by Lord Byron
I have brought home some marbles for Hobhouse; — for myself, four ancient Athenian skulls, dug out of sarcophagi — a phial of Attic hemlock — four live tortoises — a greyhound (died on the passage) — two live Greek servants, one an Athenian, t’other a Yaniote, who can speak nothing but Romaic and Italian — and myself, as Moses in the Vicar of Wakefield says, slily and I may say it too, for I have as little cause to boast of my expedition as he had of his to the fair.
I wrote to you from the Cyanean Rocks to tell you I had swam from Sestos to Abydos — have you received my letter? Hobhouse went to England to fish up his Miscellany, which foundered (so he tells me) in the Gulph of Lethe. I daresay it capsized with the vile goods of his contributory friends, for his own share was very portable. However, I hope he will either weigh up or set sail with a fresh cargo, and a luckier vessel. Hodgson, I suppose, is four deep by this time. What would he have given to have seen, like me, the real Parnassus, where I robbed the Bishop of Chrisso of a book of geography! — but this I only call plagiarism, as it was done within an hour’s ride of Delphi.
[Footnote 1: The swimming-bath at Harrow.]
[Footnote 2: Given afterwards to Sir Walter Scott.]
[Footnote 3: At present in the possession of Mr. Murray.]
[Footnote 4:
”‘Welcome, welcome, Moses! Well, my boy, what have you brought us from
the fair?’
’I have brought you myself,’ cried Moses, with a sly look, and
resting the box on the dresser.”
‘Vicar of Wakefield’, ch. xii.]
157.-To his Mother.
Reddish’s Hotel, St. James’s Street, London, July 23, 1811.
MY DEAR MADAM, — I am only detained by Mr. Hanson to sign some copyhold papers, and will give you timely notice of my approach. It is with great reluctance I remain in town. I shall pay a short visit as we go on to Lancashire on Rochdale business. I shall attend to your directions, of course, and am, with great respect, yours ever,
BYRON.
P.S. — You will consider Newstead as your house, not mine; and me only as a visiter.
[Footnote 1: On his way to London, Byron paid a visit, at Sittingbourne, to Hobhouse, who was with his Militia Regiment, and under orders for Ireland. He also stayed with H. Drury, at Harrow, for two or three days.]
158. — To William Miller.
Reddish’s Hotel, July 30th, 1811.
SIR, — I am perfectly aware of the justice of your remarks, and am convinced that, if ever the poem is published, the same objections will be made in much stronger terms. But as it was intended to be a poem on Ariosto’s plan, that is to say on no plan at all, and, as is usual in similar cases, having a predilection for the worst passages, I shall retain those parts, though I cannot venture to defend them. Under these circumstances I regret that you decline the publication, on my own account, as I think the book would have done better in your hands; the pecuniary part, you know, I have nothing to do with. But I can perfectly conceive, and indeed approve your reasons, and assure you my sensations are not Archiepiscopal enough as yet to regard the rejection of my Homilies.
I am, Sir, your very obed’t humble serv’t,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: William Miller (1769-1844), son of Thomas Miller, bookseller, of Bungay (see Beloe’s ‘Sexagenarian,’ 2nd edit., vol. ii. pp. 253, 254), served his apprenticeship in Hookham’s publishing house. In 1790 he set up for himself as a bookselling publisher in Bond Street. From 1804 onwards his place of business was at 50, Albemarle Street. But in September, 1812, he sold his stock, copyrights, good will, and lease to John Murray, and retired to a country farm in Hertfordshire. He declined to publish ‘Childe Harold,’ on the grounds that it contained “sceptical stanzas,” and attacked Lord Elgin as a plunderer. But on the latter point, Byron, who was in serious earnest, was not likely to give way. In Beloe’s ‘Sexagenarian’ (vol. ii. pp. 270, 271), Miller is described as “the splendid bookseller,” who “was enabled to retire to tranquillity and independence long before the decline of life, or infirmities of age, rendered it necessary to do so. He was highly respectable, but could drive a hard bargain with a poor author, as well as any of his fraternity.”
[Footnote 2: Alluding to Gil Blas and the Archbishop of Grenada (see page 121 [Letter 67], [Foot]note 3 ).]
159. — To John M. B. Pigot.
Newport Pagnell, August 2, 1811.
MY DEAR DOCTOR, — My poor mother died yesterday! and I am on my way from town to attend her to the family vault. I heard one day of her illness, the next of her death. Thank God her last moments were most tranquil. I am told she was in little pain, and not aware of her situation. I now feel the truth of Mr. Gray’s observation, “That we can only have one mother.” Peace be with her! I have to thank you for your expressions of regard; and as in six weeks I shall be in Lancashire on business, I may extend to Liverpool and Chester, — at least I shall endeavour.
If it will be any satisfaction, I have to inform you that in November next the Editor of the Scourge will be tried for two different libels on the late Mrs. B. and myself (the decease of Mrs. B. makes no difference in the proceedings); and as he is guilty, by his very foolish and unfounded assertion of a breach of privilege, he will be prosecuted with the utmost rigour.
I inform you of this, as you seem interested in the affair, which is now in the hands of the Attorney-general.
I shall remain at Newstead the greater part of this month, where I shall be happy to hear from you, after my two years’ absence in the East.
I am, dear Pigot, yours very truly,
BYRON.
[Footnote 1: On the night after his arrival at Newstead, Mrs. Byron’s maid, passing the room where the body lay, heard a heavy sigh from within. Entering the room, she found Byron sitting in the dark beside the bed. When she spoke to him, he burst into tears, and exclaimed,
“Oh, Mrs. By, I had but one friend in the world, and she is gone!”
On the day of the funeral he refused to follow the corpse to the grave, but watched the procession move away from the door of Newstead; then, turning to Rushton, bade him bring the gloves, and began his usual sparring exercise. Only his silence, abstraction, and unusual violence betrayed to his antagonist, says Moore (‘Life’, p. 128), the state of his feelings.]
[Footnote 2:
“I had discovered a thing very little known, which is, that in one’s whole life one can never have more than a single mother. You may think this is obvious, and (what you call) a trite observation. You are a green gosling! I was at the same age (very near) as wise as you, and yet I never discovered this (with full evidence and conviction, I mean) till it was too late. It is thirteen years ago, … and every day I live it sinks deeper into my heart.”
Gray to Nicholls, ‘Works’, vol. i. p. 482.]
[Footnote 3: One of Byron’s first acts on returning to England was to buy a copy of the ‘Scourge’, In Ridgway’s bill for books supplied from Piccadilly to Byron on July 24, 1811, is a copy of the ‘Scourge’ at 2’s’. 6’d’. Hewson Clarke (1787-1832) was entered at Emanuel College, Cambridge, apparently as a sizar, in 1806. Obliged to leave the University before he had taken his degree, he supported himself in London by his pen. He wrote two historical works — a continuation of Hume’s ‘History of England’ (1832), and an ‘Impartial History of the Naval, etc., Events in Europe’ from the French Revolution to the Peace of 1815. It was, however, as a journalist that he came into collision with Byron. In the ‘Satirist’, a monthly magazine, illustrated with coloured cartoons, three attacks were made on Byron, which he attributed to Clarke:
(1) October, 1807 (vol. i pp. 77-81), a review of ‘Hours of Idleness’;
(2) June, 1808 (vol. ii p. 368), verses on “Lord B — n to his Bear. To the tune of ‘Lo chin y gair;’“
(3) August, 1808 (vol. iii pp. 78-86), a review of ‘Poems Original and Translated’.
Byron’s reply was the passage i
n ‘English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers’ (lines 973-980; see also the notes), where Clarke is described as
”A would-be satirist, a hired Buffoon,
A monthly scribbler of some low Lampoon,” etc.;
and also the Postscript to the second edition (see ‘Poems’, vol. i. p. 382). In the ‘Scourge’ for March, 1811 (vol. i. pp. 191, ‘et seqq’.), appeared an article headed “Lord Byron,” in which the alleged libel occurred.
“We are unacquainted,” says the article, “with any act of cowardice that can be compared with that of keeping a libel ‘ready cut and dried’ till some favourable opportunity enable its author to disperse it without the hazard of personal responsibility, and under circumstances which deprive the injured party of every means of reparation … He confined the knowledge of his lampoon, therefore, to the circle of his own immediate friends, and left it to be given to the public as soon as he should have bid adieu to the shores of Britain. Whether his voyage was in reality no further than to Paris, in search of the proofs of his own legitimacy, or, as he asserts, to ‘Afric’s coasts, and Calpe’s adverse height’, was of little consequence to Mr. Clarke, who felt that to recriminate during his absence would be unworthy of his character … Considering the two parties not as writers, but as men, Mr. Clarke might confidently appeal to the knowledge and opinion of the whole university; but a character like his disdains comparison with that of his noble calumniator; a temper unruffled by malignant passions, a mind superior to vicissitude, are gifts for which the pride of doubtful birth, and the temporary possession of Newstead Abbey are contemptible equivalents …
“It may be reasonably asked whether to be a denizen of Berwick-upon-Tweed be more disgraceful than to be the illegitimate descendant of a murderer; whether to labour in an honourable profession for the peace and competence of maturer age be less worthy of praise than to waste the property of others in vulgar debauchery; whether to be the offspring of parents whose only crime is their want of title, be not as honourable as to be the son of a profligate father, and a mother whose days and nights are spent in the delirium of drunkenness; and, finally, whether to deserve the kindness of his own college, to obtain its prizes, and to prepare himself for any examination that might entitle him to share the highest honours which the university can bestow, be less indicative of talent and virtue than to be held up to the derision and contempt of his fellow-students, as a scribbler of doggerel and a bear-leader; to be hated for malignity of temper and repulsiveness of manners, and shunned by every man who did not want to be considered a profligate without wit, and trifling without elegance. … We … shall neither expose the infamy of his uncle, the indiscretions of his mother, nor his personal follies and embarrassments. But let him not again obtrude himself on our attention as a moralist, etc.”
The Attorney-General, Sir Vicary Gibbs, gave his opinion against legal proceedings, on the two grounds that a considerable time had elapsed since the publication, and Byron himself had provoked the attack.]
160. — To John Hanson.
Newstead Abbey, August 4th, 1811.
MY DEAR SIR, — The Earl of Huntley and the Lady Jean Stewart, daughter of James 1st, of Scotland were the progenitors of Mrs. Byron. I think it would be as well to be correct in the statement. Every thing is doing that can be done, plainly yet decently, for the interment.
When you favour me with your company, be kind enough to bring down my carriage from Messrs. Baxter’s & Co., Long Acre. I have written to them, and beg you will come down in it, as I cannot travel conveniently or properly without it. I trust that the decease of Mrs. B. will not interrupt the prosecution of the Editor of the Magazine, less for the mere punishment of the rascal, than to set the question at rest, which, with the ignorant & weak-minded, might leave a wrong impression. I will have no stain on the Memory of my Mother; with a very large portion of foibles and irritability, she was without a vice (and in these days that is much). The laws of my country shall do her and me justice in the first instance; but, if they were deficient, the laws of modern Honour should decide. Cost what it may, Gold or blood, I will pursue to the last the cowardly calumniator of an absent man and a defenceless woman.
The effects of the deceased are sealed and untouched. I have sent for her agent, Mr. Bolton, to ascertain the proper steps and nothing shall be done precipitately. I understand her jewels and clothes are of considerable value. I shall write to you again soon, and in the meantime, with my most particular remembrance to Mrs. Hanson, my regards to Charles, and my respects to the young ladies, I am, Dear Sir,
Your very sincere and obliged servant,
BYRON.
161. — To Scrope Berdmore Davies.
Newstead Abbey, August 7, 1811.
MY DEAREST DAVIES, — Some curse hangs over me and mine. My mother lies a corpse in this house; one of my best friends is drowned in a ditch. What can I say, or think, or do? I received a letter from him the day before yesterday. My dear Scrope, if you can spare a moment, do come down to me — I want a friend. Matthews’s last letter was written on Friday. — on Saturday he was not. In ability, who was like Matthews? How did we all shrink before him? You do me but justice in saying, I would have risked my paltry existence to have preserved his. This very evening did I mean to write, inviting him, as I invite you, my very dear friend, to visit me. God forgive — — for his apathy! What will our poor Hobhouse feel? His letters breathe but of Matthews. Come to me, Scrope, I am almost desolate — left almost alone in the world — I had but you, and H., and M., and let me enjoy the survivors whilst I can. Poor M., in his letter of Friday, speaks of his intended contest for Cambridge, and a speedy journey to London. Write or come, but come if you can, or one or both.
Yours ever.
[Footnote 1: Charles Skinner Matthews (see page 150 [Letter 84],
[Foot]note 3 ).]
[Footnote 2: In 1811 Byron had lost, besides his mother and Matthews
(August), his Harrow friend Wingfield (see page 180, note 1), Hargreaves
Hanson (see page 54 [Letter 18], [Foot]note 1), and Edleston (see page
130 [Letter 74], [Foot]note 3 ).]
162. — To R. C. Dallas.
Newstead Abbey, Notts., August 12, 1811.
Peace be with the dead! Regret cannot wake them. With a sigh to the departed, let us resume the dull business of life, in the certainty that we also shall have our repose. Besides her who gave me being, I have lost more than one who made that being tolerable. — The best friend of my friend Hobhouse, Matthews, a man of the first talents, and also not the worst of my narrow circle, has perished miserably in the muddy waves of the Cam, always fatal to genius: — my poor school-fellow, Wingfield, at Coimbra — within a month; and whilst I had heard from all three, but not seen one. Matthews wrote to me the very day before his death; and though I feel for his fate, I am still more anxious for Hobhouse, who, I very much fear, will hardly retain his senses: his letters to me since the event have been most incoherent. But let this pass; we shall all one day pass along with the rest — the world is too full of such things, and our very sorrow is selfish.
I received a letter from you, which my late occupations prevented me from duly noticing. — I hope your friends and family will long hold together. I shall be glad to hear from you, on business, on commonplace, or any thing, or nothing — but death — I am already too familiar with the dead. It is strange that I look on the skulls which stand beside me (I have always had four in my study) without emotion, but I cannot strip the features of those I have known of their fleshy covering, even in idea, without a hideous sensation; but the worms are less ceremonious. — Surely, the Romans did well when they burned the dead. — I shall be happy to hear from you, and am,
Yours, etc.
[Footnote 1:
“Just,” writes Hobhouse to Byron, in an undated letter from Dover, “as I was preparing to condole with you on your severe misfortune, an event has taken place, the details of which you will find in the enclosed le
tter from S. Davies. I am totally unable to say one word on the subject. He was my oldest friend, and, though quite unworthy of his attachment, I believe that I was an object of his regard.
“I now fear that I have not been sufficiently at all times just and kind to him. Return me this fatal letter, and pray add, if it is but one line, a few words of your own.”
A second letter, dated August 8, 1811, is as follows: —
“MY DEAR BYRON, — To-morrow morning we sail for Cork. It is with difficulty I bring myself to talk of my paltry concerns, but I cannot refuse giving you such information as may enable me to hear from one of the friends that I have still left. Pray do give me a line; nothing is more selfish than sorrow. His great and unrivalled talents were observable by all, his kindness was known to his friends. You recollect how affectionately he shook my hand at parting. It was the last time you ever saw him — did you think it would be the last? But three days before his death he told me in a letter that he had heard from you. On Friday he wrote to me again, and on Saturday — alas, alas! we are not stocks or stones, — every word of our friend Davies’ letter still pierces me to the soul — such a man and such a death! I would that he had not been so minute in his horrid details. Oh, my dear Byron, do write to me; I am very, very sick at heart indeed, and, after various efforts to write upon my own concerns, I still revert to the same melancholy subject. I wrote to Cawthorn to-day, but knew not what I said to him; half my incitement to finish that task is for ever gone. I can neither have his assistance during my labour, his comfort if I should fail, nor his congratulation if I should succeed. Forgive me, I do not forget you — but I cannot but remember him.