the by, I am yawning now—so, good night to
thee.—
It is doubtful whether this is not a mistake for
Greek: Noáiron
, a variant of
Greek: Mpairon
, which is the correct
transliteration into modern Greek of
Byron
, but the MS. is
destroyed.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Thursday, November 26th [1813]
Awoke a little feverish, but no headach—no dreams neither, thanks to
stupor! Two letters; one from ——, the other from Lady Melbourne—both
excellent in their respective styles. ——'s contained also a very
pretty lyric on "concealed griefs;" if not her own, yet very like her.
Why did she not say that the stanzas were, or were not, of her own
composition? I do not know whether to wish them
hers
or not. I
have no great esteem for poetical persons, particularly women; they have
so much of the "ideal" in
practics
, as well as
ethics
.
I have been thinking lately a good deal of Mary Duff. How very odd that
I should have been so utterly, devotedly fond of that girl, at an age
when I could neither feel passion, nor know the meaning of the word. And
the effect! My mother used always to rally me about this childish amour;
and, at last, many years after, when I was sixteen, she told me one day,
"Oh, Byron, I have had a letter from Edinburgh, from Miss Abercromby,
and your old sweetheart Mary Duff is married to a Mr. Co'e." And what
was my answer? I really cannot explain or account for my feelings at
that moment; but they nearly threw me into convulsions, and alarmed my
mother so much, that after I grew better, she generally avoided the
subject—to
me
—and contented herself with telling it to all her
acquaintance. Now, what could this be? I had never seen her since her
mother's
faux pas
at Aberdeen had been the cause of her removal
to her grandmother's at Banff; we were both the merest children. I had
and have been attached fifty times since that period; yet I recollect
all we said to each other, all our caresses, her features, my
restlessness, sleeplessness, my tormenting my mother's maid to write for
me to her, which she at last did, to quiet me. Poor Nancy thought I was
wild, and, as I could not write for myself, became my secretary. I
remember, too, our walks, and the happiness of sitting by Mary, in the
children's apartment, at their house not far from the Plain-stanes at
Aberdeen, while her lesser sister Helen played with the doll, and we sat
gravely making love, in our way.
How the deuce did all this occur so early? where could it originate? I
certainly had no sexual ideas for years afterwards; and yet my misery,
my love for that girl were so violent, that I sometimes doubt if I have
ever been really attached since. Be that as it may, hearing of her
marriage several years after was like a thunder-stroke—it nearly choked
me—to the horror of my mother and the astonishment and almost
incredulity of every body. And it is a phenomenon in my existence (for I
was not eight years old) which has puzzled, and will puzzle me to the
latest hour of it; and lately, I know not why, the
recollection
(
not
the attachment) has recurred as forcibly as ever. I wonder
if she can have the least remembrance of it or me? or remember her
pitying sister Helen for not having an admirer too? How very pretty is
the perfect image of her in my memory—her brown, dark hair, and hazel
eyes; her very dress! I should be quite grieved to see
her now
;
the reality, however beautiful, would destroy, or at least confuse, the
features of the lovely Peri which then existed in her, and still lives
in my imagination, at the distance of more than sixteen years. I am now
twenty-five and odd months....
I think my mother told the circumstances (on my hearing of her marriage)
to the Parkynses, and certainly to the Pigot family, and probably
mentioned it in her answer to Miss A., who was well acquainted with my
childish
penchant
, and had sent the news on purpose for
me
,—and thanks to her!
Next to the beginning, the conclusion has often occupied my reflections,
in the way of investigation. That the facts are thus, others know as
well as I, and my memory yet tells me so, in more than a whisper. But,
the more I reflect, the more I am bewildered to assign any cause for
this precocity of affection.
Lord Holland invited me to dinner to-day; but three days' dining would
destroy me. So, without eating at all since yesterday, I went to my box
at Covent Garden.
Saw —— looking very pretty, though quite a different style of beauty
from the other two. She has the finest eyes in the world, out of which
she pretends
not
to see, and the longest eyelashes I ever saw,
since Leila's and Phannio's Moslem curtains of the light. She has much
beauty,—just enough,—but is, I think,
méchante
.
I have been pondering on the miseries of separation, that—oh how seldom
we see those we love! yet we live ages in moments,
when met
. The
only thing that consoles me during absence is the reflection that no
mental or personal estrangement, from ennui or disagreement, can take
place; and when people meet hereafter, even though many changes may have
taken place in the mean time, still, unless they are
tired
of
each other, they are ready to reunite, and do not blame each other for
the circumstances that severed them.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Saturday 27th [November 1813]
(I believe or rather am in
doubt
, which is the
ne plus
ultra
of mortal faith.)
I have missed a day; and, as the Irishman said, or Joe Miller says for
him, "have gained a loss," or
by
the loss. Every thing is settled
for Holland, and nothing but a cough, or a caprice of my
fellow-traveller's, can stop us. Carriage ordered, funds prepared, and,
probably, a gale of wind into the bargain.
N'importe
—I believe,
with Clym o' the Clow, or Robin Hood, "By our
, (dear name!) thou
art both Mother and May, I think it never was a man's lot to die before
his day."
Heigh for Helvoetsluys, and so forth!
To-night I went with young Henry Fox to see
Nourjahad
, a drama,
which the
Morning Post
hath laid to my charge, but of which I
cannot even guess the author. I wonder what they will next inflict upon
me. They cannot well sink below a melodrama; but that is better than a
satire, (at least, a personal one,) with which I stand truly arraigned,
and in atonement of which I am resolved to bear silently all criticisms,
abuses, and even praises, for bad pantomimes never composed by me,
without even a contradictory aspect. I suppose the root of this report
is my loan to the manager of my Turkish drawings for his dresses, to
which he was more welcome than to my name. I suppose the real author
will soon own it, as it has succeeded; if not, Job be my model, and
Lethe my beverage!
—— has received the portrait safe; and, in answer, the only remark she
makes upon it is, "indeed it is like"—and again, "indeed it is like."
With her the likeness "covered a multitude of sins;" for I happen to
know that this portrait was not a flatterer, but dark and stern,—even
black as the mood in which my mind was scorching last July, when I sat
for it. All the others of me, like most portraits whatsoever, are, of
course, more agreeable than nature.
Redde the
Edinburgh Review
of Rogers. He is ranked highly; but
where he should be.
is a summary view of us all—
Moore
and
me
among the rest
; and both (the
first
justly)
praised—though, by implication (justly again) placed beneath our
memorable friend. Mackintosh is the writer, and also of the critique on
the Stael
.
His grand essay on Burke, I hear, is for the next number. But I know
nothing of the
Edinburgh
, or of any other
Review
, but from
rumour; and I have long ceased; indeed, I could not, in justice,
complain of any, even though I were to rate poetry, in general, and my
rhymes in particular, more highly than I really do. To withdraw
myself
from
myself
(oh that cursed selfishness!) has ever
been my sole, my entire, my sincere motive in scribbling at all; and
publishing is also the continuance of the same object, by the action it
affords to the mind, which else recoils upon itself. If I valued fame, I
should flatter received opinions, which have gathered strength by time,
and will yet wear longer than any living works to the contrary. But, for
the soul of me, I cannot and will not give the lie to my own thoughts
and doubts, come what may. If I am a fool, it is, at least, a doubting
one; and I envy no one the certainty of his self-approved wisdom.
All are inclined to believe what they covet, from a lottery-ticket up to
a passport to Paradise,—in which, from the description, I see nothing
very tempting.
restlessness tells me I have something "within that
passeth show."
It is for Him, who made it, to prolong that spark of celestial fire
which illuminates, yet burns, this frail tenement; but I see no such
horror in a "dreamless sleep," and I have no conception of any existence
which duration would not render tiresome. How else "fell the angels,"
even according to your creed?
were immortal, heavenly, and happy,
as their
apostate Abdiel
is now by his treachery. Time must
decide; and eternity won't be the less agreeable or more horrible
because one did not expect it. In the mean time, I am grateful for some
good, and tolerably patient under certain evils—
grace à Dieu et mon
bon tempérament
.
"Ah, deere ladye, said Robin Hood, thou
That art both Mother and May,
I think it was never man's destinye
To die before his day."
Ballad of Robin Hood
The following is the passage to which Byron alludes:
"Greece, the mother of freedom and of poetry in the West, which had
long employed only the antiquary, the artist, and the philologist, was
at length destined, after an interval of many silent and inglorious
ages, to awaken the genius of a poet. Full of enthusiasm for those
perfect forms of heroism and liberty which his imagination had placed
in the recesses of antiquity, he gave vent to his impatience of the
imperfections of living men and real institutions, in an original
strain of sublime satire, which clothes moral anger in imagery of an
almost horrible grandeur; and which, though it cannot coincide with
the estimate of reason, yet could only flow from that worship of
perfection which is the soul of all true poetry."
Edin. Rev
., vol. xxii. p. 37.
"In the last Edinburgh Review you will find two articles of
mine, one on Rogers, and the other on Madame de Staël: they are both,
especially the first, thought too panegyrical. I like the praises
which I have bestowed on Lord Byron and Thomas Moore. I am convinced
of the justness of the praises given to Madame de
Staël."
Mackintosh's Life
, vol. ii. p. 271.
"I have that within which passeth show."
Hamlet
, act i. sc. 2.
" ... the seraph Abdiel, faithful found
Among the faithless."
Milton,
Paradise Lost
, v. 896.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Tuesday 30th [November 1813]
Two days missed in my log-book;—
hiatus
haud
deflendus
.
They were as little worth recollection as the rest; and, luckily,
laziness or society prevented me from
notching
them.
, I dined with the Lord Holland in St. James's Square. Large
party—among them Sir S. Romilly
and Lady R'y.—General Sir Somebody
Bentham
, a man of science and talent, I am told—Horner
—
the
Horner, an Edinburgh Reviewer, an excellent speaker in
the "Honourable House," very pleasing, too, and gentlemanly in company,
as far as I have seen—Sharpe— Philips of Lancashire
—Lord John
Russell, and others, "good men and true." Holland's society is very
good; you always see some one or other in it worth knowing. Stuffed
myself with sturgeon, and exceeded in champagne and wine in general, but
not to confusion of head. When I
do
dine, I gorge like an Arab or
a Boa snake, on fish and vegetables, but no meat. I am always better,
however, on my tea and biscuit than any other regimen, and even
that
sparingly.
Why does Lady H. always have that damned screen between the whole room
and the fire? I, who bear cold no better than an antelope, and never yet
found a sun quite
done
to my taste, was absolutely petrified, and
could not even shiver. All the rest, too, looked as if they were just
unpacked, like salmon from an ice-basket, and set down to table for that
day only. When she retired, I watched their looks as I dismissed the
screen, and every cheek thawed, and every nose reddened with the
anticipated glow.
Saturday, I went with Harry Fox to
Nourjahad
; and, I believe,
convinced him, by incessant yawning, that it was not mine. I wish the
precious author would own it, and release me from his fame. The dresses
are pretty, but not in costume;—Mrs. Horn's, all but the turban, and
the want of a small dagger (if she is a sultana),
perfect
. I
never saw a Turkish woman with a turban in my life—nor did any one
else. The sultanas have a small poniard at the waist. The dialogue is
drowsy—the action heavy—the scenery fine—the actors tolerable. I
can't say much for their seraglio—Teresa, Phannio, or ——, were worth
them all.
Sunday, a very handsome note from Mackintosh, who is a rare instance of
the union of very transcendent talent and great good nature.
(Tuesday) a very pretty billet from M. la Baronne de Stael Holstein
.
She is pleased to be much pleased with my mention of her and her last
work in my notes. I spoke as I thought. Her works are my delight, and so
is she herself, for—half an hour. I don't like her politics—at least,
her
having changed
them; had she been
qualis ab incepto
,
it were nothing. But she is a woman by herself, and has done more than
all the rest of them together, intellectually;—she ought to have been a
man. She
flatters
me very prettily in her note;—but I
know
it. The reason that adulation is not displeasing is, that,
though untrue, it shows one to be of consequence enough, in one way or
other, to induce people to lie, to make us their friend:—that is their
concern.
——
, I hear, thriving on the repute of a
pun
which was
mine
(at Mackintosh's dinner some time back), on Ward, who was
asking, "how much it would take to
re-whig
him?" I answered that,
probably, "he must first, before he was
re-whigged
, be
re-
warded
."
This foolish quibble, before the Stael and
Mackintosh, and a number of conversationers, has been mouthed about, and
at last settled on the head of ——, where long may it remain!
George
is
from afloat to get a new ship. He looks thin, but
better than I expected. I like George much more than most people like
their heirs. He is a fine fellow, and every inch a sailor. I would do
any thing,
but apostatise
, to get him on in his profession.
Lewis called. It is a
and good-humoured man, but pestilently prolix
and paradoxical and
personal
. If he would but talk half, and
reduce his visits to an hour, he would add to his popularity. As an
author he is very good, and his vanity is
ouverte
, like
Erskine's, and yet not offending.
, a very pretty letter from Annabella
, which I answered.
What an odd situation and friendship is ours!—without one spark of love
on either side, and produced by circumstances which in general lead to
coldness on one side, and aversion on the other. She is a very superior
woman, and very little spoiled, which is strange in an heiress—a girl
of twenty—a peeress that is to be, in her own right—an only child, and
a
savante
, who has always had her own way. She is a poetess—a
mathematician—a metaphysician, and yet, withal, very kind, generous,
and gentle, with very little pretension. Any other head would be turned
with half her acquisitions, and a tenth of her advantages.
Sir Samuel Romilly (1757-1818), Solicitor-General (1806-7),
distinguished himself in Parliament by his consistent advocacy of
Catholic Emancipation, the abolition of the slave-trade, Parliamentary
reform, and the mitigation of the harshness of the criminal law. Writing
of Romilly's
Observations on the Criminal Law of
England
(1810), Sir James Mackintosh says,
"It does the very highest honour to his moral character, which, I
think, stands higher than that of any other conspicuous Englishman now
alive. Probity, independence, humanity, and liberality breathe through
every word; considered merely as a composition, accuracy, perspicuity,
discretion, and good taste are its chief merits; great originality and
comprehension of thought, or remarkable vigour of expression, it does
not possess."
The death of his wife, October 29, 1818, so affected Romilly's mind that
he committed suicide four days later.
"Romilly," said Lord Lansdowne to Moore (Memoirs, etc., vol.
ii. p. 211), "was a stern, reserved sort of man, and she was the only
person in the world to whom he wholly unbent and unbosomed himself;
when he lost her, therefore, the very vent of his heart was stopped
up."
Sir Samuel Bentham (1757-1831), naval architect and
engineer, like his brother Jeremy, was a strong reformer. He was a
Knight of the Russian Order of St. George, and, like Sir Samuel Egerton
Brydges, who was a Knight of the Swedish Order of St. Joachim before he
was created a baronet (1814), assumed the title in England.
Francis Horner (1778-1817), called to the Scottish Bar in
1800, and to the English Bar in 1807, was one of the founders of the
Edinburgh Review
, and acted as second to Jeffrey in his duel with
Moore. In the House of Commons (M.P. for St. Ives, 1806-7; Wendover,
1807-12; St. Mawes, 1812-17) he was one of the most impressive speakers
of the day, especially on financial questions. When Lord Morpeth moved
(March 3, 1817) for a new writ for the borough of St. Mawes, striking
tributes were paid to his character from both sides of the House
(
Memoirs and Correspondence of Francis Horner
, vol. ii. pp.
416-426), and further proof was given of public esteem by the statue
erected to his memory in Westminster Abbey. The speeches delivered in
the Lower House on March 3, 1817, were translated by Ugo Foscolo, and
published with a dedication
al nobile giovinetto, Enrico Fox, figlio
di Lord Holland
.
George Philips, only son of Thomas Philips of Sedgley,
Lancashire (born March 24, 1766), was created a baronet in February,
1828. He sat for South Warwickshire in the first reformed House of
Commons.
In a note to
The Bride of Abydos
(Canto I. st. vi.),
Byron had written,
"For an eloquent passage in the latest work of the first female writer
of this, perhaps of any, age, on the analogy (and the immediate
comparison excited by that analogy) between 'painting and music,' see
vol. iii. cap. 10, De l'Allemagne."
The passage is as follows (Part III. chap, x.):
"Sans cesse nous comparons la peinture à la musique, et la musique à
la peinture, parceque les émotions que nous eprouvons nous révèlent
des analogies où l'observation froide ne verroit que des différences,"
etc., etc.
The following is Madame de Staël's "very pretty billet:"
"Argyll St., No. 31.
"Je ne saurais vous exprímer, my lord, à quel point je me trouve
honorée d'être dans une note de votre poëme, et de quel poëme! il me
semble que pour la première fois je me crois certaine d'un nom
d'avenir et que vous avez disposé pour moi de cet empire de reputation
qui vous sera tous les jours plus soumis. Je voudrais vous parler de
ce poëme que tout le monde admire, mais j'avouerai que je suis trop
suspecte en le louant, et je ne cache pas qu' une louage de vous m'a
fait épreuver un sentiment de fierté et de réconaissance qui me
rendrait incapable de vous juger; mais heureusement vous êtes au
dessus du jugement.
"Donnez moi quelquefois le plaisir de vous voir; il-y-a un proverbe
français qui dit qu'un bonheur ne va jamais sans d'autre.
"de Staël."