Chapter VII: May, 1813-December, 1813 (2)

"Lady A. F----'was' also very handsome. It is melancholy to talk of
women in the past tense. What a pity, that of all flowers, none fade
so soon as beauty! Poor Lady A. F--has not got married. Do you know, I
once had some thoughts of her as a wife; not that I was in love, as
people call it, but I had argued myself into a belief that I ought to
marry, and, meeting her very often in society, the notion came into my
head, not heart, that she would suit me. Moore, too, told me so much
of her good qualities--all which was, I believe, quite true--that I
felt tempted to propose to her, but did not, whether 'tant mieux' or
'tant pis', God knows, supposing my proposal accepted."

(Lady Blessington's 'Conversations', pp. 108, 109).

Lady Adelaide Forbes, whom Byron in Rome compared to the "Belvedere Apollo," was the daughter of George, sixth Earl of Granard, and his wife, Lady Selina Rawdon, daughter of the first Earl of Moira. Born in 1789, she died at Dresden, in 1858, unmarried. Lord Moira was Moore's patron, and, through this connection and political sympathies, Moore was acquainted with Lord Granard and his family.]

[Footnote 2: Byron possibly quoted the actual words from 'Hamlet' (act v. sc. 1), referring to Moore's attack on the Regent in 'The Two-penny Post-bag':

"Nay, an thou'lt mouth,
I'll rant as well as thou."

But the letter is destroyed.]

[Footnote 3: The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 12 contains the announcement that "the Prince Regent has projected a 'Grand National Fete' in honour of the battle of Vittoria. It is to be held at Vauxhall Gardens." The 'fete' was held on Tuesday, July 20, beginning with a banquet, at which such toasts were drunk as "The Marquis of Wellington," "Sir Thomas Graham and the other officers engaged," "The Spanish Armies and the brave Guerillas." The 'baton' of Marshal Jourdan was "disposed among the plate, so as to be obvious to all." The proceedings ended with illuminations and dancing.]

* * * * *

312.--To John Hanson.

Sunday, July 18th, 1813.

DEAR SIR,--A Report is in general circulation (which has distressed my friends, and is not very pleasing to me), that the Purchaser of Newstead is a _young_ man, who has been over-reached, ill-treated, and ruined, by me in this transaction of the sale, and that I take an unfair advantage of the _law_ to enforce the contract. This must be contradicted by a true and open statement of the circumstances attending, and subsequent to, the sale, and that immediately and publicly. Surely, if anyone is ill treated it is myself. He bid his own price; he took time before he bid at all, and now, when I am actually granting him further time as a favour, I hear from all quarters that I have acted unfairly. Pray do not delay on this point; see him, and let a proper and true statement be drawn up of the sale, etc., and inserted in the papers.

Ever yours,

B.

P.S.--Mr. C. himself, if he has either honour or feeling, will be the first to vindicate me from so unfounded an implication. It is surely not for his credit to be supposed _ruined_ or _over-reached_.

* * * * *

313.--To John Murray.

July 22nd, 1813.

Dear Sir,--I have great pleasure in accepting your invitation to meet anybody or nobody as you like best.

Pray what should you suppose the book in the inclosed advertisement to be? is it anything relating to Buonaparte or Continental Concerns? If so, it may be worth looking after, particularly if it should turn out to be your purchase--Lucien's _Epic_.

Believe me, very truly yours,

BYRON.

* * * * *

314.--To Thomas Moore.

July 25, 1813.

I am not well versed enough in the ways of single woman to make much matrimonial progress.

I have been dining like the dragon of Wantley [1] for this last week. My head aches with the vintage of various cellars, and my brains are muddled as their dregs. I met your friends the Daltons:--she sang one of your best songs so well, that, but for the appearance of affectation, I could have cried; he reminds me of Hunt, but handsomer, and more musical in soul, perhaps. I wish to God he may conquer his horrible anomalous complaint. The upper part of her face is beautiful, and she seems much attached to her husband. He is right, nevertheless, in leaving this nauseous town. The first winter would infallibly destroy her complexion,--and the second, very probably, every thing else.

I must tell you a story. Morris [2] (of indifferent memory) was dining out the other day, and complaining of the Prince's coldness to his old wassailers. D'Israeli (a learned Jew) bored him with questions--why this? and why that? "Why did the Prince act thus?"--"Why, sir, on account of Lord----, who ought to be ashamed of himself."--"And why ought Lord----to be ashamed of himself?"--"Because the Prince, sir, --------"--"And why, sir, did the Prince cut _you_?"--"Because, G--d d--mme, sir, I stuck to my principles."--"And why did you stick to your principles?"

Is not this last question the best that was ever put, when you consider to whom? It nearly killed Morris. Perhaps you may think it stupid, but, as Goldsmith said about the peas, [3] it was a very good joke when I heard it--as I did from an ear-witness--and is only spoilt in my narration.

The season has closed with a dandy ball; [4]--but I have dinners with the Harrowbys, Rogers, and Frere and Mackintosh [5], where I shall drink your health in a silent bumper, and regret your absence till "too much canaries" wash away my memory, or render it superfluous by a vision of you at the opposite side of the table. Canning has disbanded his party by a speech from his [----]--the true throne of a Tory [6].

Conceive his turning them off in a formal harangue, and bidding them think for themselves. "I have led my ragamuffins where they are well peppered. There are but three of the 150 left alive," [7] and they are for the _Townsend_ (_query_, might not Falstaff mean the Bow Street officer? I dare say Malone's posthumous edition will have it so) for life.

Since I wrote last, I have been into the country. I journeyed by night--no incident, or accident, but an alarm on the part of my valet on the outside, who, in crossing Epping Forest, actually, I believe, flung down his purse before a mile-stone, with a glow-worm in the second figure of number XIX--mistaking it for a footpad and dark lantern. I can only attribute his fears to a pair of new pistols wherewith I had armed him; and he thought it necessary to display his vigilance by calling out to me whenever we passed any thing--no matter whether moving or stationary. Conceive ten miles, with a tremor every furlong. I have scribbled you a fearfully long letter. This sheet must be blank, and is merely a wrapper, to preclude the tabellarians [8] of the post from peeping. You once complained of my _not_ writing;--I will "heap coals of fire upon your head" by _not_ complaining of your _not_ reading. Ever, my dear Moore, your'n (isn't that the Staffordshire termination?), BYRON.

[Footnote 1: Under the title of "An excellent Ballad of a most dreadful combat, fought between Moore of Moore-Hall and the Dragon of Wantley," this ballad forms (in the 12th edition) the Argument of 'The Dragon of Wantley, a Burlesque Opera', performed at Covent Garden, the libretto of which is by Sig. Carini, 'i.e.' Henry Carey:

"Have you not heard of the 'Trojan' Horse;
With Seventy Men in his Belly?
This Dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell you;
Devoured he poor Children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup he eat them up,
As one would eat an Apple.

"All sorts of Cattle this Dragon did eat,
Some say he eat up Trees,
And that the Forest sure he would
Devour by degrees.
For Houses and Churches were to him Geese and Turkies;
He eat all, and left none behind,
But some Stones, dear Jack, which he could not crack,
Which on the Hills you'll find."]

[Footnote 2: Charles Morris (1745-1838) served in the 17th Foot, the Royal Irish Dragoons, and finally in the Second Life Guards. He was laureate and punch-maker to the Beef-steak Club, founded in 1735 by John Rich, patentee of Covent Garden Theatre. The Prince of Wales became a member of the Club in 1785, and Morris was a frequent guest at Carlton House. Another member of the Club was the Duke of Norfolk, who gave Morris the villa at Brockham, near Betchworth, where he lived and died.

Morris, who was an admirable song-writer and singer, attached himself politically to the Prince's party, and attacked Pitt in such popular ballads as "Billy's too young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the Farmer." He was, however, disappointed in his hope of reward from his political patrons, and vented his spleen in his ode, "The Old Whig Poet to his Old Buff Waistcoat"

"Farewell, thou poor rag of the Muse!
In the bag of the clothesman go lie;
A farthing thou'lt fetch from the Jews,
Which the hard-hearted Christians deny," etc.

Some of his poems deserve the censure of 'The Shade of Pope' (line 225):

"There reeling Morris and his bestial songs."

But others, in their ease and vivacity, hold their own with all but the best of Moore's songs. A collection of them was printed in two volumes by Bentley, in 1840, under the title of 'Lyra Urbanica'.]

[Footnote 3: In Forster's 'Life of Goldsmith' (vol. i. p. 34) it is related that Goldsmith ran away from Trinity College, Dublin, because he had been beaten by one of the Fellows. He started for Cork with a shilling in his pocket, on which he lived for three days. He told Reynolds that he thought

"a handful of grey pease, given him by a girl at a wake (after fasting
for twenty-four hours) the most comfortable repast he had ever made."

Byron may mean that any joke seems good to a man who had not heard one for a day.]

[Footnote 4:

"I liked the Dandies," says Byron, in his 'Detached Thoughts'; "they
were always very civil to _me_, though in general they disliked
literary people, and persecuted and mystified Madme. de Stael, Lewis,
Horace Twiss, and the like, damnably. They persuaded Madme. de Stael
that Alvanley had a hundred thousand a year, etc., etc., till she
praised him to his _face_ for his _beauty!_ and made a set at him for
Albertine ('Libertine', as Brummell baptized her, though the poor girl
was, and is, as correct as maid or wife can be, and very amiable
withal), and a hundred other fooleries besides. The truth is, that,
though I gave up the business early, I had a tinge of Dandyism in my
minority, and probably retained enough of it to conciliate the great
ones at four and twenty. I had gamed and drunk and taken my degrees in
most dissipations, and, having no pedantry, and not being overbearing,
we ran quietly together. I knew them all more or less, and they made
me a member of Watier's (a superb club at that time), being, I take
it, the only literary man (except 'two' others, both men of the world,
M[oore] and S[pencer]) in it. Our Masquerade was a grand one; so was
the Dandy Ball too--at the Argyle,--but 'that' (the latter) was given
by the four chiefs--B[rummel?], M[idmay?], A[lvanley?], and
P[ierreoint?], if I err not."]

[Footnote 5: Sir James Mackintosh (1765-1832), after studying medicine, was called to the English Bar in 1795. Originally a supporter of the French Revolution, he answered Burke's 'Reflections' with his 'Vindiciae Gallicae' (1791). He is "Mr. Macfungus" in the 'Anti-Jacobin's' account of the "Meeting of the Friends of Freedom." But his revolutionary sympathies rapidly cooled, and he publicly disavowed them in his 'Introductory Discourse on the Study of the Law of Nature and Nations' (1799). He remained, however, throughout his life, a Whig. His lectures on "'The Law of Nature and Nations'," delivered at Lincoln's Inn, in 1799, brought him into prominence, both at the Bar and in society. In 1803 he was knighted on accepting the Recordership of Bombay. He returned to England in 1812, entered Parliament as member for Nairn, advocated some useful measures, became a Privy Councillor in 1828, and held office in the Whig Ministry of 1830 as Commissioner of the Board of Control. In politics, as well as in literature, he disappointed expectation. His principal works, besides those mentioned above, were his 'Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830), and his 'History of the Revolution in England in 1688' (1834).

His great intellectual powers were shown to most advantage in society. Rogers ('Table-Talk', pp. 197, 198) thought him one of the three acutest men he had ever known.

"He had a prodigious memory, and could repeat by heart more of Cicero
than you could easily believe.... I never met a man with a fuller mind
than Mackintosh,--such readiness on all subjects, such a talker."

"Till subdued by age and illness," wrote Sydney Smith ('Life of
Mackintosh', vol. ii. p. 500), "his conversation was more brilliant
and instructive than that of any human being I ever had the good
fortune to be acquainted with."

As in political life, so in society, he was too much of the lecturer. Ticknor ('Life', vol. i. p. 265) thought him "a little too precise, a little too much made up in his manners and conversation." But on all sides there is evidence to confirm the testimony of Rogers ('Table-Talk', p. 207) that he was a man "who had not a particle of envy or jealousy in his nature."]

[Footnote 6: George Canning (1770-1827) had been offered the Foreign Office in 1812 after the assassination of Perceval, on condition that Castlereagh should lead the House of Commons. He refused the offer. Elected M.P. for Liverpool in 1812, he had, in July, 1813, disbanded his followers, and in 1814 left England. He supported Lord Liverpool in carrying the repressive measures known as the Six Acts (1817-20), and, on the death of Lord Londonderry, in 1822, entered the Government as Secretary for Foreign Affairs. It is to the private speech to his followers, in July, 1813, that Byron refers.

The 'Morning Chronicle' for July 29, 1813, has the following paragraph:

"Mr. Canning it seems has (to use a French phrase) 'reformed' his
political corps. He assembled them at the close of the Session, and
with many expressions of regret for the failure of certain
negociations, which might have been favourable to them as a body,
relieved them from their oaths of allegiance, and recommended them to
pursue in future their objects separately. The Right Honourable
gentleman, perhaps, finds it more convenient for himself to act
unencumbered; and both he and one or two others may find their
interest in disbanding the squad; but some of them are turned off
'without a character'."

The 'Courier' for July 29, quoting the first part of the statement, adds,

"We believe ... that Mr. Canning is not indisposed to join the present
Cabinet, and may wish one or two of his particular friends to come in
with him."]

[Footnote 7:

"I have led my ragamuffins where they are pepper'd: there's but three
of my hundred and fifty left alive; and they are for the town's end,
to beg during life."

('Henry IV'., Part I. act v. sc. 3). Townshend, the Bow Street officer, is described by Cronow ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 286) as

"a little fat man with a flaxen wig, Kersey-mere breeches, a blue
straight-cut coat, and a broad-brimmed white hat. To the most daring
courage he added great dexterity and cunning; and was said, 'in
propria persona', to have taken more thieves than all the other Bow
Street officers put together."]

[Footnote 8:

"Epistolam, quam attulerat Phileros tabellarius."

(Cic., 'Fam'.,9, 15).]

* * * * *

315.--To Thomas Moore.

July 27, 1813.

When you next imitate the style of "Tacitus," pray add, _de moribus Germannorum_;--this last was a piece of barbarous silence, and could only be taken from the _Woods_, and, as such, I attribute it entirely to your sylvan sequestration at Mayfield Cottage. You will find, on casting up accounts, that you are my debtor by several sheets and one epistle. I shall bring my action;--if you don't discharge, expect to hear from my attorney. I have forwarded your letter to Ruggiero [1]; but don't make a postman of me again, for fear I should be tempted to violate your sanctity of wax or wafer.

Believe me, ever yours _ indignantly_, BN.

[Footnote 1: _i. e._ Samuel Rogers.]

* * * * *

316.--To Thomas Moore.

July 28, 1813.

Can't you be satisfied with the pangs of my jealousy of Rogers, without actually making me the pander of your epistolary intrigue? This is the second letter you have enclosed to my address, notwithstanding a miraculous long answer, and a subsequent short one or two of your own. If you do so again, I can't tell to what pitch my fury may soar. I shall send you verse or arsenic, as likely as any thing,--four thousand couplets on sheets beyond the privilege of franking; that privilege, sir, of which you take an undue advantage over a too susceptible senator, by forwarding your lucubrations to every one but himself. I won't frank _from_ you, or _for_ you, or _to_ you--may I be curst if I do, unless you mend your manners. I disown you--I disclaim you--and by all the powers of Eulogy, I will write a panegyric upon you--or dedicate a quarto--if you don't make me ample amends.

P.S.--I am in training to dine with Sheridan [1] and Rogers this evening. I have a little spite against R., and will shed his "Clary wines pottle-deep." [2] This is nearly my ultimate or penultimate letter; for I am quite equipped, and only wait a passage. Perhaps I may wait a few weeks for Sligo, but not if I can help it.

[Footnote 1: In his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has noted the following impressions of Sheridan:

"In society I have met Sheridan frequently: he was superb! He had a
sort of liking for me, and never attacked me, at least to my face, as
he did every body else--high names, and wits, and orators, some of
them poets also. I have seen him cut up Whitbread, quiz Madame de
Stael, annihilate Colman, and do little less by some others (whose
names, as friends, I set not down) of good fame and ability. Poor
fellow! he got drunk very thoroughly and very soon. It occasionally
fell to my lot to pilot him home--no sinecure, for he was so tipsy
that I was obliged to put on his cocked hat for him. To be sure, it
tumbled off again, and I was not myself so sober as to be able to pick
it up again.

"The last time I met him was, I think, at Sir Gilbert Elliot's, where
he was as quick as ever--no, it was not the last time; the last time
was at Douglas Kinnaird's. I have met him in all places and
parties--at Whitehall with the Melbournes, at the Marquis of
Tavistock's, at Robins's the auctioneer's, at Sir Humphry Davy's, at
Sam Rogers's,--in short, in most kinds of company, and always found
him very convivial and delightful.

"I have seen Sheridan weep two or three times. It may be that he was
maudlin; but this only renders it more impressive, for who would see

'From Marlborough's eyes the tears of dotage flow,
And Swift expire a driveller and a show'?

"Once I saw him cry at Robins's the auctioneer's, after a splendid
dinner, full of great names and high spirits. I had the honour of
sitting next to Sheridan. The occasion of his tears was some
observation or other upon the subject of the sturdiness of the Whigs
in resisting office and keeping to their principles: Sheridan turned
round: 'Sir, it is easy for my Lord G. or Earl G. or Marquis B. or
Lord H. with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either
'presently' derived, or 'inherited' in sinecure or acquisitions from
the public money, to boast of their patriotism and keep aloof from
temptation; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept
aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal
passions, and nevertheless knew not in the course of their lives what
it was to have a shilling of their own.' And in saying this he wept.

"There was something odd about Sheridan. One day, at dinner, he was
slightly praising that pert pretender and impostor, Lyttelton (the
Parliamentary puppy, still alive, I believe). I took the liberty of
differing from him; he turned round upon me, and said, 'Is that your
real opinion?' I confirmed it. Then said he, 'Fortified by this
concurrence, I beg leave to say that it, in fact, is 'my' opinion
also, and that he is a person whom I do absolutely and utterly
despise, abhor, and detest.' He then launched out into a description
of his despicable qualities, at some length, and with his usual wit,
and evidently in earnest (for he hated Lyttelton). His former
compliment had been drawn out by some preceding one, just as its
reverse was by my hinting that it was unmerited.

"I have more than once heard him say, 'that he never had a shilling of
his own.' To be sure, he contrived to extract a good many of other
people's.

"In 1815 I had occasion to visit my lawyer in Chancery Lane; he was
with Sheridan. After mutual greetings, etc., Sheridan retired first.
Before recurring to my own business, I could not help inquiring 'that'
of Sheridan. 'Oh,' replied the attorney, 'the usual thing! to stave
off an action from his wine-merchant, my client.'--'Well,' said I,
'and what do you mean to do?'--'Nothing at all for the present,' said
he: 'would you have us proceed against old Sherry? what would be the
use of it?' and here he began laughing, and going over Sheridan's good
gifts of conversation.

"Now, from personal experience, I can vouch that my attorney is by no
means the tenderest of men, or particularly accessible to any kind of
impression out of the statute or record; and yet Sheridan, in half an
hour, had found the way to soften and seduce him in such a manner,
that I almost think he would have thrown his client (an honest man,
with all the laws, and some justice, on his side) out of the window,
had he come in at the moment.

"Such was Sheridan! he could soften an attorney! There has been
nothing like it since the days of Orpheus.

"One day I saw him take up his own ''Monody on Garrick'.' He lighted
upon the Dedication to the Dowager Lady Spencer. On seeing it, he flew
into a rage, and exclaimed 'that it must be a forgery, that he had
never dedicated any thing of his to such a damned canting bitch,'
etc., etc.--and so went on for half an hour abusing his own
dedication, or at least the object of it. If all writers were equally
sincere, it would be ludicrous.

"He told me that, on the night of the grand success of his 'School for
Scandal' he was knocked down and put into the watch-house for making a
row in the street, and being found intoxicated by the watchmen.
Latterly, when found drunk one night in the kennel, and asked his name
by the watchmen, he answered, 'Wilberforce.'

"When dying he was requested to undergo 'an operation.' He replied
that he had already submitted to two, which were enough for one man's
lifetime. Being asked what they were, he answered, 'having his hair
cut, and sitting for his picture."

"I have met George Colman occasionally, and thought him extremely
pleasant and convivial. Sheridan's humour, or rather wit, was always
saturnine, and sometimes savage; he never laughed (at least that 'I'
saw, and I watched him), but Colman did. If I had to 'choose' and
could not have both at a time I should say, 'Let me begin the evening
with Sheridan, and finish it with Colman.' Sheridan for dinner, Colman
for supper; Sheridan for claret or port but Colman for every thing,
from the madeira and champagne at dinner the claret with a 'layer' of
'port' between the glasses up to the punch of the night, and down to
the grog, or gin and water, of daybreak;--all these I have threaded
with both the same. Sheridan was a grenadier company of life guards,
but Colman a whole regiment--of 'light infantry', to be sure, but
still a regiment."]

[Footnote 2:

"Potations pottle deep"

'Othello', act ii. sc. 3, line 54.]

* * * * *

317.--To John Murray.

July 31, 1813.

Dear Sir--As I leave town early tomorrow, the proof must be sent to-night, or many days will be lost. If you have any _reviews_ of the 'Giaour' to send, let me have them now. I am not very well to day. I thank you for the 'Satirist', which is short but savage on this unlucky affair, and _personally_ facetious on me which is much more to the purpose than a tirade upon other peoples' concerns [1].

Ever yours, B.

[Footnote 1: In the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. pp. 150, 151) is an article headed "Scandalum Magnatum," with the motto from 'Rejected Addresses':

With horn-handled knife,
To kill a tender lamb as dead as mutton."

"A short time back (say the newspapers, and newspapers never say 'the
thing which is not') Lady H. gave a ball and supper. Among the company
were Lord B--n, Lady W--, and Lady C. L--b. Lord B., it would appear,
is a favourite with the latter Lady; on this occasion, however, he
seemed to lavish his attention on another fair object. This preference
so enraged Lady C. L. that in a paroxysm of jealousy she took up a
dessert-knife and stabbed herself. The gay circle was, of course,
immediately plunged in confusion and dismay, which however, was soon
succeeded by levity and scandal. The general cry for medical
assistance was from Lady W--d: Lady W--d!!! And why? Because it was
said that, early after her marriage, Lady W--also took a similar
liberty with her person for a similar cause, and was therefore
considered to have learned from experience the most efficacious remedy
for the complaint. It was also whispered that the Lady's husband had
most to grieve, that the attempt had not fully succeeded. Lady C. L.
is still living.

"The poet has told us how 'Ladies wish to be who love their Lords;'
but this is the first public demonstration in our times to show us how
Ladies wish to be who love, not their own, but others' Lords. 'Better
be with the dead than thus,' cried the jealous fair; and, casting a
languishing look at Lord B--, who, Heaven knows, is more like Pan than
Apollo, she whipt up as pretty a little dessert-knife as a Lady could
desire to commit suicide with,

'And stuck it in her wizzard.'

"The desperate Lady was carried out of the room, and the affair
endeavoured to be hushed up, etc., etc." ]

* * * * *

318.--To John Wilson Croker [1].

Bt. Str., August 2, 1813.

Dear Sir,--I was honoured with your unexpected and very obliging letter, when on the point of leaving London, which prevented me from acknowledging my obligation as quickly as I felt it sincerely. I am endeavouring all in my power to be ready before Saturday--and even if I should not succeed, I can only blame my own tardiness, which will not the less enhance the benefit I have lost. I have only to add my hope of forgiveness for all my trespasses on your time and patience, and with my best wishes for your public and private welfare, I have the honour to be, most truly, Your obliged and most obedient servant, BYRON.

[Footnote 1: J. W. Croker (1780-1857),--the "Wenham" of Thackeray, the "Rigby" of Disraeli, and the "Con Crawley" of Lady Morgan's 'Florence Macarthy', had been made Secretary to the Admiralty in 1809. At his request Captain Carlton of the 'Boyne', "just then ordered to re-enforce Sir Edward Pellew" in the Mediterranean, had consented to receive Byron into his cabin for the voyage,]

* * * * *

319.--To John Murray.

If you send more proofs, I shall never finish this infernal story--"_Ecce signum_"--thirty-three more lines enclosed! to the utter discomfiture of the printer, and, I fear, not to your advantage. B.

* * * * *

320.--To John Murray.

Half-past two in the morning, Aug. 10, 1813.

Dear Sir,--Pray suspend the _proofs_, for I am _bitten_ again, and have _quantities_ for other parts of the bravura. Yours ever, B.

P. S.--You shall have them in the course of the day.

* * * * *

321.--To James Wedderburn Webster.

August 12, 1813.

My Dear Webster,--I am, you know, a detestable correspondent, and write to no one person whatever; you therefore cannot attribute my silence to any thing but want of good breeding or good taste, and not to any more atrocious cause; and as I confess the fault to be entirely mine--why--you will pardon it.

I have ordered a copy of the 'Giaour' (which is nearly doubled in quantity in this edition) to be sent, and I will first scribble my name in the title page. Many and sincere thanks for your good opinion of book, and (I hope to add) author.

Rushton shall attend you whenever you please, though I should like him to stay a few weeks, and help my other people in forwarding my chattels. Your taking him is no less a favor to me than him; and I trust he will behave well. If not, your remedy is very simple; only don't let him be idle; honest I am sure he is, and I believe good-hearted and quiet. No pains has been spared, and a good deal of expense incurred in his education; accounts and mensuration, etc., he ought to know, and I believe he does.

I write this near London, but your answer will reach me better in Bennet Street, etc. (as before). I am going very soon, and if you would do the same thing--as far as Sicily--I am sure you would not be sorry. My sister, Mrs. L. goes with me--her spouse is obliged to retrench for a few years (but _he_ stays at home); so that his _link boy_ prophecy (if ever he made it) recoils upon himself.

I am truly glad to hear of Lady Frances's good health. Have you added to your family? Pray make my best respects acceptable to her Ladyship.

Nothing will give me more pleasure than to hear from you as soon and as fully as you please. Ever most truly yours,

BYRON.

* * * * *

322.--To Thomas Moore.

Bennet Street, August 22, 1813.

As our late--I might say, deceased--correspondence had too much of the town-life leaven in it, we will now, _paulo majora_, prattle a little of literature in all its branches; and first of the first--criticism. The Prince is at Brighton, and Jackson, the boxer, gone to Margate, having, I believe, decoyed Yarmouth to see a milling in that polite neighbourhood [1].

Mad'e. de Stael Holstein has lost one of her young barons [2], who has been carbonadoed by a vile Teutonic adjutant,--kilt and killed in a coffee-house at Scrawsenhawsen. Corinne is, of course, what all mothers must be,--but will, I venture to prophesy, do what few mothers could--write an Essay upon it. She cannot exist without a grievance--and somebody to see, or read, how much grief becomes her. I have not seen her since the event; but merely judge (not very charitably) from prior observation.

In a "mail-coach copy" of the _Edinburgh_ [3] I perceive _The Giaour_ is second article. The numbers are still in the Leith smack--_pray which way is the wind?_ The said article is so very mild and sentimental, that it must be written by Jeffrey _in love_ [4];--you know he is gone to America to marry some fair one, of whom he has been, for several _quarters, eperdument amoureux_. Seriously--as Winifred Jenkins [5] says of Lismahago--Mr. Jeffrey (or his deputy) "has done the handsome thing by me," and I say _nothing_. But this I will say, if you and I had knocked one another on the head in this quarrel, how he would have laughed, and what a mighty bad figure we should have cut in our posthumous works. By the by, I was call'd _in_ the other day to mediate between two gentlemen bent upon carnage, and--after a long struggle between the natural desire of destroying one's fellow-creatures, and the dislike of seeing men play the fool for nothing,--I got one to make an apology, and the other to take it, and left them to live happy ever after [6].

One was a peer, the other a friend untitled, and both fond of high play;--and one, I can swear for, though very mild, "not fearful," and so dead a shot, that, though the other is the thinnest of men, he would have split him like a cane. They both conducted themselves very well, and I put them out of _pain_ as soon as I could.

There is an American _Life_ of G. F. Cooke [7], _Scurra_ deceased, lately published. Such a book!--I believe, since _Drunken Barnaby's Journal_ [8] nothing like it has drenched the press. All green-room and tap-room--drams and the drama--brandy, whisky-punch, and, _latterly_, toddy, overflow every page. Two things are rather marvellous,--first, that a man should live so long drunk, and, next, that he should have found a sober biographer. There are some very laughable things in it, nevertheless;--but the pints he swallowed, and the parts he performed, are too regularly registered.

All this time you wonder I am not gone; so do I; but the accounts of the plague are very perplexing--not so much for the thing itself as the quarantine established in all ports, and from all places, even from England. It is true, the forty or sixty days would, in all probability, be as foolishly spent on shore as in the ship; but one likes to have one's choice, nevertheless. Town is awfully empty; but not the worse for that. I am really puzzled with my perfect ignorance of what I mean to do;--not stay, if I can help it, but where to go? Sligo is for the North;--a pleasant place, Petersburgh, in September, with one's ears and nose in a muff, or else tumbling into one's neckcloth or pocket-handkerchief! If the winter treated Buonaparte with so little ceremony, what would it inflict upon your solitary traveller?--Give me a _sun_, I care not how hot, and sherbet, I care not how cool, and _my_ Heaven is as easily made as your Persian's [9].

_The Giaour_ is now a thousand and odd lines. "Lord Fanny spins a thousand such a day," [10] eh, Moore?--thou wilt needs be a wag, but I forgive it. Yours ever,

BYRON.

P. S.--I perceive I have written a flippant and rather cold-hearted letter! let it go, however. I have said nothing, either, of the brilliant sex; but the fact is, I am at this moment in a far more serious, and entirely new, scrape [11] than any of the last twelve months,--and that is saying a good deal. It is unlucky we can neither live with nor without these women.

I am now thinking of regretting that, just as I have left Newstead, you reside near it. Did you ever see it? _do_--but don't tell me that you like it. If I had known of such intellectual neighbourhood, I don't think I should have quitted it. You could have come over so often, as a bachelor,--for it was a thorough bachelor's mansion--plenty of wine and such sordid sensualities--with books enough, room enough, and an air of antiquity about all (except the lasses) that would have suited you, when pensive, and served you to laugh at when in glee. I had built myself a bath and a _vault_--and now I sha'n't even be buried in it. It is odd that we can't even be certain of a _grave_, at least a particular one. I remember, when about fifteen, reading your poems there, which I can repeat almost now,--and asking all kinds of questions about the author, when I heard that he was not dead according to the preface; wondering if I should ever see him--and though, at that time, without the smallest poetical propensity myself, very much taken, as you may imagine, with that volume. Adieu--I commit you to the care of the gods--Hindoo, Scandinavian, and Hellenic!

P.S. 2d.--There is an excellent review of Grimm's _Correspondence_ and Madame de Stael in this No. of the _E[dinburgh] R[eview]_ [12]. Jeffrey, himself, was my critic last year; but this is, I believe, by another hand. I hope you are going on with your _grand coup_--pray do--or that damned Lucien Buonaparte will beat us all. I have seen much of his poem in MS., and he really surpasses every thing beneath Tasso. Hodgson is translating him _against_ another bard. You and (I believe Rogers,) Scott, Gifford, and myself, are to be referred to as judges between the twain,--that is, if you accept the office. Conceive our different opinions! I think we, most of us (I am talking very impudently, you will think--_us_, indeed!) have a way of our own,--at least, you and Scott certainly have.

[Footnote 1: The fight, in which Harry Harmer, "the Coppersmith" (1784-1834), beat Jack Ford, took place at St. Nicholas, near Margate, August 23, 1813.

Francis Charles Seymour Conway, Earl of Yarmouth (1777-1842), succeeded his father as second Marquis of Hertford in 1822. The colossal libertinism and patrician splendour of his life inspired Disraeli to paint him as "Monmouth" in 'Coningsby', and Thackeray as "Steyne" in 'Vanity Fair'. He married, in 1798, Maria Fagniani, claimed as a daughter by George Selwyn and by "Old Q.," and enriched by both. Yarmouth, as an intimate friend of the Regent, and the son of the Prince's female favourite, was the butt of Moore and the Whig satirists. Byron gibes at Yarmouth's red whiskers, which helped to gain him the name of "Red Herrings" in the 'Waltz', line 142, 'note' 1. Yarmouth, like Byron, patronized the fancy, and, like him also, was a frequenter of Manton's shooting-gallery in Davies Street; but there is no record of their being acquainted, though the house, which Byron occupied (13, Piccadilly Terrace) during his brief married life, was in the occupation of Lord Yarmouth before Byron took it from the Duchess of Devonshire.]

[Footnote 2: Albert de Stael

"led an irregular life, and met a deplorable death at Doberan, a small
city of the duchy of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, on the coast of the Baltic
Sea, a favourite resort in summer for bathing, gambling, etc. Some
officers of the etat-major of Bernadotte had gone to try their luck in
this place of play and pleasure. They quarrelled over some louis, and
a duel immediately ensued. I well remember that the Grand-Duke Paul of
Mecklenburg-Schwerin told me he was there at the time, and, while
walking with his tutors in the park, suddenly heard the clinking of
swords in a neighbouring thicket. They ran to the place, and reached
it just in time to see the head of Albert fall, cleft by one of those
long and formidable sabres which were carried by the Prussian cavalry."

The above passage is quoted from the unpublished 'Souvenirs' of M. Pictet de Sergy, given by A. Stevens in his 'Life of Madame de Stael', vol. ii. pp. 204, 205.]

[Footnote 3: Only special copies of books published in Edinburgh came to London by coach: the bulk was forwarded in Leith smacks.

In the 'Edinburgh Review' for July, 1813, the 'Giaour' was reviewed as a poem "full of spirit, character, and originality," and producing an effect at once "powerful and pathetic." But the reviewer considers that "energy of character and intensity of emotion... presented in combination with worthlessness and guilt," are "most powerful corrupters and perverters of our moral nature," and he deplores Byron's exclusive devotion to gloomy and revolting subjects.]

[Footnote 4: Francis Jeffrey (1773-1850) succeeded Sidney Smith as editor of the 'Edinburgh Review' (founded 1802), and held the editorship till 1829. The first number of the 'Review', says Francis Horner, brought to light "the genius of that little man." During the first six years of its existence, he wrote upwards of seventy articles. At the same time, he was a successful lawyer. Called to the Scottish Bar in 1794, he became successively Dean of the Faculty of Advocates (1829), Lord Advocate (1830), and a Judge of the Court of Sessions (1834) with the title of Lord Jeffrey. He married, as his second wife, at New York, in October, 1813, Charlotte Wilkes, a grandniece of John Wilkes.

Jeffrey is described at considerable length by Ticknor, in a letter, dated February 8, 1814 ('Life of G. Ticknor', vol. i. pp. 43-47):

"You are to imagine, then, before you a short, stout, little
gentleman, about five and a half feet high, with a very red face,
black hair, and black eyes. You are to suppose him to possess a very
gay and animated countenance, and you are to see in him all the
restlessness of a will-o'-wisp ... He enters a room with a countenance
so satisfied, and a step so light and almost fantastic, that all your
previous impressions of the dignity and severity of the 'Edinburgh
Review' are immediately put to flight ... It is not possible, however,
to be long in his presence without understanding something of his real
character, for the same promptness and assurance which mark his
entrance into a room carry him at once into conversation. The moment a
topic is suggested--no matter what or by whom--he comes forth, and the
first thing you observe is his singular fluency," etc., etc.

By the side of this description may be set that given of Jeffrey by Francis Horner ('Life of Jeffrey', 2nd edition, vol. i. p. 212):

"His manner is not at first pleasing; what is worse, it is of that
cast which almost irresistibly impresses upon strangers the idea of
levity and superficial talents. Yet there is not any man whose real
character is so much the reverse."

The secret of his success, both as editor and critic, is that he made the 'Review' the expression of the Whig character, both in its excellences and its limitations. A man of clear, discriminating mind, of cool and placid judgment, he refused to accept the existing state of things, was persuaded that it might be safely improved, saw the practical steps required, and had the courage of his convictions. He was suspicious of large principles, somewhat callous to enthusiasm or sentiment, intolerant of whatever was incapable of precise expression. His intellectual strength lay not in the possession of one great gift, but in the simultaneous exercise of several well-adjusted talents. His literary taste was correct; but it consisted rather in recognizing compliance with accepted rules of proved utility than in the readiness to appreciate novelties of thought and treatment. Hence his criticism, though useful for his time, has not endured beyond his day. It may be doubted whether more could be expected from a man who was eminently successful in addressing a jury. "He might not know his subject, but he knew his readers" (Bagehot's 'Literary Studies', vol. i. p. 30).

Byron, believing him to have been the author of the famous article on 'Hours of Idleness', attacked him bitterly in 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'; (lines 460-528). He afterwards recognized his error. 'Don Juan' (Canto X. stanza xvi.) expresses his mature opinion of a critic who, whatever may have been his faults, was as absolutely honest as political prejudice would permit:

"And all our little feuds, at least all 'mine',
Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe
(As far as rhyme and criticism combine
To make such puppets of us things below),
Are over; Here's a health to 'Auld Lang Syne!'
I do not know you, and may never know
Your face--but you have acted, on the whole,
Most nobly; and I own it from my soul."

Jeffrey reviewed 'Childe Harold' in the 'Edinburgh Review', No. 38, art. 10; the 'Giaour', No. 42, art. 2; the 'Corsair' and 'Bride of Abydos', No. 45, art. 9; Byron's 'Poetry', No. 54, art. I; 'Manfred', No. 56, art. 7; 'Beppo', No. 58, art. 2; 'Marino Faliero', No. 70, art. I; Byron's 'Tragedies', No. 72, art. 5.]

[Footnote 5: Winifred Jenkins is the maid to Miss Tabitha Bramble, who marries Captain Lismahago, in Smollett's 'Humphrey Clinker'.]

[Footnote 6: Lord Foley and Scrope Davies.]

[Footnote 7: G. F. Cooke (1755-1812), from 1794 to 1800 was the hero of the Dublin stage, with the exception of an interval, during which he served in the army. On October 31, 1800, he appeared at Covent Garden as "Richard III.," and afterwards played such parts in tragedy as "Iago" and "Shylock" with great success. In comedy he was also a favourite, especially as "Kitely" in 'Every Man in his Humour', and "Sir Pertinax MacSycophant" in 'The Man of the World'. His last appearance on the London stage was as "Falstaff," June 5, 1810. In that year he sailed for New York, and, September 26, 1812, died there from his "incorrigible habits of drinking."

Byron uses the word 'scurra', which generally means a "parasite," in its other sense of a "buffoon." 'Memoirs of George Frederic Cooke, late of the Theatre Royal, Covent Garden', by W. Dunlap, in 2 vols., was published in 1813]

[Footnote 8: The original edition of 'Drunken Barnaby's Journal', a small square volume, without date, was probably printed about 1650. The author was supposed to be Barnaby Harrington of Queen's College, Oxford. But Joseph Haslewood, whose edition (1818) is the best, attributed it to Richard Brathwait (circ. 1588-1673). The title of the second edition (1716) runs as follows: 'Drunken Barnaby's Four Journeys to the North of England. In Latin and English Verse. Wittily and merrily (tho' near one hundred years ago) composed; found among some old musty books, that had a long time lain by in a corner; and now at last made publick. To which is added, Bessy Bell'.

"Drunken Barnaby" was also the burden of an old ballad quoted by Haslewood:

"Barnaby, Barnaby, thou'st been drinking,
I can tell by thy nose, and thy eyes winking;
Drunk at Richmond, drunk at Dover,
Drunk at Newcastle, drunk all over.
Hey, Barnaby! tak't for a warning,
Be no more drunk, nor dry in a morning!"]

[Footnote 9:

"A Persian's Heav'n is easily made--
'Tis but black eyes and lemonade."]

[Footnote 10: Pope's 'Imitations of Horace', Satire I. line 6.]

[Footnote 11: With Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster.]

[Footnote 12: The review of Madame de Stael's 'Germany' was by Mackintosh.]

* * * * *

323.--To John Murray.

August 26, 1813.

Dear Sir,--I have looked over and corrected one proof, but not so carefully (God knows if you can read it through, but I can't) as to preclude your eye from discovering some _o_mission of mine or _com_mission of y'e Printer. If you have patience, look it over. Do you know any body who can _stop_--I mean _point_-commas, and so forth? for I am, I hear, a sad hand at your punctuation. I have, but with some difficulty, _not_ added any more to this snake of a poem, which has been lengthening its rattles every month. It is now fearfully long, being more than a canto and a half of _C. H_., which contains but 882 lines per book, with all late additions inclusive.

The last lines Hodgson likes--it is not often he does--and when he don't, he tells me with great energy, and I fret and alter. I have thrown them in to soften the ferocity of our Infidel, and, for a dying man, have given him a good deal to say for himself.

Do you think you shall get hold of the _female_ MS. you spoke of to day? if so, you will let me have a glimpse; but don't tell our _master_ (not W's), or we shall be buffeted.

I was quite sorry to hear you say you stayed in town on my account, and I hope sincerely you did not mean so superfluous a piece of politeness.

Our _six_ critiques!--they would have made half a _Quarterly_ by themselves; but this is the age of criticism.

Ever yours,

B.

* * * * *

324.--To Thomas Moore.

August 28, 1813.

Ay, my dear Moore, "there _was_ a time"--I have heard of your tricks, when "you was campaigning at the King of Bohemy." [1]

I am much mistaken if, some fine London spring, about the year 1815, that time does not come again. After all, we must end in marriage; and I can conceive nothing more delightful than such a state in the country, reading the county newspaper, etc., and kissing one's wife's maid. Seriously, I would incorporate with any woman of decent demeanour to-morrow--that is, I would a month ago, but, at present,----

Why don't you "parody that Ode?"--Do you think [2] I should be _tetchy?_ or have you done it, and won't tell me?--You are quite right about Giamschid, and I have reduced it to a dissyllable within this half hour [3].

I am glad to hear you talk of Richardson [4], because it tells me what you won't--that you are going to beat Lucien. At least tell me how far you have proceeded. Do you think me less interested about your works, or less sincere than our friend Ruggiero? I am not--and never was. In that thing of mine, the _English Bards_, at the time when I was angry with all the world, I never "disparaged your parts," although I did not know you personally;--and have always regretted that you don't give us an _entire_ work, and not sprinkle yourself in detached pieces--beautiful, I allow, and quite _alone_ in our language, but still giving us a right to expect a _Shah Nameh_ [5] (is that the name?) as well as gazelles. Stick to the East;--the oracle, Stael, told me it was the only poetical policy. The North, South, and West, have all been exhausted; but from the East, we have nothing but Southey's unsaleables,--and these he has contrived to spoil, by adopting only their most outrageous fictions. His personages don't interest us, and yours will. You will have no competitor; and, if you had, you ought to be glad of it. The little I have done in that way is merely a "voice in the wilderness" for you; and if it has had any success, that also will prove that the public are orientalising, and pave the path for you.

I have been thinking of a story, grafted on the amours of a Peri and a mortal--something like, only more _philanthropical_ than, Cazotte's _Diable Amoureux_ [6].

It would require a good deal of poesy, and tenderness is not my forte. For that, and other reasons, I have given up the idea, and merely suggest it to you, because, in intervals of your greater work, I think it a subject you might make much of [7].

If you want any more books, there is "Castellan's _Moeurs des Ottomans_," the best compendium of the kind I ever met with, in six small tomes [8].

I am really taking a liberty by talking in this style to my "elders and my betters;"--pardon it, and don't _Rochefoucault_ [9] my motives.

[Footnote 1: Jerry Sneak, in Foote's 'Mayor of Garratt' (act ii.), says to Major Sturgeon, "I heard of your tricks at the King of Bohemy."]

[Footnote 2:

"The Ode of Horace--

'Natis in usum laetitiae,' etc.;

some passages of which I told him might be parodied, in allusion to
some of his late adventures:

'Quanta laboras in Charybdi!
Digne puer meliore flamma!'"

(Moore.)]

[Footnote 3:

"In his first edition of 'The Giaour' he had used this word as a
trisyllable--'Bright as the gem of Giamschid'--but on my remarking to
him, upon the authority of Richardson's Persian Dictionary, that this
was incorrect, he altered it to 'Bright as the ruby of Giamschid.' On
seeing this, however, I wrote to him, 'that, as the comparison of his
heroine's eye to a "ruby" might unluckily call up the idea of its
being bloodshot, he had better change the line to "Bright as the jewel
of Giamschid;"' which he accordingly did in the following edition"
(Moore).

In the 'Shah Nameh', Giamschid is the fourth sovereign of the ancient Persians, and ruled seven hundred years. His jewel was a green chrysolite, the reflection of which gives to the sky its blue-green colour. Byron probably changed to "ruby" on the authority of 'Vathek' (p. 58, ed. 1856), where Beckford writes,

"Then all the riches this place contains, as well as the carbuncle of
Giamschid, shall be hers."]

[Footnote 4: Moore's reference (see 'note' 1) to John Richardson's 'Dictionary of Persian, Arabic, and English' (1777), suggests to Byron that Moore was at work on an Oriental poem, probably 'Lalla Rookh', which would surpass the 'Charlemagne' of Lucien Buonaparte.]