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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"Of those who were not immediately near me I knew little, unless by
their cries. Some struggled hard, and died in great agony; but it was
not always those whose strength was most impaired that died the
easiest, though, in some cases, it might have been so. I particularly
remember the following instances. Mr. Wade's servant, a stout and
healthy boy, died early and almost without a groan; while another of
the same age, but of a less promising appearance, held out much
longer. The fate of these unfortunate boys differed also in another
respect highly deserving of notice. Their fathers were both in the
fore-top when the lads were taken ill. The father of Mr. Wade's boy
hearing of his son's illness, answered with indifference, 'that he
could do nothing for him,' and left him to his fate. The other, when
the accounts reached him, hurried down, and watching for a favourable
moment, crawled on all fours along the weather gunwale to his son, who
was in the mizen rigging. By that time, only three or four planks of
the quarter deck remained, just over the weather-quarter gallery; and
to this spot the unhappy man led his son, making him fast to the rail
to prevent his being washed away. Whenever the boy was seized with a
fit of retching, the father lifted him up and wiped the foam from his
lips; and, if a shower came, he made him open his mouth to receive the
drops, or gently squeezed them into it from a rag. In this affecting
situation both remained four or five days, till the boy expired. The
unfortunate parent, as if unwilling to believe the fact, then raised
the body, gazed wistfully at it, and, when he could no longer
entertain any doubt, watched it in silence till it was carried off by
the sea; then, wrapping himself in a piece of canvass, sunk down and
rose no more; though he must have lived two days longer, as we judged
from the quivering of his limbs, when a wave broke over him."[24]

It was probably during one of the vacations of this year, that the
boyish love for his young cousin, Miss Parker, to which he attributes
the glory of having first inspired him with poetry, took possession of
his fancy. "My first dash into poetry (he says) was as early as 1800.
It was the ebullition of a passion for my first cousin, Margaret
Parker (daughter and grand-daughter of the two Admirals Parker), one
of the most beautiful of evanescent beings. I have long forgotten the
verses, but it would be difficult for me to forget her--her dark
eyes--her long eye-lashes--her completely Greek cast of face and
figure! I was then about twelve--she rather older, perhaps a year. She
died about a year or two afterwards, in consequence of a fall, which
injured her spine, and induced consumption. Her sister Augusta (by
some thought still more beautiful) died of the same malady; and it
was, indeed, in attending her, that Margaret met with the accident
which occasioned her own death. My sister told me, that when she went
to see her, shortly before her death, upon accidentally mentioning my
name, Margaret coloured through the paleness of mortality to the eyes,
to the great astonishment of my sister, who (residing with her
grandmother, Lady Holderness, and seeing but little of me, for family
reasons,) knew nothing of our attachment, nor could conceive why my
name should affect her at such a time. I knew nothing of her illness,
being at Harrow and in the country, till she was gone. Some years
after, I made an attempt at an elegy--a very dull one.[25]

"I do not recollect scarcely any thing equal to the _transparent_
beauty of my cousin, or to the sweetness of her temper, during the
short period of our intimacy. She looked as if she had been made out
of a rainbow--all beauty and peace.

"My passion had its usual effects upon me--I could not sleep--I could
not eat--I could not rest: and although I had reason to know that she
loved me, it was the texture of my life to think of the time which
must elapse before we could meet again, being usually about twelve
hours of separation! But I was a fool then, and am not much wiser
now."

He had been nearly two years under the tuition of Dr. Glennie, when
his mother, discontented at the slowness of his progress--though
being, herself, as we have seen, the principal cause of it--entreated
so urgently of Lord Carlisle to have him removed to a public school,
that her wish was at length acceded to; and "accordingly," says Dr.
Glennie, "to Harrow he went, as little prepared as it is natural to
suppose from two years of elementary instruction, thwarted by every
art that could estrange the mind of youth from preceptor, from school,
and from all serious study."

This gentleman saw but little of Lord Byron after he left his care;
but, from the manner in which both he and Mrs. Glennie spoke of their
early charge, it was evident that his subsequent career had been
watched by them with interest; that they had seen even his errors
through the softening medium of their first feeling towards him, and
had never, in his most irregular aberrations, lost the traces of those
fine qualities which they had loved and admired in him when a child.
Of the constancy, too, of this feeling, Dr. Glennie had to stand no
ordinary trial, having visited Geneva in 1817, soon after Lord Byron
had left it, when the private character of the poet was in the very
crisis of its unpopularity, and when, among those friends who knew
that Dr. Glennie had once been his tutor, it was made a frequent
subject of banter with this gentleman that he had not more strictly
disciplined his pupil, or, to use their own words, "made a better boy
of him."

About the time when young Byron was removed, for his education, to
London, his nurse May Gray left the service of Mrs. Byron, and
returned to her native country, where she died about three years
since. She had married respectably, and in one of her last illnesses
was attended professionally by Dr. Ewing of Aberdeen, who, having been
always an enthusiastic admirer of Lord Byron, was no less surprised
than delighted to find that the person tinder his care had for so many
years been an attendant on his favourite poet. With avidity, as may be
supposed, he noted down from the lips of his patient all the
particulars she could remember of his Lordship's early days; and it is
to the communications with which this gentleman has favoured me, that
I am indebted for many of the anecdotes of that period which I have
related.

As a mark of gratitude for her attention to him, Byron had, in parting
with May Gray, presented her with his watch,--the first of which he
had ever been possessor. This watch the faithful nurse preserved
fondly through life, and, when she died, it was given by her husband
to Dr. Ewing, by whom, as a relic of genius, it is equally valued. The
affectionate boy had also presented her with a full-length miniature
of himself, which was painted by Kay of Edinburgh, in the year 1795,
and which represents him standing with a bow and arrows in his hand,
and a profusion of hair falling over his shoulders. This curious
little drawing has likewise passed into the possession of Dr. Ewing.

The same thoughtful gratitude was evinced by Byron towards the sister
of this woman, his first nurse, to whom he wrote some years after he
left Scotland, in the most cordial terms, making enquiries of her
welfare, and informing her, with much joy, that he had at last got his
foot so far restored as to be able to put on a common boot,--"an event
for which he had long anxiously wished, and which he was sure would
give her great pleasure."

In the summer of the year 1801 he accompanied his mother to
Cheltenham, and the account which he himself gives of his sensations
at that period[26] shows at what an early age those feelings that lead
to poetry had unfolded themselves in his heart. A boy, gazing with
emotion on the hills at sunset, because they remind him of the
mountains among which he passed his childhood, is already, in heart
and imagination, a poet. It was during their stay at Cheltenham that a
fortune-teller, whom his mother consulted, pronounced a prediction
concerning him which, for some time, left a strong impression on his
mind. Mrs. Byron had, it seems, in her first visit to this person,
(who, if I mistake not, was the celebrated fortune-teller, Mrs.
Williams,) endeavoured to pass herself off as a maiden lady. The
sibyl, however, was not so easily deceived;--she pronounced her wise
consulter to be not only a married woman, but the mother of a son who
was lame, and to whom, among other events which she read in the stars,
it was predestined that his life should be in danger from poison
before he was of age, and that he should be twice married,--the second
time, to a foreign lady. About two years afterwards he himself
mentioned these particulars to the person from whom I heard the
story, and said that the thought of the first part of the prophecy
very often occurred to him. The latter part, however, seems to have
been the _nearer_ guess of the two.

To a shy disposition, such as Byron's was in his youth--and such as,
to a certain degree, it continued all his life--the transition from a
quiet establishment, like that of Dulwich Grove, to the bustle of a
great public school was sufficiently trying. Accordingly, we find from
his own account, that, for the first year and a half, he "hated
Harrow." The activity, however, and sociableness of his nature soon
conquered this repugnance; and, from being, as he himself says, "a
most unpopular boy," he rose at length to be a leader in all the
sports, schemes, and mischief of the school.

For a general notion of his dispositions and capacities at this
period, we could not have recourse to a more trust-worthy or valuable
authority than that of the Rev. Dr. Drury, who was at this time head
master of the school, and to whom Lord Byron has left on record a
tribute of affection and respect, which, like the reverential regard
of Dryden for Dr. Busby, will long associate together honourably the
names of the poet and the master. From this venerable scholar I have
received the following brief, but important statement of the
impressions which his early intercourse with the young noble left upon
him:--

"Mr. Hanson, Lord Byron's solicitor, consigned him to my care at the
age of 13-1/2, with remarks, that his education had been neglected;
that he was ill prepared for a public school, but that he thought
there was a _cleverness_ about him. After his departure I took my
young disciple into my study, and endeavoured to bring him forward by
enquiries as to his former amusements, employments, and associates,
but with little or no effect;--and I soon found that a wild mountain
colt had been submitted to my management. But there was mind in his
eye. In the first place, it was necessary to attach him to an elder
boy, in order to familiarise him with the objects before him, and with
some parts of the system in which he was to move. But the information
he received from his conductor gave him no pleasure, when he heard of
the advances of some in the school, much younger than himself, and
conceived by his own deficiency that he should be degraded, and
humbled, by being placed below them. This I discovered, and having
committed him to the care of one of the masters, as his tutor, I
assured him he should not be placed till, by diligence, he might rank
with those of his own age. He was pleased with this assurance, and
felt himself on easier terms with his associates;--for a degree of
shyness hung about him for some time. His manner and temper soon
convinced me, that he might be led by a silken string to a point,
rather than by a cable;--on that principle I acted. After some
continuance at Harrow, and when the powers of his mind had begun to
expand, the late Lord Carlisle, his relation, desired to see me in
town;--I waited on his Lordship. His object was to inform me of Lord
Byron's expectations of property when he came of age, which he
represented as contracted, and to enquire respecting his abilities. On
the former circumstance I made no remark; as to the latter, I replied,
'He has talents, my Lord, which will _add lustre to his rank_.'
'Indeed!!!' said his Lordship, with a degree of surprise, that,
according to my reeling, did not express in it all the satisfaction I
expected.

"The circumstance to which you allude, as to his declamatory powers,
was as follows. The upper part of the school composed declamations,
which, after a revisal by the tutors, were submitted to the master: to
him the authors repeated them, that they might be improved in manner
and action, before their public delivery. I certainly was much pleased
with Lord Byron's attitude, gesture, and delivery, as well as with his
composition. All who spoke on that day adhered, as usual, to the
letter of their composition, as, in the earlier part of his delivery,
did Lord Byron. But to my surprise he suddenly diverged from the
written composition, with a boldness and rapidity sufficient to alarm
me, lest he should fail in memory as to the conclusion. There was no
failure:--he came round to the close of his composition without
discovering any impediment and irregularity on the whole. I questioned
him, why he had altered his declamation? He declared he had made no
alteration, and did not know, in speaking, that he had deviated from
it one letter. I believed him; and from a knowledge of his temperament
am convinced, that, fully impressed with the sense and substance of
the subject, he was hurried on to expressions and colourings more
striking than what his pen had expressed."

In communicating to me these recollections of his illustrious pupil,
Dr. Drury has added a circumstance which shows how strongly, even in
all the pride of his fame, that awe with which he had once regarded
the opinions of his old master still hung around the poet's sensitive
mind:--

"After my retreat from Harrow, I received from him two very
affectionate letters. In my occasional visits subsequently to London,
when he had fascinated the public with his productions, I demanded of
him; why, as in _duty bound_, he had sent none to me? 'Because,' said
he, 'you are the only man I never wish to read them:'--but, in a few
moments, he added--'What do you think of the Corsair?'"

I shall now lay before the reader such notices of his school-life as I
find scattered through the various note-books he has left behind.
Coming, as they do, from his own pen, it is needless to add, that they
afford the liveliest and best records of this period that can be
furnished.

"Till I was eighteen years old (odd as it may seem) I had never read a
review. But while at Harrow, my general information was so great on
modern topics as to induce a suspicion that I could only collect so
much information from _Reviews_, because I was never _seen_ reading,
but always idle, and in mischief, or at play. The truth is, that I
read eating, read in bed, read when no one else read, and had read all
sorts of reading since I was five years old, and yet never _met_ with
a Review, which is the only reason I know of why I should not have
read them. But it is true; for I remember when Hunter and Curzon, in
1804, told me this opinion at Harrow, I made them laugh by my
ludicrous astonishment in asking them '_What is_ a Review?' To be
sure, they were then less common. In three years more, I was better
acquainted with that same; but the first I ever read was in 1806-7.

"At school I was (as I have said) remarked for the extent and
readiness of my _general_ information; but in all other respects idle,
capable of great sudden exertions, (such as thirty or forty Greek
hexa-meters, of course with such prosody as it pleased God,) but of
few continuous drudgeries. My qualities were much more oratorical and
martial than poetical, and Dr. Drury, my grand patron, (our head
master,) had a great notion that I should turn out an orator, from my
fluency, my turbulence, my voice, my copiousness of declamation, and
my action.[27] I remember that my first declamation astonished him
into some unwonted (for he was economical of such) and sudden
compliments, before the declaimers at our first rehearsal. My first
Harrow verses, (that is, English, as exercises,) a translation of a
chorus from the Prometheus of AEschylus, were received by him but
coolly. No one had the least notion that I should subside into poesy.

"Peel, the orator and statesman, ('that was, or is, or is to be,') was
my form-fellow, and we were both at the top of our remove (a
public-school phrase). We were on good terms, but his brother was my
intimate friend. There were always great hopes of Peel, amongst us
all, masters and scholars--and he has not disappointed them. As a
scholar he was greatly my superior; as a declaimer and actor, I was
reckoned at least his equal; as a schoolboy, _out_ of school, I was
always _in_ scrapes, and _he never_; and _in school_, he _always_ knew
his lesson, and I rarely,--but when I knew it, I knew it nearly as
well. In general information, history, &c. &c., I think I was _his_
superior, as well as of most boys of my standing.

"The prodigy of our school-days was George Sinclair (son of Sir John);
he made exercises for half the school, (_literally_) verses at will,
and themes without it.... He was a friend of mine, and in the same
remove, and used at times to beg me to let him do my exercise,--a
request always most readily accorded upon a pinch, or when I wanted to
do something else, which was usually once an hour. On the other hand,
he was pacific and I savage; so I fought for him, or thrashed others
for him, or thrashed himself to make him thrash others when it was
necessary, as a point of honour and stature, that he should so
chastise;--or we talked politics, for he was a great politician, and
were very good friends. I have some of his letters, written to me
from school, still.[28]

"Clayton was another school-monster of learning, and talent, and hope;
but what has become of him I do not know. He was certainly a genius.

"My school-friendships were with _me passions_,[29] (for I was always
violent,) but I do not know that there is one which has endured (to be
sure some have been cut short by death) till now. That with Lord Clare
begun one of the earliest, and lasted longest--being only interrupted
by distance--that I know of. I never hear the word '_Clare_' without a
beating of the heart even _now_, and I write it with the feelings of
1803-4-5, ad infinitum."

The following extract is from another of his manuscript journals:--

"At Harrow I fought my way very fairly.[30] I think I lost but one
battle out of seven; and that was to H----;--and the rascal did not
win it, but by the unfair treatment of his own boarding-house, where
we boxed--I had not even a second. I never forgave him, and I should
be sorry to meet him now, as I am sure we should quarrel. My most
memorable combats were with Morgan, Rice, Rainsford, and Lord
Jocelyn,--but we were always friendly afterwards. I was a most
unpopular boy, but _led_ latterly, and have retained many of my school
friendships, and all my dislikes--except to Dr. Butler, whom I treated
rebelliously, and have been sorry ever since. Dr. Drury, whom I
plagued sufficiently too, was the best, the kindest (and yet strict,
too,) friend I ever had--and I look upon him still as a father.

"P. Hunter, Curzon, Long, and Tatersall, were my principal friends.
Clare, Dorset, C^s. Gordon, De Bath, Claridge, and J^no. Wingfield,
were my juniors and favourites, whom I spoilt by indulgence. Of all
human beings, I was, perhaps, at one time, the most attached to poor
Wingfield, who died at Coimbra, 1811, before I returned to England."

One of the most striking results of the English system of education
is, that while in no country are there so many instances of manly
friendships early formed and steadily maintained, so in no other
country, perhaps, are the feelings towards the parental home so early
estranged, or, at the best, feebly cherished. Transplanted as boys are
from the domestic circle, at a time of life when the affections are
most disposed to cling, it is but natural that they should seek a
substitute for the ties of home[31] in those boyish friendships which
they form at school, and which, connected as they are with the scenes
and events over which youth threw its charm, retain ever after the
strongest hold upon their hearts. In Ireland, and I believe also in
France, where the system of education is more domestic, a different
result is accordingly observable:--the paternal home comes in for its
due and natural share of affection, and the growth of friendships, out
of this domestic circle, is proportionably diminished.

To a youth like Byron, abounding with the most passionate feelings,
and finding sympathy with only the ruder parts of his nature at home,
the little world of school afforded a vent for his affections, which
was sure to call them forth in their most ardent form. Accordingly,
the friendships which he contracted, both at school and college, were
little less than what he himself describes them, "passions." The want
he felt at home of those kindred dispositions, which greeted him among
"Ida's social band," is thus strongly described in one of his early
poems[32]:--

"Is there no cause beyond the common claim,
Endear'd to all in childhood's very name?
Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,
Which whispers, Friendship will be doubly dear
To one who thus for kindred hearts must roam,
And seek abroad the love denied at home:
Those hearts, dear Ida, have I found in thee,
A home, a world, a paradise to me."

This early volume, indeed, abounds with the most affectionate tributes
to his school-fellows. Even his expostulations to one of them, who had
given him some cause for complaint, are thus tenderly conveyed:--

"You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,
If danger demanded, were wholly your own;
You know me unaltered by years or by distance,
Devoted to love and to friendship alone.

"You knew--but away with the vain retrospection,
The bond of affection no longer endures.
Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection,
And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours."

The following description of what he felt after leaving Harrow, when
he encountered in the world any of his old school-fellows, falls far
short of the scene which actually occurred but a few years before his
death in Italy,--when, on meeting with his friend, Lord Clare, after a
long separation, he was affected almost to tears by the recollections
which rushed on him.

"If chance some well remember'd face,
Some old companion of my early race,
Advance to claim his friend with honest joy,
My eyes, my heart proclaim'd me yet a boy;
The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,
Were all forgotten when my friend was found."

It will be seen, by the extracts from his memorandum-book, which I
have given, that Mr. Peel was one of his contemporaries at Harrow; and
the following interesting anecdote of an occurrence in which both were
concerned, has been related to me by a friend of the latter gentleman,
in whose words I shall endeavour as nearly as possible to give it.

While Lord Byron and Mr. Peel were at Harrow together, a tyrant, some
few years older, whose name was ----, claimed a right to fag little
Peel, which claim (whether rightly or wrongly I know not) Peel
resisted. His resistance, however, was in vain:-- ---- not only
subdued him, but determined also to punish the refractory slave; and
proceeded forthwith to put this determination in practice, by
inflicting a kind of bastinado on the inner fleshy side of the boy's
arm, which, during the operation, was twisted round with some degree
of technical skill, to render the pain more acute. While the stripes
were succeeding each other, and poor Peel writhing under them, Byron
saw and felt for the misery of his friend; and although he knew that
he was not strong enough to fight ---- with any hope of success, and
that it was dangerous even to approach him, he advanced to the scene
of action, and with a blush of rage, tears in his eyes, and a voice
trembling between terror and indignation, asked very humbly if ----
would be pleased to tell him "how many stripes he meant to inflict?"
--"Why," returned the executioner, "you little rascal, what is that to
you?"--"Because, if you please," said Byron, holding out his arm, "I
would take half!"

There is a mixture of simplicity and magnanimity in this little trait
which is truly heroic; and however we may smile at the friendships of
boys, it is but rarely that the friendship of manhood is capable of
any thing half so generous.

Among his school favourites a great number, it may be observed, were
nobles or of noble family--Lords Clare and Delaware, the Duke of
Dorset and young Wingfield--and that their rank may have had some
share in first attracting his regard to them, might appear from a
circumstance mentioned to me by one of his school-fellows, who, being
monitor one day, had put Lord Delaware on his list for punishment.
Byron, hearing of this, came up to him, and said, "Wildman, I find
you've got Delaware on your list--pray don't lick him."--"Why
not?"--"Why, I don't know--except that he is a brother peer. But pray
don't." It is almost needless to add, that his interference, on such
grounds, was anything but successful. One of the few merits, indeed,
of public schools is, that they level, in some degree, these
artificial distinctions, and that, however the peer may have his
revenge in the world afterwards, the young plebeian is, for once, at
least, on something like an equality with him.

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