Thomas Moore - Life of Lord Byron, Vol. IV

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"I have been ill these eight days with a tertian fever, caught in
the country on horseback in a thunderstorm. Yesterday I had the
fourth attack: the two last were very smart, the first day as well
as the last being preceded by vomiting. It is the fever of the
place and the season. I feel weakened, but not unwell, in the
intervals, except headach and lassitude.

"Count Guiccioli has arrived in Venice, and has presented his
spouse (who had preceded him two months for her health and the
prescriptions of Dr. Aglietti) with a paper of conditions,
regulations of hours and conduct, and morals, &c. &c. &c. which he
insists on her accepting, and she persists in refusing. I am
expressly, it should seem, excluded by this treaty, as an
indispensable preliminary; so that they are in high dissension, and
what the result may be I know not, particularly as they are
consulting friends.

"To-night, as Countess Guiccioli observed me poring over 'Don
Juan,' she stumbled by mere chance on the 137th stanza of the first
Canto, and asked me what it meant. I told her, 'Nothing--but "your
husband is coming."' As I said this in Italian, with some emphasis,
she started up in a fright, and said, '_Oh, my God, is_ he
_coming_?' thinking it was _her own_, who either was or ought to
have been at the theatre. You may suppose we laughed when she found
out the mistake. You will be amused, as I was;--it happened not
three hours ago.

"I wrote to you last week, but have added nothing to the third
Canto since my fever, nor to 'The Prophecy of Dante.' Of the former
there are about 100 octaves done; of the latter about 500
lines--perhaps more. Moore saw the third Juan, as far as it then
went. I do not know if my fever will let me go on with either, and
the tertian lasts, they say, a good while. I had it in Malta on my
way home, and the malaria fever in Greece the year before that. The
Venetian is not very fierce, but I was delirious one of the nights
with it, for an hour or two, and, on my senses coming back, found
Fletcher sobbing on one side of the bed, and La Contessa
Guiccioli[60] weeping on the other; so that I had no want of
attendance. I have not yet taken any physician, because, though I
think they may relieve in chronic disorders, such as gout and the
like, &c. &c. &c. (though they can't cure them)--just as surgeons
are necessary to set bones and tend wounds--yet I think fevers
quite out of their reach, and remediable only by diet and nature.

"I don't like the taste of bark, but I suppose that I must take it
soon.

"Tell Rose that somebody at Milan (an Austrian, Mr. Hoppner says)
is answering his book. William Bankes is in quarantine at Trieste.
I have not lately heard from you. Excuse this paper: it is long
paper shortened for the occasion. What folly is this of Carlile's
trial? why let him have the honours of a martyr? it will only
advertise the books in question. Yours, &c.

"P.S. As I tell you that the Guiccioli business is on the eve of
exploding in one way or the other, I will just add that, without
attempting to influence the decision of the Contessa, a good deal
depends upon it. If she and her husband make it up, you will,
perhaps, see me in England sooner than you expect. If not, I shall
retire with her to France or America, change my name, and lead a
quiet provincial life. All this may seem odd, but I have got the
poor girl into a scrape; and as neither her birth, nor her rank,
nor her connections by birth or marriage are inferior to my own, I
am in honour bound to support her through. Besides, she is a very
pretty woman--ask Moore--and not yet one and twenty.

"If she gets over this and I get over my tertian, I will, perhaps,
look in at Albemarle Street, some of these days, _en passant_ to
Bolivar."

[Footnote 60: The following curious particulars of his delirium are
given by Madame Guiccioli:--"At the beginning of winter Count Guiccioli
came from Ravenna to fetch me. When he arrived, Lord Byron was ill of a
fever, occasioned by his having got wet through;--a violent storm having
surprised him while taking his usual exercise on horseback. He had been
delirious the whole night, and I had watched continually by his bedside.
During his delirium he composed a good many verses, and ordered his
servant to write them down from his dictation. The rhythm of these
verses was quite correct, and the poetry itself had no appearance of
being the work of a delirious mind. He preserved them for some time
after he got well, and then burned them."--"Sul cominciare dell' inverno
il Conte Guiccioli venne a prendermi per ricondurmi a Ravenna. Quando
egli giunse Ld. Byron era ammalato di febbri prese per essersi bagnato
avendolo sorpreso un forte temporale mentre faceva l' usato suo
esercizio a cavallo. Egli aveva delirato tutta la notte, ed io aveva
sempre vegliato presso al suo letto. Nel suo delirio egli compose molti
versi che ordino al suo domestico di scrivere sotto la sua dittatura. La
misura dei versi era esatissima, e la poesia pure non pareva opera di
una mente in delirio. Egli la conservo lungo tempo dopo restabilito--poi
l' abbruccio."

I have been informed, too, that, during his ravings at this time, he was
constantly haunted by the idea of his mother-in-law,--taking every one
that came near him for her, and reproaching those about him for letting
her enter his room.]

* * * * *

LETTER 347. TO MR. BANKES.

"Venice, November 20. 1819.

"A tertian ague which has troubled me for some time, and the
indisposition of my daughter, have prevented me from replying
before to your welcome letter. I have not been ignorant of your
progress nor of your discoveries, and I trust that you are no worse
in health from your labours. You may rely upon finding every body
in England eager to reap the fruits of them; and as you have done
more than other men, I hope you will not limit yourself to saying
less than may do justice to the talents and time you have bestowed
on your perilous researches. The first sentence of my letter will
have explained to you why I cannot join you at Trieste. I was on
the point of setting out for England (before I knew of your
arrival) when my child's illness has made her and me dependent on a
Venetian Proto-Medico.

"It is now seven years since you and I met;--which time you have
employed better for others and more honourably for yourself than I
have done.

"In England you will find considerable changes, public and
private,--you will see some of our old college contemporaries
turned into lords of the Treasury, Admiralty, and the like,--others
become reformers and orators,--many settled in life, as it is
called,--and others settled in death; among the latter, (by the
way, not our fellow collegians,) Sheridan, Curran, Lady Melbourne,
Monk Lewis, Frederick Douglas, &c. &c. &c.; but you will still find
Mr. * * living and all his family, as also * * * * *.

"Should you come up this way, and I am still here, you need not be
assured how glad I shall be to see you; I long to hear some part
from you, of that which I expect in no long time to see. At length
you have had better fortune than any traveller of equal enterprise
(except Humboldt), in returning safe; and after the fate of the
Brownes, and the Parkes, and the Burckhardts, it is hardly less
surprise than satisfaction to get you back again.

"Believe me ever

"And very affectionately yours,

"BYRON."

* * * * *

LETTER 348. TO MR. MURRAY.

"Venice, December 4. 1819.

"You may do as you please, but you are about a hopeless experiment.
Eldon will decide against you, were it only that my name is in the
record. You will also recollect that if the publication is
pronounced against, on the grounds you mention, as _indecent and
blasphemous_, that _I_ lose all right in my daughter's
_guardianship_ and _education_, in short, all paternal authority,
and every thing concerning her, except * * * * * * * * It was so
decided in Shelley's case, because he had written Queen Mab, &c.
&c. However, you can ask the lawyers, and do as you like: I do not
inhibit you trying the question; I merely state one of the
consequences to me. With regard to the copyright, it is hard that
you should pay for a nonentity: I will therefore refund it, which I
can very well do, not having spent it, nor begun upon it; and so we
will be quits on that score. It lies at my banker's.

"Of the Chancellor's law I am no judge; but take up Tom Jones, and
read his Mrs. Waters and Molly Seagrim; or Prior's Hans Carvel and
Paulo Purganti: Smollett's Roderick Random, the chapter of Lord
Strutwell, and many others; Peregrine Pickle, the scene of the
Beggar Girl; Johnson's _London_, for coarse expressions; for
instance, the words '* *,' and '* *;' Anstey's Bath Guide, the
'Hearken, Lady Betty, hearken;'--take up, in short, Pope, Prior,
Congreve, Dryden, Fielding, Smollett, and let the counsel select
passages, and what becomes of _their_ copyright, if his Wat Tyler
decision is to pass into a precedent? I have nothing more to say:
you must judge for yourselves.

"I wrote to you some time ago. I have had a tertian ague; my
daughter Allegra has been ill also, and I have been almost obliged
to run away with a married woman; but with some difficulty, and
many internal struggles, I reconciled the lady with her lord, and
cured the fever of the child with bark, and my own with cold water.
I think of setting out for England by the Tyrol in a few days, so
that I could wish you to direct your next letter to Calais. Excuse
my writing in great haste and late in the morning, or night,
whichever you please to call it. The third Canto of 'Don Juan' is
completed, in about two hundred stanzas; very decent, I believe,
but do not know, and it is useless to discuss until it be
ascertained if it may or may not be a property.

"My present determination to quit Italy was unlooked for; but I
have explained the reasons in letters to my sister and Douglas
Kinnaird, a week or two ago. My progress will depend upon the snows
of the Tyrol, and the health of my child, who is at present quite
recovered; but I hope to get on well, and am

"Yours ever and truly.

"P.S. Many thanks for your letters, to which you are not to
consider this as an answer, but as an acknowledgment."

* * * * *

The struggle which, at the time of my visit to him, I had found Lord
Byron so well disposed to make towards averting, as far as now lay in
his power, some of the mischievous consequences which, both to the
object of his attachment and himself, were likely to result from their
connection, had been brought, as the foregoing letters show, to a crisis
soon after I left him. The Count Guiccioli, on his arrival at Venice,
insisted, as we have seen, that his lady should return with him; and,
after some conjugal negotiations, in which Lord Byron does not appear to
have interfered, the young Contessa consented reluctantly to accompany
her lord to Ravenna, it being first covenanted that, in future, all
communication between her and her lover should cease.

"In a few days after this," says Mr. Hoppner, in some notices of his
noble friend with which he has favoured me, "he returned to Venice, very
much out of spirits, owing to Madame Guiccioli's departure, and out of
humour with every body and every thing around him. We resumed our rides
at the Lido; and I did my best not only to raise his spirits, but to
make him forget his absent mistress, and to keep him to his purpose of
returning to England. He went into no society; and having no longer any
relish for his former occupation, his time, when he was not writing,
hung heavy enough on hand."

The promise given by the lovers not to correspond was, as all parties
must have foreseen, soon violated; and the letters Lord Byron addressed
to the lady, at this time, though written in a language not his own, are
rendered frequently even eloquent by the mere force of the feeling that
governed him--a feeling which could not have owed its fuel to fancy
alone, since now that reality had been so long substituted, it still
burned on. From one of these letters, dated November 25th, I shall so
far presume upon the discretionary power vested in me, as to lay a short
extract or two before the reader--not merely as matters of curiosity,
but on account of the strong evidence they afford of the struggle
between passion and a sense of right that now agitated him.

"You are," he says, "and ever will be, my first thought. But, at this
moment, I am in a state most dreadful, not knowing which way to
decide;--on the one hand, fearing that I should compromise you for ever,
by my return to Ravenna and the consequences of such a step, and, on the
other, dreading that I shall lose both you and myself, and all that I
have ever known or tasted of happiness, by never seeing you more. I pray
of you, I implore you to be comforted, and to believe that I cannot
cease to love you but with my life." [61] In another part he says, "I go
to save you, and leave a country insupportable to me without you. Your
letters to F * * and myself do wrong to my motives--but you will yet see
your injustice. It is not enough that I must leave you--from motives of
which ere long you will be convinced--it is not enough that I must fly
from Italy, with a heart deeply wounded, after having passed all my days
in solitude since your departure, sick both in body and mind--but I must
also have to endure your reproaches without answering and without
deserving them. Farewell! in that one word is comprised the death of my
happiness." [62]

He had now arranged every thing for his departure for England, and had
even fixed the day, when accounts reached him from Ravenna that the
Contessa was alarmingly ill;--her sorrow at their separation having so
much preyed upon her mind, that even her own family, fearful of the
consequences, had withdrawn all opposition to her wishes, and now, with
the sanction of Count Guiccioli himself, entreated her lover to hasten
to Ravenna. What was he, in this dilemma, to do? Already had he
announced his coming to different friends in England, and every dictate,
he felt, of prudence and manly fortitude urged his departure. While thus
balancing between duty and inclination, the day appointed for his
setting out arrived; and the following picture, from the life, of his
irresolution on the occasion, is from a letter written by a female
friend of Madame Guiccioli, who was present at the scene:--"He was ready
dressed for the journey, his gloves and cap on, and even his little cane
in his hand. Nothing was now waited for but his coming down
stairs,--his boxes being already all on board the gondola. At this
moment, my Lord, by way of pretext, declares, that if it should strike
one o'clock before every thing was in order (his arms being the only
thing not yet quite ready), he would not go that day. The hour strikes,
and he remains!"[63]

The writer adds, "it is evident he has not the heart to go;" and the
result proved that she had not judged him wrongly. The very next day's
tidings from Ravenna decided his fate, and he himself, in a letter to
the Contessa, thus announces the triumph which she had achieved. "F * *
* will already have told you, _with her accustomed sublimity_, that Love
has gained the victory. I could not summon up resolution enough to leave
the country where you are, without, at least, once more seeing you. On
_yourself_, perhaps, it will depend, whether I ever again shall leave
you. Of the rest we shall speak when we meet. You ought, by this time,
to know which is most conducive to your welfare, my presence or my
absence. For myself, I am a citizen of the world--all countries are
alike to me. You have ever been, since our first acquaintance, _the sole
object of my thoughts_. My opinion was, that the best course I could
adopt, both for your peace and that of all your family, would have been
to depart and go far, _far_ away from you;--since to have been near and
not approach you would have been, for me, impossible. You have however
decided that I am to return to Ravenna. I shall accordingly return--and
shall _do_--and _be_ all that you wish. I cannot say more.[64]

On quitting Venice he took leave of Mr. Hoppner in a short but cordial
letter, which I cannot better introduce than by prefixing to it the few
words of comment with which this excellent friend of the noble poet has
himself accompanied it:--"I need not say with what painful feeling I
witnessed the departure of a person who, from the first day of our
acquaintance, had treated me with unvaried kindness, reposing a
confidence in me which it was beyond the power of my utmost efforts to
deserve; admitting me to an intimacy which I had no right to claim, and
listening with patience, and the greatest good temper, to the
remonstrances I ventured to make upon his conduct."

[Footnote 61: "Tu sei, e sarai sempre mio primo pensier. Ma in questo
momento sono in un' stato orribile non sapendo cosa decidere;--temendo,
da una parte, comprometterti in eterno col mio ritorno a Ravenna, e
colle sue consequenze; e, dal' altra perderti, e me stesso, e tutto quel
che ho conosciuto o gustato di felicita, nel non vederti piu. Ti prego,
ti supplico calmarti, e credere che non posso cessare ad amarti che
colla vita."]

[Footnote 62: "Io parto, per _salvarti_, e lascio un paese divenuto
insopportabile senza di te. Le tue lettere alla F * *, ed anche a me
stesso fanno torto ai miei motivi; ma col tempo vedrai la tua
ingiustizia. Tu parli del dolor--io lo sento, ma mi mancano le parole.
Non basta lasciarti per dei motivi dei quali tu eri persuasa (non molto
tempo fa)--non basta partire dall' Italia col cuore lacerato, dopo aver
passato tutti i giorni dopo la tua partenza nella solitudine, ammalato
di corpo e di anima--ma ho anche a sopportare i tuoi rimproveri, senza
replicarti, e senza meritarli. Addio--in quella parola e compresa la
morte _di_ mia felicita."

The close of this last sentence exhibits one of the very few instances
of incorrectness that Lord Byron falls into in these letters;--the
proper construction being "_della_ mia felicita."]

[Footnote 63: "Egli era tutto vestito di viaggio coi guanti fra le mani,
col suo bonnet, e persino colla piccola sua canna; non altro aspettavasi
che egli scendesse le scale, tutti i bauli erano in barca. Milord fa la
pretesta che se suona un ora dopo il mezzodi e che non sia ogni cosa
all' ordine (poiche le armi sole non erano in pronto) egli non
partirebbe piu per quel giorno. L'ora suona ed egli resta."]

[Footnote 64: "La F * * ti avra detta, _colla sua solita sublimita_, che
l'Amor ha vinto. Io non ho potuto trovare forza di anima per lasciare il
paese dove tu sei, senza vederti almeno un' altra volta:--forse
dipendera da _te_ se mai ti lascio piu. Per il resto parleremo. Tu
dovresti adesso sapere cosa sara piu convenevole al tuo ben essere la
mia presenza o la mia lontananza. Io sono cittadino del mondo--tutti i
paesi sono eguali per me. Tu sei stata sempre (dopo che ci siamo
conosciuti) _l'unico oggetto di miei_ pensieri. Credeva che il miglior
partito per la pace tua e la pace di tua famiglia fosse il mio partire,
e andare ben _lontano_; poiche stare vicino e non avvicinarti sarebbe
per me impossible. Ma tu hai deciso che io debbo ritornare a
Ravenna--tornaro--e faro--e saro cio die tu vuoi. Non posso dirti di
piu."]

* * * * *

LETTER 349. TO MR. HOPPNER.

"My dear Hoppner,

"Partings are but bitter work at best, so that I shall not venture
on a second with you. Pray make my respects to Mrs. Hoppner, and
assure her of my unalterable reverence for the singular goodness of
her disposition, which is not without its reward even in this
world--for those who are no great believers in human virtues would
discover enough in her to give them a better opinion of their
fellow-creatures and--what is still more difficult--of themselves,
as being of the same species, however inferior in approaching its
nobler models. Make, too, what excuses you can for my omission of
the ceremony of leave-taking. If we all meet again, I will make my
humblest apology; if not, recollect that I wished you all well;
and, if you can, forget that I have given you a great deal of
trouble.

"Yours," &c. &c.

* * * * *

LETTER 350. TO MR. MURRAY.

"Venice, December 10. 1819.

"Since I last wrote, I have changed my mind, and shall not come to
England. The more I contemplate, the more I dislike the place and
the prospect. You may, therefore, address to me as usual _here_,
though I mean to go to another city. I have finished the third
Canto of Don Juan, but the things I have read and heard discourage
all further publication--at least for the present. You may try the
copy question, but you'll lose it: the cry is up, and cant is up. I
should have no objection to return the price of the copyright, and
have written to Mr. Kinnaird by this post on the subject. Talk with
him.

"I have not the patience, nor do I feel interest enough in the
question, to contend with the fellows in their own slang; but I
perceive Mr. Blackwood's Magazine and one or two others of your
missives have been hyperbolical in their praise, and diabolical in
their abuse. I like and admire W * *n, and _he_ should not have
indulged himself in such outrageous licence.[65] It is overdone and
defeats itself. What would he say to the grossness without passion
and the misanthropy without feeling of Gulliver's Travels?--When he
talks of Lady's Byron's business, he talks of what he knows nothing
about; and you may tell him that no one can more desire a public
investigation of that affair than I do.

"I sent home by Moore (_for_ Moore only, who has my Journal also)
my Memoir written up to 1816, and I gave him leave to show it to
whom he pleased, but _not to publish_, on any account. You may
read it, and you may let W * *n read it, if he likes--not for his
_public_ opinion, but his private; for I like the man, and care
very little about his Magazine. And I could wish Lady B. herself to
read it, that she may have it in her power to mark any thing
mistaken or mis-stated; as it may probably appear after my
extinction, and it would be but fair she should see it,--that is to
say, herself willing.

"Perhaps I may take a journey to you in the spring; but I _have_
been ill and _am_ indolent and indecisive, because few things
interest me. These fellows first abused me for being gloomy, and
now they are wroth that I am, or attempted to be, facetious. I have
got such a cold and headach that I can hardly see what I
scrawl:--the winters here are as sharp as needles. Some time ago, I
wrote to you rather fully about my Italian affairs; at present I
can say no more except that you shall hear further by and by.

"Your Blackwood accuses me of treating women harshly: it may be so,
but I have been their martyr; my whole life has been sacrificed
_to_ them and _by_ them. I mean to leave Venice in a few days, but
you will address your letters _here_ as usual. When I fix
elsewhere, you shall know."

[Footnote 65: This is one of the many mistakes into which his distance
from the scene of literary operations led him. The gentleman, to whom
the hostile article in the Magazine is here attributed, has never,
either then or since, written upon the subject of the noble poet's
character or genius, without giving vent to a feeling of admiration as
enthusiastic as it is always eloquently and powerfully expressed.]

* * * * *

Soon after this letter to Mr. Murray he set out for Ravenna, from which
place we shall find his correspondence for the next year and a half
dated. For a short time after his arrival, he took up his residence at
an inn; but the Count Guiccioli having allowed him to hire a suite of
apartments in the Palazzo Guiccioli itself, he was once more lodged
under the same roof with the Countess Guiccioli.

* * * * *

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