had begun to reel
from its centre—the usual consequence of
un
usual success. So you
perceive I cannot alter the Sentiments; but if there are any alterations
in the structure of the versification you would wish to be made, I will
tag rhymes and turn stanzas as much as you please. As for the
"
Orthodox
," let us hope they will buy, on purpose to abuse—you
will forgive the one, if they will do the other. You are aware that any
thing from my pen must expect no quarter, on many accounts; and as the
present publication is of a nature very different from the former, we
must not be sanguine.
have given me no answer to my question—tell me fairly, did you show
the MS. to some of your corps
?
I sent an introductory stanza to Mr. Dallas, that it might be
forwarded to you; the poem else will open too abruptly. The Stanzas had
better be numbered in Roman characters, there is a disquisition on the
literature of the modern Greeks, and some smaller poems to come in at
the close. These are now at Newstead, but will be sent in time. If Mr.
D. has lost the Stanza and note annexed to it, write, and I will send it
myself.—You tell me to add two cantos, but I am about to visit my
Collieries
in Lancashire on the 15th instant, which is so
unpoetical
an employment that I need say no more.
I am, sir, your most obedient, etc., etc.,
Byron
.
The following is Murray's letter, to which Byron replies:
"London, Sept. 4, 1811, Wednesday.
"My Lord,—An absence of some days, passed in the country, has
prevented me from writing earlier in answer to your obliging letter. I
have now, however, the pleasure of sending under a separate cover, the
first proof sheet of your Lordship's Poem, which is so good as
to be entitled to all your care to render perfect. Besides its general
merit, there are parts, which, I am tempted to believe, far excel
anything that your Lordship has hitherto published, and it were
therefore grievous indeed, if you do not condescend to bestow upon it
all the improvement of which your Lordship's mind is so capable; every
correction already made is valuable, and this circumstance renders me
more confident in soliciting for it your further attention.
"There are some expressions, too, concerning Spain and Portugal,
which, however just, and particularly so at the time they were
conceived, yet as they do not harmonize with the general feeling,
would so greatly interfere with the popularity which the poem is, in
other respects, so certainly calculated to excite, that, in compassion
to your publisher, who does not presume to reason upon the subject,
otherwise than as a mere matter of business, I hope your Lordship's
goodness will induce you to obviate them, and, with them, perhaps,
some religious feelings which may deprive me of some customers amongst
the Orthodox.
"Could I flatter myself that these suggestions were not obtrusive, I
would hazard another, in an earnest solicitation that your Lordship
would add the two promised Cantos, and complete the Poem. It
were cruel indeed not to perfect a work which contains so much that is
excellent; your Fame, my Lord, demands it; you are raising a Monument
that will outlive your present feelings, and it should therefore be so
constructed as to excite no other associations than those of respect
and admiration for your Lordship's Character and Genius.
"I trust that you will pardon the warmth of this address when I assure
your Lordship that it arises, in the greatest degree, in a sincere
regard for your lasting reputation, with, however, some view to that
portion of it, which must attend the Publisher of so beautiful a Poem,
as your Lordship is capable of rendering
"The Romaunt of Childe Harold.
"I have the honour to be, My Lord,
"Your Lordship's
"Obedient and faithful servant,
"John Murray."
On the night of March 5, 1811, Massena retreated from his
camp at Santarem, whence he had watched Wellington at Torres Vedras, and
on April 4 he crossed the Coa into Spain.
Murray had shown the MS. to Gifford for advice as to its
publication. Byron seems to have resented this on the ground that it
might look like an attempt to propitiate the
Quarterly Review
.
List of Letters
Contents
180—to R. C. Dallas
Newstead Abbey, September 7, 1811.
As Gifford has been ever my "Magnus Apollo," any approbation, such as
you mention,
, of course, be more welcome than "all Bocara's
vaunted gold", than all "the gems of Samarcand."
But I am sorry the
MS. was shown to him in such a manner, and had written to Murray to say
as much, before I was aware that it was too late.
Your objection to the expression "central line" I can only meet by
saying that, before Childe Harold left England, it was his full
intention to traverse Persia, and return by India, which he could not
have done without passing the equinoctial.
The other errors you mention, I must correct in the progress through the
press. I feel honoured by the wish of such men that the poem should be
continued, but to do that I must return to Greece and Asia; I must have
a warm sun, a blue sky; I cannot describe scenes so dear to me by a
sea-coal fire. I had projected an additional canto when I was in the
Troad and Constantinople, and if I saw them again, it would go on; but
under existing circumstances and
sensations
, I have neither harp,
"heart, nor voice" to proceed, I feel that
you are all right
as
to the metaphysical part; but I also feel that I am sincere,
that if
I am only to write "ad captandum vulgus," I might as well edit a
magazine at once, or spin canzonettas for Vauxhall
.
My work must make its way as well as it can; I know I have every thing
against me, angry poets and prejudices; but if the poem is a
poem
, it will surmount these obstacles, and if
not
, it
deserves its fate.
friend's Ode
I have read—it is no great
compliment to pronounce it far superior to Smythe's on the same subject,
or to the merits of the new Chancellor. It is evidently the production
of a man of taste, and a poet,
I should not be willing to say it
was fully equal to what might be expected from the author of "
Horæ
Ionicæ
."
I thank you for it, and that is more than I would do
for any other Ode of the present day.
I am very sensible of your good wishes, and, indeed, I have need of
them. My whole life has been at variance with propriety, not to say
decency; my circumstances are become involved; my friends are dead or
estranged, and my existence a dreary void. In Matthews I have lost my
"guide, philosopher, and friend;" in Wingfield a friend only, but one
whom I could have wished to have preceded in his long journey.
Matthews was indeed an extraordinary man; it has not entered into the
heart of a stranger to conceive such a man: there was the stamp of
immortality in all he said or did;—and now what is he? When we see such
men pass away and be no more—men, who seem created to display what the
Creator
could make
his creatures, gathered into corruption,
before the maturity of minds that might have been the pride of
posterity, what are we to conclude? For my own part, I am bewildered. To
me he was much, to Hobhouse every thing. My poor Hobhouse doted on
Matthews. For me, I did not love quite so much as I honoured him; I was
indeed so sensible of his infinite superiority, that though I did not
envy, I stood in awe of it. He, Hobhouse, Davies, and myself, formed a
coterie of our own at Cambridge and elsewhere. Davies is a wit and man
of the world, and feels as much as such a character can do; but not as
Hobhouse has been affected. Davies, who is not a scribbler, has always
beaten us all in the war of words, and by his colloquial powers at once
delighted and kept us in order. Hobhouse and myself always had the worst
of it with the other two; and even Matthews yielded to the dashing
vivacity of Scrope Davies. But I am talking to you of men, or boys, as
if you cared about such beings.
I expect mine agent down on the I4th to proceed to Lancashire, where I
hear from all quarters that I have a very valuable property in coals,
etc. I then intend to accept an invitation to Cambridge in October, and
shall, perhaps, run up to town. I have four invitations—to Wales,
Dorset, Cambridge, and Chester; but I must be a man of business. I am
quite alone, as these long letters sadly testify. I perceive, by
referring to your letter, that the Ode is from the author; make my
thanks acceptable to him. His muse is worthy a nobler theme. You will
write as usual, I hope. I wish you good evening, and am, etc.
The lines, which are parodied in Byron's unpublished
Barmaid
, are from Sir W. Jones's translation of a song by Hafiz
(
Works
, vol. x. p. 251):
"Sweet maid, if thou would'st charm my sight,
And bid these arms thy neck infold;
That rosy cheek, that lily hand,
Would give thy poet more delight,
Than all Bocara's vaunted gold,
Than all the gems of Samarcand."
Vauxhall Gardens (1661 to July 25, 1859) were still not
only a popular but a fashionable resort, though fireworks and
masquerades threatened to expel musicians and vocalists. At this time
the principal singers were Charles Dignum (1765-1827); Maria Theresa
Bland (1769-1838), a famous ballad-singer; Rosoman Mountain,
née
Wilkinson (1768-1841), whose husband was a violinist and leader at
Vauxhall.—(
The London Pleasure Gardens
, pp. 286-326.)
On June 29, 1811, the Duke of Gloucester was installed as
Chancellor of the University of Cambridge. The Installation Ode, written
by W. Smyth, of Peterhouse (1765-1849), Professor of Modern History at
Cambridge, and author of
English Lyrics
(1797) and other works,
was set to music by Hague, and performed in the Senate House, Braham and
Ashe, it is said, particularly distinguishing themselves among the
performers. The Ode is given in the
Annual Register
for 1811, pp.
593-596. The rival Ode, which Byron preferred, was by Walter Rodwell
Wright.
For Walter Rodwell Wright, author of
Horæ Ionicæ
(1809), see Letters, vol. i. p. 336,
note
1. [Footnote 2 of Letter 167]
List of Letters
Contents
[Six Mile Bottom, Newmarket.]
Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9th, 1811.
My Dear Augusta,—My Rochdale affairs are understood to be settled as
far as the Law can settle them, and indeed I am told that the most
valuable part is that which was never disputed; but I have never reaped
any advantage from them, and God knows if I ever shall. Mr. H., my
agent, is a good man and able, but the most dilatory in the world. I
expect him down on the 14th to accompany me to Rochdale, where something
will be decided as to selling or working the Collieries. I am Lord of
the Manor (a most extensive one), and they want to enclose, which cannot
be done without me; but I go there in the worst humour possible and am
afraid I shall do or say something not very conciliatory. In short all
my affairs are going on as badly as possible, and I have no hopes or
plans to better them as I long ago pledged myself never to sell
Newstead, which I mean to hold in defiance of the Devil and Man.
I am quite alone and never see strangers without being sick, but I am
nevertheless on good terms with my neighbours, for I neither ride or
shoot or move over my Garden walls, but I fence and box and swim and run
a good deal to keep me in exercise and get me to sleep. Poor Murray is
ill again, and one of my Greek servants is ill too, and my valet has got
a pestilent cough, so that we are in a peck of troubles; my family
Surgeon sent an Emetic this morning for
one
of them, I did not
very well know
which
, but I swore
Somebody
should take it,
so after a deal of discussion the Greek swallowed it with tears in his
eyes, and by the blessing of it, and the
Virgin
whom he invoked
to assist
it
and
him
, I suppose he'll be well tomorrow, if
not,
another
shall have the
next
. So your Spouse likes
children,
that
is lucky as he will have to bring them up; for my
part (since I lost my Newfoundland dog,) I like nobody except his
successor a Dutch Mastiff and three land Tortoises brought with me from
Greece.
I thank you for your letters and am always glad to hear from you, but if
you won't come here before Xmas, I very much fear we shall not meet
here
at all, for I shall be off somewhere or other very soon out
of this land of Paper credit (or rather no credit at all, for every body
seems on the high road to Bankruptcy), and if I quit it again I shall
not be back in a hurry.
However, I shall endeavour to see you somewhere, and make my bow with
decorum before I return to the Ottomans, I believe I shall turn
Mussulman in the end.
ask after my health; I am in tolerable leanness, which I promote by
exercise and abstinence. I don't know that I have acquired any thing by
my travels but a smattering of two languages and a habit of chewing
Tobacco
.
Yours ever,
B.
To appease the pangs of hunger, and keep down his fat,
Byron was in the habit of chewing gum-mastic and tobacco. For the same
reason, at a later date, he took opium. The mistake which he makes in
his letter to Hodgson (December 8,1811), "I do nothing but eschew
tobacco," is repeated in
Don Juan
(Canto XII. stanza xiiii.):
"In fact, there's nothing makes me so much grieve,
As that abominable tittle-tattle,
Which is the cud eschewed by human cattle."
List of Letters
Contents
Newstead Abbey, Sept. 9, 1811.
Dear Hodgson,—I
been a good deal in your company lately, for I
have been reading
Juvenal
and
Lady Jane
, etc., for the
first time since my return. The Tenth Sat'e has always been my
favourite, as I suppose indeed of everybody's. It is the finest recipe
for making one miserable with his life, and content to walk out of it,
in any language. I should think it might be redde with great effect to a
man dying without much pain, in preference to all the stuff that ever
was said or sung in churches. But you are a deacon, and I say no more.
Ah! you
marry and become lethargic, like poor Hal of Harrow
,
who yawns at 10 o' nights, and orders caudle annually.
I wrote an answer to yours fully some days ago, and, being quite alone
and able to frank, you must excuse this subsequent epistle, which will
cost nothing but the trouble of deciphering. I am expectant of agents to
accompany me to Rochdale, a journey not to be anticipated with pleasure;
though I feel very restless where I am, and shall probably ship off for
Greece again; what nonsense it is to talk of Soul, when a cloud makes it
melancholy
and wine makes it
mad
.
Collet of Staines, your "most kind host," has lost that girl you saw of
his. She grew to five feet eleven, and might have been God knows how
high if it had pleased Him to renew the race of Anak; but she fell by a
ptisick, a fresh proof of the folly of begetting children. You knew
Matthews. Was he not an intellectual giant? I knew few better or more
intimately, and none who deserved more admiration in point of ability.
Scrope Davies has been here on his way to Harrowgate; I am his guest in
October at King's, where we will "drink deep ere we depart." "
you,
won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?"
We did not
amalgamate properly at Harrow; it was somehow rainy, and then a wife
makes such a damp; but in a seat of celibacy I will have revenge. Don't
you hate helping first, and losing the wings of chicken? And then,
conversation is always flabby. Oh! in the East women are in their proper
sphere, and one has—no conversation at all. My house here is a
delightful matrimonial mansion. When I wed, my spouse and I will be so
happy!—one in each wing.
I
you are in motion from your Herefordshire station
, and
Drury must be gone back to Gerund Grinding. I have not been at Cambridge
since I took my M.A. degree in 1808.
Eheu fugaces!
I look forward
to meeting you and Scrope there with the feelings of other times. Capt.
Hobhouse is at Enniscorthy in Juverna. I wish he was in England.
Yours ever,
B.
See
Letters
, vol. i. p. 195,
note
I. [Footnote 1 of Letter 102]
For Henry Drury, see
Letters
, vol. i. p. 41,
note
2. [Footnote 1 of Letter 14]
Byron may possibly allude to "Matthew Mug," a character in
Foote's
Mayor of Garratt
, said to be intended for the Duke of
Newcastle. In act ii. sc. 2 of the comedy occurs this passage—
"Heel-Tap. Now, neighbours, have a good caution that this
Master Mug does not cajole you; he is a damn'd palavering fellow."
But there is no passage in the play which exactly corresponds with
Byron's quotation.
Hodgson was staying with his uncle, the Rev. Richard Coke,
of Lower Moor, Herefordshire.
List of Letters
Contents
Newstead Abbey, Sept. 10, 1811.
Dear Sir,—I rather think in one of the opening stanzas of
Childe
Harold
there is this line:
'Tis said at times the sullen tear would start.
Now, a line or two after, I have a repetition of the epithet
"
sullen
reverie;" so (if it be so) let us have "speechless
reverie," or "silent reverie;" but, at all events, do away the
recurrence.
Yours ever,
B.
List of Letters
Contents
Newstead Abbey, September 13, 1811.
My Dear Hodgson,—I
you for your song, or, rather, your two
songs,—your new song on love, and your
old song
on
religion
. I admire the
first
sincerely, and in turn
call upon you to
admire
the following on Anacreon Moore's new
operatic farce