My Recollections of Lord Byron
the noblest souls experience, because their home is not here, because
reality disgusts them, from the striking contrast it presents with the
ideal type, in their mind, especially at our epoch, and in our present
social condition, when men can with difficulty preserve interior calm
by dint of compulsory occupations requiring much energy. And, lastly,
there was the sadness inherent to a physical temperament of such
exquisite sensibility. Yet, notwithstanding all the above, and though
Lord Byron was condemned to drain the cup of bitterness to its dregs, we
think he ought not to be classed among geniuses exclusively swayed by
the melancholy in their nature, since almost all his sadness sprang from
accident, and from a sort of fictitious temperament produced by
circumstances. Thus his melancholy, being fictitious, remained generally
subject in real life to his fine natural temperament, only gaining the
mastery when he was under the influence of inspiration, and with pen in
hand.
"All is strange," says La Bruyere, "in the humor, morals, and manners of
most men.... The wants of this life, the situation in which we are,
necessity's law, force _nature, and cause great changes in it_. Thus
such men can not be defined, thoroughly and in themselves; too many
external things affect, change, and overwhelm them; they are not
precisely what they are, or rather, what they appear to be."
Thus, then, having a natural disposition for gayety received from God,
and which I shall call _interior_, which always had the upper hand in
all important actions of his life, but which was only truly known by
those who approached him closely, I conclude that gayety often
predominated, and ought to have predominated much more, in Lord Byron's
life.
But through the fictitious character, which I will call _exterior_,
derived from _education, from circumstances of family, country, and
association_, which (apparently) modified the first, and gave the world
sometimes a reason, and sometimes a pretext for inventing that dark myth
called by his name, _and which really only influenced his writings_,
melancholy often predominated in his life. However, its sway was less in
reality than in the imagination of those who wished to identify the man
with the poet, and to find the real Lord Byron in the heroes of his
early poems.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 161: See the Introduction.]
[Footnote 162: See chapter on "Generosity."]
[Footnote 163: See chapter on "Friendships."]
[Footnote 164: Ibid.]
[Footnote 165: See chapter on "Love of Fame."]
[Footnote 166: Dallas, vol. ii.]
[Footnote 167: Moore, vol. i.]
[Footnote 168: See Moore, 35th and 36th letters.]
[Footnote 169: See "Childe Harold."]
[Footnote 170: See Introduction.]
[Footnote 171: "His lordship was in better spirits when I had met with
some adventure, and he chuckled with an inward sense of enjoyment, not
altogether without spleen, a kind of malicious satisfaction, as his
companions recounted, with all becoming gravity, their woes and
sufferings as an apology for begging a bed and a morsel for the night.
God forgive! but I partook of Byron's levity at the idea of personages
so consequential wandering destitute in the streets, seeking for
lodgings from door to door, and rejected at all. Next day, however, they
were accommodated by the governor with an agreeable house," etc.--GALT,
p. 66.]
[Footnote 172: See chapter on "Courage, Coolness, and Self-control."]
[Footnote 173: Moore, vol. i.]
[Footnote 174: Galt says that what he relates of his visit to Ali Pasha
has all the _freshness and life of a scene going on under one's own
eye_.]
[Footnote 175: See Moore, Letters 52 and 54, to Mrs. Byron.]
[Footnote 176: Galt, p. 105.]
[Footnote 177: Moore, Letter 81.]
[Footnote 178: "Jacopo Ortis," Ugo Foscolo.]
[Footnote 179: Moore, Letter 166.]
[Footnote 180: Ibid.]
[Footnote 181: Moore, Letters 183 and 184.]
[Footnote 182: "Childe Harold," canto iv.]
[Footnote 183: Letter 312.]
[Footnote 184: See his "Life in Italy."]
[Footnote 185:
"Che giova a te, cor mio, l'esser amato?
Che giova a me l'aver si cara Amante?
Se tu, crudo Destine, ne dividi
Cio che amor ne stringe!"]
[Footnote 186: Letter 386.]
[Footnote 187: Letter 389.]
[Footnote 188: It was then that "Sardanapalus" came to light.]
[Footnote 189: See chapter on "Life in Ravenna."]
[Footnote 190:
"Many small articles make up a sum,
And hey ho for Caleb Quotem, oh!"]
[Footnote 191: See Letter 435.]
[Footnote 192: Moore, Letter 471.]
[Footnote 193: See his "Life at Genoa."]
[Footnote 194: See chapter on "Faults."]
CHAPTER XXV.
LOVE OF TRUTH; OR, CONSCIENCE A CHIEF CHARACTERISTIC OF LORD BYRON.
Some of Lord Byron's biographers, unable to overcome the difficulty of
defining so complete a character, or of explaining, by ordinary rules,
certain contradictions apparent in his rich nature, think to excuse
their own inefficiency and elude the difficulty, by saying that he did
not possess one of those striking points, or decided inclinations, that
constitute a man's moral physiognomy. They pretend that his qualities of
heart and mind, his passions, inclinations, virtues, faults, are so
combined in his ardent, mobile nature, as to make him in reality the
sport of chance; and that no inclination or passion whatsoever could
ever become mistress of his heart or mind, so as to constitute the basis
of a character, and render it possible to define it.
Moore himself, for reasons I have mentioned,[195] and which have been
sufficiently spoken of in another chapter, contents himself with saying
that Lord Byron's intellectual and moral attributes were so dazzling,
contradictory, complicated, and varied, beyond all example, that it may
be truly said there was not one man, but several men, in him:--
"So various, indeed, and contradictory, were his attributes, both moral
and intellectual, that he may be pronounced to have been, not one, but
many; nor would it be any great exaggeration of the truth to say that,
out of the mere partition of the properties of his single mind, a
plurality of characters, all different and all vigorous, might have been
furnished. It was this multiform aspect exhibited by him that led the
world, during his short, wondrous career, to compare him with that
medley host of personages, almost all differing from each other, which
he playfully enumerates in one of his journals."
These observations of Moore's are only true from a certain point of
view--the richness of Lord Byron's nature. But even if this exuberance
of faculties, united in one individual, had not been already in itself a
character, and had not constituted a well-marked distinct personality,
almost unique in kind, Moore would have been at variance with the most
profound moralists, who agree that human nature never has the simplicity
of a geometrical figure, and that, in reality, characters always are
mixed, complicated, composed of opposite elements of incompatible
inclinations and passions. For Moore appears to think that men are
almost always swayed by one chief passion, round which, as round a
pivot, life unrolls itself, just as we see in theatrical pieces. But
even if this system were correct, intimate, as he was with Lord Byron,
and so full of perspicacity, could he not have found, towering above the
rich profusion of qualities in his friend, one dominant passion? Yes, he
ought to have discovered it; but there was a _struggle_ in Moore between
the love of justice and his friendship for Lord Byron on one side, _and
the desire, alas! of keeping fair with a host of prejudices_ arrayed
against Lord Byron on the other; and on the favor of these persons Moore
felt that his own position, or rather his pleasure in society, depended.
The master-passion that occupied so great a place in Lord Byron's mind
was his _love of truth, with all the qualities flowing from it_.
It may, perhaps, be said that all beautiful souls love truth more or
less. Yes; but seldom does this quality acquire such complete
development as in Lord Byron. For with him it was a _real passion_,
since it gave the law, so to say, to his heart, his mind, and all the
actions of his life. This extraordinary attraction, coming in contact
with the lies, hypocrisy, baseness, cowardice, and deceitfulness of
others, often raised indignation to such a pitch that he could not help
showing and expressing it. Thus his love of truth affected his social
status in England, doing him immense harm; and, if it contributed to his
greatness and his heroism, so it likewise added to his sorrows.
This noble quality showed itself in him, we may say, from his birth,
under the form of _sincerity, frankness, a passion for justice, loyalty,
delicacy, honor, and likewise in the shape of special hatred for all
hypocrisy, and for that shade of it peculiar to England, called cant_.
Amid all the passions and events of life, whatsoever the consequences,
Lord Byron always went straight at truth; as the hero marches up under
fire, or the saint to martyrdom. A lie was not only a lie to him, it was
also an injustice, a cowardice, the mark of a corrupt soul, an
inconceivable thing, and not to be forgiven. A child, at Aberdeen, he
was taken to the play to see one of Shakspeare's pieces, wherein an
actor, showing the sun, says it is the moon. He was a timid child, but
(incapable then of understanding Shakspeare's meaning) this outrage on
truth excited him so far that he rose from his seat and exclaimed, "_I
tell you, my dear sir, that it is the sun_." With regard to lying, he
remained his whole life the child of Aberdeen.
Neither his nurses nor preceptors ever surprised him in a lie.
Education, which in England, more than elsewhere, modifies and shapes
men according to the requirements of their social position, had no power
to affect the fundamental part of his nature. While forming his mind, it
did not change his heart. It destroyed some very dear illusions, and
made his soul grow sick with disappointment, so that he never ceased
regretting his happy childhood. In some respects it even had power to
superadd a fictitious character to his real one, but his qualities of
soul and his natural character still remained untouched.
The ardent affection he entertained for one of the masters at
Harrow--Dr. Drury--made him feel dislike to this gentleman's successor.
Having been asked to dinner by him, Lord Byron declined, because, he
said, that by accepting, _he should belie his heart_. At the university,
he, like his companions, ran after the young girls of Cambridge and its
environs, but he never seduced or deceived any. Early in life he adopted
the good habit of examining himself most rigidly; and so strict was his
conscience, that, where his companions saw reason to excuse him, he, on
the contrary, found cause for self-reproach.
It was this same imperious, innate want of his nature, which, combined
with certain circumstances, made him ill for a time. The malady was one
quite foreign to his temperament, springing from self-depreciation, and
because he did not then find sufficient gratification in society. A sort
of misanthropy stole over his soul, chaining him to the East for two
years, as a land where both soul and heart were less tried.
On his return home, the impressionability belonging to his ardent,
enthusiastic nature may have produced undue excitement, but no bad
feeling could ever dim the lustre of the nobler passion that held sway
over him.
For him truth was more than a virtue, it was an imperative duty.
Indulgent as he ever showed himself toward all weaknesses in general,
and especially toward the faults committed by his servants, he could not
forgive _a lie_.