[Footnote 1: "Warwick was a bug that feared us all" ('Henry VI'., Part III. act v. se. 2).]

[Footnote 2: Byron quoted to Lady Blessington "some passages from the 'Pleasures of Hope', which he said was a poem full of beauties... 'The 'Pleasures of Memory' is a very beautiful poem' (said Byron), 'harmonious, finished, and chaste; it contains not a single meretricious ornament'" ('Conversations', pp. 352, 353).]

[Footnote 3: No. 20, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, was a tavern called the 'Cider Cellars'. Over the entrance was the motto, 'Honos erit huic quoque homo', supplied by Porson, who frequented the house. There Lord Campbell heard him "recite from memory to delighted listeners the whole of Anstey's 'Pleader's Guide'" ('Lives of the Chief Justices', vol. iii. p. 271, note). Mr. Wheatley, in 'London Past and Present, sub voce' "Maiden Lane," says that the

"tavern continued to be frequented by young men, and 'much in vogue for devilled kidneys, oysters, and Welch rabbits, cigars, "goes" of brandy, and great supplies of London stout' (also for comic songs), till it was absorbed in the extensions of the Adelphi Theatre."]



* * * * *



328.—To Thomas Moore.

September 8, 1813.

I am sorry to see Toderini again so soon, for fear your scrupulous conscience should have prevented you from fully availing yourself of his spoils. By this coach I send you a copy of that awful pamphlet The Giaour, which has never procured me half so high a compliment as your modest alarm. You will (if inclined in an evening) perceive that I have added much in quantity,—a circumstance which may truly diminish your modesty upon the subject.

You stand certainly in great need of a "lift" with Mackintosh. My dear Moore, you strangely under-rate yourself. I should conceive it an affectation in any other; but I think I know you well enough to believe that you don't know your own value. However, 'tis a fault that generally mends; and, in your case, it really ought. I have heard him speak of you as highly as your wife could wish; and enough to give all your friends the jaundice.

Yesterday I had a letter from Ali Pacha! brought by Dr. Holland, who is just returned from Albania [1]. It is in Latin, and begins "Excellentissime nec non Carissime," and ends about a gun he wants made for him;—it is signed "Ali Vizir." What do you think he has been about? H. tells me that, last spring, he took a hostile town, where, forty-two years ago, his mother and sisters were treated as Miss Cunigunde [2] was by the Bulgarian cavalry. He takes the town, selects all the survivors of this exploit—children, grandchildren, etc. to the tune of six hundred, and has them shot before his face. Recollect, he spared the rest of the city, and confined himself to the Tarquin pedigree [3],—which is more than I would. So much for "dearest friend."



[Footnote 1: See 'Letters', vol. i. p. 246 [Letter 131], and 'note' [Footnote 1 of Letter 131]. Dr., afterwards Sir Henry, Holland (1788-1873) published his 'Travels in the Ionian Islands, Albania, etc.', in 1815.]

[Footnote: Voltaire's 'Candide', ch. vii.:

"On ne vous a done pas viole? on ne vous a point fendu le ventre, comme le philosophe Pangloss me l'avait assure? Si fait, dit la belle Cunegonde; mais on ne meurt pas toujours de ces deux accidents."]

[Footnote 3: The "false Sextus... that wrought the deed of shame," and violated Lucretia.]



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329.—To Thomas Moore.

Sept. 9, 1813.

I write to you from Mr. Murray's, and I may say, from Murray, who, if you are not predisposed in favour of any other publisher, would be happy to treat with you, at a fitting time, for your work. I can safely recommend him as fair, liberal, and attentive, and certainly, in point of reputation, he stands among the first of "the trade." I am sure he would do you justice. I have written to you so much lately, that you will be glad to see so little now.

Ever, etc., etc.



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330.—To James Wedderburn Webster.

September 15th, 1813.

My dear Webster,—I shall not resist your second invitation, and shortly after the receipt of this you may expect me. You will excuse me from the races. As a guest I have no "antipathies" and few preferences.... You won't mind, however, my not dining with you—every day at least. When we meet, we can talk over our respective plans: mine is very short and simple; viz. to sail when I can get a passage. If I remained in England I should live in the Country, and of course in the vicinity of those whom I knew would be most agreeable.

I did not know that Jack's graven image [1] was at Newstead. If it be, pray transfer it to Aston. It is my hope to see you so shortly, tomorrow or next day, that I will not now trouble you with my speculations.

Ever yours very faithfully,

BYRON.

P.S.—I don't know how I came to sign myself with the "i." It is the old spelling, and I sometimes slip into it. When I say I can't dine with you, I mean that sometimes I don't dine at all. Of course, when I do, I conform to all hours and domestic arrangements.



[Footnote 1: "Jack's graven image" means the portrait of John Jackson the pugilist.]



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331.—To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.

[Wednesday], Sept'r. 15th, 1813.

My dear Augusta,—I joined my friend Scrope about 8, and before eleven we had swallowed six bottles of his burgundy and Claret, which left him very unwell and me rather feverish; we were 'tete a tete'. I remained with him next day and set off last night for London, which I reached at three in the morning. Tonight I shall leave it again, perhaps for Aston or Newstead. I have not yet determined, nor does it much matter. As you perhaps care more on the subject than I do, I will tell you when I know myself.

When my departure is arranged, and I can get this long-evaded passage, you will be able to tell me whether I am to expect a visit or not, and I can come for or meet you as you think best. If you write, address to Bennet Street.

Yours very truly,

B.



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332.—To John Murray.

Sept. 15, 1813.

Dear Sir,—Will you pray enquire after any ship with a convoy taking passengers and get me one if possible? I mean not in a ship of war, but anything that may be paid for. I have a friend and 3 servants —Gibraltar or Minorca—or Zante.

Yours ever,

B.



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333.—To James Wedderburn Webster.

Stilton, September 25th, 1813.

My Dear W.,—Thus far can I "report progress," and as a solid token of my remembrance I send you a 'cheese' of 13 lbs. to enable your digestion to go through the race week. It will go to night; pray let your retainers enquire after it. The date of this letter will account for so homely a present. On my arrival in town I will write more on our different concerns. In the mean time I wish you and yours all the gratification on Doncaster you can wish for yourselves. My love to the faithless Nettle [1] (who I dare say is 'wronging' me during my absence), and my best Compliments to all in your house who will receive them.

Ever, dear W., yours truly,

B.



[Footnote 1: A dog given by Webster to Byron. (Note by J. W. W.)]



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334.—To Sir James Mackintosh.

Sept. 27, 1813.

Dear Sir James,—I was to have left London on Friday, but will certainly remain a day longer (and believe I would a year) to have the honour of meeting you. My best respects to Lady Mackintosh.

Ever your obliged and faithful servant,

BYRON.



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335.—To Thomas Moore.

September 27, 1813.

Thomas Moore,—(Thou wilt never be called "true Thomas," [1] like he of Ercildoune,) why don't you write to me?—as you won't, I must. I was near you at Aston the other day, and hope I soon shall be again. If so, you must and shall meet me, and go to Matlock and elsewhere, and take what, in flash dialect, is poetically termed "a lark," with Rogers and me for accomplices. Yesterday, at Holland House, I was introduced to Southey—the best-looking bard I have seen for some time. To have that poet's head and shoulders, I would almost have written his Sapphics. He is certainly a prepossessing person to look on, and a man of talent, and all that, and—there is his eulogy.

——read me part of a letter from you. By the foot of Pharaoh, I believe there was abuse, for he stopped short, so he did, after a fine saying about our correspondence, and looked—I wish I could revenge myself by attacking you, or by telling you that I have had to defend you—an agreeable way which one's friends have of recommending themselves by saying—"Ay, ay, I gave it Mr. Such-a-one for what he said about your being a plagiary, and a rake, and so on." But do you know that you are one of the very few whom I never have the satisfaction of hearing abused, but the reverse;—and do you suppose I will forgive that?

I have been in the country, and ran away from the Doncaster races. It is odd,—I was a visitor in the same house [2] which came to my sire as a residence with Lady Carmarthen (with whom he adulterated before his majority—by the by, remember she was not my mamma),—and they thrust me into an old room, with a nauseous picture over the chimney, which I should suppose my papa regarded with due respect, and which, inheriting the family taste, I looked upon with great satisfaction. I stayed a week with the family, and behaved very well—though the lady of the house is young, and religious, and pretty, and the master is my particular friend. I felt no wish for any thing but a poodle dog, which they kindly gave me. Now, for a man of my courses not even to have coveted, is a sign of great amendment. Pray pardon all this nonsense, and don't "snub me when I'm in spirits." [3]

Ever yours,

BN.

Here's an impromptu for you by a "person of quality," written last week, on being reproached for low spirits:

When from the heart where Sorrow sits, Her dusky shadow mounts too high, And o'er the changing aspect flits, And clouds the brow, or fills the eye: Heed not that gloom, which soon shall sink; My Thoughts their dungeon know too well— Back to my breast the wanderers shrink, And bleed within their silent cell.



[Footnote 1: Thomas Learmont, of Ercildoune, called "Thomas the Rhymer," is to reappear on earth when Shrove Tuesday and Good Friday change places. He sleeps beneath the Eildon Hills.]

[Footnote 2: Aston Hall, Rotherham, at that time rented by J. Wedderburn Webster.]

[Footnote 3: In 'She Stoops to Conquer' (act ii.) Tony Lumpkin says,

"I wish you'd let me and my good alone, then—snubbing this way when I'm in spirits."]



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336.—To John Murray.

Sept. 29, 1813.

Dear Sir,—Pray suspend the proofs for I am bitten again and have quantities for other parts of The Giaour.

Yours ever,

B.

P. S.—You shall have these in the course of the day.



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337.—To James Wedderburn Webster.

September 30th, 1813.

My dear Webster,—Thanks for your letter. I had answered it by anticipation last night, and this is but a postscript to my reply. My yesterday's contained some advice, which I now see you don't want, and hope you never will.

So! Petersham [1] has not joined you. I pity the poor women. No one can properly repair such a deficiency; but rather than such a chasm should be left utterly unfathomable, I, even I, the most awkward of attendants and deplorable of danglers, would have been of your forlorn hope, on this expedition. Nothing but business, and the notion of my being utterly superfluous in so numerous a party, would have induced me to resign so soon my quiet apartments never interrupted but by the sound, or the more harmonious barking of Nettle, and clashing of billiard balls.

On Sunday I shall leave town and mean to join you immediately. I have not yet had my sister's answer to Lady Frances's very kind invitation, but expect it tomorrow. Pray assure Lady Frances that I never can forget the obligation conferred upon me in this respect, and I trust that even Lady Catherine [2] will, in this instance, not question my "stability."

I yesterday wrote you rather a long tirade about La Comptesse, but you seem in no immediate peril; I will therefore burn it. Yet I don't know why I should, as you may relapse: it shall e'en go.

I have been passing my time with Rogers and Sir James Mackintosh; and once at Holland House I met Southey; he is a person of very epic appearance, and has a fine head—as far as the outside goes, and wants nothing but taste to make the inside equally attractive.

Ever, my dear W., yours,

Biron.

P.S.—I read your letter thus: "the Countess is miserable" instead of which it is "inexorable" a very different thing. The best way is to let her alone; she must be a diablesse by what you told me. You have probably not bid high enough. Now you are not, perhaps, of my opinion; but I would not give the tithe of a Birmingham farthing for a woman who could or would be purchased, nor indeed for any woman quoad mere woman; that is to say, unless I loved her for something more than her sex. If she loves, a little pique is not amiss, nor even if she don't; the next thing to a woman's love in a man's favour is her hatred,—a seeming paradox but true. Get them once out of indifference and circumstance, and their passions will do wonders for a dasher which I suppose you are, though I seldom had the impudence or patience to follow them up.



[Footnote 1: Lord Petersham was one of the chief dandies of the day. Gronow in 1814 ('Reminiscences', vol. i. p. 285) found him

"making a particular sort of blacking, which he said would eventually supersede every other."

His snuff-mixture was famous among tobacconists, and he gave his name to a fashionable great-coat. In his collection of snuff-boxes, one of the finest in England, he was supposed to have a box for every day in the year. Gronow ('ibid'.)

"heard him, on the occasion of a delightful old light-blue Sevres box he was using being admired, say, in his lisping way, 'Yes, it is a nice summer box, but would not do for winter wear.'"

Lord Petersham, who never went out of doors before 6 p.m., was celebrated for his brown carriages, brown horses, brown harness, and brown liveries.]

[Footnote 2: Lady Catherine Annesley, sister of Lady F. W. Webster, afterwards Lady John Somerset.]



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338.—To Francis Hodgson.

October 1, 1813.

My Dear H.,—I leave town again for Aston on Sunday, but have messages for you. Lord Holland desired me repeatedly to bring you; he wants to know you much, and begged me to say so: you will like him. I had an invitation for you to dinner there this last Sunday, and Rogers is perpetually screaming because you don't call, and wanted you also to dine with him on Wednesday last. Yesterday we had Curran there—who is beyond all conception! and Mackintosh and the wits are to be seen at H. H. constantly, so that I think you would like their society. I will be a judge between you and the attorneo. So B[utler] may mention me to Lucien if he still adheres to his opinion. Pray let Rogers be one; he has the best taste extant. Bland's nuptials delight me; if I had the least hand in bringing them about it will be a subject of selfish satisfaction to me these three weeks. Desire Drury—if he loves me—to kick Dwyer thrice for frightening my horses with his flame-coloured whiskers last July. Let the kicks be hard, etc.



* * * * *



339.—To Thomas Moore.

October 2, 1813.

You have not answered some six letters of mine. This, therefore, is my penultimate. I will write to you once more, but, after that—I swear by all the saints—I am silent and supercilious. I have met Curran [1] at Holland House—he beats every body;—his imagination is beyond human, and his humour (it is difficult to define what is wit) perfect. Then he has fifty faces, and twice as many voices, when he mimics—I never met his equal. Now, were I a woman, and eke a virgin, that is the man I should make my Scamander [2].

He is quite fascinating. Remember, I have met him but once; and you, who have known him long, may probably deduct from my panegyric. I almost fear to meet him again, lest the impression should be lowered. He talked a great deal about you—a theme never tiresome to me, nor any body else that I know. What a variety of expression he conjures into that naturally not very fine countenance of his! He absolutely changes it entirely. I have done—for I can't describe him, and you know him. On Sunday I return to Aston, where I shall not be far from you. Perhaps I shall hear from you in the mean time. Good night.

Saturday morn.—Your letter has cancelled all my anxieties. I did not suspect you in earnest. Modest again! Because I don't do a very shabby thing, it seems, I "don't fear your competition." If it were reduced to an alternative of preference, I should dread you, as much as Satan does Michael. But is there not room enough in our respective regions? Go on—it will soon be my turn to forgive. To-day I dine with Mackintosh and Mrs. Stale—as John Bull may be pleased to denominate Corinne—whom I saw last night, at Covent Garden, yawning over the humour of Falstaff.

The reputation of "gloom," if one's friends are not included in the reputants, is of great service; as it saves one from a legion of impertinents, in the shape of common-place acquaintance. But thou know'st I can be a right merry and conceited fellow, and rarely larmoyant. Murray shall reinstate your line forthwith. [3]

I believe the blunder in the motto was mine;—and yet I have, in general, a memory for you, and am sure it was rightly printed at first.

I do "blush" very often, if I may believe Ladies H. and M.;—but luckily, at present, no one sees me. Adieu.



[Footnote 1: Rogers ('Table-Talk, etc'., p. 161) regretted "that so little of Curran's brilliant talk has been preserved." John Philpot Curran (1750-1817), after accepting the Mastership of the Rolls in Ireland (1806), spent much of his time in England. He retired from the Bench, where he never shone, in 1814.

In Byron's 'Detached Thoughts' (1821) occurs the following passage:

"I was much struck with the simplicity of Grattan's manners in private life. They were odd, but they were natural. Curran used to take him off, bowing to the very ground, and 'thanking God that he had no peculiarities of gesture or appearance,' in a way irresistibly ludicrous. Rogers used to call him a 'Sentimental Harlequin;' but Rogers backbites everybody, and Curran, who used to quiz his great friend Godwin to his very face, would hardly respect a fair mark of mimicry in another. To be sure, Curran was admirable! to hear his description of the examination of an Irish witness was next to hearing his own speeches; the latter I never heard, but I have the former."

Elsewhere ('ibid'.) he returns to the subject:

"Curran! Curran's the man who struck me most—such imagination! There never was anything like it, that ever I saw or heard of. His published life—his published speeches—give you no idea of the man; none at all. He was a Machine of imagination, as some one said that Piron was an 'Epigrammatic Machine.' I did not see a great deal of Curran,—only in 1813; but I met him at home (for he used to call on me), and in society, at Mackintosh's, Holland House, etc., etc. And he was wonderful, even to me, who had seen many remarkable men of the time."

The following notes on this passage are in the handwriting of Walter Scott:

"When Mathews first began to imitate Curran in Dublin—in society, I mean,—Curran sent for him and said, the moment he entered the room, 'Mr. Mathews, you are a first-rate artist, and, since you are to do my picture, pray allow me to give you a sitting.' Everyone knows how admirably Mathews succeeded in furnishing at last the portraiture begun under these circumstances. No one was more aware of the truth than Curran himself. In his latter and feeble days, he was riding in Hyde Park one morning, bowed down over the saddle and bitterly dejected in his air. Mathews happened to observe and saluted him. Curran stopped his horse for a moment, squeezed Charles by the hand, and said in that deep whisper which the comedian so exquisitely mimics, 'Don't speak to me, my dear Mathews; you are the only Curran now!'"

"Did you know Curran?" asked Byron of Lady Blessington ('Conversations', p. 176); "he was the most wonderful person I ever saw. In him was combined an imagination the most brilliant and profound, with a flexibility and wit that would have justified the observation applied to——, that his heart was in his head."

Moore ('Journal, etc.', vol. i. p. 40) quotes a couplet by Mrs. Battier upon Curran, which "commemorates in a small compass two of his most striking peculiarities, namely, his very unprepossessing personal appearance, and his great success, notwithstanding, in pursuits of gallantry...:

"'For though his monkey face might fail to woo her, Yet, ah! his monkey tricks would quite undo her.'"]

[Footnote 2: In the spurious letters of AEschines (Letter x.) is a passage which explains the allusion.

"It is the custom of maidens, on the eve of their marriage, to wash in the waters of the Scamander, and then to utter this almost sacred formula,

'Take, O Scamander, my virginity'

([Greek: to epos touto hosper hieron ti epilegein, Lhabe mou Scamandre taen parthenian)."]

[Footnote 3:

"The motto to 'The Giaour':

One fatal remembrance—one sorrow that throws Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,' etc.

"which is taken from one of the 'Irish Melodies', had been quoted by him incorrectly in the first editions of the poem". (Moore).]



* * * * *



340.—To John Murray.

Stilton, Oct. 3, 1813.

Dear Sir,—I have just recollected an alteration you may make in the proof to be sent to Aston.—Among the lines on Hassan's Serai, not far from the beginning, is this:

Unmeet for Solitude to share.

Now to share implies more than one, and Solitude is a single gentlewoman; it must be thus:

For many a gilded chamber's there, Which Solitude might well forbear;

and so on.—My address is Aston Hall, Rotherham. Will you adopt this correction? and pray accept a cheese from me for your trouble. Ever yours, B.

P.S.—I leave this to your discretion; if any body thinks the old line a good one or the cheese a bad one, don't accept either. But, in that case, the word share is repeated soon after in the line:

To share the Master's "bread and salt;"

and must be altered to:

To break the Master's bread and salt.

This is not so well, though—confound it! If the old line stands, let the other run thus:

Nor there will weary traveller halt, To bless the sacred "bread and salt."

Note.—To partake of food—to break bread and taste salt with your host—ensures the safety of the guest; even though an enemy, his person from that moment becomes sacred.

There is another additional note sent yesterday—on the Priest in the Confessional.



* * * * *



341.—To John Hanson.

Nottingham, Octr. 10th, 1813.

Dear Sir,—I am disposed to advance a loan of L1000 to James Webster Wedderburne Webster, Esqre., of Aston Hall, York County, and request you will address to me there a bond and judgement to be signed by the said as soon as possible. Of Claughton's payments I know nothing further, and the demands on myself I know also; but W. is a very old friend of mine, and a man of property, and, as I can command the money, he shall have it. I do not at all wish to inconvenience you, and I also know that, when we balance accounts, it will be much in your favour; but if you could replace the sum at Hoare's from my advance of two thousand eight hundred in July, it would be a favour; or, still better, if C. makes further payments, which will render it unnecessary. Don't let the first part of the last sentence embarrass you at all; the last part about Claughton I would wish you to attend to. I have written this day—about his opening the cellar.

Pray send the bond and judgement to Aston as directed.

Ever, dear Sir,

B.

P.S.—Many, many thanks for your kind invitation; but it was too late. I was in this county before it arrived. My best remembrances to Mrs. H. and all the family.



* * * * *



342.—To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.

[Sunday], October 10th, 1813.

My dearest Augusta,—I have only time to say that I am not in the least angry, and that my silence has merely arisen from several circumstances which I cannot now detail. I trust you are better, and will continue best. Ever, my dearest,

Yours,

B.



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343.—To John Murray.

Oct. 12, 1813.

Dear Sir,—You must look 'The Giaour' again over carefully; there are a few lapses, particularly in the last page,—"I know 'twas false; she could not die;" it was, and ought to be—"knew." Pray observe this and similar mistakes.

I have received and read the 'British Review' [1].

I really think the writer in most parts very right. The only mortifying thing is the accusation of imitation.

Crabbe's passage I never saw; and Scott I no further meant to follow than in his lyric measure, which is Gray's, Milton's, and any one's who likes it. 'The Giaour' is certainly a bad character, but not dangerous: and I think his fate and his feelings will meet with few proselytes. I shall be very glad to hear from or of you, when you please; but don't put yourself out of your way on my account.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1: 'The British Review' (No. ix.) criticized 'The Giaour' severely (pp. 132-145). "Lord Byron," it says, "has had the bad taste to imitate Mr. Walter Scott" (p. 135). Further on (p. 139) it charges him with borrowing a simile from Crabbe's 'Resentment'. The passage to which the reviewer alludes will be found in lines 11-16 of that poem:

"Those are like wax—apply them to the fire, Melting, they take th' impressions you desire: Easy to mould, and fashion as you please, And again moulded with an equal ease: Like smelted iron these the forms retain; But, once impress'd, will never melt again."]



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344.—To the Hon. Augusta Leigh.

(Monday), Nov'r. 8th, 1813.

My Dearest Augusta,—I have only time to say that I shall write tomorrow, and that my present and long silence has been occasioned by a thousand things (with which you are not concerned). It is not L'y C. nor O.; but perhaps you may guess, and, if you do, do not tell.

You do not know what mischief your being with me might have prevented. You shall hear from me tomorrow; in the mean time don't be alarmed. I am in no immediate peril.

Believe me, ever yours,

B.



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345.—To John Murray.

(Nov. 12, 1813. With first proof of Bride of Abydos correct.)

Dear Sir,—I have looked over—corrected—and added—all of which you may do too—at least certainly the two first. There is more MS. within. Let me know tomorrow at your leisure how and when we shall proceed! It looks better than I thought at first. Look over again. I suspect some omissions on my part and on the printers'.

Yours ever,

B.

Always print "een" "even." I utterly abhor "een"—if it must be contracted, be it "ev'n."



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346.—To William Gifford.

November 12, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—I hope you will consider, when I venture on any request, that it is the reverse of a certain Dedication, and is addressed, not to "The Editor of the 'Quarterly Review'" but to Mr. Gifford. You will understand this, and on that point I need trouble you no farther.

You have been good enough to look at a thing of mine in MS.—a Turkish story, and I should feel gratified if you would do it the same favour in its probationary state of printing. It was written, I cannot say for amusement, nor "obliged by hunger and request of friends," [1] but in a state of mind, from circumstances which occasionally occur to "us youth," that rendered it necessary for me to apply my mind to something, any thing but reality; and under this not very brilliant inspiration it was composed. Being done, and having at least diverted me from myself, I thought you would not perhaps be offended if Mr. Murray forwarded it to you. He has done so, and to apologise for his doing so a second time is the object of my present letter.

I beg you will not send me any answer. I assure you very sincerely I know your time to be occupied, and it is enough, more than enough, if you read; you are not to be bored with the fatigue of answers.

A word to Mr. Murray will be sufficient, and send it either to the flames or

"A hundred hawkers' load, On wings of wind to fly or fall abroad."

It deserves no better than the first, as the work of a week, and scribbled 'stans pede in uno' [2], (by the by, the only foot I have to stand on); and I promise never to trouble you again under forty cantos, and a voyage between each. Believe me ever,

Your obliged and affectionate servant,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Pope, 'Epistle to Arbuthnot', l. 44.]

[Footnote 2: Horace, 'Sat'. 1. iv. 10.]



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347.—To John Murray.

Nov. 12, 1813.

Two friends of mine (Mr. Rogers and Mr. Sharpe) have advised me not to risk at present any single publication separately, for various reasons. As they have not seen the one in question, they can have no bias for or against the merits (if it has any) or the faults of the present subject of our conversation. You say all the last of 'The Giaour' [1] are gone—at least out of your hands. Now, if you think of publishing any new edition with the last additions which have not yet been before the reader (I mean distinct from the two-volume publication), we can add "'The Bride of Abydos'," which will thus steal quietly into the world [2]: if liked, we can then throw off some copies for the purchasers of former "Giaours;" and, if not, I can omit it in any future publication. What think you? I really am no judge of those things; and, with all my natural partiality for one's own productions, I would rather follow any one's judgment than my own.

P.S.—Pray let me have the proofs. I sent all to-night. I have some alterations that I have thought of that I wish to make speedily. I hope the proof will be on separate pages, and not all huddled together on a mile-long, ballad-singing sheet, as those of 'The Giaour' sometimes are: for then I can't read them distinctly.



[Footnote 1: In 'Accepted Addresses; or, Premium Poetarum', pp. 50-52 (1813), 'Address' xvii. is from "Lord B——n to J. M——y, Book-seller." The address itself runs as follows:

"A Turkish tale I shall unfold, A sweeter tale was never told; But then the facts, I must allow, Are in the east not common now; Tho' in the 'olden time,' the scene My Goaour (sic) describes had often been. What is the cause! Perhaps the fair Are now more cautious than they were; Perhaps the Christians not so bold, So enterprising as of old. No matter what the cause may be, It is a subject fit for me.

"Take my disjointed fragments then, The offspring of a willing pen. And give them to the public, pray, On or before the month of May. Yes, my disjointed fragments take, But do not ask how much they'll make. Perhaps not fifty pages—well, I in a little space can tell Th' adventures of an infidel; Of quantity I never boast, For quality's, approved of most.

"It is a handsome sum to touch, Induces authors to write much; But in this much, alas! my friend, How little is there to commend. So, Mr. M——y, I disdain, To sacrifice my muse for gain. I wish it to be understood, The little which I write is good.

"I do not like the quarto size, Th' octavo, therefore, I advise. Then do not, Mr. M——y, fail, To publish this, my Turkish Tale; For tho' the volume may be thin, A thousand readers it will win; And when my pages they explore, They'll gladly read them o'er and o'er; And all the ladies, I engage, With tears will moisten every page."]

[Footnote 2: John Murray writes, in an undated letter to Byron,

"Mr. Canning returned the poem to-day with very warm expressions of delight. I told him your delicacy as to separate publication, of which he said you should remove every apprehension."]



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348.—To John Murray.

Nov. 13, 1813.

Will you forward the letter to Mr. Gifford with the proof? There is an alteration I may make in Zuleika's speech, in second canto (the only one of hers in that canto). It is now thus:

And curse—if I could curse—the day.

It must be:

And mourn—I dare not curse—the day, That saw my solitary birth, etc., etc.

Ever yours, B.

In the last MS. lines sent, instead of "living heart," correct to "quivering heart." It is in line 9th of the MS. passage. Ever yours again,

B.



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349.—To John Murray.

Alteration of a line in Canto 2nd. Instead of:

And tints to-morrow with a fancied ray

Print:

And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray.

The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, And tints to-morrow with prophetic ray;

Or,

And {gilds/tints} the hope of Morning with its ray;

Or,

And gilds to-morrow's hope with heavenly ray.

Dear Sir,—I wish you would ask Mr. G. which of them is best, or rather not worst.

Ever yours, B.

You can send the request contained in this at the same time with the revise, after I have seen the said revise.



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350.—To John Murray.

Nov. 13, 1813.

Certainly. Do you suppose that no one but the Galileans are acquainted with Adam, and Eve, and Cain, [1] and Noah?—Surely, I might have had Solomon, and Abraham, and David, and even Moses, or the other. When you know that Zuleika is the Persian poetical name for Potiphar's wife, on whom and Joseph there is a long poem in the Persian, this will not surprise you. If you want authority look at Jones, D'Herbelot, 'Vathek', or the notes to the 'Arabian Nights'; and, if you think it necessary, model this into a note.

Alter, in the inscription, "the most affectionate respect," to "with every sentiment of regard and respect,"



[Footnote 1:

"Some doubt had been expressed by Murray as to the propriety of his putting the name of Cain into the mouth of a Mussulman."

(Moore).]



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351.—To John Murray.

Nov. 14, 1813.

I send you a note for the ignorant, but I really wonder at finding you among them. I don't care one lump of Sugar for my poetry; but for my costume, and my correctness on those points (of which I think the funeral was a proof), I will combat lustily.

Yours ever,

B.



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352.—To John Murray.

November 15, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—Mr. Hodgson has looked over and stopped, or rather pointed, this revise, which must be the one to print from. He has also made some suggestions, with most of which I have complied, as he has always, for these ten years, been a very sincere, and by no means (at times) flattering critic of mine. He likes it (you will think flatteringly, in this instance) better than 'The Giaour', but doubts (and so do I) its being so popular; but, contrary to some others, advises a separate publication. On this we can easily decide. I confess I like the double form better. Hodgson says, it is better versified than any of the others; which is odd, if true, as it has cost me less time (though more hours at a time) than any attempt I ever made.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.—Do attend to the punctuation: I can't, for I don't know a comma—at least where to place one.

That Tory of a printer has omitted two lines of the opening, and perhaps more, which were in the MS. Will you, pray, give him a hint of accuracy? I have reinserted the 2, but they were in the manuscript, I can swear.



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353.—To John Murray.

November 17, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—That you and I may distinctly understand each other on a subject, which, like "the dreadful reckoning when men smile no more," [1] makes conversation not very pleasant, I think it as well to write a few lines on the topic.—Before I left town for Yorkshire, you said that you were ready and willing to give five hundred guineas for the copyright of 'The Giaour'; and my answer was—from which I do not mean to recede—that we would discuss the point at Christmas. The new story may or may not succeed; the probability, under present circumstances, seems to be, that it may at least pay its expences—but even that remains to be proved, and till it is proved one way or the other, we will say nothing about it. Thus then be it: I will postpone all arrangement about it, and 'The Giaour' also, till Easter, 1814; and you shall then, according to your own notions of fairness, make your own offer for the two. At the same time, I do not rate the last in my own estimation at half 'The Giaour'; and according to your own notions of its worth and its success within the time mentioned, be the addition or deduction to or from whatever sum may be your proposal for the first, which has already had its success [2].

My account with you since my last payment (which I believe cleared it off within five pounds) I presume has not much increased—but whatever it is have the goodness to send it to me—that I may at least meet you on even terms.

The pictures of Phillips I consider as mine, all three; and the one (not the Arnaut) of the two best is much at your service, if you will accept it as a present, from Yours very truly, BIRON.

P.S.—The expence of engraving from the miniature send me in my account, as it was destroyed by my desire; and have the goodness to burn that detestable print from it immediately.



[Footnote 1: 'The What d'ye call't?' by John Gay (act ii. sc. 9):

"So comes a reckoning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckoning, and men smile no more."]

[Footnote 2: Murray replies, November 18, 1813,

"I restore the 'Giaour' to your Lordship entirely, and for 'it', the 'Bride of Abydos', and the miscellaneous poems intended to fill up the volume of the small edition, I beg leave to offer you the sum of One Thousand Guineas, and I shall be happy if you perceive that my estimation of your talents in my character of a man of business is not much under my admiration of them as a man."]



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354.—To John Murray.

November 20, 1813.

More work for the Row. I am doing my best to beat "The Giaour"—no difficult task for any one but the author. Yours truly, B.



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355.—To John Murray.

November 22, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—I have no time to cross-investigate, but I believe and hope all is right. I care less than you will believe about its success, but I can't survive a single misprint; it choaks me to see words misused by the Printers. Pray look over, in case of some eyesore escaping me. Ever yours, B.

P.S.—Send the earliest copies to Mr. Frere, Mr. Canning, Mr. Heber, Mr. Gifford, Lord Holland, Lady Melbourne (Whitehall), Lady C. L. (Brocket), Mr. Hodgson (Cambridge), Mr. Merivale, Mr. Ward, from the author.



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356.—To John Murray.

November 23, 1813.

DEAR SIR,—You wanted some reflections, and I send you per Selim (see his speech in Canto 2d, page 46.), eighteen lines in decent couplets, of a pensive, if not an ethical tendency. One more revise—poz. the last, if decently done—at any rate the penultimate. Mr. Canning's approbation (if he did approve) I need not say makes me proud [1].

As to printing, print as you will and how you will—by itself, if you like; but let me have a few copies in sheets.

Ever yours,

B.



[Footnote 1: Canning wrote the following note to Murray:

"I received the books, and, among them, 'The Bride of Abydos'. It is very, very beautiful. Lord Byron (when I met him, one day, at dinner at Mr. Ward's) was so kind as to promise to give me a copy of it. I mention this, not to save my purchase, but because I should be really flattered by the present. I can now say that I have read enough of Mad. de Stael to be highly pleased and instructed by her. The second volume delights me particularly. I have not yet finished the third, but am taking it with me on my journey to Liverpool."]



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357.—To John Murray.

November 24, 1813.

You must pardon me once more, as it is all for your good: it must be thus:

He makes a Solitude, and calls it Peace.

"Makes" is closer to the passage of Tacitus [1], from which the line is taken, and is, besides, a stronger word than "leaves."

Mark where his carnage and his conquests cease— He makes a Solitude, and calls it—peace.

You will perceive that the sense is now clearer, the "He" refers to "Man" in the preceding couplet.

Yours ever,

B.



[Footnote 1:

"Solitudinem faciunt—pacem appellant."

Tacitus, 'Agricola', 30.]



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358.—To John Murray.

November 27, 1813.

Dear Sir,—If you look over this carefully by the last proof with my corrections, it is probably right; this you can do as well or better;—I have not now time. The copies I mentioned to be sent to different friends last night, I should wish to be made up with the new Giaours, if it also is ready. If not, send 'The Giaour' afterwards.

The 'Morning Post' says I am the author of 'Nourjahad' [1]!!

This comes of lending the drawings for their dresses; but it is not worth a formal contradiction. Besides, the criticisms on the supposition will, some of them, be quite amusing and furious. The Orientalism—which I hear is very splendid—of the Melodrame (whosever it is, and I am sure I don't know) is as good as an Advertisement for your Eastern Stories, by filling their heads with glitter. Yours ever, B.

P.S.—You will of course say the truth, that I am not the Melo-dramatist—if any one charges me in your presence with the performance.



[Footnote 1: The same charge is made in the 'Satirist' (vol. xiii. p. 508). 'Illusion, or the Trances of Nourjahad', was acted at Drury Lane, November 25, 1813. It is described by Genest ('The English Stage', vol. viii. p. 403) as "a Melo-dramatic spectacle in three acts by an anonymous author." "Nourjahad" was acted by Elliston; "Mandane," his wife, by Mrs. Horn.]



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359.—To John Murray.

November 28, 1813.

Dear Sir,—Send another copy (if not too much of a request) to Lady Holland of the Journal [1], in my name, when you receive this; it is for Earl Grey—and I will relinquish my own. Also to Mr. Sharpe, Lady Holland, and Lady Caroline Lamb, copies of The Bride, as soon as convenient. Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.—Mr. W. and myself still continue our purpose; but I shall not trouble you on any arrangement on the score of The Giaour and The Bride till our return,—or, at any rate, before May, 1814,—that is, six months from hence: and before that time you will be able to ascertain how far your offer may be a losing one: if so, you can deduct proportionably; and if not, I shall not at any rate allow you to go higher than your present proposal, which is very handsome, and more than fair.

I have had—but this must be entre nous—a very kind note, on the subject of The Bride, from Sir James Mackintosh, and an invitation to go there this evening, which it is now too late to accept [2].



[Footnote 1: The Rev. John Eagles (1783-1855), scholar, artist, and contributor (1831-55) to 'Blackwood's Magazine', edited 'The Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman', which Murray published in 1815.]

[Footnote 2:

"Lord Byron is the author of the day; six thousand of his 'Bride of Abydos' have been sold within a month."

Sir James Mackintosh ('Life', vol. ii. p. 271).]



* * * * *



360.—To John Murray.

November 29, 1813.

Sunday—Monday morning—three o'clock—in my doublet and hose,—swearing.

Dear Sir,—I send you in time an Errata page, containing an omission of mine [1], which must be thus added, as it is too late for insertion in the text. The passage is an imitation altogether from Medea in Ovid, and is incomplete without these two lines. Pray let this be done, and directly; it is necessary, will add one page to your book(-making), and can do no harm, and is yet in time for the public. Answer me, thou Oracle, in the affirmative. You can send the loose pages to those who have copies already, if they like; but certainly to all the Critical copyholders.

Ever yours, BIRON.

P.S.—I have got out of my bed (in which, however, I could not sleep, whether I had amended this or not), and so good morning. I am trying whether De l'Allemagne will act as an opiate, but I doubt it.



[Footnote 1: 'The Bride of Abydos', Canto II. stanza xx. The lines were:

"Then, if my lip once murmurs, it must be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee."]



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361.—To John Murray.

November 29, 1813.

"You have looked at it!" to much purpose, to allow so stupid a blunder to stand; it is not "courage" but "carnage;" and if you don't want me to cut my own throat, see it altered.

I am very sorry to hear of the fall of Dresden.



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362.—To John Murray.

Nov. 29, 1813, Monday.

Dear Sir,—You will act as you please upon that point; but whether I go or stay, I shall not say another word on the subject till May—nor then, unless quite convenient to yourself. I have many things I wish to leave to your care, principally papers. The vases need not be now sent, as Mr. W. is gone to Scotland. You are right about the Er[rata] page; place it at the beginning. Mr. Perry is a little premature in his compliments [1]: these may do harm by exciting expectation, and I think we ought to be above it—though I see the next paragraph is on the 'Journal' [2], which makes me suspect you as the author of both.

Would it not have been as well to have said in 2 cantos in the advertisement? they will else think of fragments, a species of composition very well for once, like one ruin in a view; but one would not build a town of them. 'The Bride', such as it is, is my first entire composition of any length (except the Satire, and be damned to it), for 'The Giaour' is but a string of passages, and 'Childe Harold' is, and I rather think always will be, unconcluded. I return Mr. Hay's note, with thanks to him and you.

There have been some epigrams on Mr. W[ard]: one I see to-day [3].

The first I did not see, but heard yesterday. The second seems very bad and Mr. P[erry] has placed it over your puff. I only hope that Mr. W. does not believe that I had any connection with either. The Regent is the only person on whom I ever expectorated an epigram, or ever should; and even if I were disposed that way, I like and value Mr. W. too well to allow my politics to contract into spleen, or to admire any thing intended to annoy him or his. You need not take the trouble to answer this, as I shall see you in the course of the afternoon.

Yours very truly, B.

P.S.—I have said this much about the epigrams, because I live so much in the opposite camp, and, from my post as an Engineer, might be suspected as the flinger of these hand Grenadoes; but with a worthy foe I am all for open war, and not this bush-fighting, and have [not] had, nor will have, any thing to do with it. I do not know the author.



[Footnote 1: In the 'Morning Chronicle', November 29, 1813, appeared the following paragraph:

"Lord Byron's muse is extremely fruitful. He has another poem coming out, entitled 'The Bride of Abydos', which is spoken of in terms of the highest encomium."]

[Footnote 2: 'Journal of Llewellin Penrose, a Seaman.']

[Footnote 3:

"Ward has no heart, they say; but I deny it;— He has a heart, and gets his speeches by it."]



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363.—To John Murray.

Tuesday evening, Nov. 30, 1813.

Dear Sir,—For the sake of correctness, particularly in an Errata page, the alteration of the couplet I have just sent (half an hour ago) must take place, in spite of delay or cancel; let me see the proof early to-morrow. I found out murmur to be a neuter verb, and have been obliged to alter the line so as to make it a substantive, thus:

The deepest murmur of this life shall be No sigh for Safety, but a prayer for thee!

Don't send the copies to the country till this is all right.

Yours, B.



* * * * *



364.—To Thomas Moore.

November 30, 1813.

Since I last wrote to you, much has occurred, good, bad, and indifferent,—not to make me forget you, but to prevent me from reminding you of one who, nevertheless, has often thought of you, and to whom your thoughts, in many a measure, have frequently been a consolation. We were once very near neighbours this autumn; and a good and bad neighbourhood it has proved to me. Suffice it to say, that your French quotation [1] was confoundedly to the purpose,—though very unexpectedly pertinent, as you may imagine by what I said before, and my silence since. However, "Richard's himself again," [2] and except all night and some part of the morning, I don't think very much about the matter.

All convulsions end with me in rhyme; and to solace my midnights, I have scribbled another Turkish story [3]—not a Fragment—which you will receive soon after this. It does not trench upon your kingdom in the least, and if it did, you would soon reduce me to my proper boundaries. You will think, and justly, that I run some risk of losing the little I have gained in fame, by this further experiment on public patience; but I have really ceased to care on that head. I have written this, and published it, for the sake of the employment,—to wring my thoughts from reality, and take refuge in "imaginings," however "horrible;" [4] and, as to success! those who succeed will console me for a failure—excepting yourself and one or two more, whom luckily I love too well to wish one leaf of their laurels a tint yellower. This is the work of a week, and will be the reading of an hour to you, or even less,—and so, let it go——.

P.S.—Ward and I talk of going to Holland. I want to see how a Dutch canal looks after the Bosphorus. Pray respond.



[Footnote 1: Moore wrote to Byron in 1813 an undated letter, in which the following passage occurs:

"I am sorry I must wait till 'we are veterans' before you will open to me 'the story of your wandering life, wherein you find more hours due to repentance ... than time hath told you yet.' Is it so with you, or are you, like me, reprobate enough to look back with complacency on what you have done? I suppose repentance must bring up the rear with us all; but at present I should say with old Fontenelle, Si je recommencais ma carriere, je ferais tout ce que j'ai fait."]

[Footnote 2: Colley Cibber's 'Richard III', act v. sc. 3:

"Conscience, avaunt! Richard's himself again."]

[Footnote 3: 'The Bride of Abydos' was published December, 1813.]

[Footnote 4:

"Horrible imaginings."

'Macbeth', act i. sc. 3.]



* * * * *



365.—To Francis Hodgson.

Nov'r—Dec'r 1st, 1813.

I have just heard that Knapp is acquainted with what I was but too happy in being enabled to do for you [1].

Now, my dear Hn., you, or Drury, must have told this, for, upon my own honour, not even to Scrope, nor to one soul, (Drury knew it before) have I said one syllable of the matter. So don't be out of humour with me about it, but you can't be more so than I am. I am, however, glad of one thing; if you ever conceived it to be in the least an obligation, this disclosure most fairly and fully releases you from it:

"To John I owe some obligation, But John unluckily thinks fit To publish it to all the nation, So John and I are more than quit."

And so there's an end of the matter.

Ward wavers a little about the Dutch, till matters are more sedative, and the French more sedentary.

The 'Bride' will blush upon you in a day or two; there is much, at least a little addition. I am happy to say that Frere and Heber, and some other "good men and true," have been kind enough to adopt the same opinion that you did.

Pray write when you like, and believe me,

Ever yours,

BYRON.

P.S.—Murray has offered me a thousand guineas for the two ('Giaour' and 'Bride'), and told M'e. de Stael that he had paid them to me!! I should be glad to be able to tell her so too. But the truth is, he would; but I thought the fair way was to decline it till May, and, at the end of 6 months, he can safely say whether he can afford it or not—without running any risk by Speculation. If he paid them now and lost by it, it would be hard. If he gains, it will be time enough when he has already funded his profits. But he needed not have told "la Baronne" such a devil of an uncalled for piece of—premature truth, perhaps—but, nevertheless, a lie in the mean time.



[Footnote 1: Hodgson, now engaged to Miss Tayler, was anxious to clear off his father's liabilities. Byron gave him from first to last the sum of L1500 for the purpose. Hodgson, in a letter to his uncle, thus describes the gift ('Memoir of Rev. F. Hodgson', vol. i. pp. 268, 269):

"My noble-hearted friend, Lord Byron, after many offers of a similar kind, which I felt bound to refuse, has irresistibly in my present circumstances ... volunteered to pay all my debts, and within a few pounds it is done! Oh, if you knew (but you do know) the exultation of heart, aye, and of head too, I feel at being free from these depressing embarrassments, you would, as I do, bless my dearest friend and brother Byron."]



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366.—To John Murray.

Dec. 2, 1813.

Dear Sir,—When you can, let the couplet enclosed be inserted either in the page, or in the Errata page. I trust it is in time for some of the copies. This alteration is in the same part—the page but one before the last correction sent.

Yours, etc.,

B.

P.S.—I am afraid, from all I hear, that people are rather inordinate in their expectations, which is very unlucky, but cannot now be helped. This comes of Mr. Perry and one's wise friends; but do not you wind your hopes of success to the same pitch, for fear of accidents, and I can assure you that my philosophy will stand the test very fairly; and I have done every thing to ensure you, at all events, from positive loss, which will be some satisfaction to both.



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367.—To Leigh Hunt.

4, Bennet St., Dec. 2, 1813.

My dear Sir,—Few things could be more welcome than your note, and on Saturday morning I will avail myself of your permission to thank you for it in person. My time has not been passed, since we met, either profitably or agreeably. A very short period after my last visit, an incident occurred with which, I fear, you are not unacquainted, as report, in many mouths and more than one paper, was busy with the topic. That, naturally, gave me much uneasiness. Then I nearly incurred a lawsuit on the sale of an estate; but that is now arranged: next—but why should I go on with a series of selfish and silly details? I merely wish to assure you that it was not the frivolous forgetfulness of a mind, occupied by what is called pleasure (not in the true sense of Epicurus), that kept me away; but a perception of my, then, unfitness to share the society of those whom I value and wish not to displease. I hate being larmoyant, and making a serious face among those who are cheerful.

It is my wish that our acquaintance, or, if you please to accept it, friendship, may be permanent. I have been lucky enough to preserve some friends from a very early period, and I hope, as I do not (at least now) select them lightly, I shall not lose them capriciously. I have a thorough esteem for that independence of spirit [1] which you have maintained with sterling talent, and at the expense of some suffering. You have not, I trust, abandoned the poem you were composing, when Moore and I partook of your hospitality in the summer. I hope a time will come when he and I may be able to repay you in kind for the latter—for the rhyme, at least in quantity, you are in arrear to both.

Believe me, very truly and affectionately yours,

Byron.



[Footnote 1: The following is Leigh Hunt's answer:

"My dear Lord,—I need not tell you how much your second letter has gratified me, for I am apt to speak as sincerely as I think (you must suffer me to talk in this way after what you have been kind enough to say of my independence), and it always rejoices me to find that those whom I wish to regard will take me at my word. But I shall grow egotistical upon the strength of your Lordship's good opinion. I shall be heartily glad to see you on Saturday morning, and perhaps shall prevail upon you to take a luncheon with us at our dinner-time(3). The nature of your letter would have brought upon you a long answer, filled perhaps with an enthusiasm that might have made you smile; but I am keeping your servant in the cold, and so, among other good offices, you see what he has done for you. However, I would not make a light thing of so good a matter as I mean my enthusiasm to be, and intend, before I have done, that you shall have as sound a regard for it, as I have for the feelings on your Lordship's part that have called it forth.

"Yours, my dear Lord, most sincerely and cordially,

"Leigh Hunt.

"Surrey Jail, 2'd Dec'r., 1813."]



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368.—To John Murray.

Dec. 3, 1813.

I send you a scratch or two, the which heal. The Christian Observer [1] is very savage, but certainly uncommonly well written—and quite uncomfortable at the naughtiness of book and author. I rather suspect you won't much like the present to be more moral, if it is to share also the usual fate of your virtuous volumes.

Let me see a proof of the six before incorporation.



[Footnote 1: The 'Christian Observer' for November, 1813 (pp. 731-737) felt compelled to review 'The Giaour', because of its extraordinary popularity; but it found that some of the passages savoured "too much of Newgate and Bedlam for our expurgated pages." It acknowledged one obligation to Byron.

"He never attempts to deceive the world by representing the profligate as happy.... And his testimony is of the more value, as his situation in life must have permitted him to see the experiment tried under the most favourable circumstances. He has probably seen more than one example of young men of high birth, talents, and expectancies, ... sink under the burden of unsubdued tempers, licentious alliances, and ennervating indulgence.... He has seen all this; nay, perhaps—But we check our pen," etc., etc.]



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369.—To John Murray.

Dec. 3, 1813.

My dear Sir,—Look out the Encyclopedia article Mecca whether it is there or at Medina the Prophet is entombed, if at Medina the first lines of my alteration must run:

Blest as the call which from Medina's dome Invites Devotion to her Prophet's tomb, etc.

If at "Mecca" the lines may stand as before. Page 45, C deg.. 2nd, 'Bride of Abydos'. Yours, B.

You will find this out either by Article Mecca, Medina or Mahommed. I have no book of reference by me.



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370.—To John Murray.

[No date.]

Did you look out? is it Medina or Mecca that contains the holy Sepulchre? don't make me blaspheme by your negligence. I have no books of reference or I would save you the trouble. I blush as a good Mussulman to have confused the point. Yours, B.



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371.—To John Murray.

Dec. 4, 1813.

Dear Sir,—I have redde through your Persian Tales [1], and have taken the liberty of making some remarks on the blank pages. There are many beautiful passages, and an interesting story; and I cannot give you a stronger proof that such is my opinion, than by the date of the hour—two o'clock,—till which it has kept me awake without a yawn.

The conclusion is not quite correct in costume: there is no Mussulman suicide on record—at least for love. But this matters not. The tale must have been written by some one who has been on the spot, and I wish him, and he deserves, success. Will you apologise to the author for the liberties I have taken with his MS.? Had I been less awake to, and interested in, his theme, I had been less obtrusive; but you know I always take this in good part, and I hope he will. It is difficult to say what will succeed, and still more to pronounce what will not. I am at this moment in that uncertainty (on your own score); and it is no small proof of the author's powers to be able to charm and fix a mind's attention on similar subjects and climates in such a predicament. That he may have the same effect upon all his readers is very sincerely the wish, and hardly the doubt, of

Yours truly, B.



[Footnote 1: Henry Gally Knight (1786-1846), who was with Byron at Trinity, Cambridge, and afterwards distinguished himself by his architectural writings (e.g. 'The Normans in Sicily,' 1838), began his literary career with 'Ilderim, a Syrian Tale' (1816). 'Phrosyne, a Grecian Tale'; 'Alashtar, an Arabian Tale' (1817), was followed, after a considerable interval, by 'Eastern Sketches' (about 1829-30). If the manuscript of the first-mentioned volume is that to which Byron refers, he seems to have changed his mind as to its merits (March 25, 1817):

"I tried at 'Ilderim;' Ahem!"]



* * * * *



372.—To John Murray.

Monday evening, Dec. 6, 1813.

Dear Sir,—It is all very well, except that the lines are not numbered properly, and a diabolical mistake, page 67., which must be corrected with the pen, if no other way remains; it is the omission of "not" before "disagreeable" in the note on the amber rosary. This is really horrible, and nearly as bad as the stumble of mine at the Threshold—I mean the misnomer of bride. Pray do not let a copy go without the "not;" it is nonsense, and worse than nonsense, as it now stands. I wish the printer was saddled with a vampire.

Yours ever, B.

P.S.—It is still hath instead of have in page 20.; never was any one so misused as I am by your Devils of printers.

P.S.—I hope and trust the "not" was inserted in the first Edition. We must have something—any thing—to set it right. It is enough to answer for one's own bulls, without other people's.



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373.—To Thomas Moore.

December 8, 1813.

Your letter, like all the best, and even kindest things in this world, is both painful and pleasing. But, first, to what sits nearest. Do you know I was actually about to dedicate to you,—not in a formal inscription, as to one's elders,—but through a short prefatory letter, in which I boasted myself your intimate, and held forth the prospect of your poem; when, lo! the recollection of your strict injunctions of secrecy as to the said poem, more than once repeated by word and letter, flashed upon me, and marred my intents. I could have no motive for repressing my own desire of alluding to you (and not a day passes that I do not think and talk of you), but an idea that you might, yourself, dislike it. You cannot doubt my sincere admiration, waving personal friendship for the present, which, by the by, is not less sincere and deep rooted. I have you by rote and by heart; of which ecce signum! When I was at Aston, on my first visit, I have a habit, in passing my time a good deal alone, of—I won't call it singing, for that I never attempt except to myself—but of uttering, to what I think tunes, your "Oh breathe not," "When the last glimpse," and "When he who adores thee," with others of the same minstrel;—they are my matins and vespers. I assuredly did not intend them to be overheard, but, one morning, in comes, not La Donna, but Il Marito, with a very grave face, saying, "Byron, I must request you won't sing any more, at least of those songs." I stared, and said, "Certainly, but why?"—"To tell you the truth," quoth he, "they make my wife cry, and so melancholy, that I wish her to hear no more of them."

Now, my dear M., the effect must have been from your words, and certainly not my music. I merely mention this foolish story to show you how much I am indebted to you for even your pastimes. A man may praise and praise, but no one recollects but that which pleases—at least, in composition. Though I think no one equal to you in that department, or in satire,—and surely no one was ever so popular in both,—I certainly am of opinion that you have not yet done all you can do, though more than enough for any one else. I want, and the world expects, a longer work from you; and I see in you what I never saw in poet before, a strange diffidence of your own powers, which I cannot account for, and which must be unaccountable, when a Cossac like me can appal a cuirassier. Your story I did not, could not, know,—I thought only of a Peri. I wish you had confided in me, not for your sake, but mine, and to prevent the world from losing a much better poem than my own, but which, I yet hope, this clashing will not even now deprive them of [1].

Mine is the work of a week, written, why I have partly told you, and partly I cannot tell you by letter—some day I will.

Go on—I shall really be very unhappy if I at all interfere with you. The success of mine is yet problematical; though the public will probably purchase a certain quantity, on the presumption of their own propensity for 'The Giaour' and such "horrid mysteries." The only advantage I have is being on the spot; and that merely amounts to saving me the trouble of turning over books which I had better read again. If your chamber was furnished in the same way, you have no need to go there to describe—I mean only as to accuracy—because I drew it from recollection.

This last thing of mine may have the same fate, and I assure you I have great doubts about it. But, even if not, its little day will be over before you are ready and willing. Come out—"screw your courage to the sticking-place." [2]

Except the Post Bag (and surely you cannot complain of a want of success there), you have not been regularly out for some years. No man stands higher,—whatever you may think on a rainy day, in your provincial retreat.

"Aucun homme, dans aucune langue, n'a ete, peut-etre, plus completement le poete du coeur et le poete des femmes. Les critiques lui reprochent de n'avoir represente le monde ni tel qu'il est, ni tel qu'il doit etre; mais les femmes repondent qu'il l'a represente tel qu'elles le desirent."

I should have thought Sismondi [3] had written this for you instead of Metastasio.

Write to me, and tell me of yourself. Do you remember what Rousseau said to some one—"Have we quarrelled? you have talked to me often, and never once mentioned yourself."

P.S.—The last sentence is an indirect apology for my egotism,—but I believe in letters it is allowed. I wish it was mutual. I have met with an odd reflection in Grimm; it shall not—at least the bad part—be applied to you or me, though one of us has certainly an indifferent name—but this it is:—"Many people have the reputation of being wicked, with whom we should be too happy to pass our lives". I need not add it is a woman's saying—a Mademoiselle de Sommery's [4].



[Footnote 1:

"Among the stories intended to be introduced into 'Lalla Rookh', which I had begun, but, from various causes, never finished, there was one which I had made some progress in, at the time of the appearance of 'The Bride', and which, on reading that poem, I found to contain such singular coincidences with it, not only in locality and costume, but in plot and characters, that I immediately gave up my story altogether, and began another on an entirely new subject—the Fire-worshippers. To this circumstance, which I immediately communicated to him, Lord Byron alludes in this letter. In my hero (to whom I had even given the name of 'Zelim,' and who was a descendant of Ali, outlawed, with all his followers, by the reigning Caliph) it was my intention to shadow out, as I did afterwards in another form, the national cause of Ireland. To quote the words of my letter to Lord Byron on the subject: 'I chose this story because one writes best about what one feels most, and I thought the parallel with Ireland would enable me to infuse some vigour into my hero's character. But to aim at vigour and strong feeling after 'you' is hopeless;—that region "was made for Caesar."'"

(Moore).]

[Footnote 2: 'Macbeth', act i. sc. 7.]

[Footnote 3: 'De la Litterature du Midi de l'Europe', ed. 1813, tom. ii. p. 436.]

[Footnote 4: Grimm ('Correspondance Litteraire', ed. 1813, part iii. tom ii. p. 126) says of Mlle. de Sommery, who died of apoplexy in 1790,

"Que de gens ont la reputation d'etre mechans, avec lesquels on serait trop heureux de passer sa vie."

The 'Biographie Universelle' says of her,

"Elle avait du talent pour ecrire; mais elle ne l'exerca que fort tard .... Le premier livre qu'elle publia, n'etant plus tres jeune, fut un recueil de pensees detachees, dedie aux manes de Saurin, qu'elle intitula 'Doutes sur differentes Opinions recues dans la Societe'. Ce recueil eut un veritable succes."

Mlle. de Sommery also published, besides the 'Doutes' (1782), 'Lettres de Madame la Comtesse de L. a M. le Comte de R'. (1785); 'Lettres de Mlle. de Tourville a Madame la Comtesse de Lenoncourt' (1788); 'L'Oreille, conte Asiatique' (1789).]



* * * * *



374.—To John Galt [1].

Dec. 11, 1813.

My dear Galt,—There was no offence—there could be none. I thought it by no means impossible that we might have hit on something similar, particularly as you are a dramatist, and was anxious to assure you of the truth, viz., that I had not wittingly seized upon plot, sentiment, or incident; and I am very glad that I have not in any respect trenched upon your subjects. Something still more singular is, that the first part, where you have found a coincidence in some events within your observations on life, was drawn from observations of mine also, and I meant to have gone on with the story, but on second thoughts, I thought myself two centuries at least too late for the subject; which, though admitting of very powerful feeling and description, yet is not adapted for this age, at least this country, though the finest works of the Greeks, one of Schiller's and Alfieri's in modern times, besides several of our old (and best) dramatists, have been grounded on incidents of a similar cast. I therefore altered it as you perceive, and in so doing have weakened the whole, by interrupting the train of thought: and in composition I do not think second thoughts are the best, though second expressions may improve the first ideas.

I do not know how other men feel towards those they have met abroad, but to me there seems a kind of tie established between all who have met together in a foreign country, as if we had met in a state of pre-existence, and were talking over a life that has ceased: but I always look forward to renewing my travels; and though you, I think, are now stationary, if I can at all forward your pursuits there as well as here, I shall be truly glad in the opportunity.

Ever yours very sincerely, B.

P.S.—I leave town for a day or two on Monday, but after that I am always at home, and happy to see you till half-past two.



[Footnote 1: For John Galt, see 'Letters', vol. i. p. 243 [Footnote 1 of Letter 130], and vol. ii. p. 101, 'note' 1 [Footnote 1 of Letter 255]. Galt wrote to Byron in 1813, pointing out that "there was a remarkable coincidence in the story" (of 'The Bride of Abydos') "with a matter in which I had been interested" ('Life of Byron', p. 180, ed. 1830). Byron, imagining himself charged with plagiarism, wrote a somewhat angry reply, to which Gait answered by stating that the coincidence was not one of ideas, sentiment, or story, but of real fact. He received the above answer ('Life of Byron', pp. 181, 182).

On this poem Byron seems to have been particularly sensitive. He is accused of borrowing the opening lines from Mignon's song in Goethe's 'Wilhelm Meister':

"Kennst du das Land wo die Citronen bluehn?"

Cyrus Redding ('Yesterday and To-day', vol. ii. pp. 14, 15) suggests that Byron used the translation of the poem which he himself had made and published in 1812 or 1813.

Byron was also charged with pilfering them from Madame de Stael.

"Do you know de Stael's lines?" he asked Lady Blessington ('Conversations', pp. 326, 327); "for if I am a thief, she must be the plundered, as I don't read German and do French: yet I could almost swear that I never saw her verses when I wrote mine, nor do I even now remember them. I think the first began with 'Cette terre,' etc., etc.; but the rest I forget. As you have a good memory, perhaps you would repeat them."

"I did so," says Lady Blessington, "and they are as follows:

"'Cette terre, ou les myrtes fleurissent, Ou les rayons des cieux tombent avec amour, Ou des sons enchanteurs dans les airs retentissent, Ou la plus douce nuit succede au plus beau jour,' etc."]



* * * * *



375.—To John Murray.

Decr. y'r 14th, 1813.

Deare Sir,—Send y'e E'r of ye new R'w a copy as he hath had y'e trouble of two walks on y't acct.

As to the man of the Satirist—I hope you have too much spirit to allow a single Sheet to be offered as a peace offering to him or any one. If you do, expect never to be forgiven by me—if he is not personal he is quite welcome to his opinion—and if he is, I have my own remedy.

Send a copy double to Dr. Clarke (y'e traveller) Cambrigge by y'e first opportunitie—and let me see you in y'e morninge y't I may mention certain thinges y'e which require sundrie though slight alterations.

Sir, your Servitor, Biron



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376.—To Thomas Ashe [1].

4, Bennet Street, St. James's, Dec. 14, 1813.

Sir,—I leave town for a few days to-morrow. On my return, I will answer your letter more at length.

Whatever may be your situation, I cannot but commend your resolution to abjure and abandon the publication and composition of works such as those to which you have alluded. Depend upon it they amuse few, disgrace both reader and writer, and benefit none. It will be my wish to assist you, as far as my limited means will admit, to break such a bondage. In your answer, inform me what sum you think would enable you to extricate yourself from the hands of your employers, and to regain, at least, temporary independence, and I shall be glad to contribute my mite towards it. At present, I must conclude. Your name is not unknown to me, and I regret, for your own sake, that you have ever lent it to the works you mention. In saying this, I merely repeat your own words in your letter to me, and have no wish whatever to say a single syllable that may appear to insult your misfortunes. If I have, excuse me; it is unintentional.

Yours, etc.,

BYRON.



[Footnote 1: Thomas Ashe (1770-1835) had already written books of travel in North and South America, and two novels—'The Spirit of "The Book'"(1811), and 'The Liberal Critic, or Henry Percy' (1812). He was a man of more ability than character, but possessed little of either. His 'Memoirs' (1815) describe his literary undertakings, one at least of which was of a blackmailing kind, and are interspersed with protestations of his desire for independence, and of regrets for the wretched stuff that dropped from his pen.

His first novel, 'The Spirit of "The Book,"' gained some success from its subject. In 1806-7 Lady Douglas brought certain charges against the Princess of Wales, which were answered on her behalf by Spencer Perceval. The extraordinary secrecy with which this defence, called "The Book," was printed, and its complete suppression, excited curiosity, which was increased by the following advertisement in the 'Times' for March 27, 1809:

"'A Book'—Any Person having in their possession a COPY of a CERTAIN BOOK, printed by Mr. Edwards, in 1807, but 'never published', with W. Lindsell's Name as the Seller of the same on the title page, and will bring it to W. Lindsell, Bookseller, Wimpole-Street, will receive a handsome gratuity."

The subject-matter of this book, then unknown to the public, Ashe professes to embody in 'The Spirit of "The Book;" or, Memoirs of Caroline, Princess of Hasburgh, a Political and Amatory Romance' (3 vols., 1811). The letters, which purport to be written from Caroline to Charlotte, and contain (vol. ii. pp. 152-181) an attack on the Lady Jersey, who attended the princess, are absolutely dull, and scarcely even indecent.

Ashe's 'Memoirs and Confessions' (3 vols., 1815) are dedicated to the Duke of Northumberland and to Byron, to whom, in a preface written at Havre, he acknowledges his "transcendent obligations."]



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377.—To Professor Clarke [1].

Dec. 15, 1813.

Your very kind letter is the more agreeable, because, setting aside talents, judgment, and the laudari a laudato, etc., you have been on the spot; you have seen and described more of the East than any of your predecessors—I need not say how ably and successfully; and (excuse the bathos) you are one of the very few men who can pronounce how far my costume (to use an affected but expressive word) is correct. As to poesy, that is, as "men, gods, and columns," please to decide upon it; but I am sure that I am anxious to have an observer's, particularly a famous observer's, testimony on the fidelity of my manners and dresses; and, as far as memory and an oriental twist in my imagination have permitted, it has been my endeavour to present to the Franks, a sketch of that of which you have and will present them a complete picture. It was with this notion, that I felt compelled to make my hero and heroine relatives, as you well know that none else could there obtain that degree of intercourse leading to genuine affection; I had nearly made them rather too much akin to each other; and though the wild passions of the East, and some great examples in Alfieri, Ford, and Schiller (to stop short of antiquity), might have pleaded in favour of a copyist, yet the time and the north (not Frederic, but our climate) induced me to alter their consanguinity and confine them to cousinship. I also wished to try my hand on a female character in Zuleika, and have endeavoured, as far as the grossness of our masculine ideas will allow, to preserve her purity without impairing the ardour of her attachment.

As to criticism, I have been reviewed about a hundred and fifty times—praised and abused. I will not say that I am become indifferent to either eulogy or condemnation, but for some years at least I have felt grateful for the former, and have never attempted to answer the latter. For success equal to the first efforts, I had and have no hope; the novelty was over, and the "Bride," like all other brides, must suffer or rejoice for and with her husband. By the bye, I have used "bride" Turkishly, as affianced, not married; and so far it is an English bull, which, I trust, will be at least a comfort to all Hibernians not bigotted to monopoly. You are good enough to mention your quotations in your third volume. I shall not only be indebted to it for a renewal of the high gratification received from the two first, but for preserving my relics embalmed in your own spices, and ensuring me readers to whom I could not otherwise have aspired.

I called on you, as bounden by duty and inclination, when last in your neighbourhood; but I shall always take my chance; you surely would not have me inflict upon you a formal annunciation; I am proud of your friendship, but not so fond of myself as to break in upon your better avocations. I trust that Mrs. Clarke is well; I have never had the honour of presentation, but I have heard so much of her in many quarters, that any notice she is pleased to take of my productions is not less gratifying than my thanks are sincere, both to her and you; by all accounts I may safely congratulate you on the possession of "a bride" whose mental and personal accomplishments are more than poetical.

P. S.—Murray has sent, or will send, a double copy of the Bride and Giaour; in the last one, some lengthy additions; pray accept them, according to old custom, "from the author" to one of his better brethren. Your Persian, or any memorial, will be a most agreeable, and it is my fault if not an useful present. I trust your third will be out before I sail next month; can I say or do anything for you in the Levant? I am now in all the agonies of equipment, and full of schemes, some impracticable, and most of them improbable; but I mean to fly "freely to the green earth's end," [2] though not quite so fast as Miltons sprite.

P. S. 2nd.—I have so many things to say.—I want to show you Lord Sligo's letter to me detailing, as he heard them on the spot, the Athenian account of our adventure (a personal one), which certainly first suggested to me the story of The Giaour. It was a strange and not a very long story, and his report of the reports (he arrived just after my departure, and I did not know till last summer that he knew anything of the matter) is not very far from the truth. Don't be alarmed. There was nothing that led further than to the water's edge; but one part (as is often the case in life) was more singular than any of the Giaour's adventures. I never have, and never should have, alluded to it on my own authority, from respect to the ancient proverb on Travellers.



[Footnote 1: Dr. Clark, in October, 1814, was a candidate for the Professorship of Anatomy, and Byron went to Cambridge to vote for his friend. Writing to Miss Tayler, Hodgson ('Memoir', vol. i. p. 292) adds a postscript:

"I open my letter to say that when Lord Byron went to give his vote just now in the Senate House, the young men burst out into the most rapturous applause."

The next day he writes again:

"I should add that as I was going to vote I met him coming away, and presently saw that something had happened, by his extreme paleness and agitation. Dr. Clark, who was with him, told me the cause, and I returned with B. to my room. There I begged him to sit down and write a letter and communicate this event, which he did not feel up to, but wished 'I' would. So down I sate, and commenced my acquaintance with Miss Milbanke by writing her an account of this most pleasing event, which, although nothing at Oxford, is here very unusual indeed."

The following was Miss Milbanke's answer ('ibid'., pp. 296, 297), dated, "Seaham, November 25, 1814:"

"Dear Sir,—It will be easier for you to imagine than for me to express the pleasure which your very kind letter has given me. Not only on account of its gratifying intelligence, but also as introductory to an acquaintance which I have been taught to value, and have sincerely desired. Allow me to consider Lord Byron's friend as not 'a stranger,' and accept, with my sincerest thanks, my best wishes for your own happiness.

"I am, dear sir, your faithful servant,

"A. I. MlLBANKE." ]

[Footnote 2: The Spirit in Miltons 'Comus, a Mask' (lines 1012, 1013), says:

"I can fly, or I can run Quickly to the green earths end."]



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378.—To Leigh Hunt.

Dec. 22, 1813.

My Dear Sir,—I am indeed "in your debt,"—and, what is still worse, am obliged to follow royal example (he has just apprised his creditors that they must wait till the next meeting), and intreat your indulgence for, I hope, a very short time. The nearest relation and almost the only friend I possess, has been in London for a week, and leaves it tomorrow with me for her own residence. I return immediately; but we meet so seldom, and are so minuted when we meet at all, that I give up all engagements till now, without reluctance. On my return, I must see you to console myself for my past disappointment. I should feel highly honoured in Mr. B.'s permission to make his acquaintance, and there you are in my debt; for it is a promise of last summer which I still hope to see performed. Yesterday I had a letter from Moore; you have probably heard from him lately; but if not, you will be glad to learn that he is the same in heart, head, and health.



* * * * *



379.—To John Murray.

December 27, 1813.

Lord Holland is laid up with the gout, and would feel very much obliged if you could obtain, and send as soon as possible, Madame D'Arblay's (or even Miss Edgeworth's) new work. I know they are not out; but it is perhaps possible for your Majesty to command what we cannot with much suing purchase, as yet. I need not say that when you are able or willing to confer the same favour on me, I shall be obliged. I would almost fall sick myself to get at Madame D'Arblay's writings.

P.S.—You were talking to-day of the American E'n of a certain unquenchable memorial of my younger days [1]. As it can't be helped now, I own I have some curiosity to see a copy of transatlantic typography. This you will perhaps obtain, and one for yourself; but I must beg that you will not import more, because, seriously, I do wish to have that thing forgotten as much as it has been forgiven.

If you send to the 'Globe' E'r, say that I want neither excuse nor contradiction, but merely a discontinuance of a most ill-grounded charge. I never was consistent in any thing but my politics; and as my redemption depends on that solitary virtue, it is murder to carry away my last anchor.



[Footnote 1: 'English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers'.]



* * * * *



CHAPTER VIII.

JOURNAL: NOVEMBER 14, 1813—APRIL 19, 1814.

If this had been begun ten years ago, and faithfully kept!!!—heigho! there are too many things I wish never to have remembered, as it is. Well,—I have had my share of what are called the pleasures of this life, and have seen more of the European and Asiatic world than I have made a good use of. They say "Virtue is its own reward,"—it certainly should be paid well for its trouble. At five-and-twenty, when the better part of life is over, one should be something;—and what am I? nothing but five-and-twenty—and the odd months. What have I seen? the same man all over the world,—ay, and woman too. Give me a Mussulman who never asks questions, and a she of the same race who saves one the trouble of putting them. But for this same plague—yellow fever—and Newstead delay, I should have been by this time a second time close to the Euxine. If I can overcome the last, I don't so much mind your pestilence; and, at any rate, the spring shall see me there,—provided I neither marry myself, nor unmarry any one else in the interval. I wish one was—I don't know what I wish. It is odd I never set myself seriously to wishing without attaining it—and repenting. I begin to believe with the good old Magi, that one should only pray for the nation, and not for the individual;—but, on my principle, this would not be very patriotic.

No more reflections.—Let me see—last night I finished "Zuleika," my second Turkish Tale. I believe the composition of it kept me alive—for it was written to drive my thoughts from the recollection of:

"Dear sacred name, rest ever unreveal'd." [1]

At least, even here, my hand would tremble to write it. This afternoon I have burnt the scenes of my commenced comedy. I have some idea of expectorating a romance, or rather a tale in prose;—but what romance could equal the events:

"quaeque ipse......vidi, Et quorum pars magna fui." [2]

To-day Henry Byron [3] called on me with my little cousin Eliza. She will grow up a beauty and a plague; but, in the mean time, it is the prettiest child! dark eyes and eyelashes, black and long as the wing of a raven. I think she is prettier even than my niece, Georgina,—yet I don't like to think so neither: and though older, she is not so clever.

Dallas called before I was up, so we did not meet. Lewis [4], too,—who seems out of humour with every thing.

What can be the matter? he is not married—has he lost his own mistress, or any other person's wife? Hodgson, too, came. He is going to be married, and he is the kind of man who will be the happier. He has talent, cheerfulness, every thing that can make him a pleasing companion; and his intended is handsome and young, and all that. But I never see any one much improved by matrimony. All my coupled contemporaries are bald and discontented. W[ordsworth] and S[outhey] have both lost their hair and good humour; and the last of the two had a good deal to lose. But it don't much signify what falls off a man's temples in that state.

Mem. I must get a toy to-morrow for Eliza, and send the device for the seals of myself and——Mem. too, to call on the Stael and Lady Holland to-morrow, and on——, who has advised me (without seeing it, by the by) not to publish "Zuleika;" [5] I believe he is right, but experience might have taught him that not to print is physically impossible. No one has seen it but Hodgson and Mr. Gifford. I never in my life read a composition, save to Hodgson, as he pays me in kind. It is a horrible thing to do too frequently;—better print, and they who like may read, and if they don't like, you have the satisfaction of knowing that they have, at least, purchased the right of saying so.

I have declined presenting the Debtors' Petition [6], being sick of parliamentary mummeries. I have spoken thrice; but I doubt my ever becoming an orator. My first was liked; the second and third—I don't know whether they succeeded or not. I have never yet set to it con amore;—one must have some excuse to one's self for laziness, or inability, or both, and this is mine. "Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil of me;" [7]—and then, I "have drunk medicines," not to make me love others, but certainly enough to hate myself.

Two nights ago I saw the tigers sup at Exeter 'Change. Except Veli Pacha's lion in the Morea,—who followed the Arab keeper like a dog,—the fondness of the hyaena for her keeper amused me most. Such a conversazione!—There was a "hippopotamus," like Lord Liverpool in the face; and the "Ursine Sloth" had the very voice and manner of my valet—but the tiger talked too much. The elephant took and gave me my money again—took off my hat—opened a door—trunked a whip—and behaved so well, that I wish he was my butler. The handsomest animal on earth is one of the panthers; but the poor antelopes were dead. I should hate to see one here:—the sight of the camel made me pine again for Asia Minor. "Oh quando te aspiciam?"



[Footnote 1:

"Dear fatal name! rest ever unrevealed, Nor pass these lips in holy silence sealed."

Pope's 'Eloisa to Abelard', lines 9, 10.]

[Footnote 2: Virgil, 'AEneid', ii. 5:

". ... quoeque ipse miserrima vidi Et quorum pars magna fui."]

[Footnote 3: The Rev. Henry Byron, second son of the Rev. and Hon. Richard Byron, and nephew of William, fifth Lord Byron, died in 1821. His daughter Eliza married, in 1830, George Rochford Clarke. Byron's "niece Georgina" was the daughter of Mrs. Leigh.]

[Footnote 4: Matthew Gregory Lewis (1775-1818), intended by his father for the diplomatic service, was educated at Westminster and Christ Church, Weimar, and Paris. He soon showed his taste for literature. At the age of seventeen he had translated a play from the French, and written a farce, a comedy called 'The East Indian' (acted at Drury Lane, April 22, 1799), "two volumes of a novel, two of a romance, besides numerous poems" ('Life, etc., of M. G. Lewis', vol. i. p. 70). In 1794 he was attached to the British Embassy at the Hague. There, stimulated ('ibid'., vol. i. p. 123) by reading Mrs. Radcliffe's 'Mysteries of Udolpho', he wrote 'Ambrosio, or the Monk'. The book, published in 1795, made him famous in fashionable society, and decided his career. Though he sat in Parliament for Hindon from 1796 to 1802, he took no part in politics, but devoted himself to literature.

The moral and outline of 'The Monk' are taken, as Lewis says in a letter to his father ('Life, etc.', vol. i. pp. 154-158), and as was pointed out in the 'Monthly Review' for August, 1797, from Addison's "Santon Barsisa" in the 'Guardian' (No. 148). The book was severely criticized on the score of immorality. Mathias ('Pursuits of Literature', Dialogue iv.) attacks Lewis, whom he compares to John Cleland, whose 'Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure' came under the notice of the law courts:

"Another Cleland see in Lewis rise. Why sleep the ministers of truth and law?"

An injunction was, in fact, moved for against the book; but the proceedings dropped.

Lewis had a remarkable gift of catching the popular taste of the day, both in his tales of horror and mystery, and in his ballads. In the latter he was the precursor of Scott. Many of his songs were sung to music of his own composition. His 'Tales of Terror' (1799) were dedicated to Lady Charlotte Campbell, afterwards Bury, with whom he was in love. To his 'Tales of Wonder' (1801) Scott, Southey, and others contributed. His most successful plays were 'The Castle Spectre' (Drury Lane, December 14, 1797), and 'Timour the Tartar' (Covent Garden, April 29, 1811).

In 1812, by the death of his father, "the Monk" became a rich man, and the owner of plantations in the West Indies. He paid two visits to his property, in 1815-16 and 1817-18. On the voyage home from the last visit he died of yellow fever, and was buried at sea. His 'Journal of a West Indian Proprietor', published in 1834, is written in sterling English, with much quiet humour, and a graphic power of very high order.

Among his 'Detached Thoughts' Byron has the following notes on Lewis:

"Sheridan was one day offered a bet by M. G. Lewis: 'I will bet you, Mr. Sheridan, a very large sum—I will bet you what you owe me as Manager, for my 'Castle Spectre'.'

"'I never make large bets,' said Sheridan, 'but I will lay you a very small one. I will bet you what it is WORTH!'"

"Lewis, though a kind man, hated Sheridan, and we had some words upon that score when in Switzerland, in 1816. Lewis afterwards sent me the following epigram upon Sheridan from Saint Maurice:

"'For worst abuse of finest parts Was Misophil begotten; There might indeed be blacker hearts, But none could be more rotten.'"

Lewis at Oatlands was observed one morning to have his eyes red, and his air sentimental; being asked why? he replied 'that when people said anything 'kind' to him, it affected him deeply, and just now the Duchess had said something so kind to him'—here tears began to flow again. 'Never mind, Lewis,' said Col. Armstrong to him, 'never mind—don't cry, she could not mean it'.'

"Lewis was a good man—a clever man, but a bore—a damned bore, one may say. My only revenge or consolation used to be setting him by the ears with some vivacious person who hated bores especially—Me. de Stael or Hobhouse, for example. But I liked Lewis; he was a Jewel of a Man had he been better set, I don't mean personally, but less tiresome, for he was tedious, as well as contradictory to everything and everybody. Being short-sighted, when we used to ride out together near the Brenta in the twilight in summer, he made me go before to pilot him. I am absent at times, especially towards evening, and the consequence of this pilotage was some narrow escapes to the Monk on horseback. Once I led him into a ditch, over which I had passed as usual, forgetting to warn my convoy; once I led him nearly into the river instead of on the 'moveable' bridge which incommodes passengers; and twice did we both run against the diligence, which, being heavy and slow, did communicate less damage than it received in its leaders, who were 'terrassed' by the charge. Thrice did I lose him in the gray of the gloaming and was obliged to bring to, to his distant signals of distance and distress. All the time he went on talking without intermission, for he was a man of many words. Poor fellow, he died a martyr to his new riches—of a second visit to Jamaica.

"'I'd give the lands of Deloraine Dark Musgrave were alive again!' that is 'I would give many a Sugar Cane Monk Lewis were alive again!'

"Lewis said to me, 'Why do you talk 'Venetian' (such as I could talk, not very fine to be sure) to the Venetians, and not the usual Italian?' I answered, partly from habit and partly to be understood, if possible. 'It may be so,' said Lewis, 'but it sounds to me like talking with a 'brogue' to an Irishman.'"

In a MS. note by Sir Walter Scott on these passages from Byron's 'Detached Thoughts', he says,

"Mat had queerish eyes; they projected like those of some insect, and were flattish in their orbit. His person was extremely small and boyish; he was, indeed, the least man I ever saw to be strictly well and neatly made. I remember a picture of him by Saunders being handed round at Dalkeith House. The artist had ungenerously flung a dark folding mantle round the form, under which was half hid a dagger, or dark lanthorn, or some such cut-throat appurtenance. With all this the features were preserved and ennobled. It passed from hand to hand into that of Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, who, hearing the general voice affirm that it was very like, said aloud, 'Like Mat Lewis? Why, that picture is like a 'man'.' He looked, and lo! Mat Lewis's head was at his elbow. His boyishness went through life with him. He was a child, and a spoiled child, but a child of high imagination, so that he wasted himself in ghost stories and German nonsense. He had the finest ear for the rhythm of verse I ever heard—finer than Byron's.

"Lewis was fonder of great people than he ought to have been, either as a man of talent or a man of fortune. He had always dukes and duchesses in his mouth, and was particularly fond of any one who had a title. You would have sworn he had been a 'parvenu' of yesterday, yet he had been all his life in good society.

"He was one of the kindest and best creatures that ever lived. His father and mother lived separately. Mr. Lewis allowed his son a handsome income; but reduced it more than one half when he found that he gave his mother half of it. He restricted himself in all his expenses, and shared the diminished income with his mother as before. He did much good by stealth, and was a most generous creature.