(Lord Byron) George Gordon Byron - Life of Lord Byron, With His Letters And Journals, Vol. 5 (of 6)
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(Lord Byron) George Gordon Byron >> Life of Lord Byron, With His Letters And Journals, Vol. 5 (of 6)
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[Footnote 74: The preceding letter came enclosed in this.]
* * * * *
LETTER 480. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, February 28. 1822.
"I begin to think that the packet (a heavy one) of five acts of
'Werner,' &c. can hardly have reached you, for your letter of last
week (which I answered) did not allude to it, and yet I insured it
at the post-office here.
"I have no direct news from England, except on the Noel business,
which is proceeding quietly, as I have appointed a gentleman (Sir
F. Burdett) for my arbitrator. They, too, have said that they will
recall the _lawyer_ whom _they_ had chosen, and will name a
gentleman too. This is better, as the arrangement of the estates
and of Lady B.'s allowance will thus be settled without quibbling.
My lawyers are taking out a licence for the name and arms, which it
seems I am to endue.
"By another, and indirect, quarter, I hear that 'Cain' has been
pirated, and that the Chancellor has refused to give Murray any
redress. Also, that G.R. (_your_ friend 'Ben') has expressed great
personal indignation at the said poem. All this is curious enough,
I think,--after allowing Priestley, Hume, and Gibbon, and
Bolingbroke, and Voltaire to be published, without depriving the
booksellers of their rights. I heard from Rome a day or two ago,
and, with what truth I know not, that * * *.
"Yours," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 481. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, March 1. 1822.
"As I still have no news of my 'Werner,' &c. packet, sent to you on
the 29th of January, I continue to bore you (for the fifth time, I
believe) to know whether it has not miscarried. As it was fairly
copied out, it will be vexatious if it be lost. Indeed, I insured
it at the post-office to make them take more care, and directed it
regularly to you at Paris.
"In the impartial Galignani I perceive an extract from Blackwood's
Magazine, in which it is said that there are people who have
discovered that you and I are no poets. With regard to one of us, I
know that this north-west passage to _my_ magnetic pole had been
long discovered by some sages, and I leave them the full benefit of
their penetration. I think, as Gibbon says of his History, 'that,
perhaps, a hundred years hence it may still continue to be abused.'
However, I am far from pretending to compete or compare with that
illustrious literary character.
"But, with regard to _you_, I thought that you had always been
allowed to be _a poet_, even by the stupid as well as the
envious--a bad one, to be sure--immoral, florid, Asiatic, and
diabolically popular,--but still always a poet, _nem. con._ This
discovery therefore, has to me all the grace of novelty, as well as
of consolation (according to Rochefoucault), to find myself
_no_-poetised in such good company. I am content to 'err with
Plato;' and can assure you very sincerely, that I would rather be
received a _non_-poet with you, than be crowned with all the bays
of (the _yet_-uncrowned) Lakers in their society. I believe you
think better of those worthies than I do. I know them * * * * * *
*.
"As for Southey, the answer to my proposition of a meeting is not
yet come. I sent the message, with a short note, to him through
Douglas Kinnaird, and Douglas's response is not arrived. If he
accepts, I shall have to go to England; but if not, I do not think
the Noel affairs will take me there, as the arbitrators can settle
them without my presence, and there do not seem to be any
difficulties. The licence for the new name and armorial bearings
will be taken out by the regular application, in such cases, to the
Crown, and sent to me.
"Is there a hope of seeing you in Italy again ever? What are you
doing?--_bored_ by me, I know; but I have explained _why_ before. I
have no correspondence now with London, except through relations
and lawyers and one or two friends. My greatest friend, Lord Clare,
is at Rome: we met on the road, and our meeting was quite
sentimental--_really_ pathetic on both sides. I have always loved
him better than any _male_ thing in the world."
* * * * *
The preceding was enclosed in that which follows.
LETTER 482. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, March 4. 1822.
"Since I wrote the enclosed, I have waited another post, and now
have your answer acknowledging the arrival of the packet--a
troublesome one, I fear, to you in more ways than one, both from
weight external and internal.
"The unpublished things in your hands, in Douglas K.'s, and Mr.
John Murray's, are, 'Heaven and Earth, a lyrical kind of Drama upon
the Deluge, &c.;'--'Werner,' _now with you_;--a translation of the
First Canto of the Morgante Maggiore;--_ditto_ of an Episode in
Dante;--some stanzas to the Po, June 1st, 1819;--Hints from Horace,
written in 1811, but a good deal, _since_, to be omitted;--several
prose things, which may, perhaps, as well remain unpublished;--'The
Vision, &c. of Quevedo Redivivus' in verse.
"Here you see is 'more matter for a May morning;' but how much of
this can be published is for consideration. The Quevedo (one of my
best in that line) has appalled the Row already, and must take its
chance at Paris, if at all. The new Mystery is less speculative
than 'Cain,' and very pious; besides, it is chiefly lyrical. The
Morgante is the _best_ translation that ever was or will be made;
and the rest are--whatever you please to think them.
"I am sorry you think Werner even _approaching_ to any fitness for
the stage, which, with my notions upon it, is very far from my
present object. With regard to the publication, I have already
explained that I have no exorbitant expectations of either fame or
profit in the present instances; but wish them published because
they are written, which is the common feeling of all scribblers.
"With respect to 'Religion,' can I never convince you that I have
no such opinions as the characters in that drama, which seems to
have frightened every body? Yet _they_ are nothing to the
expressions in Goethe's Faust (which are ten times hardier), and
not a whit more bold than those of Milton's Satan. My ideas of a
character may run away with me: like all imaginative men, I, of
course, embody myself with the character while I draw it, but not a
moment after the pen is from off the paper.
"I am no enemy to religion, but the contrary. As a proof, I am
educating my natural daughter a strict Catholic in a convent of
Romagna; for I think people can never have _enough_ of religion, if
they are to have any. I incline, myself, very much to the Catholic
doctrines; but if I am to write a drama, I must make my characters
speak as I conceive them likely to argue.
"As to poor Shelley, who is another bugbear to you and the world,
he is, to my knowledge, the _least_ selfish and the mildest of
men--a man who has made more sacrifices of his fortune and feelings
for others than any I ever heard of. With his speculative opinions
I have nothing in common, nor desire to have.
"The truth is, my dear Moore, you live near the _stove_ of society,
where you are unavoidably influenced by its heat and its vapours. I
did so once--and too much--and enough to give a colour to my whole
future existence. As my success in society was _not_
inconsiderable, I am surely not a prejudiced judge upon the
subject, unless in its favour; but I think it, as now constituted,
_fatal_ to all great original undertakings of every kind. I never
courted it _then_, when I was young and high in blood, and one of
its 'curled darlings;' and do you think I would do so _now_, when I
am living in a clearer atmosphere? One thing _only_ might lead me
back to it, and that is, to try once more if I could do any good in
_politics_; but _not_ in the petty politics I see now preying upon
our miserable country.
"Do not let me be misunderstood, however. If you speak your _own_
opinions, they ever had, and will have, the greatest weight with
_me_. But if you merely _echo_ the 'monde,' (and it is difficult
not to do so, being in its favour and its ferment,) I can only
regret that you should ever repeat any thing to which I cannot pay
attention.
"But I am prosing. The gods go with you, and as much immortality of
all kinds as may suit your present and all other existence.
"Yours," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 483. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, March 6. 1822.
"The enclosed letter from Murray hath melted me; though I think it
is against his own interest to wish that I should continue his
connection. You may, therefore, send him the packet of _Werner,_
which will save you all further trouble. And pray, _can you_
forgive me for the bore and expense I have already put upon you? At
least, _say_ so--for I feel ashamed of having given you so much for
such nonsense.
"The fact is, I cannot _keep_ my _resentments,_ though violent
enough in their onset. Besides, now that all the world are at
Murray on my account, I neither can nor ought to leave him; unless,
as I really thought, it were better for _him_ that I should.
"I have had no other news from England, except a letter from Barry
Cornwall, the bard, and my old school-fellow. Though I have
sickened you with letters lately, believe me
"Yours, &c.
"P.S. In your last letter you say, speaking of Shelley, that you
would almost prefer the 'damning bigot' to the 'annihilating
infidel.'[75] Shelley believes in immortality, however--but this by
the way. Do you remember Frederick the Great's answer to the
remonstrance of the villagers whose curate preached against the
eternity of hell's torments? It was thus:--'If my faithful subjects
of Schrausenhaussen prefer being eternally damned, let them.'
"Of the two, I should think the long sleep better than the agonised
vigil. But men, miserable as they are, cling so to any thing like
life, that they probably would prefer damnation to quiet. Besides,
they think themselves so _important_ in the creation, that nothing
less can satisfy their pride--the insects!"
[Footnote 75: It will be seen from the extract I shall give presently of
the passage to which he refers, that he wholly mistook my meaning.]
* * * * *
It is Dr. Clarke, I think, who gives, in his Travels, rather a striking
account of a Tartar whom he once saw exercising a young, fiery horse,
upon a spot of ground almost surrounded by a steep precipice, and
describes the wantonness of courage with which the rider, as if
delighting in his own peril, would, at times, dash, with loose rein,
towards the giddy verge. Something of the same breathless apprehension
with which the traveller viewed that scene, did the unchecked daring of
Byron's genius inspire in all who watched its course,--causing them, at
the same moment, to admire and tremble, and, in those more especially
who loved him, awakening a sort of instinctive impulse to rush forward
and save him from his own headlong strength. But, however natural it was
in friends to give way to this feeling, a little reflection upon his now
altered character might have forewarned them that such interference
would prove as little useful to him as safe for themselves; and it is
not without some surprise I look back upon my own temerity and
presumption in supposing that, let loose as he was now, in the full
pride and consciousness of strength, with the wide regions of thought
outstretching before him, any representations that even friendship could
make would have the power--or _ought_ to have--of checking him. As the
motives, however, by which I was actuated in my remonstrances to him may
be left to speak for themselves, I shall, without dwelling any further
upon the subject, content myself with laying before the reader a few
such extracts from my own letters at this period[76] as may serve to
explain some allusions in those just given.
In writing to me under the date January 24th, it will be recollected
that he says--"be assured that there is no such coalition as you
apprehend." The following extracts from my previous communication to him
will explain what this means:--"I heard some days ago that Leigh Hunt
was on his way to you with all his family; and the idea seems to be,
that you and Shelley and he are to conspire together in the Examiner. I
cannot believe this,--and deprecate such a plan with all my might. Alone
you may do any thing; but partnerships in fame, like those in trade,
make the strongest party answerable for the deficiencies or
delinquencies of the rest, and I tremble even for you with such a
bankrupt >i>Co._--* * *. They are both clever fellows, and Shelley I
look upon as a man of real genius; but I must again say, that you could
not give your enemies (the * * *'s, 'et hoc genus omne') a greater
triumph than by forming such an unequal and unholy alliance. You are,
single-handed, a match for the world,--which is saying a good deal, the
world being, like Briareus, a very many-handed gentleman,--but, to be
so, you must stand alone. Recollect that the scurvy buildings about St.
Peter's almost seem to overtop itself."
[Footnote 76: It should have been mentioned before, that to the courtesy
of Lord Byron's executor, Mr. Hobhouse, who had the kindness to restore
to me such letters of mine as came into his hands, I am indebted for the
power of producing these and other extracts.]
The notices of Cain, in my letters to him, were, according to their
respective dates, as follow:--
"September 30. 1821.
"Since writing the above, I have read Foscari and Cain. The former does
not please me so highly as Sardanapalus. It has the fault of all those
violent Venetian stories, being unnatural and improbable, and therefore,
in spite of all your fine management of them, appealing but remotely to
one's sympathies. But Cain is wonderful--terrible--never to be
forgotten. If I am not mistaken, it will sink deep into the world's
heart; and while many will shudder at its blasphemy, all must fall
prostrate before its grandeur. Talk of AEschylus and his
Prometheus!--here is the true spirit both of the Poet--and the Devil."
"February 9. 1822.
"Do not take it into your head, my dear B. that the tide is at all
turning against you in England. Till I see some symptoms of people
_forgetting_ you a little, I will not believe that you lose ground. As
it is, 'te veniente die, te, decedente,'--nothing is hardly talked of
but you; and though good people sometimes bless themselves when they
mention you, it is plain that even _they_ think much more about you
than, for the good of their souls, they ought. Cain, to be sure, _has_
made a sensation; and, grand as it is, I regret, for many reasons, you
ever wrote it. * * For myself, I would not give up the _poetry_ of
religion for all the wisest results that _philosophy_ will ever arrive
at. Particular sects and creeds are fair game enough for those who are
anxious enough about their neighbours to meddle with them; but our faith
in the Future is a treasure not so lightly to be parted with; and the
dream of immortality (if philosophers will have it a dream) is one that,
let us hope, we shall carry into our last sleep with us."[77]
[Footnote 77: It is to this sentence Lord Byron refers at the conclusion
of his letter, March 4.]
"February 19. 1822.
"I have written to the Longmans to try the ground, for I do _not_ think
Galignani the man for you. The only thing he can do is what we can do,
ourselves, without him,--and that is, employ an English bookseller.
Paris, indeed, might be convenient for such refugee works as are set
down in the _Index Expurgatorius_ of London; and if you have any
political catamarans to explode, this is your place. But, _pray_, let
them be only political ones. Boldness, and even licence, in politics,
does good,--actual, present good; but, in religion, it profits neither
here nor hereafter; and, for myself, such a horror have I of both
extremes on this subject, that I know not _which_ I hate most, the bold,
damning bigot, or the bold, annihilating infidel. 'Furiosa res est in
tenebris impetus;'--and much as we are in the dark, even the wisest of
us, upon these matters, a little modesty, in unbelief as well as belief,
best becomes us. You will easily guess that, in all this, I am thinking
not so much of you, as of a friend and, at present, companion of yours,
whose influence over your mind (knowing you as I do, and knowing what
Lady B. _ought_ to have found out, that you are a person the most
tractable to those who live with you that, perhaps, ever existed) I own
I dread and deprecate most earnestly."[78]
[Footnote 78: This passage having been shown by Lord Byron to Mr.
Shelley, the latter wrote, in consequence, a letter to a gentleman with
whom I was then in habits of intimacy, of which the following is an
extract. The zeal and openness with which Shelley always professed his
unbelief render any scruple that might otherwise be felt in giving
publicity to such avowals unnecessary; besides which, the testimony of
so near and clear an observer to the state of Lord Byron's mind upon
religious subjects is of far too much importance to my object to be,
from any over-fastidiousness, suppressed. We have here, too strikingly
exemplified,--and in strong contrast, I must say, to the line taken by
Mr. Hunt in similar circumstances,--the good breeding, gentle temper,
and modesty for which Shelley was so remarkable, and of the latter of
which Dualities in particular the undeserved compliment to myself
affords a strong illustration, as showing how little this true poet had
yet learned to know his own place.
"Lord Byron has read me one or two letters of Moore to him, in which
Moore speaks with great kindness of me; and of course I cannot but feel
flattered by the approbation of a man, my inferiority to whom I am proud
to acknowledge. Amongst other things, however, Moore, after giving Lord
B, much good advice about public opinion, &c. seems to deprecate my
influence on his mind on the subject of religion, and to attribute the
tone assumed in Cain to my suggestions. Moore cautions him against any
influence on this particular with the most friendly zeal, and it is
plain that his motive springs from a desire of benefiting Lord B.
without degrading me. I think you know Moore. Pray assure him that I
have not the smallest influence over Lord Byron in this particular; if I
had, I certainly should employ it to eradicate from his great mind the
delusions of Christianity, which, in spite of his reason, seem
perpetually to recur, and to lay in ambush for the hours of sickness and
distress. Cain was _conceived_ many years ago, and begun before I saw
him last year at Ravenna. How happy should I not be to attribute to
myself, however indirectly, any participation in that immortal work!"]
"March 16. 1822.
"With respect to our Religious Polemics, I must try to set you right
upon one or two points. In the first place, I do _not_ identify you with
the blasphemies of Cain no more than I do myself with the impieties of
my Mokanna,--all I wish and implore is that you, who are such a powerful
manufacturer of these thunderbolts, would not _choose_ subjects that
make it necessary to launch them. In the next place, were you even a
decided atheist, I could not (except, perhaps, for the _decision_ which
is always unwise) blame you. I could only pity,--knowing from experience
how dreary are the doubts with which even the bright, poetic view I am
myself inclined to take of mankind and their destiny is now and then
clouded. I look upon Cuvier's book to be a most desolating one in the
conclusions to which it may lead some minds. But the young, the
simple,--all those whose hearts one would like to keep unwithered,
trouble their heads but little about Cuvier. _You_, however, have
embodied him in poetry which every one reads; and, like the wind,
blowing 'where you list,' carry this deadly chill, mixed up with your
own fragrance, into hearts that should be visited only by the latter.
This is what I regret, and what with all my influence I would deprecate
a repetition of. _Now_, do you understand me?
"As to your solemn peroration, 'the truth is, my dear Moore, &c. &c.'
meaning neither more nor less than that I give into the cant of the
world, it only proves, alas! the melancholy fact, that you and I are
hundreds of miles asunder. Could you hear me speak my opinions instead
of coldly reading them, I flatter myself there is still enough of
honesty and fun in this face to remind you that your friend Tom
Moore--whatever else he may be,--is no Canter."
* * * * *
LETTER 484. TO MR. MURRAY.
"Pisa, March 6. 1822.
"You will long ago have received a letter from me (or should),
declaring my opinion of the treatment you have met with about the
recent publication. I think it disgraceful to those who have
persecuted _you_. I make peace with you, though our war was for
other reasons than this same controversy. I have written to Moore
by this post to forward to you the tragedy of' Werner.' I shall not
make or propose any present bargain about it or the new Mystery
till we see if they succeed. If they don't sell (which is not
unlikely), you sha'n't pay; and I suppose this is fair play, if you
choose to risk it.
"Bartolini, the celebrated sculptor, wrote to me to desire to take
my bust: I consented, on condition that he also took that of the
Countess Guiccioli. He has taken both, and I think it will be
allowed that _hers_ is beautiful. I shall make you a present of
them both, to show that I don't bear malice, and as a compensation
for the trouble and squabble you had about Thorwaldsen's. Of my own
I can hardly speak, except that it is thought very like what I _now
am_, which is different from what I was, of course, since you saw
me. The sculptor is a famous one; and as it was done by _his own_
particular request, will be done well, probably.
"What is to be done about * * and his Commentary? He will die if he
is _not_ published; he will be damned, if he _is_; but that _he_
don't mind. We must publish him.
"All the _row_ about _me_ has no otherwise affected me than by the
attack upon yourself, which is ungenerous in Church and State: but
as all violence must in time have its proportionate re-action, you
will do better by and by. Yours very truly,
"NOEL BYRON."
* * * * *
LETTER 485. TO MR. MOORE.
"Pisa, March 8. 1822.
"You will have had enough of my letters by this time--yet one word
in answer to your present missive. You are quite wrong in thinking
that your '_advice_' had offended me; but I have already replied
(if not answered) on that point.
"With regard to Murray, as I really am the meekest and mildest of
men since Moses (though the public and mine 'excellent wife' cannot
find it out), I had already pacified myself and subsided back to
Albemarle Street, as my yesterday's _ye_pistle will have informed
you. But I thought that I had explained my causes of bile--at least
to you. Some instances of vacillation, occasional neglect, and
troublesome sincerity, real or imagined, are sufficient to put your
truly great author and man into a passion. But reflection, with
some aid from hellebore, hath already cured me 'pro tempore;' and,
if it had not, a request from you and Hobhouse would have come upon
me like two out of the 'tribus Anticyris,'--with which, however,
Horace despairs of purging a poet. I really feel ashamed of having
bored you so frequently and fully of late. But what could I do? You
are a friend--an absent one, alas!--and as I trust no one more, I
trouble you in proportion.
"This war of 'Church and State' has astonished me more than it
disturbs; for I really thought 'Cain' a speculative and hardy, but
still a harmless, production. As I said before, I am really a great
admirer of tangible religion; and am breeding one of my daughters a
Catholic, that she may have her hands full. It is by far the most
elegant worship, hardly excepting the Greek mythology. What with
incense, pictures, statues, altars, shrines, relics, and the real
presence, confession, absolution,--there is something sensible to
grasp at. Besides, it leaves no possibility of doubt; for those who
swallow their Deity, really and truly, in transubstantiation, can
hardly find any thing else otherwise than easy of digestion.
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