by Thomas Moore
Had he been occupying himself, at the time, with any new task, that confidence in his own energies, which he never truly felt but while in the actual exercise of them, would have enabled him to forget these humiliations of the moment in the glow and excitement of anticipated success. But he had just pledged himself to the world to take a long farewell of poesy, — had sealed up that only fountain from which his heart ever drew refreshment or strength, — and thus was left, idly and helplessly, to brood over the daily taunts of his enemies, without the power of avenging himself when they insulted his person, and but too much disposed to agree with them when they made light of his genius. “I am afraid, (he says, in noticing these attacks in one of his letters,) what you call trash is plaguily to the purpose, and very good sense into the bargain; and, to tell the truth, for some little time past, I have been myself much of the same opinion.”
In this sensitive state of mind, — which he but ill disguised or relieved by an exterior of gay defiance or philosophic contempt, — we can hardly feel surprised that he should have, all at once, come to the resolution, not only of persevering in his determination to write no more in future, but of purchasing back the whole of his past copyrights, and suppressing every page and line he had ever written. On his first mention of this design, Mr. Murray naturally doubted as to its seriousness; but the arrival of the following letter, enclosing a draft for the amount of the copyrights, put his intentions beyond question.
LETTER 180. TO MR. MURRAY.
“2. Albany, April 29. 1814.
“Dear Sir,
“I enclose a draft for the money; when paid, send the copyright. I release you from the thousand pounds agreed on for The Giaour and Bride, and there’s an end.
“If any accident occurs to me, you may do then as you please; but, with the exception of two copies of each for yourself only, I expect and request that the advertisements be withdrawn, and the remaining copies of all destroyed; and any expense so incurred I will be glad to defray.
“For all this, it might be as well to assign some reason. I have none to give, except my own caprice, and I do not consider the circumstances of consequence enough to require explanation.
“In course, I need hardly assure you that they never shall be published with my consent, directly, or indirectly, by any other person whatsoever, — that I am perfectly satisfied, and have every reason so to be, with your conduct in all transactions between us as publisher and author.
“It will give me great pleasure to preserve your acquaintance, and to consider you as my friend. Believe me very truly, and for much attention,
“Your obliged and very obedient servant,
“BYRON.
“P.S. I do not think that I have overdrawn at Hammersley’s; but if that be the case, I can draw for the superflux on Hoare’s. The draft is 5l. short, but that I will make up. On payment — not before — return the copyright papers.”
In such a conjuncture, an appeal to his good nature and considerateness was, as Mr. Murray well judged, his best resource; and the following prompt reply, will show how easily, and at once, it succeeded.
LETTER 181. TO MR. MURRAY.
“May 1. 1814.
“Dear Sir,
“If your present note is serious, and it really would be inconvenient, there is an end of the matter; tear my draft, and go on as usual: in that case, we will recur to our former basis. That I was perfectly serious, in wishing to suppress all future publication, is true; but certainly not to interfere with the convenience of others, and more particularly your own. Some day, I will tell you the reason of this apparently strange resolution. At present, it may be enough to say that I recall it at your suggestion; and as it appears to have annoyed you, I lose no time in saying so.
“Yours truly,
“B.”
During my stay in town this year, we were almost daily together; and it is in no spirit of flattery to the dead I say, that the more intimately I became acquainted with his disposition and character, the more warmly I felt disposed to take an interest in every thing that concerned him. Not that, in the opportunities thus afforded me of observing more closely his defects, I did not discover much to lament, and not a little to condemn. But there was still, in the neighbourhood of even his worst faults, some atoning good quality, which was always sure, if brought kindly and with management into play, to neutralise their ill effects. The very frankness, indeed, with which he avowed his errors seemed to imply a confidence in his own power of redeeming them, — a consciousness that he could afford to be sincere. There was also, in such entire unreserve, a pledge that nothing worse remained behind; and the same quality that laid open the blemishes of his nature gave security for its honesty. “The cleanness and purity of one’s mind,” says Pope, “is never better proved than in discovering its own faults, at first view; as when a stream shows the dirt at its bottom, it shows also the transparency of the water.”
The theatre was, at this time, his favourite place of resort. We have seen how enthusiastically he expresses himself on the subject of Mr. Kean’s acting, and it was frequently my good fortune, during this season, to share in his enjoyment of it, — the orchestra being, more than once, the place where, for a nearer view of the actor’s countenance, we took our station. For Kean’s benefit, on the 25th of May, a large party had been made by Lady J * *, to which we both belonged; but Lord Byron having also taken a box for the occasion, so anxious was he to enjoy the representation uninterrupted, that, by rather an unsocial arrangement, only himself and I occupied his box during the play, while every other in the house was crowded almost to suffocation; nor did we join the remainder of our friends till supper. Between the two parties, however, Mr. Kean had no reason to complain of a want of homage to his talents; as Lord J * *, on that occasion, presented him with a hundred pound share in the theatre; while Lord Byron sent him, next day, the sum of fifty guineas; and, not long after, on seeing him act some of his favourite parts, made him presents of a handsome snuff-box and a costly Turkish sword.
Such effect had the passionate energy of Kean’s acting on his mind, that, once, in seeing him play Sir Giles Overreach, he was so affected as to be seized with a sort of convulsive fit; and we shall find him, some years after, in Italy, when the representation of Alfieri’s tragedy of Mirra had agitated him in the same violent manner, comparing the two instances as the only ones in his life when “any thing under reality” had been able to move him so powerfully.
The following are a few of the notes which I received from him during this visit to town.
TO MR. MOORE.
“May 4. 1814.
“Last night we supp’d at R —— fe’s board, &c.
“I wish people would not shirk their dinners — ought it not to have been a dinner? — and that d —— d anchovy sandwich!
“That plaguy voice of yours made me sentimental, and almost fall in love with a girl who was recommending herself, during your song, by hating music. But the song is past, and my passion can wait, till the pucelle is more harmonious.
“Do you go to Lady Jersey’s to-night? It is a large party, and you won’t be bored into ‘softening rocks,’ and all that. Othello is to-morrow and Saturday too. Which day shall we go? when shall I see you? If you call, let it be after three, and as near four as you please.
“Ever,” &c.
TO MR. MOORE.
“May 4. 1814.
“Dear Tom,
“Thou hast asked me for a song, and I enclose you an experiment, which has cost me something more than trouble, and is, therefore, less likely to be worth your taking any in your proposed setting. Now, if it be so, throw it into the fire without phrase.
“Ever yours,
“BYRON.
“I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name, There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame; But the tear which now burns on my cheek may impart The deep thoughts that dwell in that silence of heart.
“Too brief for our passion, too long for our peace Wer
e those hours — can their joy or their bitterness cease? We repent — we abjure — we will break from our chain — We will part, — we will fly to — unite it again!
“Oh! thine be the gladness, and mine be the guilt! Forgive me, adored one! — forsake, if thou wilt; — But the heart which is thine shall expire undebased, And man shall not break it — whatever thou mayst.
“And stern to the haughty, but humble to thee, This soul, in its bitterest blackness, shall be; And our days seem as swift, and our moments more sweet, With thee by my side, than with worlds at our feet.
“One sigh of thy sorrow, one look of thy love, Shall turn me or fix, shall reward or reprove; And the heartless may wonder at all I resign — Thy lip shall reply, not to them, but to mine.”
TO MR. MOORE.
“Will you and Rogers come to my box at Covent, then? I shall be there, and none else — or I won’t be there, if you twain would like to go without me. You will not get so good a place hustling among the publican boxers, with damnable apprentices (six feet high) on a back row. Will you both oblige me and come, — or one — or neither — or, what you will?
“P.S. An’ you will, I will call for you at half-past six, or any time of your own dial.”
TO MR. MOORE.
“I have gotten a box for Othello to-night, and send the ticket for your friends the R —— fes. I seriously recommend to you to recommend to them to go for half an hour, if only to see the third act — they will not easily have another opportunity. We — at least, I — cannot be there, so there will be no one in their way. Will you give or send it to them? it will come with a better grace from you than me.
“I am in no good plight, but will dine at * *’s with you, if I can. There is music and Covent-g.
“Will you go, at all events, to my box there afterwards, to see a début of a young 16 in the ‘Child of Nature?’”
TO MR. MOORE.
“Sunday matin.
“Was not Iago perfection? particularly the last look. I was close to him (in the orchestra), and never saw an English countenance half so expressive.
“I am acquainted with no immaterial sensuality so delightful as good acting; and, as it is fitting there should be good plays, now and then, besides Shakspeare’s, I wish you or Campbell would write one: — the rest of ‘us youth’ have not heart enough.
“You were cut up in the Champion — is it not so? this day so am I — even to shocking the editor. The critic writes well; and as, at present, poesy is not my passion predominant, and my snake of Aaron has swallowed up all the other serpents, I don’t feel fractious. I send you the paper, which I mean to take in for the future. We go to M.’s together. Perhaps I shall see you before, but don’t let me bore you, now nor ever.
“Ever, as now, truly and affectionately,” &c.
TO MR. MOORE.
“May 5. 1814.
“Do you go to the Lady Cahir’s this even? If you do — and whenever we are bound to the same follies — let us embark in the same ‘Shippe of Fooles.’ I have been up till five, and up at nine; and feel heavy with only winking for the last three or four nights.
“I lost my party and place at supper trying to keep out of the way of * * * *. I would have gone away altogether, but that would have appeared a worse affectation than t’other. You are of course engaged to dinner, or we may go quietly together to my box at Covent Garden, and afterwards to this assemblage. Why did you go away so soon?
“Ever, &c.
“P.S. Ought not R * * * fe’s supper to have been a dinner? Jackson is here, and I must fatigue myself into spirits.”
TO MR. MOORE.
“May 18. 1814.
“Thanks — and punctuality. What has passed at * * * *s House? I suppose that I am to know, and ‘pars fui’ of the conference. I regret that your * * * *s will detain you so late, but I suppose you will be at Lady Jersey’s. I am going earlier with Hobhouse. You recollect that to-morrow we sup and see Kean.
“P.S. Two to-morrow is the hour of pugilism.”
The supper, to which he here looks forward, took place at Watier’s, of which club he had lately become a member; and, as it may convey some idea of his irregular mode of diet, and thus account, in part, for the frequent derangement of his health, I shall here attempt, from recollection, a description of his supper on this occasion. We were to have been joined by Lord R * *, who however did not arrive, and the party accordingly consisted but of ourselves. Having taken upon me to order the repast, and knowing that Lord Byron, for the last two days, had done nothing towards sustenance, beyond eating a few biscuits and (to appease appetite) chewing mastic, I desired that we should have a good supply of, at least, two kinds of fish. My companion, however, confined himself to lobsters, and of these finished two or three, to his own share, — interposing, sometimes, a small liqueur-glass of strong white brandy, sometimes a tumbler of very hot water, and then pure brandy again, to the amount of near half a dozen small glasses of the latter, without which, alternately with the hot water, he appeared to think the lobster could not be digested. After this, we had claret, of which having despatched two bottles between us, at about four o’clock in the morning we parted.
As Pope has thought his “delicious lobster-nights” worth commemorating, these particulars of one in which Lord Byron was concerned may also have some interest.
Among other nights of the same description which I had the happiness of passing with him, I remember once, in returning home from some assembly at rather a late hour, we saw lights in the windows of his old haunt Stevens’s, in Bond Street, and agreed to stop there and sup. On entering, we found an old friend of his, Sir G * * W* *, who joined our party, and the lobsters and brandy and water being put in requisition, it was (as usual on such occasions) broad daylight before we separated.
LETTER 182. TO MR. MOORE.
“May 23. 1814.
“I must send you the Java government gazette of July 3d, 1813, just sent to me by Murray. Only think of our (for it is you and I) setting paper warriors in array in the Indian seas. Does not this sound like fame — something almost like posterity? It is something to have scribblers squabbling about us 5000 miles off, while we are agreeing so well at home. Bring it with you in your pocket; — it will make you laugh, as it hath me. Ever yours,
“B.
“P.S. Oh the anecdote!”
To the circumstance mentioned in this letter he recurs more than once in the Journals which he kept abroad; as thus, in a passage of his “Detached Thoughts,” — where it will be perceived that, by a trifling lapse of memory, he represents himself as having produced this gazette, for the first time, on our way to dinner.
“In the year 1814, as Moore and I were going to dine with Lord Grey in Portman Square, I pulled out a ‘Java Gazette’ (which Murray had sent to me), in which there was a controversy on our respective merits as poets. It was amusing enough that we should be proceeding peaceably to the same table while they were squabbling about us in the Indian seas (to be sure the paper was dated six months before), and filling columns with Batavian criticism. But this is fame, I presume.”
The following poem, written about this time, and, apparently, for the purpose of being recited at the Caledonian Meeting, I insert principally on account of the warm feeling which it breathes towards Scotland and her sons: —
“Who hath not glow’d above the page where Fame Hath fix’d high Caledon’s unconquer’d name; The mountain-land which spurn’d the Roman chain, And baffled back the fiery-crested Dane, Whose bright claymore and hardihood of hand No foe could tame — no tyrant could command.
“That race is gone — but still their children breathe, And glory crowns them with redoubled wreath: O’er Gael and Saxon mingling banners shine, And, England! add their stubborn strength to thine. The blood which flow’d with Wallace flows as free, But now ’tis only shed for fame and thee! Oh! pass not by the Northern veteran’s claim, But give support — the world hath given him fame!
“The humbler ranks, the lowly
brave, who bled While cheerly following where the mighty led — Who sleep beneath the undistinguish’d sod Where happier comrades in their triumph trod, To us bequeath— ’tis all their fate allows — The sireless offspring and the lonely spouse: She on high Albyn’s dusky hills may raise The tearful eye in melancholy gaze, Or view, while shadowy auguries disclose The Highland seer’s anticipated woes, The bleeding phantom of each martial form Dim in the cloud, or darkling in the storm; While sad, she chants the solitary song, The soft lament for him who tarries long — For him, whose distant relics vainly crave The coronach’s wild requiem to the brave!
“’Tis Heaven — not man — must charm away the woe Which bursts when Nature’s feelings newly flow; Yet tenderness and time may rob the tear Of half its bitterness for one so dear: A nation’s gratitude perchance may spread A thornless pillow for the widow’d head; May lighten well her heart’s maternal care, And wean from penury the soldier’s heir.”
LETTER 183. TO MR. MOORE.
“May 31. 1814.
“As I shall probably not see you here to-day, I write to request that, if not inconvenient to yourself, you will stay in town till Sunday; if not to gratify me, yet to please a great many others, who will be very sorry to lose you. As for myself, I can only repeat that I wish you would either remain a long time with us, or not come at all; for these snatches of society make the subsequent separations bitterer than ever.