My Recollections of Lord Byron
misunderstanding with an officer on General Oakes's staff. The meeting
had been fixed for an early hour, but Lord Byron slept so soundly that
his companion was obliged to awaken him. On arriving at the spot, which
was near the shore, his adversary was not yet there; and Lord Byron,
although his luggage had already been taken on board the brig that was
to convey him to Albania, wished to give him the chance at least of
another hour. During all this long interval he amused himself very
quietly walking about the beach perfectly unconcerned.
At last an officer, sent by his antagonist, arrived on the ground,
bringing not only an explanation of how the delay had arisen, but
likewise all the excuses and satisfaction Lord Byron could desire for
the supposed offense. Thus the duel did not take place.
The gentleman who was to be his second could not sufficiently praise the
coolness and firm courage shown by Lord Byron throughout this affair.
Some time later Lord Byron was on the mountains of Epirus with his
friend and fellow-traveller, Mr. Hobhouse (now Lord Broughton). These
mountains being then infested with banditti, they were accompanied by a
numerous escort, and even by one of the secretaries, as well as several
retainers belonging to the famous Ali Pasha of Joannina, whom they had
just been visiting. One evening, seeing a storm impending, Mr. Hobhouse
hastened on in front with part of their suite, in order sooner to reach
a neighboring hamlet, and get shelter prepared. Lord Byron followed with
the remainder of the escort. Before he could arrive, however, the storm
burst, and soon became terrific. Mr. Hobhouse, who had long been safe
under cover in the village, could see nothing of his friend.
"It was seven in the evening," says Mr. Hobhouse, in his account of it,
"and the fury of the storm had become quite alarming. Never before or
since have I witnessed one so terrible. The roof of the hovel in which
we had taken shelter trembled beneath violent gusts of rain and wind,
and the thunder kept roaring without intermission, for the echo from one
mountain crest had not ceased ere another frightful crash broke above
our heads. The plain, and distant hills, visible through the chinks of
the hut, seemed on fire. In short, the tempest was terrific; quite
worthy of the Jupiter of ancient Greece. The peasants, no less religious
than their ancestors, confessed their fears; the women were crying
around, and the men, at every new flash of lightning, invoked the name
of God, making the sign of the cross."
Meanwhile hours passed, midnight drew near, the storm was far from
abating, and Lord Byron had not appeared. Mr. Hobhouse, in great alarm,
ordered fires to be lighted on the heights, and guns to be let off in
all directions. At length, toward one in the morning, a man, all pale
and panic-stricken, soaked through to the skin, suddenly entered the
cabin, making loud cries, exclamations, and gestures of despair. He
belonged to the escort, and speedily related the danger to which they
had been exposed, and in which Lord Byron and his followers still were,
and urging the necessity of sending off at once horses, guides, and men
with torches, to extricate them from it.
It appears that at the commencement of the storm, when only three miles
from the village, Lord Byron, through the fault of his escort, lost the
right path. After wandering about as chance directed, in complete
ignorance of their whereabouts, and on the brink of precipices, they had
stopped at last near a Turkish cemetery and close to a torrent, which
they had been enabled to distinguish through the flashes of lightning.
Lord Byron was exposed to _all the fury of the storm for nine
consecutive hours_; his guides, instead of lending him any assistance,
only increased the general confusion, running about on all sides,
because they had been menaced with death by the dragoman George, who, in
a paroxysm of rage and fear, had fired off his pistols without warning
any body, and Lord Byron's English servants, fancying they were attacked
by robbers, set up loud cries.
It was three in the morning before the party could reach the shelter
where their friends awaited them. During these nine consecutive hours of
danger, Lord Byron never once lost his self-possession or serenity, or
even that pleasant vein of humor which made him always see the
ridiculous side of things.
About the same period Lord Byron and his companion, after having visited
Eleusis, were obliged, by stress of weather, to stop some days at
Keratea. Having heard of a wonderful cavern situated on Mount Parne,
they determined to visit it. On arriving at the entrance they lighted
torches of resinous wood, and, preceded by a guide, penetrated through a
small aperture, dragging themselves along the ground until they reached
a sort of subterranean hall, ornamented with arcades and high cupolas of
crystal, supported by columns of shining marcasite; the hall itself
opened out into large horizontal chambers, or else conducted to dark,
deep yawning abysses toward the centre of the mountain. After having
strayed from one grotto to another, the travellers arrived near a
fountain of crystal water. There they stopped, till, seeing their
torches wane low, they thought of retracing their steps. But, after
walking for some minutes in the labyrinth, they again found themselves
beside the mysterious fountain. Then they grew alarmed, for their guide
acknowledged with _terror that he had forgotten the itinerary of the
cavern, and no longer knew where to find the outlet_.
While they were wandering thus from one grotto to another, in a sort of
despair, and occasionally dragging themselves along to get through
narrow openings, their last torch was consumed. They remained a long
time in total darkness, not knowing what to do, when, as if by miracle,
a feeble ray of light made itself visible, and, directing their steps
toward it, they ended by reaching the mouth of the cavern. Certainly, it
would be difficult to meet with a more alarming situation. Mr. Hobhouse,
while confessing that for some moments it had been impossible to look
forward to any thing else but the chance of a horrible death, declared
that, not only Lord Byron's presence of mind and coolness were admirable
in the teeth of such a prospect, but also that his playful humor never
forsook him, and helped to keep up their spirits during minutes that
must have seemed years to all of them.
It was during this same journey that, finding the mountains which
separated them from the Morea were infested with banditti, they embarked
on board a vessel of war, called the "Turk." A tempest broke out, and
its violence, joined to the ignorance betrayed by the captain and
sailors, put the vessel in great danger. Shipwreck seemed inevitable,
and close at hand. Nothing was heard on board but cries, lamentations,
and prayers. Lord Byron alone remained calm, doing every thing in his
power to console and encourage the rest; and then at length, when he saw
that his efforts were useless, he wrapped himself up in his Albanian
cloak, and lay down on the deck, _going tranquilly to sleep until fate
should decide his destiny_.
After having given his mother a simple description of this tempest, he
adds:--"I have learned to philosophize during my travels, and, if I had
not, what use is there in complaining?"
And Moore says:--
"I have heard the poet's fellow-traveller describe this remarkable
instance of his coolness and courage even still more strikingly than it
is here stated by himself. Finding that he was unable to be of any
service in the exertions which their very serious danger called for,
after a laugh or two at the panic of his valet, he not only wrapped
himself up and lay down, in the manner here mentioned, but, when their
difficulties were surmounted, was found fast asleep."
These adventures happened to him when he was only twenty-one years of
age, and within the course of a few weeks. But all his life he gave the
same proofs of courage when circumstances called for them.
And since we have chosen these examples from his first journey into
Greece, at the beginning of his career, let us select some others from
the last, which took place near its close.
Mr. H. Brown having been asked by Lord Harrington what his impressions
were of Lord Byron, replied, "Lord Byron was extremely calm in presence
of danger. Here are two instances that I witnessed myself:--A Greek,
named Costantino Zalichi, to whom his lordship had given his passage,
once took up one of Manton's pistols, belonging to Lord Byron. It went
off by accident, and the ball passed quite close to Lord Byron's temple.
Without the least emotion Lord Byron began explaining to the Greek how
such accidents could be avoided.
"On another occasion, near the Roman coast, we observed a
suspicious-looking little vessel, armed, and apparently full of people.
It was toward the end of the last war with Spain, during which many acts
of piracy had been committed in the Mediterranean. And our captain was
much alarmed. We were followed all day by this vessel, and toward
evening, it seemed so ready for action that we no longer doubted being
attacked. However a breeze arose, and darkness came on soon after,
whereupon we lost sight of it. Lord Byron, while the danger lasted,
remained perfectly calm, giving his orders with the greatest tranquility
and reflection."[77]
And Lord Harrington, then Colonel Stanhope, says himself, in his Essay
on Lord Byron:--
"Lord Byron was the _beau ideal_ of chivalry. It might have lowered him
in the esteem of wise men, if he had not given such extraordinary proofs
of the noblest courage.
"Even at moments of the greatest danger, Lord Byron _contemplated death
with philosophical calm_. For instance, at the moment of returning from
the alarming attack which had surprised him in my room (at Missolonghi),
he immediately asked, with the most perfect self-possession, whether his
life were in danger, as, in that case, he required the doctor to tell
him so, _for he was not afraid of death_.
"Shortly after that frightful convulsion, when, weakened by loss of
blood, he was lying on his bed of suffering, with his nervous system
completely shaken, a band of mutinous Suliotes, in their splendid dirty
costumes, burst suddenly into his room, brandishing their weapons, and
loudly demanding their savage rights. Lord Byron, as if electrified by
the unexpected act, appeared to have recovered his health, and, the more
the Suliotes cried out and threatened, the more _his cool courage
triumphed_. _The scene was really sublime._"[78]
And Count Gamba, in his interesting narrative of "Lord Byron's Last
Journey into Greece," adds:--
"It is impossible to do justice to the coolness and magnanimity Lord
Byron showed on all great occasions. Under ordinary circumstances he was
irritable, but the sight of danger calmed him instantly, restoring the
free exercise of all the faculties of his noble nature. A man _more
indomitable, or firmer in the hour of danger than Lord Byron was, never
existed_."[79]
But enough of these proofs, which, perhaps, say nothing new to the
reader. Nevertheless, as they may call up again the pleasure ever
afforded by the spectacle of great moral beauty, let us further add--the
better to set forth the nature of Lord Byron's wonderful intrepidity in
face of danger--that his energetic soul loved to contemplate those
sublime things in Nature that are usually endured with terror. Tempests,
the thunder's roll, the lightning's flash--any mysterious display of
Nature's forces, so that its violence occasioned neither misfortune nor
suffering to sensitive beings--aroused in him the keenest sense of
enjoyment, which in turn ministered to his genius, incapable of finding