My Recollections of Lord Byron
elements, which belonged separately to individuals in France, in
England, and in various countries, being united in Lord Byron, produced
a kind of anomaly which startled systematic critics, and even honest
biographers. The apparent contradiction of all these qualities caused
his critics to lose their psychological compass in their estimate of his
charming nature, and justice, together with truth, suffered by the
result. Thus a portrait, drawn over and over again, still remains to be
painted.
The most imaginary portrait, however, of Lord Byron, and certainly the
least like him, is that which has general currency in France: not only
has that portrait not been drawn from nature, not only is it a
caricature, but it is also a calumny. Those who drew it took romance for
history. They charged or exaggerated incidents in his life and
peculiarities of his character; thus the harmony of the _tout ensemble_
was lost. Ugliness and eccentricity, which amuse, succeeded beauty and
truth, which are sometimes wearisome.
Those who knew and loved Lord Byron even more as a man than a genius
(and, after all, these are those who knew him personally) suffer by this
injustice done to him, and feel the absurdity of making so privileged a
being act so whimsical a part, and one so contrary to his nature as well
as to the reality of his life.
If this imaginary portrait, however, were more like those which his best
biographers have drawn of him, justice to his memory would become so
difficult a task as to be almost impossible. Happily it is not so; and
those who would conscientiously consult Moore, Parry, and Gamba, must
at least give up the idea that this admirable genius was the eccentric
and unamiable being he has been represented. To reach this point would,
perhaps, require a greater respect for truth.
Even in France there are many superior persons who, struck by the force
of facts, have at times endeavored to seize certain features which might
lead to the discovery of truth, and have attempted to show that Lord
Byron's noble character and beauty of soul, as well as his genius, did
honor to humanity. But their efforts have been vain in presence of the
absurd and contradictory creation of fancy which has been styled "Lord
Byron," and which with few modifications, continues to be called so to
this day.
How has this occurred? what gave rise to it? ignorance, or carelessness?
Both causes in France, added to revenge in England, which found its
expression in cant,--a species of scourge which is becoming quite the
fashion.
The first of these French biographers (I mean of those who have written
upon and wished to characterize Lord Byron), without knowing the man
they were writing about, set to work with a ready-made Byron. This, no
doubt, they found to be an easier method to follow, and one of which the
results must prove at least original. But where had they found, and from
whose hands did they receive this ready-made poet, whose features they
reproduced and offered to the world? Probably from a few lines, not
without merit, of Lamartine, who by the aid of his rich imagination had
identified Byron with the types which he had conceived for his Oriental
poems, mixing up the whole with a heap of calumnies which had just been
circulated about him.
Perhaps also from certain critics who believed in the statements of
various calumniators, and who themselves had probably not had any better
authority than a few articles in badly informed papers, or in newspapers
politically opposed to Lord Byron. We all know, by what we see daily in
France, how little we can trust the moderation of these, and the justice
they render to their adversaries; what must it not have been in England
at that time, when passions ran so high?--Perhaps also from the jealousy
of dethroned rivals!--the echoes, perhaps, of the revenge of a woman
equally distinguished by her rank and by her talent, but whose passion
approached the boundaries of madness, or of the implacable hatred of a
few fanatics who, substituting in the most shameless manner their
worldly and sectarian interests for the Gospel, denounced him as an
atheist because he himself had proclaimed them hypocrites. Finally,
perhaps, from a host of absurd rumors, equally odious and vague, caused
by his separation from his wife, and by the articles published in
newspapers printed at Venice and at Milan.
For Byron's noble, simple, and sublime person was therefore substituted
an imaginary being, formed out of these prejudices and these
contradictory elements, too outrageous even to be believed, and by dint
of sheer malice.
Thus enveloped in a dense atmosphere, which became an obstacle to the
disclosure of truth as the clouds are to the rays of the sun, his image
only appeared in fantastical outlines borrowed from "Conrad the
Corsair," or "Childe Harold," or "Lara," or "Manfred," or indeed "Don
Juan." Analogies were sought which do not exist, and to the poet were
attributed the sentiments, and even the acts, of these imaginary beings,
albeit without any of the great qualities which constituted his great
and noble soul, and which he has not imparted to any of his poetical
creations.
Upon him were heaped every possible and most contradictory
accusation--of skepticism and pantheism, of deism and atheism, of
superstition and enthusiasm, of irony and passion, of sensuality and
ideality, of generosity and avarice. These went to form his portrait,
presenting every contrast and every antagonism, which God Himself, the
Father and Creator of all things, but also the Author of all harmony,
could not have assembled in one and the same being unless He made of him
a species of new Frankenstein, incapable of treading the ordinary paths
of physical, moral, or intellectual, nay, of the most ordinary
existence.
After thus producing such an eccentric character,--the more
extraordinary that they entirely forgot to consult the true and most
simple history of his life, where if some of the ordinary excusable
faults of youth are to be found, "some remarkable qualities, however,
must be noticed,"--these wonderful biographers exclaim, astonished as it
were at their own conclusions:--"This is indeed a most singular,
extraordinary, and not-to-be-defined being!"
I should think so: it is their own work, not the noble, amiable, and
sublime mind, the work of God, and which he always exhibited in himself,
"Per far di colassa fede fra noi."--PETRARCH.
Happily, if to paint the portrait of Byron has become impossible, now
that
"Poca terra e rimasto il suo belviso,"
it is easy to describe his moral character. His invisible form is, it is
true, above, but a conscientious examination of his whole life will give
us an idea of it. He knew this so well himself, that a few days before
his death he begged, as a favor, of his friend Lord Harrington, then
Colonel Stanhope, at Missolonghi, to judge him only by his deeds. "Judge
me by my deeds."
All bombastic expressions, all systematic views should be discarded, and
attention paid only to facts, in order to discover the fine intellectual
figure of Lord Byron so completely lost sight of by his detractors.
Since the imaginary creations of his pen in moments of exalted passion
should not be taken as the real manifestation of his character, the
latter is to be found in his own deeds, and in the testimony of those
who knew him personally. Herein shall we seek truth by which we are to
deal with the fanciful statements which have too long been received as
facts. Let us consider the opinions of those who by their authority have
a right to portray him, while we study the various causes which have
contributed to lead the public into errors which time has nearly
consecrated, but which shall be corrected in France, and indeed in every
country where passion and animosity have no interest in maintaining
them.
"Public opinion," says M. Cousin, "has its errors, but these can not be
of long duration." They lasted a long time, however, as regards Lord
Byron; but, thanks to God, they will not be eternal. He depended upon
this himself, for he once at Ravenna wrote these prophetic words in a
memorandum:--
"Never mind the wicked, who have ever persecuted me with the help of
Lady Byron: triumphant justice will be done to me when the hand which
writes this is as cold as the hearts that have wounded me."
In England, Lord Byron triumphed over many jealous enemies whom his
first satire earned for him, no less than the rapid and wonderful rise
of his genius, which, instead of appearing by degrees, burst forth at
once, as it were, and towering over many established reputations. The
prestige which he acquired was such that every obstacle was surmounted,
and in one day he saw himself raised against his will, and without his
having ever sought the honor, to the highest pinnacle of fashion and
literary fame.
In a country where success is all, his enemies, and those who were
jealous of his name, were obliged to fall back; but they did not give up
their weapons nor their spite. One curious element was introduced in the
national veneration for the poet. It was agreed that never had such an
accumulation of various gifts been heaped upon the head of one man: he
was to be revered and honored, but on one condition. He was to be a
mysterious being whose genius should not transgress the boundaries of
the East; who was to allow himself to be identified with the imaginary
beings of his own fancy, however disagreeable, nay, even criminal they
might be in reality. True, his personal conduct (at twenty-four) was to
be above all human weakness; if not, he was to be treated, as certain
superstitious votaries treat their idols if they do not obtain at once
the miracles they ask for. His secret enemies perfidiously made use of
these stupid demands of the public.
Insinuating and giving out at times one calumny after another, they
always kept behind the scenes, resolved, however, to ruin him in the
public esteem on the first opportunity, which they knew they would not
have long to wait for from one so open, so passionate, so generous as
Lord Byron. The greatest misfortune of his life--his marriage--gave them
their opportunity. Then they came forth, threw down the mask which they
had hitherto worn, to put on one more hideous still; overturned the
statue from the pedestal upon which the public had raised it, and tried
to mutilate its remains. But as the stuff of which it was made was a
marble which could not be broken, they only defiled, insulted, and
outlawed it.
Then it was that France made acquaintance with Lord Byron. She saw him
first mysteriously enveloped in the romantic semblance of a Corsair, of
a skeptical Harold, of a young lord who had despised and wounded his
mother-country, from which he had almost been obliged to exile himself,
in consequence of a series of eccentricities, faults, and--who
knows?--of crimes, perhaps. Thus caught in a perfidious net, Lord Byron
left England for Switzerland.
He found Shelley, whom he only knew by name, at Geneva, where he
stopped. Shelley was another victim of English fanatical and intolerant
opinions; but he, it may be allowed at least, had given cause for this
by some reprehensible writings, in which he had declared himself an
atheist. No allowance had been made for his youth, for he was only
seventeen when he wrote "Queen Mab," and he found himself expelled not
only from the university but also from his home, which was to him a real
cause of sorrow and misfortune.
Between these two great minds there existed a wide gulf--that which
exists between pantheism and spiritualism; but they had one great point
of resemblance, their mutual passionate love for justice and humanity,
their hatred of cant and hypocrisy, in fact, all the elevated sentiments