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CONVERSATIONS 
 
 LORD BYRON 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 Secanli lEtfitton. 
 
 EMBELLISHED WITH PORTRAITS OF 
 
 LORD BYRON AND LADY BLESSINGTON. 
 
 Wo flu das Gfiiiie erblickst 
 Erblickst du auch zngleich die Marterkroiie. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 '^ OF THE 
 
 UNSVERSITY | 
 
 OF / 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 1850. 
 
1 ) n 
 6cH 
 
 \ 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 The deep and general interest with wliicli 
 every detail connected with Lord Byron 
 has been received by the public, induced 
 the writer to publish her Conversations 
 with him. She was for a long time un- 
 decided as to adopting this measure, fear- 
 ful that, by the invidious, it might be 
 considered as a breach of confidence ; but 
 as Boswell's and Mrs. Piozzi's disclosures, 
 relative to Dr. Johnson, w^ere never viewed 
 in this light, and as Lord Byron never 
 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 gave^ or implied, tlie slightest injunction 
 to secrecy, she hopes tliat she may equally 
 escape such an imputation. 
 
 The many pages suppressed, filled with 
 poems, epigrams, and sallies of Lord Byron, 
 in which piquancy and wit are more evi- 
 dent than good-nature, bear testimony, that 
 a wish to avoid wounding the feelings of 
 the living, or to cast a darker shade over 
 the reputation of the dead, has influenced 
 the writer much more than the desire to 
 make an amusing book ; and she trusts, 
 that in portraying Lord Byron, if she has 
 proved herself an unskilful, she incurs not 
 the censure of being considered an unfaith- 
 ful, limner. 
 
 \ 
 
^'" J^i" 
 
 0^''7 
 
 y®iEiE> mir m,<S) N . 
 
 PuUi shed for Ji. Colt TiTii by R.Bejitly D cc'. 2""* J655 
 
 /hj7/e^ fy ^rtLfJ^ OW-»f 
 
JOURNAL 
 
 CONVERSATIONS OF LORD BYRON 
 
 WITH THE 
 
 COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. 
 
 Wo du das Genie erbilickst 
 Erbilickst du auch zugleich die Marteikrone. 
 
 GSETIIE- 
 
 ''^ OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 o*^ ^ Ge)ioa, April 1st, 1823. 
 
 Saw Lord Byron for the first time. The im- 
 pression of the first few minutes disappointed me, 
 as I had, both from the portraits and descriptions 
 given, conceived a different idea of him. I had 
 fancied him taller, v^ith a more dignified and 
 commanding air; and I looked in vain for the 
 hero-looking sort of person with whom I had so 
 long identified him in imagination. His appear- 
 ance is, however, highly prepossessing; his head 
 
 A 
 
JOURXAL OI" COXVERSATIOXS 
 
 is finely shaped, and the forehead open, high, and 
 noble ; his eyes are grey and full of expression, 
 but one is visibly larger than the other ; the nose 
 is large and well shaped, but from being a little 
 too thick, it looks better in profile than in front- 
 face : his mouth is the most remarkable feature in 
 his face, the upper lip of Grecian shortness, and 
 the corners descending ; the lips full, and finely 
 cut. In speaking, he shows his teeth very much, 
 and they are white and even ; but I observed that J 
 even in his smile — and he smiles frequently — 
 there is something of a scornful expression in his 
 mouth that is evidently natural, and not, as many 
 suppose, affected. This particularly struck me. 
 His chin is large and well shaped, and finishes 
 well the oval of his face. , He is extremely thin, 
 indeed so much so that his figure has almost a 
 boyish air ; his face is peculiarly pale, but not j 
 the paleness of ill-health, as its character is that 
 of fairness, the fairness of a dark-haired person — 
 and his hair (which is getting rapidly grey) is of 
 a very dark brown, and curls naturally : he uses 
 a good deal of oil in it, which makes it look still 
 darker. His countenance is full of expression. 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. O 
 
 and changes with the subject of conversation ; it 
 gains on the beholder the more it is seen, and 
 leaves an agreeable impression. 1 should say 
 that melancholy was its prevailing character, as I 
 observed that when any observation elicited a 
 smile — and they were many, as the conversation 
 was gay and playful — it appeared to linger but 
 for a moment on his lip, which instantly resumed 
 its former expression of seriousness. His whole 
 appearance is remarkably gentlemanlike, and he 
 owes nothing of this to his toilet, as his coat 
 appears to have been many years made, is much 
 too large — and all his garments convey the idea 
 of having been purchased ready-made, so ill do 
 they fit him. There is a gaucherie in his move- 
 ments, which evidently proceeds from the per- 
 petual consciousness of his lameness, that appears 
 to haunt him ; for he tries to conceal his foot 
 when seated, and when walking, has a nervous 
 rapidity in his manner. He is very slightly 
 lame, and the deformity of his foot is so little 
 remarkable that I am not now aware which foot 
 it is. His voice and accent are peculiarly agree- 
 able, but effeminate — clear, harmonious, and so 
 
4 JOURXAL OF COXVEKSATIOXS 
 
 distinct, that though his general tone in speaking 
 is rather low than liigh, not a word is lost. His 
 manners are as unlike my preconceived notions of 
 them as is his appearance. I had expected to 
 find him a dignified, cold, reserved, and haughty 
 person, resembling those mysterious personages 
 he so loves to paint in his works, and with whom 
 he has been so often identified by the good- 
 natured world : but nothing can be more dif- 
 ferent ; for were I to point out the prominent 
 defect of Lord Byron, I should say it was flip- 
 pancy, and a total want of that natural self-pos- 
 session and dignity which ought to characterise a 
 man of birth and education. 
 y Albaro, the village in which the Casa Saluzzo, 
 where he lives, is situated, is about a mile and a 
 half distant from Genoa ; it is a fine old palazzo, 
 commanding an extensive view, and with spacious 
 apartments, the front looking into a court-yard 
 and the back into the garden. The room in which 
 Lord Byron received us was large, and plainly 
 furnished. A small portrait of his daughter Ada, 
 with an engraved portrait of himself, taken from 
 one of his works, struck my eye. Observing that 
 
MITH LORD BYRON. O 
 
 I remarked that of his daughter, he took it down, 
 and seemed much gratified when I discovered 
 the strong resemblance it bore to him. Whilst 
 holding it in his hand, he said, " I am told she is 
 clever — I hope not ; and, above all, I hope she is 
 not poetical : the price paid for such advantages, 
 if advantages they be, is such as to make me pray 
 that my child may escape them." 
 
 The conversation during our first interview was 
 chiefly about our mutual English friends, some of 
 whom he spoke of with kind interest. T. Moore, 
 D. Kinnaird, and Mr. E. Ellice were among those 
 whom he most distinguished. He expressed 
 himself greatly annoyed by the number of travel- 
 ling English who pestered him with visits, the 
 greater part of whom he had never known, or was 
 but slightly acquainted with, which obliged him 
 to refuse receiving any but those he particularly 
 wished to see : " But," added he, smiling, " they 
 avenge themselves by attacking me in every sort 
 of way, and there is no story too improbable 
 for the craving appetites of our slander-loving 
 countrymen." 
 
 Before taking leave, he proposed paying us a 
 
JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 visit next day ; and he handed me into the 
 carriage with many flattering expressions of the 
 pleasure our visit had procured him. 
 
 April 2nd. — We had scarcely finished our de- 
 jeunc a la fourchette this day when Lord Byron 
 was announced : he sent up two printed cards, 
 in an envelope addressed to us, and soon followed 
 them. He appeared still more gay and cheerful 
 than the day before— made various inquiries 
 about all our mutual friends in England — spoke 
 of them with affectionate interest, mixed with a 
 badinage in which none of their little defects were 
 spared ; indeed candour obliges me to own that 
 their defects seemed to have made a deeper 
 impression on his mind than their good qualities 
 (though he allowed all the latter), by the gusto 
 with which he entered into them. 
 
 He talked of our mutual friend Moore, and of 
 his " Lalla Rookh," which he said, though very 
 beautiful, had disappointed him, adding, that 
 Moore would go down to posterity by his 
 Melodies, which were all perfect. He said that 
 he had never been so much affected as on hearing 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 7 
 
 Moore sing some of them, particularly " When 
 first I met Thee," which, he said, made him shed 
 tears: "But," added he, with a look full of 
 archness, " it was after I had drunk a certain j 
 portion of very potent white brandy." As he 
 laid a peculiar stress on the word affected, I 
 smiled, and the sequel of the white brandy made 
 me smile again : he asked me the cause, and I 
 answered that his observation reminded me of 
 the story of a lady offering her condolence to a 
 poor Irishwoman on the death of her child, who 
 stated that she had never been more affected 
 than on the event : the poor woman, knowing 
 the hollowness of the compliment, answered, 
 with all the quickness of her country, " Sure, 
 then, ma'am, that is saying a great deal, for you 
 were always affected." Lord Byron laughed, 
 and said my apropos was very wicked ; but I 
 maintained it was very just. He spoke much 
 more warmly of Moore's social attractions as a 
 companion, which he said were unrivalled, than 
 of his merits as a poet. 
 
 He offered to be our cicerone in pointing out 
 all the pretty drives and rides about Genoa; 
 
8 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 recommended riding as the only means of seeing' 
 the country, many of the fine points of view 
 being inaccessible, except on horseback ; and he 
 praised Genoa on account of the rare advantage 
 it possessed of having so few English, either as 
 inhabitants or birds of passage. 
 
 I was this day again struck by the flippancy 
 of his manner of talking of persons for whom I 
 know he expresses, nay, for whom I believe he 
 feels a regard. Something of this must have 
 shown itself in my manner, for he laughingly 
 observed that he was afraid he should lose my 
 good opinion by his frankness ; but that when 
 the fit was on him he Could not help saying what 
 he thought, though he often repented it when too 
 late. 
 
 He talked of Mr. , from whom he had 
 
 received a visit the day before, praised his looks, 
 and the insinuating gentleness of his manners, 
 which, he observed, lent a peculiar charm to the 
 little tales he repeated : he said that he had 
 given him more London scandal than he had 
 heard since he left England ; observed that he 
 had quite talent enough to render his malice very 
 
WITJI lOllU BYIIOX. \f 
 
 jjiquant and amusing, and that his imitations 
 were admirable. " How can his mother do 
 without him?" said Byron ; " with his e^ipi^o/me t\on 
 and mahee, he must be an invaluable coadjutor; 
 and Venus without Cupid could not be more 
 delaissee than Miladij — — without this her 
 legitimate son." 
 
 He said that he had formerly felt very partial 
 
 to Mr. ; his face was so handsome, and 
 
 his countenance so ingenuous, that it was im- 
 possible not to be prepossessed in his favour; 
 added to which, one hoped that the son of such a 
 father could never entirely degenerate : "he has' 
 however, degenerated sadly," said Byron, " but 
 as he is yet young he may improve ; though, to 
 see a person of his age and sex so devoted to 
 gossip and scandal, is rather discouraging to those 
 who are interested in his welfare." 
 
 He talked of Lord ; praised his urbanity, 
 
 his talents, and acquirements ; but, above all, his 
 sweetness of temper and good-nature. ** Indeed 
 
 I do love Lord ," said Byron, "though the 
 
 pity I feel for his domestic thraldom has some- 
 thing in it akin to contempt. Poor dear man ! he 
 
10 JOURNAL OF COiWEllSATIONS 
 
 is sadly bullied by JMiladi/ ; and, what is worst 
 of all, half her tyranny is used on the plea of 
 kindness and taking care of his health. Hang 
 such kindness! say I. She is certainly the most 
 imperious, dictatorial person I know — is always 
 en 7'ci?ie ; which, by the by, in her peculiar 
 position, shows tact, for she suspects that were 
 she to quit the throne she might be driven to the 
 antichamber ; however, with all her faults, she is 
 not vindictive — as a proof, she never extended her 
 favour to me until after the little episode re- 
 specting her in * English Bards ; ' nay more, I 
 suspect I owe her friendship to it. Rogers 
 persuaded me to suppress the passage in the 
 
 other editions. After all, Lady has one 
 
 merit, and a great one in my eyes, which is, that 
 in this age of cant and humbug, and in a country 
 — I mean our own dear England — where the cant 
 of Virtue is the order of the day, she has con- 
 trived, without any great resemblance of it, 
 merely by force of — shall I call it impudence or 
 courage? — not only to get herself into society, 
 but absolutely to give the law to her own circle. 
 She passes, also, for being clever; this, perhaps 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 1 1 
 
 owing to my dulness, I never discovered, except 
 that she has a way, en rehie, of asking questions 
 that show some reading. The first dispute I 
 ever had with Lady Byron was caused by my 
 
 urging her to visit Lady ; and, what is odd 
 
 enough," laughing with bitterness, '* our first and 
 last difference was caused by two very worthless 
 women." 
 
 Observing that we appeared surprised at the 
 extraordinary frankness, to call it by no harsher 
 name, with which he talked of his ci-devant 
 friends, he added : — " Don't think the worse of 
 me for what I have said : the truth is, I have wit- 
 nessed such gross selfishness and want of feeling 
 
 in Lady , that I cannot resist speaking my 
 
 sentiments of her." — I observed : " But are you 
 not afraid she will hear what you say of her ? " — 
 He answered : — "■ Were she to hear it, she would 
 act the aimable, as she always does to those who 
 attack her ; while to those who are attentive, and 
 court her, she is insolent beyond bearing." 
 
 Having sat with us above two hours, and ex- 
 pressed his wishes that we might prolong our stay 
 at Genoa, he promised to dine with us the fol- 
 
12 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 lowing- Thursday, and took his leave, laughingly 
 apologizing for the length of his visit, adding, that 
 he was such a recluse, and had lived so long out 
 of tlie world, that he had quite forgotten the 
 usages of it. 
 
 He on all occasions professes a detestation of 
 what he calls caiit ; says it will banish from 
 England all that is pure and good ; and that 
 while people are looking after the shadow, they 
 lose the substance of goodness ; he says, that the 
 best mode left for conquering it, is to expose 
 it to ridicule, the only iveapon, added he, that the 
 English climate cannot rust. He appears to 
 know every thing that is going on in England ; 
 takes a great interest in the London gossip ; and 
 while professing to read no new publications, 
 betrays, in various ways, a perfect knowledge of 
 every new work. 
 
 " April 2ik1, 1823. 
 ** MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 '' I send you to-day's (the latest) Galignani. 
 My banker tells me, however, that his letters 
 from Spain state, that two regiments have re- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 13 
 
 volted, which is a great vex, as they say in 
 Ireland. I shall be very glad to see your friend's 
 journal. He seems to have all the qualities 
 requisite to have figured in his brother-in-law's 
 ancestor's Memoirs. I did not think him old 
 enough to have served in Spain, and must have 
 expressed myself badly. On the contrary, he 
 has all the air of a Cupidon dechaine, and promises 
 to have it for some time to come. I beg to pre- 
 sent my respects to Lady B , and ever am 
 
 your obliged and faithful servant, 
 
 '* Noel Byron." 
 
 When Lord Byron came to dine with us on 
 Thursday, he arrived an hour before the usual 
 time, and appeared in good spirits. He said that 
 he found the passages and stairs filled with peo- 
 'ple, who stared at him very much ; but he did 
 not seem vexed at this homage, for so it certainly 
 was meant, as the Albergo della Villa, where we 
 resided, being filled with English, all were cu- 
 rious to see their distinguished countryman. He 
 was very gay at dinner, ate of most of the dishes, 
 expressed pleasure at partaking of a plum pud- 
 
14 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 ding, () fAuglaise, made by one of our English 
 servants ; was helped twice, and observed, that he 
 hoped he should not shock us by eating so much : 
 ** But," added he, " the truth is, that for several 
 months I have been following a most abstemious 
 regime, living almost entirely on vegetables ; and 
 now that I see a good dinner, I cannot resist 
 temptation, though to-morrow I shall suffer for 
 my gourmandise, as I always do when I indulge 
 in luxuries." He drank a few glasses of cham- 
 pagne, saying, that as he considered it a joz/r de 
 fete, he would eat, drink, and be merry. 
 
 He talked of Mr. , who was then our 
 
 Minister at Genoa. "H ," said he, "is a 
 
 thorough good-natured and hospitable man, keeps 
 an excellent table, and is as fond of good things 
 as I am, but has not my forbearance. I re- 
 ceived, some time ago, a jjdte de Perigord, and 
 finding it excellent, I determined on sharing it 
 
 with H ; but here my natural selfishness 
 
 suggested that it would be wiser for me, who had 
 so few dainties, to keep this for myself, than to 
 
 give it to H , who had so many." After half 
 
 an hour's debate between selfishness and gene- 
 
M^ITH LORD BYRON. 15 
 
 rosity, which do you think " (turning to me) 
 ** carried the point ?" — I answered, ** Generosity, 
 of course." — " No, by Jove ! " said he, " no such 
 thing ; selfishness in this case, as in most others, 
 
 triumphed : I sent thejo^^t' to my friend H , 
 
 because I felt another dinner off it would play the 
 deuce with me ; and so you see, after all, he owed 
 the pate more to selfishness than generosity." 
 Seeing us smile at this, he said; — ''When you 
 know me better, you will find that I am the most 
 selfish person in the world ; I have, however, the 
 merit, if it be one, of not only being perfectly 
 conscious of my faults, but of never denying 
 them ; and this surely is something, in this age of 
 cant and hopocrisy." 
 
 The journal to which Lord Byron refers was 
 written by one of our party, and Lord Byron, 
 having discovered its existence, and expressed a 
 desire to peruse it, the writer confided it to 
 him.' 
 
 ' See Moore's Life, vol. ii. p. G8(>, 4to edition. Here also 
 follow several letters in Moore's Byron. 
 
16 JOURNAL OF COXVEUSATIONS 
 
 " April 1 nil, l»-2:J. 
 " MV DEAll LOUD, 
 
 *' I was not in the way when your note came. 
 I have only time to thank you, and to send the 
 Galignani's. My face is better in fact, but worse 
 in appearance, with a very scurvy aspect ; but I 
 expect it to be well in a day or two. I will sub- 
 scribe to the Improving Society. 
 
 " Yours in haste, but ever, 
 
 " Noel Birox." 
 
 " April 22nd, 1823. 
 '' MILOR, 
 
 ** I received your billet at dinner, which was a 
 good one — with a sprinkling of female foreigners, 
 who, I dare say, were very agreeable. As I have 
 formed a sullen resolution about presentations, 
 which I never break (above once a month), I 
 begged to dispense me from being intro- 
 duced, and intrigued for myself a place as far 
 remote as possible from his fair guests, and very 
 near a bottle of the best wine to confirm my 
 misogyny. After coffee, I had accomplished my 
 retreat as far as the hall, on full tilt towards your 
 
WITH LOUD BVKOy. 17 
 
 tlic, which I was very eager to partake of, wlieii 
 
 I was arrested by requesting that I would 
 
 make my bow to the French Ambassadress, who 
 it seems is a Dillon, Irish, but born or bred in 
 America ; has been pretty, and is a blue, and of 
 course entitled to the homage of all persons who 
 have been printed. I returned, and it was then 
 
 too late to detain Miss P over the tea-urn. I 
 
 beg you to accept my regrets, and present my 
 
 regards to Milady, and Miss P , and Comte 
 
 Alfred, and believe me ever yours, 
 
 '' Noel Byron." 
 
 «' April 23rd, 1823. 
 " MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 ** I thank you for quizzing me and my ' learned 
 Thebans.' I assure you, my notions on that score 
 are limited to getting away with a whole skin, or 
 sleeping quietly with a broken one, in some of my 
 old Glens where I used to dream in my former 
 excursions. I should prefer a grey Greek stone 
 over me to Westminster Abbey ; but I doubt if I 
 shall have the luck to die so happily. A lease of 
 
18 JOIUNAL OV CONVERSATIONS 
 
 my ' body's length ' is all the land which I sliould 
 covet in that quarter. 
 
 " What the Honourable Dug ' and his Com- 
 mittee may decide, I do not know, and still less 
 what I may decide (for I am not famous for deci- 
 sion) for myself; but if I could do any good in 
 any way, I should be happy to contribute thereto, 
 and without ec/at. I have seen enough of that in 
 my time, to rate it at its value, I wish i/oii were 
 upon that Committee, for I think you would set 
 them going one way or the other ; at present they 
 seem a little dormant. I dare not venture to dh?e 
 with you to-morrow, nor indeed any day this 
 week ; for three days of dinners during the last 
 seven days, have made me so head-achy and 
 sulky, that it will take me a whole Lent to sub- 
 side again into anything like, independence of sen- 
 sation from the pressure of materialism. * * 
 * * But I shall take my chance of finding 
 you the first fair morning for a visit. Ever 
 
 yours, 
 
 " Noel ByroiV." 
 
 ' His abritlgment for Douglas Kinnaird. 
 
WITH LORD J3YU0N. 19 
 
 " May 7tli, 1823. 
 " MY DEAR LOUD, 
 
 " I return the poesy, which will form a new 
 light to lighten the Irish, and will, I hope, be duly- 
 appreciated by the public. I have not returned 
 MilecWs verses, because I am not aware of the 
 error she mentions, and see no reason for the 
 alteration ; however, if she insists, I must be con- 
 formable. I write in haste, having a visitor. 
 
 '* Ever yours, very truly, 
 
 *' Noel Byrox." 
 
 " May 1 4th, 1823. 
 " MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 " I avize you that the Reading Association 
 have received numbers of English publications, 
 which you may like to see, and as you are a 
 Member should avail yourself of early. I have 
 just returned my share before its time, having 
 kept the books one day instead oi Jive, which 
 latter is the utmost allowance. The rules obliered 
 
 me to forward it to a Monsieur G , as next in 
 
 rotation. If you have anything for England, a 
 gentleman with some law papers of mine returns 
 
20 JOlllXAL OF CON VERS AT ION'S 
 
 there to-morrow (Thursday), and would be ha])py 
 to convey anything- for j'ou. Ever yours, and 
 truly, 
 
 " Noel Byron. 
 
 " P. S. I request you to present my com- 
 pliments to Lady Blessington, Miss Power, and 
 Comte D'Orsay." 
 
 " May iSrd, 1823. 
 " MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 " I thought that I had answered your note. I 
 ought, and beg j'ou to excuse the omission. I 
 should have called, but I thought my chance of 
 finding you at home in the environs, greater than 
 at the hotel. * * * * * 
 
 I hope you will not take my not dining with you 
 again after so many dinners, ill ; but the truth is, 
 that your banquets are too luxurious for my 
 habits, and 1 feel the effect of them in this warm 
 weather for some time after. I am sure you will 
 not be angry, since I have already more than 
 sufficiently abused your hospitality. * * 
 
 * * I fear that I can hardly afford more 
 
MITII LORD BYRON. 21 
 
 ^^than two thousand francs for the steed in question, 
 as I have to undergo considerable expenses at 
 this present time, and I suppose that will not suit 
 you. I must not forget to pay my Irish Sub- 
 scription. My remembrances to JMilecU, and to 
 
 Alfred, and to Miss P . Ever yours, 
 
 " Noel Byron." 
 
 " May 2ith, 18*23. 
 *' MY DEAR LORD, 
 
 *' I find that I was elected a Member of the 
 Greek Committee in March, but did not receive 
 the Chairman's notice till yesterday, and this by 
 mere chance, and through a private hand. I am 
 doing all I can to get away, and the Committee 
 and my friends in England seem both to approve 
 ofmy going up into Greece; but I meet here with 
 obstacles, which have hampered and put me out 
 of spirits, and still keep me in a vexatious state 
 of uncertainty. I began bathing the other day, 
 but the water was still chilly, and in diving for 
 a Genoese lira in clear but deep water, I imbibed 
 so much water through my ears, as gave me a 
 
22 .( c) r K X A r. o v c o \ \- k h s a t i o x s 
 
 megrim iu my head, which \oii will prubably 
 think a superfluous malady. 
 
 " Ever yours, obliged and truly, 
 
 " Noel Byron." 
 
 In all his conversations relative to Lady Byron, 
 and they are frequent, he declares that he is 
 totally unconscious of the cause of her leaving 
 him, but suspects that the ill-natured interposition 
 of Mrs. Charlemont led to it. It is a strange 
 business ! He declares that he left no means 
 untried to effect a reconciliation, and always adds 
 wMth bitterness, " A day will arrive when I shall 
 be avenged. I feel that I shall not live long, and 
 when the grave has closed over me, what must 
 she feel ! " All who wish well to Lady Byron 
 must desire that she should not survive her hus- 
 band, for the all-atoning grave, that gives oblivion 
 to the errors of the dead, clothes those of the 
 living in such sombre colours to their own too-late 
 awakened feelings, as to render them wretched 
 for life, and more than avenges the real or 
 imagined wrongs of those we have lost for ever. 
 
WITH LORD BVKON. 23 
 
 When Lord Byron was praising the mental and 
 personal qnalifications of Lady Byron, 1 asked 
 him how all that he now said agreed with certain 
 sarcasms supposed to bear a reference to her, in 
 his works. He smiled, shook his head, and said 
 they were meant to spite and vex her, when he 
 was wounded and irritated at her refusing to re- 
 ceive or answer his letters ; that he was not 
 sincere in his implied censures, and that he was 
 sorry he had written them ; but notwithstanding 
 this regret, and all his good resolutions to avoid 
 similar sins, he might on renewed provocation 
 recur to the same vengeance, though he allowed 
 it was petty and unworthy of him. Lord Byron 
 speaks of his sister, Mrs. Leigh, constantly, and 
 always with strong expressions of affection ; he 
 says she is the most faultless person he ever 
 knew, and that she was his only source of con- 
 solation in his troubles on the separation. 
 
 Byron is a great talker ; his flippancy ceases in 
 a tite-a-tete, and he becomes sententious, aban- 
 doning himself to the subject, and seeming to 
 think aloud, though his language has the appear- 
 ance of stiffness, and is quite opposed to the tri- 
 
24 JOUllXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 fiing- chit-chat that he enters into when in general 
 society. I attribute this to his having lived so 
 much alone, as also to the desire he now professes 
 of applying himself to prose writing. He affects 
 a sort of Johnsonian tone, likes very much to be 
 listened to, and seems to observe the effect he 
 produces on his hearer. In mixed society his 
 ambition is to appear the man of fashion ; he 
 adopts a light tone of badinage and persiflage that 
 does not sit gracefully on him, but is always 
 anxious to turn the subject to his own personal 
 affairs, or feelings, which are either lamented 
 with an air of melancholy, or dwelt on with play- 
 ful ridicule, according to the humour he happens 
 J,o be in. 
 
 A friend of ours. Colonel M , having ar- 
 rived at Genoa, spent much of his time with us. 
 Lord Byron soon discovered this, and became 
 shy, embarrassed in his manner, and out of hu- 
 mour. The first time I had an opportunity of 
 speaking to him without witnesses was on the 
 roatl to Nervi, on horseback, when he asked me 
 if I had not observed a great change in him. I 
 allowed that 1 had, and asked him the cause ; 
 
WITH J.ORD BYllOX. 25 
 
 and he told me, that knowing Colonel M to 
 
 be a friend of Lady Byron's, and believing him to 
 be an enemy of his, he expected that he would 
 endeavour to influence us against him, and 
 finally succeed in depriving him of our friend- 
 ship ; and that this was the cause of his altered 
 manner. I endeavoured, and at length suc- 
 ceeded, to convince him that Colonel M was 
 
 too good and honourable a man to do anything 
 spiteful or ill-natured, and that he never spoke ill 
 of him ; which seemed to gratify him. He told 
 
 me that Colonel M 's sister was the intimate 
 
 and confidential friend of Lady Byron, and that 
 through this channel I might be of great use to 
 him, if I would use my influence with Colonel 
 
 M , to make his sister write to Lady Byron 
 
 for a copy of her portrait, which he had long been 
 
 most anxious to possess. Colonel M , after 
 
 much entreaty, consented to write to his sister on 
 the subject, but on the express condition that 
 Lord Byron should specify on paper his exact 
 wishes ; and I wrote to Lord Byron to this effect, 
 to which letter I received the following answer. 
 I ought to add, that in conversation 1 told Lord 
 
20 .(Ol'liXA I. or COWl HSA 1 IONS 
 
 13\ run that it was reported that Lady Byron was 
 in delicate health, and also that it was said she 
 was apprehensive that he intended to claim his 
 daughter, or to interfere in her education : he re- 
 fers to this in the letter which I copy.' 
 
 Talking of literary women, Lord Byron said 
 that Madame de Stael was certainly the cleverest, 
 though not the most agreeable woman he had 
 ever known. " She declaimed to you instead of 
 conversing with you," said he, " never pausing 
 except to take breath ; and if during that interval 
 a rejoinder was put in, it was evident that she did 
 not attend to it, as she resumed the thread of her 
 discourse as though it had not been interrupted." 
 This observation from Byron was amusing enough, 
 as we had all made nearly the same observation 
 on him, with the exception that he listened to, 
 and noticed, any answer made to his reflections. 
 " Madame de Stacl," continued Byron, '* was 
 very eloquent when her imagination warmed, 
 (and a very little excited it ;) her powers of ima- 
 gination were much stronger than her reasoning 
 
 ' Here follow the letters in Moore's Journal, |). (>44 — (>. 
 
MITII LORD LVIIOX. 27 
 
 ^ones, perhaps owing to their being much more 
 frequently exercised ; her language was recon- 
 dite, but redundant ; and though always flowery, 
 and often brilliant, there was an obscurity that 
 left the impression that she did not perfectly 
 understand what she endeavoured to render in- 
 telligible to others. She was always losing her- 
 self in philosophical disquisition, and once she 
 got entangled in the mazes of the labyiinth of 
 metaphysics ; she had no clue by which she 
 could guide her path — the imagination that led 
 her into her difficulties could not get her out 
 of them ; the want of a mathematical education, 
 which might have served as a ballast to steady 
 and help her into the port of reason, was always 
 visible, and though she had great tact in conceal- 
 ing her defeat, and covering a retreat, a tolerable 
 logician must have always discovered the scrapes 
 she got into. Poor dear Madame de Stael ! I 
 shall never forget seeing her one day, at table 
 with a large party, when the busk (I believe you 
 ladies call it) of her corset forced its way through 
 the top of the corset, and would not descend 
 though pushed by all the force of both hands of the 
 
28 .lOl UXAl. 01- COXVKUSATIOXS 
 
 wearer, who became crimson from the operation. 
 After fruitless efforts, she turned in despair to the 
 valet de chambre behind her chair, and requested 
 him to draw it out, which could only be done 
 by his passing" his hand from behind over her 
 shoulder, and across her chest, when, with a 
 desperate effort, he unsheathed the busk. Had 
 you seen the faces of some of the English ladies 
 of the party, you would have been like me, 
 almost convulsed ; while Madame remained per- 
 fectly unconscious that she had committed any 
 solecism on la decence Anglaise. Poor Madame 
 de Stael verified the truth of the lines — 
 
 Qui de son sexe n'a pas I'csprit, 
 De son sexc a tout le nialheur. 
 
 She i/ioiig/tt like a man, but, alas ! she felt like a 
 woman ; as witness the episode in her life with 
 Monsieur Rocca, which she dared not avow, 
 (I mean her marriage with him,) because she 
 was more jealous of her reputation as a writer 
 than a woman, and the faiblesse de cceur, this 
 alliance proved she had not courage to ajjlche. 
 A friend of hers, and a compatriot into the 
 
Willi LOUD IIYROX. 29 
 
 bargain, whom she believed to be one of the 
 most adoring of her worshippers, gave me the 
 following epigrams : — 
 
 SUR LA GROSSESSE DE MADAxME DE STAEL. 
 
 Quel esprit ! quel talent ! quel sublime genie ! 
 
 En elle tout aspire a rinimortalite ; 
 
 Et jusqu'a son hydropisie, 
 
 Rien n'est perdu pour la posterite. 
 
 PORTRAIT DE MADAME DE STAEL. 
 
 Armande a pour esprit des niomens de delire, 
 Armande a pour vertu le niepris des appas ; 
 Elle craint la railleur que sans cesse elle inspire, 
 Elle evite I'amant que ne la cherche pas : 
 Puisqu'elle n'a point I'art de cacher son visage, 
 Et qu'elle a la fureur de uiontrer son esprit, 
 II faut la deficr de cesser d'etre sage 
 Et d'entendre ce qu'elle dit. 
 
 *' The giving the epigrams to me, a brotlier of 
 the craft of authors, was wortliy of a friend, and 
 was another proof, if proof were wanting, of 
 the advantages of friends: 
 
 No epigram such pointed satire lends 
 
 As does the memory of our faithful friends. 
 
30 JOUHXAL OF CON'VEH.SATION'S 
 
 I have an exalted opinion of friendship, as you 
 see. You look incredulous, but you will not 
 only give me credit for being sincere in this 
 opinion, but one day arrive at the same conclu- 
 sion yourself. ' Shake not thy jetty locks at me :' 
 ten years hence, if we both live so long, you will 
 allow that I am right, though you now think 
 me a cynic for saying all this. Madame de 
 Stael," continued Byron, " had peculiar satis- 
 faction in impressing on her auditors the severity 
 of the persecution she underwent from Napoleon : 
 a certain mode of enraging her, was to appear to 
 doubt the extent to which she wished it to be 
 believed this had been pushed, as she looked on 
 the persecution as a triumphant proof of her 
 literary and political importance, which she more 
 than insinuated Napoleon feared might subvert 
 his government. This was a weakness, but a 
 common one. One half of the clever people 
 of the world believe they are hated and per- 
 secuted, and the other half imagine they are 
 admired and beloved. Both are wrong, and 
 both false conclusions are produced by vanity, 
 though that vanity is the strongest which be- 
 
\riTll lORO HYRON, 31 
 
 lieves in the hatred and persecution, as it im- 
 plies a belief of extraordinary superiority to ac- 
 count for it." / 
 
 I could not suppress the smile that Byron's 
 reflections excited, and, with his usual quickness, 
 he instantly felt the application I had made 
 of them to himself, for he blushed, and half 
 angry, and half laughing, said : — " Oh ! I see 
 what you are smiling at ; you think that I have 
 described my own case, and proved myself guilty 
 of vanity." I allowed that I thought so, as he 
 had a thousand times repeated to me, that he was 
 feared and detested in England, which I never 
 would admit. He tried various arguments to 
 prove to me that it was not vanity, but a know- 
 ledge of the fact, that made him believe himself 
 detested : but I, continuing to smile, and look 
 incredulous, he got really displeased, and said : — 
 ** You have such a provoking memory, that you 
 compare notes of all one's different opinions, 
 so that one is sure to get into a scrape." Byron 
 observed, that he once told Madame de Stael 
 that he considered her " Delphine" and " Co- 
 rinne " as very dangerous productions to be put 
 
32 JOUUXAL OF CONVKltSATIOXS 
 
 into the hands of young women. I asked him 
 how she received this piece of candour, and he 
 answered : — " Oh ! just as all sucli candid 
 avowals are received — she never forgave me for 
 it. She endeavoured to prove to me, that, an 
 contrairc, the tendencies of both her novels 
 were supereminently moral. I begged that we 
 might not enter on * Delphine,' as that was Jioi^s 
 (Ic (juedioii, (she was furious at this,) but that all 
 the moral world thought, that her representing 
 all the virtuous characters in ' Corinne ' as being- 
 dull, common-place, and tedious, was a most 
 insidious blow aimed at virtue, and calculated to 
 throw it into the shade. She was so excited 
 and impatient to attempt a refutation, that it was 
 only by my volubility I could keep her silent. 
 She interrupted me every moment by gesticu- 
 lating, exclaiming — 'Quel idee!' ' j\Ion Dieii J ' 
 ' Ecoutez done!' * Vous mimpatieutez !' — but I 
 continued saying, how dangerous it was to incul- 
 cate the belief that genius, talent, acquirements, 
 and accomplishments, such as Corinne was repre- 
 sented to possess, could not preserve a woman 
 from becoming a victim to an unrequited passion, 
 
Mini j.ouij BvuoN. 33 
 
 and that reason, absence, and female pride were 
 unavailing. 
 
 "1 told her that ' Corinne ' would be con- 
 sidered, if not cited, as an excuse for violent 
 passions, by all young ladies with imaginations 
 exalle, and that she had much to answer for. 
 Had you seen her! I now wonder how I had 
 courage to go on ; but I was in one of my 
 humours, and had heard of her commenting on 
 me one day, so I determined to pay her off. 
 She told me that I, above all people, was the 
 last person that ought to talk of morals, as no- 
 body had done more to deteriorate them. I 
 looked innocent, and added, I was willing to 
 plead guilty of having sometimes represented 
 vice under alluring forms, but so it was ge- 
 nerally in the world, therefore it was necessary 
 to paint it so ; but that I never represented 
 virtue under the sombre and disgusting shapes 
 of dulness, severity, and ennui, and that I always 
 took care to represent the votaries of vice as 
 unhappy themselves, and entailing unhappiness 
 on those that loved them ; so that my moral was 
 unexceptionable. She was perfectly outrageous, 
 
 c 
 
'34 JOl UN A r. OF CONVFRSATIONS 
 
 and the more so, as I appeared calm and in 
 earnest, tliough I assure you it 'required an effort, 
 as I was ready to laugh outright at the idea that 
 7, who was at that period considered the most 
 mauvais sujtt of the day, should give Madame 
 de Stael a lecture on morals ; and I knew that 
 this added to her rage. I also knew she never 
 dared avow that / had taken such a liberty. 
 She was, notwithstanding her little defects, a 
 fine creature, with great talents, and many noble 
 qualities, and had a simplicity quite extraor- 
 dinary, which led her to believe every thing 
 people told her, and consequently to be con- 
 tinually hoaxed, of which I saw such proofs in 
 London. Madame de Stael it was who first lent 
 me * Adolphe,' which you like so much : it is 
 very clever, and very affecting. A friend of hers 
 told me, that slie was supposed to be the heroine, 
 and I, with my aimable frandiise, insinuated as 
 much to her, which rendered her furious. She 
 proved to me how impossible it was that it could 
 be so, which I already knew, and complained 
 of the malice of the world for supposing it 
 possible." 
 
WITli LORD BYRON. 35 
 
 Byron has remarkable penetration in discover- 
 ing the characters of those around him, and he 
 piques himself extremely on it : he also thinks 
 he has fathomed the recesses of his own mind ; 
 but he is mistaken : with much that is little 
 (which he suspects) in his character, there is 
 much that is great, that he does not give himself 
 credit for : his first impulses are always good, 
 but his temper, which is impatient, prevents 
 his acting on the cool dictates of reason ; and it 
 appears to me, that in judging himself, Byron 
 mistakes temper for character, and takes the 
 ebullitions of the first for the indications of the 
 nature of the second. He declares that, in ad- 
 dition to his other failings, avarice is now esta- 
 blished. 
 
 This new vice, like all the others he attri- 
 butes to himself, he talks of as one would name 
 those of an acquaintance, in a sort of depre- 
 cating, yet half-mocking tone ; as much as to 
 say, you see I know all my faults better than 
 you do, though I don't choose to correct them : 
 indeed, it has often occurred to me, that he 
 brings forward his defects, as if in anticipation 
 
 / 
 
'^C) JOUHXAL OF CONVERSATION'S 
 
 of some one else exposing them, which lie would 
 not like; as, though he affects the contrary, he 
 is jealous of being found fault with, and shows 
 it in a thousand ways. 
 
 He affects to dislike hearing his w^orks praised 
 or referred to ; I say affects, because I am sure 
 the dislike is not real or natural ; as he who loves 
 praise, as Byron evidently does, in other things, 
 cannot dislike it for that in which he must be consci- 
 ous it is deserved. He refers to his feats in horse- 
 manship, shooting at a mark, and swimming, in a 
 way that proves he likes to be complimented on 
 them ; and nothing appears to give him more sa- 
 tisfaction than being considered a man of fashion, 
 who had great success in fashionable society in 
 London, when he resided there. He is peculiarly 
 compassionate to the poor, I remarked that he 
 rarely, in our rides, passed a mendicant without 
 giving him charity, which was invariably be- 
 stowed with gentleness and kindness ; this was 
 still more observable if the person w^as deformed, 
 as if he sympathised with the object. 
 
 Byron is very fond of gossiping, and of hearing 
 what is going on in the London fashionable world : 
 
WITH LORD nV'HON. 37 
 
 his friends keep him au courant, and any little 
 scandal amuses him very much. I observed this 
 to him one day, and added, that I thought his 
 mind had been too great to descend to such 
 trifles ! he laughed, and said with mock gravity, 
 " Don't you know that the trunk of an elephant, 
 which can lift the most ponderous weights, disdains 
 not to take up the most minute ? This is the case 
 with my great mind, (laughing anew,) and you 
 must allow the simile is worthy the subject. 
 Jesting apart, I do like a little scandal — I believe 
 all English people do. An Italian lady, Madame 
 Benzoni, talking to me on the prevalence of this 
 taste among my compatriots, observed, that when 
 she first knew the English, she thought them the 
 most spiteful and ill-natured people in the world' 
 from hearing them constantly repeating evil of 
 each other ; but having seen various amiable traits 
 in their characters, she had arrived at the con- 
 clusion, that they were not naturally mechant ; but 
 that living in a country like England, where se- 
 verity of morals punishes so heavily any derelic- 
 tion from propriety, each individual, to prove per- 
 sonal correctness, was compelled to attack the 
 
38 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 siffs of his or her acquaintance, as it furnished 
 an opportunity of expressing their abhorrence by 
 words, instead of proving it by actions, which 
 might cause some self-denial to themselves. 
 This," said Byron, " was an ingenious, as well 
 as charitable supposition ; and we must all allow 
 that it is infinitely more easy to decry and expose 
 the sins of others than to correct our own ; and 
 many find the first so agreeable an occupation, 
 that it precludes the second — this, at least, is my 
 case." 
 
 ** The Italians do not understand the English," 
 said Byron ; " indeed, how can they ? for they 
 (the Italians) are frank, simple, and open in their 
 natures, following the bent of their inclinations, 
 which they do not believe to be wicked ; while 
 the English, to conceal the indulgence of theirs, 
 daily practise hypocrisy, falsehood, and uncha- 
 ritableness; so that to otie error is added many 
 crimes." Byron had now got on a favourite sub- 
 ject, and went on decrying hypocrisy and cant, 
 mingling sarcasms and bitter observations on the 
 false delicacy of the English. It is strange, but 
 true as strange, that he could not, or at least 
 
WITH LORD IJVROX. 39 
 
 did not, distinguish the distinction between cause 
 and effect, in this case. The respect for virtue 
 will always cause spurious imitations of it to be 
 given ; and what he calls hypocrisy is but the 
 respect to public opinion that induces people, 
 who have not courage to correct their errors, at 
 least to endeavour to conceal them ; and Cant 
 is the homage that Vice pays to Virtue.' We 
 do not value the diamond less because there are 
 so many worthless imitations of it, and Goodness 
 loses nothing of her intrinsic value because so 
 many wish to be thought to possess it. That 
 nation may be considered to possess the most 
 virtue where it is the most highly appreciated ; 
 and that the least, where it is so little understood, 
 that the semblance is not even assumed. 
 
 About this period the Duke of Leeds and fa- 
 mily arrived at Genoa, and passed a day or two 
 there, at the same hotel where we were residing. 
 Shortly after their departure, Byron came to dine 
 with us, and expressed his mortification at the 
 Duke's not having called on him, were it only 
 
 1 Rochtt'oinjault. 
 
40 .JOrRNAL OK CONVLKSA'MONS 
 
 out of respect to Mrs. Leigh, who was tlic hall- 
 sister of both. This seemed to annoy liim so 
 much, that I endeavoured to jDoint out the inuti- 
 lity of ceremony between people who could have 
 no two ideas in common ; and observed, that the 
 gene of finding oneself with people of totally dif- 
 ferent habits and feelings, was ill repaid by the 
 respect their civility indicated. Byron is a per- 
 son to be excessively bored by the constraint that 
 any change of system would occasion, even for a 
 day ; but yet his amour -profre is wounded by 
 any marks of incivility or want of respect he 
 meets with. Poor Byron ! he is still far from 
 arriving at the philosophy that he aims at and 
 thinks he has acquired, when the absence or pre- 
 sence of a person who is indifferent to him, what- 
 ever his station in life may be, can occupy his 
 thoughts for a moment. 
 
 I have observed in Byron a habit of attaching 
 [ importance to trifles, and, vice versa, turning seri- 
 ous events into ridicule ; he is extremely super- 
 stitious, and seems offended with those who can- 
 not, or will not, partake this weakness. He has 
 frequently touched on this subject, and taunt- 
 
M'lTlI I, OKI) BVUON. 41 
 
 ingly observed to inc, that I must believe myself 
 wiser than him, because I was not superstitious. 
 I answered, that the vividness of his imagination, 
 which was proved by his works, furnished a suf- 
 ficient excuse for his superstition, which was 
 caused by an over-excitement of that faculty ; 
 but that /, not being blessed by the camera lucida 
 of imagination, could have no excuse for the 
 camera oscura, which I looked on superstition to 
 be. This did not, however, content him, and I 
 am sure he left me with a lower opinion of my 
 faculties than before. To deprecate his anger, 
 I observed that Nature was so wise and good 
 that she gave compensations to all her offspring : 
 that as to him she had given the brightest gift, 
 genius ; so to those whom she had not so dis- 
 tinguished, she gave the less brilliant, but per- 
 haps as useful, gift of plain and unsophisticated 
 reason. This did not satisfy his amour propre, 
 and he left me, evidently displeased at my want 
 of superstition. Byron is, I believe, sincere iu 
 his belief in supernatural appearances ; he as- 
 siuiies a grave and mysterious air when he talks 
 on the subject, which he is fond of doing, and 
 
42 JOURNAL or CONVERSATIONS 
 
 has told me some extraordinary stories relative 
 to Mr. Shelley, who, he assures me, had an im- 
 plicit belief in ghosts. He also told me that 
 Mr. Shelley's spectre had appeared to a lady, 
 walking in a garden, and he seemed to lay great 
 stress on this. Though some of the wisest of 
 mankind, as witness Johnson, shared this weak- 
 ness in common w^ith Byron, still there is some- 
 thing so unusual in our matter-of-fact days in 
 giving way to it, that I was at first doubtful 
 that Byron was serious in his belief. He is 
 also superstitious about days, and other trifling 
 things, — believes in lucky and unlucky days, — 
 dislikes undertaking any thing on a Friday, 
 helping or being helped to salt at table, spilling 
 salt or oil, letting bread fall, and breaking mir- 
 rors ; in short, he gives way to a thousand fan- 
 tastical notions, that prove that even fesprit le 
 plus fort has its weak side. Having declined 
 riding with Byron one day, on the plea of going 
 to visit some of the Genoese palaces and pictures, 
 it furnished him with a subject of attack at our 
 next interview ; he declared that he never be- 
 lieved people serious in their admiration of pic- 
 
WITH LORD BYllON. 43 
 
 tures, statues, &c., and that those who expressed 
 the most admiration were " Amatori senza Amore, 
 and Conoscitori senza Cognizione." I replied, 
 that as I had never talked to him of pictures, 
 I hoped he would give me credit for being 
 sincere in my admiration of them : but he was 
 in no humour to give one credit for anything 
 on this occasion, as he felt that our giving a 
 preference to seeing sights, when we might have 
 passed the hours with him, was not flattering 
 to his vanity. I should say that Byron was not 
 either skilled in, or an admirer of, works of art ; 
 he confessed to me that very few had excited 
 his attention, and that to admire these he had 
 been forced to draw on his imagination. Of 
 objects of taste or virtu he was equally regard- 
 less, and antiquities had no interest for him ; 
 nay, he carried this so far, that he disbelieved 
 the possibility of their exciting interest in any 
 one, and said that they merely served as ex- 
 cuses for indulging the vanity and ostentation 
 of those who had no other means of exciting 
 attention. Music he liked, though he was no 
 judge of it : he often dwelt on the power of 
 
44 .lOLRNAI. OF COWJUSAJ lOX.S 
 
 association it possessed, and declared that the 
 notes of a well-known air could transport him 
 to distant scenes and events, presenting objects 
 before him with a vividness that quite banished 
 the present. Perfumes, he said, produced the 
 same effect, though less forcibly, and, added he, 
 with his mocking smile, often make me quite 
 sentimental. 
 
 Byron is of a very suspicious nature ; he 
 dreads imposition on all points, declares that 
 he foregoes many things, from the fear of being 
 cheated in the purchase, and is afraid to give 
 way to the natural impulses of his character, 
 lest he should be duped or mocked. This does 
 not interfere with his charities, which are fre- 
 quent and liberal ; but he has got into a habit 
 of calculating even his most trifling personal ex- 
 penses, that is often ludicrous, and would in 
 England expose him to ridicule. He indulges 
 in a self-complacency when talking of his own 
 defects, that is amusing; and he is rather fond 
 than reluctant of bringing them into observation. 
 He says that money is wnsdom, knowledge, and 
 power, all combined, and that this conviction is 
 
WITH LORD BY HON. 45 
 
 the only one he has in common with all his 
 countrymen. He dwells with great asperity on 
 an acquaintance to whom he lent some money, 
 and who has not repaid him. 
 
 Byron seems to take a peculiar pleasure in 
 ridiculing- sentiment and romantic feelings ; and 
 yet the day after will betray both, to an extent 
 that appears impossible to be sincere, to those 
 who had heard his previous sarcasms : that he 
 is sincere, is evident, as his eyes fill with tears, 
 his voice becomes tremulous, and his whole man- 
 ner evinces that he feels what he says. All 
 this appears so inconsistent, that it destroys sym- 
 pathy, or if it does not quite do that, it makes 
 one angry with oneself for giving way to it for 
 one who is never two days of the same way of 
 thinking, or at least expressing himself. He 
 talks for effect, likes to excite astonishment, and 
 certainly destroys in the minds of his auditors 
 all confidence in his stability of character. This 
 must, I am certain, be felt by all who have lived 
 much in his society ; and the impression is not 
 satisfactory. 
 
 Talking one day of his domestic misfortunes, as 
 
46 JOUUNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 he always called his separation from Lady Byron, 
 he dwelt in a sort of unmanly strain of lamen- 
 tation on it, that all present felt to be unworthy 
 of him ; and, as the evening before, I had heard 
 this habitude of his commented on by persons 
 indifferent about his feelings, who even ridiculed 
 his making it a topic of conversation with mere 
 acquaintances, I wrote a few lines in verse, ex- 
 pressive of my sentiments, and handed it across 
 the table round which we were seated, as he was 
 sitting for his portrait. He read them, became 
 red and pale by turns, with anger, and threw 
 them down on the table, with an expression of 
 countenance that is not to be forgotten. The fol- 
 lowing are the lines, which had nothing to offend ; 
 but they did offend him deeply, and he did not 
 recover his temper during the rest of his stay. 
 
 And canst thou bare thy breast to vulgar eyes? 
 
 And canst thou show the wounds that rankle there? 
 Methought in noble hearts that sorrow lies 
 
 Too deep to suffer coarser minds to share. 
 
 The wounds inflicted by the hand we love, 
 
 (The hand that should have warded off each blow,) 
 
 Are never heal'd, as aching hearts can prove, 
 But sacred should the stream of sorrow flow. 
 
WITH LORD BYRO>J. 47 
 
 \i friendship's pity quells not real grief, 
 
 Can public pity soothe thy woes to sleep ? — 
 
 No ! Byron, spurn such vain, such weak relief. 
 And if thy tears must fall — in secret weep. 
 
 He never appeared to so little advantage as 
 when he talked sentiment : this did not at all 
 strike me at first ; on the contrary, it excited a 
 powerful interest for him ; but when he had 
 vented his spleen, in sarcasms, and pointed ridi- 
 cule on sentiment, reducing all that is noblest 
 in our natures to the level of common every-day 
 life, the charm was broken, and it was impossible 
 to sympathise with him again. He observed 
 something of this, and seemed dissatisfied and 
 restless when he perceived that he could no 
 longer excite either strong sympathy or astonish- 
 ment. Notwithstanding all these contradictions 
 in this wayward, spoiled child of genius, the im- 
 pression left on my mind was, that he had both 
 sentiment and romance in his nature ; but that, 
 from the love of displaying his wit and asto- 
 nishing his hearers, he affected to despise and 
 ridicule them. 
 
 From this period we saw Lord Byron fre- 
 
48 JoruNAi, or c onvl.rsatioxs 
 
 quoiitly ; lie met us in our rides nearly every 
 day, and the road to Nervi became our favourite 
 promenade. While riding by the sea-shore, he 
 often recurred to the events of his life, mingling 
 sarcasms on himself with bitter pleasantries 
 against others. He dined often with us, and 
 sometimes came after dinner, as he complained 
 that he suffered from indulging at our repasts, 
 as animal food disagreed with him. He added, 
 that even the excitement of society, though agree- 
 able and exhilarating at the time, left a nervous 
 irritation, that prevented sleep or occupation for 
 many hours afterwards. 
 
 I once spoke to him, by the desire of his me- 
 dical adviser, on the necessity of his accustoming 
 himself to a more nutritious regimen ; but he 
 declared, that if he did, he should get fat and 
 stupid, and that it was only by abstinence that 
 he felt he had the power of exercising his mind. 
 He complained of being spoiled for society, by 
 having so long lived out of it ; and said, that 
 though naturally of a quick apprehension, he 
 latterly felt himself dull and stupid. The im- 
 pression left on my mind is, that Byron never 
 
\vrni LORD BviioN. 49 
 
 could have been a brilliant person in society, and 
 that he was not formed for what generally is 
 understood by that term : he has none of the 
 "small change" that passes current in the mart 
 of society ; his gold is in ingots, and cannot be 
 brought into use for trifling expenditures ; he, 
 however, talks a good deal, and likes to raconter. 
 Talking of people who were great talkers, he 
 observed that almost all clever people were such, 
 and gave several examples : amongst others, he 
 cited Voltaire, Horace Walpole, Johnson, Napo- 
 leon Bonaparte, and Madame de Stael. '* But," 
 
 said he, ** my friend. Lady , would have 
 
 talked them all out of the field. She, I suppose, 
 has heard that all clever people are great talkers, 
 and so has determined on displaying, at least, one 
 attribute of that genus ; but her ladyship would 
 do well to recollect that all great talkers are not 
 clever people — a truism that no one can doubt 
 who has been often in her society." 
 
 '' Lady ," continued Byron, '* with heau- 
 
 coup de ridicule^ has many essentially fine quali- 
 ties ; she is independent in her principles — 
 though, by-the-bye, like all Independents, she 
 
50 .K)l ItXAI. OF CON Vr.llSATlONS 
 
 allows that privilege to lew others, l^eing the ve- 
 riest tyrant that ever governed Fashion's fools, 
 who are compelled to shake their caps and bells 
 as she wills it. Of all that coterie," said Byron, 
 
 " Madame de , after Lady , was 
 
 the best ; at least I thought so, for these two 
 ladies were the only ones who ventured to protect 
 me wdien all London was crying out against me 
 on the separation, and they behaved courageously 
 
 and kindly ; indeed Madame de defended 
 
 me when few^ dared to do so, and I have always 
 
 remembered it. Poor dear Lady ! does 
 
 she still retain her beautiful cream-coloured com- 
 plexion and raven hair ? I used to long to tell 
 her that she spoiled her looks by her excessive 
 animation ; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms w^ere 
 all in movement at once, and were only relieved 
 from their active service by want of respiration. 
 I shall never forget when she once complained 
 to me of the fatigue of literary occupations ; and 
 I, in terror, expected her ladyship to propose 
 reading to me an epic poem, tragedy, or at least 
 a novel of her composition, when, lo ! she dis- 
 played to me a very richly-bound album, half filled 
 
WITH LORD BVRON. 51 
 
 with printed extracts cut out of newspapers and 
 magazines, which she had selected and pasted in 
 the book ; and I (happy at being let off so easily) 
 sincerely agreed with her that literature was very 
 tiresome. I understand that she has now ad- 
 vanced with the * march of intellect,' and got 
 an album filled with MS. poetry, to which all of 
 us, of the OYift, have contributed. I was the 
 first ; Moore wrote something, which was, like all 
 that he writes, very sparkling and terse ; but he 
 got dissatisfied with the faint praise it met with 
 from the husband before Miladi saw the verses, 
 and destroyed the effusion : I know not if he ever 
 has supplied their place. Can you fancy Moore 
 paying attention to the opinion of Milor on poesy ? 
 Had it been on racing or horse-flesh he might 
 have been right ; but Pegasus is, perhaps, the 
 
 only horse of whose paces Lord could not 
 
 be a judge." 
 
 Talking of fashionable life in London, Lord 
 Byron said that there was nothing so vapid and 
 emiuyeiLv. " The English," said he, "■ were in- 
 tended by nature to be good, sober-minded peo- 
 ple, and those who live in the country are really 
 
52 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 admirable. I saw a good deal of English country- 
 life, and it is the only favourable impression that 
 remains of our mode of living ; but of London, 
 and exclusive society, I retain a fearful recollec- 
 tion. Dissipation has need of wit, talent, and 
 gaiety to prevent reflection, and make the eternal 
 round of frivolous amusements pass ; and of 
 these," continued Byron, " there was a terrible 
 lack in the society in which I mixed. The minds 
 of the English are formed of sterner stuff. You 
 \ may make an English woman (indeed Nature 
 does this) the best daughter, wife, and mother in 
 the world ; nay, you may make her a heroine ; 
 but nothing can make her a genuine womaji of 
 fashion ! And yet this latter role is the one 
 which, par preference, she always wishes to act. 
 Thorough-bred English gentlewomen," said By- 
 ron, ** are the most distinguished and lady-like 
 creatures imaginable. Natural, mild, and dig- 
 nified, they are formed to be placed at the heads 
 of our patrician establishments ; but when they 
 quit their congenial spheres to enact the leaders 
 of fashion, les dames a la mode, they bungle sadly ; 
 their gaiety degenerates into levity — their hau- 
 
M'lTH LORD BYllON. 53 
 
 teur into incivility — their fashionable ease and 
 nonchalance into bnisquerie — and their attempts 
 at assuming les usages du monde into a positive 
 outrage on all the biensecmces. In short, they 
 offer a coarse caricature of the airy flightiness 
 and capricious, but amusing, legerete of the 
 French, without any of their redeeming espieglerie 
 and politesse. And all this because they w^ill per- 
 form parts in the comedy of life for which nature 
 has not formed them, neglecting their own dig- 
 nified characters." ^y 
 ** Madame de Stael," continued Lord Byron, 
 ** was forcibly struck by the factitious tone of the 
 best society in London, and wished very much 
 to have an opportunity of judging of that of the 
 second class. She, however, had not this op- 
 portunity, which I regret, as I think it would 
 have justified her expectations. In England, 
 the raw material is generally good ; it is the 
 over-dressing that injures it ; and as the class 
 she wished to study are well educated, and have 
 all the refinement of civilization without its cor- 
 ruption, she would have carried away a favourable 
 impression. Lord Grey and his family were the 
 
54 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 personification of her beau ideal of perfection, as 
 I must say they are of mine," continued Byron, 
 " and might serve as the finest specimens of the 
 pure English patrician breed, of which so few 
 remain. His uncompromising and uncompro- 
 mised dignity, founded on self-respect, and ac- 
 companied by that certain proof of superiority — ■ 
 simplicity of manner and freedom from affecta- 
 tion, with Jier mild and matron graces, her whole 
 life offering a model to wives and mothers — 
 really they are people to be proud of, and a few 
 such would reconcile one to one's species." 
 
 One of our first rides with Lord Byron wUs to 
 Nervi, a village on the sea-coast, most roman- 
 tically situated, and each turn of the road pre- 
 senting various and beautiful prospects. They 
 were all familiar to him, and he failed not to 
 point them out, but in very sober terms, never 
 allowing any thing like enthusiasm in his ex- 
 pressions, though many of the views might have 
 excited it. 
 
 His appearance on horseback was not advan- 
 tageous, and he seemed aware of it, for he made 
 many excuses for his dress and equestrian ap- 
 
M'lTlI LORD BYROy. 55 
 
 pointments. His horse was literally covered with \ 
 various trappings, in the way of cavesons, mar- 
 tingales, and Heaven knows how many other (to 
 me) unknown inventions. The saddle was a la 
 hussarde with holsters, in which he always car- 
 ried pistols. His dress consisted of a nankeen 
 jacket and trousers, which appeared to have 
 shrunk from washing ; the jacket embroidered 
 in the same colour, and with three rows of but- 
 tons ; the waist very short, the back very narrow, 
 and the sleeves set in as they used to be ten or 
 fifteen years before ; a black stock, very narrow ; 
 a dark-blue velvet cap with a shade, and a very 
 rich gold band and large gold tassel at the 
 crown ; nankeen gaiters, and a pair of blue spec- 
 tacles, completed his costume, which was any 
 thing but becoming. I'his was his general dress 
 of a morning for riding, but I have seen it 
 changed for a green tartan plaid jacket. He did 
 not ride well, which surprised us, as, from the 
 frequent allusions to horsemanship in his works, 
 we expected to find him almost a Nimrod. It 
 was evident that he had pretensions on this point, 
 though he certainly was what I should call 
 
56 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 a timid rider. When his horse made a false 
 step, which was not unfrequent, he seemed dis- 
 composed ; and when we came to any bad part 
 of the road, he immediately checked his course 
 and walked his horse very slowly, though there 
 really was nothing to make even a lady nervous. 
 Finding that I could perfectly manage (or what 
 he called bullij) a very highly-dressed horse that 
 I daily rode, he became extremely anxious to 
 buy it ; asked me a thousand questions as to 
 how I had acquired such a perfect command 
 of it, &c. &c. and entreated, as the greatest fa- 
 vour, that I would resign it to him as a charger 
 to take to Greece, declaring he never would 
 part with it, &c. As I was by no means a bold 
 rider, we were rather amused at observing Lord 
 Byron's opinion of my courage ; and as he 
 seemed so anxious for the horse, I agreed to 
 let him have it when he was to embark. From 
 this time he paid particular attention to the 
 movements of poor Mameluke (the name of the 
 horse), and said he should now feel confidence 
 in action with so steady a charger. 
 
 During our ride the conversation turned on 
 
M'lTH LORD BYKOX. 57 
 
 our mutual friends and acquaintances in Eng- 
 land. Talking of two of them, for one of whom 
 he professed a great regard, he declared laugh- 
 ingly that they had saved him from suicide. 
 Seeing me look grave, he added, ** It is a fact, 
 I assure you : I should positively have destroyed 
 
 myself, but I guessed that or 
 
 would write my life, and with this fear before 
 my eyes, I have lived on. I know so well the 
 sort of things they would write of me — the ex- 
 cuses, lame as myself, that they would offer 
 for my delinquencies, while they were unne- 
 cessarily exposing them, and all this done with 
 the avowed intention of justifying, what, God 
 help me! cannot be justified, my unjooetical re- 
 putation, with which the world can have no- 
 thing to do ! One of my friends would dip his 
 pen in clarified honey, and the other in vinegar, 
 to describe my manifold transgressions, and as 
 I do not wish my poor fame to be either pre- 
 served or pickled, I have lived on and written my 
 Memoirs, where facts will speak for themselves, 
 without the editorial candor of excuses, such as 
 * we cannot excuse this unhappy error, or de- 
 
58 JOUIIXAL OF CONVERSATIOXS 
 
 fend that impropriety !' — the mode," continued 
 Byron, " in which friends exalt their own pru- 
 dence and virtue, by exhibiting the want of 
 those qualities in the dear departed, and by 
 marking their disapproval of his errors. I have 
 written my Memoirs," said Byron, " to save 
 the necessity of their being written by a friend 
 or friends, and have only to hope they will not 
 add notes." 
 
 I remarked, with a smile, that at all events 
 he anticipated his friends by saying beforehand 
 as many ill-natured things of tlteiii as they could 
 possibly lurite of liim. He laughed, and said, 
 " Depend on it we are equal. Poets (and I 
 may, I suppose, without presumption, count my- 
 self among that favoured race, as it has pleased 
 the Fates to make me one,) have no friends. 
 On the old principle, that ' union gives force,' 
 we sometimes agree to have a violent friendship 
 for each other. We dedicate, we bepraise, we 
 write pretty letters, but we do not deceive each 
 other. In short, we resemble you fair ladies, 
 when some half dozen of the fairest of you pro- 
 fess to love each other riiightily, correspond so 
 
WITH LORD BVUOX. 59 
 
 sweetly, call each other by such pretty epithets, 
 and laugh in your hearts at those who are taken 
 in by such appearances." 
 
 I endeavoured to defend my sex, but he ad- 
 hered to his opinion. I ought to add that during 
 this conversation he was very gay, and that 
 though his words may appear severe, there was 
 no severity in his manner. The natural flippancy 
 of Lord Byron took off all appearance of pre- 
 meditation or bitterness from his remarks, even 
 when they were acrimonious, and the impression 
 conveyed to, and left on my mind was, that for 
 the most part they were uttered more in jest 
 than in earnest. They were however sufficiently 
 severe to make me feel that there was no safety 
 with him, and thrit in five minutes after one's 
 quitting him on terms of friendship, he could 
 not resist the temptation of showing one up, 
 either in conversation or by letter, though in 
 half an hour after he would put himself to per- 
 sonal inconvenience to render a kindness to the 
 person so shown up. 
 
 I remarked, that in talking of literary produc- 
 tions, he seemed much more susceptible to their 
 
GO JOURNAL Ol" CONVERSATIONS 
 
 defects, than alive to their beauties. As a proof, 
 he never failed to remember some quotation that 
 told against the unhappy author, which he re- 
 cited with an emphasis, or a mock-heroic air, that 
 made it very ludicrous. The pathetic he always 
 burlesqued in reciting ; but this I am sure pro- 
 ceeded from an affectation of not sympathizing 
 with the general taste. 
 
 April — . Lord Byron dined with us to-day. 
 During dinner he was as usual gay, spoke in 
 terms of the warmest commendation of Sir Wal- 
 ter Scott, not only as an author, but as a man, 
 and dwelt with apparent delight on his novels, 
 declaring that he had read and re-read them over 
 and over again, and always with increased plea- 
 sure. He said that he quite equalled, nay, in his 
 opinion surpassed, Cervantes. In talking of Sir 
 Walter's private character, goodness of heart, 
 &c., Lord Byron became more animated than I 
 had ever seen him ; his colour changed from its 
 general pallid tint to a more lively hue, and his 
 eyes became humid ; never had he appeared to 
 such advantage, and it might easily be seen that 
 
M'lTII LOUD BYRON. 61 
 
 every expression he uttered proceeded from his 
 heart. Poor Byron ! — for poor he is even with 
 all his genius, rank, and wealth — had he lived 
 more with men like Scott, whose openness of 
 character and steady principle had convinced him 
 that they were in earnest in their goodnesSy and 
 not making believe, (as he always suspects good, 
 people to be,) his life might be different and 
 happier. 
 
 Byron is so acute an observer that nothing 
 escapes him ; all the shades of selfishness and 
 vanity are exposed to his searching glance, and 
 the misfortune is, (and a serious one it is to him,) 
 that when he finds these, and alas ! they are 
 to be found on every side, they disgust and pre- 
 vent his giving credit to the many good quali- 
 ties that often accompany them. He declares 
 he can sooner pardon crimes, because they pro- 
 ceed from the passions, than these minor vices, 
 that spring from selfishness and self-conceit. We 
 had a long argument this evening on the subject, 
 which ended, like most arguments, by leaving 
 both of the same opinion as when it commenced, 
 I endeavoured to prove that crimes were not only 
 
G2 JOUKXAL 01' CONVEllSATIOXS 
 
 injurious to the perpetrators, but often ruinous to 
 tlie innocent, and productive of misery to friends 
 and relations, whereas selfishness and vanity car- 
 ried with them their own punishment, the first 
 depriving the person of all sympathy, and the 
 second exposing him to ridicule, which to the 
 vain is a heavy punishment, but that their effects 
 were not destructive to society as are crimes. 
 
 He laughed when I told him that having heard 
 him so often declaim against vanity, and detect it 
 so often in his friends, I began to suspect he 
 knew the malady by having had it himself, and 
 that I had observed through life, that those per- 
 sons who had the most vanity were the most 
 severe against that failing in their friends. He 
 wished to impress upon me that he was not vain, 
 and gave various proofs to establish this; but I 
 produced against him his boasts of swimming, his 
 evident desire of being considered more lui 
 homme de societe than a poet, and other little 
 examples, when he laughingly pleaded guilty, 
 and promised to be more merciful towards his 
 friends. 
 
 We sat on the balcony after tea : it commands 
 
Mini r.()i{i) iJYiio.v. 63 
 
 a fine view, and we had one of those moonlight 
 nights that are seen only in this country. Every 
 object was tinged with its silvery lustre. In 
 front were crowded an uncountable number of 
 ships from every country, with their various flags 
 waving in the breeze, which bore to us the sounds 
 of the as various languages of the crews. In the 
 distance we enjoyed a more expanded view of 
 the sea, which reminded Byron of his friend 
 Moore's description, which he quoted : 
 
 The sea is like a silv'ry lake. 
 
 The fanale casting its golden blaze into this 
 silvery lake, and throwing a red lurid reflection 
 on the sails of the vessels that passed near it ; 
 the fishermen, with their small boats, each having 
 a fire held in a sort of grate fastened at the 
 end of the boat, which burns brilliantly, and 
 by which they not only see the fish that ap- 
 proach, but attract them; their scarlet caps, which 
 all the Genoese sailors and fishermen wear, add- 
 ing much to their picturesque appearance, all 
 formed a picture that description falls far short 
 of; and when to this are joined the bland 
 
04 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 odours of the richest and rarest flowers, with 
 which the balconies are filled, one feels that 
 such nights are never to be forgotten, and while 
 the senses dwell on each, and all, a delicious 
 melancholy steals over the mind, as it reflects 
 that, the destinies of each conducting to far dis- 
 tant regions, a time will arrive when all now 
 before the eye will appear but as a dream. 
 
 This was felt by all the party ; and after a 
 silence of many minutes, it was broken by Byron, 
 who remarked, " What an evening, and what a 
 view ! Should we ever meet in the dense at- 
 mosphere of London, shall we not recall this 
 evening, and the scenery now before us ? but, 
 no ! most probably there we should not feel as 
 we do here; we should fall into the same heart- 
 less, loveless apathy that distinguish one half 
 of our dear compatriots, or the bustling, im- 
 pertinent importance to be considered swpreme 
 bon ton that marks the other." 
 
 Byron spoke with bitterness, but it was the 
 bitterness of a fine nature soured by having been 
 touched too closely by those who had lost their 
 better feelings through a contact with the world. 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 65 
 
 After a few minutes' silence, he said, " Look at 
 that forest of masts now before us ! from what 
 remote parts of the world do they come ! o'er 
 how many waves have they not passed, and 
 how many tempests have they not been, and 
 may again be exposed to ! how many hearts 
 and tender thoughts follow them ! mothers, wives, 
 sisters, and sweethearts, who perhaps at this 
 hour are offering up prayers for their safety." 
 
 While he was yet speaking, sounds of vocal 
 music arose ; national hymns and barcaroles were 
 sung in turns by the different crews, and when 
 they had ceased, ** God save the King" was 
 sung by the crews of some English merchant- 
 men lying close to the pier. This was a sur- 
 prise to us all, and its effect on our feelings 
 was magnetic. Byron was no less touched than 
 thf rest ; each felt at the moment that tie of 
 country which unites all when they meet on a far 
 distant shore. When the song ceased, Byron, 
 with a melancholy smile, observed, " Why, posi- 
 tively, we are all quite sentimental this evening, 
 and / — / who have sworn against sentimentality, 
 find the old leaven still in my nature, and quite 
 
 E 
 
66 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 ready to make a fool of me. ' Tell it not in 
 Gath,' that is to say, breathe it not in London, 
 or to English ears polite, or never again shall 
 I be able to enact the stoic philosopher. Come, 
 come, this will never do, we must forswear moon- 
 light, fine views, and above all, hearing a national 
 air sung. Little does his gracious Majesty Big 
 Ben, as Moore calls him, imagine what loyal 
 subjects he has at Genoa, and least of all that 
 I am among their number." 
 
 Byron attempted to be gay, but the effort was 
 not successful, and he wished us good night with 
 a trepidation of manner that marked his feelings. 
 And this is the man that I have heard con- 
 sidered unfeeling! How often are our best quali- 
 ties turned against us, and made the instruments 
 for wounding us in the most vulnerable part, 
 until, ashamed of betraying our susceptibility, 
 we affect an insensibility we are far from pos- 
 sessing, and, while we deceive others, nourish 
 in secret the feelings that prey only on our own 
 hearts ! 
 
 It is difficult to judge when Lord Byron is 
 serious or not. He has a habit of mystifying, 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 67 
 
 that might impose upon many ; but that can be 
 detected by examining his physiognomy; for a 
 sort of mock gravity, now and then broken by 
 a malicious smile, betrays when he is speaking 
 for effect, and not giving utterance to his real 
 sentiments. If he sees that he is detected, he 
 appears angry for a moment, and then laugh- 
 ingly admits that it amuses him to hoaa: people, 
 as he calls it, and that when each person, at 
 some future day, will give their different state- 
 ments of him, they v^ill be so contradictory, 
 that all will be doubted, — an idea that gratifies 
 him exceedingly ! The mobility of his nature 
 is extraordinary, and makes him inconsistent in 
 his actions as well as in his conversation. He 
 introduced the subject of La Contessa Guiccioli 
 and her family, which we, of course, would not 
 have touched on. He stated that they lived be- 
 neath his roof because his rank as a British 
 peer afforded her father and brother protection, 
 they having been banished from Ravenna, their 
 native place, on account of their politics. He 
 spoke in high terms of the Counts Gamba, father 
 and son ; he said that he had given the family 
 
08 JOUI{\.\I, OF CONVI.USATIONS 
 
 a wing of his house, but that their establish- 
 ments were totally separate, their repasts never 
 taken together, and that such was their scrupu- 
 lous delicacy, that they never would accept a 
 pecuniary obligation from him in all the diffi- 
 culties entailed on them by their exile. He re- 
 presented La Contessa Guiccioli as a most amia- 
 ble and lady-like person, perfectly disinterested 
 and noble-minded, devotedly attached to him, 
 and possessing so many high and estimable 
 qualities, as to offer an excuse for any man's 
 attachment to her. He said that he had been 
 passionately in love with her, and that she had 
 sacrificed everything for him ; that the whole 
 of her conduct towards him had been admirable, 
 and that not only did he feel the strongest per- 
 sonal attachment to her, but the highest senti- 
 ments of esteem. He dwelt with evident com- 
 placency on her noble birth and distinguished 
 connexions, — advantages to which he attaches 
 great importance. I never met any one with so 
 decided a taste for aristocracy as Lord Byron, 
 and this is shown in a thousand different 
 ways. 
 
WITH LORD BY HON. 
 
 69 
 
 He says the Contessa is well educated, re- 
 markably fond of, and well read in, the poetry 
 of her own country, and a tolerable proficient 
 in that of France and England. In his praises 
 of Madame Guiccioli, it is quite evident that 
 he is sincere, and I am persuaded this is his last 
 attachment. He told me that she had used every 
 effort to get him to discontinue " Don Juan," or 
 at least to preserve the future cantos from all 
 impure passages. In short, he has said all that 
 was possible to impress me with a favourable 
 opinion of this lady, and has convinced me 
 that he entertains a very high one of her him- 
 self. 
 
 Byron is a strange melange of good and evil, 
 the predominancy of either depending wholly on 
 the humour he may happen to be in. His is a 
 character that Nature totally unfitted for domestic 
 habits, or for rendering a woman of refinement or 
 susceptibility happy. He confesses to me that 
 he is not happy, but admits that it is his own 
 fault, as the Contessa Guiccioli, the only object 
 of his love, has all the qualities to render a rea- 
 sonable being happy. 1 observed, apropos to 
 
70 JOURNAL OF CONVEUSATIOXS 
 
 some observation he had made, that I feared 
 La Contessa Guiccioli had little reason to be 
 satisfied with her lot. He answered, ** Perhaps 
 you are right ; yet she must know that I am 
 sincerely attached to her ; but the truth is, my 
 habits are not those requisite to form the happi- 
 ness of any woman: I am worn out in fcelintrs; 
 ( for, though only thirty-six, I feel sixty in mind, 
 and am less capable than ever of those nameless 
 attentions that all women, but, above all, Italian 
 women, require. I like solitude, which has be- 
 come absolutely necessary to me ; am fond of 
 shutting myself up for hours, and, when with the 
 person I like, am often distrait and gloomy. 
 There is something I am convinced (continued 
 Byron) in the poetical temperament that pre- 
 cludes happiness, not only to the person who has 
 it, but to those connected with him. Do not 
 accuse me of vanity because I say this, as my 
 belief is, that the worst poet may share this mis- 
 fortune in common with the best. The way in 
 which I account for it is, that our imaginations 
 being warmer than our hearts, and much more 
 given to wander, the latter have not the power 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 71 
 
 to control the former ; hence, soon after our pas- 
 sions are gratified, imagination again takes wing, 
 and, finding the insufficiency of actual indulgence 
 beyond the moment, abandons itself to all its 
 wayward fancies, and during this abandonment 
 becomes cold and insensible to the demands of 
 affection. This is our misfortune, but not our 
 fault, and dearly do we expiate it ; by it we are 
 rendered incapable of sympathy, and cannot 
 lighten, by sharing, the pain we inflict. Thus 
 we witness, without the power of alleviating, the 
 anxiety and dissatisfaction our conduct occasions. 
 We are not so totally unfeeling as not to be 
 grieved at the unhappiness we cause ; but this 
 same power of imagination transports our thoughts 
 to other scenes, and we are always so much more 
 occupied by the ideal than the present, that we 
 forget all that is actual. It is as though the 
 creatures of another sphere, not subject to the 
 lot of mortality, formed a factitious alliance (as 
 all alliances must be that are not in all respects 
 equal) with the creatures of this earth, and, being 
 exempt from its sufferings, turned their thoughts 
 to brighter regions, leaving the partners of their 
 
72 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 earthly existence to suffer alone. But, let the 
 object of affection be snatched away by death, 
 and how is all the pain ever inflicted on them 
 avenged ! The same imagination that led us to 
 slight, or overlook their sufferings, now that they 
 are for ever lost to us, magnifies their estimable 
 qualities, and increases tenfold the affection we 
 ever felt for them — 
 
 Oh ! what are thousand living loves. 
 To that which cannot quit the dead ? 
 
 How did I feel this when Allegra, my daughter, 
 died ! While she lived, her existence never 
 seemed necessary to my happiness ; but no sooner 
 did I lose her, than it appeared to me as if I 
 could not live without her. Even now the re- 
 collection is most bitter ; but how much more se- 
 verely would the death of Teresa afflict me with 
 the dreadful consciousness that while I had been 
 soaring into the fields of romance and fancy, I had 
 left her to weep over my coldness or infidelities 
 of imagination. It is a dreadful proof of the 
 weakness of our natures, that we cannot control 
 ourselves sufficiently to form the happiness of 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 73 
 
 those we love, or to bear their loss without 
 agony." 
 
 The whole of this conversation made a deep 
 impression on my mind, and the countenance of 
 the speaker, full of earnestness and feeling, im- 
 pressed it still more strongly on my memory. 
 Byron is right ; a brilliant imagination is rarely, if 
 ever, accompanied by a warm heart ; but on this 
 latter depends the happiness of life ; the other 
 renders us dissatisfied with its ordinary enjoy- 
 ments. 
 
 He is an extraordinary person, indiscreet to a 
 degree that is surprising, exposing his own feel- 
 ings, and entering into details of those of others, 
 that ought to be sacred, with a degree of frank- 
 ness as unnecessary as it is rare. Incontinence 
 of speech is his besetting sin. He is, I am per- 
 suaded, incapable of keeping any secret, however 
 it may concern his own honour or that of another ; 
 and the first person with whom he found himself 
 tUe-dUte would be made the confidant without 
 any reference to his worthiness of the confidence 
 or not. This indiscretion proceeds not from ma- 
 lice, but I should say, from want of delicacy of 
 
74 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 mind. To this was owing the publication of 
 his "Farewell," addressed to Lady Byron, — 
 a farewell that must have lost all effect as 
 an appeal to her feelings the moment it was 
 exposed to the public — nay, must have offended 
 her delicacy. 
 
 Byron spoke to-day in terms of high com- 
 mendation of Hope's " Anastasius;" said that he 
 wept bitterly over many pages of it, and for two 
 reasons, — first, that he had not written it, and 
 secondly, that Hope had ; for that it was neces- 
 sary to like a man excessively to pardon his 
 writing such a book — a book, as he said, excelling 
 all recent productions, as much in wit and talent, 
 as in true pathos. He added, that he would have 
 given his two most approved poems to have been 
 the author of " Anastasius." 
 
 From " Anastasius" he wandered to the works 
 of Mr. Gait, praised the " Annals of the Parish" 
 very highly, as also "The Entail," which we had 
 lent him, and some scenes of which he said had 
 affected him very much. " The characters in Mr. 
 Gait's novels have an identity," added Byron, 
 " that reminds me of Wilkie's pictures." 
 
WITH LORD BYIIOX. 75 
 
 As a woman, 1 felt proud of the homage he 
 paid to the genius of Mrs. Hemans, and as a 
 passionate admirer of her poetry, I felt flattered, 
 at finding that Lord Byron fully sympathized 
 with my admiration. He has, or at least ex- 
 presses, a strong dislike to the Lake school of 
 poets, never mentions them except in ridicule, 
 and he and I nearly quarrelled to-day because I 
 defended poor Keats. 
 
 On looking out from the balcony this morn- 
 ing with Byron, I observed his countenance 
 change, and an expression of deep sadness 
 steal over it. After a few minutes' silence he 
 pointed out to me a boat anchored to the 
 right, as the one in which his friend Shelley 
 went down, and he said the sight of it made 
 him ill. — ** You should have known Shelley," 
 said Byron, " to feel how much I must regret 
 him. He was the most gentle, most amiable, 
 and least worldly-minded person I ever met ; 
 full of delicacy, disinterested beyond all other 
 men, and possessing a degree of genius, joined to 
 a simplicity, as rare as it is admirable. He had 
 formed to himself a beau ideal of all that is fine, 
 
76 JOURNAL OF CONVEUSATIONS 
 
 high-minded, and noble, and he acted up to this 
 ideal even to the very letter. He had a most 
 brilliant imagination, but a total want of worldly- 
 wisdom. I have seen nothing like him, and never 
 shall again, I am certain. I never can forget the 
 night that his poor wife rushed into my room at 
 Pisa, with a face pale as marble, and terror im- 
 pressed on her brow, demanding, with all the 
 tragic impetuosity of grief and alarm, where was 
 her husband ! Vain were all our efforts to calm 
 her ; a desperate sort of courage seemed to give 
 her energy to confront the horrible truth that 
 awaited her ; - it was the courage of despair. I 
 have seen nothing in tragedy on the stage so 
 powerful, or so affecting, as her appearance, and 
 it often presents itself to my memory. I knew 
 nothing then of the catastrophe, but the vividness 
 of her terror communicated itself to me, and I 
 feared the worst, which fears were, alas ! too 
 soon fearfully realized. 
 
 " Mrs. Shelley is very clever, indeed it would 
 be difficult for her not to be so; the daughter of 
 Mary Wollstonecraft and Godwin, and the wife of 
 Shelley, could be no common person." 
 
WITH LOUD BVROX. 77 
 
 Byron talked to-day of Leigh Hunt, regretted 
 his ever having embarked in the " Liberal/' and 
 said that it had drawn a nest of hornets on him ; 
 but expressed a very good opinion of the talents 
 and principle of Mr. Hunt, though, as he said, 
 " our tastes are so opposite, that we are totally 
 unsuited to each other. He admires the Lakers, 
 I abhor them ; in short, we are more formed to 
 be friends at a distance, than near." I can per- 
 ceive that he wishes Mr. Hunt and his family 
 away. It appears to me that Byron is a person 
 who, without reflection, would form engagements 
 which, when condemned by his friends or ad- 
 visers, he would gladly get out of without con- 
 sidering the means, or, at least, without reflecting 
 on the humiliation such a desertion must inflict 
 on the persons he had associated with him. He 
 gives me the idea of a man, who, feeling him- 
 self in such a dilemma, would become cold 
 and ungracious to the parties with whom he 
 so stood, before he had mental courage suffi- 
 cient to abandon them. I may be wrong, but 
 the whole of his manner of talking of Mr. Hunt 
 gives me this impression, though he has not 
 
78 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 said what might be called an unkind word of 
 him. 
 
 Much as Byron has braved public opinion, it is 
 evident he has a great deference for those who 
 stand high in it, and that he is shy in attaching 
 himself publicly to persons who have even, how- 
 ever undeservedly, fallen under its censure. His 
 expressed contempt and defiance of the world 
 reminds me of the bravadoes of children, who, 
 afraid of darkness, make a noise to give them- 
 selves courage to support what they dread. It is 
 very evident that he is partial to aristocratic 
 friends ; he dwells with complacency on the ad- 
 vantages of rank and station, and has more than 
 once boasted that people of family are always to 
 be recognised by a certain air, and the smallness 
 and delicacy of their hands. 
 
 He talked in terms of high commendation of 
 the talents and acquirements of Mr. Hobhouse ; 
 but a latent sentiment of pique was visible in his 
 manner, from the idea he appeared to entertain 
 that Mr. Hobhouse had undervalued him. Byron 
 evidently likes praise : this is a weakness, if 
 weakness it be, that he partakes in common with 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 79 
 
 mankind in general ; but he docs not seem aware 
 that a great compliment is implied in the very 
 act of telling a man his faults — for the friend who 
 undertakes this disagreeable office must give him 
 whom he censures credit for many good qualities, 
 as well as no ordinary portion of candour and 
 temper, to suppose him capable of hearing their 
 recapitulation of his failings. Byron is, after all, 
 a spoiled child, and, the severe lessons he has met 
 with being disproportioned to the errors that 
 called them forth, has made him view the faults 
 of the civilized world through a false medium ; a 
 sort of discoloured magnifying-glass, while his 
 own are gazed at through a concave lens. All 
 that Byron has told me of the frankness and 
 unbending honesty of Mr. Hobhouse's character 
 has given me a most favourable impression of that 
 gentleman. 
 
 Byron gave me to-day a MS. copy of verses, 
 addressed to Lady Byron, on reading in a news- 
 paper that she had been ill. How different is the 
 feeling that pervades them from that of the letter 
 addressed to her which he has given me! a 
 lurking tenderness, suppressed by a pride that 
 
80 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 was doubtful of the reception it might meet, is 
 evident in one, while bitterness, uncompromising 
 bitterness, marks the other. Neither were written 
 but with deep feelings of pain, and should be 
 judged as the outpourings of a wounded spirit, 
 demanding pity more than anger. I subjoin the 
 verses, though not without some reluctance. But 
 while to the public they are of that value that any 
 reasons for their suppression ought to be ex- 
 tremely strong, so, on the other hand, I trust, 
 they cannot hurt either her feelings to whom they 
 are addressed, or his memory by whom they are 
 written : — to her, because the very bitterness of 
 reproach proves that unconquerable affection 
 which cannot but heal the wound it causes : to 
 him, because who, in the shattered feelings they 
 betray, will not acknowledge the grief that hurries 
 into error, and (may we add in charity!) — 
 atones for it. 
 
 'YQ * * * * m 
 
 And thou wert sad — yet I was not with thee ; 
 And thou wert sick, and yet I was not near ; 
 Methought that joy and health alone could be 
 "Where T was not — and pain and sorrow here ! 
 
WITH LORD BYRON, 81 
 
 And is it thus? — it is as I foretold, 
 And shall be more so ; for the mind recoils 
 Upon itself, and the wreck'tl heart lies cold, 
 While heaviness collects the shatter'd spoils. 
 It is not in the storm nor in the strife 
 We feel benumb'd, and wish to be no more, 
 But in the after-silence on the shore, 
 When all is lost, except a little life, 
 
 I am too well avenged ! — but 'twas my right ; 
 Whate'er my sins might be, thou wert not sent 
 To be the Nemesis who should requite — 
 Nor did Heaven choose so near an instrument. 
 
 Mercy is for the merciful ! — if thou 
 
 Hast been of such, 'twill be accorded now. 
 
 Thy nights are banish'd from the realms of sleep ! — 
 
 Yes ! they may flatter thee, but thou shalt feel 
 
 A hollow agony which will not heal, 
 
 For thou art pillow'd on a curse too deep ; 
 
 Thou hast sown in my sorrow, and must reap 
 
 The bitter harvest in a woe as real ! 
 
 I have had many foes, but none like thee; 
 
 For 'gainst the rest myself I could defend. 
 
 And be avenged, or turn them into friend ; 
 
 But thou in safe implacability 
 
82 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 Hadst nought to dread — in thy own weakness shielded, 
 
 And in my love, which hath but too much yielded. 
 
 And spared, for thy sake, some I should not spare — 
 
 And thus upon the world — trust in thy truth — 
 
 And the wild fame of my ungovern'd youth — 
 
 On things that were not, and on things that are — 
 
 Even upon such a basis hast thou built 
 
 A monument, whose cement hath been guilt ! 
 
 The moral Clytemnestra'of thy lord, 
 
 And hew'd down, with an unsuspected sword. 
 
 Fame, peace, and hope— and all the better life 
 
 Which, but for this cold treason of thy heart. 
 
 Might still have risen from out the grave of strife. 
 
 And found a nobler duty than to part. 
 
 But of thy virtues didst thou make a vice, 
 
 Trafficking with them in a purpose cold, 
 
 For present anger, and for future gold — 
 
 And buying other's grief at any price. 
 
 And thus once enter'd into crooked ways, 
 
 The early Truth, which was thy proper praise. 
 
 Did not still walk beside thee — but at times. 
 
 And with a breast unknowing its own crimes. 
 
 Deceit, averments incompatible. 
 
 Equivocations, and the thoughts which dwell 
 
 In Janus-spirits — the significant eye 
 
 Which learns to lie with silence — the pretext 
 
 Of Prudence, with advantages annex'd — 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 83^ 
 
 The acquiescence in all things which tend, 
 
 No matter how, to the desired end — 
 
 All found a place in thy philosophy. 
 
 The means were worthy, and the end is won — 
 
 I would not do by thee as thou hast done ! 
 
 It is evident that Lady Byron occupies his at- 
 tention continually ; he introduces her name fre- 
 quently ; is fond of recurring to the brief period 
 of their living together ; dwells with complacency 
 on her personal attractions, saying, that though 
 not regularly handsome, he liked her looks. He 
 is very inquisitive about her ; was much disap- 
 pointed that I had never seen her, nor could give 
 any account of her appearance at present. In 
 short, a thousand indescribable circumstances 
 have left the impression on my mind that she oc- 
 cupies much of his thoughts, and that they ap- 
 pear to revert continually to her and his child. He 
 owned to me, that when he reflected on the whole 
 tenour of her conduct — the refusing any explana- 
 tion — never answering his letters, or holding out 
 even a hope that in future years their child might 
 form a bond of union between them, he felt ex- 
 
84 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 asperated against her, and vented this feeling in 
 his writings ; nay more, he blushed for his own 
 weakness in thinking so often and so kindly of 
 one who certainly showed no symptom of ever 
 bestowing a thought on him. The mystery at- 
 tached to Lady Byron's silence has piqued him, 
 and kept alive an interest that, even now, appears 
 as lively as if their separation was recent. There 
 is something so humiliating in the consciousness 
 that some dear object, to whom we thought our- 
 selves necessary, and who occupies much of our 
 thoughts, can forget that we exist, or at least act 
 as if she did so, that I can well excuse the bitter- 
 ness of poor Byron's feelings on this point, though 
 not the published sarcasms caused by this bitter- 
 ness ; and whatever may be the sufferings of 
 Lady Byron, they are more than avenged by 
 what her husband feels. 
 
 It appears to me extraordinary, that a person who 
 has given such interesting sketches of the female 
 character, as Byron has in his works, should be 
 so little ail fait of judging feminine feeling under 
 certain circumstances. He is surprised that Lady 
 Byron has never relented since his absence from 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 85 
 
 England ; but he forgets how that absence has been 
 filled up on his jDart. I ventured to suggest this, 
 and hinted that, perhaps, had his conduct been 
 irreproachable during the first years of their sepa- 
 ration, and unstained by any attachment that 
 could have widened the breach between them, it 
 is possible that Lady Byron might have become 
 reconciled to him ; but that no woman of delicacy 
 could receive or answer letters written beneath 
 the same roof that sheltered some female favour- 
 ite, whose presence alone proved that the hus- 
 band could not have those feelings of propriety or 
 affection towards his absent wife, the want of 
 which constitutes a crime that all women, at least, 
 can understand to be one of those least pardon- 
 able. How few men understand the feelings of 
 women ! Sensitive, and easily wounded as we 
 are, obliged to call up pride to support us in 
 trials that always leave fearful marks behind, 
 how often are we compelled to assume the sem- 
 blance of coldness and indifference when the 
 heart inly bleeds; and the decent composure, put 
 on with our visiting garments to appear in public, 
 and, like them, worn for a few hours, are with 
 
86 JOUUXAI. OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 them laid aside ; and all the dreariness, the 
 heart consuming cares, that woman alone can 
 know, return to make us feel, that though we 
 may disguise our sufferings from others, and deck 
 our countenance with smiles, we cannot deceive 
 ourselves, and are but the more miserable from 
 the constraint we submit to ! A woman only can 
 understand a woman's heart — we cannot, dare 
 not, complain — sympathy is denied us, because 
 we must not lay open the wounds that excite it ; 
 and even the most legitimate feelings are too 
 sacred in female estimation to be exposed— thus 
 while we nurse the grief " that lies too deep for 
 tears," and consumes alike health and peace, a 
 man may with impunity express all, nay, more 
 than he feels — court and meet sympathy, while 
 his leisure hours are cheered by occupations and 
 pleasures, the latter too often such as ought to 
 prove how little he stood in need of compassion, 
 except for his vices. 
 
 I stated something of this to Lord Byron to- 
 day, apropos to the difference between his position 
 and that of his wife. He tried to prove to me 
 how much more painful was his situation than 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 87 
 
 hers ; but I effected some alteration in his opinion 
 when I had fairly placed their relative positions 
 before him — at least such as they appeared to 
 me. I represented Lady Byron to him separating 
 in early youth, whether from just or mistaken 
 motives for such a step, from the husband of her 
 choice, after little more than a brief year's union, 
 and immediately after that union had been ce- 
 mented by the endearing, strengthening tie of 
 a new-born infant ! carrying with her into soli- 
 tude this fond and powerful remembrancer of its 
 father, how much must it have cost her to resist 
 the appeals of such a pleader! — wearing away 
 her youth in almost monastic seclusion, her mo- 
 tives questioned by some, and appreciated by few 
 — seeking consolation alone in the discharge of 
 her duties, and avoiding all external demonstra- 
 tions of a grief that her pale cheek and solitary 
 existence are such powerful vouchers for ! Such 
 is the portrait I gave him of Lady Byron — his 
 own I ventured to sketch as follows. 
 
 I did not enter into the causes, or motives, of 
 the separation, because I know them not, but I 
 dwelt on his subsequent conduct : —the appealing 
 
88 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 on the separation to public sympathy, by the 
 publication of verses which ought only to have met 
 the eye of her to whom they were addressed, was 
 in itself an outrage to that delicacy, that shrinks 
 from, and shuns publicity, so inherent in the 
 female heart. He leaves England, — the climate, 
 modes, and customs of which had never been 
 congenial to his taste, — to seek beneath the sunny 
 skies of Italy, and all the soul-exciting objects 
 that classic land can offer, a consolation for do- 
 mestic disappointment. How soon were the 
 broken ties of conjugal affection replaced by less 
 holy ones ! I refer not to his attachment to La 
 Contessa Guiccioli, because at least it is of a 
 different and a more pure nature, but to those 
 degrading liaisons which marked the first year or 
 two of his residence in Italy, and must ever from 
 their revolting coarseness remain a stain on his 
 fame. It may be urged that disappointment and 
 sorrow drove him into such excesses ; but ad- 
 mitting this, surely we must respect the grief that 
 is borne in solitude, and with the most irreproach- 
 able delicacy of conduct, more than that which 
 flies to gross sensualities for relief. 
 
WITH LORD BYROiV. 89 
 
 Such was the substance, and I believe nearly 
 the words I repeated to him to-day ; and it is 
 but justice to him to say that they seemed to 
 make a deep impression. He said that if my 
 portrait of Lady Byron's position was indeed a 
 faithful one, she was much more to be pitied than 
 he ; that he felt deeply for her, but that he had 
 never viewed their relative situations in the same 
 light before ; he had always considered her as 
 governed wholly by pride. 
 
 I urged that my statement was drawn from 
 facts ; that, of the extreme privacy and seclusion 
 of her life, ever since the separation, there could 
 be no doubt, and this alone vouched for the 
 feelings that led to it. 
 
 He seemed pleased and gratified by the reflec- 
 tions I had made, insensibly fell into a tone of 
 tenderness in speaking of Lady Byron, and 
 pressed my hand with more than usual cordiality. 
 On bidding me good bye, his parting words were, 
 *' You probe old and half-healed wounds, but 
 though you give pain, you excite a more healthy 
 action, and do good." 
 
 His heart yearns to see his child ; all children 
 
00 JOl'RXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 of the same age remind him of her, and he loves 
 to recur to the subject. 
 
 Poor Byron has hitherto been so continually 
 occupied with dwelling on, and analyzing his own 
 feelings, that he has not reflected on those of his 
 wife. He cannot understand her observing such 
 a total silence on their position, because he could 
 not, and cannot, resist making it the topic of con- 
 versation with even chance associates : this, which 
 an impartial observer of her conduct would at- 
 tribute to deep feelings, and a sense of delicacy, 
 he concludes to be caused by pride and want of 
 feeling\ We are always prone to judge of others 
 by ourselves, which is one of the reasons wdiy our 
 judgments are in general so erroneous. Man may 
 be judged of by his species en masse, but he who 
 would judge of mankind in the aggregate, from 
 one specimen of the genus, must be often in error, 
 and this is Byron's case. 
 
 Lord Byron told me to-day, that he had been 
 occupied in the morning making his will ; that he 
 had left the bulk of his fortune to his sister, as, 
 his daughter having, in right of her mother, a 
 large fortune, he thought it unnecessary to in- 
 
WITH LOUD BYROX. 91 
 
 crease it; he added, that he had left La Contessa 
 Guiccioli £10,000, and had intended to have left 
 her £25,000, but that she had suspected his 
 intentions, and urged him so strongly not to do so, 
 or indeed to leave her anything, that he had 
 changed the sum to £10,000. He said that this 
 was one, of innumerable instances, of her delicacy \ 
 and disinterestedness, of vv^hich he had repeated 
 proofs ; that she was so fearful of the possibility 
 of having interested motives attributed to her, 
 that he was certain she would prefer the most 
 extreme poverty to incurring such a suspicion. 
 I observed, that were I he, I would have left her 
 the sum I had originally intended, as, in case of 
 his death, it would be a flattering proof of his 
 esteem for her, and she had always the power of 
 refusing the whole, or any part of the bequest she 
 thought proper. It appeared to me, that the 
 more delicacy and disinterestedness she displayed, 
 the more decided ought he to be, in marking- his 
 appreciation of her conduct. He appeared to 
 agree with me, and passed many encomiums on 
 La Contessa. 
 
 He talked to-day of Sir Francis Burdett, of 
 
9*2 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATION'S 
 
 whose public and private character he entertains 
 tlie most exalted opinion. He said that it vv^as 
 gratifying to behold in him the rare union of a 
 heart and head that left nothing to be desired, 
 and dwelt with evident pride and pleasure on the 
 mental courage displayed by Sir Francis in 
 befriending and supporting him, when so many of 
 his professed friends stood aloof, on his separation 
 from Lady Byron. The defalcation of his friends, 
 at the moment he most required them, has made 
 an indelible impression on his mind, and has 
 given him a very bad opinion of his countrymen. 
 I endeavoured to reason him out of this, by 
 urging the principle that mankind, en mas,se, are 
 everywhere the same, but he denied this, on the 
 plea that, as civilization had arrived at a greater 
 degree of perfection in England than elsewhere, 
 selfishness, its concomitant, there flourished so 
 luxuriantly, as to overgrow all generous and kind 
 feelings. He quoted various examples of friends, 
 and even the nearest relations, deserting each 
 other in the hour of need, fearful that any part of 
 the censure heaped on some less fortunate con- 
 nexion might fall on them. I am unwilling to 
 
WITH LORD BYRON". 93 
 
 believe that his pictures are not overdrawn, and 
 hope I shall always think so — 
 
 Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise. 
 
 ** Talking of friends," said Byron, " Mr. Hob- 
 house has been the most impartial, or perhaps 
 (added he) impartial of all my friends ; he always 
 told me my faults, but I must do him the justice 
 to add, that he told them to me, and not to 
 others." I observed that the epithet impartial 
 was the applicable one ; but he denied it, saying 
 that Mr. Hobhouse must have been impartial, to 
 have discerned all the errors he had pointed out ; 
 *' but," he added, laughing, " I could have told 
 him of some more which he had not discovered; 
 for even, then, avarice had made itself strongly 
 felt in my nature." 
 
 Byron came to see us to-day, and appeared 
 extremely discomposed ; after half-an-hour's con- 
 versation on indifferent subjects, he at length broke 
 forth with, '* Only fancy my receiving to-day a 
 
 tragedy dedicated as follows — ' From George 
 
 to George Byron ! ' This is being cool with a 
 vengeance. I never was more provoked. How 
 
94 JOUllXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 stupid, how ignorant, to pass over my rank ! I 
 am determined not to read the tragedy ; for a 
 man capable of committing such a solecism in 
 good breeding and common decency, can write 
 nothing worthy of being read." We were as- 
 tonished at witnessing the annoyance this cir- 
 cumstance gave him, and more than ever con- 
 vinced, that the pride of aristocracy is one of the 
 peculiar features of his character. If he some- 
 times forgets his rank, he never can forgive any 
 one else's doing so ; and as he is not naturally 
 dignified, and his propensity to flippancy renders 
 him still less so, he often finds himself in a 
 false position, by endeavouring to recover lost 
 ground. We endeavoured to console him by tel- 
 ling him that we knew Mr. George a little, 
 
 and that he was clever and agreeable, as also that 
 his passing over the title of Byron was meant as 
 a compliment — 'it was a delicate preference 
 shown to the renown accorded to George Byron 
 the poet, over the rank and title, which were ad- 
 ventitious advantages ennobled by the possessor, 
 but that could add nothing to his fame. All our 
 arguments were vain ; he said, " this could not 
 
^viTii Loun nvRox. 95 
 
 be the man's feelings, as he reduced him (Lord 
 Byron) to the same level as himself." It is 
 strange to see a person of such brilliant and pow- 
 erful genius sullied by such incongruities. Were 
 he but sensible how much the Lord is overlooked 
 in the Poet he would be less vain of his rank : 
 but as it is, this vanity is very prominent, and re- 
 sembles more the pride of a parvenu than the 
 calm dignity of an ancient aristocrat. It is also 
 evident that he attaches importance to the appen- 
 dages of rank and station. The trappings of 
 luxury, to which a short use accustoms every one, 
 seem to please him ; he observes, nay, comments 
 upon them, and oh ! mortifying conclusion, ap- 
 pears, at least for the moment, to think more 
 highly of their possessors. As his own mode of 
 life is so extremely simple, this seems the more 
 extraordinary ; but everything in him is contra- 
 dictory and extraordinary. Of his friends he 
 remarks, " this or that person is a man of family, 
 or he is a parvenu, the marks of which character, 
 in spite of all his affected gentility, break out in a 
 thousand ways." We were not prepared for 
 this ; we expected to meet a man more disposed 
 
96 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 to respect the nobility of genius than that of rank ; 
 but we have found the reverse. In talking of 
 Ravenna, the natal residence of La Contessa 
 Guiccioli, he dwells with peculiar complacency 
 on the equipage of her husband ; talks of the six 
 black carriage-horses, without which the old 
 Conte seldom moved, and their spacious palazzo ; 
 also the wealth of the Conte, and the distin- 
 guished connexions of the lady. He describes 
 La Contessa as being of the middle stature, 
 finely formed, exquisitely fair, her features per- 
 fectly regular, and the expression of her coun- 
 tenance remarkable for its animation and sweet- 
 ness, her hair auburn, and of great beauty. No 
 wonder, then, that such rare charms have had 
 power to fix his truant heart ; and, as he says that 
 to these she unites accomplishments and amia- 
 bility, it may be concluded, as indeed he de- 
 clares, that this is his last attachment. He 
 frequently talks of Alfieri, and always with en- 
 thusiastic admiration. He remarks on the simi- 
 larity of their tastes and pursuits, their domesti- 
 cating themselves with women of rank, their 
 fondness for animals, and, above all, for horses ; 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 97 
 
 their liking to be surrounded by birds and pets of 
 various descriptions, their passionate love of li- 
 berty, habitual gloom, Sec. &c. In short, he 
 produces so many points of resemblance, that it 
 leads one to suspect that he is a copy of an ori- 
 ginal he has long studied. 
 
 This, again, proceeds from a want of self- 
 respect ; but we may well pardon it, when we 
 reflect on the abuse, calumny, envy, haired, and 
 malice, that, in spite of all his genius, have pur- 
 sued him from the country that genius must 
 adorn. 
 
 Talking of Alfieri, he told me to-day, that 
 when that poet was travelling in Italy, a very 
 romantic, and, as he called her, tete montee Italian 
 Principessa, or Duchessa, who had long been an 
 enthusiastic admirer of his works, having heard 
 that he was to pass within fifty miles of her resi- 
 dence, set off to encounter him ; and having ar- 
 rived at the inn where he sojourned, was shown 
 into a room where she was told Alfieri was wri- 
 ting. She enters, agitated and fatigued, — sees a 
 very good-looking man seated at a table, whom 
 she concludes must be Alfieri, — throws herself 
 
 G 
 
98 JOURNAL OF COXVERSATIOXS 
 
 into his arms, — and, in broken words, declares 
 her admiration, and the distance she has come to 
 declare it. In the midst of the lady's impas- 
 sioned speeches, Alfieri enters the room, casts a 
 glance of surprise and hauteur at the pair, and 
 lets fall some expression that discloses to the 
 humbled Principessa the shocking mistake she 
 has made. 
 
 The poor Secretary (for such he was) is blamed 
 by the lady, while he declares his innocence^ 
 finding himself, as he says, in the embraces of a 
 lady who never allowed him even a moment to 
 interrupt her, by the simple question of what she 
 meant ! Alfieri retired in offended dignity, shocked 
 that any one could be mistaken for him, while 
 the Principessa had to retrace her steps, her en- 
 thusiasm somewhat cooled by the mistake and its 
 consequences. 
 
 Byron says that the number of anonymous 
 amatory letters and portraits he has received, and 
 all from English ladies, would fill a large volume. 
 He says he has never noticed any of them ; but it 
 is evident he recurs to them with complacency. 
 
 He talked to-day of a very different kind of 
 
WITH LOUD BYllOX. 99 
 
 letter, which appears to have made a profound 
 impression on him ; he has promised to show it to 
 me ; it is from a Mr. Sheppard, inclosing him a 
 prayer offered up for Byron, by the wife of Mr. 
 Sheppard, and sent since her death. He says he 
 never was more touched than on perusing it, and 
 that it has given him a better opinion of human 
 nature. 
 
 The following is the copy of the letter and 
 prayer, which Lord Byron has permitted me to 
 make. 
 
 " TO LORD BYRON. 
 
 " Frome, Somerset, Nov. 21, 1821. 
 " MY LORD, 
 
 " More than two years since, a lovely and 
 beloved wife was taken from me, by lingering 
 disease, after a very short union. She possessed 
 unvarying gentleness and fortitude, and a piety so 
 retiring as rarely to disclose itself in words, but 
 so influential as to produce uniform benevolence 
 of conduct. In the last hour of life, after a fare- 
 well look on a lately-born and only infant, for 
 whom she had evinced inexpressible affection, 
 
100 JOURN'AL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 her last whispers were, * God's happiness ! — 
 God's happiness ! ' 
 
 ** Since the second anniversary of her decease, 
 I have read some papers which no one had seen 
 during her life, and which contain her most secret 
 thoughts. 1 am induced to communicate to your 
 Lordship a passage from these papers, which 
 there is no doubt refers to yourself, as I have 
 more than once heard the writer mention your 
 agility on the rocks at Hastings. 
 
 " ' Oh, my God, I take encouragement from 
 the assurance of thy word, to pray to Thee in 
 behalf of one for whom I have lately been much 
 interested. May the person to whom I allude 
 (and who is now, we fear, as much distinguished 
 for his neglect of Thee as for the transcendant 
 talents thou hast bestowed on him), be awakened 
 to a sense of his own danger, and led to seek that 
 peace of mind in a proper sense of religion, which 
 he has found this world's enjoyment unable to 
 procure ! Do Thou grant that his future example 
 may be productive of far more extensive benefit 
 than his past conduct and writings have been of 
 
W]TH LORD BYRON. 101 
 
 evil ; and may the Sun of Righteousness, wliich 
 we trust will, at some future period, arise on him, 
 be bright in proportion to the darkness of those 
 clouds which guilt has raised around him, and the 
 balm which it bestows, healing and soothing in 
 proportion to the keenness of that agony which 
 the punishment of his vices has inflicted on him ! 
 May the hope that the sincerity of my own 
 efforts for the attainment of holiness, and the 
 approval of my own love to the Great Author of 
 religion, will render this prayer, and every other 
 for the welfare of mankind, more efficacious, — 
 cheer me in the path of duty; but, let me not 
 forget, that while we are permitted to animate 
 ourselves to exertion by every innocent motive, 
 these are but the lesser streams which may serve 
 to increase the current, but which, deprived of 
 the grand fountain of good, (a deep conviction of 
 inborn sin, and firm belief in the efficacy of 
 Christ's death for the salvation of those who trust 
 in him, and really wish to serve him,) would soon 
 dry up, and leave us barren of every virtue as 
 before. — Hast'mgs, July 31, 1814.' 
 
102 JOURNAL OF CONVEllSATIONS 
 
 " There is nothing, my Lord, in this extract 
 which, in a literary sense, can at all interest you ; 
 but it may, perhaps, appear to you worthy of 
 reflection how deep and expansive a concern for 
 the happiness of others the Christian faith can 
 awaken in the midst of youth and prosperity. 
 Here is nothing poetical and splendid, as in the 
 expostulatory homage of M. Delamartine; but 
 here is the sublime, my Lord ; for this intercession 
 was offered, on your account, to the supreme 
 Source of happiness. It sprang from a faith more 
 confirmed than that of the French poet, and 
 from a charity which, in combination with faith, 
 showed its power unimpaired amidst the languors 
 and pains of approaching dissolution. I will hope 
 that a prayer, which, I am sure, was deeply 
 sincere, may not always be unavailing. 
 
 " It would add nothing, my Lord, to the fame 
 
 with which your genius has surrounded you, for 
 
 an unknown and obscure individual to express his 
 
 admiration of it. I had rather be numbered with 
 
 those who wish and pray, that ' wisdom from 
 
 above,' and 'peace,' and 'joy,' may enter such a 
 
 mind. 
 
 "John Sheppard.' 
 
MITH LOUD BYRON. 103 
 
 On reading this letter and prayer, which Byron 
 did aloud, before he consigned it to me to copy, 
 and with a voice tremulous from emotion, and a 
 seriousness of aspect that showed how deeply it 
 affected him, he observed, " Before I had read 
 this prayer, I never rightly understood the ex- 
 pression, so often used, ' The beauty of holi- 
 ness.' This prayer and letter has done more to 
 give me a good opinion of religion, and its pro- 
 fessors, than all the religious books I ever read 
 in my life. 
 
 " Here were two most amiable and exalted 
 minds offering prayers and wishes for the salva- 
 tion of one considered by three parts of his 
 countrymen to be beyond the pale of hope, and 
 charitably doomed to everlasting torments. The 
 religion that prays and hopes for the erring is the 
 true religion, and the only one that could make a 
 convert of me ; and I date (continued Byron) my 
 first impressions against religion to having wit- 
 nessed how little its votaries were actuated by 
 any true feeling of Christian charity. Instead of 
 lamenting the disbelief, or pitying the transgres- 
 sions (or at least their consequences) of the sinner, 
 
104 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 they at once cast him off, dwell with acrimony on 
 his errors, and, not content with foredooming him 
 to eternal punishment hereafter, endeavour, as 
 much as they can, to render his earthly existence 
 as painful as possible, until they have hardened 
 him in his errors, and added hatred of his species 
 to their number. Were all religious people like 
 Mr. Sheppard and the amiable wife he has lost, 
 we should have fewer sceptics : such examples 
 would do more towards the work of conversion 
 than all that ever was written on the subject. 
 
 " When Religion supports the sufferer in afflic- 
 tion and sickness, even unto death, its advantages 
 are so visible, that all must wish to seek such a 
 consolation ; and when it speaks peace and hope 
 to those who have strayed from its path, it softens 
 feelings that severity must have hardened, and 
 leads back the wanderer to the fold ; but when it 
 clothes itself in anger, denouncing vengeance, or 
 shows itself in the pride of superior righteousness, 
 condemning, rather than pitying, all erring 
 brothers, it repels the wavering, and fixes the 
 unrepentant in their sins. Such a religion can 
 make few converts, but may make many dis- 
 
M'lTH LORD BYRON. 105 
 
 senters, to its tenets ; for in religion, as in every- 
 thing else, its utility must be apparent, to 
 encourage people to adopt its precepts ; and the 
 utility is never so evident as when we see pro- 
 fessors of religion supported by its consolations, 
 and willing to extend these consolations to those 
 who have still more need of them — the misguided 
 and the erring." 
 
 They v/ho accuse Byron of being an unbeliever 
 are wrong: he is sceptical, but not unbelieving; 
 and it appears not unlikely to me that a time may 
 come when his wavering faith in many of the 
 tenets of religion may be as firmly fixed as is now 
 his conviction of the immortality of the soul, — a 
 conviction that he declares every fine and noble 
 impulse of his nature renders more decided. He 
 is a sworn foe to Materialism, tracing every 
 defect to which we are subject, to the infirmities 
 entailed on us by the prison of clay in which the 
 heavenly spark is confined. Conscience, he says, 
 is to him another proof of the Divine Origin of 
 Man, as is also his natural tendency to the love of 
 good. A fine day, a moonlight night, or any 
 other fine object in the phenomena of nature. 
 
lOG JOLllXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 excites (said Byron) strong feelings of religion in 
 all elevated minds, and an outpouring of the spirit 
 to the Creator, that, call it what we may, is the 
 essence of innate love and gratitude to the Divi- 
 nity. 
 
 There is a seriousness in Byron's manner, when 
 he gets warmed by his subject, that impresses 
 one with the truth of his statements. He ob- 
 served to me, '* I seldom talk of religion, but I 
 feel it, perhaps, more than those who do. I speak 
 to you on this topic freely, because I know you 
 will neither laugh at, nor enter into a controversy 
 with me. It is strange, but true, that Mrs. 
 Sheppard is mixed up with all my religious 
 aspirations : nothing ever so excited my imagina- 
 tion, and touched my heart, as her prayer. I 
 have pictured her to myself a thousand times in 
 the solitude of her chamber, struck by a malady 
 that generally engrosses all feelings for self, and 
 those near and dear to one, thinking of, and 
 praying foi' me, who was deemed by all an outcast. 
 
 fHer purity — her blameless life — and the deep 
 humility expressed in her prayer — render her, in 
 my mind, the most interesting and angelic 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 107 
 
 creature that ever existed, and she mingles in all 
 my thoughts of a future state. I would give 
 anything to have her portrait, though perhaps it 
 would destroy the beau ideal I have formed of her. 
 What strange thoughts pass through the mind, 
 and how much are we influenced by adventitious 
 circumstances ! The phrase lovely, in the letter 
 of Mr. Sheppard, has invested the memory of his 
 wife with a double interest ; but beauty and 
 goodness have always been associated in my 
 mind, because, through life, I have found them 
 generally go together. I do not talk of mere 
 beauty (continued Byron) of feature or com- 
 plexion, but of expression, that looking out of the 
 soul through the eyes, which, in my opinion, 
 constitutes true beauty. Women have been 
 pointed out to me as beautiful who never could 
 have interested my feelings, from their want of 
 countenance, or expression, which means counte- 
 nance ; and others, who were little remarked, 
 have struck me as being captivating, from the 
 force of countenance. A woman's face ought to 
 be like an April day — susceptible of change and 
 variety ; but sunshine should often gleam over it. 
 
108 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 to replace the clouds and showers that may 
 obscure its lustre, — which, poetical description 
 apart (said Byron), in sober prose means, that 
 good-humoured smiles ought to be ready to chase 
 away the expression of pensiveness or care that 
 sentiment or earthly ills call forth. Women were 
 meant to be the exciters of all that is finest in our 
 natures, and the soothers of all that is turbulent 
 and harsh. Of what use, then, can a handsome 
 automaton be, after one has got acquainted with a 
 face that knows no change, though it causes 
 many ? This is a style of looks I could not bear 
 the sight of for a week ; and yet such are the 
 looks that pass in society for pretty, handsome, 
 
 and beautiful. How beautiful Lady C was! 
 
 She had no great variety of expression, but the 
 predominant ones were purity, calmness, and abs- 
 traction. She looked as if she had never caused 
 an unhallowed sentiment, or felt one, — a sort of 
 * moonbeam on the snow,' as our friend Moore 
 would describe her, that was lovely to look on. — 
 
 Lady A. F was also very handsome. It is 
 
 melancholy to talk of women in the past tense. 
 What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade so soon 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 109 
 
 as beauty ! Poor Lady A . F has not got 
 
 married. Do you know, I once had some thoughts 
 of her as a wife ; not that I was in love, as people 
 call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that 
 I ought to marry, and meeting her very often in 
 society, the notion came into my head, not heart, 
 that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so 
 much of her good qualities, all which was, I 
 believe, quite true, that I felt tempted to propose 
 to her, but did not, whether tant mieu.v or ta?it pis, 
 God knows, supposing my proposal accepted. 
 No marriage could have turned out more un- 
 fortunately than the one I made, — that is quite 
 certain ; and, to add to my agreeable reflections 
 on this subject, I have the consciousness that had 
 I possessed sufficient command over my own 
 wayward humour, I might have rendered myself 
 so dear and necessary to Lady Byron, that she 
 would not, could not, have left me. It is certainly 
 not very gratifying to my vanity to have been 
 plante after so short a union, and within a few 
 weeks after being made a father, — a circumstance 
 that one would suppose likely to cement the 
 attachment. I always get out of temper when I 
 
110 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 recur to this subject ; and yet, malgrc moi, I find 
 myself continually recurring to it." 
 
 Byron is a perfect chameleon, possessing the 
 fabulous qualities attributed to that animal, of 
 taking the colour of whatever touches him. He 
 is conscious of this, and says it is owing to the 
 extreme mobilite of his nature, which yields to 
 present impressions. It appears to me, that the 
 consciousness of his own defects renders him still 
 less tolerant to those of others, — this perhaps is 
 owing to their attempts to conceal them, more 
 than from natural severity, as he condemns hy- 
 pocrisy more than any other vice — saying it is the 
 origin of all. If vanity, selfishness, or mundane 
 sentiments, are brought in contact with him, 
 every arrow in the armoury of ridicule is let fly, 
 and there is no shield sufficiently powerful to 
 withstand them. If vice approaches, he assails it 
 with the bitterest gall of satire ; but when good- 
 ness appears, and that he is assured it is sincere, 
 all the dormant affections of his nature are ex- 
 cited, and it is impossible not to observe, how 
 tender and affectionate a heart his must have 
 been, ere circumstances had soured it. This was 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. Ill 
 
 never more displayed than in the impression 
 made on him by the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard, 
 and the letter of her husband. It is also evident 
 in the generous impulses that he betrays on 
 hearing of distress or misfortune, which he en- 
 deavours to alleviate ; and, unlike the world in 
 general, Byron never makes light of the griefs of 
 others, but shows commiseration and kindness. 
 There are days when he excites so strong an 
 interest and sympathy, by showing such un- 
 doubtable proofs of good feeling, that every pre- 
 vious impression to his disadvantage fades away, 
 and one is vexed with oneself for ever having 
 harboured them. But, alas ! " the morrow 
 comes," and he is no longer the same being. 
 Some disagreeable letter, review, or new example 
 of the slanders with which he has been for years 
 assailed, changes the whole current of his feelings 
 — renders him reckless. Sardonic, and as unlike 
 the Byron of the day before, as if they had 
 nothing in common, — nay, he seems determined 
 to efface any good impression he might have 
 made, and appears angry with himself for having 
 yielded to the kindly feelings that gave birth to 
 
112 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 it. After such exhibitions, one feels perplexed 
 what opinion to form of him ; and the individual 
 w^ho has an opportunity of seeing Byron very 
 often, and for any length of time, if he or she 
 stated the daily impressions candidly, would find, 
 on reviewing them, a mass of heterogeneous 
 evidence, from which it would be most difficult 
 to draw a just conclusion. The affectionate 
 manner in which he speaks of some of his juve- 
 nile companions has a delicacy and tenderness 
 resembling the nature of woman more than that 
 of man, and leads me to think that an extreme 
 sensitiveness, checked by coming in contact with 
 persons incapable of appreciating it, and affec- 
 tions chilled by finding a want of sympathy, have 
 repelled, but could not eradicate, the seeds of 
 goodness that now often send forth blossoms, 
 and, with culture, may yet produce precious 
 fruit. 
 
 I am sure, that if ten individuals undertook the 
 task of describing Byron, no two, of the ten, 
 would agree in their verdict respecting him, or 
 convey any portrait that resembled the other, 
 and yet the description of each might be correct, 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 113 
 
 according to his or her received opinion ; but the 
 truth is, the chameleon-like character or manner 
 of Byron renders it difficult to portray him ; and 
 the pleasure he seems to take in misleading his 
 associates in their estimate of him increases the 
 difficulty of the task. This extraordinary fancy 
 of his has so often struck me, that I expect to see 
 all the persons who have lived with him giving 
 portraits, each unlike the other, and yet all 
 bearing a resemblance to the original at some one 
 time. Like the pictures given of some celebrated 
 actor in his different characters, each likeness is 
 affected by the dress and the part he has to fill. 
 The portrait of John Kemble in Cato resembles 
 not Macbeth nor Hamlet, and yet each is an 
 accurate likeness of that admirable actor in those 
 characters ; so Byron, changing every day, and 
 fond of misleading those whom he suspects might 
 be inclined to paint him, will always appear 
 different from the hand of each limner. 
 
 During our rides in the vicinity of Genoa, we 
 frequently met several persons, almost all of 
 them English, who evidently had taken that 
 route purposely to see Lord Byron. '* Which is 
 
 H 
 
114 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 he ? " " That 's he," I Iiave frequently lieard 
 whispered as the different groups extended their 
 heads to gaze at him, while he has turned to me — 
 his pale face assuming, for the moment, a warmer 
 tint — and said, " How very disagreeable it is to 
 be so stared at ! If you knew how I detest it, 
 you would feel how great must be my desire to 
 enjoy the society of my friends at the Hotel de la 
 Ville, when I pay the price of passing through 
 the town, and exposing myself to the gazing mul- 
 titude on the stairs and in the anti-chambers." 
 Yet there were days when he seemed more 
 pleased than displeased at being followed and 
 stared at. All depended on the humour he was 
 in. When gay, he attributed the attention he 
 excited to the true cause — admiration of his 
 genius ; but when in a less good-natured humour, 
 he looked on it as an impertinent curiosity, caused 
 by the scandalous histories circulated against 
 him, and resented it as such. 
 
 He was peculiarly fond of flowers, and gene- 
 rally bought a large bouquet every day of a 
 gardener whose grounds we passed. He told me 
 that he liked to have them in his room, though 
 
WITir LORD BYRON. 115 
 
 they excited melancholy feelings, by reminding 
 him of the evanescence of all that is beautiful, 
 but that the melancholy was of a softer, milder 
 character, than his general feelings. 
 
 Observing Byron one day in more than usually 
 low spirits, I asked him if any thing painful had 
 occurred. He sighed deeply, and said — '* No, 
 nothing new ; the old wounds are still unhealed, 
 and bleed afresh on the slightest touch, so 
 that God knows there needs nothing new. 
 Can I reflect on my present position with- 
 out bitter feelings? Exiled from my country 
 by a species of ostracism — the most humili- 
 ating to a proud mind, when daggers and not 
 shells were used to ballot, inflicting mental 
 wounds more deadly and difficult to be healed 
 than all that the body could suffer. Then 
 the notoriety (as I call what you would kindly 
 name fame) that follows me, precludes the pri- 
 vacy I desire, and renders me an object of cu- 
 riosity, which is a continual source of irritation 
 to my feelings. I am bound, by the indissoluble 
 ties of marriage, to one who will not live with me, 
 and live with one to whom I cannot give a legal 
 right to be my companion, and who, wanting 
 
IIG JOUIIXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 that right, is placed in a position humiliating to 
 her and most painful to me. Were the Contessa 
 Guiccioli and I married, we should, I am sure, 
 be cited as an example of conjugal happiness, 
 and the domestic and retired life we lead would 
 entitle us to respect ; but our union, wanting the 
 legal and religious part of the ceremony of mar- 
 riage, draws on us both censure and blame. 
 She is formed to make a good wife to any man to 
 whom she attached herself. She is fond of re- 
 tirement — is of a most affectionate disposition 
 — and noble-minded and disinterested to the 
 highest degree. Judge then how mortifying it 
 must be to me to be the cause of placing her in 
 a false position. All this is not thought of when 
 people are blinded by passion, but when passion is 
 replaced by better feelings — those of affection, 
 friendship, and confidence^ — when, in short, the 
 liaison has all of marriage but its forms, then it 
 is that we wish to give it the respectability of 
 wedlock. It is painful (said Byron) to find oneself 
 growing old without — 
 
 that which should accompany old age, 
 As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends. 
 
AVITil LORD BYRON. 117 
 
 I feel this keenly, recklessas I appear, though 
 there are few to whom I would avow it, and cer- 
 tainly not to a man." 
 
 " With all my faults," said Byron one day, 
 '* and they are, as you will readily believe, innu- 
 merable, I have never traduced the only two 
 women with whom I was ever domesticated. 
 Lady Byron and the Contessa Guiccioli. Though 
 I have had, God knows, reason to complain of 
 Lady Byron's leaving me, and all that her de- 
 sertion entailed, I defy malice itself to prove 
 that I ever spoke against her ; on the contrary, I 
 have always given her credit for the many ex- 
 cellent and amiable qualities she possesses, or at 
 least possessed, when I knew her ; and I have 
 only to regret that forgiveness, for real, or ima- 
 gined, wrongs, was not amongst their number. 
 Of the Guiccioli, I could not, if I would, speak 
 ill ; her conduct towards me has been faultless, 
 and there are few examples of such complete 
 and disinterested affection as she has shown 
 towards me all through our attachment." 
 
 I observed in Lord Byron a candour in talking 
 of his own defects, nay, a seeming pleasure in 
 
118 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 dwelling- on them, that I never remarked in any 
 other person : I told him this one day, and he 
 answered, ** Well, does not that give you hopes 
 of my amendment?" My reply was, *'No; 
 I fear, by continually recapitulating them, you 
 will get so accustomed to their existence, as to 
 conquer your disgust of them. You remind me 
 of Belcour, in the ' West Indian,' when he ex- 
 claims, ' No one sins with more repentance, or 
 repents with less amendment than I do.' " He 
 laughed, and said, " Well, only wait, and you 
 will see me one day become all that I ought 
 to be ; I am determined to leave my sins, and 
 not wait until they leave me : I have reflected 
 seriously on all my faults, and that is tlie 
 first step towards amendment. Nay, I have 
 made more progress than people give me credit 
 for ; but, the truth is, I have such a detestation 
 of cant, and am so fearful of being suspected 
 of yielding to its outcry, that I make myself 
 appear rather tvone than better than I am." 
 y " You will believe me, what I sometimes be- 
 lieve myself, mad," said Byron one day, " when 
 I tell you that I seem to have tico states of ex- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 119 
 
 istence, one purely contemplative, during which 
 the crimes, faults, and follies of mankind are 
 laid open to my view, (my own forming a pro- 
 minent object in the picture,) and the other 
 active, when I play my part in the drama of 
 life, as if impelled by some power over which 
 I have no control, though the consciousness of 
 doing wrong remains. It is as though I had 
 the faculty of discovering error, without the 
 power of avoiding it. How do you account 
 for this ?" I answered, *' That, like all the phe- 
 nomena of thought, it was unaccountable ; but 
 that contemplation, when too much indulged, 
 often produced the same effect on the mental 
 faculties that the dweUing on bodily ailments 
 effected in the physical powers — we might be- 
 come so well acquainted with diseases, as to find 
 all their symptoms in ourselves and others, with- 
 out the power of preventing or curing them ; 
 nay, by the force of imagination, might end in 
 the belief that we were afflicted with them to 
 such a degree as to lose all enjoyment of life, 
 which state is termed hypochondria ; but the 
 hypochondria which arises from the belief in 
 
120 JOL'HNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 mental diseases is still more insupportable, and 
 is increased by contemplation of the supposed 
 crimes or faults, so that the mind should be 
 often relaxed from its extreme tension, and 
 other and less exciting subjects of reflection 
 presented to it. Excess in thinking, like all 
 other excesses, produces re-action, and add the 
 two words ' too much' before the Avord think- 
 ing, in the two lines of the admirable parody 
 of the brothers Smith — 
 
 Thinking is but an idle waste of thought, 
 
 And nought is every thing, and every thing is nought ; 
 
 and, instead of parody, it becomes true philo- 
 sophy." 
 
 We both laughed at the abstract subject we 
 had fallen upon; and Byron remarked, "How 
 few would guess the general topics that occupy 
 our conversation!" I added, " It may not, per- 
 haps, be very amusing, but at all events it is 
 better than scandal." He shook his head, and 
 said, " All subjects are good in their way, pro- 
 vided they are sufficiently diversified ; but scan- 
 dal has something so piquant, — it is a sort 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 121 
 
 of cayenne to the mind, — tliat I confess I like 
 it, particularly if the objects are one's particular 
 friends." 
 
 " Of course you know Luttrell," said Lord 
 Byron. " He is a most agreeable member of 
 society, the best sayer of good things, and the 
 most epigrammatic conversationist I ever met : 
 there is a terseness, and wit, mingled with 
 fancy, in his observations, that no one else 
 possesses, and no one so peculiarly understands 
 the api^opos. His ' Advice to Julia' is pointed, 
 witty, and full of observation, showing in every 
 line a knowledge of society, and a tact rarely 
 met with. Then, unlike all, or niost other 
 wits, Luttrell is never obtrusive, even the 
 choicest bons mots are only brought forth 
 when perfectly applicable, and then are given 
 in a tone of good breeding which enhances their 
 value." 
 
 " Moore is very sparkling in a choice or chosen 
 society (said Byron) ; with lord and lady listeners 
 he shines like a diamond, and thinks that, like 
 that precious stone, his brilliancy should be 
 reseryed pour le l/eau mondc. Moore has a happy 
 
122 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 disposition, his temper is good, and he has a sort 
 of fire-fly imagination, always in movement, and 
 in each evolution displaying new brilliancy. He 
 has not done justice to himself in living so much in 
 society ; much of his talents are frittered away in 
 display, to support the character of ' a man of wit 
 about town,' and Moore was meant for something 
 better. Society and genius are incompatible, 
 and the latter can rarely, if ever, be in close or 
 frequent contact with the former, without degene- 
 rating: it is othervv^ise with wit and talent, which 
 are excited and brought into play by the friction 
 of society, which polishes and sharpens both. I 
 judge from personal experience ; and as some 
 portion of genius has been attributed to me, I 
 suppose I may, without any extraordinary vanity, 
 quote my ideas on this subject. Well, then, 
 (continued Byron,) if I have any genius, (which I 
 giant is problematical,) all I can say is, that I 
 have always found it fade away, like snow before 
 the sun, when I have been living much in the 
 world. My ideas became dispersed and vague, I 
 lost the power of concentrating my thoughts, and 
 became another being : you will perhaps think a 
 
M'lTH LORD BYRON. 123 
 
 better, on the principle that any change in me 
 must be for the better ; but no — instead of this, I 
 became worse, for the recollection of former 
 mental power remained, reproaching me with 
 present inability, and increased the natural irri- 
 tability of my nature. It must be this conscious- 
 ness of diminished power that renders old people 
 peevish, and, I suspect, the peevishness will be in 
 proportion to former ability. Those who have 
 once accustomed themselves to think and reflect 
 deeply in solitude, will soon begin to find society 
 irksome ; the small money of conversation will 
 appear insignificant, after the weighty metal of 
 thought to which they have been used, and like 
 the man who was exposed to the evils of poverty 
 while in possession of one of the largest diamonds 
 in the world, which, from its size, could find no 
 purchaser, such a man will find himself in society 
 unable to change his lofty and profound thoughts 
 into the conventional small-talk of those who 
 surround him. But, bless me, how I have been 
 holding forth ! (said Byron.) Madame de Stael 
 herself never declaimed more energetically, or 
 succeeded better, in ennuyant her auditors than I 
 
124 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATION'S 
 
 have done, as I perceive you look dreadfully 
 bored. I fear I am grown a sad proser, which 
 is a bad thing, more especially after having been, 
 what I swear to you I once heard a lady call me, 
 a sad poet. The whole of my tirade might have 
 been comprised in the simple statement of my 
 belief that genius shuns society, and that, except 
 for the indulgence of vanity, society would be 
 well disposed to return the compliment, as they 
 have little in common between them. 
 
 " Who would willingly possess genius ? None, 
 I am persuaded, who knew the misery it entails, 
 its temperament producing continual irritation, 
 destructive alike to health and happiness — and 
 what are its advantages ? — to be envied, hated, 
 and persecuted in life, and libelled in death. 
 Wealth may be pardoned (continued Byron), if its 
 possessor diffuses it liberally ; beauty may be 
 forgiven provided it is accompanied by folly ; 
 talent may meet with toleration if it be not of a 
 very superior order, but genius can hope for no 
 mercy. If it be of a stamp that insures its 
 currency, those who are compelled to receive 
 it will indemnify themselves by finding out a 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 125 
 
 thousand imperfections in the owner, and as they 
 cannot approach his elevation, will endeavour to 
 reduce him to their level by dwelling on the 
 errors from which genius is not exempt, and 
 which forms the only point of resemblance be- 
 tween them. We hear the errors of men of 
 genius continually brought forward, while those 
 that belong to mediocrity are unnoticed ; hence 
 people conclude that errors peculiarly appertain 
 to genius, and that those who boast it not, are 
 saved from them. Happy delusion ! but not even 
 this belief can induce them to commiserate the 
 faults they condemn. It is the fate of genius 
 to be viewed with severity instead of the in- 
 dulgence that it ought to meet, from the gratifi- 
 cation it dispenses to others ; as if its endowments 
 could preserve the possessor from the alloy that 
 marks the nature of mankind. Who can walk 
 the earth, with eyes fixed on the heavens, with- 
 out often stumbling over the hinderances that 
 intercept the path ? while those who are intent 
 only on the beaten road escape. Such is the 
 fate of men of genius : elevated over the herd 
 of their fellow-men, with thoughts that soar above 
 
126 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 the sphere of their physical existence, no wonder 
 that they stumble when treading the mazes of 
 ordinary life, with irritated sensibility, and mis- 
 taken views of all the common occurrences they 
 encounter." 
 
 Lord Byron dined with us to-day : we all 
 observed that he was evidently discomposed : the 
 dinner and servants had no sooner disappeared, 
 than he quoted an attack against himself in 
 some newspaper as the cause. He was very 
 much irritated — much more so than the subject 
 merited, — and showed how keenly alive he is 
 to censure, though he takes so little pains to 
 avoid exciting it. This is a strange anomaly 
 that I have observed in Byron, — an extreme 
 susceptibility to censorious observations, and a 
 want of tact in not knowing how to steer clear 
 of giving cause to them, that is extraordinary. 
 He winces under castigation, and writhes in 
 agony under the infliction of ridicule, yet gives 
 rise to attack every day. Ridicule is, however, 
 the weapon he most dreads, perhaps because 
 it is the one he wields with most power ; and 
 I observe he is sensitively alive to its slightest 
 
WITH LORD EYllON. 127 
 
 approach. It is also the weapon with which 
 he assails all ; friend and foe alike come under 
 its cutting point ; and the laugh, which accom- 
 panies each sally, as a deadly incision is made 
 in some vulnerable quarter, so little accords 
 with the wound inflicted, that it is as though 
 one were struck down by summer lightning while 
 admiring its brilliant play. 
 
 Byron likes not contradiction : he waxed wroth 
 to-day, because I defended a friend of mine 
 whom he attacked, but ended by taking my 
 hand, and saying he honoured me for the warmth 
 with which I defended an absent friend, adding 
 with irony, " Moreover, when he is not a poet, 
 or even prose writer, by whom you can hope 
 to be repaid by being handed down to posterity 
 as his defender." 
 
 " I often think," said Byron, " that I inherit 
 my violence and bad temper from my poor mo- 
 ther — not that my father, from all I could ever 
 learn, had a much better ; so that it is no wonder 
 I have such a very bad one. As long as I can 
 remember anything, I recollect being subject to 
 violent paroxysms of rage, so disproportioned 
 
128 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 to the cause, as to surprise me when they were 
 over, and this still continues. I cannot coolly 
 view anything that excites my feelings ; and 
 once the lurking devil in me is roused, I lose 
 all command of myself. I do not recover a 
 good fit of rage for days after: mind, I do not 
 by this mean that the ill-humour continues, as, 
 on the contrary, that quickly subsides, exhausted 
 by its own violence ; but it shakes me terribly, 
 and leaves me low and nervous after. Depend 
 on it, people's tempers must be corrected while 
 they are children ; for not all the good reso- 
 lutions in the world can enable a man to con- 
 quer habits of ill-humour or rage, however he 
 may regret having given way to them. My 
 poor mother was generally in a rage every day, 
 and used to render me sometimes almost frantic ; 
 particularly when, in her passion, she reproached 
 me with my personal deformity, I have left her 
 presence to rush into solitude, where, unseen, 
 I could vent the rage and mortification I en- 
 dured, and curse the deformity that I now began 
 to consider as a signal mark of the injustice 
 of Providence. Those were bitter moments : 
 
M'rrii LORD RVRov. 129 
 
 even now, the impression of tbcm is vivid in 
 my mind ; and they cankered a heart that I 
 believe was naturally affectionate, and destroyed 
 a temper always disposed to be violent. It 
 was my feelings at this period that suggested 
 the idea of ' The Deformed Transformed.' I 
 often look back on the days of my childhood, 
 and am astonished at the recollection of the 
 intensity of my feelings at tliat period ; — first 
 impressions are indelible. My poor mother, and 
 after her my schoolfellows, by their taunts, led 
 me to consider my lameness as the greatest 
 misfortune, and I have never been able to con- 
 quer this feeling. It requires great natural good- 
 ness of disposition, as well as reflection, to 
 conquer the corroding bitterness that deformity 
 engenders in the mind, and which, while preying 
 on itself, sours one towards all the world. I have 
 read, that where personal deformity exists, it may 
 be always traced in the face, however handsome 
 the face may be. I am sure that what is meant 
 by this is, that the consciousness of it gives 
 to the countenance an habitual expression of 
 discontent, which I believe is the case ; yet it 
 
 I 
 
130 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 is too bad (added Byron with bitterness) that, 
 because one had a defective foot, one cannot 
 have a perfect Aice." 
 
 He indulges a morbid feeling on this subject 
 that is extraordinary, and that leads me to think 
 it has had a powerful effect in forming his cha- 
 racter. As Byron had said that his own posi- 
 tion had led to his writing " The Deformed 
 Transformed," I ventured to remind him that, 
 in the advertisement to that drama, he had stated 
 it to have been founded on the novel of " The 
 Three Brothers." He said that both statements 
 were correct, and then changed the subject, 
 without giving me an opportunity of questioning 
 him on the unacknowledged, but visible, resem- 
 blances between other of his works and that 
 extraordinary production. It is possible that he 
 is unconscious of the plagiary of ideas he has 
 committed ; for his reading is so desultory, that 
 he seizes thoughts which, in passing through the 
 glowing alembic of his mind, become so embel- 
 lished as to lose all identity with the original 
 crude embryos he had adopted. This was proved 
 to me in another instance, when a book that he 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 131 
 
 was constantly in the habit of looking over fell 
 into my hands, and I traced various passages 
 marked by his pencil or by his notes, which gave 
 me the idea of having led to certain trains of 
 thought in his works. He told me that he rarely 
 ever read a page that did not give rise to chains 
 of thought, the first idea serving as the original 
 link on which the others were formed, — 
 
 Awake but one, and lo ! what myriads rise. 
 
 I have observed, that, in conversation, some 
 trifling remark has often led him into long dis- 
 quisitions, evidently elicited by it ; and so pro- 
 lific is his imagination, that the slightest spark 
 can warm it. 
 
 Comte Pietro Gamba lent me the '' Age of 
 Bronze," with a request that his having done 
 so should be kept a profound secret, as Lord 
 Byron, he said, would be angry if he knew it. 
 This is another instance of the love of mystifi- 
 cation that marks Byron, in trifles as well as 
 in things of more importance. What can be 
 the motive for concealing a piiblhhed book, tliat 
 is in the hands of all England ? 
 
132 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 Byron talks often of Napoleon, of whom he 
 is a great admirer, and says that what he most 
 likes in his character was his want of sympathy, 
 which proved his knowlege of human nature, 
 as those only could possess sympathy who 
 were in happy ignorance of it. I told him that 
 this carried its own punishment with it, as Na- 
 poleon found the want of sympathy when he 
 most required it, and that some portion of what 
 he affected to despise, namely, enthusiasm and 
 sympathy, would have saved him from the de- 
 gradations he twice underwent when deserted 
 by those on whom he counted. Not all Byron's 
 expressed contempt for mankind can induce me 
 to believe that he has the feeling ; this is one of 
 the many little artifices wdiich he condescends 
 to make use of to excite surprise in his hearers, 
 and can only impose on the credulous. He is 
 vexed when he discovers that any of his little 
 ruses have not succeeded, and is like a spoiled 
 child W'ho finds out he cannot have everything 
 his own way. Were he but sensible of his own 
 powers, how infinitely superior would he be, 
 for he would see the uselessness, as well as 
 
WITH LOUD BYUOV. 133 
 
 imworthiness, of being artificial, and of acting 
 to support the character he wishes to play, — a 
 misanthrope, which nature never intended him 
 for, and which he is not and never will be. 
 I see a thousand instances of good feeling in 
 Byron, but rarely a single proof of stability ; 
 his abuse of friends, which is continual, has 
 always appeared to me more inconsistent than 
 ill-natured, and as if indulged in more to prove 
 that he was superior to the partiality friendship 
 engenders, than that they were unworthy of 
 exciting the sentiment. He has the rao-e of dis- 
 playing his knowledge of human nature, and 
 thinks this knowledge more proved by pointing 
 out the blemishes than the perfections of the 
 subjects he anatomizes. Were he to confide in 
 the effect his own natural character would pro- 
 duce, how much more would he be loved and 
 respected ; whereas, at present, those who most 
 admire the genius will be the most disappointed 
 in the man. The love of mystification is so 
 strong in Byron, that he is continually letting 
 drop mysterious hints of events in his past life : 
 as if to excite curiosity, he assumes, on those 
 
134 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 occasions, a look and air suited to the insinuation 
 conveyed : if it has excited the curiosity of his 
 hearers, he is satisfied, looks still more mys- 
 terious, and changes the subject; but if it fails 
 to rouse curiosity, he becomes evidently dis- 
 composed and sulky, stealing sly glances at the 
 person he has been endeavouring to mystify, 
 to observe the effect he has produced. On such 
 occasions I have looked at him a little mali- 
 ciously, and laughed, without asking a single 
 question ; and I have often succeeded in making 
 him laugh too at those mystifications, manquee as 
 I called them. Byron often talks of the authors 
 of the " Rejected Addresses," and always in 
 terms of unqualified praise. He says that the 
 imitations, unlike all other imitations, are full 
 of genius, and that the " Cui Bono" has some 
 lines that he should wish to have written. *' Pa- 
 rodies," he said, " always gave a bad impression 
 of the original, but in the * Rejected Addresses ' 
 the reverse was the fact;" and he quoted the 
 second and third stanzas, in imitation of him- 
 self, as admirable, and just what he could have 
 wished to write on a sim.ilar subject. His me- 
 
M^ITH LORD BYKON. 13o 
 
 mory is extraordinary, for he can repeat lines 
 from every author whose works have pleased 
 him ; and in reciting the passages that have 
 called forth his censure or ridicule, it is no less 
 tenacious. He observed on the pleasure he felt 
 at meeting people with v> horn he could go over 
 old subjects of interest, whether on jiersons or 
 literature, and said that nothing cemented friend- 
 ship or companionship so strongly as having 
 read the same books and known the same peo- 
 ple, 
 
 I observed that when, in our rides, we came 
 to any fine point of view, Byron paused, and 
 looked at it, as if to impress himself with the \ 
 recollection of it. He rarely praised what so [/ 
 evidently pleased him, and he became silent and 
 abstracted for some time after, as if he was noting 
 the principal features of the scene on the tablet 
 of his memory. He told me that, from his earli- 
 est youth, he had a passion for solitude ; that the 
 sea, whether in a storm or calm, was a source of 
 deep interest to him, and filled his mind with 
 thoughts. " An acquaintance of mine," said 
 Byron, laughing, " who is a votary of the lake, 
 
13C JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 or simple school, and to whom I once expressed 
 this effect of the sea on me, said that 1 might 
 in this case say that the ocean served me as a 
 vast inkstand : what do you think of that as a 
 poetical image ? It reminds me of a man who, 
 talking of the effect of Mont Blanc from a distant 
 mountain, said that it reminded him of a giant 
 at his toilet, the feet in water, and the face 
 prepared for the operation of shaving. Such ob- 
 servations prove that from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous there is only one step, and really makes 
 one disgusted with the simple school." Re- 
 curring to fine scenery, Byron remarked, " That 
 c.s artists filled their sketch-books with studies 
 from Nature, to be made use of on after-occasions, 
 so he laid up a collection of images in his mind, 
 as a store to draw on when he required them, 
 and he found the pictures much more vivid in 
 recollection, when he had not exhausted his ad- 
 miration in expressions, but concentrated his 
 powers in fixing them in memory. The end 
 and aim of his life is to render himself celebrated : 
 hitherto his pen has been the instrument to cut 
 his road to renown, and it has traced a brilliant 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 137 
 
 path ; this, he thinks, has lost some of its point, 
 and he is about to change it for the sword, to 
 carve a new road to fame. Military exploits 
 occupy much of his conversation, and still more 
 Df his attention ; but even on this subject there is 
 lever the slightest clan, and it appears extra- 
 Drdinary to see a man about to engage in a chi- 
 /alrous, and, according to the opinion of many, a 
 Utopian undertaking, for which his habits pecu- 
 iarly unfit him, without any indication of the 
 2nthusiasm that lead men to embark in such 
 careers. Perhaps he thinks with Napoleon, that 
 " II n'y a rien qui refroidit, comme Tenthousiasme 
 des autres;" but he is wrong— coldness has in 
 general a sympathetic effect, and we are less 
 disposed to share the feelings of others, if we 
 observe that those feelings are not as warm as the 
 occasion seems to require. 
 
 There is something so exciting in the idea of 
 the greatest poet of his day sacrificing his for- 
 tune, his occupations, his enjoyments,^ — in short, 
 offering up on the altar of Liberty all the im- 
 mense advantages which station, fortune, and 
 genius can bestow, that it is impossible to reflect 
 
138 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 on it without admiration ; bnt when one hears 
 this same person cahnly talk of the worthlessness 
 of the people he proposes to make those sacri- 
 fices for, the loans he means to advance, the 
 uniforms he intends to wear, entering into petty 
 details, and always with perfect sang f void, one's 
 admiration evaporates, and the action loses all 
 its charms, though the real merit of it still re- 
 mains. Perhaps Byron wishes to show that his 
 going to Greece is more an affair of principle than 
 feeling, and as such, more entitled to respect, 
 though perhaps less likely to excite warmer feel- 
 ings. However this may be, his whole manner 
 and conversation on the subject are calculated to 
 chill the admiration such an enterprise ought 
 to create, and to reduce it to a more ordinary 
 standard. 
 
 Byron is evidently in delicate health, brought 
 on by starvation, and a mind too powerful for the 
 frame in wliich it is lodged. He is obstinate in 
 resisting the advice of medical men and his 
 friends, who all have represented to him the 
 dangerous effects likely to ensue from his present 
 system. He declares that he has no choice but 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 130 
 
 that of sacrificing the body to the mind, as that 
 when he eats as others do he gets ill, and loses 
 all power over his intellectual faculties ; that 
 animal food engenders the appetite of the animal 
 fed upon, and he instances the manner in which 
 boxers are fed as a proof, while, on the con- 
 trary, a regime of fish and vegetables served to 
 support existence without pampering it. I af- 
 fected to think that his excellence in, and fond- 
 ness of, swimming, arose from his continually 
 living on fish, and he appeared disposed to admit 
 the possibility, until, being no longer able to 
 support my gravity, I laughed aloud, which for 
 the first minute discomposed him, though he 
 ended by joining heartily in the laugh, and said, 
 — " Well, Miladi, after this hoax, never accuse 
 me any more of mystifying ; you did take me in 
 until you laughed." Nothing gratifies him so 
 much as being told that he grows thin. This 
 fancy of his is pushed to an almost childish 
 extent ; and he frequently asks — " Don't you 
 think I get thinner?" or " Did you ever see any 
 person so thin as I am, who was not ill ?" He 
 says he is sure no one could recollect \\\m were 
 
140 .TOrUVAL OK C0NVEWSA7I0NS 
 
 he to go to England at present, and seems to 
 enjoy this thought very much. 
 
 Byron affects a perfect indifference to the opi- 
 nion of the world, yet is more influenced by it 
 than most people, — not in his conduct, but in 
 his dread of, and wincing under its censures. 
 He was extremely agitated by his name being 
 
 introduced in the P trial, as having assisted 
 
 in making up the match, and showed a degree of 
 irritation that proves he is as susceptible as ever 
 to newspaper attacks, notwithstanding his boasts 
 of the contrary. This susceptibility will always 
 leave him at the mercy of all who may choose to 
 write against him, however insignificant they may 
 be. 
 
 I noticed Byron one day more than usually 
 irritable, though he endeavoured to suppress all 
 symptoms of it. After various sarcasms on the 
 cant and hypocrisy of the times, which was al- 
 ways the signal that he was suffering from some 
 attack made on him, he burst forth in violent 
 invectives against America, and said that she now 
 rivalled her mother country in cant, as he had 
 that morning read an article of abuse, copied 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 141 
 
 from an American newspaper, alluding to a report 
 that he was going to reside there. We had seen 
 the article, and hoped that it might have escaped 
 his notice, but unfortunately he had perused it, 
 and its effects on his temper were visible for seve- 
 ral days after. He said that he was never sincere 
 in his praises of the Americans, and that he only 
 extolled their navy to pique Mr. Croker. There 
 was something so childish in this avowal, that 
 there was no keeping a serious face on hearing it ; 
 and Byron smiled himself, like a petulant spoiled 
 child, who acknowledges having done something 
 to spite a playfellow. 
 
 Byron is a great admirer of the poetry of Barry 
 Cornwall, which, he says, is full of imagination 
 and beauty, possessing a refinement and delicacy, 
 that, wdiilst they add all the charms of a woman's 
 mind, take off none of the force of a man's. He 
 expressed his hope that he would devote himself 
 to tragedy, saying that he was sure he would 
 become one of the first writers of the day. 
 
 Talking of marriage, Byron said that there was 
 no real happiness out of its pale. " If people 
 like each other so well," said he, '' as not to be 
 
142 JOURNAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 
 
 able to live asunder, this is the only tie that can 
 ensure happiness— all others entail misery. I 
 put religion and morals out of the question, 
 though of course the misery will be increased 
 tenfold by the influence of both ; but, admitting 
 persons to have neither (and many such are, by 
 the good-natured world, supposed to exist), still 
 liaisons, that are not cemented by marriage, must 
 produce unhappiness, when there is refinement of 
 mind, and that honourable Jlerte wdiich accom- 
 panies it. The humiliations and vexations a wo- 
 man, under such circumstances, is exposed to, 
 cannot fail to have a certain effect on her temper 
 and spirits, which robs her of the charms that 
 won aft'ection ; it renders her susceptible and sus- 
 picious ; her self-esteem being diminished, she 
 becomes doubly jealous of that of him for whom 
 she lost it, and on whom she depends ; and if he 
 has feeling to conciliate her, he must submit to a 
 slavery much more severe than that of marriage, 
 without its respectability. Women become e.vi- 
 geante always in proportion to their consciousness 
 of a decrease in the attentions they desire ; and 
 this very exigeance accelerates the flight of the 
 
WITH LORD BVllON. 143 
 
 blind god, whose approaches, the Greek proverb 
 says, are always made walking, but whose retreat 
 is flying. I once wrote some lines expressive of 
 my feelings on this subject, and you shall have 
 them." He had no sooner repeated the first line 
 than I recollected having the verses in my pos- 
 session, having been allowed to copy them by 
 Mr. D. Kinnaird the day he received them from 
 Lord Byron. The following are the verses : — 
 
 Composed Dec. 1, 1811). 
 
 Could Love for ever 
 Run like a river. 
 And Time's endeavour 
 
 Be tried in vain ; 
 No otlier pleasure 
 With this could measure ; 
 And as a treasure 
 
 We 'd hug the chain. 
 But since our sighing 
 Ends not in dying, 
 And, formed for flying, 
 
 Love plumes his wing ; 
 Then, for this reason. 
 Let's love a season ; 
 But let that season be only Spring. 
 
144 JOUHXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 When lovers parted 
 Feel broken-hearted. 
 And, all hopes thwarted, 
 
 Expect to die ; 
 A few years older, 
 Ah ! how much colder 
 They might behold her 
 For whom they sigh. 
 "When link'd together, 
 Through every weatlier. 
 We pluck Love's feather 
 
 From out his wing. 
 He '11 sadly shiver, 
 And droop for ever. 
 Without the plumage that sped his spring. 
 
 [or 
 Shorn of the plumage which sped his spring.] 
 
 Like Chiefs of Faction 
 His life is action, — 
 A formal paction. 
 
 Which curbs his reign. 
 Obscures his glory, 
 Despot no more, he 
 Such territory 
 
 Quits with disdain. 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 
 
 Still, still advancing, 
 With banners glancing, 
 His power enhancing. 
 He must march on : 
 Repose but cloys him. 
 Retreat destroys him ; 
 Love brooks not a degraded throne ! 
 
 Wait not, fond lover ! 
 Till years are over, 
 And then recover 
 
 As from a dream ; 
 While each bewailing 
 The other's failing, 
 With wrath and railing 
 
 All hideous seem ; 
 While first decreasing, 
 Yet not quite ceasing, 
 Pause not till teazing 
 All passion blight : 
 If once dirainish'd. 
 His reign is finish'd, — 
 One last embrace then, and bid good night ! 
 
 So shall Affection 
 To recollection 
 The dear connexion 
 Bring back with joy ; 
 K 
 
 145 
 
4G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 Voii have not waitoci 
 Till, tired and hated, 
 AW passion sated, 
 
 Began to cloy. 
 Your last embraces 
 Leave no cold traces, — 
 The same fond faces 
 
 As through the past ; 
 And eyes, the mirrors 
 Of your sweet errors, 
 Reflect but rapture ; not least, though last ! 
 
 True separations 
 
 Ask more than patience ; 
 
 What desperations 
 
 Trom such have risen ! 
 And yet remaining 
 What is 't but chaining 
 Hearts which, once waning, 
 
 Beat 'gainst their prison ? 
 Time can but cloy love, 
 And use destroy love : 
 The winged boy, Love, 
 
 Is but for boys ; 
 You '11 find it torture, 
 Though sharper, shorter. 
 To wean, and not wear out your joys. 
 
WITH LOKU liYKON. 147 
 
 They are so unworthy the author, that they 
 are merely given as proof that the greatest genius 
 can sometimes write bad verses ; as even Homer 
 nods. I remarked to Byron, that the sentiment 
 of the poem differed with that which he had just 
 given me of marriage : he laughed, and said, 
 " Recollect, the lines were written nearly four 
 years ago ; and we grow wiser as we grow older : 
 but mind, I still say, that I only approve mar- 
 riage when the persons are so much attached as 
 not to be able to live asunder, which ought 
 always to be tried by a year's absence before 
 the irrevocable knot was formed. The truest 
 picture of the misery unhallowed liaisons pro- 
 duce," said Byron, " is in the ' Adolphe ' of 
 Benjamin Constant. I told Madame de Stael 
 that there was more morale in that book than in 
 all she ever wrote ; and that it ought always to 
 be given to every young woman who had read 
 ' Corinne,' as an antidote. Poor De Stael ! 
 she came down upon me like an avalanche, 
 whenever I told her any of my amiable truths, 
 sweeping every thing before her, with that elo- 
 quence that always overwhelmed, but never 
 
148 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 convinced. She however, good soul, believed 
 she had convinced, whenever she silenced an 
 opponent ; an effect she generally produced, as 
 she, to use an Irish phrase, succeeded in butJicr- 
 ing, and producing a confusion of ideas that left 
 one little able or willing to continue an argu- 
 ment with her. I liked her daughter very 
 much," said Byron : " I wonder will she turn 
 out literary ? — at all events, though she may not 
 write, she possesses the power of judging the 
 writings of others ; is highly educated and 
 clever; but I thought a little given to systems, 
 which is not in general the fault of young women, 
 and, above all, young French women." 
 
 One day that Byron dined with us, his chas- 
 seur, while we were at table, demanded to speak 
 with him : he left the room, and returned in a 
 few minutes in a state of violent agitation, pale 
 with anger, and looking as I had never before 
 seen him look, tliough I had often seen him 
 angry. He told us that his servant had come to 
 tell him that he must pass the gate of Genoa (his 
 house being outside the town) before half- past ten 
 o'clock, as orders were given that no one was to 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 140 
 
 be allowed to pass after. This order, which 
 had no personal reference to him, he conceived to 
 be expressly levelled at him, and it rendered him 
 furious : he seized a pen, and commenced a letter 
 to our minister, — tore two or three letters one 
 after the other, before he had written one to his 
 satisfaction ; and, in short, betrayed such ungo- 
 vernable rage, as to astonish all who were pre- 
 sent : he seemed very much disposed to enter 
 into a personal contest with the authorities ; and 
 we had some difficulty in persuading him to leave 
 the business wholly in the hands of Mr. Hill, the 
 English Minister, who would arrange it much 
 better. 
 
 Byron's appearance and conduct, on this occa- 
 sion, forcibly reminded me of the description 
 given of Rousseau : he declared himself the vic- 
 tim of persecution wherever he went ; said that 
 there was a confederacy between all governments 
 to pursue and molest him, and uttered a thousand 
 extravagances, which proved that he was no lon- 
 ger master of himself. I now understood how 
 likely his manner was, under any violent excite- 
 ment, to oive rise to the idea that he was de- 
 
150 JOIKNAL OF COWERS ATIONS 
 
 ranged in his intellects, and became convinced of 
 the truth of the sentiment in the lines — 
 
 Great wit to madness sure is near allied. 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide. 
 
 The next day, when we met, Byron said that 
 he had received a satisfactory explanation from 
 Mr. Hill, and then asked me if I had not thought 
 him mad the night before : — *' I assure you," said 
 he, " I often think myself not in my right senses, 
 and this is perhaps the only opinion I have in 
 common with Lady Byron, who, dear sensible 
 soul, not only thought me mad, but tried to per- 
 suade others into the same belief." 
 
 Talking one day on the difference between 
 men's actions and thoughts, a subject to which 
 he often referred, he observed, that it frequently 
 happened that a man who was capable of supe- 
 rior powers of reflection and reasoning wdien 
 alone, was trifling and common-place in society. 
 " On this point," said he, " I speak feelingly, for 
 I have remarked it of myself, and have often 
 longed to know if other peo])le had the same 
 defect, or the same consciousness of it, which is. 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 151 
 
 that while in solitude my mind was occupied 
 in serious and elevated reflections, in society 
 it sinks into a trifling levity of tone, that in 
 another would have called forth my disappro- 
 bation and disgust. Another defect of mine is, 
 that I am so little fastidious in the selection, 
 or rather want of selection, of associates, that 
 the most stupid men satisfy me quite as well, nay, 
 perhaps better than the most brilliant ; and yet 
 all the time they are with me I feel, even while 
 descending to their level, that they are unworthy 
 of me, and what is worse, that we seem in point 
 of conversation so nearly on an equality, that the 
 effort of letting myself down to them costs me 
 nothing, though my pride is hurt that they do not 
 seem more sensible of the condescension. When 
 I have sought what is called good society, it was 
 more from a sense of propriety and keeping my 
 station in the world, than from any pleasure it 
 gave me, for I have been always disappointed, 
 even in the most brilliant and clever of my ac- 
 quaintances, by discovering some trait of egoism, 
 or futility, that I was too egoistical and futile to 
 pardon, as I find that we are least disposed to 
 
152 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 overlook the defects we are most prone to. Do 
 you think as I do on this point?" said Byron. I 
 answered, *' That as a clear and spotless mirror 
 reflects the brightest images, so is goodness ever 
 most prone to see good in others ; and as a sullied 
 mirror shows its own defects in all that it reflects, 
 so does an impure mind tinge all that passes 
 through it. " Byron laughingly said, " That 
 thought of yours is pretty, and just, which all 
 pretty thoughts are not, and I shall pop it into 
 my next poem. But how do you account for this 
 tendency of mine to trifling and levity in con- 
 versation, when in solitude my mind is really 
 occupied in serious reflections?" I answered, 
 " That this was the very cause — the bow cannot 
 remain always bent ; the thoughts suggested to 
 him in society were the reaction of a mind 
 strained to its bent, and reposing itself after ex- 
 ertion ; as also that feeling the inferiority of the 
 persons he mixed with, the great powers were not 
 excited, but lay dormant and supine, collecting 
 their force for solitude." This opinion pleased 
 him, and when I added that great writers were 
 rarely good talkers, and vice versa, he was still 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 153 
 
 more gratified. He said that he disliked every- day 
 topics of conversation ; he thought it a waste of 
 time ; but that if he met a person with whom he 
 could, as he said, think aloud, and give utterance 
 to his thoughts on abstract subjects, he was sure 
 it would excite the energies of his mind, and 
 awaken sleeping thoughts that wanted to be 
 stirred up. '' I like to go home with a new idea," 
 said Byron; " it sets my mind to work; I enlarge 
 it, and it often gives birth to many others; this 
 one can only do in a tcte-cl-tete. I felt the advan- 
 tage of this in my rides with Hoppner at Venice ; 
 he was a good listener, and his remarks were 
 acute and original ; he is besides a thoroughly 
 good man, and I knew he was in earnest when 
 he gave me his opinions. But conversation, such 
 as one finds in society, and, above all, in English 
 society, is as uninteresting as it is artificial, and 
 few can leave the best with the consolation of 
 carrying away with him a new thought, or of 
 leaving behind him an old friend." Here he 
 laughed at his own antithesis, and added, " By 
 Jove, it is true ; you know how people abuse 
 or quiz each other in England, the moment one 
 
154 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 is absent : each is afraid to go away before the 
 Other, knowing that, as is said in the * School 
 for Scandal,' he leaves his character behind. It 
 is this certainty that excuses me to myself, for 
 abusing my friends and acquaintances in their 
 absence. I was once accused of this by an ami 
 intimc, to \A'hom some devilish good-natured per- 
 son had repeated what I had said of him ; I 
 had nothing for it but to plead guilty, adding, 
 ' you know you have done the same by me fifty 
 times, and yet you see I never was affronted, 
 or liked you less for it;' on which he laughed, 
 and we were as good friends as ever. Mind 
 you (a favourite phrase of Byron's) I never 
 heard that he had abused me, but I took it 
 for granted, and was right. So much for 
 friends." 
 
 I remarked to B^ron that his scepticism as 
 to the sincerity and durability of friendship 
 argued very much against his capability of feel- 
 ing the sentiment, especially as he admitted that 
 he had not been deceived by the feiv he had 
 confided in, consequently his opinion must be 
 founded on ■se//'- knowledge. This amused him, 
 
M'lTII LORD BVltON. 155 
 
 and he said that he verily believed that his know- 
 ledge of human nature, on which he had hitherto 
 prided himself, was the criterion by which 1 
 judged so unfavourably of him, as he was sure 
 T attributed his bad opinion of mankind to his 
 perfect knowledge of self. When in good spirits, 
 he liked badinage very much, and nothing seemed 
 to please him more than being considered as a 
 inaiivais sujet : he disclaimed the being so with 
 an air that showed he was far from being offended 
 at the suspicion. Of love he had strange notions : 
 he said that most people had ie besoin cfahner, and 
 that with this besoin the first person who fell in 
 one's way contented one. He maintained that 
 those who possessed the most imagination, poets 
 for example, were most likely to be constant in 
 their attachments, as with the beau ideal in their 
 heads, with 'which they identified the object of 
 their attachment, they had nothing to desire, and 
 viewed their mistresses through the brilliant me- 
 dium of fancy, instead of the common one of 
 the eyes. " A poet, therefore," said Byron, \ 
 " endows the person he loves with all the charms 
 with which his mind is stored, and has no need 
 
156 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 of actual beauty to fill up the picture. Hence 
 he should select a woman who is rather good- 
 looking than beautiful, leaving the latter for those 
 who, having no imagination, require actual beauty 
 to satisfy their tastes. And after all," said he, 
 ** where is the actual beauty that can come up 
 to the bright * imaginings' of the poet? where 
 can one see women that equal the visions, half- 
 mortal, half-angelic, that people his fancy? Love, 
 who is painted blind (an allegory that proves the 
 uselessness of beauty), can supply all deficiencies 
 with his aid ; we can invest her whom we admire 
 with all the attributes of loveliness, and though 
 time may steal the roses from her cheek, and 
 the lustre from her eye, still the original beau 
 ideal remains, filling the mind and intoxicating 
 the soul with the overpowering presence of love- 
 liness. I flatter myself that my Leila, Zuleika, 
 Gulnare, Medora, and Haidee will always vouch 
 for my taste in beauty : these are the bright 
 creations of my fancy, with rounded forms, and 
 delicacy of limbs, nearly so incompatible as to 
 be rarely, if ever, united ; for where, with some 
 rare exceptions, do we see roundness of eontoiir 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 157 
 
 accompanied by lightness, and those fairy hands 
 and feet that are at once the type of beauty 
 and refinement. I like to shut myself up, close 
 my eyes, and fancy one of the creatures of my 
 imagination, with taper and rose-tipped fingers, 
 playing with my hair, touching my cheek, or 
 resting its little snowy-dimpled hand on mine. 
 I like to fancy the fairy foot, round and pulpy, 
 but small to diminutiveness, peeping from be- 
 neath the drapery that half conceals it, or moving 
 in the mazes of the dance. I detest thin women ; 
 and unfortunately all, or nearly all plump women, 
 have clumsy hands and feet, so that I am obliged 
 to have recourse to imagination for my beauties, 
 and there I always find them. I can so well 
 understand the lover leaving his mistress that 
 he might write to her, — I should leave mine, 
 not to write to, but to think of her, to dress 
 her up in the habiliments of my ideal beauty, 
 investing her with all the charms of the latter, 
 and then adoring the idol I had formed. You 
 must have observed that I give my heroines ex- 
 treme refinement, joined to great simplicity and 
 want of education. Now, refinement and want 
 
158 JOURNAL OF CONVIlUSATIONS 
 
 of education are incompatible, at least I have 
 ever found them so: so here again, you see, I 
 am forced to have recourse to imagination ; and 
 certainly it furnishes me with creatures as unlike 
 the sophisticated beings of civilized existence, 
 as they are to the still less tempting, coarse 
 realities of vulgar life. In short, I am of opinion 
 that poets do not require great beauty in the 
 objects of their affection ; all that is necessary 
 for them is a strong and devoted attachment 
 from the object, and where this exists, joined 
 to health and good temper, little more is re- 
 quired, at least in early youth, though with ad- 
 vancing years men become more exigeantsJ" 
 Talking of the difference between love in early 
 youth and in maturity, Byron said, " that, like 
 the measles, love w^as most dangerous when it 
 came late in life." 
 
 Byron had two points of ambition, ^ — the one 
 to be thought the greatest poet of his day, and 
 the other a nobleman and man of fashion, who 
 could have arrived at distinction without the aid 
 of his poetical genius. This often produced 
 curious anomalies in his conduct and sentiments, 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 159 
 
 and a sort of jealousy of himself in each separate 
 character, that was highly amusing to an ob- 
 servant spectator. If poets were talked of or 
 eulogized, he referred to the advantages of rank 
 and station as commanding that place in society 
 by right, which was only accorded to genius by 
 sufferance ; for, said Byron, " Let authors do, 
 say, or think what they please, they are never 
 considered as men of fashion in the circles of 
 baiit ton, to which their literary reputations have 
 given them an entree, unless they happen to be 
 of high birth. How many times have I observed 
 this in London ; as also the awkward efforts 
 made by authors to trifle and act the fine gentle- 
 man like the rest of the herd in society. Then 
 look at the faiblesse they betray in running after 
 great people. Lords and ladies seem to possess, 
 in their eyes, some power of attraction that I 
 never could discover ; and the eagerness with 
 which they crowd to balls and assemblies, where 
 they are as deplaces as ennuyes, all conversation 
 at such places being out of the question, might 
 lead one to think that they sought the heated 
 atmospheres of such scenes as hot-beds to nurse 
 
160 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 their genius." If men of fashion were praised, 
 Byron dwelt on the futility of their pursuits, 
 their ignorance en masse, and the necessity of 
 talents to give lustre to rank and station. In 
 short, he seemed to think that the bays of the 
 author ought to be entwined with a coronet to 
 render either valuable, as, singly, they were not 
 sufficiently attractive ; and this evidently arose 
 from his uniting, in his own person, rank and 
 genius. I recollect once laughingly telling him 
 that he was fortunate in being able to consider 
 himself a poet amongst lords, and a lord amongst 
 poets. He seemed doubtful as to how he should 
 take the parody, but ended by laughing also. 
 
 Byron has often laughed at some repartie or 
 joke against himself, and, after a few minutes' 
 reflection, got angry at it ; but was always soon 
 appeased by a civil apology, though it was clear 
 that he disliked anything like ridicule, as do 
 most people who are addicted to play it off 
 on others ; and he certainly delighted in quizzing 
 and ridiculing his associates. The translation 
 of his works into different languages, however 
 it might have flattered his amour propre as an 
 
WITH LORD BYllOX. IGl 
 
 author, never failed to enrage him, from the 
 injustice he considered all translations rendered 
 to his works. I have seen him furious at some 
 passages in the French translation, which he 
 pointed out as proof of the impossibility of the 
 translators understanding the original, and he 
 exclaimed, *' // traditorc! II traditore T (instead 
 of // traduttore!) vowing vengeance against the 
 unhappy traducers as he called them. He de- 
 clared that every translation he had seen of his 
 poems had so destroyed the sense, that he could 
 not understand how the French and Italians could 
 admire his works, as they professed to do. It 
 proved, he said, at how low an ebb modern 
 poetry must be in both countries, French poetry 
 he detested, and continually ridiculed : he said 
 it was discordant to his ears. 
 
 Of his own works, with some exceptions, he 
 always spoke in derision, saying he could write 
 much better, but that he wrote to suit the false 
 taste of the day ; and that if now and then a 
 gleam of true feeling or poetry was visible in his 
 productions, it was sure to be followed by the 
 ridicule he conld not suppress. Byron was not 
 
102 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 sincere in this, and it was only said to excite 
 surprise, and show his superiority over the rest 
 of the world. It was this same desire of astonish- 
 jing people that led him to depreciate Shakspeare, 
 which I have frequently heard him do, though 
 from various reflections of liis in conversation, 
 and the general turn of his mind, I am convinced 
 that he had n(>t only deeply read, but deeply felt 
 the beauties of our immortal poet. 
 
 I do not recollect ever having met Byron that 
 he did not, in some way or other, introduce the 
 subject of Lady Byron. The impression left on 
 my mind was, that she continually occupied his 
 thoughts, and that he most anxiously desired a 
 reconciliation with her. He declared that his 
 marriage was free from every interested motive ; 
 and if not founded on love, as love is generally 
 viewed, a wild, engrossing and ungovernable pas- 
 sion, there was quite sufficient liking in it to have 
 insured happiness had his temper been better. 
 He said that Lady Byron's appearance had 
 pleased him from the first moment, and had 
 always continued to please him ; and that, had 
 his pecuniary affairs been in a less ruinous state. 
 
M'lTH LORD BYRON. 1G3 
 
 his temper would not have been excited, as it 
 daily, hourly was, during the brief period of their 
 union, by the demands of insolent creditors whom 
 he was unable to satisfy, and who drove him 
 nearly out of his senses, until he lost all command 
 of himself, and so forfeited Lady Byron's affec- 
 tion. ** I must admit," said he, " that I could 
 not have left a very agreeable impression on her 
 mind. With my irascible temper, worked upon 
 by the constant attacks of duns, no wonder that 
 I became gloomy, violent, and, I fear, often per- 
 sonally uncivil, if no worse, and so disgusted 
 her ; though, had she really loved me, she would 
 have borne with my infirmities, and made allow- 
 ance for my provocations. I have written to her 
 repeatedly, and am still in the habit of writing 
 long letters to her, many of which I have sent, 
 but without ever receiving an answer, and others 
 that I did not send, because I despaired of their 
 doing any good. I will show you some of them, 
 as they may serve to throw a light on my feel- 
 ings." The next day Byron sent me the letter 
 addressed to Lady Byron, which has already 
 appeared in " Moore's Life." He never could 
 
1G4 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 divest himself of the idea that she took a deep 
 interest in him ; he said that their child must 
 always be a bond of union between them, what- 
 ever lapse of years or distance might separate 
 them ; and this idea seemed to comfort him. 
 And yet, notwithstanding the bond of union a 
 child was supposed to form between the parents, 
 he did not hesitate to state, to the gentlemen of 
 our party, his more than indifference towards the 
 mother of his illegitimate daughter. Byron's 
 mental courage w^as much stronger in his study 
 than in society. In moments of inspiration, with 
 his pen in his hand, he would have dared public 
 opinion, and laughed to scorn the criticisms of all 
 the littcrati, but with reflection came doubts and 
 misgivings ; and though in general he was tena- 
 cious in not changing what he had once written, 
 this tenacity proceeded more from the fear of 
 being thought to icout mental courage, than from 
 the existence of the quality itself. This operated 
 also on his actions as well as his writings ; he was 
 the creature of impulse ; never reflected on the 
 possible or probable results of his conduct, until 
 that conduct had drawn down censure and ca- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 
 
 165 
 
 lumny on him, when he shrunk with dismay, 
 " frightened at the sounds himself had made." 
 
 This sensitiveness was visible on all occasions, 
 and extended to all his relations with others : did 
 his friends or associates become the objects of 
 public attack, he shrunk from the association, or 
 at least from any public display of it, disclaimed 
 the existence of any particular intimacy, though 
 in secret he felt good-will to the persons. I have 
 witnessed many examples of this, and became 
 convinced that his friendship was much more 
 likely to be retained by those who stood well in 
 the world's opinion, than by those who had even 
 undeservedly forfeited it. I once made an obser- 
 vation to him on this point, which was elicited 
 by something he had said of persons with whom 
 I knew he had once been on terms of intimacy, 
 and which he wished to disclaim : his reply was, 
 ** What the deuce good can I do them against 
 public opinion? I shall only injure myself, and 
 do them no service." I ventured to tell him, that 
 this was precisely the system of the English 
 whom he decried ; and that self-respect, if no 
 better feeling operated, ought to make us support 
 
1()6 .lOl'UXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 in adversity those whom we had led to believe we 
 felt interested in. He blushed, and allowed I 
 was right; "though," added he, "you are 6/;^- 
 gidar in both senses of the word, in your opinion, 
 as I have had proofs ; for at the moment when I 
 was assailed by all the vituperation of the press in 
 England at the separation, a friend of mine, who 
 had written a complimentary passage to me, 
 either by way of dedication or episode (1 forget 
 which he said), suppressed it on finding public 
 opinion running hard against me : he will pro- 
 bably produce it if he finds the quicksilver of the 
 barometer of my reputation mounts to beau Ji.ve ; 
 while it remains, as at present, at variable, it will 
 never see the light, save and except I die in 
 Greece, with a sort of demi-poetic and demi- 
 heroic reiiommee attached to my memory." 
 
 Whenever Byron found himself in a difficulty, 
 — and the occasions were frequent, — he had re- 
 course to the example of others, which induced 
 me to tell him that few people had so much pro- 
 fited by friends as he had ; they always served 
 " to point a moral and adorn a tale," being his 
 illustrations for all the errors to which human 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 1G7 
 
 nature is heir, and his apologetic examples when- 
 ever he wished to find an excuse for unpoetical 
 acts of worldly wisdom. Byron rather encou- 
 raged than discouraged such observations ; he 
 said they had novelty to recommend them, and 
 has even wilfully provoked their recurrence. 
 Whenever I gave him my opinions, and still 
 oftener when one of the party, whose sentiments 
 partook of all the chivalric honor, delicacy, and 
 generosity of the beau ideal of the poetic cha- 
 racter, expressed his, Byron used to say, *' Now 
 for a Utopian system of the good and beautiful 
 united ; Lord B. ought to have lived in the heroic 
 ages, and if all mankind would agree to act as he 
 feels and acts, I agree with you we should all be 
 certainly better, and, I do believe, happier than 
 at present ; but it would surely be absurd for a 
 few — and to how few would it be limited— to set 
 themselves up ' doing as they would be done by,' 
 against a million who invariably act vice versa. 
 No ; if goodness is to become a-la-mode, — and I 
 sincerely wish it were possible, — we must have 
 a fair start, and all begin at the same time, other- 
 wise it will be like exposing a few naked and 
 
]68 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIOffTS 
 
 unarmed men against a multitude in armour/' 
 Byron was never dc bonne foi in giving such opi- 
 nions ; indeed the whole of his manner betrayed 
 this, as it was playful and full of plaisanterie, but 
 still he wanted the accompaniment of habitual 
 acts of disinterested generosity to convince one 
 that his practice was better than his theory. He 
 was one of the many whose lives prove how 
 much more eifect edrimple has than precept. All 
 the elements of good were combined in his na- 
 ture, but they lay dormant for want of emu- 
 lation to excite their activity. He was the slave 
 of his passions, and he submitted not without 
 violent, though, alas ! unsuccesful, struggles to the 
 chains they imposed ; but each day brought him 
 nearer to that age when reason triumphs over 
 passion — when, had life been spared him, he 
 would have subjugated those unworthy tyrants, 
 and asserted his empire over that most rebellious 
 of all dominions — self. 
 
 Byron never wished to live to be old ; on the 
 contrary, I have frequently heard him express 
 the hope of dying young ; and I remember his 
 quoting Sir William Temple's opinion, — that life 
 
WITH LORD BYUOX. ICID 
 
 is like wine ; who would drink it pure must not 
 draw it to the dregs, — as being his way of thinking 
 also. He said, it was a mistaken idea that pas- 
 sions subsided with age, as they only changed, 
 and not for the better. Avarice usurping the place 
 vacated by Love, and Suspicion filling up that of 
 Confidence. " And this," continued Byron, *' is 
 what age and experience brings us. No ; let me 
 not live to be old : give me youth, which is the 
 fever of reason, and not age, which is the palsy. 
 I remember my youth, when my heart overflowed 
 with affection towards all who showed any symp- 
 tom of liking towards me ; and now, at thirty- 
 six, no very advanced period of life, I can 
 scarcely, by raking up the dying embers of af- 
 fection in that same heart, excite even a tem- 
 porary flame to warm my chilled feelings." Byron 
 mourned over the lost feelings of his youth, as 
 we regret the lost friends of the same happy 
 period ; there was something melancholy in the 
 sentiment, and the more so, as one saw that it 
 was sincere. He often talked of death, and 
 never with dread. He said that its certainty 
 furnished a better lesson than all the philosophy 
 
170 JOURXAL OF COXVERSATIOXS 
 
 of the schools, as it enabled us to bear the ills 
 of life, which would be unbearable were life of 
 unlimited duration. He quoted Cowley's lines — 
 
 O Life ! thou vveak-built isthmus, which doth proudly rise 
 U|) betwixt two eternities ! 
 
 as an admirable description, and said they often 
 recurred to his memory. He never mentioned 
 the friends of whom Death had deprived him 
 without visible emotion : he loved to dwell on 
 their merits, and talked of them with a tender- 
 ness as if their deaths had been recent, instead of 
 years ago. Talking of some of them, and de- 
 ploring their loss, he observed, with a bitter 
 smile, " But perhaps it is as well that they are 
 gone : it is less bitter to mourn their deaths than 
 to have to regret their alienation ; and who 
 knows but that, had they lived, they might have 
 become as faithless as some others that I have 
 known. Experience has taught me that the only 
 friends that we can call our own — that can know 
 no change — are those over whom the grave has 
 closed: the seal of death is the only seal of 
 friendship. No wonder, then, that we cherish 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 171 
 
 the memory of those who loved us, and comfort 
 ourselves with the thought that they were un- 
 changed to the last. The regret we feel at such 
 afflictions has something in it that softens our 
 hearts, and renders us better. We feel more 
 kindly disposed to our fellow-creatures, because 
 we are satisfied with ourselves — first, for being- 
 able to excite aftection, and, secondly, for the 
 gratitude with which we repay it, — to the me- 
 mory of those we have lost ; but the regret 
 we prove at the alienation or unkindness of those 
 we trusted and loved, is so mingled with bitter 
 feelings, that they sear the heart, dry up the 
 fountain of kindness in our breasts, and disgust us 
 with human nature, by wounding our self-love in 
 its most vulnerable part — the showing that we have 
 failed to excite affection where we had lavished 
 ours. One may learn to bear this uncomplain- 
 ingly, and with outward calm ; but the im- 
 pression is indelible, and he must be made of 
 different materials to the generality of men, who 
 does not become a cynic, if he become nothing- 
 worse, after once suffering such a disappoint- 
 ment." 
 
172 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 I remarked that his early friends had not given 
 him cause to speak feelingly on this subject, and 
 named Mr. Hobhouse as a proof: he answered, 
 "Yes, certainly, he has remained unchanged, and 
 I believe is unchangeable ; and, if friendship, as 
 most people imagine, consists in telling one truth 
 — unvarnished, unadorned truth — he is indeed a 
 friend ; yet, hang it, I must be candid, and say I 
 have had many other, and more agreeable, proofs 
 of Hobhouse's friendship than the truths he 
 always told me ; but the fact is, I wanted him 
 to sugar them over a little with flattery, as 
 nurses do the physic given to children ; and he 
 never would, and therefore I have never felt 
 quite content with him, though, an fond, I re- 
 spect him the more for his candour, while I 
 respect myself very much less for my weakness 
 in disliking it. 
 
 " William Bankes is another of my early 
 friends. He is very clever, very original, and 
 has a fund of information : he is also very good- 
 natured ; but he is not much of a flatterer. How 
 unjust it is to accuse you ladies of loving flattery 
 so much ; I am quite sure that we men are quite 
 
WITH LORD BVRO.V. 173 
 
 as much addicted to it, but have not the amiable 
 candour, to show it, as you all do. Adulation is 
 never disagreeable when addressed to ourselves, 
 though let us hear only half the same degree of it 
 addressed to another, and we vote the addresser a 
 parasite, and the addressed a fool for swallowing 
 it. But even though we may doubt the sincerity 
 or the judgment of the adulator, the incense is 
 nevertheless acceptable, as it proves we must be 
 of some importance to induce him to take the 
 trouble of flattering^ us. There are two things 
 that we are all willing to take, and never think 
 we can have too much of (continued Byron) — 
 money and flattery ; and the more we have of the 
 first the more we are likely to get of the second, 
 as far as I have observed, at all events in England, 
 where I have seen wealth excite an attention and 
 respect that virtue, genius, or valour would fail to 
 meet with. 
 
 " I have frequently remarked (said Byron), 
 that in no country have I seen pre-eminence so 
 universally followed by envy, jealousy, and all 
 uncharitableness, as in England ; those who are 
 deterred by shame from openly attacking, endea- 
 
174 JOUUXAL OF CONVKRSATIONS 
 
 vour to depreciate it, by holding up mediocrity to 
 admiration, on the same principle that women, 
 when they hear the beauty of another justly 
 extolled, either deny, or assent with faint praise, 
 to her claims, and lavish on some merely passable 
 woman the highest encomiums, to prove they are 
 not envious. The English treat their celebrated 
 men as they do their climate, abuse them amongst 
 themselves, and defend them out of amour p?'op?^e, 
 if attacked by strangers. Did you ever know a 
 person of powerful abilities really liked in Eng- 
 land ? Are not the persons most popular in 
 society precisely those who have no qualities to 
 excite envy ? Amiable, good-natured people, but 
 negative characters ; their very goodness (if mere 
 good-nature can be called goodness) being caused 
 by the want of any positive excellence, as white 
 is produced by the absence of colour. People 
 feel themselves equal, and generally think them- 
 selves superior to such persons ; hence, as they 
 cannot wound vanity, they become popular ; all 
 agree to praise them, because each individual, 
 while praising, administers to his own self-com- 
 placency, from his belief of superiority to him 
 
WITH LORD BYRONT. 175 
 
 whom lie praises. Notwithstanding their faults, 
 the English, (said Byron,) that is to say, the well 
 bred and well educated among them, are better 
 calculated for the commerce of society than the 
 individuals of other countries, from the simple 
 circumstance that they listen. This makes one 
 cautious of wliat one says, and prevents the 
 hazarding the mille petits riens that escape when 
 one takes courage from the noise of all talking 
 together, as in other places ; and this is a great 
 point gained. In what country but England 
 could the epigrammatic repartees and spiritual 
 anecdotes of a Jekyll have flourished? Place 
 him at a French or Italian table, supposing him 
 au fait of the languages, and this, our English 
 Attic bee, could neither display his honey nor his 
 sting ; both would be useless in the hive of drones 
 around him. St. Evremond, I think it is, who 
 says that there is no better company than an 
 Englishman who talks, and a Frenchman who 
 thinks ; but give me the man who listens, unless 
 he can talk like a Jekyll, from the overflowing of 
 a full mind, and not, as most of one's acquaint- 
 ances do, make a noise like drums, from their 
 
17G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 emptiness. An animated conversation has much 
 the same effect on me as champaigne — it elevates 
 and makes me giddy, and I say a thousand 
 foolish things while under its intoxicating in- 
 fluence : it takes a long time to sober me after; 
 and I sink, under re-action, into a state of de- 
 pression—half cross, half hippish, and out of 
 humour with myself and the world. I find an 
 interesting book the only sedative to restore me to 
 my wonted calm ; for, left alone to my own 
 reflections, I feel so ashamed of myself — vis-a-vis 
 to myself — for my levity and over-excitement, 
 that all the follies I have uttered rise up in judg- 
 ment against me, and I am as sheepish as a 
 schoolboy, after his first degrading abandonment 
 to intemperance." 
 
 " Did you know Curran ? (asked Byron) — he 
 was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In 
 him was combined an imagination the most bril- 
 liant and profound, with a flexibility and wit 
 that would have justified the observation ap- 
 plied to , that his heart was in his head. I 
 
 remember his once repeating some stanzas to me, 
 four lines of which struck me so much, that I 
 
WITH LORD BYllON. 177 
 
 made him repeat them twice, and I wrote them 
 down before I went to bed : 
 
 While Memory, with more than Egypt's art 
 Embalming all the sorrows of the heart. 
 Sits at the altar which she raised to woe, 
 And feeds the source whence tears eternal flow ! 
 
 I have caught myself repeating these lines fifty 
 times; and, strange to say, they suggested an 
 image on memory to me, with which they have 
 no sort of resemblance in any way, and yet the 
 idea came while repeating them ; so unaccounta- 
 ble and incomprehensible is the power of associ- 
 ation. My thought was — Memory, the mirror 
 which affliction dashes to the earth, and, looking 
 down upon the fragments, only beholds the re- 
 flection multiplied." He seemed pleased at my 
 admiring his idea.^ I told him that his thoughts, 
 in comparison with those of others, were eagles 
 brought into competition with sparrows. As an 
 
 1 E'en as a broken mirror which the glass 
 In every fragment multiplies, and makes 
 A thousand images of one that was, &c. 
 
 Childe Harold, Canto iii. St. 3-i. 
 
 'M 
 
178 JOURXAf. OF COWEllSATIONS 
 
 example, I gave liini my definition of Memory, 
 which I said resembled a telescope bringing dis- 
 tant objects near to us. He said the simile was 
 good ; but I added it was mechanical, instead of 
 poetical, which constituted the difference be- 
 tween excellence and mediocrity, as between the 
 eagle and sparrow. This amused him, though 
 his politeness refused to admit the verity of the 
 comparison. 
 
 Talking of tact, Byron observed that it ought 
 to be added to the catalogue of the cardinal vir- 
 tues, and that our happiness frequently depended 
 more on it than all the accredited ones. '' A 
 man (said he) may have prudence, temperance, 
 justice, and fortitude : yet wanting tact may, 
 and must, render those around him uncomfortable 
 (the English synonyme for unhappy) ; and, by 
 the never-failing retributive justice of Nemesis, 
 be unhappy himself, as all are who make others 
 so. I consider tact the real "panacea of life, and 
 have observed that those who most eminently- 
 possessed it were remarkable for feeling and 
 sentiment ; while, on the contrary, the persons 
 most deficient in it were obtuse, frivolous, or 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 179 
 
 insensible. To possess tact it is necessary to 
 have a fine perception, and to be sensitive ; for 
 how can we know what will pain another without 
 having some criterion in our own feelings, by 
 which we can judge of his? Hence, I maintain 
 that our tact is always in proportion to our sensi- 
 bility." 
 
 Talking of love and friendship, Byron said, 
 that " friendship may, and often does, grow into 
 love, but love never subsides into friendship." 
 I maintained the contrary, and instanced the af- 
 fectionate friendship which replaces the love of 
 married people ; a sentiment as tender, though 
 less passionate, and more durable than the first. 
 He said, "You should say more enduring ; for, 
 depend on it, that the good-natured passiveness, 
 with which people submit to the conjugal yoke, 
 is much more founded on the philosophical prin- 
 ciple of what can't be cured must be endured, 
 than the tender friendship you give them credit 
 for. Who that has felt the all-engrossing passion 
 of love (continued he) could support the stagnant 
 calm you refer to for the same object ? No, the 
 humiliation of discovering the frailty of our own 
 
l^^O .JOIUNAI. OI C'ONVKUSAl IONS 
 
 natuR', Nvliich is in no ini-^tancc more i)roved than 
 by the short duration of violent love, has some- 
 thing so painful in it, that, with our usual selfish- 
 ness, we feel, if not a lepugnance, at least an 
 indifierence to the object that once charmed, but 
 can no longer charm us, and whose presence 
 brings mortifying recollections ; nay, such is our 
 injustice, that we transfer the blame of the 
 weakness of our own natures to the person who 
 had not power to retain our love, and discover 
 blemishes in her to excuse our inconstancy. 
 As indifference begets indifference, vanity is 
 wounded at both sides ; and though good sense 
 may induce people to support and conceal their 
 feelings, how can an affectionate friendship spring- 
 up like a phoenix, from the ashes of extinguished 
 passion ? I am afraid that the friendship, in such 
 a case, would be as fabulous as the phoenix, for 
 the recollection of burnt-out love would remain 
 too mortifying a memento to admit the successor, 
 friendship." I told Byron that this was mere 
 sophistry, and could not be his real sentiments ; 
 as also that, a few days before, he admitted that 
 passion subsides into a better, or at least a more 
 
WITH LORD r.VROX. 181 
 
 durable feeling. I added, that persons who had 
 felt the engrossing- love he described, which was 
 a tempestuous and selfish passion, were glad to 
 sink into the refreshing calm of milder feelings, 
 and looked back with complacency on the storms 
 they had been exposed to, and with increased 
 sympathy to the person who had shared them. 
 The community of interest, of sorrows, and 
 of joys added new links to the chain of af- 
 fection, and habit, which might wear away the 
 gloss of the selfish passion he alluded to, gave 
 force to friendship, by rendering the persons 
 every day more necessary to each other. I added, 
 that dreadful would be the fate of persons, if, 
 after a few months of violent passion, they were 
 to pass their lives in indifference, merely because 
 their new feelings were less engrossing and ex- 
 citing than the old. " Then (said Byron), if you 
 admit that the violent love does, or must, subside 
 in a few months, and, as in coursing, that we are 
 mad for a minute to be melancholy for an hour, 
 would it not be wiser to choose the friend, I 
 mean the person most calculated for friendship, 
 with whom the long years are to be spent, than 
 the idol wlio is to be worshipped for some 
 
182 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIOXS 
 
 months, and then liurled from the altar we had 
 raised to her, and left defaced and disfigured by 
 the smoke of the incense she had received ? I 
 maintained that as the idols are chosen nearly 
 always for their personal charms, they are seldom 
 calculated for friendship ; hence the disappoint- 
 ment that ensues, when the violence of passion 
 has abated, and the discovery is made that there 
 are no solid qualities to replace the passion that 
 has passed away with the novelty that excited it. 
 When a man chooses a friend in a woman, he 
 looks to her powers of conversation, her mental 
 qualities, and agreeability ; and as these win his 
 regard the more they are known, love often takes 
 the place of friendship, and certainly the founda- 
 tion on which he builds is more likely to be last- 
 ing ; and, in this case, I admit that affection, or, 
 as you more prettily call it, tender friendship, 
 may last for ever." I replied that I believe the 
 only difference in our opinions is, that I denied 
 that friendship could not succeed love, and that 
 nothing could change my opinion. " 1 suppose 
 (said Byron) that a woman, like 
 
 A man, convinced against liis will 
 Is of the same opinion still — 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 183 
 
 SO that all my fine commentaries on my text have 
 been useless ; at all events I hope you give me 
 credit for being ingenious, as well as ingenuous in 
 my defence. Clever men (said Byron) commit a 
 great mistake in selecting wives who are destitute 
 of abilities ; I allow that unefemme savante is apt 
 to be a bore, and it is to avoid this that people 
 run into the opposite extreme, and condemn 
 themselves to pass their lives with women who 
 are incapable of understanding or appreciating 
 them. Men have an idea that a clever woman 
 must be disputative and dictatorial, not consi- 
 dering that it is only pretenders who are either, 
 and that this applies as much to one sex as the 
 other. Now, my beau ideal Avould be a woman 
 with talent enough to be able to understand and 
 value mine, but not sufficient to be able to shine 
 herself. All men with pretensions desire this, 
 though few, if any, have courage to avow it : I 
 believe the truth is, that a man must be very 
 conscious of superior abilities to endure the 
 thought of having a rival near the throne, though 
 that rival was his wife ; and as it is said that no 
 man is a hero to his valet-de-chambre, it may be 
 
184 .lOl'RXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 concluded that few men can retain their position 
 on the pedestal of genius vis-d-vis to one who has 
 been behind the curtain, unless that one is un- 
 skilled in the art of judging, and consequently 
 admires the more because she does not under- 
 stand. Genius, like greatness, should be seen at 
 a distance, for neither will bear a too close in- 
 spection. Imagine the hero of a hundred fights 
 in his cotton night- cap, subject to all the infirm- 
 ities of human nature, and there is an end of his 
 sublimity, — and see a poet whose works have 
 raised our thoughts above this sphere of common 
 every-day existence, and who, Prometheus-like, 
 has stolen fire from heaven to animate the chil- 
 dren of clay, — see him in the throes of poetic 
 labour, blotting, tearing, re-writing the lines that 
 we suppose him to have poured forth with Ho- 
 meric inspiration, and, in the intervals, eating, 
 drinking and sleeping, like the most ordinary 
 mortal, and he soon sinks to a level with them in 
 our estimation. I am sure (said Byron) we can 
 never justly appreciate the works of those with 
 whom we have lived on familiar terms. I have 
 felt this myself, and it applies to poets more than 
 
M'lTII LORD JnUOX. 185 
 
 all other writers. They should live in solitude, 
 rendering their presence more desired by its ra- 
 rity ; never submit to the gratification of the 
 animal appetite of eating in company, and be as 
 distinct in their general habits, as in their genius, 
 from the common herd of mankind." He laughed 
 heartily when he had finished this speech, and 
 added, " I have had serious thoughts of drawing 
 up a little code of instructions for my brethren of 
 the craft. I don't think my friend Moore would 
 adopt it, and he, perhaps, is the only exception 
 who would be privileged to adhere to his present 
 regime, as he can certainly pass the ordeal of 
 dinners without losing any of his poetical repu- 
 tation, since the brilliant things that come from 
 his lips reconcile one to the solid things that go 
 into them." 
 
 " We have had ' Pleasures of Hope,' * Plea- 
 sures of Memory,' ' Pleasures of Imagination,' 
 and ' Pleasures of Love.' I wonder that no one 
 has thought of writing Pleasures of Fear (said 
 Byron). It surely is a poetical subject, and 
 much might be made of it in good hands." I 
 answered, "Why do you not undertake it?" 
 
18G .JOURN'AL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 He replied, " Why, 1 have endeavoured through 
 life to make believe that I am unacquainted with 
 the passion, so I must not now show an intimacy 
 with it, lest I be accused of cowardice, \vhich is, 
 I believe, the only charge that has not yet been 
 brought against me. But, joking apart, it would 
 be a fine subject, and has more of the true sub- 
 lime than any of the other passions. I have 
 always found more difficulty in hitting on a sub- 
 ject than in filling it up, and so I dare say do 
 most people ; and I have remarked that I never 
 could make much of a subject suggested to me 
 by another. I have sometimes dreamt of subjects 
 and incidents (continued he), nay nearly filled up 
 an outline of a tale while under the influence of 
 sleep, but have found it too wild to work up into 
 anything. Dreams are strange things ; and here, 
 again, is one of the incomprehensibilities of na- 
 ture. I could tell you extraordinary things of 
 dreams, and as true as extraordinary, but you 
 would laugh at my superstition. Mine are al- 
 ways troubled and disagreeable ; and one of the 
 most fearful thoughts that ever crossed my mind 
 during moments of gloomy scepticism, has been 
 
WITH LOUD BYUONf. 187 
 
 the possibility that the last sleep may not be 
 dreamless. Fancy an endless dream of horror — 
 it is too dreadful to think of — this thought alone 
 would lead the veriest clod of animated clay that 
 ever existed to aspirations after immortality. The 
 difference between a religious and irreligious man 
 (said Byron) is, that the one sacrifices the present 
 to the future ; and the other, the future to the 
 present." I observed, that grovelling must be 
 the mind that can content itself with the present ; 
 even those who are occupied only with their plea- 
 sures find the insufficiency of it, and must have 
 something to look forward to in the morrow of 
 the future, so unsatisfying is the to-day of the 
 present ! Byron said that he agreed with me, and 
 added, " The belief in the immortality of the 
 soul is the only true panacea for the ills of life." 
 
 ** You will like the Italian women (said 
 Byron), and I advise you to cultivate their ac- 
 quaintance. They are natural, frank, and good- 
 natured, and have none of the affectation, petitesse, 
 jealousy and malice, that characterize our more 
 polished countrywomen. This gives a raciness 
 to their ideas as well as manners, that to me is 
 
188 JOLRNAL OF (OX \'ERS ATION'S 
 
 peculiarly pleasing ; and I feel witli an Italian 
 woman as if she was a full-grown child, possess- 
 ing the buoyancy and playfulness of infancy with 
 the deep feeling of womanhood ; none of that 
 conventional manierisme that one meets with from 
 the first patrician circles in England, justly styled 
 the marble age, so cold and polished, to the 
 second and third coteries, where a course cari- 
 cature is given of the unpenetrated and impe- 
 netrable mysteries of the first. Where dulness, 
 supported by the many, silences talent and origi- 
 nality, upheld by the few, Madame de Stael used 
 to say, that our great balls and assemblies of 
 hundreds in London, to which all flocked, were 
 admirably calculated to reduce all to tlie same 
 level, and were got up with this intention. In 
 the torrid zone of suffocating hundreds, medi- 
 ocrity and excellence had equal chances, for 
 neither could be remarked or distinguished ; 
 conversation was impracticable, reflection put 
 hors de combat, and common sense, by universal 
 accord, sent to Coventry ; so that after a season in 
 London one doubted one's own identity, and was 
 tempted to repeat the lines in the child's book, 
 
WITH LOUD BVUOX. 189 
 
 'If I be not I, who can I be ?' So completely 
 was one's faculties reduced to the conventional 
 standard. The Italians know not this artificial 
 state of society ; their circles are limited and 
 social ; they love or hate ; but then they ' do their 
 hating gently;' the clever among them are al- 
 lowed a distinguished place ; the less endowed 
 admires, instead of depreciating, what he can- 
 not attain ; and all and each contribute to the 
 general stock of happiness. Misanthropy is un- 
 known in Italy, as are many of the other exotic 
 passions, forced into flower by the hot-beds of 
 civilization ; and yet in moral England you will 
 hear people . express their horror of the freedom 
 and immorality of the Italians, whose errors are 
 but as the weeds that a too warm sun brings forth, 
 while ours are the stinging-nettles of a soil 
 rendered rank by its too great richness. Nature 
 is all-powerful in Italy, and who is it that would 
 not prefer the sins of her exuberance to the 
 crimes of art? Lay aside ceremony, and meet 
 them with their own warmth and frankness, and 
 I answer for it you vi^ill leave those whom you 
 sought as acquaintances, friends, instead of, as in 
 
190 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 England, scarcely retaining as acquaintances 
 those with whom you had started in life as 
 friends. Who ever saw in Italy the nearest and 
 dearest relations bursting asunder all the ties 
 of consanguinity, from some worldly and in- 
 terested motive ? And yet this so frequently takes 
 place in England, that, after an absence of a year 
 or two, one dare hardly enquire of a sister after a 
 sister, or a brother after a brother, as one is afraid 
 to be told — not that they are dead — but that they 
 have cut each other." 
 
 " I ought to be an excellent comic writer (said 
 Byron), if it be true, as some assert, that melan- 
 choly people succeed best in comedy, and gay peo- 
 ple in tragedy ; and Moore would make, by that 
 rule, a first-rate tragic writer. I have known, 
 among amateur authors, some of the gayest 
 persons, whose compositions were all of a melan- 
 choly turn ; and for myself, some of my nearest 
 approaches to comic have been written under a 
 deep depression of spirits. This is strange, but so 
 is all that appertains to our strange natures ; and 
 the more we analyze the anomalies in ourselves 
 or others, the more incomprehensible they ap- 
 
WITH LOUD BYROM. 191 
 
 pear. I believe (continued Byron) the less we 
 reflect on them the better, at least I am sure 
 those that reflect the least are the happiest. I 
 once heard a clever medical man say, that if a 
 person were to occupy himself a certain time in 
 counting the pulsations of his heart, it would 
 have the effect of accelerating its movements, and, 
 if continued, would produce disease. So it is 
 with the mind and nature of man ; our exami- 
 nations and reflections lead to no definitive con- 
 clusions, and often engender a morbid state of 
 feeling, that increases the anomalies for which we 
 sought to account. We know that we live (con- 
 tinued Byron), and to live and to suffer are, in my 
 opinion, synonymous. We know a so that we 
 shall die, though the how, the when, and the 
 where, we are ignorant of; the whole knowledge 
 of man can pierce no farther, and centuries re- 
 volving on centuries have made us no wiser. I 
 think it was Luther who said that the human 
 niind was like a drunken man on horseback — 
 prop it on one side, and it falls on the other : 
 who that has entered into the recesses of his own 
 mind, or examined all that is exposed in the 
 
1 1)2 .7 O I ' R N A r. C) !•• C O X V I. U S A I" IONS 
 
 minds of others, but must have discovered this 
 tendency to weakness, which is generally in 
 proportion to the strength in some other faculty. 
 Great imagination is seldom accompanied by 
 equal powers of reason, and vice versa, so that we 
 rarely possess superiority in any one point, ex- 
 cept at the expense of another. It is surely then 
 unjust (continued Byron, laughing,) to render 
 poets responsible for their want of common sense, 
 since it is only by the excess of imagination they 
 can arrive at being poets, and this excess debars 
 reason ; indeed the very circumstance of a man's 
 yielding to the vocation of a poet ought to serve 
 as a voucher that he is no longer of sound mind." 
 Byron always became gay when any subject 
 afforded him an opportunity of ridiculing poets ; 
 he entered into it eon amove, and generally ended 
 by some sarcasm on the profession, or on himself. 
 He has often said, " We of the craft are all 
 crazy, but / more than the rest ; some are 
 affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all 
 are more or less touched, though few except 
 myself have the candour to avow it, which I 
 do to spare my friends the pain of sending it 
 
M^ITH LORD BYRON. 193 
 
 forth to the world. This very candour is another 
 proof that I am not of sound mind (continued he), 
 for people will be sure to say how far gone he 
 must be, when he admits it ; on the principle 
 that when a belle or beau owns to thirty-five, 
 the world gives them credit for at least seven 
 years more, from the belief that if we seldom 
 speak the truth of others, we never do of our- 
 selves, at least on subjects of personal interest or 
 vanity." 
 
 Talking of an acquaintance, Byron said, — 
 
 ** Look at , and see how he gets on in the 
 
 world — he is as unwilling to do a bad action as he 
 is incapable of doing a good : fear prevents the 
 first, and mechancete the second. The difference 
 
 between and me is, that I abuse many, and 
 
 really, with one or two exceptions, (and, mind 
 you, they arc males,) hate none ; and he abuses 
 none and hates many, if not all. Fancy^in 
 the Palace of Truth, what good fun it would 
 be, to hear him, while he believed himself ut- 
 tering the most honied compliments, giving vent 
 to all the spite and rancour that has been pent 
 up in his mind for years, and then to see the 
 
 N 
 
l'J4 .lOlUNAL OF COXVEllSATIOXS 
 
 person he has been so long flattering hearing 
 his real sentiments for the first time : this would 
 be rare fun ! Now, I would appear to great 
 advantage in the Palace of Truth," continued 
 Byron, " though you look ill-naturedly incre- 
 dulous; for while I thought I was vexing friends 
 and foes with spiteful speeches, I should be say- 
 ing good-natured things, for, au fond, I have no 
 malice, at least none that lasts beyond the mo- 
 ment." Never was there a more true observa- 
 tion : Byron's is a fine nature, spite of all the 
 weeds that may have sprung up in it ; and I 
 am convinced that it is the excellence of the 
 poet, or rather let me say, the effect of that 
 excellence, that has produced the defects of the 
 man. In proportion to the admiration one has 
 excited, has been the severity of the censure 
 bestowed on the other, and often most unjustly. 
 The world has burnt incense before the poet, 
 and heaped ashes on the head of the man. 
 This has revolted and driven him out of the 
 pale of social life : his wounded pride has avenged 
 itself, by painting his own portrait in the most 
 sombre colours, as if to give a still darker picture 
 
^VlTU LOUD BYROX. J 95 
 
 than has yet been drawn by his foes, while 
 glorying in forcing even from his foes an admi- 
 ration as unbounded for his genius as has been 
 their disapprobation for his character. Had his 
 errors met with more mercy, he might have been 
 a less grand poet, but he would have been a more 
 estimable man ; the good that is now dormant 
 in his nature would have been called forth, and 
 the evil would not have been excited. The 
 blast that withers the rose destroys not its thorns, 
 which often remain, the sole remembrancer of 
 the flower they grow near; and so it is with 
 some of our finest qualities, — blighted by un- 
 kindness, we can only trace them by the faults 
 their destruction has made visible. 
 
 Lord Byron, in talking of his friend, La 
 Comte Pietro Gamba, (the brother of La Con- 
 tessa Guiccioli,) whom he had presented to us 
 soon after our arrival at Genoa, remarked, that 
 he was one of the most amiable, brave, and 
 excellent young men, he had ever encountered, 
 with a thirst for knowledge, and a disinterest- 
 edness rarely to be met with. " lie is my 
 grand pohit cVappid for Greece," said he, " as 
 
ion jouuyAL or conversations 
 
 I know he will neither deceive nor flatter me." 
 We have found La Comte Pietro Gamba ex- 
 actly what Lord Byron had described him ; 
 sensible, mild, and amiable, devotedly attached 
 to Lord B., and dreaming of glory and Greece. 
 He is extremely good-looking, and Lord Byron 
 told us he resembled his sister very much, 
 which I dare say increased his partiality for 
 him not a little. 
 
 Habit has a strong influence over Byron : he 
 likes routine, and detests what he calls being 
 put out of his way. He told me that any in- 
 fringement on his habitual way of living, or 
 passing his time, annoyed him. Talking of thin 
 women, he said, that if they were young and 
 pretty, they reminded him of dried butterflies ; 
 but if neither, of spiders, whose nets would 
 never catch him were he a fly, as they had 
 nothing tempting. A new book is a treasure 
 to him, provided it is really new ; for having 
 read more than perhaps any man of his age, 
 he can immediately discover a want of origi- 
 nality, and throws by the book in disgust at 
 the first wilful plagiary he detects. 
 
M'lTII LORD HYRON. 197 
 
 Talking- of Mr. Ward, ' Lord Byron said — 
 " Ward is one of the best-informed men I know, 
 and, in a tcte-d-tcte, is one of the most agreeable 
 companions. He has great originality, and, being 
 tres distrait, it adds to the piquancy of his ob- 
 servations, which are sometimes somewhat trop 
 naive, though always amusing. This naivete of 
 his is the more piquant from his being really a 
 good-natured man, who unconsciously thinks 
 aloud. Interest Ward on a subject, and I know 
 no one who can talk better. His expressions 
 are concise without being poor, and terse and 
 epigrammatic without being affected. He can 
 compress (continued Byron) as much into a few 
 words as any one I know ; and if he gave more 
 of his attention to his associates, and less to him- 
 self, he would be one of the few whom one 
 could praise, without being compelled to use 
 the conjunction but. Ward has bad health, and 
 unfortunately, like all valetudinarians, it occu- 
 pies his attention too much, which will proba- 
 bly bring on a worse state," continued Byron, 
 *' that of confirmed egoism, — a malady, that, 
 
 1 Now Lord Dudley. 
 
lOS JOURNAL OF COXVERSATIONS 
 
 though not to be found in the catalogue of 
 ailments to which man is subject, yet perhaps 
 is more to be dreaded than all that are." 
 
 I observed that egoism is in general the ma- 
 lady of the aged ; and that, it appears, we 
 become occupied with our own existence in pro- 
 portion as it ceases to be interesting to others. 
 " Yes," said Byron, " on the same principle as 
 we see the plainest people the vainest, — nature 
 giving them vanity and self-love to supply the 
 want of that admiration they never can find in 
 others. I can therefore joity and forgive the 
 vanity of the ugly and deformed, whose sole con- 
 solation it is ; but the handsome, whose good 
 looks are mirrored in the eyes of all around 
 them, should be content with that, and not in- 
 dulge in such egregious vanity as they give 
 way to in general. But to return to Ward," 
 said Byron, " and this is not apropos to vanity, 
 for I never saw any one who has less. He is 
 not properly appreciated in England. The Eng- 
 lish can better understand and enjoy the bons mots 
 of a bon vivaut, who can at all times set the 
 table in a roar, than the neat rtpliques of Ward, 
 
MITH LOUD LVKUiV. 199 
 
 which, excithig reflection, are more likely to 
 silence the rabble-riot of intemperance. They 
 like better the person who makes them laugh, 
 though often at their own expense, than he who 
 forces them to think, — an operation which the 
 mental faculties of few of them are calculated 
 to perform : so that poor Ward, finding himself 
 undervalued, sinks into self, and this, at the long 
 run, is dangerous : — 
 
 For well we know, the mind, too finely wrought, 
 Preys on itself, and is o'erpower'd by thought. 
 
 " There are many men in England of superior 
 abilities, (continued Byron,) who are lost from the 
 habits and inferiority of their associates. Such 
 men, finding that they cannot raise their com- 
 panions to their level, are but too apt to let them- 
 selves down to that of the persons they live with ; 
 and hence many a man condescends to be merely 
 a wit, and man of pleasure, who was born for 
 better things. Poor Sheridan often played this 
 character in society; but he maintained his supe- 
 riority over the herd, by having established a 
 literary and political reputation ; and as I have 
 heard him more than once say, when his jokes 
 
200 JOURNAL OI" CONVERSATIONS 
 
 have drawn down plaudits from companions, to 
 whom, of an evening- at least, sobriety and sad- 
 ness were alike unknown, — * It is some consola- 
 tion, that if I set the table in a roar, I can at 
 pleasure set the senate in a roar ; ' and this was 
 muttered while under the influence of wine, and 
 as if apologizing to his own mind for the profana- 
 tion it was evident he felt he had offered to it at 
 the moment. Lord A — ley is a delightful com- 
 panion, (said Byron,) brilliant, witty, and play- 
 ful ; he can be irresistibly comic when he pleases, 
 but what could he not be if he pleased ? for he 
 has talents to be anything. I lose patience when 
 I see such a man throw himself away ; for there 
 are plenty of men, who could be witty, brilliant, 
 and comic, but who could be nothing else, while 
 he is all these, but could be much more. How 
 many men have made a figure in public life, 
 without half his abilities ! But indolence and the 
 
 love of pleasure will be the bane of A y, as it 
 
 has been of many a man of talent before." 
 
 The more I see of Byron, the more am I con- 
 vinced that all he says and does should be judged 
 more leniently than the sayings and doings of 
 
WITH LORD BYRON". 201 
 
 others — as his proceed from the impulse of the 
 moment, and never from premeditated malice. 
 He cannot resist expressing whatever comes into 
 his mind ; and the least shade of the ridiculous is 
 seized by him at a glance, and portrayed with a 
 facility and felicity that must encourage the pro- 
 pensity to ridicule, which is inherent in him. All 
 the malice of his nature has lodged itself on his 
 lips and the fingers of his right hand — for there is 
 none I am persuaded to be found in his heart, 
 which has more of good than most people give 
 him credit for, except those who have lived with 
 him on habits of intimacy. He enters into society 
 as children do their play-ground, for relaxation 
 and amusement, after his mind has been strained 
 to its utmost stretch, and that he feels the neces- 
 sity of unbending it. Ridicule is his play ; it 
 amuses him perhaps the more that he sees it 
 amuses others, and much of its severity is miti- 
 gated by the boyish glee, and laughing sportive- 
 ness, with which his sallies are uttered. All this 
 is felt when he is conversing, but unfortunately it 
 cannot be conveyed to the reader : the narrator 
 would therefore deprecate the censure his sar- 
 
202 JOUllXAL OF CONVEU.S.\TIONS 
 
 casms may excite, in memory of the smiles and 
 gaiety that palliated them when spoken. 
 
 Byron is fond of talking of Napoleon ; and told 
 me that his admiration of him had much increased 
 since he had been in Italy, and witnessed the 
 stupendous works he had planned and executed. 
 '' To pass through Italy without thinking of Napo- 
 leon, (said he,) is like visiting Naples without 
 looking at Vesuvius." Seeing me smile at the 
 comparison, he added — " Though the works of 
 one are indestructible, and the other destructive, 
 still one is continually reminded of the power of 
 both." " And yet (said I) there are days, that, 
 like all your other favourites. Napoleon does not 
 escape censure." " That may be, (said Byron,) 
 but I find fault, and quarrel with Napoleon, as a 
 lover does w^ith the trifling faults of his mistress, 
 from excessive liking, which tempts me to desire 
 that he had been all faultless ; and, like the lover, 
 I return with renewed fondness after each quarrel. 
 Napoleon (continued Byron) was a grand crea- 
 ture, and though he was hurled from his pedestal, 
 after having made thrones his footstool, his me- 
 mory still remains, like the colossal statue of the 
 
WITH LORD BVRON. 203 
 
 Meranon, though cast down from its seat of ho- 
 nour, still bearing the ineffaceable traces of gran- 
 deur and sublimity, to astonish future ages. 
 When Metternich (continued Byron) was depre- 
 ciating the genius of Napoleon, in a circle at 
 Vienna where his word was a law and his nod a 
 decree, he appealed to John William Ward, if 
 Bonaparte had not been greatly overrated. — 
 Ward's answer was as courageous as admirable. 
 He replied, that * Napoleon had rendered past 
 glory doubtful, and future fame impossible.' This 
 was expressed in "French, and such pure French, 
 that all present were struck with admiration, no 
 less with the thought than with the mode of 
 expressing it." I told Byron that this reminded 
 me of a reply made by Mr. Ward to a lady at 
 Vienna, who somewhat rudely remarked to him, 
 that it was strange that all the best society at 
 Vienna spoke French as well as German, while 
 the English scarcely spoke French at all, or spoke 
 it ill. Ward answered, that the English must be 
 excused for their want of practice, as the French 
 army had not been twice to London to teach them, 
 as they had been at Vienna. " The coolness of 
 
204 JOURNAL or COWERS ATIONS 
 
 Ward's manner (said Byron) must have lent force 
 to such a reply : I have heard him say many 
 things worth remembering, and the neatness of 
 their expression was as remarkable as the justness 
 of the thought. It is a j)ity (continued Byron) 
 that Ward has not written anything : his style, 
 judging by letters of his that I have seen, is 
 admirable, and reminded me of Sallust." 
 
 Having, one day, taken the liberty of (what he 
 termed) scolding Lord Byron, and finding him 
 take it with his usual good-nature, I observed that 
 I was agreeably surprised by the patience with 
 which he listened to my lectures ; he smiled, and 
 replied, ** No man dislikes being lectured by a 
 woman, provided she be not his mother, sister, 
 wife, or mistress : first, it implies that she takes 
 an interest in him, and, secondly, that she does 
 not think him irreclaimable : then, there is not 
 that air of superiority in women when they give 
 advice, that men, particularly one's contempora- 
 ries, affect ; and even if there was, men think 
 their own superiority so acknowledged, that they 
 listen without humiliation to the gentler, I don't 
 say weaker, sex. There is one exception, how- 
 
WITH LOUD BYUON. 205 
 
 ever, for I confess I could not stand being lectured 
 by Lady — — ; but then she is neither of the 
 weak nor gentle sex — she is a nondescript, — 
 having all the faults of both sexes, without the 
 virtues of either. Two lines in the * Henriade,' 
 describing Catherine de Medicis, seem made for 
 Lady (continued Byron) — 
 
 Possedant ea uii mot, pour n'eii pas dire plus, 
 Les defauts de son sexe et pen de ses vertus." 
 
 I remember only one instance of Byron's being 
 displeased with my frankness. We were re- 
 turning on horseback from Nervi, and in defend- 
 ing a friend of mine, whom he assailed with all 
 the slings and arrows of ridicule and sarcasm, I 
 was obliged to be more severe than usual ; and 
 having at that moment arrived at the turn of the 
 road that led to Albaro, he politely, but coldly, 
 wished me good bye, and galloped off. We had 
 scarcely advanced a hundred yards, when he 
 came galloping after us, and reaching out his 
 hand, said to me, " Come, come, give me your 
 hand, I cannot bear that we should part so for- 
 mally : I am sure what you have said was right. 
 
20G JOUKXAL OF CONVEliSATlOXS 
 
 and meant for my good ; so God bless you, and 
 to-morrow we shall ride again, and I promise to 
 say nothing that can produce a lesson." We all 
 agreed that we had never seen Byron appear to 
 so much advantage. He gives me the idea of 
 being the man the most easily to be managed I 
 ever saw : I wish Lady Byron had discovered the 
 means, and both might now be happier. 
 
 Lord Byron told me that La Contessa Guiccioli 
 had repeatedly asked him to discontinue Don 
 Juan, as its immorality shocked her, and that she 
 could not bear that anything of the kind should 
 be written under the same roof with her. *' To 
 please her (said Byron) I gave it up for some 
 time, and have only got permission to continue it 
 on condition of making my hero a more moral 
 person. I shall end by making him turn Metho- 
 dist ; this will please the English, and be an 
 amende honorable for his sins and mine. I once 
 got an anonymous letter, written in a very beau- 
 tiful female hand (said Byron), on the subject of 
 Don Juan, with a beautiful illustrative drawing, 
 beneath which was written — * When Byron wrote 
 the first Canto of Don Juan, Love, that had often 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 207 
 
 guided his pen, resigned it to Sensuality — and 
 Modesty, covering her face with her veil, to hide 
 her blushes and dry her tears, fled from him for 
 ever.' The drawing (continued Byron) repre- 
 sented Love and Modesty turning their backs on 
 wicked Me, — and Sensuality, a fat, flushed, 
 wingless Cupid, presenting me with a pen. Was 
 not this a pretty conceit? at all events, it is some 
 consolation to occupy the attention of women so 
 much, though it is but by my faults ; and I con- 
 fess it gratifies me. Apropos to Cupid — it is 
 strange (said Byron) that the ancients, in their 
 mythology, should represent Wisdom by a wo- 
 man, and Love by a boy! how do you account 
 for this ? I confess I have little faith in Minerva, 
 and think that Wisdom is, perhaps, the last at- 
 tribute I should be inclined to give woman ; but 
 then I do allow, that Love would be more suitably 
 represented by a female than a male ; for men or 
 boys feel not the passion with the delicacy and 
 purity that women do ; and this is my real 
 opinion, which must be my peace-offering for 
 doubting the wisdom of your sex." 
 
 Byron is infirm of purpose — derides without 
 
208 JOURNAL 01" CONVERSATIONS 
 
 reflection— and gives u}3 his jilans if they are 
 opposed for any length of time ; but, as far as I 
 can judge of him, though he yields, he does it not 
 M'ith a good grace : he is a man likely to show- 
 that such a sacrifice of self-will was offered up 
 more through indolence than affection, so that his 
 yielding can seldom be quite satisfactory, at least 
 to a delicate mind. He says that all women are 
 exigcante, and apt to be dissatisfied : he is, as I 
 have told him, too selfish and indolent not to have 
 given those who had more than a common interest 
 in him cause to be so. It is such men as Byron 
 who complain of w^omen ; they touch not the 
 chords that give sweet music in woman's breast, 
 but strike — with a bold and careless hand — those 
 that jar and send forth discord. Byron has a 
 false notion on the subject of w^omen ; he fancies 
 that they are all disposed to be tyrants, and 
 that the moment they know their power they 
 abuse it. We have had many arguments on this 
 point — I maintaining that the more disposed men 
 were to yield to the empire of woman, the less 
 were they inclined to exact, as submission dis- 
 armed, and attention and affection enslaved them. 
 
M'lTII LOUD BYRON. 209 
 
 Men are capable of making great sacrifices, 
 who are not willing to make the lesser ones, on 
 which so much of the happiness of life depends. 
 The great sacrifices are seldom called for, but the 
 minor ones are in daily requisition ; and the 
 making them with cheerfulness and grace en- 
 hances their value, and banishes from the do- 
 mestic circle the various misunderstandings, dis- 
 cussions, and coldnesses, that arise to embitter 
 existence, where a little self-denial might have 
 kept them off. Woman is a creature of feeling, 
 — easily wounded, but susceptible of all the soft 
 and kind emotions : destroy this sensitiveness, 
 and you rob her of her greatest attraction ; study 
 her happiness, and you insure your own. 
 
 " One of the things that most pleases me in 
 the Italian character (said Byron) is the total 
 absence of that belief which exists so generally in 
 England in the mind of each individual, that the 
 circle in which he lives, and which he dignifies 
 by calling The World, is occupied with him and 
 his actions — an idea founded on the extreme 
 vanity that characterizes the English, an.d that 
 precludes the possibility of living for oneself or 
 
 o 
 
210 JOURNAL OF COXVKKSATIOXS 
 
 those immediately around one. How many of 
 my soi-disant friends in England are dupes to this 
 vanity (continued Byron) — keeping up expensive 
 establishments which they can ill afford — living in 
 crowds, and with people who do not suit them 
 — feeling ejimiyes day after day, and yet sub- 
 mitting to all this tiresome routine of vapid re- 
 unions, — living, during the fashionable season, 
 if living it can be called, in a state of intermitting 
 fever, for the sake of being considered to belong- 
 to a certain set. During the time I passed in 
 London, I always remarked that I never met a 
 person who did not tell me how bored he or she 
 had been the day or night before at Lady This or 
 Lady That's ; and when I 've asked, 'Why do you 
 go if it bores you ? ' the invariable answer has 
 been — * One can't help going ; it would be so 
 odd not to go.' Old and young, ugly and hand- 
 some, all have the rage in England of losing their 
 identity in crowds; and prefer conjugating the 
 verb enjiuijer, en masse, in heated rooms, to conning 
 it over in privacy in a purer atmosphere. The 
 constancy and perseverance with which our 
 compatriots support fashionable life have always 
 
M'lTII LORD BVUOy. 211 
 
 been to me u subject of wonder, if not of admi- 
 ration, and proves what they might be cajjable 
 of in a good cause. I am curious to know (con- 
 tinued Byron) if the rising generation will fall 
 into the same inane routine ; though it is to be 
 hoped the march of intellect will have some influ- 
 ence in establishing something like society, which 
 has hitherto been only to be found in country- 
 houses. I spent a week at Lady J y's once, 
 
 and very agreeably it passed ; the guests were 
 well chosen — the host and hostess on ' hospitable 
 thoughts intent ' — the establishment combining 
 all the luxury of a maisou montie en prince with 
 the ease and comfort of a well-ordered home. 
 How different do the same people appear in 
 London and in the country ! — they are hardly to 
 be recognised. In the latter they are as natural 
 and unaffected as they are insipid or over-excited 
 in the former. A certain place (continued Byron) 
 not to be named to 'ears polite/ is said to be 
 paved with good intentions, and London (viewing 
 the effect it produces on its fashionable inha- 
 bitants) may really be supposed to be paved by 
 evil passions, as few can touch its pave without 
 
212 JOURNAL or CONVERSATIONS 
 
 contamination. I have been reading Lord John 
 Russell's Essays on London Society, and find 
 them clever and amusing (said Byron), but too 
 microscopic for my taste : he has, however, 
 treated the subject with a lightness and ])lay- 
 fulness best suited to it, and his reflections show 
 an accuracy of observation that proves he is 
 capable of better things. He who would take a 
 just view of the world must neither examine it 
 through a microscope nor a magnifying-glass. 
 Lord John is a sensible and amiable man, and 
 bids fair to distinguish himself. 
 
 ** Do you know Hallam ? (said Byron.) Of 
 course I need not ask you if you have read his 
 * Middle Ages:' it is an admirable work, full of 
 research, and does Hallam honour. I know no 
 one capable of having written it except him ; for, 
 admitting that a writer could be found who could 
 bring to the task his knowledge and talents, it 
 would be difficult to find one who united to these 
 his research, patience, and perspicuity of style. 
 The reflections of Hallam are at once just and 
 profound — his language well chosen and im- 
 pressive. I remember (continued Byron) being 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 213 
 
 struck by a passage, where, touching on the 
 Venetians, he writes — ' Too blind to avert danger, 
 too cowardly to withstand it, the most ancient 
 government of Europe made not an instant's 
 resistance : the peasants of Underwald died upon 
 their mountains — the nobles of Venice clung only 
 to their lives.' This is the style in which history 
 ought to be written, if it is wished to impress it 
 on the memory ; and I found myself, on my first 
 perusal of the 'Middle Ages,' repeating aloud many 
 such passages as the one I have cited, they struck 
 my fancy so much. Robertson's State of Europe, 
 in his * Charles the Fifth,' is another of my 
 great favourites (continued Byron) ; it contains 
 an epitome of information. Such works do more 
 towards the extension of knowledge than half the 
 ponderous tomes that lumber up our libraries : 
 they are the rail-roads to learning ; while the 
 others are the neglected old roads that deter us 
 from attempting the journey. 
 
 "It is strange (said Byron) that we are in 
 general much more influenced by the opinions of 
 those whose sentiments ought to be a matter of 
 indifference to us, than by that of near or dear 
 
214 .lOUKNAL OF COXVKRSATIONS 
 
 friends ; nay, we often do things totally opposed 
 to the opinions of the latter (on whom much, if 
 not all, our comfort depends), to cultivate that of 
 the former, who arc or can be nothing in the scale 
 of our happiness. It is in this opposition be- 
 tween our conduct and our aiFections that much 
 of our troubles originates ; it loosens the bonds of 
 affection between us and those we ought to 
 please, and fails to excite any good-will in those 
 whom our vanity leads us to wish to propitiate, 
 because they are regardless of us and of our 
 actions. With all our selfishness, this is a great 
 mistake (continued Byron) ; for, as I take it for 
 granted, we have all some feelings of natural 
 affection for our kindred or friends, and conse- 
 quently wish to retain theirs ; we never wound or 
 offend them without its re-acting on ourselves, by 
 alienating them from us : hence selfisliness ought 
 to make us study the wishes of those to whom we 
 look for happiness ; and the principle of doing 
 as you would be done by, a principle which, 
 if acted upon, could not fail to add to the stock 
 of general good, was founded in wisdom and 
 knowledge of the selfishness of human nature." 
 
WITH LORD BYJIOX. 215 
 
 Talking of Mr. D. K , Byron said, " My 
 
 friend Dug is a proof that a good heart cannot 
 compensate for an irritable temper : whenever 
 he is named, people dwell on the last and pass 
 over the first ; and yet he really has an excellent 
 heart, and a sound head, of which I, in common 
 with many others of his friends, have had various 
 proofs. He is clever too, and well informed, and 
 I do think would have made a figure in the world, 
 were it not for his temper, which gives a dic- 
 tatorial tone to his manner, that is offensive to the 
 amour propre of those with whom he mixes ; and 
 when you alarm that (said Byron), there is an 
 end of your influence. By tacitly admitting 
 the claims of vanity of others, you make at 
 least acquiescent beholders of your own, and 
 this is something gained ; for, depend on it, 
 disguise it how we will, vanity is the prime mover 
 in most, if not all, of us, and some of the actions 
 and works that have the most excited our ad- 
 miration have been inspired by this passion, that 
 none will own to, yet that influences all. 
 
 " The great difference between the happy 
 and unhappy (said Byron) is, that the former are 
 
210 JOURNAL OF COWKRSATIONS 
 
 afraid to contemplate dcatli, and the latter look 
 forward to it as a release from suffering. Now as 
 death is inevitable, and life brief and uncertain, 
 unhappiness, viewed in this point, is rather desi- 
 rable than otherwise ; but few, I fear, derive 
 consolation from the reflection. I think of death 
 often (continued Byron), as I believe do most 
 people who are not happy, and view it as a refuge 
 ' where the wicked cease from troubling, and the 
 weary are at rest.' There is something calm and 
 soothing to me in the thought of death ; and the 
 only time that I feel repugnance to it is on a fine 
 day, in solitude, in a beautiful country, when 
 all nature seems rejoicing in light and life. The 
 contrast then between the beautiful and animated 
 world around me, and the dark narrow grave, 
 gives a chill to the feelings ; for, with all the 
 boasted philosophy of man, his physical being 
 influences his notions of that state where they 
 can be felt no more. The nailed down cofl[in, 
 and the dark gloomy vault, or grave, always min- 
 gle with our thoughts of death ; then the decompo- 
 sition of our mortal frames, the being preyed on 
 by reptiles, add to the disgusting horror of the pic- 
 
WITFI LORD I'.YKON. 217 
 
 tiire, and one has need of all the hopes of immor- 
 tality to enable one to pass over this bridge be- 
 tween the life we know and the life we hope to 
 find. 
 
 *' Do you know (said Byron) that when I have 
 looked on some face that I love, imagination has 
 often figured the changes that death must one 
 day produce on it — the worm rioting on lips now 
 smiling, the features and hues of health changed 
 to the livid and ghastly tints of putrefaction ; and 
 the image conjured up by my fancy, but which 
 is as true as it is a fearful anticipation of what 
 must arrive, has left an impression for hours that 
 the actual presence of the object, in all the bloom 
 of health, has not been able to banish : this is 
 one of mij pleasures of imagination." 
 
 Talking of hypochondriasm, Byron said, that 
 the world had little compassion for two of the 
 most serious ills that human nature is subject to, 
 — mental or bodily hypochondriasm : " Real ail- 
 ments may be cured, (said he,) but imaginary 
 ones, either moral or physical, admit of no re- 
 medy. People analyze the supposed causes of 
 maladies of the mind ; and if the sufferer be rich. 
 
218 JOURNAL OF COWERSATIONS 
 
 well born, well looking, and clever in any way, 
 they conclude he, or she, can have no cause 
 for unhappiness ; nay, assign the cleverness, 
 which is often the source of unhappiness, as 
 among the adventitious gifts that increase, or 
 ought to increase, felicity, and pity not the un- 
 liappiness they cannot understand. They take 
 the same view of imaginary physical ailments, 
 never reflecting that ' happiness (or health) is 
 often but in opinion ;' and that he who believes 
 himself wretched or ill suffers perhaps more than 
 he who has real cause for wretchedness, or who 
 is labouring under disease with less acute sensi- 
 bility to feel his troubles, and nerves subdued by 
 ill health, which prevents his suffering from bo- 
 dily ills as severely as does the hypochondriac 
 from imaginary ones. The irritability of genius 
 (continued Byron) is nothing more or less than 
 a delicacy of organization, which gives a suscep- 
 tibility to impressions to which coarser minds are 
 never subject, and cultivation and refinement but 
 increase it, until the unhappy victim becomes a 
 prey to mental hypochondriasm." 
 
 Byron furnished a melancholy illustration of the 
 
WITH LOUD BVROM. 219 
 
 fate of genius ; and while he dwelt on tlie dis- 
 eases to which it is subject, I looked at his fine 
 features, already marked by premature age, and 
 his face " sicklied o'er with the pale cast of 
 thought," and stamped with decay, until I felt 
 that /lis was no hypothetical statement. Alas ! — 
 
 Noblest minds 
 Sink soonest into ruin, like a tree 
 That, with the weight of its own golden fruitage, 
 Is bent down to the dust. 
 
 " Do you know Mackintosh ? (asked Lord 
 Byron) — his is a mind of powerful calibre. Ma- 
 dame de Stael used to extol him to the skies, and 
 was perfectly sincere in her admiration of him, 
 which was not the case with all whom she praised. 
 Mackintosh also praised her : but his is a mind 
 that, as Moore writes, * rather loves to praise than 
 blame,' for with a judgment so comprehensive, a ^y 
 knowledge so general, and a critical acumen rarely 
 to be met with, his sentences are never severe. He 
 is a powerful writer and speaker ; there is an 
 earnestness and vigour in his style, and a force 
 and purity in his language, equally free from 
 inflation and loquacity. Lord Erskine is, I know, 
 
220 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 a friend of yours (continued Byron), and a most 
 gifted person he is. The Scotch are certainly very 
 superior people ; with intellects naturally more 
 acute than the English, they are better educated 
 and make better men of business. Erskine is 
 full of imagination, and in this he resembles 
 your countrymen, the Irish, more than the 
 Scotch. The Irish would make better poets, and 
 the Scotch philosophers ; but this excess of ima- 
 gination gives a redundancy to the writings and 
 speeches of the Irish that I object to : they come 
 down on one with similes, tropes, and metaphors, a 
 superabundance of riches that makes one long 
 for a little plain matter of fact. An Irishman, 
 of course I mean a clever one, (continued Byron,) 
 educated in Scotland, would be perfection, for 
 the Scots professors would prune down the over- 
 luxuriant shoots of his imagination, and strength- 
 en his reasoning powers. I hope you are not 
 very much offended with me for this critique on 
 your countrymen (continued Byron) ; but, eti 
 revanche, I give you carte blanche to attack mine, 
 as much as you please, and will join in your 
 strictures to the utmost extent to which you wish 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 221 
 
 to go. Lord Erskine is, or was, (said Byron,) 
 — for I suppose age has not improved him more 
 than it generally does people, — the most brilliant 
 person imaginable ; — quick, vivacious, and spark- J 
 ling, he spoke so w^ell that I never felt tired of 
 listening to him, even when he abandoned him- 
 self to that subject of which all his other friends 
 and acquaintances expressed themselves so fa- 
 tigued — self. His egoism was remarkable, but 
 there was a ho7ihommic in it that showed he had 
 a better opinion of mankind than they deserved ; 
 for it implied a belief that his listeners could be 
 interes.ted in what concerned him, whom they 
 professed to like. He was deceived in this (con- 
 tinued Byron), as are all who have a favourable %/ 
 opinion of their fellow-men : in society all and 
 each are occupied with self, and can rarely par- 
 don any one who presumes to draw their atten- 
 tion to other subjects for any length of time. 
 Erskine had been a great man, and he knew it ; 
 and in talking so continually of self, imagined 
 that he was but the echo of fame. All his ta- 
 lents, wit, and brilliancy were insufficient to 
 excuse this weakness in the opinion of his friends ; 
 
222 JOURNAL or conversations 
 
 and I have seen bores, acknowledged bores, turn 
 from tliis clever man, with every symptom of 
 e7inui, wlien he has been reciting an interesting 
 anecdote, merely because he was the principal 
 actor in it. 
 
 " This fastidiousness of the English," conti- 
 nued Byron, " and habit of pronouncing people 
 bores, often impose on strangers and stupid 
 people, who conceive that it arises from delicacy 
 of taste and superior abilities. I never was taken 
 in by it, for I have generally found that those 
 who were the most ready to pronounce others 
 bores, had the most indisputable claims to that 
 title in their own persons. The truth is," con- 
 tinued Byron, " the English are very envious, 
 they are an fond, conscious that they are dread- 
 ftdly dull — being loquacious without liveliness, 
 proud without dignity, and brusque without sin- 
 cerity; they never forgive those who show that 
 they have made the same discovery, or who 
 occupy public attention, of which they are 
 jealous. An Englishman rarely condescends to 
 take the trouble of conciliating admiration (though 
 he is jealous of esteem), and he as rarely pardons 
 
WITH LOUD BY 110 NT. 223 
 
 those who have succeeded in attaining it. They 
 are jealous," continued Byron, " of popularity 
 of every sort, and not only depreciate the talents 
 that obtain it, whatever they may be, but the 
 person who possesses them. I have seen in 
 London, in one of the circles the most rcdierchc, 
 a literary man a la mode universally attacked 
 by the elite of the party, who were damning 
 his merits with faint praise, and drawing his 
 defects into notice, until some other candidate 
 for approbation as a conversationist, a singer, 
 or even a dancer, was named, when all fell upon 
 him — proving that a superiority of tongue, voice, 
 or heel was as little to be pardoned as genius 
 or talent. I have known people," continued 
 Byron, " talk of the highest efforts of genius 
 as if they had been within the reach of each 
 of the common-place individuals of the circle ; 
 and comment on the acute reasonings of some 
 logician as if they could have made the same 
 deductions from the same premises, though ig- 
 norant of the most simple syllogism. Their 
 very ignorance of the subjects on which they 
 pronounce is perhaps the cause of the fearless 
 
224 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 decisions they give, for, knowing nought, they 
 think everything easy : but this impertinence," 
 continued Byron, " is difficult to be borne by 
 those who know * how painful 'tis to climb,' 
 and who having, l)y labour, gained some one 
 of the eminences in literature — which, alas! as 
 we all know, are but as mole-hills compared 
 to the acclivity they aim at ascending — are the 
 more deeply impressed with the difficulties that 
 they have yet to surmount. I have never yet 
 been satisfied with any one of my own produc- 
 tions ; I cannot read them over without detect- 
 ing a thousand faults ; but when I read critiques 
 upon them by those who could not have written 
 them, I lose my patience. 
 
 " There is an old and stupid song," said 
 Byron, " that says — ' Friendship with wo- 
 man is sister to love.' There is some truth in 
 this ; for let a man form a friendship with a 
 woman, even though she be no longer young or 
 handsome, there is a softness and tenderness 
 attached to it that no male friendship can know. 
 
 A proof of this is, that Lady M , who might 
 
 have been my mother, excited an interest in 
 
WITH LORD BVKOX. 225 
 
 my feelings that few young women have been 
 able to awaken. She was a charming person 
 — a sort of modern Aspasia, uniting the energy 
 of a man's mind with the delicacy and tender- 
 ness of a woman's. She wrote and spoke ad- 
 mirably, because she felt admirably. Envy, 
 malice, hatred, or uncharitableness, found no "^ 
 place in her feelings. She had all of philo- 
 sophy, save its moroseness, and all of nature, 
 save its defects and general faibksse ; or if some 
 portion oi faibksse attached to her, it only served 
 to render her more forbearing to the errors of 
 others. I have often thought, that, with a little 
 
 more youth. Lady M might have turned 
 
 my head, at all events she often turned my 
 heart, by bringing me back to mild feelings, 
 when the demon passion was strong within me. 
 Her mind and heart were as fresh as if only 
 sixteen summers had flown over her, instead of 
 four times that number : and the mind and heart 
 always leave external marks of their state of 
 health. Goodness is the best cosmetic that has 
 yet been discovered, for I am of opinion that, 
 not according to our friend Moore — 
 
 p 
 
22G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 As the shining casket's worn. 
 The gem within v/ill tarnish too, — 
 
 but, Oil co7itraire, the decay of the gem will 
 tarnish the casket — the sword will wear away 
 the scabbard. Then how rare is it to see 
 age give its experience without its hardness of 
 
 heart ! and this was Lady M 's case. She 
 
 was a captivating creature, malgrt her eleven 
 or twelve lustres, and I shall always love her. 
 
 " Did you know William Spencer, the Poet 
 of Society, as they used to call him?" said 
 Byron. " His was really what your country- 
 men call an elegant mind, polished, graceful, 
 and sentimental, with just enough gaiety to 
 prevent his being lachrymose, and enough sen- 
 timent to prevent his being too anacreontic. 
 There was a great deal of genuine fun in Spen- 
 cer's conversation, as well as a great deal of 
 refined sentiment in his verses. I liked both, 
 for both were perfectly aristocratic in their way ; 
 neither one nor the other was calculated to please 
 the canaille, which made me like them all the 
 better. England was, after all I may say 
 against it, very delightful in my day ; that is 
 to say, there were some six or seven very de- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 227 
 
 liglitful people among the hundred common- 
 place that one saw every day, — seven stars, the 
 pleiades, visible when all others had hid their 
 diminished heads ; and look where we may, 
 where can we find so many stars united else- 
 where? Moore, Campbell, Rogers, Spencer, as 
 poets ; and how many conversationists to be 
 added to the galaxy of stars, — one set irradiating 
 our libraries of a morning, and the other illu- 
 minating our dining-rooms of an evening ! All 
 this was, and would be, very delightful, could 
 you have confined the stars within their own 
 planets ; but, alas ! they were given to wander 
 into other spheres, and often set in the arctic 
 circles, the frozen zones of nobility. I often 
 thought at that time," continued Byron, " that 
 England had reached the pinnacle, — that point 
 where, as no advance can be made, a nation 
 must retrograde, — and I don't think I was 
 wrong. Our army had arrived at a state of 
 perfection before unknown ; Wellington's star 
 was in the ascendant, and all others paled be- 
 fore its influence. We had Grey, Grenville, 
 Wellesley, and Holland in the House of Peers, 
 
228 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 and Sheridan, Canning, Burdett, and Tierney 
 in the Commons. In society we were rich in 
 poets, then in their zenith, now alas ! fallen 
 into the sear and yellow leaf; and in wits of 
 whom one did not speak in the past tense. 
 Of these, those whom tlie destroyer Time has 
 not cut off he has mutilated ; the wine of their 
 lives has turned sour, — and lost its body, and 
 who is there to supply their places? The march 
 of intellect has been preceded by pioneers, w^ho 
 have levelled all the eminences of distinction, 
 and reduced all to the level of decent mediocrity. 
 "It is said that as people grow old they mag- 
 nify the superiority of past times, and detract 
 from the advantages of the present : this is natu- 
 ral enough ; for admitting that the advantages 
 were equal, we view them through a different 
 medium, — the sight, like all the other senses, 
 loses its fine perceptions, and nought looks as 
 bright through the dim optics of age as through 
 the bright ones of youth ; but as I have only 
 reached the respectable point of middle age," 
 continued Byron, '' I cannot attribute my opinion 
 of the falling off of the present men to my seni- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 229 
 
 lity ; and I really see or hear of no young men, 
 either in the literary or political fields of London, 
 who promise to supply the places of the men of 
 my time — no successional crop to replace the v/ 
 passing or the past." I told Byron that the 
 march of intellect had rendered the spread of 
 knowledge so general, that young men abstained 
 from writing, or at least from publishing, until 
 they thought they had produced something likely 
 to obtain attention, which was now much more 
 difficult to be obtained than formerly, as people 
 grew more fastidious every day. He would not 
 agree to this, but maintained that mediocrity was 
 the distinguishing feature of the present times, 
 and that we should see no more men like those of 
 his day. To hear Byron talk of himself, one 
 would suppose that instead of thirty-six he was 
 sixty years old : there is no affectation in this, as 
 he says he feels all the languor and exhaustion 
 of age. 
 
 Byron always talks in terms of high admira- 
 tion of Mr. Canning ; says he is a man of supe- 
 rior abilities, brilliant fancy, cultivated mind, and 
 most effective eloquence; and adds, that Can- 
 
230 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 ning only wanted to be born to a good estate to 
 have made a great statesman. " Fortune," conti- 
 nued Byron, '* would have saved him from tergi- 
 versation, the bare suspicion of which is destruc- 
 tive to the confidence a statesman ought to in- 
 spire. As it is," said he, ** Canning is brilliant 
 but not great, with all the elements in him that 
 constitute greatness." 
 
 Talking of Lord , Byron observed, that 
 
 his success in life was a proof of the weight that 
 fortune gave a man, and his popularity a certain 
 sign of his mediocrity : " the first," said Byron, 
 *' puts him out of the possibility of being sus- 
 pected of mercenary motives ; and the second 
 precludes envy ; yet you hear him praised at 
 every side for his independence! — and a great 
 merit it is truly," said he, " in a man who has 
 high rank and large fortune, — what can he want, 
 and where could be the temptation to barter his 
 principles, since he already has all that people 
 seek in such a traffic? No, I see no merit in 
 
 Lord 's independence ; give me the man 
 
 who is poor and untitled, with talents to excite 
 temptation, and honesty to resist it, and I will 
 
WITH LORD BYRON'. 231 
 
 give him credit for independence of principle, 
 because he deserves it. People," continued 
 Byron, ** talk to you of Lord 's high cha- 
 racter, — in what does it consist? Why, in being, 
 as I before said, put by fortune and rank beyond u^ 
 the power of temptation, — having an even temper, 
 thanks to a cool head and a colder heart ! — and a 
 mediocrity of talents that insures his being * con- 
 tent to live in decencies for ever,' while it ex- 
 empts him from exciting envy or jealousy, the fol- 
 lowers of excellence." 
 
 Byron continually reverts to Sir Walter Scott, \ 
 and always in terms of admiration for his genius, 
 and affection for his good qualities ; he says that 
 he never gets up from the perusal of one of his 
 works, without finding himself in a better dis- 
 position ; and that he generally reads his novels 
 three times. " I find such a just mode of think- 
 ing," said Byron, ** that I could fill volumes with 
 detached thoughts from Scott, all, and each, full 
 of truth and beauty. Then how good are his 
 definitions ! Do you remember, in ' Peveril of 
 the Peak,' where he says, ' Presence of mind is 
 courage. Real valour consists, not in being in- 
 
\/ 
 
 232 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 sensible to danger, but in being prompt to con- 
 front and disarm it.' How true is this, and what 
 an admirable distinction between moral and phy- 
 sical courage ! " 
 
 I complimented him on his memory, and he 
 added : — ** My memory is very retentive, but the 
 passage I repeated I read this morning for the 
 third time. How applicable to Scott's works is 
 the observation made by Madame du Deffand on 
 Richardson's Novels, in' one of her letters to Vol- 
 taire : * La morale y est en action, et n'a jamais 
 ^te traitee d'une maniere plus int^ressante. On 
 meurt d'envie d'etre parfait apr^s cette lecture, et 
 Ton croit que rien n'est si ais^.' I think," con- 
 tinued Byron, after a pause, " that Scott is the 
 only very successful genius that could be cited as 
 being as generally beloved as a man, as he is ad- 
 mired as an author; and, I must add, he deserves 
 it, for he is so thoroughly good-natured, sincere, 
 and honest, that he disarms the envy and jealousy 
 his extraordinary genius must excite. I hope to 
 meet Scott once more before I die ; for, worn out 
 as are my affections, he still retains a strong hold 
 for them." 
 
WITH LOUD DYUON. 233 
 
 There was something highly gratifying- to the 
 feelings in witnessing the warmth and cordiality 
 that Byron's countenance and manner displayed 
 when talking of Sir W. Scott ; it proved how 
 capable he was of entertaining friendship, — a 
 sentiment of which he so frequently professed to 
 doubt the existence : but in this, as on many 
 other points, he never did himself justice ; and 
 the turn for ridicule and satire implanted in his 
 nature led him to indulge in observations in which 
 his real feelings had no share. Circumstances 
 had rendered Byron suspicious ; he was apt to 
 attribute every mark of interest or good-will 
 shown to him as emanating from vanity, that 
 sought gratification by a contact with his poetical 
 celebrity ; this encouraged his predilection for 
 hoaxing, ridiculing, and doubting friends and 
 friendship. But as Sir W. Scott's own well- 
 earned celebrity put the possibility of such a 
 motive out of the question, Byron yielded to the 
 sentiment of friendship in all its force for him, 
 and never named him but with praise and aifec- 
 tion. Byron's was a proud mind, that resisted 
 correction, but that might easily be led by kind- 
 
234 JOURNAL OF CONVKRSATIONS 
 
 ness ; his errors had been so severely punished, 
 that he became reckless and misanthropic, to 
 avenge the injustice he had experienced ; and, as 
 misanthropy was foreign to his nature, its partial 
 indulgence produced the painful state of being 
 continually at war with his better feelings, and 
 of rendering him dissatisfied with himself and 
 others. 
 
 Talking of the effects that ingratitude and dis- 
 appointments produced on the character of the 
 individual who experienced them, Byron said, 
 " that they invariably soured the nature of the 
 person, who, when reduced to this state of 
 acidity, was decried as a cynical, ill-natured 
 brute. People wonder," continued he, " that a 
 man is sour who has been feeding on acids all 
 his life. The extremes of adversity and prospe- 
 rity produce the same effects ; they harden the 
 heart, and enervate the mind ; they render a 
 person so selfish, that, occupied solely with his 
 own pains or pleasures, he ceases to feel for 
 others ; hence, as sweets turn to acids as well as 
 sours, excessive prosperity may produce the same 
 consequences as adversity." 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 235 
 
 His was a nature to be bettered by prosperity, 
 and to be rendered obstinate by adversity. He 
 invoked Stoicism to resist injustice, but its shield 
 repelled not a single blow aimed at his peace, 
 while its appearance deprived him of the sym- 
 pathy for which his heart yearned. Let those, 
 who would judge with severity the errors of this 
 wayward child of genius, look back at his days of 
 infancy and youth, and ask themselves whether, 
 under such unfavourable auspices, they could 
 have escaped the defects that tarnish the lustre 
 of his fame, — defects rendered more obvious by 
 the brightness they partially obscured, and which, 
 without that brightness, had perhaps never been 
 observed. 
 
 An eagle confined in a cage could not have 
 been more displaced than was Byron in the 
 artificial and conventional society that disgusted 
 him with the world ; like that daring bird, he 
 could fearlessly soar high, and contemplate the 
 sun, but he was unfit for the busy haunts of men ; 
 and he, whose genius could people a desert, 
 pined in the solitude of crowds. The people he 
 saw resembled not the creatures his fancy had 
 
 ■y 
 
236 JOUKXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 formed, and, with a heart yearning towards his 
 fellow-men, pride and a false estimate of mankind 
 repelled him from seeking their sympathy, though 
 it deprived them not of his, as not all his assumed 
 Stoicism could subdue the kind feelings that 
 spontaneously showed themselves when the mis- 
 fortunes of others were named. Byron warred 
 only w^ith the vices and follies of his species ; 
 and if he had a bitter jest and biting sarcasm for 
 these, he had pity and forbearance for affliction, 
 even though deserved, and forgot the cause in 
 the effect. Misfortune was sacred in his eyes, 
 and seemed to be the last link of the chain that 
 connected him with his fellow-men. I remember 
 (/ hearing a person in his presence revert to the 
 unhappiness of an individual known to all the 
 party present, and, having instanced some proofs 
 of the unhappiness, observe, that the person was 
 not to be pitied, for he had brought it on himself 
 by misconduct. I shall never forget the ex- 
 pression of Byron's face ; it glowed with indigna- 
 tion, and, turning to the person who had excited 
 it, he said, " If, as you say, this heavy misfortune 
 has been caused by 's misconduct, then is 
 
WITH LORD JiYllON. 237 
 
 he doubly to be pitied, for he has the reproaches 
 of conscience to embitter his draught. Those 
 who have lost what is considered the right to 
 pity in losing reputation and self-respect, arc the 
 persons who stand most in need of commise- 
 ration ; and yet the charitable feelings of the 
 over-moral would deny them this boon ; reservhig 
 it for those on whom undeserved misfortunes fall, 
 and who have that icithin which renders pity 
 superfluous, have also respect to supply its place. 
 Nothing so completely serves to demoralise a man 
 as the certainty that he has lost the sympathy of ^ 
 his fellow-creatures ; it breaks the last tie that 
 binds him to humanity, and renders him reckless 
 and irreclaimable. This," continued Byron, " is 
 my moral ; and this it is that makes me pity the 
 guilty and respect the unfortunate." 
 
 While he spoke, the earnestness of his manner, 
 and the increased colour and animation of his 
 countenance, bore evident marks of the sincerity 
 of the sentiments he uttered : it was at such 
 moments that his native goodness burst fortli, and 
 pages of misanthropic sarcasms could not efface 
 the impression they left behind, though he often 
 
238 JOURNAI. OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 endeavoured to destroy such impressions by plea- 
 santries against himself. 
 
 "When you go to Naples you must make ac- 
 quaintance with Sir William Drummond," said 
 Byron, " for he is certainly one of the most eru- 
 dite men, and admirable philosophers now living. 
 He has all the wit of Voltaire, wdth a profundity 
 that seldom appertains to wit, and wTites so for- 
 cibly, and with such elegance and purity of style, 
 that his works possess a peculiar charm. Have 
 you read his ' Academical Questions V if not, get 
 them directly, and I think you will agree with 
 me, that the preface to that work alone would 
 prove Sir William Drummond an admirable wri- 
 ter. He concludes it by the following sentence, 
 which I think one of the best in our lanofuao'e : — 
 * Prejudice^iay be trusted to guard the outworks 
 for a short space of time, while Reason slumbers 
 in the citadel ; but if the latter sink into a le- 
 thargy, the former will quickly erect a standard 
 for herself. Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty, 
 support each other : he w^ho will not reason is a 
 bigot ; he who cannot is a fool ; and he w^ho dares 
 not is a slave.' Is not the passage admirable?" 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 239 
 
 contained Byron ; " how few could have written 
 it, and yet how few read Drummond's works ! 
 they are too good to be popular. His * Odin ' is 
 really a fine poem, and has some passages that are 
 beautiful, but it is so little read that it may be 
 said to have dropped still-born from the press, a 
 mortifying proof of the bad taste of the age. His 
 translation of Persius is not only very literal, but 
 preserves much of the spirit of the original ; a 
 merit that, let me tell you, is very rare at present, 
 when translations have about as much of the spirit 
 of the original as champaigne diluted with three 
 parts of water may be supposed to retain of the 
 pure and sparkling wine. Translations, for the 
 most part, resemble imitations, where the marked 
 defects are exaggerated, and the beauties passed 
 over, always excepting the imitations of Ma- 
 thews," continued Byron, " who seems to have 
 continuous chords in his mind, that vibrate to 
 those in the minds of others, as he gives not only 
 the look, tones, and manners of the persons he 
 personifies, but the very train of thinking, and the 
 expressions they indulge in ; and, strange to say, 
 this modern Proteus succeeds best when the imi- 
 
240 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATION'S 
 
 tatcd is a person of genius, or great talent, as he 
 seems to identify himself with him. His imita- 
 tion of Curran can hardly be so called— it is a 
 contbiiiatiou , and is inimitable. I remember Sir 
 Walter Scott's observing, that Mathews' imitations 
 were of the m'nul, to those who had the key ; but 
 as the majority had it not, they were contented 
 with admiring those of the person, and pro- 
 nounced him a mimic who ought to be considered 
 an accurate and philosophic observer of human 
 nature, blessed with the rare talent of intuitively 
 identifying himself with the minds of others. 
 But, to return to Sir William Drummond," con- 
 tinued Byron, " he has escaped all the defects 
 of translators, and his Persius resembles the ori- 
 ginal as nearly in feeling and sentiment as two 
 languages so dissimilar in idiom will admit. 
 Translations almost always disappoint me ; I 
 must, however, except Pope's * Homer,' which 
 has more of the spirit of Homer than all the other 
 translations put together, and the Teian bard 
 himself might have been proud of the beautiful 
 odes which the Irish Anacreon has given us. 
 '* Of the wits about town, I think," said By- 
 
WITH i.oui) liVRoy. 241 
 
 ron, *' that George Colman was one of the most 
 agreeable ; he was toujours prct, and after two 
 or three glasses of champaigne, the quicksilver 
 of his wit mounted to hcau Jire. Colman has a 
 good deal of tact ; he feels that convivial hours 
 were meant for enjoyment, and understands so- 
 ciety so well, that he never obtrudes any private 
 feeling, except hilarity, into it. His jokes are 
 all good, and readable, and flow without effort, 
 like the champaigne that often gives birth to 
 them, sparkle after sparkle, and brilliant to the 
 last. Then one is sure of Colman," continued 
 Byron, '"which is a great comfort; for to be 
 made to cry when one had made up one's mind 
 to laugh, is a triste affair, I remember that this 
 was the great drawback with Sheridan ; a little 
 wine made him melancholy, and his melancholy 
 was contagious ; for who could bear to see the 
 wizard, who could at will command smiles or 
 tears, yield to the latter without sharing them, 
 though one wished that the exhibition had been 
 less public ? My feelings were never more ex- 
 cited than while writing the Monody on Sheri- 
 dan, — every word that I wrote came direct from 
 
242 JOrUNAL OF COXVr.RSATIOXS 
 
 the heart. Poor Sherry! what a noble mind was 
 in him overthrown by jwverty ! and to see the 
 m.en with whom lie had passed his life, the dark 
 souls whom his genius illumined, rolling in wealth, 
 the Sybarites whose slumbers a crushed rose-leaf 
 would have disturbed, leaving him to die on the 
 pallet of poverty, his last moments disturbed by 
 the myrmidons of the law. Oli ! it was enough 
 to disgust one with human nature, but above all 
 with the nature of those who, professing liberality, 
 were so little acquainted with its twin-sister ge- 
 nerosity. 
 
 " I have seen poor Sheridan weep, and good 
 cause had he," continued Byron. '' Placed by 
 his transcendent talents in an elevated sphere, 
 without the means of supporting the necessary 
 appearance, to how many humiliations must his 
 fine mind have submitted, ere he had arrived at 
 the state in which I knew him, of reckless jokes 
 to pacify creditors of a morning, and alternate 
 smiles and tears of an evening, round the boards 
 where ostentatious dulness called in his aid to 
 give a zest to the wine that often maddened him, 
 but could not- thaw the frozen current of their 
 
WITH LOUD BYIION. 243 
 
 blood. Moore's Monody on Sheridan," continued 
 Byron, " was a fine burst of generous indignation, 
 and is one of the most powerful of his compo- 
 sitions. It was as daring as my ' Avatar,' which 
 was bold enough, and, God knows, true enough, 
 but I have never repented it. Your countrymen 
 behaved dreadfully on that occasion ; despair may 
 support the chains of tyranny, but it is only 
 baseness that can sing and dance in them, as 
 
 did the Irish on the 's visit. But I see 
 
 you would prefer another subject, so let us talk 
 of something else, though this cannot be a humi- 
 liating one to you personally, as I know your 
 husband did not make one among the rabble at 
 that Saturnalia. 
 
 ** The Irish are strange people," continued 
 Byron, " at one moment overpowered by sadness, 
 and the next elevated to joy ; impressionable 
 as heated wax, and like it changing each time 
 that it is warmed. The dolphin, when shone 
 upon by the sun, changes not its hues more 
 frequently than do your mobile countrymen, and 
 this want of stability will leave them long what 
 centuries have found them — slaves. I liked them 
 
244 CONVERSATION'S M'lTH LORD BYRON. 
 
 before the cle2:radation of 1822, but the dance 
 in chains disgusted me. What would Grattan 
 and Curran have thought of it ? and Moore, why- 
 struck he not tlie harp of Erin to awaken the 
 shimbering souls of his supine countrymen ? " 
 
CONVERSATIONS 
 
 WITH 
 
 LORD BYRON. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 To those who only know Byron as an author, 
 it would be difficult, if not impossible, to convey 
 a just impression of him as a man. In him the 
 elements of good and evil were so strongly mixed, 
 that an error could not be detected that was not 
 allied to some good quality ; and his fine quali- 
 ties, and they were many, could hardly be sepa- 
 rated from the faults that sullied them. In be- 
 stowing on Byron a genius as versatile as it 
 was brilliant and powerful, Nature had not de- 
 nied him warmth of heart, and the kind affections 
 that beget, while they are formed to repay 
 
'24G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 friendship ; but a false beau ideal that he had 
 created for himself, and a wish of exciting won- 
 der, led him into a line of conduct calculated 
 to lower him in the estimation of superficial ob- 
 servers, who judge from appearances, while those 
 who had opportunities of observing him more 
 nearly, and who made allowance for his besetting 
 sin, (the assumption of vices and errors, that 
 he either had not, or exaggerated the appearance 
 of,) found in him more to admire than censure, 
 and to pity than condemn. In his severest 
 satires, however much of malice there might be 
 in the expression, there was little in the feeling 
 that dictated them ; they came from the imagi- 
 nation and not from the heart, for in a few 
 minutes after he had unveiled the errors of some 
 friend or acquaintance, he would call attention 
 to some of their good qualities with as much 
 apparent pleasure as he had dwelt on their de- 
 fects. A nearly daily intercourse of ten weeks 
 with Byron left the impression on my mind, 
 that if an extraordinary quickness of perception 
 prevented his passing over the errors of those 
 with whom he came in contact, and a natural 
 
WITH LORD BVKON. 247 
 
 incontinence of speech betrayed him into an ex- 
 posure of them, a candour and good-nature, quite 
 as remarkable, often led liini to enumerate their 
 virtues, and to draw attention to them. It may 
 be supposed, that with such powerful talents, 
 there was less excuse for the attacks he was 
 in the habit of making on his friends and ac- 
 quaintances ; but those very talents were the 
 cause ; they suggested a thousand lively and 
 piquant images to his fancy, relative to the de- 
 fects of those with whom he associated ; and he 
 had not self-command sufficient to repress the 
 sallies that he knew must show at once his dis- 
 crimination and talents for ridicule, and amuse 
 his hearers, however they might betray a want 
 of good-nature and sincerity. 
 
 There was no premeditated malignity in By- 
 ron's nature ; though constantly in the habit of 
 exposing the follies and vanity of his friends, 
 I never heard him blacken their reputations, 
 and I never felt an unfavourable impression from 
 any of the censures he bestowed, because I saw 
 they were aimed at follies, and not character. 
 He used frequently to say tliat people hated him 
 
248 JOL'ltXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 more for exposing their follies than if he had 
 attacked their moral characters, adding, " Such 
 is the vanity of human nature, tliat men would 
 prefer being defamed to being ridiculed, and 
 would much sooner pardon the first than the 
 second. There is nnich more folly than vice 
 in the world," said Byron. " The appearance 
 of the latter is often assumed by the dictates 
 of the former, and people pass for being vicious 
 who are only foolish. I have seen such ex- 
 amples,"' continued he, " of this in the world, 
 that it makes one rather incredulous as to the 
 extent of actual vice ; but I can believe any 
 thing of the capabilities of vanity and folly, 
 having witnessed to what length they can go. 
 I have seen women compromise their honour 
 (in appearance only) for the triumph (and a hope- 
 ful one) of rivalling some contemporary belle ; 
 and men sacrifice theirs, in reality, by false 
 boastings for the gratification of vanity. All, 
 all is vanity and vexation of spirit," added he ; 
 " the first being the legitimate parent of the 
 second,^ an offspring that, school it how you 
 will, is sure to turn out a curse to its parent." 
 
WITH LORD BVROX. 249 
 
 " Lord Blessington has been talking to me 
 about Mr. Gait,"' said Lord Byron, " and tells 
 me much good of him. I am pleased at finding 
 he is as amiable a man as his recent works 
 prove him to be a clever and intelligent author. 
 When I knew Gait, years ago, I was not in a 
 frame of mind to form an impartial opinion of 
 him ; his mildness and equanimity struck me 
 even then ; but, to say the truth, his manner 
 had not deference enough for my then aristo- 
 cratical taste, and finding I could not awe him 
 into a respect sufficiently profound for my sub- 
 lime self, either as a peer or an author, I felt a 
 little o^rudo'e towards him that has now com- 
 pletely worn off". There is a quaint humour and 
 observance of character in his novels that interest 
 me very much, and when he chooses to be pa- 
 thetic he fools one to his bent, for I assure you 
 the ' Entail ' beguiled me of some portion of 
 watery humours, yclept tears, ' albeit unused 
 to the melting mood.' AVhat I admire particu- 
 larly in Gait's works,"" continued Byron, " is, 
 that with a perfect knowledge of human nature 
 and its frailties and legerdemain tricks, he shows 
 
250 JOURNAL OV CONVERSATIONS 
 
 a tenderness of heart which convinces one that 
 /lis is in the right place, and he has a sly caustic 
 humour that is very amusing. All that Lord 
 Blessington has been telling me of Gait has 
 made me reflect on the striking difference be- 
 tween his (Lord B.'s) nature and my own. I 
 had an excellent opportunity of judging Gait, 
 being shut up on board ship with him for some 
 days ; and though I saw he was mild, equal, 
 and sensible, I took no pains to cultivate his 
 acquaintance further than I should with any com- 
 mon-place person, which he was not ; and Lord 
 Blessington in London, with a numerous ac- 
 quaintance, and ' all appliances to boot,' for 
 choosing and selecting, has found so much to 
 like in Gait, malgre the difference of their poli- 
 tics, that his liking has grown into friendship. 
 
 " I must say that I never saw the milk of 
 human kindness overflow in any nature to so 
 great a degree, as in Lord Blessington's," con- 
 tinued Byron. " I used, before I knew him 
 well, to think that Shelley was the most amiable 
 person I ever knew, but I now think that Lord 
 B. bears off the palm, for he has been assailed 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 251 
 
 by all the temptations that so few can resist, 
 those of unvarying prosperity, and has passed 
 the ordeal victoriously, — a triumphant proof of 
 the extraordinary goodness of his nature, while 
 poor Shelley had been tried in the school of 
 adversity only, which is not such a corrupter 
 as is that of prosperity. If Lord B. has not 
 the power, Midas-like, of turning whatever he 
 touches into gold," continued Byron, " he has 
 at least that of turning all into good. I, alas ! 
 detect only the evil qualities of those that ap- l^ 
 proach me, while he discovers the amiable. It 
 appears to me, that the extreme excellence of 
 his own disposition prevents his attributing evil 
 to others ; I do assure you," continued Byron, 
 *' I have thought better of mankind since I have 
 known him intimately." The earnestness of By- 
 ron's manner convinced me that he spoke his 
 real sentiments relative to Lord B., and that 
 his commendations were not uttered with a view 
 of gratifying me, but flowed spontaneously in 
 the honest warmth of the moment. A long, daily 
 and hourly knowledge of the person he praised, 
 has enabled me to judge of the justice of the 
 
252 JOURNAL OK CON VERS ATI OXS 
 
 commendation, and Byron never spoke more truly 
 than when he pronounced Lord B.'s a faultless 
 nature. While he was speaking, he continually 
 looked back, for fear that the person of whom 
 he spoke should overhear his remarks, as he was 
 riding behind, at a little distance from us. 
 
 ** Is Lady as restless and indefatigable as 
 
 ever ? (asked Byron.) — She is an extraordinary 
 woman, and the most thorough-paced manoeuvrer 
 I ever met with ; she cannot make or accept an 
 invitation, or perform any of the common courte- 
 sies of life, without manoeuvring, and has always 
 some plan in agitation, to which all her acquaint- 
 ance are made subservient. This is so evident, 
 that she never approached me that I did not ex- 
 pect her to levy contributions on my muse, the 
 only disposable property I possessed ; and I was as 
 surprised as grateful at finding it was not pressed 
 into the service for compassing some job, or ac- 
 complishing some mischief. Then she passes for 
 being clever, when she is only cunning : her life 
 has been passed in giving the best proof of want 
 of cleverness, that of intriguing to carry points not 
 worth intriguing for, and that must have occurred 
 
WITH LORD BVllOX. 253 
 
 in the natural course of events without any ma- 
 noeuvring on her part. Cleverness and cunning 
 are incompatible — I never saw them united ; the 
 latter is the resource of the weak, and is only 
 natural to them : children and fools are always 
 cunning, but clever people never. The world, or 
 ''ather the persons who compose it, are so indo- 
 lent, that when they see great personal activity, 
 joined to indefatigable and unshrinking exertion 
 of tongue, they conclude that such effects must 
 proceed from adequate causes, never reflecting 
 that real cleverness requires not such aids ; but 
 few people take the trouble of analyzing the 
 actions or motives of others, and least of all when 
 such others have no envy-stirring attractions. 
 
 On this account Lady 's manoeuvres are set 
 
 down to cleverness ; but when she was young and 
 pretty they were less favourably judged. Women 
 of a certain age (continued Byron) are for the 
 most part bores or mechautes. I have known 
 some delightful exceptions, but on consideration 
 they were past the certain age, and were no 
 longer, like the cofhn of Mahomet hovering be- 
 tween heaven and earth, that is to say, floating 
 
254 JOURNAL OF COXVERS ATIOXS 
 
 between maturity and age, but had fixed their per- 
 sons on the unpretending easy chairs of vieillesse, 
 and their thoughts neither on war nor conquest, 
 except the conquest of self. Age is beautiful 
 when no attempt is made to modernize it. Who 
 can look at the interesting remains of loveliness 
 without some of the same tender feelings of me- 
 lancholy with which we regard a fine ruin ? 
 Both mark the triumph of the mighty conqueror 
 Time ; and whether we examine the eyes, the 
 windows of the soul, through which love and 
 hope once sparkled, now dim and languid, show- 
 ing only resignation, or the ruined casements of 
 the abbey or castle through which blazed the 
 light of tapers, and the smoke of incense offered 
 to the Deity, the feelings excited are much the 
 same, and we approach both with reverence, — 
 always (interrupted Byron) provided that the old 
 beauty is not a specimen of the florid Gothic, — 
 by which I mean restored, painted, and var- 
 nished, — and that the abbey or castle is not 
 whitewashed ; both, under such circumstances, 
 produce the same effect on me, and all reverence 
 is lost ; but I do seriously admire age when it is 
 
^vlTU r.onD uvjfox. 253 
 
 not ashamed to let itself be seen, and look on it as 
 something sanctified and holy, having passed 
 through the fire of its passions, and being on the 
 verge of the grave. 
 
 " I once (said Byron) found it necessary to call 
 up all that could be said in favour of matured 
 beauty, when my heart became captive to a donna 
 of forty-six, who certainly excited as lively a pas- 
 sion in my breast as ever it has known ; and even 
 now the autumnal charms of Lady are re- 
 membered by me with more than admiration. 
 She resembled a landscape by Claude Lorraine, 
 with a setting sun, her beauties enhanced by the 
 knowledge that they were shedding their last 
 dying beams, which threw a radiance around. A 
 woman (continued Byron) is only grateful for her 
 Ji?^st and last conquest. The first of poor dear 
 Lady — — 's was achieved before I entered on 
 this world of care, but the la.st I do flatter myself 
 was reserved for me, and a bo?i?ie bouche it 
 was." 
 
 I told Byron that his poetical sentiments of the 
 attractions of matured beauty had, at the moment, 
 suggested four lines to jne ; which he begged me to 
 
25G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 repeat, and he laughed not a little when I recited 
 the following lines to him : — 
 
 Oil ! talk ))ot to ine of the cliarnis of youth's dimples, 
 There 's surely more sentiment center'd in wrinkles. 
 They 're the triumphs of time that mark beauty's decay. 
 Telling tales of years past, and the few left to stay. 
 
 *' I never spent an hour with Moore (said 
 Byron) without being ready to apply to him the 
 expression attributed to Aristophanes, ' You have 
 spoken roses ; ' his thoughts and expressions have 
 all the beauty and freshness of those flowers, but 
 the piquancy of his wit, and the readiness of his 
 repartees, prevent one's ear being cloyed by too 
 much sweets, and one cannot ' die of a rose in 
 aromatic pain ' with Moore, though he does speak 
 roses, there is such an endless variety in his con- 
 versation. Moore is the only poet I know 
 (continued Byron) whose conversation equals his 
 writings ; he comes into society with a mind as 
 fresh and buoyant as if he had not expended such 
 a multiplicity of thoughts on paper ; and leaves 
 behind him an impression that he possesses an 
 inexhaustible mine equally brilliant as the speci- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 257 
 
 mens he has given us. Will you, after this frank 
 confession of my opinion of your countryman, 
 ever accuse me of injustice again? You see I 
 can render justice when I am not forced into its 
 opposite extreme by hearing people overpraised, 
 which always awakes the sleeping Devil in my 
 nature, as witness the desperate attack I gave 
 
 your friend Lord the other day, merely 
 
 because you all wanted to make me believe he 
 was a model, which he is not; though I admit he 
 is not all or half that which I accused him of 
 being. Had you dispraised, probably I should 
 have defended him." 
 
 " I will give you some stanzas I wrote yester- 
 day (said Byron) ; they are as simple as even 
 Wordsworth himself could write, and would do 
 for music." 
 
 The following are the lines : — 
 
 To 
 
 But once I dared to lift my eyes — 
 
 To lift my eyes to thee ; 
 And since that day, beneath the skies. 
 
 No other sight they see. 
 R 
 
258 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 In vain sleep shuts them in the night — 
 
 'I'he niglit grows clay to me ; 
 Presenting idly to my sight 
 
 "What still a dream must be. 
 
 A fatal dream — for many a bar 
 
 Divides thy fate from mine ; 
 And still my passions wake and war, 
 
 But peace be still with thine. 
 
 *' No one writes songs like Moore (said Byron). 
 Sentiment and imagination are joined to the most 
 harmonious versification, and I know no greater 
 treat than to hear him sing his own compositions ; 
 the powerful expression he gives to them, and 
 the pathos of the tones of his voice, tend to 
 produce an effect on my feelings that no other 
 
 songs, or singer, ever could. used to 
 
 write pretty songs, and certainly has talent, but I 
 maintain there is more poesy in her prose, at least 
 more fiction, than is to be met with in a folio of 
 poetry. You look shocked at what you think 
 my ingratitude towards her, but if you knew half 
 the cause I have to dislike her, you would not 
 condemn me. You shall however know some 
 
WITH LOKD liYIlON. 259 
 
 parts of that serio-comic drama, in whicli I was 
 forced to play a part; and, if you listen with 
 candour, you must allow I was more sinned 
 against than sinning." 
 
 The curious history that followed this preface 
 is not intended for the public eye, as it contains 
 anecdotes and statements that are calculated to 
 give pain to several individuals — the same feeling 
 that dictates the suppression of this most curious 
 episode in Byron's London life, has led to the 
 suppression of many other piquant and amusing 
 disclosures made by him, as well as some of the 
 most severe poetical portraits that ever were 
 drawn of some of his supposed friends, and many 
 of his acquaintances. The vigour with which 
 they are sketched proves that he entered into 
 every fold of the characters of the originals, and 
 that he painted them con amove, but he could not 
 be accused of being a flattering portrait painter. 
 
 The disclosures made by Byron could never be 
 considered conjideiitial, because they were always 
 at the service of the first listener who fell in his 
 way, and who happened to know anything of the 
 parties he talked of. They were not confided 
 
2G0 JOIIIN'AL OF COXVKRSATIONS 
 
 with any injunction to secrecy, but were in- 
 discriminately made to his chance companions, — 
 nay, lie often declared his decided intention of 
 writing copious notes to the Life he had given to 
 his friend Moore, in which the ichole trutli should 
 be declared of, for, and against, himself and others. 
 
 Talking of this gift to Mr. Moore, he asked me 
 if it had made a great sensation in London, and 
 whether people were not greatly alarmed at the 
 thoughts of being shown up in it? He seemed 
 much pleased in anticipating the panic it would 
 occasion, naming all the persons who would be 
 most alarmed. 
 
 I told him that he had rendered the most 
 essential service to the cause of morality by his 
 confessions, as a dread of similar disclosures 
 would operate in putting people on their guard in 
 reposing dangerous confidence in men, than all 
 the homilies that ever were written ; and that 
 people would in future be warned by the phrase 
 of "beware of being 5j/ro;?ef/," instead of the old 
 cautions used in past times. "This (continued I) 
 is a sad antithesis to your motto of Crede Bi/rojiy 
 He appeared vexed at my observations, and it 
 
WITH LORD BVllON. 261 
 
 struck me that he seemed uneasy and out of 
 humour for the next half-hour of our ride. I told 
 him that his gift to Moore had suggested to me 
 the following lines : — 
 
 The ancients were famed for their friendship we 're told, 
 Witness Damon and Pythias, and others of old ; 
 But, Byron, 'twas thine friendship's power to extend. 
 Who surrender'd thy Life for the sake of a friend. 
 
 He laughed heartily at the lines, and, in 
 laughing at them, recovered his good-humour. 
 
 " I have never," said Byron, "succeeded to my 
 satisfaction in an epigram ; my attempts have not 
 been happy, and knowing Greek as I do, and 
 admiring the Greek epigrams, which excel all 
 others, it is mortifying that I have not succeeded 
 better: but I begin to think that epigrams 
 demand a peculiar talent, and that talent I de- 
 cidedly have not. One of the best in the English 
 
 language is that of Rogers on — ; it has the 
 
 true Greek talent of expressing by implication 
 what is wished to be conveyed. 
 
 has no heart they say, but I deny it : 
 
 He has a heart — he gets his speeches by it. 
 
2G2 JOURNAL OF COXVEIISATIONS 
 
 This is the iie plus ultra of English epigrams/' I 
 told Byron that I had copied Rogers's thought, in 
 in two lines on an acquaintance of mine, as 
 follows : — 
 
 The charming Marj has no mind they say ; 
 I prove she has — it changes every clay. 
 
 This amused him, and he repeated several epi- 
 grams, very clever, but which are too severe to be 
 given in these pages. The epigrams of Byron 
 are certainly not equal to his other poetry, they 
 are merely clever, and such as any person of 
 talent might have written, but who except him, in 
 our day, could have written Childe Harold ? No 
 one ; for admitting that the same talent exists, 
 (which I am by no means prepared to admit) the 
 possessor must have experienced the same destiny, 
 to have brought it to the same perfection. The 
 reverses that nature and circumstances entailed 
 on Byron served but to give a higher polish and a 
 finer temper to his genius. All that marred 
 the perfectibility of the man, had perfected 
 the poet, and this must have been evident to 
 those who approached him, though it had escaped 
 
WITH LORD BVRON. 2G3 
 
 his own observation. Had the choice been left 
 him, I am quite sure he would not have hesitated 
 a moment in choosing- between the renown of the 
 poet, even at the price of the happiness of the 
 man, as he lived much more in the future than in 
 the present, as do all persons of genius. As it 
 was, he felt dissatisfied with his position, without 
 feeling that it was the whetstone that sharpened 
 his powers ; for with all his affected philosophy, 
 he was a philosopher but in theory, and never 
 reduced it to practice. One of the strangest ano- 
 malies in Byron was the exquisite taste displayed 
 in his descriptive poetry, and the total want of it 
 that was so visible in his modes of life. Fine 
 scenery seemed to produce little effect on his 
 feelings, though his descriptions are so glowing^ 
 and the elegancies and comforts of refined life he 
 appeared to as little understand as value. This last 
 did not arise from a contempt of them, as might 
 be imagined, but from an ignorance of what con- 
 stituted them. I have seen him apparently de- 
 lighted with the luxurious inventions in furniture, 
 equipages, plate, &c. common to all persons of a 
 certain station or fortune, and yet after an inquiry 
 
264 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 as to their prices — an inquiry so seldom made by 
 persons of his rank, shrink back alarmed at the 
 thought of the expense, though there was nothing 
 alarming in it, and congratulate himself that he 
 had no such luxuries, or did not require them. I 
 should say that a bad and vulgar taste predomi- 
 nated in all Byron's equipments, whether in dress 
 or in furniture. I saw his bed at Genoa, when 1 
 passed through in 182(5, and it certainly was the 
 most gaudily vulgar thing I ever saw ; the cur- 
 tains in the worst taste, and the cornice having 
 his family motto of '* Crede Byron" surmounted 
 by baronial coronets. His carriages and his live- 
 ries were in the same bad taste, having an affecta- 
 tion of finery, but mesquin in the details, and 
 tawdry in the ensemble; and it was evident that 
 he piqued himself on them, by the complacency 
 with which they were referred to. These trifles 
 are touched upon, as being characteristic of the 
 man, and would have been passed by, as un- 
 worthy of notice, had he not shown that they 
 occupied a considerable portion of his attention. 
 He has even asked us if they were not rich and 
 handsome, and then remarked that no wonder 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 265 
 
 they were so, as they cost him a great deal of 
 money. At such moments it was difficult to 
 remember that one was speaking to the author of 
 Childe Harold. If the poet was often forgotten 
 in the levities of the man, the next moment some 
 original observation, cutting repartee, or fanciful 
 simile, reminded one that he who could be ordi- 
 nary in trifles, (the only points of assimilation be- 
 tween him and the common herd of men,) was 
 only ordinary when he descended to their level ; 
 but when once on subjects worthy his attention, 
 the great poet shone forth, and they who had felt 
 self-complacency at noting the futilities that had 
 lessened the distance between him and them, 
 were forced to see the immeasurable space which 
 separated them, when he allowed his genius to be 
 seen. It is only Byron's pre-eminence as a poet 
 that can give interest to such details as the writer 
 has entered into : if they are written without 
 partiality, they are also given in no unfriendly 
 spirit; but his defects are noted with the same 
 feeling with which an astronomer would remark 
 the specks that are visible even in the brightest 
 stars, and which having examined more minutely 
 
26G JOUllNTAL Ol- COXVEIISATIOXS 
 
 than common observers, he wishes to give the 
 advantages of his discoveries, though the specks 
 he describes liavc not made him overlook the 
 brightness of the luminaries they sullied, but 
 could not obscure. 
 
 " You know — r — of course, (said Byron,) 
 every one does. I hope you don't like him ; 
 water and oil are not more antipathetic than he 
 and I are to each other. I admit that his abilities 
 are great ; they are of the very first order ; but he 
 has that which almost always accompanies great 
 talents, and generally proves a counterbalance to 
 them — an overweening ambition, which renders 
 him not over nice about the means, as long as he 
 attains the end ; and this facility will prevent his 
 ever being a truly great man, though it may 
 abridge his road to what is considered greatness — 
 official dignity. You shall see some verses in 
 which I have not spared him, and yet I have only 
 said what I believe to be strictly correct. Poets 
 are said to succeed best in fiction ; but this I 
 deny ; at least I always write best when truth 
 inspires me, and my satires, which are founded 
 on truth, have more spirit than all my other pro- 
 
WITH LORD BVKOy. 2G7 
 
 ductions, for they were written co/i amorc. My 
 
 intimacy with the family (continued Byron) 
 
 let me into many of 's secrets, and they did 
 
 not raise him in my estimation. 
 
 " One of the few persons in London, whose 
 society served to correct my predisposition to 
 misanthropy, was Lord Holland. There is more 
 benignity, and a greater share of the milk of 
 human kindness in his nature than in that of any 
 
 man I know, always excepting Lord B . 
 
 Then there is such a charm in his manners, his 
 mind is so highly cultivated, his conversation so 
 agreeable, and his temper so equal and bland, 
 that he never fails to send away his guests content 
 with themselves and delighted with him. I never 
 (continued Byron) heard a difference of opinion 
 about Lord Holland ; and I am sure no one could 
 know him without liking him. Lord Erskine, in 
 talking to me of Lord Holland, observed, that it 
 was his extreme good-nature alone that prevented 
 his taking as high a political position as his talents 
 entitled him to fill. This quality (continued 
 
 Byron) will never prevent 's rising in the 
 
 world ; so that his talents will have a fair chance. 
 
2G8 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 " It is difficult (said Byron) when one detests 
 an author not to detest his works. There are 
 some that I dislike so cordially, that I am aware 
 of my incompetency to give an impartial opinion 
 of their writings. Southey, par exemple, is one of 
 these. When travelling in Italy, he was reported 
 to me as having circulated some reports much to 
 my disadvantage, and still more to that of two 
 ladies of my acquaintance ; all of which, through 
 the kind medium of some good-natured friends, 
 were brought to my ears ; and I have vowed 
 eternal vengeance against him, and all who up- 
 hold him ; which vengeance has been poured 
 forth, in phials of wrath, in the shape of epigrams 
 and lampoons, some of which you shall see. 
 When any one attacks me, on the spur of the 
 moment I sit down and write all the mechancete 
 that comes into my head ; and, as some of these 
 sallies have merit, they amuse me, and are too 
 good to be torn or burned, and so are kept, and 
 see the light long after the feeling that dictated 
 them has subsided. All my malice evaporates 
 in the effusions of my pen : but I dare say those 
 that excite it would prefer any other mode of ven- 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 269 
 
 geance. At Pisa, a friend told me that Walter 
 Savage Landor had declared he either would not, 
 or could not, read my works. I asked my officious 
 friend if he was sure which it was that Landor said, 
 as the would not was not offensive, and the could 
 not was highly so. After some reflection, he, of 
 course en ami, chose the most disagreeable signi- 
 fication ; and I marked down Landor in the ta- 
 blet of memory as a person to whom a coup-de-pat 
 must be given in my forthcoming work, though 
 he really is a man whose brilliant talents and ^ 
 profound erudition 1 cannot help admiring as 
 much as I respect his character — various proofs 
 of the generosity, manliness, and independence 
 of which has reached me ; so you see I can ren- 
 der justice (en petite comite) even to a man who 
 says he could not read my works ; this, at least, 
 shows some good feeling, if the petit vengeance 
 of attacking him in my work cannot be defended ; 
 but my attacking proves the truth of the observa- 
 tion made by a French writer — that we don't 
 like people for the merit we discover in them, 
 but for that which they find in us." 
 
 When Byron was one day abusing most 
 
270 JOURNAL OF COXVERSATIONS 
 
 vehementlj^, we accused him of undue severity ; 
 and he replied, he was only deterred from treat- 
 ing him much more severely by the fear of being- 
 indicted under the Act of cruelty to Animals ! 
 
 " I am quite sure (said Byron) that many of 
 our worst actions and our worst thoughts are 
 caused by friends. An enemy can never do as 
 much injury, or cause as much pain : if he speaks 
 ill of one, it is set down as an exaggeration of 
 malice, and therefore does little harm, and he has 
 no opportunity of telling one any of the disa- 
 greeable things that are said in one's absence ; but 
 a friend has such an amiable candour in admitting 
 the faults least known, and often unsuspected, 
 and of denying or defending with acharnement 
 those that can neither be denied nor defended, 
 that he is sure to do one mischief. Then he 
 thinks himself bound to retail and detail every 
 disagreeable remark or story he hears, and gene- 
 rally under the injunction of secrecy ; so that 
 one is tormented without the pov/er of bringing 
 the slanderer to account, unless by a breach of 
 confidence. I am always tempted to exclaim, 
 with Socrates, ' My friends ! there are no friends !' 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 271 
 
 when 1 hear and see the advantages of friendship. 
 It is odd (continued Byron) that people do not 
 seem aware that the person who repeats to a 
 friend an offensive observation, uttered when he 
 was absent, without any idea that he was likely 
 to hear it, is much more blamable than the per- 
 son who originally said it ; of course I except a 
 friend who hears a charge brought against one's 
 honour, and who comes and openly states what 
 he has heard, that it may be refuted : but this 
 friends seldom do ; for, as that Queen of ego- 
 ists. La Marquise du Deffand, truly observed — 
 * Ceux qu'on nomme amis sont ceux par qui on 
 n'a pas a craindre d'etre assassin^, mais qui lais- 
 seroient faire les assassins.' Friends are like 
 diamonds ; all wish to possess them : but few 
 can or will pay their price ; and there never 
 was more wisdom embodied in a phrase than 
 in that which says — ' Defend me from my 
 friends, and I will defend myself from my ene- 
 mies.'" 
 
 Talking of poetry, (Byron said) that " next to 
 the affected simplicity of the Lake School, he dis- 
 liked prettinesses, or what are called flowers of 
 
272 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 poetry ; they are only admissible in the poetry 
 of ladies, (said he,) which should always have a 
 sprinkling of dew-gemmed leaves and flowers of 
 rainbow hues, with tuneful birds and gorgeous 
 butterflies — " Here he laughed like a child, and 
 added, " I suppose you would never forgive me 
 if I finished the sentence, — sweet emblems of fair 
 woman's looks and mind." Having joined in the 
 laugh, which was irresistible from the mock heroic 
 air he assumed, I asked him how he could prove 
 any resemblance between tuneful birds, gorgeous 
 butterflies, and woman's face or mind. He im- 
 mediately replied, '* Have I not printed a certain 
 line, in which I say, ' the music breathing from 
 her face ? ' and do not all,: even philosophers, assert, 
 that there is harmony in beauty, nay, that there is 
 no beauty without it? Now tuneful birds are 
 musical ; ergo, that simile holds good as far as 
 the face, and the butterfly must stand for the 
 mind, brilliant, light, and wandering. I say no- 
 thing of its being the emblem of the soul, because 
 I have not quite made up my mind that women 
 have souls ; but, in short, flowers and all that 
 is fragile and beautiful must remind one of 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 273 
 
 women. So do not be offended with my com- 
 parison. 
 
 *' But to return to the subject, (continued 
 Byron,) you do not, cannot like what are called 
 flowers in poetry. I try to avoid them as much 
 as possible in mine, and I hope you think that I 
 have succeeded." I answered that he had given 
 oaks to Parnassus instead of flowers, and while 
 disclaiming- the compliment it seemed to gratify 
 him. 
 
 *' A successful work (said Byron) makes a man 
 a wretch for life : it engenders in him a thirst for 
 notoriety and praise, that precludes the possibility 
 of repose ; this spurs him on to attempt others, 
 which are always expected to be superior to the 
 first ; hence arise disappointment, as expectation 
 being too much excited is rarely gratified, and, in 
 the present day, one failure is placed as a counter- 
 balance to fifty successful efforts. Voltaire was 
 right (continued Byron) when he said that the fate 
 of a literary man resembled that of the flying fish ; 
 if he dives in the water the fish devour him, and 
 if he rises in the air he is attacked by the birds. 
 Voltaire (continued Byron) had personal expe- 
 
274 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 rience of the persecution a successful author must 
 undergo ; but malgrc all this, he continued to 
 keep alive the sensation he had excited in the 
 literary w^orld, and, while at Ferney, thought only 
 of astonishing Paris. Montesquieu has said * that 
 moms 071 pcusc plus on park.' Voltaire was a 
 proof, indeed I have known many (said Byron), of 
 the falseness of this observation, for who ever 
 wrote or talked as much as Voltaire? But Mon- 
 tesquieu, when he wrote his remark, thought not 
 of literary men ; he was thinking of the havards 
 of society, who certainly think less and talk more 
 than all others. I was once very much amused 
 (said Byron) by overhearing the conversation of 
 two country ladies, in company with a celebrated 
 author, who happened to be that evening very 
 taciturn : one remarked to the other, how strange 
 it was that a person reckoned so clever, should be 
 so silent ! and the other answered. Oh ! he has 
 nothing left to say, he has sold all his thoughts to 
 his publishers. This you will allow was a philo- 
 sophical way of explaining the silence of an author. 
 " One of the things that most annoyed me in 
 London (said Byron) was the being continually 
 
WIT?I LOUD BVROX. 275 
 
 asked to give my opinion on the works of con- 
 temporaries. I got out of the difficulty as well 
 I could, by some equivocal answer that might 
 be taken in two ways ; but even this prudence 
 did not save me, and I have been accused of 
 envy and jealousy of authors, of whose works, 
 God knows, I was far from being envious. I 
 have also been suspected of jealousy towards 
 ancient as well as modern writers ; but Pope, 
 whose poems T really envy, and whose works I 
 admire, perhaps more than any living or dead Eng- 
 lish writer, they have never found out that I was 
 jealous of, nay, probably, as I always praise him, 
 they suppose I do not seriously admire him, 
 as insincerity on all points is universally at- 
 tributed to me. 
 
 *' I have often thought of writing a book to be 
 filled with all the charges brought against me in 
 England (said Byron) ; it would make an inter- 
 esting folio, with my notes, and might serve 
 posterity as a proof of the charity, good-nature, 
 and candour of Christian England in the nine- 
 teenth century. Our laws are bound to think 
 a man innocent until he is proved to be guilty ; 
 
27G JOURNAL OF CONVEKSATIOK'S 
 
 but our Eng-lish society condemn him before 
 trial, which is a summary proceeding that saves 
 trouble. 
 
 "However, I must say, (continued Byron,) 
 that it is only those to whom any superiority is 
 accorded, that are prejudged or treated M'ith 
 undue severity in London,; for mediocrity meets 
 with the utmost indulgence, on the principle 
 of sympathy, ' a fellow-feeling makes them won- 
 drous kind/ The moment my wifejeft me, I was 
 assailed by all the falsehoods that malice could 
 invent or slander publish ; how many wives have 
 since left their husbands, and husbands their 
 wives, without either of the parties being black- 
 ened by defamation, the public having the sense 
 to perceive that a husband and wife's living- 
 together or separate can only concern the parties, 
 or their immediate families \l but in ??ii/ case, no 
 sooner tlid Lady Byron take herself off than my 
 character went off, or rather was carried off, not 
 by force of arms, but by force of tongues and 
 pens too ; and there was no crime too dark to be 
 attributed to me by the moral English, to account 
 for so very common an occurrence as a separation 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 277 
 
 in high life. I was thought a devil, because 
 Lady Byron was allowed to be an angel ; and 
 that it formed a pretty antithesis, mais hclas ! 
 there are neither angels nor devils on earth, 
 though some of one's acquaintance might tempt 
 one into the belief of the existence of the latter. 
 After twenty, it is difficult to believe in that of 
 the former, though the first and last object of 
 one's affection have some of its attributes. Ima- 
 gination (said Byron) resembles hope — when un- 
 clouded, it gilds all that it touches with its own 
 bright hue : mine makes me see beauty wherever 
 youth and health have impressed their stamp ; 
 and after all I am not very far from the goddess, 
 when I am with her handmaids, for such they 
 certainly are. Sentimentalists may despise 
 ' buxom health, with rosy hue,' which has some- 
 thing dairy-maid like, I confess, in the sound, 
 (continued he)— for buxom, however one may 
 like the reality, is not euphonious, but I have the 
 association of plumpness, rosy hue, good spirits, 
 and good humour, all brought before me in the 
 homely phrase ; and all these united give me a 
 better idea of beauty than lanky languor, sicklied 
 
278 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 o'er with the pale cast of thought, and bad health, 
 and bad humour, which are synonymous, making 
 to-morrow cheerless as to-day. Then see some 
 of our fine ladies, whose nerves are more active 
 than their brains, who talk sentiment, and ask 
 you to ' administer to a mind diseased, and pluck 
 from the memory a rooted sorrow,' when it is the 
 body that is diseased, and the rooted sorrow is 
 some chronic malady : these, I own (continued 
 Byron), alarm me, and a delicate woman, how- 
 ever prettily it may sound, harrows up my feel- 
 ings with a host of shadowy ills to come, of va- 
 pours, hysterics, nerves, megrims, intermitting 
 fevers, and all the ills that wait upon poor iceak 
 women, who, when sickly, are generally weak in 
 more senses than one. The best dower a woman 
 can bring is health and good humour ; the latter, 
 whatever we may say of the triumphs of mind, 
 depends on the former, as, according to the old 
 poem — 
 
 Temper ever waits on health, 
 As luxury depends on wealth. 
 
 But mind (said Byron) when I object to delicate 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 279 
 
 women, that is to say, to women of delicate 
 health, alias sickly, I don't mean to say that I 
 like coarse, fat ladies, (I la Rubens, whose minds 
 must be impenetrable, from the mass of matter in 
 which they are incased. No ! I like an active 
 and healthy mind, in an active and healthy per- 
 son, each extending its beneficial influence over 
 the other, and maintaining their equilibrium, the 
 body illumined by the light within, but that light 
 not let out by any ' chinks made by time ;' in 
 short, I like, as who does not, (continued Byron,) 
 a handsome healthy woman, with an intelligent 
 and intelligible mind, who can do something more 
 than what is said a French woman can only do, 
 kabille, babille, and dishabille, who is not obliged 
 to have recourse to dress, shopping and visits, 
 to get through a day, and soirees, operas, and 
 flirting to pass an evening. You see, I am mo- 
 derate in my desires ; I only wish for perfection. 
 
 *' There was a time (said Byron) when fame 
 appeared the most desirable of all acquisitions to 
 me ; it was my ' being's end and aim,' but now — 
 how worthless does it appear ! Alas ! how true 
 are the lines — 
 
280 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 La Nominanza e color\rerba, 
 Che vieiie e va ; c quel la discoloia 
 Per cui vien fuori della terra acerba. 
 
 And dearly is fame bought, as all have found who 
 have acquired even a small portion of it, — 
 
 Che seggendo in pjuma 
 
 In Fama non si vien, ne sotto coltre. 
 
 No ! with sleepless nights, excited nerves, and 
 morbid feelings, is fame purchased, and envy, 
 hatred, and jealousy follow the luckless possessor. 
 
 O ciechi, il tanto affaticar che giova ? 
 Tutti tornate alia gran madre antiea, 
 E il vostro nome appena si ritrova. 
 
 Nay, how often has a tomb been denied to those 
 whose names have immortalized their country, or 
 else granted when shame compelled the tardy 
 justice! Yet, after all, fame is but like all other 
 pursuits, ending in disappointment — its worthless- 
 ness only discovered when attained, and 
 
 Sensa la qual chi sua vita consuma 
 
 Cotal vestigio in terra di se lascia 
 
 Qual fummo in aere, ed in acqua la schiuma. 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 281 
 
 " People complain of the brevity of life, (said 
 Byron,) should they not rather complain of its 
 length, as its enjoyments cease long before the 
 halfway-house of life is passed, unless one has , 
 the luck to die young, ere the illusions that ren- 
 der existence supportable have faded away, and 
 are replaced by experience, that dull monitress, 
 that ever comes too late? While youth steers 
 the bark of life, and passion impels her on, ex- 
 perience keeps aloof; but when youth and pas- 
 sion are fled, and that we no longer require her 
 aid, she comes to reproach us with the past, to 
 disgust us with the j)resent, and to alarm us with 
 the future. 
 
 " We buy wisdom with happiness, and who y 
 would purchase it at such a price ? To be happy, 
 we must forget the past, and think not of the fu- 
 ture ; and who that has a soul, or mind, can do 
 this ? No one (continued Byron) ; and this 
 proves, that those who have either, know no hap- 
 piness on this earth. Memory precludes happiness, 
 whatever Rogers may say to the contrary, for it 
 borrows from the past, to imbitter the present, 
 bringing back to us all the grief that has most 
 
282 JOUiiNAL or conversations 
 
 wounded, or the happiness that has most charmed 
 us ; the first leaving its sting, and of the se- 
 cond, — • 
 
 Nessun maggior dolore, 
 
 Che ricordarsi del tempo felice. 
 
 Nulla niiseria. 
 
 Let us look back (continued Byron) to those days 
 of grief, the recollection of which now pains us, 
 and we shall find that time has only cicatrized, 
 but not effaced the scars ; and if we reflect on 
 the happiness, that seen through the vista of the 
 past seems now so bright, memory will tell us 
 that, at the actual time referred to, we were far 
 from thinking so highly of it, nay, — that at that 
 very period, we were obliged to draw drafts on the 
 future, to support the then present, though now 
 that epoch, tinged by the rays of memory, seems 
 so brilliant, and renders the present more sombre 
 by contrast. We are so constituted (said Byron) 
 that we know not the value of our possessions 
 until we have lost them. Let us think of the 
 friends that death has snatched from us, whose 
 loss has left aching voids in the heart never again 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 283 
 
 to be filled up ; and memory will tell us that we 
 prized not their presence, while we were blessed 
 with it, though, could the grave give them back, 
 now that we had learnt to estimate their value, all 
 else could be borne, and we believe (because it is 
 hnpossible) that happiness might once more be 
 ours. We should live with our friends, (said 
 Byron,) not as the worldly-minded philosopher 
 says, 'as though they may one day become our 
 enemies, but as though we may one day lose 
 them ; and this maxim, strictly followed, will not 
 only render our lives happier while together, but 
 will save the survivors from those bitter pangs that 
 memory conjures up, of slights and unkindnesses 
 offered to those we have lost, when too late for 
 atonement, and arms remorse with double force 
 because it is too late." It was in such conversa- 
 tions that Byron was seen in his natural charac- 
 ter; the feeling, the tenderness of his nature 
 shone forth at such moments, and his natural 
 character, like the diamond when breathed upon, 
 though dimmed for a time, soon recovered its 
 purity, and showed its original lustre, perhaps the 
 more for having been for a moment obscured. 
 
284 JOURVAL OF CONVERSATIOXS 
 
 How much has Byron to unlearn ere he can 
 hope for peace ! Then he is proud of his false 
 knowledge. I call it false, because it neither 
 makes him better nor happier, and true knowledge 
 ought to do the former, though I admit it cannot 
 the latter. We are not relieved by the certainty 
 that we have an incurable disease ; on the con- 
 trary, we cease to apply remedies, and so let the 
 evil increase. So it is with human nature : by 
 believing ourselves devoted to selfishness, we 
 supinely sink into its withering and inglorious 
 thraldom ; when, by encouraging kindly affections, 
 without analyzing their source, we strengthen 
 and fix them in the heart, and find their genial 
 influence extending around, contributing to the 
 happiness and well-being of others, and reflecting 
 back some portion to ourselves. Byron's heart is 
 running to waste for want of being allowed to 
 expend itself on his fellow-creatures ; it is na- 
 turally capacious, and teeming with affection ; 
 but the worldly wisdom he has acquired has 
 checked its course, and it preys on his own hap- 
 piness by reminding him continually of the aching 
 void in his breast. With a contemptible opinion 
 
wrni LORD liYiiOiV. 285 
 
 of human nature, he requires a perfectibility in 
 the persons to whom he attaches himself, that 
 those who think most highly of it never expect : 
 he gets easily disgusted, and when once the 
 persons fall short of his expectations, his feelings 
 are thrown back on himself, and, in their re-ac- 
 tion, create new bitterness. I have remarked to 
 Byron that it strikes me as a curious anomaly, 
 that he, who thinks ill of mankind, should require 
 more from it than do those who think well of it 
 en masse; and that each new disappointment at 
 discovery of baseness sends him back to solitude 
 with some of the feelino-s with which a sava^'e 
 creature would seek its lair ; while those who 
 judge it more favourably, instead of feeling bitter- 
 ness at the disappointments we must all expe- 
 rience, more or less, when we have the weak- 
 ness to depend wholly on others for happiness, 
 smile at their owai delusion, and blot out, as with 
 a sponge, from memory that such things were, 
 and were most sweet while we believed them, 
 and open a fresh account, a new leaf in the ledger 
 of life, always indulging in the hope that it may 
 not be balanced like the last. We should judge 
 
28G jouRNAT. or conversations 
 
 others not by self, for that is deceptive, but by 
 their general conduct and character. We rarely 
 do this, because that with le besoin d'aime?^ which 
 all ardent minds have, we bestow our affections 
 on the first person that chance throws in our 
 path, and endow them with every good and 
 noble quality, which qualities were unknown to 
 them, and only existed in our own imaginations. 
 We discover, when too late, our own want of 
 discrimination ; but, instead of blaming ourselves, 
 we throw the whole censure on those whom we 
 had overrated, and declare war against the whole 
 species because we had chosen ill, and 'Moved 
 not wisely, but too well." When such disap- 
 pointments occur, — and, alas! they are so fre- 
 quent as to inure us to them, — if we were to 
 reflect on all the antecedent conduct and modes 
 of thinking of those in whom we had ** garnered 
 up our hearts," we should find that t/iei/ were in 
 general consistent, and that we had indulged 
 erroneous expectations, from having formed too 
 high an estimate of them, and consequently were 
 disappointed. 
 
 A modern writer has happily observed that 
 
WITH LORD BYIIONT. 287 
 
 " the sourest disappointments arc made out 
 of our sweetest hopes, as the most excellent 
 vinegar is made from damaged wine." We 
 have all proved that hope ends but in frustra- 
 tion, but this should only give us a more humble 
 opinion of our own powers of discrimination, 
 instead of making us think ill of human nature : 
 we may believe that goodness, disinterestedness, 
 and affection exist in the world, although we have 
 not had the good fortune to encounter them in the 
 persons on whom we had lavished our regard. 
 This is the best, because it is the safest and most 
 consolatory philosophy ; it prevents our thinking 
 ill of our species, and precludes that corroding of 
 our feelings which is the inevitable result ; for as 
 we all belong to the family of human nature, we 
 cannot think ill of it without deteriorating our 
 own. If we have had the misfortune to meet 
 with some persons whose ingratitude and base- 
 ness might serve to lower our opinion of our 
 fellow-creatures, have we not encountered others 
 whose nobleness, generosity, and truth might 
 redeem them ? A few such examples, — nay, one 
 alone, — such as I have had the happiness to know, 
 has taught me to judge favourably of mankind ; 
 
288 JOUllXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 and Byron, with all his scepticism as to the 
 perfectibility of human nature, allowed that the 
 person to \vhom I allude was an exception to the 
 rule of the belief he had formed as to the selfish- 
 ness or worldly-mindedness being the spring of 
 action in man. 
 
 The grave has closed over him who shook 
 Byron's scepticism in perfect goodness, and esta- 
 blished for ever my implicit faith in it ; but, in 
 the debts of gratitude engraved in deep characters 
 on memory, the impression his virtues have given 
 me of human nature is indelibly registered, — an 
 impression of which his conduct was the happiest 
 illustration, as the recollection of it must ever be 
 the antidote to misanthropy. We have need of 
 such examples to reconcile us to the heartless 
 ingratitude that all have, in a greater or less 
 degree, been exposed to, and which is so calcu- 
 lated to disgust us with our species. How, then, 
 must the heart reverence the memory of those 
 who, in life, spread the shield of their goodness 
 between us and sorrow and evil, and, even in 
 death, have left us the hallowed recollection of 
 their virtues, to enable us to think well of our 
 fellow-creatures ! 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 289 
 
 Of the rich legacies the dying leave, 
 Remembrance of their virtues is the best. 
 
 We are as posterity to those who have gone 
 before us — the avant-coureurs on that journey that 
 we must all undertake. It is permitted us to 
 speak of absent friends with the honest warmth of 
 commendatory truth ; then surely we may claim 
 that privilege for the dead, — a privilege which 
 every grateful heart must pant to establish, when 
 the just tribute we pay to departed worth is but 
 as the outpourings of a spirit that is overpowered 
 by its own intensity, and whose praise or blame 
 falls equally unregarded on " the dull cold ear of 
 death." They who are in the grave cannot be 
 flattered ; and if their qualities were such as 
 escaped the observance of the public eye, are not 
 those who, in the shade of domestic privacy, had 
 opportunities of appreciating them, entitled to one 
 of the few consolations left to survivors — that of 
 offering the homage of admiration and praise to 
 virtues that were beyond all praise, and goodness 
 that, while in existence, proved a source of hap- 
 piness, and, in death, a consolation, by the assu- 
 rance they have given of meeting their reward ? 
 
 T 
 
200 JOUUXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 Byron said to-day that he had met, in a French 
 writer, an idea that liad amused him very much, 
 and that he thoudit had as much truth as ori- 
 ginality in it : lie quoted the passage, " La curio- 
 site est suicide de sa nature, et Tamour n'est que 
 la curiosit(^." He laughed, and rubbed his hands, 
 and repeated, " Yes, the Frenchman is right. 
 Curiosity kills itself; and love is only curiosity, 
 as is proved by its end." 
 
 I told Byron that it was in vain that he affected 
 to believe what he repeated, as I thought too well 
 of him to imagine him to be serious. 
 
 " At all events," said Byron, '' you must ad- 
 mit that, of all passions, love is the most selfish. 
 It begins, continues, and ends in selfishness. 
 Who ever thinks of the happiness of the object 
 apart from his own, or who attends to it ? While 
 the passion continues, the lover wishes the object 
 of his attachment happy, because, were she visi- 
 bly otherwise, it would detract from his own 
 pleasures. The French writer understood man- 
 kind well, who said that they resembled the 
 grand Turk in an opera, who, quitting his sultana 
 for another, replied to her tears, * Dissimulez 
 
MTTH LORD BYRON. 291 
 
 votre peine, ct rcspectez mes plaisirs.' This," 
 continued Byron, " is but too true a satire on 
 men ; for when love is over, 
 
 A few years older, 
 Ah ! how much colder 
 He could behold her 
 For whom he sigh'd ! 
 
 *' Depend on it, my doggrel rhymes have more 
 truth than most that I have written. 1 have been 
 told that love never exists without jealousy ; if 
 this be true, it proves that love must be founded 
 on selfishness, for jealousy surely never proceeds 
 from any other feeling than selfishness. We see 
 that the person we like is pleased and happy in 
 the society of some one else, and we prefer to see 
 her unhappy with us, than to allow her to enjoy 
 it : is not this selfish ? Why is it," continued 
 Byron, ** that lovers arc at first only happy in 
 each other's society ? It is, that their mutual flat- 
 tery and egoism gratify their vanity ; and not 
 finding this stimulus elsewhere, they become de- 
 pendent on each other for it. When they get 
 better acquainted, and have exhausted all their 
 compliments, without the power of creating or 
 
292 JOUKNAL OF CONVilRSATIOXS 
 
 feeling any new illusions, or even continuing the 
 old, they no longer seek each other's presence 
 from preference ; habit alone draws them toge- 
 ther, and they drag on a chain that is tiresome to 
 both, but which often neither has the courage to 
 break. We have all a certain portion of love in 
 our natures, which portion we invariably bestow 
 on the object that most charms us, which, as inva- 
 riably is, self; and though some degree of love 
 may be extended to another, it is only because 
 that other administers to our vanity ; and the sen- 
 timent is but a reaction, — a sort of electricity that 
 emits the sparks with which we are charged to 
 another body ; — and when the retorts lose their 
 power — which means, in plain sense, when the 
 flattery of the recipient no longer gratifies us — 
 and yawning, that fearful abyss in love, is visible, 
 the passion is over. Depend on it," continued 
 Byron, " the only love that never changes its 
 object is self-love ; and the disappointments it 
 meets with make a more lasting impression than 
 all others." 
 
 I told Byron that I expected him to-morrow to 
 disprove every word he had uttered to-day. He 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 293 
 
 laughed, and declared that his profession of faith 
 was contained in the verses, " Could love for 
 ever;" that he wished he could think otherwise, 
 but so it was. 
 
 Byron affects scepticism in love and friendship, 
 and yet is, I am persuaded, capable of making 
 great sacrifices for both. He has an unaccount- 
 able passion for misrepresenting his own feelings 
 and motives, and exaggerates his defects more 
 than any enemy could do : he is often angry be- 
 cause we do not believe all he says against him- 
 self, and would be, I am sure, delighted to meet 
 some one credulous enough to give credence to all 
 he asserts or insinuates with regard to his own 
 misdoings. 
 
 If Byron were not a great poet, the charla- 
 tanism of affecting to be a Satanic character, in 
 this our matter-of-fact nineteenth century, would 
 be very amusing : but when the genius of the 
 man is taken into account, it appears too ridi- 
 culous, and one feels mortified at finding that he, 
 who could elevate the thoughts of his readers to 
 the empyrean, should fall below the ordinary 
 standard of every-day life, by a vain and futile 
 
294 JOURNAL OK CONVEUSATIONS 
 
 attempt to pass for something that all who know 
 him rejoice that he is not ; while, by his sublime 
 genius and real goodness of heart, which are 
 made visible every day, he establishes claims on 
 the admiration and sympathy of mankind that 
 few can resist. If he knew his own power, he 
 would disdain such unworthy means of attracting 
 attention, and trust to his merit for command- 
 ing it. 
 
 " I know not when I have been so much in- 
 terested and amused," said Byron, " as in the 
 
 perusal of journal : it is one of the 
 
 choicest productions I ever read, and is astonish- 
 ing as being written by a minor, as 1 find he 
 was under age when he penned it. The most 
 piquant vein of pleasantry runs through it; the 
 ridicules — and they are many — of our dear com- 
 patriots are touched with the pencil of a master ; 
 but what pleases me most is, that neither the 
 reputation of man nor woman is compromised, 
 nor any disclosures made that could give pain. 
 He has admirably penetrated the secret of Eng- 
 lish cfimd," continued Byron, " a secret that 
 is one to the English only, as I defy any fo- 
 
-WITH LORD BYUOX. 295 
 
 reigncr, blessed with a common share of intel- 
 ligence, to come in contact with them without 
 discovering it. The English know that they 
 are enmiycs, but vanity prevents their discovering 
 that they are eimuijeiLv, and they will be little 
 disposed to pardon the person who enlightens 
 
 them on this point. ought to publish 
 
 this work," continued Byron, ** for two reasons : 
 the first, that it will be sure to get known that 
 he has written a piquant journal, and people 
 will imagine it to be a malicious libel, instead 
 of being a playful satire, as the English are prone 
 to fancy the worst, from a consciousness of not 
 meriting much forbearance ; the second reason is, 
 that the impartial view of their foibles, taken 
 by a stranger who cannot be actuated by any 
 of the little jealousies that influence the members 
 of their own coteries, might serve to correct 
 them, though I fear reflexion faite, there is not 
 much hope of this. It is an extraordinary ano- 
 maly," said Byron, " that people who are really 
 naturally inclined to good, as I believe the 
 English are, and who have the advantages of a 
 better education than foreigners receive, should 
 
29C JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 practise more ill-nature and display more heart- 
 lessness than the inhabitants of any other country. 
 This is all the eft'ect of the artificial state of so- 
 ciety in England, and the exclusive system has 
 increased the evils of it tenfold. We accuse 
 the French of frivolity," continued Byron, " be- 
 cause they are governed by fashion ; but this 
 extends only to their dress, whereas the English 
 allow it to govern their pursuits, habits, and 
 modes of thinking and acting : in short, it is 
 the Alpha and Omega of all they think, do, or 
 will: their society, lesidences, nay, their very 
 friends, are chosen by this criterion, and old and 
 tried friends, wanting its stamp, are voted de trop. 
 Fashion admits women of more than dubious 
 reputations, and well-born men with none, into 
 circles where virtue and honour, not a la mode, 
 might find it difficult to get placed ; and if (on 
 hearing the reputation of Lady This, or Mrs. 
 That, or rather want of reputation, canvassed 
 over by their associates) you ask why they are 
 received, you will be told it is because they 
 are seen every where — they are the fashion. — I 
 have known," continued Byron, " men and wo- 
 
WITH LORD BYROV. 297 
 
 men in London received in the first circles, 
 who, by their birth, talents, or manners, had 
 no one claim to such a distinction, merely be- 
 cause they had been seen in one or two houses, to 
 which, by some manoeuvring, they got the entree : 
 but I must add, they were not remarkable for 
 good looks, or superiority in any way, for if they 
 had been, it would have elicited attention to 
 their want of other claims, and closed the doors 
 of fashion against them. I recollect," said 
 Byron, " on my first entering fashionable life, 
 being surprised at the (to me) unaccountable dis- 
 tinctions I saw made between ladies placed in 
 peculiar and precisely similar situations. I have 
 asked some of the fair leaders of fashion, ' Why 
 
 do you exclude Lady , and admit Lady , 
 
 as they are both in the same scrape ? ' With 
 that amiable indifference to cause and effect 
 that distinguishes the generality of your sex, 
 the answer has invariably been, * Oh ! we admit 
 
 Lady because all our set receive her ; and 
 
 exclude Lady because they will not.' I 
 
 have pertinaciously demanded, ' Well, but you 
 allow their claims are equal ? ' and the reply 
 
298 jounxAL of conversations 
 
 has been, * Certainly ; and we believe the ex- 
 cluded lady to be the better of the two.' Mais 
 que voidez-voiis ? she is not received, and the 
 other is ; it is all chance or luck : and this," 
 continued Byron, " is the state of society in 
 London, and such the line of demarcation drawn 
 between the pure and the impure, when chance 
 
 or luck, as Lady honestly owned to me, 
 
 decided whether a woman lost her caste or not. 
 I am not much of a prude," said Byron, 
 " but I declare that, for the general good, I 
 think that all women who had forfeited their 
 reputations ought to lose their places in society ; 
 but this rule ous^ht never to admit of an ex- 
 ception : it becomes an injustice and hardship 
 when it does, and loses all eifect as a warning 
 or preventive. I have known young married 
 women, when cautioned by friends on the pro- 
 bability of losing caste by such or such a step, 
 quote the examples of Lady This, or Mrs. That, 
 who had been more imprudent, (for imprudence is 
 the new name for guilt in England,) and yet that 
 one saw these ladies received every where, and 
 vain were precepts with such examples. People 
 
WITH LOUD BYIIO.V. 299 
 
 may suppose," continued Byron, " that I respect 
 not morals, because unfortunately I have some- 
 times violated them : perhaps from this very 
 circumstance I respect them the more, as we 
 never value riches until our prodigality has made 
 us feel their loss ; and a lesson of prudence 
 coming from him who had squandered thou- 
 sands, would have more weight than whole 
 pages written by one who had not personal 
 experience : so I maintain that persons who have 
 erred are most competent to point out errors. It 
 is my respect for morals that makes me so in- 
 dignant against its vile substitute cant, with 
 which I wage war, and this the good-natured 
 world chooses to consider as a sign of my wick- 
 edness. We are all the creatures of circum- 
 stance," continued Byron ; " the greater part of 
 our errors are caused, if not excused, by events 
 and situations over which we have had little 
 control ; the world see the faults, but they 
 see not what led to them : therefore I am always 
 lenient to crimes that have brought their own 
 punishment, while I am a little disposed to 
 pity those who think they atone for their own 
 
300 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 sins by exposing those of others, and add cant 
 and hypocrisy to the catalogue of their vices. 
 Let not a woman who has gone astray, wit/iout 
 detection, affect to disdain a less fortunate, though 
 not more culpable, female. She who is un- 
 blemished should pity her who has fallen, and 
 she whose conscience tells her she is not spot- 
 less should show forbearance ; but it enrages me 
 to see women whose conduct is, or has been, 
 infinitely more blamable than that of the per- 
 sons they denounce, affecting a prudery towards 
 others that they had not in the hour of need for 
 themselves. It was this forbearance towards 
 her own sex that charmed me in Lady Mel- 
 bourne : she had always some kind interpre- 
 tation for every action that would admit of one, 
 and pity or silence when aught else was im- 
 practicable. 
 
 " Lady , beautiful and spotless herself, 
 
 always struck me as wanting that pity she could 
 so well afford. Not that I ever thought her ill- 
 natured or spiteful ; but I thought there was a 
 certain severity in her demarcations, which her 
 acknowledged purity rendered less necessary. 
 
M'lTlI LORD BYRON. 301 
 
 Do you remember my lines iu the Giaour, ending 
 with — 
 
 No : gayer insects fluttering by 
 
 Ne'er droop the wing o'er those that die ; 
 
 And lovelier tilings have mercy shown 
 
 To every failing but their own ; 
 
 And every woe a tear can claim 
 
 Except an erring sister's shame. 
 
 " These lines were suggested by the conduct I 
 witnessed in London from women to their erring 
 acquaintances — a conduct that led me to draw 
 the conclusion, that their hearts are formed of 
 less penetrable stuff than those of men." 
 
 Byron has not lived sufficiently long in Eng- 
 land, and has left it at too young an age, to be { 
 able to form an impartial and just estimate of his 
 compatriots. He was a busy actor, more than a 
 spectator, in the circles which have given him an 
 unfavourable impression ; and his own passions 
 were, at that period, too much excited to permit 
 his reason to be unbiassed in the opinions he 
 formed. In his hatred of what he calls cant and 
 hypocrisy, he is apt to denounce as such all that 
 has the air of severity ; and which, though often 
 
302 JOUIiXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 painful in individual cases, is, on the whole, 
 salutary for the general good of society. This 
 error of Byron's proceeds from a want of actual 
 personal observation, for which opportunity has 
 not been afforded him, as the brief period of his 
 residence in England, after he had arrived at an 
 age to judge, and the active part he took in the 
 scenes around him, allowed him not to acquire 
 that perfect knowledge of society, manners, and 
 customs, which is necessary to correct the pre- 
 judices that a superficial acquaintance with it is 
 so apt to engender, even in the most acute ob- 
 server, but to which a powerful imagination, 
 prompt to jump at conclusions, without pausing to 
 trace cause and effect, is still more likely to fall 
 into. Byron sees not that much of what he 
 calls the usages of cant and hypocrisy are the 
 fences that protect propriety, and that they can- 
 not be invaded without exposing what it is the 
 interest of all to preserve. Had he been a calm 
 looker on, instead of an impassioned actor in the 
 drama of English fashionable life, he would pro- 
 bably have taken a less harsh view of all that 
 has so much excited his ire, and felt the ne- 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 303 
 
 cessity of many of the restraints which fettered 
 him. 
 
 A two years' residence in Greece, with all the 
 freedom and personal independence that a desul- 
 tory rambling life admits of and gives a taste for, 
 — in a country where civilization has so far re- 
 trograded that its wholesome laws, as well as its 
 refinement, have disappeared, leaving license to 
 usurp the place of liberty, — was little calculated 
 to prepare a young man of three- and- twenty for 
 the conventional habits and restraints of that 
 artificial state of society which extreme civiliza- 
 tion and refinement beget. No wonder then that 
 it soon became irksome to him, and that, like 
 the unbroken courser of Arabia, when taken from 
 the deserts where he had sported in freedom, 
 he spurned the puny meshes which ensnared 
 him, and pined beneath the trammels that inter- 
 cepted his liberty. 
 
 Byron returned to England in his twenty-third 
 year, and left it before he had completed his 
 twenty-eighth, soured by disappointments and 
 rendered reckless by a sense of injuries. *' He 
 who fears not is to be feared," says the proverb; 
 
304 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 and Byron, wincing under all the obloquy which 
 malice and envy could inflict, felt that its utmost 
 malignity could go no farther, and became fixed 
 in a fearless braving of public ojjinion, which a 
 false spirit of vengeance led him to indulge in, 
 turning the genius, that could have achieved the 
 noblest ends, into the means of accomplishing 
 those which were unworthy of it. His attacks on 
 the world are like the war of the Titans against 
 the gods, — the weapons he aims fall back on 
 himself. He feels that he has allowed sentiments 
 of pique to influence and deteriorate his w'orks ; 
 and that the sublime passages in them, which now 
 appear like gleams of sunshine flitting across the 
 clouds that sometimes obscure the bright lu- 
 minary, might have been one unbroken blaze of 
 light, had not worldly resentment and feelings 
 dimmed their lustre. 
 
 This consciousness of misapplied genius has 
 made itself felt in Byron, and will yet lead him to 
 redeem the injustice he has done it; and when 
 he has won the guerdon of the world's applause, 
 and satisfied that craving for celebrity which con- 
 sumes him, reconciled to that world, and at peace 
 
WITH LORD BYKOX. 305 
 
 with himself, he may yet win as much esteem for 
 the man as he has hitherto elicited admiration for 
 the poet. To satisfy Byron, the admiration must 
 be unqualified ; and, as I have told him, this 
 depends on himself: he has only to choose a 
 subject for his muse, in which not only received 
 opinions are not wounded, but morality is in- 
 culcated; and his glowing genius, no longer 
 tarnished by the stains that have previously 
 blemished it, will shine forth with a splendour, 
 and insure that universal applause, which will 
 content even his ambitious and aspiring nature. 
 He wants some one to tell him what he m'lgJit 
 do, what he ought to do, and what so doing he 
 would become. I have told him : but I have not 
 sufficient weight or influence with him to make 
 my representations effective ; and the task would 
 be delicate and difficult for a male friend to 
 undertake, as Byron is pertinacious in refusing 
 to admit that his works have failed in morality, 
 though in his heart I am sure he feels it. 
 
 Talking of some one who was said to have 
 fallen in love, •' I suspect," said Byron, " that 
 he must be indebted to your country for thi.s 
 
 u 
 
30G JC)UK\/\L OF CONVLKSATIONS 
 
 phrase, ' falling in love ;' it is expressive and 
 droll : they also say falling ill ; and, as both 
 are involuntary, and, in general, equally calami- 
 tous, the expressions please mc. Of the two 
 evils, the falling ill seems to me to be the least ; 
 at all events I would prefer it ; for as, according 
 to philosophers, pleasure consists in the absence 
 of pain, the sensations of returning health (if one 
 does recover) must be agreeable ; but the recovery 
 from love is another affair, and resembles the 
 awaking from an agreeable dream. Hearts are 
 often only lent, when they are supposed to be 
 given away," continued Byron ; " and are the 
 loans for which people exact the most usurious 
 interest. When the debt is called in, the bor- 
 rower, like all other debtors, feels little obliga- 
 tion to the lender, and, having refunded the 
 principal, regrets the interest he has paid. You 
 see," said Byron, " that, a fAngiaise, I have 
 taken a mercantile view of the tender passion ; 
 but I must add that, in closing the accounts, 
 they are seldom fairly balanced, ' c cio sa '1 tuo 
 dottore.' There is this difference between the 
 Italians and others," said Byron, " that the end 
 
WITH I.OllD 15YK0\. 307 
 
 of love is not with them the beginning of hatred, 
 which certainly is, in general, the case with the 
 English, and, I believe, the French : this may- 
 be accounted for from their having less vanity ; 
 which is also the reason why they have less 
 ill-nature in their compositions ; for vanity, being 
 always on the qui vive, up in arms, ready to 
 resent the least offence offered to it, precludes 
 good temper." 
 
 I asked Byron if his partiality for the Italians 
 did not induce him to overlook other and obvious 
 reasons for their not beginning to hate when 
 they ceased to love : first, the attachments were 
 of such long duration that age arrived to quell 
 angry feelings, and the gradations were so slow, 
 from the first sigh of love to the yawn of expiring 
 affection, as to be almost imperceptible to the 
 parties ; and the system of domesticating in Italy 
 established a habit that rendered them necessary 
 to each other. Then the slavery of serventism, 
 the jealousies, carried to an extent that is un- 
 known in England, and which exists longer than 
 the passion that is supposed to excite, if not 
 excuse, them, may tend to reconcile lovers to 
 
308 JOURNAL OK CONVEUSATIOXS 
 
 the exchange of friendship for love ; and, re- 
 joicing in their rccoveied liberty, they are more 
 disposed to indulge feelings of complacency than 
 hatred. 
 
 Byron said, '* Whatever may be the cause, 
 they have reason to rejoice in the effect ; and 
 one is never afraid in Italy of inviting people 
 togfether who have been known to have once 
 had warmer feelings than friendship towards 
 each other, as is the case in England, where, 
 if persons under such circumstances were to 
 meet, angry glances and a careful avoidance of 
 civility would mark their kind sentiments towards 
 each other." 
 
 1 asked Byron if what he attributed to the 
 effects of wounded vanity might not proceed from 
 other and better feelings, at least on the part 
 of women ? Might not shame and remorse be 
 the cause ? The presence of the man who had 
 caused their dereliction from duty and virtue 
 calling up both, could not be otherwise than 
 painful and humiliating to women who were 
 not totally destitute of delicacy and feeling ; 
 and that this most probably was the cause of 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 309 
 
 the coldness he observed between persons of 
 opposite sexes in society. 
 
 "■ You are always thinking of and reasoning 
 on the English,''' answered Byron : " mind, I 
 refer to Italians, and with them there can be 
 neither shame nor remorse, because, in yielding 
 to love, they do not believe they are violating 
 either their duty or religion ; consequently a 
 man has none of the reproaches to dread that 
 awaits him in England when a lady's conscience 
 is aicaliCncd, — which, by the by, I have observed 
 it seldom is until affection is laid asleep, which," 
 continued Byron, " is very convenient to herself, 
 but very much the reverse to the unhappy 
 man." 
 
 I am sure that much of what Byron said in 
 this conversation was urged to vex me. Knowing 
 my partiality to England and all that is English, 
 he has a childish delight in exciting me into an 
 argument ; and as I as yet know nothing of Italy, 
 except through books, he takes advantage of his 
 long residence in, and knowledge of the country, 
 to vaunt the superiority of its customs and usages, 
 which I never can believe he prefers to his own. 
 
310 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 A wish of vexing or astonishing the English is, 
 I am persuaded, the motive that induces him to 
 attack Shakspeare ; and lie is highly gratified 
 when he succeeds in doing either, and enjoys 
 it like a child. He says that the reason why 
 he judges the English women so severely is, 
 that, being brought up with certain principles, 
 they are doubly to blame in not making their 
 conduct accord with them ; and that, while 
 punishing with severity the transgressions of per- 
 sons of their own sex in humble positions, they 
 look over the more glaring misconduct and vices 
 of the rich and great — that not the crime, but 
 its detection, is punished in England, and, to 
 avoid this, hypocrisy is added to want of 
 virtue. 
 
 " You have heard, of course," said Byron, 
 ** that I was considered mad in England ; my 
 most intimate friends in general, and Lady Byron 
 in particular, were of this opinion ; but it did not 
 operate in my favour in their minds, as they 
 were not, like the natives of eastern nations, 
 disposed to pay honour to my supposed insanity 
 or folly, ^hey considered me a mejnoun, but 
 
M'lTH LOUD BYRON. 31] 
 
 would not treat me as one. And yet, had such 
 been the case, what ought to excite such pity 
 and forbearance as a mortal malady that reduces 
 us to more than childishness — a prostration of 
 intellect that places us in the dependence of even 
 menial hands? Reason," continued Byron, "is 
 so unreasonable, that few can say that they are 
 in possession of it. I have often doubted my own 
 sanity; and, what is more,' wished for insanity — 
 anything — to quell memory, the never-dying 
 worm that feeds on the heart, and only calls up 
 the past to make the present more insupportable. 
 Memory has for me 
 
 The vulture's ravenous tooth, 
 The raven's funereal song. 
 
 There is one thing," continued Byron, " that 
 increases my discontent, and adds to the rage 
 that I often feel against self. It is the conviction 
 that the events in life that have most pained me — 
 that have turned the milk of my nature into 
 gall — have not depended on the persons who 
 tortured me, — as I admit the causes were inade- 
 quate to the effects : — it was my own nature. 
 
312 JOIKNAL OF COWERSATIONS 
 
 prompt to receive painful impressions, and to 
 retain them with a painful tenacity, that supplied 
 the arms against my peace. Nay, more, I be- 
 lieve that the wounds inflicted were not, for the 
 most part, premeditated ; or, if so, that the ex- 
 tent and profundity of them were not anticipated 
 by the persons who aimed them. There are some 
 natures that have a predisposition to grief, as 
 others have to disease ; and such was my case. 
 The causes that have made me wretched would 
 probably not have discomposed, or, at least, 
 more than discomposed, another. We are all 
 differently organized ; and that I feel acutely is 
 no more my fault (though it is my misfortune) 
 than that another feels not, is his. We did not 
 make ourselves ; and if the elements of unhappi- 
 ness abound more in the nature of one man than 
 another, he is but the more entitled to our pity 
 and forbearance. Mine is a nature," continued 
 Byron, " that might have been softened and 
 ameliorated by prosperity, but that has beSn 
 hardened and soured by adversity." Prosperity 
 and adversity are the fires by which moral che- 
 mists try and judge human nature ; and how few 
 
WITH LOUD BVRON. 313 
 
 can ])ass the ordeal ! Prosperity corrupts, and 
 adversity renders ordinary nature callous ; but 
 when any portion of excellence exists, neither 
 can injure. The first will expand the heart, and 
 show forth every virtue, as the genial rays of the 
 sun bring forth the fruit and flowers of the earth ; 
 and the second will teach sympathy for others, 
 which is best learned in the school of afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 " I am persuaded (said Byron) that education 
 has more effect in quelling the passions than 
 people are aware of. I do not think this is 
 achieved by the powers of reasoning and reflection 
 that education is supposed to bestow ; for I know 
 by experience how little either can influence the 
 person who is under the tyrant rule of passion. 
 My opinion is, that education, by expanding the 
 mind, and giving sources of tasteful occupation, 
 so fills up the time, that leisure is not left for the 
 passions to gain that empire that they are sure to 
 acquire over the idle and ignorant. Look at the 
 lower orders, and see what fearful proofs they 
 continually furnish of the unlimited power pas- 
 sion has over them. I have seen instances, and 
 
314 JOURNAL OF COXVERSATIONS 
 
 particularly in Italy, among the lower class, and 
 of your sex, where the women seemed for the 
 moment transformed into Medeas ; and so ungo- 
 verned and ungovernable was their rage, that 
 each appeared grand and tragic for the time, and 
 furnished me, who am rather an amateur in study- 
 ing nature under all her aspects, with food for re- 
 flection. Then the upper classes, too, in Italy, 
 where the march of intellect has not advanced by 
 rail-roads and steam-boats, as in polished, happy- 
 England ; and where the women remain children 
 in mind long after maturity had stamped their 
 persons ! — see one of their stately dames under 
 the influence of the green-eyed monster, and one 
 can believe that the Furies were not fabulous. 
 This is amusing at first, but becomes, like most 
 amusements, rather a bore at the end ; and a 
 poor cavalier servente must have more courage 
 than falls to the share of most, who would not 
 shut his eyes against the beauty of all damas but 
 his own, rather than encounter an explosion of 
 jealousy. But the devil of it is, there is hardly a 
 possibility of avoiding it, as the Italian women 
 are so addicted to jealousy, that the poor serventi 
 
WITH LOUD RYROIV. 315 
 
 are often accused of the worst intentions for 
 merely performing the simple courtesies of life ; so 
 that the system of serventiam imposes a thousand 
 times more restraint and slavery than marriage 
 ever imposed, even in the most moral countries : 
 indeed, where the morals are the most respected 
 and cultivated, (continued Byron,) there will be 
 the least jealousy or suspicion, as morals are to 
 the enlightened what religion is to the ignorant — 
 their safeguard from committing wrong, or sus- 
 pecting it. So you see, bad as I am supposed to 
 be, I have, by this admission, proved the advan- 
 tages of morals and religion. 
 
 *' But to return to my opinion of the effect 
 education has in extending the focus of ideas, 
 and, consequently, of curbing the intensity of the 
 passions. I have remarked that well-educated 
 women rarely, if ever, gave way to any ebullitions 
 of them ; and this is a grand step gained in con- 
 quering their empire, as habit in this, as well as 
 in all else, has great power. I hope my daughter 
 will be well educated ; but of this I have little 
 dread, as her mother is highly cultivated, and 
 certainly has a degree of self-control that I never 
 
316 .lOUllVAL OK CONVETISATIOXS 
 
 saw equalled. I am certain tliat Lady Byron's 
 first idea is, what is due to herself; I mean that 
 it is the nndeviating rule of her conduct. I wish 
 she had thought a little more of what is due to 
 others. Now my besetting sin is a want of that 
 self-respect, — which she has in e.vcess ; and that 
 want has produced much unhappiness to us both. 
 But though I accuse Lady Byron of an excess of 
 self-respect, I must in candour admit, that if any 
 person ever had an excuse for an extraordinary 
 portion of it, she has ; as in all her thoughts, 
 words, and deeds, she is the most decorous 
 woman that ever existed, and must appear — ^what 
 few, I fancy, could^ — a perfect and refined gentle- 
 woman, even to her femme-de-chambre. This ex- 
 traordinary degree of self-command in Lady 
 Byron produced an opposite effect on me. When 
 I have broken out, on slight provocations, into 
 one of my ungovernable fits of rage, her calmness 
 piqued and seemed to reproach me ; it gave her 
 an air of superiority that vexed, and increased my 
 mauvaise humeur. I am now older and wiser, and 
 should know how to appreciate her conduct as it 
 deserved, as I look on self-command as a positive 
 
WITH LORD nVRON. 317 
 
 virtue, though it is one I liavc not courage to 
 adopt." 
 
 Talking of his proposed expedition to Greece, 
 Byron said that, as the moment approached for 
 undertaking it, he ahnost wished he had never 
 thought of it. " This (said By^ron) is one of the 
 many scrapes into which my poetical tempera- 
 ment has drawn me. You smile ; but it is never- 
 theless true. No man, or woman either, with 
 such a temperament, can be quiet. Passion is 
 the element in which we live ; and without it we 
 but vegetate. All the passions have governed me 
 in turn, and I have found them the veriest ty- 
 rants ; — like all slaves, I have reviled my masters, 
 but submitted to the yoke they imposed. I had 
 hoped (continued Byron) that avarice, that old 
 gentlemanly vice, would, like Aaron's serpent, 
 have swallowed up all the rest in me ; and that 
 now I am descending into the vale of years, I 
 might have found pleasure in golden realities, as 
 in youth I found it in golden dreams, (and let me 
 tell you, that, of all the passions, this same 
 decried avarice is the most consolatory, and, in 
 nine cases out often, lasts the longest, and is the 
 
318 JOURNy\L UF COWEKSATIONS 
 
 latest,) when up springs a new passion, — call 
 it love of liberty, military ardour, or what you 
 will, — to disgust nie with my strong box, and the 
 comfortable contemplation of my moneys, — nay, 
 to create wings for my golden darlings, that may 
 waft them away from me for ever ; and I may 
 awaken to find that this, rnjj)resent ruling pas- 
 sion^ as I have always found my last, \vas the 
 most worthless of all, with the soothing reflection 
 that it has left me minus some thousands. But I 
 am fairly in for it, and it is useless to repine ; but, 
 I repeat, this scrape, which may be my last, has 
 been caused by my poetical temperament,— the 
 devil take it, say I/' 
 
 Byron was irresistibly comic when commenting 
 on his own enors or weaknesses. His face, half 
 laughing and half serious, archness always pre- 
 dominating in its expression, added peculiar force 
 to his words. 
 
 " Is it not pleasant (continued Byron) that my 
 eyes should never open to the folly of any of tlie 
 undertakings passion prompts me to engage in, 
 until I am so far embarked that retreat (at least 
 with honour) is impossible, and my mal a propos 
 
WITH LOUD liYKOX. 311) 
 
 sagesse arrives, to scare away the enthusiasm that 
 led to the undertaking, and which is so requisite 
 to carry it on ? It is all an up-hill affair with me 
 afterwards: I cannot, for my life, ccliauffcr my 
 imagination again ; and my position excites such 
 ludicrous images and thoughts in my own mind, 
 that the whole subject, which, seen through the 
 veil of passion, looked fit for a sublime epic, and I 
 one of its heroes, examined now through reason's 
 glass, appears fit only for a travestie, and my 
 poor self a Major Sturgeon, marching and counter- 
 marching, not from Acton to Ealing, or from 
 Ealing to Acton, but from Corinth to Athens, and 
 from Athens to Corinth. Yet, hang it, (continued 
 he,) these very names ought to chase away every 
 idea of the ludicrous; but the laughing devils 
 will return, and make a mockery of everything, as 
 with me there is, as Napoleon said, but one step 
 between the sublime and the ridiculous. Well, if 
 I do (and this //is a grand pcut-ctre in my future 
 history) outlive the campaign, I shall write two 
 poems on the subject — one an epic, and the other 
 a burlesque, in which none shall be spared, and 
 myself least of all : indeed, you must allow (con- 
 
320 JOURXAI. OF CONVKUSATIONS 
 
 tinned Byron) that if I take liberties with my 
 friends, I take still greater ones with myself; 
 therefore they ought to bear with me, if only out 
 of consideration for my impartiality. I am also 
 determined to write a poem in praise of avarice, 
 (said Byron,) as T think it a most ill-used and 
 unjustly decried passion :^ — ^niind, I do not call it a 
 vice, — and I hope to make it clear that a passion 
 which enables us to conquer the appetites, or, at 
 least, the indulgence of them ; that triumphs over 
 pride, vanity, and ostentation ; that leads us to 
 the practice of daily self-denial, temperance, 
 sobriety, and a thousand other praiseworthy 
 practices, ought not to be censured, more es- 
 pecially as all the sacrifices it commands are 
 endured without any weak feeling of reference to 
 others, though to others all the reward of such 
 sacrifices belongs." 
 
 Byron laughed very much at the thought of this 
 poem, and the censures it would excite in Eng- 
 land among the matter-of-fact, credulous class of 
 readers and writers. Poor Byron ! how much 
 more pains did he bestow to take oif the gloss 
 from his own qualities, than others do to give 
 
WITH LORD liVUON. 321 
 
 theirs a false lustre ! In his hatred and contempt 
 of hypocrisy and cant, he outraged his own 
 nature, and rendered more injustice to himself 
 than even his enemies ever received at his hands. 
 His confessions of errors were to be received with 
 caution ; for he exaggerated not only his misdeeds 
 but his opinions ; and, fond of tracing springs of 
 thought to their sources, he involved himself in 
 doubts, to escape from which he boldly attributed 
 to himself motives and feelings that had passed, 
 but like shadows, through his mind, and left 
 unrecorded, mementos that might have redeemed 
 even more than the faults of which he accused 
 himself. When the freedom with which Byron 
 remarked on the errors of liis friends draws down 
 condemnation from his readers, let them reflect on 
 the still greater severity with which he treated his 
 own, and let this mistaken and exaggerated 
 candour plead his excuse. 
 
 " It is odd (said Byron) that I never could get 
 on well in conversation with literary men : they 
 always seemed to think themselves obliged to pay 
 some neat and appropriate compliment to my last 
 work, which I, as in duty bound, was compelled 
 
 X 
 
322 JOriiNAI, OF C'ONVEIISAIIOXS 
 
 to respond to, and bepraise theirs. Tliey never 
 appeared quite satisfied with my faint praise, and 
 I was far from being satisfied at liaving been 
 forced to administer it ; so mutual constraint 
 ensued, each wondering what was to come next, 
 and wishing each other (at least I can answer for 
 myself) at the devil. Now Scott, though a giant 
 in literature, is unlike literary men ; he neither 
 expects compliments nor pays them in conver- 
 sation. There is a sincerity and simplicity in his 
 character and manner that stamp any commenda- 
 tion of his as truth, and any praise one might 
 offer him must fall short of his deserts ; so that 
 there is no gl'ue in his society. There is nothing 
 in him that gives the impression I have so often 
 had of others, who seemed to say, * I praise you 
 that you may do the same by me.' Moore is a 
 delightful companion, (continued Byron ;) gay 
 without being boisterous, witty without effort, 
 comic without coarseness, and sentimental without 
 being lachrymose. He reminds one (continued 
 Byron) of the fairy, who, whenever she spoke, let 
 diamonds fall from her lips. My tcte-d-tete 
 suppers with Moore are among the most agreeable 
 
WITH Loiiu BYuox. 32:3 
 
 impressions I retain of the liours passed in 
 London : they are the redeeming lights in the 
 gloomy picture ; but they were, 
 
 Like angel visits, few and far between ; 
 
 for the great defect in my friend Tom is a sort of 
 fidgety unsettledness, that prevents his giving 
 himseK ui^, con a mo f'e, to any one friend, because 
 he is apt to think he might be more happy with 
 another : he has the organ of locomotiveness 
 largely developed, as a phrenologist would say, 
 and would like to be at three places instead of 
 one. I always felt, with Moore, the desire 
 Johnson expressed, to be shut up in a post- 
 chaise, teted-tete with a pleasant companion, to 
 be quite sure of him. He must be delightful in a 
 country-house, at a safe distance from any other 
 inviting one, when one could have him really to 
 oneself, and enjoy his conversation and his 
 singing, without the perpetual fear that he is 
 expected at Lady This or Lady That's, or the 
 being reminded that he promised to look in at 
 Lansdowne House or Grosvenor Square. The 
 wonder is, not that he is recherche, but that he 
 
Ii24 .TOUUN'AL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 wastes himself on those who can so little ap- 
 preciate him, though they value the eclat his 
 reputation gives to their stupid soirees. I have 
 known a dull man live on a bon mot of Moore's for 
 a week ; and I once offered a wager of a con- 
 siderable sum that the reciter was guiltless of 
 understanding its point, but could get no one to 
 accept my bet. 
 
 " Are you acquainted with the family of ? 
 
 (asked Byron.) The commendation formerly be- 
 stowed on the Sydney family might be reversed 
 for them, as all the sons are virtuous, and all the 
 daughters brave. I once (continued he) said this, 
 with a grave face, to a near relation of theirs, who 
 received it as a compliment, and told me I was 
 very good. I was in old times fond of mystifying, 
 and paying equivocal compliments ; but ' was is 
 not is ' with me, as God knows, in any sense, for 
 I am now cured of mystifying, as well as of many 
 others of my mischievous pranks: whether I am a 
 better man for my self-correction remains to be 
 proved ; I am quite sure that I am not a more 
 agreeable one. 1 have always had a strong love 
 of mischief in my nature, (said Byron,) and this 
 
WITH LORD BYIIOX. 325 
 
 still continues, though I do not very often give 
 way to its dictates. It is this lurking devil that 
 prompts me to abuse people against whom I have 
 not the least malicious feeling, and to praise some 
 whose merits (if they have any) I am little ac- 
 quainted with ; but I do it in the mischievous 
 spirit of the moment to vex the person or persons 
 with whom I am conversing. Is not this very 
 childish ? (continued Byron ;) and, above all, for 
 a poet, which people tell me I am? All I know 
 is, that, if I am, poets can be greater fools than 
 other people. We of the craft — poets, I mean — 
 resemble paper-kites ; we soar high into the air, 
 but are held to earth by a cord, and our flight is 
 restrained by a child —that child is self. We are 
 but grown children, having all their weakness, 
 and only wanting their innocence ; our thoughts 
 soar, but the frailty of our natures brings them 
 back to earth. What should we be without 
 thoughts? (continued Byron ;) they are the bridges 
 by which we pass over time and space. And yet, 
 perhaps, like troops flying before the enemy, we 
 are often tempted to destroy the bridges we have 
 passed, to save ourselves from pursuit. How 
 
326 .lOL'KNAL OI" COX\KRSATION.S 
 
 often have I tried to slum thought ! But come, I 
 must not get gloomy ; my thoughts are almost 
 always of the sombre hue, so that I ought not to 
 be blamed (said he, laughing) if I steal those of 
 others, as I am accused of doing ; I cannot have 
 any more disagreeable ones than my own, at least 
 as far as they concern myself. 
 
 " In all the charges of plagiary brought against 
 me in England, (said Byron,) did you hear me 
 accused of stealing from Madame de Stael the 
 opening lines of my ' Bride of Abydos?' She is 
 supposed to have borrowed her lines from Schlegel, 
 or to have stolen them from Goethe's ' Wilhelm 
 Meister;" so you see I am a third or fourth hand 
 stealer of stolen goods. Do you know de Stael's 
 lines? (continued Byron ;) for if I am a thief, she 
 must be the plundered, as I don't read German, 
 and do French ; yet I could almost swear that 
 I never saw her verses when I wrote mine, nor do 
 I even now remember them. I think the first 
 began with ' Cettc terre,' &c. <Scc. but the rest 
 I forget; as you have a good memory, perhaps 
 you would repeat them." 
 
 I did so, and they are as follows : — 
 
M'lTll LOUD BYRON. 327 
 
 Cette terre, oil les myrtes fleurissent, 
 
 Oh les rayons des cieux tombent avcc amour. 
 Oil des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent, 
 Oil la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour. 
 
 " Well (said Byron) I do not see any point of 
 resemblance, except in the use of the two unfor- 
 tunate words land and myrtle, and for using these 
 new and original words I am a plagiarist ! To 
 avoid such charges, I must invent a dictionary for 
 myself. Does not this charge prove the liberal 
 spirit of the hypercritics in England ? If they 
 knew how little I value their observations, or the 
 opinions of those that they can influence, they 
 would be perhaps more spiteful, and certainly 
 more careful in producing better proofs of their 
 charges ; the one of the Stael's I consider a 
 triumphant refutation for me. 
 
 " I often think (said Byron) that were I to 
 return to England, I should be considered, in cer- 
 tain circles, as having a tres mauvais ton, for I have 
 been so long out of it that I have learned to 
 say what I think, instead of saying only what, by 
 the rules of convenience, people are permitted to 
 think. For though Enirland tolerates the libertv 
 
328 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 of the press, it is far from tolerating liberty of 
 thought or of speech ; and since the progress of 
 modern rehnement, when delicacy of words is as 
 remarkable as indelicacy of actions, a plain-speak- 
 ing man is sure to get into a scrape. Nothing 
 amuses me more than to see refinement vei^sus 
 morals, and to know that people are shocked not 
 at crimes, but their detection. The Spartan boy, 
 who suffered the animal he had secured by theft 
 to prey on his vitals, evinced not more constancy 
 in concealing his sufferings than do the English in 
 suppressing all external symptoms of what they 
 must feel, and on many occasions, when Nature 
 makes herself felt through the expression of her 
 feelings, would be considered almost as a crime. 
 But I believe crime is a word banished from the 
 vocabulary of haiit-ton, as the vices of the rich and 
 great are called errors, and those of the poor and 
 lowly only, crimes. 
 
 " Do you know ? (asked Byron.) He is 
 
 the king of prosers. I called him 'he of the thou- 
 sand tales,' in humble imitation of Boccaccio, 
 whom I styled ' he of the hundred tales of love : ' 
 — viais, helos ! — • — 's are not tales of love, or that 
 
M'lTH LORD BY HON. 329 
 
 beget love ; they are born of dulness, and inciting 
 sleep, they produce the same effect on the senses 
 tliat the monotonous sound of a waterfall never 
 
 fails to have on mine. With one is afraid to 
 
 speak, because whatever is said is sure to bring 
 forth a reminiscence, that as surely leads to inter- 
 minable recollections, 
 
 Dull as the dreams of him who swills vile beer. 
 
 Thus (continued Byron), is so honourable 
 
 and well-intentioned a man that one can find 
 nothing bad to say of him, except that he is a 
 bore ; and as there is no law against that class of 
 offenders, one must bear with him. It is to be 
 hoped, that, with all the modern improvements 
 in refinement, a mode will be discovered of get- 
 ting rid of bores, for it is too bad that a poor 
 wretch can be punished for stealing your pocket- 
 handkerchief or gloves, and that no punishment 
 can be inflicted on those who steal your time, and 
 with it your temper and patience, as well as the 
 bright thoughts that might have entered into the 
 mind, (like the Irishman who lost a fortune before 
 he had got it,) but were frighted away by the 
 
330 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 bore. Nature certainly (said Byron) has not 
 
 dealt charitably by , for, independent of his 
 
 being the king of prosers, he is the ugliest person 
 possible, and when he talks, breathes not of 
 Araby the blest: his heart is good, but the 
 stomach is none of the best, judging from its 
 exhalations. His united merits led me to attempt 
 an epigram on them, which, I believe, is as 
 follows : — 
 
 When conversing with , who can disclose 
 
 Which suffers the most — eyes, ears, or the nose ? 
 
 '* I repeated this epigram (continued Byron) to 
 him as having been made on a mutual friend of 
 ours, and he enjoyed it, as we all do some hit on 
 a friend. I have known people who were incapa- 
 ble of saying the least unkind word against 
 friends, and yet who listened with evident (though 
 attempted to be suppressed) pleasure to the mali- 
 cious jokes or witty sarcasms of others against 
 them; a proof that, even in the best people, some 
 taints of the original evil of our natures remain. 
 You think I am wrong (continued Byron) in my 
 estimate of human nature ; you think I analyze 
 
WITH LOUD BYRON. 331 
 
 my own evil qualities and those of others too 
 closely, and judge them too severely. I have 
 need of self-examination to reconcile me to all 
 the incongruities I discover, and to make me 
 more lenient to faults that my tongue censures, 
 but that my heart pardons, from the conscious- 
 ness of its own weakness." 
 
 We should all do well to reflect on the frailty 
 of man, if it led us more readily to forgive his 
 faults, and cherish his virtues ; — the one, alas ! 
 are inextirpable, but the others are the victories 
 gained over that most difficult to be conquered of 
 all assailants— self; to which victory, if we do 
 not decree a triumph, we ought to grant an ova- 
 tion ; but, unhappily, the contemplation of human 
 frailty is too apt to harden the heart, and oftener 
 creates disgust than humility. " When we dwell 
 on vices with mockery and bitterness, instead of 
 pity, we may doubt the efficacy of our contempla- 
 tion ; and this," said I to Byron, "seems to me 
 to be your case ; for when I hear your taunting 
 reflections on the discoveries you make in poor, 
 erring human nature ; when you have explored 
 and exposed every secret recess of the heart, you 
 
332 JOURNAL OF CONVtllSJATIONS 
 
 appear to me like a fallen angel, sneering at the 
 sins of men, instead of a fellow man pitying them. 
 This it is that makes me think you analyze too 
 deeply ; and I would at present lead you to reflect 
 only on the good that still remains in the world, 
 — for be assured there is much good, as an anti- 
 dote to the evil that you know of." 
 
 Byron laughed, and said, "You certainly do 
 not spare me ; but you manage to wrap up your 
 censures in an envelope almost complimentary, 
 and that reconciles me to their bitterness, as chil- 
 dren are induced to take physic by its being 
 disguised in some sweet substance. The fallen 
 angel is so much more agreeable than demon, as 
 others have called me, that I am rather flattered 
 than aff'ronted ; I ought, in return, to say some- 
 thing t?\'s aimablc to you, in which angelic at least 
 might be introduced, but I will not, as I never 
 can compliment those that I esteem. — But to 
 return to self; — you know that I have been called 
 not only a demon, but a French poet has ad- 
 dressed me as chantre d'enfcr, which, I suppose, 
 he thinks very flattering. I daie say his poem 
 will be done into English by some Attic resident. 
 
WITH LORD liYRON. 333 
 
 and, instead of a singer of hell, I shall be styled 
 a hellish singer, and so go down to posterity." 
 
 He laughed at his own pun, and said he felt 
 half disposed to write a quizzing answer to the 
 French poet, in which he should mystify him. 
 
 " It is no wonder (said Byron) that I am con- 
 sidered a demon, when people have taken it into 
 their heads that I am the hero of all my own 
 tales in verse. They fancy one can only describe 
 what has actually occurred to oneself, and for- 
 get the power that persons of any imagination 
 possess of identifying themselves, for the time 
 being, with the creations of their fancy. This is a 
 peculiar distinction conferred on me, for I have 
 heard of no other poet who has been identified 
 with his works. I saw the other day (said Byron) 
 in one of the papers a fanciful simile about ^loore's 
 writings and mine. It stated that Moore's poems 
 appeared as if they ought to be written with 
 crow-quills, on rose-coloured paper, stamped with 
 Cupids and flowers ; and mine on asbestos, 
 written by quills from the wing of an eagle : — 
 you laugh, but I think this a very sublime com- 
 parison, — at least, so far as I am concerned, — it 
 
334 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 quite consoles me for * chantre d'enfer.' By the 
 bye, the French poet is neither a philosopher nor 
 a logician : as he dubs me by this title merely 
 because I doubt that there is an eufcr, — ergo, I 
 cannot be styled the cliantrc of a place of which I 
 doubt the existence. I dislike French verse so 
 much (said Byron) that I have not read more than 
 a few lines of the one in which I am dragged into 
 public view. He calls me, (said Byron,) ' Esprit 
 myst^rieux, mortel, ange ou demon ;' which I call 
 very uncivil, for a well-bred Frenchman, and 
 moreover one of the craft : I wish he would let 
 me and my works alone, for I am sure I do not 
 trouble him or his, and should not know that he 
 existed, except from his notice of me, which some 
 good-natured friend has sent me. There are some 
 things in the world, of which, like gnats, we are 
 only reminded of the existence by their stinging 
 us ; this was his position with me." 
 
 Had Byron read the whole of the poem ad- 
 dressed to him by M. de Lamartine, he would 
 have been more flattered than offended by it, as it 
 is not only full of beauty, but the admiration for 
 the genius of the English poet, which pervades 
 
Mini I.OUI) BYUON. 33> 
 
 every sentiment of the ode, is so profound, that 
 the epithet which offended the morbid sensitive- 
 ness of Byron would have been readily pardoned. 
 M. de Lamartine is perhaps the only French poet 
 who could have so justly appreciated, and grace- 
 fully eulogized, our wayward child of genius; 
 and having written so successfully himself, his 
 praise is more valuable. His " Meditations " 
 possess a depth of feeling which, tempered by 
 a strong religious sentiment that makes the 
 Christian rise superior to the philosopher, bears 
 the impress of a true poetical temperament, which 
 could not fail to sympathize with all the feelings, 
 however he might differ from the reasonings of 
 Byron. Were the works of the French poet 
 better known to the English bard he could not, 
 with even all his dislike to French poetry, have 
 refused his approbation to the writings of M. de 
 Lamartine. 
 
 Talking of solitude — " It has but one disad- 
 vantage (said Byron), but that is a serious one, — 
 it is apt to give one too high an opinion of one- 
 self. In the world we are sure to be often re- 
 minded of every known or supposed defect we 
 
33G JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIOXS 
 
 may have ; hence we can rarely, unless possessed 
 of an inordinate share of vanity, form a very 
 exalted opinion of ourselves, and, in society, woe 
 be to him who lets it be known that he thinks 
 more highly of himself than of his neighbours, as 
 this is a crime that arms every one against him. 
 This was the rock on which Napole on foundered ; 
 he had so often wounded the amour propre of 
 others, that they were glad to hurl him from the 
 eminence that made him appear a giant and those 
 around him pigmies. If a man or woman has 
 any striking superiority, some great defect or 
 weakness must be discovered to counterbalance 
 it, that their contemporaries may console them- 
 selves for their envy, by saying, ' Well, if 1 have 
 not the genius of Mr. This, or the beauty or 
 talents of Mrs. That, I have not the violent tem- 
 per of the one, or the overweening vanity of the 
 other.' But, to return to solitude, (said Byron,) 
 it is the only fooFs paradise on earth : there we 
 have no one to remind us of our faults, or by 
 whom we can be humiliated by comparisons. Our 
 evil passions sleep, because they are not excited ; 
 our productions appear sublime, because we have 
 
WITH T,OHD BYRON'. 337 
 
 no kind and judicious friend to hint at their de- 
 fects, and to point out faults of style and imagery 
 where we had thought ourselves most luminous: 
 these are the advantages of solitude, and those 
 who have once tasted them, can never return to 
 the busy world again with any zest for its feverish 
 enjoyments. In the world (said Byron) I am 
 always irritable and violent; the very noise of 
 the streets of a populous city affect my nerves : 
 I seemed in a London house 'cabined, cribbed, 
 confined, and felt like a tiger in too small a cage :' 
 apropos of tigers, did you ever observe that all 
 people in a violent rage, walk up and down tlie 
 place they are in, as wild beasts do in their dens? 
 I have particularly remarked this, (continued he,) 
 and it proved to me, what I never doubted, that 
 we have much of the animal and the ferocious in 
 our natures, which, I am convinced, is increased 
 by an over-indulgence of our carnivorous propen- 
 sities. It has been said that, to enjoy solitude, a 
 man must be superlatively good or bad : I deny 
 this, because there are no superlatives in man, — 
 all are comparative or relative ; but, had I no 
 other reason to deny it, my own experience would 
 
 Y 
 
338 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 furnish me with one. God knows I never flattered 
 myself with the idea of being superlatively good, 
 as no one better knows his faults than I do mine ; 
 but, at the same time, I am as unwilling to be- 
 lieve that I am superlatively bad, yet I enjoy 
 solitude more than I ever enjoyed society, even 
 in my most youthful days." 
 
 I told Byron, that I expected he would one day 
 give the world a collection of useful aphorisms, 
 drawn from personal experience. He laughed 
 and said — "Perhaps I may; those are best 
 suited to advise others who have missed the road 
 themselves, and this has been my case. I have 
 found friends false, — acquaintances malicious, — 
 relations indifferent, — and nearer and dearer con- 
 nexions perfidious. Perhaps much, if not all 
 this, has been caused by my own waywardness ; 
 but that has not prevented my feeling it keenly. 
 It has made me look on friends as partakers of 
 prosperity, — ^censurers in adversity, — and ab- 
 sentees in distress ; and has forced me to view 
 acquaintances merely as persons who think 
 themselves justified in courting or cutting one, as 
 best suits them. But relations I regard only as 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 339 
 
 people privileged to tell disagreeable truths, and 
 to accept weighty obligations, as matters of 
 course. You have now (continued Byron) my 
 unsophisticated opinion of friends, acquaintances, 
 and relations; of course there are always ex- 
 ceptions, but they are rare, and exceptions do 
 not make the rule. All that I have said are but 
 reiterated truisms that all admit to be just, but 
 that few, if any, act upon ; they are like the 
 death-bell that we hear toll for others, without 
 thinking that it must soon toll for us ; we know 
 that others have been deceived, but we believe 
 that we are either too clever, or too lovcable, to 
 meet the same fate : we see our friends drop 
 daily around us, many of them younger and 
 healthier than ourselves, yet we think that we 
 shall live to be old, as if we possessed some 
 stronger hold on life than those who have gone 
 before us. Alas ! life is but a dream from which 
 we are only awakened by death. All else is 
 illusion ; changing as we change, and each cheat- 
 ing us in turn, until death withdraws the veil, and 
 shows us the dread reality. It is strange (said 
 Byron) that feeling, as most people do, life a 
 
340 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 burthen, we should still cling to it with such 
 pertinacity. This is another proof of animal 
 feeling ; for if the divine spirit that is supposed 
 to animate us mastered the animal nature, should 
 we not rejoice at laying down the load that has 
 so long oppressed us, and beneath which we have 
 groaned for years, to seek a purer, brighter ex- 
 istence ? Who ever reached the age of twenty- 
 five (continued Byron) without feeling the tce- 
 dium vitcE which poisons the little enjoyment that 
 we are allowed to taste ? We begin life with the 
 hope of attaining happiness ; soon discovering 
 that to be unattainable, we seek pleasure as a 
 poor substitute ; but even this eludes our grasp, 
 and we end by desiring repose, which death alone 
 can give." 
 
 I told Byron that the greater part of our cha- 
 grins arose from disappointed hopes ; that, in our 
 pride and weakness, we considered happiness as 
 our birthright, and received infliction as an in- 
 justice ; whereas the latter was the inevitable 
 lot of man, and the other but the ignis fatuus that 
 beguiles the dreary path of life, and sparkles but 
 to deceive. I added that while peace of mind 
 
WITH LORD BYllON. 341 
 
 was left us, \vc could not be called miserable. 
 This greatest of all earthly consolations depends 
 on ourselves ; whereas for happiness we rely on 
 others : but, as the first is lasting, and the second 
 fleeting, we ought to cultivate that of which nought 
 but our own actions can deprive us, and enjoy the 
 other as we do a fine autumnal day, that we prize 
 the more, because we know it will soon be fol- 
 lowed by winter. 
 
 ** Your philosophy is really admirable (said 
 Byron) if it were possible to follow it ; but I sus- 
 pect that you are among the number of those who 
 preach it the most, and practise it the least, for 
 you have too much feeling to have more than a 
 theoretical knowledge of it. For example, how 
 would you bear the ingratitude and estrangement 
 of friends — of those in whom you had garnered up 
 your heart? I suspect that, in such a case, feeling 
 would beat philosophy out of the field ; for I 
 have ever found that philosophy, like experience, 
 never comes until one has ceased to require its 
 services. I have (continued Byron) experienced 
 ingratitude and estrangement from friends ; and 
 this, more than all else, has destroyed my con- 
 
342 JOURNAL Ol" CONVF.USATIONS 
 
 fidence in human nature. It is thus from indivi- 
 dual cases that we are so apt to generalize. A 
 few persons on whom we have lavished our 
 friendship, without ever examining if they had 
 the qualities requisite to justify such a preference, 
 are found to be ungrateful and unworthy, and in- 
 stead of blaming our own want of perception in 
 the persons so unwisely chosen, we cry out against 
 poor human nature : one or two examples of in- 
 gratitude and selfishness prejudice us against the 
 world ; but six times the number of examples of 
 goodness and sincerity fail to reconcile us to it, 
 — so much more susceptible are we of evil impres- 
 sions than of good. Have you not observed (said 
 Byron) how much more prone people are to re- 
 member injuries than benefits ? The most essen- 
 tial services are soon forgotten ; but some trifling 
 and often unintentional offence is rarely par- 
 doned, and never effaced from the memory. All 
 this proves that we have a strong and decided 
 predisposition to evil ; the tendencies and con- 
 sequences of which we may conceal, but cannot 
 eradicate. I think ill of the world, (continued 
 Byron,) but I do not, as some cynics assert, be- 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 343 
 
 lieve it to be composed of knaves and fools. No, 
 I consider that it is, for the most part, peopled 
 by those who have not talents sufficient to be the 
 first, and yet have one degree too much to be the 
 second." 
 
 Byron's bad opinion of mankind is not, I am 
 convinced, genuine ; and it certainly does not 
 operate on his actions, as his first impulses are 
 always good, and his heart is kind and charitable. 
 His good deeds are never the result of reflection, 
 as the heart acts before the head has had time to 
 reason. This cynical habit of decrying human 
 nature is one of the many little affectations to 
 which he often descends ; and this impression has 
 become so fixed in my mind, that I have been 
 vexed with myself for attempting to refute opinions 
 of his which, on reflection, I was convinced were 
 not his real sentiments, but uttered either from a 
 foolish wish of display, or from a spirit of contra- 
 diction, which much influences his conversation. 
 I have heard him assert opinions one day, and 
 maintain the most opposite, with equal warmth, 
 the day after : this arises not so much from 
 insincerity, as from being wholly governed by the 
 
344 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 ^ feeling of the moment : he has no fixed principle 
 of conduct or of thought, and the want of it leads 
 him into errors and inconsistencies, from which he 
 is only rescued by a natural goodness of heart, 
 that redeems, in some degree, what it cannot 
 prevent. Violence of temper tempts him into 
 expressions that might induce people to believe 
 him vindictive and rancorous ; he exaggerates all 
 his feelings when he gives utterance to them ; and 
 here the imagination, that has led to his triumph 
 in poetry, operates less happily, by giving a 
 stronger shade to his sentiments and expressions. 
 When he writes or speaks at such moments, the 
 force of his language imposes a belief that the 
 feeling which gives birth to it must be fixed in his 
 mind ; but see him in a few hours after, and not 
 only no trace of this angry excitement remains, 
 but, if recurred to by another, he smiles at his 
 own exaggerated warmth of expression, and 
 proves, in a thousand ways, that the temper only 
 is responsible for his defects, and not the heart. 
 
 " I think it is Diderot (said Byron) who says 
 that, to describe woman, one ought to dip one's 
 j)en in the rainbow ; and, instead of sand, use the 
 
WITH LORD BYROX. 3-^5 
 
 dust from the wings of butterflies to dry the 
 paper. This is a concdto worthy of a French- 
 man ; and, though meant as complimentary, is 
 really by no means so to your sex. To describe 
 woman, the pen should be dipped, not in the 
 rainbow, but in the heart of man, ere more than 
 eighteen summers have passed over his head ; 
 and, to dry the paper, I would allow only the 
 sighs of adolescence. Women are best under- 
 stood by men whose feelings have not been 
 hardened by a contact with the world, and who 
 believe in virtue because they are unacquainted 
 with vice. A knowledge of vice will, as far as 
 I can judge by experience, invariably produce 
 disgust, as I believe, with my favourite poet, 
 that — 
 
 Vice is a monster of such hideous mien, 
 That, to be hated, needs but to be seen. 
 
 But he who has known it can never truly describe 
 woman as she ought to be described ; and, 
 therefore, a perfect knowledge of the world unfits 
 a man for the task. When I attempted to de- 
 scribe Haidee and Zuleika, I endeavoured to forget 
 
346 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 all that friction with the world had taught me ; 
 and if I at all succeeded, it was because I was, 
 and am, penetrated with the conviction that 
 women only know evil from having experienced 
 it through men ; whereas men have no criterion to 
 judge of purity or goodness but woman. Some 
 portion of this purity and goodness always ad- 
 heres to woman, (continued Byron,) even though 
 she may lapse from virtue ; she makes a willing 
 sacrifice of herself on the altar of affection, and 
 thinks only of him for whom it is made : while 
 men think of themselves alone, and regard the 
 woman but as an object that administers to their 
 selfish gratification, and who, when she ceases to 
 have this power, is thought of no more, save as 
 an obstruction in their path. You look incredu- 
 lous, (said Byron ;) but I have said what I think, 
 though not all that I think, as I have a much 
 higher opinion of your sex than I have even now 
 expressed." 
 
 This would be most gratifying could I be sure 
 
 1 that, to-morrow or next day, some sweeping 
 
 sarcasm against my sex may not escape from the 
 
 lips that have now praised them, and that my 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 347 
 
 credulity, in believing the praise, may not be 
 quoted as an additional proof of their weakness. 
 This instability of opinion, or expression of opinion, 
 of Byron, destroys all confidence in him, and pre- 
 cludes the possibility of those, who live much in 
 his society, feeling that sentiment of confiding se- 
 curity in him, without which a real regard cannot 
 subsist. It has always appeared a strange anomaly 
 to me, that Byron, who possesses such acuteness in 
 discerning the foibles and defects of others, should 
 have so little power either in conquering or con- 
 cealing his own, that they are evident even to a 
 superficial observer ; it is also extraordinary that 
 the knowledge of human nature, which enables him 
 to discover at a glance such defects, should not 
 dictate the wisdom of concealing his discoveries, at 
 least from those in whom he has made them ; but 
 in this he betrays a total want of tact, and must 
 often send away his associates dissatisfied with 
 themselves, and still more so with him, if they 
 happen to possess discrimination or susceptibility. 
 "To let a person see that you have discovered 
 his faults, is to make him an enemy for life," (says 
 Byron); and yet this he docs continually: he says* 
 
348 JOUllNAL OF CUNVtRSATlOXS 
 
 *' that the only truths a friend will tell you, are 
 your faults; and the only thing he will give you, 
 is advice." Byron's affected display of knowledge 
 of the world deprives him of commiseration for 
 being its dupe, while his practical inexperience 
 renders him so perpetually. He is at war with the 
 actual state of things, yet admits that all that he 
 now complains of has existed for centuries ; and 
 that those who have taken up arms against the 
 world have found few applauders, and still fewer 
 followers. His philosophy is more theoretical than 
 practical, and must so continue, as long as passion 
 and feeling have more influence over him than 
 reflection and reason. Byron afi^ects to be un- 
 feeling, while he is a victim to sensibility ; and to 
 be reasonable, while he is governed by imagi- 
 nation only ; and so meets with no sympathy 
 from either the advocates of sensibility or reason, 
 and consequently condemns both. " It is for- 
 tunate for those (said Byron) whose near con- 
 nexions are good and estimable ; independently 
 of various other advantages that are derived from 
 it, perhaps the greatest of all are the impressions 
 made on our minds in early youth by witnessing 
 
WITH LORD BYllON. 349 
 
 goodness, impressions which have such weight in 
 deciding our future opinions. If we witness evil 
 qualities in common acquaintances, the effect is 
 slight, in comparison with that made by dis- 
 covering them in those united to us by the ties of 
 consanguinity; this last disgusts us with human 
 nature, and renders us doubtful of goodness, a 
 progressive step made in misanthropy, the most 
 fearful disease that can attack the mind. My 
 first and earliest impressions were melancholy, — 
 my poor mother gave them ; but to my sister, 
 who, incapable of wrong herself, suspected no 
 wrong in others, I owe the little good of which I 
 can boast ; and had I earlier known her, it might 
 have influenced my destiny. Augusta has great 
 strength of mind, which is displayed not only in 
 her own conduct, but to support the weak and 
 infirm of purpose. To me she was, in the hour of 
 need, as a tower of strength. Her affection was 
 my last rallying point, and is now the only bright 
 spot that the horizon of England offers to my 
 view. Augusta knew all my weaknesses, but she 
 had love enough to bear with them. I value not 
 the false sentiment of affection that adheres to 
 
350 JOURNAL CF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 one while we believe him faultless ; not to love 
 him would then be difficult : but give me the love 
 that, with perception to view the errors, has 
 sufficient force to pardon them, — who can ' love 
 the offender, yet detest the offence ;' and this my 
 sister had. She has given me such good advice, 
 and yet, finding me incapable of following it, 
 loved and pitied me but the more, because I was 
 erring. This is true affection, and, above all, true 
 Christian feeling ; but how rarely is it to be met 
 with in England ! where amour jjropre prompts 
 people to show their superiority by giving advice ; 
 and a melange of selfishness and wounded vanity 
 engages them to resent its not being followed ; 
 which they do by not only leaving off the advised^ 
 but by injuring him by every means in their 
 power. Depend on it (continued Byron), the 
 English are the most perfidious friends and unkind 
 relations that the civilized world can produce ; 
 and if you have had the misfortune to lay them 
 under weighty obligations, you may look for all 
 the injuries that they can inflict, as they are 
 anxious to avenge themselves for the humiliations 
 they suffer when they accept favours. They are 
 
WITH hOFlD BYROX. 351 
 
 proud, but have not sufficient pride to refuse 
 services that are necessary to their comfort, and 
 have too much false pride to be grateful. They 
 may pardon a refusal to assist them, but they 
 never can forgive a generosity which, as they are 
 seldom capable of practising or appreciating, over- 
 powers and humiliates them. AYith this opinion 
 of the English (continued Byron), which has not 
 been lightly formed, you may imagine how truly I 
 must value my sister, who is so totally opposed to 
 them. She is tenacious of accepting obligations, 
 even from the nearest relations ; but, having ac- 
 cepted, is incapable of aught approaching to 
 
 ingratitude. Poor Lady • had just such a 
 
 sister as mine, who, faultless herself, could pardon 
 and weep over the errors of one less pure, and 
 almost redeem them by her own excellence. 
 Had Lady — — 's sister or mine (continued Byron) 
 been less good and irreproachable, they could not 
 have afforded to be so forbearing; but, being 
 unsullied, they could show mercy without fear of 
 drawing attention to their own misdemeanours." 
 
 Byron talked to-day of Campbell the poet; 
 said that he was a warm-hearted and honest man ; 
 
352 JOUI{\AL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 praised his works, and quoted some passages 
 from the "Pleasures of Hope," which he said 
 was a poem full of beauties. " I differ, however, 
 (said Byron,) with my friend Campbell on some 
 points. Do you remember the passage — 
 
 But mark the wretch whose wanderings never knew 
 The world's regard, that soothes though half untrue ! 
 His erring heart the lash of sorrow bore, 
 But found not pity when it erred no more," 
 
 This, he said, was so far a true picture, those who 
 once erred being supposed to err always, — a chari- 
 table, but false, supposition, that the English are 
 prone to act upon. " But (added Byron) I am 
 not prepared to admit, that a man, under such 
 circumstances as those so poetically described by 
 Campbell, could feel hope ; and, judging by my 
 own feelings, I should think that there would be 
 more of envy than of hope in the poor man's 
 mind, when he leaned on the gate, and looked at 
 * the blossom'd bean-field and the sloping green.' 
 Campbell was, however, right in representing it 
 otherwise (continued Byron). We have all, God 
 Hnows, occasion for hope to enable us to support 
 
WITH LORD BY HON. 353 
 
 the thousand vexations of this dreary existence ; 
 and he wlio leads us to believe in this universal 
 panacea, in which, jmr pareuthese, I have little 
 faith, renders a service to humanity. Campbell's 
 
 * Lochiel ' and 'Mariners' are admirable spirit- 
 stirring productions (said Byron) ; his ' Gertrude 
 of Wyoming' is beautiful; and some of the epi- 
 sodes in his * Pleasures of Hope ' pleased me so 
 much, that I know them by heart. By the bye 
 (continued he) we must be indebted to Ireland for 
 this mode of expressing the knowing anything 
 by rote, and it is at once so true and poetical, that 
 I always use it. We certainly remember best 
 those passages, as well as events, that interest us 
 most, or touch the heart, which must have given 
 birth to the phrase — ' know by heart.' The 
 
 * Pleasures of Memory ' is a very beautiful poem 
 (said Byron), harmonious, finished, and chaste ; it 
 contains not a single meretricious ornament. If 
 Rogers has not fixed himself in the higher fields 
 of Parnassus, he has, at least, cultivated a very 
 pretty flower-garden at its base. Is not this 
 (continued Byron) a poetical image worthy of a 
 convej^saziotie at Lydia White's ? But, jesting 
 
 z 
 
354 JOURNAL or conveusations 
 
 apart, for one ought to be serious in talking of so 
 serious a subject as the pleasures of memory, 
 which, God knows, never offered any pleasures to 
 me, (mind, I mean memory, and not the poem,) it 
 really always did remind me of a flower-garden, 
 so filled with sweets, so trim, so orderly. You, I 
 am sure, know the powerful poem written in a 
 blank leaf of the ' Pleasures of Memory,' by an 
 unknown author ? He has taken my view of the 
 subject, and I envy him for expressing all that I 
 felt; but did not, could not, express as he has 
 done. This wilderness of triste thoughts offered 
 a curious contrast to the hortus siccus of pretty 
 flowers that followed it (said Byron), and marks 
 the difference between inspiration and versifi- 
 cation. 
 
 *' Having compared Rogers's poem to a flower- 
 garden," continued Byron, " to what shall I com- 
 pare Moore's ? — to the Valley of Diamonds, where 
 all is brilliant and attractive, but where one is so 
 dazzled by the sparkling on every side that one 
 knows not where to fix, each gem beautiful in 
 itself, but overpowering to the eye from their 
 quantity. Or, to descend to a more homely 
 
WITH LORD BYUOX. 355 
 
 comparison, though really/' continued Byron, 
 *' so brilliant a subject hardly admits of any 
 thing homely, Moore's poems (with the excep- 
 tion of the Melodies) resemble the fields in Italy, 
 covered by such myriads of fire-flies shining 
 and glittering around, that if one attempts to 
 seize one, another still more brilliant attracts, 
 and one is bewildered from too much brightness. 
 I remember reading somewhere," said Byron, " a 
 concetto of designating difi'erent living poets, by 
 the cups Apollo gives them to drink out of. 
 Wordsworth is made to drink from a wooden 
 bowl, and my melancholy self from a skull, 
 chased with gold. Now, I would add the fol- 
 lowing cups : — To Moore, I would give a cup 
 formed like the lotus flower, and set in brilliants ; 
 to Crabbe, a scooped pumpkin ; to Rogers, an 
 antique vase, formed of agate ; and to Colman, 
 a champagne glass, as descriptive of their dif- 
 ferent styles. I dare say none of them would 
 be satisfied with the appropriation ; but who ever 
 is satisfied with any thing in the shape of criti- 
 cism ? and least of all, poets." 
 
 Talking of Shakspeare, Byron said, that he 
 
356 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 owed one half of his popularity to his low origin, 
 which, like charity, covereth a multitude of sins 
 with the multitude, and the other half, to the 
 remoteness of the time at which he wrote from 
 our own days. All his vulgarisms," continued 
 Byron, " are attributed to the circumstances of 
 his birth and breeding depriving him of a good 
 education ; hence they are to be excused, and 
 the obscurities with which his works abound are 
 all easily explained away by the simple state- 
 ment, that he wrote above 200 years ago, and 
 that the terms then in familiar use are now be- 
 come obsolete. With two such good excuses, 
 as want of education, and having written above 
 200 years before our time, any writer may pass 
 muster ; and when to these is added the being a 
 sturdy hind of low degree, which to three parts 
 of the community in England has a peculiar at- 
 traction, one ceases to wonder at his supposed 
 popularity ; I say supposed, for who goes to see 
 his plays, and who, except country parsons, or 
 mouthing, stage-struck, theatrical amateurs, read 
 them ?" I told Byron what really was, and is, 
 mv impression, that he was not sincere in his 
 
wrni LOUD EYUON. 357 
 
 depreciation of our immortal bard ; and I added, 
 tiiat I preferred believing him insincere, than 
 incapable of judging works, which his own 
 writings proved he must, more than most other 
 men, feel the beauties of. He laughed, and re- 
 plied, *' That the compliment I paid to his wri- 
 tings was so entirely at the expense of his sin- 
 cerity, that he had no cause to be flattered ; 
 but that, knowing I was one of those who wor- 
 shipped Shakspeare, he forgave me, and would 
 only bargain that I made equal allowance for 
 his worship of Pope." I observed, " That any 
 comparison between the two was as absurd as 
 comparing some magnificent feudal castle, sur- 
 rounded by mountains and forests, with foaming 
 cataracts, and boundless lakes, to the pretty villa 
 of Pope, with its sheen lawn, artificial grotto, 
 stunted trees, and trim exotics." He said that 
 my simile was more ingenious than just, and 
 hoped that I was prepared to admit that Pope 
 was the greatest of all modern poets, and a phi- 
 losopher as well as a poet. I made my peace by 
 expressing my sincere admiration of Pope, but 
 begged to be understood as refusing to admit any 
 
358 JOURNAL OI COWKHSATIONS 
 
 comparison between him and Shakspeare ; and 
 so the subject ended. Byron is so prone to talk 
 for effect, and to assert what he does not believe, 
 that one must be cautious in 'giving implicit cre- 
 dence to his opinions. My conviction is, that, 
 in spite of his declarations to the contrary, he 
 admires Shakspeare as much as most of his coun- 
 trymen do ; but that, unlike the generality of 
 them, he sees the blemishes that the freedom of 
 the times in which the great poet lived led him to 
 indulge in in his writings, in a stronger point of 
 view, and takes pleasure in commenting on them 
 with severity, as a means of wounding the vanity 
 of the English. I have rarely met with a person 
 more conversant with the works of Shakspeare 
 than was Byron. I have heard him quote pas- 
 sages from them repeatedly ; and in a tone that 
 marked how well he appreciated their beauty, 
 which certainly lost nothing in his delivery of 
 them, as few possessed a more harmonious voice 
 or a more elegant pronunciation than did Byron. 
 Could there be a less equivocal proof of his ad- 
 miration of our immortal bard than the tenacity 
 with which his memory retained the finest pas- 
 
"WITH LORD BVRON". 359 
 
 sao:es of all his works ? When I made this ob- 
 servation to him he smiled, and affected to boast 
 that his memory M'as so retentive that it equally 
 retained all that he read ; but as I had seen 
 many proofs of the contrary, I persevered in 
 affirming what I have never ceased to believe, 
 that, in despite of his professions to the reverse, 
 Byron was in his heart a warm admirer of Shak- 
 speare. 
 
 Byron takes a peculiar pleasure in opposing 
 himself to popular opinion on all points; he 
 wishes to be thought as dissenting from the multi- 
 tude, and this affectation is the secret source of 
 many of the incongruities he expresses. One 
 cannot help lamenting that so great a genius 
 should be sullied by this weakness ; but he has 
 so many redeeming points that we must pardon 
 what we cannot overlook, and attribute this error 
 to the imperfectibility of human nature. Once 
 thoroughly acquainted with his peculiarities, 
 much that appeared incomprehensible is ex- 
 plained, and one knows when to limit belief to 
 assertions that are not always worthy of com- 
 manding it, because uttered from the caprice of 
 
3G0 JOUUNAL OF CONVEKSATIONS 
 
 the moment. He declares that such is his bad 
 opinion of the taste and feeHngs of the English, 
 that he should form a bad opinion of any work 
 that they admired, or any jiersoh that they 
 praised ; and that their admiration of his own 
 works has rather confirmed than softened his 
 bad opinion of them. "It was the exaggerated 
 praises of the people in England," said he, '* that 
 indisposed me to the Duke of Wellington. I 
 know that the same herd, who were trying to 
 make an idol of him, would, on any reverse, or 
 change of opinions, hurl him from the pedestal 
 to which they had raised him, and lay their idol 
 in the dust. I remember," continued Byron, 
 ** enraging some of his Grace's worshippers, after 
 the battle of Waterloo, by quoting the lines from 
 Ariosto : — 
 
 rCi il viiicer sempie luai laudabil cosa, 
 Vincasi 6 per fortuna 6 per iugregno, 
 
 in answer to their appeal to me, if he was not the 
 greatest general that ever existed." 
 
 I told Byron that his quotation was insidious, 
 but that the Duke had gained too many victories 
 
WITH LORD BYUO.V. 361 
 
 to admit the possibility of any of them being 
 achieved more by chance than abihty ; and that, 
 like his -attacks on Shakspeare, he was not sincere 
 in disparaging Wellington, as I was sure he must 
 an fond be as proud of him as all other English- 
 men are. ** What!" said Byron, " could a Whig 
 be proud of Wellington ! would this be con- 
 sistent ? " 
 
 The whole of Byron's manner, and his counte- 
 nance on this and other occasions, when the 
 name of the Duke of Wellington has been men- 
 tioned, conveyed the impression, that he had 
 not been de bonne foi in his censures on him. 
 Byron's words and feelings are so often opposed, 
 and both so completely depend on the humour 
 of the moment, that those who know him well 
 could never attach much confidence to the sta- 
 bility of his sentiments, or the force of his ex- 
 pressions ; nor could they feel surprised, or 
 angry, at hearing that he had spoken unkindly 
 of some for whom he really felt friendship. This 
 habit of censuring is his ruling passion, and he 
 is now too old to correct it. 
 
 " I have been amused," said Byron, " in read- 
 
3G2 JOURNAL OF CONVEUSATIGNS 
 
 ing ' Les Essais de Montaigne,' to find how severe 
 he is on the sentiment of tristesse : we are always 
 severe on that particular passion to which we 
 are not addicted, and the French are exempt 
 from this. Montaigne says that the Italians were 
 right in translating their word tristezza, which 
 means tristesse, into malignite ; and this," con- 
 tinued Byron, " explains my mechancete, for that 
 I am subject to tristesse cannot be doubted ; 
 and if that means, as Le Sieur de Montaigne 
 states, la malignite, this is the secret of all my 
 evil doings, or evil imaginings, and probably is 
 also the source of my inspiration." This idea 
 appeared to amuse him very much, and he dwelt 
 on it with apparent satisfaction, saying that it 
 absolved him from a load of responsibility, as 
 he considered himself, according to this, as no 
 more accountable for the satires he might write 
 or speak, than for his personal deformity. Na- 
 ture, he said, had to answer for malignit6 as 
 well as for deformity ; she gave both, and the 
 unfortunate persons on whom she bestowed them 
 were not to be blamed for their effects. Byron 
 said, that Montaigne was one of the French 
 
WITH LORD UVIlOiV. 3G3 
 
 \yriters that amused him the most, as, inde- 
 pendently of the quaintness with which he made 
 his observations, a perusal of his works was like 
 a repetition at school, they rubbed up the reader's 
 classical knowledge. He added, that " Burton's 
 Anatomy of Melancholy" was also excellent, from 
 the quantity of desultory information it contained, 
 and was a mine of knowledge that, though much 
 worked, was inexhaustible. I told him that he 
 seemed to think more highly of Montaigne than 
 did some of his own countrymen ; for that when 
 Le Cardinal du Perron " appelloit les Essais 
 de Montaigne le breviaire des honnetes gens ; le 
 c61^bre Huet, eveque d'Avranche, les disoit celui 
 des honnetes paresseux et des ignorans, qui veu- 
 lent s'enfariner de quelque teinture des lettres " — 
 Byron said that the critique was severe, but just; 
 for that Montaigne was the greatest plagiarist 
 that ever existed, and certainly had turned his 
 reading to the most account. " But," said Byron, 
 *' who is the author that is not, intentionally 
 or unintentionally, a plagiarist? Many more, I am 
 persuaded, are the latter than the former ; for 
 if one has read much, it is difficult, if not im- 
 
3G4 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATION'S 
 
 possible, to avoid acloj)ting, not only the thoughts, 
 but the expressions of others, which, after they 
 have been some time stored in our minds, appear 
 to us to come forth ready formed, like Minerva 
 from the brain of Jupiter, and we fancy them 
 our own progeny, instead of being those of 
 adoption. I met lately a passage in a French 
 book," continued Byron, " that states, a propos 
 of plagiaries, that it was from the preface to the 
 works of Montaigne, by Mademoiselle de Gour- 
 nay, his adopted daughter, that Pascal stole his 
 image of the Divinity : — ' C'est un cercle, dont 
 la circonference est par-tout, et le centre nulle 
 part.' So you see that even the saintly Pascal 
 could steal as well as another, and was probably 
 unconscious of the theft. 
 
 "To be perfectly original," continued Byron, 
 ** one should think much and read little ; and 
 this is impossible, as one must have read much 
 before one learns to think ; for I have no faith 
 in innate ideas, whatever I may have of innate 
 predispositions. But after one has laid in a tole- 
 rable stock of materials for thinking, I should 
 think the best plan would be to give the mind 
 
WITH LORD BYRON. 365 
 
 time to digest it, and then turn it all well over 
 by thought and reflection, by which we make 
 the knowledge acquired our own ; and on this 
 foundation we may let our originality (if we have 
 any) build a superstructure, and if not, it sup- 
 plies our want of it, to a certain degree. I 
 am accused of plagiarism," continued Byron, " as 
 I see by the newspapers. If I am guilty, I have 
 many partners in the crime ; for I assure you 
 I scarcely know a living author who might not 
 have a similar charge brought against him, and 
 whose thoughts I have not occasionally found 
 in the works of others ; so that this consoles 
 me. 
 
 " The book you lent me, Dr. Richardson's 
 ' Travels along the Mediterranean,' " said Byron, 
 " is an excellent work. It abounds in informa- 
 tion, sensibly and unaffectedly conveyed, and 
 even without Lord B.'s praises of the author, 
 would have led me to conclude that he was an 
 enlightened, sensible, and thoroughly good man. 
 He is always in earnest," continued Byron, " and 
 never wTites for effect : his language is well 
 chosen and correct ; and his religious views un- 
 
3GG JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 affected and sincere without bigotry. He is just 
 the sort of man I should like to have with me 
 for Greece — clever, both as a man and a physi- 
 cian ; for I require both — one for my mind, and 
 the other for my body, which is a little the 
 worse for wear, from the bad usage of the 
 troublesome tenant that has inhabited it, God 
 help me ! 
 
 " It is strange," said Byron, " how seldom one 
 meets with clever, sensible men in the professions 
 of divinity or physic ! and yet they are precisely 
 the professions that most peculiarly demand in- 
 telligence and ability, — as to keep the soul and 
 body in good health requires no ordinary talents. 
 I have, 1 confess, as little faith in medicine as 
 Napoleon had. I think it has many remedies, 
 but few specifics. I do not know if we arrived 
 at the same conclusion by the same road. Mine 
 has been drawn from observing that the medical 
 men who fell in my way were, in general, so 
 deficient in ability, that even had the science 
 of medicine been fifty times more simplified than 
 it ever will be in our time, they had not intelli- 
 gence enough to comprehend or reduce it to 
 
WITH LOUD BYUOX. 3G7 
 
 practice, which has given me a much greater 
 dread of remedies than diseases. Medical men 
 do not sufficiently attend to idiosyncrasy," con- 
 tinued Byron, " on which so much depends, 
 and often hurry to the grave one patient by a 
 treatment that has succeeded with another. The 
 moment they ascertain a disease to be the same 
 as one they have known, they conclude the same 
 remedies that cured the first must remove the 
 second, not making allowance for the peculiarities 
 of temperament, habits, and disposition ; which 
 last has a great influence in maladies. All that 
 I have seen of physicians has given me a dread 
 of them, which dread will continue until I have 
 met a doctor like your friend Richardson, who 
 proves himself to be a sensible and intelligent 
 man. I maintain," continued Byron, " that more 
 than half our maladies are produced by accus- 
 toming ourselves to more sustenance than is re- 
 quired for the support of nature. We put too 
 much oil into the lamp, and it blazes and burns 
 out ; but if we only put enough to feed the flame, 
 it burns brightly and steadily. We have, God 
 knows, sufficient alloy in our compositions, with- 
 
308 JOLRXAI. OF COXVF.RSATION'S 
 
 out reducing them still nearer to the brute by- 
 overfeeding. I think that one of the reasons why- 
 women are in general so much better than men, — 
 for I do think they are, whatever I may say to 
 the contrary," continued Byron, ** is, that they 
 do not indulge in gounnandise as men do ; and, 
 consequently, do not labour under the compli- 
 cated horrors that indigestion produces, which has 
 such a dreadful effect on the tempers, as I have 
 both witnessed and felt. 
 
 " There is nothing I so much dread as flat- 
 tery," said Byron ; " not that I mean to say I 
 dislike it, — for, on the contrary, if well admi- 
 nistered, it is very agreeable, — but I dread it 
 because I know, from experience, we end by 
 disliking those we flatter : it is the mode we take 
 to avenge ourselves for stooping to the humiliation 
 of flattering them. On this account, I never 
 flatter those I really like ; and, also, I should be 
 fearful and jealous of owing their regard for me to 
 the pleasure my flattery gave them. I am not so 
 forbearing with those I am indiff'erent about ; for 
 seeing how much people like flattery, I cannot 
 resist giving them some, and it amuses me to see 
 
WITH LORD BVUON. 369 
 
 how they swallow even the largest closes. Now, 
 
 there is and ; who could live on 
 
 passable terms with them, that did not administer 
 to their vanity? One tells you all his homies 
 fortunes, and would never forgive you if you 
 appeared to be surprised at their extent ; and 
 the other talks to you of ])rime ministers and 
 dukes by their surnames, and cannot state the 
 most simple fact or occurrence without telling 
 you that Wellington or Devonshiie told him so. 
 One does not," continued Byron, ''meet this last 
 foiblesse out of England, and not then, I must 
 admit, except dimong pa rvenua. 
 
 " It is doubtful which, vanity or conceit, is the 
 most offensive," said Byron; "but T think con- 
 ceit is, because the gratification of vanity depends 
 on the suffrages of others, to gain which vain 
 ])eople must endeavour to please ; but as conceit 
 is content with its own approbation, it makes no 
 sacrifice, and is not susceptible of humiliation. 
 I confess that I have a spiteful, pleasure," con- 
 tinued Byron, "in mortifying conceited people; 
 and the gratification is enhanced by the difficulty 
 of the task. One of the reasons why I dislike 
 
 2 A 
 
.*i70 ,IOl KVAF. OF CONVKHSATIONS 
 
 society is, that its contact excites all the evil 
 qualities of my nature, which, like the fire in the 
 flint, can only be elicited by friction. My philo- 
 sophy is more theoretical than piactical : it is 
 never at hand when I want it ; and the puerile 
 passions that I witness in those whom I encoun- 
 ter excite disgust when examined near, though, 
 viewed at a distance, they only create pity : — that 
 is to say, in simple homely truth," continued 
 Byron, " the follies of mankind, when they 
 touch me not, I can be lenient to, and moralize 
 on ; but if they rub against my own, there is an 
 end to the philosopher. We are all better in 
 solitude, and more especially if we are tainted 
 with evil passions, which, God help us ! we all 
 are, more or less," said Byron. " They are not 
 then brought into action : reason and reflection 
 have time and opportunity to resume that influ- 
 ence over us which they rarely can do if we are 
 actors in the busy scene of life ; and we grow 
 better, because we believe ourselves better. Our 
 passions often only sleep when we suppose them 
 dead ; and we are not convinced of our mistake 
 till they awake with renewed strength, gained by 
 
wnii r.oHi) i5viu)V. iw I 
 
 repose. We are, therefore, wise when we choose 
 solitude, where ' passions sleep and reason wakes;' 
 for if we cannot conquer the evil qualities that 
 adhere to our nature, we do well to encourage 
 their slumber. Like cases of acute pain, when 
 the physician cannot remove the malady he ad- 
 ministers soporifics. 
 
 " When I recommend solitude," said Byron, ^y 
 " 1 do not mean the solitude of country neigh- 
 bourhood, where people pass their time a dire, 
 rcdirc, ct mcdire. No ! I mean a regular retire- 
 ment, with a woman that one loves, and inter- 
 rupted only by a correspondence with a man that 
 one esteems, though if we put plural of man, it 
 would be more agreeable for the correspondence. 
 By this means, friendships would not be subject 
 to the variations and estrangements that are so 
 often caused by a frequent personal intercourse ; 
 and we might delude ourselves into a belief that 
 they were sincere, and might be lasting — two 
 difficult articles of faith in my creed of friendship. 
 Socrates and Plato," continued Byron, " ridiculed 
 Laches, who defined fortitude to consist in re- 
 maining firm in the ranks opposed to the enemy; 
 
372 JOrUN'AL OF COWERSyVTION'S 
 
 and I agree with those philosophers in thinking 
 that a retreat is not inglorious, whether from the 
 enemy in the field or in the town, if one feels 
 one's own weakness, and anticipates a defeat. I 
 feel that society is my enemy, in even more than 
 a figurative sense : I liave not fled, but retreated 
 from it; and if solitude has not made me better, 
 • T am sure it has prevented my becoming worse, 
 which is a point gained. 
 
 *' Have you ever observed," said Byron, ** the 
 extreme dread that parvenus have of aught that 
 approaches to vulgarity ? In manners, letters, 
 conversation, nay, even in literature, they are 
 always superfine ; and a man of birth would 
 unconsciously hazard a thousand dubious phrases 
 sooner than a parvenu would risk the possibility of 
 being suspected of one. One of the many advan- 
 tages of birth is, that it saves one from this hyper- 
 critical gentility, and he of noble blood may be 
 natural without the fear of being accused of vul- 
 garity. I have left an assembly filled with all 
 the names of haut ton in London, and where little 
 but names were to be found, to seek relief from 
 the ennui that overpowered me, in a — cyder 
 
MITH LOltD 15VRON. 373 
 
 cellar: — are you not shocked? — and have found 
 theie more food for speculation than in the vapid 
 
 circles of glittering dulness I had left. or 
 
 dared not have done this ; but I had the 
 
 patent of nobility to carry me through it, and 
 what would have been deemed originality and 
 spirit in me, would have been considered a na 
 tural bias to vulgar habits in them. In my 
 works, too, I have dared to pass the frozen mole- 
 hills — I cannot call them Alps, though they are 
 frozen eminences — of high life, and have used 
 common thoughts and common words to express 
 
 my impressions ; where poor would have 
 
 clarified each thought, and double-refined each 
 sentence, until he had reduced them to the po- 
 lished and cold temperature of the illuminated 
 houses of ice that he loves to frequent ; which 
 have always reminded me of the palace of ice 
 built to ])lease an empress, cold, glittering, and 
 
 costly. But I suppose that and like 
 
 them, from the same cause that I like high life 
 below stairs, not being born to it: — there is a good 
 deal in this. I have been abused for dining at 
 Tom Cribb's, where I certainly was amused, and 
 
:^74 .lOl.UNAI, or COWKKSA riON'S 
 
 have returned iVoni ii dinner where the guests 
 were composed of the magnates of the land, where 
 I liad nigh gone to sleep — at least my intellect 
 slumbered — so dullified was I and those around 
 me, by the soporific quality of the conversation, 
 if conversation it might be called. For a long 
 time 1 thought it was my constitutional melan- 
 choly that made me think London society so 
 insufferably tiresome ; but I discovered that those 
 who had no such malady found it equally so ; the 
 only difference was that they yawned under the 
 nightly inflictions, yet still continued to bear 
 them, while I writhed, and * muttered curses not 
 loud but deep ' against the well-dressed automa- 
 tons, that threw a spell over my faculties, making 
 me doubt if I could any longer feel or think ; and 
 I have sought the solitude of my chamber, almost 
 doubting my own identity, or, at least, my sanity; 
 such was the overpowering effect produced on me 
 by exclusive society in London. Madame de 
 Stael was the only person of talent I ever knew 
 who was not overcome by it ; but this was owing 
 to the constant state of excitement she was kept 
 in by her extraordinary self-complacency, and the 
 
MTIIl J. OKU 15'SKON. 375 
 
 mystifications of the dandies, who made her be- 
 lieve all sorts of things. I have seen her en- 
 tranced by tliem, listening with undisguised de- 
 light to exaggerated compliments, uttered only to 
 hoax her, by persons incapable of appreciating 
 her genius, and who doubted its existence from 
 the facility with which she received mystifications 
 which would have been detected in a moment by 
 the most common-place woman in the room. It 
 is thus genius and talent are judged of," con- 
 tinued Byron, " by those who, having neither, are 
 incapable of understanding them ; and a punster 
 may glory in puzzling a genius of the first order, 
 by a play on words that was below his compre- 
 hension, though suited to that of the most ordinary 
 understandings. Madame de Stalil had no tact ; 
 she would believe anything, merely because she 
 did not take the trouble to examine, being too 
 much occupied with self, and often said the most 
 mal a propos things, because she was thinking not 
 of the person she addressed, but of herself. She 
 had a party to dine with her one day in London, 
 
 when Sir Jam.es and Lady entered the 
 
 drawing-room, the lady dressed in a green gown, 
 
37 G JOl.RNAL OF CON VKHSA'JIONS 
 
 with a shawl of the same verdant hue, and a 
 bright red turban. Madame de Stael marclied 
 u|) to her in her eager manner, and exclaimed, 
 ' Ah, mon Dieu, miladi ! comme vous ressemblez 
 a un perroquet ! ' The poor lady looked con- 
 founded : the company tried, but in vain, to 
 suppress the smiles the observation excited ; but 
 all felt that the making it betrayed a total want 
 of tact in the ' Corinne.' 
 
 *•' Does the cant of sentiment still continue 
 in England ?" asked Byron. " ' Childe Harold ' 
 called it forth ; but [ny ' Juan ' was well cal- 
 culated to cast it into shade, and had that 
 merit, if it had no other ; but I must not refer 
 to the Don, as that, I remember, is a prohibited 
 subject between us. Nothing sickens me so 
 completely," said Byron, " as women who affect 
 sentiment in conversation. A woman without 
 sentiment is not a woman ; but I have observed, 
 that those who most display it in words have 
 least of the reality. Sentiment, like love and 
 grief, should be reserved for privacy ; and when 
 I hear women ajjicliant their sentimentality, I 
 look upon it as an allegorical mode of de- 
 
MITH LOUD iiYRON. 377 
 
 daring their wish of finding an object on whom 
 they could bestow its superfluity. I am of a 
 jealous nature," said Byron, " and should wish 
 to call slumbering sentiment into life in the wo- 
 man I love, instead of finding that I was chosen, 
 from its excess and activity rendering a partner 
 in the firm indispensable. I should hate a wo- 
 man," continued Byron, " who could laugh at 
 or ridicule sentiment, as I should, and do, women 
 who have not religious feelings : and, much as I 
 dislike bigotry, I think it a thousand times more 
 pardonable in a woman than irreligion. There 
 is something unferainine in the want of religion, 
 that takes off the peculiar charm of woman. It 
 inculcates mildness, forbearance, and charity, - 
 those graces that adorn them mure than all 
 others," continued Byron, " and whose benefi- 
 cent effects are felt, not only on their minds 
 and manners, but are visible in their counte- 
 nances, to which they give their own sweet 
 character. But when I say that I admire religion 
 in women," said Byron, " don't fancy that I 
 like sectarian ladies, distributors of tracts, armed 
 and ready for controversies, many of whom only 
 
378 JOl'KNAI, Ol-- CONVKirSA TIONS 
 
 preach religion, but do not practise it. No; I 
 like to know tliat it is the guide of woman's 
 actions, the softener of her words, the soother 
 of her cares, and tliose of all dear to her, who 
 are comforted by her, — that it is, in short, the 
 animating principle to which all else is referred. 
 When I see women professing religion and vio- 
 lating its duties, — mothers turning from erring 
 daughters, instead of staying to reclaim, — sisters 
 deserting sisters, whom, in their hearts, they 
 know to be more pure than themselves, — and 
 wives abandoning husbands on the ground of 
 faults that they should have wept over, and re- 
 deemed by the force of love, — then it is," 
 continued Byron, " that I exclaim against the 
 cant of false religion, and laugh at the credulity 
 of those who can reconcile such conduct with 
 the dictates of a creed that ordains forgiveness, 
 and commands that ' if a man be overtaken in 
 a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such a 
 one in the spirit of meekness ; considering thy- 
 self, lest thou also be tempted ; ' and that tells 
 a wife, that ' if she hath an husband that be- 
 lieveth not, and if he be pleased to dwell with 
 
WITH LORD liVKON. 379 
 
 her, let her not leave him. For the unbelieving 
 husband is sanctified by the wife,' kc. Now, 
 people professing religion either believe, or do 
 not believe, such creeds," continued Byron. 
 *' If they believe, and act contrary to their be- 
 lief, what avails their religion, except to throw 
 discredit on its followers, by showing that they 
 practice not its tenets ? and if they inwardly 
 disbelieve, as their conduct would lead one to 
 think, are they not guilty of hypocrisy ? It is 
 such incongruities between the professions and 
 conduct of those who affect to be religious 
 that puts me out of patience,'" continued Byron, 
 " and makes me wage war with cant, and not, 
 as many suppose, a disbelief or want of faith 
 in religion. I want to see it practised, and to 
 know, which is soon made known by the conduct, 
 that it dwells in the heart, instead of being on 
 the lips only of its votaries. Let me not be 
 told that the mothers, sisters, and wives, who 
 violate the duties such relationships impose, are 
 good and religious people : let it be admitted 
 that a mother, sister, or wife, who deserts instead 
 of trying to lead back the stray sheep to the flock. 
 
380 joruxAi. OF cowkksations 
 
 cannot be truly relii^ious, and 1 shall exclaim no 
 more against hypocrisy and cant, because they 
 will no longer be dangerous. Poor Mrs. Shep- 
 pard tried more, and did more, to reclaim me," 
 
 continued Byron, " than : but no; as I have 
 
 been preaching religion, I shall practice one 
 of its tenets, and be charitable ; so I shall not 
 finish the sentence." 
 
 It appears to me that Byron has reflected 
 much on religion, and that many, if not all, 
 the doubts and sarcasms he has expressed on it 
 are to be attributed only to his enmity against 
 its false worshippers. He is indignant at seeing 
 people professing it governed wholly by worldly 
 principles in their conduct ; and fancies that he 
 is serving the true cause by exposing the votaries 
 that he thinks dishonour it. He forgets that in 
 so exposing and decrying them, he is breaking 
 through the commandments of charity he ad- 
 mires, and says ought to govern our actions 
 towards our erring brethren ; but that he reflects 
 deeply on the subject of religion and its duties, 
 is, 1 hope, a step gained in the right path, in 
 which I trust he will continue to advance : and 
 
M'lTIl LORD BYKOX. 381 
 
 wliicli step I attribute, as does he, to the eflect 
 the prayer of Mrs. Sheppard had on liis mind, 
 and which, it is evident, has made a lasting- 
 impression, by the frequency and seriousness 
 with which he refers to it. 
 
 *' There are two blessings of which people 
 never know the value until they have lost them," 
 said Byron, " health and reputation. And not 
 only is their loss destructive to our own happi- 
 ness, but injurious to the peace and comfort of 
 our friends. Health seldom goes without temper 
 accompanying it ; and, that fled, we become a 
 burden on the patience of those around us, until 
 dislike replaces pity and forbearance. Loss of 
 reputation entails still greater evils. In losing 
 caste, deservedly or otherwise," continued Byron, 
 " we become reckless and misanthropic : we can- 
 not sympathize with those, from whom we are 
 separated by the barrier of public opinion, and 
 pride becomes ' the scorpion, girt by fire,' that 
 turns on our own breasts the sting prepared for 
 our enemies. Shakspeare says, that ' it is a bit- 
 ter thing to look into happiness through another 
 man's eyes ;' and this must he do," said Byron, 
 
382 JOURXAL OF COWFHSATIOXS 
 
 " who has lost his reputation. Nay, rendered 
 nervously sensitive by the falseness of his posi- 
 tion, he sees, or fancies he sees, scorn or avoid- 
 ance in the eyes of all he encounters ; and, as it 
 is well known that we are never so jealous of the 
 respect of others as when we have forfeited our 
 own, every mark of coldness or disrespect he 
 meets with, arouse a host of angry feelings, that 
 prey upon his peace. Such a man is to be 
 feared," continued Byron ; " and yet how many 
 such have the world made ! how many errors 
 have not slander and calumny magnified into 
 crimes of the darkest dye ! and, malevolence and 
 injustice having set the condemned seal on the 
 reputation of him who has been judged without a 
 trial, he is driven without the pale of society, a 
 sense of injustice rankling in his heart; and if his 
 hand be not against each man, the hand, or at 
 least the tongue, of each man is against him. 
 The genius and powers of such a man," continued 
 Byron, " act but as fresh incitements to the un- 
 sated malice of his calumniators ; and the fame 
 they win is but as the flame that consumes the 
 funeral pile, whose blaze attracts attention to the 
 
wn II r.onn r.vuox. 383 
 
 substance that feeds it. Mediocrity is to be de- 
 sired for those who lose caste, because, if it gains 
 not pardon for errors, it sinks them into oblivion. 
 But genius," continued Byron, " reminds the 
 enemies of its possessor, of his existence, and of 
 their injustice. They are enraged that he on 
 whom they heaped obloquy can surmount it, and 
 elevate himself on new ground, where their malice 
 cannot obstruct his path." 
 
 It was impossible not to see that his own posi- 
 tion had led Byron to these reflections ; and on 
 observing the changes in his expressive counte- 
 nance while uttering them, who could resist pity- 
 ing the morbid feelings which had given them 
 birth ? The milk and honey that flowed in his 
 breast has been turned to gall by the bitterness 
 with which his errors have been assailed ; but 
 even now, so much of human kindness remains in 
 his nature, that I am persuaded the eff"usions of 
 wounded pride which embody themselves in the 
 biting satires that esca})e from him, arc more 
 productive of j)ain to him who writes, than to 
 those on whom they are written. Knowing 
 Byron as I do, I could forgive the most cutting 
 
384 JOURXAI. OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 satire his pen ever traced, because I know the 
 bitter feelings and violent reaction which led to 
 it; and that, in thus avenging some real or ima- 
 gined injury on individuals, he looks on them as a 
 part of that great whole, of which that world 
 which he has waged war with, and that he fancies 
 has waged war with him, is composed. lie looks 
 on himself like a soldier in action, who, without 
 any individual resentment, strikes at all within 
 his reach, as component parts of the force to 
 which he is opposed. If this be indefensible, 
 and all must admit that it is so, let us be merciful 
 even while we are condemning ; and let us re- 
 member what must have been the heart-aches 
 and corroding thoughts of a mind so sensitive as 
 Byron's, ere the last weapons of despair were 
 resorted to, and the fearful sally, the forlorn hope 
 attack, on the world's opinions, made while many 
 of those opinions had partisans within his own 
 breast, even while he stood in the last breach of 
 defeated hope, to oppose them. The poison in 
 which he has dipped the arrows aimed at the 
 world has long been preying on his own life, and 
 has been produced by the deleterious draughts 
 
MTl'H J.OilD BVHON. 385 
 
 administered ])y tliat world, and which he has 
 quaffed to the dregs, until it has turned the once 
 healtliful current of his existence into deadly ve- 
 nom, poisoning all the fine and generous qualities 
 that adorned his nature. lie feels what he might 
 have been, and what he is, and detests the world 
 that has marred his destiny. But, as the passions 
 lose their empire, he will think differently : the 
 veil which now obscures his reason will pass 
 away, like clouds dispelled by the sun ; he will 
 learn to distinguish much of good, where he has 
 hitherto seen only evil ; and no longer braving 
 the world, and, to enrage it, assuming faults he 
 has not, he will let the good qualities he 
 has make themselves known, and gain that 
 good-will and regard they were formed to con- 
 ciliate. 
 
 " I often, in imagination, pass over a long lapse 
 of years," said Byron, " and console myself for 
 present privations, in anticipating the time when 
 my daughter will know me by reading my works ; 
 for, though the hand of prejudice may conceal my 
 portrait from her eyes, it cannot hereafter conceal 
 my thoughts and feelings, which will talk to her 
 
 2 u 
 
1}SG JOUUNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 when he to wliom tliey belonged has ceased to 
 exist. The triumph will then be mine ; and the 
 tears that my child will drop over expressions 
 wrung from me by mental agony, — the certainty 
 that she will enter into the sentiments which 
 dictated the various allusions to her and myself in 
 my works, — consoles me in many a gloomy hour. 
 Ada's mother has feasted on the smiles of her 
 infancy and growth, but the tears of her maturity 
 shall be mine." 
 
 I thought it a good opportunity to represent to 
 Byron, that this thought alone should operate to 
 prevent his ever writing a page which could bring 
 the blush of offended modesty to the cheek of his 
 daughter; and that, if he hoped to live in her 
 heart, unsullied by aught that could abate her 
 admiration, he ought never more to write a line 
 of " Don Juan." He remained silent for some 
 minutes, and then said, " You are right; I never 
 recollected this. I am jealously tenacious of the 
 undivided sympathy of my daughter ; and that 
 work, (' Don Juan,') written to beguile hours of 
 tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to 
 loosen my hold on her affection. I will write no 
 
WITH LORD BVUOX. 387 
 
 more ot" it; — would that I had never written a 
 line !" 
 
 There is something tender and beaulirul in the 
 deep love with whieh poor Byron turns to his 
 daughter. This is his last resting-place, and on 
 her heart has he cast his last anchor of hope. 
 When one reflects that he looks not to consolation 
 from her during his life, as he believes her mother 
 implacable, and only hopes that, when the grave 
 has closed over him, his child will cherish his 
 memory, and weep over his misfortunes, it is 
 impossible not to sympathize with his feelings. 
 Poor Byron ! why is he not always true to him- 
 self? Who can, like him, excite sympathy, even 
 when one knows him to be erring ? But he 
 shames one out of one's natural and better feelings 
 by his mockery of self. Alas! — 
 
 His is a lofty spirit, turii'il aside 
 
 From its briiiht patli by woes, and wrongs, and pride ; 
 
 And onward in its now, tumultuous course, 
 
 Borne with too ranid and intense a force 
 
 To pause one moment in tlio dread career, 
 
 Anil ask — if such could lie its native sphere? 
 
 How imsatisfactory is it to hnd one's feelings 
 
388 JOLRXAL OF CONVERSATIOXS 
 
 with regard to Byron varying every day ! This 
 is because he is never two days the same. The 
 day after he has awakened the deepest interest, 
 his manner of scoffing at himself and others de- 
 stroys it, and one feels as if one had been duped 
 into a sympathy, only to be laughed at. 
 
 " I have been accused (said Byron) of thinking 
 ill of women. This has proceeded from my 
 sarcastic observations on them in conversation, 
 much more than from what I have written. The 
 fact is, I always say whatever comes into my 
 head, and very often say things to provoke people 
 to wdiom I am talking. If I meet a romantic 
 person, with what I call a too exalted opinion of 
 women, I have a peculiar satisfaction in speak- 
 ing lightly of them ; not out of pique to your sex, 
 but to mortify their champion ; as I always con- 
 clude, that when a man over- praises women, he 
 does it to convey the impression of how much 
 they must have favoured him, to have won such 
 gratitude towards them; whereas there is such an 
 abnegation of vanity in a poor devil's decrying wo- 
 men, — it is such a proof positive that they never 
 distinguished him, that I can overlook it. People 
 
WITH LOUD BYROX. 38D 
 
 take for gospel all I say, and go away continually 
 with false impressions. ]\Iais ?iimporte ! it will 
 render the statements of my future biographers 
 more amusing; as I flatter myself I shall have 
 more than one. Indeed, the more the merrier, 
 say I. One will represent me as a sort of sub- 
 lime misanthrope, with moments of kind feeling. 
 This, par e.vemplc, is my favourite rule. Another 
 will portray me as a modern Don Juan ; and a 
 third (as it would be hard if a votary of the 
 Muses had less than the number of the Graces for 
 his biographers) will, it is to be hoped, if only for 
 opposition sake, represent me as an amiable, ill- 
 used gentleman, ' more sinned against than 
 sinning.' Now, if 1 know myself, I should say, 
 that I have no character at all. By the bye, this 
 is what has long been said, as I lost mine, as an 
 Irishman would say, before I had it ; that is to 
 say, my reputation was gone, according to the 
 good-natured English, before I had arrived at years 
 of discretion, which is the period one is supposed 
 to have found one. But, joking apart, what I 
 think of myself is, that I am so changeable, being 
 every thing by turns and nothing long, — I am 
 
390 .lOUItXAL 01" CONVEKSAI'IOXS 
 
 such a strange melange of good and evil, that 
 it would be difficult to describe me. There 
 are but two sentiments to wliich I am constant, — 
 a strong love of liberty, and a detestation of cant, 
 and neither is calculated to gain me friends. I 
 am of a wayward, uncertain disposition, more 
 disposed to display the defects than the redeeming 
 points in my nature ; this, at least, proves that I 
 understand mankind, for they are always ready to 
 believe the evil, but not the good ; and there 
 is no crime of which I could accuse myself, for 
 which they would not give me implicit credit. 
 What do you think of me?" (asked he, looking 
 seriously in my face.) 
 
 I replied, " I look on you as a spoilt child 
 of genius, an epicycle in your own circle." At 
 which he laughed, though half disposed to be 
 angry. 
 
 " I have made as many sacrifices to liberty 
 (continued Byron) as most people of my age ; 
 and the one I am about to undertake is not the 
 least, though, probably, it will be the last ; for, 
 with my broken health, and the chances of war, 
 Greece will most likely terminate my moral 
 
WITH I. OKI) JiYKOy. .'JO I 
 
 career. I like Italy, its clinuitc, its customs, and, 
 above al), its freedom from cant of every kind, 
 wliich is the prbnum mobile of England : therefore 
 it is no slight sacrifice of comfort to give up the 
 tranquil life I lead here, and break through the 
 ties I have formed, to engage in a cause, for the 
 successful result of which I have no very sanguine 
 hopes. You will think me more superstitious 
 than ever (said Byron) when I tell you, that I 
 have a presentiment that I shall die in Greece. 
 I hope it may be in action, for that would be a 
 good finish to a very triste existence, and I have 
 a horror to death -bed scenes; but as I have not 
 been famous for my luck in life, most probably 
 I shall not have more in the manner of my death, 
 and that I may draw my last sigh, not on the 
 field of glory, but on the bed of disease. I very 
 nearly died when I was in Greece in my youth ; 
 perhaps as things have turned out, it would have 
 been well if T had ; I should have lost nothing, 
 and the world very little, and I would have 
 escaped many cares, for Ciod knows I have 
 had enough of one kind or another : but I am 
 getting gloomy, and looking citlio- back ov ior- 
 
392 JOURNAL or conversations 
 
 ward is not calculated to enliven me. One of the 
 reasons why I quiz my friends in conversation is, 
 that it keeps me from thinking of myself: you 
 laugh, but it is true." 
 
 Byron had so unquenchable a thirst for cele- 
 brity, that no means were left untried that might 
 attain it : this frequently led to his expressing 
 opinions totally at variance with his actions and 
 real sentiments, and vice versa, and made him ap- 
 pear quite inconsistent and puerile. There was 
 no sort of celebrity that he did not, at some 
 period or other, condescend to seek, and he was 
 not over nice in the means, provided he obtained 
 the end. This weakness it was that led him to 
 accord his society to many persons whom he 
 thought unworthy the distinction, fancying that 
 he might find a greater facility in astonishing 
 them, which he had a childish propensity to do, 
 than with those who were more on an equality 
 with him. When I say persons that he thought 
 unworthy of his society, I refer only to their 
 stations in life, and not to their merits, as the first 
 was the criterion by which Byron w^as most 
 prone to judge them, never being able to conquer 
 
WITH LOUD BVUON. 393 
 
 the overweening prejudices in favour of aristo- 
 cracy that subjugated him. He expected a de- 
 ferential submission to his opinions from those 
 whom he thought he honoured bv admitting* to 
 his society ; and if they did not seem duly im- 
 pressed w^ith a sense of his condescension, as well 
 as astonished at the versatility of his powers and 
 accomplishments, he showed his dissatisfaction 
 by assuming an air of superiority, and by op- 
 posing their opinions in a dictatorial tone, as if 
 from his fiat there was no appeal. If, on the 
 contrary, they appeared willing to admit his su- 
 periority in all respects, he was kind, playful, 
 and good-humoured, and only showed his own 
 sense of it by familiar jokes, and attempts at 
 hoaxing, to which he was greatly addicted. 
 
 An extraordinary peculiarity in Byron was his 
 constant habit of disclaiming friendships, a habit 
 that must have been rather humiliating to those 
 who prided themselves on being considered his 
 friends. He invariably, in conversing about the 
 persons supposed to stand in that relation to him, 
 drew a line of demarcation ; and Lord Clare, with 
 Mr. Hobhouse and Moore, were the only persons 
 
394 jouuNAr. of coxveksations 
 
 he allowed to be within its pale. Long acquaint- 
 ance, habitual correspondence, and reciprocity of 
 kind actions, which are the general bonds of 
 friendship, were not admitted by Byron to be 
 sufficient claims to the title of friend ; and he 
 seized with avidity every opportunity of denying 
 this relation with persons for whom, I am per- 
 suaded, he felt the sentiment, and to whom he 
 would not have hesitated to have given all proof 
 but the name, yet who, wanting this, could not 
 consistently with delicacy receive aught else. 
 
 This habit of disclaiming friendships was very 
 injudicious in Byron, as it must have wounded 
 the amour propre of those who liked him, and hu- 
 miliated the pride and delicacy of all whom he 
 had ever laid under obligations, as well as freed 
 from a sense of what was due to friendship, those 
 who, restrained by the acknowledgement of that 
 tie, might have proved themselves his zealous de- 
 fenders and advocates. It was his aristocratic 
 pride that prompted this ungracious conduct, and 
 I remember telling him, apropos to his denying 
 friendships, that all the persons with whom he 
 disclaimed them, must have less vanity, and more 
 
Willi LORD 13 V HON. 305 
 
 kindness of nature, than fall to the lot of most 
 people, if they did not renounce the sentiment, 
 which he disdained to acknowledge, and give him 
 proofs that it no longer operated on them. His 
 own morbid sensitiveness did not incline him to 
 be more mercifid to that of others ; it seemed, on 
 the contrary, to render him less so, as if every 
 feeling was concentrated in self alone, and yet 
 this egoist was capable of acts of generosity, 
 kindness, and pity for the unfortunate : but he 
 appeared to think, that the physical ills of others 
 were those alone which he was called on to sym- 
 pathize with ; their moral ailments he entered 
 not into, as he considered his own to be too ele- 
 vated to admit of any reciprocity with those of 
 others. The immeasurable difference between his 
 genius and that of all others he encountered had 
 given him a false estimate of their feelings and 
 characters ; they could not, like him, embody 
 their feelings in language that found an echo in 
 every breast, and hence he concluded they have 
 neither the depth nor refinement of his. He for- 
 got that this very power of sending forth his 
 thoughts disburthened him of much of tiicir lut- 
 
396 JOURXAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 terness, while others, wanting it, felt but the more 
 poignantly what is unshared and unexpressed. 
 I have told Byron that he added ingratitude to 
 his other faults, by scoffing at, and despising his 
 countrymen, who have shared all his griefs, 
 and enjoyed all his biting pleasantries ; he has 
 sounded the diapason of his own feelings, and 
 found the concord in theirs, wdiich proves a sym- 
 pathy he cannot deny, and ought not to mock : 
 he says, that he values not their applauses or 
 sympathy ; that he who describes passions and 
 crimes, touches chords, which vibrate in every 
 breast, not that either pity or interest is felt for 
 him who submits to this moral anatomy ; but 
 that each discovers the symptoms of his own 
 malady and feels and thinks only of self, while 
 analyzing the griefs or pleasures of an other. 
 
 When Byron had been one day repeating to 
 me some epigrams and lampoons, in which many 
 of his friends were treated with great severity, 
 I observed that, in case he died, and that 
 these proofs of friendship came before the public, 
 what would be the feelings of those so severely 
 dealt by, and who previously had indulged the 
 
WITH LOUD BVRoy. 397 
 
 agreeable ilkisiou of being- high in his good 
 graces ! 
 
 '* That (said Byron) is precisely one of the ideas 
 which most amuses me. I often fancy the 
 rage and humiliation of my quondam friends at 
 hearing the truth (at least from me) for the first 
 time, and when I am beyond the reach of their 
 malice. Each individual will enjoy the sarcasms 
 against his friends, but that will not console 
 him for those against himself. Knowing the af- 
 fectionate dispositions of my soi-discnit friends, 
 and the mortal chagrin my death would occasion 
 them, I have written my thoughts of each, purely 
 as a consolation for them in case they survive me. 
 Surely this is philanthropic, fur a more effectual 
 means of destroying all regret for the dead could 
 hardly be found than discovering, after their de- 
 cease, memorials in which the surviving friends 
 were treated with more sincerity than flattery. 
 What grief (continued Byron, laughing while he 
 spoke) could resist the charges of ugliness, dul- 
 ness, or any of the thousand nameless defects, 
 personal or mental, to which flesh is heir, coming 
 from one odentatiously loved, Icunoitcd, (uid departed, 
 
398 JOURNAL OF COWKRSATIOXS 
 
 and when reprisals or recantations are impossible! 
 Tears would soon be dried, lamentations and 
 eulogiums changed to reproaches, and many faults 
 would be discovered in the dear departed that had 
 previously escaped detection. If half the obser- 
 vations (said Byron) which friends make on each 
 other were written down instead of being said, how 
 few^ would remain on terms of friendship ! People 
 are in such daily habits of commenting on the 
 defects of friends, that they are unconscious of 
 the unkindness of it ; which only comes home to 
 their business and bosoms when they discover 
 that they have been so treated, which proves that 
 self is the only medium for feeling or judging of, 
 or for, others. Now I write down, as well as speak, 
 my sentiments of those who believe that they 
 have gulled me ; and I only wish (in case I die 
 before them) that I could return to witness the 
 effect my posthumous opinions of them are likely 
 to produce on their minds. What good fun this 
 would be ! Is it not disinterested in me to lay up 
 this source of consolation for my friends, whose 
 grief for my loss might otherwise be too acute ? 
 You don't seem to value it as you ought (con- 
 
WITH I.OIUJ BY RON. 390 
 
 tinued Byron, with one of liis sardonic smiles, 
 seeing- that I looked, as I really felt, surprised at 
 his avowed insincerity). I feel the same pleasure 
 in anticipating the rage and mortification of my 
 sui-cliaaut friends, at the discovery of my real 
 sentiments of them, that a miser may be supposed 
 to feel while making a will that is to disappoint 
 all the expectants who have been toadying him 
 for years. Then only think how amusing it will 
 be, to compare my posthumous with my previously 
 given opinions, one throwing ridicule on the other. 
 This will be delicious, (said he, rubbing his 
 hands,) and the very anticipation of it charms me. 
 Now this, by your grave face, you are disposed to 
 call very wicked, nay, more, very mean ; but 
 wicked or mean, or both united, it is human 
 nature, or at least my nature." 
 
 Should various poems of Byron that I have seen 
 ever meet the public eye, and this is by no means 
 unlikely, they will furnish a better criterion for 
 judging his real sentiments than all the notices of 
 him that have yet appeared. 
 
 Each day that brought Byron nearer to the 
 period fixed on for his departure for Greece 
 
400 .loruNAT or cowkrsatioxs 
 
 seemed to render him still more reluctant to un- 
 dertake it. lie frequently expressed a wish to 
 return to England, if only for a few weeks, before 
 he embarked, and yet had not firmness of purpose 
 sufficient to carry his wishes into effect. There 
 was a helplessness about Byron, a sort of aban- 
 donment of himself to his destiny, as he called it, 
 I that common-place people can as little pity as 
 understand. His purposes in visiting England, 
 previous to Greece, were vague and undefined, 
 even to himself; but from various observations 
 that he let fall, I imagined that he hoped to 
 establish something like an amicable understanding, 
 or correspondence, with Lady Byron, and to see 
 his child, which last desire had become a fixed 
 one in his mind. He so often turned with a 
 yearning heart to his wish of going to England 
 before Greece, that we asked him why, being a 
 free agent, he did not go. The question seemed 
 to embarrass him. He stammered, blushed, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Why, true, there is no reason why I should 
 not go ; but yet I want resolution to encounter all 
 the disagreeable circumstances which might, and 
 
WITH LOUD BVKUN. 40l 
 
 most probably would, greet my arrival in Eng- 
 land. The host of foes that now slumber, because 
 they believe me out of their reach, and that their 
 stings cannot touch me, would soon awake with 
 renewed energies to assail and blacken me. The 
 press, that powerful engine of a licentious age, 
 (an engine known only in civilized England as an 
 invader of the privacy of domestic life,) would 
 pour forth all its venom against me, ridiculing my 
 person, misinterpreting my motives, and misre- 
 presenting my actions. I can mock at all these 
 attacks when the sea divides me from them, but 
 on the spot, and reading the effect of each libel in 
 the alarmed faces of my selfishly-sensitive friends, 
 whose common attentions, under such circum- 
 stances, seem to demand gratitude for the personal 
 risk of abuse incurred by a contact with the 
 attacked delinquent, — No, this I could not stand, 
 because 1 once endured it, and never have for- 
 gotten what 1 felt under the infliction. I wish to 
 see Lady Byron and my child, because 1 firmly 
 believe I shall never return from Greece, and that 
 1 anxiously desire to forgive, and be forgiven, by 
 the former, and to embrace Ada. It is more than 
 
 2 c 
 
402 JOURNAL OF COXVF.USA'MOXS 
 
 probable (continued Byron) that the same amiable 
 consistency, — to call it by no harsher name, — 
 which has hitherto influenced Lady B.'s adherence 
 to the line she had adopted, of refusing all expla- 
 nation, or attempt at reconciliation, would still 
 operate on her conduct. My letters would be 
 returned unopened, my daughter would be pre- 
 vented from seeing me, and any step, I might, 
 from affection, be forced to take to assert my right 
 of seeing her once more before I left Zngland, 
 would be misrepresented as an act of the most 
 barbarous tyranny and persecution towards the 
 mother and the child ; and I should be driven 
 again from the British shore, more vilified, and 
 with even greater ignominy, than on the separa- 
 tion. Such is my idea of the justice of public 
 opinion in England, (continued Byron,) and, with 
 such woeful experience as T have had, can you 
 wonder that I dare not encounter the annoyances 
 I have detailed ? But if I live, and return from 
 Greece with something better and higher than the 
 reputation or glory of a poet, opinions may change, 
 as the successful are always judged favourably of 
 in our country ; my laurels may cover my faults 
 better than the bays have done, and give a totally 
 
WITH LORD EYHOX. 403 
 
 different reading to my tlioughts, words, and 
 deeds." 
 
 With such various forms of pleasing as rarely 
 fall to the lot of man, Byron possessed the 
 counterbalance to an extraordinary degree, as he 
 could disenchant his admirers almost as quickly 
 as he had won their admiration. He was too 
 observant not to discover, at a glance, the falling 
 off in the admiration of those around him, and 
 resented as an injury the decrease in their 
 esteem, which a little consideration for their 
 feelings, and some restraint in the expression of 
 his own, would have prevented. Sensitive, jea- 
 lous, and exigent himself, he had no sympathy 
 or forbearance for those weaknesses in others. 
 He claimed admiration not only for his genius, 
 but for his defects, as a sort of right that apper- 
 tained solely to him. He was conscious of this 
 foibksse, but wanted either power or inclination 
 to correct it, and was deeply offended if others 
 appeared to have made the discovery. 
 
 There was a sort of mental reservation in 
 Byron's intercourse with those with whom he was 
 on habits of intimacy that he had not tact enough 
 
404 JOURNAL OF CONVERSATIONS 
 
 to conceal, and which was more offensive when 
 the natural flippancy of his manner was taken 
 into consideration. His incontinence of speech 
 on subjects of a personal nature, and with regard 
 to the defects of friends, rendered this display of 
 reserve on other points still more offensive ; as, 
 after having disclosed secrets which left him, and 
 some of those whom he professed to like, at the 
 mercy of the discretion of the ])erson confided in, 
 he would absolve him from the best motive for 
 secrecy — that of implied confidence — by disclaim- 
 ing any sentiment of friendship for those so 
 trusted. It was as though he said, I think aloud, 
 and you hear my thoughts ; but I have no feeling 
 of friendship towards you, though you might 
 imagine I have from the confidence I repose. Do 
 not deceive yourself; few, if any, are worthy of 
 my friendship : and only one or two possess even 
 a portion of it. I think not of you but as the first 
 recipient for the disclosures that I have k besoin to 
 make, and as an admirer whom I can make ad- 
 minister to my vanity, by exciting in turn 
 surprise, wonder, and admiration ; but T can have 
 no sympathy with you. 
 
WITH J.Oltl) liVKON'. 400 
 
 Byron, in all his intercourse with ac([iiaint- 
 ances, proved that he wanted the simplicity and 
 good faith of uncivilized life, without having ac- 
 quired the tact and fine perception that throws a 
 veil over the artificial coldness and selfishness of 
 refined civilization, which must be concealed to be 
 rendered endurable. To keep alive sympathy, 
 there must be a reciprocity of feelings ; and this 
 Byron did not, or would not, understand. It w^as 
 the want of this, or rather the studied display of 
 the want, that deprived him of the affection that 
 would otherwise have been unreservedly accorded 
 to him, and which he had so many qualities cal- 
 culated to call forth. Those who have known 
 Byron only in the turmoil and feverish excitation 
 of a London life, may not have had time or oppor- 
 tunity to be struck with this defalcation in his 
 nature ; or, if they observed it, might naturally 
 attribute it to the artificial state of society in 
 London, which more or less aftects all its mem- 
 bers ; but when he was seen in the isolation of a 
 foreign land, with few acquaintances, and fewer 
 friends, to make demands either on his time or 
 sympathy, this extreme egoism became strikiunly 
 
40G JOURNAL OF con'vp:rsatio\s 
 
 visible, and repelled the affection that must other- 
 \vise have replaced the admiration to which he 
 never failed to give birth. 
 
 Byron had thought long and profoundly on man 
 and his vices, — natural and acquired ;— he ge- 
 neralized and condemned en masse, in theory ; 
 while, in practice, he was ready to allow the ex- 
 ceptions to his general rule. He had commenced 
 his travels ere yet age or experience had rendered 
 him capable of forming a just estimate of the 
 civilized world he had left, or the uncivilized one 
 he was exploring : hence he saw both through a false 
 medium, and observed not that their advantages 
 and disadvantages were counterbalanced. Byron 
 wished for that Utopian state of perfection which 
 experience teaches us it is impossible to attain, — 
 the simplicity and good faith of savage life, with 
 the refinement and intelligence of civilization. 
 Naturally of a melancholy temperament, his travels 
 in Greece were eminently calculated to give a 
 still more sombre tint to his mind, and tracing at 
 each step the marks of degradation which had 
 followed a state of civilization still more luxurious 
 than that he had left ; and surrounded with the 
 
Wnil LORD BYUON. 407 
 
 fragments of arts that we can but imperfectly 
 copy, and ruins whose original beauty we can 
 never hope to emulate, he grew into a contempt 
 of the actual state of things, and lived but in 
 dreams of the past, or aspirations of the future. 
 This state of mind, as unnatural as it is uncommon 
 in a young man, destroyed the bonds of sympathy 
 between him and those of his own age, without 
 creating any with those of a more adv^anced. 
 With the young he could not sympathize, because 
 they felt not like him ; and with the old, because 
 that, though their reasonings and reflections ar- 
 rived at the same conclusions, they had not 
 journeyed by the same road. They had travelled 
 by the beaten one of experience, but he had 
 abridged the road, having been hurried over it by 
 the passions which were still unexhausted, and 
 ready to go in search of new discoveries. The 
 wisdom thus prematurely acquired by Byron 
 beimr the forced fruit of circumstances and travail 
 acting on an excitable mind, instead of being the 
 natural production ripened by time, was, like all 
 precocious advantages, of comparatively little 
 utility ; it influenced his words more than his 
 
408 JOlHNAr. OK COWKUSATIOXS 
 
 deeds, and wanted that patience and forbearance 
 towards the trangressions of others that is best 
 acquired by having suffered from and repented 
 our own. 
 
 It would be a curious speculation to reflect 
 how far the mind of Byron might have been dif- 
 ferently operated on, had he, instead of going to 
 Greece in his early youth, spent the same period 
 beneath the genial climate, and surrounded by the 
 luxuries of Italy. We should then, most pro- 
 bably, have had a " Don Juan " of a less repre- 
 hensible character, and more excusable from the 
 youth of its author, followed, in natural succes- 
 sion, by atoning works produced by the autumnal 
 sun of maturity, and the mellowing touches of ex- 
 perience, instead of his turning from the more ele- 
 vated tone of " Childe Harold " to " Don Juan." 
 Each year, had life been spared him, would have 
 corrected the false wisdom that had been the bane 
 of Byron, and which, like the fruit so eloquently 
 described by himself as growing on the banks of 
 the Dead Sea, that was lovely to the eye, but 
 turned to ashes when tasted, was productive only 
 of disappointment to him, because he mistook it 
 
"WITH LOUD BYRON. 409 
 
 for the real fruit its appearance resembled, and 
 found only bitterness in its taste. 
 
 There was that in Byron which would have yet 
 nobly redeemed the errors of his youth, and the 
 misuse of his genius, had length of years been 
 granted him ; and, while lamenting his premature 
 death, our regret is rendered the more poignant 
 by the reflection, that we are deprived of works 
 which, tempered by an understanding arrived at 
 its meridian, would have had all the genius, with- 
 out the immorality of his more youthful produc- 
 tions, which, notwithstanding their defects, have 
 formed an epoch in the literature of his country. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 2 D 
 
IMPORTANT WORKS JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 THE AOBTLITY AND GENTRY 
 
 OK ENGLAND. 
 Just publislunl, elegantly printed iu 
 Oiin Volume, royal Bvo, and em- 
 boilislied with accurato Engravings 
 of tiie Armorial Hearings of each 
 Family, and a fine Portrait of tho 
 .Si'i;.\Ki,ii, price 1/. lis. 6(1., bound in 
 morocco cloth, the 
 lllSTOUV OF THE COMINIONErvS 
 OF GREAT BRTIAIN AND IRE- 
 LAND ; 
 
 By JOHN BURKE, Esq. 
 Forming a desirable Companion to 
 the Peerage and Baronetage. 
 
 " Tliis is a great and iinpurtaiit undirta- 
 king. Of the Peers and the JJaronets of Great 
 Britain «e liave heard and read; but of the 
 Commoners — of families equally celebrated 
 in history — we remain in total ignorancif. 
 W'c are glad to find Mr. Burke employed in 
 removing a national reproach. He has con- 
 trived to make his book not only very use- 
 ful, but highly interesting - many rare and 
 curious anecdotes having been introduced." 
 — Globe. 
 
 2. 
 MR. BURKE'S PEERAGE AND 
 BARONETAGE OF THE UNI- 
 TED KINGDOM, 
 The fourth edition, corrected, with all 
 the new Creations, and upwards of 
 1500 Engravings of the Arms, (S;c. In 
 2 vols. Bvo. containing upwards of 
 liOO pages : printetl so as to comprise 
 a quantity of matter equal to 12 ordi- 
 nary volumes. Price 2/. 10s. bound. 
 
 This new edition comprises three 
 times the number of Families that 
 have ever before been presented to 
 the puhlic in any one publication of a 
 similar description. It embraces every 
 family in England, Ireland, and Scot- 
 land, invested with liereditary ho- 
 nours, and every individual in tlie re- 
 motest degree allied to those families. 
 
 3. 
 Dedicated to the Duke of Devonshire. 
 Now complete in one handsome vo- 
 lume, royal quarto, price 5Z. 5.s-. ; or, 
 on large paper, with India proof 
 Plates^ 10/. 10s. 
 BEAUTIES OF THE COURT OF 
 
 CHARLES 11. 
 With Memoirs and Anecdotes of their 
 l>ives, and an Introductory \'iew of 
 the State of Fenr.de Society, and its 
 Influence, Dress, Manners, &c. at that 
 period. 
 
 By MRS. JAMESON, 
 Authoress of " The Lives of cele- 
 brated Female Sovereigns," " Me- 
 moirs of Loves of the Poets," &c. 
 Comprising a series of I'wenty-two 
 
 splendid Portraits, illustrating the 
 Diaries of Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon, 
 and other contemporary writers of that 
 gay and interesting period. Size of the 
 Plates, six inches by four and a Jialf ; 
 engraved by the most dislingirished 
 Artists, i'rom Drawings made by order 
 of Her late l^oya! Highness the 
 
 PRINCESS CllARLOlTE. 
 'I'lie following is a brief Descriptive 
 List of the Portraits comprised in 
 this Work, which supplies what lias 
 long been a desiderdtnin in the Fine 
 Arts, and forms a desirable compa- 
 nion to " Lodge's Portraits :" — 
 Catherine of Br.iganza, the unhappy 
 and slighted wife of Charles — Lady 
 Castlemaine, afterwards Duchess of 
 Cleveland, the haughty enslaver of the 
 monarch — La Belle Hamilton, Count- 
 ess De Grammont, one of the ances- 
 tors of the Jerningham family — The 
 gentle and blameless Countess of Os- 
 sory, interestrng from her extreme 
 beauty, her tenderness, and her femi- 
 nine virtues — Nell Gvvynne, merry and 
 open-hearted, who, with all her faults, 
 was at least exempt from the courtly 
 vice of hypocrisy, and whose redeem- 
 ing qualities make even the justice of 
 liistory half loth to condemn her — The 
 beautiful and wealthy Duchess of So- 
 merset, the wife of three successive 
 husbands, one of whom encountered a 
 tragical fate — The noted Frances Stew- 
 art, Duchess of Richmond, (" fond of 
 adoration, yet armed with indiffe- 
 rence,") whose marriage was the im- 
 mediate cause of Lord Clarendon's 
 disgrace — Miss Lawson, mild and gen- 
 tle, yet opposing the fortitude of vir- 
 tue to the perils of a licentious Court 
 — The Countess of Chesterfield, one 
 of the fair principals of De Gram- 
 mont's celebrated story of the " has 
 verts" — The Countess of Southesk, 
 wliose faults. Tollies, and miseries, 
 constitute a tale well fitted to " point 
 amoral" — The interesting and exem- 
 plary Countess of Rochester — The 
 beauteous and arrogant Lady Denbam, 
 claiming interest from the poetical 
 fame other husband, and her own tra- 
 gical and mysterious fate — Tiie magni- 
 ficent Lady Bellasys, renowned for her 
 be*auty, wit, and high spirit, and re- 
 corded as the Mistress of James, Duke 
 of York, only through her voluntary 
 resignation of the marriage contract by 
 which she had really become united 
 with Iiim — Anne Digby, Countess of 
 Sutherland, beautiful and blameless, 
 tlie friend of the angelic l-ady Russell, 
 and of the excellent Evelyn, — and many 
 others. 
 
WORKS JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 411 
 
 1. 
 
 Ilfiiidsoniely printed in V vols. tto. 
 illustrated with jipwartls ot" forty 
 Portraits ot" distinguished Charac- 
 ters, curious Letters and iJocuments 
 in I'uc-siniile, ivc. 
 iMK.MOillSofthelKTSH UNION, 
 with JJelineations of the principal Cha- 
 racters counected with that inij)ortant 
 measure. 
 
 By SIR .TONAII BARIIIXGTON, 
 
 IVleniber of the late Irisii Parliament 
 
 for the cities of Tuam and Cloglier. 
 
 CHEAP LlBRAPvY 
 OF IRISH ROxMANCE. 
 
 On the 1st December was published, 
 uniform with Colburn's Modern No- 
 velists, and on the same plan, hand- 
 somely printed in post 8vo., and 
 bound in morocco cloth, price only 
 ■is. per volume, 
 IRISH NATIONAL TALES, 
 AND ROMANCES. 
 i?y the most distinguished modern 
 Authors. 
 Now first collected. 
 That which has already been done 
 for Scottish National History, by the 
 uniform collection of Sir Walter Scott's 
 admirable Tales, is here proposed to 
 bo done in behalf of Irish Story, by 
 the re-production, on the much ap- 
 proved plan of cheap Monthly Publi- 
 cation, of the most celebrated Works of 
 modern times, illustrative of the man- 
 ners and peculiarities of the Sister 
 Kingdom. The entire Series will not 
 extend beyond Nineteen Volumes ; 
 and the first Monthly Set will consist 
 of 
 
 THE NOWLANS, 
 
 15y the Author of the OTIara Tales. 
 
 In 3 vols. 
 
 3. 
 THE LOVES OF THE POETS; 
 
 Or, MEMOIRS of WOMEN cele- 
 brated in the WRIITNCiS of POETS. 
 By the Authoress of the " Beauties of 
 the Court of Charles the Second," 
 " Lives of Celebrated Queens," ikc. 
 &c. in 2 vols, post 8vo. 'Jls. 
 " HcHrciiso la Biaiite quo If Puete adore ! 
 
 Heiiit'iix Ic nom qn'il a cliaiile !" 
 
 " Very (U-ligliifiil vohmies !" — Blackwood's 
 Alnyazine. 
 
 " Tlie volumes are admirable; they coii- 
 finii conceptions uliich aieamoncst the most 
 brilliant and charminj^ in the range of lite- 
 rary history." — Atlas. 
 
 SELECT LIBRARY of MODERN 
 FICTION. 
 
 In regular course of iNIonthly Publica- 
 tion, price only 4.s. eacli Volume, 
 handsDinely printed in post 8vo. and 
 bound in nunocco cloth, 
 
 COLBUKN'S 
 MODERN NOVELISTS. 
 
 In Pu])lisliing Monthly the various 
 Novels of which this Collection will 
 be formed, it is intended to all'ord tiie 
 I'ublic an opportunity of obtaining, at 
 a cost little exceeding one third of 
 their original prices, some of the most 
 sterling and admired Works of Fiction 
 that have emanated from the pens of 
 living writers. 
 
 Sets already published, and sold 
 
 separately : 
 
 TRE!\1AINE and DE VERE, by 
 
 R. P. WARD, Ksq. 
 PELIIA.M, DEVEREUX, and THE 
 
 DISOWNED, by E. L. BULWEll, 
 
 Esq . 
 GRANBY and HERBERT LACY, 
 
 by T. II. LISTER, Esq. 
 A'lVIAN GREY, by B. DTSRAELI, 
 
 Esq. 
 HIGHWAYS and BY-WAYS, by 
 
 T. C. GRATTAN, Esq. 
 BRAMBLETYE HOUSE, by HO- 
 
 RACK SIMITH, Esq. 
 FLIRTATION, by LADY CHAR- 
 LOTTE BURY, on the 1st January, 
 
 .5. 
 
 MEMOIRS of DAVID GARRICK, 
 including his PRIVATE CORRE- 
 SPONDENCE with the most cele- 
 brated Persons of his time ; now (irst 
 published from the Originals. Printed 
 uniformly with Evelyn and Pepys. In 
 2 vols., with a fine Portrait. 
 
 This highly interesting and impor- 
 tant work comprises upwards of two 
 thousand letters, from persons of the 
 greatest eminence in the political, lite- 
 rary, and dramatic world. 
 
 " When we consider that he was the fa- 
 vourite of L)r. Johnson, tlie friend and com- 
 panion of the celebrated Lord Camden, the 
 associate of Quin and Foote, and Barry and 
 Henderson, the proteije of Pope, the corre- 
 spondent of Bishop Warbiiiton, the fosterer 
 of the early genius of Sheridan and Siddons — 
 when wc remember all (his, «e can readrly 
 comprehend the interest that, even at this 
 coniparalivcly rlislant period, must be at- 
 tached to the biography of Mich a man." — 
 .y«;i. 
 
412 
 
 WORKS JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 On tlie 1st of Deremhor was com- 
 iiicnceil, tlie .Monthly Publication, 
 Landsoniely priiitod in post bvo. ;;ik1 
 hound in morocco cloth, price only 
 'Is. per volume, 
 
 THE NAVAL AND ^IILITARY 
 LlliUAUV of ENTKUTAINMKXT, 
 A Series of works from the I'ens of 
 Distinguished Officers ; now first col- 
 lected. 
 
 Tlie principles of economy and ge- 
 neral convenience wliich have already 
 suggf'sted, in several succcssiul in- 
 stances, the clieap monthly publica- 
 tion of works pertaining to the lighter 
 and more amusing departments of li- 
 terature, have not yet been called into 
 operation, in a similar manner, for the 
 benefit of the Army and Navy. This 
 omission is now about to be rectified 
 l)y the formation of a collection par- 
 ticularly suited to the tastes and pur- 
 suits of the members of the two Ser- 
 vices, and comprising the choicest 
 productions of modern times; and the 
 entire Series, limited to 20 Volumes, 
 will form, it is trusted, such a library 
 of entertainment as will prove a de- 
 sirable acquisition for enlivening the 
 social hours of every Mess and Gun- 
 room at home or abroad. 
 
 The First Number will contain 
 
 THE NAVAL OlFICER, 
 By CAPTAIN MARRYAT. 
 
 The LIFE and WRITINGS of 
 HENRY FUSELI, Esq. M.A., R.A., 
 
 Keeper and Professor of Painting to 
 
 the Royal Academy in London. 
 The former written, and the latter 
 edited, by JOHN KNOWLES, F.R.S. 
 3 vols. 8vo. 21s. 
 " Perhaps the most valuable work, as re- 
 gards the tine arts, ever published in Eng- 
 land. Every one who possesses the Lectures 
 of Sir Joshua Reynolds should possess also 
 those of Fiiseli, comprised in the above work, 
 toi;etlur with tlie painter's aphorisms on 
 art, and his histoiy of the Italian schools of 
 liaintiiii; and sculpture. These must be in- 
 valuable to the student, and to the innumera- 
 ble lovers of whatever is great and beautiful 
 in art, and cannot be too lii;.;hly estimated as 
 an infallible j;uide for the collector of works 
 of the old masters.'" — Globe. 
 
 ADVENTURES of a YOUNGER 
 
 SON. In 3 vols. 
 
 By CAPTAIN TIIELAWNEY, tlie 
 
 intimate Friend of LORD BYRON. 
 
 CONVERSATIONS of LITERARY 
 iMEN AND STATESMEN. 
 
 JOdited ))y 
 
 WALTER SAVAGE LAXDOll. 
 
 ■Jlie Second Edition, revised, in 3 
 vols. fivo. 1/. ll,s. G(/. 
 
 \ ol. III. separately to complete sets. 
 
 Contents : Richard I. and the Ab- 
 bot of lioxley — The Lord I'rooke and 
 Sir Philip Sydney— King Henry IV , 
 and Sir Arnold .Savage — Southey and 
 Porson— Oliver Cromwell and \Valter 
 Noble — Queen Elizabeth and Cecil — 
 King Janics L and Isaac Casaubon — 
 Bishop iiurnet and Humphrey Ilard- 
 castle — Peter Leopold and the Presi- 
 dent ])u Paty — Buonaparte and the 
 President of the Senate — The Emperor 
 Alexander and Capo d'lstria — Kos- 
 ciusko and Poniatowski — IMiddleton 
 and Magliabecchi — Milton and Andrew 
 Rlarvel — Washington and Franklin — 
 Roger Ascham and the Lady .lane 
 Grey — Lord Bacon and Richard 
 Hooker — Louis XIV. and Pere la 
 Chaise — Samuel Jolinson and Home 
 Tooke — Andrew Hofer, Count Met- 
 ternich, and the Emperor Francis — 
 David Hume and .John Home— Lord 
 Chesterfield and Lord Chatham— Henry 
 VIII. and Anne Boleyn, ixc. &c. 
 
 10. 
 
 MEMOIRS of the GREAT LORD 
 
 BURGHLEY, 
 
 LordHigh Treasurer of England during 
 the Reign of Queen Elizabeth : with 
 Extracts from his Private Correspond- 
 ence and Journals. 
 
 By the Rev. Dr. NARES, 
 Regius Professor of Modern History 
 in the University of Oxford. 
 3 vols., with Portraits. 
 " This elaborate work is of the highest 
 national interest ; it embraces and discusses 
 a multitude of great historical, biographical, 
 religious and political questions, and throws 
 much light upon an era of almost unparalleled 
 national and universal importance." — Lite- 
 rary Gazette. 
 
 11. 
 LORD BYRON 
 AND SOME OF HIS CONTEM- 
 PORARIES, By LEIGH IHJNT. 
 Comprising tlie Author's Corre- 
 spondence with Lord Byron, Mr. 
 Shelley, &c. In 2 vols. 8vo., with 
 Portraits and Fac-similes, 18s. 
 
 " In this very curious series of literary and 
 personal sketches, Mr. Hunt has sketched in 
 a very bold manner, not only the public but 
 the private characters and habits of many of 
 the celebrated writers of the present day." — 
 Muruiny Chronicle. 
 
 J'niNTED DV A, J. 
 
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