Class 
 Book 
 
 
 PRESENTED EV 
 

 '? 
 
 4~?' f - 
 
 JOURNAL 
 
 &c. 
 
 331 
 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 OF THE 
 
 CONVERSATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 LORD BYRON: 
 
 VOTED DURING A RESIDENCE WITH HIS LORDSHIP 
 
 AT PISA, 
 
 FN THE YEARS 1821 AND 1822 
 
 CT THOMAS MED WIN, ESQ. 
 
 OF THE 24th LIGHT DRAGOONS, 
 AFTHOIl OF "aHASUERUS THE WANDERER."' 
 
 WITH ADDITIONS, 
 
 srsw-iroax. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY WILDER & CAMPBELL, 
 
 No. 142 Broadway, 
 £ LITTELL, PHILADELPHIA ; AND WELLS &. LILLY, BOSTON 
 
 !>. Famhaw, Printer, l Murray-street 
 
 1824, 
 
lUthtrn District of Kiw-Yoi ■■■. 
 
 BE IT REMEMBERED, That on the 13lh day of December, A. V. 1824, in On 
 forty-ninth year of the Independence of the United States of America, Wii 
 der and Campbell, of the said District, have deposited in this office the title of a 
 book, the right whereof they claim as proprietors, in the words following - , to wit 
 
 Journal of the Conversations of Lord Byron : Noted during a residence with 
 his Lordship at Pisa in the years 1821 and 1822. By Thomas Medwin, Esq. ot 
 the I'-Hh Light Dragoons, Author of" Ahasuerus the Wanderer." With additions 
 
 In conformity to (he Act of Congress of the United States, entitled " An A< 
 for the encouragement of Learning-, by securing the copies of Maps, Chart-, aiv 
 Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during the time therein 
 mentioned." And also to an Art, entitled '• An Act, supplementary to an Act, en 
 titled an Act for the encouragement of Learning, by securing the copies of 
 Maps, Charts, and Books, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, during 
 the limes therein mentioned, and extending the benefits thereof to the a; I ■ ■ '. 
 designing 1 , engraving, and etching historical and other prints." 
 
 JAMES DILL, 
 Clerk of the Southern IMstriet of Ne^Yori 
 
 out 
 
 W. L. Shoemaker 
 ? t '06 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 ••A great poet belongs to no country; his 
 works are public property, and his Memoirs 
 the inheritance of the public." Such were 
 the sentiments of Lord Byron; and have 
 they been attended to ? Has not a manifest 
 injustice been done to the world, and an in 
 jury to his memory, by the destruction of his 
 Memoirs ? These are questions which it is 
 now late, perhaps needless, to ask ; but 1 
 will endeavour to lessen, if not to remedy, 
 the evil. 
 
 I am aware that in publishing these remi- 
 niscences I shall have to contend with much 
 obloquy from some parts of his family, — that 
 I shall incur the animosity of many of his 
 friends, There are authors, too, who will 
 
Vi PREFACE, 
 
 not be pleased to find their names in print, — 
 to hear his real opinion of themselves, or oi 
 their works. There are others — But I have 
 the satisfaction of feeling that I have set 
 about executing the task I have undertaken, 
 conscientiously : I mean neither to throw a 
 veil over his errors, nor a gloss over his vir- 
 tues. 
 
 My sketch will be an imperfect and a rough 
 one, it is true, but it will be from the life ; and 
 slight as it is, may prove more valuable, per- 
 haps, than a finished drawing from memory. 
 It will be any thing but a panegyric : my aim 
 is to paint him as he was. That his passions 
 Were violent and impetuous, cannot be de- 
 nied ; but his feelings and affections were 
 equally strong. Both demanded continual 
 employment ; and he had an impatience of 
 repose, a "restlessness of rest," that kept 
 them in constant activity. It is satisfactory, 
 too, at least it is some consolation, to reflect, 
 that the last energies of his nature were con- 
 sumed in the cause of liberty, and for the 
 benefit of mankind. 
 
PREFACE. VJl 
 
 How I became acquainted with so many 
 particulars of his history, so many incidents 
 of his life, so many of his opinions, is easily 
 explained. They were communicated dur- 
 ing a period of many months' familiar inter- 
 course, without any injunctions to secrecy, 
 and committed to paper for the sake of refer- 
 ence only. They have not been shown to 
 any one individual, and but for the fate of his 
 MS. would never have appeared before the 
 public. 
 
 I despise mere w r riting for the sake of 
 book-making, and have disdained to swell 
 out my materials into volumes. I have given 
 Lord Byron's ideas as I noted them down at 
 the time, — in his own words, as far as my 
 recollection served. 
 
 They are, however, in many cases, the 
 substance without the form. The brilliancy 
 of his wit, the flow of his eloquence, the sal™ 
 lies of his imagination, who could do justice 
 to ? His voice, his manner, which gave a 
 charm to the whole, who could forget ? 
 
VJ11 1' KEF ACE. 
 
 '• His subtle talk would cheer the winter night, 
 " And make me know myself; and the fire light 
 u Would flash upon our faces, till the day 
 " Might dawn, and make me wonder at my stay." 
 
 Shelley's Julian and Maddalo. 
 4reneva } 1st August, 182 i. 
 
CONVERSATIONS, 
 
 &c. 
 
 I went to Italy late in the autumn of 1821, fov 
 the benefit of my health. Lord Byron, accompanied 
 by Mr. Rogers as far as Florence, had passed on a 
 few days before me, and was already at Pisa when I 
 arrived. 
 
 His travelling equipage was rather a singular one, 
 and afforded a strange catalogue for the D»gana: 
 seven servants, five carriages, nine horses, a monkey, 
 a bull-dog and- a mastiff, two cats, three pea- fowls 
 and some hens, (I do not know whether I have class- 
 them in order of rank,) formed part of his live stock; 
 these, and all his books, consisting of a very large 
 library of modern works, (for he bought all the best 
 that came out,) together with avast quantity of furni- 
 ture, might well be termed, with Caesar, " impedi- 
 ments." 
 
 I had long formed a wish to see and be acquainted 
 with Lord Byron ; but his known refusal at that time 
 to receive the visits of strangers, even of some who 
 had brought him letters of introduction from the 
 most intimate friend he had, and a prejudice excited 
 against his own countrymen by a late insult, would 
 have deterred me from seeking an interview with him, 
 had not the proposal come from himself, in conse- 
 quence of his hearing Shelley speak of me. 
 
 1 
 
2 . CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 20th November. — " This is the Lung' Arno : he 
 has hired the Lanfranchi palace for a year. It is 
 one of those marble piles that seem built for eternity, 
 whilst the family whose name it bears no longer ex- 
 ists," said Shelley, as we entered a hall that seemed 
 built for giants. " I remember the lines in the In- 
 ferno," said I : " a Lanfranchi was one of the perse- 
 cutors of Ugolino." " The same," answered Shelley ; 
 " you will see a picture of Ugolino and his sons in 
 his room. Fletcher, his valet, is as superstitious as 
 his master, and says the house is haunted, so that he 
 cannot sleep for rumbling noises overhead, which he 
 compares to the rolling of bowls. No wonder ; old 
 Lanfranchi's ghost is unquiet, and walks at night." 
 
 The palace was of such size, that Lord Byron only 
 occupied the first floor ; and at the top of the stair- 
 case leading to it was the English bull-dog, whose 
 chain was long enough to guard the door, and pre 
 vent the entrance of strangers ; he, however, knew 
 Shelley, growled, and let us pass. In the anti-room 
 we found several servants in livery, and Fletcher, 
 (whom Shelley mentioned, and of whom I shall have 
 occasion to speak,) who had been in his service from 
 the time he left Harrow. "Like many old servants, 
 he is a privileged person," whispered Shelley. " Don 
 Juan had not a better Leporello, for imitating his 
 master. He says that he is a Laurel struck by a 
 JMetre, and when in Greece, remarked upon one of 
 the bas-reliefs of the Parthenon, ' La ! what mantel- 
 pieces these would make, my Lord !' " When we 
 were announced, we found his Lordship writing. 
 His reception was frank and kind; he took me cor- 
 dially by the hand, and said : 
 
LORD BYRON. o 
 
 "You are a relation and schoolfellow of Shelley's 
 — we do not meet as strangers — you must allow me 
 to continue my letter, on account of the post. Here's 
 something for you to read, Shelley ; (giving him 
 part of his MS. of ' Heaven and Earth ;') tell me 
 what you think of it." 
 
 During the few minutes that Lord Byron was 
 finishing his letter, I took an opportunity of narrowly 
 observing him, and drawing his portrait in my mind.* 
 Thorwaldsen's bust is too thin-necked and young for 
 Lord Byron. None of the engravings gave me the 
 least idea of him. 1 saw a man of about five feet 
 seven or eight, apparently forty years of age; as was 
 said of Milton, he barely escaped being short and 
 thick. His face was fine, and the lower part symme- 
 trically moulded ; for the lips and chin had that curv- 
 ed and definite outline that distinguishes Grecian 
 beauty. His forehead was high, and his temples 
 broad ; and he had a paleness in his complexion, al- 
 most to wanness. His hair, thin and fine, had al- 
 most become gray, and waved in natural and grace- 
 ful curls over his head, that was assimilating itself 
 
 * Being with him, day after day, some time afterwards, whilst 
 he was sitting to Bertolini, the, Florentine sbulptor, for his bust, 
 I had an opportunity of analyzing his features more critically, 
 but found nothing to alter in my portrait. Bertolini's is an ad- 
 mirable likeness, at least was so in the clay model. I have not 
 seen it since it was copied in marble, nor have I got a cast; he 
 promised Bertolini should send me one. Lord Byron prided 
 himself on his neck ; and it must be confessed that his head was 
 worthy of being placed on it. Bertolini destroyed his tbauches 
 more than once before he could please himself. When he had 
 finished, Lord Byron said, 
 
 " It is the last time I sit to sculptor or painter." 
 This was on the 4th of January, 1822. 
 
4 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 fast to the " bald first Caesar's." He allowed it to 
 grow longer behind than it is accustomed to be worn, 
 and at that time had mustachios, which were not suf- 
 ficiently dark to be becoming. In criticising his fea- 
 tures it migTit, perhaps, be said that his eyes were 
 placed too near his nose, and that one was rather 
 smaller than the other; they were of a grayish brown, 
 but of a peculiar clearness, and when animated, pos- 
 sessed a fire which seemed to look through and pene- 
 trate the thoughts of others, while they marked the 
 inspirations of his own. His teeth were small, regu- 
 lar, and white ; these, I afterwards found, he took 
 great pains to preserve.* 
 
 I expected to discover that he had a club, perhaps 
 a cloven foot; but it would have been difficult to have 
 distinguished one from the other, either in size or in 
 form. 
 
 On the whole, his figure was manly, and his coun- 
 tenance handsome and prepossessing, and very ex- 
 pressive ; and the familiar ease of his conversation 
 soon made me perfectly at home in his society. Our 
 first interview was marked with a cordiality and con- 
 fidence that flattered while it delighted me, and I felt 
 aiixious for the next day, in order that I might re° 
 peat my visit. 
 
 When I called on his Lordship at two o'clock, he 
 had just left his bed-room, and was at breakfast, if it 
 can be called one. It consisted of a cup of strong 
 green tea, without milk or sugar, and an egg, oi 
 
 * For this purpose lie used tobacco when he first went into 
 the open air ; and he told me he was in the habit of grinding his 
 teeth in his sleep, to prevent which he was forced to put a nap- 
 kin between them. 
 
LORD BYRON. * 
 
 which he ate the yolk raw. I observed the abstemir 
 ousness of his meal. 
 
 " My digestion is weak ; I am too bilious," said he, 
 " to eat more than once a-day, and generally live on 
 vegetables. To be sure 1 drink two bottles of 
 wine at dinner, but they form only a vegetable 
 diet. Just now 1 live on claret and soda-water. 
 You are just come from Geneva, Shelley tells me. 
 I passed the best part of the summer of 1816 at the 
 Campagna Diodati, and was very nearly passing 
 this last there. I went so far as tp write to Hentsh, 
 the banker ; but Shelley, when he came to visit me 
 at Ravenna, gave me such a flattering account of 
 Pisa, that I changed my mind. Then it is trouble- 
 some to travel so far with so much live and dead 
 stock as I do ; and I don't like to leave behind me 
 any of my pets that have been accumulating since 
 I came on the Continent.* One cannot trust to 
 strangers to take care of them. You will see at 
 the farmer's some of my pea-fowls en pension, 
 Fletcher tells me that they are almost as bad fellow- 
 travellers as the monkey ,f which I will show you." 
 
 Here he led the way to a room, where, after play- 
 ing with and caressing the creature for some time, he 
 proposed a game of billiards. 
 
 I brought the conversation back on Switzerland 
 and his travels, and asked him if he had been in Ger- 
 many ? 
 
 * He says afterwards, in "Don Juan," canto X, stanza 50: 
 " He had a kind of inclination, or 
 Weakness, for what most people deem mere vermin, 
 Live animals." 
 f He afterwards bought another monkey in Pisa, in the street, 
 uecause he saw it ill-used. 
 
CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " No," said he, " not even at Trieste. I hate des- 
 potism and the Goths too much. I have travelled 
 little on the Continent, at least never gone out of 
 my way. This is partly owing to the indolence of 
 my disposition, partly owing to my incumbrances. I 
 had some idea, when at Rome, of visiting Naples,, 
 but was at that time anxious to get back to Venice. 
 But Psestum cannot surpass the ruins of Agrigen- 
 turn, which I saw by moonlight; nor Naples, Con- 
 stantinople. Yjou have no conception of the beau- 
 ty of the twelve islands where the Turks have their 
 country houses, or of the blue Symplegades against 
 which the Bosphorus beats with such resistless vio- 
 lence. 
 
 " Switzerland is a country I have been satisfied 
 with seeing once j Turkey I could live in for ever, 
 
 1 never forget my predilections. I was in a wretch- 
 ed state of health, and worse spirits, when I was at 
 Geneva ; but quiet and the lake, physicians better 
 than Polidori, soon set me up. I never led so moral 
 a life as during my residence in that country ; but I 
 gained no credit by it. Where there is a mortification, 
 there ought to be reward. On the contrary, there 
 is no story so absurd that they did not invent at my 
 cost. I was watched by glasses on the opposite side 
 of the Lake, and by glasses, too, that must have had 
 very distorted optics. I was waylaid in my evening 
 drives — I was accused of corrupting all the grisettes 
 in the Rue Basse. I believe that they looked upon 
 me as a man-monster, worse than the piqueur. 
 
 " Somebody possessed Madame de Stael with an 
 opinion of my immorality. I used occasionally to 
 visit her at Coppet ; and once she invited me to a 
 
LORD BYRON. 7 
 
 family-dinner, and I found the room full of stran- 
 gers, who had come to stare at me as at some out- 
 landish beast in a raree-show. One of the ladies 
 fakited, and the rest looked as if his Satanic Ma- 
 jesty had been among them. Madame de Stael 
 took the liberty to read me a lecture before this 
 crowd, to which [ only made her a low bow. 
 
 " I knew very few of the Genevese. Hentsh was 
 very civil to me ; and I have a great respect for 
 Sismondi. 1 was forced to return the civilities of 
 One of their professors by asking him and an old 
 gentleman, a friend of Gray's, to dine with me. I 
 had gone out to sail early in the morning, and the 
 wind prevented me from returning in time for din- 
 vjier. I understand that I offended them mortally. 
 Polidori did the honours. 
 
 " Among our countrymen I made no new acquaint- 
 ances ; Shelley, Monk Lewis, and Hobhouse, 
 were almost the only English people I saw. No 
 wonder; I showed a distance for society at that 
 time, and went little among the Genevese ; besides, 
 I could not speak French. What is become of 
 my boatman and boat ? I suppose she is rotten ; 
 she was never worth much. When I went the tour 
 of the Lake in her with Shelley and Hobhouse, she 
 was nearly wrecked near the very spot where St. 
 Preux and Julia were in danger of being drowned. 
 It would have been classical to have been lost there, 
 but not so agreeable. Shelley was on the lake much 
 oftejier than I, at all hours of the night and day : 
 he almost lived on it; his great rage is a boat. 
 We are both building now a f Genoa, I a yacht, and 
 he an open boat." 
 
8 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 We played at billiards till the carriage was an- 
 nounced, and I accompanied him in his drive. Soon 
 after we got off the stones, we mounted our horses, 
 which were waiting for us. Lord Byron is an ad- 
 mirable horseman, combining grace with the securi- 
 ty of his seat. He prides himself much on this ex- 
 ercise. He conducted us for some miles, till we came 
 to a farm-house, where he practises pistol-firing every 
 evening. This is his favourite amusement, and may 
 indeed be called almost a pursuit. He always has 
 pistols in his holster, and ^ight or ten pair, by the 
 first makers in London, carried by his courier. We 
 had each twelve rounds of ammunition, and in a 
 diameter of four inches he put eleven out of twelve 
 shots. I observed his hand shook exceedingly. He 
 said that when he first began at Man ton's he was the 
 worst shot in the world, and Manton was perhaps 
 the best. The subject turned upon duelling, and he 
 contended for its necessity, and quoted some strong 
 arguments in favour of it. 
 
 " I have been concerned," said he, " in many duels 
 as second, but only in two as principal ; one was 
 with Hobhouse before I became intimate with him. 
 The best marksmen at a target are not the surest 
 in the field. Cecil's and Stackpoole's affair proved 
 this. They fought after a quarrel of three years, 
 during which they were practising daily. Stack- 
 poole was so good a shot that he used to cut off 
 the heads of the fowls for dinner as they drank out 
 of the coops about. He had every wish to kill .his 
 antagonist, but he received his death-blow from 
 Cecil, who fired rather fine, or rather was the 
 quickest shot of the two. All he said when falling 
 was. < D n it, have I missed him r' Shelley is 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 a much better shot than I am, but he is thinking of 
 metaphysics rather than of firing." 
 
 I understand that Lord Byron is always in better 
 spirits after having culped (as he calls it) the targe 
 often, or hit a five-franc piece, the counterpart of 
 which is always given to the farmer, who is making 
 a little fortune. All the pieces struck, Lord Byron 
 keeps to put, as he says, in his museum. 
 
 We now continued, our ride, and returned to Pisa 
 by the Lucca gate. 
 
 " Pisa, with its hanging tower and Sophia-like 
 dome, reminds me," said Lord Byron, "of an east- 
 ern place." 
 
 He then remarked the heavy smoke that rolled 
 away from the city, spreading in the distance a vale 
 of mist, through which the golden clouds of evening 
 appealed. 
 
 " It is fine," said Lord Byron, " but no sunsets are 
 to be compared with those of Venice. They are 
 too gorgeous for any painter, and defy any poe;. 
 My rides, indeed, would have been nothing with- 
 out the Venetian sunsets. Ask Shelley." 
 
 " Stand on the marble bridge," said Shelley, 
 cast your eye, if you are not dazzled, on its river 
 glowing as with fire, then follow the graceful curve 
 of the palaces on the Lung' Arno till the arch is 
 naved by the massy dungeon-tower, (erroneously 
 called Ugolino's,) forming in dark relief, and tell me 
 if any thing can surpass a sunset at Pisa." 
 
 The history of one, is that of almost every day. It 
 
10 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 is impossible to conceive a more unvaried life than 
 Lord Byron led at this period. I continued to visit 
 him at the same hour daily. Billiards, conversation, 
 or reading, filled up the intervals till it was time to 
 take our evening drive, ride, and pistol-practice. 
 On our return, which was always in the same direc- 
 tion, we frequently met the Countess Guiccioli, with 
 whom he stopped to converse a tew minutes. 
 
 He dined at half an hour after sunset, (at twenty- 
 four o'clock,) then drove to Count (Jamba's, the 
 Countess Guiccioli's father, passed several hours in 
 her society, returned to his palace, and either read 
 or wrote till two or three in the morning ; occasion- 
 ally drinking spirits diluted with water as a medicine, 
 from a dread of a nephritic complaint, to which he 
 was, or fancied himself, subject. Such was his life 
 at Pisa. 
 
 The Countess Guiccioli is twenty-three years of 
 age, though she appears no more than seventeen or 
 eighteen. Unlike most of the Italian women, her 
 complexion is delicately fair. Her eyes, large, dark, 
 and languishing, are shaded by the longest eyelashes 
 in the world ; and her hair, which is ungathered on 
 her head, plays over her falling shoulders in a pro- 
 fusion of natural ringlets of the darkest auburn. Her 
 figure is, perhaps, too much embonpoint for her 
 height, but her bust is perfect ; her features want lit- 
 tle of possessing a Grecian regularity of outline; 
 and she has the most beautiful mouth and teeth imagi- 
 nable. It is impossible to see without admiring — to 
 hear the Guiccioli speak without being fascinated. 
 Her amiability and gentleness show themselves in 
 every intonation of her voice, which, and the music 
 of her perfect Italian, give a peculiar charm to every 
 
LORD BYRON. 11 
 
 thing she utters. Grace and elegance seem compo- 
 nent parts of her nature. Notwithstanding that she 
 adores Lord Byron, it is evident that the exile and 
 poverty of her aged father sometimes affect bei r <- 
 rits, and throw a shade of melancholy on her counte- 
 nance, which adds to the deep interest this lovely- 
 girl creates. 
 
 " Extraordinary pains," said Lord Byron one day,, 
 " were taken with the education of Teresa. Her 
 conversation is lively, without being frivolous ; 
 without being learned, she has read all the best 
 authors of her own and the French language. She 
 often conceals what she knows, from the fear of 
 being thought to know too much ; possibly because 
 she knows I am not fond of blues. To use an ex- 
 pression of Jeffrey's, ' If she has blue stockings, she 
 contrives that her petticoat shall hide them'." 
 
 Lord Byron is certainly very much attached to her, 
 without being actually in love. His description of the 
 Georgioni in the Manfrini palace at Venice is meant 
 for the Countess. The beautiful sonnet prefixed to 
 the Prophecy of Dante was addressed to her; and I 
 cannot resist copying some stanzas written when he 
 was about to quit Venice to join her at Ravenna, which 
 will describe the state of his feelings at that time, 
 
 !l River* that rollest by the ancient walls 
 
 ; ' Where dwells the lady of my love, when she 
 
 " Walks by the brink, and there perchance recall? 
 
 " A faint and feeling memory of ntfe : 
 
 " What if thy deep and ample stream should be 
 i; A mirror of my heart, where she may read 
 :i The thousand thoughts I now betray to thee, 
 "■ Wild as thy wave, and headlong as thy speed ? 
 
 * The Po. 
 
12 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 " What do I say — a mirror of my heart ? 
 " Are not thy waters sweeping, dark and strong ? 
 " Such as my feelings were and are, thou art ; 
 " And such as thou art, were my passions long. 
 
 " Time may have somewhat tamed them, not for ever ; 
 
 " Thou ovcrflow'st thy banks, and not for aye ; 
 
 " Thy bosom overboils, congenial river ! 
 
 " Thy floods subside ; and mine have sunk away-~ 
 
 *' But left long wrecks behind them, and again 
 " Borne on our old unchang'd career, we move ; 
 " Thou tendest wildly onward to the main, 
 " And I to loving one I should not love. 
 
 " The current I behold will sweep beneath 
 
 " Her native walls, and murmur at her feet ; 
 
 " Her eyes will look on thee, when she shall breathe 
 
 « The twilight air, unharm'd by summer's heat. 
 
 " She will look on thee ; I have look'd on thee, 
 " Full of that thought, and from that moment ne'er 
 " Thy waters could I dream of, name or see, 
 " Without the inseparable sigh for her. 
 
 " Her bright eyes will be imaged in thy stream ; 
 fi Yes, they will meet the wave I gaze on now : 
 " Mine cannot witness, even in a dream, 
 " That happy wave repass me in its flow. 
 
 " The wave that bears my tears, returns no more : 
 ; ' Will she return, by whom that v^ ave shall swefep ? 
 " Both tread thy banks, both wander on thy shore ; 
 " I near thy source, she by the dark blue deep. 
 
 " But that which keepeth us apart is not 
 
 " Distance, nor depth of wave, nor space of ea! th, 
 
 " But the distraction of a various lot, 
 
 " As rarious as the climate of our birth. 
 
J.OHD BYRON. 
 
 " A stranger loves a lady of the land, 
 
 " Born far beyond the mountains, but his blood 
 
 " Is all meridian, as if never fann'd 
 
 " By the bleak wind that chills the polar flood. 
 
 " My blood is all meridian ; were it not, 
 " I had not left my clime ; — I shall not be, 
 " In spite of tortures ne'er to be forgot, 
 " A slave again of love, at least of thee. 
 
 u 'Tis vain to struggle — let me perish young — 
 
 M Live as I lived, and love as I have loved : 
 
 " To dust if I return, from dust I sprung, 
 
 " And then at least my heart can ne'er be mov'd." 
 
 Calling on Lord Byron one evening after the opeia, 
 we happened to talk of Cavalieri Servenii, and Italian 
 women, and he contended that much was to be said 
 in excuse for them, and in defence of the system. 
 
 " We will put out of the question," said he, a Ca- 
 valier Serventecism ; that is only another term for 
 prostitution, where the women get all the money 
 they can, and have (as is the case in all such contracts) 
 no love to give in exchange. — I speak of another, 
 and of a different service." 
 
 "Do you know how a girl is brought up here?" 
 continued he. " Almost from infancy she is depriv- 
 ed of the endearments of home, and shut up in a 
 convent, till she has attained a marriageable or 
 marketable age. The father now looks out for a 
 suitable son-in-law. As a certain portion of his 
 fortune is fixed by law for the dower of his children, 
 his object is to find some needy man, of equal rank, 
 or a very rich one, the older the better, who will 
 consent to take his daughter off his hands, under 
 the market price. This, if she happen to be hand- 
 
 2 
 
14 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 some, is not difficult of accomplishment. Objec- 
 tions are seldom made on the part of the young la- 
 dy to the age, and personal or other defects of the 
 inte nded, who perhaps visits her once in the parlour as 
 a riiatter of form or curiosity. She is too happy to 
 g( >t her liberty on any terms, and he her money or 
 he.v person. There is no love on either side. What 
 happiness is to be expected, or constancy, from 
 S'lidi a liaison ? Is it not natural, that in her in- 
 tercourse with a world, of which she knows and 
 has seen nothing, and unrestrained mistress of her 
 own time and actions, she should find somebo- 
 dy to like better, and who likes her better, than 
 her husband ? The Count Guiccioli, for instance, 
 who is the richest man in Romagna, was sixty 
 when he married Teresa ; she sixteen. From the 
 first they had separate apartments, and she al- 
 ways used to call him Sir. What could be ex- 
 pected from such a preposterous connection ? For 
 some time she was an Angiolina,- and he a Marino 
 Faliero, a good old man ; but young women, and 
 your Italian ones too, are not satisfied with your 
 good old men. Love is not the same dull, cold, 
 calculating feeling here as in the North. It is the 
 business, the serious occupation of their lives ; it is 
 a want, a necessity. Somebody properly defines a 
 
 woman, ' a creature that loves.' Thev die of love- 
 
 i 
 
 particularly the Romans: they begin to love earlier, 
 and feel the passion later than the Northern people. 
 When I was at Venice two dowagers of sixty made 
 love to me. — But to return to the Guiccioli. The 
 old* Count did not object to her availing herself of 
 the priviledges of I her country; an Italian would 
 have reconciled him to the thing : indeed for some 
 
LORD BYRON. 15 
 
 time he winked at our intimacy, but at length made 
 an exception against me, as a foreigner, a heretic, an 
 Englishman, and, what was worse than all, a liberal. 
 " He insisted — the Guiccioli was as obstinate ; her 
 family took her part. Catholics cannot get divorces. 
 But, to the scandal of all Romagna, the matter was at 
 length referred to the Pope, who ordered her a sepa- 
 rate maintenance, on condition that she should re- 
 side under her father's roof. All this was not agreea- 
 ble, and at length I was forc'd to smuggle her out 
 of Ravenna, having disclosed a plot laid with the 
 sanction of the Legate for shutting her up in a con- 
 vent for life, which she narrowly escaped. — Except 
 Greece, I was never so attached to any place in my 
 life as to Ravenna, and but for the failure of the 
 Constitutionalists and this fracas, should probably 
 never have left it. The peasantry are the best people 
 in the world, and the beauty of their women is extra- 
 ordinary. Those at Tivoli and Frescati, who are 
 so much vaunted, are mere Sabines, coarse creatures, 
 compared to the Romagnese. You may talk of your 
 English women, and it is true that out of one hundred 
 Italians and English you will find thirty of the latter 
 handsome ; but then there will be one Italian on the 
 other side of the scale, who will more than balance 
 the deficit in numbers — one who, like the Florence 
 Venus, has no rival, and can have none in the North. 
 I have learnt more from the peasantry of the coun- 
 tries I have travelled in than from any other source, 
 especially from the women*: they are more intelli- 
 
 * "Female hearts are such a genial soil 
 
 For kinder feeling, whatsoe'er their nation, 
 They generally pour the wine and oil, 
 Samaritans in every situation." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto V. Stanza 122. 
 
16 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 gent, as well as communicative, than the men. I 
 found also at Ravenna much education and liberality 
 of thinking among the higher classes. The climate 
 is delightful. I was unbroken in upon by society. It 
 lies out of the way of travellers. I was never tired 
 of my rides in the pine-forest: it breathes of the 
 Decameron : it is poetical ground. Francesca lived, 
 and Dante was exiled and died at Ravenna. There 
 is something inspiring in such an air.* 
 
 "The people liked me as much as they hated the 
 Government. It is not a little to say, I was popular 
 with all the leaders of the Constitutional party. 
 They knew that I came from a land of liberty, and 
 wished well to their cause. I would have espoused 
 it too, and assisted them to shake off their fetters. 
 They knew my character, for 1 had been living two 
 years at Venice, where many of the Ravennese have 
 houses. I did not, however, take part in their in- 
 trigues, nor join in their political coteries ; but I 
 had a magazine of one hundred stand of arms in the 
 
 *The following lines will show the attachment Lord Byron 
 had to the tranquil life he led at Ravenna. 
 " Sweet hour of twi!ight s in the solitude 
 " Of the pine forest and the silent shore 
 " Which bounds Ravenna's immemoiial wood, 
 " Rooted where once the Adrian wave flow'd o'er 
 " To where the last Cesarean fortress stood, 
 " Evergreen forest ! which Boccacio's lore 
 " And Dryden's lay made haunted ground to me, 
 " How have I loved the twilight hour and thee! 
 " The shrill cicalas, people of the pine, 
 " Making their summer lives one ceaseless song, 
 " Where the sole echoes save my steed's and mine, 
 "And vesper bell's that rose the boughs among." 
 
 Bon Juan, Canto III. Stanza 10^. 
 
LORD BYRON. 1? 
 
 house, when every thing was ripe for revolt. A curse 
 on Carignan's imbecility ! I could have pardoned 
 him that too, if he had not impeached his partisans. 
 The proscription was immense in Romagna, and 
 embraced many of the first nobles ; almost all my 
 friends, among the rest the Gambas, were included 
 in it. They were exiled, and their possessions con- 
 fiscated. They knew that this must eventually drive 
 me out of the country. 1 did not follow them imme- 
 diately ; I was not to be bullied. I had myself fallen 
 under the eye of the Government. If they could have 
 got sufficient proof, they would have arrested me ; 
 but no one betrayed me ; indeed there was nothing 
 to betray. I had received a very high degree, without 
 passing through the intermediate ranks. In that cor- 
 ner you see papers of one of their societies. Short- 
 ly after the plot was discovered, I received several 
 anonymous letters, advising me to discontinue my 
 forest, rides ; but I entertained no apprehensions of 
 treachery, and was more on horseback than ever. 
 I never stir out without being well armed, and sleep 
 with pistols. They knew that I never missed my 
 aim; perhaps this saved me. An event occurred 
 at this time at Ravenna that made a deep impres- 
 sion on me ; I alluded to it in ' Don Juan.' The 
 military Commandant of the place, who, though 
 suspected of being secretly a Carbonaro, was too 
 powerful a man to be arrested, was assassinated op- 
 posite to my palace; a spot perhaps selected by 
 choice for the commission of the crime. The mea- 
 sures which were adopted to screen the murderer 
 prove the assassination to have taken place by or- 
 der of the police. I had my foot in the stirrup at 
 my usual hour of exercise, when my horse starter* 
 
 2* 
 
18 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 at the report of a gun. On looking up, I perceiv- 
 ed a man throw down a carbine and run away at 
 full speed, and another stretched upon the pave- 
 ment a kw yards from me. On hastening towards 
 him, I found that it was the unhappy Commandant. 
 A crowd was soon collected, but no one ventured 
 to offer the least assistance. I soon directed my ser- 
 vant to lift up the bleeding body and carry it into my 
 palace ; but it was represented to me that by so do- 
 ing I should confirm the suspicion of being of his 
 party, and incur the displeasure of the Government. 
 However, it was no time to calculate between huma- 
 nity and danger. I assisted in bearing him into the 
 house, and putting him on a bed. He was already 
 dead from several wounds; he appeared to have 
 breathed his last without a struggle. 1 never saw a 
 countenance so calm. His adjutant followed the 
 corpse into the house. I remember his lamentation 
 over him: — ' Povero diavolo ! non aveva fatto male, 
 anche ad un cane'." 
 
 "I am sorry," said he, " not to have a copy of m\ 
 Memoirs to show you ; I gave them to Moore, or ra- 
 ther to Moore's little boy, at Venice. I remember 
 saying, 'Here are 20007. for }'ou, my young friend. 7 
 I made one reservation in the gift — that they were 
 not to be published till after my death. 
 
 " I have not the least objection to their being cir- 
 culated ; in fact they have been read by some of mine. 
 and several of Moore's friends and acquaintances: 
 among others, they were lent to Lady Burghersli. 
 On returning the MS. her Ladyship told Moore that 
 she had transcribed the whole work. This was un 
 
LORD BYRON, 19 
 
 2)eu fort, and he suggested the propriety of her de- 
 stroying the copy. She did so, by putting it into the 
 fire in his presence. Ever since this happened, Dou- 
 glas Kinnaird has been recommending me to resume 
 possession of the MS., thinking to frighten me by 
 saying that a spurious or a real copy, surreptitiously 
 obtained, may go forth to the world. I am quite in- 
 different about the world knowing all that they con- 
 tain. There are very few licentious adventures of my 
 own, or scandalous anecdotes that will affect others, 
 in the book. It is taken up from my earliest recollec- 
 tions, almost from childhood — very incoherent, writ- 
 ten in a very loose and familiar style. The second 
 part will prove a good lesson to young men ; for it 
 treats of the irregular life I led at one period, and the 
 fatal consequences of dissipation. There are few 
 parts that may not, and none that will not, be read 
 by women." 
 
 Another time he said : — 
 
 " A very full account of my marriage and separa- 
 tion is contained in my Memoirs. After they were 
 completed, I wrote to Lady Byron, proposing to 
 send them for her inspection, in order that an} 7 
 misstatements or inaccuracy (if any such existed, 
 which I was not aware of) might be pointed out and 
 corrected. In her answer she declined the offer, 
 without assigning any reason; but desiring, if not on 
 her account, for the sake of her daughter, that they 
 might never appear, and finishing with a threat. My 
 reply was the severest thing I ever wrote, and contain- 
 ed two quotations, one from Shakspeare, and another 
 from Dante.* I told her that she knew all I had 
 
 * I could not retain then?; 
 
20 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 written was incontrovertible truth, and that she did 
 not wish to sanction the truth. I ended by saying, 
 that she might depend on their being published. It 
 was not till after this correspondence that I made 
 Moore the depositary of the MS. 
 
 " The first time of my seeing MissMillbank was at 
 Lady 's. It was a fatal day; and I remem- 
 ber that in going up stairs I stumbled, and remarked 
 to Moore, who accompanied me, that it was a bad 
 omen. I ought to have taken the warning. On en- 
 tering the room I observed a young lady, more simply 
 dressed than the rest of the assembly, sitting alone 
 upon a sofa. I took her for a humble companion, 
 and asked if I was right in my conjecture ? ' She is a 
 great heiress,' said he in a whisper, that became Jower 
 as he proceeded ; ' you had better marry her, and re- 
 pair the old place, Newstead.' 
 
 " There was something piquant, and what we term 
 pretty, in Miss Millbank. Her features were small 
 and feminine, though not regular. She had the fair- 
 est skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her 
 height, and there was a simplicity, a retired modesty 
 about her, which was very characteristic, and formed 
 a happy contrast to the cold artificial formality, and 
 studied stiffness, which is called fashion. She inter- 
 ested me. exceedingly. It is unnecessary to detail 
 the progress of our acquaintance. I became daily 
 more attached to her, and it ended in my making a 
 proposal that was rejected. Her refusal was couched 
 in terms that could not offend me. I was besides 
 persuaded that, in declining my offer, she was go- 
 verned by the influence of her mother, and was the 
 more confirmed in this opinion by her reviving on.!- 
 
LORD BYRON. ■ 21 
 
 correspondence herself twelve months after. The 
 tenor of her letter was, that although she could not 
 love me, she desired my friendship. Friendship is a 
 dangerous word for young ladies ; it is love full- I 
 fledged, and waiting for a fine day to fly. 
 
 " It had been predicted, by Mrs. Williams, that 
 twenty-seven was to be a dangerous age for me. 
 The fortunetelling witch was right ; it was destined 
 to prove so. I shall never forget the 2d of January! 
 Lady Byron (Byrn, he pronounced it) was the only 
 unconcerned person present ; Lady Noel, her mother, 
 cried ; I trembled like a leaf, made the wrong res- 
 ponses, and after the ceremony called her Miss Mill- 
 bank. 
 
 " There is a singular history attached to the ring. 
 The very day the match was concluded, a ring of my 
 mother's, that had been lost, was dug up by the gar- 
 dener at Newstead. I thought it was sent on purpose 
 for the wedding ; but my mother's marriage had not 
 been a fortunate one, and this ring was doomed to be 
 the seal of an unhappier union still.* 
 
 " After the ordeal was over, we set off for a coun- 
 try seat of Sir Ralph's, and I was surprised at the 
 arrangements for the journey, and somewhat out of 
 humour to find a lady's-maid stuck between me and 
 my bride. It was rather too early to assume the 
 husband ; so I was forced to submit, but it was not 
 with a very good grace. Put yourself in a similar 
 situation, and tell me if I had not some reason to be 
 in the sulks. I have been accused of saying, on get- 
 
 -" Save the ring, 
 
 Which, being the danmed'st part of matrimony — " 
 
 Don Juan, Canto IX. Stanza 70, 
 
22 ^CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 ting into the carriage, that I had married Lady By- 
 ron out of spite, and because she had refused me 
 twice. Though I was for a moment vexed at her 
 prudery, or whatever you may choose to call it, if 
 I had made so uncavalier, not to sav brutal a speech, 
 I am convinced Lady Byron would instantly have 
 left the carriage to me and the maid (I mean the la- 
 dy's). She had spirit enough to have clone so, and 
 would properly have resented the affront. 
 
 " Our honeymoon was not all sunshine ; it had its 
 clouds : and Hobhouse has some letters which would 
 serve to explain the rise and fall in the barometer, — 
 but it was never down at zero. 
 
 " You tell me the world says I married Miss Mill- 
 bank for her fortune, because she was a great heir- 
 ess. All I have ever received, or am likely to re- 
 ceive, (and that has been twice paid back too,) was 
 10,0002. My own income at this period was small, 
 and somewhat bespoke. Newstead was a very un- 
 profitable estate, and brought me in a bare 1500/. a- 
 year ; the Lancashire property was hampered with a 
 lawsuit, which has cost me 14,000/., and is not yet 
 finished. 
 
 " We had a house in town, gave dinner parties, had 
 separate carriages, and launched into every sort of 
 extravagance. This could not last long. My wife's 
 10,000/. soon melted away. I was beset by duns, 
 and at length an execution was levied, and the bai- 
 liffs put in possession of the very beds we had to 
 sleep on. This was no very agreeable state of af- 
 fairs — no very pleasant scene for Lady Byron to wit- 
 ness ; and it was agreed she should pay her father a 
 visit till the storm had blown over, and some arrange- 
 
LORD BYRON. 23 
 
 meats had been made with my creditors. You may 
 suppose on what terms we parted, from the style of a 
 letter she wrote me on the road : you will think it 
 began ridiculously enough — ' Dear Duck !'* 
 
 " Imagine my astonishment to receive, immediate- 
 ly on her arrival in London, a few lines from her 
 father, of a very dry and un affectionate nature, be- 
 ginning ' Sir,' and ending with saying that his daugh- 
 ter should never see me again. 
 
 " In my reply I disclaimed his authority as a pa- 
 rent over my wife, and told him I was convinced the 
 sentiments expressed were his, not hers. Another 
 post, however, brought me a confirmation (under her 
 own hand and seal) of her father's sentence. I after- 
 wards learnt from Fletcher's (my valet's) wife, who 
 was at that time femme-de-chambre to Lady Byron, 
 that after her definite resolution was taken, and the 
 fatal letter consigned to the post-office, she sent to 
 withdraw it, and was in hysterics of joy that it was 
 not too late. It seems, however, that they did not last 
 long, or that she was afterwards over-persuaded to 
 forward it. There can be no doubt that the influence 
 of her enemies prevailed over her affection for me. 
 You ask me if no cause was assigned for this- sudden 
 resolution ? — if I formed no conjecture about the 
 cause ? I will tell you. 
 
 " I have prejudices about women : I do not like to 
 see them eat. Rousseau makes Julie tin pen gour- 
 mande ; but that is not at all according to my taste. 
 I do not like to be interrupted when I am writing. 
 Lady Byron did not attend to these whims of mine, 
 
 * Shelley, who knew this story, used to say these two words 
 would look odd in an Italian translation, Jlnitra carissima. 
 
24 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 The only harsh thing I ever remember saying to her 
 was one evening shortly before our parting. I was 
 standing before the fire, ruminating upon the embar- 
 rassment of my affairs, and other annoyances, when 
 Lady Byron came up to me and said, ' Byron, am I 
 in your way ?' to which I replied, ' damnably !' I 
 was afterwards sorry, and reproached myself for the 
 expression : but it escaped me unconsciously — in- 
 voluntarily ; I hardly knew what 1 said. 
 
 " I heard afterwards that Mrs. Charlment had been 
 the means of poisoning Lady Noel's mind against 
 me ; — that she had employed herself and others in 
 watching me in London, and had reported having 
 traced me into a house in Portland-place. There 
 was one act of which I might justly have complained, 
 and which was unworthy of any one but such a con- 
 fidante : I allude to the breaking open my writing- 
 desk. A book was found in it that did not do much 
 credit to my taste in literature; and some letters from 
 a married woman with whom I had been intimate 
 before my marriage. The use that was made of the 
 latter was most unjustifiable, whatever may be 
 thought of the breach of confidence that led to their 
 discovery. Lady Byron sent them to the husband of 
 the lady, who had the good sense to take no notice of 
 their contents. The gravest accusation that has been 
 made against me is that of having intrigued with 
 Mrs. Mardyn in my own house ; introduced her to 
 my own table, &c. There never was a more un- 
 founded calumm\ Being on the committee of Drury- 
 lane Theatre, I have no doubt that several actresses 
 called on me : but as to Mrs. Mardyn, who was a 
 beautiful woman, and might have been a dangerous 
 
 1 
 
LORD BYRON. -l> 
 
 visitress, I was scarcely acquainted (to speak) with 
 her. I might even make a more serious charge 
 against than employing spies to watch sus- 
 pected amours, 
 
 ****** 
 
 ****** 
 * * * * * * 
 
 I had been shut up in a dark street in London, writ- 
 ing (I think he said) ' The Siege of Corinth,' and had 
 refused myself to every one till it was finished. I 
 was surprised one day by a Doctor and a Lawyer 
 almost forcing themselves at the same time into my 
 room. I did not know till afterwards the real object 
 of their visit. I thought their questions singular, fri- 
 volous, and somewhat importunate, if not imperti- 
 nent : but what should I have thought, if I had 
 known that they were sent to provide proofs of my 
 insanity? * * * * 
 
 % * * * * ->:• 
 
 ***** 
 
 (t) 
 
 (f) "For Inez called some druggists and physicians,. 
 " And tried to prove her loving lord was mad : 
 " But as he had some lucid intermissions, 
 " She next decided he was only bad. 
 ; ' Yet when they asked her for her depositions, 
 " No sort of explanation could be had, 
 ,c Save that her duty both to man and God 
 ; ' Required this conduct, — which seem'd very odd. 
 
 " She kept a journal where his faults were noted; 
 ; ' And opened certain trunks of books and letters, 
 ;i All which might, if occasion served, be quoted : 
 • ; And then she had all Seville for abettors, 
 
 ,; Besides her good old grandmother ." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto I. Stanzas 27 and £8 
 3 
 
26 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 I have no doubt that my answers to these emissaries' 
 interrogations were not very rational or consistent, 
 for my imagination was heated by other things. But 
 Dr. Bailey could not conscientiously make me out a 
 certificate for Bedlam ; and perhaps the Lawyer gave 
 a more favourable report to his employers. The 
 Doctor said afterwards, he had been told that I al- 
 ways looked down when Lady Byron bent her eyes 
 on me, and exhibited other symptoms equally infalli- 
 ble, particularly those that marked the late King's 
 case so strongly. I do not, however, tax Lady By- 
 ron with this transaction ; probably she was not 
 pri^ r to it. She was the tool of others. Her mother 
 always detested me ; she had not even the decency to 
 conceal it in her own house. Dining one day at Sir 
 Ralph's, (who was a good sort of man, and of whom 
 you may form some idea, when I tell you that a leg 
 of mutton was always served at his tabic, that he 
 might cut the same joke upon it,) I broke a tooth, 
 and was in great pain, which I could not avoid show- 
 ing. ' It will do you good,' said Lady Noel j ' I 
 am glad of it !' I gave her a look ! 
 
 " You ask if Lady Byron were ever in love with 
 me — I have answered that question already — No ! I 
 was the fashion when she first came out : I had the 
 character of being a great rake, and was a great 
 dandy — both of which young ladies like. She mar- 
 ried me from vanity and the hope of reforming and 
 fixing me. She was a spoiled child, and naturally of 
 a jealous disposition ; and this was increased by the 
 infernal machinations of those in her confidence. 
 
 " She was easily made the dupe of the designing, 
 for she thought her knowledge of mankind infallible : 
 
LORD BYRON. 2? 
 
 she had got some foolish idea of Madame de Stael's 
 into her head, that a person may be better known in 
 the first hour than in ten years. She had the habit 
 of drawing people's characters after she had seen 
 them once or twice. She wrote pages on pages 
 about my character, but it was as unlike as possible. 
 " Lady Byron had good ideas, but could never 
 express them ; wrote poetry too, but it was only good 
 by accident. Her letters were always enigmatical, 
 often unintelligible. She was governed by what she 
 called fixed rules and principles, squared mathema- 
 tically.* She would have made an excellent wrang- 
 ler at Cambridge. It must be confessed, however, 
 that she gave no proof of her boasted consistency. 
 First, she refused me, then she accepted me, then she 
 separated herself from me : — so much for consistency. 
 I need not tell you of the obloquy and opprobium 
 that were cast upon my name when our separation 
 was made public. I once made a list from the Jour- 
 nals of the day, of the different worthies, ancient and 
 modern, to whom I was compared. I remember a 
 few : Nero, Apicius, Epicurus, Caligula, Heliogaba- 
 
 lus, Henry the Eighth, and lastly the . All 
 
 my former friends, even my cousin, George Byron, 
 who had been brought up with me, and whom I loved 
 as a brother, took my wife's part. He followed the 
 stream when it was strongest against me, and can 
 never expect any thing from me : he shall never 
 touch a sixpence of mine. I was looked upon as the 
 worst of husbands, the most abandoned and wicked 
 of men, and my wife as a suffering angel — an incar- 
 
 * •' I think that Dante's more abstruse ecstatics 
 <( Meant to personify the mathematics." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto III. Stanza 11, 
 
CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 nation of all the virtues and perfections of the sex. 
 I was abused in the public prints, made the com- 
 mon talk of private companies, hissed as I went to 
 the House of Lords, insulted in the streets, afraid to 
 go to the theatre, whence the unfortunate Mrs. Mar- 
 dyn had been driven with insult. The Examiner was 
 the only paper that dared say a word in my defence, 
 and Lady Jersey the only person in the fashionable 
 world that did not look upon me as a monster. 
 
 " I once addressed some lines to her that made her 
 my friend ever after. The subject of them was sug- 
 gested by her being excluded from a certain cabinet 
 of the beauties of the day. I have the lines some- 
 where, and will show them to you. 
 
 " In addition to all these mortifications, my affairs 
 were irretrievably involved, and almost so as to make 
 me what they wished. I was compelled to part with 
 Newstead, which I never could have ventured to sell 
 in my mother's life-time. As it is, I shall never for- 
 give myself for having done so ; though I am told 
 that the estate would not now bring half as much as 
 I got for it. This does not at all reconcile me to 
 having parted with the old abbey.* I did not make 
 up my mind to this step, but from the last necessity. 
 1 had my wile's portion to repay, and was determined 
 to add 10,000/. more of my own to it; which I did. 
 I always hated being in debt, and do not owe a gui- 
 nea. The moment I had put my affairs in train, and 
 in little more than eighteen months after my mar- 
 
 * The regard which lie entertained for it is proved by the 
 passage in Don Juan, Canto XIII. Stanza 55, beginning thus : 
 
 " To Norman Abbey whid'd the noble pair," &c« 
 
LORD BYRON. 29 
 
 riage, I left England, an involuntary exile, intending 
 it should be for ever."* 
 
 Speaking of the multitude of strangers, whose 
 visits of curiosity or impertinence, he was harassed 
 by for some years after he came abroad, particularly 
 at Venice, he said : 
 
 " Who would wish to make a show-bear of him- 
 self, and dance to any tune any fool likes to play ? 
 Madame de Stael said, I think of Goethe, that people 
 who did not wish to be judged by what they said, 
 did not deserve that the world should trouble itself 
 about what they thought. She had herself a most 
 unconscionable insatiability of talking and shining. 
 If she had talked less, it would have given her time 
 to have written more, and would have been better. 
 For my part, it is indifferent to me what the world 
 says or thinks of me. Let them know me in my 
 books. My conversation is never brilliant. 
 
 " Americans are the only people to whom I never 
 refused to show myself. The Yankees are great 
 friends of mine. 1 wish to be well thought of on the 
 other side of the Atlantic ; not that 1 am better ap- 
 preciated there, than on this ; perhaps worse. Some 
 American Reviewer has been persevering in his 
 
 * His feelings may be conceived by the two following pas- 
 sages: 
 
 " I can't but say it is an awkward sight, 
 
 " To see one's native land receding through 
 
 " The growing waters — it tinman's one quite." — 
 
 Don Juan, Canto II. Stanza 12; 
 
 ,J Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, 
 '•' With nought of hope left." 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto III. Stanza 16.- 
 3* 
 
•30 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 abuse and personality, but he should have minded 
 his ledger ; he never excited my spleen.* I was con- 
 firmed in my resolution of shutting my door against 
 all the travelling English, by the impertinence of an 
 anonymous scribbler, who said he might have known 
 • me, but would not." 
 
 I interrupted hi n by telling him he need not have 
 been so angry on that occasion, — that it was an au- 
 thoress who had been guilty of that remark. " I 
 don't wonder," added 1, " that a spinster should have 
 avoided associating with so dangerous an acquaint- 
 ance as you had the character of being at Venice." 
 
 " Well, I did not know that these ' Sketches of 
 Italy' were the production of a woman ; but whether 
 it was a Mr., Mrs., or Miss, the remark was equally 
 uncalled for. To be sure, the life I led at Venice 
 was not the most saintlike in the world." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " if you were to be canonized, it 
 must be as San Ciappelletto." 
 
 " Not so bad as that cither," said he, somewhat se- 
 riously. 
 
 " Venice," resumed he, " is a melancholy place to 
 reside in : — to see a city die daily as she does, is a 
 sad contemplation. I sought to distract my mind 
 from a sense of her desolation, and my own solitude, 
 by plunging into a vortex that was any thing but 
 
 * The taste and critical acumen of the American magazine 
 will appear from the following extract : 
 
 " The verses (it is of the ' Prisoner of Chillon' that it speaks) 
 are in the eight syllable measure, and occasionally display some 
 pretty poetry ; at all events, there is little in them t^offend. 
 
 " We do not find any passage of sufficient beauty or origi 
 nalityto warrant extract," 
 
 Jm. Critical Review, 1817. 
 
LORD BYRON. SL 
 
 pleasure. When one gets into a mill stream, it is 
 difficult to swim against it, and keep out of the wheels. 
 The consequences of being carried down by it would 
 furnish an excellent lesson for youth. You are too 
 old to profit by it. But, who ever profited by the 
 experience of others, or his own ? When you read 
 my Memoirs, you will learn the evils, moral and phy- 
 sical, of true dissipation. I assure you my life is 
 very entertaining, and very instructive." 
 
 I said, " I suppose, when you left England, you 
 were a Childe Harold, and at Venice a Don Giovan- 
 ni, and Fletcher your Leporello." He laughed at 
 the remark. I asked him, in what way his life would 
 prove a good lesson ? and he gave me several anec- 
 dotes of himself, which I have thrown into a sort of 
 narrative. 
 
 " Almost all the friends of my youth are dead : 
 either shot in duels, ruined, or in the galleys :" (men 
 tioning the names of several.) 
 
 " Among those I lost in the early part of my career, 
 was Lord Falkland, — poor fellow ! our fathers' fa- 
 thers were friends. He lost his life for a joke, and 
 one too he did not make himself. The present race 
 is more steady than the last. They have less con- 
 stitution and not so much money — that accounts for 
 the change in their morals. 
 
 " I am now tamed ; but before I married, showed 
 some of the blood of my ancestors. It is ridiculous 
 to say that we do not inherit our passions, as well a? 
 the gout, or any other disorder. 
 
 " I was not so young when my father died, but that 
 
32 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 I perfectly remembered him ; and had very early a 
 horror of matrimony, from the sight of domestic 
 broils: this feeling came over me very strongly at 
 my wedding. Something whispered me that 1 was 
 sealing my own death-warrant. I am a great be- 
 liever in presentiments. Socrates' daemon was no 
 fiction. Monk Lewis had his monitor, and Napo- 
 leon many warnings. At the last moment I would 
 have retreated, if I could have done so. I called to 
 mind a friend of mine, who had married a young, 
 beautiful, and rich girl, and yet was miserable. He 
 had strongly urged me against putting m}' neck in 
 the same yoke : and to show you how firmly I was 
 resolved to attend to his advice, I betted Hay fifty 
 guineas to one, that I should always remain single. 
 Six years afterwards I sent him the money. The day 
 before I proposed to Lady Byron, I had no idea of 
 doing so." 
 
 After this digression, he continued: — 
 " I lost my father when I was only six years of 
 age. My mother, when she was in a rage with me, 
 (and I gave her cause enough,) used to say, ' Ah, 
 yon little dog, you are a Byron all over ; you are 
 as bad as your father 1' It was very different from 
 Mrs. Malaprop's saying, ' Ah ! good dear Mr. Mala- 
 prop, I never loved him till he was dead.' But, in 
 fact, my father was, in his youth, any thing but a 
 1 Ccelebs in search of a wife.' He would have made 
 a bad hero for Hannah More. He ran out three for- 
 tunes, and married or ran away with three women, 
 and once wanted a guinea, that he wrote for ; I have 
 the note. He seemed born for his own ruin, and that 
 of the other sex. He began by seducing Lady Car- 
 
LORD BYRON. 33 
 
 marthen, and spent for her 4000/. a-year ; and not 
 content with one adventure of this kind, afterwards 
 eloped with Miss Gordon. His marriage was not 
 destined to be a very fortunate one either, and I don't 
 wonder at her differing from Sheridan's widow in the 
 play. They certainly could not have claimed the 
 flitch. 
 
 " The phrenologists tell me that other lines besides 
 that of thought, (the middle of three horizontal lines 
 on his forehead, on which he prided himself,) are 
 strongly developed in the hinder part of my cranium ; 
 particularly that called philoprogenitiveness.* I 
 suppose, too, the pugnacious bump might be found 
 somewhere, because my uncle had it. 
 
 " You have heard the unfortunate story of his du- 
 el with his relation and neighbour. After that me- 
 lancholy event, he shut himself up at Newstead, and 
 was in the habit of feeding crickets, which were his 
 only companions. He had made them so tame as to 
 crawl over him, and used to whip them with a whisp 
 of straw, if too familiar. When he died, tradition says 
 that they left the house in a body. I suppose I de- 
 rive my superstition from this branch of the family; but 
 though I attend to none of these new-fangled theories, 
 I am inclined to think that there is more in a chart 
 of the skull than the Edinburgh Reviewers suppose.f 
 However that may be, I was a wayward youth, and 
 gave my mothpr a world of trouble — as I fear Ada 
 will her's, for I am told she is a little termagant. I 
 
 * He appears to have mistaken the meaning of this word in 
 the vocabulary of the Craniologists, as in Don Juan. 
 
 f He had probably been reading the article on Gall and Spurz- 
 heim. 
 
34 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 had an ancestor, too, that expired laughing, ([ sup- 
 pose that my good spirits came from him,) and two 
 whose affection was such for each other, that they 
 died almost at the same moment. There seems to 
 have been a flaw in my escutcheon there, or that lov- 
 ing couple have monopolized all the connubial bliss 
 of the family. 
 
 " I passed my boyhood at Marlodge, near Aber- 
 deen, occasionally visiting the Highlands ; and long 
 retained an affection for Scotland ; — that, 1 suppose, 
 I imbibed from my mother. My love for it, however, 
 was at one time much shaken by the critique in ' The 
 Edinburgh Review' on ' The Hours of Idleness,' and 
 I transferred a portion of my dislike to the country ; 
 but my affection for it soon flowed back into its old 
 channel. 
 
 " I don't know from whom I inherited verse-mak- 
 ing; probably the wild scenery of Morven and Loch- 
 na-garr, and the banks of the Dee, were the parents 
 of my poetical vein, and the developers of my poeti- 
 cal boss. If it was so, it was dormant ; at least, 1 
 never wtote any thing worth mentioning till I was in 
 love. Dante dates his passion for Beatrice at twelve. 
 I was almost as young when I fell over head and 
 ears in love ; but 1 anticipate. I was sent to Harrow 
 at twelve, and spent my vacations at Newstead. It 
 was there that I first saw Mary C *. She was 
 
 jYote. — He wrote about this time 'The Curse of Minerva;' 
 in which he seems very rlnsply to have followed Churchill. 
 He came to England in 1798. 
 
 * " It was a name 
 
 " Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not ; — and why? 
 " Time taught him a deep answer." 
 
 The Dream. 
 
LORD BYRON. 35 
 
 several years older than myself: but, at my age, boys 
 like something older than themselves, as they do 
 younger, later in life. Our estates adjoined : but, 
 owing to the unhappy circumstance of the feud to 
 which I before alluded, our families (as is generally 
 the case with neighbours who happen to be relations) 
 were never on terms of more than common civility, — 
 scarcely those. I passed the summer vacation of this 
 year among the Malvern hills : those were days 
 of romance ! She was the beau ideal of all that my 
 youthful fancy could paint of beautiful ; and I have 
 taken all my fables about the celestial nature of wo- 
 men from the perfection my imagination created in 
 her — I say created, for 1 found her, like the rest of 
 the sex, any thing but angelic. 
 
 " I returned to Harrow, after my trip to Chelten- 
 ham, more deeply enamoured than ever, and passed 
 the next holidays at Newsteod. I now began to fan- 
 cy myself a man, and to make love in earnest. Our 
 
 " I have a passion for the name of 'Mary,' 
 
 " For once it was a magic sound to me ; 
 
 "And still it half calls up the realms of fairy, 
 
 " Where I beheld what never was to be. 
 
 " All feelings changed, but this was last to vary— 
 
 " A spell from which even yet I am not quite free. 
 
 "But I grow sad !" 
 
 Don Juan, Canto V. Stanza^. 
 
 " Yet still, to pay my court I 
 
 •• Gave what I had — a heart : — as the world went, I 
 •• Gave what was worth a world, — for worlds could never 
 ■" Restore me the pure feelings gone for ever ! 
 • 'Twas the boy's ' mite,' and, like the ' widow's,' may, 
 " Perhaps, be weighed hereafter, if not now." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto VI. Stanza 5, &cj 
 
36 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 meetings were stolen ones, and my letters passed 
 through the medium of a confidante. A gate leading 
 
 from Mr. C >'s grounds to those of my mother, 
 
 was the place of our interviews. But the ardour was 
 all on my side. I was serious ; she was volatile. She 
 liked me as a younger brother, and treated and 
 laughed at me as a boy. She, however, gave me 
 her picture, and that was something to make verses 
 upon.* 
 
 " During the last year that I was at Harrow, all 
 my thoughts were occupied on this love-affair. I had, 
 besides, a spirit that ill brooked the restraints of 
 school-discipline ; for I had been encouraged by ser- 
 vants in all my violence of temper, and was used to 
 command. Every thing like a task was repugnant 
 to my nature ; and I came away a very indifferent 
 classic, and read in nothing that was useful. That 
 subordination, which is the soul of all discipline, I 
 submitted to with great difficulty; yet I did submit 
 to it: and I have always retained a sense of Drury'sf 
 kindness, which enabled me to bear it and fagging 
 too. The Duke of Dorset was my fag. I was not a 
 very hard task-master. There were times in which, if 
 I had not considered it as a school, I should have been 
 happy at Harrow. There is one spot I should like 
 
 * He had always a black riband round bis neck, to which was 
 attached a locket containing hair and a picture. We had been 
 playing at billiards one night till the balls appeared double, 
 when all at once he searched hastily for something under his 
 waistcoat, and said, in great alarm, " Good God ! I have lost 
 my !" but before he had finished the sentence, he disco- 
 vered the hidden treasure. 
 
 See Lines addressed to him in 'The Hours of Idleness. 1 
 
LORD BYRON. 3] 
 
 to see again : I was particularly delighted with the 
 \ie\v from the Church-yard, and used to sit for hours 
 on the stile leading into the fields; — even then I 
 formed a wish to be buried there. Of all my school- 
 fellows, I know no one for whom I have retained so 
 much friendship as for Lord Clare. I have been 
 constantly corresponding with him ever since I knew 
 lie was in Italy ; and look forward to seeing him, and 
 talking over with him our old Harrow stories, with 
 infinite delight. There is no pleasure in life equal to 
 that of meeting an old friend. You know how glad 
 I was to see Hay. Why did not Scroope Davies 
 come to see me ? Some one told me that he was at 
 Florence, but it is impossible. 
 
 " There are two things that strike me at this mo- 
 ment, which 1 did at Harrow : I fought Lord Cal- 
 thorpe for writing ' D — d Atheist !' under my name ; 
 and prevented the school-room from being burnt dur- 
 ing a rebellion, by pointing out to the boys the 
 names of their fathers and grandfathers on the walls. 
 
 " Had I married Miss C , perhaps the whole 
 
 tenor of my life would have been different.* She 
 jilted me, however, but her marriage proved any 
 thing but a happy one. f She was at length separat- 
 ed from Mr. M , and proposed an interview with 
 
 me, but by the advice of my sister I declined it. I 
 remember meeting her after my return from Greece, 
 
 * Perhaps in his lyrical pieces, even those ' To Thyrza,' he 
 never surpassed those exquisitely feeling Stanzas beginning— 
 " O had my fate been join'd to thine," &ic. 
 
 f " the one 
 
 "To end in madness ; both in misery." 
 
 The Dream. 
 4 
 
38 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 but pride had conquered my love ; and yet it was nol 
 with perfect indifference I saw her.* 
 
 " For a man to become a poet (witness Petrarch 
 and Dante) he must be in love, or miserable. 1 was 
 both when I wrote the ' Hours of idleness ;' some of 
 those poems, in spite of what the reviewers say, arc 
 as good as any I ever produced. 
 
 " For some years after the event that had so much 
 influence on my fate, I tried to drown the remem- 
 brance of it and her in the most depraving dissipa- 
 tion ;f but the poison was in the cup. * 
 
 ********* 
 
 " There had been found by the gardener, in dig- 
 ging, a skull that had probably belonged to some 
 jolly friar or monk of the Abbey about the time it 
 was dis-monasteried." 
 
 " I heard at the Countess S 's the other eve- 
 ning," said I, interrupting him, " that you drink out 
 of a skull now." He took no notice of my observa- 
 tion, but continued : 
 
 " Observing it to be of giant size, and in a perfect 
 >tate of preservation, a strange fancy seized me ot 
 
 * Yet 1 was calm. I knew the time 
 My heart would swell but at thy look ; 
 But now to tremble were a crime. 
 We met, and not a nerve was shook ! 
 f " And monks might deem their time was come agen 
 " If ancient tales say true, nor wrong the holy men/' 
 Childe Harold, Canto I. Stanza 7 
 
LORD BYB.OX. 
 
 39 
 
 having it set and mounted as a drinking-cup. I ac- 
 cordingly sent it to town, and it returned with a ver\ 
 Jiigh polish, and of a mottled colour, like tortoise- 
 shell ; (Colonel Wildman now has it.) I remember 
 scribbling some lines about it ; but that was not all : 
 1 afterwards established at the Abbey a new order. 
 The members consisted of twelve, and I elected my- 
 self grand master, or Abbot of the Skull, a grand 
 heraldic title. A set of black gowns, mine distinguish- 
 ed from the rest, was ordered, and from time to time, 
 when a particular hard day was expected, a chapter 
 was held ; the crane was filled with claret, and, in imi- 
 tation of the Goths of old, passed about to the gods 
 of the Consistory, whilst many a prime joke was cut 
 at its expense." 
 
 " You seem," said I, " to have had a particular 
 predilection for skulls and cross-bones ; a friend of 
 
 mine, Mr. , told me he took some home for you 
 
 from Switzerland." 
 
 " They were from-the field of Moral," said he ; "a 
 single bone of one of those heroes is worth all the 
 skulls of all the priests that ever existed." 
 
 " Talking of Morat," said I, " where did you find 
 
 the story of Julia Alpinula? M and I searched 
 
 among its archives in vain." 
 
 " I took the inscription," said he, " from an old 
 chronicle ; the stone has no existence.- — But to con- 
 tinue. You know the story of the bear that 1 
 brought up for a degree when I was at Trinity. I 
 
10 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 had a great hatred of College rules, and contempt 
 for academical honours. How many of their wrang 
 lers have ever distinguished themselves in the world f 
 There was, by the bye, rather a witty satire founded 
 on my bear. A friend of Shelley's made an Ourang 
 Outang (Sir Oran Haut-ton) the hero of a novel, had 
 him created a baronet, and returned for the borough 
 of One Vote — I forget the name of the novel.* I 
 believe they were as glad to get rid of me at Cam- 
 bridge! as tne y were at Harrow. 
 
 " Another of the wild freaks I played during my 
 
 mother's life-time, was to dress up Mrs. , and 
 
 to pass her off as my brother Gordon, in order thai, 
 my mother might not hear of my having such a fe- 
 male acquaintance. You would not think me a 
 Scipio in those days, but { can safely say I never se- 
 duced any woman. I \\ ill give you an instance of 
 great forbearance : — Mrs. L. G wrote and offer- 
 ed to let me have her daughter for £100. Can you 
 fancy such depravity ? The old lady's P. S. was 
 excellent. ' With dilicaci every thing may be made 
 asy.' But the same post brought me a letter from the 
 young one, deprecating my taking advantage of their 
 necessities, and ending with saying that she prized her 
 virtue. I respected it too, and sent her some money. 
 There are few Josephs in the world, and many Poti- 
 phar's wives. 
 
 " A curious thing happened to me shortly after the 
 honey-moon, which was very awkward at the time, 
 
 * Melincourt. 
 
 -He remained at Cambridge till ninetec 
 
LORD BYRON. 4J 
 
 but has since amused me much. It so happened that 
 three married women were on a wedding visit to my 
 wife, (and in the same room, at the same time,) whom 
 I had known to be all birds of the same nest. Fancy 
 the scene of confusion that ensued! 
 
 " I have seen a great deal of Italian society, and 
 Swum in a gondola, but nothing could equal the pro- 
 fligacy of high life in England, especially that of 
 when I knew it. 
 
 " There was a lady at that time, double my own 
 age, the mother of several children who were perfect 
 angels, with whom I had formed a Unison that conti- 
 nued without interruption for eight months. The 
 autumn of a beauty like her's is preferable to the 
 spring in others. She told me she was never in love 
 till she was thirty; and I thought myself so with her 
 when she was forty. I never felt a stronger passion, 
 which she returned with equal ardour. I was as fond 
 of, indeed more attached than 1 ought to have been, 
 to one who had bestowed her favours on many ; but 
 I was flattered at a preference that had led her to dis- 
 card another, who in personal attractions and fashion 
 was far my superior. She had been sacrificed, almost 
 before she was a woman, to one whose mind and body 
 were equally contemptible in the scale of creation, 
 and on whom she bestowed a numerous family, to 
 which the law gave him the right to be called father. 
 Strange as it may seem, she gained (as all women do) 
 an influence over me so strong, that 1 had great dif- 
 ficulty in breaking with her, even when I knew she 
 had been inconstant to me ; and once was on the 
 point of going abroad with her — and narrowly es- 
 
 4* 
 
CONVERSATIONS' OF 
 
 raped this folly. I was at this time a mere Bond- 
 street lounger — a great man at lobbies, coffee, and 
 gambling-houses : my afternoons were passed in vi- 
 sits, luncheons, lounging and boxing — not to mention 
 drinking ! If I had known vou in early life, you 
 would not have been alive now. 1 remember Scroope 
 
 Davies, H , and myself, clubbing £19, all we had 
 
 in our pockets, and losing it at a hell in St. James's- 
 street, at chicken hazard, which may be called fowl; 
 and afterwards getting drunk together till H. and S. 
 D. quarrelled. Scroope afterwards wrote to me for 
 my pistols to shoot himself; but I declined lending 
 them, on the plea that they would be forfeited as 
 a deodand. 1 knew my answer would have more 
 effect than four sides of prosing. 
 
 " Don't suppose, however, that I took any pleasure 
 in all these excesses, or that parson A. K. or VV 
 were associates to my taste. The miserable conse- 
 quences of such a life are detailed at length in my Me- 
 moirs. My own master at an age when I most re- 
 quired a guide, and left to the dominion of my pas- 
 sions when they were the strongest, with a fortune anti- 
 cipated before I came into possession of it, and a con- 
 stitution impaired by early excesses, I commenced 
 my travels in 1809, with a joyless indifference to a 
 world that was all before me.*" 
 
 * " I wish they knew the life of a young noble : 
 a * -:> * * * 
 
 u They're young, but know not youth : it is anticipated ; 
 "Handsome but wasted, rich without a sou ; 
 "Their vigour in a thousand arms is dissipated, , 
 :< Then; cash comes from, their wealth goes to a Jew." 
 Don Juan. Canto XI. Stanzas 74 and "i;>. 
 
*LORD BYRON. 43 
 
 >; Well might you say, speaking feelingly," said I : 
 
 " There is no sterner moralist than pleasure."* 
 
 1 asked him about Venice : 
 
 "Venice!" said he; "I detest every recollection of 
 the place, the pepole, nnd my pursuits. I there mix- 
 ed again in society, trod again the old round of con- 
 versaziones, balls, and concerts ; was ever^night at 
 the opera, a constant frequenter of the Kidotta during 
 the Carnival, and, in short, entered into all the dissi- 
 pation of that luxurious place. Every thing in a Ve- 
 netian life, — Its gondolas, its effeminating indolence, 
 its Siroccos, — tend to enervate the mind and body. 
 My rides were a resource and a stimulus ; but the 
 deep sands of Lido broke my horses down, and I got 
 tired of that monotonous sea-shore ; — to be sure, I 
 passed the Villagiatura on the Brenta.f 
 
 -He used to say there were three great men ruined in one 
 year, Brummel, himself, and Napoleon ! 
 
 f To give the reader an idea of the stories circulated and be- 
 lieved about Lord Byron, I will state one as a specimen of the 
 rest, which I heard the other day : — 
 
 " Lord Byron, who is an execrably bad horseman, was riding 
 one evening in the Brenta, spouting ' Metastasio.' A Venetian, 
 passing in a close carriage at the time, laughed at his bad Italian ; 
 upon which his Lordship horsewhipped him, and threw a card 
 in at the window. The nobleman took no notice of the insult." 
 — Answer. Lord Byron was an excellent horseman, nevei' 
 read a line of "Metastasio," and pronounced Italian like a na 
 live. He must have been remarkably ingenious to horsewhip in 
 a close carriage, and find a nobleman who pocketed the affront t 
 But " ex uno disce omnes." 
 
CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 " I wrote little at Venice, :md was forced into the 
 search of pleasure, — an employment I was soon jaded 
 with the pursuit of. 
 
 " Women were there as they were ever fated to be, 
 my bane. Like Napoleon, i have always had a great 
 contempt for women ; and formed this opinion of 
 them not hastily, hut from my own fatal experience. 
 My writings, indeed, tend to exalt the sex ; and my 
 imaginatiHn has always delighted in giving them a 
 beau ideal likeness, but I only drew them as a painter 
 or statuary would do, — as they should be.* Perhaps 
 my prejudices, and keeping them at a distance, con- 
 tributed to prevent the illusion from altogether being 
 worn out and destroyed as to their celestial qualities. 
 
 " They are in an unnatural state of society. The 
 Turks and Eastern people manage these matters bet- 
 ter than we do. They lock them up, and they are 
 much happier. Give a woman a looking-glass and 
 a few sugar-plums, and she will be satisfied. 
 
 " I have suffered from the other sex ever since I cau 
 remember any thing. I began by being jilted, and 
 ended by being unwived. Those are wisest who 
 make no connexion of wife or mistress. The knight- 
 service of the Continent, with or without the k, 'n, 
 
 * His ' Medora, Gulnare, (Kaled,) Znleika, Thyrza, Angoli- 
 ■ua, Mvrrha, Adan, — and Haidee,' in Don Juan, are beautiful 
 creations of gentleness, sensibility, firmness, and constancy. If, 
 as a reviewer has sagely discovered, all his male characters, from 
 Childe Harold down to Lucifer, are the same, he cannot be dc 
 nied the dramatic faculty in his women, — in whom there is little 
 family likeness. 
 
LORD BYRON. 45 
 
 perhaps a slavery as bad, or worse than either. An 
 intrigue with ^ married woman wt home, though more 
 secret, is equally difficult to break. I had no tie of 
 any kind at Venice, yet I was not without my annoy- 
 ances. You may remember seeing the portrait of a 
 female which Murray got engraved, and dubbed my 
 1 Fornarina.' 
 
 " Harlowe, the poor fellow who died soon after his 
 return from Rome, and who used to copy pictures 
 from memory, took my likeness when he was at Ve- 
 nice : and one day this frail one, who was a casual 
 acquaintance of mine, happened to be at my palace, 
 and to be seen by the painter, who was struck with her a 
 and begged she might sit to him. She did so, and \ 
 sent the drawing home as a specimen of the Venetians 8 
 and not a bad one either; for the jade was handsome, 
 though the most troublesome shrew and termagant I 
 ever met with. To give you an idea of the lady, she 
 used to call me the £rran Cane dellg j&adenna. When 
 once she obtained a footing inside my door, she took a 
 dislike to the outside of it, and \ had great difficulty 
 in uncolonizing her. She forced her way back one 
 day when I was at dinner, and snatching a knife from 
 the table, offered to stab herself if I did not consent 
 to her stay. Seeing I took no notice of her threat, 
 as knowing it to be only a feint, she ran into the bal- 
 cony and threw herself into the canal. As it was 
 only knee- deep, and there were plenty of gondolas, 
 one of them picked her up. This affair made a great 
 noise at the time. Some said that I had thrown her 
 into the water, others that she had drowned herself 
 for love ; but this is the real story. 
 
-lG CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " I got into nearly as great a scrape by making 
 my court to a spinster. As many Dowagers as you 
 please at Venice, but beware of flirting with Raggaz- 
 zas. I had been one night under her window sere- 
 nading, and the next morning who should be an- 
 nounced at the same time but a priest and a police- 
 officer, come, as I thought, either to shoot or marry 
 me again, — I did not care which. I was disgusted 
 and tired with the life I led at Venice, and was glad 
 to turn my back on it. The Austrian Government, 
 too, partly contributed to drive me away. They in- 
 tercepted my books and papers, opened my letters, 
 and proscribed my works. I was not sorry for this 
 last arbitrary act, as a very bad translation of' Childe 
 Harold' had just appeared, which I was not at all 
 pleased with. I did not like my old friend in his new 
 loose dress ; it was a dishabille that did not at all 
 become him, — those sciolti versi that they put him 
 into." 
 
 It is difficult to judge, from the contradictory na- 
 ture of his writings, what the religious opinions of 
 Lord Byron really were. Perhaps the conversations 
 I held with him may throw some light upon a subject 
 that cannot fail to excite curiosity. On the whole, f 
 am inclined to think that if he were occasionally scep- 
 tical, and thought it, as he says, 
 
 A pleasant voyage, perhaps, to float.. 
 
 ;: Like Pyrrho on a sea of speculation,"* 
 •' Dm Juan, Canto IX. Stanza 18 
 
LORD BYRON. 47 
 
 yet his wavering never amounted to a disbelief in the 
 Divine Founder of Christianity. 
 
 " I always took great delight," observed he, " in 
 the English Cathedral service. It cannot fail to in- 
 spire every man, who feels at all, with devotion. Not- 
 withstanding which,"Christianity is not the best source 
 of inspiration for a poet. No poet should be tied 
 down to a direct profession of faith. Metaphysics 
 ©pen avast field; Nature and anti-Mosaical specula- 
 tions on the origin of the world, a wide range, and 
 sources of poetry that are shut out by Christianity." 
 
 I advanced Tasso and Milton. 
 
 "' Tasso and Milton," replied he, " wrote on Chris- 
 tian subjects, it is true; but how did they treat them? 
 The 'Jerusalem Delivered' deals little in Christian 
 doctrines, and the ' Paradise Lost' makes use of the 
 heathen mythology, which is surely scarcely allowa- 
 ble. Milton discarded papacy, and adopted no creed 
 in its room; he never attended divine worship. 
 
 " His great epics, that nobody reads, prove nothing. 
 He took his text from the Old and New Testaments. 
 He shocks the severe apprehensions of the Catholics, 
 as he did those of the Divines of his day, by too great 
 a familiarity with Heaven, and the introduction of 
 the Divinity himself; and, more than all, by making 
 the Devil his hero, and deifying the daemons. 
 
 " He certainly excites compassion for Satan, and 
 endeavours to make him out an injured personage — 
 he gives him human passions, too, makes him pity 
 
48 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 Adam and Eve, and justify himself much as Prome- 
 theus does. Yet Milton was never blamed for all this. 
 I should be very curious to know what his real belief 
 was.* The ' Paradise Lost' and ' Regained' do not 
 satisfy me on this point. One might as well say that 
 Moore is a fire -worshipper, or a follower of Mokanna. 
 because he chose those subjects from the East ; or 
 that 1 am a Cainist." 
 
 Another time he said : 
 
 " One mode of worship yields to another ; no reli- 
 gion has lasted more than two thousand years. Out 
 of the eight hundred millions that the globe contains, 
 only two hundred millions are Christians. Query, — 
 What is to become of the six hundred millions that 
 do not believe, and of those incalculable millions that 
 lived before Christ? 
 
 " People at home are mad about Missionary Socie- 
 ties, and missions to the East. I have been applied 
 to, to subscribe, several times since, and once before 
 I left England. The Catholic priests have been la- 
 bouring hard for nearly a century ; but what have they 
 done ? Out of eighty millions of Hindoos, how ma- 
 ny proselytes have been made ? Sir J. Malcolm said 
 at Murray's, before several persons, that the Padres, 
 as he called them, had only made six converts at Bom- 
 bay during his time, and that even this black little 
 flock forsook their shepherds when the rum was out. 
 
 -A religious work of Milton's has since been discovered, and 
 will throw light on this interesting subject. 
 
LORD BYBOft. 49 
 
 Their faith evaporated with the fumes of the arrack. 
 Besides, the Hindoos believe that they have had nine 
 incarnations : the Missionaries preach that a people 
 whom the Indians only know to despise, have had 
 one. It is nine to one against them, by their own 
 showing. 
 
 " Another doctrine can never be in repute among 
 the Solomons of the East. It cannot be easy to per- 
 suade men who have had as rnasj wives as they pleas- 
 ed, to be content with one ; besides, a woman is old at 
 twenty in that country. What are men to do ? They 
 are not all St. Anthonies. — I will tell you a story. 
 A certain Signior Antonio of my acquaintance mar- 
 ried a very little round fat wife, very fond of waltz- 
 ing, who went by the name of the Tentazione di SanV 
 Antonio. There is a picture, a celebrated one, in 
 which a little woman not unresembling my descrip- 
 tion plays the principal role, and is most troublesome 
 to the Saint, most trying to his virtue. Very few of 
 the modern saints will have his forbearance, though 
 they may imitate him in his martyrdom. 
 
 " I have been reading," said he one day, " Tacitus" 
 account of the siege of Jerusalem, under Titus. What 
 a sovereign contempt the Romans had for the Jews ! 
 Their country seems to have been little better than 
 themselves. 
 
 " Priestley denied the original sin, and that any 
 would be damned. Wesley, the object of Southey\s 
 panegyric, preached the doctrines of election and 
 faith, and, like all the sectarians, does not want texts 
 to prove both. 
 
50 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " The best Christians can never be satisfied of their 
 own salvation. Dr. Johnson died like a coward, and 
 Cowper was near shooting himself; Hume went off 
 the stage like a brave man, and Voltaire's last mo- 
 ments do not seem to have been clouded by any fears 
 of what was to come. A man may study any thing 
 till he believes in it. Creech died a Lucretian, 
 Burkhardt and Browne were Mahommedans. Sale, 
 the translator of the Koran, was suspected of being 
 an Islamite, but a very different one from 3'ou, Shi- 
 loh,* (as he sometimes used to call Shelley.) 
 
 " You are a Protestant — ) r ou protest against all re- 
 
 iigions. There is T will traduce Dante till he 
 
 becomes a Dantist. I am called a Manichaean ; I 
 may rather be called an Any-chaean, or an Anything- 
 arian. How do you like my sect? The sect of Any* 
 ihing-arians sounds well, does it not?" 
 
 Calling on him the next day, we found him, as was 
 sometimes the case, silent, dull, and sombre. At 
 length he said : 
 
 " Here is a little book somebod}' has sent me about 
 Christianity, that has made me very uncomfortable : 
 the reasoning seems to me very strong, the proofs are 
 very staggering. I don't think you can answer it. 
 Shelley ; at least I am sure I can't, and what is more. 
 i don't wish it." 
 
 Speaking of Gibbon he said : — ; 
 
 * AlU«3ins to tlie '-Revolt of Islcrm.' 
 
LORD BYRON'. 51 
 
 " L B thought the question set at rest in 
 
 the c History of die Decline and Fall,' but I am not 
 so easily convinced. It is not a matter of volition to 
 unbelieve. Who likes to own that he has been a fool 
 all his life, — to unlearn all that he has been taught in 
 his youth ? or can think that some of the best men 
 that ever lived have been fools? I have often wished 
 I had been born a Catholic. That purgatory of theirs 
 is a comfortable doctrine ; I wonder the reformers 
 gave it up, or did not substitute something as conso- 
 latory in its room. It is an improvement on the trans- 
 migration, Shelley, which all your wiseacre philoso- 
 phers taught. 
 
 " You believe in Plato's three principles ; why not 
 in the Trinity ? One is not more mystical than the 
 other. I don't know why I am considered an enemy 
 to religion, and an unbeliever. I disowned the other 
 day that 1 was of Shelley's school in metaphysics, 
 though I admired his poetry; not but what he has 
 changed his mode of thinking very much since he 
 wrote the Notes to ' Queen Mab,' which I was accus- 
 ed of having a hand in. I know, however, that I am 
 considered an infidel. My wife and sister, when they 
 joined parties, sent me prayer-books. There was a 
 Mr. Mulock, who went about the Continent preach- 
 ing orthodoxy in politics and religion, a writer of 
 bad sonnets, and a lecturer in worse prose, — he tried 
 to convert me to some new sect of Christianity. He 
 was a great anti-materialist, and abused Locke. 
 
 On another occasion he said ; 
 
52 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 " I am always getting new correspondents. Here 
 are three letters just arrived, from strangers all of 
 them. One is from a French woman, who has 
 been writing to me off and on for the last three 
 years. She is not only a blue-bottle, but a poetess, I 
 suspect. Her object in addressing me now, she says, 
 is to get me to write on the loss of a slave-ship, the 
 particulars of which she details. 
 
 " The second epistle is short, and in a hand I know 
 xery well : it is anonymous, too. Hear what she says : 
 ' I cannot longer exist without acknowledging the tu- 
 multuous and agonizing delight with which my soul 
 burns at the glowing beauties of yours.' 
 
 " A third is of a very different character from the 
 last; it is from a Mr. Sheppaid, inclosing a prayer 
 made for my welfare by his wife a few days before 
 her death. The letter states that he has had the mis- 
 fortune to lose this amiable woman, who had seen me 
 at Ramsgate, many years ago, rambling among the 
 cliffs; that she had been impressed with a sense of my 
 irreligion from the tenor of my works, and had often 
 prayed fervently for my conversion, particularly in 
 her last moments. The prayer is beautifully written. 
 X like devotion in women. She must have been a di- 
 vine creature. 1 pity the man who has lost her ! I 
 shall write to him by return of the courier, to condole 
 
 with him, and tell him that Mrs. S need not have 
 
 entertained any concern for my spiritual affairs, for 
 that uo man is more of a Christian than I am, what- 
 
LORD BYRON. 53 
 
 ever my writings may have led her and others to 
 suspect." 
 
 January. 
 
 11 A circumstance took place in Greece that impress- 
 ed itself lastingly on my memory. I had once thought 
 of founding a tale on it; but the subject is too har- 
 rowing for any nerves — too terrible for any pen ! An 
 order was issued at Zanina by its sanguinary Rajah, 
 that any Turkish woman convicted of incontinence 
 with a Christian should be stoned to death ! Love is 
 slow at calculating dangers, and defies tyrants and 
 their edicts ; and many were the victims to the savage 
 barbarity of this of Ali's. Among others, a girl of 
 sixteen, of a beauty;,such as that country only pro- 
 duces, fell under the vigilant eye of the police. She 
 was suspected, and not without reason, of carrying 
 on a secret intrigue with a Neapolitan of some rank, 
 whose long stay in the city could be attributed to no 
 other cause than this attachment. Her crime (if 
 crime it be to love as they loved) was too fully prov- 
 ed ; they were torn from each other's arms, never to 
 meet again : and yet both might have escaped — she 
 by abjuring her religion, or he by adopting hers-. 
 They resolutely refused to become apostates to their 
 faith. Ali Pacha was never known to pardon. She 
 was stoned by those daemons, although in the fourth 
 month of her pregnancy ! He was sent to a town 
 where the plague was raging, and died, happy in not 
 having long outlived the object of his affections I 
 
3« CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " One of the principal incidents in ' The Giaour' 
 is derived from a real occurrence, and one too in which 
 I myself was nearly and deeply interested ; but an 
 unwillingness to have it considered a traveller's tale 
 made me suppress the fact of its genuineness. The 
 Marquis of Sligo, who knew the particulars of the 
 story, reminded me of them in England, and wonder- 
 ed I had not authenticated them in the Preface : — 
 
 " When I was at Athens, there was an edict in force 
 similar to that of Ali's, except that the mode of punish- 
 ment was different. It was necessary, therefore, that 
 all love-affairs should be carried on with the greatest 
 privacy. I was very fond at that time of a Turkish 
 girl, — ay, fond of her as I have been of few women. 
 All went on very well till the Ramazan for forty 
 days, which is rather a long fast for lovers : all in- 
 tercourse between the sexes is forbidden by law, as 
 well as by religion. During this Lent of the Mussel- 
 mans, the women are not allowed to quit their apart- 
 ments. I was in despair, and could hardly contrive 
 to get a cinder, or a token-flower sent to express it. 
 We had not met for several days, and all my thoughts 
 were occupied in planning an assignation, when, as 
 ill fate would have it, the means I took to effect it led 
 to the discovery of our secret. The penalty was 
 death, — death without reprieve, — a horrible death, at 
 which one cannot think without shuddering ! An or- 
 der was issued for the law being put into immediate 
 effect. In the mean time I knew nothing of what had 
 happened, and it was determined that I should be kept 
 in ignorance of the whole affair till it was too late to 
 interfere. A mere accident only enabled me to pre- 
 vent the completion of the sentence. 1 was takiitg 
 
LORD BYRON. 5j 
 
 one of my usual evening rides by the sea-side, when 
 I observed a crowd of people moving down to the 
 shore, and the arms of the soldiers glittering among 
 them. They were not so far off, but that I thought I 
 could now and then distinguish a faint and stifled 
 shriek. Mv curiosity was forcibly excited, and I dis- 
 patched one of my followers to inquire the cause of 
 the procession. What was my horror to learn that 
 they were carrying an unfortunate girl, sewn up in a 
 sack, to be thrown into the sea ! 1 did not hesitate as 
 to what was to be done. I knew I could depend on 
 my faithful Albanians, and rode up to the officer com- 
 manding the party, threatening, in case of his refusal 
 to give up his prisoner, that I would adopt means to 
 compell him. He did not like the business he was on, 
 or perhaps the determined look of my body-guard, 
 and consented to accompany me back to the city with 
 the girl, whom I soon discovered to be my Turkish 
 favourite. Suffice it to say, that my interference with 
 the chief magistrate, backed by a heavy bribe, saved 
 her ; but it was only on condition that I should break 
 off all intercourse with her, and that she should imme- 
 diately quit Athens, and be sent to her friends in 
 Thebes. There she died, a few days after her arri- 
 val, of a fever — perhaps of love." 
 
 "The severest fever I ever had was at PatraS. I 
 had left Fletcher at Constantinople — convalescent, 
 but unable to move from weakness, and had no attend- 
 ants but my Albanians, to whom 1 owe my life. 
 
 "They were devotedly attached t.o me^ and watch- 
 
Oct conversations or 
 
 ed me day and night. I am more indebted to a good 
 constitution for having got over this attack, than to 
 the drugs of an ignorant Turk, who called himself a 
 physician. He would have been glad to have dis- 
 owned the name, and resigned his profession too, if 
 he could have escaped from the responsibility of at- 
 tending me ; for my Albanians came the Grand Sig- 
 nior over him, and threatened that if 1 were not en- 
 tirely recovered at a certain hour on a certain day, 
 they would take away his life. They are not people 
 to make idle threats, and would have carried them 
 into execution had any thing happened to me. You 
 may imagine the fright the poor devil of a Doctor 
 was in ; and I could not help smiling at the ludicrous 
 way in which his fears showed themselves. I believe 
 he was more pleased at my recovery than either my 
 faithful nurses or myself. I had no intention of dy- 
 ing at that time ; but if I had died, the same story 
 would have been told of me as was related to have 
 happened to Colonel Sherbrooke in America. On 
 the very day my fever was at the highest, a friend of 
 mine declared that he saw me in St. James's Street; 
 and somebody put my name down in the book at the 
 Palace, as having inquired after the King's health. 
 
 t( Every body would have said that my ghost had 
 appeared." 
 
 "But how were they to have reconciled a ghosfs 
 writing ?" asked I. 
 
 " I should most likely have passed the remainder 
 of my life in Turkey, if I had not been called home 
 by my mother's death and my affairs." said he. "I 
 
LORD BYROtf. $7 
 
 mean to return to Greece, and shall in all probability 
 die there." 
 
 Little did I think, at the time he was pronouncing 
 these words, that they were prophetic ! 
 
 " I became a member of Drurj'-lane Committee, at 
 the request of my friend Douglas Kinnaird, who made 
 over to me a share of £500 for the purpose of quali- 
 fying me to vote. One need have other qualifications 
 besides money for that office. I found the employ- 
 ment not over pleasant, and not a little dangerous, 
 what with Irish authors and pretty poetesses. Five 
 hundred plays were offered to the Theatre during the 
 year I was Literary Manager. You may conceive 
 that it was no small task to read all this trash, and 
 to satisfy the bards that it was so. 
 
 " When I first entered upon theatrical affairs, I had 
 some idea of writing for the house myself, but soon 
 became a convert to Pope's opinion on that subject. 
 Who would condescend to the drudgery of the stage, 
 and enslave himself to the humours, the caprices, the 
 taste or tastelessness, of the age ? Besides, one must 
 write for particular actors, have them continually in 
 one's eye, sacrifice character to the personating of it, 
 cringe to some favorite of the public, neither give 
 him too many nor too few lines to spout, think how 
 he would mouth such and such a sentence, look such 
 and such a passion, strut such and such a scene. 
 Who, 1 say, would submit to all this ? Shakspeare 
 had many advantages : he was an actor by profession, 
 aiad knew all the tricks of the trade. Yet he had 
 
58 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 but little fame in his day : see what Jonson and his 
 contemporaries said of him. Besides, how few of 
 what are called Shakspeare's plays are exclusively 
 so ! — and how, at this distance of time, and lost as 
 so many works of that period are, can we separate 
 what really is from what is not his own ? 
 
 "The players retrenched, transposed, and even al- 
 tered the text, to suit the audience or please them- 
 selves. Who knows how much rust they rubbed off? 
 I am sure there is rust and base metal to spare left 
 in the old plays. When Leigh Hunrcomes, we shall 
 have battles enough about those old ruffiani, the old 
 dramatists, with their tiresome conceits, their jingling 
 rhymes, and endless play upon words. It is but late- 
 ly that people have been satisfied that Shakspeare 
 was not a god, nor stood alone in the age in which 
 he lived ; and yet how few of the plays, even of that 
 boasted time, have survived, and fewer still are now 
 acted ! Let us count them. Only one of Massinger's," 
 (New Way to pay Old Debts,) one of Ford's,* one 
 of Ben Jonson's,* and half a dozen of Shakspeare's ; 
 and of these last. ' The Two Gentlemen of Verona' 
 and ' The Tempest' have been turned into operas. 
 You cannot call that having a theatre. Now that 
 Kemble has left the stage, who will endure Coriola- 
 nus ? Lady Macbeth died with Mrs. Siddons, and 
 Polonius will with Munden. Shakspeare's Comedies 
 v are quite out of date ; many of them are insufferable 
 to read, much more to see. They are gross food, 
 only fit for an English or German palate ; they are 
 indigestible to the French and Italians, the politest 
 
 * Of which I have forgot the name he mentioned. 
 
LORD BYRON. 59 
 
 people in the world. One can hardly find ten lines 
 together without some gross violation of taste or de- 
 cency. What do you think of Bottom in the 'Mid- 
 summer Night's Dream ?' or of Troilus and Cressi- 
 da's passion ?" 
 
 Here I could not help interrupting him, by saying, 
 " You have named the two plays that, with all their 
 faults, contain, perhaps, some of the finest poetry." 
 
 " Yes," said he, " in 'Troilus and Cressida ;' 
 
 " 'Prophet may you be ! 
 
 " If I be false, or swerve a hair from truth. 
 
 " When time is old, and hath forgot itself, 
 
 " When water-drops have worn the stones of Troy,, 
 
 " And blind Oblivion swallow'd cities up, 
 
 " And mighty states characterless are grated 
 
 " To dusty nothing, — yet let memory 
 
 "From false to false, among false maids in love, 
 
 " Upbraid my falsehood ! when they've said, — As false. 
 
 " As air, as water, wind, or sandy earth, 
 
 " As fox to lamb, as wolf to heifer's calf, 
 
 "Paid to the hind, or stepdame to her son ; 
 
 " Yea, let them say, to stick the heart of falsehood— 
 
 " As false as Cressid !' " 
 
 ' These lines he pronounced with great emphasis 
 Uud effect, and continued : 
 
 " But what has poetry to do with a play, or in a, 
 play ? There is not one passage in Alfieri strictly 
 poetical ; hardly one in Racine." 
 
 Here he handed me a prospectus of a new trans- 
 lation of Shakspeare into French prose, and read 
 part of the first scene in ' The Tempest,' laughing 
 inwardly, as he was used to do ; and afterwards pro- 
 duced a passage from Chateaubriand, contending 
 that we have no theatre. 
 
■GO CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 il The French very properly ridicule our bringing 
 in ' enfant au premier acte, barb on an dernier.'' I was 
 always a friend to the unities, and believe that sub- 
 jects are not wanting which may be treated in strict 
 conformity to their rules. No one can be absurd 
 enough to contend that the preservation of the uni- 
 ties is a defect, — at least a fault. Look at Alfieri's 
 plays, and tell me what is wanting in them. Does 
 he ever deviate from the rules prescribed by the an- 
 cients, from the classical simplicity of the old mo- 
 dels ? It is very difficult, almost impossible, to write 
 any thing to please a modern audience. I was in- 
 strumental in getting t p ■ ifertram,' and it was said 
 that I wrote part of it myself. That was not the 
 case. I knew Maturin to be a needy man, and in- 
 terested myself in his success : but its life was very 
 feeble and ricketty. I once thought of getting Joan- 
 k na Baillie's ' De Montfort' revived ; but the winding- 
 up was faulty, bhe was herself aware of this, and 
 wrote the last act over again ; and yet, after all, it 
 failed. She must have been dreadfully annoyed, even 
 
 more than Lady was. When it was bringing 
 
 out, I was applied to, to write a prologue ; but as 
 the request did not come from Kean, who was to 
 speak it, I declined. There are fine things in ell the 
 Plays on the Passions : an idea in ' De Montfort' 
 struck me particularly ; one of the characters sai4 
 that he knew the footsteps of another.* 
 
 • " De Montfort — 'Tis Rezenvelt : I heard his'well-luiown 
 foot ! 
 " From the first staircase, mounting step by step. 
 " Freberg.— How quick an ear thou hast for distant sound ! 
 " I beard him not." 
 
 ActH. Scene 2. 
 
LORD BYRON. Gl 
 
 ' " There are four words in Alfieri that speak vol- 
 umes. They are in ' Don Carlos.' The King and 
 his minister are secreted during an interview of the 
 Infant with the Queen Consort : the following dia- 
 logue passes, which ends the scene. 'V^edesti ? Vedi. 
 Udisti ? Udi? All the dramatic beauty would be 
 lost in translation — the nominative cases would kill 
 it. Nothing provokes me so much as the squeamish- 
 ness that excludes the exhibition of many such sub- 
 jects from the stage ; — a squeamishness, the produce, 
 as I firmly believe, of a lower tone of the moral sense, 
 and foreign to the majestic and confident virtue of 
 the golden age of our country. All is now cant — 
 methodistical cant. Shame flies from the heart, and 
 takes refuge in the lips ; or, our senses and nerves 
 are much more refined than those of our neighbours. 
 
 " We should not endure the CEdipus story, nor 
 J Phedre.' ' Myrrha,' the best worked-up, perhaps, 
 Of all Aliieri's tragedies, and a favorite in Italy, 
 would not be tolerated. ' The Mysterious Mother 7 
 has never been acted, nor Massinger's * Brother and 
 Sister.' Webster's ' Duchess of Malfy' would be too 
 harrowing : her madness, the dungeon-scene, and her 
 grim talk with her keepers and coffin-bearers, could 
 not be borne : nor Lillo's * Fatal Marriage.' The 
 * Cenci' is equally horrible, though perhaps the best 
 tragedy modern times have produced. It is a play— 
 not a poem, like ' Remorse' and ' Fazio ;' and the 
 best proof of its merit is. that people are continually 
 quoting it. What may not be expected from such a 
 beginning ? 
 
Q2 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 " The Germans are colder and more phlegmatic 
 than we are, and bear even to see ' Werner.' 
 
 " To write anything to please, at the present day, 
 is the despair of authors." 
 
 It was easy to be perceived that during this tirade 
 upon the stage, and against Shakspeare, he was 
 smarting under the ill-reception ' Marino Faliero' had 
 met with, and indignant at the critics, who had deni- 
 ed him the dramatic faculty. This, however, was not 
 the only occasion of his abusing the old dramatists. 
 
 Some days after, I revived the subject of the drama, 
 and led him into speaking of his own plays. 
 
 " I have just got a letter," said he, " from Murray. 
 What do you think he has enclosed me ? A long dull 
 extract from that long dull Latin epic of rrirarch's 
 Jtfrica, which he has the modesty to ask me tc trans- 
 late for Ugo Foscolo, who is writing some Memoirs 
 of Petrarch, and has got Moore, Lady Dacre, :c. to 
 contribute to. What am I to do with the death of 
 Mago ? I wish to God, Medwin, you would take it 
 home with you, and translate it; and I will send 
 Murray. We will say nothing about its being \ 
 or mine ; and it will be curious to hear Foscc lo's 
 opinion upon it. Depend upon it, it will not hi 
 unfavorable one." 
 
 In the course of .the day I turned it into couplets, 
 (and lame enough they were,) which he forwarded by 
 the next courier to England. 
 
 Almost by return of post arrived a furiously com 
 
LORD BYRON. Do 
 
 plimentary epistle in acknowledgment, which made 
 us laugh very heartily. 
 
 " There are three good lines*" said Lord B^ron, 
 " in Mago's speech, which may be thus translated : 
 
 " ' Yet, thing of dust ! 
 " Man strives to climb the earth in his ambition, 
 " Till death, the monitor that flatters not, 
 " Points to the grave, where all his hopes are laid.' " 
 
 " What do you think of Ada?" said he, looking 
 earnestly at his daughter's miniature, that hung by 
 the side of his writing-table. " They tell me she is 
 like me — but she has her mother's eyes. 
 
 " It is very odd that my mother was an only child ; 
 — I am an only child ; my wife is an only child ; and 
 Ada is an only child. It is a singular coincidence ; 
 that is the least that can be said of it. 1 can't help 
 thinking it was destined to be so ; and perhaps it is 
 best. 1 was once anxious for a son ; but after our 
 separation, was glad to have had a daughter ; for it 
 would have distressed me too much to have taken him 
 away from Lady Byron, and I could not have trusted 
 her with a son's education. I have no idea of boys 
 being brought up by mothers. 1 suffered too much 
 from that myself : and then, wandering about the 
 world as I do, I could not take proper care of a child ; 
 otherwise I should not have left Allegra, poor little 
 thing !f at tiavenna. She has been a great resourse 
 
 •* Ugo Foscolo afterwards took them for his motto. 
 
 f She appears to be the Lelia of his Don Juan : 
 " Poor little thing ! She was as fair as docile, 
 
 " And with that gentle, serious character " 
 
 Don Juan, Canto X. Stanza 52« 
 
O* CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 to me, though I am not so fond of her as of Ada \ 
 and yet I mean to moke their fortunes equal — there 
 will be enough for them both. I have desired in my 
 will that Allegra shall not marry an Englishman. The 
 Irish and Scotch make better husbands than we do. 
 \Tou will think it was an odd fancy, but I was not in 
 the best of humours with my countrymen at that mo- 
 ment — you know the reason. I am told that Ada is a 
 little termagant ; I hope not. I shall write to my sis- 
 ter to know if this is the case : perhaps I am wrong' 
 in letting Lady Byron have entirely her own way in 
 her education. I hear that my name is not mention- 
 ed in her presence ; that a green curtain is always 
 kept over my portrait, as over something forbidden ; 
 and that she is not to know that she has a father, till 
 she comes of age. Of course she will be taught to 
 hate me ; she will be brought up to it. Lady Byron 
 is conscious of all this, and is afraid that I shall some 
 day carry off her daughter by stealth or force. I 
 might claim her of the Chancellor, without having re- 
 course to either one or the other. But I had rather 
 be unhappy myself, than make her mother so ; pro- 
 bably I shall never see her again." 
 
 Here he opened his writing-desk, and showed me 
 some hair, which he told me was his child's. 
 
 During our drive and ride this evening, he declin- 
 ed our usual amusement of pistol-firing, without as- 
 signing a cause. He hardly spoke a word during the 
 first half-hour, and it was evident that something 1 
 weighed heavily on his mind. There was a sacre'd- 
 tiess in his melancholy that I dared not interrupt. At 
 length he said ; 
 
LORD BYRON'. 6jf 
 
 li This is Ada's birthday, and might have been the 
 
 happiest day of my life : as it is !" He 
 
 stopped, seemingly ashamed of having betrayed his 
 feelings. He tried in vain to rally his spirits, by turn- 
 ing the conversation ; but he created a laugh in which 
 he could not join, and soon relapsed into his former 
 reverie. It lasted till we came within a mile of the 
 Argive gate. There our silence was all at once in- 
 terrupted by shrieks that seemed to proceed from a 
 cottage by the side of the road. We pulled up our. 
 horses, to inquire of a contadino standing at the lit- 
 tle garden-wicket. He told us that a widow had just 
 lost her only child, and that the sounds proceeded 
 from the wailings of some women over the corpse. 
 Lord Byron was much affected ; and his superstition, 
 acted upon by a sadness that seemed to be presenti- 
 ment, led him to augur some disaster. 
 
 " I shall not be happy," said he, " till I hear that 
 my daughter is well. I have a great horror of anni- 
 versaries : people only laugh at, who have never kept 
 a register of them. I always write to my sister on 
 Ada's birth day. I did so last year ; and, what was 
 very remarkable, my letter reached her on my wed- 
 ding-day, and her answer reached me at Ravenna on 
 my birthday ! Several extraordinary things have hap- 
 pened to me on my birthday ; so they did to Napole- 
 on ; and a more wonderful circumstance still occur- 
 veil to Marie Antoinette." 
 
 The next morning's courier brought him a letter 
 frera England. He gave it me as I entered, and saicl ; 
 
 6* 
 
m 
 
 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " I was convinced something very unpleasant hun£- 
 over me last night : I expected to hear that somebody 
 I knew was dead ; — so it turns out ! Poor Polidori 
 is gone! When he was my physician, he was always 
 talking of Prussic acid, oil of amber, blowing into 
 veins, suffocating by charcoal, and compounding poi- 
 sons ; but for a different purpose to what the Pontic 
 Monarch did, for he has prescribed a dose for him- 
 self that would have killed fifty Miltiades', a dose 
 whose effect, Murray says, was so instantaneous that 
 he went off without a spasm or struggle. It seems 
 that disappointment was the cause of this rash act. 
 He had entertained too sanguine hopes of literary 
 fame, owing to the success of his ' Vampyre,' which, 
 in consequence of its being attributed to me, was got 
 up as a melo-drame at Paris. The foundation of the 
 .story ivas mine ; but 1 was forced to disown the pub- 
 lication, lest the world should suppose that I had va- 
 nity enough, or was egotist enough, to write in that 
 ridiculous manner about myself.* Notwithstanding 
 which, the French editions still persevere in in- 
 cluding it with my works. My real 'Vampyre' 
 I gave at the end of ' Mazeppa, something in the 
 same way that 1 told it one night at Diodati, when 
 Monk Lewis, and Shelley and his wife, were pre- 
 sent. The latter sketched on that occasion the out- 
 line of her Pygmalion story, ' The Modern Pro- 
 metheus/ the making of a man ; (which a lady who 
 had read it afterwards asked Sir Humphrey Davy, to 
 his great astonishment, if he could do, and was told a 
 story something like Alonzo and Irnogene ;) and Shel- 
 
 " >: ' He alluded to the Preface and the Postscript, containing 
 accounts of his residence at Geneva and in the Isle of Mitvlenci 
 
LOUD BYRON. 6Z 
 
 ley himself, or ' The Snake,' (as he used sometimes to 
 call him,) conjured up some frightful woman of an ac- 
 quaintance of his at home, a kind of Medusa, who was 
 suspected of having eves in her breasts. 
 
 " Perhaps Polidori had strictly no right to appro- 
 priate my story to himself ; but it was hardly worth 
 it : and when my letter disclaiming the narrative part, 
 was written, I dismissed the matter from my memory. 
 It was Polidori's own fault that we did not agree. I 
 was sorry when we parted, for I soon get attached to 
 people ; and was more sorry still for the scrape he 
 afterwards got into at Milan. He quarrelled with 
 one of the guards at the Scala, and was ordered to 
 leave the Lombard States twenty-four hours after; 
 which put an end to all his Continental schemes, that 
 
 I had forwarded by recommending him to Lord 5 
 
 and it is difficult for a young physician to get into 
 practice at home, however clever, particularly a fo- 
 reigner, or one with a foreigner's name. From that 
 time, instead of making out prescriptions, he took to 
 writing romances ; a very unprofitable and fatal ex- 
 change, as it turned out. 
 
 " I told you I was not oppressed in spirits last night 
 without a reason. Who can help being superstitious P 
 Scott believes in second-sight. Rousseau tried whether 
 he was to be d — d or not, by aiming at a tree with a 
 stone : I forget whether he hit or missed. Goethe 
 trusted to the chance of a knife's striking the water,, 
 to determine whether he was to prosper in some un- 
 dertaking. The Italians think the dropping of oil 
 very unlucky. Pietro (Count Gamba) dropped some 
 the night before his exile,, and that of hi's (ixm.ilv from 
 
6S CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 Ravenna. Have you ever had your fortune told ? 
 Mrs. Williams told mine. She predicted that twenty- 
 seven and thirty-seven were to be dangerous ages in 
 my lite.* One has come true." 
 
 " Yes," added I, " and did she not prophecy that 
 you were to die a monk and a miser.' 1 1 have been 
 told so." 
 
 "I don't think these two last very likely; but i* 
 was part of her prediction. But there are lucky and 
 unlucky days, as well as years and numbers too. 
 Lord was dining at a party, where observ- 
 ed that they were thirteen. ' Why don't 3 ou make it 
 twelve?' was the reply; and an impudent one it 
 was — but he could say those things. You would not 
 visit on a Friday, would yon ? You know you are 
 to introduce me to Mrs. . It must not be to- 
 morrow, for it is a Friday." 
 
 "A fine day," said I as I entered; " a day worth 
 'living for." 
 
 s * An old wag of the world!" replied he, shaking 
 «me by the hand. "„You should have been here ear- 
 lier. T has been here with a most portentous 
 
 and obstetrical countenance, and it seems he has been 
 bringing forth an ode — a birthday ode — not on Ada, 
 but on a lady. An odious production it roust have 
 
 * He was married in li Is twenty-seventh, and died in hj's fliir - 
 tV-seventh year. 
 
LORD BVRON". 6§ 
 
 "been ! He threatened to inflict, as Shelley calls it ; 
 but I fought off. As 1 told him, Stellas are out of 
 date now : it is a bad compliment to remind women 
 of their age. 
 
 " Talking of days, this is the most wretched day of 
 my existence; and I say and do all sorts of foolish 
 things'* to drive away the memory of it, and make me 
 forget. 
 
 " I will give you aspecimen of some epigrams I am 
 in the habit of sending Hobhouse, to whom I wrote 
 on my first wedding-day, and continue to write still \ 
 
 " This day of ours has surely done 
 
 " Its worst for me and you ! 
 " 'Tis now^iie years since we were one-, 
 
 " And four since we were two. 
 
 And another on his sending me the congratulations, 
 of the season, which ended in some foolish way like 
 this : 
 
 " You may wish me returns of the season : 
 u Let us, prithee, have none of the day !" 
 
 I think I can give no stronger proof of the socia-^ 
 
 * " So that it wean me from the weary dream 
 " Of selfish grief, or gladness ! — so it fling 
 u Forgetfulness around me !" 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto III. Stanza 4., 
 ° And if I laugh at any mortal thing, 
 " 'Tis that I may not weep ; — and if I weep, 
 u 'Tis that our nature cannot always bring 
 
 <* Itself to apathy" fee. 
 
 Don Juan, Canto IV. Stanza 4, 
 
(9 CONVERSATIONS 01? 
 
 bility of Lord Byron's disposition, than the festivity 
 that presided over his dinners. 
 
 Wednesday being one of his fixed days : " You will 
 dine with me," said he, " though it is the 2d January." 
 
 His own table, when alone, was frugal, not to say 
 abstemious ;* but on the occasion of these meetings 
 every sort of wine, every luxury of the season, and 
 English delicacy, were displayed. I never knew any 
 man do the honours of his house with greater kind- 
 ness and hospitality. On this eventful anniversary 
 he was not, however, in his usual spirits, and evident- 
 ly tried to drown the remembrance of the day by a 
 levity that was forced and unnatural ; — for it was 
 clear, in spite of all his efforts, that something op- 
 pressed him, and he could not help continually recur- 
 ring to the subject. 
 
 One of the party proposed Lady Byron's health, 
 which he gave with evident pleasure, and we all drank 
 in bumpers. The conversation turning on his sepa- 
 ration, the probability of their being reconciled was. 
 canvassed. 
 
 • His dinner, when alone, cost five Pauls ; and thinking he 
 was overcharged, he gave his bills to a lady of my acquaintance 
 to examine.f At a Christmas-day dinner he had ordered a 
 plum-pudding i CJinghiise. Somebody afterwards told him it 
 was not good. " Not good !" said he : " why, it ought to be 
 good ; it cost fifteen Pauls." 
 
 f He ordered the remnants to be given away, lest his servants 
 (as he said) should envy him every mouthful he eats. 
 
CORD BYnON. 7i 
 
 u What !" said he, " after having lost the five best 
 years of our lives? — Newr! But," added he, "it 
 was no fault of mine that we quarrelled. I have made 
 advances enough. I had once an idea that people are 
 happiest in the marriage state, after the impetuosity 
 of the passions has subsided — but that hope is all over 
 with me !" 
 
 Writing to a friend the da}' after our party, I finish- 
 ed my letter with the following remark : 
 
 " Notwithstanding the tone of raillery with which 
 he sometimes speaks in ' Don Juan' of his separation 
 from Lady Byron, and his saying, as he did to-day, 
 ihat the only thing he thanks Lady Byron for is, that 
 he cannot marry, &c, it is evident that it is the thorn 
 in h's side — the poison in his cup of life ! The veil 
 Is easily seen through. He endeavours to mask his 
 griefs, and to fill up the void of his heart, by assum- 
 ing a gaiety that does not belong to it. All the ten- 
 der and endearing ties of social and domestic life 
 rudely torn asunder, he has been wandering on from 
 place to place, without finding any to rest in. Swit- 
 zerland, Venice, Ravenna, and I might even have ad- 
 ded Tuscanv, were doomed to be no asylum fox 
 him."&c. 
 
 I observed himself and 'all his servants in deep 
 mourning. He did not wait for me to inquire tlif 
 cause. 
 
72 COtfVEfcSATIOriS OF 
 
 " I have just heard," said he, " of Lady Noel's 
 death. I am distressed for poor Lady Byron ! She 
 must be in great affliction, for she adored her mother ! 
 The world will think I am pleased at this event, but 
 they are much mistaken. I never wished for an 
 accession of fortune ; I have enough without the 
 Wentworth property. I have written a letter o£ 
 condolence to Lady Byron, — you may suppose in 
 the kindest terms, — beginning, ' My dear Lady By- 
 ron, 
 
 * ; 'If we are not reconciled, it is not my fault ! : '•' , 
 
 < { I shall be delighted," I said, " to see you restor- 
 ed to her and to your country ; which, notwithstand- 
 ing all you say and write against it, I am sure you. 
 like. Do you remember a sentiment in the ' Two 
 Foscari ?' " 
 
 1 He who lores not his country, can love nothing.' 
 
 ' {l I am becoming more weaned from it every day,'-' 
 said he after a pause, and have had enough to wean 
 me from it ! — No ! Lady Byron will not make it up 
 with me now, lest the world should say that her mo- 
 ther only was to blame ! Lady Noel certainly identic 
 lies herself very strongly in the quarrel, even by the 
 account of her last injunctions ; for she directs in her 
 will that my portrait, shut up in a case by her orders. 
 shall not be opened till her grand-daughter be of age v , 
 and then not given to her if Lady Byron should bs 
 vjdivei 
 
LOUD BYRON. 73 
 
 ■" I might have claimed all the fortune for my life, 
 if I had chosen to have done so, but have agreed to 
 feave the division of it to Lord Dacre and Sir Fran- 
 cis Burdett. The whole management of the affair is 
 confided to them ; and I shall not interfere, or make 
 any suggestion or objection, if they award Lady By- 
 ron the whole." 
 
 I asked him how he became entitled ? 
 
 " The late Lord Wentworth," said he, " bequeath- 
 ed a life interest in his Lancashire estates to Lady 
 Byron's mother, and afterwards to her daughter : that 
 is the way I claim." 
 
 Some time after, when the equal partition had been 
 settled, he said : 
 
 (i I have offered Lady Byron the family mansion 
 m addition to the award, but she has declined it : this 
 is not kind." 
 
 The conversation turned after dinner on the lyrical 
 poetry of the day, and a question arose as to which 
 was the most perfect ode that had been produced. 
 Shelley contended for Coleridge's on Switzerland, 
 beginning, " Ye clouds," &c. ; others named some 
 of Moore's Irish Melodies, and Campbell's Hohen- 
 linden ; and, had Lord Byron* nUt been present, his 
 own invocation to Manfred, or Ode to Napoleon, or 
 on Prometheus, might have been cited. 
 
 " Like Gray," said he, " Campbell smells too much 
 
 7 
 
 
74 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 of the oil : he is never satisfied with what he does £ 
 his finest things have been spoiled by over-polish — 
 the sharpness of the outline is worn oft'. Like paint- 
 ings, poems may be too highly finished. The greaj 
 art is effect, no matter how produced. 
 
 " I will show you an ode you have never seen, thai 
 1 consider little inferior to the best which the present 
 prolific age has brought forth." With this he left the 
 table, almost before the cloth was removed, and re- 
 turned with a magazine, from which he read the fol- 
 lowing lines on Sir John Moore's burial, which per- 
 haps require no apology for finding a place here : 
 
 w Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, 
 <: As his corse to the ramparts we hurried ; 
 u Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 
 W O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 
 
 « We buried him darkly at dead of night, 
 u The sods with our bayonets turning, — 
 '> By thestrugliig moonbeam's misty light, 
 : < And the lantern dimly burning. 
 
 '* No useless coffin confined his breast, 
 •' Nor in sheet nor in shroud we bound hinh 
 ••' But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 •'» With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 ■l Few and short were the prayers we said, 
 
 <•' And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
 
 kt But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dea l 4j 
 
 ' ; And we bitterlytho^ght of the morrow. 
 
 ;C We thought, as we heap'd his narrow bed, 
 
 <5 And smooth'd down his lonely pillow, 
 
 That the foe and the stranger would trea.fi Q'eT h'iS Re all 
 
 - (1 And we far away on the billow ! 
 
LORD BYRON. ?J 
 
 a Lightly they '11 talk of the spirit that's gone, 
 il And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
 " But nothing he T ll reck, if they let him sleep on 
 iX In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 
 
 11 But half of" our heavy task was done, 
 "When the clock told the hour for retiring ; 
 a And we heard by the distant and random gun> 
 Ci That the foe was suddenly firing. 
 
 a Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 
 " From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; 
 " We carved not a line, we raised not a stone, 
 " But we left him alone, with his glory." 
 
 The feeling with which he recited these admirable 
 Stanzas I shall never forget. After he had come to 
 an end, he repeated the third, and said it was perfect 
 particularly the lines 
 
 " But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
 " With his martial cloak around him." 
 
 " I should have taken," said Shelley, " the whole 
 for a rough sketch of Campbell's." 
 
 " No," replied Lord Byron : Campbell would have 
 claimed it, if it had been his." 
 
 I afterwards had reason to think that the ode was 
 Lord Byron's ;* that he was piqued at none of his 
 own being mentioned ; and, after he had praised the 
 verses so highly, could not own them. No other rea- 
 son can be assigned for his not acknowledging him- 
 
 * I am corroborated in this opinion lately by a lady, whose 
 Brother received them many years ago from Lord Byron, in b& 
 Lordship's own hand-writing. 
 
76 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 Self the author, particularly as he was a great admi- 
 rer of General Moore. 
 
 Talking after dinner of swimming, he said : — 
 
 " Murray published a letter ! wrote to him from 
 Venice, which might have seemed an idle display of 
 vanity ; but the object of my writing it was to con- 
 tradict what Turner .had asserted about the impossi- 
 bility of crossing the Hellespont from the Abydos to 
 the Sestos side, in consequence of the tide. 
 
 " One is as easy as the other ; we did both/' Here 
 he turned round to Fletcher, to whom he occasional- 
 ly referred, and said, " Fletcher, how far was it Mr. 
 Ekenhead and I swam ?" Fletcher replied, " Three 
 miles and a half, my Lord." (Of course he did not 
 diminish the distance.) " The real width of the Hel- 
 lespont," resumed Lord Byron, " is not much above 
 a mile ; but the current is prodigiously strong, and 
 we were carried down notwithstanding all our efforts. 
 I don't know how Leander contrived to stem the 
 stream, and steer straight across ; but nothing is im- 
 possible in love or religion. If I had had a Hero on 
 the other side, perhaps I should have worked harder. 
 "We were to have undertaken this feat some time be- 
 fore, but put it off in consequence of the coldness of 
 the water ; and it was chilly enough when we per- 
 formed it. 1 know I should have made a bad Lean- 
 der, for it gave me an ague that I did not so easily 
 get rid of. There were some sailors in the fleet who 
 swam further than I did — I do not sav than I could 
 
LORD BYROJJ. 77 
 
 have done, for it is the only exercise I pride myself 
 upon, being almost amphibious. 
 
 " I remember being at Brighton many years agq^ 
 and having great difficulty in making the land, — the 
 wind blowing off the shore, and the tide setting out. 
 Crowds of people were collected on the beach to see 
 
 us. Mr. (I think he said Hobhouse) was with 
 
 me ; and," he added, " I had great difficulty in sav- 
 ing him — he nearly drowned me. 
 
 " When I was at Venice, there was an Italian who 
 knew no more of swimming than a camel, but he had 
 heard of my prowess in the Dardanelles, and chal- 
 lenged me. Not wishing that any foreigner at least 
 should beat me at my own arms, I consented to en- 
 gage in the contest. Alexander Scott proposed to 
 be of the party, and we started from Lido. Our land- 
 lubber was very soon in the rear, and Scott saw him 
 make for a Gondola. He rested himself first against 
 one, and then against another, and gave in before we 
 got half way to St. Mark's Place. We saw no morfc 
 of him, but continued our course through the Grand 
 Canal, landing at my palace-stairs. The water of 
 the Lagunes is dull, and not very clear or agreeable 
 to bathe in. I can keep myself up for hours in the 
 sea : I delight in it, and come out with a buoyancy ef 
 spirits I never feel on any other occasion. 
 
 " If I believed in the transmigration of your Hu> 
 doos, I should think I had been a Merman in some 
 former state of existence, or was going to be turned 
 into one in the next." 
 
 t; When I published * Marinp FalLero,' I had noj 
 
78 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 the most distant view to the stage. My object in 
 choosing that historical subject, was to record one of 
 the most remarkable incidents in the annals of the 
 Venetian Republic, embodying it in what I consider- 
 ed the most interesting form — dialogue, and giving 
 my work the accompaniments of scenery and man- 
 ners studied on the spot. That Faliero should, for a 
 slight to a woman, become a traitor to his country, 
 and conspire to massacre all his fellow-nobles, and 
 ihat the young Foscari should have a sickly affection 
 <for his native city, were no inventions of mine. I 
 |)ainted the men as I found them, as they were, — not 
 as the critics would have them. 1 took the stories as 
 they were handed down ; and if human nature is not 
 the same in one country as it is in others, am I to 
 blame ? — can I help it ? But no painting, however 
 fiighly coloured, can give an idea of the intensity of 
 a Venetian's affection for his native city. Shelley, I 
 remember, draws a very beautiful picture of the tran- 
 quil pleasures of Venice in a poem* which he has not 
 
 :; The lines to which Lord Byron referred are these : 
 " If I had been an unconnected man, 
 " I from this moment should have form'd the plan 
 ° Never to leave fair Venice — for to me 
 " It was delight to ride by the lone sea ; 
 " And then the town is silent — one may write 
 lt Or read in gondolas by day or night, 
 " Having the little brazen lamp alight, 
 u Unseen, uninterrupted : books are there, 
 *' Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair 
 '< Which were twin-born with poetry, — and all 
 ° We seek in towns, with little to recall 
 ** Regrets for the green country. 1 might sit 
 ,: In Maddalo's great palace." fee. 
 
 Julian and Maddalo. 
 
LORD BYRON". T9 
 
 published, and in which he does not make me cut a 
 good figure. It describes an evening we passed to- 
 gether. 
 
 " There was one mistake I committed ; I should 
 have called 'Marino Faliero' and ' The Two Fosca- 
 ri, dramas, historic poems, or an}' thing, in short, but 
 tragedies or plays. In the first place, I was; ill-used 
 in the extreme by the Doge being brought on the 
 stage at all, after my Preface. Then it consists of 
 3500 lines :* a good acting play should not exceed 
 1500 or 1800 ; and, conformably with my plan, the 
 materials could not have been compressed into so 
 confined a space. 
 
 " I remember Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, telling 
 me, many years ago, that I should never be able to 
 condense my powers of writing sufficiently for the 
 Stage, and that the fault of all my plays would be 
 their being too long for acting. The remark occur- 
 red to me when I was about ' Marino Faliero ;' but I 
 thought it unnecessary to try and contradict his pre- 
 diction, as I did not study stage-effect, and meant it 
 solely for the closet. So much was I averse from it? 
 being acted, that, the moment I heard of the inten- 
 tion of the Managers, 1 applied for an injunction ; 
 but the Chancellor refused to interfere, or issue an 
 order for suspending the representation. It was*a 
 question of great importance in the literary world, of 
 property. He would neither protect me nor Murray. 
 But the manner in which it was got up was shameful !f 
 
 * He gave me the copy, with the number of lines marked 
 with his own pencil. I have left it in England. 
 f Acted at Drury Lane, April 25, 1821. 
 
$Q CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 AH the declamatory parts were left, all the dramatic, 
 ones struck out ; and Cooper, the new actor, was the 
 murderer of the whole. Lioni's soliloquy, which I 
 wrote one moonlight night after coming from the 
 Benyon's, ought to have been omitted altogether, ot 
 at all events much curtailed. What audience will lis- 
 ten with any patience to a mere tirade of poetiy. 
 which stops the march of the actor ? No wonder, 
 then, that the unhappy Doge should have been damn- 
 ed ! But it was no very pleasant news for me j and 
 the letter containing it was accompanied by another, 
 to inform me that an old lady, from whom I had, 
 great expectations, was likely to live to an hundred. 
 There is an autumnal shoot in some old people, as in. 
 trees ; and I fancy her constitution has got some of 
 the new sap. Well, on these two pleasant pieces of 
 intelligence I wrote the following epigram, or elegy 
 it may be termed, from the melancholy nature of the 
 subject : 
 
 M Behold the blessings of a happy lot ! 
 
 " My play is damn'd, and Lady not J 
 
 " I understand that Louis Dix-huit, or huitres,^ 
 Moore spells it, has made a traduction of poor ' Fa- 
 liero ;' but I should hope it will not be attempted on 
 the Theatre Francois. It is quite enough for a man 
 to be damned once. \ was satisfied with Jeffrey's 
 Critique* on the play, for it abounded in extracts. He 
 
 * " However, I forgive him ; and I trust 
 " He will forgive himself: — if not, I must. 
 " Old enemies who have become new friends, 
 ° JShould s,o continue ; — 'tis a point of honour." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto X. Stanzas Hand 1& 
 
LORD BYRON". 81 
 
 was welcome to his own opinion, — which was fairly 
 stated. His summing up in favour of my friend Sir 
 Walter amused me : it reminded me of a schoolmas- 
 ter, who, after flogging a bad boy, calls out to the 
 head of the class, and, patting him on the head, gives 
 him all the sugar-plums. 
 
 " The common trick of Reviewers is, when they 
 want to depreciate a work, to give no quotations from 
 it. This is what ' The Quarterly' shines in ; — the 
 way Milman puts down Shelley, when he compared 
 him to Pharaoh, and his works to his chariot-wheels, 
 by what contortion of images I forget ; — but it re- 
 minds me of another person's comparing me in a 
 poem to Jesus Christ, and telling me, when I objected 
 to its profanity, that he alluded to me in situation, not 
 in person! ' Wh*t !' said I in reply, 'would you 
 have me crucified ? We are not in Jerusalem, are 
 we ?' But this is a long parenthesis. The Review- 
 ers are like a counsellor, after an abusive speech, call- 
 ing no witnesses to prove his assertions. 
 
 " There are people who read nothing but these 
 t rimes- trials, and swear by the ipse dixit of these au- 
 tocrats — these Actseon hunters of literature. They 
 are fond of raising up and throwing down idols. 
 4 The Edinburgh' did so with Walter Scott's poetiy,. 
 
 and, perhaps there is no merit in my plays ? It 
 
 may be so ; and Milman may be a great poet, if He- 
 ber is right and I am wrong. He has the dramatic 
 faculty, and I have not. So they pretended to say of 
 Milton. I am too happy in being coupled in any 
 way with Milton, and shall be glad if they find any 
 points of comparison between him and me. 
 
 
S2' CONVERSATION'S OF 
 
 "But the praise or blame of Reviewers does not last 
 long now-a-days. It is like straw thrown up in the 
 air.* 
 
 " I hope, notwithstanding all that has been said, td 
 Write eight more plays this year, and to live long 
 enough to rival Lope de Vega, or C alder on. I have c 
 two subjects that 1 think of writing on — Miss Leigh's du 
 German tale ' Kruitzner,' and Pausanias. 
 
 " What do you think of Pausanias ? The unities 
 can be strictly-preserved, almost without deviating 
 from history. The temple where he took refuge, 
 and from whose sanctuary he was forced without pro- 
 faning it, will furnish complete unities of lime and 
 place. 
 
 " No event in ancient times ever struck me as more 
 noble and dramatic than the death of Demosthenes. 
 You remember his last words to Archias . p — But sub- 
 jects are not wanting." 
 
 I told Lord Byron that I had had a letter from Proc- 
 ter^ and that he had been jeered on ' The Duke of 
 Mirandola' not having been included in his (Lord 
 B.'s) enumeration of the dramatic pieces of the day; 
 and that he added he had been at Harrow with him. 
 
 " Aye," said Lord Byron, ' I remember the name : 
 lie was in the lower school, in such a class. They 
 stood Farrer, Procter, Jocelyn." 
 
 * He seemed to think somewhat differently afterwards, when, 
 after the review in 'The Quarterly' of his plays, he wrote to. 
 .me, saying, ' I am the most unpopular writer going ! }} 
 
 j Bar^7 Cornwall, 
 
LORD BYRON. $3 
 
 I have no doubt Lord Byron could have gone 
 through all the names, such was his memory. He 
 immediately sat down, and very good naturedly gave 
 the following note to send to Barry Cornwall, which, 
 shows that the arguments of the Reviewers had not 
 changed his Unitarian opinions, (as he called them :) 
 
 " Had I been aware of your tragedy when I wrote 
 my note to ' Marino Faliero,' although it is a matter 
 of no consequence to you, 1 should certainly not have 
 omitted to insert your name with those of the other 
 writers who still do honour to the drama. 
 
 " My own notions on the subject altogether are so 
 different from the popular ideas of the day, that we 
 difl'er essentially, as indeed I do from our whole En- 
 glish literati, upon that topic. But I do not contend, 
 that I am right — I merely say that such is my opi- 
 nion; and as it is a solitary one, it can do no great 
 .harm. But it does not prevent me from doing justice 
 to the powers of those who adopt a diilerent system." 
 
 t introduced the subject of Cain ;— 
 
 " When I was a boy," said he, " I studied German, 
 which I have now entirely forgotten. It was very \\U 
 tie I ever knew of it. Abel was one of the first books 
 my German master read to me ; and whilst he was 
 crying his eyes out over its pages, I thought that any 
 other than Cain had hardly committed a crime in 
 ridding the world of so dull a fellow as Gessncr made 
 brother Abel, 
 
$4 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " I always thought Cain a fine subject, and when 
 I took it up, I determined to treat it strictly after the 
 Mosaic account. I therefore made the snake a snake, 
 and took a Bishop for my interpreter. 
 
 * I had once an idea of following the Arminian 
 Scriptures, and making Cain's crime proceed from 
 jealousy, and love of his uterine sister ; but, though. 
 a more probable cause of dispute, I abandoned it a? 
 unorthodox. 
 
 " One mistake crept in — Abel's should have been 
 made the first sacrifice : and it is singular that the 
 first form of religious worship should have induced the 
 first murder. 
 
 " Hobhduse has denounced 'Cain' as irreligious, 
 and has penned me a most furious epistle, urging me 
 not to publish it, as I value my reputation or his 
 friendship. He contends that it is a work I should nol 
 have ventured to have put my name to in the days of 
 Pope, Churchill, and Johnson, (a curious trio!) Hob- 
 house used to write good verses once himself, but he 
 seems to have forgotten what poetry is in others, when 
 he says my ' Cain' reminds him of the worst bombast 
 of Dryden's. Shelley, who is no bad judge of the 
 compositions of others, however lie may fail in pro- 
 curing success for his own, is most sensitive and in- 
 dignant at this critique, and says (what is not the 
 case) that ' Cain' is the finest thing I ever wrote, calls 
 it worthy of Milton, and backs it against Hobhouse's 
 poetical Trinity, 
 
LORD BYRON. 85 
 
 The Snake's rage prevented my crest from rising. 
 I shall write Hobhouse a very unimpassioned letter, . 
 but a firm one. The publication shall go on, whether 
 Murray refuses to print it or not. 
 
 I have just got a letter, and an admirable one it is, 
 from Sir Walter Scott, to whom I dedicated ' Cain.' 
 The sight of one of his letters always does me good. 
 I hardly know what to make of all the contradictory 
 opinions that have been sent me this week. Moore 
 says, that more people are shocked with the blasphe- 
 my of the sentiments, than delighted with the beauty 
 of the lines. Another person thinks the Devil's ar- 
 guments irresistible, or irrefutable. says that 
 
 the Liberals like it, but that the Ultraists are making 
 a terrible outcry ; and that the he and him not being 
 in capitals, in full dress uniform, shocks the High- 
 church and Court party. Some call me an Atheist, 
 others a Manichaean — a very bad and hard sounding 
 name, that shocks the illiterati the more because they 
 don't know what it means. I am taxed with having 
 made my drama a peg to hang on it a long, and, some 
 say tiresome, dissertation on the principle of evil ; 
 and, what is worse, with having given Lucifer the 
 best of the argument ; all of which I am accused of 
 taking from Voltaire. 
 
 I could not make Lucifer expound the Thirty-nine 
 Articles, nor talk as the Divines do : that would never 
 have suited his purpose — nor, one would think, theirs. 
 They ought to be grateful to him for giving them a 
 subject to write about. What would they do without 
 evil in the Prince of Evil ? Othello's occupation 
 would be gone. I have made Lucifer say no more 
 
86 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 in his defence than was absolutely necessary — not 
 half so much as Milton makes his Satan do. I was 
 forced to keep up his dramatic character. Au reste, 
 I have adhered closely to the Old Testament, and I 
 defy any one to question my moral. 
 
 > " Johnson, who would have been glad of an op- 
 portunity of throwing another stone at Milton, re- 
 deems him from any censure for putting impiety and 
 even blasphemy into the mouths of his infernal spirits. 
 By what rule, then, am I to have all the blame ? What 
 would the Methodists at home say to Goethe's 'Faust?' 
 His devil not only talks very familiarly of Heaven, 
 but very familiarly in Heaven. What would they 
 think of the colloquies of Mephistopheles and his pu- 
 pil, or the more daring language of the prologue, 
 which no one will ever venture to translate ? And yet 
 this play is not only tolerated and admired, as every 
 thing he wrote must be, but acted, in Germany. And 
 are the Germans a less moral people than we are ? I 
 doubt it much. Faust itself is not so fine a subject as 
 Cain. It is a grand mystery. The mark that was 
 put upon Cain is a sublime and shadowy act : Goethe 
 would have made more of it than 1 have done."* 
 
 * On Mr. Murray being threatened with a prosecution, Lord 
 Byron begged me to copy the following letter for him : — 
 
 " Attacks upon me were to be expected, but I perceive one 
 upon you in the papers which, I confess, I did not expect. 
 
 " How and in what manner you can be considered responsi- 
 ble for what I publish, I am at a loss to conceive. If ' Cain' 
 be blasphemous, ' Paradise Lost' is blasphemous ; and the words 
 of the Oxford gentleman, 'Evil, be thou my good,' are from 
 that very poem, from the mouth of Satan — and is there any 
 thing more in (hat of Lucifer, in the Mystery? * Cain' Is no- 
 
LORD BYRON. 87 
 
 I cannot resist presenting the public with a drink- 
 ing-song composed one morning — or perhaps eve- 
 ning, after one of our dinners. 
 
 thing more than a drama, not a piece of argument. If Lucifer 
 and Cain speak as the first rebel and the first murderer may be 
 supposed to speak, nearly 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 avoided intro- 
 ducing the Deity, as in Scripture, though Milton does, and not 
 very wiselv either ; but I have adopted his angel as sent to Cain 
 instead, on purpose to avoid shocking any feelings on the sub- 
 ject, 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 I avoided in the new one. 
 
 "The attempt to bully you because they think it will not 
 succeed with me, seems as atrocious an attempt as ever dis- 
 graced the times. What! when Gibbon's, Hume's, Priest- 
 ley's, and Drummond's publishers have been allowed to rest in 
 peace for seventy years, are you to be singled out for a work of 
 fiction, not of history or argument ? 
 
 " There must be something at the bottom of this — some pri- 
 vate enemy of your own : it is otherwise incredible. I can 
 only say, 'Me, me, adsum qui feci ,*' that any proceedings against 
 you may, 1 beg, be transferred to me, who am willing, and 
 ought to endure them 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. Gifford remonstrat- 
 ed against the publication, and also Mr. Hobhouse ; that I 
 alone occasioned it, and I alone am the person who, either le- 
 gally or otherwise, should bear the burthen. 
 
 " If they prosecute, I will come to England ; that is, if by 
 meeting in my own person I can save yours. Let me know. 
 You shan't suffer for me, if I can help it. Make any use of 
 this letter you please." 
 
88 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " Fill the goblet again, for I never before 
 
 " Felt the glow that now gladdens my heart to its core : 
 
 "Let us drink — who would not? since thro' life's varied 
 
 round 
 " In the goblet alone no deception is found. 
 
 •'' I have tried in its turn all that life can supply ; 
 
 " I have bask'd in the beams of a dark rolling eye ; 
 
 " I have lov'd — who has not ? but what tongue will declare 
 
 " That pleasure existed while passion was there? 
 
 " In the days of our youth, when the heart's in its spring, 
 "And dreams that affection can never take wing, 
 "I had friends — who has not ? but what tongue will avow 
 "That friends, rosy wine, are so faithful as thou ? 
 
 "The breast of a mistress some boy may estrange ; 
 
 "Friendship shifts with the sun-beam, — thou never canst 
 change. 
 
 "Thou giow'st old — who does not? but on earth what ap- 
 pears, 
 
 " Whose virtues, like thine, but increase with our years ? 
 
 "Yet if blest to the utmost that love can bestow, 
 " Should a rival bow down to our idol below, 
 " We are jealous — who's not? thou hast no such alloy, 
 " For the more that enjoy thee, the more they enjoy. 
 
 "When, the season of youth and its jollities past, 
 " For refuge we fly to the goblet at last, 
 " Then we find — who does not ? in the flow of the soul, 
 "That truth, as of yore, is confin'd to the bowl. 
 
 " When the box of Pandora was opened on earth, 
 : ' And Memory's triumph commenced over Mirth, 
 " Hope was left — was she not ? but the goblet we kiss, 
 " And care not for hope, who are certain of bliss. 
 
 " Long life to the grape ! and when summer is flown, 
 "The age of our nectar shall gladden my own. 
 "We must die — who does not? may our sins be forgiven f 
 " And Hebe shall never be idle in Heaven." 
 
LORD BYRON. 89 
 
 Dining with him another day, the subject of pri- 
 vate theatricals was introduced. 
 
 " I am very fond of a private theatre," said he. " I 
 remember myself and some friends at Cambridge get- 
 ting up a play; and that reminds me of a thing which 
 happened, that was very provoking in itself, but very 
 humorous in its consequences. 
 
 " On the day of representation, one of the perform* 
 ers took it into his head to make an excuse, and his 
 part, was obliged to be read. Hobhouse came for- 
 ward to apologise to the audience, and told them that 
 
 a Mr. had declined to perform his part, &c. 
 
 The gentleman was highly indignant at the ' a,' and 
 had a great inclination to pick a quarrel with Scroope 
 Davies, who replied, that he supposed Mr. want- 
 ed to be called the Mr. so and so. He ever after went 
 by the name of the * Definite Article.'' 
 
 " After this preface, to be less indefinite, suppose 
 we were to get up a play. My hall, which is the larg- 
 est in Tuscany, would make a capital theatre ; and 
 we may send to Florence for an audience, if we can- 
 not fill it here. And as to decorations, nothing is ea- 
 sier in any part of Italy than to get them : besides 
 that, Williams will assist us." 
 
 It was accordingly agreed that we should commence 
 with " Othello." Lord Byron was to be lago. Or- 
 ders were to be given for the fitting up of the stage, 
 preparing the dresses, &c, and rehearsals of a few 
 scenes took place. Perhaps Lord Byron would have 
 made the finest actor in the world. His voice had a 
 
90 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 flexibility, a variety in its tones, a power and pathos 
 beyond any I ever heard ; and his countenance was 
 capable of expressing the tenderest, as well as the 
 strongest emotions. I shall never forget his reading 
 Iago's part in the handkerchief scene. 
 
 " Shakspeare was right," said he, after he had fin- 
 ished, in making Othello's jealousy turn upon that 
 circumstance.* The handkerchief is the strongest 
 proof of love, not only among the Moors, but all 
 Eastern nations : and yet they say that the plot of 
 8 Marino Faliero' hangs upon too slight a cause." 
 
 All at once a difficulty arose about a Desdemona, 
 and the Guiccioli put her veto on our theatricals. 
 The influence of the Countess over Lord Byron re- 
 minded me of a remark of Fletcher's that Shelley 
 once repeated to me as having overheard : — " That 
 it was strange every woman should be able to man- 
 age his Lordship, but her Ladyship 1" 
 
 Discussing the different actors of the day, he said : 
 
 " Dowton, who hated Kean, used to say that his 
 Othello reminded him of Obi, or Three-fingered 
 
 * Calderon says, in the Cisma de V Inglaterra, (I have nat 
 the original,) 
 
 " She gave me, too, a handkerchief, — a spell — 
 
 " A flattering pledge, my hopes to animate — 
 
 " An astrologic favour — fatal prize 
 
 " That told too true what tears must weep these eyes." 
 
LORD BYRON. 91 
 
 Jack,— not Othello. But, whatever his Othello might 
 have been, Garrick himself never surpassed him in 
 Iago. I am told that Kean is not so great a favor- 
 ite with the public since his return from America, 
 and that party strengthened against him in his ab- 
 sence. I guess he could not have staid long enough 
 to be spoiled ; though I calculate no actor is improv- 
 ed by their stage. How do you reckon 9 
 
 " Kean began by acting Richard the Third, when 
 quite a boy, and gave all the promise of what he af- 
 terwards became. His Sir Giles Overreach was a 
 wonderful performance. The actresses were afraid 
 of him ; and he was afterwards so much exhausted 
 himself, that he fell into fits. This, I am told, was 
 the case with Miss O'Neih* 
 
 " Kemble did much towards the reform of our 
 stage. Classical costume was almost unknown be- 
 fore he undertook to revise the dresses. Garrick used 
 to act Othello in a red coat and epaulettes, and other 
 characters had prescriptive habits equally ridiculous. 
 I can conceive nothing equal to Kemble's Coriolanus ; 
 and he looked the Roman so well, that even * Cato,' 
 cold and stiltish as it is, had a run. That shows what 
 an actor can do for a play ! If he had acted ' Ma- 
 rino Faliero,' its fate would have been very different. 
 
 " Kemble pronounced several words affectedly, 
 which should be cautiously avoided on the stage. It 
 is nothing that Campbell writes it Sepulcre'm ' Kv..ien- 
 linden.' The Greek derivation is much against his 
 pronunciation of ache." 
 
 * And he might hare added Pasta 
 
92 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 He now began to mimic Kemble's voice and man- 
 ner of spouting, and imitated him inimitably in Pros- 
 pero's lines : 
 
 > «' ' Yea, the great globe itself, it shall dissolve, 
 " ' And, like the baseless fabric of a vision, 
 " ' Leave not a rack behind" 
 
 " When half seas over, Kemble used to speak in 
 blank-verse : and with practice, 1 don't think it would 
 be difficult. Good prose resolves itself into blank- 
 verse. Why should we not be able to improvise in 
 hexameters, as well as the Italians ? Theodore Hook 
 is an improvisatore." 
 
 " The greatest genius in that way that perhaps Ita- 
 ly ever produced," said Shelley, " is Sgricci." 
 
 " There is a great deal of knack in these gentry," re- 
 plied Lord Byron ; " their poetry is more mechanical 
 than you suppose. More verses are written yearly in 
 Italy, than millions of money are circulated. It is 
 usual for every Italian gentleman to make sonnets to 
 his iftistresse.: eye-brow before he is married — or the 
 lady must be very uninspiring indeed. 
 
 " But Sgricci ! To extemporize a whole tragedy 
 seems a miraculous gift. I heard him improvise a 
 five act play at Lucca, on the subject of the ' Iphige- 
 nia in Tauris,' and never was more interested. He 
 put one of the finest speeches into the mouth of 
 Iphigenia I ever heard. She compared her brother 
 Orestes to the sole remaining pillar on which a tem- 
 ple hung tottering, in the act of ruin. The idea, it 
 
LORD BYRON. 93 
 
 is true, is from Euripides, but he made it his own. I 
 
 have never read his play since I was at school. I 
 
 don't know how Sgricci's tragedies may appear in 
 print, but his printed poetry is tame stuff. 
 
 " The inspiration of the improviser is quite a sepa- 
 rate talent : — a consciousness of his own powers, his 
 own elocution — the wondering and applauding au- 
 dience, — all conspire to give him confidence ; but 
 the deity forsakes him when he coldly sits down 
 to think. Sgricci is not only a fine poet, but a fine 
 actor. Mrs. Siddons," continued Lord Byron, " was 
 the beau ideal of acting ; Miss O'Neil I would not go 
 to see, for fear of weakening the impression made by 
 the queen of tragedians. When I read Lady Mac- 
 beth's part, I have Mrs. Siddons before me, and ima- 
 gination even supplies her voice, whose tones were 
 superhuman, and power over the heart supernatural. 
 
 " It is pleasant enough sometimes to take a peep 
 behind, as well as to look before the scenes. 
 
 " I remember one leg of an elephant saying to an- 
 other, ' D — n your eyes move a little quicker; and 
 overhearing at the opera two people in love, who 
 were so distraits that they made the responses between 
 the intervals of the recitation, instead of during the 
 recitation itself. One said to the other, ' Do you 
 love me ?' then came the flourish of music, and the 
 reply sweeter than the music, ' Can you doubt it ?'" 
 
 " I have just been reading Lamb's Specimens," 
 

 94 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 said he, and am surprised to find in the extracts from 
 the old dramatists so many ideas that I thought ex- 
 clusively my own. Here is a passage, for instance, 
 from 'The Duchess of Malfy,' astonishingly like one 
 in ' Don Juan.' 
 
 " ' The leprosy oflusf I discover, too, is not mine. 
 ' Thou tremblcst,' — ''Tis ivith age then,'' which I am 
 accused of borrowing from Otway, was taken from 
 the Old Baily proceedings. Some judge observed to 
 the witness, < Thou tremblest;' — ' 'Tis with cold then,' 
 was the reply. 
 
 "These Specimens of Lamb's I never saw till to- 
 day. I am taxed with being a plagiarist, when I am 
 least conscious of being one j but 1 am not very scru- 
 pulous, I own, when I have a good idea, how I came 
 into possession of it. How can we tell to what ex- 
 tent Shakspeare is indebted to his contemporaries, 
 whose works are now lost ? Besides which, Cibber 
 adapted his plays to the stage. 
 
 " The invocation of the witches was, we know, a 
 servile plagiarism from Middleton. Authors were 
 not so squeamish about borrow ing from one another 
 in those days. If it be a fault, I do not pretend to 
 be immaculate. 1 will lend you some volumes of 
 Shipwrecks, from which my storm in • Don Juan' 
 came. 
 
 " Lend me also ' Casti's Novelle,' " said I. " Did 
 you never see in Italian,— 
 
LORD BYRON. $5 
 
 K Round her she makes an atmosphere of light; 
 u The very air seemed lighter from her eyes ?" 
 
 "The Germans," said he, i'^and I believe Goethe 
 himself, consider that I have taken great liberties 
 with ' Faust.' All I know of that drama is from a 
 sorry French translation, from an occasional reading 
 or two into English of parts of it by Monk Lewis 
 when at Diodati, and from the Hartz mountain-scene, 
 that Shellev versified from the other day. Nothing 
 I envy him so much as to be able to read that aston- 
 ishing production in the original. As to originality 
 Goethe has too much sense to pretenctlliat he is not 
 under obligations to authors, ancient and modern ; — 
 who is not ? You tell me the plot is almost entirely 
 Calderon's. The fete, the scholar, the argument 
 about the Logos, the selling himself to the fiend, and 
 afterwards denying his power; his disguise of the 
 plumed cavalier ; the enchanted mirror, — are all 
 from Cyprian. That magico prodigioso must be 
 worth reading, and nobody seems to know any thing 
 about it but you and Shelley. Then the vision is 
 not unlike that of Marlow's, in his ' Faustus.' The 
 bed-scene is from ' Cymbeline ;' the song or serenade, 
 a translation of Ophelia's, in ' Hamlet ;' and, more 
 than all, the prologue is from Job, which is the first 
 drama in the world, and perhaps the oldest poem. I 
 had an idea of writing a 'Job,' but I found it too sub- 
 lime. There is no poetry to be compared with it." 
 
 I told him that Japhet's soliloquy in J Heaven and 
 Earth,' and address to the mountains of Caucasus, 
 strongly resembled Faust's. 
 
96 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " I shall have commentators enough by and by," 
 said he, " to dissect my thoughts, and find owners for 
 them." 
 
 " When I first saw the review of my ' Hours of 
 Idleness,'* I was furious ; in such a rage as I never 
 have been in since. 
 
 " I dined that day with Scroope Davies, and drank 
 three bottles of claret to drown it ; but it only boil- 
 ed the more. That critique was a masterpiece ol 
 low wit, a tissue of scurrilous abuse. I remember 
 there was a great deal of vulgar trash in it which 
 was meant for humour, ' about people being thank- 
 ful for what they could get.' — ' not looking a gift horse 
 in the mouth/ and such stable expressions. The se- 
 verity of 'The Quarterly' killed poor Keats ; and 
 neglect, Kirk White; but I was made of different 
 stuff, of tougher materials. So far from their bully- 
 ing me, or deterring me from writing, I was bent on 
 falsifying their raven predictions, and determined to 
 show them, croak as they would, that it was not the 
 last time they should hear from me. I. set to work 
 immediately, and in good earnest, and produced in a 
 year ' The English Bards and Scotch Reviewers. 1 
 For the first four days after it was announced, I was 
 very nervous about its fate. Generally speaking, the 
 first fortnight decides the public opinion of a new 
 book. This made a prodigious impression, more 
 perhaps, than any of my works except 'The Cor- 
 sair.' 
 
 * Written in 180fL 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 r K 
 
 u In less than a year and a half it passed through 
 four editions, and rather large ones. To some of them, 
 contrary to the advice of my friends, I affixed my 
 name. The thing was known to be mine, and I could 
 not have escaped any enemies in not owning it ; be- 
 sides, it was more manly not to deny it. There were 
 many things in that satire which I was afterwards sorry 
 for, and I wished to cancel it. If Galignani chose tc 
 reprint it, it was no fault of mine. I did my utmost 
 to suppress the publication, not only in England, hw 
 in Ireland. I will tell you my principal reason for do- 
 ing so : I had good grounds to believe that Jeffrey 
 (though perhaps really responsible for whatever ap- 
 pears in 'The Edinburgh,' as Gilford is for 'The 
 Quarterly,' as its editor) was not the author of thai, 
 article, — was not guilty of it. He disowned it ; and 
 though he would not give up the aggressor, he said he 
 would convince me, if I ever came to Scotland, who 
 the person was. I have every reason to believe it war 
 a certain lawyer, who hated me for something I once 
 
 said of Mrs. -. The technical language about 
 
 t minority pleas,' 'plaintiffs,' ' grounds of action,' &c. 
 a jargon only intelligible to a lawyer, leaves no doubt 
 in my mind on the subject. I bear no animosity to 
 him now, though, independently of this lampoon 
 which does him no credit, he gave me cause enough 01 
 offence. 
 
 " The occasion was this : — In my separation-cause, 
 that went before the Chancellor as a matter of form, 
 when the proceedings came on, he took upon himself 
 to apply some expressions, or make some allusions to 
 me, which must have been of a most unwarrantable 
 
 9 
 
98 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 nature, as my friends consulted whether they should 
 acquaint me .with the purport of" them. What they 
 precisely were 1 never knew, or should certainly have 
 made him retract them. I met him afterwards at Cop- 
 pet, but was not at that time acquainted with this cir- 
 cumstance lie took on himself the advocate also, in 
 writing to Madame de Stael, and advising her not to 
 meddle in the quarrel between Lady Byron and my- 
 self. This was not kind ; it was a gratuitous and un- 
 feed act of hostility. But there was another reason 
 that influenced me even more than my cooled resent- 
 ment against Jeffrey, to suppress ' English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers.' In the duel-scene, I had uncon- 
 sciously made part of the ridicule fall on Moore. The 
 fact was, that there was no imputation on the coiuagr 
 of either of the principals. One of the balls fell out 
 in the carriage, and was lost ; and the seconds, not 
 having a further supply, drew the remaining one. 
 
 " Shortly after this publication I went abroad : and 
 Moore was so oftended by the mention of the leadless 
 pistols, that he addressed a letter to me in the nature 
 of a challenge, delivering it to the care of Mr. Hanson, 
 but without acquainting him with the contents. This 
 letter was mislaid, — at least never forwarded to me. 
 
 " But, on my return to England in 1812, an inquiry 
 was made by Moore, if I had received such a letter? 
 adding, that particular circumstances (meaning his 
 marriage, or perhaps the suppression of the satire) had 
 now altered his situation, and that he wished to recall 
 the letter, and to be known to me through Rogers. I 
 was shy of this mode of arranging matters, one hand 
 presenting a pistol, and another held out to shake ; 
 
LORD BYRON. % 
 
 -and felt awkward at the loss of a letter of such a na- 
 ture, and the imputation it might have given rise to. 
 But when, after a considerable search, it was at length 
 found, I returned it to Moore with the seal unbroken : 
 and we have since been the best friends in the world. 
 I correspond with no one so regularly as with Moore. 
 
 " It is remarkable that I should at this moment num- 
 ber among my most intimate friends and correspon- 
 dents, those whom I most made the subjects of satire 
 in ' English Bards.- I never retracted my opinions of 
 their works, — I never sought their acquaintance ; but 
 there are men who can forgive and forget. The Lau- 
 reate is not one of that disposition, and exults over the 
 anticipated death-bed repentance of the objects of his 
 hatred. Finding that his denunciations or panegyrics are 
 of little or no avail here, he indulges himself in a plea- 
 sant vision as to what will be their fate hereafter. The 
 third Heaven is hardly good enough for a king, and 
 Dante's worst berth in the ' Inferno' hardly bad enough 
 for me. My kindness to his brother-in-law might have 
 taught him to be more charitable. I said in a Note to 
 4 The Two Foscari,' in answer to his vain boasting, 
 that I had done more real good in one year, than Mr. 
 Southey in the whole course of his shifting and turn- 
 coat existence, on which he seems to reflect with so. 
 much complacency. I did not mean to pride myself 
 on the act to which I have just referred, and should 
 not mention it to you, but that his self-sufficiency calls 
 for the explanation. When Coleridge was in great 
 distress, I borrowed 100/. to give him." 
 
 Some days after this discussion appeared Mr. Sou- 
 they's reply to the Note in question. I happened to see 
 
 LOFC, 
 
(00 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 ' The Literary Gazette' at Mr. Edgeworfh's, and men- 
 tioned the general purport of the letter to Lord Byron 
 during our evening ride. His anxiety to get a sight of 
 't was so great, that he wrote me two notes in the course 
 of the evening, entreating me to procure the paper. I 
 at length succeeded, and took it to the Lanfranchi pa- 
 lace at eleven o'clock, (after coming from the opera,) 
 an hour at which I was frequently in the habit of call- 
 ing on him. 
 
 He had left the Guiccioli earlier than usual, and I 
 found him waiting with some impatience. I never shall 
 forget his countenance as he glanced rapidly over the 
 contents. He looked perfectly awful : his colour 
 changed almost prismatically ; his lips were as pale as 
 death. He said not a word. He read it a second 
 time, and with more attention than his rage at first 
 permitted, commenting on some of the passages as he 
 went on. When he had finished, he threw down the 
 paper, and asked me if I thought there was any thing 
 :>£ a personal nature in the reply that demanded satis- 
 faction ; as, if there was, he would instantly ?et oil" for 
 England and call Southey to an account, — muttering 
 something about whips, and branding-irons, and gib- 
 bets, and wounding the heart of a woman, — words of 
 Mr. Southey's. I said that, as to personality, his own 
 expressions of " cowardly ferocity," " pitiful rene- 
 gado," " hireling," much stronger than any in the let- 
 ter before me. He paused a moment, and said : 
 
 " Perhaps you are right ; but I will consider of it. 
 You have not seen my ' Vision of Judgment.' I wish 
 I had a copy to shew you ; but the only one 1 have is 
 ..ii London. I had almost decided not to publish it. 
 
LORD BYRON. 10i 
 
 but it shall now go forth to the world. I will write to 
 Douglas Kinnaird by to-morrow's post, to-night, not 
 to delay its appearance. The question is, whom to 
 get to print it. Murray will have nothing to say to it 
 just now, while the prosecution of ' Cain' hangs over 
 his head. It was offered to Longman ; but he de- 
 clined it on the plea of its injuring the sale of Southey's 
 Hexameters, of which he is the publisher. Hunt shall 
 have it." 
 
 Another time he said : 
 
 " I am glad Mr. Southey owns that article on 
 • Foliage,' which excited my choler so much. Bui 
 who else could have been the author? Who but 
 Southey would have had the baseness, under the pre- 
 text of reviewing the work of one man, insidiously to 
 make it a nest-egg for hatching malicious calumnies 
 against others ? 
 
 " It was bad taste, to say the least of it, in Shelly 
 to write Adsog after his name at Mont Anvert. I knew 
 little of him at that time, but it happened to meet my 
 eye, and I put my pen through the word, and Mwpoj 
 too, that had been added by some one else by way of 
 comment — and a very proper comment too, and the 
 only one that should have been made on it. There it 
 should have stopped. It would have been more credita- 
 ble to Mr. Southey's heart and feelings if he had been 
 of this opinion ; he would then never have made the 
 use of his travels he did, nor have raked out of an 
 album the silly joke of a boy, in order to make it. 
 matter of serious accusation against him at home. I 
 9* 
 
CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 might well say he had impudence enough, if lie could 
 confess such infamy. I say nothing of the critique 
 itself on ' Foliage ;' with the exception of a few sonnets, 
 it was unworthy of Hunt. But what was the object of 
 that article ? I repeat, to vilify and scatter his dark 
 and devilish insinuations against me and others. 
 Shame on the man who could wound an already bleed- 
 ing heart, — be barbarous enough to revive the memory 
 of a fatal event that Shelley was perfectly innocent of 
 -—and found scandal on falsehood ! Shelley taxed him 
 with, writing that article some years ago ; and he had 
 the audacity to admit that he had treasured up some 
 opinions of Shelley's, ten years before, when he was 
 on a visit at Keswick, and had made a note of them at 
 the time. But his bag of venom was not full ; it is 
 the nature of the reptile. Why does a viper have a 
 poison-tooth, or the scorpion claws ?" 
 
 Some days after these remarks, on calling on him 
 one morning, he produced ' The Deformed Trans- 
 formed.' Handing it to Shelley, as he was in the habit 
 of doing his daily compositions, he said : 
 
 " Shelley, I have been writing a Faust ish kind of 
 ;h'ama : tell me what you think of it." 
 
 After reading it attentively, Shelley returned it. 
 
 " Well/' said Lord Byron, " how do you tiki 
 
 " Least," replied he, " of any thing I ever saw of 
 VGurs. It is a bad imitation of ' Faust ;' and beside* 
 there are two entire lines of Southey's in it. 
 
LORD BYRON. 10o 
 
 Lord Byron changed colour immediately, and asked 
 hastily what lines f Shelley repeated, 
 
 " 'And water shall see thee, 
 And fear thee, and flee thee. 1 " 
 
 " They are in ' The Curse of Kehamah.' " 
 
 His Lordship, without making a single observation 
 instantly threw the poem into the fire. He seemed to 
 feel no chagrin at seeing it consume — at least his 
 countenance betrayed none, and his conversation 
 became more gay and lively than usual. Whether it 
 was hatred of Southey, or respect for Shelley's opin- 
 ions, which made him commit an act that I considered 
 a sort of suicide, was always doubtful to me. I wa^ 
 never more surprised than to see, two years afterwards. 
 ; The Deformed Transformed' announced ; (supposing 
 it to have perished at Pisa ;) but it seems that he must 
 have had another copy of the manuscript, or had re- 
 written it perhaps, without changing a word, except 
 omitting the ' Kehama' lines. His memory was re- 
 markably retentive of his own writings. I believe he 
 could have quoted almost every line he ever wrote. 
 
 One day a correspondent of Lord Byron's sent him 
 from Paris the following lines — a sort of Epitaph for 
 Southey — which he gave me leave to copy. 
 
 <: Beneath these poppies buried deep, 
 The bones of Bob the Bard lie hid ; 
 Peace to his manes ! and may he 6leq> 
 As soundlv p.s his readers did ! 
 
{04 CONVERSATIONS Of 
 
 Through every sort of verse meandering 
 
 Bob went without a hitch or fall, 
 Through Epic, Sapphic, Alexandrine. 
 
 To verse that was no verse at all ; 
 
 Till Fiction having- done enough, 
 
 To make a bard at least absurd, 
 And give his readers quantum suff., 
 
 He took to praising George the Third : 
 
 And now in virtue of his crown, 
 
 Dooms us, poor Whigs, at once to slaughter . 
 
 Like Donellan of bad renown, 
 Poisoning us all with laurel water. 
 
 \nd yet at times some .'Sward qualms he 
 
 Felt about leaving hon >ur's track ; 
 And though he has got a butt of Malmsej ■ 
 
 It may not save him from a sack. 
 
 Death, weary of so dull a writer, 
 
 Put to his works a finis thus. 
 O ! may the earth on him lie liglur r 
 
 Than did his quartos upon us !" 
 
 " c Heaven and Earth' was commenced,'' said he. 
 u at Ravenna, on the 9th October last. It occupied 
 about fourteen days. Douglas Kinnaird tells me that 
 lie can get no bookseller to publish it. It was offered 
 to Murray, but he is the most timid of God's book- 
 sellers, and starts at the title. He has taken a dislike 
 to that three-syllabled word Mystery, and says, I know 
 not why, that it is another ' Cain.' I suppose he does 
 not like my making one of Cain's daughter's talk the 
 same language as her father's father, and has a preju- 
 dice against the family. I could not make her so un- 
 natural as to speak ill of her grandfather. I was for- 
 ced to make her aristocraticak proud of her descent 
 
LORD BYRON, 105 
 
 from the eldest born. Murray says, that whoever 
 prints it will have it pirated, as ' Cain' has been, — that 
 a court of justice will not sanction it asj literary pro- 
 perty. On what plea . p There is nothing objection- 
 able in it, that I am aware of. You have read it; 
 what do you think ? If ' Cain' be immoral (which I 
 deny), will not the Chancellor's refusal to protect, and 
 the cheapness of a piratical edition, give it a wider cir- 
 culation among the lower classes ? Will they not buy 
 and read it for the very reason that it is considered 
 improper, and try to discover an evil tendency where 
 it was least meant ? May not impiety be extracted by 
 garbling the Bible ? I defy the common people to un- 
 derstand such mysteries as the loves of the Angels, at 
 least they are mysteries to me. Moore, too, is writing 
 on the same text. Any thing that he writes must 
 succeed." 
 
 I told him that the laughter of the fiends in the Cave 
 of Caucasus reminded me of the row of the Furies in 
 the ' Eumenides' of iEschylus. 
 
 " I have never read any of his plays since I left 
 Harrow," said Lord Bjtoii. " Shelley, when I was in 
 Switzerland, translated the ' Prometheus' to me before 
 I wrote m}' ode ; but I never open a Greek book. Shel- 
 ley tells me that the choruses in 'Heaven and Earth' 
 are deficient. He thinks that lyrical poetry should be 
 metrically regular. Surely this is not the case with the 
 Greek choruses that he makes such a fuss about. How- 
 ever, Hunt will be glad of it for his new periodical 
 work. I talked of writing a second part to it ; but it 
 was only as Coleridge promised a second part to 
 
10G CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 * Christabel.' I will tell you how I had an idea ol 
 finishing it : 
 
 " Let me see — where did I leave off ? Oh, with 
 Azazael and Samiasa refusing to obey the summons ol 
 Michael, and throwing off their allegiance to Heaven. 
 They rise into the air with the two sisters, and leave 
 this globe to a fate which, according to Cuvier, it has 
 often undergone, and will undergo again. The ap- 
 pearance of the land strangled by the ocean will serve 
 by way of scenery and decorations. The affectionate 
 tenderness of Adah for those from whom she is parted, 
 and for ever, and her fears contrasting with the loftier 
 spirit of Aholibamah triumphing in the hopes of a new 
 and greater destiny, will make the dialogue. They in 
 the mean time continue their aerial voyage, every 
 where denied admittance in those floating islands oil 
 the sea of space, and driven back by guardian-spirits 
 of the different planets, till they are at length forced to 
 alight on the only peak of the earth uncovered by wa- 
 ter. Here a parting takes place between the lovers, 
 which I shall make affecting enough. The fallen An- 
 gels are suddenly called, and condemned, — their desti- 
 nation and punishment unknown. The sisters still 
 cling to the rock, the waters mounting higher and 
 higher. Now enter the Ark. The scene draws up, 'and 
 discovers Japhet endeavouring to persuade the Patri- 
 arch, with very strong arguments of love and pity, to 
 receive the sisters, or at least Adah, on board. Adah 
 joins in his entreaties, and endeavours to cling to the 
 sides of the vessel. The proud and haughty Aholiba- 
 mah scorns to pray either to God or man, and antici- 
 pates the grave by plunging into the waters. Noah is 
 still inexorable. The surviving daughter of Cain is 
 
LORD BYRON. 107 
 
 momentarily in danger of perishing before the eyes of 
 the Arkites. Japhct is in despair. The last wave 
 sweeps her from the rock, and her lifeless corse floats 
 past in all its beauty, whilst a sea-bird screams over it, 
 and seems to be the spirit of her angei lord. 1 once 
 thought of conveying the lovers to the moon, or one 
 of the planets ; but it is not easy for the imagination 
 to make any unknown world more beautiful than this ; 
 besides, I did not think they would approve of the 
 Bioon as a residence. I remember what Fontenelle 
 said of its having no atmosphere, and the dark spots 
 feeing caverns where the inhabitants reside. There was 
 another objection : all the human interest would have 
 been destroyed, which I have even endeavoured to give 
 { my Angels. It was a very Irish kind of compliment 
 Jpsffrey paid to Moore's ' Lalla Rookh,' when he said 
 [the loves were those of Angels ; meaning that they 
 iWere like nothing on earth. What will he say of ' The 
 Loves of the Angels?' — that they are like (for he has 
 .nothing left) nothing in Heaven ? 
 
 " I wrote l The Prophecy of Dante' at the swgges- 
 .tion of the Countess. 1 was at that time paying my 
 [court to the Guiccioli, and addressed the dedicatory 
 I sonnet to her. She had heard of my having written 
 i something about Tasso, and thought Dante's exile and 
 .death would furnish as tine a subject. I can never 
 write but on the spot. Before I began ' The Lament,' 
 ,1 went to Ferrara, to visit the dungeon. Hcppner was 
 with me, and part of it, the greater part, was compos- 
 ed as ' The Prisoner of Chillon') in the prison. The 
 place of Dante's fifteen years' exile, where he so pa- 
 thetically prayed for his country, and deprecated the 
 thought ©f being buried out of it : and the sight of 
 
103 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 his tomb, which I passed in my almost daily rides,— - 
 inspired me. Besides, there was somewhat of resem- 
 blance* in our destinies — he had a wife, and I have the 
 same feelings about leaving my bones in a strange 
 land. 
 
 " I had, however, a much more extensive view in 
 writing that poem than to describe either his banish- 
 ment or his grave. Poets are sometimes shrewd in 
 their conjectures. You quoted to me the other day a 
 line in ' Childe Harold,' in which I made a prediction 
 about the Greeks :f in this instance I was not so fortu- 
 nate as to be prophetic. This poem was intended for 
 the Italians and the Guiccioli, and therefore I wished 
 to have it translated. I had objected to the Versi sci- 
 olti having been used in my Fourth Canto of ' Childe 
 Harold ;' but this was the very metre they adopted in 
 defiance of my remonstrance, and in the very teeth of 
 it ; and yet I believe the Italians liked the work. It 
 was looked at in a political light, and they indulged in 
 my dream of liberty, and the resurrection of Italy. 
 Alas ! it was only a dream ! 
 
 * " The day may come she would be proud to have 
 " The dust she doom'd to strangers, and transfer 
 " Of him whom she denied a home — the grave." 
 
 Prophecy of DatlU 
 
 " "Where now my boys are, and that fatal she 1 ' — 
 
 Ibid. 
 
 " They made an exile, net a slave of me." 
 
 Ibid. 
 f " Will Gaul or Muscovite redress ye ? No."' 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto II. Stanza 75. 
 
LORD BYRON. 103 
 
 " Terza Runa does not seem to suit the genius of 
 English poetry — it is certainly uncalculafed for a work 
 of any length. Jn our language, however, it may do 
 for a short ode. The public at least thought my at- 
 tempt a failure, and the public is in the main right. I 
 never persecute the public. I always bow to its ver- 
 dict, which i? generally just. But if I had wanted a 
 sufficient reason for my giving up the Prophecy — the 
 Prophecy failed me. 
 
 " It was the turn political affairs took that made me 
 relinquish the work. At one time the flame was ex- 
 pected to break out over all Italy, but it only ended in 
 smcke, and my poem went out with it, I don't won- 
 der at the enthusiasm of the Italians about Dante. He " 
 is the poet of liberty. Persecution, exile, the dread of 
 a foreign grave, could not shake his principles. There 
 is no Italian gentleman, scarcely any well-educated 
 girl, that has not all tie finer passages of Dante at 
 the fingers' ends, — particularly the Ravennese. The 
 Guiccioli, for instance, could almost repeat any part of 
 the ' Divine Comedy ;' and, I dare say, is well read 
 in the ' Vila NuovaJ that prayer-book of love. 
 
 " Shelley always says that reading Dante is unfa- 
 vourable to writing, from its superiority to all possible 
 compositions. Whether he be the first or not, he is 
 certainly the most untranslatable of all poets. You 
 may give the meaning ; but the charm, the simplicity — 
 the classical simplicity, — is lost. You might as well 
 
 10 
 
110 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 clothe a statue, as attempt to translate Dante. He is 
 better, as an Italian said, ' nudo che vestilo. : 
 
 " There's Taafe is not satisfied with what Carey has 
 done, but he must be traducing him too. What think 
 you of that tine line in the k Inferno' being rendered, as 
 Taafe has done it ? 
 
 " < I Mantuan, capering - , squalid, squalling-.' 
 
 " There's alliteration and inversion enough, surely ! 
 I have advised him to frontispiece his book with his 
 own head, Capo di Traditore, ' the head of a traitor ? 
 then will come the title-page comment — Hell !" 
 
 I asked Lord Byron the meaning of a passage in 
 < The Prophecy of Dante.' He laughed, and said : 
 
 " I suppose I had some meaning when X wrote it : I 
 believe I understood it then."* 
 
 " That," said I, " is what the disciples of Sweden- 
 berg say. There are many people who do not under- 
 
 • " If you insist on grammar, though 
 " I never think about it in a heat — " 
 
 Don Juan, Canto VII. Stanza 42. 
 
 " I don't pretend that I quite understand 
 
 " My ewu meaning- whe n I \- ould be very line." 
 
 Don Jttan, Canto IV. Stanza 5. 
 
I 
 
 LORD BYRON. Ill 
 
 stand passages in your writings, among our own coun- 
 trymen : 1 wonder how foreigners contrive to trans- 
 late them." 
 
 " And yet," said he, " they have been translated 
 into all the civilized, and many uncivilized tongues. 
 Several of them have appeared in Danish, Polish, and 
 even Russian dresses. These last, being translations 
 of translations from the French, must be very diluted. 
 The greatest compliment ever paid me has been shown 
 in Germany, where a translation of the Fourth Canto 
 of ' Childe Harold' has been made the subject of a 
 University prize. But as to obscurity, is not Milton 
 obscure ? How do you explain 
 
 " ' Smoothing 1 
 
 " ' The raven down of darkness till it smiled !" 
 
 " Is it not a simile taken from the electricity of a cat's 
 back ? I'll leave you to be my commentator, and hope 
 you will make better work with me than Taafe is doing 
 with Dante, who perhaps could not himself explain half 
 that volumes are written about, if his ghost were to 
 rise again from the dead. I am sure I wonder he and 
 Shakspearc have not been raised by their commenta- 
 tors long ago !" 
 
 " People are always advising me," said he, " to 
 write an epic. You tell me that 1 shall leave no great 
 poem behind me ; — that is. I suppose you mean by 
 
112 CONVERSATION OK 
 
 great, a heavy poem, or a weighty poem ; I believe 
 they are synonymous. You say that ' Childe Harold' 
 is unequal ; that the last two Cantos are far superior 
 to the two first. 1 know that it is a thing without form 
 or substance, — a voyage pittoresque. Bat who reads 
 Milton 1 My opinion as to the inequality of my 
 poems is this, — that one is not better or worse than 
 another. And as to epics, — have you not got enough of 
 " Southey-'s ? There's ' Joan d'Arc,' ' The Curse of 
 Kehama,' and God knows how many more curses, 
 down to { The Last of the Goths ! If you must have 
 an epic, there's ' Don Juan' for you. I call that an 
 epic :* it is an epic as much in the spirit of our day 
 as the Iliad was in Homer's. Love, religion, and poli- 
 tics form the argument, and are as much the cause of 
 quarrels now as they were then. There is no want of 
 Parises and Menelauses, and of Crim.-cons. into the 
 bargain. In the very first Canto you have a Helen. 
 Then, I shall make my hero a perfect Achilles for 
 fighting, — a man who can snuff a candle three succes- 
 times with a pistol-ball : and, depend upon it, my 
 moral will be a good one ; not even Dr. Johnson 
 should be able to find a flaw in it ! 
 
 '• Some one has possessed the Guiccioli with a notion 
 that my 'Don Juan' and the Don Giovanni of the 
 
 * Only five Cantos of ' Don Juan' were written when I held 
 this conversation with him, which was committed to paper half 
 
 an hour after it occurred. 
 
LORD BYRON. 113 
 
 Opera, are the same person ; and to please her I have 
 discontinued his history and adventures; but if I should 
 resume them, I will tell you how I mean him to go on. 
 I left him in the seraglio there. 1 shall make one of the 
 favourites a Sultana, (no less a personage,) fall in love 
 with him, and carry him off from Constantinople. 
 Such elopements are not uncommon, nor unnatural 
 either, though it would shock the ladies to say they 
 are ever to blame. Well, they make good their es- 
 cape to Russia ; where, if Juan's passion cools, and I 
 don't know what to do with the lady, I shall make her 
 die of the plague. There are accounts enough of the 
 plague to be met with, from Boccaccio to De Foe ; — 
 but I have seen it myself, and that is worth all their 
 descriptions. As our hero can't do without a mis- 
 tress, he shall next become man-mistress to Catherine 
 the Great. Queens have had strange fancies for more 
 ignoble people before and since. I shall, therefore, 
 make him cut out the ancestor of the young Russian, 
 and shall send him, when he is hors de combat, to Eng- 
 land as her ambassador. In his suite he shall have a 
 girl whom he shall have rescued during one of his 
 northern campaigns, who shall be in love with him, 
 and he not with her. 
 
 " You see I am true to Nature in making the advan- 
 ces come from the females. I shall next n/f«w a town 
 and country life at home, which will give me room for 
 life, manners, scenery, &c. I will make him neither a 
 dandy in town nor a fox-hunter in the country. K? 
 10* 
 
114 CONVERSATIONS Of 
 
 shall get into all sorts of scrapes, and at length end his 
 career in France. Poor Juan shall be guillotined in 
 the French Revolution! What do you think of my 
 plot? it shall have twenty-four books too, the legiti- 
 mate number. Episodes it has, and will have, out of 
 ifumber; and my spirits, good or bad, must serve for 
 the machinery. If that be not an epic, if it be not 
 ■/ strictly recording to Aristotle, I don't know what an 
 epic poem means." 
 
 " Murray," said he, " pretends to have lost money 
 by my writings, and pleads poverty ; but if he is poor, 
 which is somewhat problematical to me, pray who is to 
 blame ? The fault is in his having purchased, at the in- 
 stance of his great friends, during the last year, so many 
 expensive Voyages and Travels,* which all his influ- 
 ence with ' The Quarterly' cannot persuade people to 
 buy, cannot puff into popularity. The Cookery-book 
 (which he has got a law-suit about) has been for a long 
 time his sheet-anchor ; but they say he will have to re- 
 fund — the worst of funds. Mr. Murray is tender of my 
 fame! How kind in him ! He is afraid of my writing 
 too fast. Why ? because he has a tenderer regard for 
 his own pocket, and does not like the !®ok of any new 
 acquaintance, in the shape of a book of mine, till he 
 
 * " Death to Lis publisher— to him 'tis sport." 
 
 Bon Juan, Canto V. Stanza 52. 
 
LORD BVRON". 1 15 
 
 has seen his old friends in a variety of new faces ; id 
 est, disposed of a vast many editions of the former 
 works. I don't know what would become of me with- 
 out Douglas Kinnaird, who has always beeu my best 
 and kindest friend. It is not easy to deal with Mr. 
 Murray. 
 
 " Murray offered me, of his own accord, 1000/. a 
 Canto for ' Don Juan,' and afterwards reduced it to 
 500/. on the plea of piracy, and complained of my di- 
 viding one Canto into two, because I happened to say 
 something at the end of the Third about having done so. 
 It is true enough that ' Don Juan 5 has been pirated ; 
 but whom has he to thank but himself? In the first 
 place, he put too high a price on the copies of the two 
 first Cantos that came out, only printing a quarto edi- 
 tion, at, I think, a guinea and a half. There was a 
 great demand for it, and this induced the knavish book- 
 sellers to buccaneer. If he had put John Murray on the 
 ti tie-page, like a man, instead of smuggling the brat into 
 the world, and getting Davison, who is a printer and not 
 a publisher, to father it, who would have ventured to 
 question his paternal rights ? or who would have at- 
 tempted to deprive him of them ? 
 
 " The thing was pkialj this : he disowned and re- 
 fused to acknowledge the bantling ; the natural conse- 
 quence was, that others should come forward to adopt 
 it. Mr. John Murray is the most nervous of God's 
 booksellers. When { Don Juan' first came out, he 
 
1.16" CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 was so frightened that he made a precipitate retreat 
 into the country, shut himself up, and would not open 
 his letters. The fact is, he prints for too many Bish- 
 ops. He is always boring me with piratical edition 
 after edition, to prove the amount of his own losses, 
 and furnish proof of the extent of his own folly. Here 
 is one at two-and-sixpence that came only yesterday. 
 I do not pity him. Because 1 gave him one of my 
 poems, he wanted to make me believe that I had made 
 him a present of two others, and hinted at some lines 
 in ' English Bards 1 that were certainly to the point. 
 But 1 have altered my mind considerably upon that 
 subject: as I once hinted to him, 1 see no reason why 
 a man should not prolit by the sweat of his brain, as 
 well as that of his brow, &c. ; besides, I was poor at 
 that time, and have no idea of aggrandizing booksel- 
 lers. I was in Switzerland when he made this modest 
 request. — and he always entertained a spite against 
 Shelley for making the agreement, and fixing the price, 
 which 1 believe was not dear, for the Third Canto of 
 : Childe Harold,' 'Manfred,' and 'The Prisoner of 
 Chillon,' Lc. — I got 2400/, Depend on it, he did not 
 lose money — he was not ruined by that speculation. 
 
 " Murray has long prevented ' The Quarterly' from 
 abusing me. Some of its bullies have had their fin- 
 gers itching to be at me ; but they would get the worst 
 of it in a set-to." (Here he put himself in a boxing 
 attitude.) "I perceive, however, that we shall have 
 some sparring ere long. 1 don't wish to quarrel with 
 
LORD BYRON. 1 17 
 
 Murray, but it seems inevitable. 1 had no reason to 
 be pleased with him the other day. Galignani wrote 
 to me, offering to purchase the copyright of my works, 
 in order to obtain an exclusive privilege of printing 
 them in France. I might have made my own terms, 
 and put the money in my own pocket; instead of which, 
 I enclosed Galignani's letter to Murray, in order that 
 he might conclude the matter as he pleased; He did 
 so, very advantageously for his own interest ; but ne- 
 ver had the complaisance, the common politeness, to 
 thank me, or acknowledge my letter. My differences 
 with Murray are not over. When he purchased ' Cain,' 
 ' The Two Foscari,' and ' Sardanapalus,' he sent me a 
 deed, which you may remember witnessing. Well : 
 
 after its return to England, it was discovered that * 
 
 ****** 
 
 ****** 
 ****** 
 
 But I shall take no notice of it." 
 
 Some time afterwards he said : 
 
 " Murray and I have made up our quarrel ; at least, 
 it is not my fault if it should be renewed. The Par- 
 sons have been at him about ' Cain.' An Oxonian has 
 addressed a bullying letter to him, asking him how so 
 moral a bookseller can stain his press with so profane 
 a book? He is threatened with a prosecution by the 
 finti-constituhonal Society. I don't believe they will 
 venture to attack him : if they do, I shall go home and 
 make my own defence." 
 
118 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 Lord Byron wrote the same day the letter contain- 
 ed in the Notes on 'Cain.' Some months afterwards 
 he said in a letter : 
 
 "Murray and I have dissolved all connection. He 
 had the choice of giving up me or the ' Navy Lists.' 
 There was no hesitation which way he should decide : 
 the Admiralty carried the day. Now for ' The Quar- 
 terly :' their batteries will be opened; but I can fire 
 broadsides too. They have been letting oil lots of 
 squibs and crackers against me, but they only make a 
 noise and * * * " 
 
 In a letter dated from Genoa the 5th of May, 1823, 
 he says : 
 
 " ' Werner' was the last book Murray published for 
 me, and three months after came out the Quarterly's 
 article on my plays, when ' Marino Faliero' was no- 
 ticed for the first time." &c. 
 
 " I need not say that I shall be delighted by your in- 
 scribing your ' Wanderer' to me ; but 1 would recom- 
 mend you to think twice before you inscribe a work to 
 me, as you must be aware that at present I am the mo^t 
 unpopular writer going,* and the odium on the dedi- 
 catee may recur on the didicator. If you do not think 
 
 * " But Juan was my Moscow, and Faliero 
 " My Leipsic, and my Mont St. Jean seems Cain." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto X. Stanza 5'>. 
 
LORD BYR9N. 119 
 
 this a valid objection, of course there can be none on 
 my part." &c. 
 
 On my speaking to him with great praise one day of 
 Coleridge's ' Ancient Mariner,' Lord Byron said : 
 
 " I have been much taken to task for calling ' Chris- 
 tabel' a wild and singularly original and beautiful po- 
 em ; and the Reviewers very sagely come to a conclu- 
 sion therefrom, that I am no judge of the compositions 
 of others. ' Christabel' was the origin of all Scott's 
 metrical tales, and that is no small merit. It was writ- 
 ten in 1705, and had a pretty general circulation in the 
 literary world, though it was not published till 1816, 
 and then probably in consequence of my advice. One 
 day, when 1 was with Walter Scott (now many years 
 ago) he repeated the whole of' Christabel,' and I then 
 agreed with him in thinking this poem what I after- 
 wards called it. Sir Walter Scott recites admirably. 
 I was rather disappointed, when 1 saw it in print ; but 
 still there are finer things in it than in any tale of its 
 length; the proof of which is, that people retain them 
 without effort. 
 
 " What do you think of the picture of an English 
 October day ? 
 
 '* ' There is not wind enough to twirl 
 *" The one red leaf, the last of its clan, 
 " That dances as long as dance it can e 
 
120 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " Hanging so light, and banging so high, 
 
 " On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky.' 
 
 " Some eight or ten lines of ; ChristabeP* found 
 themselves in ' The Siege of Corinth,' I hardly know 
 how ; but I adopted another passage, of greater beau- 
 ty, as a motto to a little work 1 need not name,t and 
 paraphrased without scruple the same idea in ' Childe 
 Harold.' I thou d because I felt it deeply — 
 
 the best test of poetry. His psychological poem was 
 always a great favourite of nunc, and but for ;:ie would 
 not have appeared. What perfect harmony of versifi- 
 cation !" 
 
 And he began spouting ' Kubla Khan :' 
 
 •' ' It was an Abyssinian maid, 
 " Asid on her dulcimer she play'd, 
 " Singing of Mount Abora' — 
 
 " Madame de Stael was fond of reciting poetry that 
 had hardly any thing but its music to recommend it." 
 
 " And pray," asked I, " what has ' Kubla Khan ?' " 
 
 * " Was it the wind through some hollow stone, 
 " Sent that 6oft and tender moan? 
 He lifted his head—" &c. 
 
 Siege of Corinth 
 
 f The stanzas beginning " Fare thee well !" 
 
LORD BYRON. 121 
 
 " I can't tell you," said he ; " but it delights me." 
 
 And he went on till he had finished the Vision. 
 
 " I was very much amused with Coleridge's ' Me- 
 moirs.' There is a great deal of bonhcmmie in that 
 book, and he does not spare himself. Nothing, to me 
 at least, is so entertaining as a work of this kind — as 
 private biography: 'Hamilton's Memoirs,' for instance, 
 that were the origin of the style of Voltaire. Ma- , 
 dame de Stael used to say, that ' De Grammont' was 
 a book containing, with less matter, more interest than 
 any she knew. Alticri's ' Life' is delightful. You 
 will see my Confessions in good time, and you will 
 wonder at two things — that I should have had so much 
 to confess, and that 1 should have confessed so much. 
 * Coleridge, too, seems sensible enough of his own er- 
 rors. His sonnet to the Moon is an admirable bur- 
 lesque on the Lakists, and his own style. Some 
 of his stories are told with a vast deal of humour, 
 and display a fund of good temper that all his disap- 
 pointments could not sour. Many parts of his ' Me- 
 moirs are quite unintelligible, and were, I apprehend, 
 meant for Kant ; on the proper pronunciation of 
 whose name 1 heard a long argument the other eve- 
 ning. 
 
 " Coleridge is like Sosia in ' Amphytrion ;' — he does 
 
 not know whether he is himself, or not. If he had 
 
 L never gone to Germany, nor spoilt his fine genius by 
 
 H 
 
122 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 the transcendental philosophy and German metaphy- 
 sics, nor taken to write lay sermons, he would have 
 made the greatest poet of the day. What poets had 
 we in 1795 ? Hay ley had got a monopoly, such as it 
 was. Coleridge might have been any thing : as it is, 
 he is a thing ' that dreams are made of.' " 
 
 Being one dny at Moloni's the bookseller's at Pisa, 
 a report was in circulation that a subject belonging to 
 the Luchese States had been taken up for sacrilege, 
 and sentenced to be burnt alive. A priest who enter- 
 ed the library at that moment confirmed the news, and 
 expressed himself thus : — Ci Sa lerato /" said he, " he 
 took .the consecrated wafers o(f the altar, and threw 
 them contemptuously about the church ! What punish- 
 ment can be great enough for such a monstrous crime? 
 Burning is too easy a death ! I shall go to Lucca, — I 
 would almost go to Spain, — to see the wretch expire 
 at the stake !" Such were the humane and Christian 
 sentiments of a minister of the Gospel ! I quitted 
 him with disgust, and immediately hastened to Lord 
 Byron's. 
 
 " Is it possible ?" said he, after he had heard my 
 story. Can we believe that we live in the nineteenth 
 century? However, 1 can believe any thing of the 
 Duchess of Lucca. She is an Infanta of Spain, a 
 bigot in religion, and of course advocates the laws of 
 
LORD BYRON. 123 
 
 the Inquisition. But it is scarcely credible that 
 she will venture to put them into effect here. We 
 must endeavour to prevent this aato da ft. Lord 
 Guilford is arrived : — we will get him to use h's influ- 
 ence. Surely the Grand Duke of Tuscany will inter- 
 fere, for he has himself never signed a death-warrant 
 since he came upon the throne." 
 
 Shelley entered at this moment horror-struck: he 
 had just heard that the criminal was to suffer the next 
 day. He proposed that we should mount and arm 
 ourselves as well as we could, set oif immediately for 
 Lucca, and endeavour to rescue the prisoner when 
 brought out for execution, making at full speed for the 
 Tuscan frontiers, where he would be safe. Mad and 
 hopeless as the scheme was, Lord Byron consented, 
 carried away by his feelings, to join in it, if other 
 means should fail. We agreed to meet again in the 
 evening, and in the mean time to get a petition signed 
 by all the English residents at Pisa, to be presented to 
 the Grand Duke. 
 
 " I will myself," said he, " write immediately to 
 Lord Guilford." 
 
 He did so, and received an answer a few hours after, 
 telling him that the same report had reached Lord Guil- 
 ford ; but that he had learned, on investigation, that it 
 was unfounded. 
 
124 C0NYBRSAT10NS OF 
 
 It appeared that the Duchess had issued a proclama- 
 tion which made the peasant amenable.when apprehen- 
 ded, to the ancient laws of Spain ; but that he had es- 
 caped to Florence and given himself up to the police, 
 who had stipulated not to make him over to the autho- 
 rities at Lucca, but on condition of his being tried by 
 the Tuscan laws. 
 
 Speaking of Coppet and Madame de Stael, he said : 
 
 " 1 knew Madame de Stael in England. When she 
 came over she created a great sensation, and was much 
 courted in the literary as well as the political world. 
 On the supposition of her being a Liberal, she was in- 
 vited to a party, where were present Whitbread, Sheri- 
 dan, and several of the opposition leaders. 
 
 " To the great horror of the former, she soon sport- 
 ed her Ultraisms, No oue possessed so little tact as Ma- 
 dame de Stael, — which is astonishing in one who had 
 seen so much of the world and of society. She used 
 to assemble at her routs politicians of both sides of the 
 House, and was fond of setting two party-men by the 
 ears in argument. 1 once witnessed a curious scene of 
 this kind. She was battling it very warmly, as she 
 used to do, with Canning, and all at once turned round 
 to (I think he said) Lord Grey, who was at his elbow* 
 for his opinion. It was on some point upon which he 
 
LORD BYRON*. 125 
 
 could not but most cordially disagree. She did not 
 understand London society, and was always sighing for 
 her coterie at Paris. The dandies took an invincible 
 dislike to the De Staels, mother and daughter. Brum- 
 mel was her aversion ; — she, his. There was a dou- 
 ble marriage talked of in town that season : — Auguste 
 (the present Baron) was to have married Miss Mill- 
 bank ; I, the present Duchess of Broglio. I could 
 not have been worse embroiled. 
 
 " Madame de Stael had great talent in conversation, 
 and an overpowering flow of words. It was once said 
 of a large party that were all trying to shine, ' There 
 is not one who can go home and think.' This was not 
 the case with her. She was often troublesome, some 
 thought rude, in her questions ; but she never offend- 
 ed me, because I knew that her inquisitiveness did not 
 proceed from idle curiosity, but from a wish to sound 
 people's characters. She was a continual interrogato- 
 ry to me, in order to fithom mine, which requires a 
 long plumb line. She once asked me if my real cha- 
 racter was well drawn in a favorite novel of the day 
 i(* Glenarvon.') She was only singular in putting the 
 question in the dry way she did. There are many who 
 pin their faith on that insincere production. 
 
 " No woman had so much bonne fox as Madame de 
 
 j'Staei : her's was a real kindness of heart. She took 
 
 the greatest possible interest in my quarrel with Lady 
 
 Byron, or rather Lady Byron's with me, and had some 
 
 11* 
 
1~G CONVERSATION-: OF 
 
 influence over my wife, — as much as any person but 
 her mother, which is not saying much. 1 believe Ma- 
 dame de Stael did her utmost to bring about a recon- 
 ciliation between us. She was the best creature in the 
 world. 
 
 " Women never see consequences — never look at 
 things straight forward, or as they ought. Like figu- 
 rantes at the Opera, they make a hundred pirouettes 
 and return to where they set out. With Madame de 
 Stael this was sometimes the case. She was very in- 
 definite and vogue in her manner of expression. In 
 endeavouring to be new, she became often obscure, 
 and sometimes unintelligible. What did she mean by 
 saying that ' Napoleon was a system, and not a man V 
 
 " I cannot believe that Napoleon was acquainted 
 with all the petty persecutions that she used (o be so 
 garrulous about, or that he deemed her of sufficient 
 importance to be dangerous : besides, she admired 
 him so much, that he might have gained her over by a 
 word. But, like me, he had perhaps too great a con- 
 tempt for women ; he treated them as puppets, and 
 thought he could make them dance at any time by 
 pulling the wires. The story of ' Gardez vos enfuns* 
 did not tell much in her favour, and proves what 1 say. 
 1 shall be curious to see Las Cases' book, to hear what 
 Napoleon's real conduct to her was." 
 
 I told him I could never reconcile the contradictory 
 ©pinions he had expressed of Napoleon in his poems. 
 
LORD RYRON. 127 
 
 " How could it be otherwise ?" said he. " Some of 
 them were railed translations, and I spoke in the cha- 
 racter of a Frenchman and a soldier. But Napoleon 
 was iiis own antithesis (if I may say so.) He was a 
 glorious tyrant, after all. Look at his public works ; 
 compare his face, even on his coins, with those of the 
 Other sovereigns of Europe. I blame the manner of 
 his death : he showed that he possessed much of the 
 Italian character in consenting to live. There he lost 
 himself in his dramatic character, in my estimation. 
 He was master of his own destiny ; of that, at least, 
 his enemies could not deprive him. He should have 
 gone oil the stage like a hero : it was expected of him. 
 
 " Madame de Stael, as an historian, should have 
 named him in her i Allemagne ;' she was wrong hi 
 suppressing his name, and he had a right to be offend- 
 ed. Not that I mean to justify his persecution. These, 
 I cannot help thinking, must have arisen indirectly 
 from some private enemy. But we shall see. 
 
 " She was always aiming to be brilliant — to produce 
 a sensation, no matter how, when, or where. She 
 wanted to make all her ideas, like figures in the mo- 
 dern French school of painting, prominent and showy, 
 — standing out of the canvass, each in a light of its 
 own. She was vain; but who had an excuse for vani- 
 ty if she had not ? I can easily conceive her not wish- 
 ing to change her name, or acknowledge that of Roc- 
 ca. I liked Rocca ; he was a gentleman and a clever 
 
V2& CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 man ; no one said better things, or with a better grace. 
 The remark about the Meilierie road that I quoted in 
 the Notes of ' Childe Harold,' ' La route xuid mieux 
 que les souvenirs, 1 was the observation of a thorough 
 Frenchman." 
 
 " Here is a letter I have had to-day," said he. " The 
 writer is a stranger to me, and pleads great distress. 
 He says he has been an officer in the East India ser- 
 vice, and makes out a long list of grievances, against 
 the Company and a Mr. k S . He charges the Go- 
 vernment with sending him home without a trial, and 
 breaking him without a Court-martial ; and complains 
 that a travelling gentleman, after having engaged him 
 as an interpreter to accompany him to Persia, and put 
 him to great expense in preparations for the journey, 
 has all at once changed his mind, and refused to re- 
 munerate him for his lost time, or pay him any of the 
 annual stipend he. had fixed to give him. His name 
 
 seems to be . You have been at Bombay, — do 
 
 you know him ? 
 
 " No," answered I ; « but I know his story. He 
 was thought to have been hardly used. As to the other 
 pari, of his complaint, I know nothing." 
 
 " He asks me for 50/. I shall send it him by to- 
 morrow's post : there is no courier to-day." 
 
LORD BYRON. 129 
 
 " Who would not wish to have been born two or 
 three centuries later?" said he, putting into my hand 
 an Italian letter. " Here is a savant of Bologna, who 
 pretends to have discovered the manner of directing 
 balloons by means of a rudder, and tells me that he is 
 ready to explain the nature of his invention to our Go- 
 vernment. I suppose we shall soon travel by air-ves- 
 sels ; make air instead of sea-voyages ; and at length 
 find our way to the moon, in spite of the want of at- 
 mosphere."* 
 
 " Caelum ipsum petimus stultitid," said I. 
 
 " There is not so much folly as you may suppose, 
 and a vast deal of poetry, in the idea," replied Lord 
 Byron. " Where shall we set bounds to the power of 
 steam ? Who shall say, ' Thus far shalt thou go, and no 
 farther V We are at present in the infancy of science. 
 Do you imagine that, in former stages of this planet, 
 wiser creatures than ourselves did not exist? All our 
 boasted inventions are but the shadows of what has 
 been, — the dim images of the past — the dream of other 
 stales of existence. Might not the fable of Promethe- 
 us, and his stealing (he fire, and of Briareus and his 
 earth-born brothers, be but traditions of steam and its 
 machinery ? Who knows whether, when a comet shall 
 approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been 
 
 * '■ Steam-engines will convey him to the moon." 
 
 Don Juariy Canto X. Stanza 2, 
 
130 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from 
 their foundations by means of steam, and hurl moun- 
 tains, as the giants are said to have done, against the 
 flaming mass? — and then we shall have traditions of 
 Titans again, and of wars with Heaven." 
 
 " A mighty ingenious theory," said 1 laughing, — and 
 was near adding, in the words of ' Julian and Maddalo :' 
 
 " The sense that he was greater than his kind 
 Had made, methinks, his eagle spirit blind 
 With gazing on its own exceeding light." 
 
 Talking of romances, he said : 
 
 " ' The Monk' is perhaps one of the best in any lan- 
 guage, not excepting the German. It only wanted 
 one thing, as I told Lewis, to have rendered it perfect. 
 He should have made the daemon really in love with 
 Ambrosio: this would have given it a human interest. 
 ' The Monk was written when Lewis was only twenty, 
 and he seems to have exhausted all his genius on it. 
 Perhaps at that age he was in earnest in his belief of 
 magic wonders. That is the secret of Walter Scott's 
 inspiration : he retains and encourages all the super- 
 stitions of his youth. Lewis caught his passion for the 
 marvellous, and it amounted to a mania with him, in 
 Germany ; but the ground work of ' The Monk,' is 
 neither original nor German : it is derived from the 
 tale of ' Santon Barsisa.' The episode of' The Bleed- 
 
LORD BYRON. 131 
 
 ing Nun,' which was turned into a melo-drama, is from 
 the German." 
 
 " There were two stories which he almost believed 
 by telling. One happened to himself whilst he was 
 residing at Manheim. Every night, at the same hour, 
 he heard, or thought he heard in his room, when he was 
 lying in bed, a crackling noise like that produced by 
 parchment, or thick paper. This circumstance caused 
 inquiry, when it was told him that the sounds were 
 attributable to the following cause : — The house in 
 which he lived had belonged to a widow, who had an 
 only son. In order to prevent his marrying a poor but 
 amiable girl, to whom he was attached, he was sent to 
 sea. Years passed, and the mother heard no tidings 
 of him, nor the ship in which he had sailed. It was 
 supposed that the vessel had been wrecked, and that 
 all on board had perished. The reproaches of the 
 girl, the upbraidings of her own conscience, and the 
 Joss of her child, crazed the old lady's mind, and her 
 only pursuit became to turn over the Gazettes for news. 
 Hope at length left her : she did not live long, — and 
 continued her old occupation after death." 
 
 " The other story that I alluded to before, was the 
 original of his ' Alonzo and Imogene,' which has had 
 such a host of imitators. Two Florentine lovers, who 
 had been attached to each other almost from child- 
 hood, made a vow of eternal fidelity. Mina was the 
 name of the lady — her husband's I forget, but it is not 
 
132 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 material. They parted. He had been for some time 
 absent with his regiment, when, as his disconsolate 
 lady was sitting alone in her chamber, she distinctly 
 heard the well-known sound of his footsteps, and start- 
 ing up beheld, not her husband, but his spectre, with 
 a deep ghastly wound across his forehead, entering. 
 She cwooned with horror : when she recovered-, the 
 ghost told her that in future his visits should be an- 
 nounced by a passing-bell, and these words, distinctly 
 ered, ' Mina, I am here !' Their interviews now 
 became frequent, till the woman fancied herself as 
 much in love with the ghost as she had been with the 
 man. But it was soon to prove otherwise. One fatal 
 night she went to a ball ; — what business had she there ? 
 She danced too ; and, what was worse, her partner 
 was a young Florentine, so much the counter-part of 
 her lover, that she became estranged from his ghost. 
 Whilst the young gallant conducted her in the waltz, 
 and her ear drank in the music of his voice and words, 
 a passing-bell tolled ! She had been accustomed to the 
 sound till it hardly excited her attention, and now lost 
 in the attractions of her fascinating partner, she heard 
 but regarded it not. A second peal! — she listened not 
 to its warnings. A third time the bell, with it:; deep 
 and iron tongue, startled the assembled company, 
 and silenced the music! Mina then turned her ejes 
 from her partner, and saw reflected in the mirror, a 
 form, a shadow, a spectre : it was her husband ! He 
 was standing between her and the young Florentine, 
 and whispered in a solemn and melancholy tone the 
 
L©RD BYR0X. J 33 
 
 accustomed accents, < Mina, I am here !'— She instant- 
 ly fell dead. 
 
 " Lewis was not a very successful writer. His 
 < Monk' was abused furiously by Matthias, in his < Pur- 
 suits of Literature,' and he was forced to suppress it. 
 ' Abellino' he merely translated. < Pizarro' was a sore 
 subject with him, and no wonder that he winced at the 
 name. Sheridan, who was not very scrupulous about 
 applying to himself literary property at least, manufac- 
 tured his play without so much as an acknowledgment, 
 pecuniary or otherwise, from Lewis's ideas ; and bad 
 as ' Pizarro' is, I know (from having been on the Dru- 
 ry-Lane Committee, and knowing, consequently, the 
 comparative profits of plays,) that it brought in more 
 money than any other play has ever done, or perhaps 
 ever will do. 
 
 " But to return to Lewis. He was even worse 
 treated about < The Castle Spectre,' which had also an 
 immense run, a prodigious success. Sheridan never 
 gave him any of its profits either. One day Lewis be- 
 ing in company with him, said,—' Sheridan, I will make 
 you a large bet.' Sheridan, who was always ready to 
 make a wager, (however he might find it iuconvenient 
 to pay it if lost,) asked eagerly what bet ? " All the 
 profits of my Castle Spectre,' replied Lewis. < I will 
 I tell you what,' said Sheridan, (who never found his 
 match at repartee,) < I will make you a very small one, 
 —what it is worth.' " 
 
 12 
 
134 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 I asked him if he had known Sheridan ? 
 
 " Yes," said he, " Sheridan was an extraordinary 
 compound of contradictions, and Moore will be much 
 puzzled in reconciling them for the Life he is writing. 
 The upper part of Sheridan's face was that of a God 
 — a forehead most expansive, an eye of peculiar bril- 
 liancy and fire ; but below he showed the satyr. 
 
 " Lewis was a pleasant companion, and would al- 
 ways have remained a boy in spirits and manners — 
 (unlike me !) he was fond of the society of younger 
 men than himself. I myself never knew a man, ex- 
 cept Shelley, who was companionable till thirty. I re- 
 member Mrs. Pope once asking who was Lewis's male- 
 love this season ! lie possessed a very lively imagina- 
 tion, and a great turn for narrative, and had a world of 
 ghost-stories, which he had better have confined him- 
 self to telling. His poetry is now almost forgotten : it 
 will be the same with that of all but two or three poets 
 of the day. 
 
 " Lewis had been, or thought he had been, unkind 
 to a brother whom he lost young ; and when any thing 
 di.-;i^reeable was about to happen to him, the vision 
 of his brother appeared : he came as a sort of moni- 
 tor. 
 
 " Lewis was with me for a considerable period at 
 Geneva ; and we went to Coppet several times toge- 
 ther but Lewis was there oftenerthan I. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 " Madame de Stacl and he used to have violent ar- 
 guments about the Slave Trade, — which he advocated 
 strongly, for most of his property was in negroes and 
 plantations. Not being satisfied with three thousand 
 a-year, he wanted to make it five ; and would go to 
 the West Indies ; but he died on the passage of sea- 
 sickness, and obstinacy in taking an emetic." 
 
 I said to him, " You are accused of owing a great 
 deal to Wordsworth. Certainly there are some stan- 
 zas in the Third Canto of ' Childe Harold' that smell 
 strongly of the Lakes : for instance — 
 
 ' I live not in myself, but I become 
 Fortioa of t'uai around me ; — uiiJ to rtva 
 High mountains are a feeling !' " 
 
 " Very possibly," replied he. " Shelley, when I 
 was in Switzerland, used to dose me with Wordsworth 
 physic even to nausea : and I do remember then read- 
 ing some things of his with pleasure. He had once a 
 feeling of Nature, which he carried almost to a deifica- 
 tion of it : — that's why Shelley liked his poetry. 
 
 It is -satisfactory to reflect, that where a man be- 
 comes a hireling, and loses his mental independence, he 
 loses also the faculty o,f writing well. The lyrical 
 ballads, Jacobinical and puling with affectation of sim- 
 
136 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 plicity as they were, had undoubtedly a certain merit :* ' 
 and Wordsworth, though occasionally a writer for the 
 nursery-masters and misses, 
 
 • Who took their little porringer, 
 And ate their porridge there,' 
 
 now and then expressed ideas worth imitating ; but 
 like brother Southey, he had his price ; and since he 
 is turned tax-gatherer, is only fit to rhyme about lass- 
 es and waggoners. Shelley repeated to me the other 
 day a stanza from ■ Peter Bell' that I thought inimita- 
 bly good. It is the rumination of Peter's ass, who 
 gets into a brook, and sees reflected there a family- 
 circle, or tea-party. But you shall have it in his own 
 words : 
 
 ' It is a party in a parlour, 
 Cramm'd just as you on earth are cramm'd! 
 Some sipping punch; some sipping tea, 
 And every one, as you may see, 
 All silent and all d d !' 
 
 i4 There was a time when he would have written 
 better ; but perhaps Peter thinks feelingly. 
 
 " The republican trio, when they began to publish 
 in common, were to have had a community of all 
 
 * « Or Wordsworth unexcised, unhircd, who then 
 Season'd his pedlar poems with democracy." 
 
 Don Juan, Canto III. Stanza 93. 
 
LORD BYRON. 
 
 137 
 
 things, like the ancient Britons ; to have lived in a state 
 of nature, like savages, and peopled some ' island of 
 
 the blest' with children in common, like . A very 
 
 pretty Arcadian notion! It amuses me much to com- 
 pare the Botany Bay Eclogue, the Panegyric of Martin 
 the Regicide, and ' Wat Tyler,' with the Laureate 
 Odes, and Peter's Eulogium on the field of Waterloo. 
 There is something more than rhyme in that noted 
 stanza containing 
 
 * Yea, slaughter 
 Is God's daughter !'* — 
 
 " I offended the par nobile mortally, — past all hope 
 of forgiveness — many years ago. I met, at the Cum- 
 berland Lakes, Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, who had 
 just been writing ' The Poetic Mirror,' a work that 
 contains imitations of all the living poets' styles, after 
 the manner of ' Rejected Addresses.' The burlesque 
 is well done, particularly that of me, but not equal to 
 Horace Smith's. I was pleased with Hogg; and he 
 wrote me a very witty letter, to which I sent him, I 
 i suspect, a very dull reply. Certain it is, that I did not 
 spare the Lakists in it ; and he told me he could not 
 resist the temptation, and had shown it to the fraterni- 
 ty. It was too tempting ; and as I could never keep 
 a secret of my own, as you know, much less that of 
 other people, I could not blame him. I remember 
 
 * Wordsworth's Thanksgiving Ode. 
 12* 
 
138 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 saying, among other things, that the Lake poets were 
 such fools as not to lish in their own waters ; but this 
 was the least offensive part of the epistle." 
 
 " Bowles is one of the same little order of spirits, 
 who has been fussily fishing on for fame, and is equally 
 waspish and jealous. What could Coleridge mean by 
 praising his poetry as he does ? 
 
 It was a mistake of mine, about his making the 
 woods of Madeira tremble, &c ; but it seems that T 
 might have told him that there were no woods to make 
 tremble with kisses, which would have been quite as 
 great a blunder. 
 
 " I met Bowles once at Rogers's, and thought him a 
 pleasant, gentlemanly man — a good fellow, for a par- 
 son. When men meet together after dinner, the con- 
 versation takes a certain turn. I remember he enter- 
 tained us with some good stories. The reverend gen- 
 tleman pretended, however, to be much shocked at 
 Pope's letters to Martha Blount. 
 
 " I set him and his invariable principles at rest. He 
 did attempt an answer, which was no reply ; at least,, 
 nobody read it. I believe he applied to me some lines 
 in Shakspeare.* A man is very unlucky who has a 
 
 * " I do remember thee, my Lord Biron," &c. 
 
LORD BYRON. 139 
 
 name that can be punned upon 5 and his own did not 
 escape. 
 
 " I have been reading ' Johnson's Lives,' a book I 
 am very fond of. I look upon him as the profoundest 
 of critics, and had occasion to study him when I was 
 writing to Bowles. 
 
 " Of all the disgraces that attach to England in the 
 eye of foreigners, who admire Pope more than any of 
 our poets, (though it is the fashion to under-rate him 
 among ourselves,) the greatest perhaps is, that there 
 should be no place assigned to him in Poets' Corner. 
 I have often thought of erecting a monument to him 
 at my own expense, in Westminster Abbey ; and hope 
 to do so yet. But he was a Catholic, and what was 
 worse, puzzled Tillotson and the Divines. That ac- 
 counts for his not having any national monument. Mil- 
 ton, too, had very nearly been without a stone 5 and 
 the mention of his name on the tomb of another was at 
 ,one time considered a pfofanation to a church. The 
 French, I am told, lock up Voltaire's tomb. Will 
 there never be an end to this bigotry ? Will men ne- 
 ver learn that every great poet is necessarily a reli- 
 gious man ? — so at least Coleridge says." 
 
 " Yes," replied Shelley ; " and he might maintain 
 the converse — that every truly religious man is a po- 
 et ; meaning by poetry the power of communicating 
 intense and impassioned impressions respecting man 
 and Nature." 
 
140 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 When I entered the room, Lord Byron was devour- 
 ing, as he called it, a new novel of Sir Walter Scon"*. 
 
 " How difficult it is, said he, to say any thing new ! 
 Who was that voluptuary of antiquity, who offered a 
 reward for a new pleasure ? Perhaps all nature and 
 art could not supply a new idea. 
 
 " This page, for instance, is a brilliant one ; it is full 
 of wit. But let us see how much of it is original. 
 This passage, for instance, comes from Shakspeare \ 
 this bon mot from one of Sheridan's Comedies ; this 
 observation from another writer, (naming the author ;) 
 and yet the ideas are new-moulded, — and perhaps 
 Scott was not aware of their being plagiarisms. It is 
 a bad thing to have too good a memory. 
 
 " I should not like to have you for a critic," I ob- 
 served. 
 
 " ' Set a thief to catch a thief," ' was the reply. 
 
 " 1 never travel without Scott's Novels," said he <: 
 they are a library in themselves — a perfect literary- 
 treasure. 1 could read them once a-year with new 
 pleasure." 
 
 I asked him if he was certain about the Novels be- 
 ing Sir Walter Scott's ? 
 
LORD BYRON. 141 
 
 " Scott as much as owned himself the author of 
 1 Waverly' to me in Murray's shop," replied he. " I 
 was talking to him about that novel, and lamented that 
 its author had not carried back the story nearer to the 
 time of the Revolution. Scott, entirely off his guard, 
 
 said, ' Ay, I might have done so, but' There he 
 
 stopped. It was in vain to attempt to correct himself: 
 he looked confused, and relieved his embarrassment 
 by a precipitate retreat. 
 
 " On another occasion I was to dine at Murray's ; and 
 being in his parlour in the morning, he told me I should 
 meet the author of ' Waverley' at dinner. He had 
 received several excuses, and the party was a small 
 one ; and, knowing all the people present, 1 w?r satis- 
 fied that the writer of that novel must have been, and 
 could have been, no other than Walter Scott. 
 
 " He spoiled the fame of his poetry by his superior 
 prose. He has such extent and versatility of powers 
 in wiiting that, should his Novels ever tire the public, 
 which is not likely, he will apply himself to something 
 else, and succeed as well. 
 
 " His mottoes from old plays prove that he, at all 
 events, possesses the dramatic faculty, which is denied 
 me. And yet I am told that his ' Halidon Hill' did 
 not justify expectation. I have never met with it, but 
 have seen extracts from it." 
 
142 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " Do you think," asked I, " that Sir Walter Scott's 
 Novels owe any part of their repuiation to the con- 
 cealment of the author's name V\ 
 
 " No," said he ; " such works do not gain or lose by 
 it. I am at a loss to know his reason for keeping up 
 the incognito, — but that the reigning family could not 
 have b< en very well pleased with ' Waverley.' There 
 is a degree of charlatanism in some authors keeping up 
 Jhe Unknown. Junius owed much of his fame to that 
 trie! and aow that it is known to he the work of Sir 
 Piiiiij is, who reads it? A political writer, and 
 
 one who descends to personalities such as disgrace 
 Junius, f i'.I be immaculate as a public, as well as a 
 cter; and Sir Philip Francis was neither. 
 He had his price, and was gagged by being sent to 
 India. He there seduced another man's wife. It 
 would have been a new case for a Judge to sit in 
 judgment on himself in a Crim. Con. It seems that his 
 conjugal felicity was net great, for, when his wife died, 
 he came into the room where they were sitting up with 
 the corpse, and said, 'Solder her up, solder her up !' 
 He saw his daughter crying, and scolded her, saying, 
 an old hag — she ought to have died thirty years ago! 
 lie married, shortly after, a young woman. He hated 
 Hastings to a violent degree ; all he hoped and prayed 
 for was to outlive him. But many of the newspapers 
 of the day are written as w r ell as Junius. Matthias's 
 book, ' The Pursuits of Literature,' now almost a 
 dead-letter, had once a great fame. 
 
LORD BYRON. 143 
 
 " When Walter Scott began to write poetry, which 
 was not at a very early age, Monk Lewis corrected his 
 verse : he understood little then of the mechanical part 
 of the art. The Fire King in the ' Minstrelsy of the 
 Scottish Border,' was almost all Lewis's. One of the 
 ballads in that work, and, except some of Leycien's, 
 perhaps one of the best, was made from a story pick- 
 ed up in a stage-coach ; — I mean that of 'Will Jones.' 1 
 
 ' They boil'J Will Jones within the pot, 
 And not much fat had Will.' 
 
 " I hope Walter Scott did not write the review on 
 I Christabel ;' for he certainly, in common with many 
 of us, is indebted to Coleridge. But for him, perhaps, 
 ' The Lay of the Last Minstrel' would never have 
 been thought of. The line 
 
 ' Jesu Maria shield thee well !' 
 
 is word for word from ' Christabel.' 
 
 " Of all the writers of the day, Walter Scott is the 
 least jealous : he is too confident of his own fame to 
 dread the rivalry of others. He does not think of good 
 writing, as the Tuscans do of fever — that there is only 
 a certain quantity of it in the world."* 
 
 * Travellers in Italy should be cautious of taking bouquets of 
 flowers from the Contadini children, as they are in the habit of 
 placing them on the breasts of persons having malignant fevers, 
 and tLink, that by communicating the disorder to another, it 
 will be diminished in the person affected. 
 
144 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 11 What did you mean," said a person who was with 
 Lord Byron, " by calling Rogers a Nestor and an 
 Jlrgonaut ? I suppose you meant to say that his poetry 
 was old and worn out." 
 
 " You are very hard upon the dead* poet — upon 
 the late lamented Mr. Samuel Rogers, (as he has been 
 called,) — and upon me too, to suspect me of speaking 
 ironically upon so serious a subject." 
 
 " It was a very doubtful expression, however, that 
 ' Nestor of little poets,' " rejoined the other. " Com- 
 pliments ought never to have a double sense — a cross 
 meaning. And you seem to be fond of this mode of 
 writing, for you call Lady Morgan's ' Italy' a fearless 
 and excellent work. What two odd words to be cou- 
 pled together !" 
 
 " Take it as you like," replied Lord Byron, " I say 
 the : Pleasures of Memory' will live." 
 
 " The Pleasures of Mummery ! Pray now, (speak 
 candidly,) have you read since you were a schoolboy, 
 or can you, with all your memory, repeat five lines of 
 that boasted ' Essay on Memory' that you have been 
 
 * He used to tell a story of F.oger? and visiting- the 
 
 Catacombs at Paris together. As Rogers, who was last, 
 
 was making his exit, said to him, " Why, you are 
 
 not coming out, are you ? Surely you are not tired of your coun- 
 trymen ! You do not mean to forsake them, do you ?' 
 
LORD BYRON. 145 
 
 bepraising so furiously all your life ? Instruct me 
 where to find the golden fleece. Be my Jason for 
 once." 
 
 " 1 remember being delighted with ' the Pleasure* 
 of Memory' when I was at Marrow ; and that is saying 
 a great deal, for I seldom read a book when I was there, 
 and continue to like what I did then." 
 
 " ' Jacquelina,' too, is a much finer poem than 
 ' Lara.' Your allowing precedence to the latter 
 amused me. But they soon got a divorce." 
 
 " There you go again : your taste is too fastidious. 
 Rogers was very much offended at its being said that 
 his • Pleasures,' &c. were to be found shining in green 
 and gold morocco bindings, in most parlour windows, 
 and on the book shelves of all young ladies." 
 
 " But, don't we all wri(e to please them ? I am sure 
 I was more pleased with the fame my 'Corsair' had, 
 than with that of any other of my books. Why ? for 
 the very reason because it did shine, and in boudoirs. 
 Who does not write to please the women ? And Ro- 
 gers has succeeded : what more can he want or wish ? 
 
 " There was a Mrs. once fell in love with 
 
 Shelley for his verses : and a Miss Stafford was so taken 
 
 13 
 
146 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 with the ' Sofa' (a very different one from Cowper's,) 
 that she went to France and married Crebillon. 
 
 " These arc some of the sweets of authorship. But 
 my day is over. Vixi, <tc. I used formerly (that dim 
 is a bad and a sad word !) to get letters by almost 
 every post, the delicate beauty of whose penmanship 
 Bug jested the fair taper fingers that indited them. 
 But my ' Corsair' days are over. Heigh ho !" 
 
 " But what has ail this to do with Rogers, or ' The 
 Pleasures of Memory ?' Is there one line of that 
 poem that has not been altered and re-altered, till it 
 would be difficult to detect in the patchwork any thing 
 like the texture of the original stuff.''" 
 
 " Well, if there is not a line or a word that has not 
 been canvassed, and made the subject of separate 
 epistolary discussion, what does that prove but the 
 general merit of the whole piece ? And the corres- 
 pondence will be valuable by and bye, and save the 
 commentators a vast deal of labour, and waste of inge- 
 nuity. People do wisest who take care of their fame 
 they have got it. That's the rock I have split 
 on. It has been said that he has been puffed into 
 notice by his dinners and Lady Holland. Though he 
 gives very good ones, and female Maecenases arc no 
 bad things now-a-days, it is by no means t-ue. Ro- 
 gers has been a spoilt child ; no wonder that he is a 
 
LORD BYRON. 147 
 
 little vain and jealous. And yet he deals praise very 
 liberally sometimes ; for he wrote to a little friend of 
 mine, on the occasion of his late publication, that ' he 
 was born with a rose-bud in his mouth, and a nightin- ' 
 gale singing in his ear,' — two very prettily turned 
 Orientalisms. Before my wife and the world quar- 
 relled with me, and brought me into disrepute with 
 the public, Rogers had composed some very pretty 
 commendatory verses on me ; but they were kept 
 corked up for many long years, under hope that I 
 might reform and get into favour with the world again, 
 and that the said line?; (far he is rather costive, and 
 does not like to throw away his effusions) might find a 
 •place in ' Human Life.' But after a great deal of 
 oscillation, and many a sigh at their hard destiny — 
 their still-born fate, — they were hermetically sealed, 
 and adieu to my immortality ! 
 
 " Rogers has an unfortunately sensitive temper. We 
 
 "nearly quarrelled at Florence. I asked the officer of 
 
 ; the Dogana (who had trouble enough with all my live 
 
 and dead stock.) in consequence of his civilities, to 
 
 s dine with me at Schneider's ; but Rogers happened to 
 
 'be in one of his ill humours, and abused the Italians, 
 c 
 
 ' ; He is coming to visit me on his return from Rome, 
 and will be annoyed when he finds I have any English 
 'comforts about me. He told a person the other day 
 'that one of my new tragedies was intended for the 
 
148 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 stage, when he knew that neither of them was. I sup- 
 pose he wanted to get another of them damned. O, 
 Samuel, Samuel ! But," added he, after a pause, 
 " these things are, as Lord Kenyon said of Erskine, 
 ' mere spots in the sun.' He has good qualities to 
 counterbalance these littlenesses in his character. 
 
 ' " Rogers is the only man I know who can write epi- 
 grams, and sharp bone-cutters too, in two lines ; for ! 
 instance, that on an M. P. who had reviewed his book, 
 and said he wrote very well for a banker : — 
 
 ' They say be lias no heart, and I deny it : 
 lie has a heart, — and gets his speeches by it.'" 
 
 t; 1 have been told," said he, one Sunday evening 
 during our ride, " that you have got a parson here of 
 [he name of N*tt.— N*tt? I think I should know that 
 name : was he not one of the tutors of a late Princess? 
 If I am not mistaken, ' thereby hangs a tale,' that per- 
 haps would have been forgotten, but for his over-offi- 
 cious zeal, — or a worse motive. The would-be Bishop 
 having himself cracked windows, should not throw 
 stones. I respect the pulpit as much as any man, but 
 would not have it made a forum for politics or perso- 
 nality. The Puritans gave us quite enough of them. — ■ 
 But to come to the point. A person who was at his 
 house to-day, where he has a chapel, tells me that this 
 dignitary of the Church has in a very undignified way 
 been preaching against my 'Cain.' He contends, it 
 
LORD BVRON. H9 
 
 seems, that the snake which tempted Eve was not a 
 snake, but the Devil in disguise; and that Bishop 
 Warburton's ' Legation of Moses' is no authority. It 
 may be so, and a poor unlearned man like me may be 
 mistaken : but as there are not three of his congrega- 
 tion who have seen ' Cain,' and not one but will be 
 satisfied that the learned Doctor's object is to preach 
 against and vilify me, under the pretext of clearing up 
 these disputed points, surely his arguments are much 
 misplaced. It is strange that people will not let me 
 
 alone. I am sure I lead a very quiet, moral life here." 
 
 * * % % % % 
 
 ^ *?£ 7^ ^ V|? 7? 
 
 A fortnight after he said : 
 
 1 " I hear that your Doctor, in company with some 
 Russians, the other day, called Shelley a sceleraio, and 
 las been preaching two sermons, two following Sun- 
 lays, against Atheism. It is pretty clear for whom he 
 neans them ; and Mrs. Shelley being there, it was 
 still more indecent. The Doctor is playing with pen- 
 inives when he handles poets." 
 
 The next morning he gave us a song upon the Doct- 
 or, to the tune of " The Vicar and Moses." 
 
 " I have often wished," said I to Lord Byron one 
 lay, " to know how you passed your time after your 
 •eturn from Greece in 1812." 
 13* 
 

 160 CONVERSATIOXS 01' 
 
 " There is little to be snid about it," replied" fie. 
 " Perhaps it would have been better had 1 never re- 
 turned ! I had become so much attached to the Mo- 
 rea, its climate, and the life I led there, that nothing 
 but my mother's death* and my affairs would have 
 brought me home. However, after an absence of three 
 years, behold! I was again in London. My Second 
 Canto of ' Childe Harold 1 was then just published ; and 
 the impersonation of myself, which, in spite of all I 
 could say, the world would discover in that poem, 
 made every one curious to know me, and to discover 
 the identity. I received every where a marked atten- 
 tion, was courted in all societies, made much of by 
 Lac v Jersey, had the entre at Devonshire-house, was 
 in favour with Brummel, (and that was alone enough 
 to make a man of fashion at that time ;) in fact, 1 was 
 a lioa — a ball-room bard — a hot-pressed darling ! k The 
 Corsair' put my reputation an comble, and had a won- 
 derful success, as you may suppose, by one edition 
 being sold in a day. 
 
 " Polidori, who was rather vain, once asked me 
 what there was he could not do as well as I ? I think I 
 named four things : — that 1 could swim four miles — 
 write a book, of which four thousand copies should be 
 sold in a day! — drink four bottles of wine — and 1 for- 
 get what (he other was, but it is not worth mentioning. 
 However, as I told you before, my ' Corsair' was suf- 
 ficient to captivate all the ladies. 
 
 * In August 1811. 
 
 f TLe fact is that nearly 10,000 of several of Lord Byron's pro- 
 ductions have been sold on tuc first day of publication. 
 
LORD BYRON. 151 
 
 " About this period I became what the French call 
 vn homme a bonnes fortunes, and was engaged in a 
 liaison, — and, 1 might add, a serious one. 
 
 " The lady had scarcely any personal attractions to 
 recommend her. Her figure, though genteel, was too 
 thin to be good, and wanted that roundness which ele- 
 gance and grace would vainly supply. She was, how- 
 ever, young, and of the first connexions. Au reste, she 
 possessed an infinite vivacity, and an imagination heat- 
 ed by novel-reading, which made her fancy herself a 
 heroine of romance, and led her into all sorts of eccen- 
 tricities. She was married, but it was a match of con- 
 penance, and no couple could be more fashionably in- 
 different to, or independent of, one another, than she 
 and her husband. It was at this time that we happen- 
 ed to be thrown much together. She had never been 
 in love — at least where the affections are concerned, 
 — and was perhaps made without a heart, as many of 
 the sex are ; but her head more than supplied the de- 
 ficiency. 
 
 " I was soon congratulated by my friends on the con- 
 quest I had made, and did my utmost to show that I 
 was not insensible to the partiality I could not help 
 perceiving. I made every effort to be in love, express- 
 ed as much ardour as I could muster, and kept feeding 
 the flame with a constant supply of billets-doux and 
 amatory verses. In short, 1 was in decent time duly 
 and regularly installed into what the Italians call ser- 
 x-ic , and soon became, in every sense of the word, & 
 patito. 
 
\o c 2 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " It required no (Edipus to see where all this would 
 end. I am easily governed by women, and she gained 
 an ascendancy over rne that I could not easily shake 
 off. 1 submitted to this thraldom long, fori hate semes, 
 and am of an indolent disposition ; but I was forced 
 to snap the knot rather rudely at last. Like all lovers, 
 we had several quarrels before we came to a final rup- 
 ture. One was made up in a very odd way, and with- 
 out '.ny verbal explanation. She will remember it. 
 Even during our intimacy I was not at all constant 
 to this fair one, and she suspected as much. In order 
 to detect my intrigues she watched me, and earthed a 
 lady into m* lodgings, — and came herself, terrier-like, 
 in the disguise of a carman. My valet, who did not 
 see through the masquerade, let her in ; when, to the 
 despt ir of Fletcher, she put off the man, and put on 
 the woman. Imagine the scene ; it was worthy of 
 Faublas ! 
 
 " Her after-conduct was unaccountable madness — a 
 combination of spite and jealousy. It was perfectly 
 agreed and understood that we were to meet as stran- 
 gers. We were at a ball. She came up and asked 
 me if she might waltz. I thought it perfectly indiffer- 
 ent whether she waltzed or not, or with whom, and 
 toW her so, in different terms, but with much coolness. 
 After she had finished, a scene occurred, which was 
 in the mouth of every one. * * * * 
 
 * * # # * * 
 
 * * * * * * 
 " Soon after this she promised young — > * 
 
LORD BYRON. 153 
 
 if he would call me out. ***** 
 * * * * Yet can any one believe that 
 she should be so infatuated, after all this, as to call at 
 my apartments ? (certainly with no view of shooting 
 herself.) I was from home ; but finding ' Vathek' on 
 the table, she wrote in the first page, ' Remember me !' 
 " Yes ! I had cause to remember her ; and, in the 
 irritability of the moment, wrote under the two 
 words these two stanzas : — 
 
 ' Remember thee, remember thee ! 
 
 Till Lethe quench life's burning stream, 
 Remorse and shame shall cling to thee, 
 
 And haunt mae line a fe v erirfi duan ! 
 Remember thee ! Ay, doubt it not ; 
 
 Thy husband too shall think of thee ; 
 By neither shalt thou be forgot, 
 
 Thou false to him, thou fiend to me !' " 
 
 " I am accused of ingratitude to a certain person- 
 age. It is pretended that, after his civilities, I should 
 not have spoken of him disrespectfully. Those epi- 
 grams were written long before my introduction to 
 him : which was, after all, entirely accidental, and un- 
 sought for on my part. I met him one evening at 
 
 Colonel J 's. As the party was a small one, he 
 
 could not help observing me ; and as I made a con- 
 siderable noise at that time, and was one of the lions 
 
 of the day, he sent General to desire 5 would 
 
 be presented to him. I would willingly have declined 
 the honour, but could not with decency. His request 
 was in the nature of a command. He was very polite 
 
154 CONVERSATION'S OF 
 
 for he is the politest man in Europe, and paid me some 
 compliments that meant*nothing. This was all the 
 civility he ever showed me, and it does not burthen 
 my conscience much. 
 
 " I will show you my Irish ' Jhatara.'' Moore tells 
 me that it has saved him from writing on the same sub- 
 ject ; he would have done it much better. I told M 
 
 to get it published in Paris : he has sent me a few- 
 printed copies ; here is one for you. I have said that 
 the Irish Emancipation, when granted, will not con- 
 ciliate the Catholics, but will be considered' as a mea- 
 sure of expediency, and the resort of fear. But you 
 will have the sentiment in the words of the original." 
 
 THE IRISH AVATARA. 
 
 True, the great of her bright and brief era are gone,— 
 The rainbow-like epoch when Freedom could pause, 
 
 For the few little years out of centuries won, — 
 
 That betray'd not, and crushed not, and wept not her cause 
 
 True, the chains of the Catholic clank o'er his rags, 
 
 The Castle still stands, and the Senate's no more ; 
 And the famine that dwells on her freedomless crags, 
 Is extending its steps to her desolate shore : — 
 
 To her desolate shore, where the emigrant stands 
 For a moment to pause ere he flies from his heart h 
 
 Tears fall on his chain, though it drops from his hand s, 
 For the dungeon he quits is the place of his birth, 
 
 Ay ! roar in his train ; let thine orators lash 
 
 Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride : 
 Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly flash 
 
 His soul on the freedom implored and de nied 
 
LORD BYRON. 155 
 
 Ever-glorious Grattan ! the best of the good ! 
 
 So simple in heart — so sublime in the rest, 
 With all that Demosthenes wanted endued, 
 
 And his victor, or rival, in all he possess'd ; 
 
 With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute — 
 With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind, 
 
 Even Tyranny, listening, sat melted or mute, 
 
 And Corruption sank scorch'd from "the glance of his mind. 
 
 Ay ! back to our theme — back to despots and slaves, 
 Feasts furnished by Famine — rejoicings by Pain : 
 
 True Freedom but welcomes, while Slavery still raves, 
 When a week's Saturnalia have loosen'd her chain. 
 
 Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford, 
 
 (As the Bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide,) *■* 
 Gild over the palace, — lo ! Eren thy lord, — 
 Kiss his foot, with thy blessing, for blessings denied ! 
 
 And if freedom past hope be extorted at last, — 
 If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay, — 
 
 Must what terror or policy wrung forth beclass'd 
 With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yield their prey 3 
 
 But let not his name be thine idol alone 1 
 
 On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears — 
 
 Thine own Castlereagh ! Let him still be thine own ! — 
 A wretch never named but with curses and jeers, 
 
 Till now, when this Isle that should blush for his birth, 
 Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil, 
 
 Seems proud of the reptile that crawl'd from her earth, 
 And for murder repays him with shouts and a smile ! — 
 
 Without one single ray of her genius, — without 
 The fancy, the manhood, the fire of her race, — 
 
 The miscreant who well might plunge Erin in doubt, 
 If she ever " - avc birth to a being so base ! 
 
156 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 If she did, may her long-boasted proverb be hush'd. 
 
 Which proclaims that from Erin no reptile can spring ! 
 See the cold-blooded serpent, with venom full flush'd, 
 
 Still warming its folds in the heart of a king ! 
 
 Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh, Erin ! how low 
 Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till 
 
 Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below 
 The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulph still ! 
 
 My voice, though but humble, was raised in thy right ; 
 
 My vote,* as a freeman's, still voted thee free ; 
 My arm, though bul ;'■ ble, would arm in thy fight ; 
 
 And this heart, though outworn, had a throb still for thee ! 
 
 Yes ! I loved thee and thine, though thou wert not my land ; 
 
 I have known noble hearts and brave souls in thy sons, 
 And I wept with delight on the patriot band 
 
 Who are gone, — but I weep them no longer as once ! 
 
 For happy are they now reposing afar — 
 
 Thy Curran, thy G rattan thy Sheridan, — all, 
 
 Who for years were the chiefs in this eloquent war, 
 And redeem'd, if they have not retarded thy fall ! — 
 
 Yes ! happy are they in their cold English graves ! 
 
 Their shades cannot start at thy shouts of to-day ; 
 Nor the steps of enslavers and slave-kissing slaves 
 
 Be damp'd in the turf o'er their fetterless clay ! 
 
 Till now 1 had envied thy sons and thy shore ! 
 
 Though their virtues are blunted, their liberties fled, 
 There is something so warm and sublime in the core 
 
 Of an Irishman's heart, that I envy — their dead ! 
 
 Or if aught in my bosom can quench for an hour 
 My contempt of a nation so servile, though sore, 
 
 Which, though trod like the worm, will not turn upon power. 
 Tis the glory of Grattan — the genius of Moore ! 
 
 * He spoke on the Catholic Question. 
 
LORD BYRON. 157 
 
 " What a noble fellow," said Lord Byron, after I 
 had finished reading, " was Lord Edward Fitzgerald ! 
 — and what a romantic and singular history was his ! 
 If it were not too near our times, it would make the 
 finest subject in the world for an historical novel." 
 
 " What was there so singular in his life and adven- 
 tures ?" I asked. j 
 
 " Lord Edward Fitzgerald," said he, " was a soldier 
 from a boy. He served in America, and was left for 
 dead in one of the pitched battles, (I forget which,} 
 and returned in the list of killed. Having been found 
 in the field after the removal of the wounded, he was 
 recovered by the kindness and compassion of a native, 
 and restored to his family as one from the grave. On 
 coming back to England, he employed himself entirely 
 in the duties of his corps and the study of military 
 tactics, and got a regiment. The French Revolution 
 now broke out, and with it a flame of liberty burnt in 
 the breast of the young Irishman. He paid this year 
 a visit to Paris, where he formed an intimacy with 
 Tom Paine, and came over with him to England. 
 
 " There matters rested, till, dining one day at his 
 cegimental mess, he ordered the band to play ' c,a ira,' 
 the great revolutionary air. A few days afterwards he 
 received a letter from head-quarters, to say that the 
 King dispensed with his services. 
 
 " He now paid a second visit to America, where he 
 lived for two years among the native Indians,; mv$ 
 
 14 
 
158 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 once again crossing the Atlantic, settled on liis family 
 estate in Ireland, where he fulfilled a'l the duties of a 
 country-gentleman and magistrate. Here it was t'.ia' 
 he became acquainted with the O'Conners, and in 
 conjunction with them zealously exerted himself for 
 the emancipation of their country. On their im- 
 prisonment he was proscribed, and secreted for six 
 weeks-d what are called the liberties of Dublin ; but 
 was at length betrayed by a woman. 
 
 " Major Sirr and a party of the military entered his 
 bed-room, which he always kept unlocked. At the 
 voices he started up in bed and seized his pistols, when 
 Major Sirr fired and wounded him. Taken to prison, 
 he soon after died of his wound, before he could be 
 brought to trial. Such was the fate of one who had 
 all the qualifications of a hero and a patriot! Had 
 he lived, perhaps Ireland had not now been a land of 
 Helots." 
 
 " What did you mean," asked I one day, " by that 
 line in ' Beppo,' — 
 
 ' Some play the devil, and then write a novel' ? M 
 
 " I alluded," replied he, " to a novel that had some 
 fame in consequence of its being considered a history 
 of my life and adventures, character and exploits, 
 mixed up with innumerable lies and lampoons upon 
 others. Madame de Stael asked me if the picture 
 
LORD BYRON. 150 
 
 like me, — and tlx- Germans think it is not a 
 s caricature. One of my foreign biographers has tacked 
 name, place, and circumstance to the Florence fable, 
 ; and gives me a principal instead of a subordinate part 
 in a certain tragical hisiory therein narrated. Un- 
 fortunately for my biographers, I was never at Flo- 
 rence for more than a few days in my life ; and 
 Fiorabella's beautiful flowers are not so quickly plucked 
 or blighted. Hence, however, it has been alleged 
 that murder is my instinct ; and to make innocence my 
 i victim and my prey, part of my nature. I imagine 
 i that this dark hint took its, origin from one of my 
 [i Notes in 'The Giaour, 1 in which 1 said that the coun- 
 , pnailce of a person dying by stabs retained the charac- 
 ter of ferocity, or of the particular passion imprinted 
 li on it, at the moment of dissolution. A sage reviewer 
 ] makes this comment on my remark : — ' It must have 
 i been the result of personal observation !' 
 
 " But I am made out a very amiable person in that 
 
 novel! The only thing belonging to me in it, is part 
 
 of a letter ; but it is mixed up with much fictitious and 
 
 i poetical matter. Shelley told me he was offered, by 
 
 the bookseller in Bond-street, no small sum if 
 
 he would compile the Notes of that book into a story j 
 
 but that he declined the offer. * * * 
 
 * * * # # # # 
 
 i * * * * * But if I know 
 
 i the authoress, T have seen letters of hers much better 
 
 written than any part of that novel. A lady of my 
 i acquainance told me, that when that book was going 
 
 to the press, she was threatened with cutting a promi- 
 

 1(50 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 ilent figure in it if . But the story would only 
 
 furnish evidence of the unauthenticity of the nature of 
 the materials, and shew the manner and spirit with 
 which the piece was got up. — Yet I don't know why ! 
 have been led to talk about such nonsense, which I 
 paid no more attention to than I have to the continual 
 calumnies and lies that have been unceasingly circu- 
 lated about me, in public prints, and through anony- 
 mous letters. I got a whole heap of them when I wa| 
 at Venice, and at last found out that I had to thank 
 ' Mr. Sotheby for the greater share of them. It was 
 under the waspishness produced by this discovery that 
 I made him figure also in my ' Beppo' as an ' antique 
 gentleman of rhyme,' a ' bustling Botherbv,' &c. I 
 always thought him the most insufferable of bores, and 
 the curse of the Hampbell, as Edgeworth was of his 
 club. There was a society formed for the suppression 
 of Edgeworth, and sending him back to Ireland; — 
 <>ut I should have left the other u> his 
 
 ' Snug coterie and literary lady, 1 
 
 and to his that Rogers pretended to 
 
 take for an old arm-chair, if he had not made himself 
 an active bore, by dunning me with disagreeable news, 
 — and, what was worse, and more nauseous and indi- 
 gestible still, with his criticisms and advice. 
 
 " When Galignani was about to publish a new edi- 
 tion of my works, he applied to Moore to furnish him 
 with some anecdotes of me ; and it was suggested that 
 we should get up a series of the most unaccountable 
 
LORD BYRON. 1<U 
 
 and improbable adventures, to gul] the Parisian and 
 travelling world with : but I thought afterwards that 
 he had quite enough of the fabulous at command with- 
 out our inventing any thing new, which indeed would 
 have required ingenuity.* 
 
 " You tell me that the Baron Lutzerode has been 
 asking you for some authentic particulars of my lite, 
 to affix to his translation of * Cain,' and thus convra- 
 dict the German stories circulated about me, and 
 which, I understand, even Goethe believes. Why 
 don't you write something for him, Medwin ? I be- 
 lieve you know more of me than any one else, — things 
 even that are not in the book." 
 
 I said, " My friend the Baron is a great enthusiast 
 about you, and I am sure you would like him." 
 
 " Taafe told me the other day," he replied, " a 
 noble trait of him, which perhaps you have not heard, 
 and which makes me highly respect him. An only 
 child of his was dangerously ill of a malignant fever : 
 it was supposed by the physicians that he might be 
 saved by bleeding, but blood would not follow the 
 lancet, and the Baron breathed the vein with his mouth. 
 The boy died, and the father took the contagion, and 
 was near following his child to the grave." 
 
 * The reader will laugh when I tell him that it was asserted to 
 a friend of mine, that the lines ' To Thyrza,' published with the 
 first Canto of ' Childe Harold,' were addressed to — his bear. 
 There is nothing so malignant that hatred will not invent, ©r folly 
 believe. 
 
 14* 
 
i<32 CONVERSATIONS OY 
 
 " Well then," said I, " shall I bring the Baron r' 
 
 " I have declined," replied Lord Byron, " going to 
 Court ; and as he belongs to it, must also decline his 
 visit. I neither like princes nor their satellites ; though 
 the Grand Duke is a very respectable tyrant — a kind 
 of Leopold. I will make my peace with your amia- 
 ble friend by sending him a ' Cain' and ' Don Juan' as 
 a present, and adding to the first page of the latter an 
 impression of my seal, with the motto ' EUe vous suit 
 partout.^ This will please a German sentimentalist." 
 
 " There is an acquaintance of mine here," said I, 
 " who has made a translation of a passage in De la 
 Martine, relating to you, which I will show you. He 
 compares you to an eagle feeding on human hearts, 
 and lapping their blood, &c." 
 
 " Why, we have got a little nest of singing birds 
 here," said he ; " I should like to see it. I never met 
 with the ' Meditations Poetiques :' bring it to-morrow." 
 
 The next day I showed him the lines, which he com- 
 pared with the original, and said they were admirable, 
 and that he considered them on the whole very com- 
 plimentary ! ! " Tell your friend so, and beg him to 
 make my compliments to Mr. De la Martine, and say 
 that I thank him for his verses." 
 
 ■ See : Don .Tnan,' Canto I. Stanza 198. 
 
LORD BYRO.V. 163 
 
 •• Harrow," said he, " has been the nursery of al- 
 most alJ the politicians of the day." 
 
 " I wonder," said I, " that you have never had the 
 
 ambition of being one too." 
 
 . 
 
 " I take little interest," replied he, " in the politics 
 at home. I am not made for what you call a politi- 
 cian, and should never have adhered to any party.* I 
 'should have taken no part in the petty intrigues of ca- 
 binets, or the pettier factions and contests for power 
 among parliamentary men. Among our statesmen, 
 Casilereagh is almost the only one whom I have at- 
 tacked ; the only public character whom I thoroughly 
 detest, and against whom ! will never cease to level 
 the shafts of my political hate. 
 
 "I only addressed the House twice, and made little 
 'impression. They told me that my manner of speak- 
 ing was not dignified enough for the Lords, but was 
 more calculated for the Commons. 1 believe it was a 
 Don Juan kind of speech. The two occasions were, 
 "the Catholic Question, f and (I think he said) some 
 Manchester affair. 
 
 * " The consequence of being- of nu pari}', 
 I shall offend all parties. Never mind !" 
 
 Don Juan, Canto IX. Stanza 26. 
 
 f A gentleman who was present at his maiden speech, on the 
 Catholic Question, says, that the Lords left their seats and gather- 
 ed round him in a circle; a proof, at least, of the interest which 
 he excited : and that the same style was attempted in the Com- 
 mons thft next day, but failed. 
 
1G4 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 " Perhaps, if I had never travelled, — never left m\ 
 own country young, — my views would have been more 
 limited. They extend to the good of mankind in ge- 
 neral — of the world at larore. Perhaps the prostrate 
 situation of Portugal and Spain — the tyranny of the 
 Turks in Greece — the oppressions of the Austrian Go- 
 vernment at Venice — the mental debasement of the 
 Papal States, (not to mention Ireland, — tended to in- 
 spire me with a love (if liberty. No Italian could 
 have rejoiced >iore than I, to have seen a Constitution 
 established on this side the Alp*. I felt for Romagna 
 as if she had been my own country, and would have 
 risked rnv life and fortune for her, as I may yet for the 
 Greeks.* I am become a citizen of the world. There 
 is no man I envy so much as Lord Cochrane. His en- 
 trance into Lima, which I see announced in to-day's 
 paper, is one of the a^reat events of the day. Mauro- 
 cordato, too, (whom you know so well,) is also wor- 
 thy of the best times of Greece. Patriotism and vir- 
 tue are not quite extinct." 
 
 I told him that I thought the finest lines he had ever 
 written were his " Address to Greece," beginning — 
 
 " Land of the unforgotten brave!" 
 
 '• And I will war, at least in words, (and — should 
 My chance so happen, — deeds) with all who war 
 With Thought. And of thought's foes by far most rude 
 Tyrants and Sycophants have been and are. 
 I know not who may conquer : if I could 
 Have such a prescience, it should be no bar 
 To this my plain, sworn, downright detestation 
 Of every despotism in every nation !" 
 
 Don Juan. Canto IX. Stanza ?4. 
 
LORD BYKON. 165 
 
 ! " 1 should be glad," said he, " to think that I have 
 added a spark to the flame.* I love Greece, and take 
 the strongest interest in her struggle." 
 
 " I did not like," said I, " the spirit of Lambrino's 
 ode ; it was too desponding." 
 
 " That song," replied he, " was written many years 
 i' r o. though published only yesterday. Times are 
 _©uch changed since then. I have learned to think 
 very dilTerently of the cause, — at least of its success. 
 I look upon the Morea as secure. There is more t© 
 he apprehended from friends than foes. Only keep 
 the Vandals out of it ; they would be like the Goths 
 here." 
 
 " What do you think about the Turkish power," I 
 ;»>Ked, " and of their mode of fighting ?" 
 
 " The Turks are not so despicable an enemy as peo- 
 ple suppose. They have been carrying on a war with 
 Russia, or rather Russia with them, 'since Peter the 
 Great's time ; — and what have they lost, till lately, of 
 any importance . ? In 1788 they gained a victory over 
 the Austrians, and were very nearly making the Em- 
 peror of Austria prisoner, though his army consisted 
 of 80,000 men. 
 
 " But words are things ; — and a small drop of ink, 
 '•' Falling, like dew, upon a thought, produces 
 
 'I at which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think. w 
 
 Don Juan, Canto III. Stanza 8li. 
 
166 
 
 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 1 They beat us in Egypt, and took one of our Gc- 
 nerata Their mode of fighting is not unformidabla 
 Their cavalry falls very little short of ours, and is bet- 
 ter mounted — their horses better managed. Look, foi 
 instance, at the Arab the Turkish Prince here rides !— 
 They are divided into parties of sixty, with a flag o\ 
 standard to each. They come down, discharge their 
 pieces, and are supplied by another party ; and so on 
 in succession. When they charge, it is by troops, like 
 our successive squadrons." 
 
 " I reminded you," said I, " the other dav of having 
 said, in < Cbilde Harold,' that the Greeks woukj have; 
 to fight their own battles— work oul their own emanci- 
 pation. That was your prophetic age; Voltaire and 
 y > Alfieri had theirs, and even Goldsmith." 
 
 Shelly, who was present, observed: — "Poets are 
 sometimes the echoes of words of which they know 
 not the power,— the trumpet that sounds to battle, and 
 feels not what it inspires." 
 
 "In what year was it," I asked, "that you wrote 
 that line, 
 
 " ' Will Frank or Muse , ou ? No !' " 
 
 " Some time in 1811. The ode was written about ' 
 the same time, I expressed the same sentiments in one 
 of its stanzas.* 
 
 i: The lines to which he alluded were 
 
 " Trust not for freedom to the Franks ; 
 They have a King who buys and sells • 
 
LORD BYRON. I 07 
 
 •• 1 will tell you a plan I have in embryo. I have 
 Iformed a strong wish to join the Greeks. Gamba is 
 anxious to be of the party. I shall not, however, leave 
 Italy without proper authority and full power from the 
 Patriot Government. I mean to write to them, and 
 ihat will take time; — besides, 'the Guiccioli !"-* 
 
 ■' " I hav^received," said he, " from my sister, a lock 
 bf Napolero's hair, which is of a beautiful black. If 
 Hunt were here, we should have half-a-dozen sonnets 
 3ii it. It is a valuable present; but, according to my 
 Lord Carlisle, I ought not to accept it. I observe, in 
 he newspapers of the day, some lines of his Lordship's, 
 ndvising Lady Holland not to have anything to do with 
 the snuff-box left her by Napoleon, for fear that horror 
 md murder should jump out of the lid every time it is 
 >pened ! It is a most ingenious idea — I give him great 
 credit for it." 
 
 i " In native swords and native ranks, 
 
 The only hope of freedom dwells !" 
 
 Don Juan, Canto III. page 51. 
 
 I " i: 1 have heard Lord Byron reproached for leaving the Guiccioli. 
 ler brother's accompanying him to Greece, and his remains to 
 England, prove at leastthat the family acquitted him of any blame. 
 The disturbed state of the country rendered her embarking with 
 dm out of the question ; and the confiscation of her father's pro- 
 >erty made her jointure, and his advanced age her care, necessary 
 o him. — It required all Lord Byron's interest with the British En- 
 ''oy, as well as his own guarantee, to protect the Gambas at Genoa. 
 Jut his own house at length ceased to be an asylum for them, and 
 hey were banished the Sardinian States a month before he sailed 
 or Leghorn ; whence, after laying in the supplies for his voyage, 
 ie directed bis fatal course to the Morea. 
 
J68 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 He then read me the first stanza, laughing in his i 
 suppressed way. — 
 
 " Lady, reject the- gift," kc. 
 
 and produced in a few minutes the following parody 
 on it : 
 
 " Lady, accept the box a hero wore,^P 
 In spite of all this elegiac stuff: 
 Let not seven stanzas written by a bore, 
 Prevent your Ladyship from taking snuff!" 
 
 • " When will my wise relation leave off verse-indit- 
 ing ?" said he. " I believe, of all manias, authorship 
 is the most inveterate. He might have learned by this 
 time, indeed many years ago, (but people never learn, 
 any thing by experience,) that he ha'd mistaken bis 
 forte. There was an epigram, which had some logic in 
 it, composed on the occasion of his Lordship's doing 
 two things in one day, — subscribing 1000/. and pub- 
 lishing a sixpenny pamphlet ! It was on the state of 
 the theatre, and dear enough at the money. The epi 
 gram I think I can remember : 
 
 ' Carlisle subscribes a thousand pound 
 
 Out of his rich domains ; 
 
 And for a sixpence circles round 
 
 The produce of his brains. 
 
 'Tis thus the difference you may hit. 
 
 Between his fortune and his wit. 
 
 " A man who means to be a poet should do. 
 should have done all his life, nothing else but make 
 
L01tl> BYRON. I#'J 
 
 verses. There's Shelley has more poetry in him than 
 any man living ; and if he were not so mystical, and 
 would not write Utopias and set himself up as a Reform- 
 er, his right to rank as a poet, and very highly too, could 
 not fail of being acknowledged. I said what I thought 
 of him the other day; and all who are not blinded by 
 bigotry must think the same. The works he wrote at 
 seventeen are much more extraordinary than Chatter- 
 ton's, at the same age." 
 
 A question was started, as to which he considered the 
 easiest of all metres in our language. 
 
 " Or rather," replied- he, "you mean, which is the 
 least difficult ? I have spoken of the fatal facility of 
 the octosyllabic metre. The Spenser stanza is difficult, 
 because it is like a sonnet, and the finishing line must 
 be good. The couplet is more difficult still, because 
 the last line, or one out of two, must be good. But 
 blank verse is the most difficult of all, because every 
 line must be good." 
 
 " You might well say then," I observed, " that no 
 man can be a poet who does any thing else." 
 
 During oar evening ride the conversation happened 
 to turn upon the rival Reviews. 
 
 " I know no two men," said he, " who have been so 
 infamously treated, as Shelley and Keats. If I had 
 known that Milman had been the author of that article 
 15 
 
170 CONVERSATIONS OB' 
 
 on ' The Revolt of Islam,' I would never have mention 
 1 ed ' Fazio' among the plays, of the day, — and scarcely 
 know why I paid him the compliment. In consequence 
 of the shameless personality of that and another num- 
 ber of ' The Quarterly,' every one abuses Shelley. 
 — his name is coupled with every thing that is op- 
 probrious : but he is one of the most moral as well a^ 
 amiable men I know. I have now been intimate with 
 him for years, and every year has added to my regard 
 for him. — Judging from Milman, Christianity would 
 appear a bad religion for a poet, and not a very good 
 one for a man. His ' Siege of Jerusalem' is one ccntv 
 from Milton; and in style and language he is evidently 
 an imitator of the very man whom he most abuses. No 
 one has been puffed like Milman : he owes his extrava- 
 gant praise to Heber. These Quarterly Reviewers 
 scratch one another's backs at a prodigious rate. Then 
 as to Keats, though I am«o admirer of his poetry, I do 
 not envy the man, whoever he was, that attacked and 
 killed him. Except a couplet of Dryden's, 
 
 • On his own bed of torture let him lie, 
 Fit garbage for the hell-hound infamy,' 
 
 A know no lines more cutting than those in 'Adonais,'* 
 or more feeling than the whole elegy. 
 
 * The lines to which he referred were these : — 
 
 " Expect no heavier chastisement from me, 
 
 But ever at thy season be thou free 
 
 To spill their venom when thy fangs o'erflow. 
 
 Kernorse and self-contempt shall cling to thee; 
 
 Hot shame shall burn upon thy Cain-like brow, 
 
 And like a beaten hound tremble thou shalt as now.' 
 
LORD BYUON. 171 
 
 " As Ki-ats is now gone, we may speak of him. I 
 am always battling with the Snake about Keats, and 
 wonder what he finds to make a god of, in that idol of 
 the Cockneys : besides, I always ask Shelley why he 
 does not follow his style, and make himself one of the 
 school, if he think it so divine. He will, like me, re- 
 turn some day to admire Pope, and think ' The Rape 
 of the Lock' and its sylphs worth fifty ' Endymiorts,' 
 with their faun and satyr machinery. I remember 
 Keats somewhere says that ' flowers would not blow, 
 leaves bud,' &,c. if man and woman did not kiss. Ho\s 
 sentimental !" 
 
 I remarked that ' Hyperion' was a fine fragment, 
 and a proof of his poetical genius. 
 
 " ' Hyperion !' " said he : " why, a man might as 
 well pretend to be rich who had one diamond. ' Hy- 
 perion' indeed ! 'Hyperion' to a satyr ! Why, there 
 is a fine line in Lord Thurlow (looking to the west 
 that was gloriously golden with the sunset) which I 
 mean to borrow some day : 
 
 ' And all that gorgeous company of clouds' — 
 
 Do you think they will suspect me of taking from 
 Lord Thurlow ?" 
 
 Speaking to him of ' Lalla Rookh,' he said 
 
172 CONVERSATIONS O-F 
 
 " Moore did not like my saying that I could never 
 attempt to describe the manners or scenery of a coun- 
 try that I had not visited. Without this it is almost 
 impossible to adhere closely to costume. Captain 
 Ellis once asked him if he had ever been in Persia. It 
 lie had, he would not have made his Parsee guilty of 
 such a profanity. It was an Irishism to make a Gheber 
 Mie by fire." 
 
 " I have been reading," said I, " ' The Lusiad/ 
 and some of Camoens' smaller poems. Why did 
 Lord Strangford call his beautiful Sonnets, &c. trans- 
 lations?" 
 
 " Because he wrote," said Lord Byron, " in ordev 
 io get the situation at the Brazils, and did not know a 
 word of Portuguese when he commenced." 
 
 " Moore was suspected of assisting his Lordship,'" 
 said I. " Was that so ?" 
 
 " I am told not," said Lord Byron. " They are 
 great friends ; and when Moore was in difficulty about 
 the Bermuda affair, in which lie was so hardly used, 
 Lord Strangford offered to give him 500/. ; but Moore 
 had too much independence to lay himself under an 
 obligation. I know no man I would go further to 
 serve than Moore. 
 
 " ' The Fudge Family' pleases me as much as any 
 of his works. The letter which he versified at the 
 end was given him by Douglas Kinnaird and myself 
 
LORD BYRON". 173 
 
 and was addressed by the Life-guardsman, after the 
 battle of Waterloo, to Big Ben. Witty as Moore's 
 epistle is, it falls short of the original. ' Doubling up 
 the Mounseers in brass,' is not so energetic an ex- 
 pression as was used by our hero, — all the alliteration 
 is lost. 
 
 " Moore is one of the few writers who will survive 
 the age in which he so deservedly flourishes. He will 
 live in his ' Irish Melodies ;' they will go down to 
 posterity with the music ; both will last as long as 
 Ireland, or as music and poetry." 
 
 I took leave of Lord Byron on the 15th of March, 
 to visit Rome for a few weeks. Shortly after my de- 
 parture an affray happened at Pisa, the particulars of 
 which were variously stated. The Courier Franqois 
 gave the following account of it : — 
 
 " A superior officer went to Lord Byron a few days 
 ago. A very warm altercation, the reason of which 
 was unknown, occurred between this officer and the 
 English poet. The threats of the officer became so 
 violent, that Lord Byron's servant ran to protect his 
 master. A struggle ensued, in which the officer was 
 struck with a poniard by the servant, and died instant- 
 ly. The servant fled." 
 
 This was one among many reports that were circu- 
 lated at Rome, to which I was forced one day to give 
 15* 
 
*?4 CONVERSATIONS OP 
 
 a somewhat flat contradiction. But the real truth of 
 the story cannot be better explained than by the deposi- 
 tions before the Governor of Pisa, the copies of which 
 were sent me, and are in my possession.* They state 
 that 
 
 " Lord Byron, in company with Count Gamba, 
 Captain Hay, Mr. Trelawney, and Mr. Shelley, was 
 returning- from his usual ride, on the 21st March, 1822, 
 and was perhaps a quarter of a mile from the Piaggia 
 gate, when a man on horseback, in a hussar uniform, 
 dashed at full speed through the midst of the party, 
 violently jostling (urtando) one of them. Shocked at 
 such ill-breeding, Lord Byron pushed forward, and 
 all the rest followed him, and pulled up their horses 
 on overtaking the hussar. His Lordship then asked 
 him what he meant by the insult ? The hussar, for 
 first and only answer, began to abuse him in the 
 grossest manner ; on which Lord Byron and one of 
 his companions drew out a card with their names and 
 address, and passed on. The hussar followed, vo- 
 ciferating and threatening, with his hand on his sabre, 
 that he would draw it, as he had often done, effectually. 
 They were now about ten paces from the Piaggia 
 gate. Whilst this altercation was going on, a common 
 soldier of the artillery interfered, and called out to the 
 hussar, ' Why don't you arrest them ? Command 
 US to arrest them !' Upon which the hussar gave the 
 word to the guard at the gate, ' Arrest — arrest them !' 
 still continuing the same threatening gestures, and 
 
 * See the Appendix for the original deposition"- 
 
L.OUD BYROK. 17«» 
 
 using language, if possible, more offensive and in- 
 sulting. 
 
 " His Lordship, hearing the order given for their 
 arrest, spurred on iiis horse, and one of the party did 
 the same ; and they succeeded in forcing their way 
 through the soldiers, who flew to their muskets and 
 
 : bayonets, whilst the gate was closed on the rest, to- 
 gether with the courier, who was foremost. 
 
 i 
 
 " Mr. Trelawney now found his horse seized by the 
 bridle by two soldiers, with their swords drawn, and 
 
 i himself furiously assaulted by the hussar, who made 
 
 i several cuts at him with his sabre, whilst the soldiers 
 struck him about the thighs. He and his companions 
 
 I were all unarmed, and asked this madman the reason 
 of his conduct ; but his only reply was blows. 
 
 I " Mr. Shelley received a sabre-stroke on the head, 
 which threw him off his horse. Captain Hay, en- 
 deavouring to parry a blow with a stick that he used 
 as a whip, the edge of the weapon cut it in two, and 
 he received a wound on his nose. The courier also 
 suffered severely from several thrusts he received from 
 the hussar and the rest of the soldiers. After all this, 
 the hussar spurred on his horse, and took the road to 
 the Lung' Arno. 
 
 " When his Lordship reached the palace, he gave 
 directions to his secretary to give immediate informa- 
 tion to the police of what was going on ; and, not 
 seeing his companions come up, turned back toward^ 
 
176 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 the gate. On the way he met the hussar, who rode up 
 to him, saying, ' Are you satisfied f His Lordship, 
 who knew nothing or hardly any thing of the affray 
 that had taken place at the gate, answered, ' No, I am 
 not ! Tell me your name !' — ' Serjeant-Major Masi,' 
 said he. One of his Lordship's servants came up at 
 the moment, and laid hold of the bridle of the Ser- 
 jeant's horse. His Lordship commanded him to let it 
 go ; when the Serjeant spurred his horse, and rushed 
 through an immense crowd collected before the Lan- 
 franchi palace, where, as he deposes, he was wounded 
 and his chaco found, but how or by whom they knew 
 not, seeing that they were either in the rear or in their 
 way home. They had further to depose that Captain 
 Hay was confined to his house by reason of his 
 wound ; also that the courier had spit blood from the 
 thrust he received in the breast, as might be proved by 
 the evidence of the surgeons." 
 
 There was also another deposition from a Mr. 
 James Crawford. It stated that " the dragoon would 
 have drawn his sabre against Lord Byron, in the Lung' 
 Arno, had it not been for the interposition of the ser- 
 vant ; and that Signor Major Masi was knocked off 
 his horse as he galloped past the Lanfranchi palace, 
 Lord Byron and his servants being at a considerable 
 distance therefrom at the time." 
 
 It appears that Signor Major Masi was wounded 
 with a pitchfork, and his life was for some time in 
 danger ; but it was never known by whom the wound 
 had been given. One of the Countess's servants, and 
 
LORD BYRON. 177 
 
 two of Lord Byron's, were arrested and imprisoned. 
 It was suspected by the police that, being Italians and 
 much attached to their master,* they had revenged 
 his quarrel ; but no proof was adduced to justify the 
 suspicion. 
 
 During the time that the examination was taking 
 place before the police, Lord Byron's house was beset 
 by the dragoons belonging to Signor Major Masi's 
 troop, who were on the point of forcing open the doors, 
 but they were too well guarded within to dread the at- 
 tack. Lord Byron, however, took his ride as usual 
 two days after. 
 
 " It is not the first time," said he, " that my house 
 lias been a bender, and it may not be the last." 
 
 All Lord Byron's servants were banished from Pisa, 
 and with them the Counts Gamba, father and son. 
 
 Lord Byron was himself advised to leave it; and as 
 the Countess accompanied her father, he soon after 
 joined them at Leghorn, and passed six weeks at Monto 
 Nero. His return to Pisa was occasioned by a new 
 persecution of the Gambas. An order was issued for 
 them to leave the Tuscan States in four days; and on 
 their embarkation for Genoa, the Countess and himself 
 
 * Lord Byron was the best of masters, and was perfectly adored 
 by his servants. His kindness was extended even to their children. 
 He liked them to have their families with them : and I remember 
 one day, as we were entering the hall after our ride, meeting- a 
 little boy, of three or four years old, of the coachman's, whom hf 
 rook up in his arms and presented with a ten-Paul piece 
 
178 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 took up their residence (for the first time together) at 
 the Lanfranchi palace, where Leigh Hunt and his famih 
 had already arrived. 
 
 18th August, 1822. — On the occasion of Shelley's 
 melancholy fate I revisited Pisa, and on the day of 
 my arrival learnt that Lord Byron was gone to the sea- 
 shore, to assist in performing the last offices to his 
 friend.* We came to a spot marked by an old and 
 withered trunk of a fir-tree ; and near it, on the beach, 
 stood a solitary hut covered with reeds. The situation 
 was well calculated for a poet's grave. A few weeks 
 before I had ridden with him and Lord Byron to this 
 
 * It is hoped that the following memoir, as it relates to Lord 
 Byron, may not be deemed misplaced here. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley was removed from a private school at 
 thirteen, and sent to Eton. Tie there showed a character of great 
 eccentricity, mixed in none of the amusements natural to his age, 
 was of a melancholy and reserved disposition, fond of solitude, and 
 made few friends. Neither did he distinguish himself much at 
 Eton, for he had a great contempt for modern Latin verses, and 
 his studies were directed to any thing rather than the exercises of 
 his class. It was from an early acquaintance with German writers 
 that he probably imbibed a romantic turn of mind ; at least, we 
 find him before fifteen publishing two Posa-JVIatilda-like novels, 
 called ' Justrozzi' and ' The Bosicrusian,' that bore no marks 
 of being the productions of a boy, and were much talked of, and 
 reprobated as immoral by the journalists of the day. He also 
 made great progress in chemistry. He used to say, that nothing 
 ever delighted him so much as the discovery that there were no 
 elements of earth, fire, or water: but before he left school, he 
 nearly lost his life by being blown up in one of his experiments, 
 r»nd gave up the pursuit. He now tunned his mind to mctaphv^rs. 
 
i.03D BYRO.V. 173 
 
 nr\ spot, which I afterwards visited more than once. 
 . In Front was a magnificent extent of the blue and wind- 
 less Mediterranean, with the Isles of Elha and Gorcro- 
 
 X 
 
 and became infected with the materialism of the French school. 
 Even before he was sent to University College, Oxford, he had 
 entered into an epistolary theological controversy with a dignitary 
 of the Church, under the feigned name of a woman ; and, after 
 j tlic second term, he printed a pamphlet with a most extravagant 
 title, ' The Necessity of Atheism.' This sill)' work, which was 
 only i recapitulation of some of the arguments of Voltaire and 
 tL philosophers of the day, he had the madness to circulate among 
 the bench of Bishops, not evendisguising his name. The conse- 
 quence was an obvious one: — he was summoned before the heads 
 of the College, and, refusing to retract his opinions, on the con- 
 trary preparing to argue them with the examining Masters, was 
 expelled the University. This disgrace in itself affected Shelley 
 but little at the time, but was fatal to all his hopes of happiness 
 and prospects in life ; for it deprived him of his first love, and was 
 the eventual means of alienating him for ever from his familj\ 
 For some weeks after this expulsion his father refused to receive 
 him under his roof; and when he did, treated him with such mark- 
 ed coldness, that he soon quitted what he no longer considered his 
 home, went to London privately, and thence eloped to Gretna 
 Green with a Miss Westbrook, — their united ages amounting to 
 thirty-three. This last act exasperated his father to such a de- 
 gree, that he now broke off all communication with Shelley. Af- 
 ter some stay in Edinburgh, we trace him into Ireland ; and, that 
 country being in a disturbed state, find him publishing a pamphlet, 
 which had a great sale, and the object of which was to soothe the 
 minds of the people, telling them that moderate firmness, and not 
 open rebellion, would most tend to conciliate, and to give them 
 their liberties. 
 
 He also spoke at some of their public meetings with great flu- 
 ency and eloquence. Returning to England the latter end of 181 2, 
 and being at that time an admirer of Mr. Southey's poems, he paid 
 a visit to the Lakes, where himself and his wife passed several 
 days, at Keswick. He now became devoted to poetry, and after 
 
ISO CONVERSATIONS tit 
 
 na, — Lord Byron's yacht at anchor in the offing:, oi: 
 the other side an almost boundless extent of sandy wil- 
 derness, uncultivated and uninhabited, here and there 
 
 imbuing' himself with ' The Age of Reason,' • Spinosa,' and ' The 
 Political Justice, 1 composed his ' Queen Mab,' and presented it 
 to most of the literary characters of the day — among the rest to 
 Lord Byron, who speaks of it in his note to ' The Two Foscari 1 
 thus : — " I showed it to Mr. Sotheby as a poem of great power and 
 imagination. I never wrote a line of the Notes, nor ever saw 
 them except in their published form. No one knows better than 
 the real author, that his opinions and mine differ materially upon 
 the metaphysical portion of that work ; though, in common with 
 all who are not blinded by baseness and bigotry, I highly admire 
 the poetry of that and his other productions." It is to be remark- 
 ed here, that ' Queen Mab 1 eight or ten years afterwards fell into 
 the hands of a knavish bookseller, who published it on his own ac- 
 count; and on its publication and subsequent prosecution Shelley 
 disclaimed the opinions contained in that work, as being the crude 
 notions of his youth. 
 
 His marriage, by which he had two children, soon turned out 
 (as might have been expected) an unhappy one, and a separation 
 ensuing in 1816, he went abroad, and passed the summer of that 
 year in Switzerland, where the scenery of that romantic country 
 tended to make Nature a passion and an enjoyment; and at Ge- 
 neva he formed a friendship for Lord Byron, which was destined 
 to last for life. It has been said that the perfection of every thing 
 Lord Byron wrote at Diodati, (his Third Canto of ' Childe Ha- 
 rold,' his ' Manfred,' and ' Prisoner of Chillon,') owed something 
 to the critical judgment that Shelley exercised over those works, 
 and to his dosing him (as he used to say) with Wordsworth. In the 
 autumn of this year we find the subject of this memoir at Como, 
 where he wrote ' Rosalind and Helen,' an eclogue, and an ode to 
 the Euganean Hills, marked with great pathos and beauty. His 
 first visit to Italy was short, for he was soon called to England by 
 his wife's melancholy fate, which ever after threw a cloud over his 
 own. The year subsequent to this event, he married Mary Wol- 
 stonecraft Godwin, daughter of the celebrated Mary Wolstone 
 craft and Godwin ; and shortly before this period, heir to an in- 
 
LORD BYRON. 181 
 
 Dterspersed in tufts with underwood curved by the sea- 
 jreeze, and stunted by the barren and dry nature of the 
 soil in which it grew. At equal distances along the 
 
 come of many thousands a-year and a baronetage, he was in such 
 pecuniary distress that he was nearly dying of hunger in the 
 .streets ! Finding, soon after his coming of age, that he was en- 
 titled to some reversionary property in fee, he sold it to his father 
 for an annuity of 1000/. a-year, and took a house at Marlow, 
 where he persevered more than ever in his poetical and classical 
 studies. It was during his residence in Buckinghamshire that he 
 wrote Iiis ' Alastor, or the Spirit of Solitude ;' perhaps one of the 
 most perfect specimens of harmony in blank verse that our lan- 
 guage possesses, and full of the wild scenes which his imagination 
 had treasured up in his Alpine excursions. In this poem he deifies 
 Nature much in the same way that Wordsworth did in his earlier 
 productions. 
 
 Inattentive to pecuniary matters, and generous to excess, he 
 soon found that he could not live on his income ; and, still unfor- 
 given by his family, he came to a resolution of quitting his native 
 country, and never returning to it. There was another circum- 
 stance also that tended to disgust him with England : his children 
 were taken from him by the Lord Chancellor, on the ground of 
 his Atheism. He again crossed the Alps, and took up his resi- 
 dence at Venice. There he strengthened his intimacy with Lord 
 Byron, and wrote his ' Revolt of Islam,' an allegorical poem in 
 the Spenser stanza. Noticed very favourably in Blackwood's Ma- 
 gazine, it fell under the lash of 4 The Quarterly,' which indulged 
 itself in much personal abuse of the author, both openly in the re- 
 view of that work, and insidiously under the critique of Hunt's 
 I Foliage.' Perhaps little can be said for the philosophy of ' The 
 Loves of Laon and Cythra.' Like Mr. Owen of Lanark, he be- 
 lieved in the perfectibility of human nature, and looked forward to 
 a period when a new golden age would return to earth, — when all 
 the different creeds and systems of the world would be amalgamated 
 "into one, — crime disappear, — and man, freed from shackles ci- 
 vil and religious, bow before the throne " of his own awless soul," 
 -or " of the Power unkuown." 
 
 16 
 
182 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 coast stood high square towers, for the double purpose 
 of guarding the coast from smuggling, and enforcing 
 the quarantine laws. This view was bounded by an 
 
 Wild and visionary as such a speculation must be confessed to 
 be in the present state of society, it sprang from a mind enthusi- 
 astic in its wishes for the good of the species, and the amelioration 
 of mankind and of society : and however mistaken the means of 
 bringing - about this reform or " revolt" may be considered, the ob- 
 ject of his whole life and writings seems to have been to develop 
 them. This is particularly observable in his next work, ' The 
 Prometheus Unbound,' a bold attempt to revive a lost play of 
 /Eschvlus. This drama shows an acquaintance with the Greek 
 tragedy-writers which perhaps no other person possessed in an 
 equal degree, and was written at Rome amid the flower-covered 
 ruins of the Baths of Caracalla. At Rome also he formed the sto- 
 ry of < The Cenci 1 into a tragedy, which, but for the harrowing 
 nature of the subject, and the prejudice against any thing bearing 
 his name, could not have failed to have had the greatest success, — 
 if not on the stage, at least in the closet. Lord Byron was of 
 opinion that it was the best play the age had produced, and not 
 unworthy of the immediate followers of Shakspeare. 
 
 After passing several months at Naples, he finally settled with 
 his lovely and amiable wife in Tuscany, where he passed the last 
 four years in domestic retirement and intense application to study. 
 
 His acquirements were great. He was, perhaps, the first clas- 
 sic in Europe. The books he considered the models of style for 
 prose and poetry were Plato and the Greek dramatists. He had 
 made himself equally master of the modern lauguages. Calderon 
 in Spanish, Petrarch and Dante in Italian, and Goethe and 
 Schiller in German, were his favourite authors. French he never 
 read, and said he never could understand the beauty of Racine. 
 
 Discouraged the by ill success of his writings — persecuted by the 
 malice of his enemies — hated the by world, an outcast from his 
 family, and a martyr to a painful complaint, — he was subject to 
 occasional fits of melancholy and dejection. For the last four 
 years, though he continued to write, he had given up publishing. 
 There were two occasions, however, that induced him fo break 
 
LOUD BYRON. 183 
 
 immense extent of the Italian Alps, which are here par- 
 ticular!)' picturesqce from their volcanic and manifold 
 appearances, and which being composed of white mar- 
 ble, give their summits the resemblance of snow. 
 
 through his resolution. His ardent love of liberty inspired him to 
 mrite ' Hellas, or the Triumph of Greece,' a drama, since trans- 
 lated into Greek, and which he inscribed to his friend Prince 
 Maurocordato ; and his attachment to Keats led him to publish an 
 elegy, which he entitled ' Adonais.' 
 
 This last is perhaps the most perfect of all his compositions, and 
 the one he himself considered so. Among the mourners at the 
 funeral of his poet-friend he draws this portrait of himself ;. (the 
 stanzas were afterwards expunged from the Elegy :) 
 
 " 'Mid other of less note came one frail form, — 
 A phantom among men, — companionless 
 As the last cload of an expiring storm, 
 Whose thunder is its knell. He, as I guess. 
 Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness 
 Actaion-like ; and now he fied astray 
 With feeble steps on the world's wilderness, 
 And his own thoughts along that rugged way 
 
 ~jed, like raging hounds, their father and their prey. 
 
 His head was bound with pansies overblown, 
 
 And faded violets, white and pied and blue; 
 
 And a light spear, topp'd with a cypress cone, 
 
 (Round whose rough stem dark ivy tresses shone, 
 
 Yet dripping with the forest's noonday dew,) 
 
 Vibrated, as the ever-beating heart 
 
 Shook the weak hand that grasp'd it. Of that crew 
 
 He came the last, neglected and apart, 
 
 A herd-abandon'd deer, struck by the hunter's dart !' 5 
 
 The last eighteen months of Shelley's life were passed in daily 
 uitercourse with Lord Byron, to whom the amiability, gentleness, 
 *fld elegance of his manners, and his great talents and acquire- 
 
IS4 CONVERSATIONS 01 
 
 As a foreground to this picture appeared as extra 
 ordinary a group. Lord Byron and Trelawney were 
 seen standing over the burning pile, with some of the 
 soldiers of the guard; and Leigh Hunt, whose feelings 
 and nerves could not carry him through the scene of 
 horror, lying back in the carriage, — the four post- 
 horses ready to drop with the intensity of the noon- 
 da}' sun. The stillnes of all around was yet more felt 
 
 tnents. had endeared him. Like his friend, he wished to die young 
 he perished in the twenty- ninth year of his age, in the Mediterra 
 nean, between Leghorn and Lerici, from the upsetting of an open 
 boat. The sea had been to him, as well as Lord Bvron, ever the 
 greatest delight ; and as early as 1813, in the following lines writ- 
 ten at sixteen, he seems to have anticipated that it would prove hi- 
 
 .vrayg t 
 
 " To-rmrrow comes : 
 Cloud upon cloud with dark and deep'ning mass 
 Roll o'er the blacken'd waters ; the deep roar 
 Of distant thunder mutters awfully: 
 Tempest unfolds its pinions o'er the gloom 
 That shrouds thp boiling surge ; the pitiless fiend 
 With all his winds and lightnings tracks his prey ; 
 The torn deep yawns, — the vessel finds a grave 
 Beneath its jagged jaws." 
 
 For fifteen days after the loss of the vessel his body was undis-. 
 covered : and when found, was not in a state to be removed. In 
 order to comply with his wish of being buried at TJome, his corpse 
 was directed to be burnt; and Lord Byron, faithful to his trust as 
 nn executor, and duty as a friend, superintended the ceremony 
 which 1 have described. 
 
 The remains of one who was destined to have little repose or, 
 happiness here, now sleep, with those of his friend Keats, in the 
 burial-ground near Caius Cestus's Pyramid; — " a spot so beauti- 
 ful," said he, " that it might almost make one in love with death,' 1 
 
LORD BYRON. 185 
 
 by the shrill scream of a solitary curlew, which, per- 
 haps attracted by the body, wheeled in sucli narrow 
 circles round the pile that it might have been struck 
 with the hand, and was so fearless that it rould not be 
 driven away. Looking- at the corpse, Lord Byron 
 said, 
 
 " Why, that old black silk handkerchief retains its 
 form better than that human body !" 
 
 Scarcely was the ceremony concluded, when Lord 
 Byron, agitated by the spectacle he had witnessed, 
 tried to dissipate, in some degree, the impression of it 
 by his favourite recreation. He took off his clothes 
 therefore, and swam off to his yatch, which w;«s riding 
 a few miles distant. The heat of the sun and checked 
 perspiration threw him into a fever, which he felt com- 
 ing on before he left the water, and which became 
 more violent before he reached Pisa. On his return 
 lie immediately ordered a warm bath. 
 
 " I have been very subject to fevers " said he, " and 
 am not in the least alarmed at this. It will yield to 
 my usual remedy, the bath." 
 
 The next morning he was perfectly 'recovered. 
 When I called, I found him sitting in the garden under 
 the shade of some orange-trees, with the Countess. 
 They are now always together, and he is become quite 
 domestic. He calls her Piccinina, and bestows on 
 her all the pretty diminutive epithets that are so sweet 
 in Italian. His kindness and attention to the Gnic 
 26* 
 
4 86 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 cioli have been invariable. A three years' constancy 
 proves that he is not altogether so unmanageable by 
 a sensible woman as might be supposed. In fact no 
 man is so easily led : but he is not to be driven. His 
 spirits are good, except when he speaks of Shelley and 
 Williams. He tells me he has not made one voyage in 
 his yatch since their loss, and has taken a disgust to 
 sailing. 
 
 " I have got Hunt with me," said he. " I will tell 
 you how I became acquainted with him. 
 
 " One of the first visits I paid to Hunt was in prison. 
 I remember Lady Byron was with me in the carriage, 
 and I made her wait longer than I intended at the gate 
 of the King's Bench. 
 
 "When party feeling ran highest against me, Hunt 
 was the only editor of a paper, the only literary man, 
 who dared say a word in my justification. I shall 
 always be grateful to him for the part he took on that 
 occasion. It was manly in him to brave the obloquy 
 of standing alone. 
 
 " Shelley and myself furnished some time ago a suite 
 of apartments in my house for him, which he now oc- 
 cupies. I believe I told you of a plan we had in agi- 
 tation for his benefit. His principal object in coming 
 out was to establish a literary journal, whose name is 
 not yet fixed, 
 
1 LORD BYRON. 137 
 
 "I have promised to contribute, and shall probably 
 make it a vehicle for some occasional poems ; — for in- 
 stance, I mean to translate Ariosto. I was strongly 
 advised by Tom Moore, long ago, not to have any 
 connexion with such a company as Hunt, Shelley, and 
 Co. ; but 1 have pledged myself, and besides could not 
 now, if I had ever so great a disinclination for the 
 scheme, disappoint all Hunt's hopes. He has a large 
 family, has undertaken a long journey, and undergone 
 a long series of persecutions. 
 
 " Moore tells me that it was proposed to him to con- 
 tribute to the new publication, hut that he had declined 
 it. You see I cannot get out of the scrape. The 
 name is not yet decided upon, — half-a-dozen have been 
 rejected. 
 
 " Hunt would have made a fine writer, for he has a 
 great deal of fancy and feeling, if he had not been 
 spoiled by circumstances. He was brought up at the 
 Blue-coat foundation, and had never till lately been 
 ten miles from St. Paul's. What poetry is to be ex- 
 pected from such a course of education ? He has his 
 school, however, and a host of disciples. A friend of 
 mine calls 'Rimini,' .!Yi?nini Pimini; and 'Foliage/ 
 Follyage. Perhaps he had a tumble in 'climbing 
 trees in the Hesperides !'* But, 'Rimini' has a great 
 deal of merit. There never were so many fine things 
 spoiled as in ' Rimini.' " 
 
 '■ The motto to his book entitled ' Fojiajre. 
 
188 CONVERSATIONS t)F 
 
 " Since you left us," said he, " 1 have had serious 
 thoughts of visiting America; and when the Gambas 
 were ordered out of Tuscany, was on the point of em- 
 barkation for the only country which is a sanctuary for 
 liberty. 
 
 " Since T have been abroad, I have received many 
 civilities from the Americans* ; among the rest, I was 
 acquainted with the captain of one of their frigates 
 lying in the Leghorn roads, and used occasionally to 
 dine on board his ship. He offered to take me with 
 him to America. I desired time to consider ; but at 
 last declined it, not wishing to relinquish my Grecian 
 project. 
 
 "Once landed in that country, perhaps I should not 
 have soon left it; — I might have settled there, for I shall 
 never revisit England. On Lady Noel's death, I thought 
 
 * I have been favoured with a sight of a letter addressed by 
 Lord Byron to ?rir. Chinch, one of the American Consuls, in 
 which he thus speaks of his Grecian project a few months after: 
 
 " The accounts are so contradictory, as to what mode will be 
 best for supplying the Greeks, that 1 have deemed it better to take 
 up (with the exception of a few supplies) what cash and credit t 
 can muster, rather than lay them out in articles that might be 
 deemed superfluous or unnecessary. Here we can learn nothing 
 but from some of the refugees, who appear chiefly interested for 
 themselves. My accounts from an agent of the Committee, an 
 English gentleman lately gone up to Greece, are hitherto favour- 
 able ; but he had not yet reached the seat of the Provisional Go- 
 vernment, and 1 am anxiously expecting further advice. 
 
 "An American has a better right than any other to suggest to 
 other nations the mode of obtaining (hat liberty which is the glory 
 of bis own !" 
 
LORD BYRON. 189 
 
 I should have been forced to go home (and was for u 
 moment bent on doing so on another occasion, which 
 you know ;) but I told Hanson I would rather make any 
 sacrifice. 
 
 The polite attentions of the American sailor were 
 very different from the treatment I met with from the 
 captain of a sloop of war belonging to our navy, who 
 made the gentleman commanding my yacht haul clown 
 lay pennant. They might have respected the name of 
 eat navigator.* In the time of peace and in a 
 free port, there could have been no plea for such an 
 insult. I wrote to the captain of the vessel rather 
 sharp]}', and was glad to find that his first-lieutenant 
 had acted without his orders, and when he was on shore; 
 but they had been issued, and could not be reversed. 
 
 "You see I can't go any where without being perse- 
 cuted. I am going to Genoa in a few days." 
 
 "I have almost finished," said he, "another play, 
 which I mean to call ' Werner.' The story is taken 
 from Miss Lee's ' Kruitzner.' There are fine things in 
 'The Canterbury Tales ;' but Miss Lee only wrote two 
 of them : the others are the compositions of her sister,, 
 and are vastly inferior. 
 
 * His grandfather. Admiral Byron. I have heard him more than 
 once speak of Campbell's having 1 named him in ' The Pleasures 
 of Ilope,' 
 

 190 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 "There is no tale of Scott's finer than 'The Ger 
 man's Tale.' I admired it when I was a boy, and hav< 
 continued to like what I did then. This tale, I remem- 
 ber, particularly affected me. I could not help think- 
 ing of the authoress, who destroyed herself. 1 wa> 
 very young when I finished a few scenes of a pla} 
 founded on that story. I perfectly remember many 
 lines as I go on. 
 
 " 'Vathek' was another of the tales I had a very 
 early admiration of. You may remember a passage I 
 borrowed from it in ' The Siege of Corinth,' which I 
 almost took verbatim.* No Frenchman will believe 
 that * Vathek' is the work of a foreigner. It was writ- 
 ten at seventeen. What do you think of the Cave of 
 Eblis, and the picture of Eblis himself? There is 
 poetry. I class it in merit with (though it is ;i differ- 
 ent sort of ?>. thing from) 'Paul and Virginia,' and 
 Mackenzie's ' Man of Feeling,' and ' La Roche' in ' The 
 Mirror.' " 
 
 ' Werner' was written in tw r enty-eight days, and one 
 entire act at a sitting. The MS. had scarcely an altera - 
 
 * " There is a light cloud by the mnon ; 
 'Tis passing 1 , and will pass full soon. 
 If by the time its vapoury sail 
 ITath ceased the shaded orb to veil. 
 Thy heart within thee is not changed, 
 
 Then God and man are both avenged, 
 
 "Dark will thy doom be — darker still 
 Thine immortality of ill." 
 
 Siege of Cori: 
 
LORD BYRON. 191 
 
 tion in it for pages together. I remember retaining in 
 my memory one passage, which he repeated to me, and 
 which I considered quite Shakspearian. 
 
 " Four- 
 Five — six hours I have counted, like the guard 
 Of outposts, on the never merry clock. — 
 That hollow tongue of time, which, even when 
 It sounds for joy, takes something from enjoyment 
 With every clang. 'Tis a perpetual knell, 
 Though for a marriage-feast it rings : each stroke 
 Peals for a hope the less ; the funeral note 
 Of love deep-buried without resurrection 
 In the grave of possession ; whilst the knoll 
 Of long-lived parents finds a jovial echo 
 To triple time in the son's ear." 
 
 " What can be expected," said I to him, " from a 
 five-act play, finished in four weeks ?" 
 
 " I mean to dedicate Werner," said he, " to Goethe. 
 I look upon him as the greatest genius that the age has 
 produced. I desired Murray to inscribe his name to 
 a former work; but he pretends my letter containing 
 the order came too late. — It would have been more 
 worthy of him than this." 
 
 " 1 have a great curiosity about every thing relating 
 (to Goethe, and please myself with thinking there is 
 some analogy between our characters and writings. 
 •So much interest do I take in him, that I offered to 
 give 100/. to any person who would translate his 'Me- 
 
192 CONVERSATIONS OF 
 
 raoirs,' for my own reading.* Shelley has some- 
 times explained part of them to me. He seems to be 
 very superstitious, and is a believer in astrology, — or 
 rather was, for he was very young when he wrote the 
 first part of his Life. I would give the world to read 
 1 Faust' in the original. I have been urging Shelley 
 to translate it ; but he said that the translator oi 
 4 Wallenstein' was the only person living who could 
 venture to attempt it ; — that he had written to Cole- 
 ridge, but in vain. For a man to translate it, he must 
 think as he does." 
 
 " How do you explain," said I, " the first line, — 
 
 ' The sun thunders through the sky ?' " 
 
 " He speaks of the music of the spheres in Heaven," 
 said he, " where, as in Job, the first scene is laid." 
 
 " Since you left us," said Lord Byron, " 1 have 
 seen Hobhouse for a few days. Hobhouse is the 
 oldest and the best friend I have. What scenes we 
 have witnessed together ! Our friendship began at 
 Cambridge. We led the same sort of life in town, 
 and travelled in company a great part of the years 
 1809, 10, and 11. He was present at my marriage, 
 and was with me in 18 1G, after my separation. We 
 
 * An English translation of this interesting' work has lately ap- 
 peared in 2 vols. 8vo., 
 
UVUD BYRON. 19o 
 
 vere at Venice, and visited Rome together, in 1817. 
 The greater part of my ' Childe Harold' was com- 
 joscd when we were together, and I could do no less 
 n gratitude than dedicate the complete poem to him. 
 The First Canto was inscribed to one of the most 
 )eautiful little creatures I ever saw, then a mere child i 
 jady Charlotte Harleigh was my Ianthe. 
 
 " Hobhouse's Dissertation on Italian literature is 
 BUch superior to his Notes on ' Childe Harold.' Per- 
 laps he understood the antiquities better than Nibbi, 
 >r any of the Cicerones ; but the knowledge is some- 
 vhaf misplaced where it is. Shelley went to the oppo- 
 ite extreme, and never made any notes. 
 
 " Hobhouse has an excellent heart : he fainted when 
 le heard a false report of my death in Greece, and 
 vas wonderfully affected at that of Matthews — a much 
 nore able man than the Invalid. You have often 
 ieard me speak of him. The tribute I paid to his 
 nemory was a very inadequate one, and ill expressed 
 vhat I felt at his loss." 
 
 It may be asked when Lord Byron writes. Tke 
 ,ame question was put to Madame de Stael : " Vous 
 le comptez pas sur ma chaise-ci-porteur" said she. I 
 im often with him from the time he gets up till two or 
 ihree o'clock in the morning, and after sitting up so 
 ate he must require rest ; but he produces, the next, 
 Homing, proofs that he has not been idle. Sometimes 
 J7 
 
194 < 0NVERSAT1GN9 01' 
 
 when I call, I find him at his desk ; but he either fail; 
 as he writes, or lays down his pen to play at billiard! 
 till it is time to take his airing. He seems to be abli 
 to resume the thread of his subject at all times,' and t: 
 weave it of an equal texture. Such talent is that c 
 an improvisatore. The fairness too of his manuscript' 
 (1 do not speak of the hand-writing) astonishes no les- 
 than the perfection of every thing he writes. Ht 
 hardly ever alters a word for whole pages, and nevti 
 corrects a line in subsequent editions. I do not believe 
 that he has ever read his works over since he ex- 
 amined the proof-sheets ; and yet he remembers ever)( 
 word of them, and every thing else worth remember-! 
 ing that he has ever known. 
 
 I never met with any man who shines so much in 
 conversation. He shines the more, perhaps, for not 
 seeking to shine. His ideas flow without effort, with- 
 out his having occasion to think. As in his letters, he 
 is not nice about expressions or words ; — there are no 
 concealments in him, no injunctions to secrecy. He 
 tells every thing that he has thought or done without 
 the least reserve, and as if he wished the whole world 
 to know it ; and does not throw the slightest gloss over 
 his errors. Brief himself, he is impatient of diffuse- 
 ness in others, hates long stories, and seldom repeats 
 his own., If he has heard a story you are telling, ht 
 will say, " You told me that," and with good humour 
 sometimes finish it for you himself. 
 
 He hates argument, and never argues for victory. 
 He gives every one an opportunity of sharing in the 
 
T.OHD BYRON. 195 
 
 Conversation, and has the art of turning it to subjects- 
 lhat may bring - out the person with whom he con- 
 verses. He never shews the author, prides himself 
 most on being a man of the world and of fashion, and 
 his anecdotes of life and living characters are inex- 
 haustible. In spirits, as in every thing else, he is ever 
 )ja extremes. 
 
 i 
 
 Miserly in trifles— about to lavish his whole fortune 
 on the Greeks ; to-da}' diminishing his stud — to- 
 morrow taking a large family under his roof, or giving 
 1000/. for a yacht;* dining for a few Pauls when 
 alone, — spending hundreds when he has friends. " AY/ 
 fuit unquam sic intpar sibi." 
 
 I am sorry to find that he has become more indolent. 
 He has almost discontinned his rides on horseback, 
 and has starved himself into an unnatural thinness : 
 |and his digestion is become weaker. In order to keep 
 up the stamina that he requires, he indulges somewhat 
 too freely in wine, and in his favourite beverage. 
 Hollands, of which he now drinks a pint almost every 
 night. 
 
 He said to me, humorously enough — - 
 
 " Why don't you drink, Med win ? Gin-and-vvates 
 
 * He sold it for 300'. and refused to give the sailors their 
 jackets ; and offered oncf to bet Hay lhat he would live on 60/. 
 a-vear ' 
 
196 CONVERSATIONS- Ot- 
 
 is the source of all my inspiration. If you were U 
 drink as much as I do, you would write as goni 
 verses : depend on it, it is the true Hippocrene.^ 
 
 
 On the 28th of August I parted from Lord Byror! 
 with increased regret, and a sadness that looked Ukfi] 
 presentiment. He was preparing for his journey tc 
 Genoa, whither he went a few days after my depar- 
 ture. I shall. I hope, be excused in presenting tht 
 public with the following sketch of his character., 
 drawn and sent to a friend a few weeks after his death : .i 
 ind to which 1 adapted the following motto :* 
 
 r-TvV (5s flavwv "ha^/KSig 'Etfirggog ev ip<hj*svoi£. 
 
 ■' Born an aristocrat, f am naturally one by temper, " 
 said Lord Byron. Many of the lines in 'The Hours 
 of Idleness,' particularly the Farewell to Newstead> 
 
 :;: The following: passage in an unpublished life of ' Alfieri,' 
 which I lately met with, might not inaptly be applied to Lori 
 JByron : 
 
 " D<"'s sou entance tous les symptomes d'un caractere fier, it. - 
 domtable et melancolique se manifesto rent. Taciturne et tran- 
 »juiUe a I' ordinaire, mais quelquefois tres babillard, tre9 vif, ct 
 presque toujours dans les extremes — obstine et rebelle a la force, 
 tres soumis aux avis donncs par amitie; contenu plutot par la 
 crainte d' etre gronde, que par toute autre chose ; inflexible quand 
 on voudroit le preude & rebours ; — tel fut-il dans scs jeune;- 
 armees, 1 ' 
 
LOUD BYRON. 1§T 
 
 shew that ill early life he prided himself much on his 
 ancestors : but it is their exploits that he celebrates ; 
 and when he mentioned his having had his pennant 
 hauled down, he said they might have respected a de- 
 scendant of the great navigator. Almost from infan- 
 cy he showed an independence of character, which o 
 long minority and a maternal education contributed to 
 encourage. His temper was quick, but he never long 
 retained anger. Impatient of control, he was too 
 proud to justify himself when right, or if accused, to 
 own himself wrong ; yet no man was more unopinia- 
 ted, more open to conviction, and more accessible to 
 advice,* when he knew that it proceeded from friend- 
 ship, or was motived by affection or regard. 
 
 " Though opposed to the foreign policy of England, 
 he was no revolutionist. The best proof of his pri- 
 zing the constitution of his own country, was that 
 he wished to see it transplanted on the continent, and 
 over the world : and his first and last aspirations 
 were for Greece, her liberty and independence. 
 
 "Like Petrarch, disappointed love, perhaps, made 
 him a poet. You know my enthusiasm about him. I 
 
 * ;( Perhaps of all his friends Sir Walter Scott had the most in- 
 fluence over him. The sight of his hand-writing - , he said, put 
 him in spirits for the day. Shelley's disapprobation of a poem 
 caused him to destroy it. In compliance with the wishes of the 
 pablic, ho relinquished the drama. Disown it as he may, he is 
 ambitious of fame, and almost as sensitive as Voltaire or Rousseau T 
 eveil the gossip of this little town annoys him." 
 
 Extract from a Letter to a Friend, icritten at Pittr.. 
 17* 
 
i 9 8 C N V K R S AT I O N 9 0T 
 
 consider him in poetry what Michael Angelo was-ift 
 painting : he aimed at sublime and effect, rather than 
 the finishing of his pictures j he flatters the vanity of 
 his admirers by leaving them something to fill up. If 
 the eagle flight of his genius cannot always be follow- 
 ed by the eye, it is the fault of our weak vision and lim- 
 ited optics. It requires a mind particularly organized 
 to dive into and sound the depth of his metaphysics, 
 What I admire is the hardihood of his ideas — the 
 sense of power that distinguishes his writings from all 
 others. He told me that, when he wrote, he neither 
 knew nor cared what was coming next.* This is the 
 veal inspiration of the poet. 
 
 " Which is the finest of his works ? — It is a question 
 I have often heard discussed. I have been present 
 when 'Childe Harold,' ' Manfred," Cain,' 'The Cor- 
 sair,' and even ' Don Juan,' were named; — a proof, 
 at least of the versatility of his powers, and that he 
 succeeded in many styles of writing. But I do not 
 mean to canvass the merits of these works, — a work 
 on his poetical character and writings is already before 
 the public. f 
 
 " Lord Byron's has been called the Satanic 3choolof 
 poetry. It is a name that never has stuck, and never 
 vill stick, but among a faction. 
 
 * , " But, note or text, 
 
 I nerer know the word which will come next. r 
 
 Don Juan, Canto IX. Bfatflza-41j 
 
 \ I alluded to Sir E. Brytfges' letter*'. 
 
!<ORD BYRO.\*. 
 
 1$9 
 
 ""To superficial or prejudiced readers, he appeared 
 to confound virtue and vice ; but if the shafts of his 
 ridicule fell on mankind in general, they were only le- 
 velled against the hypocritical cant, the petty interests, 
 and despicable cabals and intrigues of the age. No 
 man respected more the liberty from which the social 
 virtues emanate. No writings ever tended more to ex- 
 alt and ennoble the dignity of man and of human na- 
 ture. A generous action, the memory of patriotism, 
 self-sacrifice, or disinterestedness, inspired him with the 
 sublimest emotions, and the most glowing thoughts and 
 images to express them j and his indignation of tyran- 
 ny, vice, or corruption, fell like a bolt from Heaven 
 on the guilty. We need look no further for the cause 
 of the hate, private and political, with which he has 
 been assailed. But ' in defiance of politics, — in uen- 
 ence of personality, — his strength rose with oppres- 
 sion ; and, laughing his opponents to scorn, he forced 
 the applause he disdained to solicit. 
 
 " That he was not perfect, who can deny ? But 
 how many men are better ? — how few have done more 
 good, less evil, in their day ? 
 
 ' Bright, brave, and glorious was his voucg career !' 
 
 And on his tomb may be inscribed, as is on that of 
 Raleigh — 
 
 ; Reader ! should you reflect ou his errors/ 
 Remember his many virtues, 
 And that he was a mortal !' " 
 
200 CONVERSATIONS 01* 
 
 The high admiration in which Lord Byron was held 
 in Germany may be appreciated by the following 
 communication, and tribute to his memory, which 1 
 have just received from tiie illustrious and venerable 
 Goethe, who, at the advanced age of seventy-five, re- 
 tains all the warmth of his feelings, and lire of his im- 
 mortal genius. 
 
 " Weimar, \§th July, 1824. 
 " It has been thought desirable to have some detail- 
 relative to the communication that existed between 
 Lord Noel Byron, alas ! now no more ! and Goethe : 
 a few words will comprise the whole subject. 
 
 " The German poet, who, up to his advanced age, 
 lias habituated himself to weigh with care and impar- 
 tiality the merit of illustrious persons of his own time. 
 as well as his immediate contemporaries, from a consi- 
 deration that this knowledge would prove the surest 
 means of advancing his own, might well fix his atten- 
 tion on Lord Byron ; and, having watched the dawn 
 of his great and early talents, could not fail to follow 
 their progress through his important and uninterrupted 
 career. 
 
 " It was easy to observe that the public appreciation 
 of his merit as a poet increased progressively with the 
 increasing perfection of his works, one of which rapid- 
 ly succeeded another. The interest which they excit- 
 ed had been productive of a more unmingled delight to 
 his friends, if self-dissatisfaction and the restlessness of 
 hiiE passions had not in some measure counteracted the 
 
LORD BYROJJ. 20 1 
 
 j.uwers of an imagination all-comprehensive and sub- 
 lime, and thrown a blight over an existence which the 
 nobleness of his nature gifted him with a more thaw 
 common capacity for enjoying. 
 
 " His German admirer, however, not permitting 
 himself to come to a hasty and erroneous conclusion, 
 continued to trace, with undiminished attention, a life 
 and a poetical activity equally rare and irreconcilable, 
 and which interested him the more forcibly, inasmuch 
 as he could discover no parallel in past ages with 
 which to compare them, and found himself utterly des- 
 titute of the elements necessary to calculate respecting 
 an orb so eccentric in its course. 
 
 " In the meanwhile, the German and his occupations 
 did not remain altogether unknown or unattended to 
 by the English writer, who not only furnished unequi- 
 vocal proofs of an acquaintance with his works, but 
 conveyed to him, through the medium of travellers, 
 more than one friendly salutation. 
 
 " Thus I was agreeably surprised by indirectly re- 
 ceiving the original sheet of a dedication of the tra- 
 gedy of ' Sardanapalus,' conceived in terms the most 
 honourable to me, and accompanied by a request that 
 it might be printed at the head of the work. 
 
 " The German poet, in his old age, well knowing 
 himself and his labours, could not but reflect with gra- 
 titude and diffidence on the expressions contained in 
 *his dedication, nor interpret them but as the generous- 
 
202 OKVER9ATIONS OF 
 
 tribute of a superior genius, no less original in the 
 choice than inexhaustible in the materials of his sub- 
 jects ; — and he felt no disappointment when, after many 
 delays, ' Sardanapalus' appeared without the preface : 
 he, in reality, already thought himself fortunate in 
 possessing a fac-simile in lithograph,* and attached to 
 it no ordinary value. 
 
 " It appeared, however, that the Noble Lord had 
 not renounced his project of showing his contemporary 
 and companion in letters a striking testimony of his 
 friendly intentions, o( which the tragedy of ' Werner' 
 contains an extremely precious evidence. 
 
 " It might naturally be expected that the aged Ger- 
 man poet, after receiving from so celebrated a person 
 such an unhoped-for kindness (proof of a disposition 
 so thoroughly amiable, and the more to be prized from 
 its rarity in the world), should also prepare, on his 
 part, to express most clearly and forcibly a sense of the 
 gratitude and esteem with which he was affected. 
 
 " But this undertaking was so great, and every day 
 seemed to make it so much more difficult, — for what 
 could be said of an earthly being, whose merit could 
 not be exhausted by thought, or comprehended by 
 words ? 
 
 "But when, in the spring of 1823, a young man of 
 amiable and engaging manners, a Mr. S , brought. 
 
 *■ Goiitiie doete not mention of what, nature the lithograph vrn- 
 
LORD BTRON. 203 
 
 direct from Genoa to Weimar, a few words under tlie 
 hand of this estimable friend, by way of recommenda- 
 tion, and when shortly after there was spread a report 
 that the noble* Lord was about to consecrate his great 
 powers and "varied talents to high and perilous enter- 
 prise, J bad no longer a plea for delay, and addressed 
 to him the following hasty stanzas : 
 
 " One fricndiy word comes fast upon another 
 
 From the warm South, bringing' communion sweet,™ 
 
 Calling us amid noblest thoughts to wander 
 Free in souls, though fetter'd in our feet. 
 
 How shall 1, who so long his bright path traced, 
 Say to him words of love sent from afar ? — 
 
 To him who with his inmost heart has struggled. 
 Long wont with fate and deepest foes to war ? 
 
 May he be happy ! — thus himself esteeming. 
 He well might count himself a favoured one ! 
 
 By his loved Muses all his sorrows banish'd, 
 
 And he self-known, — e'en as to me he's known ! ;; 
 
 " These lines arrived at Genoa, but found him not. 
 This excellent friend had already sailed ; but, being 
 driven back by contrary winds, he landed at Leghorn, 
 where this effusion of my heart reached him. On the 
 eve of his departure, July 23d, 1823, he found time 
 to send me a reply, full of the most beautiful ideas and 
 the divinest sentiments, which will be treasured as 
 an invaluable testimony of worth and friendship 
 among the choicest documents which I possess. 
 
204 ( ON\'i'HSATIONS, Kit,'. 
 
 " What emotions of joy and hope did not that paper 
 once excite ! — but now it has become, by the | rema- 
 ture death of its noble writer, an inestimable relic, and 
 a source of unspeakable regret ; for it Aggravates, to 
 a peculiar degree in me, the mourning and melancholy 
 that pervade the whole moral and poetical world, — in 
 me, who looked forward (after the success of his great 
 efforts) to the prospect of being blessed with the sight 
 of this master-spirit of the age^— -this friend so fortu- 
 nately acquired ; and of having to welcome, on his 
 return, the most humane of conquerors. 
 
 " But still I am consoled by the conviction, that his 
 country will at once aivake, and shake off, like a trou- 
 bled dream, the partialities, the prejudices, the injuries, 
 and the calumnies with which he has been assailed, — 
 that these will subside and sink into oblivion, — that 
 she will at length universally acknowledge that his 
 frailties, whether the effect of temperament, or the de- 
 fect of the times in which he lived, (against which even 
 the best of mortals wrestle painfully,) were only mo- 
 mentary, fleeting, and transitory ; whilst the imperish- 
 able greatness to which he has raised her, now and for 
 ever remains, and will remain, illimitable in its glory, 
 and incalculable in its consequences. Certain it is, 
 that a nation who may well pride herself on so many 
 great sons, will place Byron, all radiant as he is, by the 
 side of those who have done most honour to her 
 name." 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 COPIA DEL RAPPORTO 
 
 Fatto a sua Eccelienza il Sig. Governatore di Pisa 5 
 sopra l'accaduto al Nobile Lord Noel Byron, ed altri. 
 come dalle sottoscrizioni qui appiedi, il giorno 24 
 Marzo, 1822. 
 
 Lord Byron, con i suoi compagni qui sottoscritti, lor- 
 nava cavalcando dalla sua solita passeggiata, ed era forse 
 lungi un quarto di miglio dalla Porta le Piaggie, qiiando 
 un uomo a cavallo in uniforme di Ussero passo a tutta car- 
 riera in mezzo alia compagnia, urtando villanamente uno 
 dei cavalieri. Lord Byron, adontato di tale villania, gli 
 mosse dietro il suo cavallo, e tutti gli altri lo seguirouo. 
 Passati innanzi a costui, ognuno s'arresto, e Milord lo 
 richiese perche avesse fatto quell' insulto. L'Ussero, 
 per prima e tutta risposta, comincio a gridare con urli, 
 con besterrmie, e con parole ingiuriose. Allora il nobile 
 Lord, ed un altro suo compagno gli presentarono un 
 biglietto, dov' era scritto il suo nome e la sua direzione. 
 Quegii seguito, gridando e minacciando che poteva trar la 
 sciaboia ; che Favrebbe ben tirata, ed anche vi pose 
 la mano. 
 
 18 
 
206 APPENDIX*. 
 
 Erano prossimi di tlieci passi alia porta. In mezzo air 
 alterco si meschio un semplice soldato in uniforme, cre- 
 desi, da Cannoniere ; e grido all' Ussero, " Comanda alia 
 guardia della porta — arrestateli, arrestateli" — e sempre 
 con modi e con parole le piii villane e le piii insultanti. 
 
 Cio udendo il nobile Lord, spinse il suo cavallo, e un 
 suo compagno di seguito, e in mezzo alle guardie che met- 
 tevano mano ai fucili e baionette, gli riusci di varcare la 
 porta e prendere la Strada del Corso verso Casa Laofran- 
 chi. Gli altri tre col corriere venivan dietro, allorche il 
 Signor Trelawne} r , che era il primo, si trovo il cavallo 
 afferrato alia briglia da due soldati con le spade sguainate, 
 e assalito forsennatamente da quell' Ussero che gli scaglio 
 molti colpi di sciabola, mentre quei soldati lo percuotte- 
 vano sulla coscia. Egli e i suoi compagni erano tutti 
 inermi, e chiedevano a quel furibondo ragione di una tale 
 infarae condotta. Ma egli rispondeva con i colpi. II 
 Signor Shelley s'interpose per farsi scudo all' amico, e fu 
 percosso gravemente sul capo col porno della sciabola, 
 per cui cadde rovesciato da cavallo. II Capitano Hay 
 voile pure parare un colpo al compagno con un baston- 
 cello che aveva ad uso di fouit, ma il colpo taglio il bas- 
 tone e giunse a ferirlo sul naso. II corriere fu anche mal 
 concio con molte percosse dall' Ussero e dagl' altri solda- 
 ti — Dopo cio l'Ussero sprono il cavallo e prese la via di 
 Lung' Arno. 
 
 II nobile Lord giunto a casa, fece ordinarc al suo segre- 
 tario che corresse subito a dar conto di cio alia Polizia ; 
 poscia, non vedendo i compagni, torno verso la porta, e 
 per via mcontro 1' Ussero che gli si indrizzo dicendo, 
 
RAPFORTO. 207 
 
 u Siete voi soddisfatti ?" II nobile Lord come che ignaro 
 della zuffa accaduta sotto la porta, gli rispose " Non sono 
 soddisfatto — ditemi il vostro nome." Cosui rispose, 
 " Masi, Sergente Maggiore." Un servo di Milord giunse 
 in quell' istante dal Palazzo, e afferro la briglia al cavallo 
 del Sergente. Milord gli comando di lasciarlo. II Ser- 
 gente allora sprono ii cavallo e si lancio Lung' Arno, in 
 mezzo ad un' immensa folia che innanzi al Palazzo Lan- 
 franchi erasi adunata. Ivi, come ci si riporto, fu ferito ; 
 ma noi ignoriamo come e da chi, poiche ognuno di noi 
 trovavasi o in casa o indietro. Solamenle fu recato in casa 
 di Milord il bonnet di questo Sergente. 
 
 E da notare inoltre, che il Capitano Hay si trova confi- 
 nato in casa per la ferita ricevuta, e che il corriere ha 
 sputato sangue per i colpi avuti nel petto, come si puo as- 
 sicurare dalla relazione dei Chirurgi. 
 
 Questo e il rapporto preciso di cio che e passato fra noi 
 e il Sergente Maggiore Masi, coi soldati, &c. In fede di 
 che noi sottoscritti comproviamo, ij-c. &c. 
 (Signed) Noel Byboj*. 
 
 H. Hay. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shellv 
 
 Edward Trelawney. 
 
 Fisa, 25 Marzo, 1822. Count Pietro Gamba. 
 
^0!3 APPENDIX. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 [Copy of the account, presented to Ills Excellency the 
 Governor of Pisa, of what befel Lord Byron, and 
 others, whose names appear by their subscriptions 
 hereto, on the 24th day of March, 1822.] 
 
 Lord Byron, with his companions, whose names are 
 hereto subscribed, was returning, on horseback, from his 
 usual ride, when, at about the distance of a quarter of a 
 mile from the Porta Le Piaggie, a man on horseback, in 
 a hussar's uniform, passed at full speed through the midst 
 of the party, pushing rudely against one of the gentlemen. 
 Lord Byron, provoked at the outrage, urged his horse 
 in pursuit ; and the others followed him. Having ridden 
 iu advance of him, they all stopped, and Lord Byron de- 
 manded, why the insult had been offered. The Hussar, 
 for his first and only answer, employed clamors, curses, 
 and opprobious language. My Lord, and one of his com- 
 panions, presented him a card, in which was written their 
 name and address. The Hussar continued in a loud voice, 
 threatening to draw his sword, which he was about doing, 
 and had laid his hand upon it. 
 
 They were within ten paces of the gate. In the midst 
 of the altercation, a common soldier, in the uniform, as is 
 believed, of an artillerist, interfered, and cried to ths 
 Hussar, " Call out the guard — stop them, stop them ;" 
 using, at the same time, the most injurious and insolent 
 manner and language. 
 
 Lord Byron, on hearing this, put spurs to bis horse, as 
 
ACCOUNT. 209 
 
 did also one of his companions ; and in the midst of the 
 guard, who were handling their muskets and bayonets, 
 they succeeded in clearing the gate, and took the street 
 del corso, towards the Casa Lanfanchi. The other three, 
 with the courier, were following, when Mr.Trelawney,who 
 was foremost, found his horse seized by the bridle, by two 
 soldiers with drawn swords, and was furiously assailed 
 by the same Hussar, who made several blows at him with 
 a sabre, while the soldiers struck him on the side. He and 
 his companions were all unarmed, and demanded from this 
 madman the reason of his infamous conduct. He only re- 
 plied by blows. Mr. Shelly in interposing to protect his 
 friend, was struck severely on the head, with the pom- 
 mel of a sabre, and was felled from his horse by the blow. 
 Captain Hay endeavoured to parry a stroke aimed at his 
 friend, with a small riding stick which he carried ; but the 
 stick was cut asunder, and he was wounded in the nose. 
 The Courier was also much abused, receiving many blows 
 from the Hussar and other soldiers. After this the Hussar 
 spurred his horse, and took the road of Lung' Arno. 
 
 Lord Byron having arrived at his house, gave orders to 
 his secretary to fasten immediately to the police with an 
 account of this affair. Not seeing his companions, he 
 turned again towards the gate ; and on his way, met the 
 Hussar, who made to him, exclaiming, "Are you satis- 
 fied !'' My Lord, being ignorant of what had passed at 
 the gate, answered, " I am not satisfied ; tell me your 
 name." He replied, " Masi, Sergeant Major." A ser- 
 vant of Lord Byron's arrived in the same instant from 
 the Palazzo, and caught the bridle of the Sergeant's horse 
 
 L8** 
 
210 APPENDIX. 
 
 My Lord ordered him to let it go. The Sergeant theu 
 spurred his horse, and darted along Lung' Arno, in the 
 midst of an immense crowd which was collected before 
 the Palazzo Ladfranchi. It is reported that he was 
 wounded ; but how, and by whom, we are ignorant ; for 
 we were all either in the house, or behind it. The bon- 
 net of the sergeant was brought into the house of Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 It is to be added, that Captain Hay has been confined t» 
 the house from the wound he received ; and that the cou- 
 rier has thrown up blood, from the blows he received on 
 his breast, as may be confirmed by the account of the sur- 
 geons. 
 
 This is an exact account of what passed between us and 
 
 Sergeant Major Masi, the soldiers, &c. In testimony of 
 
 which we have subscribed our names, <$»c. 
 
 (Signed) Noel ByroN. 
 
 H. Hay. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelly. 
 
 Edward Trela'wny. 
 
 COVST PlETRO GAMBi 
 
 F,isa, March, Z&ttynu 
 
APPENDIX. 211 
 
 SECONDO RAPPORTO. 
 
 Io osservai Lord Byron venir Domenica sera cavalcando 
 Lung 1 Arno verso la sua casa, e appena giuntovi ritornare 
 senza esser smontato : -poscia dirimpetto alia Chiesa di S. 
 Matteo incontro un Dragone, col quale cavalco lungo la 
 strada. Lord Byron aveva in mano una canna. II Dra- 
 gone minaccio di trarre la sciabola. Giunti sotto le nostre 
 finestre, Lord Byron stese la mano al Dragone, e gli do- 
 mando il nome e 1' indirizzo suo. Vennero stringemdosi 
 le inani per pochi passi, quando uno dei domestici di Lord 
 Byron s'intromise e respinse il Dragone dal suo padrone. 
 II Dragone allora sprono algaloppo, e traversando innanzi 
 alia casa di Lord Byron fu ferito sul destro fianco da un 
 bastone lungo sei piedi circa, che quasi lo rovescio dal 
 oavallo. In quell' istante Lord Byron e il suo domestic© 
 si trovavano ad una considerabile distanza dal Dragone. 
 (Signed) Giacomo Crawford, Inglese, 
 
 Casa Remediotti, No. 666, Lung' Am®, 
 
 Pisa, 27 Marzo, 1822. 
 
212 APFENBIX. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 SECOND ACCOUNT. 
 
 On Sunday evening 1 saw Lord Byron riding in the 
 Lung* Arno. towards his house, and on his retiring there, 
 immediately return, without dismounting. Afterwards, 
 when opposite St. Matthews' church, he met a dragoon, 
 with whom he rode along the street. Lord Byron had a 
 cane in his hand. The dragoon threatened to draw his 
 sabre. When they came under our windows, Lord By- 
 ron extended his hand towards the dragoon, and demand- 
 ed his name and direction. They went on grappling 
 hands for some paces, when one of Lord Byron's domes- 
 tics interfered, and repulsed the dragoon from his master. 
 The dragoon spurred on at a gallop, and crossing before 
 the house of Lord Byron, was wounded in the right side 
 by a staffabout six feet long, which nearly unhorsed him. 
 Lord Byron and his servant were at that time a considera- 
 ble distance from the dragoon. 
 
 (Signed) James Crawford, (ofEngland.) 
 Casa Remediotti, No. 666, Lung' Arno 
 
 Fi$a, March 21th, 1822. 
 
213 
 
 GOETHE'S BEITRAG ZUM ANDENKEN 
 LORD BYRON'S. 
 
 Man hat gewiinscht einige Nachrichten von dem Ver- 
 hiiltnis zu erlangen, welches zwischen dem, leider zu 
 friih abgeschiedenen Lord Noel Byron und Herrn von 
 Goethe bestanden ; hiervon ware kiirtzlich soviel zu 
 sagen. 
 
 Der Deutsche Dichter, bis ins hohe Alter bemiiht die 
 Verdienste fruherer und mitlebender Manner sorgfaltig 
 und rein anzuerkennen, indem er dies als das sicherste 
 Mittel eigener Bildung und von jeher betrachtete, musste 
 wohl auch auf das grosse Talent des Lords, bald nach 
 dessen erstem Erscheinen auftnerksam werden, wie er 
 denn auch die Fortschritte jener bedeutenden Leistungen 
 und eines ununterbrochenen Wirkens unblassig begleitete. 
 
 Hierbey war denn leicht zu bemerken, dass die alge- 
 meine AncrkenniiOg des dichterischen Verdienstes mit Ver- 
 mehrungund Stdgerung rasch auf einanderfolgender Pro- 
 ductionen in gleichem Maase fortwuchs. Auch ware die 
 diesseitige frohe Theilnahme hieran, hochst vollkommen 
 gewesen, hatte nicht der geniale Dichter durch eineleiden- 
 schaftliche Lebensweise, durch inneres Misbehagen und 
 ein so geistreiches als granzenloses Ilervorbringen sich 
 selbst und seinen Freunden den reitzenden Genuss an 
 seinem hohen Daseyn einigermassen verkiimmert. 
 
 Der Deutsche Bewunderer jedoch, hiedurch nicht ge- 
 irrt, folgte mit Aufmerksamkeit einem so seltenen Leben 
 
214 APrENDIX. 
 
 und Dichten in aller seiner Excentricitat, die freilich una 
 desto auffallender seyn musste, als ihres Gleichen in ver- 
 gangenen Jahrhunderten nicht wohlzu entdecken gewesen 
 und uns die Eleraente zu Berechnung einer solchen Bahn 
 vbllig abgingen. 
 
 Indessen waren die Bemiihungen des Deutschen dem 
 Englander nicht unbekannt geblieben, der davon in seinen 
 Gedichten unzweideutige Beweise darlegte, nicht weniger 
 sich durch Reisende nut manchem freundlichen Gruss ver- 
 nehmen lies. 
 
 Sodann aber folgte, iiberraschend, gleichfals durch Vcr- 
 mittelung, das Original- Blatt einer Dedication des Trau- 
 erspiels Sardanapalus in den ehrenreichsten Ausdrucken 
 und mit der freundlichen Anfrage, ob solche gedachtem 
 Stuck vorgedruckt werden konnte. 
 
 Der Deutsche, mit sich selbst und seinen Leistungen im 
 hohen Alter wohlbekannte Dichter durfte den Inhalt jener 
 Widmung nur als Aeusserung eines trefflichen, hochfiihl- 
 enden, sich seblst seine Gegenstande schaffenden, uner- 
 schopflichen Geistesmit Dank und Bescheidenheidbetrach- 
 ten ; auch fuhlte er sich nicht unzufrieden, als, bei man- 
 cherley Verspatung, Sardanapal ohne ein so*hes Vor- 
 wort gedruckt wurde,und fand sich schongliicklich im Be- 
 9itz eines lithographirten Fac simile, zu hochst werthem 
 Andenken. 
 
 Doch gab der edle Lord seinen Vorsatz nicht auf, dem 
 Deutschen Zeit- und Geist-Genossen eine bedeutende 
 Freundlichkeit zu ervveisen ; wie denn das Trauerspiel 
 Werner ein hbchst schatzbares Denkmal an der Stirne 
 fuhrt. 
 
goethe's beiTrag, &c. 215 
 
 Hiernach wird man den wohl dem Deutscben Dichter- 
 greise zuirauen, dass er einen so grundlich guteu VVillen, 
 welcher uns auf dieser Erde selten begegnet, von einem so 
 hocb gefeyerten Manne ganz unverhofft erfabrend, sich 
 gleichfals bcreitetemit Klarheit und Kraft auszusprechen, 
 von welcher Hochachtung er fiir seinen uniibertroffenen 
 Zeitgenossen durchdrungen, von welchem theilnehmenden 
 Gefiihl fiir ihn er beiebt sey. Aber die Aufgabe fand sich 
 so gross, und erschien immer grosser, jemehr man ihr 
 n'aher trat ; denn was soil man von einem Erdgebornen 
 sagen, dessen Verdienste durch Betrachtung und Wort 
 nicbt zu erschopfen sind ? 
 
 Als daher ein junger Mann, Herr Sterling, angenehm 
 von Person und rein von sitten, im Friihjabr 1823, seinen 
 Weg von Genua gerade nach Weimar nahm, und auf ein- 
 em kleinen Blatte wenig eigenhandige Worte des verehr- 
 ten Mannes als Empfehlung iiberbrachte, als nun bald da- 
 rauf das Geriicht verlautete, der Lord werde seinen gros- 
 sen Sinn, seine manigfaltigen Krafte, an erhaben-gefahr- 
 liche Thaten iiber Meer verwenden, da war nicht lunger 
 zu zaudern und eilig nachstehendes Gedicht geschrieben : 
 
 Ein freundlich Wort kommt eines nach dem andern, 
 Von Siiden her und bringt uns frohe Stunden ; 
 
 Es ruft uns auf zum Edelsten zu wandern, 
 
 Nicht ist der Geist, doch ist der Fuss gebunden, 
 
 Wie soil ich dem, den ich so lang' begleitet 
 Nun etwas Traulich's in die Feme sagen ? 
 
 Ihm, der sich selbst im Innersten beslreitet, 
 Stark angewohnt, das tiefste Weh zu tragen. 
 
216 APPENDIX. 
 
 Wohl sey ihm ! doch wenn er sich selbst empfindet. 
 
 Er wage selbst sich hoch begliickt zu nennen, 
 Wenn Mueenkraft die Schmerzen iiberwindet, 
 
 Und wie ich ihn erkannt, mug' er sichkennen. 
 
 Weimar, den 22 Juny, 1823. 
 
 Es gelangte nach Genua, fand ihn aber nicht mehr da- 
 selbst, schon war der trefliche Freund abgesegelt und 
 schicn einem jeden schon weit entfernt ; durch Stiirme 
 jedoch zuriickgebalten, landete er in Livorno, wo ihn das 
 herzlich gescndete gerade noch traf, um es im Augen- 
 blicke seiner Abfahrt, den 24 July, 1823, mit einen reinen, 
 sch'in-gefuhlten Blatt erwiedern zu ktnnen ; als wertestes 
 Zeugnis eines wiirdigen Verhaltnisses unter den kostbars- 
 ten Documenten vom Besitzer aufzubewahren. 
 
 So sehr uns nun ein solcbes Blatt erfreuen und riihren 
 und zu der schoenstsn Lebenshoffnung aufregen musste, 
 so erha.lt gs gegenwartig durch das unzeitige Ableben des 
 hohen Schreibenden den groessten schmerzlichstenWerth, 
 indem es die algemcine Trauer der Sitten- und Dicbter- 
 welt iiber seinen Verlust, fur uns leider ganz insbeson- 
 dere. sch'arft, die wir nach vollbrachtem grossen Bemu- 
 hen hotfen durften den vorziiglichsten Geist, den glucklich 
 erworbenen Freund und zugleichden menschlichsten Sie- 
 ger, prrsbnlich zu begruessen. 
 
 Nun aber erhebt uns die Ueberzeugung, dnss s.^ine 
 Nation, aus dem, theilweise gegen ihn aut brausenden, 
 tadelnden, scheitenden T-mmel ploetzlich zur Nuechtern- 
 heit erwachen und aigemein begreifen werde, dass alle 
 
goethb's tribute. 217 
 
 Schaalen und Schlacken der Zeit und des Individuums, 
 durch welcbe sich auch der bestehindurch und heraug zu 
 arbeiten hat, nur augenblicklich, verganglich und hin- 
 fixllig gewesen, wogegen der staunenswurdige Ruhm, zu 
 dem er sein Vaterland fur jetzt und kunftig erhebt, in 
 seiner Herrlichkeil gninzenlos und in seinen Folgen un- 
 berechenbar bleibt. Gewiss, diese Nation, die sich so 
 vieler grosser>Namen riihmen darf, wird ihn verklart zu 
 denjenigen stellen, durch die sie sich immerfort selbst zu 
 ehren hat. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 [Goethe'' s Tribute to the Memory of Lord Byron."] 
 
 Some desire having been shown to obtain information 
 with respect to the nature of the intercourse that subsist- 
 ed between Goethe and the prematurely deceased Lord 
 Byron, the following brief statement may not be deemed 
 unacceptable. 
 
 The German poet, solicitous to the latest period of his 
 life, to study and acknowledge the merits of his younger 
 cotemporaries, because he ever regarded this as the se- 
 curest means of his own improvement, naturally turned 
 his attention to the extraordinary talent of Lord Byron, 
 very shortly after the commencement of his literary life, 
 ami watched with unremitting interest the progress of his 
 splendid poetical achievements. 
 
 From this it may be easily inferred that Goethe's appre- 
 ciation of the poetical merit of productions rapidly succeed- 
 
 19 
 
213 APTENDIX. 
 
 iog one another with a perpetual increase of excellence, 
 augmented in proportion to that increase. The strong in- 
 terest entertained by the German, would have reached the 
 last degree of intensity, had not the English poet, by an 
 immoderate indulgence of his passions by a strong tendency 
 to discontentedness and misanthropy, and by a series of 
 writings which seem to own no other restraint than the 
 limits of his genius, in some measure clouded the enjoy- 
 ments which his talents would otherwise have furnished to 
 himself as well as to his friends. 
 
 The German poet, however, not at all deterred by these 
 aberrations, continued to watch with solicitude, through 
 all its eccentricities, his Lordship's extraordinary charac- 
 ter and conduct. These circumstances became the more 
 deserving of attention, inasmuch as a mind of similar 
 constitution was scarcely to be found in the history of 
 past ages, and as the elements, essential to the computa- 
 tion of such a man's career, were consequently altogether 
 lost. 
 
 In the mean while the intentions and dispositions of the 
 German, were by no means unknown to the Englishman, 
 who took occasion, in several of his poems, to express his 
 acknowledgement of these regards, and seldom omitted an 
 opportunity to convey, through the medium of travellers, 
 his opinions and the assurances of a friendlv reciprocity 
 of feeling. 
 
 Shortly after this, Goethe received, very unexpectedly, 
 through the medium of a friend, the original manuscript of 
 a dedication of the Tragedy of Sardanapalus, expressed in 
 the most flattering terms and accompanied by a friendly 
 
goethe's tribute. 219 
 
 inquiry whether he was willing to permit the dedication 
 to be prefixed to the contemplated tragedy. 
 
 The German poet, in his old age, well acquainted with 
 himself and the merits of his poetical compositions, could 
 only regard, with modesty and gratitude, the import of this 
 dedication, as the external demonstration of a spirit fraught 
 with excellent and exalted feelings, and endowed with 
 powers of inexhaustible creativeness. He consequently 
 felt no way dissatisfied, when, after various delays, Sarda- 
 napalus was published without such a dedication, and 
 deemed himself happy in the possession of the invaluable 
 memorial of a lithographic fac-simile. 
 
 Still the noble Lord hod not abandoned his design to 
 evince, by some signal act of friendship, his affection for his 
 German cotemporary ; as is proved by the flattering evi- 
 dence of this intention contained in the Tragedy cf Werner. 
 
 It may be readily believed that the venerable German, 
 on receiving so unexpected and so grateful a testimonial of 
 good will from so illustrious a poet, made immediate pre r 
 parations to express precisely and emphatically, the senti- 
 ments of high respect and reciprocal affection which he 
 entertained for the unrivalled talents of the noble Lord. 
 But this design appeared to increase in magnitude, in pro- 
 portion as he approached its execution ; for what is it 
 possible to s:>y of a mortal whose merits far excel the 
 utmost stretch of language or imagination. 
 
 However, as Mr. Sterling (a young gentleman whQunited 
 great personal advantages with high moral qualifications) 
 had brought from Genoa to Weimar, in the early part of 
 f§ 13, a short letter of introduction containing a few words 
 
220 APPENDIX. 
 
 in the hand writing of his Lordship himself; and as a 
 report was gaining ground, that this great man was about 
 to devote his splendid powers to glorious and perilous 
 achierements in distant lands, no time was to be lost, and 
 the following lines were composed in great haste. 
 
 From the far South on joyous breezes borne 
 
 Friendship's kind voice came whispering here to me, 
 And bade me to the Eard my footsteps turn — 
 Alas ! my feet were bound, my thoughts alone were free. 
 
 Oh how shall I the words of grief impart 
 To him whose toilsome path 'twas mine to share, 
 
 To him who strives with scarce resisting heart 
 Though not unused to woes, still wearier woes to bear ? 
 
 Go with him joy ! and bid the Minstrel deem 
 Himself most happy, when the gentle Nine 
 Soothe his sad thoughts away ; and may he seem 
 
 Such to his own eyes then, as now he seems to mine. 
 Weimab, 22d June, 18.23. 
 
 These verses were sent to Genoa, but did not reach that 
 place, until after his noble friend's departure. It was 
 generally thought that he had already proceeded very far 
 on his voyage ; but being driven back by stormy weather, 
 he put into Leghorn, where the above lines luckily arriv- 
 ed just in time to enable him at the moment of his depar- 
 ture (on the 24th July, 1 823) to reply with a letter fraught 
 with the expression of pure and generous sentiments ; a 
 letter which shall ever be preserved among the possessor's 
 most valued papers as the proud testimonial of a highly 
 appreciated friendship. 
 
 As such a document could only, at the time, give us the 
 
goethe's tribute. 221 
 
 greatest pleasure, and excite the fondest expectations, so 
 it now possesses, in consequence of the untimely decease 
 of the illustrious Bard, a great but melancholy interest and 
 value, inasmuch as it peculiarly aggravates the general 
 regret of the moral and poetical world for his irreparable 
 loss ; believing, as we did, that our efforts to greet 
 personally a friend so fortunately conciliated, a poet 
 of such transcendent genius, and (as we had reason to be- 
 lieve,) a generous and noble-hearted victor — would at last 
 be attended with success. 
 
 We now feel a powerful conviction, that his country 
 will awake from the noisy, violent and abusive fanaticism 
 which has characterized her conduct towards him, and will 
 thoroughly comprehend that the dross and the dregs of 
 mortality and time through which the purest and the best 
 must work their way to perfection, have only been mo- 
 mentary, transitory and evanescent ; whereas the high 
 renown to which he has now and forever elevated his na- 
 tive country remains unbounded in its glory and incalcula- 
 ble in its consequences. Assuredly, this nation, which 
 may justly claim so many glorious names, will place this 
 extraordinary man, by the side of those immortal spirits 
 whose fame will ever shed around her an imperishable 
 lustre. 
 
 19* 
 
[In the absence of the Author, who is in Switzerland, 
 the London Editor has ventured to add a few Documents, 
 which he trusts will be considered as a desirable Supple- 
 ment. The following Letter, in particular, relative to 
 Lord Byron's great cotemporary Sir Walter Scott, will 
 no doubt be read with universal admiration:] 
 
 To M. H. Beyle, \ 
 
 Rue de Richelieu, Paris. ( 
 
 Genoa, May 29, 1823. 
 Sir, 
 
 At present, that I know to whom I am in- 
 debted for a very flattering mention in the " Rome, Na- 
 ples, and Florence in 1017, by Mons. Stendhal, 1 ' it is 
 fit that I should return my thanks (however undesired or 
 undesirable) to Mons. Beyle, with whom I had the honour 
 of being acquainted 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 itself, to become at length aware (which I have 
 done by mere accident) that 1 am indebted for it to one of 
 whose good opinion 1 was really ambitious. So many 
 changes have taken place since that period in the Milan 
 circle, that I hardly dare recur to it ; — some dead, some 
 banished, and some in the Austrian dungeons. Poor Pel- 
 lico! I trust that, in his iron solitude, his Muse is con- 
 soling him in part — one day to delight us again, when both 
 she and her Poet are restored to freedom. 
 
LETTERS, &C. 223 
 
 Of your works I have only seen " Rome," &c. the Lives 
 of Haydn and Mozart, and the brochure on Racine and 
 Shakespeare. 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 
 productions 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 de- 
 cided) that 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. 
 
324 APPENDIX. 
 
 I beg you to believe me, with a lively recollection of 
 our brief acquaintance, and the hope of one day renew- 
 ing it, 
 
 Your ever obliged 
 
 And obedient humble servant, 
 
 (Signed) Noel Bvron. 
 
SOME ACCOUNT 
 
 OF 
 
 LOUD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 
 
 [The Editor is indebted for the following interest- 
 ing account of Lord Byron's Residence in Greece, 
 &c. to " The Westminster Review," 1 ' a publication 
 which has already justly acquired a high name in the 
 periodical literature of England.] 
 
 The motives which induced Lord Byron to leave Italy 
 and join the Greeks struggling for emancipation from the 
 yoke of their ignorant and cruel oppressors, are of so ob- 
 vious a nature, that it is scarcely worth while to allude to 
 them. It was in Greece that his high poetical faculties 
 had been first most powerfully developed ; and they who 
 know the delight attendant, even in a very inferior degree, 
 upon this intellectual process, will know how to appre- 
 ciate the tender associations which, " soft as the memory 
 of buried love," cling to the scenes and the persons that 
 have first stimulated the dormant genius. Greece, aland 
 of the most venerable and illustrious history, of a peculiarly 
 grand and beautiful scenery, inhabited by various races of 
 the most wild and picturesque manners, was to him the 
 land of excitement, — never-cloying, never-wearying, 
 
226 APPENDIX. 
 
 ever-changing excitement — such must necessarily have 
 been the chosen and favourite spot of a man of powerful 
 and original intellect, of quick and sensible feelings, 
 of a restless and untameable sprit, of warm affections, of 
 various information, — and, above all, of one satiated and 
 disgusted with the formality, hypocrisy, and sameness of 
 daily life. Dwelling upon that country, as it is clear from 
 all Lord Byron's writings he did, with the fondest solici- 
 tude, and being, as he was well known to be, an ardent, 
 though perhaps not a very systematic lover of freedom, we 
 may be certain that he was no unconcerned spectator of its 
 recent revolution : and as soon as it appeared to him that his 
 presence might be useful, he prepared to visit once more 
 the shores of Greece. The imagination of Lord Byron, 
 however, was the subject and servant of his reason — in 
 this instance he did not act, and perhaps never did, under 
 the influence of the delusions of a wild enthusiasm, by 
 which poels, very erroneously as regards great poets, are 
 supposed to be generally led. !t was not until after very 
 serious deliberation of the advantages to be derived from 
 this step, and after acquiring all possible information on 
 the subject, that he determined on it ; and in this, as in 
 every other act regarding this expedition, as we shall find, 
 proved himself a wise and practical philanthropist. Like 
 all men educated as he had been, Lord Byron too often 
 probably obeyed the dictates of impulse, and threw up the 
 reins to passions which he had never been taught the ne- 
 cessity of governing ; but the world are under a grievous 
 mistake if they fancy that Lord Byron embarked for Greece 
 with the ignorant ardour of a schoolboy, or the flighty fana- 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 2$7 
 
 ticish) of a crusader. It appeared to him that there was a 
 good chance of his being useful in a country which he lov- 
 ed — a field of honourable distinction was open to him, and 
 doubtless he expected to derive no mean gratification from 
 witnessing so singular and instructive a spectacle as the 
 emancipation of Greece. — A glorious career apparently 
 presented itself, and he determined to try the event. — 
 When he had made up his mind to leave Italy for Greece, 
 he wrote from Genoa to one of his most intimate friends, 
 and constant companions, then at Rome, saying, 
 
 " T , you must have beard I am going to Greece ; 
 
 why do you not come to me ? I am at last determined — 
 Greece is the only place I ever was contented in — I am 
 serious — and did not write before, as I might have given 
 you a journey for nothing : — they all say I can be of great 
 use in Greece. I do hot know how, nor do they, but at all 
 events let us try !" 
 
 He had, says his friend, who knew him well, become 
 ambitious of a name as distinguished for deeds, as it was 
 already by his writings. It was but a short time before 
 his decease, that he composed one of the most beautiful 
 and touching of his songs on his 36th birth-day, which 
 remarkably proves the birth of this new passion. One 
 stanza runs as follows : 
 
 If thou regret thy youth, why live ? 
 The land of honourable cfeath 
 Is here — Up to the field, and give 
 Away thy breath — 
 Awake not Greece — She is awake, 
 Awake my spirit ! — 
 
228 APPENDIX. 
 
 Lord Byron embarked from Leghorn, and arrived iu 
 Cephalonia «in the early part of August, 1823, attended by 
 a suit of six or seven friends in an English vessel (the Her- 
 cules, Captain Scott,) which he had hired for the express 
 purpose of taking him to Greece. His Lordship had ne- 
 ver seen any of the volcanic mountains, and for this pur- 
 pose the vessel deviated from its regular course in order 
 to pass the island of Stromboli. The vessel lay off this 
 place a whole night in the hopes of witnessing the usual 
 phenomena, when, .for the first time within the memory 
 of man, the volcano emitted no fire — the disappointed poet 
 was obliged to proceed in no good humour with the fabled 
 forge of Vulcan. 
 
 Lord Byron was an eager and constant observer of na- 
 ture, and generally spent the principal part of the night 
 in solitary contemplation of the objects that present them- 
 selves in a sea voyage. " For many a joy could he from 
 night's soft presence glean." He was far above any 
 affectation of poetical ecstacy, but his whole works de- 
 monstrate the sincere delight he took in feeding his 
 imagination with the glories of the material world. Marine 
 imagery is more characteristic of his writings than those 
 of any other poet, and it was to the Mediterranean and its 
 sunny shores that he was indebted for it all. 
 
 As the stately vessel glided slow 
 
 Beneath the shadBw of that ancient mount, 
 
 He watched the billows' melancholy flow, 
 
 And, sunk albeit in thought as he was wont, 
 
 More placid seem'd his eye, and smoothed his pallid front. 
 
 It was a point of the greatest importance to determine 
 on the particular part of Greece to which his Lordship 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 229 
 
 should direct his course — the country was afflicted by 
 intestine divisions, and Lord Byron thought that if he 
 wished to serve it, he must keep aloof from faction. The 
 different parties had their different seats of influence, and 
 to choose a residence, if not in fact, was in appearance to 
 choose a party. In a country where communication is 
 impeded by natural obstacles, and unassisted by civilized 
 regulations, which had scarcely succeeded in expelling a 
 barbarian master, and where the clashing interests of 
 contending fictions often make it advantageous to conceal 
 the truth, the extreme difficulty of procuring accurate 
 information may be easily supposed. It, therefore, be- 
 came necessary to make some stay in a place which might 
 serve as a convenient post of observation, and from which 
 assistance could be rendered where it appeared to be 
 most needed. Cephalonia was fixed upon ; where Lord 
 Byron was extremely well received by the English civil 
 and military authorities, who, generally speaking, seemed 
 well inclined to further the objects of his visit to Greece. 
 Anxious, however, to avoid involving the government of 
 the island in any difficulty respecting himself, or for some 
 other cause, he remained on board the vessel until further 
 intelligence could be procured. 
 
 At the time of Lord Byron's arrival in the Ionian Isl- 
 ands, Greece, though even then an intelligent observer 
 could scarcely entertain a doubt of her ultimate success, 
 was in a most unsettled state. The third campaign had 
 commenced, and had already been marked by several in- 
 stances of distinguished success. Odysseus and Niketas 
 had already effectually harassed and dispersed the tMO 
 
 20 
 
f J30 APIENDIX. 
 
 armies of Yusuff Pasha, and Mustapha Pasha, who had 
 entered Eastern Greece, by the passes of Thermopylae. 
 Corinth, still held by the Turks, was reduced to the 
 greatest extremities — and, indeed, surrendered in the 
 course of the autumn. — The Morea might almost be said 
 to be thoroughly emancipated. Patras, Modon, and 
 Coron, and the Castle of the Morea, did then and still hold 
 out agaiust the combined assaults of famine and the troops 
 of the besiegers. But the ancient Peloponnesus had, at 
 this moment, more to fear from the dissensions of its 
 chiefs, than the efforts of the enemy — they had absolute- 
 ly assumed something like the character of a civil war. 
 The generals had been ordered on different services, 
 when it appeared that the funds destined for the mainte- 
 nance of their armies were already consumed in satisfying 
 old demands for arrears Much confusion arose, and a 
 bloody conflict actually took place in the streets of Tripo- 
 litza, between a troop of Spartiates and another of Arca- 
 dians, the followers of rival leaders. The military chiefs, 
 at the head of whom was the able but avaricious Colocotro- 
 nis, at that time Vice-president of the Executive Govern- 
 ment, were jealous of of the parly which may be termed 
 the civil faction. Over this party presided Mavrocordatos, 
 who, as a Constantinopolitan, was considered as a foreigner, 
 and who, on account of his being a dexterous diplo- 
 matist, a good letter-writer, and a lover of intrigue, 
 was regarded with feelings of jealousy and hatred by the 
 rude and iron-handed generals of the Morea. Mavrocor- 
 datos was Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and was accused 
 of holding correspondence with foreign courts without the 
 
LORD BYRON S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 231 
 
 knowledge of the government, and of aiming at getting him- 
 self elected the President of the Legislative Body. It turn- 
 ed out that the actual President fled from the seat of go- 
 vernment, and that Mavrocordatos was elected into (he 
 office. He, too, was soon obliged to retreat, and had just 
 resigned the office and retired to the island of Hydra, 
 where the civil and commercial party was strong, and 
 where he was held in considerable estimation, when Lord 
 Byron arrived at Cephalonia. 
 
 At this moment, too, Western Greece was in a very 
 critical situation — Mustapha, Pasha of Scutari, was ad- 
 vancing into Arcanania in large force; and was on the point 
 of being resisted by the chivalrous devotion of the brave 
 Marco Botzaris. This chief worthy of the best days of 
 Greece, succeeded on the 9th of August, (O. S.) by his 
 famous night-attack, in cutting off a considerable part of 
 the Turkish army, and fell a sacrifice to his generous ef- 
 forts. In spite of this check, however, the Pasha advanced 
 and proceeded towards Anatolicon and Messolonghi ; the 
 hitter place was invested by Mustapha, and the Albanian 
 chief, Omer-Vriones, by the early part of October. The 
 Turkish fleet had arrived in the waters of Patras 
 about the middle of June, and continued to blockade (at 
 least nominally) Messolonghi, and all the other ports of 
 Western Greece up to the arrival of Lord Byron. 
 
 Previous to Marco Botzaris' arrival at Carpenissi, the 
 little village where he discomfited the Turks, he had heard 
 of Lord Byron's arrival in Greece ; and it is not a little re- 
 markable that the last act he did before proceeding to the 
 attack, was to write a warm invitation for his Lordship to 
 
232 APPENDIX. 
 
 come to Messolonghi, offering to leave the army, and to 
 give him a public reception in a manner suitable to the 
 occasion and serviceable to the cause. 
 
 To all who know the circumstances of that memorable 
 battle, and the character of this heroic man, this letter 
 cannot fail to be interesting. We will translate the part 
 which relates to Lord Byron. It is dated at the " piccolo 
 villagio" of Carpenissi on the ^ of August. 
 
 " I am delighted," he says to a friend in Cephalonia, 
 " with your account of Lord Byron's disposition with re- 
 spect to our country. 1 he advice you have given his Lord- 
 ship to direct his attention to Western Greece, has caused 
 us the greatest satisfaction ; and I feel obliged by your con- 
 tinued exertions in the service of our country. 1 am not 
 a little pleased at his Lordship's peculiar attention to my 
 fellow-countrymen the Suliotes, on whom he has conferred 
 the honour of selecting them for his guards. Avail yourself 
 of this kindness of his Lordship, and persuade him to come 
 as speedily as possible to Messolonghi, where we will not 
 fail to receive him with every mark of honour due to his 
 person ; and as soon as I hear of his arrival, 1 will leave 
 the army here and proceed to join him with a few com- 
 panions. All will soon be right ; the disturbances in Rou- 
 melia are only temporary, and will be easily settled. I 
 trust you are informed of all that has occurred here — that 
 the Pacha of Scutari has advanced to Aspropotamos and 
 Agrapha, and has penetrated to Carpenissi. We are going 
 to meet him ; we have possession of all the strong posts, 
 and trust that the enemy will be properly resisted." 
 
 Bolzaris alludes to almost the first act of Lord Byron in 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. '^jo 
 
 Greece, which was the arming and provisioning of forty 
 Suliotes whom he sent to join in the defence of Mcssolon- 
 g iii. After the battle he transmitted bandages and medi- 
 cines, of which he had brought a large store from Italy, 
 and pecuniary succour to those who had been wounded in 
 the battle. - 
 
 He had already made a very generous offer to the Go- 
 vernment, to which he himself alludes, as well as to the 
 dissensions in Greece, in a letter of which this is an ex- 
 tract : 
 
 " I offered to advance a thousand dollars a month for 
 succour of Messolonghi, and the Suliotes under Botzaris 
 (since killed) ; but the Government have answered me 
 
 through of this island, but they wish to 
 
 confer with me previously, which is in fact saying they 
 wish me to expend my money in some other direction. I 
 will take care that it is for the public cause, otherwise 1 
 will not advance a para. The opposition say they want to 
 cajole me, and the party in power say the others wish to 
 seduce me ; so between the two I have a difficult part to 
 play ; however, I will have nothing to do with the factions, 
 unless to reconcile them, if possible -" 
 
 Though strongly solicited in the most flattering manner 
 by Count Metaxa, the Exarch of Messolonghi, and others 
 to repair to that place, Lord Byron had too reasonable a 
 fear of falling into the hands of a party to take a decided 
 step in his present state of information. — He determined 
 to communicate alone with the established Government : 
 for this purpose he despatched two of the friends who had 
 accompanied him to Greece, Mr. Trelawney and Mr. Ham- 
 20* 
 
231 APPENDIX. 
 
 ilton Browne, in order to deliver a Setter from him to the 
 Government, and to collect intelligence respecting the real 
 state of things. The extreme want of money which was 
 at that time felt in Greece, anJ the knowledge that Lord 
 Byron had hronght large funds with the intention of devo- 
 ting them to the cause, made all parties extremely eager 
 for his presence. He, however, yielded to none of the 
 pressing entreaties that were made to him, but after waiting 
 undecided six weeks in his vessel he took up his residence 
 on shore. Avoiding the capital of Cephalonia he retired 
 to the small village of Metaxata, within five or six miles of 
 Argostoli, where he remained all the time he was on the 
 island. It is difficult for one unacquainted with the Euro- 
 pean reputation of Lord Byron's writings, and with the 
 peculiar wants, and the peculiar character of the Greeks, 
 to conceire a just idea of the sensation which his arrival 
 created in Greece. It is impossible to read the letters 
 which were addressed to him at this time from every quar- 
 ter, and not be struck with the glorious sphere of action 
 which presented itself, and at the same time not proportion- 
 ately lament the stroke which deprived the couutry of his 
 assistance before he had comparatively effected any thing 
 of importance. 
 
 Established at Metaxata as a convenient place of obser- 
 vation, he resumed his usual occupations, while he kept 
 a watchful eye on all the transactions of Greece, and car- 
 ried on a very active intercourse with every part of it. 
 Those who know Lord Byron's character, know that he 
 rarely resisted the impulse of his feelings, and that fortu- 
 nately these impulses were generally of the most benevo- 
 
LORD BYRON 7 S RESIDENCE IN" GREECE. 23a 
 
 lent kind. As usual, the neighbourhood of his residence 
 never ceased to experience some kind and munificent ex- 
 ertions of his unfailing, but by no means indiscriminate or 
 ill applied, generosity. His physician says, that the day 
 seemed sad and gloomy to him when he had not employed 
 himself in some generous exertion. He provided even in 
 Greece for many Italian families in distress, and indulged 
 the people of the country even in paying for the religious 
 ceremonies which they deemed essential to their success. 
 Our informant mentions one circumstance in particular 
 which affords some idea of the way in which he loved to be 
 of service. While at Metaxata, the fall of a large mass of 
 earth had buried some persons alive. He heard of the ac- 
 cident while at dinner, and starting up from the table, ran 
 to the spot accompanied by his physician, who took with 
 him a supply of medicines. The labourers, who were en- 
 gaged in digging out their companions, soon became alarm- 
 ed for themselves, and refused to go on, saying, they be- 
 lieved they had dug out all the bodies which had been 
 covered by the ruins. Lord Byron endeavoured to induce 
 them to continue their exertions, but finding menaces in 
 vain, he seized a spade and began to dig most zealously : 
 at length the peasantry joined him, and they succeeded in 
 saving two more persons from certain death. 
 
 It was to Metaxata, that Dr. Kennedy, a methodistical 
 physician then residing in Cephalonia, used to resort for 
 the purpose of instilling the importance of religions medi- 
 tation and certain scriptural truths into the mind of Lord 
 Byron, who had the reputation of not holding them in suf- 
 ficient reverence. These conferences we are informed 
 
236 APTENDIX. 
 
 by nn auditor of them, if not of the most instructive, were 
 yet of a very amusing kind. The Doctor, though he is 
 said to he an able man in this his lay profession, seldom 
 brought his arguments to hear upon his Lordship, who hav- 
 ing the advantage in quickness of intellect, and often in the 
 clearness of his logic, would frequently put Dr. Kennedy's 
 ideas in disorder by a single vigorous onset. Lord Byron 
 showed a most remarkable acquaintance with the Bible, 
 and by his quotations, aptly applied to the question in dis- 
 pute, very often brought his antagonist to a stand, when, 
 turning down the page, for he generally brought a little li- 
 brary of theology to the contest, he would promise to re- 
 turn to the next meeting with a full and satisfactory answer 
 to the argument. The disputes chiefly turned upon the 
 questions which are agitated among the different sects of 
 Christians in England ; and the audience do not seem to 
 think, that the Doctor had the advantage ; he, however, 
 flattered himself that he had made the desired impression, 
 for we are informed that he afterwards made particular in- 
 quiries of his Lordship's suite into any change that might 
 have taken place in his antagonist's manner of thinking and 
 acting after he had left Cephalonia. It has been said, ma- 
 liciously, we think, that Lord Byron merely entered into 
 these discussions, in order to master the cant of this reli- 
 gious sect, as it was his intention in some future Canto to 
 make Don Juan a Methodist. This is a very gratuitous 
 supposition. Lord Byron had, when not irritated, the most 
 courteous and affable manners ; he carried himself towards 
 all who had access to him with the most scrupulous dclica- 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 237 
 
 cv, and it was quite sufficient for Dr. Kennedy to desire 
 the.se interviews, to procure them. 
 
 Although some ludicrous scenes occurred, the admoni- 
 tory party was treated with the utmost kindness, and full 
 credit given to him for the purity of his intentions. 
 
 The two friends whom Lord Byron had despatched to 
 the Government proceeded to the Morea, and crossed the 
 country to Tripolitza, from which place it appeared that 
 the two assemblies had removed to Salamis. At Tripo- 
 litza, however, they had an opportunity of seeing Coloeo- 
 tronis, some of the other distinguished chiefs, as well as the 
 confidential officers of Mavrocordatos' suite, whom he left 
 behind him in his precipitate retreat from the chair of the 
 legislative assembly. Here, consequently, they were able 
 to collect a considerable quantity of information, and pro- 
 cure answers to the questions with which Lord Byron had 
 charged them ; after doing which, they proceeded onwards 
 to the place where the assembly was collecting. The que- 
 ries are of a very searching and judicious nature, and like 
 the other extracts which we shall have to make from his 
 correspondence, prove the aptitude of his intellect and the 
 benevolence of his designs ; the answers to them, collect- 
 ed with considerable care and discrimination, were com- 
 plete enough to afford a very accurate idea of the state, 
 resources, and intentions of the country. From the letters 
 also he would be able to form a good idea of the contend- 
 ing factions, and the men who headed them : Colocotronis 
 was found to be in great power ; his palace was filled with 
 armed men, like the castle of some ancient feudal chief, 
 and a good idea of his character may be formed from the 
 
233 APPENDIX. 
 
 language he held. He declared, that he had told Mavro- 
 cordatos, that unless he desisted from his intrigues, he 
 would put him on an ass and whip him out of the Morea, 
 and that he had only been withheld from doing it by the 
 representations of his friends, who had said that it would 
 injure the cause. He declared his readiness to submit to a 
 democratic government if regularly constituted ; but swore 
 that he and the other chiefs and their followers would shed 
 the last drop of their blood, rather than submit to the in- 
 trigues of a foreigner. He himself at that time intended to 
 proceed to the Congress at Salamis to settle the affairs of the 
 country, and he invited Lord Byron and all the other Bri- 
 tish Phillhellenes to communicate with the general Go- 
 vernment, and to send their succours to them alone. His 
 sentiments were shared by the other chiefs, and the name 
 of Mavrecordatos was never mentioned with respect in the 
 Peloponnesus, where it seemed he had lost all influence. 
 His influence reigned in another quarter, and for that rea- 
 son his suite were very solicitous that Lord Byron's friends 
 should proceed to Hydra, instead of to Salamis, and ex- 
 pressed a hope that Lord Byron himself would act in the 
 difference between the Prince and Colocotronis, not as a 
 simple mediator, but in a decisive manner, " avec une 
 main de fer,' n as they were convinced that the former cha- 
 racter would be useless. 
 
 The Congress met at Salamis to deliberate on the most 
 important questions — the form of the government, and the 
 measures of the future campaign. The legislative assem- 
 bly consisted of fifty, and the executive of five. Every 
 thing is described as wearing the appearance of reality — 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 239 
 
 the chiefs and people acknowledging, and, as far as stran- 
 gers could judge, obeying the Government and its decrees. 
 They received the agents of Lord Byron in the most 
 friendly manner, and opened every thing to them without 
 reserve — and enabled to convey to him a very instructive 
 account of the real state of affairs. Ulysses, (Odysseus,) 
 a brave and dexterous mountain-chief of great power and 
 consummate military skill at that time, and still in com- 
 mand of Athens, was about to lead 5000 Albanians into 
 Negropont, whither Mr. Trelawney agreed to accompany 
 him as his aide-de-camp, being promised any number of 
 men he chose under his command, and under the expecta- 
 tion of passing the winter there very agreeably between 
 Turk and wood-cock shooting. Colocotronis and his son, 
 a fine spirited young man, with all their forces, were to 
 undertake the siege of Patras. Tombasi, the admiral of 
 Hydra, was in command at Candia, where active warfare 
 was expected. Staicos was to remain at Corinth, which 
 surrendered in October, very soon after the Congress. 
 Marco Botzari's brother with his Suliotes, and Mavrocor- 
 datos, were to take charge of Messolonghi, which at that 
 time (October, 1823,) was in a very critical state, being 
 blockaded both by land and sea. 
 
 " There have been," says Mr. Trelawney, " thirty 
 battles fought and won by the late Marco Botzari and his 
 gallant tribe of Suliotes, who are shut up in Messolonghi. 
 If it fall, Athens will be in danger, and thousands of throats 
 cut. A few thousand dollars would provide ships to re- 
 lieve it — a portion of this sum is raised" — and Mr. Tre- 
 
240 APPENDIX. 
 
 lawney adds, in a spirit worthy of him and his deceased 
 friend, " / would coin my heart to save this key of Greece /" 
 
 A report like this was sufficient to show the point where 
 succour was most needed ; and Lord Byron's determina- 
 tion to relieve Messolonghi was still more decidedly con- 
 firmed by a letter which he received from Mavrocordatos 
 from Hydra (Oct. 21,) in answer to one which his Lord- 
 ship had addressed to him on the subject of the dissensions 
 which reigned in the Government, and the Prince's deser- 
 tion of his post. In this very able and creditable letter 
 Mavrocordatos attempts to set Lord Byron right with 
 respect to the dessensions in the Morea, and points out 
 with great justice, that though the Government may be 
 divided, the nation is not ; and that whatever at any time 
 may have been the difference of opinion, all parties have 
 joined hand and heart, and fought to the last extremity 
 against the common enemy. He attributes such dissensions 
 as do exist to the want of money ; and predicts their im- 
 mediate disappearance when means are found to pay the 
 fleets and armies. He goes on to speak of Lord Byron's 
 intentions : — 
 
 " I should do myself an injustice, my Lord, if I were 
 not to speak to you with the frankness which }'ou expect 
 from me ; I cannot agree with you when you say your best 
 plan is to rest in observation. 1 will never advise you to 
 run the risk of appearing to embrace, the interests of a 
 party ; but all the world knows, and no one better than 
 myself, that you are come here with the firm intention of 
 succouring Greece — this Greece is now before you, under 
 your eyes ; you may see at the first glance which is the 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 241 
 
 part in danger, — that Messolonghi is blockaded by land 
 and by sea, that it is destitute of provisions, and on the point 
 of falling into the hands of the Turks ; who afterwards 1 
 will have no difficulty in penetrating into the Morea, and 
 seizing upon its most fertile provinces, from whence it will 
 be hard, nay, impossible to dislodge them. To carry 
 succour to this place, to save it, is to save Greece itself, 
 Is this declaring for a party ? Is it not rather to do that 
 which the feelings of honour and humanity dictate to us 
 all ? Influenced by these and other reasons, I never know 
 when to leave off inviting you to come to the succour of 
 Messolonghi." 
 
 At this time Mavrocordatos was endeavouring to collect 
 a fleet for the relief of Messolonghi. Lord Byron's in- 
 tentions, under the circumstances to which this letter 
 alludes, may be seen from the following extract of a letter 
 from him, dated the 29th Oct. 1823. 
 
 " Corinth is taken — and a Turkish squadron is said to 
 be beaten in the Archipelago — the public progress of the 
 Greeks is considerable — but their internal dissentions still 
 continue. On arriving at the seat of Government I shall 
 endeavour to mitigate or extinguish them — though neither 
 is an easy task. I have remained here partly in expec- 
 tation of the squadron in relief of Messolonghi, partly of 
 Mr. Parry's' detachment, and partly to receive from Malta 
 or Zante the sum of four hundred thousand piastres, which, 
 at the desire of the Greek Government, I have advanced 
 for the payment of the expected squadron. The Bills 
 are negotiating, and will be cashed in a short time, as they 
 cftuld have been immediately in any other mart, but the 
 21 
 
242 APPENDIX. 
 
 miserable Ionian merchants have little money and no great 
 credit, and are besides politically shy on this occasion, 
 
 for although I had the letters of , one of the 
 
 strongest houses of the Mediterranean, also of , 
 
 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." He con- 
 tinues — 
 
 " It is my intention to proceed by sea, to Nauplia di 
 Romania, as soon as I have managed this business — I mean 
 the advance of the 400,000 piastres for the fleet. My 
 time _here has not been entirely lost ; indeed, you will 
 perceive by some former documents that any advantage 
 from my then proceeding to the Morea was doubtful. We 
 have at last named the deputies, and I have written a strong 
 remonstrance on their divisions to Mavrocordatos, which 
 I understand was forwarded to the legislative body by the 
 Prince." 
 
 He did not, however, depart for the Government at 
 the time he had expected, and conceived it necessary to 
 address the Government again on the subject of their dis- 
 sensions. The following extract is a translation of the 
 concluding part of this very admirable letter : 
 
 " The affair of the Loan, — the expectation, so long and 
 vainly indulged, of the arrival of the Greek fleet, and the 
 dangers to which Messolonghi is still exposed, have detain- 
 ed 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 in the present state 
 of things. We have heard some rumours of new dissen- 
 
LORD BVRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 243 
 
 sions — nay, of the existence of a civil war. With all my 
 heart I desire that these reports may be false or exagge- 
 rated, for I can imagine no calamity more serious than this ; 
 and 1 must frankly confess, that unless union and order 
 are confirmed, all hopes of a loan will be vain, and all the 
 assistance which the Greeks could expect from abroad — 
 an assistance which might be 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 inclined to favour her in consenting 
 to the establishment of an independent power, will be 
 persuaded that the Greeks are unable to govern them- 
 selves, and will perhaps themselves undertake to arrange 
 your disorders in such a way as to blast the brighest hopes 
 you indulge, and which are indulged by your friends. 
 
 " And allow me to add, once for all, I desire the well- 
 being of Greece and nothing else ; I will do all I can to 
 secure it ; but I cannot consent — I never will consent, to 
 the English public, or English individuals, being deceived 
 as to the real state of Greek affairs. The rest, gentle- 
 men, depends on you — you have fought gloriously — act 
 honourably towards your fellow-citizens and towards the 
 world ; and then it will be no more said, as has been re- 
 peated for 2,000 years with the Roman historian, that 
 Philopoemen was the last of the Grecians. Let not ca- 
 lumny itself (and it is difficult to guard against it in so diffi- 
 cult a struggle) compare the Turkish Pasha with the patri- 
 ot Greek in peace, after you have exterminated him in war, 
 "30th JVot. 1823. . N. B." 
 
 In another letter, written a few days after this, we find 
 a circumstance mentioned which probably turned his views 
 
~44 APfEN'DIX. 
 
 from the Morea to Western Greece. It must be remem- 
 bered that the Suliotes were his old favourites, and that 
 their late bravery had raised them still higher in his esti- 
 mation. 
 
 "The Suliotes (now in Acamania) are very anxious 
 that I should take them under my direction, and go over 
 and put things to rights in the Morea, which without a 
 force seems impracticable ; and really though very re- 
 luctant, as my letters will have shown you, to take such a 
 measure, there seems hardly any milder remedy. How- 
 ever, I will not do any thing rashly, and have only con- 
 tinued here so long in the hope of seeing things reconciled, 
 and have done all in my power there-for. Had I gone 
 sooner, they would have forced me into one party or the 
 other, and 1 doubt as much now. But we will do our 
 best. Dec. 7, 1823." 
 
 His Lordship seems to have been too sensitive on this 
 point, and, as we think, attached too great an importance 
 io these dissensions. We may quote against him a sen- 
 tence from a letter of one of his intimate friends. 
 
 " I am convinced if they (the Greeks) succeed in getting 
 the loan, the liberty of Greece will be definitively founded 
 on a firm basis. True, there is much difference of opinion 
 existing amongst the people in authority here, as well as 
 in every other country, and some little squabbling for 
 place and power, but they all unite against the common 
 enemy. Love of liberty and execration of their barbarous 
 oppressors actuate them. What they want, to ensure 
 success and consolidate the Government is, money — mo- 
 ney — money." 
 
 Lord Byron in his correspondence, however, continues 
 
LOIID BYRON'S RESIDENCE IX GREECE. 245 
 
 to allude to these unfortunate differences, and is pleasant 
 upon the gasconading which distinguishes the Greek of 
 this day as it did the Greek of the age of Cleon. 
 
 " C ■ will tell you the recent special interposition of 
 
 the Gods in behalf of the Greeks, who seem to have no 
 enemies in heaven or earth to be dreaded but their own 
 tendency to discord among themselves. But these too, it. 
 is to be hoped, will be mitigated, and then we can take the 
 field on the offensive, 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 fuss about them than Alexander in his cups, 
 or Buonaparte in a bulletin. Our friends have done some- 
 thing in the way of the Spartans, but they have not in- 
 herited their style. Dec. 10, 1823." 
 
 Soon after the date of this letter the long desired squad- 
 ron arrived in the waters of Messolonghi ; and in a letter 
 written three days after the date of the last, (Dec, 13th, ^ 
 his Lordship says, 
 
 " 1 momentarily expect advices from Prince Mavrocor- 
 datos, who is on board, and has (I understand) despatches 
 from the legislative to me ; in consequence of which, after 
 paying the squadron, I shall probable join him at sea or on 
 shore." 
 
 In the same light and agreeable manner in which he 
 touches upon every subject, he proceeds to speak of the 
 committee supplies, which had been sent out to him as its 
 agent ; an office which he hnd t/ken upon himself with 
 great readiness, and executed with considerable judgment 
 and discrimin tion. 
 
 " The mathematical, medical, and musical preparations 
 21* 
 
 \ 
 
246 APPENDIX. 
 
 of the Committee have arrived 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 at the moment — excuse 
 the same ;) they are pronounced excellent of their kind, 
 but till we have an engineer, and a trumpeter (we have 
 chiiurgeons already,) mere ' pearls to swine,' as the 
 Greeks are ignorant of mathematics, and have a bad ear 
 for our music ; the maps, &.c. 1 will put into use for them, 
 and t..ke care that all (with proper caution) are turned to 
 the intended uses of the Committee." 
 
 He speaks again of the supplies, however, with more 
 pleasantry than foresight ; for the very articles which he 
 seems to have thought thrown away, proved of remarkable 
 service, more particularly the trumpets. The Turks are 
 so apprehensive of the skill and well directed valour of the 
 Franks, that even the supposed presence of a body of such 
 troops, is sufficient to inspire a panic. The Greeks aware 
 of this, have frequently put their enemy in disorder by 
 sounding these same despised bugles. The Greeks know 
 this vv^ak side of the Turks so well, that they sometimes 
 consider a collection of old European hats a piece of am- 
 munition more effectual than much heavier artillery. 
 The sight of a hat, if well-cocked, in the occidental fashion, 
 espied among the Greek forces, is often as terrific as the 
 sound of a trumpet. 
 
 "The supplies of the committee are very useful, and all 
 excellent in their kind, but occasion-illy hardly practical 
 enough in the present state of Greece ; for instance, the 
 mathematical instruments are thrown away ; none of the 
 • reeks know a problem from a poker — we must conquer 
 
LORD BYRON's RESIDENCE M GREECE. 247 
 
 f 
 
 first, and plan afterwards. The use of the trumpets, too, 
 may be doubted, unless Constantinople were Jericho, for 
 the Hellenists have no ears for bugles, and you must send 
 somebody to listen to them. He goes on, " We will do 
 bur 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 honour- 
 ably clung to — if I quit it, it will be by the Greeks' con- 
 duct — and not the Holy Allies, or the holier Mussulmans." 
 
 This determination never to desert the Greeks, as long 
 as he could be of any service to them, is repeatedly ex- 
 pressed in his correspondence. He concludes a letter to 
 his banker, in Cephalonia, on business, with this sentence, 
 f* I hope things here will go well, some time or other — I 
 will stick by the cause as long as a cause exists, first or 
 second." 
 
 Lord Byron had the more merit in the zeal and energy 
 with which he espoused the interests of the Hellenic 
 cause, for he had not suffered himself to be disgusted by 
 the real state of things, when stripped of their romance by 
 actual experience, and he was too wise to be led away by 
 a blind enthusiasm. He seems to have been actuated, 
 in the main, for we must not expect perfection either in 
 Lord Byron or the Greeks, by a steady desire to benefit a 
 people who deserved the assistance and sympathy of every 
 lover of freedom and the improvement of maukind. He 
 speaks to this point himself; and here we may remark, as 
 in almost every line he ever wrote, the total absence of 
 tant, — which unfortunately colours the writings and con- 
 versations of almost every man who imagines himself to 
 Hve in the eye of the world. 
 
248 APPENDIX. 
 
 " I am happy to say that 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 publicly 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 country before) 
 with some high-flown notions of the 6th form at Harrow 
 
 and Eton, &c. ; but Col. and I set him to rights 
 
 on those points, which was absolutely necessary to pre- 
 vent disgust, or perhaps return — but now we can set our 
 shoulders soberly to the wheel, without quarrelling with 
 the mud which may clog it occasionally. 1 can assure you 
 
 that Col. 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 life, there and else- 
 where, vve must be permitted to view it in its truth — with 
 its defects as well as beauties, more especially as success 
 will remove the former — gradua'ly. — (Dec. 26, 1823.") 
 
 Lord Byron had by this time yielded to the solicitations 
 of Mavrocordatos, who repeatedly urged him in the most 
 pressing manner to cross over to Messolonghi, and who 
 offered to send, and did send, ship after ship to Cephalonia, 
 to bring him over. He seems to have been chiefly delayed 
 by the difficulty in procuring money for his Italian bills. 
 His anxiety to procure supplies is a constant subject of 
 his correspondence. 
 
 " 1 have written," he says, in a letter dated 13th Oct. 
 1823, " to our friend Douglas Kinniird, on my own mat- 
 ters, desiring him to send me out all the farther credits he 
 can command (and I have a year's income and the sale of 
 a manor besides, he teils me, before me,) iol- till the 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 24$ 
 
 Greeks get their loan, it is probable 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 
 1 must in the interim draw on Messrs. R most for- 
 midably — to say the truth, I do not grudge it, now the fel- 
 lows have begun to fight again : and still more welcome 
 shall they be, if they will go on — but they have bad, of 
 are to have four thousand pounds (besides some private 
 extraordinaries for widows, orphans, refugees, and rascals 
 of all descriptions) of mine at one ' swoop,' and it is to be 
 expected the next will be at least as much more, and how 
 oon 1 refuse if they will fight ? and especially if I should 
 happen 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 purchase money of Rochdale manor, and 
 mine income for the year A. D. 1824, to answer and anti- 
 cipate any orders, or drafts of mine, ibr the good cause, in 
 good and lawful money of Great Britain, &c. &c. &c. May 
 you live a thousand years ! which is 999 longer than the 
 Spanish Cortes' constitution." 
 
 When the supplies were procured, and his other prepa- 
 rations made for departure, two Ionian vessels were hired, 
 and embarking his horses and effects, his Lordship sailed 
 from Argostoli on the 29th of December. Anchoring at 
 Zante the same evening, the whole of the following day 
 was occupied in making his pecuniary arrangements with 
 
 Mr. , and after receiving a quantity of specie oa 
 
 board, he proceeded tewards Messolonghi. Two a«cidents 
 
250 APPENDIX. 
 
 occurred on this short passage, which might have been 
 attended with very serious consequences. Count Gamba, 
 an intimate friend who had accompanied his Lordship from 
 Leghorn, had been charged with the vessel in which the 
 horses and part of the money were embarked ; when off 
 Chiarenza, a point which lies between Zante and the place 
 ©f their destination, they were surprised at daylight on find- 
 ing themselves under the bows of a Turkish frigate. Ow- 
 ing, however, to the activity displayed onboard Lord By- 
 ron's vessel, and her superior sailing, she escaped, while 
 the second was fired at, brought to, and carried into Patras. 
 Gamba and his companions, being taken before Yusuff Pa- 
 sha, fully expected to share the fate of the unfortunate men 
 whom that sanguinary chief sacrificed last year at Prevesa, 
 though also taken under the Ionian flag ; and their fears 
 would most probably have been realized, had it not been 
 for the presence of mind displayed by the Count. Aware 
 that nothing but stratagem and effrontery could save him, 
 he no sooner saw himself in the Pasha's power, than as- 
 suming an air of hauteur and indifference, he accused the 
 captain of the frigate of a scandalous breach of neutrality, 
 in firing at and detaining a vessel under English colours, 
 and concluded by informing Yusuff, that he might expect 
 the vengeance of the British Government in thus inter- 
 rupting a nobleman who was merely on his travels, and 
 bound to Calamos !* Whether the Turkish chief believed 
 
 * The treatment of Gamba and the crew, while on board the Turk- 
 ish ship of war, was scarcely less courteous than that which they ex- 
 perienced on landing. This arose from a very singular coincidence. 
 ©n their first mounting the frigate's deck, the captain gave orders to 
 
LORD BVRON 5 S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 251 
 
 Gamba's story, or being aware of the real state of the case, 
 did not wish to proceed to extremities, he not only con- 
 sented to the vessel's release, but treated the whole party 
 with the utmost attention, and even urged them to take a 
 day's shooting in the neighbourhood. Count Gamba 
 gladly availed himself of these unexpected hospitalities, 
 and sailing the next day, passed over to Messolonghi, 
 where, to his great surprise, Lord Byron had not yet ar- 
 rived. 
 
 Owing to the wind's becoming contrary, Lord Byron's 
 vessel took shelter at the Scrofes, a cluster of rocks with- 
 in a few miles of Messolonghi ; but as this place afforded 
 no means of defence in the event of an attack, it was 
 thought advisable to remove to Dagromestre, where every 
 preparation in their power was made, should any of the 
 enemy's ships pursue them. 
 
 Having remained three days at Dagromestre, the wind 
 came round and allowed his Lordship once more to set 
 sail. On hearing what had happened, Prince Maviacor- 
 datos despatched a gun-boat to accouipanj' his Lordship's 
 vessel; while a portion of the Greek squadron, stationed 
 at Messolonghi, were *lso ordered to cruise in the offing, 
 and prevent the Turkish vessels from approaching the 
 coast. One of these coming up, the captain sent a boat 
 
 put thein all in irons, and might have proceeded to further extremi- 
 ties, when the master of the vessel went up <o him, and asked " w he- 
 ther he did not recollect Spiro, who had saved his life in the Black 
 Sea fifteen years betore ?" Upon which the Turk, looking steotastly 
 at him for a few moments, exclaimed — "What! can it be Sp'ro ?" 
 and springing forward embraced his former deliverer with tne great- 
 est transport. This unlooked-for reception was followed by a pro- 
 mise that eveiy effort would be made to obtain his speedy liberation 
 on their arrival at Patras. 
 
252 ArPENDix. 
 
 en board, inviting his Lordship to make the remainder 
 of his voyage on board of his ship ; this offer was, howe- 
 ver, declined. As if the whole voyage was destined to be 
 ominous of some future calamity, the vessel had not pro- 
 ceeded many miles before she grounded on a shoal near 
 the Scrofes, and would probably have remained there had 
 it not been for the activity of his Lordship's attendants, 
 who jumped into the water and assisted to push the vessel 
 «ff, whilst their master urged the captain and crew to exert 
 themselves, instead of invoking the saints, as is customa- 
 ry with Greek sailors on such occasions.* As the wind 
 continued to blow directly against their getting to Messo- 
 longhi, the vessel was again anchored between two of the 
 numerous islets which line this part of the coast. Several 
 gun-boats having arrived early the following morning, de- 
 spatched from Messolongni to accompany his Lordship, 
 and assist him if required, the vessel accordingly sailed, 
 but was forced to anchor in the evening, nor did she reach 
 the town before the following day. 
 
 • His Lordship is described by his physician as conducting himself 
 with admirable coolness. We will give the anecdote in bis own 
 words : Ma nel di luj passaggio marittimo una fregata Turca insegui 
 la di lui nave, obliganriola di ricoverarsi dentro le Scrofes, dove per 
 l'impeto dpi venti lu guttata sopra i scogli : tutti i marinari e' I'equip- 
 Bggio sabarono a terra per salvare la loro vita ; Milord solo rol di lui 
 Medico Dottr. Bruno rimasero sulla nave che ognuno vedeva cobire 
 a fondo: ma dopo qualche tempo non essendosi visto che cio avven- 
 iva, le persone luggite a terra respin^ero la nave nell' acque ; ma il 
 tempestoso mare la ribasto una sccondo volta contro i scogli, ed ailora 
 si a\eva per certo che la nave coll' illustre personaggio, una gran 
 quantity di denari, e molti pYeziosi effetti per i Greci anderebb'ro a 
 londo : Tuttavia Lord Bvinn nor si iiertmlto per nulla, anzi disse at 
 di lui medico che voleva getlarsi al ruioto onde raggiongere la spiag- 
 gia ; *' non abbandonate la nave fniche abbiamo forze per direggerla ; 
 a llorchc saremo coperti dall' acque, ailora getiatevi pure che io vi 
 salvo/' 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 265 
 
 We can, however, give Lord Byron's account of his 
 situation on the Scrofes, which we find in a hasty letter 
 written on board the Cephaloniote vessel in which he sail- 
 ed from Argostoli. 
 
 "We are just arrived here (the letter is dated 31st Dec. 
 1823,) that is, part of my people and I, with some things, 
 &c, and which it may be as well not to specify in a letter 
 (which has a risk of being intercepted) : But Gamba, and 
 my horses, negro, steward, and the press and all the com- 
 mittee things — also some eight thousand dollars of mine 
 (but never mind, we have more left — do you under* 
 stand?)* are taken by the Turkish frigate — 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 hove away) as well as this morning. 
 Here we are with snow and blowing 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 sus- 
 pect — not more than four fighting people on board,) is an- 
 other question — especially if we remain long here — since 
 we are blockaded out of Messolonghi by the direct entrance. 
 You had better send my friend George Drake, and a body 
 of Suliotes to escort us by land or by the canals, with all 
 convenient speed. Gamba and all on board are taken in- 
 to Patras, I suppose — and we must have 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 Moslems were out 
 again. Make my respects to Mavrocordatos, and say that I 
 am here at his disposal. I am uneasy at being here, not 
 *o much on my own account, as on that of the Greek boy 
 with me — for you know what his fate would be — and I 
 
 * He wished to convey that he had these 8000 dollars with him in his present 
 awls ward situation. 
 
 22 
 
266 APPENDIX. 
 
 would sooner cut him in pieces and myself, than have him 
 taken out by those barbarians." 
 
 Lord Byron was received at Messolonghi with the most 
 enthusiastic demonstrations of joy: no mark of honor or 
 welcome which the Greeks could devise was omitted. The 
 ships oft* the fortress fired a salute as he passed. Prince 
 Mavrocordatos and all the authorities, with all the troops 
 and the population collected together, met him on his land- 
 ing, and accompanied him to the house which had been 
 prepared for him, amidst the shouts of the multitude and 
 the discharge of cannon. Nothing could exceed the ea- 
 gerness with which he had been expected, except the satis- 
 faction which was displayed on his arrival. 
 
 One of the first objects to which Lord Byron naturally 
 turned his attention was to mitigate the ferocity with which 
 the war had been carried on. This ferocity, not only ex- 
 cusable in the first instance, but absolutely necessary and 
 unavoidable, had now in a great measure effected its ob- 
 ject. The Greeks were by this time in a condition to be 
 merciful, and Lord Byron in the most judicious manner 
 set about producing an improvement in the system of war- 
 fare on both sides. 
 
 The very first day of his Lordship's arrival was signal- 
 ized by his rescuing a Turk, who had fallen into the hands 
 of some Greek sailors. The individual thus saved, hav- 
 ing been clothed by his orders, was kept in the house until 
 an opportunity occurred of sending him to Patras.* 
 
 ♦Inseguondo ungiorno uu corsaro Greco, una nave carica <li Turchi, uno di 
 ossi nell' affrettarsi ad accomodare una vela per fuggire pill presto, cadde in 
 mare, e gli riusci di portarsi a terra auotando, ma due soldati Greci, lo inseguiv- 
 ano per ammazzarlo; la fortuna voile clie ill Turco fuggisse appunto nella cas;i 
 d'abitaziono di Milord, il quale lo accolse subito, e lonascose: giunti i due sol- 
 dati Greci ehiedono furibondi coll' arrai alia mano e colle minaccie la restitu- 
 zione della loro preda che vo'evano sacrificare; Milord gli offre qual somma vol- 
 =ssero per riscattare il Turco ; ma i due soldati insistono, colle arnii in atto di 
 lerire, a voter il prigioniero per ammazzarlo ; allora Milord ri pose, giacchft ft'eosi, 
 me piuttost'o ammazzerete Che quel povero Tnfelice pe risca ! Iiartiari cbe siele, ft 
 
LOUD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 267 
 
 His lordship had not been long at Messolonghi, before 
 an opportunity presented itself for showing his sense oi 
 Yusuff Pasha's moderation in releasing Count Gamba. 
 Hearing that there were four Turkish prisoners in the 
 town, he requested that Prince Mavrocordatos would place 
 them in his hands; this being immediately granted, they 
 were sent to the castle of the Morea, near Patras, with the 
 following letter addressed to the Turkish chief: 
 
 " Highness ! — A vessel in which a friend and some do- 
 mestics 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 friends 
 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 Gov- 
 ernor 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 ear- 
 ly a return as I could for your courtesy on the late occa- 
 sion. These prisoners are liberated without any condi- 
 tions ; but, should the circumstance find a place in your 
 recollection, 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 war are suffi- 
 
 questo l'esempio che (tale rii essere Christiani come vol di»e ? Ola fuggite rlalla 
 tnia presenza, se non voleteche vi faccia pagar caio il fio del'a vostra barbaric — 
 Lo tenne seco nascoxto per ahjuanti giorni : lo fece curare <lal suo medico d'una 
 malattia che la paura trli aveva cagkmato, e poi caricatolo di doni, lo mandd a 
 Patrasso in seno della sua famiglia. Aveva Milord pure raccolto in Messolrmghi 
 una donna Turca colla di lei (iglia, che dall' apice de la fortuna si trovavano 
 nella pit} grande miseria. fece <tei ricchissirai doni alia figlia ancor bambina, ed 
 aveva divisato di mandarla educare in Italia, il che si efTettuava anche dopo la di 
 lui inorte ; ma la madre e figlia Turche giunte a Zante vollevano per forza andart. 
 a I'revesa, dicendo, che siccome avevnno perdutn in Milord il loro padre, volevano 
 ritirarsi net lor nativo parse, epiangerne cold per sempre laperdita, — Dr. Bruno. 
 
268 APPENDIX. 
 
 ciently great in themselves, without being aggravated by 
 wanton cruelties on either side. 
 
 "NOEL BYRON." 
 
 " Mcssolonghi, 23d January, 1824." 
 
 The above act was followed by another not less entitled 
 to praise, while it proves how anxious his lordship felt to 
 give a new turn to the system of warfare hitherto pursued. 
 A Greek cruizer having captured a Turkish boat, in which 
 there were a number of passengers, chiefly women and chil- 
 dren, they were also placed in the hands of Lord Byron, at 
 his particular request : upon which a vessel was immediately 
 hired, and the whole of them, to the number of twenty- 
 lour, sent to Prevesa, provided with every requisite for 
 iheir comfort during the passage. The letter which ac- 
 companied these poor people was answered by the English 
 Consul Mr. Meyer, who thanked his Lordship in the name 
 of Bekar Aga, the Turkish Governor of that place, and con- 
 cluded by an assurance that he would take care equal at- 
 tention should be in future shown to the Greeks who be- 
 came prisoners. 
 
 Another grand object with Lord Byron, and one which 
 he never ceased to forward with the most anxious solici- 
 tude, was to reconcile the quarrels of the native Chiefs, 
 to make them friendly and confiding to one another, ;:nd 
 submissive to the orders of the Government. He had 
 neither time nor much opportunity before his decease to 
 carry this point to any great extent ; much good was how- 
 ever done, and if we may judge from a few observations 
 we find respecting the treatment of Sisseni, a fractious 
 chief of Gastouni, we may be certain that it was done with 
 a wise and healing hand. 
 
 " If Sisseni is sincere, he will be treated with, and iccll 
 treated : if he is not, the sin and the shame may lie at his 
 own door. One great object is, to heal these internal dis- 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 269 
 
 sentions for the future, without exacting a too rigorous ac- 
 count of the past. The Prince Mavrocordatos is of the 
 same opinion,, and whoever is disposed to act fairly will 
 be fairly dealt with. I have heard a good deal of Sisseni, 
 but not a deal of good. However, I never judge by 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 answer him, that any overtures for the advantage 
 of Greece and its internal pacification will be readily and 
 sincerely met here. I hardly think he would have ventur- 
 ed a deceitful proposition to me through you, because he 
 must be sure that in such case it would be eventually ex- 
 posed. At any rate, the healing of these dissentions is so 
 important a point, that something must be risked to ob- 
 tain it." 
 
 Sisseni is the Capitano of the rich and fertile plain of 
 Gastouni, who at first paid but a very uncertain obedience 
 to the Government, but now observing its increase in pow- 
 er and apparent security, had begun to make overtures for 
 a regular submission to its decrees. The manners of all 
 these oligarchs of the Morea, like those of Sisseni, are 
 Turkish : they live surrounded by a mixture of splendour 
 and misery, with a sort of court like those of other petty 
 monarchs, filled with soldiers, harlots, and buffoons. 
 
 Mavrocordatos, in his invitations to Lord Byron, had 
 dwelt on the importance of his Lordship's presence at Mes- 
 solonghi, and had no doubt fired his imagination by the 
 anticipations of success, and the scenes of brilliant achieve- 
 ment which he laid before him. " Soyez persuade, Milord," 
 he says, among much of the same kind, " qu'il ne dependra 
 que de vous, d'assurer le sort de la Grece. Lepante et Patras, 
 cernes par terre et par mer, ne tarderont pas de capituler ; 
 et maitres de ces deux places, nous pouvons former de pro- 
 jets de 1'occnpation de Theasalie !" Accordingly Lord 
 22* 
 
?70 APPENDIX. 
 
 Byron landed at Messolonghi, animated with military ar* 
 dour, and became, as one of the letters from the place dated 
 soon after his landing expresses it, soldier-mad. After pay- 
 ing the fleet, which indeed had only come out under the ex- 
 pectation of receiving its arrears from the loan which he 
 promised to make to the Provisional Government, he set 
 about forming a brigade of Suliotes. Five hundred of these, 
 the bravest and most resolute of the soldiers of Greece, 
 were taken into his pay on the 1st Jan. 1824, and an object 
 worthy of them and their leader was not difficult to be found. 
 
 The castle of Lepanto, which commands the gulf of that 
 name, was the only fortress occupied by the Turks in 
 Western Greece. Its position at the mouth of the gulf is 
 one of great importance, and enables it to keep up a con- 
 stant communication with Patras, and while this was the case. 
 it was impossible to reduce it in the ordinary mode of star- 
 vation. The garrison consisted of 500 Turks, and a con- 
 siderable number of Albanians ; the soldiers were clamor- 
 ous for their pay, and much confusion was said to reign in 
 the place. It was understood that the Albanians would 
 surrender on the approach of Lord Byron, and on being 
 paid their arrears, which amounted to 23,000 dollars. In 
 every point of view the place was of the highest importance, 
 and the most sanguine hopes were entertained that a vigor- 
 ous attack upon it would prove successful. Lord Byron 
 was raised to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and spent his 
 whole time in preparing for the expedition. It was first in- 
 tended that a body of 2500 men should form the main body. 
 and that Lord Byron should join them with his 500 Su- 
 liotes, and with a corps of artillery under Mr. Parry, which 
 had been raised by the Greek Committee in London. At 
 (he latter end of January, however, Lord Byron was ap- 
 pointed by the Greek Government to the sole command of 
 all the (3000) troops destined to act against Lepanto. He 
 nimtions (Ms circumstance himself: 
 
LORD BYRON'S BESIDBNCB IN GREECE. 271 
 
 '*' The expedition of about two thousand men is planned 
 for an attack on Lepanto ; and for reasons of policy with 
 regard to the native Capitani, who would rather be (nomi- 
 nally at least) under the command of a foreigner, than one 
 of their own body, tbe direction, it is said, is to be given to 
 me. There is also another reason, which is, that if a capi- 
 tulation should take place, the Mussulmans might perhaps 
 rather have Christian faith with a Frank than with a Greek, 
 and so be inclined to concede a point or two. These ap- 
 pear to be the most obvious motives for such an appoint- 
 ment, as far as I can conjecture, unless there be one reason 
 more, viz. that under present circumstances, no one else 
 (not even Mavrocordatos 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." 
 
 He adds in a note, that Parry, who had been delayed, 
 and had been long eagerly expected with his artillery and 
 stores, had not arrived, and says, " I presume, from the re- 
 tardment, that he is the same Parry who attempted the North 
 Pole, and is (it may be supposed) now essaying the South." 
 
 The expedition, however, had to experience delay and dis- 
 appointment from much more important causes than the non- 
 appearance of the engineer. The Suliotes, who conceived 
 that they had found a patron whose wealth was inexhausti- 
 ble, and whose generosity was as boundless, determined to 
 make the most of the occasion, and proceeded to make the 
 most extravagant demands on their leader for arrears, and 
 under other pretences. Suliotes, untameable in the field^ 
 and equally unmanageable in a town, were at this moment 
 peculiarly disposed to be obstinate, riotous, and mercenary. 
 
272 APPENDIX. 
 
 They had been chiefly instrumental in preserving Messo- 
 lonjjhi when besieged the previous autumn by the Turks, 
 had been driven from their abodes, and the whole of their 
 families were at this time in the town, destitute of either 
 home or sufficient supplies. Of turbulent and reckless cha- 
 racter, they kept the place in awe ; and Mavrocordatos hav- 
 ing, unlike the other captains, no soldiers of his own, was 
 glad to find a body of valiant mercenaries, especially if paid 
 for out of the funds of another ; and, consequently, was not 
 disposed to treat them with harshness. Within a fortnight 
 after Lord Byron's arrival, a burgher refusing to quarter 
 some Suliotes who rudely demand j d entrance into his house, 
 was killed, and a riot ensued in which some lives were lost. 
 Lord Byron's impatient spirit could ill brook the delay of 
 a favourite scheme, and he saw with the utmost chagrin, 
 that the state of his favorite troops was such as to render 
 any attempt to lead them out at present impracticable. 
 
 The project of proceeding against Lepanto being thus 
 suspended, at a moment when Lord Byron's enthusiasm 
 was at its height, and when he had fully calculated on strik- 
 ing a blow which could not fail to be of the utmost service 
 to the Greek cause, it is no wonder that the uniooked-for 
 disappointment should have preyed on his spirits, and pro- 
 duced a degree of irritability, which, if it was not the sole 
 cause, contributed greatly to a severe fit of* the epilepsv 
 with which he was attacked on the 15th of February. His 
 Lordship was sitting in the apartment of Colonel Stanhope, 
 (the active and enlightened representative of the Greek 
 Committee in Greece, who had gone out to co-operate 
 with Lord Byron,) and was talking in a jocular manner 
 with Mr. Parry, the engineer, when it was observed, from 
 occasional and rapid changes in his countenance, that he 
 was suffering under the same strong emotion. On a suddeu 
 he complained of a weakness in one of his legs, and rose : 
 ,but finding himself unable to walk, he cried out for assi's- 
 
LORD BYROISTS RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 273 
 
 tance. He then fell into a state of nervous and convulsive 
 agitation, and was placed on a bed. For some minutes 
 his countenance was much distorted. He however quickly 
 recovered his senses; his speech returned, and he soon ap- 
 peared perfectly well, although enfeebled and exhausted 
 by the violence of the struggle. During the fit he behaved 
 with his usual remarkable firmness, and his efforts in con- 
 tending with and attempting to master the disease are de- 
 scribed as gigantic. In the course of the month the at- 
 tack was repeated four times ; the violence of the disorder 
 at length yielded to the remedies which his physicians ad- 
 vised ; such as bleeding, cold bathing, perfect relaxation 
 of mind, &c, and he gradually recovered. An accident, 
 however, happened a few days after his first illness, which 
 was ill calculated to aid the efforts of his medical ad- 
 visers. A Suliote, accompanied by the late Marco Bot- 
 zaris' little boy and another man, walked into the Serag- 
 lio — a place which before Lord Byron's arrival had been 
 used as a sort of fortress and barrack for the Suliotes, and 
 out of which they were ejected, with great difficulty, for the 
 reception of the Committee stores, and for the occupation 
 of the engineers, who required it for a laboratory. The 
 centinel or guard ordered the Suliotes to retire ; which be- 
 ing a species of motion to which Suliotes are not accustom- 
 ed, the man carelessly advanced; upon which the s^geant 
 of the guard (a German) demanded his business, and re- 
 ceiving no satisfactory answer, pushed him back. These 
 wild warriors, who will dream for years of a blow, if re- 
 venge is out of their power, are not slow to follow up a 
 push. The Suliote struck again — the sergeant and he clos- 
 ed and struggled, when the Suliote drew a pistol from his 
 belt. The sergeant wrenched it out of his hand, and blew 
 the powder out of the pan. At this moment Captain Sass, 
 a Swede, seeing the fray, came up and ordered the man 
 to be taken to the guard-room. The Suliote was then dis- 
 
274 APPENDIX. 
 
 posed to depart ; and would have done so if the sergeant 
 would have permitted him. Unfortunately Captain Sass 
 did not confine himself to merely giving the order for hi 
 arrest ; for when the Suliote struggled to get away, Cap- 
 tain Sass drew his sword and struck him with the flat part 
 of it ; whereupon the enraged Greek flew upon him with a 
 pistol in one hand, and the sabre in the other ; and at the 
 same moment nearly cut off the captain's right arm, and 
 shot him through the head with a pistol. Captain Sass, who 
 was remarkable for his mild and courageous character, ex- 
 pired in a few minutes. The Suliote also was a man of 
 distinguished bravery. This was a serious affair, and great 
 apprehensions were entertained that it would not end here. 
 The Suliotes refused to surrender the man to justice, alleg- 
 ing that he had been struck, which, in the Suliote law, jus- 
 tifies all the consequences which may follow. 
 
 In a letter dated a few days after Lord Byron's first at- 
 tack, to a friend in Zante, he speaks of himself as rapidly 
 recovering : 
 
 " I am a good deal better, though of course weakly ; the 
 leeches took too much blood from my temples the day af- 
 ter, and there was some difficulty in stopping it ; but I 
 have been up daily, and out in boats or on horseback ; to- 
 day I have taken a warm bath, and live as temperately as 
 well can be, without any liquid but water, and without any 
 animal food." He then adds, " besides the four Turks 
 sent to Patras, I have obtained the release of four-and- 
 twenty women and children, and sent them to Prevesa, 
 that the English Consul-general may consign them to their 
 relatives. I did this at their own desire." After recurring 
 to some other subjects, the letter concludes thus : — " Mat- 
 ters are here a little embroiled with the Suliotes, foreign- 
 ers, &c, but I still hope better things, and will stand by 
 the cause so long as my health and circumstances will per- 
 mit me to be supposed useful." 
 
LORD BYRON 7 S RESIDENCE IN OREECE. 275 
 
 Notwithstanding Lord Byron's improvement in health, 
 his friends felt from the first that he ought to try a change 
 of air. Messolonghi is a flat, marshy, and pestilential 
 place, and, except for purposes of utility, never would 
 have been selected for his residence. A gentleman of Xan- 
 te wrote to him early in March, to induce him to return to 
 that Island for a time ; to his letter the following answer 
 was received on the 10th : 
 
 " I am extremely obliged by your offer of your country- 
 house, as for all other kindness, in case my health should 
 require my removal ; but I cannot quit Greece while there 
 is a chance of my being of (even supposed) utility, — there 
 is a stake worth millions such as I am, — and while I can 
 stand at all, I must stand by the cause. While I say this, 
 I am aware of the difficulties, and dissentions, and defects, 
 of the Greeks themselves ; but allowance must be made 
 for them by all reasonable people." 
 
 It may well be supposed, after so severe a fit of illness, 
 and that in a great measure superinduced by the conduct of 
 the troops he had taken into his pay and treated with the 
 height of generosity, that he was in no humour to pursue 
 his scheme against Lepanto — supposing that his state of 
 health had been such as to bear the fatigue of a campaign 
 in Greece. The Suliotes, however, showed some signs of 
 repentance, and offered to place themselves at his Lord- 
 ship's disposal. They had, however, another objection to 
 the nature of the service. In a'letter which Colonel Stan- 
 hope wrote to Lord Byron on the 6th of March, from 
 Athens, he tells his Lordship that he had bivouacked on 
 the 21st of February in the hut of the Prefect of the Le- 
 panto district, who had just had a conference with the 
 garrison of that place. This man said, that if Lord Byron 
 would march there with a considerable force and the ar- 
 rears due to the troops, the fortress would be surrendered ; 
 
276 APPENDIX. 
 
 and Colonel S. adds a pressing entreaty that Lord Byron 
 would proceed there immediately, and take advantage of 
 this disposition on the part of the garrison. To this his 
 Lordship has appended this note : — " The Suliotes have 
 declined marching against Lepanto, saying, that ' they 
 would not fight against stone walls.' Colonel S. also knows 
 their conduct here, in other respects lately." — We may 
 conclude that the expedition to Lepanto was not thought of 
 after this time. 
 
 This same letter, which communicated to Lord Byron 
 the facility with which Lepanto might be taken, also an- 
 nounced the intention of Ulysses (Odysseus) to summon a 
 Congress of chiefs at Salona, to consider of a mode of unit- 
 ing more closely the interests of Eastern and Western 
 Greece, and arranging between them some method of 
 strict co-operation. The whole of these two districts are 
 subordinate to their respective governments, and as the 
 Turkish army was expected to come down, it was supposed 
 by Odysseus that some plan of acting in concert might be 
 hit upon, which would not only enable them- to resist the 
 enemy with greater effect, but likewise rapidly advance, the 
 progress of civilization, and the authority of the government 
 and constitution. Odysseus, who had the most influence 
 in Eastern Greece, and was able to collect all the chiefs of 
 his own district, was most desirous of prevailing upon Mav- 
 rocordatos and Lord Byron, who were all-powerful in the 
 opposite territory, to be present at this Congress, which he 
 proposed to hold at Salona, a town nearly on the confines 
 of the two departments. Two agents were sent to persuade 
 them to join in the design, and repair to Salona. Odysseus 
 himself first despatched Mr. Finlay ; and after him Captain 
 Humphries went over to Messolonghi with all haste, by de- 
 sire of Colonel Stanhope. The latter succeeded. Lord 
 Byron, as may be supposed, was well disposed to the mea- 
 sure ; but his consent was for some time held back by the 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 27? 
 
 Prince, who had reasons for not approving the Congress. 
 Mavrocordatos was always averse to meeting Odysseus, a 
 man of a very different character from himself: nor did he 
 relish the idea of Lord Byron's quitting the seat of his go- 
 vernment. It was, however, apparently settled that both 
 should attend at Salona, as we learn from a letter from his 
 Lordship to Colonel Stanhope, at Athens, directly accept- 
 ing the invitation on the part of both ; as well as from an- 
 other, dated the 22d March, to his agent, of which the 
 following is an extract : — 
 
 u In a few days P. Mavrocordatos and myself, with a con- 
 siderable escort, intend to proceed to Salona, at the request 
 of Ulysses and the chiefs of Eastern Greece ; and to take 
 measures offensive and defensive for the ensuing campaign. 
 Mavrocordatos is almost recalled by the new 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 affairs in this 
 quarter with general Londos, and any other I may choose 
 to form a council. Andrea Londos is my old friend and 
 acquaintance since we were in Greece together. It would 
 be difficult to give a positive answer till the Salona meet- 
 ing is over; but I am willing to serve them in any capa- 
 city they please, either commanding or commanded — it is 
 much the same to me 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 after the 
 rains, that every hundred yards brings you to a brook or 
 ditch, of whose depth, width, colour, and contents, both my 
 1 torses and their riders have brought away many tokens." 
 
 They did not, however, set out in a few days, as it 
 
 seems to have been intended. In the Government, which 
 
 since Lord Byron's arrival at Messolonghi had been 
 
 changed, the civil and island interest now greatly prepon 
 
 23 
 
278 APPENDIX. 
 
 derated ; and consequently by it a Congress of military 
 chiefs was looked upon with some jealousy, and most un- 
 justly styled an unconstitutional measure. Mavrocordatos's 
 views were now those of the Government ; so that in addi- 
 tion to his private motives, he had also a public interest in 
 withholding Lord Byron from Salona. Various pretexts 
 were urged for delay ; among others, whether a true or 
 a pretended one is not exactly ascertained, a design of de- 
 livering up Messolonghi to the Turks was alleged against 
 the Suliotes. But at last came Lord Byron's fatal illnes.s, 
 and all schemes of congresses and campaigns were for a 
 time forgotten in the apprehensions entertained for his life, 
 and in the subsequent lamentations over his death : the 
 meeting took place at Salona, on the l6th of April. Mav- 
 rocordatos was not there ; and Lord Byron was on his 
 death-bed. 
 
 MR. FLETCHER'S ACCOUNT OF LORD BYRON'S 
 LAST MOMENTS. 
 
 The last moments of great men have always been a sub- 
 ject of deep interest, and are thought to be pregnant with 
 instruction. Surely, if the death-bed of any man will fix 
 attention, it is that of one upon whose most trifling action 
 the eyes of all Europe have been fixed for ten years with 
 an anxious and minute curiosity, of which the annals of lite- 
 rature can afford no previous example. We are enabled to 
 present our readers with a very detailed report of Lord 
 Byron's last illness. It is collected from the mouth of Mr. 
 Fletcher, who has been for more than twenty years his 
 faithful and confidential attendant. It is very possible that 
 the account may contain inaccuracies : the agitation of the 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 2J9 
 
 scene may have created some confusion in the mind of an 
 humble but an affectionate friend : memory may, it is pos*- 
 siblc, in some trifling instances, have played him false : 
 and some of the thoughts may have been changed either in 
 the sense or in the expression, or by passing through the 
 miud of an uneducated man. But we are convinced of the 
 general accuracy of the whole, and consider ourselves very 
 fortunate in being the means of preserving so affecting and 
 interesting a history of the last days of the greatest and the 
 truest poet that England has for some time produced. 
 
 " My master," says Mr. Fletcher, <* continued his usual 
 <"ustom of riding daily when the weather would permit, un- 
 til the 9th of April. But on that ill-fated day he got very 
 wet ; and on his return home his Lordship changed the 
 whole of his dress, but he had been too long in his wet 
 clothes, and the cold, of which he had complained more or 
 less ever since we left Cephalonia, made this attack be more 
 severely felt. Though rather feverish during the night, his 
 Lordship slept pretty well, but complained in the morning 
 ©f a pain in his bor.es and a head-ache: this did not, how- 
 ever, prevent him from taking a ride in the afternoon^ 
 which I grieve to say was his last. On his return, my mas- 
 ter said that the saddle was not perfectly dry, from being 
 so wet the day before, and observed that he thought it had 
 made him worse His Lordship was again visited by the 
 same slow fever, and I was sorry to perceive, on the next 
 morning, that his illness appeared to be increasing. He was 
 very low, and complained of not having had any sleep dur- 
 ing the night. His Lordship's appetite was also quite 
 gone. I prepared a little arrow-root, of which he took 
 fhree or four spoonfuls, saying it was very good, but could 
 take no more. It was not till the third day, the 12th, 
 that I began to be alarmed for my master. In all his for- 
 mer colds he always slept well, and was never affected by 
 - ti r ~ slow fever. I therefore went to Dr. Brnno and Mr. 
 
2 SO APPENDIX. 
 
 Millingen, the two medical attendants, and inquired mi- 
 nutely into every circumstance connected with my master 7 ' 
 present illness : both replied that there was no danger, and 
 t might make myself perfectly easy on the subject for all 
 would be well in a few days. — This was on the 13th. On 
 ihe following day I found my master in such a state, that I 
 could not feel happy without supplicating that he would 
 send to Zante for Dr. Thomas. After expressing ray fears 
 lest his Lordship should get worse, he desired me to con- 
 sult the doctors; which I did, and was told there was no 
 occasion for calling in any person, as they hoped all would 
 be well in a few days. — Here I should remark, that his 
 Lordship repeatedly said, in the course of the day, he was 
 -aire the doctors did not understand his disease; to which i 
 answered, 'Then, my Lord, have other advice by all 
 means.' — ' They tell me,' said his Lordship, ' that it is onh 
 a common cold, which, you know, I have had a thousand 
 iimes.' — ' I am sure, my Lord,' said I, ' that you never had 
 one of so serious a nature.' — ' I think I never had,' was his 
 Lordship's answer. I repeated my supplications that Dr. 
 Thomas should be sent for-, SB the 15th, and v/as again as- 
 sured that my master would be better in two or three days. 
 Vfter these confident assurances, I did not renew my en- 
 treaties until it was too late. With respect to the medicines 
 that were given to my master, I could not persuade myself 
 that those of a strong purgative nature were the besl 
 adapted for his complaint, concluding that, as he had no- 
 thing on his stomach, the only effect would be to creatr 
 pain : indeed this must have been the case with a person in 
 perfect health. The whole nourishment taken by my mas- 
 ter, for the last eight days, consisted of a small quantity of 
 broth at two or three different times, and two spoonfuls ol 
 arrow-root on the 18th, the day before his death. The first 
 time I heard of there being any intention of bleeding his 
 Lordship was on the 15th, when it was proposed by Di . 
 Bruno, but objected to at first by ray master, ivho asked x ?i 
 
£0RD BYRON'S RESIDENCE TN GREECE, 281 
 
 millengen if there was any very great reason for taking 
 blood ? — The latter replied that it might be of service, but 
 added that it could be deferred till the next day ; — and ac- 
 cordingly my master was bled in the right arm, on the eve- 
 ning of the lGth, and a pound of blood was taken. I ob- 
 served at the time, that it had a most inflamed appearance; 
 Dr. Bruno now began to say he had frequently urged my 
 master to be bled, but that he always refused. A long dis« 
 pule now arose about the time that had been lost, and the 
 necessity of sending for medical assistance to Zante ; upon 
 which I was informed, for the first time, that it would be of 
 no use, as my master would be better, or no more, before 
 *he arrival of Dr. Thomas. His Lordship continued to 
 get worse: but Dr. Bruno said, he thought letting blood 
 ;»gain would save his life; and I lost no time in telling my 
 master how necessary it was to comply with the doctor'? 
 wishes. To this he replied by saying, he feared they knew 
 nothing about his disorder; and then, stretching out his 
 arm, said, ' Here, take my arm, and do whatever you like.' 
 His Lordship continued to get weaker; and on the 17th he 
 was bled twice in the morning, and at two o'clock in the 
 afternoon. The bleeding at both times was followed by 
 fainting fits, and he would have fallen down more than 
 «mce, had I not caught him in my arms. In order to pre* 
 vent such an accident, I took care not to let his Lordship 
 stir without supporting him. On this day my master said 
 to me twice, ' I cannot sleep, and you well know I have 
 not-been able to sleep for more than a week : I know,' add- 
 ed his Lordship, ' that a man can only be a certain time 
 without sleep, and then he must go mad, without any one 
 being able to save him ; and I would ten times sooner shool 
 myself than be mad, for I am not afraid of dying, — I am 
 more fit to die than people think. 7 I do not, however, be* 
 fieve that his Lordship had any apprehension of his fate 
 nil the day after, the 18th, when he said, 'I fear you and 
 Tifa will be ill by sitting up constantly, night and day.' I 
 23* 
 
-82 APPENDIX. 
 
 answered, c We shall never leave your Lordship till you 
 are better.' As my master had a slight fit of delirium on 
 the 16th, I took care to remove the pistols and stiletto. 
 which had hitherto been kept at his bedside in the night . 
 On the 18th his Lordship addressed me frequently, and 
 seemed to be very much dissatisfied with his medical treat- 
 ment. I then said, i Do allow me to send for Dr. Thomas ;'" 
 to which he answered, ' Do so, but be quick. I am sorry J 
 ■lid not let you do so before, as I am sure they have mista- 
 ken my disease. Write yourself, for I know they would 
 not like to see other doctors here.' I did not lose a mo- 
 ment in obeying my master's orders ; and on informing Dr. 
 Bruno and Mr. Millengen of it, they said it was very right, 
 as they now began to be afraid themselves. On returning 
 to my master's room, his first words were, 'Have you 
 sent,?' — ' I have, my Lord,' was my answer ; upon which 
 be said, * You have done right, for I should like to know 
 what is the matter with me.' Although his Lordship 
 did not appear to think his dissolution was so near, i 
 could perceive he was getting weaker every hour, and 
 he even began to have occasional fits of delirium. He 
 afterwards said, : I now begin to think I am seriously ill ; 
 and, in case I should be taken off suddenly, I wish to 
 give you several directions, which I hope you will be 
 particular in seeing executed.' I answered I would, in 
 case such an event came to pass; but expressed a hope 
 I hat he would live many years to execute them much better 
 himself than I could. To this my master replied, ' No, 
 it is now nearly over ;' and then added, • I mast tell yo:i 
 all without losing a moment ! I then said, ' Shall I go. 
 my Lord, and fetch pen, ink, and paper ?•' — ' Oh, my God ! 
 no, you will lose too much time, and I have it not to spare, 
 for my time is now short,' said his Lordship ; and imme- 
 diately after, ' Now, pay attention.' His Lordship com- 
 menced by saying, ' You will be provided for.' I begged 
 )>im, however, to proceed with things of more consequence. 
 
LORD BYRON"S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 283 
 
 (To then continued, < Oh, my poor dear child! — my dear 
 Ada ! IMy God ! could I but have seen her ! Give her 
 mj T blessing — and my dear sister Augusta and her chili 
 
 rtren ; — and you will go to Lady Byron, and say 
 
 tell her every thing ; — you are friends with her.' His 
 "Lordship appeared to be greatly affected at this moment. 
 Here my master's voice failed him, so that I could only 
 catch a word at intervals ; but he kept muttering something- 
 very seriously for some time, and would often raise his 
 voice and say ' Fletcher, now if you do not execute every 
 wider which I have given you, I will torment you hereafter 
 if possible.' Here I told his Lordship, in a state of the 
 greatest perplexity, that I had not understood a word of 
 what he said ; to which he replied, ' Oh, my God ! then 
 all is lost, for it is now too late ! Can it be possible yofi 
 have not understood me ?' — i No, my Lord,' said I ; ' but 
 1 {nay you to try and inform me once more.' — { How can 
 I :' rejoined my master; ' it is now too late, and all is 
 over!' 1 said, ' Not our will, but God's be done! — and 
 
 he answered, ' Yes, not mine be done — but I will try f 
 
 His Lordship did indeed make several efforts to speak, but 
 could only repeat two or three words at a time — such as ; 
 * my wife ! my child ! my sister ! — you know all — you 
 must say all — you know my wishes :' the rest was quite 
 unintelligible. A consultation was now held, (about noon.) 
 when it was determined to administer some Peruvian bark 
 and wine. My master had now been nine days without 
 an}' sustenance whatever, except what I have already men- 
 tioned. With the exception of a few words which can 
 only interest those to whom they were addressed, and 
 which, if required, I shall communicate to themselves, it 
 \\ as impossible to understand any thing his Lordship said 
 after taking the bark. He expressed a wish to sleep. I at 
 one time asked whether I should call Mr. Parry ; to which 
 lie replied, l Yes, you may call him.' Mr. Parry desired 
 him to compose himself. He shed tears, and apparently 
 
'284 APPENDIX. 
 
 sunk into a slumber. Mr. Parry went away, expecting to 
 toad him refreshed on his return— but it was the commence- 
 ment of the lethargy preceding his death. The last word^- 
 I heard my master utter were at six ©'clock on the evening, 
 of the 18th, when he said, : I must sleep now ;' upon 
 which he laid down, never to rise again ! — for he did not 
 .move hand or foot during the following twenty-four hours. 
 His Lordship appeared, however, to be in a state of suffo- 
 cation at intervals, and had a frequent rattling in the throat •: 
 on these occasions I called Tita to assist me in raising his 
 tiead, and I thought he seemed to get quite stiff. The rat- 
 tling and choaking in the throat took place every half-hour g 
 and we continued to raise his head whenever the fit came 
 on, till six o'clock in the evening of the 19th, when I saw 
 my master open his eyes and then shut them, but without 
 showing any symptom of pain, or moving hand or foot. 
 \ Oh ! my God !' I exclaimed, * I fear his Lordship \$ 
 gone !' The doctors then felt his pulse, and said, ' You' 
 are right — he is gone !' " 
 
 The Editor thinks it right to add here, from " The Ex- 
 aminer," Dr. Bruno's Answer to Mr. Fletcher's State- 
 ment. 
 
 " Mr. Fletcher has omitted to state, that on the second 
 day of Lord Byron's illness, his physician, Dr. Bruno, 
 seeing the sudorific medicines had no effect, proposed 
 blood-letting, and that his Lordship refused to allow it, and 
 caused Mr. Millingen to be sent for, in order to consult 
 with his physician, and see if the rheumatic fever could 
 not be cured without the loss of blood. 
 
 c; Mr. Millingen approved of the medicines previously 
 prescribed by Dr. Bruno, and was not opposed to the 
 ©pinion that bleeding was necessary ; but he said to his 
 Lordship that it might be deferred till the next day. He 
 
LORD EVRON's RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 285 
 
 held tliis language for three successive days, while the other 
 physician (Dr. Bruno) every day threatened Lord Byron 
 tbat he would die by his obstinacy in not allowing himself 
 to be bled. His Lordship always answered, ' You wish to 
 get the reputation of curing my disease, that is why you tell 
 me it is so serious; but I will not permit you to bleed me." 
 
 tf After the first consultation with Mr. Millingen, the 
 domestic Fletcher asked Dr. Bruno how his Lordship's 
 complaint was goine; on ? The Physician replied that, if 
 he would allow the bleeding, he would be cured in a few 
 days. But the surgeon, Mr. Millingen, assured Lord 
 Byron, from day to day, that it could wait till to-morrow : 
 and thus four days slipped away, during which the disease, 
 for want of blood-letting, grew much worse. At length 
 Mr. Millingen, seeing that the prognostications which Dr. 
 Bruno had made respecting Lord Byron's malady wen- 
 more and more confirmed, urged the necessity of bleeding, 
 and of no longer delaying it a moment. This caused Lord 
 Byron, disgusted at finding that he could not be cured with- 
 out loss of blood, to say that it seemed to him that the doc- 
 tors did not understand his malady. He then had a man 
 sent to Zante to fetch Dr. Thomas. Mr. Fletcher having 
 mentioned this to Dr. Bruno, the latter observed, that if 
 his Lordship would consent to lose as much blood as was 
 necessary, he would answer for his cure ; but that if he de- 
 layed any longer, or did not entirely follow his advice, Dr. 
 Thomas would not arrive in time: — in fact, when Dr. 
 T. was ready to set out from Zante, Lord Byron was dead. 
 
 " The pistols and stiletto were removed from bis Lord- 
 ship's bed, — not by Fletcher, but by the servant Tita, who 
 was the only person that constantly waited on Lord By- 
 ron in his illness, and who had been advised to take this 
 precaution by Dr. Bruno, the latter having perceived that 
 my Lord had moments of delirium. 
 
-'86 APPENDIX. 
 
 " Two days before the death, a consultation was held 
 with three other doctors, who appeared to think that his 
 Lordship's disease was changing from inflammatory diathe- 
 sis to languid, and they ordered china,* opium, and am- 
 monia. 
 
 "Dr. Bruno opposed this with the greatest warmth, and 
 [jointed out to them that the symptoms were those, not of 
 an alteration in the disease, but of a fever flying to the 
 brain, which was violently attacked by it ; and that the 
 wine, the china, and the stimulants, would kill Lord Byron 
 more speedily than the complaint itself could ; while, on 
 the other hand, by copious bleedings, and the medicines 
 that had been taken before, he might yet be saved. The 
 other physicians, however, were of a different opinion ; 
 and it was then that Dr. Bruno declared to his colleagues, 
 that he would have no further responsibility for the loss at' 
 Lord Byron, which he pronounced inevitable if the china 
 were given him. In effect, after my Lord had taken the 
 tincture, with some grains of carbonate of ammonia, he 
 was seized by convulsions. Soon afterwards they gave 
 him a cup of very strong decoction of china, with some 
 drops of laudanum : he instantly fell into a deep lethargic 
 sleep, from which he never rose. 
 
 " The opening of the body discovered the brain in a 
 >tate of the highest inflammation ; and all the six physi- 
 cians who were present at that opening, were convinced 
 (hat my Lord would have been saved by the bleeding, which 
 his physician, Dr. Bruno, had advised from the beginning 
 with the most pressing urgency and the greatest firmness.'' 
 
 F. B. 
 
 * This is a French term, sometimes used for the srnilax chhra: 
 Hut we have no doubt it means here the Jesuit's bark. 
 
LORD BYRON S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 2,8 I 
 
 Of Lord Byron's friends in Greece, those whom one 
 should have wished to have been present during his last 
 illness, were scattered about the country : Colonel Staiv 
 hope was at Salona; Mr. Trelawney arrived at Messolong- 
 hi very soon after the fatal event. " With all my anxiety," 
 he says, in a letter written immediately after, and dated 
 Messolonghi, " I could not get here before the third day. 
 It was the second after having crossed the first great tor- 
 rent, that I met some soldiers from Messolonghi : I then 
 rode back and demanded of a stranger, the news from 
 Messolonghi : I heard nothing more than ' Lord Byron is 
 dead? aud I passed on in gloomy silence." It was at his 
 desire that Dr. Bruno drew up his report of the examina- 
 tion of Lord Byron's body. This report we shall here in- 
 sert, though it has been printed in the newspapers. But, 
 partly owing to the vagueness of the original, and partly to 
 the translator's ignorance of anatomy, it has been hitherto 
 perfectly unintelligible. 
 
 " 1. On opening the body of Lord Byron, the bones of 
 the head were found extremely hard, exhibiting no appear- 
 ance of suture, like the cranium of an octogenarian, so 
 that the skull had the appearance of one uniform bone ; 
 there seemed to be no diploe, and the si?ius frontalis was 
 wanting. 
 
 2. The dura mater was so firmly attached to the inter- 
 nal parietes of the cranium, that the reiterated attempts of 
 two strong men were insufficient to detach it, and the ves- 
 sels of that membrane were completely injected with blood. 
 It was united from point to point by membraneous bridles 
 to thepia mater. 
 
 3. Between the pia mater and the convolutions of the 
 
288 APPENDIX. 
 
 brain were found many globules of air, with exudations of 
 lymph, and numerous adhesions. 
 
 4. The great falx of the dura mater was firmly attach- 
 ed to both hemispheres by membraneous bridles; and its 
 vessels were turgid with blood. 
 
 5. On dividing the medullary substance of the brain, 
 the exudation of blood from the minute vessels produced 
 specks of a bright red colour. An extravasation of about 
 2 oz. of bloody serum was found beneath the pons varolii, 
 at the base of the hemispheres; and in the two superior 
 or lateral ventricles, a similar extravasation was discover- 
 ed at the base of the cerebellum, and the usual effects of 
 inflammation were observable throughout the cerebrum. 
 
 6. The medullary substance was in more than ordinary 
 proportion to the corticle, and of the usual consistency. 
 The cerebrum and the cerebellum, without the membranes, 
 weighed 6 lbs. (mediche.) 
 
 7. The channels or sulci of the blood-vessels on the 
 internal surface of the cranium, were more numerous than 
 usual, but small. 
 
 8. The lungs were perfectly healthy, but of much more 
 than ordinary volume (gigantiselle.) 
 
 9. Between the pericardium and the heart there was 
 about an ounce of lymph, and the heart itself was of greater 
 size than usual ; but its muscular substance was extremely 
 flaccid. 
 
 10. The liver was much smaller than usual, as was also 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 289 
 
 \\ie gall-bladder, which contained air instead of bile. The 
 intestines were of a deep bilious hue, and distended with 
 air. 
 
 11. The kidneys were very large but healthy, and the 
 vesica relatively small. 
 
 Judging from the observations marked 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7? 
 10, and 11, the physician who attended Lord Byron con- 
 cludes, that he might probably have recovered from his 
 illness, had he submitted to the loss of blood which was 
 recommended at the commencement of the disease. He 
 thinks, however, that he can declare with tolerable cer- 
 tainty, from the appearances 1, 8, and 9, that his Lord- 
 ship could not have survived many years, on account of 
 his habitual exposure to the causes of disease, both from 
 his habitual mental exertion, his excessive occupation, and 
 a constant state of indigestion." 
 
 From this account of the examination of the body, it is 
 plain that Lord Byron died in consequence of inflammation 
 of the brain : at least if the appearances really were as 
 described. The cause of the attack was clearly his expo- 
 sure to wet and cold on the 9th of April. By this expo- 
 sure fever was excited. His brain was predisposed to 
 disease, as is evident from the attack of convulsions from 
 which he was scarcely yet recovered ; and the fever once 
 produced, excited inflammation in the brain the more readi- 
 ly on account of the predisposition to disease which had al- 
 ready been manifested in that organ. That he might have 
 been saved by early and copious bleeding, and other ap- 
 propriate remedies, is certain. That his medical attend- 
 ants had not, until it was too late to do any thing, any sus- 
 picion af (he true nature of his disease, we are fully satis- 
 23 
 
290 APPENDIX. 
 
 Tied. Nothing is known of any intention to bleed until 
 he 15th, that is, the 6th day of the disease, and then one 
 of the medical attendants expresses in a very vague man- 
 ner his opinion of the remedy ; " it might be of service, 
 but it could be deferred till the next day." Could any 
 man, who was led by the symptoms to suspect such a state 
 of the organ as was revealed by inspection, thus speak ? 
 When Dr. Druno, in his report, speaks of taking blood in 
 the early stage "in grande abbondanza," he speaks in- 
 structed by dissection. Were we to place implicit confi- 
 dence in the accuracy of the report of Lord Byron's at- 
 tendant, we should doubt, from all the circumstances, his 
 having proposed, in an early stage, copious bleeding to his 
 patient, and his Lordship^s refusal to submit to the treat- 
 ment. rJe called his complaint a cold, and said the pa- 
 tient would be well in a few days, and no physician would 
 propose copious bleeding under such circumstances. It 
 seems to us that Lord Byron's penetration discovered their 
 hesitation, and suspected the ignorance by which it was 
 caused, and that his suspicion was but too well founded. 
 Without further evidence we should disbelieve in the total 
 obliteration of the sutures ; and we may add, that all the 
 inferences deduced from the alleged appearances in 1, 8, 
 I), &c. are absurd ; they do not afford evidence enough 
 to warrant the slightest conjecture relative to the length or 
 the brevity of life. It is, however, but fair to add, that 
 Lord Byron always had a very decided objection to being 
 bled ; and Dr. Bruno's own testimony, which we have al- 
 ready quoted, ought to have its due weight. That Lord 
 Byron should have had an insurmountable objection to 
 bleeding is extraordinary, and it in some measure confirms 
 what he himself used to say, that he had no fear of death, 
 but a perfect horror of pain. 
 
 Lord Byron's dea^h was a severe blow to the people of 
 
LORD BYRON's RESIDENCE IN GREECE. 291 
 
 Messolonghi, and they testified their sincere and deep sor- 
 row by paying his remains all the honours their state could 
 by any possibility invent and carry into execution. But a 
 people, when really animated by the passion of grief, re- 
 quires no teaching or marshalling into the expression of 
 their feelings. The rude and military mode, in which the 
 inhabitants and soldiers of Messolonghi, and of other pla- 
 ces, vented their lamentations over the body of their de- 
 ceased patron and benefactor, touches the heart more 
 deeply than the vain and empty pageantry of much more 
 civilized states. 
 
 Immediately after the death of Lord Byron, and it was 
 instantly known, for the whole town were watching the 
 event, Prince Mavrocordatos published the following pro- 
 clamation. 
 
292 APPENDIX. 
 
 ! Ap. 1135) nP02nPINH AI0IKH2I2 TIES EAAAA02, 
 
 J\i tfapoutfai ^apfiotfuvoi fyxa'pai lyivav <$id 6'Xoug *jfAdg *jf/,£pa» 
 vtsv&ovs. 
 
 O Aop5 NosX Bupwv o.irepa.(fs tfrjjxspov e/g t'^v dXX^v £w^v, 
 ■^jp* rag sv5sxa wpag Tigv kdvipav /xsra jju'av d(f0iv£»av (pXoyi£»- 
 xou |£ufit.aTixou ffupSTou 10 r^epuv. 
 
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 fJAXpol fASydXoi, civSpcg xai yuvarx£j vixnja£vo» dtfo t^v SXi'^iv. 
 sX^tf/xov^ars to nda^a. 
 
 'H z£pt\<St£ au-rou tou Aau/irpou uVox£i|X£vou £iva< (3s(3atu 
 TToXXa altfdavTixri 6l o'Xyjv t-«?v 'EXXd<5a, aXXa £i'vai "7roXu ffSpi- 
 CoVtpov a|io^p?;vr)<ros t)id auV^v t/,v IIoXiv, Trjv otfoiav M'dwij.tfE 
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 VOj TWV XlVlJuVOJV T?]£. 
 
 Kadivag (3\iirei h^ifp^g tou Tag rrXoutfias tfpo's to xoivgv 
 j3epysrf»«j tou, xa/ |u,'/)Tc gVautfe |atjt £ <ffau£i xdvsi'j (xa auyvwfwva 
 xa/ dX^iv^v (pwvrjv va tov o'vo/xd^ suspysr'/jv. 
 
 "Ewg ou vd yvwgo'jron'iOsuv ai 8iarayal tyjS 'E$vix% Aioix»j- 
 ff'swj ■rspi auTou tou flroXudp>)v»]Tou <fv^f3uv<rog, 
 
 AuvdfjLsi tou uir' dp. 314 xa/ fyp,. 13 'OxTw/3pi'ou SrSO'cs'ifl'fX.ot- 
 rog tou BouXeutixou 2cJjfAaT0£, 
 
 AiaTaTTSTai, 
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 xavovogdrfiov tou tei^ous o.\jrr t g ttjs noXecj£ 37 Kavoviafg ((xi'a to 
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 .a. xXsitfdouv, g.affjpig^o/xsvwv xa/ twv xpjT»]piwv. 
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 Ttti Tpo^aij xa/ jWpixd' xa/ vd Xsi^ouv Ta jxoutfjxd ifaiynrjStu, o"i 
 o'uvsidjfl'fAjvoj s/g auTaj rag ri^Jpag X°f °'j V£ * fautfouv Ta (payoifo- 
 t\o. sis Ta xpatfotfcdXEra, xa/ xd^sdXXo £~5ogx£ivou |£<pavTWfxaToj 
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 -'.) Nd ys'vouv £7nx»j<$£io» Ssrjtfsig slg SXag Tag EXxX^tfj'ag. 
 Ev' MftfoXoyyi'w tijv 7 'AtfpjXXiou 1824. 
 
 T. 2. A. Maupoxop&XTos. 
 
 'O rpa|x^aT£us; 
 Tsupyiog HpaiSvi;. 
 
 'Ex t>3S Tuiroypa^faj A. Mstfdsviuj. 
 
LORD BYRON'S RESIDENCE IN GREECE. $9S 
 
 (TRANSLATION.) 
 Art. 1185. Provisional Government of Western Greece. 
 
 ' The present day of festivity and rejoicing is turned into one oV 
 sorrow and mourning. 
 
 ' The Lord Noel Byron departed this life at eleven o'clock last 
 night, after an illness of ten days: his death being caused by an in- 
 flammatory fever. Such was the effect of his Lordship's illness on 
 the public mind, that all classes had forgotten their usual recreations 
 of Easter, even before the afflicting end was apprehended. 
 
 ' The loss of this illustrious individual is undoubtedly to be de- 
 plored by all Greece : but it must be more especially a subject ol" 
 lamentation at Messolonghi, where his generosity has been so con- 
 spicuously displayed, and of which he had even became a citizen, 
 with the ulterior determination of participating in the dangers of 
 the war. 
 
 ' Every body is acquainted with the beneficent acts of his Lord- 
 ship, and none can cease to hail his name as that of a real bene- 
 factor. 
 
 * Until, therefore, the final determination of the national govern- 
 ment be known, and by virtue of the powers with which it has been 
 pleased to invest me: 1 hereby decree, 
 
 '1st. To-morrow morning at day-light, 37 minute guns shall be 
 fired from the grand battery, being the number which corresponds 
 with the age of the illustrious deceased. 
 
 ' 2nd. All the public offices, even to the tribunals, are to remain 
 closed for three successive days. 
 
 ' 3d. All the shops, except those in which provisions or medicines 
 are sold, will also be shut : and it is strictly enjoined, that every 
 species of public amusement, and other demonstrations of festivity 
 at Easter may be suspended. 
 
 '4th. A general mourning will be observed for twenty-one days. 
 
 ' 5th. Prayers and a funeral service are to be offered up in all the. 
 churches.' 
 
 (Signed) < A. Mavrocodatos. 
 
 ' Given at Messolonghi, ' Giob.gj.us Praidis, 
 
 litis mh day of April, 1824.' Secretary.. 
 
 There appears to have been considerable difficulty in 
 fixing upon the place of interment. No directions had 
 Deen left by Lord Byron — and no one could speak as to 
 24* 
 
-94 AITENDIX. 
 
 the wishes he might have entertained on the poiut. Aftei 
 the embalmment, the first step was to send the body to 
 Zante, where the authorities were to decide as to its ulti- 
 mate destination. Lord Sidney Osborne, a relation of 
 Lord Byron by marriage, the Secretary of the Senate at 
 Corfu, repaired to Zante to meet it. it was his wish, and 
 that of some others, that his Lordship should be interred 
 in that island — a proposition which was received with in- 
 dignation, and most decidedly opposed by the majority of 
 the English. By one it was proposed that his remains 
 should have been deposited in the temple of Theseus, or 
 in the Parthenon at Athens; and as some importance 
 might have been attached to the circumstance by the Greeks? 
 and as there is something consolatory in the idea of Lord 
 Byron reposing at last in so venerable a spot, thus re-con- 
 secrating, as it were, the sacred land of the Arts and the 
 Muses, we cannot but lament that the measure was not 
 listened to. Ulysses sent an express to Messolonghi, to 
 solicit that his ashes might be laid in Athens; the body 
 had then, however, reached Zante, and it appearing to be 
 the almost unanimous wish of the English that it should be 
 sent to England, for public burial in Westminster Abbey or 
 St. Paul's, the Resident of the island yielded ; the Flori- 
 da was taken up for that purpose, and the whole English 
 public know the result. 
 
 It was not only at Messolonghi, but throughout the 
 whole of Greece, that the death of Lord Bj'ron was felt as 
 a calamity in itself, and a bad omen for the future. Lord 
 Byron went to the Greeks not under the same circumstances 
 that any other man of equal genius might have done. He 
 had been the poet of Greece; more than any other man, 
 he had turned the attention of Europe on modern Greece. 
 By his eloquent and spirit-stirring strains, he had himself 
 powerfully co-operated in raising the enthusiasm of re- 
 
lord byron's residence iS crEece. 295 
 
 generation. which now reigns in Greece. All this gave to 
 his arrival there, to use the phrase of a letter written while 
 he was expected, something like the character " of the com- 
 ing of a Messiah." Proportionate, doubtless, was the 
 disappointment, grief, and depression, when his mission 
 ended before he had effected any thing of importance. — 
 Fortunately the success of Greece depends not upon the 
 efforts of any single man. Her fortune is sure, and must 
 be made by the force of uncontrollable circumstances; by 
 ihe character of the country, by the present ignorance and 
 the former brutality of its oppressors, by Greek ingenuity, 
 dexterity, and perseverance, traits stamped upon them by 
 ages of servitude, now turned with a spirit of stern re- 
 venge upon those who made such qualities necessary ; by 
 the fortunate accidents which kept a host of consummate 
 generals in the character of bandit robbers and shepherd 
 chiefs, watching the moment when they might assume a 
 more generous trade, and on a larger scale revenge the 
 wrongs of a race of mountain warriors. — By these and a 
 multitude of other causes which might be enumerated, the 
 fate of Greece is certain. We repeat with the most earnest 
 assurance to those who still doubt, and with the most in- 
 timate knowledge of all the facts which have taken place, 
 that the ultimate independence of Greece is secure. The 
 only question at stake is the rapidity of the events which 
 may lead to so desirable a consummation — so desirable to 
 those who delight in the happiness and improvement of 
 mankind — so delightful to those who have the increased 
 prosperity of England at heart. It is here that Lord Byron 
 might have been useful; by healing divisions, by exciting 
 dormant energies, by ennobling and celebrating the cause, he 
 might perhaps have accelerated the progress of Greece to- 
 wards the wished-for goal. But even here, though his life was 
 not to be spared, his death may be useful — the death-place 
 of such a man must be in itself illustrious. The Greeks 
 
•296 APPENDIX, 
 
 will not despair when they think how great a sacrifice lias 
 been made for them : the eyes of all Europe are turned to 
 the spot in which he breathed his last. No man who knows 
 that Lord Byron's name and fame were more universal 
 than those of any other then or now existing, can be in- 
 different to the cause for which he spent his last energies — 
 on which he bent his last thoughts — the cause for which 
 he died. 
 
 FUNERAL ORATION ON ItORD NODL BYEOH. 
 
 COMPOSED AND DELIVERED 
 
 BY M. SPIRIDION TRICOUPI. 
 
 (Printed by Order of Ike Government.) 
 
 Messolonghi, 10th April, 
 Thursday in Easter Week, 1824- 
 
 Unlooked-for event ! deplorable misfortune ! But a 
 short time has elapsed since the people of this deeply suffer- 
 ing country welcomed, with unfeigned joy and open arms, 
 this celebrated individual to their bosoms ; to day, over- 
 whelmed with grief and despair, they bathe his funeral 
 couch with tears of bitterness, and mourn over it with in- 
 consolable affliction. On Easter Sunday, the happy salu- 
 tation of the day, " Christ is risen," remained but hall 
 pronounced on the lips of every Greek ; and as they met, 
 before even congratulating one another on the return of 
 that joyous day, the universal demand was, " How is 
 Lord Byron ?" Thousands, assembled in the spacious 
 plain outside of the city to commemorate the sacred daj'j 
 appeared as if they had assembled for the sole purpose of 
 imploring the Saviour of the world to restore to health 
 him who was a partaker with us in our present struggle 
 for the deliverance of our native land. 
 
 And how is it possible that any heart should remain 
 
FUNERAL ORATION. 297 
 
 unmoved, any lip closed, upon the present occasion ? Was 
 ever Greece in greater want of assistance than when the 
 ever-to-be-lamented Lord Byron, at the peril of his life, 
 crossed over to Messolonghi ? Then, and ever since, he 
 has been with us, his liberal hand has been opene i to our 
 necessities — necessities which our own poverty would have 
 otherwise rendered irremediable. How many and much 
 greater benefits did we not expect from him ! — and to-day, 
 alas ! to-day, the unrelenting grave closes over him and our 
 hopes ! 
 
 Residing out of Greece, and enjoying all the pleasures 
 and luxuries of Europe, he might have contributed mate- 
 rially to the success of our cause, without coming person- 
 ally amongst us ; and this would have been sufficient for 
 ns — for the well proved ability and profound judgment of 
 our Governor, the President of the Senate, would have 
 insured our safety with the means so supplied. But if this 
 was sufficient for us, it was not so for Lord Byron. Des- 
 tined by nature to uphold the rights of man whenever he 
 saw them trampled upon ; born in a free and enlightened 
 country ; early taught, by reading the works of our ances- 
 tors, (which, indeed, teach all who can read them,) not 
 only what man is, but what he ought to be, and what he 
 may be — he saw the persecuted and enslaved Greek de- 
 termine to break the heavy chains with which he was 
 bound, and to convert the iron into sharp-edged swords, 
 that he might regain by force what force had torn from 
 him ! — He (Lord B.) saw, and leaving all the pleasures of 
 Europe, he came to share our sufferings and our hard- 
 ships ; assisting us, not only with his wealth, of which he 
 was profuse; not only with his judgment, of which he has 
 given us so many salutary examples ; but with his sword^ 
 which he was preparing tounsheath against our barbarous 
 and tyrannical oppressors. He came, in a word, accord- 
 ing to the testimony of those who were intimate with him, 
 
298 APPENDIX. 
 
 with the determination to die in Greece and for Greece ! 
 How, therefore, can we do otherwise than lament, with 
 heartfelt sorrow, the loss of such a man ! How can we 
 do otherwise than bewail it as the loss of the whole Greek 
 nation ! 
 
 Thus far, my friends, you have seen him liberal, gene- 
 rous, courageous — a true Philhelenist ; and you have seen 
 him as jour benefactor. This is, indeed, a sufficient 
 cause for your tears, but it is not sufficient for his honour : 
 it is not sufficient for the greatness of the undertaking in 
 which he had engaged. He, whose death we are now so 
 deeply deploring, was a man who, in one great branch of 
 literature, gave his name to the age in which we live ; the 
 vastness of his genius and the richness of his fancy did 
 not permit him to follow the splendid though beaten track 
 of the literary fame of the ancients ; he chose a new road 
 ■ — a road which ancient prejudice had endeavoured, and 
 was still endeavouring, to shut against the learned of Eu- 
 rope ; but as long as his writings live, and they must live 
 as long as the world exists, this road will remain always 
 open ; for it is, as well as the other, a sure road to true 
 knowledge. I will not detain you at the present time by 
 expressing all the respect and enthusiasm with which the 
 perusal of his writings has always inspired me, and which 
 indeed I feel much more powerfully now than at any other 
 period. The learned men of all Europe celebrate him, 
 and have celebrated him ; and all ages will celebrate the 
 poet of our age, for he was born for all Europe, and for all 
 ages. 
 
 One consideration occurs to me, as striking and true as 
 it is applicable to the present state of our country : listen, 
 to it, my friends, with attention, that you may make it 
 your own, and that it may become a generally acknow- 
 ledged truth. 
 
FUNEftAL OKATION. 299 
 
 There have been many great and splendid nations it) 
 the world, but few have been the epochs of their true 
 glory ; one phenomenon, I am inclined to believe, is want- 
 ing in the history of these nations — and one, the possibi- 
 lity of the appearance of which the all-considering mind 
 of the philosopher has much doubted. Almost all the na- 
 tions of the world have fallen from the hands of one mas- 
 ter into those of another; some have been benefitted, 
 others have been injured by the change ; but the eye of 
 the historian has not yet seen a nation enslaved by barba- 
 rians, and more particularly by barbarians rooted for ages 
 in their soil — has not yet seen, [ say, such a people throw 
 off their slavery unassisted and alone. This is the phe- 
 nomenon ; and now, for the first time in the history of the 
 world, we witness it in Greece — yes, in Greece alone ! 
 The philosopher beholds it from afar, and his doubts are 
 dissipated ; the historian sees it, and prepares his citation 
 of it as a new event in the fortunes of nations ; the states- 
 man sees it, and becomes more observant and more on his 
 guard. Such is the extraordinary time in which we live. 
 My friends, the insurrection of Greece is not an epoch of 
 our nation alone ; it is an epoch of all nations ; for, as I 
 before observed, it is a phenomenon which stands alone in 
 the political history of nations. 
 
 The great mind of the highly gifted and much lamented 
 Byron observed this phenomenon, and he wished to unite 
 his name with our glory. Other revolutions have hap- 
 pened in his time, but he did not enter into any of them — 
 he did not assist any of them ; for their character and na- 
 ture were totally different ; the cause of Greece alone was 
 a cause worthy of him whom all the learned [men] of 
 Lurope celebrate. Consider, then, my friends, consider 
 the time in which you live — in what a struggle you are en- 
 gaged ; consider that the glory of past ages admits not of 
 
300 APPENDIX. 
 
 comparison with yours; the friends of liberty, the philan- 
 thropists, the philosophers of all nations, and especially of 
 the enlightened and generous English nation, congratulate 
 you, and from afar rejoice with you ; all animate you ; and 
 the poet of our age, already crowned with immortality, 
 emulous of your glory, came personally to your shores, 
 that he might, together with yourselves, wash out with his 
 blood the marks of tyranny from our polluted soil. 
 
 Born in the great capital of England,* his descent no- 
 ble, on the side of both his father and his mother, what 
 unfeigned joy did his philhellenick heart feel, when our 
 poor city, in token of our gratitude, inscribed his name 
 among the number of her citizens ! In the agonies of 
 death ; yes, at the moment when eternity appeared before 
 him ; as he was lingering on the brink of mortal and im- 
 mortal life ; when all the material world appeared but as a 
 speck in the great works of Divine Omnipotence ; in that 
 awful hour, but two names dwelt upon the lips of this 
 illustrious individual, leaving all the world besides — the 
 names of his only and much beloved daughter, and of 
 Greece : these two names, deeply engraven on his heart, 
 even the moment of death could not efface. u My daugh- 
 ter !" he said; " Greece!"' he exclaimed ; and his spirit 
 passed away. What Grecian heart will not be deeply 
 affected as often as it recalls this moment ! 
 
 Our tears, my friends, will be grateful, very grateful to 
 his shade, for they are the tears of sincere affection ; but 
 much more grateful will be our deeds in the cause of our 
 country, which, though removed from us, he will observe 
 from the heavens, of which his virtues have doubtless 
 
 * This translation is by a Greek at Messolonghi, from the ori- 
 ginal modern Greek Gazette. IVo alterations have been made,, 
 though a few suggest themselves-; one of which iB ; that Lord Byron 
 "was not born In London. 
 
FUNERAL ORATION. 3til 
 
 opened to him the gates. This return alone does he re- 
 quire from us for all his munificence; this reward for his 
 Jove towards us ; this consolation for his sufferings in our 
 fcause ; and this inheritance for the loss of his invaluable 
 life. When your exertions, my friends, shall have libe- 
 rated us from the hands which have so long held us down 
 in chains; from the hands which have torn from our 
 arms our property, our brothers, our children ; then will 
 his spirit rejoice, then will his shade be satisfied ! — Yes, in 
 that blessed hour of our freedom, the Archbishop will ex- 
 tend his sacred and free hand, and pronounce a blessing 
 over his venerated tomb ; the young warrior sheathing his 
 sword, red with the blood of his tyrannical oppressors, 
 will strew it with laurel ; the statesman will consecrate it 
 with his oratory ; and the poet, resting upon the marble, 
 will become doubly inspired; the virgins of Greece, (whose 
 beauty our illustrious fellow-citizen Byron has celebrated 
 in many of his poems,) without any longer fearing con- 
 tamination from the rapacious hands of our oppressors,, 
 Crowning their heads with garlands, will dance round it, 
 and sing of the beaut)' of our land, which the poet of out- 
 age has already commemorated with such grace and truth. 
 But what sorrowful thought now presses upon my mind ! 
 My fancy has carried me away ; I had pictured to myself 
 all that my heart could have desired; I had imagined the 
 blessing of our bishops, the hymns, and laurel crowns, 
 and the dance of the virgins of Greece, round the tomb of 
 the benefactor of Greece; — but this tomb will not contain 
 his precious remains; the tomb will remain void; but a 
 lew days more will his body remain on the face of our 
 land — of his new chosen country; it cannot be given over 
 to our arm3 ; it must be borne to his own native land, 
 which is honoured by his birth. 
 Ob, Daughter! most dearly beloved by him, your arms 
 25 
 
302 APPENDIX. 
 
 will receive him ; your tears will bathe the tomb which 
 shall contain his body ; — and the tears of the orphans oi 
 Greece will be shed over the urn containing his precious 
 heart, and over all the land of Greece, for all the land of 
 Greece is his tomb. As in the last moment of his life you 
 and Greece were alone in his heart and upon his lips, it 
 was but just that she (Greece) should retain a share of the 
 precious remains. Missolonghi, his country, will ever 
 watch over and protect with all her strength the urn con- 
 taining his venerated heart, as a symbol of his love towards 
 us. All Greece, clothed in mourning and inconsolable., 
 accompanies the procession in which it is borne ; all eccle- 
 siastical, civil and military honours attend it; all his fel- 
 low-citizens of Missolonghi and fellow-countrymen ol 
 Greece follow it, crowning it with their gratitude and be- 
 dewing it with their tears; it is blessed by the pious bene- 
 dictions and prayers of our Archbishop, Bishop, and all 
 our Clergy. Learn, noble Lady, learn that chieftains 
 bore it on their shoulders, and carried it to the church,: 
 thousands of Greek soldiers lined the way through which 
 it passed, with the muzzles of their muskets, which had 
 destroyed so many tyrants, pointed towards the ground, as 
 though they would war against that earth which was to 
 deprive them for ever of the sight of their benefactor ; — all 
 this crowd of soldiers, ready at a moment to march against 
 the implacable enemy of Christ and man, surrounded the 
 funeral couch, and swore never to forget the sacrifices 
 made by your father for us, and never to allow the spot 
 where his heart is placed to be trampled upon by barbarous 
 and tyrannical feet. Thousands of Christian voices were 
 in a moment heard, and the temple of the Almighty re- 
 sounded with supplications and prayers that his venerated 
 remains might be safely conveyed to his native land, and 
 that his soul might rest where the righteous alone find 
 rest, 
 
ODE TO TflE MEMORY OF LORD BYRON. 
 
 From a Greek Journnh 
 
 1 fSo*3 els 5*ov Xop5 Bupwva, 
 
 'EXeysia. 
 
 Toug XafACpo'jS CfAvous T>js vixtjj dipi'vwV. 
 K.Xau5f/.wv >)^?r vipwwv 6 (trparog 
 ILxpws Xu*ouvt' ai -^ux a ' ™ v £XX»;vwv. 
 T' ctxouej fjwxxpdftev xou x a, 'p' ^Xfy^* 
 
 r (pl'XoS 7}X&c, tfX7)V (X0X15 TGV Sl'^OVj 
 
 SxatfTouv xXaiovrsj tov Tctqjov auToiT. 
 looii to Tg'Xoj Iv56^wv gXtfi'Suv 
 Kou «"0 TpoVaiov Savdrou tfxX^poiJ. 
 
 'HX(Jsvd gfjwrvEutf' ws aXXog TupTaics:, 
 Ei's xadg tfTrjdos *oX£(jt-6Jv opfx^v 
 TLXrjv q>eu ! 6 Bap^og sXtfitfas pct.ra.ius 
 'l5ou fji/g'vgi gj£ ot/wviov (fiwojv. 
 
 'fig 5g'v<5pov xSjt' 6*' exotfpet fA£ydX«£ 
 T»jv xopy^Tjv (xourfixou napvatftfou, 
 Nuv tfpotfotJwv tpOgipoutfaTou to xdXXos 
 IIvot) to g^i4'' avg'f^ou rfqjofJpou. 
 
 'EXXag ! gav to tfw/xaT' aj 'AyyXia 
 Net <pg'(p' els M<v9)fji,a £*]tcc ffetTpixov 
 EiVg' Moutfwv oj /xrjTg'pa yXuxgfa, 
 Ejvou Tg'xvov ftou ufog twv Moutfwv. 
 
 Kara<ppovuv twv gpwTwv touj Sp7jvou» 
 
 , llS0V7jS f*^V CtXOUWV T»)V (pWV'/JV, 
 
 'E£*jt' g'5w vjpwwv tous xiv<5uvou£ 
 Taqjflv aj g'x' *;pwtov gjj t^v y^v. 
 
'.(j"4 APPENDIX. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 [from the literary gazette.] 
 
 Victorious hymns no longer court the ear ; 
 
 The hosts of Greece the cloucte of grief oppress , 
 The hardy warrior drops th' unwonted tear, 
 
 And distant foes exult at our distress. 
 
 lie came to 6uccour — but, alas ! how soon 
 With him the light of all our prospects fled ' 
 
 Qur sun has sought the darkness of the tomb; 
 For Byron, friend of liberty, is dead ? 
 
 A new Tyrtaeus gladden'd all our land, 
 
 Inspiring evVy soul with ancient fire ; 
 But now, alas ! death chills his friendly hand, 
 
 And endless silence sits upon his lyre. 
 
 So some fair tree, which waved its shady head, 
 And graced the heights where famed Parnassus join'dj 
 
 Is torn by tempests from its earthy bed, 
 
 And yields its beauties scatterM to the wind. 
 
 Oh, Greece! should England claim her right to lay 
 His ashes where his valiant sires have lain, 
 
 Do thou, sweet mother of the Muses, say 
 
 That thou alone those ashes shouldst retain. 
 
 Domestic joy he nobly sacrificed ; 
 
 To shun the path of pleasure was his doom~. 
 These for heroic dangers he despised ; 
 Tfira Greece, tht land of heroes, he his tomb : 
 
 THE ENT» 
 
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