Chapter I
. p. 4) was dead], and the pension is now reduced to two hundred a year. But if the Court allows the additional two hundred, I shall be perfectly satisfied.
"I do not know what to say about Byron's returning to Cambridge. When he was there, I believe he did nothing but drink, gamble, and spend money."
A month later (April 29, 1807), she consults Hanson about raising £1000 by a loan from Mrs. Parkyns on her security.
"Byron from their last letter gave up all hopes of getting the money, and behaved very well on the occasion, and proposed selling his Horses and plans of OEconomy that I much fear will be laid aside if the Money is procured. My only motive for wishing it was to keep him clear of the Jews; but at present he does not seem at all disposed to have anything to do with them, even if he is disappointed in this resource. I wish to act for the best: but God knows what is for the best."
Eventually money was provided on Mrs. Byron's security (see Letters of March 6 [Letter 117] and April 26 [Letter 121], 1809), and he resided at Trinity for a few days at the end of the May term, 1807.
73.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
June 11, 1807.
Dear Queen Bess,--_Savage_ ought to be _immortal_:--though not a _thorough-bred bull-dog_, he is the finest puppy I ever _saw_, and will answer much better; in his great and manifold kindness he has already bitten my fingers, and disturbed the _gravity_ of old Boatswain, who is _grievously discomposed_. I wish to be informed what he _costs_, his _expenses_, etc., etc., that I may indemnify Mr. G----. My thanks are _all_ I can give for the trouble he has taken, make a _long speech_, and conclude it with 1 2 3 4 5 6 7. [1] I am out of practice, so _deputize_ you as a legate,--_ambassador_ would not do in a matter concerning the _Pope_, which I presume this must, as the _whole_ turns upon a _Bull_.
Yours,
BYRON.
P.S.--I write in bed.
[Footnote 1: He here alludes to an odd fancy or trick of his own; --whenever he was at a loss for something to say, he used always to gabble over "1 2 3 4 5 6 7" (Moore).]
74.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
Cambridge, June 30, 1807.
"Better late than never, Pal," [1] is a saying of which you know the origin, and as it is applicable on the present occasion, you will excuse its conspicuous place in the front of my epistle. I am almost superannuated here. My old friends (with the exception of a very few) all departed, and I am preparing to follow them, but remain till Monday to be present at three _Oratorios_, two _Concerts_, a _Fair_, and a Ball. I find I am not only _thinner_ but _taller_ by an inch since my last visit. I was obliged to tell every body my _name_, nobody having the least recollection of my _visage_, or person. Even the hero of _my Cornelian_ [2] (who is now sitting _vis-à-vis_ reading a volume of my _Poetics_) passed me in Trinity walks without recognising me in the least, and was thunderstruck at the alteration which had taken place in my countenance, etc., etc. Some say I look _better_, others _worse_, but all agree I am _thinner_,--more I do not require. I have lost two pounds in my weight since I left your _cursed_, _detestable_, and _abhorred_ abode of _scandal_, where, excepting yourself and John Becher, [3] I care not if the whole race were consigned to the _Pit of Acheron_, which I would visit in person rather than contaminate my _sandals_ with the polluted dust of Southwell. _Seriously_, unless obliged by the _emptiness_ of my purse to revisit Mrs. B., you will see me no more.
On Monday I depart for London. I quit Cambridge with little regret, because our _set_ are _vanished_, and my _musical protégé_ before mentioned has left the choir, and is stationed in a mercantile house of considerable eminence in the metropolis. You may have heard me observe he is exactly to an hour two years younger than myself. I found him grown considerably, and as you will suppose, very glad to see his former _Patron_. He is nearly my height, very _thin_, very fair complexion, dark eyes, and light locks. My opinion of his mind you already know;--I hope I shall never have occasion to change it. Every body here conceives me to be an _invalid_. The University at present is very gay from the fètes of divers kinds. I supped out last night, but eat (or ate) nothing, sipped a bottle of claret, went to bed at two, and rose at eight. I have commenced early rising, and find it agrees with me. The Masters and the Fellows all very _polite_, but look a little _askance_--don't much admire _lampoons_ [4]--truth always disagreeable.
Write, and tell me how the inhabitants of your _Menagerie_ go _on_, and if my publication goes _off_ well: do the quadrupeds _growl_? Apropos, my bull-dog is deceased--"Flesh both of cur and man is grass." Address your answer to Cambridge. If I am gone, it will be forwarded. Sad news just arrived--Russians beat [5]--a bad set, eat nothing but _oil_, consequently must melt before a _hard fire_. I get awkward in my academic habiliments for want of practice. Got up in a window to hear the oratorio at St. Mary's, popped down in the middle of the _Messiah_, tore a _woeful_ rent in the back of my best black silk gown, and damaged an egregious pair of breeches. Mem.--never tumble from a church window during service. Adieu, dear----! do not remember me to any body:--to _forget_ and be forgotten by the people of Southwell is all I aspire to.
[Footnote 1: The allusion is to the farce _Better Late than Never_ (attributed to Miles Peter Andrews, but really, according to Reynolds (_Life_, vol. ii. pp. 79, 80), by himself, Topham, and Andrews), in which Pallet, an artist, is a prominent character. It was played at Drury Lane for the first time October 17, 1790, with Kemble as "Saville" and Mrs. Jordan as "Augusta."]
[Footnote 2: "The hero of _my Cornelian_" was a Cambridge chorister named Edleston, whose life, as Harness has recorded in a MS. note, Byron saved from drowning. This began their acquaintance. (See Byron's lines on "The Cornelian," _Poems_, vol. i. 66-67.) Edleston died of consumption in May, 1811. Byron, writing to Mrs. Pigot, gives the following account of his death:--
"Cambridge, Oct. 28, 1811.
Dear Madam,--I am about to write to you on a silly subject, and yet I cannot well do otherwise. You may remember a _cornelian_, which some years ago I consigned to Miss Pigot, indeed _gave_ to her, and now I am going to make the most selfish and rude of requests. The person who gave it to me, when I was very young, is _dead_, and though a long time has elapsed since we met, as it was the only memorial I possessed of that person (in whom I was very much interested), it has acquired a value by this event I could have wished it never to have borne in my eyes. If, therefore, Miss Pigot should have preserved it, I must, under these circumstances, beg her to excuse my requesting it to be transmitted to me at No. 8, St. James's Street, London, and I will replace it by something she may remember me by equally well. As she was always so kind as to feel interested in the fate of him that formed the subject of our conversation, you may tell her that the giver of that cornelian died in May last of a consumption, at the age of twenty-one, making the sixth, within four months, of friends and relatives that I have lost between May and the end of August.
"Believe me, dear Madam, yours very sincerely,
"BYRON.
"P.S.--I go to London to-morrow."
The cornelian heart was, of course, returned, and Lord Byron, at the same time, reminded that he had left it with Miss Pigot as a deposit, _not_ a gift (Moore).]
[Footnote 3: See page 182 [Letter 94], [Foot]note 1 [2].]
[Footnote 4: See "Thoughts suggested by a College Examination" (_Poems_, vol. i. pp. 28-31), also "Granta: a Medley" (_Poems_, vol. i. pp. 56-62).]
[Footnote 5: The Battle of Friedland, June 15, 1807. This is almost the first allusion that Byron makes to the war.]
75.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
Trin. Coll. Camb. July 5, 1807.
Since my last letter I have determined to reside _another year_ at Granta, as my rooms, etc., etc., are finished in great style, several old friends come up again, and many new acquaintances made; consequently my inclination leads me forward, and I shall return to college in October if still _alive_. My life here has been one continued routine of dissipation--out at different places every day, engaged to more dinners, etc., etc., than my _stay_ would permit me to fulfil. At this moment I write with a bottle of claret in my _head_ and _tears_ in my _eyes_; for I have just parted with my "_Cornelian_" who spent the evening with me. As it was our last interview, I postponed my engagement to devote the hours of the _Sabbath_ to friendship:--Edleston and I have separated for the present, and my mind is a chaos of hope and sorrow. To-morrow I set out for London: you will address your answer to "Gordon's Hotel, Albemarle Street," where I _sojourn_ during my visit to the metropolis.
I rejoice to hear you are interested in my _protégé_; he has been my _almost constant_ associate since October, 1805, when I entered Trinity College. His _voice_ first attracted my attention, his _countenance_ fixed it, and his _manners_ attached me to him for ever. He departs for a _mercantile house_ in _town_ in October, and we shall probably not meet till the expiration of my minority, when I shall leave to his decision either entering as a _partner_ through my interest, or residing with me altogether. Of course he would in his present frame of mind prefer the _latter_, but he may alter his opinion previous to that period;--however, he shall have his choice. I certainly love him more than any human being, and neither time nor distance have had the least effect on my (in general) changeable disposition. In short, we shall, put _Lady E. Butler_ and _Miss Ponsonby_ [1] to the blush, _Pylades_ and _Orestes_ out of countenance, and want nothing but a catastrophe like _Nisus_ and _Euryalus_, to give _Jonathan_ and _David_ the "go by." He certainly is perhaps more attached to _me_ than even I am in return. During the whole of my residence at Cambridge we met every day, summer and winter, without passing _one_ tiresome moment, and separated each time with increasing reluctance. I hope you will one day see us together. He is the only being I esteem, though I _like_ many.
The Marquis of Tavistock [2] was down the other day; I supped with him at his tutor's--entirely a Whig party. The opposition muster strong here now, and Lord Hartington, the Duke of Leinster, etc., etc., are to join us in October, so every thing will be _splendid_. The _music_ is all over at present. Met with another "_accidency_"--upset a butter-boat in the lap of a lady--look'd very _blue_--_spectators_ grinned--"curse 'em!" Apropos, sorry to say, been _drunk_ every day, and not quite _sober_ yet--however, touch no meat, nothing but fish, soup, and vegetables, consequently it does me no harm--sad dogs all the _Cantabs_. Mem.--_we mean_ to reform next January. This place is a _monotony of endless variety_--like it--hate Southwell. Has Ridge sold well? or do the ancients demur? What ladies have bought?
Saw a girl at St. Mary's the image of Anne----, [3] thought it was her--all in the wrong--the lady stared, so did I--I _blushed_, so did _not_ the lady,--sad thing--wish women had _more modesty_. Talking of women, puts me in mind of my terrier Fanny--how is she? Got a headache, must go to bed, up early in the morning to travel. My _protégé_ breakfasts with me; parting spoils my appetite--excepting from Southwell. Mem. _I hate Southwell_.
Yours, etc.
[Footnote 1: Lady Eleanor Butler (c. 1745-1829), sister of the seventeenth Earl of Ormonde, and Sarah Ponsonby (circ. 1755-1831), cousin of the Earl of Bessborough, were the two "Ladies of the Vale," or "Ladies of Llangollen." About the year 1779 they settled in a cottage at Plasnewydd, in the Vale of Llangollen, where they lived, with their maidservant, Mary Caryll, for upwards of half a century. They are buried, with their servant, in the churchyard of Plasnewydd, under a triangular pyramid. Though they had withdrawn from the world, they watched its proceedings with the keenest interest.
"If," writes Mrs. Piozzi, from Brynbella, July 9, 1796, "Mr. Bunbury's 'Little Gray Man' is printed, do send it hither; the ladies at Llangollen are dying for it. They like those old Scandinavian tales and the imitations of them exceedingly; and tell me about the prince and princess of 'this' loyal country, one province of which alone had disgraced itself"
('Life and Writings of Mrs. Piozzi', vol. ii. p. 234). Nor did they despise the theatre. Charles Mathews ('Memoirs', vol. iii. pp. 150, 151), writing from Oswestry, September 4, 1820, says,
"The dear inseparable inimitables, Lady Butler and Miss Ponsonby, were in the boxes here on Friday. They came twelve miles from Llangollen, and returned, as they never sleep from home. Oh, such curiosities! I was nearly convulsed.... As they are seated, there is not one point to distinguish them from men; the dressing and powdering of the hair; their well-starched neckcloths; the upper part of their habits, which they always wear, even at a dinner-party, made precisely like men's coats; and regular black beaver men's hats. They looked exactly like two respectable superannuated old clergymen.... I was highly flattered, as they never were in the theatre before."
Among the many people who visited them in their retreat, and have left descriptions of them, are Madame de Genlis, De Quincey, Prince Pückler-Muskau. Their friendships were sung by Sotheby and Anne Seward, and their cottage was depicted by Pennant.
"It is very singular," writes John Murray, August 24, 1829, to his son ('Memoir of John Murray', vol. ii. p. 304),
"that the ladies, intending to 'retire' from the world, absolutely brought all the world to visit them, for after a few years of seclusion their strange story was the universal subject of conversation, and there has been no person of rank, talent, and importance in any way who did not procure introductions to them."
[Footnote 2: Lord Tavistock's experience at Cambridge resembled that of Byron. He had received only a "pretended education," and the Duke of Bedford had come to the conclusion that "nothing was learned at English Universities." "Tavistock left Cambridge in May," Lord J. Russell notes in his Diary for 1808, "having been there in supposition two years" (Walpole's 'Life of Lord John Russell', vol. i. pp. 44 and 35).]
[Footnote 3: Probably Miss Anne Houson, daughter of the Rev. Henry Houson of Southwell. She married the Rev. Luke Jackson, died December 25, 1821, and is buried at Hucknall Torkard. (For verses addressed to her, see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 70-2, 244-45, 246-47, 251-52, 253.)]
76.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
Gordon's Hotel, July 13, 1807.
You write most excellent epistles--a fig for other correspondents, with their nonsensical apologies for "_knowing nought about it_"--you send me a delightful budget. I am here in a perpetual vortex of dissipation (very pleasant for all that), and, strange to tell, I get thinner, being now below eleven stone considerably. Stay in town a _month_, perhaps six weeks, trip into Essex, and then, as a favour, _irradiate_ Southwell for three days with the light of my countenance; but nothing shall ever make me _reside_ there again. I positively return to Cambridge in October; we are to be uncommonly gay, or in truth I should _cut_ the University. An extraordinary circumstance occurred to me at Cambridge; a girl so very like----made her appearance, that nothing but the most _minute inspection_ could have undeceived me. I wish I had asked if _she_ had ever been at H----
What the devil would Ridge have? is not fifty in a fortnight, before the advertisements, a sufficient sale? [1] I hear many of the London booksellers have them, and Crosby [2] has sent copies to the principal watering places. Are they liked or not in Southwell? ... I wish Boatswain had _swallowed_ Damon! How is Bran? by the immortal gods, Bran ought to be a _Count_ of the _Holy Roman Empire_.
The intelligence of London cannot be interesting to you, who have rusticated all your life--the annals of routs riots, balls and boxing-matches, cards and crim. cons., parliamentary discussion, political details, masquerades, mechanics, Argyle Street Institution and aquatic races, love and lotteries, Brookes's and Buonaparte, opera-singers and oratorios, wine, women, wax-work, and weathercocks, can't accord with your _insulated_ ideas of decorum and other _silly expressions_ not inserted in _our vocabulary_.
Oh! Southwell, Southwell, how I rejoice to have left thee, and how I curse the heavy hours I dragged along, for so many months, among the Mohawks who inhabit your kraals!--However, one thing I do not regret, which is having _pared off_ a sufficient quantity of flesh to enable me to slip into "an eel-skin," and vie with the _slim_ beaux of modern times; though I am sorry to say, it seems to be the mode amongst _gentlemen_ to grow _fat_, and I am told I am at least fourteen pound below the fashion. However, I _decrease_ instead of enlarging, which is extraordinary, as _violent_ exercise in London is impracticable; but I attribute the _phenomenon_ to our _evening squeezes_ at public and private parties. I heard from Ridge this morning (the 14th, my letter was begun yesterday): he says the poems go on as well as can be wished; the seventy-five sent to town are circulated, and a demand for fifty more complied with, the day he dated his epistle, though the advertisements are not yet half published. Adieu.
P.S.--Lord Carlisle, on receiving my poems, sent, before he opened the book, a tolerably handsome letter:[1]--I have not heard from him since. His opinions I neither know nor care about: if he is the least insolent, I shall enrol him with _Butler_ and the other worthies. He is in Yorkshire, poor man! and very ill! He said he had not had time to read the contents, but thought it necessary to acknowledge the receipt of the volume immediately. Perhaps the Earl "_bears no brother near the throne"--if so_, I will make his _sceptre_ totter _in his hands_.--Adieu!
[Footnote 1: This is probably the third collection of early verse, 'Hours of Idleness', the first collection published with Byron's name (see page 104 [Letter 53], [Foot]note 1).]
[Footnote 2: B. Crosby & Co., of Stationers' Court, were the London agents of Ridge, the Newark bookseller. Crosby was also the publisher of a magazine called 'Monthly Literary Recreations', in which (July, 1807) appeared a highly laudatory notice of 'Hours of Idleness', and Byron's review of Wordsworth's 'Poems' (2 vols. 1807. See Appendix I.), and his "Stanzas to Jessy" (see 'Poems', vol. i. pp. 234-236). These lines were enclosed with the following letter, addressed to "Mr. Crosby, Stationers' Court:"--
"July 21, 1807.
Sir,--I have sent according to my promise some Stanzas for 'Literary Recreations'. The insertion I leave to the option of the Editors. They have never appeared before. I should wish to know whether they are admitted or not, and when the work will appear, as I am desirous of a copy.
Etc., etc.,
BYRON.
P.S.--Send your answer when convenient."]
[Footnote 3:
"My Dear Lord,--Your letter of yesterday found me an invalid, and unable to do justice to your poems by a dilligent ['sic'] perusal of them. In the meantime I take the first occasion to thank you for sending them to me, and to express a sincere satisfaction in finding you employ your leisure in such occupations. Be not disconcerted if the reception of your works should not be that you may have a right to look for from the public. Persevere, whatever that reception may be, and tho' the Public maybe found very fastidious, ... you will stand better with the world than others who only pursue their studies in Bond St. or at Tatershall's.
Believe me to be, yours most sincerely,
CARLISLE.
July 8th, 1807."]
77.--To John Hanson.
July 20th, 1807.
Sir,--Your proposal to make Mrs. Byron my _Treasurer_ is very kind, but does not meet with my approbation. Mrs. Byron has already made more _free_ with my _funds_ than suits my convenience & I do not chuse to expose her to the Danger of Temptation.
Things will therefore stand as they are; the remedy would be worse than the Disease.
I wish you would order your Drafts payable to me and not Mrs. B. This is worse than Hannibal Higgins; [1] who the Devil could suppose that any Body would have mistaken him for a _real personage?_ & what earthly consequence could it be whether the Blank in the Draft was filled up with _Wilkins, Tomkyns, Simkins, Wiggins, Spriggins, Jiggins_, or _Higgins?_ If I had put in _James Johnson_ you would not have demurred, & why object to Hannibal Higgins? particularly after his _respectable Endorsements_. As to Business, I make no pretensions to a Knowledge of any thing but a Greek Grammer or a Racing Calendar; but if the _Quintessence_ of information on that head consists in unnecessary & unpleasant delays, explanations, rebuffs, retorts, repartees, & recriminations, the House of H.& B. stands pre-eminent in the profession, as from the Bottom of his Soul testifies
Yours, etc., etc.,
BYRON.
P.S--Will you dine with me on Sunday Tête a Tête at six o'clock? I should be happy to see you before, but my Engagements will not permit me, as on Wednesday I go to the House. I shall have Hargreaves & his Brother on some day after you; I don't like to annoy Children with the _formal_ Faces of _legal_ papas.
[Footnote 1: The point of the allusion is that Byron had endorsed one of Hanson's drafts with the name of "Hannibal Higgins," and had been solemnly warned of the consequences of so tampering with the dignity of the law.]
78.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
August 2, 1807.
London begins to disgorge its contents--town is empty--consequently I can scribble at leisure, as occupations are less numerous. In a fortnight I shall depart to fulfil a country engagement; but expect two epistles from you previous to that period. Ridge does not proceed rapidly in Notts--very possible. In town things wear a more promising aspect, and a man whose works are praised by _reviewers_, admired by _duchesses_, and sold by every bookseller of the metropolis, does not dedicate much consideration to _rustic readers_. I have now a review before me, entitled _Literary Recreations_ [1] where my _hardship_ is applauded far beyond my deserts. I know nothing of the critic, but think _him_ a very discerning gentleman, and _myself_ a devilish _clever_ fellow. His critique pleases me particularly, because it is of great length, and a proper quantum of censure is administered, just to give an agreeable _relish_ to the praise. You know I hate insipid, unqualified, common-place compliment. If you would wish to see it, order the 13th Number of _Literary Recreations_ for the last month. I assure you I have not the most distant idea of the writer of the article--it is printed in a periodical publication--and though I have written a paper (a review of Wordsworth), which appears in the same work, I am ignorant of every other person concerned in it--even the editor, whose name I have not heard. My cousin, Lord Alexander Gordon, who resided in the same hotel, told me his mother, her Grace of Gordon, [2] requested he would introduce my _Poetical_ Lordship to her _Highness_, as she had bought my volume, admired it exceedingly, in common with the rest of the fashionable world, and wished to claim her relationship with the author. I was unluckily engaged on an excursion for some days afterwards; and, as the Duchess was on the eve of departing for Scotland, I have postponed my introduction till the winter, when I shall favour the lady, _whose taste I shall not dispute_, with my most sublime and edifying conversation. She is now in the Highlands, and Alexander took his departure, a few days ago, for the same _blessed_ seat of "_dark rolling winds_."
Crosby, my London publisher, has disposed of his second importation, and has sent to Ridge for a _third_--at least so he says. In every bookseller's window I see my _own name_, and _say nothing_, but enjoy my fame in secret. My last reviewer kindly requests me to alter my determination of writing no more: and "A Friend to the Cause of Literature" begs I will _gratify_ the _public_ with some new work "at no very distant period." Who would not be a bard?--that is to say, if all critics would be so polite. However, the others will pay me off, I doubt not, for this _gentle_ encouragement. If so, have at 'em? By the by, I have written at my intervals of leisure, after two in the morning, 380 lines in blank verse, of Bosworth Field. I have luckily got Hutton's account. [3] I shall extend the poem to eight or ten books, and shall have finished it in a year. Whether it will be published or not must depend on circumstances. So much for _egotism!_ My _laurels_ have turned my brain, but the _cooling acids_ of forthcoming criticism will probably restore me to _modesty_.
Southwell is a damned place--I have done with it--at least in all probability; excepting yourself, I esteem no one within its precincts. You were my only _rational_ companion; and in plain truth, I had more respect for you than the whole _bevy_, with whose foibles I amused myself in compliance with their prevailing propensities. You gave yourself more trouble with me and my manuscripts than a thousand _dolls_ would have done.
Believe me, I have not forgotten your good nature in _this circle_ of _sin_, and one day I trust I shall be able to evince my gratitude. Adieu.
Yours, etc.
P.S.--Remember me to Dr. P.
[Footnote 1: See page 137 [Letter 76], [Foot]note 2.]
[Footnote 2: The Duchess of Gordon (1748-1812), 'née' Jean Maxwell of Monreith, daughter of Sir W. Maxwell, Bart., married in 1767 the Duke of Gordon. The most successful matchmaker of the age, she married three of her daughters to three dukes--Manchester, Richmond, and Bedford. A fourth daughter was Lady Mandalina Sinclair, afterwards, by a second marriage, Lady Mandalina Palmer. A fifth was married to Lord Cornwallis (see the extraordinary story told in the 'Recollections of Samuel Rogers', pp. 145-146). According to Wraxall ('Posthumous Memoirs', vol. ii. p. 319), she schemed to secure Pitt for her daughter Lady Charlotte, and Eugène Beauharnais for Lady Georgiana, afterwards Duchess of Bedford. Cyrus Redding ('Memoirs of William Beckford', vol. ii. pp. 337-339) describes her attack upon the owner of Fonthill, where she stayed upwards of a week, magnificently entertained, without once seeing the wary master of the house.
She was also the social leader of the Tories, and her house in Pall Mall, rented from the Duke of Buckingham, was the meeting-place of the party. Malcontents accused her of using her power tyrannically:--
"Not Gordon's broad and brawny Grace, The last new Woman in the Place With more contempt could blast." 'Pandolfo Attonito' (1800).
Lord Alexander Gordon died in 1808.]
[Footnote 3: William Hutton (1723-1815), a Birmingham bookseller, who took to literature and became a voluminous writer of poems, and of topographical works which still have their value. In his 'Trip to Redcar and Coatham' (Preface, p. vi.) he says,
"I took up my pen at the advanced age of fifty-six ... I drove the quill thirty years, during which time I wrote and published thirty books."
'The Battle of Bosworth Field' was published in 1788. A new edition, with additions by John Nichols, appeared in 1813. Byron's poem was never published.]
79.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
London, August 11, 1807.
On Sunday next I set off for the Highlands. [1] A friend of mine accompanies me in my carriage to Edinburgh. There we shall leave it, and proceed in a _tandem_ (a species of open carriage) though the western passes to Inverary, where we shall purchase _shelties_, to enable us to view places inaccessible to _vehicular conveyances_. On the coast we shall hire a vessel, and visit the most remarkable of the Hebrides; and, if we have time and favourable weather, mean to sail as far as Iceland, only 300 miles from the northern extremity of Caledonia, to peep at _Hecla_. This last intention you will keep a secret, as my nice _mamma_ would imagine I was on a Voyage of _Discovery_, and raised the accustomed _maternal warwhoop_.
Last week I swam in the Thames from Lambeth through the two bridges, Westminster and Blackfriars, a distance, including the different turns and tracks made on the way, of three miles! [2] You see I am in excellent training in case of a _squall_ at sea. I mean to collect all the Erse traditions, poems, etc., etc., and translate, or expand the subject to fill a volume, which may appear next spring under the denomination of _"The Highland "Harp"_ or some title equally _picturesque_. Of Bosworth Field, one book is finished, another just began. It will be a work of three or four years, and most probably never _conclude_. What would you say to some stanzas on Mount Hecla? they would be written at least with _fire_. How is the immortal Bran? and the Phoenix of canine quadrupeds, Boatswain? I have lately purchased a thorough-bred bull-dog, worthy to be the coadjutor of the aforesaid celestials--his name is _Smut!_
"Bear it, ye breezes, on your _balmy_ wings."
Write to me before I set off, I conjure you, by the fifth rib of your grandfather. Ridge goes on well with the books--I thought that worthy had not done much in the country. In town they have been very successful; Carpenter (Moore's publisher) told me a few days ago they sold all their's immediately, and had several enquiries made since, which, from the books being gone, they could not supply. The Duke of York, the Marchioness of Headfort, the Duchess of Gordon, etc., etc., were among the purchasers; and Crosby says the circulation will be still more extensive in the winter, the summer season being very bad for a sale, as most people are absent from London. However, they have gone off extremely well altogether. I shall pass very near you on my journey through Newark, but cannot approach. Don't tell this to Mrs. B, who supposes I travel a different road. If you have a letter, order it to be left at Ridge's shop, where I shall call, or the post-office, Newark, about six or eight in the evening. If your brother would ride over, I should be devilish glad to see him--he can return the same night, or sup with us and go home the next morning--the Kingston Arms is my inn. Adieu.
Yours ever,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: This projected trip to the Highlands, mentioned in his letter to Augusta Byron of August 30, 1805, seems to have become a joke among Byron's friends. Moore quotes ('Life', p. 56) a letter written by Miss Pigot to her brother:
"How can you ask if Lord B. is going to visit the Highlands in the summer? Why, don't _you_ know that he never knows his own mind for ten minutes together? I tell him he is as fickle as the winds, and as uncertain as the waves."]
[Footnote 2:
"The first time I saw Lord Byron," says Leigh Hunt ('Lord Byron and his Contemporaries', p. 1), "he was rehearsing the part of Leander, under the auspices of Mr. Jackson the prize-fighter. It was in the river Thames, before he went to Greece. I had been bathing, and was standing on the floating machine adjusting my clothes, when I noticed a respectable-looking manly person who was eyeing something at a distance. This was Mr. Jackson waiting for his pupil. The latter was swimming with somebody for a wager."
On this occasion, however, Hunt only saw "his Lordship's head bob up and down in the water, like a "buoy."]
80.--To John Hanson.
Dorant's Hotel, October 19th, 1807.
Dear Hanson,--I will thank you to disburse the quarter due as soon as possible, for I am at this moment contemplating with woeful visage, one _solitary Guinea, two bad sixpences_ and a shilling, being _all_ the _cash_ at present in possession of
Yours very truly,
BYRON.
81.--To Elizabeth Bridget Pigot.
Trinity College, Cambridge, October 26, 1807.
My Dear Elizabeth,--Fatigued with sitting up till four in the morning for the last two days at hazard, I take up my pen to inquire how your highness and the rest of my female acquaintance at the seat of archiepiscopal grandeur go on. I know I deserve a scolding for my negligence in not writing more frequently; but racing up and down the country for these last three months, how was it possible to fulfil the duties of a correspondent? Fixed at last for six weeks, I write, as _thin_ as ever (not having gained an ounce since my reduction), and rather in better humour;--but, after all, Southwell was a detestable residence. Thank St. Dominica, I have done with it: I have been twice within eight miles of it, but could not prevail on myself to _suffocate_ in its heavy atmosphere. This place is wretched enough--a villainous chaos of din and drunkenness, nothing but hazard and burgundy, hunting, mathematics, and Newmarket, riot and racing. Yet it is a paradise compared with the eternal dulness of Southwell. Oh! the misery of doing nothing but make _love, enemies_, and _verses_.
Next January (but this is _entre nous only_, and pray let it be so, or my maternal persecutor will be throwing her tomahawk at any of my curious projects,) I am going to _sea_ for four or five months, with my cousin Captain Bettesworth, [1] who commands the _Tartar_, the finest frigate in the navy. I have seen most scenes, and wish to look at a naval life. We are going probably to the Mediterranean, or to the West Indies, or--to the devil; and if there is a possibility of taking me to the latter, Bettesworth will do it; for he has received four and twenty wounds in different places, and at this moment possesses a letter from the late Lord Nelson, stating Bettesworth as the only officer in the navy who had more wounds than himself.
I have got a new friend, the finest in the world, a _tame bear_. [2] When I brought him here, they asked me what I meant to do with him, and my reply was, "he should _sit for a fellowship._" Sherard will explain the meaning of the sentence, if it is ambiguous. This answer delighted them not. We have several parties here, and this evening a large assortment of jockeys, gamblers, boxers, authors, parsons, and poets, sup with me,--a precious mixture, but they go on well together; and for me, I am a _spice_ of every thing except a jockey; by the bye, I was dismounted again the other day.
Thank your brother in my name for his treatise. I have written 214 pages of a novel--one poem of 380 lines, [3] to be published (without my name) in a few weeks, with notes,--560 lines of Bosworth Field, and 250 lines of another poem in rhyme, besides half a dozen smaller pieces. The poem to be published is a Satire. _Apropos_, I have been praised to the skies in the _Critical Review_, [4] and abused greatly in another publication. [5] So much the better, they tell me, for the sale of the book: it keeps up controversy, and prevents it being forgotten. Besides, the first men of all ages have had their share, nor do the humblest escape;--so I bear it like a philosopher. It is odd two opposite critiques came out on the same day, and out of five pages of abuse, my censor only quotes _two lines_ from different poems, in support of his opinion. Now, the proper way to _cut up_, is to quote long passages, and make them appear absurd, because simple allegation is no proof. On the other hand, there are seven pages of praise, and more than _my modesty_ will allow said on the subject. Adieu.
P.S.--Write, write, write!!!
[Footnote 1: George Edmund Byron Bettesworth (1780-1808), as lieutenant of the 'Centaur', was wounded (1804) in the capture of the 'Curieux'. In command of the latter vessel he captured the 'Dame Ernouf' (1805), and was again wounded. He was made a post-captain in the latter year, when he brought home despatches from Nelson at Antigua, announcing Villeneuve's return to Europe. He was killed off Bergen in 1808, while in command of the 'Tartar'. Captain Bettesworth, whose father assumed the name of Bettesworth in addition to that of Trevanion, married, in 1807, Lady Alethea Grey, daughter of Earl Grey. Through his grandmother, Sophia Trevanion, Byron was Captain Bettesworth's cousin.]
[Footnote 2: See 'Poems', vol. i. p. 406. ]
[Footnote 3: This poem, printed in book form, but not published, under the title of 'British Bards', is the foundation of 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'. The MS. is in the possession of Mr. Murray.]
[Footnote 4: For September, 1807. In noticing the Elegy on Newstead Abbey, the writer says, "We could not but hail, with something of prophetic rapture, the hope conveyed in the closing stanza:--
"'Haply thy sun, emerging, yet may shine, Thee to irradiate with meridian ray.'"]
[Footnote 5: The first number of 'The Satirist: A Monthly Meteor' (October, 1807).]
82.--To J. Ridge.
Trinity College, Cambridge, November 20, 1807.
Sir,--I am happy to hear every thing goes on so well, and I presume you will soon commence, though I am still of opinion the first Edition had better be entirely sold, before you risk the printing of a second. As Curly recommends fine wove Foolscap, let it be used, and I will order a design in London for a plate, my own portrait would perhaps be best, but as that would take up so long a time in completing we will substitute probably a view of Harrow, [1] or Newstead in its stead.
You will omit the poems mentioned below:
Stanzas on a view of Harrow. To a Quaker. The First Kiss of Love. College Examinations. Lines to the Rev. J. T. Becher.
To be inserted, not exactly in the place, but in different parts of the volume, I will send you five poems never yet published. Two of tolerable length, at least much longer than any of the above, which are ordered to be omitted.
Mention in your answer when you would like to receive the manuscripts that they may be sent. By the bye, I must have the proofs of the Manuscripts sent to Cambridge as they occur; the proofs from the printed copy you can manage with care, if Mr. Becher will assist you. Attend to the list of _Errata_, that we may not have a _Second Edition_ of them also.
The Preface we have done with, perhaps I may send an Advertisement, a dedication shall be forthcoming in due Season.
You will send a proof of the first Sheet for Inspection, and soon too, for I am about to set out for London next week. If I remain there any time, I shall apprize you where to send the Manuscript Proofs.
Do you think the others will be sold before the next are ready, what says Curly? remember I have advised you not to risk it a second time, and it is not too late to retract. However, you must abide by your own discretion:
Etc., etc.,
BYRON.
P.S.--You will print from the Copy I sent you with the alterations, pray attend to these, and be careful of mistakes. In my last I gave you directions concerning the Title page and Mottoes.
[Footnote 1: A view of Harrow was given.]
83.--To John Hanson.
Trin. Coll., Cambridge, Dec. 2nd, 1807.
My Dear Sir,--I hope to take my New Years Day dinner with you _en famille_. Tell Hargreaves I will bring his Blackstones, and shall have no objection to see my Daniel's _Field Sports_, if they have not escaped his recollection.--I certainly wish the expiration of my minority as much as you do, though for a reason more nearly affecting my magisterial person at this moment, namely, the want of twenty pounds, for no spendthrift peer, or unlucky poet, was ever less indebted to _Cash_ than George Gordon is at present, or is more likely to continue in the same predicament.--My present quarter due on the 25th was drawn long ago, and I must be obliged to you for the loan of twenty on my next, to be deducted when the whole becomes tangible, that is, probably, some months after it is exhausted. Reserve Murray's quarter, [1] of course, and I shall have just 100 _!_. to receive at Easter, but if the risk of my demand is too great, inform me, that I may if possible convert my Title into cash, though I am afraid twenty pounds will be too much to ask as Times go, if I were an Earl ... but a Barony must fetch ten, perhaps fifteen, and that is something when we have not as many pence. Your answer will oblige
Yours very truly,
BYRON.
P.S.--Remember me to Mrs. H. in particular, and the family in general.
[Footnote 1: Joe Murray. (See page 21 [Letter 7], [Foot]note 3 [4].)]
84.--To John Murray. [1]
Ravenna, 9bre 19, 1820.
What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews [2] has set me to my recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother,--even if he had previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more surpassing degree than he did as far as he went. He was indolent, too; but whenever he stripped, he overthrew all antagonists. His conquests will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his _Downing_ one, which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily _won_. Hobhouse was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of him than any man. William Bankes [3] also a great deal. I myself recollect more of his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived most together at a very idle period of _my_ life. When I went up to Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow, to which I had become attached during the two last years of my stay there; wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no rooms vacant at Christchurch); wretched from some private domestic circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and met him often _then_ at Bankes's, (who was my collegiate pastor, and master, and patron,) and at Rhode's, Milnes's, Price's, Dick's, Macnamara's, Farrell's, Gally Knight's, and others of that _set_ of contemporaries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with any one else, except my old schoolfellow Edward Long [4] (with whom I used to pass the day in riding and swimming), and William Bankes, who was good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities.
It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from Cambridge, to which I had returned again to _reside_ for my degree, that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of Hobhouse, [5] who, after hating me for two years, because I wore a _white hat_, and a _grey_ coat, and rode a _grey_ horse (as he says himself), took me into his good graces because I had written some poetry. I had always lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their company--but now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not at this period resident in College. I met _him_ chiefly in London, and at uncertain periods at Cambridge. Hobhouse, in the mean time, did great things: he founded the Cambridge "Whig Club" (which he seems to have forgotten), and the "Amicable Society," which was dissolved in consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and made himself very popular with "us youth," and no less formidable to all tutors, professors, and heads of Colleges. William Bankes was gone; while he stayed, he ruled the roast--or rather the _roasting_--and was father of all mischiefs.
Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great cronies. He was not good tempered--nor am I--but with a little tact his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often, at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his _papers_ (and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and _as_ he _wrote_ remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to Newstead together, [6] where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_ dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visiters, and used to sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret, champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual garments. [7] Matthews always denominated me "the Abbot," and never called me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his death. The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a few days after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw Hobhouse out of a _window_, in consequence of I know not what commerce of jokes ending in this epigram. Hobhouse came to me and said, that "his respect and regard for me as host would not permit him to call out any of my guests, and that he should go to town next morning." He did. It was in vain that I represented to him that the window was not high, and that the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went.
Matthews and myself had travelled down from London together, talking all the way incessantly upon one single topic. When we got to Loughborough, I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a moment to some other subject, at which he was indignant. "Come," said he, "don't let us break through--let us go on as we began, to our journey's end;" and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones, [8] the tutor, in his odd way, had said, on putting him in,
"Mr. Matthews, I recommend to your attention not to damage any of the moveables, for Lord Byron, Sir, is a young man of _tumultuous passions_."
Matthews was delighted with this; and whenever anybody came to visit him, begged them to handle the very door with caution; and used to repeat Jones's admonition in his tone and manner. There was a large mirror in the room, on which he remarked, "that he thought his friends were grown uncommonly assiduous in coming to _see him_, but he soon discovered that they only came to _see themselves_." Jones's phrase of "_tumultuous passions_" and the whole scene, had put him into such good humour, that I verily believe that I owed to it a portion of his good graces.
When at Newstead, somebody by accident rubbed against one of his white silk stockings, one day before dinner; of course the gentleman apologised.
"Sir," answered Matthews, "it may be all very well for you, who have a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's; but to me, who have only this _one pair_, which I have put on in honour of the Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such carelessness; besides, the expense of washing."
He had the same sort of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild Irishman, named Farrell, one evening began to say something at a large supper at Cambridge, Matthews roared out "Silence!" and then, pointing to Farrell, cried out, in the words of the oracle, "Orson is endowed with reason." You may easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he had acquired, on hearing this compliment. When Hobhouse published his volume of poems, the _Miscellany_ (which Matthews would call the "_Miss-sell-any_"), all that could be drawn from him was, that the preface was "extremely like _Walsh_." Hobhouse thought this at first a compliment; but we never could make out what it was, [9] for all we know of _Walsh_ is his Ode to King William, [10] and Pope's epithet of "_knowing Walsh_." [11] When the Newstead party broke up for London, Hobhouse and Matthews, who were the greatest friends possible, agreed, for a whim, to _walk together_ to town. They quarrelled by the way, and actually walked the latter half of the journey, occasionally passing and repassing, without speaking. When Matthews had got to Highgate, he had spent all his money but three-pence halfpenny, and determined to spend that also in a pint of beer, which I believe he was drinking before a public-house, as Hobhouse passed him (still without speaking) for the last time on their route. They were reconciled in London again.
One of Matthews's passions was "the fancy;" and he sparred uncommonly well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist. In swimming, too, he swam well; but with _effort_ and _labour_, and _too high_ out of the water; so that Scrope Davies [1] and myself, of whom he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so; but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that
"the Dean had lived, And our prediction proved a lie."
His head was uncommonly handsome, very like what _Pope's_ was in his youth.
His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his brother Henry's, if Henry be _he_ of _King's College_. His passion for boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with Dogherty [13] (whom I had backed and made the match for against Tom Belcher [14]), and I saw them spar together at my own lodgings with the gloves on. As he was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to please him, but the match went off. It was of course to have been a private fight, in a private room.
On one occasion, being too late to go home and dress, he was equipped by a friend (Mr. Baillie, I believe,) in a magnificently fashionable and somewhat exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to the Opera, and took his station in Fop's Alley. During the interval between the opera and the ballet, an acquaintance took his station by him and saluted him:
"Come round," said Matthews, "come round."
"Why should I come round?" said the other; "you have only to turn your head--I am close by you."
"That is exactly what I cannot do," said Matthews; "don't you see the state I am in?"
pointing to his buckram shirt collar and inflexible cravat,--and there he stood with his head always in the same perpendicular position during the whole spectacle.
One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and presented it to Matthews.
"Now, sir," said he to Hobhouse afterwards, "this I call _courteous_ in the Abbot--another man would never have thought that I might do better with half a guinea than throw it to a door-keeper;--but here is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives me a ticket for the theatre."
These were only his oddities, for no man was more liberal, or more honourable in all his doings and dealings, than Matthews. He gave Hobhouse and me, before we set out for Constantinople, a most splendid entertainment, to which we did ample justice. One of his fancies was dining at all sorts of out-of-the-way places. Somebody popped upon him in I know not what coffee-house in the Strand--and what do you think was the attraction? Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to _dine with his hat on_. This he called his "_hat_ house," and used to boast of the comfort of being covered at meal times.
When Sir Henry Smith [15] was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a tradesman named "Hiron," Matthews solaced himself with shouting under Hiron's windows every evening,
"Ah me! what perils do environ The man who meddles with _hot Hiron_."
He was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices of----, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his slumbers in the lodge of Trinity; and when he appeared at the window foaming with wrath, and crying out, "I know you, gentlemen, I know you!" were wont to reply, "We beseech thee to hear us, good Lort!"--"Good Lort deliver us!" (Lort was his Christian name.) As he was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects, although by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct, and as I was no less independent, our conversation and correspondence used to alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree.
You must be almost tired of my packets, which will have cost a mint of postage.
Salute Gifford and all my friends.
Yours, etc.
[Footnote 1: This letter, though written twelve years later, belongs to the Cambridge period of Byron's life. It is therefore introduced here. (For John Murray, see [Foot]note [1] to letter to R. C. Dallas [Letter 167] of August 21, 1811.)]
[Footnote 2: Charles Skinner Matthews was known at Eton as Matthews 'major', his 'minor' being his brother Henry, the author of 'The Diary of an Invalid', afterwards a Judge in the Supreme Court of Ceylon, who died in 1828. They were the sons of John Matthews of Belmont, Herefordshire, M.P. for that county (1802-6). C. S. Matthews became a Scholar of Trinity, Cambridge; Ninth Wrangler in 1805; First Members' Prizeman in 1807; Fellow of Downing in 1808. He was drowned in the Cam in August, 1811. He at the time contemplated standing as Member for the University of Cambridge. For a description of the accident, see letter from Henry Drury to Francis Hodgson ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 182-185). In the note to 'Childe Harold', Canto I. stanza xci., Byron speaks of Matthews:
"I should have ventured a verse to the memory of the late Charles Skinner Matthews, Fellow of Downing College, Cambridge, were he not too much above all praise of mine. His powers of mind, shown in the attainment of greater honours, against the ablest candidates, than those of any graduate on record at Cambridge, have sufficiently established his fame on the spot where it was acquired; while his softer qualities live in the recollection of friends who loved him too well to envy his superiority."]
[Footnote 3: See page 120 [Letter 67], [Foot]note 1.]
[Footnote 4: See page 73 [Letter 31], [Foot]note 2.]
[Footnote 5: See page 163 [Letter 83], note 1 [5].]
[Footnote 6: Of this visit to Newstead, Matthews wrote the following account to his sister:--
"London, May 22, 1809.
"My Dear----,--I must begin with giving you a few particulars of the singular place which I have lately quitted.
Newstead Abbey is situate 136 miles from London,--four on this side Mansfield. It is so fine a piece of antiquity, that I should think there must be a description, and, perhaps, a picture of it in Grose. The ancestors of its present owner came into possession of it at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries,--but the building itself is of a much earlier date. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still completely an _abbey_, and most part of it is still standing in the same state as when it was first built. There are two tiers of cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which, though not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might easily be made so; and many of the original rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall, are still in use. Of the abbey church only one end remains; and the old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap of rubbish. Leading from the abbey to the modern part of the habitation is a noble room, seventy feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth; but every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those which the present Lord has lately fitted up.
The house and gardens are entirely surrounded by a wall with battlements. In front is a large lake, bordered here and there with castellated buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence at the further extremity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak and barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles, except a solitary clump or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. For the late Lord, being at enmity with his son, to whom the estate was secured by entail, resolved, out of spite to the same, that the estate should descend to him in as miserable a plight as he could possibly reduce it to; for which cause, he took no care of the mansion, and fell to lopping of every tree he could lay his hands on, so furiously, that he reduced immense tracts of woodland country to the desolate state I have just described. However, his son died before him, so that all his rage was thrown away.
So much for the place, concerning which I have thrown together these few particulars, meaning my account to be, like the place itself, without any order or connection. But if the place itself appear rather strange to you, the ways of the inhabitants will not appear much less so. Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may introduce you to my Lord and his visitants. But have a care how you proceed; be mindful to go there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about you. For, should you make any blunder,--should you go to the right of the hall steps, you are laid hold of by a bear; and should you go to the left, your case is still worse, for you run full against a wolf!--Nor, when you have attained the door, is your danger over; for the hall being decayed, and therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of inmates are very probably banging at one end of it with their pistols; so that if you enter without giving loud notice of your approach, you have only escaped the wolf and the bear to expire by the pistol-shots of the merry monks of Newstead.
Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four others, and was, now and then, increased by the presence of a neighbouring parson. As for our way of living, the order of the day was generally this:--for breakfast we had no set hour, but each suited his own convenience, --everything remaining on the table till the whole party had done; though had one wished to breakfast at the early hour of ten, one would have been rather lucky to find any of the servants up. Our average hour of rising was one. I, who generally got up between eleven and twelve, was always,--even when an invalid,--the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy of early rising. It was frequently past two before the breakfast party broke up. Then, for the amusements of the morning, there was reading, fencing, single-stick, or shuttle-cock, in the great room; practising with pistols in the hall; walking--riding--cricket--sailing on the lake, playing with the bear, or teasing the wolf. Between seven and eight we dined; and our evening lasted from that time till one, two, or three in the morning. The evening diversions may be easily conceived.
I must not omit the custom of handing round, after dinner, on the removal of the cloth, a human skull filled with burgundy. After revelling on choice viands, and the finest wines of France, we adjourned to tea, where we amused ourselves with reading, or improving conversation,--each, according to his fancy,--and, after sandwiches, etc., retired to rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been provided, with all the proper apparatus of crosses, beads, tonsures, etc., often gave a variety to our appearance, and to our pursuits.
You may easily imagine how chagrined I was at being ill nearly the first half of the time I was there. But I was led into a very different reflection from that of Dr. Swift, who left Pope's house without ceremony, and afterwards informed him, by letter, that it was impossible for two sick friends to live together; for I found my shivering and invalid frame so perpetually annoyed by the thoughtless and tumultuous health of every one about me, that I heartily wished every soul in the house to be as ill as myself.
"The journey back I performed on foot, together with another of the guests. We walked about twenty-five miles a day; but were a week on the road, from being detained by the rain. So here I close my account of an expedition which has somewhat extended my knowledge of this country. And where do you think I am going next? To Constantinople!--at least, such an excursion has been proposed to me. Lord B. and another friend of mine are going thither next month, and have asked me to join the party; but it seems to be but a wild scheme, and requires twice thinking upon.
"Addio, my dear I., yours very affectionately, C. S. MATTHEWS."]
[Footnote 7: A joke, related by Hobhouse, reminds us of the youth of the party. In the Long Gallery at Newstead was placed a stone coffin, from which, as he passed down the Gallery at night, he heard a groan proceeding. On going nearer, a cowled figure rose from the coffin and blew out the candle. It was Matthews.]
[Footnote 8: The Rev. Thomas Jones. (See page 79 [Letter 36], [Foot]note 1.)]
[Footnote 9: The only thing remarkable about Walsh's preface is that Dr. Johnson praises it as "very judicious," but is, at the same time, silent respecting the poems to which it is prefixed (Moore).]
[Footnote 10: No "Ode" under this title is to be found in Walsh's Poems. Byron had, no doubt, in mind _The Golden Age Restored_--a composition in which, says Dr. Johnson, "there was something of humour, while the facts were recent; but it now strikes no longer."]
[Footnote 11:
"----Granville the polite, And _knowing Walsh_, would tell me I could write."
"About fifteen," says Pope, "I got acquainted with Mr. Walsh. He used to encourage me much, and tell me, that there was one way left of excelling: for though we had several great poets, we never had any one great poet that was correct; and he desired me to make that my study and aim" (Spence's _Anecdotes_, edit. 1820, p. 280).]
[Footnote 12: See page 165 [Letter 86], [Foot]note 2.]
[Footnote 13: Dan Dogherty, Irish champion (1806-11), came into notice as a pugilist in 1806. He was beaten by Belcher in April, 1808, near the Rubbing House on Epsom Downs, and again on the Curragh of Kildare, in 1813, in thirty-five minutes, after twenty-six rounds.]
[Footnote 14: Tom Belcher (1783-1854), younger brother of Jem Belcher the champion, fought and won his first fight in London, in 1804, against Warr. The fight took place in Tothill Fields, Westminster. Twice beaten by Dutch Sam (Elias Samuel), in 1806 and 1807, he never held the championship, which a man of his height (5 ft. 9 ins.) and weight (10 st. 12 lbs.) could scarcely hope to win. But he repeatedly established the superiority of art over strength, and was one of the most popular and respectable pugilists of the day. Under his management the Castle Tavern at Holborn, in which he succeeded Gregson (page 207 [Letter 108], [Foot]note 1 [2]), was the head-quarters of pugilism.]
[Footnote 15: Sir Henry Smyth, Baronet, of Trinity Hall, A.M. 1805, was found between eleven and twelve at night, on May 11, 1805, "inciting to a disturbance" at the shop of a Mrs. Thrower on Market Hill. Other members of the University seem to have been equally guilty. The sentence of the Vice-Chancellor and Heads was "that he be suspended from his degree and banished from the University." The others were admonished only; so it was clearly considered that Smyth was the ring-leader.]
85.--To Henry Drury. [1]
Dorant's Hotel, Jan. 13, 1808.
My Dear Sir,--Though the stupidity of my servants, or the porter of the house, in not showing you up stairs (where I should have joined you directly), prevented me the pleasure of seeing you yesterday, I hoped to meet you at some public place in the evening. However, my stars decreed otherwise, as they generally do, when I have any favour to request of them. I think you would have been surprised at my figure, for, since our last meeting, I am reduced four stone in weight. I then weighed fourteen stone seven pound, and now only _ten stone and a half_. I have disposed of my _superfluities_ by means of hard exercise and abstinence.
Should your Harrow engagements allow you to visit town between this and February, I shall be most happy to see you in Albemarle Street. If I am not so fortunate, I shall endeavour to join you for an afternoon at Harrow, though, I fear, your cellar will by no means contribute to my cure. As for my worthy preceptor, Dr. B., [2] our encounter would by no means prevent the _mutual endearments_ he and I were wont to lavish on each other. We have only spoken once since my departure from Harrow in 1805, and then he politely told Tatersall [3] I was not a proper associate for his pupils. This was long before my strictures in verse; but, in plain _prose_, had I been some years older, I should have held my tongue on his perfections. But, being laid on my back, when that schoolboy thing was written--or rather dictated--expecting to rise no more, my physician having taken his sixteenth fee, and I his prescription, I could not quit this earth without leaving a memento of my constant attachment to Butler in gratitude for his manifold good offices.
I meant to have been down in July; but thinking my appearance, immediately after the publication, would be construed into an insult, I directed my steps elsewhere. Besides, I heard that some of the boys had got hold of my _Libellus_, contrary to my wishes certainly, for I never transmitted a single copy till October, when I gave one to a boy, since gone, after repeated importunities. You will, I trust, pardon this egotism. As you had touched on the subject I thought some explanation necessary. Defence I shall not attempt, _Hic murus aheneus esto, nil conscire sibi_--and "so on" (as Lord Baltimore [4] said on his trial for a rape)--I have been so long at Trinity as to forget the conclusion of the line; but though I cannot finish my quotation, I will my letter, and entreat you to believe me, gratefully and affectionately, etc.
P.S.--I will not lay a tax on your time by requiring an answer, lest you say, as Butler said to Tatersall (when I had written his reverence an impudent epistle on the expression before mentioned), viz. "that I wanted to draw him into a correspondence."
[Footnote 1: See page 12 [Letter 4], [Foot]note 1 [2]; and page 41 [Letter 14], [Foot] note 2 [1].]
[Footnote 2: Dr. Butler, Head-master of Harrow (see page 58 [Letter 22], [Foot]note 1).]
[Footnote 3: See page 59 [Letter 22], [Foot]note 1 [2].]
[Footnote 4: Francis Calvert, seventh Lord Baltimore (1731-1771), was charged with decoying a young milliner, named Sarah Woodcock, to his house, and with rape. On February 12, 1768, he was committed for trial at the Spring assizes, was tried at Kingston, March 26, 1768, and acquitted. The story is the subject of a romance, 'Injured Innocence; or the Rape of Sarah Woodcock;' A Tale, by S. J., Esq., of Magdalen College, Oxford. New York (no date).
"I thank God," Lord Baltimore is reported to have said, "that I have had firmness and resolution to meet my accusers face to face, and provoke an enquiry into my conduct, 'Hic murus aheneus esto, nil conscire sibi'"
('Ann. Register' for 1768, p. 234). His body lay in state at Exeter Change, previous to its interment at Epsom (Leigh Hunt's 'The Town', edit. 1893, p. 191).]
86.--To John Cam Hobhouse. [1]
Newstead Abbey, Notts, January 16, 1808.
My Dear Hobhouse,--I do not know how the _dens_-descended Davies [2] came to mention his having received a copy of my epistle to you, but I addressed him and you on the same evening, and being much incensed at the account I had received from Wallace, I communicated the contents to the Birdmore, though without any of that malice wherewith you charge me. I shall leave my card at Batts, and hope to see you in your progress to the North.
I have lately discovered Scrope's genealogy to be ennobled by a collateral tie with the Beardmore, Chirurgeon and Dentist to Royalty, and that the town of Southwell contains cousins of Scrope's, who disowned them (I grieve to speak it) on visiting that city in my society.
How I found this out I will disclose, the first time "we three meet again." But why did he conceal his lineage? "Ah, my dear H., it was _cruel_, it was _insulting_, it was _unnecessary_."
I have (notwithstanding your kind invitation to Wallace) been alone since the 8th of December; nothing of moment has occurred since our anniversary row. I shall be in London on the 19th; there are to be oxen roasted and sheep boiled on the 22nd, with ale and uproar for the mobility; a feast is also providing for the tenantry. For my own part, I shall know as little of the matter as a corpse of the funeral solemnized in its honour.
A letter addressed to Reddish's will find me. I still intend publishing the _Bards_, but I have altered a good deal of the "Body of the Book," added and interpolated, with some excisions; your lines still stand, [3] and in all there will appear 624 lines.
I should like much to see your Essay upon Entrails: is there any honorary token of silver gilt? any cups, or pounds sterling attached to the prize, besides glory? I expect to see you with a medal suspended from your button-hole, like a Croix de St. Louis.
Fletcher's father is deceased, and has left his son tway cottages, value ten pounds per annum. I know not how it is, but Fletch., though only the third brother, conceives himself entitled to all the estates of the defunct, and I have recommended him to a lawyer, who, I fear, will triumph in the spoils of this ancient family. A Birthday Ode has been addressed to me by a country schoolmaster, in which I am likened to the Sun, or Sol, as he classically saith; the people of Newstead are compared to Laplanders. I am said to be a Baron, and a Byron, the truth of which is indisputable. Feronia is again to reign (she must have some woods to govern first), but it is altogether a very pleasant performance, and the author is as superior to Pye, as George Gordon to George Guelph. To be sure some of the lines are too short, but then, to make amends, the Alexandrines have from fifteen to seventeen syllables, so we may call them Alexandrines the great.
I shall be glad to hear from you, and beg you to believe me,
Yours very truly,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: John Cam Hobhouse (1786-1869), created in 1851 Baron Broughton de Gyfford, was the eldest son of Mr. Benjamin Hobhouse, created a baronet in 1812, and M.P. (from 1797 to 1818) successively for Bletchingley, Grampound, and Hindon. From a school at Bristol, John Cam Hobhouse was sent to Westminster, and thence to Trinity, Cambridge, where he won (1808) the Hulsean Prize for an essay on "Sacrifices," and made acquaintance with Byron, as related in Letter 84. In 1809 he published a poetical miscellany, consisting of sixty-five pieces, under the title of 'Imitations and Translations from the Ancient and Modern Classics, together with original Poems never before published' (London, 1809, 8vo). (For Byron's nine contributions, see 'Poems', vol. i., Bibliographical Note.) In 1809-10 he was Byron's travelling companion abroad (see 'A Journey through Albania, etc.' London, 1813, 4to).
In 1813 he travelled with Douglas Kinnaird in Sweden, Germany, Austria, and Italy; in 1814 he was at Paris with the allied armies; and in April, 1815, was there again till the second Napoleonic war broke out, returning to witness the second restoration of the Bourbons (see his 'Letters--written by an Englishman resident in Paris, etc.' Anon., London, 1816, 2 vols., 8vo). During 1814 he was much with Byron in London. He notes going with him to Drury Lane, and being introduced with him to Kean (May 19); dining with him at Lord Tavistock's (June 4); dining with him at Douglas Kinnaird's, to meet Kean (December 14). He was Byron's best man at his marriage at Seaham (January 2, 1815), and it was to him that the bride said, "If I am not happy, it will be my own fault." He was the last person who shook hands with Byron on Dover pier, when the latter left England in 1816. Later in the same year he was with him at the Villa Diodati, on the Lake of Geneva, and travelled with him to Venice. To him Byron dedicated 'The Siege of Corinth', In the next year he was again with Byron in the Villa La Mira on the banks of the Brenta, and at Venice, where he prepared the commentary on the fourth canto of 'Childe Harold', which Byron dedicated to him. Part of the notes were published separately ('Historical Illustrations, etc.' London, 1818, 8vo). In 1818 Hobhouse stood for Westminster, but was defeated by George Lamb, the representative of the official Whigs. He was an original member of "The Rota Club," afterwards known as "Harrington's," to which Michael Bruce, Douglas Kinnaird, Scrope Davies, and others belonged, and which Byron, writing from Italy, expressed a wish to join. He had now embarked on political life. His pamphlet, 'A Defence of the People' (1819), was followed in the same year by 'A Trifling Mistake', which was declared by the House of Commons to be a breach of privilege. In consequence, he was committed to Newgate. The death of George III., and the dissolution of Parliament, set him free. He contested Westminster, won the seat with Sir Francis Burdett as his colleague, and represented it for thirteen years. He took the part of Queen Caroline against the Government. At the Queen's funeral (August 7, 1821) he attended the procession which escorted her body (August 13) from Brandenburg House to Harwich, and saw the coffin placed upon the vessel.
His political career was long, independent, useful, and distinguished, and he specially associated himself with such questions as the shortening of the hours for infant labour, the opening up of metropolitan vestries, and the subject of parliamentary reform. In 1832 he was made a Privy Councillor, and became Secretary at War in Lord Grey's Ministry. This post, finding himself unable to effect essential reforms at the War Office, he exchanged for that of Secretary for Ireland (1833); but he resigned both his office and his seat a few weeks later, being opposed to the Government on a question of taxation. In 1834 he joined Lord Melbourne's Government as First Commissioner of Woods and Forests, with a seat in the Cabinet. In Lord Melbourne's second administration, and again in Lord J. Russell's Government of 1846, he was President of the Board of Control. On his retirement from public life, in 1852, he received high recognition of his official services from the Queen, who conferred on him the Grand Cross of the Bath and a peerage. Hobhouse was present at Her Majesty's first Council, and is said to have originated the phrase, "Her Majesty's Opposition."
In 1822 he travelled in Italy (see 'Italy: Remarks made in Several Visits from the Year 1816 to 1834', London, 1859, 2 vols., 8vo). There, on September 20, at Pisa, he for the last time saw Byron, whose parting words were, "Hobhouse, you should never have come, or you should never go." In July, 1824, when Byron's body was brought home, he boarded the 'Florida' in Sandgate Creek, and took charge of the funeral ceremonies from Westminster Stairs to the interment at Hucknall Torkard. He prepared an article for the 'Quarterly Review', exposing the absurdities of Medwin's 'Conversations' and of Dallas's 'Recollections'; but, owing to difficulties with Southey, it was not published. It was the substance of this article which afterwards appeared in the 'Westminster Review' in 1825. In 1830 he wrote, but, by Lord Holland's advice, withheld, a refutation of the charges made against the dead poet as to his separation from Lady Byron. He has, however, left on record that it was not fear which induced Byron to agree to the separation, but that, on the contrary, he was ready to "go into court."
The staunchest of Byron's friends, Hobhouse was also the most sensible and candid. As such Byron valued him. Talking to Lady Blessington at Genoa, in 1823, he said ('Conversations', p. 93) that Hobhouse was
"the most impartial, or perhaps," added he, "'unpartial', of my friends; he always told me my faults, but I must do him the justice to add, that he told them to 'me', and not to others."
On another occasion he said (p. 172),
"If friendship, as most people imagine, consists in telling one truth--unvarnished, unadorned truth--he is indeed a friend: yet, hang it, I must be candid, and say I have had many other, and more agreeable, proofs of Hobhouse's friendship than the truths he always told me; but the fact is, I wanted him to sugar them over a little with flattery, as nurses do the physic given to children; and he never would, and therefore I have never felt quite content with him, though, 'au fond', I respect him the more for his candour, while I respect myself very much less for my weakness in disliking it."]
[Footnote 2: Scrope Berdmore Davies (1783-1852), born at Horsley, in Gloucestershire, was educated at Eton, and King's College, Cambridge, where he was admitted a Scholar in July, 1802, and a Fellow in July, 1805. In 1803 he was awarded by the Provost of Eton the Belham Scholarship, given to those Scholars of King's who had behaved well at Eton, and held it till 1816. A witty companion, with "a dry caustic manner, and an irresistible stammer" ('Life of Rev, F. Hodgson', vol. i. p. 204), Davies was, during the Regency and afterwards, a popular member of fashionable society. A daring gambler and shrewd calculator, he at one time won heavily at the gaming-tables. On June 10, 1814, as he told Hobhouse, he won £6065 at Watier's Club at Macao. Captain Cronow, in his 'Reminiscences' (ed. 1860, vol. i. pp. 93-96), sketches him among "Golden Ball" Hughes, "King" Allen, and other dandies. But luck turned against him, and he retired, poverty-stricken and almost dependent upon his Fellowship, to Paris, where he died, May 23, 1852. It was supposed he had for many years occupied himself with writing his recollections of his friends. But the notes, if they were ever written, have disappeared.
Byron, who hated obligations, as he himself says, counted Davies as a friend, though not on the same plane as Hobhouse. He borrowed from Davies £4800 before he left England in 1809, repaid him in 1814, and dedicated to him his 'Parisina'. In his 'MS. Journal' ('Life', pp. 129, 130) he says,
"One of the cleverest men I ever knew, in conversation, was Scrope Berdmore Davies. Hobhouse is also very good in that line, though it is of less consequence to a man who has other ways of showing his talents than in company. Scrope was always ready, and often witty--Hobhouse was witty, but not always so ready, being more diffident."
Byron appointed him one of the executors of his will of 1811. In his 'Journal' for March 28, 1814 ('Life', p. 234), occurs this entry:
"Yesterday, dined tête à tête at the Cocoa with Scrope Davies--sat from six till midnight--drank between us one bottle of champagne and six of claret, neither of which wines ever affect me. Offered to take Scrope home in my carriage; but he was tipsy and pious, and I was obliged to leave him on his knees praying to I know not what purpose or pagod. No headach, nor sickness, that night, nor to-day. Got up, if anything, earlier than usual--sparred with Jackson 'ad sudorem', and have been much better in health than for many days. I have heard nothing more from Scrope."
Scrope Davies visited Byron at the Villa Diodati, in 1816, and brought back with him 'Childe Harold', canto iii. On his return he gave evidence in the case of 'Byron v. Johnson', before the Lord Chancellor, November 28, 1816, when an injunction was obtained to restrain Johnson from publishing a volume containing 'Lord Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage to the Holy Land', and other works, which he professed to have bought from Byron for £500.
According to Gronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 153, 154), Scrope Davies, asked to give his private opinion of Byron, said that he considered him
"very agreeable and clever, but vain, overbearing, suspicious, and jealous. Byron hated Palmerston, but liked Peel, and thought that the whole world ought to be constantly employed in admiring his poetry and himself."]
[Footnote 3: For Hobhouse's lines on Bowles, see 'English Bards, etc.', line 384, and note.]
87.--To Robert Charles Dallas. [1]
Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Jan. 20, 1808.
Sir,--Your letter was not received till this morning, I presume from being addressed to me in Notts., where I have not resided since last June; and as the date is the 6th, you will excuse the delay of my answer.
If the little volume you mention has given pleasure to the author of _Percival_ and _Aubrey_, I am sufficiently repaid by his praise. Though our periodical censors have been uncommonly lenient, I confess a tribute from a man of acknowledged genius is still more flattering. But I am afraid I should forfeit all claim to candour, if I did not decline such praise as I do not deserve; and this is, I am sorry to say, the case in the present instance.
My compositions speak for themselves, and must stand or fall by their own worth or demerit: _thus far_ I feel highly gratified by your favourable opinion. But my pretensions to virtue are unluckily so few, that though I should be happy to merit, I cannot accept, your applause in that respect. One passage in your letter struck me forcibly: you mention the two Lords Lyttleton [2] in the manner they respectively deserve, and will be surprised to hear the person who is now addressing you has been frequently compared to the _latter_. I know I am injuring myself in your esteem by this avowal, but the circumstance was so remarkable from your observation, that I cannot help relating the fact. The events of my short life have been of so singular a nature, that, though the pride commonly called honour has, and I trust ever will, prevent me from disgracing my name by a mean or cowardly
## action, I have been already held up as the votary of licentiousness,
and the disciple of infidelity. How far justice may have dictated this accusation, I cannot pretend to say; but, like the _gentleman_ to whom my religious friends, in the warmth of their charity, have already devoted me, I am made worse than I really am. However, to quit myself (the worst theme I could pitch upon), and return to my poems, I cannot sufficiently express my thanks, and I hope I shall some day have an opportunity of rendering them in person. A second edition is now in the press, with some additions and considerable omissions; you will allow me to present you with a copy. The 'Critical', [3] 'Monthly', [4] and 'Anti-Jacobin [5] Reviews' have been very indulgent; but the 'Eclectic' [6] has pronounced a furious Philippic, not against the _book_ but the _author_, where you will find all I have mentioned asserted by a reverend divine who wrote the critique.
Your name and connection with our family have been long known to me, and I hope your person will be not less so: you will find me an excellent compound of a "Brainless" and a "Stanhope." [7] I am afraid you will hardly be able to read this, for my hand is almost as bad as my character; but you will find me, as legibly as possible,
Your obliged and obedient servant,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Robert Charles Dallas (1754-1842), born in Jamaica and educated in Scotland, read law at the Inner Temple. About 1775 he returned to Jamaica to look after his property and take up a lucrative appointment. Three years later he returned to England, married, and took his wife back with him to the West Indies. His wife's health compelled him to return to Europe, and he lived for some time in France. At the outbreak of the Revolution he emigrated to America; but finally settled down to literary work in England. His first publication (1797) was _Miscellaneous Writings consisting of Poems; Lucretia, a Tragedy; and Moral Essays, with a Vocabulary of the Passions_. He translated a number of French books bearing on the French Revolution, by Bertrand de Moleville, Mallet du Pan, Hue, and Joseph Weber; also a work on Volcanoes by the Abbé Ordinaire, and an historical novel by Madame de Genlis, _The Siege of Rochelle_. He wrote a number of novels, among them _Percival, or Nature Vindicated_ (1801); _Aubrey: a Novel_ (1804); _The Morlands; Tales illustrative of the Simple and Surprising_ (1805); _The Knights; Tales illustrative of the Marvellous_ (1808). Later (1819 and 1823) he published two volumes of poems. He says (preface to _Percival_, p. ix.) that his object is "to improve the heart, as well as to please the fancy, and to be the auxiliary of the Divine and the Moralist." He is one of the writers, others being "Gleaner" Pratt and Lord Carlisle, "whose writings" (_Memoirs of the Life and Writings of Percival Stockdale_, 1809, vol. i. Preface, p. xvi.) "dart through the general fog of our literary dulness." Stockdale further says of him that he was "a man of a most affectionate and virtuous mind. He has had the moral honour, in several novels, to exert his talents, which were worthy of their glorious cause, in the service of good conduct and religion."
Dallas's sister, Henrietta Charlotte, married George Anson Byron, the son of Admiral the Hon. John Byron, and was therefore Byron's aunt by marriage. On the score of this connection, Dallas introduced himself to Byron by complimenting him, in a letter dated January 6, 1808, on his _Hours of Idleness_. A well-meaning, self-satisfied, dull, industrious man, he gave Byron excellent moral advice, to which the latter responded as the _fanfaron de ses vices_, evidently with great amusement to himself. _English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers_ was brought out under Dallas's auspices, as well as _Childe Harold_ and _The Corsair_, the profits of which Byron made over to him. Dallas distrusted his own literary judgment in the matter of Byron's verse, and consulted Walter Wright, the author of Horæ Ioniæ, about the prospects of 'Childe Harold'.
"I have told him," said Wright, "that I have no doubt this will succeed. Lord Byron had offered him before some translations from Horace, which I told him would never sell, and he did not take them"
('Diary of H. Crabb Robinson', vol. i. pp. 29, 30).
The connection between Dallas and Byron practically ended in 1814. The publication of Dallas's 'Recollections of the Life of Lord Byron from the Year 1808 to the end of 1814' was stopped by a decree obtained by Byron's executors, in the Court of Chancery, August 23, 1824. But the book was published by the writer's son, the Rev. A. R. C. Dallas.]
[Footnote 2: Byron refers to the following passage in Dallas's letter of January 6, 1808:
"A spirit that brings to my mind another noble author, who was not only a fine poet, orator, and historian, but one of the closest reasoners we have on the truth of that religion, of which forgiveness is a prominent principle: the great and the good Lord Lyttelton, whose fame will never die. His son, to whom he had transmitted genius but not virtue, sparkled for a moment, and went out like a falling star, and with him the title became extinct. He was the victim of inordinate passions, and he will be heard of in this world only by those who read the English Peerage"
('Correspondence of Lord Byron', p. 20, the suppressed edition).
Dallas was, of course, aware that Byron's predecessor in the title, William, fifth Lord Byron, was known as the "wicked Lord Byron." George, first Lord Lyttelton (1709-1773), to whom Pope refers ('Imitations of Horace', bk. i. Ep. i. 1. 30) as
"Still true to virtue, and as warm as true,"
was a voluminous writer in prose and verse, but owed his political importance to his family connection with Chatham, Temple, and George Grenville. Horace Walpole calls him a "wise moppet" ('Letters', vol. ii. p. 28, ed. Cunningham), and repeatedly sneers at his dulness. His son Thomas, second Lord Lyttelton (1744-1779), the "wicked Lord Lyttelton," appears in W. Combe's 'Diaboliad' as the
"Peer of words, Well known,--and honour'd in the House of Lords,-- Whose Eloquence all Parallel defies!"
who claims the throne of Hell as the worst of living men. His 'Poems by a Young Nobleman lately deceased' (published in 1780, after his death) may have helped Dallas in his allusion. He was the hero and the victim of the famous ghost story which Dr. Johnson was "willing to believe."]
[Footnote 3: 'The Critical Review' (3rd series, vol. xii. pp. 47-53) specially praises lines "On Leaving Newstead Abbey" and "Childish Recollections."]
[Footnote 4: In 'Monthly Literary Recreations' (July, 1807, pp. 67-71), "Childish Recollections" and "The Tear" are particularly commended.
"As friends to the cause of literature, we have thought proper not to disguise our opinion of his powers, that we might alter his determination, and lead him once more to the Castalian fount."]
[Footnote 5: 'The Anti-Jacobin Review' (December, 1807, pp. 407, 408) says that the poems
"exhibit strong proofs of genius, accompanied by a lively but chastened imagination, a classical taste, and a benevolent heart."]
[Footnote 6: _The Eclectic Review_ (vol. iii. part ii. pp. 989-993) begins its review thus:
"The notice we take of this publication regards the author rather than the book; the book is a collection of juvenile pieces, some of very moderate merit, and others of very questionable morality; but the author is a _nobleman_!"]
[Footnote 7: Characters in the novel called _Percival_.]
88.--To Robert Charles Dallas.
Dorant's, January 21, 1808.
Sir,--Whenever leisure and inclination permit me the pleasure of a visit, I shall feel truly gratified in a personal acquaintance with one whose mind has been long known to me in his writings.
You are so far correct in your conjecture, that I am a member of the University of Cambridge, where I shall take my degree of A.M. this term; but were reasoning, eloquence, or virtue, the objects of my search, Granta is not their metropolis, nor is the place of her situation an "El Dorado," far less an Utopia. The intellects of her children are as stagnant as her Cam, and their pursuits limited to the church--not of Christ, but of the nearest benefice.
As to my reading, I believe I may aver, without hyperbole, it has been tolerably extensive in the historical department; so that few nations exist, or have existed, with whose records I am not in some degree acquainted, from Herodotus down to Gibbon. Of the classics, I know about as much as most school-boys after a discipline of thirteen years; of the law of the land as much as enables me to keep "within the statute"--to use the poacher's vocabulary. I did study the "Spirit of Laws" [1] and the Law of Nations; but when I saw the latter violated every month, I gave up my attempts at so useless an accomplishment:--of geography, I have seen more land on maps than I should wish to traverse on foot;--of mathematics, enough to give me the headach without clearing the part affected;--of philosophy, astronomy, and metaphysics, more than I can comprehend; and of common sense so little, that I mean to leave a Byronian prize at each of our "Almæ Matres" for the first discovery,--though I rather fear that of the longitude will precede it.
I once thought myself a philosopher, and talked nonsense with great decorum: I defied pain, and preached up equanimity. For some time this did very well, for no one was in _pain_ for me but my friends, and none lost their patience but my hearers. At last, a fall from my horse convinced me bodily suffering was an evil; and the worst of an argument overset my maxims and my temper at the same moment: so I quitted Zeno for Aristippus, and conceive that pleasure constitutes the [Greek (transliterated): to kalon].
In morality, I prefer Confucius to the Ten Commandments, and Socrates to St. Paul (though the two latter agree in their opinion of marriage). In religion, I favour the Catholic emancipation, but do not acknowledge the Pope; and I have refused to take the sacrament, because I do not think eating bread or drinking wine from the hand of an earthly vicar will make me an inheritor of heaven. I hold virtue, in general, or the virtues severally, to be only in the disposition, each a _feeling_, not a principle. I believe truth the prime attribute of the Deity, and death an eternal sleep, at least of the body. You have here a brief compendium of the sentiments of the _wicked_ George, Lord Byron; and, till I get a new suit, you will perceive I am badly cloathed.
I remain yours, etc.,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: In Byron's "List of historical writers whose works I have perused in different languages" ('Life', pp. 46, 47), occurs the name of Montesquieu. It is to his 'Esprit des Lois' that Byron refers.]
89.--To John Hanson.
Dorant's, January 25th, 1808.
Sir,--The picture I have drawn of my finances is unfortunately a true one, and I find the colours may be heightened but not improved by time.--I have inclosed the receipt, and return my thanks for the loan, which shall be repaid the first opportunity. In the concluding part of my last I gave my reasons for not troubling you with my society at present, but when I can either communicate or receive pleasure, I shall not be long absent.
Yrs., etc.,
BYRON.
P.S.--I have received a letter from Whitehead, of course you know the contents, and must act as you think proper.
90.--To John Hanson.
Dorant's, January 25th, 1808.
Dear Sir,--Some time ago I gave Mitchell the sadler [_sic_] a letter for you, requesting his bill might be paid from the Balance of the Quarter you obliged me by advancing. If he has received this you will further oblige me by paying what remains, I believe somewhere about five pounds, if so much.
You will confer a favour upon me by the loan of twenty. I will endeavour to repay it next week, as I have immediate occasion for that sum, and I should not require it of you could I obtain it elsewhere.
I am now in my one and twentieth year, and cannot command as many pounds. To Cambridge I cannot go without paying my bills, and at present I could as soon compass the National Debt; in London I must not remain, nor shall I, when I can procure a trifle to take me out of it. Home I have none; and if there was a possibility of getting out of the Country, I would gladly avail myself of it. But even that is denied me, my Debts amount to three thousand, three hundred to Jews, eight hundred to Mrs. B. of Nottingham, to coachmaker and other tradesmen a thousand more, and these must be much increased, before they are lessened.
Such is the prospect before me, which is by no means brightened by ill-health. I would have called on you, but I have neither spirits to enliven myself or others, or inclination to bring a gloomy face to spoil a group of happy ones. I remain,
Your obliged and obedt. sert.,
BYRON.
P.S.--Your answer to the former part will oblige, as I shall be reduced to a most unpleasant dilemma if it does not arrive.
91.--To James De Bathe. [1]
Dorant's Hotel, February 2d, 1808.
My Dear De Bathe,--Last Night I saw your Father and Brother, the former I have not the pleasure of knowing, but the latter informed me _you_ came to Town on _Saturday_ and returned _yesterday_.
I have received a pressing Invitation from Henry Drury to pay him a visit; in his Letter he mentions a very old _Friend_ of yours, who told him he would join my party, if I could inform him on what day I meant to go over. This Friend you will readily conclude to be a Lord _B_.; but not the one who now addresses you. Shall I bring him to you? and insure a welcome for myself which perhaps might not otherwise be the case. This will not be for a Fortnight to come. I am waiting for Long, who is now at Chatham, when he arrives we shall probably drive down and dine with Drury.
I confess Harrow has lost most of its charms for me. I do not know if Delawarr is still there; but, with the exception of yourself and the Earl, I shall find myself among Strangers. Long has a Brother at Butler's, and all his predilections remain in full force; mine are weakened, if not destroyed, and though I can safely say, I never knew a Friend out of Harrow, I question whether I have one left in it. You leave Harrow in July; may I ask what is your future Destination?
In January _1809_ I shall be twenty one & in the Spring of the same year proceed abroad, not on the usual Tour, but a route of a more extensive Description. What say you? are you disposed for a view of the Peloponnesus and a voyage through the Archipelago? I am merely in jest with regard to you, but very serious with regard to my own Intention which is fixed on the _Pilgrimage_, unless some political view or accident induce me to postpone it. Adieu! if you have Leisure, I shall be as happy to hear from you, as I would have been to have _seen_ you. Believe me,
Yours very truly,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: Sir James Wynne De Bathe (1792-1828) succeeded his father as second baronet, February 22, 1808. "Clare, Dorset, Charles Gordon, De Bathe, Claridge, and John Wingfield, were my juniors and favourites, whom I spoilt by indulgence" ('Life', p. 21). De Bathe's name does not appear in the Harrow School lists. A Captain De Bathe interested himself in the case of Medora Leigh in 1843 (see Charles Mackay's 'Medora Leigh', pp. 92, 93, and elsewhere in the volume).]
92.--To William Harness. [1]
Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Feb. II, 1808.
My Dear Harness,--As I had no opportunity of returning my verbal thanks, I trust you will accept my written acknowledgments for the compliment you were pleased to pay some production of my unlucky muse last November,--I am induced to do this not less from the pleasure I feel in the praise of an old schoolfellow, than from justice to you, for I had heard the story with some slight variations. Indeed, when we met this morning, Wingfield [2] had not undeceived me; but he will tell you that I displayed no resentment in mentioning what I had heard, though I was not sorry to discover the truth. Perhaps you hardly recollect, some years ago, a short, though, for the time, a warm friendship between us. Why it was not of longer duration I know not. I have still a gift of yours in my possession, that must always prevent me from forgetting it. I also remember being favoured with the perusal of many of your compositions, and several other circumstances very pleasant in their day, which I will not force upon your memory, but entreat you to believe me, with much regret at their short continuance, and a hope they are not irrevocable,
Yours very sincerely, etc.,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: William Harness (1790-1869), son of Dr. J. Harness, Commissioner of the Transport Board, was educated at Harrow and Christ's College, Cambridge. Ordained in 1812, he was, from 1823 to 1826, Curate at Hampstead.
"I could quiz you heartily," writes Mrs. Franklin to Miss Mitford (September 6, 1824), "for having told me in three successive letters of Mr. Harness's chapel at Hampstead. I understand he now lives a very retired life"
('The Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford', vol. i. p. 61). From 1826 to 1844 he was Incumbent of Regent Square Chapel; Minister of Brompton Chapel (1844-47); Perpetual Curate (1849-69) of All Saints', Knightsbridge, which he built from subscriptions raised by himself. He is described by Crabb Robinson ('Diary', vol. iii. p. 212) as
"a clergyman with Oxford propensities, and a worshipper of the heathen Muses as well as of the Christian Graces;"
and again (iii. 326), as
"a man of taste, of High Church principles and liberal in spirit."
Miss Mitford ('The Friendships of Mary Russell Mitford', vol. ii. p. 289) writes that
"he has neither Catholic nor Puseyite tendencies,--only it is a large and liberal mind like Bishop Stanley's, believing good men and good Christians may exist among Papists, and will be as safe there as if they were Protestants."
Again (vol. ii. p. 295) she says of him:
"Besides his varied accomplishments, and his admirable goodness and kindness, he has all sorts of amusing peculiarities. With a temper never known to fail, an indulgence the largest, a tenderness as of a woman, he has the habit of talking like a cynic! and with more learning, ancient and modern, and a wider grasp of literature than almost any one I know, professes to read nothing and care for nothing but 'Shakespeare and the Bible.' He is the finest reader of both that I ever heard. His preaching, which has been so much admired, is too rapid, but his reading the prayers is perfection. The best parish priest in London, and the truest Christian."
Miss Mitford's praise may be exaggerated; but she had known Harness for a lifetime.
Harness edited 'Shakespeare' (1825, 8 vols.), as well as 'Massinger' (1830) and 'Ford' (1831); wrote for the 'Quarterly' and 'Blackwood'; and published a number of sermons, including 'The Wrath of Cain', 'A Boyle Lecture' (1822). He wrote 'The Life of Mary Russell Mitford' (1870), in collaboration with the Rev. A. G. L'Estrange, whose 'Life of the Rev. W. Harness' is the chief authority for his career.
His friendship with Byron began at Harrow ('Life', pp. 23, 24), where Byron, who was older than Harness, took pity upon his lameness and weakness, and protected him from the bullies of the school. At a later period they became estranged, as is shown by the following letter from Byron to Harness ('Life', pp. 24, 25):--
"We both seem perfectly to recollect, with a mixture of pleasure and regret, the hours we once passed together, and I assure you, most sincerely, they are numbered among the happiest of my brief chronicle of enjoyment. I am now 'getting into years', that is to say, I was 'twenty' a month ago, and another year will send me into the world to run my career of folly with the rest. I was then just fourteen,--you were almost the first of my Harrow friends, certainly the 'first' in my esteem, if not in date; but an absence from Harrow for some time, shortly after, and new connections on your side, and the difference in our conduct (an advantage decidedly in your favour) from that turbulent and riotous disposition of mine, which impelled me into every species of mischief,--all these circumstances combined to destroy an intimacy, which affection urged me to continue, and memory compels me to regret. But there is not a circumstance attending that period, hardly a sentence we exchanged, which is not impressed on my mind at this moment. I need not say more,--this assurance alone must convince you, had I considered them as trivial, they would have been less indelible. How well I recollect the perusal of your 'first flights'! There is another circumstance you do not know;--the 'first lines' I ever attempted at Harrow were addressed to 'you'. You were to have seen them; but Sinclair had the copy in his possession when we went home;--and, on our return, we were 'strangers'. They were destroyed, and certainly no great loss; but you will perceive from this circumstance my opinions at an age when we cannot be hypocrites.
I have dwelt longer on this theme than I intended, and I shall now conclude with what I ought to have begun. We were once friends,--nay, we have always been so, for our separation was the effect of chance, not of dissension. I do not know how far our destinations in life may throw us together, but if opportunity and inclination allow you to waste a thought on such a hare-brained being as myself, you will find me at least sincere, and not so bigoted to my faults as to involve others in the consequences. Will you sometimes write to me? I do not ask it often; and, if we meet, let us be what we 'should' be, and what we 'were'."
The following is Harness's own account of the circumstances in which Letter 92 was written:--
"A coolness afterwards arose, which Byron alludes to in the first of the accompanying letters, and we never spoke during the last year of his remaining at school, nor till after the publication of his 'Hours of Idleness'. Lord Byron was then at Cambridge; I, in one of the upper forms, at Harrow. In an English theme I happened to quote from the volume, and mention it with praise. It was reported to Byron that I had, on the contrary, spoken slightingly of his work and of himself, for the purpose of conciliating the favour of Dr. Butler, the master, who had been severely satirised in one of the poems. Wingfield, who was afterwards Lord Powerscourt, a mutual friend of Byron and myself, disabused him of the error into which he had been led, and this was the occasion of the first letter of the collection. Our intimacy was renewed, and continued from that time till his going abroad. Whatever faults Lord Byron might have had towards others, to myself he was always uniformly affectionate. I have many slights and neglects towards him to reproach myself with; but I cannot call to mind a single instance of caprice or unkindness, in the whole course of our friendship, to allege against him."
In December, 1811, Harness paid Byron a visit at Newstead, the only other guest being Francis Hodgson, who, like Harness, was not then ordained. He thus describes the visit ('Life of the Rev. Francis Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 219-221):--
"When Byron returned, with the MS. of the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold' in his portmanteau, I paid him a visit at Newstead. It was winter--dark, dreary weather--the snow upon the ground; and a straggling, gloomy, depressive, partially inhabited place the Abbey was. Those rooms, however, which had been fitted up for residence were so comfortably appointed, glowing with crimson hangings, and cheerful with capacious fires, that one soon lost the melancholy feeling of being domiciled in the wing of an extensive ruin. Many tales are related or fabled of the orgies which, in the poet's early youth, had made clamorous these ancient halls of the Byrons. I can only say that nothing in the shape of riot or excess occurred when I was there. The only other visitor was Dr. Hodgson, the translator of 'Juvenal', and nothing could be more quiet and regular than the course of our days. Byron was retouching, as the sheets passed through the press, the stanzas of 'Childe Harold'. Hodgson was at work in getting out the ensuing number of the 'Monthly Review', of which he was principal editor. I was reading for my degree. When we met, our general talk was of poets and poetry--of who could or who could not write; but it occasionally rose into very serious discussions on religion. Byron, from his early education in Scotland, had been taught to identify the principles of Christianity with the extreme dogmas of Calvinism. His mind had thus imbibed a most miserable prejudice, which appeared to be the only obstacle to his hearty acceptance of the Gospel. Of this error we were most anxious to disabuse him. The chief weight of the argument rested with Hodgson, who was older, a good deal, than myself. I cannot even now--at a distance of more than fifty years--recall those conversations without a deep feeling of admiration for the judicious zeal and affectionate earnestness (often speaking with tears in his eyes) which Dr. Hodgson evinced in his advocacy of the truth. The only difference, except perhaps in the subjects talked about, between our life at Newstead Abbey and that of the great families around us, was the hours we kept. It was, as I have said, winter, and the days were cold; and, as nothing tempted us to rise early, we got up late. This flung the routine of the day rather backward, and we did not go early to bed. My visit to Newstead lasted about three weeks, when I returned to Cambridge to take my degree."
To Harness Byron intended to dedicate 'Childe Harold', but feared to do so, "lest it should injure him in his profession."]
[Footnote 2: Three Wingfields, sons of Lord Powerscourt, entered Harrow in February, 1801. The Hon. Richard Wingfield succeeded his father as fifth Viscount Powerscourt in 1809, and died in 1823. Edward became a clergyman and died of cholera in 1825; John, Byron's friend, the "Alonzo" of "Childish Recollections" entered the Coldstream Guards, and died of fever at Coimbra, May 14, 1811.
"Of all human beings, I was perhaps at one time most attached to poor Wingfield, who died at Coimbra, 1811, before I returned to England"
('Life', p. 21). To his memory Byron wrote the lines in 'Childe Harold',
## Canto I. stanza xci.]
93.--To J. Ridge.
[Mr. Ridge, Newark.]
Dorant's Hotel, February 21st, 1808.
Mr. Ridge,--Something has occurred which will make considerable alteration in my new volume. You must _go back_ and _cut out_ the whole _poem_ of 'Childish Recollections'. [1] Of course you will be surprized at this, and perhaps displeased, but it must be _done_. I cannot help its detaining you a _month_ longer, but there will be enough in the volume without it, and as I am now reconciled to Dr. Butler I cannot allow my satire to appear against him, nor can I alter that part relating to him without spoiling the whole. You will therefore omit the whole poem. Send me an _immediate_ answer to this letter but _obey_ the directions. It is better that my reputation should suffer as a poet by the omission than as a man of honour by the insertion.
Etc., etc.,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: For "Childish Recollections," see 'Poems', vol.i. p.101. A previous letter, written to Ridge from Dorant's Hotel, January 9, 1808, illustrates the rapidity with which Byron's moods changed. In this case, the lines on "Euryalus" (Lord Delawarr: see page 41 [Letter 13], [Foot]note 1 [5]) were to be omitted:--
"Mr. Ridge,--In Childish Recollections omit the whole character of 'Euryalus', and insert instead the lines to 'Florio' as a part of the poem, and send me a proof in due course.
"Etc. etc.,
"BYRON.
"P.S.--The first line of the passage to be omitted begins 'Shall fair Euryalus,' etc., and ends at 'Toil for more;' omit the _whole_."]
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