Tony Lumpkin, I am to be snubbed so when I am in spirits,' the poem will be naught, and the poet turn serious again. If it don't take, I will leave it off where it is, with all due respect to the public; but if continued, it must be in my own way. You might as well make Hamlet (or Diggory) 'act mad' in a strait waistcoat as trammel my buffoonery, if I am to be a buffoon; their gestures and my thoughts would only be pitiably absurd and ludicrously constrained. Why, man, the soul of such writing is its licence; at least the liberty of that licence, if one likes -not that one should abuse it. It is like Trial by Jury and Peerage and the Habeas Corpus- -a very fine thing, but chiefly in the reversion; because no one wishes to be tried for the mere pleasure of proving his possession of the privilege. 66 But a truce with these reflections. You are too earnest and eager about a work never intended to be serious. Do you suppose that I could have any intention but to giggle and make giggle?- -a playful satire, with as little poetry as could be helped, was what I meant. And as to the indecency, do, pray, read in Boswell what Johnson, the sullen moralist, says of Prior and Paulo Purgante. 2 "Will you get a favour done for me? You can, by your government friends, Croker, Canning, or my old schoolfellow Peel, and I can't. Here it is. Will you ask them to appoint (without salary or emolument) a noble Italian (whom I will name afterwards) consul or vice-consul for Ravenna? He is a man of very large property, noble, too; but he wishes to have a British protection, in case of changes. Ravenna is near the sea. He wants no emolument whatever. That his office might be useful, I know; as I lately sent off from Ravenna to Trieste a poor devil of an English sailor, who had remained there sick, sorry, and pennyless (having been set ashore in 1814), from the want of any accredited agent able or willing to help him homewards. Will you get this done? If you do, I will then send his name and condition, subject, of course, to rejection, if not approved when known. 1 [In the farce of " All the World's a Stage."] 2 ["I mentioned Lord Hailes's censure of Prior, in his preface to a Collection of Sacred Poems, where he mentions' those impure tales which will be the eternal opprobrium of their author.'- JOHNSON: 'Sir, Lord Hailes has forgot.' There is nothing in Prior that will excite to lewdness. If Lord Hailes thinks there is, he must be more combustible than other people !' I instanced the tale of Paulo Purganti.-JOHNSON: Sir, there is nothing "I know that in the Levant you make consuls and vice-consuls, perpetually, of foreigners. This man is a patrician, and has twelve thousand a year. His motive is a British protection in case of new invasions. Don't you think Croker would do it for us? To be sure, my interest is rare!! but, perhaps, a brother wit in the Tory line might do a good turn at the request of so harmless and long absent a Whig, particularly as there is no salary or burden of any sort to be annexed to the office. "I can assure you, I should look upon it as a great obligation; but, alas! that very circumstance may, very probably, operate to the contrary-indeed, it ought; but I have, at least, been an honest and an open enemy. Amongst your many splendid government connections, could not you, think you, get our Bibulus made a Consul? or make me one, that I may make him my Vice. You may be assured that, in case of accidents in Italy, he would be no feeble adjunct — as you would think if you knew his property. "What is all this about Tom Moore? but why do I ask? since the state of my own affairs would not permit me to be of use to him, though they are greatly improved since 1816, and may, with some more luck and a little prudence, become quite clear. It seems his claimants are American merchants? There goes Nemesis! Moore abused America. It is always thus in the long run : — - Time, the Avenger. You have seen every trampler down, in turn, from Buonaparte to the simplest individuals. You saw how some were avenged even upon my insignificance, and how in turn *** [Romilly] paid for his atrocity. It is an odd world; but the watch has its mainspring, after all. "So the Prince has been repealing Lord Edward Fitzgerald's forfeiture? Ecco un' sonetto! "To be the father of the fatherless, To stretch the hand from the throne's height, and raise there. No, sir, Prior is a lady's book: no lady is ashamed to have it standing in her library.'". Boswell, vol. vii. p. 10. ed. 1835 ] 3 [Lord Edward Fitzgerald, fifth son of the first Duke of Leinster. He died in 1798, of wounds received in resisting an arrest upon a charge of high treason. He had married Pamela, the adopted daughter of Madame de Genlis; who, according to Mr. Moore's Life of Lord Edward, was in fact that lady's own daughter by the Duke of Orleans. -Egalité.] 66 Yours." Bologna, August 23. 1819. "I send you a letter to Roberts, signed Wortley Clutterbuck, which you may publish in what form you please, in answer to his article. I have had many proofs of men's absurdity, but he beats all in folly. Why, the wolf in sheep's clothing has tumbled into the very trap! We'll strip him. The letter is written in great haste, and amidst a thousand vexations. Your letter only came yesterday, so that there is no time to polish: the post goes out to-morrow. The date is 'Little Piddlington.' Let Hobhouse correct the press; he knows and can read the handwriting. Continue to keep the anonymous about Juan;' it helps us to fight against overwhelming numbers. I have a thousand distractions at present; so excuse haste, and wonder I can act or write at all. Answer by post, as usual. "Yours. "P. S.-If I had had time, and been quieter and nearer, I would have cut him to hash; but as it is, you can judge for yourselves." The letter to the Reviewer, here mentioned, had its origin in rather an amusing 1 ["No misdemeanor," say the reviewers," appears to us in so detestable a light as the acceptance of a present by an editor of a Review, as the condition of praising an author; and yet the miserable man (for miserable he is, as having a soul of which he cannot get rid), who has given birth to this pestilent poem, has not scrupled to lay this to the charge of the British Review; and that not by circumstance. In the first canto of Don Who thank'd me duly by return of post- On the appearance of the poem, the learned editor of the Review in question allowed himself to be decoyed into the ineffable absurdity of taking the charge as serious, and, in his succeeding number, came forth with an indignant contradiction of it. To this tempting subject the letter, written so hastily off at Bologna, related; but, though printed for Mr. Murray, in a pamphlet, consisting of twenty-three pages, it was never published by him. Being valuable, however, as one of the best specimens we have of Lord Byron's simple and thoroughly English prose, it has been preserved in the recent editions of his works. CHAPTER XXXV. 1819. MODE OF LIFE AT BOLOGNA.-ANECDOTES.RETURN WITH MADAME GUICCIOLI TO LA MIRA. — MR. MOORE'S REMINISCENCES OF HIS VISIT TO LORD BYRON. HIS PERSONAL APPEARANCE. HIS PORTRAIT BY THE COUNTESS ALBRIZZI - MR. HOPPNER'S ACCOUNT OF HIS HABITS AND MODE OF LIFE AT VENICE. TOWARDS the latter end of August, Count Guiccioli, accompanied by his lady, went for a short time to visit some of his Romagnese estates, while Lord Byron remained at Bologna alone. And here, with a heart softened and excited by the new feeling that had taken possession of him, he appears to have given himself up, during this interval of solitude, to a train of melancholy and impassioned thought, such as, for a time, brought back all the romance of his youthful days. insinuation, but has actually stated himself to have sent money in a letter to the editor of this journal, who acknowledged the receipt of the same by a letter in return, with thanks. We do utterly deny that there is one word of truth, or the semblance of truth, as far as regards this Review or its Editor, in the assertions made in the stanzas above referred to."] That spring of natural tenderness within his soul, which neither the world's efforts nor his own had been able to chill or choke up, was now, with something of its first freshness, set flowing once more. He again knew what it was to love and be loved,-too late, it is true, for happiness, and too wrongly for peace, but with devotion enough, on the part of the woman, to satisfy even his thirst for affection, and with a sad earnestness, on his own, a foreboding fidelity, which made him cling but the more passionately to this attachment from feeling that it would be his last. A circumstance which he himself used to mention as having occurred at this period will show how overpowering, at times, was the rush or melancholy over his heart. It was his fancy, during Madame Guiccioli's absence from Bologna, to go daily to her house at his usual hour of visiting her, and there, causing her apartments to be opened, to sit turning over her books, and writing in them. He would then descend into her garden, where he passed hours in musing; and it was on an occasion of this kind, as he stood looking, in a state of unconscious reverie, into one of those fountains so common in the gardens of Italy, that there came suddenly into his mind such desolate fancies, such bodings of the misery he might bring on her he loved, by that doom which (as he has himself written) "makes it fatal to be loved," that, overwhelmed with his own thoughts, he burst into an agony of tears. During the same few days it was that he wrote in the last page of Madame Guiccioli's copy of "Corinne" the following remarkable note : "I knew Madame de Stael well,- better than she knew Italy, but I little thought that, one day, I should think with her thoughts, in the country where she has laid the scene of her most attractive production. She is sometimes right, and often wrong, about Italy and England; but almost always true in delineating the heart, which is of but one nation, and of no country, or, rather, of all. BYRON. "Bologna, August 23. 1819." 2 "Oh Love ! what is it, in this world of ours, Which makes it fatal to be loved? ah! why With cypress branches hast thou wreath'd thy bowers, And made thy best interpreter a sigh ? not understand them—which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian. But you will recognise the hand-writing of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book which was yours, he could only think of love. In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours― Amor mio· is comprised my existence here and hereafter. I feel I exist here, and I fear that I shall exist hereafter, -to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, seventeen years of age, and two out of a convent. I wish that you had stayed there, with all my heart, or, at least, that I had never met you in your married state. "But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me, - at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events. But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. "Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and the ocean divide us, - but they never will, unless you wish it. BYRON. Keep the anonymous, in any case: it helps what fun there may be. But if the matter grow serious about Don Juan, and you feel yourself in a scrape, or me either, own that I am the author. I will never shrink; and if you do, I can always answer you in the question of Guatimozin to his minister- each being on his own coals. 3 As those who dote on odours pluck the flowers, And place them on their breasts but place to die Thus the frail beings we would fondly cherish [Don Juan, c. iii. st. 2.] 3 ["Guatimozin, together with his chief favourite, being subjected by Cortes to torture, in order to force from them a discovery of the royal treasures, the unhappy monarch bore the torments with invincible fortitude: his fellow-sufferer, however, overcome by the violence of the anguish, turned a dejected eye towards his master, which seemed to implore his permission to reveal all that he knew; but the high-spirited prince darting on him a look of authority, mingled with scorn, checked his weakness by asking him, Am I now reposing on a bed of flowers?' Overawed by the reproach, "I wish that I had been in better spirits but I am out of sorts, out of nerves, and now and then (I begin to fear) out of my senses. All this Italy has done for me, and not England: I defy all you, and your climate to boot, to make me mad. But if ever I do really become a bedlamite, and wear a strait waistcoat, let me be brought back among you; your people will then be proper company. · "I assure you what I here say and feel has nothing to do with England, either in a literary or personal point of view. All my present pleasures or plagues are as Italian as the opera. And after all, they are but trifles; for all this arises from my 'Dama's' being in the country for three days (at Capofiume). But as I could never live but for one human being at a time, (and, I assure you, that one has never been myself, as you may know by the consequences, for the selfish are successful in life,) I feel alone and unhappy. "I have sent for my daughter from Venice, and I ride daily, and walk in a garden, under a purple canopy of grapes, and sit by a fountain, and talk with the gardener of his tools, which seem greater than Adam's, and with his wife, and with his son's wife, who is the youngest of the party, and, I think, talks best of the three. Then I revisit the Campo Santo, and my old friend, the sexton, has two-but one the prettiest daughter imaginable; and I amuse myself with contrasting her beautiful and innocent face of fifteen with the skulls with which he has peopled several cells, and particularly with that of one skull dated 1766, which was once covered (the tradition goes,) by the most lovely features of Bologna noble and rich. When I look at these, and at this girl when I think of what they were, and what she must be-why, then, my dear Murray, I won't shock you by saying what I think. It is little matter what becomes of us bearded men,' but I don't like the notion of a beautiful woman's lasting less than a beautiful tree — than her own picture - her own shadow, which won't change so to the sun as her face to the mirror. I must leave off, for my head aches consumedly. I have never been quite well since the night of the representation of Alfieri's Mirra, a fortnight ago. - "Yours ever." the favourite persevered in his duty, and expired."Robertson's America, vol. iii. p. 74.] [Shortly after the abdication of Napoleon Buona LETTER 340. TO MR. MURRAY. Bologna, August 29. 1819. I I "I have been in a rage these two days, and am still bilious therefrom. You shall hear. A captain of dragoons,**, Hanoverian by birth, in the Papal troops at present, whom I had obliged by a loan when nobody would lend him a paul, recommended a horse to me, on sale by a Lieutenant **, an officer who unites the sale of cattle to the purchase of men. I bought it. The next day, on shoeing the horse, we discovered the thrush, — the animal being warranted sound. sent to reclaim the contract and the money. The lieutenant desired to speak with me in person. I consented. He came. It was his own particular request. He began a story. I asked him if he would return the money. He said no-but he would exchange. He asked an exorbitant price for his other horses. I told him that he was a thief. He said he was an officer and a man of honour, and pulled out a Parmesan passport signed by General Count Neipperg. answered, that as he was an officer, I would treat him as such; and that as to his being a gentleman, he might prove it by returning the money as for his Parmesan passport, I should have valued it more if it had been a Parmesan cheese. He answered in high terms, and said that if it were the morning (it was about eight o'clock in the evening) he would have satisfaction. I then lost my temper: As for THAT,' I replied, 'you shall have it directly, it will be mutual satisfaction, I can assure you. You are a thief, and, as you say, an officer; my pistols are in the next room loaded; take one of the candles, examine, and make your choice of weapons.' He replied, that pistols were English weapons; he always fought with the sword. I told him that I was able to accommodate him, having three regimental swords in a drawer near us: and he might take the longest and put himself on guard. "All this passed in presence of a third person. He then said No; but to-morrow morning he would give me the meeting at any time or place. I answered that it was not usual to appoint meetings in the presence of witnesses, and that we had best speak man to man, and appoint time and instruments. But as the man present was leaving the room, the Lieutenant *, before he could shut the door after him, ran out roaring 'Help and murder' most lustily, and fell into parte, the Count was presented to Maria Louisa, and became, in the sequel, her chamberlain, and then her husband. He died in 1831.] a sort of hysteric in the arms of about fifty people, who all saw that I had no weapon of any sort or kind about me, and followed him, asking him what the devil was the matter with him. Nothing would do: he ran away without his hat, and went to bed, ill of the fright. He then tried his complaint at the police, which dismissed it as frivolous. He is, I believe, gone away, or going. 66 The horse was warranted, but, I believe, so worded that the villain will not be obliged to refund, according to law. He endeavoured to raise up an indictment of assault and battery, but as it was in a public | inn, in a frequented street, there were too many witnesses to the contrary; and, as a military man, he has not cut a martial figure, even in the opinion of the priests. He ran off in such a hurry that he left his hat, and never missed it till he got to his hostel or inn. The facts are as I tell you, I can assure you. He began by 'coming Captain Grand over me,' or I should never have thought of trying his cunning in fence.' But what could I do? He talked of honour, and satisfaction, and his commission;' he produced a military passport; there are severe punishments for regular duels on the Continent, and trifling ones for rencontres, so that it is best to fight it out directly; he had robbed, and then wanted to insult me; — what could I do? My patience was gone, and the weapons at hand, fair and equal. Besides, it was just after dinner, when my digestion was bad, and I don't like to be disturbed. His friend ** is at Forli; we shall meet on my way back to Ravenna. The Hanoverian seems the greater rogue of the two; and if my valour does not ooze away like Acres's—‘Odds flints and triggers!' if it should be a rainy morning, and my stomach in disorder, there may be something for the obituary. "Il Conte Guiccioli doveva per affari ritornare a Ravenna; lo stato della mia salute esiggeva che io ritornassi in vece a Venezia. Egli acconsenti dunque che Lord Byron mi fosse compagno di viaggio. Partimmo da Bologna alli 15 di S. — visitammo insieme i Colli Euganei ed Arquà; scrivemmo i nostri nomi nel libro che si presenta a quelli che fanno quel pellegrinaggio. Ma sopra tali rimembranze di felicità non posso fermarmi, caro Sign'. Moore; l'opposizione col presente é troppo forte, e se un anima benedetta nel pieno godimento di tutte le felicità celesti fosse mandata quaggiù e condan 66 to In the month of September, Count Guiccioli, being called away by business Ravenna, left his young Countess and her lover to the free enjoyment of each other's society at Bologna. The lady's ill health, which had been the cause of her thus remaining behind, was thought, soon after, to require the still further advantage of a removal to Venice; and the Count her husband, being written to on the subject, consented, with the most complaisant readiness, that she should proceed thither in company with Lord Byron. Some business" (says the lady's own Memoir) "having called Count Guiccioli to Ravenna, I was obliged, by the state of my health, instead of accompanying him, to return to Venice, and he consented that Lord Byron should be the companion of my journey. We left Bologna on the fifteenth of September: we visited the Euganean Hills and Arquà, and wrote our names in the book which is presented to those who make this pilgrimage. But I cannot linger over these recollections of happiness; the contrast with the present is too dreadful. If a blessed spirit, while in the full enjoyment of heavenly happiness, were sent down to this earth to suffer all its miseries, the contrast could not be more dreadful between the past and the present, than what I have endured from the moment when that terrible word reached my ears, and I for ever lost the hope of again beholding him, one look from whom I valued beyond all earth's happiness. When I arrived at Venice, the physicians ordered that I should try the country air, and Lord Byron, having a villa at La Mira, gave it up to me, and came to reside there with me. At this place we passed the autumn, and there I had the pleasure of forming your acquaintance.” 1 ; It was my good fortune, at this period, in the course of a short and hasty tour through the north of Italy, to pass five or six days with Lord Byron at Venice. I had written to him on my way thither to announce my coming, and to say how happy it would make nata a sopportare tutte le miserie della nostra terra non potrebbe sentire più terribile contrasto frà il passato ed il presente di quello che io sento dacchè quella terribile parola è giunta alle mie orecchie, dacchè ho perduto la speranza di più vedere quello di cui uno sguardo valeva per me più di tutte le felicità della terra. Giunti a Venezia i medici mi ordinarono di respirare l'aria della campagna. Egli aveva una villa alla Mira, - la cedesse a me, e venne meco. La passammo l'autunno, e là ebbi il bene di fare la vostra conoscenza."- MS. |