‘Enclosed is a private communication from Prince Mavrocordato to Sir Thomas Maitland, which you will oblige me much by delivering. Sir Thomas can take as much or as little of it as he pleases; but I hope and believe that it is rather calculated to conciliate than to irritate on the subject of the late event near Ithaca and Sta Mauro, which there is every disposition on the part of the Government here to disavow; and they are also disposed to give every satisfaction in their power. You must all be persuaded how difficult it is, under existing circumstances, for the Greeks to keep up discipline, however they may all be disposed to do so. I am doing all I can to convince them of the necessity of the strictest observance of the regulations of the island, and, I trust, with some effect. I was received here with every possible public and private mark of respect. If you write to any of our friends, you can say that I am in good health and spirits; and that I shallstickby the cause as long as a man of honour can, without sparing purse, and (I hope, if need be)person.’
‘Enclosed is a private communication from Prince Mavrocordato to Sir Thomas Maitland, which you will oblige me much by delivering. Sir Thomas can take as much or as little of it as he pleases; but I hope and believe that it is rather calculated to conciliate than to irritate on the subject of the late event near Ithaca and Sta Mauro, which there is every disposition on the part of the Government here to disavow; and they are also disposed to give every satisfaction in their power. You must all be persuaded how difficult it is, under existing circumstances, for the Greeks to keep up discipline, however they may all be disposed to do so. I am doing all I can to convince them of the necessity of the strictest observance of the regulations of the island, and, I trust, with some effect. I was received here with every possible public and private mark of respect. If you write to any of our friends, you can say that I am in good health and spirits; and that I shallstickby the cause as long as a man of honour can, without sparing purse, and (I hope, if need be)person.’
This letter is dated from Missolonghi, February 9, 1824. On February 11 Byron heard the news of the death of Sir Thomas Maitland. Parry says:
‘The news certainly caused considerable satisfaction among the Greeks, and among some of the English. He was generally looked on by them as the great enemy of their cause; but there is no proof of this. Iknow that his government has been very much censured in England, and far be it from me to approve of the arbitrary or despotic measures of any man; but those who know anything of the people he had to deal with will find, in their character, an excuse for his conduct. I believe, in general, his government was well calculated for his subjects.’
‘The news certainly caused considerable satisfaction among the Greeks, and among some of the English. He was generally looked on by them as the great enemy of their cause; but there is no proof of this. Iknow that his government has been very much censured in England, and far be it from me to approve of the arbitrary or despotic measures of any man; but those who know anything of the people he had to deal with will find, in their character, an excuse for his conduct. I believe, in general, his government was well calculated for his subjects.’
Parry throws light upon Byron’s attitude towards Mavrocordato, to which we alluded in a previous chapter.
‘I took an opportunity, one evening, of asking Lord Byron what he thought of Prince Mavrocordato. He replied he considered him an honest man and a man of talent. He had shown his devotion to his country’s service by expending his private fortune in its cause, and was probably the most capable and trustworthy of all the Greek chieftains. Lord Byron said that he agreed with Mavrocordato, that Missolonghi and its dependencies were of the greatest importance to Greece; and as long as the Prince acted as he had done, he would give him all the support in his power. Lord Byron seemed, at the same time, to suppose that a little more energy and industry in the Prince, with a disposition to make fewer promises, would tend much to his advantage.’
‘I took an opportunity, one evening, of asking Lord Byron what he thought of Prince Mavrocordato. He replied he considered him an honest man and a man of talent. He had shown his devotion to his country’s service by expending his private fortune in its cause, and was probably the most capable and trustworthy of all the Greek chieftains. Lord Byron said that he agreed with Mavrocordato, that Missolonghi and its dependencies were of the greatest importance to Greece; and as long as the Prince acted as he had done, he would give him all the support in his power. Lord Byron seemed, at the same time, to suppose that a little more energy and industry in the Prince, with a disposition to make fewer promises, would tend much to his advantage.’
The following incident, related by Parry, seems to fall naturally into this part of our narrative:
‘When the Turkish fleet was blockading Missolonghi, I was one day ordered by Lord Byron to accompany him to the mouth of the harbour to inspect the fortifications, in order to make a report of the state they were in. He and I were in his own punt, a little boat which he had, rowed by a boy; and in a large boat, accompanying us, were Prince Mavrocordato and his attendants. As I was viewing, on one hand, the Turkish fleet attentively, and reflecting on its powers, and our means of defence; and looking, on the other, at Prince Mavrocordato and his attendants, perfectly unconcerned, smoking their pipes and gossiping, as if Greece were liberated and at peace, and Missolonghi in astate of perfect security, I could not help giving vent to a feeling of contempt and indignation.‘“What is the matter?” said Lord Byron, appearing to be very serious; “what makes you so angry, Parry?”‘“I am not angry, my lord,” I replied, “but somewhat indignant. The Turks, if they were not the most stupid wretches breathing, might take the fort of Vasaladi, by means of two pinnaces, any night they pleased; they have only to approach it with muffled oars, they would not be heard, I will answer for their not being seen, and they may storm it in a few minutes. With eight gunboats properly armed with 24-pounders, they might batter both Missolonghi and Anatolica to the ground. And there sits the old gentlewoman, Prince Mavrocordato and his troop, to whom I applied an epithet I will not here repeat, as if they were all perfectly safe. They know that their means of defence are inadequate, and they have no means of improving them. If I were in their place, I should be in a fever at the thought of my own incapacity and ignorance, and I should burn with impatience to attempt the destruction of those stupid Turkish rascals. The Greeks and the Turks are opponents, worthy by their imbecility of each other.”‘I had scarcely explained myself fully, when Lord Byron ordered our boat to be placed alongside the other, and actually related our whole conversation to the Prince. In doing it, however, he took upon himself the task of pacifying both the Prince and me, and though I was at first very angry, and the Prince, I believe, very much annoyed, he succeeded. It was, in fact, only Lord Byron’s manner of reproving us both. It taught me to be prudent and discreet. To the Prince and the Greeks it probably conveyed a lesson, which Lord Byron could have found no better means of giving them.’
‘When the Turkish fleet was blockading Missolonghi, I was one day ordered by Lord Byron to accompany him to the mouth of the harbour to inspect the fortifications, in order to make a report of the state they were in. He and I were in his own punt, a little boat which he had, rowed by a boy; and in a large boat, accompanying us, were Prince Mavrocordato and his attendants. As I was viewing, on one hand, the Turkish fleet attentively, and reflecting on its powers, and our means of defence; and looking, on the other, at Prince Mavrocordato and his attendants, perfectly unconcerned, smoking their pipes and gossiping, as if Greece were liberated and at peace, and Missolonghi in astate of perfect security, I could not help giving vent to a feeling of contempt and indignation.
‘“What is the matter?” said Lord Byron, appearing to be very serious; “what makes you so angry, Parry?”
‘“I am not angry, my lord,” I replied, “but somewhat indignant. The Turks, if they were not the most stupid wretches breathing, might take the fort of Vasaladi, by means of two pinnaces, any night they pleased; they have only to approach it with muffled oars, they would not be heard, I will answer for their not being seen, and they may storm it in a few minutes. With eight gunboats properly armed with 24-pounders, they might batter both Missolonghi and Anatolica to the ground. And there sits the old gentlewoman, Prince Mavrocordato and his troop, to whom I applied an epithet I will not here repeat, as if they were all perfectly safe. They know that their means of defence are inadequate, and they have no means of improving them. If I were in their place, I should be in a fever at the thought of my own incapacity and ignorance, and I should burn with impatience to attempt the destruction of those stupid Turkish rascals. The Greeks and the Turks are opponents, worthy by their imbecility of each other.”
‘I had scarcely explained myself fully, when Lord Byron ordered our boat to be placed alongside the other, and actually related our whole conversation to the Prince. In doing it, however, he took upon himself the task of pacifying both the Prince and me, and though I was at first very angry, and the Prince, I believe, very much annoyed, he succeeded. It was, in fact, only Lord Byron’s manner of reproving us both. It taught me to be prudent and discreet. To the Prince and the Greeks it probably conveyed a lesson, which Lord Byron could have found no better means of giving them.’
Byron was remarkably sincere and frank in all his words and actions. Parry says that he never harboured a thought concerning another man that he did not express to his face; neither could he bear duplicity in others. If one person were to speakagainst a third party, in Byron’s presence, he would be sure to repeat it the first time the two opponents were in presence of one another. This was a habit, says Parry, of which his acquaintance were well aware, and it spared Byron the trouble of listening to many idle and degrading calumnies. He probably expected thereby to teach others a sincerity which he so highly prized; but it must be added that he derived pleasure from witnessing the confusion of the person thus exposed. We recognize Byron in this trait, as none of his biographers have omitted to mention the extraordinary indiscretion of his confidences; but never before was his habit of ‘blabbing’ turned to a better use.
It is generally admitted that the Greeks were supine to the last degree. Little or nothing had been done to repair the losses resulting from the late campaign, nor had adequate preparations been made for the struggle in prospect. Through their improvidence, the Greeks had neither money nor materials. Neither in the Morea nor in Western Greece had any steps been taken to meet an assault by the enemy. The fortifications, that had suffered in the previous campaign, were leftin statu quo. The Greek fleet was practically non-existent, owing to the insufficiency of money wherewith to pay the crews. In addition to internal dissensions, which might at any moment give rise to a civil war, the French and English Governments were continually demanding satisfaction for breaches of neutrality, or for acts of piracy committed by vessels of the Greek fleet, under a singular misapprehension of the game of war. In the midst of all these depressing conditions Byron kept his intense enthusiasm for the cause, and whatever may havebeen the errors in his policy, everyone acknowledged the purity of his motives and the intensity of his zeal.
Prince Mavrocordato and Colonel Stanhope were not on very good terms. The Colonel had no confidence in the Prince, and, indeed, openly defied and opposed him. His hostility to Mavrocordato became so marked that both Greeks and English were persuaded that he was endeavouring to break up the establishment at Missolonghi, and to remove all the stores, belonging to the Committee, to Athens.
‘This report,’ says Parry, ‘was conveyed to Lord Byron, who had not parted with Colonel Stanhope on very good terms, and caused him much annoyance. He had before attributed both neglect and deceit to the Greek Committee or some of its agents; and this report of the proceedings of their special and chosen messenger made him, in the irritation of the moment, regard them as acting even treacherously towards himself. “By the cant of religious pretenders,” he said, “I have already deeply suffered, and now I know what the cant of pretended reformers and philanthropists amounts to.”’
‘This report,’ says Parry, ‘was conveyed to Lord Byron, who had not parted with Colonel Stanhope on very good terms, and caused him much annoyance. He had before attributed both neglect and deceit to the Greek Committee or some of its agents; and this report of the proceedings of their special and chosen messenger made him, in the irritation of the moment, regard them as acting even treacherously towards himself. “By the cant of religious pretenders,” he said, “I have already deeply suffered, and now I know what the cant of pretended reformers and philanthropists amounts to.”’
Byron was much displeased by the neglect which he had experienced at the hands of the London Committee, who, instead of sending supplies that would have been of some use, sent printing-presses, maps, and bugles. Books and Bibles were sent to a people who wanted guns, and when they asked for a sword they sent the lever of a printing-press. The only wonder was that they did not send out a pack of beagles. Colonel Stanhope, who might perhaps have been of some use in a military capacity, began organizing the whole country in accordance with Mr. Bentham’s views of morality and justice. In this he acted entirely on his own responsibility, and rarely consulted Byron or Mavrocordato before carrying hiswild schemes into execution. Byron said of him, in a moment of exasperation:
‘He is a mere schemer and talker, more of a saint than a soldier; and, with a great deal of pretended plainness, a mere politician, and no patriot. I thought Colonel Stanhope, being a soldier, would have shown himself differently. He ought to know what a nation like Greece needs for its defence; and should have told the Committee that arms, and the materials for carrying on war, were what the Greeks required.’
‘He is a mere schemer and talker, more of a saint than a soldier; and, with a great deal of pretended plainness, a mere politician, and no patriot. I thought Colonel Stanhope, being a soldier, would have shown himself differently. He ought to know what a nation like Greece needs for its defence; and should have told the Committee that arms, and the materials for carrying on war, were what the Greeks required.’
Byron placed practice before precept, and was content to wait until the Turks had been driven out of Greece before entering upon any scheme for the cultivation of the soil and the development of commerce. He always maintained that Colonel Stanhope began at the wrong end, and was foolish to expect, by introducing some signs of wealth and knowledge, to make the people of Greece both rich and intelligent.
‘I hear,’ said Byron, in a conversation with Parry, ‘that missionaries are to be introduced before the country is cleared of the enemy, and religious disputes are to be added to the other sources of discord. How very improper are such proceedings! nothing could be more impolitic; it will cause ill blood throughout the country, and very possibly be the means of again bringing Greece under the Turkish yoke. Can it be supposed that the Greek Priesthood, who have great influence, and even power, will tamely submit to see interested self-opinionated foreigners interfere with their flocks? I say again, clear the country, teach the people to read and write, and the labouring people will judge for themselves.’
‘I hear,’ said Byron, in a conversation with Parry, ‘that missionaries are to be introduced before the country is cleared of the enemy, and religious disputes are to be added to the other sources of discord. How very improper are such proceedings! nothing could be more impolitic; it will cause ill blood throughout the country, and very possibly be the means of again bringing Greece under the Turkish yoke. Can it be supposed that the Greek Priesthood, who have great influence, and even power, will tamely submit to see interested self-opinionated foreigners interfere with their flocks? I say again, clear the country, teach the people to read and write, and the labouring people will judge for themselves.’
The vexations to which Byron was daily subjected during his stay at Missolonghi, and the insufficiency of the diet which he prescribed for himself against the advice of his medical attendant, so affected his nervoussystem, which by nature was highly irritable, that at last he broke down. Count Gamba says:
‘Lord Byron was exceedingly vexed at the necessary abandonment of his project against Lepanto, at a time when success seemed so probable. He had not been able to ride that day, nor for some days, on account of the rain. He had been extremely annoyed at the vexations caused by the Suliotes, as also with the various other interruptions from petitions, demands, and remonstrances, which never left him a moment’s peace at any hour of the day. At seven in the evening I went into his room on some business, and found him lying on the sofa: he was not asleep, and, seeing me enter, called out, “I am not asleep—come in—I am not well.” At eight o’clock he went downstairs to visit Colonel Stanhope. The conversation turned upon our newspaper. We agreed that it was not calculated to give foreigners the necessary intelligence of what was passing in Greece; because, being written in Romaic, it was not intelligible, except to a few strangers. We resolved to publish another, in several languages, and Lord Byron promised to furnish some articles himself. When I left the room, he was laughing and joking with Parry and the Colonel; he was drinking some cider.’
‘Lord Byron was exceedingly vexed at the necessary abandonment of his project against Lepanto, at a time when success seemed so probable. He had not been able to ride that day, nor for some days, on account of the rain. He had been extremely annoyed at the vexations caused by the Suliotes, as also with the various other interruptions from petitions, demands, and remonstrances, which never left him a moment’s peace at any hour of the day. At seven in the evening I went into his room on some business, and found him lying on the sofa: he was not asleep, and, seeing me enter, called out, “I am not asleep—come in—I am not well.” At eight o’clock he went downstairs to visit Colonel Stanhope. The conversation turned upon our newspaper. We agreed that it was not calculated to give foreigners the necessary intelligence of what was passing in Greece; because, being written in Romaic, it was not intelligible, except to a few strangers. We resolved to publish another, in several languages, and Lord Byron promised to furnish some articles himself. When I left the room, he was laughing and joking with Parry and the Colonel; he was drinking some cider.’
As Gamba is no longer a witness of what actually happened, we refer the reader to the statement of Parry himself:
‘Lord Byron’s quarters were on the second-floor of the house, and Colonel Stanhope lived on the first-floor. In the evening, about eight o’clock, Lord Byron came downstairs into the Colonel’s room where I was. He seated himself on a cane settee, and began talking with me on various subjects. Colonel Stanhope, who was employed in a neighbouring apartment, fitting up printing-presses, and Count Gamba, both came into the room for a short time, and some conversation ensued about the newspaper, which was never to Lord Byron a pleasant topic, as he disagreed with his friends about it. After a little time they went their several ways, and more agreeablesubjects were introduced. Lord Byron began joking with me about Colonel Stanhope’s occupations, and said he thought the author would have his brigade of artillery ready before the soldier got his printing-press fixed. There was then nobody in the room but his lordship, Mr. Hesketh, and myself. There was evidently a constrained manner about Lord Byron, and he complained of thirst. He ordered his servant to bring him some cider, which I entreated him not to drink in that state. There was a flush in his countenance, which seemed to indicate great nervous agitation; and as I thought Lord Byron had been much agitated and harassed for several days past, I recommended him, at least, to qualify his cider with some brandy. He said he had frequently drunk cider, and felt no bad consequences from it, and he accordingly drank it off. He had scarcely drunk the cider, when he complained of a very strange sensation, and I noticed a great change in his countenance. He rose from his seat, but could not walk, staggered a step or two, and fell into my arms.‘I had no other stimulant than brandy at hand, and having before seen it administered in similar cases with considerable benefit, I succeeded in making him swallow a small quantity. In another minute his teeth were closed, his speech and senses gone, and he was in strong convulsions. I laid him down on the settee, and with the assistance of his servant kept him quiet.‘When he fell into my arms, his countenance was very much distorted, his mouth being drawn on one side. After a short time his medical attendant came, and he speedily recovered his senses and his speech. He asked for Colonel Stanhope, as he had something particular to say to him, should there be a probability of his not recovering. Colonel Stanhope came from the next room. On recovering his senses, Lord Byron’s countenance assumed its ordinary appearance, except that it was pale and haggard. No other effect remained visible except great weakness.’
‘Lord Byron’s quarters were on the second-floor of the house, and Colonel Stanhope lived on the first-floor. In the evening, about eight o’clock, Lord Byron came downstairs into the Colonel’s room where I was. He seated himself on a cane settee, and began talking with me on various subjects. Colonel Stanhope, who was employed in a neighbouring apartment, fitting up printing-presses, and Count Gamba, both came into the room for a short time, and some conversation ensued about the newspaper, which was never to Lord Byron a pleasant topic, as he disagreed with his friends about it. After a little time they went their several ways, and more agreeablesubjects were introduced. Lord Byron began joking with me about Colonel Stanhope’s occupations, and said he thought the author would have his brigade of artillery ready before the soldier got his printing-press fixed. There was then nobody in the room but his lordship, Mr. Hesketh, and myself. There was evidently a constrained manner about Lord Byron, and he complained of thirst. He ordered his servant to bring him some cider, which I entreated him not to drink in that state. There was a flush in his countenance, which seemed to indicate great nervous agitation; and as I thought Lord Byron had been much agitated and harassed for several days past, I recommended him, at least, to qualify his cider with some brandy. He said he had frequently drunk cider, and felt no bad consequences from it, and he accordingly drank it off. He had scarcely drunk the cider, when he complained of a very strange sensation, and I noticed a great change in his countenance. He rose from his seat, but could not walk, staggered a step or two, and fell into my arms.
‘I had no other stimulant than brandy at hand, and having before seen it administered in similar cases with considerable benefit, I succeeded in making him swallow a small quantity. In another minute his teeth were closed, his speech and senses gone, and he was in strong convulsions. I laid him down on the settee, and with the assistance of his servant kept him quiet.
‘When he fell into my arms, his countenance was very much distorted, his mouth being drawn on one side. After a short time his medical attendant came, and he speedily recovered his senses and his speech. He asked for Colonel Stanhope, as he had something particular to say to him, should there be a probability of his not recovering. Colonel Stanhope came from the next room. On recovering his senses, Lord Byron’s countenance assumed its ordinary appearance, except that it was pale and haggard. No other effect remained visible except great weakness.’
According to Gamba:
‘Lord Byron was carried upstairs to his own bed, and complained only of weakness. He asked whether his attack was likely to prove fatal. “Let me know,”he said. “Do not think I am afraid to die—I am not.” He told me that when he lost his speech he did not lose his senses; that he had suffered great pain, and that he believed, if the convulsion had lasted a minute longer, he must have died.’
‘Lord Byron was carried upstairs to his own bed, and complained only of weakness. He asked whether his attack was likely to prove fatal. “Let me know,”he said. “Do not think I am afraid to die—I am not.” He told me that when he lost his speech he did not lose his senses; that he had suffered great pain, and that he believed, if the convulsion had lasted a minute longer, he must have died.’
The attack had been brought on by the vexations which he had long suffered in silence, and borne heroically. But his mode of living was a contributory cause. He ate nothing but fish, cheese, and vegetables—having regulated his table, says Gamba, so as not to cost more than 45 paras. This he did to show that he could live on fare as simple as that of the Greek soldiers.
Byron had scarcely recovered consciousness, when a false alarm was brought to him that the Suliotes had risen, and were about to attack the building where the arms were stored.
‘We ran to our arsenal,’ says Gamba, ‘Parry ordered the artillerymen under arms: our cannon were loaded and pointed on the approaches to the gates; the sentries were doubled. This alarm had originated with two Germans, who, having taken too much wine, and seeing a body of soldiers with their guns in their hands proceeding towards the Seraglio, thought that a revolution had broken out, and spread an alarm over the whole town. As a matter of fact, these troops were merely changing their quarters. These Germans were so inconsiderate, that during our absence at the arsenal they forced their way into Byron’s bedroom, swearing that they had come to defend him and his house. Fortunately, we were not present, for, as this was only half an hour after Byron’s attack, we should have been tempted to fling the intruders out of the window. On the following day Byron was better, and got up at noon; but he was very pale and weak, and complained of a sensation of weight in his head. The doctor applied eight leeches to his temples, and the blood flowed copiously; it was stopped with difficulty, and he fainted.’
‘We ran to our arsenal,’ says Gamba, ‘Parry ordered the artillerymen under arms: our cannon were loaded and pointed on the approaches to the gates; the sentries were doubled. This alarm had originated with two Germans, who, having taken too much wine, and seeing a body of soldiers with their guns in their hands proceeding towards the Seraglio, thought that a revolution had broken out, and spread an alarm over the whole town. As a matter of fact, these troops were merely changing their quarters. These Germans were so inconsiderate, that during our absence at the arsenal they forced their way into Byron’s bedroom, swearing that they had come to defend him and his house. Fortunately, we were not present, for, as this was only half an hour after Byron’s attack, we should have been tempted to fling the intruders out of the window. On the following day Byron was better, and got up at noon; but he was very pale and weak, and complained of a sensation of weight in his head. The doctor applied eight leeches to his temples, and the blood flowed copiously; it was stopped with difficulty, and he fainted.’
Dr. Millingen says that Dr. Bruno had at first proposed opening a vein; but finding it impossible to obtain Byron’s consent, he applied leeches to the temples, which bled so copiously as almost to bring on syncope. Byron, alarmed to see the difficulty Dr. Bruno had in stopping the hæmorrhage, sent for Millingen, who, by the application of lunar caustic, succeeded in stopping the flow of blood.
In Millingen’s opinion, Byron was never the same man after this; a change took place in his mental and bodily functions.
‘That wonderful elasticity of disposition, that continual flow of wit, that facility of jest by which his conversation had been so distinguished, returned only at distant intervals,’ says Millingen: ‘from this time Byron fell into a state of melancholy from which none of our arguments could relieve him. He felt certain that his constitution had been ruined; that he was a worn-out man; and that his muscular power was gone. Flashes before his eyes, palpitations and anxieties, hourly afflicted him; and at times such a sense of faintness would overpower him, that, fearing to be attacked by similar convulsions, he would send in great haste for medical assistance. His nervous system was, in fact, in a continual state of erethism, which was certainly augmented by the low, debilitating diet which Dr. Bruno had recommended.’
‘That wonderful elasticity of disposition, that continual flow of wit, that facility of jest by which his conversation had been so distinguished, returned only at distant intervals,’ says Millingen: ‘from this time Byron fell into a state of melancholy from which none of our arguments could relieve him. He felt certain that his constitution had been ruined; that he was a worn-out man; and that his muscular power was gone. Flashes before his eyes, palpitations and anxieties, hourly afflicted him; and at times such a sense of faintness would overpower him, that, fearing to be attacked by similar convulsions, he would send in great haste for medical assistance. His nervous system was, in fact, in a continual state of erethism, which was certainly augmented by the low, debilitating diet which Dr. Bruno had recommended.’
On one occasion Byron said to Dr. Millingen that he did not wish for life; it had ceased to have any attraction for him.
‘But,’ said Byron, ‘the fear of two things now haunt me. I picture myself slowly expiring on a bed of torture, or ending my days like Swift—a grinning idiot! Would to Heaven the day were arrived in which, rushing, sword in hand, on a body of Turks, and fighting like one weary of existence, I shall meet immediate, painless death—the object of my wishes.’
‘But,’ said Byron, ‘the fear of two things now haunt me. I picture myself slowly expiring on a bed of torture, or ending my days like Swift—a grinning idiot! Would to Heaven the day were arrived in which, rushing, sword in hand, on a body of Turks, and fighting like one weary of existence, I shall meet immediate, painless death—the object of my wishes.’
Two days after this seizure Byron made the following entry in his journal:
‘With regard to the presumed causes of this attack, so far as I know, there might be several. The state of the place and the weather permit little exercise at present. I have been violently agitated with more than one passion recently, and amidst conflicting parties, politics, and (as far as regards public matters) circumstances. I have also been in an anxious state with regard to things which may be only interesting to my own private feelings, and, perhaps, not uniformly so temperate as I may generally affirm that I was wont to be. How far any or all of these may have acted on the mind or body of one who had already undergone many previous changes of place and passion during a life of thirty-six years, I cannot tell.’
‘With regard to the presumed causes of this attack, so far as I know, there might be several. The state of the place and the weather permit little exercise at present. I have been violently agitated with more than one passion recently, and amidst conflicting parties, politics, and (as far as regards public matters) circumstances. I have also been in an anxious state with regard to things which may be only interesting to my own private feelings, and, perhaps, not uniformly so temperate as I may generally affirm that I was wont to be. How far any or all of these may have acted on the mind or body of one who had already undergone many previous changes of place and passion during a life of thirty-six years, I cannot tell.’
The following note, which is entered by Mr. Rowland Prothero in the new edition of Lord Byron’s ‘Letters and Journals,’[21]was dashed off by Byron in pencil, on the day of his seizure, February 15, 1824:
‘Having tried in vain at great expense, considerable trouble, and some danger, to unite the Suliotes for the good of Greece—and their own—I have come to the following resolution:‘I will have nothing more to do with the Suliotes. They may go to the Turks, or the Devil,—they may cut me into more pieces than they have dissensions among themselves,—sooner than change my resolution.‘For the rest, I hold my means and person at the disposal of the Greek nation and Government the same as before.’
‘Having tried in vain at great expense, considerable trouble, and some danger, to unite the Suliotes for the good of Greece—and their own—I have come to the following resolution:
‘I will have nothing more to do with the Suliotes. They may go to the Turks, or the Devil,—they may cut me into more pieces than they have dissensions among themselves,—sooner than change my resolution.
‘For the rest, I hold my means and person at the disposal of the Greek nation and Government the same as before.’
No better proof could be given of the perplexities which worried him at that particular time. But the surrounding gloom was lightened now and then by some of Parry’s stories. The following anecdote about Jeremy Bentham was an especial favourite withByron; Parry’s sea-terms and drollery doubtless heightened its effect:
‘Shortly before I left London for Greece, Mr. Bowring, the honorary secretary to the Greek Committee, informed me that Mr. Jeremy Bentham wished to see the stores and materials, preparing for the Greeks, and that he had done me the honour of asking me to breakfast with him some day, that I might afterwards conduct him to see the guns, etc.‘“Who the devil is Mr. Bentham?” was my rough reply; “I never heard of him before.” Many of my readers may still be in the same state of ignorance, and it will be acceptable to them, I hope, to hear of the philosopher.‘“Mr. Bentham,” said Mr. Bowring, “is one of the greatest men of the age, and for the honour now offered to you, I waited impatiently many a long day—I believe for more than two years.”‘“Great or little, I never heard of him before; but if he wants to see me, why I’ll go.”‘It was accordingly arranged that I should visit Mr. Bentham, and that Mr. Bowring should see him to fix the time, and then inform me. In a day or two afterwards, I received a note from the honorary secretary to say I was to breakfast with Mr. Bentham on Saturday. It happened that I lived at a distance from town, and having heard something of the primitive manner of living and early hours of philosophers, I arranged with my wife overnight that I would get up very early on the Saturday morning, that I might not keep Mr. Bentham waiting. Accordingly, I rose with the dawn, dressed myself in haste, and brushed off for Queen’s Square, Westminster, as hard as my legs could carry me. On reaching the Strand, fearing I might be late, being rather corpulent, and not being willing to go into the presence of so very great a man, as I understood Mr. Jeremy Bentham to be, puffing and blowing, I took a hackney-coach and drove up to his door about eight o’clock. I found a servant girl afoot, and told her I came to breakfast with Mr. Bentham by appointment.‘She ushered me in, and introduced me to two young men, who looked no more like philosophers,however, than my own children. I thought they might be Mr. Bentham’s sons, but this, I understood, was a mistake. I showed them the note I had received from Mr. Bowring, and they told me Mr. Bentham did not breakfast till three o’clock. This surprised me much, but they told me I might breakfast with them, which I did, though I was not much flattered by the honour of sitting down with Mr. Bentham’s clerks, when I was invited by their master. Poor Mr. Bowring! thought I, he must be a meek-spirited young man if it was for this he waited so impatiently. I supposed the philosopher himself did not get up till noon, as he did not breakfast till so late, but in this I was also mistaken. About ten o’clock I was summoned to his presence, and mustered up all my courage and all my ideas for the meeting. His appearance struck me forcibly. His thin white locks, cut straight in the fashion of the Quakers, and hanging, or rather floating, on his shoulders; his garments something of Quaker colour and cut, and his frame rather square and muscular, with no exuberance of flesh, made up a singular-looking and not an inelegant old man. He welcomed me with a few hurried words, but without any ceremony, and then conducted me into several rooms to show mehisammunition and materials of war. One very large room was nearly filled with books, and another with unbound works, which, I understood, were the philosopher’s own composition. The former, he said, furnished him his supplies; and there was a great deal of labour required to read so many volumes. I said inadvertently, “I suppose you have quite forgotten what is said in the first before you read the last.” Mr. Bentham, however, took this in good part, and, taking hold of my arm, said we would proceed on our journey. Accordingly, off we set, accompanied by one of his young men carrying a portfolio, to keep, I suppose, a log of our proceedings.‘We went through a small garden, and, passing out of a gate, I found we were in St. James’s Park. Here I noticed that Mr. Bentham had a very snug dwelling, with many accommodations, and such a garden as belongs in London only to the first nobility. But for his neighbours, I thought—for he has a barrack of soldiers on one side of his premises—I should envyhim his garden more than his great reputation. On looking at him, I could but admire his hale, and even venerable, appearance. I understood he was seventy-three years of age, and therefore I concluded we should have a quiet, comfortable walk. Very much to my surprise, however, we had scarcely got into the Park, when he let go my arm, and set off trotting like a Highland messenger. The Park was crowded, and the people one and all seemed to stare at the old man; but, heedless of all this, he trotted on, his white locks floating in the wind, as if he were not seen by a single human being.‘As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I asked the young man, “Is Mr. Bentham flighty?” pointing to my head. “Oh no, it’s his way,” was the hurried answer; “he thinks it good for his health. But I must run after him;” and off set the youth in chase of the philosopher. I must not lose my companions, thought I, and off I set also. Of course the eyes of every human being in the Park were fixed on the running veteran and his pursuers. There was Jerry ahead, then came his clerk and his portfolio, and I, being a heavier sailer than either, was bringing up the rear.‘What the people might think, I don’t know; but it seemed to me a very strange scene, and I was not much delighted at being made such an object of attraction. Mr. Bentham’s activity surprised me, and I never overtook him or came near him till we reached the Horse Guards, where his speed was checked by the Blues drawn up in array. Here we threaded in amongst horses and men till we escaped at the other gate into Whitehall. I now thought the crowded streets would prevent any more racing; but several times he escaped from us, and trotted off, compelling us to trot after him till we reached Mr. Galloway’s manufactory in Smithfield. Here he exulted in his activity, and inquired particularly if I had ever seen a man at his time of life so active. I could not possibly answer no, while I was almost breathless with the exertion of following him through the crowded streets. After seeing at Mr. Galloway’s manufactory, not only the things which had been prepared for the Greeks, but his other engines and machines, we proceeded toanother manufactory at the foot of Southwark Bridge, where our brigade of guns stood ready mounted. When Mr. Bentham had satisfied his curiosity here also, and I had given him every information in my power, we set off to return to his house, that he might breakfast; I endeavoured to persuade him to take a hackney-coach, but in vain. We got on tolerably well, and without any adventures, tragical or comical, till we arrived at Fleet Street. We crossed from Fleet Market over towards Mr. Waithman’s shop, and here, letting go my arm, he quitted the foot pavement, and set off again in one of his vagaries up Fleet Street. His clerk again set off after him, and I again followed. The race here excited universal attention. The perambulating ladies, who are always in great numbers about that part of the town, and ready to laugh at any kind of oddity, and catch hold of every simpleton, stood and stared at or followed the venerable philosopher. One of them, well known to all the neighbourhood by the appellation of theCity Barge, given to her on account of her extraordinary bulk, was coming with a consort full sail down Fleet Street, but whenever they saw the flight of Mr. Jeremy Bentham they hove to, tacked, and followed to witness the fun or share the prize. I was heartily ashamed of participating in this scene, and supposed that everybody would take me for a mad doctor, the young man for my assistant, and Mr. Bentham for my patient, just broke adrift from his keepers.‘Fortunately the chase did not continue long. Mr. Bentham hove to abreast of Carlisle’s shop, and stood for a little time to admire the books and portraits hanging in the window. At length one of them arrested his attention more particularly. “Ah, ah,” said he, in a hurried indistinct tone, “there it is, there it is!” pointing to a portrait which I afterwards found was that of the illustrious Jeremy himself.‘Soon after this, I invented an excuse to quit Mr. Bentham and his man, promising to go to Queen’s Square to dine. I was not, however, to be again taken in by the philosopher’s meal hours; so, laying in a stock of provisions, I went at his dining hour, half-past ten o’clock, and supped with him. We had a great deal of conversation, particularly aboutmechanical subjects and the art of war. I found the old gentleman as lively with his tongue as with his feet, and passed a very pleasant evening; which ended by my pointing out, at his request, a plan for playing his organ by the steam of his tea-kettle.‘This little story,’ says Parry, ‘gave Byron a great deal of pleasure. He very often laughed as I told it; he laughed much at its conclusion. He declared, when he had fished out every little circumstance, that he would not have lost it for 1,000 guineas. Lord Byron frequently asked me to repeat what he called:Jerry Bentham’s Cruise.’
‘Shortly before I left London for Greece, Mr. Bowring, the honorary secretary to the Greek Committee, informed me that Mr. Jeremy Bentham wished to see the stores and materials, preparing for the Greeks, and that he had done me the honour of asking me to breakfast with him some day, that I might afterwards conduct him to see the guns, etc.
‘“Who the devil is Mr. Bentham?” was my rough reply; “I never heard of him before.” Many of my readers may still be in the same state of ignorance, and it will be acceptable to them, I hope, to hear of the philosopher.
‘“Mr. Bentham,” said Mr. Bowring, “is one of the greatest men of the age, and for the honour now offered to you, I waited impatiently many a long day—I believe for more than two years.”
‘“Great or little, I never heard of him before; but if he wants to see me, why I’ll go.”
‘It was accordingly arranged that I should visit Mr. Bentham, and that Mr. Bowring should see him to fix the time, and then inform me. In a day or two afterwards, I received a note from the honorary secretary to say I was to breakfast with Mr. Bentham on Saturday. It happened that I lived at a distance from town, and having heard something of the primitive manner of living and early hours of philosophers, I arranged with my wife overnight that I would get up very early on the Saturday morning, that I might not keep Mr. Bentham waiting. Accordingly, I rose with the dawn, dressed myself in haste, and brushed off for Queen’s Square, Westminster, as hard as my legs could carry me. On reaching the Strand, fearing I might be late, being rather corpulent, and not being willing to go into the presence of so very great a man, as I understood Mr. Jeremy Bentham to be, puffing and blowing, I took a hackney-coach and drove up to his door about eight o’clock. I found a servant girl afoot, and told her I came to breakfast with Mr. Bentham by appointment.
‘She ushered me in, and introduced me to two young men, who looked no more like philosophers,however, than my own children. I thought they might be Mr. Bentham’s sons, but this, I understood, was a mistake. I showed them the note I had received from Mr. Bowring, and they told me Mr. Bentham did not breakfast till three o’clock. This surprised me much, but they told me I might breakfast with them, which I did, though I was not much flattered by the honour of sitting down with Mr. Bentham’s clerks, when I was invited by their master. Poor Mr. Bowring! thought I, he must be a meek-spirited young man if it was for this he waited so impatiently. I supposed the philosopher himself did not get up till noon, as he did not breakfast till so late, but in this I was also mistaken. About ten o’clock I was summoned to his presence, and mustered up all my courage and all my ideas for the meeting. His appearance struck me forcibly. His thin white locks, cut straight in the fashion of the Quakers, and hanging, or rather floating, on his shoulders; his garments something of Quaker colour and cut, and his frame rather square and muscular, with no exuberance of flesh, made up a singular-looking and not an inelegant old man. He welcomed me with a few hurried words, but without any ceremony, and then conducted me into several rooms to show mehisammunition and materials of war. One very large room was nearly filled with books, and another with unbound works, which, I understood, were the philosopher’s own composition. The former, he said, furnished him his supplies; and there was a great deal of labour required to read so many volumes. I said inadvertently, “I suppose you have quite forgotten what is said in the first before you read the last.” Mr. Bentham, however, took this in good part, and, taking hold of my arm, said we would proceed on our journey. Accordingly, off we set, accompanied by one of his young men carrying a portfolio, to keep, I suppose, a log of our proceedings.
‘We went through a small garden, and, passing out of a gate, I found we were in St. James’s Park. Here I noticed that Mr. Bentham had a very snug dwelling, with many accommodations, and such a garden as belongs in London only to the first nobility. But for his neighbours, I thought—for he has a barrack of soldiers on one side of his premises—I should envyhim his garden more than his great reputation. On looking at him, I could but admire his hale, and even venerable, appearance. I understood he was seventy-three years of age, and therefore I concluded we should have a quiet, comfortable walk. Very much to my surprise, however, we had scarcely got into the Park, when he let go my arm, and set off trotting like a Highland messenger. The Park was crowded, and the people one and all seemed to stare at the old man; but, heedless of all this, he trotted on, his white locks floating in the wind, as if he were not seen by a single human being.
‘As soon as I could recover from my surprise, I asked the young man, “Is Mr. Bentham flighty?” pointing to my head. “Oh no, it’s his way,” was the hurried answer; “he thinks it good for his health. But I must run after him;” and off set the youth in chase of the philosopher. I must not lose my companions, thought I, and off I set also. Of course the eyes of every human being in the Park were fixed on the running veteran and his pursuers. There was Jerry ahead, then came his clerk and his portfolio, and I, being a heavier sailer than either, was bringing up the rear.
‘What the people might think, I don’t know; but it seemed to me a very strange scene, and I was not much delighted at being made such an object of attraction. Mr. Bentham’s activity surprised me, and I never overtook him or came near him till we reached the Horse Guards, where his speed was checked by the Blues drawn up in array. Here we threaded in amongst horses and men till we escaped at the other gate into Whitehall. I now thought the crowded streets would prevent any more racing; but several times he escaped from us, and trotted off, compelling us to trot after him till we reached Mr. Galloway’s manufactory in Smithfield. Here he exulted in his activity, and inquired particularly if I had ever seen a man at his time of life so active. I could not possibly answer no, while I was almost breathless with the exertion of following him through the crowded streets. After seeing at Mr. Galloway’s manufactory, not only the things which had been prepared for the Greeks, but his other engines and machines, we proceeded toanother manufactory at the foot of Southwark Bridge, where our brigade of guns stood ready mounted. When Mr. Bentham had satisfied his curiosity here also, and I had given him every information in my power, we set off to return to his house, that he might breakfast; I endeavoured to persuade him to take a hackney-coach, but in vain. We got on tolerably well, and without any adventures, tragical or comical, till we arrived at Fleet Street. We crossed from Fleet Market over towards Mr. Waithman’s shop, and here, letting go my arm, he quitted the foot pavement, and set off again in one of his vagaries up Fleet Street. His clerk again set off after him, and I again followed. The race here excited universal attention. The perambulating ladies, who are always in great numbers about that part of the town, and ready to laugh at any kind of oddity, and catch hold of every simpleton, stood and stared at or followed the venerable philosopher. One of them, well known to all the neighbourhood by the appellation of theCity Barge, given to her on account of her extraordinary bulk, was coming with a consort full sail down Fleet Street, but whenever they saw the flight of Mr. Jeremy Bentham they hove to, tacked, and followed to witness the fun or share the prize. I was heartily ashamed of participating in this scene, and supposed that everybody would take me for a mad doctor, the young man for my assistant, and Mr. Bentham for my patient, just broke adrift from his keepers.
‘Fortunately the chase did not continue long. Mr. Bentham hove to abreast of Carlisle’s shop, and stood for a little time to admire the books and portraits hanging in the window. At length one of them arrested his attention more particularly. “Ah, ah,” said he, in a hurried indistinct tone, “there it is, there it is!” pointing to a portrait which I afterwards found was that of the illustrious Jeremy himself.
‘Soon after this, I invented an excuse to quit Mr. Bentham and his man, promising to go to Queen’s Square to dine. I was not, however, to be again taken in by the philosopher’s meal hours; so, laying in a stock of provisions, I went at his dining hour, half-past ten o’clock, and supped with him. We had a great deal of conversation, particularly aboutmechanical subjects and the art of war. I found the old gentleman as lively with his tongue as with his feet, and passed a very pleasant evening; which ended by my pointing out, at his request, a plan for playing his organ by the steam of his tea-kettle.
‘This little story,’ says Parry, ‘gave Byron a great deal of pleasure. He very often laughed as I told it; he laughed much at its conclusion. He declared, when he had fished out every little circumstance, that he would not have lost it for 1,000 guineas. Lord Byron frequently asked me to repeat what he called:Jerry Bentham’s Cruise.’
Parry tells us that Byron took a great interest in all that concerned the welfare of the working classes, and particularly of the artisans.
‘I have lately read,’ said Byron on one occasion, ‘of an institution lately established in London for the instruction of mechanics. I highly approve of this, and intend to subscribe £50 to it; but I shall at the same time write and give my opinion on the subject. I am always afraid that schemes of this kind are intended to deceive people; and, unless all the offices in such an institution are filled with real practical mechanics, the working classes will soon find themselves deceived. If they permit any but mechanics to have the direction of their affairs, they will only become the tools of others. The real working man will soon be ousted, and his more cunning pretended friends will take possession and reap all the benefits. It gives me pleasure to think what a mass of natural intellect this will call into action. If the plan succeeds, and I hope it may, the ancient aristocracy of England will be secure for ages to come. The most useful and numerous body of people in the nation will then judge for themselves, and, when properly informed, will judge correctly. There is not on earth a more honourable body of men than the English nobility; and there is no system of government under which life and property are better secured than under the British constitution.‘The mechanics and working classes who can maintain their families are, in my opinion, the happiestbody of men. Poverty is wretchedness; but it is perhaps to be preferred to the heartless, unmeaning dissipation of the higher orders. I am thankful that I am now entirely clear of this, and my resolution to remain clear of it for the rest of my life is immutable.’
‘I have lately read,’ said Byron on one occasion, ‘of an institution lately established in London for the instruction of mechanics. I highly approve of this, and intend to subscribe £50 to it; but I shall at the same time write and give my opinion on the subject. I am always afraid that schemes of this kind are intended to deceive people; and, unless all the offices in such an institution are filled with real practical mechanics, the working classes will soon find themselves deceived. If they permit any but mechanics to have the direction of their affairs, they will only become the tools of others. The real working man will soon be ousted, and his more cunning pretended friends will take possession and reap all the benefits. It gives me pleasure to think what a mass of natural intellect this will call into action. If the plan succeeds, and I hope it may, the ancient aristocracy of England will be secure for ages to come. The most useful and numerous body of people in the nation will then judge for themselves, and, when properly informed, will judge correctly. There is not on earth a more honourable body of men than the English nobility; and there is no system of government under which life and property are better secured than under the British constitution.
‘The mechanics and working classes who can maintain their families are, in my opinion, the happiestbody of men. Poverty is wretchedness; but it is perhaps to be preferred to the heartless, unmeaning dissipation of the higher orders. I am thankful that I am now entirely clear of this, and my resolution to remain clear of it for the rest of my life is immutable.’
Parry remarks that it would be folly to attribute to Byron any love for democracy, as the term was then understood. Although the bent of his mind was more Liberal than Conservative, he was not a party man in its narrow sense. He was a sworn foe to injustice, cruelty, and oppression; such was the alpha and omega of his political prejudices. He would be an inveterate enemy to any Government which oppressed one class for the benefit of another class, and which did not allow its subjects to be free and happy.
In speaking of America, Byron said:
‘I have always thought the mode in which the Americans separated from Great Britain was unfortunate for them. It made them despise or regret everything English. They disinherited themselves of all the historical glory of England; there was nothing left for them to admire or venerate but their own immediate success, and they became egotists, like savages, from wanting a history. The spirit of jealousy and animosity excited by the contests between England and America is now subsiding. Should peace continue, prejudices on both sides will gradually decrease. Already the Americans are beginning, I think, to cultivate the antiquities of England, and, as they extend their inquiries, they will find other objects of admiration besides themselves. It was of some importance, both for them and for us, that they did not reject our language with our government. Time, I should hope, will approximate the institutions of both countries to one another; and the use of the same language will do more to unite the two nations than if they both had only one King.’
‘I have always thought the mode in which the Americans separated from Great Britain was unfortunate for them. It made them despise or regret everything English. They disinherited themselves of all the historical glory of England; there was nothing left for them to admire or venerate but their own immediate success, and they became egotists, like savages, from wanting a history. The spirit of jealousy and animosity excited by the contests between England and America is now subsiding. Should peace continue, prejudices on both sides will gradually decrease. Already the Americans are beginning, I think, to cultivate the antiquities of England, and, as they extend their inquiries, they will find other objects of admiration besides themselves. It was of some importance, both for them and for us, that they did not reject our language with our government. Time, I should hope, will approximate the institutions of both countries to one another; and the use of the same language will do more to unite the two nations than if they both had only one King.’
According to Gamba’s journal, on the day following the seizure to which we have referred, Byron followed up his former efforts to inculcate the principles and practice of humanity into both the nations engaged in the war. There were twenty-four Turks, including women and children, who had suffered all the rigours of captivity at Missolonghi since the beginning of the revolution. Byron caused them to be released, and sent at his own cost to Prevesa. The following letter, which he addressed to the English Consul at that port, deserves a place in this record:
‘Sir,‘Coming to Greece, one of my principal objects was to alleviate as much as possible the miseries incident to a warfare so cruel as the present. When the dictates of humanity are in question, I know no difference between Turks and Greeks. It is enough that those who want assistance are men, in order to claim the pity and protection of the meanest pretender to humane feelings. I have found here twenty-four Turks, including women and children, who have long pined in distress, far from the means of support and the consolations of their home. The Government has consigned them to me: I transmit them to Prevesa, whither they desire to be sent. I hope you will not object to take care that they may be restored to a place of safety, and that the Governor of your town may accept of my present. The best recompense I can hope for would be to find that I had inspired theOttoman commanders with the same sentiments towards those unhappy Greeks who may hereafter fall into their hands.‘I beg you to believe me, etc.,‘Noel Byron.’
‘Sir,
‘Coming to Greece, one of my principal objects was to alleviate as much as possible the miseries incident to a warfare so cruel as the present. When the dictates of humanity are in question, I know no difference between Turks and Greeks. It is enough that those who want assistance are men, in order to claim the pity and protection of the meanest pretender to humane feelings. I have found here twenty-four Turks, including women and children, who have long pined in distress, far from the means of support and the consolations of their home. The Government has consigned them to me: I transmit them to Prevesa, whither they desire to be sent. I hope you will not object to take care that they may be restored to a place of safety, and that the Governor of your town may accept of my present. The best recompense I can hope for would be to find that I had inspired theOttoman commanders with the same sentiments towards those unhappy Greeks who may hereafter fall into their hands.
‘I beg you to believe me, etc.,‘Noel Byron.’
The details of this incident have hitherto passed almost unnoticed. The whole story is full of pathos, and affords a view of Byron’s real character.
In June, 1821, when Missolonghi and Anatolico proclaimed themselves parts of independent Greece, all Turkish residents were arrested. The males were cruelly put to death, and their wives and families were handed over to the Greek householders as slaves. The miseries these defenceless people endured while Death stared them daily in the face are indescribable. Millingen says:
‘One day, as I entered the dispensary, I found the wife of one of the Turkish inhabitants of Missolonghi who had fled to Patras. The poor woman came to implore my pity, and begged me to allow her to take shelter under my roof from the brutality and cruelty of the Greeks. They had murdered all her relations, and two of her boys; and the marks remained on the angle of the wall against which, a few weeks previously, they had dashed the brains of the youngest, only five years of age. A little girl, nine years old, remained to be the only companion of her misery. Like a timid lamb, she stood by her mother, naked and shivering, drawing closer and closer to her side. Her little hands were folded like a suppliant’s, and her large, beautiful eyes—so accustomed to see acts of horror and cruelty—looked at me now and then, hardly daring to implore pity. “Take us,” said the mother; “we will serve you and be your slaves; or you will be responsible before God for whatever may happen to us.”‘I could not see so eloquent a picture of distress unmoved, and from that day I treated them as relatives. Some weeks after, I happened to mentionbefore Lord Byron some circumstances relative to these individuals, and spoke with so much admiration of the noble fortitude displayed by the mother in the midst of her calamities; of the courage with which maternal love inspired her on several occasions; of the dignified manner in which she replied to the insults of her persecutors, that he expressed a wish to see the mother and child. On doing so, he became so struck by Hatajè’s beauty, the naïveté of her answers, and the spiritedness of her observations on the murderers of her brethren, that he decided on adopting her. “Banish fear for ever from your mind,” said he to the mother; “your child shall henceforth be mine. I have a daughter in England. To her I will send the child. They are both of the same age; and as she is alone, she will, no doubt, like a companion who may, at times, talk to her of her father. Do not shudder at the idea of changing your religion, for I insist on your professing none other but the Musulman.”‘She seized his hand, kissed it with energy, and raising her eyes to heaven, eyes now filled with tears, she repeated the familiar words: “Allah is great!” Byron ordered costly dresses to be made for them, and sent to Hatajè a necklace of sequins. He desired me to send them twice a week to his house. He would then take the little child on his knees, and caress her with all the fondness of a father.‘From the moment I received the mother and child into my house, the other unfortunate Turkish women, who had miraculously escaped the general slaughter, seeing how different were the feelings and treatment of the English towards their nation and sex from those of the Greeks, began to feel more hopeful of their lot in life. They daily called at my lodgings, and by means of my servant, a Suliote who spoke Turkish fluently, narrated their misfortunes, and the numberless horrors of which they had been spectators. One woman said: “Our fears are not yet over; we are kept as victims for future sacrifices, hourly expecting our doom. An unpleasant piece of news, a drunken party, a fit of ill-humour or of caprice, may decide our fate. We are then hunted down the streets like wild beasts, till some one of us, or of our children, is immolated totheir insatiable cruelty. Our only hope centres in you. One word of yours to Lord Byron can save many lives. Can you refuse to speak for us. Let Lord Byron send us to any part of Turkey. We are women and children; can the Greeks fear us?”‘I hastened to give Lord Byron a faithful picture of the position of these wretched people. Knowing and relieving the distressed were, with him, simultaneous actions. A few days later notice was given to every Turkish woman to prepare for departure. All, a few excepted, embarked and were conveyed at Byron’s expense to Prevesa. They amounted to twenty-two. A few days previously four Turkish prisoners had been sent by him to Patras. Repeated examples of humanity like these were for the Greeks more useful and appropriate lessons than the finest compositions which all the printing-presses could have spread amongst them.’
‘One day, as I entered the dispensary, I found the wife of one of the Turkish inhabitants of Missolonghi who had fled to Patras. The poor woman came to implore my pity, and begged me to allow her to take shelter under my roof from the brutality and cruelty of the Greeks. They had murdered all her relations, and two of her boys; and the marks remained on the angle of the wall against which, a few weeks previously, they had dashed the brains of the youngest, only five years of age. A little girl, nine years old, remained to be the only companion of her misery. Like a timid lamb, she stood by her mother, naked and shivering, drawing closer and closer to her side. Her little hands were folded like a suppliant’s, and her large, beautiful eyes—so accustomed to see acts of horror and cruelty—looked at me now and then, hardly daring to implore pity. “Take us,” said the mother; “we will serve you and be your slaves; or you will be responsible before God for whatever may happen to us.”
‘I could not see so eloquent a picture of distress unmoved, and from that day I treated them as relatives. Some weeks after, I happened to mentionbefore Lord Byron some circumstances relative to these individuals, and spoke with so much admiration of the noble fortitude displayed by the mother in the midst of her calamities; of the courage with which maternal love inspired her on several occasions; of the dignified manner in which she replied to the insults of her persecutors, that he expressed a wish to see the mother and child. On doing so, he became so struck by Hatajè’s beauty, the naïveté of her answers, and the spiritedness of her observations on the murderers of her brethren, that he decided on adopting her. “Banish fear for ever from your mind,” said he to the mother; “your child shall henceforth be mine. I have a daughter in England. To her I will send the child. They are both of the same age; and as she is alone, she will, no doubt, like a companion who may, at times, talk to her of her father. Do not shudder at the idea of changing your religion, for I insist on your professing none other but the Musulman.”
‘She seized his hand, kissed it with energy, and raising her eyes to heaven, eyes now filled with tears, she repeated the familiar words: “Allah is great!” Byron ordered costly dresses to be made for them, and sent to Hatajè a necklace of sequins. He desired me to send them twice a week to his house. He would then take the little child on his knees, and caress her with all the fondness of a father.
‘From the moment I received the mother and child into my house, the other unfortunate Turkish women, who had miraculously escaped the general slaughter, seeing how different were the feelings and treatment of the English towards their nation and sex from those of the Greeks, began to feel more hopeful of their lot in life. They daily called at my lodgings, and by means of my servant, a Suliote who spoke Turkish fluently, narrated their misfortunes, and the numberless horrors of which they had been spectators. One woman said: “Our fears are not yet over; we are kept as victims for future sacrifices, hourly expecting our doom. An unpleasant piece of news, a drunken party, a fit of ill-humour or of caprice, may decide our fate. We are then hunted down the streets like wild beasts, till some one of us, or of our children, is immolated totheir insatiable cruelty. Our only hope centres in you. One word of yours to Lord Byron can save many lives. Can you refuse to speak for us. Let Lord Byron send us to any part of Turkey. We are women and children; can the Greeks fear us?”
‘I hastened to give Lord Byron a faithful picture of the position of these wretched people. Knowing and relieving the distressed were, with him, simultaneous actions. A few days later notice was given to every Turkish woman to prepare for departure. All, a few excepted, embarked and were conveyed at Byron’s expense to Prevesa. They amounted to twenty-two. A few days previously four Turkish prisoners had been sent by him to Patras. Repeated examples of humanity like these were for the Greeks more useful and appropriate lessons than the finest compositions which all the printing-presses could have spread amongst them.’
Hatajè! and what became of little Hatajè? On February 23 Byron wrote to his sister:
‘I have been obtaining the release of about nine-and-twenty Turkish prisoners—men, women, and children—and have sent them home to their friends; but one, a pretty little girl of nine years of age named Hato or Hatagèe, has expressed a strong wish to remain with me, or under my care, and I have nearly determined to adopt her. If I thought that Lady B. would let her come to England as a companion to Ada (they are about the same age), and we could easily provide for her; if not, I can send her to Italy for education. She is very lively and quick, and with great black Oriental eyes and Asiatic features. All her brothers were killed in the Revolution; her mother wishes to return to her husband, but says that she would rather entrust the child to me, in the present state of the country. Her extreme youth and sex have hitherto saved her life, but there is no saying what might occur in the course of the war (and ofsucha war), and I shall probably commit her to the charge of some English lady in the islands for the present. The child herself has the same wish, and seems to have adecided character for her age. You can mention this matter if you think it worth while. I merely wish her to be respectably educated and treated, and, if my years and all things be considered, I presume it would be difficult to conceive me to have any other views.’
‘I have been obtaining the release of about nine-and-twenty Turkish prisoners—men, women, and children—and have sent them home to their friends; but one, a pretty little girl of nine years of age named Hato or Hatagèe, has expressed a strong wish to remain with me, or under my care, and I have nearly determined to adopt her. If I thought that Lady B. would let her come to England as a companion to Ada (they are about the same age), and we could easily provide for her; if not, I can send her to Italy for education. She is very lively and quick, and with great black Oriental eyes and Asiatic features. All her brothers were killed in the Revolution; her mother wishes to return to her husband, but says that she would rather entrust the child to me, in the present state of the country. Her extreme youth and sex have hitherto saved her life, but there is no saying what might occur in the course of the war (and ofsucha war), and I shall probably commit her to the charge of some English lady in the islands for the present. The child herself has the same wish, and seems to have adecided character for her age. You can mention this matter if you think it worth while. I merely wish her to be respectably educated and treated, and, if my years and all things be considered, I presume it would be difficult to conceive me to have any other views.’
Meanwhile, Byron, wishing to remove the child from Missolonghi, seems to have proposed to Dr. Kennedy at Cephalonia that Mrs. Kennedy should take temporary charge of her. Writing to Kennedy on March 4, 1824, Byron says:
‘Your future convert Hato, or Hatagèe, appears to me lively, intelligent, and promising; she possesses an interesting countenance. With regard to her disposition I can say little, but Millingen speaks well of both mother and daughter, and he is to be relied on. As far as I know, I have only seen the child a few times with her mother, and what I have seen is favourable, or I should not take so much interest in her behalf. If she turns out well, my idea would be to send her to my daughter in England (if not to respectable persons in Italy), and so to provide for her as to enable her to live with reputation either singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. I will make proper arrangements about her expenses through Messrs. Barff and Hancock, and the rest I leave to your discretion, and to Mrs. K.’s, with a great sense of obligation for your kindness in undertaking her temporary superintendence.’
‘Your future convert Hato, or Hatagèe, appears to me lively, intelligent, and promising; she possesses an interesting countenance. With regard to her disposition I can say little, but Millingen speaks well of both mother and daughter, and he is to be relied on. As far as I know, I have only seen the child a few times with her mother, and what I have seen is favourable, or I should not take so much interest in her behalf. If she turns out well, my idea would be to send her to my daughter in England (if not to respectable persons in Italy), and so to provide for her as to enable her to live with reputation either singly or in marriage, if she arrive at maturity. I will make proper arrangements about her expenses through Messrs. Barff and Hancock, and the rest I leave to your discretion, and to Mrs. K.’s, with a great sense of obligation for your kindness in undertaking her temporary superintendence.’
This arrangement fell through, and was never carried out. The child remained at Missolonghi with her mother until Byron’s death. Then, by the irony of fate, they departed in theFlorida—the vessel that bore the dead body of their protector to the inhospitable lazaretto at Zante. With wonderful prophetic instinct, Byron, long before his voyage to Greece, gave to the world the vision ofanother Hatajè, rescued from death on the field of battle:
‘The Moslem orphan went with her protector,For she was homeless, houseless, helpless; allHer friends, like the sad family of Hector,Had perished in the field or by the wall:Her very place of birth was but a spectreOf what it had been: there the Muezzin’s callTo prayer was heard no more—and Juan wept,And made a vow to shield her, which he kept.’
Blaquière, who was at Zante when theFloridawas placed in quarantine, says:
‘The child, whom I have frequently seen in the lazaretto, is extremely interesting, and about eight years of age. She came over with Byron’s body, under her mother’s care. They had not been here many days, before an application came from Usouff Pacha, to give them up. It being customary, whenever claims of this kind are made, to consult the parties themselves, both the mother and her child were questioned as to their wishes on the subject. The latter, with tears in her eyes, said that, had his lordship lived, she would always have considered him as a father; but as he was no more, she preferred going back to her own country. The mother having expressed the same wish, they were sent to Patras.’
‘The child, whom I have frequently seen in the lazaretto, is extremely interesting, and about eight years of age. She came over with Byron’s body, under her mother’s care. They had not been here many days, before an application came from Usouff Pacha, to give them up. It being customary, whenever claims of this kind are made, to consult the parties themselves, both the mother and her child were questioned as to their wishes on the subject. The latter, with tears in her eyes, said that, had his lordship lived, she would always have considered him as a father; but as he was no more, she preferred going back to her own country. The mother having expressed the same wish, they were sent to Patras.’
According to Millingen, when Hatajè and her mother arrived at Patras, the child’s father received them in a transport of joy. ‘I thought you slaves,’ said the father in embracing them, ‘and, lo! you return to me decked like brides.’
And that is all that we know—all, we suppose, thatcanbe known—of little Hatajè! She may still be alive, the last survivor of those who had spoken to Byron! If, in her ninety-third year, she still recalls the events of 1824, she will hold up the torch with modest pride, while the present writer commemoratesone, out of many, of the noble actions performed by the poet Byron.
‘This special honour was conferred, becauseHe had behaved with courage and humanity—Whichlastmen like, when they have time to pauseFrom their ferocities produced by vanity.His little captive gained him some applauseFor saving her amidst the wild insanityOf carnage—and I think he was more glad in herSafety, than his new order of St. Vladimir.’Don Juan, Canto VIII.,CXL.
On February 17 there was great excitement at Missolonghi on account of a Turkish brig-of-war, which had run ashore on a sand-bank about seven miles from the city.
Byron sent for Parry, and accosted him in his liveliest manner:
‘Now’s the day, Parry, and now’s the hour; now for your rockets, your fire-kites, and red-hot shots; now, Parry, for your Grecian fires. Onward, death or victory!’
Byron was still so weak that he could not rise from the sofa; but all the available soldiers manned the Greek boats, and set off in the hope of plunder. Parry and some other European officers went out to reconnoitre the brig, and discovered a broad and long neck of land, which separated the shallows from the sea, upon which it would be easy to plant a couple of guns and make an attack upon the brig. Parry says that he had only two guns fit for immediate service—a long three-pounder and a howitzer. The attack was to be made on the following day, and Byron gave orders that, in the event of any prisoners being taken, their lives were, if possible, to be spared. He offered to pay two dollars a head for each prisoner saved, to pay something more for officers, and have them cared for at Missolonghi at his own expense. Healso gave strict orders that the artillery brigade should be kept in reserve, so as to relieve and protect the Turkish prisoners. Early on the following day the guns were shipped, but, unfortunately, the boats ran aground, and much valuable time was lost. Meanwhile three Turkish brigs came to the rescue, and got into position so as to enfilade the beach. They manned their boats and tried to haul the brig into deep water, but without success; and seeing the Greeks preparing to attack, they thought it better to sheer off. But before doing so they managed to remove all the men, and as many of the brig’s stores as they could save, and then set the vessel on fire. Although Byron was disappointed in not having captured a prize, he was glad to hear that the brig had been burnt to the water’s edge. It was estimated that the loss of that vessel to the enemy would amount to nearly 20,000 dollars, and the little garrison of Missolonghi was highly elated at so important an achievement.
On February 19 a serious event occurred, which caused something like a revolution at Missolonghi, and might have been attended with more serious consequences if Byron had not shown a firm hand. It is thus related by Millingen: