My Recollections of Lord Byron
"How did the aspect of nature affect him?
"How did he behave in regard to women?
"How about money?
"What rules did he follow?
"What was his daily life? etc., etc.
"Finally, what was his peculiar vice and foible? Every man has one.
"Not one of these questions is unimportant in order to appreciate an
author or his book, provided the book does not treat of pure
mathematics; and especially if it is a literary work, that is to say, a
book wherein there is something about every thing."[3]
Be this opinion of an eminent critic our rule and an encouragement to
our efforts.
We are well aware that in France, now-a-days, writers do not like to use
the same materials in describing a character as are used by other
nations, and especially by England. A study of this kind in France must
not be a judgment pronounced upon the individual who is the object of
it, and still less an inquiry. The qualities and defects of a man of
genius do not constitute the principal business of the artist. Man is
now rather examined as a work of art or as an object of science. When
reason has made him out, and intellectual curiosity has been satisfied,
the wish to understand him is not carried out further. The subject is
abandoned, lest the reader may be tired.
This may be good reasoning in many cases; but in the present perhaps the
best rule is "in medio tutissimus." When a good painting is spoilt by
overpolish, to wash the polish off is not to restore it to its former
appearance. To arrive at this last result, however, no pains should be
spared; and upon this principle we must act with regard to Byron. In
psychological studies the whole depends upon all the parts, and what may
at first seem unimportant may prove to be the best confirmation of the
thesis. To be stopped by details (I might almost say repetitions) would
therefore be to exhibit a fear in adducing proof.
Can it be said that we have not sufficiently condemned? To add this
interest to the volume would not have been a difficult task.
To attack is easier than to defend; but we should then have had to
invent our facts, and, at the same time, to add romance to history.
The world, says a great moralist of our times, prefers a vice which
amuses it rather than a virtue which bores it; but our respect for the
reader convinces us that the adoption of such a means of arriving at
success would forfeit their respect for us and be as repugnant to their
sense of justice as to our own. As regards Byron, the means have more
than once been employed, and with the more success by those who have
united to their skill the charms of style.
But in claiming no talent, no power to interest, and in refusing to
appear as an author from motives of pusillanimity, idleness, or
self-love, is one less excusable for hiding the truth when one is
acquainted with it?
If it is the duty of a man of honor and a Christian to come to the
rescue of a victim to violence when it is in one's power, is it not
incumbent upon one to raise a voice in the defense of those who can no
longer resent an insult, when we know that they are wrongly accused? To
be silent under such circumstances would be productive of remorse; and
the remorse is greater when felt on the score of those whose genius
constitutes the monopoly of the whole world, and forms part of the
common treasure of humanity, which enjoins that it should be respected.
Is not their reputation a part of the inherited treasure? To allow such
reputation to be outraged would, in our minds, be as culpable as to hide
a portion of a treasure which is not our own.
"Truth," says Lamartine, "does not require style. Its light shines of
itself; its appearance is its proof."
In publishing these pages, written conscientiously and scrupulously, we
confide in the opinion expressed above in the magic language of the man
who can create any prestige. If the reader finds these guarantees of
truth sufficient, and deigns to accept our conscientious remarks with
indulgence and kindness; if, after examining Byron's character under all
its aspects, after repeating his words, recalling his acts, and speaking
of his life--especially of that which he led in Italy--and mentioning
the various impressions which he produced upon those who knew him
personally, we are justified in the reader's opinion in having
endeavored to clear the reality from all the clouds which imagination
has gathered round the person of Byron, and in trying to earn for his
memory a little sympathy by proclaiming the truth, in place of the
antipathy which falsehood has hitherto obtained for him, our object will
have been obtained.
To endeavor to restore Byron's reputation is the more necessary, since
Moore himself, who is his best biographer, failed not only in his duty
as a friend, but as the historian of the poet's life: for he knew the
truth, and dared not proclaim it. Who, for instance, could better inform
us of the cause which led to Byron's separation from his wife? And yet
Moore chose to keep the matter secret.
Who was better acquainted with the conduct of Byron's colleagues at the
time of his conjugal differences--with the curious proposals which were
made to him by them to recover their good graces--with his refusal to
regain them at such a cost--with the persecution to which he was, after
that, subjected--with the names of the people who instigated a popular
demonstration against him--with all the bad treatment which obliged him
to quit England? And yet has Moore spoken of it?[4]
Who, better than Moore, could tell of the friends on whom Byron relied,
and who at the time of his divorce sided with Lady Byron, and even went
so far as to aggravate the case by falsely publishing reports of his
having ill-treated Lady Byron and discharged loaded guns in order to
frighten her?
Who was better acquainted with the fact that the last cantos of "Don
Juan," written in Greece, had been destroyed in England, and that the
journal which he kept after his departure from Genoa had been destroyed
in Greece? Moore knew it very well, and did not reveal these facts, lest
he should create enemies for himself. He actually went so far as to
pretend that Byron never wrote any thing in Greece.[5]
Who better than Moore knew that Byron was not irreligious?--And yet he
pretended that he was. And finally, Who was better aware that Byron's
greatest aim was to be useful to humanity, and yet encouraged the belief
that Byron's expedition to Greece was purely to satisfy the desire that
people should speak of him as a superior man? In a few words, Moore has
not made the best of Byron's qualities, has kept silence over many
things which might have enhanced his character in public opinion; and
wished, above all, to show the greatness of his poetical genius, which
was never questioned. One would almost say that Moore did not like Byron
to be too well spoken of: for whenever he praises, he ever accompanies
the praise with a blame, a "but" or an "if;" and instead of openly
contradicting accusations which he knew to be false, and honestly
proclaiming the truth, he, too, preferred to excuse the poet's supposed
shortcomings. Moore was wanting in courage. He was good, amiable, and
clever; but weak, poor, and a lover of rank--where, naturally, he met
with many political enemies of Byron. He, therefore, dared not then tell
the truth, having too many interests to consider. Hence his concessions
and his sluggishness in leaving the facts as they were; and in many
cases, when it was a question between the departed Byron and one of his
high detractors, the one sacrificed was the dead friend who could no
longer defend himself. All such considerations for the living were
wrongs toward the memory of Byron.
The gravest accusation, however, to which Moore is open is, that he did
not preserve the Memoirs which Byron gave him on the sworn condition
that nothing should prevent their publication. The promise thus given
had restored peace to Byron's mind, so confident was he that it would be
fulfilled. To have broken his word is a crime for which posterity will
never forgive Moore. Can it be alleged, by way of excuse, that he gave
extracts from it? But besides the authenticity of the extracts, which
might be questioned, of what value can be a composition like Moore's in
presence of Byron's very words? No one can pretend to be identified with
such a mind as Byron's in the expression of his own feelings; and, least
of all, a character like Moore's.
The "Memoirs," then, which were the justification of Byron's life; the
last cantos, which were the justification of the poet and of the man;
the journal, which showed his prudence and sagacity beyond his age,
which by the simple relation of facts proved how he had got rid of all
the imperfections of youth, and at last become the follower of wisdom,
so much so that he would have been one of the most virtuous men in
England--all have been lost to the world: they have descended with him
into the tomb, and thus made room for the malice of his detractors.
Hence the duty of not remaining silent on the subject of this
highly-gifted man.
In restoring, however, facts to their true light, we do not pretend to
make Byron appear always superior to humanity in his conduct as a man
and a poet. Could he, with so sensitive and passionate a nature as his
was, and living only that period when passions are strongest, have
always acted as those who from age no longer are affected by them? If it
is easy not to give way to our passions at seventy, is it equally so at
twenty or at thirty?
Persecuted as he was, could Byron be expected to remain unmoved? If his
passion for truth made him inexorable in some of his poems; if his
passion for justice allowed his pen at times to go beyond the limits
which it should have respected; if even at times he was unjust, because
he had been too much injured and irritated,--he undoubtedly would have
compensated for his involuntary and slight offenses, had he not been
carried off so early.
As for the imperfection of these pages,--once we have dissipated error,
and caused truth to be definitely received as regards Byron,--an abler
pen can easily correct it, and do away with the numberless repetitions
with which we are aware we shall be reproached. We could not do
otherwise, as we wished to multiply proofs. Others, some day, will
achieve what we have been unable to perform.
Our work is like the stream which falls from the mountain and is filled
with ooze: its only merit is to swell the river into which it runs. But,
sooner or later, a stronger current will purify it, and give clearness
and brilliancy to it, without taking from it the merit of having
increased the bulk of the waters.
Such as it is, we dedicate this humble work to the noble souls who
worship truth. They will feel that we have been able to place them in a
more intimate connection with another great mind, and thus we shall have
gained our reward.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: He often told and promised his friends at Genoa that he
would alter the passages which are unjust and reprehensible, and that,
before it was finished, "Don Juan" would become a chaste and
irreproachable satire.]
[Footnote 2:
"His manner was perhaps the more seductive,
Because he ne'er seemed anxious to seduce;
Nothing affected, studied, or constructive
Of coxcombry or conquest: no abuse
Of his attractions marr'd the fair perspective,
To indicate a Cupidon broke loose,
And seem to say, 'Resist us if you can'--
Which makes a dandy while it spoils a man.
XIII.
"Don Juan was without it;
In fact, his manner was his own alone:
Sincere he was----
XIV.
"By nature soft, his whole address held off
Suspicion: though not timid, his regard