My Recollections of Lord Byron
to condemn their aberrations. But I own I feel provoked when they
dignify all this by the name of love--romantic attachments for things
marketable for a dollar!"
Yes, Lord Byron never did respect the love that can be bartered for
dollars. And afterward, when irritation had given way to a milder and
more tolerant philosophy, he took the liberty of laughing at it, both in
prose and verse. It may however, be urged against him, that he sometimes
turned into ridicule even his deepest sentiments; and Moore remarks this
as a defeat, apropos of the jesting tone he assumed once at Bologna,
when writing to Hoppner. But Moore forgets to say, that while his heart
called him to Ravenna, he was speaking against the counsels given by
Hoppner, who, in order to deter him from this visit, for reasons
previously cited,[157] had made the darkest prognostications regarding
its consequence; and though he could not shake Lord Byron's
determination, it is very probable that he may have upset his
imagination. Thus he was trying to show himself ready for every thing.
Such pleasantries are like the song of one who is alarmed in the dark.
Moreover, from his manner of judging human nature, and his lively sense
of the ridiculous, Lord Byron was well aware that a light tone is alone
admissible for speaking to others of a love they do not share, and more
especially when they disapprove of it. He felt that the gayety of Ovid
and the gallantry of Horace are better suited to indifferent people than
Petrarch's high-flown phrases and sentimentalities, or Werther's
despair. It was through this same nice perception of the sentiments
entertained by indifferent individuals that he sometimes adopted a
light, playful tone in conversation, or in his correspondence, when
speaking of friendship, devoted feelings of any kind, and a host of
sentiments very serious and deep within his own heart, but which he
believed less calculated to interest others. And if sometimes his
singular penetration of the human heart called forth mockery, it sprang
more frequently from seeing fine sentiments put forth in flagrant
contradiction with conduct, or morality looked upon as a mere thing of
outward decorum, speedily to be set aside, if once the actors were
removed from the eyes of the world. He would not grant his esteem to
fine sentiments expressed by writers who could be bribed; to the
promises of heroes who noisily enroll combatants, while themselves
remaining safe by their fireside; or to the generosity that displays
itself from a balcony. And, assuredly, he had a right to be particular
in his estimate of this latter virtue, which he himself always practiced
secretly, and in the shade. He would not consent to its being bartered,
nor that people should have the honor of it without any sacrifice on
their part. Thus he replied to Moore, who was in an ecstasy about the
generosity of Lord some one:--"I shall believe all that when you prove
to me that there is no advantage in openly helping a man like you." With
wonderful, and, I might almost say, supernatural perspicacity, Lord
Byron penetrated into the arcana of souls, and did not come out thence
with a very good opinion of what he had seen. But, kind as he was, he
did not like to probe too deeply the motives of others, especially as a
rule of action for himself. As he says in his admirable satire of "Don
Juan,"--
"'Tis sad to burrow deep to roots of things,
So much are they besmeared with earth."
Lastly, his mockeries were all directed against the vice he most
abhorred--_hypocrisy_; for he looked upon that as a gangrene to the
soul, the cause of most of the evils that afflict society, and certainly
of all his own misfortunes. As long as he was obliged to bear it, under
the depressing influence of England's misty atmosphere, he felt by turns
saddened and indignant. But when he reached Italy, his soul caught the
bright rays that emanate from a southern sky, and he preferred to combat
hypocrisy with the lighter weapons of pleasantry. But whichsoever arm he
wielded, he always pursued the enemy remorselessly, following into
every fastness, of which none knew better than himself each winding and
each resource. For hypocrisy had been the bane of his life; it had
rendered useless for happiness that combination he possessed of Heaven's
choicest gifts; the plenitude of affections, numberless qualities most
charming in domestic life, for he had been exiled from the family
circle. Hypocrisy had _forced_ him to despise a country also that could
act toward him like an unnatural parent, rather than a true mother,
wounding him with calumnies, and obstinately depreciating him, solely
because she allowed hypocrisy to reign on her soil. Such, then, were the
virtues which he permitted himself to mock at.
"_We must not make out a ridicule where none exists_," says La Bruyere;
but it is well to see that which has a being, and to draw it forth
gracefully, in a manner that may both please and instruct.
As to true, holy, pure, undeniable virtues, no one more than he admired
and respected them. "Any trait of virtue or courage," says one of his
biographers, "caused him deep emotion, and would draw tears from his
eyes, provided always he were convinced that it had not been actuated by
a desire of shining or producing effect."
"A generous action," says another, "the remembrance of patriotism,
personal sacrifice, disinterestedness, would cause in him the most
sublime emotions, the most brilliant thoughts." The more his opinion as
to the rarity of virtue appeared to him well-founded, the more did he
render homage when he met with it. The more he felt the difficulty of
overcoming passions, the more did a victory gained over them excite his
admiration.
"Pray make my respects to Mrs. Hoppner, and assure her of my unalterable
reverence for the singular goodness of her disposition, which is not
without its reward even in this world. For those who are no great
believers in human virtues would discover enough in her to give them a
better opinion of their fellow-creatures, and--what is still more
difficult--of themselves, as being of the same species, however inferior
in approaching its nobler models."
At Coppet he was more touched by the conjugal affection of the young
Duchesse de Broglie for her husband, than he was attracted by the
genius even of her mother, Madame de Stael. "Nothing," says he in his
memoranda, "was more agreeable than to see the manifestation of domestic
tenderness in this young woman." When he received at Pisa the posthumous
message sent by a beautiful, angelic young creature, who had caught a
glimpse of him but once, and who, nevertheless, in the solemn hours of
her agony, thought of him, and prayed to God for him, it made a deep
impression on his mind.
"In the evening," says Madame G----, "he spoke to me at great length of
this piety and touching virtue."
Mr. Stendhall, who knew him during his stay at Milan in 1816, says:--"I
passed almost all my evenings with Lord B. Whenever this singular man
was excited and spoke with enthusiasm, his sentiments were noble, great,
and generous; in short, worthy of his genius."
And then when Mr. Stendhall speaks of walking alone with him in the
large green-room at La Scala, he adds:--
"Lord Byron made his appearance for half an hour every evening, holding
the most delightful conversation it was ever my good-fortune to hear. A
volume of new ideas and generous sentiments came pouring out in such
novel form, that one fancied one's self enjoying them for the first
time. The rest of the evening the great man lapsed into the English
noble."
Even biographers most hostile to Lord Byron render justice to his
sensibility and respect for real virtue, for all that is true and
estimable. And if we seek proofs of the same in his poems and
correspondence, we shall find it at every page, not excepting "Don
Juan,"--the satire that most exposed him to the anger and calumny of
_cant_. This is why I shall confine myself to borrowing quotations from
this poem. For instance, in speaking of military glory, he says:--
"The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
"And why?--because it brings self-approbation;
Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,
* * * * * * *
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles."[158]
And then again:--
"_One_ life saved ...
... is a thing to recollect
Far sweeter than the greenest laurels sprung
From the manure of human clay, though deck'd
With all the praises ever said or sung;
Though hymn'd by every harp, unless within
Your heart join chorus, Fame is but a din."[159]
When he speaks of Souvaroff, who, with a hand still reeking from the
massacre of 40,000 combatants, began his dispatch to the Autocrat in
these words:--
"Glory to _God_ and to the Empress [Catharine]! Ismail's ours!"
Lord Byron exclaims:--
"Powers
Eternal! such names mingled!
"Methinks these are the most tremendous words
Since 'Mene, Mene, Tekel,' and 'Upharsin,'
Which hands or pens have ever traced of swords.
Heaven help me! I'm but little of a parson:
What Daniel read was short-hand of the Lord's,
Severe, sublime; the prophet wrote no farce on
The fate of nations;--but this Russ so witty
Could rhyme, like Nero, o'er a burning city.
"He wrote this Polar melody, and set it,
Duly accompanied by shrieks and groans,
Which few will sing, I trust, but none forget it--
For I will teach, if possible, the stones
To rise against earth's tyrant's."[160]
And then when he speaks of truly virtuous men--the Washingtons and
Franklins--those who preferred a quiet, retired life; so as better to
walk in the paths of justice and goodness, like the ancient heroes of
Sparta, one feels that his words come really from the heart. But if I
wished to make extracts of all the proofs contained in his works, of
respect and enthusiasm for true virtue, a volume of quotations would be
requisite. Thus I have only chosen some at hazard, selecting them
principally from that admirable satire of "Don Juan," which combines
more deep philosophy and true morality than is to be found in the works
of many moralists; and I may likewise say more wit, and knowledge of the
human heart, more kindness and indulgence, than ever before were united
in a volume of verse or prose, and more, perhaps, than ever will be.
Yet, despite of all this, the independence, boldness, and above all, the
true state of things revealed in "Don Juan," excited great anger
throughout the political, religious, and moral world of England; indeed,
passion went so far in distorting, that the tendency and moral bearing
of the poem were quite misunderstood. With regard to France, where this
satire is only known through a prose translation, which mars half its
cleverness, "Don Juan" serves, however, the purpose of an inexhaustible
reservoir, whence writers unwittingly draw much they deem their own.
Besides, from analogy of race, he is, perhaps, better appreciated in
France than in his own country; for few English do understand what true
justice he rendered himself when he said,--that, in point of fact, his
character was far too lenient, the greatest proof of his muse's
discontent being a smile.
But if, despite all this evidence, people should still persist, as is
very possible, in asserting that Lord Byron ridiculed, satirized, and
denied the existence of real virtues, at least we would ask to have
these virtues named, so as to be able to answer. What are the virtues so
insulted? Is it truth, piety, generosity, firmness, abnegation,
devotedness, independence, patriotism, humanity, heroism? But if he