My Recollections of Lord Byron
the modern great men, of whatever nation, were all for him of one
country, the country of great intellects, and the degree of his sympathy
for each was calculated upon the degree of their merit.
We know how ably he defended Dante, the greatest of Italian poets; how
ably he translated "Francesca da Rimini," and how he exposed the error
of those who did not find that Dante was not sufficiently pathetic.
We know his admiration for Goethe, who was not only his contemporary,
but also his rival. Could Goethe see with pleasure another star rise in
the horizon, when his own was at its zenith? Some say that he could.
Without sharing altogether in this opinion, it is impossible, however,
not to find that the first impressions which he gave to the world with
respect to Byron do not justify the accusations of those who said he
was jealous of him.
While at Ravenna, Byron received several numbers of a German paper
edited and written by Goethe. It contained several articles upon English
literature, and, among others, upon "Manfred." Curious to know what the
patriarch of German literature thought of him, and being unable to read
German, Byron sent these articles to Hoppner, at Venice, begging him to
translate them.
" ... If I may judge by two notes of admiration (generally put after
something ridiculous by us), and the word '_hypocondrisch_,' they are
any thing but favorable. I shall regret this; for I should have been
proud of Goethe's good word; but I sha'n't alter my opinion of him, even
though he should be (savage).... Never mind--soften nothing--I am
_literary proof_--as one says of a material object, when he puts it to
the proof of fire and water," etc.
The article was any thing but favorable. After recognizing that the
author of "Manfred" is gifted with wonderful genius, Goethe pretends
that it is an imitation of his "Faust," and thereupon writes a tissue of
fanciful notions which he palms off upon the world.
On learning all this, Byron was by no means put out, but laughed
heartily at the notion of the author of "Werther" accusing him of
inciting others to a disgust of life. He wondered at such a man as
Goethe giving credence to such silly fables, and giving out as authentic
what were merely suppositions. Instead of being angry at this evident
hostility, he declared that the article was intended as favorable to
him, and, as an acknowledgment, wished to dedicate to him the tragedy of
"Marino Faliero," upon which he was engaged. In the dedication, which
was only projected, the reality of his admiration for Goethe soars above
some jesting expressions.
To Goethe also he wished to dedicate "Sardanapalus." "I mean," said he,
at Pisa, "to dedicate 'Werner' to Goethe. I look upon him as the
greatest genius that the age has produced. I desired Murray to inscribe
his name to a former work; but he said my letter containing the order
came too late. It would have been more worthy of him than this. I have a
great curiosity about every thing relating to Goethe, and please myself
with thinking there is some analogy between our characters and writings.
So much interest do I take in him, that I offered to give L100 to any
person who would translate his memoirs for my own reading. Shelley has
sometimes explained part of them to me. He seems to be very
superstitious, and is a believer in astrology, or rather was, for he was
very young when he wrote the first part of his 'Life.' I would give the
world to read 'Faust' in the original. I have been urging Shelley to
translate it." In comparing 'Cain' to 'Faust,' he said, "'Faust' itself
is not so fine a subject as 'Cain,' which is a grand mystery. The mark
that was put upon Cain is a sublime and shadowy act; Goethe would have
made more of it than I have done."
Not being able to dedicate "Sardanapalus" to him, he dedicated "Werner"
"to the illustrious Goethe, by one of his humblest admirers."
All these tokens of sympathy pleased Goethe. Their mutual admiration of
one another brought on an exchange of courtesies, which ended by
creating on both sides quite a warm feeling. In a letter which Goethe
wrote to M. M----, after Byron's death, he speaks of his relation with
the noble poet; after saying how "Sardanapalus" appeared without a
dedication, of which, however, he was happy to possess a lithographed
fac-simile, he adds:--
"It appeared, however, that the noble lord had not renounced his project
of showing his contemporary and companion in letters a striking
testimony of his friendly intentions, of which the tragedy of 'Werner'
contains an extremely precious evidence."
It might naturally be expected that the aged German poet, after
receiving from so celebrated a person such an unhoped-for kindness
(proof of a disposition so thoroughly amiable, and the more to be prized
from its rarity in the world), should also prepare, on his part, to
express most clearly and forcibly a sense of the gratitude and esteem
with which he was affected:--
"But this undertaking was so great, and every day seemed to make it so
much more difficult; for what could be said of an earthly being whose
merit could not be exhausted by thought, or comprehended by words?
"But when, in the spring of 1823, a young man of amiable and engaging
manners, a M. St.----, brought direct from Genoa to Weimar, a few words
under the hand of this estimable friend, by way of recommendation, and
when, shortly after, there was spread a report that the noble lord was
about to consecrate his great powers and varied talents to high and
perilous enterprise, I had no longer a plea for delay, and addressed to
him the stanzas which ends by the lines,--'And he self-known, e'en as to
me he's known!'
"These verses," continued Goethe, "arrived at Genoa, but found him not.
This excellent friend had already sailed; but being driven back by
contrary winds, he landed at Leghorn, where this effusion of my heart
reached him. On the era of his departure, July 23, 1823, he found time
to send me a reply, full of the most beautiful ideas and the divinest
sentiments, which will be treasured as an invaluable testimony of worth
and friendship, among the choicest documents which I possess.
"What emotions of joy and hope did not that paper at once excite! but
now it has become, by the premature death of its noble writer, an
inestimable relic, and a source of unspeakable regret; for it
aggravates, to a peculiar degree in me, the mourning and melancholy that
pervade the whole moral and poetical world,--in me, who looked forward
(after the success of his great efforts) to the prospect of being
blessed with the sight of this master-spirit of the age--this friend so
fortunately acquired: and of having to welcome, on his return, the most
humane of conquerors."
These are, no doubt, most noble words, but they were called forth by the
still nobler conduct of Byron toward him. It can not be said that Goethe
ever appreciated all that there was of worth in his young rival, and a
few words at the end of his letter make one believe that he still
credited some of the absurd stories which he had been told about Byron's
youth, and whom he still believed to be identified in the person of
"Manfred." He entertained a great affection for Byron, no doubt, but he
believed, however, that indulgence and forgiveness were not only
necessary on his part, but actually generous in him.
Lord Byron's sympathetic admiration had this peculiarity,--that it did
not attach to one class of individuals devoted like himself to poetry,
but extended to every class of society. The statesman, the orator, the
philosopher, the prince, the subject, the learned, women, general, or
literary men, all were equally sure of having justice done to them. At
every page of his memoranda, we find instances of this. Thus of
Mackintosh he says: "He is a rare instance of the union of every
transcendent talent and great good-nature."
Of Curran he speaks in the most enthusiastic terms:--
"I have met Curran at Holland House--he beats every body;--his
imagination is beyond conception, and his humor (it is difficult to
define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many
voices, when he mimics; I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and
e'en a virgin, that is the man I should make my Seamander. He is quite
fascinating. Remember, I have met him only once, and I almost fear to
meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered.
"Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most. Such imagination! There
never was any thing like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His
_published_ life--his published speeches--give you no idea of the man,
none at all."
In his memoranda there were equally enthusiastic praises of Curran. "The
riches," said he, "of his Irish imagination were exhaustless. I have
heard that man speak more poetry than I have ever written--though I saw
him seldom, and but occasionally."
In speaking of Colman, he said, "He was most agreeable and sociable. He
can laugh so well, which Sheridan can not. If I could not have them both
together, I should like to begin the evening with Sheridan, and finish
it with Colman."
He praised loudly the eloquence of Grattan:--
"I differ with him in politics, but I agree with all those who admire
his eloquence."
As to Sheridan, he never ceased his eulogies:--
"At Lord Holland's the other night, we were all delivering our
respective and various opinions on him and other _hommes marquants_, and
mine was this:--'Whatever Sheridan has done, or chosen to do, has been,
_par excellence_, always the _best_ of its kind. He has written the
_best_ comedy ("School for Scandal"), the _best_ drama (in my mind, far
before that St. Giles's lampoon, the "Beggars' Opera"), the _best_
farce (the "Critic,"--it is only too good for a farce), and the _best_
address ("Monologue on Garrick"), and, to crown all, delivered the very
best oration (the famous "Begum Speech") ever conceived or heard in this
country.'"
His enthusiasm for Sheridan partook even of a kind of tender compassion
for his great weaknesses and misfortunes. He wrote in his memoranda, on
one occasion, when Sheridan had cried with joy on hearing that Byron had
warmly praised him:--
"Poor Brinsley, if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said
those few, but most sincere words, than have written the "Iliad," or
made his own celebrated "Philippic." Nay, his own comedy never gratified
me more, than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from
any praise of mine, humble as it must appear to 'my elders, and my
betters.'"
And also:--
"Poor, dear Sherry! I shall never forget the day when he, Rogers, Moore,
and myself, spent the time from six at night till one o'clock in the
morning, without a single yawn; we listening to him, and he talking all
the time."
When he speaks of great men recently dead,--of Burke, Pitt, Burns,
Goldsmith, and others of his distinguished contemporaries,--he is
never-ending in his praise of them. His affectionate admiration for so
many went so far, almost, as to frighten him into the belief that it was
a weakness: after having said--"I like A----, I like B----. By
Mohammed!" he exclaims in his memoranda, "I begin to think I like every
body; a disposition not to be encouraged; a sort of social gluttony,
that swallows every thing set before it."
Not only was it a pleasure to him to praise those who deserved it, but
he would not allow the dead to be blamed, nor the illustrious among the
living; we all know how much he admired the talents of Madame de Stael:
"Il avait pour elle des admirations _obstinees_." "Campbell abused
Corinne," he says in his journal, 1813: "I reverence and admire him; but
I won't give up my opinion. Why should I? I read her again and again,