My Recollections of Lord Byron
the greatest grief, and broke up the illusions of youth, exchanging
them for that misanthropy discernible in some of his poems, though
contrary to his real character.
For those, on the other hand, who were spared, and remained faithful to
him, Byron preserved through life the warmest affection and the
tenderest regard; the principal feature of his nature being the
unchanging character of his sentiments.
Although he showed at an early age his disposition to a poetical turn of
mind, by the force of his feelings and by his meditative wanderings--in
Scotland among the mountains and on the sea-shore at Cheltenham;--by his
rapturous admiration of the setting sun, as well as by the delight which
he took in the legends told him by his nurses, and the emotions which he
experienced to a degree which made him lose all appetite, all rest, and
all peace of mind; yet no one would have believed at that time that a
gigantic poetical genius lay dormant in so active a nature. Soon,
however, did his soul light up his intelligence, and obliged him to have
recourse to his pen to pour out his feelings. From that moment his
genius spread its roots in his heart, and Harrow became his paradise
owing to the affection which he met with there.
It was at Harrow that he wrote, between his fourteenth and eighteenth
year, the "Hours of Idleness, by a Minor," of which he had printed at
the request of his friends, a few copies for private circulation only.
These modest poems did not, however, escape the brutal attacks of
critics. Mackenzie, however, a man of talent himself, soon discovered
that at the bottom of these poems there lay the roots of a great
poetical genius. The "Hours of Idleness" are a treasure of intellectual
and psychological gleanings. They showed man as God created him, and
before his noble soul, depressed by the insolence of his enemies and the
troubles of life, endeavored to escape the eyes of the world, or at
least of those who could not or would not understand him.
The noblest instincts of human nature shine so conspicuously in the
pages of this little volume, that we thank God that he created such a
noble mind, while we feel indignant toward those who could not
appreciate it. But to understand him better he must reveal himself, and
we shall therefore quote a few of his own sayings as a boy. His first
grief brought forth his first poem. A young cousin of his died, and of
her death he spoke to this effect in his memorandum:--
"My first recourse to poetry was due to my passion for my cousin
Margaret Parker. She was, without doubt, one of the most beautiful and
ethereal beings I ever knew. I have forgotten the lines, but never shall
I forget her. I was twelve years of age, and she was older than myself
by nearly a year. I loved her so passionately, that I could neither
sleep, nor get rest, or eat when thinking of her. She died of
consumption, and it was at Harrow that I heard both of her illness and
of her death."
Then it was that Byron wrote his first elegy, which he characterizes as
"very dull;" but it is interesting as his first poetical essay, and as
the first cry of pain uttered by a child who vents his grief in verse,
and reveals in it the goodness of his heart and the power of his great
mind. On a calm and dark night he goes to her tomb and strews it with
flowers; then, speaking of her virtues, exclaims:--
"But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers
Where endless pleasures virtue's deeds repay.
"And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign,
And, madly, godlike Providence accuse?
Ah, no! far fly from me attempts so vain;--
I'll ne'er submission to my God refuse.
"Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face,
Still they call forth my warm affection's tear,
Still in my heart retain their wonted place."
1802.
So beautiful a mind, and one so little understood, reveals itself more
and more in each poem of this first collection; and on this account,
rather than because of its poetical merits, are the "Hours of Idleness"
interesting to the psychological biographer of Byron. "Whoever," says
Sainte-Beuve, "has not watched a youthful talent at its outset, will
never form for himself a perfect and really true appreciation of it."
Moore adds: "It is but justice to remark that the early verses of Lord
Byron give but little promise of those dazzling miracles of poesy with
which he afterward astonished and enchanted the world, however
distinguished they are by tenderness and grace.
"There is, indeed, one point of view in which these productions are
deeply and intrinsically interesting; as faithful reflections of his
character at that period of life, they enable us to judge of what he was
before any influences were brought to bear upon him, and so in them we
find him pictured exactly such as each anecdote of his boyish days
exhibits him--proud, daring, and passionate--resentful of slight or
injustice, but still more so in the cause of others than in his own; and
yet, with all this vehemence, docile and placable at the least touch of
a hand authorized by love to guide him. The affectionateness, indeed, of
his disposition, traceable as it is through every page of this volume,
is yet but faintly done justice to even by himself; his whole youth
being from earliest childhood a series of the most passionate
attachments, of those overflowings of the soul, both in friendship and
love, which are still more rarely responded to than felt, and which,
when checked or sent back upon the heart, are sure to turn into
bitterness."
While his soul expanded with the first rays of love which dawned upon
it, friendship too began to assert its influence over him. But in
continuing to observe in him the effects of incipient love, let us
remark that, while such precocious impressions are only with others the
natural development of physical instincts, they were, in Byron, also,
the expression of a soul that expands, of an amiability, of a tenderness
ever on the increase. Though sensible to physical beauty as he always
was through life, his principal attraction, however, was in that beauty
which expresses the beauty of the soul, without which condition no
physical perfection commanded his attention. We have seen what an
ethereal creature Miss Margaret Parker was. Miss Chaworth succeeded her
in Byron's affections, and was his second, if not third love if we
notice his youthful passion at nine years of age for Mary Duff. But his
third love was the occasion of great pain to him. Miss Chaworth was
heiress to the grounds and property of Annesley, which were in the
immediate neighborhood of Newstead. Notwithstanding, however, the enmity
which had existed between the two families for a long time, on account
of a duel which had resulted in the death of Miss Chaworth's
grandfather, Byron was received most cordially at Annesley. Mrs.
Chaworth thought that a marriage between her daughter and Byron might
perhaps some day efface the memory of the feud that had existed between
their respective families. Byron therefore found his school-boy advances
encouraged by both mother and daughter, and his imagination naturally
was kindled. The result was that Byron fell desperately in love with
Miss Chaworth; but he was only fifteen years old, and yet an awkward
schoolboy, with none of that splendid and attractive beauty for which he
was afterward distinguished. Miss Chaworth was three years older, and
unfortunately her heart was already engaged to the man who, to her
misfortune, she married the year after. She therefore looked upon Byron
as a mere child, as a younger brother, and his love almost amused her.
She, however, not only gave him a ring, her portrait, and some of her
hair, but actually carried on a secret correspondence with him. These
were the faults for which she afterward had to suffer so bitterly. Such
a union, however, with so great a difference of age, would not have been
natural. It could only be a dream; but I shall speak elsewhere[20] of
the nature of this attachment, which had its effect upon Byron, in order
to show the beauty of his soul under another aspect. I can only add here
that he had attributed every virtue to this girl whom he afterward
styled frivolous and deceitful.
On his return to Harrow this love and his passionate friendships divided
his heart. But when the following vacation came, his dream vanished.
Miss Chaworth was engaged to another, and on his return to Harrow he
vainly tried to forget her who had deceived and wounded him. Like other
young men, he devoted his time during the Harrow or Cambridge vacations
to paying his respects and offering his regards to numerous belles,
whose names appear variously in his poems as Emma, Caroline, Helen, and
Mary. Moore believes them to have been imaginary loves. A slight
acquaintance with the liberty enjoyed by young men at English
universities would lead one to believe these loves to have been any
thing but unreal. This can be the more readily believed, as Byron always
sought in reality the objects which he afterward idealized. He always
required some earthly support, though the slightest, as Moore observes,
in speaking of the charming lines with which his love for Miss Chaworth
inspired him, at the time when the recollection of it made him compare
his misfortune in marrying Miss Milbank, with the happier lot which
might have been his had he married Miss Chaworth. Whether these loves
were real or not, however, it must be borne in mind that Byron deemed
all physical beauty to be nothing if unaccompanied by moral beauty.
Thus, in speaking of a vain young girl, he exclaims:--
"One who is thus from nature vain,
I pity, but I can not love."
And to Miss N. N----, who was exquisitely beautiful, but in whose eyes
earthly passion shone too powerfully, he says:--
"Oh, did those eyes, instead of fire,
With bright but mild affection shine,
Though they might kindle less desire,
Love, more than mortal, would be thine.
For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
We must admire, but still despair;
That fatal glance forbids esteem."
In a letter to Miss Pigott, which he wrote from Cambridge, he says:--
"Saw a girl at St. Mary's the image of Ann----; thought it was her--all
in the wrong--the lady stared, so did I--I blushed, so did _not_ the
lady--sad thing--wish women had more modesty."
On awaking from his dream, and on finding that the jewels with which he
had believed Mary's nature to be adorned were of his own creation, he
sought his consolation in friendship. His heart, which was essentially a
loving one, could not be consoled except by love, and Harrow, to use his
own expressions, became a paradise to him. In tracing the picture of
Tasso's infancy he has drawn a picture of himself:--
"From my very birth
My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade
And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth
Of objects all inanimate I made
Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers,
And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise
Where I did lay me down within the shade
Of waving trees, and dreamed uncounted hours,
Though I was chid for wandering...."
This sentiment of friendship, which is always more powerful in England
than on the Continent, owing to the system of education which takes
children away from their parents at an early age, was keenly developed
in Byron, whose affectionate disposition wanted something to make up for
the privation of a father's and a brother's love. In his pure and
passionate heart friendship and love became mixed: his love partook of