My Recollections of Lord Byron
[Footnote 204: This strange prayer ran thus:--"O Lord Almighty, give us
strength to destroy the last man of that perfidious nation (the French),
which has sworn to devour alive thy faithful servants (the English)."]
[Footnote 205: Stanzas of second canto of "Childe Harold."]
[Footnote 206: Moore, Letter 162.]
[Footnote 207: The system of depreciating Byron's acts never once
ceased. It followed him to Greece and even to the tomb. Count Gamba, his
friend and companion, in speaking of the excellent health enjoyed by all
during the passage from Genoa to Greece, says:--
"We were in excellent health and spirits during our whole voyage from
Italy to Greece, and for this we were partly indebted to our medical
man, and partly to that temperance which was observed by every one on
board, except at the beginning of the voyage by the captain of our
vessel, who, however, ended by adopting our mode of life. I mention this
to contradict an idle story told in a magazine ('The London') 'that Lord
Byron on this voyage passed the principal part of the day drinking with
the captain of the ship.' Lord Byron, as we all did, passed his time
chiefly reading. He dined alone on deck; and sometimes in the evening he
sat down with us to a glass or two, not more, of light Asti wine. He
amused himself in jesting occasionally with the captain, whom he ended,
however, by inspiring with a love of reading, such as he thought he had
never felt before."
But his enemies were not discouraged. When they saw that Byron landed in
one of the Ionian Islands, which was a far wiser and more prudent course
to adopt, and one which might prove infinitely more beneficial to Greece
than going straight to the Morea, they spread the report that instead of
going to Greece, he spent his life in debauchery and in the continuation
of his poem of "Don Juan," at rest in a lovely villa situated on one of
the islands. Moore informed him rather abruptly of this report, which
distressed him greatly.]
REFLECTIONS UPON MR. DISRAELI'S NOVEL
"VENETIA:"
A SEMI-BIOGRAPHY OF LORD BYRON.
Is Mr. Disraeli to be classed among the biographers of Lord Byron
because in his preface to "Venetia" he declares that his object is to
portray Lord Byron? We do not think so. Truth and error, romance and
history, are too much intermixed, and the author himself confesses this
fact in calling his work a novel. But while denying to "Venetia" the
right of being styled a biography, we must admit that it is both a deep,
true, and at times admirable study of the fine and so ill-judged
character of Lord Byron. The extraordinary qualities with which he was
gifted, both in heart and in mind, his genius, his amiability, his
irresistible attractions, his almost supernatural beauty, are all set
forth with consummate ability, and the greatest penetration. He has made
all his other characters, which are for the most part imaginary,
subservient to this end; and he has created some (such as Lady Annabel)
which moralists will not easily admit to be possible, it being granted
that all the characters in the book are mentally sane. It is
questionable whether the virtues and qualities which adorn Lady Annabel
are compatible with the defects of her nature. Mr. Disraeli has acted in
the same way as regards the circumstances of Byron's life; he has heaped
them together without any regard to what may or may not be true in their
supposed occurrence, some of them being founded on reality and others
not so.
He has given Byron two individualities. Lord Cadurcis represents Byron
from his infancy to the time of his marriage, and Mr. Herbert equally
represents Lord Byron from that fatal epoch till his death. The
selection of two persons to represent one same character and to allow of
Byron's simple yet complex nature being better understood was a very
happy philosophical notion.
He portrays Lord Byron as he was, or as he would have been in the given
circumstances; and he pictures the others as they should or might have
been, not as they were. In reading "Venetia" it is impossible not to
like Lord Cadurcis, and to admire him, just as all those who knew Lord
Byron loved and esteemed him, or not to respect Mr. Herbert, whom he
styles "the best and greatest of men," as he would have been revered had
Byron reached a greater age. He depicts Byron at every epoch of his
life, and as circumstances develop his latent predispositions.
He first shows him to us as the innocent child, whose heart is full of
tenderness, meekness, sensibility, and docility, such as his tutor, Dr.
Drury, said he was: "rather easier to be led with a silken string than
with a cable;" who is gifted with a noble and proud nature, which is
easily moved; who possesses a great sense of justice and an undaunted
courage; who scorns excuse and cares not to lessen his fault. He then
shows him as the thoughtful boy, both when alone and with others; and as
the gayest and wildest of creatures when in the company of the beloved
companion of his childish sports; a boy full of kindness, and of the
desire to please; whose absence is ever a subject of regret, so great is
the love he inspires, both in his master and in his servants, and indeed
in all who come near him. At his early age can already be traced the
germs of those qualities which foretell that brilliant mind which is to
win some day the heart of a nation, and dazzle the fancy of a world of
admirers. The sight of the fair hair and of the angelic beauty of the
little Venetia is enough to dry his tears; and herein we not only
perceive already the extreme impressionable disposition of his nature,
but also the power and influence which beauty is destined to exercise
over him. The love of solitude and meditation is already traceable in
the child. He loves to wander at night among the dark and solitary
cloisters of his Abbey; he loves to listen to the whistling of the wind
re-echoed by the cloisters; he delights in the murmurs of the waters of
his lake when the winter storms disturb their serenity, and uproot the
strongest oaks of his park. Proud of his race, his whole nature
sympathizes with the glorious deeds of his ancestors, and one feels that
he would fain rather die than show himself unworthy of them.
One sees the germs of poetry sown in his mind--but one feels that the
heart alone can make them fructify, and give them an outward form.
Nothing is more touching than the tenderness which he feels and inspires
wherever he goes.
Mr. Disraeli then shows him in his youth, just at the time when he is to
leave college for the university, and presents him to the reader as a
remarkably well-educated young man, in whom the best principles have
been inculcated, and whose conduct and conversation bear evidence of a
pure, generous, and energetic soul "that has acquired at a very early
age much of the mature and fixed character of manhood without losing any
thing of that boyish sincerity and simplicity that are too often the
penalty of experience.
"He was indeed sincerely religious, and as he knelt in the old chapel
that had been the hallowed scene of his boyish devotions, he offered his
ardent thanksgiving to his Creator who had mercifully kept his soul pure
and true, and allowed him, after so long an estrangement from the sweet
spot of his childhood, once more to mingle his supplications with his
kind and virtuous friends."
"He is what I always hoped he would be," says Lady Annabel. "Remember
what a change his life had to endure; few, after such an interval, would
have returned with feelings so kind and so pure. I always fancied that I
observed in him the seeds of great virtues and great talents, but I was
not so sanguine that they would have flourished as they appear to have
done."
Young as he is, he is already accustomed to reflect; and the result of
his dreams is a desire to live away from the world with those he loves.
The world as seen by others has no attraction for him. What the world
covets appears to him paltry and faint. He sympathizes with great deeds,
but not with a boisterous existence. He cares not for that which is
ordinary. He loves what is rare and out of the common way. He dwells
upon the deeds of his ancestors in Palestine and in France, who have
left a memorable name in the annals of their country. Cadurcis
experiences inwardly a desire, and even the power to imitate their
example. He feels that to become the world's wonder no sacrifice is
great enough; but in this age of mechanism, what career is left to a
chivalrous spirit like his? He then longs for the happiness of private
life in the company of so perfect a creature as Venetia; but he is still
so young, and Venetia, who loves him like a brother and a friend, can
not as yet understand the nature of another kind of love. He then leaves
for the university, with grief implanted at the bottom of his heart.
Disraeli then shows how, after three years, during which time his genius
had been smouldering as it were, it at last appeared in a splendor quite
unrivalled and unexampled, like a star equally strange and brilliant,
which scarcely has it become visible in the horizon, than it already
reaches its zenith. Not only is he distinguished by his writings, but by
a thousand other ways, which fill the heart and dazzle the eyes. Where
every thing is remarkable he is most noticed; and the most conspicuous
where all is brilliant. He is envied by men, praised and sought after by
women, admired by all. His life has become a perpetual triumph, a
splendid act, which is enthusiastically applauded, and in which he ever
plays the best and most heroic part. In the midst of this infatuation of
a whole nation, among those handsome and noble women who forget
themselves too much since they forget themselves entirely for the honor
of a look from him, why is he not happy? What is he craving for? What is
his occupation? Why, when envied by all, is he yet to be pitied? It is
that his life is still, and will ever be, the life of the heart which
finds no satisfaction to its desire in the midst of the world wherein it
is doomed to live.
On one occasion he finds himself at the house of the most fashionable
woman in London, of the great and beautiful person whose love for him is
greater than he would wish. Many people are assembled there; dinner is
about to be announced. No one but himself attracts attention or calls
for enthusiastic eulogies; yet he is sad, absent, wearied. By his proud,
handsome looks, his reserve, and his melancholy attitude, he might be
taken for an unearthly being, condemned, as a punishment, to visit our
terrestrial orb. All of a sudden his melancholy gives way to the
liveliest animation; his cheeks glow, and happiness beams in his
beautiful eyes. What has happened? Among the guests arriving he has
heard the servant call out the name of his old tutor at Cherbury, the
friend of all the friends of his youth. Raised to the dignity of a
bishop, the late tutor has arrived in London to take his seat in the
House of Lords. Again to see this friend of his youth, who is likely to
speak to him of Cherbury, which he loved so dearly, and of Venetia, is a
pleasure which his triumphs have never afforded him; and from that
moment all is changed in his eyes, every thing is smiling, every thing
is bright.
He learns that Lady Annabel and Venetia have left their retreat of
Cherbury and have arrived in London. Cadurcis has but one thought, one
aspiration, that of seeing them again. He does see Venetia again, and he
feels that the world's praises are no longer any thing to him, except to
be placed at her feet, and that he would give up all the idolatry of
which he is the object for one year of happiness spent at Cherbury. When
Venetia sees her ideal realized, and that Lord Cadurcis unites in him