Chapter XCVIII: Letter 491: To Sir Walter Scott

"Pisa, May 4. 1822.

"My dear Sir Walter,

"Your account of your family is very pleasing: would that I 'could
answer this comfort with the like!' but I have just lost my natural
daughter, Allegra, by a fever. The only consolation, save time, is
the reflection, that she is either at rest or happy; for her few
years (only five) prevented her from having incurred any sin,
except what we inherit from Adam.

"'Whom the gods love, die young.'"

"I need not say that your letters are particularly welcome, when
they do not tax your time and patience; and now that our
correspondence is resumed, I trust it will continue.

"I have lately had some anxiety, rather than trouble, about an
awkward affair here, which you may perhaps have heard of; but our
minister has behaved very handsomely, and the Tuscan Government as
well as it is possible for such a government to behave, which is
not saying much for the latter. Some other English, and Scots, and
myself, had a brawl with a dragoon, who insulted one of the party,
and whom we mistook for an officer, as he was medalled and well
mounted, &c. but he turned out to be a sergeant-major. He called
out the guard at the gates to arrest us (we being unarmed); upon
which I and another (an Italian) rode through the said guard; but
they succeeded in detaining others of the party. I rode to my
house and sent my secretary to give an account of the attempted and
illegal arrest to the authorities, and then, without dismounting,
rode back towards the gates, which are near my present mansion.
Half-way I met my man vapouring away and threatening to draw upon
me (who had a cane in my hand, and no other arms). I, still
believing him an officer, demanded his name and address, and gave
him my hand and glove thereupon. A servant of mine thrust in
between us (totally without orders), but let him go on my command.
He then rode off at full speed; but about forty paces further was
stabbed, and very dangerously (so as to be in peril), by some
_Callum Beg_ or other of my people (for I have some rough-handed
folks about me), I need hardly say without my direction or
approval. The said dragoon had been sabring our unarmed countrymen,
however, at the _gate, after they were in arrest,_ and held by the
guards, and wounded one, Captain Hay, very severely. However, he
got his paiks--having acted like an assassin, and being treated
like one. _Who_ wounded him, though it was done before thousands of
people, they have never been able to ascertain, or prove, nor even
the _weapon_; some said a _pistol_, an _air-gun_, a stiletto, a
sword, a lance, a pitchfork, and what not. They have arrested and
examined servants and people of all descriptions, but can make out
nothing. Mr. Dawkins, our minister, assures me, that no suspicion
is entertained of the man who wounded him having been instigated by
me, or any of the party. I enclose you copies of the depositions of
those with us, and Dr. Craufurd, a canny Scot (_not_ an
acquaintance), who saw the latter part of the affair. They are in
Italian.

"These are the only literary matters in which I have been engaged
since the publication and row about 'Cain;'--but Mr. Murray has
several things of mine in his obstetrical hands. Another Mystery--a
Vision--a Drama--and the like. But _you won't_ tell me what _you_
are doing--however, I shall find you out, write what you will. You
say that I should like your son-in-law--it would be very difficult
for me to dislike any one connected with you; but I have no doubt
that his own qualities are all that you describe.

"I am sorry you don't like Lord Orford's new work. My aristocracy,
which is very fierce, makes him a favourite of mine. Recollect that
those 'little factions' comprised Lord Chatham and Fox, the father,
and that _we_ live in gigantic and exaggerated times, which make
all under Gog and Magog appear pigmean. After having seen Napoleon
begin like Tamerlane and end like Bajazet in our own time, we have
not the same interest in what would otherwise have appeared
important history. But I must conclude.

"Believe me ever and most truly yours,

"NOEL BYRON."

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