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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"What you say is all very true: come what may, _Newstead_ and I
_stand_ or fall together. I have now lived on the spot, I have fixed
my heart upon it, and no pressure, present or future, shall induce me
to barter the last vestige of our inheritance. I have that pride
within me which will enable me to support difficulties. I can endure
privations; but could I obtain in exchange for Newstead Abbey the
first fortune in the country I would reject the proposition. Set your
mind at ease on that score; Mr. H---- talks like a man of business on
the subject,--I feel like a man of honour, and I will not sell
Newstead.

"I shall get my seat on the return of the affidavits from Carhais, in
Cornwall, and will do something in the House soon: I must dash, or it
is all over. My Satire must be kept secret for a month; after that you
may say what you please on the subject. Lord C. has used me
infamously, and refused to state any particulars of my family to the
Chancellor. I have _lashed_ him in my rhymes, and perhaps his Lordship
may regret not being more conciliatory. They tell me it will have a
sale; I hope so, for the bookseller has behaved well, as far as
publishing well goes.

"Believe me, &c.

"P.S.--You shall have a mortgage on one of the farms."

The affidavits which he here mentions, as expected from Cornwall, were
those required in proof of the marriage of Admiral Byron with Miss
Trevanion, the solemnisation of which having taken place, as it
appears, in a private chapel at Carhais, no regular certificate of the
ceremony could be produced. The delay in procuring other evidence,
coupled with the refusal of Lord Carlisle to afford any explanations
respecting his family, interposed those difficulties which he alludes
to in the way of his taking his seat. At length, all the necessary
proofs having been obtained, he, on the 13th of March, presented
himself in the House of Lords, in a state more lone and unfriended,
perhaps, than any youth of his high station had ever before been
reduced to on such an occasion,--not having a single individual of his
own class either to take him by the hand as friend or acknowledge him
as acquaintance. To chance alone was he even indebted for being
accompanied as far as the bar of the House by a very distant relative,
who had been, little more than a year before, an utter stranger to
him. This relative was Mr. Dallas; and the account which he has given
of the whole scene is too striking in all its details to be related in
any other words than his own:--

"The Satire was published about the middle of March, previous to which
he took his seat in the House of Lords, on the 13th of the same month.
On that day, passing down St. James's Street, but with no intention of
calling, I saw his chariot at his door, and went in. His countenance,
paler than usual, showed that his mind was agitated, and that he was
thinking of the nobleman to whom he had once looked for a hand and
countenance in his introduction to the House. He said to me--'I am
glad you happened to come in; I am going to take my seat, perhaps you
will go with me.' I expressed my readiness to attend him; while, at
the same time, I concealed the shock I felt on thinking that this
young man, who, by birth, fortune, and talent, stood high in life,
should have lived so unconnected and neglected by persons of his own
rank, that there was not a single member of the senate to which he
belonged, to whom he could or would apply to introduce him in a manner
becoming his birth. I saw that he felt the situation, and I fully
partook his indignation.

"After some talk about the Satire, the last sheets of which were in
the press, I accompanied Lord Byron to the House. He was received in
one of the ante-chambers by some of the officers in attendance, with
whom he settled respecting the fees he had to pay. One of them went to
apprise the Lord Chancellor of his being there, and soon returned for
him. There were very few persons in the House. Lord Eldon was going
through some ordinary business. When Lord Byron entered, I thought he
looked still paler than before; and he certainly wore a countenance in
which mortification was mingled with, but subdued by, indignation. He
passed the woolsack without looking round, and advanced to the table
where the proper officer was attending to administer the oaths. When
he had gone through them, the Chancellor quitted his seat, and went
towards him with a smile, putting out his hand warmly to welcome him;
and, though I did not catch his words, I saw that he paid him some
compliment. This was all thrown away upon Lord Byron, who made a stiff
bow, and put the tips of his fingers into the Chancellor's hand. The
Chancellor did not press a welcome so received, but resumed his seat;
while Lord Byron carelessly seated himself for a few minutes on one of
the empty benches to the left of the throne, usually occupied by the
lords in opposition. When, on his joining me, I expressed what I had
felt, he said--'If I had shaken hands heartily, he would have set me
down for one of his party--but I will have nothing to do with any of
them, on either side; I have taken my seat, and now I will go abroad.'
We returned to St. James's Street, but he did not recover his
spirits."

To this account of a ceremonial so trying to the proud spirit engaged
in it, and so little likely to abate the bitter feeling of misanthropy
now growing upon him, I am enabled to add, from his own report in one
of his note-books, the particulars of the short conversation which he
held with the Lord Chancellor on the occasion:--

"When I came of age, some delays, on account of some birth and
marriage certificates from Cornwall, occasioned me not to take my seat
for several weeks. When these were over, and I had taken the oaths,
the Chancellor apologised to me for the delay, observing 'that these
forms were a part of his _duty_.' I begged him to make no apology, and
added (as he certainly had shown no violent hurry), 'Your Lordship was
exactly like Tom Thumb' (which was then being acted)--'you did your
_duty_, and you did _no more_.'"

In a few days after, the Satire made its appearance; and one of the
first copies was sent, with the following letter, to his friend Mr.
Harness.

LETTER 33.

TO MR. HARNESS.

"8. St. James's Street, March 18. 1809.

"There was no necessity for your excuses: if you have time and
inclination to write, 'for what we receive, the Lord make us
thankful,'--if I do not hear from you I console myself with the idea
that you are much more agreeably employed.

"I send down to you by this post a certain Satire lately published,
and in return for the three and sixpence expenditure upon it, only beg
that if you should guess the author, you will keep his name secret; at
least for the present. London is full of the Duke's business. The
Commons have been at it these last three nights, and are not yet come
to a decision. I do not know if the affair will be brought before our
House, unless in the shape of an impeachment. If it makes its
appearance in a debatable form, I believe I shall be tempted to say
something on the subject.--I am glad to hear you like Cambridge:
firstly, because, to know that you are happy is pleasant to one who
wishes you all possible sub-lunary enjoyment; and, secondly, I admire
the morality of the sentiment. _Alma Mater_ was to me _injusta
noverca_; and the old beldam only gave me my M.A. degree because she
could not avoid it.--[102]You know what a farce a noble Cantab. must
perform.

"I am going abroad, if possible, in the spring, and before I depart I
am collecting the pictures of my most intimate schoolfellows; I have
already a few, and shall want yours, or my cabinet will be incomplete.
I have employed one of the first miniature painters of the day to take
them, of course, at my own expense, as I never allow my acquaintance
to incur the least expenditure to gratify a whim of mine. To mention
this may seem indelicate; but when I tell you a friend of ours first
refused to sit, under the idea that he was to disburse on the
occasion, you will see that it is necessary to state these
preliminaries to prevent the recurrence of any similar mistake. I
shall see you in time, and will carry you to the _limner_. It will be
a tax on your patience for a week, but pray excuse it, as it is
possible the resemblance may be the sole trace I shall be able to
preserve of our past friendship and acquaintance. Just now it seems
foolish enough, but in a few years, when some of us are dead, and
others are separated by inevitable circumstances, it will be a kind of
satisfaction to retain in these images of the living the idea of our
former selves, and to contemplate, in the resemblances of the dead,
all that remains of judgment, feeling, and a host of passions. But
all this will be dull enough for you, and so good night, and to end my
chapter, or rather my homily, believe me, my dear H.,

yours most affectionately."

In this romantic design of collecting together the portraits of his
school friends, we see the natural working of an ardent and
disappointed heart, which, as the future began to darken upon it,
clung with fondness to the recollections of the past; and, in despair
of finding new and true friends, saw no happiness but in preserving
all it could of the old. But even here, his sensibility had to
encounter one of those freezing checks, to which feelings, so much
above the ordinary temperature of the world, are but too constantly
exposed;--it being from one of the very friends thus fondly valued by
him, that he experienced, on leaving England, that mark of neglect of
which he so indignantly complains in a note on the second Canto of
Childe Harold,--contrasting with this conduct the fidelity and
devotedness he had just found in his Turkish servant, Dervish. Mr.
Dallas, who witnessed the immediate effect of this slight upon him,
thus describes his emotion:--

"I found him bursting with indignation. 'Will you believe it?' said
he, 'I have just met ----, and asked him to come and sit an hour with
me: he excused himself; and what do you think was his excuse? He was
engaged with his mother and some ladies to go shopping! And he knows I
set out to-morrow, to be absent for years, perhaps never to
return!--Friendship! I do not believe I shall leave behind me,
yourself and family excepted, and perhaps my mother, a single being
who will care what becomes of me.'"

From his expressions in a letter to Mrs. Byron, already cited, that he
must "do something in the House soon," as well as from a more definite
intimation of the same intention to Mr. Harness, it would appear that
he had, at this time, serious thoughts of at once entering on the high
political path which his station as an hereditary legislator opened to
him. But, whatever may have been the first movements of his ambition
in this direction, they were soon relinquished. Had he been connected
with any distinguished political families, his love of eminence,
seconded by such example and sympathy, would have impelled him, no
doubt, to seek renown in the fields of party warfare where it might
have been his fate to afford a signal instance of that transmuting
process by which, as Pope says, the corruption of a poet sometimes
leads to the generation of a statesman. Luckily, however, for the
world (though whether luckily for himself may be questioned), the
brighter empire of poesy was destined to claim him all its own. The
loneliness, indeed, of his position in society at this period, left
destitute, as he was, of all those sanctions and sympathies, by which
youth at its first start is usually surrounded, was, of itself, enough
to discourage him from embarking in a pursuit, where it is chiefly on
such extrinsic advantages that any chance of success must depend. So
far from taking an active part in the proceedings of his noble
brethren, he appears to have regarded even the ceremony of his
attendance among them as irksome and mortifying; and in a few days
after his admission to his seat, he withdrew himself in disgust to the
seclusion of his own Abbey, there to brood over the bitterness of
premature experience, or meditate, in the scenes and adventures of
other lands, a freer outlet for his impatient spirit than it could
command at home.

It was not long, however, before he was summoned back to town by the
success of his Satire,--the quick sale of which already rendered the
preparation of a new edition necessary. His zealous agent, Mr. Dallas,
had taken care to transmit to him, in his retirement, all the
favourable opinions of the work he could collect; and it is not
unamusing, as showing the sort of steps by which Fame at first mounts,
to find the approbation of such authorities as Pratt and the magazine
writers put forward among the first rewards and encouragements of a
Byron.

"You are already (he says) pretty generally known to be the author. So
Cawthorn tells me, and a proof occurred to myself at Hatchard's, the
Queen's bookseller. On enquiring for the Satire, he told me that he
had sold a great many, and had none left, and was going to send for
more, which I afterwards found he did. I asked who was the author? He
said it was believed to be Lord Byron's. Did _he_ believe it? Yes he
did. On asking the ground of his belief, he told me that a lady of
distinction had, without hesitation, asked for it as Lord Byron's
Satire. He likewise informed me that he had enquired of Mr. Gifford,
who frequents his shop, if it was yours. Mr. Gifford denied any
knowledge of the author, but spoke very highly of it, and said a copy
had been sent to him. Hatchard assured me that all who came to his
reading-room admired it. Cawthorn tells me it is universally well
spoken of, not only among his own customers, but generally at all the
booksellers. I heard it highly praised at my own publisher's, where I
have lately called several times. At Phillips's it was read aloud by
Pratt to a circle of literary guests, who were unanimous in their
applause:--The _Anti-jacobin_, as well as the _Gentleman's Magazine_,
has already blown the trump of fame for you. We shall see it in the
other Reviews next month, and probably in some severely handled,
according to the connection of the proprietors and editors with those
whom it lashes."

On his arrival in London, towards the end of April, he found the first
edition of his poem nearly exhausted; and set immediately about
preparing another, to which he determined to prefix his name. The
additions he now made to the work were considerable,--near a hundred
new lines being introduced at the very opening[103],--and it was not
till about the middle of the ensuing month that the new edition was
ready to go to press. He had, during his absence from town, fixed
definitely with his friend, Mr. Hobhouse, that they should leave
England together on the following June, and it was his wish to see the
last proofs of the volume corrected before his departure.

Among the new features of this edition was a Post-script to the
Satire, in prose, which Mr. Dallas, much to the credit of his
discretion and taste, most earnestly entreated the poet to suppress.
It is to be regretted that the adviser did not succeed in his efforts,
as there runs a tone of bravado through this ill-judged effusion,
which it is, at all times, painful to see a brave man assume. For
instance:--"It may be said," he observes, "that I quit England because
I have censured these 'persons of honour and wit about town;' but I am
coming back again, and their vengeance will keep hot till my return.
Those who know me can testify that my motives for leaving England are
very different from fears, literary or personal; those who do not may
be one day convinced. Since the publication of this thing, my name has
not been concealed; I have been mostly in London, ready to answer for
my transgressions, and in daily expectation of sundry cartels; but,
alas, 'the age of chivalry is over,' or, in the vulgar tongue, there
is no spirit now-a-days."

But, whatever may have been the faults or indiscretions of this
Satire, there are few who would now sit in judgment upon it so
severely as did the author himself, on reading it over nine years
after, when he had quitted England, never to return. The copy which he
then perused is now in possession of Mr. Murray, and the remarks which
he has scribbled over its pages are well worth transcribing. On the
first leaf we find--

"The binding of this volume is considerably too valuable for its
contents.

"Nothing but the consideration of its being the property of another
prevents me from consigning this miserable record of misplaced anger
and indiscriminate acrimony to the flames.

B."

Opposite the passage,

"to be misled
By Jeffrey's heart, or Lamb's Boeotian head,"

is written, "This was not just. Neither the heart nor the head of
these gentlemen are at all what they are here represented." Along the
whole of the severe verses against Mr. Wordsworth he has scrawled
"Unjust,"--and the same verdict is affixed to those against Mr.
Coleridge. On his unmeasured attack upon Mr. Bowles, the comment
is,--"Too savage all this on Bowles;" and down the margin of the page
containing the lines, "Health to immortal Jeffrey," &c. he
writes,--"Too ferocious--this is mere insanity;"--adding, on the
verses that follow ("Can none remember that eventful day?" &c.), "All
this is bad, because personal."

Sometimes, however, he shows a disposition to stand by his original
decisions. Thus, on the passage relating to a writer of certain
obscure Epics (v. 793.), he says,--"All right;" adding, of the same
person, "I saw some letters of this fellow to an unfortunate poetess,
whose productions (which the poor woman by no means thought vainly of)
he attacked so roughly and bitterly, that I could hardly regret
assailing him;--even were it unjust, which it is not; for, verily, he
_is_ an ass." On the strong lines, too (v. 953.), upon Clarke (a
writer in a magazine called the Satirist), he remarks,--"Right
enough,--this was well deserved and well laid on."

To the whole paragraph, beginning "Illustrious Holland," are affixed
the words "Bad enough;--and on mistaken grounds besides." The bitter
verses against Lord Carlisle he pronounces "Wrong also:--the
provocation was not sufficient to justify such acerbity;"--and of a
subsequent note respecting the same nobleman, he says, "Much too
savage, whatever the foundation may be." Of Rosa Matilda (v. 738.) he
tells us, "She has since married the Morning Post,--an exceeding good
match." To the verses, "When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall,"
&c., he has appended the following interesting note:--"This was meant
at poor Blackett, who was then patronised by A.I.B.[104];--but _that_
I did not know, or this would not have been written; at least I think
not."

Farther on, where Mr. Campbell and other poets are mentioned, the
following gingle on the names of their respective poems is
scribbled:--

"Pretty Miss Jacqueline
Had a nose aquiline;
And would assert rude
Things of Miss Gertrude;
While Mr. Marmion
Led a great army on,
Making Kehama look
Like a fierce Mamaluke."

Opposite the paragraph in praise of Mr. Crabbe he has written, "I
consider Crabbe and Coleridge as the first of these times in point of
power and genius." On his own line, in a subsequent paragraph, "And
glory, like the phoenix mid her fires," he says, comically, "The devil
take that phoenix--how came it there?" and his concluding remark on
the whole poem is as follows:--

"The greater part of this satire I most sincerely wish had never been
written; not only on account of the injustice of much of the critical
and some of the personal part of it, but the tone and temper are such
as I cannot approve.

BYRON."

"Diodata, Geneva, July 14. 1816."

While engaged in preparing his new edition for the press, he was also
gaily dispensing the hospitalities of Newstead to a party of young
college friends, whom, with the prospect of so long an absence from
England, he had assembled round him at the Abbey, for a sort of
festive farewell. The following letter from one of the party, Charles
Skinner Matthews, though containing much less of the noble host
himself than we could have wished, yet, as a picture, taken freshly
and at the moment, of a scene so pregnant with character, will, I have
little doubt, be highly acceptable to the reader.

LETTER FROM CHARLES SKINNER MATTHEWS, ESQ. TO MISS I.M.

"London, May 22. 1809.

"My dear ----,

"I must begin with giving you a few particulars of the singular place
which I have lately quitted.

"Newstead Abbey is situate 136 miles from London,--four on this side
Mansfield. It is so fine a piece of antiquity, that I should think
there must be a description, and, perhaps, a picture of it in Grose.
The ancestors of its present owner came into possession of it at the
time of the dissolution of the monasteries,--but the building itself
is of a much earlier date. Though sadly fallen to decay, it is still
completely an _abbey_, and most part of it is still standing in the
same state as when it was first built. There are two tiers of
cloisters, with a variety of cells and rooms about them, which, though
not inhabited, nor in an inhabitable state, might easily be made so;
and many of the original rooms, amongst which is a fine stone hall,
are still in use. Of the abbey church only one end remains; and the
old kitchen, with a long range of apartments, is reduced to a heap of
rubbish. Leading from the abbey to the modern part of the habitation
is a noble room seventy feet in length, and twenty-three in breadth;
but every part of the house displays neglect and decay, save those
which the present Lord has lately fitted up.

"The house and gardens are entirely surrounded by a wall with
battlements. In front is a large lake, bordered here and there with
castellated buildings, the chief of which stands on an eminence at the
further extremity of it. Fancy all this surrounded with bleak and
barren hills, with scarce a tree to be seen for miles, except a
solitary clump or two, and you will have some idea of Newstead. For
the late Lord being at enmity with his son, to whom the estate was
secured by entail, resolved, out of spite to the same, that the estate
should descend to him in as miserable a plight as he could possibly
reduce it to; for which cause, he took no care of the mansion, and
fell to lopping of every tree he could lay his hands on, so furiously,
that he reduced immense tracts of woodland country to the desolate
state I have just described. However, his son died before him, so that
all his rage was thrown away.

"So much for the place, concerning which I have thrown together these
few particulars, meaning my account to be, like the place itself,
without any order or connection. But if the place itself appear rather
strange to you, the ways of the inhabitants will not appear much less
so. Ascend, then, with me the hall steps, that I may introduce you to
my Lord and his visitants. But have a care how you proceed; be mindful
to go there in broad daylight, and with your eyes about you. For,
should you make any blunder,--should you go to the right of the hall
steps, you are laid hold of by a bear; and should you go to the left,
your case is still worse, for you run full against a wolf!--Nor, when
you have attained the door, is your danger over; for the hall being
decayed, and therefore standing in need of repair, a bevy of inmates
are very probably banging at one end of it with their pistols; so that
if you enter without giving loud notice of your approach, you have
only escaped the wolf and the bear to expire by the pistol-shots of
the merry monks of Newstead.

"Our party consisted of Lord Byron and four others, and was, now and then,
increased by the presence of a neighbouring parson. As for our way of
living, the order of the day was generally this:--for breakfast we had no
set hour, but each suited his own convenience,--every thing remaining on
the table till the whole party had done; though had one wished to
breakfast at the early hour of ten, one would have been rather lucky to
find any of the servants up. Our average hour of rising was one. I, who
generally got up between eleven and twelve, was always,--even when an
invalid,--the first of the party, and was esteemed a prodigy of early
rising. It was frequently past two before the breakfast party broke up.
Then, for the amusements of the morning, there was reading, fencing,
single-stick, or shuttle-cock, in the great room; practising with pistols
in the hall; walking--riding--cricket--sailing on the lake, playing with
the bear, or teasing the wolf. Between seven and eight we dined; and our
evening lasted from that time till one, two, or three in the morning. The
evening diversions may be easily conceived.

"I must not omit the custom of handing round, after dinner, on the
removal of the cloth, a human skull filled with burgundy. After
revelling on choice viands, and the finest wines of France, we
adjourned to tea, where we amused ourselves with reading, or improving
conversation,--each, according to his fancy,--and, after sandwiches,
&c. retired to rest. A set of monkish dresses, which had been
provided, with all the proper apparatus of crosses, beads, tonsures,
&c. often gave a variety to our appearance, and to our pursuits.

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