My Recollections of Lord Byron
been led into this noble sacrifice by his own enthusiasm, by his
illusions, by personal hopes. But no illusion, no enthusiasm, impelled
him toward Greece; naught save the satisfaction caused in a noble mind
by the performance of a great action. He did not even hope to escape
ingratitude or to silence calumny; for, although so young, he had
already acquired the experience of mature years. He knew Greece, and was
well aware what he should find there, in exchange for his repose and for
all dear to him in this world. We know what sadness overwhelmed his soul
during the last period of his sojourn at Genoa. The struggles he had
with his own heart may be imagined, when we reflect, that despite his
self-control, he was more than once surprised with tears in his eyes.
When hardly out of port from Genoa, a tempest cast him back. He landed,
and resolved on visiting the abode he had left with such anguish the day
before. While climbing the hill of Albano, the darkest presentiments
took possession of his soul. "Where shall we be this day next year?"
said he to Count Gamba, who was walking by his side. Alas! we know that
precisely that day next year, his mortal remains were carried through
the streets of London, on their way to repose with his ancestors, near
Newstead. His sorrow only increased on arriving at the palace. His
friends were gone; all within that dwelling was silent, deserted,
solitary. He asked to be left alone; and then shut himself up in his
apartments, remaining there for several hours. What was his occupation?
What were his thoughts? Through what strange agony did he pass? Who
shall tell us (since he concealed it), of that last struggle between the
Man and the Hero?
The sadnesses of great souls are _unspeakable_, almost _superhuman_.
They are beyond the scales where we would weigh them. But we know that
he understood and tasted the bitterness of this chalice,[96] without
drawing back, without failing to drain it to the last.
Night came, and behold him once more on board the vessel. The tempest
roared again, then ceased; but the storm within his soul did not cease.
Only when a tear sometimes threatened betrayal, did he hasten to the
privacy of his cabin.
We will not give here the narrative of this voyage. These pages, we
again repeat, are not a biography, but the picture of a soul.
On arriving at the Ionian Islands, he soon understood that his
sacrifice, though not beyond what circumstances demanded, certainly far
transcended any hope that could exist of regenerating this fallen race,
and constituting a nation worthy to bear the glorious name of Greece.
But it mattered not: he had given his word, and he was resolved to
remain in the country. He even quitted the asylum afforded by the Ionian
Islands, and determined to encounter all dangers, the better to
accomplish his mission.
Then he went to Missolonghi. The privations he underwent there, the
moral and physical fatigue, the effluvia from the adjoining marshes, and
the mode of life he was forced to lead, all combined to affect his
naturally good health. He was entreated to leave this unhealthy place,
and told that his life depended on it. He felt it and knew it. Already
he perceived the spectre of the future, and, at the same time, the image
of his beloved Italy floated before his eyes,--all that he had left, and
would still find there; he represented to himself the existence he might
lead there, quiet and happy, surrounded with love and respect. Still so
young, handsome, rich, and almost adored, for whom could life have more
value? But, if he left, what would become of Greece? His presence was
worth an army to that unhappy country. So, then, he would not desert his
post; _he resolved to remain, come what might_. "_No, Tita; no, we will
not return to Italy_," said he sadly to his faithful Venetian follower a
few days before he fell ill. _He did remain, and he died._
By this action, in which he overcame himself, Lord Byron gave one of
those rare examples of self-immolation, of virtue, and heroism, which,
says a noble mind of our day,[97] "afford real consolation to the soul,
and reflect the greatest honor on the human race."
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 89:
"Their praise is hymn'd by loftier hearts than mine,
Yet one I would select from that proud throng,
Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his sire some wrong."]
[Footnote 90: See Medwin.]
[Footnote 91:
"In the shade of her bower, I remember the hour
She rewarded those vows with a Tear.
By another possest, may she live ever blest!
Her name still my heart must revere;
With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a Tear."
"_The Tear_" (October, 1806).]
[Footnote 92: She had been obliged to separate from her husband, who
returned her sacrifices by bad and even brutal treatment.]
[Footnote 93:
"Oh! she was changed
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the earth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forms impalpable and unperceived
Of others' sight familiar were to hers.
And this the world calls frenzy."]
[Footnote 94: "Childe Harold," canto iv.]
[Footnote 95: Ibid.]
[Footnote 96: See his "Life in Italy."]
[Footnote 97: M. Janet.]
CHAPTER XVI.
FAULTS OF LORD BYRON.
After having shown the virtues Lord Byron possessed, it might seem
useless to inquire whether he had not the faults whose absence they
prove. Still, however, it is well to look at the subject from another
point of view, and to offer, so to say, counter-proof. For, in judging
him, all rules have been disregarded, not only those of justice and
equity, but likewise those of logic. And, as it has been variously
asserted of him, that he was constant and inconstant, firm and fickle,
guided by principle, yet giving way to every impulse; that he was both
chaste and profligate, a sensual man and an anchorite; calumny alone can
not be accused of all these contradictions. We must then seek out
conscientiously whether there were not other causes for this
_inconsistency_, so as to return back within due bounds, and bring
contradiction in accord with truth. It is, of course, beyond dispute
that the first cause of the unjust verdicts passed upon him lay in the
bad passions stirred up by his success, by the independent language he
used, and his contempt for a thousand national prejudices. Nevertheless,
as the degree of injustice dealt out toward him was quite extraordinary,
it may be asked whether some real defects did not lend specious reason
to his enemies, and thus we are forced to confess that he had one great
fault, which did powerfully aid their wickedness; it consisted in a
species of _cruelty_ toward himself, _a positive necessity of
calumniating himself_.
Although the origin of this fault or defect must have been principally
in the greatness of his soul, it certainly had other secondary and
lesser causes, and, in common with many other qualities, it was fatal to
his happiness; for men accustomed to exaggerate their own virtues only
too readily believed him. This mode of doing harm to and _persecuting_
himself, of casting shadows over his brilliant destiny, was so strange
and so real, that it is necessary to show to what extent he did it, by
collecting some of the numerous testimonies given among those who knew
him, before we bring out the real cause of his fault, as well as the
effect it had on his happiness and his reputation.
In no hands could his character have been less safe than his own, nor
any greater wrong offered to his memory than the substitution of what he
affected to be, for what he was.
While yet a student at Cambridge, he wrote a letter to Miss Pigott, full
of gayety and fun, giving as an excuse for his silence the dissipated
life he was leading, and which he calls _a wretched chaos of noise and
drunkenness, doing nothing but hunt, drink Burgundy, play, intrigue,
libertinize_. Then he exclaims:--
"What misery to have nothing else to do but make love and verses, and
create enemies for one's self."
But while avowing this misery, he adds that he has _just written 214
pages of prose and 1200 verses_.
And Moore remarks, in a note annexed to this curious letter:--
"We observe here, as in other parts of his early letters, that sort of
display and boast of _rakishness_ which is but too common a folly at
this period of life, when the young aspirant to manhood persuades
himself that to be profligate is to be manly. Unluckily, this boyish
desire to be thought worse than he really was remained with Lord Byron,
as did some other failings and foibles, long after the period when, with
others, they are past and forgotten; and his mind, indeed, was but
beginning to outgrow them when he was snatched away."
When Moore speaks of the letter in which Lord Byron, replying to the
praise given by Mr. Dallas, says he did not merit it, and depreciates
himself morally in every possible way, Moore adds:--
"Here again, however, we should recollect there must be a considerable
share of allowance for the _usual tendency to make the most and the
worst of his own obliquities_. There occurs, indeed, in his first letter
to Mr. Dallas, an account of this strange ambition, the _very reverse_,
it must be allowed, of hypocrisy--which led him to court rather than
avoid the reputation of profligacy, and to put, at all times, the worst
face on his own character and conduct."
Mr. Dallas, writing for the first time to Lord Byron after having read
his early poems, paid him some compliments on the moral beauties and
charitable sentiments contained in his verses, remarking that they
recalled another noble author, who was not only a poet, an orator, and a
distinguished historian, but one of the most vigorous reasoners in
England on the truths of that religion of which forgiveness forms the
ruling principle, viz., the good and great Lord Lyttelton. Lord Byron
answered, depreciating himself in a literary sense, and calumniating
himself morally, by the assertion that he resembled Lord Lyttelton's
son--a bad, though talented man--rather than the great author.
Dallas had the good sense to take this appreciation for what it was
worth, and asked permission to pay the young nobleman a visit. Lord
Byron answered politely that he should be happy to make his
acquaintance, but continued to paint himself, especially as regarded his
opinions, in the most unfavorable colors. Moore gives the whole of this
letter, and then adds:--
"It must be recollected, before we attach any particular importance to
the details of his creed, that in addition to the temptation--never
easily resisted by him--of displaying his wit, at the expense of his
character, he was here addressing a person who, though, no doubt, well
meaning, was evidently one of those _officious self-satisfied advisers_
whom it was the delight of Lord Byron, at all times, to _astonish_ and
_mystify_.
"The tricks which, when a boy, he played upon the Nottingham quack,
Lavander, were but the first of a long series, with which, through life,
he amused himself, at the expense of all the numerous quacks whom his
celebrity and sociability drew around him."
In the first satire he gave to the world, and which attracted sympathy
for his talent as well as for the justice of his cause, the horror he
entertained of hypocrisy already made him speak against himself:--
"E'en I--least thinking of a thoughtless throng,
Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong."