My Recollections of Lord Byron
No defect existed in the formation of his limbs; his slight infirmity
was nothing but the result of weakness of one of his ankles.
His habit of ever being on horseback had brought on the emaciation of
his legs, as evinced by the post-mortem examination; besides which, the
best proof of this has been lately given in an English newspaper much to
the following effect:--
"Mrs. Wildman (the widow of the colonel who had bought Newstead) has
lately given to the Naturalist Society of Nottingham several objects
which had belonged to Lord Byron, and among others his boot and shoe
trees. These trees are about nine inches long, narrow, and generally of
a symmetrical form. They were accompanied by the following statement of
Mr. Swift, bootmaker, who worked for his lordship from 1805 to 1807.
Swift is still alive, and continues to reside at Southwell. His
testimony as to the genuineness of the trees, and to the nature of Lord
Byron's deformity, of which so many contradictory assertions have
circulated, is as follows:--
"'William Swift, bootmaker at Southwell, Nottinghamshire, having had the
honor of working for Lord Byron when residing at Southwell from 1805 to
1807, asserts that these were the trees upon which his lordship's boots
and shoes were made, and that the last pair delivered was on the 10th of
May, 1807. He, moreover, affirms that his lordship had not a club foot,
as has been said, but that both his feet were equally well formed, one,
however, being an inch and a half shorter than the other. The defect was
not in the foot but in the ankle, which, being weak, caused the foot to
turn out too much. To remedy this his lordship wore a very light and
thin boot, which was tightly laced just under the sole, and, when a boy
he was made to wear a piece of iron with a joint at the ankle, which
passed behind the leg and was tied behind the shoe. The calf of this leg
was weaker than the other, and it was the left leg.
(Signed) WILLIAM SWIFT.'"
This, then, is the extent of the defect of which so much has been said,
and which has been called a deformity. As to its being visible, all
those who knew him assert that it was so little evident that it was even
impossible to discover in which of the legs or feet the fault existed.
To the testimonies already quoted I must add another:--
"His defect," says Mr. Galt, "was scarcely visible. He had a way of
walking which made it appear almost imperceptible, and indeed entirely
so. I spent several days on board a ship with him without discovering
this defect; and, in truth, so little perceptible was it that a doubt
always existed in my mind whether it might not be the effect of a
temporary accident rather than a natural defect."
All those who knew him being therefore agreed in this opinion, that of
people who were not acquainted with him is of no value. But if, in the
material appreciation of a defect, they have not been able to err,
several have erred in their moral appreciation of the fact by pretending
that Lord Byron, for imaginary reasons, was exceedingly sensible of this
defect. This excessive sensibility was a pure invention on the part of
his biographers. When he did experience it (which was never but to a
very moderate extent), it was only because, physically speaking, he
suffered from it. Under the sole of the weak foot he at times
experienced a painful sensation, especially after long walks.
"Once, at Genoa," says Mme. G., "he walked down the hill of Albaro to
the seaside with me, by a rugged and rough path. When we had reached the
shore he was very well and lively. But it was an exceedingly hot day,
and the return home fatigued him greatly. When home I told him I thought
he looked ill. 'Yes,' said he,' I suffer greatly from my foot; it can
hardly be conceived how much I suffer at times from that pain,' and he
continued to speak to me about this defect with great simplicity and
indifference."
He used often even to laugh at it, so superior was he to that weakness.
"Beware," said Count Gamba to him on one occasion while riding with him,
and on reaching some dangerous spot, "beware of falling and breaking
your neck." "I should decidedly not like it," said Byron; "but if this
leg of which I don't make much use were to break, it would be the same
to me, and perhaps then I should be able to procure myself a more useful
one."
The sensitiveness, therefore, which he was said to experience, and which
would have been childish in him, was in reality only the occasional
experience of a physical pain which did not, however, affect his
strength, nor the grace of his movements, in all those physical
exercises to which he was so much attached. It in no wise altered his
good looks, and, as a proof of this, I shall again bring testimonies,
giving first that of M.N., who was at Constantinople when Byron arrived
there for the first time, and who thus describes him in a review which
he wrote of him after Byron's death:--
"A stranger then entered the bazar. He wore a scarlet cloak, richly
embroidered with gold in the style of an English aid-de-camp's dress
uniform. He was attended by a janissary attached to the English Embassy
and by a cicerone: he appeared to be about twenty-two. His features were
of so exquisite a delicacy, that one might almost have given him a
feminine appearance, but for the manly expression of his fine blue eyes.
On entering the inner shop he took off his hat, and showed a head of
curly auburn hair, which improved in no small degree the uncommon beauty
of his face. The impression his whole appearance made upon my mind, was
such that it has ever remained most deeply engraven on it; and although
fifteen years have since gone by, the lapse of time has not in the least
impaired the freshness of the recollection." Then, speaking of his
manner, he goes on to say: "There was so irresistible an attraction in
his manner, that only those who have been so fortunate as to be admitted
to his intimacy can have felt its power."
Moore once asked Lady Holland whether she believed that Lady Byron had
ever really loved Lord Byron. "Could it be otherwise?" replied Lady
Holland. "Was it possible not to love so lovable a creature? I see him
there now, surrounded as it were by that great light: oh, how handsome
he was!"
One of the most difficult things to define was the color of his eyes. It
was a mixture of blue, gray, and violet, and these various colors were
each uppermost according to the thought which occupied his mind or his
heart. "Tell me, dear," said the little Eliza to her sister, whose
enthusiasm for Byron she shared, "tell me what is the color of his
eyes?" "I can not say; I believe them to be dark," answered Miss Eliza,
"but all I know is that they have quite a supernatural splendor." And
one day, having looked at them with greater attention in order to
ascertain their color, she said, "They are the finest eyes in the world,
but not dark, as I had at first believed. Their hue is that of the eyes
of Mary Stuart, and his long, black eye-lashes make them appear dark.
Never did I before, nor ever again shall I, see such eyes! As for his
hands, they are the most beautiful hands, for a man, I ever saw. His
voice is a sweet melody."[9]
Sir Walter Scott was enchanted when he could dilate on the extraordinary
beauty of Byron. One day, at Mr. Home Drummond's, he exclaimed:--"As for
poets, I have seen the best that this country has produced, and although
Burns had the finest eyes that can be imagined, I never thought that any
man except Byron could give an artist the exact idea of a poet. His
portraits do not do him the least justice; the varnish is there, but the
ray of sunshine is wanting to light them up. The beauty of Byron," he
added "is one which makes one dream."
Colonel Wildman, his colleague at Harrow, and his friend, was always
wont to say, "Lord Byron is the only man among all those I have seen,
who may be called, without restriction, a really handsome man."
Disraeli, in his novel entitled "Venetia," speaks thus of the beauty of
Hubert (who is Lord Byron) when Venetia finds his portrait:--
"That being of supernatural beauty is her father. Young as he was,
command and genius, the pride of noble passions, all the glory of a
creative mind, seemed stamped upon his brow. With all his marvellous
beauty he seemed a being born for greatness.... Its reality exceeded the
wildest dreams of her romance, her brightest visions of grace and
loveliness and genius seemed personified in this form. He was a man in
the very spring of sunny youth and of radiant beauty. He was above the
middle height, yet with a form that displayed exquisite grace.... It
was a countenance of singular loveliness and power. The lips and the
moulding of the chin resembled the eager and impassioned tenderness of
the shape of Antinous; but instead of the effeminate sullenness of the
eye and the narrow smoothness of the forehead, shone an expression of
profound and piercing thought. On each side of the clear and open brow
descended, even to the shoulders, the clustering locks of golden hair;
while the eyes large and yet deep, beamed with a spiritual energy, and
shone like two wells of crystalline water that reflect the all-beholding
heavens."
M. Beyle (Stendhal) writes to Mr. Swanton Belloc:--"It was in the autumn
of the year 1816 that I met Lord Byron at the theatre of the Scala, at
Milan, in the box of the Bremen Minister. I was struck with Lord Byron's
eyes at the time when he was listening to a sestetto in Mayer's opera of
"Elena." I never in my life saw any thing more beautiful or more
expressive. Even now, when I think of the expression which a great
painter should give to genius, I always have before me that magnificent
head. I had a moment of enthusiasm." And further, he adds that one day
he saw him listening to Monti while the latter was singing his first
couplet in the "Mascheroniana." "I shall never forget," said he, "the
divine expression of his look; it was the serene look of genius and
power."
I might multiply these testimonies of people who have seen him, and fill
many pages; their particular character is their uniform resemblance.
This proves the soundness of the ground on which their truth is based. I
will add one more testimony to the others, that of Mrs. Shelley, which
is even nearer the truth, and condenses all the others:--"Lord Byron,"
said this distinguished woman, "was the first genius of his age and the
handsomest of men."
In all these portraits there is much truth, but they are not
sufficiently complete to give those who never saw him any but a faint
idea of his smile, or of his mouth, which seemed to be not suited to
material purposes, and to be purely intellectual and divine; of his
eyes, which changed from one color to another according to the various
emotions of his soul, but the habitual expression of which was that of
an infinite and intense softness; of his sublime and noble brow; of his
melodious voice, which attracted and captivated; and of that kind of
supernatural light which seemed to surround him like a halo.
This inability on the part of artists and biographers to render exactly
Byron's features and looks, is not to be wondered at, for although
perfectly regular, his features derived their principal beauty from the
life which his soul instilled into them. The emotions of his heart, the
changes of his thoughts, appeared so variously upon his countenance, and
gave the latter so changeable a cast, that it sufficed not for the
artist who had to portray him, to gaze at and study him, as one
generally does less gifted or elevated organizations. The reality was
more likely to be well interpreted when it stood a prey to the various
emotions of the soul; in his leisure hours, in the full enjoyment of