by Lord Byron
Byron was not slow to take up the challenge. In the “Appendix” to the Two Foscari (first ed., pp. 325-329), which was written at Ravenna, June-July, but not published till December 11, 1821, he retaliates on “Mr. Southey and his ‘pious preface’“ in many words; but when it comes to the point, ignores the charge of having “published a lascivious book,” and endeavours by counter-charges to divert the odium and to cover his adversary with shame and confusion. “Mr. S.,” he says, “with a cowardly ferocity, exults over the anticipated ‘death-bed repentance’ of the objects of his dislike; and indulges himself in a pleasant ‘Vision of Judgment,’ in prose as well as verse, full of impious impudence…. I am not ignorant,” he adds, “of Mr. Southey’s calumnies on a different occasion, knowing them to be such, which he scattered abroad on his return from Switzerland against me and others…. What his ‘death-bed’ may be it is not my province to predicate; let him settle it with his Maker, as I must do with mine. There is something at once ludicrous and blasphemous in this arrogant scribbler of all works sitting down to deal damnation and destruction upon his fellow-creatures, with Wat Tyler, the Apotheosis of George the Third, and the Elegy on Martin the regicide, all shuffled together in his writing-desk.”
Southey must have received his copy of the Two Foscari in the last week of December, 1821, and with the “Appendix” (to say nothing of the Third Canto of Don Juan) before him, he gave tongue, in the pages of the Courier, January 6, 1822. His task was an easy one. He was able to deny, in toto, the charge of uttering calumnies on his return from Switzerland, and he was pleased to word his denial in a very disagreeable way. He had come home with a stock of travellers’ tales, but not one of them was about Lord Byron. He had “sought for no staler subject than St. Ursula.” His charges of “impiety,” “lewdness,” “profanation,” and “pollution,” had not been answered, and were unanswerable; and as to his being a “scribbler of all work,” there were exceptions — works which he had not scribbled, the nefanda which disfigured the writings of Lord Byron. “Satanic school” would stick.
So far, the battle went in Southey’s favour. “The words of the men of Judah were fiercer than the words of the men of Israel,” and Byron was reduced to silence. A challenge (sent through Kinnaird, but not delivered) was but a confession of impotence. There was, however, in Southey’s letter to the Courier just one sentence too many. Before he concluded he had given “one word of advice to Lord Byron” — ”When he attacks me again, let it be in rhyme. For one who has so little command of himself, it will be a great advantage that his temper should be obliged to keep tune.”
Byron had anticipated this advice, and had already attacked the laureate in rhyme, scornfully and satirically, but with a gay and genial mockery which dispensed with “wormwood and verdigrease” or yet bitterer and more venomous ingredients.
There was a truth in Lamb’s jest, that it was Southey’s Vision of Judgement which was worthy of prosecution; that “Lord Byron’s poem was of a most good-natured description — no malevolence” (Diary of H. C. Robinson, 1869, ii. 240). Good-natured or otherwise, it awoke inextinguishable laughter, and left Byron in possession of the field.
The Vision of Judgment, begun May 7 (but probably laid aside till September 11), was forwarded to Murray October 4, 1821. “By this post,” he wrote to Moore, October 6, 1821 (Letters, 1901, v. 387), “I have sent my nightmare to balance the incubus of Southey’s impudent anticipation of the Apotheosis of George the Third.” A chance perusal of Southey’s letter in the Courier (see Medwin’s Conversations, 1824, p. 222, and letters to Douglas Kinnaird, February 6, 25, 1822) quickened his desire for publication; but in spite of many appeals and suggestions to Murray, who had sent Byron’s “copy” to his printer, the decisive step of passing the proofs for press was never taken. At length Byron lost patience, and desired Murray to hand over “the corrected copy of the proof with the Preface” of the Vision of Judgment to John Hunt (see letters to Murray, July 3, 6, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 92, 93). Finally, a year after the MS. had been sent to England, the Vision of Judgment, by Quevedo Redivivus, appeared in the first number (pp. 1-39) of the Liberal, which was issued October 15, 1822. The Preface, to Byron’s astonishment and annoyance, was not forthcoming (see letter to Murray, October 22, 1822, Letters, 1901, vi. 126, and Examiner, Sunday, November 3, 1822, p. 697), and is not prefixed to the first issue of the Vision of Judgment in the first number of the Liberal.
The Liberal was severely handled by the press (see, for example, the Literary Gazette for October 19, 26, November 2, 1822; see, too, an anonymous pamphlet entitled A Critique on the “Liberal” (London, 1822, 8vo, 16 pages), which devotes ten pages to an attack on the Vision of Judgment). The daily press was even more violent. The Courier for October 26 begins thus: “This scoundrel-like publication has at length made its appearance.”
There was even a threat of prosecution. Byron offered to employ counsel for Hunt, to come over to England to stand his trial in his stead, and blamed Murray for not having handed over the corrected proof, in which some of the more offensive passages had been omitted or mitigated (see letter to Murray, December 25, 1822, and letter to John Hunt, January 8, 1823, Letters, 1901, vi. 155, 159). It is to be noted that in the list of Errata affixed to the table of Contents at the end of the first volume of the Liberal, the words, a “weaker king ne’er,” are substituted for “a worse king never” (stanza viii. line 6), and “an unhandsome woman” for “a bad, ugly woman” (stanza xii. line 8). It would seem that these emendations, which do not appear in the MS., were slipped into the Errata as precautions, not as after-thoughts.
Nevertheless, it was held that a publication “calumniating the late king, and wounding the feelings of his present Majesty,” was a danger to the public peace, and on January 15, 1824, the case of the King v. John Hunt was tried in the Court of King’s Bench. The jury brought in a verdict of “Guilty,” but judgment was deferred, and it was not till July 19, 1824, three days after the author of the Vision of Judgment had been laid to rest at Hucknall Torkard, that the publisher was sentenced to pay to the king a fine of one hundred pounds, and to enter into securities, for five years, for a larger amount.
For the complete text of section iii. of Southey’s Preface, Byron’s “Appendix” to the Two Foscari, etc., see Essays Moral and Political, by Robert Southey, 1832, ii. 183, 205. See, too, for “Quarrel between Byron and Southey,” Appendix I. of vol. vi. of Letters of Lord Byron, 1901.
PREFACE
It hath been wisely said, that “One fool makes many;” and it hath been poetically observed —
“[That] fools rush in where angels fear to tread.”
[POPE’S Essay on Criticism, line 625.]
If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegade intolerance, and impious cant, of the poem by the author of “Wat Tyler,” are something so stupendous as to form the sublime of himself — containing the quintessence of his own attributes.
So much for his poem — a word on his preface. In this preface it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed “Satanic School,” the which he doth recommend to the notice of the legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those of an informer. If there exists anywhere, except in his imagination, such a School, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vanity? The truth is that there are certain writers whom Mr. S. imagines, like Scrub, to have “talked of him; for they laughed consumedly.”
I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done more good, in the charities of life, to their fellow-creatures, in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by h
is absurdities in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. But I have a few questions to ask.
1stly, Is Mr. Southey the author of Wat Tyler?
2ndly, Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious publication?
3rdly, Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full parliament, “a rancorous renegado?”
4thly, Is he not poet laureate, with his own lines on Martin the regicide staring him in the face?
And, 5thly, Putting the four preceding items together, with what conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications of others, be they what they may?
I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding; its meanness speaks for itself; but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in some recent publications, as he was of yore in the Anti-jacobin, by his present patrons. Hence all this “skimble scamble stuff” about “Satanic,” and so forth. However, it is worthy of him — ”qualis ab incepto.”
If there is anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion of the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. He might have written hexameters, as he has written everything else, for aught that the writer cared — had they been upon another subject. But to attempt to canonise a monarch, who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king, — inasmuch as several years of his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France — like all other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner he may be spoken of in this new Vision, his public career will not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no doubt.
With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a better right to talk of them than Robert Southey. I have also treated them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, the Laureate, deals about his judgments in the next world, is like his own judgment in this. If it was not completely ludicrous, it would be something worse. I don’t think that there is much more to say at present.
QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.
P.S. — It is possible that some readers may object, in these objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and spiritual persons discourse in this Vision. But, for precedents upon such points, I must refer him to Fielding’s Journey from this World to the next, and to the Visions of myself, the said Quevedo, in Spanish or translated. The reader is also requested to observe, that no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; that the person of the Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more than can be said for the Laureate, who hath thought proper to make him talk, not “like a school-divine,” but like the unscholarlike Mr. Southey. The whole action passes on the outside of heaven; and Chaucer’s Wife of Bath, Pulci’s Morgante Maggiore, Swift’s Tale of a Tub, and the other works above referred to, are cases in point of the freedom with which saints, etc., may be permitted to converse in works not intended to be serious.
Q.R.
Mr. Southey being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive, threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be hoped that his visionary faculties will in the meantime have acquired a little more judgment, properly so called: otherwise he will get himself into new dilemmas. These apostate jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously “one Mr. Landor,” who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses; and not long ago, the poet laureate dedicated to him, it appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem called “Gebir.” Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir the aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of his friend Mr. Southey’s heaven, — yea, even George the Third! See also how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign: —
(Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his view; and he exclaims to his ghostly guide) —
“‘Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch
Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow?
Listen! him yonder who, bound down supine,
Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung;
He too amongst my ancestors! [I hate
The despot, but the dastard I despise.
Was he our countryman?’
‘Alas,] O king!
Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst
Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east.’
‘He was a warrior then, nor fear’d the gods?’
‘Gebir, he feared the Demons, not the gods,
Though them indeed his daily face adored;
And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives
Squandered, as stones to exercise a sling,
And the tame cruelty and cold caprice —
Oh madness of mankind! addressed, adored!’“
Gebir [Works, etc., 1876, vii. 17].
I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallics of Savagius, wishing to keep the proper veil over them, if his grave but somewhat indiscreet worshipper will suffer it; but certainly these teachers of “great moral lessons” are apt to be found in strange company.
THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.
I.
Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate:
His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull,
So little trouble had been given of late;
Not that the place by any means was full,
But since the Gallic era “eighty-eight”
The Devils had ta’en a longer, stronger pull,
And “a pull altogether,” as they say
At sea — which drew most souls another way.
II.
The Angels all were singing out of tune,
And hoarse with having little else to do,
Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,
Or curb a runaway young star or two,
Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon
Broke out of bounds o’er the ethereal blue,
Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.
III.
The Guardian Seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business filled nought in the sky
Save the Recording Angel’s black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripped off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.
IV.
His business so augmented of late years,
That he was forced, against his will, no doubt,
(Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers,)
For some resource to turn himself about,
And claim the help of his celestial peers,
To aid him ere he should be quite worn out
By the increased demand for his remarks:
Six Angels and twelve Saints were named his clerks.
V.
This was a handsome board — at least for Heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many Conquerors’ cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;
Each day, too, slew its thousands six or seven,
Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,
They threw their pens down in divine disgust —
The page was so besmeared with blood and dust.
VI.
This by the way; ‘tis not mine to record
>
What Angels shrink from: even the very Devil
On this occasion his own work abhorred,
So surfeited with the infernal revel:
Though he himself had sharpened every sword,
It almost quenched his innate thirst of evil.
(Here Satan’s sole good work deserves insertion —
‘Tis, that he has both Generals in reversion.)
VII.
Let’s skip a few short years of hollow peace,
Which peopled earth no better, Hell as wont,
And Heaven none — they form the tyrant’s lease,
With nothing but new names subscribed upon’t;
‘Twill one day finish: meantime they increase,
“With seven heads and ten horns,” and all in front,
Like Saint John’s foretold beast; but ours are born
Less formidable in the head than horn.
VIII.
In the first year of Freedom’s second dawn
Died George the Third; although no tyrant, one
Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn
Left him nor mental nor external sun:
A better farmer ne’er brushed dew from lawn,
A worse king never left a realm undone!
He died — but left his subjects still behind,
One half as mad — and t’other no less blind.
IX.
He died! his death made no great stir on earth:
His burial made some pomp; there was profusion
Of velvet — gilding — brass — and no great dearth