Thomas Moore - Life of Lord Byron, Vol. III
T >>
Thomas Moore >> Life of Lord Byron, Vol. III
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24
I have since been informed by Mr. Sotheby that, though not published,
these lines had been written long before the appearance of Lord Byron's
poem.]
* * * * *
LETTER 225. TO MR. TAYLOR.
"13. Terrace, Piccadilly, September 25. 1815.
"Dear Sir,
"I am sorry you should feel uneasy at what has by no means troubled
me.[85] If your editor, his correspondents, and readers, are
amused, I have no objection to be the theme of all the ballads he
can find room for,--provided his lucubrations are confined to _me_
only.
"It is a long time since things of this kind have ceased to 'fright
me from my propriety;' nor do I know any similar attack which would
induce me to turn again,--unless it involved those connected with
me, whose qualities, I hope, are such as to exempt them in the eyes
of those who bear no good-will to myself. In such a case, supposing
it to occur--to _reverse_ the saying of Dr. Johnson,--'what the law
could not do for me, I would do for myself,' be the consequences
what they might.
"I return you, with many thanks, Colman and the letters. The poems,
I hope, you intended me to keep;--at least, I shall do so, till I
hear the contrary. Very truly yours."
[Footnote 85: Mr. Taylor having inserted in the Sun newspaper (of which
he was then chief proprietor) a sonnet to Lord Byron, in return for a
present which his Lordship had sent him of a handsomely bound copy of
all his works, there appeared in the same journal, on the following day
(from the pen of some person who had acquired a control over the paper),
a parody upon this sonnet, containing some disrespectful allusion to
Lady Byron; and it is to this circumstance, which Mr. Taylor had written
to explain, that the above letter, so creditable to the feelings of the
noble husband, refers.]
* * * * *
TO MR. MURRAY.
"Sept. 25. 1815.
"Will you publish the Drury Lane 'Magpie?' or, what is more, will
you give fifty, or even forty, pounds for the copyright of the
said? I have undertaken to ask you this question on behalf of the
translator, and wish you would. We can't get so much for him by ten
pounds from any body else, and I, knowing your magnificence, would
be glad of an answer. Ever," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 226. TO MR. MURRAY.
"September 27. 1815.
"That's right and splendid, and becoming a publisher of high
degree. Mr. Concanen (the translator) will be delighted, and pay
his washerwoman; and, in reward for your bountiful behaviour in
this instance, I won't ask you to publish any more for Drury Lane,
or any lane whatever, again. You will have no tragedy or any thing
else from me, I assure you, and may think yourself lucky in having
got rid of me, for good and all, without more damage. But I'll tell
you what we will do for you,--act Sotheby's Ivan, which will
succeed; and then your present and next impression of the dramas of
that dramatic gentleman will be expedited to your heart's content;
and if there is any thing very good, you shall have the refusal;
but you sha'n't have any more requests.
"Sotheby has got a thought, and almost the words, from the third
Canto of The Corsair, which, you know, was published six months
before his tragedy. It is from the storm in Conrad's cell. I have
written to Mr. Sotheby to claim it; and, as Dennis roared out of
the pit, 'By G----d, _that's my_ thunder!' so do I, and will I,
exclaim, 'By G----d that's _my lightning_!' that electrical fluid
being, in fact, the subject of the said passage.
"You will have a print of Fanny Kelly, in the Maid, to prefix,
which is honestly worth twice the money you have given for the MS.
Pray what did you do with the note I gave you about Mungo Park?
"Ever," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 227. TO MR. MOORE.
"13. Terrace, Piccadilly, October 28. 1815.
"You are, it seems, in England again, as I am to hear from every
body but yourself; and I suppose you punctilious, because I did
not answer your last Irish letter. When did you leave the 'swate
country?' Never mind, I forgive you;--a strong proof of--I know not
what--to give the lie to--
'He never pardons who hath done the wrong.'
"You have written to * *. You have also written to Perry, who
intimates hope of an Opera from you. Coleridge has promised a
Tragedy. Now, if you keep Perry's word, and Coleridge keeps his
own, Drury Lane will be set up; and, sooth to say, it is in
grievous want of such a lift. We began at speed, and are blown
already. When I say 'we,' I mean Kinnaird, who is the 'all in all
sufficient,' and can count, which none of the rest of the Committee
can.
"It is really very good fun, as far as the daily and nightly stir
of these strutters and fretters go; and, if the concern could be
brought to pay a shilling in the pound, would do much credit to the
management. Mr. ---- has an accepted tragedy * * * * *, whose first
scene is in his sleep (I don't mean the author's). It was forwarded
to us as a prodigious favourite of Kean's; but the said Kean, upon
interrogation, denies his eulogy, and protests against his part.
How it will end, I know not.
"I say so much about the theatre, because there is nothing else
alive in London at this season. All the world are out of it, except
us, who remain to lie in,--in December, or perhaps earlier. Lady B.
is very ponderous and prosperous, apparently, and I wish it well
over.
"There is a play before me from a personage who signs himself
'Hibernicus.' The hero is Malachi, the Irishman and king; and the
villain and usurper, Turgesius, the Dane. The conclusion is fine.
Turgesius is chained by the leg (_vide_ stage direction) to a
pillar on the stage; and King Malachi makes him a speech, not
unlike Lord Castlereagh's about the balance of power and the
lawfulness of legitimacy, which puts Turgesius into a frenzy--as
Castlereagh's would, if his audience was chained by the leg. He
draws a dagger and rushes at the orator; but, finding himself at
the end of his tether, he sticks it into his own carcass, and dies,
saying, he has fulfilled a prophecy.
"Now, this is _serious downright matter of fact_, and the gravest
part of a tragedy which is not intended for burlesque. I tell it
you for the honour of Ireland. The writer hopes it will be
represented:--but what is Hope? nothing but the paint on the face
of Existence; the least touch of Truth rubs it off, and then we see
what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of. I am not sure
that I have not said this last superfine reflection before. But
never mind;--it will do for the tragedy of Turgesius, to which I
can append it.
"Well, but how dost thou do? thou bard not of a thousand but three
thousand! I wish your friend, Sir John Piano-forte, had kept that
to himself, and not made it public at the trial of the song-seller
in Dublin. I tell you why: it is a liberal thing for Longman to do,
and honourable for you to obtain; but it will set all the 'hungry
and dinnerless, lank-jawed judges' upon the fortunate author. But
they be d----d!--the 'Jeffrey and the Moore together are confident
against the world in ink!' By the way, if poor C * * e--who is a
man of wonderful talent, and in distress[86], and about to publish
two vols. of Poesy and Biography, and who has been worse used by
the critics than ever we were--will you, if he comes out, promise
me to review him favourably in the E.R.? Praise him I think you
must, but you will also praise him _well_,--of all things the most
difficult. It will be the making of him.
"This must be a secret between you and me, as Jeffrey might not
like such a project;--nor, indeed, might C. himself like it. But I
do think he only wants a pioneer and a sparkle or two to explode
most gloriously. Ever yours most affectionately, B.
"P.S. This is a sad scribbler's letter; but the next shall be 'more
of this world.'"
[Footnote 86: It is but justice both to "him that gave and him that
took" to mention that the noble poet, at this time, with a delicacy
which enhanced the kindness, advanced to the eminent person here spoken
of, on the credit of some work he was about to produce, one hundred
pounds.]
* * * * *
As, after this letter, there occur but few allusions to his connection
with the Drury Lane Management, I shall here avail myself of the
opportunity to give some extracts from his "Detached Thoughts,"
containing recollections of his short acquaintance with the interior of
the theatre.
"When I belonged to the Drury Lane Committee, and was one of the
Sub-Committee of Management, the number of _plays_ upon the shelves
were about _five_ hundred. Conceiving that amongst these there must be
_some_ of merit, in person and by proxy I caused an investigation. I do
not think that of those which I saw there was one which could be
conscientiously tolerated. There never were such things as most of them!
Mathurin was very kindly recommended to me by Walter Scott, to whom I
had recourse, firstly, in the hope that he would do something for us
himself; and, secondly, in my despair, that he would point out to us any
young (or old) writer of promise. Mathurin sent his Bertram and a letter
_without_ his address, so that at first I could give him no answer. When
I at last hit upon his residence, I sent him a favourable answer and
something more substantial. His play succeeded; but I was at that time
absent from England.
"I tried Coleridge too; but he had nothing feasible in hand at the time.
Mr. Sotheby obligingly offered _all_ his tragedies, and I pledged
myself, and notwithstanding many squabbles with my Committed Brethren,
did get 'Ivan' accepted, read, and the parts distributed. But, lo! in
the very heart of the matter, upon some _tepid_ness on the part of Kean,
or warmth on that of the author, Sotheby withdrew his play. Sir J.B.
Burgess did also present four tragedies and a farce, and I moved
green-room and Sub-Committee, but they would not.
"Then the scenes I had to go through!--the authors, and the authoresses,
and the milliners, and the wild Irishmen,--the people from Brighton,
from Blackwall; from Chatham, from Cheltenham, from Dublin, from
Dundee,--who came in upon me! to all of whom it was proper to give a
civil answer, and a hearing, and a reading. Mrs. * * * *'s father, an
Irish dancing-master of sixty years, calling upon me to request to play
Archer, dressed in silk stockings on a frosty morning to show his legs
(which were certainly good and Irish for his age, and had been still
better,)--Miss Emma Somebody, with a play entitled 'The Bandit of
Bohemia,' or some such title or production,--Mr. O'Higgins, then
resident at Richmond, with an Irish tragedy, in which the unities could
not fail to be observed, for the protagonist was chained by the leg to a
pillar during the chief part of the performance. He was a wild man, of a
salvage appearance, and the difficulty of _not_ laughing at him was only
to be got over by reflecting upon the probable consequences of such
cachinnation.
"As I am really a civil and polite person, and _do_ hate giving pain
when it can be avoided, I sent them up to Douglas Kinnaird,--who is a
man of business, and sufficiently ready with a negative,--and left them
to settle with him; and as the beginning of next year I went abroad, I
have since been little aware of the progress of the theatres.
"Players are said to be an impracticable people. They are so; but I
managed to steer clear of any disputes with them, and excepting one
debate[87] with the elder Byrne about Miss Smith's _pas
de_--(something--I forget the technicals,)--I do not remember any
litigation of my own. I used to protect Miss Smith, because she was like
Lady Jane Harley in the face, and likenesses go a great way with me.
Indeed, in general, I left such things to my more bustling colleagues,
who used to reprove me seriously for not being able to take such things
in hand without buffooning with the histrions, or throwing things into
confusion by treating light matters with levity.
"Then the Committee!--then the Sub-Committee!--we were but few, but
never agreed. There was Peter Moore who contradicted Kinnaird, and
Kinnaird who contradicted every body: then our two managers, Rae and
Dibdin; and our secretary, Ward! and yet we were all very zealous and
in earnest to do good and so forth. * * * * furnished us with prologues
to our revived old English plays; but was not pleased with me for
complimenting him as 'the Upton' of our theatre (Mr. Upton is or was the
poet who writes the songs for Astley's), and almost gave up prologuing
in consequence.
"In the pantomime of 1815-16 there was a representation of the
masquerade of 1814 given by 'us youth' of Watier's Club to Wellington
and Co. Douglas Kinnaird and one or two others, with myself, put on
masks, and went on the stage with the [Greek: hoi polloi], to see the
effect of a theatre from the stage:--it is very grand. Douglas danced
among the figuranti too, and they were puzzled to find out who we were,
as being more than their number. It was odd enough that Douglas Kinnaird
and I should have been both at the _real_ masquerade, and afterwards in
the mimic one of the same, on the stage of Drury Lane theatre."
[Footnote 87: A correspondent of one of the monthly Miscellanies gives
the following account of this incident:--
"During Lord Byron's administration, a ballet was invented by the elder
Byrne, in which Miss Smith (since Mrs. Oscar Byrne) had a _pas seul_.
This the lady wished to remove to a later period in the ballet. The
ballet-master refused, and the lady swore she would not dance it at all.
The music incidental to the dance began to play, and the lady walked off
the stage. Both parties flounced into the green-room to lay the case
before Lord Byron, who happened to be the only person in that apartment.
The noble committee-man made an award in favour of Miss Smith, and both
complainants rushed angrily out of the room at the instant of my
entering it. 'If you had come a minute sooner,' said Lord Byron, 'you
would have heard a curious matter decided on by me: a question of
dancing!--by me,' added he, looking down at the lame limb, 'whom Nature
from my birth has prohibited from taking a single step.' His countenance
fell after he had uttered this, as if he had said too much; and for a
moment there was an embarrassing silence on both sides."]
* * * * *
LETTER 228. TO MR. MOORE.
"Terrace, Piccadilly, October 31. 1815.
"I have not been able to ascertain precisely the time of duration
of the stock market; but I believe it is a good time for selling
out, and I hope so. First, because I shall see you; and, next,
because I shall receive certain monies on behalf of Lady B., the
which will materially conduce to my comfort,--I wanting (as the
duns say) 'to make up a sum.'
"Yesterday, I dined out with a large-ish party, where were Sheridan
and Colman, Harry Harris of C. G, and his brother, Sir Gilbert
Heathcote, Ds. Kinnaird, and others, of note and notoriety. Like
other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then
argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then
altogethery, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached
the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down
again without stumbling; and to crown all, Kinnaird and I had to
conduct Sheridan down a d----d corkscrew staircase, which had
certainly been constructed before the discovery of fermented
liquors, and to which no legs, however crooked, could possibly
accommodate themselves. We deposited him safe at home, where his
man, evidently used to the business, waited to receive him in the
hall.
"Both he and Colman were, as usual, very good; but I carried away
much wine, and the wine had previously carried away my memory; so
that all was hiccup and happiness for the last hour or so, and I am
not impregnated with any of the conversation. Perhaps you heard of
a late answer of Sheridan to the watchman who found him bereft of
that 'divine particle of air,' called reason, * * *. He, the
watchman, who found Sherry in the street, fuddled and bewildered,
and almost insensible. 'Who are _you_, sir? '--no answer. 'What's
your name?'--a hiccup. 'What's your name?'--Answer, in a slow,
deliberate and impassive tone--'Wilberforce!!!' Is not that Sherry
all over?--and, to my mind, excellent. Poor fellow, _his_ very
dregs are better than the 'first sprightly runnings' of others.
"My paper is full, and I have a grievous headach.
"P.S. Lady B. is in full progress. Next month will bring to light
(with the aid of 'Juno Lucina, _fer opem_,' or rather _opes_, for
the last are most wanted,) the tenth wonder of the world--Gil Blas
being the eighth, and he (my son's father) the ninth."
* * * * *
LETTER 229. TO MR. MOORE.
"November 4. 1815.
"Had you not bewildered my head with the 'stocks,' your letter
would have been answered directly. Hadn't I to go to the city? and
hadn't I to remember what to ask when I got there? and hadn't I
forgotten it?
"I should be undoubtedly delighted to see you; but I don't like to
urge against your reasons my own inclinations. Come you must soon,
for stay you _won't_. I know you of old;--you have been too much
leavened with London to keep long out of it.
"Lewis is going to Jamaica to suck his sugar canes. He sails in two
days; I enclose you his farewell note. I saw him last night at
D.L.T. for the last time previous to his voyage. Poor fellow! he is
really a good man--an excellent man--he left me his walking-stick
and a pot of preserved ginger. I shall never eat the last without
tears in my eyes, it is so _hot_. We have had a devil of a row
among our ballerinas. Miss Smith has been wronged about a hornpipe.
The Committee have interfered; but Byrne, the d----d ballet master,
won't budge a step, _I_ am furious, so is George Lamb. Kinnaird is
very glad, because--he don't know why; and I am very sorry, for the
same reason. To-day I dine with Kd.--we are to have Sheridan and
Colman again; and to-morrow, once more, at Sir Gilbert Heathcote's.
"Leigh Hunt has written a _real good_ and _very original Poem_,
which I think will be a great hit. You can have no notion how very
well it is written, nor should I, had I not redde it. As to us,
Tom--eh, when art thou out? If you think the verses worth it, I
would rather they were embalmed in the Irish Melodies, than
scattered abroad in a separate song--much rather. But when are thy
great things out? I mean the Po of Pos--thy Shah Nameh. It is very
kind in Jeffrey to like the Hebrew Melodies. Some of the fellows
here preferred Sternhold and Hopkins, and said so;--'the fiend
receive their souls therefor!'
"I must go and dress for dinner. Poor, dear Murat, what an end! You
know, I suppose, that his white plume used to be a rallying point
in battle, like Henry IV.'s. He refused a confessor and a bandage;
so would neither suffer his soul or body to be bandaged. You shall
have more to-morrow or next day.
"Ever," &c.
* * * * *
LETTER 230. TO MR. MURRAY.
"November 4. 1815.
"When you have been enabled to form an opinion on Mr. Coleridge's
MS.[88] you will oblige me by returning it, as, in fact, I have no
authority to let it out of my hands. I think most highly of it, and
feel anxious that you should be the publisher; but if you are not,
I do not despair of finding those who will.
"I have written to Mr. Leigh Hunt, stating your willingness to
treat with him, which, when I saw you, I understood you to be.
Terms and time, I leave to his pleasure and your discernment; but
this I will say, that I think it the _safest_ thing you ever
engaged in. I speak to you as a man of business; were I to talk to
you as a reader or a critic, I should say it was a very wonderful
and beautiful performance, with just enough of fault to make its
beauties more remarked and remarkable.
"And now to the last--my own, which I feel ashamed of after the
others:--publish or not as you like, I don't care _one damn_. If
_you_ don't, no one else shall, and I never thought or dreamed of
it, except as one in the collection. If it is worth being in the
fourth volume, put it there and nowhere else; and if not, put it in
the fire. Yours, N."
[Footnote 88: A tragedy entitled, I think, Zopolia.]
* * * * *
Those embarrassments which, from a review of his affairs previous to the
marriage, he had clearly foreseen would, before long, overtake him, were
not slow in realising his worst omens. The increased expenses induced by
his new mode of life, with but very little increase of means to meet
them,--the long arrears of early pecuniary obligations, as well as the
claims which had been, gradually, since then, accumulating, all pressed
upon him now with collected force, and reduced him to some of the worst
humiliations of poverty. He had been even driven, by the necessity of
encountering such demands, to the trying expedient of parting with his
books,--which circumstance coming to Mr. Murray's ears, that gentleman
instantly forwarded to him 1500_l._, with an assurance that another sum
of the same amount should be at his service in a few weeks, and that if
such assistance should not be sufficient, Mr. Murray was most ready to
dispose of the copyrights of all his past works for his use.
This very liberal offer Lord Byron acknowledged in the following
letter:--
LETTER 231. TO MR. MURRAY.
"November 14. 1815.
"I return you your bills not accepted, but certainly not
_unhonoured_. Your present offer is a favour which I would accept
from you, if I accepted such from any man. Had such been my
intention, I can assure you I would have asked you fairly, and as
freely as you would give; and I cannot say more of my confidence or
your conduct.
"The circumstances which induce me to part with my books, though
sufficiently, are not _immediately_, pressing. I have made up my
mind to them, and there's an end.
"Had I been disposed to trespass on your kindness in this way, it
would have been before now; but I am not sorry to have an
opportunity of declining it, as it sets my opinion of you, and
indeed of human nature, in a different light from that in which I
have been accustomed to consider it.
"Believe me very truly," &c.
* * * * *
TO MR. MURRAY.
"December 25. 1815.
"I send some lines, written some time ago, and intended as an
opening to 'The Siege of Corinth.' I had forgotten them, and am not
sure that they had not better be left out now:--on that, you and
your Synod can determine. Yours," &c.
* * * * *
The following are the lines alluded to in this note. They are written in
the loosest form of that rambling style of metre which his admiration of
Mr. Coleridge's "Christabel" led him, at this time, to adopt; and he
judged rightly, perhaps, in omitting them as the opening of his poem.
They are, however, too full of spirit and character to be lost. Though
breathing the thick atmosphere of Piccadilly when he wrote them, it is
plain that his fancy was far away, among the sunny hills and vales of
Greece; and their contrast with the tame life he was leading at the
moment, but gave to his recollections a fresher spring and force.
"In the year since Jesus died for men,
Eighteen hundred years and ten,
We were a gallant company,
Riding o'er land, and sailing o'er sea.
Oh! but we went merrily!
We forded the river, and clomb the high hill,
Never our steeds for a day stood still;
Whether we lay in the cave or the shed,
Our sleep fell soft on the hardest bed;
Whether we couch'd in our rough capote,
On the rougher plank of our gliding boat,
Or stretch'd on the beach, or our saddles spread
As a pillow beneath the resting head,
Fresh we woke upon the morrow:
All our thoughts and words had scope,
We had health, and we had hope,
Toil and travel, but no sorrow.
We were of all tongues and creeds;--
Some were those who counted beads,
Some of mosque, and some of church,
And some, or I mis-say, of neither;
Yet through the wide world might ye search
Nor find a mother crew nor blither.
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20 |
21 |
22 |
23 |
24