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* * * * 229.—To Thomas Moore. With regard to the passage on Mr. Way’s loss, no unfair play was hinted at, as may be seen by referring to the book [1]; and it is expressly added that the managers were ignorant of that transaction. As to the prevalence of play at the Argyle, it cannot be denied that there were billiards and dice;—Lord B. has been a witness to the use of both at the Argyle Rooms. These, it is presumed, come under the denomination of play. If play be allowed, the President of the Institution can hardly complain of being termed the “Arbiter of Play,”—or what becomes of his authority? Lord B. has no personal animosity to Colonel Greville. A public institution, to which he himself was a subscriber, he considered himself to have a right to notice publickly. Of that institution Colonel Greville was the avowed director;—it is too late to enter into the discussion of its merits or demerits. Lord B. must leave the discussion of the reparation, for the real or supposed injury, to Colonel G.’s friend and Mr. Moore, the friend of Lord B.—begging them to recollect that, while they consider Colonel G.’s honour, Lord B. must also maintain his own. If the business can be settled amicably, Lord B. will do as much as can and ought to be done by a man of honour towards conciliation;—if not, he must satisfy Colonel G. in the manner most conducive to his further wishes. [Footnote 1: Byron, in ‘English Bards, etc.’ (lines 638-667), had alluded to Colonel Greville, Manager of the Argyle Institution: “Or hail at once the patron and
the pile In a note he had also referred to “Billy” Way’s loss of several thousand pounds in the Rooms. On his return from abroad, Colonel Greville demanded satisfaction through his friend Gould Francis Leckie. Byron referred Leckie to Moore, and sent Moore the above paper for his guidance. The affair was amicably settled. In his ‘Detached Thoughts’ occurs the following passage:— “I have been called in as mediator, or second, at least twenty times, in violent quarrels, and have always contrived to settle the business without compromising the honour of the parties, or leading them to mortal consequences, and this, too, sometimes in very difficult and delicate circumstances, and having to deal with very hot and haughty spirits,—Irishmen, gamesters, guardsmen, captains, and cornets of horse, and the like. This was, of course, in my youth, when I lived in hot-headed company. I have had to carry challenges from gentlemen to noblemen, from captains to captains, from lawyers to counsellors, and once from a clergyman to an officer in the Life Guards; but I found the latter by far the most difficult: “’to compose “the business being about a woman: I must add, too, that I never saw a woman behave so ill, like a cold-blooded, heartless b——as she was,—but very handsome for all that. A certain Susan C——was she called. I never saw her but once; and that was to induce her but to say two words (which in no degree compromised herself), and which would have had the effect of saving a priest or a lieutenant of cavalry. She would not say them, and neither Nepean nor myself [the son of Sir Evan Nepean, and a friend to one of the parties] could prevail upon her to say them, though both of us used to deal in some sort with womankind. At last I managed to quiet the combatants without her talisman, and, I believe, to her great disappointment: she was the damnedest b——that I ever saw, and I have seen a great many. Though my clergyman was sure to lose either his life or his living, he was as warlike as the Bishop of Beauvais, and would hardly be pacified; but then he was in love, and that is a martial passion.” One challenge from a gentleman to a nobleman was that of Scrope Davies to Lord Foley, in 1813; but Byron succeeded in arranging the matter. That from a lawyer to a counsellor was in 1815, from John Hanson to Serjeant Best, afterwards Lord Wynford, and arose out of the marriage of Miss Hanson to Lord Portsmouth; this quarrel was also settled by Byron. The case of the clergyman was that of the Rev. Robert Bland, whose mistress, during his absence in Holland, left him for an officer in the Guards (see ‘Letters’, vol. i. p. 197, end of ‘note’ [Footnote 1 of Letter 102] on Francis Hodgson). Byron was himself a fair shot with a pistol. “When in London,” writes Gronow (’Reminiscences’, vol. i. p. 152), “Byron used to go to Manton’s shooting-gallery, in Davies Street, to try his hand, as he said, at a wafer. Wedderburn Webster was present when the poet, intensely delighted with his own skill, boasted to Joe Manton that he considered himself the best shot in London. ’No, my lord,’ replied Manton, ’not the best; but your shooting to-day was respectable.’ Whereupon Byron waxed wroth, and left the shop in a violent passion.”] * * * 230.—To William Bankes. My dear Bankes,—My eagerness to come to an explanation has, I trust, convinced you that whatever my unlucky manner might inadvertently be, the change was as unintentional as (if intended) it would have been ungrateful. I really was not aware that, while we were together, I had evinced such caprices; that we were not so much in each other’s company as I could have wished, I well know, but I think so acute an observer as yourself must have perceived enough to explain this, without supposing any slight to one in whose society I have pride and pleasure. Recollect that I do not allude here to “extended” or “extending” acquaintances, but to circumstances you will understand, I think, on a little reflection. And now, my dear Bankes, do not distress me by supposing that I can think of you, or you of me, otherwise than I trust we have long thought. You told me not long ago that my temper was improved, and I should be sorry that opinion should be revoked. Believe me, your friendship is of more account to me than all those absurd vanities in which, I fear, you conceive me to take too much interest. I have never disputed your superiority, or doubted (seriously) your good will, and no one shall ever “make mischief between us” without the sincere regret on the part of your ever affectionate, etc. P.S.—I shall see you, I hope, at Lady Jersey’s Hobhouse goes also. [Footnote 1: George Child-Villiers (1773-1859), “in manners and appearance ‘le plus grand seigneur’ of his time,” succeeded his father, “the Prince of Maccaronies,” in 1805, as fifth Earl of Jersey. He was twice Lord Chamberlain to William IV., and twice Master of the Horse to Queen Victoria. He married, in 1804, Lady Sarah Sophia Fane, eldest daughter of John, tenth Earl of Westmorland, and heiress, through her mother, ‘née’ Sarah Anne Child, of the fortune of her grandfather, Robert Child, the banker. Lady Jersey for many years reigned supreme, by her beauty and wit, in London society, “the veriest tyrant,” said
Byron, “that ever governed Fashion’s fools, At Almack’s, where, according to Gronow (’Reminiscences’, vol. i. p. 32), she introduced the quadrille after Waterloo, she was a despot. ‘Almack’s’, the very clever and personal picture of fashionable life, published in 1826, is dedicated “To that most Distinguished and Despotic Conclave, composed of their High Mightinesses the Ladies Patronesses of the Balls at Almack’s, the Rulers of Fashion, the Arbiters of Taste, the Leaders of ‘Ton’, and the Makers of Manners, whose Sovereign sway over ‘the world’ of London has long been established on the firmest basis, whose Decrees are Laws, and from whose judgment there is no appeal.” Over this “Willis Coalition Cabinet” Lady Jersey, as “Lady Hauton,” is described as reigning supreme. “She knew more than any person I
ever met with, and both everything “Treat people like fools,”
she is supposed to say, “and they will Ticknor (’Life’, vol. i. p. 269) speaks of her as a “beautiful creature, with a great deal of talent, taste, and elegant knowledge.” He was at Almack’s, in 1819, and standing close to Lady Jersey, then at the height of beauty and brilliant talent, a leader in society, and with decided political opinions, when she refused the Duke of Wellington admittance. The lady patronesses had made a rule to admit no one after eleven o’clock. When the rule first came into operation, Ticknor heard one of the attendants announce that the Duke of Wellington was at the door. “What o’clock is it?” Lady Jersey asked. “Seven minutes after eleven, your ladyship.” She paused a moment, and then said, with emphasis and distinctness, “Give my compliments,—give Lady Jersey’s compliments to the Duke of Wellington, and say that she is very glad that the first enforcement of the rule of exclusion is such that hereafter no one can complain of its application. He cannot be admitted” (’ibid’., vol. i. pp. 296, 297). Politically, Lady Jersey was a power. Such an entry as the following sounds strange to modern readers: Dining at Lord Holland’s, in 1835, in company with Lord Melbourne, Lord Grey, and other prominent politicians, Ticknor notes that “public business was much talked about—the corporation bill, the motion for admitting Dissenters to the universities, etc., etc.; and as to the last, when the question arose whether it would be debated on Tuesday night, it was admitted to be doubtful whether Lady Jersey would not succeed in getting it postponed, as she has a grand dinner that evening” (’Life’, vol. i. pp. 409, 410). Lady Jersey, whose mother-in-law, ‘née’ Frances Twyden, had been a bitter opponent of the Princess of Wales, provoked the wrath of the Regent by espousing the cause of his wife. The Prince was determined to break off this friendship with his wife’s champion, and sent a letter to her by the hand of Colonel Willis, announcing his determination. Some time later they met at a great party given by Henry Hope in Cavendish Square. Lady Jersey was walking with Rogers in the gallery, when they met the Prince, who “stopped for a moment, and then, drawing himself up, marched past her with a look of the utmost disdain. Lady Jersey returned the look to the full; and, as soon as the Prince was gone, said to me, with a smile, ‘Didn’t I do it well?’” (’Table Talk of Samuel Rogers’, pp. 267, 268). From this same change of feeling arose the incident which Byron celebrated in his Condolatory Address “On the Occasion of the Prince Regent Returning her Picture to Mrs. Mee.” The lines were enclosed with a letter which is printed at the date May 29, 1814. “Pegasus is, perhaps, the only horse of whose paces,” said Byron (’Conversations with Lady Blessington’, p. 51), “Lord [Jersey] could not be a judge.” Of Lady Jersey he says (’ibid’., p. 50), “Of all that coterie, Madame [de Stael], after Lady [Jersey], was the best; at least I thought so, for these two ladies were the only ones who ventured to protect me when all London was crying out against me on the separation, and they behaved courageously and kindly … Poor dear Lady Does she still retain her beautiful cream-coloured complexion and raven hair? I used to long to tell her that she spoiled her looks by her excessive animation; for eyes, tongue, head, and arms were all in movement at once, and were only relieved from their active service by want of respiration,” etc., etc.] * * * 231.—To Thomas Moore. March 25, 1812. Know all men by these presents, that you, Thomas Moore, stand indicted—no—invited, by special and particular solicitation, to Lady Caroline Lamb’s [1] tomorrow evening, at half-past nine o’clock, where you will meet with a civil reception and decent entertainment. Pray, come—I was so examined after you this morning, that I entreat you to answer in person. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Lady Caroline Lamb (1785-1828), the “Calantha Avondale” of her own ‘Glenarvon’, was the daughter of Frederick Ponsonby, third Earl of Bessborough, by his wife, Lady Henrietta Frances Spencer, sister of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She was brought up, partly in Italy under the care of a servant, partly by her grandmother, the wife of John, first Earl Spencer. She married, June 3, 1805, William Lamb, afterwards Lord Melbourne. Her manuscript commonplace-book is in the possession of the Hon. G. Ponsonby. A few pages are taken up with a printed copy of the ’Essay on the Progressive Improvement of Mankind’, with which her husband won the declamation prize at Trinity, Cambridge, in 1798. The rest of the volume consists of some 200 pages filled with prose, and verse, and sketches. It begins with a list of her nicknames—“Sprite,” “Young Savage,” “Ariel,” “Squirrel,” etc. Then follow the secret language of an imaginary order; her first verses, written at the age of thirteen; scraps of poetry, original and extracted, in French, Italian, and English; a long fragment of a wild romantic story of a girl’s seduction by an infidel nobleman. A clever sketch in water-colour of William Lamb and of herself, after their marriage, is followed by verses on the birth of her son, “little “Augustus,” August 23, 1807. The last stanza of a poem, which has nothing to commend it except the feelings of the wife and mother which it expresses, runs thus: “His little eyes like William’s
shine; The most ambitious effort in the volume is a poem, illustrated with pictures in water colours, such as ’L’Amour se cache sous le voile d’Amitié, or l’Innocence le recoit dans ses bras’; a third, in the style of Blake, bears the inscription ‘le Désespoir met fin à ses jours’. The poem opens with the following lines: “Winged with Hope and hushed with
Joy, Dates are seldom affixed to the compositions, and it is impossible to say whether any are autobiographical. But, taken as a whole, they reveal a clever, romantic, impulsive, imaginative woman, whose pet names describe at once the charm of her character and the fascination of her small, slight figure, “golden hair, large hazel eyes,” and low musical voice. Her marriage with William Lamb, June 3, seems to have been at first kept secret. Lord Minto in August, 1805 (’Life and Letters’, vol. iii. p. 361), speaks of her as unmarried, and adds that she is “a lively and rather a pretty girl; they say she is very clever.” Augustus Foster, writing to his mother, Lady Elizabeth Foster, July 30, 1805 (’The Two Duchesses’, p. 233), says, “I cannot fancy Lady Caroline married. I cannot be glad of it. How changed she must be—the delicate Ariel, the little Fairy Queen become a wife and soon perhaps a mother.” Lady Elizabeth replies, September 30, 1805 (’ibid’., p. 242): “You may retract all your sorrow about Caro Ponsonby’s marriage, for she is the same wild, delicate, odd, delightful person, unlike everything.” Lady Caroline and William Lamb are described by Lady Elizabeth, three months later, as “flirting all day long ’è felice adesso’.” The phrase, perhaps, correctly expresses Lady Caroline’s conception of love as an episode; but no breach occurred till 1813. In the previous year, when Byron had suddenly risen to the height of his fame, she had refused to be introduced by Lady Westmorland to the man of whom she made the famous entry in her Diary “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” But they met, a few days later, at Holland House, and Byron called on her in Whitehall, where for the next four months he was a daily visitor. On blue-bordered paper, embossed at the corners with scallop-shells, she wrote to Byron at an early stage in their acquaintance, the letter numbered 1 in Appendix III. For the sequel to the story of their friendship, see Byron’s letter to Lady Caroline, p. 135, ‘note’ 1, and Appendix III.] * * * 232.—To Lady Caroline Lamb. [Undated.] I never supposed you artful: we are all selfish,—nature did that for us. But even when you attempt deceit occasionally, you cannot maintain it, which is all the better; want of success will curb the tendency. Every word you utter, every line you write, proves you to be either sincere or a fool. Now as I know you are not the one, I must believe you the other. I never knew a woman with greater or more pleasing talents, general as in a woman they should be, something of everything, and too much of nothing. But these are unfortunately coupled with a total want of common conduct. [1] For instance, the note to your page—do you suppose I delivered it? or did you mean that I should? I did not of course. Then your heart, my poor Caro (what a little volcano!), that pours lava through your veins; and yet I cannot wish it a bit colder, to make a marble slab of, as you sometimes see (to understand my foolish metaphor) brought in vases, tables, etc., from Vesuvius, when hardened after an eruption. To drop my detestable tropes and figures, you know I have always thought you the cleverest, most agreeable, absurd, amiable, perplexing, dangerous, fascinating little being that lives now, or ought to have lived 2000 years ago. I won’t talk to you of beauty; I am no judge. But our beauties cease to be so when near you, and therefore you have either some, or something better. And now, Caro, this nonsense is the first and last compliment (if it be such) I ever paid you. You have often reproached me as wanting in that respect; but others will make up the deficiency. Come to Lord Grey’s; at least do not let me keep you away. All that you so often say, I feel. Can more be said or felt? This same prudence is tiresome enough; but one must maintain it, or what can one do to be saved? Keep to it. [Footnote 1: The following letter from Lady Caroline to Fletcher, Byron’s valet, illustrates the statement in the text: “FLETCHER,—Will you come and see me here some evening at 9, and no one will know of it. You may say you bring a letter, and wait the answer. I will send for you in. But I will let you know first, for I wish to speak with you. I also want you to take the little Foreign Page I shall send in to see Lord Byron. Do not tell him before-hand, but, when he comes with flowers, shew him in. I shall not come myself, unless just before he goes away; so do not think it is me. Besides, you will see this is quite a child, only I wish him to see my Lord if you can contrive it, which, if you tell me what hour is most convenient, will be very easy. I go out of Town to-morrow for a day or two, and I am now quite well—at least much better.”] * * * 233.—To William Bankes. April 20, 1812. MY DEAR BANKES,—I feel rather hurt (not savagely) at the speech you made to me last night, and my hope is that it was only one of your profane jests. I should be very sorry that any part of my behaviour should give you cause to suppose that I think higher of myself, or otherwise of you than I have always done. I can assure you that I am as much the humblest of your servants as at Trin. Coll.; and if I have not been at home when you favoured me with a call, the loss was more mine than yours. In the bustle of buzzing parties, there is, there can be, no rational conversation; but when I can enjoy it, there is nobody’s I can prefer to your own. Believe me, ever faithfully and most affectionately yours, BYRON. * * * 234.—To Thomas Moore. Friday noon. I should have answered your note yesterday, but I hoped to have seen you this morning. I must consult with you about the day we dine with Sir Francis [1]. I suppose we shall meet at Lady Spencer’s [2] to-night. I did not know that you were at Miss Berry’s [3] the other night, or I should have certainly gone there. As usual, I am in all sorts of scrapes, though none, at present, of a martial description. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Probably with Sir Francis Burdett, at 77, Piccadilly.] [Footnote 2: Grandmother of Lady Caroline Lamb.] [Footnote 3: Mary Berry (1763-1852), the friend and editor of Horace Walpole, whom she might have married, lived at Little Strawberry Hill, and in North Audley Street, London. In her Journal Miss Berry mentions two occasions on which she met Byron. The first was Thursday, April 2, 1812, at Lord Glenbervie’s. “I had a quarter of an hour’s
conversation, which, I own, gave me a The second occasion was May 7, 1812. “At the end of the evening I had half an hour’s conversation with Lord Byron, principally on the subject of the Scotch Review, with which he is very much pleased. He is a singular man, and pleasant to me but I very much fear that his head begins to be turned by all the adoration of the world, especially the women” (’Journal and Correspondence of Miss Berry’, vol. ii. pp. 496, 497).] * * * 235.—To Lady Caroline Lamb. May 1st, 1812. MY DEAR LADY CAROLINE,-I have read over the few poems of Miss Milbank [1] with attention. They display fancy, feeling, and a little practice would very soon induce facility of expression. Though I have an abhorrence of Blank Verse, I like the lines on Dermody [2] so much that I wish they were in rhyme. The lines in the Cave at Seaham have a turn of thought which I cannot sufficiently commend, and here I am at least candid as my own opinions differ upon such subjects. The first stanza is very good indeed, and the others, with a few slight alterations, might be rendered equally excellent. The last are smooth and pretty. But these are all, has she no others? She certainly is a very extraordinary girl; who would imagine so much strength and variety of thought under that placid Countenance? It is not necessary for Miss M. to be an authoress, indeed I do not think publishing at all creditable either to men or women, and (though you will not believe me) very often feel ashamed of it myself; but I have no hesitation in saying that she has talents which, were it proper or requisite to indulge, would have led to distinction. A friend of mine (fifty years old, and an author, but not Rogers) has just been here. As there is no name to the MSS. I shewed them to him, and he was much more enthusiastic in his praises than I have been. He thinks them beautiful; I shall content myself with observing that they are better, much better, than anything of Miss M.’s protegee (’sic’) Blacket. You will say as much of this to Miss M. as you think proper. I say all this very sincerely. I have no desire to be better acquainted with Miss Milbank; she is too good for a fallen spirit to know, and I should like her more if she were less perfect. Believe me, yours ever most truly, B. [Footnote 1: This letter refers to the future Lady Byron, the “Miss Monmouth” of ‘Glenarvon’ (see vol. iii. p. 100), who was first brought to Byron’s notice by Lady Caroline Lamb. Anna Isabella (often shortened into Annabella) Milbanke (born May 17, 1792; died May 16, 1860) was the only child of Sir Ralph Milbanke, Bart., and the Hon. Judith Noel, daughter of Lord Wentworth. Her childhood was passed at Halnaby, or at Seaham, where her father had “a pretty villa on the cliff.” In 1808 Seaham “was the most primitive hamlet ever met with—a dozen or so of cottages, no trade, no manufacture, no business doing that we could see; the owners were mostly servants of Sir Ralph Milbanke’s” (’Memoirs of a Highland Lady’, p. 71). It was here that Blacket the poet (see ‘Letters’, vol. i. p. 314, ‘note’ 2; p. 6, ‘note’ 5, of the present volume; and ’English Bards, etc’., line 770, and Byron’s ‘note’) died, befriended by Miss Milbanke. Byron (Medwin’s ‘Conversations with Lord Byron’, pp. 44, 45) thus describes the personal appearance of his future wife: “There was something piquant and what we term pretty in Miss Milbanke. Her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height; and there was a simplicity, a retired modesty, about her, which was very characteristic, and formed a happy contrast to the cold, artificial formality and studied stiffness which is called fashion.” The roundness of her face suggested to Byron the pet name of “Pippin.” High-principled, guided by a strong sense of duty, imbued with deep religious feeling, Miss Milbanke lived to impress F. W. Robertson as “the noblest woman he ever knew” (’Diary of Crabb Robinson’ (1852), vol. iii. p. 405). She was also a clever, well-read girl, fond of mathematics, a student of theology and of Greek, a writer of meritorious verse, which, however, Byron only allowed to be “good by accident” (Medwin, p. 60). Among her mother’s friends were Mrs. Siddons, Joanna Baillie, and Maria Edgeworth. The latter, writing, May, 1813, to Miss Ruxton, says, “Lady Milbanke is very agreeable, and has a charming, well-informed daughter.” With all her personal charms, virtues, and mental gifts, she shows, in many of her letters, a precision, formality, and self-complacency, which suggest the female pedant. Byron says of her that “she was governed by what she called fixed rules and principles, squared mathematically” (Medwin, p. 60); at one time he used to speak of her as his “Princess of Parallelograms,” and at a later period he called her his “Mathematical Medea.” Before Miss Milbanke met Byron, she had a lover in Augustus Foster, son of Lady Elizabeth Foster, afterwards Duchess of Devonshire. The duchess, writing to her son, February 29, 1812, says that Mrs. George Lamb (?) would sound Miss Milbanke as to her feelings: “Caro means to see ‘la bella’
Annabelle before she writes to you (’The Two Duchesses’, p. 358). Apparently Mr. Foster’s love was not returned. “She persists in saying,” writes the duchess, May 4, 1812 (’ibid’., p. 362), “that she never suspected your attachment to her; but she is so odd a girl that, though she has for some time rather liked another, she has decidedly refused them, because she thinks she ought to marry a person with a good fortune; and this is partly, I believe, from generosity to her parents, and partly owning that fortune is an object to herself for happiness. In short, she is good, amiable, and sensible, but cold, prudent, and reflecting. Lord Byron makes up to her a little; but she don’t seem to admire him except as a poet, nor he her except for a wife.” Again, June 2, 1812, she says, “Your Annabella is a mystery; liking,
not liking; generous-minded, yet Miss Milbanke’s unaffected simplicity attracted Byron; even her coldness was a charm. When he came to know her, he probably found her not only agreeable, but the best woman he had ever met. Lady Melbourne, who knew him most intimately, and was also Miss Milbanke’s aunt, may well have thought that, if her niece once gained control over Byron, her influence would be the making of his character. She encouraged the match by every means in her power. It is unnecessary to suppose that she did so to save Lady Caroline Lamb; that danger was over. At some time before the autumn of 1812, Byron proposed to Miss Milbanke, and was refused. He still, however, continued to correspond with her, and his ‘Journal’ shows that his affection for her was steadily growing during the years 1813-14. In September, 1814, he proposed a second time, and was accepted. Byron professed to believe (Medwin, p. 59) that Miss Milbanke was not in love with him. “I was the fashion when she first came out; I had the character of being a great rake, and was a great dandy—both of which young ladies like. She married me from vanity, and the hope of reforming and fixing me.” Byron was not the man to unbosom himself to Medwin on such a subject. Moore asked the same question—whether Lady Byron really loved Byron—of Lady Holland, who “seemed to think she must.
He was such a loveable person. I remember (’Journals, etc.’, vol. ii. p. 324). The letters that will follow seem to show beyond all question that the marriage was one of true affection on both sides.] [Footnote 2: Thomas Dermody (1775-1802), a precocious Irish lad, whose dissipated habits weakened his mind and body, published poems in 1792, 1800, and 1802. His collected verses appeared in 1807 under the title of ‘The Harp of Erin’, edited by J. G. Raymond, who had published the previous year (1806) ‘The Life of Thomas Dermody’ in two volumes.] * * * 236.—To Thomas Moore. May 8, 1812. I am too proud of being your friend, to care with whom I am linked in your estimation, and, God knows, I want friends more at this time than at any other. I am “taking care of myself” to no great purpose. If you knew my situation in every point of view, you would excuse apparent and unintentional neglect. I shall leave town, I think; but do not you leave it without seeing me. I wish you, from my soul, every happiness you can wish yourself; and I think you have taken the road to secure it. Peace be with you! I fear she has abandoned me. Ever, etc. * * * 237.—To Thomas Moore. May 20, 1812. On Monday, after sitting up all night, I saw Bellingham launched into eternity [1], and at three the same day I saw * * * launched into the country. I believe, in the beginning of June, I shall be down for a few days in Notts. If so, I shall beat you up ‘en passant’ with Hobhouse, who is endeavouring, like you and every body else, to keep me out of scrapes. I meant to have written you a long letter, but I find I cannot. If any thing remarkable occurs, you will hear it from me—if good; if bad, there are plenty to tell it. In the mean time, do you be happy. Ever yours, etc. P.S.—My best wishes and respects to Mrs. Moore;—she is beautiful. I may say so even to you, for I was never more struck with a countenance. [Footnote 1: Bellingham, while engaged in the timber trade at Archangel, fancied himself wronged by the Russian Government, and the British Ambassador at St. Petersburg, Lord G. Leveson-Gower. Returning to England, he set up in Liverpool as an insurance broker, continuing to press his claims against Russia on the Ministry without success. On May 11, 1812, he shot Spencer Perceval, First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, dead in the lobby of the House of Commons. Bellingham was hanged before Newgate on May 18. Byron took a window, says Moore (’Life’, p. 164), to see the execution. He “was accompanied on the occasion by his old schoolfellows, Mr. Bailey and Mr. John Madocks. They went together from some assembly, and, on their arriving at the spot, about three o’clock in the morning, not finding the house that was to receive them open, Mr. Madocks undertook to rouse the inmates, while Lord Byron and Mr. Bailey sauntered, arm in arm, up the street. During this interval, rather a painful scene occurred. Seeing an unfortunate woman lying on the steps of a door, Lord Byron, with some expression of compassion, offered her a few shillings; but, instead of accepting them, she violently pushed away his hand, and, starting up with a yell of laughter, began to mimic the lameness of his gait. He did not utter a word; but ‘I could feel,’ said Mr. Bailey, ‘his arm trembling within mine, as we left her.’” In Byron’s ‘Detached Thoughts’ is an anecdote of Baillie, whose name is here misspelt by Moore: “Baillie (commonly called ‘Long’ Baillie, a very clever man, but odd) complained in riding, to our friend Scrope Davies, that he had a ‘stitch’ in his side. ‘I don’t wonder at it,’ said Scrope, ’for you ride like a tailor.’ Whoever has seen B. on horseback, with his very tall figure on a small nag, would not deny the justice of the repartee.”] * * * 238.—To Bernard Barton [1]. 8, St. James’s St., June 1, 1812. The most satisfactory answer to the concluding part of your letter is that Mr. Murray will republish your volume, if you still retain your inclination for the experiment, which I trust will be successful. Some weeks ago my friend Mr. Rogers showed me some of the stanzas in MS., and I then expressed my opinion of their merit, which a further perusal of the printed volume has given me no reason to revoke. I mention this, as it may not be disagreeable to you to learn that I entertained a very favourable opinion of your powers, before I was aware that such sentiments were reciprocal. Waiving your obliging expressions as to my own productions, for which I thank you very sincerely, and assure you that I think not lightly of the praise of one whose approbation is valuable, will you allow me to talk to you candidly, not critically, on the subject of yours? You will not suspect me of a wish to discourage, since I pointed out to the publisher the propriety of complying with your wishes. I think more highly of your poetical talents than it would, perhaps, gratify you to hear expressed, for I believe, from what I observe of your mind, that you are above flattery. To come to the point, you deserve success, but we know, before Addison wrote his Cato’, that desert does not always command it. But, suppose it attained: “You know what ills the author’s
life assail, Do not renounce writing, but never trust entirely to authorship. If you have a possession, retain it; it will be, like Prior’s fellowship a last and sure resource. Compare Mr. Rogers with other authors of the day; assuredly he is amongst the first of living poets, but is it to that he owes his station in society, and his intimacy in the best circles? No, it is to his prudence and respectability; the world (a bad one, I own) courts him because he has no occasion to court it. He is a poet, nor is he less so because he was something more. I am not sorry to hear that you are not tempted by the vicinity of Capel Loft, Esq’re. [4], though, if he had done for you what he has done for the Bloomfields, I should never have laughed at his rage for patronising. But a truly constituted mind will ever be independent. That you may be so is my sincere wish, and, if others think as well of your poetry as I do, you will have no cause to complain of your readers. Believe me, etc. [Footnote 1: Bernard Barton (1784-1849), the friend of Charles Lamb, and the Quaker poet, to whose ‘Poems and Letters’ (1849) Edward FitzGerald prefixed a biographical introduction, published ‘Metrical Effusions’ (1812), ‘Poems by an Amateur’ (1817), ‘Poems’ (1820), and several other works. He was for many years a clerk in a bank at Woodbridge, in Suffolk. Byron’s advice to him was that of Lamb: “Keep to your bank, and your bank will keep you.” Two letters, written by him to Byron in 1814, showing his admiration of the poet, and his appreciation of the generosity of his character, and part of the draft of Byron’s answer, are given in Appendix IV.] [Footnote 2: “There mark what ills the scholar’s
life assail,— Johnson’s ‘Vanity of Human Wishes’, line 159.] [Footnote 3: Matthew Prior (1664-1721) became a Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge, in 1688.] [Footnote 4: For Capell Lofft and the Bloomfields, see ‘Letters’, vol. i. p. 337, ‘notes’ I and 2 [Footnotes 4 and 5 of Letter 167.]] * * * 239.—To Lord Holland. June 25, 1812. MY DEAR LORD,—I must appear very ungrateful, and have, indeed, been very negligent, but till last night I was not apprised of Lady Holland’s restoration, and I shall call to-morrow to have the satisfaction, I trust, of hearing that she is well.—I hope that neither politics nor gout have assailed your Lordship since I last saw you, and that you also are “as well as could be expected.” The other night, at a ball, I was presented by order to our gracious Regent, who honoured me with some conversation, and professed a predilection for poetry [1].—I confess it was a most unexpected honour, and I thought of poor Brummell’s [2] adventure, with some apprehension of a similar blunder. I have now great hope, in the event of Mr. Pye’s [3] decease, of “warbling truth at court,” like Mr. Mallet [4] of indifferent memory.—Consider, one hundred marks a year! besides the wine and the disgrace; but then remorse would make me drown myself in my own butt before the year’s end, or the finishing of my first dithyrambic.—So that, after all, I shall not meditate our laureate’s death by pen or poison. Will you present my best respects to Lady Holland? and believe me, hers and yours very sincerely. [Footnote 1: The ball was given in June, 1812, at Miss Johnson’s (see ‘Memoir of John Murray’, vol. i. p. 212). In the words “predilection for poetry” Byron probably refers to the phrase in the Regent’s letter to the Duke of York (February 13, 1812): “I have no predilections to indulge, no resentments to gratify.” Moore, in the ‘Twopenny Post-bag’, twice fastens on the phrase. In “The Insurrection of the Papers”, a dream suggested by Lord Castlereagh’s speech—“It would be impossible for His Royal Highness to disengage his person from the accumulating pile of papers that encompassed it”—he writes: “But, oh, the basest of defections! And again, in the “Parody of a Celebrated Letter”: “I am proud to declare I have no
predilections, [Footnote 2: The grandfather of Beau Brummell, who was in business in Bury Street, St. James’s, also let lodgings. One of his lodgers, Charles Jenkinson, afterwards Earl of Liverpool, obtained for his landlord’s son, William Brummell, a clerkship in the Treasury. The Treasury clerk became so useful to Lord North that he obtained several lucrative offices; and, dying in 1794, left £65,000 in the hands of trustees for division among his three children. The youngest of these was George Bryan Brummell (1788-1840), the celebrated Beau. George Brummell went from Eton to Oriel College, Oxford, where his undergraduate career is traced in “Trebeck,” a character in Lister’s ‘Granby’ (1826). From Oxford Brummell entered the Tenth Hussars, a favourite regiment of the Prince of Wales. Well-built and well-mannered, possessed of admirable tact, witty and original in conversation, inexhaustible in good temper and good stories, a master of impudence and banter, the new cornet made himself so agreeable to the prince that, at the latter’s marriage, Brummell attended him, both at St. James’s and to Windsor, as “a kind of ’chevalier d’honneur.” In 1798 Brummell left the army with the rank of captain. A year later he came of age, and settled at 4, Chesterfield Street, Mayfair. On his intimacy with the Prince Regent, Brummell founded the extraordinary position which he achieved in society. Fashion was in those days a power; and he was its dictator—the oracle, both for men and women, of taste, manners, and dress. His ascendency rested in some degree on solid foundations. He was not a mere fop, but conspicuous for the quiet neatness of his dress—for “a certain exquisite propriety,” as Byron described it to Leigh Hunt—and, at a time when the opposite was common, for the scrupulous cleanliness of his person and his linen. An excellent dancer, clever at ‘vers de société’, an agreeable singer, a talented artist, a judge of china, buhl, and other objects of ‘virtù’, a collector of snuff-boxes, a connoisseur in canes, he had gifts which might have raised him above the Bond Street ‘flaneur’, or the idler at Watier’s Club. Well-read in a desultory fashion, he wrote verses which were not without merit in their class. The following are the first and last stanzas of ‘The Butterfly’s Funeral’, a poem which was suggested by Mrs. Dorset’s ‘Peacock at Home’ and Roscoe’s ’Butterfly’s Ball’:— “Oh ye! who so lately were
blythsome and gay, In the days of his prosperity (1799-1816), Brummell knew everybody to whose acquaintance he condescended. His Album, in which he collected 226 pieces of poetry, many by himself, others by celebrities of the day, is a curious proof of his popularity. It contains contributions from such persons as the Duchess of Devonshire, Erskine, Lord John Townshend, Sheridan, General Fitzpatrick, William Lamb (afterwards Lord Melbourne) and his brother George, and Byron. Lady Hester Stanhope (’Memoirs’, vol. i. pp. 280-283) knew him well. She describes him “riding in Bond Street, with his bridle between his fore-finger and thumb, as if he held a pinch of snuff;” gives many instances of his audacious effrontery, and yet concludes that “the man was no fool,” and that she “should like to see him again.” The story that Brummell told the Prince Regent to ring the bell was denied by him. A more probable version of the story is given in Jesse’s ‘Life of Beau Brummell’ (vol. i. p. 255), “that one evening, when Brummell and Lord Moira were engaged in earnest conversation at Carlton House, the prince requested the former to ring the bell, and that he replied without reflection, ’Your Royal Highness is close to it,’ upon which the prince rang the bell and ordered his friend’s carriage, but that Lord Moira’s intervention caused the unintentional liberty to be overlooked.” The rupture between them is attributed by Jesse to Mrs. Fitzherbert’s influence. Whatever the cause, the prince cut his former friend. A short time afterwards, Brummell, walking with Lord Alvanley, met the prince leaning on the arm of Lord Moira. As the prince, who stopped to speak to Lord Alvanley, was moving on, Brummell said to his companion, “Alvanley, who’s your fat friend?” In the ‘Twopenny Postbag’ Moore makes the Regent say, in the “Parody of a Celebrated Letter”: “Neither have I resentments, or
wish there should come ill Brummell’s position withstood the loss of the Regent’s friendship. He became one of the most frequent visitors to the Duke and Duchess of York, at Oatlands Park (’Journal of T. Raikes’, vol. i. p. 146); and his friendship with the duchess lasted till her death. He was ruined by gambling at Watier’s Club, of which he was perpetual president. This club, which was in Piccadilly, at the corner of Bolton Street, was originally founded, in 1807, by Lord Headfort, John Madocks, and other young men, for musical gatherings. But glees and snatches soon gave way to superlative dinners and gambling at macao. Byron, Moore, and William Spencer belonged to Watier’s—the only men of letters admitted within its precincts. From 1814 to 1816 Brummell lost heavily; he could obtain no further supplies, and was completely ruined. In his distress he wrote to Scrope Davies, in May, 1816: “MY DEAR SCROPE,—Lend
me two hundred pounds; the banks are shut, and Yours, The reply illustrates Byron’s remark that “Scrope Davies is a wit, and a man
of the world, and feels as much as “MY DEAR GEORGE,—’Tis
very unfortunate, but all my money is in the Yours, On May 17, “obliged,” says Byron (’Detached Thoughts’), “by that affair of poor Meyler, who thence acquired the name of ’Dick the Dandykiller’—(it was about money and debt and all that)—to retire to France,” Brummell took flight to Dover, and crossed to Calais. Watier’s Club died a natural death, in 1819, from the ruin of most of its members. Amongst Brummell’s effects at Chesterfield Street was a screen which he was making for the Duchess of York. The sixth panel was occupied by Byron and Napoleon, placed opposite each other; the former, surrounded with flowers, had a wasp in his throat (Jesse’s ‘Life’, vol. i. p. 361). At Calais Brummell bought a French grammar to study the language. When Scrope Davies was asked, says Byron (’Detached Thoughts’), “what progress Brummell had made in French, he responded ’that Brummell had been stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the ‘Elements’’ I have put this pun into ‘Beppo’, which is ’a fair exchange and no robbery;’ for Scrope made his fortune at several dinners (as he owned himself) by repeating occasionally as his own some of the buffooneries with which I had encountered him in the morning.” Brummell died, in 1840, at Caen, after making acquaintance with the inside of the debtor’s prison in that town—imbecile, and in the asylum of the ‘Bon Sauveur’. He is buried in the Protestant cemetery of Caen. France has raised a more lasting monument to his fame in Barbey d’Aurevilly’s ‘Du Dandysme et de Georges Brummell’ (1845).] [Footnote 3: Henry James Pye (1745-1813) was, from 1790 to his death, poet laureate, in which post he succeeded Thomas Warton, and was followed by Southey. Mathias, in the ‘Pursuits of Literature’ (Dialogue ii. lines 69, 70), says: “With Spartan Pye lull England to
repose, and again (’ibid’., lines 79, 80): “Why should I faint when all with
patience hear, His birthday odes were so full of “vocal groves and feathered choirs,” that George Steevens broke out with the lines: “When the ‘pie’ was opened,” etc. Pye’s ‘magnum opus’ was ‘Alfred’ (1801), an epic poem in six books.] [Footnote 4: David Mallet, or Malloch (1705-1765), is best known for his ballad of ‘William and Margaret’, his unsubstantiated claim to the authorship of ‘Rule, Britannia’, and his edition of Bolingbroke’s works. He was appointed, in 1742, under-secretary to Frederick, Prince of Wales.] * * * 240.—To Professor Clarke [1]. St. James’s Street, June 26, 1812. Will you accept my very sincere congratulations on your second volume, wherein I have retraced some of my old paths, adorned by you so beautifully, that they afford me double delight? The part which pleases me best, after all, is the preface, because it tells me you have not yet closed labours, to yourself not unprofitable, nor without gratification, for what is so pleasing as to give pleasure? I have sent my copy to Sir Sidney Smith, who will derive much gratification from your anecdotes of Djezzar, [1] his “energetic old man.” I doat upon the Druses; but who the deuce are they with their Pantheism? I shall never be easy till I ask them the question. How much you have traversed! I must resume my seven leagued boots and journey to Palestine, which your description mortifies me not to have seen more than ever. I still sigh for the Ægean. Shall not you always love its bluest of all waves, and brightest of all skies? You have awakened all the gipsy in me. I long to be restless again, and wandering; see what mischief you do, you won’t allow gentlemen to settle quietly at home. I will not wish you success and fame, for you have both, but all the happiness which even these cannot always give. [Footnote 1: Edward Daniel Clarke (1769-1822), appointed Professor of Mineralogy at Cambridge, in 1808, was the rival whose travels Hobhouse was anxious to anticipate. He is described by Miss Edgeworth, in 1813 (’Letters’, vol. i. p. 205), as “a little, square, pale, flat-faced,
good-natured-looking, fussy man, Byron met Clarke at Cambridge in November, 1811, discussed Greece with him, and was relieved to find that he knew “no Romaic.” Clarke was an indefatigable traveller, and, as he was a botanist, mineralogist, antiquary, and numismatist, he made good use of his opportunities. The marbles, including the Eleusinian Ceres, which he brought home, are in the Fitzwilliam Museum. His mineralogical collections were purchased, after his death, by the University of Cambridge; and his coins by Payne Knight. His ‘Travels in Various Countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa’ appeared at intervals, from 1810 to 1823, in six quarto volumes. The following letter was written by Clarke to Byron, after the appearance of ‘Childe Harold’: “Trumpington, Wednesday morning. “DEAR LORD BYRON,—From the eagerness which I felt to make known my opinions of your poem before others had expressed any upon the subject, I waited upon you to deliver my hasty, although hearty, commendation. If it be worthy your acceptance, take it once more, in a more deliberate form! Upon my arrival in town I found that Mathias entirely coincided with me. ‘Surely,’ said I to him, ’Lord Byron, at this time of life, cannot have experienced such keen anguish as those exquisite allusions to what older men may have felt seem to denote!’ This was his answer: ’I fear he has—he could not else have written such a poem.’ This morning I read the second canto with all the attention it so highly merits, in the peace and stillness of my study; and I am ready to confess I was never so much affected by any poem, passionately fond of poetry as I have been from my earliest youth…. “The eighth stanza, ‘Yet
if as holiest men,’ etc., has never
been ‘Strange cozenage! none would live past years again.’ “And it is perhaps an instance wherein, for the first time, I found not within my own breast an echo to your thought, for I would not ’be once more a boy;’ but the generality of men will agree with you, and wish to tread life’s path again. “In the twelfth stanza of the same
canto, you might really add a very ’Her sons too weak the
sacred shrine to guard, “by stating this fact: When the last of the Metopes was taken from the Parthenon, and, in moving it, a great part of the superstructure with one of the triglyphs, was thrown down by the work men whom Lord Elgin employed, the Disdar, who beheld the mischief done to the building, took his pipe out of his mouth, dropped a tear, and, in a supplicating tone of voice, said to Lusieri—[Greek: Télos]! I was present at the time. “Once more I thank you for the gratification you have afforded me. “Believe me, ever yours most truly, [Footnote 2: In Clarke’s ‘Travels’ (Part II. sect. i. chap, xii., “Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land”) will be found an account of Djezzar Pasha, who fortified Acre in 1775, and with Sir Sidney Smith, defended it against Buonaparte, March 16 to May 20, 1799. Clarke (’ibid’.) mentions the Druses detained by Djezzar as hostages.] * * * 241.—To Walter Scott. [1] St. James’s Street, July 6, 1812. SIR,—I have just been honoured with your letter.—I feel sorry that you should have thought it worth while to notice the “evil works of my nonage,” as the thing is suppressed voluntarily, and your explanation is too kind not to give me pain. The Satire was written when I was very young and very angry, and fully bent on displaying my wrath and my wit, and now I am haunted by the ghosts of my wholesale assertions. I cannot sufficiently thank you for your praise; and now, waving myself, let me talk to you of the Prince Regent. He ordered me to be presented to him at a ball; and after some sayings peculiarly pleasing from royal lips, as to my own attempts, he talked to me of you and your immortalities: he preferred you to every bard past and present, and asked which of your works pleased me most. It was a difficult question. I answered, I thought the ‘Lay’. He said his own opinion was nearly similar. In speaking of the others, I told him that I thought you more particularly the poet of Princes, as they never appeared more fascinating than in ‘Marmion’ and the ‘Lady of the Lake’. He was pleased to coincide, and to dwell on the description of your Jameses as no less royal than poetical. He spoke alternately of Homer and yourself, and seemed well acquainted with both; so that (with the exception of the Turks [2] and your humble servant) you were in very good company. I defy Murray to have exaggerated his Royal Highness’s opinion of your powers, nor can I pretend to enumerate all he said on the subject; but it may give you pleasure to hear that it was conveyed in language which would only suffer by my attempting to transcribe it, and with a tone and taste which gave me a very high idea of his abilities and accomplishments, which I had hitherto considered as confined to manners, certainly superior to those of any living gentleman [3]. This interview was accidental. I never went to the levee; for having seen the courts of Mussulman and Catholic sovereigns, my curiosity was sufficiently allayed; and my politics being as perverse as my rhymes, I had, in fact, “no business there.” To be thus praised by your Sovereign must be gratifying to you; and if that gratification is not alloyed by the communication being made through me, the bearer of it will consider himself very fortunately and sincerely, Your obliged and obedient servant, BYRON. P.S.—Excuse this scrawl, scratched in a great hurry, and just after a journey. [Footnote 1: The correspondence which begins with this letter laid the foundation of a firm friendship between the two poets. Scott was naturally annoyed by the attack upon him in ‘English Bards, etc’. (lines 171-174), made by “a young whelp of a Lord Byron.” Though ’Childe Harold’ seemed to him “a clever poem,” it did not raise his opinion of Byron’s character. Murray, hoping to heal the breach between them, wrote to Scott, June 27, 1812 (’Memoir of John Murray’, vol. i. p. 213), giving Byron’s account of the conversation with the Prince Regent. “But the Prince’s great delight,” says Murray, “was Walter Scott, whose name and writings he dwelt upon and recurred to incessantly. He preferred him far beyond any other poet of the time, repeated several passages with fervour, and criticized them faithfully…. Lord Byron called upon me, merely to let off the raptures of the Prince respecting you, thinking, as he said, that if I were likely to have occasion to write to you, it might not be ungrateful for you to hear of his praises.” Scott’s answer (July 2) enclosed the following letter from himself to Byron: “Edinburgh, July 3d, 1812. “MY LORD,—I am uncertain if I ought to profit by the apology which is afforded me, by a very obliging communication from our acquaintance, John Murray, of Fleet Street, to give your Lordship the present trouble. But my intrusion concerns a large debt of gratitude due to your Lordship, and a much less important one of explanation, which I think I owe to myself, as I dislike standing low in the opinion of any person whose talents rank so highly in my own, as your Lordship’s most deservedly do. “The first ‘count’, as our technical language expresses it, relates to the high pleasure I have received from the ’Pilgrimage of Childe Harold’, and from its precursors; the former, with all its classical associations, some of which are lost on so poor a scholar as I am, possesses the additional charm of vivid and animated description, mingled with original sentiment; but besides this debt, which I owe your Lordship in common with the rest of the reading public, I have to acknowledge my particular thanks for your having distinguished by praise, in the work which your Lordship rather dedicated in general to satire, some of my own literary attempts. And this leads me to put your Lordship right in the circumstances respecting the sale of ‘Marmion’, which had reached you in a distorted and misrepresented form, and which, perhaps, I have some reason to complain, were given to the public without more particular inquiry. The poem, my Lord, was not written upon contract for a sum of money—though it is too true that it was sold and published in a very unfinished state (which I have since regretted), to enable me to extricate myself from some engagements which fell suddenly upon me by the unexpected misfortunes of a very near relation. So that, to quote statute and precedent, I really come under the case cited by Juvenal, though not quite in the extremity of the classic author: ‘Esurit, intactam Paridi nisi vendit Agaven.’ “And so much for a mistake, into which your Lordship might easily fall, especially as I generally find it the easiest way of stopping sentimental compliments on the beauty, etc., of certain poetry, and the delights which the author must have taken in the composition, by assigning the readiest reason that will cut the discourse short, upon a subject where one must appear either conceited or affectedly rude and cynical. “As for my attachment to literature, I sacrificed for the pleasure of pursuing it very fair chances of opulence and professional honours, at a time of life when I fully knew their value; and I am not ashamed to say, that in deriving advantages in compensation from the partial favour of the public, I have added some comforts and elegancies to a bare independence. I am sure your Lordship’s good sense will easily put this unimportant egotism to the right account, for—though I do not know the motive would make me enter into controversy with a fair or an ‘unfair’ literary critic—I may be well excused for a wish to clear my personal character from any tinge of mercenary or sordid feeling in the eyes of a contemporary of genius. Your Lordship will likewise permit me to add that you would have escaped the trouble of this explanation, had I not understood that the satire alluded to had been suppressed, not to be reprinted. For in removing a prejudice on your Lordship’s own mind, I had no intention of making any appeal by or through you to the public, since my own habits of life have rendered my defence as to avarice or rapacity rather too easy. “Leaving this foolish matter where it lies, I have to request your Lordship’s acceptance of my best thanks for the flattering communication which you took the trouble to make Mr. Murray on my behalf, and which could not fail to give me the gratification which I am sure you intended. I dare say our worthy bibliopolist overcoloured his report of your Lordship’s conversation with the Prince Regent, but I owe my thanks to him nevertheless, for the excuse he has given me for intruding these pages on your Lordship. Wishing you health, spirit, and perseverance, to continue your pilgrimage through the interesting countries which you have still to pass with ’Childe Harold’, I have the honour to be, my Lord, “Your Lordship’s obedient servant, “WALTER SCOTT. “P.S.—Will your Lordship permit me a verbal criticism on ’Childe Harold’, were it only to show I have read his Pilgrimage with attention? ‘Nuestra Dama de la Pena’ means, I suspect, not our Lady of Crime or Punishment, but our Lady of the Cliff; the difference is, I believe, merely in the accentuation of ’peña’.” To Scott Byron replied with the letter given in the text. Scott’s answer, which followed in due course, will be found in Appendix V. The Prince Regent, it may be added, showed his appreciation of Scott’s poetry by offering him, on the death of Pye, the post of poet laureate. Scott refused, on the ground, apparently, that the office had been made ridiculous by the previous holder. “At the time when Scott and Byron
were the two ‘lions’ of London, (’Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers’, P. 194).] [Footnote 2: The Turkish ambassador and suite were at the ball.] [Footnote 3: Byron had already written his “Stanzas to a Lady Weeping,” suggested by the rumour that Princess Charlotte had burst into tears, on being told that there would be no change of Ministry when the Prince of Wales assumed the Regency. They appeared anonymously in the ’Morning Chronicle’ for March 7, 1812, under the title of a “Sympathetic ‘Address’ to a Young Lady.” They were published, as Byron’s work, with ‘The Corsair’, in February, 1814. The verses rather betray the influence of Moore than express his own feelings at the time. In ‘Don Juan’ (Canto XII. stanza lxxxiv.) he thus speaks of the Regent: “There, too, he saw (whate’er
he may be now) Dallas found him, shortly after his introduction to the prince, “in a full-dress court suit of clothes, with his fine black hair in powder,” prepared to attend a levee. But the levee was put off, and the subsequent avowal of the authorship of the stanzas rendered it impossible for him to go (’Recollections’, p. 234).] * * * 242.—To Lady Caroline Lamb. [August, 1812?] MY DEAREST CAROLINE, [1]—If tears which you saw and know I am not apt to shed,—if the agitation in which I parted from you,—agitation which you must have perceived through the whole of this most nervous affair, did not commence until the moment of leaving you approached,—if all I have said and done, and am still but too ready to say and do, have not sufficiently proved what my real feelings are, and must ever be towards you, my love, I have no other proof to offer. God knows, I wish you happy, and when I quit you, or rather you, from a sense of duty to your husband and mother, quit me, you shall acknowledge the truth of what I again promise and vow, that no other in word or deed, shall ever hold the place in my affections, which is, and shall be, most sacred to you, till I am nothing. I never knew till that moment the madness of my dearest and most beloved friend; I cannot express myself; this is no time for words, but I shall have a pride, a melancholy pleasure, in suffering what you yourself can scarcely conceive, for you do not know me. I am about to go out with a heavy heart, because my appearing this evening will stop any absurd story which the event of the day might give rise to. Do you think now I am cold and stern and artful? Will even others think so? Will your mother ever—that mother to whom we must indeed sacrifice much, more, much more on my part than she shall ever know or can imagine? “Promise not to love you!” ah, Caroline, it is past promising. But I shall attribute all concessions to the proper motive, and never cease to feel all that you have already witnessed, and more than can ever be known but to my own heart,—perhaps to yours. May God protect, forgive, and bless you. Ever, and even more than ever, Your most attached, BYRON. P.S.—These taunts which have driven you to this, my dearest Caroline, were it not for your mother and the kindness of your connections, is there anything on earth or heaven that would have made me so happy as to have made you mine long ago? and not less now than then, but more than ever at this time. You know I would with pleasure give up all here and all beyond the grave for you, and in refraining from this, must my motives be misunderstood? I care not who knows this, what use is made of it,—it is to you and to you only that they are yourself (sic). I was and am yours freely and most entirely, to obey, to honour, love,—and fly with you when, where, and how you yourself might and may determine. [Footnote 1: Lady Caroline’s infatuation for Byron, expressed in various ways—once (in July, 1813) by a self-inflicted stab with a table-knife, or a broken glass—became the talk of society. “Your little friend, Caro William,”
writes the Duchess of Devonshire, Again she writes, six days later, of Byron: “The ladies, I hear, spoil him, and the gentlemen are jealous of him. He is going back to Naxos, and then the husbands may sleep in peace. I should not be surprised if Caro William were to go with him, she is so wild and imprudent” (The ‘Two Duchesses’, pp. 362, 364). But Lady Caroline’s extravagant adoration wearied Byron, who felt that it made him ridiculous; Lady Melbourne gave him sound advice about her daughter-in-law; and he was growing attached to Miss Milbanke, and, when rejected by her, at first to Lady Oxford, and later to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster. When Lady Bessborough endeavoured to persuade her daughter to leave London for Ireland, Lady Caroline is said to have forced herself into Byron’s room, and implored him to fly with her. Byron refused, conducted her back to Melbourne House, wrote her the letter printed above, and, as she herself admits, kept the secret. In December, 1812, Lady Caroline burned Byron in effigy, with “his book, ring, and chain,” at Brocket Hall. The lines which she wrote for the ceremony are preserved in Mrs. Leigh’s handwriting, and given in Appendix III., 2. From Ireland Lady Caroline continued the siege, threatening to follow him into Herefordshire, demanding interviews, and writing about him to Lady Oxford. At length Byron sent her the letter, probably in November, 1812, which she professes to publish in ‘Glenarvon’ (vol. iii. chap. ix.). The words are acknowledged by Byron to have formed part at least of the real document, which is here quoted as printed in the novel: “Mortanville Priory, November the 9th. “LADY AVONDALE,—I am no longer your lover; and since you oblige me to confess it, by this truly unfeminine persecution, ... learn, that I am attached to another; whose name it would, of course, be dishonourable to mention. I shall ever remember with gratitude the many instances I have received of the predilection you have shown in my favour. I shall ever continue your friend, if your ladyship will permit me so to style myself; and, as a first proof of my regard, I offer you this advice, correct your vanity, which is ridiculous; exert your absurd caprices upon others; and leave me in peace. “Your most obedient servant, “GLENARVON.” The first effect of this letter and her unrequited passion was, as she told Lady Morgan, to deprive her temporarily of reason, and it may be added that, when she was a child, her grandmother was so alarmed by her eccentricities as to consult a doctor on the state of her mind. The second effect was to render her temper so ungovernable that William Lamb decided on a separation. All preliminaries were arranged; the solicitor arrived with the documents; but the old charm reasserted itself, and she was found seated by her husband, “feeding him with tiny scraps of transparent bread and butter” (Torrens, ‘Memoirs of Lord Melbourne’, vol. i. p. 112). The separation did not take place till 1825. Throughout 1812-14 Lady Caroline continued to write to Byron, at first asking for interviews. Two of her last letters to him, written apparently on the eve of his leaving England, in 1816, are worth printing, though they increase the mystery of ‘Glenarvon’. (See Appendix III., 4 and 5.) In Isaac Nathan’s ‘Fugitive Pieces’ (1829), a section is devoted to “Poetical Effusions, Letters, Anecdotes, and Recollections of Lady Caroline Lamb.” Lady Caroline wrote three novels: ‘Glenarvon’ (1816); ‘Graham Hamilton’ (1822); and ‘Ada Reis; a Tale’ (1823). ‘Glenarvon’, apart from its biographical interest, is unreadable. “I do not know,” writes C. Lemon to Lady H. Frampton (’Journal of Mary Frampton’, pp. 286, 287), “all the characters in ‘Glenarvon’, but I will tell you all I do know. I am not surprised at your being struck with a few detached passages; but before you have read one volume, I think you will doubt at which end of the book you began. There is no connection between any two ideas in the book, and it seems to me to have been written as the sages of Laputa composed their works. ‘Glenarvon’ is Lord Byron; ‘Lady Augusta,’ the late Duchess of Devonshire; ’Lady Mandeville’—I think it is Lady Mandeville, but the lady who dictated Glearvon’s farewell letter to Calantha—is Lady Oxford. This letter she really dictated to Lord Byron to send to Lady Caroline Lamb, and is now very much offended that she has treated the matter so lightly as to introduce it into her book. The best character in it is the ‘Princess of Madagascar’ (Lady Holland), with all her Reviewers about her. The young Duke of Devonshire is in the book, but I forget under what name. I need not say that the heroine is Lady Caroline’s own self.” In July, 1824, she was out riding, when she accidentally met Byron’s funeral on its way to Newstead. “I am sure,” she wrote to Murray, July 13, 1824, “I am very sorry I ever said one unkind word against him.” Her mind never recovered the shock, and she died in January, 1828, in the presence of her husband, at Melbourne House. (See also Appendix III., 6.)] * * * 243.—To John Murray. High Street, Cheltenham, Sept. 5, 1812. DEAR SIR,—Pray have the goodness to send those despatches, and a No. of the E.R. with the rest. I hope you have written to Mr. Thompson, thanked him in my name for his present, and told him that I shall be truly happy to comply with his request.—How do you go on? and when is the graven image, “with bays and wicked rhyme upon’t,” to grace, or disgrace, some of our tardy editions? Send me “Rokeby” [1] who the deuce is he?—no matter, he has good connections, and will be well introduced. I thank you for your inquiries: I am so so, but my thermometer is sadly below the poetical point. What will you give me or mine for a poem [2] of six cantos, (when complete—no rhyme, no recompense,) as like the last two as I can make them? I have some ideas which one day may be embodied, and till winter I shall have much leisure. Believe me, yours very sincerely, BYRON. P. S.—My last question is in the true style of Grub Street; but, like Jeremy Diddler [3], I only “ask for information.”—Send me Adair on Diet and Regimen, just republished by Ridgway [4]. [Footnote 1: ‘Rokeby’, completed December 31, 1812, was published in the following year, with a dedication to John Morritt, to whom Rokeby belonged. It was, as Scott admits in the Preface to the edition of 1830, comparatively a failure. In the popularity of Byron he finds the chief cause of the small success which his poem obtained. “To have kept his ground at the crisis when ‘Rokeby’ appeared,” he writes, “its author ought to have put forth his utmost strength, and to have possessed all his original advantages, for a mighty and unexpected rival was advancing on the stage—a rival not in poetical powers only, but in that art of attracting popularity, in which the present writer had hitherto preceded better men than himself. The reader will easily see that Byron is here meant, who, after a little velitation of no great promise, now appeared as a serious candidate, in the first two cantos of ’Childe Harold’.” On this rivalry Byron wrote the passage in his Diary for November 17, 1813. A further cause for the cold reception of ‘Rokeby’ was its inferiority both to the ‘Lay’ and to ‘Marmion’. In Letter vii. of the ‘Twopenny Post-bag’, Moore writes thus of ‘Rokeby’ “Should you feel any touch of ‘poetical’
glow, [Footnote 2: ‘The Giaour’, published in 1813, for which Murray paid, not Byron, but Dallas, 500 guineas.] [Footnote 3: Kenney’s ‘Raising the Wind’, act i. sc. 1: “‘Diddler’.
O Sam, you haven’t got such a thing as tenpence
about “‘Sam’. Yes. ‘And I mean to keep it about me, you see’. “‘Diddler’. Oh, aye, certainly. I only asked for information.”] [Footnote 4: James MacKittrick (1728-1802), who assumed the name of Adair, published, in 1804, ’An Essay on Diet and Regimen, as indispensable to the Recovery and Preservation of Firm Health, especially to Indolent, Studious, Delicate and Invalid; with appropriate cases’.] * * * 244.—To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, September 10, 1812. My Dear Lord,—The lines which I sketched off on your hint are still, or rather were, in an unfinished state, for I have just committed them to a flame more decisive than that of Drury [1]. Under all circumstances, I should hardly wish a contest with Philodrama—Philo-Drury—Asbestos, H——, and all the anonymes and synonymes of Committee candidates. Seriously, I think you have a chance of something much better; for prologuising is not my forte, and, at all events, either my pride or my modesty won’t let me incur the hazard of having my rhymes buried in next month’s Magazine, under “Essays on the Murder of Mr. Perceval.” and “Cures for the Bite of a Mad Dog,” as poor Goldsmith complained of the fate of far superior performances [2]. I am still sufficiently interested to wish to know the successful candidate; and, amongst so many, I have no doubt some will be excellent, particularly in an age when writing verse is the easiest of all attainments. I cannot answer your intelligence with the “like comfort,” unless, as you are deeply theatrical, you may wish to hear of Mr. Betty [3], whose acting is, I fear, utterly inadequate to the London engagement into which the managers of Covent Garden have lately entered. His figure is fat, his features flat, his voice unmanageable, his action ungraceful, and, as Diggory [4] says, “I defy him to extort that damned muffin face of his into madness.” I was very sorry to see him in the character of the “Elephant on the slack rope;” for, when I last saw him, I was in raptures with his performance. But then I was sixteen—an age to which all London condescended to subside. After all, much better judges have admired, and may again; but I venture to “prognosticate a prophecy” (see the ‘Courier’) that he will not succeed. So, poor dear Rogers has stuck fast on “the brow of the mighty Helvellyn” hope not for ever. My best respects to Lady H.:—her departure, with that of my other friends, was a sad event for me, now reduced to a state of the most cynical solitude. “By the waters of Cheltenham I sat down and drank, when I remembered thee, oh Georgiana Cottage! As for our harps, we hanged them up upon the willows that grew thereby. Then they said, Sing us a song of Drury Lane,” etc.; —but I am dumb and dreary as the Israelites. The waters have disordered me to my heart’s content—you were right, as you always are. Believe me, ever your obliged and affectionate servant, BYRON. [Footnote 1: Drury Lane Theatre was reopened, after the fire of February 24, 1809, on Saturday, October 10, 1812. In the previous August the following advertisement was issued: “‘Rebuilding of Drury-Lane Theatre.’ “The Committee are desirous of promoting a fair and free competition for an Address, to be spoken upon the opening of the Theatre, which will take place on the 10th of October next: They have therefore thought fit to announce to the Public, that they will be glad to receive any such Compositions, addressed to their Secretary at the Treasury Office in Drury Lane, on or before the 10th of September, sealed up, with a distinguishing word, number, or motto, on the cover, corresponding with the inscription, on a separate sealed paper, containing the name of the Author, which will not be opened, unless containing the name of the successful Candidate. Theatre Royal, Drury-Lane, August 13, 1812. “Owing to an accidental delay in the publication of the above Advertisement, the Committee have thought proper to extend the time for receiving Addresses, from the last day of August to the 10th of September.” Byron, on the suggestion of Lord Holland, intended to send in an ‘Address’ in competition with other similar productions. He afterwards changed his mind, and refused to compete. After all the ‘Addresses’ had been received and rejected, the Committee applied to him to write an ‘Address’. This he consented to do.] [Footnote 2: “The public were more importantly employed, than to observe the easy simplicity of my style, or the harmony of my periods. Sheet after sheet was thrown off to oblivion. My essays were buried among the essays upon liberty, Eastern tales, and cures for the bite of a mad dog.” ‘Vicar of Wakefield’, chap. xx.] [Footnote 3: See ‘Letters’, vol. i. p. 63, ‘note’ 2.[Footnote 2 of Letter 24]] [Footnote 4: “Diggory,” one of Liston’s parts, a character in Jackman’s ‘All the World’s a Stage’, asks (act i. sc. 2), “But how can you extort that damned pudding-face of yours to madness?”] [Footnote 5: Rogers had gone for a tour in the North. Byron alludes to Scott’s poem ‘Helvellyn’: “I climb’d the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn,” etc., etc. The poem was occasioned, as Scott’s note states, by the death of “a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition,” who was killed on the mountain in 1805.] * * * 245.—To John Murray. Cheltenham, Sept. 14, 1812. DEAR SIR,—The parcels contained some letters and verses, all (but one) anonymous and complimentary, and very anxious for my conversion from certain infidelities into which my good-natured correspondents conceive me to have fallen. The books were presents of a convertible kind also,—’Christian Knowledge’ and the ‘Bioscope’ [1], a religious Dial of Life explained:—to the author of the former (Cadell, publisher,) I beg you will forward my best thanks for his letter, his present, and, above all, his good intentions. The ‘Bioscope’ contained an MS. copy of very excellent verses, from whom I know not, but evidently the composition of some one in the habit of writing, and of writing well. I do not know if he be the author of the ‘Bioscope’ which accompanied them; but whoever he is, if you can discover him, thank him from me most heartily. The other letters were from ladies, who are welcome to convert me when they please; and if I can discover them, and they be young, as they say they are, I could convince them perhaps of my devotion. I had also a letter from Mr. Walpole on matters of this world, which I have answered. So you are Lucien’s publisher! [2] I am promised an interview with him, and think I shall ask you for a letter of introduction, as “the gods have made him poetical.” From whom could it come with a better grace than from his publisher and mine? Is it not somewhat treasonable in you to have to do with a relative of the “direful foe,” as the ’Morning Post’ calls his brother? But my book on ‘Diet and Regimen’, where is it? I thirst for Scott’s ‘Rokeby’; let me have y’e first-begotten copy. The ‘Anti-Jacobin Review’ [3] is all very well, and not a bit worse than the ‘Quarterly’, and at least less harmless. By the by, have you secured my books? I want all the Reviews, at least the Critiques, quarterly, monthly, etc., Portuguese and English, extracted, and bound up in one volume for my old age; and pray, sort my Romaic books, and get the volumes lent to Mr. Hobhouse—he has had them now a long time. If any thing occurs, you will favour me with a line, and in winter we shall be nearer neighbours. Yours very truly, BYRON. P.S.—I was applied to to write the Address for Drury Lane, but the moment I heard of the contest, I gave up the idea of contending against all Grub Street, and threw a few thoughts on the subject into the fire. I did this out of respect to you, being sure you would have turned off any of your authors who had entered the lists with such scurvy competitors; to triumph would have been no glory, and to have been defeated—’sdeath!—I would have choked myself, like Otway, with a quartern loaf [4]; so, remember I had, and have, nothing to do with it, upon my Honour! [Footnote 1: Granville Penn (1761-1844) was the author of numerous works on religious subjects. ‘The Bioscope, or Dial of Life Explained’ appeared in 1812. The other work referred to by Byron is probably Penn’s ‘Christian’s Survey of all the Primary Events and Periods of the World’ (1811), of which a second edition was published in 1812.] [Footnote 2: Lucien Buonaparte (1775-1840), Prince of Canino, since 1810 a landed proprietor in Shropshire, wrote an epic poem, ’Charlemagne, ou l’Église délivrée’. It was translated (1815) by Dr. Butler of Shrewsbury and Francis Hodgson.] [Footnote 3: ‘The Anti-Jacobin Review’ criticized ‘Childe Harold’ in August, 1812; the ‘Quarterly’, in March, 1812.] [Footnote 4: Otway died April, 1685, at the age of thirty-three, from a fever contracted by drinking water when heated by running after an assassin (Spence’s ‘Anecdotes’, p. 44). Theophilus Cibber (’Lives of the Poets’, ed. 1753, vol. ii. pp. 333, 334) gives another account of his death, viz. that he begged a shilling of a gentleman, and, being given a guinea, bought a roll, with which he was choked.] * * * 246.—To Lord Holland. September 22, 1812. My Dear Lord,—In a day or two I will send you something which you will still have the liberty to reject if you dislike it. I should like to have had more time, but will do my best,—but too happy if I can oblige you, though I may offend a hundred scribblers and the discerning public. Ever yours. Keep my name a secret; or I shall be beset by all the rejected, and, perhaps, damned by a party. * * * 247.—To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, September 23, 1812. Ecco!—I have marked some passages with double readings—choose between them—cut—add—reject—or destroy—do with them as you will—I leave it to you and the Committee—you cannot say so called “a non committendo.” What will they do (and I do) with the hundred and one rejected Troubadours? [1] “With trumpets, yea, and with shawms,” will you be assailed in the most diabolical doggerel. I wish my name not to transpire till the day is decided. I shall not be in town, so it won’t much matter; but let us have a good deliverer. I think Elliston [2] should be the man, or Pope [3]; not Raymond [4], I implore you, by the love of Rhythmus! The passages marked thus = =, above and below, are for you to choose between epithets, and such like poetical furniture. Pray write me a line, and believe me Ever, etc. My best remembrances to Lady H. Will you be good enough to decide between the various readings marked, and erase the other; or our deliverer may be as puzzled as a commentator, and belike repeat both. If these versicles won’t do, I will hammer out some more endecasyllables. P.S.—Tell Lady H. I have had sad work to keep out the Phoenix—I mean the Fire Office of that name. It has insured the theatre, and why not the Address? [Footnote 1: The genuine rejected addresses were advertised for by B. McMillan, of Bow Street, Covent Garden, and forty-two of them were published by him in November, 1812, with the following title: ’The Genuine Rejected Addresses presented to the Committee of Management for Drury Lane Theatre; preceded by that written by Lord Byron and adopted by the Committee’. The youngest competitor was “Anna, a young lady in the fifteenth year of her age.” The actual number sent in was 112, and sixty-nine of the competitors invoked the Phoenix. Among the competitors were Peter Pindar, whose ‘Address’ was printed in 1813; Whitbread, the manager, who gave the “poulterer’s description” of the Phoenix; and Horace Smith, who published his ‘Address without a Phoenix’, By S. T. P., in ’Rejected Addresses’.] [Footnote 2: Robert William Elliston (1774-1831), according to Genest (’English Stage’, vol. ix. p. 338), made his first appearance at Bath in April, 1791, as “Tressel” in ’Richard III’., and from 1796 to 1803 Bath remained his head-quarters. An excellent actor both in tragedy and comedy, he became in 1803 a member of the Haymarket Company. From 1804 to 1809, and again from 1812 to 1815, he acted at Drury Lane. Byron’s Prologue was spoken by him on October 10, 1812, at the reopening of the new theatre. It was at Drury Lane in April, 1821, while he was lessee (1819-26), that Byron’s ‘Marino Faliero’ was acted. His last appearance was as “Sheva” in ‘The Jew’, at the Surrey Theatre, of which (1826-31) he was lessee. In spite of his drunken habits, he won the enthusiastic praise of Charles Lamb as the “joyousest of once embodied spirits” (see ‘Essays of Elia’, “To the Shade of Elliston” and “Ellistoniana”).] [Footnote 3: Alexander Pope (1763-1835), miniaturist, ‘gourmand’, and actor, was for years the principal tragedian at Covent Garden. Opinion was divided as to his merits as an actor. He owed much to his voice, which had a “mellow richness … superior to any other performer on the stage.” Genest, who quotes the above (vol. ix. p. 377), adds that “in his better days he had more pathos about him than any other actor.” He made his first appearance in Cork as “Oroonoko,” and subsequently (January, 1785) at Covent Garden in the same part. He ceased acting at Covent Garden in June, 1827.] [Footnote 4: In the cast for ‘Hamlet’, with which Drury Lane reopened, Raymond played the Ghost. Raymond was also the stage manager of the theatre.] * * * 248.—To Lord Holland. September 24. I send a recast of the four first lines of the concluding paragraph. This greeting o’er, the ancient
rule obey’d, And do forgive all this trouble. See what it is to have to do even with the genteelest of us. Ever, etc. * * * 249.—To Lord Holland. Cheltenham, Sept. 25, 1812. Still “more matter for a May morning.” [1] Having patched the middle and end of the Address, I send one more couplet for a part of the beginning, which, if not too turgid, you will have the goodness to add. After that flagrant image of the Thames (I hope no unlucky wag will say I have set it on fire, though Dryden [2], in his Annus Mirabilis, and Churchill [3], in his Times, did it before me), I mean to insert this: As flashing far the new Volcano shone I think “thousands” less flat than “crowds collected”—but don’t let me plunge into the bathos, or rise into Nat. Lee’s Bedlam metaphors By the by, the best view of the said fire (which I myself saw from a house-top in Covent-garden) was at Westminster Bridge, from the reflection on the Thames. Perhaps the present couplet had better come in after “trembled for their homes,” the two lines after;—as otherwise the image certainly sinks, and it will run just as well. The lines themselves, perhaps, may be better thus—(“choose,” or “refuse”—but please yourself, and don’t mind “Sir Fretful” [5]): As flash’d the volumed blaze, and
{sadly/ghastly} shone The last runs smoothest, and, I think, best; but you know better than best. “Lurid” is also a less indistinct epithet than “livid wave,” and, if you think so, a dash of the pen will do. I expected one line this morning; in the mean time, I shall remodel and condense, and, if I do not hear from you, shall send another copy. I am ever, etc. [Footnote 1: ‘Twelfth Night’, act iii. sc. 4.] [Footnote 2: Dryden’s ‘Annus Mirabilis’, stanza 231: “A key of fire ran all along the
shore, [Footnote 3: Churchill’s ‘Times’, lines 701, 702: “Bidding in one grand pile this
Town expire, [Footnote 4: Nathaniel Lee (circ. 1653-1692), the dramatist, wrote ’The Rival Queens’ (1677), in which occurs the line: “When Greek join’d Greek then was the tug of war.” He collaborated with Dryden in ‘OEdipus’ (1679) and ‘The Duke of Guise’ (1682). His numerous dramas were distinguished, in his own day, for extravagance and bombast. His mind failing, he was confined from 1684 to 1688 in Bethlehem Hospital, where he is said to have composed a tragedy in 25 acts.] [Footnote 5: ‘The Critic’, act i. sc. I. “Sneer,” speaking of “Sir Fretful Plagiary,” says, “He is as envious as an old maid verging on the desperation of six and thirty; and then the insidious humility with which he seduces you to give a free opinion on any of his works can be exceeded only by the petulant arrogance with which he is sure to reject your observations.”] * * * 250.—To Lord Holland. September 26, 1812. You will think there is no end to my villanous emendations. The fifth and sixth lines I think to alter thus: Ye who beheld—oh sight admired
and mourn’d, because “night” is repeated the next line but one; and, as it now stands, the conclusion of the paragraph, “worthy him (Shakspeare) and you,” appears to apply the “you” to those only who were out of bed and in Covent Garden market on the night of conflagration, instead of the audience or the discerning public at large, all of whom are intended to be comprised in that comprehensive and, I hope, comprehensible pronoun. By the by, one of my corrections in the fair copy sent yesterday has dived into the bathos some sixty fathom: When Garrick died, and Brinsley ceased to write. Ceasing to live is a much more serious concern, and ought not to be first; therefore I will let the old couplet stand, with its half rhymes “sought” and “wrote.” [1] Second thoughts in every thing are best, but, in rhyme, third and fourth don’t come amiss. I am very anxious on this business, and I do hope that the very trouble I occasion you will plead its own excuse, and that it will tend to show my endeavour to make the most of the time allotted. I wish I had known it months ago, for in that case I had not left one line standing on another. I always scrawl in this way, and smooth as much as I can, but never sufficiently; and, latterly, I can weave a nine-line stanza faster than a couplet, for which measure I have not the cunning. When I began Childe Harold, I had never tried Spenser’s measure, and now I cannot scribble in any other. After all, my dear Lord, if you can get a decent Address elsewhere, don’t hesitate to put this aside [2]. Why did you not trust your own Muse? I am very sure she would have been triumphant, and saved the Committee their trouble—“’tis a joyful one” to me, but I fear I shall not satisfy even myself. After the account you sent me, ’tis no compliment to say you would have beaten your candidates; but I mean that, in that case, there would have been no occasion for their being beaten at all. There are but two decent prologues in our tongue—Pope’s to ‘Cato’ to Drury-Lane [4]. These, with the epilogue to ‘The Distrest Mother’ [5] and, I think, one of Goldsmith’s and a prologue of old Colman’s to Beaumont and Fletcher’s ‘Philaster’ [7], are the best things of the kind we have. P.S.—I am diluted to the throat with medicine for the stone; and Boisragon wants me to try a warm climate for the winter—but I won’t. [Footnote 1: “Such are the names that here your
plaudits sought, At present the couplet stands thus: “Dear are the days that made our
annals bright, [Footnote 2: “I am almost ashamed,” writes Lord Holland to Rogers, October 22, 1812 (Clayden’s ‘Rogers and his Contemporaries’, vol. i. p. 115), “of having induced Lord Byron to write on so ungrateful a theme (ungrateful in all senses) as the opening of a theatre; he was so good-humoured, took so much pains, corrected so good-humouredly, and produced, as I thought and think, a prologue so superior to the common run of that sort of trumpery, that it is quite vexatious to see him attacked for it. Some part of it is a little too much laboured, and the whole too long; but surely it is good and poetical…. You cannot imagine how I grew to like Lord Byron in my critical intercourse with him, and how much I am convinced that your friendship and judgment have contributed to improve both his understanding and his happiness.”] [Footnote 3: Pope wrote the Prologue to Addison’s ‘Cato’ when it was acted at Drury Lane, April 13, 1713.] [Footnote 4: Johnson wrote the Prologue when Garrick opened Drury Lane, September 15, 1747, with ‘The Merchant of Venice’. “It is,” says Genest (’English Stage’, vol. iv. p. 231), “the best Prologue that was ever written.” Johnson wrote the Prologue to Milton’s ‘Comus’, played at Drury Lane, April 5, 1750; to Goldsmith’s ‘Good-Natured Man’, played at Covent Garden, January 29, 1769; and to Hugh Kelly’s ’A Word to the Wise’, played at Drury Lane, March 3, 1770.] [Footnote 5: ‘The Distrest Mother’, adapted from Racine by Ambrose Philips, was first played at Drury Lane, March 17, 1712. Addison is supposed (Genest, ‘English Stage’, vol. ii. p. 496) to have written the epilogue.] [Footnote 6: It is impossible to say to which of Goldsmith’s epilogues Byron refers. A previous editor of Moore’s ’Life, etc’., identified it with his epilogue to Charlotte Lennox’s unsuccessful comedy, ’The Sister’, which was once played at Covent Garden, February 18, 1769, and then withdrawn.] [Footnote 7: George Colman the Elder, who edited an edition of Beaumont and Fletcher (10 vols., 1778), wrote the prologue to ‘Philaster’, when it was produced at Drury Lane, October 8, 1763.] * * * 251.—To Lord Holland. Sept. 27, 1812. I believe this is the third scrawl since yesterday—all about epithets. I think the epithet “intellectual” won’t convey the meaning I intend; and though I hate compounds, for the present I will try (col’ permesso) the word “genius gifted patriots of our line” [1] instead. Johnson has “many coloured life,” a compound——but they are always best avoided. However, it is the only one in ninety lines [2], but will be happy to give way to a better. I am ashamed to intrude any more remembrances on Lady H. or letters upon you; but you are, fortunately for me, gifted with patience already too often tried by Your etc., etc., BYRON. [Footnote 1: This, as finally altered, stood thus: “Immortal names emblazon’d on our line.”] [Footnote 2: Reduced to seventy-three lines.] * * * 252.—To Lord Holland. September 27, 1812. I have just received your very kind letter, and hope you have met with a second copy corrected and addressed to Holland House, with some omissions and this new couplet, As glared each rising flash, [1] and ghastly
shone As to remarks, I can only say I will alter and acquiesce in any thing. With regard to the part which Whitbread [2] wishes to omit, I believe the ‘Address’ will go off quicker without it, though, like the agility of the Hottentot, at the expense of its vigour. I leave to your choice entirely the different specimens of stucco-work; and a brick of your own will also much improve my Babylonish turret. I should like Elliston to have it, with your leave. “Adorn” and “mourn” are lawful rhymes in Pope’s ’Death of the Unfortunate Lady’.—Gray has “forlorn” and “mourn”—and “torn” and “mourn” are in Smollett’s famous ’Tears of Scotland’ [3]. As there will probably be an outcry amongst the rejected, I hope the Committee will testify (if it be needful) that I sent in nothing to the congress whatever, with or without a name, as your Lordship well knows. All I have to do with it is with and through you; and though I, of course, wish to satisfy the audience, I do assure you my first object is to comply with your request, and in so doing to show the sense I have of the many obligations you have conferred upon me. Yours ever, [Footnote 1: At present: “As glared the volumed blaze.”] [Footnote 2: Samuel Whitbread (1758-1815) married, in 1789, Elizabeth, daughter of General Sir Charles Grey, created (1806) Earl Grey, and sister of the second Earl Grey, of Reform Bill fame. The son of a wealthy brewer, whose fortune he inherited, he entered Parliament as M.P. for Bedford in 1790. Raikes, in his ‘Journal’ (vol. iv. PP. 50, 51), speaks of him, at the outset of his career, as a staunch Foxite, and “much remarked in society.” Comparing him with his brother-in-law Grey, he says, “Mr. Whitbread was a more steady character; his appearance was heavy; he was fond of agriculture, and was very plain and simple in his tastes. Both were reckoned good debaters in the House, but Grey was the most eloquent.” An independent Whig, and an advocate for peace with France, Whitbread supported Fox against Pitt throughout the Napoleonic War, strongly opposed its renewal after the return of the emperor from Elba, and interested himself in such measures as moderate Parliamentary reform, the amendment of the poor law, national education, and retrenchment of public expenditure. On April 8, 1805, he moved the resolutions which ended in the impeachment of Lord Melville, and took the lead in the inquiries, which were made, March, 1809, into the conduct of the Duke of York. He was a plain, business-like speaker, and a man of such unimpeachable integrity that Mr., afterwards Lord, Plunket, in a speech on the Roman Catholic claims, February 28, 1821, called him “the incorruptible sentinel of the constitution.” When he moved the articles of impeachment against Lord Melville, Canning scribbled the following impromptu parody of his speech (’Anecdotal History of the British Parliament’, p. 222): “I’m like Archimedes for science
and skill; An active member of Parliament, a large landed proprietor, the manager of his immense brewery in Chiswell Street, Whitbread also found time to reduce to order the chaotic concerns of Drury Lane Theatre. He was, with Lord Holland and Harvey Combe, responsible for the request to Byron to write an address, having first rejected his own address with its “poulterer’s description of the Phoenix.” He was fond of private theatricals, and Dibdin (’Reminiscences’, vol. ii. pp. 383, 384) gives the play-bill of an entertainment given by him at Southill. In the first play, ‘The Happy Return’, he took the part of “Margery;” | |||||||||