My Recollections of Lord Byron
faculty to compensate for the difficulty which we find in believing, in
the same manner as playthings are given to children. But I really do not
see why God should be obliged to preserve in the universe the same
order which He once established. To whom did He promise that He would
never change it, either wholly or in part? Who knows whether some day He
will not give the moon an oval or a square shape instead of a round
one?"
This he said smiling, but added immediately after, in a serious tone:--
"Those who believe in a God, Creator of the universe, can not refuse
their belief in the possibility of miracles, for they behold in God the
first of all miracles."
Finally, Lord Byron determined himself the limits of what he deemed his
necessary belief; and remained throughout life a stanch supporter of
those opinions, but he never ceased to evince a tendency to steer clear
of intolerance, which according to him only brought one back to total
unbelief.
Let us not omit to add that, as he grew older, he saw better the
arrogant weakness of those who screen themselves under the cover of
science, and recognized more clearly each day the hand of the Creator in
the works of nature.
"Did Lord Byron pray?" is another objection which will be made.
We have already seen what he thought of prayer; we have shown that his
poems often took the form of a prayer, and we have read with admiration
various passages containing some most sublime lines which completely
answer those who accused him of want of religion, while they exhibit the
expansion of his soul toward God.
We also know with what feelings of respect he approached places devoted
to a religious life, and what charms he found in the ceremonies of the
Church. All this is proof enough, it would seem; but, in any case, we
must add that if his prayers were not those advised by Kennedy, they
were at least the prayers of a great soul which soars upward to bow
before its Creator. "Outward ceremonies," says Fenelon, "are only tokens
of that essential point, the religion of the soul, and Byron's prayer
was rather a thanksgiving than a request."--"In the eyes of God," says
some one, "a good action is worth more than a prayer."
Such was his mode of communing with God even in his early youth, but
especially in his last moments, which were so sublime. Can one doubt,
that at that solemn moment his greatest desire was to be allowed to
live? He had still to reap all the fruits of his sacrifices. His harvest
was only just beginning to ripen. By dint of heroism, he was at last
becoming known. He was young, scarcely thirty-six years of age,
handsome, rich. Rank and genius were his. He was beloved by many,
notwithstanding a host of jealous rivals; and yet, on the point of
losing all these advantages, what was his prayer? Was it egotistical or
presumptuous? was it to solicit a miracle in his favor? No, his last
words were those of noble resignation. "Let Thy holy will, my God, be
done, and not mine!" and then absorbed, as it were, in the infinity of
God's goodness, and, confiding entirely in God's mercy, he begged that
he might be left alone to sleep quietly and peacefully into eternity. On
the very day which brought to us the hope of our immortality, he would
awake in the bosom of God.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 17: Sympathy.]
[Footnote 18: The Rev. Mr. Hodgson and the Rev. Mr. Harness.]
[Footnote 19: Article on his Life in Italy and at Pisa.]
CHAPTER V.
CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH OF LORD BYRON.
All Byron's biographers (at least all those who knew him) have borne
testimony to his great goodness, but they have not dwelt sufficiently
upon this principal feature in his character. Biographers generally wish
to produce an effect. But goodness is not a sufficiently noticeable
quality to be dilated upon; it would not repay ambition or curiosity. It
is a quality mostly attributed to the saints, and a biographer prefers
dilating upon the defects of his hero, upon some adventure or
scandal--means by which it is easy, with a spark of cleverness, to make
a monster of a saint: for, alas! the most rooted convictions are often
sacrificed for the sake of amusing a reader who is difficult to please,
and of satisfying an editor.
Lord Byron's goodness, however, was so exceptional, and contrasted so
strongly with the qualities attributed to him by those who only knew him
by repute, that, in making an exception of him, astonishment, at the
very least, might have been the result. If we look at him
conscientiously in every act of his life, in his letters, and in his
poetry, we must sympathize particularly with him. We find that his
goodness shines as prominently as does his genius, and we feel that it
can bear any test at any epoch of, alas! his too short existence. As,
however, I do not purpose here to write his biography, I shall confine
myself merely to a few instances, and will give only a few proofs taken
from his early life. To no one can the words of Alfieri be better
applied than to Byron:--"He is the continuation of the child"--an idea
which has been expressed even more elegantly of late by Disraeli, in his
"Literary Characters:"--
"As the sun is seen best at its rising and its setting, so men's native
dispositions are clearly perceived while they are children, and when
they are dying."
LORD BYRON'S CHILDHOOD.
Of those who have written Byron's life, the best disposed among them
have not sufficiently noticed his admirable perfection of character when
a child, as revealed to us by sundry anecdotes and by his own poems,
entitled "Hours of Idleness:"--
"There was in his disposition," says Moore, "as appears from the
concurrent testimony of nurses, tutors, and all who were employed about
him, a mixture of affectionate sweetness and playfulness, by which it
was impossible not to be attached, and which rendered him then, as in
his riper years, easily manageable by those who loved and understood him
sufficiently to be at once gentle and firm enough for the task. The
female attendant whom he had taken the most fancy to was the youngest of
two sisters, named Mary Gray, and she had succeeded in gaining an
influence over his mind against which he very rarely rebelled."
By an accident which occurred at the time of his birth one of his feet
was twisted out of its natural position, and, to restore the limb to
shape, expedients were used under the direction of the celebrated Dr.
Hunter. Mary Gray, to whom fell the task of putting on the bandages at
bed-time, used to sing him to sleep, or tell him Scotch ballads and
legends, in which he delighted, or teach him psalms, and thus lighten
his pain. Mary Gray was a very pious woman, and she unquestionably
inspired Byron with that love of the Scriptures which he preserved to
his last day. She only parted from Byron when he was placed at school at
Dulwich, in 1800. The child loved her as she loved him. He gave her his
watch, and, later, sent her his portrait. Both these treasures were
given to Dr. Ewing (an enthusiast of Byron, who had collected the dying
words of Mary Gray, which were all for the child she had nursed), by her
grateful husband.
The same gratitude was shown by Byron to Mary Gray's sister, who had
been his first nursery governess. He wrote to her after he had left
Scotland, to ask news of her, and to announce with delight that he could
now put on an ordinary shoe--an event, he said, which he had greatly
looked forward to, and which he was sure it would give her pleasure to
hear.
Before going to school at Aberdeen, Byron had two tutors, Ross and
Paterson, both young, intelligent, and amiable ecclesiastics, for whom
he always entertained a pleasing and affectionate remembrance.
At seven years of age he went to the Aberdeen Grammar School, and the
general impression which he left there, as evinced by the testimony of
several of his colleagues who are still living, was, says Moore, "that
he was quick, courageous, passionate, to a remarkable degree venturous
and fearless, but affectionate and companionable.
"He was most anxious to distinguish himself among his school-fellows by
prowess in all sports and exercises, but, though quick when he could be
persuaded to attend, he was in general very low in his class, nor seemed
ambitious of being promoted higher."
The anecdotes told of him at this time all prove his fine nature, and
show the goodness and greatness of soul which characterized him up to
his last day.
All the qualities which are to shine in the man will be found already
marked in the child. On one occasion he was taken to see a piece at the
Edinburgh theatre, in which one of the actors pretends that the moon is
the sun. The child, notwithstanding his timidity, was shocked by this
insult to his understanding, rose from his seat, and cried out, "I
assure you, my dear sir, that it is the moon." Here, again, we can trace
that love of truth which in after life made him so courageous in its
proclamation at any cost.
When, at Aberdeen, he was, on one occasion, styled Dominus Byron in the
school-room, by way of announcing to him his accession to the title, the
child began to cry. Can not these tears be explained by the mixture of
pleasure and pain which he must have felt at that moment--pleasure at
becoming a peer, and distress at not being able to share this pleasure
with his comrades? Are they not a prelude of the sacrifice of himself
which he afterward made by actually placing himself in the wrong, in
order that at the time of his greatest triumph his rivals might not be
too jealous of him?
On one occasion, as he was riding with a friend, they arrived at the
bridge of Balgounie, on the river Dee, and, remembering suddenly the old
ballad which threatens with death the man who passes the bridge first
on a pony, Byron stopped his comrade, and requested to be allowed to
pass first; because if the ballad said true, and that one of them must
die, it was better, said he, that it should be him, rather than his
friend, because he had only a mother to mourn his loss, whereas his
friend had a father and a mother, and the pain of his death would fall
upon two persons instead of upon one. Another illustration of that
heroic generosity of character of which Byron's life offers so many
instances.
On another occasion he saw a poor woman coming out of a bookseller's
shop, distressed and mortified at not having enough to buy herself the
Bible she wanted. The child ran after her, brought her back, made her a
present of the desired book, and, in doing so, obeyed that same craving
of the heart to do good which placed him all his life at the service of
others. These instances will suffice at present.
On his accession to the title, as heir to his great uncle, he left
Scotland, and was taken to see Newstead Abbey, his future residence. He
spent the winter at Nottingham, the most important of the towns round
Newstead. His mother, who was blindly fond of him, could not bear to see
any physical defect in him, however slight. She confided him to a quack
doctor named Lavender, who promised to cure him, while his studies were
continued under the direction of a Mr. Rogers. The treatment which he
had to undergo being both painful and tedious, furnishes us with the
opportunity of admiring his strength of mind. Mr. Rogers, who had
conceived a great liking for the child, noticed on one occasion that he
was suffering. "Pray do not notice it," said Byron, "you will see that I
shall behave in such a way that you will not perceive it."
Notwithstanding his own want of skill, Mr. Lavender might, perhaps, have
cured the child. But Byron, who had no faith in him, always found fault
with every thing he did, and played tricks upon him.
At last his mother agreed with Lord Carlisle, who was his guardian, to