My Recollections of Lord Byron
merited for them the rank of geniuses?
All more or less were, and could not fail to have been, susceptible of
irritation and anger; for such susceptibility was indispensable in the
peculiar constitution of their minds. But he who finds sufficient
strength of will to control himself, when over-excitement is caused by
some wounded feeling, does not that person approach to virtue? Did Lord
Byron possess this power? Every thing, even to the testimony of his
servants, his masters, his comrades, proves that he did. In childhood he
showed that he knew how to conquer himself, and would use his power. He
says, himself, that his anger was of a silent nature, and made him grow
pale. Now, is not pale and silent anger of the kind that is overcome? We
know that Lord Byron's mother, while still young, suffered so cruelly
from the simultaneous loss of her fortune and a husband she adored, that
her temper became changed and embittered. She gave way to violent bursts
of passion, quite at variance with her excellent qualities of heart;
thus she loved her son, but being very jealous of his affection, a
trifle sufficed to make her launch out into reproaches and disagreeable
scenes. This disposition on her part was not calculated to inspire the
tenderness which her passionate fondness for him would otherwise have
merited. But it was his disapprobation of such scenes that taught him to
overcome in himself all outward tokens of anger, and to keep guard over
his temper. Thus he opposed to the violence displayed by his poor mother
a calm and silent demeanor that provoked her still more, it is true, but
which proved great strength of will in him. After a violent scene that
took place with her during one of his Cambridge vacations, he even
determined on leaving home.
"It was very seldom," says Moore, "that he allowed himself to be so far
provoked by her as to come out of his passivity."
And by what he himself declares in his memoranda, written at the age of
twenty-two, we see that he did not permit any external demonstration of
his temper, and that under this discipline it certainly had already
improved. "It is especially when I wish to keep silence, and when I feel
my cheeks and brow grow pale," says he, "that it becomes very difficult
for me to control myself; but the presence of a woman, though not of all
women, suffices to calm me."
To proceed with justice in any psychological study, we should never lose
sight of the particular circumstances of the subject under treatment.
Now, the circumstances amid which Lord Byron's moral and social life
first began to unfold itself were very irritating.
While yet a boy we see his heart expand to love, to tenderness, excited
by the way in which the young lady received his attentions, by the gift
she made him of her portrait, by meetings, by the encouragement her
parents afforded; for, notwithstanding the disproportion of age, they
looked favorably on a union that was equal with regard to fortune and
position. And while he was thus beguiled, this girl--whom he considered
an angel--deemed the timid youth too childish, and entered into a union
with a man of fashion.
On the eve of a long farewell to England, a friend whom he loved with
all the devotedness that belonged to a heart like his, showed the utmost
indifference at his departure. Having attained his majority, he ought to
have taken his seat in the House of Peers; but his noble guardian, Lord
Carlisle, whom he had always treated with respect, and to whom he had
lately shown the attention of dedicating his early poems to him, behaved
toward him in an unjustifiable manner. Not only did he refuse to present
him to the House of Lords, but he even delayed sending the documents
necessary for his admission, because forsooth the noble earl _did not
like his ward's mother_! Lord Byron had published a charming collection
of poems that won for him equal applause and sympathy; but an
all-powerful Review sought to humiliate him and crush his talent in the
bud by bringing out a brutal and stupid article against him. Nor was
this all; he had likewise the annoyance of money embarrassments
inherited from his predecessors in the estate. Leaving England under the
sting of all these insults from men and fate, which a phlegmatic temper
could alone have borne with patience, would it have been astonishing if
his young heart had felt irritation? But could it have existed without
being perceived by those who lived with him? Yet they say nothing about
it. His fellow-traveller was a friend and comrade of old,--Lord
Broughton, then the Hon. Mr. Hobhouse. If Lord Byron had been of an
irritable, violent temper, who more than his daily companion would have
perceived it, and suffered from it in that constant intercourse which
tries the gentlest natures? Mr. Hobhouse had lived with Lord Byron at
Cambridge, was one of his inseparable companions of Newstead, and was a
member of the confraternity of the chapter. Thus he knew him well, and
if Lord Byron's temper had been unamiable, would he have undertaken such
a long journey with him? Lord Byron did not then possess even the
prestige of celerity to render him desirable as a fellow-traveller.
Well, on returning from this journey, Mr. Hobhouse was more attached
than ever to Lord Byron, and, speaking of his qualities, expressed
himself thus:--"To perspicacity of observation and ingenious remarks,
Lord Byron united that gayety and good-humor which keeps attention alive
under the pressure of fatigue, smoothing all difficulties and dangers."
Journeys taken together test tempers so much, that a good understanding
which has withstood the trial of twenty years, is often compromised in a
journey of twenty-four hours. Thus to choose again for our travelling
companions those with whom we have already long journeyed, is the best
testimony that can be rendered to their amiable disposition. Well, this
testimony was given by Mr. Hobhouse; and while proving Lord Byron's
excellent temper, it also proves the high character of Mr. Hobhouse. For
we must not forget that malice and stupidity were inflicting a real
persecution on Lord Byron at the very moment when Mr. Hobhouse hastened
to rejoin him at Geneva, so as to travel again in company with his noble
friend. They accomplished together an excursion into the Alps, and
afterward crossed over them to visit Italy. On arriving at Venice, the
two friends separated for several months; but in the spring they met
again to visit together Rome and Florence. It was beside Mr. Hobhouse,
while scaling the Alps, that the plan of "Manfred" was conceived; and it
was on the road from Venice to Rome that the fourth canto of "Childe
Harold" was written: it is dedicated to Mr. Hobhouse, and he it was who
made the volume of notes, which forms, even independently of the text, a
work so well appreciated in England.
Having gathered from Lord Byron's first journey proofs of his good
natural disposition, and of the control he exercised over himself, I
shall also draw others from his last: that journey from Cephalonia to
Missolonghi which proved so fatal, and which alone, from all Lord Byron
did, said, and wrote during the time it lasted, would suffice to reveal
his fine character, and almost every one of his virtues.
It is well known, that during this journey he underwent still greater
annoyances than in the one from Genoa to Cephalonia, which had already
tried him so much. On seeing both destiny and the elements so
pertinaciously combine against its success, one might really be tempted
to embrace superstitious ideas, and see therein the efforts of his good
genius raising up all sorts of obstacles in order to save him, and keep
him from that fatal shore. I have already given the description of this
journey so full of dramatic incidents; and I have related Lord Byron's
admirable conduct throughout, in the passages where proofs are adduced
of his courage in danger, of his extraordinary coolness and extreme
generosity. But that is not enough; we must also examine him with regard
to amiability of temper and the self-control he was able to exercise.
We have seen him, when pressed on all sides to quit the Ionian Islands
for the continent of Greece, yield to these entreaties, although it was
the most severe season of the year (28th December), and, notwithstanding
a stormy sea, set out for Missolonghi.
He refused the honor of an escort of Greek vessels, hiring instead a
Cephalonian _Mistico_, and a heavy _Bombarda_ that waited for him at St.
Euphemia. But on arriving near the harbor, he was driven back by
contrary winds. Forced to remain on shore and wait, what sort of humor
did he display under these annoyances? Mr. Kennedy, who went to wish him
a pleasant journey, shall tell us.
"I found him," says he, "quietly reading 'Quentin Durward,' and, as
usual, in high spirits."
Meanwhile, the sea grew calm. They set sail, and embarked; Lord Byron on
the little _Mistico_, with his doctor, two or three servants, and his
dogs; Count Gamba on the _Bombarda_, with the arms, horses, followers,
baggage, papers, money, etc. On arriving at Zante, persons came to offer
Lord Byron means of amusement, various comforts, etc. To accept might
have been very pleasant for him; but he knew that he was wanted at
Missolonghi; and not an hour would he lose after having transacted
business with his bankers. He believed (for it had been announced) that
Greek vessels were coming to meet him; nor did he doubt that the Turkish
fleet was still anchored at Lepanto. Sea and wind were favorable, the
sky serene, fortune for once seemed to smile; but it was only the better
to deceive him. The Turks had been informed of his departure; and hoped
to make an easy prey of him and his riches. They left the waters of
Lepanto, and heading their course toward Patras, set off in pursuit of
Lord Byron and his suite.
At the close of a few hours, the _Mistico_, which was a good sailer,
lost sight of the _Bombarda_, of slower motion. They halted opposite the
Scrophes (rocks in Roumelia), to wait for it; and meanwhile Lord Byron
saw a large vessel bearing down upon him. Could it be the Greek vessel
sent to meet him? The _Mistico_ fired a pistol at its approach, but the
vessel did not answer fire. Was it the enemy, then? On hearing the cries
of the sailors on board, the captain could no longer doubt it: it was
an Ottoman frigate, calling on them to surrender. Their sole hope of
safety lay in the swiftness of their sails. Under cover of the darkness,
which left the Turks in fear lest the _Mistico_ should be a fire-ship,
and aided by the almost miraculous silence that reigned,--for even the
dogs, that had been barking all night, now held their peace,--the
_Mistico_ sped onward rapidly. At dawn of day it had arrived opposite
the coast, but, owing to a contrary wind, was unable to get into port.
At the same moment, another Turkish vessel, on the watch, closed the
passage toward the Gulf. An Ionian boat perceived the danger, and made
signals from the shore for the _Mistico_ not to approach. They then
succeeded, all sails set, in throwing themselves between the rocks of
Roumelia, called Scrophes, where the Turkish vessel could not penetrate.
It was amid these rocks, where he hardly remained an hour, that Lord
Byron wrote Colonel Stanhope a letter, truly admirable for its
generosity, patience, courage, coolness, and good temper; a letter which
it would seem impossible to pen under such circumstances, and which
makes Count Gamba say, when he quotes it in his work entitled "Last
Voyage of Lord Byron in Greece:"--
"Such was Lord Byron's style in the midst of great dangers. There was
always immense gayety in him, under circumstances that render other men
serious and full of care. This disposition of mind gave him an air of