Thomas Moore - Life of Lord Byron, Vol. I. (of VI.)

T >> Thomas Moore >> Life of Lord Byron, Vol. I. (of VI.)

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LETTER 19.

TO MR. MURRAY.

"Ravenna, 9bre 12. 1820.

"What you said of the late Charles Skinner Matthews has set me to my
recollections; but I have not been able to turn up any thing which
would do for the purposed Memoir of his brother,--even if he had
previously done enough during his life to sanction the introduction of
anecdotes so merely personal. He was, however, a very extraordinary
man, and would have been a great one. No one ever succeeded in a more
surpassing degree than he did, as far as he went. He was indolent,
too; but whenever he stripped, he overthrew all antagonists. His
conquests will be found registered at Cambridge, particularly his
_Downing_ one, which was hotly and highly contested, and yet easily
_won_. Hobhouse was his most intimate friend, and can tell you more of
him than any man. William Bankes also a great deal. I myself recollect
more of his oddities than of his academical qualities, for we lived
most together at a very idle period of _my_ life. When I went up
to Trinity, in 1805, at the age of seventeen and a half, I was
miserable and untoward to a degree. I was wretched at leaving Harrow,
to which I had become attached during the two last years of my stay
there; wretched at going to Cambridge instead of Oxford (there were no
rooms Vacant at Christ-church); wretched from some private domestic
circumstances of different kinds, and consequently about as unsocial
as a wolf taken from the troop. So that, although I knew Matthews, and
met him often _then_ at Bankes's, (who was my collegiate pastor,
and master, and patron,) and at Rhode's, Milnes's, Price's, Dick's,
Macnamara's, Farrell's, Galley Knight's, and others of that _set_
of contemporaries, yet I was neither intimate with him nor with any
one else, except my old schoolfellow Edward Long (with whom I used to
pass the day in riding and swimming), and William Bankes, who was
good-naturedly tolerant of my ferocities.

"It was not till 1807, after I had been upwards of a year away from
Cambridge, to which I had returned again to _reside_ for my
degree, that I became one of Matthews's familiars, by means of H----,
who, after hating me for two years, because I wore a _white hat_, and
a _grey_ coat, and rode a _grey_ horse (as he says himself), took me
into his good graces because I had written some poetry. I had always
lived a good deal, and got drunk occasionally, in their company--but
now we became really friends in a morning. Matthews, however, was not
at this period resident in College. I met _him_ chiefly in
London, and at uncertain periods at Cambridge. H----, in the mean
time, did great things: he founded the Cambridge 'Whig Club' (which he
seems to have forgotten), and the 'Amicable Society,' which was
dissolved in consequence of the members constantly quarrelling, and
made himself very popular with 'us youth,' and no less formidable to
all tutors, professors, and beads of Colleges. William B---- was gone;
while he stayed, he ruled the roast--or rather the _roasting_--and was
father of all mischiefs.

"Matthews and I, meeting in London, and elsewhere, became great
cronies. He was not good tempered--nor am I--but with a little tact
his temper was manageable, and I thought him so superior a man, that I
was willing to sacrifice something to his humours, which were often,
at the same time, amusing and provoking. What became of his _papers_
(and he certainly had many), at the time of his death, was never
known. I mention this by the way, fearing to skip it over, and _as_ he
_wrote_ remarkably well, both in Latin and English. We went down to
Newstead together, where I had got a famous cellar, and _Monks'_
dresses from a masquerade warehouse. We were a company of some seven
or eight, with an occasional neighbour or so for visiters, and used to
sit up late in our friars' dresses, drinking burgundy, claret,
champagne, and what not, out of the _skull-cup_, and all sorts of
glasses, and buffooning all round the house, in our conventual
garments. Matthews always denominated me 'the Abbot,' and never called
me by any other name in his good humours, to the day of his death.
The harmony of these our symposia was somewhat interrupted, a few days
after our assembling, by Matthews's threatening to throw ---- out of a
_window_, in consequence of I know not what commerce of jokes ending
in this epigram. ---- came to me and said, that 'his respect and
regard for me as host would not permit him to call out any of my
guests, and that he should go to town next morning.' He did. It was in
vain that I represented to him that the window was not high, and that
the turf under it was particularly soft. Away he went.

"Matthews and myself had travelled down from London together, talking
all the way incessantly upon one single topic. When we got to
Loughborough, I know not what chasm had made us diverge for a moment
to some other subject, at which he was indignant. 'Come,' said he,
'don't let us break through--let us go on as we began, to our
journey's end;' and so he continued, and was as entertaining as ever
to the very end. He had previously occupied, during my year's absence
from Cambridge, my rooms in Trinity, with the furniture; and Jones,
the tutor, in his odd way, had said, on putting him in, 'Mr. Matthews,
I recommend to your attention not to damage any of the movables, for
Lord Byron, Sir, is a young man of _tumultuous passions_.' Matthews
was delighted with this; and whenever anybody came to visit him,
begged them to handle the very door with caution; and used to repeat
Jones's admonition in his tone and manner. There was a large mirror in
the room, on which he remarked, 'that he thought his friends were
grown uncommonly assiduous in coming to see _him_, but he soon
discovered that they only came to _see themselves_.' Jones's phrase of
'_tumultuous passions_,' and the whole scene, had put him into such
good humour, that I verily believe that I owed to it a portion of his
good graces.

"When at Newstead, somebody by accident rubbed against one of his
white silk stockings, one day before dinner; of course the gentleman
apologised. 'Sir,' answered Matthews, 'it may be all very well for
you, who have a great many silk stockings, to dirty other people's;
but to me, who have only this _one pair_, which I have put on in
honour of the Abbot here, no apology can compensate for such
carelessness; besides, the expense of washing.' He had the same sort
of droll sardonic way about every thing. A wild Irishman, named F----,
one evening beginning to say something at a large supper at Cambridge,
Matthews roared out 'Silence!' and then, pointing to F----, cried out,
in the words of the oracle, '_Orson is endowed with reason_.' You may
easily suppose that Orson lost what reason he had acquired, on hearing
this compliment. When H---- published his volume of poems, the
Miscellany (which Matthews _would_ call the '_Miss-sell-any_'), all
that could be drawn from him was, that the preface was 'extremely like
_Walsh_.' H---- thought this at first a compliment; but we never could
make out what it was,[82] for all we know of _Walsh_ is his Ode
to King William, and Pope's epithet of '_knowing Walsh_.' When the
Newstead party broke up for London, H---- and Matthews, who were the
greatest friends possible, agreed, for a whim, to _walk together_ to
town. They quarrelled by the way, and actually walked the latter half
of their journey, occasionally passing and repassing, without
speaking. When Matthews had got to Highgate, he had spent all his
money but three-pence halfpenny, and determined to spend that also in
a pint of beer, which I believe he was drinking before a public-house,
as H---- passed him (still without speaking) for the last time on
their route. They were reconciled in London again.

"One of Matthews's passions was 'the Fancy;' and he sparred uncommonly
well. But he always got beaten in rows, or combats with the bare fist.
In swimming, too, he swam well; but with _effort_ and _labour_, and
_too high_ out of the water; so that Scrope Davies and myself, of whom
he was therein somewhat emulous, always told him that he would be
drowned if ever he came to a difficult pass in the water. He was so;
but surely Scrope and myself would have been most heartily glad that

"'the Dean had lived,
And our prediction proved a lie.'

"His head was uncommonly handsome, very like what _Pope_'s was in
his youth.

"His voice, and laugh, and features, are strongly resembled by his
brother Henry's, if Henry be _he_ of _King's College_. His passion for
boxing was so great, that he actually wanted me to match him with
Dogherty (whom I had backed and made the match for against Tom
Belcher), and I saw them spar together at my own lodgings with the
gloves on. As he was bent upon it, I would have backed Dogherty to
please him, but the match went off. It was of course to have been a
private fight, in a private room.

"On one occasion, being too late to go home and dress, he was equipped
by a friend (Mr. Baillie, I believe,) in a magnificently fashionable
and somewhat exaggerated shirt and neckcloth. He proceeded to the
Opera, and took his station in Fops' Alley. During the interval
between the opera and the ballet, an acquaintance took his station by
him and saluted him: 'Come round,' said Matthews, 'come round.'--'Why
should I come round?' said the other; 'you have only to turn your
head--I am close by you.'--'That is exactly what I cannot do,' said
Matthews; 'don't you see the state I am in?' pointing to his buckram
shirt collar and inflexible cravat,--and there he stood with his head
always in the same perpendicular position during the whole spectacle.

"One evening, after dining together, as we were going to the Opera, I
happened to have a spare Opera ticket (as subscriber to a box), and
presented it to Matthews. 'Now, sir,' said he to Hobhouse afterwards,
'this I call _courteous_ in the Abbot--another man would never have
thought that I might do better with half a guinea than throw it to a
door-keeper;--but here is a man not only asks me to dinner, but gives
me a ticket for the theatre.' These were only his oddities, for no
man was more liberal, or more honourable in all his doings and
dealings, than Matthews. He gave Hobhouse and me, before we set out
for Constantinople, a most splendid entertainment, to which we did
ample justice. One of his fancies was dining at all sorts of
out-of-the-way places. Somebody popped upon him in I know not what
coffee-house in the Strand--and what do you think was the attraction?
Why, that he paid a shilling (I think) to _dine with his hat on_. This
he called his '_hat_ house,' and used to boast of the comfort of being
covered at meal-times.

"When Sir Henry Smith was expelled from Cambridge for a row with a
tradesman named 'Hiron,' Matthews solaced himself with shouting under
Hiron's windows every evening,

"'Ah me! what perils do environ
The man who meddles with _hot Hiron_.'

"He was also of that band of profane scoffers who, under the auspices
of ----, used to rouse Lort Mansel (late Bishop of Bristol) from his
slumbers in the lodge of Trinity; and when he appeared at the window
foaming with wrath, and crying out, 'I know you, gentlemen, I know
you!' were wont to reply, 'We beseech thee to hear us, good
_Lort_'--'Good _Lort_ deliver us!' (Lort was his Christian name.) As
he was very free in his speculations upon all kinds of subjects,
although by no means either dissolute or intemperate in his conduct,
and as I was no less independent, our conversation and correspondence
used to alarm our friend Hobhouse to a considerable degree.

"You must be almost tired of my packets, which will have cost a mint
of postage.

"Salute Gifford and all my friends.

"Yours, &c."

As already, before his acquaintance with Mr. Matthews commenced, Lord
Byron had begun to bewilder himself in the mazes of scepticism, it
would be unjust to impute to this gentleman any further share in the
formation of his noble friend's opinions than what arose from the
natural influence of example and sympathy;--an influence which, as it
was felt perhaps equally on both sides, rendered the contagion of
their doctrines, in a great measure, reciprocal. In addition, too, to
this community of sentiment on such subjects, they were both, in no
ordinary degree, possessed by that dangerous spirit of ridicule, whose
impulses even the pious cannot always restrain, and which draws the
mind on, by a sort of irresistible fascination, to disport itself most
wantonly on the brink of all that is most solemn and awful. It is not
wonderful, therefore, that, in such society, the opinions of the noble
poet should have been, at least, accelerated in that direction to
which their bias already leaned; and though he cannot be said to have
become thus confirmed in these doctrines,--as neither now, nor at any
time of his life, was he a confirmed unbeliever,--he had undoubtedly
learned to feel less uneasy under his scepticism, and even to mingle
somewhat of boast and of levity with his expression of it. At the very
first onset of his correspondence with Mr. Dallas, we find him
proclaiming his sentiments on all such subjects with a flippancy and
confidence far different from the tone in which he had first ventured
on his doubts,--from that fervid sadness, as of a heart loth to part
with its illusions, which breathes through every line of those
prayers, that, but a year before, his pen had traced.

Here again, however, we should recollect, there must be a considerable
share of allowance for his usual tendency to make the most and the
worst of his own obliquities. There occurs, indeed, in his first
letter to Mr. Dallas, an instance of this strange ambition,--the very
reverse, it must be allowed, of hypocrisy,--which led him to court,
rather than avoid, the reputation of profligacy, and to put, at all
times, the worst face on his own character and conduct. His new
correspondent having, in introducing himself to his acquaintance,
passed some compliments on the tone of moral and charitable feeling
which breathed through one of his poems, had added, that it "brought
to his mind another noble author, who was not only a fine poet,
orator, and historian, but one of the closest reasoners we have on the
truth of that religion of which forgiveness is a prominent principle,
the great and good Lord Lyttleton, whose fame will never die. His
son," adds Mr. Dallas, "to whom he had transmitted genius, but not
virtue, sparkled for a moment and went out like a star,--and with him
the title became extinct." To this Lord Byron answers in the following
letter:--

LETTER 20.

TO MR. DALLAS.

"Dorant's Hotel, Albemarle Street, Jan. 20. 1808.

"Sir,

"Your letter was not received till this morning, I presume from being
addressed to me in Notts., where I have not resided since last June,
and as the date is the 6th, you will excuse the delay of my answer.

"If the little volume you mention has given pleasure to the author of
_Percival_ and _Aubrey_, I am sufficiently repaid by his praise.
Though our periodical censors have been uncommonly lenient, I confess
a tribute from a man of acknowledged genius is still more flattering.
But I am afraid I should forfeit all claim to candour, if I did not
decline such praise as I do not deserve; and this is, I am sorry to
say, the case in the present instance.

"My compositions speak for themselves, and must stand or fall by their
own worth or demerit: _thus far_ I feel highly gratified by your
favourable opinion. But my pretensions to virtue are unluckily so few,
that though I should be happy to merit, I cannot accept, your applause
in that respect. One passage in your letter struck me forcibly: you
mention the two Lords Lyttleton in a manner they respectively deserve,
and will be surprised to hear the person who is now addressing you has
been frequently compared to the _latter_. I know I am injuring myself
in your esteem by this avowal, but the circumstance was so remarkable
from your observation, that I cannot help relating the fact. The
events of my short life have been of so singular a nature, that,
though the pride commonly called honour has, and I trust ever will,
prevent me from disgracing my name by a mean or cowardly action, I
have been already held up as the votary of licentiousness, and the
disciple of infidelity. How far justice may have dictated this
accusation, I cannot pretend to say; but, like the _gentleman_ to whom
my religious friends, in the warmth of their charity, have already
devoted me, I am made worse than I really am. However, to quit myself
(the worst theme I could pitch upon), and return to my poems, I cannot
sufficiently express my thanks, and I hope I shall some day have an
opportunity of rendering them in person. A second edition is now in
the press, with some additions and considerable omissions; you will
allow me to present you with a copy. The Critical, Monthly, and
Anti-Jacobin Reviews have been very indulgent; but the Eclectic has
pronounced a furious Philippic, not against the _book_ but the
_author_, where you will find all I have mentioned asserted by a
reverend divine who wrote the critique.

Your name and connection with our family have been long known to me,
and I hope your person will be not less so: you will find me an
excellent compound of a 'Brainless' and a 'Stanhope.'[83] I am afraid
you will hardly be able to read this, for my hand is almost as bad as
my character; but you will find me, as legibly as possible,

"Your obliged and obedient servant,

"BYRON."

There is here, evidently, a degree of pride in being thought to
resemble the wicked Lord Lyttleton; and, lest his known irregularities
should not bear him out in the pretension, he refers mysteriously, as
was his habit, to certain untold events of his life, to warrant the
parallel.[84] Mr. Dallas, who seems to have been but little prepared
for such a reception of his compliments, escapes out of the difficulty
by transferring to the young lord's "candour" the praise he had so
thanklessly bestowed on his morals in general; adding, that from the
design Lord Byron had expressed in his preface of resigning the
service of the Muses for a different vocation, he had "conceived him
bent on pursuits which lead to the character of a legislator and
statesman;--had imagined him at one of the universities, training
himself to habits of reasoning and eloquence, and storing up a large
fund of history and law." It is in reply to this letter that the
exposition of the noble poet's opinions, to which I have above
alluded, is contained.

LETTER 21.

TO MR. DALLAS.

"Dorant's, January 21. 1808.

"Sir,

"Whenever leisure and inclination permit me the pleasure of a visit, I
shall feel truly gratified in a personal acquaintance with one whose
mind has been long known to me in his writings.

"You are so far correct in your conjecture, that I am a member of the
University of Cambridge, where I shall take my degree of A. M. this
term; but were reasoning, eloquence, or virtue, the objects of my
search, Granta is not their metropolis, nor is the place of her
situation an 'El Dorado,' far less an Utopia. The intellects of her
children are as stagnant as her Cam, and their pursuits limited to the
church--not of Christ, but of the nearest benefice.

"As to my reading, I believe I may aver, without hyperbole, it has
been tolerably extensive in the historical; so that few nations exist,
or have existed, with whose records I am not in some degree
acquainted, from Herodotus down to Gibbon. Of the classics, I know
about as much as most schoolboys after a discipline of thirteen years;
of the law of the land as much as enables me to keep 'within the
statute'--to use the poacher's vocabulary. I did study the 'Spirit of
Laws' and the Law of Nations; but when I saw the latter violated every
month, I gave up my attempts at so useless an accomplishment;--of
geography, I have seen more land on maps than I should wish to
traverse on foot;--of mathematics, enough to give me the headache
without clearing the part affected;--of philosophy, astronomy, and
metaphysics, more than I can comprehend;[85] and of common sense so
little, that I mean to leave a Byronian prize at each of our 'Almae
Matres' for the first discovery,--though I rather fear that of the
longitude will precede it.

"I once thought myself a philosopher, and talked nonsense with great
decorum: I defied pain, and preached up equanimity. For some time this
did very well, for no one was in _pain_ for me but my friends, and none
lost their patience but my hearers. At last, a fall from my horse
convinced me bodily suffering was an evil; and the worst of an argument
overset my maxims and my temper at the same moment: so I quitted Zeno
for Aristippus, and conceive that pleasure constitutes the {~GREEK SMALL
LETTER TAU~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER OMICRON~} {~GREEK SMALL LETTER
CHI~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER ALPHA~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER LAMDA~}{~GREEK
SMALL LETTER OMICRON~}{~GREEK SMALL LETTER NU~}. I hold virtue, in
general, or the virtues severally, to be only in the disposition, each a
_feeling_, not a principle.[86] I believe truth the prime attribute of
the Deity, and death an eternal sleep, at least of the body. You have
here a brief compendium of the sentiments of the _wicked_ George Lord
Byron; and, till I get a new suit, you will perceive I am badly clothed.

I remain," &c.

Though such was, doubtless, the general cast of his opinions at this
time, it must be recollected, before we attach any particular
importance to the details of his creed, that, in addition to the
temptation, never easily resisted by him, of displaying his wit at the
expense of his character, he was here addressing a person who,
though, no doubt, well meaning, was evidently one of those officious,
self-satisfied advisers, whom it was the delight of Lord Byron at all
times to astonish and _mystify_. The tricks which, when a boy, he
played upon the Nottingham quack, Lavender, were but the first of a
long series with which, through life, he amused himself, at the
expense of all the numerous quacks whom his celebrity and sociability
drew around him.

The terms in which he speaks of the university in this letter agree in
spirit with many passages both in the "Hours of Idleness," and his
early Satire, and prove that, while Harrow was remembered by him with
more affection, perhaps, than respect, Cambridge had not been able to
inspire him with either. This feeling of distaste to his "nursing
mother" he entertained in common with some of the most illustrious
names of English literature. So great was Milton's hatred to
Cambridge, that he had even conceived, says Warton, a dislike to the
face of the country,--to the fields in its neighbourhood. The poet
Gray thus speaks of the same university:--"Surely, it was of this
place, now Cambridge, but formerly known by the name of Babylon, that
the prophet spoke when he said, 'The wild beasts of the deserts shall
dwell there, and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures, and
owls shall build there, and satyrs shall dance there,'" &c. &c. The
bitter recollections which Gibbon retained of Oxford, his own pen has
recorded; and the cool contempt by which Locke avenged himself on the
bigotry of the same seat of learning is even still more
memorable.[87]

In poets, such distasteful recollections of their collegiate life may
well be thought to have their origin in that antipathy to the trammels
of discipline, which is not unusually observable among the
characteristics of genius, and which might be regarded, indeed, as a
sort of instinct, implanted in it for its own preservation, if there
be any truth in the opinion that a course of learned education is
hurtful to the freshness and elasticity of the imaginative faculty. A
right reverend writer,[88] but little to be suspected of any desire to
depreciate academical studies, not only puts the question, "Whether
the usual forms of learning be not rather injurious to the true poet,
than really assisting to him?" but appears strongly disposed to answer
it in the affirmative,--giving, as an instance, in favour of this
conclusion, the classic Addison, who, "as appears," he says, "from
some original efforts in the sublime, allegorical way, had no want of
natural talents for the greater poetry,--which yet were so restrained
and disabled by his constant and superstitious study of the old
classics, that he was, in fact, but a very ordinary poet."

It was, no doubt, under some such impression of the malign influence
of a collegiate atmosphere upon genius, that Milton, in speaking of
Cambridge, gave vent to the exclamation, that it was "a place quite
incompatible with the votaries of Phoebus," and that Lord Byron,
versifying a thought of his own, in the letter to Mr. Dallas just
given, declares,

"Her Helicon is duller than her Cam."

The poet Dryden, too, who, like Milton, had incurred some mark of
disgrace at Cambridge, seems to have entertained but little more
veneration for his Alma Mater; and the verses in which he has praised
Oxford at the expense of his own university[89] were, it is probable,
dictated much less by admiration of the one than by a desire to spite
and depreciate the other.

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