My Recollections of Lord Byron
all the qualities of her dear Plantagenet with those brilliant and
imposing talents which command love and admiration; when she beholds in
him the genius of her father linked with the heart of her earliest
friend, to whom she is still so deeply attached; when she sees her dear
Plantagenet "courted, considered, crowned, incensed--in fact, a great
man" living in an atmosphere of glory and in the midst of the applause
of his contemporaries, Venetia exchanges her fraternal love, which was
so touching, for the most ardent passion which one perfect creature can
inspire in one as perfect as itself.
But the obstacle to their happiness now arises, and Lady Annabel it is
who becomes metamorphosed into a woman whose judgment is false, whose
prejudices are great, whose principles are inexorable; who knows nothing
of the world, nothing of her own heart nor of the human heart; who
judges all things by certain arbitrary rules, and acts sternly in
accordance with her inexplicable judgment. All the love which she would
have had for Plantagenet at Cherbury is turned into hatred on learning
that he has become a great poet, the admiration of his country, the
observed of all observers; that all the world is anxious to see him,
that the finest ladies sigh for one of his looks, that he is not
insensible to their admiration, that he is a Whig, and not only a Whig,
but very nearly a rebel. She reads his poems, and her astonishment is
only surpassed by the horror with which they inspire her. She sees
Herbert in Cadurcis, and unable as she was to understand the former, so
is she unequal to the task of comprehending Cadurcis. An imaginative
being makes her tremble; such a creature can only be a monster. The
praises bestowed upon Cadurcis do not shake her prejudices. His cousin,
a brave sailor--a Tory, whose nature is as noble as it is frank and
loyal--in vain tells her that Cadurcis is one of the most generous, most
amiable, and most praiseworthy of men. In vain does he assure her that
notwithstanding the difference of their political opinions, he can
scarcely give her an idea of the delicacy and unbounded goodness which
he has shown--that his heart is perfect, that his intellect is the
finest that ever existed, and that if his conduct has at times been a
little irregular, allowances must be made for the temptations which
assailed him at the age of twenty-one, the sole master of his acts, and
with all London at his feet. "It is too much for any one's head; but say
or think what the world may, I know there is not a finer creature in
existence. Venetia, who feels the truth of all this, inwardly exclaims,
'Dear, dear Cadurcis, can one be surprised at your being beloved when
you are so generous, so amiable, so noble, so affectionate!' But the
poor child in vain recalls to her mother the conduct of Plantagenet, who
displays constancy in his true affections. 'No,' exclaims Lady Annabel,
'minds like his have no heart, a different impulse directs their
existence--I mean imagination.'"
Lady Annabel tortures her daughter, to extort from her the promise that
she will never marry Lord Cadurcis. Her devotion for that daughter,
which seemed to be the essence of her life, is no longer in this
hard-hearted woman but a form of her egotism; and Venetia, vexed in all
her natural sentiments, instead of being the idol of her affections,
becomes in reality the martyr of her pride.
After dwelling upon the agony of mind experienced by these two beautiful
and loving souls, both victims of Lady Annabel's cruelty, Disraeli shows
us Cadurcis a prey to despair; enduring the consequences of the
fashionable life which he is compelled to lead, that is, of the
dissipated existence which he wades through against his will; the
victim, besides, of the jealous and fanatical love of the great lady
whose yoke he had not been able as yet to shake off. A duel between him
and the lady's husband is the result, and nothing is more admirable than
the picture of Lord Byron (or Lord Cadurcis) in all the scenes which
precede and follow this duel; his calmness, his courage, the mixture of
humor and wit with which he ever was wont to meet the greatest perils,
and which was one of the characteristics of his nature, and, above all,
that great and noble generosity of which he gave so many proofs in every
circumstance and at every period of his life. Then followed the
consequences of the duel, and the capital derived from it by the
accumulated stupidity and revenge of those inferior persons jealous of
his superiority and of his popular fame.
Nothing is so beautiful, however, as the scene which takes place first
at the club and then at the House of Lords, where Mr. Disraeli shows
this noble and calumniated creature the object of the base and
hypocritical jealousy of most of his colleagues, who, notwithstanding
their hatred for him, were wont to call themselves his friends; when,
exhausted and almost the victim of a ferocious hatred of an excited
populace, he stands calm in the midst of these truly English elements in
the attitude of an archangel or of a demi-god, opposing them and
maintaining his ground until with the aid of a few brave and faithful
friends, of the constable's truncheon, and the arrival of the mounted
guard, he succeeds in getting rid of them altogether. All this, although
not quite true, either as a historical fact or in its details, is,
however, so admirably told, that it may be taken as a document well
worthy of consideration by the biographer, and of which extracts can not
be given without spoiling the whole.
In the midst of the turmoil occasioned by this duel, in which his
adversary had been seriously wounded, Cadurcis suddenly finds himself
abandoned by those who called themselves his friends, calumniated by the
press, who spare no falsehoods to disparage his character, but whose
contradictions have no effect in his great successes. Cadurcis, gifted
as he is with an extreme sensibility, and accustomed to live in an
atmosphere of praise, finds himself suddenly nailed to the pillory of
public indignation, sees his writings, his habits, his character, and
his person, equally censured, ridiculed, and blemished; in fact, he
finds himself the victim of reaction, and yet all this does not affect
his mind; his true agony is caused not by the regret at losing his
prestige and his popularity, nor by the conduct of those who style
themselves his friends, and who now joined his enemies in spreading and
believing in the false reports respecting him. His greatness of soul and
the purity of his conscience alike help him to endure these misfortunes;
but what really does give him pain, is the thought that all these absurd
rumors will reach the ears of Venetia. He has lost all hope of obtaining
her hand, but he feels the want of her esteem. He wishes her to judge
him as he deserves to be judged; and the thought that she likewise may
put faith in the infamous and stupid reports which are spread about him,
throws him into despair. When his cousin announces to him that he has
succeeded in making the truth known to Venetia, how consoled he feels,
and how grateful is he to his cousin! To his credit, the cousin did
actually, in presence of Lady Annabel, who remained incredulous,
endeavor to re-establish facts in their true light; and despite her
sullen mood, did he courageously undertake the defense of Cadurcis,
accuse the Mounteagles and the world in general, and conclude by
declaring that "Cadurcis was the best creature that ever existed, the
most unfortunate, the most ill-treated; and that if one should be liable
to be pursued for such an affair, over which Cadurcis could have no
control, there was not a man in London who could be sheltered from it
for ten minutes." When Lord Cadurcis receives Venetia's message, which
is to tell him that he remains for her what he has ever been, the
announcement acts upon him as a charm, brings calm back to his mind, and
renders him indifferent for the future to the opinion of the world. The
experience of that day has entirely cured him of his former deference
for the opinion of society. The world has outraged him. He no longer
owes any thing to the world. His reception in the House of Lords, and
the riot outside the house, have severed his ties with all classes, from
the highest to the lowest; his grateful heart will ever preserve the
remembrance of those who have shown him true affection by displaying
moral courage in his defense. But they are few,--some relations, or
nearly such by their association with them, and for these his gratitude
and his respect are unlimited; but as for the others, he will pay them
back by showing them his contempt, by publishing the truth respecting
them, their country, their habits, their laws, their customs, their
opinions, in order that they may be known and judged by the whole
world,--a tribunal far more enlightened than the limited one of his
native isle. Henceforth he resolves never again to meet the advances of
those civilized "ruffians" who affect to be sociable. He prepares to
leave England, with the intention never again to return to it. He shuts
himself up in his room for a week, and allowing free scope to his
passionate and wounded soul, he writes his adieu to England, and in the
task his mind finds relief. In this poem, wherein a few well-merited
sarcasms find a place, and wherein there are many allusions to Venetia,
there are passages so delicate, so tender, so irresistibly pathetic,
that it exercised an extraordinary influence upon public opinion. Again
the tide of public sympathy runs high in his favor; it is found that
Cadurcis is the most calumniated of mortals, that he is more interesting
than ever; and Lady Mounteagle is spoken of as she deserves. Cadurcis
is, however, too proud to accept new sympathies likely to make him
suffer all that he has already suffered. He quits his native land,
surrounded by a halo of glory, but with contempt on his part for that
popular favor of which he has too cruelly experienced the worth. He
sails for Greece, and here Disraeli shows how he led a life of study,
and finally depicts him, under the name of Herbert, as a philosopher and
a virtuous man, who, after behaving as a hero, and after abandoning some
of the illusions of youth, and principally that of making men wiser and
better, aspires only at leading a mild, regular, virtuous, and
philosophical existence.
Notwithstanding the great charm of Mr. Disraeli's book, to give extracts
from which would only be to spoil it, it must, however, be allowed that
the real and the imaginary are too much intermingled. All the fictions
of time and place, which only leave the sentiments of the real man
untouched, all the double and treble characters which at times quit, and
at others resume, their individuality almost as in a dream, tend to
create a confusion which is prejudicial to truth. Thus, Lady Annabel has
charms and qualities wholly incompatible with her supposed stern
severity. Miss Venetia, a perfect emanation of love and beauty, is at
times transformed into an imaginary Miss Chaworth, and at others into a
beloved sister, and at others again into an adorable Ada----; Lady
Mounteagle is sometimes too like, and often too unlike, the real Lady C.
L----; the whole is confused, fatiguing to the mind, and too fictitious
not to be regretted, since the express intention of the author is to
paint a historical character, acting in the midst of circumstances
generally founded on reality.
In following out the intention of the author, and his want of respect
for truth, it is impossible not to ask ourselves why, while respecting
circumstances of such slight import as the preservation of the Christian
names of the mother and wife, he has not done the same for more