My Recollections of Lord Byron
with the present, which for him is one of remorse, and when there
glimmer still in his soul faint lights of humanity which make him turn
away from the horrible sight of dogs devouring the dead bodies of men.
Byron speaks in his own person in the introduction of the "Giaour,"
which is replete with most exquisite beauty. In it he opens to the
reader unexplored fields of delight, leads him through delicious
countries where all is joy for the senses, where all recollections are a
feast for the soul, and where his love of moral beauty is as strongly
marked in his praise of olden Greece, as is his condemnation of modern
degraded Greece. Byron speaks again in his own name when he puts
invectives in the mouth of the Mussulman fisherman, and makes him curse
so strongly the crime of the Giaour and the criminal himself, whose
despair is the expiation of his crimes and the beautiful triumph of
morality.
In the "Bride of Abydos" (where the terrible Ali again comes forward in
the shape of the old Giaffir) the amiable and unfortunate Selim and the
poet share the real sentiments of Byron. Byron is also himself when he
adorns his heroine with every grace and perfection of body and soul, and
also whenever it is necessary to idealize in order that a too rigorous
imitation of reality may not offend either the laws of art or the
feelings of the reader. As for "Don Juan," it is only fair to say that
he in a measure deserved the persecution which it brought upon him. Yet,
if we judge the poem with no preconceived severity, we shall find that,
with the exception of certain passages where he went beyond the limits
prescribed to satire, from his hatred of hypocrisy, and also at times as
a revenge against his persecutors, the poem is charming. These passages
he intended to suppress,[1] but death prevented him. This is greatly to
be regretted, for otherwise "Don Juan" would have been the most charming
satirical poem in existence, and especially had not the last four
cantos, written in Greece, been destroyed. The scene lay in England, and
the views expressed in them explained many things which can never now be
known. In allowing such an act to be committed for the sake of sparing
the feelings of some influential persons and national susceptibilities,
Byron's friends failed in their duty to his memory, for the last four
cantos gave the key to the previous ones, and justified them. From the
moment Byron conceived "Don Juan" he steeled his heart against feeling;
and he kept to his resolution not to give way to his natural goodness of
disposition, wishing the poem to be a satire as well as an act of
revenge. Here and there, however, his great soul pierces through, and
shows itself in such a true light that Byron's portrait could be better
drawn from passages of "Don Juan," than from any other of his poems.[2]
We have sufficiently proved, we think, that the uniform character of
Byron's heroes, which has been blamed by the poet's enemies, was merely
the reflection of the moral beauty which he drew from himself. It might
almost be said that the qualities with which he had been gifted by
Heaven conspired against him.
We have been led to dwell upon this phase of his literary career, at the
risk even of tiring the patience of the reader, from the necessity which
we believe exists to destroy the phantom of identification which has
been invoked, and to explain the moral nature of Byron in its true light
before analyzing the poet under other aspects. It is not in "Harold" or
in "Conrad," nor in any of his Oriental poems, that we are likely to
trace the moral character of Byron, for, although it would be easy to
detach the author's sentiments from those of the personages of these
poems, yet they might offer a pretext of blame to those who hate to look
into a subject to discover the truth which does not appear at first
sight. Nor is it in "Manfred"--the only one of his poems wherein,
perhaps, reason may be said to be at fault, owing to the sickness under
which his soul labored at the time when it was written, and to his
diseased imagination, produced by solitude and unmerited grief. In his
lyrical poems Byron's soul must be sought. There he speaks and sings in
his own name, expresses his own sentiments, breathes his own thoughts;
or, again, in his elegies and in his miscellaneous poems, in his dramas,
in his mysteries, nay, even in his satires--the noble and courageous
independence of which has never been surpassed by any satirist, ancient
or modern--and generally in all the poems which he wrote in Italy, and
which might almost be called his second form. In these poems no medium
is any longer required between his soul and that of the reader. It is
not possible any longer to make any mistake about him in these. The
melancholy and the energy displayed in them can not serve any more to
give him the mask of a Conrad, or of a Harold, or of a misanthrope, or
of a haughty individual, but they place in relief what there is of
tender, amiable, affectionate sublime in those chosen beings whom God
occasionally sends upon earth to testify here below of the things
above:--
"Per far di colassu fede fra noi."--PETRARCH.
Thus, in his elegy upon the death of Thyrza, "far too beautiful," says
Moore, "and too pure to have been inspired by a mortal being," what
pathos, what sensitiveness! What charm in his sonnets to Guinevre! What
soft melancholy, what profound and intimate knowledge of the immortality
and spirituality of our soul, in his Hebrew melodies! "They seem as
though they had been inspired by Isaiah and written by Shakspeare," says
the Very Rev. Dr. Stanley, Dean of Westminster. What touching family
affection in his domestic poems, and what generosity in the avowal of
certain wrongs! What great and moral feeling pervade the two last cantos
of "Childe Harold," melancholy though they be, like all things which are
beautiful! How one feels that the pain they tell of has its origin in
unmerited persecution, and how his intellect came to his aid, and
enabled him to bear with calmness the uncertainties incident to our
nature! What greatness of soul in the forgiveness of what to others
would seem unpardonable! What love of humanity and of its rights! What
hatred of injustice, tyranny, and oppression in the "Ode to Venice," in
"The Lament of Tasso," in "The Prophecy of Dante," and in general in all
his latter poems, even in the "Isle," a poem little known, which was
written a short time before he left Genoa for Greece. Here, more than in
any other of his poems, we see the admirable peace of mind which he had
created for himself, and how far too high his great intellect soared to
be any longer moved by the world's injustice.
Quotations from his poems would be impossible. How choose without
regretting what has been discarded? They must be read; and those must be
pitied who do not feel morally better after having read them.
This is precisely what has been least done up to the present time:
people have been content with reading his early poems, and with seeking
Byron in "Childe Harold" or in the heroes of his Oriental poems; which
is about as just as to look for Shakspeare in Iago, Milton in Satan,
Goethe in Mephistopheles, or Lamartine in the blasphemies of his ninth
Meditation.
Thus French critics,--disposed to identify the man with the imaginary
beings of his poems, and neglecting to seek him where they could have
found him, relying upon judgments formed in England, and too often by
people prejudiced against Byron,--have themselves adopted false views
with respect to the author and his works. Thus, again, poetry--which
without any preconceived teaching or any particular doctrine of its own,
without transgressing the rules laid down by art, moved the soul,
purified and elevated it, and taught it to despise the base and cowardly
desires of nature, and excited in it the admiration of all that is noble
and heroic,--was declared to be suspicious even in France, because too
often it had proclaimed openly the truth where one would have wished
truth to have been disguised. Many would fain have thought otherwise,
but they preferred remaining silent, and to draw from that poetry the
poetical riches of which they might be in want.
Our intention being to consecrate a chapter to the examination of the
moral tendency of Byron's poetry, we will not now say more. We must add,
however, that these views which had been so easily adopted in France
were not those of the majority of right-thinking persons in England,
although they dared not proclaim their opinions then as they can now.
I shall only quote the opinion of two Englishmen of great merit (Moore
and Sir Egerton Brydges), who can neither one nor the other be suspected
of partiality; the first, on account of his great fear of ever wounding
the susceptibilities of his countrymen, the other by the independence
and nobility of his character.
"How few are the pages in his poems," says Moore, "even if perused
rapidly, which by their natural tendency toward virtue, or some splendid
tribute to the greatness of God's works, or by an explosion of natural
piety more touching than any homily, do not entitle him to be admitted
in the purest temple of which Christianity may have the keep!"--_Moore_,
vol. ii.
Sir Egerton Brydges, after having fully appreciated the poems of Lord
Byron, says:----
"They give to the reader's best instincts an impulse which elevates,
purifies, instructs, charms, and affords us the noblest and purest of
joys."--_Sir E. Brydges_, vol. x. p. 141.
These quotations perhaps will be found too many, but are they not
necessary? Is truth which can be so easily changed equally easy to
re-establish? Are not a thousand words wanted to restore a reputation
which a light word or, may be, slight malice has tarnished? If the
author of these pages only expressed individual opinions without
adducing any proof, that is to say, without accompanying them with the
disinterested and enlightened testimonies of people who have known Byron
personally, these volumes might gain in interest by being condensed in a
shorter space.
But in shortening the road would the author attain the desired end?
would the self-imposed task be fulfilled? would his or her own
convictions become those of others? Should not authors sacrifice
themselves to their subject in all works inspired by a devoted spirit?
Shall it be said that oftentimes one has wished to prove what had
already been conceded by every body? that the value of the proofs
adduced is lessened by the fact that they are nearly all already known?
In answer, and without noticing the words "nearly all," he might say
that, as truth has several aspects, one may almost, without mentioning
new facts, arrive at being what might be called the guide in the tour
round the soul, and fathom its depth in search of the reality; just as
when we have looked at all the sides of a picture, we return to it, in
order to find in it fresh beauties which may have escaped our notice on
a first inspection. There are certain souls, to fathom which it is
absolutely necessary to employ a retrospective method; in the same way
that the pictures, for instance, of Salvator Rosa enchant on close
inspection of the great beauties which in some lights seem hid by a mass
of clouds.
"One can hardly employ too many means," says Ste. Beuve, "to know a man;
that is, to understand him to be something more than an intellectual
being. As long as we have not asked ourselves a certain number of
questions about such and such an author, and as long as they have not
been satisfactorily answered, we are not sure of having completely made
him out, even were such questions to be wholly irrelevant to the
subjects upon which he has written.
"What did he think upon religious matters?