to Murray his
intention of abusing the thing "
without reading it
." So much the
better; if he redde it first, he would abuse it more.
Allen
(Lord
Allen—the best informed and one of the ablest
men I know—a perfect Magliabecchi
—a devourer, a
Helluo
of
books, and an observer of men,) has lent me a quantity of Burns's
unpublished and never-to-be-published Letters. They are full of oaths
and obscene songs. What an antithetical mind!—tenderness,
roughness—delicacy, coarseness—sentiment, sensuality—soaring and
grovelling, dirt and deity—all mixed up in that one compound of
inspired clay!
It seems strange; a true voluptuary will never abandon his mind to the
grossness of reality. It is by exalting the earthly, the material, the
physique
of our pleasures, by veiling these ideas, by forgetting
them altogether, or, at least, never naming them hardly to one's self,
that we alone can prevent them from disgusting.
Mrs. Packwood is the wife of George Packwood, "the
celebrated Razor Strop Maker and Author of
The Goldfinch's Nest
,"
whose shop was at 16, Gracechurch Street.
Packwood's Whim; The
Goldfinch's Nest, or the Way to get Money and be Happy
, by George
Packwood, was published in 1796, and reached a second edition in 1807.
It is a collection of his advertisements in prose and verse. The poet,
whom Packwood kept, apparently lived in Soho (p. 21), from his verses
which appeared in the
True Briton
for November 9, 1795:
"If you wish, Sir, to Shave—nay, pray look not grave,
Since nothing on earth can be worse,
To P—d repair, you're shaved to a hair,
Which I mean to exhibit in verse.
"When in moving the beard—I wish to be heard—
The dull razor occasions a curse,
The strop that I view will its merits renew;
Behold I record it in verse.
"Some in fashion's tontine disperse all their spleen,
And others their destinies curse;
But P—d's fine taste, with his Strops and his Paste,
Which I'll show you in Prose and in Verse.
"I have taken this plan to comment on a man,
Whose merit I'm proud to rehearse;
For a razor and knife he will sharpen for life,
And deserves every praise in my verse.
"Soho, Nov. 6, 1795."
The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Easy
, "By a Lady,"
was published anonymously in 1747. The 4th edition (1751) bears the name
of H. Glasse. The book was at one time supposed to be the work of Dr.
John Hill (1716-1775), and to contain the proverb, "First catch your
hare, then cook it." But Hill's claim is untenable, and the proverb is
not in the book.
Mrs. Rundell's
Domestic Cookery
was one of Murray's most
successful publications. In Byron's lines, "To Mr. Murray" (March 25,
1818), occurs the following passage:
"Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine
The works thou deemest most divine—
The 'Art of Cookery,' and mine,
My Murray."
John Allen, M.D. (1771-1843), accompanied Lord Holland to
Spain (1801-5 and 1808-9), and lived with him at Holland House. His
Inquiry into the Rise and Growth of the Royal Prerogative in
England
, his numerous articles in the
Edinburgh Review
, and
his life of Fox in the
Encyclopedia Britannica
, and many other
works, justify Byron's praise. In the social life of Holland House he
was a prominent figure, and to it, perhaps, he sacrificed his literary
powers and acquirements. He was Warden of Dulwich College (1811-20), and
Master (1820-43). Allen was the author of the article in the
Edinburgh Review
on Payne Knight's
Taste
, in which he
severely criticized Pindar's Greek, and which Byron, probably trusting
to Hodgson (see
Letters
, vol. i. p. 196,
note
1), or
possibly misled by similarity of sound (H. Crabb Robinson's
Diary
, vol. i. p. 277), attributed to "classic Hallam, much
renowned for Greek" (
English Bards, etc.
, line 513).
Antonio Magliabecchi (1633-1714) was appointed, in 1673,
Librarian to the Grand-Duke of Tuscany, to whom he bequeathed his
immense collection of 30,000 volumes. In Burton's
Book-hunter
(p.
229) it is said that Magliabecchi
"could direct you to any book in any part of the world, with the
precision with which the metropolitan policeman directs you to St.
Paul's or Piccadilly. It is of him that the stories are told of
answers to inquiries after books, in these terms: 'There is but one
copy of that book in the world. It is in the Grand Seignior's library
at Constantinople, and is the seventh book in the second shelf on the
right hand as you go in.'"
Byron himself was "likened to Burns," and Sir Walter Scott,
commenting on the comparison in a manuscript note, says,
"Burns, in depth of poetical feeling, in strong shrewd sense to
balance and regulate this, in the tact to make his poetry tell
by connecting it with the stream of public thought and the sentiment
of the age, in commanded wildness of fancy and profligacy or
recklessness as to moral and occasionally as to religious
matters, was much more like Lord Byron than any other person to whom
Lord B. says he had been compared.
"A gross blunder of the English public has been talking of Burns as if
the character of his poetry ought to be estimated with an eternal
recollection that he was a peasant. It would be just as proper
to say that Lord Byron ought always to be thought of as a Peer.
Rank in life was nothing to either in his true moments. Then, they
were both great Poets. Some silly and sickly affectations connected
with the accidents of birth and breeding may be observed in both, when
they are not under the influence of 'the happier star.' Witness
Burns's prate about independence, when he was an exciseman, and
Byron's ridiculous pretence of Republicanism, when he never wrote
sincerely about the Multitude without expressing or insinuating the
very soul of scorn."
List of Journal Entries
Contents
December 14th, 15th, 16th, 1813
Much done, but nothing to record. It is quite enough to set down my
thoughts,—my actions will rarely bear retrospection.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
December 17th, 18th, 1813
Lord Holland told me a curious piece of sentimentality in Sheridan. The
other night we were all delivering our respective and various opinions
on him and other
hommes marquans
, and mine was this:—"Whatever
Sheridan has done or chosen to do has been,
par excellence
,
always the
best
of its kind. He has written the
best
comedy (
School for Scandal
), the
best
drama (in my mind,
far before that St. Giles's lampoon, the
Beggar's Opera
), the
best farce (the
Critic
—it is only too good for a farce), and the
best Address (Monologue on Garrick), and, to crown all, delivered the
very best Oration (the famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or heard in
this country." Somebody told S. this the next day, and on hearing it he
burst into tears!
Poor Brinsley! if they were tears of pleasure, I would rather have said
these few, but most sincere, words than have written the Iliad or made
his own celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own comedy never gratified me
more than to hear that he had derived a moment's gratification from any
praise of mine, humble as it must appear to "my elders and my betters."
Went to my box at Covent Garden to-night; and my delicacy felt a little
shocked at seeing S——'s mistress (who, to my certain knowledge, was
actually educated, from her birth, for her profession) sitting with her
mother, "a three-piled b——d, b——d Major to the army," in a private
box opposite. I
rather indignant; but, casting my eyes round the
house, in the next box to me, and the next, and the next, were the most
distinguished old and young Babylonians of quality;—so I burst out a
laughing. It was really odd; Lady ——
divorced
—Lady —— and
her daughter, Lady ——, both
divorceable
—Mrs. ——, in the next
the
like
, and still nearer ———!
What an assemblage to
me
, who know all their histories. It was as if the house had been
divided between your public and your
understood
courtesans;—but
the intriguantes much outnumbered the regular mercenaries. On the other
side were only Pauline and
her
mother, and, next box to her,
three of inferior note. Now, where lay the difference between
her
and
mamma
, and Lady —— and daughter? except that the two last
may enter Carleton and any
other house
, and the two first are
limited to the opera and b—— house. How I do delight in observing life
as it really is!—and myself, after all, the worst of any. But no
matter—I must avoid egotism, which, just now, would be no vanity.
I
lately written a wild, rambling, unfinished rhapsody, called
"
The Devil's Drive
" the notion of which I took from Person's
"
Devil's Walk
."
Redde some Italian, and wrote two Sonnets on ——. I never wrote but one
sonnet before, and that was not in earnest, and many years ago, as an
exercise—and I will never write another. They are the most puling,
petrifying, stupidly platonic compositions. I detest the Petrarch so
much, that I would not be the man even to have obtained his Laura, which
the metaphysical, whining dotard never could.
"These names are all left blank in the original" (Moore).
Richard Person did not write
The Devil's Walk
, which
was written by Coleridge and Southey, and published in the
Morning
Post
for September 6, 1799, under the title of
The Devil's
Thoughts
.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
January 16th, 1814
To-morrow I leave town for a few days. I saw Lewis to-day, who is just
returned from Oatlands, where he has been squabbling with Mad. de Stael
about himself,
Clarissa Harlowe
, Mackintosh, and me. My homage has never
been paid in that quarter, or we would have agreed still worse. I don't
talk—I can't flatter, and won't listen, except to a pretty or a foolish
woman. She bored Lewis with praises of himself till he sickened— found
out that
Clarissa
was perfection, and Mackintosh the first man in
England. There I agree, at least
one
of the first—but Lewis did
not. As to
Clarissa
, I leave to those who can read it to judge and
dispute. I could not do the one, and am, consequently, not qualified for
the other. She told Lewis wisely, he being my friend, that I was
affected, in the first place; and that, in the next place, I committed
the heinous offence of sitting at dinner with my
eyes
shut, or
half shut. I wonder if I really have this trick. I must cure myself of
it, if true. One insensibly acquires awkward habits, which should be
broken in time. If this is one, I wish I had been told of it before. It
would not so much signify if one was always to be checkmated by a plain
woman, but one may as well see some of one's neighbours, as well as the
plate upon the table.
I should like, of all things, to have heard the Amabæan eclogue between
her and Lewis—both obstinate, clever, odd, garrulous, and shrill. In
fact, one could have heard nothing else. But they fell out, alas!—and
now they will never quarrel again. Could not one reconcile them for the
"nonce?" Poor Corinne—she will find that some of her fine sayings won't
suit our fine ladies and gentlemen.
I am getting rather into admiration of [Lady C. Annesley] the youngest
sister of [Lady F. Webster]. A wife would be my salvation. I am sure the
wives of my acquaintances have hitherto done me little good. Catherine
is beautiful, but very young, and, I think, a fool. But I have not seen
enough to judge; besides, I hate an
esprit
in petticoats. That
she won't love me is very probable, nor shall I love her. But, on my
system, and the modern system in general, that don't signify. The
business (if it came to business) would probably be arranged between
papa and me. She would have her own way; I am good-humoured to women,
and docile; and, if I did not fall in love with her, which I should try
to prevent, we should be a very comfortable couple. As to conduct,
that
she must look to. But
if
I love, I shall be
jealous;—and for that reason I will not be in love. Though, after all,
I doubt my temper, and fear I should not be so patient as becomes the
bienséance
of a married man in my station. Divorce ruins the poor
femme
, and damages are a paltry compensation. I do fear my temper
would lead me into some of our oriental tricks of vengeance, or, at any
rate, into a summary appeal to the court of twelve paces. So "I'll none
on't," but e'en remain single and solitary;—though I should like to
have somebody now and then to yawn with one.
Ward, and, after him, ——, has stolen one of my buffooneries about Mde.
de Stael's Metaphysics and the Fog, and passed it, by speech and letter,
as their own. As
says, "they are the most of a gentleman of any
on the road."
W. is in
enmity with the Whigs about this Review
of Fox
(if he
did
review him);—all the epigrammatists and
essayists are at him. I hate
odds
, and wish he may beat them. As
for me, by the blessing of indifference, I have simplified my politics
into an utter detestation of all existing governments; and, as it is the
shortest and most agreeable and summary feeling imaginable, the first
moment of an universal republic would convert me into an advocate for
single and uncontradicted despotism. The fact is, riches are power, and
poverty is slavery all over the earth, and one sort of establishment is
no better nor worse for a
people
than another. I shall adhere to
my party, because it would not be honourable to act otherwise; but, as
to
opinions
, I don't think politics
worth
an
opinion
.
Conduct
is another thing:—if you begin with a
party, go on with them. I have no consistency, except in politics; and
that
probably arises from my indifference on the subject
altogether.
The
Beaux' Stratagem
, by George Farquhar (act iv.
sc. 3):
| Gibbet |
And I can assure you, friend, there's a great
deal of address and good manners in robbing a lady: I am most a
gentleman that way that ever travelled the road. |
An article by Ward on
The Correspondence of Gilbert
Wakefield with Mr. Fox
, in the
Quarterly Review
for July,
1813.
List of Journal Entries
Contents
February 18th [1814]
Better than a month since I last journalised:—most of it out of London
and at Notts., but a busy one and a pleasant, at least three weeks of
it. On my
, I find all the newspapers in hysterics, and town in an
uproar, on the avowal and republication of two stanzas on Princess
Charlotte's weeping at Regency's speech to Lauderdale in 1812
. They
are daily at it still;—some of the abuse good, all of it hearty. They
talk of a motion in our House upon it—be it so.
Got up—
the
Morning Post
containing the battle of
Buonaparte
, the destruction of the Customhouse
, and a paragraph
on me as long as my pedigree, and vituperative, as usual
.
Hobhouse is returned to England. He is my best friend, the most lively,
and a man of the most sterling talents extant.
The Corsair
has been conceived, written, published, etc., since I
last took up this journal. They tell me it has great success;—it was
written
con amore
, and much from
existence
. Murray is
satisfied with its progress; and if the public are equally so with the
perusal, there's an end of the matter.
Nine o'clock.
Been to Hanson's on business. Saw Rogers, and had a note from Lady
Melbourne, who says, it is said I am "much out of spirits." I wonder if
I really am or not? I
certainly enough of "that perilous stuff
which weighs upon the heart,"
and it is better they should believe
it to be the result of these attacks than of the real cause; but—ay,
ay, always
but
, to the end of the chapter.
Hobhouse has told me ten thousand anecdotes of Napoleon, all good and
true. My friend H. is the most entertaining of companions, and a fine
fellow to boot.
Redde a little—wrote notes and letters, and am alone, which Locke says
is bad company. "
not solitary, be not idle."
—Um!—the idleness
is troublesome; but I can't see so much to regret in the solitude. The
more I see of men, the less I like them. If I could but say so of women
too, all would be well. Why can't I? I am now six-and-twenty; my
passions have had enough to cool them; my affections more than enough to
wither them,—and yet—and yet—always
yet
and
but
—"
well, you are a fishmonger—get thee to a
nunnery."
—"They fool me to the top of my bent."
Midnight.
Began a letter, which I threw into the fire. Redde—but to little
purpose. Did not visit Hobhouse, as I promised and ought. No matter, the
loss is mine. Smoked cigars.
Napoleon!—this week will decide his fate. All seems against him; but I
believe and hope he will win—at least, beat back the invaders. What
right have we to prescribe sovereigns to France? Oh for a Republic!
"
, thou sleepest."
Hobhouse abounds in continental anecdotes
of this extraordinary man; all in favour of his intellect and courage,
but against his
bonhommie
. No wonder;—how should he, who knows
mankind well, do other than despise and abhor them?
greater the equality, the more impartially evil is distributed, and
becomes lighter by the division among so many—therefore, a Republic!
notes from Madame de Stael unanswered—and so they shall remain.
I admire her abilities, but really her society is overwhelming—an
avalanche that buries one in glittering nonsense—all snow and
sophistry.
Shall I go to Mackintosh's on Tuesday? um!—I did not go to Marquis
Lansdowne's nor to Miss Berry's, though both are pleasant. So is Sir
James's,—but I don't know—I believe one is not the better for parties;
at least, unless some