Lord Byron - Delphi Poets Series

by Lord Byron

  Ever yours, etc.,

  BYRON.

  P.S.-Are the Miss — — anxiously expecting my arrival and contributions to their gossip and rhymes, which are about as bad as they can be?

  B.

  134. — To his Mother.

  Smyrna, April 10, 1810.

  Dear Mother, — To-morrow, or this evening, I sail for Constantinople in the ‘Salsette’ frigate, of thirty-six guns. She returns to England with our ambassador, whom she is going up on purpose to receive. I have written to you short letters from Athens, Smyrna, and a long one from Albania. I have not yet mustered courage for a second large epistle, and you must not be angry, since I take all opportunities of apprizing you of my safety; but even that is an effort, writing is so irksome.

  I have been traversing Greece, and Epirus, Illyria, etc., etc., and you see by my date, have got into Asia. I have made but one excursion lately to the ruins of Ephesus. Malta is the rendez-vous of my letters, so address to that island. Mr. Hanson has not written, though I wished to hear of the Norfolk sale, the Lancashire law-suit, etc., etc., I am anxiously expecting fresh remittances. I believe you will like Nottinghamshire, at least my share of it. Pray accept my good wishes in lieu of a long letter, and believe me,

  Yours sincerely and affectionately,

  BYRON.

  [Footnote 1: Robert (afterwards the Right Hon. Sir Robert) Adair (1763-1855), son of Sergeant-Surgeon Adair and Lady Caroline Keppel, described by an Austrian aristocrat as “le fils du plus grand ‘Seigneur’ d’Angleterre,” was educated at Westminster and the University of Gottingen.” At the latter place Adair, always, as his kinsman Lord Albemarle said of him, “an enthusiastic admirer of the fair sex” (‘Recollections’, vol. i. p. 229), fell in love with his tutor’s daughter. He did not, however, marry “Sweet Matilda Pottingen,” but Angélique Gabrielle, daughter of the Marquis d’Hazincourt. He is supposed to have contributed to the ‘Rolliad’; and the “Dedication to Sir Lloyd Kenyon,” “Margaret Nicholson” (‘Political Eclogues’, p. 207), and the “Song of Scrutina” (‘Probationary Odes’, p. 285), have been attributed to him. He, however, denied (Moore’s ‘Journal and Correspondence’, vol. ii. p. 304) that he wrote any part of the ‘Rolliad’. A Whig, and an intimate friend and follower of Fox, he was in 1791 at St. Petersburg, where the Tories believed that he had been sent by his chief on “half a mission” to intrigue with Russia against Pitt. The charge was published by Dr. Pretyman, Bishop of Winchester, in his ‘Life of Pitt’ (1821), who may have wished to pay off old scores, and to retaliate on one of the reputed authors of the ‘Rolliad’ for the “Pretymaniana,” and was answered in ‘Two Letters from Mr. Adair to the Bishop of Winchester’. It is to this accusation that Ellis and Frere, in the ‘Anti-Jacobin’, refer in “A Bit of an Ode to Mr. Fox” (‘Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin’, edit. 1854, pp. 71-73): —

  ”I mount, I mount into the sky,

  Sweet bird, to ‘Petersburg’ I’ll fly,

  Or, if you bid, to ‘Paris’.

  Fresh missions of the ‘Fox’ and ‘Goose’

  Successful ‘Treaties’ may produce,

  Though Pitt in all miscarries.”

  Sir James Mackintosh, speaking of the story, told Moore (‘Journals and Correspondence’, vol. iv. p. 267) that a private letter from Adair, reporting his conversations with a high official in St. Petersburg, fell into the hands of the British Government; that some members of the Council were desirous of taking proceedings upon it; but that Lord Grenville and Pitt threatened to resign, if any use was made of such a document so obtained. (See also the “Translation of a Letter from Bawba-Dara-Adul-Phoola,” etc. — ’i.e.’ “Bob Adair, a dull fool” — in the ‘Anti-Jacobin’, p. 208.) Adair was in 1806 sent by Fox as Ambassador to Vienna, and in 1809 was appointed by Canning Ambassador Extraordinary at Constantinople, where, with Stratford Canning as his secretary, he negotiated the Treaty of the Dardanelles. For his services, on his return in 1810, he was made a K.C.B. He was subsequently (1831-35) employed on a mission to the Low Countries, when war appeared imminent between William, Prince of Orange and King Leopold. He was afterwards sworn a member of the Privy Council, and received a pension. George Ticknor (‘Life’, vol. i. p. 269), who met him at Woburn in 1819, speaks of his great conversational charms, and Moore (‘Journals and Correspondence’, vol. vii. p. 216) describes him, in 1838, as a man “from whom one gets, now and then, an agreeable whiff of the days of Fox, Tickell, and Sheridan.” Many years after Fox’s death, Adair was at a fête at Chiswick House. “‘In which room,’ he asked of Samuel Rogers, ‘did Fox expire?’ ‘In this very room,’ I replied. Immediately, Adair burst into tears with a vehemence of grief such as I hardly ever saw exhibited by a man” (‘Recollections of the Table-Talk of Samuel Rogers’, p. 97).]

  [Footnote 2: The sale of Wymondham and other property in Norfolk, which had come to him through his great-uncle.]

  [Footnote 3: Probably an allusion to his mother leaving Burgage Manor and taking up her residence at Newstead.]

  135. — To his Mother.

  Salsette Frigate, off the Dardanelles, April 17, 1810.

  Dear Madam, — I write at anchor (on our way to Constantinople) off the Troad, which I traversed ten days ago. All the remains of Troy are the tombs of her destroyers, amongst which I saw that of Antilochus from my cabin window. These are large mounds of earth, like the barrows of the Danes in your island. There are several monuments, about twelve miles distant, of the Alexandrian Troas, which I also examined, but by no means to be compared with the remnants of Athens and Ephesus. This will be sent in a ship of war, bound with despatches for Malta. In a few days we shall be at Constantinople, barring accidents. I have also written from Smyrna, and shall, from time to time, transmit short accounts of my movements, but I feel totally unequal to long letters.

  Believe me, yours very sincerely,

  BYRON.

  P.S. — No accounts from Hanson!!! Do not complain of short letters; I write to nobody but yourself and Mr. H.

  136. — To Henry Drury.

  Salsette frigate, May 3, 1810.

  My Dear Drury, — When I left England, nearly a year ago, you requested me to write to you — I will do so. I have crossed Portugal, traversed the south of Spain, visited Sardinia, Sicily, Malta, and thence passed into Turkey, where I am still wandering. I first landed in Albania, the ancient Epirus, where we penetrated as far as Mount Tomarit — excellently treated by the chief Ali Pacha, — and, after journeying through Illyria, Chaonia, etc., crossed the Gulf of Actium, with a guard of fifty Albanians, and passed the Achelous in our route through Acarnania and Ætolia. We stopped a short time in the Morea, crossed the Gulf of Lepanto, and landed at the foot of Parnassus; — saw all that Delphi retains, and so on to Thebes and Athens, at which last we remained ten weeks.

  His Majesty’s ship, Pylades, brought us to Smyrna; but not before we had topographised Attica, including, of course, Marathon and the Sunian promontory. From Smyrna to the Troad (which we visited when at anchor, for a fortnight, off the tomb of Antilochus) was our next stage; and now we are in the Dardanelles, waiting for a wind to proceed to Constantinople.

  This morning I swam from Sestos to Abydos. The immediate distance is not above a mile, but the current renders it hazardous; — so much so that I doubt whether Leander’s conjugal affection must not have been a little chilled in his passage to Paradise. I attempted it a week ago, and failed, — owing to the north wind, and the wonderful rapidity of the tide, — though I have been from my childhood a strong swimmer. But, this morning being calmer, I succeeded, and crossed the “broad Hellespont” in an hour and ten minutes.

  Well, my dear sir, I have left my home, and seen part of Africa and Asia, and a tolerable portion of Europe. I have been with generals and admirals, princes and pashas, governors and ungovernables, — but I have not time or paper to expatiate. I wish to let you know that I live with a friendly remembrance of you, and a hope to meet you again; and if I
do this as shortly as possible, attribute it to any thing but forgetfulness.

  Greece, ancient and modern, you know too well to require description. Albania, indeed, I have seen more of than any Englishman (except a Mr. Leake), for it is a country rarely visited, from the savage character of the natives, though abounding in more natural beauties than the classical regions of Greece, — which, however, are still eminently beautiful, particularly Delphi and Cape Colonna in Attica. Yet these are nothing to parts of Illyria and Epirus, where places without a name, and rivers not laid down in maps, may, one day, when more known, be justly esteemed superior subjects, for the pencil and the pen, to the dry ditch of the Ilissus and the bogs of Boeotia.

  The Troad is a fine field for conjecture and snipe-shooting, and a good sportsman and an ingenious scholar may exercise their feet and faculties to great advantage upon the spot; — or, if they prefer riding, lose their way (as I did) in a cursed quagmire of the Scamander, who wriggles about as if the Dardan virgins still offered their wonted tribute. The only vestige of Troy, or her destroyers, are the barrows supposed to contain the carcasses of Achilles, Antilochus, Ajax, etc.; — but Mount Ida is still in high feather, though the shepherds are now-a-days not much like Ganymede. But why should I say more of these things? are they not written in the Boke of Gell? and has not Hobhouse got a journal? I keep none, as I have renounced scribbling.

  I see not much difference between ourselves and the Turks, save that we have — — and they have none — that they have long dresses, and we short, and that we talk much, and they little. They are sensible people. Ali Pacha told me he was sure I was a man of rank, because I had small ears and hands, and curling hair. By the by, I speak the Romaic, or modern Greek, tolerably. It does not differ from the ancient dialects so much as you would conceive; but the pronunciation is diametrically opposite. Of verse, except in rhyme, they have no idea.

  I like the Greeks, who are plausible rascals, — with all the Turkish vices, without their courage. However, some are brave, and all are beautiful, very much resembling the busts of Alcibiades; — the women not quite so handsome. I can swear in Turkish; but, except one horrible oath, and “pimp,” and “bread,” and “water,” I have got no great vocabulary in that language. They are extremely polite to strangers of any rank, properly protected; and as I have two servants and two soldiers, we get on with great éclat. We have been occasionally in danger of thieves, and once of shipwreck, — but always escaped.

  Of Spain I sent some account to our Hodgson, but have subsequently written to no one, save notes to relations and lawyers, to keep them out of my premises. I mean to give up all connection, on my return, with many of my best friends — as I supposed them-and to snarl all my life. But I hope to have one good-humoured laugh with you, and to embrace Dwyer, and pledge Hodgson, before I commence cynicism.

  Tell Dr. Butler I am now writing with the gold pen he gave me before I left England, which is the reason my scrawl is more unintelligible than usual. I have been at Athens, and seen plenty of these reeds for scribbling, some of which he refused to bestow upon me, because topographic Gell had brought them from Attica. But I will not describe, — no — you must be satisfied with simple detail till my return, and then we will unfold the floodgates of colloquy. I am in a thirty-six gun frigate, going up to fetch Bob Adair from Constantinople, who will have the honour to carry this letter.

  And so Hobhouse’s boke is out, with some sentimental sing-song of my own to fill up, — and how does it take, eh? and where the devil is the second edition of my Satire, with additions? and my name on the title page? and more lines tagged to the end, with a new exordium and what not, hot from my anvil before I cleared the Channel? The Mediterranean and the Atlantic roll between me and criticism; and the thunders of the Hyperborean Review are deafened by the roar of the Hellespont.

  Remember me to Claridge, if not translated to college, and present to Hodgson assurances of my high consideration. Now, you will ask, what shall I do next? and I answer, I do not know. I may return in a few months, but I have intents and projects after visiting Constantinople. Hobhouse, however, will probably be back in September.

  On the 2d of July we have left Albion one year — oblitus meorum obliviscendus et illis. I was sick of my own country, and not much prepossessed in favour of any other; but I “drag on my chain” without “lengthening it at each remove.” I am like the Jolly Miller, caring for nobody, and not cared for. All countries are much the same in my eyes. I smoke, and stare at mountains, and twirl my mustachios very independently. I miss no comforts, and the musquitoes that rack the morbid frame of H. have, luckily for me, little effect on mine, because I live more temperately.

  I omitted Ephesus in my catalogue, which I visited during my sojourn at Smyrna; but the Temple has almost perished, and St. Paul need not trouble himself to epistolise the present brood of Ephesians, who have converted a large church built entirely of marble into a mosque, and I don’t know that the edifice looks the worse for it.

  My paper is full, and my ink ebbing — good afternoon! If you address to me at Malta, the letter will be forwarded wherever I may be. H. greets you; he pines for his poetry, — at least, some tidings of it. I almost forgot to tell you that I am dying for love of three Greek girls at Athens, sisters. I lived in the same house. Teresa, Mariana, and Katinka, are the names of these divinities, — all of them under fifteen.

  Your [Greek (transliterated): tapeinotatos doulos], BYRON.

  [Footnote 1: Byron made two attempts to swim across the Hellespont from Abydos to Sestos. The first, April 16, failed; the second, May 3, in warmer weather, succeeded.

  “Byron was one hour and ten minutes in the water; his companion, Mr. Ekenhead, five minutes less … My fellow-traveller had before made a more perilous, but less celebrated, passage; for I recollect that, when we were in Portugal, he swam from Old Lisbon to Belem Castle, and, having to contend with a tide and counter-current, the wind blowing freshly, was but little less than two hours in crossing the river”

  (Hobhouse, ‘Travels in Albania’, etc., vol. ii. p. 195). In Hobhouse’s journal, Byron made the following note:

  “The whole distance E. and myself swam was more than four miles — the current very strong and cold — some large fish near us when half across — we were not fatigued, but a little chilled — did it with little difficulty. — May 26, 1810. BYRON.”

  Of his feat Byron was always proud. See the “Lines Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos” (“by the by, from Abydos to Sestos would have been more correct”), and ‘Don Juan’, Canto II. stanza cv.: —

  ”A better swimmer you could scarce see ever;

  He could, perhaps, have pass’d the Hellespont,

  As once (a feat on which ourselves we prided)

  Leander, Mr. Ekenhead, and I did.”

  In a note to the “Lines Written after Swimming from Sestos to Abydos,”

  Byron writes,

  “Chevalier says that a young Jew swam the same distance for his mistress; and Oliver mentions its having been done by a Neapolitan; but our consul, Tarragona, remembered neither of these circumstances, and tried to dissuade us from the attempt. A number of the ‘Salsette’’s crew were known to have accomplished a greater distance; and the only thing that surprised me was that, as doubts had been entertained of the truth of Leander’s story, no traveller had ever endeavoured to ascertain its practicability.”

  Lieutenant Ekenhead, of the Marines, was afterwards killed by a fall from the fortifications of Malta.]

  [Footnote 2: Sir William Gell (1777-1836) published the ‘Topography of Troy’ (1804); ‘Geography and Antiquities of Ithaca’ (1807); the ‘Itinerary of Greece’ (1810); and many other subsequent works. (For Byron’s review of ‘Ithaca’ and ‘Greece’, in the ‘Monthly Review’ for August, 1811, see Appendix III.) In the MS. of ‘English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers’ (line 1034) he called him “coxcomb Gell;” but, having made his personal acquaintance before the Satire was
printed, he changed the epithet to “classic.” After seeing the country himself, he again altered the epithet —

  ”Of Dardan tours let Dilettanti tell,

  I leave topography to rapid Gell.”

  To these lines is appended the following note:

  “‘Rapid,’ indeed! He topographised and typographised King Priam’s dominions in three days! I called him ‘classic’ before I saw the Troad, but since have learned better than to tack to his name what don’t belong to it.”

  To this passage Byron, in 1816, added the further expression of his opinion, that “Gell’s survey was hasty and superficial.” One of two suppressed stanzas in ‘Childe Harold’ (Canto II. stanza xiii.) refers to Gell and his works: —

  ”Or will the gentle Dilettanti crew

  Now delegate the task to digging Gell?

  That mighty limner of a bird’s-eye view,

  How like to Nature let his volumes tell;

  Who can with him the folio’s limits swell

  With all the Author saw, or said he saw?

  Who can topographise or delve so well?

  No boaster he, nor impudent and raw,

  His pencil, pen, and shade, alike without a flaw.”]

  [Footnote 3: ‘Imitations and Translations from the Ancient and Modern

  Classics, etc.’ (London, 1809, 8vo). Of the sixty-five pieces, nine were

  by Byron (see ‘Poems’, vol. i., Bibliographical note; and vol. vi.,

  Bibliographical note). The second and enlarged edition of ‘English

  Bards, and Scotch Reviewers’, with Byron’s name attached, appeared in

  October, 1809.]

  [Footnote 4: Two boys of this name, sons of J. Claridge, of Sevenoaks, entered Harrow School in April, 1805. George became a. solicitor, and died at Sevenoaks in 1841; John (afterwards Sir John) went to Christ Church, Oxford, became a barrister, and died in 1868. John Claridge seems to have been one of Byron’s “juniors and favourites,” whom he “spoilt by indulgence.”]