"Byron," writes Sir Walter Scott, in a hitherto unpublished note,
"occasionally said what are called good things, but never studied for
them. They came naturally and easily, and mixed with the comic or
serious, as it happened. A professed wit is of all earthly companions
the most intolerable. He is like a schoolboy with his pockets stuffed
with crackers.
"No first-rate author was ever what is understood by a great
conversational wit. Swift's wit in common society was either the
strong sense of a wonderful man unconsciously exerting his powers, or
that of the same being wilfully unbending, wilfully, in fact,
degrading himself. Who ever heard of any fame for conversational wit
lingering over the memory of a Shakespeare, a Milton, even of a Dryden
or a Pope?
Johnson is, perhaps, a solitary exception. More shame to him. He was
the most indolent great man that ever lived, and threw away in his
talk more than he ever took pains to embalm in his writings.
It is true that Boswell has in great measure counteracted all this.
But here is no defence. Few great men can expect to have a Boswell,
and none ought to wish to have one, far less to trust to having
one. A man should not keep fine clothes locked up in his chest only
that his valet may occasionally show off in them; no, nor yet strut
about in them in his chamber, only that his valet may puff him and his
finery abroad.
What might not he have done, who wrote Rasselas in the evenings
of eight days to get money enough for his mother's funeral expenses?
As it is, what has Johnson done? Is it nothing to be the first
intellect of an age? and who seriously talks even of Burke as
having been more than a clever boy in the presence of old Samuel?"
George Anson Byron, R. N., afterwards Lord Byron.
Scott has this additional note on Lewis:
"Nothing was more tiresome than Lewis when he began to harp upon any
extravagant proposition. He would tinker at it for hours without
mercy, and repeat the same thing in four hundred different ways. If
you assented in despair, he resumed his reasoning in triumph, and you
had only for your pains the disgrace of giving in. If you disputed,
daylight and candle-light could not bring the discussion to an end,
and Mat's arguments were always ditto repeated."
Miss Milbanke, afterwards Lady Byron.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Wednesday, December 1st, 1813
To-day responded to La Baronne de Stael Holstein, and sent to Leigh Hunt
(an acquisition to my acquaintance—through Moore—of last summer) a
copy of the two Turkish tales. Hunt is an extraordinary character, and
not exactly of the present age. He reminds me more of the Pym and
Hampden times—much talent, great independence of spirit, and an
austere, yet not repulsive, aspect. If he goes on
qualis ab
incepto
, I know few men who will deserve more praise or obtain it. I
must go and see him again;—the rapid succession of adventure, since
last summer, added to some serious uneasiness and business, have
interrupted our acquaintance; but he is a man worth knowing; and though,
for his own sake, I wish him out of prison, I like to study character in
such situations. He has been unshaken, and will continue so. I don't
think him deeply versed in life;—he
the bigot of virtue (not
religion), and enamoured of the beauty of that "empty name," as the last
breath of Brutus pronounced
, and every day proves it. He is,
perhaps, a little opinionated, as all men who are the
centre
of
circles
, wide or narrow—the Sir Oracles, in whose name two or
three are gathered together—must be, and as even Johnson was; but,
withal, a valuable man, and less vain than success and even the
consciousness of preferring "the right to the expedient" might excuse.
To-morrow there is a party of
purple
at the "blue" Miss Berry's.
Shall I go? um!—I don't much affect your blue-bottles;—but one ought
to be civil. There will be, "I guess now" (as the Americans say), the
Staels and Mackintoshes—good—the —— s and —— s—not so good—the
—— s, etc., etc.—good for nothing.
that blue-winged
Kashmirian butterfly of book-learning
, Lady Charlemont, will be
there. I hope so; it is a pleasure to look upon that most beautiful of
faces.
to H.:—he has been telling that I———
I am sure, at least,
I
did not mention it, and I wish he had not. He is a good fellow,
and I obliged myself ten times more by being of use than I did him,—and
there's an end on't.
Baldwin
is
me to present their King's Bench petition. I
presented Cartwright's last year; and Stanhope and I stood against the
whole House, and mouthed it valiantly—and had some fun and a little
abuse for our opposition. But "I
not i' th' vein"
for this
business. Now, had —— been here, she would have
made
me do it.
There
is a woman, who, amid all her fascination, always urged a
man to usefulness or glory. Had she remained, she had been my tutelar
genius.
is very importunate—but, poor fellow, "I can't get out, I can't
get out—said the starling."
Ah, I am as
as that dog Sterne, who
preferred whining over "a dead ass to relieving a living mother"
—villain—hypocrite—slave—sycophant! but
I
am no better.
Here I cannot stimulate myself to a speech for the sake of these
unfortunates, and three words and half a smile of —— had she been here
to urge it (and urge it she infallibly would—at least she always
pressed me on senatorial duties, and particularly in the cause of
weakness) would have made me an advocate, if not an orator. Curse on
Rochefoucault for being always right! In him a lie were virtue,—or, at
least, a comfort to his readers.
George Byron has not called to-day; I hope he will be an admiral, and,
perhaps, Lord Byron into the bargain. If he would but marry, I would
engage never to marry myself, or cut him out of the heirship. He would
be happier, and I should like nephews better than sons.
I shall soon be six-and-twenty (January 22d., 1814). Is there any thing
in the future that can possibly console us for not being always
twenty-five
?
"Oh Gioventu!
Oh Primavera! gioventu dell' anno.
Oh Gioventu! primavera della vita."
| Strato |
For Brutus only overcame himself,
And no man else hath honour by his death. |
|
... |
| Octavius |
According to his virtue let us use him,
With all respect and rites of burial. |
Julius Cæsar
, act v. sc. 5.
In
The Giaour
(lines 388-392) occurs the following
passage:
"As rising on its purple wing
The insect-queen of Eastern spring
O'er emerald meadows of Kashmeer
Invites the young pursuer near," etc.
To line 389 is appended this note:
"The blue-winged butterfly of Kashmeer, the most rare and beautiful of
the species."
See
to Francis Hodgson, p. 294.
The letters which W.J. Baldwin, a debtor in the King's
Bench prison, wrote to Byron are preserved. Byron seems to have refused
to present the petition from diffidence, but he interested himself in
the subject, and probably induced Lord Holland to take up the question.
(See p. 318,
2.) In the list of abuses enumerated by Baldwin
is mentioned a "strong room," in which prisoners were confined, without
fires or glass to the windows, in the depth of winter.
Richard III
., act iv, sc. 2.
Sentimental Journey
(ed. 1819), vol. ii. p. 379.
Ibid.
, vol. ii. p. 337.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Sunday, December 5th [1813]
Dallas's nephew (son to the American Attorney-general) is arrived in
this country, and tells Dallas that my rhymes are very popular in the
United States. These are the first tidings that have ever sounded like
Fame
to my ears—to be redde on the banks of the Ohio! The
pleasure I ever derived, of this kind was from an extract, in
Cooke the actor's life, from his journal
, stating that in the
reading-room at Albany, near Washington, he perused
English Bards,
and Scotch Reviewers
. To be popular in a rising and far country has
a kind of
posthumous feel
, very different from the ephemeral
éclat
and fête-ing, buzzing and party-ing compliments of the
well-dressed multitude. I can safely say that, during my
reign
in
the spring of 1812, I regretted nothing but its duration of six weeks
instead of a fortnight, and was heartily glad to resign.
Last night I supped with Lewis; and, as usual, though I neither exceeded
in solids nor fluids, have been half dead ever since. My stomach is
entirely destroyed by long abstinence, and the rest will probably
follow. Let it—I only wish the
pain
over. The "leap in the dark"
is the least to be dreaded.
The Duke of —— called. I have told them forty times that, except to
half-a-dozen old and specified acquaintances, I am invisible. His Grace
is a good, noble, ducal person; but I am content to think so at a
distance, and so—I was not at home.
Galt called.—Mem.—to ask some one to speak to Raymond in favour of his
play. We are old fellow-travellers, and, with all his eccentricities, he
has much strong sense, experience of the world, and is, as far as I have
seen, a good-natured philosophical fellow. I showed him Sligo's letter
on the reports of the Turkish girl's
aventure
at Athens soon
after it happened. He and Lord Holland, Lewis, and Moore, and Rogers,
and Lady Melbourne have seen it. Murray has a copy. I thought it had
been
unknown
, and wish it were; but Sligo arrived only some days
after, and the
rumours
are the subject of his letter. That I
shall preserve,—
it is as well
. Lewis and Gait were both
horrified
; and L. wondered I did not introduce the situation into
The Giaour
. He
may
wonder;—he might wonder more at that
production's being written at all. But to describe the
feelings
of
that situation
were impossible—it is
icy
even
to recollect them.
The
Bride of Abydos
was published on Thursday the second of
December; but how it is liked or disliked, I know not. Whether it
succeeds or not is no fault of the public, against whom I can have no
complaint. But I am much more indebted to the tale than I can ever be to
the most partial reader; as it wrung my thoughts from reality to
imagination—from selfish regrets to vivid recollections—and recalled
me to a country replete with the
brightest
and
darkest
,
but always most
lively
colours of my memory. Sharpe called, but
was not let in, which I regret.
Saw [Rogers] yesterday. I have not kept my appointment at Middleton,
which has not pleased him, perhaps; and my projected voyage with [Ward]
will, perhaps, please him less. But I wish to keep well with both. They
are instruments that don't do in concert; but, surely, their separate
tones are very musical, and I won't give up either.
It is well if I don't jar between these great discords. At present I
stand tolerably well with all, but I cannot adopt their
dislikes
;—so many
sets
. Holland's is the first;—every
thing
distingué
is welcome there, and certainly the
ton
of
his society is the best. Then there is Madame de Stael's—there I never
go, though I might, had I courted it. It is
of the ——s and
the —— family, with a strange sprinkling,—orators, dandies, and all
kinds of
Blue
, from the regular Grub Street uniform, down to the
azure jacket of the
Littérateur
?
To see —— and —— sitting together, at dinner, always reminds me of
the grave, where all distinctions of friend and foe are levelled; and
they—the Reviewer and the Reviewée—the Rhinoceros and Elephant—the
Mammoth and Megalonyx—all will lie quietly together. They now
sit
together, as silent, but not so quiet, as if they were
already immured.
I did not go to the Berrys' the other night. The elder is a woman of
much talent, and both are handsome, and must have been beautiful.
To-night asked to Lord H.'s—shall I go? um!—perhaps.
Morning, two o'clock.
Went to Lord H.'s—party numerous—
mi
lady in perfect good humour,
and consequently
perfect
. No one more agreeable, or perhaps so
much so, when she will. Asked for Wednesday to dine and meet the
Stael—asked particularly, I believe, out of mischief to see the first
interview after the
note
, with which Corinne professes herself to
be so much taken. I don't much like it; she always talks of
my
self or
her
self, and I am not (except in soliloquy, as
now,) much enamoured of either subject—especially one's works. What the
devil shall I say about
De l'Allemagne
? I like it prodigiously;
but unless I can twist my admiration into some fantastical expression,
she won't believe me; and I know, by experience, I shall be overwhelmed
with fine things about rhyme, etc., etc. The lover, Mr.—— [Rocca], was
there to-night, and C—— said "it was the only proof
he
had seen
of her good taste." Monsieur L'Amant is remarkably handsome; but
I
don't think more so than her book.
C—— [Campbell] looks well,—seems pleased, and dressed to
sprucery
. A blue coat becomes him,—so does his new wig. He
really looked as if Apollo had sent him a birthday suit, or a
wedding-garment, and was witty and lively. He abused Corinne's book,
which I regret; because, firstly, he understands German, and is
consequently a fair judge; and, secondly, he is
first-rate
, and,
consequently, the best of judges. I reverence and admire him; but I
won't give up my opinion—why should I? I read
her
again and
again, and there can be no affectation in this. I cannot be mistaken
(except in taste) in a book I read and lay down, and take up again; and
no book can be totally bad which finds
one
, even
one
reader, who can say as much sincerely.
Campbell talks of lecturing next spring; his last lectures were
eminently successful. Moore thought of it, but gave it up,—I don't know
why. —— had been prating
dignity
to him, and such stuff; as if
a man disgraced himself by instructing and pleasing at the same time.
to Marquis Buckingham—saw Lord Gower
—he is going to
Holland; Sir J. and Lady Mackintosh and Horner, G. Lamb
, with I know
not how many (Richard Wellesley, one—a clever man), grouped about the
room. Little Henry Fox, a very fine boy, and very promising in mind and
manner,—he went away to bed, before I had time to talk to him. I am
sure I had rather hear him than all the
savans
.
In Dunlap's
Memoirs of George Frederick Cooke
(vol.
ii. p. 313), the following passage is quoted from the actor's journal:
"Read English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, by Lord Byron. It is
well written. His Lordship is rather severe, perhaps justly so, on
Walter Scott, and most assuredly justly severe upon Monk Lewis."
In Byron's
Detached Thoughts
(1821) occurs this
passage:
"In general I do not draw well with literary men. Not that I dislike
them, but I never know what to say to them after I have praised their
last publication. There are several exceptions, to be sure; but then
they have always been men of the world, such as Scott and Moore, etc.,
or visionaries out of it, such as Shelley, etc. But your literary
every-day man and I never went well in company, especially your
foreigner, whom I never could abide,—except Giordani, and—and—and
(I really can't name any other); I do not remember a man amongst them
whom I ever wished to see twice, except, perhaps, Mezzophanti, who is
a Monster of Languages, the Briareus of parts of speech, a walking
Polyglott, and more—who ought to have existed at the time of the
Tower of Babel as universal Interpreter. He is, indeed, a
Marvel,—unassuming also. I tried him in all the tongues of which I
have a single oath (or adjuration to the Gods against Postboys,
Savages, Tartars, boatmen, sailors, pilots, Gondoliers, Muleteers,
Cameldrivers, Vetturini, Postmasters, post-horses, post-houses,
post-everything) and Egad! he astounded me even to my English."
On this passage Sir Walter Scott makes the following note:
"I suspect Lord Byron of some self-deceit as to this matter. It
appears that he liked extremely the only first-rate men of
letters into whose society he happened to be thrown in England. They
happened to be men of the world, it is true; but how few men of very
great eminence in literature, how few intellectually Lord B.'s peers,
have not been men of the world? Does any one doubt that the
topics he had most pleasure in discussing with Scott or Moore were
literary ones, or had at least some relation to literature?
"As for the foreign literati, pray what literati
anything like his own rank did he encounter abroad? I have no doubt he
would have been as much at home with an Alfieri, a Schiller, or a
Goethe, or a Voltaire, as he was with Scott or Moore, and yet two of
these were very little of men of the world in the sense in which he
uses that phrase.
"As to 'every-day men of letters,' pray who does like their company?
Would a clever man like a prosing 'captain, or colonel, or
knight-in-arms' the better for happening to be himself the Duke
of Wellington?"
George Granville Leveson Gower (1786-1861) succeeded his
father in 1833 as second Duke of Sutherland.
George Lamb (1784-1834), the fourth son of the first Lord
Melbourne, married, in 1809, Caroline Rosalie St. Jules. As one of the
early contributors to the
Edinburgh Review
, he was attacked by
Byron in
English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers
, lines 57 and 516
(see
Poems
, ed. 1898, vol. i. p. 301,
note
I). A clever
amateur actor, his comic opera
Whistle for It
was produced at
Covent Garden, April 10, 1807, and he was afterwards on the Drury Lane
Committee of Management. His translation of the
Poems of Catullus
was published in 1821. In 1819, as the representative of the official
Whigs, he was elected for Westminster against Hobhouse; but was defeated
at the next election (1820).
List of Journal Entries
Contents
Monday, December 6th [1813]