; I have done with the whole concern ; and die en- closed lines written years ago, and copied from my skullcap, are among the last with which you will be troubled. If you like, add them to Cliilde Harold, if only for tlie sake of another outcry. You received so long an answer yesterday, that I will not intrude on you further than to repeat myselfj " Yours, &c. "P. S. Of course, in reprinting (if you have occasion) you will take great care to be correct. The present editions seem very much so, except in the last note of Childe Harold, where the word responsible occurs twice, nearly together ; correct the second into answerable.^' NOTE TO MR. MURRAV. "Newark, Feb. 6, 1814. "I am tlius far on ray way to town. Master Ridge* I have seen, and he o\vns to having reprinted some sheets, to make up a few complete remaining copies ! I have now given him fair warning, and if he plays such tricks again, 1 must either get an injunction, or call for an account of profits, (as I never have parted with the cqjyright,) or, in short, any thing vexatious to repay him in his own way. If the weather does not relapse, I hope to be in town in a day or two. "Yours, kc." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "Feb. 7,1814. ** + * + + * I see all the papers in a sad commotion with those eight lines ;t and the Morning Post, in particular, has found out that I am a sort of Richard HI.— deformed in mind and body. The last piece of information is not very new to a man who passed five years at a public school. "I am very sorry you cut out tliose lines for ChiMe Harold. Pray reinsert them in their old place in 'The Corsair.'" LETTER CCI. TO MR. HODGSON. "Feb. 28, 1814. ■ There is a youngster — and a clever one, named Rey nolds, who has just published a poem called ' Safie,' published by Cawthome. He is in the most natural and fearful ap- prehension of the Reviewers — and as you and I both know by experience the effect of such things upon a young mind. I wish you would take his production into dissection and do it gently. I cannot, because it is inscribed to me ; but I a.ssure you this is not my motive for wisliing him to be ten- derly entreated, but because I know the misery, at his time of life, of untoward remarks upon first appearance. " Now for self. Pray thank your cousin— it is just as it should be, to my liking, and probably nwre tlian will suit any ono else's. I hope and trust that you are well and well doing. Peace be with you. Ever yours, my dear friend." LETTER ecu. TO MR, MOORE. "Feb. 10,1814. " I ai-nved m to\vn late yesterday evening, having been absent three weeks, which I passed in Nolls, quietly and eight lines on the little Royalty's weeping in 1812 (now re- published) have occasioned. The Regent, who had always thought them yours, chose — God knows why-^n discover- ing them to be mine, to be qffected ' in sorrow rather than anger.' The Morning Post, Sun, Herald, Courier, have all been in hysterics ever since. Murray is in a fright, and wanted to shuffle — and the abuse against me in all directions is vehement, unceasing, loud — some of it good, and all of it hearty. I feel a little compunctious as to the Regent's re- gret; — 'would he had been only angry! but 1 fear him not.' "Some of these same assailments you have probably seen. My person (which is excellent for 'tJie nonce') has been de- nounced in verses, the more like the subject, inasmuch as they halt exceedingly. Then, in another, I am an atlieist — a rebel — and, at last, the devil, {boiteux, I presume.) My demonism seems to be a female's conjecture : if so, periiaps I could convince her that I am but a mere mortal, — if a queen of the Amazons may be bebeved, who says apiarrov Xo^os oi<()£L. I quote from memory, so my Greek is pro- bably deficient ; but the passage is meant to mean * * * + * +^ " Seriously, I am in, what the learned call, a dilemma, and the 'sailgar, a scrape ; and my friends desire me not to be in a passion, and lile unanswerable letters to wade through before I sleep, but to-morrow will see me through your volume. 1 am glad to see you have tracked Gray among the Italians. You will perhaps find a friend or two of yours there also, though not to the same extent ; but I have always thought the Italians the most poetical moderns ; our Milton and Spenser, and Sliakspeare, (the last through translations of their Tales,) are very Tuscan, and surely it is far superior to the French school. You are hardly fair enough to Rogers, Why tea ? you might surely have given him sup- per, if only a sandwich. Murray has, I' hope, sent you my last banthng, 'The Corsair.' I have been regaled at every inn on the road by lampoons and other merry con- ceits on myself in the ministerial gazettes, occasioned by the republication of two stanzas, inserted in 1812, ijji Perry's paper. The hysterics of the Morning Post are quite interesting ; and I hear (but have not seen) of something terrific in a last week's Courier : all which I take with the 'calm indiflTerence' of Sir Fretful Plagiary. The Morning Post has one copy of devices upon my deformity, which certainly will admit of no ' historic doubts' like ' Dickon my master's,' another upon my atheism, which is not quite so clear, and another very downrightly says, ' I am the danl, {boileuxy they might have added,) and a rebel, and what not: possibly, my accuser of diabolism may be Rosa Matilda ; and if so, it would not be difficult to convince her that I am a mere man. I shall break in upon you in a day or two, distance haa hitherto detained me ; and I hope to find you well, and myself welcome. ** Ever your obliged and sincere "Byron. "P. S. Since this letter was written, I have been at your text, which has much good humour in every sense of the word. Your notes are of a very high order indeed, particularly on Wordsworth." LETTER CCIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Monday, Feb. 14,1814. "Before I left town yesterday, I wrote you a nole, which I presume you received. I have heard so many dilforent accounts of your proceedings, or rather of those of otliers towards you, m consequence of the publication of these cverlastmg lines, that I am anxious to hear Inmi your- self tlio real state of the case. Whatever responsil)ililv, obloquy, or effect is to arise from the publication, should surely not fall upon you in any degree ; and 1 can iiavo no objection to your stating, as distinctly and publicly as you please, yonr unwillingness to publish them, and my own obstinacy upon the subject. Take any course you please to vindicate yourself, but leave me to fight my own way, and, as I before said, do not compromise me by any thing which may look like shrinking on my part ^ as for your own, make the best of it. "Yours, «Bn." LETTER CCV. TO MR. ROGERS. "Feb. 16,1814. "my dear ROGERS, " 1 wrote to Lord HoOand briefly, but I hope distinctly, on the subject which has lately occupied much of my conversation with him and you.* As things now stand, upon that topic my determination must be unalterable. " I declare to you most sincerely that there is no hu- man being on whose regard and esteem I set a higher value than on Lord Holland's ; and, as far as concerns himself^ I would concede even to humiliation without any view to the future, and solely from my sense of his conduct as to the past. B'or the rest, I conceive that I have already done all in my power by the suppression. f If that is not enough, they must act as they please ; but I will not ' teach my tongue a most inherent baseness,' come what may. You will probably be at the Marquis Lansdowne's to-night. I am asked, but I am not sure that I shall be able to go. Hobhouse will be there. I think, if you knew him well, you would like him. " Believe me always yours very affectionately, «B/' LETTER CCVL TO MR, ROGERS. « Feb. 16, 1814. " If Lord Holland is satisfied, as far as regards him- self and Lady Hd. and as this letter expresses him to be, it is enough. " As for any impression the public may receive from the revival of the lines on Lord Carlisle, let them keep it, — the more favourable for him, and tlie worse for me — better for all. " All the sayings and doings in the world shall not make me utter another word of conciliation to any thing that breathes. I shall bear what I can, and what 1 cannot, I shall resist. The worst they could do would be to exclude me from society. I have never courted it, nor, I may add, in the general sense of the word, en- joyed it — and ' there is a world elsewhere !' "Any thing remarkably injurious, I have the same means of repaying as other men, with such interest as circumstances may annex to it. " Nothing but the necessity of adhering to regimen prevents me from dining with you to-morrow. " I am yours niost truly, " Bn.» LETTER CCVIL TO MR. MOORE. Th«FcMtofthePooti. "Feb. 16, 1814. "You may be assured that the only prickles that slinf from the Royal hedgehog are those which possess a torpedo property, and may benumb some of my friends, /am quite sikiit^ and ' luu^h'd in grim repose.' The frequency of iho assaults has woakoned their eHecIs, — if ever thoy had any ;— and, if they had hnil much 1 should hardly have held my tongue, or withheld my fingers. It ia something quite now to attack a man for abaudonmg • Ri-lullve to n proposed reconelllcHoii bctwpen LonI Carlltlt iindhliu. lulf. t OriheSaUrt. 68 LETTERS, 1514. his resen Tnrnt5. I have heard hat previous praise and subsequent vitupt-raiion were rather ungrateful, but I did not know thf.t it was v.-ror^ to endeavour to do justice to those ^\ho did not wail till I had made some amends for former and boyisli prejudices, but received me into "their friendship, u lien I might still have been their ' enemv. ' You perceive justly that I must irdentimaUy have made my fortune, like Sir Francis Wronghead. It were better if there were more merit in my independence, but it really is something nowadays to be independent at all, and the Itss temptation to be otherwise, the more un- common the case, m these times of paradoxical servility [ believe that most of our hates and likings have been aitherto nearly the same; but from henceforth, they ' must, of necessity, be one and indivisible,— and now for it ! I am for any weapon,— the pen, till one can find something sharper, will do for a beginning. " You can have no conception of the ludicrous solem- nity with which these two stanzas have been treated. The Mornino Post gave notice of an intended motion in the House of my brethren on the subject, and God knows what proceedings besides ;— and all this, as Bedridden in the ' Nights' says, ' for making a cream tart without pep- per.' Tliis last piece of intelligence is, I presume, too laughable to be true ; and the destruction of the Custom- house appears to have, in some degree, interfered with mine ;— added to which, the last battle of Buonaparte has usurped the column hitherto devoted to my bulletin. " I send you from this day's Morning Post the best which have hitherto appeared on this 'impudent dog- gerel,' as the Courier calls it. There was another about my diet, when a boy — not at all bad — some time ago 5 but the rest are but indifferent. "I shall think about your oratorical hint;* — but I have never set much upon ' that cast,' and am grown as tired as Solomon of every thing, and of myself more than any thing. This is being what the learned call philo- sophical, and the vulgar, lack-a-daisical. I am, however, always glad of a blessing ;| pray repeat yours soon, — at least, your letter, and I shaU think the benediction in- cluded. « Ever, Sec." that now, as always, you will think that I wish to take no unfair advantage of the accidental opportunity which cir- cumstances permitted me of being of use to you. " Ever, &C.'' LETTER CCVIII. TO MR. DALLAS. "Feb. 17, 1814. "The Courier of this evening accuses me of having 'received and pocketed' large sums for my works. I have never yet received, nor wish to receive, a farthing for any. Mr. Murray offered a thousand for the Giaour and Bride of Abydos, which I said was too much, and that if he could afford it at the end of six months, I would then direct how it might be disposed of; but neither then, nor at any other period, have I ever availed myself of the profits on my own account. For the republication of tht! Satire, I refused four hundred guineas ; and for the previous editions I never asked nor received a sous, nor for any writing whatever. I do not wish you to do any thmg disagreeable to yourself ; there never was nor shall be any conditions nor stipulations with regard to any ac- commodation that I could afford you ; and, on your part, I can see nothing derogatory in receiving the copyrioht. It was only assistance afforded to a worthy man, by one not quite so worthy. "Mr. Murray is going to contradict this ;J but your name will not be mentioned : for your own part, you are a free agent, and are to do as you please. I only hope • Mr. Moore had nnflcavoiired to persuade liim to take a. part in par liamcntary aff«ir», and to exercise his talent for oratory more frequentlv 1 In conchiding his letter, Mr. Moore having said " God bless you \'' ■ddetl-" that is, jf you have no objection." X The s'Aiemenl of the Courier, kt. In consequence of this letter, Mr. Dallas addressed an explanation to one of the newspapers, of which the fol- lowing is a part : — TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING POST. " SIR, " I have seen the paragraph in an evening paper, in which Lord Byron is accused of ' receiving and pocketing* large sums for his works, I believe no one who knows him has the slightest suspicion of this kind ; but the as- sertion being public, I think it a justice I owe to Lord Byron to contradict it publicly. + + + " I take upon me to affirm that Lord Byron never re- ceived a shilling for any of his works. To my certain knowledge, the profits of the Satire were left entirely to the publisher of it. The gift of the copyright of Chalde Harold's Pilgrimage, I have already publicly acknow- ledged in the dedication of the new edition of my novels: and I now add my acknowledgment for that of the Cor- sair, not only for the profitable part of it, but for the deli- cate and delightful manner of bestowing it while yet un- published. With respect to his two other poems, the Giaour and the Bride of Abydos, Mr. Murray, the pub- lisher of them, can truly attest that no part of the sale of them has ever touched his hands, or been disposed of for his use." LETTER CCIX. TO ^ + ^ 'i^^ "sir, « Feb. 20, 1814. "My absence from London till withm these last few 9a.ys, and business since, have hitherto prevented my ac- knowledgment of the volume I have lately received, and the inscription which it contains, for both of which I beg leave to return you my thanks, and best v/ishes for the success of the book and its author. The poem itself as the workof a young man, is creditable to your talents, and promises better for future efforts than any which I can now recollect. Whether you intend to pursue your poetical career, I do not know, and can have no right to inquire — but, in whatever channel your abilities are directed, I think it will be your own fault if they do not eventually lead to distinction. Happiness must of course depend upon con- duct — and even fame itself would be but a poor compen- sation for self-reproach. You will excuse me for talking to a man perhaps not many years my junior, with these grave airs of seniority ; but though I cannot claim much advantage in that respect, it was my lot to be thrown very early upon the world — to mix a good deal in it in more cli- mates than one — and to purchase experience which would probably have been of greater service to any one than myself But my business with you is in your capacity of author, and to that I will confine myself The first thing a young writer must expect, and yet can least of all suffer, is criticism. I did not bear it — a few years, and many changes have since passed over my head, and my reflections on that subject are attended with regret. I find, on dispassionate comparison, my own re- venge more than the provocation warranted. It is true, I was very young — that might be an excuse to those I at- tacked — but to me it is none : the best reply to all objec- tions is to write better — and if your enemies will not then do you justice, the world will. On the other hand, you should not be discouraged — to be opposed, is not to be vanquished, though a timid mind is apt to mistake every scratch for a mortal wound. There is a saying of Dr. Johnson's, which it is as well to remember, that ' no man was ever written down except by himself.' I sincerely hope that you will meet with as few obstacles as yourself LETTERS, 1814. 69 can desire — but if you should, you will find that they are to be stepped over ; to Idck them down is the first resolve of a young and fiery spirit— a pleasant thing enough at the time — but not so afterwards : on this point, I speak of a man's oxjun reflections — what others think or say, is a secondary consideration — at least, it has been so wilh me, but will not answer as a general maxim : he who would make his way in the world, must let the world believe that it was made for him, and accommodate himself to the minutest observance of its regulations. 1 beg once more to thank you for your pleasing present, " And have the honour to be " Your obliged and very obedient servant, « Byron." LETTER OCX. TO MR. MOORE. "Feb. 26, 1814. " Dallas had, perhaps, have better kept silence ; — but that was his concern, and, as his facts are correct, and his motive not dishonourable to himself^ I wished him well through it. As for his interpretations of the lines, he and any one else may interpret them as they please. I have and shall adhere to uiy taciturnity, unless something very particular occurs to render this impossible. Do not you say a word. If any one is to speak, it is the person prin- cipally concerned. Tlie most amusing thing is, that every one (to me) attributes the abuse to the man they person- ally most dislike! — some say Croker, some C * * e, others Fitzgerald, &c. &c. &c. I do not know, and have no clue but conjecture. If discovered, and he turns out a hireling, he must be lefl to his wages ; if a cavalier, he must ' wink, and hold out his iron.' " I had some thoughts of putting the question to Croker, but Hobhouse, who, I am sure, would not dissuade me, if it were right^ advised me by all means not ; — ' that I had no right to take it upon suspicion,' &c. &c. Whether Hobhouse is correct, I am not aware, but he believes him- self so, and says there can be but one opinion on that sub- ject. This I am, at least, sure of, that he would never prevent me from doing what he deemed the duty of a preux chevalier. In such cases — at least, in this country — we must act according to usages. In considering this instance, I dismiss my own personal feelings. Any man will and must fight, when necessary, — even without a mo- tive. Here, I should take it up really without much re- sentment ; for unless a woman one likes is in the way, it is some years since 1 felt a long anger. But, undoubt- edly, could I, or may I, trace it to a man of station, I should and shall do what is proper. " * + was angerly, but tried to conceal it. You are not called upon to avow the ' Twopenny.' and would only gratify them by so doing. Do you not see the great ob- ject of all these fooleries is to set him, and you, and me, and all persons whatsoever, by the ears ? — more especially those who are on good terms — and nearly succeeded. Lord H. wished me to concede to Lord Carlisle — concede to the devil ! — to a man who used me ill ? I told him, in answer, that I would neither concede, nor recede on the subject, but be silent altogether ; unless any thing more could be said about Lady H. and himself who had been since my very good friends ;— and there it ended. This was no time for concessions to Lord C. " I have been interrupted, but shall write again soon. Believe me ever, my dear Mooro, &c." is the only answer to the things you mention ; nor should I regard that man as my friend who said a word more on the subject. I care little for attacks, but I will not submit to defences ; and I do hope and trust that you have never entertained a serious thought of engaging in so foolish a controversy. Dallas's letter was, to his credit, merely as to the facts which he had a right to state ; / neither have nor shall take the least public notice, nor permit any one else to do so. If I discover the writer, then I may act in a different manner ; but it will not be in writing. "An expression in your letter has induced me to write this to you, to entreat you not to interfere in any way in such a business, — it is now nearly over, and depend upon it they are much more chagrined by my silence than they could be by the best defence in the world. I do not know any thing that would vex me more than any further reply to these things. "Ever yours, in haste, "B." LETTER CCXI TO W ♦ * W * *, ESft.* "Feb. 28, 1814. "mv dear w I have but a few moments to write to you. Silence SUium'" '*"*"* *'"* *°'""'"''**^ lo 'l^fe"^ •I'm '» ^laliou to Iho "Two LETTER CCXIL TO MR. MOORE. "March 3, 1814. "my dear friend, " I have a great mind to tell you that I am ' uncomfort- able,' if only to make you come to town ; where no one ever more delighted in seeing you, nor is there any one to whom I would sooner turn for consolation in my most vapourish moments. The truth is, I have 'no lack of argument' to ponder upon of the most gloomy descriytion, but this arises from other causes. Some day or other, when we are veterans, 1 may tell you a tale of present and past times ; and it is not from want of confidence thai 1 do not know, — but — but — always a but to the end of the chapter. " There is nothing, however, upon the spot either to love or hate ; — but I certainly have subjects for both at no very great distance, and am besides embarrassed be- tween three whom I know, and one (whose name at least) I do not know. All this would be very well, if I had no heart ; but, unluckily, I have found that there is such a thing still about me, though in no very good repair, and, also, that it has a habit of attaching itself to one, whether I will or no. ' Divide et impera,' I begin to think, wdll only do for politics. "If I discover the 'toad,' as you call him, I shall 'tread,' — and put spikes in my shoes to do it more effectually. The effect of all these fine things, I do not inquire much nor perceive. I believe * * felt them more than either of us. People are civil enough, and I have had no dearth of invita- tions, — none of which, however, I have accepted. 1 went out very little last year, and mean to go about still less. I have no passion for circles, and have long regretted that I ever gave way to what is called a town hfe ; — which, of all the lives I ever saw (and they are nearly as many as Plu- tarch's) seems to me to leave the least for the past and future. How proceeds the Poem? Do not neglect it, and 1 have no fears. I need not say to you that your fame is dear to me, — I really might say dearer than my own ; for I have lately begun to tliink my tilings have been strangely over- rated; and, at any rate, whetlier or not, I have done with them for ever. I may say to you, what I vvoukl not say to every body, that tlie last two were written, tlie Bride in four, and the Corsair in ten days, — which 1 take to be a most humiliating confession, as it proves my own want of judg- ment in publishing, aiul the public's in reading things, whicli cannot have stamina for permauont attention. ' So much for Buckingham.' "I have no dread of vour being too luisty, and I havestiU less of your failing. But I think a year a very fair allotment of time to a r(Hnpt)siti(ni wiiirli is not to bo Kpio ; ami oven Horace's ' Nonum promatur' must have boon intontlod for the Milleniuuin, or some bngcr-Uvod gcjieralion ll»«uj ouw. 70 LETTERS, 1814. I wonder how much we should have had of him^ had he observed his own doctrines to the letter. Peace be with you ! Remember that I am always and most tr>ily yours, &c. "P. S. I never heard tlie 'report' you mention, nor, I dare say, many others. But, in course, you, as well as others, have 'damned good-natured friends,' who do their duty in the usual way. One thing will make you laugh ♦ + * *;> LETTER CCXIII. TO MR. MOORE. "March 12, 1814. "Guess darkly, and you will seldom err. At present, I shall say no more, and, perhaps — but no matter. I hope we shall some day meet, and whatever years may precede or succeed it, I shall mark it with the ' white stone' in my calendar. I am not sure tliat I shall not soon be in your neighbourhood again. If so, and I am alone, (as will pro- bably be the case,) I shall invade and carry you ofl^ and endeavour to atone for sorry fare by a sincere welcome. I don't know the person absent (barring 'the sect') I should be so glad to see again. " I have nothing of the sort you mention but the lines, (the Weepers,) if you like to have them in the Bag. I wish to give them all possible circulation. The Vault reflection is downright actionable, and to print it would be peril to the pubhsher; but I think the Tears have a natural right to be bagged, and the editor (whoever he may be) might supply a facetious note or not, as he pleased. "I cannot conceive how the Vault* has got about, — but so it is. It is too farouclie; but, truth to say, my satires are not very playful. I have the plan of an epistle in my head, at him and to him ; and, if they are not a little quieter, I shall imbody it. I should say little or nothbg of myself. As to mirth and ridicule, tliat is out of my way ; but 1 have a tolerable fund of sternness and contempt, and, with Juvenal before me, I shall perhaps read him a lecture he has not lately heard in the Court. From particular circumstances, which came to my knowledge almost by accident, I could ' tell hun what lie is — I know him well.' " 1 meant, my dear M. to write to you a long letter, but I am hurried, and time cbps my inclination down to yours, &c. " P. S. Think again before you shelf your Poem. There is a youngster, (older than me, by-the-by, but a younger poet,) Mr. G. E[night,with a vol. of Eastern Tales, written since his return, for he has been in the countries. He sent to me last summer, and I advised him to write one in each measure^ without any intention, at that time, of doing the same tiling. Since that, from a habit of writing in a fever, I liave anticipated him in the variety of measures, but quite unintentionally. Of the stories, I know nothing, not having seen them ; but he has some lady in a sack, too, like the Giaour: — he told me at the time. " The best way to make the public 'forget' me is to remind them of yourself. You cannot suppose that / would ask you or advise you to publish, if I tliought you would fail. 1 really have no literary envy, and I do not believe a friend's success ever sat nearer another tlian yours do to my best wishes. It is for elderly gentlemen to 'bear no brother near,' and cannot become our disease for more years than we may perhaps number. I \vish you to be out before Eastern sub- jects are again before the public." LETTER CCXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "March 12, 1814 "I have not time to read the whole MS.f but what I have seen seems very well written, (both jirose and ver.te,) ' The lines on ihe opening of the vault that contained llie remains of Henry VI II. anil C'hnric* I. t The maniucriut of a long grave latire, entitled " Anti-Byron," which had been«cnt to Mr. Murray, and by him forwarded to I^ord Byron, with a nquest— not meant, 1 helieve, serioinly— thai he would give his opinion ■I 10 the propriety of publishing il.~MooTt. and, though I am and can be no judge, (at leaist a fcdr one on this subject,) containing nothing which you ought to hesitate publishing upon mi/ account. If the author is not jDr. Bushy himself, I think it a pity, on his own account', that he should dedicate it to his subscribers ; nor can I perceive what Dr. Busby has to do with the matter, except as a translator of Lucretius, for whose doctrines he is surely not responsible. I tell you openly, and really most sincerely, that, if published at all, there is no earthly reason why you should not; on the contrary, I should receive it as the greatest compliment you could pay to your good opinion of my candour, to print and circulate that, or any other work, attacking me in a manly manner, and without any malicious intention, from which, as far as I have seen, I must exonerate this writer. "He is wrong in one thing, — / am no atheist; but if he thinks I have published principles tending to such opi- nions, he has a perfect right to controvert them. Pray publish it ; I shall never forgive myself if I think that I have prevented you. " Make my compliments to the author, and tell him 1 wish him success ; his verse is very deserving of it ; and I shall be the last person to suspect his motives. Yours, &c. "P. S. If t/oM do not publish it, some one else will. You cannot suppose me so narrow-minded as to shrink from discussion. 1 repeat once for all, that I think it a good Poem, (as far as 1 have redde ;) and that is the only point you should consider. How odd that eight lines should have given birth, I really think, to eight thousand, including all that has been said, and will be, on the subject!" LETTER CCXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "April 9, 1814. "All these news are very fine ; but nevertheless I want my books, if you can find, or cause them to be found for me, — if only to lend them to Napoleon in 'the island of Elba,' during his retirement. I also (if convenient, and you have no party with you) should be glad to speak with you for a few minutes this evening, as 1 have had a letter from Mr. Moore, and wish to ask you, as the best judge, of the best time for him to publish the work he has com- posed. I need not say, that I have his success much at heart ; not only because he is my friend, but something much better — a man of great talent, of which he is less sensible than I beheve any even of his enemies. If you can so far oblige me as to step down, do so ; and if vou are otherwise occupied, say nothing about it. I shall find you at home in the course of next week. "P. S. I see Sotheby's Tragedies advertised. The Death of Darnley is a famous subject— one of the best, I should think, for the drama. Pray let me have a copy, when ready. "Mrs. Leigh was very much pleased with her books, and desired me to thank you ; she means, I believe, to write to you her acknowledgments." LETTER CCXVL TO MR. MOORE. "2,Albany, April 9, 1814. " Viscount Althorp is about to be married, and I have gotten his spacious bachelor apartments in Albany, to which you will, I hope, address a speedy answer to this mine epistle. " I am but just returned to town, from which you may infer that I have been out of it ; and I have been boxing, for exercise, with Jackson for this last month daily. I have also been drinking, — and, on one occasion, with three other friends at the Cocoa Tree, from six till four, yea. LETTERS, 1814. 71 unto five in the matin. We clareted and champaigned till two— then supped, and finished with a kind of regency punch composed of madeira, brandy, and green tea, no reid water bemg admitted therein. There was a night fo you ! — without once quitting the table, except to ambulate home, which I did alone, and in utter contempt of a hack ney-coach and my own wis, both of which were deemed necessary for our conveyance. And so, — I am very well, and they say it will hurt my constitution. "I have also, more or less, been breaking a few of the favourite commandments; but I mean to pull up and marry, — if any one will have me. In the mean time, the other day I nearly killed myself with a collar of brawn, which I swallowed for supper, and indigested for 1 don't know how long ; — but that is by-the-by. All this gor- mandize was in honour of Lent ; for I am forbidden meat aU the rest of the year, — but it is strictly enjoined me during your solemn fast. I have been, and am, in very tolerable love ; — but of that hereafter, as it may be. " My dear Moore, say what you will in your preface : and quiz any thing, or any body, — me, if you like it. Oons ! dost thou think me of the old, or rather elderly, school ? If one can't jest with one's friends, with whom can we be facetious ? You have nothing to fear from * *, whom I have not seen, being out of town when he called. He will be very correct, smooth, and all that, but I doubt whether there will be any ' grace beyond the reach of art ;' — and whether there is or not, how long will you be so d — d modest? As for .Jeffrey, it is a very handsome thing of him to speak well of an old antagonist, — and what a mean mind dared not do. Any one will revoke praise ; but — were it not partly my own case — 1 should say that very few have strength of mind to unsay their censure, or follow it up with praise of other things. "What think you of the review of /.em.? It beats the Bag and my hand-grenade hollow, as an invective, and hath thrown the Court into hysterics, as I hear from very good authority. Have you heard from * * * *. "No more rhyme for — or racher, /ro?n — me. I have taken my leave of that stage, and henceforth wiU mounte- bank it no longer. I have had my day, and there 's an end. The utmost I expect, or even wish, is to have it said in the Biographia Britannica, that I might perhaps have been a poet, had I gone on and amended. My great comfort is that the temporary celebrity I have wrung from the world has been in the very teeth of all opinions and preju- dices. I have flattered no ruling powers ; I have never concealed a single thought that tempted me. They can't say I have truckled to the times, nor to popular topics, (as Johnson, or somebody, said of Cleveland,) and whatever I have gained has been at the expenditure of as much per- sonal favour as possible ; for I do beheve never was a bard more unpopular, quoad homo, than myself. And now I have done; — 'ludite nunc alios.' — Every body may be d — d, as they seem fond of it, and resolved to stickle lustily for endless brimstone. "Oh— by-thc-by, I had nearly forgot. There is a long Poem, an 'Anti-Byron,' coming out, to prove that I have formed a conspiracy to overthrow, by rhyme, all religion and government, and have already made great progress ! It is not very scurrilous, but serious and ethereal. I never felt myself important, till 1 saw and heard of my being si*;ii a little Voltaire as to induce such a production. Murray would not publish il, for which he was a ^oo\, and so 1 told him ; but some one else will, doubtless. ' Sometliing too much of this.' "Your French scheme is good, but let it be Italian; all Uie Angles will be at Paris. Let it be Rome, Milan, Naples, Florence, Turin, Venice, or Switzerland, and ' egad !' (as Bayes sailh,) I will connuliiate and join you ; and we will write a new ' Inferno' in our Paradise. Pray, think of tliis— and I will really buy a wife and a ring, and say the ceremony, and settle near you in a summer-house upon the Arno, or the Po, or the Adriatic. "Ah ! my poor little paged. Napoleon, has wallced ofFhia pedestal. He has abdicated, they say. This would draw molten brass from the eyes of Zatanai. What ! ' kiss the ground before young Malcolm's feet, and then be baited by the rabble's curse !' I cannot bear such a crouching cata- strophe. I must stick to Sylla, for my modern favourites don't do, — their resignations are of a different kind. All health and prosperity, my dear Moore. Excuse this lengthy letter. Ever, &c. " P. S. The Quarterly quotes you frequently in an ar- ticle on America; and every body I know asks perpetually after you and yours. When will you answer them in person ?" NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. *« April 10, 1814. "I have written an Ode on the fall of Napoleon, which, if you like, I will copy out, and make you a present of. Mr. Merivale has seen part of it, and lilies it. You may show it to Mr. Gifford, and print it, or not, as you please — it is of no consequence. It contains nothing in Ms favour, and no allusion whatever to our own government or the Bourbons. Yours, &c. "P. S. It is in the measure of my stanzas at the end of Childe Harold, which were much liked, beginning, ' And thou art dead,' &c. There are ten stanzas of it — ninety lines in all." NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "April 11, 1814, "I enclose you a lettered from Mrs. Leigh. " It will be best not to put my name to our Ode ; but you may say as openly as you like that it is mine, and I can inscribe it to Mr. Hobhouse from the author, which will mark it sufficiently. After the resolution of not publishing, though it is a thing of Uttle length and less consequence, it will be better altogether that it is anonymous ; but we will incorporate it in the first tome of ours that you find time or the wish to publish. " Yours alway, " B. "P. S. I hope you got a note of alterations, sent this matin ? "P. S. Oh my books! my books! will you never find my books ? " Alter ^potent spell' to ' quickening spell :' the first (as Polonius says) ' is a vile phrase,' and means nothing, be- sides being commonplace and RosonMatildaish" NOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "April 12, 1814. " I send you a few notes and trifling alterations, and an additional motto from Gibbon, which you will find singu- larly appropriate. A 'Good-natured Friend' tells me tliere is a most scurrilous attack on us in the Antijacobin Re- view, which you have not sent. Send it, as I am in tliat state of languor which will derive benefit from getting into a passion. Ever, &c." LETTER CCXVII. TO MR. MOOHE. "Albany, April 20, 1814. " I am very glad to hear that you are to be transient from Mayfield so very soon, and was taken in by the first part of your letter.! Indeed, for aught I know, you may bo • See PoeiDR, J). 178. . I I hail begun my letter in the following manner:—" lUTf you trcn tha ' Ode to Nftpoleoii Uuoimparte?'— I •napect il lo be cither Kil»ReriiKI ■ or Hosa Maliltla'ii. 'I'hose rapiil anil niusterly jwitrnils olall the lyrnnU Ihut precedfil Nn|M)leon have a vigour in them wliioh woiiKI inclm.- me to «ay thai Rosa Mulililft iB the |)*rton— Inil then, on ihc ollur hiuul, th»l Itowerfnl Kiatp ol hiilory," &c.4c. After a liulc more of lhi» m.>cK |.nrullel, the letter wont on thn»:— " 1 »houUl like to know what y>" ihm« of the mutlori' Some frien.U of mine here uill in»i»t that it i» the worK of (he author of Chihle lla.-oUl,-hul then they ar* not .o wtll r.«dUi nugerBMnnd Uoh« iMatlhla «• I am, anil, beildiw. they •«"" «>' 'orwl that you nri.mliied, aluml a month or two agu, not lo Wlilc any mor* lor ycart. Nerioualy," &c. &c. 72 treating me, as Slipslop says, with ' ironing" even now. I shall say nothuig of the shock, which had nothing ofhumeur in it ; as 1 am apt to take even a critic, and still more a friend, at his word, and never to doubt that I have been writing cursed nonsense if they say so. There was a men- tal reservation in my pact with the public, in behalf of anonymes; and, even had there not, the provocation was such as to make it physically impossible to pass over this damnable epoch of triumphant tameness. 'Tis a cursed business; and, after all, I shall think higher of rhyme and reason, and very humbly of your heroic people, till — Elba becomes a volcano, and sends him out again. I can't think it all over yet. " My departure for the Continent depends, in some mea- sure, on the i/tcontinent. I have two country invitations at home, and don't know what to say or do. In the mean time, I have bought a macaw and a parrot, and have got up my books ; and I bo.\ and fence daily, and go out very lilUe. "At this present writing, Louis the Gouty is wheeling in triumph into Piccadilly, in all the pomp and rabblement of royalty. 1 had an offer of seats to see them pass ; but, as I have seen a sultan going to mosque, and been at /us reception of an ambassador, the most Christian King 'hath no attractions for me :' — though in some coming year of the Hegira, I should not dislike to see the place where he had reigned, shortly after the second revolution, and a happy sovereignty of two months, the last six weeks being civil war. " Pray write, and deem me ever, &c." LETTERS, 1814. LETTER CCXVIII. TO MR. MURRAY. "April 21, 1814. "Many thanks with the letters which I return. You know I am a jacobin, and could not wear white, nor see the installation of Louis die Gouty. " This is sad news, and very hard upon the sufferers at any, but more at sjich a time — I mean the Bayonne sortie. " You should urge Moore to come out. "P. S. I want Moreri to purchase for good and all. I have a Bayle, but want Moreri too. " P. S. Perry hath a piece of compliment to-day ; but I think the name might h-ave been as well omitted. No matter ; they can but throw the old story of inconsistency in my teeth— let them, — I mean as to not publishing. How- ever, Tuxw I will keep my word. Nothing but the occasion, which was physically irresistible, made me swerve ; and I thought an ancmyme within my pact with the public. It Ls the only thing I have or shall set about." LETTER CCXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "April 25, 1814. • Let Mr. GifTord have the letter and return it at his lei- sure. I would have offered it, had 1 thought that he liked things of the kind. " Do you want tlie last page immediately ? I have doubt the lines being worth printing ; at any rate, I must see them again and alter some passages, before they go forth in any shape into the ocean of circulation ; — a very conceited phrase, by-the-by : well then — channel of publication will do. " ' I am not i' the vein,' or I could knock oft" a stanza or three for tlie Ode, that might answer the purpose better. At ail events, I must see the lines again Jirst, as there be two I have altered in my mind's manuscript already. Has any one seen and judged of them ? that is the criterion by wliich I will abide — only give mo a f.iir report, and ' nothing extenuate,' as I will in that case do somotliing else. • Ever, &c. •* I want Mn-ai and an Atfieiusus" LETTER CCXX. TO MR. MURRAY. "April 26, 1814. " I have been thinking that it might be as well to publish no more of the Ode separately, but incorporate it with any of the other things, and include the smaller Poem too (in that case) — which I must previously correct, nevertheless. I can't, for the head of me, add a Une worth scribbling ; my ' vein' is quite gone, and rny present occupations are of the gymnastic order — ^boxing and fencing — and my principal conversation is with my macaw and Bayle. I want my Moreri, and I want Athenseus. " P. S. I hope you sent back that poetical packet to the address which I forwarded to you on Sunday : if not, pray do ; or I shall have the author screaming after his Epic." LETTER CCXXL TO MR. MURRAY, "April 26, 1814. " I have no guess at your author, — but it is a noble Poem,* and worth a thousand Odes of any body's. I suppose I may keep this copy; — after reading it, I really regret having written my own. I say this very sincerely, albeit unused to think humbly of myself. " I don't lite the additional stanzas at aU, and they liad better be left out. The fact is, I can't do any thuig 1 am asked to do, however gladly I would ; and at the end of a week my interest in a composition goes off. This will account to you for my doing no better for your 'Stamp Duty' Postscript. "The S. R. is very civil — ^but what do they mean by Childe Harold resembling Marmion? and the next two, Giaour and Bride, not resembling Scott ? I certainly never intended to copy him ; ^ut^nf there be any copyism, It must be in the two Poems, where the same versification is adopted. However, they exempt tlie Corsair from all resemblance to any thing, — though I rather wonder at his escape. " If ever I did any diing original, it was in Childe Harold, which / prefer to the other things always, after the first week. Yesterday I re-read English Bards ; — bating the malice, it is the best. " Ever, &c." LETTER CCXXIL TO MR. MT5RRAY. "2, Albany, April 29, 1814. " DEAR SIR, "I enclose a draft for the money; when paid, send the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on for the Giaour and Bride, and there 's an end. " If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please; but, with tlie exception of two copies of each for yourself only, I expect and request that the advertisements^ be withdrawn, and the remaining copies of all destroyed ; and any expense so incurred, I will be glad to defray .f " For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not coasider the circumstance of consequence enough to require explanation. " In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be pubhshed with my consent, directly or indirecdy, by any other person whatsoever, — that I am perfecdy satisfied, and have every reason so to be with your conduct in all transactions between us as pubhsher and author. " It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaint- * " Buonaparte," by Mr. .Stralforrl Canning. t He had, at this time, formed a resolution of purchasing back the whol« of his past copyrights, uud suppressing everv page aud line he Lad ever H LETTERS, 1814. 73 ance, and to consider you as my friend. Believe me very truly, and for much attention, " Your obliged and very obedient servant, "Byron. "P. S. I do not think that I have overdrawn at Ham- mersley's ; but if that be the case, I can draw for the superllux on Hoares'. The draft is 51. short, but that I will make up. On payment — not before — return the copyright papers." LETTER CCXXin. TO MR. MURRAY. "May 1, 1814. ' SEAR SIR, " If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter : tear my draft, and go on as usual : in that case, we will recur to our former basis. That I was perfecdy serious, in v/ishing to suppress all future publication, is true ; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own. Some day, I will tell you the reason of this apparently strange resolution. At present, it may be enough to say that I recall it at your suggestion: and as it appears to have annoyed you, I lose no time in saying so. "Yours, truly, «B." NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "May 4, 1814. "Last night we supp'd at R fe's board, &c. ****** " I wish people would not shirk their dinners — ought it not to have been a dinner? — and that d — d anchovy sandwich ! " That plaguy voice of yours made me sentimental, and almost fall in love with a girl who was recommending her- self during your song, by hating music. But the song is past, and my passion can wait, till the pucelle is more har- monious. " Do you go to Lady Jersey's to-night ? It is a large party, and you won't be bored into ' softening rocks,' and all that. Othello is to-morrow and Saturday too. Wliich day shall we go ? When shall I see you ? If you call, let it be after three and as near four as you please. Ever, &c. NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "May 4, 1814. " DEAR TOM, "Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less lilcely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting.* Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without p/irase. "Ever yours, "Byron." " I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, &c." NOTE TO MR. MOORE. " Will you and Rogers come to my box at Covcnt, then ? I shall be there, and none else — or I won't be there, if you twcun would like to go without me. You will not get so good a [)lacc hustling among the publican hoxcrs^ witli damnable a|)prcnticcs (six feet higli) on a back row. Will you both oblige mc and come — or one — or neither — or, what you will? " P. S. An' you will, I will call for you at half past six, or any time of your own dial." NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "I have gotten a box for Otliello to-night, and send tJio ticket for your friends tlie R — fe's. I seriously rcconuncnd See Poenu, p. 48(). 10 to you to recommend to them to go for half an hour, if only to see the tliird act — they will not easily have another op- portunity. We — at least, I — cannot be there, so there wall be no one in the way. Will you give or send it to them ? it will come with a better grace from you than me. "I am in no good plight, but will dine at * *'s with you, if I can. There is music and Covent-g. — ^WiU you go, at all events, to my box there afterward, to see a debut of a young 16,* in the 'Child of Nature?'" NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "Sunday matin. " Was not lago perfection ? particularly the last look, I was dose to him (in the orchestra,) and never saw an Eng- lish countenance half so expressive. I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting ; and, as it is fitting there should be^ood plays, now and then, besides Shakspeare's, I wish you or Campbell would write one : the rest of ' us youth' have not heart enough. "You were cut up in the Champion — is it not so? this day, so am I — even to shocking the editor. The critic writes well ; and as, at present, poesy is not my passion predominant, and my snake of Aaron has swallowed up all the other serpents, I don't feel fractious. 1 send you the paper, which I mean to take in for the future. We go to M.'s together. Perhaps I shall see you before, but don't let me bore you, now, nor ever. " Ever, as now, truly and affectionately, Sec." NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "May 6, 1814. " Do you go to Lady Cahir's this even ? If you do— and whenever we are bound to the same follies — let us embark in the same ' Shippe of Fooles.' I have been up till five, and up at nine ; and feel heavy with only v^inldng for the last three or four nights. " I lost my party and place at supper, trymg to keep out of the way of * * * *. I would have gone away altogether, but that would have appeared a worse affectation than t' other. You are of course engaged to dinner, or we may go quietly together to my box at Covent-garden, and after- ward to this assemblage. Why did you go away so soon? " Ever, &c. " P. S. Ought notR * * * fe's supper to have been a dinner? Jackson is here, and I must fatigue myself into spirits." NOTE TO MR. MOORE. "May 18, 1814. ' "Thanks — and punctuality. IVIiat has passed at * * * * House? I suppose that / am to know, antl ' pars fui' of tho conference. I regiet that your * * * *s will detain you so late, but I sup[iose you will bo at Lady Jersey's. I am going earlier with Hobhouse. You recollect tluit to-morrow wc sup and sec Kcan. "P. S. 2\uo to-morrow is tlio hour of pugilism." LETTER CCXXIV. TO MH. MOORE. "Ma" 20 ISl-i "I must send you the Java government gazette of JiiK 3, 1813, just sent to me by Murray. Only think of our (for it is you and I) setting [)aper warriors in array in the Iruiiaii seas. Does not lliis sound like fame — si^uielliiiig alimwt like postcritij 7 It is something to have scribblers s(ju>ihbliiig about us 5(X30 miles o{\] while we arc agrci>ing so well at home. 13ring it wiUi you in your pocket ; it will make you laugh, as it hath mc. " Ever yours, • B. "P.S. Oh, Uio anecdote ! * * * *." * 74 LETTERS, 1814. LETTER CCXXV. TO MR. MOORE. «May31,1814. "As I shall probably not see you here to-day, I write to request that if not inconvenient to yourself, you ^vill stay in town till Sunday ; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others, who \vill be very sorry to lose you. As for myself, I can only repeat tliat I wish you would eidier remain a long time with us, or not come at all ; for these snatches of society make the subsequent separations bitterer than ever. '^I believe you think tliat I havo not been quite fair with that Alpha and Omega of beauty, &c . with whom you would wilUngly have united me. But if you consider what her sister said on the subject, you will less wonder that my pride should have taken the aJarm ; particularly as nothing but the every-day flirtation of every-day people ever occurred between your heroine and myself Had Lady * * appeared to wish it, or even not to oppose it, I would have gone on, and very possibly married (that is, if the other had been equally accordant) with the same indifference which has frozen over the 'Black Sea' of almost all my passions. It is tliat very indifference which makes me so uncertain and apparently capricious. It is not eagerness of new pursuits, but that notliing impresses me sufficiently to^ ; neither do I feel disgusted, but simply indifferent to almost all excite- ments. The proof of tliis is, that obstacles, the slightest even, stop me. This can hardly be timidity, for I have done some impudent things too, in my time ; and in almost all cases, opposition is a stimulus. In mine, it is not; if a straw were in my way, I could not stoop to pick it up. " I have sent this long tirade, because I would not have you suppose that I have been trijiing designedly with you or others. If you think so, in the name of St. Hubert (the patron of antlers and hunters) let me be married out of hand — I don't care to whom, so that it amuses any body else, and don't interfere with me much m the daytime. "Everj&c." LETTER CCXXVL TO MR. MOORE. «JuneI4,1814. " I andd be very sentimental now, but I won't. The truth is, tliat I have been all my life trying to harden my heart, and have not yet quite succeeded — though there are great hopes — and you do not know how it sunk with your depar- ture. What adds to my regret is having seen so little of you during your stay in this crowded desert where one ought to be able to bear thirst lilce a camel, — ^the springs are so few, and most of them so muddy. " The newspapers will tell you all that is to be told of emperors, &c. They have dined, and supped, and shown their flat faces in all thoroughfares, and several saloons. Their uniforms are very becoming, but rather short in the skirts; and their conversation is a catechism, for which and the answers I refer you to those who have heard it. " I think of leaving town for Newstead soon. If so, I shall not be remote from your recess, and (unless Mrs. M. detains you at home over the caudle-cup and a new cradle,) we will meet. You shall come to me, or I to you, as you like it ; but meet we will. An invitation from Aston has reached me, but I do not think I shall go. I have also heard of * * * — I should like to see her again, for I have not met her for years; and though 'the light that ne'er can shine agab' is set, I do not know that 'one dear smile like those of old' might not make me for a moment forget tlie 'dulness' of life's stream.' * I am going to R * *'s to-night— to one of those suppers which ^ougld to be dinners.' I have hardly seen her, and never /am, since you set out. I told you, you were the last link of that chain. As for * *, we have not syllabled one another's names since. The post will not permit me to continue my scrawl. More anon. " Ever, dear Moore, &c. "P. S. Keep the Journal, I care not what becomes of it, and if it has amused you, I am glad that I kej>t it. ' Lara' is finished, and I am copying him for my third vol. now collecting ; but no separate publication." JVOTE TO MR. MURRAY. "June H I8I4. " I return your packet of tliis morning. Have you heard that Bertrand has returned to Paris with the account of Napoleon's having lost his senses? It is a report; but, if true, I must, hlie Mr. Fitzgerald and Jeremiah, (of lament- able memory,) lay claim to prophecy ; that is to say, of saying that he ought to go out of his senses, in the penultimate stanza of a certain Ode, — the which, having been pronounced nonsense by several profound critics, has a still further pre- tension, by its unintelligibility, to inspiration. «Ever,&c» LETTER CCXXVIL TO MR. ROGERS. "June 19, 1814. " I am always obliged to trouble you with my awkward- nesses, and now I have a fresh one. Mr. W.* called on me several times, and I have missed the honour of making his acquaintance, which I regret, but which you, who know my desultory and uncertain habits, will not wonder at, and will, I am sure, attribute to any thing but a wish to offend a person who has shown me much kindness, and possesses character send talents entitled to general respect. My mornings are late, and passed in fencing and boxing, and a variety of most unpoetical exercises, very wholesome, &c.; but would be very disagreeable to my friends, whom I am obliged to exclude during their operation. I never go out till the evening, and I have not been fortimate enough to meet Mr. W. at Lord Lansdowne's or Lord Jersey's, where I had hoped to pay him my respects. " I would have written to him, but a few words from you will go further than all the apologetical sesquipedalities I could muster on the occasion. It is only to say diat, vvithout intending it, I contrive to behave very ill to every body, and am very sorry for it. "Ever, dear R. fee." The following undated notes to Mr. Rogers were written about this time. "Sunday. "Your non-attendance at Corinne's is very apropos, as I was on the eve of sending you an excuse. I do not feel well enough to go there tliis evening, and have been obliged to despatch an apology. 1 beUeve I need not add one for not accepting Mr. Sheridan's invitation on Wednesday, which I fancy both you and I understood m the same sense : with him the saying of Mirabeau, that 'iwwck are things^ is not to be taken Uterally. "Ever, &c. "I will call for you at a quarter before seven^ if that will suit you. I return you Sir Proteus,t and shall merely add in return, as Jolmson said ofj and to, somebody or other, 'Are we alive after all this censure?' "Believe me. Sic." " Tuesday. " Sheridan was yesterday, at first, too sober to remember your invitation, but in the dregs of the third bottle he fished up his memory. The Stael out-talked Whitbread, was ironed by Sheridan, confounded Sir Humphrey, and utterly perplexed your slave. The rest (great names in the red • Mr. Wrangham. t A satirical pamphlet, in which all the witere of the day were attacked. LETTERS, 1814. book, nevertheless) were mere segments of the circle. Ma'mselle danced a Russ saraband with great vigour grace, and expression. " Ever, &c." NOTE TO MR. MURRAV. "June 21, 1814. " I suppose ' Lara' is gone to the devil, — which is no great matter, only let me know, that I may be saved the trouble of copying the rest, and put the first part into the fire. I really have no anxiety about it, and shall not be sorry to be saved the copying, which goes on very slowly, and may prove to you that you may speak relere to nil nrlicio in Ihe iiiimluT of (lip Wiiibiirgh Rertei lull Uieii pulilinhcil, (No. 45,) on Iho Conwlr and Bride of Abydo». I Au ciigittving by Agar from PhUllpi'i jwrlraii of him. 76 LETTERS, ISM. agree with them. For my ovm part, I have no objection at all ; but Mrs. Leigh and my cousin must be better judges of tfie likeness than others ; and they hate it ; and so I won't have it at all. «Mr. Hobhoiise is right as for his conclusion ; but I deny the premises. The name only is Spanish ;* the country is not Spain, but die Morea. « Waverley is the best and most interesting novel I have redde since— I don't know when. I like it as much as I hate * *, and * *, and * *, and all the fcminme trash of the last four months. Besides, it is all easy to me, I have been ill Scotland so much, (tliough tlien young enough too,) and feel at home with the people, Lowland and Gael. « A note will correct what Mr. Hobhouse thinks an error, (about the feudal system in Spain ;) it is not Spain. If he puts a few words of prose any where, it will set all right. "I have been ordered to tovm to vote. I shall disobey. There is no good in so much prating, since 'certain issues strokes should arbitrate.' If you have any tiling to say, let mo hear from you. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCXXXm. TO MR. MURRAY. "Aug. 3, 1814. «It is certainly a litde extraordinary that you have not sent the Edinburgh Reviesv, as I requested, and hoped it would not require a note a day to remind you. I see culver- tisements of Lara and Jacqueline; pray, why? when I re- quested you to postpone publication till my return to town. " I have a most amusing episdc from the Ettrick bard — Hogg-, in which, speaking of his bookseller, whom he deno- minates the 'shabbiest' of the trade for not 'lifting his bills,' he adds, in so many words, * G — d d — n lum and them both.' This is a pretty prelude to asking you to adopt him (the said Hogg ;) but this he \nshcs ; and if you please, you and I will tall; it over. He has a poem ready for the press, (and your biUs too, if 'Zi/i!able,') and bestows some benedictions on Mr. Moore for his abduction of Lara from the forthcoming Miscellany. "P. S. Sincerely, I think Mr. Hogg would suit you very well ; and surely he Is a man of great powers, and deserving of encouragement. I must knock out a tale for him, and you should at all events consider before you reject his suit. Scott is gone to the Orkneys in a gale of wind, and Hogg says that, during the said gale, ' he is sure that Scott is not quite at his case, to say the best of it.' Ah 1 I w ish these homo-kecping bards could taste a MeditciTanean white squall, or the Gut in a gale of wind, or even the Bay of Biscay with no wind at all." LETTER CCXXXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Hastings, Aug. 3, 1814. "73y the time this reaches your dwelling, I shall (God wot) be in town again |)robal)ly. I have here been re- newing my acquaintance with my old friend Ocean ; and I find his l>osom as pleasant a pillow for an hour in the morn- ing as his daughters of Paphos could be in the twilight. f have been swimming and eating turbot, and smuggling neat braiwlics and silk handkerchief-^, — and listening to my friend Hodgson's raptures about a jiretty wife-elect of his, — and walliing on clilFs, and tumbling down hills, and making the most of the ' dolcc farniente' for tlie last fortnight. I met a son of Lord Erskine's, who says he has been married a year, and is the 'happiest of men;' ar.d I have met the aforesaid H. who is also the ' liappiest of men;' so, it is worth while being here, if only to witness the superlative felicity of these foxes, who have cut off their tails, and would persuade the rest to part witli tkntr bnwhes to keep them in countenance. • /MliKlin; to r,i " It rejoicetli me that you like 'Lara.' Jeffrey is out with his forty-fifth number, which I suppose you have oot. He is only too kind to me, in my share of it, and I hety'in to fancy myself a golden pheasant, upon the strength of the plumage wherewith he hath bedecked me. But then, ' surgit amari,' &c. — the gentlemen of the Champion, and Perry, have got hold (I know not how) of the condo- latory address to Lady J. on the picture-abduction by our Regent, and have published them — with my name, too, smack — without even asking leave, or inquiring whether or no ! D — n their impudence, and d — n every thing. It has put me out of patience, and so I shall say no more about it.* "You shall have Lara and Jacque (both with some additions) when out; but I am still demurring and de- laying, and in a fuss, and so is Rogers in his way. "Newstead is to be mine again. Claughton foi-feits twenty-five thousand pounds ; but that don't prevent me from being very prettily ruined. I mean to bury myself there — and let my beard grow — and hate you all. " Oh ! I have had the most Smusing letter from Hogg, the Ettrick minstrel and shepherd. He wants me to recommend him to Murray, and, spealdng of his present bookseller, whose 'bills' are never 'lifted,' he didds, totidem verbis, ' G — d d — n him and them both.' I laughed, and so would you too, at the way in which this extrication was introduced. The said Hogg is a strange being, but of great, though uncouth, powers. I think very highly of him as a poet ; but he, and half of these Scotch and Lake troubadours, are spoiled by living in Utde circles and petty societies. London and the world is the only place to take the conceit out of a man — in the milling phrase. Scott, he said, is gone to the Orkneys in a gale of wind ; — during hich wind, he affirms, the said Scott, ' he is sure is not at his ease, — to say the best of it.' Lord, Lord, if these home- keeping minstrels had crossed your Atlantic or my Medi- terranean, and tasted a little open boating in a white squall — or a gale in 'the Gut' — or the 'Bay of Biscay, with no gale at all — how it would enliven and introduce them to a few of the sensations ! — to say nothmg of an illicit amour or two upon shore, in the way of essay upon the Passions, begirming with simple adultery, and com- pounding it as they went along. " I have forwarded your letter to Murray, — ^by the way, you had addressed it to Miller. Pray write to me, and say what art thou doing ? ' Not finished ! — Oons ! how is this ? — diesc ' flaws and starts' must be ' authorized by your grandam,' and are becommg of any other author. I was sorry to hear of your discrepancy with * *s, or rather, your abjuration of agreement. I don't want to be imjier- tinent, or buffoon on a serious subject, and am therefore at a loss what to say. " I hope nothing will induce you to abate from the proper price of your poem, as long as there is a prospect of getting it. For my own part, I have seriously and Jiot ivhiningly, (for that is not my way — at least, it used not to be,) neither hopes, nor prospects, and scarcely even \\ishes. I am, in some respects happy, but not in a manacr diat can or ought to last, — but enough of that. The worst of it is, I feel quite enervated and indifferent. I really do not know, if Jupiter were to offer me my choice of the contents of his benevolent cask, what 1 would pick out of it. If I was bom as the nurses say with a 'silver spoon in my mouth,' it has stuck in my diroat, and spoiled my palate so that nothing put into it is swallowed with much relish, — unless it be cayenne. However, I have grievances enough to occupy me that way too ; but for fear of adding to yours by this pestilent long diatribe, I postpone the reading them, sine die. Ever, dear M. yours, &c. " P. S. Don't forget my godson. You could not have fixed on a fitter porter for his sins than me, being used to carry double without inconvenience." * * ♦ • See Poems, p. \s\ , LETTERS, 1814. 77 LETTER CCXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Aug. 4, 1814 "Not having received the slightest answer to my last three letters, nor the book (the last number of the Edin- burgh Review) wliich they requested, I presume that yoi were the unfortunate person* who perished in the pagoda on Monday last, and address tliis rather to your executors than yoursell^ regretting that you should have had the ill- iuck to be the sole victim on that joyous occasion. " I beg leave then to inform these gentlemen (whoever they may be) that I am a little surprised at the previous neglect of the deceased, and also at observing an advertise- ment of an approacliing publication on Saturday next, ^ against the which I protested, and do protest, for the present. "Yours, (or theirs,) &c. « B." LETTER CCXXXVL TO MR. MURRAY. «Aug.5,1814. " The Edinburgh Review is arrived — thanks. 1 enclose Mr. Hobhouse's letter, from which you will perceive the work you have made. However, I have done : you must send my rhymes to the devil your own way. It seems also that the 'faitliiful and spirited likeness' is another of your publications. I wish you joy of it ; but it is no like- ness — that is tlie point. Seriously, if] have delayed your journey to Scotland, I am sorry that you carried your com- plaisance so far ; particularly as upon trifles you have a more summary method ; — witness the grammar of Hob- house's ' bit of prose,' which has put him and me into a fever. '^Hogg must translate his own words: ^lifting' is a quotation from his letter, together with ' G — d d — n,' &c. which I suppose requires no translation. " I was unaware of the contents of Mr. Moore's letter ; I thinlf your offer very handsome, but of that you and he must judge. If ho can get more, you won't wonder that he should accept it. "Out with Lara since it must be. The tome looks pretty enough — on the outside. I shall be in town next wecl^ and in the mean time wish you a pleasant journey. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCXXXVII. TO MR. MOORE. "Aug. 12,1814. * I was not alone, nor will be while I can help it. New- stead is not yet decided. Claughton is to make a grand effort by Saturday week to complete, — if not, he must give up twenty-five thousand pounds, and the estate, with ex- penses, &c. &c. If I resume the Abbacy, you shall have due notice, and a cell set a])art for your recc])tion, with a pious welcome. Rogers I have not seen, but Larry and Jax:ky came out a few days ago. Of their effect, I know nothing. * + + + + + "There is something very amusing in your being an Edinburgh Reviewer. You know, I suppose, that Thurlow is none of die placidcst, and may possibly enact some tragedy on being told tliat he is only a fool. If, now, Jcflroy wore to be slain on account of an article of yours, there would be a fine conclusion. For my pari, as Mrs. Winifred Jenkins says, ' he has done tlio handsome thing by me,' particularly in his last number; so, ho is tlie best of men and the ablest of critics, and I won't have him killed, — though I dare say many wish ho were, for being so good- humoured. "Before I left Hastings, I got in a passion with an ink- Hee nolo to ilu- Hintit hum Ilonicc, p. -tSb- botde, which I flung out of the wmdow one night with a vengeance; — and what then? why, next morning I was horrified by seeing that it had struck, and split upon, the petticoat of Euterpe's graven image in the garden, and grimed her as if it were on purpose.* Only think of my distress, and — tlie epigrams that nrught be engendered on the Muse and her misadventure. " I had an adventure, almost as ridiculous, at some private theatricals near Cambridge — though of a different descrip- tion — since I saw you last. I quarrelled with a man in the dark for asking me who I w as, (insolently enough, to be sure,) and followed him into the green-room (a stable) in a rage, among a set of people 1 never saw before. He turned out to be a low comedian, engaged to act with the amateurs, and to be a civil-spoken man enough, when he found out that nothing very pleasant was to be got by rudeness. But you would have been amused with the row, and the dialogue, and the dress — or rather the undress — of the party, where I had introduced myself in a devil of a hurry, and the asto- nishment that ensued. I had gone out of the theatre, for coolness, into the garden ; there I had tumbled over some dogs, and, coming away from them in very ill-humour, en- countered the man in a worse, which produced all this confusion. " Well — and why don't you 'launch ?' — Now is your time. The people are tolerably tired with me, and not very much enamoured of Wordsworth, who has just spawned a quarto of metaphysical blank verse, which is nevertheless only a part of a poem. "Murray talks of divorcing Larry and Jacky — a bad sign for the authors, who, I suppose, will be divorced too, and throw the blame upon one another. Seriously, I don't care a cigar about it, and I don't see why Sam should. "Let me hear from and of you and my godson. Tf a daughter, the name will do qmte as well. * * + "Everj&c." LETTER CCXXXVHL TO MR. MOORE. "Aug. 13, 1814. "I wrote yesterday to Mayfield, and have just now en- franked your letter to mamma. My stay in town is so un- certain (not later than next week) that your packets for Uic north may not reach me ; and as I know not exactly where I am going — however, JVciostcad is my most probable des- tination, and if you send your despatches before Tuesday, I can forward tliem to our new ally. But, after tliat day, you had better not trust to their arrival in time. " * * has been exiled from Paris, on dit, for saying tlie Bourbons were old women. The Bourbons might have been content, I tliink, with returning the compliment. ♦ + * * "I told you all about Jacky and Larry yesterday ; — tliey areto bo separated, — at least, so says the grand Murray, and 1 know no more of the matter. Jeflrey has done mo more than 'justice;' but as to tragedy — um! — I have no time for fiction at present. A man cannot paint a storin with the vessel under bare poles, on a loo shore. When I get to land, I will try what is to be done, and, if I founder, there be plenty of mine ciders and betters to console Mel- pomene. " When at Newstead, you must come over, if only f«u- a day — should Mrs. M. bo exii^cantc of your presence. Tho place, is worth seeing, as a ruin, and I can assure you there was some fun there, even in my time ; but that is piuit. Tho ghosts, iiowever, and tho gollucs, and the waters, and tlio desolation, m;dve it very lively still. " F.ver, de:ir Tom, yours, &c.* • Pin ■crvnnl hnd broiiBlil liim \ip « ImRO Jar of Ink. Into » lilch, not »iip- (lOiiInK It to br lull, ho liiul ihruiil liiii pen down to ilic »n y »K>ttom. Ka- inp'd, on nndinn it conic out nil mnrnn-d wiili Ink, lii> (tone Hip I'olile out of the window Into Ihi' unnlon, whore it IIrIiIo.I, w> liiir doii.-ii>>ed, upou onv ..filKhl londiii Min.n, iluil had l.wn lm|>"riosl, and, alas ! the maddest of dogs,) I had one (half a UY>(/l)y the she side) that doled on me at ten years old, and very nearly ate me .•Tlh* • Mr. Moore linil Jimt lu'Cii rending Mr. Poiillicy'* poem of " He i-irl«," i\ml wilh i-clVi-i'iirc to iin iiirlilrnt in it, Imil |nil thi- follo\vji>j!< lion la l.oi'il lUron -" I nhoiilil lili> witi uhlr to nnd out. I don't cure about UlvHri'i due, &r.— all I want it to liiiow fivm j/ 'U (who arc renowii'd nt ' frimd ol the (lo(, COOk* paniun of the bear,') whvlher tuch a Uiln( U pnotabl*." LETTERS, 1815. at twenty. When I thought he was going to enact Argus, he liit a-.vay the backside of my breeches, and never would coaient to any kind of recognition, in despite of all kinds of bones which 1 oJered him. So, let Southey blush, and Homer too, as far as I can decide upon quadruped memo- ries.* " I humbly take it, the mother knows the son that pays her jointure— a mistress her mate, till he * * and refuses salary— a friend his fellow, till he loses cash and character, and a dog his master, till he changes him. " So, you want to know about Milady and me ? But let me nor, as Roderick Random says, 'profane the chaste mysteries of Hymen'f— damn tlie word, I had nearly spelled it with a small h. I like Bell as well as you do (or did, you villain !) Bessy— and that is (or was) saying a great deal. "Address your next to Seaham, Sto::kton-on-Tees, where we are going on Saturday (a bore, by-Uie-way) to see father-in-law. Sir Jacob, and my lady's lady-mother. Write — and write more at length — both to the public and " Yours ever most affectionately, " B." LETTER CCLV'L TO MK. MOORE. "Seaham, Stockton-on-Tees, Feb. 2, 1815. "I have heard from London that you have left Chats- worth and all the women full of ' entusymusy'J about you, personally and poetically ; and, in particular, that ' When first I met thee' ha=! been quite overwhelming in its effect. I told you it was one of the best things you over wrote, though that dog Power wanted you to omit part of it. They are all regretting your absence at Chatsworth, according to my informant — ' all the ladies quite, &.c. &c. &c.' Stap my vitals ! " Well, now you have got home again — which I dare say is as agreeable as a ' draught of cool small beer to the scorched palate of a waking sot' — now you have got home again, I say, probably I shall hear from you. Since I wrote last, I have been transferred to my father-in-law's, with my lady and lady's maid, &c. &c. &c. and the treacle- moon is over, and 1 am awake, and find myself married. My spouse and I agree to^and in — admiration. Swift says ' no wise man ever married ;' but, for a fool, I thinic it the most ambrosial of all possible future states. 1 still think one ought to marry upon lease ; but am very sure I should renew mine at the expiration, though next term were for ninety and nine years. "I wish you would respond, for I am here 'oblitusque meorum obliviscendus et illis.' Pray tell me what is going on in the way of intriguery, and how the w s and rogues of the upper Beggar's Opera go on — or rather go off — in or after marriage ; or who are going to break any particular commandment. Upon this dreary coast, we have nothing but county meetings and shipwrecks ; and I have this day dined upon fish, which probably dined upon the crews of several colliers lost in the late gales. But I saw the sea once more in all the glories of surf and foam, — abnost equal to the Bay of Biscay, and the interesting white squalls and short seas of Archipelago memory. "My papa, Sir Ralpho, hath recently made a speech at a Durham tax-meeting; and not only at Durham, but here, several times since, after dinner. He is now, I believe, speaking it to himself (I left him in the middle) over various decanters, which can neither interrupt him nor fall asleep, —as might possibly have been the case with some of his audience. " Ever thine, "B." ' I must go to tea — damn tea. I wish it was Kinnaird's brandy, and with you to lecture me about it." LETTER CCLVII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Seaham, Stockton-upon-Tees, Feb. 2, 1815. "You will oblige me very much by making an occasional inquiry at Albany, at my chambers, whether my books, &c. are kepc in tolerable order, and how far my old woman* continues in health and industry as keeper of my old den. Your parcels have been duly received and perused ; but I had hoped to receive ' Guy Mannering' before this time. I won't intrude further for the present on your avocations professional or pleasurable, but am, as usual, "Very truly, &c" LETTER CCLVIIL TO MR. MOORE. "Feb. 4.1815. "I enclose you half a letter from * * which will explain itself — at least the latter part — the former refers to private business of mine own. If Jeffrey will take such an article, and you will undertake the revision, or, indeed, any portion of the article itself (for unless you do, by Phoebus, I will have nothing to do with if,) we can cook up, between us three, as pretty a dish of sour-crout as ever tipped over the tongue of a book-maker. + * * * " You can, at any rate, try Jeffrey's inclination. Your late proposal from him made me hint this to * *, who is a much better proser and scholar than I am, and a very superior man indeed. Excuse haste — answer this. '• Ever yours most, "B." "P. S. All is well at home. I wrote to you yesterday." LETTER CCLIX. TO MR. WOOKE. "Feb. 10, 1815. "my de.\r thom, "Jeffrey has been so very kind about me and my damn- able works, that I would not be indirect or equivocal with him, even for a friend. So, it may be as well to tell him that it is not mine ; but that, if I did not firmly and truly believe it to be much better than I could offer, I would never have troubled him or you about it. You can judge between you how far it is admissible, and reject if, if not of the right sort. For my own part, I have no interest in the article one way or the other, further than to oblige * *, and should the composition be a good one, it can hurt neither party, — nor, indeed, any one, saving and excepting Mr. * + * *. ****** "Curse catch me if 1 know what H * * means or meaned about the demonstrative pronoun,t but I admire your fear of being inoculated with the same. Have you never found out that you have a particular style of your own, which is as distinct from all other people, as Hafiz of Shiraz from Hafiz of the Morning Post? " So you allowed B * * and such like to hum and haw you, or, rather. Lady Jersey out of her comphment, and me out of mbe.| Sunburn me but this was pitiful hearted. However, I will tell her all about it when I see her, " Bell desires me to say all kinds of civilities, and assure you of her recognition and high consideration. I will tell you of our movements south, which may be in about three weeks from this present writing. By-the-way, don't en- gage yourself in any travelling expedition, as I have a plan of travel into Italy, which we will discuss. And then, ihink of the poesy wherewithal we should overflow, from Venice • Don 3imn, r.-tnto 3, nUnia 23, IcUer 92. t The leiler H is blotted in llie M.S. X It wns thill that, acconlin; to hit account, Mr. Br.iliam, the celebrated •inger and actor used frequeutl/ to prooounce ibe word " eultiusiasm." * Mrs. Mule, his housekeeper. t Some remark whicli had been made with respect to the frequent use of the ttemoiistrative pronoim both by himself and by Sir W. .<-cott. t Verses to Lady Jersey (containing an allusion to Lord Byron,) which Mr. Moore had written, while at Chatsworth, but afterwards destrojeU. LETTERS, 18i5. 83 to Vesuvius, to say nothing of Greece, through all which— God willing — we might perambulate in one twelvemonth If I take my wife, you can take yours ; and if I leave mine, j you may do the same. ' Mind you stand by me, in either case, Brother Bruin.' " And believe me inveterately yours, " B." LETTER CCLX. TO MR. MOORE. "Feb. 22, 1815. "Yesterday,! sent ofFthe packet and letter to Edinburgh. It consisted of forty-one pages, so that 1 have not added a line ; but in my letter, 1 mentioned what passed between you and me in autumn, as my inducement for presuming to trouble him either with my own or * *'s lucubrations. I am any thmg but sure that it will do; but I have told Jeffrey that if there is any decent raw material in it, he may cut it into what shape he pleases, and warp it to his liking. "So you wonU go abroad, then, with me, — but alone. I fully purpose starting much about the time you mention, and alone, too. ****** "I hope Jeffrey won't think me very impudent hi sending * * only ; there was not room for a syllable. I have avowed * ♦ as the author, and said that you thought or said, when I met you last, that he (J.) would not be angry at the coali- tion (though, alas! we have not coalesced,) and so, if I have got into a scrape, I must get out of it — Heaven knows how. "Your i\,nacreon* is come, and with it I sealed (its first impression) the packet and epistle to our patron. "Curse the Melodies, and the Tribes to boot. Braham is to assist — or hath assisted — but will do no more good than a second physician. I merely interfered to oblige a whim of ICinnaird's, and all I have got by it was 'a speech' and a receipt for stewed oysters. "'Not meet' — pray don't say so. We must meet some- where or somehow. Newstead is out of the question, being nearly sold again, or, if not, it is uninhabitable for my spouse. Pray write again. I will soon. "P. S. Pray when do you come out? ever, or never? I hope I have made no blunder ; but I certainly think you said to me (after Wordsworth, whom I first pondered upon, was given up) that * * and I might attempt * * *. His length alone prevented me from trying my part, though I should have been less severe upon the Reviewee. "Your seal is the be ^t and prettiest of my set, and I thank you very much therefor. I have just been — or, rather, ought to be — very much shocked by the death of the Duke of Dorset. We were at school together, and there 1 was passionately attached to him. Since, we have never met — but once, 1 think, since 1805 — and it would be a paltry affectation to pretend that I had any feeling for him worth the name. But there was a time in my life when this event would have broken my heart ; and all I can say for it now is, that — it is not worth breaking. "Adieu — it is all a farce," LETTER CCLXL TO MR. MOORE. "March 2, 1815. "MV DEAR TIIOM, "Jeffrey has sent me the most friendly of all possible let ters, and has accepted + *'s article. He says he has long liked not only, &tc. &c. but my 'character.' This must bo i/our doing, yon dog — ar'n't you ashamed of yourself, know- ing me so well ? This is what one gets for having you for a father confessor. '•I feel merry enough to send ycu a sad song.* You once asked me for some wcrds which you would set. Now you may set or not, as you like, — but there they are, in a legible hand,| and not in mine, but of my own sciiLb'i.'jfr; so you may say of them what you please. Why don't vcu write to me ? I shall make you ' a speech';^ if you don't respond quickly. " I am in such a state of sameness and stagnation, and so totally occupied in consuming the fruits — and saunterbg — and playing dull games at card: — and yawning — and trying to read eld Annual Registers and the daily papers— and gathering shells en the shore — and watching the growth of stunted gooseberry bushes in the garden — that I have neither time nor sense to say more than "Yours ever, "B. " P. S, I open my letter again to put a question to you. What would Lady Cork, or any other fashionable Pidcock, give, to collect you and Jeffrey and me to o??^ party? I have been answering his letter, which suggested this dainty query, I can't help laugliing at the thoughts of your face and mine ; and our anxiety to keep the Aristarch in good humour during the early part of a compotation, till we got drunk enough to make him ' a speech.' 1 think the critic would have much the best of us — of one, at least— for I don't tliink diffidence (I mean social) is a disease of yours." LETTER CCLXn. TO MR. MOORE. "March 8, 1815. "An event — the death of poor Dorset — and the recol- lection of what I once felt, and ought to have felt now, but could not — set me pondering, and finally into the train of thought which you have in your hands. I am very glad you lilce tiiem, for I fiatter myself they will pass as an imi- tation of your style. If I could imitate it well, I should have no great ambition of originality — I wish I could make you exclaim with Dennis, ' I'hal's my thunder, by G — d !' I wrote them with a view to your setting thein, and as a present to Power, if he would accept the words, and t/to did not think yourself degraded, for once in a way, by marrying them to music. "Sunburn Nathan ! why do you always twit me with his vile Ebrew nasalities? Have I not told you it was all K.'s doing, and my own exquisite facility of temper? But thou wilt be a w ag, Thomas ; and sec what you get for it. Now for my revenge. "Depend — and perpend — upon it that your opinion of * '' 's Poem will travel through one or other of the quintuple correspondents, till it reaches the car and the livtr of the author. § Your adventure, however, is truly laughable ; but how could you be such a po!ato ? Yon, ' a brother' (of the quill) too, 'near the throne,' to confide to a man's ovm pub' Usher (who has 'Lovight,' or rather sold, 'golden opinions' about him) such a damnatory parenthesis ! 'Between you and me,' quotha, it reminds me of a passage in tJio Heir at Law — ^ Ttite-'t-tcte ui'h Lady Duberly, I suppose' — ^ No— tete-h-*.6!c with Jive hujichcd people;^ and your confidential communication will doubtless be in circulation to that amount, in a short time, with several additions, and in several letters, all signed L. H. R. O. B. &c. &c. &c. * A «enl, with the head of Anacreon, which Mr. Moore had (ivtn him, t 8m Hour* of IdUueii. • The ver«e« encloied were lliosc melancholy onet, now |>rinted in hit works, " 'i'liore '• iiol u joy the world cuii give like iliul il lakee nwajr." Poem*, n. ir4. t The MS. wm in the hnndwiiiing of l.edy Byron. j These iillnKliMis to "u »i>eech" nr« coiinecied with a little Incident, nni wonh iiii'nu<>iiiiii;i wlilrli Inn! Ai))iiier *vt hii tnitjr lellei») ot lhii3 liiir|iiii)( mi ^mne lunvrnlionitl (.hntsi- nr Joke. — A oort. ill II |ireceiliii« liitii. liiwiiuiiMo I'lie ol' tl c iiiiinfioin (kuiik in i«l" » well-kiinwii iiiilihslini-i-si ilih.il.iiii.iil, (Willi Willi h I huv,- jiliKv lierii lucky eniiii|{ii (o form a in iicliii!iil Willi ihr lolliiwliig wonl» : — H'e nre very •orry that you do not mjiiiivi.' of Mr. • "inew Pot-in, auJ ait your obeditiu, Ac. 4c. L. II.lt. O. c. c."-A/oor*. 94 LETTERS, 1815. "We leave this place tomorrow, and shall stop on our n-ay to town (in the inter\-al of taking a house there) at Col. Lei^n's, near Newmarket, where any epistle of yours will find its welcome way. "I have been very comr:>rtable here, listening to that d — d monologue, ^^•hich elderly gentlemen call conversation, and in which my pious father-in-law repeats himself every eve- ning, save one, wh^n ho played upon the fiddle. However, they have been very kind and hospitable, and I like them and tiie place vastly, and I hope they will live many happy months. Bell is in health, and unvaried good-humour and behaviour. But we are all in the agonies of packing and parting; and I suppose by this time to-morrow 1 shall be stuck in the chariot with my chin upon a bandbox. I have prepared, however, another carriage for the abigail, and all the trumpery which our wives drag along with them " Ever thine, most affectionately, "B.' LETTER CCLXIIL TO MR. MOORE. "March 27, 1815. "I meant to write to you before on the subject of your loss;* but the recollection of the uselessness and worthless- ness of any observations on such events prevented me. I shall only now add, that I rejoice to see you bear it so well, and that I trust limc will enable Pvlrs. M. to sustain it better. Every thing should be done to divert and occupy her with other thoughts and cares, and I am sure all that can be done will. "Now to your letter. Napoleon — but the papers will have told you all. I quite tliink with you upon th.e subject, and for my reed dioughts this time last year, I would refer you to the last pages of the .Journal I gave you. I can forgive the ro:^ue for utterly falsifying every line of mine Ode — which I take to be the last and ultermost stretch of human magnanimity. Do you remember the story of a certain abbe, who v.rote a Treatise on the Swedish Con- stitution, and proved it indissoluble and eternal ? Just as he had corrected the last sheet, news came that Gustavus III. had destroyed this immortal government; 'Sir,' quoth the abbe, ' the king of Sweden may overthrow the consti- tmion, but not iny book! ." I think of the abbe, but not with him. *= Making every allowance for talent and most consum- mate daring, there is, afier all, a good deal in luck or destiny. He might have been stopped by our frigates — or wrecked in the gulf of Lyons, which is particularly tempestuous — or —a thousand things. But he is certainly Fortune's fa- vourite, and Once fairly net out on liis party of pleasure, Taking towns at his liking ami crowns at his leisure, From Elhrt to I^yons and Paris he goes, Making balls for \.\w ladies, and botes to his fnes. You must have seen the account of his driving into the middle of the royal army, and tlie immediate etfect of his pretty speeche?. And now, if he don't drub the allies, there is 'no purchase in money.' If he can take France by him- self^ the devil's in't if he don't repulse the invaders, when backed by those celebrated sworders — those boys of the blade, the Imperial Guard, and the old and new armv. It i.? impossible not to be dazzled and overwhelmed by his cha'-acter and career. Nothing cvrr so disappointed me as his abdication, and nothing could have reconciled me to him but some such revival as his recent exploit ; though no one could anticipate such a complete and brilliant reno- vation. "To your question, lean only answer tliat there have been some symptoms which look a little gestatory. It is a Eubject upon v.luch I am not particularly anviou?, except thai I tliink it would please I'er uncle, Loid Wentwortli, and her fahi^r and m.)thor. The fjrmer (Lord W.) is now in town, and in very indi;icn.'nt health. You perhaps know • The dealh of hi» iiif,int goilrtaushu-r, (Hivia ny:on Moore. that his property, amounting to seven or eight thousand a year, will eventually devolve upon Bell. But the old gen- tleman has been so very kind to her and nie, that I hardly know how to wi^h him in heaven, if he can be comfortable on earth. Her father is still in the country. " We mean to metropolize to-morrow, and you will ad- dress your ne.xt to Piccadilly. We have got the Dutchess of Devon's house there, she being in France. "I don't care what Power says to secure the property of the Song, so that it is not complimentary to me, nor r^ny thing about 'condescending' or 'noble author' — both 'vUe phrases,' as Polonius says. >f: * + * * " Pray, let me hear from you, and when you mean to be in town. Your continental scheme is impracticable for the present. I have to thank you for a longer letter than usual, which I hope will induce you to ta.x my gratitude still far- ther in the same way. "You never told me about 'Longman' and 'next winter, and I am not a 'milestone.'"* LETTER CCLXIV. TO MR. COLERIDGE. "Piccadilly, March 31, 1815. " DEAR SIR, ■ It v,ill give me great pleasure to comply with your re- quest, though I hope there is still taste enough left among us to render it almost unnecessaiy, 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 pubhc' fjr the favourites of the mo- ment ; 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 — 1 mean person- ally, for poetically, 1 would not insult you by a comparison. If I may be permitted, 1 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 imbodying; and I cannot but regret that the part of Ordonio was disposed of before his appearance at Drury-lane. We have 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, "Byrox." " 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 subse- quently my acquaintances, and some of them mv friends, which is ' heaping fire upon an enemy's head,' and forcdving me too readily to permit me to forgive myself The part applied to you is pert, and petulant, and shallow enough ; but, although I l:ave long done every thing in my power to suppress the circulation of the uhole thing. I shall always regret the wantonness or generality of many of its attempt- ed attacks." " Thanks for the books LETTER CCLXV. TO MR. MURR.A.V, "April 9, 1815. I have great objection to your • I ii.vl accii-ied him of having entirely fortrol that, in a preceding letter, I had iiiliirmi'd him ol my iiitcnlion to publish with the Messrs. Longman in the eusiiin<; winter, an:! udiled that, in giving him this information, I found t hud been,— to use an ekgaDt Irish metaphor,—" whisiling jigs to n milestone."— .Voo/f. LETTERS, 1815. 65 proposit.on about inscribinor the vase,* which i?, that it would appear or,tmtatious on my part ; and of course I must send it as it is, without any alteration. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCLXVL TO MR. MOORE. "April 23, 1815. " Lord Wentworth died last week. The bulk of his pro- perty (f/om seven to eight thousand per ann.) is entailed on Lady Milbanlce and Lady Byron. The hrst is gone to take possession in Leicestershire, and attend the funeral, &c. this day. ***** " I have mentioned the facts of the settlement of Lord W.'s property, because the newspapers, with their usual accuracy, have been making all kmds of blunders in their statement. His will is just as expected — the principal part settled on Lady Milbanke (now Noel) and Bell, and a separate estate left for sale to pay debts (which are not great,) and legacies to his natural son and daughter. "Mrs. * *'s tragedy was last night damned. They may bring it on again, and probably will ; but damned it was, — ■ not a word of the last act audible. 1 went (malgre that I ought to have staid at home in sackcloth for unc, but I could not resist the^rsi night of any thing) to a private and quiet nook of my private box, and witnessed the whole process. The first three acts, with transient gushes of applause, oozed patiently but heavily on. I must say it was badly acted, particularly by * *, who was groaned upon in the third act, — something about ' horror — such a horror' was the cause. Well, the fourth act became as muddy and turbid as need be; but the fifth — whatGarrick used to call (like a fool) the concoction of a play — the fifth act stuck fast at the King's prayer. You know he says, 'he never went to bed without saying them, and did not like to omit them now.' But he was no sooner upon hii; knees, than the audience got upon their legs — the damn- able pit — and roared, and groaned, and hissed, and whis- tled. Well, that was choked a little ; but the ruffian scene — tjie penitent peasantry — and killing the Bishop and the Princess — oh, it was all over. The curtain fell upon un- heard actors, and the announcement attempted by Kean for Monday was equally ineffectual. Mrs. Barlley was so frightened, that, though the people were tolerably quiet, the Epilogue was quite inaudible to half the house. In short, — you know all. I clapped till my hands were skin- less, and so did Sir James Mackintosh, who was with me in the box. All the world were in the house, from the Jerseys, Greys, &c. &c. downwards. But it would not do. It i.>, after all, not an acting play ; good language, but no power. * * ***** Women (saving Joanna Baillie) cannot write tragedy; they have not seen enough nor felt enough of life for it. 1 think Semiramis or Catherine II. might have wriUen (could tlicy have been unqueened) a rare play. ******* " It is, however, a good warning not to risk or write tra- gedies. I never had much bent that way : but, if I had, this would have cured me. " Ever, carissime Thorn. "Thine, B." ful, that I made no mention of the drawing?,* &c. when I had the pleasure cf seeing you this morning. The fact is, that till this moment I had not seen them, nor heard cf their arrival : they were carried up in;o the library, where I have not been till just now, and no intimation given me of their coming. The present is so very magnificen*, that — in short, I leave Lady Byron to thank you for it herself) and merely send this to apologize for a piece of apparent and uninten- tional neglect on my own part. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCLXVIL TO MR. MURRAY. "May 21, 1815. "You must have thought it very odd, not to say ungrate- • A Inrge ■cpulchral vn«c of silver, prenciitcd hv l.onl Bvroii, llirciigli Mr. Murray, lo Sir Wulli-r .Scoll. It wu» lull ofUeiiil riitiVs lioiiit, aii.l had iii»iri|iiioin on two Bides of llie base. One ran thus—' Tlie bonea coMiaiiicd In this urn were found in cerluin ancient iie|M'ltlirei wiiliia the land wallii of Aiheni in the moiilli of l-'ebruury, 181 1." Tlio other lace bear;! tliu lineii ol Juvenal : KxprMde— qiiol lihras In diicc snmmo invcniei. — l\tor» aula fiitetur ijiiautuln homijtuin corjiiuc '—Juv. LETTER CCLXVIIL TO MR. HtTJST. "13 Piccadilly Terrace, May— June 1, 1815. "my DEAR HU:ST, " I am as glad to hear from as 1 shall be to see you. We came to town what is called late in the season ; and since that time, the death of Lady Byron's uncle (in the first place) and her own delicate state of health, have prevented either of us from going out much; however, she is now bet- ter, and in a fair way of going creditably through the whole process of beginning a family. "I have the alternate weeks of a private box at Drury- lane Theatre; this is my week, and I send you an ad- mission to it for Kean's nights, Friday and Saturday next, in case you should like to see him quietly; it is close to the stage, the entrance by the private-box door, and you can go without the bore of crowding, jostling, or dressing. I also enclose you a parcel of recent letters from Paris ; perhaps you may find some extracts that niay amuse yourself or your readers. I have only to beg you will prevent your copyist, or printer, from mixing up any of the EngUsh names, or private matter contained therein, which might lead to a discovery of the writer ; and as the Exammer is sure to travel back to Pari?, might get him into a scrape, to say nothing of his coi re-pondent at home. At any rate I hope and think the perusal will amuse you. Whenever you come this way, I shall be happy to make you acquainted with Lady Byron, whom you will find any thing but a fine lady, a species of animal whom you probably do not affect more than myself. Thanks fjr the 'Mask;' there is not only poetry and thought in the bodv, but much research and good old reading in your prefatory matter. I hope you have not given up your narrative j^oeni, of which I heard you speak as in progress. — It rejoices me to hear of the well-doing and regeneration of the 'Feast,' se;ting aside my own selhsh reasons for w i^hing it success. 1 fear you stand almost sing'e in your Uking cf 'Lara,' it is na- tural that I should, as being my last and most unpopular effervescence: passing by irs other sins, it is too li.ile nar- rative, and loo metaphysical to please the greater number of readers. I have, however, much con-olalion in the exception w ith which you fiiriii^h me. Fi om Moore I have not heard very lately ; I fi-ar he is a little huino: ous, be- cause I am a lazy corrcspcndcnt ; but that shall be mended. "Ever your obliged and very sincere friend, "Byrow. "P. S. 'Politics!' The barking of the war-dogs for their carrion has sickened me of ll.cm for the prcccnl." LETTER CCLXIX. TO MR. MOOKE. "13, Piccadilly Terrace, Juno 12, 1815. "I have nothing to offer in behalf of my late i-iletice, ex- cept the most inveterate and ineirablo lu/iness; but 1 am loo supine to invent a lie, or 1 caiuinlj/ should, boin^ ashamed of the truth. Kinnaird, 1 hope, has nppeasi'd your magnanimous uidignution at his biundors. I wished • Mr. M.irrnv lio.l pinwnlnl J.ady Byrou ulth twcWo Jr»win{», by Stolliurd, fruin Lord liyron'i I'ovou. 86 LETTERS, 1815. ani wish you were in Comrruttee, with all my heart.* It Ecems so hopeless abusincs--, that the company of a friend would be quite consoling, — but more of this when we meet. In the mean time, you are entreated to prevail upon Mrs. Esterre to engage herself. I believe she has been written to, but your influence, in person, or proxy, would probably go farther than our proposals. Wliat they are, I know- not: all my new function consists in listening to the despair of Cavendish Bradshaw, the hopes of Kinnaird, the wisnes of Lord Essex, the coniplai.its of Whiibread, and the cal- culations of Peter Moore, — all of which, and whom, seem totally at variance. C. Bradshaw wants to light the theatre with 5 as, which may, perhaps, (if the vulgar be beheved,) poison half the audience, and all the Dramatis PersoncB. Essex has endeavoured to persuade Kean not to get drunk, the consequence of which is, that he has never been sober since. Kinnaird, with equal success, would have convinced Raymond that he, the said Raymond, had too much salary. Whitbread wants us to assess the pit another sixpence, — a d — d insidious proposition, — which will end in an O. P. combustion. To crown all, Robins, the auctioneer, has the impudence to be displeased, be- cause he has no dividend. The villain is a proprietor of shares, and a long-lunged ora!:or in the meetings. I hear he has prophesied our incapacity, — ' a foregone conclusion,' whereof I hope to give him signal proofs before we are done. * Will you give us an Opera? no, I 'II be sworn, but I wish you would. * ***** " To go on with the poetical world, "Walter Scott has gone back to Scotland. Murray, the bookseller, has been cruelly cudgelled of misbegotten knaves, 'in Kendal green,' at Newington Butts, in his way home from a purlieu dinner — and robbed, — would you believe it? — of three or four bonds of forty pounds apiece, and a seal-ring of his grand- father's worth a million! This is his version, — but others opine that D'Israeli, with whom he dined, knocked him down with his last publication, ' the Cluarrels of Authors,' — in a dispute about copyright. Be that as it may, the newspapers have teemed with his 'injuria forms,' and he has been embrocated and invisible to all but the apothecary ever since. "Lady B. is better than three months advanced in her progress towards maternity, and, we hope, likely to go well through with it. We have been very little out this season, as I wish to keep her quiet in her present situation. Her father and mother have changed their names to Noel, in compliance with Lord Wentworfh's will, and in complai- sance to the property bequeathed by him. "I hear that you have been gloriously received by the Irish, — and so you ou^ht. But do n't let them kill you with claret and kindness at the national dinner in your honour, which, I hear and hope, is in contemplation. If you will tell me the day, I'll get drunk myself on this side of (he water, and waft you an applauding hiccup over the Channel. "Of politics, wo have nothing but the yell for war; and Castlereagh is preparing his head fjr the pike, on which we shall see it carried before he has done. The loan has made every body sulky. I hear ofen from Paris, but in direct contradiction to the home statements of our hirelings. Of domestic doings, there has been nothing since Lady D* *. Not a divorce stirring, — but a good many in embryo, in the shape of marriages. " I enclose you an epistle received this morning from I know not whom ; but I think it will amuse you. The writer must be a rare fellow. "p. S. A gentleman named D'Alton (not your Dalton) has sent me a Nafioiial Poem called 'Dermid.' The same cause which prevented my writing to you operated against my wish to write to him an c|)istlc of thanks. If you see him, wilt you malie all kinds of fine speeches for me, and • The Commiilte of Managen of Dniry-liine Ttieatre. tell him that I am the laziest and most ungrateful of mortals ? "A word more; — don't let Sir John Stevenson (as an evidence on trials for copyright, Sic.) talk about the price of your next Poem, or they w ill come upon you for the Property Tax for it, I am serious, and have jusi heard a long story of the rascally tax-men makmg Scott pay for his. So,' take care. Three hundred is a devil of a de- duction out of three thousand. LETTER CCLXX. TO MR. MOORE. "July 7, 1815. "'Grata superveniet,' &c. &c. I had written to you again, but burnt the letter, because I began to think you seriously hurt at my indolence, arfd did not know how the buffoonery it contained might be taken. In tha mean time I have yours, and all is well. "I had given over all hopes of yours. By-the-by, my, 'grata superveniet' should be in the present tense; for 1 perceive it looks now as if it applied to this present scrawl reaching you, whereas it is to the receipt of thy Kilkenny epistle that I have tacked that venerable sentiment. "Poor Whitbread died yesterday morning, — a sudden and severe loss. His health had been wavering, but so fatal an attack was not apprehended. He dropped down, and, I beheve, never spoke afterward. I perceive Perry attributes his death to Drury-lane, — a consolatory encouragement to the new Committee. I have no doubt that * +, who is of a plethoric habit, will be bled immediately; and as I have, since my marriage, lost much of my paleness, and, — 'hoi- resco rcferens' (for I hate even moderate fat) — that happy slenderness, to which, when I first knew you, I had attained, I by no means sit easy under this dispensation of the Morn- ing Chronicle. Every one must regret the loss of Whit- bread; he was surely a great and very good man. " Paris is taken for the second time, I presume it, fur the future, will have an anniversary capture. In the late battles, like all the w^orld, I have lost a connexion, — poor Frederick Howard,* the best of his race, I had little intercourse, of late years, with his family, but I never saw or heard but good of him, Hobhouse's brother is killed. In short, the havoc has not left a family out of its tender mercies. "Every hope of a republic is over, and we must go on under the old system. But I am sick at h.eart of politics and slaughters ; and the luck which Providence is pleased to lavish on Lord * *, is only a proof of the little value the gods set upon prosperity, when they permit such * * *s as he and tliat drunken corporal, old Blucher, to bully their betters. From this, however, Wellington should be ex- cepted. He is a man, — and the Scipio of our Hannibal. However, he may thank the Russian frosts, which destroyed the real elite of the French army, for the successes of Wa- terloo. '* La ! Moore — how you blasphemes about ' Parnassus' and 'Moses !' I am ashamed for you. Won't you do any thing for the drama ? We beseech an Opera, Kinnaird's blunder was partly mine, I wanted you of all things in the Committee, and so did he. But we are now glad you were wiser; for it is, I doubt, a bitter business. " When shall wc see you in England? Sir Ralph Noel (late Milbanke— he don't promise to be late Noel in a hurry) finding that one man can't inhabit two houses, has given his place in the north to me for a habitation ; and there Lady B. threatens to be brought to bed in November. Sir R. and my Lady Mother are to quarter at Kirby — Lord Wentworlh's that was. Perhaps you and Mrs. Moore will pay us a visit at Seaham in the course of the autumn. If so, you and I {without our ivives) will take a lark to Edin- burgh and embrace Jeffrey. It is not much above one hundred miles from us. But all this, and other high mat- • See Cliilde Harold, Canto III— stania 29. LETTERS, 1S15. 87 ters, we will discuss at meeting, which I hope will be on your return. We do n't leave town till August. «Ever,&c." LETTER CCLXXI. TO MR. SOTHEBV. "Sept. 15, 1815. Piccadilly Terrace. "SEAR SIR, "'Ivan'* is accepted, and wU be put in progress on Kean's arrival. " The theatrical gentlemen have a confident hope of its success. I know not that any alterations for the stage will be necessary: if any, they will be trifling, and you shall be duly apprized. I would sugsest that you should not attend any except the latter rehearsals — the managers have re- quested me to state this to you. You can see them, viz. Dibdin and Rae, whenever you f)lea3e, and I will do any thing you wish to be done, on your suggestion, in the mean time. "Mrs. Mardyn is not yet out, and nothing can be deter- mined till she has made her apptarance — I mean as to her capacity for the part you mention, which I take it for granted is not in Ivan — as I think Ivan may be performed very well without her. But of that hereafter. "Ever yours, very truly, "Bvron. "P. S. You will be glad to hear that the season has begun uncommonly well — great and constant houses — the performers in much harmony with the Committee and one another, and as much good-humour as can be preserved in such complicated and extensive interests as the Drury-lane proprietary." LETTER CCLXXIL TO MR. SOTHEBY, "Sept. 25, 1815. "dear sir, " I think it would be adviseable for you to see the acting managers when convenient, as these must be points on which you will want to confer ; the objection I stated was merely on the part of the performers, and is general and not particular to this instance. I thought it as well to mention it at once — and some of the rehearsals you will doubtless see, notwithstanding. "Rae, I rather think, has his eye on Naritzen for him- self. He is a more popular performer than Bartley, and certainly the cast will be stronger with him in it; besides, he is one of the managers, and will feel doubly interested if he can act in both capacities. Mrs. Bartley will be Petrowna ; — as to the Empress, I know not what to say or think. The truth is, we are not amply furnished with tragic women ; but make the best of those we have, you can take your choice of them. Waihave all great hojjcs of the success — on which, setting aside other considerations, we are particularly anxiou.s, as being the first tragedy to be brought out since the old Committee. " By-the-way — I have a charge against you. As the great Mr. Dennis roared out on a similar occasion — 'By G— d, that is my thunder !' so do I exclaim ' This is mif lightning !' I allude to a speech of Ivan's, in the scene with Petrowna and the Empress, where the thought and almost expression are similar to Conrad's m the 3d Canto of the •Corsair.' J, however, do not say this to accuse you, but to exempt myself from suspicion, as there is a priority ( f six months' publication, on my part, between the ai)peanuice of that composition and of your tragedies. "George Lambe meant to have written to you. If you do n't like to confer with the managers at present, I will attend to your wishes — so ^tatc them. " Yours very truly, " Byron." ' A Tragedy, by Mr. Sothoby. LETTER CCLXXIII. TO MR. TAYLOR. "13, Terrace, Piccadilly, Sept. 25, 1815. "hear sir, "I am sorry you should feel uneasy at what has by no means troubled me.* If your Editor, his correspondents, and readers, are amused, I have no objection to be the theme of all the ballads he can find room for, — provided his lucubrations are confined to me only. " It is a long time since things cf this kind have ceased to 'fright me from my propriety ;' nor do I know any similar attack which would mduce me to turn again, — unless it involved those connected wiih me, whose qualities, I hope, are such as to exempt them in the eyes of those who bear no good-will to myself. In such a case, supposing it to occur — to reverse the saying of Dr. Johnson, — 'what the law could not do for me, I would do for myself,' be the consequences what they might. "I return you, with many thanks, Cobnan and the letters. The Poems, I hope, you intended me to keep; — at least, I shall do so, till I hear the contrary. " Very truly yours." LETTER CCLXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Sept. 25, 1815. " Will you publish the Drury-lane ' Magpye ? or, what is more, will you give fifiy, or even forty, pounds for the copy- right of the said ? I have undertaken to ask you this ques- tion on behalf of the translator, and wish you would. Wo can't get so much for him by ten pounds from any body else, and I, knowing your magnificence, would be glad of an answer. "Ever, &c." LETTER CCLXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Sept. 27, 1815. " That 's right, and splendid, and becoming a publisher of high degree. Mr. Concancn (the translator) will be de- lighted, and pay his waslicrwoman ; and in reward for your bountiful behaviour in this inslance, I won't ask you to publi.-h any more for Drury-lane, or any lane whatever again. You will have no tragedy or any thing else from me, I assure you, and may think yourself lucky in having got rid of me, for good and all, without more damage. But I '11 tell you what we will do for you, — act SoUieby's Ivan, which will succeed ; and then your present ajid next im- pression of the dramas of ihat dramalic gentleman will bo expedited to your heart's content ; and if there is any tiling very good, you shall have the refusal ; but you sha'n't have any more requests. "Sotheby has got a thought, and almost the words, from the third Canto of the Corsair, which, you know, was pub- lished six months before his tragedy. It is from the storm in Conrad's cell. I have writ ten to Mr. Solheby to claim it ; and, as Dennis roared out of the pit, 'By G — d, thaVs my thunder !' so do I, and will 1, exclaim, ' By G — tl, that 's my UglitnirigP that electrical fluid being, in fact, the subject oC the said passage. " You will have a print of Fanny Kelly, in the Maid, to prefix, which is honestly worth twice the money you have given for the MS. Pray what did you do with the note I gave you about Muiigo Park ? "Ever, fiic." LETTER CCLXXVL TO MK. HUNT. "13, Terrace, Ticcadilly, Oct. 7. 1815. "my pear hunt, " I had written a long answer to your last, which I put • All ntlttck on l.onl niul Lady Byron, In Uie Sun new«i">l>«r, of which Mr. Taylor wui iiropiiiilor. 88 LETTERS, 1815. into the fire, partly, because it was a repetition of what I have already said, and next, because I considered what my opinions are worth, before I made you pay double pos'age, as your proximity lays you within the jaws of the tremendous ' Twopenny,' and beyond the verge of franking, the only parliamentary privilege, (saving one other,) of much avail in these ' costermonger' days. " Pray don't make me an exception to the 'Long live King Richard' of your bards in the ' Feast.' I do allow him* to be ' the princeof the bards of his time,' upon the judgment of those who must judge more impartially than I probably do. I acknowledge him as I acknowledge the Houses of Hanover and Bourbon, the — n^t the 'one-eyed monarch of the blind,' — but the blind monarch of the one-eyed. I merely lake the liberty of a free subject to vituperate certain of his edicts, and that only in private. I shall be very glad to see you, or your remaining canto ; if both together, so much the better. — I am interrupted." * * + * LETTER CCLXXVIL TO MR. HUNT. "Oct. 15, 1815. "de.ir hunt, "I send you a thing whose greatest value is its present rarity ;f the present copy contains some manuscript cor- rections previous to an edition which was printed, but not published, and, in short, all that is in the suppressed edition, tlie fiih, except twenty lines in addition, for wliich there was not room in t!ie copy before me. There are in it many opinion-i I have altered, and some which I retain ; upon the whole, I wish that it had never been written, though my sending you this copy (the only one in my possession, unless one of Lady B.'s be excepted) may seem at variance with this statement: but my reason for this is very ditFerent ; it is, however, the only gift I have made of the kind this many a day. "P. S. You probably know that it is not in print for sale, nor ever will be (if I can help it) again." sion, which shan't be longer than I can make it. My mo- tive for writing that poem was, 1 fear, not so fair as you are willing to believe it; I was angry, and determined to be witty, and, fighting in a crowd, dealt about my blows against all aWie, without distinction or discernment. When 1 came home from the East, among other new acquaintances and friends, politics and the state of the Nottingham rioter?, (of which county I am a landholder, and Lord Holland Re- corder of the town,) led me by the good offices of Mr. Rogers, into the society of Lord Holland, who, with Lady Holland, was parlicularly kind to ine; about March, 1812, this introduction took place, when 1 made my first speech on the Frame Bill, in the same debate in which Lord Hol- land spoke. Soon after this, 1 was correcting the f.fth edition of 'E. B.' for the press, when Rogers represented to me that he knew Lord and Lady Holland would not be sorry if I suppressed any farther publication cf that Poem; and I immediately acquiesced, and v> ith great pleasure, for I had attacked them upon a fancied and talse provocation, mth many others; and neither was, nor am sorry, to have done what I could to stifle that ferocious rhapsody. This was subsequent to my acquaintance with Lord Holland, and was neither expressed nor understood, as a condition of that acquaintance. Rogers told me he thought I ought to suppress it ; I thought so too, and did as far as I could, and that's all. I sent you my copy, becai-se I consider your having it much the same as having it myself. Lady Byron has one ; I desire not to have any other, and sent it only as a curiosity and a memento." LETTER CCLXXVm. TO MR. HUNT. "Oct. 22,1815. ■ MY DEAR HUNT, "You have excelled yourselfj if not all your contempo- raries, in the canto which I have just finished. I think it above the former books ; but that is as it should be; it rises willi the subject, the conception appears to me perfect, and the execution perhaps as nearly so as verse will admit. There is more originality tlian I recollect to have seen else- where witlun the same compass, and frequent and great happiness of expression. In short, I must turn to the faults, or what appear to be such to me : these are not many, nor such as may not be easily altered, being almost all verbal; and of the same kind as 1 pretended to point out in the former cantos, viz. occasional quaintness and obscurity, and a kind of harsh and yet colloquial compounding of epithets, as if to avoid saying common things in the common way; 'difficile est propria communia dicere,' seems at times to I °'' Perhaps earlier. Lady B. is very ponderous and pros- have met with in you a literal translator. 1 have made a ' P'^''""^) apparently, and 1 wish it well over. few, and but a few pencil marks on the MS. which you can I " There is a play before me from a personage who sipis follow, or not, as you please. | himself 'Hibernicus.' The hero is Malachi, the Irishman " The Poem, as a whole, will give you a very high station ; ^"^ ^^^" ' ^"'^ ^^^^ villain and usurper, Turgesius the Dane, but where i-j the conclusion? Don't let it cool in the com- '^'^'^ conclusion is fine. Turgesius is chained by the leg position! You can always delay as long as you like re- ^^''^^ ^'^c^ direction) to a pillar on the stage; and King LETTER CCLXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. "13, Terrace, Piccadilly, Oct. 28, 1815. "You are, it seems, in England again, as I am to hear from every body but yourself ; and I suppose you punctilious because I did not answer your last Irish letter. When did you leave the ' swate country V Is ever mind, I forgive you ; — a strong proof of— I know not what — to give tlie lie to— ' He never pardons wlio liath done llie wrong.' "You have written to * *. You have also written to Perry, who intimates hope of an Opera from you. Cole- ridge has promised a Tragedy. Now, if you keep Perry's word, and Coleridge keeps his own, Drury-lane will be set up; — and, sooth to say, it is in grievous want of such a lift. We began at speed, and are blown already. When I say ' we,' I mean Kinnaird, who is the ' all in all sufficient,' and can count, which none of the rest of the Committee can. " It is really very good fun, as far as the daily and nightly stir of these strutters and frettcrs go; and, if the concern could be brought to pay a shilling in the pound, would do much credit to the management. Mr. has an ac- cepted tragedy, * * * + *^ whose first scene is in his sleep, (I do n't mean the author's.) It was forwarded to us as a prodigious favourite of ^an's ; but the said Kean, upon interrogation, denies his eulogy, and protests against his part. How it will end, I know not. "I say so much about the theatre, because there is no- thing else alive in London at this season. All the world are out of it, except us, who remain to lie in,— in December, vising, though I am not sure, in the very face of Horace that the ' nonum,' &c. is attended with advantage, unless we read 'months' for 'years.' I am glad the book sentf reached you. I forgot to tell you the story of its suppres- • Words wor'.ti. t A copy of the EiiglUh Cards and Scotch Revicwcra . Malachi makes him a speech, not unlike Lord Castle- reagh's about the balance of power and the lawfulness of legitimacy, which puts Turgesius into a phrensy— a's Ca.s- tlereagh's would, if his audience was chained by the leg. He draws a dagger and rushes at the orator ; biit, finding himself at the end of his tether, he sticks it into his o,\r. carcass, and dies, saying, he has fulfilled a prophecy. LETTERS, 1815. 89 " Now, this is serious, downright matter of fact, and the gravest part of a tragedy which is not intended for bur- lesque. 1 tell it you for the honour of Ireland. The writer hopes it will be represented : — but what is Hope ? nothing but the paint on the face of Existence ; the least touch of Truth rubs it off^ and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. I am not sure that I have not said this last superfine reflection before. But never mind ; — it will do for the tragedy of Turgesius, to which I can append it. "Well, but how dost thou do? thou bard, not of a thou- sand, but three thousand ! I wish your friend. Sir John Piano-forte, had kept that to himself; and not made it pub- lic at the trial of the song-seller in Dubhn. I tell you why ; it is a liberal thing for Longman to do, and honourable for you to obtain ; but it will set all the ' hungry and dinnerless lank-jawed judges' upon the fortunate author. But they be d— d! — the 'Jeffrey and the Moore together are confi- dent against the world in ink !' By-the-way, if poor Cole- ridge — who is a man of wonderful talent, and in distress, and about to publish two vols, of Poesy and Biography, and who has been worse used by the critics than ever we were — will you, if he comes out, promise me to review him favourably in the E. R.? Praise him, I think you must, but you will also praise him well, — of all things the most difficult. It will be the making of him. " This must be a secret between you and me, as Jeffrey might not like such a project — nor, indeed, might Coleridge himself like it. But I do think he only wants a pioneer, and a sparkle or two to explode most gloriously. "Ever yours most affectionately, " B." LETTER CCLXXX. TO MR. HUNT. «13, Terrace, Piccadilly, Sept.— Oct. 30, 1815. "my dear hunt, " Many thanks for your books, of which you already know my opinion : their external splendour should not dis- turb you as inappropriate — they have still more within than without. I take leave to differ from you on Wordsworth, as freely as I once agreed with you ; at that time I gave him credit for a promise, which is unfulfilled. I still think his capacity warrants all you say of it only, but that his performances since ' Lyrical Ballads' are miserably inade- quate to the ability which lurks within him: there is un- doubtedly much natural talent spilt over the 'Excursion,' but it is rain upon rocks, where it stands and stagnates, or rain upon sands, where it falls without fertilizing. "Who can understand him? Let those who do, make him intel- ligible. Jacob Behmen, Svvedcnborg, and Joanna South- cote, are mere types of this arch-apostle of mystery and mysticism. But 1 have done, — no, 1 have not done, for I have two petty, and perhaps unworthy objections in small matters to make to him, which, with his pretensions to accurate observations, and fury against Pope's false trans- lation of ' the moonlight scene m Homer,' I wonder he should have fallen into : these be they : — He says of Greece in the body of his book, that it is a land of ' Rivera, fertile plains, niitl sounding shores, Under a cope of variegated sky.' The rivers arc dry half the year, the plains are barren, and the shores still and tidclcss as the Mediterranean can make them ; the sky is any thing but variegated, being for months and months but 'darkly, deeply, beautifully blue.' — The next is in his notes, where he talks of our 'Monuments crowded together in the busy, &c. of a large to\^■n,' as com- pared with the 'still seclusion of a Turkish c«Tn<>l<"ry in some remote place.' This is pure stuff; for otic moinimcnt in our churchyards there are ten in tlie Turkish, and so crowded that you cannot walk between them ; that is, divided merely by a path or road ; and as to 'remote places,' men never take the trouble, in a barbarous country, to 12 carry their dead very far: they must have lived near to where they were buried. There are no cemeteries in 'remote places,' except such as have the cypress and the tombstone still left, where the olive and the habitation of the living have perished. . . . These things I was struck with, as coming peculiarly in my own way ; and in both of these he is wrong : yet I should have noticed neither, but for his attack on Pope for a like blunder, and a peevish affectation about him of despising a popularity which he will never obtain, I write in great haste, and, I doubt, not much to the purpose, but you have it hot and hot, just as it comes, and so let it go. By-the-way, both he and you go too far against Pope's 'So when the moon,' &c. ; it is no translation, I know ; but it is not such false description as asserted. I have read it on the spot ; there is a burst, and a lightness, and a glow about the night in the Troad, which makes the 'planets vivid,' and the ' pole glaring.' The moon is, at least the sky is, clearness itself; and I know no more appropriate expression for the expansion of such a heaven — o'er the scene — the plain — the sea — the sky — Ida — the Hellespont — Simois — Scamander — and the Isles — than that of a ' flood of glory.' I am getting horribly lengthy, and must stop : to the whole of your letter I sav ' ditto to Mr. Burke,' as the Bristol candidate cried by way of electioneering harangue. You need not speak of morbid feelings and vexations to me ; I have plenty ; but I must blame partly the times, and chiefly myself: but let us forget them. / shall be very apt to do so when I see you next. Will you come to the theatre and see our new manage- ment ? You shall cut it up to your heart's content, root and branch, afterwards, if you like, but come and see it ! If not, I must come and see you. "Ever yours, "Very truly and affectionately, " ByRON. " P. S. Not a word from Moore for these two months. Pray let me have the rest of Rimini. You have two ex- cellent points in tliat Poem, originahty and Italianism. 1 will back you as a Bard against half the fellows on whom you have thrown away much good criticism and eulogy ; but do n't let your bookseller publish in quarto, it is the worst size possible for circulation. I say this on biblio* polical authority. "Again, yours ever, "B." LETTER CCLXXXL to me. MOORE. « Terrace, Piccadilly, Oct. 31, 1815. I have not been able to ascertain precisely the time of duration of the stock market; but I believe it is a good time for selling out, and I hope so. First, because I shall see you ; and, next, because I shall receive certain moneys on behalf of Lady B. the which will materially conduce to mv comfort, — 1 wanting (as the duns say) 'to malvc up a sum.' "Yesterday, I dined out with a largeish party, where were Sheridan and Cohnan, Harry Harris of C. G. and his brother. Sir Gilbert Heathcotc, Ds. Kijinaird, and others of note and notoriety. Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then dis- putatious, then unintelligible, then altogethcry, then inar- ticulate, and then drunk. When we had roarhod the last step of this glorious ladder, it was diflirult to get down again without stumbling ; — and, to cro\\n all, Kinnaird and 1 had to conduct Sheridan down a d^l corkscrew staircase, which had certainly been constructed before the discovery of fermented liquors, and to which no legs, however crooked, could |)ossil)ly acconunodatc tluniselvcs. A^'e deiHwited him safe at home, where his man, evidently used to the business, wailcil to receive him in the hall. " Both he and Colman were, as usual, very good ; but I carried away much wine, anil tho wine hod previously carried away my memory; so that alt wa.^ hiccup and happiness for the last hour or so, and I am not impre;:nat»'d with any of tho conversation. Perhaps you heard of a lato 90 LETTERS, 1815. answer of Sheridan to the watchman who found him bereft of that ' divine particle of air,' called reason,— * * ♦ * * * *. He, the watchman, found Sherry in the street, fuddled and bewildered, and almost msensible. ' Who are you, sir T — no answer. ' What 's your name ?' — a hiccup. ' What 's your name ?' — Answer, in a slow, deliberate, and impassive tone, — 'Wilber- force!!!' Is not that Sherry all over?— and to my mind excellent. Poor fellow, lus very dregs are better than the ' first sprightly runnings' of others. " My paper is full, and I have a grievous headach. " P. S. Lady B. is in full progress. Next month will bring to light (with the aid of ' Juno Lucina, ftr opem^ or rather opes, for the last are most wanted) the tenth wonder of the world ; Gil Bias being the eighth, and he (my son's father) tlie ninth," LETTER CCLXXXIL TO MR. MOORE. "Nov. 4, 1815. "Had you not bewildered my head with the 'stocks,' your letter would have been answered directly. Had n't I to go to the city? and hadn't T to remember what to ask when I got tliere? and had n't I forgotten it ? ''I should be undoubtedly delighted to see you; but I don't like to urge against your reasons my own inclinations. Come you must soon, for stay you won't. I know you of old ; — ^you have been too much leavened with London to keep long out of it. "Lewis is going to Jamaica to suck his sugar-canes. He sails in two days ; I enclose you his fareweU note. I saw him last night at D. L. T. for the last time previous to his voyage. Poor fellow ! he is really a good man ; an excellent man ; he left me his walking-stick and a pot of preserved ginger. I shall never eat the last without tears in my eyes, it is so hot. We have had a devil of a row among our ballarinas : Miss Smith has been wTonged about a hornpipe. The Committee have interfered ; but Byrne, the d — d ballet-master, won't budge a step. I am furious, 80 is George Lambe. Kinnaird is very glad, because — he do n't know why ; and I am vcrj' sorry, for the same reason. To-day I dine with Kd. — we are to have Sheridan and Colman again ; and to-morrow, once more, at Sir Gilbert Heathcote's. ****** " Leigh Hunt has written a real good and very original Poem, which I diink will be a great hit. You can have no notion how very well it is written, nor should I, had I not redde it. As to us, Tom — eh, when art thou out ? If you think the verses worth it, I would rather tliey were em- balmed in the Irish Melodies, than scattered abroad in a separate song ; much rather. But when are thy great things out? I mean the Po of Pos; thy Shah Nameh. It is very kind in Jeffrey to like the Hebrew Melodies. Some of the fellows here preferred Sternhold and Hopkins, and said so; — 'the fiend receive their souls therefor 1' " I must go and dress for dinner. Poor, dear Murat, what an end ! You know, I suppose, that his white plume used to be a rallying point in battle,* like Henry the Fourth's. He refused a confessor and a bandage; so would neither suffer his soul or body to be bandaged. You shall have more to-morrow or next day. " Ever, &c." LETTER CCLXXXIIL TO MR. MURR.*.y. "Nov. 4, 1815. "When you have been enabled to form an opinion on Mr. Coleridge's MS. you will oblige me by returning it, as, in fact, I have no authority to let it out of my hands. I >Sm Poems, p. 196. think most highly of it, and feel anxious that you should be the publisher ; but if you are not, I do not desptur of finding those who will. "I have written to Mr. Leigh Hunt, stating your willing- ness to treat with him, which, when I saw you, I understood you to be. Terms and time I leave to his pleasure and your discernment ; but this I will say, that 1 think it the safest thing you ever engaged in. I speak to you as a man of business: were I to talk to you as a reader or a critic, I should sav, it was a very wonderful and beautiful perform- ance, with just enough of fault to make its beauties more remarked and remarkable. "And now to the last ; my owti, which I feel ashamed of after the others : — pubhsh or not as you like, I do n't care one damn. If you do n't, no one else shall, and I never thought or dreamed of it, except as one in the collection. If it is worth being in the fourth volume, put it there and nowhere else ; and if not, put it in the fire. "Yours, LETTER CCLXXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Nov. 14, 1815. "I return you your bills not accepted, but certainly not unhonoured. Your present offer is a favour which I would accept from you, if I accepted such from any man. Had such been my intention, I can assure you I would have asked you fairly, and as freely as you would give ; and I cannot say more of my confidence or your conduct. " The circumstances which induce me to part with my books,* though sufficiently, are not immediately, pressing. I have made up my mind to them, and there 's an end. " Had I been disposed to trespass on your kindness in this way, it would have been before now ; but I am not sorry to have an opportunity of declining it, as it sets my opinion of you, and indeed of human nature, in a different light from that in which I have been accustomed to con- sider it. • Believe me very truly, &c." LETTER CCLXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Dec. 25, 1815. "I send some Unes, written some time ago, and intended as an opening to the 'Siege of Corinth.' I had forgotten then^and am not sure that they had not better be left out now : on that, you and your Synod can determine.! « Yours, &c* FRAGMENTS OF LETTERS WRITTEN ABOUT THIS TIME TO MR. HUNT, "With regard to the English Bards and Scotch Re- viewers, I have no concealments, nor desire to have any, from you or yours; the suppression occurred (I am assure as I can be of any thing) in the manner stated : I have never regretted that, but very often the composition, that is, the humciir of a great deal in it. As to the quotation you allude to, I have no right, nor indeed desire, to prevent it ; but, on the contrary, in common with all other writers, I do and ought to take it as a compliment, " The paper on the Methodists I redde, and agree with the writer on one point, in which you and he perhaps differ ; * In consequence of his pecuniary embarrassments at this time, he had expressed an intention of parting with his boolfs. On hearing this, Mr. Murray instantly forwarded him 1500Z. with an assurance that another sum of the same amount should be at his service in a. few weeks, and that if such assistance should not be sufficient, Mr. Murray was most ready ta dispose of the copyrights of all his past works for his use. t See Poems, p. 131. * LETTERS, 1816. 91 that an addiction to poetry is very generally the result of 'an uneasy mind in an uneasy body ;' disease or deformity have been the attendants of many of our best. Collins mad — Chatterton, /think, mad — Co%vper mad — Pope crooked — Milton blind — Gray (I have heard that the last was afflicted by an incurable and very grievous distemper, though not generally known) and others — I have some- where read, however, that poets rarely go mad. I suppose the writer means that their insanity effervesces and evapo- rates in verse — may be so. "I have not had time to attack your system, which ought to be done, were it only because it is a system. So, by and by, have at you. "Yours, ever, "Byron." "Of ' Rimini,^ Sir Henry Englefield, a mighty man in the blue circles, and a very clever man any where, sent to Murray, in terms of the highest eulogy; and with regard to the common reader, my suter and cousin (who are now all my family, and the last since gone away to be married) were in fixed perusal and delight with it, and they are ' not critical,' but fair, natural, unaffected, and understanding persons. Frere, and aO the arch-literati, I hear, are also unanimous in a high opinion of the Poem." LETTER CCLXXXVI. TO MR, MOORE. "Jan. 5, 1816. "I hope IMrs. M. is quite re-established. The little girl was born on tlie 10th of December last : her name is Au- gusta Ada, (the second a very antique family name, — I believe not used since the reign of King John.) She was, and is, very flourishing and fat, and reckoned very large for her days — squalls and sucljs incessantly. Are you answered ? Her mother is doing very well, and up again. '^1 have now been married a year on the second of this month — heigh-ho ! I have seen nobody lately much worth noting, except S * * and another general of die Gauls, once or twice at dinners out of doors. S * * is a fine, foreign, villainous-looking, intelligent, and very agreeable man ; his compatriot is more of the petit-maitre, and younger, but I should think not at all of the same intellectual calibre with the Corsican — which S * *, you know, is, and a cousin of Napoleon's. "Are you never to be expected in town again? To be sure, there is no one here of the 1500 fillers of hot rooms, called tlie fashionable world. My approaching papa-ship detained us for advice, &c. &c. — though I would as soon be here as any where else on this side of the straits of Gibraltar. "I would gladly — or, rather, sorrowfully — comply witli your request of a dirge for the poor girl you mention.* But how can I write on one I have never seen or known ? Besides, you will do it much better yourself I could not write upon any thing, without some personal experience and foundation ; far less on a theme so peculiar. Now, you have botli in this case; and, if you had nciUier, you have more imagination, and would never fail. " This is but a dull scrawl, and I am but a dull fellow. Just at present, I am absorbed in 500 contradictory con- templations, though with but one object in view — which will probably end in nothing, as most things we wish do. But nevermind — as somebody says, 'for the blue sky bends over all.' 1 only could be glad, if it bent over me where it IS a Utile bluer; like the 'skyish top of blue Olympus,' which, by-the-way, looked very wliite when I last saw it. "Even&c." • T hnd menlionsd to him, as a »ubject worthy of hin best yiowcii of pnthos, ■ melnncholy event which hud lust occurrrd In my iicichhoiithooil, and to which I have myBulf mivdealiujionlii one of the Sacred Melodies— " Weep not for her." — Moort. LETTER CCLXXXVn. TO MR. HUNT. "Jan. 29, 1816. "dear hunt, "I return your extract with thanks for the perusal, and hope you are by this time on the verge of publication. My pencil-marks on the ma rgin of your former manuscripts I never thought worth tlie trouble of deciphering, but I had no such meaning as you imagine for their being withheld from Murray, from whom I differ entirely as to the terms of your agreement ; nor do I think you asked a piastre too much for the Poem. However, I doubt not he will deal fairly by you on the whole ; he is really a very good fellow, and his faults are merely the leaven of his 'trade' — 'the trade !' the slave-trade of many an unlucky writer. " The said Murray and I are just at present in no good humour with each other; but he is not the worse for that; I feel sure that he will give your work as fair or a fairer chance in every way than your late publishers ; and what he can't do for it, it will do for itself "Continual business and occasional indisposition have been the causes of my negligence (for I deny neglect) in not wridng to you immediately. These are excuses; I wish they may be more satisfactory to you tlian they are to me. I opened my eyes yesterday morning on your comphment of Sunday. If you knew what a hopeless and lethargic den of dulness and drawling our hospital is during a debate : and what a mass of corruption in its patients, you would wonder, not that I very seldom speak, but that I ever attempted it, feeling, as I trust 1 do, independently. How- ever, when a proper spirit is manifested ' without doors,' I will endeavour not to be idle within. Do you think such a time is coming? Methmks there are gleams of it. My forefathers were of the other side of the question ui Charles' days, and the fruit of it was a title and the loss of an enor- mous property. "If the old struggle comes on, I may lose the one, and shall never regain the other, but no matter; there are things, even in this world, better than either. "Very truly, ever yours, B." LETTER CCLXXXVIII. TO MR. ROGERS. "Feb. 8, 1816. " Do not mistake me — I really returned your book for the reason assigned, and no other. It is too good for so careless a fellow. I have parted with all my own books, and positively won't deprive you of so valuable ' a drop of that immortal man.' " I shall be very glad to see you, if you like to call, though I am at present contending with ' the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,' some of which have struck at me from a quarter whence I did not indeed expect them. But no matter, ' there is a world elsewhere,' and I will cut my way through this as 1 can. " U you write to Moore, will you tell him that I shall answer liis letter the moment I can muster time and spirits? "Ever yours, "Bn." LETTER CCLXXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Feb. 29, 1816. " I have not answered your letter for a time ; and, at present, the reply to part of it might extend to such a length, that I sliall delay it till it can be made in person, and llien I will shorten it as much as 1 can. " In the mean time, 1 am at war ' with all the world and his wife;' or ratlier, 'all the world and my wife' are at war with me, and have not yet crushed me, whatever lliey may do. I do n't luiow that in tlw course u»' a luiirl^rtNidUi 92 LETTERS, 1816. existence I was ever, at home or abroad, in a situation so completely uprooting of present pleasure, or rational hope for the future, as this same. I say this, because I thinlc so, and feel it. But I shall not sink under it the more for that mode of considering the question. I have made up my mind. " By-the-way, however, you must not believe all you hear on the subject ; and do n't attempt to defend me. If you succeeded in that, it would be a mortal, or an immortal offence— who can bear refutation ? I hav^ but a very short answer for those whom it concerns ; and all the activity of myself and some vigorous friends have not yet fixed on any tangible ground or personage, on which or with whom I can discuss matters, in a summary way, with a fair pretext; though I nearly had nailed one yesterday, but he evaded by — what was judged by others— a satisfactory explanation. I speak of circulators — against whom I have no enmity, though I must act according to the common code of usage, when I hit upon those of the serious order. " Now for other matters — Poesy, for instance. Leigh Hunt's poem is a devilish good one — quaint, here and there, but with the substratum of originality, and with poetry about it that ^vill stand the test. 1 do not say this because he has inscribed it to me, which I am sorry for, as I should otherwise have begged you to review it in the Edinburgh. It is really deserving of much praise, and a favourable critique in the E. R. would but do it justice, and set it up before the public eye where it ought to be. "How are you? and where? I have not the most distant idea what I am going to do myself, or with myself— or where — or what. I had, a few weeks ago, some things to Bay, that would have made you laugh ; but they tell me now that I must not laugh, and so I have been very serious —and am. " I have not been very well — with a liver complaint — but am much better within the last fortnight, though still under latrical advice. I have latterly seen a little of * * ** + + + ** + +_ " I must go and dress to dine. My little girl is in the country, and, they tell me, is a very fine child, and now nearly three months old. Lady Noel (my mother-in-law, or rather, at law) is at present overlooking it. Her daughter (Miss Milbanke that was) is, I believe, in London with her father, A Mrs. Charlmont,* (now a kind of house- keeper and spy of Lady N.'s) who, in her better days, was a washenvoman, is supposed to be — by the learned — very much the occult cause of our late domestic discrepancies. "In all this business, I am the sorriest for Sir Ralph. He and I are equally punished, though magis pares quern timiles in our affliction. Yet it is hard for both to suffer for the fault of one, and so it is — I shall be separated from my wife ; he will retain his. "Ever, &c." LETTER CCXC. TO MR. HUNT. "Feb. 26, 1816. "dear hunt, "Your letter would have been answered before, had I not thought it probable that, as you were in town for a day or so, I should have seen you ;— I do n't mean this as a hint at reproach for not calling, but merely that of course I should have been very glad if you had called in your way home or abroad, as I always would have been, and always bhall be. With regard to the circumstances to which you allude, tliere is no reason why you should not speak openly to me on a subject already sufficiently rife in the mouths and minds of what is called 'the world.' Of the 'fifty re- ports,' it follows that forty-nine must have more or less error and exaggeration; but I am sorry to say, that on the main and essential point of an intended, and, it may be, an inevitable separation, I can contradict none. At present I Bhall say no more, but this is not from want of confidence; * Mri. CharlmoBt. Sm I'oems, p. 193 in the mean time I shall merely request a suspension of opinion. Your prefatory letter to ' Rimini' I accepted as it was meant, as a public compliment and a private kind- ness. I am only sorry that it may perhaps operate against you as an inducement, and, with some, a pretext for attack on the part of the political and personal enemies of both ; not that this can be of much consequence, for in the end the work must be judged by its merits, and, in that respect, you are well armed. Murray tells me it is going on well, and, you may depend upon it, there is a substratum of poetry, which is a foundation for sohd and durable fame. The objections (if there be objections, for this is a pre- sumption, and not an assumption) will be merely as to the mechanical part, and such, as I stated before, the usual consequences of either novelty or revival. I desired Mur- ray to forward to you a pamplilet with two things of mine in it, tlie most part of both of them, and of one in particular, tvritten before others of my composing, which have preceded them in publication; they are neither of them of much pretension, nor intended for it. You will perhaps wonder at my dwelling so much and so frequently on former sub- jects and scenes ; but the fact is, that I found them fading fast from my memory ; and I was, at the same time, so partial to their place, (and events connected with it,) that I have stamped them while I could, in such colours as I could trust to now, but might have confused and misapplied hereafter, had I longer delayed the attempted delineation." LETTER CCXCI. TO MR. MOORE. "March 8, 1816. "I rejoice in your promotion as Chairman and Chari- table Steward, &.c. &c. These be dignities which await only the virtuous. But then, recollect, you are six-and- thirty, (I speak this enviously — not of your age, but the ' honour — love — obedience — troops of friends,' which ac- company it,) and I have eight years good to run before I arrive at such hoary perfection; by which time, — if I am at all, — it will probably be in a state of grace or progressing merits. "I must set you right in one point, however. The fault wcis not — no, nor even the misfortune, — in my 'choice' (unless in choosing ai all) — for I do not believe, and I must say it, in the very dregs of all this bitter business, that there ever was a better, or even a brighter, a kinder, or a more amiable and agreeable being than Lady B. I never had, nor can have, any reproach to malie her, while with me. Where there is blame, it belongs to myself; and, if 1 cannot redeem, I must bear it. "Her nearest relatives are a * * * * — my circumstances have been and are in a state of great confusion — my health has been a good deal disordered, and my mind ill at ease for a considerable period. Such are the causes (I do not name them as excuses) which have frequently driven me into excess, and disqualified my temper for comfort. Some- thing also may be attributed to tlie strange and desultory habits which, becoming my own master at an early age, and scrambling about, over and through the world, may have induced. I still, however, think that, if I had had a fair chance, by being placed in even a tolerable situation, I might have gone on fairly. But that seems hopeless, and there is nothing more to be said. At present — except my health, which is better (it is odd, but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for the time)— I have to battle with all kinds of unpleasant- nesses, including private and pecuniary difficulties, &c. &c, "I believe I may have said this before to you, — but I risk repeating it. It is nothing to bear the privations of adversity, or, more properly, ill fortune; but my pride recoils from its indignities. However, I have no quarrel with that same pride, which will, I think, buckler me through every thing. If my heart could have been broken, it would have been so years ago, and by events more afflicting than these. LETTERS, 18J6. 93 "I agree with you (to turn from this topic to our shop) that I have written too much. The last things were, how- ever, published very reluctantly by me, and for reasons I will explain when we meet. I know not why I have dwelt so much on the same scenes, except that I find them fading, or confusing (if such a word may be) in my memory, in the midst of present turbulence and pressure, and I feU anxious to stamp before the die was worn out. I now break it. With those countries, and events connected with them, all my really poetical feelings begin and end. Were I to try, 1 could make nothing of any other subject, and that I have apparently exhausted. 'W^o to him,' says Voltaire, 'who says all he could say on any subject.' There are some on which, perhaps, I could have said still more; but I leave them all, and not too soon. "Do you remember the lines I sent you early last year, which you still have? I do n't wish (lilie iVIr. Fitzgerald, in the Morning Post) to claim the character of 'Vates' in all its translations; but were they not a little prophetic? I mean those beginning 'There's not a joy the world can,'* &c. &c. on which 1 rather pique myself as being the truest, though the most melancholy, I ever wrote. " What a scrawl have I sent you ! You say nothing of yourself, except that you are a Lancasterian churchwarden, and an encourager of mendicants. When are you out? and how is your family? My child is very well and flourishing, I hear : but I must see also. I feel no disposi- tion to resign it to the contagion of its grandmother's society, though I am unwilling to take it from the mother. It is weaned, however, and something about it must be decided. "Ever, &c." [The letter that follows was in answer to one received from Mr. Murray, in which he had enclosed him a draft for a thousand guineas for the copyright of his two Poems, the Siege of Corinth and Parisina.] LETTER CCXCIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Jan. 2, 1816. "Your offer is liheral in the extreme, (you see I use the word to you and oTyou, though I would not consent to your using it of yourself to Mr. * * + *j) and much more than the two poems can possibly be worth ; but I cannot accept it, nor will not. You are most welcome to them as addi- tions to the collected volumes, without any demand or expectation on my part whatever. But I cannot consent to their separate publication. I do not like to risk any fame (whether merited or not) which I have been favoured with, upon compositions which I do not feel to be at all equal to my own notions of what they should be, (and as I flatter myself some have been, here and there,) though they may do very well as things v\ ithout pretension, to add to the publication wiili the lighter pieces. "I am very glad that the handwriting was a favourable omen of the morale of the piece: but you must not trust to that, for my copyist would write out any thing 1 desired in all the ignorance of innocence — I hope, however, in this instance, with no great peril to either. "P. S. I have enclosed your draft torn, for fear of acci- dents by tlic way — I \%ish you would not throw temptation in mine. It is not from a disdain of the universal idol, not from a present superfluity of his treasures, I can assure you, that I rt-fuse to wor.slu|) him ; but what is right is right, and must not yield to circumstances." LETTER CCXCm. TO MR. ROGERS. "Feb. 20, 1816. ■I wrote to you hastily tJiis morning by Murray, to say S«e Potno, p. 19^1. that I was glad to do as Mackintosh and you suggested about Mr. * *. It occurs to me now, that as I have never seen Mr. * * but once, and consequently have no claim to his acquaintance, that you or Sir J. had better arrange it with him in such a manner as may be least offensive to his feelings, and so as not to have the appearance of officious- ness nor obtrusion on my part. I hope you will be able to do this, as I should be very sorry to do any thing by him that may be deemed indelicate. The sum Murray ofl"ered and offers was and is one thousand and fifty pounds: this I refused before, because I thought it more than the two things were worth to Murray, and from other objections, which are of no consequence. I have, however, closed with M. in consequence of Sir J.'s and your suggestion, and propose the sum of six hundred pounds to be trans- ferred to Mr. * * in such manner as may seem best to your friend, — the remainder I think of for other purposes. "As Murray has offered the money down for the copy- rights, it may be done directly. I am ready to sign and seal immediately, and perhaps it had better not be delayed. I shall feel very glad iif it can be of any use to * * ; only do n't let him be plagued, nor think himself obliged and all that, which makes people hate one another, &c. " Yours, very truly, « B." LETTER CCXCIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Feb. 22, 1816. "When the sum offered by you, and even pressed by you, was declined, it was with reference to a separate publication, as you know and I know. That it was large, I admitted and admit; and that made part of my conside- ration in refusing it, till I knew better what you were likely to make of it. With regard to what is past, or is to pass, about Mr. + *, the case is in no respect different from the transfer of former copyrights to Mr. Dallas. Had I taken you at your word, that is, taken your money, I might have used it as I pleased ; and it could be in no respect different to you whether I paid it to a w — , or a hospital, or assisted a man of talent in distress. The truth of the matter seems this: you offered more than the poems are worth. I said so, and I think so ; but you know, or at least ought to know, your o\^■n business best; and \\hen you recollect what passed between you and me upon pecuniary subject* before this occurred, you will acquit me of any wish to take advantage of your in)prudenc6. " The things in question shall not be published at all, and there is an end of the matter. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCXCV. TO MR. MURRAY. "March 6, 1816. *♦*♦ + * "I sent to you to-day for this reason — the books you purchased are again seized, and, as matters stand, had much better be sold at once by public auctiou. I wish to see you, to return your bill for them; which, tliank God, is neither due nor paid. Thai part, as far as jyou are con- cerned, being settled, (which it can be, and shall be, when I see you lo-murrow,) 1 have no further delicacy about the matter. This is about the tenth execution in as many months; so I am |)retty well hardened ; but it is fit I should pay the forfeit of my forefather's extravagance and my own ; and whatever my faults may bo, 1 suppose they will be pretty well expiated in time— or eternity. " Ever, &c. " P. S. I need hardly say that I knew nothuig till this day of the new seizure. I had released them from former one."?, and tlwught, when you took them, that they wer« yours. " You shaD have your bill again to-morrow.* 94 LETTERS, 1816. LETTER CCXCVI. TO MR. MURRAY. «Feb.3,1816. "I sent for ' Marmion,' which I return, because it occurred to me, there might be a resemblance between part of 'Pa- risina' and a similar scene in Canto 2 of ' Marmion.' I fear there is, tliough I never diought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. Giftbrd whether I ought to say any tiling upon it; — I had completed the story on tlie passage from Gibbon, which indeed leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind: but it comes upon me not very com- fortably. "There are a few words and phrases I want to alter in the MS. and should like to do it before you print, and will return it in an hour. "Yours ever." LETTER CCXCVn. TO MR. MURRAY. Feb. 20, 1816. * "To return to our business — your epistles are vastly agreeable. With regard to the observations on careless- ness, &c. I think, with all humility, that the gentle reader has considered a rather uncommon, and designedly irregu- lar, versification for haste and negligence. The measure is not that of any of the other poems, which (I believe) were allowed to be tolerably correct, according to Bysshe and the fingers — or ears — by which bards write, and readers reckon. Great part of tlie ' Siege' is in (I ihink) what the learned called Anapests, (though I am not sure, being heinously forgetful of my metres and my •' Gradus',) and many of the hnes intentionally longer or shorter tlian its rhyming companion ; and rhyme also occurring at greater or less intervals of caprice or convenience. " I mean not to say that this is right or good, but merely that I could have been smoother, had it appeared to me of advantage ; and that I was not otherwise without being aware of the deviation, though I now feel sorry for it, as 1 would undoubtedly rather pleaise than not. My wish has been to try at something different from my former efforts ; as I endeavoured to make them differ from each other. The versification of the 'Corsair' is not that of 'Lara;' nor the 'Giaour' that of the 'Bride:' 'Childe Harold' is again varied from these ; and I strove to vary the last somewhat from cdl of the others. "Excuse all this d — d nonsense and egotism. The fact is, that I am rather trying to thbik on the subject of this note, tlian really thinking on it. — I did not know you had called : you are always admitted and welcome when you choose. "Yours, &c. &c. "P. S. You need not be in any apprehension or grief on my account : were I to be beaten down by the world and its inheritors, I should have succumbed to many things years ago. You must not mistake my not bullying for dejection ; nor imagine that because I feel, I am to faint: — but enough for the present. " I am sorry for Sotheby's row. "Wliat the devil is it about? I thought it all settled ; and if I can do any thing about him or Ivan still, I am ready and willing. I do not think it proper for me just now to be much behind the scenes, but I will see the committee and move upon it, if Sotheby likes. " If you see Mr. Sotheby, will you tell him that I wrote to Mr. Coleridge, on getting Mr. Sotheby's note, and have, I hope, done what Mr. S. wished on that subject?" in what is called intimac)', and have heard me at limes conversin<^ on the imtoward topic of my recent family disquietudes. Will you have the goodness to say to me at once, whether you ever heard me speak of her witli dis- respect, witli mikindness, or defending myself at Tier expense by any serious imputation of any description against her? Did you never hear me say, ' that when there was a right or a wrong, she had the riglu?'' — The reason I put these questions to you or others of my friends is, because I am said, by her and hers, to have resorted to such means of exculpation. " Ever very truly yours, " B.' LETTER CCXCIX. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ouchy, near Lausanne, June 27, 1816. "I am thus far (kept by stress of weather) on my way back to Diodati, (near Geneva,) from a voyage in my boat round the lake; and I enclose you a sprig of Gibbon^s acacia and some rose leaves from his garden, which, with part of his house, 1 have just seen. You will find honour- able mention, in his Life, made of this ' acacia,' when he walked out on the night of concluding his history. The garden and summer house, where he composed, are ne- glected, and the last utterly decayed ; but they still show it as his ' cabinet,' and seem perfectly aware of his memory. My route, through Flanders, and by the Rhine, to Swit- zerland, was all I expected and more. " 1 have traversed all Rousseau's ground, with the Helois© before me, and am struck to a degree that I cannot express with the force and accuracy of his descriptions, and the beauty of their reality. Meillerie, Clarens, and Vevay, and the Chateau de Chillon, are places of which I shall say Utde, because all I could say must fall short of the impres- sions they stamp. "^ " Three days ago, wc were nearly wrecked in a squall off* Meillerie, and driven to shore. I ran no risk, being so near the roclcs, and a good swimmer ; but our party were wet, and incommoded a good deal. The wind was strong enough to blow down some trees, as we found at landing ; however, all is righted and right, and we are thus far on our return. "Dr. Polidori is not here, but at Diodati, left behind in the hospital with a sprained ankle, which he acquired in tumbling from a wall — he can't jump. " I shall be glad to hear you are well, and have receive for me certain helms and swords, sent from Waterloo,- which I rode over with pain and pleasure. "I have finished a thiid Canto of Childe Harold, (con- sisting of one hundred and seventeen stanzas,) longer than either of the two former, and in some parts, it may b^ better ; but of course on that 1 cannot determine. I shall send it by the first safe-looking opportunity. "Ever, Sec." LETTER CCC. TO MR. MURRAY. "Diodati, near Geneva, July 22, 1816. "I wrote to you a few weeks ago, and Dr. Polidori received your letter; but the packet has not made its appearance, nor the epistle, of which you gave notic» therein. I enclose you an advertisement,! which was copied by Dr. Polidori, and which appears to be about the most impudent imposition tliat ever issued from Grub- street. I need hardly say that I know nothing of all this LETTER CCXCVni. TO MR. ROGERS. "March 25, 1816. ■You are one of the few persons with whom I have Uved • See notes to 3d Canto of Childe Hjii-oUl. t The following was the advertisement enclosed : " Neatly printed and hot-piessed, 2s. 6d. " Lord Byron's Farewell to Kngland, with three other poems— Ode to St. Helena, to My Daughter on her Birthday, and to the Lily of France. " Printed by J. Johnston, Cheapside, S35 ; Oxford, 9. " The above beautiful Poems will be read with the most lively interest, as it is probable they will be the last of tlie author's that will appear in England."— (They were written by a Mr. John Agg.) LETTERS, 1816. 95 trash, nor whence it may spring, — ^ Odes to St. Helena,' — ' Farewells to England,' &c. &c.— and if it can be dis- avowed, or is worth disavowing, you have full authority to do so. 1 never wrote, nor conceived, a line on any thing of the kind, any more than of two other things with which I was saddled — something about ' G aul,' and another about 'Mrs. La Valette ;' and as to the 'Lily of France,' I should as soon think of celebrating a turnip. 'On the morning of my daughter's birth,' I had other things to think of than verses ; and should never have dreamed of such an inven- tion, till Mr. Johnston and his pamphlet's advertisement broke in upon me with a new light on the crafts and subtle- ties of the demon of printing, — or rather publishing. "I did hope that some succeeding he would have super- seded the thousand and one which were accumulated during last winter. I can forgive whatever may be said of or against me, but not what they make me say or sing for myself. It is enough to answer for what I have written ; but it were too much for Job himself to bear what one has not. I suspect that when the Arab patriarch wished that his * enemy had written a book,' he did not anticipate his own name on the title-page. I feel quite as much bored with this foolery as it deserves, and more than I should be if I had not a headach. " Of Glenarvon,* Madame de Stael told me (ten days ago, at Copet) marvellous and grievous things; but 1 have seen nothing of it but the motto, which promises amiably "•for us and for our tragedy.' If such be the posy, what should the ring be? — ^ a name to all succeeding,'! &c. The generous moment selected for the publication is probably its kindest accompaniment, and — trutli to say — the time was well chosen. I have not even a guess at the contents, except from the very vague accounts I have heard. ****** ****** "I ought to be ashamed of the egotism of this letter. It is not my fault altogether, and I shall be but too happy to drop the subject, when others will allow me. " I am in tolerable plight, and in my last letter told you what I had done in the way of all rhyme. 1 trust that you prosper, and that your authors are in good condition. I should suppose your stud has received some increase by what 1 hear. Bertram| must be a good horse ; does he run next meeting? I hope you will beat the Row. " Yours alway, &c." LETTER CCCL TO MR. ROGERS. "Diodati, near Geneva, July 29, 1816. " Do you recollect a book, Mathieson's Letters, wliich you lent me, which I have still, and yet hope to return to your library? Well, I have encountered at Copet and elsewhere Gray's correspondent, that same Bonstettcn, to whom I lent the translation of his correspondent's epistles for a few days ; but all lie could remember of Gray amounts to little, except tliat he was the most 'melancholy and gentlemanlike' of all possible poets. Bonstettcn himself is a fine and very lively old man, and much esteemed by his compatriots; he is also a hltdrateur of good repute, and all his friends have a mania of addressing to him volumes of letters — Mathicson, MuUer the historian, &c. &c. He is a good deal at Copet, where I have met him a few times. All there are well, except Rocca, who, lam sorry to say, looks in a very bad state of health. Schlegel is in high force, and Madame as brilliant as ever. " I came here by the Netherlands and tlie Rhine route, and Basle, Berne, Morat, and Lausanne. I have circum navigated the Lake, and go to Chamouni with the first fair weather ; but really we have had lately such stupid mists, fogs, and perpetual density, that one would think Castle- reagh had the Foreign Affairs of the kingdom of Heaven also on his hands. I need say nothing to you of these parts, you having traversed them already. I do not think of Italy before September. I have read Glenarvon, and have also seen Ben. Constant's Adolphe, and his preface, denying the real people. It is a work which leaves an pleasant impression, but very consistent with the conse- quences of not being in love, which is perhaps as disagree- able as any thing, except being so. 1 doubt, however, whether all such liens (as he calls them) terminate so wretchedly as his hero and heroine's. "There is a third Canto (a longer than either of the former) of Childe Harold finished, and some smaller things, — among them a story on the Chateau de Chillon; I only wait a good opportunity to transmit them to the grand Murray, who, I hope, flourishes. Where is Moore ? Why is he not out ? My love to him, and my perfect conside- ration and remembrances to all, particularly to Lord and Lady Holland, and to your Dutchess of Somerset. " Ever, &c. P. S. I send you a/ac simile^ a note of Bonstetten's, thinking you might like to see the hand of Gray's corre- spondent." • A Novel, by l.ady Caroline Lamb : Lord Byroii, under niiolher name, Wat one of its principal characters, t The mono l»— " He left a nnme to all iucceeding timea, Llnk'd with on« virtue and a ihouiand Crimea." t Maturln'f Tragedy LETTER CCCIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Diodati, Sept.29, 1816. " I am very much flattered by Mr. Gifibrd s good opinion of the MSS.* and shall be still more so, if it answers youi expectations and justifies his kindness. I liked it myselfj but that must go for nothing. The feelings with which most of it was written need not be envied me. With regard to the price, / fixed none, but left it to Mr. Kinnaird, Mr. Shelley, and yourself, to arrange. Of course, they would do their best ; and as to yourself] I knew you would make no difficulties. But I agree with Mr. Kinnaird perfectly, that the concluding five hundred should be only conditiotial ; and for my own sake, 1 wish it to be added, only in case of your selling a certain number, that number to be fixed by yourself. I hope this is fair. In every thing of this kind there mu.st be risk ; and till that be past, in one way or the other, I would not willingly add to it, particularly in times like the present. And pray always recollect that notliing could mortify me more — no failure on my own part — than having made you lose by any purchase from me. "The Monodyf was written by request of Mr. Kinnaird for the theatre. I did as well as I could ; but where I have not my choice, 1 pretend to answer for nothing. Mr. Hobhouse and myself are just returned from a journey of lalies and mountains. We have been to the Grindelwald, and the Jungfrau, and stood on the summit of the Wcngcn Alp ; and seen torrents of nine iuindred feet in fall, and glaciers of all dimensions; we have heard shepherd s pipes, and avalanches, and looked on the clouds foaming up from the valleys below us, like the spray of the ocean of hell.J Chamouni, aiid that which it inherits, we saw a month ago; but, though Mont Blanc is higher, it is not equal in wildncss to the Jungfrau, the Eighers, the Shreckhorn, and the Rose Glaciers. " We set off for Italy next week. The road is within tliis month infested with bandits, but we must take our chance and such precautions as are requisite. " Ever, &c. "P. S. My best remembrances to Mr. Gilford. Pray aay all that can bo said from me to him. "I am sorry that Mr. Matiirin did not like Phillips picture. I thought it was reckoned a good one. If he had • CliiMe Harold , M Caiilo. t On tlie death of .shcridan, Pocma, p. liO. } Km Journal Id SwilscrUuid, Uapt. 9B. 06 LETTERS, 1816. made die speech on the original, perhaps he would have been more readily forgiven by the proprietor and the painter of the portrait." + * * LETTER CCCIIL TO MR. MUHRAY. «Diodati;Sept. 30, 1816. "I answered your obliging letters yesterday: to-day the Monody* arrived with its ems,p. igg. LETTERS, 1816, 97 among them for the MS. which I wished to have compared with the one sent by me through the hands of Mr. Shelley. I trust that it has arrived safely, — and indeed not less so, that some little crystals, &c. from Mont Blanc, for my daughter and my nieces, have reached their address. Pray have the goodness to ascertain from Mr. Davies that no accident (by custom-house or loss) has befallen them, and satisfy me on this point at your earliest convenience. "If I recollect rightly, you told me that Mr. Gifford had kindly undertaken to correct the press (at my request) during my absence — at least 1 hope so. It vidll axld to my many obligations to that gentleman. " I wTote to you, on my way here, a short note, dated Martigny. Mr. Hobhouse and myself arrived here a few days ago, by the Simplon and Lago Maggiore route. Of course we visited the Borromean Islands, which are fine, but too artificial. The Simplon is magnificent in its na- ture and its art, — both God and man have done wonders, — to say nothing of the Devil, who must certainly have had a hand (or a hoof) in some of the rocks and ravines tlirough and over which the works are carried. "Milan is striking — the cathedral superb. The city altogether reminds me of Seville, but a little inferior. We had heard divers bruits, and took precautions on the road, near the frontier, against some 'many worthy fellows (i. e. felons) that were out,' and had ransacked some pre- ceding travellers, a few weeks ago, near Sesto, — or Cesto, I forget which, — of cash and raiment, besides putting tliem in bodily fear, and lodging about twenty slugs in the re- treating part of a courier belonging to Mr. Hope. But we were not molested, and, I do not think, in any danger, except of making mistakes in tlie way of cocking and priming whenever we saw an old house, or an ill-looking thicket, and now and then suspecting the 'true men,' who have very much the appearance of the thieves of other countries. What the thieves may look like, I know not, nor desire to know, for it seems they come upon you in bodies of thirty ('in buckram and Kendal green') at a time, so that voyagers have no great chance. It is something like poor dear Turkey in that respect, but not so good, for there you can have as great a body of rogues to match the regular banditti ; but here the gens-d'armes are said to be no great things, and as for one's own people, one can 't carry them about, like Robinson Crusoe, vsith a gun on eacli shoulder. "I have been to the Ambrosian library — it is a fine collection — full of MSS. edited and unedited. I enclose you a list of the former recently publislied: these are mat- ters for your literati. For me, in my simple way, I have been most delighted with a correspondence of letters, all original and amatory, between Lucretia Borgia and Car- dinal Bembo, preserved there. I have pored over them and a lock of her hair, the prettiest and fairest imaginable — I never saw fairer — and shall go repeatedly to read the epistles over and over \ and if I can obtain some of tiie hair by fair means, I shall try. I have already persuaded tlie librarian to promise me copies of the letters, and I hope he will not disappoint me. They are short, but very simple, sweet, and to the purpose ; there are some copies of verses in Spanish also by her ; the tress of her hair is long, and as I said before, beautiful. The Brcra gallery of paintings has some fine pictures, but notliing of a collection. Of painting I know nothing; but I like a Guerrino — a picture of Abraham [tutting away Hagar and Ishmutl — vvlii<;h seems to mc natural and goodly. The Flemisli school, such as I saw it in Flanders, I utterly detested, despised, and abhorrefl ; it might be painting, but it was not nature; the Italian is pleasing, and their ideal very noble. ** The Italians I have encountered here arc very intelli- pent and agreeable. In a few days I am to meet Monti. By-the-way, T have just heard an anecdote of l>rcraria, who published such admirable things against the piuiish- ment of death. As soon as his lMK)k was out, liis servant (having read it, I presume,) stolo his watch; and tiis master, 13 while correcting the press of a second edition, did all he could to have him hanged by way of advertisement. "I forgot to mention the triumphal arch begun by Na- poleon, as a gate to this city. It is unfinished, but the part completed worthy of another age and the same country. The society here is very oddly carried on, — at the theatre, and the theatre only, — which answers to our opera. People meet there as at a rout, but in very small circles. From Milan I shall go to Venice. If you write, write to Geneva, as before — the letter will be forwarded. "Yours ever." LETTER CCCVIL TO_MR. MtTRRAT. "Milan, Nov. 1,1S18. "I have recently written to you rather frequently, but without any late answer. Mr. Hobhouse and myself tet out for Venice in a few days ; but you had better still ad- dress to me at Mr. Hentsch's, Banquier, Geneva; he will forward your letters. " I do not know whether T mentioned to you, some time ago, that I had parted witli the Dr. Polidori a few weeks previous to my leaving Diodati. I know no great harm of him; but he had an alacrity of getting into scrapes, and was too young and heedless ; and ha\Tng enough to attend to in my o\vn concerns, and without time to become liis tutor, I thought it much better to give him his conge. He arrived at Milan some weeks before Mr. Hobhouse and myself. About a week ago, in consequence of a quarrel at the theatre v.ith an Austrian officer, in which he was exceed- ingly in the wrong, he has contrived to get sent out of t]ie territory, and is gone to Florence. I was not present, the pit having been the scene of altercation ; but on being sent for from the Cavalier Breme's box, where I was quietly staring at the ballet, I found the man of medicine begirt with grenadiers, arrested by the guard, conveyed into the guard-room, where there was much swearing in several languages. They were going to keep him there for the night ; but on my giving my name, and answering for his apparition next morning, he was permitted egress. Next day he had an order from the government to be gone in twenty-four hours, and accordingly gone he is, some days ago. We did what we could for him, but to no purpose ; and indeed he brought it upon himself, as far as I could learn, for I was not present at the squabble itself. I believe this is the real state of his case ; and I tell it you because I believe things sometimes reach you in England in a false or exaggerated form. We found Alilan very polite and hospitable, and have the same hopes of Verona and Venice. I have filled my paper. "Ever yours, &c." LETTER CCCVm. TO MR. MOORE. « Verona, Nov. 6, 1816. "my dear MOORE, " Your letter, written before my departure from England, and addressed to me in London, only reached me recently. Since that j)eriod, I have been over n portion of that part of Europe which I had not already seen. About a month since, I crossed the Ali)s from Switzerland to Milan, which I left a few days ago, and am thus far on my way to Venice, where I shall probably winter. Yesterday 1 was on the shores of the Beiiacus, with h'lajitictibus dfranitu. Catullus's Sirmium has still its name and site, und is re- membered for his sake ; but the very heavy antunuial rains and mists j)rcvented our quitting our route (llial is, Hob- house and myself, who arc at present voyaging logellier,) as it was better not to see it at all than to a great disad- vantage. " I fciuml on the Bcnacus the same tradition of a city still visible in calni weather bolow the watei^ which you have preserved of Lough Neagh, ' When Uic clear, cold 98 LETTERS, 1816. eve 's declining.' I do not know that it is authorized by records ; but they tell you such a story, and say that the city was swallowed up by an earthquake. "VVe moved to-day over the frontier to Verona, by a road suspected of thieves — ^ the wise convey it call,'— but without molesta tion. I shall remain here a day or two to gape at the usual marvels — amphitheatre, paintings, and all that time- tax of travel — though Catullus, Claudian, and Shakspeare have done more for Verona than it ever did for itself. They still pretend to show, 1 believe, the ' tomb of all the Capulets' — we shall see. "Among many things at Milan, one pleased me par- ticularly, viz. the correspondence (in the prettiest love- letters in the world) of Lucretia Borgia with Cardinal Bembo, {who, you say^ made a very good cardinal,) and a lock of her hair, and some Spanish verses of hers, — the lock very fair and beautiful. I took one single hair of it as a relic, and wshed sorely to get a copy of one or two of the letters; but it is prohibited : that I don't mind; but it was impracticable ; and so I only got some of them by heart. They are kept in the Ambrosian Library, which I often visited to look them over — to the scandal of the librarian, who wanted to enlighten me vdth sundry valuable MSS, classical, philosophical, and pious. But 1 stick to the Pope's daughter, and wish myself a cardinal. * I have seen the finest parts of Switzerland, the Rhine, the Rhone, and the S\viss and Italian lakes ; for the beau- ties of which I refer you to the Guide-book. The north of Italy is tolerably free from the English; but the south swarms with them, I am told. Madame de Stael I saw frequently at Copet, which she renders remarkably plea- sant. She has been particularly kind to me. I was for pome months her neighbour, in a country-house called Diodati, which I had on the Lake of Geneva. My plans are very uncertain ; but it is probable that you will see me jn England in tbx spring. I have some business there. If you write to me^ will you address to the care of Mons. Hentsch, Banquier, Geneva, who receives and forwards my letters. Remember me to Rogers, who wrote to me lately, with a short account of your poem, which, I trust, is near the light. He speaks of it most highly. "My health is very endurable, except tliat I am subject to casual giddiness and faintnesses, which is so hke a fine lady, that I am rather ashamed of the disorder. When I sailed, 1 had a physician with me, whom, after some months of patience, I found it expedient to part with, before I left Geneva some time. On arriving at Milan, I found this gentleman in very good society, where he prospered for some weeks; but, at length, at the theatre he quarrelled with an Austrian officer, and was sent out by the govern- ment in twenty-four hours. I was not present at his squabble ; but on hearmg that he was put under arrest, I went and got him out of his confinement, but could not prevent his being sent off, which, indeed, he partly deserved, being quite in the wrong, and having begun a row for row's sake. I had preceded the Austrian government some weeks mysell^ in giving him his conge from Geneva. He U not a bad fellow, but very young and hotheaded, and more likely to incur diseases than to cure them. Hobhouse and myself found it useless to intercede for him. This happened some time before we left Milan. He is gone to Florence. <* At Milan I saw, and was visited by, Monti, the most celebrated of the living Italian poets. He seems near sixty: in face lie is like the late Cooke the actor. His frequent changes in politics have made him very unpo]>ular a.s a man. I saw many more of their literati; but none whoso names arc well known in England, except Aoerbi. I lived much with the Italians, particularly with the IVlar- quis of flrame's family, who are very able and intelligent men, especially the Abate. There was a famous impro- visatore who held forth while I was there. His fluency astonished mo; but although I understand Italian, and ^ak it, (with ilftore re$dines3 thJ^n accuracy,) I could only carry off a few very commonplace mythological images^ and one line about Artemisia, and another about Algiers, with sixty words of an entire tragedy about Etiocles and Polynices. Some of the Italians liked him— others called his performance ' seccatura' (a devilish good word, by-the- way) — and all Milan was in controversy about him. " The state of morals in these parts is in some sort lax. A mother and son were pointed out at the theatre, as being pronounced by the Milanese world to be of the Theban dynasty — but this was all. The narrator (one of the first men in Milan) sc-emed to be not sufficiently scandalized by the taste or the tie. All society in Milan is carried on at the opera : they have private boxes, where tliey play at cards, or talk, or any thing else ; but (except at the Cas- sino) there are no open houses, or balls, &c. &c. * * + + * + *****♦ "The peasant girls have all very fine dark eyes, and many of them are beautiful. There are also two dead bodies in fine preservation — one Saint Carlo Boromeo, at Milan ; the other not a saint, but a chie^ named Visconti, at Monza — both of which appeared very agreeable. In one of the Boromean isles, (the Isola bella,) there is a large laurel — the largest known — on which Buonaparte, staying there just before the battle of Marengo, carved with his knife the word 'Battaglia.' 1 saw the letters, now half worn out and partly erased. " Excuse this tedious letter. To be tiresome is the pri- vilege of old age and absence : I avail myself of the latter, and the former I have anticipated. If I do not speak to you of my own affairs, it is not from want of confidence, but to spare you and myself. My day is over — what then'' — I have had it. To be sure, 1 have shortened it;* and if I had done as much by this letter, it would have been as well. But you will forgive that, if not the other faults of "Yours, ever and most affectionately, "B. «P. S.Nov. 7, 1816. " I have been over Verona. The amphitheatre is won- deiful — beats even Greece. Of the truth of Juhet's story, they seem tenacious to a degree, insisting on the fact — giving a date, (1303,) and showing a tomb. It is a plain, open, and partly decayed sarcophagus, with withered leaves in it, in a wild and desolate conventual garden, once a cemetery, now ruined to the very graves. The situation sti-uck me as very appropriate to the legend, being blighted as their love. I have brought away a few pieces of the granite, to give to my daughter and my nieces. Of the other marvels of this city, paintings, antiquities, &c. except- ing the tombs of the Scaliger princes, I have no pretensions to judge. The G othic monuments of the ScaUgers pleased me, but ' a poor virtuoso am I,' and "Ever yours." LETTER CCCIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, Nov. 17, 181& " I wrote t& you from Verona the other day in my pro- gress hither, which letter I hope you will receive. Some three years ago, or it may be more, I recollect your telling me that you had received a letter from our friend San^ dated 'On board his gondola.' My gondola is, at this- present, waiting for me on the canal ; but I prefer writing to you in the house, it being autumn — and rather an English autumn than otherwise. It is my intention ta remain at Venice during the winter, probably, as it has always been (next to the East) the greenest island of my imagination. It has not disappointed me ; though its evi- dent decay would, perhaps, have that effect upon others. But I have been familiar with ruins too long to dislike desolation. Besides, I have fallen in love, which, next to falling into the canal, (which would be of no use, as I can • Set Don Juan, Canto I. stanza W3, *e. LETTERS, 1816. 9d swinn,) is the best or the worst thing I could do. I have got some extremely good apartments in the house of a 'Merchant of Venice,' who is a good deal occupied with business, and has a wife in her twenty-second year. Ma- rianna (that is her name) is in her appearance altogether like an antelope. She has the large, black, oriental eyes, with that peculiar expression in them which is seen rarely among Europeans — even the Italians — and which many of the Turkish women give themselves by tinging the eye- lid, — an art not knovra out of that country, I believe. This expression she has naturally, — and something more than this. In short, I cannot describe the effect of this kind of eye, — at least upon me. Her features are regular, and rather aquiline — mouth small — skin clear and soft, with a kind of hectic colour — forehead remarkably good: her hair is of the dark gloss, curl, and colour of Lady Jersey's : her figure is light and pretty, and she is a famous songstress — scientifically so: her natural voice (in conversation, I mean) is very sweet; and the naivete of the Venetian dia- lect is always pleasing in the mouth of a woman, « Nov, 23. "You will perceive that my description, which was pro- ceeding with the minuteness of a passport, has been inter- rupted for several days. In the mean time, * * ****** ***** * "Dec. 5. " Since my former dates, I do not know that I have much to add on the subject, and, luckily, nothing to take away ; for I am more pleased than ever with my Venetian, and begin to feel very serious on that point — so much so, that I shall be silent. ***** "By way of divertisement, I am studying daily, at an Armenian monastery, the Armenian language. I found that my mind wanted something craggy to break upon ; and this — as the most difficult thing I could discover here for an amusement — I have chosen, to torture me into atten- tion. It is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it. I try, and shall go on ; but I answer for nothing, least of all for my intentions or my success. There are some very curious MSS. in the monastery, as well as books ; translations also from Ghreek originals, now lost, and from Persian and Syriac, &c. ; besides works of their own people. Four years ago the French instituted an Armenian professorship. Twenty pupils presented themselves on Monday morning, full of noble ardour, ingenuous youth, and impregnable industry. They persevered, with a courage worthy of the nation and of universal conquest, till Thursday ; when Jifteen. of the twenty succumbed to the six- and- twentieth letter of the alphabet. It is, to be sure, a Waterloo of an alphabet — that must be said for them. But it is so like these fellows, to do by it as they did by their sovereigns — abandon both ; to parody the old rhymes, ' Take a thing and give a thing' — ^"Take a King and give a King.' They are the worst of animals, except their conquerors. " I hear that Hodgson is your neighbour, having a Uving in Derbyshire, You will find him an excellent-heartctl fellow, as well as one of the cleverest; a Uttle, periiaps, too much japanned by preferment in the church and tlie tuition of youth, as well as inoculated with the disease of domestic felicity, besides being overrun widi fine feelings about woman and amstaruy, (that small changt; of Love, which people exact so rigidly, receive in such counterfeit coin, and repay in baser metal ;) but, otherwise, a very worthy man, who has lately got a pretty wife, and (I suppose) a child by this time. Pray remember mo to him, and say that I know not which to envy most — his neighbourhood, him, or you. "Of Venice I shall say little. You nmsl luud sicn many descriptions; and tlioy are most of tlioni like. It is a poetical place ; and classical, to uh, from Shakspcarc and Otway.* 1 have not yet sinned against it in vefse, nor do I know that I shall do so, having been tuneless since I crossed the Alps, and feeling, as yet, no renewal of the ' estro.' By-the-way, I suppose you have seen 'Glenarvon.' Madame de Stael lent it me to read from Copet last autumn. It seems to me, that if the authoress had written the truth, and nothing but the truth — the whole truth — the romance would not only have been more romantic, but more entertaining. As for the likeness, the picture CEui't be good — I did not sit long enough. When you have leisure, let me hear from and of you, believing me ever and truly yours, most affectionately, "B. "P. S. Oh! your Poem — is it out? I hope Longman has paid his thousands^ but don't you do as Horace Twiss' father did, who, having made money by a quarto tour, became a vinegar merchant ; when, lo ! his vinegar turned sweet (and be d — d to it) and ruined him. My last letter to you (from A^'erona) was enclosed to Murray*— have you got it 1 Direct to me here, poste restante. There are no English here at present. There were several in Switzer- land — some women ; but, except Lady Dalrymple Hamil- ton, most of them as ugly as virtue — at least, those that I saw." LETTER CCCX. TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, Dec. 24, 1816. *I have taken a fit of writing to you, which portends postage — once from Verona — once from Venice, and again from Venice — thrice that is. For this you may thank yourself, for I heard that you complained of my silence — so, here goes for garrulity. "I trust that you received my other twain of letters. My ' way of life' (or ' May of life,' which is it, according to the commentators?) — my 'way of life' is fallen into great regularity. In the mornings I go over in my gondola t« hobble Armenian with the friars of the convent of St. Lazarus, and to help one of tliem in correcting the English of an English and Armenian grammar which he is publish- ing. In the evenings I do one of many nothings— either at the theatres, or some of tlie conversaziones, which are like our routs, or rather worse, for the women sit in a semi- circle by the lady of tlie mansion, and the men stand about the room. To be sure, there is one improvement upon ours — instead of lemonade with their ices, they hand about stiff rum-punch — punch, by my palate; and tliis they think English. I would not disabuse them of so agreeable an error, — 'no, not for Venice.' " Last night I \%'ris at the Count Governor's, which, of course, comi)rises the best society, and is very much like other gregarious meetings in every country, — as in ours, — except that, instead of the bishop of Winchester, you Imvo the patriarch of Venice ; and a motley crew of Austrians, Germans, noble Venetians, foreigners, and, if you sec a quiz, you may be sure he is a consul. Oh, by-tlie-way, I forgot, when I wrote from Verona, to tell you tliat at Milan I met with a countryman of yours — a Colonel * * * *| a very excellent, good-natured fellow, who knows and shows all about Milan, and is, as it were, a native there. He i.s particularly civil to strangers, and this is his history, — at least, an episode of it. " Six-and-twonty years ago Col. * ♦ * *, Uion an ensign, being in Italy, fell in love with the Marche.>--a ♦ * ♦ *, and she witli liim. The lady must be, at least, tw»>nly years his senior. The war broke out ; he returned to Kngiand, to serve — not his country, for tlial 's Ireland — but England, which is a ditleront thing; and shv — heaven knows what she did. In the year 1814, the first annunciation of the ilefinitive treaty of peace (and tyranny) was develop«Hl lo the astonished Miliuiese by the arrival of Col. ♦ * ♦ * whf), Hinging himself full length at the feci of Madame Sm ChiUU Hui-olil, Cnnto IV. lUnia 4 "nd 18, 100 LETTERS, 1816. ♦ * * *, murmured forth, in half-forgotten Irish Italian, eternal vows of indelible constancy. The lady screamed and exclaimed, 'Who are you?' The Colonel cried, 'What, do n't you know me ? I am so and so,' &c. &;c. &c.; till, at length, the Marchesa, mounting from reminiscence to reminiscence, through the lovers of the intermediate twenty-five years, arrived at last at the recollection of her povero sub-lieutenant. She then said, 'Was there ever such virtue?' (that was her very word,) and, being now a widow, gave him apartments in her palace, reinstated him in all the rights of wrong, and held him up to the admiring world as a miracle of incontinent fidelity, and the unshaken Abdiel of absence. "Methinks this is as pretty a moral tale as any of Mar- montel's. Here is another. The same lady, several years ago, made an escapade widi a Swede, Count Fersen, (the same whom the StockhoUn mob quartered and lapidated not very long since,) and they arrived at an osteria on the road to Rome or thereabouts. It was a summer evening, and, while they were at supper, they were suddenly regaled by a svmphony of fiddles in an adjacent apartment, so prettily' played, that, wishing to hear them more distinctly, the Count rose, and going into the musical society, said, 'Gentlemen, I am sure that, as a company of gallant cava- liers, you will be delighted to show your skill to a lady, who feels anxious,' &c. &c. The men of harmony were all acquiescence — every instrument was tuned and toned, and, striking up one of their most ambrosial airs, the whole band followed the Count to the lady's apartment. At their head was the first fiddler, who, bowing and fiddling at the same moment, headed his troop and advanced up the room. Death and discord 1 — it was the Marquis himself, who was on a serenading party in the country, while his spouse had run away from town. The rest may be imagined — but, first of all, the lady tried to persuade him that she was there on purpose to meet him, and had chosen this method for an harmonic surprise. So much for this gossip, which amused me when I heard it, and I send it to you, in the hope it may have the like effect. Now we 'U return to Venice. " The day after to-morrow (to-morrow being Christmas- day) the Carnival begins. I dine with the Countess Albrizzi and a party, and go to the opera,* On that day the Phenix (not the Insurance Office but the theatre of that name) opens: I have got me a box there for the season, for two reasons, one of which is, that the music is remarkably good. The Contessa Albrizzi, of whom I have made mention, is the De Stael of Venice, not young, but a very learned, unaffected, good-natured woman, very polite to strangers, and, I bcheve, not at all dissolute, as most of the women are. She has written very well on the works of Canova, and also a volume of Characters, besides other printed matter. She is of Corfu, but married a dead Venetian — that is, dead since he married. "My flame (my 'Donna' whom I spoke of in my former epistle, my Marianna) is still my Marianna, and I her — what she pleases. She is by far the prettiest woman I have seen here, and the most loveable I have met with any where — as well as one of the most singular. I believe I toU you the rise and progress of our liaison in my former letter. Lest that should not have reached yon, I will merely repeat that she is a Venetian, two-and-twcnty years old, married to a merchant well to do in the world, and that she has great black oriental eyes, and all the quaUties which her eyes promise. Whether being m love with her has steeled me or not, I do not know ; but I have not seen many other women who seem pretty. The no- bility, in particular, are a sad-looking race — the gentry rather better. And now, what art thou doing? "What are yon doing now, Oh, Thoma* Moore? What are you doing now, Oh, Thonuu Moore? • S«e Letter 127. Sighitig or suing now, Rhyming or wooing now, Billing or cooing now, Which, Thomas Moore? Are you not near tlie Luddites ? By the Lord ! if there 's a row, but I '11 be among ye ! How go on the weavers — the breakers of frames — the Lutherans d" politics— the reformers ? ' As the liberty lads o'er the sea Bought their freedom, and cheaply, with blood, So we, boys, we Will die fighting, or live free. And down with all kings but king Ludd I ' When the web that we weave is complete, And the shuttle exchanged for the sword, We will fling the winding-sheet O 'er the despot at our feet. And dye it deep in the gore he has pour'd. " Though black as his heart its hue, Since his veins are corrupted to mud, Yet this is the dew Which the tree shall renew Of liberty, planted by Ludd ! There 's an amiable chanson for you — all impromptu. I have written it principally to shock your neighbour Hodg- son, who is all clergy and loyalty — mirth and innocence-- milk and water. " But the Carnival 's coming, Oh, Thomas Moore, The Carnival 's coming, Oh, Thomas Moore, Masking and humming, Fifing and drumming, Giiitarring and strumming, Oh, Thomas Moore. The other night I saw a new play, — and the author. The subject was the sacrifice of Isaac. The play succeeded, and they called for the author — according to continental custom — and he presented himself, a noble Venetian, Mali, or Malapiero, by name. Mala was his name, and pessima his production, — at least, I tliought so, and I ought to know, having read more or less of five hundred Drury- lane offerings, during my coadjutorship wdth the sub-and- super Committee. " When does your Poem of Poems come out ? I hear that the Edinburgh Review has cut up Coleridge's Chris- tabel, and declared against me for praising it.* I praised it, firstly, because I thought well of it ; secondly, because Coleridge was in great distress, and, after doing what little I could for him in essentials, I thought that the public avowal of my good opinion might help him farther, at least with the booksellers. 1 am very sorry that Jeffrey has attacked him, because, poor feUow, it will hurt him in mind and pocket. As for me, he 's welcome — 1 shall never think less of Jeffrey for any thing he may say against me or mine in future .f " I suppose Murray has sent you, or will send (for I do not know whether they are out or no,) the poem, or poesies of mine, of last summer. By the mass ! they 're sublime — 'Ganion Coheriza' — gainsay who dares! Pray, let me hear from you, and of you, and, at least, let me know that you have received these three letters. Direct, right here, paste restante. « Ever and ever, &c. "P. S. I heard the other day of a pretty trick of a book- seller, who has published some d — d nonsense, swearing the bastards to me, and saying he gave me five hundred guineas for them. He lies — I never wrote such stuf^ never saw the poems, nor the publisher of them, in my hfe, nor had any communication, directly or indirectly, with the fellow. Pray say as much for me, if need be. I have written to Murray, to make him contradict the impostor. • See Note 6 to the ' Siege of Corinth.' t See Don Juan, Canto 10, stanza 16. LETTERS, 1816. 101 LETTER CCCXL TO MR. MUKRAV. "Venice, Nov. 25, 1816 •It is some months since I have heard from or of you — I think, not since I left Diodati. From Milan I wrote once or twice ; but have been here some little time, and intend to pass the winter without removing. I was much pleased with the Lago di Garda, and with Verona, par- ticularly the amphitheatre, and a sarcophagus in a convent garden, which they show as Juliet's: they insist on the truth of her history. Since my arrival at Venice, the lady of the Austrian governor told me that between Verona and Vicenza there are still ruins of the castle of the Montecchi, and a chapel once appertaining to the Capulets. Romeo seems to have been of Vicenza, by the tradition ; but 1 was a good deal surprised to find so firm a faith in Bandello's novel, which seems really to have been founded on a fact. "Venice pleases me as much as I expected, and 1 expected much. It is one of those places which I know before I see tliem, and has always haunted me the most after the East. I like the gloomy gayety of their gondolas, and the silence of their canals. I do not even dislike the evident decay of the city, though I regret the singularity of its vanished costume : however, there is much left still ; the Carnival, lOO, is coming. "St. Mark's, and indeed Venice, is most alive at night. The theatres are not open till nine, and the society is pro- portionably late. All this is to my taste, but most of your countrymen miss and regret the rattle of hackney coaches, without which they can 't sleep. "I have got remarkably good apartments in a private house ; I see something of the inhabitants, (having had a good many letters to some of them ;) I have got my gon- dola; I read a little, and luckily could speak Italian (more fluently than correctly) long ago. I am studying, out of curiosity, the Venetian dialect, which is very naVve, and soft, and peculiar, though not at all classical; I go out fre- quently, and am in very good contentment. " The Helen of Canova (a bust which is in the house of Madame the Countess d'Albrizzi, whom I know,) is, without exception, to my mind, the most perfectly beautiful of human conceptions, and far beyond my ideas of human execution. ' In this beloved marble view,' &c.* Talking of the ' heart' reminds me that I have fallen in love, which, except falling into the canal, (and that would be useless, as I swim,) is the best (or worst) thing I could do. I am therefore in love — fathomless love; but lest you should make some splendid mistake, and envy me the possession of some of those princesses or countesses with whose affections your English voyagers are apt to invest themselves, I beg leave to tell you that my goddess is only the wife of a ' Merchant of Venice ;' but then she is pretty as an antelope, is but two-and-twenty years old, has the large, black, oriental eyes, with the Italian countenance, and dark glossy hair, of the curl and colour of Lady Jer- sey's. Then she has the voice of a lute, and the song of a seraph, (though not quite so sacred,) besides a long post- script of graces, virtues, and accomplishments, enough to furnish out a new chapter for Solomon's Song. But her great merit is finding out mine — there is nothing so amiable as discernment. Our little arrangement is completed, the usual oaths having been taken, and every thing fullilkd according to the 'understood relations' of such liaisons. " The general race of women appear to be handsome ; but in Italy, as on aJmost all the continent, the highest orders are by no means a well-looking generation, and indeed reckoned by tiicir countrymen very much otherwise. Some are exceptions, but most of them as ugly as Virtue herself. 'SMFoenw, p. 484. " If you write, address to me here, paste restanie, as 1 shall probably stay the vvmter over. I never see a news- paper, and know nothing of England, except in a letter now and then from my sister. Of the MS. sent you, I know nothing, except that you have received it, and are to publish it, &c. &c.; but when, where, and how, you leave me to guess ; but it do n't much matter. "I suppose you have a world of works passing through your process for next year ? When does Moore's Poem appear ? I sent a letter for him, addressed to your care, the other day." LETTER CCCXII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Dec. 4, 1816. " I have written to you so frequently of late, that you will think me a bore ; as I think you a very impolite person for not answering my letters from Switzerland, Milan, Verona, and Venice. There are some things I wanted, and want to know; viz. whether Mr. Davies, of inaccurate memory, had or had not delivered the MS. as delivered to him ; because, if he has not, you will find that he will boun- tifully bestow transcriptions on all the curious of his ac- quaintance, in which case you may probably find your publication anticipated by the 'Cambridge,' or other Chronicles. In the next place — I forget what was next; but, in the third place, I want to hear whether you have yet published, or when you mean to do so, or why you have not done so, because in your last (Sept. 20, — you may be ashamed of the date,) you talked of this being done imme- diately. "From England I hear nothing, and know nothing of any thing or any body. I have but one correspondent, (except Mr. Kinnaird on business now and tlien,) and her a female ; so that I know no more of your island, or city, than the Italian version of the French papers chooses to tell me, or the advertisements of Mr. Colburn tagged to the end of your Quarterly Review for the year ago. I wrote to you at some length last week, and have httle to add, except that I have begun, and am proceeding in, a study of the Armenian language, which I acquire, as well as I can, at the Armenian convent, where I go every day to take lessons of a learned friar, and have gained some singular and not useless hiformation with regard to the literature and customs of that oriental people. They have an establishment here — a church and convent of ninety monks, very learned and accomplished men, some of tlicm. They have also a press, and make great efforts for tlio enlightening of their nation. I find the language (which is twin, the literal and the vulgar) difficult, but not in- vincible (at least, I hope not.) I shall go on. I found it necessary to twist my niind round some severe study, and this, as being the hardest I could devise here, will be a file for the serpent. " I mean to remain here till the spring, so address to me (Uredli/ to Vonce, paste rcstaiiic. — Mr. Hobhouse, for the present, is gone to Rome, with his brother, brother's wife, and sister, who overtook him lierc; he returns in two months. I should have gone too, but I fell in love, and must stay that over. I should think that and the Armenian alphabet will last the winter. The lady has, luckily for mo, been less obdurate than the lan<;uage, or, bet« een the two, I should have lost my remains of sanity. By-the-way, she is not an Armenian but a Venetian, as I believe 1 told you in my last. As for Italian, I am tlueiit enough, even in its Venetian modilicaUon, which is something like Uie Somersetshire version of Knulish; ami as for the more classical ilialeot.«;, I liad not forgv)t my former practiiie niuclt during my voyaging. " Yours, ever and truly, «B. "P. S. Remember mo to Mr. Giflonl." 102 LETTERS, ml. LETTER CCCXm. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Dec. 9, 1816. "In a letter from England, I am informed that a man named Johnson has taken upon himself to publish some poems called a ' Pilgrimage to Jerusalem, a Tempest, and an Address to my Daughter,' &c. and to attribute them to me, adding that he had paid five hundred gul.:eas for them. The answer to this is short ; / 7iever wrote such poems, never received the sum he Tnentions, nor any other in the same quarter, nor (as far as moral or mortal certainty can be sure,) ever had, directly or indirectly, the sligliiest communi- cation with Johnson in my life; not being aware that the person existed till this intelligence gave me to understand that there were such people. Nothing surprises me, or this perhaps would, and most things amuse me, or this probably would not. With regard to myself, the man has merely /«;(/,• that's natural — his betters have set him the example : but with regard to you, his assertion may per- haps injure you in your publications ; and I desire that it may receive the most public and unqualified contradiction. I do not know that there is any punishment for a thing of this kind, and if there were, I should not feel disposed to pursue this ingenious mountebank farther than was ne- cessary for his confutation ; but tlius far it may be neces- sary to proceed. • You will make what use you please of this letter ; and Mr. Kinnaird, who has power to act for me in my absence, will, I am sure, readily join you in any steps which it may be proper to take with regard to the absurd falsehood of this poor creature. As you will have recently received several letters from me on my way to Venice, as well as two written since my arrival, I wall not at present trouble you farther. " Ever, &c. "P. S. Pray let me hear that you have received this letter. Address to Venice, poste restanie. " To prevent the recurrence of similar fabrications, you may state, that I consider myself responsible for no i)ub- lication from the year 1812 up to the present date, which is not from your press. I speak of course from that period, because, previously, Cawthom and Ridge had both printed compositions of mine. ' A Pilgrimage to Jerusalem 1' how the devil should I write about Jerusalem, never having yet been there? As for 'A Tempest,' it was not a tempest when I left England, but a very fresh breeze : and as to an 'Address to little Ada,' (who, by-the-way, is a year old to- morrow,) I never wrote a line about her, except in ' Fare- well,' and the third Canto of Childe Harold." LETTER CCCXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Dec. 27, 1816. "As the demon of silence seems to have possessed you, I am determined to have my revenge in postage : this is my sixth or seventh letter since summer and Switzerland. My last was an injunction to contradict and consign to confusion that Cheapside impostor, who (I heard by a letter from your island) had thought proper to append my name to liis spurious poesy, of which I know nothing, nor of his pretended purchase or copyright. I hope you have, at least, received that letter. " As the news of Venice must be very interesting to you, I will regale you with it. ••Yesterday, being the feast of St. Stephen, every mouth was put in motion. There was nothing but fiddling and playing on the virginals, and all kinds of conceits and diver- tisements, on every canal of this aquatic city. I dined with the Countess Albrizza and a Paduan and Venetian party, and afterward went to the opera, at the Fenice theatre (which op«ns for the Carnival on that day,) — the finest, by-the-way, I have ever seen : it beats our theatres hollow in beauty and scenery, and those of Milan and Brescia bow before it. The opera and its sirens were much Uke other operas and women, but the subject of the said opera was something edifying ; it turned — the plot and conduct thereof— upon a fact narrated by Livy of a hundred and fifty married ladies having poisoned a hundred and fifty husbands in good old times. The bachelors of Rome be- lieved this extraordinary mortality to be merely the com- mon effect of matrimony or a pestilence ; but the surviving Benedicts, being all seized with the colic, examined into the matter, and found that ' their possets had been drugged ;' die consequence of which was, much scandal and several suits at law. This is really and truly the subject of the musical piece at the Fenice ; and you can't conceive what pretty things are sung and recitativoed about the horrenda strage. The conclusion was a lady's head about to be chopped off by a lictor, but (I am sorry to say) he left it on, and she got up and sung a trio with the two Consuls, the Senate in the back ground being chorus. The ballet was distinguished by nothing remarkable, except that the principal she-dancer went into convulsions because she was not applauded on her first appearance ; and the mana- ger came forward to ask if there was ' ever a physician in the theatre.' There was a Greek one in my box, whom I wished very much to volunteer his services, being sure that in this case these would have been the last convulsions which would have troubled the ballarina ; but he would not. The crowd was enormous, and in coming out, having a lady under my arm, I was obliged, in making way, almost to ' beat a Venetian, and traduce the state,' being com- pelled to regale a person with an English punch in the guts, which sent him as far back as the squeeze and the passage would admit. He did not ask for another, but, with great signs of disapprobation and dismay, appealed to his compatriots, who laughed at him. " I am going on with my Armenian studies in a morning, and assisting and stimulating in the English portion of an English and Armenian grammar, now publishing at the convent of St. Lazarus. " The superior of the friars is a bishop, and a fine old fellow, with the beard of a meteor. Father Paschal is also a learned and pious soul. He was two years in England, "I am still dreadfully in love with the Adriatic lady whom I spake of in a former letter (and not in this — I add, for fear of mistakes, for the only one mentioned in the first part of this epistle is elderly and bookish, two things which I have ceased to admire,) and love in this part of the world is no sinecure. This is also the season when every body make up their intrigues for the ensuing year, and cut for partners for the next deal. "And now, if you do 'nt write, I do'nt know what I won't say or do, nor what I will. Send me some news — good news. " Yours, very truly, &c. &c. &c. « B. « P. S. Remember me to Mr. Gifford, with all duty. • I hear that the Edinburgh Review has cut up Cole- ridge's Christabel, and me for praising it, which omen, I think, bodes no great good to your forthcome or coming Canto and Castle (of Chillon.) My run of luck within the last year seems to have taken a turn every way ; but never mind, I will bring myself through in the end — if not, I can be but where I began. In the mean time, I am not dis- pleased to be where I am — I mean at Venice. My Adri- atic nymph is this moment here, and I must therefore re- pose from this letter." LETTER CCCXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Jan. 2, 1817. « Your letter has arrived. Pray, in publishing the Third Canto, have you omitted any passages? I hope not ; and indeed wrote to you on my way over the Alps to prevent such an incident. Say in your next whether or not the whole of tlie Canto (as sent to you) has been published. I LETTERS, 1817. 103 wrote to you again the other day {t>mce, I think,) and shall be glad to hear of the reception of those letters. " To-day is the 2d of January. On this day three years ago the Corsair's publication is dated, I think, in my letter to Moore. On this day two years I married (' Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth,' — I sha'n't forget the day in a hurry,) and it is odd enough that I this day received a letter from you announcing the publication ofChilde Harold, &c. &c. on the day of the date of the ' Corsair ;' and I also received one from my sister, written on the 10th of Decem- ber, my daughter's birth-day (and relative chiefly to my daughter,) and arriving on the day of the date of my mar- riage, this present 2d of January, the month of my birth, — and various other astrologous matters, which I have no time to enumerate. " By-the-way, you might as well write to Hentsch, my Geneva banker, and inquire whether the two packets con- signed to his care were or were not delivered to Mr. St. Aubyn, or if they are still m his keeping. One contains papers, letters, and all the original MS.* of your Tliird Canto, as first conceived ; and the other some bones from the field of Morat. Many thanks for your news, and the good spirits in which your letter is written. " Venice and I aoree very well ; but I do not know that I have any thing new to say except of the last new opera, which I sent in my late letter. The Carnival is commenc- ing, and there is a good deal of fun here and there — besides business; for all the world are making up their intrigues for the season, changing, or going on upon a re- newed lease. I am very well off with Marianna, who is not at all a person to tire me ; firstly, because I do not tire of a woindin personally^ but because they are generally bores in their disposition; and, secondly, because she is amiable, and has a tact which is not always the portion of the fair creation; and, thirdly, she is very pretty; and, fourthly, — but there is no occasion for farther specification. + * * Sofar we have gone on very well; as to the future, I never anticipate, — carpe diem — the past at least is one's own, which is one reason for making sure of the present. So much for my proper liaison. "The general state of morals here is much the same as in the Doges' time: a woman is virtuous (according to the code) who hmits herself to her husband and one lover; tliose who have two, three, or nxore, are a little wild ; but it is only those who are indiscriminately diffuse, and form a low connexion, such as the Princess of Wales with her courier (who, by-the-way, is made a knight of Malta,) who are considered as overstepping the modesty of mar- riage. In Venice, the nobility have a trick of marrying with dancers and singers; and, truth to say, the women of their own order are by no means handsome ; but the gene- ral race, the women of the second and other orders, the wives of the merchants, and proprietors, and untitled gen- try, are mostly beV sangiie, and it is with these that the more amatory connexions are usually formed. There are also instances of stupendous constancy. I knew a woman of fifty who never had but one lover, who dying early, she became devout, renouncing all but her husband. She piques herself, as may be presumed, upon this miraculous fidelity, talking of it occasionally with a species of mis- placed morality, which is rather amusing. There is no convincing a woman here that she is in the smallest degree deviating from the rule of right or the fitness of things in having an amoroso. The great sin seems to lie in concealing it, or having more than one, that is, unless such an exten- sion of the prerogative is understood and approved of by the prior claimant. In my case, I do not know that I had any predecessor, and am pretty sure that there is no par- ticipator ; and am inclined to think, from the youth of the party, and from the frarik, undisguised way in which every body avows every thing in this part of the world, when there is any tiling to avow, as well as from some other circumstances, such as the marriage being recent, &c. &c. &c., that this is the premier pas. It does not much signify. " In another sheet, I send you some sheets of a grammar, EngUsh and Armenian, for the use of the Armenians, of which I promoted, and indeed induced, the pubhcation. (It cost me but a thousand francs — French livres.) I still pursue my lessons in the language without any rapid pro- gress, but advancing a little daily. Padre Paschal, with some little help from me, as translator of his Italian into English, is also proceeding in a MS. Grammar for the English acquisition of Armenian, which will be printed also, when finished. " We want to know if there are any Armenian types and letter-press in England, at Oxford, Cambridge, or else- where ? You know, I suppose, that, many years ago, the two Whistons published in England an original text of a history of Armenia, with their own Latin translation ? Do those types still exist ? and where ? Pray inquire among your learned acquaintance. " When this Grammar (I mean the one now printing) is done, will you have any objection to take forty or fifty copies, which will not cost in all above five or ten guineas, and try the curiosity of the learned with a sale of them ? Say yes or no, as you like. I can assure you that they have some very curious books and MSS., chiefly transla- tions from Greek originals now lost. They are, besides, a much-respected and learned community, and the study of their language was taken up with great ardour by some literary Frenchmen in Buonaparte's time. "I have not done a stitch of poetry since I left Switzer- land, and have not at present the estro upon me. The truth is, that you are afraid of having a Fourth Canto he- fore September, and of another copyright, but I have at present no thoughts of resuming that poem, nor of begin- ning any other. If I write, I think of trying prose, but I dread introducing living people, or applications which might be made to living people. Perhaps one day or other I may attempt some work of fancy in prose descriptive of Italian manners and of human passions; but at present I am pre- occupied. As for poesy, mine is the dream of the sleeping passions; when they are awake, I cannot speak their lan- guage, only in their somnambulism, and just now they are not dormant. "If Mr. Gifford wants carte blanche as to the Siege of Corinth, he has it, and may do as he likes with it. " I sent you a letter contradictory of the Cheapside man (who invented the story you speak of) the other day. My best respects to Mr. Gifford, and such of my friends as you may see at your house. I wish you all prosperity and new year's gratulation, and am, " Yours, &c." • S«t Chllde Harold, Cunto Third, Stania 63, and aote. LETTER CCCXV TO MR. MOORE. "Venice,.Tan. 28, 1817. "Your letter of the 8th is before me. The remedy for your plethora is simple — abstinence. I was obliged to have recourse to the like sonie years ago, I mean in point ofdiel, and, with the exception of some convivial weeks and days (it might be months now and then,) have kept to Pytha- goras ever since. For all this, let me hear tliat you are better. You must not imlulge in ' filthy beer,' nor in porter, nor eat suppers — the last are the devil to those who swal- low dinner. ***** " I am truly sorry to hear of your fathor's misfortun«" — cruel at any time, but doubly cruel in advanced life. However, you will, at least, have the satisfaction o( doing your piirt by him, and, depend upon it, it will not bo in vain. Fivrtunr, to be sure, Ls a female, but not such a b— h ivs the rest (always excepting your wile aiul my sister from such sweepnig terms;) for she generally has some justiro in the long run. I have no spite agaiiisl her though, between 104 LETTERS, 1811 her and Nemesis, I have had some sore gauntlets to run- but then I have done my best to deserve no better. But to ymL, she is a good deal in arrear, and she will come round— mind if she do n't: you have the vigour of life, of independence, of talent, spirit, and character, all with you. What you can do for yourselfj you have done and will do ; and surely there are some others in the world who would not be sorry to be of use, if you would allow them to be useful, or at least attempt it. « I think of being in England in the spring. If there is a row, by the sceptre of King Ludd, but I 'II be one ; and if there is none, and only a continuance of 'this meek, piping time of peace,' I will take a cottage a hundred yards to the south of your abode, and become your neighbour ; and we will compose such canticles, and hold such dia- logues, as shall be the terror of the times, (including the newspaper of that name,) and the wonder, and honour, and praise of the Morning Chronicle and posterity. " I rejoice to hear of your forthcoming in February — though I tremble for the magnificence which you attribute to the new Childe Harold. I am glad you like it ; it is a fine, indistinct piece of poetical desolation, and my favour- ite. I was half mad during the time of its composition, between metaphysics, mountains, lakes, love unextinguish- able, thoughts unutterable, and the nightmare of my own delinquencies. I should, many a good day, have blown my brains out, but for the recoHection that it would ha,v-e gi\ tn pleasure to my mother-in-law ; and, even then, if I could have been certain to haunt her, and fling the shattered scalp of my sinciput and occiput in her frightful face — but I won't dwell upon these trifling family matters. * Venice is in the estro of her Carnival, and I have been up these last two nights at the ridotto and the opera, and all that kind of thing. Now for an adventure. A few days ago a gondolier brought me a billet without a sub- scription, intimating a wish on the part of the writer to meet me either in gondola, or at the island of San Lazaro, or at a third rendezvous indicated in the note. 'I know the country's disposition well,' — in Venice 'they do let heaven see those tricks they dare not show,' &c. &c. ; so, for all response, I said tliat neither of the three places suited me ; but that I would either be at home at ten at night cdane, or be at the ridotto at midnight, where the writer might meet me masked. At ten o'clock I was at home and alone, (Marianna was gone with her husband to a conversazione,) when the door of my apartment opened, and in walked a well-looking and (for an Italian) bionda girl of about nineteen, who informed me that she was mar- ried to the brother of my amoroso, and wished to have some conversation with me. I made a decent reply, and we had some talk in Italian and Romaic, (her mother being a Greek of Corfu;) when, lo ! ma very few minutes in marches, to my very great astonishment, Marianna S * *, m propria persona, and, after making a most polite curtsey to her sister-in-law and to mc, without a single word, seizes her SEud sister-in-law by the hair, and bestows upon her some swtcen slaps, which would have made your ear ache only to hear their echo. I need not describe the screaming which ensued. The luckless visiter took flight. I seized Marianna, who, after several vain efforts to get away in pursuit of the enemy, fairly went into fits in my arms ; and, in spite of reasoning, eau dc Cologne, vinegar, half a pint of water, and God knows what other water besides, con- tinued so fill past midnight. "After damning my servants for letting people in without apprizing mc, I found that Marianna in the morning had seen her sister-in-law's gondolier on tlie stairs ; and, sus- pecting that his apparition boded her no good, had either returned of her own accord, or been followed by her maids or some other spy of her peo[)le to the conversazione, from whence she returned to perpetrate this piece of pugilism. I had seen fits before, and also some small scenery of the same genus in and out of our island ; but this was not all. After about an hour, m comes — who ? why, Signer S * *, her lord and husband, and finds me with his wife fainting upon a sofa, and all the apparatus of confusion, dishevelled hair, hats, handkerchiefs, salts, smelling bottles — and the lady as pale as ashes, without sense or motion. His first question was, 'What is all this ?' The lady could not reply — so I did. I told him the explanation was the easiest thing in the world ; but in the mean time, it would be as well to recover his wife — at least her senses. This came about in due time of suspiration and respiration. "You need not be alarmed — jealousy is not the order of the day in Venice, and daggers are out of fashion, while duels, on love matters, are unknown— at least, with the husbands. But, for all this, it was an awkward affair; and though he must have known that I made love to Marianna, yet I believe he was not, till that evening, aware of the extent to which it had gone. It is very well known that almost all the married women have a lover ; but it is usual to keep up the forms, as in other nations. I did not, there- fore, know what the devil to say. I could not out with the truth, out of regard to her, and I did not choose to lie for my sake ; — besides, the tMng told itself. I thought the best way would be to let her explain it as she chose, (a woman being never at a loss — the Devil always sticks by them) — only determining to protect and carry her of^ in case of any ferocity on the part of the Signor. 1 saw that he was quite calm. She went to bed, and next day — how they settled if, I know not, but settle it they did. Well — then I had to explain to Marianna about tliis never to be suffi- ciently confounded sister-in-law ; which I did by swearing innocence, eternal constancy, &c. &c. * * * ********* But the sister-in-law, very much discomposed with being treated in such wise, has (not having her own shame before her eyes,) told the affair to half Venice, and the servants (who were summoned by the fight and the faint- ing,) to the other half. But here, nobody minds such trifles, except to be amused by them. I do n't know whether you will be so, but I have scrawled a long letter out of these follies. "Believe me ever, &C.'' I LETTER CCCXVIT. TO MR. MTTRRAV. "Venice, Jan. 24,1817. ****** "I have been requested by the Countess Albrizzi hero to present her with 'the Works :' and wish you therefore to send me a copy, that I may comply with her requisition. You may include the last published, of wliich I have seen and know nothbg, but from your letter of the I3th of December. "Mrs. Leigh tells me that most of her friends prefer the first two Cantos. I do not know whether this be the general opinion or not, (it is not tiers ;) but it is natural it should be so. I, however, think differently, which is na- tural also; but who is right, or who is wrong, is of very little consequence. "Dr. Polidori, as I hear from him by letter from Pisa, is about to return to England, to go to the Brazils on a medical speculation with the Danish consul. As you are in the favour of the powers that be, could you not get liim some letters of recommendation from some of your go- vernment friends to some of the Portuguese settlers ? he understands his profession well, and has no want of general talents ; his faults are tlie faults of a pardonable vanity and youth. His remaining with me was out of the question : I have enough to do to manage my own scrapes ; and as precepts without example are not the most gracious homi- lies, I thought it better to give him his conge : but I know no great harm of him, and some good. He is clever and accomplished; knows his profession, by all accounts, well; and is honourable in his dealings, and not at all malevolent. I tliink, with luck, he will turn out a useful member of LETTERS, 1817. loa society, (from which he will lop the diseased members,) and the College of Physicians. If you can be of any use to him, or know any one who can, pray be so, as he has his fortune to make. He has kept a medical journal under the eye of Vacca, (the first surgeon on the continent) at Pisa: Vacca has corrected it, and it must contain some valuable hints or information on the practice of this country. If you can aid him in publishing this also, by your influence with your brethren, do; I do not ask you to pubhsh it yourself, because that sort of request is too personal and embarrass- ing. He has also a tragedy, of which, having seen nothing, I say nothing : but the very circumstance of his having made these efforts (if they are only efforts,) at one-and- twenty, is in his favour, and proves him to have good dispositions for his own improvement. So if, in the way of commendation or recommendation, you can aid his objects with your government friends, I wish you would. I should think some of your Admiralty Board might be likely to have it in their power." LETTER CCC XVIII. ro MR. MURRAY. «Venice,Feb. 15, 1817. " I have received your two letters, but not the parcel you mention. As the Waterloo spoils are arrived, I will make you a present of them, if you choose to accept of tliem ; pray do. "1 do not exactly understand from your letter what has been omitted, or what not, in the publication ; but I shall see probably some day or other. I could not attribute any but a good motive to Mr. Gifford or yourself in such omis- sion ; but as our poUtics are so very opposite, we should probably differ as to the passages. However, if it is only a note or notes, or a line or so, it cannot signify. You say ' a poem ,-' wJiat poem ? You can tell me in your next. "Of Mr. Hobhouse's quarrel with the Q,uarterly Review, I know very little except * *'s article itself, which was certainly harsh enough: but I quite agree that it would have been better not to answer — particularly after Mr. IV. W. who never more wiU trouble you, trouble you. I have been uneasy, because Mr. H. told me that his letter or preface was to be addressed to me. Now, he and 1 are friends of many years ; I have many obligations to him, and he none to me, v/hich have not been cancelled and more than repaid: but Mr. Gifford and I are friends also, and he has moreover been literally so, through thick and thin, in despite of difference of years, morals, habits, and even politics ; and therefore T feel in a very awkward situation between the two, Mr. Gifford and my friend Hobhouse, and can only wish that they had no difference, or that such as they have were accommodated. The Answer I have not seen, for — it is odd enough for people so intimate — but Mr. Hobhouse and I are very sparing of our literary confi- dences. For example, tlie other day he wished to have a MS. of the Third Canto to read over to his brother, &c. which was refused ; — and I have never seen his journals, nor he mine — (I only kept the short one of tho n)Ountains for my sister) — nor do I think diat hardly ever he or I saw any of the other's productions previous to their publication. "The article in the Edinburgh Review on Coleridge I have not seen; but whether I am attacked in it or not, or in any other of the same journal, I shall never think ill of Mr. Jeffrey on that account, nor forget that his conduct towards me has been certainly most handsome during the last four or more years. " I forgot to mention to you that a kind of poem in dia- logue* (in blank verse) or dram;i, from which 'The In- cantation' is aft extract, begun last summer in Switzerland, is finished; it is in three acts; but of a very wild, meta- physical, and inexplicable kind. Almost all tlie persons — Manfred. 14 but two or three — are Spirits of the earth and air, or the waters ; the scene is in the Alps ; the hero a kind of ma- gician, who is tormented by a species of remorse, the cause of which is left half unexplained. He wanders about invoicing tliese Spirits, which appear to him, and are of no use ; he at last goes to the very abode of the Evil Principle, in propria persona, to evocate a ghost, which appears, and gives him an ambiguous and disagreeable answer ; and in the third act he is found by his attendants dying in a tower where he had studied his art. You may perceive by tliis outline that I have no great opinion of this piece of phan- tasy ; but I have at least rendered it quite impossible for the stage, for which my intercourse with Drury-lane has given me the greatest contempt. "I have not even copied it off, and feel too lazy at present to attempt the whole ; but when I have, I will send it you, and you may either throw it into the fire or not." LETTER CCCXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Feb. 25, 1817. " I wrote to you the other day in answer to your letter ; at present, I would trouble you with a commission, if you would be kind enough to undertake it. "You perhaps know Mr. Love, the jeweller, of Old Bond-street. — In 1813, when in the intention of returning to Turkey, I purchased of him, and paid {argent comptant) about a dozen snuff-boxes, of more or less value, as presents for some of my Mussulman acquaintance. These I have now with me. The other day, having occasion to make an alteration in the lid of one (to place a portrait in it,) it has turned out to be silver-gilt instead of gold, for which last it was sold and paid for. This was discovered by the workman in trying it, before taking off the hinges and work- ing upon the lid. I have of course recalled and preserved the box m statu quo. What I wish you to do is, to see the said Mr. Love, and inform him of this circumstance, add- ing, from me, that I will take care he shall not have done this with impunity. " If there is no remedy in law, there is at least the equit- able one of making known his guilt, — that is, his silver gill, and be d — d to him. "I shall carefully preserve all the purchases I made of him on that occasion for my return, as the plague m Tur- key is a barrier to travelling there at present, or rather the endless quarantine which would be the consequence before one could land in coming back. Pray state the matter to him with due ferocity. "I sent you the other day some extracts from a kind of Drama which 1 had begun in Switzerland and finished here ; you will tell me if they are received. They were onlyin a letter. I have not yet had energy to copy it out, or I would send you the whole in dillerent covers. " The carnival closed tliis day last week. "Mr. Hobhouse is still at Rome, I believe. I am at present a little unwell ; — sitting up too late and some sub- sidiary dissipations have lowered my blocxl a goori- cations. To the previous facts you are a witness, and best know how far my recapitulation is correct ; and I re(|Uost that you will inform Mr. Perry from inc, that 1 wonder lie should permit such an abuse of my name in his paper; I say an obtuse, because my absence, at least, demands some respect, and my presence and positive sanction could alone justify him in such a proceeding, oven were the lines mine ; See Poenn, p. ■170. and if false, there are no words for him. I repeat to you that the original was burnt before you on your assurance, and there never was a copy, nor even a verbal repetition, very much to the discomfort of some zealous Whigs, who bored me for them (having heard it bruited by Mr. Davies that there were such matters) to no purpose; for, having written them solely with the notion that Mr. Croker was the aggressor, and for my own and not party reprisals, I would not lend me to the zeal of any sect when I w as made aware that he was not the writer of the offensive passages. You know, if there was such a thing, I would not deny it. I mentioned it openly at the time to you, and you will remember why and where I destroyed it ; and no power nor wheedling on earth should have made, or could make me, (if 1 recollected them,) give a copy after that, unless I was well assured that Mr. Croker was really the author of that which you assured me he was not, "I intend for England this spring, where I have some affairs to adjust ; but the post hurries me. For this month past I have been unwell, but am getting better, and thinking of moving homewards towards May, without going to Rome, as the unhealthy season comes on soon, and 1 can return when I have settled the business I go upon, which need not be long. * * * * I should have thought the Assy- rian tales very succeedable. "I saw, in Mr. W. W.'s poetry, that he had written my epitaph ; I would rather have written his. " The thing I have sent you, you will see at a glimpse, could never be attempted or thought of for the stage ; I much doubt it for publication even. It is too much in my old style ; but I composed it actually with a horror of the stage, and with a view to render the thought of it imprac- ticable, knowing the zeal of my friends that I should try that for which I have an invincible repugnance, viz. a re- presentation. "I certainly am a devil of a mannerist, and must leave off; but what could I do? Without exertion of some kind, I should have sunk under my imagination and reality, INIy best respects to Mr. Gifford, to Walter Scott, and to all friends. "Yours ever." LETTER CCCXXIIL TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, Ma-ch 10, 1817. "I wrote again to you lately, but I hope you won't be sorry to have another epistle. I have been unwell this last montli, with a kind of slow and low fever, which fixes upon me at night, and goes off in the morning ; but, however, I am now better. In spring it is probable we may meet ; at least I intend for England, where I have business, and hope to meet you in your restored health and additional laurels. "Murray has sent me the Q,uarterly and the Edinburgh. When I tell you that Walter Scott is the author of the article in the former, you will agree with me that such an article is still more honourable to him than to myself, 1 am peifectly plcaseil with .Jeffrey's also, which 1 wish you to tell him, with my remembrances — not tliat 1 suppose it is of any consec|ucnce to him, or ever could have been, whether I am pleased or not, — but simply in my ])rivate relation to him, as his well-wisher, and it may be one day as his ae(|uaintance. I wish you would alsi» add, — >vliat you know, — that I was not, and, indeed, am not even iiotit, the misanthropical ami gloomy gentleman he takes me for, but a facetious companion, well to do with those with whom 1 am intimate, and ns KH]uacious aiid luugliing as if I were a mucif cleverer fellow. "I suppose now I shall never be able to shako off my sables in public imagination, more particularly since my moral * * clove down my fume. However, nor that, nor more than that, has yet U[\\q, myself upon it ; so speak out. You may put it in the fire, if you like, and Gifford do n't like. "The Armenian Grammar is published — that is, one; the other is still in MS. My illness has prevented nic from moving this month past, and I have done nothing more with the Armenian. "Of Italian or rather Loml)anl manners, I could tell you little or nothing: 1 went two or three times to the governor's convcrsa/iiino, (and if you go once, you are free to go always,) at which, aa I only saw very plain women, a formal circle, in short, a worst sort of rout, I did not go again I went to Academic and to Madame Albrizzi's, whore I saw pretty much the same thing, with the addition of some literati, who are the same blue^* by , all the world over. I fell in love the first week with Madame * +, and I have continued so ever since, because she is very pretty and pleasing, and tdks Venetian, which amuses me, and is naive. I have seen all their spectacles and sights ; but I do not know any thing very worthy of observation, except that the women hiss better than those of any other nation, which is notorious, and attributed to the worship of images, and the early habit of osculation induced thereby. "Very truly, &c. "P. S. Pray send the red tooth-powder by a safe hand, and speedily. + + =f: * * *| " To hook (he reader, you, John Murray, Have jjublished ' Anjou's Margaret,' Which won't be sold off in a hurry," (At least, it has not been as yet ;) And then, still farther to bewilder 'em, Without remorse you set up ' Ilderim ;' So mind you do u't get into debt, Because as how, if you should fail, These books would be but baddish bail. " And mind you do not let escape These rhymes to Mornijig Post or Perry, Which would he very treacherous — veiy, And get me into such a scrape ! For, firstly, I should have to sally, All in my little boat, against a Galley ;% And, should I chance to slay the Assyrian wight. Have next to combat with the female knight, And, prick'd to death, expire upon her needle — A sort of end which I should take indeed iU 1 "You may show these matters to Moore and the sekd^ but not to the profane; and tell Moore, that I wonder he do n't write to one now and then." LETTER CCCXXVL TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, March 31, 1817. "You will begin to think my epistolary offerings (to whatever altar you please to devote them) rather prodigal. But until you answer I shall not abate, because you deserve no better. I know you are well, because 1 hear of your voyaging to London and the environs, which I rejoice to learn, because your note alarmed me by the purgation and phlebotomy therein prognosticated. I also hear of your being in the press; all which, methinks, might have furnished you wilh subject matter for a middle-sized letter, consider- ing that I am in foreign parts, and that the last montli's advertisements and obituary would be absolute news to nie from your Tramontane coimtry. "I told you, in my last, I have had a smart fever. There is an epidemic in the place; but I suspect, from the symp- toms, that mine was a fever of my own, and had nothing in common with the low, vulgar typhus, which is at this moment decimating Venice, and which has half-un|)eopled Milan, if the accounts be true. This malatly has sorely discomfited my serving men, who want saiily to be gone away, and get mo to remove. But, besides my natural |)ervei-sity, 1 was seasoned in Turkey, by the continual whispers of (he plague, against apprehcnsitms of contagion. Besides which, apprelunsiou would nt)t prevent it: and then 1 am still in love, and 'forty thousand' fevers should not make me stir before my minute, while muler the in- rtuenco of tlmt paramount delirium. Seriously speaking, • Whenever a word or pnminKC nccu™, (n* hi Ihii in«tnuc«,> which l.orJ I'yn'ti wuuld huve pronounced eniphitlicnily in upenkinK. It »p|>«'nia, til hi« liundwiiliiig, ua if written wilh lumrlhliif uf lh« laiite vthf uiciir«.— Moore. t Hfic follow tlie inmo rhymrn f " I rend the ChriitRbrl," *c.) wlikk have nlrriidy l>een s;iven In i«'neof hn lellim In mVMlf.— A/»Hir«, ; Mr. Uall«y KuikIii, tlu author of " lldei iin.''^ no LETTERS, 1817. there is a malady rife in the city — a dangerous one, they say. However, mine did not appear so, though it was not pleasant. " This is passion-week— 'and twilight — and all the world are at vespers. They have an eternal churching, as in all Catholic countries, but are not so bigoted as they seemed to be in Spain. "I do n't know whether to be glad or sorry tliat you are leaving Mayfield. Had I ever been at Newstead during your stay there, (except during the winter of 1813-14, when the roads were impracticable,) we should have been within hail, and I should like to have made a giro of the Peak with you. I know that country well, having been all over it when a boy. Was you ever in Dovedale ? I can assure you there are things in Derbysliire as noble as Greece or Switzerland. But yoji had aJways a lingering after Lon- don, and I do n't wonder at it. I liked it as well as any body, myself now and dien. " Will you remember me to Rogers ? whom I presume to be flourishing, and whom I regard as our poetical papa. You are his lawful son, and I the illegitimate. Has he begun yet upon Sheridan ? If you see our republican friend, Leigh Hunt, pray present my remembrances. I saw about nine months ago that he was in a row (like my friend Hobhouse,) with the (Quarterly Reviewers. For my part I never could understand tlaese quarrels of authors vrith critics and with one another. 'For God's sake, gentlemen, what do they mean?' " What think you of your countryman, Matunn ? I take some credit to myself for having done my best to bring out Bertram; but I must say my colleagues were quite as ready and willing. Walter Scott, however, was the Jirst who mentioned him, which he did to me, with great com- mendation, in 1815; and it is to this casualty, and two or three other accidents, that this very clever fellow owed his first and well-merited public success. What a chance is fame! "Did I tell you that I have translated two Epistles? — a correspondence between St. Paul and the Corinthians, not to be found in our version, but the Armenian — but which seems to me very orthodox, and I have done it into scrip- tural prose English.* " Ever, &c." LETTER CCCXXVH. TO MR. MURRAY. « Venice, AprU 2, 1817. "I sent you the whole of the Drama at three several times, act by act, in separate covers. I hope that you have, or will receive, some or the whole of it. " So Love has a conscience.! By Diana ! I shall make him take back die box, though it were Pandora's. The discovery of its intrinsic silver occurred on sending it to have the lid adapted to admit Marianna's portrait. Of course I had the box remitted in statu qiio, and had the picture set in another, which suits it (the picture) very well. The defaulting box is not touched, hardly, and was not in the man's hands above an hour. " I am aware of what you say of Otway ; and am a very great admirer of his, — all except of that maudlin b — h of chaste lewdness and blubbering curiosity, Belvidcra, whom 1 1 utterly despise, abhor, and detest. But the story of Marino Faliero is different, and, I think, so much finer, tliat I wish Otway had taken it instead : the head conspiring against the b(x]y for refusal of redress fjr a real injury, — jealousy, — treason, — with the more fixed and uivetcrate passions (mixed with policy,) of an old or elderly njan — the Devil liimself could not have a finer subject, and he is your only tragic dramatist. ***** "There is still, in the Doge's palace, the black veil painted over Faliero's picture, and tlie staircase whereon See p. 399. t See Letter 316, to Mr. Murray. I he was first crowned Doge, and subsequentiy decapitated.* This was the thing that most struck my imagination in Venice — more than the Rialto, which I visited for the sake ■ of Shylock; and more, too, than Schiller's 'Armenian,^ a I novel which took a great hold of me when a boy. It is 1 also called the 'Ghost Seer,' and I never walked down St. Mark's by moonlight without thinking of it, and 'at nine o'clock he died !' — But I hate things all fiction ; and there- fore the Merchant and Otitello have no great associations to me : but Pierre has. There should always be some foundation of fact for the most airy fabric, and pure inven> tion is but the talent of a liar. "Maturin's tragedy. — By your account of him last year to me, he seemed a bit of a coxcomb, personally. JPoor fellow ! to be sure, he had had a long seasoning of adversity, which is not so hard to bear as t' other thing. I hope that this won't throw him back into the 'slough of Despond.' "You talk of 'marriage;' — ever since my own funeral, the word makes me giddy, and throws me into a cold sweat. Pray, do n't repeat it. " You should close with Madame de Stael. This will be her best work, and permanently historical; it is on her father, the Revolution, and Buonaparte, &c. Bonstetten told me in Switzerland it was very great. 1 have not seen it myself but the author often. She was very kind to me atCopet. ***** " There have been two articles in the Venice papers, one a Review of Glenarvon * + * *, and the other a Re- view of Childe Harold, in which it proclaims me the most rebellious and contumacious admirer of Buonaparte now surviving in Europe. Both these articles are translations from the Literary Gazette of German Jena. ****** " Tell me that Walter Scott is better. I would not have him ill for the world. I suppose it was by sympathy that I had my fever at the same time. " I joy in the success of your Q-uarterly, but I must still stick by the Edinburgh; Jeffrey has done so by me, I must say, through every thing, and this is more than I deserved from him. — I have more than once acknowledged to you by letter the 'Article' (and articles;) say that you have received the said letters, as I do not otherwise know what letters arrive. — Both Reviews came, but nothing more. M.'s play and the extract not yet come, ****** " Write to say whether my Magician has arrived, with all his scenes, spells, &c. "Yours ever, &c. "It is useless to send to the Foreign-qffke : nothing arrives to me by that conveyance. I suppose some zealous clerk thinks it a tory duty to prevent it." LETTER CCCXX\T:n. TO MR. ROGERS. "Venice, April 4, 1817. " It is a considerable time since I wrote to you last, and I hardly know why I should trouble you now, except that I think you will not be sorry to hear from me now and then You and I were never correspondents, but always some- thing better, which is, very good friends. "I saw your friend Sharp in Switzeriand, or rather b die German territory^ (which is and is not Switzerland.) and he gave Hobhouse and me a very good route for the Bernese Alps ; however, we took another from a German, and went by Clarens, tlie Dent de Jaman to Montbovon, and through Simmenthal to Thoun, and so on to Lauter- brounn; except that from thence to the Grindelwald, instead of round about, we went right over the Wengen Alps' very summit, and being close under the Jungfrau, saw it, its glaciers, and heard the avalanches in all their glory, having famous weather there/or. We of course went See Cbilde Harold, Canto 4, Stanza 18. LETTERS, 1817. Ill from the Grindelwald over the Sheidech to Brientz and its lake ; past the Reichenbach and all that mountain road, wliich reminded me of Albania, and ^toha, and Greece, except that the people here were more civilized and ras- cally. I did not think so very much of Chamouni (except the source of the Arveron, to which we went up to the teeth of the ice, so as to look into and touch the cavity, against the warning of tlie guides, only one of whom would go with us so close,) as of the Jungfrau, and the Pissevache, and Simplon, which are quite out of all mortal competition. "I was at Milan about a moon, and saw Monti and some other living curiosities, and thence on to Verona, where I did not forget your story of the assassination during your sojourn there, and brought away with me some frag- ments of Juliet's tomb, and a Uvely recollection of the am- phitheatre. The Countess Goetz (the governor's wife here,) told me that there is still a ruined castle of the Montecchi between Verona and Vicenza. I have been at Venice since November, but shall proceed to Rome shortly. For my deeds here, are they not written in my letters to the imreplying Thomas Moore ? to him I refer you : he has received them all, and not answered one. " Will you remember me to Lord and Lady Holland ? I have to thank the former for a book which I have not yet received, but expect to reperuse with great pleasure on my return, viz. the 2nd edition of Lope de Vega. I have heard of Moore's forthcoming poem: he cannot wish him- self more success than I wish and augur for him. I have also heard great things of ' Tales of my Landlord,' but I have not yet received them ; by all accounts they beat even Waverley, &c. and are by the same author. Maturin's second tragedy has, it seems, failed, for which I should think any body would be sorry. My health was very victorious till within the last month, when I had a fever. There is a typhus in these parts, but I do n't think it was tliat. However, I got well without a physician or drugs. ^ I forgot to tell you tliat, last autumn, I furnished Lewis with ' bread and salt' for some days at Diodati, in reward for which (besides his conversation,) he translated 'Goethe's Faust' to me by word of mouth, and I set him by the ears with Madame de Stael about the slave trade. I am indebted for many and kind courtesies to our Lady of Copet, and I now love her as much as I always did her works, of which I was and am a great admirer. When are you to begin with Sheridan? what are you doing, and how do you do ? " Ever very truly, &c." LETTER CCCXXIX. TO MR. MURRAV. "Venice, April 9, 1817. "Your letters of the 18th and 20th are arrived. In my own I have given you the rise, progress, decline, and fall of my recent malady. It is gone to the devil : I won't pay him so bad a compliment as to say it came from him : — he is too much of a gentleman. It was nothing but a slow fever, which quickened its [)ace towards the end of its journey. I had been bored with it some weeks — with nocturnal burnings and morning perspirations; but I am quite well again, which I attribute to having had neither medicine nor doctor therefor. "In a few days I set ofl'for Rome: such is my purpose. I shall change it very often before Monday next, but do you continue to direct and address to Kerttcc,as heretofore. If I go, letters will be forwarded: I say '//J' because I never know what I shall do till it is done; and as I me;in most firmly to set out for Rome, it is not unlikely I may find myself at St. Petersburg. "You tell me to ' take caro of myself ;' — faith, and I will. I won't be posthumous yet, if I can help it. Notwith- standing, only think what a 'Life and Adventures,' while I am in full scandal, would be worth, together with the 'membra' of my writing-desk, the si.\teen beiMimiugs of poems never to bofinisheil! Do you thiiik I would not have shot myself last year, had I not luckily recollected that Mrs. Charlmont, and Lady Noel, and all die old women in England would have been delighted; — besides the agreeable 'Lunacy' of the 'CrowTier's Q,uest,' and the regrets of two or three or half a dozen? + ♦ * * * Be assured that I would live for two reasons, or more ; — there are one or two people whom I have to put out of the world, and as many into it, before I can ' depart in peace ;' if I do so before, I have not fulfilled my mission. Besides, when I turn thirty, I will turn devout; I feel a great voca- tion that way in Catholic churches, and when I hear the organ. " So * * is writing again I Is there no bedlam in Scot- land? nor thumb-screw? nor gag? nor handcuff? I went upon my knees to him almost some years ago, to prevent him from pubUshing a political pamphlet, which would have given him a Uvelier idea of ' Habeas Corpus' than the world will derive from his present production upon that suspended subject, which will doubtless be followed by the suspension of other of his majesty's subjects. " I condole with Drury-lane and rejoice with * *, — that is, in a modest way, — on the tragical end of tlie new tragedy. " You and Leigh Hunt have quarrelled then, it seems? + + * * J introduce him and his poem to you, in the hope that (malgre poUtics,) the union would be beneficial to both, and the end is eternal enmity ; and yet I did this with the best intentions : I introduce + * *, and * + * runs away with your money: my friend Hobhouse quarrels, too, widi the duarterly: and (except the last,) I am the inno- cent Istmhus (damn the word ! I can 't spell it, though I have crossed that of Corinth a dozen times,) of tliese enmities. "I will tell you something about Chillon. — A Mr. Z)« Luc, ninety years old, a Swiss, had it read to him, and is pleased with it, — so my sister writes. He said that he was with Rousseau at Chillon, and that the description is per- fectly correct. But this is not all : I recollected something of the name and find the following passage in ' The Con- fessions,' vol. 3, page 247, liv. 8. "'De tons ces amusemens celui qui me plilt davantage fut une promenade autour du Lac, que je fis en bateau avec De Luc p^re, sa bru, ses deiix Jils, et ma Therese. Nous mimes sept jours a cette tournee par le plus beau temps du monde. J'en gardai le vif souvenir des sites qui m'avoicnt frappe a I'autre extremite du Lac, et dont jc fis la description, quelques annees apr^s, dans la Nouvellc Heloise.' " This nonagenarian, De Luc, must be one of the 'deux fils.' He is in England — infirm, but still in faculty. It is odd that he should have lived so long, and not wanting in oddness, that he should have made this voyage with Jean Jacques, and afterward, at such an interval, read a poem by an Englishman (who had made precisely the same circumnavigation,) upon the same scenery. "As for 'Manfred,' it is of no use sending proo/s; nothing of that kind comes. I sent the whole at different times. The two first Acts are the best; the third so so; but I was blown with the first and second heats. You must call it a ' Poem,' for it is no Drama, and 1 do not choose to have it called by so * * a name — a ' Poem in Dialogue,' or Pan- tomime, if you will ; any tiling but a green-room synonyme;. and tliis is your motto — ' There ore more things in lieavon Bin) oHrlii, Ilorulio, Than are dreamt of in your [)hilo80|ihy.' "Yours over, &c. "My love and thanks to Mr. Gifford." LETTER CCCXXX. TO Mil. ftlOOKF. " Veniee, Aprilll, 1817. " I shall contijuie to write to you while llie fit is on me,, by way of penance upon you for your former complaints 112 LETTERS, 1817. of long silence. I dare say you would blush, if you could for not answering. Next week I set out for Rome. Having seen Constantinople, I should like to look at t'otlier feUow Besides I want to see the Pope, and shall take care to tell him that I vote for the Catholics and no Veto. 1 sha' n't go to Naples. It is but the second best sea- view, and I have seen the first and third, viz. — Constan- tinople and Lisbon (by-the-way, the last is but a river- view ; however, they reckon it after Stamboul and Naples, and before Genoa,) and Vesuvius is silent, and I have passed by Etna. So I shall e'en return to Venice in July; and if you write, I pray you address to Venice which is ' my head, or rather my /leori-quarters. " My late physician, Dr. Polidori, is here, on his way to England, with the present Lord Guilford and the widow of the late earl. Doctor Polidori has, just now, no more patients, because his patients are no more. He had lately three, who are now all dead — one embalmed. Homer and a child of Thomas Hope's are interred at Pisa and Rome. Lord Guilford died of an inflammation of the bowels : so they took them out, and sent them (on account of their discrepancies,) separately from the carcass, to England. Conceive a man going one way and his intestines another, and liis immortal soul a third ! — was there ever such a dis- tribution? One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I'll* have a bit of a tustle before I let it get in again to that or any other. " And so poor dear Mr. Maturin's second tragedy has been neglected by the discerning public. * * will be d — d glad of this, and d — d without being glad, if ever his own plays come upon ' any stage.' " I wrote to Rogers the other day, with a message for you. I hope that he flourishes. He is the Tithonus of poetry — immortal already. You and I must wait for it. •^ I hear nothing — know nothing. You may easily sup- pose that the English do n't seek me, and I avoid them. To be sure, there are but a few or none here, save pas- sengers. Florence and Naples are their Margate and Ramsgate, and much the same sort of company too, by all accounts, which hurts us among the Italians. " I want to hear of Lalla Rookh — are you out ? Death and fiends! why don't you tell me where you are, what you are, and how you are? I shall go to Bologna by Ferrara, instead of Mantua ; because I would rather see the cell where they caged Tasso, and where he became mad and * *, than his own MSS. at Modena, or the Mantuan birthplace of that harmonious plagiary and mis- erable flatterer, whose cursed hexameters were drilled mto me at Harrow. I saw Verona and Vicenza on my way here — Padua too. I go alone — but alone, because I mean to return here. 1 only want to see Rome. I have not the least curiosity about Florence, though I must see it for the sake of the Venus, &c. &c. ; and I wish also to see the Fall of Terni. 1 tliink to return to Venice by Ravenna and Rimini of both of which 1 mean to take notes for Leigh Hunt, who will be glad to hear of the scenery of his Poem. There was a devil of a review of him in the (Quarterly, a year ago, which he answered. All answers are imprudent; but, to be sure, poetical flesh and blood must have the last word — that's certain. I tliought, and think, very highly of his Poem , but I warned him of the row his favourite antique phraseology would bring him into. " You have taken a house at Hornsey ; I had much rather you had taken one in the Apenines. If you tliink of coming out for a summer, or so, tell me, that I may be upon the hover for you. " Ever, &c." LETTER CCCXXXI. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, April 14, 1817. "By the favour of Dr. Polidori, who is here on liis way to England, with the present Lord Guilford (the late ear! having gone to England, by another road, accompanied by his bowels in a separate coffer,) I remit to you, to deliver to Mrs. Leigh, two miniatures ; but previously you will have the goodness to desire Mr. Love (as a peace-offering be- tween him and me) to set them in plain gold, with my arms complete, and 'Painted by Prepiani. — Venice, 1817,' on the back. I wish also that you would desire Holmes to make a copy of each — that is, both — for myselij and that you will retain the said copies till my return. One was done while I was very unwell ; the other in my health, which may account for their dissimilitude. I trust that they will reach their destination in safety. " I recommend the doctor to your good offices with your government friends ; and if you can be of any use to him in a literary point of view, pray be so. " To-day, or rather yesterday, for it is past midnight, I have been up to the batflements of the highest tower in Venice, and seen it and its view, in all the glory of a clear Italian sky. I also went over the Manfrini Palace famous for its pictures. Among them, there is a portrait of ^riosto by Titian, surpassing all my anticipation of the power of painting or human expression : it is the poetry of portrait, and the portrait of poetry. There was also one of some learned lady, centuries old, whose name I forget, but whose features must always be remembered. I never saw greater beauty, or sweetness, or wisdom: — it is the kind of face to go mad for, because it cannot walk out of its frame. There is also a famous dead Christ and live Apostles, for which Buonaparte offered in vain five thousand louis ; and of which, though it is a capo d'opera of Titian, as I am no connoisseur, I say little, and thought less, except of one figure in it. There are ten thousand others, and some very fine Giorgiones among them, &c. &c. There is an original Laura and Petrarch, very hideous both. Petrarch has not only the dress, but the features and air of an old woman, and Laura looks by no means like a young one, or a pretty one. What struck me most in the general collection was the extreme resemblance of the style of the female faces in the mass of pictures, so many centuries or generations old, to those you see and meet every day among the existing Italians. The queen of Cyprus and Giorgione's wife,* particularly the latter, are Venetians as it were of yesterday; the same eyes and expression, and, to my mind, there is none finer. " You must recollect, however, that I know nothmg of painting; and that I detest it, unless it reminds me of something I have seen, or think it possible to see, for which reason I spit upon and abhor all the saints and subjects of one half the impostures I see in the churches and palaces ; and when in Flanders, I never was so disgusted in my life, as with Rubens and his eternal wives and infernal glare of colours, as they appeared to me; and in Spain I did not think much of Murilo and Velasquez. Depend upon it, of all the arts, it is the most artificial and unnatural, and that by which the nonsense of mankind is most imposed upon. 1 never yet saw the picture or the statue which came a league within my conception or expectation ; but I have seen many mountains, and seas, and rivers, and views, and two or three women, who went as far beyond it, — besides some horses ; and a lion (at Veli Pacha's) in the Morea ; and a tiger at supper in Exeter 'Change. When you write, continue to address to me at Venice. Where do you sujipose the books you sent At Ttnin ! This comes of the Foreign Office,^ which is foreign enough, God knows, for any good it can be of to me, or any one else, and be d — d to it, to its last clerk and first char- latan, Castlereagh. " This makes my hundredth letter at least. « Yours, fcc." * See Beppo, Stauza 12th. LETTERS, 1817. 113 LETTER CCCXXXIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Venice, April 14, 1817. " The present proofs* (of the whole) begins only at the 17th page ; but as I had corrected and sent back the First Act, it does not signify. ** The Third Act is certainly d d bad, and, like the Archbishop of Grenada's homily (which savoured of the palsy,) has the dregs of my fever, during which it was written. It must on no account be published in its present state. I will try and reform it, or re-write it altogether ; but the impulse is gone, and I have no chance of making any thing out of it. I would not have it published as it is on any account. The speech of Manfred to the Sun is the only part of this act I thought good myself; the rest is certainly as bad as bad can be, and I wonder what the devil possessed me. " I am very glad indeed that you sent me Mr. Gilford's opinion without deduction. Do you suppose me such a booby as not to be very much obliged to him ? or that in fact I was not, and am not, convinced and convicted in my conscience of this same overt act of nonsense ? "I shall try at it again: in the mean time lay it upon the shelf (the whole Drama, I mean :) but pray correct your copies of the First and Second Act from the original MS. "I am not coming to England ; but going to Rome in a few days. I return to Venice in June; so, pray, address all letters, &c. to me hcre^ as usual, that is, to Venice. Dr. Polidori this day left this city with Lord Guilford for Eng- land. He is charged with some books to your care (from me,) and two miniatures also to the same address, botli for my sister. " Recollect not to publish, upon pain of I know not what, until I have tried again at the Third Act. I am not sure that I shall try, and still less that I shall succeed, if I do ; but I am very sure, that (as it is, it is unfit for publication or perusal ; and unless I can make it out to my own satis- faction, I won't have any part published. "I write in haste, and after having lately written very often. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCXXXIIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Folingo, April 26, 1817. " I wrote to you the other day from Florence, inclosing a MS. entitled ' The Lament of Tasso.' It was written in consequence of my having been lately at Ferrara. In the last section of this MS. hut one (that is, the penultimate,) I think that I have omitted a line in the copy sent you from Florence, viz. after the line — "And woo compassion to a blighted name, insert, " Sealing the sentence which my foes proclaim. The context will show you the sense, which is not clear in this quotation. Remember, I write this in the supposition that you have received my Florentine packet. "At Florence I remained but a day, having a hurry for Rome, to which I am thus far advanced. However, I went to the two galleries, from which one returns drunlc with beauty. The Venus is more for admiration than love ; but there are sculpture and painting, which for the first time at all gave me an idea of what people mean by their cant, and what Mr. Braham calls * entusimusy' (i. c. en- thusiasm,) about those two most artificial of the arts. What struck mc most were, the mistress of Rajihael, a portrait ; the mistress of Titian, a portrait ; a Venus of Titian in the Medici gallery — the Venus ; Canova's Venus also, in the other gallery: Titiiui's mistress is also in tlie other gallery (that is, in the Pitti Palace gallery :) the Parcae of Michael Angelo, a picture ; and the Antinous, the Alexander, and one or two not very decent groups in marble ; the Genius of Death, a sleeping figure, &c. &c. "I also went to the Medici chapel — fine frippery in great slabs of various expensive stones, to commemorate fifty rotten and forgotton carcasses. It is unfinished and will remain so. " The church of Santa Croce' contains much illustrious nothing. The tombs* ofMachiavelli, Michael Angelo, Gali- leo Galilei, and Alfieri, make it the Westminster Abbey of Italy. I did not admire any of these tombs — beyond their contents. That of Alfieri is heavy, and all of them seem to me overloaded. What is necessary but a bust and name ? and perhaps a date ? the last for the unchronologi- cal, of whom I am one. But all your allegory and eulogy is infernal, and worse than the long wigs of English num- skuUs upon Roman bodies in the statuary of the reigns of Charles II., William, and Anne. " When you write, write to Venice, as usual ; I mean to return there in a fortnight. I shall not be England for a long time. This afternoon I met Lord and Lady Jersey, and saw them for some time: all well ; children grown and healthy ; she very pretty, but sunburnt ; he very sick of travelling ; bound for Paris. There are not many English on the move, and those who are, mostly homewards. I shall not return till business makes me, being much better where I am in health, &c. &c. "For the sake of my personal comfort, I pray you send me immediately to Venice — mind, Venice — viz. JVcdtes's tooth-powder, red, a quantity; calcined magnesia, of the best quality, a quantity ; and all this by safe, sure, and speedy means ; and, by the Lord ! do it. "I have done nothing at Manfred's Third Act. You must wait ; I '11 have at it in a week or two, or so. " Yours ever, &c." LETTER CCCXXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Rome, May 5, 1817. " By this post (or next at farthest) I send you in two other covers, the new Tliird Act of ' Manfred.' I have re- written tlie greater part, and returned what is not altered in the proof you sent me. The Abbot is become a good man, and the Spirits are brought in at the death. You will find, I think, some good poetry in this new act, here and there ; and if so, print it, without sending me farther proofs, under Mr. Giffbrd's correction, if he w ill have tJie goodness to overlook it. Address all answers to Venice^ as usual ; I mean to return tliere in ten days. "'The Lament of Tasso,' which I sent from Florence, has, I trust, arrived : I look upon it as a ' tliese be good rhymes,' as Pope's papa said to him when he was a boy. For the two—^\i and the Drama — you will disburse to mc {via. Kinnaird) six hundred guineas. You will perhaps be surprised tliat I set the same price upon tliis as upon the Drama; but, besides that I look upon it as good, I won't take less than tliree hiuidred guineas for any thing. The two together will make you a larger publication thiui the ' Siege' and ' Parisina ;' so you may think yoursrlf lot off very easy : that is to say, if these pooms arc good for any thing, which I hope and believe. " I have been some tlays in Rome the Wonderful. I am seeing sights, and have done nothing else, except tlio new Third Act for you. I have this morning soon a live Pope and a dead Cardinal: Pius VII. has been burying Cardi- nal Bracchi, whose body I saw in state at the Cluosa Nuova. Rome has delighted me Ix'yond ovory thing, since Alliens and Constantinople. But I shall not remain long this visit. Address to Venice. «Evcr,&c. Of Muiifrcd. 16 See Childe Htrold, Canto 8, St«nu M. 114 LETTERS, 1817. " P. S. I have got my saddle-horses here, and have ridden, and am riding, all about the country." LETTER CCCXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Rome, May 9, 1817. " Address all answers to Venice ; for there 1 shall re- turn in fifteen days, God willing. " I sent you from Florence ' The Lament of Tasso,' and from Rome ihe Third Act of Manfred, both of which, I trust, will duly arrive. The terms of these two I mentioned in my last, and will repeat in this : it is three hundred for each, or sb hundred guineas for the two — that is, if you like, and they are good for any thing. "At last one of the parcels is arrived. In the notes to Childe Harold there is a blunder of yours or mine : you talk of arrival at St. Gingo, and immediately after, add — ' on the height is the Chateau of Clarens.'* This is sad work : Clarens is on the other side of the Lake, and it is quite im- possible that I should have so bungled. Look at the MS. ; and, at any rate, rectify. " The ' Tales of my Landlord' I have read with great pleasure, and perfectly understand now why my sister and aunt are so very positive m the very erroneous persuasion that they must havo been written by me. If you knew me as well as they do, you would have fallen, perhaps, into the same mistake. Some day or other, I will exjJain to you wity — when I have time ; at present it does not much mat- ter ; but you must have thought this blunder of theirs very odd, and so did I, till I had read the book. — Croker's letter to you is a very great compliment ; I shall return it to you in my next. " I perceive you are publishing a life of RaSael d'Urbino : it may perhaps interest you to hear that a set of German artists here allow their hair to grow, and trim it into his fashion, thereby drinking the cummin of the disciples of the old philosopher ; if they would cut their hair, convert it into brushes, and paint like hinij it would be more ' German to the matter.' "I'll tell you a story: the other day, a man here — an Enghsh — mistaking the statues of Charlemagne and Constantine, which are equestrian^ for those of Peter and Paul, asked another which was Paul of these same horse- men? — to which the reply was — 'I thought, sir, that St. Paul had never got on horseback since his accident?* "I '11 tell you another: Henry Fox, writing to some one from Naples the other day, after an illness, adds — <■ and I am so changed that my oldest creditors would hardly know me.' " I am delighted with Rome — as I would be with a band- box, that is, it is a fine thing to see, finer than Greece ; but I have not been here long enough to affect it as a residence, and I must go back to Lombardy, because I am wretched at being aw ay from Marianna. I have been riding my saddle-horses every day, and been to Albano, its Lakes, and to the top of the Alban Mount, and to Frescati, Aricia, &c. &c. with an &c. &c. &c. about the city, and in the city: f)r all which — vide Guidebook. As a whole, ancient and modem, it beats Greece, Constantinople, everv thing — at least that I have ever seen. But I can 't describe, because my first impressions are always strong and con- fused, and my memory select's and reduces them to order, like distance in the landscape, and blends them better, although they may be less distinct. There must be a sense or two more than we have, us mortals ; for * * + * * where there is much to be grasped we are always at a loss, and yet feel that we ought to have a higher and more extended comprehension. " I have had a letter from Moore, who is in some alarm about his Poem. I do n't see why. Since correcUd, "I have had another from my poor dear Augusta, who is in a sad fuss about my late iUness ; do, pray, tell her, (the truth,) that 1 am better than ever, and in importunate health, growing (if not grown) large and ruddy, and con- gratulated by impertinent persons on my robustious appear- ance, when I ought to be pale and interesting. « You tell me that George Byron has got a son, and Augusta says, a daughter; which is it? — it is no great matter: the father is a good man, an excellent officer, and has married a very nice little woman, who will bring him more babes tlian income : howbeit she had a handsome dowry, and is a very charming girl ; — but he may as well get a ship. * I have no thoughts of coming among you yet awhile, so that I can fight off business. If I could but make a tole- rable sale of Newstead, there would be no occasion for my return ; and I can assure you very sincerely, that I am much happier (or, at least, have been so,) out of your island than in it. "Yours ever. "P. S. There are few English here, but several of my acquaintance ; among others, the Marquis of Lansdowne, with whom I dine to-morrow. I met the Jerseys on the road at Foligno — all well. "Oh — I forgot — the ItaHans have printed Chillon, &c. a piracy, — a pretty little edition, prettier than yours — and pubhshed, as I found to my great astonishment on arriving here ; and what is odd, is, that the English is quite correctly printed. Why they did it, or who did it, I know not; hvit so it is ; — I suppose, for the English people. I will send you a cojpty^ LETTER CCCXXXVl. TO MR. MOORE. «Rome,Mayl2,18I7. ^ " I have received your letter here, where I have taken a cruise lately ; but I shall return back to Venice in a few days, so that if you write again, address there, as usual. I am not for returning to England so soon as you imagine ; and by no means at all as a residence. If you cross the Alps in your projected expedition, you will find me some- where in Lombardy, and very glad to see you. Only give me a word or two beforehand, for I would really diverge some leagues to meet you. "Of Rome I say nothing; it is quite indescribable, and the Guidebook is as good as any other. I dined yesterday with Lord Lansdowne, who is on his return. But there are few Engfish here at present : the winter is their time. I have been on horseback most of the day,, all days since my arrival, and have taken it as I did Constantinople. But Rome is the elder sister, and the finer. I went some days ago to the top of the Alban Mount, which is superb. As for the Coliseum, Pantheon, St. Peter's, the Vatican, Pala- tine, &C. &c. — as I said, vide Guidebook. They are quite inconceivable, and must be seen. The Apollo Belvidere is the image of Lady Adelaide Forbes — ^I think I never saw such a likeness. "I have seen the Pope alive, and a cardinal dead, — both of whom looked very well indeed. The latter was in state in the Chiesa Nuova, previous to his interment. "Your poetical alarms are groundless; go on and pros- per. Here is Hobhouse just come in, and my horses at the door, so tliat I must mount and take the fieU in the Campus Martius, which, by-the-way, is all built over by modem Rome. " Yours very and ever, &c. "P. S. Hobhouse presents his remembrances, and is eager, with all the world, for your new Poem." LETTER CCCXXXVIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, May 30, 1817. " I returned from Rome two days ago, and have received LETTERS, 1817. 115 your letter; but no sign nor tidings of the parcel sent through Sir C.Stuart, which you mention. After an in- terval of months, a packet of ' Tales,' &c. found me at Rome ; but this is all, and may be all that ever will find me. The post seems to be the only sure conveyance, and thai only far letters. From Florence I sent you a poem on Tasso, and from Rome the new Third Act of 'Manfred,' and by Dr. Polidori two portraits for my sister. I left Rome and made a rapid journey home. You will continue to direct here as usual. Mr. Hobhouse is gone to Naples : I should have run down there too for a week, but for the quantity of English whom I heard of there. T prefer hating them at a distance \ unless an earthquake, or a good reai eruption of Vesuvius, were ensured to reconcile me to their vicinity. ****** "The day before I left Rome I saw three robbers guil- lotined. The ceremony — Including the masqued priests ; the half-naked executioners ; the bandaged criminals ; the black Christ and his banner, the scaffold ; the soldiery ; the slow procession, and the quick rattle and heavy fall of the axe ; the splash of the blood, and the ghastliness of the exposed heads — is altogether more impressive than the vulgar and ungentlemanly dirty * new drop,' and dog-like agony of infliction upon the sufferers of the English sen- tence. Two of these men behaved calmly enough, but the first of tlie three died with great terror and reluctance. What vf3.s very liorriblo, he would not lie down ; then his neck was too large for the aperture, and the priest was obliged to drown his exclamations by still louder exhorta- tions. The head was off before the eye could trace the blow ; but from an attempt to draw back the head, notwith- standing it was held forward by the hair, the first head was cut off close to the ears: the other two were taken off more cleanly. It is better than the oriental way, and (I should think) than the axe of our ancestors. The pain seems little, and yet the effect to the spectator, and the preparation to the criminal, is very striking and chilling. The first turned me quite hot and thirsty, and made me shake so th.it I could hardly hold the opera glass ; (I was close, but was determined to see, as one should see every thing, once, with attention ;) the second and third, (which shows how dreadfully soon things grow indifferent,) I am ashamed to say, had no effect on me as a horror, though I would have saved them if I could. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCXXXVIIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Venice, June 4, 1817. *I have received the proofs of the 'Lament of Tasso,' which makes me hope that you have also received the reformed Third Act of Manfred, from Rome, which I sent Boon after my arrival there. My date will apprize you of my return home within these few days. For me, I have received nxme of your packets, except, after long delay, the 'Tales of my Landlord,' which I before acknowledged. I do not at all understand the wJit/ nots, but so it is ; — no Manuel, no letters, no tooth-powder, no extract from Moore's Italy concerning Marino Faliero, no nothinq — as a man hallooed out at one of Burdett's elections, after a long ululatus of 'No Bastille! No governoritics ! No — ' God knows who or what ; — but his nephis ultra was ' No nothing!' — and my receipts of your packages amount to about his meaning. I want the extract from Moored Italy very much, and the tooth-powdi;r, rind the magnesia ; 1 don't care so much about the poetry, or the letters, or Mr. Maturin's by-Jasus tragedy. Most of the things sent by the past have come — I mean proofs and loiters; lliorcforc, ■end me Marino Faliero by the post, in a lotlt-r. ** 1 was delighted with Rome, and was on horseback all round it many hours daily, besides in it the rest of my time, bothering over its marvels. I cxcurscd and skirrcd Iho country round to Alba, Tivoli, Frescari, Licenza, &c. &c.; besides I visited twice the Fall of Terni, which beats every thing.* On my way back, close to the temple by its banks, I got some famous trout out of the river Clitumnus — the prettiest little stream in all poesy, near the first post from Foligno and Spoletto.f — I did not stay at Florence, beini^ anxious to get home to Venice, and having already seen the galleries and other sights. 1 left my commendatory letters the evening before I went ; so I saw nobody. " To-day, Pindemonte, the celebrated poet of Verona, called on me; he is a little, thin man, with acute and pleasing features; his address good and gentle ; his appear- ance altogether very philosophical ; his age about sixty, or more. He is one of their best going. I gave him ForsytJi^ as he speaks, or reads rather, a little English, and will find there a favourable account of himself. He inquired after his old Cruscan friends, Parsons, Greathead, Mrs. Piozzi, and Merry, all of whom he had kno\vn in his youth. I gave him as bad an account of them as I could, answering, as the false 'Solomon Lob' does to ' Totterton' in the farce, ' all gone dead,' and damned by a satire more than twenty years ago ; that the name of their extinguisher was Gifford ; that they were but a sad set of scribes after all, and no great things in any other way. He seemed, as was natural, very much pleased with this account of his old acquaint- ances, and went away greatly gratified with that and Mr. ForsyJi's sententious paragraph of applause in his own (Pindemonte's) favour. After having been a little liber- tine in his youth, he is grown devout, and takes prayers, and talks to himselfj to keep off the Devil; but for all that, he is a very nice little old gentleman. " I am sorry to hear of your row with Hunt ; but suppose him to be exasperated by the Quarterly and your refusal to deal; and when one is angry and edits a paper, I should think the temptation too strong for literary nature, which is not always humaru I can't conceive in what, and for what, he abuses you: what have you done? you are not an author, nor a politician, nor a public character ; I know no scrape you have tumbled into. I am the more sorry for this because I introduced you to Hunt, and because I believe him to be a good man ; but till I know the particu- lars, I can give no opinion. "Let me know about Lalla Rookh, which must be out by this time. "I restore the proofs, but tlie punctuation should be corrected. I feel too lazy to have at it myself; so bog and pray Mr. Gifford for me. — Address to Venice. In a few days I go to my xnlleggiatura, in a casino near the Brenta, a few miles only on the mainland. I have determined on another year, and many years of rosidoncc, if I can com- pass them. Marianna is with me, hardly recovered of the fever, which has been attacking all Italy last winter, I am afraid she is a little hectic ; but I hope the best. "Evcr,&c. "P. S. Towaltzen has done a bust of me at Rome for Mr. Hobhouse, which is reckoned very good. He is their best after Canova, and by some preferred to him. I have had a letter from Mr. Hodgson. He is very happy, has got a living, but not a child : if he had stuck to a curacy, babes would have come of course, because he could not have maintained them. "Remember me to all friends, &c. &c. "An Austrian officer, the other day, being in lovo with a Venetian, was ordered, with his regiment, into Hungary. Distracted between lovo and duty, he punhascd a ileaiUy drug, which, dividing with his mistress, both swnllowotL The ensuing pains wore terrific, but the pills were purga- tive, and not poisonous, by the contrivance of tlio un.sonti- inontal apothecary; so that so much suicide was all thrown away. You may conceive the previous confusion and the final laughter; but the intention was good on all sides." • Chililo llamlil, Cnnto IV. ilnnniti 70 to Tl, niut not*. 1 Child* llarnia, Caiilo IV . •Iniiia 66, and note. 116 LETTERS, 1817. LETTER CCCXXXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, June 8, 1817. "The present letter will be delivered to you by two Armenian friars, on their way, by England, to Madras. They will also convey some copies of the Grammar, which I think you agreed to take. If you can be of any use to them, either a°mong your naval or East Indian acquaint- ances, I hope you will so far oblige me, as they and their order have been remarkably attentive and friendly towards me since my arrival at Venice. Their names are Father Sukias Sonialian and Father Sarkis Theodorosian. They speak Italian, and probably French, or a little English. Repeating earnestly my recommendatory' request, believe me very truly yours, " Byron. "Perhaps you can help them to their passage, or give or get them letters for India." LETTER CCCXL. TO MR. MURRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, June 14, 1817. « I write to you from the banks of the Brenta, a few miles from Venice, where I have colonized for six months to come. Addi-ess, as usual, to Venice. "Three months after date, (17th March,)— like the un- neofotiable bill despondingly received by the reluctant tailor, — your despatch has arrived, containing the extract from Moore's Italy and Mr. Maturin's bankrupt tragedy.* It is the absurd work of a clever man. I think it might have done upon the stage if he had made Manuel (by some trickery, in a mask or visor,) figlit his own battle instead of employing Molineux as his champion ; and, after the defeat of Torrismond, have made him spare the son of his enemy, by some revulsion of feeling, not incompatible v.-ith a cha- racter of extravagant and distempered emotions. But as it is, what vrith the Justiza, and the ridiculous conduct of the whole dram. pers. (for they are all as mad as Manuel, who surely must have had more interest with a corrupt bench than a distant relation and heir presumptive, some- what suspect of homicide.) I do not wonder at its failure. As a play, it is impracticable ; as a poem, no great things. Who was the ' Greek that grappled with glory naked ?' the Olympic wresders ? or Alexander the Great, when he ran stark round the tomb of t'other fellow? or the Spartan who was fined by the Ephori for fighting without his armour ? or who ? And as to ' flaying off life like a garment,' helas ! that's in Tom Thumb — see king Arthur's soliloquy: ' Life *8 a mere rag, not worth a prince's wearing ; I'll casl it off.' And the stage-directions — ' Staggers among the bodies ;' the slain are too numerous, as well as the blackamoor knights-penitent being one too many: and De Zelos is such a shabby Monmouth-street villain, without any redeeming quality — Stap my vitals! Maturin seems to be declinini^ into Nat. Lee. But let him try again ; he has talent, but not much taste. I 'gin to fear, or to hope, that Sotheby after all is to be the jEschylus of the age, unless Mr. Shiel be really worthy his success. The more I see of the stawe, the less I would wish to have any thing to do with it ; as a proof of which, I hope you have received the Third Act of Manfred, which wU at least prove that I wish to steer very clear of the possibility of being put into scenery. I sent it from Rome. "I returned the proof of Tasso. By-the-way, have you never received a translation of St. Paul, which I sent you, not for publication, befijrc 1 went to Rome ? " I am at present on the Brenta. Opposite is a Spanish marquis, ninety years old ; next his casino is a French- man's, — besides the natives; so that, as somebody said the other day, we are exactly one of Goldoni's comedies, (La Vedova Scaltra,) where a Spaniard, English, and French- man are introduced : but we are all very good neighbours, Venetians, &c. &c. &c. "I am just getting on horseback for my evening ride, and a visit to a physician, who has an agreeable family, of a wife and four unmarried daughters, all under eighteen, who are friends of Signora S * *, and enemies to nobody. There are, and are to be, besides, conversaziones and I know not what, at a Countess Labbia's and I know not whom. The weather is mild ; the thermometer 110 in the sun this day, and 80 odd in the shade. « Yours, &c. "N." LETTER CCCXLL TO MR. MURRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, June 17, 1817. "It gives me great pleasure to hear of Moore's success, and the more so that I never doubted that it would be complete. Whatever good you can tell me of him and his poem will be most acceptable : I feel very anxious indeed to receive it. I hope that he is as happy in his fame and reward as I wish him to be •, for I know no one who de- serves both more — if any so much. "Now to business; ****** i say unto you, verily, it is not so ; or, as the foreigner said to the waiter, after asking him to bring a glass of water, to which the man answered, ' 1 will, sir,' — ' You will I — G — d d — n, — I say, you mnish ." And I will submit this to the decision of any person or persons to be appointed by both, on a fair examination of the circumstances of this as compared with tlie preceding publications. So, there's for you. There is always some row or other previously to all our publica- tions: it should seem that, on approximating, we can never quite get over tlie natural antipathy of author and book- seller, and tliat more particularly tlie ferine nature of the latter must break forth. '■You are out about the Third Canto: I have not done, nor designed, a line of continuation to that poem. I was too short a time at Rome for it, and have no thought of recommencing. * * * " I cannot well explain to you by letter what I conceive to be the origin of Mrs. Leigh's notion about ' Tales of My Landlord ;' but it is some points of the characters of Sir E. Manley and Burley, as well as one or two of the jocular portions, on which it is founded, probably. " If you have received Dr. Polidori, as well as a parcel of books, and you can be of use to him, be so. I never was much more disgusted with any human production than with the eternal nonsense, and tracasseries, and emptiness, and ill humour, and vanity of that young person; but he has some talent, and is a man of honour, and has dispositions of amendment, in which he has been aided by a littie sub- sequent experience, and may turn out well. Therefore, use your government interest for him, for he is improved and improvable. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCXLIL TO MR. MURRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, June 18, 1817. "Enclosed is a letter to Dr. Holland from Pindemonte. Not kno\%ing the doctor's address, I am desired to mquire and perhaps, being a literary man, you will know or dis- cover his haunt near some populous churchyard. I have written to you a scolding letter — I believe, upon a misap- prehended passage in your letter — but never mind : it will do for next time, and you will surely deserve it. Talking of doctors reminds me once more to recommend to you ono who will not reroninicnd himself, — the Doctor Polidori. If you can help him to a publisher, do; or, if you have any LETTERS, 1817. 117 sick relafion, I would advise his advice: all the patients he had in Italy are dead — Mr. * *'s son, Mr. Horner, and Lord Guildford, whom he embowelled w)th great success at Pisa. * + * * « Remember me to Moore, whom I congratulate. How is Rogers? and what is become of Campbell and all t 'other fellows of the Druid order? I got Maturin's Bed- lam at last, but no other parcel ; I am in fits for the tooth- powder, and the magnesia. I want some of Burkitt's Soda powders. Will you tell Mr. Kuinaird that I have written him two letters on pressing business, (about Newstead, &c.) to which I humbly solicit his attendance. I am just returned from a gallop along the banks of die Brenta — time, sunset. " Yours, « B." LETTER CCCXLm. TO MR. MURRAY. "LaMira, near Venice, July 1, 1817. " Since my former letter, I have been working up my impressions into a Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, of which I have roughened off about rather better than thirty stanzas, and mean to go on ; and probably to make this 'Fytte' the concluding one of tlie poem, so that you may propose against the autumn to draw out the conscription for 1818. You must provide moneys, as this new resump- tion bodes you certain disbursements. Somewhere about the end of September or October I propose to be under way, (i. e. in the press ;) but 1 have no idea yet of the probable length or calibre of the Canto, or what it will be good for ; but I mean to be as mercenary as possible, an example (I do not mean of any individual in particular, and least of all any person or persons of our mutual acquaint- ance,) which I should have followed in my youth, and I might still have been a prosperous gentleman. "No tooth-powder, no letters, no recent tidings of you. " Mr. Lewis is at Venice, and I am going up to stay a week with him there — as it is one of his enthusiasms also to like the city. " I stood in Venice on the ' Bridge of Sighs,' &c. &c. " The ' Bridge of Sighs' (i. e. Ponte de'i Sospiri,) is that which divides, or rather joins, the palace of the IDoge to the prison of the state. It has two passages : the criminal went by the one to judgment, and returned by the other to death, being strangled in a chamber adjoining, where there was a mechanical process for the purpose. " This is the first stanza of our new Canto : and now for a line of the second : " In Venice, Tasso's echoes are no more, And silent rowslhe songlesa gondolier, Her palaces, &c. &c. "You know that formerly the gondoliers sung always, and Tasso's Gierusalcmme was their ballad. Venice is built on seventy-two islands. " There ! there 's a brick of your new Babel ! and now, sirrah ! what say you to the sample ? « Yours, &c. "P. S. I shall write again by-and-by.'' LETTER CCCXLIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, July 8, 1817. "If you can convey the enclosed letter to its a-ltlress, or discover the person to whom it is directed, you w ill confer a favour upon tho Venetian creditor of a dccoasi^d JOn{;lish- man. This epistle is a dun to his executor, for house-rent. The name of iIk; insolv«!nt defunct i;^ or was, PoiUr Vultcr, according to the account of tlio plainliH', \\\\'u:\\ I rather suspect ought to be Walter Porter^ acconlint; to our mode of collocation. If you are acquainted willi any dead man of the like name a good deal in debt, pray dig him up, and tell him that 'a pound of his fair flesh' or the ducats are required, and that 'if you deny them, fie upon your law!' "I hear nothing more from you about Moore's poem, Rogers, or other literary phenomena ; but to-morrow, being post-day, will bring perhaps some tidings. I write to you with people talking Venetian all about, so Uiat you must not expect this letter to be all English. " The other day, I had a squabble on the highway as follows : I was riding pretty quickly from Dolo home about eight in the evening, when I passed a party of people in a hired carriage, one of whom, poking his head out of the window, began bawling to nie in an inarticulate but insolent manner. I wheeled my horse round, and overtaking, stopped the coach, and said, ' Signer, have you any com- mands for me ?' He replied, impudently as to manner, ' No.' I then asked him what he meant by that unseemly noise, to the discomfiture of the passers-by. He replied by some piece of impertinence, to which I answered by giving him a violent slap in the face. I then dismounted, (for this passed at the window, I being on horseback still,) and opening the door, desired him to walk out, or I would give him another. But the first had settled him except aa to words, of which he poured forth a profusion in blasphe- mies, swearing that he would go to the police and avouch a battery sans provocation. I said he lied, and was a * *, and, if he did not hold his tongue, should be dragged out and beaten anew. He then held his tongue. I of course told him my name and residence, and defied him to the death, if he were a gentleman, or not a gentleman, and had the inclination to be genteel in the way of combat. He went to the police, but there having been bystanders in the road, — particularly a soldier who had seen tho business, — as well as my servant, notwithstanding the oaths of the coachman and five insides besides the plain- tiff, and a good deal of paying on all sides, his complaint was dismissed, he having been the aggressor ; — and I was subsequently informed that, had I not given him a blow, he might have been had into durance. " So set down this, — ' that in Aleppo once' 1 ' beat a Ve- netian -,' but I assure you that he deserved it, for I am a quiet man, like Candide, th^gh with somewhat of his for- tune in being forced to forego my natural meekness every now and then. "Yours, &c. «B." LETTER CCCXLV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, .July 9, 1817. "I have got the sketch and extracts from Lalla Rookh — which I humbly suspect will knock up + *, and show young gentlemen that something more than having been across a camel's hump is necessary to write a good oriental tale. The jilan, as well as the extracts I have seen, please me very much indeed, and I feel impatient for the whole. "AVilh regard to the critique on 'Manfred,' you havo been in such a devil of a hurry tliat you havo only sent mo tho half: it breaks off at page 294. Send nio the rest ; and also page 270, where there is 'an account of the su[>- po.^ed origin of ihi^ dreadful story,' — in which, bv-thc-\vay, whatever it n>ay be, the rcmjorturor Is out, and knows no- thing of tho matter. I hail a better origin tJian ho can devise or divine, for the soul of him. "You say nothing of Manfred's luck in the world; auil 1 care not. He is one of the best of my misbegotten, say what they will. " I got at lust an extract, but no parcels. They will romo, I suppose, soini' lime or otlior. 1 am come up to Venice for a day or two to bathe, and am just going to take a swim in the Adriatic; so, gool cveniu'; — the post wails. " Yours, &c. " D. I 118 LETTERS, 1817. "P. S. Pray, was Manfred's speech to the Sun still retained in Act Third ? I hope so : it was one of the best in the thing, and better than the Colosseum. I have done Jifty-six of Canto Fourth, Childe Harold ; so down with your ducats," LETTER CCCXLVI. TO MK. MOORE. «La Mira, Venice, July 10, 1817. " Murray, the Mokanna of booksellers, has contrived to send me extracts from Lalla Rookh by the post. They are taken from some magazine, and contain a short outline and quotations from the first two Poems. I am very much delighted with what is before me, and very thirsty for the rest. You have caught the colours as if you had been in the rainbow, and the tone of the East is perfectly preserv- ed ; so that * + * and its author must be somewhat in the back-ground, and learn that it requires something more than to have been upon the haunch of a dromedary to com- pose a good oriental story. I am glad you have changed the title from 'Persian Tale.' * * * " I suspect you have written a devilish fine composition, and I rejoice in it from my heart ; because ' the Douglas and the Percy both together are confident against a world in arms.' I hope you won't be affronted at my looking on us as ' birds of a feather;' though on whatever subject you had written, I should have been very happy in your success. " There is a simile of an orange tree's ' flowers and fruits,' which I should have liked better, if I did not believe it to be a reflection on *** + + ♦ "Do you remember Thurlovv^s poem to Sam,**f^/ien Rogers ;' and that d — d supper of Rancliffe's that ought to have been a dinner? 'Ah, Master Shallow, we have beard the chimes at midnight,' — But " My boat is on the shore, &c.t " This should have been written fifteen moons ago — the first stanza was. I am just come out from an houPs swim in the Adriatic; and I write to you with a black-eyed Venetian girl before me, reading Boccacio. * * "Last week I had a row on the road (I came up to Venice from ray cas'mo, a few miles on the Paduan road, this blessed day, to bathe) with a fellow in a carriage, who was impudent to my horse. I gave him a swinging box on the ear, which sent him to the police, who dismissed his complaint, and said, that if I had not thumped him, they would have trounced him for being impertinent. Witnesses had seen the transaction. He first shouted, in an unseemly way, to frighten my palfrey. I wheeled round, rode up to the window, and asked him what he meant. He grinned, and said some foolery, which produced him an immediate slap in the face, to his utter discomfiture. Much blasphemy ensued, and some menace, which I stopped by dismountino and opening the carriage-door, and intimating an intention of mending the road with his immediate remains, if he did not hold his tongue. He held it. • The fellow went sneakingly to the police ; but a soldier, who had seen the matter, and thought me right, went and counter-oathed him ; so that he had to retire — and cheap too : — I wish I haw! hit him harder. " Monk Lewis is here — ' how pleasant !'J He is a very good fellow, and very much yours. So is Sam — so is every body — and, among the number, " Yours ever, « B. "P. S. What think you of Manfred? * + + "If ever you sec + * *, ask him what he means by telling me, ' Oh, my friend, inveni portum ?' — What ' por- • See Poem«, p. 478. f See PoemB, p. 484. J All allmion (such a» often occurs in these letters) to aii anecdote wiiti which he bad been amused. turn ?' Port wine, I suppose — ^the only port he ever sought or found, since I knew him." LETTER CCCXLVn. TO MR. MURRAY. " La Mira, near Venice, July 15, 1817. "I have finished (that is, written — the file comes after- ward) ninety and eight stanzas of the Fourth Canto, which I mean to be the concluding one. It will probably be about the same length as the Third, being already of the dimen- sions of the first or second Cantos. I look upon parts of It as very good, that is, if the three former are good, but this we shall see ; and at any rate, good or not, it is rather a different style from the last — less metaphysical — which, at any rate, will be a variety. I sent you the shaft of the column as a specimen the other day, i. e. the first stanza. So you may be thinking of its arrival towards autumn, whose winds will not be the only ones to be raised, if so ie as how that it is ready by that time. " I lent Lewis, who is at Venice (in or on the Canal- accio, the Grand Canal,) your extracts from Lalla Rookh and Manuel, and, out of contradiction, it may be, he likes the last, and is not much taken with the first, of these perfoiTO- ances. Of Manuel I think, with the exception of a few capers, it is as heavy a nightmare as was ever bestrode by indigestion. "Of the extracts I can but judge as extracts, and I prefer the 'Peri' to the ' Silver Veil.' He seems not so much at home in his versification of the ' Silver Veil,' and a little embarrassed with his horrors ; but the conception of the character of the impostor is fine, and the plan of great scope for his genius, — and I doubt not that, as a whole, it will be very Arabesque and beautiful. "Your late epistle is not the most abundant in informa- tion, and has not yet been succeeded by any other ; so that I know nothing of your own concerns, or of any concerns, and as I never hear from any body but yourself who does not tell me something as disagreeable as possible, I should not be sorry to hear from you: and as it is not very probable, — if I can, by any device or possible arrangement with regard to my personal eiffairs, so arrange it, — that I shall return soon, or reside ever in England, all that you tell me will be all I shall know or inquire after, as to our beloved realm of Grub-street, and the black brethren and blue sisterhood of that extensive suburb of Babylon. Have you had no new babe of literature sprung up to replace the dead, the distant, the tired, and the retired ? no prose, no verse, no nothing ."?" * * ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ LETTER CCCXLVin. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, July 20, 1817. " I write to give you notice that I have completed tho fourth and ultimate Canto of Childe Harold. It consists of 126 stanzas, and is consequently the longest of the four. It is yet to be copied and polished ; and the notes are to come, of which it will require more than the third Canto, as it necessarily treats more of works of art than of nature. It shall be sent towards autumn ; — and now for our barter. What do you bid ? eh ? you shall have samples, an' it so please you : but I wish to know what I am to expect (as the saying is) in these hard times, when poetry does not let for half its value. If you are disposed to do what Mrs. Winifred Jenkins calls ' the handsome thing,' I may perhaps throw you some odd matters to the lot, — translations, or slight originals ; there is no saying what may be on the anvil between this and tlie booking season. Recollect that it is the last Canto, and completes the work ; whether as good as the others, I cannot judge, in course — least of all as yet, but it shall be as little worse as I can help. I may, LETTERS, 1817. 119 perhaps, give some little gossip in the notes as to the pre- sent state of Italian literati and literature, being acquainted with some of their capi — men as well as books ; — but this depends upon my humour at the time. So, now, pro- nounce: 1 say nothing. " When you have got the whole/our Cantos, I think you might venture on an edition of the whole poem in quarto, with spare copies of the last two for the purchasers of the old edition of the first two. There is a hint for you, worthy of the Row; and now, perpend — pronounce. * I have not received a word from you of the fate of • Manfred' or ' Tasso,' which seems to me odd, whether they have failed or succeeded. " As this is a scrawl of business, and I have lately writ- ten at length and often on other subjects, I will only add that I am, &c." LETTER CCCXLIX. TO MR. MtTRRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, Aug. 7, 1817. " Your letter of the 18th, and, what will please you, as it did me, the parcel sent by the good-natured aid and abet- ment of Mr. Croker, are arrived. — Messrs. Lewis and Hobhouse are here: the former in the same house, the latter a few hundred yards distant. "You say nothing of Manfred, from which its failure may be inferred ; but I think it odd you should not say so at once. I know nothing, and hear absolutely nothing, of any body or any thing in England ; and there are no English papers, so that all you say will be news — of any person, or thing, or things. I am at present very anxious about Newstead, and sorry that Kinnaird is leaving England at this minute, though I do not tell him so, and would rather he should have his pleasure, although it may not in this mstance tend to my profit. " If I understand rightly, you have paid into Morland's 15O0 pounds: as the agreement in the paper is two thou- sand guineas, there will remain therefore six hundred pounds, and not five hundred, the odd hundred being the extra to make up the specie. Six hundred and thirty pounds will bring it to the like for Manfred and Tasso, making a total of twelve hundred and thirty, I believe, for I am not a good calculator. I do not wish to press you, but I tell you fairly that it will be a convenience to me to have it psdd as soon as it can be made convenient to your- self. " The new and last Canto is 130 stanzas in length ; and may be made more or less. I have fixed no price, even in idea, and have no notion of what it may be good for. There are no metaphysics in it ; at least, I think not. Mr. Hobhouse has promised me a copy of Tasso's Will, for notes ; and I have some curious things to say about Fer- rara, and Parisina's story, and perhaps a farthing candle's worth of light upon the present state of Italian literature. I shall hardly be ready by October ; but that do n't matter. I have all to copy and correct, and the notes to write. "Ido not know whether Scott will like it; but I have called him the 'Ariosto of the North' in my text.* If he should not, say so in time. " Lewis, Hobhouse, and I went the other day to the cir- cumcision of a sucking Shylock. 1 have seen three men's heads and a child's foreskin cut off in Italy. The cere- monies are very moving, but too long for detail in this weather. "An Italian translation of 'Glenarvon' came lately to be printed at Venice. The censor (Sr. Petrotini) refused to sanction the publication till he had seen me on the subject. I told him that I did not recognise the slightest relation between that book and myself; but that, whatever opinions might be upon that subject, / would never prevent or oppose ' Cuto IV. lUnM 40th. the publication of any book, in any language, on my owti private account ; and desired him (against his inclination) to permit the poor translator to publish his labours. It is going forward in consequence. You may say this, with my compliments, to the author. « Yours." LETTER CCCL. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Aug. 12, 1817. "I have been very sorry to hear of the death of Madame de Stael, not only because she had been very kind to me at Copet, but because now I can never requite her. In a general point of view, she will leave a great gap in society and literature. " With regard to death, I doubt that we have any right to pity the dead for their ovra sakes. " The copies of Manfred and Tasso are arrived, thanks to Mr. Croker's cover. You have destroyed the whole effect and moral of the poem by omitting the last line of Manfred's speaking ; and why this was done, I know not. Why you persist in saying nothing of the thing itselfj I am equally at a loss to conjecture. If it is for fear of telling me something disagreeable, you are wrong; because sooner or later I must know it, and I am not so new, nor so raw, nor so inexperienced, as not to be able to bear, not the mere paltry, petty disappointments of authorship, Lut things more serious, — at least, I hope so, and that what you may think irritabihty is merely mechanical, and only acts like galvanism on a dead body, or the muscular motion which survives sensation. " If it is that you are out of humour, because I vvrote to you a sharp letter, recollect that it was partly from a mis- conception of your letter, and partly because you did a thing you had no right to do without consulting me. " I have, however, heard good of Manfred from two other quarters, and from men who would not be scrupulous in saying what they thought, or what was said; and so 'good-morrow to you, good Master Lieutenant.' "I wrote to you twice about the 4th Canto, which you will answer at your pleasure. Mr. Hobhouse and I have come up for a day to the city ; Mr. Lewis is gone to Eng- land ; and I am " Yours." LETTER CCCLL TO MR. MURRAY. "La Mira, near Venice, Aug. 21, 1817. " I take you at your word about Mr. Hanson, and will feel obliged if you will go to him, and request Mr. Davies also to visit him by my desire, and repeat that I trust that neither Mr. Kinnaird's absence nor mine will prevent his taking all proper steps to accelerate and promote the sale of Newstead and Rochdale, upon which the whole of my future personal comfort depends. It is impossible for me to express how much any delays upon these points would inconvenience me ; and I do not know a greater obligation that can be conferred upon me than tlie pressing these things upon Hanson, and making him act according to my wishes. I wish you would speak out, at least to me, and tell me what you allude to by your cold way of mentioning him. All mysteries at such a distance are not merely tormenting but mischievous, and may be prejudicial to my interests ; so pray expound, that I may consult with Mr. Kinnaird when he arrives ; and romcmber that I prefer tho most disagreeable certainties to hints and inuendcx's. The devil take every body ; I never can get any person to l>o explicit about any tiling or any bo- lished, viz. a quarto, certes." + + * ♦ * + * • By Mrs. Heraaus. LETTERS, 1817. 121 LETTER CCCLIII. TO MR. HOPPNER. «LaMira,Sept. 12,1817. " I set out yesterday morning with the intention of paying my respects, and availing myself of your permission to walk over the premises.* On arriving at Padua, I found that the march of the Austrian troops had engrossed so many horses, that those I could procure were hardly able to crawl ; and their weakness, together with the prospect of finding none at all at the post-house of Monselice, and consequently either not arriving that day at Este, or so late as to be unable to return home the same evening, in- duced me to turn aside in a second visit to Arqua, instead of proceeding onwards; and even thus I hardly got back in time. " Next week I shall be obliged to be in Venice to meet Lord Kinnaird and his brother, who are expected in a few days. And this interruption, together with that occasioned by the continued march of the Austrians for the next few days, will not allow me to fix any precise period for avail- ing myself of your kindness, though I should wish to take the earliest opportunity. Perhaps, if absent, you will have the goodness to permit one of your servants to show me the grounds and house, or as much of either as may be convenient; at any rate, I shall take the first occasion possible to go over, and regret very much that I was on yesterday prevented. " I have the honour to be your obliged, &c." LETTER CCCLIV- TO MR. MURRAY. "Sept. 15, 1817. * I enclose a sheet for correction, if ever you get to an- other edition. You will observe that the blunder in printing makes it appear as if the Chateau was over St. Gingo, instead of being on the opposite shore of the Lake, over Clarens. So, separate the paragraphs, otherwise my topography will seem as inaccurate as your fc 4: >|c >t: 4c ♦ + + * ♦ " Mr. Hobhouse purposes being in England in Novem- ber ; he will bring the Fourth Canto with him, notes and all : the text contains one hundred and fifty stanzas, which is long for that measure. " With regard to the ' Ariosto of the North'J surely their themes, chivalry, war, and love, were as like as can be ; and as to the compliment, if you knew what the Italians think of Ariosto, you would not hesitate about that. But as to tlieir ' measures,' you forget that Ariosto's is an oc- tave stanza, and Scott's any thing but a stanza. If you think Scott will dislike it, say so, and I will ex'punge. I do not call him the ' Scotch Ariosto,' which would be sad pro- vincial eulogy, but the ' Ariosto of the North^ meaning of all countries that are not the South. ***** " As I have recently troubled you rather frequendy, I will conclude, repeating that I am " Yours ever, &c.* LETTER CCCLVL TO .MR. MURRAY. "Oct. 12, 1817. "Mr. Kinnaird and his brother, Lord Kinnaird, have been here, and arc now gone again. All your missives came, except the tooth-powder, of which I request farther supplies, at all convenient opportunities; as also of mag- nesia and soda-powders, Iwth great luxuries here, and neither to bo had gooil, or indeed hardly at all, of iho natives, + ♦ * H. ♦ * " In Coleridge's Tiifo I porceivo an attack upon tlie tlion Committee of D. I.. Theatre for acting Bertram, and nn attack uiw)u Maturin's Bertram for being acted. Con- sidering all things, this is not very gratefiil iior graceful • On tidi pnrnunxnh, in tho MS. fopv cf Ihp nboTo Irlli-r. ? And Iha folluwiiiK nolo, la Ihe h(»nd»ritlii|f of Mr! liilTonl : " Thur 1« nior* food ■anac, iiiitl ft'i'iinfi, aiul )iinrt. t Ki'c li'ih'i'H fiir Ilowica und ISIucKwoixl. 122 LETTERS, 1817. on the part of the worthy autobiographer ; and I would answer, if I had not obliged liirn. Putting ray oAvn pains to forward the views of Coleridge out of the question, I know that there was every disposition, on the part of the Sub-Committee, to bring forward any production of his, were it feasible. The play he offered, though poetical, did not appear at all practicable, and Bertram did; — and hence this long tirade, which is the last chapter of his vagabond life. *As for Bertram, Maturin may defend his own be- gotten, if he bkes it well enough; I leave the Irish clergy- man and the new orator Henley to battle it out between them, satisfied to have done the best I could for both. I may say this to you, who know it, ****** " Mr. Coleridge may console himself with the fervour,-— the almost religious fervour of his and Wordsworth's dis- ciples, as he calls it. If he means that as any proof of their merits, I will find him as much ' fervour' in behalf of Richard Brothers and Joanna Southcote as ever gathered over his pages or round his fireside. * * + " My answer to your proposition about the Fourth Canto you will have received, and I av.ait yours ; — perhaps we may not agree. I have since written a Poem* (of 84 octave stanzas,) humorous, in or after the excellent manner of Mr. Whistlccraft (whom I take to be Frere,) on a Venetian anecdote which amused me : — but till I have your answer, I can say nothing more about it. "Mr. Hobhouse does not return to England in Novem- ber, as he intended, but will winter here ; and as he is to convey the poem, or poems, — for there may perhaps be more than the two mentioned (which, by-the-w^ay, I shall not perhaps include in the same publication or agreement) — 1 shall not be able to publish so soon as expected ; but I suppose there is no harm in the delay. •' I have signed and sent your former copyrights by Mr. Kinnaird, but not the receipt^ because the money is not yet paid. Mr. Kinnaird has a power of attorney to sign for me, and will, when necessary. "Many thanks for the Edinburgh Review, which is very kind about Manfred, and defends its originality, which I did not know that any body had attacked, I never read^ and do not know that I ever saw the ' Faustus of Marlovv,' and had, and have, no dramatic works by me in English, except the recent things you sent me; but I heard Mr. Lewis translate verbally some scenes of Goethe's Faust (which were, some good and some bad) last summer — which is all I know of the history of that magical person- age ; and as to the germs of Manfred, they may be found in the Journal vi'hich I sent to Mrs. Leigh (part of which you saw) when I went over first the Dent de Jaman, and then the Wengen or Wengeberg Alp and Sheideck, and made the giro of the Jungfrau, Shreckhorn, &c, &c. shortly before I left Switzerland. I have the whole scene of Manfred before me as if it was but yesterday, and could point it out, spot by spot, torrent and all. " Of the Prometheus of iEschylus I was passionately fond as a boy (it was one of the Greek plays we read thrice a year at Harrow;) indeed that and the 'Medea' were tJic only ones, except the 'Seven before Thebes,' which ever much [)lcased me. As to the ' Faustus of Marlow,' I never read, never saw, nor heard of it — at least, thought of it, except that I think Mr. Gifford mentioned^ in a note of his which you sent me, something about the eatastrophe ; but not as having any thing to do with mine which may or may not resemble it, for any thing I know. " Tho Prometheus, if not exactly in my plan, has always been so much in my head, that I can easily conceive its influence over all or any tiling that I have written ; — but I deny Marlow and his progeny, and beg that you will do the same. ' Beppo. " If you can send me the paper in question,* which the Edinburgh Review mentions, do. The Review in the magazine you say was written by Wilson? it had all the air of b°eing a poet's, and was a very good one. The Edinburgh Review I take to be Jeffrey's own by its friendliness. I wonder they thought it worth while to do so, so soon after the former ; but it was evidently with a good motive. "I saw Hoppner the other day, whose country-house at Este I have taken for two years. If you come out next summer, let me know in time. Love to Gifford. " Yours ever truly, '■' Crabbe, Malcolm, Hamilton, and Chantrey, Are all partakers of my pantry. These two lines are omitted in your letter to the doctor, after — " All clever men who make their way." LETTER CCCLVn. TO MR. MURRAY. " Venice, Oct. 23, 1817. " Your two letters are before me, and our bargain is so far concluded. How sorry 1 am to hear that Gifford is unwell ! Pray tell me he is better ; I hope it is nothing but cold. As you say his illness originates in cold, I trust it will get no farther. "Mr. Whistlecraft has no greater admirer than myself: I have written a story in 89 stanzas, in imitation d" him, called Beppo (the short name for Giuseppe, that is, the Joe of the Italian Joseph,) which I shall throw you into the balance of the Fourth Canto, to help you round to your money ; but you perhaps had better publish it anonymously: but this we will see to by-and-by. "In the Notes to Canto Fourth, Mr. Hobhouse has pointed out several errors of Gibbon. You may depend upon H.'s research and accuracy. You may print it in what shape you please. " With regard to a future large Edition, you may print all, or any thing, except 'English Bards,' to the republica- tion of which at no time will I consent. I would not reprint them on any consideration. I don't think them good for much, even in point of poetry ; and as to other things, you are to recollect that I gave up the publication on account of the Hollands, and I do not think that any time or cir- cumstances can neutralize the suppression. Add to which, that, after being on terms with almost aU the bards and critics of the day, it would be savage at any time, but vrcsst of all now, to revive this foolish Lampoon. ****** ****** "The review of Manfred came very safely, and I am much pleased with it. It is odd that they should say (that is, somebody in a magazine whom the Edinburgh contro- verts,) that it was taken from Marlow's Faust, which I never read nor saw. An American, who came the other day from Germany, told Mr. Hobhouse that Manfred was taken from Goethe's Faust. The devil may take both the Faustuses, German and English — I have taken neither. "Will you send to Hanson, and say that he has not written since 9th September? — at least I have had no letter since, to my great surprise. "Will you desire Messrs. Morland to send out whatever additional sums have or may be paid in credit immediately, and always, to their Venice correspondents? It is two months ago that they sent me out an additional credit for one thousand pounds. 1 was very glad of it, but I do n't know how the devil it came ; for I can only make out 500 * A paper in the Edinburgh Magazine, in which it was suggested that the general conception of Manfred, and much of what is excellent in the nianner of its execution, had been borrowed from " The Tragical History of Dr. Faustus," of Marlow t See Letter 348. LETTERS, 1817. 123 of Hanson's payment, and I had thought the other 500 came from you ; but it did not, it seems, as, by yours of the 7th instant, you have only just paid the 1230Z. balance. "Mr. Kinnaird is on his way home with the assignments. I ca« fix no time for the arrival of Canto Fourth, which depends on the journey of Mr. Hobhouse home ; and I do not think that this will be immediate. " Yours, in great haste and very truly, " B. "P. S. Morlands have not yet written to my bankers apprising the payment of your balances: pray desire them to do so. "Ask them about the previous thousand — of which I know 500 came from Hanson's — and make out the other 500 — tlxat is, whence it came." LETTER CCCLVm. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Nov. 15, 1817. ^'Mr. Kinnaird has probably returned to England by this time, and will have conveyed to you any tidings you may wish to have of us and ours. I have come back to Venice for the winter. Mr. Hobhouse will probably set off in December, but what day or week, I know not. He is my opposite neighbour at present. "I wrote yesterday in some perplexity, and no very good humour, to Mr. Kinnaird, to inform me about Newstead and the Hansons, of which and whom I hear nothing since his departure from this place, except in a few unintelligible words from an unintelligible woman. " I am as sorry to hear of Dr. Polidori's accident as one can be for a person for whom one has a dishke, and some- thing of contempt. When he gets well, tell me, and how he gets on in the sick line. Poor fellow ! how came he to fix there? " I fear the doctor's skill at Norwich Will hardly salt the doctor's porridge. Methought he was going to the Brazils, to give the Portu- guese physic (of wliich they are fond to desperation,) with the Danish consul. ****** "Your new Canto has expanded to one hundred and sixty-seven stanzas. It will be long, you see ; and as for the notes by Hobhouse, I suspect they will be of the heroic fiize. You must keep Mr. * * in good humour, for he is devilish touchy yet about your Review and all which it inlierits, including the editor, the Admiralty, and its book- seller. I used to think that / was a good deal of an author in amour propre and noli me tangei-e; but these prose fellows are worst, after all, about their little comforts. *Do you remember my mentioning, some months ago, the Marquis Moncada — a Spaniard of distinction and fourscore years, my summer neighbour at La Mira? Well, about six weeks ago, he fell in love with a Venetian girl of family, and no fortune or character ; took her into his mansion ; quarrelled with all his former friends for giving him advice (except me who gave him none,) and installed her present concubine and future wife and mistress of him- self and furniture. At the end of a month, in which she demeaned herself as ill as possible, he found out a cor- respondence between tier and some f )rmer keeper, and after nearly strangling, turned her out of the house, to the great scandal of the keeping part of the town, and with a prodigious eclat, wluch has occupied all the canals and coflee-houses in Venice. Ho said .she wanted to poison him; and she says — God knows what; but between them they have made a great deal of noise. I know a little of both the parlies: Moncada seemed a very sensible olil man, a character which ho has not (juite kept up on this occa- sion ; and tlio woman is rather showy than pretty. For the honour of religion, she was bred in a convent, and for the credit of Great Britain, taught by an ICnglishwoman " Yours, Stc." LETTER CCCLIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Dec. 3, 1817. "A Venetian lady, learned and somewhat stricken in years, having, in her intervals of love and devotion, taken upon her to translate the Letters and write the Life of Lady Mary Wortlcy Montague, — to which undertaking there are two obstacles, firstly, ignorance of English, and, secondly, a total dearth of information on the subject of her projected biography, — has appUed to me for facts or falsi- ties upon this promising project. Lady Montague lived the last twenty or more years of her life in or near Venice, I believe ; but here they know nothing, and remember nothing, for the story of to-day is succeeded by the scandal of to-morrow; and the wit, and beauty, and gallantry, which might render your countrywoman notorious in her own country, must have been here no great distinction — because the first is in no request, and the two latter are conmion to all women, or at least the last of them. If yoa can tlierefore tell me any thing, or get any thing told, of Lady Wortley Montague, I shall talce it as a favour, and will transfer and translate it to the ' Dama' in question. And I pray you besides to send me, by some quick and safe voyager, the edition of her Letters, and the stupid Life, by Ih. Dcdlaway, published by her proud and foolish family. " The death of the Princess Charlotte has been a shock even here, and must liave been an earthquake at home.* The Courier's list of some three hundred heirs to the crown (including the house of Wirtemberg, with that + * *, P , of disreputable memory, whom I remember seeing at various balls during the visit of the Muscovites, &c. in 1814,) must be very consolatory to all true lieges, as well as foreigners, except Signor Travis, a rich Jew merchant of this city, who complains grievously of the lengtli of British mourning, wliich has countermanded all the silks which he was on the point of transmitting, for a year to come. The death of tliis poor girl is melancholy in every respect, dying at twenty or so, in childbed — of a boy too, a present princess and future queen, and just as she began to be happy, and to enjoy herself and the hopes which sho inspired. ******* '• I think, as far as I can recollect, she is the first royal defunct in childbed upon record in our history. I feel sorry in every respect — for tlio loss of a female reign, and a woman hitherto harmless; and all the lost rejoicings, and addresses, and drunkenness, and disbursements of John Bull on the occasion. ****** " The Prince will marry again, after divorcing his wife, and Mr. Southcy will write an elegy now, and an ode tlien ; the Quarterly will have an article against llie press, and the Edinburgh an article, half and half] about reform and right of divorce • * * * + the British will give you Dr. Chalmers's funeral sermon much commended, with a place in the stars for deceased royalty ; and the Morning Post will have already yelled fortli its 'syllables of dolour.' ' Wo, wo, Ncalliiiy ! — the young NcuUiny 1' " It is some time since I have heard from you : are you in bad humour? I suppose so. I have been so mvselfj and it is your turn now, and by-and-by mine will como round again. "Yours truly, "B. " P. S. Countess Albrizzi, como back from Paiis, haa brought mo a medal of lumselfj a present from Donon to me, and a likeness of Mr. Rogers (belonging to her,) by Denon also." LETTER CCCLX. TO MR. IlOrPNEH. "Venice, Dec. 15, 1817. " I should Irnvo thanked you before, for your favour a few days ago, had I not been in the intention of paying my Sott Chllde Ilai-oUl, Cauto 4. lUou ITT. 124 LETTERS, 1818. respects, personally, this evening, from wliich I am deterred by the recollection that you will probably be at the Count Goess's this evening, which has made me postpone my intrusion. "I think your Elegy a remarkably good one, not only as a composition, but both the politics and poetry contain a far greater portion of truth and generosity than belongs to the times, or to the professors of these opposite pursuits, which usually agree only in one point, as extremes meet. I do not know whether you wished me to retain the copy, but I shall retain it till you tell me otherwise; and am very much obliged by the perusal. "My own sentiments on Venice, &c. such as they are, I had already thrown into verse last summer, in the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, now in preparation for the press; and I think much more highly of them for being in coin- cidence with yours. "Believe me yours, &c." LETTER CCCLXI. TO MR. MURRAY. «Venice,Jan. 8, 1818. ' My dear Mr. Murray, You 're in a damn'd hufry To set up this ultimate Canto ; But (if they don't rob ub,) Yon '11 see Mr. Hobhouse •. Will bring it safe in hi* portmanteatt. 2. ' For the Journal yon hint of, As ready to print off, No doubt you do right to commend it ; But as yet I have writ off The devil a bit of Our ' Beppo ;'— when copied, I 'llsend it. ' Then you 've * * * 's Tour,— No great things, to be sure, — You could hardly begin with a less work ; For the pompous rascallion ^ho do n't speak Italian Nor French, must have scribbled by guess-work. ' You can make any loss up With ' Spence' and his gossip, A work which must surely succeed ; Then Q,ueen Mary's Epistle-craft, With the new ' Fytle' of ' Whistlecraft,' Must make people purchase and read. 8. ' Then you 've General Gordon, Who girded his sword on. To serve with a Muscovite master, And help him to polish A nation 80 owlish, They thought shaving their beards a disaster. 9. ' For the man, 'poor and shrewd," With whom you M conclude A compact without more delay. Perhaps some such pen is Still extant in Venice ; But please sir, to mention your pay." LETTER CCCLXn. TO MR. MURRAY. «Venice,Jan. 19, 1818. " I send you tlio storyf in three other separate covers. It won't do for your Journal, being full of political allusions. Prirti al(me, imthout name ; alter nothing ; get a scholar to Bee that the Italian phrases arc correctly published (your printing, by-the-way, always makes mo ill with its eternal "« Vide your letter." t Beppo. blunders, which are incessant,) and God speed you. Hob- house left Venice a fortnight ago, saving two days. I have heard nothing of or from him. " Yours, &c. " He has the whole of the MSS. ; so put up prayers in your back shop, or in the printer's ' Chapel.' " LETTER CCCLXm. TO MR. MURRAY. " Venice, Jan. 27, 1818. " My father — ^that is, my Armenian father. Padre Pas- quali — in the name of all the other fathers of our Convent, sends you the enclosed, greeting. "Inasmuch as it has pleased the translators of the long- lost and lately-found portions of the text of Eusebius to put forth the enclosed prospectus, of which I send six copies, you are hereby implored to obtain subscribers in the two Universities, and among the learned, and the un- learned, who would unlearn their ignorance. — This they (the Convent) request, / request, and do you request. " I sent you Beppo some weeks agone. You must pub-» lish it alone ; it has politics and ferocity, and won't do for your isthmus of a Journal. " Mr. Hobhouse, if the Alps have not broken his neck, is, or ought to be, swimming with my commentaries and his owTi coat of mail in his teeth and right hand, in a cork jacket, between Calais and Dover. "It is the height of the Carnival, and I am in tlie extreme and agonies of a new intrigue with T do n't exactly know whom or what, except that she is insatiate of love, and won't take money, and has light hair and blue eyes, which are not common here, and tliat I met her at the Masque, and that when her mask is offj I am as wise as ever. I shall make what I can of the remamder of my youth." ♦ + * * * * LETTER CCCLXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, Feb. 2,1818. " Your letter of Dec. 8, arrived but this day, by some delay, common but inexplicable. Your domestic calamity is very grievous, and I feel with you as much as I dare feel at all. Throughout life, your loss must be my loss, and your gain my gain ; and, though my heart may ebb, there will always be a drop for you among the dregs.* "I know how to feel with you, because (selfishness being always the substratum of our damnable clay) I am quite wrapt up in my own children. Besiiles my little legiti- mate, I have made unto myself an i/legitimate since (to say nothing of one before.)| and I look forward to one of these as the pillar of my old age, supposing tliat I ever reach — which I hope I never shall — that desolating period. I have a great love for my little Ada, though perhaps she may torture me, like ***** * * * * "Your offered address will be as acceptable as you can wish. I do n't much care what the wretches of the world think of me — all thai 's past. But I care a good deal what you think of me, and so, say what you like, ifou knmv that I am not sullen ; and, as to being savage^ such things depend on circumstances. However, as to being in good humour in your society, there is no great merit in that, because it would be an effort, or an insanitj', to be otherwise. " I do n't know what Murray may have been saying or quoting. I called Crabbe and Sam the fathers of present Poesy ; and said, that I thought — except tliern — aU of ' us youtK were on a wrong tack. But I never said that we did not sail well. Our fame will be hurt by admiration and imitation. When I say our, 1 mean all (Lakers included,) ' See Lines to Mr. Moore, p. t See Peoms, p. 474. '^^' LETTERS, 1818. i2d except the postscript of the Augustans. The next gene- ration (from the quantity and facility of imitation) will tumble and break their necks off our Pegasus, who runs away with us ; but we keep the saddle, because we broke the rascal and can ride. But though easy to mount, he is the devil to guide ; and the next fellows must go back to the riding-school and the manage, and learn to ride the 'great horse.' " Talking of horses, by-the-way, I have transported my own, four in number, to the Lido (beach, in English,) a strip of some ten miles along the Adriatic, a mile or two from the city ; so that I not only get a row in my gondola, but a spanking gallop of some miles daily along a firm and solitary beach, from the fortress to Malamocco. the which contributes considerably to my health and spirits. " 1 have hardly had a vv'ink of sleep this week past. We are in the agonies of the Carnival's last days, and I must be up all night again, as well as to-morrow. I have had some curious masking adventures this Carnival, but, as they are not yet over, 1 shall not say on. I will work the mine of my youth to the last veins of the ore, and then — good night. I have lived, and am content. "Hobhouse went away before the Carnival began, so that he had little or no fun. Besides, it requires some time to be thoroughgoing with the Venetians ; but of all this anon, in some other letter. -+ + * ***** " I must dress for the evening. There is an opera and ridotta, and 1 know not what, besides balls ; and sO; ever and ever yours, " B. "P. S. I send this without revision, so excuse errors. I delight in the fame and fortune of Lalla, and again congratu- late you on your well-merited success.'' LETTER CCCLXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Feb. 20, 1818. "I have to thank Mr. Croker for the arrival, and you for the contents, of the parcel which came last week, much quicker than any before, owing to Mr. Croker's kind at- tention and the official exterior of the bags ; and all safe except much friction among the magnesia, of which only two bottles came entire; but it is all very well, and 1 am exceedingly obliged to you. " The books I have read, or rather am reading. Pray, who may be the Sexagenarian, whose gossip is very amus- ing? Many of his sketches I recognize, particularly Gif- ford. Mackintosh, Drummond, Dutens, H. Walpole, Mrs. Inchbald, Opie, &c. with the Scotts, Loughborough, and most of the divines and lawyers, besides a few shorter hints of authors, and a few lines about a certain ' noble author,^ characterized as malignant and sceptical, according to the good old story, ' as it was in the beginning, is now, but not always shall be :' do you know such a person, Master Mur- ray? eh? — And pray, of the boolvsellers, which bo i/oii? the dry, the dirty, the honest, the opulent, the finical, tlie splendid, or the coxcomb bookseller ? Sta[) my vitals, but the author grows scurrilous in his grand climacteric. " I remember to have seen Person at Cambridge, in (ho hall of our college, and in private |)arties, but not frcqu(!nlly ; and I never can recollect him except as drunk or brutal, and generally both: I mean in an evening, for in llio hall, he dined at the Dean's table, and I at the Vicemaster's, 80 that 1 was not near him ; and ho then and ihoro ap- peared sober in his demeanour, nor did I ever hear of ex- cess or outrage on his part in public, — commons, rollcgo, or chapel ; but I have seen him in a private parly of iiiider- graduates, many of tliem freshmen and strangers, fake up a pok(!r to one of them, and hcaril hiin us(i lungiiago as blackguard as his action, i have seen Sln-rickui drunk, too, with all the work! ; but his intoxication was that of Bacchus, antl Person's that of Silcnus. Of all iho disgust- ing brutes, sulky, abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the most bestial, as far as the few times that I saw him went, which were only at William Bankes's (the Nubian dis- coverers) rooms. I saw })im once go away in a rage, because nobody knew the name of the ' Cobbler of Messi- na,' insultuig their ignorance with the most vulgar terms of reprobation. He was tolerated in this state amono' tlie young men for his talents, as the Turks think a madman inspired, and bear with him. He used to recite or ratlier vomit pages of all languages, and could hiccup Greek hke a Helot ; and certainly Sparta never shocked her children with a grosser exliibxtion than this man's intoxication. " I perceive, in the book you sent me, a long account of him, vvliich is very savage. I cannot judge, as I never saw him sober, except in hall or combination-room ; and then I was never near enough to hear, and hardly to see him. Of his drunken deportment, I can be sure, because I saw it. " With the Reviews, I have been much entertained. It requires to be as far from England as I am to relish a periodical paper properly: it is like soda-water in an Italian summer. But what cruel work you make with Lady Morgan ! You should recollect that she is a woman ; though to be sure, they are now and then very provoking ; still, as authoresses they can do no great harm ; and I think it is a pity so much good invective should have been laid out upon her, when there is such a fine field of us. Jacobin gentlemen, for you to work upon. It is, perhaps, as bitter a critique as ever was written, and enough to make sad work for Dr. Morgan, both as husband and apothecary ; — unless she should say, as Pope did of some attack upon hiiB, ' That it is as good for her as a dose oniartshornJ "I heard from Moore lately, and was sorry to be made aware of his domestic loss. Thus it is — 'medio de fonte leporum' — in the acme of his fame and Ids happiness comes a drawback as usual. ****** "Mr. Hoppner, whom I saw this morning, has been made the father of a very fine boy.* — Mother and child doing very well indeed. By this time Hobhouse should be with you, and also certain packets, letters, &c. of mine, sent since his departure. I am not at all well in health within this last eight days. My remembrances to Gifford and all friends. "Yours, &c. "B. " P. S. In the course of a month or two, Hanson will have probably to send ott'a clerk with conveyances to sign (Newstead being sold in November last for ninetv-^Tour thousand five hundred pounds,) in which case I supplicate supplies of articles as usual, for which, desire Mr. Ivin- naird to settle from funds in tlicir bank, and deduct from my account with him. "P. S. To-morrow night I am going to see ' OtcUo,' an opera from our ' Othello,' and one of Rassini's best, it is said. It will be curious to see in Venice the Venetian story itself represented, besides to discover what they will make of Shakspeare in music." LETTER CCCLXVL TO MR. HOPPNER. "Venice, Fob. 28, isiS. "mv DKAU sill, "Our friend, il Conic M., tlirew mo into a cold sweat last niiiht, bv telling nie of a menaced version of Manfred * On the liii-ll) nf tills cliiM, wlio win rliriklriictl John Willinm KI»o, Lord Hyioii wmlf the I'mir l",illi)wiii); liiii-H, wliich mo in iunitlii'riv»pecl iViniii'l thnii lli.il. Ihry \\>t'i' (hixiKhl wnrlhy (>l'l>rhi|| mctHtnlly trans* liu.'il iiitii III! h"Kr>'« ; nium-lv, lirci-k,' Lnlin, Itiihiiii, (nho ill thi- V''ii.'liMn .hiilicl.) (M-iinun, Krvnkii, SjMUiiih, Illjr- I'iiin, llt'brt'W, Ariiii'iiiaii, ami SHniiiril:iii : — " HIn fiilhci-'i nfnii', liiii m<>lhpr'» kiiic« III him, I hope, will iilwnyi fit ao ; With (alill III Kc(*|i him in r oi i^liinl linn, with the (lilToirnt vf ralon» nhoT» mentioned, Wtr» pi iiitcil m u iiimll voliiiuu, iu Uio tieiniiiaiy of iWun,— Afvur«. 126 LETTERS, 1818. (in Venetian, I hope, to complete the thing,) by some Italian, who had sent it to you for correction, which is the reason why I take the liberty of troubling you on the sub- ject. If you have any means of communication with the man, would you permit me to convey to him the offer of any price he may obtain, or think to obtain, for his project, provided he wilf throw his translation into the fire, and promise not to undertake any other of that or any other of my things: I will send him his money mimediately on this condition. "As I did not write to the Italians, nor far the Italians, nor of the Italians, (except in a poem not yet published, where I have said all the good I know or do not know of them, and none of the harm,) I confess I wish that they would let me alone, and not drag me into their arena as one of the gladiators, in a silly contest which I neither understand nor have ever interfered with, having kept clear of all their literary parties, both here and at Milan, and elsewhere.— I came into Italy to feel the climate and be quiet, if possible. Mossi's translation I would have pre- vented if I had known it, or could have done so ; and I trust that I shall yet be in time to stop this new gentleman, of whom 1 heard yesterday for the first time. He will only hurt himself; and do no good to his party, for in -partij the whole thin2 originates. Our modes of tliinking and writing are so unutterably dirferent, that I can conceive no greater absurdity than attempting to make any approach between the English and Italian poetry of the present day. I like the people very much, and tlieir literature very much, but I am not the least ambitious of being the subject of their discussions literary and personal, (which appear to be pretty much the same thing, as is tlie case in most coun- tries ;) and if you can aid me in impeding this publication, you will add to much kindness already received from you by yours, " Ever and truly, "Byron. " P. S. How is the son, and mamma? Well, I dare say." LETTER CCCLXVn. TO MR. ROGERS. « Venice, March 3, 1818. "I have not, as you say, 'taken to wife the Adriatic' I heard of Moore's loss from himself in a letter which was delayed upon the road three months. I was sincerely sorry for it, but in such cases what are words ? " The villa you speak of is one at Este, which Mr. Hopp- ner (Consul-general here,) has transferred to me. I have taken it for two years as a place of Villeggiatura. The situation is very beautiful indeed, among the Euganean hills, and the house very fair. The vines are luxuriant to a great degree, and all the fruits of the earth abundant. It is close to the old castle of the Estes, or Guelphs, and within a few miles of Arqua, which I have visited twice, and hope to visit often. "Last summer (except an excursion to Rome,) I passed upon the Brenta. In Venice I winter, transporting my horses to the Lido, bordering the Adriatic, (where the fort is,) so that I get a gallop of some miles daily along the strip of beach which reaches to Malamocco, when in health ; but with'm these few weeks I have been unwell. At pre- sent I am getting better. Tiie Carnival was short, but a good one, I do n't go out much, except during the time of masks ; but there arc one or two conversazioni, where I go regularly, just to keep up the system; as I had letters to their givers ; and they arc particular on such points ; and now and then, though very rarely, to the Governor's. "It is a very good place for women. I like the dialect and their manner very much. There is a naivete about them which is very winning, and the romance of the place is a mighty adjunct ; the bel sangue is not, however, now among the dame or higher orders ; but all under ifazzioli, oi kerchiefs, (a wliite kind of veil which the lower orders wear upon their heads ;) — the vesta zendale, or old national female costume, is no more. The city, however, is decay- ing daily, and does not gain in population. However, I prefer it to any other in Italy ; and here have I pitched my staff; and here do I purpose to reside for tlie remainder of my hfe, unless events, connected with business not to be transacted out of England compel me to return for that purpose ; otlierwise I have few regrets^ and no desires to visit it again for its own sake. I shall probably be obliged to do so, to sign papers for my affairs and a proxy for the Whigs, and to see Mr. Waite, for I can 't find a good dentist here, and every two or three years one ought to consult one. About seeing my children, I must take my chance. One I shall have sent here; and I shall be very happy to see the legitimate one when God pleases, which he perhaps will some day or other. As for my mathe- matical wife, I am as well without her. "Your account of your visit to Fonthill is very striking; could you beg of him for me a copy in MS. of the remaining Tales ?* I think I deserve them, as a strenuous and pubUc admirer of the first one. I will return it when read, and make no ill use of the copy, if granted. Murray would send me out any thing safely. If ever I return to England, I should hke very much to see the author, with his per- mission. In the mean time, you could not obUge me more than by obtaining me the perusal I request, in French or English, — all's one for that, though I prefer ItaUan to either. I have a French copy of Vathek, which I bought at Lausanne. I can read French with great pleasure and facility, though I neitlier speak nor write it. Now Italian I can speak with some fluency, and write sufficiently for my purposes, but I do n't like their modem prose at all ; it is very heavy, and so different from MachiaveUi. " They say Francis is Junius ; — I tlnnk it looks like it. I remember meeting him at Earl Grey's at dinner. Has not he lately married a young woman ; and was not he Madame Talleyrand's cavcdiere servente in India years ago? "I read my death in the papers, which was not true. I see they arc marrying the remaining singleness of the royal family. They have brought out Fazio with great and deserved success at Covent-garden ; that 's a good sign. I tried, during the directory, to have it done at Drury-lane, but was overruled . If you thmk of comin g into tliis coimtry, you will let me know perhaps beforehand. I suppose Moore won't move. Rose is here. I saw him the other night at Madame Albrizzi's ; he talks of returning in May. My love to the Hollands. "Ever, &c. "P. S. They have been crucifying Othello into an opera, {Otello, by Rossini;) the music good, but lugubrious ; but as for the words, all the real scenes with lago cut out, and the greatest nonsense mstead; tlie handkerchief turned into a billet-doux, and the first suiger would not black his face, for some exquisite reasons assigned in the preface. Singing, dresses, and music, very good." LETTER CCCLXVm. TO MR. MOORE. "Venice, March 16. 1818. "my DEAR TOM, " Since my last, which I hope that you have received, I have had a letter from our friend Samuel.f He talks of Italy this summer — won't you come with him? I don't know whether you would like our Italian way of life or not + *** + *** + * ****** " They are an odd people. The other day I was telling a girl, ' you must not come to-morrow, because Marguerita is coming at such a time,' — (they are both about five feet ten inches high, with great black eyes and fine fingers — ^fit to breed gladiators from — and I had some difficulty to A continuation of Vathek, liy Mr. Beckford. LETTERS, 1818. 127 prevent a battle upon a rencontre once before,) — 'unless you promise to be friends, and' — the answer was an inter ruption, by a declaration of war against the other, which she said would be a 'Guerra di Candia.' Is it not odd, that the lower order of Venetians should still allude pro- verbially to that famous contest, so glorious and so fatal to the Republic? " They have singular expressions, like all the Italians. For example, ' Viscere' — as we would say, 'my love,' or ' my heart,' as an expression of tenderness. Also, ' I would go for you in the midst of a hundred knives.^ — ^ Mazza ben,' excessive attachment, — literally, ' I wish you well even to killing.' Then they say, (instead of our way, 'do you think I would do you so much harm?') 'do you think I would assassinate you in such a manner?' — ' Tempo per/?rfe,' bad weather; 'Strade perfide^ bad roads — Avith a thousand other allusions and metaphors, taken from the state of society and habits in the middle ages. "I am not so sure about mazza, whether it don't mean massa, i. e. a great deal, a mass, instead of the interpretation I have given it. But of the other phrases I am sure. " Three o' th' clock — I must ' to bed, to bed, to bed,' as mother Siddons (that tragical friend of the matliematical wife) says, * * + 4: + :f: + + * * + +^ "Have you ever seen — I forget what or whom — no matter. They tell me Lady Melbourne is very unwell. I shall be so sorry. She was my greatest friend, of the feminine gender : — when I say 'friend,' I mean not mistress, for that's the antipodes. Tell me all about you and every body — how Sam is — how you like your neighbours, the Marquis and Marchesa, &c. &c. "Ever, &c." LETTER CCCLXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, March 25, 1818. "I have your letter, with the account of 'Beppo,' for which I sent you four new stanzas a fortnight ago, in case you print, or reprint. + * + + + *** "Croker's is a good guess; but the style is not English, it is Italian \ — Berni is the original of aU. Whistlecraft was TTiy immediate model; Rose's ' Animali' I never saw till a few days ago, — they are excellent. But (as I said above,) Bcmi is the father of that kind of writing, which 1 think suits our language, too, very well 5 — we shall see by the experiment. If it does, I shall send you a volume in a year or two, for I know the Italian way of life well, and in time may know it yet better ; and as for the verse and tlie passions, I have them still in tolerable vigour. " If you think that it will do you and the work, or works, any good, you may put my name to it ; but first consult, the knowing ones. It will, at any rate, show them that I can write cheerfully, and repel the charge of monotony and mannerism. " Yours, &c." LETTER CCCLXX. TO MR. MDRRAY. "Venice, April 11, 1818. " Will you send me by letter, packet, or parcel, half a dozen of the coloured prints from Holmes's miniature, (the latter done shortly before I left your country, and the prints about a year ago;) I shall be obliged to you, as some people here have asked me for tlie like. It is a picture of my upright self, done for Scropc B. 13avics, ICstj. ♦ ♦♦*♦♦ "Why have you not sent mo an answer, and lists of subscribers to tlie translation of the Armenian Eusrhius/ of wliicli I sent you printed copies of the prttspoclus (in French,) two moons ago. Have you had the letter? — I shall send you another: — you must not neglect my Arme- nians. Tooth-powder, magnesia, tincture of myrrh, tooth- brushes, diachylon plaster, Peruvian bark, are my personal demands. " Strahan, Tonson, Lin tot of the times, Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climbs, My Mun ay. " To thee, with liope and terror.durab, The unfledged MS. authors come ; Thou printest all— and sellest some — My Murray. " Upon thy table's baize so green The last new duarterly is seen 5 But where is thy new Magazine, My Murray ? " Along thy sprucest book-shelves shine The works thou deemest most divine— The ' Art of Cookery,' and mine, My Murray. " Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist. And Sermons to thy mill bring grist ; And then thou hast the ' Navy List,' My MuiTay. " And Heaven forbid I should conclude Without the ' Board of Longitude,' Altliough Ibis narrow paper would, My Murray \" LETTER CCCLXXL TO MR. MURRAY. " Venice, April 12,1818. "This letter will be delivered by Signer Gioe. Bata. Missiaglia, proprietor of the Apollo library, and the prin- cipal publisher and bookseller now in Venice. He sets out for London with a view to business and correspondence with the English booksellers : and it is in the hope that it may be for your mutual advantage that I furnish him with this letter of introduction to you. If you can be of use to him, either by recommendation to others, or by any per- sonal attention on your own part, you will oblige him, and gratify me. You may also perhaps both be able to derive advantage, or establish some mode of literary communica- tion, pleasing to the public, and bcnclicial to one another. "At any rate, be civil to him for my sake, as well as for he honour and glory of publishers and authors now and to come for evermore. With him I also consign a great number of MS. letters written in English, French, and Italian, by various Englisii established in Italy during the last century: — the names of the writers, Lord Hervey, Lady M. W. Montague, (hers are but few — some billets-doux in French to Algarotti, and one letter in English, Italian, and all sorts of jargon, to the same,) Gray, the poet, (one letter,) Mason, (two or three,) Garrick, Lord Chatham, David Hume, and manv of less note, — all addressed to Count Algarotti. Out of tliese, I tliink, with discretion, an amusing miscellanoous volume of letters might be extracted, provided some good editor wore disposed to undertake the selection, and preface, and a few notes, &c. " The proprietor of tiiese is a friend of mine, Dr. AgUelHy a great name in Italy, — and if you are ilis])Osed to pul>- lish, it will be for his bcnrfd, and it is to and ft)r him that you will name a price, if you take upon you the work. ] would edit it myselJ*, but am too liir o(i; and tiH) la/v toi undertake it ; but I wish that it could be done. The lcltar» of Lord Hervey, in IVlr. Rose's opinion and mine, are good; and the sliort French love-letters r«-/fun/v are Lady M. W. Montague's — {\w Frrnrh not o»mhI, but llie .•»cnti- ments-bentitiful. Gray's letter gotni; nn- ofit.— 'i'luro are many niinibter-s' letters— Gray, 128 LETTERS, 18ia. the ambassador at Naples, Horace Mann, and others of the same kind of animal. "I thought of a preface, defending Lord Hervey against Pope's attack, but Pope — quoad Pope, the poet — against all the world, in the unjustitiable attempts begun by War- ion, and carried on at this day by the new school of critics and scribblers, who think themselves poets because they do not write like Pope. I have no patience with such cursed humbug and bad taste ; your whole generation are not worth a Canto of the Rape of the Lock, or the Essay on Man, or the Dunciad, or ' any thing that is his.' — But it is three in the matin, and I must go to bed. " Yours alway, &c." LETTER CCCLXXIL TO MR. MURRAY. «Venice,Aprill7, 1818. "A few days ago, I wrote to you a letter requesting you to desire Hanson to desire his messenger to come on from Geneva to Venice, because 1 won't go from Venice to Geneva ; and if this is not done, the messenger may be damned, with him who mis-sent him. Pray reiterate my request. " With the proofs returned, I sent two additional stanzas for Canto Fourth : did they arrive 7 " Your monthly reviewer has made a mistake : davalierc alone is well enough ; ' Cavalier' servente' has always the e mute in conversation, and omitted in writing ; so that it is not for the sake of metre ; and pray let Griffiths know this, with my compliments. I humbly conjecture that I know as much of Italian society and language as any of his peo- ple ; but to make assurance doubly sure, I asked, at the Countess Benzona's, last night, the question of more than one person iii tlie office; and of these 'cavalieri serventi' (in the plural, recollect,) I found that they all accorded in pro- nouncing for ' cavaher servente in the singular number. I wish Mr. * * + * (qj. whoever Griffith's scribbler may be) would not talk of what he do n't understand. Such fellows are not fit to be intrusted with Italian, even in a quotation. ** + * + + " Did you receive two additional stanzas, to be inserted towards the close of Canto Fourth? Respond, that (if not) they may be sent. " Tell Mr. * * and Mr. Hanson, that they may as well expect Geneva to come to me, as that I should go to Ge- neva. The messenger may go or return, as he pleases ; I won't stir ; and I look upon it as a piece of singular absurdity in those who know me, imagining that I should — not to say malice, in attempting unnecessary torture. If, on the occa- sion, my interests should suffer, it is their neglect that is to blame ; and they may all be d d together + * + * + * " It is ten o'clock, and time to dress. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCLXXUI. TO MR. MURRAV. "April 23, 1818. "The time is past in which I could feel for the dead, — or I should feel for the death of Lady Melbourne, the best, and kindest, and ablest female I ever knew, old or youn'f. But 'I have supped full of horrors;' and events of tiiis kind have only a kind of numbness worse than pain, like a vio- lent blow on the elbow or the head. There is one link less between England and myself "Now to business. I presented you with Beppo, as part of the contract for Canto Fourth, — considering the price you are to pay for the same, and intending to eke you out in case of public caprice or my own poetical failure. If you choose to suppress it entirely, at Mr. + * + +'g sug- gestion, you may do as you please. But recollect it is not to be published in a garbled or mutilated state. I reserve to my friends and myself the right of correcting the press ; — if the publication continue, it is to continue in its present form. * + **** "As Mr. * * says that he did not write tliis letter, &c., I am ready to beheve him ; but for the firmness of my for- mer persuasion, I refer to Mr. + * * *j who can inform you how sincerely I erred on this point. He has also the note — or, at least, had it, for I gave it to him with my verbal comments thereupon. As to 'Beppo,' I will not alter or suppress a syllable for any man's pleasure but my own. " You may tell them this ; and add, that nothing but force or necessity shall stir me one step towards the places to which they would wring me. ****** "If your literary matters prosper, let me know. If ' Beppo' pleases, you shall have more in a year or two in the same mood. And so, ' Good morrow to you, good Master Lieutenant.' "Yours, &c." .1 LETTER CCCLXXIV. TO MR. MOORE. " Palazzo Mocenigo, Canal Grande, " Venice, June 1, 1818. " Your letter is almost the only news, as yet, of Canto 4th, and it has by no means settled its fate, — at least, does not tell me how the 'Poeshie' has been received by the pubhc. But I suspect, no great things, — firstly, from Mur- ray's ' horrid stillness ;' secondly, from what you say about the stanzas running into each other,* which I take not to he yours, but a notion you have binned with among the Blues. The fact is, that the terza rima of the Italians, which always runs on and in, may have led me into expe- riments, and carelessness into conceit — or conceit into care- lessness — in either of which events failure will be probable and my fair woman, ' supeme,' end in a fish ; so that Childe Harold will be like the mermaid, my family crest, with tlie Fourth Canto for a tail thereunto. I won't quarrel with the public, however, for the ' Bulgars' are generally right ; and if I miss now, I may hit another time : — and so ' the gods give us joy.' "You like Beppo; that's right. * + * + I have not had the Fudges yet, but live in hopes. I need not say that your successes are mine. By-the-way, Lydia White is here, and has just borrowed my copy of ' Lalla Rookh.' * + * * * * "Hunt's letter is probably tlie exact piece of vulgar cox- combry you might expect from his situation. He is a good man, with some poetical elements in his chaos ; but spoiled by the Christ-Church Hospital and a Sunday newspaper, — to say nothing of the Surry Jail, which conceited him into a martyr. But he is a good man. When I saw ' Rimini' in MSS., I told him that I deemed it good poetry at bottom, disfigured only by a strange style. His answer was, that his style was a system, or upon system, or some such cant ; ancl, when a man talks of >ysten^ his case is hopeless : so I said no more to him, and very little to any one else. "He believes his trash of vulgar phrases tortured into compound barbarisms to be old English ; and we may say of it as Aimwell says of Captain Gibbet's regiment, when the Captain calls it an ' old corps,' — ' the oldest in Europe if I may judge by your imiforrn.' He sent out his ' Foliage by Percy Shelley, and, of all the ineffiible Centaurs that were ever begotten by Self-love upon a Night mare, I think tliis monstrous Sagittary the most prodigious. He (Leigh H.)is an honest Charlatan, who has persuaded himself ♦ Mr. Moore had said, In his letter to liim, that Ouspractice of carryinfl on^ stanza into another, was " somclliiiig like taking on horaes MOtha- LETTERS, 1818. 129 into a belief of his own impostures, and talks Punch in pure simplicity of heart, taking himself (as poor Fitzgerald said of himself in the Morning Post) for Vates in both senses, or nonsenses, of the word. Did you look at the transla- tions of his own which he prefers to Pope and Cowper, and says so ? — Did you read his skimble-skamble about * * being at the head of his own profession in the eyes of those who followed it? I thought that poetry was an art, or an attribute, and not a.profession; — but be it one, is, that * * + * * * at the head oiyour profession in your eyes 1 I '11 be cursed if he is of mine, or ever shall be. He is the only one of us (but of us he is not) whose coronation I would oppose. Let them take Scott, Campbell, Crabbe, or you or me, or any of tlie living, and throne him ; — but not this new Jacob Behmen, this * * * + * * * whose pride might have kept him true, even had his principles turned as perverted as his soi-disant poetry. " But Leigh Hunt is a good man, and a good father — see his Odes to all the Masters Hunt ; — a good husband — see his Sonnet to Mrs. Hunt; — a good friend — see his Epistles to different people ; — and a great coxcomb, and a very vulgar person in every thing about him. But that 's not his fault, but of circumstances. ***** ***** "I do not know any good model for a life of Sheridan but that of Savage. Recollect, however, that the life of such a man may be made far more amusing than if he had been a Wiiberforce ; — and this without offending the living, or insulting the dead. The Whigs abuse him ; however, he never left them, and such blunderers deserve neitlier credit nor compassion. As for his creditors, — remember, Sheridan never had a shilling, and was thrown, with great powers and passions, into the thick of the world, and placed upon the pinnacle of success, with no other external means to support him in his elevation. Did Fox * * * pay his debts ? — or did Sheridan take a subscription ? Was the Duke of Norfolk's drunkenness more excusable than his? Were his intrigues more notorious than those of all his contemporaries? and is his memory to be blasted, and theirs res|)ected ? Do n't let yourself be led away by clamour, but compare him with the coalitioner Fox, and the pensioner Burke, as a man of principle, and with ten hundred thousand in personal views, and with none in talent, for he beat them all out and out. Without moans, without connexion, without character (which might be false at first, and made him mad afterward from des[)eration,) he beat them all, in all he ever attempted. But alas, poor human nature! Good night — or, rather, morning. It is four, and the dawn gleams over the Grand Canal, and un- shadows the Rialto. I must to bed ; up all night — but, as George Philpot says, ' it's life, though, damme, it's life !' " Ever yours, " B. " Excuse errors — no time for revision. The post goes out at noon, and I sha' n't be up then. 1 will write again soon about your plan for a publication." LETTER CCCLXXV. 'J'Q ***** "Since you desire the story of Margarita Cogni, you shall be told il, though it may be lengthy. "Her face is the fine Venetian cast of tlie old time; her figure, though perhajjs too tall, is not less fine — and taken allogother in the national dross. " In the summer of 1817, + * * * and myself were saun- tering on horseback along the Brenta one evening, wlion, among a group of poasants, wo remarked two girls as lln- pretliosl wc had seen for aomo time. About this period there had been great distress in the country, ami I had a little relieved somo of tho pco|)Io. Generosity mukoa a great figure at very liltlo cost ui Venetian livrcs, and niiao 17 had probably been exaggerated as an Englishman's. Whether they remarked us looking at them or no, I know not; but one of them called out to me in Venetian, 'Why do not you, who relieve others, think of us also ?' I turned round and answered her — 'Cara, tu sei troppo bella e giovane per aver' bisogna del' soccorso mio.' She an- swered, ' If you saw my hut and my food, you would not say so.' All this passed half jestingly, and I saw no more of her for some days. "A few evenings after, we met with these two girls again, and they addressed us more seriously, assuring us of the truth of their statement. They were cousins ; Mar- garita married, the other single. As I doubted still of the circumstances, I took the business in a different light, and made an appointment with them for the next evening. * * *** + !(: * * In short, in a few evenings we arranged our affairs, and for a long space of time she was the only one who preserved over me an ascendancy which was often disputed, and never impaired. '■ The reasons for this were, firstly, her person ; — very dark, tall, the Venetian face, very fine black eyes. She was tvvo-and-twenty years old, * * * * * *. She was besides a thorough Vene- tian in her dialect, in her thoughts, in her countenance, in every thing, with all their naivet and pantaloon humour. Besides, she could neither read nor write, and could not plague me with letters, — except twice that she paid six- pence to a public scribe, under the piazza, to make a letter for her, upon some occasion when I was ill and could not see her. In other respects, she was somewhat fierce and ' prepotentc.' that is overbearing, and used to walk in when- ever it suited her, with no very great regard to time, place, nor persons : and if she found any women in her way, she knocked them down. " W^hen I first knew her, I was in ' relazione' (liaison) with la Signora * *, who was silly enough one evening at Dolo, accompanied by some ofher female friends, to threaten her; for the gossips of the Villeggiatura had already found out, by the neighing of my horse one evening, that 1 used to ' ride late in the night' to meet the Fornarina. Margarita threw back her veil (fazziolo,) and replied in very explicit Venetian : ' You are 7iot his wife : I am not his wife : you are his Donna, and / am his Donna : your husband is a bccco, and mine is another. For the rest, what right have you to re[)roach me ? If he prefers me to you, is it my fault? If you wish to secure him, tie him to your petticoat- string. But do not think to speak to me without a reply, because you happen to be richer than I am.' Having de- livered this pretty piece of clotiuouce (which I translate as it was translated to me by a bystander,) she went on her way, leaving a numerous audience, with Madame ♦ *, to ponder at her leisure on the dialogue between them. " "When I came to Venice for the winter she followed ; and as she found herself out to be a favourite, she came to me pretty often. But she had inordinate self-love, and was not tolerant of other women. At tho 'Cavalrhina,' the masked ball on the last night of the C/arnival, wliero all the world goes, she snatched oif th(> mask of Mailamo Con- tarini, a lady noble by birth, and decont in conduct, for no other reason but because she happened to bo leaning on my arm. You may suppose what a cursed noise this made ; but this is only one ofher pranks. "At last she quarrelled with hor husband, anil one even- ing ran away to my house. I told hor this would not do: sho said she would lie in the street, but not go back to him ; that lie boat her, (iho gonllo tigress!) spout her niomv, and scandalously neglected her. As it was midnight, I lot hor stay, and ne.\t day tin to was no m )ving hor at ail. Hor husband oamo rearing and crying, and entreating her to come bark — Tu>t she ! He thou a|)pHpd to tho polioo, and they applied to mn : I told thorn and In r hn.sl)uiid to /«i/co hor; 1 ilid n>)t want hor ; slio 'lad come, niid I »iHild not lljng her out of llie window ; but tliey mijjht conduct h«r 13( LETTERS, 1818. through that or the door if they chose it. She went before the commissary, but was obliged to return with that ' becco ettico,' as she called the poor man, who had a phthisic. In a few days she ran away again. After a precious piece of work, she fixed herself in my house, really and truly without my consent ; but, owing to my indolence, and not being able to keep my countenance— for if I began in a rage, she always finished by making me laugh with some Venetian pantaloonery or another ; and the gipsy knew this well enough, as well as her other powers of persuasion, and exerted them with the usual tact and success of all she-things ; — high and low, they are all alike for that. "Madame Benzoni also took her under her protection, and then her head turned. She was always in extremes, either crying or laughing, and so fierce when angered, that she was the terror of men, women, and children— for she had the strength of an Amazon, with the temper of Medea. She was a fine animal, but quite untameable. / was the only person that could at all keep her in any order, and when she saw me really angry (which they tell me is a savage sight,) she subsided. But she had a thousand fooleries. In her fazziolo, the dress of the lower orders, she looked beautiful ; but, alas ! she longed for a hat and feathers; and all I could say or do (and I said much) could not prevent this travestie. I put the first into the fire ; but I got tired of burning tliem before she did of buy- ing them, so that she made herself a figure— for they did not at all become her. " Then she would have her gowns with a tail — ^like a lady, forsooth ; nothing would serve her but ' Tabita colla coua,^ or cua (that is the Venetian for ' la cola,' the tail or train,) and as her cursed pronunciation of the word made me laugh, there was an end of all controversy, and she dragged this diabolical tail after her every where. " In the mean tune, she beat the women and stopped my letters. I found her one day pondering over one. She used to try to find out by their shape whether they were feminine or no ; and she used to lament her ignorance, and actually studied her alphabet, on purpose (as she declared) to open all letters addressed to me. and read their contents. " I must not omit to do justice to her housekeeping quali- ties. After slie came into my house as ' donna di governo,' the expenses were reduced to less than half, and every body did their duty better — the apartments were kept in order, and every thing and every body else, except herself. " That she had a sufficient regard for me in her wild way, I had many reasons to believe. I will mention one. In the autumn, one day going to the Lido with my gon- doliers, we were overtaken by a heavy squall, and the gondola put in peril — hats blown away, boat filling, oar lost, tumbling sea, thunder, rain in torrents, night coming, and wind unceasing. On our return, after a tight struggle, I found her on the open steps of the Mocenigo palace, on the Grand Canal, with her great black eyes flashing through her tearis, and tlie long dark hair, which was streaming, drenched with rain, over her brows and breast. She was perfectly exposed to the storm ; and the wind blowing her hair and dress about her thin tall figure, and the lightning flashing around her, and the waves rolling at her feet, made her look like Medea alighted from her chariot, or the Sibyl of the tempest that was rolling around her, the only living thing within hail at that moment except ourselves. On seeing me safe, she did not wait to greet me, as might have been expected, but calling out to me — 'Ah ! can' della Madonna, xe esto il tempo por andar' al' Lido?* (Ah! dog of the Virgin, is this a time to go to Lido?) ran into the house, and solaced herself with scold- ing the boatmen for not foreseeing the ' temporale.' I am told by the servants that she had only been prevented from coming in a boat to look after me, by the refusal of all the gondoliers of the canal to put out into the harbour in such a moment ; and that then she sat down on the steps in all the thickest of the squall, and would neither be removed nor ccnnforted. Her joy at seeing me again was mode- rately mixed vvith ferocity, and gave me the idea of a tigress over her recovered cubs. " But her reign drew near a close. She became quite ungovernable some months after, and a concurrence of complaints, some true, and many false — ^ a favourite has no friends' — determined me to part with her. I told her quietly that she must return home, (she had acquired a sufficient provision for herself and mother, &c. in my service,) and she refused, to quit the house. I was firm, and she went threatening knives and revenge. I told her that I had seen knives drawn before her time, and that if she chose to begin, tliere was a knife, and fork also, at her service on the table, and that intimidation would not do. The next day, while I was at dinner, she walked in, (having broken open a glass door that led from the hall below to the staircase, by way of prologue,) and advancing straight up to the table, snatched the knife from my hand, cutting me shghtly in the thumb in the operation. Whether she meant to use this against herself or me, I know not — probably against neither — but Fletcher seized her by the arms, and disarmed her. I then called my boatmen, and desired them to get the gondola ready, and conduct her to her own house again, seeing carefully tliat she did herself no mischief by the way. She seemed quite quiet, and walked down stairs. I resumed my dinner. " We heard a great noise, and went out, and met them on the staircase, carrying her up stairs. She had thrown herself into the canal. That she intended to destroy herself, I do not believe: but when we consider the fear women and men who can 't swim have of deep or even of shallow water, (and the Venetians in particular, though they live on the vvaves.) and that it was also night, and dark, and very cold, it shows that she had a devilish spirit of some sort within her. They had got her out without much difficulty or damage, excepting the salt water she had swallowed, and the wetting she had undergone. "I foresaw her intention to refix herself, and sent for a surgeon, inquiring how many hours it would require to restore her from her agitation ; and he named the lime. I then said, 'I give you that time, and more if you require it; but at the expiration of this prescribed period, if she does not leave the house, / will.' "All my people were consternated. They had always been frightened at her, and were now paralyzed: they wanted me to apply to the police, to guard myself, &c. &c. like a pack of snivelling servile boobies, as they were. I did nothing of tlie kind, thinking that I might as well end that way as another ; besides, I had been used to savage women, and knew tlieir ways. "I had her sent home quietly after her recovery, and never saw her since, except twice at the opera, at a distance among the audience. She made many attempts to return, but no more violent ones. — And this is the story of Mar- garita Cogn, as far as it relates to me. " 1 forgot to mention that she was very devout, and would cross herself if she heard the prayer time strike. * * + + + * + * "She was quick in reply; as, for instance — One day when she had made me very angry with beating somebody or other, I called her a cow, (a cou), in Italian, is a sad affi-ont.) I called her ' Vacca.' She turned round, curt- sied, and answered, ' Vacca ttm, 'celenza,' (i. e. eccellenza.) ' Your cow, please your Excellency.' In short, she was, as I said before, a very fine animal, of considerable beauty and energy, with many good and several amusing qualities, but wild as a witch and fierce as a demon. She used to boast pubUcly of her ascendency over me, contrasting it with that of other women, and assigning for it sundry reasons, + * *. True it was, that they all tried to get her away, and no one succeeded till her own absurdity helped them. " I omitted to tell you her answer, when I reproached her for snatching Madame Contarini's mask at the Cavalchina. I represented to her that she was a lady of high birth, ' una Dama,' &c. She answered, 'Se ella 6 damami {io) son LETTERS, 1818. 131 Veneziana :' — ^ if she is a lady, I am a Venetian.' This would have been fine a hundred years ago, the pride of the nation rising up against the pride of aristocracy ;* but, alas ! Venice, and her people, and her nobles, are alike returning fast to the ocean: and where there is no independence, there can be no real self-respect. I believe that I mistook or misstated one of her phrases in my letter ; it should have been — 'Can' della Madonna, cosa vus' tu? esto non e tempo per andar* a Lido ?' " LETTER CCCLXXVL TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, June 18,1818. "Business and the utter and inexplicable silence of all my correspondents renders me impatient and troublesome. I wrote to Mr. Hanson for a balance which is (or ought to be) in his hands ; — no answer. I expected the messenger with the Newstead papers two months ago, and instead of him, I received a requisition to proceed to Geneva, which (from * *, who knows my wishes and opinions about approaclung England) could only be irony or insult. " I must, therefore, trouble you to pay into my bankers' immediately whatever sum or sums you can make it con- venient to do on our agreement; otherwise, I shall be put to the severest and most immediate inconvenience; and this at a time when, by every rational prospect and calcu- lation, I ought to be in the receipt of considerable sums. JPray do not neglect this ; you have no idea to what incon- venience you wall otherwise put me. * * had some absurd notion about the disposal ofthis money in annuity, (or God knows what,) which I merely listened to when he was here to avoid squabbles and sermons; but 1 have occasion for the principal, and had never any serious idea of appropriating it otherwise than to answer my personal expenses, Hobhouse's wish is, if possible, to force me back to England : he will not succeed ; and if he did, I would not stay. I hate the country, and hke this ; and all foolish opposition, of course, merely adds to the feehng Your silence makes me doubt the success of Canto Fourth. If it has failed, I will make such deduction as you think proper and fair from the original agreement ; but I could wish whatever is to be paid were remitted to me, without delay, through the usual channel, by course of post. "When I tell you that I have not heard a word from England since very early in May, 1 have made the eulo- gium of my friends, or the persons who call themselves so, since I have written so often and in the greatest anxiety. Thank God, the longer I am absent, the less cause I see for regretting the country or its living contents. "I am yours, &c. "P. S. TeU Mr. * * * that * + * * + * + + + s< * and that I will never forgive him, (or any body,) the atrocity of their late silence at a time when I wished particularly to hear, for every reason, from my friends." LETTER CCCLXXVII. TO MR. MURRAV. '' "Venice, July 10, 1818 *'I have received your letter and the credit from M lands, &c. for whom I have also drawn upon you at sixty days' sight for the remainder, according to your i)roi>()sition " I am still waiting in Venice, in cxpeclancy of llw arrival of Hanson's clerk. What can dclain him, F do not ktu but I trust that Mr. Hohhouse and Mr. Kiiuiainl, when their political fit is abated, will take the trouliie to imiuire • Chllde Harold, Canto IV. ilanrA 13: whence iharoee." and expedite him, as I have nearly a hundred thousand pounds depending upon the completion of the sale and the signature of the papers. The draft on you is drawn up by Siri and Willhalm. I hope that the form is correct. 1 signed it two or three days ago, desiring them to forward it to Messrs. Morland and Ransom. ' Your projected editions for November had better be postponed, as I have some things in project, or preparation, that may be of use to you, though not very important in themselves. I have completed an Ode on Venice,* and have two Stories, one serious and one ludicrous, (a la Beppo,) not yet finished, and in no hurry to be so. "You talk of the letter to Hobhouse being much admired, and speak of prose. f I think of writing (for your full edition) some Memoirs of my life, to prefix to them, upon the same model (though far enough, I fear, from reaching it,) of GifTord, Hume, &c. ; and this without any intention of making disclosures, or remarks upon living people, which would be unpleasant to them : but I think it might be done, and well done. However, this is to be considered. I have materials in plenty, but the greater part of them could not be used by me, nor for these hundred years to come. However, there is enough without these, and merely as a literary man, to make a preface for such an edition as you meditate. But this is by-the-way : I have not made up my mind. " I enclose you a note on the subject o{'Parisina,^l which Hobhouse can dress for you. It is an extract of particu- lars from a history of Ferrara. " I trust you have been attentive to Missiaglia, for the English have the character of neglecting the Italians at present, which 1 hope you will redeem. "Yours in haste, " B." LETTER CCCLXXVItl. TO MR. MURRAY. «Venice,July 17, 1818. ■ " I suppose that Aglietti will take whatever you offer, but till his return from Vienna I can make him no proposal ; nor, indeed, have you authorized me to do so. The three French notes arc by Lady Mary; also another half- English-French-Italian. They are very pretty and pas- sionate ; it is a pity that a piece of one of them is lost. Algarotti seems to have treated her ill ; but she was much his senior, and all women are used ill — or say so, whether they are or not. ***** " I shall be glad of your books and powders. I am still in waiting for Hanson's clerk, but luckily not at Geneva. All my good friends wrote to me to hasten tJierc to meet him, but not one had the good sense, or tlie good nature, to write afterward to tell me that it woukl be time and a journey thrown away, as he could not set off for some months after the period appointed. If 1 had taken the journey on the general suggestion, I never would have spoken again to one of you as long as I existed. I have written to request Mr. Kinnaird, when the foam of his politics is wiped away, to extract a |)ositive answer from that * * ♦ *, and not to keep me in a slate of suspense upon the subject. I hope that Kinnaird, who has my power of attorney, keeps a lot)k-out upon the gentleman, which is the more necessary, as 1 have a great dislike to the idea of coming over to look after him myself. " 1 have several things begun, vers(> and prose, but none in nuieh fi>rwar(lness. 1 have written some six or seven sheets of a Life, which I mean to eontiniie, and send you when finished. It may perhaps serve for your proj«>eted editions. If you would tell me exactly (for I know nothing • Sre pi\ge "204. Tlir two Stnrlfi w»r« MiMppa and Don J* t Drilitntioii of lhi> 4tli Cniuo ulChiMe Harold. i Stt IVriiirm, Not* ikl. 132 LETTERS, 1818. and have no correspondents, except on business) the state of the reception of our late publications, and the feeling upon them, without consulting any delicacies, (I am too seasoned to require them,) I should know how and in what manner to proceed. 1 should not like to give them too much, which may probably have been the case already; but, as I tell you, 1 know nothing. "I once wrote from the fulm.'ss of my mind and the love of fame, (not as an e"(/, but as a means, to obtain that influence over men's minds which is power in itself and in its consequences,) and now from habit and from avarice ; so that the eflect may probably be as different as the inspiration. I have the same facility and indeed necessity, of composition, to avoid idleness, (though idleness in a hot country is a pleasure,) but a much gi-eater indifference to what is to become of it, after it has served my immediate purpose. However, I should on no account liliie to but I won't go on, like the archbishop of Granada, as I am very sure that you dread the fate of Gil Bias, and with good reason. "Yours, &c. "P. S. I have written some very savage letters to Mr. Hobhouse, Kinnaird, to you, and to Hanson, because the silence of so long a time made me tear off my remaining rags of patience. I have seen one or tv.o late English publications which are no great things, except Rob Roy. I shall be glad of Whistlecraft." easily found ; I forget the number, but am probably the only person in Venice who do n't know it. There is no comparison between him and any of the other medical people here. I regret very much to hear of your indispo- sition, and shall do myself the honour of waiting upon you the moment I am up. I write this in bed, and have only just received the letter and note. I beg you to beheve that nothing but the extreme lateness of my hours could have prevented me from replying immediately, or coming in person. I have not been called a minute.— I have the honour to be, very truly, "Your most obedient servant, « Byron." LETTER CCCLXXXI. TO MK. MOORE. LETTER CCCLXXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Aug. 26, 1818. "You may go on with your edition, without calculating on the Memoir, which I shall not publish at present. It is nearly finished, but will be too long ; and there are so many things, which, out of regard to the living, cannot be men- tioned, that I have written with too much detail of that which interested me least; so that my autobiographical Essay would resemble the tragedy of Hamlet at the country theatre, recited ' with the part of Hamlet left out by particular desire.' I shall keep it among my papers ; it will be a kind of guide-post in case of death, and prevent some of the lies which would otherwise be told, and destroy some which have been told already. " The Tales also are in an unfinished state, and I can fix no time for their completion : they are also not in the best manner. You must not, therefore, calculate upon any thing in time for this edition. The Memoir is already above forty-four sheets of very large, long paper, and will be about fifty or sixty ; but I wish to go on leisurely ; and when finished, although it might do a good deal for you at the time, I am not sure that it would serve any good pur- pose in the end either, as it is full of many passions and prejudices, of which it has been impossible for me to keep clear: — I have not the patience. " Enclosed is a list of books which Dr. Aglietti would be glad to receive by way of price for his MS. letters, if you are disposed to purchase at the rate of fifty pounds sterling. These he will be glad to have as part, and the rest / will give him in money, and you may carry it to the account of books, &c. which is in balance against me, deducting it accordingly. So that the letters are yours, if you like them, at this rate; and he and I are going to hunt for more Lady Montague letters, which he thinks of finding. I write in haste. Thanks for the article, and believe me, « Yours, &c." LETTER CCCLXXX. TO CAPT. BASIL HALL. "Venice, Aug. 31, 1818. " DEAR SIR, " Dr. Aglietti is the best physician, not only in Venice, but in Italy: his residence is on the Grand Canal, and "Venice, Sept. 19,1818. An English newspaper here would be a prodigy, and an opposition one a monster ; and, except some extracts from extracts in the vile, garbled Paris gazettes, nothing of the kind reaches the Veneto-Lombard public, who are perhaps the most oppressed in Europe. My correspond- ences with England are mostly on business, and chiefly with my SoUcitor, Mr. Hanson, who has no very exalted notion, or extensive conception, of an author's attributes ; for he once took up an Edinburgh Review, and, looking at it a minute, said to me, ' So, I see you have got into the magazine,' — ^vhich is the only sentence I ever heard him utter upon Uterary matters, or the men thereof. " My first news of your Irish apotheosis has, conse- quendy, been from yourself. But, as it will not be forgotten in a hurry, either by your friends or your enemies, I hope to have it more in detail from some of the former, and, in the mean time, I wish you joy with all my heart. Such a moment must have been a good deal better than West- minster-Abbey, — besides being an assurance of that one day (many years hence, I trust) into the bargain. " I am sorry to perceive, however, by the close of your letter, that even you have not escaped the ' surgit amari,' &c. and that your damned deputy has been gathering such ' dew from the still vext Bermoothes' — or rather vexatious. Pray, give me some items of tlie affair, as you say it is a serious one ; and, if it grows more so, you should make a trip over here for a few months, to see how things turn out. I suppose you are a violent admirer of England by your staying so long in it. For my own part, I have passed between the age of one -and- twenty and thirty, half the in- tervenient years out of it without regretting any thing, ex- cept that I ever returned to it at all, and the gloomy pros- pect before me of business and parentage obliging me, one day, to return again,— at least, for the transaction of affairs, the signing of papers, and inspecting of children. "I have here my natural daughter, by name Allegra, — a pretty little girl enough, and reckoned like papa. Her mamma is English, — ^but it is a long story, and — there's an end. She is about twenty months old. * * + "I have finished the First Canto, (a long one, of about 180 octaves,) of a poem in the style and manner of 'Beppo, encouraged by the good success of the same. It is called 'Don Juaqi,' and is meant to be a little quietly facetious upon every thing. But I doubt whether it is not— at least, as far as it has yet gone — too free for these very modest days. However, I shall try the experiment, anonymously, and if it do n't take, it will be discontinued. It is dedicated to Southey in good, simple, savage verse, upon the * * * *'s politics,* and the way he got them. But the bore of copying it out is intolerable ; and if I had an amanuensis he would be of no use, as my writing is so difficult to decipher. " My poem 's Epic, and is meant to be Divided in twelve books, each book containing, * The dedication to Southey was luppressed. LETTERS, 1819. 133 With love and war, a heavy gale al sea — A list of ships, and captains, and kings reigning — New characters, &c. &c. The above are two stanzas, which I send you as a brick of my Babel, and by which you can judge of the texture of the structure, "In writing the life of Sheridan, never mmd the angry lies of the humbug Whigs. Recollect that he was an Irishman and a clever fellow, and that we have had some very pleasant days with him. Do n't forget that he was at school at Harrow, where, in my time, we used to show his name — R. B. Sheridan, 1765 — as an honour to the walls. Remember + + + *** ******* Depend upon it that there were worse folks going, of that gang, than ever Sheridan was. "What did Parr mean by 'haughtiness and coldness ?' I listened to him with admiring ignorance, and respectful silence. What more could a talker for fame have? — they don't like to be answered. It was at Payne Knight's I met him, where he gave me more Greek than I could carry away. But I certainly meant to (and did) treat him with the most respectful deference. "I wish you good night with a Venetian benediction, 'Benedetto te, e la terra che ti fara 1' — 'May you be blessed, and the earth which you will make' — is it not pretty ? You would think it still prettier if you had heard it, as I did two hours ago, from the lips of a Venetian girl, with large black eyes, a face like Faustina's, and the figure of a Juno — tall and energetic as a Pythoness, with eyes flashing, and her dark hair streaming in the moonlight — one of those women who may be made any thing. I am sure if I put a poniard into the hind of this one, she would plunge it where I (old her, — and into me, if I offended her. I like this kind of animal, and am sure that I should have preferred Medea to any woman that ever breathed. You may, perhaps, wonder that I do n't in that case * * * ******* I could have forgiven the dagger or the bowl, any thing, but the deliberate desolation piled upon me, when I stood alone upon my hearth, with my household gods shivered around me.* * * * * + *_ Do you suppose I have forgotten or forgiven it ? It has comparatively swallowed up in me every other feeling, and I am only a spectator upon earth, till a tenfold opportunity offers. It may come yet. There are others more to be blamed than ♦ * *^ and it is on these that my eyes are fixed unceasingly." LETTER CCCLXXXIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Sept. 24, 1818. "In the one hundred and thirty-second stanza of Canto 4th, the stanza runs in the manuscri[)t " And thou, who never yet of human wron? Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! and not 'lost^ which is nonsense, as what losing a scale means, I know not; but leaving an unbalanctsd scale, or a scale unbalanced, is intelligiblc.f Correct this, I pray,— not for the public, or the poetry, but I do not choose to have blunders made in addressing any of the deities so seriously as this is addressed. " Yours, &,c. " P. S. In tlie translation from the Spanish, alter " In increasing squadrons Hew, to— " To a mighty squadron grew. "What does 'thy waters irwtvd them' mean (in tlu^ Canto?) T%itianotme.\ Consult tlie MS. a/u'oi'.*. * Don Juan, Canto I. 36.— Mnrinn Fnliiro, An 3, Scene 'I. t Corrected iu IhU ediUoo. J Thie pauage remaini uncorrected. "I have written the first Canto (180 octave stanzas) of a poem* in the style of Beppo, and have Mazeppa to finish besides. "In referring to the mistake in stanza 132, I take the opportunity to desire that in future, in all parts of my writings referring to religion, you will be more careful, and not forget that it is possible that in addressbg the Deity a blunder may become a bletsphemy ; and I do not choose to suffer such infamous perversions of my words or of my intentions. "I saw the Canto by accident." LETTER CCCLXXXm. TO MR, MURRAY. ''Venice, Jan. 20, 1819. * * • * ♦ * + " The opinions which I have asked of Mr. Hobhouse and others were with regard to the poetical merit, and not as to what they may think due to the cant of the day, which still reads the Bath Guide, Little's Poems, Prior, and Chaucer, to say nothing of Fielding and Smollet. If published, pubhsh entire, with the above-mentioned ex- ceptions; or you may publish anonymously, or not a.t all. In the latter event, print 50 on my account, for private distribution. "Yours, &c. "I have written to Messrs. Kinnaird and Hobhouse, to desire that they will not erase more than I have stated. "The Second Canto of Don Juan is finished in 206 stanzas." LETTER CCCLXXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, Jan. 25, 1819. "You will do me the favour to print privately (for private distribution) fifty copies of 'Don Juan.' The list of the men to whom I wish it to be presented, I will send here- after. The other two poems had best be added to the collective edition : I do not approve of their being published separately. Print Don Juan entire, omitting, of course, the lines on Castlereagh, as I am not on the spot to meet him. I have a Second Canto ready, which will be sent by-and- by. By this post, I have written to Mr. Hobiiouse, addressed to your care. "Yours, &c. "P. S. I have acquiesced in the request and repre- sentation; and having done so, it is idle to detail my arguments in favour of my own self-love and ' Poeshie ;' but I protest. If the poem has poetry, it would stand; if not, fall ; (he rest is ' leather and prunella,' and has never yet affected any human production 'pro or con.' Dulness is the only annihilator in such cases. As to the cant of the day, I despise it, as I have ever done all its other finical fashions, which become you as paint became the ancient Britons. If you admit this prudor}', you must omit lialf Ariosto, La Fontaine, Shakspeare, Beaumont, FletcluT, Massinger, Ford, all the Ciiarles Second writers ;t in short, Mmctliing of most who have written before Pope and are wortli reading, and much of Pope himself. Read him — most of you donH — but do — and I will forgive you; tliourfh the inevitable conse(]uence would be that you would burn all I have ever written, ami all your other wretched ('laudians of the day (except Scott and Crabbe) into the bargain. I wrong Cluudian, who wyw a poet, by naming him with such follows; but he was the 'ultinuis Koumn- oriiin,' the tail of the comet, and these persons are the tail of an old gown cut into a waistcoat for Jackey; but being both tailn, I have compared (he one with the other, (hough very unlike, like all similes. J I write in a passion and a ' Don JuRn, Cnnlo tV. slnnf* 18. Nre Hon Juun, Cnnto IV. stRiiM 18. : S«i Letltra to Uuwlc* aud iUackvraod. 134 LETTERS, 1819. sirocco, and I was up till six this morning at the Carnival ; but I protest, as I did in my former letter." LETTER CCCLXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. «Venice, Feb. 1,1819. "After one of the concluding stanzas of the First Canto of 'Don Juan,' which ends with (I forget the number)— " To have, . . . when the origina) is dust, A book, a d— d bad picture, and woise bust,* insert the following stanza : — " What are the hopes of man, &c. «I have written to you several letters, some wdth addi- tions, and some upon the subject of the poem itself, which my cursed puritanical committee have protested against publishing. But we will circumvent them on that point. I have no" yet begun to copy out the Second Canto, which is finished, from natural laziness, and the discouragement of the milk and water they have thrown upon the First. I say all this to them as to you, that is, for you to say to them, for I will have nothmg underhand. If they had told me the poetry was bad, I would have acquiesced; but they say the contrary, and then talk to me about morality— the first time I ever heard the word from any body who was not a rascal that used it for a purpose. I maintain that it is the most moral of poems ; but if people won't discover the moral, that is their fault, not mine. I have already written to beg that in any case you will print Jifiy for private distribution. I will send you Qie list of persons to whom it is to be sent afterward. " Within this last fortnight I have been rather mdisposed with a rebellion of stomach, which would retain nothing, (liver, I suppose,) and an inability, or fantasy, not to be able to eat of any thing with relish but a kind of Adriatic fish called 'scampi,' which happens to be the most indi- gestible of marine viands. However, within these last two days, I am better, and very truly yours." LETTER CCCLXXXVl. TO MR. MURRAV, "Venice, April 6, 1819. "The Second Canto of Don Juan was sent, on Saturday last, by post, in four packets, two of four, and two of three sheets each, containing in all two hundred and seventeen stanzas, octave measure. But I will permit no curtail- ments, except those mentioned about Castlereagh and * * * * * +. You sha'n't make canticles of my cantos. The poem will please, if it is lively; if it is stupid, it will fail : but I will have none of your damned cutting and slashing. If you please, you may publish anonymously ; it will, perhaps, be better ; but 1 will battle my way against them all, like a porcupine. " So you and Mr. Foscolo, &c. want me to undertake what you call a 'great work?' an Epic Poem, I suppose, or some such pyramid. I'll try no such thing; I hate tasks. And then 'seven or eight years!' God send us all well this day three months, let alone years. If one's years can 't be better employed than in sweating poesy, a man had better be a ditcher. And works, too! — is Childe Harold notliing? You have so many 'dimyie' poems, is it nothing to have written a human one? without any of your worn-out machinery. Why, man, I could have spun the thoughts of the Four Cantos of that poem into twenty, had I wanted to book-make, and its passion into as many modern tragedies. Since you v.ant Implh, you shall have enough oi Juan, for I'll make Fifty Cantos.f * In the printed version " a wretched picture, t See Don Juan, Canto XII. stanza 55. "And Foscolo, too! Why does he not do something more than the Letters of Ortis, and a tragedy, and pam- phlets ? He has good fifteen years more at his command than I have: what has he done all that time? — proved his genius, doubtless, but not fixed its fame, nor done his utmost. " Besides, I mean to write my best work in Italian, and it will take me nine years more thoroughly to master the language ; and then if my fancy exists, and I exist too, I will try what I can do reaUy. As to the estimation of the English which you talk of, let them calculate what it is worth, before they insult me with their insolent conde- scension. "I have not written for their pleasure. If they are pleased, it is that they chose to be so ; I have never flat- tered their opinions, nor their pride ; nor will T. Neither will I make 'Ladies' books' 'al dilettar le femine e la plebe.'* I have written from the fuhiess of my mind, from passion, from impulse, from many motives, but not for their ' sweet voices.' " 1 know the precise worth of popular applause, for few scribblers have had more of it ; and if I chose to swerve into their paths. I could retain it, or resume it. But I neither love ye, nor fear ye ; and though I buy with ye and sell with ye, I will neither eat with ye, drink with ye, nor pray with ye. They made me, without my search, a species of popular idol ; they, without reason or judgment, beyond the caprice of their good pleasure, threw down the image from its pedestal : it was not broken with the fall, and they would, it seems, again replace it, — but they shall not. "You ask about my health: about the beginning of the year I was in a state of great exhaustion, attended by such debility of stomach that nothing remained upon it ; and I was obliged to reform my 'way of life,' which was conduct- ing me from the 'yellow leaf to the ground, with all deliberate speed. I am better in health and morals, and very much yours, &c. "P. S. I have read Hodgson's 'Friends.' * ♦ * * He is right in defending Pope against the bastard pelicans of the poetical winter day, who add insult to their parricide, by sucking the blood of the parent of English real poetry- poetry without fault — and then spurning the bosom which fed them." LETTER CCCLXXXVII. TO THE EDITOR OF GALIGNANI S MESSENGER. "Venice, April 27, 1819. 'sir, " In various numbers of your journal, I have seen men- tioned a work entitled ' the Vampire,' with the addition of my name as that of the author. I am not the author, and never heard of the work in question until now. In a more recent paper I perceive a formal annunciation of 'the Vampire,' with the addition of an account of my 'residence in the Island of Mitylene,' an island which 1 have occa- sionally sailed by in the course of travelling some years ago through the Levant — and where I should have no objection to reside, but where I have never yet resided. Neither of these performances are mine, and I presume that it is neither unjust nor ungracious to request that you will favour me by contradicting the advertisement to which I allude. If the book is clever, it would be base to deprive the real writer, whoever he may be, of his honours; and if stupid, I desire the responsibility of nobody's dulness but my own. You will excuse the trouble I give you, the imputation is of no great importance, and as long as it was confined to surmises and reports, I should have received it, as I have received many others, in silence. But tho Childe Harold, Canto III. stanza 113. LETTERS, 1819. 135 formality of a public advertisement,of a book I never wrote, and a residence where I never resided, is a little too much ; particularly as I have no notion of the contents of the one, nor the incidents of the other. I have besides, a personal dislike to ' Vampires,' and the little acquaintance I have with them would by no means induce me to divulge their secrets. You did me a much less injury by your para- graphs about ' my devotion' and ' abandonment of society for the sake of religion,' which appeared in your Messenger during last Lent, all of which are not founded on fact, but you see I do not contradict them, because they are merely personal, whereas the others in some degree concern the reader. You will oblige me by complying with my request of contradiction — I assure you that I know nothing of the work or works in question, and have the honour to be (as the correspondents to Magazines say) ' your constant reader,' and very " Obt. humble servt. " Byron." • LETTER CCCLXXXVIIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, May 15, 1819. + ***** •* I have got your extract, and the ' Vampire.'* 1 need not say it is not mine. There is a rule to go by: you are my publisher, (till we quarrel,) and what is not published by you is not written by me. * * * + + + " Next week I set out for Romagna — at least in all probability. You had better go on with the publications, without waiting to hear farther, for I have other things in my head. * Mazeppa' and the ' Ode' separate ? — what think you ? Juan anonymous., without the Dedication ; for I won't be shabby, and attack Southey under cloud of night. " Yours, &c." In another letter on the the following particulars. subject of the Vampire, are LETTER CCCLXXXIX. TO MR, MURRAY. " The story of Shelley's agitation is true.f I can't tell what seized him for he don't want courage. He was once with me in a gale of wind, in a small boat, right under the rocks between Meilleric and St. Gingo. We were five in the boat — a servant, two boatmen, and ourselves. The sail was mismanaged, and the boat was filling fast. He can't swim. I stripped off my coat, made him strip off his, and take hold of an oar, telling him that I thought (being myself an expert swimmer) I could save him, if he would not struggle when I took hold of him — unless we got smashed against the rocks, which were high and sharp, with an awkward surf on them at that minute. We were then about a hundred yards from shore, and the boat in peril. He answered me, with the greatest coolness, ' that he had no notion of being saved, and that I would have enough to do to save myself,and bngcred not to trouble me.' Luckily ,the boat righted, and, bailing, we got round a point • By Doctor Pi)li(lori. tThi« story, as nivcii in the Preface to the "Vnmpire," igas foUnwii:— " It appear*, that one evcnimt l.orrl H. Mr. P. II. .Shelley, two ladleii, an.-l Die ecntlemnn before alliidecl to, after having perused a Germnii work called Phantaimai;orin, began relnliiiK k^ooI Htni'iex, when hi^ lordithip hnvini? recited the benlniiinK of Christahcl, then inipiiMUhed, the whole took iio«trongB hold of Mr. Shelley's mind, lliat he Huddenlv marled np, and ran out of ihe room. The phynician antl f.ord Byron ('olio wenour about town, authors, and fashionablsis, together with your ' I am just goin cal glasses,' you deserve and possess the esteem of lhiv?o whose esteem is worth having, and of none more (how- ever useless it may be) than yours very truly, &c. Sm Frt|intiit, pm* 9T8. 136 LETTERS. 1819. " P. S. Make my respects to Mr. Giflbrd. I am per- fectly aware that ' Don Juan' must set us all by the ears, but that is my concern, and my beginning. There will be the ' Edinburgh,' and all, too, against it, so that, like * Rob Roy,' I shall have my hands full." LETTER CCCXC. TO MR. MURRAY. " Venice, May 25, 1819. " I have received no proofs by the last post, and shall probably have quitted Venice before the arrival of the next. There wanted a few stanzas to the termination of Canto First in the last proof: the next will, I presume, contain them, and the whole or a portion of Canto Second; but it will be idle to wait for farther answers from me, as I have directed that my letters wait for my return, (perhaps in a month, and probably so;) therefore do not wait for farther advice from me. You may as well talk to the wind, and better — for it will at least convey your accents a little farther than they would otherwise have gone ; whereas / shall neither echo nor acquiesce in your 'exquisite reasons.' You may omit the note of reference to Hobhouse's travels, in Canto Second, and you will put as motto to the whole — ' Difficile esl proprie communia dicere.' — Horace. " A few days ago I sent you ail I knov/ of Polidori's Vampire. He may do, say, or write what he pleases, but I wish he would not attribute to me his own compositions. If he has any thing of mine in his possession, the manu- script will put it beyond controversy ; but I scarcely thinlc that any one who knows me would believe the thing in the Magazine to be mine, even if they saw it in my own hyeroglyphics. " I write to you in the agonies of a sirocco, which annihi- lates me ; and I have been fool enough to do four things since dinner, which are as well omitted in very hot weather: Istly, ♦ * + + ; 2dly, to play at billiards from 10 to 12, under the influence of lighted lamps, that doubled the heat; 3dly, to go afterward into a red-hot conversazione of the Countess Benzoni's; and 4'hly, to begin this letter at three in the morning : but being begun, it must be finished. " Ever very truly and affectionately yours, "B. " P. S. I petition for tooth-brushes, powder, magnesia, Macassar oil, (or Russia,) surd and ludiorou.sly uoMcilrained. AVhy, man, the soul of such writing is its license ; ut least tho liherti/ of that license, if Hon Jtitii, Cinto XIV. .Siciita 101. 140 LETTERS, 1819. one likes — not that one should abuse it. It is like Trial by Jury and Peerage and the Habeas Corpus — a very fine thing, but chiefly in the reversion; because no one wishes to be tried for the mere pleasure of proving his possession of tlie privilege. "But a truce with these reflections. You are too earnest and eager about a work never intended to be serious. Do you suppose that I could Iiave any intention but to giggle and malie giggle ? — a i)layful satire, with as Jitde poetry as could be helped, was what I meant. And as to the indecency, do pray, read in Boswell what John.' son, the sullen moralist, says o( Prior and Paulo Purgante. " Will you get a favour done for me ? You can, by your government friends, Croker, Canning, or my old schoolfellow Peel, and I can't. Here it is. Will you ask them to appoint (without salary or emolument) a noble Italian (whom I will name afterward) consul or vice- consul for Ravenna? He is a man of very large pro- perty — noble too; but he wishes to have a British protec- tion in case of changes. Ravenna is near the sea. He wants no emolument whatever. That his office might be useful, I know; as I lately sent off from Ravenna to Trieste a poor devil of an English sailor, who had re- mained there sick, sorry, and pennyless (having been set ashore in 1814,) from the want of any accredited agent able or willing to help him homewards. Will you get this done ? If you do, I will then send his name and condition, subject of course to rejection, if not approved when kno\Mi, " I know that in the Levant you make consuls and vice- consuls, perpetually, of foreigners. This man is a patri- cian, and has twelve thousand a year. His motive is a British protection in case of new invasions. Don't you think Croker would do it for us? To be sure, my interest is rare 1 ! but perhaps a brother wit in the Tory line might do a good turn at the request of so harmless and long absent a Whig, particularly as there is no salary or burthen of any sort to be annexed to the office. "I can assure you, I should look upon it as a great obligation ; but, alas ! tliat very circumstance may, very probably, operate to the contrary — indeed, it ought ; but I have, at least, been an honest and an open enemy. Among your many splendid government connexions, could not you, think you, get our Bibulus made a Consul? or make me one. that I may make him my Vice. You may be assured that, in case of accidents in Italy, he would be no feeble adjunct — as you would tliink, if you knew liis patri- mony. " What is all this about Tom Moore ? but why do I ask? since the state of my own affairs would not permit me to be of use to him, though they are greatly improved since 1816, and may, with some more luck and a little prudence, become quite clear. It seems his claimants are American merchants ? There goes Nemesis ! Moore abused Ame- rica. It is always thus in the long run : — Time, the Avenger. You have seen every trampler down, in turn, from Buonaparte to the simplest individuals. You saw how some were avenged even upon my insignificance, and how in turn * * * paid for his atrocity. It is an odd world ; but the watch has its mainspring, after all. " So the Prince has been repealing Lord Edward Fitz- gerald's forfeiture ? JEcco uiH soncUo ! " To be the father of tlie fatherless, &c.* ■ There, you dogs ! diere 's a sonnet for you : you won't have such as that in a hurry from Mr. Fitzgerald. You may publish it with my name, an ye wool. He deserves all praise, bad and good ; it was a very noble piece of principality. Would you lil;e an epigram — a transladon "4f fDr silver, or for goU!, You could melt ten thousand pimples Into half a dozen dimples, Then your face we might behold, Looking doubtless much more snugly, Yet cv'n t/ien 't would be d d ugly. " This w as WTitten on some Frenchwoman, by Rul- hieres, I believe. " Yours." LETTER CCCC. TO MR. MURRAY. " Bologna, August 23, 1819. " I send you a letter to Roberts, signed ' Wordey Clut- terbuck,'* which you may publish in what form you please, in answer to his article. I have had many proofs of men's absurdity, but he beats all in folly. Why, the wolf in sheep's clothing has timibled into the very trap ! We '11 strip him. The letter is written in great haste, and amid a thousand vexations. Your letter only came yesterday so that there is no time to polish: the post goes out to-morrow. The date is ' Little Pidlington.' Let * * * * correct the press : he knows and can read the handwrit- ing. Continue to keep the anonymous about 'Juan;' it helps us to fight against overwhelming numbers. I have a thousand distractions at present ; so excuse haste, and wonder I can act or Mrite at all. Answer by post, as usual. " Yours. "P. S. If I had had time, and been quieter and nearer, I would have cut him to hash : but as it is. you can judge for yourselves." LETTER CCCCL TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLA. [Written in the last page of her copy of Madame De Stael's "Corinna."] "My dearest Teresa, — 1 have read this book in your garden ; — my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it. It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them, — which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognise the handwriting of him who pas- sionately loved you. and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours — Amor mio — is comprised my existence here and here- after. I feel I exist here, and I fear that I shall exist hereafter, — to what purpose you will decide ; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen years of acre, and two out of a convent. I wish that you had stayed there, with all my heart, — or, at least, that I had never met you in your married state. " But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, — at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events. But / more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. " Think of me, sometmies, when the Alps and die ocean divide us, — but tliey never will, unless you vdsh it. " Byron. « Bologna, August 25, 1819." See Poems, p. 484. LETTER CCCCIL TO MR. MURRAY. " Bologna, August 24, 1819. " I wrote to you by last post, enclosing a buffooning let- ter for publication, addressed to the buffoon Roberts, who has thought proper to tie a canister to his own tail. It was written off-hand, and in the midst of circumstances not very favourable to facetiousness, so that there mayi perhaps, be more bitterness than enough for that sort of small acid punch : — ^you will tell me. • ^ee page 296. LETTERS, 1819. 141 *•' Keep the anonymous, in any case : it helps what fun there may be. But if the matter grows serious about Drm Juan, and you feel yourself in a scrape, or vie cither. mon that I am the autlurr. I will never shrink ; and if you do, I can always answer you in the question of Guatimo- zin to his minister — each being on his own coals.* " I wish that I had been in better spirits ; but I am out of sorts, out of nerves, and now and tlien (I begin to fear) out of my senses. All this Italy has done for mo, and not England : I defy all you, and your climate to boot, to make me mad. But if ever I do really become a bedla- mite, and wear a strait waistcoat, let me be brought back among you ; your people will then be proper company. " I assure you what I here say and feel has nothing to do with England, either in a literary or personal point of view. All my present pleasures or plagues are as Italian as the opera. And after all, they are but trifles ; for all this arises from my 'Dama's' being in the country for three days, (at Capo-fiume.) But as I could never live but for one human being at a time, (and, I assure you, that one has never been myself, as you may know by the con- sequences, for the selfish are siiccessful in life,) I feel alone and unhappy. " I have sent for my daughter from Venice, and I ride daily, and walk in a garden, under a purple canopy of grapes, and sit by a fountain, and talk with the gardener of his tools, which seem greater than Adam's, and with his wife, and with his son's wife, who is the youngest of the party, and, I thinlc, talks best of the three. Then I revisited the Campo Santo, and my old friend, the sexton, has two — but one the prettiest daughter imaginable ; and I amuse myself with contrasting her beautiful and inno- cent face of fifteen, with the skulls with which he has peopled several cells, and particularly with that of one skull dated 1766, which was once covered (the tradition goes) by the most lovely features of Bologna — noble and rich. When I look at these, and at this girl — when I think of what they were, and what she must be — why, then, my dear Murray, I won't shock you by saying what I think. It is little matter what becomes of us ' bearded men,' but I do n't like the notion of a beautiful woman's lasting less than a beautiful tree — than her own picture — her own shadow, which won't change so to the sun as her face to the mirror. — I must leave offj for my head aches con- sumedly. I have never been quite well since the night of the representation of Alfieri's Mirra, a fortnight ago. " Yours ever." LETTER CCCCIIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Bologna, August 29, 1819. * I have been in a rage these two days, and am still bilious therefrom. You shall hear. A captain of dra- goons, * *, Hanoverian by t)irth, in tlie Papal troops at present, whom I had obliged by a loan when nobody would lend him a paul, recommended a horse to me, on sale by a Lieutenant * *, an officer who unites the sale of cattle to the purchase of men. I bought it. Tlu^ next day, on shoeing the horse, we discovered the Himsli, — the animal being warranted .sound. I sent to reclaim the contract and the money. The lieutenant desired to speak with me in person. I coasented. Tie came. It was his own particular request. He began a story. I asked him if he would return the money, lie said no — but he would exchange. lie asked an exorbitant price fir his other horses. I told him that ho was a thief. He said he wag an qfficir and a man of honour, and pull«'d out a Parmesan passport signed by General Count Ncif- porg. I answered, that as he was an ofliccr, I would treat iiim as such; and that as to his being a gentleman, he * "Aral now reposing on • bod of ro«M ?' might prove it by returning the money: as for liis Parme- san passport, I should have valued it more if it had been a Parmesan cheese. He answered in high terms, and said that if it were in the morning (it was about eight o'clock in the evening) he would have satisfaction. 1 tlicn lost my temper: 'As for that,' I replied, 'you siiall have it directly, — it will be mutual satisfaction, I can assure you. You are a thief, and, as you say, an officer ; my pistols are in the next room loaded ; take one of the candles, examine, and make your choice of weapons.' He replied ihdl pistols were English weapons ; he always fought with the siDord. I told him tliat I was able to accommodate liim, having three regimental swords in a drawer near us ; and he might take the longest, and put himself on guard. "All this passed in presence of a third person. He then said JVo, but to-morrow morning he would give me the meeting at any time or place. I answered that it was not usual to appoint meetings in the presence of witnesses, and that we had best speak man to man, and appoint time and instruments. But as the man present was leaving the room, the Lieutenant * *, before he could shut the door after him, ran out, roaring ' help and mur- der' most lustily, and fell into a sort of hysteric in the arms of about fifty people, who all saw that I had no weapon of any sort or kind about me, and followed him, asking him what the devil was the matter with him. Nothing would do: he ran away without his hat, and went to bed, ill of the fright. He then tried his complaint at the police, which dismissed it as frivolous. He is, I believe gone away, r r going. " The horse was warranted, but, I believe, so worded that the villain will not be obliged to refund, according to law. He endeavoured to raise up an indictment of assault and battery, but as it was in a public inn, in a frequented street, there were too many witnesses to the contrary; and, as a military man, he has not cut a martial figurCj even in the opinion of the priests. He ran off in such a hurry that he left his hat, and never missed it till he got to his hostel or inn. The facts are as I tell you, I can assure you. He began by ' coming Captain Grand over me,' or I should never have thought of trying his ' cunning in fence.' But what could I do? He talked of 'honour, and satisfaction, and his commission ;' he produced a mili- tary passport ; there are severe punishments for regular du^ls on the continent, and trifling ones for iciwmitres, so that it is best to fight it out directly ; he had robbed, and then wanted to insult me ; — what could I do ? My patience was gone, and the weapons at hand, fair and equal. Besides, it was just after dinner, when my diges- tion was bad, and I don't like to be disturbed. His friend + + is at Forli •, we shall meet on my way back to Ravenna. The Hanoverian seems tlie greater rogue of the two ; and if my valour does not oozo away like Acre.s's — 'Odds flints and triggers!' if it should be a rainy morning, and my stomach in disorder, lliere may be something for the obituary. Now, pray, ' Sir Lucius, do not you look upon mc as a very ill-used gentleman?' I send my Lieutenant to match Mr. Hobhouse's Major Carlwright: and so 'good morrow to you, good master Lieutenant.' With regard to other things,! will write soon, but I have been quarrelling and foolinj till I can scribble no more." LETTER CCCCIV. TO MK. norrNEH. « October C-2, 1S19. " I am glad to hear of your return, but 1 do not know how to congratulate you — unless you think dillerpntly of Venice from what I think now, and you thought always. I am, besides, about to renew your troul>Ies by requesting you to bo judge between Air. iMlgeeonibo and myself in a small matter of imputed peculation and irregular 142 LETTERS, 1819. accounts on the part of that phcenix of secretaries. As I knew that you had not parted friends, at the same lime that / refused for my own part any judgment but ^ours, I offered him his choice of any person, the least scoundrel native to be found in Venice, as his own umpire : but he expressed himself so convinced of your impartiahty, that he declined any but you. This is in his favour. — The paper within will explain to you the default in his accounts. You will hear liis explanation, and decide, if it so please you. I shall not appeal from the decision. "As he complained that his salary was insufficient, I determined to have his accounts examined, and the en- closed was the result. — It is all in black and white with documents, and I have despatched Fletcher to explain (or rather to perplex) the matter. " I have had much civiUty and kindness from Mr. Dor- ville during your journey, and I thank him accordingly. " Your letter reached me at your departure,* and dis- pleased me very much: — not that it might not be true in its statement and kind in its intention, but you have lived long enough to know how useless all such representations ever are and must be in cases where the passions are concerned. To reason with men in such a situation is like reasoning with a drunkard in his cups — the only answer you will get from him is that he is sober, and you are drunk. " Upon that subject we will (if you like) be silent. You might only say what would distress me without answering any purpose whatever; and I have too many obligations to you to answer you in the same style. So that you should recollect that you have also that advan- tage over me. I hope to see you soon. "I suppose you know that they said at Venice, that I was arrested at Bologna as a Carbonaro — a story about as true as their usual conversation. Moore has been here — I lodged him in my house at Venice, and went to see him daily ; but I could not at that time quit La Mira entirely. You and I were not very far from meeting in Switzerland. With my best respects to Mrs. Hoppner, believe me ever and truly, &c. " P. S. AUegra is here in good health and spirits — I shall keep her with me till T go to England, which will perhaps be in the spring. It has just occurred to me that you may not perhaps like to undertake the office of judge between Mr. Edgecombe and your humble servant. — Of course, as Mr. Listen (the comedian, not the ambassador) says, ^ it is all hoptional f but I have no other resource. I do not wish to find him a rascal, if it can be avoided, and would rather think him guilty of carelessness than cheat- ing. The case is this — can I, or not, give him a character for honesty ? — It is not my intention to continue him in my service." LETTER CCCCV. TO MR. HOPPNER. "October 25, 1819. ■You need not have made any excuses about the. let- ter ; I never said but that you might, could, should, or would have reason. I merely described my own state of inaptitude to listen to it at that time, and in those circum- stances. Besides, you did not speak from your own authority — but from what you said you had licard. Now my blood boils to hear an Italian speaking ill of another Itaban, because, though they lie in particular, they speali • Mr. Hoppner, before hi« deparliirc from Venice for Switz.erl.ind. had wrilteii a letter to LonI Uyron, cntreatin? liim " to leave Ravenna, while yel he had a whole skin, and iirpn? him not to risk the safety of a person he appeared so sincerely attached to— as well as his own— for the gratification of a momentary passion, which could only be a sonrcc of regret to both parlies." In the same letter Mr. Hoppner informed him of some reports he had heard lately at Venice, which, though possibly, he said, unfo'mdcd, had much increased hii anxiety respecting iImj con- wquences of ihc comiexiou formed by hxm.—Mo'jie. truth in general by speakmg ill at all — and although they know that they are trying and wishing to lie, they do not succeed, merely because they can say nothing so bad of each other, that it may not, and must not be true from tlie atrocity of their long-debased national character. " With regard to Edgecombe, you w ill perceive a most irregular, extravagant account, without proper documents to support it. He demanded an increase of salary, which made me suspect him ; he supported an outrageous extra- vagance of expenditure, and did not like the dismission of the cook ; he never complained of him — as in duty bound — at the time of his robberies. I can only say, that the house expense is now under one-half of what it then was, as he himself admits. He charged for a comb eighteen francs, — the real price was eight. He charged a passage from Fusina for a person named lambelli, who paid it herself, as she will prove, if necessary. He fancies, or asserts himselfj the victim of a domestic complot against him ; — accounts are accounts — prices are prices ; — let him make out a fair detail, /am not prejudiced against him — on the contrary, I supported him against the com- plaints of his wife, and of his former master, at a time when I could have crushed him like an earwig, and if he is a scoundrel, he is the greatest of scoundrels, an un- grateful one. The truth is, probably, that he thought I was leaving Venice, and determined to make the most of it. At present he keeps bringing in account after accouniy though he had always money in hand — as I believe you know my system was never to allow longer than a week's bills to run. Pray read him this letter — I desire nothing to be concealed against which he may defend himself. "Pray how is your httle boy? and how are you — I shall be up in Venice very soon, and we will be bilious together. I hate the place and all that it inherits. « Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCVI. TO MR. HOPPNER. "October 28, 1819. *♦ + **** + " I have to thank you for your letter, and your com- pliment to Don Juan. I said nothing to you about it, understanding that it is a sore subject with the moral reader, and has been the cause of a great row ; but I am glad you like it. I will say nothing about the shipwreck, except that I hope you think it is as nautical and technical as verse could admit in the octave measure. " The poem has not sold wcU, so Murray says — 'but the best judges, &c. say, &c.' so says that worthy man. I have never seen it in print. The Third Canto is in advance about one hundred stanzas ; but the failure of the first two has weakened my estrOy and it will neither be so good as the former two, nor completed, unless I get a httle more riscaldato in its behalf* I understand the outcry was beyond every thing. — Pretty cant for people who read Tom Jones, and Roderick Random, and the Bath Guide, and Ariosto, and Dryden, and Pope — to say nothing of Little's Poems. Of course I refer to the morality of these works, and not to any pretension of mine to compete with them in any thing but decency. I hope yours is the Paris edition, and that you did not pay the London price. I have seen neither except in the newspapers. " Pray make my respects to Mrs. H. and take care of your httle boy. All my household have the fever and ague, except Fletcher, AUegra, and mysera, (as we used to say in Nottinghamshire,) and the horses, and Mutz, and Moretto. In tlie beginning of November, perhaps sooner I expect to have the pleasure of seeing you. To-day 1 got drenched by a thunder-storm, and my horse and groom too, and his horse all bemired up to the middle in a cross- See Letter 380. LETTERS, 1819. 143 road. It was summer, at noon, and at five we were be wintered ; but the lightning was sent perhaps to let us know that the summer was not yet over. It is queer weather for the 27th of October. K: "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCVIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Venice, October 29, 1819. "Yours of the 15th came yesterday. I am sorry that you do not mention a large letter addressed to your care for Lady Byron, from me, at Bologna, two montiis ago. Pray tell me was this letter received and forwarded? " You say nothing of the vice-consulate for the Ravenna patrician, from which it is to be inferred that the thing will not be done. "I had written about a hundred stanzas of a Third Canto to Don Juan, but the reception of the first two is no encouragement to you nor me to proceed. " I had also written about sLx hundred lines of a poem, the Vision (or Prophecy) of Dante, the subject a view of Italy in the ages down to the present — supposing Dante to speak in his own person, previous to his death, and embracing all topics in the way of prophecy, like Lyco- phron's Cassandra ; but this and the other are both at a stand-still for the present. *' I gave Moore, who is gone to Rome, my life in MS. in 78 folio sheets, brought down to 1816. But this I put into his hands for his care, as he has some other MSS. of mine — a Journal kept in 1814, &c. Neither are for pub- lication during my life, but when I am cold, you may do what you please. In the mean time, if you like to read them you may, and show them to any body you Uke — I care not. " The Life is Memoranda^ and not Confessions. I have left out all my toues, (except in a general way,) and many other of the most nnportaiit things, (because I must not comprombe other people,) so that it is like the play of Hamlet — 'The part of Hamlet omitted by particular desire.' But you will find many opinions, and some fun, with a detailed account of my marriage and its conse- quences, as true as a party concerned can make such account, for I suppose we are all prejudiced. " I have never read over this Life since it was written, so that I know not exactly what it may repeat or contain. Moore and I passed some merry days together. * ♦ + + * + ♦ * " I probably must return for business, or in my way to America. Pray, did you get a letter for Hobhouse, who will have told you the contents ? I understand that the Venezuelan commissioners had orders to treat with emi- grants ; now I want to go there. I should not make a bad South American planter, and I should take my natural daughter, Allegra,vvith mo, and settle. I wrote, at length, to Hobhouse, to get intormation from Perry, who, I sup- pose, IS the best topographer and trumpeter of the new republicans. Pray write. •* Yours, ever. " P. S. Moore and I did nothing but laugh. He will tell you of ' my whereabouts,' and all my proceedings at this present ; they are as usual. You should not let those fellows publish false ' Don Jiians ;' but do not put vui nanie^ because I mean to cut Roberts up Uke a gourd in the pre- face, if I continue the poem." LETTER CCCCVIIL TO MR. nOPPNER. "October 29, 1819 " The Ferrara story is of a piece with all the rest of Uie Venetian manufacture,* — you may judge : 1 only Sec Letter 400. changed horses there since I wrote to you, after my visit in June last. Convent^ and ^ carry off^ quotha I and ' girV I should like to know uho has been carried ofl^ except poor dear me. I have been more ravished myself than any body since the Trojan war; but as to the arrest, and its causes, one is as true as the other, and I can account for the invention of neither. I suppose it is some confusion of the tale of the Fornaretta and of Me. Guiccioli, and half a dozen more; but it is useless to unravel the web, when one has only to brush it away. I shall settle with Master E., who looks very blue at your in-decision, and swears that he is the best aritlimetician in Europe; and so I think also, for he makes out two and two to be five. " You may see me next week. I have a horse or two more, (five in all,) and I shall repossess myself of Lido, and I will rise earUer, and we will go and shake our livers over the beach, as heretofore, if you like — and we will make the Adriatic roar again with our hatred of that now empty oyster-shell, without its pearl, the city of Venice. " Murray sent me a letter yesterday : the impostors have published two new Third Cantos of Don Juan : — the devil take the impudence of some blackguard book- seller or other there/or.' Perhaps I did not make myself understood ; he told me the sale had been great, 1200 out of 1500 quarto, I believe, (which is nothing, after, selling 13,000 of the Corsair in one day;) but that the 'best judges,' &c. had said it was very fine, and clever, and par- ticularly good English, and poetry, and all those consola- tory things, wliich are not, however, worth a single copy to a bookseller : and as to the author, of course I am in a d — ned passion at the bad taste of the times, and swear there is nothing like posterity, who, of course, must know more of the matter than their grandfathers. There has been an eleventh commandment to the women not to read it, and what is still more extraordinary, they seem not to have broken it. But that can be of little import to them, poor things, for the reading or non-reading a book will never ****** "Count G. comes to Venice next week, and I am re- quested to consign his wife to him, which shall be done. * * * * What you say of the long even- ings at the Mira, or Venice, reminds me of what Curran said to Moore : — ' So I hear you have married a pretty woman, and a very good creature, too — an excellent crea- ture. Pray — um I — how do you pass your evenings ?^ It is a devil of a question that, and perhaps as easy to answer with a wife as with a mistress. "If you go to Milan, pray leave at least a Vicc'Consul — the only vice that will ever be wanting at Venice. D'Orville is a good fellow. But you shall go to England in the spring with mc, and plant Mrs. Hoppner at Berne with her relations for a few months. I wish you had been here (at Venice, I mean, not tlie Mira) when Moore was here — we were very merry and tipsy. He hated Venice by-the-wav, and swore it was a sad place . •So Madame Albrizzi's death is in danger — poor wo- man ! * + + * * ♦ Moore told mc that at Geneva they had made a devil of a story of the Fornaretta : — ' Young lady seduced I — sub- sequent abandonment! — leap into die Grand Canal!' — and her being in the ' hospital oi fous in consequence " I should like to know who was nearest being made ^fou^ and be tl d to them ! Don't you tliink me in the interesting character of a very ill-used gentleman? I hope yom- little boy is well. AUegrina is flourisliing like a pomegranate blossom. "Your?, ice." LETTER CCCCIX. TO MR. MURUAV. « Venice, November 8, 1819. ■ Mr. Hoppn 'r I as lent me a ropy of I >on Juan,' Pari* 144 LETTERS, 1819. edition, which he tells me is read in Switzerland by clergy- men and ladies, with considerable approbation. In the Second Canto, you must alter the 49th stanza to " 'T was twilight, nnd tlie sunless day went down Over llie waste 6f waters, like a veil Which if wiihdrawn would hut disclose the frown Of one whose hate is mask'd but to assail ; Thus to their liopeless eyes the night was shown, And grimly darkled o'er their faces pale And the dim desolate deep ; twelve days had Fear Been their familiar, and now Death was here.* « I have been ill these eight days with a tertian fever, caught in the country on horseback in a thunder-storm. Yesterday I had the fourth attack : the two last were very smart, the first day as well as the last being preceded by vomiting. It is the fever of the place and the season. I feel weakened, but not unwell, m the intervals, except headache and lassitude. " Count Guiccioli has arrived in Venice, and has pre- sented his spouse (who had preceded him two months for her health and the prescriptions of Dr. Aglietti) with a paper of conditions, regulations of hours, and conduct, and morals, &c. &c. &c. which he insists on her accepting, and she persists in refusing. I am expressly, it should seem, excluded by this treaty, as an indispensable pre- liminary ; so that they are in high dissension, and what the result may be, I know not, particularly as they are consulting friends. "To-night, as Countess Guiccioli observed me poring over 'Don Juan,' she stumbled by mere chance on the 137th stanza of the First Canto, and asked me what it meant. I told her, 'Nothing, — but "your husband is coming."' As I said this in Itahan with some emphasis, she started up in a fright, and said, ' Oh, my God, is he coming ?' thinking it was her own, who either was or ought to have been at the theatre. You may suppose we laughed when she found out the mistake. You will be amused, as I was ; — it happened not three hours ago. " I wrote to you last week, but have added nothing to the Third Canto since my fever, nor to 'The Prophecy of Dante.' Of the former there are about a hundred octaves done ; of the latter about five hundred lines — per- haps more. Moore saw the Third Juan, as far as it then went. I do not know if my fever will let me go on witli either, and the tertian lasts, they say, a good while. I had it in Malta on my way home, and the malaria fever in Greece the year before that. The Venetian is not very fierce, but I was delirious one of the nights with it, for an hour or two, and, on my senses coming back, found Fletcher sobbing on one side of the bed, and La Contessa Guiccioli weeping on the other ; so that I had no want of attendance. 1 have not yet taken any physician, because, though I think they may relieve in chronic disorders, such as gout and the like, &c. &c. &c. (though they can't cure them) — ^just as surgeons are necessary to set bones and tend wounds — yet I think fevers quite out of their reach, and remediable only by diet and nature. " I do n't like the taste of bark, but I suppose that 1 must take it soon. " Tell Rose that somebody at Milan (an Au.«trian, Mr. Hoppner says) is answering his book. William Bankes is in quarantine at Trieste. I have not lately heard from you. Excuse this paper: it is long paper shortened for the occasion. What folly is this of Carlile's trial? why let him have the honours of a martyr ? it will only adver- tise tlie books in question. " Yours, &c. "P. S. As I tell you that the Guiccioli business is on the eve of exploding in one way or the other, I will just add, that without attempting to influence the decision of »he Contessa, a good deal depends upon it. If she and her husband make it up, you will perhaps see me in Eng- land sooner than you expect. If not, I shall retire with • Corrected in this edition. her to France or America, change my name, and lead a quiet provincial life. All this may seem odd, but I have got the poor girl into a scrape; and as neither her birth^ nor her rank, nor her connexions by birth or marriage, are inferior to my own, 1 am in honour bound to support her through. Besides, she is a very pretty woman — ask Moore — and not yet one-and-twenty. " If she gets over this, and I get over my tertian, I will perhaps look in at Albemarle-street, some of these days, en passant to Bolivar. LETTER CCCCX. TO ME. BANKES. "Venice, November 20, 1819. " A tertian ague which has troubled me for some time, and the indisposition of my daughter, have prevented me from replying before to your welcome letter. I have not been ignorant of your progress nor of your discoveries, and I trust that you are no worse in health from your labours. You may rely upon finding every body in Eng- land eager to reap the fruits of them ; and as you have done more than other men, I hope you will not limit your- self to saying less than may do justice to the talents and time you have bestowed on your perilous researches. The first sentence of my letter will have explained to you why I cannot join you at Trieste. I was on the point of setting out for England, (before I knew of your arrival,) when my child's illness has made her and me dependent on a Venetian Prolo-Medico. " It is now seven years since you and I met ; — which time you have employed better for others, and more honourably for yourself, than I have done. "In England you will find considerable changes, public and private, — you will see some of our old college con- temporaries turned into lords of the treasury, admiralty, and the like, — others become reformers and orators, — many settled in hfe, as it is called, — and others settled in death ; among the latter (by-the-way, not our fellow-col- legians,) Sheridan, Curran. Lady Melbourne, Monk Lewis, Frederick Douglas, &c. &c. &c.; but you will still find Mr. * * living and all his family, as also * " Should you come up this way, and I am still here, you need not be assured how glad I shall be to see you ; I lo"ng to hear some part, from you, of that which I expect in no long time to see. At length you have had better fortune than any traveller of equal enterprise, (except Humboldt,) in returning safe ; and after the fate of the Brownes,and the Parkes, and the Burckhardts, it is hardly less surprise than satisfaction to get you back again. "Believe me ever " and very affectionately yours, •ByRON." LETTER CCCCXL TO MB.. MURRAY. "Venice, Dec. 4, 1819. " You may do as you please, but you are about a hope- less experiment.* Eldon will decide against you, were it only that my name is m the record. You will also recol- lect that if the publication is pronounced against, on the grounds you mention, as indecent and blasphemous, that / lose all right in my daughter's gvardiansliip and education, in short, all paternal authority, and every thing concerning her, except *** + *• * Mr. Murray had commenced a suit Rgaiiist a London bookseller, for an infringement of hie copyright, in publishing a piratecl edition of Don LETTERS, 1819. 145 It was so decided in Shelley's case, because he had writ- ten dueen Mab, &c. &c. However you can ask the lawyers, and do as you like : I do not inhibit you trying the question ; I merely state one of the consequences to me. With regard to the copyright, it is hard that you should pay for a nonentity: I will therefore refund it, which I can very well do. not having spent it, nor begun upon it ; and so we will be quits on that score. It lies at my banker's. " Of the Chancellor's law I am no judge ; but take up Tom Jones, and read his Mrs. Waters and Molly Sea- gl-im ; or Prior's Hans Carvel and Paulo Purganti ; Smol- lett's Roderick Random, the chapter of Lord Strutwell, and many others ; Peregrine Pickle, the scene of the Beggar Girl; Johnson's London^ for coarse expressions; for instance, the words ' * *,' and « + * ;' Anstey's Bath Guide, the ' Hearken, Lady Betty, hearken ;' — take up, in short. Pope, Prior, Congreve, Dryden, Fielding, Smol- lett, and let the Counsel select passages, and what be- comes of their copyright, if his Wat Tyler decision is to pass into a precedent?* I have nothing more to say: you must judge for yourselves. " I wrote to you some time ago. I have had a tertian ague ; my daughter Allegra has been ill also, and I have been almost obliged to run away with a married woman ; but with some difficulty, and many internal struggles, I reconciled the lady with her lord, and cured the fever of the child with bark, and my ovni with cold water. I think of setting out for JEngland by the Tyrol in a few days, so that I could wish you to direct your next letter to Calais. Excuse my writing in great haste and late in the morn- ing, or night, whichever you please to call it. The Third Canto of ' Don Juan' is completed, in about two hundred stanzas ; very decent, I believe, but do not know, and it is useless to discuss until it be ascertained, if it may or may not be a property. " My present determination to quit Italy was unlooked for ; but I have explained the reasons in letters to my sister and Douglas Kinnaird, a week or tv/o ago. My progress will depend upon the snows of the Tyrol, and the health of my child, who is at present quite recovered ; — but I hope to get on well, and am " Yours every and truly. "P. S. Many thanks for your letters, to which you are not to consider this as an answer, but as an acknowledg- ment." LETTER CCCCXIL TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI. "You are, and ever will be, my first thought. But at this moment, I am in a state most dreadful, not know- ing which way to decide ; — on the one hand, fearing that I should compromise you for ever, by my return to Ra- venna and the consequences of such a step, and, on the other, dreading that I shall lose both you and myselfj and all that I have ever known or tasted of happiness, by never seeing you more. I pray of you, I implore you to be comforted, and to believe that I cannot cease to love you but with my life." + * + + " I go to save you, and leave a country insupportable to me with- out you. Your letters to F * * and myself do wrong to my motives — but you will yet see your injustice. It is not enough that I must leave you — from motives of which ere long you will be convinced — it is not enough that I must fly from Italy, with a heart deeply wounded, after having passed all my days in solitude since your depar- ture, sick both in body and mind — but I must also have to endure your reproaches without answering and without deserving them. Farewell ! — in that one word is com- prised the death of my happiness." 8m I^etter 881. LETTER CCCCXm. TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI. « p * * + will already have told you, with her accus' tomed sublimity, that Love has gained the victory. I could not summon up resolution enough to leave the country where you are, without, at least, once more seeing you. On yourself, perhaps, it will depend, whether I ever again shall leave you. Of the rest we shall speak when we meet. You ought, by this time, to know which is most conducive to your welfare, my presence or my absence. For myself, I am a citizen of the world — all countries are alike to me. You have ever been, since our first acquaint- ance, the sole object of my thoughts. My opinion was, that the best course I could adopt, both for your peace and that of all your family, would have been to depart and go far, jTar away from you ; — since to have been near and not approach you would have been, for me, impossible. You have however decided that I am to return to Ravenna. I shall accordingly return — and shall do — and be all that you wish. I cannot say more." LETTER CCCCXIV. TO MR. HOPPER. " MY DEAR HOPPNER, " Partings are but bitter work at best, so that I shall not venture on a second with you. Pray make my respects to Mrs. Hoppner, and assure her of my unalterable rever- ence for the singular goodness of her disposition, which is not without its reward even in this world — for those who are no great believers in human virtues would discover enough in her to give them a better opinion of their fellow- creatures, and — what is still more difficult — of themselves, as being of the same species, however inferior in approach- ing its nobler models. Make, too, what excuses you can for my omission of the ceremony of leave-taking. If we all meet again, I will make my humblest apology ; if not, recollect that 1 wished you all well : and, if you can, for- get that I have given you a great deal of trouble. « Yours, &c. &o," LETTER CCCCXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Venice, December 10, 1819. " Since I last wrote, I have changed my mind, and shall not come to England. The more 1 contemplate, the more I dislike the place and the prospect. You may therefore address to me as usual here, though I moan to go to another city. I have finished the Third Canto of Don Juan, but the things I have read and heard discourage all farther publication — at least for the present. You may try the copy question, but you'll lose it: the cry is up, and cant is up. I should have no objection to return tlio price of the copyright, and have written to Mr. Kinnaird by this post on the subject. Talk with him. " I have not the patience, nor do I fvel interest enough in the question, to contend with tho fellows in thoir own slang ; but I perceive Mr. Blackwood's Magazino aud one or two others of your missives have boon liyporbolioaJ in their praise, and diabolical in thoir abuse. I lik<' and admire Wilson, autl lie should not have indulged hunsolf in surJi outrageous license.* It is ovordono and dt-feats il.self. What would he say to the grossness without pi»- sion and tho misanthropy without fooling of tJulliviv'i This Uoneol' the inniiy iiiiilRkrtiiilo wlii !• U'.l hill of lilci-Hry opoi'nlioiii Inl him. The Kciilh'tnitn to wliom ihi- hiei'» ch,\i»ilrr or »t»iii.i«, wllhoiil aiviiii veiil to n rceliiii of adniinitleii •• •■lUiwmx'e •» *« i» alwD^i tloqiicnity "uil j>ow»rlu4)r««|>r»Me- press some tediousness in the aspect of the thing. I should have served you a pretty trick if I had sent .you, for example, cantos of 60 stanzas each. " I am translating the First Canto of Pulci's Morgante Maggiore, and have half done it ; but these last days of the Carnival confuse and interrupt every thing. "I have not yet sent off the Cantos, and have somo doubt whether they ought to bo published, for they have not the spirit of the first. The outcry has not frightened but it has hurt me, and 1 have not written con amore this time. It is very decent, however, and as dull as ' tho lost now comedy.' '*I think my translations of Pulei wiH make you itare. * Th« word litre, Mni umler th* •••!, !■ UltgitU. 148 LETTERS, 1820. |t must be put by the original, stanza for stanza, and verse for verse ; and you will see what was permitted in a Ca- tholic country and a bigoted age to a churchman, on the score of rehgiun ; — and so tell ihose buffoons who accuse me of attacking tJie Liturg}'. « I vmte in the greatest haste, it bemg the hour of the Corso, and I must go and buffoon with the rest. My daughter Allegra is just gone with the Countess G. in Count G.'s coach and sLx, to join the cavalcade, and I must follow with all the rest of the Ravenna world. Our old Cardinal is dead, and the new one not appointed yet ; but the maskmg goes on the same, the vice-legate being a good governor. We have had hideous frost and snow, but all IS mild agam. " Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCXXL TO MR. BANKES. "Raverma, February 19, 1820. " I have room for you in the house here, as I had in Venice, if you think fit to make use of it ; but do not ex- pect to find the same gorgeous suite of tapestried halls. Neither dangers nor tropical heats have ever prevented your penetrating wherever you had a mind to il, and why should the snow now I — Italian snow — fie on it ! — so pray come. Tita's heai-t yearns for you, and mayhap for your silver broad pieces ; and your playfellow, the monkey, is alone and inconsolable. " I forget whether you admire or tolerate red hair, so that I ratlier dread showing you all that I have about me and around me in this city. Come, nevertheless, — you can pay Dante a morning visit, and I will undertake that Theodore and Honoria will be most happy to see you in the forest hard by. We Goths, also, of Ravenna hope you will not despise our arch-Goth, Theodoric. I must leave it to these worthies to entertain you all the fore part of the day, seeing that I have none at all myself — the lark, that rouses me from my slumbers, being an afternoon bird. But, then, all your evenings, and as much as you can give me of yovr nights, will be mine. Ay ! and you will find me eating flesh, too, like yourself or any other carmibal, except it be upon Fridays. Then, there are more Cantos (and be d — d to them) of what the cour- teous reader, Mr. Saunders, calls Grub-street, in my drawer, which I have a Utde scheme to commit to your charge for England ; only I must first cut up (or cut down) two aforesaid Cantos into three, because I am grown base and mercenary, and it is an ill precedent to let my Mecaenas, Murray, get too much for his money. I am busy, also, with Pulci — translasting — servilely translating, stanza for stanza, and line for line — two octaves every night,— the same allowance as at Venice. " Would you call at your banker's at Bologna, and ask him for some letters lying there for me, and bum them? — or I will — so do not burn them, but bring them, — and be- lieve me ever and very affectionately « Yours, « Bykon. "P. S. I have a particular wish to hear from yourself something about Cyprus, so pray recollect all that you can. — Good night." LETTER CCCCXXIL TO MR. MURRAY. «Ravenna,Feb. 21, 1820. " The bull-dogs will be very agreeable. I have only those of this country, who, though good, have not the tena- city of tooth and stoicism in endurance of my canine fel- low-citizens : then pray send them by the readiest con- See Don Juan, Canto III, Stanza 105. veyance — perhaps best by sea. Mr. Kinnaird will dis- burse for them, and deduct from the amount on your ap- plication or that of Captain Tyler. "I see the good old Bang is gone to his place. One can't help being sorry, though blindness, and age, and in- sanity are supposed to be drawbacks on human felicity ; but I am not at all sure that the latter at least might not render him happier than any of his subjects. " I have no thoughts of coming to the coronation, though I should like to see it, and though I have a right to be a puppet in it ; but my division with Lady Byron, which has drawn an equinoctial hne between me and mine in all other things, vnll operate in this also to prevent my being in the same procession. " By Saturday's post I sent you four packets, contain- ing Cantos Third and Fourth. Recollect that these two cantos reckon only as (me with you and me, being in fact the third canto cut into two, because I found it too long. Remember this, and do n't imagine that there could be suiy other motive. The whole is about 225 stanzas, more or less, and a lyric of 96 lines, so that they are no longer than the first ^ngle cantos : but the truth is, that I made the first too long, and should have cut those down also had I thought better. Instead of saving in future for so many cantos, say so many stanzas or pages : it was Jacob Ton- son's way, and certainly the best ; it prevents mistakes. I might have sent you a dozen cantos, of 40 stanzas each, — those of ' The Minstrel' (Beattie's) are no longer, — and ruined you at once, if you do n't suffer as it is. But recollect that you are not pinned down to any thing you say in a letter, and that, calculating even these two cantos as one only (which they were and are to be reckoned,) you are not bound by your offer. Act as may seem fair to all parties. "I have finished my translation of the First Canto of the 'Morgante Maggiore' of Pulci, which I will transcribe and send. It is the parent, not only of Whistlecraft, but of all jocose Itahan poetry. You must print it side by side with the original Italian, because I wish the reader to judge of the fidelity: it is stanza for stanza, and often Hne for hne, if not word for word. " You ask me for a volume of maimers, &c. on Italy. Perhaps I am in the case to know more of them thein most Englishmen, because I have lived among the na- tives, and in parts of the country where Englishmen never resided before (I speak of Romagna and this place particularly ;) but there are many reasons why I do not choose to treat in print on such a subject. I have lived in their houses and in the heart of their famihes, sometimes merely as ' amico di casa,' and sometimes as ' amico di cuore' of the Dama, and in aeither case do I feel myself authorized in making a book of them. Their moral is not your moral ; their life is not your life ; you would not understand it ; it is not English, nor French, nor German, which you would all understand. The conventual edu- cation, the cavalier servitude, the habits of thought and living are so entirely different, and the difference becomes so much more striking the more you live intimately with them, that I know not how to make you comprehend a people who are at once temperate and profligate, serious in their characters and buffoons in their amusements, capable of impressions and passions, which are at once sudden and durable (what you find in no other nation,) and who actually have no society (what we would call so,) as you may see by their comedies ; they have no real comedy, not even in Goldoni, and tiiat is because they have no society to draw it from. " Their conversazioni are not society at all. They go to the theatre to tallc, and into company to hold their tongues. The women sit in a circle, and the men gather into groupes, or they play at dreary faro, or ' lotto reale,' for small sums. Their academie are concerts like our own, with better music and more form. Their best things are the carnival balls, and masquerades, when every body LETTERS, 1820. 149 runs mad for six weeks. After their dinners and suppers they make extempore verses and buffoon one another ; but it is in a humour which you would not enter into, ye of the north. « In their houses it is better. I should know something of the matter, having had a pretty general experience among their women, from the fisherman's wife up to the Nobil Dama, whom I serve. Their system has its rules, and its fitnesses, and its decorums, so as to be reduced to a kind of discipline or game at hearts, which admits few deviations, unless you wish to lose it. They are ex- tremely tenacious, and jealous as furies, not permitting their lovers even to mairy if they can help it, and keeping them always close to them in public as in private, when- ever they can. In short, they transfer marriage to adul- tery, and stike the not out of that commandment. The reason is, that they marry for their parents, and love for themselves. They exact fidelity from a lover as a debt of honour, while they pay the husband as a tradesman, that is, not at all. You hear a person's character, male or female, canvassed, not as depending on their conduct to their husbands or wives, but to their mistress or lover. If I wrote a quarto, I do n't know that I could do more than amplify what I have here noted. It is to be observed that while they do all this, the greatest outward respect is to be paid to the husbands, not only by the ladies, but by their Serventi — particularly if the husband serves no one himself (which is not often the case, however ;) so that you would often suppose them relations — the Ser- vente making the figure of one adopted into the family. Sometimes the ladies run a little restive and elope, or divide, or make a scene ; but this is at starting, generally, when they know no better, or when they fall in love with a foreigner, or some such anomaly, — and is always reck- oned unnecessary and extravagant. " You inquire after Dante's Prophecy : I have not done more than six hundred lines, but will vaticinate at leisure. " Of the bust I know nothing. No cameos or seals are to be cut here or elsewhere that I know of, in any good style. Hobhouse should write himself to Thorwaldsen: the bust was made and paid for three years ago. " Pray tell Mrs. Leigh to request Lady Byron to urge forward the transfer from the funds. I wrote to Lady Byron on business this post, addressed to the care of Mr. D. Kinnaird." LETTER CCCCXXIII. TO MR. BANKES. "Ravenna, February 26, 1820. " Pulci and I are waiting for you with impatience ; but I suppose we must give way to the attraction of the Bo- lognese galleries for a time. I know nothing of pictures myself, and care almost as little ; but to me there are none like the Venetian — above all, Giorgione. I remem- ber well his judgment of Solomon in the Mariscalchi in Bologna. The real mother is beautiful, exquisitely beautiful. Buy her, by all means, if you can, and take her home with you : put her in safc^ty — for be as- sured there arc troublous times brewing for Italy ; and as I never could keep out of a row in my life, it will be my fate, I dare say, to be over head and ears in it ; but no matter, tliese are the stronger reasons for coming to see me soon. " I have more of Scott's novels (for surely they are Scott's) since wo met, and am more and more delighted. I think that I even prefer them to his poetry, which (by- the-way) I redde for the first lime in my life in your rooms in Trinity college. " There are some curioiis commentaries on Dante pre- served here, which you should soo. BeUcve nio ever, faithfully and most afFectionatoly, « Yours, &c. LETTER CCCCXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, March 1, 1820. " I sent you by last post the translation of the First Canto of the Morgante Maggiore, and wish you to ask Rose about the word 'sbergo,' i. e. 'usbergo,' which I have translated cuirass. I suspect that it means Jtelmet also. Now, if so, which of the senses is best accordant with the text ? I have adopted cuirass, but will be ame- nable to reasons. Of the natives, some say one, and some t' other ; but they are no great Tuscans in Ro- magna. However I will ask Sgricci (the famous impro- visatore) to-morrow, who is a native of Arezzo. The Countess Guiccioli, who is reckoned a very cultivated young lady, and the dictionary, say cuirass. I have writ- ten cuirass, but helmet runs in my head nevertheless — and will run in verse very well, whilk is the principal point. I will ask the Sposa Spina Spinelli, too, the Florentine bride of Count Gabriel Rusponi, just imported from Flo- rence, and get the sense out iif somebody. " I have just been visiting the new Cardinal, who ar- rived the day before yesterday in his legation. He seems a good old gentleman, pious and simple, and not quite lilte his predecessor, who was a honvivant, in the worldly sense of the words. " Enclosed is a letter which I received some time ago from Dallas. It will explain itself. I have not answered it. This comes of doing people good. At one time or another (including copyrights) this person has had about fourteen hundred pounds of my money, and he writes what he calls a posthumous work about me, and a scrubby letter accusing me of treating him ill, when I never did any such thing. It is true that I left off letter-writing, as I have done with almost every body else ; but I can't see how that was misusing him. " I look upon his epistle as the consequence of my not sending him another hundred pounds, which he wrote to me for about two years ago, and which I Uiought proper to withhold, he having had his share, methought, of what I could dispone upon others. " In your last you ask me after my articles of domestic wants : I believe they are as usual ; the bull-dogs, mag- nesia, soda -powders, tooth-powders, brushes, and every thing of the kind which are here unattainable. You still ask me to return to England : alas ! to what purpose ? You do not know what you are requiring. Return I must, probably, some day or other (if I live,) sooner or later; but it will not be for pleasure, nor can it end in go.' Pray niaUe him write at least two a year : T like no read- ing so well. "The editor of the Bologna Telegraph has sent me a paper wiili extracts from INlr. JMuUxJi'ii (hia name nlwaj's L * 150 LETTERS, 1820. reminds me of Muley Moloch of Morocco) ' Atheism answered,' in which their is a long eulogium of my poesy, and a great ' compatimento' for my misery. I never could understand what they mean by accusing me of irreligion. However, they may have it their own way. This gen- tleman seems to be my great admirer, so I take what he says in good part, as he evidently intends kindnesS; to which I can't accuse myself of being invincible. » Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, March 5, 1820. "Incase, in your country, you should not readily lay hands on the Morgante Maggiore, I send you the original text of the First Canto, to correspond with the translation which I sent you a few days ago. It is from the Naples edition in quarto of 1732, — doled Florence, however, by a trick oithe trade, which you, as one of the allied sove- reigns of the profession, will perfectly imderstand without any farther spiegazione. " It is strange that here nobody understands the real precise meaning of ' sbergo,' or ' usbergo,'* an old Tuscan word, which I have rendered cuirass (but am not sure it is not helmet.) I have asked at least twenty people, learned and ignorant, male and female, including poets, and offi- cers civil and military. The dictionary says cuirass, but gives no authority ; and a female friend of mine says positively cuira^Sy which makes me doubt the fact still more than before. Ginguene says, ' bormet de fer,' with the usual superficial decision of a Frenchman, so that I can't believe him : and what between the dictionary, the Italian woman, and the Frenchman, there 's no trusting to a word they say. The context too, which should de- cide, admits equally of either meaning, as you will per- ceive. Ask Rose, Hobhouse, Merivale, and Foscolo, and vote with the majority. Is Frere a good Tuscan ? if he be, bother him too. I have tried, you see, to be as accurate as I well could. This is my third or fourth letter, or packet, within the last twenty days." LETTER CCCCXXVL TO MR. MURRAY. did not come of it. I have no objection to this being his fourteenth in the four-and-twenty hours. He presides over overturns and all escapes therefrom, it seems ; and they dedicate pictures, &c. to him, as the sailors once did to Neptune, after 'the high Roman fashion.' " Yours, in haste." LETTER CCCCXXVIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, March 14, 1820. •Enclosed is Dante's Prophecy — Vision — or what not. Where I have left more than one reading, (which I have done often,) you may adopt that which GifFord, Frere, Rose, and Hobhouse, and others of your Utican Senate think the best, or least bad. The preface will explain all that is explicable. These are but the first four cantos : if approved, I will go on. " Pray mind m printing ; and let some good Itahan scho- lar correct the Italian quotations. " Four days ago I was overturned in an open carriage between the river and a steep bank : — wheels dashed to pieces, slight bruises, narrow escape, and all that ; but no harm done, though coachman, footman, horses, and vehi- cle were all mixed together like macaroni. It was owintr to bad drivuig, as I say ; but the coachman swears to a start on the part of the horses. We went against a post on the verge of a steep bank, and capsized. I usually go out of the town in a carriage, and meet the saddle horses at the bridge ; it was in going there that we bo^aled • but I got my ride, as usual, after the accident. They say here it was all owing to St. Antonio of Padua (serious, I as- sure you,)-^vho does thirteen miracles a day, — that worse • Usbergo is obTiously the same aa hauberk, habergeon, &c. all from the German haU-berg, or covering of the neck. See Gray 'g Bard, " Helm aor baubcrk't twilled mail." « Raverma, March 20, 1820. " Last post I sent you, ' The Vision of Dante,' — first four cantos. Enclosed you will find, line for line, in third rhyme (terza rima,*) of which your British blackguard reader as yet understands nothing, Fanny of Rimini. You know that she was bom here, and married, and slain, from Gary, Boyd, and such people. I have done it into cramp English, line for line, and rhyme for rhyme, to try the pos- sibility. You had best append it to the poems already sent by last three posts. I shall not allow you to play the tricks you did last year, with the prose you ^osi-scribed to Ma- zeppa, which I sent to you not to be published, if not in a periodical paper, — and there you tacked it, without a word of explanation. If this is published, publish it rvith the ori- ginal, and together with the Pulci translation, or the Dante imitation. I suppose you have both by now, and the Juan long before. LETTER CCCCXXVm. TO MR. aiURRAY. « Ravenna, March 23, 1820. "I have received your letter of the 7th. Besides the four packets you have already received, I have sent the Pulci a few days after, and since (a few days ago) the first four Cantos of Dante's Prophecy, (the best thing I ever wrote, if it be not unintelligible,) and by last post a literal translation, word for word (versed like the original) of the episode of Francesca of Rimini. I want to hear what you think of the new Juans, and the translations, and the Vision. They are all things that are, or ought to be, very diiferent from one another. "If you choose to make a print fiom tlie Venetian, you may ; but she do n't correspond at all to the character you mean her to represent. On the contrary, the Contessa G. does (except that she is fair,) and is much prettier than the Fomarina ; but I have no picture of her except a mi- niature, which is very ill done ; and, besides, it would not be proper, on any account whatever, to make such a use of it, even if you had a copy. " Recollect that the tux) new Cantos only count with us for one. You may put the Pulci and Dante together : per- haps that were best. So you have put your name to Juan after all your panic. Y"ou are a rare fellow. — I must novy put myself in a passion to continue my prose. " I have caused write to ThorwaJdsen. Pray be care- ful in sending my daughter's picture — I mean, that it be not hurt in the carriage, for it is a journey rather long and jolting." LETTER CCCCXXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. t " Ravenna, March 28, 1820. "Enclosed is a 'Screed of Doctrine' for you, of which I will trouble you to acknowledge the receipt by next post. Mr. Hobhouse must have the correction ofit for the press. You may show it first to whom you please. • See Poems, p. 485. t Lelier in answer to Mr. Bowles, page 280. LETTERS, 1820. 151 "I wisih to know what became of my two Epistles from St. Paul, (translated from the Armenian three years ago and more,) and of the letter to Roberts of last autumn, which you never have attended to ? There are two pack- ets with this. "P. S. I have some thoughts of publishing the 'Hints from Horace,' vsritten ten years ago — if Hobhouse can rummage them out of my papers left at his father's, — with some omissions and alterations previously to be made when I see the proofs." LETTER CCCCXXX. TO MK. MITRRAT. « Ravenna, March 29, 1820. "Herewith you will receive a note (enclosed) on Pope, which you will find tally with a part of the text of last post. I have at last lost all patience with the atrocious cant and nonsense about Pope, with which our present * *s are overflowing, and am determined to make such head against it as an individual can, by prose or verse ; and I ■mW. at least do it with good will. There is no bearing it any longer; and if it goes on, it vdll destroy what litde good vmting or taste remains among us. I hope there are still a few men of taste to second me ; but if not, I '11 battle it alone, convinced that it is in the best cause of English literature. " I have sent you so many packets, verse and prose, lately, that you will be tired of the postage, if not of the pe- rusal. I want to answer some parts of your last letter, but I have not time, for I must 'boot and saddle,' as my Cap- tain Craigengilt (an officer of the old Napoleon Italian army) is in waiting, and my groom and cattle to boot. " You have given me a screed of metaphor and what not about Pulci, and manners, ' going without clothes, like our Saxon ancestors.' Now, the Saxons did not go with- out clothes ; and, in the next place, they are not my an- cestors, nor yours either ; for mine were Norman, and yours, I take it by your name, where Gad. And, in the next, I differ from you about the ' refinement' which has banished the comedies of Congreve. Are not the come- dies of Sheridan acted to the thinnest houses ? I know (as ex-committed) that ' The School for Scandal' was the worst stock-piece upon record. I also know that Congreve gave up writing because Mrs. Centlivre's balderdash drove his comedies off. So it is not decency, but stupidity, that docs all this ; for Sheridan is as decent a writer as need be, and Con<'reve no worse than Mrs. Centlivre, of whom Wilkes (the actor) said, 'not only her play would be damned, but she too.' He alluded to ' A Bold Stroke for a Wife.' But last, and most to the purpose, Pulci is not an indecent wiriter — at least in his first Canto, as you will have per- ceived by this time. " You talk oir^nement: — are you all mme moral ? are you so moral ? No such thing. / know what the world is in England, by my own proper experience of the best of it — at least of the loftiest ; and I have described it every where as it is to be found in all i)laces. " But to return. I should like to see the proofs of mine answer, because there will be something to omit or to alter. But pray let it be carefully printed. When con- venient let me have an answer. ** Yours." LETTER CCCCXXXL TO MR. HOPPNER. « Ravenna, March 31, 1820. ♦ * ♦ * ♦ " Ravenna continues much the .same as I dfsrribcd it. Conversazioni all Lent, and much betl»T ones than ;iiiy at Venice. Therr are small games at hazard, that i.-, faro, where nobody can point more than a shilling or two ; — other card-tables, and as much talk and coffee as you please. Every body does and says what they please : and I do not recollect any disagreeable events, except being three times falsely accused of flirtation, and once being robbed of six sixpences by a nobleman of the city, a Count * * +. I did not suspect the illustrious delin- quent ; but the Countess V * * * and the Marquis L * * ♦ told me of it directly, and also that it was a way he had, of filching money when he saw it before him ; but I did not ax him for the cash, but contented myself with telling hun that if he did it again, I should anticipate the law. " There is to be a theatre in April, and a fair, and an opera, and another opera in June, besides the fine weather of nature's giving, and the rides in the Forest of Pine. With my best respects to Mrs. Hoppner, believe me ever, &c. " Byron. " P. S. Could you give me an item of what books re- mam at Venice ? IdonH want them, but want to know whether the few that are not here are there, and were not lost by the way. I hope and trust you have got all your wine safe, and that it is drinkable. Allegra is prettier, I think, but as obstinate as a mule, and as ravenous as a vulture : health good, to judge of the complexion — temper tolerable, but for vanity and pertinacity. She thinks her- self handsome and will do as she pleases." LETTER CCCCXXXU. TO MR. MtTRRAr. "Ravenna, April 9, 1820. " In the name of all the devils in the printing-office, why do n't you write to acknowledge the receipt of the second, third, and fourth packets, viz. the Pulci translation and original, the Daniides, the Observations on, &c. ? You forget that you keep me in hot svater till I know whether they are arrived, or if I must have the bore of recopying. + * + ♦ * " Have you gotten the cream of translations, Francesca of Rimini, from the Inferno ? Why, I have sent you a warehouse of trash within the last month, and you have no sort of feeling about you : a pastry-cook would have had twice the gratitude, and thanked me at least for the quantity. " To make the letter heavier, I enclose you the Cardi- nal Legate's (our Campcius) circular for his conversa- zione this evening. It is the anniversary of Uie Pope's ; but you sha'n't sea it tliest> six years, if you do n't acknowledge my paekeLs with more quickness and precision. Alioai/s unVr, if but a 152 LETTERS, 1820. Une, by return of post, when any thing arrives, which is not a mere letter. « Address direct to Ravenna ; it saves a week's time, and much postage." LETTER CCCCXXXin. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, April 16, 1820, "Post after post arrives without bringing any acknow- ledgment from you of the different packets (excepting the first) which I have sent within the last two months, all of which ought to be arrived long ere now; and as they were announced in other letters, you ought at least to say whether they are come or not. You are not expected to vvTite frequent or lor^ letters, as your time is much occu- pied ; but when parcels that have cost some pains in the composition, and great trouble in the copying, are sent to you, I should at least be put out of suspense, by the im- mediate acknowledgment, per return of post, addressed directly to Ravenna. I am naturally — knowing what con- tinental poste are — eumous to hear that they are arrived; especially as I loath the task of copying so much, that if there was a human being that could copy my blotted MSS. he should have all they can ever bring for his trouble. All I desire is two lines, to say, such a day I received such a packet. There are at least six unac- knowledged. This is neither kind nor courteous. " I have, besides, another reason for desiring you to be speedy, which is, that there is that brewing in Italy which will speedily cut off all security of communication, and set all your Anglo-travellers flying in every direction, with their usual fortitude in foreign tumults. The Spa- nish and French affairs have set the Italians in a ferment ; and no wonder : they have been too long trampled on. This will malie a sad scene for your exquisite traveller, but not for the resident, who naturally wishes a people to redress itself. I shall, if permitted by the natives, remain 10 see what v^ill come of it, and perhaps to take a turn with them, like Dugald Dalgetty and his horse, in case of business ; for I shall think it by far the most interesting spectacle and moment in existence, to see the Italians send the barbarians of all nations back to their own dens. I have lived long enough among them to feel more for ihem as a nation than for any other people in existence. But they want union, and they want principle ; and I doubt their success. However, they will try, probably, and if they do, it will be a good cause. No Italian can hate an Austrian more than I do : unless it be the Eng- bsh, the Austrians seem to me the most obnoxious race under the sky. " But I doubt, if any thing be done, it won't be so qui- etly as in Spain. To be sure, revolutions are not to be made with rose-water, where there are foreigners as masters. "Write while you can; for it is but the toss up of a paul that there will not be a row that will somewhat re- tard the mail by-and-by. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCXXXIV. TO MR. HOPPNER. "Ravenna, April 18, 1820. "I have caused write to Siri and Willhalm to send with Vincenza, in a boat, the camp-beds and swords left in their care when I quitted Venice. There are also seve- ral pounds of MantorCa best powder in a japan case ; hit unUsH I felt sure of getting it away from V. without seizure, I won't have it ventured. I can gel it in here, by means of an acquamtance in the customs, who has offered to get it ashore for me ; but should like to be certiorated of its safety in leavmg Venice. I would not lose it for its weight in gold — there is none such in Italy, as I take it to be. " I wrote to you a week or so ago, and hope you are in good plight and spirits. Sir Humphry Davy is here, and was last night at tlie Cardinal's. As I had been there last Sunday, and yesterday was warm, I did not go, which I should have done, if I had thought of meeting the man of chemistry. He called this morning, and I shall go in search of him at Corso time. I beheve to-day, being Monday, there is no great conversazione, and only the family one at the Marchese Cavalli's, where I go as a relation sometimes, so that, unless he stays a day or two, we should hardly meet in public. " The theatre is to open in May for the fair, if there is not a row in all Italy by that time, — the Spanish business has set them all a constitutioning, and what will be the end no one knows — it is also necessary thereunto to have abegirming. "Yours, &c. "P. S. My benediction to Mrs. Hoppner. How is your little boy ? Allegra is growing, and has increased in good looks and obstinacy." LETTER CCCCXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, April 23, 1820. The proofs do n't contain the last stanzas of Canto Second, but end abruptly with the 103th stanza. "I told you long ago that the new Cantos* were not good, and I also told you a reason. Recollect, I do not oblige you to publish them ; you may suppress them, if you like, but I can alter nothing. I have erased the six stanzas about those two impostors, * * * * (which I suppose will give you great pleasure,) but I can do no more. I can neither recast, nor replace ; but I give you leave to put it all into the fire, if you lilie, or not to pubhsh, and I think that 's sufficient. " I told you that I wrote on with no good- will — that I had been, not frightened, but hurt by the outcry, and, be- sides, that when I wrote last November, I was ill in body, and in very great distress of mind about some private things of my own ; but you would have it : so I sent it to you, and to make it lighter, cut it in two — but I can't piece it together again. I can't cobble : I must 'either make a spoon or spoil a horn,' — and there 's an end ; for there 's no remeid: but I leave you free will to suppress the whole, if you hke it. " About the Mor garde Maggiore, I wotCI have a tine omitted. It may circulate, or it may not; but all the criticism on earth sha'n't touch aline, unless it be because it is badly trsinslated. Now you say, and I say, and others say, that tlie translation is a good one ; and so it shall go to press as it is. Pulci must answer for his own irreligion : I answer for the translation only. * + + + + * "Pray let Mr. Hobhouse look to the Italian next time in the proofs : this time, while I am scribbling to you, they are corrected by one who passes for the prettiest woman in Romagna, and even the Marches, as far as Ancona, be the other who she may. " I am glad you like my answer to your inquiries about Italian society. It is fit you should like something, and be d — d to you. " My love to Scott. I shall think liigher of knighthood ever after for his being dubbed. By-the-way, he is the first poet titled for his talent in Britain : it has happened abroad before now ; but on the continent titles are imiver- sal and worthless. Why do n't you send me Ivanhoe and !he jMonastery ? I have never written to Sir Walter, for LETTERS, 1820. 163 1 know he has a thousand things, and I a thousand nothings, to do ; but I hope to see him at Abbotsford before very long, and I will sweat his claret for him, though Italian abstemiousness has made my brain but a shilpit concern for a Scotch sitting 'mter pocula.'* I love Scott, and Moore, and all the better bretliren ; but I hate and abhor that puddle of water- worms whom you have taken into your troop. "Yours, &c. «P. S. You say that one-half is very good: you are wrong; for, if it were, it would be the finest poem in exist- ence. Where is the poetry of which one-half is good ? is it the ^neid? is it Milton^? is it Dryden's? is it ^ny one's except Pope's and Goldsmith's, of which all is good ? and yet diese last two are the poets your pond poets would explode. But if o/i€-/ia(/"of the two new Cantos be good in your opinion, what the devil would you have more ? No — no ; no poetry is generally good — only by fits and starts-^and you are lucky to get a sparkle here and there. You might as well want a midnight all stars as rhyme all perfect. " We are on the verge of a row here. Last night they have overwritten all the city walls with ' Up with the re- public I' and ' Death to the Pope ! ' &c. &c. This would be nothing in London, where the walls are privileged. But here it is a different thing: they are not used to such fierce political inscriptions, and the poUce is all on the alert, and the Cardinal glares pale through all his purple. "April 24th, 1820, 8 o'clock, p. M. " The police have been, all noon and after, searching for the inscribers, but have caught none as yet. They must have been all night about it, for the ' Live repubUcs — Death to Popes and Priests,' are innumerable, and plastered over all the palaces : ours has plenty. There is ' Down with the NobiUty,' too ; they are down enough al- ready, for that matter. A very heavy rain and wind hav- ing come on, I did not go out and ' skirr the country ;' but I shall mount to-morrow, and take a canter among the peasantry, who are a savage, resolute race, always riding with guns in their hands. 1 wonder they do n't suspect the serenaders, for they play on the guitar here all night, as in Spain, to their mistresses. " Talking of politics, as Caleb duotem says, pray look at the conclusion of my Ode on Waterloo, written m the year 1815, and, comparing it with the Duke de Berri's cata- strophe in 1820, tell me if I have not as good a right to the character of ' VateSy in both senses of the word, as Fitz- gerald and Coleridge ? ' Crimson tears will follow yet—* and have not they ? « I can't pretend to foresee what will happen among you EngUshers at this distance, but I vaticinate a row in Italy ; in whilk case, I do n't know that I won't have a finger in it. I dislike the AustriaiLs, and think the Italians Infamously oppressed ; and if they begin, why, I will recommend ' the erection of a sconce upon Drumsnab,' hke Dugald Dal- getty." LETTER CCCCXXXVL TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, May 8, 1820. "From your not having written again, an intention which your letter of the 7th ultimo indicated, I have to presume that the 'Prophecy of Dante' has not been found more worthy than its predecessors in the eyes of your illustrious synod. In that case, you will be in some perplexity ; to end which, I repeat to you, that you are not to consider yourself as bound or pledged to publish any thing because it is mine, but aways to act according to your own views, or opinions, or those of your friends ; and to bo sure that See BfpjK), Slmi; 20 you wiU in no degree offend me by ' declining the article,' to use a technical phrase. The prose observations on John Wilson's attack,* I do not intend for publication at this time ; and I send a copy of verses to Mr. Kirmaird, (they were written last year on crossing the Po,) j- which must not be published either. I mention this, because it is probable he may give you a copy. Pray recollect this, as they are mere verses of society, and written upon pri- vate feehngs and passions. And, moreover, I can't con- sent to any mutilations or omissions ofPidci: the original has been ever free from such in Italy, the capital of Cliris- tianity, and the translation may be so in England ; though you will think it strange that they should have allowed such freedom for many centuries to the Morgante, while the other day they confiscated the whole translation of the Fourth Canto of Childe Harold, and have persecuted Leoni, the translator — so he writes me, and so I could have told him, had he consulted me before its publication. This shov/s how much more politics interest men m these parts than religion. Half a dozen invectives against ty- rarmy confiscate ChUde Harold in a month ; and eight- and-twenty cantos of quizzing monks and knights, and church government, are let loose for centuries. I copy Leoni's account. " 'Non ignorerh forse che la mia versione del 4" Canto del Childe Harold fu confiscata in ogni parte : ed io stesso ho dovuto soffrir vessazioni altrettanto ridicole quanto illi- berali, ad arte che alcuni versi fossero esclusi dalla cen- sura. Ma siccome il divieto non fa d'ordmario che ac- crescere la curiositci cosi quel carme sull' Italia e ricercato piu che mai, e penso di farlo nstampare in Inghilterra senza nulla escludere. Sciagurata condizione di questa mia patria I se patria si pub chiamare una terra cosi av- viiita dalla fortuna, dagU uomini, da se medesima.' " Rose will translate this to you. Has he had his letter ? I enclosed it to you months ago. " This intended piece of publication I shall dissaude him from, or he may chance to see the inside of St. Angelo's. The last sentence of his letter is the common and patlietic sentiment of all his coumr)'men. " Sir Humphry Davy was here last fortnight, and I was in his company in the house of a very pretty Italian lady of rank, who, by way of displaying her learning in presence of the great chemist, then describing his fourteenth ascen- sion of Mount Vesuvius, asked 'if there was not a similar volcano in Ireland '/ ' My only notion of an Irish volcano consisted of the lake of Killarney, which I naturally con- ceived her to mean ; but on second thoughts I divined that she alluded to fce\a.nd and to Hecla — and so it provcd,thou?h she sustained her volcanic topography for some time with all the amiable pertinacity of ' the feminic.' She soon after turned to me, and asked me various questions about Sir Humphry's philosophy, and I explained as well as an oracle his skill in gascn safety lamps, and ungluing the Pompeian ^vISS. ' But what do you call him ?' said she. 'A great chemist,' quoth I. 'What can he do?' n-peatcd the lady. 'Almost any thing,' said I. 'Oh, tlien, mio caro, do pray beg him to give mc something to dye mv eyebrows black. I have tried a thousand things, and the colours all come off; and besides, they do n't grow : can't he invent something to make them grow?' All tliis witJi the greatest earnestness ; and what you will be surprised at, she is neither ignorant nor a fool, but really well edu- cated and clever. But they speak like children, when first out of their convents ; and, after all, tliis is better than an English blue-stocking. "I did not fell Sir Humphry of this last piece of philoso- phy, not knowing how he might take it. Davy wiusuuich taken with Ravenna, and the primitive Italitmism of the people, who are unused to foreigners : but ho only stayed a day. " Send mo Scott's novels and some news. * Bae letter lo (he ttlilor of BUckwood's MagaiiM, pap S 1 See Poeini, p. 484. LETTERS, 1820. 164 "P. S. I have begun and advanced into the second act of a tragedy on the subject of the Doge's conspiracy, (i. e. the story of Marino Faliero ;) but my present feeling is so little encouraging on such matters that I begin to think I have mined my talent out, and proceed in no great phan- tasy of finding a new vein. «P. S. I sometimes tliink (if the Italians do n't rise) of coming over to England m the autumn after the corona- tion, (at which I would not appear on account of my family schism,) but as yet I can decide nothing. The place must be a great deal changed since I left it, now more than four years ago." LETTER CCCCXXXVIl. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, May 20, 1 820. «« Murray, my dear, make my respects to Thomas Campbell,* and tell him from me, with faith and friend- ship, three things that he must right in his poets : Firstly, he says Anstey's Bath Guide characters are taken from Smollett. 'T is impossible : — the Guide was published in 1766, and Humphrey Clinker in 1771 — dunque, 't is Smollett who has taken from Anstey. Secondly, he does not know to whom Cowper alludes when he says diat there was one who ' built a church to God, and then blas- phemed his name ;' it was ' Deo erexit Voltaire,^ to whom that maniacal Calvinist and coddled poet alludes. Third- ly, he misquotes and spoils a passage from Shakspeare, 'to gild refined gold, to pamt the lily,' &c. ; for lily he puts rose, and bedevils in more words than one the whole quo- tation. " Now, Tom is a fine fellow ; but he should be correct : for the first Is an injustice, (to Anstey,) the second an ignorance, and the third a blunder. Tell him all this, and let him take it in good part ; for I might have ranmied it into a review and rowed him — instead of which, 1 act like a Christian. "Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCXXXVIU. TO MR. MITRRAY. « Ravenna, May 20, 1820. "First and foremost, you must forward my letter to Moore dated 2d January, which I said you might open, but desired you to forward. Now, you should really not forget these little things, because they do mischief among friends. You are an excellent man, a great maji, and hve among great men, but do pray recollect your absent friends and authors. « In the first place, your packets ; then a letter from Kinnaird, on the most urgent business; another from Moore, about a communication to Lady Byron of import- ance ; a fourth from the mother of AUegra ; and fifthly, at Ravenna, the Contessa G. is on the eve of being divorced. — But the Italian public are on our side, particularly the women, — and the men also, because they say that he had no business to take the business up now after a year of toleration. All her relations (who are numerous, high in rank, and powerful) are ftirious against him for his conduct. I am warned to be on my guard, as he is very ca- pable of employing .«cani — this is Latin as well as Italian, so you can understand it ; but I have arms, and do n't mind them, thinking that I could pcj^per liis ragamuffins, if they do n't come unawares, and that if they do, one may as well end that way as another ; and it would besides serve you as an advertisement. ' Man may iHcape from rope or gun, &c. But be who takes woman, woman, womaa,' &c. "Yours." "P. S. I have looked over the press, but heaven knows how. Think what I have on hand, and the post going out to-morrow. Do you remember the epitaph on Vol- taire? ' Ci-git I'enfant gStfe,' &c. * Here lies the spoil 'd child Of the world which he spoil'd.' The original is in Grimm and Diderot, &c. &c. &c, • See Don Juan, Canto V. Note 9. LETTER CCCCXXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Raverma, May 24, 1820. " I wrote to you a few days ago. There is also a letter of January last for you at Murray's which will explain to you why I am here. Murray ought to have forwarded it long ago. I enclose you an epistle from a country- woman of yours at Paris, which has moved my entrails. You will have the goodness, perhaps, to inquire into the truth of her story, and I will help her as far as I can, — though not in the useless way she proposes. Her letter is evidently unstudied, and so natural, that the orthography is also in a state of nature. " Here is a poor creature, ill and solitary, who thinlts, as a last resource, of translating you or me into French ! Was there ever such a notion ? It seems to me the con- summation of despair. Pray inquire, and let me know, and, if you could draw a bill on me here for a few hundred francs, at your banlcer's, I will duly honour it, — that is, if she is not an impostor. If not, let me know, that I may get something remitted by my banker Longhi, of Bologna, for I have no correspondence, myself, at Paris ; but tell her she must not translate ; — if she does, it will be the height of ingratitude. ' I had a letter (not of the same kind, but in French and flattery) from a Madame Sophie Gail, of Paris, whom I take to be the spouse of a Gallo-Greek of that name. Who is she ? and what is she ? and how came she to take an interest in my poeshie or its author ? If you know her, tell her, with my compliments, that, as I only read Frencli, I have not answered her letter ; but would have done so in Italian, if I had not thought it v^ould look Uke an affecta- tion. I have just been scolding my monkey for tearing the seal of her letter, and spoiling a mock book, in which I put rose leaves. I had a civet-cat the other day, too ; but it ran away after scratching my monkey's cheek, and I am in search of it still. It was the fiercest beast I ever saw, and like * * in the face and manner. I have a world of things to say ; but as they are not come to a denouement^ 1 do n't care to begin their history till it is wound up. After you went I had a fever, but ligny, translated most of it to nie t'iiv' xntce, and 1 was naturally much struck with it ; hut it was tJie Slriulmch untl the JungJ'rau, and somelliing else, much more than P'auntus, M. I.Kinarlln*. 156 LETTERS, 1820. that made me write Manfred. The first scene, however, and that of Faustus, are very siniilair Acknowledge thi letter. " Yours ever. * P. S. I have received Ivanhoe ; — good. Pray send me some tooth-powder and tincture of myrrh, by IVaite, &c Ricciardetto should have been translated literally, or not at all. As to puffing fVfdstlecraft, it won't do. I '11 tell you why some day or other. Cornwall 's a poet, but spoiled by the detestable schools of die day. Mrs. Hemans is a poet also, but too stiltified and apostrophic, — and quite wrong. Men died calmly before the Christian era, and since, without Christianity: witness the Romans, and, lately, Thistlewood, Sandt, and Lovel — men who ought to have been weighed down with their crimes, even had they be- lieved. A death-bed is a matter of nerves and constitu- tion, and not of religion. Voltaire was frightened, Frede- rick of Prussia not : Christians the same, according to tlieir strength rather than their creed. What does H * * H * * mean by his stanza ? which is octave got drunk or gone mad. He ought to have his ears boxed with Thor's ham- mer for rhyming so fantastically." LETTER CCCCXLUI. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, June 9, 1820. "GaFignani has just sent me the Paris edition of your works, (vvhich I wrote to order,) and I am glad to see my old friends with a French face. I have been skimming and dipping, in and over them, like a swallow, and as pleased as one. It is the first time that I had seen the Melodies without music ; and, I do n't know how, but I can't read in a music-book — the crotchets confound the words in my head, though I recollect them perfectly when sung. Music assists my memory through the ear, not through the eye ; I mean, that her quavers perplex me upon paper, but they are a help when heard. And thus I was glad to see the words without their borrowed robes ; — to my mind they look none the worse for their nudity. " The biographer has made a botch of your life — call- ing your father ' a venerable old gentleman,' and prattling of 'Addison,' and ' dowager countesses.' If that damned fellow was to write my life, I would certainly take his. And then, at the Dublin dinner, you have 'made a speech,' (do you recollect, at Douglas K.'s, ' Sir, he made me a speech?') too complimentary to the 'living poets,' and somewhat redolent of universal praise. / am but too well off in it, but * * + * * * * * *^ " You have not sent me any poetical or personal news of yourself. Wliy do n't you complete an Italian Tour of the Fudges ? I have just been turning over Little, which I knew by heart in 1803, being then in my fifteenth sum- mer. Heigho! I believe all the mischief I have ever done, or sung, has been owing to that confounded book of yours. "In my last I told you of a cargo of 'Poeshie,' which I had sent to M. at his own impatient desire ; — and, now he has got it, he do n't like it, and demurs. Perhaps he is right. I have no great opinion of any of my last ship- ment, exrepr a translation from Pulci, which is word for word, and verse for verse. " I am in the Third Act of a Tragedy ; but whether it will be finished or not, I know not : I have, at this pre- sent, too many passions of my own on hand to do justice to those of the dead. Besides the vexations mentioned in my last, I have incurred a quarrel with the Pope's carabiniers, or gens-d'armerie, who have petitioned the Cardinal against my liveries, as resembling too nearly their own lousy uniform. They particularly object to the epaulettes, which all the world with us have upon gala days. My liveries are of the colours conforming to my arms, and have been the family hue since the year 1066. "I have sent a tranchant reply, as you may suppose ; and have given to understand that, if any soldados of that respectable corps insult my servants, I will do likewise by their gallant commanders; £uid I have directed my ragamuffins, six in number, who are tolerably savage, to defend themselves, in case of aggression ; and, on holy- days and gaudy days, I shall arm the whole set, including myself, in case of accidents or treachery. I used to play pretty well at tlie broadsword, once upon a time, at Angelo's ; but I should like the pistol, our national buc- caneer weapon, better, though I am out of practice at present. However, I can 'wink and hold out mine iron.' It makes me think (the whole thing does) of Romeo and Juliet — 'now, Gregory, remember thy smashing blow.' "All these feuds, however, with the Cavalier for his wife, and the troopers for my liveries, are very tiresome to a quiet man, who does his best to please all the world, and longs for fellowship and good-will. Pray write. " I am yours, &€." LETTER CCCCXLIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, July 13. 1820. " To remove or mcrease your Irish anxiety about my being ' in a whisp,'* I answer your letter forthwith ; pre- mismg that, as I am a ' Will of the wisp.' I may chance to flit out of it. But, first, a word on the Memoir ; — I have no objection, nay, I would rather that one correct copy was taken and deposited in honourable hands, in case of accidents happening to the original ; for you know that I have none, and have never even re-read, nor, indeed, read at all what is there written ; I only know that I wrote it with the fullest intention to be 'faithfial and true' in my narrative, but not impartial — no, by the Lord ! I can't pre- tend to be thai, while I feel. But I wish to give every body concerned the opportunity to contradict or correct me. " I have no objection to any proper person seeing what is there written, — seeing it was written, like every thing else, for the purpose of being read, however much many writings may fail in arriving at that object. " With regard to ' the whisp,' the Pope has pronounced their separation. The decree came yesterday from Baby- lon, — it was she and her friends who demanded it, on the grounds of her husband's (the noble Count Cavalier's) extraordinary usage. He opposed it with all his might, because of the ahmony, which has been assigned, with all her goods, chattels, carriage, &c. to be restored by him. In Italy they can't divorce. He insisted on her giving me up, and he would forgive every thing, — even the adul- tery which he swears that he can prove by ' famous wit- nesses.' But, in this country, the very courts hold such proofs in abhorrence, the Italians being as much m6re delicate in public than the English, as they are more passionate in private. "The friends and relatives, who are numerous and powerful, reply to him — ' You yourself are either fool or knave, — fool, if you did not see the consequences of the approximation of these two young persons, — knave, if you connive at it. Take your choice, — but do n't break out (after twelve months of the closest intimacy, under your ovm eyes and positive sanction) with a scandal, which can only make you ridiculous and her unhappy.' " He swore that he thought our intercourse was purely amicable, and that / was more partial to him than to her, till melancholy testimony proved the contrary. To this they jmswer. that ' Will of this wisp' was not an unknown person, and that ' clamosa Fama' had not proclaimed the purity of my morals ; — that her brother, a year ago, wrote from Rome to warn him, that his wife would infallibly be led astray by this ignis fatuus, unless he took proper measures, all of which he neglected to take, &c. &c. Ai> Irish phrase for being in a Ecrape. LETTERS, 1820. 157 "Now, he says, that he encouraged my return to Ravenna, to see ' in quanii piedi di acqua siamo^ and he has found enough to drown him in. In short, ' Ce lie fut pas le tout ; sa femme se plaignit — Procfe — La pareiUes i>e joiiu en excuse et dit Q,ue du Doclew venoii lout le mauvais mfenage ; due eel hommefeloit fou, que sa femrae fetoil sage. Oil fit casser le mariage.' It is but to let the women alone, in the way of conflict, for they are sure to win against the field. She returns to her father's house, and I can only see her under great restrictions — such is the custom of the country. The relations behaved very well; — I offered any settle- ment, but they refused to accept it, and swear she slia n't live with G. (as he has tried to prove her faithless,) but that he shall maintain her ; and, in fact, a judgment to this effect came yesterday. I am, of course, in an awk- ward situation enough. " I have heard no more of the carabiniers who protested against my liveries. They are not popular, those same soldiers, and, in a small row, the other night, one was slain, another wounded, and divers put to flight, by some of the Romagnuole youth, who are dexterous, and some- what liberal of the knife. The perpetrators are not discovered, but I hope and believe that none of my raga- muffins were in it, though they are somewhat savage, and secretly armed, like most of the inhabitants. It is their way, and saves sometimes a good deal of litigation. " There is a revolution at Naples. If so, it will pro- bably leave a card at Ravenna in its way to Lombardy. "Your publishers seem to have used you like mine. Murray has shuffled, and almost insinuated that my last productions are dull. Dull, sir ! — damme, dull I I believe he is right. He begs for the completion of my tragedy on Marino Faliero, none of which is yet gone to England. The fifth act is nearly completed, but it is dreadfully long ^-40 sheets of long paper, 4 pages each — about 150 when printed; but 'so full of pastime and prodigality' that I think it will do. " Pray send and publish your Poem upon me ; and do n't be afraid of praising me too highly. I shall pocket my blushes. " ' Not actionable !' — Chantre (Tenfer .'* — by * * that 's * a speech,' and I won't put up with it. A pretty title to give a man for doubting if there be any such place ! "So my Gail is gone — and Miss Mahony won't take wioney. I am very glad of it — I lilie to be generous free of expense. But beg her not to translate me. " Oh, pray tell Galignani that I shall send him a screed of doctrine if he don't be more punctual. Somebody regularly detains ttoo, and sometimes four, of his messen- gers by the way. Do, pray, entreat him to be more precise. News are worth money in this remote lungdom of the Ostrogoths. "Pray, reply. I should like much to share some of your Champagne and La Fitte, but I am too Italian for Paris in general. Make Murray send my letter to you — it is full of epigrams. Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCXLV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, July 17, 1820. *I have received some books, and Gtuartorlic^s, ami Edinburghs, for all which I am grateful ; th(!y contain all I know of England, except by Galignani's newspaper. " The Tragcdyl is completed, but now comes the task of copy and correction. It is very long, (42 sheets of long paper, of four pages each,) and I believe must make mon- than 140 or 150 pages, bcisides many historical extracts as notes, which I mean to append. History is closely • The title Rivni liim by M. Lamarliiic, in one of liU l'o«iui. t Marioo FuUoro. followed. Dr. Moore's account is in some respects falsci and in all foolish and flippant. JVone of the chronicles (and I have consulted Sanuto, Sandi, Navagero, and an anonymous Siege of Zara, besides the histories of Lau- gier, Daru, Sismondi, &c.) state, or even hint, that he begged his life ; they merely say that he did not deny the conspiracy. He was one of their great men, — com- mander at the siege of Zara, — beat 80,000 Hungarians, killing 8000, and at the same time kept the town he was besieging in order, — took Capo d'Istria, — was ambassa- dor at Genoa, Rome, and finally Doge, where he fell for treason, in attempting to alter the government, by what Sanuto calls a judgment on him for, many years before, (when Podesta and Captain of Treviso,) having knocked down a bishop, who was sluggish in carrying the host at a procession. He ' saddles him,' as Thwackum did Square, 'with a judgment;' but he does not mention whether he had been punished at the time for what would appear very strange, even now, and must have been still more so in an age of papal power and glory. Sa- nuto says, that Heaven took away his senses for this buffet, and induced him to conspire. ' Peri) fu permesso che il Faliero perdette I' intelletto,' &c. " I do not know what your parlour-boarders will think of the Drama I have founded upon this extraordinary event. The only similar one in history is the story of Agis, King of Sparta, a prince, with the commons against the aristocracy, and losing his life therefor. But it shall be sent when copied. " I should be glad to know why your duartering- Re- viewers, at the close of ' the Fall of Jerusalem,* accuse me of Manicheism? a compliment to which the sweetener of 'one of the mightiest spirits' by no means reconciles me. The Poem they review is very noble ; but rould they not do justice to the writer without converting him into my religious antidote ? T am not a Manichean, nor an Any- chean. I should like to know what harm my ' poeshies' have done ? I can't tell what people mean by making me a hobgoblin." ♦ * + ** + LETTER CCCCXLVI. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, August 31, 1820. "I have 'put my sout into the tragedy, (as you if it:) but you know that there are d — d souls as well as trage- dies. Recollect that it is not a political plav, though it may look like it : it is strictly historical. Read the history and judge. "Ada's picture is her mother's. I am glad of it — the mother made a good daughter. Send me Giffonl's opi- nion, and never mind the Archbishop. 1 can neither send vou away, nor give you a hundred pistoles, nor a better taste: I send you a tragedy, and you asked for 'facetious epistles ;' a little like your predecessor, who advised Dr. Prideaux to 'put some more humour into his Life of Ma- homet.' " Bankcs is a wonderful fellow. There is hardly one of my school or college contemjiorarios that has not turned out more or less celebrated. Peel, Palmerston, Bankes, Hobhouse, Tavistock, Boh Mills, Douglas Kinnaird, &c. &c. have all talked and been talked about. ♦ * ♦ ♦ ♦ "We are hero going to fight a little next month, if the Huns don't cross the Po, and probably if they do. I can't say more now. If any thin CJertnan from phU'iiin, the Turkish from fanaticism and opium, the Spiuiish from pride, the F,n>'Jish from c few months of the same duration of time of my slay and my absence. In course, I can know nothing of the pul)lic taste and feelings, but from what I glean from letters, &c. Both seem to bo as bad as [tossible. " I thought Anastimus excellent : did I not say so ? Matthews's Diary most excellent ; it, and Forsyth, and Marino Faliero. parts of Hobhouse, are all we have of truth or sense upon Italy. The letter to Julia very good indeed. I do not despise * * * * * *; but if she knit blue-stockinga instead of wearing them, it would be better. You are taken in by that false, stilted, trashy style, which is a mix- ture of all the styles of the day, which are all bombastic, (I don't except my aum — no one has done more through negligence to corrupt the language ;) but it is neither English nor poetry. Time will show. "I am sorry Gifford has made no farther remarks beyond the first Act; does he think all the English equally sterling as he thought the first ? You did right to send the proofs: I was a fool; but I do really detest the sight of proofs: it is an absurdity ; but comes from laziness. " You can steal the two Juans into the world quietly, tagged to the others. The play as you will — the Dante too ; but the Pulci I am proud of: it is superb ; you have no such translation. It is the best thing I ever did in my life. I wrote the play from beginning to end, and not a single scene without interruption, and being obliged to break off in the middle ; for I had my hands full, and my head, too, just then ; so it can be no great shakes — I mean tlie play ; and the head too, if you like. "P. S. Politics here still savage and uncertain. How- ever, we are all in our 'bandaliers' to join the 'Highland- ers if they cross the Forth,' i. e. to crush the Austrians if they pass the Po. The rascals ! — and that dog Liver- pool, to say their subjects are happy ! If ever I come back, I'll work some of these ministers. * Sept. 29. '■ " I open my letter to say that on reading mare of the four volumes on Italy, where the author says ' declined an introduction,' I perceive {horresco referms) it is written by a WOMAN ! ! ! In that case you must suppress my note and answer,* and all I have said about the book and the writer. I never dreamed of it until now, in my extreme wrath at that precious note. I can only say tliat I am sorry that a lady should say any thing of the kind. What I would have said to one of ihe other sex you know already. Her book too (as a slie book) is not a bad one ; but she evidently don't know the Italians, or raiher don't like them, and forgets the causes of their misery and pro- fligacy, {Mattheivs and Forsyth are your men for the truth and tact,) and has gone over Italy in company cdways a bad plan: you must be alone with people to know them well. Ask her, who was the '■descendant of Lady M. W. Mordague^ and by whom ? by Algarotti ? 1 suspect that in Marino Falioro, you and yours won't like the politics which are perilous to yon in these times: but recollect that it is not a political play, and that I was obliged to put into the mouths of the choracters tlie sentiments upon which they acted. I hate all things written like Pizarro, to represent France, England, and so forth. All I have done is meant to be purely Vene- tian, even to the very prophecy of its |)resent slate. " Your Angles in general know little of the lUdiuuSy ho detest them for their numbers and their Gknoa treachery. Besides, the English travellers have not been omposed onH reach. Every man is liable to it nu>re or less, according to circumstances or place. For inslauce, I am living here exposed to it daily, for 1 have hiippiiicil lo make a powerful and unprincipled man my enemy ; — and * See Letter Mi. 160 LETTERS, 1820. I never sleep the worse for it, or ride in less solitary places, because precaution is useless, and one thinks of it as of a disease which may or may not strike. It is true that there are those here, who, if he did, would ' live to tliink on 't ;' but that would not awake my bones : I should be sorry if it would, were they once at rest." LETTER CCCCLIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, Sbrc 6", 1820. « You will have now received all the Acts, corrected, of the Marino Faliero. What you say of the ' bet of 100 guineas' made by some one who says that he saw me last week reminds me of what happened in 1810; you can easily ascertain the fact, and it is an odd one. " Jn the latter end of 1811, I met one evening at the Alfred my old school and form-fellow, (for we were within two of each other, he the higher, though both very near the top of our remove,) Peel, the Irish secretary. He told me that, in 1810, he met me, as he thought, in St. James'-street, but we passed without speaking. He men- tioned this, and it was denied as impossible ; I being then in Turkey. A day or two afterwards, he pointed out to his brother a person on the opposite side of the way : — ' There,' said he ' is the man whom I took for Byron.' His brother instantly answered, ',Why it is Byron, and no one else.' But this is not all : — I was seen by some- body to write down my name among the inquirers after the king's health, then attacked by insanity. Now, at this very period, as nearly as I could make out, I was ill of a strvith regard to " English poetry" in general, and which merited notice, because it was yours. " ' My principal object in addressing you was to testify my sincere respect and admiration of a man, who, for half a century, has led the hterature of a great nation, and wiU go down to posterity as the first literary character of his age. " ' You have been fortunate, sir, not only in the vrritings which have illustrated your name, but in the name itself^ as being sufficiently musical for the articulation of poste- rity. In this you have the advantage of some of your countrymen, wnose names would perhaps be immortal also — ^if any body could pronounce them. " ' It may, perhaps, be supposed, by this apparent tone of levity, that I am wanting in intentional respect towards you ; but this wili be a mistake : I am always flippant in prose . Considering you, as I really and warndy do, is common with all your own, and with most other nations, to be by far the first literary diaracter which has existed in Europe since the death of Voltaire, 'I felt, and feel, desirous to inscribe to you the foUowdng woa-k, — not as being either a tragedy or a poem, (for I cannot pronounce upon its pretensions to be either one or the other, or both, or neither,) but as a mark of esteem and admiratioB from a foreigner to the man who has been hailed in GermaBy "the great GOETHE." " ' I have the honour to be, " ' with the truest respect, ^ ' your most obedient " ' and very humble servant, «' Byron."* "Ravenna, 8»*« 14o,1820. "P.S.I perceive that in Germany, as well as in Italy, tliere is a great struggle about what they call ' ClassieaP and ' Ronwoitic^ — terms which were not subjects of clas- sification in England, at least when I left it four or five years ago. Some of the English scribblers, it is true, abused Pope and Swift, but the reason was that they themselves did not know how to write either prose or verse ; but nobody thought them worth making a sect of. Perhaps there may be something of the kind spnmg up lately, but I have not heard much about it, and it would be such bad taste that I shall be very sorry to believe it.** LETTER CCCCLIX. to MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, October 17th, 1820. "You owe me two letters — pay them. I want to know what you are about. The summer is over, and you will be back to Paris. Apropos of Paris, it was not Sophia Goal, but Sophia Gay — the English word Gay — who was my correspondent. Can you tell who «Ae is, as you did of the defunct * + ? " Have you gone on with your poem ? I have received the French of mine . Only think of being traduced into a foreign language in such an abominable travesty ! It is useless to rail, but one can't help it. " Have you got my Memoir copied ? I have begun a continuation. Shall I send it you, as far as it is gone ? " I can't say any thing to you about Italy, for the Go- vernment here look upon me with a suspicious eye, as I am well informed. Pretty fellows! — as if I, a solitary stranger, could do any mischief. It is because I am fond of rifle and pistol shooting, I beheve ; for they took the «l LETTERS, 1820. i63 alarm at the quantity of cartridges I consumed, — the wiseacres ! " You do n't deserve a long letter — nor a letter at all — for your silence. You have got a new Bourbon, it seems, whom they have christened ' Dieu-donne ;' — perhaps the honour of the present may be disputed. Did you write the good lines on , the Laker ? * + ** The queen has made a pretty theme for the journals. Was there ever such evidence published? Why it is worse than • Little's Poems' or ' Don Juan .' If you do n't write soon, I will ' make you a speech ' « Yours, &c." LETTER CCCCLX. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, S^re 25, 1820. " Pray forward the enclosed to Lady Byron. It is on business, " In thanking you for the Abbot, I made four grand mistakes. Sir John Gordon was not of Gight, but of Bogagicht, and a son of Huntley's. He suffered not for his loyalty, but in an insurrection. He had nothing to do with Loch Leven, having been dead some time at the period of the Ctueen's confinement : and, fourthly, I am not sure that he was the Q,ueen's paramour or no, for Robertson does not allude to this, though JVatier Scott does, in the list he gives of her admirers (as unfortunate) at the close of ' the Abbot.' " I must have made all these mistakes in recollecting my mother's account of the matter, although she was more accurate than I am, being precise upon points of genealogy, like all the aristocratical Scotch. She had a long list of ancestors, like Sir Lucius O'Trigger's, most of whom are to be found in the old Scotch Chronicles, Spalding, &c. in arms and doing mischief. I remember well passing Loch Leven, as well as the Q,ueen's Ferry : we were on our way to England in 1798. " Yours. "You had better not publish Blackwood and the Roberts' prose, except what regards Pope ; — ^you have let the time slip by." LETTER CCCCLXI. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, 9^»« 4, 1820. ♦•I have received from Mr. Galignani the enclosed let- ters, duplicates, and receipts, which will explain them- selves.* As the poems are your property by purchase, right, and justice, all matters of publication, &c. &c. are fur you to decide upon. I know not how far my compliance with Mr. Galignani's request might be legal, and I doubt that it would not be honest. In case you ciioose to ar- range with him, I enclose the permits to you, and in so doing I wash my hands of the business altogether, I sign them merely to enable you to exert the power yo»i justly possess more properly. I will have nothing to do with it farther, except, in my answer to Mr. Galignani, to state that the letters, &c. &c. are sent to you, and the causes thereof. "If you can check those foreign pirates, do ; if not, put the permissive papers in the fire. I can have no view nor object whatever, but to secure to you your properly. "Yours, &c. " P. S. I have read part of the duarlcrly just arrived ; Mr. Bowles shall be answered : — h»^ is not i/ui7e correcl * Mr. (iaiignnni had n[)|)lip(l to Iiorfl Uyroii with tho viow (if |ironirtng from him siicli \e\^a\ light over thoiir woilm olhin nf which he had hllhcrlo been tho noln pulilUhrr in Pi-uiice,nH wuiilil unable lilm to ji|«vciit utheri, ill future, from uturpiiig the iuma |irlvlli)|{i-. in his statement about English Bards and Scotch Re- viewers. They support Pope, I see, in the (Quarterly ; let them continue to do so: it is a sin, and a shame, and a damnation to think that Pope!! should require it — but he does. Those miserable mountebanlis of the day, the poets, disgrace themselves and deny God in running down Pope, the most faiMess of poets, and almost of men. LETTER CCCCLXn. TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, Nov. 5, 1820. " Thanks for your letter, which hath come somewhat costively, — but better late than never. Of it anon. Mr. Galignani, of the Press, hath, it seems, been supplanted and sub-pirated by another Parisian publisher, who has audaciously printed an edition of L, B.'s Works, at the ultra-liberal price of 10 francs, and (as GaUgnani pite- ously observes) 8 francs only for booksellers ! 'horresco referens.' Think of a man's whole works producing so little ! "Galignani sends me, post haste, a permission ^br him, from m£, to publish, &c. &c., which permit I have signed and sent to Mr. Murray, of Albemarle-street. Will you explain to G. thai I have no right to dispose of Murray's works without his leave ? and therefore I must refer him to M. to get the permit out of his claws — no easy matter, I suspect. I have written to G. to say as much ; but a word of mouth from a ' great brother author' would con- vince him tliat I could not honestly have complied with his wish, though I might legally. What I could do I have done, viz. signed the warrant and sent it to Murray. Let the dogs divide tlie carcass, if it is killed to their liking. " I am glad of your epigram. It is odd that we should both let our wits run away with our sentiments ; for I am sure that we are both Q,ueen's men at bottom. But there is no resisting a clinch — it is so clever ! Apropos of that — we have ' a dipthong' also in this part of die world — not a Greek, but a Spanish one — do you understand me ? — which is about to blow up the whole alphabet. It was first pronounced at Naples, and is spreading ; — but we are nearer the Barbarians ; who are in great force on the Po, and will pass it, with the first legitimate pretext. " There will be the devil to pay, and there is no saying who will or who will not be set down in his bill. If 'honour should come unlooked for' to any of your ac- (iuaintn I heard llx^ shot. On coming into tlio hall, I found all tny servants on iho balcony, • Hohcrealliuluii to a humorous arlicio, of wliiili I liiul loM him, in niackwood'B MnRixzinn, where Ihc |ioe(» of Ihc diiy wrrr nil e'"iip"l «o(;elher inn variety of fanlii»ilc, ahaiicii, willi " r.oiil Hvroii iiii.l hiile Mooro Inufihing hfiiind, an if lh«y wouM niilil," ill lh« reit of iho fraWr- filty. — Moore. tSecDonJiitn Canto V. Stanza 83. exclaiming that a man was murdered. I immediately ran down, calling on Tita (the bravest of them) to follow me. The rest wanted to hinder us from going, as it is the custom for every body here, it seems, to run away from 'the stricken deer.' " However, down we ran, and found him lying on his back, almost, if not quite, dead, with five wounds, one in •the heart, two in the stomach, one in the finger, and the other in the arm. Some soldiers cocked their gvms, and wanted to hinder me from passing. However, we passed, and I found Diego, the adjutant, crying over him Uke a child — a surgeon, who said nothing of his profession — a priest, sobbing a frightened prayer — and the commandant, all this time, on his back, on the hard, cold pavement, with- out hght or assistance, or any thing around him but confu- sion and dismay. "As nobody could, or would, do any thing but howl and pray, and as no one would stir a finger to move him, for fear of consequences, I lost my patience — made my servant and a couple of the mob take up the body — sent off two soldiers to the guard — despatched Diego to the Cardinal with the news, and had the commandant carried up stairs into my own quarter. But it was too late, he was gone — not at all disfigured — bled inwardly — not above an ounce or two came out. "I had him partly stripped — ^made the surgeon examine him, and examined him myself. He had been shot by cut balls, or slugs. I felt one of the slugs, which had gone through him, all but the skin. Every body conjectures why he was killed, but no one knows how. The gun was found close by him — an old gun, half filed down. " He only said, * O Dio !' and ' Gesu !' two or three times, and appeared to have suffered little. Poor fellow ! he was a brave officer, but had made himself much disliked by the people. I knew him personally, and had met him often at conversazioni and elsewhere. My house is full of soldiers, dragoons, doctors, priests, and all kinds of per- sons, — though I have now cleared it, and clapped senti- nels at the doors. To-morrow the body is to be moved. The town is in the greatest confusion, as you may suppose. "You arc to know that, if I had not had the body moved, they would have left him there till morning in the street, for fear of consequences. I would not choose to let even a dog die in such a manner, withotit succour ; — and, as for consequences, I care fijr none in a duty. « Yours, &c. " P. S. The lieutenant on duty by the body is smoking his pipe with great composure. — A queer people this." LETTER CCCCLXIX. TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, Dec. 25, 1820. " You will or ought to have received the packet and let- ters which I remitted to your address a fortnight ago, (or it may be more days,) and I shall be glad of an answer, as, in these times ami |)laces, packets per post are in some risk of not reaching tlu-ir destination. "I have been thinking of a project for you and mr, in case wo both get to London again, which (if a Ni\tpolilan war do n't suscitato) may be calculated as possible for one of us about tlio spring of 1821. I prosimie that yon, too, will b(^ hark by llial l\\\v\ or never ; hut on that yon will give mo some index. Th(> project, tlirn, is fiv you and mo to sot up jointly a nnntpaprr — nothing more nor less — weekly, or so, with sonio imjirovenirnf or modifionlions upon tli«> plan of the present scournlrols, who tlograde that (leparlniiiil, — but a neivsjinjirr, which \vc will wlit indue form, and, n<»vrrthel»>ss, with somr attention. "TlnrtMuust always bi> in it apiece of pt)esy from ono or olhir of \u tiifi, leaving room, however, for such dilet- tanti rhymer.'! iis may bo doemcd worthy of appearing in the same column ; but this must be a nne ifvA noti ; and alio 168 LETTERS, 1820- as much prose as we can compass. We will take an qfflce— our Dames not announced, but suspected — and, by the blessing of Providence, give the age some nevi^ lights upon policy, poesy, biography, criticism, morality, theology, and all other ism, ality, and ology whatsoever. " Why, man, if we were to take to this in good earnest, your debts would be paid off in a twelvemonth, and by dint of a Uttle diligence and practice, I doubt not that we could distance the commonplace blackguards, who have so long disgraced common sense and the common reader. They have no merit but practice zmd impudence, both of which we may acquire, and, as for talent and culture, the devil 's in 't if such proofs as we have given of both can't furnish out something better tlian the ' funeral baked meats' which have coldly set forth the breakfast table of all Great Britain for so many years. Now, what think you? Let me know ; and recollect that, if we take to such an enterprise, we must do so in good earnest. Here is a hint, — do you make it a plan. We will modify it into as literary and classical a concern as you please, only let us put out our powers upon it, and it will most likely succeed. But you must live in London, and I also, to bring it to bear, and we must keep it a secret. "As for the Uving in London, I would make that not difficult to you, (if you would allow me,) until we could see whether one means or other (the success of the plan, for instance) would not make it quite easy for you, as well as your family ; and, in any case, we should have some fun, composing, correcting, supposing, inspecting, and supping together over our lucubrations. If you think this worth a thought, let me know, and I will begin to lay in a small literary capital of composition for the occasion. " Yours ever affectionately, «B. ** P. S . If you thought of a middle plan bet^veen a Spec- tator and a newspaper, why not? — only not on a Sunday. Not that Sunday is not an excellent day, but it is engaged already. We vvill call it the 'Tenda Rossa,' the name Tassoni gave an answer of his in a controversy, in allu- sion to the delicate hint of Timour the Lame, to his ene- mies, by a ' Tenda' of that colour, before he gave battle. Or we will call it 'Gli,' or 'I Carbonari,' if it so please you — or any other name full of ' pastime and prodigality,' which you may prefer. + ♦** + * Let me have an answer. I conclude poetically, with the bellman, * A merry Christmas to you !' " ADDRESS TO THE NEAPOLITAN GOVERNMENT. [^Translation from the original Italian.'] " An Englishman, a friend to liberty, having understood that the Neapolitans permit even foreigners to contribute to the good cause, is desirous that they should do him the honour of accepting a thousand louis, which he takes the liberty of offering. Having already, not long since, been an ocular witness of the despotism of the Barbarians in the States occupied by them in Italy, he sees, with the enthusiasm natural to a cultivated man, the generous deter- mination of the Neapolitans to assert their well-won independence. As a member of the English House of Peer.-?, he would be a traitor to the principles which placed the reigning family of England on the throne, if he were not grateful for the noble lesson so lately given both to people and to kings. The offer wliich he desires to make is small in itself, as must always be that presented from an individual to a nation ; but he trusts lliat it will not be the last they will receive from his countrj'men. His distance from the frontier, and the feeling of liis personal incapacity to contribute efficaciously to the service of the nation, prevents him from proposing himself as worthy of the lowest commission, for which experience and talent might Ic requisite. But if, as a mere volunteer, his presence were not a burden to whomsoever he might serve under he would repair to whatever place the Neapolitan govern- ment might point out, there to obey the orders andparti- | cipate in the dangers of his commanding officer, without I any other motive than that of shaiing the destiny of a brave nation, defending itself against the self-called Holy Alliance, which but combines tlie vice of hypocrisy with despotism." LETTER CCCCLXX. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, Jan. 2, 1821. Your entering into my project for the Memoir is pleasant to me. But I doubt (contrary to my dear Mad^ MacF * *, whom I always loved, and always shall — not only because I really did feel attached to her personaUy, but because she and about a dozen others of that sex were all who stuck by me in the grand conflict of 1815) but I doubt, I say, whether the Memoir could appear in my lifetime ; — and, indeed, I had rather it did not , for a man always hoks dead after his Life has appeared, and I should certes not survive the appearance of mine. The first part I cannot consent to alter, even although Made de Stael's opinion of Benjamm Constant, and my remarks upon Lady Caroline's beauty, (which is surely great, and I suppose that I have said so — at least, I ought,) should go down to our grandchildren in unsophis- ticated nakedness. " As to Madame de Stael, I am by no means bound to be her beadsman — she was always more civil to me in person than during my absence. Our dear defunct friend, Matthew Lewis, who was too great a bore ever to lie, assured me, upon his tiresome word of honour, that, at Florence, the said Madame de Stael was o\yen-moui.hed against me ; and, when asked, in Switzerland, why she had changed her opinion, replied, with laudable sincerity, that I had named her in a sonnet with Voltaire, Rous- seau, &c. &c. and that she could not help it, through decency. Now, I have not forgotten this, but I have been generous, — as mine acquaintance, the late Captain Whitby of the navy, used to say to his seamen (when 'married to the gunner's daughter') — 'two dozen, and let you off easy.' The ' two dozen' were with the cat-- nine-tails ; — the ' let you off easy' was rather his own opinion than that of the patient. "My acquaintance with these terms and practices arises from my having been much conversant with ships of war and naval heroes in the years of my voyages in the Mediterranean. Whitby was in the gallant action ofFLissa in 1811. He was brave, but a disciplinarian. When he left his frigate, he left a.parrot, which was taught by the crew the following sounds — (It must be remarked that Captain Whitby was the image of Fawcett the actofj in voice, face, and figure, and that he squinted.) * The Parrot loquitur. " ' Whitby ! Whitby ! furmy eye ! funny eye ! two do« zen, and let you off easy. Oh you I' " Now, if Madame de B. has a parrot, it had better bo taught a French parody of the same sounds. " With regard to our purposed Journal, I will call it what you please, but it should be a newspaper, to mako itpay. We can call it ' The Harp,' if you like — or any tiling. " I feel exactly as you do about our * art,' but it comes over me in a kind of rage every now and then, like ♦ * * * and then, if I don't write to empty my mind, I go mad. As to that regular, uninterrupted love of writing, which you describe in your friend, I do not understand it. I feel it as a torture, which I must get rid of, but never as a pleasure. On the contrary, I think composition a great pain. " I wish you to think seriously of the Journal scheme — for I am as serious as one can be, in this world, about LETTERS, 1821. 169 any thing. As to matters here, they are high and mighty —but not for paper. It is much about the state of things between Cain and Abel. There is, in fact, no law or government at all ; and it is wonderful how well things go on without them. Excepting a few occasional mur- ders, (every body killing whomsoever he pleases, and bemg killed, in turn, by a friend, or relative, of the de- funct,) there is as quiet a society and as merry a Carni- val as can be met with in a tour through Europe. There is nothing lilie habit in these things. "I shall remain here till May or June, and, unless •honour comes unlooked-for,' we may perhaps meet, in France or England, within the year. « Yours, &c. « Of course, I cannot explain to you existing circum- stances, as they open all letters. " Will you set me right about your cursed ' Champs Elysees ?' — are they ' es' or ' ees' for the adjective ? I know nothing of French, being all Italian. Though I can read and understand French, I never attempt to speak it ; for I hate it. From the second part of the Memoirs cut what you please." LETTER CCCCLXXI. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, January 4, 1821. **I just see, by the papers of Galignani, that there is a new tragedy of great expectation by Barry Cornwall.* Of what I have read of his works I liked the Dramatic Sketches, but thought his Sicilian story and Marcian Colonna, in rhyme, quite spoiled, by I know not what affectation of Wordsworth, and Moore, and myselfj — all mixed up into a kind of chaos. I think him very likely to produce a good tragedy, if he keep to a natural style, and not play tricks to form harlequinades for an audience. As he (Barry Cornwall is not his true name) was a schoolfellow of mine, I take more than common interest in his success, and shall be glad to hear of it speedily. If I had been aware that he was in that line, I should have spoken of him in the preface to Marino Faliero. He will do a world's wonder if he produce a great tragedy. I am, however, persuaded, that this is not to be done by following the old dramatists, — who are full of gross faults, pardoned only for the beauty of their language, — ^but by writing naturally and regularly^ and producing regular tragedies, like the Greeks ; but not in imitation, — merely the outline of their conduct, adapted to our own times and circumstances, and of course no chorus. " You will laugh, and say, ' Why do n't you do so ?' I have, you see, tried a sketch in Marino Faliero; but many people think my talent ' essentially undramatic^ and I am not at all clear that they are not right. If Marino Faliero don't fall — in the perusal — I shall, perhaps, try again, (but not for the stage ;) and as I think that love is not the principal passion for tragedy, (and yet most of ours turn upon it,) you will not find me a popular writer. Unless it is love, /wriows, criminal, and hapless, it ought not to make a tragic subject. When it is melting and maudlin, it does, but it ought not to do ; it is then for the gallery and second-price boxes. " If you want to have a notion of what I am trying, take up a translation of any of the Greek tragedians. If I said the original, it would be an impudent presumption ofmine ; but the translations are so inferior to the origi- nals that I think I may risk it. Then judge of the ' sim- plicity of plot,' &c. and do not judge mo by your old mad dramatists, which is like drinking usquebaugh and then proving a fountain. Yet, after all, I suppose tliat you do not mean that spirits is a nobler clement than a clear ' Sm Don Juan, Canto XI . SUnza ( 22 spring bubbhng in the sun ? and this I take to be the dif- ference between the Greeks and those turbid mounte- banks — always excepting Ben Jonson, who was a scho- lar and a classic. Or, take up a translation of Alfieri, and try the interest, &c. of these my new attempts in the old Une, by him in English ; and then tell me fairly your opinion. But do n't measure me by your own old or new tailors' yards . Nothing so easy as intricate con- fusion of plot and rant. Mrs. Centlivre, in comedy, has ten times the bustle of Congreve ; but are they to be com- pared ? and yet she drove Congreve from the theatre." LETTER CCCCLXXIL TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, January 19, 1821. " Yours of the 29th ultimo hath arrived. I must really and seriously request that you will beg of Messrs. Harris or Elliston to let the Doge alone : it is not an acting play ; it will not serve their purpose ; it will destroy yours, (the sale ;) and it vwll distress me. It is not courteous, it is hardly even gentlemanly, to persist in this appropria- tion of a man's writings to their mountebanks. " I have already sent you by last post a short protest to the public, (against this proceeding ;) in case that they persist, which I trust that they wll not, you must then publish it in the newspapers. I shall not let them off with that only, if they go on ; but malte a longer appeal on that subject, and state what I think the injustice of their mode of behaviour. It is hard that I should have all the buffoons in Britain to deal with — -pirates who vnll publish, and players who will act — when there are thou- sands of worthy men who can neither get bookseller nor manager for love nor money. " You never answered me a word about Galignani. If you mean to use the two documents, do ; if not, burn them . I do not choose to leave them in any one's pos- session ; suppose some one found them without the let- ters, what would they think? why, that /had been doing the opposite of what I have done, to wit, referred the whole thmg to you — an act of civility, at least, which required saying, ' I have received your letter.' I thought that you might have some hold upon those publications by this means ; to me it can be no interest one way or tlie other. " The third canto of Don Juan is ' dull,' but you must really put up with it : if the first two and tlie two follow- ing are tolerable, what do you expect ? particularly as I neither dispute with you on it as a matter of criticism or as a matter of business. " Besides, what am I to understand ? you, and Dou- glas Kinnaird, and otJiers, write to me, that the first two published cantos are among the best tliat I ever vvTote, and are reckoned so ; Augusta writes that they aro thought 'execrable' (bitter word that for an author — eh, Murray?) as a composition even, and that she had heard so much against them that she would nei>er read them, and never has. Be that as it may, I can't alter ; tliat is not my forte. If you publish the three new ones without ostentation, they may perhaps succeed. "Pray publish the Daiite and the Pulci, (the Prophecy of ZJa?i/e, I mean.) I look upon the Pulci as my grand performance. The rcinaindor of the ' Hints,' whore be they ? Now, bring them all out about the same time, otherwise ' the variety' you wot of will bo less obvious. •I am in bad hiunour: — some obstructions in business with those J)laguy trustees, who object to an advontajjeous loan which I was to furnish to a nobleman on morfgogo because his property is in Irelarul-, have shown mo how a man is treated in his absence. Oh, if I th ways, with and against the tade ; whereas he (l.orA BjTivn) only performed tlio easiest part of tlic task by swimming with it from Europe to Asia.' I certainly eould not have R»« — Di n Jti»n, funto It, Sunn* lOa, *.c 172 LETTERS, 1821. forgotten, what is known to every schoolboy, that Leander crossed in the night, and returned towards the morning. My object was, to ascertain that tlie Hellespont could be crossed at all by swimming, and in this Mr. Ekenhead and myself both succeeded, the one in an hour and ten minutes, and the other in an hour and five minutes. The tide was not in our favour ; on the contrary, the great dif- ficulty was to bear up against the current, which, so far from helping us into the Asiatic side, set us down right to- wards the Archipelago. Neither Mr. Ekenhead, myself, nor, I will venture to add, any person on board the frigate, from Captain Bathurst downwards, had any notion of a difference of the current on the Asiatic side, of which Mr. Turner speaks. I never heard of it till this moment, or I would have talien the other course. Lieutenant Eken- head's sole motive, and mine also for setting out from the European side was, that the Uttle cape above Sestos was a more prominent starting-place, and the frigate, wliich lay below, close under the Asiatic castle, formed a better point of view for us us to swim towards ; and, in fact, we landed immediately below it. "Mr. Turner says, 'Whatever is thrown into the stream on this part of the European banl<, must arrive at the Asiatic shore.' This is so far from being the case, that it must arrive in the Archipelago, if left to the current, although a strong wind in the Asiatic direction might have such an effect occasionally- " Mr. Turner attempted the passage from the Asiatic side, and failed : 'After five-and-twenty minutes, in which he did not advance a hundred yards, he gave it up from complete exhaustion.' This is very possible, and might have occurred to him just as readily on the European side. He should have set out a couple of miles higher, and could then have come out below the European castle. I particularly stated, and Mr. Hobhouse has done so also, that we were obliged to make the real passsage of one mile extend to between three and /our, owing to the force of the stream. I can assure Mr. Turner, that his success would have given me great pleasure, as it would have added one more instance to the proofs of the probability. It is not quite fair in him to infer, that because he failed, Leander could not succeed. There are still four in- stances on record : a Neapolitan, a young Jew, Mr. Eken- head, and myself; the two last done in the presence of hundreds of English witness,es. " With regard to the difference of the current I perceived none ; it is favourable to the swimmer on neither side, but may be stemmed by plunging into the sea, a considerable way above the opposite point of the coast which the swimmer wishes to make, but still bearing up against it ; it is strong, but if you calculate well, you may reach land. My own experience and that of otliers bids me pronounce the passage of Leander perfectly practicable. Any young man, in good and tolerable sldll in swimming, might suc- ceed in it from either side. I was three houi-s in swim- ming across the Tagus, which is much more hazardous, being two hours longer than the Hellespont. Of what may be done in swimming, I will mention one more instance. In 1818, the Chevalier Mengaldo, (a gentleman of Bassano,) a good swimmer, wished to swim with my friend Mr. Alexander Scott and myself. As he seemed particularly anxious on the subject, we indulged him. We all three started from the island of the Lido and swam to Venice. At the entrance of the Grand Canal, Scott and I were a good way ahead, and we saw no more of our foreign friend, which, however, was of no consequence, as there was a gondola to hold his clothes and pick him up. Scott swam on till past the Rialto, where he got out, less from fatigue than from chill, having been four hours in the water, without rest or stay, except what is to be obtained by floating on one's back — this being the condition of our performance. I continued my course on to Santa Chiara, comprising the whole of the Grand Canal, (besides the distance from the Lido,) and got out where the Laguna once more opens to Fusina. I had been in the water, by my watch, without help or rest, and never touching ground or boat, four hours and twenty minutes. To this match, and during the greater part of its performance, Mr. Hoppner, the consul-general, was witness, and it is well known to many others. Mr. Turner can easily verify the fact, if he thinks it worth while, by referring' to Mr. Hoppner. The distance we could not accurately ascer- tain ; it was of course considerable. " I crossed the Hellespont in one hour and ten minutes only. I am now ten years older in time, and twenty in constitution, than I was when I passed the Dardanelles, cind yet two years ago I was capable of swimming four hours and twenty minutes ; and I am sure that I could have continued two hours longer, though I had on a pair of trowsers, an accoutrement which by no means assists the performance. My two companions were also four hours in the water. Mengaldo might be about thirty years of age ; Scott about six-and-twenty. " With this experience in swimming at different periods of life, not only upon the spot, but elsewhere, of various persons, what is there to make me doubt that Leander's exploit was perfectly practicable ? If three individuals did more than the passage of the Hellespont, why should he have done less ? But Mr. Turner failed, and, natu- rally seeking a plausible reason for his failure, lays the blame on the Asiatic side of the strait. He tried to swim directly across, instead of going higher up to take the vantage : he might as well have tried to fly over Mount Athos. That a young Greek of the heroic times, in love, and with his limbs in full vigour, might have succeeded in such an attempt is neither wonderful nor doubtful. Whether he attempted it or not is another question, because he might have had a small boat to save him the trouble. " I am yours very truly, "Byron. P. S. Mr. Turner says that the swimming from Europe to Asia was ' the easiest part of the task.' I doubt whether Leander found it so, as it was the return ; how- ever, he had several hours between the intervals. The argument of Mr. Turner ' that higher up, or lower down, the strait widens so considerably that he could save little labour by his starting,' is only good for indifferent swim- mers ; a man of any practice or skill will always consider the distance less than the strength of the stream. If Ekenhead and myself had thought of crossing at the narrowest point, instead of going up to the Cape above it, we should have been swept dovni to Tenedos. The strait, however, is not so extremely wide even where it broadens above and below the forts. As the frigate was stationed some time in the Dardanelles waiting for the fir- man, I bathed often in the straits subsequently to our tra- ject, and generally on the Asiatic side, without perceiving the greater strength of the opposite stream by which the diplomatic traveller palliates his own failure . Our amuse- ment in the small bay which opens immediately below the Asiatic fort was to dive for the land tortoises, which we flung in on purpose, as they amphibiously crawled along the bottom. TMs does not argue any greater violence of current than on the European shore . With regard to the modest insinuation that we chose the European side as ■ ' easier,' I appeal to Mr. Hobhouse and Captain Bathurst if it be true or no, (poor Ekenhead being since dead.) Had we been aware of any such difference of current as is asserted, we would at least have proved it, and were not likely to have given it up in the twenty-five minutes of Mr. Turner's own experiment. The secret of all this is, that Mr. Turner failed, and that we succeeded ; and he is consequently disappointed, and seems not unwilling to overshadow whatever little merit there might be in our success. Why did he not try the European side ? If he had succeeded there, after failing on the Asiatic, his plea would have been more graceful and gracious. Mr. Tur- LETTERS, 1821. 173 ner may find what fault he pleases with my poetry, or my poUtics ; but I recommend him to leave aquatic reflec- tions till he is able to swim ' five-and-twenty minutes' without being 'exhausted,' though I believe he is the first modem Tory who ever swam ' agcdnst the stream' for half the time." LETTER CCCCLXXX. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, Feb. 22,1821. " As I v?ish the soul of the late Antoine Galignani to rest in peace, (you will have read his death published by himself, in his own newspaper,) you are requested parti- cularly to inform his children and heirs, that of their 'Literary Gazette,' to which I subscribed more than two months ago, I have only received one number, notwith- standing I have written to them repeatedly. If they have no regard for me, a subscriber, they ought to have some for their deceased parent, who is undoubtedly no better off" in his present residence for this total want of atten- tion. If not, let me have my francs. They were paid by Missiaglia, the Venetian bookseller. You may also hint to them that when a gentleman writes a letter, it is usual to send an answer. If not, I shall make them ' a speech,' which will comprise an eulogy on the deceased. " We are here full of war, and within two days of the seat of it, expecting intelligence momently. We shall now see if our Italian friends are good for any thing but ' shooting round a comer,' like the Irishman's gun. Excuse haste, — ^I write with my spurs putting on. My horses are at the door, and an Italian Count waiting to accom- pany me in my ride. " Yours, &c. " P. S. Pray, among my letters, did you get one detail- mg the death of the commandant here ? He was killed near my door, and died in my house . "BOWLES AND CAMPBELL. " To the air of ' How now, Madame Flirt,' in the Beg- gar's Opera. " Bowles, " Why , how now, saucy Tom, If you thus must ramble, I will publish some Remarks oa Mr. Campbell. " Campbell. " Why, how now, Billy Bowles, ftc. &c. &c. LETTER CCCCLXXXI. TO MR. MURRAY. "March 2, 1821. ** This was the beginning of a letter which I meant for Perry, but stopped short hoping that you would be able to prevent the theatres. Of course you need not send it ; but it explains to you my feelings on the subject. You say that ' there is nothing to fear, let them do what they please ,' that is to say, tliat you would see me damned with great tranquillity. You are a fine fellow." LETTER CCCCLXXXir. TO MR. PERRY. "Ravenna, Jan. 22, 1821. "dear sir, " I have received a strange piece of news, which can- not be more disagreeable to your public than it is to me. Letters and the gazettes do me the honour to say, that it is the intention of some of the London managers to bring forward on their stjige the poem of ' Marino Falicro,' &c. which was never intended for such an exhibition, and I tmst will never undergo it. It is certainly unfit for it. I have never written but for the solitary recwier, and require no experiments for applause beyond his silent approbation. Since such an attempt to drag me forth as a gladiator in the theatrical arena is a violation of all the courtesies of literature, I tmst that the impartial part of the press will step between me and this pollution. I say pollution, because every violation of a right is such, and I claim my right as an author to prevent what I have written from being turned into a stage-play. I have too much respect for the public to permit this of my own free will. Had I sought their favour, it would have been by a pantomime. " I have said that I write only for the reEider. Beyond this I cannot consent to any publication, or to the abuse of any publication of mine to the purposes of histrionism. The applauses of an audience would give me no pleasure ; their disapprobation might, however, give me pain. The wager is therefore not equal. You may, perhaps, say, ' How can this be ? if their disapprobation gives pain, their praise might afford pleasure ?' By no means : the kick of an ass or the sting of a wasp may be painful to those who would find nothing agreeable in the braying of the one or the buzzing of the other. " This may not seem a courteous comparison, but I have no other ready ; and it occurs naturally. LETTER CCCCLXXXra. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, Marzo, 1821. " DEAR MORAY, " In my packet of the 12th instant, in the last sheet, (not the half* sheet,) last page, omit the sentence which (defining, or attempting to define, what and who are gen- tlemen) begins ' I should say at least in hfe that most military men have it, and few naval ; that several men of rank have it, and few lawyers,' &c. &c. I say, omit the whole of that sentence, because, like the ' cosmogony, or creation of the world,' in the ' Vicar of Wakefield,' it is not much to the purpose. "In the sentence above, too, almost at the top of the same page, after the words ' that there ever was, or caJi be, an aristocracy of poets,' add and insert these words — ' I do not mean that they should write in the style of the song by a person of quality, or parte euphuism ; but there is Si nobility of thought and expression to be found no less in Shakspeare, Pope, and Burns, than in Dante, Ajficri, &c. &c. and so on. Or, if you please, perhaps you had better omit the whole of the latter digression on the vul- gar poets, and insert only as far as the end of the sen- tence on Pope's Homer, where I prefer it to Cowper's and quote Dr. Clarke in favour of its accuracy. " Upon all these points, take an opinion ; take the sense (or nonsense) of your learned visitants, and act thereby. I am very tractable — in prose. " Whether I have made out the case for Pope, I know not ; but I am very sure that I have been zealous in the attempt. If it comes to the proofs, we sliall beat the blackguards. I will show more imagery in twenty lines of Pope than in any equal length of quotation in English poesy, and that in places where they least export it. For instance, in his lines on Sponis, — now, do just rend them over — the subject is of no consequence (whether it be satire or epic) — we are talking of poetry and imagery from nature and art. Now mark the images separately and arithmetically: — " 1 . The thing of silk, 2 . Curd of O.M » milk . 3. Thvbuttrrjly. 4. The wheel. ' Sccunrl lollf r iji aiiswei to Uowlcs. 174 LETTERS, 1821. 6. Bug with gilded wings. 6. Painted child of dirt. 7. Whose buzz. 8. Well-bred spanieZs. 9. Shallow streams run dimpling. 10. Florid impotence. 11. Prompter. Puppet squeaks. 12. The ear of Eve. 13. Familiar toad. 14. Halffroth,halfvenom^spitshimse\{ ahrodid. 15. Fop at the toilet. 16. Flatterer at the board. 17. Amphibious thing. 18. Now trips A lady. 19. Now struts a lord. 20. A cherub's face. 21 . A reptile all the rest. 22. The Rabbins. 23. Pride that licks the dust— « Beauty that shocks you, part3 that none will trust, Wit that can creep, and pride tliat licks the dust.' "Now, is there a line of all the passage without the most forcible imagery, (for his purpose ?) Look at the variety — at the poetry of the passage — at the imagina- tion: there is hardly a line from which a painting might not be made, and is. But this is nothing in comparison with his higher passages in the Essay on Man, and many of his other poems, serious and comic. There never was such an unjust outcjy in this world as that which these fellows are trying against Pope. " Ask Mr. Gilford if, in the fifth act of the Doge,' you could not contrive (where the sentence of the Veil is passed) to insert the following lines in Marino Faliero's answer ? ' But let it be so. It will be in vain : The veil which blackens o'er this blighted name, And bides, or seems to hide, these lineaments. Shall draw more gazers than the thousand portraitB Which glitter round it in their painted trappings, Your delegated slaves — the people's tyrants.'* "Yours truly, &c. "P. S. Upon public matters here I say little : you will all hear soon enough of a general row throughout Italy. There never was a more fooUsh step than the expedition to Naples by these fellows. " I wish to propose to Holmes, the miniature painter, to come out to me this sprmg. I will pay his expenses, and any sum in reason. I wish him to take my daughter's picture, (who is in a convent,) and the Countess G.'s, and the head of a peasant girl, which latter would make a study for Raphael. It is a com^Xete peasant face, but an Italian peasant's, and quite in the Raphael Fornarina style. Her figure is tall, but rather large, and not at all comparable to her face, which is really superb. She is not seventeen, and I am anxious to have her face while it lasts. Madame G. is also very handsome, but 't is quite in a different style— completely blonde and fair— very uncommon in Italy ; yet not an English fairness, but more likely a Swede or a Norwegian. Her figure, too, particularly the bust, is uncommonly good. It must be Holmes : I like him because ho takes such inveterate lilte- nesses. There is a war here ; but a solitary traveller, with litde baggage, and nothing to do with politics, has nothing to fear. Pack him up in the Diligence. Do n't forget." LETTER CCCCLXXXIV. TO MR. HOPPNER. " Ravenna, April 3, 1821. " Thanks for the translation. I have sent you some books, which I do not know whether you have read or no — you need not return them, in any case. I enclose you Th««e linei wer^ nevtr in«art«l iji the TragedT. also a letter from Pisa. I have neither spared trouble nor expense in the care of the child ; and as she was now four years old complete, and quite above the control of the servants — and as a man hving without any woman at the head of his house cannot much attend to a nursery — ^I had no resource but to place her for a time (at a high pension too) in the convent of Bagna-CavalU, (twelve miles off.) where the air is good, and where she will, at least, have her learning advanced, and her morals and religion inculcated. I had also another reason ; — things were and are in such a state here, that I had no reason to look upon my own personal safety as particularly ensura- ble ; and I thought the infant best out of harm's way for the present. " It is also fit that I should add that I by no means intended, nor intend, to give a natural child an English education, because with the disadvantages of her birth, her after-settlement would be doubly difficult. Abroad, with a fair foreign education and a portion of five or six thousand pounds, she might and may marry very respec- tably. In England such a dowry would be a pittance, while elsewhere it is a fortune. It is, besides, my wish that she should be a Roman Catholic, which I look upon as the best religion, as it is assuredly the oldest of the various branches of Christianity. I have now explained my notions as to the place where she now is — it is the best I could find for the present : but I have no prejudices in its favour. " I do not speak of politics, because it seems a hopeless subject, as long as those scoundrels are to be permitted to bully states out of their independence. Believe me •' Yours ever and truly. " P. S. There is a report here of a change in France ; but with what truth is not yet known. "P. S. My respects to Mrs. H. I have the 'best opinion' of her countrywomen ; and at my time of life, (three-and- thirty, 22d January, 1821,) that is to say, after the Hfe I have led, a good opinion is the only rational one which a man should entertain of the whole sex : — up to thirty, the worst possible opinion a man can have of them in general, the better for himself. Afterward, it is a matter of no importance to them, nor to him eitlier, whai opinion he entertains — ^his day is over, or, at least should be. " You see how sober I am become." LETTER CCCCLXXXV. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, April 21, 1821 . " I enclose you another letter on Bowles. But I pre- mise that it is not lilte the former, and that I am not at all sure how much, if any, of it should be published. Upon this point you can consult with Mr. Gifford, and think ttvice before you publish it at all. "Yours truly, "B. "P. S. You may make my subscription for Mr. Scott's widow, &c. thirty instead of the proposed ten pounds : but do not put down my name ; put down N. N. only. The reason is, that, as I have mentioned him in the enclosed pamphlet, it would look indelicate. I would give more, but my disappointments last year about Rochdale and the transfer from the funds render me more economical for the present." LETTER CCCCLXXXVI. TO MR. SHELLEY. " Ravenna, April 26, 1821 . " The child contmues doing well, and the accounts are regular and favourable. It b gratifying to me that LETTERS, 1821. 175 you and Mrs. Shelley do not disapprove of the step which I have taken, which is merely temporary. " I am very sorry to hear what you say of Keats — is it actually true ? I did not think criticism had been so killing. Though I differ from you essentially in your estimate of his performances, I so much abhor all unne- cessary pain, that I would rather he had been seated on the highest peak of Parnassus than have perished in such a manner. Poor fellow! though with such inordinate self-love he would probably have not been very happy. I read the review of ' Endymion' in the (Quarterly . It was severe,— but surely not so severe as my reviews in that and other journals upon others. " I recollect the effect on me of the Edinburgh on my first poem ; it was rage, and resistance, and redress — but not despondency nor despair. I grant that those are not amiable feelings ; but, in this world of bustle and broil, and especially in the career of writing, a man should calculate upon his powers of resistance before he goes into the arena. ' Expect not life from pain nor danger free, Nor deem the doom of man reversed for thee.' " You know my opinion of that second-hand school of poetry. You also know my high opinion of your own poetry, — because it is of no school. I read Cenci — but, besides that I think the subject essentially wndramatic, I am not an admirer of our old dramatists, as nvodels. I deny that the English have hitherto had a drama at all. Your Cenci, however, was a work of power and poetry. As to my drama, pray revenge yourself upon it, by being as free as I have been with yours. " I have not yet got your Prometheus, which I long to see. I have heard nothing of mine, and do not know that it is yet published. I have published a pamphlet on the Pope controversy, which you will not like. Had I known that Keats was dead — or that he was alive and so sensitive — I should have omitted some remarks upon his poetry, to which I was provoked by his attack upon Pope, and my disapprobation of his oxim style of writing. " You want me to undertake a great Poem — I have not the inclination nor the power. As I grow older, the indif- ference— nof to life, for we love it by instinct— but to the stimuli of life, increases. Besides, this late failure of the Italians has latterly disappointed me for many reasons, — some public, some personal. My respects to Mrs. S. " Yours ever. "P. S. Could not you and I contrive to meet this sununer ? Could not you take a run- here alone .^" LETTER CCCCLXXXVII. TO MR. MURRAY. « Ravenna, April 26, 1821 . " I sent you by last pos^is a large packet, which will not do for publication, (I suspect,) being, as the apprentices say, ' damned low.' I put off also for a week or two sending the Italian scrawl which will form a note toil. The reason is, that letters being opened, I wish to 'bide a wee.' " Well, have you published the Tragedy ? and docs the Letter take? "Is it true what Shelley writes me, that poor John Keats died at Rome of the Q,uartcrly Review? I am very sorry for it, though I think he took the wrong lino as a poet, and was spoiled by Cockneyfying, and suburbing, and versifying Tooko's Pantheon and Lcmpricro's Dic- tionary. I know, by experience, that a savage review is hemlock to a sucking author ; and the one on me (whicli produced the English Bards, &o.) knocked mo down — but I got up again. Instead of bursting a blootl-vessel, I drank throe bottles of claret, and begun an answer, finding that there was nothing in the article for wlach I could lawfully knock Jeffrey on the head, in an honourable way. However, I would not be the person who wrote the homicidal article for all the honour and glory in the world, though I by no means approve of that school of scribbling which it treats upon. " You see the Italians have made a sad business of it, — all owing to treachery and disunion among themselves. It has given me great vexation. The execrations heaped upon the Neapolitans by the other Italians are quite in unison with those of the rest of Europe. "Yours, &c. " P. S. Your latest packet of books is on its way here, but not arrived. Kenilworth excellent. Thanks for the pocket-books, of which I have made presents to those ladies who like cuts, and landscapes, and all that. I have got an Italian book or two which I should like to send you if I had an opportunity. " I am not at present in the very highest health, — spring, probably ; so I have lowered my diet and taken to Epsom salts. " As you say my prose is good, why do n't you treat with Moore for the reversion of the Memoirs ? — condi- tionally, recollect ; not to be published before decease. He has the permission to dispose of them, amd I advised him to do so." LETTER CCCCLXXXVm. TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, April 28, 1821. - " You cannot have been more disappointed than myself, nor so much deceived. I have been so at some personal risk also, which is not yet done away with. However, no time nor circumstances shall alter my tone nor my feelings of indignation against tyranny triumphant. The present business has been as much a work of treachery as of cowardice, — though both may have done their part. If ever you and I meet again, I will have a talk with you upon the subject. At present, for obvious reasons, I can write but little, as all letters are opened. In mine they shall always find my sentiments, but nothing that can lead to the oppression of others. " You will please to recollect that the Neapolitans are nowhere now more execrated than in Italy, and not blame a whole people for the vices of a province. That would be like condemning Great Britain because they plunder wrecks in Cornwall. " And now let us be literary ; — a sad falling off, but it is always a consolation. If ' Othello's occupation be gone,' let us take to the next best ; and, if we cannot contribute to make mankind more free and wise, we may amuse ourselves and those who like it. Wliat are you writing ? I have been scribbling at intervals, and Murray will be publishing about now. "liady Noel has, as you say, been dangerously ill ; but it may console you to learn tliat she is dangerously well again. " I have written a sheet or two more of Memoranda for you ; and I kept a little Journal for about a month or two, till I hail filled the paper-book. I then left it off, aa things grew busy, and, afterward, too gloomy to set down without a painful feeling. This I shouUl ho glad to send you, if I had an opportunity ; but a vokuue, hawevor small, do n't go well by such posts as exist in this Inquisi- tion of a country. " I have no news. Aa a very pretty woman said to me a few nights ago, with the tears in her eyes, as she sat at the harpsichord, 'Alas! the Italians must now ro turn to making operas.' I fear that and inaccaroni are Uieir forte, and ' motley their only wear.' However, there are i high spirits among them still. Pray write. " And believe rac, &c." 176 LETTERS, 1821, LETTER CCCCLXXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. «Ravenna,May3, 1821. "Though I wrote to you on the 28th ultimo, I must acknowledge yours of this day, with the lines.* They are sublime, as well as beautiful, and in your very best mood and manner. They are also but too true. How- ever, do not confound the scoundrels at the heel of the boot with their betters at the top of it. I assure you that there are some loftier spirits. "Nothing, however, can be better than your poem, or more deserved by the Lazzaroni. They are now abhor- red and disclaimed nowhere more than here. We will talk over these things (if we meet) some day, and I will recount my own adventures, some of which have been a little hazardous, perhaps. «So you have got the letter on Bowles? I do not recollect to have said any thing of you that could offend, — certainly, nothing intentionally. As for * *, I meant him a compliment. I wrote the whole off-hand, without copy or correction, and expecting then every day to be called into the field. What have I said of you ? I am sure I forget. It must be something of regret for your approbation of Bowles. And did you not approve, as he says ? Would I had known that before ! I would have given him some more gruel. My intention was to make fun of all these fellows ; but how I succeeded, I do n't know. " As to Pope, I have always regarded him as the great- est name in our poetry. Depend upon it, the rest are barbarians. He is a Greek Temple, with a Gothic Cathe- dral on one hand, and a Turkish Mosque and all sorts of fantastic pagodas and conventicles about him. You may call Shakspeare and Milton pyramids, if you please, but I prefer the Temple of Theseus or the Parthenon to a mountain of burnt brickwork. " The Murray has written to me but once, the day of its publication, when it seemed prosperous. But I have heard of late from England but rarely. Of Murray's other publications (of mine) I know nothing, — nor whe ther he has published. He was to have done so a month ago. I wish you would do something, or that we were together. • Ever yours and afTectionately, «BJ LETTER CCCCXC TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, May 10,1821. I have just got your packet. I am obliged to Mr. Bowles, and Mr. Bowles is obliged to me, for having restored him to good-humour. He is to write, and you to publish, what you please, — motto and subject. I desire nothing but fair play for all parties. Of course, after the new tone of Mr. Bowles, you vnll not publish my defence of Gilchrist : it would be brutal to do so after his urbanity, for it is rather too rough, like his ovra attack upon Gil- christ. You may tell him what I say there of his Mis- sionary, (it is praised, as it deserves.) However, and if there are any passages not personal to Bowles, and yet bearing upon the question, you may add them to the reprint (if it is reprinted) of ray first Letter to you. Upon this constdt Gifford ; and, above all, do n't let any thing be added which can personally affect Mr. Bowles, " In the enclosed notes, of course, what I say of the democracy of poetry cannot apply to Mr. Bowles, but to the Cockney and water washing-tub schools. " I hope and trust that EUiston won^t be permitted to act tlie drama ? Surely he might have the grace to wait * '* Ay, down to the duit with them, slavei as they are," &c. 4c. for Kean's return before he attempted it ; though, even then, I should be as much against the attempt as ever. " I have got a small packet of books, but neither Walde- grave, Oxford, nor Scott's novels among them. Why don't you republish Hodgson's Childe Harold's Monitor and Latino-mastix ? they are excellent. Think of this,— they are all for Pope. " Yours, &C.'' LETTER CCCCXCI. TO MR. HOPPNER. "Ravenna, May 11, 1821. If I had but known your notion about Switzerland before, I should have adopted it at once. As it is, I shaU let the child remain in her convent, where she seems healthy and happy, for the present ; but I shall fdW much obliged if you will inquire, when you are in the cantons, about the usual and better modes of education there for females, and let me know the result of your opinions. It is some consolation that botli Mr. and Mrs. Shelley have written to approve entirely my placing the child with the nuns for the present. I can refer to my whole conduct, as havmg neither spared care, kindness, nor expense, since the child was sent to me. The people may say what they please, I must content myself with not deserving (in this instance) that they should speak ill. " The place is a country town, in a good air, where • there is a large establishment for education, and many children, some of considerable rank, placed in it. As a country town, it is less liable to objections of every kind. It has always appeared to me, that the moral defect in Italy does not proceed from a conventual education, — because, to my certain knowledge, they came out of their convents innocent even to ignorance of moral evil, — but to the state of society into which they are directly plunged on coming out of it. It is like educating an infant on a mountain-top, and then taking him to the sea and throwing him into it and desiring him to s\vim. The evil, however, though still too general, is partly wearing away, as the women are more permitted to marry from attachment; this is, I believe, the case also in France. And, after aD, what is the higher society of England ? According to my own experience, and to all that I have seen and hear^ (and I have lived there in the very highest and what is called the best,) no way of life can be more corrupt. In Italy, however, it is, or rather was, more systematized; but now, they themselves are ashamed of regular Serven- tism. In England, the only homage which they pay to virtue is hypocrisy. I speak, of course, of the tone of high life,— the middle ranks may be very virtuous. " I have not got any copy (nor have yet had) of the letter on Bowles ; of course I should be delighted to send it to you. How is Mrs. H.? well again, 1 hope. Let me know when you set out. I regret tliat I cannot meet you in the Bernese Alps this summer, as I once hoped and intended. With roy best respects to Madam, "I am ever, &c. « P. S. I gave to a musicianer a letter f(w you sometime ago— has he presented himself? Perhaps you could introduce him to the Ingrams and other dilettanti. He is simple and unassuming — two strange things in his profes- sion — and he fiddles like Orpheus himself or Amphion : 't is a pity that he can't make Venice dance away from the brutal tyrant who tramples upon it." LETTER CCCCXCU. TO MR. MURRAY. «Mayl4,182L « A Milan paper states that the play has been repre- sented and universally condemned. As remonstrance LETTERS, 1821. has been vain, complaint would be useless. I presume, however, for your own sake, (if not for mine,) that you and my other friends will have at least pubUshed my dif- ferent protests against its being brought upon the stage at all ; and have shown that Elliston (in spite of the writer) forced it upon the theatre. It would be nonsense to say that this has not vexed me a good deal, but I am not dejected, and I shall not take the usual resource of bla- ming the public, (which was in the right,) or my friends for not preventing — what they could not help, nor I neither — i. forced representation by a speculating manager. It is a pity, that you did not show them its uvfitntss for the Btage before the play was published, and exact a promise from the managers not to act it. In case of their refusal, we would not have published it at all. But this is too late. " Yours. " P. S. I enclose Mr. Bowles's letters ; thank him in my name for their candour and kindness. — Also a letter for Hodgson, which pray forward. The Milan paper states that I ' brought forward the play I ! .'' This is pleasanter still. But don't let yourself be worried about it; and if (as is likely) the folly of Elliston checks the sale, I am ready to make any deduction, or the entire cancel of your agreement. " You will of course not publish my defence of Gilchrist, as, after Bowles's good humour upon the subject, it would be too savage. " Let me hear from you the particulars ; for, as yet, I have only the simple fact. " If you knew what I have had to go through here, on account of the failure of these rascally Neapolitans, you would be amused : but it is now apparently over. They seemed disposed to throw the whole project and plans of these parts upon me chiefly." LETTER CCCCXOIII. TO MR. MOORE. "May 14,1821. * If any part of the letter to Bowles has (unintention- ally, as far as I remember the contents) vexed you, you are fully avenged ; for I see by an Italian paper that, not- withstanding all my remonstrances through all my friends, (and yourself among the rest,) the managers persisted in attempting the tragedy, and that it has been ' unanimously hissed ! !' This is the consolatory phrase of the Milan paper, (which detests me cordially, and abuses me, on all occasions, as a Liberal,) with the addition, that I 'brought the play out' of my own good-will. "All this is vexatious enough, and seems a sort of dra- matic Calvinism — predestined damnation, without a sin- ner's own fault. I took all the pains poor mortal could to prevent this inevitable catastrophe — partly by appeals of all kinds up to the Lord Chamberlain, and partly to the fellows themselves. But, as remonstrance was vain, com- plaint is useless. I do not understand it — for Murray's letter of the 24th, and all his preceding ones, gave me the strongest hopes that there would be no representation. As yet, I know nothing but the fact, which I presume to be true, as the date is Paris, and the 30th. They must have been in a hell of a hurry for this damnation, since I did not even know that it was published ; and, without its being first published, the histrions could not have got hold of it. Any one might have seen, at a glance, that it was utterly impracticable for the stage ; and this little accident will by no means enhance its merit in the closet. " Well, patience is a virtue, and, I suppose, practice will make it perfect. Since last year (spring, that is) I have lost a lawsuit, of great importance, on Rochdale collieries — have occasioned a divorce — have had my poesy dis- paraged by Murray and the critics — my fortune refused to be placed on an advanta|;eous settlement (in Ireland) 23 177 by the trustees— my life threatened last month (they pot about a paper here to excite an attempt at my assassina- tion, on account of politics, and a notion which the priests disseminated that I was in a league against the Germans) — and, finally, my mother-in-law recovered last fortnight, and my play was damned last week !* These are like 'the eight-and-twenty misfortunes of Harlequin.' But they must be borne. If I give in, it shall be after keeping up a spirit at least. I should not have cared so much about it, if our southern neighbours had not bungled us all out of freedom for these five hundred years to come. " Did you know John Keats ? They say that he was killed by a review of him in the duarterly — if he be dead, which I really don't know.f I don't understand that yielding sensitiveness. What I feel (as at this present) is an immense rage for eight-and-forty hours, and then, as usual — unless this time it should last longer. I must get on horseback to quiet me. " Yours, &c. " Francis I. wrote, after the battle of Pavia, ' All is lost except our honour.' A hissed author may reverse it — 'Nothing is lost, except our honour.' But the horses are waiting,* and the paper full. I wrote last week to you." LETTER CCCCXCIV. TO MR. MtTRRAV. *Ravenna,May 19, 1821, " By the papers of Thursday, and two letters of Mr. Kinnaird,! perceive thatthe Italian Gazette had lied most Italically, and that the drama had not been hissed, and that my friends had interfered to prevent the representa- tion. So it seems they continue to act it, in spite of us all : for this we must ' trouble them at 'size.' Let it by all means be brought to a plea: I am determined to try the right, and will meet the expenses. The reason of the Lombard lie was that the Austrians — who keep up an Inquisition throughout Italy, and a list of names of all who think or speak of any thing but in favour of their despo- tism — have for five years past abused me in every form in the Gazette of Milan, &c. I wrote to you a week ago on the subject. " Now, I should be glad to know what compensation Mr. Elliston would make me, not only for dragging my writings on the stage in Jive days, but fbr being the cause that I was kept for four days (from Sunday to Thursday morning, the only post days) in the belief that the tragedy had been acted and ' unanimously hissed ;' and this with the addition that / ' had brought it upon the stage,' and consequently that none of my friends had attended to my request to the contrary. Suppose that I had burst a blood- vessel, like John Keats, or blown my brains out in a fit of rage, — neither of which would have been unlikely a few years ago. At present I am, luckily, calmer than I used to be, and yet I would not pass those four days over again for — I know not what. "I wrote to you to keep up your spirits, for reproach is useless always, and irritating — but my feelings wore very much hurt, to be dragged likc'a gladiator to the fate ofa gla- diator by that ' retiarius,^ Mr. Elliston. As to his defence and offers of compensation, what is all this to the pur- pose ? It is like Louis the XIV. who insisted upon buy- ing at any price Algernon Sydney's horse, and, on his refusal, on taking it by force, Sydney shot his horse. I could not shoot my tragedy, but I would have flung it into the fire rather than have had it represented. " I have now written nearly three acts of another, (in- tending to complete it in five,) and am more anxious than over to bo preserved from such a broach of all literary courtesy and gentlemanly consideration. Htt I,«Ucr 499. I Sfe Don Juaii, C»n(o XI. Smnu 80. 178 « If we succeed, well ; if not, previous to any future publi- cation we will request a promise not to be acted, which I would even pay for, (as money is their object,) or I will not publish— which, however, you will probably not much regret. « The Chancellor has behaved nobly. You have also conducted yourself in the most satisfactory manner ; and I have no fault to find with any body but the stageplayers and their proprietor. I was always so civil to Elliston personally that he ought to have been the last to attempt to injure me. « There is a most rattling thunder-storm pelting away at this present writing ; so that I write neither by day, nor by candle, nor torchlight, but by lightning light : the flashes are as brilliant as the most gaseous glow of the gas-light company. My chimney board has just been thrown down by a gust of wind : I thought it was the ' Bold Thunder' and ' Brisk Lightning' in person.— Three of us would be too many. There it goes— flash again ! but ' I tax not you, ye elements, wilh imkindness ; I never ^a.ve ye franks, nor caWd upon you :' as I have done by and upon Mr. Elliston. " Why do you not write ? You should at least send me a line of particulars : i know nothing yet but by Galig- nani and the Honourable Douglas. « Well, and how does our Pope controversy go on? and the pamphlet ? It is impossible to write any news : the Austrian scoundrels rummage all letters. "P. S. I could have sent you a good deal of gossip and some reed information, were it not that all letters pass through the Barbarians' inspection, and I have no wish to inform them of any thing but my utter abhorrence of them and theirs. They have only conquered by treachery, however." LETTER CCCCXCV. TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI. "You will see here confirmation of what I told you the other day! I am sacrificed in every way, without know- ing the why or the wherefore. The tragedy in question is not (nor ever was) written for, or adapted to, the stage ; nevertheless, the plan is not romantic ; it is rather regular than otherwise ; — in point of unity of time, indeed, per- fectly regular, and failing but slightly in unity of place. You well know whether it was ever my intention to have it acted, since it was written at your side, and at a period assuredly rather more tragical to me as a man than as an author ; for you were in affliction and peril. In the mean time, I learn from your Gazette that a cabal and party has been formed, while I myself have never taken the slightest step in the business. It is said that the author read it aloud ! 1 1 — here, probably, at Ravenna ? — and to whom ? perhaps to Fletcher ! ! ! — that illustrious literary character, &c. &c." LETTER CCCCXCVL TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, May 20, 182L "Since I wrote to you last week I have received Eng- lish letters and papers, by which I perceive that what I took for an Iialian truth is, after all, a French lie of the Gazette de France. It contains two ultra-falsehoods in as manv lines. In the first place. Lord B. did not brine forward his play, but opposed the same ; and, secondly, it was not condemned, but is continued to be acted, in de- spite of publisher, author. Lord Chancellor, and (for aught 1 know to the contrary) of audience, up to the first of May, at least — the latest date of my letters. LETTERS, 1821. «' You will oblige me, then, by causing Mr. Gazette of France to contradict himselfj which, I suppose, he is used to. I never answer a foreign criticism ; but this is a mere matter offact, and not of opinions. I presume that you have English and French interest enough to do this for me — though, to be sure, as it is nothing but the truth which we wish to state, the insertion may be more difficult. " As I have written to you often lately at some length, I won't bore you farther now, than by begging you to com- ply with my request ; and 1 presume the ' esprit du corps,' (is it ' du' or ' de ?' for this is more than I know) will suffi- ciently urge you, as one of ' ours,^ to set this affair in its real aspect. Believe me always yours ever and most affectionately, ~ «BVRON." LETTER CCCCXCVII. TO MR. HOPPNER. "Ravenna, May 25, 182L "I am very much pleased with what you say of Swit- zerland, and will ponder upon it. I would rather she married there than here for that matter. For fortune, 1 shall make it all that 1 can spare, (if I live and she is cor- rect in her conduct,) and if I die before she is settled, I have left her by will five thousand pounds, which is a fair provision out of England for a natural child. I shall increase it all I can, if circumstances permit me ; but, of course (like all other human things) this is very uncertain. " You will oblige me very much by interfering to have the F.\cTs of the play-acting stated, as these scoundrels appear to be organizing a system of abuse against me because I am in their ' list.'' I care nothing for their cri- ticism, but the matter of fact. I have written four acts of another tragedy, so you see they canH bully me. " You know, I suppose, that they actually keep a list of all individuals in Italy who dislike them — it must bo numerous. Their suspicions and actual alarms, about my conduct and -presumed intentions in the late row, were truly ludicrous — though, not to bore you, I touched upon them lightly. They believed, and still believe here, or affect to believe it, that the whole plan and project of rising was settled by me, and the means furnished, &c. &c. All this was more fomented by the barbarian agents, who are numerous here, (one of them was stabbed yes- terday, by-the-way, but not dangerously :) — and although, when the Commandant was shot here before my door in December, I took him into my house, where he had every assistance till he died on Fletcher's bed ; and although not one of them dared to receive him into their houses but myself, they leaving him to perish in the night in the streets, they put up a paper about three months ago, denouncing me as the Chief of the Liberals, and stirring up persons to assassinate me. But this shall never silence nor bully my opinions. All this came from the German Barbarians." . LETTER CCCCXCVra. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, May 25, 182L " MR. MORAY, " Since I wrote the enclosed a week ago, and for some weeks before, I have not had a line from you : now, I should be glad to know upon what principle of common or uncommon feeling, you leave me without any informa- tion but what I derive from garbled gazettes in English, and abusive ones in Italian, (the Germans hating me, as a coal-heaver,) while all this kick-up has been going on about the play ? You shabby fellow ! ! ! Were it not for two letters from Douglas Kinnaird, I should have been as ignorant as you are negUgent. LETTERS, 1821. 179 "So, I hear Bowles has been abusing Hobhouse? if that 's the case, he has broken the truce, like Morillo's successor, and I will cut him out, as Cochrane did the Esmeralda. " Since I wrote the enclosed packet I have completed (but not copied out) four acts of a new tragedy. When I have finished the fifth I will copy it out. It is on the subject of ' Sardanapalus,' the last king of the Assyrians. The words Queen and Pavilion occur, but it is not an allusion to his Britannic Majesty, as you may tremulously imagine. This you will one day see, (if I finish it,) as 1 have made Sardanapalus brave, (though voluptuous, as history represents him,) and also as amiable as my poor powers could render him : — so that it could neither be truth nor satire on any living monarch, 1 have strictly preserved all the unities hitherto, and mean to continue them in the fifth, if possible; but not for the stage. Yours, in haste and hatred, you shabby correspondent ! LETTER CCCCXCIX. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, May 28, 1821. « Since my last of the 26th or 25th, I have dashed off my fifth act of the tragedy called 'Sardanapalus. But now comes the copying over, which may prove heavy work — heavy to the writer as to the reader. I have written to you at least six times sans answer, which proves you to be a — bookseller. I pray you to send me a copy of Mr. JVrangham's reformation of ' Lang- home's Plutarch.' I have the Greek, which is somewhat small of print, and the Italian, which is too heavy in style, and as false as a Neapolitan patriot proclamation. I pray you also to send me a Life, published some years ago, of the Magician Apollonius of Tyana. It is in English, and I think edited or written by what Martin Marprelate calls *a bouncing priest.^ I shall trouble you no farther with this sheet than with the postage. " Yours, &c. «N. "P. S. Since I wrote this, I determined to enclose it (as a half sheet) to Mr. Kinnaird, who will have the goodness to forward it. Besides, it saves sealing-wax." LETTER D. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, May 30, 1821. " DEAR MORAY, " You say you have written often : I have only re- ceived yours of the eleventh, which is very short. By this post, in Jive packets, I send you the tragedy of Sar- danapalus, which is written in a rough hand ; perhaps Mrs. Leigh can help you to decipher it. You will please to acknowledge it by return of post. You will remark that the unities are all strictly observed. The scene passes in the same Jiall always: the time, a summers night, about nine hours, or less, though it begins before sunset and ends after sunrise. In the third act, when Sardanapalus calls for a mirror to look at himself in his armour, recollect to quote the Latin passage from Juvenal upon Otho, (a similar character, who did the same thing :) GifTord will help you to it. The trait is perhaps too familiar, but it is historical, (of O^/io, at least,) and natural in an effeminate chai-acter." LETTER Dl. TO MR. HOPPNER. "Ravenna, May 31,1821. • I enclose you another letter, which will only confirm v^hat I have said to you. " About AUegra—I will take some decisive step in the course of the year ; at present, she is so happy where she is, that perhaps she had better have her alphabet im- parted in her convent. " What you say of the Dante is the first I have heard of it — all seeming to be merged in the rotu about the tragedy. Continue it I — Alas! what could Dante him- self naiw prophesy about Italy? 1 am glad you like it, however, but doubt that you will be singular in ycur opinion. My new tragedy is completed. " The Benzoni is right, — I ought to have mentioned her humour and amiability, but 1 thought at her sixty beauty would be most agreeable or least likely. How- ever, it shall be rectified in a new edition ; and if any of the parties have either looks or qualities which they wish to be noticed, let me have a minute of them. I have no private nor personal dislike to Venice, rather the contrary, but I merely speak of what is the subject of all remarks and all writers upon her present state. Let me hear from you before you start. Believe me, " Ever, &c. " P. S. Did you receive two letters of Douglas Kin- naird's in an endorse from me ? Remember me to Mcn- galdo, Soranzo, and all who care that I should remember them. The letter alluded to in the enclosed, ' to the Cardinal^ was in answer to some queries of the govern- ment, about a poor devil of a Neapohtan, arrested at Sinigaglia on suspicion, who came to beg of me Ijere : being without breeches, and consequently without pockets for halfpence, I relieved and forwarded him to his country and they arrested him at Pesaro on suspicion, and have since interrogated me (civilly and politr,ly, however,) about him. I sent them the poor man s petition, and such information as I had about him, which, I trust, will get him out again, that is to say, if they give him a fair hearing. "I am content with the article. Pray, did you receive, some posts ago, Moore's lines, which I enclosed to you, written at Paris ?» LETTER DIL TO MR MOORE. "Ravenna, June 4, 1821. ■You have not written lately, as is the usual custom with literary gentlemen to console their friends with their observations in cases of magnitude. I do not know whether I sent you my 'Elegy on the recovery of Lady Noel;'— " Behold the blessinj^s of a lucky lot— My play is damn'd, and Lady Noel not. " The papers (and perhaps your letters) will have put you in possession of Muster Elliston's dramatic behaviour. It is to be presumed that the play was Jilted for the stage by Mr. Dibdin, who is the tailor upon such occasions, and will have taken measure with his usual accuracy. I hear that it is still continued to be performed — a piece of ob» stinacy for which it is some consolation to tliink that the discourteous histrio will be out of pocket. Y«u will be surprised to hear that I have finished another tragedy in ^ve acts, observing all the imitics strictly. It is called • Sardanapalus,' and was sent by last post to England. It is not for (he stag)', any more than the other was intended for if, — and I shall taltc bettor care this time that they do n't get hold on 't. I have also sent, two months ago, a farther letter on Bowles, &c. ; but ho seems to be so taken up with my 'respect' (as ho calls it) towards him in the former rase, that I am not sure that it will be jmblishcd being some- what too full of 'pastime and prodigality.' I learn from some private letters of Bowlos'.o, tJiat yoti were 'liie gen- tleman in asterisks.' Who would have dreamod it ? you 180 LETTERS, 1821. see what mischief that clergyman has done by printing notes without names. How the deuse was I to suppose that the first four asterisks meant ' Campbell' and rwt 'Pope,^ and that the blank signature meant Thomas Moore. You see what comes of being familiar with parsons. His answers have not yet reached me, but I understand from Hobhouse that he (H.) is attacked in them. If that be the case, Bowles has broken the truce, (which he himself proclaimed, by-the-way,) and I must have at him again. " Did you receive my letters with the two or three con- cluding sheets of Memoranda ? " There are no news here to interest much. A Ger- man spy {boasting himself such) was stabbed last week, but not mortally. The moment I heard that he went about bullying and boasting, it was easy for me, or any one else, to foretell what would occur to him, which I did, and it came to pass in two days after. He has got offj however, for a slight incision. "A row the other night, about a lady of the place, between her various lovers, occasioned a midnight dis- charge of pistols, but nobody wounded. Great scandal, however — planted by her lover — to be thrashed by her husband; for inconstancy to her regular Servente, who is coming home post about it, and she herself retired in confusion into the country, although it is the acme of the opera season. All the women furious against her (she herself having been censorious) for being found out. She is a pretty woman — a Countess + * * * — a fine old Visigoth name, or Ostrogoth. "The Greeks I what thmk you? They are my old acquaintances — ^but what to think I know not. Let us hope, howsomever. "Yours, « B." LETTER Din. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, June 22, 1821. 'Your dwarf of a letter came yesterday. That is right ; — keep to your ' magnum opus' — magnoperate away. Now, if we were but together a little to combine our •Journal of Trevoux !' But it is useless to sigh, and yet very natural, — for I think you and I draw better together, in the social line, than any two other living authors. " I forgot to ask you, if you had seen your own pane- gyric in the correspondence of Mrs. Waterhouse and Colonel Berkeley? To be sure, their moral is not quite exact ; but your passion is fully effective ; and all poetry of the Asiatic kmd — I mean Asiatic, as the Romans called 'Asiatic oratory,' and not because the scenery is Oriental — must be tried by that test only. I am not quite sure that I shall allow the Miss Byrons (legitimate or illegitimate) to read Lalla Rookh — in the first place, on account of this said passion ; and, in the second, that they may n't discover that there was a better poet than papa. ■You say nothing of politics — but alas! what can be said? " The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the nsses who pull, Each tugs it a different way,— And the greatest of all is John Bull I • How do you call your new project ? I have sent to Murray a new tragedy, ycleped ' Sardanapalus,' writ ac- cording to Aristotle — all, save the chorus — I could not reconcile me to that. I have begun another, and am in the second act ; — so you see I saunter on as usual. " Bowles's answers have reached me ; but I can't go on disputing for ever, — particularly in a polite manner. I suppose he will take being silettt for silenced. He has been so civil that I can't iind it in my liver to be facetious with him, — else I had a savage joke or two at his service. + * ♦ * * ♦ % " I can't send you the little journal, because it is in boards, and I can't trust it per post. Do n't suppose it is any thing particular ; but it will show the intentions of the natives at that time — and one or two other things, chiefly personal, like the former one. "So, Longman don't bite. — It was my wish to have made that work of use. Could you not raise a sum upon it, (however small,) reserving the power of redeeming it on repayment? " Are you in Paris, or a villaging ? If you are in the city, you will never resist the Anglo-invasion you speak of. I do not see an Englishman in half a year; and, when I do, I turn my horse's head the other way. The fact, which you will find in the last note to the Doge, has given me a good excuse for quite dropping the least con- nexion with travellers. " I do not recollect the speech you speak of, but suspect it is not the Doge's, but one of Israel Bertuccio to Calen- daro. I hope you think that Elliston behaved shamefully — it is my only consolation. I made the Milanese fel- lows contradict their he, which they did with the grace of people used to it. " Yours, &c. «B." LETTER DIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, July 5, 1821. " How could you suppose that I ever would allow any thing that could be said on your account to weigh with me ? I only regret that Bowles had not said that you were the writer of that note until afterward, when out he comes with it, in a private letter to Murray, which Murray sends to me, D — n the controversy ! " D— n Twizzle, D— n the bell, And d— D the fool who rung it— Well ! From all such plagues I'll quickly be delivered. "I have had a friend of your Mr. Irving's* — a very pretty lad — a Mr. Coolidge, of Boston — only somewhat too full of poesy and ' entusymusy.' I was very civil to him during his few hours' stay, and talked vnth him much of Irving, whose writings are my delight. But I suspect that he did not take quite so much to me, from his having expected to meet a misanthropical gentleman, in wolf- skin breeches, and answering in fierce monosyllables, instead of a man of this world. I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited pas- sion, and that there is no such thing as a hfe of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in fsuch a state ? " 1 have had a curious letter to-day from a girl in Eng- land, (I never saw her,) who says she is given over of a decline, but could not go out of the world without thank- ing me for the deUght which my poesy for several years, &c. &c. &c. It is signed simply N. N. A. and has not a word of ' cant' or preachment in it upon any opinions. She merely says that she is dying, and that as I had contributed so highly to her existing pleasure, she thought that she might say so, begging me to burn her letter — whicli, by-the-way, I can not do, as I look upon such a letter, in such circumstances, as better than a diploma from Gottingen. I once had a letter from Drontheim, in Norway, (but not from a dying woman,) in verse, on the same score of gratulation. These are the things which make one at times believe one's self a poet.f But if I must believe that ***** *^ ^nj ^y^^ follows, are poets also, it is better to be out of the corps. • See Memomndums, r««e 26«. f 6«e do. 567- LETTERS, 1821. 181 "I am now in the fifth act of 'Foscari,' being the third tragedy in twelve month*, beside? proses; so you perceive that I am not at all idle. And are you, too, busy? I doubt that your life at Paris draws too much upon your time, which is a pity. Can't you divide your day, so as to combine both ? I have had plenty of all sorts of worldly business on my hands last year, — and yet it is not so difficult to give a few hours to the Muses. This sentence is so like * * * * that " Ever, &c. " If we were together, I should publish both my plays (periodically) in our joint journal. It should be our plan to publish all our best things in that way." LETTER DV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, July 6, 182L *In agreement with a wish expressed by Mr. Hob- house, it is my determination to omit the stanza upon the htrse of Semiramis* in the Fifth Canto of Don Juan. I mention this, in case you are, or intend to be, the publisher of the remaining Cantos. "At the particular request of the Contessa G. I have promised not to continue Don Juan. You will therefore look upon these three Cantos as the last of the poem. She had read the first two in the French translation, and never ceased beseeching me to write no more of it. The reason of this is not at first obvious to a superficial obser\'er of foreign manners ; but it arises from the wish of all women to exalt the sentiment of the p9.s- sions, and to keep up the illusion which is their empire. Now Don Jaan strips off this illusion, and laughs at that and most other things. I never knew a woman who did not protect Roussemty nor one who did not dislike De Grammont, Gil Bias, and all the comedy of the passions, when brought out naturally. But ' kings' blood must keep word,' as Serjeant Bothwell says." LETTER DVI. TO MR. MURRAY. "July 14, 1821. " I trust that Sardanapalus will not be mistaken for a political play, which was so far from my intention, that I thought of nothing but Asiatic history. The Venetian play, too, is rigidly historical. My object has been to dramatise, like the Greeks, (a modest phrase,) striking passages of history, as they did of history and mythology., You will find all this very unlike Shakspeare ; and so much the better in one sense, for T look upon him to be the umst of models, though the most extraordinary of writers. It has been my object to be as simple and severe as Alfieri, and I have broken down the poetry as nearly as I could (o common language. The hardship is. that in these times one can neither speak of kings or queens without suspicion of politics or personalities. I intended neither. « I am not very well, and I write in the midst of un- pleasant scenes here : they have, without trial or process, banished several of the first inhabitants of the cities — here and all around the Roman states — among them many of my personal friends — so that every thing is in confusion and grief: it is a kind of thing which cannot be described without an equal pain as in beholding it. " You ai-e very niggardly in your letters. " Yours truly. LETTER DVn. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, July 22, 1821. " The printer has done wonders ;— he has read what I cannot — my own handwriting. " I op2)ose the ' delay till winter :' I am particularly anxious to print while the vjinter theatres are closed, to gain time, in case they try their former piece of politeness. Any loss shall be considered in our contract, whether occasioned by the season or other causes ; but print away and publish. " I think they must own that J have more styles than one. ' Sardanapalus' is, however, almost a comic charac- ter : but for that matter, so is Richard the Third. Mind the unities, which are my great object of research. I am glad that Gifford likes it ; as for ' the million,' you see I have carefully consulted any thing but the taste of the day for extravagant ' coups de threatre.' Any probable loss, as I said before, will be allowed for in our accompts. The reviews (except one or two, Blackwood's, for in- stance) are cold enough; but never mind those fellows: I shall send them to the right about, if I take it into my head. I always found the English baser in some things than any other nation. You stare, but it 's true as to gratitude, — perhaps, because they are prouder, and proud people hate obligations. " The tyranny of the Government here is breaking out. They have exiled about a thousand people of the best families all over the Roman states. As many of my friends are among them, I think of moving too, but not till I have had your answers. Continue your address to me here, as usual, and quickly. What you will not be sorry to hear is, that the poor of the place, hearing that 1 meant to go, got together a petition to the Cardinal to request that he would request me to remain. I only heard of it a day or two ago, and it is no dishonour to them nor to me ; but it will have displeased the higher powers, who look upon me as a Chief of the Coal-heavers. They arrested a servant of mine for a street-quarrel with an officer, (they drew upon one another knives and pistols,) but as the officer was out of uniform, and in the wrong besides, on my protesting stoutly, he was released. I was not pre- sent at the affi-ay, which happened by night near my stables. My man, (an Italian,) a very stout and not over- patient personage, would have taken a fatal revenge after- wards, if I had not prevented him. As it was, he drew his' stiletto, and, but for passengers, would have carbonadoed the captain, who, I understand, made but a poor figure in the quarrel, except by beginning it. He applied to me, and I offered him any satisfaction, either by turnin2 away the man, or otherwise, because he had drawn a knife. He answered that a reproof would be sufficient. I reproved him ; and yet, after this, the shabby dog complained to the Government, — afier being quite satisfied, as he said. This roused me, and I gave them a remonstrance, which had some effect. The captain has been reprimanded, the servant released, and the business at present rests tliere." LETTER DVIIL TO MR. HOPPNER. "Ravenna, July 23, 1821. "This country being in a slate of proscription, and all my friends exiled or arrested — the whole family of Ganiba obliged to go to Florence for the present — iho father and son for politics — (and iho Guiccioli bocauso menaced with a convciU, as her father is not here,) I have dotor- mined to rcmovo to Switzerland, and tlioy also. Indeed my life here is not supposed to bo particularly safo — but that has been the case for tliis twelvemonth |>asl, and is therefon) not the primary consideration . 182 LETTERS, 1821. * I have written by this post to Mr. Hentsch, junior, the banker of Geneva^ to provide (if possible) a house for me, and another for Gamba's family, {the father, son, and daughter,) on the Jura side of the lake of Geneva, furnish- ed, and with stabUng (for me at least) for eight horses. I shall bring AUegra with me. Could you assist me or Hentsch in his researches? The Gambas are at Flo- rence, but have authorized me to treat for them. You know, or do not know, that they are great patriots — and both — but the son in particular — very fine fellows. This I know, for I have seen them lately in very awkward situations — not pecuniary, but personal — and they be- haved like heroes, neither yielding nor retracting. "You have no idea what a state of oppression this country is in — they arrested above a thousand of high and low throughout Romagna — banished some and confined others, without trial, process, or even accusation !! Every body says they would have done the same by me if they dared proceed openly. My motive, however, for remain- ing, is because every one of my acquaintance, to the amount of hundreds almost, have been exiled. " Will you do what you can in looking out for a couple of houses furnished, and conferring with Hentsch for us ? We care nothing about society, and are only anxious for a temporary and tranquil asylum and individual freedom. " Believe me, &c. "P. S. Can you give me an idea of the comparative expenses of Switzerland and Italy ? which I have for- gotten. I speak merely of those of decent living, horses, &c. and not of luxuries or high living. Do not, however, decide any thing positively till I have your answer, as I can then know how to think upon these topics of trans- wiigration, &c. &c. &c." LETTER DIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, July 30, 1821. '''Enclosed is the best account of the Doge Faliero, which was only sent to me from an old MS. the other day. Get it translated, and append it as a note to the next edition. You will perhaps be pleased to see that my conceptions of his character were correct, though I regret not having met with this extract before. You will perceive that he himself said exactly what he is made to say about the Bishop of Treviso. You will see also that ' he spoke very little, and those only words of rage and disdain,' after his arrest, which is the case in the play, except when he breaks out at the close of Act Fifth. But his speech to the conspirators is better in the MS. than in the play. 1 wish that I had met with it in lime. Do not forget this note, with a translation. " In a former note to the Juans, speaking of Voltaire, I have quoted his famous ' Zaire, tu pleures,' v.'hich is an error ; it should be ' Zaire,* vous plcurez.' Recollect this. " I am so busy here about those poor proscribed exiles, who are scattered about, and with trying to get some of them recalled, that I have hardly time or patience to write a short preface, which will be proper for the two plays. However, I will make it out on receiving the next proofs. " Yours ever, &c. "P. S. Please to append the letter about the Hellespont as a note to your next opportunity of the verses on Lean- der, &c. &c. &c. in Childe Harold. Do n't forget it amid your multitudinous avocations, which I thinly of celebrating in a Diihyrambic Ode to Albemarle-street. "Are you aware that Shelly has written an Eleory on Keats,f and accuses the Quarterly of killing him ? ' Who kill'dJohn Keats?' ' 1,'says tlieduarlerly, So savage and T.irterly ; ' 'T was one of my fents.' Sm Letter 490. t Thit note wM omitted. ' Who shot the arrow ? ' The poet-piiest Milman, (So ready to kill man,) Or Sou they or Barrow.' " You know very well that I did not approve of Keats's poetry, or principles of poetry, or of his abuso of Pope ; but, as he is dead, omit all that is said about him in any MSS. of mine, or publication. His Hype- rion is a fine monument, and will keep his name. I do not envy the man who wrote the article ; — ^you Re- view-people have no more right to kill than any other footpads. However, he who would die of an article in a Review would probably have died of something else equally trivial. The same thing nearly happened to Kirka White, who died eifterward of a consumption." LETTER DX. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, August 2, 1821. "I had certamly answered your last letter, though but briefly, to the part to which you refer, merely saying, ' damn the controversy :' and quoting some verses of George Colman's, not as allusive to you, but to the dis- putants. Did you receive this letter? It imports me to know that our letters are not intercepted or mislaid. " Your Berlin drama* is an honour, imknown since the days of Elkanah Settle, whose ' Emperor of Morocco' was represented by the Court ladies, which was, as John- son says, ' the last blast of inflammation' to poor Dryden, who could not bear it, and fell foul of Settle without mercy or moderation, on account of that and a frontispiece, which he dared to put before his play. " Was not your showing the Memoranda to * * some- what perilous ? Is there not a facetious allusion or two which might as well be reserved for posterity ? "I know Schegel well — that is to say, I have met him occasionally at Copet. Is he not also touched lightly in the Memoranda? In a review of Childe Harold, Canto 4th, three years ago, in Blackwood's Magazine, they quote some stanzas of an elegy of Schegefs on Rome, from which they say that I might have taken some ideas. I give you my honour that I never saw it except in that criticism, which gives, I think, three or four stanzas, sent them (they say) for the nonce by a correspondent — perhaps himself. The fact is easily proved ; for I do n't understand German, and there was, I believe, no translation — at least, it was the first time that I ever heard ofj or saw, either transla- tion or original. " I remember having some talk with Schegel about Alfieri, whose merit he denies. He was also wroth about the Edinburgh Review of Goethe, which was sharp enough, to be sure. He went about saying, too, of the French — 'I meditate a terrible vengeance against the French — I will prove that Moliere is no poet.' * * " I do n't see why you should talk of 'declining.' When 1 saw you, you looked thinner, and yet younger, than you did when we parted several years before. You may rely upon this as fact. If it were not, I should say nothing^ for I would rather not say unpleasant personal things to any one — but, as it was the pleasant truth, I tell it you. If you had led my life, indeed, changing climates and con- nexions— j)cnilix lo Ui« " Two Fowari." m^ 184 LETTERS, 1821. wis^'p^''-»KU'!P.f; and sent to England : the ' Italy' I received only on the 16th inst. " Your friend, like the public, is not aware, that my dra- matic simplicity is studimsly Greek, and must continue so : no reform ever succeeded at first. I admire the old English dramatists ; but this is quite another field, and has nothing to do with theirs. I want to make a regular English drama, no matter whether for the stage or not, which is not my object, — but a mental theatre. "Yours. "P.S. Can't accept your courteous offer. " For Orford and for Waldegrave You give much more than me you gave ; Which is not fairly to behave, My Murrjiy. •• Because if a live dog, 't .3 said, Be worth a lion fairly sped, A live lord must be worth Uoo dead, My Murray. " >nd if, as the opinion goes. Verse hath a better sale than prose— Certes, I should have more than those, My Murray. But now this sheet is nearly cramm'd, So, if you will, /sha' n't be shamm'd. And if you wun'/, you may be damn'd, My Murray. « These matters must be arranged with Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. He is my trustee, and a man of honour. To him you can state all your mercantile reasons, which you might not lilce to state to me personally, such as, ' heavy season' — 'flat public' — 'don't go off' — 'lordship writes too much' — ' won't talce advice' — 'declining popularity' — 'deduction for the trade' — 'make very little' — 'generally lose by him' — ' pirated edition' — ' foreign edition' — ' severe criticisms,' &c., with other hints and howls for an oration, which I leave Douglas, who is an orator, to answer. " You can also state them more freely to a third per- son, as between you and me they could only produce some smart postscripts, which would not adorn our mu- tual archives. " I am sorry for the dueen, and that's more than you are." LETTER DXIV. TO MR. MOORE. "Ravenna, August 24, 1821 " Yours of the 6th only yesterday, while I had letters of the 8th from London. Doth the post dabble into our letters ? Whatever agreement you make with Murray, if satisfactory to you, must be so to me. There need be no scruple, because, though I used sometimes to buffoon to myself, loving a quibble as well as the barbarian him^ self, (Shakspeare, to wit) — ' that, like a Spartan, I would sell my life as dearly as possible' — ^it never was my inten- tion to turn it to personal, pecuniary account, but to be- queath it to a friend — yourself — in the event of survivor- ship. I anticipated that period, because we happened to meet, and I urged you to malce what was possible now by it, for reasons which are obvious. It heis been no possl ble privation to me, and therefore does not require the aclcnowledgments you mention. So, for God's sake, do n't consider it like ♦ * + + + "By-the-way, when you write to Lady Morgan, will you thank her for her handsome speeches in her book about my books ? I do not know her address. Her work is fearless and excellent on the subject of Italy — pray tell her so — and I know the country. I wish she had fallen in with me, I could have told her a thing or two that would have confirmed her positions. " I am glad that you are satisfied with Murray, who seems to value dead lords more than live ones. I have just sent hini the following answer to a proposition of his: — "For Orford and for Waldegrave, &c. "The argument of the above is, that he wanted to 'stint me of my sizings,' as Lear says — ^that is to say, not to propose an extravagant price for an extravagant poem, as is becoming. Pray take his guineas by all means — 1 taught him that. He made me a filthy offer of pounds once, but I told him that, like physicians, poets must be dealt with in guineas, as being the only advantage poets could have in the association with them, as votaries of Apollo. I write to you in hurry and bustle, which I will expound in my next. " Yours, ever, &c. " P. S. You mention something of an attorney on' his way to me on legal business. I have had no warning of such an apparition. What can the fellow want ? I have some lawsuits and business, but have not heard of any thing to put me to the expense of a travelling lawyer. They do enough, in that way, at home. ' Ah, poor Q,ueen ! but perhaps it is for the best, if Herodotus's anecdote is to be believed * * Remember me to any friendly Angles of our mutuaL acquaintance. What are you doing ? Here I have had my hands full of tyrants and their victims. There never was such oppression, even in Ireland, scarcely !" LETTER DXV. TO MR. MURRAY. " Ravenna, August SI, 1821. " I have received the Juans, which are printed so care- lessly, especially the fifth canto, as to be disgraceful to me, and not creditable to you. It really must be gone over again with the manuscript, the errors are so gross ;— words added — changed — so as to make cacophony and nonsense. You have been careless of this poem because some of your squad do n't approve of it ; but I tell you that it will be long before you see any thing half so good as poetry or writing. Upon what principle have you omitted the note on Bacon and Voltaire ? and one of the concluding stanzas sent as an addition? — because it ended, I suppose, with — "And do not link two virtuous souls for life Into that moral centaur, man and wife? " Now, I must say, once for all, that I will not permit any human being to take such liberties with my writings because I am absent. I desire the omissions to be re» placed (except the stanza on Semiramis,) — particularly the stanza upon the Turkish marriages ; and I request that the whole be carefully gone over with the MS. "I never saw such stuff as is printed; — GuUeyaz m- stead of GuZteyaz, &c. Are you aware that Gulbeyaz is a real name and the other nonsense? I copied the cantos out carefully, so that there is no excuse, as the printer read, or at least pnnts, the MS. of the plays with- out error. " If you have no feeling for your own reputation, pray have some little for mine. I have read over tlie poem carefully, and I tell you, it is poetry. Your little envious knot of parson-poets may say what they please : time will show that I am not in this instance mistaken. "Desire my friend Hobhouse to correct the press, especially of the last canto, from the manuscript as it is. It is enough to drive one out of one's reason to see the infernal torture of words from the original. For instance the line — " And pair their rhymes as Venus yokes her dorei— * is printed — " And praise their rhymes, 4c. Also 'precarious' for 'precocious f and this line, stanza 13S^ " And t/iis strong extreme effect to tire no longer. Corrected la this edition. LETTERS, 1821. 185 Now do turn to the manuscript and see if I ever wrote such a line; it is not verse. " No wonder the poem should fail, (which, however, it won't you will see,) with such things allowed to creep about it. Replace what is omitted, and correct what is so shamefully misprinted, and let the poem have fair play ; and 1 fear nothing. * I see in the last two numbers of the Quarterly a strong itching to assail me, (see the review of ' The Eto- nian ;') let it, and see if they sha' n't have enough of it. 1 do not allude to Giflbrd, who has always been my friend, and whom I do not consider as responsible for the articles written by others. "You will publish the plays when ready. I am in such a humour about this printing of Don Juan so inaccurately that I must close this. " Yours. "P. S. I presume that you have not lost the stanza to which I allude ? It was sent afterward : look over my letters and find it." ♦ * * * + * + + Jf * * * ♦ * ** LETTER DXVI.* TO MR. MURRAY. " The enclosed letter is written in bad humour, but not without provocation. However, let it (that is, the bad homour) go for little ; but I must request your serious attention to the abuses of the printer, which ought never to have been permitted. You forget that all the fools in London (the chief purchasers of your publications) will condemn in me the stupidity of your printer. For instance, in the notes to Canto Fifth, ' the Adriatic shore of the Bosj)horus' instead of the Asiatic ! ! AW this may seem little to you, so fine a gentleman with your ministerial connexions, but it is serious to me, who am thousands of miles off, and have no opportunity of not proving myself the fool your printer makes me, except your pleasure and leisure, forsooth. " The gods prosper you, and forgive you, for I can't." 4i )|c 4: * % H: * . LETTER DXVIL TO MR. MOORE. " Ravenna, Sept. 3, 182L " By Mr. Mawman, (a paymaster in the corps, in which yoM and I are privates,) I yesterday expedited to your address, under cover one, two paper-books, containing the Gfiao«r-nal, and a thing or two. It won't all do— even for the posthumous public — but extracts from it may. It is a brief and faithful chronicle of a month or so — parts of it not very discreet, but sufficiently sincere. Mr. Maw- man saith that he will, in person or per friend, have it delivered to you in your Elysian fields. "If you have got the new Juans, recollect that there are some very gross printer's blunders, particularly in the Fifth Canto, — such as 'praise' for ' pair' — ' precarious' for ' precocious' — ' Adriatic' for ' Asiatic' — ' case' for ' chase' — besides gifts of additional words and syllables, which make but a cacophonous rhythmus. Put the pen through the said, as I would mine through Murray's ears if 1 wore alongside of him. As it is, I have sent hin> a rattling letter, as abusive as possible. Though he is publisher to the ' Board of J^migiludcy he is in no danger of discover- ing it. " 1 am packing for Pisa — but direct your letters /if rr, till farther notice. " Yours ever, &c." [One of the " paper-books" mentioned in this letter as intrusted to Mr. Mawman for me, contained a portion, to the amount of nearly a hundred pages, of a prose stor}', relating the adventures of a young Andalusian nobleman, which had been begun by him, at Venice, in 1817, of which the following is an extract. — Moore.] " A few hours afterward we were very good friends^ and a few days after she set out for Arragon, with my son, on a visit to her father and mother. I did not ac- company her immediately, having been in Arragon before, but was to join the family in their Moorish chateau within a few weeks. "During her journey I received a very aflectionate letter from Donna Josepha, apprizing me of the welfare of herself and my son. On her arrival at the chateau, I received another still more affectionate, pressing me, in very fond, and rather foolish terms, to join her immedi- ately. As I was preparing to set out from Seville. I received a third — this was from her father, Don Jose di Cardozo, who requested me, in the politest manner, to dissolve my marriage. I answered him with equal polite- ness, that I would do no such thing. A fourth letter arrived — it was from Donna Josepha, in which she in- formed me that her father's letter was written by her particular desire. I requested the reason by return of post — she replied, by express, that as reason had nothing to do with the matter, it was unnecessary to give any — but that she was an injured and excellent woman. I then inquired why she had written to me the two preceding affectionate letters, requesting me to come to Arragon. She answered, that was because she believed me out of my senses — that, being unfit to take care of myself, I had only to set out on this journey alone, and make my way without difficulty to Don Jose di Cardozo's, I should there have found the tenderest of wives and — a straight waist- coat. " I had nothing to reply to this piece of affection but a reiteration of my request for some lights upon the subject. I was answered that they would only be related to the Inquisition. In the mean time, our domestic discrepancy had become a public topic of discussion ; and the world, which always decides justly, not only in Arragon but in Andalusia, determined that I was not only to blame, but that all Spain could produce nobody so blameable. My case was supposed to comprise all the crimes which could, and several which could not, be committed, and little less than an auto-da-fe was anticipated as tlie result. But let no man say that we are abandoned by our friends in adversity — it was just the reverse. Mine thronged around me to condenm, advise, and console me with their disap- probation. — They told me all that was, would, or could be said on the subject. They shook their hoad.s — they ex- horted me — deplored mc, with tears in tlieir eyes, and — went to dinner." LETTER DXVIII. TO MR. MURRAY WritUn in the envelope of the preceding T.ittrr. 24 "Ravenna, Scpt.4i 1821. " By Saturday's post, I sent you a fierce and fiiribund letter upon the subject of the printer's blunders in Don .luan. I must solicit your attention to the topic, though my wrath hath subsided into suUenness. "Yesterday I received Mr. , a friend of yours, and because ho is a friend of yours ; and that's more than I would do in an English case, except for lluise wlioni I honour. I was as civil as I cotild bo aniong pnika^oi even to the very chairs and tables, for I am going to i*i«i in a few weeks, and have sent and am sending oil' my chattels. It regretted mc that, my bwks and every thing being packed, 1 coukl not send you n fi'w things 1 meant for you ; but they were all sealed and bagg(ip«Hl, so as to have made it a month's work to grt at them again. 1 1S6 LET TE R S', 1821. gave him an envelope, with the Itahan scrap m it,* allud- ed to in my Gilchrist defence. Hobhouse will make it out for you, and it will make yovi laugh, and him too, the spelling particularly. The ' Mcricani,' of whom they call me the 'Capo,' (or Chief,) mean 'Americans,' which is the name given in Romagna to a part of the Carbonari; that is to say, to the popular part, the troops of the Carbo- nari. They are originally a society of hunters in the forest, who took the name of Americans, but at present comprise some thousands, &c. ; but I sha' n't let you far- ther into the secret, which may be participated with the postmasters. Why they thought me their Chief; I know- not: their Chiefs are lilte 'Legion, being many.' How- ever, it is a post of more honour than profit, for, now that they are persecuted, it is fit that I should aid them; and so I have done, as far as my means would permit. They will rise again some day, for these fools of the government are blundering : they actually seem to know mthing^ for they have arrested and banished many of their own party, and let others escape who are not their friends. " What think'st thou of Greece ? " Address to me here as usual, till you hear farther from me. * By Mawman I have sent a Journal to Moore ; but it won't do for the public, — at least a great deal of it won't ; — parts may. "I read over the Juans, which are excellent. Your squad are quite wrong ; and so you will find by-and-by. I regret that I do not go on with it, for I had all the plan for several cantos, and different countries and climes. You say nothing of the note I enclosed to you, which will explain why I agreed to discontinue it, (at Madame Guic- cioli's request ;) but you are so grand, and sublime, and occupied, that one would think, instead of pubhshing for ' the Board of Longitude, that you were trying to dis- cover it. " Let me hear that Gifford is better. He can't be spared either by you or me." LETTER DXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, Sept. 12, 182L " By Tuesday's post, I forwarded, in three packets, the drama of Cain in three acts, of which I request the acknowledgment when arrived. To the last speech of Eve, in the last act, (i. e. where she curses Cain,) add these three lines to the concluding ones — " May the grass wither from thy foot 1 the woods Deny thee shelter ! earth a home ! the dust A gra-ve 1 the sun his light ! and Heaven her God ! " There 's as pretty a piece of imprecation for you, when joined to the lines already sent, as yon may wish to meet with in the course of your business. But do n't forget the addition of the above three lines, which are clinchers to Eve's speech. •^Let me know what Gifford thinks, (if the play arrives in safety ;) for I have a good opinion of the piece, as poetry ; it is in my gay metaphysical style, and in the Manfred line. " You must at least commend my facility and variety, when you consider what I have done within the last fifteen months, with my head, too, full of other and of mundane matters. But no doubt you will avoid saying any good of it, for fear I should raise the price upon you : that 's right : stick to business. Let me know what your other ragamuffins are writing, for I suppose you do n't like start- ing too many of your vagabonds at once. You may give them the start for any thing I care. " Why do n't you publish my Pxdci — the very best thing I ever wrote, — with the Italian to it ? I wish I was along- • An anonymous letter which he had received, threalening him with tHMiinatioo. side of you ; nothing is ever done in a man's absence ; every body runs counter, because they can. If ever I do return to England, (which I sha' n't, though,) I will write a poem to which ' English Bards,' &c. shall be new milk, in comparison. Your present hterary world of mountebanks stands in need of such an Avatar. But I am not yet quite bilious enough: a season or two more, and a provocation or two, will wind me up to the point, and then have at the whole set ! "I have no patience with the sort of trash you send me out by way of books ; except Scott's novels, and three or four other things, I never saw such work, or works. Camp- bell is lecturing — Moore idling — Southey twaddling — Wordsworth drivelling — Coleridge muddhng — * * pid- dling — Bowles quibbling, squabbling, and snivelling. * * will do, if he do n't cant too much, nor imitate Southey ; the fellow has poesy in him ; but he is envious and unhappy, as all the envious are. Still he is among the best of the day. Barry Cornwall will do better by-and-by, I dare say, if he do n't get spoiled by green tea, and the praises of Pen- tonville and Paradise-row. The pity of these men is, that they never lived in high life, nor in solitude : there is no medium for the knowledge ofthe feztsy or the siiZ/ world. If admitted into high hfe for a season, it is merely as specta- tors — they form no part of the mechanism thereof. Now, Moore and I, the one by circumstances, and the other by birth, happened to be free of the corporation, and to have entered into its pulses and passions, yuarum por/es/ui/nus. Both of us have learned by this much which nothing else could have taught us. "Yours. "P. S. I saw one of your brethren, another of the allied sovereigns of Grub-street, the other day, Mawman the Great, by whom I sent due homage to your imperial self. To-morrow's post may perhaps bring a letter from you, but you are the most ungrateful and ungracious of corre- spondents. But there is some excuse for you, with your perpetual levee of politicians, parsons, scribblers, and loun- gers. Some day I will give you a poetical catalogue of them." \ LETTER DXX. TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, Sept. 17, 182L " The enclosed lines,* as you will directly perceive, are written by the Rev. W. L. Bowles. Of course it is for him to deny them if they are not. " Beheve me yours ever and most affectionately, «B. " P. S. Can you forgive this ? It is only a reply to your lines against my ItaUans. Of course I will stand by my lines against all men ; but it is heart-breaking to see such things in a people as the reception of that unredeemed **** *+inan oppressed country. Your apotheosis is now reduced to a level with his welcome, and their grati- tude to Grattan is cancelled by their atrocious adulation of this, &c. &c. &c." LETTER DXXI. TO MR. MOORE. « Ravenna, Sept. 19, 1821. "I am m all the sweat, dust, and blasphemy of a uni- versal packing of all my thmgs, furniture, &c. for Pisa, whether I go for the winter. The cause has been the exile of all my fellow Carbonics, and, among them, of the • " The Irish Avatar," Poems, p. 485. In this copy the following sen- tence (taken from aLetterof Curran,in the able Life of that true Irish- man, by his son) is prefixed as a motto to the Poem—" And Ireland, Hire a bastinadoed elephant, kneeling to receive the paltry rider."— L«rrero/ Curran, Life, vol. ii. page 336. At the end of the verses are these wordi : " (Signed) W. L. B * *, M. A., and written with a view to a Biihop rick."— j\loor«. LETTERS, l&]i. 187 whole family of Madame G. who, you know, was divorced from her husband la:>t week, 'on account of P. P. clerk of this parish,' and who is obliged to join her father and rela- tives, now in exile there, to avoid being shut up in a mo- nastery, because the Pope's decree of separation required her to reside in casa paterna, or else, for decorum's sake, in a convent. As I could not say, with Hamlet, ' Get thee to a nunnery,' I am preparing to follow them. " It is awful work, this love, and prevents all a man's projects of good or glory. I wanted to go to Greece lately (as every thing seems up here) with her brother, who is a very fine, brave fellow, (I have seen him put to the proofj) and wild about liberty. But the tears of a woman who has left a husband for a man, and the weakness of one's own heart, are paramount to these projects, and I can hardly indulge them. " We were divided in choice between Switzerland and Tuscany, and I give my vote for Pisa, as nearer the Mediterranean, which I love for the sake of the shores which it washes and for my young recollections of 1809. Switzerland is a cursed, selfish, swinish country of brutes, placed in the most romantic region of the world. I never could bear the inhabitants, and still less their English visiters ; for which reason, after writing for some informa- tion about houses, upon hearing that there was a colony of English all over the cantons of Geneva, &c. I imme- diately gave up the thought, and persuaded the Gambas to do the same. " By last post I sent you ' the Irish Avatar,' — what think you ? The last line — ' a name never spoke but with curses or jeers' — must run either ' a name only uttered with curses or jeers,' or, * a wretch never named but with curses or jeers.' Becase as how, ' spoke' is not grammar, except in the House of Commons ; and I doubt whether we can say ' a name spokeii^ for mentiojicd. I have some doubts, too, about 'repay,' — 'and for murder repay with a shout and a smile.' Should it not be, ' and for murder repay him with shouts and a smile,' or ' reward him with shouts and a smile ?' " So, pray put your poetical pen through the MS. and take the least bad of the emendations. Also, if there be any farther breaking of Priscian's head, will you apply a plaster ? I wrote in the greatest hurry and fury, and sent it to you the day afier ; so, doubtless, there will be some awful constructions, and a rather lawless conception of rhythmus. " With respect to what Anna Seward calls ' the liberty of transcript,' — when complaining of Miss Matilda Mug- gleton, the accomplished daughter of a choral vicar of Worcester Cathedral, who had abused the said ' liberty of transcript,' by inserting in the Malvem Mercury, Miss Seward's ' Elegy on the South Pole,' as her own produc- tion, with her own signature, two years after having taken a copy, by permission of the authoress — with regard, 1 say, to tlie 'liberty of transcript,' I by no means oppose an occasional copy to the benevolent few, provided it does not degenerate into such licentiousness of Verb and Noun as may tend to ' disparage my parts of speech' by the carelessness of the transcnbblers. " I do not think that there is much danger of the ' King's Press being abused' upon the occasion, if the publishers of journals have any regard for their remaining liberty of person. It is as pretty a piece of invective as ever put publisher in the way to 'Botany.' Therefore, if they meddle with it, it is at their peril. As for myself^ I will answer any jontlcman — though I by no means recognise a ' right of search' into an unpublished production and unavowed poem. The same ap[)lies to things published sans consent. I hope you liltc, at least, the concluiling lines of the Pume ? " What are you doing, and whero are you ? in England ? Nail Murray — nail him to his own counter, till ho slmils out the tliirtecns. Since I wrote to you, I liavc .sent him another tragedy — ' Cain' by name — making three in MS. now in his hands, or in the printer's. It is in the Man- fred, metaphysical style, and full of some Titanic decla- mation; — Lucifer being one of the dram. pers. who takes Cain a voyage among the stars, and, afterwards, to ' Hades,' where he shows him the phantoms of a former world, and its inhabitants. I have gone upon the notion ofCuvier, that the world has been destroyed three or four times, and was inhabited by mammoths, behemoths, and what not ; but not by man till the Mosaic period, as, indeed, is proved by the strata of bones found ; — those of all unknown animals, and known, being dug out, but none of mankind. I have, therefore, supposed Cain to be shown, in the rationed Preadamites, beings endowed with a higher in- telligence than man, but totally unlike him in form, and with much greater strength of mind and person. You may suppose the small talk which takes place between him and Lucifer upon these matters is not quite canonical. "The consequence is, that Cain comes back and kills Abel in a fit of dissatisfaction, partly with the politics of Paradise, which had driven them all out of it, and partly because (as it is written in Genesis) Abel's sacrifice was the more acceptable to the Deity. I trust that the Rhapsody has arrived — it is in three acts, and entitled ' A Mystery,' according to the former Christian custom, and in honour of what it probably will remain to the reader. « Yours, &c." LETTER DXXIL TO MR. MOORE. "September 20, 182L "After the stanza on Grattan, concluding whh 'His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied,' will it please you to cause insert the following 'Addenda,' which 1 dreamed of during to-day's Siesta ; " Ever glorious Grattan ! &c. &c. &c. I will tell you what to do. Get me twenty copies of the whole carefully and privately printed oflfj as your lines were on the Naples aifair. Send me six, and distribute the rest according to your own pleasure. " I am in a fine vein, ' so full of pastime and prodiga- lity I' — So, here 's to your health in a glass of grog. Pray write, that I may know by return of post — address to me at Pisa. The gods give you joy ! " Where are you ? in Paris ? Let us hear. You will take care that there he no printer's name, nor autlior's, as in tlwj Naples stanza?, at least for the present." [.ETTER DXXIII. TO MR. MUHRAY, " Ravenna, Sept. 20, 1821. "You need not scud ' tho Blues,' which is a mere buf- foonery, never meant for publivotion.* "The papers to wliicli 1 alhido, in ca.urse roquire delicacy; but that will not be wnniing, if Mooro and Hob- house survive me, and, I may add, yourself; and that you S»a Poomi. p. 407 188 LETTERS, 1821. may all three do so is, I assure you, my very smcere wish. I am not sure that long life is desirable for one of my temper and constitutional depression of spirits, which of course I suppress in society ; but which breaks out when alone, and in my writings, in spite of myself. It has been deepened, perhaps, by some long-past events, (I do not allude to my marriage, &c. — on the contrary, Uwi raised them by the persecution giving a fiUip to my spirits ;) but I call it constitutional, as I have reason to think it. You know, or you do not know, that my maternal grandfather, (a very clever man, and amiable, I am told,) \yas strongly suspected of suicide, (he was found drovraed in the Avon at Bath,) and that another very near relative of the same branch took poison, and was merely saved by antidotes. For the first of these events there was no apparent cause, as he was rich, respected, and of considerable intellectual resources, hardly forty years of age, and not at all addicted to any unhinging vice. It was, however, but a strong suspicion, owing to the manner of his death and his melan- choly temper. The second had a cause, but it ooes not become me to touch upon it : it happened when I was far too young to be aware of it, and I never heard of it till after the death of that relative, many years afterward. I think, then, that I may call this dejection constitutional. I had always been told that I resembled more my maternal grandfather than any of my father's family — that is, in the gloomier part of his temper, for he was what you call a good-natured man, and I am not. " The Journal here I sent to Moore the other day ; but as it is a mere diary, only parte of it would ever do for publication. The other Journal of the Tour in 1816, 1 should think Augusta might let you have a copy of. " I am much mortified that Gifford do n't take to my new dramas. To be sure, they are as opposite to the EngUsh drama as one thing can be to another ; but I have a notion that, if xmderstood, they will in time find favour (though 710^ on the stage) with the reader. The simpli- city of plot is intentional, and the avoidance of rant also, as also the compression of the speeches in the more se- vere situations. What I seek to show in ' the Foscaris' is the suppressed passions, rather than the rant of the pre- sent day. For that matter — ' Nay, if thou 'It mouth, I 'n rant as well as thou—' would not be difficult, as I think I have shown m my younger productions, — nx)i dramatic ones, to be sure. But, as I said before, I am mortified that GifFord do n't like them ; but I see no remedy, our notions on that subject being so different. How is he ? — well, I hope ; — let me know. I regret his demur the more that he has been always my grand patron, and I know no praise which would compensate me in my o\vn mind for his censure. I do not mind Reviexos^ as I can work them at their own weapons. « Yours, &c. "Address to me at Pisa, whither I am going. The reason is, that all my Italian friends here have been exiled, and are met there for the present, and I go to join them, as agreed upon, for the winter." LETTER DXXIV. TO MR, MURRjLY. « Ravenna, Sept. 24, 1821. • I have been thinking over our late correspondence, and vwsh to propose to you the following articles for our future : " Istly, That you shall write to me of yourself^ of the health, wealth, and welfare of all friends; but of me (quoad me) little or nothing. 2dly. That you shall send me soda-powders, tooth- powder, tooth-brushes, or any such anti-odontalgic or chemical articles, as heretofore * ad libitum,' upon being reimbursed for the same. " 3dly. That you shall not send me any modem, or (as they are called) new publications, in English, whatsoever, save and excepting any writing, prose or verse, of (or reasonably presumed to be of) Walter Scott, Crabbe, Moore, Campbell, Rogers, Gifford, Joanna Baillie, Irving, (the American,) Hogg, Wilson, (the Isle of Palms man,) or any especial single work of fancy which is thought to be of considerable merit ; Voyages and Travels, provided that they are neither in Greece, Spain, Asia Minor, Al- bania, nor Italy, will be welcome. Having travelled the countries mentioned, I know that what is said of them can convey nothing farther which I desire to know about them. — No other English works whatsoever. "4thly. That you send me no periodical works what- soever — no Edinburgh, Quarterly, Monthly, nor any review, magazine, or newspaper, English or foreign, of any description. "5thly, That you send me no opinions whatsoever, either good, had, or indifferent, of yourself or your friends, or others, concerning any work, or works, of mine, past, present, or to come. "6thly. That all negotiations in matters of business between you and me pass through the medium of the Hon. Douglas Kinnaird, my friend and trustee, or Mr. Hobhouse, as ' Alter ego,' and tantamount to myself dur- ing my absence — or presence. "Some of these propositions may at first seem strange, but they are founded. The quantity of trash I have received as books is incalculable, and neither amused nor instructed. Reviews and magazines are at the best but ephemeral and superficial reading : — who thinks of the grand article of last year in any given Review 7 In the next place, if they regard myself^ they tend to increase egotism. If favourable, I do not deny that the praise elates, and if unfavourable, that the abuse irritates. The latter may conduct me to inflict a species of satire, which would neither do good to you nor to your friends : they may smile now, and so may you ; but if I took you all in hand, it would not be difficult to cut you up like gourds. I did as much by as powerful people at nine- teen years old, and I know litde as yet, in three-and- thirty, which should prevent me from making all your ribs gridirons for your hearts, if such were my pro- pensity : but it is not ; therefore let me hear none of your provocations. If any thing occurs so very gross as to require my notice, I shall hear of it from my legal friends. For the rest, t merely request to be left in ignorance. " The same applies to opinions, good, bad, or indifferent, of persons in conversation or correspondence. These do not interrupt, but they soil, the current of my mind. I am sensitive enough, but not till I am troubled ; and here I am beyond the touch of the short arms of literary England, except the few feelers of the polypus that crawl over the channels in the way of extract. "All these precautions in England would be useless ; the libeller or the flatterer would there reach me in spite of all ; but in Italy we know little of literary England, and think less, except what reaches us through some garbled and brief extract in some miserable gazette. For two years (excepting two or three articles cut out and sent to you by the post) I never read a newspaper which was not forced upon me by some accident, and know, upon the whole, as little of England as you do of Italy, and God knows that is little enough, with all your travels, &c. &c. &c. The EngUsh travellers know Italy as you know Guernsey : how much is that 7 " If any thing occurs so violently gross or personal as requires notice, Mr. Douglas Kinnaird will let me know; but o{ praise, I desire to hear nothing. "■ You will say, ' to what tends all this ?' I will answer THAT ; — to keep my mind/ree and unbiased by all paltry LETTERS, 1821. 189 and personal irritabilities of praise or censure — to let my genius take its natural direction, while my feelings are like the dead, who know nothing and feel nothing of all or aught that is said or done in their regard. * If you can observe these conditions, you will spare yourself and others some pain ; let me not be worked upon to rise up ; for if I do, it will not be for a little. If you cannot observe these conditions, we shall cease to be correspondents, — but not friends, for I shall always be yours and ever truly, " Byron. " P. S. I have taken these resolutions not from any irritation against you or yours, but simply upon reflection that all reading, either praise or censure, of myself has done me harm. When I was in Switzerland and Greece, I was out of the way of hearing either, and how I ivrote there .'—In Italy I am out of the way of it too ; but lat- terly, partly through my fault, and partly through your kindness in wishing to send me the newest and most periodical publications, I have had a crowd of Reviews, &c. thrust upon me, which have bored me with their jargon, of one kind or another, and taken off my atten- tion from greater objects. You have also sent me a parcel of trash of poetry, for no reason that I can con- ceive, unless to provoke me to write a new 'English Bards.' Now this I wish to avoid : for if ever I do, it will be a strong production ; and I desire peace as long as the fools will keep their nonsense out of my way." LETTER DXXV. TO MR. MOORE. "September 27, 1821. « It was not Murray's fault. I did not send the MS. overture, but I send it now,* and it may be restored ; — or, at any rate, you may keep the original, and give any copies you please. I send it, as written, and as I read it to you — I have no other copy. " By last week's two posts, in two packets, I sent to your address, at Paris, a longish poem upon the late Irishism of your countrymen in their reception of * * *, Pray, have you received it? It is in 'the high Roman fashion,' and full of ferocious fantasy. As you could not well take up the matter with Paddy, (being of the same nest,) I have ; — but I hope still that I have done justice to his great men and his good heart. As for * * *, you will find it laid on with a trowel. I delight in your 'fact historical' — is it a fact ? " Yours, &c. " P. S. You have not answered me about Schlegel — why not ? Address to me at Pisa, whither I am going, to join the exiles — a pretty numerous body, at present. Let me hear how you are, and what you mean to do. Is there no chance of your recrossing the Alps? If the G. Rex marries again, let him not want an Epithalamium — suppose a joint concern of you and me, like Sternhold and Hopkins I" LETTER DXXVI. TO MR. MURRAY. « September 28, 1821. " I add another cover to request you to ask Moore to obtain (if possible) my letters to tiic lato Lady Mel- bourne from Lady Cowpcr. They are very numerous, and ought to have been restored long ago, as I was ready to give back Lady Melbourne's in exchange. These latter are in Mr. Hobhouse's custody with my other papers, and shall be punctually restored if required. I • The linei "Oh Wellington," Don Juan, Canto IX. Slanra I, Ac. which I had mined in their original place at the o|niiin!; of ihn Third Canto, and took for graotod that Ihcy had boon iu|)preiicd by his publiiher.— Moor«, did not choose before to apply to Lady Cowper, as her mother's death naturally kept me from intruding upon her feelings at the time of its occurrence. Some years have now elapsed, and it is essential that I should have my own epistles. They are essential as confirming that part of the 'Memoranda' which refers to the two periods (1812 and 1814) when my marriage with her niece was in contemplation, and will tend to show what my real views and feelings were upon that subject. " You need not be alarmed ; the ' fourteen years'* will hardly elapse without some mortality among us : it is a long lease of life to speculate upon. So your calculation vdll not be in so much peril, as the ' argosie' will sink before that time, and ' the pound of flesh' be withered previously to your being so long out of a return. "I also wish to give you a hint or two, (as you have really behaved very handsomely to Moore in the busi- ness, and are a fine fellow in your Une,) for your advan- tage. If hy your own management you can extract any of my epistles from Lady (* * * + * * ♦^j they might be of use in your collection, (sinking of course the names, and all such circumstances as might hurt living feehngs, or those of suruvorsj) they treat of more topics than love occasionally. + * + + + * " I will tell you who may happen to have some letters of mine in their possession : Lord Powerscourt, some to his late brother ; Mr. Long of — (I forget his place) — but the father of Edward Long of the Guards, who was drowned in going to Lisbon early in 1809 ; Miss Eliza- beth Pigot, of Southwell, Notts, (she may be Mistress by this time, for she had a year or two more than I:) they wore not love-letters, so that you might have them without scruple. There are, or might be, some to the late Rev. J. C. Tattersall, in the hands of his brother (half-brother) Mr. Wheatley, who resides near Canter- bury, I think. There are some of Charles Gordon, now of Dulwich ; and some few to Mrs. Chaworth ; but these latter are probably destroyed or inaccessible. "I mention these people and particulars merely as chances. Most of them have probably destroyed the letters, which in fact are of little import, many of them written when very young, and several at school and college. " Peel (the second brother of the Secretary) was a cor respondent of mine, and also Porter, the son of the Bishop of Clogher ; Lord Clare a very voluminous one ; William Harness (a friend of Milman's) anotlicr ; Charles Drum- mond, (son of the banker ;) William Bankes (the voyager) your friend ; R. C. Dallas, Esq. ; Hodgson ; Henry Drury ; Hobhouse you were already aware of. " I have gone through this long list of ' The cold, the faithless, and Uie dead,' because I know tliat, lilte • the curious in fish-sauce,' you are a researcher of such things. " Besides these, tlicre are other occasional ones to Ute- rary men and so forth, compUmentary, &.c. &c. &c. not worth much more than llie rest. There are some hun- dreds, too, of Italian notes of mine, scribbled with a noblo contempt of the grammar and dictionary, in very English Etruscan ; for I speak Itahan very fluently, but write it carelessly and incorrectly to a degree." LETTER DXXVIL TO MR. MOORE. "September 29, 1821. I send you two rough things, praso and vorse, not * He here advert* to a t>BMinf[ remark in one of Mr. Alurniy'i lettert, Ihnt.Ri hii lordfhipi " Memoranda" wer« not to he published In hU lifetime, the sum now paid lor the work, QlUtl/. wmild moat probably, ii|ion aiiunonnlilc calculation of »urviToi»hiji, amuunl iiltin)»l«Jy to no l.-M than inmU—Muort. 190 LETTERS, 1S21. much iB themselves, but which will show, one of them the state of the country, and the olher of your friend's mind, when they were written. Neither of them were sent to the person concerned, but you will see, by tlie style of theni, that they were sincere, as I am in signing myself " Yours ever and truly, «B." [Of the two enclosures, mentioned in the foregoing note, one was a letter intended to be sent to Lady Byron, relative to his money invested in the fundsj of wliich the following are extracts.] "Ravenna, Marza Imo, 182L " I have received your message, through my sister's letter about English security, &c. &c. It is considerate, (and true, even,) that such is to be found — but not that I shall find it. Mr. + *, for his own views and purposes, will thwart all such attempts till he has accomphshed his own, viz. to make me lend my fortune to some chent of his choosing. "At this distance — after this absence, and with my utter ignorance of affairs and business — with my temper ■ and impatience, I have neither the means nor the mind to resist. * + * + * * Thinking of the funds as I do, and wishmg to secure a rcrvesion to my sister and her children, I should jump at most expedients. " What I told you is come to pass — the Neapolitan war is declared. Your fimds will fall, and I shall be in consequence ruined. That 's nothing — but my blood- relations will be so. You and your child are provided for. Live and prosper — I wish so mucJi to both. Live and prosper — you have the means. I think but of my real kin and kindred, who may be the victims of this ac- cursed bubble. " You neither know nor dream of the consequences of this war. It is a war of men with morfarchs, and will spread like a spark on the dry, rank grass of the vegeta- ble desert. What it is with you and your English, you do not know, for ye sleep. What it is with us here, I know, for it is before, and around, and within us. " Judge of my detestation of England and of all that it inherits, when I avoid returning to your country at a time when not only my pecuniary interest, but, it may be, even my personal security require it. I can say no more, for all letters are opened. A short time will decide upon what is to be done here, and then you will learn it without being more troubled with me or my correspondence. Whiitever happens an individual is little, so that the cause is forwarded. " I have no more to say to you on tlie score of affairs or on any other subject." [The second enclosure in the note consisted of some verses, written by him, December 10th, 1820, on seeing the following paragraph in a newspaper. " Lady Byron is this year the lady patroness at the annual Charity Ball given at the Town Hall at Hinckly, Leicestershire, and Sir G. Crewe, Bart, the principal steward." These verses are full of strong and indignant feeling, — every stanza concluding pointedly witli the words "Charity Ball," — and the thought that predominates through the whole may be collected from a few of the opening lines. — Moore.] " Whnl matter ihepnngrs of a husband and fattier, If his sorrows in exile be great or be small, So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather, And the Saint patroniseB her ' Charily Ball,' What matters— a heart, which though faulty was feeling. Be driven to exresses which once could appal- That the Sinner should suffer is only fair dealing, Ail the Saint keeps her charity UncU (ov ' the Ball.' fce. i-c,' LETTER DXXVJIL TO MR, MOORE. "September — no — October 1, 182L " I have written to you lately, both in prose and verse, at CTreat length, to Paris and London. I presume that Mrs. Moore, or whoever is your Pans deputy, will for- ward my packets to you in ^u^ondon. " I am setting off fjr Pisa, if a shght incipient intermit- tent fever do not prevent me. 1 fear it is not strong enough to give Murray much chance of realizing his thir- teens again. I hardly should regret it, I think, provided you raised your price upon him — as what Lady Holder- ness (my sister 's grandmother, a Dutchwoman) used to call Augusta, her Rcsidee Legaioo — so as to provide for us all ; my bones with a splendid aiid larmoyante ethtion, and you with double what is extractable during my lifetime. " I have a strong presentiment that (bating some out- of-the-way accident) you will survive me. The differ- ence of eight years, or whatever it is between our ages is nothing. I do not feel (nor am, indeed anxious to feel) the principles of life in me tend to longevity. My father and mother died, the one at thirty-five or six, and the other at forty-five ; and Doctor Rusli, or somebody else, says that nobody lives long, without having one parent^ at least, an old stager. " I should, to be sure, like to see out my eternal mother- in-law, not so much for her heritage, but from my natural antipathy. But the indulgence of this natural desire is too much to expect from the Providence who presides over old women. I bore you with all this about lives, because it has been put in my way by a calculation of ensurances which Murray has sent me, I really tlunk you should have more, if I evaporate within a reason- able time. "I wonder if my 'Cain' has got safe to England. I have written since about sixty stanzas of a poem, m octave stanzas,* (in the Pulci style, which the fools in England think was invented by Whistlecraf; — it is as old as the hills m Italy,) called ' The Vision of Judgment, by Q,ue- vcdo Redivivus,' with this motto — ' A Daniel come to judgment, yea, a Daniel : I thank thee, Jew, for leaching me that word.' " In this it is my intent to put the said George's Apo- theosis in a Whig point of view, not forgetting the Poet Laureate for his preface and his other demerits. " I am just got to the pass where Saint Peter, hearing that the royal defunct had opposed Catholic Emanci- pation, rises up and, interrupting Satan's oration, de- clares he will change places wiih Cerberus sooner than let him into heaven, while he has the keys thereof. " I must go and ride, though rather feverish and chilly. It is the ague season ; but the agues do me rather good than haiTn. The feel after the Jit is as if one had got rid of one's body for good and all . "The gods go with you I — Address to Pisa. "Ever yours. " P. S. Since I came back I feci better, though I stayed out too late for this malaria season, under the thin cres- cent of a very young moon, and got off my horse to walk in an avenue with a Signora for an liour I thought of you and ' When aleve thou rovcst By the star (liou lovesi.' But it was not in a romantic mood, as I should have been once ; and yet it was a new woman, (that is, new to me,) and, of course, expected to be made love to. But I merely made a few commonplace speeches. I feel as your poor friend Curran said, before his death,' a mountain of lead upon my heart,' which I believe to be ♦ See Don Juan, Canto IV. Stanza 6. LETTERS, 1821. 191 constitutional, and tliat nothing will remove it but tlie same remedy." LETTER DXXIX. TO MR. MOORE. October 6, 182L " By this post I have sent my nightmare to balance the incubus of Southey's impudent anticipation of the Apo- theosis of George the Third. I should like you to take a look over it, as I think there are two or three things in it which might please ' our puir hill folk.' " By the last two or three posts I have written to you at length. My ague bows to me every two or three days, but we are not as yet upon intimate speaking terms. 1 have an intermittent generally every two years, when the climate is favourable, (as it is here,) but it does me no harm. What I find worse, and cannnot get rid of, is the growing depression of my spirits, without sufficient cause. I ride — I am not intemperate in eating or drinking — and my general health is as usual, except a slight ague, which rather does good tlian not. It must be constitutional ; for I know nothing more than usual to depress me to that degree. " How do ymi manage ? I think you told me, at Ve- nice, that your spirits did not keep up without a little claret. I can drink and bear a good deal of wine, (as you may recollect in England ;) but it don't exhilarate — it makes me savage and suspicious, and even quarrel- some. Laudanum has a similar effect ; but I can take much of i< without any effect at all. The thing that gives me the highest spirits (it seems absurd, but true) is a dose of salts — I mean in the afternoon, after their effect. But one can't take them like champagne. « Excuse this old woman's letter ; but my lemancholy don't depend upon health, for it is just the same, well or ill, or here or there. " Yours, &c." LETTER DXXX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Ravenna, October 9, 182L "You will please to present or convey the enclosed poem to Mr. Moore. 1 sent him another copy to Paris: but he has probably left that city. " Do n't forget to send nie my first act of ' Werner* (if Hobhouse can find it among my papers) — send it by the post to (Pisa ;) and also cut out Sophia Lee's ' German's Tale' from the ' Canterbury Tales,' and send it in a letter also. I began that tragedy m 1815. " By-the-way, you have a good deal of my prose tracts in MS. ? Let me have proofs of them all again — I mean the controversial ones, including the last two or three years of time. Another question'. — The Epistle of St. Paul, which I translated from the Armenian, for what reason have you kept it back, though you published that stuff which gave rise to the ' Vampire ?' Is it because you are afraid to print any thing in opposition to the cant of the duarterly about Manichcism ? Let me have a proof of that Epistle directly. T am a better Christian than those parsons of yours, though not paid for being so. "Send — Fabcr's Treatise on the Cabiri. "Sainte Croix's Myst&res du Pagaiiismc, (scarce, per- haps, but to be found, as Mitford refers to his work fre- quently.) " A common Bible, of good legible print, (bound in rus- sia.) I have one ; but as it was the last gift of my sister, (whom I shall probably never sec again,) I can only ust- it carefully, and less frequently, because I like to keep it in good order. Do n't forgot this, for I am a groat reader and admirer of those books, and had read iJiem thro»igh and through before I was eight years old, — that is to say. the Old Testament, for the New struck men as a task' but the other as a pleasure. I speak as a boy from the re- collected impression of that period at Aberdeen in 1796. "Any novels of Scott, or poetry of the same. Ditto cf Crabbe, Moore, and the Elect ; but none of your cursed commonplace trash, — unless something starts up of actual merit, which may very well be, for 't is time it should." LETTER DXXXI. TO MR. MURRAV. "October 20, 1821. " If the errors are in the MS. write me down an ass : they are not, and I am content to undergo any penalty if they be. Besides, the omitted stanza, (last but one or two,) sent afterward, was that in the MS. too ? " As to ' honour,' I will trust no man's honour in affairs of barter. I will tell you why: a state of bargain is Hobbes's ' state of nature — a state of war.' It is so with all men. If I come to a friend, and say, ' Friend, lend me five hundred pounds,' — he either does it, or says that he can't or won't; but if I come to ditto, and say, 'Ditto, I have an excellent house, or horse, or carriage, or MSS. or books, or pictures, or &c. &c. &c. &c. honestly worth a thousand pounds, you shall have them for five hundred,' what does Ditto say? why, he looks at them, he hums, he has, — he humbugs, if he can, to get a bargain as cheaply as he can, because it is a bargain. — This is in the blood and bone of mankind ; and the same man who would lend another a thousand pounds without interest, would not buy a horse of him for half its value if he could help it. It is so : there 's no denying it ; and therefore I will have as much as I can, and you will give as little ; and there 's an end. All men are intrinsical rascals, and I am only sorry that, not being a dog, I can't bite them. " I am filling another book for you with little anecdotes, to my own knowledge, or well authenticated, of Sheridan, Curran, &c. and such other public men as I recollect to have been acquainted with, for I knew most of them more or less. I will do what I can to prevent your losing by my obsequies. " Yours, &c." LETTER DXXXIL TO MR. ROGERS. " Ravenna, October 21, 1821. " I shall be (the gods willing) in Bologna on Saturday next. This is a curious answer to your letter ; but I have taken a house in Pisa for the winter, to which all my chat- tels, furniture, horses, carriages, and live stock arc already removed, and I am preparing to follow. " The cause of this removal is, shortly, the exile or pro- scription of all my friends' relations and connexions here into Tuscany, on account of our late politics ; and where they go, I accompany them. I merely remained till now to settle some arrangements about my daughter, and to give time for my furniture, &c. to precede me. I Irave not here a seat or a bed hardly, except some jury chairs, and tables, and a mattress for the week to come. "If you will go on w iih me to Pisa, I can lodge you for as long as you like, (they write that the hou.n how dei'i) and expansive a concern lor the happiness of otliei-s Uio Christian faith can awaken in the midst of youth and prosperity. Hero is nothing poetical and Kpleiulid, as in the expostulatory homage of I\I. Dtluinartine ? but hero is the sublime, my lord ; for this intertrssion was oU'ered, on your account, to the supreme Sourct' of lKi]ipini'ss. It sprang from a faith more connrnied than that of iho French poet ; and from a ehaiiiy whirh, in combination 194 LETTERS, 1821. with faith, showed its power unimpaired amid the lan- guors and pains of approacliing dissolution. I will hope that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply sincere, may not be always unavailing. "It would add nothing, my lord, to the fame >\ath which your genius has surrounded you, for an unknown and obscure individual to express his admiration of it. I had rather be numbered with those who wish and pray, that *■ wisdom from above,' and ' peace,' and ' joy,' may enter such a mind. " John Sheppard." LETTER DXXXVII. TO MR. SHEPPAHD. Pisa, December 8, 182L "sir, " I have received your letter. I need not say, that the extract which it contains has affected me, because it would imply a want of all feeling to have read it with indifference. Though I am not quite sure that it was intended by the writer for me, yet the date, the place where it was written, with some other circumstances that you mention, render the allusion probable. But for whomever it was meant, I have read it with all the pleasure which can arise from so melancholy a topic. I say pleasure — because your brief and simple picture of the life and demeanour of the ex- cellent person whom I trust you will again meet, cannot be contemplated without the admiration due to her virtues and her pure and unpretending piety. Her last moments were particularly striking ; and I do not know that, in tlie course of reading the story of mankind, and still less in my observations upon the existing portion, I ever met with any thing so unostentatiously beautiful. Indisputably, the firm believers in the Gospel have a great advantage over all others, — for this simple reason, that, if true, they will have their reward hereafter ; and if there be no here- after, they can be but with the infidel in his eternal sleep, having had the assistance of an exalted hope, through life, without subsequent disappointment, since (at the worst for them) ' out of nothing, nothing can arise,' not even sorrow. But a man's creed does not depend upon himself: who can say, I will believe this, that, or the other ? and, least of all, that which he least can comprehend. I have, however, observed, that those who have begun life with extreme faith, have in the end greatly narrowed it, as Chillingworth, Clarke, (who ended as an Arian,) Bayle, and Gibbon, (once a Catholic,) and some others ; while, on the other hand, nothing is more conmion than for the early skeptic to end in a firm behef, bke Maupertuis and Henry Kirk White. " But my business is to acknowledge your letter, and not to make a dissertation. I am obliged to you for your good wishes, and more than obliged by the extract from the papers of the beloved object whose qualities you have so well described in a few words. I can assure you, that all the fame which ever cheated humanity into higher no- tions of its own importance would never weigh in my mind against the pure and pious interest which a virtuous being may be pleased to take in my welfare. In this point of view, I would not exchange the prayer of the deceased in my behalf for the united glory of Homer, Cajsar, and Na- poleon, could such be accumulated upon a living head. Do me at least the justice to suppose, tliat ' Video melioraproboque,* however the ' deteriora sequor,' may have been applied to my conduct. " I have the honour to be " your obliged and obedient servant, « Byrov. " P. S. I do not know that I am addressing a clergy- man ; but I presume that you will not be affronted by tlie mistake (if it is one) on the address of this letter. One who has so well explained, and deeply felt the doctrines of religion, will excuse the error which led me to believe him its minister." LETTER DXXXVIIL TO MK. MURRAY. Pisa, December 4, 1821. " By extracts in the English papers, — ^in your holy ally, Galignani's 'Messenger,' — I perceive that ' the two great- est examples of human vanity in the present age' are firstly, ' the ex-emperor Napoleon,' and, secondly, ' his lord- ship, &c. the noble poet,' meaning your humble servant, ' poor guiltless I.' " Poor Napoleon ! he little dreamed to what vile com- parisons the turn of the wheel would reduce him ! " I have got here into a famous old feudal palazzo, on the Arno, large enough for a garrison, with dungeons b** low and cells in the walls, and so full of ghosts that the learned Fletcher (my valet) has begged leave to change his room, and then refused to occupy his new room, be- cause there were more ghosts there than in the other. It is quite true that there are most extraordinary noises, (as in all old buildings,) which have terrified the servjints so as to incommode me extremely. There is one place where people were evidently walled up, for there is but one possible passage, broken through the wall, and then meant to be closed again upon the inmate. The house belonged to the Lanfranchi family, (the same mentioned by Ugolino in his dream, as his persecutor with Sismondi,) and has had a fierce owner or two in its time. The staircase, &c. is said to have been built by Michel Agnolo. It is not yet cold enough for a fire. Wiiat a climate ! " I am, however, bothered about these spectres, (as they say the last occupants were, too,) of whom I have as yet seen nothing, nor, indeed, heard {myself) ; but all the other ears have been regaled by all kinds of supernatural sounds. The first night I thought I heard an odd noise, bat it has not been repeated. I have now been here more than a month. "Yours, &€." LETTER DXXXIX. TO MR. MURRAY. "Pisa, December 10, 1821. This day and this hour, (one, on the clock,) my daugh- ter is six years old. I wonder when I shall see her again, or if ever I shall see her at all. I have remarked a curious coincidence,* which almost looks like a fatality. " My mother, my wife, my daughter, my half-sister, my sister's mother, my natural daughter, (as far at least as / am concerned,) and myself, are all only children. " My father, by his first marriage with Lady Conyers, (an only child,) had only my sister ; and by liis second mar- riage with an only child, an only child again. Lady Byron, as you know, was one also, and so is my daughter, &c. " Is not this rather odd — such a complication of only children? By-the-way, send me my daugnter Ada's miniature. I have only the print, which gives little or no idea of her complexion. "Yours, &c. B." LETTER DXL. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, December 12, 1821. What you say about Galignani's two biographies is very amusing; and, if I were not lazy, I would certainly * See Memoianduins, page 261. LETTERS, 1821. 195 do what you desire. But I doubt my present stock of facetiousness — that is, of good serious humour, so as not to let the cat out of the bag.* I wish you would under- take it. I will forgive and indulge you (hke a pope) before- hand, for any thing ludicrous, that might keep those fools in their own dear behef that a man is a loup garou. " I suppose I told you that the Giaour story had actually some foundation on facts ; or, if I did not, you will one day find it in a letter of Lord Sligo's, written to me after the publication of the poem. I should not like marvels to rest upon any account of my own, and shall say nothing about it. However, the real incident is still remote enough from the poetical one, being just such as, happening to a man of any imagination, might suggest such a composition. The worst of any real adventures is that they involve living people — else Mrs. 's 's^&c. are as ' german to the matter' as Mr. Maturin could desire for his novels. ***** " The consummation you mentioned for poor Taafe was near taking place yesterday. Riding pretty sharply after Mr. Medwin and myself, in turning the corner of a lane between Pisa and the hills, he wa.s spilt, — and, besides losing some claret on the spot, bruised himself a good deal, but is in no danger. He was bled, and keeps his room. As I was a-head of him some hundred yards, I did not see the accident ; but my servant, who was behind, did. and, says the Iwrse did not fall — the usual excuse of floored equestrians. As Taafe piques himself upon his horse- manship, and his horse is really a pretty horse enough, I long for his personal narrative, — as I never yet met the man who would /aiVZy claim a tumble as his own property •'Could not you send me a printed copy of the 'Irish Avatar?' — I do not know what has become of Rogers since we parted at Florence. " Do n't let the Angles keep you from writing. Sam told me that you were somewhat dissipated in Paris, which I can easily beheve. Let me hear from you at your best leisure. " Ever and truly, &c. "P.S. December 13. " I enclose you some lines, written not long ago, which you may do what you like \vith, as they arc very harm- less.f Only, if copied, or printed, or set, I could wish it more correctly than in the usual way, in which one's 'nothings are monstered,' as Coriolanus says. *' You must really get Taafe published — he never will rest till he is so. He is just gone with his broken head to Luccea, at my desire, to try to save a man from being burnt. The Spanish * * *, that has her petticoats over Lucca, had actually condemned a poor devil to the stake, for stealing the wafer-box out of a church. Shelley and I, of course, were up in arms against this piece of piety, and have been disturbing every body to get the sentence changed. Taafe is gone to see what can be done. "B." LETTER DXLL TO MR. SHELLEY. "December 12, 1R2L "my r>EAR SHELLEY, "Enclosed is a note for you from . His reasons arc all very true, T dare say, and it mi.'jlit and may be of personal inconvenience to us. But that does not appear to me to bo a reason to allow a being to be burnt vvithoiil trying to save him. To save him by any moans but renwn- * Mr. Gnlignnni hnving expreiicd a wiih to be runiiiihud with n dmrt Memoir of Lord Byron, fur the piirposi' of prolixiiig It to ihc Kn-mh e'lilion of hill work*, I hail mid jexlin^ly inn prri'i'dinir irltiM-to hit iord- ■hip, thi\t itwoiiid lieliiitn fair Hiilii.' mi (lie dispoHinon of llir worid to " bemonntcr hia fi'utiireii," if li« woiild wiitr I'.ir tlio piiliiir , Kngliiih nn well Bi French, n lort of moclc-huroic iicroniil of liimnrll', oiililoiiif;, in horror* and wondtim, nil Ihnt hndhttcn ypl rclnledor hi-lievvd ofhiin, niid leiiving fven Ooelhe'i ilory of the douhlf minder nl Plore nee fiir hihind. Aloort. t Stantai written on th road between riorcncennd I'i«n, pngs ibl. strancc, is of course out of the question ; but I do not see why a temperate remonstrance should hurt any one. Lord Guilford is the man, if he would undertake it. He knows the Grand Duke personally, and might, perhaps, prevail upon him to interfere. But, as he goes to-morrow, you must be quick or it will be useless. Make any use of my name that you please. " Yours ever, &c.'' LETTER DXLII. TO MR. MOORE. " I send you the two notes, which will tell you the story I allude to of the Auto da Fe. Shelley's allusion to his 'fellow-serpent' is a buffoonery of mine. Goethe's Mephistofilus calls the serpent who tempted Eve ' my aunt, the renowned snake ;' and I always insist that Shelley is nothing but one of her nephews, walking about on the tip of his tail." To Lord Byron. « 2 o'clock, Tuesday Morning. "my dear lord, " Although strongly persuaded that the story must be either an entire fabrication, or so gross an exaggeration as to be nearly so ; yet, in order to be able to discover the truth beyond all doubt, and to set your mind quite at rest, I have taken the determination to go myself to Lucca this morning. Should it prove less false than I am con- vinced it is, I shall not fail to exert myself in every way that I can imagine may have any success. Be assured of this. " Your lordship's most truly, «* +, " P. S. To prevent bavnrdage, I prefer going in person to sending my servant with a letter. It is better for you to mention nothing (except, of course, to Shelley) of my excursion. The person I visit there is one on whom I can have every dependence in every way, both as to au- thority and truth. To Lmd Byron. " Thursday Morning. "my dear lord BYRON, "I hear this morning that the design, which certainly had been in contemplation, of burning my fellow- serpent, has been abandoned, and that he has been condemned to the crallcys. Lord Guilford is at Leghorn ; and as your courier apjilied to mc to know whether he ought to leave your letter for him or not, T have thought it best since this information to tell him to take it back. " Ever faitlifully yours, "P.B.Shelley. LETTER DXLIII. TO SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART. "Pisa, January 12,1822. "my dear sir wai.tei;, •* I need not sav how grat<>ful I am for your letter, but I mtist own my ingratitude in iu)t having written to you again long ago. Since I left England, (iuid it is not for all the usual term t)f transportation,) I have scribbled to five himdred blockheads on business, &c. williout difficul- ty, though with no great pleasur«» ; and yet, with the no- tion of addressing yoti a humlred times, in my heail, and always in my heart, I hav^ not done what I ought to have done. I can only arcoiml for it on the same principle of tremulous anxiety with which out* sometimes makes lovo to a beautiful woman of our own degree, with whom one is onamoiiretl in gotxl earnest ; wherca-s, we attack a fresh- coloiirod housemaid without (I "peak, of coiinie, of earlier 196 LETTERS, 1822. times) any sentimental remorse or mitigation of our vir- tuous purpose. « I owe to you far more than the usual obligation for the courtesies of literature and common friendship, for you went out of your way in 1817 to do me a service, when it required not merely kindness, but courage to do so ; to have been recorded by you in such a manner would have been a proud memorial at any time, but at such a time when ' all the world and his wife,' as the proverb goes, were trying to trample upon me, was something still higher to myself-esteem,— I allude to the Quarterly Review of the Third Canto of Childe Harold, which Murray told me was written by you, — and, indeed, I should have known it without his information, as there could not be two who cmdd and woidd have done this at the time. Had it been a common criticism, however eloquent or panegyrical, I should have felt pleased, undoubtedly, and grateful, but not to the extent which the extraordinary good-hearted- ness of the whole proceeding must induce in any mind capable of such sensations. The very tardiness of this acknowledgment will, at least, show that I have not for- gotten the obligation ; and I can assure you that my sense of it has been out at compound interest during the delay. I shall only add one word upon the subject, which is, that I think that you, and Jeffrey, and Leigh Himt, were the only literary men, of numbers whom I know, (and some of whom I have served,) who dared venture even an anony- mous word in my favour just then ; and that of those three, I had never seen one at all — of the second much less than I desired — and that the third was under no kind of obli- gation to me whatever ; while the other two had been ac- tually attacked by me on a former occasion ; one, indeed, with some provocation, but the other wantonly enough. So you see you have been heaping ' coals of fire,' &c. in the true Gospel manner, and I can assure you that they have burnt down to my very heart. " I am glad that you accepted the InscriptJon. I meant to have inscribed ' the Foscarini ' to you instead ; but first, I heard that ' Cain' Avas thought the least bad of the two as a composition ; and, 2dly, I have abused Southey like a pickpocket, in a note to tlie Foscarini, and I recol- lected that he is a friend of yours, (though not of mine,) and that it would not be the handsome thing to dedicate to one friend any thing containing such matters about another. However, I '11 work the Laureate before 1 nave done with him, as soon as I can muster Billingsgate there for. I Uke a ro'.v, and always did from a boy, in the course of which propensity, I must needs say, that I have found it the most easy of all to be gratified, personally and poeti- cally. You disclaim 'jealousies ;' but I would ask, as Boswell did of Johnson, 'of to/jom could you he jealous,^ — of none of the living, certainly, and (taking all and all into consideration) of which of the -dead ? I don't hke to bore you about the Scotch novels, (as they call them, though two of them are wholly English, and the rest half so,) but nothing can or could ever persuade mc, since I was the first ten minutes in your company, that you arc not the man. To mo those novels have so much of ' Auld iang sjrne, (I was bred a canny Scot till ten years old,) that I never move without thom; and when I removed from Ravenna to Pisa, the other day, and sent on my library before, they were the only books that I kept by me, al- though I already have them by heart. ".January 27, 1822. "I delayed till now concluding, in the hope tliat I should have got ' the Pirate,' « ho is now under way for me, but has not yet hove in sight. I hear that your daughter is married, and I suppose by this time you are half a grand- father — a young one, by-'du>-'.vay. I have heard great things of Mrs. Lockhart's personal and mental charms, and much good of her lord : that you may live to see as manv novel Scotts as there are Scots' novels, is the very bad pun, but sincere viHish of "Yours ever most affectionately, &c. " P. S. Why do n't you take a turn in Italy ? You would find yourself as well known and as welcome as in the Highlands among the natives. As for the English, you would be with them as in London ; and I need not add, that I should be delighted to see you again, which is far more than I shall ever feel or say for England, or (with a few exceptions 'of kith, kin, and allies') any thing that it contains. But my 'heart warms to the tartan,' or to any thing of Scotland, which reminds m.e of Aberdeen and other parts, not so far from the Higlilands * as that town, about Invercauld and Braemar, where I was sent to drink goat's fey in 1795-6, in consequence of a threatened de- cline after the scarlet fever. But I am gossiping ; so, good night — and the gods be with your dreams ! " Pray, present my respects to Lady Scott, who may perhaps recollect having seen me in town in 1815. 'I see that one of your supporters (for, like Sir Hilde- brand, I am fond of Guillin) is a mermaid; it is my crest too, and with precisely the same curl of tail. There 's concatenation for you ! — I am building a little cutter at Genoa, to go a-cruising in the summer. I Itnow you like the sea too." LETTER DXLIV. TO DOUGLAS KINNAIRD. f'Pisa, February, 6, 1822. " ' Try back the deep lane,' till we find a publisher for ' the Vision ;' and if none such is to be found, print fifty copies at my expense, distribute them among my acquaint- ance, and you will soon see that the booksellers mil pub- lish them, even if we oppose them. That they are now afraid is natural ; but I do not see that I ought to give way on that account. I know nothing of Rivingtons 'Remon- strance' by the 'eminent Churchman;' but I suppose he wants a living. I once heard of a preacher at Kentish Town against 'Cain.' The same outcry was raised against Priestley, Hume, Gibbon, Voltaire, and all the men who dared to put tithes to the question. " I have got Southey's pretended reply, to which I am surprised that you do not allude. What remains to be done is, to call him out. The question is, would he come ? for, if he would not, the whole thing would appear ridicu- lous, if I were to take a long and expensive journey to no purpose. " You must be my second, and, as such, I wish to con- sult you. "I apply to you as one well versed in the duello, or monomachie. Of course I shall come to England as pri- vately as possible, and leave it (supposing that I was the survivor) in the same manner ; having no other object which could bring me to that country except to settle quarrels accumulated during my absence. " By the last post I transmitted to you a letter upon some Rochdale toll business, from which there are moneys in prospect. My agent says tico thousand pound?, but sup- posing it to be only one, or even one hundred, still they be moneys ; and I have lived long enough to have an exceed- ing respect for the smallest current coin of any realm, or the least sum, which, although I may not want it myself, may do something for others who may need it more than I. " They say that ' Ivnowledge is Power ;'-— I used to think so ; but I now know that they meant ' money ;' and when Socrates declared, ' that all he knew was, that he knew nothing,' he merely intended to declare, that he had not a drachm in the Athenian world. " The circulars are arrived, and circulating like the vor- tices (or vortexes) of Descartes. Still I have a due care of the needful, and keep a look out a-head, as my notions upon the score of moneys coincide with yours, and with all men's who have lived to see Uiat every guinea is a philosopher's stone, or at least his touch-slone. You will See Note to " The Island. LETTERS, 1622. 197 doubt me the less, when I pronounce my firm belief] that Cash is Virtue. " I cannot reproach myself with much expenditure : my only extra expense (and it is more than I have spent upon myself) being a loan of two hundred and fifty pounds to Hunt; and fifty pounds' worth of furniture which I have bought for liim ; and a boat which I am building for myself at Genoa, which will cost about a hundred pounds more. "But to return. I am determined to have all the mo- neys I can, whether by my own funds, or succession, or lawsuit, or MSS., or any lawful means whatever. " I will pay (though with the sincerest reluctance) my remaining creditors, and every man of law, by instalments from the award of the arbitrators. " I recommend to you the notice in Mr. Hanson's letter, on the demand of moneys for the Rochdale tolls. "Above all, I recommend my interests to your honoura- ble worship. "Recollect, too, that I expect some moneys for the various MSS., (no matter what; and, in short, 'Rem, quocunque modo, Rem!' — the noble feehng of cupidity grows upon us with our years. " Yours ever, &c." LETTER DXLV. TO MR. MURRAY. «Pisa,Feb. 8, 1822. * Attacks upon me were to be expected, but I perceive one upon you in the papers, which I confess that [ did not expect. How, or in what manner, z/om can be considered resposible for what / publish, I am at a loss to conceive. "If 'Cain' be ' blasphemous,' Paradise Lost is blasphe- mous ; and the very words of the Oxford gentleman, ' Evil, be thou my good,' are from that very poem, fiom the mouth of Satan ; and is there anything more in that of Lucifer in the Mystery? Cain is nothing more than a drama, not a piece of argument. If Lucifer and Cain speak as the first murderer and the first rebel may be supposed to speak, surely all the rest of the personages talk also according to their characters — and the stronger passions have ever been permitted to the drama. "I have even avoided introducing the Deity as in Scrip- ture, (though Milton does, and not very wisely either,") but have adopted his angel as sent to Cain instead, on purpose to avoid shocking any feelings on the subject by falling short of what all uninspired men must fall short in, viz. giving an adequate notion of the effect of the presence of Jehovah. The old Mysteries introduced him liberally enough, and all this is avoided in the now one. •* The attempt to hully you^ because they think it won't succeed with me, seoms to me as atrocious an attempt as ever disgraced the times. What! when Gibbon's, Hume's, Priestley's, and Drummond's publishers have been allowed to rest in peace for seventy years, are you to bo singled out for a work o(Jir,tioii, not of history or argument? There must be something at the bottom of this — som<^ private enemy of your own : it is otherwise incredible. "I can only say, 'Me, me; en adsum qui foci;' — that any proceedings directed against you, 1 beg, may be trans- ferred to me, who am willing, and oui^Iit, to endure tliom all ; that if you have lost money by the publication, I will refund any or all of the copyright; that I desire you will say that both you and Mr. G\fford remonstrated against the publication, as also Mr. ITabhonse ; that / alone oc- casioned it, and I alone am the person who, eillior legally or otherwise, should bear the burden. If they prosorute, I will como to England — that is, if, by m«^eting it in my own person, I can save yours. Lot me know. You sha' n't suffer for me, if I can help it. Make any use of this loiter you please. " Yours ovit, ^c." "P. S. I write to you about all this row of had passions and absurdities, with the mmmcr moon (for hero our win- ter is clearer than your dog-days) lighting the wincUng Arno, with all her buildings and bridges, — so quiet and still ! — What nothings are we before the least of these stars!" LETTER DXLVL TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, Feb. 19,1822. "I am rather surprised not to have had an answer to my letter and packets. Lady Noel is dead, and it is not impossible that I may have to go to England to settle the division of the Wentvvorth property, and what portion Lady B. is to have out of it ; all which was left undecided by the articles of separation. But I hope not, if it can be done without, — and I have written to Sir Francis Burdett to be my referee, as he knows the property. " Continue to address here, as I shall not go if I can avoid it — at least, not on that account. But I may on another ; for I wrote to Douglas ICinnaird to convey a message of invitation to Mr. Soulhey to meet me, either in England, or (o.s less liable to interruption) on the coast of France. This was about a fortnight ago, and I have not yet had time to have the answer. However, you shall have due notice ; therefore continue to address to Pisa. " My agents and trustees have written to me to desire that I v.'ould take the name directly, so that I am yours very truly and affectionately, "Noel Byron'. "P. S. I have had no news from England except on business; and merely know, from some abuse in that faithful ex and c?€- tractor, Galignani, that the clergy are up against ' Cain.' There is (if I am not mistaken) some good church preferment on the Wentworth estates ; and I will show them what a good Christian I am by patronis- ing and preferring the most pious of their order, should opportunity occur. "M. and I are but Uttle in correspondence, and I know nothing of Uterary matters at present. I have been wri- ting on business only lately. What are you about ? Be assured that there is no such coalition as you apprehend." LETTER DXLVII. TO MR. MOfRE. «Pisa,Feb. 20, 1822.* " Your letter arrived since I wrote the enclosed. It is not likely, as I have appointed agents and arbitrators for the Noel estates, that I should proceed to England on that account, — though I may upon anoUier, within stated. At any rate, continue you to address here till you hear fiirther from me. I coidd wish you still to arrange for mt, either with a London or Paris publisher, for the tilings, &c. I shall not quarrel witli any arrangement you may please to make. "I have appointed Sir Francis Burdett my arbitrator to decide on Lady Byron's allowance out of tJie Noel estates, which are estiniatod at seven thousand a-ycar, and rents very well paid, — a rare; thing at this time. It is, however, owing to their consisting ohiody in pasture landr;, and therefore less aflocted by corn bills, &c. than pro|)erties in tillage. " Believe mo yours ever most afTootionatcly, "NoF.I. IhHON. " Between my own property in the funds, and my wifi^'s in land, I do not know winch side to cry out on in politics. "There is nothing against tho immortality of tho soul in 'Cain' that I rooolloot. I hoKI iu> siioh opinions; — hut, in a drama, the first robol ancln«»Ml in lliii. 198 the parsons are all preachmg at it, from Kentish Town and Oxford to Pisa ; — the scoundrels of priests, who do more harm to religion than all the infidels that ever forgot their catechism ! "I have not seen Lady Noel's death announced in Galignani.— How is that ?" LETTERS, 1822. LETTER DXLVIIL TO MR MOORE. "Pisa, Feb. 28, 1822. « I begin to think that the packet (a heavy one) of five acts of 'Werner,' &c. can hardly have reached you, for your letter of last week (which I answered) did not al- lude to it, and yet I ensured it at the postoffice here. *=Ihave no direct news from England, except on the Noel business, which is proceeding quietly, as I have ap- pointed a gentleman (Sir F. Burdett) for my arbitrator. They, too, have said that they will recall the lavyyer whom they had chosen, and will name a gentleman too. This is better, as the arrangement of the estates and of Lady B.'s allowance will thus be settled without quibbling. My lawyers are taking out a license for the name and arms, which it seems T am to endue. "By another, and indirect quarter, I hear that 'Cain' has been pirated, and that the Chancellor has refused to give Murray any redress. Also, that G. R.* (j/owr friend 'Ben,') has expressed great personal indignation at the said poem. All this is curious enough, I think, — after allowing Priestly, Hume, and Gibbon, and Bolingbroke, and Voltaire to be published, without depriving the book- sellers of their rights. I heard from Rome a day or two ago, and, with what truth I know not, that * * * , " Yours, &c." LETTER DXLIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa^March 1,1822. * As I still have no news of my ' Werner,' &c. packet, sent to you on the 29th of January, I continue to bore you, (for the fifth time, I beUeve,) to know whether it has not miscarried. As it was fairly copied out, it will be vex- atious if it be lost. Indeed, I ensured it at the postoffice to make them take more care, and directed it regularly to you at Paris. "In the impartial Galignani I perceive an extract from Blackwood's Magazine, in which it is said that there are people who have discovered that you and I are no poets. With regard to one of us, I know that this northwest passage to my magnetic pole had been long discovered by some sages, and I leave them the full benefit of their penetration. I think, as Gibbon says of his History, ' that, perhaps, a hundred years hence it may still continue to be abused.' However. I am far from pretending to compete or compare with that illustrious literary character. "But, with regard to you, I thought tiiat you had al- ways been allowed to be a poet, even by the stupid as well as the envious — a bad one, to be sure — immoral, florid, Asiatic, and diabolically popular, — but still always B. poet, nem. con. This discovery, therefore, has to me all ihe grace of novelty, as well as of consolation (according to Rochefoucault) to find myself no-poetized in such good company. I am content to ' err with Plato ;' and can assure you very sincerely, that I would rather be received a non-poet with you, than be crowned with all the bays of (the jyrf-uncrowned) Lakers in their society. I believe you think better of those worthies than I do. I know them * ♦ * * ♦ *As for Soutliey, the answer to my proposition of a •The King. meeting is not yet come. I sent the message, with a short note, to him through Douglas Kinnaird, and Dou- glas's response is not arrived. If he accepts, I shall have to go to England ; but if not, I do not think the Noel affairs will take me there, as the arbitrators can settle them without my presence, and there do not seem to be any difficulties. The license for the new name and ar- morial bearings will be taken out by the regular applica- tion, in such cases, to the Crown, and sent to me. "Is there a hope of seeing you in Italy again ever? What are you doing ? — bored by me, I know ; but I have explained why before. I have no correspondence now with London, except through relations and laviryers and one or two friends. My greatest friend. Lord Clare, is at Rome : we met on the road, and our meeting was quite sentimental — really pathetic on both sides. I have al- ways loved him better than any mcde thing m the world." The preceding was enclosed in that which follows. LETTER DL. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, March 4, 1822. " Since I wrote the enclosed, I have waited another post, and now have your answer acknowledging the arrival of the packet — a troublesome one, I fear, to you in more ways than one, both from weight external and internal. " The unpublished things in your hands, in Douglas K.'s, and Mr. John Murray's, are, ' Heaven and Earth, a lyrical kind of Drama upon the Deluge, &c. ;' — ' Werner,' Tww with you ; — a translation of the first Canto of the Morgante Maggiore ; — ditto of an Episode in Dante ; — some stanzas to the Po, June 1st, 1819 ; — Hints from Horace, written in 1811, but a good deal, since, to be omitted ; — several prose things, which may, perhaps, as well remain unpublished ; — ' The Vision, &c. of duevedo Redivivus' in verse. "Here you see is 'more matter for a May morning;' but how much of this can be published is for considera- tion. The duevedo (one of my best in that line) has appalled the Row already, and must take its chance at Paris, if at all. The new Mystery is less speculative than 'Cain,' and very pious; besides, it is chiefly lyrical. The Morgante is the best translation that ever was or will be made ; and the rest are — whatever you please to think them. " I am sorry you think Werner even approaching to any fitness for the stage, which, vsith my notions upon it, is very far from my present object. With regard to the publication, 1 have already explained that I have no exor- bitant expectations of either fame or profit in the present instances ; but wish them pubHshed because they are written ; which is the common feeling of all scribblers. " With respect to ' Religion,' can 1 never convince you that / have no such opinions as the characters in that drama, which seems to have frightened everybody ? Yet they are nothing to the expressions in Goethe's Faust, (which are ten times hardier,) and not a whit more bold than those of Milton's Satan. My ideas of a character may run away with me : like all imaginative men, I, of course, imbody myself wth the character while I draw it, but not a moment after the pen is from off the paper. ■ T am no enemy to religion, but the contrary. As a proof, I am educating my natural daughter a strict Catholic a convent of Romagna, for I think people can never have enough of religion, if they are to have any. I incline, myself, very much to the Catholic doctrines ; but if I am to write a drama, I must make my characters speak as I conceive them likely to argue. " As to poor Shelley, who is another bugbear to you and the world, he is, to my knowledge, the Zeosi selfish and the mildest of men — a man who has made more sacrifices of his fortune and feelings for others than any I ever heard LETTERS, 1822. 199 of. With his speculative opinions I have nothing in com mon, nor desire to have. "The truth is, my dear Moore, you live near the stove of society, where you are unavoidably influenced by its heat and its vapours. I did so once — and too much — and enough to give a colour to my vv^hole future existence. As my success in society was not inconsiderable, I am surely not a prejudiced judge upon the subject, unless in its favour ; but I think it, as now constituted,/afaZ to all great original undertakings of every kind. I never courted it then, when I was young and high in biood, and one of its ' curled darlings ;' and do you thuik I would do so now, when I am living in a clearer atmosphere ? One thing only might lead me back to it, and that is, to try once more if I could do any good in politics ; but not in the petty politics I see now preying upon our miserable country. " Do not let me be misunderstood, however. If you speak your oum opinions, they ever had, and will have, the greatest weight with me. But if you merely echo the monde,' (and it is difficult not to do so, being m its favour and its ferment,) I can only regret that you should ever repeat any thing to which I cannot pay attention. " But I am prosing. The gods go with you, and as much immortality of all kinds as may suit your present and all other existence. "Yours, &c.'' LETTER DLL TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, March 6, 1822. "The enclosed letter from Murray hath melted me ; though I think it is against his own interest to wish that I should continue his connexion. You may, therefore, send him the packet of ' Werner,' which will save you all further trouble. And pray, can you forgive me for the bore and expense I have already put upon you ? At least, say so — for I feel ashamed of having given you so much for such nonsense. " The fact is, I cannot keep my resentments, though vio- lent enough in their onset. Besides, now that all the world are at Murray on my account, I neither can nor ought to leave him ; unless, as 1 really thought, it were better for him that I should. " I have had no other news from England, except a letter from Barry Cornwall, the bard, and my old school- fellow. Though I have sickened you with letters lately, believe me " Yours, &;c. "P. S. In your last letter you say, speaking of Shelley, that you would almost prefer the 'damning bigot' to the 'annihilating infidel.' Shelley believes in immortality, however — but this by-the-way. Do you remember Frederick the Great's answer to the remonstrance of the ■wllagers whose curate preached against the eternity of hell's torments? It was thus: — 'If my faithful subjec'ts of Schrausenhaussen prefer being eternally damned, let them !' "Of the two, I should think the long sleep b(!tter than the agonized vigil. But men, miserable as they are, cling so to any thing like life, tliat they probably would preftT damnation to quiet. Besides, they think themselves so important in the creation, that nothing less can satisfy their pride — the insects !" LETTER DLII. TO MR. MURRAV. "Pisa, March 6, 1822. "You will long ago have received a letter from me, (or should,) declaring my opinion of the treatment you have met with about the recent publication. I think it dis- graceful to those who have pcrsocutod you. I make peace with you, though our war was for other reasons than this same controversy. I have written to Moore by this post to forward to you the tragedy of ' Werner.' I shall not make or propose any present bargain about it or the new Mystery till we see if they succeed. If they do n't sell, (which is not unhkely,) you sha' n't pay ; and I suppose this is fair play, if you choose to risk it. " Bartolini, the celebrated sculptor, wrote to me to desire to take my bust : I consented, on condition that he also took that of the Countess Guiccioh. He has taken both, and I think it will be allowed that hers is beautiful. I shall make you a present of them both, to show that I do n't bear maUce, and as a compensation for the trouble and squabble you had about Thorwaldsen's. Of my own I can hardly speak, except that it is thought very like what I now am, which is diflferent from what I was, of course, since you saw me. The sculptor is a famous one; and as it was done by his own particular request, will be done well, probably. " What is to be done about Taafe and his Commen- tary ? He will die, if he is not pubUshed ; he will be danmed if he is ; but that he do n't mind. We must publish him. " All the row about me has no otherwise affected me than by the attack upon yourself, which is ungenerous in Church and State : but as all violence must hi time have its proportionate reaction, you will do better by-and-by . " Yours very truly, Noel Byron." LETTER DLIII. to MR. MOORE. "Pisa, March 8, 1822. " You will have had enough of my letters by this time — yet one word in answer to your present missive. You are quite wrong in thinking that your ' advice^ hsid offended me ; but I have already replied (if not answered) on that point. " With regard to Murray, as I really am the meekest and mildest of men since Moses, (though the public and mine ' excellent wife' cannot find it out,) I had already pacLlcd myself and subsided back to Albemarle-streel,as my yesterday's r/epistle will have informed you. But I thought that I had explained my causes of bile — at least to you . " Some instances of vacillation, occasional neglect, and troublesome sincerity, real or imagined, are sufficient to put your truly great author and man into a passion. But reflection, with some aid from hellebore, hath already cured me ' pro tempore ;' and, if it had not, a request from you and Hobhouse would have come upon me like two out of the ' tribus Anticyris,' — with whicli, however, Horace despairs of purging a poet. I really feel ashamed of having bored you so frequently and fully of late. But what could I do ? You are a friend — an absent one, alas ! — and as I trust no one more, I trouble you in pro- portion. " This war of 'Church and State' has astonished me more than it disturbs ; for I really thought ' Cain' a specu- lative and hardy, but still a harmless production. As I said before, I am really a great admirer of tangible reli- gion ; and am breeding one of my daughters a Catholic, Uiat she may iiave iier hands full. It is by fur th«" most elegant wursiiip, hardly excepting the (iroek mvthology. What with incence, pictures, statues, altars, shrines, relics, and tho real presence, confession, absolution, — there is something sensible to grasp at. Besides, it leaves no possibility of doubt ; for those who swallow their l>eity, really and truly, in transubstantiiitioii, can hanlly fmd any thing else otherwise than easy of digestion. " I am afraid that tliis sounds llii)paiU, but 1 do n\ meaii it to be so ; only my turn of mind is so given to 200 LETTERS, 1822. things in the absurd point of view, that it breaks out in spite of me every now and then. Still, I do assure you that I am a very good Christian. Whether you will believe me in this, I do not know ; but I trust you will take my word for being " Very truly and affectionately yours, &c. " P. S. Do tell Murray that one of the conditions of peace is, that he publisheth (or obtaineth a publisher for) Taafe's Commentary on Dante, against which there appears in the trade an unaccountable repugnance. It will make the man so exuberantly happy. He dines v-ith me and half a dozen English to-day ; and I have not the heart to tell him how the bibliopolar world shrink from his Commentary ; — and yet it is full of the most orthodox religion and moraUty. In short, I make it a point that he shall be in print. He is such a good-natured, heavy * * Christian, that we must give him a shove through the press. He naturally thirsts to be an author, and has been the happiest of men for these two months, printing, cor- recting, collating, dating, anticipating, and adding to his treasures of learning. Besides, he has had another fall from his horse into a ditch the other day, while riding out with me into the country." LETTER DLIV. TO MK. MURRAY. "Pisa, March 15, 1822. "I am glad that you and your friends approve of my letter of the 8th ultimo. You may give it what publicity you think proper in the circumstances. I have smce written to you twice or thrice. " As to ' a Poem in the old way,' I shall attempt of that kind nothing further. I follow the bias of my own mind, without considering whether women or men are or are not to be pleased : but this is nothing to my publisher, who must judge and act according to popiJarity. " Therefore let the things take their chance : if thei/ pay, you will pay me m proportion ; and if they do n't, I must. " The Noel affairs, I hope, will not take me to England. I have no desire to revisit that country, unless it be to keep you out of a prison, (if this can be effected by my taking your place,) or perhaps to get myself into one, by exacting satisfaction from one or two persons who take advantage of my absence to abuse me. Further than this, I have no business nor connexion with England, nor desire to have, oui of my own family and friends, to whom I wish all prosperity. Indeed, I have lived upon the whole so little in England, (about five years since I was one-and-twenty,) that my habits are too continental, and your climate would please me as little as the society. "I saw the Chancellor's Report in a French paper. Pray, why do n't they prosecute the translation of Lucre- tius 7 or the original with its ' Primus in orbe Deos fecit Timor,' ' Tantum Religin potuit suadere malorum ?' " You must really get somethmg done for Mr. Taafe's Commentary ; what can I say to him ? "Yours, &c." LETTER DLV. TO MR. MURRAY. «Pisa,April 13,1822. "Mr. Kinnaird writes that there has been an 'excel- lent Defence' of 'Cain,' against ' Oxoniensis :' you have sent me nothing but a not very excellent o/-fence of the same poem. If there be such a 'Defender of the Faith,' you may send me his thirty-nine articles, as a counter- balance to some of your late communications. " Are you to publish, or not, what Moore and Mr. Kin- naird have in hand, and the ' Vision of Judgment?' If you publish the latter in a very cheap edition, so as to baffle the pirates by a low price, you will find that it will do. The ' Mystery' I look upon as good, and ' Werner' too, and I expect that you will pubhsh them speedily. You need not put your name to Quevedo, but publish it as a foreign edition, and let it make its way. Douglas Kin- naird has it still, with the preface, I believe. "I refer you to him for documents on the late row here. I sent them a week ago. « Yours, fee." LETTER DLVI. TO MR. MURRAY. "Pisa, April 18, 1822. "I have received the Defence of 'Cain.' Who is my Warburton ? — for he has done for me what the bishop did for the poet against Crousaz. His reply seems to me conclusive : and if you understood your own interest, you would print it together with the poem. " It is very odd that I do not hear from you. I have forwarded to Mr. Douglas Kinnaird the documents on a squabble here, which occurred about a month ago. The affair is still going on ; but they make nothing of it hith- erto. I think, what with home and abroad, there has been hot water enough for one while. Mr. Dawkins, the English minister, has behaved in the handsomest and most gentlemanly mamier throughout the whole business. " Yours ever, &c. " P. S. I have got Lord Glenbervie's book, which is very amusing and able upon the topics which he touches upon, and part of the preface pathetic. Write soon." LETTER DLVn. TO MR. MURRAY. "Pisa, April 22, 1822. " You will regret to hear that I have received intelli- gence of the death of my daughter Allegra of a fever, in the convent of Bagna Cavallo, where she was placed for the last year, to conunence her education. It is a heavy blow for many reasons, but must be borne, with time. "It is my present intention to send her remains to England for sepulture in Harrow church, (where I once hoped to have laid my own,) and this is my reason for troubling you with this notice. I wish the funeral to be very private. The body is embalmed, and in lead. It will be embarked from Leghorn. Would you have any objection to give the proper directions on its arrival ? " I am yours, &c. «N. B. "P. S. You are aware that Protestants are not allowed holy ground in Catholic countries." LETTER DLVIU. TO MR. SHELLEY. «AprU23,1822. " The blow was stunning and unexpected ; for I thought the danger over, by the long interval between her stated ameUoration and the arrival of the express. But I have borne up against it as I best can, and so far successfully, that I can go about the usual business of Ufe with the same appearance of composure, and even greater. There is nothing to prevent your coming to-morrow ; but, per- haps, to-day, and yester-evening, it was better not to have met. I do not know that I have any thing to reproach in my conduct, and certainly nothing in my feelings and intentions towards the dead. But it is a moment when LETTERS, 1822. 201 we are apt to think that, if this or that had be?n done, such event might have been prevented ; though every day and hour shows us that they are the most natural and inevitable. I suppose that Time will do his usual work — Death has done his. "Yours ever, «N.B." LETTER DLIX. TO SIR WALTER SCOTT. "Pisa, May 4j 1822. "my dear sir WALTER, * Your account of your family is very pleasing : would that I ' could answer this comfort with the like !' but I have just lost my natural daughter, AUegra, by a fever. The only consolation, save time, is the reflection, that she is either at rest or happy ; for her few years (only five) prevented her from having incurred any sin, except what we inherit from Adam. ' Whom the gods love, die young.' •' I need not say that your letters are particularly wel- come, when they do not tax your time and patience ; and now that our correspondence is resumed, I trust it will continue. " I have lately had some anxiety, rather than trouble about an awkward affair here, which you may perhaps have heard of: but our minister has behaved very hand- somely, and the Tuscan Government as well as it is pos- sible for such a government to behave, which is not saying much for the latter. Some other English, and Scots, and myself^ had a brawl v^nith a dragoon, who insulted one of the party, and whom we mistook for an officer, as he was medalled and well mounted, &c. ; but he turned out to be a sergeant-major. He called out the guard at the gates to arrest us, (we being unarmed ;) upon which I and another (an Itahan) rode through the said guard ; but they succeeded in detaining others of the party. I rode to my house, and sent my secretary to give an account of the attempted and illegal arrest to the authorities, and then, without dismounting, rode back towards the gates, which are near my present mansion. Half way I met my man, vapouring away, and threatening to draw upon me, (who had a cane in my hand, and no other arms.) I, still believing him an officer, demanded his name and address, and gave him my hand and glove thereupon. A servant of mine thrust in between us, (totally without orders,) but let him go on my command. He then rode off at full speed ; but about forty paces further was stab- bed, and very dangerously, (so as to be in peril,) by some Callum Beg or other of my people,- (for I have some rough-handed folks about me,) I need hardly say without my direction or approval. The said dragoon had been sabring our unarmed countrymen, however, at the gate, after they were in arrest, and held by the guards, and wounded one, Captain Hay, very severely. However, he got his paiks, having acted like an assassin, and being treated like one. Wfio wounded him, though it was done before thousands of people, they have never been able to ascertain, or prove, nor even the weapon ; some said a pistol, an air-gun, a stiletto, a sword, a lance, a pitchfork, and what not. They have arrested and examined ser- vants and people of all descriptions, but can make out nothing. Mr. Dawkins, our minister, assures me, that no suspicion is entertained of the man who wounded him having been instigated by me, or any of the party. I enclose you copies of the depositions of those with us, and Dr. Craufurd, a canny Scot, {not an acquaintance,) who saw Uie latter part of tlie affair. They are in Italian. "These are the only literary matters in which T have been engaged since the publication and row al)out ' Cain ;' but Mr. Murray has several things of mine in his obslo- 26 tncal hands. Another Mystery — a Vision — a Drama — and the like. But you wonH tell me what you are doing ; however, I shall find you out, write what you will. You say that I should like your son-in-law ; it would be very difficult for me to dishke any one connected with you ; but I have no doubt that his own quahties are all that you describe. " I am sorry you do n't like Lord Orford's new work. My aristocracy, which is very fierce, makes him a favour- ite of mine. RecoUect that those 'little factions' com- prised Lord Chatham and Fox, the father, and that we Uve in gigantic and exaggerated times, which make all under Gog and Magog appear pigmean. After having seen Napoleon begin Uke Tamerlane and end like Bajazet in our own time, we have not the same interest in what would otherwise have appeared important histc»-y. But I must conclude. " BeUeve me ever and most truly yours, "Noel ByRON." LETTER DLX. TO MR. MURRAY. «Pisa,May, 17, 1822. "I hear that the Edinburgh has attacked the three dramas, which is a bad business for you ; and I do n't wonder that it discourages you. However, that volume may be trusted to time, — depend upon h. I read it over with some attention since it was published, and I tliink the time will come when it will be preferred to my other writings, though not immediately. I say this without irri- tation against the critics or criticism, whatever they may be, (for I have not seen them ;) and nothing that has or may appear in Jeffrey's Review can make me forget that he stood by me for ten good years without any motive to do so but his own good-will. " I hear Moore is in tovin ; remember me to him, and believe me " Yours truly, «N. B. "P. S. If you think it necessary, you may send me the Edinburgh. Should there be any thing that requires an answer, I will reply, but temperately and technically ; that is to say, merely with respect to the principles of the criti- cism, and not personally or offensively as to its literary merits." LETTER DLXI. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, May 17,1822. "I hear you are in London. You will have heard from Douglas Kinnaird (who tells me you have dined with him) as much as you desire to know of my affairs at home and abroad. I have lately lost my little girl AUegra by a fever, which has been a serious blow to me. " I did not write to you lately, (except one letter lo Murray's,) not knowing exactly your 'whereabouts. Douglas K. refused to forward my message to Mr. Sou they — why, he himself can explain. " You will have seen the statement of a squabble, &c. &c.* What are you about? Let mo hear from you at your leisure, and believe me ever yours, «N. B." LETTER DLXIL TO MR. MURRAY. « Montenero,! May 26, 18l». • Near Leghorn. "The body is embarked, in what ship I know not, nei- • II.TO fi-llows c\ rcpolilion of Ihe del.nili gtrcn on Ihii tubjeft to Sir Walter Srotl Biiilolhor*. t A liill, tliri-o or fi.iir mile* (mm Leghorn, niiicti r««>r»»<1 Co •■ • piM* of rotidcnci- diirinji Uie lununvr months. 202 LETTERS, 1822. ther could I enter into the details ; but the Countess G. G. has had the goodness to give the necessary orders to Mr. Dunn, who superintends the embarkation, and will write to you. I wish it to be buried in Harrow church. « There is a spot in the churchyard, near tlie foot path, on the brow of the hill looking towards Windsor, and a tomb under a large tree, (bcarmg the name of Peachie, or Peachey,) where I used to sit for hours and hours when a boy. This was my favourite spot ; but as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body had better be deposited in the church. Near the door, on the left hand as you enter, there is a monument with a tablet contain- ing these words : — « When Sorrow weeps o'er Virtue's sacred dust, Our tears bocome us, and our grief is just : Such were the tears she shed, who grateful pays This last sad tribute of her love and praise.' I recollect them, (after seventeen years,) not from any thing remarkable in them, but because from my seat in the gallery I had generally my eyes turned towards that monument. As near it as convenient I could wish AUe- gra to be buried, and on the wall a marble tablet placed, with these words : — " In Memory of Allegra, Daughter of G. G. Lord Byron, who died at Bagna Cavallo, in Italy, Aprn^20th, 1822, aged five years and three months. *^I shall go to her, but she shall not return tome.' 2d Samuel, xii. 23. " The funeral I wish to be as private as is consistent with decency ; and I could hope that Henry Drury will, perhaps, read the service over her. If he should decline it, it can be done by the usual minister for the time being. I do not know that I need add more just now. " Since I came here, I have been invited by the Ameri- cans on board their squadron, where I was received with all the kindness which I could wish, and with more cere- mony than I am fond of. I found them finer ships than your own of the same class, well manned and officered. A number of American gentlemen also were on board at the time, and some ladies. As I was taking leave, an American lady asked me for a rose which I wore, for the purpose, she said, of sending to America som I had about me, as a memorial I went over the Constitution, (the Commodore's flag-ship,) and saw, among other things worthy of remark, a little boy born on board of her by a sailor's wife. They had christened him 'Constitution Jones.' I, of course, ap- proved the name; and the woman added, 'Ah, sir, if he turns out but half as good as his name !' "Yours ever, &c." LETTER DLXIII. TO MR. MURRAY. « Montenero, near Leghorn, May 29, 1822. " I return you the proofs* re\ised. Your printer has made one odd mistake : — ' poor as a moused instead of ' poor as a miser. ^ The expression may seem strange, but it is only a translation of ' semper avarus eget.' You will add the Mystery, and publish as soon as you can. I care nothing for your ' season,' nor the blue approbations or disapprobations. All that is to be considered by you on the subject is as a matter of business ; and if I square that to your notions, (even to the running the risk entirely myself,) you may permit me to choose my own time and mode of publication. With regard to the late volume, the present run against it or me may impede it for a time, but it has the vital principle of permanency within it, as you may perhaps one day discover. I wrote to you on another subject a few days ago. •* Yours, '•N.B. " P. S. Please to send me the Dedication of Sardana- palus to Goethe. I shall prefix it to Werner^ unless you prefer my putting another, stating that the former had been omi«;ed by thepubhsher. " On the titlepage of the present volume, put ' Published for the Author by J. M.'" LETTER DLXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. felt the compliment properly. Captain Chauncey showed me an American and very pretty edition of my poems, and offered me a passage to the United States, if I would go there. Commodore Jones was also not less kind and attentive. I have since received the enclosed letter, de- siring me to sit for my picture for some Americans. It is singular that, in the same jear that Lady Noel leaves by will an interdiction for my daughter to see her father's portrait for many years, the individuals of a nation not remarkable for their liking to the English in particular, nor for flattermg men in general, request me to sit for my • pourtraicture,' as Baron Bradwardine calls it. I am also fold of considerable literary honours in Germany. Goethe, I am told, is my professed patron and protector. At Lcipsic, this year, the highest prize was proposed for a translation of two cantos of Childe Harold. I am not sure that this was at Leipsic, but Mr. Rowcroft was my authority — a good German scholar, (a yotmg American,) and an acquaintance of Goethe's. "Gofthe and the Germans are particularly fond of Don Juan, which they judge of as a work of art. I had heard something of this before through Baron Lutzerode. The translations have been very frequent of several of the works, and Goethe made a comparison between Faust and Manfred. •* All this is some compensation for your English native bnitaUty, so fully displayed this year to its highest extent. " I forgot to mention a little anecdote of a different kind. " Montenero, Leghorn, June 6, 1822. " I return you the revise of Werner, and expect the rest. With regard to the Lines to the Po, perhaps you had better put them quietly in a second edition (if you reach ething which I one, that is to say) than in the first ; because, though they I need not add that I have been reckoned fine, and I wish them to be preserved, I do not wish them to attract immediate observation, on account of the relationship of the lady to whom they are addressed with the first families in Romagna and the Marches. "The defender of 'Cain' may or may not be, as you term him, 'a tyro in Uterature :' however, I think both you and I are under great obligation to him. I have read the Edinburgh Review in Galignani's Magazine, and have not yet decided whether to answer them or not; for, if I do, it will be difficult for me not ' to make sport for the Phihstines' by pulling down a house or two ; since, when I once take pen in hand, I must say what comes upper- most, or fling it away. I have not the hypocrisy to pre- tend impartiality, nor the temper (as it is called) to keep always from saying what may not be pleasing to the hearer or reader. What do tliey mean by ^ elaborate ?^ Why, you Icnow that they were written as fast as I could put pen to paper, and printed from the original MSS., and never revised but in the proofs : look at the dates and the MSS. themselves. Whatever faults they have must spring from carelessness, and not from labour. They said the same of 'Lara,' which I wrote while undressing, after coming home from balls and masquerades in the year of revelry, 1814. "Yours. "Junes, 1822. " You give me no explanation of your intention as to the Werner. K* LETTERS, 1822. 203 ' Vision of Q,uevedo Redivivus,' one of my best things : indeed, you are altogether so abstruse and undecided lately, that I suppose you mean me to write ' John Mur- ray, Esq. a Mystery,' — a composition which would not displease the clergy nor the trade. I by no means wish you to do what you do n't like, but merely to say what you will do. The Vision mvst be published by some one. As to • clamours,' the die is cast ; and, ' come one, come all,' we will fight it out — at least one of us." LETTER DLXV. TO MR. MOORE. " Montenero, Villa Dupoy, near Leghorn, "Junes, 1822. " I have written to you twice through the medium of Murray, and on one subject, trite enough, — the loss of poor little AUegra by a fever ; on which topic I shall say no more — there is nothing but time. "A few days ago, my earliest and dearest friend, Lord Clare, came over from Geneva on purpose to see me be fore he returned to England. As I have always loved him (since I was thirteen, at Harrow) better than any {male) thing in the world, I need hardly say what a me- lancholy pleasure it was to see him for a day only ; for he was obliged to resume his journey immediately. * * + + * * * I have heard, also, many other things of our acquaintances which I did not know ; among others, that * * * *. Do you recollect, in the year of revelry, 1814, the pleasantest parties and balls all over London ? and not the least so at * * 's. Do you recol- lect your singing duets with Lady * *, and my flirtation with Lady * *, and all the other fooleries of the time? while * * was sighing, and Lady * * ogling him with her clear hazel eyes. But eight years have passed, and since that time, * * has ****** 5 has run away with +* + **; and mysen (as my Nottingham- shire friends call themselves) might as well have thrown myself out of the window while you were singing, as in- termarried where I did. You and ***** have come oflf the best of us. I speak merely of my marriage, and its consequences, distresses, and calumnies ; for I have been much more happy, on the whole, since^ than I ever could have been with * * * * *. I have read the recent article of Jeffrey in a faithful transcription of the impartial Galignani. I suppose the long and short of it is, that he wishes to provoke me to reply. But I won't, for I owe him a good turn still for his kindness by-gone. Indeed,! presume that the present opportunity of attacking me again was irresistable ; and I can't blame him, knowing what human nature is. I shall make but one remark : — what does he mean by elaborate ? The whole volume was written with the greatest rapidity, in the midst of evolutions and revolutions, and perse- cutions, and proscriptions of all who interested me in Italy. They said the same of ' Lara,' which, yoti know, was written amid balls and fooleries, and after coming homo from masquerades and routs, in the summer of the sovereigns. Of all I have ever written, tJicy arc perhaps the most carelessly composed ; and their faults, whatever they may be, are those of negligence, and not of labour. I do not think this a merit, but it is a fact. " Yours ever and truly, « N. B. " P. S. You see the great advantage of my now sifjna- ture: — it may either stand for 'Nota Bene' or 'Noel Byron,' and, as such, will save much repetition, in writing cither books or letters. Since I came hero, I have been invited on board of the American s(iuadron, and treated with all possible honour and ceremony. TIk'V h-'tvf asked mo to sit for my picture ; and, as I vva;i going away, an American lady took a rose from me, (which had been given to me by a very pretty Italian lady that very morn- ing,) because she said, ' She was determined to send or take something which I had about me to America.' There is a kind of Lalla Rookh incident for you ! However, all these American honours arise, perhaps, not so much from their enthusiasm for my ' Poeshie,' as their belief in my dLslike to the English, — in which I have the satisfaction to coincide with them. I would rather, however, have a nod from an American, than a snuff-box from an em- peror." LETTER DLXVI. TO MR. ELLICE. "Montenero, Leghorn, June 12, 1822. " MY DEAR ELLICE, "It is a long time since 1 have written to you, but I have not forgotten your kindness, and I am now going to tax it — I hope not too highly — but do rCt be alarmed, it is not a loan, but information which I am about to solicit. By your extensive connexions, no one can have better opportunities of hearing the real state of South America — I mean Bolivar's country. I have many years had trans- atlantic projects of setdement, and what I couid wish from you would be some information of the best course to pursue, and some letters of recommendation in case I should sail for Angostura. I am told tliat land is very cheap there ; but though I have no great disposable funds to vest in such purchases, yet my income, such as it is, would be sufficient in any country, (except England,) for all the comforts of life, and for most of its luxuries. The war there is now over, and as I do not go there to speculate, but to settle withoutany views but those of independence and the enjoyment of the common civil rights, I should presume such an arrival would not be unwelcome. " All I request of you is, not to discourage nor encou- rage, but to give me such a statement as } ou think prudent and proper. I do not address my other friends upon this subject, who would only throw obstacles in my way, and bore me to return to England ; which I never will do, unless compelled by some insuperable cause. I have a quantity of furniture, books, &c. &c. &c. which I could easily ship fl-om Leghorn; but I wish to 'look before I leap' over the Atlantic. Is it true diat for a few diousand dollars a large tract of land may be obtained ? I speak of South America, recollect. I have read some publica- tions on the subject, but they seemed violent and vulgar party productions. Please to address your answer to me at this place, and believe me ever and truly yours, &c." LETTER DLXVIL TO MR. MURRAV. "Pisa, July 6, 1822. "I return you the revise.* I have s»)ftcnod the part to which Gifford objected, and changed the name of Mi(^liacl to Raphael, who was an angel of gentler sym- [)atliics. By-the-way, recollect to alter Michael to /io- jihad in the scene itself throughout, for I luive only liad lime to do so in the list of the dramatis persona", and ^-rutch out (dl the pencil-marks, to avoid puzzling the printers. I have given the ' Vision of Quevedo Reilitnt'us' to John Hunt, which will relievo you from a dilemma. Ho must publish it at his 01071 risk, a« it is at his own dosiro. Givo lim the corrected copy which Mr. Kiniiaird had, us it ia miligatod partly, and also the prcfaco. " Yours, &r." or *• lIuBVoii •ml KnrUi.' 204 LETTERS, 1822. LETTER DLXVIII. TO MR. MURRAY. "Pisa, July 8, 1822. "Last week I returned you the packet of proofs. You had perhaps, better not publish in the same volume the Po and Rimini translation. " I have consigned a letter to Mr. John Hunt for the 'Vision of Judgment,' which you will hand over to him. Also the ' Pulci,' original and Italian, and any prose tracts of mine ; for Mr. Leigh Hunt is arrived here, and thinks of commencing a periodical work, to wliich I shall con- tribute. 1 do not propose to you to be the publisher, because I know that you are unfriends ; but all things in your care, except the volume now in the press, and the manuscript purchased of Mr. Moore, can be given for this purpose, according as they are wanted. "With regard to what you say about your * want of memory,' I can only remark that you inserted the note to Marino Faliero against my positive revocation, and that you omitted the Dedication of Sardanapalus to Goethe, (place it before the volume now in the press,) both of •which were things not very agreeable to me, and which I could wish to be avoided in future, as they might be with a very little care, or a simple memorandum in your pocket book. "It is not impossible that I may have three or four cantos of Don Juan ready by autumn, or a httle later, as I obtained a permission from my dictatress to continue it, — provided always it was to be more guarded and deco- rous and sentimental in the continuation than in the com- mencement. How far these conditions have been fulfilled may be seen, perhaps, by-and-by ; but the embargo was only taken off upon these stipulations. You can answer at your leisure. " Yours, &c." LETTER DLXIX. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, July 12, 1822. " I have written to you lately, but not in answer to your last letter of about a fortnight ago. 1 wish to know (euid request an answer to that point) what became of the stanzas to Wellington,* (intended to open a canto of Don Juan with,) which I sent you several months ago. If they have fallen into Murray's hands, he and the Tories will suppress them, as those lines rate that hero at his real value. Pray be explicit on this, as I have no other copy, having sent you the original ; and if you have them, let me have that again, or a copy correct. ♦ * * " I subscribed at Leghorn two hundred Tuscan crowns to your Irishism committee : it is about a thousand francs, more or less. As Sir C. S.. who receives thirteen thou- sand a-year of the public money, could not afford more than a thousand livres out of his enormous salary, it would have appeared ostentatious in a private individual to pre- tend to surpass him ; and therefore I have sent but the above sum, as you will see by the enclosed receipt " Leigh Hunt is here, after a voyage of eight months, during which he has, I presume, made the Periplus of Hanno the Carthaginian, and with much the same speed. He is setting up a Journal, to which I have promised to contribute ; and in the first number the ' Vision of Judg- ment, by Quevedo Redivivus,' will probably appear, with other articles. "Can you give us any thing? He seems sanguine about the matter, but (entre nous) I am not. I do not, however, like to put him out of spirits by saying so ; for he is bilious and unwell. Do, pray, answer this letter immediately. " Do send Hunt any thing, in prose or verse, of yours. See Don Juan, Canto IX. Stanza 1. to Start him handsomely — any lyrical, meal, or what you please. "Has not your Potato Committee been blundering? Your advertisement says, that Mr. L. Callaghan (a queer name for a banker) hath been disposing of money in Ireland 'sans authority of the Committee.' I suppose it will end in Callaghan's calling out the Committee, the chairman of which carries pistols in his pocket, of course. " When you can spare time from duetixng^ coquetting and clareting with your Hibernians of both sexes, let me have a Une from you. 1 doubt whether Paris is a good place for the composition of your new poesy." LETTER DLXX. TO MR. MOORE. « Pisa, August 8, 1822. " You will have heard by this time that Shelley and another gentleman (Captain Williams) were drovraed about a month ago, (a month yesterday,) in a squall off the Gulf of Spezia. There is thus another man gone, about whom the world was ill-naturedly, and ignorantly, and brutally mistaken. It will, perhaps, do him justice now, when he can be no better for it. ' You were all mistalien about Shelley, who was, without exception, the best and least selfish man I ever knew.' "I have not seen the thing you mention,* and only heard of it casually, nor have 1 any desire. The price is, as I saw in some advertisements, fourteen shillings, which is too much to pay for a libel on one's self. Some one said in a letter, that it was a Doctor Watkins, who deals in the life and libel line. It must have dimished your natural pleasure, as a friend, (vide Rochefoucault,) to see yourself in it. " With regard to the Blackwood fellows, I never pub- lished any thing sigainst them; nor, indeed, have seen their Magazbe (except in GaUgnani's extracts) for these three years past. I once wrote, a good while ago, some remarksf on their review of Don Juan, but saying very little about themselves, — and these were not pubhshed. If you think that I ought to follow your examplej (and I like to be in your company when I can) in contradicting their impudence, you may shape this declaration of mine into a similar paragraph for me. It is possible that you may have seen the little I did write (and never published) at Murray's ; it contained much more about Southey than about the Blacks. If you think that I ought to do any thing about Wat- kins's book, I should not care much about publishing my Memoir now, should it be necessary to counteract the fellow. But in that case, I should like to look over the press myself. Let me know what you think, or whether I had better not ; — at least, not the second part, which touches on the actual confines of still existing matters. " I have written three more Cantos of Don Juan, and am hoverbg on the brink of another, (the ninth.) The reason I want the stanzas again which I sent you is, that as these cantos contain a full detail (like the storm in Canto Second) of the siege and assault of Ismael with nmch of sarcasm on those butchers|| in large business, your mercenary soldiery, it is a good opportunity of grac- ing the poem with * * * * * . With these things and these fellows, it is necessary, in the pre- sent clash of philosophy and tyranny, to throw away the scabbard. I know it is against fearful odds ; but the battie must be fought ; and it will be eventually for the good of * A book which h.id just appeared, entitled " Memoirs of the Right Hon. Lord Byron." t See letters to the editors of Blftckwood'sMagazine, page 292. i It had been asserted, in a late number of Blackwood, that both I,ord Byron and myself were employed in writing satires against that Magazine. II Alluding to Wellington. Sec the beginning of Canto IX. LETTERS, 1822. 205 mankind, whatever it may be for the individual who risks himself. " What do you think of your Irish bishop ? Do you remember Swift's line, ' Let me have a barrack — a fig for the dergy.^ This seems to have been his reverence's motto. ♦ * + * * ******* « Yours, &c." LETTER DLXXI. TO MR. MOORE. "Pisa, August 27, 1822. " It is boring to trouble you with ' such small gear ;' but it must be owned that I should be glad if you would inquire whether my Irish subscription ever reached the Committee in Paris from Leghorn. My reasons, like Vellum's, 'are threefold:' First,! doubt the accuracy of all almoners, or remitters of benevolent cash : second, I do suspect that the said Committee, having in part served its time to timeserving, may have kept back the acknow- ledgment of an obnoxious politician's name in their hsts ; and, third, I feel pretty sure that I shall one day be twitted by the government scribes for having been a professor of love for Ireland, and not coming forward with the others in her distresses. * It is not, as you may opine, that I am ambitious of having my name in the papers, as I can have that any day in the week gratis. All I want is, to know if the Reverend Thomas Hall did or did not remit my subscrip- tion (200 scudi of Tuscany, or about a thousand francs, more or less) to the Committee at Paris. " The other day at Viareggio, I thought proper to swim off to my schooner (the Bolivar) in the offing, and thence to shore again — about three miles, or better, in all. As it was at midday, under a broiling sun, the consequence has been a feverish attack, and my whole skin's coming off, after going through the process of one large continuous blister, raised by the sun and sea together. I have suf- fered much pain ; not being able to lie on my back, or even side ; for my shoulders and arms were equally St. Bartholomewed. But it is over, — and I have got a new skin, and am as glossy as a snake in its new suit. "We have been burning the bodies of Shelley and Williams on the seashore, to render them fit for removal and regular interment. You can have no idea what an extraordinary effect such a funeral pile has, on a desolate shore, with mountains in the back-ground and the sea before, and the singular appearance the salt and frankin- cense gave to the flame. All of Shelley was consumed, except his hearty which would not take the flame, and is now preserved in spirits of wine. " Your old acquaintance, Londonderry, has quietly died at North Cray ! and the virtuous De Witt was torn in pieces by the populace ! What a lucky + + * * * the Irishman has been in his life and end.* In him your Irish Franklin est morti " Leigh Hunt is sweating articles for his new Journal ; and both he and I think it somewhat shabby in you not to contribute. Will you become one of the propiriiotcrs / * Do, and we go snacks.' I recommend you to tlunk twice before you respond in the negative. *' I have nearly (quite three) four new cantos of Don Juan ready. I obtained permission from the fi-inale Censor Morum of my morals to continue it, provided it were immaculate ; so I have been as decent us need be. There is a deal of war — a siege, and all that, in tlic style, graphical and technical, of the shipwreck in Canto Se- cond, which ' took,' as they say, in the Row. " Yours, &c. • The particuUri of thU event had, It is ovidcut, not ytt roached him.— Moort. « P. S. That * + * Galignani has about ten lies in one paragraph. It was not a Bible that was found in Shelley's pocket, but John Keats's poems. However, it would not have been strange, for he was a great admirer of Scripture as a composition. / did not send my bust to the academy of New- York ; but I sat for my picture to young West, an American artist, at the request of some members of that Academy to hi7n that he would take my portrait, — for the Academy, I believe. " I had, and still have, thoughts of South America, but am fluctuating between it and Greece. I should have gone, long ago, to one of them, but for my Uaison with the Countess G>. ; for love, in these days, is little com- patible with glory. She would be delighted to go too; but I do not choose to expose her to a long voyage, and a residence in an unsettled country, where I shall probably take a part of some sort." LETTER DLXXII. TO MR. MURRAT. "Genoa, October 9. 1822. " I have received your letter, and as you explain it, I have no objection, on your account, to omit those pas- sages in the new Mystery, (which were marked in the half-sheet sent the other day to Pisa,) or the passage in Cain; — but why not be open, and say so aX first ? You should be more straight-forward on every account. " I have been very unwell — four days confined to my bed in ' the worst iim's worst room,' at Lerici, with a vio- lent rheumatic and bilious attack, constipation, and the devil knows what : — no physician, except a young fellow, who, however, was kind and cautious, and that's enough. " At last I seized Thompson's book of prescriptions, (a donation of yours,) and physicked myself with the first dose I found in it ; and after undergoing the ravages of all kinds of decoctions, sallied from bed on the fifth day to cross the Gulf to Sestri. The sea revived me instantly ; and I ate the sailor's cold fish, and drank a gallon of coun- try wine, and got to Genoa the same night after landing at Sestri, and have ever since been keeping well, but thin- ner, and with an occasional cough towards evening. " I am afraid the Journal is a bad business, and won't do ; but in it I am sacrificing myself for others — / can have no advantage in it. I believe the brothers Hunts to be honest men ; I am sure that they are poor ones : they have not a nap. They pressed me to engage in this work, and in an evil hour I consented. Still I shall not repent, if I can do them the least service. I have done all I can for Leigh Hunt since he came here ; but it is almost use- less : — his wife is ill, his six children not very tractable and in the affairs of this world he himself is a child. The death of Sfielley left them totally agroimd ; and I could not see them in such a state without using the common feelings of humanity, and what means wore in my power, to set them afloat again. " So Douglas Kinnaird is out of the way ? He was so the last time I sent him a parcel, and he gives no previous notice. When is he expected again? "Yours, &c.- "P. S. Will you say at once — do you publish Werner and the Mystery, or not ? You never once allude to them. "That cursed advertisement of Mr. J. Hunt is out of the limits. 1 did not lend him my name to be hawked about in this way. *♦*♦♦♦ •However, I believe — at least, hope — that after all you may be a gotwl fi-Uow at bottom, and it is on this presunij)- tion that T now write to you on the subject of u i)oor wo- man of the name of I'mj/, who is, or was, an autlior o( yours, as she says, and pulilished a book on Swit/.i"rland in 1816, patrouizctlby the 'Court and Colonel M'Mahon.' 306 LETTERS, 1822. But it seems that neither the Court nor the Colonel could get over the portentous price of ' three pounds thirteen and sixpence,' which alarmed the too susceptible pubUc; and, in short, ' the book died away,' and, what is worse, the poor soul's husband died too, and she writes with the man a corpse before her ; but instead of addressing the bishop or Mr. Wilberforce, she hath recourse to that proscribed, atheistical, syllogistical, phlogistical person, mysenf as they say in Notts. It is strange enough, but the rascaHle English, who calunmiate me in every direc- tion and on every score, whenever they are in great dis- tress recur to me for assistance. If I have had one ex- ample of this, I have had letters from a thousand, and as far as is in my power have tried to repay good for evil, and purchase a shilling's worth of salvation as long as my pocket can hold out. " Now, I am willing to do what I can for this unfor- tunate person ; but her situation and her wishes (not unreasonable, however) require more than can be ad- vanced by one individual like myself; for I have many claims of the same kind just at present, and also some remnants oidebt to pay in England — God, he knows, the latter how reluctantly ! Can the Literary Fund do no- thing for her ? By your interest, which is great among the pious, I dare say that something might be collected. Can you get any of her books published'^ Suppose you took her as author in my place, now vacant among your ragamuffins : she is a moral and pious person, and will shine upon your shelves. But, seriously, do what you can for her." LETTER DLXXni. TO MR. MURRAY. « Genoa, Qbre 23,1822. "I have to thank you for a parcel of books, which are very welcome, especially Sir Walter's gift of ' Halidon Hill.' You have sent me a copy of ' Werner,' but with- out the preface. If you have published it without^ you will have plunged me into a very disagreeable dilemma, because I shall be accused of plagiarism from Miss Lee's German's Tale, whereas I have fully and freely acknow- ledged that the drama is entirely taken from the story. "I return you the (Quarterly Review, uncut and vm- opened, not from disrespect, or disregard, or pique, but it is a kind of reading which I have some time disused, as I think the periodical style of writing hurtful to the habits of the mind by presenting the superficies of too many tilings at once. I do not know that it contains any thing disagreeable to me — it may or it may not ; nor do I re- turn it on account that there may be an article which you hinted at in one of your late letters, but because I have left off reading these kind of works, and should equally have returned you any other number, " I am obliged to take in one or two abroad because solicited to do so. The Edinburgh came before me by mere chance in Galignani's picnic sort of gazette, where he had inserted a part of it. " You will have received various letters from me lately, in a style which I used with reluctance ; but you left me no other choice by your absolute refusal to communicate with a man you did not lilte upon the mere simple matter of transfer of a few papers of little consequence, (except to their author,) and which could be of no moment to yourself. " I hope that Mr. Kinnaird is better. It is strange that you never alluded to his accident, if it be true, as stated in the papers. " I am yours, &c. &c, " I hope that you have a milder winter than we have had here. We have had inundations worthy of the Trent or Po, and the conductor (Franklin's) of my house was struck (or supposed to be stricken) by a thunderbolt. I was so near the window that I was dazzled and my eyes hurt for several minutes, and everybody in the house felt an electric shock at the moment. Madsune Guiccioli was frightened, as you may suppose. "I have thought since that your bigots would have 'saddled me with a judgment,' (as Thwackum did Square when he bit his tongue in talking metaphysics,) if any thing had happened of consequence. These fellows al- ways forget Christ in their Christianity, and what he said when 'the tower of Siloam fell.' " To-day is the 9th, and the 10th is my surviving daugh- ter's birthday, I have ordered, as a regale, a mutton chop and a bottle of ale. She is seven years old, I beUeve. Did I ever tell you that the day I came of age I dined on eggs and bacon and a bottle of ale? For once in a way they are my favourite dish and drinliable, but as neither of them agree with me, I never use them but on great jubilees — once in four or five years or so. " I see somebody represents the Hunts and Mrs. Shel- ley as Uving in my house; it is a falsehood. They reside at some distance, and I do not see them twice in a month. I have not met Mr. Hunt a dozen times since I came to Genoa, or near it. " Yours ever, &c." LETTER DLXXIV. TO MR. MURRAY. "Genoa, lObre 250, 1822. " I had sent you back the (Quarterly without perusal, having resolved to read no more reviews, good, bad, or indifferent; but ' who can control his fate ?' Galignani, to whom my English studies are confined, has forwarded a copy of at least one-half of it in his indefatigable catch- penny weekly compilation ; and as, ' like honour, it came unlocked for,' I have looked through it. I must say that, upon the whole, that is, the whole of the half which. I have read, (for the other half is to be the segment of Galigna- ni's next week's circular,) it is extremely handsome, and any thing but unliind or unfair. As I take the good in good part, I must not, nor will not, quarrel with the bad. What the writer says of Don Juan is harsh, but it is in- evitable. He must follow, or at least not directly oppose, the opinion of a prevailing and yet not very firmly seated party. A review may and will direct and ' turn awry' the currents of opinion, but it must not directly oppose them. Don Juan will be known, by-and-by, for what it is in- tended, a Satire on abuses of the present state of society, and not an eulogy of vice.* It may be now and then voluptuous : — I can't help that. Ariosto is worse ; Smol- lett (see Lord Strutwell in vol. 2d of Roderick Random) ten times worse ; and Fielding no better. No girl will ever be seduced by reading Don Juan : — no, no ; she will go to Little's poems and Rousseau's Romans for that, or even to the immaculate De Stael. They will encourage her, and not the Don, who laughs at that, and — and — most other things. But never mind — ca ira ! + * + *** " Now, do you see what you and your friends do by your injudicious rudeness ? — actually cement a sort of coimexion which you strove to prevent, and which, had the Hunts prospered, would not in all probability have con- tinued. As it is, I will not quit them in their adversity, though it should cost me character, fame, money, and the usual et cetera. " My original motives I already explained, (in the let- ter which you thought proper to show :) they are the true ones, and I abide by them, as I tell you, and I told Leigh Hunt when he questioned me on tlie subject of that letter. He was violenriy hurt, and never will forgive me at bot- See Don Juan, Canto IV. Staiuas 5, 98, &e. LETTERS, 1823. 207 torn ; but I can't help that. I never meant to make a parade of it ; but if he chose to question me, I could only answer the plain truth ; and I confess I did not see any thing in the letter to hurt him, unless I said he was ' a borcy which I do n't remember. Had their Journal gone on well, and I could have aided to make it better for them, I should then have left them, after my safe pilotage off a lee shore, to make a prosperous voyage by themselves. As it is, I can't, and would not if I could, leave them among the breakers. " As to any community of feeling, thought, or opinion between Leigh Hunt and me, there is little or none. We meet rarely, hardly ever ; but I think him a good^princi- pled and able man, and must do as I would be done by. I do not know what world he has lived in, but I have lived in three or four ; but none ef them hke his Keats and kangaroo terra incognita. Alas I poor Shelley ! how we would have laughed had he lived, and how we used to laugh now and then at various things which are grave in the suburbs ! "You are all mistaken about Shelley. You do not know how mild, how tolerant, how good he was in society ; and as perfect a gentleman as ever crossed a drawing- room, when he liked, and where liked. " I have some thoughts of taking a run down to Naples {solusy or, at most, cum sold) this spring, and writing, when I have studied the country, a Fifth and Sixth Canto of Childe Harold : but this is merely an idea for the pre- sent, and I have other excursions and voyages in my mind. The busts* are finished: are you worthy of them? " Yours, &c. «N. B. «P. S. Mrs. Shelley is residing with the Hunts at some distance from me. I see them very seldom, and generally on account of their business. Mrs. Shelley, I believe, will go to England in the spring. « Count Gambia's family, the father and mother and daughter, are residing with me by Mr. Hill (the minis- ter's) recommendation, as a safer assylum from the politi- cal persecutions than they could have in another resi- dence ; but they occupy one part of a large house, and I the other, and our establishments are quite separate. " Since I have read the Ctuarterly, I shall erase two or three passages in the latter six or seven cantos, in which I had lightly stroked over two or three of your authors ; but I will not return evil for good. I liked what I read of the article much. "Mr. J. Hunt is most likely the publisher of the new Cantos ; with what prospects of success I know not, nor does it very much matter, as far as I am concerned ; but I hope it may be of use to him, for he is a stiff, sturdy, conscientious man, and I like him : he is such a one a Prynne or Pym might be. I bear you no ill-will for de- clining the Don Juans. « Have you aided Madame de Yossy, as I requested ? I sent her three hundred francs. Recommend her, will you, to the Literary Fund, or to some benevolence within your circles." LETTER DLXXV. TO LADY . "Albaro, Nov. 10, 1822. ♦ * * * ♦ ? 11 "The Chevalier persisted in declaring himself an ill- used gentleman, and describing you as a kind of cold Calypso, who lead astray people of an amatory disjjosilion without giving them any sort of compensation, contenting • Of the liuet of lilniself by Barlollini he ii»yi, In one of hli lftt»r» to Mr. Murray ;— " The bum does not turn out a good one,— thoiinh il inny l)e like lor iiiighl t know, an it emiclly re«embleii ii iiiiH'ranuiilrd Jemiil." AKuin, " I iiMure yon UBrtolllni'« U ilrcaillnl, IhonKh my inin't tnl«iilvi-ii ine llial it is liiduonvlv like. H it 1«, I cunnol bu long lor thi* wimM, lor it ovcrlookisevc.-y." Mooit. yourself, it seems, with only making om fool instead of two, which is the more approved method of proceeding on such ofccasions. For my part, I think you are quite rifht , and be assured from me that a woman (as society is con- stituted in England,) who gives any advantage to a man may expect a lover, but will sooner or later find a tyrant ; and this is not the man's fault either, perhaps, but is the necessary and natural result of the^ circumstances of society which, in fact, tyrarmize over the man equally with the women, that is to say, if either of them have any feeling or honour. " You can write to me at your leisure and inclination. I have always laid it down as a maxim, and found it justi- fied by experience, that a man and a woman make far better friendships than can exist between two of the same sex ; but these with this condition, that they never have made, or are to make, love with each other. Lovers may, and, indeed, generally are enemies, but they never can be friends ; because there must always be a spice of jealousy and a something of self in all their speculations. " Indeed, I rather look upon love altogether as a sort of hostile transaction, very necessary to make or to break matches, and keep the world going, but by no means a sinecure to the parties concerned. "Now, as my love-perils are, I believe, pretty well over, and yours, .by all accounts, are never to begin, we shall be the best friends imaginable as far as both are concerned, and with this advantage, that we may both fall to loving right and left through all our acquaintance, without either sullenness or sorrow from that amiable passion which are its inseparable attendants. " Believe me, &c." LETTER DLXXVI TO MR. PROCTOR. "■pisa, Jan. 1823. " Had I been aware of your tragedy when I wrote my note to ' Marino Fahero,' although it is a matter of no consequence to you, I should certainly not have omitted to insert your name with those of the other writers who still do honour to tlie drama. My own notions on the subject altogether are so different from the popular ideas of the day, that we differ essentially, as indeed I do from our whole English literati, upon that topic. But I do not contend that I am right — I merely say that such is my opinion, and as it is a solitary one, it can do no great iiarm. But it does not prevent me from doing justice to the powers of those who adopt a different system." LETTER DLXXVn. TO MR. MOORE. "Genoa, Feb. 20, 1823. "my dear TOM, " I must again refer you to those two letters addrcssi>d to you at Passy before I road your speech in Galignani, &c., and which you do not seem to have received. " Of Hunt 1 sec little — once a month or so, and then on his own business, generally. You may easily suppose that I know too little of Hanipstead ami his satellites to have much conuniinion or contniunily with him. My whole present relatitm to him arose from Shelley s unex- pected wreck. You would not have had me leave him in the street with his family, would yon .' lunl as to thr other plan you mention, you forgt>t how il woiiUi humilinte him — that his writings shoiiltl be sii|iposeil to Ih' ilejid wfight! Think a moment — he is perhaps the vainest man t>n earth, at least his own friends say so pn-tty loiiiiiy; and if he were in other fircnmslunres, T might 1)1' temptcil to talif him down a pe^ ; hut not now, — i( w,..il,lbf rnirl, Il IS n .Mirsr I l.i,..i.u-^ : but iviiher the 20d LETTERS, 1823. motive nor the means rest upon my conscience, and it happens that he and his brother have been so far benefited by the publication in a pecuniary point of view. His brother is a steady, bold fellow, such as Prynne, for exam- ple, and full of moral, and, I hear, physical courage. "And you are reaUy recanting, or softening to the clergy ! It wiU do little good for you — it is you, not the poem, they are at. They will say they frightened you — forbid it, Ireland ! "Yours ever, «N. B." LETTER DLXXVm. TO MRS. ♦ ♦ + ***** " I presume that you, at least, know enough of me to be sure that I could have no intention to insult Hunt's poverty. On the contrary, I honour him for it ; for I know what it is, having been as much embarrassed as ever he was, without perceiving aught in it to diminish an honourable man's self-respect. If you mean to say that, had he been a wealthy man, I would have joined in this Journal, I answer in the negative. * * ♦ I engaged in the Journal from good-will towards him, added to respect for his character, literary and personal; and no less for his political courage, as well as regret for his present circumstances : I did tlus in the hope that he might, with the same aid from literary friends of literary ccntnbu- tions, (which is requisite for all Journals of a mixed nature,) render himself independent. ****** " I have always treated him, in our personal intercourse, with such scrupulous delicacy, that I have forebome in- truding advice, which I thought might be disagreeable, lest he should impute it to what is called ' taking advan- tage-of a man's situation.' "As to friendship, it is a propensity in which my genius is very limited. I do not know the male human being, except Lord Clare, the friend of my infancy, for whom I feel any thing that deserves the name. All my others are men of the world friendships. I did not even feel it for Shelley, however much I admired and esteemed him ; so that you see not even vanity could bribe me into it, for, of all men, Shelley thought highest of my talents, — and, per- haps, of my disposition. " I will do my duty by my intimates, upon the principle of doing as you would be done by. I have done so, I trust, in most instances. I may be pleased with their con- versation — rejoice in their success — be glad to do them a service, or to receive their counsel and assistance in re- turn. But, as for friends and friendship, I have (as I al- ready said) named the only remaining male for whom I feel any tiling of the kind, excepting, perhaps, Thomas Moore. I have had, and may have stUl, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one's part- ners in the waltz of this world, not much remembered when the ball is over, though very pleasant for the time. Habit, business, and companionship in pleasure or in pain, are links of a similar kind, and the same faith in politics is another." + * * LETTER DLXXIX. TO LADY * * *. « Genoa, March, 28, 1823. ***** " Mr. Hill is here : I dined with him on Saturday be- fore last ; and on leaving his house at S. P. d'Arena, my carriage broke down. I walked home, about three miles, — no very great feat of pedestrianism ; but either the coming out of hot rooms into a bleak wind chilled me, or the walking up-hill to Albaro heated rne. or something or other set me wrong, and next day I had an inflammatory attack in the face, to which I have been subject tliis win- ter for the first time, and I suffered a good deal of pain, but no peril. My health is now much as usual. INIr. Hill is, I believe, occupied with bis diplomacy. I shall give him your message when I see him again.* " My name, I see in the papers, has been dragged into the unhappy Portsmouth business, of which all that I know is very succinct. Mr. Hanson is my solicitor. I found him so when I was ten years old — at my uncle's death — and he was continued in the management of my legal business. He asked me, by a civil espistle, as an old ac- quaintance of his family, to be present at the marriage of Miss Hanson. I went very reluctantly, one misty morn- ing (for I had been up at two balls all night,) to witness the ceremony, which I could not very well refuse without affronting a man who had never offended me. I saw nothing particular in the marriage. Of course I could not know the prehminaries, except from what he said, not having been present at the wooing, nor after it, for I walked home, and they went into tlie country as soon as they had promis- ed and vowed. Out of this simple fact I hear the Debats de Paris has quoted Miss H. as ' autrefois tr^s hee avec le cel^bre,' &c. &c. I am obliged to him for the celebrity, but beg leave to decline the liaison, which is quite untrue; my Uaison was with the father, in tlie unsentimental shape of long lawyers' bills, through the medium of which I have had to pay him ten or twelve thousand pounds with'm these few years. She was not pretty, and I suspect that the in- defadgable Mr. A was (like all her people) more attracted by her tide than her charms. I regret very much that I was present at the prologue to the happy state of horsewhipping and black jobs, &c. &c., but I could not foresee that a man was to turn out mad, who had gone about the world for fifty years, as competent to vote, and walk at large ; nor did he seem to me more insane than any other person going to be married. " I have no objection to be acquainted with the Marquis Palavicini, if he wishes it. Lately, I have gone little into society, English or foreign, for I had seen all that was worth seeing in the former before I left England, and at the time of life when I was more disposed to like it ; and of the latter I had a sufficiency in the first few years of my residence in Switzerland, chiefly at Madame de Stael's, where I went sometimes, till I grew tired of con- versazioni and carnivals, with their appendages ; and the bore is, that if you go once, you are expected to be there daily, or rather nightly. I went the round of the most noted soirees at Venice or elsewhere (where I remained not any time) to the Benzona, and the Albrizzi, and the MicheUi, &c. &c., and to the Cardinals and the various potentates of the Legation in Romagna (that is, Ravenna,) and only receded for the sake of quiet when I came into Tuscany. Besides, if I go into society, I generally get, in the long run, into some scrape of some kind or other, which do n't occur in my solitude. However, I am pretty well settled now, by time and temper, which is so far lucky as it prevents res'dessness ; but, as I said before, as an acquain- tance of yours, I will be ready and willing to know your friends. He may be a sort of connexion for aught I know ; for a Palavicina, of Bologna, I beheve, married a distant relative of mine half a century ago. I happen to know the fact, as he and his spouse had an annuity of five hun- dred pounds on my uncle's property, which ceased at his demise, though I recollect hearing they attempted, natu- rally enough, to make it survive him. If I can do any thing for you here, or elsewhere, pray order, and be obeyed." LETTER DLXXX. TO MR. MOORE. « Genoa, April 2, 1823. ' 1 have just seen some friends of yours, who paid me a * The Earl of Portsmouth married Miss Hanson. Attempts were made about this time in the Cugligh Courts to prove him iniane. ii Letters, 1823. 209 visit yesterday, which, in honour of them and of you, I re- turned to-day ; — as I reserve my bear-skin and teeth, and paws and claws, for our enemies. " I have also seen Henry Fox, Lord Holland's son, whom I had not looked upon since I left him a pretty mild boy, without a neckcloth, in a jacket, and in delicate health, seven long years agone, at the period of mine ecUpse — the third, I believe, as I have generally one every two or three years. I think that he has the softest and most amiable expression of countenance I ever saw, and manners correspondent. If to those he can add heredi- tary talents, he will keep the name of Fox in all its fresh- ness for half a century more, I hope. I speak from a transient glimpse — but I love still to yield to such im- pressions ; for I have ever found that those I liked longest and best, I took to at first sight ; and I always Uked that boy ; perhaps, in part, from some resemblance in the less fortunate part of our destinies ; I mean, to avoid mistakes, his lameness. But there is this difference, that he appears a halting angel, who has tripped against a star ; while I am Le IHable Boitetix, — a soubriquet, which I marvel that, among their various nominis umbrae, the Orthodox have not hit upon. " Your other allies, whom I have found very agreeable personages, and Milor Blessington and dpouse, travelling with a very handsome companion, in the shape of a ' French Count,' (to use Farquhar's phrase in the Beaux' Stratagem,) who has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine, and is one of the few specimens I have seen of our ideal of a Frenchman before the Revolution — an old friend with a new face, upon whose like I never thought that we should look again. Miladi seems highly literary, to which, and your honour's acquaintance with the family, I attri bute the pleasure of having seen them. She is also very pretty, even in a mornmg, — a species of beauty on which the sun of Italy does not shine so frequently as the chan- delier. Certainly, Englishwomen wear better than their continental neighbours of the same sex. M * * seems very good-natured, but is much tamed, since I recol- lect him in all the glory of gems and snuff-boxes, and uniforms, and theatricals, and speeches in our house — 'I mean, of peers' (I must refer you to Pope — whom you do n't read, and won't appreciate — for that quota- tion, which you must allow to be poetical,) and sitting to Slroeling, the painter (do you remember our visit, with Leckie, to the German?) to be depicted as one of the heroes of Agincourt,' with his long sword, saddle, bridle, whack fal de,' &c. &c. " I have been unwell — caught a cold and inflamma- tion, which menanced a conflagration, after dining with our ambassador. Monsieur Hill, — not owing to the dinner, but my carriage broke down on the way home, and I had to walk some miles, up-hill partly, after hot rooms, in a very bleak windy evening, and over-hotted, or over- colded myself I have not been so robustious as for- merly, ever since the last summer, when I fell ill after a long swim in the Mediterranean, and have never been quite right up to this present writing. I am thin, — perhaps thinner than you saw me, when I was nearly transparent, in 1812, — and am obliged to bo moderate of my mouth, which, nevertheless, won't prevent mo (the gods willing) from dining with your friends the day afler to-morrow. " They give me a very good account of you, and of your nearly 'Emprisoned Angels.' But why did you change your title ? — you will regret this some day. The bigotfl are not to be conciliated ; and, if they were, are they worth it? I suspect that I am a more orthodox Christian than you are ; and, whenever I see a real Christian, either in practice or in theory, (for I never yet found the man who could pr«'• r';<'«''"«n. ha Mi-nii lo Imvu nil the oualilirs rcqulillo lo h»»f fli-iml la hl» brother-in-lnw '• uiiccilor'i Memoir*." 210 LETTERS, 1823. Watts — perhaps he is right, but in my time JVaiiers was the Dandy Club, of which (though no dandy) 1 was a member, at the time too of its greatest glory, when Brum- mell and Mildmay, Alvanley and Pierrepoint, gave the dandy balls; and we (the club, that is,) got up the famous masquerade at Burlington House and Garden for Welling- ton. He does not speak of the Alfred, which was the most rechercM and most tiresome of any, as I know by being a member of tlmt too." LETTER DLXXXII. TO THE EARL Or BLESSINGTON, "April 6, 1823. "It would be worse than idle, knowing, as I do, the utter worthlessness of words on such occasions, in me to attempt to express what I ought to feel, and do feel for the loss you have sustained :* and I mi||t thus dismiss the subject, for I dare not trust myself further with it /or your sake, or for my own. I shall endeavour to see you as soon as it may not appear intrusive. Pray excuse the levity of my yesterday's scrawl — I little thought under what circumstances it would find you. " I have received a very handsome and flattering note from Count * *. He must excuse my apparent rude- ness and real ignorance in replying to it in English, through the medium of your kind intei-pretation. I would not on any account deprive him of a production, of which I really think more than I have even said, though you are good enough not to be dissatisfied even with that ; but whenever it is completed, it would give me die greatest pleasure to have a copy — but how to keep it secret ! lite- rary secrets are like others. By changing the names, or at least omitting several, and altering the circumstances indicative of the writer's real station, the author would render it a most amusing publication. His countrymen have not been treated either in a literary or personal point of view with such deference in English recent works, as to lay him under any very great national obligation of forbea- rance ; and really the remarks are so true and so piquante that I cannot bring myself to wish their suppression; though, as Dangle says, ' He is my friend,' many of these personages ' were my friends^ but much such friends as Dangle and his allies. "I return you Dr. Parr's letter — I have met him at Payne Knight's and elsewhere, and he did me the honour once to be a patron of mine, although a great friend of the other branch of the House of Atreus, and the Greek teacher (I believe) of my moral Clytemnestra — I say moral, because it is true, and so useful to the virtuous, that it enables them to do any thing without the aid of an TEgisthus. "I beg my compliments to Lady B. Miss P. and to your Alfred. I think, since his Majesty of the same name, there has not been such a learned surveyor of our Saxon society. " Ever yours most truly, «N. B." "April 9, 1823. "my DEAR LORD, ♦ ♦♦♦** ■P. S. I salute Miledi, Madamoiselle Mama, and the illustrious Chevalier Count * *, who, 1 hope, will continue his history of ' his own times.' There are some strange coincidences between a part of his remarks and a certain work of mine, now in MS. in England, (I do not mean the hermetically sealed Memoirs, but a continuation of certain Cantos of a certain poem,) especially in what a man may do in London with impunity while he is ' a la mode ;' which I think it well to state, thai he may not suspect me of taking advantage of his confidence. The observations are very general." LETTER DLXXXIIL TO THE EARL OF BLESSINGTON. « April 14, 1823. "I am truly sorry that I cannot accompany you in your ride this morning, owing to a violent pain in my face, arising from a wart to which I by medical advice applied a caustic. AVhether I put too much, I do not know, but the consequence is, not only I have been put to some pain, but the peccant part and its immediate environ are as black as if the printer's devil had marked me for an author. As I do not wish to frighten your horses, or their riders, I shall postpone waiting upon you until six o'clock, when I hope to have subsided into a more Christianlike resemblance to my fellow-creatures. My infliction has partially extended even to my fingers for on trying to get tlie black from off" my upper lip at least, I have only transfused a portion thereof to my right hand, and neither lemon-juice nor eau de Cologne, nor any other eau, have been able as yet to redeem it also from a more inky appearance than is either proper or pleasant. But ' our damn'd spot' — you may have perceived something of the kind yesterday, for on my return, 1 saw that during my ^^sit it had increased, was increasing, and ought to be diminished ; and I could not help laughing at the figure I must have cut before you. At any rate, I shall be with you at six, with the advantage of twilight. " Ever most truly, &c. *•' 11 o'clock. " P. S. I wrote the above at three this morning. I regret to say that the whole of the skin of about an inch square above my upper lip has come ofi^, so that I cannot even shave or masticate, and I am equally unfit to appear at your table, and to partake of its hospitality. Will you therefore pardon me, and not mistake tliis rueful excuse for a ' make-believe,^ as you will soon recognise whenever I have the pleasure of meeting you again, and I will call" the moment I am, in the nursery phrase, ' fit to be seen.* Tell Lady B. \\\\h my compliments, that I am rummag- ing my papers for a MS. worthy of her acceptation. I have just seen tlie younger Count Gamba, and as I can- not prevail on his infinite modesty to take the field without me, I must take this piece of difiidence on my myself also, and beg your indulgence for both." • The death of Lord Ble8«mglon'» son, which had been long ex- ptetad, but of which tha account had Jutt then arrived. LETTER DLXXXrV. TO THE COUNT * *. "April 22, 1823. "My dear Count * *, (if you will permit me to address you so familiarly,) you should be content with writing in your own language, like Grammont, and succeedmg in London as nobody has succeeded since the days of Charles the Second and the records of Antonio Hamil- ton, without deviating into our barbarous language, — which you understand and write, however, much better than it deserves. " My < approbation,' as you are plaased to term it, was very sincere, but perhaps not very impartial; for though I love my country, I do not love my countrymen — at least, such as they now are. And besides the seduction of talent and wit in your work, I fear that to me there was the attraction of vengeance. I have seen and felt much of what you have described so well. I have known the persons, and the reunions so described — (many of them. LETTERS, 1823. 211 that is to say,) — and the portraits are so Uke that I cannot but -admire the painter no less than his perform- ance. "But I am sorry for you; for if you are so well acquainted with life at your age, what will become of you when the illusion is still more dissipated ? but never mind — en avant! — live while you can ; and that you may have the full enjoyment of the many advantages of youth, talent, and figure, which you possess, is the wish of an — Englishman, — I suppose, — but it is no treason ; for my mother was Scotch, and my name and ray family are both Norman ; and as for myself, I am of no country. As for my 'Works,' which you are pleased to mention, let them go to the devil, from whence (if you believe many per- sons) they came. " I have the honour to be your obliged, &c. &c." LETTER DLXXXV. TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. «May^,1823. "dear lady * *, *' My request would be for a copy of the miniature of Lady B., which I have seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as all her letters were in her own possession before I left England, and we have had no cor- respondence since — at least on her part. " My message, with regard to the infant, is simply to Uiis effect — that in the event of any accident occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor, it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect, both with regard to the education of the cliild, and the person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be desirous that she should be placed. It is not my intention to interfere with her in any way on the subject during her liie ; and I presume tliat it would be some consolation to her to know, {if she is in ill health, as I am given to understand,) that in no case would any thing be done, as far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity with Lady B.'s own wishes and intentions — left in what manner she thought proper. "Believe me, dear Lady B., your obliged, &c." LETTER DLXXXVI. TO THE COUNTESS OF «Albaro,May 6, 1823. * MV DEAR LADV * * *, « I send you the letter which I had forgotten, and the book,* which I ought to have remembered. It contains (the book, I mean) some melancholy truths ; though I believe that it is too triste a work ever to have been popu- lar. The first time I ever read it, (not the edition I send you, — for I got it since,) was at the desire of Madame de Stael, who was supposed by the good-natured world to be the heroine ; — which she was not, however, and was furious at the supposition. This occurred in Switzerland, in the summer of 1816, and the last season in whicii I ever saw that celebrated person. " I have a request to make to my friend Alfred, (since he has not disdained the title,) viz. that he would conde- scend to add a cap to the gentleman in the jacket, — it would comi)lctc his costume, — and smooth his brow,wiuch is somewhat too inveterate a likeness of the original, God help me ! ** I did well to avoid the water-jjarty, — ">%, is a myste- ry, wiiich is not less to be wondered at than all my other mysteries. Tell Milor that I am deep in his MS., and will do him justice by a dihgent perusal. " The letter which I enclose I was prevented from sending, by my despair of its doing any good. I was per- fectly sincere when I wrote it, and am so still. But it is difficult for me to withstand the thousand provocations on that subject, which both friends and foes have for seven years been throwing m the way of a man whose feelings were once quick, and whose temper was never patient. But ' returning were as tedious as go o'er.' I feel this as much as ever Macbeth did ; and it is a dreary sensation, which at least avenges the real or imaginary wrongs of one of the two imfortunate persons whom it concerns. " But I am going to be gloomy ; — so, ' to bed, to bed.' Good night, — or rather morning. One of the reasons why I wish to avoid society is, that I can never sleep after it, and the pleasanter it has been, the less I rest. " Ever most truly, &c. &c." • /dol|ilu', liy M. Ucnjniniii (.oiistaal. LETTER DLXXXVn.* TO LADY BYRON. (To the care of the Hon. Mrs. Leigh, London.) "Pisa, Nov. 17, 1821. " I have to acknowledge the receipt of ' Ada's hair,' which is very soft and pretty, and nearly as dark already as mine was at twelve years old, if I may judge from what I recollect of some in Augusta's possession, taken at that age. But it do n't curl, — perhaps from its being let grow. " I also thank you for the inscription of the date and name, and I will tell you why ; — I believe that they are the only two or three words of your handwriting in my possession. For your letters I returned, and except the two words, or rather the one word, 'Household,' written twice in an old account-book, I have no other. I burnt your last note, for two reasons : — Istly, it was written in a style not very agreeable ; and, 2dly, I wished to take your word without documents, which are the worldly resources of suspicious people. "I suppose tliat this note will reach you somewhere about Ada's birthday — the 10th of December, I believe. She will then be six, so that in about twelve more I shall have some chance of meeting her ; — perhaps sooner, if I am obliged to go to England by business or otherwise. Recollect, however, one thing, either in distance or near- ness ; — everyday which keeps us asunder should, after so long a period, rather soften our mutual feelings, which miist always have one rally ing-point as long as our child exists, which I presume we both hope will be long after either of her parents. " The time which has elapsed since the separation, has been considerably more than the whole brief period of our union, and the not much longer one of our prior acquaintance. We both made a bitter mistake ; but now it is over, and irrevocably so. For, at thirty-three on my part, and a few years less on yours, though it is no very extended period of life, still it is one when the habits and thought are generally so formed as to admit of no modifi- cation; and as we could not agree when younger, w© should with diflicullydo so now. " I say all this, because I own to you that, notwidi- standing every thing, I considered our reunion as not impossible for more than a year after the separation ; — hut then I gave \ip the hope entirely and for ever. But this very imiiossiliilily of reunion seen\s to me at least a reason why, on all the few points of discussion which can arise between us, wo should preserve the courtesies of life, and as much of its kindness n.s peojjle who are never to meet may preserve, perhaps more cosily than nearer • Koclpif.l III I.Btl»r589. 212 LETTERS, 1823. connexions. For my own part, I am violent, but not malignant ; for only fresh provocations can awaken my resentments. To you, who are colder and more concen- trated, I would just hint, that you may sometimes mistake the depth of a cold anger for dignity, and a worse feeling for duty. I assure you that I bear you now (whatever I may have done) no resentment whatever. Remember, that if you have injured me in aught, this forgiveness is something ; and that, if I have injured you,it is something more still, if it be true, as the moralists say, that the most offending are the least forgiving. « Whether the offence has been solely on my side, or reciprocal, or on yours chiefly, I have ceased to reflect upon any but two things, — viz. that you are the mother of my child, and that we shall never meet again. I think if you also consider the two corresponding points with refer- ence to myself, it will be better for all three. " Yours ever, "NoelBvron." LETTER DLXXXVIIL TO MR. BLAQUIERE. "Albaro, April 5, 1823. " DEAR SIR, "I shall be delighted to see you and your Greek friend ; and the sooner the better. I have been expecting you for some time, — you will find me at home. I cannot ex- press to you how much I feel interested in the cause ; and nothing but the hopes I entertained of witnessing tlie liberation of Italy itself, prevented me long ago from re- turning to do what little I could, as an individual, in that land which it is an honour even to have visited. " Ever yoxors, truly, " NoEi. Byron." LETTER DLXXXIX. TO MR. BOWRING. «Genoa,May 12, 1823. " SIR, " I have great pleasure in acknowledging your letter, and the honour which the Committee have done me ; — I shall endeavour to deserve their confidence by every means in my power. My first wish is to go up into the Levant in person, where I might be enabled to advance, if not the cause, at least the means of obtaining informa- tion which the Committee might be desirous of acting upon •, and my former residence in the country, my fami liarity with the Italian language, (which is there univer- sally spoken, or at least to the same extent as French in the more polished parts of the continent,) and my not total ignorance of the Romaic, would afford me some advan- tages of experience. To this project the only objection is of a domestic nature, and I shall try to get over it; — if I fail in this, I must do what I can where I am ; but it will be always a source of regret to me, to think that 1 might perhaps have done more for the cause on die spot. "Our last information of Captain Blaquiere is from Ancona, where he embarked with a fair wind for Corfu, on the 15th ult. ; he is now probably at his destination. My last letter /rom him personally was dated Rome ; he had been refused a passport through the Neapolitan ter- ritory, and returned to strilte up through Romagna for Ancona : little time, however, appears to have been lost by the delay. " The principal material wanted by the Greeks appears to be, first, a park of field artillery — light, and fit for moun- tain-service ; secondly, gunpowder; thirdly, hospital or medical stores. The readiest mode of transmission is, I hnar, by Idra, addressed to Mr. Negri, the minister. I meant to send up a certain quantity of the two latter — no great deal — but enough for an individual to show his good wishes for the Greek success ; but am pausing, because, in case I should go myself, I ccui take them with me. I do not want to limit my own contribution to this merely, but more especially, if I can get to Greece my- self, I should devote whatever resources I can muster of my own, to advancing the great object. I am in corre- spondence with Signor Nicolas Karrellas, (well known to Mr. Hobhouse,) who is now at Pisa ; but his latest ad- vice merely stated, that the Greeks are at present em- ployed in organizing their internal government, and the details of its administration ; this would seem to indicate security, but the war is however far from being terminated. " The Turks are an obstinate race, as all former wars have proved them, and will return to the charge for years to come, even if beaten, as it is to be hoped they will be. But in no case can the labours of the Committee be said to be in vain, for in the event even of the Greeks being subdued and dispersed, the funds which could be em- ployed in succouring and gathering together the remnant, so as to alleviate in part their distresses, and enable them to find or make a country, (as so many emigrants of other nations have been compelled to do,) would bless 'both those who gave and those who took,' as the bounty both of justice and of mercy. " With regard to the formation of a brigade, (which Mr. Hobhouse hints at in his short letter of this day's receipt, enclosing the one to which I have the honour to reply,) I would presume to suggest — but merely as an opinion, resulting rather from the melancholy experience of the brigades embarked in the Columbian service, than from any experiment yet fairly tried in Greece — that the at- tention of the Committee had better perhaps be directed to the employment of officers of experience than the enrol- ment oiraw British soldiers, which latter are apt to be unruly, and not very serviceable, in irregular warfare, by the side of foreigners. A small body of good officers, especially artillery ; an engineer, with quantity (such as the Committee might deem requisite) of stores, of the nature which Captain Blaquiere indicated as most wanted, would, I should conceive, be a highly useful accession. Officers, also, who had previously served in the Mediter- ranean, would be preferable, as some knowledge of Italian is nearly indispensable. " It would also be as well that they should be aware that they are not going ' to rough it on a beef-steak and bottle of port,' — ^liut that Greece — never, of late years, very plentifully stocked for a mess — is at present the country of all kinds of privations. This remark may seem superfluous ; but I have been led to it, by observing that many foreign officers, Italian, French, and even Germans, {hut fewer of the loiter,) have returned in disgust, imagin- ing either that they were going up to make a party of pleasure, or to enjoy full pay, speedy promotion, and a very moderate degree of duty. They complain, too, of having been ill received by the Government or inhabi- tants ; but numbers of these complaints were mere adven» turers, attracted by a hope of command and plunder, and disappointed of both. Those Greeks I have seen stre- nuously deny the charge of inhospitaUty, and declare that they shared their pittance to the last crumb with their foreign volunteers. "I need not suggest to the Committee the very great advantage which must accrue to Great Britain from the success of the Greeks, and their probable commercial relations with England in consequence ; because I feel persuaded that the first object of the Committee is their EMANCIPATION, without any interested views. But the consideration might weigh with the English people in general, in their present passion for every kind of specu- lation, — they need not cross the American seas, for one much better worth their while, and nearer home. The resources, even for an emigrant population, in the Greek I LETTERS, 1823. 213 island alone, are rarely to be paralleled ; and the cheap- ness of every kind, of not only necessary, but luxury, (that is to say, humiry oi nature,) fruits, wine, oil, &c. in a state of peace,, are far beyond those of tlie Cape, and Van Die- man's Land, and the other places of refuge, which the English population are searching for over the waters. " I beg that tlie Committee will command me in any and every way. If I am favoured with any instructions, I shall endeavour to obey them to the letter, whether con- formable to my own private opinion or not. I beg leave to add, personally, my respect for the gentleman whom I have the honour of addressing, "And am, sir, your obliged, &c. «P. S. The best refutation of Gell will be the active exertions of the Committee ; — I am too warm a contro- versialist ; and I suspect that if Mr. Hobhouse have taken him in hand, there will be little occasion for me to ' en- cumber him with help.' If I go up into the country, I will endeavour to transmit as accurate and impartial an account as circumstances will permit. *I shall write to Mr. KarreUas. I expect intelligence from Captain Blaquiere, who has promised me some early intimation from the seat of the Provisional Government. I gave him a letter of introduction to Lord Sidney Osborne, at Corfu ; but as Lord S. is in the government service, of course his reception could only be a cautious one." LETTER DXC. TO MR. BOWRING. "Genoa, May 2! J 1823. "SIH, "I received yesterday the letter of the Committee, dated the 14th of March. What has occasioned the de- lay, I know not. It was forwarded by Mr. Galignani, from Paris, who stated that he had only had it in his charge four days, and that it was delivered to him by a Mr. Grattan. I need hardly say that I gladly accede to the proposition of the Committee, and hold myself highly honoured by being deemed worthy to be a member. I have also to return my thanks, particularly to yourself, for the accompanying letter, which is extremely flattering. "Smce I last wrote to you, through the medium of Mr. Hobhouse, I have received and forwarded a letter from Captain Blaquiere to me, from Corfu, which will show now he gets on. Yesterday I fell in with two young Germans, survivors of General Normann's band. They arrived at Genoa in the most deplorable state — without food — without a sou — without shoes. The Austrians had sent them out of their territory on their landing at Trieste : and they had been forced to come down to Flo- rence, and had travelled from Leghorn here, with four Tuscan llvres (about three francs) in their pockets. I have given them twenty Genoese scudi, (about a hundred and thirty-three livres, French money,) and new shoes, which will enable them to get to Switzerland, where they eay that they have friends. All that they could raise in Genoa, besides, was thirty sous. They do not complain of the Greeks, but say that they have suffered more since tiieir landmg in Italy. *I tried their veracity, Istly, by their passports and papers ; 2dly, by topography, cross-questioning them about Arta, Argos, Athens, Missolonghi, Corinth, &c. ; and, 3dly, in iJo/naic, of which I found (one of them at least) knew more than I do. One of them (thoy are botli of good families) is a fine, handsome young fellow of throo- and-twenty — a Wirlcmbcrgher, and has a look of SaniU about him — the other a Bavarian, oldrr, and flat-faced, and less ideal, but a great, sturdy, soldier-like personage. The Wirfembori^hor was in the action at Arta, wIkto iJio Philhcllcnists were cut to pieces after killing six hundred Turks, they themselves being only a hundred and fifty in number, opposed to about six or seven thousand; only eight escaped, and of them about three only survived ; so that General Nermann ' posted his ragamuffins where they were well peppered — not three of the hundred and fifty left alive — and they are for the town's end for life.' "These, two left Greece by the direction of the Greeks. When Churschid Pacha overrun the Morea, the Greeks seem to have behaved well, in wishing to save their allies, when they tliought that the game was up with themselves. This was in September last, (1822:) they wandered from island to island, and got from Milo to Smyrna, where the French consul gave them a passport, and a charitable captain a passage to Ancona, whence they got to Trieste, and were turned back by the Austrians. They complain only of the minister, (who has always been an indifferent character;) say that the Greeks fight very well in their own way, but were at Jirst afraid iojire their own cannon — but mended with practice. "Adolphe (the younger) commanded at Navarino for a short time ; the other, a more material person, ' the bold Bavarian in a luckless hour,' seems chiefly to lament a fast of three days at Argos, and the loss of twenty-five paras a day of pay in arrear, and some baggage at Tripolitza ; but takes his wounds, and marches, and battles in very good part. Both are very simple, full of naivete, and quite unpretending: they say the foreigners quarrelled among themselves, particularly the French with the Ger- mans, which produced duels. " The Greeks accept muskets, but dirow away bayonets, and will not be disciplined. When these lads saw two Piedmontese regiments yesterday, they said, 'Ah, if we had had but these two, we should have cleared the Morea :" in that case the Piedmontese must have behaved better than they did against the Austrians. They seem to lay great stress upon a few regular troops — say that the Greeks have arms and powder in plenty, but want victuals, hospital stores, and lint and linen, &c. and money, very much. Altogether, it would be difficult to shov/ more practical philosophy than this remnant of our ' puir hill folk' have done ; they do not seem the least cast down, and their way of presenting themselves was as simple and natural as could be. They said, a Dane here had told them that an Englishman, friendly to the Greek cause, was here, and that, as they were reduced to beg their way homo, they thought they might as well begin with me. I write in haste to snatch the post. — Believe me, and truly, " Your obliged, &c. " P. S. I have, since I wrote this, seen them again. Count P. Gamba asked them to breakfast. One of them means to publish his Journal of the campaign. The Bavarian wonders a little that tlio Greeks are not quite the same with them of the time of Themistocles, (they were not then very tractable, by-tlic-by,) and at the diffi- culty of disciplining tliem ; but he is a ' bon homme' and a tacticia, and a little like Dugald Dalgetty, who would insist upon tlie erection of 'a sconce on the hill of Dnim- snab,' or whatever it was ; — the other seems to wonder at nothing." LETTER DXCL TO MR. CHURCH, American Coniul at Genoa. "Genoa, May, 18CS. " The accounts are so contradictory, as to what nioiio will be best for supplying the Greeks, that I have deemed it better to fake up, (with the exception of a few supplies,) what cash ami credit I ran muster, rather than lay them out in articles that might bo doeinrd suporlluous or unno- ressavy. Here we can learn nothing but from some of the rofugoos, who appear chiefly intorosted for thcmsolveg. My accounts from an agent of the ("!omniitice, an English gentleman lately gone up to Groocc, are hitherto favour- 214 LETTERS, 1823. able, but he had not yet readied the seat of the Provi- sional Government, and I am anxiously expecting further advice. " An American has a better right than any other, to suggest to other nations the mode of obtaining that liberty which is the glory of his own." LETTER DXCIL TO M. H. BEVLE, Rue de Richelieu, Paris. « Genoa, May 29, 1823. *SIR, "At present, that I know to whom I am indebted for a very flattering mention in the ' Rome, Naples, and Flo- rence, in 1817, by Mons. Stendhal,' it is fit that I should return my thanks (however undersired or undesirable) to Mons. Beyle, with whom I bad the honour of being ac- quainted at Milan in 1816. You only did me too much honour in what you were pleased to say in that work ; but it has hardly given me less pleasure than the praise itselfj to become at length aware (which I have done by mere accident) that I am mdebted for it to one of whose good opinion I was reaUy ambitious. So many changes have taken place since that period in the Milan circle, that I hardly dare recur to it ; — some dead, some banish- ed, and some in the Austrian dungeons. Poor Pellico ! I trust that, in his iron solitude, his Muse is consoling him in part — one day to delight us again, when both she and her poet are restored to freedom. " Of your works I have only seen ' Rome, &c.' the Lives of Haydn and Mozart, and the brochure on Racine and Shakspeare. The 'Histoire de la Peinture,' I have not yet the good fortune to possess. " There is one part of your observations in the pamphlet which I shall venture to remark upon ; it regards Walter Scott. You say that ' his character is little worthy of enthusiasm,' at the same time that you mention his pro- ductions in the manner they deserve. I have known Walter Scott long and well, and in occasional situations which call forth the real character — and I can assure you, that his character is worthy of admiration ; — that of all men he is the most open, the most honourable^ the most amiable. With his politics, I have nothing to do ; they differ from mine, which renders it difficult for me to speak of them. But he is perfectly sincere in them ; and sin- cerity may be humble, but she cannot be servile. I pray you, therefore, to correct or soften that passage. You may, perhaps, attribute this officiousness of mine to a false affectation of candour, as I happen to be a writer also. Attribute it to what motive you please, but believe the truth. I say that Walter Scott is as nearly a thorough good man as man can be, because I know it by experience to be the case. "If you do me the honour of an answer, may I request a speedy one ? because it is possible (though not yet decided) diat circumstances may conduct me once more to Greece. My present address is Genoa, where an answer will reach me in a short time, or be forwarded to me wherever I may be. "I beg you to believe me, with a lively recollection of our brief acquaintance, and the hope of one day re- newing it. " Your ever obliged, " and obedient humble servant, "Noel Bvron." LETTER DXCm. ' May 17, 1823 •*My voyage to Greece will depend upon tJie Greek tions which some persons now in Greece on a private mission may be pleased to send me. I am a member, lately elected, of the said Committee ; and my object in going up would be to do any little good in my power ; but as there some pros and cons on the subject, with regard to hov/ far tlie intervention of streuigers may be advisable, I know no more than I tell you ; but we shall probably hear something soon from England and Greece, which may be more decisive. " With regard to the late person (Lord Londonderry) whom you hear that I have attacked, I can only say that a bad minister's memory is as much an object of inves- tigation as his conduct while alive, — for his measures do not die with him hke a private individual's notions. He is matter of history ; and, wherever I find a tyrant or a villain, I vAll mark him. I attacked him no more than I had been wont to do. As to the Liberal, — it was a pub- lication set up for the advantage of a persecuted author and a very worthy man. But it was fooUsh in me to engage in it ; and so it has turned out — for I have hurt myself without doing much good to those for whose bene- fit it was intended. "Do not defend me — it will never do — ^you will only make yourself enemies. "Mine are neither to be diminished nor softened, but they may be overthrown ; and there are events which may occur less improbable than those which have hap- pened in our time, that may reverse the present state of things — nous verrons. * * * * "I send you this gossip that you may laugh at it, which is all it is good for, if it is even good for so much. I shall be^lighted to see you again ; but it will be melan- choly, shcS it be only for a moment. "Ever yours, "N.B." LETTER DXCIV. TO THE COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. «Albaro, June2, 1823. " MY DEAR LADY B * *, '' I am superstitious, and have recollected that memorials with a point are of less fortunate augury : I will, there- fore, request you to accept, instead o( the pin,* the enclosed chain, which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. As you wished for something worn, I can only say, that it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. It is of Venetian manufacture; and the only peculiarity about it is, that it could only be obtained at, or from, Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same kind. I also enclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to keep ; it is too large to wear ; but is formed of lava, and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character. You will perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of this note, and send back the pin, (for good luck's sake,) which I shall value much more for having been a night in your custody, "Ever and faithfully your obliged, &c. "P. S. I hope your nerves are well to-day, and will con- tinue to flourish," LETTER DXCV. TO MR. BOWRING. "July?, 1823. "We sail on the 12th for Greece. — I have had a letter from Mr, Blaquiere, too long for present transcription. ■ Committee (in England) partly, and partly on the instruc - L^aiJ^ameo ?rNa°poiLr''"''^ '" ""'' "^ '""*''''' '°'"*'""« * LETTERS, 1823. 215 but very satisfactory. The Greek government expects me without delay. "In conformity to the desires of Mr. B. and other cor- respondents in Greece, I have to suggest, with all defer- ence to the Committee, that a remittance of even ' ten tliousand pounds only^ (Mr. B.'s expression) would be of the greatest service to the Greek Government at present. 1 have also to recommend strongly the attempt of a loan, for which there will be offered a sufficient security by deputies now on their way to England. In the mean time, I hope that the Committee will be enabled to do something effectual. "For my own part, I mean to carry up, in cash or credits, above eight, and nearly nine thousand pounds sterling, which I am enabled to do by funds I have in Italy, and credits in England. Of tliis sum I must necessarily reserve a portion for the subsistence of myself and suite \ the rest I am willing to apply in the maimer which seems most hkely to be useful to the cause — having, of course, some guarantee or assurance, that it will not be misap- plied to any individual speculation. " If I remain in Greece, which will mainly depend upon the presumed probable utility of my presence there, and of the opinion of the Greeks themselves as to its propri- ety — in short, if I am welcome to them, I shall continue, during my residence at least, to apply such portions of my income, present and future, as may forward the object — that is to say, what I can spare for that purpose. Pri- vations I can, or at least could once, bear — abstinence I am accustomed to — and, as to fatigue, I was once a toler- able traveller. What I may be now, I cannot tell — but I will try. " I await the commands of the Committee. — Address to Genoa — the letters will be forwarded to me, wherever I may be, by my bankers, Messrs. Webb and Barry. It would have given me pleasure to have had some more defined instructions before I went, but these, of course, rest at the option of the Committee. " I have the honour to be " Your obedient, &c. "P. S. Great anxiety is expressed for a printing press and types, &c. I have not the time to provide them, but recommend this to the notice of the Committee. I pre- sume the types must, partly at least, be Greek : they wish to publish papers, and perhaps a Journal, probably in Romaic, v/ith Italian translations." LETTER DXCVI. TO GOETHE. "Leghorn, July 24, 1823. " ILLUSTRIOUS SIR, " I cannot thank you as you ought to be thanked for the lines which my young friend, Mr. Sterling, sent me of yours ; and it would but ill become me to pretend to exchange verses with him who, for fifty years, has been the undisputed sovereign of European literature. You must therefore accept my most sincere acknowledgments in prose — and in hasty prose too ; for I am at present on my voyage to Greece once more, and surrounded by hurry and bustle, which hardly allow a moment even to grati- tude and admiration to express themselves. " I sailed from Genoa some days ago, was driven bark by a gale of wind, and have since sailed again and arrivi-d here, * Leghorn,' this morning, to receive on board some Greek passengers for their struggling country. "Hero also I found your lines and Mr. Sterling's letter, and I could not have had a more favourable omen, a more agreeable surprise, than a word of GocUie. written by his own hand. " I am returning to Greece, to sec if I ran be of any little use there : if ever I come back, I will pay a visit to Weimar, to offer the sincere homage of one of the man} millions of your admirers. I have the honour to be, eve! and most, " Your obliged, "NoelByrok,'* NOTES TO THE COUNTESS GUICCIOLI. "October?. "Pietro has told you all the gossip of the island, — our earthquakes, our politics, and present abode in a prettj village. As his opinions and mine on the Greeks are nearly similar, I need say Uttle on that subject. I was a fool to come here ; but, being here, I must see what is to be done." "October "We are still in Cephalonia, waiting for news of a more accurate description ; for all is contradiction and division in the reports of the state of the Greeks. 1 shall fulfil the object of my mission from the Committee, and then return into Italy. For it does not seem likely that, as an individual, I can be of use to them ; — at least no other foreigner has yet appeared to be so, nor does it seem likely that any will be at present. Pray be as cheerful and tranquil as you can ; and be assured that there is nothing here that can excite any thing but a wish to be with you again, — though we are very kindly treated by the English here of all descrip- tions. Of the Greeks, I ca n't say much good hitherto, and I do not hke to speak ill of them, though they do of one another." "October 29. "You may be sure that the moment I can join you again will be as welcome to me as at any period of our recollection. There is nothing very attractive here to divide my attention ; but I must attend to the Greek cause, both from honour and inclination. Messrs. B. and T. are both in the Morea, where they have been very ell received, and both of them ^vrite in good spirits and hopes. I am anxious to hear how the Spanish cause will be arranged, as I think it may have an influence on the Greek contest. I wish that both were fairly and favour- ably settled, that I might return to Italy, and talk over with you otfr, or rather Piclro's, adventures, some of which are rather amusing, as also some of the incidents of our voyages and travels. But I reserve them, in the hope that we may laugh over tliem together at no very distant period." LETTER DXCVII. TO MR. BOWRING, «9bre29, 1823. " This letter will be presented to you by Mr. Hamilton Browne, who precedes or accompanies the Greek depu- ties. He is both capable and desirous of rendering any service to the cause, and information to tlic Committee. He has already been of considerable advantage to both, of my own knowledge. Lord Archibald llnniilton, to whom he is related, will add a weightier recommcnilation than mine. "Corintii is taken, and a Turkish squadron said to be beaten in the Archipeiiigo. The public progress of the Greeks is considerable, but their internal dissensions still continue. On arriving at the seat of Ciovemmont, I shall endeavour to initi<.'atP or extinguish them — though neither is an easy task. I have romainoti liero till now, pailly in expectation of the sqiKulnm in relief of Missolonghi, partly uf Mr. Parry's delailimont, and partly to reroivo liom Malta or Zaiite the sum of four llunisand pounds sterling, wlii<-li 1 have advaiiCiHl for tJio payment of ihw expected wiuadron. 'I'ho bxlla are nogotuUmg, »ikI will 216 LETTERS, 1823. be cashed in a short time, as they would have been imme- diately in any other mart; but the miserable Ionian merchants have little money, and no great credit, and are besides, politically shy on this occasion ; for, although I had letters of Messrs. Webb, (one of the strongest houses of the Mediterranean,) and also of Messrs. Ran- som, there is no business to be done on fair terms except through English merchants. These, however, have proved both able and willing, — and upright, as usual. " Colonel Stanhope has arrived, and will proceed imme- diately ; he shall have my co-operation in all his endea- vours ; but from every tMng that I can learn, the forma- tion of a brigade at present will be extremely difficult, to say the least of it. With regard to the reception of foreigners, — at least of foreign officers, — I refer you to a passage in Prince Mavrocordato's recent letter, a copy of which is enclosed in my packet sent to the Deputies. It is my intention to proceed by sea to Napoli di Romania as soon as I have arranged this business for the Greeks themselves — I mean the advance of two hundred thou- sand piastres for their fleet. "My time here has not been entirely lost, — as youwUl perceive by some former documents that any advantage from my then proceeding to the Morea was doubtful. We have at last moved the Deputies, and I have made a strong remonstrance on their divisions to Mavrocordato, which, I understand, was forwarded by the legislative to the Prince. With a loan they 7nay do much, which is all that /, for particular reasons, can say on the subject. "I regret to hear from Colonel Stanhope that the Com- mittee have exhausted their funds. Is it supposed that a brigade can be formed without them ? or that three thou- sand pounds would be sufficient ? It is true that money will go farther in Greece than in most countries ; but the regular force must be rendered a national concern, and paid from a national fund ; and neither individuals nor com- mittees, at least with the usual means of such as now exist, will find the experiment practicable. "I beg once more to recommend my friend, Mr. Hamilton Brovrae, to whom I have also personal obliga- tions for his exertions in the common cause, and have the honour to be " Yours very truly." LETTER DXCVIII. TO THE GENERAL GOVERNMENT OF GREECE. "Cephalonia, November 30, 1823. " The affair of the loan, the expectation so long and vainly indulged of the arrival of the Greek fleet, and the danger to which Missolonghi is still exposed, have detained me here, and will still detain me till some of them are removed. But when the money shall be advanced for the fleet, I will start for the Morea, not knowing, how- ever, of what use my presence can be m the present state of things. We have heard some rumours of new dis- sensions, nay, of the existence of a civil war. With all my heart, I pray that these reports may be false or exag- gerated ; for I can imagine no calamity more serious than this ; and I must frankly confess, that unless union and order are established, all hopes of a loan will be vain ; and all the assistance which the Greeks could expect from abroad — an assistance neither trifling nor worthless — will be suspended or destroyed ; and, what is worse, the great powers of Europe, of whom no one was an enemy to Greece, but seemed to favour her establishment of an independent power, will be persuaded that the Greeks are unable to govern themselves, and will, per- haps, themselves undertake to settle your disorders in such a way as to blast the brightest hopes of yourselves and of your friends. " Allow me to add, once for all, — I desire the well-beinir of Greece, and nothing else ; I will do all I can to secure it ; but I cannot consent, I never will consent, that the Eng- lish public, or English individuals, should be deceived as to the real state of Greek affairs. The rest, gentlemen, depends on you. You have fought gloriously; — act honourably towards your fellow-citizens and the world, and it will then no more be said, as has been repeated for two thousand years with the Roman historians that Phi- lopoemen was the last of the Grecians. Let not calumny itself (and it is difficult, I own, to guard against it in so arduous a struggle) compare the patriot Greek, when resting from his labours, to the Turkish pacha, whom hia victories have exterminated. "I pray you to accept these my sentiments as a sincere proof of my attachment to your real interests, and to beUeve that I am, and always shall be, "Yours, fee." LETTER DXCIX. TO PRINCE MAVROCORDATO. "Cephalonia, 2, Dec. 1823. " PRINCE, " The present will be put into your hemds by Colonel Stanhope, son of Major General the Earl of Harrington, &c. &c. He has arrived from London in fifty days, after having visited all the Committees of Germany. He is charged by our Committee to act in concert with me for the liberation of Greece. I conceive that his name and his mission will be a sufficient recommendation, without the necessity of any other from a foreigner, although one who, in common with all Europe, respects and admires the courage, the talents, and above all, the probity of Prince Mavrocordato. " I am very uneasy at hearing that the dissensions of Greece still continue, and at a moment when she might triumph over every thing in general, as she has already triumphed in part. Greece is, at present, placed between three measures : either to reconquer her liberty, to become a dependence of the sovereigns of Europe, or to return to a Turkish province. She has the choice only of these three alternatives. Civil war is b»it a road which leads to the two latter. If she is desirous of ihe fate of Wala- chia and the Crimea, she may obtain it to-morrow; if of that of Italy, the day after ; but if she wishes to become truly Greece, free and independent, she must resolve to-day, or she will never again have the opportunity. " I am, with all respect, " Your Highness's obedient servant, "N. B. "P. S. Your Highness will already have known that I have sought to fulfil the wishes of the Greek Govern- ment, as much as it lay in my power to do so : but I should wish that the fleet so long and so vainly expected were arrived, or, at least, that it were on the way ; and espe- cially that your Highness should approach these parts either on board the fleet, with a public mission, or in some other manner. LETTER DC. TO MR. B0WRIN6. «10bre7,182S. " I confirm the above ;* it is certainly my opinion that Mr. Millingen is entitled to the same salary with Mr. Tindall, and his service is likely to be harder. • Hl here alludes to a letter, forwarded with his own, from Mr. Mil. lingen, who was about to join, in his medical capacity, the Suliotes, near Ptttras,and requested of the Committee an increase of pay. Thit gen- tleman having mentioned m his letter " that the retreat of the Turk* from before Missolonghi had rendered utmecessary the appearance of the GreeJt fleet," Lord Byron, in a note on this passage, sajs, " By the special pro. LETTERS, 1823. 217 " I have written to you (as to Mr. Hobhouseybr your perusal) by various opportunities, mostly private ; also by the Deputies, and by Mr. Hamilton Browne. " The public success of the Greeks has been considera ble ; Corinth taken, Missolonghi nearly safe, and some ships in the Archipelago taken from the Turks; but there is not only dissension in the Morea, but civil war, by the latest accounts;* to what extent we do not yet know, but hope trifling. " For six weeks I have been expecting the fleet, which has not arrived, though I have, at the request of the Greek Government, advanced — that is, prepared, and have in hand, two hundred thousand piastres (deducting the commission and bankers' changes) of my own moneys to forward their projects. The Suliotes (now in Acarna- nia are very anxious that I should take them under my directions, and go over and put things to rights in the Morea, which, without a force, seems impracticable ; and really, though very reluctant (as my letters will have shown you) to take such a measure, there seems hardly any milder remedy. However, I will not do any thing rashly ; and have only continued here so long in the hope of seeing things reconciled, and have done all in my power thereto. Had I gone sooner, they would have forced me into oneparty or other, and I doubt as much now ; but we will do our best. « Yours, &c." LETTER DCL TO ME. BOWRING. "October 10, 1823. •* Colonel Napier will present to you this letter. Of his military character it were superfluous to speak ; of his personal, I can say, from my own knowledge, as well as from all public rumour, or private report, that it is as ex- cellent as his military: in short, a better or a braver man is not easily to be found. He is our man to lead a regu- lar force, or to organize a national one for the Greeks. Ask the army — ask any one. He is besides a personal friend of both Prince Mavrocordato, Colonel Stanhope, and myself, and in such concord with all three that we should all put together — an indispensable, as well as a rare point, especially in Greece at present. " To enable a regular force to be properly organized, it will be requisite for the loan-holders to set apart at least 50,000/. sterling for that particular purpose — perhaps more — but by so doing they will guaranty their own mo- neys, ' and make assurance doubly sure.' They can ap- point commissioners to sec that part properly expended — and I recommend a similar precaution for the whole. "I hope that the Deputies have arrived, as well as some of my various despatches (chiefly addressed to Mr. Hobhouse) for the Committee. Colonel Napier will (ell you the recent special interposition of the gods in behalf of the Greeks — who seem to have no enemies in heaven or on earth to be dreaded, but their own tendency to dis- cord among themselves. But those, too, it is to be hoped, will be mitigated, and then we can take the field on the oflTensive, instead of being reduced to the petite guerre of defending the same fortresses year after year, and taking a few ships, and starving out a castle, and making more vldence of the Deity, the MiiBmilmBni were Biiireel with a panic, ami fled ; but no thanks to the fleet, which ought to hnve hcen here motithi ngo, and has no cxc:i«e to the coiitrnry, lately— nt leiiit, since I had the money ready to pay." On another pnnnaRe, in which Mr. Millingen complains that his hope ofanv rcmiincriition from the tiretkshaH" turned on( perfectly chlnierl- eal,'' Lord Uyron remarlts, in a note, " and irilt do so, till they ohtain a loan. They have not a raii, nor credit (in the Islands) to raise one. A medical man may succeed hetter than others ; hut all these pennileKs officers had better have staid at home. Much money may not he reiioircd, buliome must.'' •The Legisladve and Executive bodies having been for sometime at variance, the latter had at length resorted to violeuce, and some skirmishes had already taken jtlaro brlwcBn the fnrlions. 28 fuss about them than Alexander in his cups, or Buona- parte in a bulletin. Our friends have done something in the way of the Spartans — (though not one- tenth of what is told) — but have not yet inherited their style. " Believe me yours, &c." LETTER DCn. TO MR. BOWRING. "October 13, 1823. " Since I wrote to you on tne 10th instant, the long- desired squadron has arrived in the waters of Missolonghi and intercepted two Turkish corvettes— ditto transports — destroying or taking all four — except some of the crews escaped on shore in Ithaca — and an unarmed vessel, with passengers, chEised into a port on the opposite side of Ce- phalonia. The Greeks had fourteen sail, the Turks four — but the odds do n't matter — the victory will make a very goodpii^, and be of some advantage besides. I ex- pect momentarily advices from Prince Mavrocordato, who is on board, and has (I understand) despatches from the Legislative for me ; in consequence of which, after paying the squadron, (for which I have prepared, and am preparing,) I shall probably join him at sea or on shore. " I add the above communication to my letter by Col. Napier, who will inform the Committee of every thing in detail much better than I can do. . i> " The mathematical, medical, and musical preparations of the Committee have arrived, and in good condition, abating some damage from wet, and some ditto from a portion of the letter-press being spilt in landing — (I ought not to have omitted the press — but forgot it a moment — excuse the same) — they are excellent of their kind, but till we have an engineer and a trumpeter (we have chirur- geons already) mere ' pearls to swine,' as the Greeks are quite ignorant of mathematics, and have a bad ear for our music. The maps, &c. I will put into use for them, and take care that all (with proper caution) are turned to the intended uses of the Committtee — but I refer you to Co- lonel Napier, who will tell you, that much of your really valuable suppUes should be removed till proper persons arrive to adapt them to actual service. • Believe me, my dear sir, to be, &c. "P. S. Private. — I have written to our friend Douglas Kirmaird on my own matters, desiring him to send me out all the further credits I can command, — and I have a year's income, and the sale of a manor besides, he tells me, before me, — for till tlie Greeks get their loan, it is probable that I shall have to stand partly paymaster — as far as I am ' good upon Change' that is to say. I pray you to repeat as much to him, and say that I must in the interim draw on Messrs. Ransom most formidably. To say the truth, I do not grudge it, now tlie fellows have be- gun to fight again — and still more welcome shall they be f they will go on. But they have had, or are to have, some four thousand pounds (besides some private extra- ordinaries for widows, orphans, refugees, and rascals of all descriptions) of mine at one ' swoop ;' and it is to be expected the next will bo at least as much more. And how can I refuse it if they will figiu ? — and espe- cially if I sliould happen over to be in their company ? I therefore request and require that you should apprize my trusty and trustworthy trustee and banker, and crown and sheet anchor, Douglas Kinnaird the Honourable, that he prepare all moneys of mine, including the purchaRC-nio- ncy of Rochdale manor and mine income for llic year ensuing, A. D. 1824, to answer, or anticipate, any onlcrs or drafts of mine for iho gotxl cause, in gootl and lawful money of Great Britain, &c. &c. May you live a thou- sand years ! which is 999 longer than the Spanish Cortrw Constitution." 218 LETTERS, 1823. LETTER DCm. TO THE HONOURABLE MH. DOUGLAS KINNAIRD. "Cephalonia, Dec. 23, 1823. "I shall be as saving of my piirse and person as you recommend, but you Imow that it is as well to be in rea- diness with one or both, in the event of either being required. " I presume that some agreement has been concluded with Mr. Murray about ' Werner.' Although the copy- right should only be worth two or three hundred pounds, I will tell you what can be done with them. For three hundred pounds I can maintain in Greece, at more than the fullest pay of the Provisional Government, rations included, one himdred armed men for three mcniihs. You may judge of this when I tell you, that the four thousand pounds advanced by me to the Greeks is likely to set a fleet and an army in motion for some months. "•A Greek vessel has arrived from the squadron to con- vey me to Missolonghi, where Mavrocordato now is, and has assumed the command, so that I expect to embark immediately. Still address, however, to Cephalonia, through Messrs. Welch and Barry of Genoa, as usual; and get together all the means and credit of mine you can, to faco the war establishment, for it is ' in for a penny, in for a pound,' and I must do all that I can for the ancients. " I have been labouring to reconcile these parties, and there is now some hope of succeeding. Their public af- fairs go on well. The Turks have retreated from Acar- nania without a battle, after a few fruitless attempts on Anatoliko. Corinth is taken, and the Greeks have gained a battle in the Archipelago. The squadron here, too, has taken a Turkish corvette, with some money and a cargo. In short, if they can obtain a loan, I am of opin- ion that matters will assume and preserve a steady and favourable aspect for their independence. " In the mean time I stand paymaster, and what not ; and lucky it is that, from the nature of the warfare and of the country, the resources even of an individual can be of a partial and temporary service. "Colonel Stanhope is at Missolonghi. Probably we shall attempt Patras next. The Suliotes, who are friends of mine, seem anxious to have me with them, and so is Mavrocordato. If I can but succeed in reconciling the two parties (and I have left no stone unturned) it will be something ; and if not, we must go over to the Morea with the western Greeks— who are the bravest, and at present the strongest, having beaten back the Turks — and try the effect of a little physical advice, should they persist in rejecting moral persuasion. " Once more recommending to you the reinforcement of my strong-box and credit from all lawful sources and re- sources of mine to their practicable extent — for, after all it is better playing at nations than gaming at Almack's or Newmarket — and requesting you to write to me as often as you can. " I remain ever, &c.' LETTER DCIV. TO MR. BOWRING. «10bre26, 1823. ■Little need be added to the enclosed, which arrived this day, except that I embark to-morrow for Missolonghi. The intended operations are detailed m the annexed documents. I have only to request that the Committee will use every exertion to forward our views by all its in- fluence and credit. " I have also to request you personally from myself to urge my friend and trustee, Douglas Kinnaird (from whom I have not heard these four months nearly,) to forward to me all the resources of my own we can muster for tJie ensuing year, since it is no time to manager purse, or, perhaps, person. I have advanced, and am advancing, all that I have in hand, but I snail require all that can be got together — and, (if Douglas has completed the sale of Rochdale, that and my year's income for next year ought to form a good round sum) — as you may perceive that there will be little cash of their own among the Greeks, (unless they get the loan,) it is the more necessary that those of their friends who have any should risk it. " The suppUes of the Committee are, some useful, and all excellent in the'ur kind, but occasionally hardly practical enough, in the present state of Greece; for instance, the mathematical instruments are thrown away — none of the Greeks know a problem from a poker — we must conquer first, and plan afterward. The use of the trumpets too may be doubted, imless Constantinople were Jericho, for the Hellenists have no ears for bugles, and you must send us somebody to listen to them. " We will do our best — and I pray you to stir your English hearts at home to more general exertion ; for my part, I will stick by the cause while a plank remains which can be honourably clung to. If I quit it, it will be by the Greeks' conduct, and not the Holy Allies or the holier Mussuknans — but let us hope better things. " Ever yours. "N. B. " P. S . I am happy to say that Colonel Leicester Stan- hope and myself are acting in perfect harmony together — he is likely to be of great service both to the cause and to the Committee, and is pubUcly as well as personally a very valuable acquisition to our party on every account. He came up (as they all do who have not been in the coun- try before) wth some high-flown notions of the 6th form at Harrow or Eaton, &c. ; but Col. Napier and I set him to rights on those points, which is absolutely neces- sary to prevent disgust, or perhaps return ; but now we Ccm set our shoulders soberly to the wheels without quar- reling with the mud which may clog it occasionally. "I can assure you that Col. Napier and myself are as decided for the cause as any German student of them all ; but like men who have seen the country and human hfe, there and elsewhere, we must be pemitted to view it in its truth, with its defects as well as beauties, — more espe- cially as success will remove the former gradually. «N. B. "P. S. As much of this letter as you please is for the Committee, the rest may be ' entre nous.' " LETTER DCV. TO MR. MOORE. "Cephalonia, Dec. 27, 1823. " I received a letter from you some time ago. I have been too much employed latterly to write as I could wish, and even now must write in haste. " I embark for Missolonghi to join Mavrocordato in four-and-twenty hours. The state of parties (but it were a long story) has kept me here till now ; but now that Mavrocordato (their Washington or their Kosciusko) is employed again, I can act with a safe conscience. I carry money to pay the squadron, &c., and I have influence with the Suhotes, supposed sufficient to keep them in har- mony with some of the dissentients ; — for there are plenty of differences, but trifling. " It is imagined that we shall attempt either Patras or the castles on the Straits ; and it seems, by most accounts, that the Greeks, — at any rate, the Suliotes, who are in affinity with me of 'bread and sah,' — expect that I should march with them, and — be it even so ! If any thing in the way of fever, fatigue, famine, or otherviise, should cut short the middle age of a brother warbler, — like Garci- LETTERS, 1824. 219 lasso de la Vega, Kleist, Korner, KutofFski, (a Russian nightingale — see Bowring's Anthology,) or Thersander, or, — or, somebody else — but never mind — I pray you to remember me in your ' smiles and wine.' " I have hopes that the cause will triumph ; but whether it does or no, still ' Honour must be minded as strictly as a milk diet.' I trust to observe both. «Ever,&c." LETTER DCVI. TO THE HONOURABLE COLONEL STANHOPE. "Scrofer, (or some such name,) on board a Cephaoniote. "Mistico,Dec. 31, 1823. "mv dear stanhope, " We are just arrived here, that is, part of my people and 1, with some things, &c., and which it may be as well not to specify in a letter (which has a risk of being inter- cepted, perhaps ;) — but Gamba, and my horses, negro, steward, and the press, and all the Committee things, also some eight thousand dollars of mine (but never mind we have more left, do you understand?) are taken by the Turkish frigates, and my party and myself, in another, boat, have had a narrow escape last night, (being close under their stern and hailed, but we would not answer, and bore away,) as well as this morning. Here we are, with sun and clearing weather, within a pretty little port enough : but whether our Turkish friends may not send in their boats and take us out (for we have no arms except two carbines and some pistols, and, I suspect, not more than four fighting people on board,) is another question, especially if we remain long here, since we are blocked out of Missolonghi by the direct entrance. " You had better send my friend George Drake (Draco,) and a body of Suliotes, to escort us by land or by the canals, with all convenient speed. Gamba and our Bom- bard are taken into Patras, I suppose ; and we must take a turn at the Turks to get them out : but where the devil is the fleet gone ? — the Greek, I mean ; leaving us to get in without the least intimation to take heed that the Mo- slems were out again. " Make my respects to Mavrocordato, and say, that I am here at his disposal. I am uneasy at being here ; not so much on my own account as on that of a Greek boy with me, for you know what his fate would be : and I would sooner cut hitn in pieces, and myself too, tiian have him taken out by those barbarians. We are all very well. "N. B. "The Bombard was twelve miles out when taken; at least so it appeared to us, (if taken she actually be, for it is not certain ;) and we had to escape from another ves- sel that stood right between us and the port." LETTER DCVII. TO MR. MUIR. "Dragomestri, Jan. 2, 1824, "my dear MUIR, " I wish you many returns of the season and liappincss therewithal. Gamba and the Bombard, (there is a strong reason to believe) are carried into Patras by a Turkish frigate, which we saw chase them at dawn on the 31st; we had been close under the stern in the niglit, believing her a Greek till within pistol-shot, and only escaped by a miracle of all the Saints, (our captain says,) and truly I am of his opinion, for we should never have got away of ourselves. They were signalizing their consort with lights, and had ilhitninatcd the ship between decks, and were shouting like a mob ; — but then why did ihcy not fire? Perhaps they took us for a Greek brtilot, and were afraid of kindling us — they had no colours flying even at dawn nor after. " At daybreak my boat was on the coast, but the wind unfavourable for the port; — a large vessel with the wind in her favour standing between us and the Gulf, and another in chase of the Bombard about 12 miles off or so. Soon after they stood (i. e. the Bombard and frigate.) appa- rently towards Patras, and a Zantiote boat making sig- nals to us from the shore to get away. Away we went before the wind, and ran into a creek called Scrofes, I believe, where I landed Luke* and another (as Luke's life was in most danger,) with some money for them- selves, and a letter for Stanhope, and sent them up the country to Missolonghi, where they would be in safety, as the place where we were, could be assailed by armed boats in a moment, and Gamba had all our arms except two carbines, a fowling-piece, and some pistols. " In less than an hour the vessel in chase neared us, and we dashed out again, and showing our stern (out boat sails very well,) got in before night to Dragomestri, where we now are. But where is the Greek fleet? I do n't know — do you ? I told our master of the boat that I was inclined to think the two large vessels (there were none else in sight,) Greeks. But he answered ' they are too large — why do n't they show their colours ?' and his account was confirmed, be it true or false, by several boats which we met or passed^ as we could not at any rate have got in with that wind without beating about for a long time ; and as there was much property and some lives ro risk (the boy's especially) without any means of defence, it was necessary to let our boatmen have their own way. " I despatched yesterday another messenger to Mis- solonghi for an escort, but we have yet no answer. We are here (those of my boat) for the fifth day without tak- ing our clothes oflfj and sleeping on deck in all weathers, but are all very well, and in good spirits. It is to be sup- posed that the Government will send, for their own sakes, an escort, as I have 16,000 dollars on board, the greater part for their service. I had (besides personal property to the amount of about 5000 more,) 8000 dollars in specie of my own, without reckoning the Committee's stores, so that the Turks will have a good thing of it, if the prize be good. " I regret the detention of Gamba, &c. but the rest we can make up again, so tell Hancock to set my bills into cash as soon as possible, and Corgialegno to prepare the remainder of my creilit with Messrs. Webb to be turned into moneys. I shall remain here, unless something ex- traordinary occurs, till Mavrocordato sends, and then go on, and act according to circumstances. JNIy respects to the two colonels, and remembrances to all friends. Tell ' Ultima Analise'1[ that his friend Raidi did not make his appearance with the brig, though I think that he might as well have spoken with us in or q^ Zante, to give us a gentle hint of what we had to expect. " Yours ever aflectionatcly, "N.B. " P. S. E.XCUSC my scrawl on account of the pen and the frosty morning at daybreak. I write in haste, a boat starting for Kalamo. I do not know whether the deten- tion of the Bombard, (if she be detained, f )r I cannot swear to it, and I can only judge from appearances, and what all these follows say,) be an afflur of the Govern- ment, and neutrality, and, &c, — but she «>a» stepped at least 12 miles distant from any |)ort, and had lUl her papers regular from Zunte for Ktdamo, and uc also. I did not land at Zante, bi-ing anxious to lose as little tunc as ' A Greek youlh whom he bad broushl with him, In hJ« •uitt.AxMa Cephaluiiin. t Count Dvllndecima, to whom he (cl*(»i ihii nam* in coneeqiwnce of • hnbit which itiat Kcntiemiin had of using the phi ■■« " in uliiroa uiaUM" t'r«t|iieMtijr In coiivcreatlou. 220 LETTERS, 1824. possible, but Sir F. S. came off to invite me, &c. and everybody was as kind as could be, even in Cephalonia." LETTER DCVITL TO MR. C. HANCOCK. « Dragomestri, Jan. 2, 1824. "dear sir 'ancock,'* "Remember me to Dr. Muir and everybody. I have still the 16,000 dollars with me, the rest were on board the Bombarda. Here we are — the Bombarda taken, or at least missing, with all the Committee stores, my friend Gamba, the horses, negro, bull-dog, steward, and domes- tics, with all our implements of peace and war, also 8000 dollars ; but whether she will be lawful prize or no, is for the decision of the Governor of the Seven Islands. I have written to Dr. Muir, by way of Kalamo, with all particulars. We are in good condition ; and what with wind and weather, and being hunted or so, httle sleeping on deck, &c. are in tolerable seasoning for the country and circumstances. But I foresee that we shall have occasion for all the cash I can muster at Zante and else- where. Mr. Barnff gave us 8000 and odd dollars ; so there is still a balance in my favour. We are not quite certain that the vessels were Turkish which chased ; but tliere is strong presumption that they were, and no news to the contrary. At Zante, everybody, from the Resident downwards, were as kind as could be, especially your worthy and courteous partner. " Tell our friends to keep up their spirits, and we may yet do weU. I disembarked the boy and another Greek, who were in most terrible alarm — the boy, at least, from the Morea — on shore near Anatoliko, I believe, which put them in safety ; and, as for me and mine, we must stick by our goods. " I hope that Gamba's detention will only be temporary. As for the effects and moneys, — if we have them, well ; if othervirise, patience. I wish you a happy new year, and ttll our friends the same. " Yours, &c." LETTER DCIX. TO MR. CHARLES HANCOCK, •' Missolonghi, Jan. 13, 1824 •dear 61R, •Many thanks for yours of the 5th: ditto to Muir for his. You will have heard that Gamba and my vessel got out of the hands of the Turks safe and intact ; nobody knows well how or why, for there 's a mystery in the story somewhat melodramatic. Captain Valsamachi has, 1 take it, spun a long yarn by this time in Argostoli. 1 attribute their release entirely to Saint Dionisio, of Zante and the Madonna of the Rock, near Cephalonia. " The adventures of my separate luck were also not finished at Dragomestri ; we were conveyed out by some Greek gunboats, and found the Leonidas brig-of-war at eea to look after us. — But blowing weather coming on, we were driven on the rocks fmce in the passage of the Scrophes, and the dollars had another narrow escape. Two-thirds of the crew got ashore over the bowspirit : the rocks were rugged enough, but water very deep close in shore, so that she was, after much swearing and some exertion, got off again, and away we went with a third of our crew, leaving the rest on a desolate island, where they might have been now, had not one of the gunboats taken • Tliii letUr ii, more properly, a poslcript to one which Dr. Bruno linil, tiy hii orders, written to Mr. Hancock, with some particulars of iJicir rojrage: antl the Doctor having begun his letter, " Preeialmo. Bigr. iucuck,*' Lord Byron tliu* parodies hia mode of addreta.— them off, for we were in no condition to take them off again. " Tell Muir that Dr. Bruno did not show much fight on the occasion, for besides stripping to his flannel waistcoat, and running about like a rat in an emergency, when I was talking to a Greek boy (the brother of the Greek girls in Argostoli,) and telhng him of the fact that there was no danger for the passengers, whatever there might be for the vessel, and assuring him that I could save both him and myself without difficulty, (though he can't swim,) as the water, though deep, was not very rough, — the vnnd not blowing right on shore (it was a blunder of the Greeks who missed stays,) the Doctor exclaimed, ' Save /uVn, in- deed ! by G — d ! save me rather — I '11 be first if I can' — a piece of egotism which he pronounced with such emphatic simpUcity as to set all who had leisure to hear him laugh- ing, and in a minute after the vessel drove off again after striking twice. She sprung a small leak, but nothing fur- ther happened, except that the captain was very nervous afterward. "To be brief, we had bad weather almost always, diough not contrary ; slept on deck in the wet generally for seven or eight nights, but never was in better health (T speak personally) — so much so, that I actually bathed for a quarter of an hour on the evening of the fourth instant in the sea (to kill the fleas, and other &c.) and was all the better for it. " We were received at Missolonghi with aU kinds of kindness and honours ; and the sight of the fleet saluting, &c. and the crowds and different costumes, was really picturesque. We think of undertaldng an expedition soon, and I expect to be ordered witli the Suhotes to join the army. "All well at present. We found Gamba already arrived, and every thing in good condition. Remember me to all friends. " Yours ever, "N.B. "P. S. You will, I hope, use every exertion to realize the assets. For besides what I have already advanced, I have undertaken to maintain the Suliotes for a year, (and will accompany them, either as a Chief, or whichever is most agreeable to the Goverrmient,) besides sundries. I do not imderstand Brown's ^letters of credit.'' I neither gave nor ordered a letter of credit that I know of; and though of course, if you have done it, I will be responsi- ble, I was not aware of any thing except that I would have backed his bills, which you said was urmecessary. As to orders— I ordered nothing but some red cloth and oil cloths, both of which I am ready to receive ; but if Gamba has exceeded my commission, the other things must be sent back, for I cannot permit any thing of the kind, nor will. The servants' journey will of course be paid for, though thai is exorbitant. As for Bro^vn's letter, I do not know any thing more than I have said, and I really cannot defray the charges of half Greece and the Frank adventures besides. Mr. Barff must send us some dol- lars soon, for the expenses fall on me for the present. « January 14, 1824. «P. S. Will you tell Saint (Jew) Geronimo Corgial- egno that I mean to draw for the balance of my credit with Messrs. Webb and Co. I shall draw for two thou- sand dollars,) that being about the amount, more or less ;) but to facilitate the business, I shall make the draft paya- ble also at Messrs. Ransom and Co., Pall-Mali East, London. I believe I already showed you my letters, (but if not, I have them to show,) by which, besides the credits now realizing, you will have perceived that I am not hmited to any particular amount of credit with my bank- ers. The Honourable Douglas, my friend and trustee, is a prmcipal partner in that house, and having the direction of my Jiffairs, is aware to what extent my present resour- ces may go, and the letters in question were from him. I \ can merely say, that within the current year, 1824, beside* LETTERS, 1824. 221 the money already advanced to the Greek Government, and the credits now in your hands and your partner's (Mr, Barff,) which are all from the income of 1823, 1 have anticipated nothing from that of the present year hitherto. I shall or ought to have at my disposition upwards of one hundred thousand dollars, (including my income, and the purchase-moneys of a manor lately sold,) and perhaps more, without infringing on my income for 1825, and not including the remaining balance of 1823. " Yours ever, "N.B." LETTER DCX. TO MR. CHARLES HANCOCK. « Missolonghi, Jan. 17, 1824. " I have answered, at some length, your obhging letter, and trust that you have received my reply by means of Mr. Tindal. I will also thank you to remind Mr. Tindal that I would thank him to furnish you, on my account, with an order of the Committee for one hundred dollars, which I advanced to him on their account through Signor Corgialegno's agency at Zante on his arrival in October, as it is but fair that the said Committee should pay their own expenses. An order will be sufficient, as the money might be inconvenient for Mr. T. at present to disburse. " I have also advanced to Mr. Blackett the sum of fifty dollars, which I will thank Mr. Stevens to pay to you, on my account, from moneys of Mr. Blackett, now in his hands. I have Mr. B.'s acknowledgment in writing. "As the wants of the State here are still pressing, and there seems very little specie stirring except mine, I still stand paymaster, and must again request you and Mr. Barff to forward by a safe channel (if possible) all the dollars you can collect on the bills now negotiating. I have also written to Corgialegno for two thousand dollars, being about the balance of my separate letter from Messrs. Webb and Co., mailing the bills also payable at Ransom's in London. " Things are going on better, if not well ; there is some order, and considerable preparation . I expect to accom- pany the troops on an expedition shortly, which makes me particularly anxious for the remaining remittance, as ' money is the sinew of war,' and of peace, too, as far as I can see, for I am sure there would be no peace here without it. However, a little does go a good way, which is a comfort. The Government of the Morea and of Candia have written to mc for a further advance from my own peculium of 20 or 30,000 dollars, to which I demur for the present, (having undertaken to pay the Suliotes as a free gift and other things already, besides the loan which T have already advanced,) till I receive letters from Eng- land, which I have reason to expect. " When the expected credits arrive, I hope that you will bear a hand, otherwise I must have recourse to Malta, which will be losing time and taking trouble ; but I do not wish you to do more than is perfectly agreeable to Mr. Barff and to yourself. I am very well, and have no reason to be dissatisfied with my personal treatment, or with the posture of public affairs — others must speak for themselves. "Yours ever and truly, &c. "P. S. Respects to Colonels Wright and Duffio, and the officers civil and military ; also to my friends Muir and Stevens particularly, and to Delladecima." LETTER DCXL TO MR. CHARLES HANCOCK. « Missolonghi, Jan. 19, 1824. " Since I wrote on the 17th, I have received a letter from Mr. Stevens, enclosing an account from Corfu, which is so exaggerated in price and quantity, that I am at a loss whether most to admire Gamba's folly, or the merchant's knavery. All that / requested Gamba to order was red cloth, enough to make a jacket^ and some oil-skin for trousers, &c. — the latter has not been sent the whole could not have amounted to 50 dollars. The account is 645 ! ! ! I will guaranty Mr. Stevens against any loss, of course, but I am not disposed to take the arti- cles, (which I never ordered,) nor to pay the amount. I will take 100 dollars worth ; the rest may be sent back, and I will make the merchant an allowance of so much per cent. ; or if that is not to be done, you must sell the whole by auction at what price the things may fetch, for I would rather incur the dead loss of part, than be encum- bered with a quantity of things, to me at present super- fluous or useless. Why, I could have maintained 300 men for a month for the sum in Western Greece ! " When the dogs, and the dollars, and the negro, and the horses, fell into the hands of the Turks, I acquiesced with patience, as you may have perceived, because it was the work of the elements of war, or of Providence ; but this is a piece of mere human knavery or folly, or both, and I neither can nor will submit to it. I have occasion for every dollar I can muster to keep the Greeks together, and I do not grudge any expense for the cause ; but to throw away as much as would equip, or at least maintain, a corps of excellent ragamuffins with arms in their hands, to furnish Gamba and the doctor with blank bills, (see list,) broadcloth, Hessian boots, and horsewhips, (the lalter I own that they have richly earned,) is rather beyond my endurance, though a pacific person, as all the world knows, or at least my acquaintances. I pray you to try to help me out of this damnable commercial speculations of Gamba's, for it is one of those pieces of impudence or folly which I do n't forgive him in a hurry. I will of course see Stevens free of expense out of the transac- tion ; — by-the-way, the Greek of a Corfiote has thought proper to draw a bill, and get it discounted at 24 dollars ; if I had been there, it should have been protested also. "Mr. Blackett is here ill, and will soon set out for Cephalonia. He came to me for some pills, and I gave him some reserved for particular friends, and which I never knew any body recover from under several months; but he is no better, and what is odd, no worse ; and as tlio doctors have had no better success with him tlian I, he goes to Argostoli, sick of the Greeks and of a constipa- tion. " I must reiterate my request for specie, and that speed- ily, otherwise public affairs will be at a stand-still here. I have undertaken to pay the Suliotes for a year, to advance in March 3000 dollars, besides, to the Govern- ment for a balance due to the troops, and some other smaller matters for the Germans, and the press, &c. &c. &c. ; so what with these, and the expenses of my suite, which, though not extravagant, is expensive with Gamba's d — d nonsense, I shall have occasion for all the moneys I can muster, and I have credits wherewithal to face the undertakings, if realized, and expect to have more soon. " Believe me ever and truly yours, &c." LETTER DCXII. "Missolonghi, Jan. 31, 1824. "The expedition of about two thousand men is planned for an attack on Lcpanto ; and for reasons of policy with regard to the native Capitani, who would rather bo (nomi- nally at least) under the command of a foreigner, than one of their own body, the direction, it is said, is to bo pvon to mo. There is also anoUior reason, which is, that if a capitulation should lake plare,tho Mu.ssulmani nught 222 LETTERS, 1824. perhaps, rather have Christian faith with a Frank than with a Greek, and so be inclined to accede a point or two. These appear to be the most obvious motives for such an appointment, as far as I can conjecture, unless there be one reason more, viz. that, under present circumstances, no one else (not even Mavrocordato himself) seems disposed to accept such a nomination — and though my desires are as far as my deserts upon this occasion, I do not decline it, being willing to do as I am bidden ; and as I pay a considerable part of the clans, I may as well see what they are likely to do for their money ; besides I am tired of hearing nothing but talk. + * * * " I presume, from the retardment, that he* is the same Parry who attempted the JVorlh Pole^ and is (it may be supposed) now essaying the South" LETTER DCXIIL TO MR. CHARLES HANCOCK. « Missolonghi, Feb. 5, 1824. "Dr. Muir's letter and yours of the 23d reached me some days ago. Tell Muir that I am glad of his promo- tion for his sake, and of his remaining near us for all our sakes : though I cannot but regret Dr. Kennedy's depar- ture, which accounts for the previous earthquakes and the present English weather in this climate. With all respect to my medical pastor, I have to announce to him, that among other firebrands, our firemaster Parry (just landed) has disembarked an elect blacksmith, intrusted with three hundred and twenty-two Greek Testaments. I have given him all facilities in my power for his works spiritual and temporal, and if he can settle matters as easily with the Greek Archbishop and hierachy, I trust .that neither the heretic nor the supposed skeptic will be caccused of intolerance. " By-the-way, I met with the said Archbishop at Anato- Jico (where I went by invitation of the Primates a few days jago, and was received with a heavier cannonade than the Turks, probably) for the second time, (I had known him ■here before;) and he and P. Mavrocordato, and the •Chiefs and Primates and I, all dined together, and I thought the metropohtan the merriest of the party, and a very good Christian for all that. But Gamba (we got wet through in our way back) has been ill with a fever and colic ; and Luke has been out of sorts too, and so Jiave some others of the people, and I have been very well, — except that I caught cold yesterday with swearing too much in the rain at the Greeks, who would not bear a hand in landing the Committee stores, and nearly spoiled our combustibles ; but I turned out in person, and made such a row as set them in motion, blaspheming at them from the Government downwards, till they actually did some part of what they ought to have done several days before, and this is esteemed, as it deserves to be, a wonder. " Tell Muir that, notwithstanding his remonstrances, which I receive thankfully, it is perhaps best that I should advance with the troops ; for if we do not do something soon, we shall only have a third year of defensive opera- tions and another siege, and all that. We hear that the Turks are coming down in force, and sooner than usual ; and as these fellows do mind me a little, it is the opinion that I should go, — firstly, because they will sooner listen to a foreigner than one of tlieir own people, out of native Jealousies ; secondly, because the Turks will sooner treat or capitulate (if such occasion should happen) with a Frank than a Greek ; and, thirdly, because nobody else seems disposed to take the responsibility — Mavrocordato being very busy here, the foreign military men too young or not of authority enough to be obeyed by the natives, •Parry who had bceu long expected withiiitillo-y, &c and the Chiefs (as aforesaid) inclined to obey any one except, or rather than, one of their own body. As for me, I am willing to do what I am bidden, and to follow my instructions. I neither seek nor shun that nor any thing else they may wish me to attempt ; and as for personal safety, besides that it ought not to be a consideration, I take it that a man is on the whole as safe in one place as another ; and, after all, he had better end with a bullet than bark in his body. If we are not taken off with the sword, we are like to march off with an ague in this mud- basket ; and to conclude with a very bad pun, to the ear rather than to the eye, better martially, than marsh-ally ; — the situation of Missolonghi is not unknown to you. The dykes of Holland when broken down are the Deserts of Arabia for dryness, in comparison. "And now for the sinews of war. I thank you and Mr. Barff for your ready answers, which, next to ready money, is a pleasant thing. Besides the assets, and balance, and the relics of the Corgialegno correspondence with Leg- horn and Genoa, (I sold the dog flour, tell him, but not at his price,) I shall request and require, from the beginning of March ensuing, about five thousand dollars every two months, i. e. about twenty-five thousand within the cur- rent year, at regular intervals, independent of the sums now negotiating. I can show you documents to prove that these are considerably within my suppUes for the year in more ways than one ; but I do not like to tell the Greelis exactly what I could or would advance on an emergency, because, otherwise, they will double and triple their de- mands, (a disposition that they have already sufficiently shown ;) and though I am wilhng to do all I can whm necessary, yet I do not see why they should not help a little, for they are not quite so bare as they pretend to be by some accounts. " Feb. 7, 1824. "I have been interrupted by the arrival of Parry, and afterward by the return of Hesketh, who has not brought an answer to my epistles, which rather surprise me. You will write soon I suppose. Parry seems a fine rough subject, but will hardly be ready for the field these three weeks ; he and I will (I think) be able to draw together, — at least I will not interfere with or contradict him in his own department. He complains grievously of the mer- cantile and enthusymusy part of the Committee, but greatly praises Gordon and Hume. Gordon would have given three or four thousand pounds and come out himself) but Kennedy or somebody else disgusted him, and thus they have spoiled part of their subscription and cramped their operations. Parry says Bowring is a humbug, to which I say nothing. He sorely laments the printing and civi- hzing expenses, and wishes that there was not a Sunday- school in the world, or any school here at present, save and except always an academy for artilleryship. "He complained also of the cold, a little to my surprise, firstly, because, there being no chimneys, I have used my- self to do without other warmth than the animal heat and one's cloak, in these parts ; and secondly, because I should as soon have expected to hear a volcano sneeze, as a fire- master (who is to burn a whole fleet) exclaim against the atmosphere. I fully expected that his very approach would have scorched up tlie town like the burning-glasses of Archimedes. " Well, it seems that I am to be Commander-in-chie^ and the post is by no means a sinecure, for we are not what Major Sturgeon calls 'a set of the most amicable officers.' Whether we shall have a ' boxing bout between Captain Sheers and the Colonel,' I cannot tell ; but, be- ■ tween Suliote chiefs, German barons, English volunteers, ■ and adventurers of all nations, we are likely to form as ■ goodly an allied army as ever quarrelled beneath the same banner. « Feb. 8, 1824. " Interrupted again by business yesterday, and it is time to conclude my letter. I drew some time since on Mr. II LETTERS,1824. 223 BarfF for a thousand dollars, to complete some money wanted by the government. The said Government got cash on that bill here and at a profit ; but the very same fellow who gave it to them, after proposing to give me money for other bills on Barff to the amount of thirteen hundred dollars, either could not, or thought better of it. I had written to Barff advising him, but had afterward to write to tell him of the fellow's having not come up to time. You must really send me the balance soon. I have the artillerists and my Suliotes to pay, and Heaven knows what besides, and as every thing depends upon punctuality, all our operations will be at a stand-still un- less you use despatch. I shall send to Mr. Barff or to you further bills on England for three thousand pounds, to be negotiated as speedily as you can. I have already stated here and formerly the sums I can command at home within the year, — without including my credits, or the bills already negotiated or negotiating, as Corgialeg- no's balance of Mr. Webb's letter, — and my letters from my friends (received by Mr. Parry's vessel,) confirm what I have already stated. How much I may require in the course of the year I can't tell, but I will take care that it shall not exceed the means to supply it. "Yours ever, «N. B. "P. S. I have had, by desire of a Mr. Jerostati, to draw on Demetrius Delladecima (is it our friend in ultima ana- lise ?) to pay the Committee expenses. I really do not understand what the Committee mean by some of their freedoms. Parry and I get on very well hitherto ; how long this may last. Heaven knows, but I hope it will, for a good deal for the Greek service depends upon it, but he has already had some miff's with Col. S. and I do all I can to keep the peace among them. However, Parry is a fine fellow, extremely active, and of strong, sound, practical talents, by all accounts. Enclosed are bills for three thou- sand pounds, drawn in the mode directed, (i. e. parcelled out in smaller bills.) A good opportunity occuring for Cephalonia to send letters on, I avail myself of it. Re- member me to Stevens, and to all friends. Also my compliments and every thing kind to the colonels and officers . « February 9, 1824. " P. S. 2d or 3d. I have reason to expect a person from England directed with papers (on business) for me to sign, somewhere in the islands, by-and-by ; if such should arrive, would you forward him to me by a safe convey- ance, as the papers regard a transaction with regard to the adjustment of a lawsuit, and a sum of several thou- sand pounds, which I, or my bankers and trustees for me, may have to receive (in England) in consequence. The time of the probable arrival I cannot state, but the date of my letters is the 2d Nov. and I suppose that he ought to arrive soon." LETTER DC XIV. TO ANDREW LOIJDC* ** DEAR FRIEND, " The sight of your handwriting gave me the greatest pleasure. Greece has ever been for mc, as it must be for all men of any feeling or education, tho promised land of valour, of the arts, and of liberty ; nor did tho time I passed in my youth in travelling among her ruins at all chill my affection for tho birthplace of heroes. In addi- tion to this, I am bound to yourself by ties of frienclshi|) and gratitude for the; hospitality which I experienced from you during my stay in that country, of which you arc now become one of tho first defenders and ornaments. To see myself serving, by your side and under your eyes, in the cause of Greece will be to me one of the happiest events of my life. In the mean time, with the hope of our again meeting, " I am, as ever, fcc." LETTER DCXV. TO HIS HIGHNESS YUSSUFF PACHA. «Missolonghi,23d Jan. 1824. ■HIGHNESS * Oncoflho Greek chiefi. " A vessel, in which a friend and some domestics of mine were embarked, was detained a few days ago and released by order of your Highness. I have now to thank you ; not for liberating the vessel, which, as carrying a neutral flag, and being under British protection, no one had a right to detain ; but for having treated my fiiends with so much kindness while they were in your hands. " In the hope, therefore, that it may not be altogether displeasing to your Highness, I have requested the gover- nor of this place to release four Turkish prisoners, and he has humanely consented to do so. I lose no time, therefore, in sending them back, in order to make as early a return as I could for your courtesy on the late occasion. These prisoners are liberated without any conditions: but, should the circumstance find a place in your recollec- tion, I venture to beg, that your Highness will treat such Greeks as may henceforth fall into your hands with hu- manity ; more especially since the horrors of wju" are sufficiendy great in themselves, without being aggravated by wanton cruelties on either side. "Noel ByronJ' LETTER DCXVL TO MR. BARFF. Feb. 21. " 1 am a good deal better, though of course weakly ; the leeches took too much blood from my temples the day after, and there was some difficulty in stopping it, but I have since been up daily, and out in boats or on horse- back. To-day I have taken a warm bath, and live as temperately as can well be, without any liquid but water^ and without animal food. " Besides the four Turks sent to Patras, I have ob- tained the release of four-and-twenty women and children, and sent them at my own expense to Prevesa, that the English Consul-General may consign them to their rela- tions. I did this by their own desire. Matters here are a Uttle embroiled with the Suliotes and foreigners, &c. but I still hope better things, and will stand by tho cause as long as my healdi and circumstances will permit me to be supposed useful.* " I am obhgcd to support tlic Government here for the present." [The prisoners mentioned in this letter as having been released by iiim and sent to Prevesa had been held in captivity at Missolonghi since the beginning of tho Revo- lution. Tho following was the letter which he forwarded with them to the English Consul at Prevesa.] LETTER DCXVII. TO MR. MAYER. " Coming to Greece, one of my principal ohjocia waa to alleviate as much as possible tlio miseries uicidi'nl to •tolh* ■ameReiillemMi.dnUHl JnnuarT 37, hr h»d alrcad/ I lliRl lliiiigi hor« will go on wrll lomc time or oth«r. I will • In « leUer t inUI, " I tinpo Hint lliliigi I «lick by Ihc cauM ■• loii( m a cmii* r»liU— flnl or ••cond.' 224 LE T TERS, 1824. a warfare so cruel as the present. When the dictates of humanity are in question, 1 know no difference between Turks and Greeks. It is enough that those who want assistance are men, in order to claim the pity and protec- tion of the meanest pretender to humane feelings, I have found here twenty-four Turks, including women and children, who have long pined in distress, far from the means of support and the consolations of their home. The Government has consigned them to me : I transmit them to Prevesa, whither they desire to be sent. I hope you will not object to take care that they may be restored to a place of safety, and that the Governor of your town may accept of my present. The best recompense I can hope for would be to find that I had inspired the Ottoman commanders with the same sentiments towards those un- happy Greeks who may hereafter fall into their hands. "I beg you to believe me, &c," LETTER DCXVIII. TO THE HONOURABLE DOUGLAS KINNAIRD. « Missolonghi, Feb. 21, 1824. " I have received yours of the 2d of November. It is essential that the money should be paid, as I have drawn for it all, and more too, to help the Greeks. Parry is here, and he and I agree very well ; and all is going on hope- fully for the present, considering circumstances. *' We shall have work this year, for the Turks are com- ing down in force ; and, as for me, I must stand by the cause. I shall shortly march (according to orders) against Lepanto, with two thousand men. I have been here some time, after some narrow escapes from the Turks, and also from being shipwrecked. We were twice upon the rocks, but this you will have heard, truly or falsely, through other channels, and I do not wish to bore you with a long story " So far I have succeeded in supporting the Govern- ment of Western Greece, which would otherwise have been dissolved. If you have received the eleven thou- sand and odd pounds, these, with what I have in hand, and my income for the current year, to say nothing of contingencies, will, or might, enable me to keep the 'sinews of war' properly strung. If the deputies be honest fellows, and obtain the loan, they will repay the 4000Z. as agreed upon ; and even then I shall save little, or indeed less than little, since I am mamtaining nearly the whole machine — m this place, at least — at my own cost. But let the Greeks only succeed, and I do n't care for myself. " I have been very seriously unwell, but am getting bet- ter, and can ride about again : so pray quiet our friends on that score. " It is not true that I ever did, will, would, could, or should write a satire against Gifford, or a hair of his head. I always considered him as my literary father, and myself as his 'prodigal son;' and if I have allowed his 'fatted cair to grow to an ox before he kills it on my return, it is only because I prefer beef to veal. "Yoursj&c." LETTER DCXIX. TO MR. BARFF. " February 23. •My health seems improving especially from riding and the warm bath. Six Englishmen will be soon in quarantine at Zante ; they are artificers, and have had enough of Greece in fourteen days. If you could re- commend them to a passage home, I would thank you ; they are good men enough, but do not quite understand the little discrepanies in these countries, and are not used to see shooting and slashing in a domestic quiet way, or (as it forms here) a part of housekeeping. "If they should want any thing during their quarantine, you can advance them not more than a dollar a day (among them) for that period, to purchase them some little extras as comforts, (as they are quite out of their element.) I cannot afford them more at present." LETTER DCXX. TO MR. MURRAY. " Missolonghi, Feb. 25, 1824. "I have heard from Mr. Douglas Kinnaird that you state ' a report of a satire on Mr. Gifford having arrived from Italy, said to be written by me ! but that you do not believe it.' I dare say you do not, nor anybody else, I should think. Whoever asserts that I am the author or abettor of any thing of the kind on Gifford lies in his throat. If any such composition exists it is none of mine. You know as well as anybody upon whom I have or have not written ; and you also know whether they do or did not deserve that same. And so much for such matters. " You will perhaps be anxious to hear some news from this part of Greece, (which is the most liable to invasion ;) but you will hear enough through public and private channels. I will, however, give you the events of a week, mingling my own private peculiar with the public, for we are here a little jumbled together at present. " On Sunday (the 15th, I believe,) I had a. strong and sudden convulsive attack, which left me speechless, though not motionless — for some strong men could not hold me ; but whether it was epilepsy, catalepsy, cachexy, or apo- plexy, or what other exy or epsy, the doctors have not decided ; or whether it was spasmodic or nervous, &c. ; but it was very unpleasant, and nearly carried me oflj and all that. On Monday, they put leeches to my tem- ples, no difficult matter, but the blood could not be stopped till eleven at night, (they had gone too near the temporal, artery for my temporal safety,) and neither styptic nor caustic would cauterize the orifice till after a hundred attempts. "On Tuesday, a Turkish brig of war ran on shore. On Wednesday, great preparations being made to attack her, though protected by her consorts, the Turks burned her and retired to Patras. On Thursday a quarrel en-' sued between the Suliotes and the Frank guard at the arsenal: a Swedish officer was killed, and a Suliote, sererely wounded, and a general fight expected, and with; some difficulty prevented. On Friday, the officer was buried; and Captain Parry's English artificers mutinied, under the pretence that their lives are in danger, and are for quitting the country : — they may. " On Saturday we had the smartest shock of an earth- quake which I remember, (and I have felt thirty, slight or smart, at different periods ; they are common in the Mediterranean,) and the whole army discharged their arms, upon the same principle that the savages beat drums, or howl, during an eclipse of the moon : — it was a rare scene altogether — if you had but seen the English Johnnies, who had never been out of a cockney workshop before ! — or will again, if they can help it — and on Sun- day, we heard that the Vizier is come down to Larissa, with one hundred and odd thousand men. "In coming here, I had two escapes, one from the Turks {one of my vessels was taken, but afterward re- leased,) and the other from shipwreck. W«^ drove twice on the rocks near the Scrophes (islands near the coast.) " I have obtained from the Greeks the release of eight- and-twenty Turkish prisoners, men, women, and children, and sent them to Patras and Prevesa, at my own charges. One little girl of nine years old, who prefers remaining with me, I shall (if I live) send, with her mother, pro- bably, to Italy, or to England, Her name is Hato, or Hetagee. She is a very pretty, lively child. All her I LETTERS, 1824. 225 brothers were killed by the Greeks, and she herself and her mother merely spared by special favour and owing to her extreme youth, she being then but five or six years old. " My health is now better, and I ride about agam. My office here is no sinecure, so many parties and difficulties of every kind ; but I will do what I can. Prince Mavro- cordato is an excellent person, and does all in his power, but his situation is perplexing in the extreme. Still we have great hopes of the success of the contest. You wall hear, however, more of public news from plenty of quarters, for I have little time to write. " Believe me yours, &c. &c. «N.Bn.» LETTER DCXXL TO MR. MOORE. " Missolonghi, Western Greece, March 4, 1824. * MY DEAR MOORE, •Your reproach is unfounded — I have received two letters from you, and answered both previous to leaving Cephalonia. I have not been 'quiet' in an Ionian island, but much occupied with business, — as the Greek deputies (if arrived) can tell you. Neither have I continued ' Don Juan,' nor any other poem. You go, as usual, I presume, by some newspaper report or other. " When the proper moment to be of some use, arrived, I came here; and am told that my arrival (with some other circumstances) has been of, at least, temporary advantage to the cause. I had a narrow escape from the Turks, and another from shipwreck on my passage. On the 15th (or 16th) of February I had an attack of apoplexy, or epilepsy, — the physicians have not exactly decided which, but the alternavive is agreeable. My con- stitution, therefore, remains between the two opinions, like Mahomet's sarcophagus between the magnets. All that I can say is, that they nearly bled me to death, by placing the leeches too near the temporal artery, so that the blood could with difficulty be stopped, even with caus- tic. I am supposed to be getting better, slowly, however. But my homilies will, I presume, for the future, be like the Archbishop of Grenada's — in this case, 'I order you a hundred ducats from my treasurer, and wish you a little more taste.' "For public matters I refer you to Col. Stanhope's and Capt. Parry's reports, — and to all other reports whatso- ever. There is plenty to do — war without, and tumult within — they ' kill a man a week,' like Bob Acres in the country. Parry's artificers have gone away in alarm, on account of a dispute, in which some of the natives and foreigners were engaged, and a Swede was killed, and a Suliote wounded. In the middle of their fright there was a strong shock of an earthquake ; so, between that and the sword, they boomed off in a hurry in despite of all disuasions to the contrary. A Turkish brig ran ashore, &c. &c. &c.* " You, I presume, are either publishing or meditating that same. Let me hear from and of you, and believe mo, in all events, " Ever and aflcclionately yours, ••N. B. " P. S. Tell Mr. Murray that I wrote to him the other day, and hope tliat he has received, or will receive, tlie letter." LETTER DCXXir. TO DR. KENNEDV. " Missolonglii, March 4, 1824. "my dear doctor, ■ I have to thank you for your two very kind letters, • What U omittril licro li bill ii rc|ietilioii of llio viiiioiin pnrllf ular«, reipecliiig nil lliul hud Imppuiicd aliicu liia nrrival, which hiivu ulruaily b«eogi>'ea In the lalteri to hit other corretpondciili.— A/uor<. 29 both received at the same time, and one long after its date. I am not unaware of the precarious state of my health, nor am, nor have been, deceived on that subject. But it is proper that I should remain in Greece ; and it were better to die doing sometliing than nothing. My presence here has beeti supposed so far useful as to have prevented confusion from becoming worse confounded, at least for the present. Should I become, or be deemed, useless or superfluous, I am ready to retire ; but in the interim I am not to consider personal conseqviences ; the rest is in the hands of Providence, — as indeed are all things. I shall, however, observe your instructions, and indeed did so, as far as regards abstinence, for some time past. " Besides the tracts, &c. which you have sent for dis- tribution, one of the English artificers (hight Brownbill, a tinman) left to my charge a number of Greek Testa- ments, which I will endeavour to distribute properly. The Greeks complain that the translation is not correct, nor in good Romaic : Bambas can decide on that point. I nm trying to reconcile the clergy to the distribution, which (without due regard to their hierarchy) they might con- trive to impede or neutralize in the effect, from their power over their people. Mr. Brownbill has gone to the islands, having some apprehension for his life, (not from the priests, however,) and apparently preferring rather to be a saint than a martyr, although his apprehensions of becoming the latter were probably unfounded. All the English artifi- cers accompanied him, thinking themselves in danger, on account of some troubles here, which have apparently subsided. " I have been interrupted by a visit from Prince Mav- rocordato and others since I began this letter, and must close it hastily, for the boat is announced as ready to sail. Your future convert, Hato, or Hatagee, appears to me lively, and intelligent, and promising, and possesses an in- teresting countenance. With regard to her disposition, I can say Uttle, but Millingen, who has the mother (who is a middle-aged woman of good character) in his house as a domestic, (although their family was in good worldly circumstances previous to the Revolution,) speaks well of both, and he is to be relied on. As far as I knosv, I have only seen the child a few times with her mother, and what I have seen is favourable, or I should not take so much interest in her behalf. If she turns out well, my idea would be to send her to my daughter in England, (if not to respectable persons in Italy,) and so to provide for her as to enable her to live with reputation, cither singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. I will make proper arrangements about her expenses through Messrs. Barff and Hancok, and the rest I leave to your discretion and to Mrs. K.'s, with a great sense of obligation for your kindness m undertaking her temporary .superintendence. "Of public matters here, I havo little to add to what you will already have heard. We are going on as well as we can, and with the hope and tlie endeavour to do better. Believe me, " Ever and truly, &c." LETTER DCXXin. TO MR. BARFK. '•March 5, 1821. "If Sisscni* is sincere, ho will bo treated with, and well treated; if ho is iiot, the sin and the slinnie may lie at his own tloor. (^ne great object is to heal those intiT- nal diHsensiouR for the future, witlunit exacting too wo niiw.na n|ipi-Mrii hy thi- Hhnvi< li>ttiT, nrnkliig ..♦rrl.irr". ilii.'u^li M. Horfl", .if mlhculon. A(n proof liU »lnc««rltv. It w«» rrqulml by LonJ llyrorj thni he iihinilil ■iirromlcr Into Iho b»uil» of llio Gururnin«ut lltf fortr«M of Chlarwaui.— Moor*. 226 LETTERS, 1824. 1 ous an account of the past. Prince Mavrocordato is of the same opinion, and whoever is disposed to act fairly will be fairly dealt with. I have heard a good deal of Sis- seni, but not a deal o( good; however, I never judge from report, particularly in a Revolution. Personally^ I am rather obliged to him, for he has been very hospitable to all friends of mine who have passed through his district. You may therefore assure liim that any overture for the advantage of Greece and its internal pacification will be readily and sincerely met here. I hardly think that he would have ventured a deceitful proposition to me through yoUf because he must be sure tliat in such a case it would eventually be exposed. At any rate, the healing of these dissensions is so important a point, that something must be risked to obtain it." LETTER DCXXIV. TO MR. BARFF. "March 10. " Enclosed is an answer to Mr. Parruca's letter, and I hope that you will assure him from me, that I have done and am doing all I can to reunite the Greeks with the Greeks. " I am extremely obliged by your offer of your country house (as for all other kindness) in case that my health should require my removal; but I cannot quit Greece while there is a chance of my being of any (even sup- posed) utility: — there is a stake worth millions such as I am, and while I can stand at all, I must stand by the cause. When I say this, I am at the same time aware ofthe difficulties and dissensions, and defects of the Greeks themselves ; but allowance must be made for them by eJI reasonable people. " My chief, indeed nine-tenths of my expenses here are solely in advances to or on behalf of the Greeks, and ob- jects connected with their independence." LETTER DCXXV. TO SR. PARRUCA. "March 10, 1824. "sir, "I have the honour of answering your letter. My first wish has always been to bring the Greeks to agree among themselves. I came here by the invitation of the Greek Government, and I do not think that I ought to abandon Roumeali for the Peloponnesus until that Government shall desire it ; and the more so, as this part is exposed in a greater degree to the enemy. Nevertheless, if my pre- sence can really be of any assistance in uniting two or more parties, I am ready to go any where, either as a me- diator, or, if necessary, as a hostage. In these affairs I have neither private views, nor private dislike of any in- dividual, but the sincere wish of deserving the name ofthe friend of your country, and of her patriots. " I have the honour, &c." «8IR, LETTER DCXXVL TO MR. CHARLES HANCOCK. "Missolonghi, 10th March, 1824. "I sent by Mr. J. M. Hodges a bill drawn on Signor C. Jerostatti for three hundred and eighty-six pounds, on account of the Hon. the Greek Committee, for carrying ©n the service at this place. But Count Delladecima sent no more than two hundred dollars until he should receive instructions from C. Jerostatti. Therefore I am obliged to advance that sum to prevent a positive stop being put to the laboratory service at this place, &c. &c. " I beg you will mention this business to Count Delladecima, who has the draft and every account, and that Mr. Barff, in conjunction with yourself) will endea- vour to arrange this money account, and, when received, forward the same to Missolonghi. " I am, sir, yours very truly. "So far is written by Captain Parry; but I see that I must continue the letter myself. I understand Uttle or nothing ofthe business, saving and except that, like most of the present affairs here, it vidll be at a stand-still if mo- neys be not advanced, and there are few here so disposed ; so that I must take tlie chance, as usual . " You will see what can be done with Delladecima and Jerostatti, and remit the sum, that we may have some quiet; for the Committee have somehow embroiled their matters, or chosen Greek correspondents more Grecian than ever the Greeks are wont to be. "Yours ever, "NL.Bif. " P. S. A thousand thanks to Muir for his cauliflower, the finest I ever saw or tasted, and I beUeve, the largest that ever grew out of Paradise or Scotland. I have writ- ten to quiet Dr. Kennedy about the newspaper, (with which I have nothing to do as a writer, please to recollect and say.) I told the fools of conductors that their motto would play the devil; but, Uke all mountebanks, they per- sisted. Gamba, who is any thing but lucky, had some- thing to do with it ; and, as usual, the moment he had, matters went wrong. It will be better, perhaps, in time. But I write in haste, and have only time to say, before the boat sails, that I am ever « Yours, "N.Bn. "P. S. Mr. Findlay is here, and has received his money." LETTER DCXXVIL TO DR. KENNEDV. "Missolonghi, March 10, 1824. " DEAR SIR, " You could not disapprove of the motto to the Tele- graph more than I did, and do ; but this is the land of liberty, where most people do as they please, and few as they ought. " I have not written, nor am inclined to write, for that or for any other paper, but have suggested to them, over and over, a change of the motto and style. However, I do not think that it will turn out either an irreligious or a levelling publication, and they promise due respect to both churches and things, i. e. the editors do. " If Bambas would wrife for the Greek Chronicle, he might have his own price for articles. " There is a slight demur about Hato's voyage, her mother wishing to go with her, which is quite natural, and I have not the heart to refuse it ; for even Mahomet made a law, that in the division of captives, the child should never be separated from the mother. But this may make a difference in the arrangement, although the poor woman (who has lost half her family in the war) is, as 1 said, of good character, and of mature age, so as to render her respectability not liable to suspicion. She has heard, it seems, from Prevesa, that her husband is no longer there. I have consigned your Bibles to Dr. Meyer; and I hope that the said Doctor may justify your confidence ; nevertheless, I shall keep an eye upon him. You may depend upon my giving the society as fair play as Mr. Wilberforce himself would ; and any LETTERS, 1824. 227 other commission for the good of Greece will meet with the same attention on my part. " I am trying, with some hope of eventual success, to reunite the Greeks, especially as the Turks are expected in force, and that shortly. We must meet them as we may, and fight it out as we can. "I rejoice to hear that your school prospers, and I assure you that your good wishes are reciprocal. The weather is so much finer, that I get a good deal of mode- rate exercise in boats and on horseback, and am willing to hope that my heahh is not worse than when you kindly wrote to me. Dr. Bruno can tell you that I adhere to your regimen, and more, for I do not eat any meat, even fish. « Believe me ever, &c. "P. S. The mechanics (six in number) were all pretty much of the same mind. Brownbill was but one. Per- haps they are less to blame than is imagined, since Colonel Stanhope is said to have told them, ^that he could not positively say their lives were safeJ I should like to know where our life is safe, either here or any where else ? With regard to a place of safety, at least such hermetically-sealed safety as these persons appeared to desiderate, it is not to be found in Greece, at any rate ; but Missolonghi was supposed to be the place where they would be useful, and their risk was no greater than that of. others." LETTER DCXXVIII. TO COLONEL STANHOPE. "Missolonghi, March 19, 1824. "my dear stanhope, " Prince Mavrocordato and myself will go to Salona to meet Ulysses, and you may be very sure that P. M. will accept any proposition for the advantage of Greece. Parry is to answer for himself on his own articles ; if I were to interfere with him, it would only stop the whole progress of his exertion, and he is really doing all that can be done without more aid from the Government. " What can be spared will be sent •, but I refer you to Captain Humphries's report, and to Count Gamba's let- ter for details upon all subjects. " In the hope of seeing you soon, and deferring much that will be to be said till then. " Believe me ever, &c. « P. S, Your two letters (to me) are sent to Mr. Barff; as you desire. Pray remember me particularly to Tre- lawney, whom I shall be very much pleased to see again.' LETTER DCXXIX. TO MR. BARFF. "March 19. * As Count Mercati is under some apprehensions of a direct answer to him personally on Greek affairs, I reply (as you authorized me) to you, who will have the good- ness to communicate to him the enclosed. It is the joint answer of Prince Mavrocordato and of myself, to Signor Georgio Sisseni's propositions. You may also add, both to him and to Parruca, that I am perfectly suicore in desiring the most amicable termination of their internal dissensions, and that I believe P. Mavrocordato to be so also, otherwise I would not act with him, or any other whether native or foreigner. • If Lord Guilford is at Zante, or, if he is not, if Signor Tricupi is tlicre, you would oblige mo by presenting my respects to one or both, and by telling ihern, that from the very first I foretold to Col. Stanhope and to P. Ma- vrocodato, that a Greek newspaper (or indeed any other) in the prcJient Hale of Greece mijfht and probably would tend to much mischief and misconstruction, unless under some restrictions, nor have I ever had any thing to do with either, as a writer or otherwise, except as a pecu- niary contributor to their support on the outset, which I could not refuse to the earnest request of the projectors. Col. Stanhope and myself had considerable differences of opinion on this subject, and (what will appear laugh- able enough) to such a degree that he charged me with despotic principles, and I him with ultraradicalism. (I £)r + +^ ji^g editor, with his unrestrained freedom of the press, and who has the freedom to exercise an un- limited discretion, — not allowing any article but his own and those like them to appear, — and in declaiming against restrictions, cuts, carves, and restricts (as they tell me,) at his own will and pleasure. He is the author of an article against monarchy, of which he may have the advantage and fame — but they (the editors) will get themselves into a scrape, if they do not take care. " Of all petty tyrants, he is one of the pettiest, as are most demagogues, that ever I knew. He is a Swiss by birth, and a Greek by assumption, having married a wife and changed his religion, " I shall be very glad, and am extremely anxious for some favourable result to the recent pacific overtures rf the contending parties in the Peloponnese." LETTER DCXXX. TO MR. BARFF. "March "If the Greek deputies (as seems probable) have ob- tained the loan, the sums I have advanced may perhaps be repaid ; but it would make no great difference, as I should still spend that in the cause, and more to boot — though I should hope to better purpose than paying off arrears of fleets that sail away, and Suliotes tliat won't march, which, they say, what has hitherto been advanced has been employed in. But that was not my affair, but of those who had the disposal of aflTairs, and I could not decently say to them, ' You shall do so and so, because &c. &c. &c.' " In a few days P. Mavrocordato and myself with a considerable escort, int nd to proceed to Salona at tlie request of Ulysses and the Chiefs of Eastern Greece, and take measures offensive and defensive for the ensuing campaign. Mavrocordato is almost recalled by the riew Government to the Morea (to take the lead, I rather think,) and they have written to propose to me, to go either to the Morea with him, or to take the general direction of afi'airs in this quarter — with General Londo, and any other I may choose, to form a council. A. Londo is my old friend and acquaintance since we were lads in Greece together. It would be difficult to give a positive answer till the Salona meeting is over,* but I am willing to serve them in any capacity they {^tloase, either commanding or commanded — it is much tlie same to mc, as long as I can be of any presumed use to them. "Excuse haste ; it is late, and I have been several hours on horseback in a country so miry af^er the rains, that every hundred yards brings you to a ditch, of whoso depth, width, colour, and contents, both my horses and their riders have brought away many tokens." LETTER DCXXXI. TO MR. BARFF. "March 26. 'Since your intelligence with regard to the Greek loo • To (hit oflfi- of till- (iovi>iiinuiit til n(i|Hiiiil liliii Uovt nior l»»iiir«l of Cir«fi-ii (tliHt i«, of till! eiilinmlii»4'a \>nn I'f H^.- t 'utilinnil, willi ti» exception of thtt Morcn uiul the idniidi,) lii» Bii»»itr wn«, thul "h« wim ftitl goiOK 10 SbIoii>, muI Ui«t i>fli'r\v*fxi Im would br at ibatr comrmiiutt ; Hint he could hnve no ititflciiliy 111 •cc»ptln| out omo», provided Ue could iMinuado lilmtelf lli«i imy fw>J wauM rt»uU from It." — Moor«. 228 LETTERS, 1824. P. Mavrocordato has shown to me an extract from some correspondence of his, by which it would appear that three commissioners are to be named to see that the amount is placed in proper hands for the service of the country, and that my name is among the number. Of this, however, we have as yet only the report. " This commission is apparently named by the Com- mittee or the contracting parties m England. I am of opinion that such a commission will be necessary, but the office will be both delicate and difficult. The weather, which has lately been equinoctial, has flooded the country, and will probably retard our proceeding to Salona for some days, till the road becomes more practicable. "You were already apprized that P. Mavrocordato and myself had been invited to a conference by Ulysses and the Chiefs of Eastern Greece. I hear (and am indeed consulted on the subject) that in case the remittance of the first advance of the loan should not arrive immediately, the Greek General Government mean to try to raise some thousand dollars in the islands in the interim, to be repaid from the earliest instalments on their arrival. What prospect of success they may have, or on what condi- tions, you can tell better then me : 1 suppose, if the loan be confirmed, something might be done by them, but sub- ject of course to the usual terms. You can let them and me know your opinion. There is an imperious necessity for some national fund, and that speedily, otherwise what is to be done ? The auxiliary corps of about two hundred men paid by me, are, 1 believe, the sole regularly and pro- perly furnished with the money, due to them weekly, and the officers monthly. It is true that the Greek Govern- ment gives their rations, but we have had three mutinies, owing to the badness of the bread, which neither native nor stranger could masticate (nor dogs either,) and there is still great difficulty in obtaining them even provisions of any kind. " There is a dissension among the Germans about the conduct of the agents of their Committee, and an exami- nation among themselves instituted. What the result may be cannot be anticipated, except that it will end in a row, of course, as usual. " The English are all very amicable, as far as I know ; we get on too with the Greeks very tolerably, always making allowance for circumstances; and we have no quarrels with the foreigners." LETTER DCXXXIL TO * * * + *j A PRUSSIAN OFFICER. "AprU 1,1824. SIR, I have the honour to reply to your letter of this day. In consequence of an urgent, and, to all appearance, a well founded complaint made to me yesterday evening, I gave orders to Mr. Hesketh,* to proceed to your quarters with the soldiers of his guard, and to remove you from your house to the Seraglio, because the owner of your house declared himself and his family to be in immediate danger from your conduct, and added that it was not the first time that you had placed them in similar circum- stances. Neither Mr. Hesketh nor myself could imagine that you were in bed, as we had been assured of the contrary, and certainly such a situation was not contem- plated. But Mr. Hesketh had positive orders to conduct you from your quarters to those of the Artillery Brigade, at the same time being desired to use no violence, nor does it appear that any was had recourse lo. This measure was adopted, because your landlord assured me when I proposed to put off the enquiry until the next day, that he could not return to his house without a guard for his protection, and that he had left his wife, and daughter, and family in the greatest alarm, and on that account putting them under our immediate protection. The case admitted of no delay. As 1 am not aware that Mr. Hesketh exceeded his orders, I cannot take any measures to punish him, but I have no objection to ex- amine minutely into his conduct. You ought to recollect that entering into his Auxiliary Greek corps now under my orders, at your own sole request and positive desire, you incurred the obligation of obeying the laws of the country as well as those of the service. " I have the honour, to be, &c. &c. "Noel Byron." LETTER DXXXIII. TO MR. BARFF. "Aprils.- " There is a quarrel, not yet settled, between the citizens and some of Cariascachi's people, which has already pro- duced some blows. I keep my people quite neutred ; but have ordered them to be on their guard. "Some days ago we had an Italian private soldier drummed out for thieving. The German officers wanted to flog him ; but I flatly refused to permit the use of the stick or whip, and delivered him over to the police. Since then a Prussian officer rioted in his lodgings ; and I put him under arrest, according to the order. This, it ap- pears, did not please his German confederation: but I stuck by my text ; and have given them plainly to under- stand, that those who do not choose to be amenable to the laws of the country and service, may retire ; but that in all that I have to do, I will see them obeyed by foreigner or native. " I wish somethbg was heard of the arrival of part of the loan, for there is a plentiful dearth of every thing at present." LETTER DCXXXIV. TO MR. BARFF. "Aprils. " Since I wrote, we have had some tumult here with the citizens and Cariascachi's people, and all are under arms, our boys and aU. They nearly fired on me and fifty of my lads,* by mistake, as we were taking our usual ex- cursion into the country. To-day matters are settled or subsiding ; but about an hour ago, the father-in-law of the landlord of the house where I am lodged (one of the Pri- mates the said landlord is) was arrested for high-treason. " They are in conclave still with Mavrocordato ; and we have a number of new faces from the hills, come to assist, they say. Gunboats and batteries all ready, &c. " The row has had one good effect — it has put them on the alert. What is to become of the father-in-law, I do not know ; nor what he has done, exactly ; but ' 'T is a very fine thing to be father-in-law To a very magnificent three-tailed bashaw,' as the man in Bluebeard says and sings, I wrote to you upon matters at length, some days ago; the letter, or letters, you will receive with this. We are desirous to hear more of the loan ; and it is some time since I have had any letters (at least of an interesting description) fi-om England, excepting one of 4th Feb. from Bowning (of no great importance.) My latest dates are of 9*""^, or of the 6th 10*""e, four months exactly. I hope you get on well in the islands : here most of us are, or have been, more or less indisposed, natives as well as foreigners." The Adj\Uant. A corpi of fifty Suliotes, hi« body guard. EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL. 229 LETTER DC XXXV. TO MR. BARFF. «AprU7. "The Greeks here of the Government have been boring me for more money. As I have the brigade to maintain, and the campaign is apparendy now to open, and as I have cilready spent 30,000 dollars in three months upon them in one way or other, and more especially as their public loan has succeeded, so that they ought not to draw from individuals at that rate, I have given them a refusal, and— as they would not take that,— another refusal in terms of considerable sincerity. " They wish now to try in the islands for a few thou- sand dollars on the ensuing loan. If you can serve them, perhaps you will (in the way of information, at any rate,) and 1 wiU see that you have fair play, but still I do not advise you, except to act as you please. Almost every thing depends upon the arrival, and the speedy arrival, of a portion of the loan to keep peace among themselves. If they can but have sense to do this, I think that they will be a match and better for any force that can be brought against them for the present. We are all doing as well as we can." EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL BEGUN NOVEMBER 14, 1813. " If this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept ! ! I — heigho ! there are too many things I wish never to have remembered, as it is. Well, — I have had my share of what are called the pleasures of this life, and have seen more of the European and Asiatic world than I have made a good use of. They say ' virtue is its own reward,' — it certainly should be paid well for its trouble. At five-and- twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be something ; — and what am I ? nothing but five-and- twenty — and the odd months. What have I seen ? the same man all over the world, — ay, and woman too. Give me a Mussulman who never asks questions and a she of the same race who saves one the trouble of putting them. But for this same plague — yellow-fever — and Newstead delay, I should have been by this time a second time close to the Euxine. If I can overcome the last, I do n't so much mind your pestilence ; and, at any rate, the spring shall see me there, — provided I neither marry myself nor unmarry any one else in the interval. I wish one was — I do n't know what I wish. It is odd I never set myself seriously to wishing without attaining it — and repenting. I begin to believe with the good old Magi, that one should only pray for the nation, and not for the individual ; — but, on my principle, this would not be very patriotic. "No more reflections. — Let me see — last night I finished * Zuleika,'* my second Turkish Tale. 1 believe the composition of it kept me alive — for it was written to drive my thoughts from the recollection of — • Dear, sacred name, rest ever unreveal'd.' .0 At least, even here, my hand would tremble f o write it . This afternoon I have burned the scenes of my com- menced comedy. I have some idea of expectorating a romance, or rather a tale, in prose ; — but what romance could equal the events — ' quiDque ipse vldl, Et quorum pars magna fui.' " To-day Henry Byron called on mo with my little cousin Eliza. She will grow up a beauty and a plague ; but, in the mean time, it is the prettiest child ! dark eyes and eyelashes, black and long as tlio wing of a raven. I tliink she is prettier even than my niece, Geoigiana, — yet The Bride of Aliydos. I do n't Uke to thinlc so neither ; and, though older, she is not so clever. " Dallas called before I was up, so we did not meet. Lewis, too — who seems out of humour with every thinff. What can be the matter? he is not married — has he lost his own mistress, or any other person's wife ? Hodgson, too, came. He is going to be married, and he is the kind of man who will be the happier. He has talent, cheer- fulness, every thing that can make him a pleasing com- panion ; and his intended is handsome and young, and all that. But I never see any one much improved by matri- mony. All my coupled contemporaries are bald and discontented. W. and S. have both lost their hair and good-humour ; and the last of the two had a good deal to lose. But it do n't much signify what falls (iff' ^ man's temples in that state. " Mem. I must get a toy to-morrow for Eliza, and send the device for the seals of myself and **♦**. Mem. too, to call on the Stacl and Lady Holland to-morrow and on * *, who has advised me (without seeing it, by- tho-by) not to publish ' Zuleika ;' I believe he is right, but experience might have taught him that not to print ig yhynxcnUij impossible. No one has seen it but Hodgson and Mr. Gifford. I never in my life read a composition, save to Hodgson, as he pays me in kind. It is a horrible thing to do too frequently ; — better print, and they who like may read, and, if they do n't like, you have tlie satis- faction of knowing that they have, at least, purchased the right of saying so. "I have declined presenting the Debtor's Petition, being sick of parUamentary mummeries. I have spoken thrico ; but I doubt my ever becoming an orator. My first was liked ; the second and third — I do n't know whether they succeeded or not. I have never yet set to it ani ainorc ; one must have some excuse to oneself for laziness, or inability, or both, and this is mine. ' Company, villanoiw company, hath been the spoil of mo ;' — and then, I have ' drunk medicines,' not to make mo lovo others, but cer- tainly enouijh to hate myself. "Two nights .ago, I saw tJio tigers mip at Exeter 'Change. Except Veli Pacha's lion in the Morea, — who followed the Arab keeper like a dog, — the fondnes.s of th« liyff'na for her keeper amused me most. Such n conver- sazione ! There was a ' iiippopolamtis,' like Loni Liver- pool in tho face ; and the 'Ursine Sloth' hath the very voice and manner of my valet — but the tiger talk«>d too 230 EXTRACTS FROM A JO UR NAL, 1813. much. The elephant took and gave me my money again — took off my hat — opened a door — tninked a whip — and behaved so well, that I wish he was my butler. The handsomest animal on earth is one of the panthers ; but the poor antelopes were dead. I should hate to see one here: — the sight of the camel made me pine again for Asia Minor. ' Oh quando te aspiciam ?' "Nov. 16. " Went last night with Lewis to see the first of Antony and Cleopatra. It was admirably got up and well acted — a salad of Shakspeare and Dryden. Cleopatra strilces me as the epitome of her sex — fond, lively, sad, tender, teasing, humble, haughty, beautiful, the devil ! — coquettish to the last, as well with the ' asp' as with Antony. After doing all she can to persuade him that — but why do they abuse him for cutting off that poltroon Cicero's head ? Did not TuUy tell Brutus it was a pity to have spared Antony ? and did he not speak the PhiUppics ? and are not 'words things?' and such 'words' very pestilent ^things' too? If he had had a hundred heads, they deserved (from Antony) a rostrum (his was stuck up there) apiece — tliough, after all, he might as well have pardoned him, for the credit of the thing. But to resume — Cleopatra, after securing him, says, ' yet go' — 'it is your interest,' &c. ; how hke the sex ! and the questions about Octavia — it is woman all over. " To-day received Lord Jersey's invitation to Middle- ton — to travel sixty miles to meet Madame de Stael ! I once travelled three thousand to get among silent people ; and this same lady writes octavos and talks folios. I have read her books — lilie most of them, and dehght in the last : so I won't heax it, as well as read. + *** + + + " Read Bums to-day. What would he have been, if a patrician ? We should have had more polish — less force — just as much verse, but no immortality — a divorce and a duel or two, the which had he survived, as his potations must have been less spirituous, he might have lived as long as Sheridan, and outlived as much as poor Brinsley. What a wreck is that man I and all from bad pilotage ; for no one had ever better gales, though now and then a little too squally. Poor dear Sherry ! I shall never forget the day he, and Rogers, and Moore, and I passed toge- ther ; when he talked, and we hstened, without one yawn, from six till one in the morning. "Got my seals ******, Have again forgot a plaything for ma petite cousine Eliza ; but I must send for it to-morrow. I hope Harry will bring her to me. I sent Lord Holland the proofs of the last ' Giaour,' and the ' Bride of Abydos.' He won't hke the latter, and I do n't think that I shall long. It was written in four nights to distract my dreams from * *. Were it not thus, it had never been composed ; and had I not done something at that time, I must have gone mad, by eating my own heart — bitter diet ! Hodgson hkes it better than cause to support, I have left off the exercise, the Giaour, but nobody else will,— and he never liked thi c< ^yh^t strange tidings from that Anakim of anarchy- Fragment. I am sure, had it not been for Murray, th^ Buonaparte ! Ever since I defended my bust of him at would never have been pubUshed, though the circum\ Marrow against the rascallv time-servers, when the war stances which are the groundwork make it * * *lFroke out in 1803, he has been a 'Heros de Roman' of mine, on the continent ; I do n't want him here. But I do n't like those same flights, leaving of armies, &c. &c. I am sure when I fought for his bust at school, I did not think he would run away from himself. But I should not wonder if he banged them yet. To be beat by men would be something •, but by three stupid, legitimate-old- dynasty boobies of regular-bred sovereigns — O-hone-a- rie ! — O-hone-a-rie ! It must be, as Cobbet says, his marriage with the thick-lipped and thick-headed Avtri" chienne brood. He had better have kept to her who was kept by Barras. I never knew any good come of your young wife, and legal espousals, to any but your 'sober- blooded boy,' who 'eats fish' and drinketh 'no sack.' Had he not the whole opera ? all Paris ? all France ? theless, till his friends were tired, and his wife recom- mended that pious prologue, 'Curse — and die;' the only time, I suppose, when but little relief is to be found in •earing. I have had a most kind letter from Lord Hol- land on ' The Bride of Abydos,' wliich he likes, and so does Lady H. This is very good-natured in both, from whom I do n't deserve any quarter. Yet I did think, at the time, that my cause of enmity proceeded from Hol- land-house, and am glad I was wrong, and wish I had not been in such a hurry with that confounded satire, of which I would suppress even the memory ; — but people, now they can't get it, make a fuss, I verily believe, out of con- tradiction. " George Ellis and Murray have been talking some- thing about Scott and me, George pro Scoto, — and very right too. If they want to depose him, I only wish they would not set me up as a competitor. Even if I had my choice, I would rather be the earl of Warwick than all the kings he ever made ! Jeffrey and Gifford I take to be the monarch-makers in poetry and prose. The British Critic, in their Rokeby Review, have presupposed a com- parison, which I am sure my friends never thought o^ and W. Scott's subjects are mjudicious in descending to. I like the man — and admire his works to what Mr. Braham calls entusymusy. AU such stuff can only vex him, and do me no good. Many hate his pohtics, — (I hate all politics ;) and, here, a man's politics are like the Greek soul — an £l6u)\ov, besides God knows what other soul; but their estimate of the two generally go together. "Harry has not brought ma petite cousine. I want us to go to the play together; she has been but once. Another short note from Jersey, inviting Rogers and me on the 23d. I must see my agent to night. I wonder when that Newstead business will be finished. It c»st me more than words to part with it — and to have parted with it ! What matters it what I do ? or what becomes of me ? — but let me remember Job's saying, and console myself with being ' a living man.' I wish I could settle to reading again; my life la monotonous, and yet desultory. I take up books, and fling them down again. I began a comedy, and burned it because the scene ran into reality ; a novel, for the same reason. In rhyme, I can keep more away from facts ; but the thought always runs through, through yes, yes, through. I have had a letter from Lady Mel- bourne, the best friend I ever had in my life, and the cleverest of women. "Not a word from * *. Have they set out from + * ? or has ray last precious epistle fallen into the Lion's jaws ? If so— and this silence looks suspicious — I must clap on ' my musty morion' and ' hold out my iron.' I am out of practice, but I won't begin again at Manton's now. Be- sides, I would not return his shot. I was once a famous wafer- splitter; but then the bullies of society made it necessary. Ever since I began to feel that I had a bad I heigh-ho ! " To-night I saw both the sisters of * * ; my God ! the youngest so like ! I thought I should have sprung across the house, and am so glad no one was with me in Lady Holland's box. I hate those likenesses — the mock- bird, but not the nightingale — so like as to remind, so dif- ferent as to be painful. One quarrels equally with the points of resemblance and of distinction. "Nov. 17. "No letter from * *; but I must not complain. The respectable Job says, ' Why should a living man com- plain ?' I really do n't know, except it be that a dead man can't ; and he, the said patriarch, did complain, never- EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1813. 4t 231 But a mistress is just as perplexing — that is, one — two or more are manageable by division. "I have begun, or had begun a song, and flung it into the fire. It was in remembrance of Mary Duff, my first rf flames, before most people begin to burn. I wonder what the devil is the matter with me ! I can do nothing, and — fortunately there is nothing to do. It has lately been in my power to make two persons (and their con- nexions) conifortable, pro tempore, and one happy ex tem- pore, — I rejoice in the last particularly, as it is an excel- lent man. I wish there had been more inconvenience and less gratification to my self-love in it, for then there had been more merit. We are all selfish — and I believe, ye gods of Epicurus ! I believe in Rochefoucault about men, and in Lucretius, (not Busby's translation) about yourselves. Your bard has made you very nonchalant and blest ; but as he has excused its from damnation, I do n't envy you your blessedness much — a little, to be sure. . I remember last year, * * said to me at * *,'Have we not passed our last month like the gods of Lucretius ?' And so we had. She is an adept in the text of the original (which I like too;) and when that booby Bus. sent his translating prospectus, she subscribed. But, the devil prompting him to add a specimen, she transmitted him a subsequent answer, saying, that, ' after perusing it, her conscience would not permit her to allow her name to remain on the list of subscribblers.' * * * * ♦ Last night, at Lord Holland's— Mackintosh, the Ossulstones, Puysegur, &c. there — I was trying to recollect a quotation (as / think) of Stael's, from some Teutonic sophist about architecture. ' Archi- tecture,' says this Macoronica Tedescho, 'reminds me of frozen music' It is somewhere — ^but where ? — the demon of perplexity must know and won't tell. I asked Moore, and he said it was not in her ; but P r said it must be hers, it was so like. * * * * * + * * H. laughed, as he does at all ' De I'Allemagne,' — in which, however, I tliink he goes a little too far. B., I hear, contemns it too. But there are fine passages ;— ^nd, after all, what is a work — ■any— or every work — but a desert with fountains, and, perhaps, a grove or two, every day's journey ? To be sure, in Madame, what we often mistake, and 'pant for,' as the ' cooling stream,' turns out to be the ' mirage^ (critice, verbiage ;) but we do, at last, get to something like the temple of Jove Ammon, and then the waste we have passed is only remembered to gladden the contrast. ♦ ♦ + *** + * "Called on C * *, to explain * + * * She is very beautiful, to my taste, at least ; for on coming home from abroad, I recollect being unable to look at any woman but her — they were so fair, and unmeaning, and blonde. The darkness and regularity of her features reminded me of my 'Jannat al Aden.' But this impression wore off'; and now I can look at a fair woman without longing for a Houri. She was very good-tempered, and every thing was explained. "To-day, great news — 'the Dutch have taken Hol- land,' — which, I suppose, will be succeeded by the actual explosion of the Thames. Five provinces have declared for young Stadt, and there will be inundation, conHagra- tion, conslirpation, consternation, and every sort of nation and nations, fighting away up to their knees, in the dam- nable quaga of this will-o'-the-wisp alM)de of Boors. It is said, Bernadotte is among them, too ; and, as Orange will be there soon, they will have (Crown) Prince Stork and King Log in their Loggery at the same time. Two to one on the ncsw dynasty ! "Mr. Murray has offered mo one thousand guineas for the 'Giaour' and the 'Bride of Abydos.' I won't — it is too much, though I am strongly leinpttui, merely fi'r the coy of it. No bad price for a fortnight's (a week each) ' Lnily Coroliiic Lamb. what? — the gods know — it was intended to be called Poetry. " I have dined regularly to-day, for the first time since Sunday last — this being Sabbath, too. All the rest, tea and dry biscuits — sixper diem. I wish to God I had not dined now ! It kills me with heaviness, stupor, and horri- ble dreams ; — and yet it was but a pint of bucellas and fish. — Meat I never touch, — nor much vegetable diet. I wish I were in the country, to talie exercise, — instead of being obliged to cool by abstinence, in lieu of it. I should not so much mind a little accession of flesh, — my bones can well bear it. But the worst is, the devil always came with it, — till I starve him out, — and I will not be the slave of any appetite. If I do err, it shall be my heart, at least, that heralds the way. Oh my head — how it aches ! — the horrors of digestion! I wonder how Buonaparte's dinner agrees with him ? Mem. I must write to-morrow to ' Master Shallow, who owes me a thousand pounds,' and seems, in his letter, afraid that I should ask him for it ; — as if I would ! — I don't want it (just now, at least,) to begin with; and though I have often wanted that sum, I never asked for the repajonent of lOZ. in my life — from a friend. His bond is not due this year ; and I told him when it was, I should not enforce it. How often must he make me say the same thing ? "I am wrong — I did once ask * * * to repay me. But it was under circumstances that excused me to him, and would to any one. I took no interest, nor required secu- rity. He paid me soon, — at least, his padre. My head! I beheve it was given me to ache with. Good even. "Nov. 22, 1813. ' Orange Boven !' So the bees have expelled the bear that broke open their liive. Well, — if we are to have new De Wilts and De Ruyters, God speed the little re- public ! I should like to see the Hague and the village of Brock, where they have such primitive habits. Yet, I do n't know, — theii- canals would cut a poor figure by the memory of the Bosphorus ; and the Zuyder Zee look awkwardly after 'Ak Degnity.' No matter, — the blufT burghers, puffing freedom out of their short tobacco-pipes, might be worth seeing; though I prefer a cigar, or a hooka, with the rose leaf mixed with the milder herb of the Levant. I do n't know what liberty means, — never having seen it, — but wealth is power all over the world ; and as a shilling performs the duty of a pound (besides sun and sky and beauty for nothing) in the East, — that is the ountry. How I envy Herodes Atticus ! — more Uian Pom- ponius. And yet a little tumult, now and then, is an agreeable quickener of sensation ; such as a revohition, a battle, or an aventure of any lively description. I think I rather would have been Bonneval, Ripperda, Alberoni, Hayreddin, or Horuc Barbarossa, or even Wortley Mon- tague, than MaJiomet himself " Rogers will be in town soon ! — tlie 23d is fixed for our Middleton visit. Shall I go ? umph ! — In diis island, where one can't ride out witliout overtaking the sea, it don't much matter where one goes. ♦ ***♦* " I remember tlie effect of the ^rst Edinburgh Review on me. 1 heard of it six weeks before, — road it the day of its denunciation, — tlined and drank three bottles of claret, (with S. B. Davies, I think,) — neitJior ale nor slept the less, but, nevertheless, was not easy till I had vented my wrath and my rhyme, in the same pages, against every tiling and every body. Like George, in llie Vicar of VValtetield, 'the fato of my paradoxes' woulti allow me to perd only tha maxim of my boxing-master, which, in my youtJi, wa« found useful in all general riot.s, — ' Whoever is not for you is against you — 7nill away right and lefi,' and so 1 did;— like Ishmuel, mv hand wo-s against nil men, and all ui«n'a ancnt mo. I did wonder, to be sure, at my own meet •Am) iL\.n VI In K.I much Wilis all hit owu,' 232 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1813. as Hobhouse sarcastically says of somebody, (not unlikely myself, as we are old friends ;) — but were it to come over again, I would not. I have since redde* the cause of my couplets, and it is not adequate to the effect. C -^ * told me that it was believed I alluded to poor Lord Carlisle's nervous disorder in one of the lines. I thank Heaven I did not know it — and would not, could not, if I had. I must naturally be the last person to be pointed on defects or maladies. " Rogers is silent, — and, it is said, severe. When he does talk, he talks well ; and, on all subjects of taste, his delicacy of expression is pure as his poetry. If you enter his house — his drawing-room — his library — you of your- self sav, this is not the dwelling of a common mind. There is not a gem, a coin, a book, thrown aside on his chimney- piece, his sofa, his table, that does not bespeak an almost fastidious elegance in the possessor. But this very deli- cacy must be the misery of his existence. Oh tlie jar- rings his disposition must have encountered through life ! " Southey I have not seen much of. His appearance is Epic ; and he is the only existing entire man of letters. All the others have some pursuit annexed to their author- ship. His manners are mild, but not those of a man of the world, and his talents of the first order. His prose is perfect. Of his poetry there are various opinions: there is, perhaps, too much of it for the present generation : — pos- terity will probably select. He has passages equal to any tiling. At present, he has a parti/, but no public — except for his prose writings. The life of Nelson is beautiful. « * * is z. Litterateur, the Oracle of the Coteries, of the * * s, L * W *, (Sidney Smith's ' Tory Virgin,') Mrs. Wilmot, (she, at least, is a swan, and might frequent a purer stream,) Lady B * *, and all the Blues, with Lady Caroline at their head — ^but I say nothing of Tier — 'look in her face, and you forget them all,' and every thing else. Oh that face ! — ^by ' te, Diva potens Cypri,' I would, to be beloved by that woman, build and burn another Troy. " Moore has a peculiarity of talent, or rather talents, — poetrj', music, voice, jjl his own ; and an expression in each, which never was, nor will be, possessed by another. But he is capable of still higher flights in poetry. By-the- by, what humour, what — every thing in the ' Post-Bag 1' There is nothing Moore may not do, if he will but seri- ously set about it. In society, he is gentlemanly, gentle, and altogether more pleasing than any individual with whom I am acquainted. For his honour, principle, and independence, his conduct to * * * * speaks ' trumpet- tongued.' He has but one fault — and that one I daily regret — he is not here. "Nov. 23. "Ward— I like Ward.j 'By Mahomet! I begin to think I like every body ; a disposition not to be encou- raged ; a sort of social glutton)^, that swallows every thing set before it. But I like Ward. He is piquant ; and, in my opinion, will stand very high in the House and every where else — if he applies regularly. By-the-by, I dine with him to-morrow, which may have some influence on my opinion. It is as well not to trust one's gratitude after dinner. I have heard many a host libelled by his guests, with his burgundy yet reeking on their rascally hps. ****** "I have taken Lord Salisbury's box at Covent-garden for the season ; — and now I must go and prepare to join Lady Holland and party, in theirs, at Drury-lane, questa sera. " Holland does n't think the man is Junius; but that the yet unpublished journal throws great light on the obscuri- ties of that part of George the Seconds reign. — What is this to George the Third's ? I don't know what to think. Why should Junius be yet dead ? If suddenly apoplexed, would he rest in his grave without sending his tihuiXov to ' It was thus tlint he, in general, ipellad thl» word, t The i.re.tei)t Lord Duilluy. shout in the ears of posterity, ' Junius was X. Y. Z. Esq. buried in the parish of * * *, Repair his monument, ye |i church- wardens ? Print a new edition of his letters, ye ^s booksellers!' Impossible; the man must be alive, and will never die without the disclosure. I hke him ; he was a good hater. ■ , "Came home unwell and went to bed, — not so sleepy as might be desirable. « Tuesday morning. "I awoke from a dream — ^well! and have not others dreamed ? — Such a dream ! but she did not overtake me. I wish the dead would rest, however. Ugh! how my blood chilled — and I could not wake — and — and — ^heigho ! ' Shadows to-night Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard, Than Could the substance often thousand * *s, Artn'd all in proof, and led by shallow * *.' I do not like this dream, — I hate its ' foregone conclusion. And am I to be shaken by shadows ? Ay, when they re- mind us of— no matter — but, if I dream thus again, I will try whether all sleep has the like visions. Since I rose, I 've been in considerable bodily pain also ; but it is gone, and now, like Lord Ogleby, I am wound up for the day. "A note fi-om Mountnorris — I dine with Ward; Can- ning is to be there, Frere, and Sharpe, perhaps GifFord. I am to be one of ' the five,' (or rather six,) as Lady * * said, a little sneeringly, yesterday. They are all good to meet, particularly Canning, and — Ward, when he likes. I wish I may be well enough to listen to these mtellectuals. " No letters to-day ; so much the better, there are no answers. I must not dream again ; it spoils even reality. I will go out of doors, and see what the fog will do for me. Jackson has been here : the boxing world much as usual ; but the Club increases. I shall dine at Crib's to-morrow: I like energy, even animal energy, of all kinds ; and I have need of both mental and corporeal. I have not dined out, nor, indeed, at all, lately ; have heard no music, have seen nobody. Now for a plunge — high life and low life. ' Amant alterna Camoense !' " I have burned my Roman, as I did the first scenes and sketch of my comedy — and, for ought I see, the pleasure of btirning is quite as great as that of printing. These last two would not have done. I ran into realities more than ever ; and some would have been recognised and others guessed at. " Redde the Ruminator, a collection of Essays, by a strange, but able, old man (Sir Edgerton Bridges) and a half-wild young one, author of a Poem on the Highlands, called ' Childe Alarique.' The word ' sensibility,' (always my aversion) occurs a thousand times in these Essays ; and, it seems, is to be an excuse for all kinds of discon- tent. This yotmg man can know nothing of life ; and, if he cherishes the disposition which rttns through his papers, will become useless, and, perhaps, not even a poet, after all, which he seems determined to be. God help him! no one should be a rhymer who could be any thing better. And this is what annoys one, to see Scott and Moore, and Campbell and Rogers, who might all have been agents and leaders, now mere spectators. For, though they may have other ostensible avocations, these last are reduced to a secondary consideration. * *, too, frittering away his time among dowagers and unmarried girls. If it advanced any serious affair, it were some excuse ; but, with the unmarried, that is a hazardous spe- culation, and tiresome enough, too ; and, with the veterans, it is not much worth trying, — unless, perhaps, one in a thousand. " If I had any views in this country, tliey would proba- bly be parliamentary. But I have no ambition ; at least, if any, it would be ' aut Caesar aut nihil.' My hopes are limited to the arrangement of my affairs, and settling either in Italy or the East, (rather the last,) and drinking deep of the languages and literature of both. Past events [have unnerved me ; and all I can now do is to make life LETTERS, 1813. 233 an amusement, and look on, while others play. After all — even the highest game of crowns and sceptres, what is it? Fic?e Napoleon's last twelvemonth. It has com- pletely upset my system of fatalism. I thought, if crushed, he would have fallen, when ' fractus illabatur orbis,' and not have been pared away to gradual insignificance ; — that all this was not a mere jeu of the gods, but a prelude to greater changes and mightier events. But men never advance beyond a certain point ; — and here we are, retro- grading to the dull, stupid, old system,— balance of Europe- poising straws upon kings' noses, instead of wringing them off! Give me a republic, or a despotism of one, rather than the mixed government of one, two, three. A republic I — look in the history of the Earth — Rome, Greece, Ve- nice, France, Holland, America, our short (eheu 1) Com- monwealth, and compare it with what they did under masters. The Asiatics are not qualified to be republicans, but they have the liberty of demolishing despots, — which is the next thing to it. To be the first man— not the Dic- tator — not the Sylla, but the Washington or the Aristides — the leader in talent and truth — ^is next to the Divinity! Franklin, Penn, and, next to these, either Brutus or Cas- sius — even Mirabeau — or St. Just. I shall never be any thing, or rather always be nothing. The most I can hope is, that some will say, ' He might, perhaps, if he would.' " 12, midnight. " Here are two confounded proofs from the printer. I have looked at the one, but, for the soul of me, I can't look over that ' Giaour' again, — at least, just now, and at this hour — and yet there is no moon. •• Ward talks of going to Holland, and we have partly discussed an ensemble expedition. It must be in ten days, if at all, if we wish to be in at the Revolution. And why not ? * * is distant, and will be at * *, still more distant, till spring. No one else, except Augusta, cares for me — no ties — notrammels — andiamo dunque — se tomiamo, bene — se non ck' imporial Old William of Orange talked of dying in ' the last ditch' of his dingy country. It is lucky I can swim, or I suppose I should not well weather the first. But let us see. I have heard hyenas and jackals in the ruins of Asia ; and bull-frogs in the marshes, besides wolves and angry Mussulmans. Now, I should like to listen to the shout of a free Dutchman. " Alia! Viva! For ever ! Hourra! Huzza ! — which is the most rational or musical of these cries ? ' Orange Boven,' according to the Morning Post. " Wednesday, 24th. •* No dreams last night of the dead nor the living — so — I am ' firm as the marble, founded as the rock' — till the next earthquake. " Ward's dinner went off well. There was not a dis- agreeable person there — unless / offended any body, which I am sure I could not by contradiction, for I said little, and opposed nothing. Sharpe (a man of elegant mind, and who has lived much with the best — Fox, Home Tooke, Windham, Fitzpatrick, and all the agitators of other times and tongues) told us the particulars of his last interview with Windham, a few days before the fatal operation, which sent ' that gallant spirit to aspire the skies.' Windham, — the first in one department of oratory and talent, whose only fault was his refinement beyond the intellect of half his hearers, — Windham, half his life an active participator in the events of the earth, and one of those who governed nations, — he regretted, and dwelt much on that regret, that * ho had not entirely devoted himself to literature and science ! ! !' His mind certainly would have carried him to eminence there, as elsewhere ; — hut I cannot comprehend what debility of that mind could suggest such a wish. 1, who have heard him, cannot regret any thing but that I .shall never hear him again. What I would ho have been a ploildor ? a metaphy " I am tremendously in arrcar with my letters, — except to * * and to her my thoughts overpower me,— my words never compass them. To Lady Melbourne I write with most pleasure— and her answers, so sensible, so tactiqiu —I never met with half her talent. If she had been a few years younger, what a fool she would have made of me, had she thought it worth her while,— and I should have lost a valuable and most agreeable /rienc?. Mem. — a mis- tress never is nor can be a friend. While you agree, you are lovers \ and, when it is over, any thing but frfends. " I have not answered W. Scott's last letter, — but I will. I regret to hear from others that he has lately been unfor- tunate in pecuniary involvements. He is undoubtedly the monarch of Parnassus, and the most English of bards. I should place Rogers next in the living Ust — (I value him more as die last of the best school)— Moore and Campbell both third — Southey and Wordsworth and Coleridge tlie rest, 6i iroWoi — thus : sician ? — perhaps a rhymer ? a scribbler ? Such an exchange must have been suggested by illness. But he is gone, and Time * shall not look upon his like again.' 30 There is a triangular 'Gradus ad Parnassum!' The names are too numerous for the base of the triangle. Poor Thurlow has gone wild about tlie poetry of Q,ueen Bess's reign — c'est dommage. I have ranked die names upon my triangle more upon what I beheve popular opinion than any decided opinion of my own. For, to me, some of Moore's last Erin sparks — 'As abeam o'er the face of the waters' — ' When he who adores thee' — ' Oh blame not' — and ' Oh breathe not his name' — are worth all the Epics that ever were composed. " * ♦ thinks the (Quarterly will attack me next. Let them. I have been ' peppered so highly' in my time, both ways, that it must be cayenne or aloes to make me taste. I can sincerely say that 1 am not very much alive now to criticism. But — in tracing this — I rather believe that it proceeds from my not attaching that importance to author- ship which many do, and which, when young, I did also. One gets tired of every thing, my angel,' says Valmont. The 'angels' are the only things of which I am not a little sick — but I do think the preference of writers to agents — the mighty stir made about scribbling and scribes, by them- selves and others — a sign of effeminacy, degeneracy, and weakness. Who would write, who had any thing better to do? 'Action' — 'action' — 'action — said Demos- thenes: 'Actions — actions,' I say, ajid not writing, — least of all rhyme. Look at the querulous and monotonous hves of the 'genus ;' — except Cervantes, Tasso, Dante, Ariosto, Kleist, (who were brave and active citizens,) .lEschylus, SophiKles, and some other of the antiques also-^what a worthless, idle brood it is ! " 12, Mezxa notte. " Just returned from dinner, with Jackson (the emperor of Pugilism)and another of the select, at Cribb's the cham- pion's. I drank more than I like, and have brought away some three bottles of very fair claret — for I have no headach. We had Tom Cribb up after dinner ;— verj LETTERS, 1813 facetious, though somewhat prolix. He don't like his situation — wants to fight again — pray Pollux (or Castor, if he was the miller) he may! Tom has been a sailor — a coal-heaver — and some other genteel professions, before he took to the cestus. Tom has been in action at sea, and is now only three-and-thirty. A great man ! has a wife and a mistress, and conversations well — bating some sad omissions and misapplications of the aspirate. Tom is an old friend of mine ; I have seen some of his best battles in my nonage. He is now a publican, and, I fear, a sinner ; — for Mrs. * * is on alimony, and * *'s daughter Uves with the champion. This * + told me,— Tom having an opinion of tny morals, passed her off as a legal spouse. Talking of her, he said, ' she was the truest of women' —from which I immediately inferred she could not be his wife, and so it turned out. "These panegyrics do n't belong to matrimony; for if ' true,' a man do n't think it necessary to say so ; and if not, the less he says the better.' * * * * is the only man, except ***+,! ever heard harangue upon his wife's virtue ; and I hstened to both with great credence and patience, and stuffed my handkerchief into my mouth, when I found yavraing irresistible. By-the-by, I am yawning now — so, good night to thee. Ntoatpwv. « Thursday, 26th November. "Awoke a little feverish, but no headache — no dreams neither — thanks to stupor ! Two letters, one from * + * +, the other from Lady Melbourne — both excellent in their respective styles. * ♦ * *'s contained also a very pretty lyric on ' concealed griefs' — if not her own, yet very like her. Why did she not say that the stanzas were, or were not, of her composition ? — I do not know whether to wish them hers or not. I have no great esteem for poetical persons, particularly women : — they have so much of the * ideal' in practics, as well as ethics. " I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that I should have been so utterly, devotedly fond of that girl, at an age when I could neither feel pas- sion, nor know the meaning of the word. And the effect ! — My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour ; and, at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day, ' Oh, Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercromby, and your old sweet- heart Mary Duff is married to a Mr. Co®.' And what was my answer ? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at tliat moment ; but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmed my mother so much, that, after I grew better, she generally avoided the subject — to me — and contented herself with telling it to all her acquaintance. Now, what could this be ? I had never seen her since her mother's faux-pas at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal to her grandmother's at Banff; we were both the merest children. I had and have been attached fifty times since that period ; yet I recollect all we said to each other, all our caresses, her features, my restlessness, sleepless- ness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for me to her, which she at last did, to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was wild, and, as I could not write for myself, became my secretary. I remember, too, our walks, and the happiness of sitting by Mary, in the children's apart- ment, at their house not far from the Plainstones at Aber- deen, while her less sister Helen played with the doll, and we sat gravely making love, in our way. "How the deuce did all this occur so early? where could it originate ? I certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterward ; and yet my misery, my love for that girl were so violent, that I sometimes doubt if I have ever been really attached since. Be that as it may, hearing of her marriage several years after was like a thunder-stroke — it nearly choked me — to the horror of my mother and the astonishment and almost incredulity of every body. And it is a phenomenon m my existence (for I was not eight years old) which has puzzled, and will puzzle me to the latest hour of it; and lately, I know not why, the recollec- tion (not the attachment) has recurred as forcibly «.s ever. I wonder if she can have the least remembrance of it or me ? or remember her pitying sister Helen for not having an admirer too ? How very pretty is the perfect image of her in my memory — her brown dark hair, jind hazel eyes ; her very dress ! 1 should be quite grieved to see lier now ; the reality, however beautiful, would destroy, or at least confuse, the features of the lovely Peri which then existed in her, and still lives in my imagination, at the distance of more than sixteen years. I am now twenty-five and odd months " I think my mother told the circumstances (on my hear- ing of her marriage) to the Parkynsies, and certainly to the Pigot family, and probably mentioned it in her answer to Miss. A., who was well acquainted with my childish penchant, and had sent the news on purpose for me, — and, thanks to her ! "Next to the beginning, the conclusion has oflen occu- pied my reflections, in the way of investigation. That the facts are thus, others know as well as I, and my memory yet tells me so, in more than a wliisper. But, the more I reflect, the more I am bewildered to assign any cause for this precocity of affection. " Lord Holland "invited me to dinner to-day ; but three days' dining would destroy me. So, without eating at all since yesterday, I went to my box at Covent-garden. ***** " Saw * * + * looking very pretty, though quite a differ- ent style of beauty from the other two. She has the finest eyes in the world, out of which she pretends not to see, and the longest eyelashes I ever saw, since Leila's and Phannio's Moslem curtains of the fight. She has much beauty, — ^just enough, — but is, I think, michante. ***** " I have been pondering on the miseries of separation, that — oh how seldom we see those we love ! yet we five ages in moments, when met. The only thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection that no mental or personal estrangement, from ennui or disagreement, can ■take place ; — and when people meet hereafter, even though many changes may have taken place in the mean time, still — unless they are tired of each other — they are ready to reunite, and do not blame each other for the circum- stances that severed them. " Saturday, 27th, (I believe — or rather am in doubty which is the ne plus ultra of mortal faith.) " I have missed a day ; and, as the Irishman said, or Joe Miller says for him, ' have gained a loss,' or by the loss. Every thing is settled for Holland, and nothing but a cough, or a caprice of my fellow-traveller's, can stop us. Carriage ordered — funds prepared — and, probably, a gale of wind into the bargain. JVHmporte — I beUeve, witli Clym o' the Clow, or Robin Hood, 'By our Mary (dear name I) that art both Mother and May, 1 think it never was a man's lot to die before his day,' Heigh for Hel- voetsluys, and so forth ! " To-night I went with young Henry Fox to see 'Nour- jahad' — a drama, which the Morning Post hath laid to my charge, but of which I cannot even guess the author. I wonder what they will next inflict upon me. They can- not well sink below a Melodrama ; but that is better than a Satire, (at least, a personal one,) with which I stand truly arraigned, and in atonement of which I am resolved to bear silently all criticisms, abuses, and even praises for bad pantomimes never composed by me, — without even a contradictory aspect. I suppose the root of this report is my loan to the msmager of my Turkish drawings for his dresses, to which he was more welcome than to my name. I suppose the real author will soon own it, as it has suc- ceeded ; if not. Job be my model, and Lethe my beverage I " * * * * has received the portrait safe ; and, m an- swer, the only remark she makes upon it is, ' indeed it Is like' — and again, ' indeed it is hke.' ♦ * * With her, the likeness ' covered a multitude of sins ^ for I happen EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1813. 235 to know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark ajid stern, — even black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last July, when I sate for it. All the others of me — like most portraits whatsoever — are, of course, more agreeable than nature. "Redde the Ed. Review of Rogers. He is ranked highly — but where he should be. There is a summary view of us all — Moore and me among the rest ; and both (the Jirst justly) praised ; though, by implication (justly again) placed beneath our memor3.bie friend. Mackin- tosh is the writer, and also of the critic on the Stael. His grand essay on Burke, I hear, is for the next number. But I know nothing of the Edinburgh, or of any other Review, but from rumour ; and I have long ceased — in- deed, I could not, injustice, complain of any, even though I were to rate poetry in general, and my rhymes in par- ticular, more highly than I really do. To withdraw my- self (rom myself {oh that cursed selfishness!) has ever been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all ; and publishing is also the continuance of the same object, by the action it affords to the mind, which else recoils upon itself. If I valued fame, I should flatter re- ceived opinions, which have gathered strength by time, and will yet v/ear longer than any Uving works to the con- trary. But, for the soul of me, I cannot and will not give the he to my own thoughts and doubts, come what may. If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting one ; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom. " All are inclined to believe what they covet, from a lottery-ticket up to a passport to Paradise ; in which, from description, I see nothing very tempting. My restless- ness tells me I have something within that ' passeth show.' It is for Him, who made it, to prolong that spark of celes- tial fire which illuminates, yet burns, this frail tenement ; but I see no such horror in a 'dreamless sleep,' and I have no conception of any existence which duration would not render tiresome. How else ' fell the angels,' even accord- ing to your creed ? They were immortal, heavenly, and happy as their ajjostate Abdiel is now by his treachery. Time must decide ; and eternity won't be the less agree- able or more horrible because one did not expect it. In the mean time, I am grateful for some good, and tolerably patient under certain evils — grace k. Dieu et mon bon temperament. « Sunday, 28th. " Monday, 29th. « Tuesday, 30th. "Two days missed in my log-book; hiatus hand de- flendus. They were as Uttle worth recollection as the rest ; and, luckily, laziness or society prevented me from notching them. "Sunday, I dined with Lord Holland in St. Jamcs's- square. Large party — among them Sir S. Romilly and Lady Ry. ; General Sir Somebody Bentham, a man of science and talent I am told ; Horner — the Horner, an Edinburgh Reviewer, an excellent speaker in the ' Ho- nourable House,' very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company, as far as I have seen — Sharpe — Phillips of Lancashire — Lord John Russell, and others, * good men and true.' Holland's society is very good ; you always see some one or other in it worth knowing. Sluflcd my- self with sturgeon, and exceeded in champaign and wine in general, but not to confusion of head. VVhcn I do dine, I gorge like an Arab or a Boa snake, on fi.-ii and vegeta- bles, but no meat, lam always better, how(!Vir, on my tea and biscuit than any other regimen, — and wen tltal sparingly. " Why does Lady H. always have that damned screen between the whole room and llio fire ? I, wlu> bear cold no better than an antelope, aud never yet found a sun quite done to my taste, was absolutely petrified, and could not even shiver. All tho rest, too, looked as if they were just unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that day only. When she retired, I watched their looks as I dismissed the screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the antici- pated glow. " Saturday, I went with Harry Fox to Nourjahad ; and, I believe, convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. I wish the precious author would own it and release me from his fame. The dresses are pretty, but not in costume — Mrs. Home's, all but the turban, and the want of a small dagger, (if she is a Sultans.,) perfect. I never saw a Turkish woman with a turban in my life — nor did any one else. The Sultaiias have a small poniard at the waist. The dialogue is drowsy — the action heavy — the scenery fine — the actors tolerable. I can't say much for their seraglio; TeresEi, Phannio, or + * + * were worth them all. " Sunday, a very handsome note from Mackintosh, who is a rare instance of the union of very transcendent talent and great good-nature. To-day, (Tuesday,) a very pretty billet from M. la Baronne de Stael Holstein. She is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. — Her works are my delight, and so is she herself, for — half an hour. I do n't hke her politics — at least, her having changed them ; had she been qiialis ah inccpto, it were nothing. But she is a woman by berselfj and has done more than all the rest of them together, intellectually, — she ought to have been a man. She flatters me very pret- tily in her note ; — but I know it. 'I'he reason that adula- tion is not displeasing is, that, though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or other, to induce people to lie, to make us their friend : — that is their concern. " * * is, I hear, thriving on the repute o{ a-pun (which was mine at Mackintosh's dinner some time back) on Ward, who was asking ' how much it would take to re- whig him ?' I ansv.ered that, probably, he ' must first, before he was re-ivhigged, be rt:-warded.^ This foolish quibble, before the Stael and Mackintosh and a number of conversationers, has been mouthed about, and at last settled on the head of * *, where long may it remain ! "George* is returned from afloat to get a new ship. He looks thin, but better tJian I expected. I like George much more than most people like their heirs. He is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor. I would do any thing, but apostatize, to get him on in his profession. " Lewis called. It is a good and good-humoured man, but pestilently prolix, and parado.xical, and personal. If he would but talk half^ and reduce his visits to an hour, he would add to his popularity. As an author, lie is very good, and his vanity is ouverte, like Erskine's, and yet not offending. "Yesterday, a very pretty letter from Annabel!a,'| which I answered. What an odd situation and friend- ship is ours ! without one spark of love on cither side, and produced by circumstances which in general lead to cold- ness on one side, and aversion on tJie other. Siie is a very superior woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress — a ^\r\ of twenty — a peeress that is to be, in her own right — an only child, and a sai^ante, who lias always had her own way. She is a poetess — a ma- tiiematician — ametaphysirinn ; and yet, willml, vory kiiid, generous, and gentle, with very little pretension. Any other head would bo turned witli half her acquisitions and a tenth of her advantages. " Wodnosday, December 1, 1813. "To-day responded to La Baronne do Stael Ht>latoin, and sent to Leigh Hunt (an acquisition lo my ncqunint- anco — through Moore — of last summer) a copy of tlie two Turkish Tulos. Hunt is nn cxtraonlinary oluu-acter, and not exactly of the present uge. He rominils mo more • HU coii»in, *fi«rwi>ril Lord Byron. t Min iyiilt>niil«, nHerwRrtl Lady P»rpn 236 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1813. of llie Pym and Hampden times — much talent, great in- dependence of spirit, and an austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. If he goes on qualis ah incepto, I know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. I must go and see him again ; the rapid succession of adventure since last summer, added to some serious uneasiness and busi- ness, have interrupted our acquaintance ; but he is a man worth knowing ; and tliough, for his own sake, I wish him out of prison, I like to study character in such situations. He has been unshaken, and will continue so. I do n't think him deeply versed in life ; — he is the bigot of virtue, (not religion,) and enamoured of the beauty of that ' empty name,' as the last breath of Brutus pronounced, and every day proves it. He is, perhaps, a little opinion- ated, as all men w ho are the centre of circles^ w ide or nar- row — the Sir Oracles, in whose name two or three are gathered together — must be, and as even Jolmson was ; but, wiihal, a valuable man, and less vain tham success and even the consciousness of preferring ' the right to the expedient' might excuse. "To-morrow there is a party of purple at the 'blue' Miss * * *'s. Shall I go? um! I don't much affect your blue-bottles ; but one ought to be civil. There will be, ' I guess now,' (as the Americans say,) the Staels and Mackintoshes — good — the * * *s and '^ * *s — not so good — the * * *s, &c. &c. — good for nothing. Perhaps that blue-winged Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning, Lady * * * *j will be there. I hope so ; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of faces. " Wrote to Hodgson ; he has been telling that I .* [ am store, at least, / did not mention it, and I wish he had not. He is a good fellow, and I obliged myself ten times more by being of use than I did him 5 and there 's an end on 't. " Baldwin is boring me to present their King's Bench petition. I presented CartwTight's last year ; and Stan- hope and I stood against the whole House, and mouthed it valiantly — and had some fun and a little abuse for our opposition. But 'I am noti' th' vein' for this business. Now, had * * been here, she would have made me do it. There is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a man to usefulness or glory. Had she remained, she had been my tutelar genius. * * * "Baldwin is very importunate — but, poor fellow, 'I can't get out, I can't get out — said the starling.' — Ah, I am as bad as that dog Sterne, who preferred whining over ' a dead ass to relieving a living mother' — villain — hypocrite — slave — sycophant ! but / am no better. Here I cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these unfortunates, and three words and half a smile of * *j had she been here to urge it, (and urge it she infalli- bly would — at least, she always pressed me on senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of weakness,) would have made me an advocate, if not an orator. Curse on Rochefoucault for being always right ! In him a lie were virtue, — or, at least, a comfort to his readers. "George Byron has not called to-day ; I hope he will be an admiral, and, perhaps. Lord Byron into the bar- gain. If he would but marry, I would engage never to marry, myself, or cut him out of the heirship. " He would be happier, and I should like nephews better than sons. " I shall soon be sLx-and-twenty, (January 22d, 1814.) Is there any thmg in the future that can possibly console us for not being always tvxaity-fu'e ? ' Oh Giorentu 1 Oh Primavera ! giovcntu dell' anno. Oh Giorentu ! primarera della vita.' « Sunday, Dec. 5. "Dallas's nepheNY (son to the American Attomey- • Two or three word* are here scratched out in the manutcript but the import of the ienteiice erideirtly is, that Mr. Hodgson (to whom the pasMg^ refers) had been reTealioe to lome friends lh« secret of Lord B/ron'f kiadneulo hira. — Moert. general) is arrived in this country, and tells Dallas that my rh>-mes are very popular in the United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like Fame to my ears — to be redde on the banks of the Ohio ! The gieatest pleasure I ever derived, of this kind, was from an extract, in Cooke the actor's Life, from his Journal, sta- ting, that in the reading-room of Albany, near Washing- ton, he perused English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. To be popular in a rising and far country has a kind of posthumous feel; very difterent from the ephemeral edat and fete-ing, buzzing and party-ing compliments of tlie well-dressed multitude. I can safely say that, during my reign in the spring of 1812, I regretted nothing but its duration of six weeks instead of a fortnight, and was heartily glad to resign. "Last night I supped with Lewis; — and, as usual, though I neither exceeded in solids nor fluids, have been half dead ever since. My stomach is entirely destroyed by long abstinence, and the rest will probably follow. Let it — I only w ish the pain over. The ' leap in the dark' is the least to be dreaded. " The Duke of * * called. I have told them forty times that, except to half-a-dozen old and specified ac- quaintances, I am invisible. His grace is a good, noble, ducal person : but 1 am content to think so at a distance, and so — I v>as not at home. "Gait called. — Mem. — to ask some one to speak to Raymond in favour of his play. We are old fellow- travellers, and, with all his eccentricities, he has much strong sense, experience of the world, and is, as far as I have seen, a good-natured, philosophical fellow. I show- ed him Sligo's letters on the report of the Turkish girl's avaiiure at Athens soon after it happened. He and Lord Holland, Lewis, and Moore, and Rogers, and Lady Mel- bourne have seen it. Murray hats a copy. I thought it had been unknown^ and wish it were ; but Sligo arrived only some days after, and the rumours are the subject of his letter. That I shall preserve — it is as icell. Lewis and Gait were both horrified; and L. wondered 1 did not introdiice the situation into 'the Giaour.' He may won- der — he might wonder more at that production's being written at all. But to describe the feelings of that situa- tion were impossible — it is icy even to recollect them. " The Bride of Abydos was published on Thursday the second of December ; but how it is liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against whom I can have no complaint. But I am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever be to the most partial reader ; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to imagination — from selfish regrets to vivid re- collections — and recalled me to a country replete with the brightest and darkest, but always most lixxly colours of my memory. Sharpe called, but was not let in, which I regret. "Saw * * yesterday. I have not kept my appoint- ment at Middleton, which has not pleased him, perhaps ; and my projected voyage with * * will, perhaps, please him less. But I wish to keep well with both. They are instruments that don't do, in concert; but, surely, their separate tones are very musical, and I won't give up either. " It is well if I do n t jar between these great discords At present, I stand tolerably w ell with all, but I cannot adopt their dislikes; — so many sets. Holland's is the first ; — every thing distingue is welcome there, and cer- tainly the ton of his society is the best. Then there is M^le. de Stael's — there I never go, tliough I might, had I courted it. It is composed of the + *s and the * ♦ family, with a strange sprinkling, — orators, dandies, and all kinds of Blue, from the regular Grub-street uniform, down to the azure jacket of the Littirateur. To see * * and * * sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and they— the Reviewer and Review^e, the EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1813. 237 Rhinoceros and Elephant, the Mammoth and Megalonyx — all will lie quietly together. They now sit together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were already immured. * + * * + * "I did not go to the Berry's the other night. The elder is a woman of much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful. To-night asked to Lord H.'s — shall I go ? urn ! perhaps. " Morning, two o'clock. •Went to Lord H.'s, — ^party numerous — milady in perfect good-humour, and consequently perfect. No one more agreeable, or perhaps so much so, when she will. Asked for Wednesday to dine and meet the Stael ; — asked particularly, I beheve, out of mischief, to see the first interview after the Tiote^ with which Corinne pro- fesses herself to be so much taken. I do n't much like it ; — she always talks of r/it/self or herself, and I am not (except, in soliloquy, as now) much enamoured of either subject — especially one's Works. What the devil shall I say about 'De I'Allemagne?' I like it prodigiously; but unless I can twist my admiration into some fantastical expression, she won't believe me ; and I know, by expe- rience, I shall be overwhelmed with fine things about rh3rme, &c. &c. The lover, Mr, Rocia, was there to- night, and Campbell said ' it was the only proof he had seen of her good taste.' Monsieur L'Amant is remark- ably handsome ; but I do n't think more so then her book. "Campbell looks well — seemed pleased, and dressed to sprucert/. A blue coat becomes him, so does his new wig. He really looked as if Apollo had sent him a birth- day suit, or a wedding-garment, and was witty and lively. * * * He abused Corinne's book, which I regret; because, firstly, he understands German, and is conse- quently a fair judge ; and. secondly, he is Jirst rate, and consequently, the best of judges. I reverence and admire him ; but I won't give up my opinion — why should 1 ? I read her again and again, and there can be no affectation in this. I cannot be mistaken (except in taste) in a book I read and lay down, and take up again ; and no book can be totally bad, which finds one, even one reader, who can say as much sincerely. " Campbell talks of lecturing next spring ; his last lec- tures were eminently successful. M— whatever I may have done— am at perfect peace vnth all the poetical fraternity ; — or, at least, if I dislike any, it is not poetically, but personoUy. Surely, the field of thought is infinite ; — what does it signify who is before or behind in a race where there is no gord 7 The temple of Fame is like that of the Persians, the Universe ; — our altar, the tops of mountains. I should be equally con- tent with Mount Caucasus or Mount Anything ; and those who hke it may have Mont Blanc or Chimborazo without my envy of their elevation. " I think I may now speak thus ; for I have just pub- lished a Poem, and am quite ignorant whether it is likely to be liked or not. I have hitherto heard Uttle in its com- mendation, and no one can downright abuse it to one's face, except in print. It cant be good, or I should not have stumbled over the threshold, and blundered in my very title. But I begun it with heart full of * * *, and my head of orientalJii^s, (I can't call them isms,) and wrote on rapidly, "This joumail is a relief. When I am tired — as I generally am — out come this, and down goes every thing. But I can't read it over ; — and God knows what contra- dictions it may contain. If I am sincere with myself (but I fear one lies more to one's self than to any one else,) every page should confute, refute, and utterly abjure its predecessor. " Another scribble from Martin Baldwin the petitioner : I have neither head nor nerves to present it. That con- founded supper at Lewis's has spoiled my digestion and my philanthropy. I have no more charity than a cruet of vinegar. Would I were an ostrich and dieted on fire-irons, — or any thing that my gizzards could get the better of. " To-day saw W. His uncle is dying, and W. do n't much affect our Dutch determinations. I dine with him on Thursday, provided Foncle is not dined upon, or pe- remptorily bespoke by the posthumous epicure?, before that day. I wish he may recover — not for our dinner's sake, but to disappoint the undertaker, and the rascally reptiles that may well wait, since they will dine at last. " Gell called — he of Troy — after I was out. Mem. — to return his visit. But my Mems. are the very land- marks of forgetfulness : — something like a lighthouse, with a ship wrecked under the nose of its lantern. I never look at a Mem. without seeing that I have remembered to forget. Mem. — I have forgotten to pay Pitt's taxes, and suppose I shall be surcharged. ' An I do not turn rebel when thou art king* — oons ! I believe my very biscuit is leavened with that impostor's imposts. "L7. M«. returns from Jersey's to-morrow; — I must call. A Mr. Thomson has sent a song, which I must applaud. I hate annoying them with censure or silence : and yet I hate lettering. Saw Lord Glenbervie and his Prospectus, at Mur- ray's, of a new Treatise on Timber. Now here is a man more useful than all the historians and rhymers ever planted. For, by preserving our woods and forests, he furnishes materials for all the history of Britain worth reading, and all the odes worth nothing. Redde a good deal, but desultorily. My head is cram- med with the most useless lumber. It is odd that when I do read, I can only bear the chicken broth of — any thing but novels. It is manv a year since I have looked into one. (though they are sometimes ordi-red, by way of expe- riment, but never taken,) till I loriked yesterday at the worst parts of the Monk. Those descriptions oii;,'ht to have been written by Tiberias at Caprea — thoy arc forced — the philtred ideas of a jaded voluptuary. It is to me inconceivable how thev could have liocn romposod by a man of only twnitv — his age when he wroto thcM. They have no nature — all the sour cream «>f ranihaiides. I should havo suspt-ctcd Buffon of wriimg thrm on the death-bod of his dri«»stable dotag*'. I had never reddc this edition, and nurclv lo<»k«Hl at thrm from curioMty 238 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1313. and recollection of the noise they made, and the name they have left to Lewis. But they could do no harm except * * *. "Called this evening on my agent — my business as Usual. Our strange adventures are the only inheritances of our family that have not diminished. * + * * " I shall now smoke two cigars, and get me to bed. The cigars do n't keep well here. They get as old as a donna di quaranii anni in the sun of Africa. The Havana are the best ; — but neither are so pleasant as a hooka or chibouque. The Turkish tobacco is mild, and their horses entire — two things as they should be. I am so far djliged to this Journal, that it preserves me from verse, — at least from keeping it. I have just thrown a Poem into the fire (which it has relighted to my great comfort,) and have smoked out of my head the plan of another. I wish I could as easily get rid of thinking, or, at least, the confusion of thought. "Tuesday, Dec. 7. " Went to bed, and slept dreamlessly, but not refresh- ingly. Awoke and up an hour before being called ; but dawdled three hours in dressing. When one subtracts from hfe infancy (which is vegetation) — sleep, eating, and swilling — buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence ? The summer of a dormouse. * * + + * + * " Redde the papers and tea-ed and soda-watered, and found out that the fire was badly lighted. Ld. Glenbervie wants me to go to Brighton — um ! " This morning a very pretty billet from the Stael about meeting her at Ld. H.'s to-morrow. She has written, I dare say, twenty such this morning to different people, all equally flattering to each. So much the better for her and those who believe all she wishes them, or they wish to believe. She has been pleased to be pleased with my slight euiogy in the note annexed to the ' Bride.' This is to be accounted for in several ways : — firstly, all women like all, or any praise ; secondly, this was unex- pected, because 1 have never courted her ; and, thirdly, as Scrub says, those who have been all their lives regu- larly praised, by regular critics, like a little variety, and are glad when any one goes out of his way to say a civil thing ; and, fourthly, she is a very good-natured creature, which is the best reason, after all, and, perhaps, the only one. " A knock — knocks single and double. Bland called. — He says Dutch society (he has been in Holland) is second-hand French ; but the women are like women every where else. This is a bore ; I should like to see them a little unlike ; but that can't be expected. " Went out — came home — this, that, and the other — and ' all is vanity, saith the preacher,' and so say I, as part of his congregation. Talking of vanity — whose praise do I prefer ? Why, Mrs. Inchbald's, and that of the Americans. The first, because her ' Simple Story' and ' Nature and Art' are, to me, true to their tides ; and con- sequently, her short note to Rogers about the 'Giaour' delighted me more than any thing, except the Edinburgh Review. I like the Americans, because / happened to be in Asia, while the English Bards and Scotch Review- ers were redde in America. If I could have had a speech against the Slave Trade, in Africa, and an Epitaph on a Dog, in Europe, (i. e. in the Morning Post,) my vertex sublimis would certainly have displaced stars enough to overthrow the Newtonian system. "Friday,Dec. 10, 1813. " I am ennuyd beyond my usual tense of that yawning verb, which I am always conjugating ; and I do n't find that society much mends the matter. I am too lazy to shoot myself— and it would annoy Augusta, and perhaps * * ; but it would be a good thing for George, on the other side, and no bad one for me ; but I won't be tempted. "I have had die kindest letter from Moore. I do think that man is the best-hearted, the only hearted being I ever encountered ; and then, his talents are equal to his feel- ings. " Dined on Wednesday at Lord H.'s — the Staffords, Staels, Cowpers, Ossulstones, Melbournes, Mackintoshes, &c. &c. — and was introduced to the Marquis and Marchioness of Stafford, — an unexpected event. My quarrel wilh Lord Carlisle (their or his brother-in-law) having rendered it improper, I suppose, brought it about. But, if it was to happen at all, I wonder it did not occur before. She is handsome, and must have been beautiful — and her manners areprincessly. * * * " The Stael was at the other end of the table, and less loquacious than heretofore. We are now very good friends ; though she asked Lady Melbourne whether I had really any bonkommie. She might as well have asked that question before she told C. L. 'c'est un demon.' True enough, but rather premature, for she could not have found it out, and so — she wants me to dine there next Sunday. " Murray prospers, as far as circulation. For my part, I adhere (in liking) to my Fragment. It is no wonder that I wrote one — my mind is a fragment. " Saw Lord Gower, Tierney, &c. in the square. Took leave of Lord Gr. who is going to Holland and Germany. He tells me, that he carries with him a parcel of 'Harolds' and 'Giaours,' &c. for the readers of Berlin, who, it seems, read English, and have taken a caprice for mine. Um ! — have I been German all this time, when I thought myse\{ oriental? * * * " Lent Tierney my box for to-morrow ; and received a new comedy sent by Lady C. A. — but not hers. I must read it, and endeavour not to displease the author. I hate aimoying them with cavil ; but a comedy I take to be the most difficult of compositions, more so than tragedy. " Gait says there is a coincidence between the first part of ' the Bride' and some story of his — whether published or not, I know not, never having seen it. He is almost the last person on whom any one would commit Uterary lar- ceny, and I am not conscious of any witting thefts on any of the genus. As to originality, all pretensions are ludi- crous, — 'there is nothing new under the sun.' " Went last night to the play. * * * ♦ Invited out to a party, but did not go ; — right. Refused to go to Lady * * 's on Monday ; — right again. If I must fritter away my life, I would rather do it alone. I was much tempted ; — C * * looked so Turkish with her red turban, and her regular dark and clear features. Not that she and / ever were, or could be, any thing ; but I love any aspect that reminds me of the ' children of the sun.' " To dine to-day with Rogers and Sharpe, for which I have some appetite, not having tasted food for the pre- ceding forty-eight hours. I wish I could leave off eating altogether. " Saturday, Dec. 11. " Sunday, Dec. 12. " By Gait's answer, I find it is some story in real life, and not any work with which my late composition coin- cides. It is still more singular, for mine is drawn from existence also. " I have sent an excuse to M. de Stael. I do not feel sociable enough for dinner to-day ; and I will not go to Sheridan's on Wednesday. Not that I do not admire and prefer his unequalled conversation ; but — that ' but^ must only be intelligible to thoughts I cannot write. She- ridan was in good talk at Rogers's the other night, but I only stayed till nine. All the world are to be at the Stael's to-night, and I am not sorry to escape any part of it. I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone. Went out — did not go to the Stael's, but to Ld. Holland's. Party numerous— conversation general. Stayed late — EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1814. 239 made a blunder — got over it — came home and went to bed, not having eaten. Rather empty, but fresco^ which is the great point with me. « Monday, Dec.l3, 1813. *' Called at three places — read, and got ready to leave town to-morrow. Murray has had a letter from his brother Bibliopole of Edinburgh, v/ho says 'he is lucky in having such a poet'' — something as if one was a pack- horse, or 'ass, or any thing that is his :' or, like Mrs. Pack- wood, who replied to some inquiry after the Odes on Razors, ' Law, sir, we keeps a Poet.' The same illus- trious Edinburgh bookseller once sent an order for books, poesy, and cookery, with this agreeable postscript — ^ The Harold and Cookery are much wanted.' Such is fame, and, after all, quite as good as any other ' life in other's breath.' 'T is much the same to divide purchasers with Hannah Glasse or Hannah More. "Some editor of some Magazine has announced to Murray his intention of abusing the thing ' without read- ing it.' So much the better ; if he redde it first, hp would abuse it more. ^ " Allen (Lord Holland's Allen — the best informed and one of the ablest men I know — a perfect Magliabecchi — a devourer, a Helluo of books, and an observer of men) has lent me a quantity of Burns's unpubhshed, and never- to-be-published, Letters. They are full of oaths and obscene songs. What an antithetical mind ! — tenderness, roughness— delicacy, coarseness — sentiment, sensuality — soaring and grovelling, dirt and deity — all mixed up in that one compound of inspired clay ! " It seems strange ; a true voluptuary will never aban- don his mind to the grossness of reality. It is by exalting the earthly, the material, the physique of our pleasures, by veiling these ideas, by forgetting them altogether, or, at least, never naming them hardly to one's self, that we alone can prevent them from disgusting. + * + **♦* «Dec.l4, 15,16. " Much done, but nothing to record . It is quite enough to set down my thoughts; my actions will rarely bear retrospection. "Dec. 17,18. " Lord Holland told me a curious piece of sentimentality in Sheridan. The other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions on him and other hommes marquans, and mine was this. 'Whatever Sheridan has done or chosen to do, has been, par excellence^ always the best of its kind. He has written the best comedy, (School for Scandal,) the bent drama, (in my mind, far before that St. Giles's lampoon, the Beggar's Opera,) the best farce, (the Critic — it is only too good for a farce,) and the best Address, (Monologue on Garrick,) and, to crovm all, delivered the very best Oration (the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or heard in this country.' Some- body told S. this the next day, and on hearing it, he burst into tears ! " Poor Brinsley ! if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said these few, but most sincere words, than have written the Iliad, or made his own celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own comedy never gratified me more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any praise of mine, humble as it must appear to ' my elders and my betters.' " Went to my box at Covent-garden to-night ; and my delicacy felt a little shocked at seeing S * + *'s mistress (who, to my certain knowledge, was actually educated, from licr birth, for her profession) sitting with her mother, • a three-piled b— d, b d-Major to the army,' in a private box opposite. I felt rather indignant ; but, casting my eyes round the house, in the next box to nii>, and the next, and tlio next, were the most distinguished old and young Babylonians of quality ; — so I burst out a laughing. It was really odd ; Lady + * divorced — Lady * * and her daughter. Lady * *, both divorceable — Mrs. * *, f in the next, the like, and still nearer * + + ***! "VVTiat an assemblage to me, who know all their histories. It was as if the house had been divided between your pub- lic and your understood courtesans ; but the Intriguantes much outnumbered the regular mercenaries. On the other side were only Pauline and her mother, and, next box to her, three of inferior note. Now, where lay the difference between her and mamma, and Lady * * and daughter ? except that the two last may enter Carleton and any other hovjse, and the two first are limited to the opera and b house. How I do delight in observing hfe as it really is ! and myself, after all, the worst of any. But, no matter, I must avoid egotism, which, just now, would be no vanity. "I have lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called ' The Devil's Drive,| the notion of which I took from Person's ' Devil's Walk.' "Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets on * * *§. I never wrote but one sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an exercise — and I will never write another. They are the most puling, petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions. I de- test the Petrarch so much, that I would not be the man even to have obtained his Laura, which the metaphysical, whining dotard never could ******* "Jan. 16,1814. ♦ + * * + * " To-morrow I leave town for a few days. I saw Lewis to-day, who has just returned from Oatlands, where he has been squabbling with Mad. de Stael about him- self, Clarissa Harlowe, Mackintosh, and me. My homage- has never been paid in that quarter, or we would have agreed still worse. I do n't talk — I can't flatter, and won't listen, except to a pretty or a foolish woman. She bored Lewis with praises of himself till he sickened — found out that Clarissa was perfection, and Mackintosh the first man in England. There I agree, at least, 07ie of the first — but Lewis did not. As to Clarissa, I leave to those who can read it to judge and dispute. I could not do the one, and am, consequently, not qualified for the other. She told Lewis wisely, he being my friend, that I was affected, in the first place, and that, in the next place, I committed the heinous oflience of sitting at dinner with my eyes shut, or half shut. * * * I wonder if I really have this trick. I must cure myself of it, if true. One insensibly acquires awkward habits, whicii should be broken in time. If this is one, I wish I had been told of it before. It would not so much signify if one was always to be checkmated by a plain woman, but one may as well see some of one's neighbours, as well as the plate upon the table. " I should like, of all things, to have heard the Amabiran eclogue between her and Lewis, — both obstinate, clever, odd, garrulous, and shrill. In fact, one could have hoard nothing else. But they fell out, alas ! — and now they will never quarrel again. Could not one reconcile them for the ' nonce ?' Poor Corinne, — she will find that some of htT fine sayings won't suit our fine ladies aiul gentle- men. " I am getting rather into admiration of * *, tlie young- est sister of ♦ ♦. A wife would bo my salvation. I am sure the wives of my acquaintances have hilliorto done me little good. * * is beautiful, but very young, and, I think, a ( woji't love me Mi very prohabh^, nor shall 1 love hor. But, on my The** uame* uro kII led blank in tli« oriflnnlc S»e Pnrin*, p. iT9. Spc Pi)rin«, II. liiS. 240 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1814, system, and the modern system in general, that do n't signify. The business (if it came to business) would probably be arranged between papa and me. She would have her own way ; I am good-humoured to women, and docile ; and, if I did not fall in love with her, which I should try to prevent, we should be a very comfortable couple. As to conduct, that she must look to. ***** But if I love, I shall be jealous ; — and for that reason I will not be in love. Though, after all, I doubt my temper, and fear I should not be so patient as becomes the bienseance of a married man in my station. ***** Divorce ruins the poor femme, and damages are a paltry compensation. I do fear my temper would lead me into some of our oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any rate, into a summary appeal to the court of twelve paces. So * I '11 none on 't,' but e'en remain single and solitary ; — though I should lilce to have somebody now and then, to yawn with one. "AVard, and, after him, * *, has stolen one of m buffooneries about Mde. de Stael's Metaphysics and th Fog, and passed it, by speech and letter, as their own As Gibbet says, ' they are the most of a gentleman of any on the road.' W. is in sad enmity with the Whigs about this review of Fox, (if he did revnew him ;) — all the epigrammatists and essayists are at him. I hate odds, and wish he may beat them. As for me, by the blessing of indifference, I have simplified my politics into an utter detestation of all existing governments ; and, as it is the shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first moment of a universal republic would convert me into an advocate for single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and poverty is slavery, all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is no better, nor worse, for a. people than another. I shall adhere to my party, because it would not be honourable to act otherwise ; but, as to opiniwis, I do n't think poli- tics worth an opinion. Conduct is another thing : — if you begin with a party, go on with them. I have no consis- tency, except in politics , and that probably arises from my indifference on the subject altogether." " February 18. " Better than a month since I last journalized : — most of it out of London, and at Notts., but a busy one and a pleasant, at least three weeks of it. On my return, I find all the newspapers in hysterics, and town in an uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on Prin- cess Charlotte's weeping at Regency's speech to Lauder- dale in 1812. They are daily at it still; — some of the abuse good, all of it hearty. They talk of a motion in our House upon it — be it so. " Got up — read the Morning Post containing the batde of Buonaparte, the destruction of the Custom-house, and a paragraph on me as long as my pedigree, and vitupera- tive, as usual. * * * "Hobhouse is returned to England. He is my best friend, the most lively, and a man of the most sterling talents extant. " ' The Corsair' has been conceived, written, published. &c. since I last took up this Journal. They tell me it has great success ; — it was written con amore^ and much from existence. Murray is satisfied with its progress ; and if the pubUc are equally so with the perusal, there 's an end of the matter. " Nine o'clock, "Been to Hanson's on business. Saw Rogers, and had a note from Lady Melbourne, who says, it is said that I am ' much out of spirits.' I wonder if I really am or not? I have certainly enough of 'that perilous stuff which weighs upon the heart,' and it is better they should believe it to be the result of these attacks than of the real cause ; but — ay, ay, always but, to the end of the chapter. ♦ * * "Hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of Napoleon, all good and true. My friend H. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine fellow to boot. "Redde a little — wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which, Locke says, is bad company. 'Be not solitary, b« not idle' — Um ! — the idleness is troublesome ; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The more I see of men, tlie less 1 like them. If 1 could but say so of women too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty ; my passions have had enough to cool them: my affections more than enough to wither them, — and yet — and yet — always yet and but — ' Excel- lent well, you are a fishmonger — get thee to a nunnery.' ' They fool me to the top of my bent.' f " Midnight. I " Began a letter, which I threw into the fire. Redde -V-but to little purpose. Did not visit Hobhouse, as l\ promised and ought. No matter, the loss is mine. Si^oked cigars. Napoleon I — this week will decide his fate. All seems st him ; but I believe and hope he will win— at least, beat back the invaders. What right have we to prescribe sovereigns to France ? Oh for a republic ! ' Brutus, thou sleepest.' Hobhouse abounds in conti- nental anecdotes of this extraordinary man ; all in favour of his intellect and courage, but against his bonhommie. No wonder ; — how should he, who knows mankind well, do other tlian despise and abhor them. " The greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and becomes lighter by tlie division among so many — therefore, a republic ! "More notes from Mad. de Stael unanswered — and so they shall remain. I admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming — an avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense — all snow and sophistry. " Shall I go to Mackintosh's on Tuesday ? um ! — I did not go to Marquis Lansdowne's, nor to Miss Berry's, though both are pleasant. So is Sir James's, — but I do n't know— I beheve one is not the better for parties ; at least, unless some regnanie is there. " I wonder how the deuse any body could make such a world ; for what purpose dandies, for instance, were or- dained — and kings — and fellows of colleges — and women of ' a certain age' — and many men of any age — and myself, most of all! ' Divesne prisco el uatus ab Iiiacho, Nil interest, an pauper, et infimi De gente, sub dio moreris, Victima nil miserantia Orci. Omnes eodem cogimur.' "Is there any thing beyond? — who knows? He that can't tell. Who tells that there is? He who don't know. And when shall he know? perhaps, when ho do n't expect, and, generally, when he do n't wish it. In this last respect, however, all are not alike : it depends a good deal upon education, — something upon nerves and habits — but most upon digestion. « Saturday, Feb. 19. "Just returned from seeing Kean in Richard. By Jove, he is a soul ! Life — nature — truth — without ex- aggeration or diminution. Kemble's Hamlet is perfect ; — but Hamlet is not Nature. Richard is a man ; and Kean is Richard. Now to my own concerns, ***** " Went to Waite's. Teeth all right and white ; but he says that I grind them in my sleep and chip the edges. That same sleep is no friend of mine, though I court him sometimes for half the 24. " February 20. " Got up and tore out two leaves of this Journal — 1 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1814. 241 do n't know why. Hodgson just called and gone. He has much bonhommie with his other good qualities, and more talent than he has yet had credit for beyond his circle. * An mvitation to dine at Holland-house to meet Kean. He is worth meeting ; and I hope, by getting into good society, he will be prevented from falling like Cooke. He is greater now on the stage, and off he should never be less. There ia a stupid and underrating criticism upon him in one of the newspapers. I thought that, last night, though great, he rather underacted more than the first time. This may be the effect of these cavils ; but I hope he has more sense than to mind them. He cannot expect to maintain his present eminence, or to advance still higher, without the envy of his green-room fellows, and the nibbling of their admirers. But, if he do n't beat them all, why, then — merit hath no purchase in 'these coster-monger days.' " I wish that I had a talent for the drama ; 1 would write a tragedy now. But no, — it is gone. Hodgson talks of one, — he will do it well ; — and I think Moore should try. He has wonderful powers, and much variety ; besides, he has lived and felt. To write so as to bring home to the heart, the heart must have been tried, — but, perhaps, ceased to be so. ^, While you are under the influ- ence of passions, you only feel, but cannot describe them, — any more th»n, when in action, you could turn round, and tell the story to your next neighbour ! When all is over, — all, all, and irrevocable, — trust to memory — she is then but too faithful. " Went out, and answered some letters, yawned now and then, and redde the Robbers. Fine, — but Fiesco is better ; and Alfieri and Monti's Aristodemo best. They are more equal than the Tedeschi dramatists. "Answered — or, rather, acknowledged — the receipt of young Reynold's Poem, Safie. The lad is clever, but much of his thoughts are borrowed, — whence, the Review- ers may find out. I hate discouraging a young one; and I think, — though wild, and more oriental than he would be, had he seen the scenes where he has placed his Tale, — that he has much talent, and certainly, fire enough, " Received a very singular epistle ; and the mode of its conveyance, though Lord H.'s hands, as curious as the letter itself. But it was gratifying and pretty. "Sunday, Feb. 27. " Here I am, alone, instead of dining at Lord H.'s, where I was asked, — but not inclined to go any where. Hobhouso says I am growing a loup garou, — a solitary hobgoblin. True ; — ' I am myself alone.' The last week has been passed in reading — seeing plays — now and then, visiters — sometimes yawning and sometimes sighing, but no writing — save of letters. If I could always read, I should never feel the want of society. Do I regret it ? — um I — *Man delights not me,' and only one woman — at a time. " There is something to me very softening in the pre- sence of a woman, — some strange influence, even if one is not in love with them, — which I cannot at all account for, having no very high opinion of the sex. But yet, — I always feel in better humour with myself and every thing else, if there is a woman within ken. Even Mrs. Mule, my fire-lighter, — the most ancient and withered of her kind, — and (except to myself ) not the best tempered — always makes me laugh, — no difficult task when I am • i' the vein.' " Heigho ! I would I were in mine island ! — I am not well; and yet I look in good health. At times, I fear, *I am not in my perfect mind ;' — and yet my heart and head have stood many a crash, and what should ail tliem now ? They proy upon themselves, and I am sick — sick —■'Prithee, undo this button; why should a cat, a rat, a „ ... dog, have life, and thou no life at all?' Six-aiid-lwonty (the exhortation,) which mode mo turn away, not to laugh years, as they call them :-— why, I might and should have | in the face of tJie surplicoman. Made one blunder, wh«l 31 been a Pasha by this time. ' I 'gin to be a weary of th« sun.' "Buonaparte is not yet beaten; but has rebutted Blucher, and repiqued Swartzenburg. This it is to hav© a head. If he again wins, ' Vae victis '.' "Sunday, March 6. "On Tuesday last dined with Rogers,— Mad«. da Stael, Mackintosh, Sheridan, Erskine, and Payne Knight, Lady Donegall and Miss R. there. Sheridan told a very good story of himself and Me. de Recamier's hand- kerchief; Erskine a few stories of himself only. She is going to write a big book about England, she says ; — I believe her. Asked by her how I liked Miss * * 's thing, called * *, and answered (very sincerely) that I thought it very bad for Aer, and worse than any of the others. Afterward thought it possible Lady Donegall, being Irish, might he a Patroness of * *, and was rather sorry for my opinion, as I hate putting people into fusses, either with themselves, or their favourites; it looks as if one did it on purpose. The party went off very well, and the fish was very much to my gusto. But we got up too soon after the women ; and Mrs. Corinne always lingers so long after dinner, that we wish her in — the drawing- room. " To-day C. called, and, while sitting here, in came Merivale. During our colloquy, C. (ignorant that M. was the writer) abused the * mawkishness of the Quar- terly Review of Grimm's Correspondence.' I (knowing the secret) changed the conversation as socm as I could; and C. went away, quite convinced of having made the most favourable impression on his new acquaintance. Merivale is luckily a very good-natured fellow, or God he knows what might have been engendered from such a malaprop. I did not look at him while this was going on, but I felt like a coal, — for I like Merivale, as well as the article in question. * + * * * * ^c " Asked to Lady Keith's to-morrow evening — I think I will go ; but it is the first party invitation I have accepted this ' season,' as the learned Fletcher called it, when that youngest brat of Lady ♦ * 's cut my eye and cheek open with a misdirected pebble — ' Never mind, my lord, the scar will be gone before the seeison ;' as if one's eye was of no importance in the mean time. " Lord Erskine called, and gave me his famous pamph- let, with a marginal note and corrections in his handwri- ting. Sent it to be bound superbly, and shall treasure it. " Sent my fine print of Napoleon to be framed. It is framed ; and the emperor becomes his robes as if he had been hatched in them. « March 7. " Rose at seven — ready by half past eight — went to Mr. Hanson's, Berkeley-square — went to church with his eldest daughter, Mary Anne, (a good girl,) and gave her away to the Earl of Portsmouth. Saw her fairly a countess — congratulated the family and groom (bride) — drank a bumper of wine (wholesome sherris) to thoir felicity, and all that, — and came home. Asked to stay to dinner, but could not. At three sat to Philli|)s for faces. Called on Lady M. — I like her so well, that I always stay too long, (Mem. — to mend of that.) • Passed the evening with Hobhouse, who has begun a Poem, which promises highly; — wish he would go on witJ^ it. Heard some curious extracts from a life of Morosini, the blundering Venetian, who blew up the Acropolis at Athens with a bomb, and be d— d to him ! Waxed sleepy, — just come home, — must go to bod, and am engaged to moot Sheridan to-morrow at Rogers's. " Queer ceremony that same of marriage — saw many abroad, Greek and Catholic— one, ot home^ many years ago. There be some strango phmses in tho prologue, ) i4f EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1814. '^H I joined the hands of the happy — rammed their left hands, by mistake, into one another. Corrected it — bustled back to the altar-rail, and said ' Amen.' Ports- 1 mouth responded as if he had got the whole by heart ; * and, if any thing, was rather before the priest. It is now midnight, and * * * * « March 10, Thor's Day. «0n Tuesday dined with Rogers — Mackintosh, Sherl dan, Sharpe — much talk, and good — all, except my own little prattiement. Much of old times— Home Tooke,— the Trials, — evidence of Sheridan, — and anecdotes of those times, when /, alas ! was an infant. If I had been a man, I would have made an English Lord Edward Fitzgerald. " Set down Sheridan at Brookes's — where, by-the-by, he could not have well set down himself, as he and I were the only drinkers. Sherry means to stand for Westmin- ster, as Cochrane (the stock-jobbing hoaxer) must vacate. Brougham is a candidate. I fear for poor dear Sherry. Both have talents of the highest order, but the youngster has yet a character. We shall see, if he lives to Sherry's age, how he will pass over the red-hot ploughshares of public Ufe. I do n't know why, but I hate to see the old ones lose ; particularly Sheridan, notwithstanding all his meckancete. " Received many, and the kindest, thanks from Lady Portsmouth, pire and m^re, for my match-making. I do n't regret it, as she looks the countess well, and is a very good girl. It is odd how well she carries her new honours. She looks a different woman, and high-bred, too. I had no idea that I could make so good a peeress. "Went to the play with Hobhouse. Mrs. Jordan superlative in Hoyden, and Jones well enough in Fop- pington. What plays! what wit! — helas! Congreve and Vanbrugh are your only comedy. Our society is too insipid now for the like copy. Would not go to Lady Keith's. Hobhouse thought it odd. I wonder he should like parties. If one is in love, and wants to break a com- mjmdment and covet any thing that is there, they do very well. But to go out among the mere herd, \vithout a motive, pleasure, or pursuit — 'sdeath ! ' I '11 none of it.' He told me an odd report ; that / am the actual Conrad, the veritable Corsair, and that part of my travels are sup- posed to have passed in privacy. Um ! people sometimes hit near the truth ; but never the whole truth. H. do n't know what I was about the year after he left the Levant ; nor does any one — nor — nor — nor — however, it is a lie ; but, ' I doubt the equivocation of the fiend that lies like truth !' "I shall have letters of importance to-morrow. Which, ♦*,**, or * *? heigho! — * + is in my heart, * * in my head, * * in my eye, and the single one, Heaven knows where. All write, and will be answered. ' Since I have crept in favour with myself, I must maintain it ;' but / never 'mistook my person,' though I think others have. " * * called to-day in great despair about his mistress, who has taken a freak of * * *. He began a letter to her, but was obliged to stop short — I finished it for him, and he copied and sent it. If he holds out and keeps to my instructions of affected indifference, she will lower her colours. If she do n't, he will, at least, get rid of her, and she do n't seem much worth keeping. But the poor lad is in love— if that is the case, she will wan. When they once discover their power, Jinita h la musica. " Sleepy, and must go to bed. "Tuesday, March 15. "Dined yesterday with R., Mackintosh, and Sharpe. Sheridan could not come. Sharpe told several very amusing anecdotes of Henderson, the actor. Stayed till late, and came home, — ^having drank so much tea, that I did not get to sleep till six this morning. R. says I am to be in this (Quarterly — cut up, I presume, as they *hate us youth.' N''importe. As Sharpe was passing by the doors of some Debating Society (the Westminster Fo- rum) in his way to dinner, he saw rubricked on the walls, Scotts name and mine — 'Which the best poet?' being the question of the evening ; and I suppose all the Tem- plars and wotddrbes took our rhymes in vain, in the course of the controversy. Which had the greater show of hands, I neither know nor care ; but I feel the coupling of the names as a compliment, — though I think Scott de- serves better company. + + * * ♦ « W. W. caUed— Lord Erskine, Lord HoUand, &c. &c. Wrote to * * the Corsair report. She says she do n't wonder, since ' Conrad is so like.^ It is odd that one, who knows me so thoroughly, should tell me this to my face. However, if she do n't know, nobody can. "Mackintosh is, it seems, the writer of the defensive letter in the Morning Chronicle. If so, it is very kind, and more than I did for myself. ***** "Told Murray to secure for me Bandello's Italian Novels at the sale to-morrow. To me they will be nuts. Redde a satire on myself, called ' Anti- Byron,' and told Murray to publish it if he liked. The object of the author is to prove me an Atheist and a systematic con- spirator against law and government. Some of the verse is good ; the prose I do n't quite understand . He asserts that my ' deleterious works' have had an ' effect upon civil society, which requires, &c. &c. &c.' and his own poetry. It is a lengthy poem, and a long preface, with an harmo- nious titlepage. Like the fly in the fable, I seem to have got upon a wheel which makes much dust ; but, unlike the said fly, I do not take it all for my own reusing. "A letter from Bella, which I answered. I shall be in love with her again, if I do n't take care. ***** I shall begin a more regular system of readmg soon, « Thursday, March 17. I have been sparring with Jackson for exercise this morning ; and mean to continue and renew my acquaint- ance with the muffles. My chest, and arms, and wind are in very good plight, and I am not in flesh. I used to be a hard hitter, and my arms are very long for my height (5 feet 8i inches.) At any rate, exercise is good, and this the severest of all ; fencing and the broadsword never fatigued me half so much. "Redde the 'Ctuarrels of Authors' (another sort of sparring) — a new work, by that most entertaining and researching writer, Israeli. They seem to be an irritable set, and I wish myself well out of it. ' I 'II not march through Coventry with them, that 's flat.' What the devil had I to do with scribbling ? It is too late to inquire, and all regret is useless. But, an' it were to do again,— I should write again, I suppose. Such is human nature, at least my share of it ; — though I shall think better of myself, if I have sense to stop now. If I have a wife, and that wife has a son — by any body — I will bring up mine heir in the most anti-poetical way — make him a lawyer, or a pirate, or — any thing. But if he writes too, I shall be sure he is none of mine, and cut him off with a bank token. Must write a letter — three o'clock. "Sunday, March 20. " I intended to go to Lady Hardwicke's, but won't. I always begin the day with a bias towards going to parties ; but, as the evening advances my stimulus fails, and I hardly ever go out — aind, when I do, always regret it. This might have been a pleasant one ; — at least the hostess is a very superior woman. Lady Lansdowne's to- morrow — ^Lady Heathcote's Wednesday. Um ! — I must spur myself into going to some of them, or it will look like rudeness, and it is better to do as other people do— con- found them ' EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1814. 243 "Redde Machiavel, parts of Chardin, and Sismondi, and Bandello, — by starts. Redde the Edinburgh, 44, just come out. In the beginning of the article on 'Edge- v/orth's Patronage,' I have gotten a high compliment, I perceive. Whether this is creditable to me, I know not ; but it does honour to the editor, because he once abused me. Many a man will retract praise ; none but a high- spirited mind will revoke its censure, or can praise the man it has once attacked. I have often, since my return to England, heard Jeffrey most highly commended by those who know him for things independent of his talents. I admire him for this — not because he has praised me {\ have been so praised elsewhere and abused, alternately, that mere habit has rendered me as indifferent to both as a man at twenty-six can be to any thing,) but because he is, perhaps, the only man who, under the relations in which he and I stand, or stood, with regard to each other, would have had the liberality to act thus ; none but a great soul dared hazard it. The height on which he stands has not made him giddy ; — a little scribbler would have gone on cavilling to the end of the chapter. As to the justice of his panegyric, that is matter of taste. There are plenty to question it, and glad, too, of the opportunity. "Lord Erskine called to-day. He means to carry down his reflections on the war — or rather wars — to the present day. I trust that he will. Must send to Mr. Murray to get the binding of my copy of his pamphlet finished, as Lord E. has promised me to correct it, and add some marginal notes to it. Any thing in his hand- writing will be a treasure, which will gather compound interest from years. Erskine has high expectations of Mackintosh's promised History. Undoubtedly it must be a classic, when finished. " Sparred with Jackson again yesterday morning, and shall to-morrow. I feel all the better for it, in spirits, though my arms and shoulders are very stiff from it. Mem . — to attend the pugilistic dinner . Marquis Huntley is in the chair. ****** « Lord Erskine thmks that ministers must be in peril of going out. So much the better for him. To me it is the same who are in or out ; — we want something more than a change of ministers, and some day we will have it. " I remember, in riding from Chrisso to Castri (Dcl- phos) along the sides of Parnassus, I saw six eagles in the air. It is uncommon to see so many together ; and it was the number — not the species, which is common enough — that excited my attention. " I'he last bird I ever fired at was an eaglet^ on the shore of the Gulf of Lepanto, near Vostitza. It was only wounded, and I tried to save it, the eye was so bright ; but it pined, and died in a few days ; and I never did since, and never will, attempt the death of another bird. I wonder what put these two things into my head just now ? I have been reading Sismondi, and there is nothing there that could induce the recollection. " I am mightily taken with Braccio di Montone, G io- vanni Galeazzo, and Eccellino. But the last is not Bracciaferro, (of the same name,) Count of Ravenna, whose history I want to trace. There is a fine engraving in Lavater, from a picture by Fuseli, of that Ezzcliu, over the body of Meduna, punished by him for a hitch in her constancy during his absence in the Crusades. He was right — but I want to know the story. ♦ ♦♦*♦♦ "Tuesday, March 22. " Last night, party at Lansdowne-housc, To-night, party at Lady Charlotte Grevillc's — deplorable waste of time, and something of temper. Nothing imparled — nothing acquired — talking without ideas — if any thing like thought in my mind, it was not on the subjects on which we were gabbling. Heigho! — and in this way half London pass what is called life. To-morrow there is Lady Heathcote's — shall I go ? yes— to punish myself for not having a pursuit. " Let me see — what did I see ? The only person who much struck me was Lady S * + d's eldest daughter, Lady C. L. They say she is not pretty. I do n't loiow — every thing is pretty that pleases ; but there is an air of soul about her — and her colour changes — and there is that shyness of the antelope (which 1 delight in) in her manner so much, that I observed her more than I did any other woman in the rooms, and only looked at any thing else when I thought she might perceive and feel embar- rassed by my scrutiny. After all, there may be some- thing of association in this. She is a friend of Augus- ta's, and whatever she loves, I can't help liking. " Her mother, the marchioness, talked to me a little ; and I was twenty times on the point of asking her to introduce me to saJUle, but I stopped short. This comes of that affray with the Carlisles. " Earl Grey told me, laughingly, of a paragraph in the last Momteur, which has stated, among other symptoms of rebellion, some particulars of the sensation occasioned in all our government gazettes by the ' tear' lines, — ordy amplifying, in its restatement, an epigram (by-the-by, no epigram except in the Greek acceptation of the word) into a roman. I wonder the Couriers, &c. &c. have not translated that part of the Moniteur, with additional comments. " The Princess of Wales has requested Fuseli to paint from ' the Corsair ;' leaving to him the choice of any passage for the subject : so Mr. Locke tolls me. Tired, jaded, selfish, and supine — must go to bed. " Roman, at least Romance, means a song sometimes, as in the Spanish. I suppose this is the Moniteur's meaning, unless he has confused it with ' the Corsair.' "Albany, March 28. "This night got into my new apartments, rented of Lord Althorpe, on a lease of seven years. Spacious, and room for my books and sabres. In the house, too, another advantage. The last few days, or whole week, have been very abstemious, regular in exercise, and yet very wnwell. "Yesterday, dined tHe-h-tcte at the Cocoa with Scrope Davies — sate from six till midnight — drank between us one bottle of champaign and six of cluret, neither of which wines ever alfect me. Offered to take Scrope home in my carriage ; but he was tipsy and pious, and I was obliged to leave him on his knees, praying to I know not what purpose or pagod. No headache, nor sickness that night nor to-d.iy. Got up, if any thing, earlier than usual — sparred with Jacltson ad siidorcm, and have been much better in hop.lth than for many days. I have heard nothing more from Scrope. Yesterday paid him four thousand eight hundred pounds — a d<'bt of some stand- ing, and which I wished to have paid before. My mind is much relieved by the nemoval of that dMt. "Augusta wants me to make it up with Carlisle. I have refused every botly else, but I can't dom will holil them — with 'ample room and verge, &.c. the eliaructers of hell to trace,' I must set about some employment soon ; my ht^art begins to cat itself again. " April 8. "Out of town six days. On my rrliirn, fin«l my poor littlo pagod, Napoleon, pushed off his pedosttil; the thieves are in Paris. It is his own fault. Like Mila h« would rend the oak ; but it cloicd a^'ain, wedgod bii #* 344 EXTRACTS PROM A JOURNAL, 1816. hands, and now the beasts — lion, bear, down to the dirti- est jackall — may all tear him. That Muscovite winter wedged his arms ; ever since, he has fought vnth his feet and teeth. The last may still leave their marks ; and ' I guess now' (as the Yanldes say) that he will yet play them a pass. He is in their rear — between them and their homes. Q,uery — will they ever reach them ? « Saturday, April 9, 1814. * I mark this day ! "Napoleon Buonaparte has abdicated the throne of the world. 'Excellent well.' Methinks Sylla did better; for he revenged, and resigned in the height of his sway, red with the slaughter of his foes — the finest instance of glorious contempt of the rascals upon record. Diocletian did well too — Amurath not amiss, had he become aught except a dervise — Charles the Fifth but so, so — ^but Na- poleon, worst of all. What ! wait till they were in his capital, and then talk of his readiness to give up what is already gone I ! * What whining monk art thou — what holy cheat?' 'Sdeath! Dionysius at Corinth was yet a king to this. The ' Isle of Elba' to retire to ! Well— if it had been Caprea, I should have marvelled less, ' I see men's minds are but a parcel of their fortunes.' I am utterly bewildered and confounded. " I do n't know — but I think /, even /, (an insect com- pared with this creature,) have set my Ufe on casts not a milhonth part of this man's. But, after all, a crown may be not worth dyhig for. Yet, to outUve Lodi for this ! ! ! Oh that Juvenal or Johnson could rise from the dead ! •Expende — quot libras in duce summo invenies?' I knew they were light in the balance of mortality ; but I thought their living dust weighed more carats, Alas ! this imperial diampjid hath a flaw in it, and is now hardly fit to stick in a glazier's pencil ; the pen of the historian won't rate it worth a ducat. **Psha'. 'something too much of this.' But I won't give him up even now ; though all his admirers have, ' Uke the Thanes, fall'n from him.' «AprU 10. "I do not know that I am happiest when alone ; but this I am sure of, that I never am long in the society even of ^ I love, (God knows too well, and the Devil probably too,) without a yearning for the company of my lamp and my utterly confused and tumbled-over library. Even in the day, I send away my carriage oftener than I use or abuse it. Per esetnpio^ — I have not stirred out of these rooms for these four days past: but I have sparred for exercise (windows open) with Jackson an hour daily, to attenuate and keep up the ethereal part of me. The more violent the fatigue, the better my spirits for the rest of the day ; and then, my evenings have that calm nothing- ness of languor, which I most delight in. To-day I have boxed one hour — ^written an ode to Napoleon Buonaparte —copied it — eaten six biscuits — drunk four bottles of soda-water — redde away the rest of my time — besides giving poor * * a world of advice about this mistress of his, who is plaguing him into a phthisic and intolerable tediousness. I am a pretty fellow truly to lecture about ' the sect.' No matter, my counsels are all thrown away. « April 19, 1814. "There is ice at both poles, north and south — all extremes are the same — misery belongs to the highest and the lowest only, — to the emperor and the beggar, when tmsixpenced and unthroned. There is, to be sure, a damned insipid medium — an equinoctial line — no one knows where, except upon maps and measurement. ' And all our yesterdays have lighted fool» The way to dusty death.' I vrill keep no further journal of that same hesternal torchlight ; and, to prevent me from returning, like a dog, to the vomit of memory, I tear out the remaining leaves of this volume, and write, in ipecacuanha^ — ' that the Bourbons are restored!!!' 'Hang up philosophy.' To be sure, I have long despised myself and man, but I never spat in the face of my species before — ^ O fool ! I shall go mad,' " .^ EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL IN SWITZERLAND. " September 18, 1816. " Yesterday, September 17th, I set out with Mr. Hob- house on an excursion of some days to the mountains. "September 17. "Rose at five ; left Diodati about seven, in one of the country carriages, (achar-k-banc,) our servants on horse- back. Weather very fine ; the lake calm and clear ; Mont Blanc and the Aiguille of Argentiferes both very distinct; the borders of the lake beautiful. Reached Lausanne before sunset ; stopped and slept at . Went to bed at nine ; slept till five o'clock. « September 18. « Called by my courier ; got up. Hobhouse walked on before. A mile from Lausanne, the road overflowed by the lake ; got on horseback, and rode till within a mile of Vevay. The colt young, but went very well. Overtook Hobhouse, and resumed the carriage, which is an open one. Stopped at "Vevay two hours, (the second time I had visited it ;) walked to the church ; view from the churchyard superb : within it General Ludlow (the regi- cide's) monument — ^black marble — long inscription — Latin, but simple ; he was an exile two-and-thirty years —one of king Charles's judges. Near him Broughton (who read Kmg Charles's sentence to Charles Stuart) is buried, with a queer and rather canting, but still a republi- can inscription. Ludlow's house shown ; it retains still its inscription — ^'Omne solum forti patria.' Walked down to the lake side ; servants, carriage, saddle-horses — all set off and left nspUmtis Uty by some mistake, and we walked on after them towards Clarens : Hobhouse EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1816. 245 ran on before, and overtook them at last. Arrived the second time (first time was by water) at Clarens. Went to Chillon through scenery worthy of I know not whom ; went over the Castle of Chillon again. On our return met an English party in a carriage ; a lady in it fast asleep — fast asleep in the most anti-narcotic spot in the world — excellent ! I remember at Chamouni, in the very eyes of JMont Blanc, hearing another woman, English also, exclaim to her party, ' Did you ever see any thing more rural ?'' — as if it was Highgate, or Hampstead, or Brompton, or Hayes — 'Rural!' quotha? — Rocks, pines, torrents, glaciers, clouds, and summits of eternal snow far above them — and ' rural !' " Afcer a sUghl and short dinner we visited the Chateau de Clarens ;* an English woman has rented it recently (it was not let when I saw it first ;) the roses are gone with their summer; the family out, but the servants de- sired us to walk over the interior of the mansion. Saw on the table of the saloon Blair's Sermons, and somebody else (I forget who's) sermons, and a set of noisy children. Saw all worth seeing, and then descended to the ' Bosquet de Julie,' &c. &c. ; our guide full of Rousseau, whom he is eternally confounding with St. Preux, and mixing the man and the book. Went again as far as Chillon to revisit the little torrent from the hill behind it. Sunset reflected in the lake. Have to get up at five to-morrow to cross the mountains on horseback ; carriage to be sent round ; lodged at my old cottage — hospitable and com- fortable ; tired with a longish ride on the colt, and the subsequent jolting of the char-k-banc, and my scramble in the hot sun. "Mem. The corporal who showed the wonders of Chillon was as drunk as Bliccher ; he was deaf also, and thinking every one else so, roared out the legends of the casde so fearfully. — However, we saw things from the gallows to the dungeons,! (the potence and the cachols,) and returned to Clarens with more freedom than belonged to the fifteenth century. "September 19. "Rose at five. Crossed the mountains to Montbovon on horseback, and on mules, and, by dint of scrambling, on foot also ; the whole route beautiful as a dream, and now to me almost as indistinct. I am so tired ; — for though healthy, I have not the strength I possessed but a few years ago. At Montbovon we breakfasted ; afterward, on a steep ascent, dismounted ; tumbled down ; cut a finger open ; the baggage also got loose and fell down a ravine, till stopped by a large tree ; recovered baggage ; horse tired and drooping; mounted mule. At the ap- proach of the summit of Dent JumentJ dismounted again with Hobhouse and all the party. Arrived at a lake in the very bosom of the mountains ; left our quadrupeds with a shepherd, and ascended farther ; came to some snow in patches, upon which my forehead's perspiration fell like rain, making the same dints as in a sieve ; the chill of the wind and the snow turned me giddy, but I scram- bled on and upwards, Hobhouse went to the highest pinnacle ; I did not, but paused within a few yards (at an opening of the clifl") In coming down, the guide tumbled three times; I fell a laughing, and tumbled too— the descent luckily sofi, though steep and slippery : Hobhouse also fell, but nobody hurt. The whole of the mountains superb. A shepherd on a very steep and high cliff' play- ing upon his pipe ;§ very different from Arcadia^ where I saw the pastors with a long musket instead of a crook, and pistols in their girdles. Our Swiss siiephcnl's pipe was sweet, and his tunc agreeable. I saw a cow strayed ; am told that tliey often break their necks on ami over the crags. Descended to Montbovon ; j)retty scraggy village, with a wild river and a wooden bridge. Hobhouse went • See Childe Harold, Cnmo III. Slaiir.a 99, Ac. 22(1 Nolo to Chllde Harold, Canto III. t Prlioner of Chillon, NoIl- 3J, 4c. I DmiI de Jaman. § Manfred, Act I. Scene 'M. to fish — caught one. Our carriage not come ; our horses, mules, &c. knocked up ; ourselves fatigued. " The view from the highest points of to-day's journey comprised on one side the greatest part of Lalte Leman ; on the other, the valleys and mountain of the canton of Fribourg, antl an immense plain, with the lakes of Neuf- chatel and Morat, and all which the borders of the Lake of Geneva inherit; we had both sides of the Jura before us in one point of view, with Alps in plenty. Li passing a ravine, the guide recommended strenuously a quickening of pace, as the stones fall with great rapidity and occa- sional damage ; the advice is excellent, but, like most good advice, impracticable, the road being so rough that neither mules, nor mankind, nor horses, can make any violent progress. Passed without fractures or menace thereof. " The music of the cow's bells* (for their wealth, like the patriarch's, is cattle) in the pastures, which reach to a height far above any mountains in Britain, and the shep- herds shouting to us from crag to crag, and playing on their reeds where the steeps appeared almost inaccessible, with the surrounding scenery, realized all that I have ever heard or imagined of a pastoral existence : — much more so than Greece or Asia Minor ; for there we are a little too much of the sabre and musket order, and if there is a crook in one hand, you are sure to see a gun in the other: — but this was pure and unmixed — soUtary, savage, and patri- archal. As we went, they played the 'Rans des Vaches' and other airs, by way of farewell. I have lately repeopled my mind with nature. "September 20. " Up at six ; off" at eight. The whole of this day's journey at an average of between from 2700 to 3000 feet above the level of the sea. This valley, the longest, nar- rowest, and considered die finest of the Alps,Uttle traversed by travellers. Saw the bridge of La Roche. The bed of the river very low and deep, between immense rocks, and rapid as anger ; — a man and mule said to have tumbled over without damage. The people looked free, and happy, and rich (which last implies neither of the former;) the cows superb ; a bull nearly leaped into the char-Ji-banc — 'agreeable companion in a postchaise;' goats and sheep very thriving. A mountain with enormous glaciers to the right — the Klitzgerberg ; farther on, the Hockthorn — nice names — so soft! — Stockliom^ I believe, very lofty and scraggy, patched with snow only; no glaciers on it, but some good epaulettes of clouds. " Passed tlie boundaries, out of Vaud and into Berne canton ; French exchanged for bad German ; the district famous for cheese, liberty, property, and no taxes. Hob- house went to fish — caught none. Strolled to llie river ; saw boy and kid; kid followed him like a dog ; kid could not get over a fence, and bleated piteously ; tried myself, to help kid, but nearly overset both self and kid into the river. Arrived here about six in the evening. Nine o'clock — going to bed ; not tired to-day, but hope to sleep, nevertheless. "September 21. "Off* early. The valley of Simnienthal as before. En- trance to the plain of Thoun very narrow; high rocks, wooded to the top ; river ; new mountains, with fine glaciers. Lake of Thoun; extensive plain with a girdle of AlpS. Walked down to the Chateau do Schadaii; vit>w along the lake ; crossed the river in a boat rowed by women. Thoun a very pretty town. The wholo day's journey Alpine and proud. «Septombor2-2. "Left Thoun in a boat, which carried us the length of the lalte in three hours. The lake small; but tlio bank* fine. liocks down to the water's edge. Liuided at Now- hause; passed Inlerlnohen; n\tereii upon a rnngt' of scenes beyond all description, or previous conception. Manfred, Act I.Seenefld. «r* 246 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1816. Passed a rock ; inscription — two brothers— one murdered the other; just the place for it. After a variety of windings came to an enormous rock. Arrived at the foot of the mountain, (the Jungfrau, that is, the Madden ;) glaciers ; torrents; one of these torrents nine hundred feet in height of visible descent. Lodged at the curate's. Set out to see the valley; heard an avalanche fall, like thunder; glaciers enormous ; storm came on, thunder, lightning, hail ; all in perfection, and beautiful. I was on horseback ; guide wanted to carry my cane ; I was going to give it him, when I recollected that it was a sword-stick, and I thought the lightning might be attracted towards him; kept it myself: a good deal incumbered with it, as it was too heavy for a whip, and the horse was stupid, and stood with every other peal. Got in, not very wet, the cloak being stanch. Hobhouse wet through ; Hobhouse took refuge in cottage ; sent man, umbrella, and cloak (from the curate's when I arrived) after him. Swiss curate's house very good indeed — much better than most EngUsh vicar- ages. It is immediately opposite the torrent I spoke of The torrent is in shape curving over the rock, lilce the tail of a white horse streaming in the wind, such as it might be conceived would be that of the 'pale horse' on which Death is mounted in the Apocalypse.* It is neither mist nor water, but a something between both ; its immense height (nine hundred feet) gives it a wave or curve, a spreading here, or condensation there, wonderful and inde- scribable. I think, upon the whole, that this day has been better than any of this present excursion. « September 23. "Before ascending the mountain, went to the torrent ^seven in the morning) again ; the sun upon it, forming a rainbow] of the lower part of all colours, but principally purple and gold ; the bow moving as you move ; 1 never «aw any thing like this ; it is only in the sunshine. As- cended the Wengen mountain ; at noon reached a valley on the summit ; left the horses, took off my coat, and went to the summit, seven thousand feet (English feet) above the level of the sea, and about five thousand above ithe valley we left in the morning. On one side, our view comprised the Jungfrau, with all her glaciers ; then the Dent d'Argent, shining hke truth ; then the Little Giant, (the Kleine Eigher ;) and the Great Giant, (the Grosse Eigher,) and last, not least, the Wetterhorn. The height of the Jungfrau is 13,000 feet above the sea, 11,000 above the valley : she is the highest of this range. Heard the avalanches falling every five minutes nearly. From whence we stood, on the Wengen Alp,! we had all these in view on one side ; on the other, the clouds rose from the opposite valley, curling up perpendicular precipices like the foam of the ocean of hell, during a spring tide — it was white and sulphury, and immeasurably deep in appearance. The side we ascended was (of course) not of so precipitous a nature ; but on arriving at the sunjmit, we looked down upon the other side upon a boiling sea of cloud, dashing against the crags on which we stood, (these crags on one side quite perpendicular.) Stayed a quarter of an hour ; began to descend ; quite clear from cloud on that side of the mountain. In passing the masses of snow, I made a snowball and pelted Hobhouse with it. "Got down to our horses again; eat something; re- mounted : heard the avalanches still ; came to a morass ; Hobhouse dismounted to get over well ; I tried to pass my horse over ; the horse sunk up to the chin, and of course he and I were in the mud together ; bemired, but not hurt ; laughed, and rode on. Arrived at the Grindel- wald; dined, mounted again, and rode to the higher glacier— like a frozen hurricane.^ Starlight, beautiful, but a devil of a path ! Never mind, got safe in ; a little lightning, but the whole of the day as fine in point of weather as the day on which Paradise was made. Passed * Manfred Act 11. Scene S t Ibid, Act II. Scens 2d 1 Manfred, Act I. Scene 2d. \ Ibid, Aci II. SccDS 8d. whole woods of withered pines, all withered;* trunks stripped and lifeless, branches lifeless ; done by a single winter. " September 24. « Set off at seven ; up at five. Passed the black glacier, the mountain Wetterhorn on the right ; crossed the Scheideck mountain ; came to the Rose glacier, said to be the largest and finest in Switzerland. / think the Bossons glacier at Chamouni as fine ; Hobhouse does not. Came to the Reichenbach waterfall, two hundred feet high ; halted to rest the horses. Arrived in the valley of Oberland ; rain came on ; drenched a little ; only four hours' rain, however, in eight days. Came to the lake of Brientz, then to the town of Brientz ; changed. In the evening, four Swiss peasant girls of Oberhash came and sang the airs of their country ; two of the voices beautiful — the tunes also ; so wild and original, and at the same time of great sweetness. The singing is over ; but below stairs I hear the notes of a fiddle, which bode no good to my night's rest : I shall go down and see the dancing. I " September 25. " The whole town of Brientz were apparently gathered together in the rooms below ; pretty music and excellent waltzing : none but peasants ; the dancing much better than in England ; the English can't waltz, never could, never will. One man with his pipe in his mouth, but danced as well as the others ; some other dances in pairs and in fours, and very good. I went to bed, but the revelry continued below late and early. Brientz but a village. Rose early. Embarked on the lake of Brientz; rowed by the women in a long boat ; presently we put to shore, and another woman jumped in. It seems it is the 1 custom here for the boats to be manned by women ; four i or five men and three women in our bark, all the women took an oar, and but one man. " Got to Interlachen in three hours ; pretty lake ; not so large as that of Thoun. Dined at Interlachen. Girl gave me some flowersf and made me a speech in German, of which I know nothing; I do not know whether the speech was pretty, but as the woman was, 1 hope so. Re-embarked on the lake of Thoun ; fell asleep part of the way ; sent our horses round ; found people on the shore, blowing up a rock with gunpowder ; they blew it up near our boat, only telling us a minute before ; — mere stupidity, but they might have broken our noddles. Got to Thoun in the evening ; the weather has been tolerable the whole day. But as the wild part of our tour is finished, it do n't matter to us ; in all the desirable part, we have been most lucky in warmth and clearness of atmosphere. •= September 26. " Being out of the moimtains, my journal must be as flat as my journey. From Thoun to Berne, good road, hedges, villages, industry, property, and all sorts of tokens of insipid civilization. From Berne to Fribourg ; diffe- rent canton ; Catholics ; passed a field of battle ; Swiss beat the French in one of the late wars against the French republic. Bought a dog. The greater part of this tour has been on horseback, on foot, and on mule. « September 28. "Saw the tree planted in honour of the battle of Morat ; three hundred and forty years old ; a good deal decayed. Left Fribourg, but first saw the cathedral; high tower. Overtook the baggage of the nuns of La Trappe, who are removing to Normandy , afterward a coach, with a quantity of nuns in it. Proceeded along the banks of the lake of Neufchatel ; very pleasing and • Manfred, Act I. Scene 2d. t Childe Harold, Canto III.— Song aft*r StfozsSS. EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL. 247 Bofl, but not so mountainous — at least, the Jura, not ap- pearing so, after the Bernese Alps. Reached Yverdun in the dusk ; a long line of large trees on the border of the lake ; fine and sombre ; the Auberge nearly full — a German Princess and suite ; got rooms. " September 29. "Passed through a fine and flourishing country, but not mountsdnous. In the evening reached Aubonne, (the entrance and bridge something like that of Durham,) which commands by far the fairest view of the Lake of Geneva ; twilight ; the moon on the lake ; a grove on the height, and of very noble trees. Here Tavernier (tho eastern traveller) bought (or built) the chateau, because the site resembled and equalled that of Erivan, a frontier city of Persia ; here he finished his voyages, and I this little excursion, — for I am within a few hours of Diodati and have little more to see, and no more to say." EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL IN ITALY. "Ravenna, January 4, 1821. **A sudden thought strikes me.' Let me begin a Journal once more. The last I kept was in Switzerland, in record of a tour made in the Bernese Alps, which I made to send to my sister in 1816, and I suppose that she has It still, for she wrote to me that she was pleased with it. Another, and longer, 1 kept in 1813-1814, which I gave to Thomas Moore in the same year. « This morning 1 gat me up late, as usual — weather bad — bad as England — worse. The snow of last week melting to the sirocco of to-day, so that there were two d — d things at once. Could not even get to ride on horseback in the forest. Stayed at home all the morning —looked at the fire — wondered when the post would come. Post came at the Ave Maria, instead of half-past one o'clock, as it ought. Galignani's Messengers, six in number — a letter from Faenza, but none from England, Very sulky in consequence, (for there ought to have been letters,) and ate in consequence a copious dinner; for when I am vexed, it makes me swallow quicker — but drank very liitle. " I was out of spirits — read the papers — thought what fame was, on reading, in a case of murder, that ' Mr. Wych, grocer, at Tunbridge, sold some bacon, flour, cheese, and, it is believed, some plums, to some gipsy woman accused. He had on his counter (I quote faith- fully) a 6oofc, the Life of Pamela, which he was tearing for waste paper, &c. &c. In the cheese was found, &c. and a leaf of Pamela ivrupped round the bacon? What would Richardson, the vainest and luckiest of living authors (i. e. while alive) — he who, with Aaron Hill, used to prophesy and chuckle over the presumed fall of Fielding (the prose Homer of human nature) and of Pope (the most beautiful of poets) — what would he have said could he have traced his pages from their place on the French prince's toilets (see Boswell's Johnson) to the grocer's counter and the gipsy-murdcrcss's bacon ! ! ! " What would he have said ? what can any bcxly say, save what Solomon said long before us ? Afler all, it is but passing from one counter to another, from the book- sellers to the other tradesman's — grocer or pastry-cook. For my part, I have met with most poetry upon trunks ; 80 that 1 am apt to consider the trunk-maker as tho sex- ton of authorship. " Wrote five letters in about half an hour, short and savage, to all my rascally correspondents. Carriage came. Heard the news of three murders at Faenza and Forli — a carabinier, a smuggler, and an attorney — all last night. The first two in a quarrel, the latter by preme- ditation.* " Three weeks ago — almost a month — the 7th it was— I picked up the Commandant, mortally wounded, out of the street ; he died in my house ; assassins unknown, but presumed political. His brethren wrote from Rome last night to thank me for having assisted him in his last moments. Poor fellow ! it was a pity ; he was a good soldier, but imprudent. It was eight in the evening when they killed him. We heard the shot ; my servants and I ran out, and found him expiring, with five wounds, two whereof mortal — by slugs they seemed. I examined him, but did not go to the dissection next morning. " Carriage at 8 or so — went to visit La Contessa G. — found her playing on the piano-forte — talked till ten, when the Count, her father, and the no less Count, her brother, came in from the theatre. Play, they said, Alfieri's Filippo — well received. " Two days ago the King of Naples passed through Bologna on his way to congress. My servant Luigt brought the news. I had sent him to Bologna for a lamp. How will it end ? Time will show. " Came home at eleven, or rather before. If the road and weather are conformable, mean to ride to-morrow. High time — almost a week at this work — snow, sirocco, one day — frost and snow the other — sad climate for Italy. But the two seasons, last and present, are extraordinary. Read a Life of Leonardo da Vinci by Rossi — ruminated — wrote this much, and will go to bed. "January 5, 182L "Rose late — dull and drooping — the weather drifjping and dense. Snow on tho ground, and sirocco above in the sky, like yesterday. Roads up to the horse's belly, so that riding (at least for pleasure) is not very feasible. Added a postcript to my letter to Murray. Head the conclusion, for tlio fiftieth time (I Imve read all W. Scott'B novels at least fifty times) of the third series of ' Tales of my Landlord,' — grand work — Scoteh Fielding, as well M 8m L«tUr MS, ftc. 248 XTRACTS PROM A JOURNAL. great English poet— wonderful man ! I long to get drunk with him. " Dined versus six o' the clock. Forgot that there was a plumpudding, (I have added, lately, eating to my 'family of vices,') and had dined before I knew it. Drank half a bottle of some sorts of spirits— probably spirits of wine ; for, what they call brandy, rum, &c. &c. here is nothing but spirits of wine, coloured accordingly. Did not eat two apples, which were placed, by way of dessert. Fed the two cats, the hawk, and the tame (but not tamed) crow. Read Milford's History of Greece— Xenophon's Retreat of the Ten Thousand. Up to this present moment writincf, 6 minutes before 8 o' the clock — French hours, not ItaUan. " Hear the carriage — order pistols and great coat, as usual— necessary articles. Weather cold— carriage open, and inhabitants somewhat savage— rather treacherous and highly inflamed by politics. Fine fellows, though- good materials for a nation. Out of chaos God made a world, and out of high passions comes a people. "Clock strikes — going out to make love. Somewhat perilous, but not disagreeable. Memorandum — a new screen put up to-day. It is rather antique, but will do with a little repair. « Thaw continues— hopeful that riding may be practi- cable to-morrow. Sent the papers to AlU— grand events coming. " 11 o' the clock and nine minutes. Visited La Con- tessa G. Nata G. G. Found her beginning my letter of answer to the thanks of Alessio del Pinto of Rome for assisting his brother the late Commandant in his last moments, as I had begged her to pen my reply for the purer Italian, I being an ultra-montane, little skilled in the set phrase of Tuscany. Cut short the letter— finish it another day. Talked of Italy, patriotism, Alfieri, Madame Albany, and other branches of learning. Also Sallust's Conspiracy of Catiline, and the war of Jugurtha. At 9 came in her brother, II Conte Pietro— at 10, her father, Conte Ruggiero. " Talked of various modes of warfare — of the Hun- garian and Highland modes of broadsword exercise, in both whereof I was once a moderate ' master of fence.' Settled that the R. will break out on the 7th or 8th of March, in which appointment I should trust, had it not been settled that it was to have broken out in October. 1820. But those Bolognese shirked the Romagnuoles. "'It is all one to Ranger.' One must not be parti- cular, but take rebellion when it lies in the way. Came home — read the ' Ten Thousand' again, and will go to bed. " Mem.— Ordered Fletcher (at four o'clock this after- noon) to copy out 7 or 8 apophthegms of Bacon, in which I have detected such blunders as a schoolboy might de- tect, rather than commit. Such are the sages ! What must they be, when such as I can stumble on their mis- takes or mistatements ? I will go to bed, for I find that I grow cynical. "January 6, 1821. " Mist — thaw — slop — rain. No stirring out on horse- back. Read Spence's Anecdotes. Pope a fine fellow — always thought him so. Corrected blunders in nine apo- phthegms of Bacon — all historical — and read Mitford's Greece. Wrote an epigram. Turned to a passage in Guinguene — ditto, in Lord Holland's Lope de Vega. Wrote a note on Don Juan.* " At eight went out to visit. Heard a little music — like music. Talked with Count Pietro G. of the Italian comedian Vestris, who is now at Rome — have seen him often act in Venice — a good actor — very. Somewhat of a mannerist ; but excellent in broad comedy, as well as in sentimental pathetic. He has made me frequently laugh Don Juan, note 9lh to Canto V. and cry, neither of which is now a very easy matter— at least, for a player to produce in me. "Thought of the state of women under the ancient Qreeks — convenient enough. Present state, a remnant of the barbarism of the chivalry and feudal ages— artifi- cial and unnatural. They ought to mind home— and be well fed and clothed— but not mixed m society. Well educated, too, in religion— but to read neither poetry nor politics— nothing but books of piety and cookery. Music —drawing— dancing— also a little gardening and plough- ing now and then. I have seen them mending the roads in Epirus with good success. Why not, as well as hay- making and milking ? , j • . « Came home, and read Mitford again, and played wath my mastiflf— gave him his supper. Made another read- ing to the epigram, but the turn the same. To-night at the theatre, there being a prince on his throne m the last scene of the comedy,— the audience laughed, and asked him for a Constitution. This shows the state of the pub- lic mind here, as well as the assasinations. It won't do. There must be a universal republic,— and there ought to be. • u J « The crow is lame of a leg— wonder how it happened —some fool trod upon his toe, I suppose. The falcon pretty brisk— the cats large and noisy— the monkeys I have not looked to since the cold weather, as they suffer by being brought up. Horses must be gay— get a ride as soon as weather serves. Deused muggy still— an Italian winter is a sad thing, but all the other seasons are charm- ing. " What is the reason that I have been, all my lifetime, more or less ennuye ? and that, if any thing, I am rather less so now than I was at twenty, as far as my recollec- tion serves ? I do not know how to answer this, but pre- sume that it is constitutional,— as well as the waking in low spirits, which I have invariably done for many years. Temperance and exercise, which I have practised at times, and for a long time together vigorously and vio- lently, made little or no difference. Violent passions did ; — when under their immediate influence — it is odd, but — I was in agitated, but not in depressed spirits. "A dose of salts has the effect of a temporary inebria- tion, like light champaign, upon me. But w'ine and spirits make me sullen and savage to ferocity— silent, however, and retiring, and not quarrelsome, if not spoken to. Swim- ming also raises my spirits,— but in general they are low, and get daily lower. That is hopeless ; for 1 do not think I am so much enmiyd as I was at nineteen. The proof is, that then I must game, or drink, or be in motion of some kind, or I was miserable. At present, I can mope in quietness ; and like being alone better than any com- pany—except the lady's whom I serve. But I feel a something, which makes me think that, if I ever reach near to old age, Uke Swift, 'I shall die at top' first. Only I do not dread idiotism or madness so much as he did. On the contrary, I think some quieter stages of both must be preferable to much of what men think the pos- session of their senses. « January 7, 1821, Sunday. "Still rain — mist — snow — drizzle — and all the incal- culable combinations of a climate, where heat and cold struggle for mastery. Read Spence, and turned over Roscoe, to find a passage I have not found. Read the 4th vol. of W. Scott's second series of ' Tales of my Landlord.' Dined. Read the Lugano Gazette. Read —I forget what. At 8 went to conversazione. Found there the Countess Geltrude, BetU V. and her husband, and others. Pretty black-eyed woman that— orjir/ twenty- two— same age as Teresa, who is prettier, though. " The Count Pietro G. took me aside to say that the Patriots have had notice from ForU (twenty miles off) that to-night the government and its party mean to strike a stroke— that the Cardinal here has had orders to make EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. 249 several arrests immediately, and that, in consequence, the Liberals are arming, and have posted patrols in the streets, to sound the alarm and give notice to fight for it. "He asked me ' what should be done?' — I answered, * fight for it, rather than be tal^en in detail ;' and offered, if any of them are in immediate apprehension of arrest, to receive them in my house, ( which is defensible,) and to defend them, with my servants and themselves, (we have arms and ammunition,) as long as we can, — or to try to get them away under cloud of night. On going home, I offered him the pistols which I had about me — but he refused, but said he would come off to me in case of acci- dents. " It wants half an hour of midnight, and rains ; — as Gibbet says, 'a fine night for their enterprise — dark as hell, and blows like the devil.' If the row do n't happen now, it must soon. I thought that their system of shoot- ing people would soon produce a reaction — and now it seems coming. I will do what I can in the way of com- bat, though a little out of exercise. The cause is a good one. " Turned over and over half a score of books for the passage in question, and can't find it. Expect to hear the drum and the musketry momently (for they swear to resist, and are right) — but I hear nothing, as yet, save the plash of the rain and the gusts of the wbid at intervals. Don't like to go to bed, because I hate to be waked, and would rather sit up for the row, if there is to be one. " Mended the fire — have got the arms — and a book or two, which I shall turn over. I know little of their num- bers, but think the Carbonari strong enough to beat the troops, even here. With twenty men this house might be defended for twenty-four hours against any force to be brought against it, now in this place, for the same time ; and, in such a time, the country would have notice, and would rise, — if ever they loill rise, of which there is some doubt. In the mean time, I may as well read as do any thing else, being alone. « January 8, 1821, Monday. " Rose, and found Count P. G. in my apartments. Sent away the servant. Told me that, according to the best information, the Government had not issued orders for the arrests apprehended ; that the attack in Forli had not taken place (as expected) by the Sanfedisti — (he oppo- nents of the Carbonari or Liberals — and that, as yet, they are still in apprehension only. Asked me for some arms of a better sort, which I gave him. Settled tliat, in case of a row, the Liberals were to assemble here, (with me,) and that he had given the word to Vincenzo G. and others of the Chiefs for that purpose. He himself and father are going to the chase in the forest ; but V. G. is to come to me, and an express to be sent off to him, P. G. if any thing occurs. Concerted operations. They are to seize — but no matter. " I advised them to attack in detail, and in different parties, in different peaces, (though at the same time,) so as to divide the attention of the troops, who, though few, yet being disciplined, would beat any body of people (not trained) in a regular fight — unless dispersed in small parties, and distracted with different assaults. Offered to let them assemble here, if they choose. It is a strongish post — narrow street, commanded from within — and tena- ble walls. * ♦ * "Dined. Tried on a new coat. I^etter to Murray, with corrections of Bacon's Apophthegms and an epigram — the tatter vat for publication. At eight wont to Teresa, Countess G. * * ♦ ♦At nine and a half came in II Conte P. and Count P. G. Talked of a cer- tain proclamation lately issued. Count R.G.Iiad be"n with ♦ ♦ (the ♦ *,) to sound him about the iirrt^sts. He, ♦ ♦, is a trimmer, and deals, at present, his rards with both hands. If he don't mind, they '11 be full. ♦ * pretends (/ doubt him — they don't, — wo shall see) that (hero is no Buch order, and seems staggered by the immense exertions I 32 of the Neapolitans, and the fierce spirit of the Liberals here. The truth is, that * * cares for httle but his place (which is a good one) and wishes to play pretty with both parties. He has changed his mind thirty times these last three moons, to my knowledge, for he corresponds with me. But he is not a bloody fellow — only an avaricious one. "It seems that, just at this moment (as Lydia Languish says) there will be no elopement after all. I wish that I had known as much last night — or, rather, this morning — 1 should have gone to bed two hours earlier. And yet I ought not to complain; for, though it is a sirocco, and heavy rain, I have not ycaimed for these two days. "Came home — read History of Greece — before dinner had read Walter Scott's Rob Roy. Wrote address to the letter in answer to Alessio del Pinto, who has thanked me for helping his brother (the late Commandant, murdered here last month) in his last moments. Have told him I only did a duty of humanity — as is true. The brother lives at Rome. "Mended the fire with some 'sgobole,' (a Romagnuole word,) and gave the falcon some water. Drank some Seltzer-water. Mem. — received to-day a print, or etching of the story of Ugolino, by an Itahan painter — different, of course, from Sir Joshua Reynolds's, and I think (as far as recollection goes) no worse, for Reynolds is not good in history. Tore a button in my new coat. " I wonder what figure these Italians will make in a regular row. I sometimes think that, like the Irishman's gun, (somebody had sold him a crooked one,) they will only do for ' shooting round a corner 5' at least this sort of shooting has been the late tenor of their exploits. And yet, there are materials in this people, and a noble energy, if well directed. But who is to direct them ? No matter. Out of such times heroes spring. Difficulties are the hot- beds of high spirits, and Freedom the mother of the few virtues incident to human nature. "Tuesday. January 9, 1821. "Rose — the day fine. Ordered the horses, but Lega (my secretary, an ItaUanism for steward or chief servant) coming to tell me that the painter had finished the work in fresco, for the room he has been employed on lately, I went to see it before I set out. The painter has not copied badly the prints from Titian, &c. considering all things. + * + * * + " Dined. Read Johnson's ' Vanity of Human Wishes,' — all the examples and mode of giving them sublime, as well as the latter part, with the exception of an occasional couplet. I do not so nmch admire the openmg. I remem- ber an observation of Sharpe's (the Conversatioiiist, as ho was called in London, and a very clever man,) (hat the first line of this poem was superfluous, and tliat Pope (the very best of poets / think) would have begun at once, only changing the punctuation — ' Survey mankind Irom Cliina to Peru I' The former line, 'Let observation,' &c. is certainly heavy and useless. But't is a grand poem — and so hue .'—true as the lOdi of Juvenile hiinsolf. The lajjse of ages change* all things — time — language — die earth — the bounds of tlie sea — the stars of the sky, and every tlung 'about, around, and underneiith' man, except ni(m hiviself, who has always boen, and always will he, an unlucky rascal. The infinitp variety of lives conducts but to doatli, and (ho infinity of wishes leads but to disappointment. All the discovcriog which have yet been made have multiplied little but oxist- vncp. An extir|)ated disease is sureeeded by some now pestilenre; and a discovered world has brought little to the old one, except the \t — first and freeilom aflerward— the laitir a fine thing, particularly as they gave it to Eu- rope in exchange lor shivery, lint it is iloubifid wlwlhor ' the Sovereigns' would not Uiink \l\c^rst Uio best prea«>nt of (he two to (heir subjec(s. " At eight went out— heard some nows. Thrv say tho king of Naples has doclorod, by couriers from Florence, 250 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. to the Powers (as they call now those wretches with crowns) that his Constitution was compulsive, &c. &c. and that the Austrian barbarians are placed again on war pay, and will march. Let them — ' they come like sacri- fices in their trim,' the hounds of hell!* Let it still be a hope to see their bones piled like those of the human dogs at Morat, in Switzerland, which I have seen. " Heard some music. At nine the usual visiters — news, war, or rumours of war. Consulted with P. G. &c. &c. They mean to insurrect here, and are to honour me with a call thereupon. I shall not fall back ; though I don't think them in force or heart sufficient to make much of it But onward ! — ^it is now the time to act, and what signifies self, if a single spark of that which would be worthy of the past can be bequeathed unquenchedly to the future ? It is not one man, nor a million, but the ^rit of liberty, which must be spread. The waves which dash upon the shore are, one by one, broken, but yet the ocean conquers, never- theless. It overwhelms the Armada, it wears the rock, and, if the Neptunians are to be believed,, it has not only destroyed, but made a world. In like manner, whatever the sacrifice of individuals, the great cause will gather strength, sweep down what is rugged, and fertilize (for tea-weed is manure) what is cultivable. And so, the mere selfish calculation ought never to be made on such occa- sions ; and, at present, it shall not be computed by me. I ■was never a good arithmetician of chances, and shall not commence now. "January 10, 1821. " Day fine — rained only in the morning. Looked over accounts. Read Campbell's Poets — ^marked errors of Tom (the author) for correction.! Dined — went out — music — Tyrolese air, with variations. Sustained the cause of the origmal simple air against the variations of the Italian school. ***** * "Politics somewhat tempestuous,^ and cloudier daily. To-morrow being foreign post-day, probably something more will be known.. " Came home — read^ Corrected Tom Campbell^s slips of the pen. A good work, though — style affected — hut his defence of Pope is glorious. To be sure, it is Eds own cause too, — but no matter, it is very good, and does him great credit. "Midnight. " I have been turning over different Lives of the Poets. I rarely read their works, unless an occasional flight over the classical ones, Pq)e,Dryden, Johnson, Gray, and those who approach them nearest, (Heave the rant of the rest to the cant of the day,) and — I had made several reflections, but I feel sleepy, and may as well go to bed. "January 11, 1821. "Read the letters. Corrected the tragedy and the •Hints fi-om Horace.' Dined, and got into better spirits. Went out — ^returned — finished letters, five in number. Read Poets, and an anecdote in Spence. « All» writes to me that the Pope, and Duke of Tuscany, and King of Sardinia have also been called to Congress ; but the Pope will only deal there by proxy. So the inter- ests of millions are in the hands of about twenty coxcombs, at a place called Leibach ! "I should almost regret that my own affairs went well, when those of nations are m peril. If the interests of man- kind could be essentially bettered, (particularly of these oppressed Italians,) I should not so much mind my own • sma* peculiar.' God grant us all better times, or more philosophy. "In reading, I have just chanced upon an expression of Tom Campbell's ; — speaking of Collins, he says that 'no reader cares any more about the eharacteristic manners of his Eclogues dian about the authenticity of the tale of • ChJldt Harold, 8d Canto, (tan , 68, and not« 14. t DoD Juao, Dot* 9 1« C^ato S. Troy.' 'T is false — ^we do care about ' the authenticity of the tale of Troy.' I have stood upon that plain daily, for more than a month, in 1810 ; and, if any thing diminished my pleasure, it was that the blackguard Bryant had impugned its veracity. It is true I read ' Homer Tra- vestied,' (the first twelve books,) because Hobhouse and others bored me with their learned localities, and I love quizzing. But I still venerated the grand original as the truth of history (in the material /acte) and of place. Other- wise, it would have given me no delight. Who will per- suade me, when I reclined upon a mighty tomb, that it did not contain a hero '? — its very magnitude proved this. Men do not labour over the ignoble and petty dead — and why should not the dead be Homer's dead ? The secret of Torn Campbell's defence of inaccuracy in costume and descrip- tion is, that his Gertrude, &c. has no more locality in com- mon with Pennsylvania than with Penmanmaur. It is notoriously full of grossly false scenery, as all Americans declare, though they praise parts of the Poem. It is thus that self-love for ever creeps out,, like a snake, to sting any thing which happens, even accidently, to stumble upon it. "Jjinuary 12, 1821. "The weather still so humid and impracticable, that London, in its most oppressive fogs, were a summer-bower to this mist and sirocco, which has now lasted, (but with one day's interval,) checkered with snow or heavy rain only, since the 30th of December, 1820. It is so far lucky that I have a literary turn ; but it is very tii-esome not to be able to stir out, in comfort, on any horse but Pegasus, for so many days. The roads are even worse than the weather, by the long splashing, and the heavy soil, and the growth of the waters. "Read the Poets — English, that is to say — out of Campbell's edition. There is a good deal of taffeta in some of Tom's prefatory phrases, but his work is good as a whole. I like him best, though, in his own poetry. " Murray writes that they want to act the tragedy of Mas- rino Faliero ; more fools they — it was written for the closet. I have protested against this piece of usurpation, (which, it seems, is legal for managers over any printed work, against the author's will,) and I hc^e they will not attempt it. Why do n't they bring out some of the numberless aspirants for theatrical celebrity, now incumbering their shelves, instead of lugging me out of the Ubrary ? I have written a fierce protest against any such attempt, but I still would hope that it will not be necessary, and that they will see, at once, that it is not intended for the stage. It is too regular — ^the time, twenty-four hours — the change of place not frequent — nothing weZo-dramatic — no sur- prises, no starts, nor trap-doors, nor opportunities 'for tossing their heads and kicking their heels' — and no love-^ the grand ingredient of a modern play. " I have found out the seal cut on Murray's letter. It is meant for Walter Scott — or Sir Walter — he is the first poet knighted since Sir Richard Blackmore. But it does not do Iiim justice. Scott's — particularly when he recites — is a very intelligent countenance, and this seal says nothing. "Scott is certainly the most wonderful writer of the day. His novels are a new Uterature in themselves, and his poetry as good as any — if not better (only on an erroneous system) — and only ceased to be so popular, because the vulgar learned were tired of hearing 'Aristides called the Just' and Walter Scott the Best, and ostracised him. " I like him, too, for his manliness of character, for the extreme pleasantness of his conversation, and his good- nature towards myself, personally. May he prosper !— for he deserves it. I know no reading to which I fall with such alacrity as a work of W. Scott's. I shall give the seal, with his bust on it, to Madame la Contessa G. this evening, who will be curious to have the effigies of a man so celebrated. " How strange are my thoughts ! — The reading of the song of Milton. ' Sabrina fair ' has brought back upon ma EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821, 251 —I know not how or why — the happiest, perhaps, days of my life (always excepting, here and there, a Harrow holy- day in the two latter summers of my stay there,) when living at Cambridge with Edward Noel Long, afterward of the Guards, — who, after having served honourably in the expedition to Copenhagen, (of which two or three thousand scoundrels yet survive in plight and pay,) was drovvTied early in 1809, on his passage to Lisbon with his regiment in the St. George transport, which was run foul ofj in the night, by another transport. We were rival swimmers — fond of riding — reading — ^and of conviviality. We had been at Harrow together ; but — there, at least — his was a less boisterous spirit than mine. I was always cricketing — rebelling — fighting — routing, (from row, not 6oo<-rowing, a different practice,) and in all manner of mischiefs ; while he was more sedate and polished. At Cambridge — both of Trinity — my spirit rather softened, or his roughened, for we became very great friends. The description of Sabrina's seat reminds me of our rival feats in diving. Though Cam's is not a very ' translucent wave,' it was fourteen feet deep, where we used to dive for, and pick up — having thrown them in on purpose — plates, eggs, and even shillings. I remember, in particu- lar, there was the stump of a tree (at least ten or twelve feet deep) in the bed of the river, in a spot where we bathed most commonly, round which I used to cling, and • wonder how the devil I came there.' *' Our evenings we passed in music (he was musical, and played on more than one instrument, flute and violon- cello,) in which I was audience ; and I think that our chief beverage was soda-water. In the day we rode, bathed, and lounged, reading occasionally. I remember our buying, with vast alacrity, Moore's new quarto, (in 1806,) and reading it together in the evenings. " We only passed the summer together ; — ^Long had gone into the Guards during the year I passed in Notts, away from college. His friendship and a violent, though pnre, love and passion — which held me at the same period —were the then romance of the most romantic period of my life. ♦ ***♦♦ ' « I remember that, in the spring of 1809, H * + laughed at my being distressed at Long's death, and amused him- self with making epigrams upon his name, which was susceptible of a pun — Long, short, &c. But three years after he had ample leisure to repent it, when our mutual friend, and his, H * *'s, particular friend, Charles Mat- thews, was drowned also, and he, himself, was as much affected by a similar calamity. But / did not pay him back in puns and epigrams, for I valued Matthews too much, myself, to do so ; and, even if I had not, I should have respected his griefs, "Long's father wrote to me to write his son's epitaph. I promised, — but I had not the heart to complete it. He was such a good, amiable being as rarely rema'ms long in tliis world ; with talent and accomplishments, too, to make him tlie more regretted. Yet, although a cheerful companion, he had strange, melancholy thoughts some- times. I remember once that we were going to his uncle's, I think, — I went to accompany him to the door merely, in some Upper or Lower Grosvenor or Brook street, I forget which, but it was in a street leading out of some square, — he told me that, the night before, he 'had taken up a pistol — not knowmg or examining whether it was loaded or no—and had snapped it at liis head, leaving it to chance whether it might, or might not, be charged.' The letter too, which he wrote me, on leaving college, to join the Guards, was as melancholy in its tenor as it could well bo on such an occasion. But he showed nothing of this in his deportment, being mild and gontlo ; —and yet with much turn for the ludicrous in his disposi- tion. Wo were botJi much attached to Harrow, and sometimes made excursions there together from I-ondon, lo revive our schoolboy recollections. "Midnight. •' Read the Italian translation by Guido Sorelli of the German Grillparzer — a devil of a name, to be sure, for posterity ; but they must learn to pronounce it. With Eill the aJlowance for a translation, smd, above all, an Italian translation (they are the very worst of translators, except from the Classics — Annibale Caro, for instance — and there the bastardy of their language helps them, as, by way of looking legitimate, they ape their father's tongue) — but with every allowance for such a disadvantage, the tragedy of Sappho is superb and subhme ! There is no denying it. The man has done a great thing "m writing that play. And who is he ? I know him not ; but aget will. "T is a high intellect. " I must premise, however, that I have read nothing of Adolph MuUner's, (the author of 'Guilt,') and much less of Goethe, and Schiller, and Wieland than I could wish. I only know them through the medium of English, French, and Italian translations. Of the real language I know absolutely nothing,— except oaths learned from postillions and officers in a squabble. I can swear in German po- tently, when I hke — ' Sacrament — Verflutcher — Hunds- fott' — and so forth ; but I have little of their less energetic conversation. " I like, however, their women, (I was once so despe- rately in love wath a German woman, Constance.) and all that I have read, translated of their writings, and all that I have seen on the Rhine of their country and people — all, except the Austrians, whom I abhor, loathe, and — I cannot find words for my hate (^ them, and should be sorry to find deeds correspondent to my hate ; for I abhor cruelty more than I abhor the Austrians — except on an impulse, and then I am savage — but not deliberately so. "Grillparzer is grand — antique — not so simple as the ancients, but very simple for a modern — too Madame de Stael-isA now and then — but altogether a great and goodly writer. « January 13, 1821, Saturday. "Sketched the outline and Drams. Pers. of an intended tragedy of Sardanapalus, which I have for some time meditated. Took the names from Diodorus Siculus, (I know tlie history of Sardanapalus, and have known it since I was twelve years old,) and read over a passage in the ninth vol. octavo of Miiford's Greece, where he rather vindicates the memory of this last of the Assy- rians. " Dined — news come — tlie Powers mean to war with the peoples. The inielligence seems positive — let it be so — they will be beaten in the end. The king-times are fast finishing. There will be blood shed like water, and tears like mist ; but the peoples will conquer in the end. I shall not live to see it, but I foresee it. "I carried Teresa the ItaUan transbtion of Grillparzcr's Sappho, which she promises to read. She quarrelled with me, because I said that love was not the loftiest theme for true tragedy ; and, having the advantage of her native language, and natural female eloquence, she overcame my fewer arguments. I believe she was right. I must put more love into ' Sardanapalus' tlian I intended. I speak, of course, if the times will allow ue leisure. That i/" will hardly be a peacemaker. "January 14, 1821. " Turned over Seneca's tragedies. Wrote tJio open- ing lines of the intended tragedy of Sardanapalus. Rode out some miles into the forest. Misty and rainy- Re- turned — dined — wrote some more of my tragedy. "Read Diodorus Sioilus — turned over Seneca, and some other books. Wrote some more of the tragedy. Took a glass of grog. AOer having ridden hard in rainy weather, and scribbled, and scribbled again, the spirits (at least mine) need a little exhilaration, and I do n't tike laudanum now as I used to do. So I have mixed a glua of strong waters and single waters whidi I shall now 252 EXTRACTS FROM A JOUR NAL, 1821. proceed to empty. Therefore and thereunto I conclude this day's diary. " The effect of all wines and spirits upon me is, how- ever, strange. It settles, but it makes me gloomy — gloomy at the very moment of their effect, and not gay hardly ever. But it composes for a time, though sullenly. "January 15, 1821. "Weather fine. Received visit. Rode out into the forest — fired pistols. Returned home — dined — dipped into a volume of Mitford's Greece — wrote part of a scene of ' Sardanapalus.' Went out — heard some music — heard some politics. More ministers from the other Italian powers gone to Congress. War seems certain — in that case, it will be a savage one. Talked over vari- ous important matters with one of the initiated. At ten and half returned home. "I have just thought of something odd. In the year 1814, Moore ('the poet,' par excellence, and he deserves it) and I were going together, in the same carriage, to dine with Earl Grey, the Capo Pohtico of the remaining Whigs. Murray, the magnificent, (the illustrious pub- lisher of that name,) had just sent me a Java gazette — I know not why or wherefore. Pulling it out, by way of curiosity, we found it to contain a dispute (the said Java gazette) on Moore's merits and mine. I think, if I had been there, that I could have saved them the trouble of disputing on the subject. But, there is fame for you at six-and-twenty ! Alexander had conquered India at the same age ; but I doubt if he was disputed about, or his conquests compared with those of Indian Bacchus, at Java, "It was great fame to be named with Moore ; greater to be compared with him ; grea.test— pleasure, at least to be with him ; and, surely, an odd coincidence, that we should be dining together while they were quarrelling about us beyond the equinoctial line. "Well, the same evening I met Lav/rence, the painter, and heard one of Lord Grey's daughters (a fine, tall, spirit-looking girl, with much of the patrician thorough- bred look of her father, which I dote upon) play on the harp, so modestly and ingenuously, tliat she looked music. Well, I would rather have had my talk with Lawrence (who talked delightfully) and heard the girl, than have had all the fame of Moore and me put together. " The only pleasure of fame is that it paves the way to pleasure; and the more intellectual our pleasure, the better for the pleasure and for us too. It was, however, agreeable to have heard our fame before dinner, and a girl's harp after. "January 16, 1821. " Read — rode — fired pistols — ^returned — dined — ^wrote — visited— heard music — talked nonsense — and went home. " Wrote part of a Tragedy — advance in Act 1st with * all deliberate speed.' Bought a blanket. The weather is still rriuggy as a London May — mist, mizzle, the air replete with ScoUicisms, which, though fine in the descrip- tions of Ossian, are somewhat tiresome, in real, prosaic perspective. Politics still mysterious. "January 17, 1821. " Rode i' the forest — fired pistols — dined. Arrived a packet of books from England and Lombardy — English Italian, French, and Latin. Read till eight— went out. "January 18,1821. « To-day, the post arriving late, did not ride. Read letters— only two gazettes, instead of twelve now due. Made Lega write to that negligent Galignani, and added a postscript. Dined. « At eight proposed to go out. Lega came in with a letter about a bill unpaid at Venice, which I thought paid months ago. I flew into a paroxysm of rage, which almost made me faint. I have not been well ever since. I deserve it for being such a fool— but it vxis provoking— a set of scoundrels ! It is, however, but five-and-twenty pounds. "January 19, 1821. " Rode. Winter's wind somewhat more unkind than ingratitude itself, though Shalcespeare says othei-wise. At least, I am so much more accustomed to meet with ingratitude than the north wind, that I thought the latter the ^sharper of the two. I had met vn\h both in the course of the twenty-four hours, so could judge. " Thought of a plan of education for my daughter Allegra,who ought to begin soon witli her studies. Wrote a letter — afterward a postscript. Rather in low spirits — certainly hippish — liver touched — will take a dose of salts. "I have been reading the Life, by himself and daugh- ter, of Mr. R. L. Edgeworth, the father oi the Miss Edgeworth. It is altogether a great name. In 1813, 1 recollect to have met them in the fashionable world of London (of which I then formed an item, a fraction, the segment of a circle, the unit of a million, the nothing of something) in the assemblies of the hour, and at a break- fast of Sir Humphiy and Lady Davy's, to which I was invited for the nonce. I had been the lion of 181 2 5 Miss Edgeworth and Madame de Stael, with 'the Cossack,' towards the end of 1813, were the exhibitions of the suc- ceeding year. " I thought Edgeworth a fine old fellow, of a clarety, elderly, red complexion, but active, brisk, and endless. He was seventy, but did not look fifty — no, nor forty-eight even. I had seen poor Fitzpatrick not very long before — a man of pleasure, wit, eloquence, all things. He tot- tered — but still talked like a gentleman, though feebly. Edgeworth bounced about, and talked loud and long ; but he seemed neither weakly nor decrepit, and hardly old. "He began by telling 'that he had given Dr. Parr a dressing, who had taken him for an Irish bog-trotter,' &c. &c. Now I, who know Dr. Parr, and who know {not by experience — for I never should have presumed so far as to contend with him — but by hearing him with others, and of others) that it is not so easy a matter to ' dress him,' tihought Mr. Edgeworth an assertor of what was not true. He could not have stood before Parr an instant. For the rest, he seemed intelligent, vehement, vivacious, and full of life. He bids fair for a hundred years. " He was not much admired in London, and I remem- ber a 'ryghte merrie' and conceited jest which was rife among the gallants of the day, — viz. a paper had been presented for the recoil of Mrs. Siddons to the stage, (she having lately taken leave, to the loss of ages,— for nothing ever was, or can be, like her,) to which all men had been called to subscribe. Whereupon, Thomas Moore, of profane and poetical memory, did propose that a similar paper should be subscribed and circu/nscribed 'for the recall of Mr. Edgeworth to Ireland.'* " The fact was — every body cared more about her. She was a nice little unassuming ' Jeannie Deans'-looldng bodie,' as we Scotch say — and, if not handsome, certainly not ill-looking. Her conversation was as quiet as her- self. One would never have guessed she could write her name ; whereas her father talked, not as if he could write nothing else, but as if nothing else was worth writing. "As for Mrs. Edgeworth, I forget — except that I think she was the youngest of the party. Altogether, they were an excellent cage of the kind ; and succeeded for two months, till the landing of Madame de Stael. " To turn from them to their works, I admire them ; but they excite no feeling, and they leave no love — except for some Irish steward or postillion. However, the im- pression of intellect and prudence is profound — and may be useful. "January 20, 1821. "Rode — fired pistols. Read from Grimm's Corre- spondence. Dined — went out — heard music — returned— wrote a letter to the Lord Chamberlain to request him to prevent the theatres from representing the Doge, which * In this, I rather think he was misinformed ;— whatever merit thera may be in the jest, I have not, at far as I can recollect, the sligbtett claim EXTRACTS PROM A JOURNAL, 1821. 253 the Italian papers say that they are going to act. This is pretty work — what ! without asking my consent, and even in opposition to it ! "January 21, 1821. " Fine, clear, frosty day — that is to say, an Italian frost, for their winters hardly get beyond snow ; for which rea- son nobody knows how to skate (or skait) — a Dutch and English accompUshment. Rode out, as usual, and fired pistols. Good shooting — broke four common, and rather small, bottles, in four shots, at fourteen paces, with a com^ mon pair of pistols and indifferent powder. Almost as good wafering or shooting — considering the difference of powder "and pistols— as when, in 1809, 1810, 1811, 1812. 1813, 1814, it was my luck to split walking-sticks, wafers, half-crowns, shillings, and even the eye of a wallung-stick, at twelve paces, with a single bullet — and all by eye and calculation ; for my hand is not steady, and apt to change with the very weather. To the prowess which I here note, Joe Manton and others can bear testimony ; — ^for the former taught, and the latter have seen m.e do, these feats. "Dined — visited — came home — read. Remarked on an anecdote in Grimm's Correspondence, which says that * Regnard et la plupart des poetes comiques etaient gens bilieux et melancoliques ; et que M. de Voltaire, qui est tr^s gai, n'a jamais fait que des tragedies — et que la come- die gaie est le seul genre ou il n'ait point reussi. C'est que celui qui rit et celui qui fait rire sent deux hommes fort differens.' — Vol. vi. " At this moment I feel as bilious as the best comic writer of them all, (even as Regnard himself, the next to Moliere, who has written some of the best comedies in any language, and who is supposed to have committed suicide,) and am not in spirits to continue my proposed tragedy of Sardanapalus, which I have, for some days, ceased to compose. " To-morrow is my birthday — that is to say, at twelve o' the clock, midnight, i. e. in twelve minutes, I shall have completed thirty and three years of age ! ! ! — and I go to my bed with a heaviness of heart at having lived so long, and to so little purpose. "It is three minutes past twelve. — ''T is the middle of night by the castle clock,' and I am now thirty-three ! ' Eheu, fugaces, PoslhuniC, Posthurae, Labiintur anni ;' — but I do n't regret them so much for what I have done, as for what I might have done. " Through life's road, so dim and dirty, I have dragg'd lo three-and-thirty. What have these years left lo me ? Nothing — except thirty-three. "January 22, 1821.* 1821. HERE LIES, INTERRED IN THE ETERNITY OF THE PAST, FROM WHENCE THERE IS NO RESURRECTION FOR THE DAYS— WHATEVER THERE MAY BE FOR THE DUST — THE THIRTY-THIRD YEAR OF AN ILL-SPENT LIFE, WHICH, AFTER A LINaERINO DISEASE OF MANY MONTHS, SUNK INTO A LETHARGY, AND EXPIRED, JANUARY 22d, IvS'21, a. D. LEAVING A SUCCESSOR INCONSOLABLE FOR THE VERY LOSS WHICH OCCASIONED IT8 EXISTENCE. "January 23, 1B21. "Fine day. Road — rode — fired pistols, ami icturnod See Loiter 472. Dined— read. Went out at eight— made the usual visit. Heard of nothing but war, — ' the cry is still, They come.' The Car', seem to have no plan — nothing fixed among themselves, how, when, or what to do. In that case, they will make nothing of this project, so often postponed, and never put in action. " Came home, and gave some necessary orders, in case of circumstances requiring a change of place. I shall act according to what may seem proper, when I hear decidedly what the Barbarians mean to do. At present, they are building a bridge of boats over the Po, wMch looks very warlilie. A few days wiO probably show. I think of retiring towards Ancona, nearer the northern frontier ; that is to say, if Teresa and her father are obliged to retire, which is most lilcely, as all the family are Liberals. If not, I shall stay. But my movements will depend upon the lady's wishes, for myself it is much the same. " I am somewhat puzzled what to do with my litde daughter, and my effects, which are of some quantity and value, — and neither of them do in the seat of war where I think of going. But there is an elderly lady who will take charge oiher, and T. says that the Marchese C. will undertake to hold the chattels in safe keeping. Half the city are getting their affairs in marching trim. A pretty Carnival ! The blackguards might as well have waited till Lent. « January 24, 182L " Returned — met some masques in the Corso— ' Vive la bagatelle !' — the Germans are on the Po, the Barbari- ans at the gate, and their masters in coimcil at Leybach, (or whatever the eructation of the sound may syllable into a human pronunciation,) and lo! they dance and sing, and make merry, 'for to-morrow they may die.' Who can say that the Arlequins are not right ? Like the Lady Baussiere, and my old friend Burton — I * rode on.' "Dined — (damn this pen!) — beef tough — there is no beef in Italy worth a curse ; unless a man could eat an old ox with the hide on, singed in the sun. " The principal persons in die events which may occur "in a few days, are gone out on a shooting party. If it were like a ' highland hunting,' a pretext of tlie chase for a grand reunion of counsellors and chiefs, it would be all very well. But it is nothing more or less tlian a real snivelling, popping, small-shot, water-hen waste of powder, ammunition, and shot, for their own special amusement : — a rare set of fellows for ' a man to risk his neck with,' as 'Marishal Wells' says in the Black Dwaif. " If tl:ey gather, — ' whilk is to be doubted,' — they will not musti-r a thousand men. The reason of this is, that the populace are not interested, — only the higher and middle ordei-s. I wish that the peasantry were: they are a fine savage race of two-legged leopards. But the Bolognese won't — the Romagnuoles can't without them. Or, if they try — what dien ? They will try, and man can do no more — and, if he woidd but try his utmost, much might be done. Tho Dutch, for instance, against the Spaniards — then, the tyrants of Europe — since, the slaves — and, lately, the frccdmen. " The year 1820 was not a fortunate one for the indi- vidual me, whatever it may be for tho nations. I lost a lawsuit, after two decisions in my favour. The project of lending money on an Irish mortgage was finally rejected by my wife's trustee after a year's hope and trouble. Tho Rochdale lawsuit had endured fifteen years, and always prospered till I married ; since which, every thing has gono wrong — with me, at least. " In the same year, 1820, the Countess T. G. nata G*. Gl. in despite of all I said and did to prevent it, uk)uU separate from her husband, II C'aviilier ( ■oinnirndntoro Gl. &c. &r. &c. ami all on the aroount of 'P. P. clerk of thus parish.' The other liltl.< p<'tty vexations of tlia year — overturns in carriages — the murder of people before one's door, and dying in one's beds — the cramp in 8wun> §54 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. ming — colics — indigestions and bilious attacks, &c. &c &c.— • Many small articles make up a sum, And hey ho for Caleb Q,uotera, oh !' "January 25, 1821. « Received a letter from Lord Sidney Osborne state secretary of the Seven Islands — a fine fellow — clever — dished in England five years ago, and came abroad to retrench and to renew. He wTOte from Ancona, in his way back to Corfu, on some matters of our own. He is son of the late Duke of Leeds by a second marriage. He wants me to go to Corfu. Why not? — perhaps I may, next spring. " Answered Murray's letter — read — ^lounged. Scrawl- ed this additional page of life's log-book. One day more is over, of it and of me ; — but * which is best, life or death, the gods only know,' as Socrates said to his judges, on the breaking up of the tribunal. Two thousand years since that sage's declaration of ignorance have not enlightened us more upon this important point; for, according to the Christian dispensation, no one can know whether he is sure of salvation — even the most righteous — since a single slip of faith may throw him on his back, like a skater, while gliding smoothly to his paradise. Now, therefore, whatever the certainty of faith in the facts may be, the certainty of the individual as to his happiness or misery is no greater than it was under Jupiter. " It bas been said that the immortality of the soul is a grand peutetre' — but still it is a grand one. Every body clings to it — the stupidest, and dullest, and wickedest of human bipeds is still persuaded that he is immortal. "January 26, 1821. « Fine day — a few mares' tails portending change, but the sky clear, upon the whole. Rode — fired pistols — good shooting. Coming back, met an old man. Charity — purchased a shilling's worth of salvation. If that was to be bought, I have given more to my fellow-creatures in this life — sometimes for vice, but, if not more often, at least more considerably, for virtue — than I now possess. I never in my life gave a mistress so much as I have some- times given a poor man in honest distress ; — but, no mat- ter. The scoundrels who have all along persecuted me* (with the help of * * who has crowned their efforts) will triumph ; — and, when justice is done to me, it wUl be when this hand that writes is as cold as the hearts which have stung me. " Returning, on the bridge near the mill, met an old woman. I asked her age — she said, ' Tre croci.^ I asked my groom (though myself a decent Italian) what the devil her three crosses meant. He said, ninety years, and that she had five years more to boot!! I repeated the same three times, not to mistake — ninety-five years ! ! ! — and she was yet rather active — heard my question, for she answered it — saw me, for she advanced towards me ; and did not appear at all decrepit, though certainly touched with vears. Told her to come to-morrow, and will exa- mine her myself I love phenomena. If she is ninety- five years old, slie must recollect the Cardinal Alberoni, who was legate here. "On dismounting, found Lieutenant E. just arrived from Faenza. Invited him to dine with me to-morrow. Did not invite him for to-day, because there was a small turbot, (Friday, fast regularly and religiously,) which I wanted to cat all myself. Ate it. "Went out — found Teresa as usual — music. The gentlemen, who make revolutions, and are gone on a shooting, are not yet returned. They do n't return till Sunday — that is to say, they have been out for five days, buffooning, while the mterests of a whole country are at stake, and even they themselves compromised. " It is a difficult part to play among such a set of assas- sins and blockheads — ^but, when the scum is skimmed off. or has boiled over, good may come of it. If this country could but be freed, what would be too great for the accom- plishment of that desire ? for the extinction of that Sigh of Ages ? Let us hope. They have hoped these thc%- sand years. The very revolvement of the chances may bring it — it is upon the dice. "If the Neapolitans have but a single Massaniello among them, they will beat the bloody butchers of the crown and sabre. Holland, in worse circumstances, beat the Spains and Philips ; America beat the English ; Greece beat Xerxes ; and France beat Europe, till she took a tyrant ; South America beats her old vultures out of their nest ; and, if these men are but firm in them- selves, there is nothing to shake them from without. « January 28, I82L " Lugano Gazette did not come. Letters from Venice. It appears that the Austrian brutes have seized my three or four pounds of English powder. The scoundrels ! — ^I hope to pay them in ball for that powder. Rode out till twilight. " Pondered the subjects of four tragedies to be vvTitten, (life and circumstances permitting,) to wit, Sardanapalus, already begun ; Cain, a metaphysical subject, sometliing in the style of Manfred, but in five acts, perhaps, with the chorus ; Francesca of Rimini, in five acts ; and I am not sure that I would not try Tiberius. I think that I could extract a something, of my tragic, at least, out of the gloomy sequestration and old age of the tyrant — and even out of his sojourn at Caprea — by softening the details, and exhibiting the despair which must have led to those very vicious pleasures. For none but a powerful and gloomy mind overthrown would have had recourse to such solitary horrors, — being also, at the same time, old, and the master of the world. " Memoranda. " What is poetry ? — The feeling of a Former world and Future. « Thought Seamd. " Why, at the very height of desire and human plea- sure, — worldly, social, amorous, ambitious, or even avari- cious, — does there mingle a certain sense of doubt and soiTOw — a fear of what is to come — a doubt of what is — a retrospect to the past, leading to a prognostication of the future. (The best of Prophets of the Future is the Past.) Why is this? or these? — I know not, except that on a pinnacle we are most susceptible of giddiness, and that we never fear falling except from a precipice — the higher, the more awful, and the more sublime ; jmd, therefore, I am not sure that fear is not a pleasurable sen- sation ; at least, Hope is ; and what Hope is there without a deep leaven of Fear ? and what sensation is so delight- ful as Hope ? and, if it were not for Hope, where would the Future be ? — in hell. It is useless to say where the Present is, for most of us knoAv ; and as for the Past, whcU predominates in memory ? — Hope baffled. Ergo, in all human affairs, it is Hope — Hope — Hope. I allow sixteen minutes, though I never counted them, to any given or supposed possession. From whatever place we com- mence, we know where it all must end. And yet, what good is there in knowmg it ? It does not make men better or wiser. During the greatest horrors of the greatest plagues, (Athens and Florence, for example — see Thucy- dides and Machiavelli,) men were more cruel and profli- gate than ever. It is all a mystery. I feel most things, but I know nothing, except — — — Childe Harold, Canto IV. Stanza 137, and Note to the Two * Thus marked, with impatient elrokes of the pen, by himtelf in th« Foecari. original. EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. 255 " Thought for a speech of Lucifer ^ in the tragedy of Cain : — " Were Death an evil, would / let thee live7 Fool! live as I live— as thy father lives, And thy son's bods shall live for evermore. " Past midnight. One o' the clock. « I have been reading W. F. Schlegel (brother to the other of the name) till now, and I can make out nothing. He evidently shows a great power of words, but there is nothing to be taken hold of. He is like Hazlitt, in Eng- lish, who talks pimples — a red and white corruption rising up, (in little imitation of mountains upon maps,) but con- taining nothing, and discharging nothing, except their own humours. "I dislike him the worse, (that is, Schlegel,) because he always seems upon the verge of meaning ; and, lo, he goes down like sunset, or melts Uie a rainbow, leaving a rather rich confusion, — to which, however, the above com- parisons do too much honour. "Continuing to read Mr. F. Schlegell. He is not such a fool as I took him for, that is to say, when he speaks of the North. But still he speaks of things aU over the world with a Idnd of authority that a philosopher would disdam,. and a man of common sense, feeling, and knowledge of his own ignorance, would be ashamed of. The man is evidently wanting to malie an impression, like his brother, —or hke George in the Vicar of Wakefield, who found out that all the good things had been said already on the right side, and therefore 'dressed up some paradoxes' upon the wrong side — ingenious, but false, as he himself says — to which ' the learned world said nothing, nothing at all, sir.' The ' learned world,' however, has said some- thing to the brothers Schlegel. " It is high time to think of something else. What they say of the antiquities of the North is best. "January 29, 1821. "Yesterday the woman of ninety-five years of age was with me. She said her eldest son (if now alive) would have been seventy. She is thin — short, but active — hears, and sees, and talks incessantly. Several teeth left — all in the lower jaw, and single front teeth. She is very deeply wrinkled, and has a sort of scattered gray beard over her chin, at least as long as my mustachios. Her head, in fact, resembles the drawing in crayons of Pope the poet's mother, which is in some editions d" his works. " I forgot to ask her if she remembered Alberoni, (legate here,) but will ask her next time. Gave her a louis — ordered her a new sidt of clothes, and put her upon a weekly pension. Till now, she had worked at gathering wood and pine-nuts in the forest, — pretty work at ninety- five years old ! She had a dozen children, of whom some are alive. Her name is Maria Montanari. " Met a company of the sect (a kind of Liberal Club) called the * Americani' in tlie forest, all armed, and sing- ing, with all their might, in Romagnuole — ^ Sem tutti Boldat' per la liberla,' (' we are all soldiers for liberty.') They cheered me as I passed — I returned their salute, and rode on. This may show the spirit of Italy at pre- sent. " My to-day's journal consists of what I omitted yes- terday. To-day was much as usual. Have rather a better opinion of the writings of tlie Schlegels tlian I had four-and- twenty hours ago ; and will amend it still farther, if possible. " They say that the Piedmontese have at lengtli risen -fa ira ! " Read Schlegel, Of Dante he says that ' at no time has the greatest and most national of all Italian pools ever been much the favourite of his countrymen.' 'T is false ! There have been more editors and commentators (and imitators, ultimately) of Dante than of all thfir pools put together. Not a favourite ! Why, they talk Dante — write Dante — and think and droam Dante at this moment (1821) to an excess, which would be ridiculous, but that he deserves it. " In the same style this German talks of gondolas on the Arno— a precious fellow to dare to speak of Italy ! " He says also that Dante's chief defect is a want, in a word, of gentle feelings. Of gentle feelings ! — and Fran- cesca of Rimini — and the father's feelings in Ugolino — and Beatrice — and ' La Pia !' Why, there is a gentleness in Dante beyond all gentleness, when he is tender. It ia true that, treating of the Christian Hades, or HeU, there is not much scope or site for gentleness — but who but Dante could have introduced any ' gentleness' at all into Hellf Is there any in Milton's? No — and Dante'a Heaven is all love, and glory, and majesty. « I o'clock. " I have found out, however, where the German is right —it is about the Vicar of Wakefield. ' Of all romances in miniature, (and, perhaps, this is the best shape in which romance can appear,) the Vicar of Wakefield is, I think, the most exquisite.' He thinks ! — he might be sure. But it is very well for a Schlegel. I feel sleepy, and may as well get me to bed. To-morrow there will be fine wea- ther. ' Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay.' « January 30, 1821. " The Count P. G. this evening (by commission from the Ci.) transmitted to me the new words for the next six months. + * * and * + *. The new sacred word is * ♦ + — the reply * * * — the rejoinder * + *. The former word (now changed) was * * * — there is also + * * — * * *.f Things seem fast coming to a crisis — fo ira ! "We talked over various matters of moment and move- ment. These I omit ; — if they come to any thing, they will speak for themselves. After these, we spoke of Kosciusko. Count R. G. told me that he has seen the Polish officers in the Italian war burst into tears on hear- ing his name. " Something must be up in Piedmont — all the letters and papers are stopped. Nobody knows any thing, and the Germans are concentrating near Mantua. Of the decision of Laybach, nothing is known. This state of things cannot last long. The ferment in men's minds at present cannot be conceived without seeing it. "January 31, 1821. " For several days I have not written any thing except a few answers to letters. In momentary expectation of an explosion of some kind, it is not easy to settle down to the desk for the higher kinds of composition. I could do it, to be sure, for, last summer, I wrote my drama in tho very bustle of Madame la Contesse G.'s divorce, and all its process of accompaniments. At the same time, I also haid the news of the loss of an important lawsuit in England. But these were only private and personal business ; the present is of a diflTcrent nature. " I suppose it is this, but have some suspicion that it may be laziness, which prevents me from writing ; espe- cially as Rochefoucault says that ' laziness oflon masters them all' — speaking of the passions. If tliis wore true, it could Iiardly bo said that ' idleness is the root of all evil,' since this is supposed to spring from the passions only ; orgo, that which masters all the passions (Uizincss, to wit) would in so much bo a good. Who knows ? "Midnight. "I have been reading Grimm's Corrcspondonoo. Ho repeats frequently, in spoaiung of a pool, or of u miui of genius in any dcportmont, even in music, (Grotry, for in- stance,) tliat ho must have ' uno ame qui s© tourmcntr, t In thtorlgiiml MS. Uiese wMchwortli »r* UloUeJ over to »■ lo b* Ul((ibU. 256 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. im esprit violent,' How far tJiis may be true, I knoAv not ; but if it were, I should be a poet ' per eccellenza ;' for I hflave always had ' une ame,' which not only tor- mented itself but every body else in contact with it ; and an ' esprit violent,' which has almost left me without any ' esprit' at all. As to defining what a poet should be, it is not worth while, for what are they worth ? what have they done? "Grimm, however, is an excellent critic and literary historian. His Correspondents forms the annals of the literary part of that age of France, with much of her politics, and still more of her ' way of life.' He is as valuable, and far more entertaining that Muratori or Tiraboschi — I had almost said, than Guingene — but there we should pause. However 't is a great man in its line. " Monsieur St. Lambert has ' Etlorsqu'k ses regards la lumifere est ravie, II n'a plus, en mourant, 6. perdre que la vie.' This is, word for word, Thomson's ' And dying, all we can resign is breath,' without the smallest acknowledgment from the Lorraine of a poet. M. St. Lambert is dead as a man, and (for any thing I know to the contrary) damned as a poet, by this time. However, his Seasons have good things, and, it may be, some of his own. "February 2, 1821. "I have been considering what can be the reason why I always wake at a certain hour in the morning, and always in very bad spirits — I may say, in actual despair and despondency, in all respects — even of that which pleased me over night. In about an hour or two, this goes off, and I compose either to sleep again, or at least, to quiet. Li England, five years ago, I had the same kind of hypochondria, but accompanied with so violent a thirst that I have drank as many as fifteen bottles of soda- water in one night, after going to bed, and been still thirsty — calculating, however, some lost from the bursting out and effervescence and overflo^^^ng of the soda-water, in drawing the corks, or striking off the necks of the bottles from mere thirsy impatience. At present, I have not tlie thirst ; but the depression of spiiits is no less violent. " I read in Edgeworth's Memoirs of something similar (except that his thirst expended itself on srncdl beer) in the case of Sir F. B. Delaval; — ^but then he was, at least, twenty years older. What is it ? — ^liver ? In England, Le Man (the apothecary) cured me of the thirst in three days, and it had lasted as many years. I suppose that it is all hypochondria. " What I feel most growing upon me are lazinesss and a disrehsh more powerful than indifference. If I rouse, it is into fury. I presume that I shall end (if not earlier by accident, or some such termination) lilce Swift — ' dying at top.' I confess I do not contemplate this with so much horror as he apparently did for some years before it hap- pened. But Swift had hardly begun life at the very period (thirty-three*) when I feel quite an old sort of feel. " Oh ! there is an organ playing m the street — a waltz, too ! I must leave off to listen. They are playing a waltz, which I have heard ten thousand times at the balls in London, between 1812 and 1815. Music is a strange thing. "Februarys, 1821. "At last, 'the kiln's in a low.' The Germans are ordered to march, and Italy is, for the ten thousandth time, to become a field of battle. Last night the news came. " This afternoon. Count P. G. came to me to consult upon divers matters. We rode out together. They have sent off to the C. for orders. To-morrow the decision ought to arrive, and then something will be done. Returned —dined — read — went out — talked over matters. Made a purchase of some arms for the new enrolled Americani, See Journal, January 6, who are all on tiptoe to march. Gave orders for some harness and portmanteaus necessary for the horses. "Read some of Bowles's dispute about Pope, with all the replies and rejoinders. Perceive that my name has been lugged into the controversy, but have not time to state what I know of tlie subject. On some ' piping day of peace' it is probable that I may resume it. "February 9, 1821. " Before dinner wrote a little ; also, before I rode out. Count P. G. called upon me, to let me know the result of the meeting of the C'. at F. and at B. * * returned late last night. Every thing was combined under the idea that the Barbarians would pass the Po on the 15th inst. Instead of this, from some previous information or otlier- wise, they have hastened tlieir march and actually passed two days ago ; so that all that can be done at present in Romagna is, to stand on the alert and wait for the advance of the Neai)olitans. Every thing was ready, and the Neapohtans had sent on their own instructions and inten- tions, all calculated for the tenth and eleventh, on which days a general rising was to take place, under the suppo- sition that the Barbarians could not advance before the 15th. " As it is, they have but fifty or sixty thousand troops, a a number with which they might as well attempt to con- quer the world as secure Italy in its present state. The artillery marches last, and alone, and there is an idea of an attempt to cut part of them off. All this will much depend upon the first steps of the Neapolitans. Here, the public spirit is excellent, provided it be kept up. This will be seen by the event. " It is probable that Italy will be delivered from the Bar- barians if the Neapolitans will but stand firm, and are united among themselves. Here thsy appear so- "February 10, 182L " Day passed as usual — nothing new. Barbarians still in march — not well equipped, and, of course, not well received on their route. There is some talk of a commo- tion at Paris. " Rode out betvs^een four and six — finished my letter to Murray on Bowles's pamphlets — added postscript. Passed the evening as usual — out till eleven — and subsequently at home. "February 11, I82L " Wrote — had a copy taken of an extract from Petrarch*s Letters, with reference to the conspiracy of the Doge, M, Faliero, containing the poet's opinion of the matter. Heard a heavy firing of cannon towards Comaccliio — the Barba- rians rejoicing for their principal pig's birthday, which is to-morrow — or Saint day — I forget which. Received a ticket for the first ball to-morrow. Shall not go to the first, but intend going to the second, as also to the VegUoni, "February 13,1821. To-day read a little in Louis B 's Hollande, but have written nothmg since the completion of the letter on the Pope controversy. Politics are quite misty for the pre- sent. The Barbarians still upon their march. It is not easy to divine what tlie Italians will now do. "Was elected yesterday ' Socio' of the Carnival baJI society. This is the fifth carnival that I have passed. In the four former, I racketed a good deal. In the pre- sent, I have been as sober as Lady Grace herself. "February 14, 1821. Much as usual. Wrote, before riding out, part of a scene of ' Sardanapaliis.' The first act nearly finished. The rest of the day and evening as before — partly without, in conversazione — partly at home. " Heard the particulars of the late fray atRussi, a town not far from this. It is exactly the fact of Romeo and Giulietta — not Romeo, as the Barbarian writes it. Two families of Contadini (peasants) are at feud. At a ball, the younger part of the families forget their quarrels^ and I EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. 257 dance together. An old man of one of them enters, and reproves the young men for dancing with the females of the opposite family. The male relatives of the latter resent this. Both parties rush home, and arm themselves. They meet directly, by moonlight, in the public way, and fight it out. Three are killed on the spot, and six wounded, most of them dangerously, — pretty well for two families, methinks— and all fact, of the last week. Another assas- sination has taken place at Cesenna, — in all about forty in Romagna virithin these last three months. These people retain much of the middle ages. "February 15, 1821. "Last night finished the first act of Sardanapalus. To- night, or to-morrow, I ought to answer letters. "February 16, 1821. "Last night H Conte P. G. sent a man with a bag full of bayonets, some muskets, and some hundreds of car- tridges to my house, without apprizing me, though I had seen him not half an hour before. About ten days ago, when there was to be a rising here, the Liberals and my brethren C. asked me to purchase some arms for a cer- tain few of our ragamuffins. I did so immediately, and ordered ammunition, &c. and they were armed accord- ingly. Well — the rising is prevented by the Barbarians marching a week sooner than appointed ; and an order is issued, and in force, by the Government, ' that all persons having arms concealed, &c. &c. shall be hable to,' &c. &c. — and what do my friends, the patriots, do two days afterward ? Why, they throw back upon my hands, and into my house, these very arms (without a word of warn- ing previously) with which I had furnished them at their owTi request, and at my own peril and expense. " It was lucky that Lega was at home to receive them. If any of the servants had (except Tita and F. anBLega) they would have betrayed it immediately. In the mean time, if they are denounced, or discovered, I shall be in a scrape. "At nine went out — at eleven returned. Beat the crow for stealing the falcon's victuals. Read 'Tales of my Landlord' — wrote a letter — and mixed a moderate beaker of water with other ingredients. "February 18, 1821. "The news are that the Neapolitans have broken a bridge, and slain four pontifical carabiniers, whilk cara- biniers, wished to oppose. Besides the disrespect to neutrality, it is a pity that the first blood shed in this Ger- man quarrel should be Italian. However, the war seems begun in good earnest ; for, if the Neapolitans kill the Pope's carabiniers, they will not be more delicate towards the Barbarians. If it be even so, in a short time, 'there will be news o' thae craws,' as Mrs. Alison Wilson says of Jenny Blane's 'unco cockernony' in the Tales of my Landlord. " In turning over Grimm's Correspondence to-day, I found a thought of Tom Moore's in a song of Maupertuis to a female Laplander. < Et tous leg lieux, Oii sont Bcsyeux, Font la Zone brfilaale.' This is Moore's — ' And lho«e eyes make my climate, wherever I roam.' But I am sure that Moore never saw it ; for this song was published in Grimm's Corresponrlenco in 1813, and I knew Moore's by heart in 1812. There is also anotlier but an antithetical coincidence. ■ I.e lolell luit, Dei Juuri inns null BientOt II iioui duttiiio ; Mais ces longs ]oiirs Seroiit trop cuiirls, Paasbs prils des Christine' Tliis is the ttioug/U, reversedy of the last stanza of tho 33 ballad on Charlotte Lynes, given in Miss Seward's Me- moirs of Darwin, which is pretty — I quote from memory of these last fifteen years. * ' For my first nij^ht I '11 go To those regions of snow, Where the sun for six months never shinea ; And think, even then, He too soon came again, To disturb me with fair Charlotte Lynes.' " To-day I have had no communication with ray Car- bonari cronies ; but, in the mean time, my lower apart- ments are full of their bayonets, fusils, cartridges, and what not. I suppose that they consider me as a depot, to be sacrificed, in case of accidents. It is no great matter, supposing that Italy could be hberated, who or what is sacrificed. It is a grand object — the very poetry of poli- tics. Only think — a free Italy ! ! ! Why, there has been nothing hke it since the days of Augustus. I reckon the times of Caesar (Julius) free ; because the commotions left every body a side to take, and the parties were pretty equal at the set out. But, afterward, it was all Pretorian and legionary business — we shall see, or at least, some will see, what card will turn up. It is best to hope, even of the hopeless. The Dutch did more than these fellows have to do, in the Seventy Years' War. "February 19, 1821. "Came home solus — very high wind — lightning — moonshine — solitary stragglers muffled in cloaks — women in mask — white houses — clouds hurrying over the sky, like spilt milk blown out of the pail — altogether very poetical. It is still blowing hard — the tiles flying, and the house rocking — rain splashing — lightning flashing — quite a fine Swiss Alpine evening, and the sea roaring in the distance. "Visited — conversazione. All the women frightened by the squall : they won!t go to the masquerade because it lightens — the pious reason! " Still blowing away. A. has sent me some news to- day. The war approaches nearer and nearer. Oh those scoundrel sovereigns I Let us but see them beaten — let the Neapolitans but have the pluck of the Dutch of old, or of the Spaniards of now, or of the German Protestants, the Scotch Presbyterians, the Swiss under Tell, or the Greeks under Themistocles — all small and solitary nations, (except the S{)aniards and German Lutlicrans,) and there is yet a resurrection for Italy, and a hope for the world. "February 20,1821. " The news of the day are, that tlie Neajwlitans are full of energy. The public spirit here is certainly well kept up. The ' Americani' (a i.>atriotic society here, an under- branch of tlie 'Carbonari') give a dinner, in the Forest in a few days, and have invited me, as one of tlie C. It is to be in tlie Forest of Boccacio's and Dryden's ' Hunts- man's Ghost ;' and, even if I had not the same political feelings, (to say nothing of my old convivial turn, which every now and then revives,) I would go as a poet, or, at ast,as a lover of poetry. I shall expect to see tJie spectre of'Ostasio* degli Onesti' (Dryden has turned him into Guido Cavalcanti — an essentially diffcront person, as may be found in Dante) come ' thundering for his prey'f '" 'he midst of tho festival. At any rate, whether ho does or no, I will get OS tipsy and patriotic as possibk*. • WitJiin those few days I have read, but not written. "February 21, 1821. "As usual, nxle — visited, &c. Bitsini'ss ho^jins to thicken. The Pope has printed a deeluralion nizainst tiic patriots, who, ho says, nieditutt- a rising. The eonsp- (|nenci' of all this will ho, that, in a furliii^hl, thf whole country will he \ip. The priM'luinutii>n is not yi't |>iil>lish«Hl, hut printed, ready (or distribution. * * sent men ropy privately — a sign that ho duos n»t know what to think. • In Boccacio, Ihs nam* Is, I ihlnk. NvtUgio. t Sue Duo Ju»n, Cniito Sd, 105 and IM. 258 EXTRACTS FROM A JOURNAL, 1821. When he wants to be well with the patriots, he sends to me some civil message or other. " For my own part, it seems to me, that nothing but the most decided success of the Barbarians can prevent a general and immediate rise of the whole nation. "February 23, 1821. "Almost ditto with yesterday — rode, &c. — visited — wrote nothing — read Roman History. "Had a curious letter from a fellow, who informs me that the Barbarians are ill-disposed towards me. He is probably a spy, or an impostor. But be it so, even as he says. They cannot bestow their hostility on one who loathes and execrates them more than I do, or who will oppose their views with more zeal, when the opportunity "February 24, 1821. "Rode, &c. as usual. The secret intelligence arrived this morning from the frontier to the C'. is as bad as pos- sible. The plan has missed — the chiefs are betrayed, military as well as civil — and the Neapolitans not only have not moved, but have declared to the P. government, and to the Barbarians, that they luiow nothing of the matter ! ! ! " Thus the world goes ; and thus the Italians are always lost for lack of union among themselves. What is to be done here, between the two fires, and cut off from the N^. frontier, is not decided. My opinion was, better to rise than be taken in detail ; but how it will be settled now, I cannot tell. Messengers are despatched to the delegates of the other cities to learn their resolutions. "I always had an idea that it would be bungled ; but was willing to hope, and am so still. Whatever I can do by money, means, or person, I will venture freely for their freedom ; and have so repeated to them (some of the Chiefs here) half an hour ago. I have two thousand five hundred scudi, better than five hundred pounds, in the house, which I offered to begin with. "February 25, 1821. "Came home — my head aches — plenty of news, but too tiresome to set downi. I have neither read, nor ^vritten, nor thought, but led a purely animal life all day. I mean to try to write a page or two before I go to bed. But, as Squire Sullen says, 'My head aches consumedly: Scrub, bring me a dram ." Drank some Imola wine, and some punch. Log-book contimied.* "February 27, 1821. " I have been a day vnthout continuing the log, because I could not find a blank book. At length I recollected this. " Rode, &c. — dined — wrote down an additional stanza for the 5th canto of D. J. which I had composed in bed this morning. Visited t Arnica. We are invited on the night of the Veglione, (next Domenica) with the Mar- chesa Clelia CavaUi and the Countess Spinelli Rusponi. I promised to go. Last night there was a row at the ball. of which I am a ' socio.' The vice-legate had the impu* dent insolence to introduce three of his servants in mask-— without tickets, too ! and in spite of remonstrances. The consequence was, that the young men of the ball took it up, and were near throv^nng the vice-legate out of the win- dow. His servants, seeing the scene, withdrew, and he after them. His reverence Monsignore ought to know, that these are not times for the predominance of priests over decorum. Two minutes more, two steps farther, and the whde city would have been in arms, and the govern- ment driven out of it. " Such is the spirit of the day, and these fellows appear not to perceive it. As far as the simple fact went, the young men were right, servants being prohibited always at these festivals. "Yesterday wrote two notes on the 'Bowles and Pope' controversy, and sent them oflTto Murray by the post. The old woman whom I relieved in the forest (she is ninety- four years of age*) brought me two bunches of violets, ' Nam vita gaudet mortua floribus.' I was much pleased with the present. An Englishwoman would have pre- sented a pair of worsted stockings, at least, in the month of February. Both excellent things; but the former are more elegant. The present, at this season, reminds one of Gray's stanza, omitted from his elegy. ' Here scatler'd oft, the earliest of the year, By haads unseen, are showers of violets found ; The redbreast loves to build and warble here, And little footsteps lightly print the ground.' As fine a stanza as any in his elegy. I wonder that he could have the heart to omit it. "Last night I suffered horribly — from an indigestion, I believe. I never sup — that is, never at home. But, last night, I was prevailed upon by the Countess Gamba's persuasion, and the strenuous example of her brother, to swallow, at supper, a quantity of boiled cockles, and to dilute them,not reluctantly, with some Imola wine. When I came home, apprehensive of the consequences, I swal- lowed three or four glasses of spirits, which men (the venders) call brandy, rum, or Hollands, but which gods would entitle spirits of wine, coloured or sugared. All was pretty well till I got to bed, when I became somewhat swollen, and considerably vertiginous. I got out, and mixing some soda-powders, drank them off. This brought on temporary relief. I returned to bed ; but grew sick and sorry once and again. Took more soda-water. At last I fell into a dreary sleep. Woke, and was ill aU day, till I had galloped a few miles. Q,uery — was it the cockles, or what I took to correct them, that caused the commotion? I think both. I remarked in my illness the complete inertion, inaction, and destruction of my chief mental faculties. I tried to rouse them, and yet could not — and this is the Soul!! ! I should beUeve that it was mar- ried to the body, if they did not sympathize so much with each other. If the one rose, when the other fell, it would be a sign that they longed for the natural state of divorce. But, as it is, they seem to draw together like posthorses. " Let us hope the best — it is the grand possessicm." ' In another paper-book. See Journal, Jan. 26. DETACHED THOUGHTS. (EXTRACTED FROM VARIOUS JOURNALS, MEMORANDUMS, &c. &c.) On the first leaf of his " Scriptores Graeci" is in his schoolboy hand, the following memorial : — " George Gor- don Byron, Wednesday, June 26th, a. d. 1805, 3 quarters of an hour past 3 o'clock in the afternoon, 3d school, — Calvert, monitor, Tom Wildman on my left hand, and Long on my right, Harrow on the Hill." On the same leafj written five years after, appears this comment : *• Eheu fugaces, Poslhume I Posthume I Labunturanni. * B. January 9th, 1809. — Of the four persons whose names are here mentioned, one is dead, another in a dis- tant climate, aU separated, and not five years have elapsed since they sat together in school, and none are yet twenty- one years of age." In some of his other school books are recorded the date of his entrance at Harrow, the names of the boys who were at that time monitors, and the hst of his fellow-pupils under Doctor Drury, as follows : "Byron, Harrow on the Hill, Middlesex, Alumnus Scholse Lyonensis primus in anno Domini 1801, Ellison Duce." "Monitors, 1801. — ElUson, Royston, Hunxman, Rash- leigh, Rokeby, Leigh." " Drury 's Pupils, 1804. — Byron, Drury, Sinclair, Hoare, Bolder, Annesley, Calverl, Strong, Acland, Gordon, Drummond." * * + * + * * For several years of my earliest childhood, I was in Aberdeen, but have never revisited it since I was ten years old. I was sent, at five years old or earlier, to a school kept by a Mr. Bowers, who was called ' Bodsy Bowers,' by reason of his dapperness. It was a school for both sexes. I learned little there except to repeat by rote the first lesson of Monosyllables (' God made man' — ' Let us love him') by hearing it often repeated, without acquiring a letter. Whenever proof was made of my progress at homo, I repeated these words with the most rapid fluency 5 but on turning over a new leaf, I continued to repeat them, so that the narrow boundaries of my first year's accomplishments were detected, my ears boxed, (which they did not deserve, seeing it was by ear only that I had acquired my letters,) and my intellects con- signed to a new preceptor. He was a very devout, clever little clergyman, named Ross, afterward minister of one of the kirks, {kast^ I think.) Under him I made asto- nishing progress, and I recollect to this day his mild man- ners and good-natured pains-taking. 'I'he moment I could read, my grand passion was history, and, wliy I know not, but 1 was particularly taken witli the battle near the Lake Regillus in the Roman History, put into my hands the first. Four years ago, wlion standing on the heights of Tusculum, and looking down upon Ujo little round lake tliat was once Regillus, and which dots the immense expanse below, I remembered my young enthu- siasm and my old instructor. Afterward 1 had a very serious, saturnine, but kind young man, named Patcrson, for a tutor. He was tlie son of my shoemaker, but a good scholar, as is common with the Scotch. Ho was a rigid Presbyterian also. With him I b»';jan Latin in Ruddiman's grammar, and continued till I went to the 'Grammar School' {Scoticl, «Schule;' Aberdanici, < Squeel,') where I threaded all the classes to the fourth, when I was recalled to England (where I had been hatched) by the demise of my uncle. I acquired tliis handwriting, which I can hardly read myself under the fair copies of Mr. Duncan of the same city : I do n't think he would plume himself much upon my progress. However, I wrote much better then than I have ever done since. Haste and agitation of one kind or another have quite spoiled as pretty a scrawl as ever scratched over a frank. The grammar school might consist of a hundred and fifty of all ages under age. It was divided into five classes taught by four masters, the chief teaching the fourth and fifth himself. As in England, the fifth, sixth forms, and monitors, are heard by the head masters." ****** "I doubt sometimes whether, after all, a quiet and unagitated Ufe would have suited me \ yet I sometimes long for it. My earliest dreams (as most boys' dreams are) were martial ; but a Uttle later they were all for love and retirement, till the hopeless attachment to M * * * C + * * began and continued (though sedulously con- cealed) very early in my teens ; and so upwards for a time. This threw me out again 'alone on a wide, wide sea.' In the year 1804, 1 recollect meeting my sister at General Harcourt's in Portland-place. I was then one thing, and as she had always till then found me. When we met again in 1805, (she told me since) my temper and disposition were so completely altered that I was hardly to be recognised. I was not then sensible of the change ; but I can believe it, luid account for it." ****** " In all other respects," (he says, after mentioning hit infant passion for Mary Duff,) " I dilfered not at all from other cliildrcn, being neither tall nor short, dull nor witty, of my age, but rather lively — except in my sullen moods, and then I was always a devil. They once (in one of my silent rages) wrenched a knife from me, which I had snatched from table at Mrs. B.'s dinner, (I always dined earlier,) and applied to my breast ; — but tiiis was three or four years after, just before the late Lord B.'s decease. "My ostoisii/e temper has certainly improved in later years; but I shudder, and must, to my latest hour, regret the consequence of it and my passions combined. One event — but no matter — there are otliors not much bettor to tliink of also — and to them I give the preference " But I hate dwelling upon incidents. I\Iv temper is now undiT management — rarely loud, luul, wht-n loud, never deadly. It is when silent, and I feel my forehead and my cheek paling, that I cannot control it ; and then but unless tliere is a woman (aiul not any or every woman) in the way, I have sunk uito tolerable apatliy." ***♦♦♦ " My passions were developed very early — so early tliat few would believe me if I were to state the period and the facts which accompanied it. Perhaps this was one of tlie reasons which caused the antieipnted melan- choly of my thoughts, — having anlieipated life. My arlier poems are tlie thoughts of one at least ten years older than the ago at which they worn writtm, — 1 don^ 260 DETACHED THOUGHTS. mean for their solidity, but their experience. The first two Cantos of Childe Harold were completed at twenty- two ; and they are written as if by a man older than I shall probably ever be." ****** "My first dash into poetry was as early as 1800. It was the ebullition of a passion for my first cousin, Mar- garet Parker, (daughter and granddaughter of the two Admirals Parker,) one of the most beautiful vf evanes- cent beings. I have long forgotten the verses, but it would be difficult for me to forget her — her dark eyes — her long eyelashes — her completely Greek cast of face and figure ! I was then about twelve — she rather older, perhaps a year. She died about a year or two afterward, in consequence of a fall, which injured her spine, and induced consumption. Her sister Augusta (by some thought still more beautiful) died of the same malady ; and it was, indeed, in attending her, that Margaret met with the accident which occasioned her own death. My sister told me, that when she went to see her, shortly before her death, upon accidentally mentioning my name, Margaret coloured through tlie paleness of mortality to the eyes, to the great astonishment of my sister, who (residing with her grandmother. Lady Holdemess, and seeing but little of me, for family reasons) knew nothing of our attachment, nor could conceive why my name should affect her at such a time. I knew nothing of her illness, being at Harrow and in the country, till she was gone. Some years after, I made an attempt at an elegy — 9 very dull one.* "I do not recollect scarcely any thing equal to the transparent beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of her temper, during the short period of our intimacy. She looked as if she had been made out of a rambow — all beauty and peace. "My passion had its usual effects upon me — I could not sleep — I could not eat — I could not rest ; and although I had reason to know that she loved me, it was the texture of my life to tliink of the time which must elapse before we could meet again— being usually about twelve hours of separation ! But I was a fool tlien, and am not much and the whole went off with great effect upon our good- natured audience." wiser now ****** "When I was fifteen years of age, it happened that, in a cavern m Derbyshire, I had to cross in a boat, (in which two people only could lie down,) a stream which flows under a rock, with the rock so close upon the water as to admit the boat only to be pushed on by a ferryman (a sort of Charon) who wades at the stern, stooping all the time. The companion of my transit was Mary Aime ChaworthjWith whom I had been long in love and never told it, though she had discovered it without. I recollect my sensations, but cannot describe them, and it is as well. We were a party, a Mr. W. two Miss W.'s, Mr. and Mrs. CI— ke. Miss R. and my M. A. C. Alas! why do I say my ? Our union would have healed feuds in which blood had been shed by our fathers, it would have joined lands broad and rich, it would have joined at least one heart, and two persons not ill matched in years, (she is two years my elder,) and — and — and — what has been the result?" "When I was a youth, I was reckoned a good actor. Besides ' Harrow Speeches', (m which I shone,) I enacted Penruddock, in the « Wheel of Fortune,' and Tristram Fickle m Allingham's farce of the ' Weathercock,' for three nights, (the duration of our compact,) in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition. The other performers were young ladies and gentlemen of the neighbourhood. See preceding Memoranda, on page 229. ****** " When I first went up to college, it was a new and a heavy-hearted scene for me : firstly, I so much disliked leaving Harrow, that though it was time, (I being seven- teen,) it broke my very rest for the last quarter with counting tlie days that remained. I always hated Harrow till the last year Emd a half, but then I liked it. Secondly, I wished to go to Oxford and not to Cambridge. Thirdly, I was so completely alone in this new world, that it half broke my spirits. My companions were not unsocial, but the contrary — lively, hospitable, of rank and fortune, and gay far beyond my gayety. I mingled with, and dined and supped, &c. with them ; but, I know not how, it was one of the deadUest and heaviest feelings of my Ufe to feel that I was no longer a boy." "From that moment" (he adds) "I began to. grow old in my own esteem, and in my esteem age is not estima- ble. I took my gradations in the vices with great promp- titude, but they were not to my taste ; for ray early pas- sions, though violent in the extreme, were concentrated, and hated division or spreading abroad. I could have left or lost the whole world with, or for, that which I loved ; but, though my temperament was naturally burn- ing, 1 could not share in the commonplace Ubertinism of the place and time without disgust. And yet this very disgust, and my heart thrown back upon itself, threw me into excesses perhaps more fatal than those from which I shrunk, as fixing upon one ( at a time) the passions which spread among many would have hurt only myself." + ***«# " Till I was eighteen years old (odd as it may seem) I had never read a Review. But while at Harrow," my general information was so great on modern topics as to induce a suspicion that I could only collect so much infor- mation from Reviews, because I was never seen reading, but always idle, and in mischief^ or at play. The truth is, that I read eating, read in bed, read when no one else , and had read all sorts of reading since I was five years old, and yet never met with a Review, which is the only reason I know of why I should not have read them. But it is true ; for I remember when Hunter and Curzon, in 1804, told me this opinion at Harrow, I made them laugh by my ludicrous astonishment in asking them, ' What is a Review ?' To be sure, they were then less common. In three years more, I was better acquainted with that same ; but the first I ever read was in 1806-7. "At School I was (as I have said) remarked for the extent and readiness of my general information ; but in all other respects idle, capable of great sudden exertions, (such as thirty or forty Greek hexameters, of course with such prosody as it pleased God,) but of few continuous drudgeries. My qualities were much more oratorical and martial than poetical, and Dr. Drury, my grand patron, (our head master,) had a great notion that I should turn out an orator, from my fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and my action. I remem- ber that my first declamation astonished him into some unwonted (for he was economical of such) and sudden compliments, before the declaimers at our first rehearsal. My first Harrow verses, (that is, English, as exercises,) a translation of a chorus from the Prometheus of ^Eschy- lus, were received by him but coolly. No one had the least notion that I should subside into poesy. "Peel, the orator and statesman, (' that was, or is, or is to be,') was my form-fellow, and we were both at the top of our remove, -(a public-school phrase.) We were on good terms, but his brother was my intimate friend. There were always great hopes of Peel, among us all, masters and scholars — and he has not disappointed them. As a scholar he was greatly my superior ; as a declaimer and actor, I was reckoned at least his equal ; as a schoolboy, out of school, I was always in scrapes, and he never ; and DETACHED THOUGHTS. 261 in school, he always knew his lesson, and I rarely, — but when I knew it, I knew it nearly as well. In general information, history, &c. &c. I think I was his superior, as well as of most boys of my standing. " The prodigy of our school-days was George Sinclair, (son of Sir John ;) he made exercises for half the school, {literalli/,) verses at will, and themes without it. * * * He was a friend of mine, and in the same remove, and used at times to beg me to let him do my exercise, — a request always most readily accorded upon a pinch, or when I wanted to do something else, which was usually once an hour. On the other hand, he was pacific and I savage ; so I fought for him, or thrashed others for him, or tlirashed himself to malce him thrash others, when it was necessary, as a point of honour and stature, that he should so chastise ; or we talked politics, for he was a great pohtician, and were very good friends. I have some of his letters, written to me from school, still.* " Clayton was another school-monster of learning, and talent, and hope ; but what has become of him I do not know. He was certainly a genius. " My school friendships were with me passions, (for I was always violent,) but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be sure some have been cut short by death) till now. That with Lord Clare began one of the earliest and lasted longest — being only interrupted by distance — that I know of I never hear the word ' Clare' wthout a beating of the heart even now, and I write it with the feelings of 1803-4-5 ad infinitum." "At Harrow I fought my way very fairly. I think I lost but one battle out of seven ; and that was to H ; — and the rascal did not win it, but by the unfair treat- ment of his own boarding-house, where we boxed — I had not even a second. I never forgave him, and I should be sorry to meet him now, as I am sure we should quarrel. My most memorable combats were with Morgan, Rice, Rainsford, and Lord Jocelyn, — but we were always friendly afterward. I was a most unpopular boy, but led latterly, and have retained many of my school friendships, and all my dislikes — except to Doctor Butler, whom I treated rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since Doctor Drury, whom I plagued sufficiently too, was the best, the kindest (and yet strict, too) friend I ever had — and I look upon him still as a father. "P. Hunter, Curzon, Long, and Tatersall, were my principal friends. Clare, Dorset, C«. Gordon, De Bath, Claridge, and Jn". Wingfield, were my juniors and favour- ites, whom I spoiled by indulgence. Of all human beings, I was, perhaps, at one time, the most attached to poor Wingfield, who died at Coimbra, 1811, before I returned to England." + ♦ * * * "I have been thinking over, the other day, on the vari- ous comparbons, good or evil, which I have seen published of myself in different journals, English and foreign. This was suggested to mo by accidentally turning over a foreign one lately, — for I have made it a rule latterly never to search for any thing of the kind, but not to avoid the perusal if presented by chance, " To begin, then : I have seen myself compared per- sonally or poetically, in English, French, German, {as interpreted to me,) Italian, and Portuguese, within these nine years, to Rousseau, Goethe, Young, Aretine, Timon of Alliens, Dante, Petrarch, ' an alabaster vase, lighted up within,' Satan, Shakspeare, Buonaparte, Tiberius, ^schy- lus, Sophocles, Euripides, Harlequin, Uic Clown, Stern- hold and Hopkins, to the phantasmagoria, to Henry the Eighth, to Chenier, to Miraboau, to young 11. Dallas, (the schoolboy,) to Michael Angelo, to Raphael, to a pelit-maitre, to Diogenes, to Childc Harold, to Lara, to the Count in Bcppo, to Milton, to Pope, to Dryden, to Burns, to Savage, to Chatterton, to 'oft have I hoard of thee, my Lord Biron,' in Shakspeare, to Churchill the poet, to Kean the actor, to Alfieri,&c. &c. &c. " The likeness to Alfieri was asserted very seriously by an Italian who had known him in his younger days. It of course related merely to our apparent personal dispo- sitions. He did not assert it to me, (for we were not then good friends,) but in society, " The object of so many contradictory comparisons must probably be like something different from them all ; but what tJiat is, is more than / know, or anybody else." + * * + * "My mother, before I was twenty, would have it that I was like Rousseau, and Madame de Stael used to say so too in 1813, and the Edinburgh Review has something of the sort in its critique on the fourth Canto of Childe Harold. I can't see any point of resemblance : — he wrote prose ; I verse ; he was of the people ; I of the aristocracy:* he was a philosopher; I am none: he published his first work at forty ; I mine at eighteen : his first essay brought him universfd applause ; mine the contrary : he married his housekeeper ; I could not keep house with my wife : he thought all the world in a plot against him ; my little world seems to think me in a plot against it, if I may judge by their abuse in print and coterie : he liked botany ; I like flowers, herbs, and trees, but know nothing of their pedigrees : he wrote music ; I limit my knowledge of it to what I catch by ear — I never could learn any thing by sttidi/, not even a language — it was all by rote, and ear, and memory : he had a bad memory ; I had, at least, an excellent one, (ask Hodgson, the poet — a good judge, for he has an astonishing one :) he wrote with hesitation and care ; I with rapidity, and rarely with pains : he could never ride, nor swim, nor ' was curming of fence ;' / am an excellent swimmer, a decent, though not at all a dashing, rider, (having staved in a rib at eighteen in the course of scampering,) and was sufficient of fence, particularly of the Highland broadsword, — not a bad boxer, when I could keep my temper, which was difficult, but which I strove to do ever since I knocked down Mr. Purling, and put his kneepan out (with the gloves on,) in Angelo's and Jackson's rooms, in 1806, during the sparring, — and I was besides a very fair cricketer — one of the Harrow eleven, when we played against Eton in 1805. Besides, Rousseau's way of life, his country, his manners, his whole character, were so very different, that I am at a loss to conceive how such a comparison could have arisen, as it has done three several times, and all in rather a remarkable manner. I forgot to say that he was also shortsighted, and that hitherto my eyes have been the contrary, to such a degree, tliat in the largest tlieatre of Bologna I distin- guished and read some busts and inscriptions painted near tlie stage from a box so distant and so darkly lighted, that none of the company (composed of young and very bright-eyed people, some of tliem in the same box) could make out a letter, and thought it was a trick, tliough 1 had never been in that theatre before. " Altogether, I think myself justified in Uiinking tho comparison not well founded, I do n't say tliis out of pique, for Rousseau was a groat man, and tlie tiling, if true, were flattering enough ; — but I have no idea of bemg pleased with a chimera," ♦ + ♦ ♦ * ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ "I have been thinking of an o, an only chilil,) uiul my father had only nu', an only cliihl, by his seoon 266 DETACHED THOUGHTS. communicative. I had met many of his brethren, years before, in affairs of my friends, (commoners, that is,) but this was the first (or second) on my own account. A civil man ; feed accordingly : probably he anticipated as much." «I have heard that when Grattan made his first speech in the English Commons, it was for some minutes doubt- ful whether to laugh at or cheer him. The debut of his predecessor Flood had been a complete failure under nearly similar circumstances. But when the ministerial part of our senators had watched Pitt (their thermome- ter) for the cue, and saw him nod repeatedly his stately nod of approbation, they took the hint from their hunts- man, and broke out into the most rapturous cheers. Grattan's speech, indeed, deserved them ; it was a chef- cCoeuvre. I did not hear that speech of his, (being then at Harrow,) but heard most of his others on the same question — also that on the war of 1815. I differed from his opinions on the latter question, but coincided in the general admiration of his eloquence. " When I met old Courtenay, the orator, at Rogers the poet's, in 1811-12, I was much taken with the portly remains of his fine figure, and the still acute quickness of his conversation. It was he who silenced Flood in the English House by a crushing reply to a hasty debut of the rival of Grattan in Ireland. 1 asked Courtenay (for I like to trace motives) if he had not some personal pro- vocation ; for the acrimony of his answer seemed to me, as I had read it, to involve it. Courtenay said ' he had ; that, when in Ireland, (being an Irishman,) at the bar of the Irish House of Commons, Flood had made a personal and unfair attack upon himself^ who, not being a ntieinber of that House, could not defend himself, and that some years afterward, the opportunity of retort offering- in the English Parliament, he could not resist it. He certainly repaid Flood with interest, for Flood never made any figure, and only a speech or two afterward, in the English House of Commons. I must except, however, his speech on Reform in 1790, which Fox called 'the best he ever heard upon that subject.' " **♦**♦ "I was much struck with the simplicity of Grattan's manners in private life : they were odd, but they were natural. Curran used to take him off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking God that he had no pecu- liarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly ludicrous and * * used to call him a ' sentimental harle- quin.' ' "Curran! Curran 's the man who struck me most. Such imagination ! there never was any thing like it that ever I saw or heard of. His published life — ^his published speeches, give you no idea of the man — ^none at all. He was a machine of imagination, as some one said that Piron was an epigrammatic machine. "I did not see a great deal of Curran — only in 1813 ; but I met him at home, (for he used to call on me,) and in society, at Mackintosh's, Holland House, &c. &c. and he was wonderful even to me, who had seen many re- markable men of the time. *♦***♦ "The powers of Curran's Irish imagination were ex- haustless. I have heard that man speak more poetry than I have ever seen written, — though I met him seldom and but occasionally. I saw him presented to Madame de Stael at Mackintosh's ; — ^it was the grand confluence be- tween the Rhone and the Saone, and they were both so d — d ugly, that I could not help wondering how the best intellects of France and Ireland could have taken up respectively such residences." ♦ * ♦ * ■One of tho cleverest men I ever knew, in conversar tion, v>as Scrope Berdmore Davies. Hobhouse is also very good in diat line, though it is of less consequence to a man who has other ways of showing his talents than in company. Scrope was always ready and often witty— Hobhouse as witty, but not always so ready, being more diffident." " Lewis is a good man, rhymes well, (if not wisely,) but is a bore. He seizes you by the button. One night of a rout, at Mrs. Hope's, he had fastened upon me, not- withstanding my symptoms of manifest distress (for I was in love, and had just nicked a minute when neither mothers, nor husbands, nor rivals, nor gossips, were near my then idol, who was beautiful as the statues of the gallery where we stood at the time) — Lewis, I say, had seized upon me by the button and the heart-strings, and spared neither. W. Spencer, who likes fun, and do n't dlshke mischief, saw my case, and coming up to us both, took me by the hand, and pathetically bade me farewell ; foi-,' said he, ' I see it is all over with you.' Lewis then went away. Sic me servavit Apollo. "I remember seeing Blucher in the Lcmdon assemblies, and never saw any thing of his age less venerable. With the voice and manners of a recruiting sergeant, he pre- tended to the honours of a hero, — just as if a stone could be worshipped because a man had stumbled over it." " When I met Hudson Lowe, the jailer, at Lord Hol- land's before he sailed for St. Helena, the discourse turned on the battle of Waterloo. I asked him whether the dispositions of Napoleon were those of a great gene- ral ? He answered, disparagingly, ' that they were very simple.^ I had always thought that a degree of simplicity was an ingredient of greatness. ****** "L * * was a good man, a clever man, but a bore. My only revenge or consolation used to be, setting him by tlie ears wi'.h some vivacious person who hated bores especially, — Madame de S — or H — , for example. But I liked L * * ; he was a jewel of a man, had he been better set ; — I do n't mean personally^ but less tiresome^ for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to every thing and every body. Being shortsighted, when we used to ride out together near the Brenta in the twilight in sum- mer, he made me go before, to pilot him : I am absent at times, especially towards evening ; and the consequence of this pilotage was some narrow escapes to the M * * on horseback. Once I led him into a ditch over which I had passed as usual, forgetting to warn my convoy ; once I led him nearly into the river, instead of on the moveable bridge which incommodes passengers ; and twice did we both run against the Diligence, which, being heavy and slow, did communicate less damage than it received in its leaders, who were terrahed by the charge ; thrice did I lose him in die gray of the gloaming, and was obUged to bring-to to his distant signals of distance and distress ; — all the time he went on talking without intermission, for he was a man of many words. Poor fellow! he died a martyr to his new riches — of a second visit to Jamaica. that is— I 'd give the lands of Deloraine Dark Musgrave were alive again I " I would give many a sugar cane Monk Lewis were alive again 1" leart andf ***** " Madame de Stael was a good woman at heart the cleverest at bottom, but spoiled by a wish to be — she knew not what. In her own house she was amiable ; in any other person's, you wished her gone, and in her own again." ****** « I liked the Dandies ; they were always very civil DETACHED THOUGHTS 267 me, though in general they disliked literaiy people, and persecuted and mystified Madame de Stacl, Lewis, * * * *, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madame de Stael that A * * had a hundred thousand a year, &;c. &c. till she praised him to his face for his beauty ! and made a set at him for * *, and a hundred fooleries be- sides. The truth is, that, though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of dandyism in my minority, and pro- bably retained enough of it to conciliate the great ones at five-and-twenty. I had gamed, and drank, and taken my degrees in most dissipations, and having no pedantry, and not being overbearing, we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made me a member of Watier's, (a superb club at that time,) being, I take it, the only literary man (except two others, both men of the world, Moore and Spenser) in it. Our masquerade was a grand one ; so was the dandy ball too, at the Argyle, but that (the latter) was given by the four chiefs, B., M., A., and P., if I err not. " I was a member of the Alfred, too, being elected while in Greece. It was pleasant ; a little too sober and literary, and bored with * * and Sir Francis Dlvernois ; but one met Peel, and Ward, and Valentia, and many other pleasant or known people ; and it was, upon the whole, a decent resource in a rainy day, in a dearth of parties, or parliament, or in an empty season. "I belonged, or belong, to the following clubs or socie- ties: — to the Alfred; to the Cocoa Tree; to Watier's; to the Union ; to Racket's, (at Brighton ;) to the Pugi- listic ; to the Owls, or ' Fly-by-night ;' to the Cambridge Whig Club; to the Harrow Club, Cambridge; and to one or two private Clubs ; to the Hampden (political) Club; and to the Italian Carbonari, &c. &.c. &c. * though last, not least J 1 got into all these, and never stood for any other — at least to my own knowledge. I declined being proposed to several others, though pressed to stand candidate." * * * * (commonly called long ♦ * +, a very clever man, but odd) complained to our friend Scrope B, Davies, in riding, that he had a stitch in his side. 'I don't won- der at it,' said Scrope, ' for you ride like a tailor.^ Whoever had seen * * ♦ on horseback, with his very tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justness of the rejjartee. " When Brummell was obliged (by that affair of poor M * *, who thence acquired the name of 'Dick the Dandy-killer' — it was about money, and debt, and all that) to retire to France, he knew no French, and having obtained a grammar for the purpose of study, our friend Scrope Davies was asked what progress Brummell had made in French, he responded, ' that Brummell had been stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the Elements.^ « I have put this pun into Beppo, which is 'a fair ex- change and no robbery,' for Scrope made liis fortune at several dinners (as he owned himself) by repeating occasionally, as his own, some of the butfooneries with which I had encountered lum in the morning." " I have been called in as mediator, or second, at least twenty times, in violent quarrels, and have always con- trived to settle the business without compromising (lit' honour of the parties, or leading them to mortal conse- quences, and tbis too sometimes in very difficult and delicate circumstances, and having to deal with very liot and hauglity spirits, — Irishmen, gamestiirs, guardsmen, captains, and cornets of horse, and tlie like. This was, of course, in my youth, when I lived in hot-houdcd com- pany. I have had to carry challenges from genllomon to noblemen, from captains to captains, from lawyers to counsellors, and once from a clergyman (o an ollicor in the life-guards ; but I found the latter by far the most difficult, ' to compose The bloody duel witboul blows, * the business being about a woman : I must add too, that I never saw a woman behave so ill, like a cold-blooded, heardess b — as she was, — but very handsome, for all that. A certain Susan C + * was she called. I never saw her but once ; and that was to induce her but to say two words, (which in no degree compromised herself^) and which would have had the effect of saving a priest or a lieutenant of cavalry. She would not say them, and neither N * * nor myself (the son of Sir E. N * ♦, and a friend to one of the parties) could prevail upon her to say them, though both of us used to deal in some sort with woman-kind. At last I managed to quiet the com- batants \vithout her talisman, and, I believe, to her great disappointment : she was the damnedest b — that I ever saw, and I have seen a great many. Though my clergy- man was sure to lose either his Ufe or his living, he was as warlike as the Bishop of Beauvais, and would hardly be pacified ; but then he was in love, and that is a martial passion." + ♦**♦* "Like Sylla, I have always believed that all things depend upon fortune, and nothing upon ourselves. I am not aware of any one thought or action worthy of being called good to myself or others, which is not to be attri- buted to the good goddess Fortune." ****** " If I were to live over again, I do not know what I would change in my life, unless it were for — not to have lived at all. All history, and experience, and the rest, teaches us that the good and evil are pretty equally balanced in this existence, and that what is most to be desired is an easy passage out of it. What can it givo us but years ? and those have Uttle of good but their ending. *♦*♦*♦ "The world visits change of politics or change of religion witli a more severe censure than a mere diffe- rence of opinion would appear to me to deserve. But there must be some reason for this feeling ; — and I think it is that these deparlures from the earliest instilled ideas of our childhood, and from tlie line of conduct chosen by us when we first enter into public life, have bepn seen to have more mischievous results for society, and to prove more weakness of mind than otlier actions, in themselves more immoral." Of the bust of himself by Bartollini : — " The bust does not turn out a good one, — though it may bo like for aught I know, as it exactly resembles a superannuated Jesuit." Again, " I assure you Bartollini's is dreadful, though my mind misgives me that it is hideously like. If it is, I cannot be long for tliis world, for it overlooks seventy." "As far as fame goes (Uiat is to say, living fame,) I have had my share, perhaps — indeed, certainly — more than my deserts. " Some odd instances have occurred, to my o\vn experi- ence, of tlie wild and strange places to which a name may penetrate, and wlu>re it may impress. Two years ago, (almost tliree, being in August or July, 1819,) I ro- ceivod at Ravenna a letter, in Englitli verso, from Dnm- llmm in Nor>vay, written by a Norwegian, and full of lh« usu;d compliments, &c. &c. It is still somewhere anion^ my papers. In tlie same numth I received an invitatiitn into Hulstiin from a Mr. Jaci)bson (I think) of Ham- burgh : also, by the same mcilium, a triinsUilion of Mo- iloru's song in the Corsair by a >N'eslplialuui baronesa, {nut ' Thunderton-Tronek,') witli some origujal vorsoa of hers, (very pretty and KlopBfock-ish,) and a prose transla- tion annexed to lliem, on llic subject of my wife. — as 268 DETACHED THOUGHTS. they concerned her more than me, I sent them to her, together with Mr. Jacobsen's letter. It was odd enough to receive an invitation to pass the summer in Holstetn while in Italy, from people I never knew. The letter was addressed to Venice. Mr. Jacobsen talked to me of the 'wild roses growing in the Holstein summer.' Why then did the Cimbri and Teutones emigrate? " What a strange thing is life and man ! Were I to present myself at the door of the house where my daugh- ter now is, the door would be shut in my face — ^unless (as is not impossible) I knocked down the porter ; and if I had gone in that year (and perhaps now) to Drontheim, (the furthest town in Norway,) or into Holstein, I should have been received with open arms into the mansion of strangers and foreigners, attached to me by no tie but by that of mind and rumour. " As far as fame goes, I have had my share : it has indeed been leavened by other human contingencies, and this in a greater degree than has occurred to most literary men of a decent rank in life ; but, on the whole, I take it that such equipoise is the condition of humanity." "Among the various Journals, Memoranda, Diaries, &c. which I have kept in the course of my living, 1 began one about three months ago, and carried it on till I had filled one paper-book, (thinnish,) and tv.o sheets or so of another. I then left off, partly because I thought we should have some business here, and I had furbished up my arms and got my apparatus ready for taking a turn wdth the patriots, having my drawers full of their procla- mations, oaths, and resolutions, and my lower rooms of their hidden weapons, of most cahbers, — and partly because I had filled my paper-book. '"But the Neapolitans have betrayed themselves and all the world; and those who would have given tlieir blood for Italy can now only give her theii tears. " Some day or other, if dust holds together, I have been enough in the secret (at least in this part of the country) to cast perhaps some Utile light upon the atrocious treachery which has replunged Italy into barbarism : at present I have neither the time nor the temper. How- ever, the real Italians are not to blame ; merely the scoun- drels at the Jieel of the boot, which the Hun now wears, and will trample them to ashes with for their servility. I have risked myself with the others here, and how far I may or may not be compromised is a problem at this moment. Some of them, Uke Craigengelt, would 'tell all, and more than all, to save themselves.' But, come what may, the cause was a glorious one, though it reads at present as if the Greeks had run away from Xerxes. Happy the few who have only to reproach themselves with beUeving that these rascals were less 'rascaille' tlian they proved! — Here m Rornagua, the efforts were necessarily limited to preparations and good intentions, until the Gcimans were fairly engaged in equal warfare — as we are upon their very frontiers, without a single fort or hill nearer than San Marino. Ifhether 'hell will be paved with' those 'good intentions,' I know not ; but there will probably be a good store of Neapohtans to walk upon the pavement, whatever may be its composition. Slabs of lava from their moun- tain, with the bodies of their own damned souls for cement, would be the fittest causeway for Satan's 'Corso.'" * * ♦ ♦ * * "Pisa, November 5, 1821. "There is a strange coincidence sometimes in the Uttle things of this world, Sancho,' says Sterne in a letter, (if I mistake not,) and so I have often found it. «* Page article , of this collection, I had alluded to my friend Lord Clare in terms such as my feelings sug- gested. About a week or two afterward, I met him on the road between Imola and Bologna, after not having met for peven or eight years. He was abroad in 1814, and came home just as I set out in 1816. ** This meeting annihilated for a moment all the years between the present time and the days o{ Harrow. It was a new and inexplicable feehng, lilie rising from the grave to me. Clare too was much agitated — more in appear- ance than was myself; for I could feel his heart beat to his fingers' ends, unless, indeed, it was the pulse of my own which made me think so. He told me that I should find a note from him left at Bologna. I did. We were obliged to part for our different journeys, he for Rome, I for Pisa, but with the promise to meet again in spring. We were but five minutes together, and on the public road ; but I hardly recollect an hour of my existence which could be weighed against them. He had heard that I was coming on, and had left his letter for me at Bologna, because the people with whom lie was travelling could not wait longer. " Of all I have ever known, he has always been the least altered iii every thing from the excellent qualities and kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at school, I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so httle of the leaven of bad passions. "I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during ab- sence and distance." ****** " I revisited the Florence Gallery, &c. My former im- pressions were confirmed ; but there were too many visiters there to allow one to feel any thing properly. When we were (about thirty or forty) all stuffed into the cabinet of gems and knick-knackeries, in a corner of one of tlie galleries, I told Rogers that it 'felt like being in the \vatchhouse.' I left him to make his obeisances to some of his acquaintances, and strolled on alone — the only four minutes I could snatch of any feeling for the works around me. I do not mean to apply this to a tete-a-tete scrutiny with Rogers, who has an excellent taste, and deep feeling for the arts, (indeed much more of both than I can pos- sess, for of the former I have not much,) but to the crowd of jostling starers and travelling talkers around me. "I heard one bold Briton declare to the woman on his arm, looking at the Venus of Titian, ' Well, now, this is really very fine indeed,' — an observation which, hke that of the landlord in Joseph Andrews on ' the certainty of death,' was (as the landlord's wife observed) ' extremely true.' " In the Pitti Palace, I did not omit Goldsmith's prc» scription for a connoisseur, ^'iz. ' that the pictures would have been better if the painter had taken more pains, and to praise the works of Pietro Perugino,'" ****** " People have wondered at the melancholy which runa through my writings. Others have wondered at my per« sonal gayety. But I recollect once, after an hour in which I had been sincerely and particularly gay and rather bril» liant, in company, my wife replying to me, when I said, (upon her remarking my high spirits,) ' And yet. Bell, I have been called and miscalled melancholy — you must have seen how falsely, frequently?' 'No, Byron,' she answered, ' it is not so : at heart, you are the most melanr choly of mankind ; and often when apparently gayest,' " * * * * * * "A young American,* named Coolidge, called on me not many months ago. He was inteUigent, very hand- some, and not more than twenty years old, according to appearances ; a little romantic, but that sits well upon youth, and mighty fond of poesy, as may be suspected from his approaching me in my cavern. He brought me a message from an old servant of my family, (Joe Murray,) and told me that he (Mr. Coolidge) had obtained a copy of my bust from Thorwaldsen at Rome, to send to Ame- rica. I confess I was more flattered by tliis young enthu- siasm of a solitary transatlantic traveller, than if they had decreed me a statue in the Paris Pantheon, (I have seen Sje Letter SOJ, DETACHED THOUGHTS. 26^ emperors and demagogues cast down from their pedestals even in my own time, and Grattan's name razed from the street, called after him in Dublin ;) I say that I was more flattered by it, because it was single, unpoliticai, and was without motive or ostentation, — the pure and warm feeling of a boy for the poet he admired. It must have been ex- pensive, though ; — / would not pay the price of a Thor- waldsen bust for any human head and shoulders, except Napoleon's, or my children s, or some ^absurd woman- kind's,' as Monkbarns calls them — or my sister's. If asked why, then, I sat for my own ? — Answer, that it was at the particular request of J. C. Hobhouse, Esq. and for no one else. A picture is a different matter ; — every body sits for their picture ; but a bust looks lil Alivsnic chro- iiology, or ii'you could get rid of Adam and Eve, and the apple, and serpent, still, what is to bo put up in thnr strad f or how is the dilficulty removed .' Things miist have hod a beginning, and what matters it ulicn or /imf/" 270 DETACHED THOUGHTS. "1 sometimes think that man may be the relic of same higher material being wrecked in a former world, and de- generated in the hardship and struggle through chaos into conformity, or something like it, — as we see Laplanders, Esquimaux, &c. inferior in the present state, as the ele- ments become more inexorable. But even then this higher pre- Adamite supposititious creation must have had «.n origin and a Creator, — for a creation is a more natural imagination than a fortuitous concourse of atoms: all things remount to a fountain, though they may flow to an •ocean. * Plutarch says, in his Life of Lysander, that Aristotle observes ' that in general great geniuses are of a melan- choly turn, and instances Socrates, Plato, and Hercules, (or Heraclitus,) as examples ; and Lysander, though not while young, yet as inclined to it when approaching towards age.' Whether I am a genius or not, I have been called such by my friends as well as enemies, and in more ■countries and languages than one, and also within a no very long period of existence. Of my genius I can say nothing, but of my melancholy, that it is 'increasing and ought to be diminished.' But how ? " I take it that most men are so at bottom, but that it is only remarked in the remarkable. The Duchesse de Broglio, in reply to a remark of mine on the errors of clever people, said that ' they were not worse than others, only, being more in view, more noted, especially in all that could reduce them to the rest, or raise the rest to them.' In 1816 this was. " In fact, (I suppose that) if the follies of fools were all set down lilce those of the wise, the wise (who seem at present only a better sort of fools) would appear almost intelligent." "It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us : a year impairs ; A lustre obliterates. There is httle distinct left without an effort of memory. Then, indeed, the lights are re- jcindled for a moment ; but who can be sure that imagi- ^lation is not the torchbearer ? Let any man try at the ^nd of ten years to bring before him the features, or the mind, or the sayings, or the habits of his best friend, or his greatest man, (I mean his favourite, his Bounaparte, his this, that, or t' other,) and he will be surprised at the extreme confusion of his ideas. I speak confidently on this point, having always passed for one who had a good, ay, an excellent memory. I except, indeed, our recollec- tion of womankind ; there is no forgetting them (and be d — d to them) any more than any other remarkable era, Buch as 'the revolution,' or 'the plague,' or ' tlie invasion,' or ' the comet,' or ' the war' of such and such an epoch, — being the favourite dates of mankind, who have so many blessings in their lot, that they never make their calendars from them, being too common. For instance, you see, 'the great drought,' ' the Thames frozen over,' 'the seven years' war broke out,' ' the English, or French, or Spanish revolution commenced,' 'the Lisbon earthquake,' 'the Lima eartliquake,' 'the earthquake of Calabria,' 'the plague of London,' ditto ' of Constantinople,' ' the sweat- ing sickness,' ' the yellow fever of Philadelphia,' &c. &c. &c. ; but you do n't see 'the abundant harvest,' 'the fine summer,' ' tlie long peace,' ' the wealthy speculation,' ' the wreckless voyage,' recorded so emphatically! By-the- way, there has been a thirty years' war and a seventy yeari war ; was there ever a seventy or a thirty years' peace 7 or was there even a day's universal peace ? ex- cept perhaps in China, where they have found out the miserable happiness of a stationary and unwarlike medi- ocrity. And is all this because nature is niggard or savage, or mankind ungrateful? Let philosophers decide. I am none." " In general I do not draw well with literary men ; not that I dislike them — but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their last publication. There are several exceptions, to be sure ; but then they have either been men of the world, such as Scott and Moore, &c. ; or visionaries out of it, such as Shelley, &c. : but your literary every-day man and I never went well in company, especially your foreigner, whom I never could abide ; except Giordani, and — and — and — (I reaHy can't name any other) — I do n't remember a man among them whom I ever wished to see twice, except perhaps Mez- zophanti, who is a monster of languages, the Briareus of parts of speech, a walking Polyglott, and more, who ought to have existed at the time of the Tower of Babel as universal interpreter. He is indeed a marvel — unassum- ing, also. I tried him in all the tongues of which I knew a single oath, (or adjuration to the gods against postboys, savages, Tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, gondoliers, muleteers, camel-drivers, Vetturini, postmasters, post- horses, posthouses, post every thing,) and, egad! he astounded me — even to my EngUsh." " ' No man would live his life over again,' is an old and true saying which all can resolve for themselves. At the same time, there are probably moments in most men's lives which they would live over the rest of life to regain ? Else why do we live at all? because Hope recurs to Memory, both false but — but — but — but and this but drags on till — what? I do not know: and who does? He that died o' Wednesday ?" THE FIRST CHAPTER OF A NOVEL, CONTEMPLATED BV LORD BYRON IN THE SPRINO OF 1812 ; (AFTERWARDS PUBLISHED IN ONE OF MR. Dallas' novels.) DARRELL TO G. Y. * + * + So much for your present pursuits. I will now resume the subject of my last. How I wish you were upon the spot ; your taste for the ridiculous would be fully gratified; and if you felt inclined for more serious amusement, there is no "lack of argument." Within this last week our guests have been doubled in number, some of them my old acquaintance. Our host you already know — absurd as ever, but rather duller, and I should conceive, troublesome to such of his very good friends as find his house more agreeable than its owner. I confine myself to observation, and do not find him at all in the way, though Veramore and Asply are of a different opinion. The former, in particular, imparts to me many pathetic complaints of the want of opportunities (nothing else being wanting to the success of the said Veramore) created by tlie fractious and but ill concealed jealousy of poor Bramblebear, whose Penelope seems to have as many suitors as her namesake, and for aught I can see to the contrary, with Wf much prospect of carrying their point. In Uie mean tune, I look on and laugh, or rather I should laugh were you present to share in it ; sackclotli and sorrow are excellent wear for soliloquy ; but for a laugh there should be two, but not many more, except at the first night of a modern tragedy. You are very much mistaken in the design you impute to myself; I have none here or elsewhere. I am sick of old intrigues, and too indolent to engage in new ones. Besides, I am, that is, I used to be, apt to find my heart gone at the very time when you fastidious gentlemen begin to recover yours. I agree with you that the world, as well as yourselfj are of a different opinion. I shall never be at the trouble to undeceive cither ; my follies have seldom been of my own seeking. " Rebellion came in my way, and I found it." This may ajjpear as cox- combical a speech as Veramore could make, yet you partly know its truth. You talk to me too of « my cha- racter," and yet it is one which you and fifty others have been struggling these seven years to obtain for yourselves. I wish you had it, you would make so much better, that is, worse use of it ; relieve me, and gratify an ambition which is unworthy of a man of sense. It has always appeared to me extraordinary that you should value women so highly, and yet love them so little. The height of your gratification ceases with its accomplishment; you bow, and you sigh, and you worship, — and abandon. For my part I regard them as a very beautiful, but inferior animal. I think them as much out of place at our tables as they , J. , 180—. would be in our senates. The whole present system, with regard to tliat sex, is a remnant of the chivalrous barbarism of our ancestors ; I look upon them as grown- up children, but, like a foolish mamma, am always the slave of some only one. With a contempt for the race, I am ever attached to the individual, in spite of myself. You know that, though not rude, I am inattentive ; any thing but a " beau garfon." I would not hand a woman out of her carriage, but I would leap into a river after her. However I grant you that, as they must walk oftener out of chariots than into the Thames, you gentlemen servitors, Cortcjos and Cicisbei, have a better chance of being agreeable and useful ; you might, very probably, do both ; but as you can't swim, and I can, I recommend you ta invite me to your first water-party. Bramblebear's Lady Penelope puzzles me. She is very beautiful, but not one of my beauties. You know I admire a different complexion, but the figure is perfect.. She is accomplished, if her mother and music-master may be believed ; amiable, if a soft voice and a sweet smile could make her so; young, even by the register of her baptism ; pious and chaste, and doting on her hus- band according to Bramblebear's observation ; equally loving, not of her husband, tliough rather less pious, and <' oUier tiling, according to Veramore 's ; and if mine hath, any discernment, she detests the one, despises the other and loves — herself. That she dislikes Bramblebear is evident; poor soul, I can't blame her; she has found him out to be mighty weak and little-tempered; she has also discovered that she married too early to know what sho liked, and that there are many likeable people who woulct have been less discordant and more creditable partners. Still, she conducts herself well, and in point of good humour, to admiration. A gootl deal of religion, (not enthusiasm, for that leads the contrary way,) a prj'ing husband who never leaves her, and, as I think, a very temperate pulse, will keep her out of scrapes. I am glad of it, first, because, though Bramblebear is bad, I don't thinlt Veramore much better ; and next, because Bnun« blebcar is ridiculous enough ahcady, and it would bo thrown away upon him to make him more so ; thirdly, it would bo a pity, because nobotly loould pity him ; and, fourthly, (as Scrub says,) he would then become a melan- choly and sentimental harlequin, instead of a merry, fret- ful pantaloon, and I like the pantomime better as it is now cast. More in my next. Yours, truly, Darrell. PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. DEBATE ON THE FRAME-WORK BILL, IN THE HOUSE OF LORDS, FEBRUARY 27, 1812. The order of the day for the second reading of this bill being read, LORD BYRON rose, and (for the first time) ad- dressed their lordships, as follows : My Lords — The subject now submitted to your lord- ships for the first time, though new to the House, is by no means new to the country. I believe it had occupied the serious thoughts of all descriptions of persons, long before its introduction to the notice of that legislature, whose interference alone could be of real service. As a person in some degree connected with the suffering county, though a stranger not only to this House in gene- ral, but to almost every individual whose attention I pre- sume to solicit, I must claim some portion of your lord- ships' indulgence whilst I offer a few observations on a question in which I confess myself deeply interested. To enter into any detail of the riots would be super- fluous : the House is already aware that every outrage short of actual bloodshed has been perpetrated, and that the proprietors of the frames obnoxious to the rioters, and all persons supposed to be comiected with them, have been liable to insult and violence. Durino; the short time "hurried over with a view to exportation. It was called, in the cant of the trade, by the name of " Spider work." The rejected workmen, in the blindness of their Igno- rance, instead of rejoicing at these improvements in artsf so beneficial to mankind, conceived themselves to be sacrificed to improvements in mechanism. In the foolish- ness of their hearts they imagined, that the maintenance and well-doing of the industrious poor were objects of greater consequence than the enrichment of a few indi- viduals by any improvement, in the implements of trade, which threw the workmen out of employment, and ren- dered the labourer unworthy of his hire. And it must be confessed that although the adoption of the enlarged ma- chinery, in that state of our commerce which the country once boasted, might have been beneficial to the master without being detrimental to the servant; yet, in the pre- sent situation of our manufactures, rotting in warehouses, without a prospect of exportation, with the demand for work and workmen equally diminished ; frames of this description tend materially to aggravate the distress and discontent of the disappointed sdfcrers. But the real cause of these distresses and consequent disturbances lies deeper. When we are told that these men are leagued together not only for the destruction of their own I recently passed in Nottinghamshire, not twelve hours comfort, but of their very means of subsistence, can we elapsed without some fresh act of violence ; and on the forget that it is the bitter policy, the destructive warfare of day I left the county, I was informed that forty frames had j the last eighteen years, which has destroyed their corn- been broken the preceding evening, as usual, without j fort, your comfort, all men's comfort? That policy which, resistance and without detection. originating with " great statesmen now no more," has Such was then the state of that county, and such 1 1 survived the dead to become a curse on the living, unto have reason to believe it to be at this moment. But whilst the third and fourth generation ! These men never these outrages must be admitted to exist to an alarming extent, it caimot be denied that they have arisen from circumstances of the most unparalleled distress. The perseverance of these miserable men in their proceed- ings, tends to prove that nothing but absolute want could have driven a large, and once honest and industrious, body of the people, into the commission of excesses so hazardous to themselves, their families, and the coimnu- nity. At the time to which I allude, the town ajid county were burdened with large detachments of the military ; the police was in motion, the magistrates assembled ; yet all the movements, civil and military, had led to — nothing. Not a single instance had occurred of the apprehension of any real delinquent actually taken in the fact, against whom there existed legal evidence sufficient for convic- tion. But the police, however useless, were by no means idle: several notorious delinquents had been detected; men, liable to conviction, on the clearest evidence, of the capital crime of poverty ; men who had been nefariously guilty of lawfully begetting several children, whom, thanks to the times ! they were unable to maintain. Considera- ble injury has been done to the proprietors of the improved frames. These machines were to them an advantage, inasmuch as they superseded the necessity of employing a number of workmen, who were left in consequence to starve. By the adoption of one species of frame in par- ticular, one man performed the work of many, and the superfluous labourers were thrown out of employment. Yet it is to be observed, that the work thus executed was inferior in quality ; not marketable at home, and merely destroyed their looms till they were become useless, worse than useless ; till they were become actual impedi- ments to their exertions in obtaining their daily bread. Can you, then, wonder that in times like these, when bankruptcy, convicted fraud, and imputed felony are found in a station not far beneath that of your lordships, the lowest, though once most useful portion of the people, should forget their duty in their distresses, and become only less guilty than one of their representatives ? But while the exalted offender can find means to baflle the law, new capital punishments must be devised, new snares of death must be spread for the wretched mecha- nic, who is famished into guilt. These men were willing to dig, but the spade was in other hands: they were not ashamed to beg, but there was none to relieve them : their own means of subsistence were cut off, all other employ- ments preoccupied, and their excesses, however to be deplored and condemned, can hardly be subject of sur- prise. It has been stated that the persons in the temporary possession of frames connive at their destruction ; if this be proved upon inquiry, it were necessary that such mate- rial accessaries to the crime should be principals in the punishment. But I did hope, that any measure proposed by his majesty's government, for your lordships' decision, would have had conciliation for its basis ; or, if that were hopeless, that some previous inquiry, some deliberation would have been deemed requisite ; not that we should have been called at once without examination, and with- out cause, to pass sentences by wholesale, and sign death* II PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 273 warrants blindfold. But admitting that these men had no cause of complaint ; that the grievances of them and their employers were alike groundless ; that they deserved the worst; what inefficiency, what imbecility has been evinced in the method chosen to reduce them! Why were the military called out to be made a mockery of^ if they were to be called out at all ? As far as the differ- ence of seasons would permit, they have merely parodied the summer campaign of Major Sturgeon ; and, indeed, the whole proceedings, civil and military, seemed on the model of tliose of the Mayor and Corporation of Gar- ratt. — Such marchings and countermarchings ! from Nottingham to BulKvell, from BuUwell to Banford, from Banford to Mansfield ! and when at length the detach- ments arrived at their destinations, in all "the pride pomp, and circumstance of glorious war," they came just in time to witness the mischief which had been done, and ascertain the escape of the perpetrators, to collect the ** spolia opimd'^ in the fragments of broken frames, and return to their quarters amidst the derision of old women, and the hootings of children. Now, though in a free country, it were to be wished that our military should never be too formidable, at least to ourselves, I cannot see the policy of placing them in situations where they can only be made ridiculous. As the sword is the worst argument that can be used, so should it be the last. In this instance it has been the first ; but providentially as yet only in the scabbard. The present measure will, indeed, pluck it from the sheath ; yet had proper meet- ings been held in the earlier stages of these riots, — had the grievances of these men and their masters (for they also had their grievances) been fairly weighed and justly examined, I do think ihat means might have been devised to restore these workmen to their avocations, and tran- quillity to the county. At present the county suffers from the double infliction of an idle military, and a starving population. In what state of apathy have we been plunged so long, that now for the first time the House has been officially apprized of these disturbances ! All this has been transacting within 130 miles of London, and yet we, "good easy men, have deemed full surely our great- ness was a-ripening," and have sat down to enjoy our foreign triumphs in the midst of domestic calamity. But all the cities you have taken, all the armies which have retreated before your leaders, are but paltry subjects of self-congratulation, if your land divides against itself^ and your dragoons and your executioners must be let loose against your fellow-citizens. — You call these men a mob, desperate, dangerous, and ignorant ; and seem to think that the only way to quiet the "Bellua multorum capiturri'' is to lop off a few of its superfluous heads. But even a mob may be better reduced to reason by a mixture of conciliation and firmness, than by additional irritation and redoubled penalties. Are we aware of our obligations to a mob? It is the mob that labour in your fields, and serve in your houses, — that man your navy, and recruit your army, — that have enabled you to def\' all the world, and can also defy you when nf<^lect and calamity have driven them to despair. You may call the pco|)le a mob ; but do not forget, that a mob too oflcn speaks the, sinti- ments of the people. And hero I must remark, with what alacrity you are accustomed to fly to the succour of your distressed allies, leaving the distrcsstrd of your own country to the care of Providtmce, or — the parish. When the Portuguese suffered under the retreat of the French, every arm was stretched out, every hand was opened, from the rich man's largess to the widow's mile, all was bestowed to enable them to rebuilil tJK^ir villages and repleniBh their granaries. And at this moimnt, when thousandd of misguided but most unf()rtunate fcllnw- cotmtrymen are struggling with the exlrenus of hardsliips and hunger, as your charity began abroad, it should end at home. A much less sum, a lithe of the liounfy he- stowed on Portugal, even if tho'^o men (wliii h I cannot admit without inquiry) could not have been restored to 35 their employments, would have rendered unnecessary the tender mercies of the bayonet and the gibbet. But doubtless our friends have too many foreign claims to admit a prospect of domestic relief; though never did such objects demand it. I have traversed the seat of war in the Peninsula, I have been in some of the most oppressed provinces of Turkey, but never under the most despotic of infidel governments did I behold such squalid wretchedness as I have seen since my return in the very heart of a Christian country. And what are your reme- dies ? After months of inaction, and months of action worse than inactivity, at length comes forth the grand specific, the never-failing nostrum of aU state physicians, from the days of Draco to the present time. After feel- ing the pulse and shaJcing the head over the patient, pre- scribing the usual course of warm water and bleeding, the warm water of your maukish police, and the lancets of your military, these convulsions must terminate in deatli, the sure consummation of the prescriptions of all politi- cal Sangrados. Setting aside the palpable injustice, and the certain inefficiency of the bill, are there not capital punishments sufficient in your statutes? Is there not blood enough upon your penal code, that more must be poured forth to ascend to Heaven and testify against you? How will you can-y the bill into effect ? Can you com- mit a whole county to their own prison ? Will you erect a gibbet in every field, and hang up men like scarecrows ? or will you proceed (as you must, to bring this measure into effect) by decimation ? place the county under mar- tial law? depopulate and lay waste all around you? and restore Sherwood Forest as an acceptable gift to the crovvfn, ill its former condition of a royal chase and an asylum for outlaws ? Are these the remedies for a starv- ing and desperate populace? Will the famished wretch who has braved your bayonets, be appalled by your gib- bets ? When death is a relief, and the only relief it appears that you will afford him, will he be dragooned into tranquillity ? Will that which could not be effi^cted by your grenadiers be accomplished by your execution- ers ? If you proceed by the forms of law, where is your evidence? Those who have refused to impeach their accomplices, when transportation only was the punish- ment, will hardly be tempted to witness against them when death is the penalty. With all due deference to the noble lords opposite, I think a little investigation, some previous imjuiry, would induce even diem to change their purpose. That most favourite state measure, so marvel- lously efficacious in many and recent instances, temporiz- ing, would not be without its advantages in this. AVhen a [)roposal is made to emancipate or relieve, you hesitate, you deliberate for years, you temporize and tamper wjlJi ilio minds of men; but a death-bill must be pa.ssed off hand, without a thought of the conse(]uences. fcjure I am, from what I have heard, and from what I have seen, that to pass the Bill under all the existing circumstances, witliout inquiry, without di-libcrat ion, would only be to add injustice to irritation, and barbarity to neglect. The framers of such a Hill must be content to inherit the honours of that Athenian lawgiver whoso edicts were said lo bo written not in ink, but in bloo4nd have you more regard for a foreign sovereign than your own fellow-subjects, who are not fools, for they know your interest better than you know your own; who are not bigots, for they return you good for evil ; but who are in worse durance than the prison of an usurper, inasmuch as the fetters of the mind are more galling than those of the body. Upon the consequences of your not acceding to the claims of tlie petitioners, I shall not expatiate ; you know them, you will feel them, and your children's children when you are passed away. Adieu to that Union so called, as ^ Lucus a non litcendo" a Union from never uniting, which, in its first operation, gave a death-blow to the independence of Ireland, and in its last may be the cause of her eternal separation from this country. If it must be called a Union, it is the union of the shark with his prey ; the spoiler swallows up his victim, and thus they become one and indivisible. Thus has Great Britain swallowed up the parhament, the constitution, the independence of Ireland, and refuses to disgorge even a single privilege, although for the relief of her swollen and distempered body poUtic. And now, my lords, before I sit down, will his majesty's ministers permit me to say a few words, not on their merits, for that would be superfluous, but on the degree of estimation in which they are held by the people of these realms. The esteem in which they are held has been boasted of in a triumphant tone on a late occasion .vithin these walls, and a comparison instituted between their conduct, and that of noble lords on this side of the house. What portion of popularity may have fallen to the share of my noble friends, (if such I may presume to call them,) I shall not pretend to ascertain ; but that of his majesty's ministers it were vain to deny. It is, to be sure, little like the wind, " no one knows whence it cometh or whither it goeth," but they feel it, they enjoy it, they boast of it. Indeed, modest emd unostentatious as they are, to what part of the kingdom, even the most remote, can they flee to avoid the triumph which pursues them ? If they plunge into the midland counties, there they will be greeted by tlie manufacturers, with spurned petitions PARLIAMENTARY SPEECHES. 277 in their hands, and those halters round their necks recent- ly voted in their behalf, imploring blessings on the heads of those who so simply, yet ingeniously contrived to re- move them from their miseries in this to a better world. If they journey on to Scotland, from Glasgow to Johnny Groat's, every where will they receive similar marks of approbation. If they take a trip from Portpatrick to Donaghadee, there will they rush at once into the em- braces of four Catholic millions, to whom their vote of this night is about to endear them for ever. When they return to the metropolis, if they can pass under Temple Bar without unpleasant sensations at the sight of the greedy niches over that ominous gateway, they cannot escape the acclamations of the livery, and the more tre- mulous, but not less sincere, applause, the blessings " not loud but deep" of bankrupt merchants and doubting stock- holders. If they look to the army, what wreaths, not of laurel, but of nightshade, are preparing for the heroes of Walcheren ! It is true there are few living deponents left to testify to their merits on that occasion ; but a "cloud of witnesses" are gone above from that gallant army which they so generously and piously despatched, to recruit the "noble army of martyrs." What ifj in the course of this triumphal career, (in which they will gather as many pebbles as Caligula's army did on a similar triumph, the prototype of their own,) they do not perceive any of those memorials which a grateful people erect in honour of their benefactors ; what although not even a signpost will condescend to depose the Saracen's head in favour of the likeness of tJie conquerors of Walcheren, they will not want a picture who can always have a caricature ; or regret the omission of a statue who will so often see themselves exalted in effigy. But their popularity is not limited to the narrow bounds of an island ; there are other countries whore their measures, and, above all, their conduct to the Ca- gtholics, must render them pre-eminently popular. If they ■are beloved here, in France they must be adored. There lis no measure more repugnant to the designs and feelings lof Buonaparte than Cathohc emancipation; no line of conduct more propitious to his projects, than that which has been pursued, is pursuing, and, I fear, will be pursued, towards Ireland. What is England without Ireland, and what is Ireland without the Catholics ? It is on the basis of your tyranny Napoleon hopes to build his own. So grateful must oppression of the Catholics be to his mind, that doubtless (as he has lately pernutted some renewal of intercourse) the next cartel will convey to this country cargoes of S6vres china and blue ribands, (things in great request, and of equal value at this moment,) blue ribands of the legion of honour for Dr. Duigenan and his minis- terial disciples. Such is that well-earned popularity, the result of those extraordinary expeditions, so expensive to ourselves, and so useless to our allies ; of those singular inquiries, so exculpatory to the accused and so dissatis- factory to the people ; of those paradoxical victories, so honourable, as we are told, to the British name, and so destructive to the best interests of the British nation ; above all, such is the reward of a conduct pursued by ministers towards the Catholics. I have to apologize to the House, who will, I trust, pardon one, not often in the habit of intruding upon their indulgence, for so long attempting to engage their atten- tion. My most decided opinion is, as my vote will be, in favour of the motion. DEBATE ON MAJOR CAUTWRIGIITS PETITION, JUNE 1,1813. My Lords — The Petition which I now hold for the purpose of presenting to the House, is one which I humbly conceive requires the particular attention of your lordships, inasmuch as, though signed but ])y a Hinglc individual, it contains statements which (if not disproved) demand most serious investigation. The gritnance of which the petitioner complains ia neither selfish nor imaginary. It is not his own only, for it has been, and is still felt by numbers. No one without these walls, nor indeed within, but may to-morrow be made hable to the same insult and obstruction, in the discharge of an im- perious duty for the restoration of the true constitution of these realms by petitioning for reform in parliament. The petitioner, my Lords, is a man whose long life has been spent in one unceasing struggle for the liberty of the subject, against that undue influence which " has in- creased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished ;" and, whatever diflference of opinion may exist as to his politi- cal tenets, few will be found to question the integrity of his intentions. Even now, oppressed with years, and not exempt from the infirmities attendant on his age, but still unimpaired in talent, and unshalten in spirit — '■^frangas nonjlectes" — he has received many a wound in the combat against corruption ; and the new grievance, the fresh insult of which he complains, may inflict another scar, but no dishonour. The petition is signed by John Cartwright, and it was in behalf of the people and par- liament, in the lawful pursuit of that reform in the representation which is the best service to be rendered both to parliament and people, that he encountered the wanton outrage which forms the subject matter of his petition to your lordships. It is couched in firm, yet respectful language — in the language of a man, not re- gardless of what is due to himself, but at the same time, I trust, equally mindful of the deference to be paid to this House. The petitioner states, among other mat- ter of equal, if not greater importance, to all who are British in their feelings, as well as blood and birth, that on the 21st January, 1813, at Huddersfield, himself and six other persons, who, on hearing of his arrival, had waited on him nierely as a testimony of respect, were seized by a military and civil force, and kept in close custody for several hours, subjected to gross and abusive insinuations from the commanding officer relative to the character of the petitioner ; that he (the petitioner) was finally carried before a magistrate ; and not released till an examination of his papers proved that there was not only no just, but not even statutable charge against him ; and that, notwithstanding the promise and order from the presiding magistrates of a copy of the warrant against your petitioner, it was afterwards withheld on divers pre- texts, and has never until this hour been granted. The names and condition of the parties will be found in the petition. To the other topics touched upon in the peti- tion, I shall not now advert, from a wish not to encroach upon the time of the House ; but I do most sincerely call the attention of your lordships to its general con- tents — it is in tlie cause of the parliament and people that the rights of this venerable freeman have been vio- lated, and it is, in my opinion, the highest mark of respect that could be paid to the House, that to your justice, rather than by appeal to any inferior court, he now com- mits himself. Whatever may be the fate of his remon- strance, it is some satisfaction to me, though mixed with regret for the occasion, that I have this opportunity of |)ublicly stating the obstruction to which tlio subject ia liable, in the prosecution of the most lawful and imperious of his duties, the obtaining by petition rel"orm in parlia- ment. I have shortly stated his complaint ; the petitioner has more fully expressed it. Your lordships will, I ho()e^ i adojit some measure fully to i)rotect and rotlress him, and not liitn alone, but the whole body of the ptx>plo insulted antl aj'grieved in his person by the interposi- tion of an abused civil, and unlawful military force, be- tween thorn and their right of petition to their own reprt'senlatives. His lordship then presented the petition from Major Cartwright, wlii«h was n'ad, complaining of the cireuni- stanci'S at lludvl<«rslield, aiul of interruptions j;iven li> the right of petitit)Ming, in s.vcrtil plueos in tlio northern parts of the kingdom, ami which liis lortlship moved should bo laid on the iul>li-. 278 A FRAGMENT. Several Lords having spoken on the question, LORD BYRON replied, that he had, from motives of duty, presented this petition to their lordships' considera- tion. The noble Earl had contended that it was not a petition but a speech ; and that, as it contained no prayer, it should not be received. What was the necessity of a prayer? If that word were to be used in its proper sense, their lordships could not expect • that any man should pray to others. He had only to say that the petition, though in some parts expressed strongly perhaps, did not contain any improper mode of address, but was couched in respectful language towards their lordships ; he should therefore trust their lordships would allow the petition to be received. A FRAGMENT. June 17, 1816. In the year 17 — , having for some time determined on a journey through countries not hitherto much frequented by travellers, I set out, accompanied by a friend whom I shall designate by the name of Augustus Darvell. He was a few years my elder, and a man of considerable for- tune and ancient family — advantages which an extensive capacity prevented him alike from undervaluing or over- rating. Some peculiar circumstances in his private his- tory had rendered him to me an object of attention, of interest, and even of regard, which neither the reserve of his manners, nor occasional indications of an inquietude at times nearly approaching to alienation of mind, could extbguish. I was yet young in life, which I had begun early ; but my intimacy vpith him was of a recent date : we had been educated at the same schools and university ; but his pro- gress through these had preceded mine, and he had been deeply initiated into what is called the world, while I was yet in my noviciate. While thus engaged, I had heard much both of his past and present life ; and, although in these accounts there were many and irreconcilable con- tradictions, I could still gather from the whole that he was a being of no common order, and one who, whatever pains he might take to avoid remark, would still be remarkable. I had cultivated his acquaintance subsequently, and en- deavoured to obtain his friendship, but this last appeared to be unattainable ; whatever affections he might have possessed seemed now, some to have been extinguished, and others to be concentred: that his feelings were acute, I had sufficient opportunities of observing; for, although he could control, he could not altogether disguise them: still he had a power of giving to one passion the appear- ance of another in such a manner that it was difficult to define the nature of what was working within him ; and the expressions of his features would vary so rapidly, though sUghtly, that it was useless to trace them to their sources. It was evident that he was a prey to some cureless dis- quiet ; but whether it arose from ambition, love, remorse, grief, from one or all of these, or merely from a morbid tem- perament akin to disease, I could not discover : there were circumstances alleged which might have justified the ap- plication to each of these causes ; but, as 1 have before said, these were so contradictory and contradicted, that none could be fixed upon with accuracy. Where there is mystery, it is generally supposed that there must also be evil : I know not how this may be, but in him there certainly was tlie one, though I could not ascertain the extent of the other — and felt loth, as far as regarded him- self, to beheve in its existence. My advances were re- ceived with sufficient coldness ; but I was young, and not easily discouraged, and at length succeeded in obtainmg, to a certain degree, that commonplace intercourse and moderate confidence of common and every-day concerns, created and cemented by similarity of pursuit and fre- quency of meeting, which is called intimacy, or friendship, according to the ideas of him who uses those words to express them. Darvell had already travelled extensively, and to him I had applied for information with regard to the conduct of my intended journey. It was my secret wish that he might be prevailed on to accompany me : it was also a probable hope, founded upon the shadowy restlessness which I had observed in him, and to which the animation which he appeared to feel on such subjects, and his appa- rent indifference to all by which he was more immediately surrounded, gave fresh strength. This wish I tirst hinted, and then expressed : his answer, though 1 had partly ex- pected it, gave me aU the pleasure of surprise — ^he coi sented ; and, after the requisite arrangements, we com- menced our voyages. After journeying through varioui countries of the south of Europe, our attention was turned towards the east, according to our original destination ; and it was in my progress through those regions that the incident occurred upon which will turn what I may have to relate. The constitution of Darvell, which must, from his ap- pearance, have been in early life more than usually robust, had been for some time gradually giving way, without the intervention of any apparent disease: he had neither cough nor hectic, yet he became daily more enfeebled: his habits were temperate, and he neither declined nor complained of fatigue, yet he was evidently wasting away: he became more and more silent and sleepless, and at length so seriously altered, that my alarm grew proportion- ate to what I conceived to be his danger. We had determined, on our arrival at Smyrna, on an excursion to the ruins of Ephesus and Sardis, from which 1 endeavoured to dissuade him, in his present state of in- disposition — but in vain : there appeared to be an oppres- sion on his mind, and a solemnity in his manner, which ill corresponded with his eagerness to proceed on what I regarded as a mere party of pleasure, litde suited to a valetudinarian ; but I opposed him no longer — and in a few days we set off together, accompanied only by a serrugee and a single janizary. We had passed half-way towards the remains of Ephe- sus, leaving behind us the more fertile environs of Smyrna, and were entering upon that wild and tenantless track through the marshes and defiles which lead to the few huts yet lingering over the broken columns of Diana — the roof- less walls of expelled Christianity, and the still more recent but complete desolation of abandoned mosques — when the sudden and rapid illness of my companion obliged us to halt at a Turkish cemetery, the turbaned tombstones of which were the sole indication that human life had ever A FRAGMENT. 279 been a sojourner in this wilderness. The only caravan- sera we had seen was left some hours behind us ; not a vestige of a town or even cottage, was within sight or hope, and this " city of the dead" appeared to be the sole refuge for my unfortunate friend, who seemed on the verge of becoming the last of its inhabitants. In this situation, I looked round for a place where he might most conveniently repose: — contrary to the usual aspect of Mahometan burial-grounds, the cypresses were in this few in number, and these thinly scattered over its extent : the tombstones were mostly fallen, and worn with age : upon one of the most considerable of these, and be- neath one of the most spreading trees, Darvell supported himself] in a half-recHning posture, with great difficulty. He asked for water. I had some doubts of our being able to find any, and prepared to go in search of it with hesita- ting despondency — but he desired me to remain; and, turnuig to Suleiman, our janizary, who stood by us smoking with great tranquillity, he said, " Suleiman, verbana su, (t. e. bring some water,) and went on describing the spot where it was to be found with great minuteness, at a small well for camels, a few hundred yards to the right: the janizary obeyed. I said to Darvell, " How did you know this ?" — He replied, " From our situation ; you must per- ceive that this place was once inhabited, and could not have been so without springs : I have also been here before." " You have been here before ! — How came you never to mention this to me ? and what could you be doing in a place where no one would remain a moment longer than they could help it?" To this question I received no answer. In the mean time, Suleiman returned with the water, leaving the ser- rugee and the horses at the fountain. The quenching of his thirst had the appearance of reviving him for a mo- ment ; and I conceived hopes of his being able to proceed, or at least to return, and I urged the attempt. He was ■♦silent — and appeared to be collecting his spirits for an effort to speak. He began. " This is the end of my journey, and of my life — I came here to die : but I have a request to make, a command — for such my last words must be. — ^You will observe it?" "Most certainly ; but have better hopes." "I have no hopes, nor wishes, but this — conceal my death from every human being." " I hope there will be no occasion ; that you will re- cover, and " "Peace! it must be so: promise this." «Ido." " Swear it by all that" He here dictated an oath of great solemnity. " There is no occasion for this — I will observe your re- quest; and to doubt me is " " It cannot be helped, you must swear." I took the oath : it appeared to relieve him. He re- moved a seal-ring from his finger, on which were some Arabic characters, and presented it to me. He proceeded — " On the ninth day of the month, at noon precisely, (what month you please, but this must be the day,) you must fling this ring into the salt springs which run into the Bay of Eleusis : the day after, at the same hour, you must repair to the ruins of the temple of Ceres, and wait one hour." "Why?" " You will see." " The ninth day of the month, you say?" « The ninth." As I observed that the present was the ninth day of the month, his countenance changed, and he paused. As he sate, evidently becoming more feeble, a stork, with a snake in her beak, perched upon a tombstone near us ; and, with- out devouring her prey, appeared to be steadfastly regard- ing us. I know not what impelled me to drive it away, but the attempt was useless ; she made a few circles in the air, and returned exacdy to the same spot. Darvell pointed to it, and smiled: he spoke — I know not whether to himself or to me — but the words were only, " Tis well !" " What is well ? what do you mean ?" " No matter : you must bury me here this evening, and exactly where that bird is now perched. You know the rest of my injunctions." He then proceeded to give me several directions as to the manner in which his death might be best concealed. After these were finished, he exclaimed, " You perceive that bird ?" "Certainly." "And the serpent writhing in her beak ?" "Doubtless: there is nothing uncommon in it; it is her natural prey. But it is odd that she does not devour it." He smiled in a ghastly manner and said, faintly, "It is not yet time !" As he spoke, the stork flew away. My eyes followed it for a moment ; it could hardly be longer than ten might be counted. I felt Darvell's weight, as it were, increase upon my shoulder, and, turning to look upon his face, perceived that he was dead ! I was shocked with the sudden certainty which could not be mistaken — his countenance in a few minutes be- came nearly black. I should have attributed so rapid a change to poison, had I not been aware that he had no opportunity of receiving it unperceived. The day was declining, the body was rapidly altering, and nothing re- mained but to fulfil his request. With tl.e aid of Sulei- man's ataghan and my own sabre, we .« ooped a shallow grave upon the spot which Darvell had indicated : the cartli easily gave way, having already received some Ma- hometan tenant. We dug as deeply as the lime per- mitted us, and throwing the dry earth upon all that remained of the singular being so lately departed, we cut a few sods of greener turf from the less witliered soil around us, and laid them uj)on his sepulchre. Between astonishment and grief, 1 was tearless. ****** LETTER TO JOHN MURRAY ON THE REV. W. L. BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON THE LIFE AND WRITINGS OF POPE. I '11 play at Bowles with the sub and moon. OLD SONG. My mither 's auld, sir, and she has rather forgotten hersell in speaking to my Leddy, thai canna weel bide to be contradickit, (as 1 ken naebody likes it if they could help themsells.) TALES OF MY LANDLORD, Old Mortality, rol.u. Ravenna, February Ith, 1821. Dear Sir, In the different pamphlets which you have had the goodness to send me, on the Pope and Bowles' contro- versy, I perceive that my name is occasionally introduced by both parties. Mr. Bowles refers more than once to what he is pleased to consider "a remarkable circum- stance," not only in his letter to Mr. Campbell, but in his reply to the Q,uarterly. The Quarterly also and Mr, Gilchrist have conferred on me the dangerous honour of a quotation ; and Mr. Bowles indirectly makes a kind of appeal to me personally, by saying, "Lord Byron, if /le remembers the circumstance, will loitness — (witness in ITALIC, an ominous chajacter for a testimony at sent.)* I shall not avail myself of a " non mi ricordo" even after so long a residence in Italy ; — I do " remember the circumstance" — and have no reluctance to relate it (since called upon so to do) as correctly as the distance of time and the impression of intervening events will permit me. In the year 1812, more than three years after the publica- tion of "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," I had the honour of meeting Mr. Bowles in the house of our vene- rable host of " Human Life, etc." the last Argonaut of Classic English poetry, and the Nestor of our inferior race of living poets. Mr. Bowles calls this " soon after" the publication ; but to me three years appear a consi- derable segment of the immortality of a modern poem. [ recollect nothing of "the rest of the compajiy going into another room" — nor, though I well remember the topogra- phy of our host's elegant and classically-furnished man- sion, could I swear to the very room where the conversa- tion occurred, though the " taking do-um the poem" seems to fLx it in the library. Had it been " taken up" it would probably have been in the drawing-room. I presume also that the " remarkable circumstance" took place after dinner, as I conceive that neither Mr. Bowles's politeness nor appetite would have allowed him to detain " the rest of the company" standing round their chairs in the " other room" while we were discussing " the Woods of Madei- ra" instead of circulating its vintage. Of Mr. Bowles's " good-humour" I have a full and not ungrateful recollec- tion ; as also of his gentlemanly manners and agreeable conversation. I speak of the whole, and not of particu- lars ; for whether he did or did not use the precise words printed in the pamphlet, I cannot say, nor could he with accuracy. Of " the tone of seriousness" I certainly recollect nothing : on the contrary, I thought Mr. Bowles rather disposed to treat the subject lightly ; for he said (I have no objection to be contradicted if incorrect) that * He alludea to Majocchi, and the other Italian witnesses on the trial of the dueeo. some of his good-natured friends had come to him and exclaimed, " Eh ! Bowles ! how came you to make the Woods of Madeira," etc. etc. and that he had been at some pains and pulling down of the poem to convince them that he had never made " the Woods" do any thing of the kind. He was right, and / was wrong, and have been wrong still up to this acknowledgment ; fori ought to have looked twice before I wrote that which involved an inaccuracy capable of giving pain. The fact was, that although I had certainly before read " the Spirit of Dis- covery," I took the quotation from the review. But the mistake was mine, and not the review's, which quoted the passage correctly enough, I beUeve. I blundered — God knows how — into attributing the tremors of the lovers to the "Woods of Madeira," by which they were sur- rounded. And I hereby do fuUy and freely declare and asseverate, that the Woods did not tremble to a kiss, and that the lovers did. I quote from memory — A kiss Stole on the list'ning silence, etc. etc. They (the lovers) trembled, even as if the power, etc. And if I had been aware that this declaration would have been in the smallest degree satisfactory to Mr. Bowles, I should not have waited nine years to make it, notwith- standing that "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" had been suppressed some time previously to my meeting him at Mr. Rogers's. Our worthy host might indeed have told him as much, as it was at his representation that I suppressed it. A new edition of that lampoon was preparing for the press, when Mr. Rogers represented to me, that " I was now acquainted with many of the per- mentioned in it, and with some on terms of inti- macy ;" and that he knew " one family in particular to whom its suppression would give pleasure." I did not hesitate one moment ; it was cancelled instantly ; and it is no fault of mine that it has ever been republished. When I left England, in April, 1816, with no very violent intentions of troubling that coimtry again, and amidst scenes of various kinds to distract my attention — almost my last act, I believe, was to sign a power of attorney, to yourself, to prevent or suppress any attempts (of which several had been made in Ireland) at a republication. It is proper that I should state, that the persons with whom I was subsequently acquainted, whose names had occur- red in that publication, were made my acquaintances at their own desire, or through the unsought intervention of others. I never, to the best of my knowledge, sought a personal introduction to any. Some of them to this day I know only by correspondence ; and with one of those it' was begun by myself, in consequence, however, of a polite verbal communication from a third person. ' I have dwelt for an instant on these circumstances ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 281 because it has sometimes been made a subject of bitter reproach to me to have endeavoured to suppress that satire. I never shrunk, as those who know me know, from any personal consequences which could be attached to its publication. Of its subsequent suppression, as I possessed the copyright, I was the best judge and the sole master. The circumstances which occasioned the sup- pression I have now stated ; of the motives, each must judge according to his candour or malignity. Mr. Bowles does me the honour to talk of " noble mind," and " gene- rous magnanimity ;" and all this because " the circumstance would have been explained had not the book been sup- pressed." I see no "nobihty of mind" in an act of sim- ple justice ; and I hate the word " magnanimity,^' because I have sometimes seen it applied to the grossest of impos- tors by the greatest of fools ; but I would have "explained the circumstance," notwithstanding " the suppression of the book," if Mr. Bowles had expressed any desire that I should. As the " gallant Galbraith" says to " Baillie Jar- vie," " Well, the devil take the mistake and all that occa- sioned it." I have, had as great and greater mistakes made about me personally and poetically, once a month for tliese last ten years, and never cared very much about correcting one or the other, at least after the first eight- and-forty hours had gone over them. I must now, however, say a word or two about Pope, of whom you have my opinion more at large in the unpub- lished letter on or to (for I forget which) the editor of " Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine ;" — and here I doubt that Mr. Bowles will not approve of my sentiments. Although I regret having pubhshed "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers," the part which I regret the least is that which regards Mr. Bowles with reference to Pope. Whilst I was writing that publication, in 1807 and 1808, Mr. Hobhouse was desirous that I should express our mutual opinion of Pope, and of Mr. Bowles's edition of his works. As I had completed my outline, and felt lazy, I requested that he would do so. He did it. His fourteen lines on Bowles's Pope are in the first edition of " Eng- lish Bards and Scotch Reviewers ;" and are quite as severe and much more poetical than my own in the second. On reprinting the work, as I put my name to it, I omitted Mr. Hobhouse's Unes, and replaced them with my own, by which the work gained less than Mr. Bowles. I have stated this in the preface to the second edition. It is many years since I have read that poem; but the (Quarterly Review, Mr. Octavius Gilchrist, and Mr. Bowles himself, have been so obliging as to refresh my memory, and that of the public. I am grieved to say, that in reading over those lines, I repent of their having so far fallen short of what I meant to express upon the sub- ject of Bowles's edition of Pope's Works. Mr. Bowles says that " Lord Byron knows he does not deserve this character." I know no such thing. I have met Mr. Bowles occasionally, in the best society in London ; he appeared to me an amiable, well-informed, and extremely able man. I desire nothing better than to dine in com- pany with such a mannered man every day in the week : but of " his character" I know nothing personally ; I can only speak of his manners, and these have my warmest approbation. But I never judge from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by the civilest gentleman I ever met with ; and one of the mildest persons I ever saw was Ali Pacha. Of Mr. Bowles's " character'^ I will not do him the injustice to judge from the edition of Pope, if ho prepared it heedlessly ; nor tho justice, should it be other- wise, because I would neither become a literary execu- tioner, nor a personal one. Mr. Bowles the individual, and Mr. Bowles the editor, appear the two most opposite things imaginable. " And he himself one Rntllheili." I won't say " vilo," because it is harsh ; nor " mistaken," because it has two syllables too many ; but every one must fill up the blank as he pleases. 36 What I saw of Mr. Bowles increased my surprise and regret that he should ever have lent his talents to such a task. If he had been a fool, there would have been some excuse for him ; if he had been a needy or a bad man, his conduct would have been intelligible ; but he is the oppo- site of all these ; and thinking and feeUng as I do of Pope, to me the whole thing is unaccountable. However, I must call things by their right names. I cannot call his edition of Pope a " candid" work ; and I still think that there is an affectation of that quality not only in those volumes, but in the pamphlets lately published. " Why yet he doth deny his prisoners." Mr. Bowles says, that "he has seen passages in his letters to Martha Blount, which were never pubhshed by me, and I hope never will be by others ; which are so gross as to imply the grossest Ucentiousness." Is this fair play ? It may, or it may not be, that such passages exist : and that Pope, who was not a monk, although a catholic, may have occasionally sinned in word and in deed with woman in his youth ; but is this a sufficient ground for such a sweeping denunciation ? WTiere is the unmarried Eng- lishman of a certain rank of hfe, who (provided he has not taken orders) has not to reproach himself between the ages of sixteen and thirty with far more licentiousness than has ever yet been traced to Pope ? Pope Uved in the public eye from his youth upwards ; he had all the dunces of his own time for his enemies, and, I am sorry to say, some, who have not the apology of duhiess for de- traction, since his death ; and yet to what do all their accumulated hints and charges amount; — to an equivocal liaison with Martha Blount, which might arise as much from his infirmities as from his passions ; to a hopeless flirtation with Lady Mary W. Montagu ; to a story of Gibber's ; and to two or three coarse passages in his works. Who could come forth clearer from an invidious inquest on a hfe of fifty-six years ? Why are we to be officiously reminded of such passages in his letters, pro- vided that they exist? Is Mr. Bowles aware to what such rummaging among "letters" and "stories" might lead? I have myself seen a collection of letters of another eminent, nay, pre-eminent, deceased poet, so abominably gross, and elaborately coarse, that I do not believe that they could be paralleled in our language. What is more strange, is, that some of these are couched as postscripts to his serious and sentimental letters, to which are tacked either a piece of prose, or some verses, of the most hyperbolical indecency. He himself says, that if " obscenity (using a much coarser word) be the sin against the Holy Ghost, he most certainly cannot bo saved." These letters are in existence, and have been seen by many besides myself; but would his euly : no- thing makes a Christian die in peace like being maudlin ! but don't say this in Gath where you are." Suppo-^e the editor introduced it with this preface : " One circumstance is mentioned by Horace Walpole, which, if true, was indeed flagitimia. Walpole informs Montagu that Addi- son sent for the young Earl of Wanvick, when dyinp, to show him in what peace a Christian could die ; but un- luckily he died drunk, etc. etc." Now, alUiough there might occur on the subsequent, or on the same page, a faint show of disbelief, seasoned with the exprrssum of "the same candour," (the same exactly &s thmu^-hout the book,) I should say that Uus editor was cither foolishor false to his trust ; such a story oiighi not to hare bem 282 ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. admitted, except for one brief mark of crushing indigna- tion ; unless it were completely proved. Why the words Hf true ?" That « if" is not a peacemaker. Why talk of " Gibber's testimony" to his Ucentiousness ? To what does this amoimt? that Pope, when very young, was once decoyed by some noblemen and the player to a house of carnal recreation. Mr. Bowles was not always a clergyman ; and when he was a very young man, was he never seduced into as much ? If I v.-ere in the humour for story-telling, and relating Uttle anecdotes, I could tell a much better story of Mr. Bowles than Gibber's, upon much better authority, viz. that of Mr. Bowles himself. It was not related by him in my presence, but in that of a third person, whom Mr. Bowles names oftener than once in the course of his replies. This gentleman related it to me as a humorous and witty anecdote ; and so it was, whatever its other characteristics might be. But should I, from a youthful frolic, brand JNIr. Bowles with a " libertine sort of love," or with " licentiousness ?" is he the less now a pious or a good man for not having always been a priest ? No such thing ; I am willing to believe him a good man, almost as good a man as Pope, but no better. The truth is, that in these days the grand " primum mobile" of England is cant ; cant political, cant poetical, cant religious, cant moral ; but always cant, multiplied through all the varieties of life. It is the fashion, and while it lasts will be too powerful for those who can only exist by taking the tone of the time. I say cant, because it is a thing of words, without the smallest influence upon human actions ; the English being no v^iser, no better, and much poorer, and more divided among themselves, as well as far less moral, thajn they were before the preva- lence of this verbal decorum. This hysterical horror of poor Pope's not very well ascertained, and never fully proved amours, (for even Gibber owns that he prevented the somewhat perilous adventure in which Pope was embarking,) sounds very virtuous in a controversial pamphlet ; but all men of the world who know what life isj or at least what it was to them in their youth, must laugh at such a ludicrous foundation of the charge of a " hbertine sort of love ;" while the more serious will look upon those who bring forward such charges upon an insulated fact, jis fanatics or hypocrites, perhaps both. The two are sometimes compounded in a happy mix- ture. Mr. Octavius Gilchrist speaks rather irreverently of a " second tumbler of hot white-wine negus." What does he mean ? Is there any harm in negus ? or is it the worse for being hot 7 or does Mr. Bowles drink negus ? I had a better opinion of him. I hoped that whatever wine he drank was neat ; or at least that, like the ordinaiy in Jonathan Wild, " he preferred punch, the rather as there was nothing against it in scripture." I should be sorry to believe that Mr. Bowles was fond of negus ; it is such a "candid" liquor, so Uke a wishy-washy compromise between the passion for wine and the propriety of water. But different writers have divers tastes. Judge Black- stone composed his "Commentaries," (he was a poet too in his youth,) with a bottle of port before him. Addi- son's conversation was not good for much till he had taken a similar dose. Perhaps the prescription of these two great men was not inferior to the very different one of a soi-disant poet of this day, who, after wandering among the hills, returns, goes to bed, and dictates his verses, being fed by a by-stander with bread and butter, during the operation. I now come to Mr. Bowles's " invariable principles of poetry." These Mr. Bowles and some of his corre- spondents pronounce "unanswerable;" and they are "unanswered," at least by Campbell, who seems to have been astounded by the title. The sultan of the time being, offered to ally himself to the king of France, because " he hated the word league :" which proves that the Padishan understood French. Mr. Campbell has no need of my allicince, nor shall I presume to offer it ; but I do hate that word ''invariable." What is there of human, be it poetry, philosophy, wit, wisdom, science, power, glory, mind, matter, life or death, which is " inva- riable?" Of course I put things divine out of the ques- tion. Of all arrogant baptisms of a book, this title to a pamphlet appears the most complacently conceited. It is Mr. Campbell's part to answer the contents of this per- formance, and especially to vindicate his own "Ship," which IMr. Bowles most triumphantly proclaims to have struck to his very first fire. *' Q,uoth he, there was a Ship ; Now let me go, thou gray-hair'd loon, Or my staff shall make thee skip ;" It is no affair of mine, but having once begtm, (certainly not by my own wish, but called upon by the frequent recurrence to my name in the pamphlets,) I am like an Irishman in a "row," "any body's customer." I shall therefore say a word or two on the " Ship." Mr. Bowles asserts that Campbell's " Ship of the Line" derives all its poetiy not from "art" but from " na/wre." " Take away the waves, the winds, the sun, etc. etc. one will become a stripe of blue bunting ; and the other a piece of coarse cemvass on three tall poles." Very true ; take away " the waves," " the winds," and there will be no ship at all, not only for poetical, but for any other purpose ; and take away " the sun," and we must read Mr. Bowles's pamphlet by candlelight. But the "poetry" of the " Ship" does not depend on " the waves," etc. ; on the con- trary, the "Ship of the Line" confers its own poetry upon the waters, and heightens theirs. I do not deny, that the " waves and winds," and above all " the sun," are highly poetical; we know it to our cost, by the many descrip- tions of them in verse : but if the waves bore only the foam upon their bosoms, if the winds wafted only the sea-weed to the shore, if the sun shone neither upon pyramids, nor fleets, nor fortresses, would its beams be equally poetical? I thuik not: the poetry is at least reciprocal. Take away " the ship of the line" "swing- ing round" the " calm water," and the calm water becomes a somewhat monotonous thing to look at, particularly if not transparently clear ; witness the thousands who pass by without looking on it at all. What was it attracted the thousands to the launch ? they might have seen the poetical " calm water," at Wapping, or in the "London Dock," or in the Paddington Canal, or in a horsepond, or in a slop-basin, or in any other vase. They might have heard the poetical winds howling through the chinks of a pig-sty, or the garret-window ; they might have seen the sun shining on a footman's livery, or on a brass warming- pan ; but could the " calm water," or the " wind," or the "sun," make all, or any of these, " poetical ?" I think not. Mr. Bowles admits " the ship" to be poetical, but only from those accessories : now if they corner poetry so as to make one thing poetical, they would make other things poetical ; the more so, as Mr. Bowles calls a " ship of the line" without them, that is to say, its " masts and sails and streamers," " blue bunting," and " coarse canvass," and " tall poles." So they are ; and porcelain is clay, and man is dust, and flesh is grass, and yet the two latter at least are the subjects of much poesy. Did Mr. Bowles ever gaze upon the sea? I presume that he has, at least upon a sea-piece. Did any painter ever paint the sea only, without the addition of a ship, boat, wreck, or some such adjunct ? Is the sea itself a more attractive, a more moral, a more poetical object with or without a vessel, breaking its vast but fatiguing monotony ? Is a storm more poetical without a ship ? or, in the poem of the Shipwreck, is it the storm or the ship which most interests? both mu£h, undoubtedly; but without the vessel, what should we care for the tempest ? It would sink into mere descriptive poetry, which in itself was never esteemed a high order of that art. I look upon myself as entided to talk of naval matters, at least to poets : — with the exception of Walter Scott, I ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 283 Moore, and Southey, perhaps, (who have been voyagers,) I have swum more rniles than all the rest of them together now living ever sailed^ and have lived for months and months on shipboard 5 and during the whole period of my life abroad, have scarcely ever passed a month out of sight of the ocean : besides being brought up from two years till ten on the brink of it. I recollect, when an- chored off Cape Sigaeum, in 1810, in an English frigate, a violent squall coming on at sunset, so violent as to make us imagine that the ship would part cable, or drive from her anchorage. Mr. Hobhouse and myself, and some officers, had been up the Dardanelles to Abydos, and were just returned in time. The aspect of a storm in the Archipelago is as poetical as need be, the sea being particularly short, dashing, and dangerous, and the navigation intricate and broken by the isles and currents. Cape Sigaeum, the tumuh of the Troad, Lemnos, Tene- dos, all added to the associations of the time. But what seemed the most ^'poetical" of all at the moment, were the numbers (about two hundred) of Greek and Turkish craft, which were obliged to "cut and run" before the wind, from their unsafe anchorage, some for Tenedos, some for other isles, some for the main, and some it might be for eternity. The sight of these little scudding ves- sels, darting over the foam in the twilight, now appearing and now disappearing between the waves in the cloud of night, with their peculiarly ivJiiie sails (the Levant sails not being of " coarse canvas,^' but of white cotton) skim- ming along as quickly, but less safely than the seamews which hovered over them ; their evident distress, their reduction to fluttering specks in the distance, their crowd- ed succession, their littleness, as contending with the giant element, which made our stout forty-four's teak timbers (she was built in India) creak again ; their aspect and their motion, all struck me as sometliing far more " poeti- cal" than the mere broad, brawling, shipless sea, and the sullen winds, could possibly have been without them. The Euxine is a noble sea to look upon, and the port of Constantinople the most beautiful of harbours, and yet I cannot but think that the twenty sail of the line, some of one hundred and forty guns, rendered it more "poetical" by day in the sun, and by night perhaps still more, for the Turks illuminate their vessels of war in a manner the most picturesque — and yet all tins is artifi- cial. As for the Euxine, I stood upon the Symplegades — I stood by the broken altar still exposed to the winds upon one of them — I felt all the "poetry'' of the situa- tion, as I repeated the first lines of Medea; but would not that " poetry" have been heightened by the Argo ? It was so even by the appearance of any merchant vessel arriving from Odessa. But Mr. Bowles says, "why bring your ship off" the stocks ?" for no reason that 1 know, except tliat ships are built to be launched. The water, etc. undoubtedly heightens the poetical associa- tions, but it does not make them ; and the ship amply repays the obligation: they aid each other; the water is more poetical with the ship — the ship less so without the water. But even a ship, laid up in dock, is a grand and poetical sight. Even an old boat, keel upwards, wrecked upon the barren sand, is a " poetical" object, (and Words- worth, who made a poem about a washing-tub and a blind boy, may tell you so as well as I ;) whilst a U)ng extent of sand and unbroken wafer, without the boat, would be as like dull prose as any pamphlet lately published. What makes the poetry in the imago of the " marblr waste of Tadmor,''^ or Grainger's "Ode to Solitude," so much admired by Johnson? Is it the "?/}rtr6/«V' or the " waste" the artificial or the natural object'.' The "waste" is like all other wastes; but the ''marble" of Palmyra makes the poetry of tlio passage as of the place. The beautiful but barren Ilymettus, the whole coast of Attica, her hills and mountains, Pentelicus, Anchesmus, Philopappus, etc. etc. are in tliemselves poetical, and would be so if tho name of Athens, of Athenians, and her very ruins, were swept from the earth. But am I to be told that the " nature" of Attica would be more poetical without the " art" of the Acropolis ? of the Tem- ple of Theseus ? and of the still all Greek and glorious monuments of her exquisitely artificial genius ? Ask the traveller what strikes him as most poetical, the Partlie- non, or the rock on which it stands ? The columns of Cape Colonna, or the Cape itself? The rocks, at the foot of it, or the recollection that Falconer's ship was bulged upon them. There are a thousand rocks and capes, far more picturesque than those of the Acropolis and Cape Sunium in themselves ; what are they to a thousand scenes in the wilder parts of Greece, of Asia Minor, Switzerland, or even of Cintra in Portugal, or to many scenes of Italy, and the Sierras of Spain ? But it is the " art" the columns, the temples, the wrecked vessel, which give them their antique and their modern poetry, and not the spots themselves. Without them, the spots of earth would be unnoticed and unknown ; buried, like Babylon and Nineveh, in indistinct confusion, without poetry, as without existence: but to whatever spot of earth these ruins were transported, if they were capable of transportation, like tlie obelisk, and the sphinx, and the Memnon's head, there they would still exist in the perfec- tion of their beauty, and in the pride of their poetry. I opposed, and will ever oppose, the robbery of ruins from Athens, to instruct the English in sculpture ; but wliy did I so ? The ruins are as poetical in Piccaddly as they were in the Parthenon ; but the Parthenon and its rock are less so without them. Such is the poetry of art. Mr. Bowles contends, again, that the pyramids of Egypt are poetical, because of " the association witli boundless deserts," and that a "pyramid of the same dimensions" would not be sublune in "Lincoln's Inn Fields ;" not so poetical, certainly ; but take away the " pyramids," and what is the " desert .<"' Take away Stone-henge from Salisbury plain, and it is nothing more than Hounslow Heath, or any other unenclosed down. It appears to me that St. Peter's, the Coliseum, the Pan- theon, the Palatine, the Apollo, the Laocoon, the Venus di Medicis, the Hercules, the dying Gladiator, the Moses of Michael Angelo, and all the higher works of Canova, (I have already spoken of those of ancient Greece, still extant in that country, or transportetl to England,) are as poetical as Mont Blanc or Mount .(Ejna, perhaps still more so, as they are direct manifestations of mind, and presuppose poetry in tiieir very conception ; and have, nioieover, as being such, a something of actual life, which cannot belong to any part of inanimate nature, unless we adopt the system of Spinosa, that the world is the deity. There can be nothing more poetical in ita aspect than the city of Venice : does this depend upon the sea, or the canals ? — " Tlicilirt ami scawceJ wliciice ptoiul Venice roiet" Is it the canal which runs between tho palace and tha prison, or the " Bridge of Sighs" whicli connects them, that render it poetical.' Is it the "Canal Grande," or the Rialfo which arches it, the churches which tower over it, tho palaces which line, and the gondolas which glide over the waters, tliat render this city more poetical than Rome iUsclf? Mr. Bowles will say, perhaps, that the Rialto is but marble, the palaces and churches only stone, and the goiulolas; a " coarse" bUuk cloth, thro\Vn over some planks of carved wood, with a shining bit of fantastically-formed iron at the prow, "m-U/jou/" tlio water. And I t»;ll him that without these tho water would bo nothing but a elay-eolouretl ditch, and who- ever says the contrary, deserves to bo at the bottom of that where Pope's heroes are embraced by the mud- nymphs. There would be nothing to nuike the canal of Venice more ponticul ihun that of Paildington, wore it not for tho artificial adjuncts above mentioncil, altJioufjh it is a perfectly natural canal, fornunl by the sea, and the innunu-rablo islands which con?)titut«' tlie sit* of this extraordinary city. 284 ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. The very Cloacae of Tarquin at Rome are as poetical as Richmond Hill ; many will think more so. Take away Rome, and leave the Tiber and the seven hills, in the nature of Evander's time ; let Mr. Bowles, or Mr. Wordsworth, or Mr. Southey, or any of the other "na- turals," malte a poem upon them, and then see which is most poetical, their production or the commonest guide- book winch tells you the road from St. Peter's to the Coliseum, and informs you what you will see by the way. The ground interests in Virgil, because it tvUI be Rome, and not because it is Evander's rural domain. Mr. Bowles then proceeds to press Homer into his service, in answer to a remark of Mr. Campbell's, that "Homer was a great describer of works of art." Mr. Bowles contends, that all his great power, even in this, depends upon their connexion with nature. The " shield of Achilles derives its poetical interest from the subjects described on it," And from what does the spear of Achilles derive its interest ? and the helmet and the mail •worn by Patroclus, and the celestial armour, and the very brazen greaves of the well-booted Greeks ? Is it solely from the legs, and the back, and the breast, and the human body, which they enclose ? In that case, it would have been more poetical to have made them fight naked ; and Gully and Gregson, as bemg nearer to a state of nature, are more poetical, boxing in a pair of drawers, than Hector and Achilles in radiant armour, and with heroic weapons. Instead of the clash of helmets, and the rushing of chariots, and the whizzing of spears, and the glancing of swords, and the cleaving of shields, and the piercing of breastplates, why not represent the Greeks and Trojans like two savage tribes, tugging and tearing, and kicking, and biting, and gnashing, foaming, grinning, and gouging, in all the poetry of martial nature, unincumbered with gross, prosaic, artificial arms, an equal superfluity to the natural warrior, and his natural poet? Is there any thing unpoetical in Ulysses striking the horses of Rhesus with his bow, (having forgotten his thong,) or would Mr. Bowles have had him kick them with his foot, or smack them with his hand, as beng more ujisophisticated ? In Gray's Elegy, is there an image more striking than his " shapeless sculpture ?" Of sculpture in general, it may be observed, that it is more poetical than nature itself, inasmuch as it represents and bodies forth that ideal beauty and sublimity which is never to be found in actual nature. This at least is the general opinion ; but, always excepting the Venus di Medicis, I differ from that opinion, at least as far as regards female beauty, for the head of Lady Charlemont (when I first saw her, nine years ago) seemed to possess all that sculpture could require for its ideal. I recollect seeing something of the same kind in the head of an Albanian girl, who was actually employed in mending a road in the mountains, and in some Greek, and one or two Italian faces. But of sublimity, I have never seen any thing in human nature at all to approach the expression of sculpture, either in the Apollo, the Moses, or other of the sterner works of ancient or modern art. Let us examine a Uttle further this " babble of green fields," and of bare nature in general, as superior to arti- ficial imagery, for the poetical purposes of the fine arts. In landscape painting, the great artist does not give you a literal copy of a country, but he invents and composes one. Nature, in her actual aspect, does not furnish him with such existing scenes as he requires. Even where he presents you with some famous city, or celebrated scene from mountain or other nature, it must be taken from some particular point of view, and with such light, and shade, and distance, etc. as serve not only to heighten its beauties, but to shadow its deformities. The poetry of nature alone, exactly as she appears, is not sufficient to bear him out. The very sky of his painting is not the portrait of the sky of nature ; it is a composition of diffe- r«nt akies, observed at different times, and not the whole copied from any particular day. And why ? Because Nature is not lavish of her beauties ; they are widely scattered, and occasionally displayed, to be selected with care, and gathered with difficulty. Of sculpture I have just spoken. It is the great scope of the sculptor to heighten nature into heroic beauty, i. e. in plain English, to surpass his model. When Canova forms a statue, he takes a limb from one, a hand from another, a feature from a third, and a shape, it may be, from a fourth, probably at the same time improving upon all, as the Greek of old did in embodying his Venus. Ask a portrait painter to describe his agonies in accom- modating the faces with which Nature and his sitters have crowded his painting-room to the principles of his art ; with the exception of perhaps ten faces in as many mil- lions, there is not one which he can venture to give with- out shading much and adding more. Nature, exactly, simply, barely nature, will make no great artist of any kind, and least of all a poet — the most artificial, perhaps, of all artists in his very essence. With regard to natural imagery, the poets are obliged to take some of their best illustrations from art. You say that " a fountain is as clear or clearer than glass,^^ to express its beauty — " fons Bandusiis, splendidior vitro !" In the speech of Mark Antony, the body of Caesar is displayed, but so also is his mantle — " You all do know this mantle,^^ etc. " Look ! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through." If the poet had said that Cassius had run his^sf through the rent of the mantle, it would have had more of Mr. Bowles's " nature" to help it ; but the artificial dagger is more poetical than any natural hand without it. In the subhme of sacred poetry, "Who is this that cometh from Edom ? with dyed garments from Bozrah ?" Would " the comer" be poetical without his " dyed garments ?" which strike and startle the spectator, and identify the approach- ing object. The mother of Sisera is represented listening for the "tw^eZs (>/■ his chariot." Solomon, in his Song, compares the nose of his beloved to a "tower," which to us appears an eastern exaggeration. If he had said, that her statue was like that of" a tower," it would have been as poetical as if he had compared her to a tree. " The virtuous Marcia towers above her sex," is an instance of an artificial image to express a moral superiority. But Solomon, it is probable, did not compare his beloved's nose to a " tower" on account of its length, but of its symmetry ; and, making allowance for eastern hypierbole and the difficulty of finding a discreet image for a female nose in nature, it is perhaps as good a figure as any other. Art is not inferior to nature for poetical purposes. What makes a regiment of soldiers a more noble object of view than the same mass of mob? Their arms, their dresses, their banners, and the art and artificial symmetry of their position and movements. A Highlander's plaid, a Mus- sulman's turban, and a Roman toga, are more poetical than the tattooed or untattooed buttocks of a Nev.^ Sand- wich savage, although they were described by William Wordsworth himself like the "idiot in his glory." I have seen as many mountains as most men, and more fleets than the generality of landsmen : and, to my mind, a large convoy, with a few sail of the line to conduct them, is as noble and as poetical a prospect as all that inanimate nature can produce. I prefer the " mast of some great ammiral,' with all its tackle, to the Scotch fir or the Alpine tannen : and think that more poetry has been made out of it. In what does the infinite superiority of "Falconer's Shipwreck," over all other shipwrecks, consist ? In his admirable application of the terms of his art ; in a poet- sailor's description of the sailor's fate. These very terms, by his application, make the strength and reaUty of his poem. Why ? because he was a poet, and in the hands ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 285 of a poet art will not be found less ornamental than nature. It is precisely in general nature, and in stepping out of his element, that Falconer fails ; where he digresses to speak of ancient Greece, and " such branches of learning." In Dyer's Grongar Hill, upon which his fame rests, the very appearance of Nature herself is moralized into an artificial image : " Thus is Nature's vesture wrought, To instruct our wandering thought ; Thus she dresses green and gay, To disperse our cares away." And here also we have the telescope, the misuse of which, from Milton, has rendered Mr. Bowles so tri- umphant over Mr. Campbell: " So we mistake the future's face, Eyed through Hope's deluding glass." And here a word, en passant, to Mr. Campbell : " As yon summits, soft and fair, Clad in colours of the air, Which, to those who journey near, Barren, brown, and rough appear, Still we tread the same coarse way-^ The present's still a cloudy day." Is not this the original of the far-famed, " 'T is distance lends enchantment to the view, And robes the mountain in its azure hue ?" To return once more to the sea. Let any one look on the long wall of Malamocco, which curbs the Adriatic, and pronounce between the sea and its master. Surely that Roman work, (1 mean Roman in conception and perform- ance,) which says to the ocean, " thus far shalt thou come, and no further," and is obeyed, is not less sublime and poetical than the angry waves which vainly break be- neath it. Mr. Bowles makes the chief part of a ship's poesy depend on the " wind :" then why is a ship under sail more poetical than a hog in a high wind ? The hog is all nature the ship is all art, " coarse canvas," " blue bunting," and " tall poles ;" both are violently acted upon by the wind tossed here and there, to and fro ; and yet nothing but excess of hunger could make me look upon the pig as the more poetical of the two, and then only in the shape of a griskin. Will Mr. Bowles tell us that the poetry of an aqueduct consists in the water which it conveys ? Let him look on that of Justinian, on those of Rome, Constantinople, Lisbon, and Elvas, or even at the remains of that in Attica. We are askod " what makes the venerable towers of Westminster Abbey more poetical, as objects, than the tower for the manufactory of patent shot, surrounded by the same scenery?" I will answer — the architecture. Turn Westminster Abbey, or Saint Paul's, into a powder magazine, their poetry, as objects, remains the same ; the Parthenon was actually converted into one by the Turks, during Morosini's Venetian siege, and part of it destroyed in consequence. Cromwell's dragoons stalled their steeds in Worcester cathedral ; was it less poetical, as an ob- ject, than before ? Ask a foreigner on his approach to London, what strikes him as the most poetical of the towers before him; he will point out St. Paul's and West- minster Abbey, without, perhaps, knowing the names or associations of either, and pass over the " tower for patent shot," not that, for any thing he knows to the contrary, it might not be the mausoleum of a monarch, or a Waterloo column, or a Trafalgar monument, but because its archi- tecture is obviously inferior. To the question, " whether the description of a game of cards be as poetical, supposing the execution of the artists equal, as a description of a walk in a forest ?" it may bo answered, that the materials are certainly not oqtial ; but that " the artist,^ who has rendered the " game of cards poetical," is bi/ fur the greater of the two. But all this "ordering" of poets is purely arbitrary on the part of Mr. Bowles. There may or may not bo, in fact, dilFcrent "orders" of poetry, but the poet is always ranked according to his execution, and not according to his branch of the art. 'I'ragedy is one of the highest presumed orders. Hughes has written a tragedy, and a very successful one ; Fenton another; and Pope none. Did any man, however, will even Mr. Bowles himself rank Hughes and Fenton as poets above Pope7 Was even Addison, (the author of Cato,) or Rowe (one of the higher order of dramatists, as far as success goes,) or Young, or even Otway and Southerne, ever raised for a moment to the same rank with Pope in the estimation of the reader or the critic, before his death or since ? If Mr. Bowles will contend for classifications of this kind, let him recollect that descriptive poetry has been ranked as among the lowest branches of the art, and description as a mere ornament, but which should never form " the subject" of a poem. The Itahans, with the most poetical knguage, and the most fastidious taste in Europe, possess now five great poets, they say, Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, and lastly Alfieri ; and whom do they esteem one of the highest of these, and some of them the very highest? Petrarch, the sonnetteer: it is true that some of his Canzoni are not less esteemed, but not more; who ever dreams of his Latin Africa ? Were Petrarch to be ranked according to the " order" of his compositions, where would the best of sonnets place him ? with Dante and the others ? No : but, as I have before said, the poet who executes best is the highest, what- ever his department, and will ever be so rated in the world's esteem. Had Gray written nothing but his Elegy, high as he stands, I am not sure that he would not stand higher ; it is the corner-stone of his glory ; without it, his odes would be insufficient for his fame. The depreciation of Pope is partly founded upon a false idea of the dignity of his order of poetry, to which he has partly contributed by the in* genuous boast, " That not in fancy's mare he wander'd long, But stoop^dlo truth, and moralized his song." He should have written " rose to truth." In my mind, the highest of all poetry is ethical poetry, as the highest of all earthly objects must be moral truth. Religion does not make a part of my subject ; it is something beyond human powers, and has failed in all human hands except Milton's and Dante's, and even Dante's powers are involved in the delineation of human passions, though in supernatural cir- cumstances. What made Socrates the greatest of men? His moral truth — his ctliics. What proved Jesus Christ the Son of God hardly less than his miracles ? His moral precepts. And if ethics have made a philosopher the first of men, and have not been disdained as an adjunct to his gospel by the Deity himself, are we to be told that ethical poetry, or didactic poetry, or by whatever name you term it, whose object is to make men better and wiser, is not the very Jirst order of poetry ? and are we to be told this too by one of the priesthood? It requires more mind, more wisdom, more power, than all the " forests" that ever were " walked" for their " description," and all the epics that ever were founded upon fields of battle. The Georgics are indisputably, and, I believe, undisputedly, even a finer poem Uian the .(Eneid. Virgil knew this ; he did not order them to be burnt. " The properiludy of mankind Itraan." It is the fashion of the day to lay great stress upon what they call "imagination" and "invention," the two com- monest of qualities: an Irish peasant, witli a little whisky in his head, will imagine and invent more than would fur- nish forth a modern i)o»>m. If Lucretius hail not been spoiled by the Epicurean system, we should have had a far superior poem to any now in existonro. As mere poetry, it is the first of Latin poems. What then hat ruined it ? His ethics. Pope has not this defect ; his moral is aa pure as his poetry is glorious. In .^peaking of arti- ficial objects, I have omitted to toucli upon one which I will now mention. Cannon may be preaunied to be u 286 ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. highly poetical as art can make her objects. Mr. Bowles will, perhaps, tell me that this is because they resemble that grand natural article of sound in heaven, and simile upon earth — thunder. I shall be told triumphantly, that Milton made sad work with his artillery, when he armed his devils therewithal. He did so ; and this artificial ob- ject must have had much of the sublime to attract his attention for such a conflict. He has made an absurd use of it ; but the absurdity consists not in using cannon against the angels of God, but any material weapon. The thun- der of the clouds would have been as ridiculous and vain in the hands of the devils, as the " villanous saltpetre :" the angels were as impervious to the one as to the other. The thunderbolts became sublime in the hands of the Al- mighty, not as such, but because he deigns to use them as a means of repelling the rebel spirits ; but no one can at- tribute their defeat to this grand piece of natural electri- city: the Almighty willed, and they fell; his word would have been enough ; and Milton is as absurd (and in fact, hlasphemons) in putting material hghtnings into the hands of the Godhead as in giving him hands at all. The artillery of the demons was but the first step of his mistake, the thunder the next, and it is a step lower. It would have been fit for Jove, but not for Jehovah. The subject altogether was essentially unpoetical ; he has made more of it than another could, but it is beyond him and all men. In a portion of his reply, Mr. Bowles asserts that Pope " envied Phillips" because he quizzed his pastorals in the Guardian, in that most admirable model of u"ony, his paper on the subject. If there was any thing envi- able about Phillips, it could hardly be his pastorals. They were despicable, and Pope expressed his contempt. If Mr. Fitzgerald pubhshed a volume of sonnets, or a "Spirit of Discovery," or a "Missionary," and Mr. Bowles %vi-ote in any periodical journal an ironical paper upon them, would this be " envy ?" The authors of the " Rejected Addresses" have ridiculed the sixteen or twenty " first living poets" of the day ; but do they " envy" them ? "Envy" writhes, it don't laugh. The authors of the •* Rejected Addresses" may despise some, hut they can hardly "envy" any of the persons whom they have paro- died ; and Pope could have no more envied Phillips than he did Welsted, or Theobalds, or Smedly, or any other given hero of the Dunciad. He could not have envied him, even had he himself not been the greatest poet of his age. Did Mr. Ings "entT/"Mr. PhiUips, when he asked him, " how came your Pyrrhus to drive oxen, and say, I am goaded on by love ?" This question silenced poor Phillips ; but it no more proceeded from " envy" than did Pope's ridicule. Did he envy Swift ? Did he envy Bolingbroke ? Did he envy Gay the unparalleled success of his " Beggars' Opera?" We may be answered that these were his friends — true ; but does friendship prevent envy? Study the first woman you meet with, or the first scribbler, let Mr. Bowles himself (whom I acquit fully of such an odious quality) study some of his own poetical intimates: the most envious man I ever heard of is a poet, and a high one ; besides it is an universal passion. Goldsmith envied not only the pup- pets for their dancing, and broke his shins in the attempt at rivalry, but was seriously angry because two pretty women received more attention than he did. 7'/iis is envy ; but where does Pope show a sign of the passion ? In that case, Dryden envied the hero of his Mac Fleck- noe. Mr. Bowles compares, when and where he can. Pope with Cowper, (the same Covv'per whom, in his edition of Pope, he laughs at for his attachment to an old woman, Mrs. Unwin : search and you will find it ; I remember the passage, though not the page ;) in parti- cular he re-quotes Cowper's Dutch delineation of a wood, drawn up like a seedsman's catalogue,* with an affected * I will Bubmit to Mr. Bowles's own judgment a passage from another poem of Cowper's, to be compared with the same writer's Sylvan Sam- pler. In the lines to Mary, imitation of Milton's style, as burlesque as the " Splendid Shilling." These two writers (for Cowper is no poet) come into comparison in one great work — the translation of Homer. Now, with all the great, and manifest, and manifold, and reproved, and acknowledged, and uncon- troverted faults of Pope's translation, and all the scholar- ship, and pains, and time, and trouble, and blank verse of the other, who can ever read Cov^^er ? and who will ever lay down Pope, unless for the original ? Pope's was " not Homer, it was Spondanus ;" but Cowper's is not Homer, either, it is not even Cowper. As a child I first read Pope's Homer with a rapture which no subsequent work could ever afford ; and children are not the worst judges of their own language. As a boy I read Homer in the original, as we have all done, some of us by force, and a few by favour ; under which description I come is nothing to the purpose, it is enough that I read him. As a man I have tried to read Cowper's version, and I found it impossible. Has any human reader ever succeeded? And now that we have heard the CathoUc reproached with envy, dupUcity, hcentiousness, avarice — what was the Calvnnist? He attempted the most atrocious of crimes in the Christian code, viz. suicide — and why? Because he was to be examined whether he was fit for an office which he seems to wish to have made a sine- cure. His cormexion with Mrs. Unwin was pure enough, for the old lady was devout, and he was deranged ; but w^hy then is the infirm and then elderly Pope to be re- proved for his connexion with Martha Bloimt ? Cowper was the almoner of Mrs. Throgmorton ; but Pope's chari- ties were his own, and they were noble and extensive, far beyond his fortune's warrant. Pope was the tolerant yet steady adherent of the most bigoted of sects ; and Cow- per the most bigoted and despondent sectary that ever ■ anticipated damnation to himself or others. Is this harsh ? I know it is, and I do not assert it as my opinion of Cow- per personally, but to show what might be said, with just as great an appearance of truth and candour, as all the odium which has been accumulated upon Pope in similar speculations, Cowper was a good man, and Uved at a fortunate time for his works. Mr. Bowles, apparently not relying entirely upon his own arguments, has, in person or by proxy, brought for- ward the names of Southey and Moore. Mr. Southey " agrees entirely with Mr. Bowles in his invariable prin- ciples of poetry." The least that Mr. Bowles can do in return is to approve the "invariable principles of Mr. Southey." I should have thought that the word "invari- " Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more, My Mary," contain a simple, household, "indoor," artificial, and ordinary image. I refer Mr. Bowles to the stanza, and ask if these three Hnes about " nee- dles" are not worth all the boasted twaddling about trees, so triumphantly re-quoted ? and yet in fact what do they convey ? A homely collection of images and ideas associated with the darning of stockings, and the hemming of shirts, and the mending of breeches ; but will any one deny that they are eminently poetical and pathetic as addressed by Cowper to his nurse? The trash of trees reminds me of a saying of' Sheridan's. Soon after the " Rejected Address" scene, in 1812, 1 met Sheridan. lu the course of dinner, he said, " Lord Byron, did you know that among the writere of addresses was Whilbread himself?" I answered by an inquiry of what sort of an address he had made. " Of that," replied Sheridan, "I remember little, except that there was a phanix'm it." " A i.hoinix ! I Well, how did he describe it ?" " Like a poulterer," answered Sheridan: " it was green, and yellow, and red, and blue: he did not let us off for a single feather." And just such as ihis poulterer's account of a phcsnix, is Cowper's stick-picker's detail of a wood, with all its petty minutiee of this, that, and the other. One more poetical instance of the pokier of art, and even its supe- riority over nature, in poetry, and I have done :— the bust of AntinousI fs there any thing in nature like this marble, excepting the Venus ? Can there be more poetry gathered into existence than in that wonderful creation of perfect beauty? But the poetry of this bust is in no respect derived from nature, nor from any association of moral exaltedness ; for what is there in common with moral nature and the male minion of Adrian ? The very execution is not natural, but supernatural, or rather super-artificial, for nature has never done so much. Awav, then, with this cant about nature and " invariable principles of poetry !" A great artist will make a block of stone as sublime as a mountain, and a good poet can imbue a pack of cards with more poetry than inhabits the forests of America. It is the business and the proof of a poet to give the lie to the proverb, and sometimes to " make a silken purse out of a sow's ear ;" and to conclude with another homely pro» verb, ■' a good workman will not find fault with hit tools." ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 287 a6&" might have stuck in Southeys throat, like Macbeth's "Amen!" I am sure it did in mine, and I am not the least consistent of the two, at least as a voter. Moore (et tu Brute!) also approves, and a Mr. J. Scott. There is a letter also of two lines from a gentleman in asterisks, who, it seems, is a poet of " the highest rank" — who can this be ? not my friend, Sir Walter, surely. Campbell it can't be ; Rogers it won't be. " You have hit the nail in the head, and **** [Pope, I presume] on the head also." I remain, yours, aflectionately, (Four Asterisks.) And in asterisks let him remain. Whoever this person may be, he deserves, for such a judgment of Midas, that ** the nail" which Mr. Bowles has hit in the head should be driven through his own ears ; I am sure that they are long enough. The attention of the poetical populace of the present day to obtain an ostracism against Pope is as easily ac- counted for as the Athenian's shell against Aristides ; they are tired of hearing him aiwcys called " the Just." They are also fighting for life ; for if he maintains his station, they will reach their own falling. They have raised a mosque by the side of a Grecian temple of the purest architecture ; and, more barbarous than the bar- barians from whose practice I have borrowed the figure, they are not contented with their own grotesque edifice, unless they destroy the prior and purely beautiful fabric which preceded, and which shames them and theirs for ever and ever. I shall be told that amongst those I have been (or it may be still am) conspicuous — true, and I am ashamed of it. I have been among the builders of this Babel, attended by a confusion of tongues, but never among the envious destroyers of the classic temple of our predecessor. I have loved and honoured the fame and name of that illustrious and unrivalled man, far more than my own paltry renown, and the trashy gin- gle of the crowd of "schools" and upstarts, who pretend to rival, or even surpass him. Sooner than a single leaf should be torn from his laurel, it were better that all which these men, and I, as one of their set, have ever written, should " Line trunks, clothe spice, or, fluttering in a row, Befringe the rails of Bedlam or Soho 1" There arc those who will believe this, and those who will not. You, sir, know how far I am sincere, and whether my opinion, not only in the short work intended for publication, and in private letters which can never be published, has or has not been the same. I look upon this as the declining age of English poetry ; no regard for others, no selfish feeling, can prevent me from seeing this, and expressing the truth. There can be no worse sign for the taste of ihe times than the deprecia- tion of Pope. It would be better to receive for proof Mr. Cobbet's rough but strong attack upon Shakspcaro and Milton, than to allow this smooth and "candid" undermining of the reputation of the most perfect of our poets and the purest of our moralists. Of his power in the passions, in description, in the mock-heroic, I leave others to descant. I take him on his strong ground, as an ethical poet: in the former none excel, in the mock- heroic and the ethical none equal him ; and, in my mind, the latter is the highest of all poetry, because it docs that in verse, which the greatest of men have wished to accomplish in prose. If the essence of poetry must b(> a lie, throw it to the dogs, or banish it from your n-public, as Plato would have done. He who can reconcile poetry with truth and wisdom, is the only true "poet'^ in its real sense; " the ma/cer," " the creator'" — why must this moan the " liar," the "feigner," "the tale-tcllor?" A man may make and create better things than these, r I shall not presume to say that Pojje is as high a poet as Shakspcaro and Milton, tliough his enemy, Warton, places him immediately under tliem. I would no more say this than I would assert in the mosque, (once St. Sophia's,) that Socrates was a greater man than Maho- met. But if I say that he is very near them, it is n© more than has been asserted of Burns, who is supposed " To rival all but Shakspeare's name below." I say nothing against this opinion. But of what "order,^' according to the poetical aristocracy, are Burns's poems ? These are his opus magnum, " Tam 0"Shanter," a tale ; the "Cotter's Saturday Night," a descriptive sketch; some others in the same style ; the rest are songs. So much for the rank of his productions ; the rank of Bums is the very first of his art. Of Pope I have expressed my opinion elsewhere, as also of the effect which the present attempts at poetry have had upon our literature. If any great national or natural convulsion could or should overwhelm your country, in such sort as to sweep Great Britain from the kingdoms of the earth, and leave only that, after ail the most living of human things, a dead language, to be studied and read, and imitated, by the wise of future and far generations upon foreign shores ; if your literature should become the learning of mankind, divested of party cabals, temporary fashions, and national pride and prejudice ; an Englishman, anxious that the posterity of strangers should know that there had been such a thing as a British Epic and Tragedy, might wish for the preservation of Shakspeare and Milton ; but the surviving world would snatch Pope from the wreck, and let the rest sink with the people. He is the moral poet of all civilization, and, as such, let us hope that he will one day be the national poet of mankind. He is the only poet that never shocks ; the only poet whose faultlessness has been made his reproach. Cast your eye over his productions ; consider their extent, and contemplate their variety: — pastoral, passion, mock-heroic, translation, sa- tire, ethics, — all excellent, and often perfect. If his great charm be his melody, how comes it that foreigners adore him even in their diluted translation ? But I have made this letter too long. Give my compUments to Mr. Bowles. Yours ever, very truly, BYRON. To J. Murray, Esq. Post scriptum. — Long as this letter has grown, I find it necessary to append a postscript, — if possible, a short one. Mr. Bowles denies tliat he has accused Pope of " a sordid money-getting passion ;" but he adds " if I had ever done so, I should be glad to find any testimony that might show me he was not so." This testimony he may find to his heart's content in Spencc and elsewhere. First, there is Martha Blount, who, Mr. Bowles charit- ably says, " probably thought he did not save enough for her as legatee." \Vliatcver she tfioughl upon tliis jwint, her words arc in Pope's favour. Then there is Alder- man Barber — see Spence's Anecdotes. There is Pope's cold answer to Halifax, when he proposed a pension ; his beiiaviour to Craggs and to Addison upon like occasions ; and his own two lines — " And, thanks (o Homer, since 1 lire and ihriTe, Indebted to no prince or peer alive—" written when princes would have been proud to pension, and peers to promote him, and when the whole army of dunces were in array against him, and would have been but too happy to deprive him of this boast of indepen- dence. But tliero is something a little more serious in Mr. Bowles's declaration, that he " tixntld have s|H^on" of his "noble generosity to the outca.sl, Hiehard Savage," and other instances of a compassionato and pen«'roiis lu'art, " had they occurred to Iwi recollection when he urvte." What! is it come to this? Does Mr. Howle.i sit tiowTi to write a minute and hibouretl life and tnlilion of n great poet? Does ho analomizo liis rimrnoior, moral ami |h>- etical ? Does ho present us with Ins faults ami with his foibles? Dot>8 lie sneer at his foolings, and doubt of hia sincerity ? Does he unfold his vanity and duplicity ? and 28S ON BOWLES'S SfmCTURES ON POPE. then omit the good qualities which might, in part, have " covered this multitude of sins ?" and then plead that " they did not occur to his recollection ?" Is this the frame of mind and of memory with which the illustrious dead are to be approached? If Mr. Bowles, who must have had access to all the means of refreshing his memory, did not recollect these facts, he is unfit for his task ; but if he did recollect, and omit them, I know not what he is fit for, but I know what would be fit for him. Is the plea of "not recollecting" such prominent facts to be admitted ? Mr. Bowles has been at a public school, and, as I have been publicly educated also, I can sympathize with his predilection. When we were in the third form even, had we pleaded on the Monday morning, that we had not brought up the Saturday's exercise because " we had for- gotten it," what would have been the reply ? And is an excuse, which would not be pardoned to a schoolboy, to pass current in a matter which so nearly concerns the fame of the first poet of his age, if not of his country ? If Mr. Bowles so readily forgets the virtues of others, why complain so grievously that others have a better memory for his own faults ? They are but the faults of an author ; while the virtues he omitted from his catalogue are essentia to the justice due to a man. Mr. Bowles appears, indeed, to be susceptible beyond the privilege of authorship. There is a plaintive dedica- tion to Mr. GifFord, in which he is made responsible for all the articles of the Quarterly. Mr. Southey, it seems, "the most able and eloquent writer in that Review," approves of Mr. Bowles's publication. Now, it seems to me the more impartial, that notviithstanding that the great writer of the (Quarterly entertains opinions opposite to the able article on Spence, nevertheless that essay was permitted to appear. Is a review to be devoted to the opinions of any one man ? Must it not vary accord- ing to circumstances, and according to the subjects to be criticised ? I fear that writers must take the sweets and bitters of the public journals as they occur, and an author of so long a standing as Mr. Bowles might have become accustomed to such incidents ; he might be angry, but not astonished. I have been reviewed in the duarterly almost as often as Mr. Bowles, and have had as pleasant things said, and some as unpleasant, as could well be pro- nounced. In the review of " The Fall of Jerusalem," it is stated that I have devoted " my powers, etc. to the worst parts of manicheism," which, being interpreted, means that I worship the devil. Now, I have neither written a reply, nor complained to Giffbrd. I believe thaf I observed in a letter to you, that I thought " that the critic might have praised IMilman without finding it ne- cessary to abuse me •," but did I not add at the same time, or soon after, (apropos, of the note in the book of travels,) that I would not, if it were even in my power, have a single line cancelled on my account m that nor in any other publication? — Of course, I reserve to myself the privilege of response when necessary. Mr. Bowles seems in a whimsical state about the article on Spence. You know very well that I am not in your confidence, nor in that of the conductor of the journal. The moment I saw that article, I was morally certain that I knew the author "by his style." You will tell me that I do m)t know him : that is all as it should be ; keep the secret, so shall I, though no one has ever intrusted it to me. He is not the person whom Mr. Bowles denounces. Mr. Bowles's extreme sensibility reminds me of a circum- stance which occurred on board of a fi-igate, in which t was a passenger and guest of the captain's for a con- siderable time. The surgeon on board, a very gentle- manly young man, and remarkably able in his profession, wore a wig. Upon this ornament he was extremely tenacious. As naval jests are sometimes a little rough, his brother-officers made occasional allusions to this delicate appendage to the doctor's person. One day a young lieutenant, in the course of a facetious discussion, said, " Suppose, now, doctor, I should take off your /ia<." " Sir" replied the doctor, " I shall talk no longer with you ; you grow scurrilous." He would not even admit so near an approach as to the hat which protected it. In like man- ner, if any body approaches Mr. Bowles's laurels, even in his outside capacity of an editor, " they grow scurrilous." You say that you are about to prepare an edition of Pope ; you cannot do better for your own credit as a pub- lisher, nor for the redemption of Pope from Mr. Bowles, and of the public taste from rapid degeneracy. EXTRACTS FROM A SECOND LETTER IN ANSWER TO MR. BOWLES. (written may, 1821, and printed, BtTT NOT PUBLISHED.) "Pope himself 'sleeps well — nothing can touch him farther ;' but those who love the honour of their country, the perfection of her literature, the glory of her language, are not to be expected to permit an atom of his dust to be stirred in his tomb, or a leaf to be stripped from the laurel which grows over it. ******* * To me it appears of no very great consequence whe- ther Martha Blount was or was not Pope's mistress, though I could have wished him a better. She appears to have been a cold-hearted, interested, ignorant, disagree- able woman, upon whom the tenderness of Pope's heart in the desolation of his latter days was cast away, not knowing whither to turn, as he drew towards his prema- ture old age, childless and lonely, — like the needle which approaching within a certain distance of the pole, becomes helpless and useless, and, ceasing to tremble, rusts. She seems to have been so totally unworthy of tenderness, that it is an additional proof of the kindness of Pope's heart to have been able to love such a being. But we must love something. I agree with Mr. B. that she ' could at no time have regarded P<^e personally with ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 289 attachment,' because she was incapable of attachment; but I deny that Pope could not be regarded with per- sonal attachment by a worthier woman. It is not pro- bable, indeed, that a woman would have fallen in love with him as he walked along the Mall, or in a box at the opera, nor from a balcony, nor in a ball-room ; but in society he seems to have been as amiable, as unas- suming, and, with the greatest disadvan'ages of figure, his head and face were remarkably handsome, especially his eyes. He was adored by his friends — friends of the most opposite dispositions, ages, and talents — by the old and wayward Wycherley, by the cynical Swift, the rough Atterbury, the gentle Spence, the stern attorney-bishop Warburton, the virtuous Berkeley, and the 'cankered Bolingbroke.' Bolingbroke wept over him like a child ; and Spence's description of his last moments is at least as edifying as the more ostentatious account of the death- bed of Addision, The soldier Peterborough and the poet Gay, the witty Congreve and the laughing Rowe, the eccentric Cromwell and the steady Bathurst, were all his intimates. The man who could conciliate so many men of the most opposite description, not one of whom but was a remarkable or a celebrated character, might well have pretended to all the attachment which a reasonable man would desire of an amiable woman. "Pope, in fact, wherever he got it, appears to have understood the sex well. Bolingbroke, 'a judge of the subject,' says Warton, thought his 'Epistle on the Cha- racters of Women' his ' masterpiece.' And even with respect to the grosser passion, which takes occasionally the name of ' romantic,^ accordingly as the degree of sen- timent elevates it above the definition of love by BufFon, it may be remarked that it does not always depend upon personal appearance, even in a woman. Madame Cottin was a plain woman, and might have been virtuous, it may be presumed, without much interruption. Virtuous she was, and the consequences of this inveterate virtue were, that two different admirers (one an elderly gen- tleman) killed themselves in despair, (see Lady Morgan's ' France.') I would not, however, recommend this rigour to plam women in general, in the hope of securing the glory of two suicides apiece. I believe that there are few men who, in the course of their observations on life , may not have perceived that it is not the greatest female beauty who forms the longest and the strongest passions. "But, apropos of Pope, — Voltaire tells us that the Mareschal Luxembourg (who had precisely Pope's figure) was not only somewhat too amatory for a great man, but fortunate in his attachments. La Vali6re, the passion of Louis XIV. had an unsightly defect. The Princess of Eboli, the mistress of Philip the Second of Spain, and Maugiron, the minion of Henry the Third of France, had each of them lost an eye ; and the famous Latin epigram was written upon them, which has, I believe, been either translated or imitated by Goldsmith : — ' Lumine Acoa dextro, capla est Leoiiilla sinislro, Et potis e«t forma vincere utcrque Decs ; Blaiide pner, lumen quod habes concede sorori, Sic lu cxcus Amor, lic erit ilia Veuus.' " Wilkes, with his ugliness, used to say that * he was but a quarter of an hour behind the handsomest man in England ;' and this vaunt of his is said not to have been disproved by circumstances. Swift, when neither young, nor handsome, nor rich, nor even amiable, inspired tlio two most extraordinary passions upon record, Vanessa's and Stella's. ' Vanetta, oged scarce a tcore, Sight for a gowu oi forty-four,' "He requited them bitterly ; for he seems to have broken the heart of the one, and worn out that of the other ; and he had his reward, for he died a solitary idiot in the hands of servants. • For my own part, I am of the opinion of Pausanius, 37 that success in love depends upon Fortune. ' They par- ticularly renounce Celestial Venus, into whose temple, &c. &c. &c. I remember, too, to have seen a building in yEgina in which there is a statue of Fortune, holding a horn of Amalthea ; and near her there is a winged Love. The meaning of this is, that the success of men in love- affairs depends more on the assistance of Fortune than the charms of beauty. I am persuaded, too, with Pindar, (to whose opinion I submit in other particulars,) that Fortune is one of the Fates, and that in a certain respect she is more powerful than her sisters.' — See Pausanias, Achaics, book vii. chap. 26, page 246, ' Taylor's Transla- tion.' "Grimm has a remark of the same kind on the different destinies of the younger Crebillon and Rousseau. The former writes a licentious novel, and a young English girl of some fortune and family (a Miss Strafford) ri:»3 away, and crosses the sea to marry him ; while Rousseau, the most tender and passionate of lovers, is obliged to espouse his chambermaid. If I recollect rightiy, this remark was also repeated in the Edinburgh Review of Grimm's Correspondence, seven or eight years ago. " In regard ' to the stiange mixture of indecent, and sometimes profane levity, w hich his conduct and language often exhibited,' and which so much shocks Mr. Bowles, I object to the indefinite word ^ often;'' and in extenuation of the occasional occurrence of such language it is to be recollected, that it was less the tone of Pope^ than the tone of the time. With the exception of the correspon- dence of Pope and his friends, not many private letters of the period have come down to us ; but those, such as they are — a few scattered scraps from Farquhar and others — are more indecent and coarse than any thing in Pope's letters. The Comedies of Congreve, Vanburgh, Farquhar, Cibbcr, &c. which naturally attempted to re- present the manners and conversation of private life, are decisive upon this point; as are also some of Steele's papers, and even Addison's. We all know what the conversation of Sir R. Walpole, for seventeen years the prime minister of the country, was at his own table, and his excuse for his Ucentious language, viz. ' that every body understood that, but few could talk rationally upon less common topics.' The refinement of latter days, — which is perhaps the consequence of vice, which wishes to mask and soften itself, as much as of virtuous civi- lization, — had not yet made sufficient progress. Even Johnson in his ' London,' has two or three passages which cannot be read aloud, and Addison's • Drummer' seme indelicate allusions," " Poor Scott is now no more. In the exercise of his vocation, he contrived at last to make himself the subject of a coroner's inquest. But he died like a brave man, and he lived an able one. I knew him personally, though slightly. Although several years my senior, we had been schoolfellows together at the ' grammar-schulc' (or, as the Aberdonians pronounce it, 'sfj-wff/') of New Aberdeen. He did not behave to me quite handsomely in his capa- city of editor a few years ago, but he was under no obli- gation to behave otherwise. The moment was too tempting for many friends and for all enemies. At a time when all my relalions (save one) fell from me like leaves from the tree in autumn winds, and my few friends became still fewer — when the whole periodical press (I mean the daily and weekly, not the literary press) was let loose against mo in every shape of reproach, with the two strange exceptions (from their usual opposition) of ' the Courier' and 'the Examiner,' — the poper of wliich Scott had tlie «lirfClion was neither the last, nor the least vituperative. Two years ago I met him at Venice, when ho was bowed in griefs by the loss of his son, and had known, by experience, iJie bittrrnoss of domestic priva- tion. He was then earnest with n>c to return to Eng- land ; and on niv telling him, wiih n smile, that he was once of a different o|)ini<>n, l»o replied to mr, 'thut he and others had been (jroatly mi.sled ; and tliat some paina, and 290 ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. rather extraordinary means, had been taken to excite them.' Scott is no more, but there are more than one living who were present at this dialogue. He was a man of very considerable talents, and of great acquirements. He had made his way, as a literary character, with high success, and in a few years. Poor fellow ! I recollect his joy at some appointment which he had obtained, or was to obtain, through Sir James Mackintosh, and which prevented the farther extension (unless by a rapid rfm to Rome) of his travels in Italy. I httle thought to what it would conduct him. Peace be with him ! — and may all such other faults as are inevitable to humanity be as readily forgiven him, as the little injury wliicli he had done to one who respected his talents and regrets his loss." In reference to some complaints made by INIr. Bowles, in his Pamphlet, of a charge of " hj'pochondriacism," which he supposed to have been brought against him by his assailant, Mr. Gilchrist, he thus proceeds: — "I cannot conceive a man in perfect health being much affected by such a chfu-ge, because his complexion and conduct must amply refute it. But were it true, to what does it amcMint ? — to an impeachment of a hver com- plaint. ' I will tell it to the world,' exclaimed the learned Smelfungus : 'you had better (said I) tell it to your phy- sician.' There is nothing dishonourable in such a disor- der, which is more peculiarly the malady of students. It has been the complaint of the good, and the wise, and the witty, and even of the gay. Regnard, the author of the last French comedy after Moliere, was atrabilarious, and Moliere himself saturnine. Dr. Johnson, Gray, and Burns were all more or less affected by it occasionally. It was the prelude to the more awful malady of Collins, Cowper, Swift, and Smart \ but it by no means follows that a partial afBiction of this disorder is to terminate like theirs. But even were it so, ' Nor best, nor wisest, are exempt from thee, Folly— FoJly 's only free.' Penrose. ♦******. Mendehlson and Bayle were at times so overcome mth this depression as to be obliged to recur to seeing 'puppet-shows,' and 'counting tiles upon the opposite houses,' to divert them- selves. Dr. Johnson, at times, 'would have given a limb to recover his spirits.' ******* "In page 14 we have a large assertion that ' the Eloisa alone is sufficient to convict him (Pope) of gross licen- tiousness.^ Thus, out it comes at last — Mr. B. does accuse Pope of ' gross licentiousness,' and grounds the charge upon a Poem. The licentiousness is a 'grand peutet according to the turn of the times being: — the grossness I deny. On the contrary, I do believe that such a subject never was, nor ever could be, treated by any poet with much delicacy mingled with, at the same time, such true and intense passion. Is the ' Atys' of Catullus licentious ? No, nor even gross ; and yet Catullus is often a coarse writer. The subject is nearly the same, except that Atys was the suicide of his manhood, and Abelard the victim. * The ' licentiousness' of the story was not Pope's, — it was a fact. All that it had of gross he has softened ; all that it had of indelicate he has purified ; all that it had of passionate he has beautified ; all that it had of holy he has hallowed. Mr. Campbell has admirably marked this in a few words, (I quote from memory,) in drawing the distinction between Pope and Dryden, and pointing out where Dryden was wanting. 'I fear,' says he, ' that had the subject of " Eloisa" fallen into his (Dryden's) hands, that he would have given us but a codrse draft of her passion.' Never was the delicacy of Pope so much shown as in this poem. With the facts and the letters of ' Eloisa' he has done what no other mind but that of the best and purest of poets coidd have accomplished v/ith such materials. Ovid, Sappho (in the Ode called hers) — all that we have of ancient, all that we have of modern poetry, sinks into nothing compared with him in this production. " Let us hear no more of this trash about 'licentious- ness.' Is not ' Anacreon' taught in our schools ? — trans- lated, praised, and edited? * * * * * and are the English schools or the English women the more corrupt for all this ? When you have tlirown the ancients into die fire, it will be time to denounce the moderns. ' Li- centiousness !' — there is more real mischief and sapping licentiousness in a single French prose novel, in a Mora- vian hymn, or a German comedy, than in all the actual poetry that ever was penned or poured forth since the rhapsodies of Orpheus. The sentimental anatomy of Rousseau and Mad. de S. are far more formidable than any quantity of verse. They are so, because they sap the principles by reasoning upon the passions ; whereas poetry is in itself passion, and does not systematize. It assails, but does not argue ; it may be wrong, but it does not assume pretensions to optimism." Mr. Bowles having, in his pamphlet, complamed of some anonymous communication which he had received, Lord Byron thus comments on the circumstance. "I agree with Mr. B. that the intention was to annoy him ; but I fear that this was answered by his iwtice of the reception of the criticism. An anonymous writer has but one means of knowing the effect of his attack. In this he has the superiority over the viper ; he knows that his poison has taken effect when he hears the victim cry ; — the adder is deaf. The best reply to an anony- mous intimation is to take no notice directly nor indirectly. I wish Mr. B. could see only one or two of the thousand which I have received in the course of a literary life, which, though begun early, has not yet extended to a third part c^ his existence as an author. I speak of literary life only ; — were I to add personal, 1 might double the amount of anonyjnous letters. If he could but see the violence, the threats, the absurdity of the whole thing, he would laugh, and so should I, and thus be both gamers. " To keep up the farce, within the last month of this present writing, (1821,) I have had my life threatened in the same way which menaced Mr. B.'s fame, excepting that the anonymous denunciation was addressed to the Cardinal Legate of Romagna, instead of to * * * *, I append the menace in all its barbaric but literal Italian, that Mr. B. may be convinced ; and as this is the only 'promise to pay' which the Italians ever keep, so my per- son has been at least as much exposed t& ' a shot in the gloaming' from' John Heatherblutter,' (see Waverley,) as ever Mr. B.'s glory was from an editor. I am, neverthe- less, on horseback and lonely for some hours {one of them twilight) in the forest daily ; and this, because it was my ' custom in the afternoon,' and that I believe if the tyrant cannot escape amid his guards, (should it be so written,) so the humbler individual would find precautions useless." " Mr. Bowles hcis no reason to ' succumb' but to Mr. Bowles. As a poet, the author of ' the Missionary' may compete with the foremost of his contemporaries. Let it be recollected, that all my previous opinions of Mr. Bowles's poetry were loritten long before the publication of his last and best poem ; and that a poet's last poem should be his best, is his highest praise. But, however, he may duly and honouriibly rank with his living rivals, &c. &c. &c." "It is worthy of remark that, after all this outcry about '■ in-door nature' and ' artificial images,' Pope was the prin- cipal inventor of that boast of the English, Modem Gar- dening. He divides his honour widi Milton. Hear Wsu-- ton: — 'It hence appears that this enchanting art of modern gardening, in which this kingdom claims a prefer- ence over every nation in Europe, chiefly owes its origin and its improvements to two great poets, Milton and Pope.^ " Walpole (no friend to Pope) asserts that Pope formed ON BOWLES'S STRICTURES ON POPE. 291 Kent's taste, and that Kent was the artist to whom the English are chiefly indebted for diffusing ' a taste in layin out grounds.' The design of the Prince of Wales's garden was copied from Pope's at Twickenham. Warton applauds * his singular effort of art and taste, in impres- sing so much variety and scenery on a spot of five acres.' Pope was the Jirst who ridiculed the'* formal, French, Dutch, false, and unnatural taste in gardening,' both in prose and verse. (See, for the former, the ' Guardian.') *"Pope has given not only some of our ^rsf but best rules and observations on Architecture and Gardening.' {See Warton's Essay, vol, ii. p. 237, &c. &c.) " Now, is it not a shame, after this, to hear our Lakers in ' Kendal green,' and our Bucolical Cockneys, crying out {the latter in a wilderness of bricks and mortar) about *Nature,' and Pope's 'artificial in-door habits?' Pope had seen all of nature that JEngland alone can supply. He was bred in Windsor Forest, and amid the beautiful scenery of Eton ; he lived familiarly and frequently al the country seats of Bathurst, Cobham, Burlington, Pe- terborough, Digby, and Bolingbroke ; among whose seats was to be numbered Stovje. He made his own little ' five acres' a model to Princes, and to the first of our artists who imitated nature. Warton thinks, 'that the most engaging of Kent's works was also planned on the model of Pope's, — at least in the opening and retiring shades of Venus's Vale.' " It is true that Pope was infirm and deformed ; but he could walk, and he could ride, (he rode to Oxford from London at a stretch,) and he was famous for an exquisite eye. On a tree at Lord Bathurst's is carved, ' Here Pope sang,' — he composed beneath it. Bolingbroke, in one of his letters, represents them both writing in the hay-field. No poet ever admired Nature more, or used her better, than Pope has done, as I will undertake to prove from his works, prose and verse, if not anticipated in so easy and agreeable a labour. I remember a passage in Walpole, somewhere, of a gentleman who wished to give directions about some willows to a man who had long served Pope in his grounds : ' I understand, sir,' he replied : ' you would have them hang down, sir, somewhat poetical? Now if nothing existed but this little anecdote, it would suffice to prove Pope's taste for Nature, and the impression which he had made on a common-minded man. But I have already quoted Warton and Walpole, {both his enemies,) and, were it necessary, I could amply quote Pope himself for such tributes to Naiure as no poet of the present day has even approached. "His various excellence is really wonderful: architec- ture, painting, gardening, all are alike subject to his ge- nius. Be it remembered, that Englisii gardening is the purposed perfectioning of niggard iVa^ure, and that witJi- out it England is but a hedgc-and-ditch, double-post-and- rail, Hounslow-heath and Clai)ham-common sort of country, since the principal forests have been felled. It is, in general, far from a picturesque country. The case is different with Scotland, Wales, and Ireland ; and I except also the lake coimties and Derbyshire, together with Eton, Windsor, and my own dear Harrow on the Hill, and some spots near the coast. In the present rank fertility of ' great poets of the age' and 'schools of poetry' — a word which, like 'schools of elo(iuence' and of ' phi- losophy,' is never introduced till the decay of the art has increased with the number of its professors — in the present day, then, there have sjjrung up two sorts of Naturals ; — the Lakers, who whine about Nature because they live in Cumberland ; and tlusir undcr-scrt, (which some one has maliciously called the ' Cockney School',) who arc enthu- fiiastical for the country because ihey live in London. It is to be observed, that the rustical founders aio ralhor anx- ious to disclaim any connexion with tlu-ir nii'tropolilan followers, whom tliey ungraciously review, and call cock- neys, atheists, foolish fellows, bad wrilersi, and other iiurd names not less ungrateful than unjust. I can understand the pretensions of the aquatic gentlemen of Windermere to j what Mf. Braham terms ' eni^isumusy^ far lakes, and moun« tains, and daffodils, and buttercups; but 1 should be glad to be apprised of the foundation of the London propensi- ties of their imitative brethren to the same ' high argument,' Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge have rambled over half Europe, and seen Nature ia most of her varieties, (although I think that they have occasionally not used her very well;) but what on earth — of earth, and sea, and Nature — have the others seen ? Not a half, nor a tenth part so much as Pope. While they sneer at his Wind- sor Forest, have they ever seen any thing of Windsor except its brick .? * * * " When they have really seen life — when they have felt it — when they have travelled beyond the far distamt boun- daries of tlie wilds of Middlesex — when they have over- passed the Alps of Highgate, and traced to its sources the Nile of the New River — then, and not till tJien, can it properly be permitted to them to despise Pope ; who had, if not in Wales, been iiear it, when he describes so beauti- fully the ' artificiat works of the Benefactor of Nature and mankind, the 'Man of Ross,' whose picture, still suspended in the parlour of the inn, I have so often contemplated with reverence for his memory, and admiration of the poet, wth- out whom even his own still existing good works could hardly have preserved his honest renown. * * "If they had said nothing of Pope, they might have re- mained 'alone with tiieir glory' for aught I should have said or thought about them or their nonsense. But if they interfere with the httle 'Nightingale' of Twickenham, they may find others who will bear it — /wont. Neither time, nor distance, nor grief, nor age can ever diminish my veneration for him, who is the great moral poet of all times, of all climes, of all feelings, and of all stages of existence. The delight of my boyhood, the study of my manhood. perhaps (if allowed to me to atttain it) he may be the consolation of my age. His poetry is the book of Life Without canting, and yet without neglecting, religion, he has assembled all that a good and great man can gather together of moral wisdom clothed in consummate beauty. Sir William Temple observes, ' That of all the mem- bers of mankind that live within the compass of a thousand years, for one man that is born capable of making a great poet, there may be a thousand born capable of making as great generals and ministers of state as any in story.' Here is a statesman's opinion of poetry : it is honourable to him and to the art. Such a ' poet of a thousand years' was Pope. A thousand years will roll away before such another can be iioped for in our literature. But it can want them — he himself is a hterature. " One word upon his so brutally-abused translation of Homer. 'Dr. Clarke, whose critical exactness is well known, has not been able to point out above three or four mistakes in the sense through the whole Iliad. Tiie real faults of tlie translation are of a ditferent kind.' So says Warton, hi.nself a scholar. It appears by this, Uicn, that he avoided the chief fault of a tnuislator. As toils otlicr faults, dicy consist in his having made a beautiful English poem of a sublime Greek one. It will always hold. Cowper and all the rest of the blank pretenders may do tlicir best and tlieir worst : they will never uTcnch Pope from the hands of a single n?adle3; and Hayley, who, however feeble, has left one poem ' that will not be willingly let die,' (the Triumphs of Temper,) kept up the reputation of that pure and perfect style : and Crabbe, the first of living poets, has almost equalled the master. Then came Darwin, who was put down by a single poem in the Antijacobin: and the Cruscans, from Merry to Jerningham, who were annihilated (if NotMng can be said to be armiliilated) by Gifford, the last of the wholesome EngUsh satirists. ***** " These three personages, Southey, Wordsworth, and Coleridge, had all of them a very natural antipathy to Pope, and I respect them for it, as the only original feel- ing or principle which they have contrived to preserve. But they have been joined in it by those who have joined them in nothing else : by the Edinburgh Reviewers, by the v,'hole heterogeneous mass of living English poets, excepting Crabbe, Rogers, Gifford, and Campbell, who, both by precept and practice, have proved their adhe- rence ; and by me, who have shamefully deviated in practice, but have ever loved and honoured Pope's poetry with my whole soul, and hope to do so till my dying day. I would rather see all I have ever written lining the same trunk in which I actually read the eleventh book of a modern Epic poem at Malta in 1811, (I opened it to take out a change after tlie paroxysm of a tertian, in the absence of my servant, and foimd it lined with the name of the maker. Eyre, Cockspur-street, and with the Epic poetry alluded to,) than sacrifice what I firmly believe in as the Christianity of EngUsh poetry, the poetry of Pope. ***** " Nevertheless, I wiU not go so far as * * in his post- script, who pretends that no great poet ever had immedi- ate fame ; which, being interpreted, means that * * is not quite so much read by his contemporaries, as might be desirable. This assertion is as false as it is foolish. Homer's glory depended upon his present popularity : he recited, — and without the strongest impression of the moment, who would have gotten the Iliad by heart, and given it to tradition ? Ennius, Terence, Plautus, Lucre- tius, Horace, Virgil, jEschylus, Sophocles, Euripides, Sappho, Anacreon, Theocritus, all the great poets of antiquity, were the delight of their contemporaries. The very existence of a poet, previous to the invention of printing, depended upon his present popularity ; and how often has it impaired his future fame? Hardly ever. History informs us, that the best have come down to us. The reason is evident; the most popular found the greatest number of transcribers for their MSS. and that the taste of their contemporaries was corrupt can hardly avouched by the moderns, the mightiest of whom have but rarely approached them. Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, and Tasso were all the darUngs of the contemporary reader. Dante's Poem was celebrated long before his death ; and, not long after it, states negotiated for his ashes, and disputed for the sites of the composition of the Divina Commedia. Petrarch was crowned in the Capi- tol. Ariosto was permitted to pass free by the pubUc robber who had read the Orlando Furioso. I would not recommend Mr. * * to try the same experiment with his Smugglers. Tasso, notwithstanding the criticisms of the Cruscanti, would have been crowned in the Capitol, but for his death. It is easy to prove the immediate popularity of the chief poets of the only modern nation in Europe that has a poetical language, the Italian. In our own, Shak- speare, Spenser, Jonson, Waller, Dryden, Congreve, Pope, Young, Shenstone, Thomson, Johnson, Goldsmith, Gray, were all as popular in their lives as since. Gray's Elegy pleased instantly, and etemaUy. His Odes did not, nor yet do they please like his Elegy. Milton's poUtics kept him down ; but the Epigram of Dryden, and the very sale of his work, m proportion to the less reading time of its publication, prove him to have been honoured by his contemporaries. I will venture to assert, that the sale of EXTRACTS FROM PAMPHLET, 1820. 295 couplet. The fact is, tiiat the exquisite beauty of their versification has withdrawn the public attention from their other excellencies, as the vulgar eye will rest more upon the splendour of the uniform than the quality of the troops. It is this very harmony, particularly in Pope, which has raised the vulgar and atrocious cant atxainst him : — because his versification is perfect, it is assumed that it is his only perfection ; because his truths are so clear, it is asserted that he has no invention ; and because lie is always intelligible, it is taken for granted that he has no genius. We are sneeringly told that he is the ' Poet of Reason,"' as if this was a reason for his being no poet. Taking passage for passage, I will undertake to cite more Imes teeming with imagination from Pope than from any two living poets, be they who they may. To take an instance at random from a species of com- position not very favourable to imagination — Satire : set down the character of Sporus, with all the wonderful play of fancy which is scattered over it, and place by its side an equal number of verses, from any two exist- ing poets, of the same power and the same variety — where will you find them? " I merely mention one instance of many in reply to the injustice done to the memory of him who harmonized our poetical language. The attorneys' clerks, and other self-educated genii, found it easier to distort themselves to the new models than to toil after the symmetry of him who had enchanted their fathers. They were besides smitten by being told that the new school were to revive the language of Gtueen Elizabeth, the true English ; as every body in the reign of Gtueen Anne wrote no better than French, by a species of literary treason. " Blank verse, which, unless in the drama, no one except Milton ever wrote who could rhyme, became the order of the day, — or else such rhyme as looked still blanker than the verse without it. I am aware that Johnson has said, after some hesitation, that he could not ' prevail upon himself to wish that Milton had been a rhymer.' The opinions of that truly great man, whom it is also the present fashion to decry, will ever be received by me with that deference which time will restore to him from all ; but, with all humility, I am not persuaded that the Paradise Lost would not have been more nobly con- veyed to posterity, not perhaps in heroic couplets, although even they could sustain the subject if well balanced, but in the stanza of Spenser, or of Tasso, or in the terza rima of Dante, which the powers of Milton could easily have grafted on our language. The seasons of Thom- son would have been better in rhyme, although still inferior to his Castle of Indolence ; and Mr. Southey's Joan of Arc no worse, although it might have taken up six monllis instead of weeks in the composition. I recommend also to the lovers of lyrics the perusal of the present laureat's odes by the side of Dryden's on Saint Cecilia, but let him be sure to rc^AJirst those of Mr. Southey. To the heaven-born genii and inspired young scrive- ners of the day much of this will appear paradox; it will appear so even to the higher order of our critics: but it was a truism twenty years ago, and it will be a rcac- knowlcdgcd truth in ten more. In the moan time, I will conclude with two quotations, both intendcil for some of my old classical friends who have still enough of Cam- bridge about them to think themselves honoured by having bail John Dryden as a predecessor in tlieir college, and to recollect that their earliest English poetical pleasures were drawn from the ' little nightingale' of Twickenhum. " The first is from the notes to tJjo Poem of tho Friends,'* pages 181, 182. " ' It is only within the last twenty or thirty years that those notable discoveries in criticism have boon mado which have taught our recent versifiers to undervniuo this energetic, melodious, and moral poof. Th<» c<^n««v ({uencus of this want of duo esteem for a writer whom the Paradise Lost was greater in the first four years after its publication than that of ' the Excursion ' in the same number, with the difference of nearly a century and a half between them of time, and of thousands in point of general readers. + + * + * ** It may be asked, why, having this opinion of the pre- sent state of poetry in England, and having had it long, as my friends and others well Imovv — possessing, or having possessed too, as a writer, the ear of the public for the time being — I have not adopted a different plan in my own compositions, and endeavoured to correct rather than encourage the taste of the day. To this I would answer, that it is easier to perceive the wrong than to pursue the right, and that I have never contemplated the prospect ' of filling (with Peter Bell, see its Preface) permanently a station in the literature of the country.' Those who know me best, know this, and that I have been considerably astonished at the temporary success of my works, having flattered no person and no party, and expressed opinions which are not those of the general reader. Could I have anticipated the degree of attention which has been accorded, assuredly I would have studied more to deserve it. But I have lived in far countries abroad, or in the agitating world at home, which was not favourable to study or reflection ; so that almost all I have written has been mere passion, — passion, it is true, of difl^erent kinds, but always passion ; for in me (if it be not an Irishism to say so) my indiff'erence was a kind of passion, the result of experience, and not the philosophy of nature. Writing grows a habit, like a woman's gallantry : there are women who have had no intrigue, but few who have had but one only ; so there are millions of men who have never writ- ten a book, but few who have written only one. And thus, having written once, I wrote on ; encouraged no doubt by the success of the moment, yet by no means anticipating its duration, and, I will venture to say, scarcely even wishing it. But then I did other things besides write, which by no means contributed either to improve my writings or my prosperity. ♦ * + + * " I have thus expressed publicly upon the poetry of the day the opinion I have long entertained and expressed of it to all who have asked it, and to some who would rather not have heard it ; as I told Moore not very long ago, *we are all wrong except Rogers, Crabbe, and Camp- bell.' Without being old in years, I am old in days, and do not feel the adequate spirit within me to attempt a work which should show what I think right in poetry, and must content myself with having denounced what is wrong. There are, I trust, younger spirits rising up in England, who, escaping the contagion which has swept away poetry from our literature, will recall it to tlieir country, such as it once was and may still be. " In the mean time, the best sign of amendment will be repentance, and new and frequent editions of Pope and Dryden. " There will be found as comfortable metaphysics, and ten times more poetry in the ' Essay on Man,' tlian in the * Excursion.' If you search for passion, where is it to be found stronger than in the epistle from Eloisato Abelard, or in Palamon and Arcite? Do you wish for invention, imagination, sublimity, character? seek them in the Rape of the Lock, tlie Fables of Dryden, the Ode on Saint Cecilia's Day, and Absalom and Achitophel : you will discover in these two poets only, nil for which you must ransack innumerable metres, and God only knows how many rvritera of the day, without finding a tittlo of the same qualities, — with the addition, too, of wit, of which the latter have none. I have not, however, forgotten Thomas Brown th«5 younger, nor the F'udge Family, nor Whistlecraft; but that is not wit — it is humour. I will say nothing of tho harmony of Pope and Dryden in com- parison, for there is not a living poet (except Rogers, GifTord, Campbell, and Crabbe) who can write an heroic Wiidinl.y 1,01.1 nvion'iftrly frifntl. U>« R«». Fr»ncU UoOgMn. 296 EXTRACTS FROM PAMPHLETS, 1820. the good sense of our predecessors had raised to his proper station have been numerous and degrading ENOUGH. This is not the place to enter into the sub- ject, even as far as it affects our poetical numbers akme, and there is matter of more importance that requires present reflection.' " The second is from the volume of a young person learning to write poetry, and beginning by teaching the art. Hear him :* ' But ye were dead To things ye knew not of— were closely wed To musty laws lined out with wretched rule And compass vile ; so that ye taught a schoolf Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and chip, and Jit, Till, hke the certain wands of Jacob's wit, TJieir verses tallied. East/ was the task : A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask Of poesy. Ill-fated, impious race. That blasphemed the bright lyrist to his face, And did not know it ; no, they went about Holding a poor decrepit standard out Mark'd with most flimsy mottoes, and in large The name of one Boileau !' " A little before the manner of Pope is termed ' A scism,X Nurtured by foppery and barbarism, Made great Apollo blush for this his land.' *I thought 'foppery^ was a consequence of refinement; but nHmporte. " The above will suffice to show the notions entertained by the new performers on the English lyre of him who made it most tunable, and the great improvements of their own variazioni. " The writer of this is a tadpole of the Lakes, a young disciple of the sLx or seven new schools, in which he has learned to write such lines and such sentiments as the above. He says, ' easy was the task' of imitating Pope, or it may be of equalling him, I presume. I recommend him to try before he is so positive on the subject, and then compare what he will have then written and what he has now written with the humblest and earliest com- positions of Pope, produced in years still more youthful than those of Mr. K. when he invented his new ' Essay on Criticism,' entided ' Sleep and Poetry,' (an ominous title,) from whence the above canons are taken. Pope's was written at nineteen, and published at twenty-two. " Such are the triimiphs of the new schools, and such their scholars. The disciples of Pope were Johnson, Goldsmith, Rogers, Campbell, Crabbe, GifFord, Matthias, Hayley, and ^he author of the Paradise of Coquettes ; to whom may be added Richards, Heber, Wrangham, Bland, Hodgson, Merivale, and others who have not had their full fame, because ' the race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong,' and because there is a fortune in fame as in all other things. Now of all the new schools — I say all, for, 'like Legion, they are many' — ^has there appeared a single scholar who has not made his master ashamed of him? unless it be * *, who has imitated every body, and occasionally surpassed his models. Scott found peculiar favour and imitation among the fair sex : there was ]Miss Holford, and Miss Mitford. and Miss Francis ; but witli the greatest respect • The strange veraes that follow are from a poem by Keats.— In a manuscript note on this passage of the pamphlet, dated Nov. 12, 18'21, Lord Byron, says, " Mr. Keats died at Rome about a year after this was written, of a decline produced by his having burst a bloodvessel on reading the article on his ' Endymion' in the liuarterly Review. I have read the article before and since ; and although it is bitter, I do not think that a man should permit himself to be killed by it. But a young man little dreams what he must inevitably encounter in the course of a life ambitious of public notice. My indignation at Mr. Keati's depreciatiiin of Pope haa hardly permitted me to do justice to his own genius, which, malgrfe all the liintastic fopperies of his style, was undoubtedly of great promise. His fragment of 'Hyperion,' icems actually inspired by the Titans, and is as subhme as .^schylus. He is a loss to our literature ; and the more so, as he himself, before his death, is said to have been persuaded that he had not taken the right line, and was reforming his style upon the more classical models of the language." t "It was at least a grammar 'school.' " j " So spelled by the author." be it spoken, none of his imitators did much honour to the original except Hogg, the Ettrick shepherd, until the appearance of ' The Bridel of Triermain,' and 'Harold the Dauntless,' which in the opinion of some equalled if not surpassed him ; and lo ! after three or four years they turned out to be the master's own compositions. Have Southey, or Coleridge, or Wordsworth made a follower of renown ? Wilson never did well till he set up for himself in the 'City of the Plague.' Has Moore, or any other hving writer of reputation, had a tolerable imitator, or rather disciple ? Now it is remarkable that almost all the followers of Pope, whom I have named, have produced beautiful and standard works, and it was not the number of his imitators who finally hurt his fame, but the despair of imitation, and the ease of not imitating him sufficiently. This and the same reason which in- duced the Athenian burgher to vote for the banishment of Aristides, ' because he was tired of always hearing him called the Just,^ have produced the temporary exile of Pope from the state of hterature. But the term of his ostracism will expire, and the sooner the better, not for him, but for those who banished him, and for the coming generation, who ' Will blush to find their fathers were his foes.' " In the First Canto of Don Juan appeared the follow- ing passage : " For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, I 've bribed My Grandmother's Review,— the Britisli! ." I sent it in a letter to the editor. Who thank'd me duly by return of post — I 'm for a handsome article his creditor ; Yet if my gentle Muse he please to roast, And break a promise after having made it her, Denying the receipt of what it cost. And smear his page with gall instead of honey. All I can say is — that he had the money." On the appearance of the Poem, the learned editor of the Review in question allowed himself to be decoyed into the ineffable absurdity of taking the charge as seri- ous, and, in his succeeding number, came forth with an indignant contradiction of it ; to wliich Lord Byron replied in the following '•' LETTER TO THE EDITOR OF ' MY GRANDMOTHEk's review;' originally published in THE 'li- beral.' "to the editor of the BRITISH REVIEW. "my dear ROBERTS, " As a believer in the Church of England — to say nothing of the State — I have been an occasional reader, and great admirer of, though not a subscriber to, your Review, which is rather expensive. But I do not know that any part of its contents ever gave me much surprise till the eleventh article of yom- twenty-seventh number made its appearance. You have there most vigorously refuted a calumnious accusation of bribery and corrup- tion, the credence of which in the public mind might not only have damaged your reputation as a barrister and an editor, but, what would have been still worse, have injured the circulation of your journal ; which, I regret to hear, is not so extensive as the ' purity (as you well observe) of its,' &c. &c. and the present taste for propriety, would induce us to expect. The charge itself is of a solemn nature, and, although in verse, is couched in terms of such circumstantial gravity, as to induce a belief little short of that generally accorded to the thirty-nine articles, to hich you so frankly subscribed on taking your degrees. It is a charge the most revolting to the heart of man, from its frequent occurrence ; to the mind of a lawyer, fronv , its occasional truth ; and to the soul of an editor, from its moral impossibility. You are charged then in the last line of one octave stanza, and the whole eight lines of the EXTRACTS FROM PAMPHLET, 1820. 297 next, viz. 209th and 210th of the first canto of that ' pes- tilent poem,' Don Juan, with receiving, and still more foolishly acknowledging the receipt of, certain monies, to eulogize the unknown author, who by this account must be known to you, if to nobody else. An impeachment of this nature, so seriously made, there is but one way of refuting ; and it is my firm persuasion, that whether you did or did not (and / believe that you did not) receive the said monies, of which I wish that he had specified the sum, you are quite right in denying all knowledge of the transaction. If charges of this nefarious description are to go forth, sanctioned by aU the solemnity of circum- stance, and guaranteed by the veracity of verse (as Counsellor Phillips would say) what is to become of readers hitherto implicitly confident in the not less vera- cious prose of our critical journals ? what is to become of the reviews? And, if the reviews fail, what is to become of the editors? It is common cause, and you have done well to sound the alarm. I myself, in my humble sphere, will be one of your echoes. In the words of the tragedian Listen, ' I love a row,' and you seem justly determined to make one. " It is barely possible, certainly improbable, that the writer might have been in jest; but this only aggravates his crime. A joke, the proverb says, 'breaks no bones ;' but it may break a bookseller, or it may be the cause of bones being broken. The jest is but a bad one at the best for the author, and might have been a still worse one for you, if your copious contradiction did not certify to all whom it may concern your own indignant irmocence, and the immaculate purity of the British Review. I do not doubt your word, my dear Roberts, yet I cannot help wishing that in a case of such vital importance, it had assumed the more substantial shape of an affidavit sworn before the Lord Mayor. "I am sure, my dear Roberts, that you will take these observations of mine in good part ; they are written in a spirit of friendship not less pure than your own editorial integrity. I have always admired you ; and not knowing any shape which friendship and admiration can assume more agreeable and useful than that of good advice, I shall continue my lucubrations, mixed with here and there a monitory hint as to what I conceive to be the line you should pursue, in case you should ever again be assailed with bribes, or accused of taking them. By the way, you do n't say much about the poem, except that it is ' flagi- tious.' This is a pity — ^you should have cut it up; because, to say the truth, in not doing so, you somewhat assist any notions which the malignant might entertain on the score of the anonymous asseveration which has made you so angry. " You say, no bookseller ' was willing to take upon him- self the publication, though most of them disgrace them- selves by selling it.' Now, my dear friend, though we all know that those fellows will do any thing for money, me- thinks the disgrace is more with the purchasers ; and some such, doubtless, there are, for there can be no very extensive selling (as you will perceive by that of the British Review) without buying. You then add, ' what can the critic say ?' I am sure I do n't know ; at present he says very little, and that not much to the purpose. Then comes, 'for praise, as far as regards the poetry^ many passages might be exhibited ; for condemnation, as far as regards the morality, all.' Now, my dear good Roberts. I feel for you and for your reputation ; my heart bleeds for both ; and I do ask you, whether or not such language does not come positively under the description of 'the puff coUusive,' for which see Sheridan's farce of 'The Crific' (by the way, a little more facetious than your own fawce under the same title) towards tlie close of scene second, act the first. * The poem Ls, it seems, sold as tlie work of liOrd Byron ; but you feel yourself ' at liberty to suppose it not Lord B.'s composition.' Why did you ever suitposf that it was? I approve of your indignation — I applaud it — I 38 feel as angry as you can ; but perhaps your virtuous wrath carries you a litde too far, when you say that 'no misd©- meanour, not even that of sending into the world obscene and blasphemous poetry, the product of studious lewdness and laboured impiety, appears to you in so detestable a light as the acceptance of a present by the editor of a review, as the condition of praising an author.' The devil it does n't ! — Think a little. This is bemg critical overmuch. In point of Gentile benevolence or Christian charity, it were surely less criminal to praise for a bribe, than to abuse a fellow-creature for nothing ; and as to the assertion of the comparative innocence of blasphemy and obscenity, confronted with an editor's 'acceptance of a present,' I shall merely observe, that as an editor you say very well, but as a Christian barrister, I would not recom- mend you to transplant this sentence into a brief. " And yet you say, ' the miserable man (for miserable he is, as having a soul of which he carmot get rid') — But here I must pause again, and inquire what is the meaning of this parentliesis. We have heard of people of 'little soul,' or of 'no soul at all,' but never till now of 'the misery of having a soul of which we cannot get rid ;' a misery under which you are possibly no great sufferer, having got rid apparently of some of the intellectual part of your own when you permed this pretty piece of elo- quence. " But to continue. You call upon Lord Byron, always supposing him not the author, to disclaim ' with all gentle- manly haste,' &c. &c. I ajn told that Lord B. is in a foreign country, some thousand miles off it may be ; so that it will be difficult for him to hurry to your wishes. In the mean time, perhaps you yourself have set an example of more haste than gentility ; but ' the more haste the worse speed.' " Let us now look at the charge itself, my dear Roberts, which appears to me to be in some degree not quite expli- citly worded: " I bribed my Grandmother's Review, the British." " I recollect hearing, soon after the publication, tliis subject discussed at the tea-table of Mr. S. the poet, who expressed himself, I remember, a good deal surprised that you had never reviewed his epic poem, nor any of his six tragedies, of which, in one instance, the bad taste of tJie pit, and in all the rest, the barbarous repugnance of the principal actors, prevented the performance. Mrs. and the Misses S. being in a comer of the room perusing ihe proof sheets of some new poems on Italy, (I wish, by the by, Mrs. S. would make the tea a little stronger,) the male part of the conversazione were at liberty to make a few observations on the poem and passage in question, and there was a difference of opinion. Some thought tJ)e allusion was to the 'British Critic;' others, tliat by the expression, ' my Grandmother's Review,' it was intimated that 'my grandmother' was not the reader of the review, but actually the writer; thereby insinuating, my dear Roberts, that you were an old woman ; because, a.s people often say, 'Jeffrey's Review,' 'Gifford's Review,' in litui of Edinburgh and (Quarterly; so 'my Grandmother's Review' and Roberts's might be also synonymous. Now, whatever colour his insinuation might derive from the cir- cumstance of your wearing a gown, as well as from your time of life, your general stylo, and various passages of your writings, — I will take upon myself to exculpate you from all suspicion of th(> kind, and asarrl, widiout raliiu;^ Mrs. Roberts in testimony, that if ever you shouH be chtwen Pop«>, you will |)ass through all the previous i-rro- monius witli as nuieli credit us any pontiff since tiic par- turition of Joan. It is very luiluir to jiidfic of sex Iroin writings, particularly from those of the British Review. Wc are all liable to bedereivtHi ; and it is an indLspntaWi- fact, that many of the Lest articles in your journal, which wereaitrihuted to a velernn f mule, «ere actiuilly written bv vou vi>nrse|f; and vet to Uiistiuy there are |M-oj)|e who coiil 1 never find out the diffeieiuc' Hut let us reUim to t)u* more immediate quc:iliun. 298 EXTRACTS FROM PAMPHLET, 1820. "I agree with you that it is impossible Lord Byron should be the author, not only because, as a British peer, and a British poet, it would be impracticable for him to have recourse to such facetious fiction, but for some other reasons which you have omitted to state. In the first place, his lordship has no grandmother. Now the author — and we may believe him in this — doth expressly state that the 'British' is his 'Grandmother's Review;' and if, as I think I have distinctly proved, this was not a mere figurative allusion to your supposed intellectual age and sex, my dear friend, it follows, whether you be she or no, that there is such an elderly lady still extant. And I can the more readily credit this, having a sexagenary aunt of my ovNTi, who perused you constantly, till unfortunately falling asleep over the leading article of your last number, her spectacles fell off and were broken against the fender, after a faithful service of fifteen years, and she has never been able to fit her eyes since ; so that I have been forced to read you aloud to her ; and this is in fact the way in which I became acquainted with the subject of my present letter, and thus determined to become your public correspondent. " In the next place, Lord B.'s destiny seems in some sort like that of Hercules of old, who became the author of all unappropriated prodigies. Lord B. has been supposed the author of the ' Vampire,' of a ' Pilgrimage to Jerusa- lem,' 'To the Dead Sea,' of 'Death upon the Pale Horse,' of odes to 'Lavalette,' to 'Saint Helena,' to the ' Land of the Gaul,' and to a sucking child. Now he turned out to have written none of these tilings. Besides, you say, he knows in what a spirit of, &c. you criticise — Are you sure he knows all this ? that he has read you like my poor dear aunt ? They tell me he is a queer sort of a man ; and I would not be too sure, if I were you, either of what he has read or of what he has written. I thought his style had been the serious and terrible. As to his Bending you money, this is the first time that ever I heard of his paying his reviewers in that coin; I thought it was rather in their own^ to judge from some of his earlier pro- ductions. Besides, though he may not be profuse in his expenditure, I should conjecture that his reviewer's bill is not so long as his tailor's. " Shall I give you what I thinlc a prudent opinion? I don't mean to insinuate, God forbid! but if, by any acci- dent, there should have been such a correspondence between you and the unknown author, whoever he may be, send him back his money : I dare say he will be very glad to have it again : it can't be much, considering the value of the article and the circulation of the journal; and you are too modest to rate your praise beyond its real worth. — Do n't be angry, — 1 know you won't, — at this appraise- ment of your powers of eulogy ; for on the other hand, my dear friend, depend upon it your abuse is worth, not its own weight, — that 's a feather, — but your weight in gold. So do n't spare it : if he has bargained for that give it hand- Bomely, and depend upon your doing him a friendly office. " But I only speak in case of possibiUty; for, as I said before, I cannot believe in the first instance, that you would receive a bribe to praise any person whatever ; and still less can I believe that your praise could ever produce such an offer. You are a good creature, my dear Roberts, and a clever fellow ; else I could almost suspect that you had fallen into the very trap set for you in verse by this anonymous wag, who will certainly be but too happy to see you saving him the trouble of maliing you ridiculous. The fact is, that the solemnity of your eleventh article does make you look a little more absurd than you ever yet looked, in all probability, and at the same time does no good ; for if any body beUeved before in the octave stanzas, they will believe still, and you will find it not less difficult to prove your negative, than the learned Partridge found it to demonstrate his not being dead, to tlie satisfac- tion of the readers of almanacs. " What the motives of this writer may have been for (as you magnificently translate his quizzing you) 'statmg, with the particularity which belongs to fact, the forgery of a groundless fiction,' (do pray, my dear R. talk a httle less 'in King Cambyses' vein',) I cannot pretend to say; perhaps to laugh at you, but that is no reason for your benevolently making all the world laugh also. I approve of your being angry; I tell you I am angry too; but you should not have shown it so outrageously. Your solemn ' if somebody personating the Editor of the,' &c. &c. 'has received from Lord B. or from any other person,' remmds me of Charley Incledon's usual exordium when people came into the tavern to hear him sing without pay- ing their share of the reckoning — ' If a maun, or ony maun, or ony other maun,' &c. &c. ; you have both the same redundant eloquence. But why should you think any body would personate you ? Nobody would dream of such a prank who ever read your compositions, and perhaps not many who have heard your conversation. But I have been inoculated with a httle of your proUxity, The fact is, my dear Roberts, that somebody has tried to make a fool of you, and what he did not succeed in doing, you have done for him and for yourself. " With regard to the poem itself, or the author, whom I cannot find out, (can you ?) I have nothing to say ; my business is whh you. I am sure that you will, upon second thoughts, be really obliged to me for the intention of this letter, however far short my expressions may have fallen of the sincere good- will, achniration, and thorough esteem, with which I am ever, my dear Roberts, " Most truly yours, " WORTLEY CLUTTERBUCK. " Sept. — , 1819. " Little Pidlington. " P. S. My letter is too long to revise, and the post is going. I forget whether or not I asked you the meaning of your last words, 'the forgery of a groundless fiction.' Now, as all forgery is fiction, and all fiction a kind of forgery, is not this tautological ? The sentence would have ended more strongly with ' forgery ;' only it hath an awful Bank of England sound, and wouki have ended like an indictment, besides sparing you several words, and con- ferrmg some meaning upon the remainder. But this is mere verbal criticism. Good bye — once more yours truly, « W. C. " P. S. 2d. — Is it true that the Saints make up the losses of the review ? — ^It is very handsome in them to be at so great an expense — ^Pray pardon my taking up so much of your time from the bar, and from your clients, who I hear are about the same number with the readers of your journal. Twice more your;^ TRANSLATION OF , TWO EPISTLES FROM THE ARMENIAN VERSION. THE EPISTLE OF THE CORINTHIANS TO ST. PAUL THE APOSTLE.* 1 Stephen,"}" and the elders with him, Dabnus, Eu- bulus, Theophilus, and Xinon, to Paul, our father and evangelist, and faithful master in Jesus Christ, health.| 2 Two men have come to Corinth, Simon, by name, and Cleobus,§ who vehemently disturb the faith of some with deceitful and corrupt words ; 3 Of which words thou shouldst inform thyself: 4 For neither have we heard such words from thee, nor from the other apostles : 5 But we know only that what we have heard from thee and from them, that we have kept firmly. 6 But in this chiefly has our Lord had compassion, that, whilst thou art yet w"ith us in the flesh, we are again about to hear from thee. 7 Therefore do thou write to us, or come thyself among us quickly. 8 We believe in the Lord, that, as it was revealed to Theonas, he hath delivered thee from the hands of the unrighteous. II 9 But these are the sinful words of these impure men, for thus do they say and teach : 10 That it behooves not to admit the Prophets.1T 11 Neither do they affirm the omnipotence of God: 12 Neither do they affirm the resurrection of the flesh: 13 Neither do they affirm that man was altogether created by God : 14 Neither do they affirm that Jesus Clirist was born in the flesh from the Virgin Mary : 16 Neither do they affirm that the world was the work of God, but of some one of the angels. 16 Therefore do thou make haste*+ to come among us. 17 That this city of the Corinthians may remain with- out scandal. 18 And that the folly of these men maybe made mani- fest by an open refutation. Fare thee wcll."|"t Tlic d(!acons Thereptus and Tichu.sJ| received and conveyed this Epistle to the city of the Philippians.§§ When Paul received the Epistle, although he was then in chains on account of S'ratonice,|||l the wife of Apofo- lanuSjUIT yet, as it were forgetting his bonds, he niournod over these words, and said, weeping, " It were better for me to be dead, and with the Lord, For while I am in this body, and hear tlie wretched words of Buch false • Rome M.SS. liave the title tliun : Epistle of Stephen the Eider to Paul th" Apostle, from the Corinthians. t In the MSS. the marginal verses published by the Whistoiis arc wanting. t In some MSS. we fiiul, TVie elders Xiimenut, Eubulut, Theo- philuK, and Nomeson, to Paul their brother, health! 5 Others reiiil, There came certain men, . . . and Clobtut, who vehemen'ly shake. if Some MSS. have, We believe in the Lord, that his pretence teas made manifest ; and by this hath the Lord dsliv«rid us from the hanU of the iiniigh'eous. V Others read, To rend the Prophets. " Nome MSS. have, Therefore, brother, do thou make haste. P Dihers nind, Fare thee melt in the I/ird. It Sim* MSS. have, The Dearonx Therspiu and Techus. |§ The Whislons have, To the litij of Phivnicia: but In all iho MSS. we find, To the cilij of the Philippians. III! Others read, O/i necn< nt of O.iolice. HIT TheWhistons hsite, Or A poll phanut : but in nil ih* MSS. we rsad, Apofolinus . doctrine, behold, grief arises upon grief, and my trouble adds a weight to my chains ; when I behold this calamity, and progress of the machinations of Satan, who searched to do wrong." And thus with deep affliction Paul composed his reply to the Epistle.* EPISTLE OF PAUL TO THE CORINTHIANS.f 1 Paul, in bonds for Jesus Christ, disturbed by so many errors, J to his Corinthian brethren, health. 2 I nothing marvel that the preachers of evil have made this progress. 3 For because the Lord Jesus is about to fulfil his coming, verily on this account do certain men pervert and despise his words. 4 But I, verily, from the begirming, have taught you that only which I myself received from the former apos- tles, who always remained with the Lord Jesus Christ. 5 And I now say unto you, that the Lord Jesus Christ was born of the Virgin Mary, who was of the seed of David, 6 According to the annunciation of the Holy Ghost, sent to her by our Father from heaven ; 7 That Jesus m.ight be introduced into the world,§ and deliver our flesh by his flesh, and that he might raise us up from the dead ; 8 As in tliis also he himself became the example : 9 That it might be made manifest that man was created by the Father, 10 He has not remained in perdition unsought ;|| 11 But he is sougiit for, that he might be revived by adoption. 12 For God, who is the Lord of all, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who made heaven and earth, sent, firstly, the Prophets to tlie Jews : 13 That he would absolve them from their sins, and bring them to his judgment. 14 Because he wished to save, firstly, the house of Israel, he bestowed and poured forth his Spirit upon the Prophets ; 15 That thoy should for a long time preach the wor- ship of God, and the nativity of Christ. 16 But he who was the prinre of evil, when ho wished to make himself God, laid his hand upon lln-m, 17 And bound all men in sin.fl 18 Because the judgment of the world was anproocli- ing. 19 But Almighty God, when he willed to justify, wai unwilling to abandon his oroattire ; 20 But when lie saw his affliction, he had compassion upon him : • tn the text of (his Rplsll» (here »re »om« olhrr T.iri«tl»ia la ihs woixls, but lhi< irnse is the Sitine. t Somr MSS. have, PnuVt EpistU fr.tm pHsom, /9r the imOve- linn iif ih'' Corinthians. '. ilili.i-« lend, Pitiurhed bv t»,-irinij# fOfn:tu>flifn%». ': N.i.ic MSS. hrtve, That Jesus mitht rw'i/'ir/ M« murU. iiili.r* rri\il, //• /uu not remtitrti ;hter or daughters, before she or they sliall attain the said age of twenty-one, or be married ; then it is m;. 302 LORD BYRON'S WILL. will and I do direct that the share and shares of such of the said children as shall so die shall go to the survivor or survivors of such children, with the benefit of further accruer in case of the death of any such surviving chil- dren before their shares shall become vested. And I do direct that my said trustees shall pay and apply the inte- rest and dividends of each of the said children's shares in the said trust funds for his, her, or their maintenance and education during their minorities, notwithstanding their shares may not become vested interests, but that such interest and dividends as shall not have been so applied shall accumulate, and follow, and go over with the princi- pal. And I do nominate, constitute, and appoint the said John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson executors of this my will. And I do will and direct that my said trustees shall not be answerable the one of them for the other of them, or for the acts, deeds, receipts, or defaults of the other of tliem, but each of them for his o%vn acts, deeds, receipts, and wilful defaults only, and that they my said trustees shall be entitled to retain and deduct out of the moneys which shall come to their hands under the trusts aforesaid all such costs, charges, damages, and expenses which they or any of them shall bear, pay, sustain, or be put unto, in the execution and performance of the trusts herein reposed in them. I maJve the above provision for my sister and her children, in consequence of my dear wife Lady Byron and any children I may have, being otherwise amply pro^^ded for ; and, lastly, I do revoke all former wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last will and testament. In witness whereof, I have to this my last will, contained in three sheets of paper, set my hand to the first tw^o sheets thereof, juid to this third and last sheet my hand and seal this 29th day of July, in the year of our Lord 1815. BYRON, (L. S.) Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Lord Byron, the testator, as and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, who, at his request, in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereto subscribeil ournames as witnesses. Thomas Jones Mawse, Edmund Griffin, Frederick Jervis, Clerks to Mr. Hanson, Chancery-lane. CODICIL.— This is a Codicil to the last will and testament of me, the Right Honourable George Gordon, Lord Byron. I give and bequeath unto Allegra Biron, an infant of about twenty months old, by me brout^ht up, and now residing at Venice, the sum of five thousand pounds, which I direct the executors of my said will to pay to laer on her attaining the age of twenty-one years, or on the day of her marriage, on condition that she does not marry with a native of Great Britain, which shall first happen. And I direct my said executors, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, to invest the said sum of five thousand pounds upon government or real security, and to pay and apply tlie annual income thereof in or towards the maintenance and education of the said Allegra Biron, until she attains her said age of twenty- one years, or shall be married as aforesaid ; but in case she shall die before attaining the said age and without having been married, then I direct the said sum of five thousand pounds to become part of the residue of my personal estate, and in all other respects I do confirm my said will, and declare this to be a codicil thereto. In wit- ness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand and seal, at Venice, this 17th day of November, in the year of our Lord 1818. BYRON, (L. S.) Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Lord B)Ton, as and for a codicil to his will, in the presence of us, who, in his presence, at his request, and in the presence of each other, have subscribed our names as witnesses. Newton Hanson, William Fletcher. Proved at London, (with a codicil,) 6th of July, 1824, before the Worshipful Stephen Lushington, Doctor of Laws, and surrogate, by the oaths of John Cam Hobhouse and John Hanson, Esquires, the executors to whom administration was granted, having been first sworn duly to administer. Nathaniel Griskins, George Jenner, Charles Dvnelev, Deputy Registrars. P O E M 8, &c. I CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE A ROMAUNT. L'uniTerBeBtuneespScedelivrejdontonn'aluque la premifire page quand onn'avu que son paya. J'ea ai feuilletft un assez grand nombre, que j'ai trouv6 fegalement mauvaises. Get examen ne m'a point 6t6 ia- fructueux. Je haissaisma patrie. Toutes les impertinences des peuples divers, parmi lesquels j'ai v6cu, m'ont r§concili6 avec elle. Q,uand je n'aurais tirt d'autre b&n6fice de mes voyages que celui-14, je n'en regretterais ni les frais, ni les fatigues. , „ «„„,,^„^, ,™„ LE COSMOPOLITE. PREFACE. The following poem was written, for the most part, amid the scenes which it attempts to describe. It was begun in Albania ; and the parts relative to Spain and Portugal were composed from the author's observations in those countries. Thus much it may be necessary to state for the correctness of the descriptions. The scenes attempted to be sketched are in Spain, Portugal, Epirus, Acamania, and Greece. There for the present the poem stops : its reception will determine whether the author may venture to conduct his readers to the capital of the East, through Ionia and Phrygia : these two cantos are merely experimental. A fictitious character is introduced for the sake of giving some connexion to the piece ; which, however, makes no pretension to regularity. It has been suggest- ed to me by friends, on whose opinions I set a high value, that in this fictitious character, " Childe Harold," I may incur the suspicion of having intended some real person- age : this I beg leave, once for all, to disclaim — Harold is the child of imagination, for the purpose I have stated. In some very trivial particulars, and those merely local, there might be grounds for such a notion ; but in the main points, I should hope, none whatever. It is almost superfluous to mention that the appellation "Childe," as ''Childe Waters," "Childe Childers," &c. is used as more consonant with the old structure of versification which I have adopted. The '< Good Night," in the beginning of tlie first canto, was suggested by "Lord Maxwell's Good Night," in the Border Minstrelsy, edited by Mr. Scott. With the different poems which have been published on Spanish subjects, there may bo found some slight co- incidence in tlie first part, which treats of tlio Peninsula, but it can only be casual ; as, with the exception of a few concluding stanzas, the whole of this poem was writ- ten in the Levant. A The stanza of Spenser, according to one of our most successful poets, admits of every variety. Dr. Beattie makes the following observation : " Not long ago I began a poem in the style and stanza of Spenser, in which I propose to give full scope to my inclination, and be either droll or pathetic, descriptive or sentimental, tender or satirical, as the humour strikes me; for, if I mistake not, the measure which I have adopted admits equally of all these kinds of composition."* — Strengthened in my opinion by such authority, and by the example of some in the highest order of Italian poets, I shall make no apology for attempts at similar variations in the following composition ; satisfied that, if they are unsuccessful, their failure must be in the execution, rather than in the design sanctioned by the practice of Ariosto, Thomson, and Beattie. ADDITION TO THE PREFACE. I HAVE now waited till almost all our periodical jour- nals have distributed their usual portion of criticism. To the justice of tlie generality of tlicir criticisms I have nothing to object ; it would ill become mo to quarrel with their very slight degree of censure, when, perhaps, if tliey had been less kind they had becti more candid. Returning, therefore, to all and each my best thanks for their liberality, on one point alono shall I vonliiro an observation. Among the many objections justly urged lo the very indiflerent character of tlie " vagrant Childe," (whom, notwithstanding many hints to the contrary, I still maintain to bo a fictitious personage,) it has been staled, that, besides the anachronism, ho is very un- D«attle't Lctttri. 2 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. hnighlly, as the times of the Knights were times of lov honour, and so forth. Now it so happens that the good old times, when " I'amour du bon vieux terns, I'amour antique" flourished, were the most profligate of all pos- sible centuries. Those who liave any doubts on this subject may consult St. Palaye, passim, and more parti- cularly vol. ii. page 69. The vows of chivaliy were no better kept than any other vows whatsoever ; and the songs of the Troubadours were not more decent, and certainly were much less refined, than those of Ovid. The " Cours d'amour, parlemens d'amour ou de cour- tesie et de gentilesse" had much more of love than of courtesy or gentleness. See Rolland on the same subject with St. Palaye. Whatever other objection may be urged to that most unamiable personage Childe Harold, he was so far perfecj-ly knightly in his attributes — " No waiter, but a knight templar."* By the by, I fear that Sir Tristram and Sir Lancelot were no better than they should be, although very poetical personages and true knights " sans peur," though not " sans reproche." If the story of the institution of the "Garter" be not a fable, the knights of that order have for several centuries borne the badge of a Countess of Salisbury, of indifferent memory. So much for chivalry. Burke need not have regretted that its days are over, though Maria Antoinette was quite as chaste ag most of those in whose honours lances were shivered, and knights unhorsed. Before the days of Bayard, and down to those of Sir Joseph Banks, (the most chaste and celebrated of ancient and modern times,) few exceptions will be found to this statement, and I fear a little investigation will teach us not to regret these monstrous mummeries of the middle ages. I now leave " Childe Harold" to live his day, such as he is ; it had been more agreeable, and certainly more easy, to have drawn an amiable character. It had been easy to varnish over his faults, to make him do more and express less, but he never was intended as an example, further than to show that early perversion of mind and morals leads to satiety of past pleasures and disappoint- ment in new ones, and that even the beauties of nature, and the stimulus of travel (except ambition, the most powerful of all excitements) are lost on a soul so consti- tuted, or rather misdirected. Had I proceeded with the poem, tliis character would have deepened as he drew to the close ; for the outline which I once meant to fill up for him was, with some exceptions, the sketch of a modern Timon, perhaps a poetical Zeluco. ' Th» Rovej-». Antijacoblfi. TO lANTHE. Not in those climes where I have late been straying, Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deem'd; Not in those visions to the heart displaying Forms which it sighs but to have only dream'd, Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seem'd ; Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek To paint those charms which varied as they beam'd— To such as see thee not my words were weak ; To those who gaze on thee what language could they speak? Ah ! may'st thou ever be what now tfiou art, ^ Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring, As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart, Love's image upon earth without his wing, And guileless beyond Hope's imagining ! And surely she who now so fondly rears Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening, Beholds the rainbow of her future years, Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears. Young Peri of the West ! — 't is well for me My years already doubly number thine ; My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee, And safely view thy ripening beauties shine ; Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline ; Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed. Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign To those whose admiration shall succeed, [creed. But mix'd with pangs to Love's even, loveliest hours de- Oh I let that eye, which, wild as the Gazelle^s, Now brightly bold or beautifully shy, Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells. Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh. Could I to thee be ever more than friend : This much, dear maid, accord ; nor question why To one so young my strain I would commend, But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend. Such is thy name with this my verse entwined ; And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast On Harold's page, lanthe's here enshrined Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last : My days once number'd, should this homage past Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre Of him who hail'd thee, loveliest as thou wast. Such is the most my memory may desire [require ? Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO I. Oh, thou ! in Hellas deem'd of heavenly birth, Muse 1 form'd or fabled at the minstrers will ! Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth. Mine dares not call tliee from thy sacred hill : Yet there I 've wander'd by thy vaunted rill ; Yes ! sigh'd o'er Delphi's long deserted shrine,* Where, save that feeble fountain, all is stiU ; Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine To grace so plain a tale — this lowly lay of mine. Whilome in AllMon's isle there dwelt a youth. Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight; But spent his days in riot most uncouth, And vex'd with mirth the drowsy ear of Night. Ah, me ! in sooth he was a shameless wight, Sore given to revel and ungodly glee ; Few earthly things found favour in his sight Save concubines and carnal companie, And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree. in. Childc Harold was he hight: — ^but whence his name And lineage long, it suits me not to say ; Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame. And had been glorious in another day : But one sad iosel soils a name for aye, However mighty in the olden time : Nor all that heralds rake from coffin'd clay. Nor florid prose, nor honied lies of rhyme. Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime. Childe Harold bask'd him in the noontide sun. Disporting there like any other fly ; Nor deem'd before liis little day was done One blast might chill iiiin into misery. But long ere scarce a tliird of his pass'd by, Worse than adversity the Childe Ixjfcll ; He felt the fulness of satiety: Then loathed he in his native land to dwell, Which seem'd to him more lone than Eremite's sad ccl For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run, Nor made atonement when he did aunss, Had sigh'd to many though hi; loved but one, And that \ovv.A one, alas! could ne'er be bis. All, ha[)py she! to 'scape from liitn whose luss Had been polbition imto auglit so chasle; Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss, And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste, Nor calm damoHfic pctxco had ever deigned to taste. And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart, And from his fellow bacchanals would flee ; 'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start, But Pride congeal'd the drop within his ee : Apart he stalk'd in joyless reverie, And from his native land resolved to go, And visit scorching climes beyond the sea ; With pleasure drugg'd he almost long'd for wo, And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below. The Childe depatted from his father's hall : It was a vast and venerable pile ; So old, it seemed only not to fall, Yet strength ^va^ pillar'd in each massy aisle. Monastic dome ! condemn'd to uses vile ! Where Superstition once had made her den Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile ; And monks might deem their time was come agen, If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men. Yet oft-times in his maddest mirthful mood Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow, As if the memory of some deadly feud Or disappointed passion lurk'd below : But this none knew, nor haply cared to luiow ; For his was not that open, artless soul That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow. Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole, Whatc'er tliis grief moto be, which he could not control. And none did love him — though to hall and bower He gather'd revellers from far and near, Ho knew them flatt'rers of the festal hour ; The heartless parasites of present cheer. Yea! none did love him — not his lemans dear — Rut pomp and power alone are woman's cure, And where these are light Eros finds a fore ; IVIaiilons, like moths, are ever caught by glare, And Mammon wins his way wiicre Scrai>lis might despnir. Childe Harold had a mother — not forgot, Though parting from that mother he did shun; A sister whom ho loved, but saw her not Hefiiri! his weary |)ilgriniage begun: If friends ho had, ho bade adieu to none. Yet deem not thenco his breast a bre^ist of slocl; Ye, who have known what 'tis to doto upon A few dear objects, will in sar travel can assuage, Or ho shvill calm Ium breast, or loam experience sage. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. XXIX, Yet Mafra shall one moment claim delay,6 Where dwelt of yore the Lusians' luckless queen ; And church and court did mingle their array, And mass and revel were alternate seen ; Lordhngs and freres — ^ill-sorted fry I ween ! But here the Babylonian whore hath built A dome, where flaunts she in such glorious sheen, That men forget the blood which she hath spilt. And bow the knee to Pomp that loves to varnish guilt. O'er vales that teem with fruits, romantic hills, (Oh, that such hills upheld a freebom race!) Whereon to gaze the eye with joyaunce fills, Childe Harold wends through many a pleasant place. Though sluggards deem it but a foohsh chase, And marvel men should quit their easy chair, The toilsome way, and long, long league to trace, Oh ! there is sweetness in the mountain air, And life, that bloated Ease can never hope to share, XXXI. More bleak to view the hills at length recede, And, less luxuriant, smoother vales extend : Immense horizon-bounded plains succeed ! Far as the eye discerns, withouten end, Spain's realms appear whereon her shepherds tend Flocks, whose rich fleece right well the trader knows — Now must the pastor's arm his lambs defend: For Spain is compass'd by unyielding foes, And all must shield their all, or share Subjection's woes. XXXII. Where Lusitania and her sister meet, Deem ye what bounds the rival realms divide ? Or ere the jealous queens of nations greet, Doth Tayo interpose his mighty tide? Or dark Sierras rise in craggy pride? Or fence of art, like China's vasty wall ? — Ne barrier wall, ne river deep and wide, Ne horrid crags, nor mountains dark and tall, Rise like the rocks that part Hispania's land from Gaul, But these between a silver streamlet glides, And scarce a name distinguisheth the brook, Though rival kingdoms press its verdant sides. Here leans the idle shepherd on his crook. And vacant on the rippling waves doth look, That peaceful still 'twixt bitterest foemen flow ; For proud each peasant as the noblest duke : Well doth the Spanish hind the difference know 'Twixt him and Lusian slave, the lowest of the low.^ XXXIV. But ere the mingling bounds have far been pass'd. Dark Guadiana rolls his power along In sullen billows, murmuring and vast. So noted ancient roundelays among. Whilome upon his banks did legions throng Of Moor and knight, in mailed splendour drest : Here ceased the swift then- race, here sunlv the strong ; The Paynim turban and the Christian crest MLx'd on the bleeding stream, by floatmg hosts oppress'd. XXXV, Oh, lovely Spain ! renown'd romantic land ! Where is that standard which Pelagio bore, 'When Cava's traitor-sire first call'd the band That dyed thy mountain streams with Gothic gore ?' Where are those bloody banners which of yore Waved o'er thy sons, victorious to the gale, And drove at last the spoilers to their shore ? Red gleam'd the cross, and waned the crescent pale, While Afric's echoes thrill'd with Moorish matrons' wail. XXXVI, Teems not each ditty with the glorious tale? -Ah! such, alas! the hero's amplest fate! When granite moulders and when records fail, A peasant's plaint prolongs his dubious date. Pride ! bend thine eye from heaven to thine estate, See how the Mighty shrink into a song ! Can Volume, Pillar, Pile, preserve thee great? Or must thou trust Tradition's simple tongue, When Flattery sleeps with thee, and History does thee wrong ? XXX VII. Awake, ye sons of Spain! awake! advance! Lo ! Chivalry, your ancient goddess, cries ; But wields not, as of old, her thirsty lance, Nor shakes her crimson plumage in the skies : Now on the smoke of blazing bolts she flies, And speaks in thunder through yon engine's roar: In every peal she calls — "Awake! arise!" Say, is her voice more feeble than of yore, When her war-song was heard on Andalusia's shore ? Hark! heard you not those hoofs of dreadfiil note? Sounds not the clang of conflict on the heath? Saw ye not whom the reeking sabre smote ; Nor saved your brethren ere they sank beneath Tyrants and tyrants' slaves ? — the fires of death, The bale-fires flash on high: — ^from rock to rock Each volley teUs that thousands cease to breathe ; Death rides upon the sulphury Siroc, Red Battle stamps his foot, and nations feel the shock, XXXIX, Lo ! where the Giant on the mountain stands, His blood-red tresses deep'ning in the sun. With death-shot glowing in his fiery hands, And eye that scorcheth all it glares upon ; Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Flashing afar, — and at his iron feet Destruction cowers, to mark what deeds are done ; For on this mom three potent nations meet, To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. XL, By Heaven ! it is a splendid sight to see (For one who hath no fi-iend, no brother there) Their rival scarfs of mLx'd embroidery, Their various arms that glitter in the air ! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey ! All join the chase, but few the triumph share ; The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away. And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high ; Three gaudy standards flout the pale blue skies ; The shouts are France, Spain, Albion, Victory ! The foe, the victim, and the fond ally That fights for all, but ever fights in vain. Are met — as if at home they could not die — To feed the crow on Talavera's plain, And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain, XLII, There shall they rot — ^Ambition's honour'd fools ! Yes, Honour decks the turf that wraps their clay ! Vain Sophistry ! in these behold the tools, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts — to what? — a dream alone. Can despots compass aught that hails their sway ? Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. XLiir. Oh, Albuera! glorious field of grief! As o'er thy plain the Pilgrim prick'd his steed, Who could foresee ihee, in a space so brie^ A scene where mingling foes should boast and bleed ! Peace to the perish'd ! may the warrior's meed And tears of triumph their reward prolong ! Till others fall where other cliiefiains lead, Thy name shall circle round the gaping throng, And shine in worthless lays, the theme of transient song ! XLIV. Enough of Battle's minions ! let them play Their game of lives, and barter breath for fame : Fame that will scarce reanimate their clay. Though thousands fall to deck some single name. In sooth 'twere sad to thwart their noble aim Who strike, l)lest hirelings ! for their country's good. And die, that living might have proved her shame; Perish'd, perchance, in some domestic feud, Or in a narrower sphere wild Rapine's path pursued. XLV. Full swiftly Harold wends his lonely way Where proud Sevilla triumphs unsubdued: Yet is she free — the spoiler's wish'd-for prey ! Soon, soon shall Conquest's fiery foot intrude, Blackening her lovely domes with ti-aces rude. Inevitable hour! 'Gainst fate to strive Where Desolation plants her famish'd brood Is vain, or Ilion, Tyre,, might yet survive. And Virtue vanquish all, and Murder cease to thrive. XLVI. But all unconscious of the coming doom, The feast, the song, the revel here abounds ; Strange modes of merriment the hours consume. Nor bleed these patriots with their country's wounds : Nor here War's clarion, but Love's rebeck sounds ; Here Folly still his votaries inthralls ; And young-eyed Lewdness walks her midnight rounds; Girt with the silent crimes of Capitals, Still to the last land Vice clings to the tott'ring walls. XLVII. Not so tlie rustic — with his trembling mate He lurks, nor casts his heavy eye afai-, Lest he should view his vineyard desolate. Blasted below the dun hot breath of war. No more beneath soft Eve's consenting star Fandango twirls his jocund castanet : Ah, monarchs ! could yo taste the mirtli ye mar, Not in the toils of Glory would ye fret; The hoarso dull drum would sleep, and Man bo happy yet! XLVIII. How carols now the lusty muleteer? Of love, romance, devotion, is iiis lay, As whilome ho was wont the leagues to cheer. His quidt bells wildly jingling on tiio way ? No ! as he speeds, lie chants, " Viva el Rcy !" And checks his song to execrate Godoy, The royal wittol Charles, and curse the day When first Spain's queen beheld the black-eyed boy, And gore-faced Treason sj)rung Com her adulterate joy. XLIX. On yon long, level plain, at distance crowu'd With crags, whcroon those Moorish turrets rest, Wide scattcr'd hoof-marks dint the woimded grouiul ; And, scathed by fire, the greensward's darkon'd vest Tells that the foe wnn Andalusia's guest: Hero was the camp, the watch-flam.', and tlio host, Hero the bold peasant storm'd tin; dragon's nest; Still does ho mark it with triumphant boast, And pointa to yonder clilH-i, which oft were won and lost. And whomsoe'er along the path you meet Bears in his cap the badge of crimson hue. Which tells you whom to shun and whom to greet :'^ Wo to the man that walks in public view Without of loyalty this token true : Sharp is the knife, and sudden is the stroke J And sorely would the Gallic foeman rue. If subtle poniards, wrapt beneath the cloke. Could blunt the sabre's edge, or clear the cannon's smoke. At every turn Morena's dusky height Sustains aloft the battery's iron load ; And, far as mortal eye can compass sight, The mountain-howitzer, the broken road, The bristling palisade, the fosse o'erflow'd, Tlie station'd bands, the never-vacant watch, The magazine in rocky durance stow'd. The holster'd steed beneath the shed of thatch, The ball-piled pyramid, the ever-blazing match,*'* lAI. Portend the deeds to come : — but he whose nod Has tumbled feebler despots from their sway A moment pauseth ere he lifts the rod ; A little moment deigneth to delay: Soon will his legions sweep through these their way; The West must own the Scourger of the world. Ah ! Spain ! how sad will be thy reckoning-day, When soars Gaul's Vulture, with his wings unflirl'd, And thou shall view thy sons in crowds to Hades hurl'i. LIII. And must they fall ? the young, the proud, tlie brav^ To swell one bloated Chief's unwholesome reign? No step between submission and a grave? The rise of rapine and the fall of Spain ? And doth the Power that man adores ordain Their doom, nor heed the suppliant's appeal ? Is all that desperate Valour acts in vain? And Counsel sage, and patriotic Zeal,. The Veteran's skill, Youth's fire, and Manhood's heart of steel? LIV. Is it for this the Spanish maid, aroused, Hangs on the willow her unstrung guitar. And, all unsex'd, the anlace hath espoused, Sung the loud song, and dared the deed of war ? And she, whom once the semblance of a scar Appall'd, an owlet's larum chill'd with dread,. Now views the column-scattering bay'net jar, Tlie falchion flash, and o'er tho yet waim dead Sialics with Minerva's sle[) where Mars might quake to tread. LV. Yo who shall marvel when you hear her talc, Oh ! had you known lier in her softer hour, Mark'd her blaclt eye that mocks her coal-black veil, ' Heard her liglit, lively tones in Lady's bower, Seen her long locks that foil the painter's power, II(^r fairy form, with more than female grace. Scarce would you deem that Saragoza's tower Beheld hor smilo in Danger's Gorgon face, Thin tho closed ranks, and lead in Glory's fearfbl chase. I.VI. Iler lover sinks — she sheds no ili-limod tear; Iler chief is slain — she fills his fatal post ; Hor fallows floe — she cheolis flieir base career ; Tho foo retires — she lu\ad.s the sallying host; Who can appease like her a lover's ghost f Wiio can avenge so w^^ll a loadi^'s fell ? Wliat maid rtifrievo when miui's fliish'd hope is lost? Who hang so fiercely on tho flying Gaul, Foil'd by u woman's hand, before a balterVl wall V • CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Yet are Spain's maids no race of Amazons, But form'd for all the witching arts of love : Though thus in arms they emulate her sons. And in the horrid phalanx dare to move, 'Tis but the tender fierceness of the dove, Pecking the hand that hovers o'er her mate : In softness as in firmness far above Remoter females, famed for sickening prate ; Her mind is nobler sure, her charms perchance as great. LVIII. The seal Love's dimpling finger hath impress'd Denotes how soft that chin which bears his touch :^2 Her lips, whose kisses pout to leave their nest. Bid man be vaUant ere he merit such: Her glance how wildly beautiful ! how much Hath Phoebus woo'd in vain to spoil her cheek, Which glows yet smoother fi-om his amorous clutch ! Who round the North for paler dames would seek ? How poor their forms appear ! how languid, wan, and weak! LIX. Match me, ye climes ! which poets love to laud ; Match me, ye harams of the land ! where now I strike my strain, far distant, to applaud Beauties that ev'n a cynic must avow; Match me those Houries, whom ye scarce allow To taste the gale lest Love should ride the wind. With Spain's dark-glancing daughters — deign to know There your wise Prophet's paradise we find, His black-eyed maids of Heaven, angehcally kind. LX. Oh, thou Parnassus !" whom I now survey. Not in the phrensy of a dreamer's eye. Not in the fabled landscape of a lay. But soaring snow-clad through thy native sky In the wild pomp of mountain majesty! What marvel if I thus essay to sing? The humblest of thy pilgrims passing by Would gladly woo thine Echoes with his string. Though from thy heights no more one Muse will wave her wing. Oft have I dream'd of Thee ! whose glorious name Who knows not, knows not man's divinest lore : And now I view thee, 'tis, alas ! with shame That I in feeblest accents must adore. When I recount thy worshippers of yore I tremble, and can only bend the knee ; Nor raise my voice, nor vainly dare to soar, But gaze beneath thy cloudy canopy In silent joy to thinlt at last I look on Thee ! LXII. Happier in this than mightiest bards have been, Whose fate to distant homes confined their lot, Shall I unmoved behold the hallow'd scene, Which others rave o^ though they know it not ? Though here no more Apollo haunts his grot. And thou, the Muses' seat, art now their grave, Some gentle spirit still pervades the spot, Sighs in the gale, keeps silence in the cave. And glides with glassy foot o'er yon melodious wave. LXIII. Of thee hereafter. — Ev'n amidst my strain I tum'd aside to pay my homage here ; Forgot the land, the sons, the maids of Spain ; Her fate, to every freeborn bosom dear ; And hail'd thee, not perchance without a tear. Now to my theme — but from thy holy haunt Let me some remnant, some memorial bear ; Yield me one leaf of Daphne's deathless plant. Nor let thy votary's hope be deem'd an idle vaunt. But ne'er didst thou, fair Moimt ! when Greece was See round thy giant base a brighter choir, [youngs Nor e'er did Delphi, when her priestess sung The Pythian hymn with more than mortal fiire, Behold a train more fitting to inspire The song of love than Andalusia's maids, Nurst in tlie glowing lap of soft desire : Ah ! that to these were given such peaceful shades As Greece can still bestow, though Glory fly her glaxles. LXT. Fair is proud Seville ; let her country boast Her strength, her wealth, her site of ancient days ;'* But Cadiz, rising on the distant coast, Calls forth a sweeter, though ignoble praise. Ah, Vice ! how soft are thy voluptuous ways ! While boyish blood is mantling who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic gaze ? A Cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape. And mould to every taste thy dear delusive shape. LXVI. When Paphos fell by time— accursed Time ! The queen who conquers aU must yield to thee — The Pleasures fled, but sought as warm a clime ; And Venus, constant to her native sea, To nought else constant, hither deign'd to flee ; And fix'd her shrine within these walls of white : Though not to one dome circumscribeth she Her worship, but, devoted to her rite, A thousand altars rise, for ever blazing bright. LXVII. From morn till night, fi-om night tiU startled Mom Peeps blushing on the revel's laughing crew, The song is heard, the rosy garland worn ; Devices quaint, and frolics ever new. Tread on each other's kibes. A long adieu He bids to sober joy that here sojourns: Nought interrupts the riot, though in lieu Of true devotion monkish incense bums. And love and prayer unite, or rule the hour by turns. LXVIII. The Sabbath comes, a day of blessed rest ; What hallows it upon this Christian shore ? Lo ! it is sacred to a solemn feast ; Hark! heard you not the forest monarch's roar? Crashing the lance, he snuffs the spouting gore Of man and steed, o'erthrown beneath his horn ; The throng'd arena shakes with shouts for more ; Yells the mad crowd o'er entrails freshly torn, Nor shrinks the female eye, nor ev'n affects to mourn. The seventh day this ; the jubilee of man. London ! right well thou know'st the day of prayer ; Then thy spruce citizen, wash'd artisan. And smug apprentice gulp their weekly air: Thy coach of Hackney, whiskey, one-horse chair, And humblest gig through sundry suburbs whirl, To Hampstead, Brentford, Harrow make repair ; Till the tired jade the wheel forgets to hurl, Provolung envious gibe fi-om each pedestrian churl. LXX. Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribbon'd fair. Others along the safer turnpike fly ; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some scud to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Boeotian shades! the reason why?'* ^ 'Tis to the worship of the solemn Horn, Grasp'd in the holy hand of Mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn. And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till mom. 1 CHIIiDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 9 LXXI. All have their fooleries — «ot alilce are thine, Fair Cadiz, rising o'er tlie dark blue sea! Soon as the matin bell proclaimeth nine, Thy saint adorers count the rosary : Much is the Virgin teased to shrive them free (Vfell do I ween the only virgin there) From crimes as numerous as her beadsmen be ; Then to the crowded circus forth they fare : Young, old, high, low, at once the same diversion share. LXXII. The lists are oped, the spacious area clear'd. Thousands on thousands piled are seated round; Long ere the fii-st loud trumpet's note is heard, Ne vacant space for lated wight is found : Here dons, grandees, but chiefly dames abound, Skill'd in the ogle of a roguish eye. Yet ever well incUned to heal the wound ; None through their cold disdain are doom'd to die. As moonstruck bards complain, by Love's sad archery. LXXIII. Hush'd is the din of tongues — on gallant steeds, With milk-white crest, gold spur, and light-poised lance Four cavahers prepare for venturous deeds. And lowly bending to the Usts advance ; Rich are their scarfs, their chargers featly prance: If in the dangerous game they shine to-day, The crowd's loud shout and ladies' lovely glance. Best prize of better acts, they bear away. And all tjiat kings or chiefs e'er gain their toils repay. In costly sheen and gaudy cloak array'd, But all afoot, the light-limb'd Matadorc Stands in the centre, eager to invade The lord of lowing herds ; but not before The ground, with cautious tread, is traversed o'er, Lest aught unseen should lurk to thwart his speed : His arms a dart, he fights aloof^ nor more Can man achieve without the friendly steed — Alas ! too oft condemn'd for him to bear and bleed. LXXV. Thrice sounds the clarion; lo! the signal falls, The den expands, and Expectation mute Gapes round the silent circle's peopled walls. Bounds with one lashing spring the mighty brute. And, wildly staring, spurns, with sounding foot, The sand, nor blindly rushes on his foe : Here, there, he points his threatening front, to suit His first attack, wide waving to and fro His angry tail ; red rolls his eye's dilated glow. Sudden he stops ; his eye is fix'd : away, Away, thou heedless boy ! prepare tho spear : Now is thy time, to perish, or disj)lay The skill tiiat yet may check his mad career. With well-timed croupe the nimble corusers veer ; On foams the bull, but not unscathed ho goes ; Streams from his flank Ihc crimson torrent clear : Ho flies, ho wheels^ distracted witli his throes ; Dart follows dart ; lance, laucc ; loud bellowings speak liis woes. i,xxvir. Again he comes ; nor dart nor lance avail, Nor tho wild plungiliff Sf the tortured horse; Though man and man's avenging arms assail, Vain are his weapons, vaituM* is his force. One gallant steed is stretcird a mangled corse ; Anolher, liidcous sight! unseam'd appears, His gory chest imvoils lifo's panting source ; Though r ho pensive sale, Poiir'd forth this unproinodilalod lay To clmrnus as fair as those tliat soothed liis liuppior day 10 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. TO INEZ. 1. Nay, smile not at my sullen brow ; Alas ! I cannot smile again : Yet Heaven avert that ever thou Shouldst weep, and haply weep in vain. 2. And dost thou ask, what secret wo I bear, con-oding joy and youth ? And wilt thou vainly seek to know A pang, eVn thou must fail to sooth ? 3. It is not love, it is not hate, Nor low Ambition's honours lost, That bids me loathe my present state, And fly from all I prized the most; 4. It is that weariness which springs From all I meet, or hear, or see : To me no pleasure Beauty brings ; Thine eyes have scarce a charm for me. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore ; That wUl not look beyond the tomb, But camiot hope for rest before. 6. What Exile from himself can flee ? To Zones, though more and more remote, Still, still pursues, where-e'er I be, The blight of life—the demon Thought. 7. Yet others rapt in pleasure seem. And taste of all that I forsake ; Oh ! may they still of transport dream, And ne'er, at least like me, awake ! 8. Through many a clime 'tis mine to go, With many a retrospection curst ; And all my solace is to know, Whate'er betides, I 've known the worst. What is that worst ? Nay do not ask — In pity from the search forbear : Smile on — nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there. LXXXT. Adieu, fair Cadiz! yea, a long adieu! Who may forget how well thy walls have stood? When all were changing thou alone wert true. First to be free and last to be subdued : And if amidst a scene, a shock so rude. Some native blood was seen thy streets to die ; A traitor only fell beneath the feud:''' Here all were noble, save Nobility ; None hugg'd a conqueror's chain, save fallen Chivalry ! LXXXVI. Such be the sons of Spain, and strange her fate ! They figlit for freedom who were never free ; A Kingless people for a nerveless state. Her vassals combat when their chieftains flee. True to the veriest slaves of Treachery : Fond of a land which gave them nought but life. Pride points the path that leads to Liberty; Back to the struggle, baffled in the strife. War, war is still the cry, "War even to the knife!"'* LXXXVII. Ye, who would more of Spain and Spaniards know. Go, read whate'er is writ of bloodiest strife : Whate'er keen Vengeance urged on foreign foe Can act, is acting there against man's Ufe: From flashing scimitar to secret knife, War mouldeth there each weapon to his need So may he guard the sister and the wife, So may he make each curst oppressor bleed, So may such foes deserve the most remorseless deed ! LXXXVIII. Flows there a tear of pity for the dead? Look o'er the ravage of the reeking plain ; Look on the hands with female slaughter red ; Then to the dogs resign the unburied slain, Then to the vulture let each corse remain ; Albeit unworthy of the prey-bird's maw, Ijet their bleach'd bones, and blood's unbleaching stain. Long mark the battle-field with hideous awe : Thus only may our sons conceive the scenes we saw ! LXXXIX. Nor yet, alas ! the dreadful work is done ; Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees : It deepens still, the work is scarce begun, Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees. Fall'n nations gaze on Spain ; if freed, she frees More than her fell Pizarros once enchain'd : Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease Repairs the wrongs that Ctuito's sons sustain'd, While o'er the parent cluTie prowls Miu-der unrestrain'd. xc. Not all the blood at Talavera shed, Not all the marvels of Barossa's fight. Not Albuera lavish of the dead. Have won for Spain her well-asserted right. When shall her Ohve-Branch be free from blight ? When shall she breathe her from the blushing toil? How many a doubtful day shall sink in night. Ere the Frank robber turn him from his spoil, And Freedom's stranger-tree grow native of the soil ! xci. And thou, my friend !'^ — since unavailing wo Bursts from my heart, and mingles with the strain — Had the sword laid thee ^vith the mighty low, Pride might forbid ev'n Friendship to complain : But thus unlaurel'd to descend in vain. By all forgotten, save the lonely breast, And mix unbleeding with the boasted slain, While Glory crowns so many a meaner crest ! What hadst thou done to sink so peacefully to rest? XCII. Oh, known the earliest, and esteem'd the most I Dear to a heart where nought was left so dear ! Though to my hopeless days for ever lost. In dreams deny me not to see thee here ! And Mom in secret shall renew the tear Of Consciousness awaking to her woes. And Fancy hover o'er thy bloodless bier. Till my frail frame return to whence it rose. And moum'd and mourner lie united in repose. Here is one fytte of Harold's pilgrimage : Ye who of him may further seek to know. Shall find some tidings in a future page. If he that rhyme th now may scribble moe. Is this too much? stern Critic! say not so: Patience ! and ye shall hear what he beheld In other lands, where he was doom'd to go : Lands that contain the monuments of Eld, Ere Greece and Grecian arts by barbarous hands were queU'd. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 11 CANTO II. CoMEj blue-eyed maid of heaven! — but thou, alas Didst never yet one mortal song inspire — Goddess of Wisdom ! here thy temple was, And is, despite of war and wasting fire,' And years, that bade thy worship to expire : But worse than steel, and flame, and ages slow, Is the dread sceptre and dominion dire Of men who never felt the sacred glow That thoughts of thee and thine on polish'd breasts bestow. 2 Ancient of days ! august Athena ! where, Where are thy men of might? thy grand in soul? Gone — glimmering through the dream of tilings that First in the race that led to Glory's goal, [were : They won, and pass'd away — is this the whole ? A schoolboy's tale, the wonder of an hour ! The warrior's weapon and the sophist's stole Are sought in vain, and o'er each mouldering tower, Dim with the mist of years, gray flits the shade of power. Son of the morning, rise ! approach you here ! Come — ^but molest not yon defenceless urn : Look on this spot — a nation's sepulchre ! Abode of gods, wliose shrines no longer bum. Even gods must yield — rehgions take their turn : 'Twas Jove's — 'tis Mahomet's — and other creeds Will rise with other years, till man shall learn Vainly his incense soars, his victim bleeds ; I'oor child of Doubt and Death, whose hope is built on reeds. Bound to the earth, he lifts his eye to heaven — Is 't not enough, unhappy thing ! to know Thou art ? Is this a boon so kindly given, Tliat being, thou would'st be again, and go. Thou know'st not, rcck'st not to what region, so On earth no more, but mingled with the skies ? Still wilt thou dream on future joy and wo? Regard and weigh yon dust before it flies : That little urn sailh more than thousand homUies. Or burst the vanish'd Hero's lofty mound ; Far on the solitary shore he sleeps :' He fell, and falling nations mourn'd around ; But now not one of saddening tliousands weeps, Nor warlike-worshipper his vigil keeps Where dcmi-gods appear'd, as records tell. Remove yon skull from out the scatter'd heaps: Is that a temple where a God may dwell? Why ev'n the worm at last disdains her shattcr'd cell ! Look on its broken arch, its ruin'd wall. Its chambers desolate, and port als foul : Yes, this was once Ambition's airy hall, The dome of Thought, the palace of the Soul : Behold through each lack-lustre, oyoloss hole, The gay recess of Wisdom and of Wit And Passion's host, that never brook'd control : Can all saint, sage, or sophist ever writ, People this lonely tower, this tenement refit ? Well didst thou speak, Athena's wisest son ! "All that we know is, nothing can be known.'' Why should we shrink from what we cannot shun ? Each has his pang, but feeble sufferers groan With brain-born dreams of evil all their OAvn. Pursue what Chance or Fate proclaimeth best ; Peace waits us on the shores of Acheron: There no forced banquet claims the sated guest, But Silence spreads the couch of ever welcome rest. Yet if^ as holiest men have deem'd, there be A land of souls beyond that sable shore, To shame the doctrine of the Sadducee And sophists, madly vain of dubious lore ; How sweet it were in concert to adore With those who made our mortal labours light! To hear each voice we fear'd to hear no more! Behold each mighty shade reveal'd to sight, The Bactrian, Samian sage, and all who taught the right ! IX. There, thou ! — whose love and life together fled. Have left me here to love and Uve in vain — Twined vdth my heart, and can I deem thee dead, When busy Memory flashes on my brain? Well — I will di-eam that we may meet again. And woo the vision to my vacant breast: If aught of young Remembrance then remain, Be as it may Futurity's behest. For me 'twere bliss enough to know thy spirit blest ! X. Here let me sit upon this massy stone, The marble column's yet unshaken base ; Here, son of Saturn ! was thy fav'rite throne :* Mightiest of many such ! Hence let me trace The latent grandeur of thy dwelling-place. It may not be : nor ev'n can Fancy's eye Restore what Time hath labour'd to deface. Yet these proud pillars claim no passing sigh; Unmoved the Moslem sits, the light Greek carols bv. But who, of all the plunderers of yon fane On high, where Pallas liuger'd, loatli to flee The latest relic of her ancient reign ; The last, the worst, dull spoiler, who was he? Blush, Caledonia! such thy son could be! England ! I joy no child he was of thine: Thy free-born men should spare what once was free ; Yet they could \'iolate each saddening shrine, And bear these altars o'er the long-reluctant brine.' But most the modern Pict's ignoble boast, To rive what Goth, and Turk, and Time hath si)arcd :• Cold as the crags upon his native coast, His mind as barren and his lioart as hard. Is he whoso head conceived, uliose hand prepared, Aught to displace Athena's poor remains Her sons too weak the sacred siirine to guard, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains," And never knew, till then, the weight of Despot's cliniii What! shall it oVr he said by British tongue, Albion was happy in Athena's tears? Though in thy name the slaves her basom wrung, Tell not the deed to blushing Europe's ears; The ocean queen, the free Britannin, bears The last poor plunder from a bleeding lan\v, And, sunk albeit in thought ns he was wont, More placid bcem'd his eye, ami smixitii his pallid front 14 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Morn dawns ; and with it stem Albania's hills. Dark Suli's rocks, and Pindus' inland peak, Robed half in mist, bedew'd with snowy rills, Array'd in many a dun and purple streak, Arise ; and, as the clouds along them break, Disclose the dwelling of the mountaineer : Here roams the wolJ^ the eagle whets his beak, Birds, beasts of prey, and wilder men appear, And gathering storms around convulse the closing year. XLIII. Now Harold felt himself at length alone. And bade to Christian tongues a long adieu ; Now he adventured on a shore unknown, Which all admire, but many dread to view : His breast was arm'd 'gainst fate, his wants were few ; Peril he sought not, but ne'er shrank to meet : The scene was savage, but the scene was new ; This made the ceaseless toil of travel sweet, Beat back keen winter's blast, and welcomed summer's heat. XLIV. Here the red cross, for still the cross is here. Though sadly scofF'd at by the circumcised. Forgets that pride to pamper'd priesthood dear ; Churchman and votary alike despised. Foul Superstition! howsoe'er disguised, Idol, saint, virgin, prophet, crescent, cross. For whatsoever symbol thou art prized. Thou sacerdotal gain, but general loss ! Who from true worship's gold can separate thy dross ? XLT. Ambracia's gulf behold, where once was lost A world for woman, lovely, harmless tiling ! In yonder rippling bay, their naval host Did many a Roman chief and Asian king ' * To doubtful conflict, certain slaughter bring : Look where the second CjEsar's trophies rose! ^"^ Now, like the hands that rear'd them, withering : Imperial anarchs, doubling human woes ! God ! was thy globe ordain'd for such to win and lose ? XL VI. From the dark barriers of that rugged clime, Ev'n to the centre of Illyria's vales, Childe Harold pass'd o'er many a mount sublime. Through lands scarce noticed in historic tales ; Yet in famed Attica such lovely dales Are rarely seen: nor can fair Tempe boast A charm they know not ; loved Parnassus fails, Though classic ground and consecrated most, To match some spots that lurk within this lowering coast. XLVII. He pass'd bleak Pindus, Acherusia's lake, *' And left the primal city of the land, And onwards did his further joui-ney take To greet Albania's chie^^^ whose dread command Is lawless law ; for with a bloody hand He sways a nation, turbulent and bold : Yet here and there some daring mountain-band Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold.'^ XL VIII. Monastic Zitza ! ^° from thy shady brow. Thou small, but favour'd spot of holy ground ! Where'er we gaze, around, above, belovi'. What rainbow tints, what magic charms are found ! Rock, river, forest, mountain, all abound. And bluest skies that harmonize the whole : Beneath, the distant torrent's rushing sound Tells where the volumed cataract doth roll Between those hanging rocks, that shock yet please the soul. Amidst the grove that crowns yon tufted hill, Which, were it not for many a mountain nigh Rising in lofty ranks, and loftier still, Might well itself be deem'd of dignity. The convent's white walls glisten fair on high : Here dwells the caloyer,^! nor rude is he. Nor niggard of his cheer ; the passer by Is welcome still ; nor heedless will he flee From hence, if he delight kind Nature's sheen to see. L. Here in the sultriest season let him rest, Fresh is the green beneath those aged trees ; Here winds of gentlest vdng \vill fan his breast, From heaven itself he may inhale the breeze : The plain is far beneath— oh ! let him seize Pure pleasure while he can ; the scorching ray Here pierceth not, impregnate with disease : Then let his length the loitering pilgrim lay. And gaze, untired, the morn, the noon, the eve away. LI. Dusky and huge, enlarging on the sight. Nature's volcanic amphitheatre,^^ CWmsera's alps extend from left to right : Beneath, a Uvmg valley seems to stir ; Flocks play, trees wave, streams flow, the moimtain-fir Nodding above : behold black Acheron ! ^^ Once consecrated to the sepulchre. Pluto ! if this be hell I look upon. Close shamed Elysium's gates, my shade shall seek for none! LII. Ne city's towers pollute the lovely view ; Unseen is Yanina, though not remote, Veil'd by the screen of hills : here men are few, Scanty the hamlet, rare the lonely cot; But peering down each precipice, the goat Browseth ; and, pensive o'er his scatter'd flock. The Uttle shepherd in his wliite capote ^'^ Doth lean his boyish form along the rock, Or in his cave awaits the tempest's short-lived shock. LIII. Oh ! where, Dodona ! is thine aged grove, Prophetic fount, and oracle divine ? What valley echo'd the response of Jove? What trace remaineth of the thunderer's shrine ? All, all forgotten — and shall man repine That his frail bonds to fleeting life are broke ? Cease, fool! the fate of gods may well be thine: Wouldst thou survive the marble or the oak ? When nations, tongues, and worlds must sink beneath the stroke! LIV. Epirus' bounds recede, and mountains fail ; Tired of up-gazing still, the wearied eye Reposes gladly on as smooth a vale, As ever Spring yclad in grassy die : Ev'n on a plain no humble beauties lie. Where some bold river breaks the long expanse, And woods along the banks are waving high, Whose shadows in the glassy waters dance, Or with the moonbeam sleep in midnight's solemn trance. LV. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit,^^ And Laos wide and fierce came roaring by;26 The shades of wonted night were gathering yet, When, do^ATi the steep banlis winding warily, Childe Harold saw, like meteors in the sky. The glittering minarets of Tepalen, Whose walls o'erlook the stream ; and drawing nigh, He heard the busy hum of warrior-men Swelhng the breeze that sigh'd along the lengthening glen. CKILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 15 He pass'd the sacred Haram's silent tower, And underneath the wide o'erarching gate Survey'd the dwelling of this chief of power, Where all around proclaim'd his high estate. Amidst no common pomp the despot sate, While busy preparation shook the court, Slaves, eunuchs, soldiers, guests, and santons wait ; Within, a palace, and without, a fort: Here men of every clime appear to make resort. LVII. Richly caparison'd, a ready row Of armed horse, and many a warlike store, Circled the wide extending court below ; Above, strange groups adorn'd the corridor ; And oft-times through the area's echoing door Some high-capp'd Tartar spurr'd his steed away : The Turk, the Greek, the Albanian, and the Moor, Here mingled in their many-hued array, While the deep war-drum's sound armounced the close of day. LVIII, The wild Albanian kirtled to his knee, With shawl-girt head and ornamented gun, And gold-embroider'd garments, fair to see ; The crimson-scarfed men of Macedon ; The Delhi with his cap of terror on, And crooked glaive ; the lively, supple Greek ; And swarthy Nubia's mutilated son ; The bearded Turk that rarely deigns to speak, Master of all around, too potent to bo meek, LIX. Are mix'd conspicuous: some recline in groups, Scanning the motley scene that varies round ; There some grave Moslem to devotion stoops. And some that smoke, and some that play, are found ; Here the Albanian proudly treads the ground ; Half whispering there the Greek is heard to prate ; Hark ! from the mosque the nightly solemn sound, The Muezzin's call doth shake the minaret, • There is no god but God ! — to prayer — lo ! God is great !" Just at this season Ramazani's fast Through the long day its penance did maintain : But when the lingering twilight hour was past. Revel and feast assumed the rule again : Now all was bustle, and the menial train Prepared and spread the plenteous board within ; The vacant gallery now seem'd made in vain. But from the chambers camo the mingling din, As page and slave anon were passing out and in. rxr. Here woman's voice is never heard : apart, And scarce permitted, guarded, vcil'd, to move. She yields to one her person and her heart, Tamed to her cage, nor feels a wish to rove ; For, not unhappy in her master's love. And joyful in a mother's gentlest cares. Blest cares ! all other feelings fir above ! * Herself more sweetly rears the babe she bears. Who never quits the breast, no meaner passion shares. In marbled-paved pavilion, where a spring Of living water from the centre rose. Whoso bubbUng did a genial freshnesH fling, And soft voluptuous couches breathed repose, Ali reclined, a man of war and woes; Yet in his lineaments yc cannot trace. While GcntUmcss her mikler railianco iJirow.-. Along that aged venerable fijro, The deeds that lurk beneath, and slum him witli disgrace. It is not that yon hoary lengthening beard 111 suits the passions which belong to youth ; Love conquers age — so Hafiz hath averr'd, So sings the Teian, and he sings in sooth — But crimes tliat scorn the tender voice of Ruth, Beseeming ali men ill, but most the man In years, have mark'd him with a tiger's tooth ; Blood follows blood, and, through their mortal span. In bloodier acts conclude those who with blood began, LXIV. 'Mid many things most new to ear and eye The pilgrim rested here his weary feet, And gazed around on Moslem luxury, Till quickly wearied with that spacious seat Of Wealth and Wantonness, the choice retreat Of sated Grandeur from the city's noise: And were it humbler it in sooth were sweet ; But Peace abhorreth artificial joys, And Pleasure, leagued with Pomp, the zest of both destroys. LXV. Fierce are Albania's children, yet they lack Not virtues, were those virtues more mature. Where is the foe that ever saw their back? Who can so well the toil of war endure ? Their native fastnesses not more secure Than they in doubtful time of troublous need : Their wrath how deadly ! but their friendship sure, When Gratitude or Valour bids them bleed, Unshaken rushing on where'er their chief may lead. LXTI. Childe Harold saw them in their chieftain's tower Thronging to war in splendour and success ; And after view'd them, when, within their power. Himself awhile the victim of distress ; That saddening hour when bad men hotlier press : But these did shelter him beneath their roo^ When less barbarians would have cheer'd him less, And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof— 2'' In aught that tries the heart how few withstand the proof? LXVII, It chanced that adverse winds once drove his bark Full on the coast of Suli's shaggy shore, When all around v/as desolate and dark ; To land was perilous, to sojourn more ; Yet for a while the mariners forbore. Dubious to trust where treachery might lurk: At length they ventured forth, though doubting soro That those who loathe alike the Frank and Turk Might once again renew their ancient butcher-work. LXVIII. Vain fear ! the Suliotcs stretch'd the welcome hand, Led them o'er rocks and past the dangerous swamp, Kinder than polish'd slaves though not so bland. And piled the hearth, and wrung their garments damp, And lill'd the bowl, and triinm'd the cheerful lamp, And spread their fare ; though homely, all they had : Such conduct bears Philanthropy's rare stamp — To rest the weary and to sooth the sad, Doth lesson happier men, and shames at loa-s( the bad. LXIX. It came to pass, that when he did address Himself to quit at length this nioimlain-land, Combined maraudvTS half-way barr'd egress, And wasted far and near with glaive and brand; And therefore did he take a trusty band To traverse Acarnatiia'8 forest wide, In war well neason'd, and with luboiirt* tann'H, Till ho did greet while Aclielous tide, And from his further l';mk ^l^tolia's wolds espied. 16 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Where lone Utraikey forms its circling cove, And weary waves retire to gleam at rest, How brown the foliage of the green hill's gi-ove, Nodding at midnight o'er the calm bay's breast. As winds come lightly whispering from the west, Kissing, not ruffling, the blue deep's serene : — Here Harold was received a welcome guest ; Nor did he pass immoved the gentle scene. For many a joy could he from Night's soft presence glean. On the smooth shore the night-fires brightly blazed. The feast was done, the red wme circling fast,^^ And he that unawares had there ygazed With gaping wonderment had stared aghast ; For ere night's midmost, stillest hour was past. The native revels of the troop began ; Each Palikar ^^ his sabre from him cast, And bouncUng hand in hand, man link'd to man, their clan. Childe Harold at a Uttle distance stood And view'd, but not displeased, the revelrie. Nor hated harmless mirth, however rude : In sooth, it was no vulgar sight to see Their barbarous, yet their not indecent, glee ; And, as the flames along their faces gleam'd. Their gestures nunble, dark eyes flashing free, The long wild locks that to then* girdles stream'd, While thus in concert they this lay half sang, half scream'd :^° I. 31 Tambourgi! Tambourgi!* thy 'larum afar Gives hope to the valiant, and promise of war ; All the sons of the mountains arise at the note, Chimariot, lUyrian, and dark Suhote ! Oh! who is more brave than a dark Suliote, In his snowy camese and his shaggy capote ? To the wolf and the vulture he leaves his wild flock. And descends to the plain like the stream from the rock. Shall the sons of Chimari, who never forgive The fault of a friend, bid an enemy live ? Let those guns so unerring such vengeance forego? What mark is so fair as the breast of a foe ? Macedonia sends forth her invincible race ; For a time they abandon the cave and the chase : But those scarfs of blood-red shall be redder, before The sabre is sheathed and the battle is o'er. Then the pirates of Parga that dwell by the waves, And teach the pale Franks what it is to be slaves, Shall leave on the beach the long galley and oar, And track to his covert the captive on shore. r ask not the pleasures that riches supply. My sabre shall win what the feeble must buy ; Shall win the young bride with her long flowing hau-. And many a maid from her mother shall tear. /* Drummer. I love the fair face of the maid in her youth. Her caresses shall lull me, her music shall sooth ; Let her bring from the chamber her many-toned lyre^ And sing us a song on the fall of her sire. 8. Remember the moment when Previsa fell,'^ The shrieks of the conquer'd, the conquerors' yell ; The roofs that we fired, and the plunder we shared, Wt The wealthy we slaughter'd, the lovely we spared. I talk not of mercy, I talk not of fear ; He neither must know who would serve the Vizier : Smce the days of our prophet the Crescent ne'er saw A chief ever glorious like Ali Pashaw. 10. Dark Muchtar his son to the Danube is sped. Let the yellow-hair'd* Giaoursf view his horse-tailj with dread ; When his Delhis§ come dashing in blood o'er the banks, How few shall escape from the Muscovite ranks ! 11. Selictar ! [j unsheathe then our chief's scimitar: Tambourgi ! thy 'larum gives promise of war. Ye mountains, that see us descend to the shore. Shall view us as victors, or view us no more ! LXXIII. Fair Greece ! sad relic of departed worth ! '^ Immortal, though no more ; though fallen, great ! Who now shall lead thy scatter'd children forth. And long accustom'd bondage uncreate ? Not such thy sons who whUome did await, The hopeless warriors of a willing doom, In bleak Thennopylse's sepulchi-al strait — Oh! who that gallant spirit shall resume. Leap from Eurotas' banlcs, and call thee from the tomb ? Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle's brow ^* Thou sat'st with Thrasybulus and his train, Couldst thou forebode the dismal hour which now Dims the green beauties of thine Attic plain? Not thii-ty tyrants now enforce the chain. But every carle can lord it o'er thy land ; Nor rise thy sons, but idly rail in vain. Trembling beneath the scourge of Turkish hand. From birth till death enslaved ; in word, in deed,unmann'd. L,XXV. In all save form alone, how changed ! and who That marks the fire still sparkling in each eye, Who but would deem their bosoms burn'd anew With thy unquenched beam, lost Liberty ! And many dream withal the hour is nigh That gives them back their fathers' heritage : For foreign arms and aid they fondly sigli, Nor solely dare encounter hostile rage. Or tear their name defiled from Slavery's moumiiil page. LXXVI. Hereditary bondsmen ! know ye not ^ Who would be free themselves must strike the blow? By their right arms the conquest must be wrought? Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? no ! True, they may lay your proud despoilers low, But not for you will Freedom's altars flame. Shades of the Helots ! triumph o'er your foe ! Greece ! change thy lords, thy state is still the same ; Thy glorious day is o'er, but not thy years of shame. * Yellow is the epithet given to the Russians, t Horse-tails are the insignia of a Pacha. I Horsemen, answering to our forlorn hope. t Infidel. II Sword-bearer, CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 17 The city won for Allah from the Giaour, The Giaour from Othman's race again may wrest ; And the Serai's impenetrable tower Receive the fiery Frank, her former guest; ^^ Or Wahab'd rebel brood who dared divest The ^^ prophet's tomb of all its pious spoil, May wind their path of blood along the West ; But ne'er will freedom seek this fated soil, But slave succeed to slave through years of endless toil. Yet mark their mirth — ere lenten days begin. That penance which their holy rites prepare To shrive from man his weight of mortal sin, By daily abstinence and nightly prayer ; But ere his sackcloth garb Repentance wear, Some days of joyaunce are decreed to all. To take of pleasaunce each his secret share In motley robe to dance at masldng ball, And join the mimic train of merry Carnival. And whose more rife with merriment than thine. Oh Stamboul ! once the empress of their reign ? Though turbans now pollute Sophia's shrine, And Greece her very altars eyes in vain: (Alas! her woes will still pervade my strain!) Gay were her minstrels once, for free her throng, All felt the corhmon joy they now must feign. Nor oft I've seen such sight, nor heard such song, As woo'd the eye, and thrili'd the Bosphorus along. LXXX. Loud was the lightsome tumult of the shore, Oft Music changed, but never ceased her tone. And timely echo'd back the measured oar, And rippling waters made a pleasant moan: The Q,ueen of tides on high consenting shone, And when a transient breeze swept o'er the wave, 'Twas, as if darting from her heavenly throne, A brighter glance her form reflected gave, THi sparkling billows seem'd to light the banks tliey lave. Glanced many a light caique along the foam, Danced on the shore the daughters of the land, Ne thought had man or maid of rest or home. While many a languid eye and thrilling hand Exchanged the look few bosoms may withstand. Or gently prest, rcturn'd the pressure still : Oh Love ! young Love ! bound in thy rosy band, Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, I'hese hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill ! L XXXII. But, midst the throng in merry masquerade. Lurk there no hearts that throb with secret pain, Even through the closest searrncnt half betray'd? To such the gentle murmurs of the main Seem to re-echo all they mourn in vain ; To such the gladness ot the gamesome crowd Is source of wayward thought and stern disdain : How do tlicy loathe the laughter idly loud, And long to change the robe of revel for the shroud ! LXXXIII. This must he feel, the true-born son of Grecco, If Greece one true-born patriot still can boast: Not such as prate of war, but skulk in peaoo. The bondsman's peace, who sighs for all ho lost, Yet witli smooth smilo his tyrant can accost, And wield the slavish sickle, tint the sworn(tlements shall bear no fiittire blow 22 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Beneath these battlements, within those walls, Power dwelt amidst her passions ; in proud state Each robber chief upheld his armed halls, Doing his evil will, nor less elate Than mightier heroes of a longer date. What want these outlaws '° conquerors should have? But History's purchased page to call them great? A wider space, an ornamented grave ? Their hopes were not less warm, their souls were full as brave. XLLX. In their baronial feuds and single fields, What deeds of prowess unrecorded died ! And Love, which lent a blazon to their shields. With emblems well devised by amorous pride, Through all the mail of iron hearts would gUde ; But still their flame was fierceness, and drew on Keen contest and destruction near allied. And many a tower for some fair mischief won, Saw the discolour'd Rhine beneath its ruin run. But Thou, exulting and abounding river ! Making thy waves a blessing as Ihey flow Through banks whose beauty would endure for ever Could man but leave thy bright creation so, Nor its fair promise from the surface mow With the sharp scythe of conflict, — then to see Thy valley of sweet waters, were to know Earth paved like Heaven ; and to seem such to me, Even now what wants thy stream ? — ^that it should Lethe be. n. A thousand battles have assail 'd thy. banks, But these and half their fame have pass'd away, And Slaughter heap'd on high his weltering ranks ; Their very graves are gone, and what are they ? Thy tide wash'd down the blood of yesterday. And all was stainless, and on thy clear stream Glass'd with its dancing light the sunny ray ; But o'er the blacken'd memory's bhghting dream Thy waves would vainly roll, all sweeping as they seem. LII. Thus Harold inly said, and pass'd along, Yet not insensibly to all which hero Awoke the joeund birds to early song In glens which might have made even exile dear : Though on his brow were graven lines austere, And tranquil sternness which had ta'en the place Of feelmgs fierier far but less severe, Joy was not always absent from his face. But o'er it in such scenes would steal with transient trace. LIII. Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust. It is in vain that we would coldly gaze On such as smile upon us ; the heart must Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust Hath wean'd it from all worldlings : thus he felt, For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt. And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt. nv. And he had learn'd to love, — I know not why. For this in such as him seems strange of mood,— The helpless looks of blooming infancy, Even in its earliest nurture ; what subdued, To change like this, a mmd so far imbued With scorn of man, it little boots to know ; But thus it was ; and tliough in solitude Small power the nipp'd affections have to grow, In him this glow'd when all beside had ceased to glow. And there was one soft breast, as hath been said, Which unto his was' bound by stronger ties Than the church links withal ; and, though unwed. That love was pure, and, far above disguise, Had stood the test of mortal enmitiea Still undivided, and cemented more By peril, dreaded most in female eyes ; But this was firm, and from a foreign shore Well to that heart might his these absent greetings pour ! I. The castled crag of Drachenfels " Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of waters broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine. And hills all rich with blossom'd trees. And fields which promise corn and wine, And scatter'd cities crowaing these, Whose far white walls along them shine. Have strew'd a scene, which I should see With double joy wert thou with me. 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes. And hands which offer early flowers. Walk smiling o'er this paradise ; Above, the fi*equent feudal towers Through green leaves Uft their walls of gray. And many a rock which steeply lowers, And noble arch in proud decay. Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers ; But one thing want these banks of Rhine, — Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine ! 3. I send the lilies given to me ; Though long before thy hand they touch, I know that they must wither'd be, But yet reject them not as such ; For 1 have cherish'd them as dear, Because they yet may meet thine eye, And^uide thy soul to mine even here. When thou behold'st them drooping nigh. And know'st them gather'd by the Rhine, And offer'd from my heart to thine ! 4. The river nobly foams and flows. The cl^arm of this enchanted ground. And ail its thousand turns disclose Some fresher beauty varying round : The haughtiest breast its wish might boimd Through life to dwell delighted here ; Nor could on earth a spot be found To nature and to me so dear, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine ! By Coblentz, on a rise of gentle ground. There is a small and simple pyramid. Crowning the summit of the verdant mound ; Beneath its base are heroes' ashes hid. Our enemy's — but let not that forbid Honour to Marceau ! o'er whose early tomb Tears, big tears, gush'd fi-om tlie rough soldier's lid. Lamenting and yet envying such a doom, FaUing for France, whose rights he battled to resume. LVII. BriefJ brave, and glorious was his young career, — His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes ; And fitly may the stranger lingering here Pray for his gallant spirit's bright repose ; For he was Freedom's champion, one of ificse. The few in number, who had not o'erstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons ; he had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept.' I CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 23 LViir. Here Ehrenbreitstein,*^ with her shatter'd wall Black with the miner's blast, upon her height Yet shows of what she was, when shell and ball Rebounding idly on her strength did light : A tower of victory ! from whence the flight Of baffled foes was watch'd along the plain : But Peace destroy'd what War could never blight, And laid those proud roofe bare to Summer's rain — On which the iron shower for years had pour'd in vain. LIX. Adieu to thee, fair Rhine ! How long dehghted The stranger fain would linger on his way ! Thine is a scene alike where souls united Or lonely Contemplation thus might stray; And could the ceaseless vultures cease to prey On self-condemning bosoms, it were here, Where Nature, nor too sombre nor too gay, Wild but not rude, awful yet not austere, Is to the mellow Earth as Autumn to the year. LX. Adieu to thee again ! a vain adieu ! There can be no farewell to scene like thine ; The mind is colour'd by thy every hue ; And if reluctantly the eyes resign Their cherish'd gaze upon thee, lovely Rhine ! 'Tis with the thankfial glance of parting praise ; More mighty spots may rise — more glaring shine, But none unite in one attaching maze The brilliant, fair, and soft, — the glories of old days. LXI. The negligently grand, the fruitful bloom Of coming ripeness, the white city's sheen, The rolhng stream, the precipice's gloom, The forest's growth, and Gothic walls between. The wild rocks shaped as they had turrets been In mockery of man's art ; and these withal A race effaces happy as the scene, Whose fertile bounties here extend to all, ^ [fall, Still springing o'er thy banlts, though Empires near them LXII. But these recede. Above me are the Alps, The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, And throned Eternity in icy halls Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls The avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! All that expands the s[)irit, yet appals, Gather around these summits, as to show [below. How Earth may pierce to Heaven, yet leave vain man LXIII. But ere these matchless heights I dare to scan, There is a spot should not be pass'd in vain, — Morat ! the proud, the patriot field ! where man May gaze on ghastly trophies of the slain, Nor blush for those who conquer'd on that plain ; Here Burgundy bequeath'd his tombless host, A bony heap, through ages to remain, Themselves their monument; — the Stygian coast Unsepulchred they roam'd, and shriek'd each wandering ghost.'* LXIV. While Waterloo with Cannaj's carnage vies, Morat and Marathon twin names shall stand ; They were true Glory's stainless victories, Won by the unambitious heart and luind Of a proud, brotherly, and civic band, All unbought champions in no princely cau;^o Of vice-entail 'diDorruplion; they no land Dooni'd t(j bewail the bhuspheiuy of laws Making kin-js' rightH divine, by some Draconic J.ur-e. By a lone wall a lonelier column rears A gray and grief-worn aspect of old days, 'Tis the last remnant of the wreck of years, And looks as with the wild-bcwilder'd gaze Of one to stone converted by amaze. Yet still with consciousness ; and there it stands Making a marvel that it not decays, c ■ When the coeval pride of human hands, <. ..- L ,/ Levell'd ^^Aventicum, hath strew'd her subject lands. LXVI. And there — oh ! sweet and sacred be the name ! — Julia — the daughter, the devoted — gave Her youth to Heaven ; her heart, beneath a claim Nearest to Heaven's, broke o'er a father's grave. Justice is sworn 'gainst tears, and hers would crave The hfe she hved m ; but the judge was just, And then she died on him she could not save. Their tomb was simple, and without a bust. And held within their urn one mind, one heart, one dust.'s LXVII. But these are deeds which should not pass away. And names that must not wither, though the earth Forgets her empires with a just decay, The enslavers and the enslaved, their death and birth ; The high, the mountain-majesty of worth Should be, and shall, survivor of its wo, And from its immortaUty look forth In the sun's face, like yonder Alpine snow,^'' Imperishably pure beyond all tlungs below. LXVHI. Lake Leman woos me with its crystal face, The mirror where the stars and mountains view The stillness of their aspect m each trace Its clear depth yields of their fair height and hue : There is too much of man here, to look through With a fit mind the might which [ behold ; But soon in me shall Loneliness renew Thoughts hid, but not less cherish'd than of old, Ere mingling with the herd had penn'd me in their fold. LXIX. To fly from, need not be to hate, mankind : All are not fit with them to stir and toil, Nor is it discontent to keep the mind Deep in its fountain, lest it overboil In the hot throng, where we become the spoil Of our infection, till too late and long We may deplore and struggle with the coil. In wretched interchange of wrong for wrong Midst a contentious world, striving where none are slroni'. LXX. There, in a moment, wo may plimge our years In fatal penitence, and in the bUght Of our own soul turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come witli hues of Night ; The race of life becomes a hopeless flight To those that walk in darkness : on the sea, The boldest steer but where their ports invito, But there arc wanderers o'er Eternity Whoso bark drives on and on, and anchor'd ne'er shall bo. LXXI. Is it not better, then, to bo alone,- And lovo Earlli only for ita earthly sake .' By ti)o blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, '" (^r the pure bosom of its nui-sing lake, Which feeds it as a mother who doth nuiko A fair but froward infant hor own care, Kissing its cries away as tlicso awaltc ; — Is it not belter thus our livo.^^//^ 4-^4/y . 3^ Lithc^ o/^ndicott Sf Svm^. .ATw-yari. I CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 25 LXXXVl. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Mellow'd and mmghng, yet distinctly seen, Save darken'd Jura, whose capt heights appear Precipitously steep ; and drawing near. There breathes a Uving fragrance from the shore, Of flowers yet fresh with childhood ; on the ear Drops the light drip of the suspended oar, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; LXXXVII. He is an evening reveller, who makes His life an infancy, and sings his fill; At intervals, some bird from out the brakes Starts into voice a moment, then is still. There seems a floating whisper on the hill, But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, Weeping themselves away, till they infuse Deep into Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. LXXXVIII. Ye stars ! which are the poetry of heaven ! If in your bright leaves we would read the fate Of men and empii-es, — 'tis to be forgiven, That in our aspirations to be great. Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state, And claim a kindred with you ; for ye are A beauty and a mystery, and create In us such love and reverence from afar, [a star. That fortune, fame, power, Ufe, have named themselves All heaven and earth are still — though not in sleep. But breathless, as we grow when feeUng most ; And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep : — All heaven and earth are still: From the high host Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain-coast. All is concenter'd in a life intense, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, But hath a part of being, and a sense Of that which is of all Creator and defence. Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone ; A truth, wiiich through our being then doth melt And purifies from self: it is a tone, The soul and source of music, which makes known Eternal harmony, and sheds a charm, Like to the fabled Cythcrea's zone. Binding all things with beauty ; — 't would disarm The spectre Death, had he substantial power to harm. Not vainly did the early Persian make His altar the high places and the peak Of earth-o'crgazing mountains,2° and thus take A fit and unwall'd temple, there to seek The Spirit, in whoso honour shrines are weak, Uprear'd of human hands. Come, and compare Columns and idol-dwellings, Goth or Greek, With Nature's realms of worship, earth and air, Nor fix on fond abodes to circumscribe thy pray'r ! The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night, And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong, Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, F'rom peak to peak, the rattling crags among I-icaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue. And Jura answers, through her'misly shroud. Back to the joyous Alps, who call to iu;r aloud ! n XCIII. And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee ! How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea, And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! And now again 'tis black, — and now, the glee Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth, As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birtk xciv. Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted In hate, whose mining depths so intervene. That they can meet no more, though broken-hearted ! Tho' in their souls, which thus each other thwarted, Love was the very root of the fond rage Which blighted their life's bloom, and then departed : Itself expired, but leaving them an age Of years all winters, — war within themselves to wage. Now, where the quick Rhone thus hath cleft his way The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en his stand : For here, not one, but many, make their play, And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, Flashing and cast around : of all tlie band. The brightest through these parted hills hath fork'd His lightnings, — as if he did understand, That in such gaps as desolation work'd, There the hot shaft should blast whatever therein lurk'd Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye ! With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul To make these felt and feeling, well may be Things that have made me watchful ; the far roll Of your departing voices, is the Imoll Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. But where of ye, oh tempests ! is the goal ? Are ye lilie those within the human breast? Or do ye find, at length, hke eagles, some high nest ? xcvii. Could I embody and unbosom now That which is most within me, — could I wreak My thoughts upon exjjression, and thus throw Soul, heart, mind, passions, feelings, strong or weak, All that I would have sought, and all I seek, Bear, know, feel, and yet breathe — into one word. And that one word were Lightning, I would speak; But as it is, I live and die unheard, With a most voiceless thought, sheathing it as a sword. XCVIII. The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contain'd no tomb, — And glowing into day: wo may resume The march of our existence : and thus I, Still on tliy shores, fair Lcman ! may find room And food for meditation, nor pass by Much, tliat may give us pause, if ponder'd fittingly. XCIX. Clarens! sweet Clarons, birth-place of deep Love Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought ; Thy trees take root in Love ; the s?»ows a.ho\o The very Glaciers have his colours caught, And sunset into rose hues sees tluMU wrought ■* By rays which sleep tlierc lovingly: the rocks, The permanent crags, tell hero of Love, who sought In them a refuge from tho worldly slKKks, [mocks Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woo«, tlion 26 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Clarens ! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, — Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne To which the steps are mountains ; where the god Is a pervading hfe and Hght, — so shown Not on those summits solely, nor alone In the still cave and forest ; o'er the flower His eye is sparlding, and his breath hath blown, His soft and summer breath, whose tender power Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour. CI. All things are here of him ; from the black pines. Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines Which slope his green path downward to the shore. Where the bow'd waters meet him, and adore, Kissing his feet with murmurs ; and the wood. The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar, But Ught leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him, jind his, a populous soHtude, oil. A populous solitude of bees and birds, And fairy-form'd and many-colour'd things, Who worship him with notes more sweet than words. And imiocenlly open their glad wings, Fearless and full of hfe : the gush of springs. And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend, Mingling, and made by Love, imto one mighty end. CHI. He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore, And make his heart a spirit ; he who knows That tender mystery, wiU love the more. For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes, And the world 's waste, have driven him far from those, For 'tis his nature to advance or die ; He stands not still, but or decays, or grows Into a boundless blessing, which may vie With the immortal lights, in its eternity ! CIV. 'Twas not for fiction chose Rousseau this spot, Peopling it with affections ; but he found It was the scene which passion must allot To the mind's purified beings ; 'twas the ground Where early Love his Psyche's zone unbound. And hallow'd it with loveliness : 'tis lone, And wonderful, and deep, and hath a sound, And sense, and sight of sweetness ; here the Rhone Hath spread himself a couch, the Alps have rear'd a throne. cv. Lausanne ! and Femey ! ye have been the abodes ^^ Of names which unto you bequeath'd a name ; Mortals, who sought and found, by dangerous roads, A path to perpetuity of fame: They were gigantic minds, and their steep aim Was, Titan-like, on daring doubts to pile [flame Thoughts which should call down thunder, and the Of Heaven, again assail'd, if Heaven the while On man and man's research could deign do more than smile. cvi. The one was fire and fickleness, a child, Most mutable in wishes, but in mind, A wit as various, — gay, grave, sage, or wild, — ffistorian, bard, philosopher, combined ; He multiplied himself among mankind. The Proteus of their talents : But his own Breathed most in ridicule, — which, as the wind. Blew where it listed, laying all things prone, — Now to o'erthrow a fool, and now to shake a throne. The other, deep and slow, exhausting thought, And hiving wisdom with each studious year. In meditation dwelt, with learning wrought, And shaped his \veapon with an edge severe. Sapping a solemn creed with solemn sneer ; The lord of irony, — ^that master-spell, Which stimg his foes to wrath, which grew from fear, And doom'd him to the zealot's ready Hell, Which answers to all doubts so eloquently well. CVIII. Yet, peace be with their ashes, — for by them, If merited; the penalty is paid; It is not ours to judge, — far less condemn ; The hour must come when such things shall be made I&iown unto all, — or hope and dread allay'd By slumber, on one pillow, — in the dust, Which, thus much we are sure, must lie deca^d ; And when it shall revive, as is our trust, 'T\\iU be to be forgiven, or suffer what is just. cix. But let me quit man's works, again to read His Maker's, spread around me, and suspend This page, which from my reveries I feed, Until it seems prolonging without end. The clouds above me to the white Alps tend, And I must pierce them, and survey whate'er May be permitted, as my steps I bend To their most great and growing region, where The earth to her embrace compels the powers of air- Itaha ! too, Itaha ! looking on thee, FuU flashes on the soul the hght of ages, Since the fierce Carthaginian ahnost won thee, To the last halo of the chiefs and sages, Who glorify thy consecrated pages ; Thou wert the throne and grave of empires ; still, The fount at which the panting mind assuages Her thirst of knowledge, quafling there her fill. Flows from the eternal source of Rome's imperial hill. Thus far have I proceeded in a theme Renew'd with no kind auspices: — to feel We are not what we have been, and to deem We are not what we should be, — and to steel The heart against itself; and to conceal, Vv^ith a proud caution, love, or hate, or aught,— Passion or feeUng, purpose, griefj or zeal, — Which is the tyrant spirit of our thought. Is a stern task of soul : — ^No matter, — it is taught. cxii. And for these words, thus woven into song, It may be that they are a harmless wile, — The colouring of the scenes which fleet along, Which I would seize, in passing, fo beguile My breast, or that of others, for a while. Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not So young as to regard men's frown or smile, As loss or guerdon of a glorious lot ; I stood and stand alone, — remember'd or forgot. CXIII. I have not loved the world, nor the world me ; * I have not flatter'd its rank breath, nor bow'd To its idolatries a patient knee, — Nor coin'd my cheek to smiles, — nor cried aloud In worship of an echo ; in the crowd They could not deem me one of such; I stood Among them, but not of them ; in a shroud [could Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still Had I not filed ^* my mind, which thus itself subdued. I CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGfi. 27 CXIV. E have not loved the world, nor the world me, — But let us part fair foes ; I do believe Though I have found them not, that there may be Words which are things, — hopes wliich will not deceive, And virtues which are merciful, nor weave Snares for the failing: I would also deem O'er others' griefs that some sincerely grieve f^ That two, or one, are almost what they seem, — That goodness is no name, and happiness no dream, cxv. My daughter ! with thy name this song begun — My daughter ! with thy name thus much shall end — I see thee not, — I hear thee not, — but none Can be so wrapt in thee ; thou art the friend To whom the shadows of far years extend : Albeit my brow thou never should'st behold, My voice shall with thy future visions blend, And reach into thy heart, — when mine is cold, — A token and a tone, even from thy father's mould. cxvi. To aid thy mind's development, — to watch Thy dawn of little joys, — to sit and see Almost thy very growth, — to view thee catch Knowledge of objects, — wonders yet to thee ! To hold thee lightly on a gentle knee, And print on thy soft cheek a parent's kiss, — This, it should seem, was not reserved for me ; Yet this was in my nature : — as it is, I know not what is there, yet something like to this. CXVII. Yet, though dull hate as duty should be taught, I know that thou wilt love me ; though my name Should be shut from thee, as a spell still fraught With desolation, — and a broken claim : Though the grave closed between us, 'twere the same — 1 know that thou wilt love me ; though to drain My blood from out thy being, were an aim, And an attainment, — all would be in vain, — Still thou would'st love me, still that more than life retain. CXVIII. The child of love, — though born in bitterness, And nurtured in convulsion. Of thy sire These were the elements, — and thine no less. As yet such are around thee, — but thy fire Shall be more temper'd, and thy hope far higher. Sweet be thy cradled slumbers ! O'er the sea, And from the moimtains where I now respire, Fain would I waft such blessing upon thee. As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me ! CANTO IV. VintohoToscana, Lombardm, nomagna, Cluel Monte che divide, e quel che serra Italia, e un mare e 1' allro, che la bagim. Ariosto, Snlira iii. Venice^ January 2, 1818. TO JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ. A.M. F.R.S. ^c. ^c. 4rc. MY DEAR HOBHOUSE, After an interval of eight years between the composition of the first and last cantos of Childe Harold, the conclusion of the poem is aliout to be submitted to! the public. In parting with so old a friend it is not ex- traordinary lliat I should recur to one still older and better, — to one who has beheld the birth and death of the otlier, and to whom I am far more, iiidebled for the social advantages of an ciilighten
    'hose strong reality Outshines our fairy-land ; in shape and hues More beautiful than our fantastic sky. And the strange constellations which the Muse O'er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse : I saw or dream'd of such, — but let them go — They came like truth, and disappear'd like dreams ; And whatsoe'er they were — are now but so : I could replace them if I would ; still teems My mind with many a form which aptly seems Such as I sought for, and at moments found ; Let these too go — for waking reason deems Such overweening phantasies unsound. And other voices speak, and other sights surround. I've taught me other tongues— and in strange eyes Have made me not a stranger ; to the mind Which is itself, no changes bring surprise ; Nor is it harsh to make, nor hard to find A country with — ay, or without mankind ; Yet was I born where men are proud to be, Not without cause ; and should 1 leave behind The inviolate island of the sage and free, And seek me out a home by a remoter sea, CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE 29 Perhaps I loved it well ; and should I lay My ashes in a soil which is not mine, My spirit shall resume it — if we may Unbodied choose a sanctuaiy. I twine My hopes of being remcmber'd in my line With my land's language : if too fond and far These aspirations in their scope incUne, — If my fame should be, as my fortunes are, Of hasty growth and blight, and dull Obhvion bar X. My name from out the temple where the dead Are honour'd by the nations — let it be — And light the laurels on a loftier head ! And be the Spartan's epitaph on me — "Sparta hath many a worthier son than he."* Meantime I seek no sympathies, nor need ; The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted, — they have torn me, — and I bleed : I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed. XI. The spouseless Adriatic mourns her lord; And, annual marriage now no more renew'd. The Bucentaur lies rotting unrestored, Neglected garment of her widowhood ! St. Mark yet sees his lion where he stood * Stand, but in mockery of his wither'd power. Over the proud Place where an Emperor sued, And monarchs gazed and envied in the hour When Venice was a queen with an unequall'd dower. XII. The Suabian sued, and now the Austrian reigns — ^ An Emperor tramples where an Emperor knelt ; Kingdoms are shrunl< to provinces, and chains Clank over sceptred cities ; nations melt From power's high pinnacle, when they have felt The sunshine for a while, and downward go Like lauwme loosen'd from the mountain's belt ; Oh for one hour of bhnd old Dandolo ! '' Th' octogenarian chief, Byzantium's conquering foe. XIII. Before St. Mark still glow his steeds of brass, Their gilded collars glittering in the sun ; But is not Doria's menace come to pass ? ^ ^ Are they not bridled? — Venice, lost and won, Her thirteen hundred years of freedom done. Sinks, like a sea-weed, into whence she rose ! Better be whelm'd beneath the waves, and shun. Even in destruction's depth, her foreign foes. From whom submission wrings an infamous repose. In youth she was all glory, — a new Tyre, — Her very by-word sprung from victory, The " Planter of the Lion," ^ which through fire And blood she bore o'er subject earth and sea ; Though making many slaves, herself still free. And Europe's bulwark 'gainst the Ottomite ; Witness Troy's rival, Candia! Vouch it, ye Immortal waves that saw Lepanto's fight! For ye are names no time nor tyranny can blight. XV. Statues of glass — all shivcr'd — the long file Of her dead Doges arc declined to dust ; But where they dwelt, the vast and sumptuous pile Bespeaks the pageant of iheir splendid trust; Their sceptre broken, and their sword in rust, Have yielded to the stranger : empty halls, Thin streets, and foreign aspects, such as miist Too ofl remind her who and what enUirals,'" Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely walls. When Athens' araiies fell at Syracuse, And fetter'd thousands bore the yoke of war, Redemption rose up in the Attic Muse,^^ Her voice their only ransom from afar : See ! as they chant the tragic hymn, the car Of the o'ermaster'd victor stops, the reins Fall from his hands — his idle scimitar Starts from its belt — he rends his captive's chains, And bids him thank the bard for freedom and his strains. Thus, Venice, if no stronger claim were thine, Were all thy proud historic deeds forgot, Thy choral memory of the Bard divine, Thy love of Tasso, should have cut the knot Which ties thee to thy tyrants ; and thy lot Is shameful to the nations, — most of all, Albion I to thee : the Ocean queen should not Abandon Ocean's children; in the fall Of Venice think of thine, despite thy watery wall. XVIII. I loved her from my boyhood — she to me Was as a fairy city of the heart. Rising hke water-columns from the sea. Of joy the sojourn, and of wealth the mart; And Otway, RadclifFe, Schiller, Shakspeare's art>>^ Had stamp'd her image in me, and even so, Although I found her thus, we did not part. Perchance even dearer in her day of wo. Than when she was a boast, a marvel, and a show. I can repeople with the past — and of The present there is still for eye and thought, And meditation chasten'd down, enough ; And more, it may be, than I hoj)ed or sought ; And of the happiest moments which were wrought Within the web of my existence, some From thee, fair Venice ! have their colours caught , There are some feelings Time camiot benumb. Nor Torture shake, or mine would now be cold and dumb. But from their nature will the tanncn grow " Loftiest on lofi:iest and least shelter'd rocks, Rooted in barrenness, where nought below Of soil supports them 'gainst the Alpine shocks Of eddying storms ; yet springs the trunk, and mocks The howling tempest, till its height and frame Are worthy of the mountains from whose blocks Of bleak, gray granite into life it came. And grew a giant tree ; — the mind may grow the same. XXI. Existence may be borne, and the deep root Of life and sufferance make its firm abode In bare and desolated bosoms: mute The camel labours with the heaviest load. And the wolf dies in silence, — not bestow'd In vain should such example be ; if they, Things of ignoble or of savage mood. Endure and shrink not, we of nobler clay May temper it to bear, — it is but for a day. XXII. All suffering doth destroy, or is destroy'd. Even by the sufferer ; and, in each event, Ends: — Sonu', with hope replenish'd and robuoy'd, Return to whence they came — with like intent, And weave their web again ; some, bow'd and bent Wax gray and ghastly, wiihering ere their time. And perish with the reed on which they leant ; Some seek devotion, toil, war, good or crime, According as their souls were form'd to sink or climb : so CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. XXIII. But ever and anon of griefs subdued There comes a token like a scorpion's sting, Scarce seen, but with fresh bitterness imbued ; And slight withal may be the things which bring Back on the heart the weight which it would fling Aside for ever : it may be a sound — A tone of music — summer's eve — or spring — A flower — the wind — the ocean — which shall wound, Striking the electric chain wherewith we are darldy bound ; XXIT. And how and why we know not, nor can trace Home to its cloud this hghtning of the mind, But feel the shock renew'd, nor can efface The Wight and blackening which it leaves behind, Which out of thmgs familiar, undesign'd, When least we deem of such, calls up to view The spectres whom no exorcism can bind, The cold — the changed — perchance the dead — anew. The mourn'd, the loved, the lost — too many ! — yet how few ! XXV. But my soul wanders ; I demand it back To meditate amongst decay, and stand A ruin amidst ruins ; there to track Fall'n states and buried greatness, o'er a land Which was the mightiest in its old command, And is the loveliest, and must ever be The master-mould of Nature's heavenly hand, Wherein were cast the heroic and the free. The beautifiil, the brave — the lords of earth and sea, XXVI. The commonwealth of kings, the men of Rome ! And even since, and now, fair Italy ! Thou art the garden of the world, the home Of all Art yields, and Nature can decree ; Even in thy desert, what is like to thee ? Thy very weeds are beautiful, thy waste More rich than other chmes' fertiUty ; Thy wreck a glory, and thy ruin graced With an immaculate charm which cannot be defaced. XXVII. The Moon is up, and yet it is not night — Sunset divides the sky with her — a sea Of glory streams along the Alpine height Of blue Friuli's mountains ; Heaven is free From clouds, but of all colours seems to be Melted to one vast Iris of the West, Where the Day joins the past Eternity ; While, on the other hand, meek Dian's crest Floats through the azure air — an island of the blest ! A single star is at her side, and reigns With her o'er half the lovely heaven ; but still '* Yon sunny sea heaves brightly, and remains RoU'd o'er the peak of the far Rhaetian hill, As Day and Night contending were, until Nature reclaim'd her order: — gently flows The deep-dyed Brenta, where their hues instil The odorous purple of a new-born rose, [glows. Which streams upon her stream, and glass'd within it XXIX. Fill'd with the face of heaven, which, from afar, Comes down upon the waters ; all its hues. From the rich sunset to the rising star. Their magical variety difflise : And now they change ; a paler shadow strews Its mantle o'er the mountains ; parting day Dies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbues With a new coiour as it gasps away. The last still loveliest, till — 'tis gone — and all is gray. There is a tomb in Arqua ; — rear'd in air. Pillar'd in their sarcophagus, repose The bones of Laura's lover : here repair Many familiar with his well-sung woes, The pilgrims of his genius. He arose To raise a language, and his land reclaim From the dull yoke of her barbaric foes : Watering the tree which bears his lady's name '* With his melodious tears, he gave himself to fame. They keep his dust in Arqua, where he died ; " The mountain-village where his latter days Went down the vale of years; and 'tis their pride- An honest pride — and let it be their praise, To offer to the passing stranger's gaze His mansion and his sepulchre ; both plain And venerably simple, such as raise A feeling more accordant with his strain Than if a pyramid form'd his monumental fane. And the soft quiet hamlet where he dwelt Is one of that complexion which seems made For those who their mortahty have felt, And sought a refuge from their hopes decay'd In the deep umbrage of a green hill's shade, Which shows a distant prospect far away Of busy cities, now in vain display'd. For they can lure no further ; and the ray Of a bright sun can make suflScient holiday, XXXIII. Developing the mountains, leaves, and flowers, And shining in the brawling brook, where-by, Clear as its current, glide the sauntering hours With a calm languor, which, though to the eye Idlesse it seem, hath its morality. If from society we learn to live, 'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ; It hath no flatterers ; vanity can give No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive ; Or, it may be, with demons, who impair '' The strength of better thoughts, and seek their prey In melanclioly bosoms, such as were Of moody texture from their earhest day, And loved to dwell in darkness and dismay, Deeming themselves predestined to a doom Which is not of the pangs that pass away ; Making the sun like blood, the earth a tomb. The tomb a hell, and hell itself a murkier gloom. Ferrara! in thy wide and grass-grown streets, Whose symmetry was not for soUtude, There seems as 'twere a curse upon the seats Of former sovereigns, and the antique brood Of Este, which for many an age made good Its strength within thy walls, and was of yore Patron or tyrant, as the changing mood Of petty power impell'd, of those who wore The wreath which Dante's brow alone had worn before. And Tasso is their glory and their shame. Hark to his strain ! and then survey his cell ! And see how dearly earn'd Torquato's fame, And where Alfonso bade his poet dwell : The miserable despot could not quell The insulted mind he sought to quench, and blend With the surrounding maniacs, in the hell Where he had plunged it. Glory without end Scatter'd the clouds away — and on that name attend CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 31 The tears and praises of all time ; while thine Would rot in its oblivion — in the sink Of v/orthless dust, which from thy boasted line Is shaken into nothing ; but the linlc Thou formest in his fortunes bids us think Of thy poor malice, naming thee with scorn — Alfonso ! how thy ducal pageants shrink From thee ! if in another station born. Scarce fit to be the slave of him thou mad'st to mourn ; TJwu! form'd to eat, and be despised, and die. Even as the beasts that perish, save that thou Hadst a more splendid trough and wider sty ; He ! with a glory round his furrow'd brow, Which emanated then, and dazzles now, In face of all his foes, the Cruscan quire, And Boileau, whose rash envy could allow ^* No strain whicli shamed his country's creaking lyre, That whetstone of the teeth— monotony in wire ! XXXIX. Peace to Torquato's injured shade ! ' twas his In life and death to be the mark where Wrong Aim'd with her poison'd arrows, but to miss. Oh, victor unsurpass'd in modern song! Each year brings forth its millions ; but how long The tide of generations shall roll on, And not the whole combined and countless throng Compose a mind like thine ? though all in one Condensed their scatter'd rays, they would not form e Great as thou art, yet parallel'd by those. Thy countrymen, before thee born to shine. The Bards of Hell and Chivalry : first rose The Tuscan father's comedy divine ; Then not unequal to the Florentine, The southern Scott, the minstrel who call'd forth A new creation with his magic line. And, like the Ariosto of the North, Sang ladye-love and war, romance and knightly worth. XLI. The lightning rent from Ariosto's bust '^ The iron crown of laurel's mimic'd leaves ; Nor was the ominous element unjust. For the true laurel-wreath which Glory weaves ^° Is of the tree no bolt of thunder cleaves. And the false semblance but disgraced his brow ; Yet still, if fondly Su|)erstition grieves, KJnow, that the lightning sanctifies below 2' Whate'cr it strikes; — ^yon head is doubly sacred now. • XLII. Italia! oh Italia! thou who hast 22 The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past, On thy sweet brow is sorrow plough'd by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. Oh God! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and couidst claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and driiilc tho tears of thy distress ; • XLIII. Then might'st thou more appal ; or, less desired. Be homely and bo peaceful, und(!plorcd For thy destructive charms ; then, still untired. Would not bo seen the artnod torrents pour'd Down tho deep Alps ; nor would tho hostile liordo Of many-nation'd spoilers from tho Po Quaff blood and water ; nor tho stranger's ffword Bo thy sad weapon of defence, and so, Victor or vanquish'd, thou tho slave of friend or foo. Wandermg in youth, I traced the path of him,^^ The Roman friend of Rome's least-mortal mind, The friend of TuUy : as my bark did skim The bright blue waters with a fanning wind, Came Megara before me, and behind .^gina lay, Piraeus on the right. And Corinth on the left; I lay reclined Along the prow, and saw all these unite In ruin, even as he had seen the desolate sight ; For Time hath not rebuilt them, but uprear'd Barbaric dweUings on their shatter'd site. Which only make more mourn'd and more endear'd The few last rays of their far-scatter'd light, And the crush'd relics of their vanish'd might The Roman saw these tombs in his own age. These sepulchres of cities, which excite Sad wonder, and his yet surviving page The moral lesson bears, drawn from such pilgrimage. XL, VI. That page is now before me, and on mine His country's ruin added to the mass Of perish'd states he mourn'd m their decline, And I in desolation : all that was Of then destruction is ; and now, alas ! Rome — Rome imperial, bows her to the storm, In the same dust and blackness, and we pass The skeleton of her Titanic form,^* Wrecks of another world, whose ashes still are warm. XLVII. Yet, Italy! through every other land Thy wrongs should ring, and shall, from side to side ; Mother of Arts ! as once of arms ; thy hand Was then our guardian, and is still our guide ; Parent of our Rehgion ! whom the wide Nations have knelt to for the keys of heaven ! Europe, repentant of her parricide. Shall yet redeem thee, and, all backward driven. Roll the barbarian tide, and sue to be forgiven. XLVIII. But Arno wins us to the fair white walls, Where the Etrurian Athens claims and keeps A softer feeling for her fairy halls. Girt by her theatre of iiills, she reaps Her corn, and wine, and oil, and Plenty leaps To laughing life, with her redundant horn. Along the banks where smiling Arno sweeps Was modern Luxury of Commerce born, And buried Learning rose, redeem'd to a new morn. XLIX. There, too, the Goddess loves in stone, and fills »* The air around with beauty ; we inhale The ambrosial aspect, which, beheld, instils Part of its immortality ; the veil Of heaven is half undrawn ; witliin tho palo We stand, and in that form and face behold What mind can make, when Nature's self would fiiil ; And to the fond idolaters of old Envy tho innate flash which such a soul could mould: L. Wo gazo and turn away, and linow not where, Dazzled and drunk with beauty, till tho heart Reels with its fulness; there— for ever there— Chain'd to tho chariot of triumphal Art, Wo stand as captives, and would not depart. Away ! — there need no words, nor terms precise, Tho paltry jargon of tho marble mart, Where Pedantry gulls Folly — we have eyes: Blood— pulse— and breast, confirm the Dardan Shop- herd's prize. .32 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. Appear dst thou not to Paris in this guise? Or to more deeply blest Anchises? or, In all thy perfect goddess-ship, when lies Before thee thy own vanquish'd Lord of War ? And gazing in thy face as toward a star, Laid on thy lap, his eyes to thee upturn, Feeding on thy sweet cheek ! ^^ while thy hps are With lava kisses mehing while they burn, Shower'd on his eyelids, brow, and mouth, as from an urn ! LII. Glowing, and circumfused in speechless love, Their full divinity inadequate That feeling to express, or to improve, The gods become as mortals, and man's fate Has moments hke their brightest ; but the weight Of earth recoils upon us ; — let it go ! We can recall such visions, and create, From what has been, or might be, things which grow Into thy statue's form, and look like gods below. LIII. I leave to learned fingers, and wise hands, The artist and his ape, to teach and tell How well his connoisseurship understands The graceful bend, and the voluptuous swell : lict these describe the undescribable : I would not their vile breath should crisp the stream Wherein that image shall for ever dwell ; The unruffled mirror of the loveliest dream That ever left the sky on the deep soul to beam. LIV. In Santa Croce's holy precincts lie 2' Ashes which make it holier, dust which is Even in itself an immortaUty, Though there were nothing save the past, and this, The particle of those sublimities Which have relapsed to chaos: — here repose Angelo's, Alfteri's bones, and hisj^^ The starry Galileo, with his woes ; Here Machiavelli's earth return'd to whence it rose.^^ These are four minds, which, like the elements, Might furnish forth creation : — Italy ! [rents Time, which hath wrong'd thee with ten thousand Of thine imperial garment, shall deny, And hath denied, to every other sky, Spirits which soar from rum : — thy decay Is still impregnate with divinity, Which gilds it with revivifying ray; Such as the great of yore, Canova is to-day. But where repose the all Etruscan three — Dante, and Petrarch, and, scarce less than they. The Bard of Prose, creative spirit! he Of the Hundred Tales of love — where did they lay Their bones, distinguish'd from our common clay In death as life ? Are they resolved to dust. And have their country's marbles nought to say '? Could not her quarries furnish forth one bust? Did they not to her breast their filial earth intrust ? Ungrateful Florence ! Dante sleeps afar,^" Like Scipio, buried by the upbraiding shore ;3» Thy factions, in their worse than civil war, Proscribed the bard whose name for evermore Their children's children would in vain adore With the remorse of ages ; and the crown ^^ Which Petrarch's laureate brow supremely wore. Upon a far and foreign soil had grown, Hie life, his fame, his grave, though rifled — not thine own. Boccaccio to his parent earth bequeath'd ^3 His dust, — and lies it not her Great among, With many a sweet and solemn requiem breathed O'er him who form'd the Tuscan's siren tongue? That music in itselfj whose sounds are song, The poetry of speech ? No ; — even his tomb Uptorn, must bear the hyaena bigot's wrong, No more amidst the meaner dead find room, Nor claim a passing sigh, because it told for whom .' LIX. And Santa Croce wants their mighty dust; Yet for this want more noted, as of yore The Cassar's pageant, shorn of Brutus' bust, Did but of Rome's best Son remind her more : Happier Ravenna ! on tliy hoary shore, Fortress of falling empire ! honour'd sleeps The immortal exile ; — ^Arqua, too, her store Of tuneful relics proudly claims and keeps, While Florence vainly begs her banish'd dead and weeps. LX. What is her pyramid of precious stones ? 3* Of porphyry, jasper, agate, and all hues Of gem and marble, to encrust the bones Of merchant-dukes ? the momentary dews Which, sparkling to the twilight stai%, infuse Freshness in the green turf that wraps the dead, Whose names are mausoleums of the Muse, Are gently prest with far more reverent tread Than ever paced the slab which paves the princely head. rxi. There be more things to greet the heart and eyes In Arno's dome of Art's most princely shrine, Where Sculpture with her rainbow sister vies ; There be more marvels yet — but not for mine ; For I have been accustom'd to entwine My thoughts with Nature rather in the fields, Than Art in galleries : though a work divine Calls for my spirit's homage, yet it yields Less than it feels, because the weapon which it wields rxii. Is of another temper, and I roam By Thrasimene's lake, in the defiles Fatal to Roman rashness, more at home ; For there the Carthaginian's warlike wiles Come back before me, as his skill beguiles The host between the mountains and the shore, Where Courage falls in her despairing files, And torrents, swoln to rivers with their gore, Reek through the sultry plain, with legions scatter'd o'er, LXIII. Like to a forest fell'd by mountain winds; And such the storm of battle on this day, And such the frenzy, whose convulsion blinds To all save carnage, that, beneath the fray, An earthquake reel'd unheededly away! 3'' None felt stern Nature rocking at his feet, And yawning forth a grave for those who lay Upon their bucklers for a winding sheet ; Such is the absorbing hate when warring nations meet ! LXIV. The Earth to them was as a rolling bark Which bore them to Eternity ; they saw The Ocean round, but had no time to mark The motions of their vessel ; Nature's law, In them suspended, reck'd not of the awe Which reigns when mountains tremble, and the birds Plunge in the clouds for refuge and withdraw From their down-toppling nests ; and bellowing herds Stumbling o'er heaving plains, and man's dread hath no words. 4; CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 33 Far other scene is Thrasimene now ; Her lake a sheet of silver, and her plain Rent by no ravage save the gentle plough ; Her aged trees rise thick as once the slain Lay where their roots are ; but a brook hath ta'en — A httle rill of scanty stream and bed — A name of blood from that day's sanguine rain ; And Sanguinetto tells ye where the dead Made the earth wet, and tum'd the unwilling waters red. I-XVI. But thou, Clitumnus ! in thy sweetest wave '^ Of the most living crystal that was e'er The haunt of river nymph, to gaze and lave Her limbs where nothing- hid them, thou dost rear Thy grassy bftnks whereon the milk-nvhite Steer Grazes ; the purest god of gentle waters ! And most serene of aspect, and most clear ; Surely that stream was unprofaned by slaughters — A mirror and a bath for Beauty's youngest daughters ! LXVII. And on thy happy shore a temple still, Of small and deUcate proportion, keeps, Upon a mild declivity of hill, Its memory of thee ; beneath it sweeps Thy current's calmness ; oft from out it leaps The finny darter with the glittering scales. Who dwells and revels in thy glassy deeps ; While, chance, some scatter'd water-lily sails [tales. Down where the shallower wave still tells its bubbling Lxviir. Pass not unblest the Genius of the place ! If through the air a zephyr more serene Win to the brow, 'tis his ; and if ye trace Along his margin a more eloquent green. If on the heart the freshness of the scene Sprinkle its coolness, and from the dry dust Of weary life a moment lave it clean With Nature's baptism, — ^'tis to him ye must Pay orisons for this suspension of disgust. LXIX. The roar of waters ! — from the headlong height Vclino cleaves the wave-worn precipice ; The fall of waters ! rapid as the hght The flashing mass foams shaking the abyss ; The hell of waters ! where they how\ and hiss. And boil in endless torture ; while the sweat Of their great agony, wrung out from this Their Phlcgcthon, curls round the rocks of jet That gird the gulf around, in pitiless horror set, LXX. And mounts in spray the skies, and thence again Returns in an unceasing shower, which round. With its unemptied cloud of gentle rain, Is an eternal April to the ground. Making it all one emerald : — how profound The gulf! and how the giant element From rock to rock leaps with delirious bound, Crushing the cliffs, which, downward worn and rent With his fierce footsteps, yield in chasms a fearful vent LXXI. To the broad column which rolls on, and shows More like the fountain of an infant sea Torn from the womb of mountains by the throes Of a new world, than only thus to bo Parent of rivers, wliich How gushingly, Witli many windings, through Uio vale : — Look back ! Lo ! where it comes like an eternity. As if lo sweep d fading light Dim o'(>r the bird of darkness' native site, Answering each other on the Palatine, With their largo eyes, all glistening gray and bright, And sailing pinions. — Upon such a shrine What arc our [letty griefs? — lot me not number mine. 36 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CVII. Cypress and ivy, weed and wallflower grown Matted and mass'd together, hillocks heap'd On what were chambers, arch crush'd, column strown In fragments, choked up vaults, and frescos steep'd In subterranean damps, where the owl peep'd, Deeming it midnight : — Temples, baths, or halls ? Pronounce who can ; for all that Learning reap'd From her research hath been, that these are walls — Behold the Imperial Mount! 'tis thus the mighty falls." CVIII. There is the moral of all human tales ',^^ 'Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory — when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption, — ^barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast. Hath but one page, — 'tis better written here. Where gorgeous Tyrarmy had thus amass'd All treasures, all dehghts, that eye or ear, Heart, soul could seek, tongue ask Away with words ! draw near, cix. Admire, exult— despise — ^laugh, weep, — for here There is such matter for all feeling : — ^Man ! Thou pendulum betwixt a smile and tear. Ages and realms are crowded in this span. This mountain, whose obUterated plan The pyramid of empires pinnacled. Of Glory's gewgaws shining in the van Till the sun's rays with added flame were fill'd ! Where are its golden roofs ? where those who dared to build? ex. Tully was not so eloquent as thou, Thou nameless column with the buried base ! What are the laurels of the Caesar's brow? Crown me with ivy from his dwelling-place. Whose arch or pillar meets me in the face, Titus or Trajan's? No— 'tis that of Time: Triumph, arch, pillar, all he doth displace Scoffing; and apostolic statues climb To crush the imperial urn, whose ashes slept sublime,*' CXI. Buried in air, the deep blue sky of Rome, And looking to the stars : they had contain'd A spirit which with these would find a home, The last of those who o'er the whole earth reign'd, The Roman globe, for afl:er none sustain'd. But yielded back his conquests : — ^he was more Than a mere Alexander, and, unstain'd With household blood and wine, serenely wore His sovereign virtues — still we Trajan's name adore.** CXII. Where is the rock of Triumph, the high place Where Rome embraced her heroes ? where the steep Tarpeian? fittest goal of Treason's race, The promontory whence the Traitor's Leap Cured all ambition. Did the conquerors heap Their spoils here ? Yes ; and in yon field bfelow, A thousand years of silenced factions sleep— The Forum, where the immortal accents glow. And still the eloquent air breathes — burns with Cicero ! CXIII. The field of freedom, faction, fame, and blood : Here a proud people's passion's were exhaled, From the first hour of empire in the bud To that when further worlds to conquer fail'd ; But long before had Freedom's face been veil'd. And Anarchy assumed her attributes ; Till every lawless soldier who assail'd Trod on the trembhng senate's slavish mutes, Or raised the venal voice of baser prostitutes. Then turn we to her latest tribune's name, From her ten thousand tyrants turn to thee, Redeemer of dark centuries of shame — The friend of Petrarch — hope of Italy — Rienzi ! last of Romans ! While the tree ** Of freedom's wither'd trunk puts forth a lea^ Even for thy tomb a garland let it be — The forum's champion, and the people's chief— Her new-born Numa thou — with reign, alas ! too brief, cxv, Egeria! sweet creation of some heart *^ Which found no mortal resting-place so fair As thine ideal breast ; whate'er thou art Or wert, — a young Aurora of the air. The nympholepsy of some fond despair ; Or, it might be, a beauty of the earth, Who found a more than common votary there Too much adoring ; whatsoe'er thy birth. Thou wert a beautiflil thought, and softly bodied forth. CXVI. The mosses of thy fountain still are sprinlded With thine Elysian water-drops ; the face Of thy cave-guarded spring, with years unwrinlded. Reflects the meek-eyed genius of the place, Whose green, wild margin now no more erase Art's works ; nor must the delicate waters sleep, Prison'd in marble, bubbling from the base Of the cleft statue, with a gentle leap The rill runs o'er, and round, fern, flowers, and ivy, creep CXVII. Fantastically tangled ; the green hills Are clothed vsdth early blossoms, through the grass The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the bills Of summer-birds sing welcome as ye pass ; Flowers fresh in hue, and many in their class^ Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ; The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes, Kiss'd by the breath of heaven, seems colour'd by its skies. CXVIII. Here didst thou dwell, in this enchanted cover, Egeria ! thy all heavenly bosom beating For the far footsteps of thy mortal lover ; The purple Midnight veil'd that mystic meeting With her most starry canopy, and seating Thyself by thine adorer, what befell ? This cave was surely shaped out for the greeting Of an enamoured Goddess, and the cell Haunted by holy Love — the earUest oracle 1 And didst thou not, thy breast to his replying, Blend a celestial with a human heart; And Love, which dies as it was bom, in sighing. Share with immortal transports ? could thine art Make them indeed immortal, and impart The purity of heaven to earthly joys. Expel the venom and not blunt the dart — The dull satiety which all destroys — And root from out the soul the deadly weed which cloys ? cxx. Alas ! our young aflfections run to waste. Or water but the desert ; whence arise But weeds of dark luxuriance, tares of haste, Rank at the core, though tempting to the eyes, Flowers whose wild odours breathe but agonies, And trees whose gums are poison ; such the plants Which spring beneath her steps as Passion flies O'er the world's wilderness, and vainly pants For some celestial fruit forbidden to our wants. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 37 Oh Love ! no habitant of earth thou art — An unseen seraph, we beUeve in thee, A faith whose martyrs are the broken heart, . But never yet hath seen, nor e'er shall see The naked eye, thy form, as it should be ; The mind hath made thee, as it peopled heaven, Even with its own desiring phantasy. And to a thought such shape and image given, As haunts the unquench'd soul — parch'd — wearied — wrung — and riven. cxxn Of its own beauty is the mind diseased, And fevers into false creation : — where, Where are the forms the sculptor's soul hath seized ? In him alone. Can Nature show so fair? Where are the charms and virtues which we dare Conceive in boyhood and pursue as men, The unreach'd Paradise of our despair. Which o'er-informs the pencil and the pen, And overpowers the page where it would bloom again Who loves, raves — ^"tis youth's frenzy — ^but the cure Is bitterer still ; as charm by charm unwinds Which robed our idols, and we see too sure Nor worth nor beauty dwells from out the mind's Ideal shape of such ; yet still it binds The fatal spell, and still it draws us on. Reaping the whirlwind from the ofc-sown winds ; The stubborn heart, its alchemy begun, Seems ever near the prize — wealthiest when most undone. ^*'*'*^ CXXIV. We wither from our youth, we gasp away — Sick — sick ; unfound the boon — unslaked the thirst, Though to the last, in verge of our decay, Some phantom lures, such as we sought at first — But all too late, — so are we doubly curst. Love, fame, ambition, avarice — 'tis the same, Each idle — and all ill — and none the worst — For all are meteors with a different name, And Death the sable smoke where vanishes the flame. cxxv. Few — none — find what they love or could have loved, Though accident, blind contact, and the strong Necessity of loving, have removed Antipathies — but to recur, ere long, Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong; And Circumstance, that unspiritual god And miscrcator, makes and helps along Our coming evils with a crutch-like rod, [trod. Whose touch turns Hope to dust, — the dust we all have cxxvi. Our life is a false nature — 'tis not in The harmony of things, — this hard decree, This uneradicablc taint of sin, Tliis boundless upas, this all-blasting tree, Whose root is earth, whose leaves and branches be The skies which rain their plagues on men like dew — Disease, death, bondage — all tlie woes we sec — And worse, the woes we see not — which throb through The immedicable soul, with heart-aches ever new. cxxvii. Yet let us ponder boldly — 'tis a base ''"' Abandonment of reason to resign Our riglit of thought — our last and only place Of refuge ; this, at least, shall still be mine : Though from our birtli the faculty divine Is cliain'd and tortured — cabin'd, cribb'd, confined, And bred in darkness, lest tlio truth should sluno Too brightly on the unprepared mind. The beam pours in, for time and skill will couch the blind. CXXVIII. Arches on arches ! as it were that Rome, Collecting the chief trophies of her line. Would build up all her triumphs in one dome. Her Coliseum stands ; the moonbeams shine As 'twere its natural torches, for divine Should be the light which streams here, to illume This long-explored but still exhaustless mine Of contemplation ; and the azure gloom Of an Italian night, where the deep skies assume cxxix. Hues which have words, and speak to ye of heaven, Floats o'er this vast and wondrous monument. And shadows forth its glory. There is given Unto the things of earth, which Time hath bent, A spirit's feeling, and where he hath leant His hand, but broke his scythe, there is a power And magic in tlie ruin'd battlement. For which the palace of the present hour Must yield its pomp, and wait till ages are its dower. cxxx. Oh Time ! the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled — Time ! the corrector where our judgments err. The test of truth, love, — sole philosopher, For ail beside are sophists, from thy thrift, Which never loses though it doth defer — Time, the avenger ! unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift : cxxxi. Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate, Among thy mightier offerings here are mine. Ruins of years — though few, yet full of fate : — If thou hast ever seen me too elate, Hear me not ; but if calmly I have borne Good, and reserved my pride against the hate Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn This iron in my soul in vain — shall they not mourn? cxxxir. And thou, who never yet of human wrong Left the unbalanced scale, great Nemesis ! ^^ Here, where the ancient paid thee homage long — Thou who didst call the Furies from the abyss. And round Orestes bade them howl and hiss. For that unnatural retribution — just, Had it but been from hands less near — in tliis Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust ! Dost thou not hear my heart ? — Awake ! thou shalt, and must. CXXXIII. It is not that I may not have incurred For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed witlial, and, had it been conforr'd With a just weapon, it had How'd unbound ; But now my blood shall not sink in the ground ; To diee I do devote it — thou shalt talte The vengeance, which shall yet be sought and found, Which if / have not taken fi)r the sake But let that pass — I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. CXXXIV. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now I shrink from what is sutfcr'd: let him speak Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, Or seen my mind's convulsion lt>ave it weaJv ; But in this |)age a record will I seek. Not in iho air shall these my wonls disperse, Though I be ashes ; a far hour shall wreoli The deep prophetic fiilness of this vcrsr, And pile on human heads tlie mountain of my curse ! 38 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. cxxxv. That curse shall be Forgiveness. — Have I not — Hear me, my mother Earth ! behold it, Heaven !— Have I not had to wrestle with my lot '/ Have I not suffer'd things to be forgiven? Have I not had my brain sear'd, my heart riven, Hopes sapp'd, name blighted. Life's life lied away ? And only not to desperation driven. Because not altogether of such clay As rots into the souls of those whom I survey. cxxxvi. From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy Have I not seen what human things could do ? From the loud roar of foaming calumny To the small whisper of the as paltry few, And subtler venom of the reptile crew, The Janus glance of whose significant eye. Learning to he with silence, would seem true. And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh. Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy. But I have Uved, and have not lived in vain: My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain ; But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire ; Something unearthly, which they deem not of. Like the remember'd tone of a mute lyre. Shall on their soften'd spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love. CXXXVIII. The seal is set. — Now welcome, thou dread power ! Nameless, yet thus omnipotent, which here Walk'st in the shadow of the midnight hour With a deep awe, yet all distinct from fear ; Thy haunts are ever where the dead walls rear Their ivy mantles, and the solemn scene Derives from thee a sense so deep and clear That we become a part of what has been, And grow unto the spot, all-seeing but unseen. CXXXIX. And here the buzz of eager nations ran. In murmur'd pity, or loud-roar'd applause, As man was slaughter'd by his fellow man. And wherefore slaughter'd ? wherefore, but because Such were the bloody Circus' genial laws. And the imperial pleasure. — Wherefore not? What matters where we fall to fill the maws Of worms — on battle-plains or listed spot? Both are but theatres where the chief actors rot. CXL. I see before me the Gladiator lie : ^^ He leans upon his hand — his manly brow Consents to death, but conquers agony. And his droop'd head sinks gradually low — And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one. Like the first of a thunder- shower ; and now The arena swims around him — he is gone, Ere ceased the inliuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. CXLI. He heard it, but he heeded not — his eyes Were v/ith his heart, and that was far away. He reck'd not of the lif? he lost nor prize. But where his rude hut by the Danube lay. There were liis young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holiday — '"'° All tliis rush'd with his blood — Shall he expire And unavenged ? — Arise ! ye Goths, and glut your ire ! But here, where Murder breathed her bloody steam ; And here, where buzzing nations choked the ways, And roar'd or murmur'd like a mountain stream Dashing or winding as its torrent strays ; Here, where the Roman milUon's blame or praise Was death or life, the playthings of a crowd,^i My voice sounds much — and fall the stars' faint rays On the arena void — seats crush'd — walls bow'd — And galleries, where my steps seem echoes strangely loud. CXLIII. A ruin — ^yet what ruin ! from its mass Walls, palaces, half-cities, have been rear'd ; Yet oft the enormous skeleton ye pass, And marvel where the spoil could have appear'd. Hath it indeed been plunder'd, or but clear'd ? Alas ! developed, opens the decay, When the colossal fabric's form is near'd : It will not bear the brightness of the day, [away. Which streams too much on all years, man, have reft CXLIV. But when the rising moon begins to cHmb Its topmost arch, and gently pauses there ; When the stars twinkle through the loops of time, And the low night-breeze waves along the air The garland-forest, which the gray walls wear, Like laurels on the bald first Caesar's head 5^^ When the hght shines serene but doth not glare, Then in this magic circle raise the dead : Heroes have trod this spot — 'tis on their dust ye tread. CXLV, "While stands the Coliseum, Rome shall stand :^' "When falls the CoUseum, Rome shall fall; [land " And when Rome falls — the World." From our own Thus spake the pilgrims o'er this mighty wall In Saxon times, which we are wont to call Ancient ; and these three mortal things are still On their foundations, and unalter'd all ; Rome and her Ruin past Redemption's skill, [will. The World, the same wide den — of thieves, or what ye CXLVI. Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime — Shrine of all saints and temple of all gods. From Jove to Jesus — spared and blest by time ;^'^ Looking tranquillity, while falls or nods Arch, empire, each thing round thee, and man plods His way through thorns to ashes — glorious dome ! Shalt thou not last ? Time's scythe and tyrants' rods Shiver upon thee — sanctuary and home Of art and piety — Pantheon ! — ^pride of Rome ! CXL VII. Relic of nobler days, and noblest arts ! Despoil'd yet perfect, with thy circle spreads A holiness appealing to all hearts — To art a model ; and to him who treads Rome for the sake of ages. Glory sheds Her Ught through thy sole aperture ; to those Who worship, here are altars for their beads ; And they who feel for genius may repose Their eyes on honour'd forms, whose busts around them close.*^* CXLVIII. There is a dungeon, in whose dim drear light «* What do I gaze on? Nothing: Look again! Two forms are slowly shadow'd on my sight — Two insulated phantoms of the brain : It is not so ; I see them full and plain — An old man, and a female young and fair, Fresh as a nursing mother, in whose vein The blood is nectar : — but what doth she there, Witli her unmantled neck, and bosom white and bare ? CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 39 Full swells the deep pure fountain of young life, Where on the heart and /rom the heart we took Our first and sweetest nurture, when the wife, Blest into mother, in the innocent look, Or even the piping cry of hps that brook No pain and small suspense, a joy perceives Man Imows not, when from out its cradled nook She sees her little bud put forth its leaves — [Eve's. What may the fruit be yet? — I know not — Cain was CL. But here youth offers to old age the food, The milk of his own gift : — it is her sire To whom she renders back the debt of blood Bom with her birth. No ; he shall not expire While in those warm and lovely veins the fire Of health and holy feeling can provide Great Nature's Nile, whose deep stream rises higher Than Egypt's river : — from that gentle side Drink, drink and live, old man ! Heaven's realm holds no such tide. CLI. The starry fable of the milky way Has not thy story's purity ; it is A constellation of a sweeter ray, And sacred Nature triumphs more in this Reverse of her decree, than in the abyss Where sparkle distant worlds : — Oh, holiest nurse ! No drop of that clear stream its way shall miss To thy sire's heart, replenishing its source With life, as our freed souls rejoin the universe. CLII. Turn to the Mole which Hadrian rear'd on high,^' Imperial mimic of old Egypt's piles. Colossal copyist of deformity, Whose travell'd phantasy from the far Nile's Enormous model, doom'd the artist's toils To build for giants, and for his vain earth, His shrunken ashes, raise this dome : How smiles The gazer's eye with philosophic mirth. To view the huge design which sprung from such a birth ! CLIII. But lo ! the dome — the vast and wondrous domej'^s To which Diana's marvel was a cell — Christ's mighty shrine above his martyr's tomb ! I have beheld the Ephesian's miracle — Its columns strew the wilderness, and dwell The hyaena and the jackall in their shade ; I have beheld Sophia's bright roofs swell Their glittering mass i' the sun, and have survey'd Its sanctuary the while the usurping Moslem pray'd ; CUV. But thou, of temples old, or altars new, Standest alone — with nothing like to thee — Worthiest of God, the holy and the true. Since Zion's desolation, when that He Forsook his former city, what could be. Of earthly structures, in his honour piled. Of a sublimer aspect? Majesty, Power, Glory, Strength, and Beauty, all arc aisled In this eternal ark of worship undcfiled. CLV. Enter : its grandeur overwhelms thee not ; And why? it is not lessen'd; but thy mind, Expanded by the genius of the spot. Has grown colossal, and can only find A fit abode wherein appear enshrined Thy hopes of immortality ; and thou Shalt one day, if found worthy, so defined, See thy God face to face, as Uiou dost now His Holy of Holies, nor be blasted by his brow. Thou movest — but increasing with the advance. Like climbing some great Alp, which still doth rise, Deceived by its gigantic elegance 5 Vastness which grows — ^but grows to harmonize — All musical in its immensities ; Rich marbles — richer painting — shrines where flame The lamps of gold — and haughty dome which vies In air with Earth's chief structures, though their frame Sits on the firm-set ground — and this the clouds must claiiTi, CLVII. Thou seest not all ; but piecemeal thou must break, To separate contemplation, the great whole ; And as the ocean many bays will make. That ask the eye — so here condense thy soul To more immediate objects, and control Thy thoughts until thy mind hath got by heart Its eloquent proportions, and unroll In mighty graduations, part by part, The glory which at once upon thee did not dart, cLViir. Not by its fault — but thine : Our outward sense Is but of gradual grasp — and as it is That what we have of feeling most intense Outstrips our faint expression ; even so this Outshining and o'erwhelming edifice Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great Defies at first our Nature's littleness. Till, growing with its growth, we thus dilate Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate. CLIX, Then pause, and be enhghten'd ; there is more In such a survey than the sating gaze Of wonder pleased, or awe which would adore The worship of the plaoe, or the mere praise Of art and its great masters, who could raise What former time, nor slcill, nor thought could plan ; The fountain of subUmity displays Its depth, and thence may draw the mind of man Its golden sands, and learn what great conceptions can. CLX. Or, turning to the Vatican, go see Laocoon's torture dignifyin* pain — A fadier's love and mortal's agony With an immortal's patience blending : — Vain The struggle ; vain, against the coiling strain And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp. The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links, — the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. CLXI. Or view the Lord of the unerring bow, The God of life, and poesy, and light — The Sun in human limbs array'd, and brow All radiant from his triumph in the fight; The shaft hath just been shot — the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance ; in his eye And nostril beautiful disdain, and might And majesty, flash their full lightnings by. Developing in that one glance the Deity. CLXII. But in his delicate form — a dream of Love, Shaped by some solitary nym|)h, whoso breast Long'd for a deathloss lover from above, And madden'il in tliat vision — arc oxprest All that ideal beauty over bloss'd Tlio mind with iii its most unearthly mood, When each conception was a heavenly guest— A ray of immortality — and stood, Starlilto, around, until ihoy gathered to a god ! 40 CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. And if it be Prometheus stole from Heaven The fire which we endure, it was repaid By him to whom the energy was given Which this poetic marble hath array'd With an eternal glory — which, if rrtade By human hands, is not of human thought ; And Time himself hath hallow'd it, nor laid One ringlet in the dust — nor hath it caught A tinge of years, but breathes the flame with vrhich 'twas wrought. CLXIV. But where is he, the Pilgrim of my song, The being who upheld it through the past ? Methinks he cometh late and tarries long. He is no more — these breathings are his last ; His wanderings done, his visions ebbing fast, And he himself as nothing : — if he was Aught but a phantasy, and could be class'd With forms which hve and suffer — ^let that pass— His shadow fades away into Destruction's mass, CLXV. Which gathers shadow, substance, Ufe, and all That we inherit in its mortal shroud, And spreads the dim and universal pall [cloud Through which all things grow phantoms ; and the Between us sinks and all which ever glow'd, Till Glory's self is twilight, and displays A melancholy halo scarce allow'd To hover on the verge of darkness ; rays Sadder than saddest night, for they distract the gaze, CLXVI. And send us prying into the abyss. To gather what we shall be when the frame Shall be resolved to something less than this Its wretched essence; and to dream of fame, And wipe the dust from off the idle name We never more shall hear, — but never more. Oh, happier thought ! can we be made the same': It is enough in sooth that once we bore These fardels of the heart — the heart whose sweat was gore. CLXVII. Hark ! forth from the abyss a voice proceeds, A long low distant murmur of dread sound, Such as arises when a nation bleeds With some deep and immedicable wound ; [ground. Through storm and darkness yawns the rending The gulf is thick with phantoms, but the chief Seems royal still, though with her head discrown'd, And pale, but lovely, with maternal grief She clasps a babe, to whom her breast yields no relief. CLXVIII. Scion of chiefs and monarchs, where art thou ? Fond hope of many nations, art thou dead ? Could not the grave forget thee, and lay low Some less majestic, less beloved head? In the sad midnight, while thy heart still bled. The mother of a moment, o'er thy boy. Death hush'd that pang for ever : with thee fled The present happiness and promised joy Which fill'd the imperial isles so full it seem'd to cloy. CLXIX. Peasants bring forth in safety. — Can it be, Oh thou that v/ert so happy, so adored ! Those who weep not for kings shall weep for thee. And Freedom's heart, grown heavy, cease to hoard Her many griefs for One ; for she had pour'd Her orisons for thee, and o'er thy head Beheld her Iris. — Thou, too, lonely lord, And desolate consort — vainly wert thou wed ! The husband of a year ! the father of the dead ! CLXX. Of sackcloth was thy wedding garment made ; Thy bridal's fruit is ashes : in the dust The fair-hair'd Daughter of the Isles is laid. The love of miUions ! How we did intrust Futurity to her ! and, though it must Darken above our bones, yet fondly deem'd Our children should obey her child, and bless'd Her and her hoped-for seed, whose promise seem'd Like stars to shepherds' eyes: — 'twas but a meteor beam'd. CI-XXI. Wo unto us, not her ; for she sleeps well : The fickle reek of popular breath, the tongue Of hollow counsel, the false oracle. Which from the birth of monarchy hath rung Its knell in princely ears, till the o'erstung Nations have arm'd in madness, the strange fate ^' Which tumbles mightiest sovereigns, and hath flung Against their blind omnipotence a weight Within the opposing scale, which cruishes soon or late, — CLXXII. These might have been her destiny ; but no. Our hearts deny it : and so young, so fair. Good without effort, great without a foe ; But now a bride and mother — and now there 1 How many ties did that stern moment tear ! From thy Sire's to his humblest subject's breast Is link'd the electric chain of that despair. Whose shock was as an earthquake's, and opprest The land which loved thee so that none could love thee best. cLXxm. '° Lo, Nemi ! navell'd in the woody hills So far, that the uprooting wind which tears The oak from his foundation, and which spills The ocean o'er its boundary, and bears Its foam against the sides, reluctant spares The oval mirror of thy glassy lake ; And, cahn as cherish'd hate, its surface wears A deep cold settled aspect nought can shake. All coil'd into itself and round, as sleeps the snake. CLXXIV. And near Albano's scarce divided waves Shine from a sister valley ; — and afar The Tiber winds, and the broad ocean laves The Latian coast where sprang the Epic war, "Arms and the Man," whose re-ascending star Rose o'er an empire : — but beneath thy right, Tully reposed from Rome ; — and where yon bar Of girdling mountains intercepts the sight The Sabine farm was tiU'd, the weary bard's delight.'' CLXXV. But I forget. — My Pilgrmi's shrine is won, And he and I must part, — so let it be, — His task and mine alike are nearly done ; Yet once more let us look upon the sea ; The midland ocean breaks on him and me, And from the Alban Mount we now behold Our friend of youth, that ocean, which when we Beheld it last by Calpe's rock unfold Those waves, we follow'd on till the dark Euxine roU'd CLXXVI. Upon the blue Symplegades : long years — Long, though not very many, since have done Their work on both ; some suffering and some tears Have left us nearly where we had begim: Yet not in vain our mortal race hath run. We have had our reward — and it is here ; That we can yet feci gladden'd by the sun. And reap from earth, sea, joy almost as dear As if there were no man to trouble what is clear. CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. 41 Oh ! that the Desert were my dwelling-place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That 1 might all forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her ! Ye Elements ! — in whose ennobling stir I feel myself exalted — Can ye not Accord me such a being? Do 1 err In deeming such inhabit many a spot ? Though with them to converse can rarely be our lot. CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep Sea, and music in its roar : I love not Man the less, but Nature more, From these our interviews, in which T steal From all I may be, or have been before. To mingle with the Universe, and feel What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. CLXXIX. Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; Man marks the earth with ruin — his control Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, When, for a moment, like ^a. drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown. CLXXX. His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee ; the vile strength he wields For earth's destruction thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies. And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And howling, to his Gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay. And dashest him again to earth : — there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals. The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title talic Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war ; These are thy toys, and, as Iho snowy flake. They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alilie the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. F CLxxxri. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters wasted them while they were free, And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay Has dried up realms to deserts : — not so thou, Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play — Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow — Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now. CLXXXIII. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time. Calm or convulsed — in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving ; — boundless, endless, and sublime — The image of Eternity — the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy sHme The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone Obeys thee ; thou goesl forth, dread, fathomless, alone. CLXXXIV. And I have loved thee, Ocean ! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee. And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane— as I do here. CLXXXV My task is done — my song hath ceased — my theme Has died into an echo ; it is fit The spell should break of this protracted dream. The torch sliall be extinguish'd which hath lit My midnight lamp— and what is writ, is writ, — Would It were worthier ! but I am not now That which I have been — and my visions flit Less palpably before me — and the glow Which in my spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low. CLXXXVI. Farewell ! a word that must bo, and hatJi been— A sound which makes us linger ; — yet — farewell ! Ye ! who have traced the Pilgrim to the scene Which is his last, if in your memories dwell A thought which once was his, if on ye swell A single recollection, not in vain He wore his sandal-shoon, and scalloi>shcll ; Farewell ! witli him alone may rest the pain, rf such there were — with i/ou, the moral of his strain! JNOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE. CANTO 1. 1. Ves ! sighed oW Delphi^s long deserted shrine. Stanza i. line 6. The little village of Castri stands partly on the site of Delphi. Along the path of the mountain, from Chrysso, are the remains of sepulchres hewn in and from the rock. " One," said the guide, " of a king who broke his neck hunthig." His majesty had certainly chosen the fittest spot for such an achievement. A little above Castri is a cave, supposed the Pythian, of immense depth ; the upper part of it is paved, and now a cow-hou.se. On the other side of Castri stands a Greek monas- tery ; some way above which is the cleft in the rock, with a range of caverns difficult of ascent, and appa- rently leading to the interior of the mountain ; probably to theCorycian Cavern mentioned by Pausanias. From this part descend the fountain and the "Dews of CastaUe." 2. And rest ye at our "Lady''s house ofwo.''^ Stanza xx. line 4. The Convent of " Our Lady of Punishment," Nossa Scnora de Pena*, on the summit of the rock. Below, at some distance, is the Cork Convent, where St. Honorius dug his den, over which is his epitaph. From the hills, the sea adds to the beauty of the view. 3. Throughout this purple land, where law secures not life. Stanza xxi. Ime last. It is a well known fact, that in the year 1809 the assassinations in the streets of Lisbon and its vicinity were not confined by the Portuguese to their country- men ; but that Englislimen were daily butchered : and so far from redress being obtained, we were requested not to interfere if we perceived any compatriot defend- ing himself against his allies. I was once stopped in the way to the theatre at eight o'clock in the evening, when the streets were not more empty than they gene- rally are at that hour, opposite to an open shop and in a carriage with a friend ; had we not fortunately been armed, I have not the least doubt that we should have adorned a tale instead of telliiig one. The crime of assassination is not confined to Portugal : in Sicily and Malta we are knocked on the head at a handsome average nightly, and not a Sicilian or Maltese is ever punished ! 4. Behold the hall where chiefs were late convened ! Stanza x.\.iv. line I. The Convention of Cintra was signed in the palace of the Marchese Marialva. The late exploits of Lord Wellington have effaced the follies of Cintra. He has, indeed, done wonders; he has perhaps changed the character of a nation, reconciled rival superstitions, and baffled an enemy who never retreated before his predecessors. 5. Yet Mafra shaU one moment claim delay. Stanza xxlx. line \. * Since ihe publication of this poem, I Imvc been informed of the misapprehension of the term Nossa Senora de Pcruz. It was owing to the wont of the tilde, or mark over tlie n, which altars the bignification of the word : with it, Pena signifies a rock; without it, Peiw. has the sense 1 adopted. I do not think it necessary to alter the passage, as though the common acceptation affixed to it is " Our Lady of the Rock," 1 may well assume the other sense from the severities practised there The extent of Mafra is prodigious ; it contauis a palace, convent, and most superb church. The six organs are the most beautiful I ever beheld, in point of decoration •, we record of what Athens was, and the certainty of what she now is. This theatre of contention between mighty factions, of the struggles of orators, the exaltation and deposi- tion of tyrants, the triumph and punishment of generals, is now become a scene of petty intrigue and perpetual disturbance, between the bickering agents of certain British nobility and gentry. "The wild foxes, the owls and serpents in the ruins of Babylon," were surely less degrading than such inhabitants. The Turks have the plea of conquest for their tyranny, and the Greeks have only suffered the fortune of war, incidental to the bravest; but how are the mighty fallen, when two painters contest the privilege of plundering the Par- thenon, and triumph in turn, according to the tenor of each succeeding firman ! Sylla could but punish, Philip subdue, and Xerxes burn Athens; but it re- mained for the paltry antiquarian, and his despicable agents, to render her contemptible as himself and his pursuits. The Parthenon, before its destruction in part, by fire during the Venetian siege, had been a temple, a church, and a mosque. In eacn point of view it is an object of regard : it changed its worshippers ; but still it was a place of worship thrice sacred to devotion : its viola- tion is a triple sacrilege. But " Man, vain man, Drest in a little brief authority, Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven As make the angels weep." 3. Far on the solitary shore he sleeps. Stanza v. line 2. It was not always the custom of the Greeks to burn their dead ; the greater Ajax, in particular, was interred entire. Almost all the chiefs became gods after their decease ; and he was indeed neglected, who had not annual games near his tomb, or festivals in honour of his memory by his countrymen, as Achilles, Brasidas, &c. and at last even Antinous, whose death was as he- roic as his life was infamous. 4. Here, son of Saturn ! was thy fav'rite throne. Stanza x. line 3. The temple of Jupiter Olympius, of which sixteen columns, entirely of marble, yet survive: originally there were 150. These columns, however, are by many supposed to belong to the Pantheon, 5. And bear these altars jaW the long-reluctant brine. Stanza xi. line last. The ship was wrecked in the Archipelago. 6. To rive what Goth, and Turk,, and Time hath spared. Stanza xii. line 2. At this moment, (January 3, 1809,) besides what has been already deposited in London, an Hydriot vessel is in the Pyricus to receive every portable relic. Thus, as 1 heard a young Greek observe, in common with many of his countrymen — for, lost as they are, they yet feel on this occasion — thus may Lord Elgin boast of having ruined Athens. An Italian painter of the first eminence, named Lusieri, is the agent of d(^vasta- tion ; and like the Gicck fndcr of Verresin Sicily, who followed the same profession, he has proved the able instrument of pUmdcr. Between this artist and the French Consul Fauvel, who wishes to rescue the re- mains for his own government, there is now a violent dispute concerning a car employed in their conveyance, the wheel of which — I wish llioy were both broken upon it — has been locked up by the Consul, and Lusieri has laid his complaint before the Waywode. Lord Elgin has been exlrenioly happy is his choice of Signor Lusieri. During a residence of ton years in Athens, ho never had tlie curiosity to proceed as far as Suiiium,* • NowCu|iuCi>l.inmi. In nil AKicii, it wc cxociil Allinm ilsdf ami Mnrailion, tliore U no sceno more inlei'ollng limn Cii|'<' ''i'l'''"i >■ To the uutlutiai-y nnil iii'tiHt, Rixtovii coliinins nit) un ini'vl ' >'' ohitnrviUKiu niul (IvHi-rii ; (d Uu< pliiliMiophcr, tho «ii|'i "i- of riuto'u coiivcrmitiouB will not bo iinwclconiP : nnil ' ' ■• slnick with Um beaiily of Ihopiosiiccl over " A/t* .'/"..' „^'i'» -^./i." Imt rormi Eiigli»limaii,ColouimhOiycl an luUliUiuial iiitm«t, 44 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. till he accompanied us in our second excursion. How- ever, his works, as far as ihey go, are most beautiful ; but they are almost all unfinished. While he and his patrons confine themselves to tasting medals, apprecia- ting cameos, sketching columns, and cheapening gems, their little absurdities are as harmless as insect or fox- hunting, maiden speechifying, barouche-driving, or any such pastime ; but when they carry away three or four shiploads of the most valuable and massy relics that time and barbarism have left to the most injured and most celebrated of cities ; when they destroy, in a vain attempt to tear down, those works which have been the admiration of ages, I know no motive which can excuse, no name which can designate, the perpetrators of this dastardly devastation. It was not the least of the crimes laid to the charge of Verres, that he had plundered Si- cily, in the manner since imitated at Athens. The most unblushing impudence could hardly go farther than to affix the name of its plunderer to the walls of the Acropohs ; while the wanton and useless defacement of the whole range of the basso-relievos, in one com- partment of the temple, will never permit that name to be pronounced by an observer without execration. On this occasion I speak impartially : I am not a col- lector or admirer of collections, consequently no rival ; but I have some early prepossession in favour of Greece, and do not think the honour of England advanced by plunder, whether of India or Attica. Another noble Lord has done better, because he has done less : but some others, more or less noble, yet " all honourable men," have done best, because, after a deal of excavation and execration, bribery to the Waywode, mining and countermining, they have done nothing at all. \Ve had such ink-shed, and wine-shed, which al- most ended in bloodshed! Lord E.'s "prig" — see Jona- than Wylde for the definition of " priggism" — quarrelled with another, Gropius* by name, (a very good name too for his business,) and muttered something about sa- tisfaction, in a verbal answer to a note of the poor Prus- sian : this was stated at table to Gropius, who laughed, but could eat no dinner afterwards. The rivals were not reconciled when I left Greece. I have reason to remember their squabble, for they wanted to make me their arbitrator. 7. Hei- sons too weak the sacred shrine to guard, Yet felt some portion of their mother's pains. Stanza xii. lines 7 and 8. I cannot resist availing myself of the permission of my friend Dr. Clarke, whose name requires no com- ment with the public, but whose sanction will add ten- fold weight to my testimony, to insert the following ex tract from a very obliging letter of his to me, as a note to the above lines. " When the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving of it, great part of the super- structure with one of the trigiyph^was thrown down by the workmen whom Lord Elgin employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe from his mouth, dropped a tear, and, in a supplica- ting tone of voice, said to Lusicri, T/Xoj ! — I was pre- sent." The Disdar alluded to was the father of the present Disdar. 8. IVhere was thine ^gis, Pallas ! that appaWd Stem Alaric and Havoc on their way ? Stanza xiv. lines 1 and 2. According to Zosimus, Minerva and Achilles fright- ened Alaric from the Acropolis ; but others relate that the Gothic king was nearly as mischievous as the Scot- tish peer. — See Chandler. as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are for- gotten, in the recoUuclion of Falconer and Campbell : " Here in the dead of night by Lonna's steep, The seaman's cry was heard along the deep." This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance. In two journeys which 1 made, and one voyage to Cape Colonna, the view from either side, Ijy land, was less striking than the approach from the isles. In our second land excursion, we had a narrow escape from a party of Mainotos, concealed in the caverns beneath. We were told afterwards, by one of their prisonera subsequently ransomed, that they were deterred from attacking us by the appearance of my two Albanians ; conjecturing very sagaciously, but falsely, that we had a complete guard of these Arnaonts at hand, they remained stationary, and thus saved our party, which was too small to have opposed any effectual resistance. Colonna is no less a resort of painters than of pirates ; there " The hireling artist plants his paltry desk, Aail makes degraded nature picturesque." (See Hodgson's Ladv Jane Grey, &c.) But there Nature, with the aid of Art, has done that for herself. I was fortunate enough to engage a very superior German artist ; and hope to renew my acquaintance with this and many other Levantine scenes, by the arrival of his performances. * This Sr. Gropius was employed by a noble Lord for the sole purpose of sketching, in which he excels ; but I am sorry to say, that he has, through the abused sanction of that most respectable name, been tread- ing at humble distance in the steps of Sr. Lusieri. A shipful of his tro- phies was detained, and I believe confiscated, at Constantinople, in 1810. I am most happy to be now enabled to state, that " this was not in his bond ;" that lie was employed solely ais a painter, and that his noble pa- tron disavows all connexion with liim, except as an artist. If the error in the first and second edition of this poem has given the noble Lord a mo- ment's pain, I am very sorry for it : Sr. Gropius has assumed for vears the name of his agent : and though I cannot much condemn myself for sharing in the mistake of so many, I am happy in being one of the first to be undeceived. Indeed, 1 have as much pleasure in contradicting this as i felt r»grel in stating il. the netted canopy. Stanza .xviii. line 2. The netting to prevent blocks or splinters from falling on deck during action. 10. But not in silence pass Calypso's isles. Stanza xxix. line I. Goza is said to have been the island of Calypso. La7id of Albania ! let me bend mine eyes On thee^ thou rugged nurse of savage m^nl Stanza xxxviii. lines 5 and 6. Albania comprises part of Macedonia, lUyria, Chao- nia, and Epirus. Iskander is the Turkish word for Alex- ander ; and the celebrated Scanderberg (Lord Alexan- der) is alluded to in the third and fourth lines of the thirty-eighth stanza. I do not know whether I am cor- rect in making Scanderberg the countryman of Alexan- der, who was born at Pella in Macedon, but Mr. Gib- bon terms him so, and adds Pyrrhus to the list, in speaking of his exploits. Of Albania Gibbon remarks, that a country "within sight of Italy is less known than the interior of Ameri- ca." Circumstances, of little consequence to mention, led Mr. Hobhouse and myself into that country before we visited any other part of the Ottoman dominions ; and with the exception of Major Leake, then officially resident at Joannina, no other Englishmen have ever advanced beyond the capital into the interior, as that gentleman very lately assured me. Ali Pacha was at that time (October, 1809) carrying on war against Ibrahim Pacha, whom he had driven to Berat, a strong fortress which he was then besieging : on our arrival at Joannina we were invited to Tepaleni, his highness's birthplace, and favourite Serai, only one day's distance from Berat ; at this juncture the Vizier had made it his headquarters. After some stay in the capital, we accordingly Ibl- lowed ; but though furnished witii every accommoda- tion, and escorted by one of the Vizier's secretaries, we were nine days (on account of the rains) in accomplish- ing a journey which, on our return, barely occupied four. On our route we passed two cities, Argyrocastro and Libochabo, apparently little inferior to Yanina in size ; and no pencil or pen can ever do justice to the scenery in the vicinity of Zitza and Delvinachi, the frontier village of Epirus and Albania Proper. On Albania and its inhabitants I am unwilling to descant, because this will be done so much better by my fellow-traveller, in a work which may probably pre- cede this in publication, that I as little wish to follow as I would to anticipate him. But some few observations are necessary to the text. The Arnaouts, or Albanesc, struck me forcibly by their resemblance to the Highlanders of Scotland, in dress, figure, and manner of hving. Their very moun- tains seemed Caledonian, with a kinder climate. The kilt, though white ; the snare, active form ; their dialect, Celtic in its sound, and their hardy habits, all carried me back to Morven. No nation are so detested and dreaded by their neighbours as the Albanese ; the Greeks hardly regard them as Christians, or the Turks as Moslems ; and in fact they arc a mixture of both, and NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 45 sometimes neither. Their habits are predatory— all are armed ; and the red-shawled Arnaouts, the Montene- grins, Chimariots, and Gegdcs, are treacherous; the others differ somewhat in garb, and essentially in cha- racter. As far as my own experience goes, I can speak favourably. I was attended by two, an Infidel and a Mussulman, to Constantinople and every other part of Turkey which came within my observation ; and more faithful in peril, or indefatigable in service are rarely to be found. The Infidel was named Basilius, the Mos- lem, Dervish Tahiri ; the former a man of middle age, and the latter about my own. Basili was strictly charged by Ali Pacha in person to attend us ; and Der- vish was one of fifty who accompanied us through the forests of Arcanania to the banks of Achelous, and on- ward to Messalonghi in MtoVia. There I took him into my own service, and never had occasion to repent it till the moment of my departure. When in 1810, after the departure of my friend Mr. II. for England, I was seized with a severe fever in the Morea, these men saved my life by frightening away my physician, whose throat they threatened to cut if I was not cured within a given time. To this consolatory assurance of posthumous retribution, and a resolute refusal of Dr. Romanelli's prescriptions, I attributed my recovery. I had left my last remaining English servant at Athens; my dragoman was as ill as myself, and my poor Arnaouts nursed me with an attention which would have done honour to civilization. They had a variety of adventures ; for the Moslem, Dervish, being a remarkably handsome man, was always squabbling with the husbands of Athens ; insomuch that four of the principal Turks paid mo a visit of remon- strance at the Convent, on the subject of his having taken a woman from the bath — whom he had lawfully bought however — a thing quite contrary to etiquette. Basili also was extremely gallant amorig his own persuasion, and had the greatest veneration for the church, mixed with the highest contempt of churchmen, whom he cuffed upon occasion in a most heterodox mamicr. Yet he never passed a church without cross- ing himself; and I remember the risk he ran in entering St. Sophia, in Stambol, because it had once been a place of his worship. On remonstrating with him on his inconsistent proceedings, he invariably answered, " our church is holy, our priests are thieves ;" and then he crossed himself as usual, and boxed the ears of the first "papas" who refused to assist in any required ope- ration, as was always found to be necessary where a priest had any influence with the Cogia Bashi of his village. Indeed a more abandoned race of miscreants cannot exist than the lower orders of the Greek clergy. When preparations were made for my return, my Albanians were summoned to receive their pay. Ba- sili took his with an awkward sliow of regret at my in- tended departure, and marched away to his quarters with iiis bag of piastres. I sent for Dervish, but for some time he was not to be found ; at last he entered, just as Signor Logotheli, father to the ci-devant Anglo- consul of Athens, and some other of my Greek acquaint- ancbs, paid me a visit. Dervish took the money, but on a sudden dashed it to the ground ; and clasping iiis hands, which he raised to his forehead, rushed out of the room, weeping bitterly. From that moment to the hour of my embarkation, he continued his lamentations, and all our efforts to console him only produced this an- swer, " Ma f/ic(V£«," " He leaves me." Signor Logodieti, who never wept before for any thing less ihan the loss of a para*, molted ; the padre of the convent, my attendants, my visitors — and I verily believe that even Sterne's " foolish fat scullion" would havo left her " fish- kettle," to sympathize with the unaffected and unex- pected sorrow of this barbarian. For my own part, when I remembered that, a short lime bel()r() my dei)arturc from England, a noble and most intimate associate had excusecl himself from tak- ing leave of mo because he had to attend a relation " to a milliner's," I felt no less surprised than humiliated by the pr«'S("nt occurrence and the past recollection. That Dervish would leave me with some regret was " I'nin, iilioiil ilic fiinrlli of a fnrlliiiii; to be expected : when master and man have been scram- blintf over the mountains of a dozen provinces together, they'are unwilling to separate ; but his present feehngs, contrasted with his native ferocity, improved my opinion of the human heart, I believe this almost feudal fide- lity is frequent among them. One day, on our journey over Parnassus, an Englishman in my service gave him a push in some dispute about the baggage, which he unluckily mistook for a blow; he spoke not, but sat down leaning his head upon his hands. Foreseeing the consequences, we endeavoured to explain away the af- front, which produced the following answer :— " I have been a robber ; I aw a soldier ; no captain ever struck me ; you are my master, I have eaten your bread, but hy that bread! (an usual oath) had it been otherwise, I would have stabbed the dog your servant, and gone to the mountains." So the affair ended, but from that day forward he never thoroughly forgave the thought- less fellow who insulted him. Dervish excelled in the dance of his country, conjec- tured to be a remnant of the ancient Pyrrhic : be that as it may, it is manly, and requires wonderful agility. It is very distinct from the stupid Romaika, the dull round-about of the Greeks, of which our Athenian party had so many specimens. The Albanians in general (I do not mean the culti- vators of the earth in the provinces, who have also that appellation, but the mountaineers) have a fine cast of countenance ; and the most beautiful women I ever be- held, in stature and in features, wc saw levelling the road broken down by the torrents between Delvinachi and Libochabo. Their manner of walking is truly the- atrical ; but this strut is probably the eftect of the ca- pote, or cloak, depending from one shoulder. Their long hair reminds you of the Spartans, and their courage in desultory warfare is unquestionable. Though they have some cavalry amongst the Gegdes,! never saw a good Arnaout horseman ; my own preferred the Eng- lish saddles, which, however, they could never keep. But on foot they are not to be subdued by fatigue. 12. and pass'd the barren spot^ Where ftad Penelope oWlook'd the wave. Stanza xxxix. lines 1 and 2. Ithaca. 13. Acthany Lepanto, fatal Trafalgar. Stanza xl. line 5. Actium and Trafalgar need no further mention. The battle of Lepanto, equally bloody and considerable, but less known, was fought in the Gulf of Patras. Here the author of Don Quixote lost his left hand. 14. And haiVd the last resort of fruitless love. Stanza xli. line 3. Leucadia, now Santa Maura. From the promon- tory (the Lover's Leap) Sappho is said to have thrown herself. 15. many a Roman chief and Asian Kivs.. Stanza xlv. line 4. It is said, that on the day previous to the battle of Ac- tium, Anthony had thirteen kings at his levee. 16. Look where the second Cccsa/s trophies rose ! Stanza xlv. line 6. Nicopolis, whose ruins are most extensive, is at some distance from Actium, where the wall of the Hippodrome survives in a few fragments. 17. Avhcrusin^s lake. Stan/a xlvii. line 1. Accordinc toPouqucvillo the lake of Yanina ; but Pou quevillp is always out. 18. To i^rccl Albania 'i chief. Slaii/a \lvii. line 1. The celebrated Ali Pacha. Of this extraordinarv man there is an incorrect account in Pouqueville's 1 ra- vels. 46 NOTES TO CHiLBE HAROLD. 19. Yet here and there some dmin^ mountain band Disdain his power, and from their rocky hold Hurl their defiance far, nor yield, unless to gold. Stanza xlvii. lines 7, 8, and 9. Five thousand Suliotes, amoig tlic rocks and in the castle of Suli, \vithstood 30,000 Albanians for eighteen years ; the castle at last was taken by bribery. In this contest there were several acts performed not unwor- thy of the better days of Greece. 20. Monastic Zitza, ^c. Stanza xlviii. line 1. The convent and village of Zitza are four hours' jour- ney from Joannina,or Yanina, the capital of the Pacha- lick. In the valley of the river Kalamas (once the Acheron) flows, and not far from Zitza forms a fine cataract. The situation is perhaps the finest in Greece, though the approach to Delvinachi and parts of Acar- nania and iEtolia may contest the pahn. Delphi, Par- nassus, and, in Attica, even Cape Colonna and Port Raphti, are very inferior ; as also every scene in Ionia, or the Troad : 1 am almost inclined to add the approach to Constantinople; but from the different features of the last, a comparison can hardly be made. 21. Here dwells the caloyer. Stanza xlix. line 6. The Greek monks are so called. 22. Nature's volcanic amphitheatre. Stanza h. line 2. The Chimariot mountains appear to have been vol- canic. 23. behold black Acheron ! Stanza U. line 6. Novv? called Kalamas. 24. in his white capote. Stanza lii. Unc 7. Albanese cloak. 25. The sun had sunk behind vast Tomerit. Stanza Iv, line 1 . Anciently Mount Tomarus. 26. And Ijxos wide and fierce came roaring by. Stanza Iv. Ime 2. The river Laos was full at the time the author passed It ; and, immediately above Tepalcn, was to the eye as wide as the Thames at Westminster ; at least in the opinion of the author and his fellow-traveller, Mr. Hob- house. In the summer it must be much narrower. It certainly is the finest river in the Levant ; neither Ache- lous, Alpheus, Acheron, Schamandcr, nor Cayster, ap- proached it in breadth or beauty. 27. And fellow-countrymen have stood aloof Stanza Lxvi. line 8. Alluding to the wreckers of Cornwall. 28. the red loine circling fast. Stanza Ixxi. line 2. The Albanian Mussulmans do not abstain from wine, and indeed very few of the others. 29. Each Palikar his sabre from him cast. Stanza Ixxi. line 7. Palikar, shortened when addressed to a single person, from Tla^^iKapi, a general name for a soldier amongst the Greeks and Albanese who speak Romaic — it means properly "a lad." 30. IVhile thus in concert, ^c. Stanza Ixxii. line last. As a specimen of the Albanian or Arnaout dialect of the lUyric, I here insert two of their most popular cho- ral songs, which are generally chanted in dancing by men or women inchscriminately. The first words are merely a kind of chorus without meaning, like some in our own and all other languages. Bo, iJo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Naciarura, popuso. 2. Naciarura na civin Ha penderini ti hin. 3. Ha pe uderi escrotini Ti vin ti ma:r servetini. 4. Caliriote me surme Ea ha pe pse dua tive. Buo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Bo, Gi egem spirta esimiro. 6. Caliriote vu le funde Ede vete timde tunde. 1. Lo, Lo, I come, I come ; be thou silent. 2. I come, I run ; open the door that I may enter. 3. Open the door by halves, that I may take my tur- ban. 4. Caliriotes* with the dark eyes, open the gate that I , may enter. j 5. Lo, Lo, I hear thee, my soul. ' Caliriote mc surme Ti mi put e poi mi le. 8. Se ti puta citi mora Si mi ri ni veti udo gia. Va le ni il die cadale Celo more, more celo. 10. Plu hari ti tirete Plu huron cia pra seti. An Arnaout girl, in costly garb, walks with graceful pride. 7. Caliriot maid of the dark eyes, give me a kiss, 8. If I have kissed thee, what hast thou gained? My soul is consumed with fire. 9. Dance lightly, more gently, and gently still. 10. Make not so much dust to destroy your embroidered hose. The last stanza would puzzle a commentator: the men have certainly buskins of the most beautiful texture, but the ladies (to whom the above is supposed to be addressed) have nothing under their little yellow boots and slippers but a well-turned and sometimes very white ankle. The Arnaout girls are much handsomer than the Greeks, and their dress is far more picturesque. They preserve their shape much longer also, from be- ing always in the open air. It is to be observed, that the Arnaout is not a written language ; the words of this song, therefore, as well as the one which follows, are spelt according to their pronunciation. They are copied by one who speaks and understands the dialect perfectly, and who is a native of Athens. 1. 1. Ndi sefda tinde ulavossa I am wounded by thy love, Vettimi upri vi lofsa. and have loved but to scorch myself. 2. 2. Ah vaisisso mi privi lofse Thou hast consumed me ! Si mi rini mi la vosse. AJi, maid ! thou hast struck me to the heart. 3. 3. Uti tasa roba stua I have said I wish no dowry, Sitti eve tulati dua, but thine eyes and eye- ■ lashes. 4. 4. Roba stinori ssidua The accursed dowry I want Q,u mi sini vetti dua. not, but thee only. 6. 5. Qurmini dua civileni Give me thy charms, and Roba ti siarmi tildi eni, let the portion feed the flames. Utara pisa vaisisso me I have loved thee, maid, sinii rin ti hapti with a sincere soul, but Eti mi hire a piste si gui thou hast left me like a dendroi tiltati. withered tree. * The Albanese, particularly llie women, are frequently termed " Cnli- iotes ;" for what reason I inqnirefl in rain. I NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 47 7- . . # 7. Udi vura udorini udiri ci- If I nave placed my hand on cova cilti mora * thy bosom, what have I Udorini talti hoUna u ode gained? my iiandis with- caimoni mora. drawn, but retains the flame. I believe the two last stanzas, as they are in a differ- ent measure, ou^ht to belong to another ballad. An idea something similar to the thought in the last lines was expressed by Socrates, whose arm having come hi contact with one of his " {»7roKo>7rtot," Critobulus or Cleobulus, the philosopher complained of a shooting pain as far as his shoulder for some days after, and therefore very properly resolved to teach his disciples in future without touching them. 31. Tambourgi ! Tambourgi ! thy Harum afar^ ^-c. Song, Stanza i. line 1. I'heso Stanzas arc partly taken from different Alba- nesc songs, as far as I was able to make them out by the exposition of the Albancse in Romaic and Italian. 32. Remember the moment when Previsafell. Song, Stanza vhi. hue 1. It was taken by storm from the French. 33. Fair Oreece I sad relic of departed worth, ^c. Stanza kxiii. lino 1. Some thoughts on this subject will be found in the subjoined papers. Spirit of freedom ! when on Phyle^s brow Thou sai^st with Thrasybidics and his train. Stanza Ixxiv. lines 1 and 2. Phyle, which commands a beautiful view of Athens, has still considerable remains : it was seized by Thra- sybulus previous to the expulsion of the Thirty, 35. Receive thef^-y Frank, her former guest. Stanza Ixxvii. line 4. When taken by the Latins, and retained for several years. — See Gibbon. 36. ^'hc prophets tomb of all its pious .'spoil. Stanza Ixxvii. line 6. Mecca and Medina were taken some time ago by the Wahabees, a sect yearly increasing. 37. Thy vales of ever- green, thy hills of snow — Stanza Ixxxv. line 3. On many of the mountains, particularly Liakura, the snow never is entirely melted, notwithstanding the in- tense lieat of the summer ; but I never saw it lie on the plains, even in winter. 38. Save where some solitary column mourns Above its prostrate brethren of the cave. Stanza Ixxxvi. lines 1 and 2. Of Mount Pcntelicus, from whence the marble was dug that constructed the public edifices of Athens. — The modern name is Mount Mcndeli. An immense cave formed by the quarries still remains, and will till the end of time. 39. IVhen Marathon became a magic word. Stanza Ixxxix. line 7. "Siste Viator — hcroa calcas!" was the epitaph on the famous count Merci; — what then must bo our ft^el- in more? It could scarcely have fc(clifv nTf ght. PAPERS REFERRED TO BY NOTE 33. Before I say any thing about a city of which every body, traveller or not, has thought it necessary to say somcthmg, I will request Miss Owenson, when she next borrows an Athenian heroine for her four volumes, to have the goodness to marry her to somebody more of a gentleman than a " Disdar Aga," (who by the by is not an Aga,) the most impolite of petty officers, the greatest patron of larceny Athens ever saw, (except Lord E.) and the unworthy occupant of the Acropohs, on a handsome annual stipend of 150 piastres, (eight pounds sterling,) out of which he has only to pay his garrison, the most ill-regulated corps in the ill-regulated Ottoman Empire. I speak it tenderly, seeing I was once the cause of the husband of "Ida of Athens" nearly suffering the bastinado ; and because the said " Disdar" is a turbulent husband and beats his wife ; so that I exhort and beseech Miss Owenson to sue for a separate maintenance in behalf of " Ida." Having pre- mised thus much, on a matter of such import to the readers of romances, I may now leave Ida, to mention her birthplace. Selling aside the magic of the name, and all those associations which it would be pedantic and superfluous to recapitulate, the very situation of Athens would ren- der it the favourite of all who have eyes for art or na- ture. The climate, to me at least, appeared a perpe- tual si)ring ; during eight months I never passed a day without being as many hours on horseback : rain is ex- tremely rare, snow never lies in the plahis, and a cloudy- day is an agreeable rarity. In Spain, Portugal, and every part of the East which I visited, except Ionia and Attica, I perceived no such superiority of climate to our own ; and at Constantinople, where I passed May, June, and part of July, (1810,) vou might "damn the climate, and complain of spleen, five days out of seven. The air of the Morea is heavy and unwholesome, but the moment you pass the isthmus in the direction of Mcgara the change is strikingly perceptible. But I fear Hesiod will still be found correct in his description of a Boeotian winter. Wc found at Livadia an "esprit fort" in a Greek bishop, of all free thinkers ! This worthy hypocrite ral- lied his own religion with great intrepidity, (but not be- fore his flock,) and talked of a mass as a " coglioneria." It was impossible to think better of him for this ; but, for a Boeotian, he was brisk with all his absurdity. — This phenomenon (with the exception indeed of Thebes, the remains of Chajronca, the plain of Platea, Orcho- menus, Livadia, and its nominal cave of Trophonius) was the only remarkable tlhng we saw before we passe moulli of none btit an Argive, and (with reverence be it spoken) it does nol deserve the epithet. And il the Polynices of StaliuP, 48 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. "Inmediis audit duo lilora campis," did actually hear both shores in crossing the isthmus of Corinth, he had better ears than have ever been worn in such a journey since. "Athens," says a celebrated topographer, "is still the most polished city of Greece." Perhaps it may of Greece, but not of the Greeks ; for Joannina in Epirus is universally allowed, among themselves, to be supe- rior in the wealth, refinement, learning, and dialect of its inhabitants. The Athenians are remarkable for their cunning ; and the lower orders are not improperly cha- racterized in that proverb, which classes them with " the Jews of Salonica, and the Turks of the Negropont." Among the various foreigners resident in Athens, French, Italians, Germans, Ragusans, &c. there was never a difference of opinion in their estimate of the Greek character, though on all other topics they dis- puted with great acrimony. Mr. Fauvel,the French consul, who has passed thirty years principally at Athens, and to whose talents as an artist and manners as a gentleman none who have known him can refuse their testimony, has frequently declared in my hearing, that the Greeks do not deserve to be emancipated ; reasoning on the grounds of their " na- tional and individual depravity ;" while he forgot that such depravity is to be attributed to causes which can only be removed by the measure he reprobates. Mr, Roque, a French merchant of respectability long settled in Athens, asserted with the most amusing gravity, " Sir, they are the same canaille that existed in the days of Themistocles /" an alarming remark to the " Laudator temporis acti." The ancients banished Themistocles ; the moderns cheat Monsieur Roque : thus great men have ever been treated ! In short, all the Franks who are fixtures, and most of the Englishmen, Germans, Danes, &c. of passage, came over by degrees to their opinion, on much the same grounds that a Turk in England would condemn the nation by virholesale, because he was wronged by his lacquey, and overcharged by his washerwoman. Certainly it was not a little staggering when the SieursFauvel and Lusieri, the two greatest demagogues traveller whose janissary flogs them, and to the scribbler whose journal abuses them ! This is the amount of their obligations to foreigners. IL Fraiiciscan Convent^ Athens, January 23, 1811. Among the remnants of the barbarous policy of the earlier ages, are the traces of bondage which yet exist in different countries; whose inhabitants, however divided in religion and manners, almost all agf*»,e in oppression. The EngUsh have at last compassionated their Ne- groes, and under a less bigoted government, may proba- bly one day release their Catholic brethren : but the in- terposition of foreigners alone can emancipate the Greeks, who, otherwise, appear to have as small a chance of redemption from the Turks, as the Jews have from mankind in general. Of the ancient Greeks we know more than enough ; at least the younger men of Europe devote much of their time to the study of the Greek writers and history, which would be more usefully spent in mastering their own. Of the moderns, we are perhaps more neglectful than they deserve ; and while every man of any pre- tensions to learning is tiring out his youth, and often his age, in the study of the language and of the ha- rangues of the Athenian demagogues in favour of free- dom, the real or supposed descendants of these sturdy republicans are left to the actual tyranny of their masters, although a very slight effort is required to strike off their chains. To talk, as the Greeks themselves do, of their rising again to their pristine superiority, would be ridiculous ; as the rest of the world must resume its barbarism, after reasserting the sovereignty of Greece : but there seems to be no very great obstacle, except in the apa- thy of the Franks, to their becoming an useful depen- dency, or even a free state with a proper guarantee ; — under correction, however, be it spoken, for many and well-informed men doubt the practicability even of this. The Greeks have never lost their hope, though they of the day, who divide between them the power of Peri- are now more divided in opinion on the subject of their cles and the popularity of Clcon, and puzzle the poor ^-^^- ^-^- t. i- • , ., ^ Waywode with perpetual differences, agreed in the utter condemnation, " nulla virtute redemptum," of the Greeks in general, and of the Athenians in particular. For my own humble opinion, I am loth to hazard it knowing, as I do, that there be now in MS. no less than five tours of the first magnitude and of the most threat- ening aspect, all in typographical array, by persons of wit, and honour, and regular common-place books : but, if I may say this without offence, it seems to me rather hard to declare so positively and pertinaciously, as al- most every body has declared, that the Greeks, because they are very bad, will never be better. Eton and Sonnini have led us astray by their pane- gyrics and projects ; but, on the other hand, De JPauw and Thornton have debased the Greeks beyond their demerits. The Greeks will never be independent ; they will never be sovereigns as heretofore, and God forbid they ever should ! but they may be subjects without being slaves. Our colonies are not independent, but they are free and industrious, and such may Greece be hereafter. At present, like the Catholics of Ireland and the Jews throughout the world, and such other cudgelled and heterodox people, they suffer all the moral and phy- sical ilLs that can afflict humanity. Their life is a struggle against truth; they are vicious in their own de- fence. They are so unused to kindness, that when they occasionally meet with it they look upon it with suspi- cion, as a dog often beaten snaps at your fingers if you attempt to caress him. " They are ungrateful, notori- ously, abominably ungrateful !" — this is the general cry. Now, in the name of Nemesis! for what arc they to be grateful ? Where is iho human being that ever con- ferred a benefit on Greek or Greeks ? They are to be grateful to the Turks for their fetters, and to the Franks for their broken promises and lying counsels. They arc to be grateful to the artist who engraves their ruins, and to the antiquary who carries them away ; to the probable deliverers. Religion recommends the Rus- sians ; but they have twice been deceived and aban- doned by that power, and the dreadful lesson they re- ceived after the Muscovite desertion in the Morea has never been forgotten. The French they dislike ; al- though the subjugation of the rest of Europe will, pro- bably, be attended by the deliverance of continental Greece. The islanders look to the English for succour, as they have very lately possessed themselves of the Ionian republic, Corfu excepted. But whoever appear with arms in their hands will be welcome ; and when that day arrives. Heaven have mercy on the Ottomans, they cannot expect it from the Giaours. But instead of considering what they have been, and speculating on what they may be, let us look at them as they are. **And here it is impossible to reconcile the contrariety of opinions : some, particularly the merchants, decrying the Greeks in the strongest language ; others, gene- rally travellers, turning periods in their eulogy, and publishing very curious speculations grafted on their former state, which can have no more eflect on their present lot, than the existence of the Incas on the future fortunes of Peru. One very ingenious person terms them the "natural allies of Englishmen ;" another, no less ingenious, will not allow them to be the allies of any body, and denies their very descent from the ancients ; a third, more in- genious than either, builds a Greek empire on a Russian foundation, and realizes (on paper) all the chimeras of Catherine II. As to the question of their descent, what can it import whether the Mainotes arc the lineal Laconians or not ? or the present Athenians as indi- genous as the bees of Hymcttus, or as the grasshoppers, to which they once likened themselves ? What Eng- lishman cares if he be of a Danish, Saxon, Norman, or Trojan blood ? or who, except a Welshman, is afflicted ith a desire of being descended from Caractacus? The poor Greeks do not so much abound in the good i NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 49 things of this world, as to render even their claims to antiquity an object of envy ; it is very cruel, then, in Mr. Thornton to disturb them in the possession of all that time has left them ; viz. their pedigree, of which they are the more tenacious, as it is all they can call their own. It would be worth while to publish together, iand compare, the works of Messrs. Thornton and De Pauw, Eton and Sonnini ; paradox on one side, and prei'"iice on the other. Mr. Thornton conceives him- seli to have claims to public confidence from a fourteen years' residence at Pera ; perhaps he may on the sub- ject of the Turks, but this can give him no more insight into the real state of Greece and her inhabitants, than as many years spent in Wapping into that of the West- ern Highlands. ^ The Greeks of Constantinople live in Fanal ; and if Mr. Thornton did not oftener cross the Golden Horn than his brother merchants are accustomed to do, I should place no great reliance on his information. I actually heard one of these gentlemen boast of their little general intercourse with the city, and assert of himself, with an air of triumph, that he had been but four times at Constantinople in as many years. As to Mr. Thornton's voyages in the Black Sea with Greek vessels, they gave him the same idea of Greece as a cruise to Bervvick in a Scotch smack would of Johnny Grot's house. Upon what grounds then does he arrogate the right of condemning by wholesale a body of men, of whom he can know little ? It is rather a curious circumstance that Mr. Thornton, who so lavishly dispraises Pouqueville on every occasion of mentioning the Turks, has yet recourse to him as authority on the Greeks, and terms him an impartial ob- server. Now Dr. Pouqueville is as httle entitled to that appellation, as Blr. Thornton to confer it on him. The fact is, wc are deplorably in want of information on the subject of the Greeks, and in particular their literature, nor is there any probability of our being bet- ter acquainted, till our intercourse becomes more inti- mate, or their independence confirmed : the relations of passing travellers are as little to be depended on as the invectives of angry factors ; but till something more can be attained, we must be content with the httle to be acquired from similar sources.* However defective these may be, they are preferable to the paradoxes of men who have read superficially of the ancients, and seen nothing of the moderns, such as De Pauw ; who, when he asserts that the British breed of horses is ruined by Newmarket, and that the Spar- tans were cowards in the field, betrays an equal know- ledge of English horses and Spartan men. His "phi- losophical observations" have a much better claim to the title of "poetical." It could not be expected that he who so liberally condemns some of the most cele- brated institutions of the ancient, should have mercy on the mod(!rn Greeks; and it fortunately hap|)ens, that the absurdity of his hypothesis on their forefathers re- futes his sentence on themselves. Let us trust, then, that in spite of the prophecies of De Pauw, and the doubts of Mr. Thornton, there is a reasonable hope of the redemption of a race of men, who, whatever may be the errors of their religion and * A word, en pneannl, with Mr. 'I'homlo.i ami Dr. Poiuiiipvillr, who Jiave beeiiE'iilly between lliem ofsiiilly cliiipiiig the RiiltHii's Turkish. Dr. Pouqueville tells a lon^ story of a Moaleiii who swallowed corroaive Biililimute ill mich quantities that he acciuired the imiiic of ^ySultymaii Yeijen," i.e. quoth the Doctor, " Sulyinrut, the inter nf corroaivf suh- Ihnnte." "Aha," Ihinlts Mr. Thornton, (aii^ry with the Doctor for the (iflieth time,) " Imve 1 caiiRht you .•"' — Then, in b. note twice the thick- nen8of the Doctor's anecdote, lie questions the Doctor's proficiency in the Turkish tongue, and his veracity in hiii own. — " For," oliservea Mr. Tliornlon, (after inflicting on uh the touph particiiile of a Turkish verli,) " it means nothini; more than Hulcyman the eater,'' and quite cashieis the supplementary ^' snhlwia'e." Now holh arc riRlit, ami hulh are wrong. If Mr. Thornton, when he next resides " fourteen veai-» in the factory," will con.sult his Turkish dicliouiiry, or ask any of fiis Stanilio- line arnualntunre, he will discover Ihiit " iiii/m.i/ia'ii i/njcri," put lo- Itether discreetly, ineun the " Swnllowrr of nuh/ininle," without any '^ is'ulei/mnn" hi the case : " ilului,nia" f:i'j;Milyin'T " cnnoaira sulili- mate,' and not heing a proper iiauie ou ihi.s occasion, allliauch it be an orthodox name enough with (he addition of n. ;M'ler Mr. Thornton'n fre(|uenl jiints of profound i >rientaliH[ii, he loiHlit httve found linn out be- fore he saiii; stuli pjeaim over Dr. Pouqueville. Alter iIiIh, I think " 'I'ravellers vemua Factors" shall he our motto, thoiif;h the above Mr. Thornton hos condemned " hoc Keiius oniiie," lor inistaki' and iiiiKicpresi'iilution. " N« Kuior ultra rii pidaui," " No merchant beyond his bales." N. B. For the beiielU of Mr. Thornton, " Sulor'' i« not apiopernHmc. G policy, have been amply punished by three centuries and a half of captivity. III. Athens^ Franciscan Convent, Mar. 17, 1811. " I nuiEl have some talk with this learred Theban." Some time after my return from Constantinople to this city, I received the thirty-first number of the Edin- burgh Review as a great favour, and certainly at this distance an acceptable one, from the captain of an Enghsh frigate off Salamis. In that number. Art. 3. containing the review ofia French translation of Strabo, there are introduced some remarks on the modern Greeks and their literature, with a short account of Coray, a co-translator in the French version. On those remarks I mean to cround a few observations, and the spot where I now write will I hope be suff.cient excuse for introducing them in a work in some degree connected with the subject. Coray, the most cele- brated of living Greeks, at least among the Franks, was born at Scio, (in the Review Smyrna is stated, I have reason to think, incorrectly,) and, besides the transla- tion of Beccaria and other works mentioned by the Reviewer, has published a lexicon in Romaic and French, if I may trust the assurance of some Danish travellers lately arrived from Paris ; But the latest we have seen here in French and Greek is that of Gregory Zolikogloou.* Coray has recently been involved in an unpleasant controversy w'nh M. Gail,t a Parisian com.mentator and editor of some translations from the Greek poets, in consequence of the Institute having awarded him the prize for his version of Hippocrates "Ilcpt {i(5aT-a)v," &c. to the disparagement, and conse- quently displeasure, of the said Gail. To his exertions literary and patriotic great praise is undoubtedly due, but a part of that praise ought not to be withheld from the two bfothers Zosimado, (merchants settled in Leg- horn,) who sent him to Paris, and maintained him for the express purpose of elucidating the ancient, and adding to the modern, researches of his countrymen. Coray, however, is not considered by his countrymen equal to some who lived in the two last centuries ; more particularly Dorotheus of Mitylene, whose Hellenic writings are so much esteemed by the Greeks that Meletius terms him, " Msra tuv QovKvSiSpv Kai Htvo- (j>u)VTa apiaros 'EWr/voiv" (P. 224. Ecclesiastical His- tory, vol. iv.) Panagiotes Kodrikas, the translator of Fontenellc, and Kamarases, who translated Ocellus Lucanus on the Universe into French, Christodoulus, and more particularly Psalida, whom I have conversed with in Joannina, are also in high repute among their literati. The lasi-menlioncd has published in Romaic and Latin a work on " True Happiness,'' dedicated to Catherine II. But Polyzois, who is stated by the Reviewer to be the only modern except Coray who has distin- guished himself by a knowledge of Hellenic, if he be the Polyzois Lampanilziotes of Yaniiia, who has pub- lished a number of editions in Romaic, was neither more nor less than an itinerant vender of books ; with the contents of which ho had no concern beyond his name on the title-page, placed there to secure" his pro- perty in the publication ; and he was, moreover, a man utterly destitute of scholastic acquirements. As the name, however, is not uncommon, some other Polyzois may have edited the E])istles of Arisla'-netus. It is to be refjrcttetl that the system of continental blockade has closed the few channels through which I he Greeks received their publications, particularly Ve- nice and Trieste. Even tlie common "rammars for children are become too dear for the lower orders. Amongst their originTil works the Geography of INlele- tiuK, Archbishop of Athens, and a multitude of theolo- gical quartos and poetical |)aniphlets, are to be met • I have In uiy posM ssjon nn excellrnt Lexicon •" Tjiiy I received In exchnu';e fiom S.t< — , K»q. for n smnii gem : my nntiquA- rian friends Imve m vi i- foi yotlen it, or forgiven me. t In Call's paniph.hl a"ain«t Cornv. he talks of " thiowinjUhe insolent IIilkMilstu nut of the « M„;,,u ., ■' . i„ il.i, a French critic excl«im«. "Ah, inydud! throw nn I ihe window I what sncrilevr I" It crrtninly wuiiUI bo a : .r ihoae unthorn who dwrll In tlir aillc* ! but I hnve

    i < ^iiummm oi all puliahed rnunlriei ; lioiulou or Kduibuigh could hardly parnilcl this JhrrUian cbuUlilou. 60 NOTES TO PUlhDE HAROLD. with ; their grammars and lexicons of two^ three, and four languages, are numerous and excellent. Their poetry is in rhyme. The most singular piece I have lately seen is a satire in dialogue between a Russian, English, and French traveller, and the Waywode of Wallachia, (or Blackbey, as they term him,) an arch- bishop, a merchant, and Cogia Bachi, (or primate,) in succession ; to all of whom under the Turks the writer attributes their present degeneracy. Their songs are sometimes pretty and pathetic, but their tunes generally unpleasing to the ear of a Frank : the best is the famous " Aevre izaUts rdv 'EXAjyvwv," by the unfortunate Riga. But from a catalogue of more than sixty authors, now before me, only fifteen can be found who have touched on any theme except theology. I am intrusted with a commission by a Greek of Athens, named Marmarotouri, to make arrangements, if f»ossible, for printing in London a translation of Barthe- emi's Anacharsis in Romaic, as he has no other oppor- tunity, unless he despatches the MS. to Vienna by the Black Sea and Danube. The Reviewer mentions a school established at Hecatonesi, and suppressed at the instigation of Sebas- tiani : he means Cidonies, or, in Turkish, Haivali ; a town on the continent, where that institution for a hundred students and three professors still exists. It is true that this establishment was disturbed by the Porte, under the ridiculous pretext that the Greeks were con- structing a fortress instead of a college : but on inves- tigation, and the payment of some purses to the Divan, it has been permitted to continue. The principal pro- fessor, named Ueniamin, (i.e. Benjamin,) is stated to be a man of talent, but a freethinker. He was born in Lesbos, studied in Italy, and is master of Hellenic, Latin, and some Frank languages ; besides a smattering of th sciences. Though it is not my intention to enter farther on this topic than may allude to the article in question, I cannot but observe that the Reviewer's lamentation over the fall of the Greeks appears singular, when he closes it with these words : " !Z'/ie change is to be attributed to their misfortunes rather than to any ^physical degrada- tion.^ " It may be true that the Greeks are not physi- cally degenerated; and that Constantinople contained, on the day when it changed masters, as many men of six feet and upwards as in the hour of prosperity ; but ancient history and modern politics instruct us that something more than physical perfection is necessary to preserve a state in vigour and independence ; and the Greeks, in particular, are a melancholy example of the near connexion between moral degradation and national decay. The Reviewer mentions a plan " we believe" by Potemkin for the purification of tne Romaic, and I have endeavoured in vain to procure any tidings or traces of its existence. There v/as an academy in St. Peters- burgh for the Greeks ; but it was suppressed by Paul, and has not been revived by his successor. There is a slip of the pen, and it can only be a slip of the pen, in p. 58, No. 31, of the Edinburgh Review, where these words occur : — "We are told that when the capital of the East yielded to Solyman'^ — It may be pre- sumed that this last word will, in a future edition, be altered to Mahomet II.* The " ladies of Constantinople," it seems, at that period spoke a dialect, " which would not have disgraced the hps of an Athenian." I do not know how that might be, but am sorry to say the ladies in general, and the Athenians in particular, are much altered ; being far from choice either in their dialect or * In a former number of the Edinburgh Review, 1808, it is observed : ' Lord Byron passed some of his early years in Scotland, where he might have learned lh!\t pibroch does not mean a bagpipe, any more than duet means & fiddle." Q,nery,— "Was it in Scotland that the young gentlemen of the Kdinburgh Review learned that Solyman means Mahomet II. any more than criticism means infalWiility ? — but thus it is, " Caidimus inque vicem prabemns crura sagittis." The mistake seenied so completely a lapse of the pen (from the great simi- larity of the two words, and the total absence of error from the former pages of the literary leviathan) that I should have passed it over as in the text, had I not perceived in the Edinburgh Review much facetious exul- tation on all such detections, particularly a recent one, where words and ■yllnbles are subjects of disquisition and tranaposiUon ; and the above- mentioned parallel passage in my own case irresistibly propelled me to hint how much easier it is to be critical than correct. The gentlemen, having enjoyed many a triumph on such victories, will hardly begrudge me a slight ovation for the preseitt. expressions, as the whole Attic race are barbarous to a proverb : " SI K6i]va Ti port] %ti)j)a Tt yaiSapovs rpe^eis ruipaP In Gibbon, vol. x. p. 161, is the following sentence : — " The vulgar dialect of the city was gross and barbarous, though the compositions of the church and palace some- times affected to copy the purity of the Attic models." Whatever may be asserted on the subject, it is difficult to conceive that the "ladies of Constantinople," in the reign of the last Caesar, spoke a purer dialect than Anna Comnena wrote three centuries before : and those royal pages are not esteemed the best models of composition, although the princess y\wTTav tix^v AKPIBilS Attiki- ^ovaav. In the Fanal, and in Yanina, the best Greek is spoken : in the latter there is a flourishing school under the direction of Psalida. There is now in Athens a pupil of Psalida's, who is making a tour of observation through Greece : he is intelligent, and better educated than a fellow-commoner of most colleges. I mention this as a proof that the spirit of inquiry is not dormant among the Greeks. The Reviewer mentions Mr. Wright, the author of the beautiful poem " Horee lonicae," as qualified to give details of these nominal Romans and degenerate Greeks, and also of their language : but Mr, Wright, though a good poet and an able man, has made a mistake where he states the Albanian dialect of the Romaic to approxi- mate nearest to the Hellenic : for the Albanians speak a Romaic as notoriously corrupt as the Scotch of Aber- deenshire, or the Italian of Naples. Yanina, (where, next to the Fanal, the Greek is purest,) although the capital of Ali Pacha's dominions, is not in Albania but Epirus ; and beyond Delvinachi in Albania Proper, up to Argyrocastro and Tepaleen, (beyond which I did not advance,) they speak worse Greek than even the Athenians. I was attended for a year and a half by twa of these singular mountaineers, whose mother tongue is Illyric, and I never heard them or their countrymen (whom I have seen, not only at home, but to the amount of twenty thousand in the army of Vely Pacha) praised for their Greek, but often laughed at for their provincial barbarisms. I have in my possession about twenty-five letters, among which some from the Bey of Corinth, written to me by Notaras, the Cogia Bachi, and others by the dragoman of the Caimacam of the Morea, (which last governs in Vely Pacha's absence,) are said to be favour- able specimens of their epistolary style. I also received some at Constantinople from private persons, written in a most hyperbolical style, but in the true antique character. The Reviewer proceeds, after some remarks on the tongue in its past and present state, to a paradox (page 59) on the great mischief the knowledge of his own language has done to Coray, who, it seems, is less likely to understand the ancient Greek, because he is per- fect master of the modern ! This observation follows a paragraph, recommending, in explicit terms, the study of the Romaic, as " a powerful auxiliary," not only to the traveller and foreign merchant, but also to the clas- sical scholar ; in short, to every body except the only person who can be thoroughly acquainted with its uses ; and by aparity of reasoning, our old language is conjec- tured to be probably more attainable by " foreigners," than by ourselves ! Now I am inclined to think, that a Dutch Tyro in our tongue (albeit himself of Saxon blood) would be sadly perplexed with " Sir Tristrem," or any other given " Auchinleck MS." with or without a grammar or glossary ; and to most apprehensions it seems evident that none but a native can acquire a competent, far less complete, knowledge of our obsolete idioms. We may give the critic credit for his ingenuity, but no more believe him than we do Smollett's Lisma- hago, who maintains that the purest English is spoken in Edinburgh. That Coray may err is very possible ; but if he does, the fault is in the man rather than in his mother tongue, which is, as it ought to be, of the greatest aid to the native student. — Here the Reviewer pro- ceeds to business on Strabo's translators, and here I close my remarks. Sir W. Drummond, Mr. Hamilton, Lord Aberdeen, NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 61 Dr. Clarke, Captain Leake, Mr. Gell, Mr. Walpole, and many others now in England, have all the requisites to furnish details of this fallen people. The few obser- vations I have offered I should have left where I made them, had not the article in question, an.d above all the spot where I read it, induced me to advert to those pages, which the advantage of my present situation enabled me to clear, or at least to make the attempt. I have endeavoured to wave the personal feelings, which rise in despite of me in touching upon any part of the Edinburgh Review ; not from a wish to conciliate the favour of its writers, or to cancel the remembrance of a syllable I have formerly published, but simply from a sense of the impropriety of mixing up private resent- ments with a disquisition of the present kind, and more particularly at this distance of time and place. ADDITIONAI, NOTE, ON THE TURKS. The difficulties of travelling in Turkey have been much exaggerated, or rather have considerably dimi- nished of late years. The Mussulmans have been beaten into a kind of sullen civility, very comfortable to voyagers. It IS hazardous to say much on the subject of Turks and Turkey ; since it is possible to live among them twenty years without acquiring information, at least from themselves. As far as my own slight experience carried me I have no complaint to make ; but am in- debted for many civilities, (I might almost say for friendship,) and much hospitality, to Ali Pacha, his son Veli Pacha of the Morea, and several others of higti rank in the provinces. Suleyman Aga, late Governor of Athens, and now of Thebes, was a bon vwant, and as social a being as ever sat cross-legged at a tray or a table. During the carnival, when our English party were masquerading, both himself and his successor were more happy to " receive masks" than any dowager in Grosvenor-square. On one occasion of his supping at the convent, his friend and visitor, the Cadi of Thebes, was carried from table perfectly qualified for any club in Christen- dom ; while the worthy Waywode himself triumphed in his fall. In all money transactions with the Moslems, I ever found the strictest honour, the highest disinterestedness. In transacting business with them, there are none of those dirty peculations, under the name of interest, difference of exchange, commission, &c. &c. uniformly found in applyir.g to a Greek consul to cash bills, even on the first houses in Pcra. With regard to presents, an established custom in the East, you will rarely find yourself a loser; as one worth acceptance is generally returned by another of similar value — a horse, or a shawl. In the capital and at court the citizens and courtiers are formed in the same school with those of Christiani- ty ; but there does not exist a more honourable, friendly, and high-spirited character than the true Turkish pro- vincial Aga, or Moslem country gentleman. It is not meant here to designate the governors of towns, but those Agas who, by a kind of feudal tenure, possess lands and houses, of more or less extent, in Greece and Asia Minor. The lower orders are in as tolerable discipline as the rabble in countries with greater pretensions to civiliza- tion. A Moslem, in walking the streets of our country- towns, would be more incommoded in England than a Frank in a similar situation in Turkey. Regimentals arc the best travelling dress. The best accovmts of the religion, and difTorcnt sects of Islamism, may be found in D'Ollison's French; of their manners, &c. perhaps in Thornton's English. The Ottomans, with all their defects, arc not a people to he despised. Equal, at least, to flic Spanianls, they arc superior to the Portuguese. If it be diflicult to pro- nounce what they are, wo can at least say what they are not : they are 71.0/ treacherous, they are not cowardly, they do not burn heretics, they are not assassins, nor has an enemy advanced to their capital. They are faithful to their sultan till ho becomes unfit to f,'overn, and devout to their God without an in<|uisilion. Were they driven from St. Sophia to-morrow, and the French or Russians enthroned in their stead, it would become a question, whether Europe would gain by the exchange ? England would certainly be the loser. With regard to that ignorance of which they are so generally, and sometimes justly accused, it may be doubted, always excepting France and England, in what useful points of knowledge they are excelled by other nations. Is it in they^ommon arts of life ? In their manufactures ? Is a Turkish sabre inferior to a Toledo ? or is a Turk worse clothed or lodged, or fed and taught, than a Spaniard '/ Are their Pachas worse educated than a Grandee ? or an EflFendi than a Knight of St. Jago ? I think not. I remember Mahmout, the grandson of Ali Pacha, asking whether my fellow-traveller and myself were in the upper or lower House of Parliament. Now this question from a boy of ten years old proved that his education had not been neglected. It may be doubted if an English boy at that age knows the difference of the Divan from a College of Dervises ; but I am very sure a Spaniard does not. How httle Mahmout, surrounded, as he had been, entirely by his Turkish tutors, had learned that there was such a thing as a Parliament it were useless to conjecture, unless we suppose that his instructors did not confine his studies to the Koran. In all the mosques there are schools established, which are very regularly attended ; and the poor are taught without the church of Turkey being put into peril. I believe the system is not yet printed ; (though there is such a thing as a Turkish press, and books printed on the late military institution of the Nizam Gedidd ;j nor have I heard whether the Mufti and the Mollas nave subscribed, or the Caimacam and the Tefterdar taken the alarm, for fear the ingenious youth of the turban should be taught not to " pray to God their way." The Greeks also — a kind of Eastern Irish papists — have a college of their own atMaynooth — no, at Haivali; where the heterodox receive much the same kind of countenance from the Ottoman as the Catholic college from the English legislature. Who shall then affirm that the Turks are ignorant bigots, when they thus evince the exact proportion of Christian charity which is tolerated in the most prosperous and orthodox of all possible kingdoms? But, though they allow all this, they will not suffer the Greeks to partici- pate in their privileges; no, let them fight their battles, and pay their haratcn, (taxes,) be drubbed in this world, and damned in the next. And shall we then eman- cipate our Irish Helots ? Mahomet forbid ! We should then be bad Mussulmans, and worse Christians ; at present we unite the best of both — Jesuitical faith, and something not much inferior to Turkish toleration. APPENDIX. Among an enslaved people, obliged to have re- course to foreign presses even for their books of reli- gion, it is less to be wondered at that we find so few ])ublications on general subjects than that we find any at all. The whole number of the Greeks, scattoreH up and down the Turkish empire and elsewhere, may amount, at most, to three millions ; and yet, for so scanty a number, it is impossible to discover any nation with so great a proportion of books and their authors, as the Greeks of the i>resent century. "Ay," but say the gen<'rous advocates of oppression, who, while they assert the ignorance of the Greeks, wish to prevent tlxun from dispelling it, "av, but these are mostly, if not all, eerlesiastieal tracts, and consequenllv good lor no- thing." Well, and pray vvhat else can they write about ? It is pleasant enough to lu-ar a Frank, partieulaily an Englishman, who may abuse the govenuuent ofhisown country ; or a Frenchman, who may abuse every govern- ment except his own, and who may range at will over every philosophical, religious, scientific, skeptical, or moral subject, sneering at the Greek legends. A Greek 52 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. i! must not write on politics, and cannot touch on science for want of instruction ; if he doubts, he is excommu- nicated and damned ; therefore his countrymen are not poisoned with modern philosophy ; and as to morals, thanks to the Turks ! there are no such things. What then is left him, if he has a turn for scribbling ? Reli- gion, and holy biography : and it is natural enough that those who have so little in this life should look to the next. It is no great wonder then that in a catalogue now before me of fifty-five Greek writers, many of whom were lately living, not above fifteen should have touched on any thing but religion. The catalogue al- luded to is contained in the twenty-sixth chapter of the fourth volume of Meletius's Ecclesiastical History. From this I subjoin an extract of those who have writ- ten on general subjects ; which willl TSe followed by some specimens of the Romaic. LIST OF ROMAIC AUTHORS.^ Neophitus; Diakonos (the deacon) of the Morea, has published an extensive grammar, and also some politi- cal regulations, which last were left unfinished at his death. Prokopius, of Moscopolis, (a town in Epirus,) has written and published a catalogue of the learned Greeks. Seraphin, of Periclea, is the author of many works in the Turkish language, but Greek character ; for the Christians of Cararaania, who do not speak Romaic, but read the character. Eustathius Psalidas, of Bucharest, a physician, made the tour of England for the purpose of study {xapcv HadrjaEws) : but though his name is enumerated, it is not stated that he has v.'ritten any thing. Kallinikus Torgeraus, Patriarch of Constantinople : many poems of his are extant, and also prose tracts, and a catalogue of patriarchs since the last taking of Constantinople. Anastasius Macedon, of Naxos, member of the royal academy of Warsa,AV. A church biographer. Demetrius Pamperes, a Moscopolits, has written many works, particularly "A Commentary on Hesiod's Shield of Hercules," and two hundred tales, (of what is not specified,) and has published his correspondence with the celebrated George of Trebizond, his cotem- porary. Meletius, a celebrated geographer; andauthor of the book from whence these notices are taken. Dorotheus, of Mitylene, an Aristotelian philosopher : his Hellenic works are in great repute, and he is es- teemed by the moderns (I quote the words of Meletius) fjLerd Tov QovKvbibr]v koi "EsvofujvTa apia-ros ''E.\'Srjv(i)V. I add further, on the authority of a well-informed Greek, that he was so famous among his countrymen, that they were accustomed to say, if Thucydides and Xenophon were wanting, he was capable of repairing the loss. Marinus Count Tharboures, of Cephalonia, profes- sor of chemistry in the academy of Padua, and member of that academy, and those of Stockholm and Upsal. He has published, at Venice, an account of some ma- rine animal, and a treatise on the properties of iron. Marcus, brother to the former, famous in mechanics. He removed to St. Petersburg the immense rock on which the statue of Peter the Great was fixed in 1769. See the dissertation which he published in Paris, 1777. George Constantino has published a four-tongued lexicon. George Ventote ; a lexicon in French, Italian, and Romaic. There exist several other dictionaries in Latin and Romaic, French, &c. besides grammars in every mo- dern language, except English. Among the living authors the following are most celebrated : — t Athanasius Parios has written a treatise on rhetoric in Hellenic. Christodoulos, an Acarnanian, has pubUshed, in Vi- enna, some physical treatises in Hellenic. Panagiotes Kodrikas, an Athenian, the Romaic trans- lator of Fontenelle's" Plurality of Worlds," (a favourite work amongst the Greeks,) is stated to be a teacher of the Hellenic and Arabic languages in Paris j in both of which he is an adept. Athanasius, the Parian, author of a treatise on rhe- toric. Vicenzo Damodos, of Cephalonia, has written "e/s TO (itaoSdpSapov" on logic and physics. John Kamarases, a Byzantine, has translated into French Ocellus on the Universe. He is said to be an excellent Hellenist, and Latin scholar. Gregorio Demetrius published, in Vienna, a geogra- phical work : he has also translated several Italian au- thors, and printed his versions at Venice. Of Coray and Psalida some account has been already given. 3 * It is to be observed, that the names given are not in chronological order, but consist of some selecteJ at a venture from among those who flourished from the taking of Constantinople to the lime of Meletius. t These names are not lakeu from an publication. GREEK WAR SONG.* 1. AEY'TE, TTaih? twv 'EXXjJi/wi/ ' 6 Koipos Trig So^TJi ^X0£J', as (i>avavi^£i KO^ avTU)v KaTci KpaTcl' MiTpiaKocxiovg avSpag tig TO KEVTpoV 7rp($%a)j3£t, KoX o)g Xiojv Qv^iWjXEvog, ds TO aiixa tGjv ^ovteI. Td '6i:Xa ug Xd6u)ixev, &C. ROMAIC EXTRACTS. Pwffo-uj, "AyKXog, Kai TdXXog KdfxvovTEg t>)v vEpifiyrimv Trig 'EXXa^o?, Koi (iXii:ovTEg ti]v aOXiav Trjv KaTor- CTaffiv, EtoiioTricav KUTopx^^S Eva TpaiKov (fnXiXXtjva 6id vii fxaOovv r>)v ahiav, jxet avTov 'iva iiriTpo- TToXiTriv, eItu Eva PXdxfJtTTEiv, EireiTa 'iva Trpayna- TEVTTiv, Kai 'iva irpoEaTuJTa. A translation of this song ■will be found among the smaller Poems, in :e 185. NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 53 KaLTt)V aTrapiyopriTov tC)v Tovok(i)v Tvpavviav^^ TTWf Toig ^v\a7s Kal vCipianovs kul ffr/drinoSeaixiay iraiSiov, irapShuyv, yvvaiKU)v avvKovaTOV (jjOopelaV, Aiv tJd^ai hel? aTzoyovoL tKdvwv rdv 'EAXjyvoJV Twv {\cvdipo}v Kai (xocpdv Kal tGv ^iXoTiaTp'i6o)v " KoX -Tw? tKclvoi dzidvndKOv 6ia Tr]v iXcvOcpiav, Kai Tupa ftrets vTzovKSKrOai. els riroiav rvpavviav, Kai TTolov yivoi w? iads itfTdOt] (pwriajxhov ^ th Ti)v (TO^piav, ()vvanni', clg k' oXa ^aKovajxevov ' rws vvv eKaraarijcrare t))v (pwrtvrjv 'EWdSa. Pa6a ! ws ha aKiXtdpov, wj aKortivnv XainrdSav . 'OixiXti, (plXraTt TpaiKi, chi ixas rfiv alriav: ut) Kpvirrrjs Thorrn i'uxGJv, \6£ Tt]v diropiav. 'O $IAE'AAHN0S. 'Tcocra-ayKXo-yaWoi, 'EXXaf, KaiSxi aXXoi, rjrov, ws XfTE, t6(tov fieydXr], vvv (Jf dOXta, Kai dva^ia d(j>^ (pov cpx('cr£J' ); dy.aOia. har riixiiOpovaav vd tiiv ^vrrvfiar] TOVT^ th TO Xtipov Tijv bSrjyniJai avrfi CTSvd^ei rd TtKva Kpd^ec,^ ct6 va irpoKdirrovv bXa irpoaTaC^ei Kai t6t£ iX-rri^Ei otl KcpSi^ei. chpuv, birov '%££ vvv Tr)v (pXcyiC^ei Ma" barii ToXpiar) va t)]v ^v~vrjcT] ■ndycL arbv d6r]v xwp'f ^iva Kpiciv. The a.bove Is the commencement of a long ramaiic satire on the Greek priesthood, princes, and gentry ; it is contemptible as a composition, but perhaps curious as a specimen of their rhyme : I have the whole in MS. but this extract will be found sufficient. The Romaic in this composition is so easy as to render a version an insult to a scholar ; but those who do not understand the original will excuse the following bad translation of what is in itself indifferent. TRANSLATION. A Russian, Englishman, and Frenchrnan making the tour of Greece, and observing the miserable state of the country, interrogate, in turn, a Greek Patriot, to learn the cause ; afterwards an Archbishop, then a Vlackbey,* a Merchant, and Cogia Bachi or Primate. Thou friend of thy country ! to strangers record Why bear ye the yoke of the Ottoman Lord? Why bear ye these fetters thus tamely display'd, The wrongs of tlie matron, the stripling, and maid? The descendants of Hellas's race are not ye! The patriot sons of the sage and the free, Thus sprung from tlic blood of the noble and brave, To vilely exist as the Mussulman slave ! Not such were the fathers your annals can boast, Who conquer'd and died for the freedom you lost ! Not such was your land in her earlier hour, The day-star of nations in wisdom and j)owcr! And still will you thus unresisting increase, Oh shameful dishonour ! the darkness of Greece ? Then tell us, beloved Aclia;cn ! reveal The cause of the woes wliich you cannot conceal. The reply of the Phileilenist I have not translated, as it is no better than the question of the travelling tri umvirate ; and the above will sufHciontly show with what kind of composition the Greeks arc now satisfied I trust I have not much injured the original in the few lines given as faithfully, and as near tho "Oh, MisB Bailey! unforlunalo Miss Diiilcy!" measure of the Romaic, as I could make tlicni. Almost all their pieces, above a song, which aspire to thi^ name of poetry, contain exactly the quantity of feet of •'A captnln lioUl of Halifax, who lived in coiinliy qimrtors," which is in fact the present heroic couplet of the Romaic. SCENE FROM 'O KA$ENE2. TRANSLATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF GOLDONI, BY SPERIDION VLANTI. SKHNH KF'. IIAATZIAA £/j T>)v irdprav tov x^viov, Kai ol avu^ev. IIAA. ii Qeel diru to irapaQvpi nov l(pdvv vd aKoiaut rrjv (l)wvi]v tov dvhpog {xov ' dv avTog civai f(5w, 'dcpOaca a^ Kaipbv vd TOV ^evTpo-idau}. [Evyaivti evag SovXos dird TO tpyatJTi'ipi.'] UaXiKapi-ig jxov c£ irapaKaXSi ttoios ehai iKc7 eh fKEivovs Tovs dvTdSeg ; AOTA. TfEt? xP'/o"'/"" avSpe?. "Evas b Kvp Eiymo?, h dXXos b Kvp MdoTios NairoXLTdvos, Kai b rptVoj 6 KiJp K6vTe AiavSpos ^ApSevTris- PA A. {^Avdixe(Ta eh avTovs Sev elvai b ^Xaixiviog^ Sv ojiws Sev dXXa^ev dvofia.) AEA. Nd ^1] 1} KaXn Tix^Tov Kvp Elyevlov. [Ut- v(i)VTas-] OAOI. Nm ^77, va i^fj. IIAA. (AvTos tlvai b avhpas fiov %wp£S aXXo.) KaX2 dvOpoiTre Kdfxe fj.ov Ti)v %ap(i^ vd jie avvTpo)v iiiitd^ei and Tb tpyactTrjpi tov naiyvi- Siov.] PIA. KapSid, KapSid, Kdixere KaXi)v Kap6idv, Sh etvai TlTTOTeS. [Upbs TtjV BiTTdpiav.] BIT. 'EyCi ahOdvoixai nws aireOaivii' [Hvvepxerai eh Tbv iavTdv Trts.\ ['AttJ Td vapdBvpa Tutv ovTdSmv (palvovTai 8\oij OTTOv (rrjKovwvTai d-rrb to Tpaire^i crvyXK^IJ^ivoi, 6id TUV ^acpvKTjxbv tov AedvSpov pXfirwvTas T^v UXuT^iSa, Kai SiaTi avTbg Seixvei irGs ^iXei vd Ti)v (povevcjT).] EYr. "Oxf, cTaOnTe. MAP. Mnv KaixveTe. . . AEA. Sf'/cw, (l>{)ye an-' fJw. IIAA. 'BorjOeia., ^o/jOeia. [^eiyei dirb ty'v cKaXav, b AiavSpos •SfXet vd t)]v uKoXovOtjcrr] fxe rd atraOi, Kai b Eiy. Tbv (3a(7Td.^ TPA. [Mi eva -niaTO /if ^ayi eh l^iav ner^tTa ittiS$ d-rrb Tb napaSvpt, Kai (^evyei eh Tbv Ka(pev€,] IIAA. [Evyalvet dnb rb IpyaaT/jpi tov iraiyviSiotf Tpix<^vTas, Kai (j>tuyei eh Tb ;\;«i'«-] EYr. [Mi dpnaTa eh Tb %fp£ irpbs SiacpivTevffiv Trjs UXdr^iSaS) tvavTiov tov Aedv^pov, ottw r>)v Kararpt'xet.] MAP. [Evyaivei Kai avTog ciyd aiyd dnb Tb ipya- (jTt'ipt, Kai (pevyei XfywirajJ Riynores luge. ['PovixSpes (j)ovye.]* Ol AotJXot. ['Airb Tb epyaar^pi airepvovv th rd )(^dvi, Kai KXeiovv t^jv Trdprav.] BIT. [Mfi'ft th Tbv Ka(ptvi ^orjOrmivr) dirb Tbv 'Pt- ^(5X(6ov.] AEA. ASceTC tSttov' ^iXwpivd £fx6(o vd cfiSu) eh iKuvo Tb Yurt. [Mf Tb (rraOi eh Tb x« ' ivavrlov tov Evyev[ov.\ EYr. "Ox'j ixi) yivoiTo iroTt etaai evas crXrjpdKapSoi IvavTiov tT]s yvvaiK6s trov, Kai eyd ^iXei ti'/v iia^evTtiau) ws eh Tb vcTTCpov alixa. AEA. Soil Ka^vu) opKov irtSj SiXei Tb ^tTavoiuxrjjS. [Ktvrjyqi Tbv Klyiviov /uf to airaOl.] EYr. Afv fff (poGovftat. [KaTarpf'xc* Tbv Aiav^poVy Kai Tbv (iidX^ei vd ffvpOfi itrldui Tdaov, bnov tvp((TK(i)vTds uvoiKTov Tb anTiTi tTjs x^P^^Tpitis iftSalvei th avrb, xal (TdivtTai.] TRANSLATION. Platzitla from the Door of the Hotel, and the Others. Pla. Oh God! from the window it seemed llint I heard my husband's voice. If he is here, I liave arrived in time to make him ashamed. [A Servant enttrs front VlncVlipy, Princo of Wttllucliia. Atiyoj Xonvi/cdj, 6iro« S{\nvA iIt»- <>ivyi rorj (rf'V\i«j. 64 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. the Shop.] Boy, tell me, pray, who are in those chambers. Serv. Three gentlemen: one, Signer Eugenio; the other, Signor Martio, the Neapolitan ; and the third, my Lord, the Count Leander Ardenti. Pla. Flaminio is not among these, unless he has changed his name. Leander. [Within drinking.] Long live the good fortune of Signor Eugenio. [The whole Company, Long live, &c.] (Literally, Na ^J7, vd ^fj, May he live.) Pla. Without 'doubt that is my husband, [To the Serv.] My good man, do me the favour to accompany me above to those gentlemen ; I have some business. Serv. At your commands. [Aside.] The old office of us waiters. [He goes out of the Gaming- House.] Ridolpho. [To Victoria on another part of the stage.] Courage, courage, be of good cheer, it is nothing. Victoria. I feel as if about to die. [Leaning on him as if fainting.] [From the windows above all within, are seen rising from table in confusion : Leander starts at the sight of Platzida, and appears by his gestures to threaten her life. Eugenio. No, stop Martio. Don't attempt Leander. Away, fly from hence ! P/a. Help! Help! [Flies down the stairs, 'Led.nAer attempting to follow with his sword, Eugenio flinders him.] [Trappola with a plate of meat leaps over the balcony from the window, and runs into the Coffee-House.] [Platzida runs out of the Gaming-House, and takes shelter in the Hotel.] [Martio steals softly out of the Gaming-House, and goes off, exclaiming "Rumores fuge." The Servants from the Gaming-House enter the Hotel, and shut the door.] [Victoria remains in the Coffee-House assisted by Ridolpho.] [Leander sword in hand opposite Eugenio exclaims. Give way — I will enter that hotel.] Eugenio. No, that shall never be. You are a scoun- drel to your wife, and I will defend her to the last drop of my blood. Leander. I will give you cause to repent this. [Me- nacing with his sword.] Eugenio. I fear you not. [He attacks Leander, and makes him give back so much, that finding the door of the dancing girVs house open, Leander escapes through, and so finishes.] * A6yia l^wTiKa, ^ aydirrjs. Zwrj fxov. 'AKpiSrj jxov ^vxh' 'AyairriTi jxov, aKpiSi /xov. KapSir(,a jiov. ^Aydnr] jxov. Affectionate expressions. My life. My dear souL My dear. My heart. My love. Aid vd evxapicrr^cTvg, vd Ka- To thank, pay compliments^ firji TrepiiToirjaes, Kai ^iXi- and testify regard. Kals Se^iwaeS' 'Eyw (Tag evxapiiTTw. I thank you. Saj yvo)piZ,(ji) %ap£v. I return you thanks. SSf elfxai iiToxpsos Kara I am much obliged to you. TToXXa. 'Eyw -SAo) rd Kafxei ixerd I will do it with pleasure. Xapds. Me dX)]V inov TTiv KapSiav. Ml KaX^v ixov Kap6iav. Saj eJfxat VTzdxpsos- E('//ai bXo{ eiiKog aag. Eijjiai SovXos (rag. TaireivoraTog SovXog. With all my heart. Most cordially. I am obliged to you. I am wholly yours. I am your servant. Your most humble servant. AIA'AOrOI OI'KIAKOI. Familiar Dialogues. Ata vd ^TjTijcrris ha irpdyixa. To ask for any thing. 2af •jrapaKaXw, Sdaeri he av I pray you, give me if you ^iperi jie. Aavdctri ^s. YLriyaivtre vd ^r)rriatT£. Twpa thQhg. please. Bring me. Lend m.e. Go to seek. Now directly. ii dKpiU jiov Ki'p(£, KdntTs My dear Sir, do me this fieavrfiv rriv xa'ptv. favour. 'Eyw cdg -irapaKaKib. I entreat you. 'Eyw adg i^opKtZ,u}. I conjure you. |Eyw Gag^ to ^j/rw 6id X"-9^v. I ask it of you as a favour. 'Tiroxpeuxxtri yn dg roaov. Oblige me so much. 1 .• f .r^ir "!"='>«?, '—awkwardly enough, but it is the literal trans- lation of the Romaic. The onginal of this comedy of Goklonl's 1 n^ver read, but it does not appear one of his best. " II Bugiardo" is one of the most lively; but I do not think it has been translated into Romaic • it is much more amusmg than our own " Liar," by Foote. The character of Leho IS better drawn than Young Wilding. Goldoni's comedies amount to fifty ; some perhaps the best in Europe, and others the worst His life U also one of the best specimens of autobiography, and, as Gibbon has observed, " more dramatic than any of his plays." The above scene was selected as containing some of the most familiar Romaic idioms not for any wit which it displays, since there is more done than said the :5reater part consisting of stage directions. The original is one of the few "^e^e? by Goldoni which is without the bufloonery of the speaking E7o-T£ Kard-KoWdivysviKbg. You are too obliging lioWd rreipd^ecde. You take too much trouble. To £x« Sid x'^P'^v f 0^ '"'^ ^ ^^'^® ^ pleasure in serv- rdg 6o\ei)(T(i). ing you. E7(rT£ EvyeviKdg Kal tvizpoarj- You are obliging and kind. yopog. Avrb elvai Trpi-jrov. That is right. Tt HXiTt ; tX bpi^ers; What is your pleasure? What are your commands? 'Eag irapaKaXS) vd juc fisTa- I beg you will treat mo X£tpi(,£a^de eXevdtpa. freely. Xtopig irepnroiTjdeg. Without ceremony. Edg dya-rru) i^ bXrjg fiov Kap- I love you with all ray heart. 6iag. Kal eyu) buSiag. And I the same. TipiacTe ix£ Ta7g Trpocraya7g Honour me with your com- cag. mands. "Ex£T£ TiTToreg vd fxs Trpoa- Have you any commands Td^ere ; for me ? Ylpoard^eTt rbv SovXov cag. Command your servant. Ilpoo-yuf vw Taj irpocraydg Gag. I wait your commands. Ml KdnvtTt ficydXriv Tijirjv. You do me great honour. ^Odvovv fj Tiepiiroirjaeg crag Not so much ceremony I liUpaKaXSi. beg. UpoaKwrjaere eKjAipovg fiov Present my respects to the Tov apxovra, tj rbv K6piov. gentleman, or his lordship. BeBaiuxieTe rbv Trwg rbv evdv- Assure him of my remem- ixovfxai. brance. BeSaidoacTE rbv ttSj rbv Assure him of my friend- dyand. ship. Aiv -SAcij Xeixpet va tov rb I will not fail to tell him of CtTTW. it. TLpoaKw^liara iig t))v dp- My compliments to her X^vTiGaav. ladyship. n>7yat v£r£ enxpoaQd Kal cdg Go before, and I will follow aKoXovOu). you. ^H^Evpu) KaXd rb xp^os fiov. I well know my duty. 'H|£i;pw TO zlvai jxav. I know my situation. Ml KdnvETt vd ivrpitroiiiai You confound me with SO fxl ralg T6Gaig (piXo^poai)- much civility. vaig aag. OiXeTE Xonrbv vd KdyLW jjiiav Would you have me then dpx^ioTVra ; be guilty of an incivility? 'Yirdyd) iixnpocdd Sid vd adg I go before to obey you. hnaKovGU). Aid vd Kdixit) Ti)v TTpocTTayrjv To comply with your com- mas, mand. Atv dyaTTU) rdaaig Trtpinoit]- I do not like so much cere- aeg. mony. Aev elixai areXetus irepiiroi- I am not at all ceremonious. rjTiKog. Avrb tivai rb KoXirepov. This is better. T6gov rb KaXirepov. So much the better. "Exers Xdyov, sx^rt SUaiov. You are in the right. Aid vd ISeSaiwatjg, vd dpvrjO^g To affirm, deny, consent^ vd ffvyKarauvGrjg, Kal t|. ^c. Ehai dXrjOivbv, thai aXn^i- It is true, it ia very true. ararov. NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 65 AiavdarageiTrT^vaX>]deLav To tell you the truth. OvT0)s, hlv ^'^vai. Really, it is so. TloToi cni(l>i6d\\u ; Who doubts it ? Alv thai TToo-wj &ixi6oyia. There is no doubt. Ta «7o-tv yiov. In conscience. Mtt rJ7v X^wfiv jxov. By my life. Nai, . I will not. 'Eyw ivavTidvoixai th tovto. I object to this. Aid vd avix6ovXcv0rjg,vd aTO- To consult, consider, or re- XaaO^i, rj vd dTTO apxt)v ^Tov b \. 'EN upxfl 'T** ^ Xbyog, Xdyos' Kal 6 Xoyos vtov ixtTd Qtov' Kal Qtog ^tov 6 Xdyos. 2. "Etovtos tJtov els t^v dpx^l^ (i-tTd Qtov. 3. "OXa [rd irpdyiiara] did fiiaov tov [Xdyov] tyivr)- Kav, Kal ;\;wf)£ff avTov Sh 'iyivt Kaviva tiTi tyivt- 4. Ei'f avTbv fjTov 5<*"V Kai f) ^(i)fi rjTov Tb (pSs Tuiv dv6pix>K(i}v. 5. Kal Tb 0WJ tls Tfjv aKOTtiav cpiyyti, Kal f) aKo- Ttia ch Tb KaToXaSt. 6. ""Etyivtv tvas avOpuTTos OLTTtaTaXixtvos dnb Tbv Qtov, rb ovoud tov 'ludvvrjs- Kal b Xdyos ^iv Trpbs Tbv Q^v, Kal Gfoff rjv b Xoyos. 2. OvTos ijv iv dp^ij irpbs Tbv Qtdv. 3. ndvTa 61 aiiTov iyi- vtTo ' St x'^P'S alTov iyivtTo ovSt ev, yiyovtv. 4. 'Ev aiT{^ ^o)fi ^v, Kal f] ^wr; ^v Tb (pds Twv dv0pw- TTWV. 5. Kal Tb (pGs iv tJj aKorlq, avias ^AttoXXoSStov tov 'Paviov AloXtbs dvb Ki;/i1}S« Ki6apo)6bs- ATJIirJTpios YlapfitilaKov KaXxn^dvios. Tpayw(5df. 'IniroKpdTTis ' ApiaToixivovs "PdSios. Kw/iwt^of. KaXXiarparos 'E^a/cforoD Qr]6a7os. HoitjTris "HaTvpwv. 'Afitjvlas ArjjjioKXiovs Qn^aTog. 'XiroKpiTiis- AojpdOtos A(j)pod£ov TapavTivbs- HoDjTtis Tpayw^twv. HoipoKXi'is 'Lo(()OKXiovs 'Adrjvalos- 'XircKpiTiis. KaGtpixoS Qto6u)pov QrjBalos. Iloit]Tt}s Kw//w(^iwv. ^AXi^avSpos ^ApiaTU)vos ^AOrivahS' ^YiroKpiTfis. "ArTrtXof 'AttuXov ^A0r]va7os. O'ibe iviKiov rbv v^'minov liywva twv 6uo^a)(i)v. nrti<^af avXtjards- AiokXi}S KaXXiyn'iSov Of/fiaToj. n(j(<^a« ifytn6vas. 5ItputT»'oj Y^vvIkov Of/fiuToj. "AK^pas Ai)X>/T»if. AiqkXtis KaXX(/ii'/(^ou Qu^alos. "Avfipas fiytfidvas. 'PdSiinros 'Podiirrrov 'Apytlog- Tpriywi^Of. '.l-niroKpaTiis 'ApioTO/i/i'ovj 'P<5Jiof. Ktojuo(\)s- KaXXlarpiiros AilaKiarov On^aloS' Ts. 'AX/(av(^pos 'Apitrr/wvoj 'AOtivaios" 56 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 'El/ Ss Tfj irep^ SupiKuiS' " Mvaaivo) a^xovro? aycovoderlovTug rbv Xapireia-Lov, Evapioaru) -kolvtwv 8s rvh fViKditrav r€rEI>l>inOH "ApxovTog ev epxoixevb ^vvdpxw, ixzvbg 'AXaXKOjxevio), ev ie F (XuTir] MevoLTao ^ApxeXdu) jxELvbg Trpdru). 'OyLoXoyd Et;6a)Xu F iXaTirj, o Krj ttj iroXi ipxojJLCviwp. 'E7r££^/) KeKOfxiaTr] EiJfiwXos irdp rijg TidXiog rb 6dvtLov di:av kut rag bpLoXoyiag rag Tediaag ^vvdpxo) apxovTog, jxtivbg SciXovOiij), K)) ovT d^EiXtTfj avTuj ETC ovOev ndp Tav rrdXiv, dXX' d-nixc -ndvTa iTEpl navTog., Krj dirohEhdavOi rfj ttSXi Tb exovTEg Tag bfioXoyiag, eI jufv TTort ^Eboixhov p^^ptJvov Ei'SwXt) tTTL vojjiiag F eti uTrETTapa (iovEaai aovv 'iirirvg 6ia KaTirtg Ft KaTi -npo^dTvg covv rjyvg x^iXujg dpxl tw xpdvw b hiavTbg i hetu ^vvapxov apxovTa rpxaftEvivg airoypa- ^Ecdrj 6i Ev6u)Xov KaT' ivtavTov ekucttov iriip tov Ta^iav Kt) TOV vdjxwv dv TUTE Kaxinara twv Trpo6dTu)v, K)] twv fiyiov, Kri TWV (iovCov^ kii t&v 'It:itiov, kii KdTiva uaajtaiiav &iKr] TO rrXElOog jxeI drcoypdEiXEi Xig twv tpxoixEviwv apyovpitt) TETTapdKOVTa EvSwXv KaO' EKaCTOV EViaVTOV, K^ t6kov (pEpETU) 6paxi^dg Tag fxvdg tKaaTug KUTa nElva TOV ki) EjXTrpaKTog ectw tov ipxo- /liviov Koi TU f|>7S." 'Ev aXXoig AiOoig. "'Avo5c5pa (T^v^opov xaTps." NOKYES. "KaXXtVirov afx) 'E.XXr]vag %£(paywyovj /uaj, irodcv kizapaKivridriaav vd i^EpEvvrjcrovv dpx«? Tdcrov iraXaiug, avvKocToXwg udg airoKoivovTai jiE avTovg Tovg X6yovg. " KaOwg b ek Y.kv- Biag ^Avdxapaig, dv 6ev iTrEpuipx^To Ta -KavEVcpoduvva EKElva KXifiaTu Trig 'EXXdSog, dv 8ev ludiooE^TO Td d^iw- IxaTa, Td rdr] Kal rovg No//ot)? twv 'EXA:^vwv, yiBeKe ixEivjf "ZKvBrig Kal to dvof-ia Kal Tb Ttpdyna ' ovtw Kal b fjixETEpog ^luTpbg, av dtv IfidvOavE Ta tov 'iTtnoKpaTovg, 6ev iSvvaTo vd 7rpo%a)p?;(T>7 Elg Triv tex'^^v tov. "Av b h ijixiv No/jlo- OiTrjg Sep i^ETa^E tu tov J,6Xwvog,AvKovpyov, Kal liiTTaKov, 6ev tbvvaTO vd pvQjxriCTr) Kal vd KaXiEpy>JGp Td Tjdrj twv 'OjioyEvwv TOV ' dv b 'Fi'/Twp 6ev dirrivOi^ETO Tag Eixppa^Eiag; Kal Toiig xo-pi-^VTicnovg tov ArjfiocOEvovg, Sev EVEpyovcEV Eig Tdg if'vxdg twv aKpouTwv tov ' "Av b Niog 'Ava- XapcTLg, b Kvpiog 'A66ug BapdoXoiJ.a7og 8ev dvEyivwcKE ue lxEydXi]v E-ijxoviiv Kal dKt^iv Tovg tzXeov EyKpiTovg 1,vy- ypa(pE7g twv 'EXX^vwr, i^EpEvvwv avToiig Ka'd BdOog iiri TpiuKovTa Svw ETT], 6ev tjBeXev i^v(pdvr] tovttjv Trjv -rrEpl 'KXXiivwv '[aTopiav tov, riTig U.Epi^y7]aig tov Nfov 'Ava%ap(r£a)s 7r«p' avTov TrpoawvojiatrBr}, Kal Elg oXag rd? 'EvpwTraiKag AiaXiKTovg ixETEyXwTricBr].^' Kal ev ivi Xoyw, ol NEWTEpoi, dv 6ev EizEpvav 6ia oSvyovg rovg Upoyovovg jxag, rjBzXav 'lawg irEpiipEpwvTai jxaTaiwg jiexol TOV vvv. AvTa 5ev Eivai A6yia EvBvaiaufxEvov did to (piXoysvEg TpaiKov, Eivai Si (biXaXriBovg TEp[xavov, oaTig EfLETdippacrE Tbv Neov ' Avdxap To/iOS TVTTWIXSVOS Kul ^E/ifVoS. NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 57 ^Ejipciiiivoi Koi Ev5a(ixov£s SiaSidioiTe 'EXX?7J/a)i^ Ilar^ej. T^j hixeripas aydi:r]s e^jjpTtjuivoi 'Imdvvrjs M.apixapoTo6pr]s. ArinfjTOLOi Beviipris. "E-Kvpi^wv UpeSiTos. 'Ev Tptsorfw, Tfj TtpuiTT} '0/crw6p(ov, 1799. THE LORD'S PRAYER IN ROMAIC. SL IIATE'PA MAE b -irov elaai eh tovs oipavovg, us ayLaaOfi to bvoyid cov. "'Aj eXOrj f) (iaaiXcia aov. "^Aj yvvT] rb ^iXriixd aov, Ka9u)s eh rbv ohpavov, er^rj Kai eh Tr\v yrjv. Td xpuyjxiiias to KaOrjixepivbv, 66g jias to arffiepov. Kat o-vyxcipvo'e i"«S tu xp^l l^<^S) KaOu)S Kai f/i£ts (7iiy%a)- povjxev tovs Kpeo(pei\iTas ixas- Kat yii\v fxas (pipeis eh ireipaa-nbv, dAX« iXevOipijjai fxas and Tbv ■novnpbv. "Oti iSiK^ffov eJvai >/ (SaacXeia, Se fj Svvajjiis, Kat 7) So^a, eh tovs al&vaS' 'Aju^i/. IN GREEK. IIA'TEP fjixdv h h Tots ovpavols, ayicK^QnTO) rd 8vo[id cov. ^EXOiru) fj PaaiXeia cov ' yevr/d/jTU) rd ^iXrjfjid cov^ d)j iv ovpavio, Kat fTrt Trjs yrji' Tov dpTuv f/piiov rbv iiriovciov 6bs ijixtv c/jixepov. Kat ay Rhone. Stanza Ixxi. line 3. The colour of the Rhone at Geneva is blue, to a depth of tint which I have never seen equalled in water, salt or fresh, except in the Mediterranean and Archi- pelago. 19. Than vulgar minds may be with all they seek possest. Stanza Ixxix. line last. This refers to the account in his "Confessions" of his passion for the Comtesse d'Houdetot, (the mistress of St. Lambert,) and his long walk every morning for the sake of the single kiss which was the common salu- tation of French acquaintance. — Rousseau's description of his feelings on this occasion may be considered as the most passionate, yet not impure description and expression of love that ever kindled into words ; which after all must be felt, from their very force, to be inade- quate to the delineation— a painting can give no suffi- cient idea of the ocean. 20. Of earth-d'er gazing mount nins. Stanza xci. line 3. It is to be recollected, that the most beautiful and impressive doctrines of the divine Pounder of Chris- tianity were delivered, not in the Temple, but on the Mount. To wave the question of devotion, and turn to human eloquence, — the most effectual and splended specimens were not pronounced within walls. Demosthenes ad- dressed the public and popular assemblies. Cicero spoke in the forum. That this added to their effect on the mind of both orator and hearers, may be con- ceived from the difference between what we read of the emotions then and there produced, and those we ourselves experience in the perusal in the closet. It is one thing to read the Iliad at Sigaeum and on the tumuli, or by the springs with Mount Ida above, and the plain and rivers and Archipelago around you ; and another to trim your taper over it in a snug library — this I know. Were the early and rapid progress of what is called Methodism to be attributed to any cause beyond the enthusiasm excited by its vehement faith and doctrines (the truth or error of which I presume neither to canvass nor to question) I should venture to ascribe it to the prac- tice of preaching in the Jields, and the unstudied and extemporaneous effusions of its teachers. The Mussulmans, whose erroneous devotion (at least in the lower orders) is most sincere, and therefore im- pressive, are accustomed to repeat their prescribed orisons and prayers wherever they may be at the stated hours — of course frequently in the open air, kneeling upon a light mat, (which they carry for the purpose of a bed or cushion as required :) the ceremony lasts some minutes, during which they are totally absorbed, and only living in their supplication: nothing can disturb them. On me the simple and entire sincerity of these men, and the spirit which appeared to be within and upon them, made a far greater impression than any general rite which was ever performed in places of worship, of which I have seen those of almost every persuasion under the sun ; including most of our own sectaries, and the Greek,the Catholic, the Armenian, the Lutheran, the Jewish, and the Mahometan. Many of the negroes, of whom there are numbers in the Turkish empire, are idolaters, and have free exercise of their belief and its rites : some of these I had a distant view of at Patras, and from what I could make out of them, they appeared to be of a truly Pagan description, and not very agreeable to a spectator. 21. The sky is changed ! — and such a change ! Oh night. Stanza xcii. line 1. The thunder-storms to which these hnes refer oc- curred on the 13th of Juno, 1816, at midnight. I have NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 59 seen among the Acroceraunian mountains of Chimari several more terrible, but none more beautiful, 22. And sunset into rose-hues sees them wrought. Stanza xcLx. line 6. Rousseau's Heloise, Lettre 17, part 4, note. « Ces montagnes sont si hautes qu'une demi-heure aprfes le soleil couche, Icurs sommets sont encore eclaires de ses rayons ; dont le rouge forme sur ces cimes blanches une belle couleur de rose qu'on appcrfoit de fort loin." This applies more particularly to the heights over Meillcrie. "J'allai h Vevay loger a la Clef, et pendant deux jours que j'y rcstai sans voir personne, je pris pour cette ville un amour qui m'a suivi dans tous mes voyages, et qui m'y a fait etablir enfin les heros de^ mon roman. Je dirois volontiers k ceux qui ont du gout et qui sont sensibles; allez a Vevai — visitez le pays, examihez les sites, promenez-vous sur le lac, et dites si la Nature n'a pas fait ce beau pays pour une Julie, pour une Claire, et pour un St. Preux ; mais ne les y cherchez pas." Les Confessions, livre iv. page 306, Lyons ed. 1796. In July, 1816, I made a voyage round the Lake of Geneva ; and as far as my own observations have led me, in a not uninterested nor inattentive survey of all the scenes most celebrated by Rousseau in his " Heloise," I can safely say, that in this there is no exaggeration. It would be difficuU. to see Clarens, (with the scenes around it, Vevay, C billon, Boveret, St. Gingo, Meillerie, Eivan, and the entrances of the Rhone,) without being forcibly struck with its peculiar adaptation to the per- sons and events with which it has been peopled. But this is not all : the feeling with which all around Clarens, and the opposite rocks of Meillerie, is invested, is of a still higher and moVe comprehensive order than the mere sympathy with individual passion ; it is a sense of the existence of love in its most extended and sublime ca- pacity, and of our own participation of its good and of Its glory : it is the great principle of the universe, which IS there more condensed, but not less manifested; and of which, though knowing ourselves a part, we lose our individuality, and mingle in the beauty of the whole. If Rousseau had never written, nor lived, the same associations would not less have belonged to sucli scenes. He has added to the interest of his works by their adop- tion ; he has shown his sense of their beauty by the selection ; but they have done that for him which no human being could d» for them. I had the fortune (good or evil as it might be) to sail from Meillerie (where vvc landed for some time) to St. Gingo during a lake storm, which added to the magnifi- cence of all around, altiiough occasionally accompanied by danger to the boat, which was small and overloaded. It was over tliis very part of the lake that Rousseau has driven the boat of St. Preux and Madtinie Wolmar to Meillerie for shelter during a tempest. On gaining the shore at St. Gingo, I found tliat the wind had been sufficiently strong to blow down some fine old chestnut-trees on the lower part of the moun- tains. On the opposite height of Clarens is a chateau. The hills are covered with vineyards, and interspersed witli some small but bnauliful woods ; one of these was named the " Boscpiet de Julie," and it is remarkable that, though long ago cut down by the brutal selfishness of the monks of St. Bernard, (to whom the land apper- tained,) that the ground might be enclosed into a vineyard for tlic miserable drones of an execrable superstition, the inhabitants of Clarens still point out the spot where its trees stood, calling it by the name which consecrated and survived them. Rousseau has not been particularly fortunate ill the preservation of the "local habitations" he has given to "airv nothings." Tiic Prior of Great St. Bernard has cut iiown some of his woods for the sake of a few casks of wine, and Buonaparte has levelled part of the rocks of Meillerie in improving the road to the Simplon. The road is an excellent onoj but I cannot quite agree with a remark which I heard made, that ** La route vaut mieux quo les eouvcnirp." 23. Lausanne I and Femey ! ye have been die abodes. Stanza cv. line 1. Voltaire and Gibbon. 24. Had I notjiled my mind, which thus itsdf subdued. Stanza cxiii. line last. " If it be thus. For Banquo's issue liave IJiled my miiid 25. Macbeth, O'er otliers' griefs that some shvcerdy grieve. Stanza cxiv. line 7. It is said by Rochefoucault that '* there is always something in the misfortunes of men's best friends not displeasing to them." NOTES TO CANTO IV. 1. I stood in Venice on tlie Bridge of Sighs; A palace and a prison on each hand. Stanza i. lines 1 and 2. The communication between the ducal palace and the prisons of Venice is by a gloomy bridge, or covered gallery, high above the water, and divided by a stone wall into a passage and a cell. The state dungeons, called " pozzi," or v.elis, were sunk in the thick walls of the palace ; and the prisoner when taken out to die was conducted across the gallery to the other side, and being then led back into the other compartment, or cell, upon the bridge, was there strangled. The low portal through which the criminal was taken into this cell is now walled up ; but the passage is siill open, and is still known by the name of the Bridge of Sighs. The pozzi arc under the flooring of the chamber at the foot of the bridge. They were formerly twelve, but on the first arrival of tlie French, the Venetians hastily blocked or broke up the deeper of these dungeons. You may still, however, descend by a trap-door, and crawl down through holes, half-choked by rubbish, to the depth of two stories below the first range. If you are in want of consola- tion for the extinction of patrician power, perhaps you may find it there; scarcely a ray of liirht glimmers into the narrow gallery which leads to tHe cells, and the places of confinement themselves are totally dark. A small hole in the wall admitted the damp air of the passages, and served for the introduction of the pri- soner's food. A wooden pallet, raised a foot from the ground, was the only furniture. The conductors tell you that a light was not allowed. The cells are about five paces in length, two and a half in width, and seven feet in height. They are directly beneath one anotner, and respiration is somewhat difficult in the lower holes. Only one prisoner was found when the republicans descended into these hideous recesses, and he is said to have been confined sixteen years. But the inmates of the dungeons beneath had left traces of their repent- ance, or of"their des|>air, which are still visible, and may perhaps owe somethincj to recent ingenuity. Some of the detained appear to have offinded against, and others to have belonged to, the racred body, not only from their signatures, but from the churches and belfries whicii they have scratched upon the walls. The reader may not object to sec a specimen of the rerords prompted by so terrific a solitude. As nearly as they could be copied by more than one pencil, three of them are as follows : NGN TI FIDAR .KV .\r.CUNO PENSA TACI 6K FUQIR VUOI DE SPIONI INSIDIE C LACCI II. PENTIRTI PENTIRTI NULLA GIOVA MA BE.N m VALOU TUG LA VERA PUOVA 1G07. API 2. C3ENARO. Fill RE- TENTG P' LA DESTIEMMA p' AVER DATO DA MANZAR A UN MORTO lACOMO . ORITTI . 8CRI8BB. 2. UN PARI.AR POCHO et NEQARE PRONTO et UN PENS VR AL FINE PUO DARE I.A VITA A WOI ALTRI ME8CHINI 1006. 60 NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. EGO lOHN BAPTIST A AD ECCLESIAM CORTELLARICS. 3. DE CHI MI FIDO GUARDAMI DIO DE CHI NON MI FIDO MI GUARDARO 10 A TA H A NA V . I.A S . C . K . R . The copyist has followed, not corrected the solecisms ; some of which are however not quite so decided, since the letters were evidently scratched in the dark. It only need be observed, that bestemmia and mangiar may be read in the first inscription, which was probably written by a prisoner confined for some act of impiety committed at a funeral ; that Corlellarius is the name of a parish on terra firma, near the sea; and that the last initials evidently are put for Viva la santa Chiesa Kattolica Romana. 2. She looks a sea Cybele, fresh from ocean, Rising vdth her tiara ofproiid towers. Stanza ii. hnes 1 and 2. An old writer, describing the appearance of Venice, has made use of the above image, which would not be poetical were it not true. " Quo ft ut qui superne urbem coniempletur, turritam tellu- ris imaginem medio Oceanofguraiam se putet inspicere^'^ 3. In Venice Tassd's echoes are no more. Stanza iii. line 1. The well-known song of the gondoliers, of alternate stanzas from Tasso's Jerusalem, has died with the independence of Venice. Editions of the poem, with the original on one column, and the Venetian variations on the other, as sung by the boatmen, were once com- mon, and are still to be found. The following extract will serve to show the difference between the Tuscan epic and the " Canta alia Barcariola." ' ORIGINAL. Canto 1' arme pietose, e '1 capitano Che 'Igran Sepolcro liberb di Cristo. Molto egli oprb col senno, e con la mano Molto soffri nel glorioso acquisto ; E in van 1' Inferno a lui s' oppose, e in vano S' armb d' Asia, e di Libia il popol misto, Che il Ciel gli di6 favore, e sotto a i Santi Segni ridusse i suoi compagni erranti. VENETIAN. L' arme pietose de cantar gho vogia, E de Goffredo la immortal braura Che al fin 1' ha libera co strassia, e dogia Del nostro buon Gesii la Sepoliura De mezo mondo unito, e de quel Bogia Missier Pluton non 1' ha bu mai paura : Dio 1' ha agiutd, e i compagni sparpagnai Tutti 'I gh' i ha messi insieme i didel Dai. Some of the elder gondoliers will, however, take up and continue a stanza of their once familiar bard. On the 7th of last January, the author of Childe Harold, and another Englishman, the writer of this notice, rowed to the Lido with two singers, one of whom was a carpenter, and the other a gondoher. The former placed himself at the prow, the latter at the stern of the boat. A little after leaving the quay of the Piazzetta, they began to sing, and continued their exercise until we arrived at the island. They gave us, amongst other essays, the death of Clorinda, and the palace of Armida; and did not sing the Venetian, but the Tuscan verses. The carpenter, however, who was the cleverer of the two, and was frequently obliged to prompt his compa- nion, told us that he could translate the original. He added, that he could sing almost three hundred stanzas, but had not spirits {morbin was the v/ord he used) to learn any more, or to sing what he already knew: a man must have idle time on his hands to acquire, or to repeat, and, said the poor fellow, " look at my clothes and at me ; I am starving." This speech was more • Marci Antonii gabelli de VenetB Urbis situ narratio, edit.Tauiin. 1527, Ub.i.fol. 202. affecting than his performance, which habit alone can make attractive. The recitative was shrill, screaming, and monotonous, and the gondolier behind assisted his voice by holding his hand to one side of his mouth. The carpenter used a quiet action, which he evidently endeavoured to restrain ; but was too much interested in his subject altogether to repress. From these men we learnt that singing is not confined to the gondoliers, and that, although the chant is seldom, if ever, voluntary, there are still several amongst the lower classes who are acquainted with a few stanzas. It does not appear that it is usual for the performers to row and sing at the same time. Although the verses of the Jerusalem are no longer casually heard, there is yet much music upon the Venetian canals ; and upon holydays, those strangers who are not near or informed enough to distinguish the words, may fancy that many of the gondolas still resound with the strains of Tasso. The writer of some remarks which appeared in the Curiosities of Literature must excuse his being twice quoted ; for, with the exception of some phrases a little too ambitious and extravagant, he has furnished a very exact, as well as agreeable, description. "In Venice the gondoliers know by heart long pas- sages from Ariosto and Tasso, and often chant them with a peculiar melody. But this talent seems at pre- sent on the decline: — at least, after taking some pains, I could find no more than two persons who delivered to me in this way a passage from Tasso. I must add, that the late Mr. Berry once chanted to me a passage in Tasso in the manner, as he assured me, of the gondoliers. " There are always two concerned, who alternately sing the strophes. We know the melody eventually by Rousseau, to whose songs it is printed ; it has properly no melodious movement, and is a sort of medium be- tween the canto fermo and the canto figurato ; it ap- proaches to the former by recitativical declamation, and to the latter by passages and course, by which one syllable is detained and embellished. " I entered a gondola by moonlight ; one singer placed himself forwards, and the other aft, and thus proceeded to St. Georgio. One began the song: when he had ended his strophe, the other took up the lay, and so continued the song alternately. Throughout the whole of it, the same notes invariably returned, but, according to the subject matter of the strophe, they laid a gi-eater or a smaller stress, sometimes on one, and sometimes on another note, and indeed changed the enunciation of the whole strophe as the object of the poem altered. " On the whole, however, the sounds were hoarse and screaming: they seemed, in the manner of all rude un- civilized men, to make the excellency of their singing in the force of their voice : one seemed desirous of con- quering the other by the strength of his lungs ; and so far from receiving dehght from this scene (shut up as I was in the box of the gondola,) I found myself in a very unpleasant situation. " My companion, to whom I communicated this cir- cumstance, being very desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that this singing was very delightful when heard at a distance. Accordingly we got out upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola, while the other went to the distance of some hundred paces. They now began to sing against one another, and I kept walking up and down between them both, so as always to leave him who was to begin his part, I frequently stood still and hearkened to the one and to the other. "Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and, as it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far,' and called forth the attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily re- quired to be sung in a lower tone, seemed hke plaintive strains succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. The other, who hstened attentively, immediately began where the former left off, answering him in milder or more vehement notes, according as the purport of the strophe required. The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved like spirits hither and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of the scene ; NOTES TO CHILDE HAROLD. 61 and amidst all these circumstances it was easy to con fess the character of this wonderful harmony. "It suits perfectly well witii an idle, solitary mariner, lying at length in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company, or for a fare, the tire- someness of which situation is somewhat alleviated by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. He often raises his voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance over the tranquil mirror, and as all is still around, he is, as it were, in a solitude in the midst of a large and populous town. Here is no rattling of carriages, no noise of foot passengers; a silent gon- dola glides now and then by him, of which the splashmgs of the oars are scarcely to be heard. "At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. Melody and verse immediately attach the two strangers : he becomes the responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had heard the other. By a tacit convention they alternate verse for verse ; though the song should last the whole night through, they entertain themselves without fatigue: the hearers, who are passing between the two, take part in the amusement. " This vocal performance sounds best at a great dis- tance, and is then inexpressibly charming, as it only fulfils its design in the sentiment of remoteness. It is plaintive, but not dismal in its sound, and at times it is scarcely possible to refrain from tears. My companion, who otherwise was not a very delicately organized person, said quite unexpectedly : e singolare come quel canto intenerisce, e molto pit! quando lo cantano megho. " I was told that the women of Libo, the long row of islands that divides the Adriatic from the Lagouns,* ftarticularly the women of the extreme districts of Ma- amocco and Palestrina, sing in like manner the works of Tasso to these and similar tunes. " They have the custom, when their husbands are fishing out at sea, to sit along the shore in the evenings and vociferate these songs, and continue to do so with great violence, till each of them can distinguish the responses of her own husband at a distance."! The love of music and of poetry distinguishes all classes of Venetians, even amongst the tuneful sons of Italy. The city itself can occasionally furnish respect- able audiences for two and even three opera-houses at a time ; and there are few events in private life that do not call forth a printed and circulated sonnet. Does a physician or a lawyer take his degree, or a clergyman preach his maiden sermon, has a surgeon performed an operation, would a harlequin announce his departure or his benefit, arc you to be congratulated on a marriage, or a birth, or a lawsuit, the Muses are invoked to furnish the same number of syllables, and the individual triumphs blaze abroad in virgin white or party-coloured placards on half the corners of the capital. The last courtesy of a favourite "prima donna" brings down a shower of these poetical tributes from those upper re- gions, from which, in our theatres, nothing but cupids and snow-storms are accustomed to descend. There is a poetry in the very life of a Venetian, which, in its common course, is varied with those surprises and changes so recommendable to fiction, but so different from the sober monotony of northern existence ; amuse- ments are raised into duties, duties are softened into amusements, and every object being considered as equally making a part of the business of life, is an- nounced and performed with the same earnest indiflrr- cnce and gay assiduity. The Venetian gazette constantly closes its columns with the following triple advertise- ment. Cliurade Exposition of the most Holy Sacrament in the church of St. Theatres. St. Moses, opera. * Tliu wiitisr mcanl Lido, which U not a long row of iihiii