"September 28. 1821."I add another cover to request you to ask Moore to obtain (if possible) my letters to the late Lady Melbourne from Lady Cowper. They are very numerous, and ought to have been restored long ago,as I was ready to give back Lady Melbourne's in exchange. These latter are in Mr. Hobhouse's custody with my other papers, and shall be punctually restored if required. I did not choose before to apply to Lady Cowper, as her mother's death naturally kept me from intruding upon her feelings at the time of its occurrence. Some years have now elapsed, and it is essential that I should have my own epistles. They are essential as confirming that part of the 'Memoranda' which refers to the two periods (1812 and 1814) when my marriage with her niece was in contemplation, and will tend to show what my real views and feelings were upon that subject."You need not be alarmed; the 'fourteen years[56]' will hardly elapse without some mortality amongst us; it is a long lease of life to speculate upon. So your calculation will not be in so much peril, as the 'argosie' will sink before that time, and 'the pound of flesh' be withered previously to your being so long out of a return."I also wish to give you a hint or two (as you have really behaved very handsomely to Moore in the business, and are a fine fellow in your line) for your advantage.Ifby your own management you can extract any of my epistles from Lady ——, (* * * * * * *), they might be of use in yourcollection (sinking of course thenamesandall such circumstancesas might hurtlivingfeelings, orthoseofsurvivors); they treat of more topics than love occasionally."I will tell you who mayhappento have some letters of mine in their possession: Lord Powerscourt, some to his late brother; Mr. Long of—(I forget his place)—but the father of Edward Long of the Guards, who was drowned in going to Lisbon early in 1809; Miss Elizabeth Pigot, of Southwell, Notts (she may beMistressby this time, for she had a year or two more than I):theywerenotlove-letters, so that you might have them without scruple. There are, or might be, some to the late Rev. J.C. Tattersall, in the hands of his brother (half-brother) Mr. Wheatley, who resides near Canterbury, I think. There are some of Charles Gordon, now of Dulwich; and some few to Mrs. Chaworth; but these latter are probably destroyed or inaccessible."I mention these people and particulars merely aschances. Most of them have probably destroyed the letters, which in fact are of little import, many of them written when very young, and several at school and college."Peel (thesecondbrother of the Secretary) was a correspondent of mine, and also Porter, the son of the Bishop of Clogher; Lord Clare a very voluminous one; William Harness (a friend of Milman's) another; Charles Drummond (son of the banker); William Bankes (the voyager), your friend: R.C. Dallas, Esq.; Hodgson; Henry Drury; Hobhouse you were already aware of."I have gone through this long list[57]of"'The cold, the faithless, and the dead,'because I know that, like 'the curious in fish-sauce,' you are a researcher of such things."Besides these, there are other occasional ones to literary men and so forth, complimentary, &c. &c. &c. not worth much more than the rest. There are some hundreds, too, of Italian notes of mine, scribbled with a noble contempt of the grammar and dictionary, in very English Etruscan; for IspeakItalianvery fluently, but write it carelessly and incorrectly to a degree."
"September 28. 1821.
"I add another cover to request you to ask Moore to obtain (if possible) my letters to the late Lady Melbourne from Lady Cowper. They are very numerous, and ought to have been restored long ago,as I was ready to give back Lady Melbourne's in exchange. These latter are in Mr. Hobhouse's custody with my other papers, and shall be punctually restored if required. I did not choose before to apply to Lady Cowper, as her mother's death naturally kept me from intruding upon her feelings at the time of its occurrence. Some years have now elapsed, and it is essential that I should have my own epistles. They are essential as confirming that part of the 'Memoranda' which refers to the two periods (1812 and 1814) when my marriage with her niece was in contemplation, and will tend to show what my real views and feelings were upon that subject.
"You need not be alarmed; the 'fourteen years[56]' will hardly elapse without some mortality amongst us; it is a long lease of life to speculate upon. So your calculation will not be in so much peril, as the 'argosie' will sink before that time, and 'the pound of flesh' be withered previously to your being so long out of a return.
"I also wish to give you a hint or two (as you have really behaved very handsomely to Moore in the business, and are a fine fellow in your line) for your advantage.Ifby your own management you can extract any of my epistles from Lady ——, (* * * * * * *), they might be of use in yourcollection (sinking of course thenamesandall such circumstancesas might hurtlivingfeelings, orthoseofsurvivors); they treat of more topics than love occasionally.
"I will tell you who mayhappento have some letters of mine in their possession: Lord Powerscourt, some to his late brother; Mr. Long of—(I forget his place)—but the father of Edward Long of the Guards, who was drowned in going to Lisbon early in 1809; Miss Elizabeth Pigot, of Southwell, Notts (she may beMistressby this time, for she had a year or two more than I):theywerenotlove-letters, so that you might have them without scruple. There are, or might be, some to the late Rev. J.C. Tattersall, in the hands of his brother (half-brother) Mr. Wheatley, who resides near Canterbury, I think. There are some of Charles Gordon, now of Dulwich; and some few to Mrs. Chaworth; but these latter are probably destroyed or inaccessible.
"I mention these people and particulars merely aschances. Most of them have probably destroyed the letters, which in fact are of little import, many of them written when very young, and several at school and college.
"Peel (thesecondbrother of the Secretary) was a correspondent of mine, and also Porter, the son of the Bishop of Clogher; Lord Clare a very voluminous one; William Harness (a friend of Milman's) another; Charles Drummond (son of the banker); William Bankes (the voyager), your friend: R.C. Dallas, Esq.; Hodgson; Henry Drury; Hobhouse you were already aware of.
"I have gone through this long list[57]of
"'The cold, the faithless, and the dead,'
"'The cold, the faithless, and the dead,'
because I know that, like 'the curious in fish-sauce,' you are a researcher of such things.
"Besides these, there are other occasional ones to literary men and so forth, complimentary, &c. &c. &c. not worth much more than the rest. There are some hundreds, too, of Italian notes of mine, scribbled with a noble contempt of the grammar and dictionary, in very English Etruscan; for IspeakItalianvery fluently, but write it carelessly and incorrectly to a degree."
LETTER 459. TO MR. MOORE.
"September 29. 1821."I send you two rough things, prose and verse, not much in themselves, but which will show, one of them, the state of the country, and the other, of your friend's mind, when they were written. Neither of them were sent to the person concerned, but you will see, by the style of them, that they were sincere, as I am in signing myself"Yours ever and truly,"B."
"September 29. 1821.
"I send you two rough things, prose and verse, not much in themselves, but which will show, one of them, the state of the country, and the other, of your friend's mind, when they were written. Neither of them were sent to the person concerned, but you will see, by the style of them, that they were sincere, as I am in signing myself
"Yours ever and truly,
"B."
Of the two enclosures, mentioned in the foregoing note, one was a letter intended to be sent to Lady Byron relative to his money invested in the funds, of which the following are extracts:—
"Ravenna, Marza 1mo, 1821."I have received your message, through my sister's letter, about English security, &c. &c. It is considerate, (and true, even,) that such is to be found—but not that I shall find it. Mr. * *, for his own views and purposes, will thwart all such attempts till he has accomplished his own, viz. to make me lend my fortune to some client of his choosing."At this distance—after this absence, and with my utter ignorance of affairs and business—with my temper and impatience, I have neither the means nor the mind to resist. Thinking of the funds as I do, and wishing to secure a reversion to mysister and her children, I should jump at most expedients."What I told you is come to pass—the Neapolitan war is declared. Your funds will fall, and I shall be in consequence ruined. That's nothing—but my blood relations will be so. You and your child are provided for. Live and prosper—I wish so much to both. Live and prosper—you have the means. I think but of my real kin and kindred, who may be the victims of this accursed bubble."You neither know nor dream of the consequences of this war. It is a war ofmenwith monarchs, and will spread like a spark on the dry, rank grass of the vegetable desert. What it is with you and your English, you do not know, for ye sleep. What it is with us here, I know, for it is before, and around, and within us."Judge of my detestation of England and of all that it inherits, when I avoid returning to your country at a time when not only my pecuniary interests, but, it may be, even my personal security, require it. I can say no more, for all letters are opened. A short time will decide upon what is to be done here, and then you will learn it without being more troubled with me or my correspondence. Whatever happens, an individual is little, so the cause is forwarded."I have no more to say to you on the score of affairs, or on any other subject."
"Ravenna, Marza 1mo, 1821.
"I have received your message, through my sister's letter, about English security, &c. &c. It is considerate, (and true, even,) that such is to be found—but not that I shall find it. Mr. * *, for his own views and purposes, will thwart all such attempts till he has accomplished his own, viz. to make me lend my fortune to some client of his choosing.
"At this distance—after this absence, and with my utter ignorance of affairs and business—with my temper and impatience, I have neither the means nor the mind to resist. Thinking of the funds as I do, and wishing to secure a reversion to mysister and her children, I should jump at most expedients.
"What I told you is come to pass—the Neapolitan war is declared. Your funds will fall, and I shall be in consequence ruined. That's nothing—but my blood relations will be so. You and your child are provided for. Live and prosper—I wish so much to both. Live and prosper—you have the means. I think but of my real kin and kindred, who may be the victims of this accursed bubble.
"You neither know nor dream of the consequences of this war. It is a war ofmenwith monarchs, and will spread like a spark on the dry, rank grass of the vegetable desert. What it is with you and your English, you do not know, for ye sleep. What it is with us here, I know, for it is before, and around, and within us.
"Judge of my detestation of England and of all that it inherits, when I avoid returning to your country at a time when not only my pecuniary interests, but, it may be, even my personal security, require it. I can say no more, for all letters are opened. A short time will decide upon what is to be done here, and then you will learn it without being more troubled with me or my correspondence. Whatever happens, an individual is little, so the cause is forwarded.
"I have no more to say to you on the score of affairs, or on any other subject."
The second enclosure in the note consisted of some verses, written by him, December 10th, 1820,on seeing the following paragraph in a newspaper:—"Lady Byron is this year the lady patroness at the annual Charity Ball given at the Town Hall at Hinckley, Leicestershire, and Sir G. Crewe, Bart, the principal steward." These verses are full of strong and indignant feeling,—every stanza concluding pointedly with the words "Charity Ball,"—and the thought that predominates through the whole may be collected from a few of the opening lines:—
"What matter the pangs of a husband and father,If his sorrows in exile be great or be small,So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather,And the Saint patronises her 'Charity Ball.'"What matters—a heart, which though faulty was feeling,Be driven to excesses which once could appal—That the Sinner should suffer is only fair dealing,As the Saint keeps her charity back for 'the Ball,'" &c. &c.
"What matter the pangs of a husband and father,If his sorrows in exile be great or be small,So the Pharisee's glories around her she gather,And the Saint patronises her 'Charity Ball.'
"What matters—a heart, which though faulty was feeling,Be driven to excesses which once could appal—That the Sinner should suffer is only fair dealing,As the Saint keeps her charity back for 'the Ball,'" &c. &c.
LETTER 460. TO MR. MOORE.
"September—no—October 1. 1821."I have written to you lately, both in prose and verse, at great length, to Paris and London. I presume that Mrs. Moore, or whoever is your Paris deputy, will forward my packets to you in London."I am setting off for Pisa, if a slight incipient intermittent fever do not prevent me. I fear it is not strong enough to give Murray much chance of realising his thirteens again. I hardly should regret it, I think, provided you raised your price upon him—as what Lady Holderness (my sister's grandmother, a Dutchwoman) used to call Augusta, herResidee Legatoo—so as to provide for us all:mybones with a splendid and larmoyante edition, and you with double what is extractable during my lifetime."I have a strong presentiment that (bating some out of the way accident) you will survive me. The difference of eight years, or whatever it is, between our ages, is nothing. I do not feel (nor am, indeed, anxious to feel) the principle of life in me tend to longevity. My father and mother died, the one at thirty-five or six, and the other at forty-five; and Dr. Rush, or somebody else, says that nobody lives long, without havingone parent, at least, an old stager."Ishould, to be sure, like to see out my eternal mother-in-law, not so much for her heritage, but from my natural antipathy. But the indulgence of this natural desire is too much to expect from the Providence who presides over old women. I bore you with all this about lives, because it has been put in my way by a calculation of insurances which Murray has sent me. Ireally thinkyou should have more, if I evaporate within a reasonable time."I wonder if my 'Cain' has got safe to England. I have written since about sixty stanzas of a poem, in octave stanzas, (in the Pulci style, which the fools in England think was invented by Whistlecraft—it is as old as the hills in Italy,) called 'The Vision of of Judgment, by Quevedo Redivivus,' with this motto—"'A Daniel come tojudgment, yea, a Daniel:I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.'"In this it is my intent to put the said George's Apotheosis in a Whig point of view, not forgetting the Poet Laureate for his preface and his other demerits."I am just got to the pass where Saint Peter, hearing that the royal defunct had opposed Catholic Emancipation, rises up, and, interrupting Satan's oration, declareshewill change places with Cerberus sooner than let him into heaven, whilehehas the keys thereof."I must go and ride, though rather feverish and chilly. It is the ague season; but the agues do me rather good than harm. The feel after thefitis as if one had got rid of one's body for good and all."The gods go with you!—Address to Pisa."Ever yours."P.S. Since I came back I feel better, though I stayed out too late for this malaria season, under the thin crescent of a very young moon, and got off my horse to walk in an avenue with a Signora for an hour. I thought of you and'When at eve thou rovestBy the star thou lovest.'But it was not in a romantic mood, as I should have been once; and yet it was anewwoman, (that is, new to me,) and, of course, expected to be made love to. But I merely made a few common-place speeches. I feel, as your poor friend Curran said, before his death, 'a mountain of lead upon myheart,' which I believe to be constitutional, and that nothing will remove it but the same remedy."
"September—no—October 1. 1821.
"I have written to you lately, both in prose and verse, at great length, to Paris and London. I presume that Mrs. Moore, or whoever is your Paris deputy, will forward my packets to you in London.
"I am setting off for Pisa, if a slight incipient intermittent fever do not prevent me. I fear it is not strong enough to give Murray much chance of realising his thirteens again. I hardly should regret it, I think, provided you raised your price upon him—as what Lady Holderness (my sister's grandmother, a Dutchwoman) used to call Augusta, herResidee Legatoo—so as to provide for us all:mybones with a splendid and larmoyante edition, and you with double what is extractable during my lifetime.
"I have a strong presentiment that (bating some out of the way accident) you will survive me. The difference of eight years, or whatever it is, between our ages, is nothing. I do not feel (nor am, indeed, anxious to feel) the principle of life in me tend to longevity. My father and mother died, the one at thirty-five or six, and the other at forty-five; and Dr. Rush, or somebody else, says that nobody lives long, without havingone parent, at least, an old stager.
"Ishould, to be sure, like to see out my eternal mother-in-law, not so much for her heritage, but from my natural antipathy. But the indulgence of this natural desire is too much to expect from the Providence who presides over old women. I bore you with all this about lives, because it has been put in my way by a calculation of insurances which Murray has sent me. Ireally thinkyou should have more, if I evaporate within a reasonable time.
"I wonder if my 'Cain' has got safe to England. I have written since about sixty stanzas of a poem, in octave stanzas, (in the Pulci style, which the fools in England think was invented by Whistlecraft—it is as old as the hills in Italy,) called 'The Vision of of Judgment, by Quevedo Redivivus,' with this motto—
"'A Daniel come tojudgment, yea, a Daniel:I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.'
"'A Daniel come tojudgment, yea, a Daniel:I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.'
"In this it is my intent to put the said George's Apotheosis in a Whig point of view, not forgetting the Poet Laureate for his preface and his other demerits.
"I am just got to the pass where Saint Peter, hearing that the royal defunct had opposed Catholic Emancipation, rises up, and, interrupting Satan's oration, declareshewill change places with Cerberus sooner than let him into heaven, whilehehas the keys thereof.
"I must go and ride, though rather feverish and chilly. It is the ague season; but the agues do me rather good than harm. The feel after thefitis as if one had got rid of one's body for good and all.
"The gods go with you!—Address to Pisa.
"Ever yours.
"P.S. Since I came back I feel better, though I stayed out too late for this malaria season, under the thin crescent of a very young moon, and got off my horse to walk in an avenue with a Signora for an hour. I thought of you and
'When at eve thou rovestBy the star thou lovest.'
'When at eve thou rovestBy the star thou lovest.'
But it was not in a romantic mood, as I should have been once; and yet it was anewwoman, (that is, new to me,) and, of course, expected to be made love to. But I merely made a few common-place speeches. I feel, as your poor friend Curran said, before his death, 'a mountain of lead upon myheart,' which I believe to be constitutional, and that nothing will remove it but the same remedy."
LETTER 461. TO MR. MOORE.
"October 6. 1821."By this post I have sent my nightmare to balance the incubus of * * *'s impudent anticipation of the Apotheosis of George the Third. I should like you to take a look over it, as I think there are two or three things in it which might please 'our puir hill folk.'"By the last two or three posts I have written to you at length. Myaguebows to me every two or three days, but we are not as yet upon intimate speaking terms. I have an intermittent generally every two years, when the climate is favourable (as it is here), but it does me no harm. What I find worse, and cannot get rid of, is the growing depression of my spirits, without sufficient cause. I ride—I am not intemperate in eating or drinking—and my general health is as usual, except a slight ague, which rather does good than not. It must be constitutional; for I know nothing more than usual to depress me to that degree."How doyoumanage? I think you told me, at Venice, that your spirits did not keep up without a little claret. Icandrink, and bear a good deal of wine (as you may recollect in England); but it don't exhilarate—it makes me savage and suspicious, and even quarrelsome. Laudanum has a similar effect; but I can take much ofitwithout any effectat all. The thing that gives me the highest spirits (it seems absurd, but true) is a close ofsalts—I mean in the afternoon, after their effect.[58]But one can't takethemlike champagne."Excuse this old woman's letter; but mylemancholydon't depend upon health, for it is just the same, well or ill, or here or there."Yours," &c.
"October 6. 1821.
"By this post I have sent my nightmare to balance the incubus of * * *'s impudent anticipation of the Apotheosis of George the Third. I should like you to take a look over it, as I think there are two or three things in it which might please 'our puir hill folk.'
"By the last two or three posts I have written to you at length. Myaguebows to me every two or three days, but we are not as yet upon intimate speaking terms. I have an intermittent generally every two years, when the climate is favourable (as it is here), but it does me no harm. What I find worse, and cannot get rid of, is the growing depression of my spirits, without sufficient cause. I ride—I am not intemperate in eating or drinking—and my general health is as usual, except a slight ague, which rather does good than not. It must be constitutional; for I know nothing more than usual to depress me to that degree.
"How doyoumanage? I think you told me, at Venice, that your spirits did not keep up without a little claret. Icandrink, and bear a good deal of wine (as you may recollect in England); but it don't exhilarate—it makes me savage and suspicious, and even quarrelsome. Laudanum has a similar effect; but I can take much ofitwithout any effectat all. The thing that gives me the highest spirits (it seems absurd, but true) is a close ofsalts—I mean in the afternoon, after their effect.[58]But one can't takethemlike champagne.
"Excuse this old woman's letter; but mylemancholydon't depend upon health, for it is just the same, well or ill, or here or there.
"Yours," &c.
LETTER 462. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Ravenna, October 9. 1821."You will please to present or convey the enclosed poem to Mr. Moore. I sent him another copy to Paris, but he has probably left that city."Don't forget to send me my first act of 'Werner' (if Hobhouse can find it amongst my papers)—send it by the post (to Pisa); and also cut out Harriet Lee's 'German's Tale' from the 'Canterbury Tales,' and send it in a letter also. I began that tragedy in 1815."By the way, you have a good deal of my prose tracts in MS.? Let me have proofs of themallagain—I mean the controversial ones, including the last two or three years of time. Another question!—The Epistle of St. Paul, which I translated from the Armenian, for what reason have you kept it back, though you published that stuff which gave rise to the 'Vampire?' Is it because you are afraid to print any thing in opposition to the cant of the Quarterly about Manicheism? Let me have a proof of that Epistle directly. I am a better Christian than those parsons of yours, though not paid for being so."Send—Faber's Treatise on the Cabiri."Sainte Croix's Mystères du Paganisme (scarce, perhaps, but to be found, as Mitford refers to his work frequently)."A common Bible, of a good legible print (bound in russia). Ihaveone; but as it was the last gift of my sister (whom I shall probably never see again), I can only use it carefully, and less frequently, because I like to keep it in good order. Don't forget this, for I am a great reader and admirer of those books, and had read them through and through before I was eight years old,—that is to say, theOldTestament, for the New struck me as a task, but the other as a pleasure. I speak as aboy, from the recollected impression of that period at Aberdeen in 1796."Any novels of Scott, or poetry of the same. Ditto of Crabbe, Moore, and the Elect; but none of your curst common-place trash,—unless somethingstarts up of actual merit, which may very well be, for 'tis time it should."
"Ravenna, October 9. 1821.
"You will please to present or convey the enclosed poem to Mr. Moore. I sent him another copy to Paris, but he has probably left that city.
"Don't forget to send me my first act of 'Werner' (if Hobhouse can find it amongst my papers)—send it by the post (to Pisa); and also cut out Harriet Lee's 'German's Tale' from the 'Canterbury Tales,' and send it in a letter also. I began that tragedy in 1815.
"By the way, you have a good deal of my prose tracts in MS.? Let me have proofs of themallagain—I mean the controversial ones, including the last two or three years of time. Another question!—The Epistle of St. Paul, which I translated from the Armenian, for what reason have you kept it back, though you published that stuff which gave rise to the 'Vampire?' Is it because you are afraid to print any thing in opposition to the cant of the Quarterly about Manicheism? Let me have a proof of that Epistle directly. I am a better Christian than those parsons of yours, though not paid for being so.
"Send—Faber's Treatise on the Cabiri.
"Sainte Croix's Mystères du Paganisme (scarce, perhaps, but to be found, as Mitford refers to his work frequently).
"A common Bible, of a good legible print (bound in russia). Ihaveone; but as it was the last gift of my sister (whom I shall probably never see again), I can only use it carefully, and less frequently, because I like to keep it in good order. Don't forget this, for I am a great reader and admirer of those books, and had read them through and through before I was eight years old,—that is to say, theOldTestament, for the New struck me as a task, but the other as a pleasure. I speak as aboy, from the recollected impression of that period at Aberdeen in 1796.
"Any novels of Scott, or poetry of the same. Ditto of Crabbe, Moore, and the Elect; but none of your curst common-place trash,—unless somethingstarts up of actual merit, which may very well be, for 'tis time it should."
LETTER 463. TO MR. MURRAY.
"October 20. 1821."If the errorsarein the MS. write me down an ass: they arenot, and I am content to undergo any penalty if they be. Besides, theomittedstanza (last but one or two), sentafterwards, was that in the MS. too?"As to 'honour,' I will trust no man's honour in affairs of barter. I will tell you why: a state of bargain is Hobbes's 'state of nature—a state of war.' It is so with all men. If I come to a friend, and say, 'Friend, lend me five hundred pounds,'—he either does it, or says that he can't or won't; but if I come to Ditto, and say, 'Ditto, I have an excellent house, or horse, or carriage, or MSS., or books, or pictures, or, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. honestly worth a thousand pounds, you shall have them for five hundred,' what does Ditto say? why, he looks at them, hehums, heha's,—hehumbugs, if he can, to get a bargain as cheaply as he can, becauseit isa bargain. This is in the blood and bone of mankind; and the same man who would lend another a thousand pounds without interest, would not buy a horse of him for half its value if he could help it. It is so: there's no denying it; and therefore I will have as much as I can, and you will give as little; and there's an end. All men are intrinsical rascals,and I am only sorry that, not being a dog, I can't bite them."I am filling another book for you with little anecdotes, to my own knowledge, or well authenticated, of Sheridan, Curran, &c. and such other public men as I recollect to have been acquainted with, for I knew most of them more or less. I will do what I can to prevent your losing by my obsequies."Yours," &c.
"October 20. 1821.
"If the errorsarein the MS. write me down an ass: they arenot, and I am content to undergo any penalty if they be. Besides, theomittedstanza (last but one or two), sentafterwards, was that in the MS. too?
"As to 'honour,' I will trust no man's honour in affairs of barter. I will tell you why: a state of bargain is Hobbes's 'state of nature—a state of war.' It is so with all men. If I come to a friend, and say, 'Friend, lend me five hundred pounds,'—he either does it, or says that he can't or won't; but if I come to Ditto, and say, 'Ditto, I have an excellent house, or horse, or carriage, or MSS., or books, or pictures, or, &c. &c. &c. &c. &c. honestly worth a thousand pounds, you shall have them for five hundred,' what does Ditto say? why, he looks at them, hehums, heha's,—hehumbugs, if he can, to get a bargain as cheaply as he can, becauseit isa bargain. This is in the blood and bone of mankind; and the same man who would lend another a thousand pounds without interest, would not buy a horse of him for half its value if he could help it. It is so: there's no denying it; and therefore I will have as much as I can, and you will give as little; and there's an end. All men are intrinsical rascals,and I am only sorry that, not being a dog, I can't bite them.
"I am filling another book for you with little anecdotes, to my own knowledge, or well authenticated, of Sheridan, Curran, &c. and such other public men as I recollect to have been acquainted with, for I knew most of them more or less. I will do what I can to prevent your losing by my obsequies.
"Yours," &c.
LETTER 464. TO MR. ROGERS.
"Ravenna, October 21. 1821."I shall be (the gods willing) in Bologna on Saturday next. This is a curious answer to your letter; but I have taken a house in Pisa for the winter, to which all my chattels, furniture, horses, carriages, and live stock are already removed, and I am preparing to follow."The cause of this removal is, shortly, the exile or proscription of all my friends' relations and connections here into Tuscany, on account of our late politics; and where they go, I accompany them. I merely remained till now to settle some arrangements about my daughter, and to give time for my furniture, &c. to precede me. I have not here a seat or a bed hardly, except some jury chairs, and tables, and a mattress for the week to come."If you will go on with me to Pisa, I can lodge you for as long as you like; (they write that the house, the Palazzo Lanfranchi, is spacious: it is on the Arno;) and I have four carriages, and as manysaddle-horses (such as they are in these parts), with all other conveniences, at your command, as also their owner. If you could do this, we may, at least, cross the Apennines together; or if you are going by another road, we shall meet at Bologna, I hope. I address this to the post-office (as you desire), and you will probably find me at the Albergo diSan Marco. If you arrive first, wait till I come up, which will be (barring accidents) on Saturday or Sunday at farthest."I presume you are alone in your voyages. Moore is in Londonincog.according to my latest advices from those climes."It is better than a lustre (five years and six months and some days, more or less) since we met; and, like the man from Tadcaster in the farce ('Love laughs at Locksmiths'), whose acquaintances, including the cat and the terrier, who 'caught a halfpenny in his mouth,' were all 'gone dead,' but too many of our acquaintances have taken the same path. Lady Melbourne, Grattan, Sheridan, Curran, &c. &c. almost every body of much name of the old school. But 'so am not I, said the foolish fat scullion,' therefore let us make the most of our remainder."Let me find two lines from you at 'the hostel or inn.'"Yours ever, &c."B."
"Ravenna, October 21. 1821.
"I shall be (the gods willing) in Bologna on Saturday next. This is a curious answer to your letter; but I have taken a house in Pisa for the winter, to which all my chattels, furniture, horses, carriages, and live stock are already removed, and I am preparing to follow.
"The cause of this removal is, shortly, the exile or proscription of all my friends' relations and connections here into Tuscany, on account of our late politics; and where they go, I accompany them. I merely remained till now to settle some arrangements about my daughter, and to give time for my furniture, &c. to precede me. I have not here a seat or a bed hardly, except some jury chairs, and tables, and a mattress for the week to come.
"If you will go on with me to Pisa, I can lodge you for as long as you like; (they write that the house, the Palazzo Lanfranchi, is spacious: it is on the Arno;) and I have four carriages, and as manysaddle-horses (such as they are in these parts), with all other conveniences, at your command, as also their owner. If you could do this, we may, at least, cross the Apennines together; or if you are going by another road, we shall meet at Bologna, I hope. I address this to the post-office (as you desire), and you will probably find me at the Albergo diSan Marco. If you arrive first, wait till I come up, which will be (barring accidents) on Saturday or Sunday at farthest.
"I presume you are alone in your voyages. Moore is in Londonincog.according to my latest advices from those climes.
"It is better than a lustre (five years and six months and some days, more or less) since we met; and, like the man from Tadcaster in the farce ('Love laughs at Locksmiths'), whose acquaintances, including the cat and the terrier, who 'caught a halfpenny in his mouth,' were all 'gone dead,' but too many of our acquaintances have taken the same path. Lady Melbourne, Grattan, Sheridan, Curran, &c. &c. almost every body of much name of the old school. But 'so am not I, said the foolish fat scullion,' therefore let us make the most of our remainder.
"Let me find two lines from you at 'the hostel or inn.'
"Yours ever, &c.
"B."
LETTER 465. TO MR. MOORE.
"Ravenna, Oct. 28. 1821."''Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and in three hours more I have to set out on my way to Pisa—sitting up all night to be sure of rising. I have just made them take off my bed-clothes—blankets inclusive—in case of temptation from the apparel of sheets to my eyelids."Samuel Rogers is—or is to be—at Bologna, as he writes from Venice."I thought our Magnifico would 'pound you,' if possible. He is trying to 'pound' me, too; but I'll specie the rogue—or, at least, I'll have the odd shillings out of him in keen iambics."Your approbation of 'Sardanapalus' is agreeable, for more reasons than one. Hobhouse is pleased to think as you do of it, and so do some others—but the 'Arimaspian,' whom, like 'a Gryphon in the wilderness,' I will 'follow for his gold' (as I exhorted you to do before), did or doth disparage it—'stinting me in my sizings.' His notable opinions on the 'Foscari' and 'Cain' he hath not as yet forwarded; or, at least, I have not yet received them, nor the proofs thereof, though promised by last post."I see the way that he and his Quarterly people are tending—they want arowwith me, and they shall have it. I only regret that I am not in England for thenonce; as, here, it is hardly fair ground for me, isolated and out of the way of prompt rejoinder and information as I am. But, though backed by allthe corruption, and infamy, and patronage of their master rogues and slave renegadoes, if they do once rouse me up,"'They had better gall the devil, Salisbury.'"I have that for two or three of them, which they had better not move me to put in motion;—and yet, after all, what a fool I am to disquiet myself about such fellows! It was all very well ten or twelve years ago, when I was a 'curled darling,' andminded such things. At present, Iratethem at their true value; but, from natural temper and bile, am not able to keep quiet."Let me hear from you on your return from Ireland, which ought to be ashamed to see you, after her Brunswick blarney. I am of Longman's opinion, that you should allow your friends to liquidate the Bermuda claim. Why should you throw away the two thousandpounds(of thenon-guinea Murray) upon that cursed piece of treacherous inveiglement? I think you carry the matter a little too far and scrupulously. When we see patriots begging publicly, and know that Grattan received a fortune from his country, I really do not see why a man, in no whit inferior to any or all of them, should shrink from accepting that assistance from his private friends which every tradesman receives from his connections upon much less occasions. For, after all, it was notyour debt—it was a piece of swindlingagainstyou. As to * * * *, and the 'what noble creatures![59]&c. &c.' it is all very fine and very well, but, till you can persuade me that there isno credit, and noself-applauseto be obtained by being of use to a celebrated man, I must retain the same opinion of the humanspecies, which I do of our friend Ms. Specie."
"Ravenna, Oct. 28. 1821.
"''Tis the middle of night by the castle clock,' and in three hours more I have to set out on my way to Pisa—sitting up all night to be sure of rising. I have just made them take off my bed-clothes—blankets inclusive—in case of temptation from the apparel of sheets to my eyelids.
"Samuel Rogers is—or is to be—at Bologna, as he writes from Venice.
"I thought our Magnifico would 'pound you,' if possible. He is trying to 'pound' me, too; but I'll specie the rogue—or, at least, I'll have the odd shillings out of him in keen iambics.
"Your approbation of 'Sardanapalus' is agreeable, for more reasons than one. Hobhouse is pleased to think as you do of it, and so do some others—but the 'Arimaspian,' whom, like 'a Gryphon in the wilderness,' I will 'follow for his gold' (as I exhorted you to do before), did or doth disparage it—'stinting me in my sizings.' His notable opinions on the 'Foscari' and 'Cain' he hath not as yet forwarded; or, at least, I have not yet received them, nor the proofs thereof, though promised by last post.
"I see the way that he and his Quarterly people are tending—they want arowwith me, and they shall have it. I only regret that I am not in England for thenonce; as, here, it is hardly fair ground for me, isolated and out of the way of prompt rejoinder and information as I am. But, though backed by allthe corruption, and infamy, and patronage of their master rogues and slave renegadoes, if they do once rouse me up,
"'They had better gall the devil, Salisbury.'
"'They had better gall the devil, Salisbury.'
"I have that for two or three of them, which they had better not move me to put in motion;—and yet, after all, what a fool I am to disquiet myself about such fellows! It was all very well ten or twelve years ago, when I was a 'curled darling,' andminded such things. At present, Iratethem at their true value; but, from natural temper and bile, am not able to keep quiet.
"Let me hear from you on your return from Ireland, which ought to be ashamed to see you, after her Brunswick blarney. I am of Longman's opinion, that you should allow your friends to liquidate the Bermuda claim. Why should you throw away the two thousandpounds(of thenon-guinea Murray) upon that cursed piece of treacherous inveiglement? I think you carry the matter a little too far and scrupulously. When we see patriots begging publicly, and know that Grattan received a fortune from his country, I really do not see why a man, in no whit inferior to any or all of them, should shrink from accepting that assistance from his private friends which every tradesman receives from his connections upon much less occasions. For, after all, it was notyour debt—it was a piece of swindlingagainstyou. As to * * * *, and the 'what noble creatures![59]&c. &c.' it is all very fine and very well, but, till you can persuade me that there isno credit, and noself-applauseto be obtained by being of use to a celebrated man, I must retain the same opinion of the humanspecies, which I do of our friend Ms. Specie."
In the month of August, Madame Guiccioli had joined her father at Pisa, and was now superintending the preparations at the Casa Lanfranchi,—one of the most ancient and spacious palaces of that city,—for the reception of her noble friend. "He left Ravenna," says this lady, "with great regret, and with a presentiment that his departure would be the forerunner of a thousand evils to us. In every letter he then wrote to me, he expressed his displeasure at this step. 'If your father should be recalled,' he said, 'I immediately returnto Ravenna; and if he is recalledpreviousto my departure,I remain.' In this hope he delayed his journey for several months; but, at last, no longer having any expectation of our immediate return, he wrote to me, saying—'I set out most unwillingly, foreseeing the most evil results for all of you, and principally for yourself. I say no more, but you will see.' And in another letter he says, 'I leave Ravenna so unwillingly, and with such a persuasion on my mind that my departure will lead from one misery toanother, each greater than the former, that I have not the heart to utter another word on the subject.' He always wrote to me at that time in Italian, and I transcribe his exact words. How entirely were these presentiments verified by the event!"[60]
After describing his mode of life while at Ravenna, the lady thus proceeds:—
"This sort of simple life he led until the fatal day of his departure for Greece, and the few variations he made from it may be said to have arisen solely from the greater or smaller number of occasions which were offered him of doing good, and from the generous actions he was continually performing. Many families (in Ravenna principally) owed to him the few prosperous days they ever enjoyed. His arrival in that town was spoken of as a piece ofpublic good fortune, and his departure as a public calamity; and this is the life which many attempted to asperse as that of a libertine. But the world must at last learn how, with so good and generous a heart, Lord Byron, susceptible, it is true, of the most energetic passions, yet, at the same time, of the sublimest and most pure, and rendering homage in hisactsto every virtue—how he, I say, could afford such scope to malice and to calumny. Circumstances, and also, probably, an eccentricity of disposition, (which, nevertheless, had its origin in a virtuous feeling, an excessive abhorrence for hypocrisy and affectation,) contributed, perhaps, to cloud the splendour of his exalted nature in the opinion of many. But you will well know how to analyse these contradictions in a manner worthy of your noble friend and of yourself, and you will prove that the goodness of his heart was not inferior to the grandeur of his genius."[61]
At Bologna, according to the appointment made between them, Lord Byron and Mr. Rogers met; and the record which this latter gentleman has, in his Poem on Italy, preserved of their meeting, conveys so vivid a picture of the poet at this period, with, at the same time, so just and feeling a tribute to his memory, that, narrowed as my limits are now becoming, I cannot refrain from giving the sketch entire.
"BOLOGNA.
"'Twas night; the noise and bustle of the dayWere o'er. The mountebank no longer wroughtMiraculous cures—he and his stage were gone;And he who, when the crisis of his taleCame, and all stood breathless with hope and fear,Sent round his cap; and he who thrumm'd his wireAnd sang, with pleading look and plaintive strainMelting the passenger. Thy thousand cries[62],So well portray'd and by a son of thine,Whose voice had swell'd the hubbub in his youth,Were hush'd, BOLOGNA, silence in the streets,The squares, when hark, the clattering of fleet hoofs;And soon a courier, posting as from far,Housing and holster, boot and belted coatAnd doublet stain'd with many a various soil,Stopt and alighted. 'Twas where hangs aloftThat ancient sign, the Pilgrim, welcomingAll who arrive there, all perhaps save thoseClad like himself, with staff and scallop-shell,Those on a pilgrimage: and now approach'dWheels, through the lofty porticoes resounding,Arch beyond arch, a shelter or a shadeAs the sky changes. To the gate they came;And, ere the man had half his story done,Mine host received the Master—one long usedTo sojourn among strangers, every where(Go where he would, along the wildest track)Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost,And leaving footsteps to be traced by thoseWho love the haunts of Genius; one who saw,Observed, nor shunn'd the busy scenes of life,But mingled not; and mid the din, the stir,Lived as a separate Spirit."Much had pass'dSince last we parted; and those five short years—Much had they told! His clustering locks were turn'dGrey; nor did aught recall the youth that swamFrom Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice,Still it was sweet; still from his eye the thoughtFlash'd lightning-like, nor lingered on the way,Waiting for words. Far, far into the nightWe sat, conversing—no unwelcome hour,The hour we met; and, when Aurora rose,Rising, we climb'd the rugged Apennine."Well I remember how the golden sunFill'd with its beams the unfathomable gulfsAs on we travell'd, and along the ridge,'Mid groves of cork, and cistus, and wild fig,His motley household came.—Not last nor least,Battista, who upon the moonlight-seaOf Venice had so ably, zealouslyServed, and at parting, thrown his oar awayTo follow through the world; who without stainHad worn so long that honourable badge[63],The gondolier's, in a Patrician HouseArguing unlimited trust.—Not last nor least,Thou, though declining in thy beauty and strength,Faithful Moretto, to the latest hourGuarding his chamber-door, and now alongThe silent, sullen strand of MISSOLONGHIHowling in grief."He had just left that PlaceOf old renown, once in the ADRIAN sea[64],RAVENNA; where from DANTE'S sacred tombHe had so oft, as many a verse declares[65],Drawn inspiration; where at twilight-time,Through the pine-forest wandering with loose rein,Wandering and lost, he had so oft beheld[66](What is not visible to a poet's eye?)The spectre-knight, the hell-hounds, and their prey,The chase, the slaughter, and the festal mirthSuddenly blasted. 'Twas a theme he loved,But others claim'd their turn; and many a tower,Shatter'd uprooted from its native rock,Its strength the pride of some heroic age,Appear'd and vanish'd (many a sturdy steer[67]Yoked and unyoked), while, as in happier days,He pour'd his spirit forth. The past forgot,All was enjoyment. Not a cloud obscuredPresent or future."He is now at rest;And praise and blame fall on his ear alike,Now dull in death. Yes, BYRON, thou art gone,Gone like a star that through the firmamentShot and was lost, in its eccentric courseDazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks,Was generous, noble—noble in its scornOf all things low or little; nothing thereSordid or servile. If imagined wrongsPursued thee, urging thee sometimes to doThings long regretted, oft, as many know,None more than I, thy gratitude would buildOn slight foundations: and, if in thy lifeNot happy, in thy death thou surely wert,Thy wish accomplish'd; dying in the landWhere thy young mind had caught ethereal fire,Dying in GREECE, and in a cause so glorious!"They in thy train—ah, little did they think,As round we went, that they so soon should sitMourning beside thee, while a Nation mourn'd,Changing her festal for her funeral song;That they so soon should hear the minute-gun,As morning gleam'd on what remain'd of thee,Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numberingThy years of joy and sorrow."Thou art gone;And he who would assail thee in thy grave,Oh, let him pause! For who among us all,Tried as thou wert—even from thine earliest years,When wandering, yet unspoilt, a highland boy—Triedas thou wert, and with thy soul of flame;Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek,Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine,Her charmed cup—ah, who among us allCould say he had not err'd as much, and more?"
"'Twas night; the noise and bustle of the dayWere o'er. The mountebank no longer wroughtMiraculous cures—he and his stage were gone;And he who, when the crisis of his taleCame, and all stood breathless with hope and fear,Sent round his cap; and he who thrumm'd his wireAnd sang, with pleading look and plaintive strainMelting the passenger. Thy thousand cries[62],So well portray'd and by a son of thine,Whose voice had swell'd the hubbub in his youth,Were hush'd, BOLOGNA, silence in the streets,The squares, when hark, the clattering of fleet hoofs;And soon a courier, posting as from far,Housing and holster, boot and belted coatAnd doublet stain'd with many a various soil,Stopt and alighted. 'Twas where hangs aloftThat ancient sign, the Pilgrim, welcomingAll who arrive there, all perhaps save thoseClad like himself, with staff and scallop-shell,Those on a pilgrimage: and now approach'dWheels, through the lofty porticoes resounding,Arch beyond arch, a shelter or a shadeAs the sky changes. To the gate they came;And, ere the man had half his story done,Mine host received the Master—one long usedTo sojourn among strangers, every where(Go where he would, along the wildest track)Flinging a charm that shall not soon be lost,And leaving footsteps to be traced by thoseWho love the haunts of Genius; one who saw,Observed, nor shunn'd the busy scenes of life,But mingled not; and mid the din, the stir,Lived as a separate Spirit."Much had pass'dSince last we parted; and those five short years—Much had they told! His clustering locks were turn'dGrey; nor did aught recall the youth that swamFrom Sestos to Abydos. Yet his voice,Still it was sweet; still from his eye the thoughtFlash'd lightning-like, nor lingered on the way,Waiting for words. Far, far into the nightWe sat, conversing—no unwelcome hour,The hour we met; and, when Aurora rose,Rising, we climb'd the rugged Apennine."Well I remember how the golden sunFill'd with its beams the unfathomable gulfsAs on we travell'd, and along the ridge,'Mid groves of cork, and cistus, and wild fig,His motley household came.—Not last nor least,Battista, who upon the moonlight-seaOf Venice had so ably, zealouslyServed, and at parting, thrown his oar awayTo follow through the world; who without stainHad worn so long that honourable badge[63],The gondolier's, in a Patrician HouseArguing unlimited trust.—Not last nor least,Thou, though declining in thy beauty and strength,Faithful Moretto, to the latest hourGuarding his chamber-door, and now alongThe silent, sullen strand of MISSOLONGHIHowling in grief."He had just left that PlaceOf old renown, once in the ADRIAN sea[64],RAVENNA; where from DANTE'S sacred tombHe had so oft, as many a verse declares[65],Drawn inspiration; where at twilight-time,Through the pine-forest wandering with loose rein,Wandering and lost, he had so oft beheld[66](What is not visible to a poet's eye?)The spectre-knight, the hell-hounds, and their prey,The chase, the slaughter, and the festal mirthSuddenly blasted. 'Twas a theme he loved,But others claim'd their turn; and many a tower,Shatter'd uprooted from its native rock,Its strength the pride of some heroic age,Appear'd and vanish'd (many a sturdy steer[67]Yoked and unyoked), while, as in happier days,He pour'd his spirit forth. The past forgot,All was enjoyment. Not a cloud obscuredPresent or future."He is now at rest;And praise and blame fall on his ear alike,Now dull in death. Yes, BYRON, thou art gone,Gone like a star that through the firmamentShot and was lost, in its eccentric courseDazzling, perplexing. Yet thy heart, methinks,Was generous, noble—noble in its scornOf all things low or little; nothing thereSordid or servile. If imagined wrongsPursued thee, urging thee sometimes to doThings long regretted, oft, as many know,None more than I, thy gratitude would buildOn slight foundations: and, if in thy lifeNot happy, in thy death thou surely wert,Thy wish accomplish'd; dying in the landWhere thy young mind had caught ethereal fire,Dying in GREECE, and in a cause so glorious!"They in thy train—ah, little did they think,As round we went, that they so soon should sitMourning beside thee, while a Nation mourn'd,Changing her festal for her funeral song;That they so soon should hear the minute-gun,As morning gleam'd on what remain'd of thee,Roll o'er the sea, the mountains, numberingThy years of joy and sorrow."Thou art gone;And he who would assail thee in thy grave,Oh, let him pause! For who among us all,Tried as thou wert—even from thine earliest years,When wandering, yet unspoilt, a highland boy—Triedas thou wert, and with thy soul of flame;Pleasure, while yet the down was on thy cheek,Uplifting, pressing, and to lips like thine,Her charmed cup—ah, who among us allCould say he had not err'd as much, and more?"
On the road to Bologna he had met with his early and dearest friend, Lord Clare, and the following description of their short interview is given in his "Detached Thoughts."
"Pisa, November 5. 1821.
"'There is a strange coincidence sometimes in the little things of this world, Sancho,' says Sterne in a letter (if I mistake not), and so I have often found it.
"Page 128. article 91. of this collection, I had alluded to my friend Lord Clare in terms such as my feelings suggested. About a week or two afterwards I met him on the road between Imola and Bologna, after not having met for seven or eight years. He was abroad in 1814, and came home just as I set out in 1816.
"This meeting annihilated for a moment all the years between the present time and the days ofHarrow. It was a new and inexplicable feeling, like rising from the grave, to me. Clare, too, was much agitated—more inappearancethan was myself; for I could feel his heart beat to his fingers' ends, unless, indeed, it was the pulse of my own which made me think so. He told me that I should find a note from him left at Bologna. I did. We were obliged to part for our different journeys, he for Rome, I for Pisa, but with the promise to meet again in spring. We were but five minutes together, and on the public road; but I hardly recollect an hour of my existence which could be weighed against them. He had heard that I was coming on, and had left his letter for me at Bologna, because the people with whom he was travelling could not wait longer.
"Of all I have ever known, he has always been the least altered in every thing from the excellent qualities and kind affections which attached me to him so strongly at school. I should hardly have thought it possible for society (or the world, as it is called) to leave a being with so little of the leaven of bad passions.
"I do not speak from personal experience only, but from all I have ever heard of him from others, during absence and distance."
After remaining a day at Bologna, Lord Byron crossed the Apennines with Mr. Rogers; and I find the following note of their visit together to the Gallery at Florence:—
"I revisited the Florence Gallery, &c. My former impressions were confirmed; but there were too many visiters there to allow one tofeelany thing properly. When we were (about thirty or forty) all stuffed into the cabinet of gems and knick-knackeries, in a corner of one of the galleries, I told Rogers that it 'felt like being in the watchhouse.' I left him to make his obeisances to some of his acquaintances, and strolled on alone—the only four minutes I could snatch of any feeling for the works around me. I do not mean to apply this to atête-à-têtescrutiny with Rogers, who has an excellent taste, and deep feeling for the arts, (indeed much more of both than I can possess, for of theformerI have not much,) but to the crowd of jostling starers and travelling talkers around me.
"I heard one bold Briton declare to the woman on his arm, looking at the Venus of Titian, 'Well, now, this is really very fine indeed,'—an observation which, like that of the landlord in Joseph Andrews on 'the certainty of death,' was (as the landlord's wife observed) 'extremely true.'
"In the Pitti Palace, I did not omit Goldsmith's prescription for a connoisseur, viz. 'that the pictures would have been better if the painter had taken more pains, and to praise the works of Pietro Perugino.'"
LETTER 466. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Pisa, November 3. 1821."The two passages cannot be altered without making Lucifer talk like the Bishop of Lincoln, which would not be in the character of the former. The notion is from Cuvier (that of theold worlds), as I have explained in an additional note to the preface. The other passage is also in character: ifnonsense, so much the better, because then it can do no harm, and the sillier Satan is made, the safer for every body. As to 'alarms,' &c. do you really think such things ever led any body astray? Are these people more impious than Milton's Satan? or the Prometheus of Æschylus? or even than the Sadducees of * *, the 'Fall of Jerusalem' * *? Are not Adam, Eve, Adah, and Abel, as pious as the catechism?"Gifford is too wise a man to think that such things can have anyseriouseffect:whowas ever altered by a poem? I beg leave to observe, that there is no creed nor personal hypothesis of mine in all this; but I was obliged to make Cain and Lucifer talk consistently, and surely this has always been permitted to poesy. Cain is a proud man: if Lucifer promised him kingdom, &c. it wouldelatehim: the object of the Demon is todepresshim still further in his own estimation than he was before, by showing him infinite things and his own abasement, till he falls into the frame of mind that leads to the catastrophe, from mereinternalirritation,notpremeditation, or envy ofAbel(which would have made him contemptible), but from the rage and furyagainst the inadequacy of his state to his conceptions, and which discharges itself rather against life, and the Author of life, than the mere living."His subsequent remorse is the natural effect of looking on his sudden deed. Had thedeedbeenpremeditated, his repentance would have been tardier."Either dedicate it to Walter Scott, or, if you think he would like the dedication of 'The Foscaris' better, put the dedication to 'The Foscaris.' Ask him which."Your first note was queer enough; but your two other letters, with Moore's and Gifford's opinions, set all right again. I told you before that I can neverrecastany thing. I am like the tiger: if I miss the first spring, I go grumbling back to my jungle again; but if I dohit, it is crushing. * * * You disparaged the last three cantos to me, and kept them back above a year; but I have heard from England that (notwithstanding the errors of the press) they are well thought of; for instance, by American Irving, which last is a feather in my (fool's) cap."You have received my letter (open) through Mr. Kinnaird, and so, pray, send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review ofhimselfforthirteen years."The bust is notmyproperty, butHobhouse's. I addressed it to you as an Admiralty man, great at the Custom-house. Pray deduct the expenses of the same, and all others."Yours," &c.
"Pisa, November 3. 1821.
"The two passages cannot be altered without making Lucifer talk like the Bishop of Lincoln, which would not be in the character of the former. The notion is from Cuvier (that of theold worlds), as I have explained in an additional note to the preface. The other passage is also in character: ifnonsense, so much the better, because then it can do no harm, and the sillier Satan is made, the safer for every body. As to 'alarms,' &c. do you really think such things ever led any body astray? Are these people more impious than Milton's Satan? or the Prometheus of Æschylus? or even than the Sadducees of * *, the 'Fall of Jerusalem' * *? Are not Adam, Eve, Adah, and Abel, as pious as the catechism?
"Gifford is too wise a man to think that such things can have anyseriouseffect:whowas ever altered by a poem? I beg leave to observe, that there is no creed nor personal hypothesis of mine in all this; but I was obliged to make Cain and Lucifer talk consistently, and surely this has always been permitted to poesy. Cain is a proud man: if Lucifer promised him kingdom, &c. it wouldelatehim: the object of the Demon is todepresshim still further in his own estimation than he was before, by showing him infinite things and his own abasement, till he falls into the frame of mind that leads to the catastrophe, from mereinternalirritation,notpremeditation, or envy ofAbel(which would have made him contemptible), but from the rage and furyagainst the inadequacy of his state to his conceptions, and which discharges itself rather against life, and the Author of life, than the mere living.
"His subsequent remorse is the natural effect of looking on his sudden deed. Had thedeedbeenpremeditated, his repentance would have been tardier.
"Either dedicate it to Walter Scott, or, if you think he would like the dedication of 'The Foscaris' better, put the dedication to 'The Foscaris.' Ask him which.
"Your first note was queer enough; but your two other letters, with Moore's and Gifford's opinions, set all right again. I told you before that I can neverrecastany thing. I am like the tiger: if I miss the first spring, I go grumbling back to my jungle again; but if I dohit, it is crushing. * * * You disparaged the last three cantos to me, and kept them back above a year; but I have heard from England that (notwithstanding the errors of the press) they are well thought of; for instance, by American Irving, which last is a feather in my (fool's) cap.
"You have received my letter (open) through Mr. Kinnaird, and so, pray, send me no more reviews of any kind. I will read no more of evil or good in that line. Walter Scott has not read a review ofhimselfforthirteen years.
"The bust is notmyproperty, butHobhouse's. I addressed it to you as an Admiralty man, great at the Custom-house. Pray deduct the expenses of the same, and all others.
"Yours," &c.
LETTER 467. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Pisa, Nov. 9. 1821."Inever readthe Memoirs at all, not even since they were written; and I never will: the pain of writing them was enough; you may spare me that of a perusal. Mr. Moore has (or may have) a discretionary power to omit any repetition, or expressions which do not seemgoodtohim, who is a better judge than you or I."Enclosed is a lyrical drama, (entitled 'A Mystery,' from its subject,) which, perhaps may arrive in time for the volume. You will findit piousenough, I trust,—at least some of the Chorus might have been written by Sternhold and Hopkins themselves for that, and perhaps for melody. As it is longer, and more lyrical and Greek, than I intended at first, I have not divided it intoacts, but called what I have sentPart First, as there is a suspension of the action, which may either close there without impropriety, or be continued in a way that I have in view. I wish the first part to be published before the second, because, if it don't succeed, it is better to stop there than to go on in a fruitless experiment."I desire you to acknowledge the arrival of this packet by return of post, if you can conveniently, with a proof."Your obedient, &c."P.S. My wish is to have it published at the same time, and, if possible, in the same volume, with the others, because, whatever the merits or demerits of these pieces may be, it will perhaps beallowed that each is of a different kind, and in a different style; so that, including the prose and the Don Juans, &c. I have at least sent youvarietyduring the last year or two."
"Pisa, Nov. 9. 1821.
"Inever readthe Memoirs at all, not even since they were written; and I never will: the pain of writing them was enough; you may spare me that of a perusal. Mr. Moore has (or may have) a discretionary power to omit any repetition, or expressions which do not seemgoodtohim, who is a better judge than you or I.
"Enclosed is a lyrical drama, (entitled 'A Mystery,' from its subject,) which, perhaps may arrive in time for the volume. You will findit piousenough, I trust,—at least some of the Chorus might have been written by Sternhold and Hopkins themselves for that, and perhaps for melody. As it is longer, and more lyrical and Greek, than I intended at first, I have not divided it intoacts, but called what I have sentPart First, as there is a suspension of the action, which may either close there without impropriety, or be continued in a way that I have in view. I wish the first part to be published before the second, because, if it don't succeed, it is better to stop there than to go on in a fruitless experiment.
"I desire you to acknowledge the arrival of this packet by return of post, if you can conveniently, with a proof.
"Your obedient, &c.
"P.S. My wish is to have it published at the same time, and, if possible, in the same volume, with the others, because, whatever the merits or demerits of these pieces may be, it will perhaps beallowed that each is of a different kind, and in a different style; so that, including the prose and the Don Juans, &c. I have at least sent youvarietyduring the last year or two."
LETTER 468. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, November 16. 1821."There is here Mr. * *, an Irish genius, with whom we are acquainted. He hath written a reallyexcellentCommentary on Dante, full of new and true information, and much ingenuity. But his verse is such as it hath pleased God to endue him withal. Nevertheless, he is so firmly persuaded of its equal excellence, that he won't divorce the Commentary from the traduction, as I ventured delicately to hint,—not having the fear of Ireland before my eyes, and upon the presumption of having shotten very well in his presence (with common pistols too, not with my Manton's) the day before."But he is eager to publish all, and must be gratified, though the Reviewers will make him suffer more tortures than there are in his original. Indeed, theNotesare well worth publication; but he insists upon the translation for company, so that they will come out together, like Lady C * *t chaperoning Miss * *. I read a letter of yours to him yesterday, and he begs me to write to you about his Poeshie. He is really a good fellow, apparently, and I dare say that his verse is very good Irish."Now, what shall we do for him? He says that he will risk part of the expense with the publisher.He will never rest till he is published and abused—for he has a high opinion of himself—and I see nothing left but to gratify him, so as to have him abused as little as possible; for I think it would kill him. You must write, then, to Jeffrey to beg himnotto review him, and I will do the same to Gifford, through Murray. Perhaps they might notice the Comment without touching the text. But I doubt the dogs—the text is too tempting. * *"I have to thank you again, as I believe I did before, for your opinion of 'Cain,' &c."You are right to allow —— to settle the claim; but I do not see why you should repay him out of yourlegacy—at least, not yet.[68]If youfeelabout it (as you are ticklish on such points) pay him the interest now, and the principal when you are strong in cash; or pay him by instalments; or pay him as I do my creditors—that is, not till they make me."I address this to you at Paris, as you desire. Reply soon, and believe me ever, &c."P.S. What I wrote to you about low spirits is, however, very true. At present, owing to the climate, &c. (I can walk down into my garden, andpluck my own oranges,—and, by the way, have got a diarrhœa in consequence of indulging in this meridian luxury of proprietorship,) my spirits are much better. You seem to think that I could not have written the 'Vision,' &c. under the influence of low spirits; but I think there you err.[69]A man's poetry is a distinct faculty, or Soul, and has no more to do with the every-day individual than the Inspiration with the Pythoness when removed from her tripod."
"Pisa, November 16. 1821.
"There is here Mr. * *, an Irish genius, with whom we are acquainted. He hath written a reallyexcellentCommentary on Dante, full of new and true information, and much ingenuity. But his verse is such as it hath pleased God to endue him withal. Nevertheless, he is so firmly persuaded of its equal excellence, that he won't divorce the Commentary from the traduction, as I ventured delicately to hint,—not having the fear of Ireland before my eyes, and upon the presumption of having shotten very well in his presence (with common pistols too, not with my Manton's) the day before.
"But he is eager to publish all, and must be gratified, though the Reviewers will make him suffer more tortures than there are in his original. Indeed, theNotesare well worth publication; but he insists upon the translation for company, so that they will come out together, like Lady C * *t chaperoning Miss * *. I read a letter of yours to him yesterday, and he begs me to write to you about his Poeshie. He is really a good fellow, apparently, and I dare say that his verse is very good Irish.
"Now, what shall we do for him? He says that he will risk part of the expense with the publisher.He will never rest till he is published and abused—for he has a high opinion of himself—and I see nothing left but to gratify him, so as to have him abused as little as possible; for I think it would kill him. You must write, then, to Jeffrey to beg himnotto review him, and I will do the same to Gifford, through Murray. Perhaps they might notice the Comment without touching the text. But I doubt the dogs—the text is too tempting. * *
"I have to thank you again, as I believe I did before, for your opinion of 'Cain,' &c.
"You are right to allow —— to settle the claim; but I do not see why you should repay him out of yourlegacy—at least, not yet.[68]If youfeelabout it (as you are ticklish on such points) pay him the interest now, and the principal when you are strong in cash; or pay him by instalments; or pay him as I do my creditors—that is, not till they make me.
"I address this to you at Paris, as you desire. Reply soon, and believe me ever, &c.
"P.S. What I wrote to you about low spirits is, however, very true. At present, owing to the climate, &c. (I can walk down into my garden, andpluck my own oranges,—and, by the way, have got a diarrhœa in consequence of indulging in this meridian luxury of proprietorship,) my spirits are much better. You seem to think that I could not have written the 'Vision,' &c. under the influence of low spirits; but I think there you err.[69]A man's poetry is a distinct faculty, or Soul, and has no more to do with the every-day individual than the Inspiration with the Pythoness when removed from her tripod."
The correspondence which I am now about to insert, though long since published by the gentleman with whom it originated[70], will, I have no doubt, even by those already acquainted with all the circumstances, be reperused with pleasure; as, among the many strange and affecting incidents with which these pages abound, there is not one, perhaps, so touching and singular as that to which the following letters refer.
TO LORD BYRON.